(no subject)
TITLE: Dance of Death - Elegy
RATING: X :)
FANDOMS: Taniec Vampirow/Elisabeth
SUMMARY: Death has a very unusual encounter with a young man of passing acquaintance.
PAIRINGS: Death/Herbert von Krolock
WORDS: 2616
NOTES: Set in a split-second moment in this fic, this was spawned from the sheer, unbelievable hotness of Death in Elisabeth. And yes, yes, I am that shallow. And so is bwinter for encouraging it :P _________________________
Der Tod
Standing upon the brink of the barrier that separated the living from the dead, his pale hands folded behind him, Death’s lips curved in slow satisfaction as he watched the boy arch in his father’s murderous hold.
Despite his nature, despite every soul that fleetingly met him at his threshold, he was not immune to the beauty of the moment and this ranked high among them.
The father’s jet hair mingled with the son’s gold against the carmine fabric of the boy’s crumpled shirt, and on his pale chest, a snake of scarlet was trailing from the wound inflicted upon his throat.
For so long, he had awaited the father only to be denied him, but now, the son would be his. A fitting price, he mused, after the number of close escapes both father and son had managed, through accident and misadventure.
Around the boy, his influence spread like malevolent shadows, smothering away the colours and the brightness of the mortal world. Even the twilight of the chamber seemed to fade and his father’s cradling arms faded to transparency.
Approaching, hands loose by his sides, Death slowly sank to crouch by the boy. It had been several years since their second encounter and the boy had reached maturity since then, his features refined, striking. His golden hair was loose and, inexplicably, he was smiling as his heartbeat slowed, then ceased.
The fragile bond tying him to the world of the living was severed, his father’s form vanishing, spilling him to the surfaceless ground of Death’s domain.
Death drew a knuckle down the boy’s cheek, his mouth lifting in quiet amusement at how easily this one had become his, by his father’s own hand. It would be fitting to keep him as an entertainment for a time.
Grey eyes snapped wide open at his touch. For a moment, there was consternation, but it was replaced by swift recognition; “You!” His smile was sudden and beatific and completely unexpected.
Any response Death might have considered were lost as the boy surged upwards, his hands sinking into Death’s golden hair, his voracious mouth - still warm and hungry - pressing demandingly to Death’s with an undeniable passion.
Pulled down onto one knee by the boy’s ferocity, Death dragged him close a moment before he became aware that he had done such a thing. His hands grasped the boy’s face, pushing him back away, his own startled ice-blue eyes on the boy’s bright grey ones and the smile that seemed to be lighting them from within.
“I hoped I would see you again,” the boy breathed, pulling back one of his hands to clasp Death’s against his cheek. He turned his head and kissed Death’s palm, his mouth so very hot, his mortality-laced breath sweet with fading life.
“To see me?” Death’s voice was heavy with incredulity, his other hand sliding to the bloody mortal wound that still decorated the boy’s throat.
The boy’s tongue traced a wicked caress against his wrist. “Oh, yes,” he moaned as if even the taste of Death’s cool flesh was satisfaction itself, drawing a shudder of hunger from Death. “How could I forget someone so beautiful?” The boy exhaled a shivering breath, tilting his head back as Death’s thumb slid down the front of his throat. “I dreamed of you so often...”
Leaning close enough to watch the hunger flare in those half-closed smoke-grey eyes, Death tilted his chin, his lips close, though not quite touching. “You should have feared me,” he observed and he felt the boy’s fingers curl in his hair.
The boy’s mouth curved in a smile that was far from innocent. “Oh, my darling, don’t you know I never do what I’m told to?” he breathed against Death’s lips, the fingers of his other hand caressing the hand that still framed his face.
Slowly inclining his head, the distance between their parted lips less than a hair’s breadth, Death watched the grey eyes, which were half-closed, and did not even attempt to resist the press of the boy’s hand against the back of his skull, bringing their mouths together once more.
As rare as it was to find someone who did not shy from him in terror, it was rarer still to have one kiss him so voraciously and suddenly leap in his arms in a futile attempt to tackle him to the floor.
Tumbled onto his back and brought down fast, Death’s hand cupping his head, the boy laughed in delight against Death’s lips, wrapping his legs around Death’s waist and pulling him closer even as his mouth consumed Death’s every kiss.
Around them, Death willed the change, the darkness taking shape until the bleak solidness beneath them gave way to softness, a mortal-styled bed, rising below them, broad and luxurious.
