Fic: Rethinking Kismet (Tangled Histories Verse)

[v-angelique.livejournal.com]

Title: Rethinking Kismet
Verse: Tangled Histories
Author: Viktoria Angelique (v_angelique)
Pairings: It would give too much away to say anything here, but this is an Andy bit.
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: Andy goes on his trip to New Zealand and meets someone new, but once again life is just full of surprises.






The first thing Andy notices about New Zealand is the clean air and sunshine.

The second thing Andy notices about New Zealand is no nagging parents.

To tell the truth, he approves highly.

Of course, he misses his family, but there's something thrilling about being alone, and not in the way of being alone that is being with Viggo and being very consciously aware of the particular sort of loneliness from which he suffers. This is a deeply satisfying sort of being alone, and he intends to take full advantage.

From Auckland, where his plane lands, he ventures south on foot. He's full from the plane, and so he's able to take a good long run, which in this country gets him far. He stops when he hits mountains, and decides to climb one of them. It feels good to get the cold air into his lungs, and by the time he makes it down the other side and to the coast again, this time on the south end of the North Island, near Wellington, the sun is just starting to sink in the sky.

The coast has a lovely smell, salt and fresh air, and the weather is perfect, a little crisp but just what Andy likes. There's a strong wind, but it doesn't affect him as he walks towards a row of docks, venturing down to the end of one with his shirt billowing out around him.

There is a man who looks to be about forty years old, maybe a little younger, with brown hair tinted slightly red by the sun and tanned skin. He is standing on a boat, scrubbing the decks facing Andy. The side of the vessel reads "The Urbane." He thinks it's a strange name for a sailboat.

"Can I help you with something, mate?" the man asks, shielding his eyes from the sun and looking at Andy with a bemused smile.

"Oh. No. I was only… looking at the name of your boat. It's a bit odd."

The man laughs and drops his sponge, dipping his hands in the water over the side and offering one to Andy. "It's a bit of an inside joke. I'm Marton. Are you here on holiday?"

"Andrew," he replies, not sure why he gave his full first name. "Yes, I am."

"Welcome, then. Where are you from, Andrew?"

"London."

"No wonder you need a holiday," Marton says with a smile. "We get a lot of Londoners here. New Yorkers, too."

"Oh. Do you work in the tourist business?"

"Yeah, that's what she's here for," Marton explains, gesturing to the boat. "Well, not solely, but I couldn't afford her otherwise. I do tours and adventure trips."

"Ah. What's an adventure trip?" Andy asks, shifting his position a little to block the sun. Marton lowers his hand, and Andy notes that he has lovely eyes.

"Thanks, mate. It's something I do for experienced sailors, a one to four day journey where the guests actually help with the sailing. For the tours it's only a day or a half-day, or sometimes a sunset sail, and I do all the work."

"Right. I've never sailed before," Andy muses. "Is it hard to manoeuvre by yourself?"

Marton shrugs, and goes back to scrubbing. "Not when you know what you're doing. You have to keep moving, I mean, always adjusting the sails and the rudder. It's an easier job for two men than one, but it's my job, so…"

Andy nods. "Would you mind if I took a look around?"

"If you like. Let me just pull a little closer," Marton suggests, as he's tied up several feet away from the dock.

"Oh, no need," Andy replies, leaping from the dock and balancing on the side, Marton eyeing him suspiciously as the boat bobs up and down, the wind whipping everywhere and Andy unaffected by its motion.

"You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Andy laughs and nods. "You didn't know?"

"No… is there a way to tell? There aren't so many vampires in this area. One or two, maybe. I've never met one."

"I'm not sure," Andy replies, stepping down into the boat and glancing into the little cabin. "Humans tend to know, but I don't know how they do, exactly."

"You're… graceful," Marton observes, watching him more closely now. "But humans can be graceful."

"I don't breathe," Andy offers. "But you'd have to be close to tell."

"I suppose I could just challenge every new bloke I meet to a race around the block," Marton teases in return. Andy smiles.

