(no subject)
TITLE: Dance of Death - Trio
RATING: X
FANDOMS: Taniec Vampirow/Elisabeth
CHAPTERS: Prelude, Nocturne, Pastorale, Elegy, Obligatto, Scherzetto and this chapter.
SUMMARY: Death's vengeance on Elisabeth is... interrupted.
PAIRINGS: Death/Herbert, Death/Rudolf, Herbert/Aerean, Death/Rudolf/Herbert
WORDS: 4644
NOTES: Been a while since I've worked on this, but watched the Death-bits of the Elisabeth DVD and kind of ended up finishing it. As I recall only one (or possibly 2) chapters left ;)
WARNINGS: Same as before - Slash, dubious consent, a side of bondage...
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“Oh, he is a pretty thing.”
Death closed his eyes, groaning. The hands that had slid under his skirt moved lazily and he flexed his fingers against the ruffled fabric. The damned brat always had perfect timing, picking the worst moments to have his father break into Death’s dominion.
After nearly three decades, it had become almost habit to stand and just wait for the moment the boy made his presence felt, most especially when he had some great matter to tend to. The Sorcerer and his whelp liked to make things worse, it seemed.
“What do you want?”
The giggle against the back of his neck said it all and Death let himself indulge in the wandering touches for a moment before pulling away. Turning, his glare fixed in place, he glowered at the von Krolock boy.
“You think I have nothing better to do than let you have what you want?”
The boy’s shirt was already open and his hair was rapidly being freed from the ribbon that held it back. Grey-green eyes blinked in surprise. “You think he would be better?” he asked, with a gesture to the figure Death had been watching.
The Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria.
No longer a little boy who had trustingly climbed into Death’s embrace and trusted his mysterious guardian. No longer the politically daring youth he had been when Death had last approached him, encouraging him to uprising.
But every inch his mother’s son in form, down to the proud eyes, even if he was nothing like her in heart and spirit. No one could ever rival his beautiful Elisabeth, so glorious in anger and even more in anguish as she soon would…
And Death realised he had made a mistake in taking his eyes from the vampire boy to look at the Prince as hands grappled his thighs beneath his skirts and an eager mouth latched onto him, that pale-haired head lost beneath the mass of silk and velvet.
Grabbing at shadows to support himself, Death threw his head back with a half-snarl, half-groan. The brat was far to willing to get on his knees and even more to do whatever he damned well pleased to Death, fearless and wicked.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the motion of his angels gathering around the Prince, readying themselves. His companion, the girl, was already being drawn closer and closer by them. Already, Aerean was guiding the Prince’s hands into the blows that would claim her life.
Death’s eyes closed, tension arching through him as the boy’s mouth moved, and he shuddered in pleasure.
And abruptly, the boy was gone.
Furious eyes burst open and Death looked down. Herbert von Krolock was still sitting at his feet, leaning back on his hands, smiling up at Death as if completely innocent.
“I thought you had better things to do,” he observed, licking his lips, which were no longer as delightfully occupied.
Death’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. He caught the brat by his hair, jerking him half-upright, bringing their faces close together. Incorrigible as ever, the boy’s eyes were alight with delight and his fingers snared the edge of Death’s bodice, pulling them hard against one another.
“Deny me,” he hissed, then kissed Death with a savagery that belied his delicate appearance.
Brutalising the brat’s mouth with his own, until they were both bruised and the vampire was bloodied, Death flung him to the floor, his upper lip curling. “You hope for too much this time, von Krolock,” he sneered, then turned and stalked towards the invisible barrier that separated the unfortunate, crazed Prince of Austria from him.
Caught in a dizzying dance with the angels, Prince Rudolf was close to ready, only needing the final guiding hand. The combination of that knowledge and the brat’s wilful and skilful touches made him shiver with hungry anticipation.
Behind him, he knew the boy was still sprawled on the floor, but he could feel eyes the colour of ice on him. “I will await your return most eagerly, mein Herr,” the whisper rippled in the stillness, full of threat and promise.