Pulling away from the kiss, the boy all but squealed in delight, his slender young body giving a sensuous wriggle as if to highlight his approval. His face was alight, alive with wondering mirth, and Death could only stare at him for a moment, dazzled in the face of such continuing vitality.
He only became aware that control had slipped beyond his grasp when he felt hands on his bare skin and the sliding pressure of fingers against his spine. The laughing grey eyes were on his face and between the boy’s parted lips and teeth, he could see the tip of his pink tongue.
For less than a mortal’s dying heartbeat, he drew back, one hand bracing himself over the boy, wondering if it was madness to succumb.
A slim, soft-skinned hand slid down his cheek and he felt fingertips brush his lips.
Arching up to him, the boy murmured something nonsensical, his lips following the path of his fingertips, little more than a sweep of flesh-to-immortal-flesh contact, so long unwanted, so long denied, so powerful that Death let the hunger take him.
Sweeping the boy into his arms, he kissed him with passion and hunger of centuries without, a hand twisting into pale gold hair, even as the boy’s nimble fingers pushed his coat from his shoulders and off his arms.
So willing and wanting, the boy let Death’s hands guide him, his blood-red shirt cast aside, forgotten, Death’s mouth bruising and biting, marking the perfect pale flesh, as the boy moaned and arched beneath him.
His shirt was tugged loose, pulled and pawed until he rocked back on his knees and shrugged it off, shaking it aside. Death threw back his head with a hissing groan. He pulled the boy’s still-warm body upright against his own icy one, his eyes falling shut, and he bared his throat as the boy’s mouth pressed to it.
One of his hands was still sunk in the youth’s pale gold hair, the other fast about the boy’s narrow waist, another hiss escaping him as nails raked the length of his back, making his spine arch.
He felt the bite against his collarbone, a sting of delicious pain, and the lips moving in a pattern on his throat and shoulders, his fingers kneading at the boy’s scalp as his hips shifted, as if they were controlled by a higher power still.
The boy shifted in his grasp, sliding up his body, somehow drawing his legs from beneath Death, until his mouth came level once more and he claimed a kiss, one hand sliding over Death’s shoulder, down his back, while the other plunged into Death’s hair once more, his nails raking across Death’s scalp.
With a snarl against the boy’s lips, Death twisted his fist, mercilessly pulling the boy’s head back. The boy panted wildly against his lips, ever breath as scorching as lava, but his eyes were alight and his swollen lips were grinning, and as he met Death’s eyes, he rolled his hips against Death’s.
No boy of decent breeding should ever be able to move like that. The thought was a fleeting one, lost in the wave of sensation as the boy’s hand slipped to the base of his back, making it impossible for him to ignore the press from both sides.
The tip of that pink tongue touched the boy’s bottom lip and he was panting, grinding himself against Death, his fingers kneading, pawing, wanton.
With a low growl, part hunger, part caution, Death snared the boy’s wrists, dragging his hands away, holding them fast. His eyes flashed and he drew the powers granted to him in his domain about them, dispersing with the boy’s clothing.
Grasping the boy’s slim wrists, he forced the youth down onto his back on the bed, lowering his head to lap the essence of death from the boy’s throat. His lips didn’t touch his skin, they had no need to, but he could taste it, could taste the power in that mark, power he had not tasted since...
His eyes darted across the boy’s ecstatic features and he understood the boy’s urgency. He should be angry at such deception, but it was not such a crime. His own mouth, smiling now, returned to the boy’s, his hips pressing down against the boy’s.
Beneath him, the youth arched, splaying his lean thighs. His hips lifted wantonly and Death succumbed afresh, freeing one of his hands to hold the boy’s narrow waist, his other pinning the slim wrists above the boy’s beautiful head.
The boy whined softly, arching his neck and panting, his lips drawn back from his teeth as Death pressed against him, into him, sinking into the fire. His own cool breath was rapid against the boy’s throat as he panted, seared by the heat, his face pressing to the slim throat until he could, think, move, feel anything beyond it.
Beneath him, the boy shifted, squirmed, made it impossible to ignore him. He was biting his lower lip, rocking himself against Death’s belly, seeking some satisfaction, his eyes half-closed and his breath shivering intoxicatingly.
Dragging his cheek against the boy’s, Death drank in every quivering exhalation, his lips near resting against the boy’s until it seemed that wouldn’t be enough for the hungry youth, his mouth surging against Death’s wanting and claiming.
