* // claire

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

“Think of it as a pre-date.” A total of six shots were neatly aligned on the wooden stool, filled with umber liquor that would surely have one of them slurring by the end. Since he built up the ultimate alcohol tolerance from his days in Yale, he wasn’t too worried about the game. In fact, he easily predicted he would win. A buzz is settling in but it’s not due to the shots he’s been throwing back. No, it’s mostly being near Claire. The woman was utterly intoxicating in way that left all of his sense tingling, begging for more and more. His vision is altered and suddenly their surroundings seem nonexistent as this little world between them takes over. Truth is, it’s too distracting with her around to focus on winning anything. “Alright, I know a place not too far from here. Makes for  good burgers, I’ll drive” he offers, before looking up at her now, “if you want.” Peter slings his leather jacket over with ease, before quirking a brow as he heads for the door now watching her follow his lead.  From his peripheral view, he catches  Claire for a moment. Staring isn’t quite the word for what she does, though it does fit the very definition. Her eyes rest on him, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect is soft and curious. The lips give away her intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they mean to. Peter isn’t stupid, though. He doesn’t dare to call her out for the momentary check out and opts to put out his cigarette. Her actions do give him perspective; she’s not repulsed by him, but she is hesitant to admit any attraction. However small it maybe. So he silently vows to hold onto that look, that moment, for a rainy day.  “Lucky for you, we’ve got a nice warm limo waiting for you,” He teased. He knew what it meant, and with the way things were headed Peter was scared he’d do something rash and thus kept his hands out of grabbing distance afraid of the unknown. The old junk of metal surprisingly blew out a sufficient amount heat, enough to defrost his fingers from the bellowing brisk outside. Even on the deepest of winter days he could feel  Claire’s warmth like an old duffel coat, friendly and soft. It’s better than any man made heater, gentler than anything he’s ever known. “Any special requests?” he motions to the radio. 

“A pre-date?” she asked, a small chuckle to her words as she looked over to the blond. So would there be a real date in store for them later? Claire didn’t want to me too assumptive, so she just took it at face value and was left with a stupid grin on her lips as a prospect of where this was all leading. She’d never had too much of a romantic life. Even in college, she had only dated three men, and neither lasted more than a few months. Even in her adulthood, her head was more focused on her career, though the world seemed to be put on hold when Peter walked through the door. She knew that going somewhere with a near complete stranger was something that a woman shouldn’t do so easily, but there was something about him. Something between the both of them that made her crave more of his words and his company. More or those icy eyes looking straight into hers as they continued teasing each other from across the pool table. Her world had been so black and white, so boring in a sense, and Peter’s offer was too good to refuse. So with a nod, she set aside the pool stick and followed along as he slides that jacket on and makes his way to the door so effortlessly. Warm amber eyes take him in, entranced with how cooly he moved and spoke. It was an infatuation, but there was also more to it. “Burgers sound good,” Claire manages as she follows him outside and to that beat up truck of his. Fitting, and still endearing at the same time. The small journey to his car still managed to make Claire cold enough to walk quickly to the passenger’s side - - getting in and moving closer to the center to be near Peter as he starts the engine. “Hmm... Let’s go back to some older stuff, how do you feel about Velvet Underground?” she asks, almost melting into the seat of his car as content as ever. The air had a comforting scent to it - - then again, it made sense as it was his car. So while going somewhere with a man she’d only known for an hour wasn’t exactly the best judgment to some, Claire only wanted to spend more time with him. To know him and hear him say her name if only just once more. “So...” she started, biting down on her bottom lip as she glanced over to him in the driver’s seat. “Pre-date, huh?”

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

A cold breeze blew right through Peter’s hair  it fell loose and he bowed his head to one side. The only way to cope is to keep moving forward, keep heading toward home whatever that even meant these days.He breathes out a sharp huff, giving his eyes playful a roll. “First of all, you wish I would try something funny. Unfortunately for you, Ms. Claire, that only happens after the first date. I’m a gentlemen like that.” The bar has gained it’s typical evening crowd of young, single teens, looking for fun at the bottom of a glass and he hasn’t even noticed until now. Vast amounts of lights caused the dense mass of skyscrapers to glitter under the tar sky. Today wasn’t one of those lost days watching a rangers game and spending a ridiculous amount of money on sushi. Today felt normal, calming, like it’s something he has been doing with her forever. “Lucky you, fate was on our side we’ll whip you into shape.” Her words have a softness to them, each syllable wrapped with a subtle sweetness and laid out carefully with no clear intent behind them, and yet he knew it was anything but maliciousness. There were days he could feel the phantom pain of the jagged metal being dragged across his flesh, and today was no different, though her gentle touch made it easier to ignore. Forgetting was a different story. “Funny, they’re usually cold.” Then he did something unusual he laced his rough hands with her soft, slender fingers, feeling her warmth embrace him as he brought her palms to his lips blowing warm air. “Better?” he muses now whilst pulling back before meeting her gaze, he knew he was in trouble and dropped his hands to his side to make sure she wasn’t in grabbing distance as he put out his cigarette now. “You hungry?”

