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fellowshippers2007-06-29 10:31 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2007-06-29 10:31 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: An Honest Man
Title: An Honest Man
Verse: Tangled Histories
Author: Viktoria Angelique (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
v_angelique)
Pairings: Alan Rickman/Ian McKellen; Alan Rickman/Ian McKellen/Sean Bean
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If you think this is true, you must be smoking some really, really premium shit.
Verse notes: The Tangled Histories verse exists in a world where the existence of vampires is known and accepted, and a handful of vampire families make up somewhere between two and ten percent of the world population. In this verse, vampires are not affected by sunlight and there is no great universal conflict between mortals and immortal. Vampires generally only take human blood that is offered willingly, and there are plenty of humans willing to offer. They can only die from not feeding enough and perhaps a few other rare conditions. The most important things to these vampires are age, family, and respect. Various pairings will be explored in the verse, and stories may jump around the chronology, but I'm going to try to write so that they can be read as standalones. In other words, I'm trying to avoid a WIP series, and there's no telling how long it'll take me to tell these stories, but they'll appear sporadically and all be listed under the Tangled Histories heading in my fic index.
Summary: Sean's story
A/N: This thing is twenty-one bloody pages long in Microsoft Word, and it can easily be read alone as it takes place nearly a thousand years before the first two stories in the verse, but you might want to read them first. Why? Because it's fun.
Sean wakes in a cold sweat, his hand reaching blindly for the handle of a sword that is not there. It takes several minutes for his heartbeat to slow to some semblance of normal, and several more for his brain to process the dream. It is not real. He is here. He is safe.
Their cries were ten times louder than the shouts of normal men, the sounds of shouting forming colours, swirling shapes, daggers and arrows. Sean's chest was pierced a thousand times last night, in his sleep—not by weapons, but by the sounds.
He thinks back now, to that warm August morning, the field a vibrant green that would soon be soaked with an even more vibrant red. The English line was not a line so much as a column, a mass of men recruited from around Yorkshire and beyond to fight for some vague entity lumped under a crown. Many men did it for religious reasons, he knew; they wanted their God to forgive them their sins in the name of their deadly service to Him in a tight little clump around that gaudy mast of banners and icons, a golden cross at the very top.
But Sean knew better. He had come to the Battle of the Standard because with war comes spoils, and his sister was with child, her husband killed in a hunting accident. Sean was sceptical—he knew one of the men his brother-in-law had been hunting with that morning had designs on his sister—and he wanted to protect her but did not know how. What he did know was how to be one of a mass of bodies, how to claim allegiance to a King in hopes of gold and other spoils of war.
When the wild men raised their cries, Sean realised he was far from home.
Albanaich! Albanaich!
Sean did not know the meaning of the battle cry, and their language sounded strange and rustic to his ears, but no man can be mistaken as to the meaning of death. These men wanted the Yorkshire men to die, that was all Sean could be sure of, and as the huge force—larger than expected—charged the English column, he wondered too late if he should have said his prayers that morning.
He will never forget the whistle of the arrows, high pitched from the line of archers behind him, or how grateful he was to see barbarians falling from a distance, to see their line become scattered and disorganised. He felt no surge of patriotism, no great delight in his country's imminent triumph, only a wave of relief. I will live to see another day.
There were some close calls in that battle, once the Scots broke through and hand-to-hand combat commenced, but in the three-hour period of fighting Sean sustained only small injuries, one deep cut on his thigh and the rest scratches. He was one of the lucky ones, though when it was over and the English were raiding the corpses of the enemy, Sean found himself questioning the word "barbarian" and wondering if his kin were not barbaric as the Scots they despised so much.
Sean sighs and brushes the locks of fair hair back from his forehead. Cowton Moor is far away and five years removed in time. The sun will rise soon, and Sean must go to work.
The construction of Fountains Abbey has claimed lesser men, and Sean knows that the hauling of stone for these Cistercian monks is an ironic occupation for a man of his own convictions. But they are paid in bread and cheese and drink, and sometimes a little bag of coins that he can send home to his sister. Sean is getting old—he is over thirty and wrinkles are beginning to show around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth when he smiles, rare though that is now—but he is still strong. He is able to do the work, and occasionally he finds some beauty in what he is doing, is able to remove himself from time and space and just be.
He sits at sunset away from the men, back to the trees, looking out over the green fields and at the pointed arches of the gaudy construction project, a building as majestic as it is functional, though not necessarily more so. The abbey is a living, working thing, and not so proud as the castles situated nearby. Though Sean's own belief in God wavers and wanes with age, he believes in the good that the monks can do, and he is not so simple as many believe.
As he bites down on a hunk of crusty bread, he is thinking of his sister and of her five-year-old daughter Elisabeth. When a hand closes over his shoulder, he is taken by surprise.
"Villain!" he tries to shout, but another hand closes over his mouth before he can speak, and his captor is strangely impervious to struggle. He gets a good look at the man and is struck dumb—he is, apparently, fighting with a man over the age of fifty, perhaps even sixty, and yet Sean can gain no ground and the man looks almost bored with restraining him.
"Silence, child," the man says calmly, quietly, and Sean is horrified to find that he obeys. "You are not in danger."
Sean sways a bit on his feet, and stares wide-eyed as the man, with a pleasant smile, helps him sink to the grass again. "What are you… who are you…" he sputters, for a cold chill has come over his spine and he is struck by the impression that the man is not quite human.
Again, the stranger smiles. "My name is Ian. I was born west of here, in a small town, over a hundred years ago."
Sean continues to stare. "A hundred years? It is not…"
"Possible?" Ian smiles, and Sean is horrified to see that his canines are elongated, almost… fangs. "Oh my dear boy, I assure you, it is most possible."
Sean shudders and tries to pull away, but he is again restrained by strong arms. "You are… you are a monster… a…"
He doesn't have a word for the creature, but he has heard stories of them, children's fairy stories designed to give little ones a fright. They take the blood of innocents, they kill and sometimes they force humans to become one of their own. He is paralysed by fear.
"I am not a monster," Ian interrupts calmly, stroking his chin as if thinking about how to proceed. "I was born in the same way you were born, Sean…"
"You know my name," he gasps. Ian raises an eyebrow.
"I know very much about you, child, and I would appreciate the chance to continue to speak. It will become more clear to you forthwith."
Sean frowns and then nods for the man—or whatever he is—to continue.
"As I was saying, Sean, I was born like any man. Your myths and legends portray those like myself and some of them are true. I do drink blood to survive. I have killed men, but I do not require it. I do not like it." Sean is not reassured, but there is something warm and comforting in the old man's eyes, his easy way of speaking. He smells like home. "I feed almost always from the willing."
"There are… men willing?"
Ian smiles, though this time the fangs have retracted and there is nothing to distinguish him from a normal man, apart from the strange aura about him that Sean cannot place. "There are always willing men, Sean. One need only know where to look."
Sean's eyes narrow. "Is this why you've come here today, then? Do you think I want you to suck my blood from my very neck? You're mistaken."
Ian laughs lightly. "No, Sean, I don't think that. I think that you know nothing about me, and therefore cannot possibly know what you want. But I have been searching, my lover and I have been searching, for the past fifty years. And we think you would make a fine addition to the family, one day, if you desire it."
Sean blanches and pulls back slightly, though this time he does not attempt to run. "Family? Lover? You… what do you want from me?"
Ian smiles and reaches out, brushes Sean's cheek. Sean shudders, and does not like the way the familiar touch makes him feel, what it makes him crave. Warmth. Intimacy. Home.
"Dear boy. You needn't be frightened of me, nor of Alan. We want your happiness above all else. But you are restless here. You do not have happiness, or fulfilment, or love. Even friendship has eluded you these past years. You are haunted by a spectre you cannot name."
"Death," Sean says simply, for Ian is wrong. He can name it.
"Death is part of it, death is wrapped in it, but it is not death. It is something more, something eternal. I cannot possibly explain it to you here, this evening. What I can explain is that to our kind, to Alan's and my kind, family is the most important thing there is. That connection is what we crave, how we build strength and how we define ourselves as men."
"But you are not men," Sean argues.
Ian smiles. "In a way, we are."
"This 'family,' then… you want to turn me into one of you?"
"I have not asked, Sean," Ian corrects, his tone mildly rebuking. "Immortality is not a gift given lightly, nor one that can be accepted before one is asked. What we feel towards you is a deep interest. We want to know you. We want you to ask us to feed from you. And then perhaps, yes, when you are ready, we will offer to turn you. To make you one of our own—a child through blood."
Sean shivers. "I have a family," he points out, stubborn. "And what do you mean, ask you to feed from me? Why would I ever ask you to hurt me?"
Ian smiles again. "You have a family, yes. You were born to human parents, and you have a sister living. We do not expect you to forsake her, Sean, for as long as she and her descendants are alive. You would be welcome to maintain ties to them, and to remain near your mortal family for as long as you like. We honour the connections between family more than most mortals do, and we sense in you an already strong devotion to your family. It is part of what drew us to you." Ian pauses, looking out over the abbey, the workmen finishing their dinner and lighting torches to illuminate the quickly falling night. "We would never hurt you, Sean. I swear to you that neither Alan nor I will ever hurt you, and whether or not you choose to become one of us, if the option is given to you, if it is ever in our power to protect you we will. But feeding does not hurt. It is pleasurable, even, both to the human and to the vampire."
Vampire. Sean rolls the word around on his tongue, tasting it for the first time.
"And you think I will ask for this?"
"You may," Ian replies noncommittally. Sean sighs, frustrated.
"You act as if I have a choice in these matters, but you have sought me out. I feel that my mind has already been made up for me."
"Well, it has not. I can offer you no assurances or proof, but I can give you my word."
"And now? It is getting dark."
Ian smiles as if hearing a joke for the first time and turns to Sean, reaching out inexplicably and squeezing his hand. "Yes. Yes it is. Come here in six days' time, and I will introduce you to my lover."
And with that, Ian is off, moving faster through the woods than Sean can easily follow, and leaving him full of questions. Not the least of which is—lover? Alan? His thighs tremble at the realisation, and he feels his loins twitch in sympathy.
Sean counts the rotations of the sun carefully, now. He's never paid much attention to the day before this point, unless he's sent something to his sister and is hoping to hear back. He has come to terms with the fact that he is living out the end of his days here, that he is strong but still he is old, and he doesn't put much stock in the passing of time.
But now he has met a man older than he, a man who is a hundred years old and still lithe as a fox and strong as a bear. He shudders when he thinks of the simple touches to his hand and his cheek, how Ian's hand felt sure and commanding. He does not look forward to meeting this Alan; no, he feels that his fate has already been decided.
He lives alone in a small hut, in a veritable forest of identical dwellings, and so he is alone as the sun rises, as he splashes cold water on his face and prepares to greet the day. He spends the entirety of it in anticipation, waiting, wondering. At sunset, he hurries to the edge of the woods, but there is no one there. It is with a heavy heart that he trudges home, alone to his empty hut, and he does not want to think of why he awaited Ian's return with such eager anticipation. An hour passes, and he cannot sleep.
