don't go s l o w↓
peytonroseyaxley
There weren’t many people that could make Owen Page come running with his tail firmly between his legs, but Peyton Yaxley was one of them. He had long been awaiting the day when it would click in her magnificent head that he had hid out at her least-favourite son’s home. Owen of all people was aware that she loathed Aaron with a passion; not that it stopped him being friends with either. Aaron had been his greatest ally for years, as had Peyton, but they were both valued for different things. Besides, the Page male wasn’t fond of picking sides in a war that he knew would not benefit him in the slightest. So, as intelligent as he was, he resided in Aaron’s home for as long as he could. Until he heard her sweet tones vibrating through the home and calling for his presence.
The door hadn’t reached his hearing as the boy had been in a deep slumber. Sleep didn’t frequently visit him and thus when he managed to drift off amongst his nightmares; it was difficult to rouse him. Usually he awoke at the oddest hours kicking and thrashing, calling out for people that were no longer there. Yet when her voice reached the room his room -- he had forced Aaron to set aside his own room for when he visited -- his head snapped off the feather-filled pillows and his eyelids opened to reveal startled grey eyes. He felt like he was being called by his mother for some naughty act, something silly like having nipped Millie or spilled cookie crumbs and milk all over the floor. But he knew exactly what the ancient vampire had come for, and part of him wished he had denied the Dark Lord. At least he would have been killed quickly.
Sandy locks sticking up at odd angles, Owen stomped down the large staircase in the boxers he had worn to sleep. His handsome face was softened by sleep, the lines he had gathered in a few mere months straightening out. A fist lifted and rubbed at one of his eyes, a yawn stretching out his puffy lips and a tired blush staining his chiselled cheeks. His free hand rubbed against his bare chest, the majority of his tanned skin on display and even darker when he placed himself next to Peyton on the stairs. “Do it outside on the grass,” he grumbled, obviously having pre-accepted his fate, “Rebecca freaks out whenever I make a mess and I don’t want her to be ranting at my funeral saying my blood stained her favourite mat.”
