deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 72: the mysterious man

"heard your boyfriend was away this weekend,
wanna meet at my place?
heard that we both got nothing to do:
when i lay in bed, i touch myself and think of you."
-"sexxx dreams", lady gaga

(finally putting up a mild smut warning)
That night, just prior to bedtime, Sam thought about Alex. That grave look on his face, one that was even more grave than before. He was so hard on himself and so stern that she yearned to find something within him. Something within there, something behind that cool demeanor.
His heart encased in stone and those deep eyes as they gazed back at her from nothing. There had to be something there, especially since he was still so young, and only a few years younger than her. If they ever had another meeting with each other at any given point in the future, there had to be a moment alone with him. There had to be a way to get alone with him and figure out more about him.
There came a point in which Sam did sit across from him, but they weren't alone. There had to be another way into him. There had to be something more and a better way with him.
Sam sighed through her nose and rolled over onto her back in that bed closest to the wall: the water ran through the pipes as Zelda took her well earned shower.
She closed her eyes and pictured that show on the backs of her eyelids. The way in which Zelda just raged forward on those drums: that as well as Minerva's guitar solo were the only things she could pay attention to during their set, and such that she could hardly pay attention to what the lyrics of that song were. The way her arms moved about and she tapped on the big splash cymbals as if they were bells.
She pictured Cliff next to her all the while: Greg stood there next to her, and yet she pictured Cliff right there instead. Her fingers itched for the feel of his body against her: she was beginning to forget the feel of his body next to her. They were coming up on a year without Cliff and her fingers lacked that extra tingle for his body. She was forgetting him.
The sound of the pipes in the wall behaved as a bit of white noise. She kept her fingers on the edge of the comforter and the bedsheet: she yearned to feel something soft and warm next to her.
Joey entered her mind right then: those black curls down over his shoulders and onto his chest. He lay flat on his back on the bed next to her: he kept his hands rested upon his chest. He gazed up at her with his eyelids hooded a bit, but enough to make it look as though his pupils were dilated, and dilated all for her.
His dark lips turned upward into a sensual smile.
She leaned in closer to him for a caress upon his lips, but she stopped herself right over his face.
No way. He need not be seen like that to her. She shook her head a bit and she opened her eyes: Minerva was talking to Morgan about something in a quiet voice. The pipes still ran in the wall next to her.
She closed her eyes again, and that time she found herself on a stretch of green grass as far as she could see. Next to her was a low rising hill; to her left stood a low depression which stretched into a low valley. Over her head stood a tapestry of pure blue sky: not a cloud to be found, but the sun hung high over her head.
On the hill side, she spotted him laying flat on his back with his gaze pointed up towards the sky. His pale skin appeared more pale within the bright sunlight; she strode over to him and she could make out the slim shape of his body. He had closed his eyes so his face resembled to a ceramic mask: the smooth skin, as smooth as bone china: the streak upon his head was the same shade of white as well, and it seemed to shimmer and shine under the bright light. He lay on the ground next to her with his arms stretched out before him. He rolled his head over the grass and he tucked his hands underneath his black curls: the hem of his shirt lifted up to reveal a little bit of his smooth flat stomach.
He had such a soft sweet look on his round face: his lips were parted a little bit. The mysterious man and yet he never looked more handsome to her: the shape of his face was much softer than usual.
"Well, aren't you just beautiful," she said to him.
He gave his hair a little toss even though there was no hair on his face: he showed off that smooth on his throat and underneath his chin. She sank down next to him and she propped herself up on her left elbow.
"Aren't you just beautiful," she whispered to him.
"Takes one to know one," he whispered back to her; his voice was big and clear, much like Alex's voice. Indeed, with each and every time in which he blinked his eyes, they deepened within his skull and they brightened into something as bright as day. She rested a hand on the side of his face and moved in closer to him. He was soft and delicate with the feeling of the sun about him: as soft and delicate as ever.
Sam lowered her gaze to his neck and the little Star of David about his neck. It was him.
"You are Alex," she whispered to him.
"I dunno 'bout that," he said with a flutter of those big eyelashes and a shake of his head.
"But you are!" she insisted as she stroked the side of his face more. "You've got that little streak on the forehead, too. You're Alex. You are him."
She lingered over his face so the shadows washed over his deep eyes. Very fine and soft and she wanted to touch him. To better touch him.
"You are just—really beautiful," she repeated to him. He moved his head about the grass a little bit. She moved in closer to his face and she pressed her lips onto his.
