This is an idea I'd been playing with for a while. Plus, it's the time of the year here in SoCal when the Santa Ana winds come in. Don't know what it is, but this weather always makes me feel a bit... savage.
Anyway, I wish I could take credit for the rhyming lines, but that belongs to Dante Rossetti. Everything else is mine.
Los Angeles on a Saturday night. Paradise lost. The night is alive. This city of four million people.
Four million bodies.
I walk down Hollywood Boulevard, among the multitude; leather pants, boots, a skin tight black t-shirt that hugs my shoulders, hair loose, just long enough to reach the base of my neck. Just another rivethead in a city full of them.
I can hear the crowd’s collective blood pumping. I’m close to being able to smell it. It’s not easy to concentrate. My senses are initially thrown off balance by the smell of modernity.
(exhaust, concrete, glass, steel)
I filter it out. I listen to the crowd. On nights like this, when I listen to blood pumping, it’s not just a matter of hearing it. I can feel it. When a body passes by me, I can feel the heat emanating from it. I can feel my own blood pumping. No, ‘pumping’ is too mild a term, seething is more like it.
(blood, flesh, heat)
Very briefly, my eyes shift from their normal blue to gold. I fight it back down, but I can barely repress the urge.
(Frenzy)
On nights like this, there’s not really any way to repress it, and why the hell should I want to? Nights like this. When the full moon’s just hanging there. The poets sure as hell got it right.
(When the sky darkens, and her cloud-rapt car
Thrills with intenser radiance from afar)
Close enough to touch. And even here, in this sea of concrete and neon, I can feel it. I can feel that tugging in the back of my skull that I get when la luna’s turning her gaze on me. Silver light filtering through the umbra of orange tail-lights and multihued signs advertising any number of myriad temptations.
(lambent lady, beam thy sovereign grace
when the drear soul desires thee)
And speaking of temptation.
(Frenzy)
My eyes start to shift color again. I fight it down again, but the point is coming through loud and clear. I came out tonight for a specific reason, it’s time to get to that already.
I turn off of Hollywood onto a cramped side street, really more of an alley. I stop in front of a black brick façade, one door, no windows, no sort of distinction about it all except for ‘Purgatory’ spelled out in purple neon letters above the door. The bouncer opens the rope for me, and starts to give me the typical ‘Don’t start shit’ look, but something makes him think otherwise. He just stands aside and fidgets.
(neon gas expands against glass tubing, a couple of stray cats are either fucking or killing each other about 100 feet away; the bouncer smells apprehensive, aftershave mixed with nervous perspiration, his heartbeat goes up)
I stroll in and make my way to the bar. The pretty little thing slinging drinks ambles over to me. Black and purple hair, PVC top and skirt.
“Whiskey sour.”
Her eyes trace the lines of my biceps momentarily.
(lavender soap, powder, hair dye)
She’s soft, but still, not bad…
(Frenzy)
My eyes change color again, she notices, wondering if she actually saw it. Apparently, she decides in the affirmative.
“Some trick you got there.”
(her pulse is fluttering)
She tries to play it down as she slides me my drink, “You a magician or something?”
Pretty. But too soft. She couldn’t handle me.
Half smile on my part, “I’m complicated.”
I slide a ten across the bar, “Keep it.”
I turn and walk off. Eyes scanning the dance floor. Gyrating bodies grinding against each other in time to throbbing industrial. Ancient Rome meets steampunk.
(sweat, velvet, leather, vinyl, sex)
I scan the crowd and sip my drink. It's weak, not surpisingly; but then, every intoxicant's weak to you when you've got something that no artificial substance could ever produce.
(Frenzy)
Then I see her, gyrating on the dance floor, but with a cushion of space around her. Occasionally, some poor idiot approaches her but the look she gives then seems to suggest that they’re welcome to try, but it’d be a waste of time. Black leather micro-mini, white button up shirt with only the bottom button done up to show off her abs, black lace bra. Simple. No need to overdo her outfit, everyone around her gets the fucking point. Black hair, pale skin, green eyes, lipstick the color of crushed blackberries.
She smells like…
(the sharp edge of a knife)
Now we’re talking.
Abruptly, she stops, scanning the crowd. Her gaze falls on me and we lock eyes for the briefest of moments before she turns and walks off the dance floor, into a darkened hallway off of the main area.
I follow at my own pace, there was no need to hurry things. We know how this is going to end. She’s like me, after the same thing, just from the other side.
I walk out of the main room, into the hallway leading out back.
Her voice from behind me; low, smoky.
“So, you think I’m just going to let you take me right here?”
I whirl, not thinking about my next motion, just doing it. I slam her up against the wall, pinning her wrists hard at the level of her shoulders, using my leverage and strength advantage to hold her there. She strained against me, grinding against my crotch. She tries to kick me, I block it and her leg just ends up wrapping around mine. She uses it to pull me in closer, her skirt riding up. She’s not wearing underwear, I can feel her mound grinding against the leather covered bulge in my pants.
