#ruthvani

He watched the firelight flicker over Ruthven's crimson hair, turning it into licking flames too. Turning that amber eye into brimstone. A devil from a gothic novel, surrounded by hellfire.

Vanitas wondered just how much of a moth he had inside him.

He leant against the doorframe, as though he was unbothered, and forced his gaze around the room. To the leatherbound books on the shelves in the walls. The embroidered rug. The carved animals in the mahogany fireplace.

His comfort must have annoyed the Lord. He placed the papers – not quite tossed – onto the side table next to the armchair, and finally looked up.

"Last time we met, I nearly killed you," Ruthven said. His voice was that same relaxed, low growl. Like a lion.

"It's strange how often conversations with me start that way." Vanitas' smirk was genuine. What a life he led. He retrained himself from saying that he had allowed that; he suspected Ruthven already knew. 

Ruthven's expression stayed stony. "And I do not believe I gave you permission to visit this address."

This address in the mortal world. Vanitas wasn't going to ask for Noé's help with getting to the vampire world for this meeting. He couldn't. Noé would be furious that he didn’t ask, and that was why precisely why Vanitas wouldn't let him. This way, Vanitas could do what he wanted. His plans wouldn’t be interfered with.

"I'm aware." Vanitas stayed slumped against the doorframe. He reached out a finger to trace the shape of the gas lamp at his head height. The brass had been turned into an octopus tentacle. He let his words sit between them; stayed silent, to see how long Ruthven would wait for a more satisfactory answer.

It was a full twenty seconds.

"How did you find me, kin of the vampire of the blue moon?"

It was impossible that he'd know how much that niggled Vanitas, to be addressed like that. Impossible, and yet, he somehow believed he did.

"Noé went to a café, the other day," Vanitas said. He pushed himself off the wall. Met that brimstone eye, and wanted Ruthven to know this was where he got serious. "I asked at the hotel. They gave me the name of it. I visited. It turns out, your—" He let the next word drip like honey from his tongue. "—Lordship is a frequent visitor. So, I asked for your address, to give you a message from Monsieur Archiviste."

He saw it. The slight twitch of Ruthven's eye. He knew the reason; Noé didn't remember visiting that café. Didn't remember his meeting with Ruthven. But Ruthven revealing that would be admitting that he had meddled with Noé's mind.

He'd stepped forward, twice, whilst he'd spoken, and he saw Ruthven's gaze travel from his boots to his face. To his innocently smiling mouth.

"And what message does Monsieur Archiviste have for me?" he asked. Casually. Carelessly.

"He doesn't." Vanitas took another step forward. Firmly on that lovely, embroidered rug. Four feet away from Ruthven. "But it's amazing what service workers will tell you when they believe you're a servant."

There was a slight twitch of Ruthven's mouth. Perhaps the start of a smile. Good. Let Vanitas amuse him. If he was amused, he was less dangerous.

"Then I'm afraid I still do not know why you're here."

"Because Noé came home that day, and something wasn't right." It was a fight to keep his tone even. To stop himself from being too emotional. He needed to be just as stony cold as the Lord. He could do that. He'd done it before. Just because it was Noé involved—"Something happened in that café, and he wouldn't tell me."

Wouldn't tell him, and not couldn't. Let Ruthven think whatever trick he had on Noé wasn't quite perfect; didn't quite work.

Ruthven opened his large hands. The firelight glinted off the sharp nails. Vanitas didn't look.  Wouldn't look. Wouldn't think about those nails over his skin.

"If he wouldn't tell you, then I certainly wouldn't want to break his trust."

"It's your trust that would be broken." Vanitas took another step. Tilted his chin up defiantly. "So, you should tell me."

It was the straw on the camel's back. Ruthven was on his feet before he could blink; loomed over Vanitas, his hair a crimson mane around his shoulders.

"You forget yourself." His hand hovered, open, in the air, as though it was waiting to grasp Vanitas' neck again. He bared it all the more. "Human."

Vanitas looked up from under his lashes. "Tell me what you did to Noé."

The hand did land, then. Not on his neck, but his jaw. Big enough that his fingertip nudged Vanitas' earring, and firm enough for him to feel it. A display of power.

