Beyond Nocturne Ch. 02

"THE DRAWING OF FOUR"

EDITED BY:

Miriam Belle

CREATIVE CONSULTANT:

Simply_Cyn

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

"While a lot of the people who have followed this series guessed the meaning of the subtitle to this chapter, some found it vague. It simply refers to the full introduction of the four main characters, Lydia, Michael, Maricel and Steven into the story. Also, I've put the original opening back in because I think it establishes some important facts about Michael's character that come up in the later chapters. Thanks everyone!"

***

The late hours of night slowly changed over to the early moments of morning.

Michael Wolverton lay back on his couch, arms comfortably behind his head, naked and completely content. His short dark hair was wet with perspiration, his strong features caught up in the intense physical feelings he was experiencing. His trim body was taut and expectant, waiting for the inevitable.

He settled back into the cushions as Miranda George sucked on his almost painfully erect seven and a half inch cock. She had a special knack for knowing just how to swirl her tongue over his head and send shivers up his spine to the base of his neck where the hair would stand at attention until she finally made him orgasm. When they had first met, Michael had no idea they would end up being lovers. Still, he had secretly fantasized about her full lips and had undressed her fully rounded figure on many occasions. He'd had plenty of chances to do it too, as they both worked together for the San Francisco Police Department.

After his marriage had gone south, Michael finally found himself able to approach Miranda one night after his shift ended. She was working the front desk as she always had done since he started there. Michael asked her out for a cup of coffee, and they ended up fucking until breakfast the next morning.

"Shit," Michael smiled. The slurping sounds coming from his groin was an extra incentive for him to cum. Miranda was one of those quiet types who just happened to be a kinky nympho underneath. At the age of forty, she was still in great shape and sported a heavy bust that pulled at her uniform. Her blonde hair was cut short and feathered, a look that many women tried and few pulled off. She had a hardened professional edge to her that was both quietly intimidating and irresistibly sexy.

"You're going to make me cum," Michael whispered, running his hands through her hair.

Miranda paused for a moment and looked up. "Good," she smiled.

Michael laughed and she resumed her work. He could feel the hot sensation building up inside him. It electrified his cock into a rod as rigid as any piece of steel. She massaged his balls, working them over and getting ready to milk him. Her heavy tits were rubbing against his thigh as she furiously sucked on his shaft, moaning and groaning. Michael's whole body seemed to jump up as he cried out and blew his wad. Miranda moved back, the first spurt having gone down her throat.

"Yes," she whispered as he ejaculated hot semen out across her face, his chest and stomach.

"Fuck me running," he moaned, head thrown back and nipples hard.

"All in good time," she said. Miranda finished polishing off his cock with her tongue, grasping the thick shaft with her fingers delicately.

"You are way too good at that," Michael smiled as he pulled her up to his face. His semen was sliding between their bodies, lubing them up and creating an incredible slick friction.

"It was the least I could do," she shrugged and kissed him, the taste of his own cum still on her tongue, "After all, you've already given me two orgasms tonight."

"I'm a cop," he licked her neck, "I gotta fill my quota."

"Mmmm," she purred as she slid a hand down to his recovering penis. She rolled it in her hand, coaxing it to revive. "Abuse of the badge..."

"Sounds naughty, doesn't it?" Michael laughed.

"Very," Miranda breathed into his ear as she started stroking him.

"We still have three hours until your shift starts," Michael noted, looking at the clock on the VCR, "What are we going to do for three hours?"

Miranda kept stroking his growing shaft. "I think we should fuck each other again," she suggested thoughtfully, "And then you should fuck my tits and cum all over me again... and then I want you to eat my pussy out again. How does that sound?"

"You read my mind," he grasped her ass cheeks and pulled her tight.

Miranda grasped his cock and positioned her cunt over the head. Michael closed his eyes as she slid her sex down on to him, enveloping him. Miranda let out a soulful, lusty moan as his cock stretched her out and filled her up. She buried her face in his neck as she started riding him, licking and suckling. Michael worked his hips slowly in rhythm with hers as they humped, sweating and breathing faster and faster.