“In here, out back, doesn’t matter. We both know what the endgame’s going to be, the only real question here is how this plays out.”
Her eyes shift briefly, green to gold.
(perfume, arousal)
I let her wrists go, she wraps her arms around me and digs her nails into my back, ripping the thin fabric and breaking my skin.
I growl. She uses my momentary lapse to slip out and backs herself towards the exit. Slowly. Deliberately. Never taking her eyes off me as she backs through the exit into the empty parking lot behind the club.
The cold of the night air is a brief shock after the heat inside, but the energy I’m containing cancels it out. She strips, completely, standing there naked, keeping her eyes locked on me.
I just laugh.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?”
She smiles at me, “it’s a good night for it.”
I strip my shirt off, step out of my pants and boots. Standing there naked, not feeling the chill. I look back to her, “Ready when you are.”
Immediately, she shifts forms, taking off toward the darkened side streets, in the direction of the Hollywood foothills. I take one last glance up at the moon, then I shift. I follow fast, running low to the ground, wind whistling by my ears, never taking my eyes off her, generally letting her stay about ten feet ahead of me.
The streets we’re on are residential, mainly dark houses. Nobody out at this hour. Occasionally a dog will catch our scents, and run and hide until it passes. Once or twice we bolt past a pedestrian who will no doubt spend the next week telling themselves that they did not, in fact, see what they just saw.
The residential area’s ending, we’re about to run into the foothills. Almost time to end this. I just give it another hundred feet or so up into the hills, just enough to leave the street lights behind. She seems to sense it’s almost over too, because she slows down and circles around to face me. She has only a fraction of a second before I slam full force into her, carrying her down to the ground with me, a tangle of limbs, claws, and fangs. Rolling over until it finally ends the only way it could. Me pinning her to the ground, my jaws on her throat, exerting just enough pressure to hurt. For a second, she still strains underneath me, either because she still seriously thinks she can continue this chase, or just to kick and scream for one last second before she gives in. She stops struggling, and we both shift back.
I’m on top of her, pinning her down with her wrists above her head. We’re both breathing heavy. Sweat stinging the cuts on my back. Breath steaming in the cool air. I force her legs apart, she writhes underneath me, having completely dropped any pretense of resistance at this point, trying to buck her hips up to reach my hardness.
(grass, sweat, arousal, wetness)
I look down at her.
“That was fun, but like I said, we know how this ends. I won the game, and now I take my prize.”
I release her wrists and rotate her hips up as I enter her. I feel her nails dig in to my shoulders as she takes me inside her. Finally, I let myself feel it.
(Frenzy)
Anyway, I wish I could take credit for the rhyming lines, but that belongs to Dante Rossetti. Everything else is mine.
Los Angeles on a Saturday night. Paradise lost. The night is alive. This city of four million people.
Four million bodies.
I walk down Hollywood Boulevard, among the multitude; leather pants, boots, a skin tight black t-shirt that hugs my shoulders, hair loose, just long enough to reach the base of my neck. Just another rivethead in a city full of them.
I can hear the crowd’s collective blood pumping. I’m close to being able to smell it. It’s not easy to concentrate. My senses are initially thrown off balance by the smell of modernity.
(exhaust, concrete, glass, steel)
I filter it out. I listen to the crowd. On nights like this, when I listen to blood pumping, it’s not just a matter of hearing it. I can feel it. When a body passes by me, I can feel the heat emanating from it. I can feel my own blood pumping. No, ‘pumping’ is too mild a term, seething is more like it.
(blood, flesh, heat)
Very briefly, my eyes shift from their normal blue to gold. I fight it back down, but I can barely repress the urge.
(Frenzy)
On nights like this, there’s not really any way to repress it, and why the hell should I want to? Nights like this. When the full moon’s just hanging there. The poets sure as hell got it right.
(When the sky darkens, and her cloud-rapt car
Thrills with intenser radiance from afar)
Close enough to touch. And even here, in this sea of concrete and neon, I can feel it. I can feel that tugging in the back of my skull that I get when la luna’s turning her gaze on me. Silver light filtering through the umbra of orange tail-lights and multihued signs advertising any number of myriad temptations.
(lambent lady, beam thy sovereign grace
when the drear soul desires thee)
And speaking of temptation.
(Frenzy)
My eyes start to shift color again. I fight it down again, but the point is coming through loud and clear. I came out tonight for a specific reason, it’s time to get to that already.
I turn off of Hollywood onto a cramped side street, really more of an alley. I stop in front of a black brick façade, one door, no windows, no sort of distinction about it all except for ‘Purgatory’ spelled out in purple neon letters above the door. The bouncer opens the rope for me, and starts to give me the typical ‘Don’t start shit’ look, but something makes him think otherwise. He just stands aside and fidgets.
(neon gas expands against glass tubing, a couple of stray cats are either fucking or killing each other about 100 feet away; the bouncer smells apprehensive, aftershave mixed with nervous perspiration, his heartbeat goes up)
I stroll in and make my way to the bar. The pretty little thing slinging drinks ambles over to me. Black and purple hair, PVC top and skirt.