Freeing the boy’s wrists to sink his hand into that fine, pale gold hair, Death felt those warm hands on him once more, even as their bodies met, cold and warm, mortal and never-dying, young and eternally ageless.
About them, his control forgotten, the world became a kaleidoscope of shapes and mute colours, blending together as his mouth claimed the boy’s and long-fingered hands clung to his hair and his shoulders and raked red scores on his back.
Time meant next to nothing in this place, nor space, nor any other thing as Death gave himself over to pleasure and hunger, losing himself entirely in the boy who was so willing to be lost in.
Only after they had collapsed together, breathless and sated, the boy’s lean limbs twined around him in the shapeless blackness, did he raised his head to gaze fully at the young face beneath him, still smiling, even now.
His forearms resting on either side of the boy’s head, the fingers of his right hand were still tangled in the spill of pale gold hair. “Did you get what you came for?” he murmured, shifting his other hand to trace a fingertip along the boy’s cheekbone.
Tilting his head to nip on the end of Death’s finger, the boy sucked on the offended fingertip softly, then slid his tongue over the very tip, drawing a pleasant sigh from Death. “Did you take what you wanted?” he murmured, slanting a knowing look through his lashes.
“What do you think, you wicked brat?” Death replied, chuckling. He slid his finger between the boy’s lips again, running it along the his teeth. “You knew I wouldn’t have you long.” For an instant, the boy looked startled and Death laughed quietly. “I may not seem it, but I am not entirely stupid, Master von Krolock.”
The boy nipped his finger, then made a face. “You didn’t know,” he said, a pout creeping onto his lips.
“Not at once, no,” Death agreed, tracing his fingertip lightly along the petulant lower lip, his own lips smiling slightly. “But had I not, time would have held sway on you from the mortal side and you would have been torn away to your wretched half-death before we had finished here.”
That - it seemed - was a revelation for the boy.
He frowned thoughtfully.
“That would have been terrible,” he decided firmly, the hand that was still wound in Death’s hair sliding down his cheek and drawing his mouth down for another kiss. It was followed by another, and another, until Death forced himself to move, rolling onto his side and off the boy, who whined a protest.
“Terrible as it would have been,” Death noted, laying a hand lightly on the boy’s smooth stomach, fingertips moving softly. “It will not be as terrible as if you keep your father waiting for you any longer.”
He gestured with his free hand, and as if they were seeing through a misted window, a scene shimmered into view; the chapel, the kneeling Graf hold his son’s body, the moonlight, the blood turned indigo. And while the boy’s body and even the candle-flames that guttered on the edges of the vision were motionless, the Graf arched an eyebrow and canted his head slightly.
The boy uttered a merry laugh, rolling into Death’s arms and kissing him once more, then he was bounding off the bed, twirling, his golden hair flying. “I suppose I should dress, shouldn’t I?”
Sprawling on his side, Death raised himself on one elbow, a strand of his hair falling before his eyes. He brushed it aside idly and his mouth curved up as he drew the boy’s clothes about him, one piece at a time, the masking almost as alluring as his nudity had been.
The boy laughed again, so readily, his grey eyes dancing.
Running back to the shadowy shape of the bed, he threw himself on it and scrambled across the cover, tumbling Death onto his back and kissing him once more. Pale gold hair tickled across Death’s cheeks and he cuffed the boy lightly across the head.
“Go,” he said, laughing. “Your father has a temper and I do not doubt he will use it.”
The boy pouted. “You do not love me at all.”
“Love you? Of course I don’t.” Death sat up and kissed the youth deeply until the young Master von Krolock’s eyes went glassy. Releasing him, he held his gaze as the bed beneath them faded, leaving them standing on nothingness once more. “What would the world be like if Death could love?”
The boy blinked several times, then grinned. “Oh, I think I could find out,” he said, then turned to skip away.
Not, before, however, Death warmly slapped that firm backside.
“Enjoy your death, Herbert,” he murmured.
Turning to look at Death, walking backwards into the vision of reality, Herbert von Krolock’s smile would have made saints blush. “Oh, I intend to my darling,” he purred, running a hand down his chest. Lifting his other palm, he blew a kiss at Death, his eyes dancing. “I will see you soon.”
Then he was back where he would eternally remain, born the son of a man and eternally damned as the son of a vampire.
And as Death drew his own garb about himself, he watched father and son embrace, and as one, they looked at him and smiled triumphantly. And as one victor to another, he bowed his head in honourable defeat.