Restlessly, he works his breeches open and tugs half-heartedly at his prick, the image of the smiling old man's face coming to him unbidden. He curses as he pulls, but he does not stop, and he feels the familiar filling of the shaft with blood. "Ian," he whispers, the name rolling over his tongue with surprising ease. "Alan," he tries now, testing the new name and feeling a quick jump low in his gut in response. Ian and Alan… Alan and Ian… two men… lovers… His hand moves faster, remembering the shining muscled bodies of his comrades in arms, the boys and men he fought with, the excitement and dread of wielding a sword, hacking and slashing through the field of battle cries, the smell of blood rising in the air…
He bites his lip hard when he comes, and it is then he hears the crunch of footsteps.
"Lovely," a voice he hasn't been able to erase from his mind for the past six nights intones. He jumps, hastily grabbing the blanket under which he sleeps and tugging it over his body, covering not just his opened breeches but his bare chest as well. Ian flashes him a smile as he enters the hut, demeanour calm as it was during their last visit, and lights a candle to augment the pale glow of moonlight in the room.
There is a second man behind Ian, this one appearing slightly younger, his hair a salt-and-pepper mix where Ian's is snow-white. He still looks older than Sean, however, older than most mortals can expect to be in this day. Sean shivers and shifts uncomfortably on the bed. The other man's smile is just as calm, though, and they stay in the pool of candlelight where Sean can see them, their hands clear at their sides. Though he is sure they could flatten him if they wanted to without expending much effort at all, it is not an unconscious choice, and Sean is grateful.
"How did you get in here?" Sean asks, a touch of suspicion in his tone. He is sitting up now, the blanket tucked nearly under his chin, his legs folded so that he forms an almost child-like ball.
"We walked," Ian replies with a tinge of amusement to his own voice, still smiling as he sits at the foot of the bed. Sean would complain, but there is no chair.
"It is easy for us to go unnoticed, if it is our choice," the other man adds.
"Alan," Sean states, unnecessarily. The man nods.
"At your service."
Sean snorts. "More precisely, I am at yours. Or will be, as you seem to both have me in your thrall."
Ian smiles wider but doesn't attempt to move any closer to Sean on the bed as Alan stands behind him and slightly to the side, a casually protective hand on Ian's shoulder. "You have just admitted a great deal, my boy, for we have no power to enthral humans. Seduce, yes, but not by any supernatural force. You have to want it for desire to take hold."
Sean blushes to the roots of his hair and fidgets uncomfortably. "I don't… I've never… you're lovers," he finally manages, and then feels intensely embarrassed for some reason. It is unusual, yes, unheard of, in fact, but still Sean feels that he has committed some grave error, insulted the men before him.
Fortunately, neither takes offence, and Alan merely smiles, placating. "Have you never desired another man, Sean? What just transpired tells me that this is not the case."
Sean's eyes go wide. "You didn't… how did you… I might have been thinking of a woman!" he exclaims, and Alan and Ian both look on the verge of laughter.
"Vampires have excellent hearing, my boy," Ian informs him, and Sean goes ghostly pale. Ian reaches out a hand and rests it gently on Sean's knee. "You needn't be embarrassed. No harm will come of our knowing your desires."
"But it's… wrong!" Sean exclaims, unable to come up with another word.
"Why?" Alan asks simply, raising an eyebrow.
Sean answers with the first answer he knows, the only one he's heard. He can't read, but he's heard it enough, living among monks. "The Bible says it's unnatural."
At that, Ian does laugh, and shakes his head. "The Bible, Sean. Really. Do you know I've been watching you for four years now and never once seen you pray?"
Sean stares. "Four… years?"
"A year could as well be a minute in the span of an immortal life, Sean," Alan points out. "You think us old men, but in the reckoning of our kind we are children. And like others of our race, we are patient. Ian found you, and we have both been watching you, but we wanted to give you time. Time to come to terms with what you found on the battlefield before you were faced with more unfamiliar concepts and choices."
Sean shifts again, drawing his knees closer to his chest.
"We only feed from those of our own gender, Sean," Ian informs him. "We always have, our kind—I do not know why that is, but the blood of females does not interest us. The reverse would be true for a female vampire."
Sean frowns. "Then this… love you speak of, your companionship… it isn't… sex?" he asks, the last word only whispered. "It is blood, and friendship…"
"Oh no," Ian interrupts. "It's sex." Sean stares, and the two vampires laugh. Sean notices Alan moving imperceptibly closer with unnatural grace, his thigh now nudging Ian's shoulder blade as the hand on his shoulder moves up instead to caress his lover's hair. Sean should feel uncomfortable, but instead he feels a pang of… longing? Jealousy? His mind is overcome by confusion.
"I don't understand," he admits finally.
"We don't expect you to," Alan replies in a gentle tone. "Not yet. We were born this way; we have never wanted another life. But you were taught to love women, to couple with women. It is no surprise that you feel some resistance, and you have plenty of time to learn if you choose to join us. But I sense that you do want this, on some level."
Sean closes his eyes, not wanting to confront the obvious truth before him. He feels a deep and consuming sense of shame, and he presses the heel of his hand into his eye, willing the tears not to fall. He has not cried since that day, on the battlefield, when men could overlook each other's emotional reactions in the sight of so much blood and suffering. Now he has no excuse, and every fibre of his being hurts as he fails to hold back the sobs that wrack his body. Wordlessly, the two vampires move to encircle him, surrounding him with their strength and—he realises—love.
It is six days before Sean asks, six days of the two men visiting after the sun goes down, sometimes on the edge of the woods where he takes his supper but usually later, in his little hut. He doesn't pleasure himself anymore until after they go, afraid that they'll smell it on him. But after six days, he wants to know.
"I want you to bite me," he admits, his voice a rough whisper, unable to meet their eyes. "But I don’t want to give up being me just yet."
Ian smiles and brushes his cheek with one hand before slipping his hand underneath Sean's chin and forcing him to look up. "You'll never give up being you," he says seriously, though Sean's scepticism is evident in his eyes. "But we would never ask to turn you while you're still afraid of losing yourself. We want you to understand what we're offering to you."
"Are you offering?" Sean asks, not quite sure what he wants the answer to be.
"Not yet," Alan says gently.
"When you bite me, will I become one of you?"
Ian laughs. "No. When we bite, all a human becomes is food. It takes more to turn a person."
"Oh." There is a question in Sean's expression, but he doesn't know how to ask it. Alan smiles and places a hand on Sean's thigh.
"We could bite you, Sean, in a certain way, and it would be more. You would become our pet."
"Pet??" Sean recoils, looking suspiciously between the two vampires.
"It doesn't mean what you think," Ian breaks in quickly. "A pet is a human companion. We can feed you a bit of our blood, and it will slow the aging process for you. You'll still be mortal, and you can still be killed. You won't drink blood yourself, but you'll want ours. You'll crave it, and our bite… eventually you'll have to be turned, or go mad with the wanting."
Sean frowns. "Do I have a choice?"
"You've always had a choice," Ian replies, stroking Sean's face. "Men have the choice to live or to die, whether you believe in destiny or not."
Sean looks at him for a moment, his brow furrowing as he considers. "Do you envy that choice?"
Ian laughs lightly, and Alan brings a comforting hand to his lover's side. "You are perceptive, Sean, but no. We were born as vampires. We don't know another way, and I love life. I am happy to experience the world for as long as it will have me."
Sean cocks his head to the side. "Do you believe that the Earth is a living thing?"
Ian shrugs. "It is made up of living things. It is a very complex form of life itself, in a way. I do not believe in God, if that is what you are asking."
"And you?" Sean asks, turning to Alan.
"What need do I have for God?" Alan replies, not quite answering. "Humans believe in God because of the opportunity to meet their maker, because of the possibility of an afterlife. We walk as Gods upon the earth, because we set our own destiny. We do not think of life after death because for us, there is no death. What is God? Protection? Love? A guiding force? I have all these things inherent in what I am, so I have no need for God."
Sean nods, satisfied with the answer. "I should need God," he admits, quietly. "I don't have any of those things… but I feel an absence, where there should be a presence. I do not feel God," he confesses.
Ian smiles and presses a hand gently over Sean's heart. "Perhaps you have no need to."
Twelve more nights pass, and Sean leaves the abbey. He is needed at home, he explains to the monks who oversee the project. No one asks questions, and he makes for the town where he was born.
It isn't a hard road, necessarily, but it is several days from the abbey on foot, and Sean doesn't have a horse. He wonders as he walks where Alan and Ian are, if they have remained behind in the country around the Abbey or if they are going ahead to his sister's house. He wonders if he will see them while he is at home, and he gets his answer sooner than he expects.
"Give us your purse and you won't be harmed," the ruffian promises, grinning a sinister grin that is missing several teeth. Sean eyes the man warily—he is not alone, but the three men on the road look thin and underfed, and Sean still has his sword. He was able to keep it after that battle, several years ago, and he hasn't sold it. He needs the reminder of what passed on those moors, and occasionally, he needs the protection.
"I haven't any money," he responds first, trying to get a feel for the situation. It isn't strictly true—he has a little, though it may not be of much consequence to the robbers. He sent some coins home recently, and he only has a few remaining on his person.
Another of the men snorts, unimpressed, and elbows his friends. "I think we've heard that before, haven't we Andrew?"
"Aye," Andrew agrees. "We have. But it was a lie, wasn't it lads?"
"It was indeed," the first man interjects, and Sean is ready, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The small leather bag he carries will be a disadvantage in a fight, as if he drops it one of the robbers will surely make a move, but he thinks he can manage with it on his shoulder.
"Do you know what we do to men who lie, stranger?"
Sean rolls his eyes. A regular theatrical troupe, these are. He thinks he can probably hold them off if he keeps them talking, catch them unawares. Still, there is something about killing a man outside the theatre of war that makes him a little uneasy. These are violent times, he knows, and he is not bothered by the idea of killing when necessary, or when a man has reason, but these men are down on their luck, and in need of a good meal. He can't help but be somewhat sympathetic.
"This is your last chance," the man called Andrew warns. "Surrender your purse, man, or prepare to die."
Sean wants a fair fight, so he withdraws his sword with the cold ringing of steel, and stands at the ready, daring his opponents with their shorter knives to approach. They aren't as stupid as they look, however, and come charging in a line, leaving his bad side open to attack. He swings and catches one in the wrist; he cries out, and then suddenly there are two more men in the picture, emerging from the trees at the side of the road. One leaps on Sean's back, and his movement is restricted to the point that he knows he's going to lose, he knows he's going to die, and the certainty is more frightening than it would have been just a few weeks earlier.
But then two more men join the fray, and it is only a moment before Sean realises they are not men at all, but the vampires. Soon necks are snapping and Ian has sunk his teeth into the vein of the leader, human blood staining his lips crimson as Sean watches, and the two that remain are running as fast as their legs can carry them. Sean stares in awe, having been knocked on the ground, his pack a few feet away. His hand is still tight around his sword, but it gradually loosens as the two men approach him, their eyes tender, visually checking him for wounds.
"Are you all right?" Ian asks, gently. Sean nods.
"Were you here the whole time?"
"We weren't far," Alan replies. "We knew you were in distress, but we wanted to give you the chance to defend yourself."