As good as Miranda was at this, and as much as he enjoyed her, Michael still felt a sad, loneliness in his heart. When he had been married, his wife Barbara had filled up that empty space. All the fucking they had done prior to falling in love was great, but when he finally told her he loved her, that was when he felt it all change. Suddenly, fucking became "making love." And that was what Michael had been used to. Making love.

He knew Miranda liked him, and he knew they shared a special bond. At least as special a bond as two fuck buddies can have. But she didn't love him, and Michael was damn sure he didn't love her. So, what he had now was what he had before Barbara. He could always have a good fuck, but in the end, he was left alone and contending with loneliness.

The phone rang suddenly, startling them.

"Let it ring, baby," Miranda moaned as she leaned back, still riding him. Her large breasts were bouncing up and down as she looked to him with her puppy dog eyes.

"I gotta get this," he grunted and reached for the phone, "But don't stop..."

"I can be quiet," she put her finger to her full lips and smiled.

Michael smiled and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Mike?" came a distinctly Italian accented voice.

"Rossetti," Michael said, "What's up?"

"We got orders from Hollins," his partner told him, "We gotta get downtown."

"Right now?"

"No, next week," Bill Rossetti quipped, "Tell Miranda to get off your rod. You got work to do."

Miranda smiled as she kept on going. "Fuck you Rossetti..."

"Tell her I heard that," he said.

Michael reached out and massaged Miranda's left breast as she rode him, "Bill says he heard that."

"Good," Miranda squeezed her pussy around Michael's cock hard, contracting the muscles as she bore down on him. Michael gasped as she fucked him harder.

"You're evil," Michael breathed.

"Man, just hurry up and get your ass moving," Rossetti groaned, "I don't need to hear you two fornicating."

"Fornicating?" Michael rubbed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Fucking, wise ass," Rossetti was getting irritated. "Meet ya there."

"No sweat," Michael nodded and hung up.

"You gotta go?" Miranda asked, her voice more than a little disappointed. She made pouting expression as she sped her rhythm up, determined not let him go that quickly. She tightened her thighs around his hips as she brought his face into her tits. Michael licked and suckled at her breasts, tweaking her nipples and making her moan. She held his shoulders tight, working for her orgasm.

"Yeah," Michael said in between licks, "Chief has something... for us downtown... somewhere."

"Nice," she tilted her head back, feeling the hot sensation of her orgasm building up deep inside her sex. She felt a chill spread out across her body as her nipples went rock hard. She pounded her cunt down on his stony cock, their skin slapping together wetly and echoing in the quiet room. Michael raised his hips and locked himself into position, getting read for her climax. He could feel her juices trickling down his balls and to his ass as she rode him.

"Yes baby," she whimpered, "Yes..."

Michael braced himself as his own orgasm suddenly began to swell. He fought a losing battle for as long as he could before he finally gave in. Michael gritted his teeth as he shot his load deep into her pussy where he hoped the contraceptive she had placed there would prevent any little miracles from happening. Miranda screamed as she came hard, hot fluid squirting out of her pussy and onto Michael. They both collapsed in a tired, sweaty heap of spent flesh.

"You are so good," she huffed into his neck.

"Not as good as you," he smiled, hugging her.

Miranda dismounted and stood up. She grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table and wiped her vagina clean. She smiled at Michael, "I'm leaking spunk."

"That's my fault," Michael said and shuffled to the bathroom.

He flipped on the light and turned the shower on. Hot water streamed and sprayed from the nozzle, spattering the white stall with its artificial rain. Michael sighed and grabbed a towel from the cabinet. He scratched his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror. The faint beginnings of dark circles under his blue eyes were forming. Stubble peppered his rugged face betraying his professional appearance. He looked worn out and tired. Michael shook his head as he realized at thirty-eight years old he looked like he was fifty-eight and felt like he was seventy-eight.

Michael opened the medicine cabinet and looked at the small orange prescription bottle of morphine tablets next to his aspirin. The small white pills sat there in their bottle, waiting to be used. He could already see the reasoning to take a few of them, to just pop a few back and let that empty place in his soul be filled for a few minutes. Just let that sweet morphine dull the pain to ghostly throb. He'd been filling his soul with this temporary fix for years now, and he never seemed to get anywhere with it in the end. He'd realized that fact two weeks ago and hadn't touched the bottle of morphine since.

