NO WORDS AT ALL
by Susan Kretschmer, 1995
sxk29@po.CWRU.Edu
A Tweener Spec, year 1

	David had fed early, but it had not made him feel much better. 
He walked briskly through downtown New Orleans as if he had 
somewhere pressing to go, though he didn't. He was only thinking. It 
hadn't been a fight with Lestat, exactly, that he'd had as he left the 
Rue Royale flat. Just words.

	He and Lestat had been having words like that, lately. Taking 
care of Louis was not easy for either of them; Louis' pain was hard for 
both David and Lestat to bear, and Louis was no easy patient. Silent, 
stoic, and ashamed by his weakness, Louis avoided their help when 
he could. He assured them both he was better. He always said he 
was better. And physically, this was true.

	But the nightmares were terrible.

	David could hear them, Louis' nightmares. Images from those 
terrible dreams would fill his mind as he woke in the evening, driven 
by Louis' pain.

	But whenever he went to Louis, to try to sit by him, to do 
whatever he could, Lestat was there before him and often as not sent 
a sharp look at David that meant simply, "Go away."

	David did not begrudge them their time alone, not ever. But it 
frustrated him that he seemed completely unable to help. Not able to 
help Louis, and certainly not able to help Lestat, Lestat who did not 
even seem to realize David might be worried about him as well. No, 
Lestat was just fine, thank you. Lestat was always fine.

	It made David wonder if Louis and Lestat might be happier if 
David left them alone after all, and went to live elsewhere. Lestat had 
seemed to need David so badly, not so long ago. David wondered if 
that would ever be true again. He sensed that Lestat still needed that 
kind of firm anchor, that Lestat had been adrift before Louis' plight 
had captured all his attention, and that in the absence of that crisis 
Lestat might well come adrift again.

	But David did not know if Lestat would take that help from 
him, anymore. And Lestat had thrown up such walls around Louis 
that David never dared any kind of mental contact with Louis at all, 
except the nightmares, which David couldn't shut out no matter how 
he tried. He used only words with Louis, now, and they were always 
careful words.

	David looked up, then, and realized where his wandering had
taken him. In the warm New Orleans night, he had crossed
downtown entirely, from the seedier places where he had been
hunting into the sleek corporate section, with its tall buildings all of
glass.

	Marius was staying here, he thought, looking down the block
for the stately Pontchartrain Hotel, in all its venerable elegance. 
David's step quickened, now that he had an objective. He
would go to see Marius. They had talked only recently, but still,
Marius might have some help to give, and he was still thinking of that 
as Marius opened his door.

	"David," Marius said warmly. "How are you? How are Louis
and Lestat?" 

	David felt better just seeing him. Marius' quiet authority
made things seem suddenly manageable, his soft unhurried way of
speaking calmed David's strange sense of urgency. He went in, and
sat down in the red velvet chair Marius offered.

	Marius was dressed simply, black blazer over a red shirt, and
black pants; his pale hair was tied back neatly. He sat down opposite
David, leaning back in his chair. He was nearly as tall as David and
more heavily built, and he moved in a deliberately human fashion
that ended up giving the impression of leashed power. He seemed
perfectly matched to the large graceful suite with its floor-to-ceiling
windows, its red velvet draperies, and its Chippendale chairs and
tables.

	Older than the antiques, Marius...

	David realized he had not answered Marius' question, and 
that Marius was looking at him strangely. "How are Louis and Lestat?" 
Marius asked again.

	David sighed, shifting a bit uncomfortably. He tried to 
formulate what he wanted to say about Lestat and Louis, but he 
found himself distracted by the fact that he was alone with Marius, 
something which actually hadn't happened at all since they had 
returned from Rio, since everyone had been constantly in and out of 
the Rue Royale flat.

	And another time he and Marius had been alone came 
unbidden to David's mind. The little courtyard in Maria's hotel; the 
warm Brazil night and the smell of camellias... He had been afraid 
and upset that night, he had not been willing to trust Marius.

	Until Marius opened his mind to him. And kissed him.

