Oh, no, not this again...

[slashmaster]

My name... I remember the tone he used... so soft and sensual, suggesting to me before I turned around what I was to meet. I stood there, my fingertips poised above the piano keys, listening to his heavy breathing behind me, the way he stood with a weight only mortals carried, and I felt the faint brush of fingertips on my shoulder, my elbow.
"Lewis," he said, his tone lilting into a moan. "Lewis, look at me."
I fixed my gaze on the painting before me. A holy picture... a woman I didn't recognize. I sneered. Was that what I was doomed to become? A vague, blind thing so wound up in the constant sliding and grinding of time to not even recall famous religious figures? Did figures matter so much? Was I still not God and Satan? Was I so holy without Jared beside me any more?
"Lewis," he said again, more desperately, as if afraid to touch me, and, even though he was loud, he tried to hush, like he was also afraid to speak.
I turned then, drawing my fingers over the keys... listening to the quiet strains of the obedient chords, a tender harmony. I faced him, and he drew sharply back, not even a half-step but a clear reaction, and pressed his nails to his lips, biting the skin with them and trembling. His mouth was flushed. His lashes fluttered - suggestively, with fear, and he looked away. I watched his mouth, the way it moved like he was mumbling but no sound came, only breath, ragged, deliberate.
"What do you want?" I asked him.
He gazed at me helplessly. I saw the redness in his eyes, the raw feeling, and whatever patience I held snapped.
I motioned over my body wholly. "This?" I said, harshly; he winced. "This you want?" I approached; he backed away. "You want what I have, what I am, but I won't allow it." We walked together, step for step, forward, backward, until he was pressed against the wall against the opposite side of the room, his chest heaving again with his sickness and panic. His hand wandered sideways, searching for something solid, reaching empty wall space, falling away. He spoke without words. The gravity between us was overwhelming. I believe I swooned for a second, my eyes half-open, feeling his heat, the sweat lingering beneath his clothing, hearing the soft and constant rush of blood beneath the skin that smelled sweet to me...
"P-Please," he said, his voice catching and becoming momentarily shrill.
I was close now. His breath was rapid, growing faster with every moment, until it pained him and he sobbed tearlessly as he inhaled. The sharp, painful rhythm of the living.
"You aren't ready yet," I whispered to him, throwing my voice, teasing him, and he closed his eyes, moaning aloud, arousing me even in my play. I was almost against him, but I kept a hard distance between us. He moved a little, unconsciously seeking me, but I didn't allow this. "You aren't ready yet," I said again.
"I am," he whimpered, rocking now, wanting me badly as I wanted him. "Please. Please. I am. I am!"
"No, you're not," I said, inclining my head, breathing on his cheek, and he turned his lips to this, but I didn't allow him to touch me. "You're not ready."
"I want what you have, I want this..." He reached out, slow enough for me to evade, but it was a groping motion that caught my attention nonetheless.
"No, you don't."
He lurched forward, pawing at me, grasping my jacket, and I did not recoil but I was quite astonished by the strength with which he clung to me.
"William!" I cried, his name that I often refrained from using, and he knew he had won with me. A smile played on his flushed lips. Oh, how he trembled, how he made me ache with longing!
He wasn't strong enough. He had run or done something to make him so flushed and heady for me, the way his hands were hot and moist against mine as he sank to his knees, exhausted.
"You tired yourself for me," I said, surprised.
His eyes were sharp. "Yes."
"Why?"
"I told you," he said, feeling my face. I sighed involuntarily, growing dizzy. "I want this."
"But you don't," I said, and now it was more of a plea.
"Change me, Lewis, I beg you," he said, kissing my hands, my fingertips, my lips. "You make such music on the piano. Make such music on me."
Vulgar! I pulled away easily, superior in stamina, and he made a soft sound like a mourning lover, and sat there sadly, his hands limp and looking at me with begging eyes.
His face was made ruddy in the candlelight. I was suddenly aware of his heartbeat, his breathing, which had grown calm again, the way it whistled between his lips, so plush, so red, so moist.
Before considering it, I swept down, gathering him firmly in my arms, hands pressed to the small of his back, drawing all of him to my breast, and his breath shuddered with a sigh of excitement, triumph, surprise... something... ecstasy, perhaps.
I brushed my lips to his neck, tasting the salty sweat there, bringing myself to the floor again with him, feeling him with more fullness and realness than I allowed myself to realize, my fingers lost in his hair, soft and downy and matted. His chest rose and heaved and beat against mine, and he said to me, "Lewis..." and then he said, "Do it."
And I did.

-- I'm not as pleased with this one because it's rather old. And it's not as much of a crappy vampy-love novel as I pretend it is.

[Robin]

"My name... I remember the tone he used... so soft and sensual, suggesting to me before I turned around what I was to meet. "

I don't like the way this is written. The 'my name...' at the beginning throws it all off, but it wouldn't work without it. So it'd probably be best to reword it to something like "I remember the tone he used when he said my name; so soft and sensual etc" But it's not as pretty as the rest.

"A holy picture... a woman I didn't recognize."

I'd switch the ellipses for a comma.

"I sneered."

I don't like the vision this paints. It's just a word that doesn't fit in here well.

"Was that what I was doomed to become? A vague, blind thing so wound up in the constant sliding and grinding of time to not even recall famous religious figures? Did figures matter so much? Was I still not God and Satan? Was I so holy without Jared beside me any more?"

I can see that this is before you mastered Lewis. You said before that Lewis doesn't ask direct questions a lot, so that makes this sort of offkey.

"I said, harshly; he winced."

That semicolon isn't doing much for me. I'd change it to something along the lines of "...I said, the harshness in my voice making him wince." But that's just the formatting I'd prefer to see there. You could pull together something a lot more eloquent.

"and constant rush of blood beneath the skin that smelled sweet to me..."

Ellipses aren't doing anything for this bit. It'd look better if you dropped them and added something like 'so' before sweet. Something.

""P-Please," he said, his voice catching and becoming momentarily shrill."

When a character who doesn't have the speech impediment stutters, it's usually best to write something like 'he stammered' or 'he stuttered' instead of just the norm. In IT, King never says 'Bill stuttered,' because then that'd be the whole book. But here, William doesn't usually stutter. Hah. William Denbrough and this William.

"His breath was rapid, growing faster with every moment, until it pained him and he sobbed tearlessly as he inhaled."

Ehhh. It no read so good. There's got to be a way this can be smoother. "He breathed rapidly, the rate increasing with every passing moment until it seemed to pain him and he sobbed tearlessly as he inhaled." I don't know. Something along those lines. It'd resolve the keeping within PoV, you describe what William is feeling even though Lewis shouldn't be able to know that, so you should present it like 'it seemed to...' 'he seemed to...' etc.

"He lurched forward, pawing at me, grasping my jacket, and I did not recoil but I was quite astonished by the strength with which he clung to me."

Again, it doesn't read that well here. I'd do something like "...pawing at me and grasping my jacket, and though I did not recoil I was quite astonished by the strength with which he clung to me." I'm not fond of the 'quite,' either. It seems a little too detached, and while Lewis isn't always super duper ra-ra into what he's narrating, it makes it seem like he doesn't really care, and we all know otherwise.

"his name that I often refrained from using, and he knew he had won with me."

Doesn't read well. I'd work on the formatting here - maybe something like "...his name, the name I often refrained from using, and he knew he had won with me." I'd either get rid of the often, though, and probably the with me, too. It's just sort of unneccesary and gives us the detachment that we knew isn't very Lewisy.

The other parts are good to go.

Say...didn't you post the part where Lewis changed William? Or am I daydreaming?