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 Posted: Tue May 15, 2007 1:10 am
|| M Y ... O W N E R ||Zsolt x Laxis story
 [ D I S C L A I M E R ]
Characters, story and comic is created by Hippori and Ray Kitsune
Do not steal. Do not post anywhere else.
Do not use for commercial.
ASK OUR PERMISSION AND GIVE US CREDIT
IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO USE OUR WORKS!
Thank you
[ F R E N C H V A N I L L A ]
This thread is for posting fanfiction contest entries we get from French Vanilla.
Thank you so much ne! X) heart
DO NOT STEAL ANY FICTIONS & IDEAS!
THESE ARE MY OWNER FANFICTIONS,
YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO USE THEM
EXCEPT ONLY THIER OWN AUTHOR!!!
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Posted: Wed May 16, 2007 10:31 am
Sunlit Dreams
My Owner Fic
My Owner @ Ray Kitsune & Hippori
Fan fiction by French Vanilla Part One _____ _ __ _ ____ _ h e {W O N D E R E D}.He kicked back, undeniably content to alternate between grey puffs of smoke and oxygen. The familiar aromatic taste of cigarette smoke curled in his mouth, briefly exchanged for sweet air before his lips closed on the slender cigarette again, drawing on another swallow of smoke. It filled his lungs, a gentle, persuasive thing that he knew well from many nights spent in its company. An irritated frown marred the expanse of his brow, lines running lightly across his forehead as he inhaled. Thank God for cigarettes, he thought absently, though in all honesty, God certainly did not endorse his frequent use of the drug. He only really needed to smoke when he was stressed, and the only times he was really stressed was usually the Old Man's fault anyways.
Now was a prime example of the injustice often handed down to him, the burdens of illogical duty and loyalty chaining him. He had responsibilities; so he indulged them. He had things to do, missions to carry out, and he did them all with a superior hand. But sometimes he needed to unwind, to find a place and relax and take a few smokes. For Zsolt, a human bar was ideal - filled with chatter and people and life, yet not one of them caring the tiniest bit what he did.
Most of them were so drunk, he could've bashed in a few heads, declared himself King of the Hill, pointed at the sky and said he saw spotted llamas, and they wouldn't even blink an eye.
It wasn't that our favorite little demon wasn't attractive or attention getting; he was sinfully so. Tall and imposing at 187 centimeters, his shock of bright crimson hair was hardly easily over looked and paired with his height, it was unlikely it ever would be skipped over by those sober. His eyes were sharp and clear, a sort of intense claret that intimidated others. All this packaged with a finely built frame and carefully sculpted muscles, it would be difficult to deny just how divine he looked in tight leather pants and little else. If they snatched a glimpse past his handsome visage and saw dark horns rising from his bright hair, it was easily attributed to the rough beers they had chugged down mercilessly.
Another puff of grey hovered in front of him before it was swept away into the air, lost as the bar's door slammed open and shut. Not a single person turned or batted an eyelash at the sound, happening often enough in the pub to not raise a one's alarm.
Glaring crimson eyes bored into the dirty wooden surface of the bar, ears uninterested in the gruff sound of the man beside him and the rustle of clothes that told a brief story of how his neighbor had been unceremoniously shoved off his seat. Zsolt slanted a half concerned glance up, eyes brightening with camaraderie at the sight of a wolf demon. “Not nice Zsolt. You're so busy with your job and what not, that when you get a chance to sneak off for a smoke you should tell me,” the man muttered, grudging humor in his low voice. There was a feral growl to it typical of the wolf demon. Zsolt took his time answering, leisurely drawing another breath of nicotine, and grinned smugly.
“You're slow. I didn't want to wait.”
Laughing, the wolf demon signaled the bar tender for a drink and settled himself, hands slung cheerfully in his pockets. After he had settled down and graciously accepted the offered cigarette from Zsolt, he waited for his drink to arrive before speaking again. “I hear He's stirring up another controversy again. Not as big as when you came went into the force, but pretty major. All the little Flyers are practically fluttering; they've been on best behavior for weeks. Know anything about it?”
Damned wolf; was he this annoying when I met him? Zsolt wondered, a hint of irritation coloring the thought as he eyed the man taking a generous gulp of alcohol, smiling blissfully.