	David flushed, and knew it. But it was better than dropping his 
shields, and he could only control one thing at once. He ran a hand 
through his dark, wavy hair, and fumbled for words. "Louis refuses to 
think of it. He says he's all right, no matter what you ask him. And he 
is stronger, or at least his body is. But he still has nightmares. I can 
hear them, I can see them. And if I can't shut them out, I don't want to 
imagine what it's like for him. But I can't seem to do anything to help."

	"It will take time," Marius said gently. Still, he looked worried.

	"I wish I could do something," David said. He stood up, and 
went to the tall window, looked down at the city below. "I..." He 
shook his head. "I feel like I can't reach Lestat any more. I can't seem 
to talk to either of them, really."

	Marius came up beside him and opened the French doors to 
the wrought-iron balcony. David felt a unaccustomed heat flooding 
him, with Marius so close to him, and he shielded hard, as if he could 
make it go away by hiding it.

	But he couldn't shut all of it away. Marius holding a hysterical 
Lestat in his strong arms in the middle of the Avenida Grande, 
containing all that fury with a few quiet words. Marius kneeling in 
front of the symbol on the wall at the ruined pension, tracing its shape 
thoughtfully with one finger. 

	David had not been able to look away then, and he barely 
managed it now. He struggled now for control, as the warm night 
breeze blew in on them, and Marius went past him out onto the 
narrow little wrought-iron balcony, leaned on the railing and looked 
out over the lake.

	"I like this," he said to David. "I like being able to see the boats
and the lights."

	After a moment, David came to the railing as well, careful not 
to stand too close to Marius.

	"I can't help them either, David," Marius said, looking at him.
His eyes were blue, then grey as he shifted, in the panel of light from
the room. "Not right now. You already know it won't help to talk to
them. All I can do is to be here, for a little while."

	It made sense, but it wasn't much comfort. David sighed. "I feel 
like I haven't been any help since we went to Rio in the first place. 
Like I've just been in the way." He regretted it as soon as he'd said it. 
He leaned over the railing and stared down at the dark water.

	Marius put a hand on his shoulder then. "Are you all right,
David?" he asked.

	David tried not to shudder. Marius' hand stayed there, longer
than necessary. Could Marius...? No. No, it couldn't be. Marius was
such a different thing than he was, so old, so complicated. He was
only being Marius, and caring enough to ask.

	David shut his eyes, relaxing at the touch. He wanted... well,
best not even to think what he wanted.

	Marius' hand rubbed his shoulder, the touch strong, gentle, 
full of heat. It flooded David's body, that delicious, familiar stirring. 
He kept his eyes tightly shut, tried not to breathe, wanting Marius not 
to let go.

	And then suddenly Marius' mouth was on his. David wanted
to cry out; and then he felt Marius' arms around him, and the kiss 
deepened. David's amazement was lost in the silken wetness, his 
tongue seeking, his whole body afire. Marius had him, swept David 
up off the ground as he kissed him. They were off balance, but he 
didn't break the kiss or let go. And then they were falling backwards, 
through the open French doors back into the room. David, startled, 
caught hold of Marius reflexively; Marius got a hand under them 
somehow as they fell, and a small, expensive-looking endtable went 
tumbling out of their way.

	Marius was laughing, low and deep in his throat. He pushed
David back against the Oriental carpet, and kissed him again, drew
his tongue along David's cheek and into his ear, bit it playfully.

	David gasped, shivering, his hands tightening on Marius'
shoulders. "You, mean, *you* wanted...?" he managed to get out.

	"Yes, desperately. Ever since I first saw you, talked to you..."
Marius started unbuttoning David's tweed jacket, then grinned
crookedly and simply ripped it open, buttons flying loose.  Suddenly
bold, David reached up and did the same thing, pulling Marius' black
blazer off and tossing it aside. He ripped the red shirt loose with one
hand, easy with his new strength, and ran his hands down Marius'
chest. Skin like marble, it was that pale and smooth, though not so
cold now, beautifully muscled, with the perfection of a statue,
mesmerizing when he moved.

	Marius' eyes closed; he made a soft sound. David pulled him
down, more roughly, his nails biting into the skin of Marius' back. He
kissed the smooth white neck, licking hotly, lingering; he could feel
the pulse beating, was lost in the scent of him, the scent of the blood
in him. It was all he could do to keep from biting. He felt his fangs
extending.