“Is this not a first date?” she teases right back, a coy grin on her face even though she knows it isn’t. God, a first date. She hadn’t been on one of those in such a long time, sometimes she wondered if she would even act right during one. It was nice to hear that he thought of himself as a gentleman though. Aside from his little move with helping her aim her pool stick, Peter hadn’t done anything that took over her personal space. Nevertheless, Claire wanted him to. The smell of his cologne mixed with the whiskey on his breath and cigarette smoke trapped in his clothes was a rare mix that she wanted pressed against her all through the night. How would his skin feel, she wondered? Like velvet, or like silk? This sort of fawning over someone she’d just met was unusual - - Claire usually keeping a level head with these things, but tonight was different. Peter was different. He must’ve been some sort of god or angel sent to this little dive bar, because no one had ever had such a quick impact on her. Deep brown eyes lock onto ice blue when he reached out to take her hand and bring them to his lips. The stubble on his face mades her chuckle just a bit as she watches him blow warm air into their palms. Something so small, yet so intimate at the same time. Just when she was about to do the same with him, he’s suddenly dropping his hands to his side and distracting her with another question. Whatever she had just felt was... something else. Something unearthly left of her mind like an impenetrable stain on her soul. Still, Claire managed to nod and keep her posture light at his question. “I could eat,” she states simply, taking a step closer ( a bold move by her accounts ), and slipping her hand back into his. “And no, not better just yet-” If he were to pull away, then she’d know where they stood. She’d know what he wanted. It was a gesture that made her heart nearly beat out of her chest, but his warm grasp felt perfect.

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

 “I don’t put words out into the universe unless I’m confident in it happening.” He shrugs in a nonchalant manner. “Whosever bed you want. You like me enough so I don’t see why not. If or when you change your mind, I’ll still be waiting like the patient person I am.” A sly sort of grin spreads upon his lips. There’s a dangerous line with mixing business with pleasure. His father always warned him that finding lust in the only resulted in tension and piss boy business. Of course the first time he told Peter this was at the reckless age of  what humans call the “teens”. Being around Claire was like when you fell from a high place in a dream, that feeling of fire in your chest and the emptiness of wanting more. Air was rushing through the ventilation ducts, and there was a faint hum of machinery from the dormant  backroom scanner. Ever so often, the lights overhead would flicker. His stomach was cramping, and Peter almost wanted to curl in on himself on the bed, trying to ignore the hunger that clawed at him. Despite all the time that had passed hunger was something Peter could barely control, even now, it was in his nature.  Forgery was a skill and a necessity. Every single night is a hunt out on the streets and every morning there’s a new body lying face down in an alleyway. “Don’t we all,” he mutter nows. “Who taught you how to play anyways? You’re tragic,” He muses with a bright smile, before placing his hand over hers, “Alright lower yourself a little more,” He says directing her before patting the small of her back, “hold it at a slight 90 degree angle,” Peter shifts her elbow just a tad before releasing his grip, “and shoot, but not with too much force.” As she does he watches the balls click sending the other flying into the hole and he smiled impressed, “that wasn’t so hard, hm?”

“So, you’re confident that you’ll be in one of our beds tonight?” she teased, though secretly hoping that it would be her own. It had been months since she’s woken up to the sensation of another’s arms wrapped around her. Peter smelled of cigarettes and whiskey, though there was no sweeter scent in the moment. His lips were as heart-stopping as his eyes, though they did equally well in tempting her. A smirk spread across her lips at his admittance of his patience, although something told Claire that he was anything but. A man like him must have been used to getting what he wanted from women in record time. The only thing holding her back from bridging the gap between their lips was the thought that he was a regular in this game. With a face like that, he must’ve gotten around an impossible amount of times, and Claire didn’t want to be another one of his victims. She didn’t want another one night stand that would only give her temporary pleasure, but then again, that was starting to sound better and better. However, she didn’t want her hopes to be pulled up to the heavens before crashing down to earth once again whenever he left her side. But how perfect would he feel beside her in between plush sheets shielding them from the cold air? His hot breath against his neck and her hands on his chest while they warmed each other up. Claire cleared her throat, taking her mind off such imaginative scenarios as she eyes the pool balls scattered about on the green felt. A hard shot, and she knew that. She turned to look at Peter when he began to tease her yet again, a playful glare on her face just before he’s setting his hand right above hers with his other sliding down to her lower back. It took everything to not give up her position to look up at him, but Claire stayed still as he positioned everything from her hand placement to her elbow. After a small breath, she took her shot and watched as the balls clacked and landed inside the opposite pocket. Turning to face him, she gave Peter a nod and a half-grin, eyes glued on his before looking back to the game at hand. “Not hard at all... You’re a good teacher,” the brunette grinned, leaning against the edge of the table. “And I’m jealous of how warm your hands are...” Something that might tell him that she wanted more. She wanted to feel his hands languidly stroking her skin - - his warmth spreading all over her in the stillness of the night. It was far too forward to even think of such things, but no one had ever captivated her as much as he had in the hour they’ve been talking. 