"Thank you," Sean replies, strangely touched by that recognition of his human pride. "And… thank you for coming to my rescue," he adds.
Ian smiles. "We wouldn't let you die, Sean. You needn't worry of that."
"You can't be everywhere at once," Sean reasons, and Alan smiles.
"No, but we can be near you. And you are what matters to us."
Sean shouldn't be surprised, but he is. "Will you accompany me then, on the road to meet my sister?"
"Would you like us to?" Alan asks, and Sean nods with surprisingly little hesitation.
"It is only another day, but I will be glad for the company."
"Then we should continue on," Ian replies, helping the man to his feet as Alan hands Sean his pack. The strange trio takes one last look around, at the three corpses lying on the road with vacant eyes, and then they continue on their journey.
"Sean!!" His sister's eyes are bright and happy, though there is weariness in her step and she is pale. After the first sight of her long-gone brother, something else rises in her expression—fear, he realises—and Sean is instantly on his guard. But Alan and Ian, though they hung back as he neared the cabin, are not far, and he is not afraid.
"Genevieve… it has been so long since you replied to my letters. Are you well?"
She doesn't answer, but hugs him tightly, her small arms wrapping around his neck and her feet leaving the ground momentarily.
"Don't ask too many questions, Sean," she murmurs in his ear as he holds her up in the embrace. "Not here."
When he lets her back down to earth, she is smiling brightly again, and cold terror worms its way into his heart.
"Where is Elisabeth?" he asks immediately. He will kill whoever has done this to her, his brilliant young sister. Only she is not so young anymore, and there are bruises near the neckline of her dress. The look that passes over her face stops him cold, though—something is horribly wrong. "Genevieve, where is…?"
"Dead," she whispers quickly, and his face blanches. "And you'd do best not to ask about it if you intend to stay around here for long, Sean," she adds. "Unless you want trouble for me."
"Dead?" He raises his voice in spite of himself.
"Sean," she warns sharply, and just then a man emerges from the house, and Sean sees nothing but red. "Sean!" Genevieve screams, but Sean doesn't heed her anymore than he would a yipping dog, his sword already drawn. The man is unarmed, and he runs back into the house, barring the door behind him. Sean is ready to cleave the wood in two when Genevieve comes up behind him, tugging at his elbows. "Sean, no, please!"
"Do you love him?" he shouts, turning in a rage, his sword held low and away from his sister but the barbaric glare of an unfinished kill still in his eyes.
"No," she hisses, her tone low, "but I have nothing else. You can't travel with me, and the men here will kill you, Sean, kill you, and maybe me as well. This town is not what it used to be. If you leave now, I have a chance."
"No," he objects immediately, but already some of the men within hearing range of the commotion are getting curious, emerging from the other wooden buildings of the town at the sound of conflict. This is hostile territory, he realises, and even with Ian and Alan's help, he's not sure he can take on twenty men with no harm done to his sister. He will kill this man, for it is the man who he is sure murdered her husband—the father of his niece now dead—but there isn't time now for vengeance. He needs to get Genevieve to safety. "Come with me," he instructs. "Is there anything in that house worth fighting for?"
She hesitates a moment, her eyes darting around nervously. The men are starting to close in, slowly, but Sean can see it. There are at least seven that he can see. He wishes he had a signal, a way to call the two vampires, but he suspects they would sense his need if he were in real distress, the way they did on the road.
"He is my husband," she says after a long moment, and Sean's eyes go wide.
"You married this…"
"I had no choice!" she hisses, cutting him off. "But it is my duty to remain, and Sean, they will kill you…"
"Your duty is to your dead husband, and to your child," he argues. "They cannot touch me, but they can harm you, and I fear it is too late for your safety here. I can protect you; you must trust me…"
"Sean…"
"Do you want to be here?" he asks. "Truly?"
She hesitates a long moment, then shakes her head. There are tears pricking her eyes, and he turns, taking her elbow, leading her away from the house. His eyes are wary, however, and sure enough he hasn't gone a metre before one of the men speaks.
"You, there! Where are you going with the lady?"
"The lady is my sister, sir," Sean replies. The man is blocking his path, but further down the road, he sees two men approaching, slowly. Alan and Ian. He sighs in relief.
"And the man inside is her husband, sir," he sneers. "You have no right taking her away from the man to whom she belongs."
"She belongs to no man," Sean states simply, his tone a warning, and the man looks visibly surprised.
"Every woman belongs to a man, whether the man who bore her or the man who took her off her father's hands. You tread dangerously, stranger."
"Perhaps," Sean agrees, keeping Genevieve slightly in front of him, his sword between her body and the man's, the remaining potential enemies at his back. He is not concerned for his own safety, but he needs to get her past this man, further down the road. "And perhaps you are too blind to perceive your own danger."
The man's sense of affront is clear, but the two vampires are close now, and as he makes to signal the others, the men dangerously close behind Sean now, Alan strikes. He uses his hands, snaps the man's neck, and Sean is absurdly grateful, as the vampires will be their companions on the road if they make it out of the town alive, and Sean doesn't want his sister to watch either drink human blood.
Ian reaches out, and Sean understands the sign; he pushes Genevieve hard towards Ian as he turns in a graceful arc and slashes his sword through the air, contacting with flesh, cleaving a man's head from his body with a sickening slice. The other men are running now, and too close; Sean steps quickly backward to get a better angle to use his sword but they are close enough to wrest the weapon from his hands and he finds himself wrestling with one of them as Alan moves to eliminate as many as possible with a cool efficiency. It seems cruel to kill so many, but it is his sister's safety, and there is no price too high. He gets an opening and Alan tosses him his sword, recaptured from a man Alan has just slain. Sean cuts his opponent's hand off and the man stumbles backwards, howling in pain. There are women peering from the windows, and men coming closer, but they have sensed something inhuman in the way Alan fights, and they are cautious. Sean doesn't know where John, the villain who has married his sister, is now, but he knows they need to be going.
"The stables," he hisses to Alan, and the other man nods; Sean takes off at a run and Alan is at his side, not breathing hard at all. They reach the stables after a couple of minutes, and there are only a few men about. They look at the newcomers suspiciously, but don't put up much of a fight, being caught off their guard. Sean and Alan each choose a large stallion and quickly let the horses free of the stables—there is no time to saddle up, so they have to make due only with reigns and bridle, but they need only get away from the town. Alan leads the way, directing them towards a point much further north up the road than where they left the other two, but it is obvious he knows something Sean doesn't. And sure enough, when they connect again with the road, Ian is waiting for them with Genevieve at his side, looking pale and extremely startled but otherwise fine.
"Sean," she hisses, urgently, when he helps her mount the horse behind him, arranging her skirts carefully before they continue down the road, "who are these men?"
Sean is cautious—he doesn't want to lie, but there is so much to tell, and he doesn't know whether she would believe him if he did.
"They are friends," he replies, keeping it simple. "They can protect us."
"Well one of your friends just lifted me into his arms and ran down the road at three times the speed of a normal man. And besides, I don't like the look of them," she protests defiantly. He smiles to himself and holds her carefully in place with an arm around her waist as they break into a gallop.
"I didn't either, at first. But a man should not judge on looks alone."
"A woman has to," she argues. "What other option is there? We are not allowed to take part in discussion."
Sean smiles. This is the feisty Genevieve he remembers, and he is glad for that. "Well whatever else you may think of them, they can get us to safety, and right now you have little choice."
They ride in slightly tense silence for a few minutes, before Sean has to ask. "How did she die, Vivy?"
Genevieve goes tight in the saddle, and pretends not to hear.
"Please. Did he…?"
"I am not certain," she answers, cutting him off. "It was morning; I woke and she had died in her sleep. She had… bruises…" She presses a hand hard to her mouth, unable to continue, and he resolves that moment to kill the bastard. With his own two hands.
They stop riding after several days, moving steadily south and west until they meet the town of Shrewsbury straddling the banks of the River Severn. It is there Ian and Alan leave the siblings to go into town and do some business, and it is there Sean tells his sister what his companions really are, what he might become.
"They… drink human blood?" Genevieve repeats, her fair face pale as ash.
"Only what they need," he explains gently, touching her hand. "I was frightened too, at first, but they don't kill for sport. It is what they are…"
"They are monsters!" she exclaims. "You've taken me from my home, from my husband, to be with monsters? Sean, we must escape before they return…"
"No!" he interrupts, his tone firm. "We will not leave them. Your husband is a murderer twice over, at the very least. He coerced you and has manipulated the men of the town, insofar as I can tell. I will not stand for the defilement and disrespect of my sister. Alan and Ian are vampires, but they are honest vampires. They are good men, Genevieve," he insists. "They can protect us."
"At what price?"
He sighs, and shakes his head. "At the price of my heart, I am afraid."
She raises an eyebrow suspiciously, and then nods. "I suspected as much."
"What??"
Genevieve shrugs, and places a hand on his knee. "Women are not stupid, Sean."
He sighs and squeezes her hand, silent for a moment while he considers what she has said. "We will stay on with them. I am sorry, Vivy, but there is nowhere else where you will be safe. I do not mean to trap you, but is my duty to protect you."
She nods. "I understand."
"Thank you."
They find a safe place for Genevieve on the south coast of England, in a country house that is in desperate need of someone to look after the children of a wealthy widower. Sean interviews him at length, and finds that he is a good man. He amends his sister's story somewhat, saying that her husband has died and that her child soon after fell ill. Babies die so frequently that it is a completely plausible tale, and Genevieve understands the necessity of keeping some secrets. He says her name is Anna, and he calls himself Colin. He promises to send money, and then he leaves, finding Ian and Alan waiting for him on the road. He wants to stay with her, but she still does not like the idea of his companions. Together the three men make the journey north again, and by the time they slip into Scottish territory, he finds that he is happy with his decision. Genevieve is safe, and that is what matters.
Of course, the time spent travelling means that he also has a chance to think more about himself, and about his own situation. Alan and Ian are not always outwardly affectionate, perhaps out of deference to his own confusion. However he sees the looks they give each other, the way they move as a unit. He has no doubt that they were born to be for each other, and that there is nothing more important than that. He is in awe of the power of that truth, and even more in awe of the idea that they want to include him. He does not doubt that he will also be something of a third wheel, but he does not feel uncomfortable or unwanted when he is with them. He notices how they subtly protect him, even now, placing themselves between him and danger when they must ride in situations that are less than entirely safe.
It doesn't even occur to Sean to ask where they're going, but when he realises they are in Scottish lands his muscles tighten a bit, his hand staying at the hilt of his sword. The vampires notice but do not comment, and before long they reach a house, small but cosy and built from stone rather than wood, tucked into the side of a hill in the Highlands.
"This is our home," Ian announces, and Sean soaks in every detail, every clue that might exist regarding the two vampires. There isn't much, but he takes his time anyway.
"How much time do you spend here?"
"More some years, less others," Alan replies cryptically. "This is our haven. We do not want for money, but we prefer it to some lavish castle. We prefer not to draw attention to ourselves."
Sean nods. He notices the single bed, but he can sleep on the floor tonight. When the sun sinks below the horizon, Alan lights a fire, and Sean spends a long time staring into its light, distracting himself from the fear of the surrounding country. When he finally turns, he sees that Alan and Ian have forgotten him momentarily, and are sitting on the bed, whispering in low tones. Ian's hand reaches up to caress Alan's cheek, and Sean falls a little in love.