He was as light and soft as a feather: his slender little body welcomed her home. She had never seen him this boyish and this sweet before.
Her other hand on the other side of his face and she slipped her tongue inside of his mouth. She couldn't smell him or feel his warmth, but she could feel the gentleness of his body. She was positive that it was him, that she had crawled up onto his body and she touched him and felt him up.
"You are the man of my dreams," Sam whispered at one point. Something right in between her legs. She looked down and he had slipped his fingers right underneath her skirt; she turned her attention back to his face and the sensual look in his eyes. He wanted more of it.
She set her hands on either side of his head and she gazed right into his face.
"You want some more lovin', baby?" she whispered to him.
"You tell me," Alex retorted, and he pushed her off of him. Sam landed on her back, right on the grass, and he climbed on top of her. His black curls dangled down to her face and her chest: the buttons on his shirt had popped open and revealed his chest to her. The stripe on his head hung down over his brow like a rabbit's foot, a white silvery rabbit's foot. He brought his face closer to her and he closed his eyelids even more.
She had never seen him so sensual and gorgeous before. He gave his long hair a toss back with a flick of his head and he showed her his neck.
"Oh, my god, you sexy man," she whispered to him. His tongue slithered out from his mouth as he moved in closer to her.
"Let me guide your way," he said in a husky voice, right into her face.
"Make love to me," she begged him. "I wanna draw you—let me draw you!"
"Do it," he whispered to her as he pushed up her skirt.
"Do it—" she echoed him; she could feel his fingers between her legs. They were cold but strangely smooth despite his being a guitar player. Sam closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as he fingered her. She could hear him breathing harder right in front of her face.
She needed to draw him. She needed to finish that drawing of him in her journal. But she needed him to finish her.
Sam jarred herself awake and she gazed up at the dark ceiling. Rosita had climbed into the bed, right there next to her and rolled over onto her side. Back in the hotel bed there on the edge of Central Park: Zelda lay there on the floor, complete with a soft smell of soap in her short bob of black hair as it floated up there. Minerva and Morgan were in the next bed over from them.
Sam lay her head back down on the pillow. The first time she had had an erotic dream about someone and of course it had to be the mysterious man in her dreams, and the mysterious man had to transform into Alex. So strange and alien that it made her heart hammer inside of her chest. She let out a low whistle so as to calm herself down: her body had contracted a bit from the feeling, but she stretched out her legs before her to rid of the tense feeling in her muscles.
She nestled the back of her head further into the pillow. She closed her eyes again and she sighed through her nose.
She drifted off again, and that time around, she found herself in a big vacant bright lit theater. She spotted him by the stage, right by the edge there. He sat there on the edge of the stage with a cherry red guitar cradled upon his lap.
Alex sat there on the edge of the stage and he played a wandering melody for her as she walked closer to him. He crossed his legs underneath the guitar as he painted her a vast mural of beautiful music. When she came closer to him, she sashayed her hips a little bit for him so he could have a look at her.
Indeed, when she had reached the third aisle away from him, he raised his gaze to her and showed her a sweet little smile. His black curls still sprawled down his shoulders and a little bit onto his shoulders. She rested a hand on the lower part of his leg, so slender and shapely at the same time: she lowered her gaze to right in between his legs, right underneath his guitar; he was somewhat fuller right there.
"I can see your erection for me," she said to him, and he raised his head enough so the light from the window next to him washed over his boyish face.
"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't ya," he teased her as he plucked the strings a bit more in a staccato form. The way in which he played made the colors around him swirl into a series of tight spirals. She showed her his tongue and she fluttered his eyelashes a little bit to him.
"Come here," she commanded him.
"I'd have to get down, though," he pointed out.
"Come down then," she insisted.
He stopped playing right then and he lay it on the stage next to him. He opened his legs for her and he leaned back onto his hands: the bluish white light from the window next to them softened his aging face. The stripe on his head appeared bigger than before.
She looked down right in between his legs, and she set her hands onto his knees.
"Draw me and then fuck me silly?" he asked her.
"Please," she begged. "Let me get the paint brush out first, though—"
"You're my canvas, baby—let me do it."
Alex gave his black hair a toss back from his shoulders with a flick of his head and he showed her the inside of his throat once more, complete with that prominent Adam's apple there. The stripe over his brow was even brighter and more pearlescent than before: it glowed in that soft twilight as if it was made entirely of pure silver.