Turning away, he let the vision fade.
RATING: X :)
FANDOMS: Taniec Vampirow/Elisabeth
SUMMARY: Death has a very unusual encounter with a young man of passing acquaintance.
PAIRINGS: Death/Herbert von Krolock
WORDS: 2616
NOTES: Set in a split-second moment in this fic, this was spawned from the sheer, unbelievable hotness of Death in Elisabeth. And yes, yes, I am that shallow. And so is bwinter for encouraging it :P _________________________
Der Tod
Standing upon the brink of the barrier that separated the living from the dead, his pale hands folded behind him, Death’s lips curved in slow satisfaction as he watched the boy arch in his father’s murderous hold.
Despite his nature, despite every soul that fleetingly met him at his threshold, he was not immune to the beauty of the moment and this ranked high among them.
The father’s jet hair mingled with the son’s gold against the carmine fabric of the boy’s crumpled shirt, and on his pale chest, a snake of scarlet was trailing from the wound inflicted upon his throat.
For so long, he had awaited the father only to be denied him, but now, the son would be his. A fitting price, he mused, after the number of close escapes both father and son had managed, through accident and misadventure.
Around the boy, his influence spread like malevolent shadows, smothering away the colours and the brightness of the mortal world. Even the twilight of the chamber seemed to fade and his father’s cradling arms faded to transparency.
Approaching, hands loose by his sides, Death slowly sank to crouch by the boy. It had been several years since their second encounter and the boy had reached maturity since then, his features refined, striking. His golden hair was loose and, inexplicably, he was smiling as his heartbeat slowed, then ceased.
The fragile bond tying him to the world of the living was severed, his father’s form vanishing, spilling him to the surfaceless ground of Death’s domain.
Death drew a knuckle down the boy’s cheek, his mouth lifting in quiet amusement at how easily this one had become his, by his father’s own hand. It would be fitting to keep him as an entertainment for a time.
Grey eyes snapped wide open at his touch. For a moment, there was consternation, but it was replaced by swift recognition; “You!” His smile was sudden and beatific and completely unexpected.
Any response Death might have considered were lost as the boy surged upwards, his hands sinking into Death’s golden hair, his voracious mouth - still warm and hungry - pressing demandingly to Death’s with an undeniable passion.
Pulled down onto one knee by the boy’s ferocity, Death dragged him close a moment before he became aware that he had done such a thing. His hands grasped the boy’s face, pushing him back away, his own startled ice-blue eyes on the boy’s bright grey ones and the smile that seemed to be lighting them from within.
“I hoped I would see you again,” the boy breathed, pulling back one of his hands to clasp Death’s against his cheek. He turned his head and kissed Death’s palm, his mouth so very hot, his mortality-laced breath sweet with fading life.
“To see me?” Death’s voice was heavy with incredulity, his other hand sliding to the bloody mortal wound that still decorated the boy’s throat.
The boy’s tongue traced a wicked caress against his wrist. “Oh, yes,” he moaned as if even the taste of Death’s cool flesh was satisfaction itself, drawing a shudder of hunger from Death. “How could I forget someone so beautiful?” The boy exhaled a shivering breath, tilting his head back as Death’s thumb slid down the front of his throat. “I dreamed of you so often...”
Leaning close enough to watch the hunger flare in those half-closed smoke-grey eyes, Death tilted his chin, his lips close, though not quite touching. “You should have feared me,” he observed and he felt the boy’s fingers curl in his hair.
The boy’s mouth curved in a smile that was far from innocent. “Oh, my darling, don’t you know I never do what I’m told to?” he breathed against Death’s lips, the fingers of his other hand caressing the hand that still framed his face.
Slowly inclining his head, the distance between their parted lips less than a hair’s breadth, Death watched the grey eyes, which were half-closed, and did not even attempt to resist the press of the boy’s hand against the back of his skull, bringing their mouths together once more.
As rare as it was to find someone who did not shy from him in terror, it was rarer still to have one kiss him so voraciously and suddenly leap in his arms in a futile attempt to tackle him to the floor.
Tumbled onto his back and brought down fast, Death’s hand cupping his head, the boy laughed in delight against Death’s lips, wrapping his legs around Death’s waist and pulling him closer even as his mouth consumed Death’s every kiss.
Around them, Death willed the change, the darkness taking shape until the bleak solidness beneath them gave way to softness, a mortal-styled bed, rising below them, broad and luxurious.