Whirling around, his eyes flashing, Death struck the air, the blow carrying and knocking the boy flat. “Not this time,” he hissed. “I indulge your games, but this time I want you gone.”
Spilled onto his side, Herbert von Krolock tilted his face towards Death. His hair was in pale disarray around his features and he lifted himself on one elbow, blood beading and dripping from his mouth. Those bruised and broken lips parted in a hiss, the brat’s shirt slipping from one shoulder. “You allow me no fun, mein Herr.”
Abruptly, Death found himself squatted over the boy, twisting that bloodied face up towards his. He tilted his own chin up, baring his teeth. “I allow you your fun,” he whispered, twisting until he saw genuine pain blaze in the boy’s eyes. “You would do well to allow me mine.”
Pale fingertips touched his cheek, feather-light. “Ours, mein schöner Herr,” the boy whispered and despite himself, Death brought their mouths together. Blood and fire met between them and he lowered the brat to the floor.
“Not this time, Master von Krolock,” he said, his voice lower than a whisper.
Before the boy could voice an objection, Death pulled away, stepping into the dark hall of Mayerling. Moonlight slanted through the windows and Death flanked himself with a number of his angels, sweeping down the staircase and through the hall to the chamber where Prince Rudolf’s final dance was taking place.
In the swirl of skirts and flashing dark eyes, the Prince was stumbling, dazed and trembling. A body was sprawled on the floor, bloody and motionless, and the angels were impassively guiding the Prince’s steps.
By the pale, silvering light, the mortal’s anguished features were a picture of despair and Death smiled as Aerean took up the gun that would be the end of the Prince, extending it towards Elisabeth’s son in his long, pale hands.
It was time, time to see that face with those eyes that were hers but were not hers looking to him, expecting, needing, trusting.
Not his mother, never his mother, but it would be enough, it would show her that she was not everything to him.
One by one, the angels whirled the mortal around in a rapid waltz. His stained shirt was hanging open, his hair matted to his skin with sweat, his hands still stained with the blood of his late lover.
Even from a dozen paces away, Death could hear the desperate, despairing sobs. His tongue slid along his teeth at the thought of the taste of those tears. Moving closer, he snatched the gun and caught Rudolf around the waist, felt the arms clutch at him, the scent of grief-laced despair intoxicating.
As the striking face rose to his, those eyes - so familiar yet not the same - glassy with tears stared wildly at him and Death’s lips curved up wickedly. The mortal hand reached out to him, no, not him. To the gun. Death pressed it into Rudolf’s grasping hand, wrapping his cool fingers around the mortal’s warmer ones.
There was only the briefest moments of resistance, and those full lips parted in silent plea. Bringing the pistol to Rudolf’s temple, Death smiled and lowered his head, his lips claiming the mortal’s, tasting the despair as Rudolf’s finger tensed on the trigger.
The retort was a beautiful exclamation and the mortal collapsed in his arms.
Around them, the angels averted their eyes as Death lowered the mortal’s remains to the floor of the world where death would be eternal, where the fleshy shell no longer meant anything, fluid spilling from the shattered skull and pooling about his feet.
Wiping a smear of the dark liquid from his face with his fingertips, Death slowly licked it from his flesh, tasting the dregs of the mortal’s despair as he allowed the world to fade around him into the twilight place between his own world and the mortal one.
Bearing the mortal, the angels followed him, then scattered into the darkness and left him alone to watch for the final waking of the fallen Crown Prince with the eyes and wildness of his mother and the weak soul of his damned father.
Going down on one knee, Death reached out to touch the still face. There was so little of his mother in his features, but his lips and his eyes were wholly hers.
Death’s fingertips brushed the lashes and the high cheekbones to the tangled hair, his own gaze drifting to the full lips, parted now. Bowing his head, he kissed them once more, imagining the strands of fine hair he was touching were long, dark, hers.
Eyes that had been glassy opened, heavy, dazed as before.
Dragging the back of his knuckles down the Prince’s cheek, Death’s lips slid into a slow smile as he kissed the fallen Prince again, stifling a sound of desperate protest and anguish. Pleasure was rippling through him, a remnant of his encounter with the von Krolock brat mixing with the heady, triumphant success of claiming Elisabeth’s only son.
