Like Loving the Dead - Peter Steele

Drunk in Paris

A/N: I've been planning this fic for a really long time. It didn't come out exactly as I wanted, but still I'm glad to be getting back into the swing of things. This is partially inspired by templeotslavegarden 's fic Blood & Fire! Sadly I do not own Peter Steele. His memory lives in my heart. Happy birthday, you beautiful behemoth!

Peter waited anxiously at the gate at the airport. It'd been over a month since he had seen her last. He had left to tour Europe and their last words to each other were in anger and frustration. The memory had left him with heavy heart and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"This is why I don't date musicians," She said before she stormed away from him, echoing a sentiment she held since the first night he met her at The Odeon in Cleveland, Ohio.

Despite his best efforts the only words he could seem to pull from those pale pink lips of hers were that she didn't date musicians. Still, he didn't give up, and eventually he convinced her to change her mind and to give him a chance.

He didn't know what it was about her that drove him wild, really. She was just so different compared to the goth groupies that haunted his shows and would line up outside his dressing room door in their fishnets, vinyl dresses, and painted black locks. This girl was different. Her fair skin was like cream, but she didn't embellish it with make-up, and her vibrant red hair fell in loose waves down along her back. She was very pretty in a girl next door type of way. Not like a groupie at all.

Despite the fact he managed to change her mind and give him a chance, it never really felt like she was really his. There was always something in the way, almost like she was haunted by a memory that left part of her closed off from him, a memory that haunted her seafoam eyes.

Peter watched as passengers exited the gate, looking for her familiar ginger locks. As the crowd dispersing from the gate thinned he felt a lump in his throat and began to lose hope. Maybe she wasn't coming after all. Maybe she was still mad.

He didn't even remember what they were fighting about.

A sigh escaped his lips as he began to turn away when out of the corner of his eye he saw her coming out the gate. Her ruby locks were tied up in a high pony tail. She wore an army green jacket over a form fitting black v-neck shirt, jeans, and a pair of black biker boots. Her eyes locked with his as she approached him, squaring her jaw as her icy gaze held his.

"My angel," He whispered as she stood before him looking up at him. He towered over her and he stroked her porcelain cheek with the tips of his fingers. She closed her eyes at his touch and inhaled. She dropped her bag as he pulled her up into his arms, lifting her effortlessly like a doll as he clutched her against his chest.

"Behemoth," She murmured back and he gave a chuckle. It was a decidedly good sign she chose to address him by the nickname she had bestowed upon him.

He set her down again and cupped her cheek with his hand again, running his thumb along her pink bottom lip before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He felt as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he wanted to pull her up in his arms again, but he resisted the urge. He had a plan for their reunion and he didn't want to mess things up by being too hasty. He broke their kiss and grabbed up her bag for her before rising to full towering height.

"Come, Angel," He said as he took her hand and lead the way toward the exit of the airport. They grabbed a cab and headed back to Peter's hotel room so she could freshen up.

She disappeared into the bathroom and showered as Peter sat on the bed and waited anxiously. He wanted to get into the hot steam with her, but he waited. He wanted things to be perfect and go according to plan. He had taken the time to set things up before he went to meet her at the airport and hoped to himself that everything would be just the way he had left it.