Pulling away from the kiss, the boy all but squealed in delight, his slender young body giving a sensuous wriggle as if to highlight his approval. His face was alight, alive with wondering mirth, and Death could only stare at him for a moment, dazzled in the face of such continuing vitality.
He only became aware that control had slipped beyond his grasp when he felt hands on his bare skin and the sliding pressure of fingers against his spine. The laughing grey eyes were on his face and between the boy’s parted lips and teeth, he could see the tip of his pink tongue.
For less than a mortal’s dying heartbeat, he drew back, one hand bracing himself over the boy, wondering if it was madness to succumb.
A slim, soft-skinned hand slid down his cheek and he felt fingertips brush his lips.
Arching up to him, the boy murmured something nonsensical, his lips following the path of his fingertips, little more than a sweep of flesh-to-immortal-flesh contact, so long unwanted, so long denied, so powerful that Death let the hunger take him.
Sweeping the boy into his arms, he kissed him with passion and hunger of centuries without, a hand twisting into pale gold hair, even as the boy’s nimble fingers pushed his coat from his shoulders and off his arms.
So willing and wanting, the boy let Death’s hands guide him, his blood-red shirt cast aside, forgotten, Death’s mouth bruising and biting, marking the perfect pale flesh, as the boy moaned and arched beneath him.
His shirt was tugged loose, pulled and pawed until he rocked back on his knees and shrugged it off, shaking it aside. Death threw back his head with a hissing groan. He pulled the boy’s still-warm body upright against his own icy one, his eyes falling shut, and he bared his throat as the boy’s mouth pressed to it.
One of his hands was still sunk in the youth’s pale gold hair, the other fast about the boy’s narrow waist, another hiss escaping him as nails raked the length of his back, making his spine arch.
He felt the bite against his collarbone, a sting of delicious pain, and the lips moving in a pattern on his throat and shoulders, his fingers kneading at the boy’s scalp as his hips shifted, as if they were controlled by a higher power still.
The boy shifted in his grasp, sliding up his body, somehow drawing his legs from beneath Death, until his mouth came level once more and he claimed a kiss, one hand sliding over Death’s shoulder, down his back, while the other plunged into Death’s hair once more, his nails raking across Death’s scalp.
With a snarl against the boy’s lips, Death twisted his fist, mercilessly pulling the boy’s head back. The boy panted wildly against his lips, ever breath as scorching as lava, but his eyes were alight and his swollen lips were grinning, and as he met Death’s eyes, he rolled his hips against Death’s.
No boy of decent breeding should ever be able to move like that. The thought was a fleeting one, lost in the wave of sensation as the boy’s hand slipped to the base of his back, making it impossible for him to ignore the press from both sides.
The tip of that pink tongue touched the boy’s bottom lip and he was panting, grinding himself against Death, his fingers kneading, pawing, wanton.
With a low growl, part hunger, part caution, Death snared the boy’s wrists, dragging his hands away, holding them fast. His eyes flashed and he drew the powers granted to him in his domain about them, dispersing with the boy’s clothing.
Grasping the boy’s slim wrists, he forced the youth down onto his back on the bed, lowering his head to lap the essence of death from the boy’s throat. His lips didn’t touch his skin, they had no need to, but he could taste it, could taste the power in that mark, power he had not tasted since...
His eyes darted across the boy’s ecstatic features and he understood the boy’s urgency. He should be angry at such deception, but it was not such a crime. His own mouth, smiling now, returned to the boy’s, his hips pressing down against the boy’s.
Beneath him, the youth arched, splaying his lean thighs. His hips lifted wantonly and Death succumbed afresh, freeing one of his hands to hold the boy’s narrow waist, his other pinning the slim wrists above the boy’s beautiful head.
The boy whined softly, arching his neck and panting, his lips drawn back from his teeth as Death pressed against him, into him, sinking into the fire. His own cool breath was rapid against the boy’s throat as he panted, seared by the heat, his face pressing to the slim throat until he could, think, move, feel anything beyond it.
Beneath him, the boy shifted, squirmed, made it impossible to ignore him. He was biting his lower lip, rocking himself against Death’s belly, seeking some satisfaction, his eyes half-closed and his breath shivering intoxicatingly.
Dragging his cheek against the boy’s, Death drank in every quivering exhalation, his lips near resting against the boy’s until it seemed that wouldn’t be enough for the hungry youth, his mouth surging against Death’s wanting and claiming.
