by Lucian Bane
Poe looked at him. He’d said he was created for this purpose. How then, did his Scribbler create him?
She was mused upon by another to create you. She fell in love with her creation. I’m very sorry.
Poe’s heart arrested in his chest and his legs went weak. Fell in love? His Scribbler was in love with him? How was that even possible for her, a Scribbler that never wrote love or romance?
Your Scribbler has never written love and romance… because she didn’t know how. She had never been loved. She knew not how to write it. But… now, she does.
How could she learn this?
From you.
Silence reigned as he processed that, unable to breathe.
Your heart beats fiercely with this news. You did not know this?
I did not. I was very angry with her… not kind.
Because you love her. And want her to love you. And she does. More than either of you realize. I am sorry 8th Ark, that it is this way.
He was not sorry. He stared at the Sound Scribbler who had ventured closer. A man without hair, he stood a head below Poe, slim and well-muscled with a face hardened in the mysteries of pain and despair. All things once foreign and fictional to Poe. All things very real to him now. He was not a hero. He was not nearly a classical character. He was Jeramiah Poe. Though I have only known my Scribbler for few days... eternity without her would be… a very long waste of my time.
The Sound Scribbler’s compassion nearly stole Poe’s strength. Why should he care? He stood immobile for many seconds before waving his hand in the air, invoking Poe to use the One Voice again. Octava’s Queen holds my heart forever.
Poe stared at him, seeing the evidence of that lost love in his dark gaze. A prison of eternal pain.
“I should be glad to die.”
The Scribbler went to the small bed along the wall and laid down. He swirled his finger in the air slowly and Poe was prompted to hum it again. The two Arks you yet seek are residents here. They will be at the performance. Goodbye noble Miskriat… 8th Ark of Octava.
Poe turned to go and caught the gleam of something in the Sound Scribbler’s hand. He reached behind him with it, wagging for Poe to take. Poe walked over and took it. An ink pen? For his Scribbler?
The man nodded without turning his head then flicked his fingers for Poe to leave.
****
Two days till the performance. Two days to get the Arks and Kane back to Octava.
Two days left with his Scribbler.
Poe wanted to tell the Scribbler everything. But he also wanted to protect her from the horror it had turned out to be. The Arks were all in one hotel room next to his, excited, remembering, playing. Poe made up a reason to be alone until he knew what to do. He didn’t want his doom to affect the joy of their reunion. And the despair he struggled to breathe through was sure to be felt from a mile off.
Then there was the matter of Kane. What would become of him? He wished terribly that the Scribbler could keep him, she would care for him as he would. Was that possible? Poe was the 8th Ark, designed to be the portal, not Kane. He should have asked the Sound Scribbler something so important.
A pounding erupted on his hotel door and the urgency of it sent him hurrying to open it. “What is it?” he said, finding Cado there.
“We have a surprise for you man, you have to come.” The light in the boy’s brown eyes stabbed into the darkness of Poe’s mind, making him want to turn away from the hope he longed to have access to. But of course he couldn’t. Though he wasn’t a hero or classical character, he was no coward.
Poe followed Cado, his heart yet pounding from the emergency he’d first expected. He entered the Ark’s room and his breath caught at seeing his Scribbler serving food to everybody. The fitted white pants she wore made his gut burn with a violent hunger. And then she saw him. Her face lit up as she hurried over to him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. He took the paper plate full of pizza and let her direct him to a chair next to the small table.
“I’ll get your drink, Mr. Poe,” she said. The ineffable warmth of her tone chipped at the cold glacier in his being, beckoning him to be soothed by it.
“Mr. Poe!”
He turned to the excited voice of Kane waving wildly from the floor before the bed where he built abstract art with various items he’d found around the room.
Poe suddenly hungered to touch him and called the boy over. The second he was close; Poe pulled him onto his lap. Kane hugged his neck really tight and Poe closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the tiny body. “I love you Mr. Poe.”