Probably. His mouth curled into a wry smile, cigarette bobbing in his mouth at the movement, staying magically fixated to his lips.
“Maybe He's gone and done something beyond our scope of things. You know how He favors his set of mysterious ways...” His mouth was tugged down disapprovingly; God did never did enjoy being pinned down with a label, so He occasionally did a few unexpected things to throw them off balance. His companion saw the change in his mood and quickly moved to tone the topic of their conversation.
“The others have been whispering about a new Gardener. She's supposed to be a real hottie – what? Don't give me that look, Zsolt. I'm a demon, I'm entitled to more than my fair share of carnal desires!” A dry expression tipped Zsolt's mouth into a smirk, and he put out the cigarette with a rough hand as he pushed away from the bar. Scrambling to follow him, his friend rummaged through a pocket, threw money on the counter for his drink, and bolted after him as he went out the door.
“They're supposed to be pure of heart, wolf.”
“The pure ones are the most fun!”
Silence.
“Honestly, you don't have to be so touchy, Zsolt.”
Silence.
“Well, at least get a name for me, would'ya? You know I can't resist beauties.”
He continued walking, leather clad legs in a comfortable stride with enough speed that it put him ahead of his friend. Eventually tired of following a creature with no visible signs of softening, the wolf demon departed and left Zsolt standing in the middle of a meadow, a touch of disgust in his canine eyes at all the flowers. Pfft. Flowers. Who needed them? But the wolf demon held his tongue and waved goodbye, off to pursue his own delights.
Zsolt stared at the blossoms, a riot of soft colors brushed against the green of grass and leaves, and a soft sigh built in the back of his throat. Was he curious about this new addition to the Garden? Yes, yes he was. God might work in odd and mysterious ways, but Zsolt wanted to unravel at least this one mystery. Why would it be a controversy? And if it was truly a controversy...well, it was in his job description to investigate. He didn't want to admit that he was curious for his own sake, that he wanted to know for his own sake.
At that moment in time, Zsolt wanted. He wasn't sure what he wanted, or why, but slowly the seed of feeling took root and it spelled out something temptingly new to him. So he let himself want, and did not think more of it.
It was the beginning.
Part Two ° s h e || S M I L E S ||The sun rises, a disk of blazing fire in the horizon. Clouds hover in the blue sky, awash with waves of color and warmth, looking to all the world like stretches of divine breath, soft and fluffy. She kneels in the Garden, content to dig in the dirt and root in new plants; she is not like other ladies, scorning on such activities and calling it low and beneath them. The press of firm ground underneath her and the crumbling soil between her fingers excites her. By all means, she should be nervous about this new duty of hers, and she was desperately so only this morning when she had passed through the Gates. Yet now, it is so easy to forget and feel as if she belongs among the rustling leaves and swaying flowers.
Maybe some would be lonely, but her hands are buried deep beneath fertile earth, easing in new tulip bulbs. The smell of verdant soil is familiar and humble; she is the spirit of earth, yielding and suited to helping others grow and nurturing them. All around her frail frame are sounds of small animals, chattering squirrels busying about and birds singing private melodies. She doesn’t mind the quiet - she has her work, her pleasure, and the voices of the world whispering to keep her company. It isn’t nearly as lonely as she thought it would be.
She hears a soft sound and her head jerks up, surprise widening her eyes like that of a rabbit caught by the wolf. He is awkward to her eye, a tall man with an angular face and sharp gaze. She thinks that he looks a little lost and a part of her unwinds, fixed on his expression. There is a shadow in his bright eyes that pulls at her heart strings, and unknowingly, she is drawn to him. Harsh lines form on his face, and he seems angry - but she isn’t sure if it because of her or if it is because of him. Her hands ache to smooth out those lines and see his mouth soften into a warm smile. She wants to see that unsure thing lurking in his eyes gone, sent off into the night as soon as possible. She wants to see him happy.
But he looked so lost.
So lost.
Like he can’t smile - like he doesn’t know how. Her perceptive green-blue eyes see the hesitation in his movements and her heart skips a beat, knocking against her breast in an innocent reminder. He is standing in her Garden, a lost child who doesn’t know how to smile. He needs to be taught, she thinks. There is so much he needs to learn.