"I like running," he volunteers.

"Yeah? Me too. Used to be on the track team, in school."

"Hmm. I didn't like it when I was a human. Too tiring."

"Why do you like it now?"

"I like to move. I like to feel free, I don't know… moving at a normal pace, it's holding back. It's easy. I like to run as fast as I can."

"That would be pretty fucking fast, I'd assume."

Andy grins. Normally, he doesn't like drawing attention to himself, but suddenly he has the urge to show off. "My plane landed in Auckland this morning."

Marton raises his eyebrow. "And you ran here?"

"With a few stops to take in the scenery."

Marton shakes his head. "I don't know, mate. I don't think I'd enjoy that. I like to take things in."

Andy shrugs. "I feel like I've seen it all sometimes."

"Why did you come here?"

"I needed some time away from my family. My father's pet's from New Zealand, he suggested it."

Marton frowns. "I'm sorry, your father's… pet? Your father would be the bloke who turned you?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. You really don't deal with vampires much." Marton shakes his head. "Ian, my father… well, one of them, anyway… he and the other one, they have two pets, Orlando and Craig. Craig's the one who's from here."

"I'm assuming you aren't referring to puppy dogs."

Andy laughs loudly, shaking his head. "They might as well be, but no. A pet is like a vampire who didn't turn all the way. An eternal companion who remains human. They can't die of natural causes, but they're not invincible, either."

"Hmm. Sounds like slavery."

Andy is taken aback by that, and he has to take a minute to formulate his response. "They… love each other. Orlando and Craig. And they're perfectly happy in the house, I mean, they're very well suited to it. Alan and Ian take care of them. I'd hardly call it slavery."

"Are they free to leave?"

"If they wanted to, I suppose. But they don't."

Marton frowns again. “They just stay cooped up in the house, then?”

Andy shrugs. “Craig and Orlando do. My brother Sean, his pet Dominic is always out and about, by contrast.”

"These brothers, are they by birth, or…?"

"No, no, they're the other vampire children of my fathers. It's… I suppose it's strange, isn't it, to a human? But if you think about it, it makes sense. Our mortal families died a long time ago."

"It does, I suppose, in some way," Marton agrees as he starts to wash the side of the cabin.

"I'm the baby of the family, anyway," Andy explains. "Hence the getting away."

Marton looks up and smiles at that. "How old are your brothers, then?"

"Oh, very. Viggo's, uh, let's see, he’ll be four hundred in a few years. Sean's just about turn nine hundred."

"Fuck."

The corner of Andy's lip turns up in a smile as Marton apologises.

"Sorry, I just… that's old, isn't it? For a vampire, even?"

Andy nods. "It is. We're one of the oldest families."

"But you're the newbie?"

"As it were," Andy agrees, arching an eyebrow. "I was born in 1801."

"In London?"

"Yes."

Marton nods. "Are you staying in the city tonight, then?"

"Oh," Andy says, as he hasn't really thought of it. "I'm not sure, I, uh… I haven't made arrangements."

Marton smiles. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have. Just ran in from Auckland and all," he murmurs with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. Andy feels the flush of arousal spreading throughout his body, and though he's eaten, he hears the flow of blood in Marton's veins, a reassuring thump, and begins to grow hard. "I might make a bit of a suggestion."

Andy nods encouragingly, tilting his head to the side.

"There's a cove, about fifteen miles south of here; if you follow the shoreline you'll find it easily. The beach ends just there," he explains, pointing, "but if you'd like to, you know… run… well you won't be noticed if you can navigate the trees. There's a B&B, very sort of isolated, locals know it but not many others, really. It's small, but they normally have a room or two free. If I've read you right, it seems the kind of place you'd enjoy. Quiet, hospitable."

Andy smiles, touched by the man's consideration. "It sounds lovely. Actually, if I might ask something else. I do need to run into the city before the shops close, I'm afraid… well I didn't really bring anything along. I'll need to pick up some clothes," he admits sheepishly.