Despite himself, he reached out and grabbed the bottle, shaking the pills inside. The sound of the pills bouncing against the plastic only tempted him further as he placed his thumb on the lid.

Two weeks. He hadn't touched the shit in two long weeks.

But God, how he wanted to.

"You know those will kill you eventually," Miranda said softly from the doorway, startling him. He almost dropped the bottle.

"I know," he nodded, gazing at the drug.

Miranda hugged him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder, "Mike, what happened to you?"

Michael was seized with the sudden urge to yell at her, to summon all his indignation at her blunt and personal question. It had become second nature to defend his habit, or deny it to whoever was questioning him. She was implying something was wrong with him? Bullshit! He wanted to argue with her, to make her believe as he had so many others that there was nothing wrong with him. He had a thousand excuses and arguments to prove his innocence, and he knew every one of them by heart.

In the end though, he raised a helpless eyebrow and shook his head. "I don't know."

"How long has it been?" she whispered.

"Two weeks," Michael nodded and licked his lips.

"Could've fooled me," she laughed, "You don't look like you're going through withdrawals."

"I am," Michael said and raised his hand. It was shaking, small tremors causing the muscles to spasm.

Miranda gently took his hand in hers and held it to his chest. "You're a good cop, Mike. A damn good cop, and everyone knows it. Everyone but you."

Michael only looked at the bottle in his free hand.

"You lost you wife and son over this shit," she said, "You want to lose everything else too?"

Michael put the bottle back in the cabinet and closed the door. "No," he said finally.

"Maybe you should through it away?" Miranda suggested.

Michael considered that for a moment. How many times had tried to do just that. How many times had he grabbed that goddam bottle, squeezed it in his hand with all his strength and held it over the trashcan? Or out the window? Or over the sink? How many times had he done just that, come to the point of no return and then stepped back, unable to let go?

"I can't yet," he said simply, "I just can't yet, Miranda. I want to... but I need time."

Miranda smiled sympathetically, but could not hide her disappointment. She kissed him on the back of the neck and ran her hands over his naked body. Her breasts were full and comforting pressed against his bare back and yet he could already feel the loneliness picking at him. Michael was beginning to understand that it would always be this way for him. He would always be just this close to a person, but no more. The bullshit in his life would always keep him close enough to look and even touch sometimes, but to keep? No, you couldn't keep anything if you feared everything. It wasn't his regret over losing Barbara and his son, or the pain of his rapidly dwindling career. It was his fear.

Both he and Miranda knew this, and maybe that's why they both couldn't let themselves go any further than just fucking. No dating, no romance, no love and no future. Just fucking.

"Get showered," Miranda told him and squeezed his hand gently, "Go save the world."

Michael smiled and motioned to the steaming shower, "You want in?"

"Nah, I'll shower at home," she declined, "I only live a block away. Besides, we get in there together and you'll be late for work."

Michael turned and kissed her, "When do you want to meet up again?"

Miranda shrugged. "You tell me."

"I'll call you," he replied.

"You better," Miranda pinched his ass, "I work for the police and I know where you live."

***

Lydia woke an hour later, her eyes dry and irritated. There was a light drizzle in the air, the mist curling in and out of the cracks of the city. From the fifth story fire escape that she rested on, Lydia could survey much of the alley below and the street beyond. She knew it was a little past two in the morning as she rolled onto her side, her brilliant blue eyes casually looking over to the building across from her. Among the many "gifts" she had received upon being turned, an internal clock was of the smallest and yet most vital. A vampire's life depended on knowing when the sun was going to rise, and over the centuries she suspected that their keen sense of time was an evolutionary adaptation acquired at a terrible price.

In the window across the way, a light went on revealing a happy couple returning home from a date. She could smell alcohol on both of them even from here, and their desire for each other was almost tangible as they stumbled in the door. The man had his hand up his date's skirt, revealing her round buttocks and g-string as they kissed and grinded on each other.