A child learns by example, she decides as she watches him search for the right words that will alleviate his nervous discomfort. So she stands up, careful and uncaring of the crumbs of dirt on her hands, and walks toward him.
He freezes and embarrassment leeks into anger, because anger is easier for him to handle. He knows how to deal with anger. But just as he is about to comment lowly about the smudges of brown earth on her hands, she stops inches from him and looks up. He is caught by how long lashes frame her eyes, a fringe of burnished gold. They cast a lingering shadow on the rise of her cheeks, flushed with exertion and pleasure. She has a generous mouth, lips an inviting primrose, whimsical, soft, and apt to joy. A delicately sculpted nose denotes a nearly aristocratic lineage. Trailing locks of dark brown hair settles against the small of her back, the dark whorls of chocolate shining and silken in the sunlight. All the words he had planned to say disappear into the air and his breath hitches in denial.
She has ignorantly imprisoned him with the fragile contours of her face; he is paying painful attention to her every action and he doesn’t want to. He hates her for stealing his indomitable control like this.
Her mouth curves in a welcoming smile, warm and knee jerking. It sets his mind reeling, the sight of her unquestioning smile, as trusting and vulnerable as a young child. Why does she smile like that? It bothers him; it incites his wrath to think how many others has seen it. Why does she give away her smiles so easily?
He hates her for that smile, even as his heart sings joyously.
He thinks it doesn’t matter. He tries to tell himself that at night when he sees her face as his eyelids close.
Undeterred, her face haunts his mind, a glimpse of paradise in her eyes.
He just wishes his heart would believe what his mind is telling it.
Part Three ° h e || C R U M B L E S ||The first time was a mistake, he mutters to himself. The two stationary Guards know him well by now and open the Gates for him on sight. They snicker and chuckle and grin with good humour at him, fully understanding why he’s here. But if the first time was a mistake, a strange collaboration of luck and fate that brought him there, why did he keep returning? If the first time was stumbled upon on accident, by no means intended, why does he walk this path every day now, see the same sights, and climb the same hills? He doesn’t have to - he doesn’t want to. He still returns, as if afraid the last day had been a dream. He goes through his days subdued, anxious, and serene. When he walks by a flower shop, his mind wanders and he almost always goes in and mills about. Eventually the store keepers get tired of his presence, and ask him to either purchase something or leave. He leaves. Sometimes he'll see flowers that remind him of her, but he never buys anything. She looks so much happier with the garden, with living, growing flowers, that a flower cut off and dead would probably bring a brief sojourn of sorrow to her face.
The thought pains him more than it should, and when he thinks of it he immediately snaps at the next person to talk to him. Today, the unlucky person had been a smug wizard with leering red eyes and dark green hair. He knows he shouldn’t have talked so rudely and disrespectfully to the man, a person he knows by reputation and name only, but he couldn’t help it. The cold interest rooted in those eyes followed him, a nagging sense of the false rightness bothering him. No one would blame him for his instant dislike of the cretin.
He wishes he could be angry with her instead and maybe spare himself some trouble, but it is impossible. She just flashes her smile, a bright, compelling thing, and he knows he’s lost the argument before it has even began. How anyone could carry even the smallest grudge against that woman is beyond him; it is certainly beyond his capabilities. And he is so very capable of being a perfectly arrogant jerk that the inability to make more than ten acidic, biting, comments at her disturbs him. By sheer repetition, she is teaching him to be nicer. When he moves to insult someone, she smiles calmly and says how nice the weather was two days ago, or how pretty a particular patch of daisies are looking today.
By sheer repetition, she is mellowing him out. That bothers him too.
Somehow, he pushes away those irritating thoughts plaguing his mind and he rushes through the well worn path, eyes narrowed and searching. Yes, the Garden is beautiful and breath taking, but they all blurred away to nothing in his eyes. And there she is, immaculate and shining, a figure of radiance and safety. She beckons to him like a lighthouse to a wayward ship in a typhoon, and eagerly he moves forward, unaware of the haste his body is making. Her slim hands are wrapped around a metallic handle, sprinkling water on content plants with a fond gaze. Hearing him approach, she looks up and her eyes instantly light up like pinpricks of stars in the sky, and he forgets the bothersome red glance that has been haunting him since this morning. Her brilliant smile chases away the shadows and he is glad for the reprieve.