"C'mon, mama—" he pleaded her. "C'mon—give it to me."
"We're doin' it tantric, though," she insisted, and she reached for the button on his blue jeans. He stayed back for her and she tugged back on them: he was already fully erect for her. One hand after the other on his skin.
"Lemme paint with you," she begged him. "Let me—do it—"
That clear jelly behaved as the primer, and the actual pearl was to behave like her paint. He was her canvas for a moment.
"C'mon, you can do it better than that," he persisted. "C'mon now—"
Sam moved her head in closer to him with her mouth wide open. He tilted his head back and let out a soft moan at the feel of her mouth there. No one else in there.
"C'mon—C'mon, mama, give it to me—"
She sank her teeth right into the taut skin and he gasped and let out a satisfied groan.
"Ah, yeah, there we go," he sputtered in a broken voice.
Sam opened her eyes again and she was face to face with the wall adjacent to her. As white as what she was swallowing, but the whole room stayed dark with nightfall. Zelda coughed and sniffled, and then she yawned. Sam had no idea if she was laying wide awake for herself, but she knew she had to fall back asleep again, lest the feeling of those previous two dreams stayed with her. It was so strange and so out of the blue to dream about Alex in that fashion.
The mysterious man who had transformed into Alex. Or maybe it was him all along.
She thought about the black streak on the side of Cliff's head. She had no idea who he was, and she yearned to know more about him, more about that canvas she had painted with. She need not tell anyone about it or mention that to anyone, and she need not let her own craft merge in with that.
So much she needed to do for herself and all the thoughts came together to put her back to sleep.
She knocked on Alex's dormitory door and she hung there for a second. No one else in the hallway around her; then she knocked on the door again.
"It's open," he called out, and she bowed inside there. He lay flat on his back on his bed up against the wall, and he crossed his legs so he propped his textbook up to better read it in the dim light through his window.
He then straightened out his legs and rested his textbook upon his lap: his dark curly head rested upon the pillow. Sam gasped when she realized that his hair was a bit shorter in comparison to those long tendrils and ringlets all about his head.
"You cut your hair," she remarked.
"Yeah—I'm in the school world now," he pointed out. "You and I both."
Sam showed him a little smile and she sat down on the edge of the bed next to him: she had put on a great deal of weight for herself, as her belly spilled out onto her lap.
"You look really cute with it," she told him.
"And you look really cute with some weight, too," he told her with a raise of his eyebrows. "So—I wanna welcome you to the dorm life and to the world of school, too."
She kept the smile on her face as she leaned in closer to him.
"You lay down that book and I'll welcome you to my world," she whispered to him.
"You've gotta be a student with it all, though," he pointed out.
"So if I'm the student, would you be my teacher?" she asked him.
"Maybe," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Sam closed her eyes and inhaled a little bit of his cologne. She still couldn't smell him. He poked out his chest a little bit for her. He bowed his head so his hair could lax all around his head.
"'Cause you know—I've been a bad boy," he said to her in that soft, husky voice yet again.
"How so, baby?"
"I've been wanting you more than ever before," he confessed. He raised his head a little bit again, and that time he did it to show off that Adam's apple for her. She nibbled on her bottom lip and she brought her mouth closer to his neck for a soft kiss.
"Come and spank me," he said in a deeper version of his voice.
"Would you like your pants on or off?"
"On."
"Say that again, though," she commanded. He ran his tongue all around the rim of his mouth.
"I want you to spank me," he begged her in a mellow tone. "Please."
"Spank you or squeeze those little ass cheeks of yours?"
"Both."
He lifted himself up for her, and he rolled over onto his hands and knees. She slapped him hard such that the denim popped with every impact. His face turned as bright of red as a cherry tomato. Every thrust of her hand onto him made the blood rush to her head as well as her arm. Every thrust of her hand made the temperature rise within her.
He gave her fever.
Sam snapped awake once again, and that time she had burrowed closer to the wall once again, and the blankets had wrapped taut and snug all about her body like that of a hot dog in a croissant bun. Indeed, she lay there feeling a little warm even with the air conditioner switched on.
She rolled over onto her back and she spotted the pale morning light washed upon the ceiling overhead. A soft rumble in the distance caught her ear. The thunderstorm had lasted all night long and returned for the morning, and how appropriate for that night for her. Three erotic dreams in a row, and each of them were about Alex, or at least the mysterious man who had transformed into Alex.