Poe’s breath caught and his throat closed up as he cradled the boy’s head tight to him. “What’s this surprise,” Poe finally managed. “Do you know?”
“It’s a surprise, I can’t tell!” he whispered. Poe loosened his hold at feeling him ready to run off. “But I’m in it!” he said with a nod and smile before bounding off.
“Your drink.”
Poe looked up at his Scribbler next to him and took the plastic cup with one hand, capturing her wrist with the other. “Sit,” he said, pulling her on his lap.
She smiled. “If you insist,” she said with laughter in her voice.
“I do. Very much.”
“Okay, he’s here,” Charlotte announced.
Poe leaned in until his nose brushed the back of her neck. He closed his eyes and selfishly drank her in until his body throbbed with her life.
“Alright,” Lark sang, “we still need practice, but wait till you see this.”
“Hit the lights,” Lucas said.
Charlotte hopped up and turned off the lights then returned back to her spot. Poe pulled her tight to him, holding her hip with one hand, and embracing the outer column of her neck with the other.
She made this throat clearing noise and slid her arm around his waist, working her hand under his shirt and up his back, bringing shivers of delight to his muscles.
The Arks stood in a line; Lucas, Cado, Lark, Joe, and then Duane. “Okay, Kane?” Lark smiled and nodded at him, her bow poised on the violin.
Kane hopped up on the bed with a straw in his right hand. He aimed it at Lark and began waving it slowly in the air. Poe smiled at his imitation of the Sound Minister from Octava. A rather remarkable imitation, Poe thought. Kane moved the straw to the next Ark and they began to play too. Poe suddenly realized Kane wasn’t imitating. He was really orchestrating. He really was conducting music!
“Divinities,” Poe whispered, amazed.
Charlotte giggled and put her head against Poe’s. “Isn’t he amazing?”
“Yes.” But Poe could think of only one thing in that second as he stroked the skin at her neck. “Will you come to my room after this?”
She lightly raked her nails along his back. “What do you have in mind?”
“You.”
Poe felt the sharp spike of arousal in her body and pulled her tighter to him.
“I might be busy,” she whispered, tracing each vertebra slowly.
Poe couldn’t resist smiling at the obvious lie and placed a secret kiss at the very back of her neck. “Schedule me in?”
“I suppose I can find a spot.” She sucked in her breath. “Okay this is it,” she whispered. “Watch.”
Kane began to move the straw rapidly and Poe went back to being impressed with the little master. Poe stilled in awe at seeing it. Soft white lightening began arcing from Lucas’s Cello, reaching all the way to the ceiling! Like a domino effect, Cado’s guitar erupted in soft orange flames that embraced him like a warm friend. Then came Lark’s violin, dancing with blue electricity and Joe’s sax seemed to draw blood red arcs from the air. Poe laughed in delight as Duane’s harmonica emitted a floating and peaceful aqua energy with tunes that stirred Poe deeply.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Charlotte wiggled in his lap happily, and Poe shifted his hips to receive the wonderful sensation right where he most needed it.
“It’s breathtaking,” Poe said.
Sh
e glanced at him and saw that he’d meant her more than them. She smiled a little and lowered her lashes before leaning in to whisper. “You’re the breathtaking one.”
Her words arrested his pulse and he cradled her head, holding it to his shoulder. “I need you Scribbler.”
She raised her head and whispered in his ear. “The second they’re done, I promise. Then I’m all yours.”
“All?” he asked, wanting that so very badly.
“Every bit of me.” Her words were hot and hoarse in his ear, full of emotion and sincerity.
At the end of the performance, Poe stood with his Scribbler and they clapped at the bowing and laughing musicians. It was like watching a reunion of lost lovers and Poe couldn’t resist the good vibes pressing in.
“Oh my God,” Scribbler cried, “that-was-a-maaaaazing!” She jumped a little and clapped when Kane took a bow and leapt from the bed.