Marton laughs and Andy describes what he's looking for – well-made shirts and trousers and the like, what modern men would call business wear – and Marton gives him an address. It's with some reluctance that he says goodbye, the bloodsong growing fainter as he walks away. He hasn't got much time, so he finds a taxi and enters the city that way, picking up this and that and a suitcase as well. With the case, running will be awkward, so he finds another cab and describes the B&B instead. Fortunately, the driver knows it, and it really is perfect, just a house with a large kitchen and a number of bedrooms. There's a guesthouse as well, unoccupied, and Andy immediately claims it for the month. There's something wrong with the windows, and it's a little drafty, so there's a discount, but of course Andy isn't bothered by a bit of cold air. Once he's unpacked his newly purchased things he finds himself sitting on a rock overlooking the water, gazing in the direction of the docks and wondering where Marton is, what he's doing.

It's easy to imagine the unassuming sailor in a little house like this one, searing some meat on the hob and drinking from a glass of white wine while he chops vegetables. He indulges the fantasy, unbuttoning the top few buttons of Marton's shirt in his mind and walking into the imaginary kitchen behind him, slipping his arms easily around Marton's waist and feeling the man shift his weight back into Andy's arms. He imagines firm buttocks pressing against his erection through the khaki trousers Marton wears, and he can picture Marton's head falling back on his shoulder, the lean neck displaying itself for the offering.

He thinks he caught a hint of flirtation in the man's tone, a drift of "maybe" onto which he firmly latches. The man is refreshingly adult, in no way similar to Viggo's eternal boy, and his passion for freedom is attractive to Andy. Perhaps he would revile the idea of being a pet, and Andy can respect that, but his own mind eventually changed. Sean's did, and it is almost impossible to imagine Sean as servile to anyone. He imagines running alongside Marton, through this wild and verdant country, and making love to him on the peak of the mountain he crossed this afternoon. He can picture the delicious smirk on Marton's lips just before he pierces Andy's neck, sharing blood between family. He groans and lets his head fall back against the stone, for though it is difficult for him to think of himself as anyone's father, picturing Marton as his lover, and as a vampire at that, makes his whole body shiver. He remembers how his own fathers approached him so many years ago, how they seduced him and played so effortlessly to his own needs – yes, this is what he needs to do. Marton would be perfect. He only has to ask.

---

"Oh," Marton says with a laugh when he shows up on the dock with an overnight bag over one shoulder. "It's you."

Andy smiles and cocks his head to the side. "Yes."

"Didn't realise. There are a lot of Andrews."

"It's all right?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Andy shrugs and hops onto the boat. "Didn't know if you were afraid to go on an overnight sailing journey with a vampire."

"Well when you make it sound so sinister…"

Andy grins. "Nah. Should I throw this in the cabin?" he asks, tugging on his bag.

"Yeah, do that, then I'll give you the basic safety course."

Andy laughs as he stores the bag and then emerges from the cabin again, watching Marton moving about the boat with an appreciative glance. "It isn't as if I really need a safety course. Nothing bad will happen if I fall out of the boat."

"Yes, well, on the other hand, if you knock me off the boat, I won't be very happy with you. Now, regulations say you have to wear one of these, I'm afraid," Marton says, stretching his arm out with a bright orange life vest in it. Andy eyes the thing critically.

"Again I say, nothing bad will happen…"

"A storm can whip up pretty fast, you know. Currents are stronger than they look."

Andy smiles. "So am I."

Marton sighs. "Just… put it on till we're clear of the marina? I don't want to get in trouble. We don't have anything in the regulations about vampires."

Andy laughs and takes it, though he's sure he looks ridiculous, snapping the little buckles in place.

"Right, then. This is the boom," Marton explains, pointing to the long black horizontal crossbeam. "Most important part of the boat to learn, because you really don't want it to smack you in the face. And before you say anything," he interjects, Andy closing his mouth, duly chastened, "I don't care if it can't knock you overboard, if you stop it with your head you could do some damage to my boat, so for the love of God just duck."