[clairecoxton]

This couldn’t have been happening. Claire refused to believe it, and yet, the girl had expected this sort of thing from a guy she met on tinder. Tinder of all places. Claire stayed perched upon a bar stool at the little dive that herself and someone named Chris had agreed upon, and yet it had been an hour and he’d yet to show. No call, no texts back, nothing. Luckily, she hadn’t told the bartender that she was meeting anyone there - she doubted that she would be able to take the pity if he knew she’s just been stood up. So instead, she sips on her vodka soda and occupies herself with her phone, scrolling idly through twitter while as she took her time finishing up. There was plenty to do on a Saturday night, and yet she feels hers had already been wasted. The night would likely consist of Postmates and leftover alcohol she had around her apartment as to get her mind off of how embarrassed she was at the moment. That specific bar was quite busy with groups of friends and couples chatting about, yet she remained there at the bar. Eyes looked upward towards the door when the bell above it announced a new customer, and her gaze lingered just a moment at the man before shifting her attention back to her phone. God, he was handsome. However, she couldn’t bring herself to even try to shoot her shot his way. Not after her date was a no show. She finished half her drink by now as she slipped her phone back into her pocket, eyes traveling row by row down that wall of liquor behind the bartender. Maybe it was alright to be alone… But this? This was a slap in the face.

[peteralcaeus]

“I hope you’re prepared to lose, I’m not going easy on ya’ sweets” shrugged Peter as he walked around the billiard, swiftly racking up the balls. Leaning in he took a shot, the number eight-ball fell right into the right pocket. Through the dimly lit room, he sent a smug smile in her direction. Claire and Peter go at it for what feels like forever, he watches the ball swirl into the hole each time and only laughs in amusement when Claire gives him smug looks. “Don’t feel too bad, some people are simply better than others” He teases whilst blowing a puff of smoke.  When he heard that harmonic laughter, it automatically shifted the rhythm of his heart beat. Her laughter reaches to those cat-like eyes that relaxed in joy and unrestrained mirth. The mere sound of that laugh, those giggles, was enough to transport him far away from the worries of this modern life. Peter has been around the block a couple of times, but he’s never been this enamoured with anyone like this before. Now it’s just a waiting game. He lifts the glass to his mouth, hiding a smile that dissolves into the bitter liquid. The game is heating up while the insults are being fired at a mile a minutes. It’s all playful, though, and he doesn’t mind throwing back a few shots after such a long day. When she leans in to take another hit two 8-balls fall in effortlessly, making him wince slightly in response. That was a good fucking shot. His fingers wrap around another shot glass as he downs another one and slides it back onto the bar. “See, girls like you are trouble.I’m not a light weight, Claire,” A amused little grin breaks into his features, “Although I can definitely be one if you want to tuck me into bed after this.” He’s sure to quickly add in.

[clairecoxton]

Men like him were dangerous. Alluring in a way that Claire couldn’t turn away from, and she thirsted to know more of him. His teasing set flames that she didn’t even know existed, and his rough exterior fanned them further on. <i>Some people are simply better than others</i>. Maybe she should have been offended by that, but all she could do was laugh at his sweet aggressions which meant no harm. It was a way of flirting that was unknown to the girl who had considered gentle glances and warm smiles as a first move. Peter wasn’t her type. He was a new experience all together, and while it have been mere minutes since meeting, she knew that she was caught in whatever web he’d spun to entrap unsuspecting victims. The cloud of smoke that seeped past his lips flowed beneath dim bar lights, and she allowed herself just a moment of stillness in adoration of the vision before herself. Maybe it was that same vision that emboldened her to shoot those two solid balls fall into the pockets - - an act that she herself wasn’t even aware was possible with her capabilities. But that look on his face was one that made her chest swell with a bit of pride. Grasp finds a shot glass as he does, knocking back the stinging liquid with him before returning to their game with a grin. Leaning against the deep mahogany details of the table, she looks up at Peter with stick in hand and smile on her lips. She’s about to respond, though his little addition to his confession has a glow of red rise to her cheeks. Did she want to tuck him in? Absolutely. To see Peter in her bed, to worship him so completely was something that she knew would bring her the greatest pleasure. For her bed had been a cold, empty pile of grey sheets facing even gloomier windows. “Whose bed are were talking about here?” she shoots back in a tease, fingers running through deep brown waves to push them away from her face. “Though I quite like you when you’re conscious...”