Broad hands clutched at his arms, but seemed undecided about whether they were pulling him closer or pushing him away. He almost laughed, giddy exultation tearing through him with shocking force and he froze, jerking his head up.
Staring beyond the blackness around him, ignoring the panting of the once-mortal who clung to him, Death growled. He felt a blaze of something, a sensation from his angels that none save two could understand; pain.
Apparently a third had just been introduced to it, combined with pleasure.
“Von Krolock.” Death spat the name, surging to his feet, the skirts swirling around his thighs. With one hand, he hauled Rudolf with him, stepping out of shapeless blackness to a sight that made him freeze.
Against the darkness that served as walls in his endless dominion, Aerean was pressed face-first. His fingers were hooking into shadows, his body arched, still clad in the dark green gown that had cruelly imitated the clothing of Rudolf’s mother.
And against his back, one hand mercilessly clasping the half-transparent, trembling golden wing, the other lost in the dark, beaded silks of the skirts, Herbert von Krolock was thrusting viciously against the moaning angel. His mouth was fastened against the angel’s throat and Death could see the pale stream rapidly staining the bodice of Aerean’s borrowed garb.
By Death’s side, the Prince exclaimed faintly, stumbling to one knee. Death didn’t need to look at him to know he was staring at the sight before them. Anyone with eyes would have been doing the same.
With a satisfied hiss, the vampire tossed his head back, proud and magnificent, the angel’s silvery-white blood spattering Aerean’s back and shoulders, even shimmering like diamonds on the pale shapes of his wings.
Aerean’s head rolled forward, pressing to the shadows between his shaking hands, whimper after wanton whimper escaping his tightly-closed lips, and the von Krolock brat laughed aloud, hissing his satisfaction at the air.
He wasn’t oblivious to them, Death knew, and it was proved when that head rolled lazily sideways and grey-green eyes flashed from beneath golden lashes through long strands of pale hair. His lips parted enough in a smile to show those fangs, still shimmering with ichor.
“Oh, you brought me something pretty,” he whispered, his voice hungry. Those eyes flicked to the kneeling Prince, and the smile turned even more sinful. “So many lovely toys, mein Herr...”
With a savage snarl, Death closed the distance between them, tearing the brat from his chief angel. Aerean staggered, then slumped, his wings unfolding to shield him, his trembling hand clutching his torn throat.
Hurling the brat to the ground at his feet, Death’s hands clenched and unclenched in violent fury, his eyes blazing. “I told you to depart,” he snarled, the backhand hurling the vampire half a dozen paces across the room.
Rolling, his shirt slipping halfway down his arms, the vampire raised his face from the floor. “But, darling,” he whispered, “I told you when we first met, I never ever do what I’m told.”
A savage kick sent him rolling, and Death realised belatedly the direction the brat was going. He had not fallen where he had by accident, and as he scrambled backwards, as if terrified of further violence, and collided with Rudolf’s body, Death wondered if there was any way to discourage the boy.
Rudolf’s broad hands clutched the vampire’s bared shoulders, staying his momentum, and unseen by the Prince, the brat’s lips twitched in an impish smile. He leaned back into the Prince’s touch as if afraid of Death’s continued ire.
“You will not let him harm me, Majesty?” he implored, bringing his hands up to desperately clutch at Rudolf’s, his fingers squeezing the Crown Prince’s. He turned his pale head, his face suddenly close to Rudolf’s, eyes wide with innocent helplessness that almost made Death laugh aloud in disbelief.
After the sight that had encountered them, the Prince would have to be a fool to believe...
“Damn it, von Krolock!” Grabbing the brat by his trailing hair, Death pulled the brat’s mouth off the startled Prince’s. Parted in shock, the Prince’s lips shone pale silver with Aerean’s stolen blood.
Pulled back onto his knees, his spine arched, his head twisted back mercilessly, Herbert von Krolock grinned up at him. “Oh, darling,” he said, lips twitching wickedly. “You truly thought I could resist?”
