Blood Lust ⚜ Salvatore or Mikaelson?

39. For Whom the Bell Tolls

"And you can tell the world/That you're tired/But your excuses, they won't work/'Cause I'll know that you're lying/Every time that I see your face/I notice all the suffering/Just turn to my embrace/I won't let you come to nothing." Without a Word, Birdy

September 15, 2011

Outside of Mystic Falls, Virginia 

The Motel Room

Lust. Not for blood, but for pleasure, for something to ease the pain. They had found it in each other, a two thousand year old immortal and a one hundred year old tribrid. The room had been filled with their breaths, and with the sounds of their movements, the bed letting out a small creak every once in awhile.

Not bad for a first time, the tribrid thought. Actually, it was far from bad, it was euphoric. 

Poppy laid on her side in the bed, her bare body concealed in the covers of the bed, which smelled of clean linen. Her back was pressed against the warm and naked chest of the immortal, Silas, his arm draped on her waist. She slept silently, her brown curls covering her face. 

Silas, who was still awake, propped himself up on his arm and brushed the curls behind her ear, admiring her features. He was in love with Amara, that hadn't changed, but he was drawn to Poppy, and he wasn't sure how. Gently, he placed a few kisses on her neck and shoulder before getting up and heading to the shower, where he changed back to his real appearance and thought. How could the universe be so cruel as to destroy the heart of an innocent? He had to make it better. It would be his last mission before his suicide.

After his shower, he got dressed in black boxers and sweatpants, quickly towel drying his hair. He walked back into the main room of the motel and placed the kettle on the stove, turning it on. He turned his attention to the tribrid that slept in the bed, her eyebrows furrowed in her slumber. Silas walked to her and rubbed her arm gently to wake her up.

"Poppy."

Poppy turned onto her back, taking a small breath as she awoke from her slumber, her ocean eyes looking up at him. 

"What were you dreaming about?"

Poppy let out a sigh, sitting up and holding the covers close to her body. "My dad doesn't want me to take the cure." She said, changing the subject. 

Silas could no longer get the truth from her since Stefan's mind was fried. "He said that?"

"He doesn't need to. The moment I brought it up he got angry." Poppy told him, looking over at the stove. "What're you making?"

Silas glanced over at the kettle. "Tea. Do you want some?"

"Sure, why not?" 

Silas walked to the stove, waiting for the water to boil. "Maybe he's scared, knowing your father." He spoke. "I've been in his mind.." Poppy raised an eyebrow. "He loves you, Poppy. More than anything in this world."

"Well does he have to capability to be scared in a different way?" Poppy asked.

"Your father is..impulsive. He'll come around, like he did in New Orleans after you attempted suicide."

Poppy clenched her jaw. "Let me guess, you've been in my head too?"

Silas looked over at her. "I have. I know that there are things you haven't spoken to anyone about. Ever." He turned back to the stove as she stood up and put on a robe.  "Like the box you were in for 80 years, plus a few months. So, step one to getting better is to talk things out."

Poppy walked to the stove as the kettle let out an annoying whistle. Silas poured the steaming water into two mugs with tea bags. 

"What, are you my therapist now?" Poppy grumbled, reaching for the mug, but his hand stopped her, folding onto hers.