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

There were times when he left the syringe in his arm, the warmth of the smack wrapped around him eased his mind, it called his name and beckoned him to relax and learn to love again. To smile without hurting and to lay back and not be plagued with dreams of the fire that consumed Peter:  would wake him up in a clammy sweat. “Boxing. To answer your question about what I do. I box” There was no Alcaeus family without his father-  planets can only stay aligned with a sun to bind them. Peter suddenly found himself on his own, fatherless, banned from the land that had grown him. Nothing defined him except a boundless grief, a grief so deep it became hate, and he plunged into it willingly, the blackness the only thing that made sense. He would have drowned in a matter of months, was well on his way to it and yet he finds himself here. He couldn’t fathom how a girl like that didn’t have someone wrapped around her finger. Peter knew he was treading on dangerous waters, but he couldn’t help himself. “Life’s funny that way, you think your going one way but end up somewhere completely off the grid.” He hummed quietly now whilst downing another shot before maneuvering across the room to the pool table. People liked pretty things. People even liked pretty things that wanted to kill and eat them. And right now, in the bar with her  fiddling with a pool stick was about the prettiest thing around. “Ladies first, show us what you got.” He muses now, motioning to the table. He’s going to crash and burn, it felt bigger then both of them he wasn’t sure what it was but Peter felt something there between the two that hadn’t even started.There were signs. Probably more of them than he ever caught, even after the fact. But he missed them all. Maybe because he wasn’t looking for them. Peter lights the cigarette placed between his lips, feeling the burn seep down his throat.   He was too busy checking over his shoulder at the fire he’d just come through to pay much attention to the thousand-foot cliff looming in front of him. That was Claire.

Boxing. That made sense. Peter certainly was built like a boxer, and she supposed that his demeanor was right in line. She’d never met one before, but she could understand how he had so many fans. The man must’ve had women begging for one single night with him, and there Claire was - - lucky enough to have his attention if only for just an hour longer. Lithe fingers acquired a pool stick and she stalked to one end of the table opposite of where the balls were set up. It’s been years, but it had to be muscle memory at this point. Deep caramel gaze tried focusing on the white ball before her, but those eyes continued to distract her like no other. To hell with pool, Claire wanted to find some isolated spot and hear that low rasp of a voice speak to her throughout the entire night. It was hard to believe that they had only just met minutes ago, but Claire had always been more smitten that what was good for her when it came to potential relationships. Peter was not a man who exuded relationship material, but it was nice to have someone to feel this small spark of interest about. “I feel like I’ve been off the grid for a while now. It’s easy to get lost with how many people there are here.” They were just another face in the sea of individuals searching for meaning in life. A depressing thought, but Claire still hadn’t found such motivation. The girl lined up her stick and made her first shot - - the clatter of resin scattering about and even getting a stripe in. Lips stretched in a pleased grin before she stood up straight and looked at her new opponent who now harboured a trail of smoke leaving those pale pink lips she was starting to so desperately crave. A certain heat was rising to her cheeks and chest which was no doubt attributed to those vodka sodas, but she enjoyed the warmth and the courage it provided when it came down to facing someone as magnetic as Peter. “Your go, right?” she asked, still unclear of the rules of the game. 

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​

Peter forgets what its like to love, where one would fold carefully into one another, arms encircling each other and foreheads pressed together to seal the deal. He’s spent his life hunting for so long he doesn’t recall the warmth touch of a lover. He looks at Claire now, her hair billowed in the breeze. Each strand like a separate, shining ray of the sun. It glistened and danced in the breeze, shining like gold. Her eyes, they were like the leaves in a forest with the sun shining through. “Lawyers job is like doing the Devil’s work, theres a reason they say that y’know” he chuckled in amusement. She curved in an hour glass figure, and was tall and slim - she was pretty as if it was strange to be in the presence of another human being, having a conversation in a bar. Despite the heaviness in his stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her learning forward towards him. “He wonders what its like to get a taste of those lips, as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. All he’s ever known throughout his life is pain and disappointment. There’s no avoiding it or stopping it once it begins in record time to wreck a good moment. “You’re not the only one who misses me. I have a lot of fans around the globe.” Peter tried to break out of the cycle, but at the end of the day, it was engraved in his DNA to replicate such cruel behaviours.  The monster was clawing its way out, thats the thing he’s come to learn  when playing with ones food; once you find a weak spot, if you pushed hard enough anyone would sing like a canary and succumb to his charms. “How about a friendly game of pool, what do you say sweetheart?”