It took Poe’s utmost control to stick around for casual pleasantries and not drag Scribbler to his room.
“I need to speak to you Mr. Poe,” Charlotte said as Poe finally excused himself.
At the door, he glanced back at her. “I’ll be waiting.”
The Arks caught the intimate exchange and made sure they got their fun and laughs in at the lovebirds, as they called them. Poe actually took great honor in them knowing. . He wanted them to know. He wanted the world to know. That she was the one. She was his.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Poe waited for his Scribbler in only that small black undergarment she’d gotten him. His heart ached as much as his body did for her. He’d never been so eager for anything. To have every last bit of her. To give her every last bit of him. There was no point not to. There was no way he could deny himself or her that gift. Even if it was only once. Or a hundred times, if he had his way.
The knock that finally came to his door, resonated in his heart. It was timid. Delicate. Vulnerable. The truth about his Scribbler he’d missed all this time.
Poe opened the door and his breath froze in his chest. There she stood, in a black dress that hugged her body enough to make him envious of the material. “You dressed up for me,” he whispered.
Her lips parted and her eyes flew back up to his, as though she worried he’d think badly of her desire for him. “You… dressed up for me too.”
He stood aside and she walked in. “I did.” He smiled and shut the door, locking it. “I hope you like it.” He looked over his shoulder and found her eyeing his body. He turned and slowly walked toward her, paying close attention to her every response, etching them deep inside him. “Do you?”
When he was a foot before her, he smiled at how flustered she was. “Do I?”
“Do you like it?”
She nodded with that sweet innocence and it made that ache intensify inside Poe.
“Do you know what I want to do?” He took one of her hands in his and she bit her lower lip and shook her head barely. “I’ll give you a hint.” He stroked her palm with his thumb. “It’s going to take all night. Unless you… can’t stay that long.”
“I-I can,” she whispered.
“Good.” Poe brought her hand up and pressed it to his chest, wanting her to feel what she did to him. He stroked his finger along her face, watching her breath turn shallow and eyes flutter shut. “Scribbler,” he whispered, gliding his fingers along her neck now. “I need you.”
The soft skin of her forehead crimped hard and tears spilled from her closed eyes. “I need you too,” she gasped.
At seeing and hearing what that need did to her, Poe enveloped her body in his arms and lifted her into a tight embrace. “You have me Scribbler,” he whispered in her ear. “Forever. I’m yours forever.”
She clutched his neck tight. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, her voice breaking bitterly. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Don’t say it.” He buried his fingers in her silky hair. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I was so wrong about you Scribbler. I’m the sorry one.”
Poe helped her onto his waist when she fought to get there as she bestowed a ravenous kiss on him that made him dizzy.
“My Poe,” she whispered in his mouth, devouring him, setting his soul on fire. “Love me Poe. Love me.”
He found the bed somehow and laid her on it. He fit so perfectly between the cradle of her open thighs and she cried, “Yes.” against his mouth as her fingers gripped his waist, pulling, clawing for that which he would wait no longer to give.
“Scribbler,” he whispered, kissing her with equal hunger. “I can’t… I won’t make love to you until—”
She froze and pushed him up a little. “Until what?”
He leaned and kissed softly at her lips. “Until I know your real name.” When she remained still, he lifted his head and peered into her disturbed expression. “Don’t you trust me, Scribbler?”
Her brows slowly softened and her glittery gaze searched his. “Yes,” she said. “I never didn’t trust you, that’s not why I hide my name.”
He suddenly wanted to know something, and yet didn’t—but had to. “Does… any other man know your real name? Besides your father?”
She slowly shook her head, her brows furrowed again. “God, no,” she whispered. “Never.”
Her expression piqued his interest and he laid exactly along her side, keeping most of his weight off of her, his leg between hers while stroking the soft skin of her face with his fingers. “I was going to be jealous if you had.”
