Tarantino's Son

Waking up in His Bed

The first glimpses of dawn slipped through the blinds as I groaned, covering my eyes as I shifted. My body felt sore and tender, my hips almost bruised. Pouting, I rolled over. Suddenly I stiffened, aware of the taunt muscular hands roped around my waist, clutching me to his bare olive chest.

Mikhail.

Shit, last night. His rough lips upon mine, grinding me into the bathroom wall as my crescent shaped nails dug into his back possessively. I blinked back the vision of his lips, stopping myself before I dreamt up anything else, as I slowly removed his surprisingly warm hands from around my waist. He groaned, rolling over as I slid onto the edge of the bed. I picked up my bra from beneath the pile of my discard clothes on the floorboards. Quietly I fastened it, letting my cold hands graze against the skin of my back. Shivering I pulled my hoodie over my shoulders, not bothering with my t-shirt. Digging my hands into my pockets searching for a cigarette.

Damn, not even one. I cursed under my breath, my temples tingling in pain, as my eyes searched the room trying to remember if he smoked or not. I opened the first drawer of his bureau, condoms and spearmint gum. I rolled my eyes in amusement. Boys were so predictable. I opened the second drawer.

Black Diesel boxers, a small bottle of Calvin Klein cologne, and a short pack of Camels nestled in between it all. I rolled my eyes again, of course he smoked Camels.

Grabbing my lighter out of my left pocket, I lit up.

The pain in my temples subsided almost instantly as I leaned back against the burnt taupe bed frame. My eyes fell on Mikhail.

The first streaks of sunlight fell across his lips as he lay languidly midst the messy sheets, the black vines from his bare back reflecting against the light. Dipping and twisting, they spiralled from his shoulders, falling like chains as they roped around the charcoal angel drawn into the length of his bare skin. Like steel anchors, the black vines tangled around encasing the body of the angel, roping into his angular ribs and cutting into his wings. His lips parted slightly in a haze, pain diluting his compelling taupe eyes.

Beautiful..

Unconsciously I traced a finger down the olive skin of his back. I stiffened, my finger ceasing, falling to my side. My cigarette smouldered in my hand. Yet despite this, I remained paralyzed as my eyes traced over his back.

Over his scars.

Concealed to the unsuspecting eye, they lay hidden under his tattoo yet as my finger had traced his skin, the unevenness in the skin had become apparent. Slashes upon slashes of unhealed flesh grotesquely encircling the heavily muscled ridges of his shoulders. Raw upon raw, they fell; falling like the angel's wings, himself and finally dipping into the small of his back beneath the silk sheets.

The tattoo must have been painful to have been drawn on such tender skin, I thought as I pressed my cold lips together, my body still immobile.

I sucked in a breath, slowly bringing the smouldering cigarette to my lips as I drew back the taints that rattled my trembling hands. A tenderness grasped my throat, choking me as I thought of the inflictions that had been invoked upon him as my hand rose up to to trace the lines of his shoulders.

He looked so peaceful, wrapped in a slumber of innocence as his chest rose up and down. His lips were parted, such like the angel as his dark eyelashes fell low hiding the speckled embers of his eyes. They had seemed to glow in the light of the bar, growing darker as our lips tangled in the darkness. My cheeks, blushed as I remembered our kisses, and I wiped at the redness mentally shouting at it to disappear.

The kisses were rough and possessive, both of us fighting for control yet midst it all I had felt vulnerability, both his and mine.

Bliss had vexed us, binding us together as his hands had straddled my hips, pressing my against him as I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt.

In his kisses, it was apparent as he held me tightly to his chest that he wouldn't let go and yet I hadn't wanted him to let go.

There was something that made me cling to him .. something that made me want to hold on, yet.. nothing, there was nothing, but a night of alcohol filled kisses and bad bourbon.

Standing up, I dropped my cigarette stamping it into the floorboards and with the point of my toe, I pushed the remains under the bed. Turning around, I pulled on my jeans, buttoning them and slipping them over my thin hips. I slipped on my boots, and shoved my t-shirt into my back pocket.

Dressed, I turned around to face him.

My eyes wandered over his sleeping form, the covers tucked thinly over his muscular frame and the restless black wisps of bed head tucked under his pillow.

My eyes fell to the fire escape and then back to him. Unnervingly I relented, as I quietly tiptoed to his bedside and kissed him, hard on his lips. His lips were warm and soft, and for a moment I succumbed to the bliss of them against mine, before I pulled away.

Throwing open the window, I hurled my legs over the side, landing hard onto the fire escape and with the heat of his lips still alit on mine, I faded into the night..