His face close to the vampire brat’s, Death bared his teeth. “This one is mine,” he hissed, his lips near touching von Krolock, drawing a longing whine from the vampire. He could taste the scent of Aerean’s blood and desire on those incorrigible lips and saw the gleam in the grey-green eyes an instant before the brat’s hand caught his hair, pulling his mouth down, letting him taste it in its purity, mingled with the flavour of the Prince and the brat himself.
Throwing the vampire away from him with a hiss, Death heard the brat laugh as he tumbled into the Prince again, sending them both sprawling. Somehow, the brat came out on top, on his knees between the Prince’s splayed thighs. Lunging to his knees behind the brat, he sank a fist into the brat’s hair, pulling those roaming lips from the dazed Prince’s. His other arm wrapped around the brat’s waist, stilling him.
Death watched the vampire’s left hand catch the heavy buckle of the belt of the Prince’s breeches, staying him, then groaned as the right hand slid beneath the skirts that still covered his legs, those slim fingers kneading his thigh.
Sprawled beneath the vampire, Rudolf’s eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to scramble back across the floor, his hair in disarray, his full lower lip grazed by the vampire’s fangs. His eyes were on the vampire, who was arching in Death’s hold, his head thrown back, his lips parted, moans escaping him.
That more than the hand held the Prince in thrall and motionless, snared like so many others before him, dazzled by the sensual lure of the vampire. The beauty of the fear and uncertain lust was not lost on Death. He had seen it in his angels before, and in the eyes of the boy’s victims for years.
“Give me a reason to let you stay, vampire,” he whispered in a low growl against the vampire’s throat. Fingers moved nimbly beneath the ruffles of silk and velvet and the brat inclined his head to run his cheek against the tip of Death’s nose. Death snorted with reluctant amusement. “Aside from that.”
A mannerless tongue emerged between the fangs, flicking the end of Death’s nose. “How can I show you when you hold me so, mein Herr?” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with hunger and wickedness. His hand slid from Rudolf’s belt down across the front of the Prince’s breeches, making blue eyes go wide, and up Herbert’s own breeches to wrap around Death’s wrist, gently drawing the arm from his waist.
Then with an elegance that belied his motive, the vampire swept down to claim the dazed prince’s lips again, sinking his hand into the Prince’s golden hair. The brat’s body rolled, his hips shifting again until there was barely a finger’s width between his unliving body and the Prince’s still-warm one.
With a yelp, Rudolf seemed to shake himself from the haze surrounding him, twisting his head away from the vampire’s lips, but that did nothing to dissuade the brat. Death found himself grinning despite himself as the brat’s lips teased the Prince’s throat and jaw, then the tip of that pale tongue daintily tasted the dimple in the Prince’s fair cheek.
And despite all his innocence around the Prince’s face, the vampire’s hips were writhing like a snake, undulating wickedly. Death could see the Prince trying to lift trembling hands to push the brat away, but every time they rose, the brat would twitch just so and poor, guileless Rudolf would jerk with a gasp, his fists flinching inches from the floor.
Under Death’s skirt, the brat’s hand slipped, touching his thigh and Death let himself be guided forward until he was rising on his knees over the brat, pressing close against the boy. He reached down, dragging the brat’s pale hair back and felt the shudder of pleasure run the length of the brat’s body, echoed in the gyrations of the brat’s hips.
The brat whispered something close to the Prince’s ear, his tongue teasing the lobe, and Rudolf’s face contorted in anguish and he shook his head tightly. His hands were quaking fists, his eyes squeezed closed. Herbert laughed softly then ground his hips against the Prince’s, drawing a strangled cry of want from the Prince’s stubborn throat.
With a coy glance over his shoulder, the brat caught Death’s hand at his hip and slid it between his body and the Prince’s. “He claims he does not wish this, mein Herr,” he whispered, the Prince’s body belying his gestures. “Your poor fool guest...”
“Guests,” Death replied, his hand closing over the vampire’s groin. He met those shimmering grey-green eyes, his lip curling, and his hand squeezed mercilessly. “Should be treated with respect.”