He seemed so intimidating at first glance. Built and rugged with a voice that could kill, but there was no denying his attractiveness. He shone far brighter than anyone else in the bar, and for some reason he chose her to talk with. Life had been kind to Claire, but not kind enough to satiate her dreams of finding a lover to hold her through the night. Maybe the world would feel less lonely, and her mind would reject those anxious thoughts of her if she had someone by her side. But love was a hard thing to find in such a dark place. The city was built on broken promises. There were so many faces that Claire assumed people would get tired of mundanity and move to the next person to catch their eye. But then again, that was just all due to her past experiences in relationships. She had finished her drink that she swore would be her last, but Claire knew that the night had just began with Peter. Her phone buzzed - - likely from that Tinder date who was just now apologizing for blowing her off, but she ignored the faint hum as she listened to his view of lawyers. Leeches, she thought. She used to idealize the profession and put on those rose colored glasses as she thought she would fight for victims, but everything was about money. Whoever had the most could employ the most vile creatures to get them off. It wasn’t something that enticed her in the slightest. “I don’t doubt it, law is a merciless profession, but I’ve already committed four years of university to it.” Forty thousand in debt wasn’t worth it though. Before she could respond, the bartender was replenishing her empty glass with another vodka soda which she graciously accepted. But his next confession has her raising a brow, somewhat surprised at how forward he is in telling her about how desired he was to others. There was no doubt about it in Claire’s mind, though she didn’t expect that from him. Part of her saw it as competition - - Many want him, but does he want me? She sought his approval; his interest. “Fans?” she asks, assuming he has to be some kind of artist then. He didn’t seem like he would be into that sot of profession, but maybe Peter had his own distinct following. Muddled confusion is quickly swept aside at his proposal of a game of pool. Something she’s not quite the best in, though Claire can hold her own for the most part. “I’d love that,” Claire agrees, taking her glass and walking over to the empty pool table with him - - the overhead light just dimly lighting the green felt lining. “Fair warning, but I haven’t played in a while-”

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

The third cathedral is the first he makes, the taste of iron in his mouth that tastes like air to a drowning man. It’s nothing to do with the things he’s running from, just something he starts in a bar off the road, something he wants on one of his bad days to prove that he’s really there. His altar is a sink with scarlet dripping down it, it’s cold water down his face that numbs him, that numbs everything around him, that numbs Heaven and Hell. “Good on ya’ is it presumptuous to assume you want to be a lawyer?” he mutters whilst downing another glass. Peter would make appearances the moment the rumour of his death was uttered. The high beams flashing in front of the group of teens standing around with a bottle of vodka: passed and powder dusting the inside of their nostrils, fear wasn’t a word that they were familiar with. Their cushioned lives, their wealth, and their carefree demeanour, they didn’t know  half the fear of the dead appearing when nobody was looking and challenging them with pristine car, a beauty just as much as it was startling. She felt almost easy to figure out. Yet she was honey, wrapped in a mystery, inside a strong willed person.” “Why, you gonna miss me already?” He chuckles. “Not quite sure, until I get bored.” He knows for a fact that she has a good time with him, laughs at the charming, but dumb jokes that he tells in sincerity.  She seems to have peaked his interest from their first encounter and each second he gets hungry for more.  There  is also something otherworldly about the woman beside him; from the tumble of chocolate locks framed around her eyes that were passion in ice. It’s like she came from another place, another time. “Curious thing, aren’t you?”

Staring at the sun was harmful, and yet she couldn’t pry her eyes away from him. Those golden locks, that glint in arctic blue. He lured her like some mouse to a trap - - small and unassuming as she rounds the corner to something that could put her in the grave. Yet the privilege of a simple taste of his lips was enough of a reward to risk such a thing. She hadn’t felt alive since her last relationship ended in sudden chaos; him in bed with another woman and Claire left with bottles of whatever cheap liquor she had tucked away in her cabinets. It was a hurt that Claire did not want to replicate, and yet she continued to hope. Hope was dangerous, but it was all she had to get her out of bed in the morning. The most useful weapon was distance, though she couldn’t find it in herself to put that space between herself and those she thought might be harmful. When she fell, or even if she was intrigued, Claire had a habit of doing anything to get even the smallest smile or a few fond words from the object of her affections. Peter hadn’t been sitting beside her for more than ten minutes and she had already begun to feel that familiar sensation of both butterflied and warning alarms. A face like his couldn’t come without his trouble. “I was planning on it, though I’m not really sure anymore... Working in court rooms is more dull than I initially thought.” A thankless job, and one she was never completely invested in. You gonna miss me already? Was it too soon to tell him yes? He was the first conversation she’s had today, and his presence was oddly calming in the middle of a situation that would’ve had her retreating back to her apartment for at least a few more weeks with no company. But what intrigues her was how he noted his ability to just drift from place to place. So he wasn’t from here, but he could stay for as long as he wished. Peter didn’t exude the level of wealth that was expected of a person who was able to travel so freely, but maybe that was how he preferred it. Still, his teasing has her grinning once more, her fingers wrapped around her glass as she doesn’t even bother to take her eyes off him. “I might. Would that be so terrible if I missed you already?” she asks, voice nearly in a purr as she almost naturally leans towards him. “What do you do, then?” 