Lydia stood up, leaning against the railing as she took out a pack of cigarettes. She gripped one of the Camel Lights with her lips and pulled it from the box. With a flip of her silver Zippo lighter it was smoldering. The closing of the lighter cap clicked and echoed through the alley's wet, trash cluttered walls. She dragged deeply on the cigarette, letting the smoke permeate her lungs and then releasing it gently through her nose.

Another perk to being a vampire, she thought, is being able to regenerate sick, wounded or dead parts of the body, even cancerous cells.

The couple fumbled their way into the bedroom, turning on the bedside lamp as the woman let her blonde hair fall loose at her shoulders. The man waited eagerly on the bed as she pulled down the straps of her dress and exposed her breasts to him. Lydia could sense his lust for her as she continued to undress, but despite the evidence to the contrary, the woman seemed a little ambiguous. The blonde woman was exceptionally beautiful, her breasts small but firm, her stomach tight and muscular. The man, by comparison must have been ten years older than her and slightly paunchy. He reminded Lydia of a homely John Travolta as he took his shirt off.

The blonde pulled his pants off and yanked his underwear down, revealing what had to be a five to six inch cock. Lydia supposed that wasn't bad, but it wasn't much to ride either. Her thoughts drifted to Steve, the man she had fed on just six hours ago. He had been a prime specimen, with a thick eight-inch cock that had filled her up so completely. His body had been toned and his blood was pure. It was virgin, unspoiled by another woman and completely free of any drugs or diseases. He was a rare find indeed.

She remembered in his final moments of life, before she had plunged her fangs into his so deeply that she scratched the vertebrae, he had professed his love for her. It had caught her off guard and surprised her. His words were misguided and based on a lie, a lie that she had planted in his head. She had made him believe that she was his beloved girlfriend, a lover with which he could not live without.

She had killed many men over the years, and she had never felt guilt over tricking them or misleading them because she picked bad men. She hunted men who beat their wives, raped, murdered and molested. She had found a righteous purpose in her unwanted new life, and when she hunted those pricks it helped ease the pain of the truth. It eased the fact that no matter what she did, no matter what the act of atonement was, she was a killer. Because her womb was now as dead as anyone she had ever loved before the turning, she could only take life and never give it back.

So she hunted the darkness of the world, again seeking comfort from the truth about herself.

But Steve had been different. She had sex with him, for the first time in a hundred years, and let herself feel emotions again that she had long since buried. Steve's love had not only reminded her of the past, but also intensified her guilt and loathing over what she was. In that moment of hesitation, as she felt him orgasm inside her and relished the sensation of feeling something hot touch her frozen insides, she considered sparing him. She wanted to turn her back on this life and be with him. She was desperate to the live the lie she had created in order to lure him to the kill. The hopes she thought she had exercised from herself long ago revenged upon her. He was what she had wanted all her life and now that she had found it, there was no way to ever have it. And in her frustration, she gave into the thirst and killed him.

"A killer," she whispered, a curl of smoke passing over her shoulder and into infinity.

A scream from across the alley caught her attention, bringing her back to reality. The blonde woman had apparently changed her mind about the Travolta-look-alike as she writhed on the bed, pulling at the leather restraints that bound her hands together and to the bedposts. Her feet were tied up as well, and all she could do was arch her naked body and scream into the sock he had used to gag her with.

The woman's fear was genuine and overpowering. Lydia shut her mind off to it as her own hands began to tremble. Sometimes, when she left herself open too long to the feelings of others, those feelings could pass to her like lightning on water. Lydia exercised the fear from her body, breathing deeply and standing up straight.

Her knuckles cracked as she looked into the man's mind, opening up a world of twisted sadism beyond what any human could call sexual gratification. He intended to kill her, but not before fucking her for the next two days and torturing her to his black heart's content.

The man looked nervously out the window, and looked directly at Lydia. She clouded his mind and he simply did not see her, standing on the fire escape staring at him, her blue eyes beginning to glow furiously. He yanked the drapes shut. Lydia took another drag on her smoke and flipped the butt into the alley below. She walked off the fire escape and levitated over to the window, her black overcoat billowing in the early morning breeze.