What The Cat Dragged In [closed]

[Sunday Jameson]

“Don’t be out all damn night. We have matters that need attending.”

Those were the exact words Sunday had uttered five hours ago. Five god damn hours. But apparently the harsh undertone in her words failed to make any impact on her partner. Actually, Dallas wasn’t a complete idiot. He had probably picked up on her annoyed pitch, but decided to ignore it in favor of prolonging his revelry. Dallas was always the life of the party. He seemed to thrive off it and Sunday would have sworn this was how he obtained his sustenance if she didn’t know firsthand that this wasn’t the case. Sunny wasn’t much of a social butterfly. She preferred to keep her enjoyment to herself, less chance of being remembered if she didn’t insist on making a spectacle out of herself. That and the buzz of alcoholic beverages tended to hinder her magic at times. Getting sloppy while shit faced and trying to con someone was not on her list of wonderful ideas.

Pouring over the scuffed wooden desk in her room, Sunday surveyed the mass of papers she collected. An invitation to the upcoming solstice celebration glittered in the lamplight. Beneath the invite lay a crude drawing, a blueprint of sorts with some notes hurriedly scrawled in the margins. Another scrap of paper contained a list of names, individuals rumored to be attending the grand occasion. Several of the names had sparked Sunny’s interest and she had a feeling that the parties attending might be worth more than anything Sunday could hope to filch from the ballroom. Before he had traipsed off into the night, Sunday had hoped to go over the mechanics of their sordid plan with her partner in crime, formulating the dos and don’ts of the promising heist. Sunday would gather a small grouping of male targets to be considered while Dallas would be responsible for the affluent females. His job would probably be the easiest of the two in all reality. Vampires always held a certain enchantment, especially to those of the opposite sex. He should be able to swindle them out of their most precious jewels while oozing charm and compliments. All of this she had hoped to discuss, refusing to come up with a half-assed plan at the last minute. But if Dallas didn’t waltz back to their hotel in the next few minutes, she had half a mind to physically abuse him and leave him to fend for himself. Though, who was she kidding? Sunday wasn’t incompetent. Dallas could easily best her when it came to physical prowess and he’d also be able to find her without even needing to ask for directions.

With an exasperated sigh, Sunday switched off the lamp over the desk and shuffled toward the door. With a flick of her fingers, she locked her room, smirking as she tried to imagine Dallas’ drunk state trying to get his room key into the lock. Padding over to the bed, she slipped under the covers and settled into the soft mattress. “Five fucking hours,” she grumbled, turning over and pulling the blankets over her head. If Dallas knew what was best for his health, he’d slip back into the room without making a sound. “So help me god, you better not make a peep,” Sunday warned into the cool air. And with that, she brought her legs up to her chest, curling into a ball underneath the blankets.

[nate]

Dallas would love to regale you with wondrous and jovial tales of his drunken adventures at the many bars of Germany. He would revel in relieving those wonderful moments with the working women of Germany, who were oh so gung-ho to obtain his money through eye-brow raising acts of debauchery. He really would love to but, our dark hero, your cherished sanguine savior, was in abit of a pickle for lack of wittier words. He was piss-drunk and couldn't tell left from right and right from wrong. Okay, Dallas never did know the difference between those two latter options anyways, but that was beside the point. The point was that if not for his amazing senses borne from the supernatural powers of a lesser vampire, he'd 20 miles and a right away from Albuquerque. But, to the relief of the charmingly narcissistic Dallas, he managed to stumble his way into the hotel and up the stairs; he was way too impaired to even bother trying to read all those damned floor numbers on the elevator. Taking each step one at a time, he began that arduous and perilous journey to the 7th floor where they resided. Why didn't she come anyways? Goddamn her and her need to be prepared and sensible! Yes yes, this Solstice could possibly be their biggest heist and make them rich, wealthy and very lazy, but she couldn't spend all day holed up in the room.