"I want you to bite me," he whispers throatily, and both men turn. "I am frightened. Not of you," he adds quickly, before they can protest, "but of this country. There are strange things in the air. Old things. I can't explain it, but I feel it. It was there in battle, just a little, but here it is stronger."
"You are perceptive for a human," Ian comments. "But we knew we'd made the right choice the moment we laid eyes on you."
"Will you… protect me?" Sean asks, feeling utterly naked. He is a proud man, and he has never uttered such words, but Ian simply smiles, and Alan beckons Sean to the bed with one hand.
"Always."
"Do you want this?" Ian asks. "Only if you're sure," he promises, stroking Sean's thigh when he comes to sit between them.
` Sean leans forward before he can change his mind and presses his lips to Ian's, the way he has seen Alan do. A little jolt runs through him, an electric shock of discovery, and he realises that he is hard beneath his breeches. Still, he forces himself to remain brave and leans back, letting his back press against Alan's chest.
"Yes," he replies. "I'm certain. I want you both to bite me," he says clearly, and Ian smiles. He can feel Alan's smile in turn against his neck, closed lips sliding smoothly along the vein.
"I want you to trust us," Ian says softly, his hand smoothing along Sean's leg, the other reaching up to stroke his hair. Sean feels calmed in a way he hasn't since his mother died when he was a boy. It is incredibly grounding, and he feels ready for this. "It will hurt a little, at first, but only for a moment. We won't take more from you than you are ready to give."
"I'm ready," Sean replies once more, and Ian smiles, brushing his lips against Sean's again as Alan's lips continue to drag up and down the jugular. Alan lets his lips curl back and his fangs drag lightly along the same path, bringing a trail of blood to the surface, though little more than a scratch. Ian leans in, and together they taste the same cut, then Ian holds Sean steady by the chin and kisses him a third time, letting his tongue slide inside Sean's mouth. His own blood tastes metallic, but he can feel Ian's warmth and vitality through the kiss, sense the vampire's excitement. He reaches back to clutch Alan's thigh, and at that moment both lean down and sink their fangs in, on opposite sides of his neck. He doesn't mean to cry out, but there is a strangled moan that he can't prevent, his hands balling into fists.
After a moment, the warm suckling at either side of his neck becomes arousal, and then the feeling is something like floating, his head light. He barely notices when a wrist is held to his mouth, a slit through it bleeding bright red. Ian nudges his head forward, and he sucks on the cut, the taste at first strange but then exploding through his senses sharp as a deadly piercing arrow.
"Gorgeous," Alan purrs when he has finished drinking, licking over the holes in Sean's neck to seal the wound. Ian does the same, and after a moment pulls his wrist away from Sean's mouth. He feels simultaneously woozy and horny as hell. He reaches out for both of them and the movement puts him off balance; he tips backwards and they both reach to lower him gently to the bed.
Ian moves as if to leave Sean's side and he clutches at the man's leg, briefly panicked. Ian smiles and leans down to kiss his brow.
"Meus amor. Meus filius."
Sean feels very young in the presence of these men, very young and very naïve, but they touch him simultaneously, their hands caressing and comforting, and he sinks into a pleasant dream. He is home.
In the morning, Sean wakes and immediately raises one hand to his neck. It is real. He opens his eyes then and sees Ian still sleeping, his face a few inches away. The vampire is not breathing, which is eerie, but he appears to be at peace. Sean shifts slightly and feels Alan behind him. His first thought is that he is famished.
He rises from the bed and stokes the fire. There is no meat in the house, but there are beans hanging over the fire, and Sean is able to make a simple stew in the iron pot. While he cooks, the two vampires sleep soundly, but once he has finished eating and sits on the edge of the bed for want of something better to do, their eyes open simultaneously, both smiling up at him. It is very strange, but it gives him a sense that they are more connected than even he realised.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, wondering now if he should have made enough for three. But Alan laughs and sits up, gently squeezing the back of Sean's neck.
"Quite satisfied, actually," Alan replies, and Sean realises with a blush that they must not need food. And then he has a thought.
"When were you last here, in this house?"
"When you were at the Abbey," Ian answers. "Why?"
"There is food here. But you don't eat…"
"We don't need to, no," Alan replies with a smile. "But we hoped that you might come soon."
"Oh. You are kind."
"Well we wouldn't have you starve," Ian teases, reaching up as he rises to sit and brushing his fingers over Sean's cheek. "We'll find a deer or something for you soon."
"There's no need," Sean objects. "Don't slaughter a whole beast just for my consumption. It would be wasteful."
Ian smiles, but there is something of surprise in his eyes. "You are a good man, Sean. I knew that, but… well you are a good man."
Sean's eyes flick downward, embarrassed. "When will you… when will you bite me again?" he asks.
"You liked that, did you?" Alan asks with a grin, placing a hand low on Sean's back. He blushes as he nods.
"It is a good thing," Ian assures him. "But we won't bite for another few days. We could feed every day in small amounts, but we won't while your body is becoming accustomed to it."
"And then I will… you said I will crave it?"
"Yes."
"Does it bode ill that I do already?" Sean asks quietly, his eyes still on his lap, food forgotten.
"No," Alan replies with a smile, shifting closer and resting his chin on Sean's shoulder, gently pressing a kiss to the marks where Ian bit last night. "It is a relief. But is there anything else you would like from us, in the meantime?" he asks gently.
Sean takes a deep breath, his own blood thundering in his ears. He wonders if Alan can hear it, and whether it makes him hungry. The idea makes Sean's cheeks colour, for he likes it—he feels wanted, and it isn't something he's necessarily used to.
"I don't… I don't know how to ask," he admits, quietly. "It is difficult to find the words."
"You want to be touched?" Ian prods softly. Sean nods.
"I want you to touch me. Both of you," he admits, resolute. He is a warrior, not a little boy. He can ask for this, even if the two men make him feel like a child.
Alan's hand rises to rest on Sean's hip. He licks over the marks on Sean's neck, and then sucks lightly just above them, his fangs remaining below the gum line. His teeth press against Sean's skin, but they are just teeth. He shivers and his eyes fall shut. Alan's hand squeezes his hip and the other slips under his shirt, a firm palm smoothing upward to his sternum. When Sean's eyes open again, Ian is watching hungrily. Without thinking, he presses one hand between his legs.
"That's good," Ian murmurs approvingly, and Sean's pulse jumps under Alan's lips. He palms his cock harder, and hears a pleasant growl in his ear. "Lovely," Ian coos. Sean whimpers, and his embarrassment is swallowed by Alan turning his head, engaging his lips. They are putting on a show for Ian, he realises, but he doesn't mind the idea. In fact, it makes his prick harden more quickly to know that Ian is watching, that he is enjoying this. Ian and Alan are equals, certainly, but Ian approached him first, and that will always carry some weight with Sean.
Sean's free hand fists against the bed, and he squeezes a bit harder, his mouth falling open in an effort to take in more air. "Beautiful," Alan murmurs before he nibbles at Sean's ear, his hand pinching at Sean's nipple now. Sean moans again, and Alan's other hand squeezes Sean's hip in encouragement. "Good," he whispers. "He likes that."
Alan raises his head as Sean does, and they are both looking at Ian, who meets their gaze unwaveringly. He doesn't touch himself, Sean notices, but he watches every nuance of the way Sean's wrist moves, the way his fingers curl. After a few more moments of this, Alan's hands both slide down to help, unlacing Sean's breeches and nudging them down over his hips, interrupting for a moment but then guiding Sean's hand back to his now-naked prick, waiting until the fingers curl instinctively around it before his hands retreat again and his lips rejoin the skin of Sean's neck.
Sean gasps and pushes his hips forward, so that his cock slides through his fist. After a moment he has to close his eyes; he can't handle the intensity of the look Ian is directing at him, his blue eyes crystal and entirely unblinking.
"Faster," Alan murmurs, nipping at his earlobe, and Sean obeys immediately, his hand speeding up on his prick as Alan's hand strokes his stomach.
"Oh," he gasps, feeling the warmth build in his belly and in his balls. "Do you… do you want… do you even…?"
Alan smiles against Sean's jaw, he can feel it, and when he opens his eyes and sees the fond look on Ian's face Sean realises for whom Alan is smiling.
"Do we what, pet?" Alan whispers, his thumb rubbing into Sean's bellybutton. He growls, having had no idea that such a touch could be so erotic, and Alan rocks against his arse.
"Do you… well I know your pricks get hard," he reasons, pushing back purposefully against Alan as he glances down at Ian's own erection, earning an intensely pleased look from the vampire. "But do you… finish, the same as I do?" he asks, blushing furiously.
"Oh yes," Alan purrs, and Sean's insides turn to a soupy mess.
"Oh," he breathes, more urgently this time, shivering even though he is plenty warm in Alan's arms. He crinkles his brow at this, and Ian asks.
"What's wrong, pet?"
"You… he shouldn't be warm," Sean explains.
"Oh?" Ian asks, cocking his own brow and looking amused. "And why shouldn't he?"
"You're a… vampire," he reasons. "You don't have your own blood. You need it from others… you shouldn't be warm unless you've just fed…"
"Ah, so you have heard stories," Ian teases, looking horribly amused. "Only an invention of overactive human imaginations, I'm afraid. We're just as warm as you are, pet. Often warmer."
"So I can… oh!... feel." Alan's thumbs have pressed down simultaneously, one in his navel and the other inside his hipbone. He is losing control quickly, even though his hand has slowed. "Please," he begs, though his cheeks colour again as he says it.
"Beautiful," Alan whispers, his lips ghosting over Sean's neck without bothering to answer the request.
"Alan, please," he repeats, and Ian smiles, moving forward, grazing Sean's jaw with the tip of his index finger.
"Good pet."
"Ohh," he moans, his hips canting upward. It is almost a losing battle, but he wants to hear Alan say it.
"Lovely pet," Alan says instead, and Sean's head falls back, desperate, turning to search out Alan's lips. They are given willingly, and he kisses far more passionately than he knew he could, his own desire fuelled by Alan's overwhelming… power, he realises as he sucks greedily on Alan's tongue. It is pure power that vibrates underneath him, and Sean shakes with the force of it.
"Please," he groans into Alan's mouth, then again immediately, this time a whimper. Alan doesn't smile, he just pushes his tongue into Sean's mouth and holds his hips hard and claims him, turns him fucking inside out with his kiss.
When Alan flicks a "yes" over Sean's lips with the tip of his tongue, and Sean's body begins to convulse and tremble with the incredible surge of his orgasm, he realises three things. One, Alan didn't speak anything aloud, and yet Sean heard him. Two, his hand isn't even moving on his cock anymore, and hasn't been for at least two full minutes. And three, Ian's hand is pressed to his lower back, the single palm supporting all of Sean's body weight.
Smiling, Sean drifts into a peaceful slumber.
Verse: Tangled Histories
Author: Viktoria Angelique (
v_angelique)Pairings: Alan Rickman/Ian McKellen; Alan Rickman/Ian McKellen/Sean Bean
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If you think this is true, you must be smoking some really, really premium shit.
Verse notes: The Tangled Histories verse exists in a world where the existence of vampires is known and accepted, and a handful of vampire families make up somewhere between two and ten percent of the world population. In this verse, vampires are not affected by sunlight and there is no great universal conflict between mortals and immortal. Vampires generally only take human blood that is offered willingly, and there are plenty of humans willing to offer. They can only die from not feeding enough and perhaps a few other rare conditions. The most important things to these vampires are age, family, and respect. Various pairings will be explored in the verse, and stories may jump around the chronology, but I'm going to try to write so that they can be read as standalones. In other words, I'm trying to avoid a WIP series, and there's no telling how long it'll take me to tell these stories, but they'll appear sporadically and all be listed under the Tangled Histories heading in my fic index.
Summary: Sean's story
A/N: This thing is twenty-one bloody pages long in Microsoft Word, and it can easily be read alone as it takes place nearly a thousand years before the first two stories in the verse, but you might want to read them first. Why? Because it's fun.
Sean wakes in a cold sweat, his hand reaching blindly for the handle of a sword that is not there. It takes several minutes for his heartbeat to slow to some semblance of normal, and several more for his brain to process the dream. It is not real. He is here. He is safe.
Their cries were ten times louder than the shouts of normal men, the sounds of shouting forming colours, swirling shapes, daggers and arrows. Sean's chest was pierced a thousand times last night, in his sleep—not by weapons, but by the sounds.
He thinks back now, to that warm August morning, the field a vibrant green that would soon be soaked with an even more vibrant red. The English line was not a line so much as a column, a mass of men recruited from around Yorkshire and beyond to fight for some vague entity lumped under a crown. Many men did it for religious reasons, he knew; they wanted their God to forgive them their sins in the name of their deadly service to Him in a tight little clump around that gaudy mast of banners and icons, a golden cross at the very top.
But Sean knew better. He had come to the Battle of the Standard because with war comes spoils, and his sister was with child, her husband killed in a hunting accident. Sean was sceptical—he knew one of the men his brother-in-law had been hunting with that morning had designs on his sister—and he wanted to protect her but did not know how. What he did know was how to be one of a mass of bodies, how to claim allegiance to a King in hopes of gold and other spoils of war.
When the wild men raised their cries, Sean realised he was far from home.
Albanaich! Albanaich!
Sean did not know the meaning of the battle cry, and their language sounded strange and rustic to his ears, but no man can be mistaken as to the meaning of death. These men wanted the Yorkshire men to die, that was all Sean could be sure of, and as the huge force—larger than expected—charged the English column, he wondered too late if he should have said his prayers that morning.
He will never forget the whistle of the arrows, high pitched from the line of archers behind him, or how grateful he was to see barbarians falling from a distance, to see their line become scattered and disorganised. He felt no surge of patriotism, no great delight in his country's imminent triumph, only a wave of relief. I will live to see another day.
There were some close calls in that battle, once the Scots broke through and hand-to-hand combat commenced, but in the three-hour period of fighting Sean sustained only small injuries, one deep cut on his thigh and the rest scratches. He was one of the lucky ones, though when it was over and the English were raiding the corpses of the enemy, Sean found himself questioning the word "barbarian" and wondering if his kin were not barbaric as the Scots they despised so much.
Sean sighs and brushes the locks of fair hair back from his forehead. Cowton Moor is far away and five years removed in time. The sun will rise soon, and Sean must go to work.
The construction of Fountains Abbey has claimed lesser men, and Sean knows that the hauling of stone for these Cistercian monks is an ironic occupation for a man of his own convictions. But they are paid in bread and cheese and drink, and sometimes a little bag of coins that he can send home to his sister. Sean is getting old—he is over thirty and wrinkles are beginning to show around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth when he smiles, rare though that is now—but he is still strong. He is able to do the work, and occasionally he finds some beauty in what he is doing, is able to remove himself from time and space and just be.
He sits at sunset away from the men, back to the trees, looking out over the green fields and at the pointed arches of the gaudy construction project, a building as majestic as it is functional, though not necessarily more so. The abbey is a living, working thing, and not so proud as the castles situated nearby. Though Sean's own belief in God wavers and wanes with age, he believes in the good that the monks can do, and he is not so simple as many believe.
As he bites down on a hunk of crusty bread, he is thinking of his sister and of her five-year-old daughter Elisabeth. When a hand closes over his shoulder, he is taken by surprise.
"Villain!" he tries to shout, but another hand closes over his mouth before he can speak, and his captor is strangely impervious to struggle. He gets a good look at the man and is struck dumb—he is, apparently, fighting with a man over the age of fifty, perhaps even sixty, and yet Sean can gain no ground and the man looks almost bored with restraining him.
"Silence, child," the man says calmly, quietly, and Sean is horrified to find that he obeys. "You are not in danger."
Sean sways a bit on his feet, and stares wide-eyed as the man, with a pleasant smile, helps him sink to the grass again. "What are you… who are you…" he sputters, for a cold chill has come over his spine and he is struck by the impression that the man is not quite human.
Again, the stranger smiles. "My name is Ian. I was born west of here, in a small town, over a hundred years ago."
Sean continues to stare. "A hundred years? It is not…"
"Possible?" Ian smiles, and Sean is horrified to see that his canines are elongated, almost… fangs. "Oh my dear boy, I assure you, it is most possible."
Sean shudders and tries to pull away, but he is again restrained by strong arms. "You are… you are a monster… a…"
He doesn't have a word for the creature, but he has heard stories of them, children's fairy stories designed to give little ones a fright. They take the blood of innocents, they kill and sometimes they force humans to become one of their own. He is paralysed by fear.
"I am not a monster," Ian interrupts calmly, stroking his chin as if thinking about how to proceed. "I was born in the same way you were born, Sean…"
"You know my name," he gasps. Ian raises an eyebrow.
"I know very much about you, child, and I would appreciate the chance to continue to speak. It will become more clear to you forthwith."
Sean frowns and then nods for the man—or whatever he is—to continue.
"As I was saying, Sean, I was born like any man. Your myths and legends portray those like myself and some of them are true. I do drink blood to survive. I have killed men, but I do not require it. I do not like it." Sean is not reassured, but there is something warm and comforting in the old man's eyes, his easy way of speaking. He smells like home. "I feed almost always from the willing."
"There are… men willing?"
Ian smiles, though this time the fangs have retracted and there is nothing to distinguish him from a normal man, apart from the strange aura about him that Sean cannot place. "There are always willing men, Sean. One need only know where to look."
Sean's eyes narrow. "Is this why you've come here today, then? Do you think I want you to suck my blood from my very neck? You're mistaken."
Ian laughs lightly. "No, Sean, I don't think that. I think that you know nothing about me, and therefore cannot possibly know what you want. But I have been searching, my lover and I have been searching, for the past fifty years. And we think you would make a fine addition to the family, one day, if you desire it."
Sean blanches and pulls back slightly, though this time he does not attempt to run. "Family? Lover? You… what do you want from me?"
Ian smiles and reaches out, brushes Sean's cheek. Sean shudders, and does not like the way the familiar touch makes him feel, what it makes him crave. Warmth. Intimacy. Home.
"Dear boy. You needn't be frightened of me, nor of Alan. We want your happiness above all else. But you are restless here. You do not have happiness, or fulfilment, or love. Even friendship has eluded you these past years. You are haunted by a spectre you cannot name."
"Death," Sean says simply, for Ian is wrong. He can name it.
"Death is part of it, death is wrapped in it, but it is not death. It is something more, something eternal. I cannot possibly explain it to you here, this evening. What I can explain is that to our kind, to Alan's and my kind, family is the most important thing there is. That connection is what we crave, how we build strength and how we define ourselves as men."
"But you are not men," Sean argues.
Ian smiles. "In a way, we are."
"This 'family,' then… you want to turn me into one of you?"
"I have not asked, Sean," Ian corrects, his tone mildly rebuking. "Immortality is not a gift given lightly, nor one that can be accepted before one is asked. What we feel towards you is a deep interest. We want to know you. We want you to ask us to feed from you. And then perhaps, yes, when you are ready, we will offer to turn you. To make you one of our own—a child through blood."
Sean shivers. "I have a family," he points out, stubborn. "And what do you mean, ask you to feed from me? Why would I ever ask you to hurt me?"
Ian smiles again. "You have a family, yes. You were born to human parents, and you have a sister living. We do not expect you to forsake her, Sean, for as long as she and her descendants are alive. You would be welcome to maintain ties to them, and to remain near your mortal family for as long as you like. We honour the connections between family more than most mortals do, and we sense in you an already strong devotion to your family. It is part of what drew us to you." Ian pauses, looking out over the abbey, the workmen finishing their dinner and lighting torches to illuminate the quickly falling night. "We would never hurt you, Sean. I swear to you that neither Alan nor I will ever hurt you, and whether or not you choose to become one of us, if the option is given to you, if it is ever in our power to protect you we will. But feeding does not hurt. It is pleasurable, even, both to the human and to the vampire."
Vampire. Sean rolls the word around on his tongue, tasting it for the first time.
"And you think I will ask for this?"
"You may," Ian replies noncommittally. Sean sighs, frustrated.
"You act as if I have a choice in these matters, but you have sought me out. I feel that my mind has already been made up for me."
"Well, it has not. I can offer you no assurances or proof, but I can give you my word."
"And now? It is getting dark."
Ian smiles as if hearing a joke for the first time and turns to Sean, reaching out inexplicably and squeezing his hand. "Yes. Yes it is. Come here in six days' time, and I will introduce you to my lover."
And with that, Ian is off, moving faster through the woods than Sean can easily follow, and leaving him full of questions. Not the least of which is—lover? Alan? His thighs tremble at the realisation, and he feels his loins twitch in sympathy.
Sean counts the rotations of the sun carefully, now. He's never paid much attention to the day before this point, unless he's sent something to his sister and is hoping to hear back. He has come to terms with the fact that he is living out the end of his days here, that he is strong but still he is old, and he doesn't put much stock in the passing of time.
But now he has met a man older than he, a man who is a hundred years old and still lithe as a fox and strong as a bear. He shudders when he thinks of the simple touches to his hand and his cheek, how Ian's hand felt sure and commanding. He does not look forward to meeting this Alan; no, he feels that his fate has already been decided.
He lives alone in a small hut, in a veritable forest of identical dwellings, and so he is alone as the sun rises, as he splashes cold water on his face and prepares to greet the day. He spends the entirety of it in anticipation, waiting, wondering. At sunset, he hurries to the edge of the woods, but there is no one there. It is with a heavy heart that he trudges home, alone to his empty hut, and he does not want to think of why he awaited Ian's return with such eager anticipation. An hour passes, and he cannot sleep.
Restlessly, he works his breeches open and tugs half-heartedly at his prick, the image of the smiling old man's face coming to him unbidden. He curses as he pulls, but he does not stop, and he feels the familiar filling of the shaft with blood. "Ian," he whispers, the name rolling over his tongue with surprising ease. "Alan," he tries now, testing the new name and feeling a quick jump low in his gut in response. Ian and Alan… Alan and Ian… two men… lovers… His hand moves faster, remembering the shining muscled bodies of his comrades in arms, the boys and men he fought with, the excitement and dread of wielding a sword, hacking and slashing through the field of battle cries, the smell of blood rising in the air…
He bites his lip hard when he comes, and it is then he hears the crunch of footsteps.