Looking slightly sheepish, Andy nods. "Yeah, all right."

"Thank you. Now for the most part, since you're not an experienced sailor, I'm just going to tell you that I need you to do something and you do it. It isn't very complicated, but it's good to have an extra set of hands. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

“All right,” Andy agrees, nodding again.

“Good,” Marton replies, going to check the drain plugs and the rudder. “Untie us from the dock, please?”

Andy nods and reaches out, tugging the boat a little closer and undoing the first knot, then the second and third until they’re free. Once they’re heading out into the water, he keeps his mouth shut and stays out of the way, watching as Marton moves about the boat and tugging at ropes when he’s told to do so. There’s an easy rhythm to Marton’s movements, the routine deeply engrained. After half an hour or so, they’re sailing along with the wind at a respectable pace.

“You were born in the nineteenth century, you said?” Marton asks, pushing his sunglasses up on his head.

“That’s right.”

Marton frowns. “I suppose you never got to see any really cool ships, then.”

Andy laughs. “I don’t know what the standard is.”

“Oh, I was just thinking… I would’ve loved to see some of the ships the British navy was using in the sixteenth, seventeenth centuries.”

Andy smiles and leans against the side of the cabin. “You could, if you’re ever in England. They have some on display.”

“Oh, that’s not what I mean,” Marton replies dismissively, waving a hand. “I mean on the water. It’s amazing how they conducted war in those days,” he murmurs with a tone of hushed respect.

Andy nods. “Lot of people died, though.”

“Well, of course. Did you… I mean did anyone close to you die?”

“Not particularly, no. My family have been the closest to me since I turned, and they’re all older and stronger than I am. I was afraid when we saw what the atom bomb could do, but… my brothers have seen more than I.”

“Did they ever fight?”

“Sean did. In a battle with the Scots, before he met our fathers. He was lucky to survive.”

“Sean is English?”

Andy nods. “All of us are, with the exception of Viggo.”

“All your family?”

“Well, yes, including the pets. Well, not Elijah,” Andy amends. “But we never see him, he isn’t really part of the family.”

Marton frowns and walks towards the bow of the boat to check something, with Andy following. “These pets you keep mentioning… I still don’t understand. Can they die?”

“Well they can, but they’re very well protected.”

“How many do each of you have?”

Andy laughs. “It isn’t like that. A pet is very precious to a vampire. Sean has one, Dominic that I told you about, and so does Viggo. Alan and Ian have just the two between them.”

“And you? Don’t you have a pet?”

Andy shakes his head. “Wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t need to get away if there was someone holding me to home.”

Marton smiles. “I don’t know about that. Are you ready for lunch, then? Or do you even eat?”

Andy nods. “I will, if there’s food. But if you’re especially hungry, you can eat my portion. I don’t get hungry. Not… for that, at least.”

Marton gives him a long, appraising look, and Andy almost shivers. “All right,” he says softly, and starts letting out the sails. Andy doesn’t let his eyes leave the man’s body. He is glad that they are alone.



“This is it, then,” Marton announces once they’ve tied up the boat to a small dock in an isolated cove, handing Andy the tent and carrying some of the other supplies himself. “Wilderness camping, so the rules are that we leave no trace. Anything you take with you goes back on the boat, and try to disturb nature as little as possible.”

Andy smiles. “I like that philosophy.”

“Me too, mate,” Marton agrees, leading the way into the woods. They walk to a clearing twenty minutes away, and though Andy could’ve reached it in two, he enjoys ambling alongside Marton, listening to the man speak. His vowels fall into some of the same shapes that Craig’s do, from time to time, but there’s something else there that he can’t quite place.

“Where are your parents from, Marton?” Andy asks as they pitch the tent. “You know so much about my family, and I know nothing about yours.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m used to tourists who like to talk to hear the sound of their own voices,” Marton admits. “Usually I’m the one asking the questions, and ignoring the answers.”