It was strange at first to stand beside her as she silently tended to plants; he always looked shy or uncomfortable, but now it wasn't quite so awkward - relaxing even. Scouting a bare spot of hardy grass, he sits down, long legs spread in crisscrossed lines, and arms propping up his upper torso. He likes watching her work; she glows in ways no Angel has. Her purity is a gentle illumination that is strongest in her soft touches and understanding grins. She is his safe harbor, and he feels tired around her, like he wants to just stop and rest. A voice in his head tells him that if he stayed around her long enough, he would never be in want for energy or peace.
By and by, she finishes and plops down elegantly beside him. He feels as if he should make a wry comment about it, but she looks so satisfied with her day’s work, he doesn’t say a thing. Instead, it is she who breaks the silence between them.
“Na, Zsolt…”
“What is it?”
His voice sounds gruff even to his ears, but she brushes it off, unperturbed by the tone. She shifts a little closer and he stiffens mercilessly, spine hard and unmoving. She is so close…so close. Her breath is a warm puff of air against his skin and her hair slides across his shoulder like a waterfall.
“I think I will be very happy with you,” she says matter-of-factly, as if she were merely speaking of how one plus one added to two. Stricken, he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, but she doesn’t mind that either and closer still she snuggles against him, smelling of flowers and sweet things. Her scent intoxicates him, and he can’t seem to think clearly, all cohesive thoughts lost in a whirlwind of feelings.
Dizzy and half drowning, he manages to turn his head down and her eyes are waiting for him. Big, bright turquoise eyes that look to him, brimming with hope and light. He loses himself in her eyes and finds himself buckling under the mellifluous weight of her gaze.
He crumbles, and he doesn’t mind at all.
All he can think of is her hand in his, warm and small.
Fingers interwoven, until no one is sure where one begins and the other ends. Part Four ° s h e || L O V E S ||She is crying.
The thought scares him, alarms him desperately, and his breath freezes in his lungs like a cold weight of ice bearing down upon him. Despairing, he pushes through the plants, searching for her, heart beating thousands of miles a second. For a moment he thinks the world is slightly askew, as if nothing was quite right. But then his eyes land on her frail figure, and even her small sniffles aren't as poisonously barbed as before.
His heart rests, relieved.
She looks up at his approach, her eyes wide and wet, and his heart breaks all over again. Cradling a small animal in her hands, she looks pathetic and weak. It baffles him how someone so strong is so easily affected. It is worth it when he goes to the trouble of gently extracting the bird from her grasp. Careful, he bandages its broken wing as she chatters beside him, speaking of how it was just a baby, and it shouldn't have tried to fly so soon...
She's not so worried now that he's here. It feels like nothing can go wrong when he's here, taking care of things. Dazzled for a moment as she watches him work, she feels as if he's shining, a creature of brilliance. She thinks its cute when he awkwardly presents the bandaged bird to her, gaze pointedly averted to the side. She thinks its cute, but she knows he would be mortally offended if she told him, so she doesn't say anything. Instead, she takes one of his larger hands in both of hers, fingers drifting softly over his hand.
One of her hands falls away, but the other winds fondly with his, fingers intertwined. She brings it slowly to her mouth, brushing his knuckles with her lips. She looks at his hand like it is something miraculous, something to be admired. And yet, she looks up and the message seems to change, as if to say he is something miraculous, something to be admired. The look humbles him.
"Thank you." There's a world of meaning in those few words, and, intoxicated by love and affection, he doesn't mind thinking that it might take a lifetime to find them all. In anything, he hopes the search will last for a few more lifetimes.
She looks at him and his heart swells with light and air and all things bright and perfect.
She loves him.
That is all he needs.
Part Five _____ _ __ _ ____ _ h e {M O U R N E D}.
He believes it is the end.
He believes, so it is The End.