"Lovely," a voice he hasn't been able to erase from his mind for the past six nights intones. He jumps, hastily grabbing the blanket under which he sleeps and tugging it over his body, covering not just his opened breeches but his bare chest as well. Ian flashes him a smile as he enters the hut, demeanour calm as it was during their last visit, and lights a candle to augment the pale glow of moonlight in the room.
There is a second man behind Ian, this one appearing slightly younger, his hair a salt-and-pepper mix where Ian's is snow-white. He still looks older than Sean, however, older than most mortals can expect to be in this day. Sean shivers and shifts uncomfortably on the bed. The other man's smile is just as calm, though, and they stay in the pool of candlelight where Sean can see them, their hands clear at their sides. Though he is sure they could flatten him if they wanted to without expending much effort at all, it is not an unconscious choice, and Sean is grateful.
"How did you get in here?" Sean asks, a touch of suspicion in his tone. He is sitting up now, the blanket tucked nearly under his chin, his legs folded so that he forms an almost child-like ball.
"We walked," Ian replies with a tinge of amusement to his own voice, still smiling as he sits at the foot of the bed. Sean would complain, but there is no chair.
"It is easy for us to go unnoticed, if it is our choice," the other man adds.
"Alan," Sean states, unnecessarily. The man nods.
"At your service."
Sean snorts. "More precisely, I am at yours. Or will be, as you seem to both have me in your thrall."
Ian smiles wider but doesn't attempt to move any closer to Sean on the bed as Alan stands behind him and slightly to the side, a casually protective hand on Ian's shoulder. "You have just admitted a great deal, my boy, for we have no power to enthral humans. Seduce, yes, but not by any supernatural force. You have to want it for desire to take hold."
Sean blushes to the roots of his hair and fidgets uncomfortably. "I don't… I've never… you're lovers," he finally manages, and then feels intensely embarrassed for some reason. It is unusual, yes, unheard of, in fact, but still Sean feels that he has committed some grave error, insulted the men before him.
Fortunately, neither takes offence, and Alan merely smiles, placating. "Have you never desired another man, Sean? What just transpired tells me that this is not the case."
Sean's eyes go wide. "You didn't… how did you… I might have been thinking of a woman!" he exclaims, and Alan and Ian both look on the verge of laughter.
"Vampires have excellent hearing, my boy," Ian informs him, and Sean goes ghostly pale. Ian reaches out a hand and rests it gently on Sean's knee. "You needn't be embarrassed. No harm will come of our knowing your desires."
"But it's… wrong!" Sean exclaims, unable to come up with another word.
"Why?" Alan asks simply, raising an eyebrow.
Sean answers with the first answer he knows, the only one he's heard. He can't read, but he's heard it enough, living among monks. "The Bible says it's unnatural."
At that, Ian does laugh, and shakes his head. "The Bible, Sean. Really. Do you know I've been watching you for four years now and never once seen you pray?"
Sean stares. "Four… years?"
"A year could as well be a minute in the span of an immortal life, Sean," Alan points out. "You think us old men, but in the reckoning of our kind we are children. And like others of our race, we are patient. Ian found you, and we have both been watching you, but we wanted to give you time. Time to come to terms with what you found on the battlefield before you were faced with more unfamiliar concepts and choices."
Sean shifts again, drawing his knees closer to his chest.
"We only feed from those of our own gender, Sean," Ian informs him. "We always have, our kind—I do not know why that is, but the blood of females does not interest us. The reverse would be true for a female vampire."
Sean frowns. "Then this… love you speak of, your companionship… it isn't… sex?" he asks, the last word only whispered. "It is blood, and friendship…"
"Oh no," Ian interrupts. "It's sex." Sean stares, and the two vampires laugh. Sean notices Alan moving imperceptibly closer with unnatural grace, his thigh now nudging Ian's shoulder blade as the hand on his shoulder moves up instead to caress his lover's hair. Sean should feel uncomfortable, but instead he feels a pang of… longing? Jealousy? His mind is overcome by confusion.
"I don't understand," he admits finally.
"We don't expect you to," Alan replies in a gentle tone. "Not yet. We were born this way; we have never wanted another life. But you were taught to love women, to couple with women. It is no surprise that you feel some resistance, and you have plenty of time to learn if you choose to join us. But I sense that you do want this, on some level."
Sean closes his eyes, not wanting to confront the obvious truth before him. He feels a deep and consuming sense of shame, and he presses the heel of his hand into his eye, willing the tears not to fall. He has not cried since that day, on the battlefield, when men could overlook each other's emotional reactions in the sight of so much blood and suffering. Now he has no excuse, and every fibre of his being hurts as he fails to hold back the sobs that wrack his body. Wordlessly, the two vampires move to encircle him, surrounding him with their strength and—he realises—love.
It is six days before Sean asks, six days of the two men visiting after the sun goes down, sometimes on the edge of the woods where he takes his supper but usually later, in his little hut. He doesn't pleasure himself anymore until after they go, afraid that they'll smell it on him. But after six days, he wants to know.
"I want you to bite me," he admits, his voice a rough whisper, unable to meet their eyes. "But I don’t want to give up being me just yet."
Ian smiles and brushes his cheek with one hand before slipping his hand underneath Sean's chin and forcing him to look up. "You'll never give up being you," he says seriously, though Sean's scepticism is evident in his eyes. "But we would never ask to turn you while you're still afraid of losing yourself. We want you to understand what we're offering to you."
"Are you offering?" Sean asks, not quite sure what he wants the answer to be.
"Not yet," Alan says gently.
"When you bite me, will I become one of you?"
Ian laughs. "No. When we bite, all a human becomes is food. It takes more to turn a person."
"Oh." There is a question in Sean's expression, but he doesn't know how to ask it. Alan smiles and places a hand on Sean's thigh.
"We could bite you, Sean, in a certain way, and it would be more. You would become our pet."
"Pet??" Sean recoils, looking suspiciously between the two vampires.
"It doesn't mean what you think," Ian breaks in quickly. "A pet is a human companion. We can feed you a bit of our blood, and it will slow the aging process for you. You'll still be mortal, and you can still be killed. You won't drink blood yourself, but you'll want ours. You'll crave it, and our bite… eventually you'll have to be turned, or go mad with the wanting."
Sean frowns. "Do I have a choice?"
"You've always had a choice," Ian replies, stroking Sean's face. "Men have the choice to live or to die, whether you believe in destiny or not."
Sean looks at him for a moment, his brow furrowing as he considers. "Do you envy that choice?"
Ian laughs lightly, and Alan brings a comforting hand to his lover's side. "You are perceptive, Sean, but no. We were born as vampires. We don't know another way, and I love life. I am happy to experience the world for as long as it will have me."
Sean cocks his head to the side. "Do you believe that the Earth is a living thing?"
Ian shrugs. "It is made up of living things. It is a very complex form of life itself, in a way. I do not believe in God, if that is what you are asking."
"And you?" Sean asks, turning to Alan.
"What need do I have for God?" Alan replies, not quite answering. "Humans believe in God because of the opportunity to meet their maker, because of the possibility of an afterlife. We walk as Gods upon the earth, because we set our own destiny. We do not think of life after death because for us, there is no death. What is God? Protection? Love? A guiding force? I have all these things inherent in what I am, so I have no need for God."
Sean nods, satisfied with the answer. "I should need God," he admits, quietly. "I don't have any of those things… but I feel an absence, where there should be a presence. I do not feel God," he confesses.
Ian smiles and presses a hand gently over Sean's heart. "Perhaps you have no need to."
Twelve more nights pass, and Sean leaves the abbey. He is needed at home, he explains to the monks who oversee the project. No one asks questions, and he makes for the town where he was born.
It isn't a hard road, necessarily, but it is several days from the abbey on foot, and Sean doesn't have a horse. He wonders as he walks where Alan and Ian are, if they have remained behind in the country around the Abbey or if they are going ahead to his sister's house. He wonders if he will see them while he is at home, and he gets his answer sooner than he expects.
"Give us your purse and you won't be harmed," the ruffian promises, grinning a sinister grin that is missing several teeth. Sean eyes the man warily—he is not alone, but the three men on the road look thin and underfed, and Sean still has his sword. He was able to keep it after that battle, several years ago, and he hasn't sold it. He needs the reminder of what passed on those moors, and occasionally, he needs the protection.
"I haven't any money," he responds first, trying to get a feel for the situation. It isn't strictly true—he has a little, though it may not be of much consequence to the robbers. He sent some coins home recently, and he only has a few remaining on his person.
Another of the men snorts, unimpressed, and elbows his friends. "I think we've heard that before, haven't we Andrew?"
"Aye," Andrew agrees. "We have. But it was a lie, wasn't it lads?"
"It was indeed," the first man interjects, and Sean is ready, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The small leather bag he carries will be a disadvantage in a fight, as if he drops it one of the robbers will surely make a move, but he thinks he can manage with it on his shoulder.
"Do you know what we do to men who lie, stranger?"
Sean rolls his eyes. A regular theatrical troupe, these are. He thinks he can probably hold them off if he keeps them talking, catch them unawares. Still, there is something about killing a man outside the theatre of war that makes him a little uneasy. These are violent times, he knows, and he is not bothered by the idea of killing when necessary, or when a man has reason, but these men are down on their luck, and in need of a good meal. He can't help but be somewhat sympathetic.
"This is your last chance," the man called Andrew warns. "Surrender your purse, man, or prepare to die."
Sean wants a fair fight, so he withdraws his sword with the cold ringing of steel, and stands at the ready, daring his opponents with their shorter knives to approach. They aren't as stupid as they look, however, and come charging in a line, leaving his bad side open to attack. He swings and catches one in the wrist; he cries out, and then suddenly there are two more men in the picture, emerging from the trees at the side of the road. One leaps on Sean's back, and his movement is restricted to the point that he knows he's going to lose, he knows he's going to die, and the certainty is more frightening than it would have been just a few weeks earlier.
But then two more men join the fray, and it is only a moment before Sean realises they are not men at all, but the vampires. Soon necks are snapping and Ian has sunk his teeth into the vein of the leader, human blood staining his lips crimson as Sean watches, and the two that remain are running as fast as their legs can carry them. Sean stares in awe, having been knocked on the ground, his pack a few feet away. His hand is still tight around his sword, but it gradually loosens as the two men approach him, their eyes tender, visually checking him for wounds.
"Are you all right?" Ian asks, gently. Sean nods.
"Were you here the whole time?"
"We weren't far," Alan replies. "We knew you were in distress, but we wanted to give you the chance to defend yourself."
"Thank you," Sean replies, strangely touched by that recognition of his human pride. "And… thank you for coming to my rescue," he adds.
Ian smiles. "We wouldn't let you die, Sean. You needn't worry of that."
"You can't be everywhere at once," Sean reasons, and Alan smiles.
"No, but we can be near you. And you are what matters to us."