Andy laughs. “Have you ignored mine?”

“Hmm. You’ll never know,” Marton replies, his eyes sparkling over the blue fabric dome. Andy tamps down the urge to kiss him, hard. “My father is Hungarian. My mother is German.”

“How did you come to live here?”

“I was born here. They both came after the war.”

“From Eastern Europe?”

Marton nods. “They were lucky, so.”

“Apparently. Do we cook by a fire?” Andy asks, stepping back from the tent.

“Not normally. I have a campstove. It’s a pain to find firewood.”

Andy smiles. “A fire might be nice, though, for you especially. I can be back in a jiff.”

Marton raises an eyebrow, but waves his hand and Andy sprints off, finding some good dry logs and bringing an armful back to their clearing. Marton’s cleared a spot for them, and he drops them all in a heap, running off again and returning with rocks to form a ring. Marton just laughs.

“I have a lighter, it’s somewhere…”

Andy smiles and picks two sticks up off the ground, striking them together and holding the resultant flame to the smaller twigs and branches he’s chosen for kindling.

“All right, Boy Scout. Are you quite finished?”

Andy grins. “Only trying to be helpful. Making up for annoying you earlier with the safety regulations. It is a bit chilly out here.”

Marton shrugs. “Well, I suppose you’re right, the regulations are daft in your case. Still, I can’t be caught ignoring them.”

“The kind of man who plays by the rules, are you Marton?”

“On occasion,” Marton replies easily, and it again takes effort not to kiss the man. He doesn’t want to frighten him, though, so Andy falls into silence as they prepare the meal. This time it’s only for Marton, as campfire food really isn’t all that appetizing in Andy’s opinion. There are beers in the little cooler, and Andy notices Marton growing more relaxed, his conversation becoming more boisterous. Andy wonders if Marton normally drinks in front of customers. He thinks not.

After the fire has gone out, they crawl into the tent and Marton peels off his shirt, settling on his back on top of the sleeping bag. Andy props up on one elbow and stares until Marton turns his head and sees what he’s looking at.

“You feel something,” Andy says, low, almost under his breath. The energy in the tent is palpable, the darkness comforting, and he knows this is the moment he’s waited a hundred and fifty years for. Something in his blood tells him, something in Marton’s blood. It’s entirely instinctual.

Marton holds his gaze, and Andy starts to lean forward, but Marton stops him with a hand on Andy’s chest, blinking. “Please, don’t. I have someone.”

Andy stares, this time in surprise rather than lust. His first thought is disbelief, but Marton’s eyes are serious. And then… if only his timing were better; human relationships are so fleeting… maybe he can wait this one out. “Women,” he tries, his throat dry, remembering his own initial reaction to the seduction. “They aren’t… have you ever thought that…”

Marton cuts him off, his laughter rich and painful because Andy can never be the one inside the joke, he knows instinctively. Here is his place, caught on the outside. This is the one, he knows, and fate is cruel. If Marton weren’t so beautiful, he would want to kill the man.

“It isn’t a woman, Andrew. I’m sorry.”

Andy frowns, flopping onto his back and staring up at the blue tent over his head. He forgets, sometimes, that humans occasionally have relationships with their own sex as vampires do. “What’s his name?” he grunts.

“Karl,” Marton replies gently. “And before you ask, yes, it’s serious. Very serious. I am sorry. I didn’t realise.”

Andy sighs and nods. “What does he do?”

“He’s a sculptor,” Marton replies with a fond note in his voice. “A professional recluse, I say.”

“Well. I hope you’re both happy.”

“We are.”

Andy has nothing to say to that, and a moment later Marton speaks again.

“I’m sorry… that you’re not. You’re a good man. Vampire. I can tell.”

“Thank you,” Andy replies, and turns onto his side, pretending to sleep.