“You never respect me,” the brat pouted, a hiss of air escaping him as his head was twisted ruthlessly towards Death’s.
“You were never a guest, von Krolock.” Death reminded him quietly. His fingers twisted in the vampire’s pale hair. “Intruders deserve nothing better than what you receive.” The vampire’s mouth opened, his moan swallowed by Death’s lips and punctuated by a growl when Death bit his lower lip. “Violence and pain, little brat.”
“Oh, promise me more,” the vampire whined, his hands both slipping beneath Death’s full skirts, pawing, kneading wantonly. Death grinned and brought his mouth against the faint scar that marked the change from mortal to unliving. His teeth scraped the lightly raised skin and the vampire’s fingers sank into Death’s flesh. “Mein Herr!”
One hand sliding between cloth and flesh, Death squeezed the brat hard and with his other hand stifled the cry that escaped the vampire as he bit that very scar, bit with enough violence to tear flesh and make the vampire keen wildly before him, bucking in his grasp.
Smothering the vampire’s sounds, his own breathing rapid against the pale throat, Death slowly slanted his eyes towards the Prince.
Though he was free of any restraints and at liberty to flee, Rudolf was staring at the writhing vampire with more than just terrified wildness in his eyes. Half-sprawled on his back, raised on his elbows, his shirt open and loose, his breeches half-undone, his hair in disarray, he licked kiss-swollen lips.
It wasn’t a nervous gesture.
With a ruthless tug of his hand, Death directed the vampire’s face downwards until both of them were watching the Prince watching them. Death felt the brat’s mouth curl in a panting smile against his palm, and slowly lowered his head to lick the blood from the vampire’s wounded throat.
Herbert moaned. A little overdramatically, Death, thought, but the way the vampire arched his neck was indication enough and he dragged his teeth up to tug on the brat’s earlobe. It would only have been a completely senseless fool who could have ignored the stifled groan that escaped the vampire.
It was watching a Master at work, he had to acknowledge it; the way the graceful, pale hands reached out then drew back, enticing the dazed Prince closer until he was within touching distance, until his hands - in turn - reached out, caught by the vampire’s charm.
Long, white fingers were laid with shocking tenderness on the Prince’s shoulders, the brat’s every touch chaste, delicate, touching the Prince’s throat, shoulders, the elegant collarbone bared when his shirt had been torn open. Every gesture the polar opposite of the brat’s previous rude gropings.
“Tease.” Death’s mutter was for the brat’s ears only and he felt the chuckle under his lips as Rudolf tried to stifle a sigh, Herbert’s fine, soft fingers delicately brushing cheeks, eyelids, lashes, lips.
Tilting his head slightly to rub his jaw against Death’s brow, Herbert’s voice was little more than a breath. “I can be worse, mein Herr,” he murmured, then his mouth was on the Prince’s, softly, tenderly, gentle and seductive.
His hands brushed down the bared arms, dispatching the tattered remains of Rudolf’s shirt, until his fingers circled the Prince’s wrists. He had something in mind, Death could tell, as he leaned close and kissed the brat’s neck, a silent query as to his intent.
Twisting from Rudolf’s lips, ignoring the sigh, to claim Death’s mouth, the brat whispered a single word into the kiss; “Chains.”
Sliding his own hands up Herbert’s arms to cover his hands where they were wrapped around Rudolf’s wrists, Death smiled, his lips against the brat’s neck as the brat distracted Rudolf with that skilful mouth of his.
Shadows shifted to his wishes and silent darkness coiled around his Majesty’s wrists, his attention caught completely by the lips and teeth and tongue of the devil child that was pressed between him and Death.
Herbert’s hand shifted and move to Death’s side, tapping. Death’s fingers squeezed his other hand in acknowledgement. Next move to the brat. His mouth moving from Rudolf’s to kiss the Prince’s throat, his grey-green eyes slanted to Death even as Rudolf’s head fell back, his lips parted in panting breaths.
The mischievous eyes said it all. Up.
Perhaps, he should have allowed some sound.
If he had, though, it would have denied them the look on Rudolf’s face as he was abruptly jerked upright by his shadow-shackled arms, torn from Herbert’s wicked lips and touches, his feet an inch above the ground.
