#mactor

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"My Lord, I can feed myself..."

Hector's protests went unheard. In fact, his husband's crimson eyes seemed to twinkle with delight while he shifted on his lap; it was a good thing Hector had the strength to bear his weight, and enjoy the close contact without any discomfort.

"I know, dear. I've watched how graceful you are when you feed... You're a merciful vampire, and a merciful Lord." Mathias' fangs shone like gems in his smile, as he swirled the golden chalice in his hand with lazy twists of his wrist. "But how tedious would our existence be if we only bothered to feed to satisfy our animal needs?"

That, he could agree with. It took thirty years or so before Hector felt ready to take the plunge, and join his beloved in immortality. The prospect of shedding his humanity, after fighting tooth and nail to reclaim it, had been terrifying: would he be ready to shy away from the sun, and find comfort in the shadows? Would he be ready to sink his teeth in human flesh, and force on others the same pain that had been forced on him? And would he be ready to exist beyond the limits of time, growing distant from the world as a whole, witnessing empires rise and fall while he stayed untouched and unchanging?

Only his Lord - his real Lord, not the monster that took his semblance and used him and toyed with his heart - could allay his worries. And not one day, ever since he had woken up in his coffin and his blood had frozen inside his veins, he ever regretted his unholy marriage.

Yes, Hector more than looked forward to spending his existence not as a mere vampire, but as Lord Cronqvist's consort, joined as one person.

"Very well, my king," Hector reclined on his throne and grinned, pulling Mathias' face closer to his, until it was all he could see, all it mattered. "I trust you."

It was all his husband needed to hear. In one swift motion, he lifted the chalice to his mouth and tilted it. However, Hector's keen senses noticed that his Adam's apple was not bobbing, and no sound of swallowing accompanied the gesture. And like that, he understood.

So, he put no resistance when Mathias closed the gap between them, with cheeks slightly swollen, and instead readily parted his lips.

Blood, thick and rich blood flowed from his beloved mouth to Hector's, slightly cooled down but no less exquisite. Hector drank in slow, steady gulps, letting the nectar down his dry throat, but not without darting his tongue out, caressing Mathias' soft lips and pointy fangs; he reciprocated with eagerness, entangling both tongues in languid strokes, mixing blood and venom in a heady concoction he could not get enough of.

In occasions such as these, he did not miss needing to breathe.

With Hector's disappointment, eventually he finished drinking all the blood, and Mathias straightened his back, face glowing with satisfaction. Privately, Hector missed his human eyes, that glistened like jades, but he was still utterly beautiful, more than the angels he used to pray to.

"Well, precious? Would you allow me to pamper you for longer?"

Mathias wiped some drops of blood that slipped out of Hector's mouth; he kissed the finger, and then he grasped the whole hand and planted more kisses on the back, because they might be no longer Lord and knight, but his husband still shivered in pleasure as if he were still human and Hector could ask for nothing more.

It starts with a smile that lingers for a second too long.

Mathias knows how to read every twitch on a person's face. No one, human or not, has been able to hold secrets from him, the most renowned strategist in Europe.

And Hector does a poor job at hiding his interest in the young woman who is sheltering them.

Mathias can only hope to be more discreet than his knight, when his stomach knots at the sight.

It continues with fingers that brush against each other.

Mathias has no reason to doubt Hector, none at all. The kisses that he gifts him, the embraces that envelop him, the passion that flows from him when they're alone in their room and decorates Mathias' skin: they're the same as the day the knight pledged loyalty to him.

He's a pure man despite his sins, and Mathias would never love him any less.

But he used to be a knight in a hellish world of cruelty; surely he'd have learned how to masquerade to survive...? Perhaps he is only trying to protect his Lord's heart, the noble man that he is, but in reality his own already belongs to someone else...

Mathias grabs Hector for a kiss when Rosaly's back is turned, and allows his taste to wash off his impure thoughts.

It takes roots with a gentle tucking of Rosaly's hair behind her ear.

Hector shines in Rosaly's presence like the warm sun that bathes the small cottage. Mathias should be only happy for his beloved. God knows he deserves all the love he can receive, and if he has learned anything about Rosaly, is that she is brimming with love to give to anyone who needs it. She is the embodiment of Christendom, much more than those hypocrite philistines clad in white and gold infesting churches, and he can't help but respect her.

But Mathias is counting the days until she grows bolder and unbuttons Hector's collar, and notices the few small scars on his throat, and ask where they came from, so that he'd be honest with her and disgust her, young woman who only knows the Church and nothing about the Hell Mathias and Hector have lived through, and Hector would seek comfort into the arms of the only person who could understand the torment he had to suffer...

Then Mathias remembers the scars on Hector's back and thighs, depraved and deplorable warnings to people like Mathias who would dare to love Hector. He's playing Dracula's game. His own game.

He throws up in his mouth, and runs to check his own reflection in the mirror, to make sure he still has one.

It blossoms with a peck on the cheek, before Rosaly dashes out of the room with a poorly concealed giggle.

"Ah, my Lord," Hector stammers, rubbing where Rosaly declared her intentions. "You're not... I mean, you are not angry, are you? Please understand, you are still my Lord and nothing will change that..."

"Yes, I understand," Mathias says, stretching his mouth into a smile and holding his beloved's hand. "Don't worry about me. I'm not the Count. By all means, if you are growing... fond of Rosaly, you are free to pursue her. Rest assured that she fancies you, and I've never been wrong about people so far."

Then, hammering the stake in his heart, he adds: