Blood-Kissed Swan Feathers

Chapter 1: It All Starts With Desire

"Those whose restrain Desire only do so because their desire is weak enough to do so."-William Blake

(The "action" will take some time to appear...so if plots do not appeal to you....you are free to go. However¸ if you enjoy something more than quick gratification, please, stay.:))

Italy mid 1700s:

"..Signor Lautremont?"

Said gent started from his brief nap in the gilded carriage that elevated its four occupants from the outside world, namely he-and two tall majordomos in black,

their large brimmed hats (along with the dark interior of the carriage) shielding their visages, who flanked their master,

who by all appearances, seemed to be an Aryan Adonis, what with his sapphire colored pools for eyes and golden locks that framed his chiseled, fair visage.

He wore a blue brocade jacket that matched his eyes, and black breeches and shoes and a smile that revealed his teeth, not unlike a string of freshwater pearls.

He was also the one who spoke.

Lautremont's eyelids creaked open, revealing grey-blue eyes that contrasted with his pale complexion and ink dark hair held back with a red ribbon.

His head was resting against the rose tinted window, his chin propped up by his hand that was propped up by the armrest.

His suit was the color of Night, with gold gildings. He was no less handsome than the former, but his concern for his appearance was far from his mind right now.

"Yes, Erik?"

The latter replied, sitting up to face him.

"Once again, we congratulate you on your recent rise to power. The leadership is well sought after...but I need not tell you that,"

Erik spoke, in German-accented Italian.

Lautremont allowed himself a self congratulatory smile...why SHOULDN'T he feel proud? Still...what was it someone said about something coming before a fall...

"And what luck: the passing of power falls on your birthday..."

Continued Erik.

The latter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Erik Stobbenhauer was one of the few who could be trusted, but his rambling was a major drawback.

"So?"

Lautremont took great care not to let acid impatience leak into his voice. He had no intention of ruining a good mood.

"Well...is there anything you would desire to have?"

A smile of Cheshire proportions grew upon the Italian gent's face.

Silence followed for a brief moment.

Outside, a plague doctor sold medicine and a beggar cried for alms and mercy.

A courtesan laughed and bantered with another.

A lost child cried for her mother....

Lautremont's thoughts went back to yesterday...

***FLASHBACK***

Her long red hair flew behind her like a silken bloodbath, a screaming contrast to her milky-white flesh, currently clothed by a white summer shift, failing to fully conceal her blossoming feminine curves.

The emerald green eyes that would burn with anger or sparkle with delight were hidden behind her eyelids for now.

She was sleeping soundly in her own chambers for Night had fallen.

She lay splayed on the bed, safe in her room and her dreams.

Lautremont, who had been watching her sleep for a good hour

(and had been doing so for a a good three months when he could spare or steal the time ...and was doubting his sanity-whatever was left of it personally) rose and gently pulled the coverlets from her form and watched as her lovely breasts rose and fell.

He had merely been a spectator, now he wanted to participate.

One side of her shift slipped, revealing a breast tipped with a brown-pink nipple, which had pebbled in the cold.

He brought his mouth to it and gently lapped it with his tongue.

Gently now....He had Time.

Her rose bud tiers for lips parted, freeing a moan. It fuelled him to continue.

He then traced around her ivory orb with his tongue and then oh so slowly...ran it up and down that delectable nibble, while tracing her bare shoulder.

He wanted to try the other nipple, nay, both...but he would risk waking her.

He had been taught never to over-indulge.

While one hand stroked her aureole, the other lightly brushed her womanhood, her shift the only thing that separated his hand from her womanhood. He brought a nose to her womanhood and inhaled deeply....

Glorious...

She moved a hand, almost brushing his long dark mane, almost.

He (reluctantly) stopped and pulled away. He was sure he heard a sound of disappointment.

He could hear the beating of her young heart, pumping red warm wetness through that exquisite frame...

He had to stop.

Now...lest his Id took over fully...

He pulled the coverlets back over her now shivering frame, and tucked a stray lock of scarlet behind her ear.

For a moment, he could almost feel like he was...

Human.

His sensuous lips brushed against her forehead-and in a beat of a moth's wings, she was alone again.

Tomorrow morning she would brush it all off as a dream...or would she?

**END FLASHBACK**

Back in the cool darkness of the carriage, Lautremont leaned back in his seat and steepled his long, tapered, be ringed fingers.

A smile of Cheshire proportions grew upon his face.

"Si,Stobbenhauer...there IS something....well, SOMEONE..."

-TO Be Continued