Sean shouldn't be surprised, but he is. "Will you accompany me then, on the road to meet my sister?"
"Would you like us to?" Alan asks, and Sean nods with surprisingly little hesitation.
"It is only another day, but I will be glad for the company."
"Then we should continue on," Ian replies, helping the man to his feet as Alan hands Sean his pack. The strange trio takes one last look around, at the three corpses lying on the road with vacant eyes, and then they continue on their journey.
"Sean!!" His sister's eyes are bright and happy, though there is weariness in her step and she is pale. After the first sight of her long-gone brother, something else rises in her expression—fear, he realises—and Sean is instantly on his guard. But Alan and Ian, though they hung back as he neared the cabin, are not far, and he is not afraid.
"Genevieve… it has been so long since you replied to my letters. Are you well?"
She doesn't answer, but hugs him tightly, her small arms wrapping around his neck and her feet leaving the ground momentarily.
"Don't ask too many questions, Sean," she murmurs in his ear as he holds her up in the embrace. "Not here."
When he lets her back down to earth, she is smiling brightly again, and cold terror worms its way into his heart.
"Where is Elisabeth?" he asks immediately. He will kill whoever has done this to her, his brilliant young sister. Only she is not so young anymore, and there are bruises near the neckline of her dress. The look that passes over her face stops him cold, though—something is horribly wrong. "Genevieve, where is…?"
"Dead," she whispers quickly, and his face blanches. "And you'd do best not to ask about it if you intend to stay around here for long, Sean," she adds. "Unless you want trouble for me."
"Dead?" He raises his voice in spite of himself.
"Sean," she warns sharply, and just then a man emerges from the house, and Sean sees nothing but red. "Sean!" Genevieve screams, but Sean doesn't heed her anymore than he would a yipping dog, his sword already drawn. The man is unarmed, and he runs back into the house, barring the door behind him. Sean is ready to cleave the wood in two when Genevieve comes up behind him, tugging at his elbows. "Sean, no, please!"
"Do you love him?" he shouts, turning in a rage, his sword held low and away from his sister but the barbaric glare of an unfinished kill still in his eyes.
"No," she hisses, her tone low, "but I have nothing else. You can't travel with me, and the men here will kill you, Sean, kill you, and maybe me as well. This town is not what it used to be. If you leave now, I have a chance."
"No," he objects immediately, but already some of the men within hearing range of the commotion are getting curious, emerging from the other wooden buildings of the town at the sound of conflict. This is hostile territory, he realises, and even with Ian and Alan's help, he's not sure he can take on twenty men with no harm done to his sister. He will kill this man, for it is the man who he is sure murdered her husband—the father of his niece now dead—but there isn't time now for vengeance. He needs to get Genevieve to safety. "Come with me," he instructs. "Is there anything in that house worth fighting for?"
She hesitates a moment, her eyes darting around nervously. The men are starting to close in, slowly, but Sean can see it. There are at least seven that he can see. He wishes he had a signal, a way to call the two vampires, but he suspects they would sense his need if he were in real distress, the way they did on the road.
"He is my husband," she says after a long moment, and Sean's eyes go wide.
"You married this…"
"I had no choice!" she hisses, cutting him off. "But it is my duty to remain, and Sean, they will kill you…"
"Your duty is to your dead husband, and to your child," he argues. "They cannot touch me, but they can harm you, and I fear it is too late for your safety here. I can protect you; you must trust me…"
"Sean…"
"Do you want to be here?" he asks. "Truly?"
She hesitates a long moment, then shakes her head. There are tears pricking her eyes, and he turns, taking her elbow, leading her away from the house. His eyes are wary, however, and sure enough he hasn't gone a metre before one of the men speaks.
"You, there! Where are you going with the lady?"
"The lady is my sister, sir," Sean replies. The man is blocking his path, but further down the road, he sees two men approaching, slowly. Alan and Ian. He sighs in relief.
"And the man inside is her husband, sir," he sneers. "You have no right taking her away from the man to whom she belongs."
"She belongs to no man," Sean states simply, his tone a warning, and the man looks visibly surprised.
"Every woman belongs to a man, whether the man who bore her or the man who took her off her father's hands. You tread dangerously, stranger."
"Perhaps," Sean agrees, keeping Genevieve slightly in front of him, his sword between her body and the man's, the remaining potential enemies at his back. He is not concerned for his own safety, but he needs to get her past this man, further down the road. "And perhaps you are too blind to perceive your own danger."
The man's sense of affront is clear, but the two vampires are close now, and as he makes to signal the others, the men dangerously close behind Sean now, Alan strikes. He uses his hands, snaps the man's neck, and Sean is absurdly grateful, as the vampires will be their companions on the road if they make it out of the town alive, and Sean doesn't want his sister to watch either drink human blood.
Ian reaches out, and Sean understands the sign; he pushes Genevieve hard towards Ian as he turns in a graceful arc and slashes his sword through the air, contacting with flesh, cleaving a man's head from his body with a sickening slice. The other men are running now, and too close; Sean steps quickly backward to get a better angle to use his sword but they are close enough to wrest the weapon from his hands and he finds himself wrestling with one of them as Alan moves to eliminate as many as possible with a cool efficiency. It seems cruel to kill so many, but it is his sister's safety, and there is no price too high. He gets an opening and Alan tosses him his sword, recaptured from a man Alan has just slain. Sean cuts his opponent's hand off and the man stumbles backwards, howling in pain. There are women peering from the windows, and men coming closer, but they have sensed something inhuman in the way Alan fights, and they are cautious. Sean doesn't know where John, the villain who has married his sister, is now, but he knows they need to be going.
"The stables," he hisses to Alan, and the other man nods; Sean takes off at a run and Alan is at his side, not breathing hard at all. They reach the stables after a couple of minutes, and there are only a few men about. They look at the newcomers suspiciously, but don't put up much of a fight, being caught off their guard. Sean and Alan each choose a large stallion and quickly let the horses free of the stables—there is no time to saddle up, so they have to make due only with reigns and bridle, but they need only get away from the town. Alan leads the way, directing them towards a point much further north up the road than where they left the other two, but it is obvious he knows something Sean doesn't. And sure enough, when they connect again with the road, Ian is waiting for them with Genevieve at his side, looking pale and extremely startled but otherwise fine.
"Sean," she hisses, urgently, when he helps her mount the horse behind him, arranging her skirts carefully before they continue down the road, "who are these men?"
Sean is cautious—he doesn't want to lie, but there is so much to tell, and he doesn't know whether she would believe him if he did.
"They are friends," he replies, keeping it simple. "They can protect us."
"Well one of your friends just lifted me into his arms and ran down the road at three times the speed of a normal man. And besides, I don't like the look of them," she protests defiantly. He smiles to himself and holds her carefully in place with an arm around her waist as they break into a gallop.
"I didn't either, at first. But a man should not judge on looks alone."
"A woman has to," she argues. "What other option is there? We are not allowed to take part in discussion."
Sean smiles. This is the feisty Genevieve he remembers, and he is glad for that. "Well whatever else you may think of them, they can get us to safety, and right now you have little choice."
They ride in slightly tense silence for a few minutes, before Sean has to ask. "How did she die, Vivy?"
Genevieve goes tight in the saddle, and pretends not to hear.
"Please. Did he…?"
"I am not certain," she answers, cutting him off. "It was morning; I woke and she had died in her sleep. She had… bruises…" She presses a hand hard to her mouth, unable to continue, and he resolves that moment to kill the bastard. With his own two hands.
They stop riding after several days, moving steadily south and west until they meet the town of Shrewsbury straddling the banks of the River Severn. It is there Ian and Alan leave the siblings to go into town and do some business, and it is there Sean tells his sister what his companions really are, what he might become.
"They… drink human blood?" Genevieve repeats, her fair face pale as ash.
"Only what they need," he explains gently, touching her hand. "I was frightened too, at first, but they don't kill for sport. It is what they are…"
"They are monsters!" she exclaims. "You've taken me from my home, from my husband, to be with monsters? Sean, we must escape before they return…"
"No!" he interrupts, his tone firm. "We will not leave them. Your husband is a murderer twice over, at the very least. He coerced you and has manipulated the men of the town, insofar as I can tell. I will not stand for the defilement and disrespect of my sister. Alan and Ian are vampires, but they are honest vampires. They are good men, Genevieve," he insists. "They can protect us."
"At what price?"
He sighs, and shakes his head. "At the price of my heart, I am afraid."
She raises an eyebrow suspiciously, and then nods. "I suspected as much."
"What??"
Genevieve shrugs, and places a hand on his knee. "Women are not stupid, Sean."
He sighs and squeezes her hand, silent for a moment while he considers what she has said. "We will stay on with them. I am sorry, Vivy, but there is nowhere else where you will be safe. I do not mean to trap you, but is my duty to protect you."
She nods. "I understand."
"Thank you."
They find a safe place for Genevieve on the south coast of England, in a country house that is in desperate need of someone to look after the children of a wealthy widower. Sean interviews him at length, and finds that he is a good man. He amends his sister's story somewhat, saying that her husband has died and that her child soon after fell ill. Babies die so frequently that it is a completely plausible tale, and Genevieve understands the necessity of keeping some secrets. He says her name is Anna, and he calls himself Colin. He promises to send money, and then he leaves, finding Ian and Alan waiting for him on the road. He wants to stay with her, but she still does not like the idea of his companions. Together the three men make the journey north again, and by the time they slip into Scottish territory, he finds that he is happy with his decision. Genevieve is safe, and that is what matters.
Of course, the time spent travelling means that he also has a chance to think more about himself, and about his own situation. Alan and Ian are not always outwardly affectionate, perhaps out of deference to his own confusion. However he sees the looks they give each other, the way they move as a unit. He has no doubt that they were born to be for each other, and that there is nothing more important than that. He is in awe of the power of that truth, and even more in awe of the idea that they want to include him. He does not doubt that he will also be something of a third wheel, but he does not feel uncomfortable or unwanted when he is with them. He notices how they subtly protect him, even now, placing themselves between him and danger when they must ride in situations that are less than entirely safe.
It doesn't even occur to Sean to ask where they're going, but when he realises they are in Scottish lands his muscles tighten a bit, his hand staying at the hilt of his sword. The vampires notice but do not comment, and before long they reach a house, small but cosy and built from stone rather than wood, tucked into the side of a hill in the Highlands.
"This is our home," Ian announces, and Sean soaks in every detail, every clue that might exist regarding the two vampires. There isn't much, but he takes his time anyway.
"How much time do you spend here?"
"More some years, less others," Alan replies cryptically. "This is our haven. We do not want for money, but we prefer it to some lavish castle. We prefer not to draw attention to ourselves."
Sean nods. He notices the single bed, but he can sleep on the floor tonight. When the sun sinks below the horizon, Alan lights a fire, and Sean spends a long time staring into its light, distracting himself from the fear of the surrounding country. When he finally turns, he sees that Alan and Ian have forgotten him momentarily, and are sitting on the bed, whispering in low tones. Ian's hand reaches up to caress Alan's cheek, and Sean falls a little in love.