	And then Marius drew back gently, looked down at David
with a deep tenderness. "It will change you," he warned. "Not so
much, you are very strong already, but a little. Are you sure you want
it?"

	"I would want it if it killed me," David whispered, his breathing
coming in little gasps.

	Marius' smile was radiant, almost impossible to look at. "Then
take it," he told David, then added, slyly, "if you can."

	And David had to move quickly to catch him. So strong; it was
all David could do to hold him. They rolled over and over again,
Marius teasing him and biting him, little tiny fang-punctures here and
there, that sent delicious shudders through him and distracted him
almost enough for Marius to slide out of his hold.

	David grabbed him, at the last, caught him and pushed him
down against the soft carpet and held him by that narrow waist, lying
astride him and using all his power. He knew Marius was playing
with him. Marius was testing David's strength, and it was both
infuriating and incredibly arousing.

	_David the hunter_, he heard Marius' thought, and then
Marius was loose and across the room, though he was scrambling
like a human, playing fair. And he seemed lion-like, there, with his
white-gold hair and his feline grace and his threatening pose and
bared teeth.

	"Yes, a lion hunter," David breathed, and then he sprang. He
took Marius down with him. David was three inches past six feet, 
Marius only a little shorter; and they were both well-built. So when 
their rather considerable combined weight landed at speed on the 
antique sofa, the sofa hadn't a chance.

	The wood splintered beneath them, and they collapsed into 
the wreckage in a pile. David was temporarily mortified, looking 
about in astonishment; he hadn't really meant to land on the sofa, but 
Marius was heavy and he'd been pulled off balance.

	Marius was helpless with laughter. He pulled David out of the
mess, and tilted David's face up. David could feel the slight,
embarrassed flush that must have been apparent. "Ah, my David, I
knew you had it in you!"

	A number of thoughts about what _Marius_ had turned out to
be like went through David's mind, but before he could even try to
shield, Marius was kissing him, and they were on the floor again,
Marius pulling David close. The blood sweat had broken out on both
their bodies, and its smell was intoxicating. David licked it from
Marius' chest, and it made him burn for the source, dizzy with the
longing and the pure searing scent of it. The blood!

	And then Marius' powerful body went suddenly pliant in his
arms. "David," he whispered. "Beautiful David." Marius' eyes were 
closed, the lashes quivering; his light hair was spread out across the 
carpet, half-fallen out of its ponytail.

	David brushed the loose strands gently out of the way, turned
Marius' head to the side with one hand, baring the silvery throat, and
hesitated slightly.

	_Go on_, he felt Marius's thought; it was amused and
reassuring. And David could not stand it any longer. He went into the
vein, startling himself with the savagery of it, and Marius cried out in
surprise and ecstasy beneath him.

	The blood was like fire, and it tasted of light itself; like Lestat's
when David had been made, and yet not like it. It filled him with
strength, it filled the loneliness in him with passion, with the feel of
Marius' body beneath his and Marius' arms around him. 

	And then he saw the visions, images scattered over nearly two
thousand years of life. It was every historian's most cherished dream
come true; it was as if David looked through a window to see the
things of legend as they really had been. He saw Rome in the days of
its greatness; the senators and the warriors and Latin spoken in
the streets. He saw the Venice of the Renaissance; he saw the face of
Machiavelli's Prince, Cesare Borgia. He saw Egypt in the first century 
A.D., no less an enigma then than now; he saw the brilliant blue of 
the Mediterranean as it had shimmered in the sunlight twenty 
centuries ago.

	Marius made another soft cry, and David started to pull back,
but Marius put a hand on the back of David's head, holding him 
there against his neck. "Don't stop," he whispered, and David lifted 
him slightly then, holding him, lost in the pleasure of it, in the 
pounding of their two heartbeats, that had been separate, and then 
had come to match each other, to beat together.

	Marius' body was lighter, now, in his arms, and David
brushed back the pale silk hair, tangled his hand in it, felt the blood
sweat on the cool skin. The hot salt taste filled him, and he saw
another image. Marius, but a very young, mortal Marius. So tall, 
among the smaller, darker Roman men at the long table with him. 
Tall, and boy-lean still, too thin for his height, the white-blond hair 
cut close, he stood up and threw up his hands at all of them. Arguing, 
laughing, more than a little drunk; he was saying something 
impassioned, the bright color coming up in his face.