Surprise raised her brows a little and she bit her lip. “That’s sweet,” she said with a tiny voice that made him hungrier somehow. “But… I don’t tell my name for a good reason.”
He slid his index finger along her lower lip, smiling. “You’re protecting the world? From what, my love?”
“From… the most hideous name in the history of hideous names.” Her immense sincerity made him laugh.
“I had no idea.” He leaned and kissed her, keeping it to delicate nips as he smiled at the sweet idea of her not liking her name so immensely. “But I must know it.”
“Why!” she cried against his lips. “It’s wickedly awful.”
“I have to know. There is no getting out of that.”
“Poe, please!” she held his face, searching his eyes. “Please don’t make me. I’ll do anything you ask.”
He gave a low groan at that. “You will do anything I ask regardless.” He pushed through her hold and kissed her with passion until she sighed softly in his mouth. “Tell me your name, Scribbler.”
“It’s….” She moaned and raked her fingers in his hair. “It’s…”
He moved to her neck for a feast. “Tell me.” Poe sucked at the silk with a voracious hunger.
“Oh God.” The desperate cry came with eager pushing into his leg. “It’s…”
He helped her feel good, pushing back into that delicious junction. “Just say it, do it. I need to have you now.”
She pulled his hair and mewled and writhed before finally giving a frustrated growl that brought Poe’s head up. “I can’t Poe!” She looked away with closed eyes. “You’ll laugh. And if you don’t laugh, I’ll be pissed that you’re pretending it’s not the most horrible name ever, and if you do laugh, I’ll be pissed at that! See? There is no good end to knowing my name!”
He laughed and then nibbled at her neck, loving her silly reasoning. “You must tell me,” he said with regret. “I have to know.”
“Why?!” she whined.
He lifted up and stared down at her, a bit exasperated. “Scribbler. You know everything about me.”
“Not everything! You have an entire life I don’t know about when I’m not scribbling you. You could be out with other Octavian whores while on call!”
His laughter burst forth at that ludicrous notion while loving to hear how she coveted him. “There are no women I’m interested in on Octava, and it’s not my fault I have a life outside the story you rarely scribble on.”
Her eyes went wide. “But that’
s not the point. I don’t know all about you, that is the point, and it’s fiiiiiine Poe, absolutely fine if you don’t know every single thing about me.”
“Scribbler,” he said again, his patience waning. “This is your name. Not what you ate last year on the third Sunday of the sixth month.”
“I could probably find that out for you.”
“You’re evading.” He went back to kissing her neck, ready to use persuasion. “I think I can help you.”
She raked her fingers on his scalp and merely moaned in favor of whatever he had in mind.
“I want to know what you have under that dress, by the way. I need to know.”
“In exchange?”
He gave a deep chuckle. “Not hardly. You will be telling me your name. That is a fact.”
“What if I refuse?”
“You won’t.”
“You sound so sure.”
He slid his hand along her inner thighs until he touched silky material. “I am very sure.” He leaned and nipped at her neck and stroked his fingers over the softness. “Scribbler,” he whispered. “They’re wet.”
She opened for him and made tiny moans while moving against his touch. “Yes.”
Her tone said wet was good. Very good. “Just like when I’m burning hot.” He stroked a finger over the warm material, pressing on the spot he’d seen her touch. “Is it hot Scribbler?”
“God yes,” she moaned.
“Tell me your name, Scribbler.” He worked his way inside her panties and dipped into the delectable silk. “So very wet. I want my tongue and lips here. All over and inside, tasting, licking, sucking, nibbling with hunger. The way you did me.” He sucked the column of her neck hard, ready for that. “I have thought of that countless times. And other things.”
“Tell me,” she gasped.
He moved to her lips, getting dizzier with need. “This,” he dipped his finger inside her. “I want to be inside this. Deep inside. All the way to the very bottom of you.” He groaned at feeling her body grip him. “Yes. I want you to do that on me.”