Dallas was the kind of man whom natural element was in the shadows of the moonlight, prowling the night, moving like the Umbra Predator he was. Even as he looked at the window, he could see that voluptuous and lush moon grin lasciviously down on him, wiggling that lewd tongue at him. Even as he tried to trek his way back to the room, he could feel that moon tugging at his belt buckle, inviting him back in for the best night of his many days on this earth. But alas, Sunny would murder him. Well, no, she was much too weak for that. But, he had the distinct feeling she'd cast an illusion hex so potent, he'd be under the impression he was a 14 year-old cheerleader with a crush on the hunky quarter-back. Arriving at his hotel door, the room signed under his favorite alias, Patrick Bateman, he fumbled around with his keys in an attempt to reach his final goal, the Holy Grail resting on a silk-pillow and draped in sheets. Finally hearing the click of gears and pushing the door open, he sighed in relief as he slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. Such quiet and slight movements, such light footsteps that seemed to barely even touch the fibers of the carpet beneath him, one wondered why this was so. Was he being courteous to his partner-in-crime, trying not to wake her at so late a time? Alas....no. He was simply used to walking into dark rooms unnoticed. Except he had no desire or goal of driving a knife deep into her throat and leaving silently as he did to so many others in the past.

Slipping off his trench coat and shoes quickly, one would assume he would move straight to his bed and promptly slumber. Which he was going to....just not in his bed. Slipping under silk sheets, he shifted around until comfortable, stuck his hands out and looped them around a rather slim and warm waist. Murmuring something faint about softness, lavender and nightgowns, he let himself drift off into that dreamworld where he would be free to explore his fantasies with no one else but himself and his own twisted psyche.

[Sunday Jameson]

Sunday wasn’t exactly sure how long her eyes stared out the window from her place in bed. At first, she started counting sheep, but slowly the image of sheep bounding over a fence morphed into the curious reverie of tap dancing livestock, complete with top hats and canes. Beating the impression away with the shake of her head, she began listening to the ticking of the room’s clock. But after only a minute of hearing the incessantly grating noise, Sunny couldn’t help but toss a pillow in its directions. A satisfying thud could be heard as the timepiece bounced lightly off the lush carpet. A few more moments passed and Sunday had resigned herself to gazing into the evening sky. She wasn’t sure what exactly kept her up. Part of her couldn’t stop forming mental checklists of the upcoming job while a sliver of her conscience nagged about Dallas’ tardiness and the fact he still wasn't here. A majority of her thoughts, though, centered around the solstice banquet. She needed to plan and perfect every detail because if she didn’t, it would never get done. Not only did the two of them need a solid strategy, but they also needed to create a second one in case of compromise on top of forming various ways to cope with the ever changing variables of a large social setting. Sunday would have to strip several guests of their valuables and get the hell out of there, all while clad in an evening gown and heels. A small part of her was tempted to dress Dallas as a woman and have him suffer with her. After all, misery loves company. And if that company so happens to be a decent looking vampire, than so be it.

Even as the door softly slid open, Sunny didn’t bother moving or acknowledging the new presence in the room. She knew exactly who it was and she certainly had to admire his level of stealth. Normally when he drank, he barreled back into the room like a sexed up rhinoceros. Perhaps he didn’t drink as much as Sunday thought he would. No, usually when he opted to go easy on the alcohol, he went heavy on the sex. If it wasn’t one vice, it was obviously the other. And the German ladies of the night were probably more than willing to offer up their services to a man such as Dallas. Human women had zero tolerance to his kind and Sunday can attest to the fact that most would set aside their dignity for a night in his bed. Sunny had even tried to convince Dallas to let her cast an illusion on his appearance to limit the hindrances they would face when it came to females, but he always refused. It was obvious that he enjoyed the attention, never wasting an opportunity to toss her a smug smile as a young woman threw herself at his feet. Sunday would usually just shrug in response, forced indifference clouding her mood. The prospect of money outweighed her disgust.

Sunny waited for Dallas to sink into his own bed, preferring to wait until he was settled before trying to resume the daunting task of falling asleep. Instead, Sunday felt her own mattress sink down with newly added weight. She rolled her eyes against the darkness, an agitated complaint on the verge of leaving her lips. However, she was easily silenced as a warm palm pressed against her stomach. Unintelligible words whispered against the back of her neck as the body pressed closer against her back. While a lesser woman would have settled into the warmth of another person, Sunday preferred to keep her partner on his toes. Balling her fingers into a tight fist, she stretched her arm outward. In a fluid motion, Sunny sent a rather unpleasant jab to the stomach of her bedmate, courtesy of her elbow. “Five hours late and you crawl into my bed. Surely, you must have suffered some form of head trauma while you were gone.”

[nate]

Ouch. Not that Dallas wasn't used to being hit occasionally while in the bed with another female, but the ribs was an awfully weird place to strike. There was no pleasure behind that; it just hurt alot. Hissing slightly as he felt firm elbow drive itself deep into his rib-cage, it somewhat jolted him back into slight sobriety, enough to realize exactly who was in his embrace. Oh my....well, this was new. And very much welcome. Now honestly, did you think that Dallas didn't once imagine his partner-in-crime in less than wholesome positions, all that he was more than eager to partake in. It was a natural course of thought. Sunday was intelligent, refined, poised and had more than her fair share of beauty. Alas, Dallas learned early on, that those lascivious positions would be strictly kept to his mind as Sunday would never be indulging in pleasures of the flesh...with him, anyways. Their relationship was a strictly platonic one, a strictly business one that required both of them to cooperate and work together. So what if there was something kinky about him sucking blood from her leg? That couldn't possibly mean anything! Right?

"Ow! What the hell? Sunday, dear, I appreciate the enthusiasm. But, honestly, I'm just not in the rough stuff tonight," Dallas murmured with just the faintest hint of a perverted and cunning grin on his features as he didn't loosen his grip; in fact, it seemed like as if he was pulling Sunny closer to him, practically so that his chest came into contact with her back. The distance between them was practically gone and this was starting to border on something abit more serious than a drunkard simply stumbling into her bed in a hazy whiskey-fueled stupor. Was he pushing it? Oh heavens yes! Dallas was walking on a very thin line and the most minuscule of mistakes could have embarking on a very impromptu ferry ride on the River Styx with some very small paddles.. Did he care? Of course not, he was drunk! Dallas had always been a brave man, but he wasn't stupid; he knew the difference between courage and just being a flat-out dumb-ass.

Of course, when you had as much alcohol in him as he did right now(which was child's play compared to usual) your common sense tended to be greatly impaired."Head trauma? Me? Who or what in the world could possible hurt wonderful one-of-a-kind me? Have you considered the possibility that this is simply where I want to be right now?" Oh yeah, somewhere in the back of his head, a much more intelligent but largely ignored Dallas was trying to convince the others that this plan could only result in disaster. As we've stated to the readers already, the possibility of anything happening between Dallas and Sunday was very low, if not completely zero. So, why in the name of all that was good, sharp and pointy was he pushing his limits like this? Because while Dallas was a narcissistic, arrogant, hedonistic prick, right now he was also drunk. That made all the difference, he could assure you.

[Sunday Jameson]

Whatever she had hoped to gain by elbowing him in the chest did not come to fruition. Sure, Sunday had caused Dallas some minor pain, but she was pretty sure it could be likened to a mosquito biting a tiger; a brief inconvenience. In fact, her attack seemed to only spur him on in his perverse endeavor as he tightened his grip, her back flush against his chest. Sunny squirmed and wriggled under his arm, torso and legs twisting and turning and not exactly in the throes of passion either. No, Sunday wasn’t gyrating for Dallas’ amusement or even his slightest pleasure. Being away from his grasp was the only thing she desired. Although vacating the bed was proving to be quite the challenge. “Ha ha, you’re hilarious when you’re drunk, Dallas. Have I ever told you that?” her voice dripping with mocking sarcasm as she breathlessly relaxed from her struggle.