After the sailing tour, Andy doesn’t leave the area, though he wants to. He wants to go far away, to a forest or a desert or somewhere else that’s completely isolated, perhaps Siberia or the Sahara. He wants to go somewhere where he can stop hurting himself, where there are no beautiful men and there is no pain.

Instead, he stays in Wellington, though he doesn’t go back to the docks. Instead, he asks around and finds this sculptor’s studio, tucked away on a beach not far from where he’s staying, where Marton recommended that he stay, he remembers. Of course, he would know the neighbourhood well. Andy snarls, but then composes himself, making his expression pleasant as he raps lightly on the door.

A few minutes later, a man answers, tugging the door open and then leaning on the frame as he greets Andy. “What can I do for you, mate?” he asks pleasantly, and Andy says something about the woman at a pottery shop in the city who in fact gave him Karl’s address, mentions that he was hoping to find a special piece for his brother. This gains him entrance to the space, a cottage with two large, open rooms and plenty of light.

As he pretends to look over the pieces for sale on display he pays more attention to Karl, who is unassuming but tall and broad-chested like Marton, with a head of dark hair and a pair of wire rimmed glasses resting on his nose. He wears faded jeans that fit him well and an equally faded blue shirt that is almost grey, buttoned halfway up over a white t-shirt, the sleeves rolled to reveal strong hands stained with clay. He would be beautiful if he weren’t the competition. He stands half a foot taller than Andy, and Andy realises that both he and Marton remind him in a sort of off-hand way of his two brothers. His hands, especially, dirty and strong as Viggo’s… Andy runs his own hand over a sculpture of two dolphins, leaping over one another.

“These aren’t quite what I was looking for,” he admits, not intending to sound quite so gruff.

“No?” Karl doesn’t sound annoyed, only curious.

“My brother isn’t much for dolphins and seashells.”

Karl laughs. “They’re what sells. Would you like to take a look at some of my other work?” he offers. “If you like it, I could do a piece for your brother.”

“Please,” Andy agrees, though he hadn’t actually thought of buying something until this moment, and he isn’t sure for which brother the present would be.

“This is where I work,” Karl explains, leading him out of the neat front room with the sale items on display and attached kitchen to a messier space strewn with various pieces on crates and tables, a bed haphazardly shoved in one corner. There are some figurines and larger abstracts, and then a couple of functional pieces, one of which Andy recognizes with a genuine grin as a very ornate spoon rest.

“Like to cook, do you?” Andy asks, looking at it with a laugh. Above the dip for the spoon is an arch with intricate spirals and “ivy” growing on the sculpted gate.

“Yeah,” Karl agrees, smiling. “That’s to match the spice rack, and the hook for my potholders.”

“Could you… I have an idea,” Andy says, scratching his chin. “May be a bit difficult.”

Karl shrugs. “I like a challenge. If you can pay.”

Andy shakes his head. “Money’s not a problem. My brother, he has an… antique sword,” he explains, picturing the old weapon that Sean once used in battle and rests now unceremoniously on the mantel in he and Dom’s house. “It’s very dear to him. I wonder if you might be able to design something to hold it, that would fit on the wall, maybe. I’m thinking, maybe… if you could work something into the design, commemorating… uh… this historical battle that he’s very interested in.”

Karl nods. “I could do that. I’d need to know more about this battle, and the sword. Dimensions, weight…”

“I can’t tell you off hand, but I could ring his… partner. And I can come back and tell you about the battle, maybe you have some ideas.”

“All right,” Karl agrees, holding his hand out to shake. “Come by when you have more for me, and it’s a deal.”

Andy nods, letting Karl show him to the door again. Through the glass doors of the patio, off the front room, he notices the brick terrace with its kiln and small metal table, two chairs facing the ocean beyond. He imagines them sitting there, enjoying dinner and a glass of wine, two ruggedly beautiful men comfortable in their own environment like warriors relaxing after a victory. When Karl shuts the front door behind him, Andy shakes his head to clear it, and begins to walk towards the road. He has some thinking to do.