	And at last David drew back, sated and reeling, suffused in
warmth and languor so that he could barely move. He could feel 
Marius breathing as hard as he was.

	David shifted Marius' weight, lay down next to him on the 
carpet. There was blood on his lips, so that he still tasted it when he 
licked them absently, and he watched the little wound on Marius' 
neck vanishing, kissed the place lightly when it was gone.

	Marius' eyes opened, deep, deep blue, and he smiled. He
reached up and stroked David's hair. David drew him closer, a little
startled at the change he had made; Marius' body was lighter now,
the bones more evident, almost like the boy-man David had seen in 
the visions. Marius read the thought and said softly, "You can't hurt 
me, David, don't worry." He kept looking at David, shook his head. 
"So beautiful, David," It was almost too soft to hear.

	And then Marius sat up, and kissed him. Again, and again,
very lightly, starting on his lips and then down all along his neck. Not
savage, now, but infinitely gentle. Light fingers brushing his face, and
all down his body, the most delicate of touches; the silken sweep of
that long hair across his bare chest. David shut his eyes, wanting only 
to think of that contact, to be touched, to be held.

	"Marius," he whispered, wanting to say the name, to hear
it, and Marius smiled.  And then he bit David's throat, but so carefully
that David could not even feel the fangs going in. There was only the
pleasure, the warmth.  David gave in to it, not fighting, not trying to
do or be anything. He let Marius hold him, and he gave the images of
his life away freely; he wanted Marius to see them. David in Rio,
David with the Talamasca. Jesse. Lestat coming in his window, Louis
a shadow by his side. Lestat, his Mephistopheles come to bedevil him 
in his old age; Lestat, his own private demon. Lestat, and his own little 
deal with the devil.

	And he realized that Marius had seen something too of the 
way Lestat had made him, and Marius was even more gentle then. 
David smiled at that, from Marius who had thrown him onto the 
carpet and ripped his jacket off, and then he shut his eyes again, lost 
in the near-paralysis of the pleasure. The power was running out of 
him, and yet some of it was not, some of it stayed with him.

	Marius's hand brushed David's face, played with his hair as 
he drew back, too soon. He drew his fangs out ever so carefully, and 
entwined his body with David's. They both lay exhausted on the 
carpet, David's head on Marius' chest.

	"Do you know," Marius said dreamily, after some time had
passed, "we're lying on the floor?"

	David smiled, looking up at the ceiling. Stamped tin, painted
cream, with the crystal chandelier in the middle throwing little bits of
light everywhere. "I can fix that," he replied, and in one fluid motion
he had picked Marius up in his arms and gotten to his feet.

	Marius' eyes flew open and he looked absolutely, completely
astonished. "David," he sputtered, "David, what are you doing?" He 
made an effort to get down, enough of an effort to give David a little 
trouble holding him, but not enough to actually succeed in getting 
free.

	"What?" David asked, gently teasing, as he shifted Marius' 
weight to one arm, fended his struggles off with the other, and 
succeeded in carrying him into the bedroom. "I'm not allowed?" He 
was delighted to find a huge bed there, an antique four-poster all 
draped in red velvet, and he let Marius down on it. Marius caught 
himself on one arm and looked up at David, seeming amazed.

	David glanced over at the dresser, where there were candles,
three of them in brass holders of various heights, and wanted them lit. 
Then he turned off the overhead light, and came back to the bed. 
Marius took his hand and pulled him down on the velvet spread. 
David watched his face, the light eyes, the mouth that recalled Lestat's 
except that he had never seen it look cruel at all.

	Marius' pale hair was wildly disarrayed. David took the elastic 
hairband out of Marius' hair and ran his fingers through it so that all 
of it was loose. So light; it was a child's hair color. He had always 
thought that amusingly incongrous for Marius, that his hair was the 
color of a little boy's.

	Marius turned on his side and smiled up at him lazily. He 
picked up the elastic and toyed with it. "I can't believe it took two 
thousand years to invent these," he said, "I really wish I 'd had them 
several hundred years ago. They don't come untied like ribbons."