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

The first thing he remembers when he stopped feeding was Peter’s  own body feeling misplaced against the sweltering heat. He remembers puking his guts out into maybe the grossest toilet he’s ever seen, and the pounding in his head in sync with the flexing of his fingers.He looks at himself in the mirror and laughs in some mix of pain and exhaustion. He slips down to rest his head on the ground, and he makes his first altar, his cathedral, while his entire body is pounding and feels like it’s in the wrong place. He doesn’t feel anything yet but he tries, and he constructs what he can. His altar is a dashboard full of notes, full of doodles and empty bottles, his altar is a blanket he finds in the trunk that he clings to in the passenger seat at 3 am when he pretends he’s able to sleep. He doesn’t feel God but he feels himself, which is more than he’s had recently. Words swirled around his mind, many of him being a monster, that he would  hurt her and she was only looking for the familiar comfort in a place where she had no one else. “I suppose so.” He mutters quietly more so to himself. Peter had finally found what he was searching for; the  glass filled with Jack Daniels, hidden away from prying eyes in the cabinet. The longer his stare remained on the liquid splashing around in the glass, the glassier his vision became. The dark thoughts becoming too much until her voice draws him out, “Depends on who you ask, monsters were human once too,” He coos whilst looking up at her, “not at all, I’m sure you can make your own choices.” Claire was the kind of girl who becomes engraved in your bones and attached to every good memory in ones miserable life. “Thats alright, we’ll call this fate then,” he mutters whilst tipping his glass towards her motioning in a ‘cheers’ before the liquid trickles down his throat. “No, just passing through actually and in need of a drink.” Peter’s smile was sharp and hooked as one of the Incubus’s claws. “What do you do for a living Miss. Claire?”

The vodka warms her chest despite the biting chill drifting through the door with every new entry and exit. That wasn’t new - - the cold. Claire wasn’t raised in a city that dropped below thirty, but winter had only made her appreciate summer even more. Each morning she would awaken to an empty bed with only blankets and coffee to warm her though, and Claire often wondered if it would remedy her pains to go home with a person just for one night. These same thoughts circled in her mind at the moment upon gazing up at Peter and all his glory; as if he was the saint himself bolstered up on an altar and shone on upon the surrounding mirage of richly stained glass. His words echoed as a hymn through a cathedral. Powerful and persuasive and even enough to make Claire think that maybe he could fulfill those desires born from solitude if only for an evening. Speaking with him had some kind of calming effect on her which was one she could have never expected from a man who seemed as if he had just stumbled out of a bar fight. And for some reason, Claire felt the need to help him. To care for him and make sure that each bruise and scrape was tended to. His voice transforms into a coo, and she has to take another sip of her drink to prevent her mouth from falling agape at such a beautiful sound. “Fate sounds good. We’ll call it that,” she. repeated, tipping her glass slightly towards him to mirror his cheers before watching him sip on that deep caramel glass. He was not the kind of man she was used to. Something told Claire that his lips might taste of cigarettes and now whiskey, but those two things may as well have tasted of  clove and vanilla - - her favorite. Maybe he was only passing through, but it never deterred her from wanting to talk to him; from wanting to know him. That smile was hardly something that was easily escapable after all. “I’m a paralegal for now, but I’m mostly just focusing on getting a master’s...” There were several things she wanted to ask him. He had been the one to ask her questions instead of the opposite. “You’re only passing through? How long are you here for?” Maybe that sounded too desperate, but it was the first thing that came to her mind. It was what she needed to know before she allowed herself to want more. 

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

All that’s left is this vortex. And  he’s right on the edge of it. The world seems to be conspiring against him, and it’s like nothing good could ever come from such a situation, you pick one lose the other and it goes both ways. There’s no shades of grey this time. Peter feels drained, lugubrious, as though his blood has been secreted out of him and replaced with tar as her scent consumed him. “It’s always the quiet ones, no one ever tell you that?” his husky voice travelling through the air as he fiddles with a cigarette in hand. Peter was always dwelling about the past most times, maybe because he felt like all of this brought him here. There is no denying that  Peter could be the perfect impulsive liar when it came to his job. He stands in front of the perfectly perched mirror, gazing at his reflection that haunts him. Dark circles under his eyes, oceanic orbs glistening, but if you looked close enough you could see they were dull and lifeless, this life - the creature he became was wearing him down. A harmonic laughter surpasses his lips at her next comment, “Trouble. I’m a lot worse than trouble sweetheart.”And now is as good a time as any to say that she was beautiful. In the dark beside him, she smelled of sweat and sunshine and vanilla, and on that thin-mooned night he could see little more than her silhouette except for when she looked away. But even in the dark,  he could see her eyes—fierce emeralds. One singular word that fell on his tongue nicely - Claire. He had never met a woman like Claire  before and just another inch closer was good enough to drive him insane. “Peter. I’ll take a whisky, but thank you for offering.” He muses now as he slides a bill to the bartender. “So, humour me. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here alone?”

