And you longed for someone to call you... mine//
Heaven and Hell
DISCLAIMER: Well, lots of characters here are mine, does that count for anything?
SUMMARY: All kittens are grey in the night... or however the saying goes in English.
DEDICATION: For Lucey. She knows why. *winks*
SPECIAL THANKS: To Sharon and Dana, for beta-ing this baby. *hugs S&D* Sharon, thanks for explaining what ellipses are, *g*. Oh, and for the title! .
FEEDBACK: Feed the muse.
If we saw each other in heaven,
could you maybe tell me my name?
If I told you that love is forever,
would you remember you're in my dreams?
If maybe you found me in this hell,
will you know my role in this game?
If I say that forever is this minute,
would you be who I want you to be?
You don't know exactly why you come back to this place again and again...
... and again and AGAIN.
It seems like the hundredth time you've come here. And maybe it is.
True, it is never the same place, and they are never the same faces but there's something in the way the tables are arranged, in the looks of the patrons and the stares of the bartender as you open the door that immediately reminds you of the hundred other seedy bars you've visited in the last months.
But you go in anyway.
He enters the bar as if he owned it.
One hand deep in his jacket pocket and the other lighting a cigarette.
The bartender stops wiping the glasses and cocks an eyebrow in curiosity when he finally notices the stranger in the middle of the chaos. Mike smirks self-confidently, maybe there's a good story to be told there. At midnight, he's already grown tired of the slurred tales of divorced unemployed fortysomething men who maybe would find a job if they lifted their ass from the bar stool.
But the stranger doesn't move for a long moment, he seems rather content to stand between the tables, letting all waitresses rub themselves on him by chance. Yeah, as if 'by chance' Marie would let her boobs press against a guy's arm, of course not, the guy has to be tall, black-haired and with that mysterious, dark aura women around the world are known to love.
He watches as Marie mumbles something at the stranger, her reaction is almost comical as her only reward is an absent nod.
Mike chuckles at the display.
You stand deliberately right in the middle of the bar wondering which way to go tonight.
Someone bumps into you and a woman's voice says sorry. You nod in her general direction without stopping your search for a suitable seat.
There's one left at the bar, just two places from where the blonde guy is serving beer in two big glasses. The waitress who is taking the order uses these free seconds to look at you and you can't help but notice when she licks her lips at the sight of you and arranges her tight shirt.
The movement makes the bartender lift his gaze and for a moment your eyes meet.
You smile inwardly.
After the first month you discovered that bartenders take a great liking to you almost immediately, one or ten have actually invited you to 'visit' them after work-hours... You were actually tempted once to discover how cosy could the backroom be...
The man had been young and brash, his voice playful with a slight accent and his hair dirty-blonde and wild... he had a sharp tongue too, and a witty retort that wouldn't let you brood appropriately.
But he smelled of cheap beer, and there was no whisky in his kiss.
You left him panting for breath at the door, stepped over the threshold and never looked back.
And you longed for someone to call you sire.
To call you mine.
A couple leaves a table in the darkest corner. They stumble happily, stopping only for the guy to fumble in his pants for his wallet and leave some bills over the table. He smirks at the passing waitress and fondles her behind as goodbye, then he contentedly moves the trespassing hand back to his girl's own ass.
Mike sighs dejectedly, that was a good spectacle those two were making in that corner. That table may be 'the darkest' but it is quite visible from his post. He decides he really liked the part where the guy lifted the girl's mini skirt and practically hauled her up to straddle him. In those too short seconds Mike got a nice peek of naked pussy, enough to keep him warm for the rest of the night. He gives their parting a last mental sulk before noticing that the dark-haired guy is going directly to the abandoned table.
Mike cheers silently.
You see a kissing couple staggering out of the bar and decide to sit down at a table tonight. That bartender looks too much like the type of man you'd like to have against the wall of the bathroom and tonight you're too tempted to just give in.
A girl with too much eyeliner to define the colour of her eyes - even with your keen sight - comes to stand in front of you.
"What'll you have?" she asks with a strong New York accent. Then you remember that it is not an accent here, in New York itself.
Your eyes claim defeat in their task and instead go over her form. Early twenties, you decide, and with a lot of tissue in her bra. You're sure she's accustomed to the patrons staring at her apparently voluminous chest and for a moment you wonder why she makes the attraction even more evident before you decide It doesn't matter.
She goads you on with a bored look. Poor girl, she must have had a rough night, normally the waitresses' eyes travel hungrily over your body, stopping at all the right places, wondering if they can ask you for a quickie in the backroom before the bisexual bartender goes for it.