“Whiskey sour.”
Her eyes trace the lines of my biceps momentarily.
(lavender soap, powder, hair dye)
She’s soft, but still, not bad…
(Frenzy)
My eyes change color again, she notices, wondering if she actually saw it. Apparently, she decides in the affirmative.
“Some trick you got there.”
(her pulse is fluttering)
She tries to play it down as she slides me my drink, “You a magician or something?”
Pretty. But too soft. She couldn’t handle me.
Half smile on my part, “I’m complicated.”
I slide a ten across the bar, “Keep it.”
I turn and walk off. Eyes scanning the dance floor. Gyrating bodies grinding against each other in time to throbbing industrial. Ancient Rome meets steampunk.
(sweat, velvet, leather, vinyl, sex)
I scan the crowd and sip my drink. It's weak, not surpisingly; but then, every intoxicant's weak to you when you've got something that no artificial substance could ever produce.
(Frenzy)
Then I see her, gyrating on the dance floor, but with a cushion of space around her. Occasionally, some poor idiot approaches her but the look she gives then seems to suggest that they’re welcome to try, but it’d be a waste of time. Black leather micro-mini, white button up shirt with only the bottom button done up to show off her abs, black lace bra. Simple. No need to overdo her outfit, everyone around her gets the fucking point. Black hair, pale skin, green eyes, lipstick the color of crushed blackberries.
She smells like…
(the sharp edge of a knife)
Now we’re talking.
Abruptly, she stops, scanning the crowd. Her gaze falls on me and we lock eyes for the briefest of moments before she turns and walks off the dance floor, into a darkened hallway off of the main area.
I follow at my own pace, there was no need to hurry things. We know how this is going to end. She’s like me, after the same thing, just from the other side.
I walk out of the main room, into the hallway leading out back.
Her voice from behind me; low, smoky.
“So, you think I’m just going to let you take me right here?”
I whirl, not thinking about my next motion, just doing it. I slam her up against the wall, pinning her wrists hard at the level of her shoulders, using my leverage and strength advantage to hold her there. She strained against me, grinding against my crotch. She tries to kick me, I block it and her leg just ends up wrapping around mine. She uses it to pull me in closer, her skirt riding up. She’s not wearing underwear, I can feel her mound grinding against the leather covered bulge in my pants.
“In here, out back, doesn’t matter. We both know what the endgame’s going to be, the only real question here is how this plays out.”
Her eyes shift briefly, green to gold.
(perfume, arousal)
I let her wrists go, she wraps her arms around me and digs her nails into my back, ripping the thin fabric and breaking my skin.
I growl. She uses my momentary lapse to slip out and backs herself towards the exit. Slowly. Deliberately. Never taking her eyes off me as she backs through the exit into the empty parking lot behind the club.
The cold of the night air is a brief shock after the heat inside, but the energy I’m containing cancels it out. She strips, completely, standing there naked, keeping her eyes locked on me.
I just laugh.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?”
She smiles at me, “it’s a good night for it.”
I strip my shirt off, step out of my pants and boots. Standing there naked, not feeling the chill. I look back to her, “Ready when you are.”
Immediately, she shifts forms, taking off toward the darkened side streets, in the direction of the Hollywood foothills. I take one last glance up at the moon, then I shift. I follow fast, running low to the ground, wind whistling by my ears, never taking my eyes off her, generally letting her stay about ten feet ahead of me.
The streets we’re on are residential, mainly dark houses. Nobody out at this hour. Occasionally a dog will catch our scents, and run and hide until it passes. Once or twice we bolt past a pedestrian who will no doubt spend the next week telling themselves that they did not, in fact, see what they just saw.
The residential area’s ending, we’re about to run into the foothills. Almost time to end this. I just give it another hundred feet or so up into the hills, just enough to leave the street lights behind. She seems to sense it’s almost over too, because she slows down and circles around to face me. She has only a fraction of a second before I slam full force into her, carrying her down to the ground with me, a tangle of limbs, claws, and fangs. Rolling over until it finally ends the only way it could. Me pinning her to the ground, my jaws on her throat, exerting just enough pressure to hurt. For a second, she still strains underneath me, either because she still seriously thinks she can continue this chase, or just to kick and scream for one last second before she gives in. She stops struggling, and we both shift back.
I’m on top of her, pinning her down with her wrists above her head. We’re both breathing heavy. Sweat stinging the cuts on my back. Breath steaming in the cool air. I force her legs apart, she writhes underneath me, having completely dropped any pretense of resistance at this point, trying to buck her hips up to reach my hardness.
(grass, sweat, arousal, wetness)
I look down at her.
“That was fun, but like I said, we know how this ends. I won the game, and now I take my prize.”
I release her wrists and rotate her hips up as I enter her. I feel her nails dig in to my shoulders as she takes me inside her. Finally, I let myself feel it.
(Frenzy)
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