She’d always went for the wrong types. The ones that could charm her to her knees for them before leaving the next morning without a word. All her past relationships had ended so abruptly that it was difficult to understand what the hell was wrong with her, and yet Claire continued trying, if only to fill that emptiness that created this pang in her chest whenever she slept in that empty bed of hers. It was clear that he had done this time and time again. He seemed genuine, yet rehearsed in what he was saying. A dull veil over words that should have excited her. Eyes glanced over towards the bar entrance as if by habit before she studied his face again - - each freckle and crease as if they were as holy as scripture itself. So while he may have told her he was dangerous, she couldn’t help but see the good in him. They couldn’t be all bad, could they? And those with the toughest exteriors tended to harbour a softness that rivaled none. The warmth he had felt like spring sun after the rain, and Claire had to pull herself back from thinking so much of a stranger that she didn’t even know. Peter. Like the saint. illuminated smile widened as she gave him a small nod. “Peter... Alright, I suppose you seem like a whiskey kind of man.” Gruff and smooth. There were a few men who had hit on her at bars, but none as captivating as him. None that lured her in so intimately to the point where she hopped that she could get to know him further. “And you can’t be that much trouble... Trying to scare me away already?” And then he asks the question she’d been trying to avoid - - that smile of her melting into a more nervous bite of the lip. “I was supposed to meet someone, but that kind of fell through. What about you? Are you a regular or something?” 

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus​:

Flashes of his childhood danced behind his eyelids, never having friends or people to tell his troubles to. He knew their was no cure to his problems, no one could help him so he suffers in a frustrating silence. And yet on those days  he took a deep breath and screamed into the dead air around him. There’s something in his magnetism that prevents him from fully pushing her away, even when every fibre of his being says to do so. No good can come out of this between the nostalgia, dim lighting and those dazzling eyes. If her presence could bring warmth, and security, to any room, he wonders what she’s capable of with a kiss. It’s been so long since Peter’s eaten anything he was exhausted, he didn’t have it in him to be cruel anymore. Death wasn’t permanent, it was fluid and forever taking shape under Peter’s will. He wouldn’t let it stand in the way of his family and did what he knew best, stole what he wanted and ran. There was times where he wanted more. More of the drugs, more of the voice that itched at the back of his skull, more of the Devil’s touch that almost seemed to hurt him. He wanted it the further it got away. The further it was out of reach, he ached increasingly so. “No, but do you know what they say about girls who drink vodka soda?” he muses now. The bruises on his body appeared the same way that Peter would’ve left them, and it gave him the same sense of security the voice had when it wasn’t present. There was just something unreal about her. “Their trouble. And end up with boys who are bad news.” He mutters in amusement now as his lips curl into a smirk. Her face, somewhat luminous, had a pale tone to it. The eyes were a piercingly sharp shade of chocolate hues. Eyebrows were arched over the curve before dispersing onto the bridge of her dainty nose. Her face was enchanting, and right now the excitement etched all over her face made him feel weak in the knees. He ran his fingers through his messy curls, averting his gaze to the window to steady himself before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  “What’s your name sweets?”

Brows raised in intrigue and caution at his sentiment. Girls who drank vodka sodas? She hoped that this wasn’t some corny pick up line, but she wouldn’t have minded even if it was. With a face like his, he could’ve put the angels to shame. He had certainly put that Tinder date to shame by far, so Claire counted this as a slight win amidst a night that would have ended in a rather depressed fashion - - her walking home by herself without even meeting anyone. The past few months had been lonely to say the least. It was hard to get out of bed most days, and makeup just barely concealed the dark circles beneath caramel gaze from going to bed well past two in the morning. Work was important, and it was something her family had ingrained in her mind from childhood, but this was no way to live. So going out like this felt like a breath of fresh air to the girl who felt like she’d been locked inside her apartment for a century. So she looks into those eyes, unable to hide that ghost of a smile on pale scarlet lips as he speaks to her. Part of her imagines what it might be like to hear that voice whisper in her ear as they lay in bed, but the thought was far too forward. Trouble. He thought she might be trouble? The thought makes her smirk, eyes moving back to her half emptied glass before taking another sip. “Well, I’ve never really been called trouble before... But are you saying you’re bad news?” He definitely seemed like it. With those piercing eyes and blond mess of curls, Claire figured that he was used to this back and forth. The casual flirting, the subtle hints of there being something between them. Girls must have been crumbling to his feet on the regular, and Claire knew that she could be one of them. “Claire... And yours?” she asks, noting the brief tinge of nervousness in his movements. He’d ran his fingers through his hair, and those eyes seemed to be searching for something that wasn’t her... “My tab’s still open if you want a drink-”