"So?" comes the impatient voice, followed by a huff and an angry glare that lets you know that she's not taking kindly your staring at her bosom.
You nearly smile and say just my usual, precious before you remember that you don't have an 'usual' here, nor anywhere else. Damn, you're forgetting too many things tonight. "Bring me a beer."
"Which kind, sir?"
You are sure she didn't mean it but her last word makes you snap your head up and stare (into) at her. She actually takes a step back before looking you over and deciding you're worth the guilt of cheating on her long-time boyfriend. "Yes, handsome? What do you want tonight?" she purrs, voice dripping with double entendrés.
Shaking your head and deciding It's been a long night, you wave your hand dismissively and say "Get me whatever you've got cold in a bottle."
"Nothing else?" she presses, leaning so close to you that you can almost see the white tissue sticking out from her bra.
Staring intently at her obviously inviting body, you give her a half smirk and a cocked eyebrow before saying nearly amusedly: "Only the beer."
She glares at you as she takes in your rejection, looking ready to slap your face. Luckily for you, her common sense wins as she turns around and strides off to the bar.
You look pensively after her furiously retreating form.
Gods, she looks like the kind of girl you could fuck on her parents' bed and not feel an ounce of guilt when you leave through the window right as you hear the garage door going up.
Mike hides a smirk when a fuming Nella slaps her hands on the counter. "Any beer for the arrogant fucker in the corner," she snarls. "And give me a warm one," she adds knowing well he will not. He loves his work too much to risk it for a petty vengeance.
"Weren't we faithful to Phil, Nell?" he asks conversationally as he hands a cool beer, straight from the cooler.
She snatches the bottle. "Fuck off," comes out from her dark-strawberry lips before she stalks back to the man.
You raise your head briefly when a bottle suddenly appears in front of you, blocking your point of focus and sending all your thoughts in disarray. The red-haired girl pursues her lips in a grimace. "Five fifty," is all she says.
You nod and take a twenty from the wallet. "Keep the change."
She wavers for a moment and looks searchingly into your eyes. Not seeing a trace of flirting or guilt she shrugs and takes the bill. You think you heard a 'thank you' over the loud music, but you will never be sure.
Lifting the cap you take the cold beer in long gulps, stopping only when you feel the bottle's only half-empty. You don't know why you insist on drinking the stuff, it's not as if you can taste the odd flavour of fermented barley and malt, it's not even as if you'll forget your troubles in the bottom of this first bottle or even of the twentieth one... but still, here you are, drinking it.
Maybe you're trying to appear normal.
Or maybe you just need something to do as you wait...
There's something in the air that makes Mike look up from the Macchu Picchu he's preparing.
It might be the puff of smoke the drunkard at his right just breathed on his face, but then it could also be the blonde at the door.
Just like the man before her, she looks as if she owns the whole place and even some of the patrons' souls. And just like him, mystery and unasked questions surround her... Mike knows he'd want to guess a few of the answers. She comes dressed all in white, with only her long, black leather boots standing as contrast.
Mike notices some other men getting a good look at the girl, she seems to come ready to trap someone into a pleasurable night and some more. Her gaze sweeps all over the local, looking for a victim for the night and Mike can't help a slight shudder when her eyes finally settle on him.
Images of those boots scraping forcefully his shoulders' skin as he drives deep into her fill his head in a second. My, he thinks inanely, isn't this just my lucky night?
But it sure isn't, because as soon as the thought is finished, he notices that the stranger had left his corner and is now taking the girl's hand.
Mike looks on as she smiles up at him and, even if he can't help but notice how they practically blend into each other, he can't stop a scowl when they leave the bar.
"Hi, sweet," you say smoothly when you're finally in front of her.
The scent of Heaven and Hell got to you as soon as she stepped into the bar. You couldn't help but follow it obediently as you've always done. She is a vision of light today, but you know that's only the surface because you've seen her imparting darkness more than once.
And you can't wait for it.
You don't think to ask how she came back from the otherworld or even how she found you in this seedy bar in the middle of New York. You don't even wonder why she is here. The only thing that really counts is her presence.
And you are basking in it.
She looks at you wonderingly for a second, as if she isn't sure if it is really you. Finally recognition hits her and she smiles slyly. "Hi, handsome," she greets with that crazy Californian accent you've grown to love, "Waiting for me long?"
You smile back. "Aren't I always?"
Her eyebrows arch in surprise. "What do you want to do?" she finally asks.
"Tonight..." You consider the possible answers. "Tonight we will dance."
Her eyes light up. "Lead on, handsome."
You put your arm around her body and press her tightly to your side.