She shook her head a bit so she could rid of those dreams from her memory, and yet they haunted her as she slithered out of bed and made her way into the bathroom. She switched on the light and she gazed on at herself in the reflection of the mirror. She adjusted the thick bra straps on her shoulders.
The dreams felt a little bit rushed as well, as if the two of them both had wanted nothing more than a bit of a quickie with each other. She shook her head again, and then she switched on the cold water on the faucet. She cupped her hands under the water and splashed it onto her face. She gasped and everything went rigid from that icy sensation.
Still with her eyes closed, she switched off the water and she groped around for one of those clean white towels.
When she dabbed her face dry, she lifted her gaze back into her reflection. Those dreams had vanished from memory, and she hoped they would stay away as she and Zelda made their way downstairs to the lobby for breakfast. The guys from Testament were already congregated about a table on the side of the room, right underneath a television.
And then it all clicked, especially when Sam spotted that stoic expression on Alex's face.
"That godforsaken election—so annoying to think about," he grumbled, and Sam frowned at that. He was so different from those dreams about him that she had had the night before, and she couldn't believe what she was seeing before her with him. The Alex in her dreams got down and got loose and low slung with her, but here, he hunched his shoulders and pursed his lips at the sight on the screen before him. Too serious about things. Far too serious about it all.
He needed to lighten up, too. He was getting too serious for his own good if he hadn't already.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered, and he took a sip from his coffee mug and then he set it down too hard onto the dish. A loud cracking noise caught them all off guard.
"Alex!" she scoffed, and her heart hammered away inside of her chest out of both fear and annoyance with him.
"Shit, I did that too hard," he muttered again.
"You need to lighten up!" Sam blurted out, and he raised his eyes to her. He glared at her, complete with those eyebrows knitted together.
"I need to lighten up? Is that what you said?"
"Yes!"
Eric recoiled back a bit, and then Alex nibbled on his bottom lip at her. He set his hands on the surface of the table before him and he rose to his feet. She hunkered back at bit as he rose right over her. Even between the chair and the table, he towered over her.
"First the annoying comment, and now this," he growled. Sam hunched her shoulders a bit and she swallowed. She woke up the demon in him. There was no way she could back away from him. That time Lars told her she needed to stand up, especially with the fact she had a man's name: she needed to stand her ground before him. He leaned in closer to her face: those deep eyes bore right into her own, right into the side of her mind. He smelled of coffee and cologne, but there was no way she could enjoy either of those.
"Don't—snap at me—ever again," he hissed.
"Well—you need to lighten up," she insisted, and he pursed his lips again at her.
"I don't care if you join us on tour," he continued in a curt tone of voice.
"I'm gonna be with you anyways," she said, heated.
"I don't care."
"Too fucking bad." She waved a finger right into his face, and he pushed her hand away from him.
"No," he said and she brought her finger back to his face again, and he bowed away from her. Alex ducked over to the door, away from her.
"Get back here!" she called after him; once they were outside, he skidded to a stop and that angry expression was plastered on his face.
"No!" he spat back at her. "No, get the fuck away from me."
She came to a stop right in front of him. The first time she ever heard him swear to anyone, let alone her.
"Get away from me," he growled. "Don't come anywhere near me. You hear me? Just—get away from me. If I could get you off of the fan club roster, I would in a heartbeat."
His chest heaving, he stalked away from her and towards Testament's van parked down the block near the corner. Sam was about to chase after him, upset after that comment, but then someone behind her grabbed her.
"Hey!" She whirled around.
"Leave him alone!" Zelda declared. "Sam, stop! Stop!"
"No!"
"Sam, leave him alone," Zelda insisted. "Just leave him alone. Stop poking him. Please."
Sam stopped right in her tracks and, even with Zelda right before her, complete with that concerned expression on her face, she could feel the tears burning her eyes. She barely knew Alex but his words dug under her skin a little too hard. She just wanted to reach out to him more, and yet she came on a little too hard for him. It was all her fault. She wanted to drop that barrier, to show off a little more of himself, and ultimately, to feel a little more comfortable whilst on tour and being surrounded by people all the while.
She couldn't hardly breathe and she buried her face right into Zelda's chest, and she bawled into her shirt. Zelda set her hands on her back and held her closer to her.
"I dunno what warranted this but it's okay," was all Zelda could say to her. "Everything is gonna be okay." They stood still there on the sidewalk for a few moments. Sam hoped that Alex would hear her bawling at one point, but he never came back over to them. He never came back.