#fangsandmagic

@fangsandmagic

One year. That was how long Leo Marchetti had known Aiden. One year. It was also how long he had lived in this city and how long he had worked a thirst page on tic toc under the name 'LordOfLust'

He would wear masks of various sorts, or motorcycle helmets. His face always covered, especially his eyes that would give away who he was.

It was eleven months since he had found out by accident that Aiden watched his videos. Eleven months since the obsession had started. With the help of a couple of hacker friends who were just as morally gray as he was, he had started sending special videos directly to Aiden's phone. Videos that showed more than what certain applications terms and services would allow.

He was also aware when Aiden watched this videos and for how long. He had lost count of how many times the other would have watched him get himself off for him.

He stalked him in other ways too. A tracker was on Aiden's phone so that Leo always knew where he was.

He watched over him the best he could...even having hidden cameras installed in Aiden's home while he was away with his band.

He watched Aiden.

Knew Aiden's secret.

Wanted his fangs sinking into his thigh as he got himself off.

He had imagined it more times than he could count.

Today, he sent a new video to Aiden while the other sat beneath one of his special hidden cameras, waiting to see what the other would do when he saw the slow dance he did for him, wearing only a lacy bit of underwear. Makeup had been applied to make it look like he had been bitten in several very specific places.

A fucking masquerade ball. The stuff of fantasy stories. And somehow he had allowed himself to be talked into it. To opening up Camelot to beings of magic from all over the world in an attempt to find a suitor.

His advisor was an ancient dragon who had watched over Camelot after Arthur's death. Now...he was insisting that Magnus needed so get laid.

Literally.

It wasn't 'get married to better the kingdom' it was just 'your magic is acting up you need to get laid'.

He huffed in annoyance as he stepped into the ball room, and was gently pushed forward by the dragon when he tried to turn away.

People of all sorts filled the room, each wearing a mask while Magnus himself was without, marking him as the King.

Fuck.

The feud had gone on too long. Most of the clans agreed, on both sides. Too many of their kind slaughtered by the warring families, and their numbers were dwindling enough as is. Enough was enough, according to his maker and the current high leader of his clan. There had to be something done.

For 600 years, Leoneil had watched his family and the other shed blood. He'd killed no small amount of them himself, but no ones hands were clean in this bloody battle that had begun long before anyone living remembered its origins. and considering the long lives of vampires? That was a feat in its own self. They were enemies, declared kill on sight. and yet, in the span of a week, he was meant to just accept that he was to marry one of their clan? Even at his age, he found it difficult. Yes, he was capable of adapting to change, but this? This wasn't change. It was simply impossible.

And exactly who was he supposed to marry? Some young fledgling vampire who hadn't even been alive longer than a human. How was Leoneil suppose to marry their clans together when there couldn't have been a single thing the pair would have in common? And of course he couldn't kill his betrothed the night of the wedding. That would have to opposite reaction of what the families were hoping for. A breath, the vampire straightening his 6ft frame, shaking out his curls before he looked at himself in the mirror. The wedding was this evening, the blood moon high in the sky. And while Leoneil may privately sulk, he would never disappoint his maker.

Another breath- all habit, no need, even after 600 years- to steady his nerves before checking over his outfit for the wedding. All black- because of course-, the pant legs of the suit wide enough to appear like a skirt. His black curs were always perfectly arranged around his face, though he took the time to sweep it to the srigh side, letting the cascade over his shoulder as before adjusting the belt around his waist. All in all, a slim striking figure that screamed vampire to even the blindest of humans. Leoneil had never been good at hiding what he was.

Heeled boots purposefully clicked on the ground as he walked, making his way from the room he'd been given to prepare in before making his way to where his maker stood. All of the important members of both clans had arrived to witness the union in the dark of the evening, the cold marble of the taken over cathedral cast in shadows of flickering lights. The roof had long since been destroyed, leaving the light of the full red moon to cast down over the clearing were the most ancient of their kind stood, waiting to preform the rites.

All Leoneil had to do was wait for his betrothed.

"Yes!" Lorraine stumbled trying not to touch any of the blood that was on the floor. "I said to scare him, not kill him. He didn't deserve that." It felt as if a part of her throat had closed up but it was just the emotions that were taking over her body. Leaning against the wall her body trembled. No one deserved that death. Lorraine was almost questioning herself why she was here, but Nicola was keeping her alive. At least for now. "When you said you would take care of it...I didn't think--"

[x]

Not being able to sleep well was making Saima incredibly restless. It was something that they hadn't wanted to bother Dahlia with. But they should have known that she would eventually pick up on that pattern - that was something that came with Dahlia coming home to see them even with her being so busy.

"Because I still care about you. Even if it doesn't feel like it right now.. especially right now." Michelle replied softly, tending to the wound on his cheek.

"I'm so, so sorry Aiden. I didn't mean it. Do you believe me?"

She hated that he had to see her like this, her lip swollen, the bruises on her skin obvious, blood seeping into her shirt. She couldn’t hide it, only because she’d needed help getting home. So, now, she’s sitting on the couch, trembling, bloodied and ashamed while he grabs the first aid kit. She sucks at the blood on her lip, her leg bouncing anxiously at her side and arms wrapped loosely around her middle like a form of self-protection.

There’s a sadness in her expression when he asks what happened—the one question that they really didn’t want to have to answer. They’d never spoken about what they are. Never told him that they had to consume peoples’…pleasure, their essence, in order to live. They’d never mentioned how often it became violent. That they only spent so much time around shitty guys because it felt wrong to take something like that away from anyone else, anyone kind.

As he tends to her split lip, she winces against his touch. “It’s OK, Aiden…It- it’s not your job to protect me…” She’s adamantly avoiding his gaze, though she's aiming for reassuring even if there's a little bit of firmness to her tone. Self-preservation.

His hand cradles their cheek and they flinch, their gaze sort of forced to catch his. They swallow, feeling the instant sting of tears the moment their eyes meet. A weight of overwhelming guilt, palpable distress hangs heavy over them both, his touch only exacerbating the transfer of that anxiety. Her heart pounds, syncing up with his as her breath catches in her throat. Her lip quivers slightly and she bites down on it hard despite the pain it brings.