Together you leave.
They go slowly through alleys and streets.
It's only five blocks to the nearest dance club but they've decided to make the most of it. The short ten minutes that such a distance would take under normal circumstances easily expanded to twenty and right now is approaching the half hour mark.
He tries to remember he promised her dancing every time they cross a dark alley, every time his gaze falls upon a comfortable enough place.
They just can't seem to separate from each other. They went from mild caresses as soon as they got out of the bar to teasing kisses when they left the protective light of the electric sign.
Soon after, they were engaging in harder kisses, much more prolonged and complicated. They're fumbling from one extreme of the street to the other, once his back smacking hard against a fence, the bit of the metal making him cry out into her mouth. Next goes her head hitting a brick wall on the other side, he is too preoccupied lifting her ass until their pelvises meet to worry about it. And when he remembers that a gentleman should worry, she is already making him forget that a gentleman doesn't let his fingers unclasp a girl's bra in the middle of the street.
She doesn't wear a bra though, so he shrugs and keeps teasing her nipples until she bites his tongue, demanding more.
The sting of her bite makes you come back to earth with a jolt.
Shit, what were you thinking about?
She had managed to bring her feet back to the ground and you can feel her knee rubbing your own thigh... searching and searching and... "Stop."
You dislodge her from your grasp and back off slowly. Her eyes are a hazy, unfocused green and her breaths are laboured, making her bared chest rise and fall heavily in front of you. You shake your head trying to forget the picture, but you know it's been imprinted deep in you mind, so it'll accompany you in your lonely hours.
"What's your fucking problem?" she demands in a tone that's more an animal's snarl than a girl's voice.
She doesn't say anything else when you go back to her until your bodies touch again. She doesn't say anything either when you smirk slowly and let your hand trace her cheek, but her eyes are burning with questions and hurt pride.
"I promised you dancing, didn't I?" you whisper heatedly, leaning forward into her, letting her know how much you'd want to end this here and now... and how much you're willing to sacrifice just to dance with her and show her off to the rest of the world.
Your other hand takes hers lightly and brings it to your lips. "So we'll go dance," is just a whisper before you kiss it softly. You trace her long fingers and pass your own fingertips over her nails, finally going through the back of her hand, carefully caressing the knuckles and then her wrist, going down her arm and then back up to her shoulder. Once there your hands set to the task of rearranging her top back into its respective place.
All the while she just looks into your eyes.
Finally she smiles. "Dancing, huh? I guess you were serious." She looks at you again, this time her gaze going down and you gulp when she licks her lips with the tip of her tongue. A laugh cuts the silence when she notices your reaction. "Let's go then, dancing boy."
"A strawberry daiquiri, please."
The bartender arches his eyebrow, with those looks he'd guessed she'd ask for something... stronger. Like a martini or a tequila shot.
"A beer for me."
Viktor lets his gaze wander over the guy. He'd have to be blind not to notice that these two are a couple but for a wistful moment he wonders, would they go for a one-night-stand with him? He sighs because he'll have to let them go without even asking. Place of work, can't seduce the clients and all that regulation shit.
He motions Betty to bring a beer and sets himself to prepare the girl's daiquiri.
You quickly decide you love it the most when she puts her arms around your neck and lets her body come flush into yours.
It seems that drinking the daiquiri and half your beer in less than two minutes has done its effect on her. Her movements, if still graceful, are now a bit slow. Her fingers playing drowsily with the locks of your hair.
You lean in to steal a kiss and in the end you are the one robbed of your metaphorical breath. It doesn't matter where she learned to kiss like that, the point is:
She is kissing you now.
Several minutes later she asks breathlessly, "Your home or mine?"
And you smile against her neck.
Viktor wipes his wet hands on the loose ends of his shirt.
The bar has been left in Betty's capable hands and he's free for about five minutes... seven if he stays hidden between the crowd.
He can't stop staring at the couple in the middle of the dancing floor. He easily recognised her for her white clothing as the 'strawberry daiquiri' girl, after that it was only too easy to identify the older man.
A camera would be welcomed right now, Viktor thinks. He licks her lips absently as he watches their faces closing in for a kiss, the moment so perfect it should be saved for posterity. The act itself is innocent but there's something lurking beneath that innocence that just begs to be released. Viktor has watched many couples come and go from this club, most of them changing partners through the night. But only few of them had interested him so much, and even less had made him so hard as to look for relief in the bathroom just from watching them.
Oh yes, Viktor was watching as they were standing at the bar, drinking their drinks oblivious to anything else. He saw as some idiot bumped into her, making her spill some of the daiquiri onto herself. He watched when the tall man wiped a lost drop from her upper chest and then licked it oh so slowly... all the while staring directly at her with that sensuous grin.