Vanitas' pulse raised. Not with fear. This was exciting. This was what he lived for; the danger; the cat and mouse – because the mouse always escaped, in the end.

"Why?" Ruthven growled. He examined Vanitas' face, and he fought to keep it blank, even though he was balanced on his tiptoes, and it was harder to catch his breath. "Do you care for him?"

Vanitas' smirk was fake, this time. He pushed out the laugh. "Not as such. But he is mine." He took hold of Ruthven's wrist. Managed to lever himself back onto the floor firmly, and didn't blink. "Only I'm allowed to hurt him."

He watched the slow smile form on Ruthven's face. The low light made the hollows very dark; made the scars poking out from under the eyepatch look twisted like tree roots. Made him a monster.

"I see." He released his grip, though Vanitas could still feel its ghost. He traced down Vanitas' jaw with a knuckle, and he felt a cold shiver race across his skin. Felt that lure vampires had around them. The sensuality of danger.

Vanitas got drunk off that lure. He supposed he was a moth, after all.

"I thought you were a strange knight in shining armour." His knuckle rested under Vanitas' chin. He pressed down against it, just to show he wasn't scared.

"I'm an avenging angel."

Which got him a chuckle. Good; he was still amusing. Ruthven released him. Sunk back into the armchair, and watched him like he was a performer. Which he was; this was a performance. Vanitas was always performing. He was good at that.

"Yes, that suits you more," he said. "Still, you're too arrogant for my liking."

Vanitas rolled his tongue in his mouth, as though he was considering that. As though he hadn't decided what he was going to do before he even walked in the room. 

He took another step forward, then lowered himself to one knee. Let his coat fall off his shoulders and land in a dark puddle around him. 

Ruthven's eyebrow twitched.

Vanitas shifted the other, to the floor. Knelt in front of Ruthven's chair, and tipped his head back. He felt his hair shifted with the movement. Felt his collar shift, and expose more of his neck. Noticed the way Ruthven looked there.

"My lord." The words were easy to drip out, when he didn't mean them. When Vanitas, at least, knew they were mocking.

Ruthven's other eyebrow raised. The smile twitched a little more. "You're much more pleasant this way."

On his knees. Vanitas pretended he didn't catch the insinuation. He rounded his shoulders; let his hair fall back over his neck. "And humble?"

Ruthven let him wait there, again. And this time Vanitas couldn't annoy him out of it. This time, he had to wait, was the one who wanted something. He felt hot shame claw its way from his stomach to his chest; to his neck.

Ruthven eventually shifted, in the chair. "Noé made a promise to me. That's all."

It probably was all. But a promise was a dangerous thing. A swear was a dangerous thing. And Noé didn't even remember what he swore, which was the worst part of all. 

This was practical. This was because that swear would come back and sink its fangs into Vanitas' neck. He preferred to choose who bit him. He had the power, because he had the choice.

Ruthven examined him. 

Vanitas' heart pounded in his chest. He'd suspected something like that. Had a plan for how to deal with it. Now that he knelt here, it seemed a foolish thing to do. This would bite into Noé's neck instead, and if he ever found out that Vanitas tried to save him from this, it would shatter him. Could make him hate Vanitas. 

Good. He should. 

"Let me take that promise," he said. "I'll take it, instead of Noé."

Ruthven leant forward, resting his chin on his fist. 

Vanitas' heart picked up speed. He tried to hide his swallow. Danger, and he loved it.

"Why should I let you do that?"

Vanitas knew how to look at men. He'd learnt from Mikhail. He settled back, tilted his head, let his hair fall and said, "I'll be your angel, for tonight."

Ruthven almost laughed at him. He saw it. That look of incredulousness – the question of why he'd ever want a human, much less a human like Vanitas. But then he took him in again, the arch to Vanitas' back. Thought about who he was – what he was. Thought about how much it would hurt Noé if he knew.

"Prove it."

That wasn't an acceptation, but Vanitas would earn it. He would take this burden off Noé. 

He was better at carrying them.