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Posted: Fri May 18, 2007 2:44 am
Don't Forget ; Don't Regret
My Owner Fic
My Owner @ Ray Kitsune & Hippori
Fan fiction by French Vanilla Chapter One The line wrapped twice around the city and leaked onto two blocks of sidewalk. People chattered, paced, bobbled their heads as if their were toys, and generally milled about. It was an odd sight to pass by, and the alarmingly high number of girls should have been an instant tip off that there was something of interest for the flustered pubescent females. Night had come early, an expectant mistress who tasted the vibrating air like an eager lover; the beginnings of dark silk had crawled across the horizon, a breathtaking sky view of melting reds and cool lavenders. The tall man by the door marked the otherwise plain passage way as something worth guarding; his shiny, tight black curls shone underneath the pale red neon sign - an unruly mop of hair if the world had ever seen one - and his thin mouth curved in a smile at the familiar sight. The line of people swiveled, curious at what could force the legendarily stoic security man to crack a grin - they were a bored crowd, all waiting to get inside the hottest new club, rumored to have the best under ground bands and stars booked every second. It was precisely a minute from show time (other wise known to the mass of individuals striving for distinct individuality as opening time), his electric watch an eerie white-green light in the darkness; she always showed up at the exact same time, like routinely wound clockwork.
Light taps of heel striking side walk cement permeated the air with the gentlest spice of anticipation and within minutes the personage at which the bouncer had smiled at was within both gossip and viewing range. An intimidating figure merged from the cloak of shadows, the lingering pieces of confused dusk clinging to him like the most reluctant lover, and threw an answering tilt of head at the club bouncer. Clad in a waist length black coat, the edges of it trailed in the air, for a moment in tandem with the flow of night and shadow. Edged in a soft silver thread, the hems of his coat caught the light oddly as he walked, drawing attention up the line of his sleeveless shirt underneath the leather. Clarets and wines dipped gracefully in a shapely V, exposing the pale, perfect collarbone and sensuous glimpses of ivory skin. From their current distance, the observers were not able to tell that the scarlet shirt was of the lightest substance, airy and ideal for the taxing (but very, very rewarding) energy of a concert. His hair matched his shirt, a crimson red that invoked scandalous squeaks of glee; from beneath the crown of liquid silk peered two intensely stern eyes, pieces of some imperial ruby cut out and preserved in his glance.
A glint of metal would catch the eye as he walked, the belt buckle an unexpected flash amongst the poignant obsidian, and past that was a traditional pair of tight leather pants that made a few of the girls blush and turn their heads away. Almost knee length leather boots murmured as he moved, whispering a silent conversation to the brush of leather against leather. He was a vision of euphoric death and lethal enchantment.
Sounds reverberated from the sleek building, frantic waves of the warm up band straining to fall upon his keen hearing, contriving to surpass the chatter of humans and the pump of excited blood; that, more than anything, made him wince. The bassline could use some work... Zsolt walked by the gawking boys, the anxious girls, and the amused undecided, with a god given grace that had been honed, kissed, and groomed into the far superior piece of temptation it was today and in the process, completely disregarded the line. The digits on the bouncer's wrist flickered, and he did not even glance down to know that it had hit performance time. Stray Hound had, collectively, taken to moaning and holding their heads between their knees, whining about how Zsolt was “a stubborn a** that can't just give in and join officially, damnit!” With a push of his arm, the door opened and the noises spilled out, light fluttering from spot to spot with all the fickleness of Fate. Without further invitation than what had been given, the imposing demon swept into the establishment, allowing the music to pull him in with relentless greed.
Behind her was an even louder burst of noise, the desperate cries of almost adults pushing to get in. The regulars, or perhaps the more fanatic and better connected, had already arrived. They, in and of themselves, formed quite a large pulsing group of limbs and bodies. He slid past them, gliding past the security to backstage, where he prepared his poker face for excessive usage.
“Zsolt! Oh God, you idiot. We've been spazzing for hours! Where have you been?” Chris, ever energetic and bold, approached him first, relief washing over his aquamarine eyes. Zsolt carefully ignored him until his murmured rant ended, taking a deep nicotine filled breath of air. The cigarette smoke filled his lungs in curls of grey, a familiar taste of ash in his mouth. Taking it out of his mouth between two slender fingers, he tapped one glowing end over fair headed youngster, smirking as he spoke. “Cool down, I'm here, aren't I? My puppy needed some more steak before I could tempt him into a nap.” Chris muttered something over he wasn't the one that was “over reacting”, oh no, “Zsolt should have seen Zeny walk a hole through the floor. Zeny's so silly~” The said man twitched and looked like he was going to answer with a biting comment when Rance wisely interrupted and sent the apt to bicker pair off to check on their instruments.