Viktor had longed to be that man when she attacked back, grabbing that same finger and placing it on the now dry spot... she had lead it around her neck, up to her lips so she could taste the mix of herself, fruity alcohol and saliva too, then down again making his hand caress her skin just as she liked it, going down her throat straight onto her cleavage, teasing him with the promise of putting the top aside and caressing her bare skin instead.
And he had definitely lost it when in a swift movement the man put his bottle on the counter and brought her forcefully into him. Their lips had crushed in a kiss then, hands wildly exploring every exposed surface, throwing caution and principles to the wind as they went carelessly beneath cloth and leather. Now her hands caressing his back, blood red nails scraping over the silk, next his hand taking possession of her thigh, testing how firm was her flesh there. Viktor knew she didn't have any underwear when, for a brief moment before his jacket covered it, her breasts came free under her top. She had responded determinedly guiding her hand into his pants, though how he would never guess as the leather went tight around the man's form.
Viktor finally decided it was time to take a break when he unconsciously started stroking himself over his jeans. He had called Betty in as normal a voice as he could find and went to the bathroom with a final vision of the man motioning the girl onto one of the bar stools and locking her legs around his waist.
And now that he is back from his 'break'...
He chokes and gulps.
... are they trying to kill him?
You bring her to the hotel room you've rented for the week.
Without words you decide you've spent enough time in preliminaries in the streets, in that club and the last ten minutes in the taxi.
Between kisses and murmurs you manage to get all your clothes on the floor, and at the first touch of naked bodies you both hiss in pleasure.
Something here is wrong, you know. You shouldn't be taking her for the first time after so long in this anonymous motel room. She deserves roses and candlelight, and maybe even that slow music all women seem to find romantic.
But when she calls you "Love?" her voice a little needy with desire, you know she doesn't care. Why should you then?
You caress her face slowly, wanting to map her out again and again and again. She closes her eyes in bliss and you take it as a sign to go on with the sensual pampering. Your hands go lightly over her neck, tracing by memory every line and mark.
Even yours, especially yours.
You linger several moments over the place where it should be, remembering how it felt to be drinking of her, to have her pliant body under yours and hear her scream not in pain, but in pleasure.
You want to hear that sound again.
Finally lifting her in your arms you place her nude form on the bed.
She is as eager as you for this moment, you've smelt it the whole night. But it was worth waiting, wasn't it?
"Yes," you hear and you realise you spoke aloud.
Gods, to be inside her is always your own Heaven and Hell, she is your Heaven and Hell. She feels so right and she moves so well that you could scream.
You are not sure you haven't.
Time has no meaning in this place, you realise, you still feel as if it were the first time. If you strain enough, you bet you'll hear again the rain hitting the windows above.
You wait until her breathing gets ragged and fast, just as she's gone past the point of no return, to tell her "I love you, Buffy." With those words bouncing through the room you bite into her.
And she screams as she comes.
It's already long past midday when he finally wakes up.
He tries to get up from the bed to put on some clothes but finds out that his arm is being held down by his lover's body.
With a smile he disentangles himself from her as carefully as possible. When he is finally free he reaches over and gives her a sweet 'good afternoon' kiss.
She never wakes up.
And he knows it happened again.
You close your eyes.
This is the hundredth time you've visited a seedy bar.
And this will be the hundredth time you have to stake the evidence of it.
He finally does it and in the end is left staring through the ashes.
Hundreds of green eyes not Buffy's will haunt you forever.
Memories of petite bodies not Buffy's to accompany your days.
And he swears it'll never happen again.
But you know you will still look for *her*...
...until the night she really comes back to you.
Betaed: 26/08/03 (Thank you, Sharon!), 29/08/03 (Thank you, Dana!)
Comments, corrections and death-threats happily welcomed.
AN: Macchu Picchu is not only a Peruvian sight and cultural place, but also a good, strong drink. It has mint and... hmm...errrr... something alcoholic? Come on! Cut me some slack! It was Cuzco, class-trip, last night in town... the memory is pretty hazy...
But the drink was good.
NOTE: The poem is mine. It probably won’t make sense unless you’ve read the entire story.
Lucey said: (Buffy as)His Guardian Angel. Or possibly checking if he´s sleeping alone
Leni said: and sending to Hell whoever is with him? Yeah... that sounds like a plan...
Then I remembered our talk about strawberry daiquiris...
Then a talk with the DAHman about bartenders...
And somehow it lead to this.
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