He moved closer. Close enough to rest his hands on Ruthven's knees. To use them to lift himself up, not to standing, but to close the gap between them. To slide his fingers up Ruthven's thighs as he twisted upwards. As his lips grazed that jaw; found that mouth. 

He kissed him. Teasingly, at first, until Ruthven's tongue pushed through to his mouth. Vanitas let his jaw fall open, mouth full of heat. Ruthven's teeth ran over his lip; teasing it with his own. Just enough to feel the suggestion of his fangs.

Vanitas let out a small whine. It was measured.

Ruthven's nails dragged across his scrap, burying themselves in his hair. Kept him there, arched up awkwardly, as he took what he wanted. Pushed his tongue against Vanitas' forcefully.

Warmth crawled up his body. He pressed his fingers into Ruthven's thighs, his breath raw against the edges of his throat, his pulse fluttering in his neck.

Ruthven pulled away, holding him at arm's length and keeping him in place as he examined him.

He must look pathetic. His cheeks must be red, his mouth open to catch his breath, his hair a mess. Yet, looking pathetic would help. That was a strength in itself; he could use being underestimated. He wanted to hate looking pathetic; he often did.

Ruthven's nail traced a line under his eye. He didn't flinch.

"This becomes you, nicely." The corners of Ruthven's lips twitched. Amused.

"I can do more," Vanitas replied, his voice already rough at the edges.

He was released, slowly, dark strands falling through Ruthven's fingers, like he was appraising fabric.

Vanitas fell back. Slowly teased open the buttons of his waistcoat, meeting Ruthven's amber eye. Not scared, not arrogant, but watching. Teasing at his bottom lip as he did. Exaggerating the hitch of his breath, as he let his waistcoat fall. Watched Ruthven drinking him in. Hating, Vanitas thought – knew – that he was just a human. That he was a human, and yet Ruthven was amused at least, by this display, if not attracted.

He loosened his shirt. Just enough for it to fall from one pale shoulder. Nudged his cheek against Ruthven's knee, like a needy cat.

Ruthven caught his ponytail, at the base. Gently tugged him back, and usually Vanitas would snap and growl at that, but this time he let himself go with the movement. Was compliant. Let Ruthven tug his shirt from his other shoulder. It fell, until it was barely on him. He was glad of the low lighting; it would help disguise the pale scars on his shoulder; over his back.

Ruthven didn't comment on them. He used the back of his hand to nudge Vanitas' chin to the side. It barred Jeanne's mark in the firelight.

"Seems you're already spoken for," he said. Grumbled.

Vanitas leant into the hand, looking up from under his lashes. Almost batted them, just to seem all the more alluring.

"It's casual," he said. "And I have lots of room."

It was a slight gamble. He knew not all vampires liked the idea of a marked-up human. But it made Ruthven's brows raise interestedly. He brushed Vanitas' hair behind his ear, lingering over the shape. Over the hourglass earring. Examined it, in the light, and Vanitas let him, for a moment, before he turned his head fully. Before he pressed an open mouth again Ruthven's palm and received a hum of response. 

"Yet, I cannot see an Archiviste mark on you." At least he was distracted from the hourglass. 

"It's not up here," Vanitas replied. Lied. Let the Lord think Noé had bitten him, and all that entailed, at least for now. It would put Noé in danger, but only until Ruthven realised he was lying.

And let Ruthven think their relationship was like that. Let him think that Noé had marked Vanitas' hip or thigh. From the dark look on his face, that idea only fuelled that greedy desire. He felt like a moth landing on a candle; he had what he wanted, and he knew it would be destroying.

Vanitas smiled. Coquettishly. Kissed Ruthven's palm again, taking his thumb into his mouth and biting down, just enough to feel it. Rolled his tongue around it and followed it as Ruthven pulled him closer. He followed, running a splayed hand down Ruthven's thigh and feeling him shift. 

He inched his grip further, tilted his head for the light to catch his features; to turn him into a fae. 

Ruthven hummed again. Pressed his thumb down against Vanitas' thumb. Rubbed, and the whine he gave was only half for show. Only half to ensure he got that promise.

Because Vanitas hated being compliant like this. Loved hating being compliant like this. It set him on fire. He had an excuse, a reason, to act pathetically, and that only fuelled the fire. He could never be like this with Noé.