“Eh? You didn't bring Laxis? Why?” Stray Hound's kind bassist looked concerned from where he was lounging on the couch, dark chocolate hair tossed carelessly over the edge of the sofa, looking perfectly comfortable. He was a gentle person who did not like to think of the dependent young Laxis left at home when he had the option of being in the company of others. It was expected, of course, that someone would ask this question. Zsolt couldn't say exactly why he didn't feel like bring the pup with him; he was fond enough of the bright eyed blonde, but Laxis had looked particularly tired lately, staying up late to draw pictures and talk with 'BonBon.' He was, admittedly, worried about his – his what? Friend? Pet? - charge, his mind settled on dutifully.
“He needs the rest. Your concerts tend to run almost an hour later than predicted,” he commented wryly, voice dry. “I'm glad the warm up guys were willing to play little longer so I could get here.”
Rance shook his head in a friendly, exasperated manner and stood up, dusting off imaginary lint from his clothes. “Aa, if you say so. The place should be about full by now; I can hear the screaming.” There was a soft pause. “Shall we go?”
Zsolt looked at his friend and felt a smile curl on his lips. “Aa.” He followed the languid stride of Rance easily, keeping perfect timing with his companion. Thought he would never say it out loud to anyone, he liked the sound of Stray Hound, he liked the feeling of being a little loose and wild and still belonging. It was as if the melodies were alive; the music blazed underneath his fingers.
Together, they walked onto the darkened stage, the roar of voices instantly screeching to a hushed stop as eyes fixated themselves on the obscuring mists produced by a pair of fog machines. A low thrum of music hit the air, a short, trilling chord from Rance's bass that rumbled in the silence; then Zenile's velvet voice came on the speakers, filling the room with his heart crushing purr. “Do you know who we are?” It was completely out of character for the dark haired man, but Zenile the vocalist tended to be a bit different than Zenile the private person. Coyly, he stepped out into a sudden spotlight, daring golden eyes gleaming like cat's. His skin tight turtleneck looked good, hugging his torso, but it would be extremely hot performing under the stage lights in that. Grinning smugly, he roared this time, a war cry compared to the whispered come hither. His scream ripped through the crowd and cheers permeated the perimeter. This was it. This was what all those people had waited for, ached for, begged for.
“WE ARE STRAY HOUND!”
Light flared, falling around them in a shower of glaring white and, instantly in tandem, Chris leaped in, drumsticks whirling in his hands as the drums became the heartbeat of their kick off song. Before long, Zsolt and Rance joined in, guitar and bass melding in a unique blend that fell jarringly harmonious upon the ear, pumping the blood from the heart and sending the audience into a half delirious rave.
Yes, they were Stray Hound, and for this one frozen moment in time, that was all that mattered.
That was the world.
“1, 2 3, 4. This is the middle,
Of our story, babe.
We'll be your midnight sin,
The incubus that runs away come first light
We're the shadow in your dreams,
The poisoned apple of your eye!
Oh, oh, oh.
Don't forget,
Don't regret,
We are the wolves in the forest.
Don't forget,
Don't regret.
Our tale knows no end,
Forever, into infinity, we shall spend.
A ransom on your soul,
We'll give you Paradise if you say so.
Oh, oh, oh.
Don't forget,
Don't regret,
We are the wolves in the forest.
Don't forget,
Don't regret.
Don't forget,
Don't regret.
Chapter Two “Oi! Watch where you're - ”
“Aaahn~ I'm sorry! Ex-”
“Laxis?”