	David laughed, he couldn't help it. "Is that what you think
about when you're two thousand years old?" he asked.

	"My hair gets in my face," Marius said patiently. "I didn't plan 
on long hair for eternity." He played with the elastic another moment, 
then grinned and shot it at David.

	David tried to intercept it, but it hit its target. He brushed it off 
him and shook his head. Marius kept surprising him. Surprising him, 
fascinating him. And seeming to want him, the most amazing thing of 
all. 

	And then Marius reached out for him again, and everything he 
was thinking vanished into the langorous warmth, and the feel of the 
sharp teeth in his neck. Not long this time, only enough to dizzy him, 
to make him gasp with the pain of its stopping. Marius ran a hand 
down his chest, down the soft skin on the inside of his thigh, lingered 
there, and David shivered, absolutely without words. He had thought 
he would never feel anything like this again. He had been seventy. 
He had known he was at the end of his life, that all that was over for 
him.

	"I did too," Marius said softly. "I thought I was only dying."

	"You didn't want it, did you?" David said, and shivered again. 
Marius' hands were still caressing him, and he was having a difficult 
time stringing words together. "The Dark Gift, I mean. Lestat said they 
forced you, in his book."

	"They did," Marius answered, without stopping what he was 
doing.

	"Are you angry? I mean, do you hate them for it?" And the
unspoken question echoed behind what David asked. He had 
wondered it and wondered it, and he could not keep from asking it, 
any more. _Would you undo it, if you could? Would you have 
refused, if they asked?_

	Marius sat up, pulled his knees to his chest, and looked very 
closely at David. The candlelight flickered on his face, threw the 
planes of his body into sharp relief, and then David saw through 
Marius' eyes, was for a moment Marius locked into a tiny hut whose 
door he could not break no matter how hard he threw himself against 
it. "No. They were only doing what they thought was right, what they 
thought they had to do to survive. That isn't an excuse, of course, but 
no, I don't hate them. I'm not angry with Mael, I wasn't even then."

	David watched Marius, wanting to take him into his arms 
again, but not wanting to push him at all. 

	Marius seemed to be looking past David. Then his eyes went 
clear again and met David's. "It's harder," he said gently, "to come 
into this by force. And there was certainly a time when I was angry, a 
very long time. I would rather have been asked. I don't know if I 
would have said yes then. I didn't believe in that kind of thing, I didn't 
really believe in anything. I do know," and he smiled ruefully, "that I 
would not undo it now. I like being alive too much, though I've 
certainly had longer than my share of it already."

	David nodded, understanding. There was one more question
he had to ask. "Are you angry with Lestat, still?" _About me?_

	Marius laughed softly, leaned forward and kissed David's 
forehead. "How could I possibly be, anymore?" He sighed. "Lestat is 
like a force of nature sometimes, irresistible, as if what he does was 
meant to be. And I certainly would have been...tempted, in his place."

	_He's not angry,_ David thought. _I can't believe it, but he's
not._

	"Ecce, puerum bellum; ecce venatorum leoninum." Marius 
whispered then, and he lay down next to David again, pulled 
teasingly at David's curly forelock.

	"What?" David looked curiously at him.

	"It's the language I grew up speaking." Marius repeated what 
he had said.

	David stared at him. It was Latin then, but not Church Latin or
schoolboy Latin; it did not have the inflection of anything he had ever
heard before. _Behold the beautiful boy,_ Marius had said, _behold 
the lion-hunter._ 

	"Dear God," David said finally. "You know how they spoke it. 
You know what it sounded like."

	Marius only grinned. David caught hold of him then, put his
arms around him and held on as if he would never let go, and
Marius' grip on him was as desperate. They clung to each other, lying 
on the red velvet, as if the bed were an island of safety and all around
it were raging waters and they were afraid of falling off.

	_We can't do this,_ David thought. _We can't.  That's the
worst thing of all. It makes so much sense, and yet it can't happen at
all. There's Lestat and Louis. There's Pandora. We neither of us 
belong entirely to ourselves._

	He did not give that thought to Marius. He only held on. And
when the dawn came, much later, and he was falling asleep with
Marius holding him and the sun rising behind the heavy velvet
curtains, only then did he let himself think it.

 _This can't happen again. I know it can't._ 


			THE END