"I want you to bite me," he whispers throatily, and both men turn. "I am frightened. Not of you," he adds quickly, before they can protest, "but of this country. There are strange things in the air. Old things. I can't explain it, but I feel it. It was there in battle, just a little, but here it is stronger."
"You are perceptive for a human," Ian comments. "But we knew we'd made the right choice the moment we laid eyes on you."
"Will you… protect me?" Sean asks, feeling utterly naked. He is a proud man, and he has never uttered such words, but Ian simply smiles, and Alan beckons Sean to the bed with one hand.
"Always."
"Do you want this?" Ian asks. "Only if you're sure," he promises, stroking Sean's thigh when he comes to sit between them.
` Sean leans forward before he can change his mind and presses his lips to Ian's, the way he has seen Alan do. A little jolt runs through him, an electric shock of discovery, and he realises that he is hard beneath his breeches. Still, he forces himself to remain brave and leans back, letting his back press against Alan's chest.
"Yes," he replies. "I'm certain. I want you both to bite me," he says clearly, and Ian smiles. He can feel Alan's smile in turn against his neck, closed lips sliding smoothly along the vein.
"I want you to trust us," Ian says softly, his hand smoothing along Sean's leg, the other reaching up to stroke his hair. Sean feels calmed in a way he hasn't since his mother died when he was a boy. It is incredibly grounding, and he feels ready for this. "It will hurt a little, at first, but only for a moment. We won't take more from you than you are ready to give."
"I'm ready," Sean replies once more, and Ian smiles, brushing his lips against Sean's again as Alan's lips continue to drag up and down the jugular. Alan lets his lips curl back and his fangs drag lightly along the same path, bringing a trail of blood to the surface, though little more than a scratch. Ian leans in, and together they taste the same cut, then Ian holds Sean steady by the chin and kisses him a third time, letting his tongue slide inside Sean's mouth. His own blood tastes metallic, but he can feel Ian's warmth and vitality through the kiss, sense the vampire's excitement. He reaches back to clutch Alan's thigh, and at that moment both lean down and sink their fangs in, on opposite sides of his neck. He doesn't mean to cry out, but there is a strangled moan that he can't prevent, his hands balling into fists.
After a moment, the warm suckling at either side of his neck becomes arousal, and then the feeling is something like floating, his head light. He barely notices when a wrist is held to his mouth, a slit through it bleeding bright red. Ian nudges his head forward, and he sucks on the cut, the taste at first strange but then exploding through his senses sharp as a deadly piercing arrow.
"Gorgeous," Alan purrs when he has finished drinking, licking over the holes in Sean's neck to seal the wound. Ian does the same, and after a moment pulls his wrist away from Sean's mouth. He feels simultaneously woozy and horny as hell. He reaches out for both of them and the movement puts him off balance; he tips backwards and they both reach to lower him gently to the bed.
Ian moves as if to leave Sean's side and he clutches at the man's leg, briefly panicked. Ian smiles and leans down to kiss his brow.
"Meus amor. Meus filius."
Sean feels very young in the presence of these men, very young and very naïve, but they touch him simultaneously, their hands caressing and comforting, and he sinks into a pleasant dream. He is home.
In the morning, Sean wakes and immediately raises one hand to his neck. It is real. He opens his eyes then and sees Ian still sleeping, his face a few inches away. The vampire is not breathing, which is eerie, but he appears to be at peace. Sean shifts slightly and feels Alan behind him. His first thought is that he is famished.
He rises from the bed and stokes the fire. There is no meat in the house, but there are beans hanging over the fire, and Sean is able to make a simple stew in the iron pot. While he cooks, the two vampires sleep soundly, but once he has finished eating and sits on the edge of the bed for want of something better to do, their eyes open simultaneously, both smiling up at him. It is very strange, but it gives him a sense that they are more connected than even he realised.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, wondering now if he should have made enough for three. But Alan laughs and sits up, gently squeezing the back of Sean's neck.
"Quite satisfied, actually," Alan replies, and Sean realises with a blush that they must not need food. And then he has a thought.
"When were you last here, in this house?"
"When you were at the Abbey," Ian answers. "Why?"
"There is food here. But you don't eat…"
"We don't need to, no," Alan replies with a smile. "But we hoped that you might come soon."
"Oh. You are kind."
"Well we wouldn't have you starve," Ian teases, reaching up as he rises to sit and brushing his fingers over Sean's cheek. "We'll find a deer or something for you soon."
"There's no need," Sean objects. "Don't slaughter a whole beast just for my consumption. It would be wasteful."
Ian smiles, but there is something of surprise in his eyes. "You are a good man, Sean. I knew that, but… well you are a good man."
Sean's eyes flick downward, embarrassed. "When will you… when will you bite me again?" he asks.
"You liked that, did you?" Alan asks with a grin, placing a hand low on Sean's back. He blushes as he nods.
"It is a good thing," Ian assures him. "But we won't bite for another few days. We could feed every day in small amounts, but we won't while your body is becoming accustomed to it."
"And then I will… you said I will crave it?"
"Yes."
"Does it bode ill that I do already?" Sean asks quietly, his eyes still on his lap, food forgotten.
"No," Alan replies with a smile, shifting closer and resting his chin on Sean's shoulder, gently pressing a kiss to the marks where Ian bit last night. "It is a relief. But is there anything else you would like from us, in the meantime?" he asks gently.
Sean takes a deep breath, his own blood thundering in his ears. He wonders if Alan can hear it, and whether it makes him hungry. The idea makes Sean's cheeks colour, for he likes it—he feels wanted, and it isn't something he's necessarily used to.
"I don't… I don't know how to ask," he admits, quietly. "It is difficult to find the words."
"You want to be touched?" Ian prods softly. Sean nods.
"I want you to touch me. Both of you," he admits, resolute. He is a warrior, not a little boy. He can ask for this, even if the two men make him feel like a child.
Alan's hand rises to rest on Sean's hip. He licks over the marks on Sean's neck, and then sucks lightly just above them, his fangs remaining below the gum line. His teeth press against Sean's skin, but they are just teeth. He shivers and his eyes fall shut. Alan's hand squeezes his hip and the other slips under his shirt, a firm palm smoothing upward to his sternum. When Sean's eyes open again, Ian is watching hungrily. Without thinking, he presses one hand between his legs.
"That's good," Ian murmurs approvingly, and Sean's pulse jumps under Alan's lips. He palms his cock harder, and hears a pleasant growl in his ear. "Lovely," Ian coos. Sean whimpers, and his embarrassment is swallowed by Alan turning his head, engaging his lips. They are putting on a show for Ian, he realises, but he doesn't mind the idea. In fact, it makes his prick harden more quickly to know that Ian is watching, that he is enjoying this. Ian and Alan are equals, certainly, but Ian approached him first, and that will always carry some weight with Sean.
Sean's free hand fists against the bed, and he squeezes a bit harder, his mouth falling open in an effort to take in more air. "Beautiful," Alan murmurs before he nibbles at Sean's ear, his hand pinching at Sean's nipple now. Sean moans again, and Alan's other hand squeezes Sean's hip in encouragement. "Good," he whispers. "He likes that."
Alan raises his head as Sean does, and they are both looking at Ian, who meets their gaze unwaveringly. He doesn't touch himself, Sean notices, but he watches every nuance of the way Sean's wrist moves, the way his fingers curl. After a few more moments of this, Alan's hands both slide down to help, unlacing Sean's breeches and nudging them down over his hips, interrupting for a moment but then guiding Sean's hand back to his now-naked prick, waiting until the fingers curl instinctively around it before his hands retreat again and his lips rejoin the skin of Sean's neck.
Sean gasps and pushes his hips forward, so that his cock slides through his fist. After a moment he has to close his eyes; he can't handle the intensity of the look Ian is directing at him, his blue eyes crystal and entirely unblinking.
"Faster," Alan murmurs, nipping at his earlobe, and Sean obeys immediately, his hand speeding up on his prick as Alan's hand strokes his stomach.
"Oh," he gasps, feeling the warmth build in his belly and in his balls. "Do you… do you want… do you even…?"
Alan smiles against Sean's jaw, he can feel it, and when he opens his eyes and sees the fond look on Ian's face Sean realises for whom Alan is smiling.
"Do we what, pet?" Alan whispers, his thumb rubbing into Sean's bellybutton. He growls, having had no idea that such a touch could be so erotic, and Alan rocks against his arse.
"Do you… well I know your pricks get hard," he reasons, pushing back purposefully against Alan as he glances down at Ian's own erection, earning an intensely pleased look from the vampire. "But do you… finish, the same as I do?" he asks, blushing furiously.
"Oh yes," Alan purrs, and Sean's insides turn to a soupy mess.
"Oh," he breathes, more urgently this time, shivering even though he is plenty warm in Alan's arms. He crinkles his brow at this, and Ian asks.
"What's wrong, pet?"
"You… he shouldn't be warm," Sean explains.
"Oh?" Ian asks, cocking his own brow and looking amused. "And why shouldn't he?"
"You're a… vampire," he reasons. "You don't have your own blood. You need it from others… you shouldn't be warm unless you've just fed…"
"Ah, so you have heard stories," Ian teases, looking horribly amused. "Only an invention of overactive human imaginations, I'm afraid. We're just as warm as you are, pet. Often warmer."
"So I can… oh!... feel." Alan's thumbs have pressed down simultaneously, one in his navel and the other inside his hipbone. He is losing control quickly, even though his hand has slowed. "Please," he begs, though his cheeks colour again as he says it.
"Beautiful," Alan whispers, his lips ghosting over Sean's neck without bothering to answer the request.
"Alan, please," he repeats, and Ian smiles, moving forward, grazing Sean's jaw with the tip of his index finger.
"Good pet."
"Ohh," he moans, his hips canting upward. It is almost a losing battle, but he wants to hear Alan say it.
"Lovely pet," Alan says instead, and Sean's head falls back, desperate, turning to search out Alan's lips. They are given willingly, and he kisses far more passionately than he knew he could, his own desire fuelled by Alan's overwhelming… power, he realises as he sucks greedily on Alan's tongue. It is pure power that vibrates underneath him, and Sean shakes with the force of it.
"Please," he groans into Alan's mouth, then again immediately, this time a whimper. Alan doesn't smile, he just pushes his tongue into Sean's mouth and holds his hips hard and claims him, turns him fucking inside out with his kiss.
When Alan flicks a "yes" over Sean's lips with the tip of his tongue, and Sean's body begins to convulse and tremble with the incredible surge of his orgasm, he realises three things. One, Alan didn't speak anything aloud, and yet Sean heard him. Two, his hand isn't even moving on his cock anymore, and hasn't been for at least two full minutes. And three, Ian's hand is pressed to his lower back, the single palm supporting all of Sean's body weight.
Smiling, Sean drifts into a peaceful slumber.
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aaaacccbbbbthtttthhhh~!
*is inCHOherent*
...morewhenbrain reboots....
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This defied all steriotypes of Vamp erotica I've read: sly and slow and smoldering instead of pounce-bite-sex! I loved the calmness of Alan and Ian, their absolute surity of who they were of themselves, who they were to each other, their waiting watchfulness of Sean.
And plot! W00! Action and adventure wrapped into it! ~hummms~
*sticks into favorites*
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