A Face Made For Daylight

Locked up inside of your loops

Hey guys! This one starts out with graphic smut (and it's a long smutty scene) but it's important to show how the character became who he is. AND ALSO because vampires are sexy and I am dirty depraved demon slag. This one is focused on character growth  <3

The next chapter will be Stella, Al, Kid focused and Al will be more sassy. In this one he is tame. I promise he's only tame in the 20's and 50's.

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1957, Hollywood

The Tranquility hotel was bustling with celebrities, patrons, reporters, studio heads, and high rollers.  The painted faces congregated to celebrate the much-anticipated film premier of Arabella. 

Alistair opened the doors to the Cabaret de L'Enfer lounge.  He made sure the place was spotless and authentically accurate to the roaring 20's.  Cocktail waitresses dressed as flappers served martinis, a jazz band set behind the grand piano in the corner stage played timeless tunes to the tipsy on lookers.  The backdrop of Paris on display behind the stage, transporting the crowd to the golden days. 

It's the big night in Tinsel City.   A night to celebrate a new era in cinema, a new profit for studio heads.  Everything sparkled yet was blinded by nostalgia.  Lost memories he was hoping to revive the second she walked in and took a look around at their lost home.  He filled the place with her favourite peonies on every table, on every counter top, in every hallway.  

He wanted to remind her of his resolute eternal love for her.  All this was for Marie. 

They moved to California in the 40's, closing down the cabaret in Paris.  In the early 50's Marie got into the pictures and with her vampire compulsion, she became an overnight success.  Pictures of her and Alistair were on every newspaper.  They were the it couple.  Guessing from his accent, people knew Alistair was from the UK and that Marie was from France, but there was no evidence of their lives in Paris to draw attention to them.  When she broke up with him, Alistair remodeled the hotel lounge and drew attention from gossip magazines.  He wanted the attention.  He wanted Marie to see it, to come back to him.

Away from the crowds, muffled sounds can be heard down a corridor behind the stage.  Outside of a stage dressing room, sounds of moaning echoed against the door. A cocktail waitress in a flapper costume stood facing the dresser, moaning to the rough touch of his hand sliding between her thighs. Alistair stood behind her, his black skinny tie and suspenders brushing against her back.  His black blazer on the chair behind him, he stood handsome in his white button up shirt, with his sleeves rolled up.  His signature quiff styled sharply. 

He lifted her dress revealing her lace panties.  He looked into the mirror facing them and saw her eyes roll back as he moved the material aside and touched her aching folds, moving his fingers slowly around, spreading her.

Standing closely behind her, he leaned down to speak in her ear.  "So fucking wet for me darling." His fingers toyed with her folds spreading her wetness, coating her.

With one hand rubbing her, he brought his other hand to the front of her dress, sliding it down to expose her breasts.  He watched in the mirror, sucking on her neck as he squeezed and pulled at her breasts, brushing his fingers on her nipples.  His fingers coated with a rush of wetness.

"Fuck---Al, that feels too good."  She moaned. 

"Don't---" He leaned back to her ear, his hand leaving her breasts and moving up her neck.  He cupped her neck bringing her back into him and groaned. "—don't fucking call me that."

With one hand around her neck and the other on her heat, he forced two fingers into her hissing at how she clenched around him jerking her body forward, she moaned loudly at the feeling.   Alistair watched in the mirror, parting his lips licking them. He pushed his fingers back and forth curling them stretching her walls, feeling her push against them unable to handle the pressure, her knees buckling in the position.