This was for Noé.

He let the thumb press further in his mouth. Opened it wider until it threatened to make him gag. Kept his eyes closed. Heard Ruthven give a longer, still satisfied hum.

Vanitas inched his hands higher. To Ruthven's belt. Chanced feeling between his legs, and knew that what he was doing was working. Couldn't help smiling, a little.

The thumb withdrew from his mouth. 

He opened his eyes. It was an effort. His cheeks were prickling, and he had to resist shifting to ease his own arousal. Love-hated that he was aroused at all.

Ruthven didn't speak. Opened his legs slightly wider and that told Vanitas enough.

His fingers worked at Ruthven's belt. He shifted, to be properly between his knees, feeling them nudge at his bare shoulders. The heat of the fire pressed against his skin.

He tugged Ruthven's member free from his trousers. Slowly dragged his hand over the length and watched the too-controlled breath Ruthven took as he did. Figured there was a chide or scold on its way, and normally he would play into that, but this time he had to be perfect. Had to earn that promise from Noé.

He didn't waste anymore time in taking Ruthven in his mouth. Still slowly, at first, working his lips and tongue at the tip and hearing a grunt of reply. Didn't wait for that grunt to become impatient, before he took it properly. Let out his own sound, to show how good a pet he was being. It was barely an act, anymore.

Those nails appeared in his hair again. Raked paths through it as Vanitas began to move picking up his pace with each movement. Twitching his tongue just enough to get those nails to stop, to dig in. To hold him where Ruthven wanted him and he complied. Worked harder, heart racing like a hummingbird’s wings. Fluttered his gaze up to see Ruthven studying him. His face was coloured. Only a little, but still.

Vanitas' felt burning. Strands of hair clung to his cheeks and his pulse raced in his fingertips. Made soft, submissive sounds to answer the satisfied grunts.

He kept moving, kept working, until Ruthven was shifting, still controlled, but still, shifting, under him and he took handfuls of Vanitas' hair.

"Stay," he said.

Vanitas did. Swallowed, eyes closed. Love-hating, love-hating, hate-loving.

Was released. Came away with an undignified pop, earnestly trying to get his breath now. His throat burnt. His hand trembled, and that wasn't an act either, as he reached up to wipe the saliva and semen from his mouth and chin.

His wrist was caught. Was brought to Ruthven's mouth, and that tongue flicked out from between fangs to lick his glove. 

Thank God they were still on. A small mercy.

Ruthven smiled, slowly, as he released Vanitas' wrist. It took a great effort not to let it fall like lead to his side. He knelt there, his knees aching against the rug. He could feel every stitch through his trousers. His own arousal made it difficult to sit still; was staging a coup against his mind and it was an effort to remember what he was doing, what this was for, because right now he wanted relief. Wanted the Lord Ruthven to take him – would let him have Vanitas any way he decided, as long as he eventually got release.

The longer it took, the sweeter it would feel.

Ruthven smiled. A proper sized smile, this time. Satisfied. A lion with a full belly.

Vanitas bit his cheek to stop from shifting. Would not show this vampire he was uncomfortable; was needy without acting.

"I find myself unexpectedly convinced."

Vanitas smiled with swollen lips. His shirt dug into his arms, the only place it was still attached. 

"High praise indeed, my lord." 

He hadn't been able to resist the powdering of sarcasm, this time. Ruthven's brows twitched.

"Careful. You were doing so well."

"My lord," Vanitas repeated, and hid the mocking more carefully this time. Hated the words from his tongue. Got a satisfied, self-important smile as Ruthven tucked himself away. He patted his lap. 

"Here."

Like Vanitas was a dog. Wanted to loathe obeying. Did it anyway, with another spear of heat searing through him, because he hadn’t gotten that promise yet. Knew, as he stood, that his arousal was even more obvious, and saw the amusement flicker in Ruthven's eye.

He settled himself in Ruthven's lap, hands just against his shoulders to stay steady.

Ruthven brushed his hair from his face. Methodically. Almost petting.

"You're a beautiful creature," Ruthven said.

Vanitas held his head on one side, his eyelids heavy. "Even though I'm a human?"