Bewildered, his fox ears twitched and his head flew up, amber eyes wide. Surprised and instantly flushing,he reminded the elegant half demon of a child caught red handed with is fists in the forbidden cookie jar. Or rather, as he looked piteously at her, like a pet that knew he had done something against his master's orders. He kept his eyes on the ground as he stood, gingerly offering a hand to her, apologetic. It was almost...cute. Except Adrianna was the type of girl who liked cute. She liked a harshness, a sort of sophisticate beauty that drew the viewer in deep into the entanglements of enamored grace. So it was strange, incredibly strange, for her to have the sudden desire to lay her hand upon his head, to stroke the shining strands of light brown. He reminded her too much of a puppy that he fairly translated to one in her mind.
Her voice, sharp and annoyed before, softened as she spoke. She liked the submissive boy, and he was as naïve and young as a new born babe. The slender girl tempered her tone, allowing it to warm and mellow. “What are you doing out without Zsolt, Laxis?” Her pale grey eyes smiled gently at the quivering frame, a silver moon shining protectively in her gaze. It worried her that he was out and about without someone watching him; surely Zsolt wasn't this careless. Before, he had always hired Grant to watch over the pup when he might not be there to watch over him. The tall demon had been always like that, inclined to protecting those around him and helpless when he felt he was stuck in a position where he couldn't save his friends from hurt. It was one of the reasons Adrianna had fallen so in love with him, but her heart sighed and whispered a thousand other tiny reasons as to why.
A small whimper brought her out of her thoughts and snapped the whimsical expression on her face back into focus. “I-I didn't mean to do anything wrong!” Laxis' voice sounded lowly, squeaking as if the effort of speaking up was to much. Still nervous and unsettled, his cheeks glowed a soft primrose as he blushed, trying to look everywhere but the nice lady's eyes. “I must of fallen asleep after the steak – Zsolt is so good to me! Today, he brought me three whole sirloins,” at this point he paused and closed his eyes, lips curving into a delicate smile of bliss before he continued. “But when I woke up he wasn't there!” Panic rose in Laxis' melancholy voice, a desperate tempest brewing in his eyes. She saw it now, the wind tossed hair, the way he thoughtlessly brushed off the scratches on his arms that could be accredited to the fall, how his eyes darted around, search for an image that wasn't there. His small hands latched onto the hem of her sleeve, pleading and hopeful. “Do you know where he is? Do you, do you?” He needed to know, she thought. He truly, honestly, would die of heartache if Zsolt ever left him. She could read the constant relevation in his face, open and earnest. He depended on Zsolt in ways she would never understand, but could come to sympathize with.
But right now, there was only one thing she could give the forlorn puppy that he wanted. Her feather light touch glanced across his forehead, a playful knock of her knuckle against the center of his brow. “Don't worry about it.” Seeing the worry lessen but not wholly dissipate, her hand laid comforting on his head, a soothing contact of another live creature to root him down. When his frenetic frenzy breathed a sigh of relief, so did she. “Do you want to see something cool, Laxis?”
He was suspicious now, wary that she might be trying to distract him from his goal or waylay his concerns. It made him pout; he was not a child to be coddled! But her offer sounded tempting and his curious nature seized him. A part of him whined lowly, he should be at home waiting for Zsolt to come home. He should be at home keeping BonBon company and drawing pictures to show Zsolt so he could receive a pat on the head and a smile. The thought struck his sore heart. “I promise you will like it and if Zsolt wants to give you any trouble for it, just tell him I told you to,” she said decisively, grasping his hand and tugging him forward. That decided it for the torn boy who merrily skipped beside her as they walked, asking her countless questions as to what she was going to show him.
Surprisingly it, it did not fray on her nerves as much as it should have; Laxis had an inquisitive, child like view on everything and it made her a little glad to see his vulnerable smile beam up at her every now and then. She even stopped and treated him to an ice cream, watching him moan in dismay every time a rivulet of melted sweetness trailed down the side of the cone. Adrianna promised to take him back there some day, since he liked it so much. It garnered her a bright, content smile.
“There, that's where we're headed,” she proclaimed as the turned a corner, pointing a poised finger at a tall building, unmarked and unimpressive, aside from the sheer aura of class and space it exuded. Confusion fluttered across his face, tilting his mouth in an uncomprehending frown. “You'll see.” Before he had a chance to say a thing, she already sped up her pace, long legs at a steady stride. He had to stretch his own thin legs to keep up; by the time he had reached her side again, he was gasping. The woman was fast, he thought absently.
A large man by the door smiled in recognition at Adrianna but peered strangely at Laxis. All the same, he let the two of them enter and she hushed his questions, pulling him through another set of doors. It tore a breath from his throat. The first thing that occurred to him was how sickeningly hot it was. The second thing was – Ow! - how pushy people could be. Everyone was jumping, moving, limbs a tangle of flesh in the uncertain light. But the third thing he noticed force the passage of air in his lungs until he couldn't remember that he needed to breathe... or even why.
Up on stage was a group of four and the first person her saw had long, dark hair and topaz eyes that made him thin k of the alley way cat he saw stalking Zsolt's garden sometimes. Then his round, wide eyes landed on something far more spectacular and deadly. His heart thumped wildly in his ears, racing to leap out of his chest and flood his brain with an unknown sensation that sort of filtered out all other thoughts. Zsolt – his Zsolt – was up on stage, capable large hands running up and down a bass like the two of them were well known lovers, like he knew the exact motion that would elicit the precise sound he wanted to hear.
Seeing Zsolt up there made his heart shudder and skip a beat.
Then it restarted, furiously trying to keep up with the beat of the song. Without knowing it, Laxis' body had begun a tedious journey through the crowd, pushing and shoving and sliding through cracks between bodies. He ignored all others, persistently bent on one mission, one initiative. After what seemed to be eons to the lithe pup, he had made it to the front, breaking through a line of fangirls with a drowning gulp for air. Upset and frustrated at this newcomer coming between them and their idols, one of the girls gave him a good natured shove that sent him teetering over, frail body flailing as he fell. He closed his eyes, lashes interlocked as he avoided looking at the hard floor he'd be hitting.
Sounds of flurrying clothes fluttered around him and all he could feel was a warm, firm press of a body. “Damned pup. What do you think you're doing?” Zsolt's inaudible whisper curled in the shell of Laxis' ear delightfully, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Their two bodies were to line sof vibrating heat, twining around each other until Laxis was sure he could melt into his owner. But the song continued, even if the other members looked at their bassist oddly. Setting him on his feet, and gently rubbing a thumb around the crest of his cheek, Zsolt disappeared, leaping back onto the stage and picking up the melody with ease.
Laxis' eyes remained fixed on him the whole time.
When the song had ended, the singer stepped up and made a brief explanation that sent all the gossipy fans a fluttering. “Stray Hound takes care of all their maidens in distress,” and with a playful wink from each member that might as well have been choreographed, the band jumped into another song and after that yet another and another and another.
By the time the concert was over, Laxis was fair drunk on the sheer power Zsolt had displayed, the sensual movement of those large hands running up and down the length of the bass. But as soon as the last song ended, an unfamiliar hand grasped his elbow and tugged, hard. Forced to move, he followed the stranger, straining to not trip and kill himself. When the two were finally in the safety of the dressing room, the lights flickered on and Laxis jumped, a cry of disgust on his lips.
“You!”
“Hey Midget.”
“ARGHARAAA.” The scream that came from Laxis' mouth was infused with wrath and anger; Grant took it all with ease, examining his nails with exaggerated apathy. “Are you done yet, little gay midget? You know you caused trouble for us tonight!” Grant's voice whipped cruelly at the demi-human, biting and seemingly indifferent. “Geez, why'd the Geezer have to pick up such a lame pet anyways?”
“Why you blonde headed - ”
The door clicked open and Laxis whirled around, bounding up to Zsolt the moment he saw the familiar glare of red hair. Clenching onto his shirt, Laxis buried his head into Zsolt's chest, on the verge of tearful relief and joy. Feeling the yearned for weight on his head, he shifted and glanced up, face unguarded. Whatever Zsolt saw in his face made the lecture on the demon's tongue fade. All he did was continue petting Laxis' hair, calmly holding the trembling body to his own.
Laxis closed his eyes and breathed in Zsolt's scent, reveling in it and smiling blissfully even as big fat tear drops ran from his eyes. Waking up in the house all alone, knowing nothing of why Zsolt was gone, or when he'd left, or even if he'd be back, had near stopped his poor heart. Because all he had woke up in was a house and his tender soul had expected to wake up to a home.
Home was in Zsolt's arms.
This is our beginning.
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