Freeing the boy’s wrists to sink his hand into that fine, pale gold hair, Death felt those warm hands on him once more, even as their bodies met, cold and warm, mortal and never-dying, young and eternally ageless.
About them, his control forgotten, the world became a kaleidoscope of shapes and mute colours, blending together as his mouth claimed the boy’s and long-fingered hands clung to his hair and his shoulders and raked red scores on his back.
Time meant next to nothing in this place, nor space, nor any other thing as Death gave himself over to pleasure and hunger, losing himself entirely in the boy who was so willing to be lost in.
Only after they had collapsed together, breathless and sated, the boy’s lean limbs twined around him in the shapeless blackness, did he raised his head to gaze fully at the young face beneath him, still smiling, even now.
His forearms resting on either side of the boy’s head, the fingers of his right hand were still tangled in the spill of pale gold hair. “Did you get what you came for?” he murmured, shifting his other hand to trace a fingertip along the boy’s cheekbone.
Tilting his head to nip on the end of Death’s finger, the boy sucked on the offended fingertip softly, then slid his tongue over the very tip, drawing a pleasant sigh from Death. “Did you take what you wanted?” he murmured, slanting a knowing look through his lashes.
“What do you think, you wicked brat?” Death replied, chuckling. He slid his finger between the boy’s lips again, running it along the his teeth. “You knew I wouldn’t have you long.” For an instant, the boy looked startled and Death laughed quietly. “I may not seem it, but I am not entirely stupid, Master von Krolock.”
The boy nipped his finger, then made a face. “You didn’t know,” he said, a pout creeping onto his lips.
“Not at once, no,” Death agreed, tracing his fingertip lightly along the petulant lower lip, his own lips smiling slightly. “But had I not, time would have held sway on you from the mortal side and you would have been torn away to your wretched half-death before we had finished here.”
That - it seemed - was a revelation for the boy.
He frowned thoughtfully.
“That would have been terrible,” he decided firmly, the hand that was still wound in Death’s hair sliding down his cheek and drawing his mouth down for another kiss. It was followed by another, and another, until Death forced himself to move, rolling onto his side and off the boy, who whined a protest.
“Terrible as it would have been,” Death noted, laying a hand lightly on the boy’s smooth stomach, fingertips moving softly. “It will not be as terrible as if you keep your father waiting for you any longer.”
He gestured with his free hand, and as if they were seeing through a misted window, a scene shimmered into view; the chapel, the kneeling Graf hold his son’s body, the moonlight, the blood turned indigo. And while the boy’s body and even the candle-flames that guttered on the edges of the vision were motionless, the Graf arched an eyebrow and canted his head slightly.
The boy uttered a merry laugh, rolling into Death’s arms and kissing him once more, then he was bounding off the bed, twirling, his golden hair flying. “I suppose I should dress, shouldn’t I?”
Sprawling on his side, Death raised himself on one elbow, a strand of his hair falling before his eyes. He brushed it aside idly and his mouth curved up as he drew the boy’s clothes about him, one piece at a time, the masking almost as alluring as his nudity had been.
The boy laughed again, so readily, his grey eyes dancing.
Running back to the shadowy shape of the bed, he threw himself on it and scrambled across the cover, tumbling Death onto his back and kissing him once more. Pale gold hair tickled across Death’s cheeks and he cuffed the boy lightly across the head.
“Go,” he said, laughing. “Your father has a temper and I do not doubt he will use it.”
The boy pouted. “You do not love me at all.”
“Love you? Of course I don’t.” Death sat up and kissed the youth deeply until the young Master von Krolock’s eyes went glassy. Releasing him, he held his gaze as the bed beneath them faded, leaving them standing on nothingness once more. “What would the world be like if Death could love?”
The boy blinked several times, then grinned. “Oh, I think I could find out,” he said, then turned to skip away.
Not, before, however, Death warmly slapped that firm backside.
“Enjoy your death, Herbert,” he murmured.
Turning to look at Death, walking backwards into the vision of reality, Herbert von Krolock’s smile would have made saints blush. “Oh, I intend to my darling,” he purred, running a hand down his chest. Lifting his other palm, he blew a kiss at Death, his eyes dancing. “I will see you soon.”
Then he was back where he would eternally remain, born the son of a man and eternally damned as the son of a vampire.
And as Death drew his own garb about himself, he watched father and son embrace, and as one, they looked at him and smiled triumphantly. And as one victor to another, he bowed his head in honourable defeat.
Turning away, he let the vision fade.