"It's a great shame." There were nails, against the side of his neck. His bare collarbone. 

What would he say if he knew the truth? Vanitas swallowed, heavily. His pulse was between his legs.

"Do we have an agreement?"

Ruthven didn't answer immediately. Brushed Vanitas' hair from his shoulder again, and leant closer. The heat on his breath made him bare his neck further, breath catching.

If it wasn't a yes, he could pull away. Could come up fighting with fangs and claws, and consequences be damned. Could spit the truth.

But Ruthven said, almost again his skin. "We do."

Which meant not fighting back.

Ruthven's fangs sunk into his neck. Roughly. He half-cried out from the shock of the pain, before his breath left him entirely. He clutched Ruthven's shirt. Heard him groan against his neck as he began sucking.

And didn't know which outcome he had wanted, anymore.

Love-hated, hate-loved, felt like a shooting star hurtling through the atmosphere as he felt the teeth and tongue work against the soft side of his neck.

Love-hated that his arousal released itself, and hate-loved the cry that escaped him.

Ruthven's hand felt there. Hummed in satisfaction longer than ever before.

Vanitas felt himself grow limp. His vision blurred. He dimly realised that Ruthven could kill him now, and he didn't know if he would fight against it. Knew that he should.

Also knew, deep down, he was too interesting for that. 

Ruthven would keep him alive.

He pulled away. Turned Vanitas' head with the pad of his thumb to face him. He saw his own blood on his lips; his teeth. Had to fight to look him in the eye.

"Swear you'll take on Noé Archiviste's promise to me."

It would only lead to disaster. But it would be disaster that Vanitas controlled. It would keep Noé free.

The words were a blade in his throat, on his tongue:

"I swear."

*

Vanitas returned early in the morning. The sun was barely rising. He decided to slip in through the window. To climb the fire escape at the bottom of the road, and walk across the roof. That was taking his life in his hands. He was still as weak-kneed as a fawn, and felt exhausted.

It was a miracle that he didn’t slip and fall to his death whilst climbing into the window. He managed it, thumping too loudly on the floor as he landed. It didn’t shift the pile of blankets that was Noé, so he thought he’d gotten away with it. 

He collapsed onto his bed, tugging the sheets up around him. The maids seemed to insist on tucking them in tighter and tighter each time.

His neck throbbed. His scalp pulsed. He could still feel Ruthven’s hands, his nails, tracing patterns over him. Could still see that flaming, amber eye when he closed his own. Feel that burning hair brushing against him.

Vanitas felt used. Dirty. Everything that he pretended to be, and pretending it was a lot more fun than this. But this was for a cause. This was to keep Noé clean. To keep the blame on Vanitas.

Vanitas would be the fallen one. 

Noé could stay bright.

He didn’t realise he’d fallen into an uneasy sleep until Noé was shaking him awake. More gently than usual. Vanitas groaned in response. He didn’t open his eyes. Knew this his shirt, waistcoat and greatcoat were buttoned together wrong. Knew that he looked dishevelled. That his lips were puffy. That even if Ruthven hadn’t left a Mark on him, there would be a bite on his neck.

“Vanitas.” Noé’s voice was serious.

“Go to breakfast alone today,” he murmured. As though he didn’t care. As though he hadn’t made a deal to save this boy.

“Where were you last night?”

“That’s my business.” His business was protecting what was his.

“I’m asking as your friend.”

And Noé’s voice broke. Broke enough for Vanitas to roll onto his back. To peel open his eyes and meet Noé’s gaze. Those violet eyes looked down at him, brows creased with concern. The morning sun painted his pearly hair into a sunrise; cast his skin with bronze highlights. He looked down at Vanitas, like he really cared.

He did really care. Because he was Noé was good.

Vanitas’ head still felt too heavy to sit up. He felt heavy; hungover. Fumbled for Noé’s hand and grasped it clumsily.

“Please don’t make me tell you,” he murmured. And when Noé opened his mouth to object, added, “As your friend.”

Which wasn’t enough. He could tell it wasn’t, from Noé’s frown. He kissed the back of his hand, half-jokingly. Noé let him.