[clairecoxton]

peteralcaeus:​

He looks for proof of God  everywhere, which is laughable really because  he’s only seen the Devil in himself. When he was younger he would stare at the pictures of angels and saints, he would try to find it in the pictures, as if there was an intricate structure that if looked at the right angle, would show you what God looks like. It didn’t take long for him to understand that that didn’t work, that there was nothing there but stained glass and a notion. He had to look for a higher power elsewhere, in words from his grandmother’s lips and well placed intentions. Peter thinks maybe, as he find himself here and alone and feels himself go, maybe he’ll see something. He wakes up and all he sees is harshness, in the coldness of the room and the heat of life rising back up. At first he wonders if that’s all he gets. If life is made in God’s image than maybe all you get in Heaven is another hospital bed and a craving for Hell. Every day, Peter decides to give himself this pep talk. That he just needs to get through one day, it’s twenty-four hours and that’s it. He doesn’t quite remember when it all began, though lately more and more often he’s stressed out.When he looks up, its her he sees. She was perfect. Fresh-faced, petite with long chocolate wavy hair shining as the light glistened down. Her orbs shone with mischief as she bit back a breathtaking smile. She’s the girl with a fairytale face but her mouth screams danger, and Peter just wants a taste. He sees the hollowness around his eyes, the purple and blackened bruises of death around them and the blue lips. Back then Peter was paler than he was all those summers ago when he read books in the shade, refusing the sun, and he’s thinner too, as if his  Peter took more than just life from himself. He was tired, he was hungry and she looked like air as he takes a seat close enough just to get a whiff.  “Interesting drink you’ve got over there,” he mutters now whilst looking up at the girl.

Religion hadn’t been a significant part of her life since she was a child, though Catholicism had been engraved into portions of herself. Catholic guilt, they called it. And Claire was not immune to such ways of thinking. Although the girl hadn’t prayed in years, she worshipped in other ways. Perhaps it was blasphemy, but there was nothing more holy than a lover’s eyes to Claire. Or their lips pressed against her own, leaving an array of burgundy and indigo bruises on golden skin. The vision of that was more enticing than that of a stained glass panel at St. Peter’s Cathedral. And for thinking that, she felt guilty. Claire would regularly hold herself back and give people the impression that she was an image of purity at times when it was only a factor of how she wanted to take things slow. That habit didn’t last too long as the city got a hold of her. In such a populous place, it was easy to feel isolated - - particularly when you were in a bar surrounded by couples that made it seem as if it had to have been Valentine’s day. She checked her calendar just in case and breathed a minuscule sigh of relief to find that it was just another Saturday. He walked in, and those icy hues were more breathtaking than anything she’s seen thus far, but Claire hides that sentiment behind another sip of her drink. Rugged, and yet he exudes a sort of light as the dim bar lanterns shine on that dirty blonde hair. It takes her a moment before she finally catches herself staring and forces herself to focus on the pair of melting ice cubes in her last drink instead. Well, it would have been her last drink if he hadn’t sat beside her. And then he speaks in a tone that melts perfectly with his exterior. At first, she’s unsure of if he’s speaking to her. But one glance up at him and she’s positive that he is. “It’s a vodka soda,” Claire replied, almost confused at his words as a simple vodka soda isn’t too rare. Body turns towards him a bit more, muted emerald satin slip sliding against the bar stool and a small smile stretching over her lips as she did. “Ever had one?” 

[clairecoxton]

This couldn't have been happening. Claire refused to believe it, and yet, the girl had expected this sort of thing from a guy she met on tinder. Tinder of all places. Claire stayed perched upon a bar stool at the little dive that herself and someone named Chris had agreed upon, and yet it had been an hour and he'd yet to show. No call, no texts back, nothing. Luckily, she hadn't told the bartender that she was meeting anyone there - she doubted that she would be able to take the pity if he knew she's just been stood up. So instead, she sips on her vodka soda and occupies herself with her phone, scrolling idly through twitter while as she took her time finishing up. There was plenty to do on a Saturday night, and yet she feels hers had already been wasted. The night would likely consist of Postmates and leftover alcohol she had around her apartment as to get her mind off of how embarrassed she was at the moment. That specific bar was quite busy with groups of friends and couples chatting about, yet she remained there at the bar. Eyes looked upward towards the door when the bell above it announced a new customer, and her gaze lingered just a moment at the man before shifting her attention back to her phone. God, he was handsome. However, she couldn't bring herself to even try to shoot her shot his way. Not after her date was a no show. She finished half her drink by now as she slipped her phone back into her pocket, eyes traveling row by row down that wall of liquor behind the bartender. Maybe it was alright to be alone... But this? This was a slap in the face.