The Key to Gramercy Park
1/3
Listless yellow and maroon leaves skipped across the concrete walkways, avoiding the careless shoes of citizens.
The most peculiar set of footsteps were those of a blonde-haired man, whose face was pale like the faded stone monuments within the apex of pathways. That was the soul oddity which he carried, but his manor of movement drew the eye of a few.
Truly, nothing would be unusual about this scene, but the position of the sun in the New York skyline raised questions. It was dangerous to be present here after sunset.
Another minute passed, another person absent of the vegetated park. Trees laughed at the poor few who dared skulk their vicinity after the sky faded into the inky black.
The man reached the apex, content with the black velvet spread about him. Sharply inhale, then slowly sit down on the cheaply crafted public bench, carved with the various insignias of petty 'anarchists' and the logos of bored bastards.
Flicking his sandy blonde hair out of his face, he began humming a bassy tune, eyes veiled and waiting. The sounds of the night were quiet; much too alarming for a city that never ceases to move.
Tapping of heels drew close. Sharp clip-clops cracking a melody against the concrete, literally music to his ears. Allowing his eyes to drift toward the soothing allure of pin-up shoes, he gazed upon skin the color of creme and hair blacker than the Raven's feather.
"The stars are visible tonight." Silken syllables dripped off her tongue.
"Heavenly." The bassy voice erupted from his throat; rich caramel for words. Her dress was a fine but thin grey and red plaid nurse's dress which zipped up the front, stopping just above the cleave of her breasts. A flared vampyric collar was a suiting trim. So were the white fishnet stockings that clung to her legs.
"Care if I sit?" She inquired, taking tiny steps toward the bench. He gave a smirk that could melt a soul with eyes that begged for the pleasures beyond.
"Instead of sitting," His hand reached out to caress her thigh, "We could fuck." So blunt, so careless. Unbelievable such things could be spoken with such a voice.
Her expression did not change. Instead, she allowed his hand to travel and slip up the inside of her thigh. A tiny whimper was heard as his thumb pressed against the warmth between her legs. Colour flooded into her cheeks, a rosy tint framing her face.
"You're insane, Philip." The words barely managed to leave her mouth.
"What," Frosted blue eyes gazed at her blood tinted lips, "You afraid of the dark?"
The most peculiar set of footsteps were those of a blonde-haired man, whose face was pale like the faded stone monuments within the apex of pathways. That was the soul oddity which he carried, but his manor of movement drew the eye of a few.
Truly, nothing would be unusual about this scene, but the position of the sun in the New York skyline raised questions. It was dangerous to be present here after sunset.
Another minute passed, another person absent of the vegetated park. Trees laughed at the poor few who dared skulk their vicinity after the sky faded into the inky black.
The man reached the apex, content with the black velvet spread about him. Sharply inhale, then slowly sit down on the cheaply crafted public bench, carved with the various insignias of petty 'anarchists' and the logos of bored bastards.
Flicking his sandy blonde hair out of his face, he began humming a bassy tune, eyes veiled and waiting. The sounds of the night were quiet; much too alarming for a city that never ceases to move.
Tapping of heels drew close. Sharp clip-clops cracking a melody against the concrete, literally music to his ears. Allowing his eyes to drift toward the soothing allure of pin-up shoes, he gazed upon skin the color of creme and hair blacker than the Raven's feather.
"The stars are visible tonight." Silken syllables dripped off her tongue.
"Heavenly." The bassy voice erupted from his throat; rich caramel for words. Her dress was a fine but thin grey and red plaid nurse's dress which zipped up the front, stopping just above the cleave of her breasts. A flared vampyric collar was a suiting trim. So were the white fishnet stockings that clung to her legs.
"Care if I sit?" She inquired, taking tiny steps toward the bench. He gave a smirk that could melt a soul with eyes that begged for the pleasures beyond.
"Instead of sitting," His hand reached out to caress her thigh, "We could fuck." So blunt, so careless. Unbelievable such things could be spoken with such a voice.
Her expression did not change. Instead, she allowed his hand to travel and slip up the inside of her thigh. A tiny whimper was heard as his thumb pressed against the warmth between her legs. Colour flooded into her cheeks, a rosy tint framing her face.
"You're insane, Philip." The words barely managed to leave her mouth.
"What," Frosted blue eyes gazed at her blood tinted lips, "You afraid of the dark?"