Their relationship was one of casual professionalism and borderline flirtatious banter was certainly a part of the norms. However, Dallas spooning her after what she assumed was an exhausting night of partying was an entirely new concept. With a groan of frustration primarily directed at the immovable unholy object next to her, Sunday attempted to kick at his shin. Sadly, the force had been deterred by the crisp, tangled linens that wrapped around her feet. In his drunken stupor, Dallas was more likely to assume she was trying to play footsie with him than assault him in a vicious manner. Although, being trapped in Sunday’s petite frame never seemed to instill any feelings of ferocity or intimidation in her opponents. The best she could do in the way of physical violence was cause a few tender and raw bruises. The fear of receiving a purple, sore blemish was never enough, unfortunately. And it was entirely possible that Dallas had built up a lasting immunity to such tiny fists and feet of fury.

Rolling in his grasp, Sunday resituated herself. Dallas’ arm was still clutched around her waist, but his palm now rested on the small of her back. Facing the vampire lounging before her, she could see the effects of his drinking. His eyes were half-lidded, demonstrating an interesting mix of sleepiness and bliss. Sunny could smell the booze from his parted lips, his breath bitter from the drinks. Fisting her hands in his wrinkled shirt, she sharply tugged at the fabric. “Dallas, you bloodsucking heathen, get out of my bed. If you wanted a bed partner that badly, you know where the red light district is, I’m sure.” Sunday had remained awake partly to make sure her other half returned safe and sound, but as soon as she was sure he was all right, sleep was the only thing on her mind. Any hopes of talking business tonight were dashed out the window, but she still had the anticipatory desire to drift into dreamland. Dallas had successfully prevented her from doing the former and she’d be damned if he hindered her from accomplishing the last thing she wanted tonight. “Now, out with you,” she calmly demanded, accentuating her request by flicking Dallas’ nose.

[nate]

Alright, he had his fun; he may have taken joy into plopping into Sunny's bed and just making it generally hard for her to catch some shut-eye, but now it was time for the games to stop and go to bed. Right? That would be the logical and mature thing, the thing that someone who obviously gave a damn for the feelings of another person would choose, yes? It was so unfortunate that he wasn't even close to that kind of person. His mouth turned up into a wicked smile, one that clearly showed joy in the situation he had thrust Sunny into, the frustration that was making it impossible for her to sleep. Why did he take such joy into making her life as difficult as possible? Well, because it was fun! Wasn't there nothing more satisfying than making the normally poised and indifferent Sunday Jameson pissed and frustrated beyond words? The answer is simple; no, there is not. You could call him childish if you must (surely you are correct), but Dallas was just a very determined man. Now what goal his determination was pushing him towards was very ambiguous at times, but that's what made it all the more fun.

"Now, ain't no need for name-calling! Didn't even do a single thing wrong and you're just yelling such hateful things at me," Dallas said in feigned hurt, even adding abit of a pout to his fake pained expression; how could he she hurt his humongous ego like that? Didn't she know it was fragile and must be nurtured? Without his ego, he simply wasn't Dallas."Come on, Sunny. It's late and both of us want to sleep, yes? How about we do just that? Or don't you trust your partner to keep his hands to himself?" If she was smart, she wouldn't. Well, normally anyways; he knew what she lacked in physical ability, she could always make up in magical affinity. She had some of the most potent illusions he had seen in his many years and had absolutely no desire to be on the receiving end of any of them. Seeing as Dallas himself didn't have that much magical affinity, he wasn't entirely sure if he could counter hers.

But, why would she turn him down anyway? I mean, even if he did happen to get a little more frisky than needed, surely she'd enjoy it? He noticed that there were very few times in which Sunday indulged her more base desires; why didn't she ever go to the red-light district with him? Surely, she'd need some satisfaction eventually! Such an enigma, she was. So little he knew about her and so much desire he had to change that. Poking her in the forehead lightly before bringing his finger down quickly to push up her chin, he shot her a cunning grin, a fanged smile that had such a predatory gleam, the silvery sinful shine of a man whom intentions could be anything but holy."Now, how about you cease your endless nagging and sleep? As will I, unless I find a much more better way to spend my time."