With a lazy smirk, Herbert leaned back into Death.
“There,” he said with a self-gratifying tone. “Aren’t you glad you let me stay?”
As the awareness became clear to the Prince, and the desire gave way to shocked outrage and a fiery passion that had long been burned out in his mortal time, Death felt his lips curve up in a smile to match the brat’s.
“You have your moments, von Krolock,” he agreed, sliding his hand down the front of the brat’s body. “Now, what to do with him...”
“Release me,” Rudolf’s voice was shaking with fury and barely-masked panic, his hands tugging at the shackles and the chains that were suspended from nothing, barely inches above his grasping fingers.
Herbert giggled, his head rolling back against Death’s shoulder as Death’s hand slipped down the front of his breeches. “But that would be no fun, Majesty,” he said, the subtlest of hitches in his voice suggesting that Death had touched him as he liked.
The once-mortal started struggling against the chains in earnest, jerking and thrashing. If anything, that made the brat moan even more, wriggling against Death’s hand, and Death felt that maybe the cocksure little brat had earned something for suggesting it in the first place.
By the time he was spent, the Prince was too, hanging uselessly in the chains and panting like a stricken dog, his expression one of despair, while the vampire purred in satisfaction.
“Now, any more clever ideas?” Death inquired, lifting his hand to Herbert’s mouth, and grinning as the brat contentedly licked his palm clean for him. Fangs nipped at his fingers, then a tongue darted in a way Death had felt only a little while earlier. “Him?”
The vampire giggled, tilting his head to slant a look at Death. “There are two of us, mein Herr,” he purred, arching lazily. “And he has two very pretty sides to him.” He groaned in contentment as Death stroked his chest thoughtfully. “I hardly mind sharing.”
“Whether they want it or not, you insatiable brat,” Death retorted with a snort, getting to his feet, leaving Herbert sprawled in a lazy heap.
One hand fisted in the brat’s hair and dragged him forcefully towards the Prince who tried to shy back, his expression one of distressed distaste as Herbert spilled at his feet, giggling, his breeches around his knees.
Stepping behind him, Death wondered with amusement what the unfortunate Prince looked like as his own trousers were jerked down by Death’s own hands. The yelp of shock was delightful, but it was the predatory mirth on the brat’s face when Death peered over the Prince’s shoulder that was satisfying enough.
He had a feeling dear, sweet Rudolf would be crying for his dear sweet mama all too soon.
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There was no light in Death’s dominion to indicate the hour in the world of mortals, though the boundary could open whenever he willed it. Yet, there was a feeling of a lazy evening about the main chamber, where Death was sprawled upon a couch of shadows, an enthusiastic vampire mouth tending him.
His feet were propped on a body which lay recumbent on the floor. Occasionally, it twitched, but he was beyond caring about the mild reactions. There would be no more entertainment from that particular plaything.
Several hours of amusing play had extended to days, only haltered here and there when duty had summoned him. By and by, the Crown Prince’s fragile and splintering mind had shattered under delicately applied pressure, but that had not stopped the games, not even for a moment.
Death groaned, his hand fisting in the vampire’s hair, and he felt more than heard the giggle against his skin. He only loosened his hand when the contented licking turned into a reproving nip.
Green-grey eyes rose to him and the vampire set his chin on Death’s thigh, that wicked tongue licking those equally wicked lips clean. He smiled as innocently as he was able. “That was fun.”
Death idly shifted a foot, poking the ribs of Crown Prince Rudolf. “He could have taken a little more,” he protested in a grumble, fingers sinking into the vampire’s hair again. “You got carried away.”
Fangs nipped his thigh and he growled in reprimand.
“He was pretty when he was breaking,” the vampire said, a pout in his voice.
That, Death had to admitted, was true, but it didn’t stop him twisting his fist into the vampire boy’s hair until it tore. “Not the point,” he said in a low snarl.
“True,” Herbert said airily, as one hand reached up and pulled Death’s head down towards his. “But you’re the one who let me stay.”
And as his mouth was claimed, and he could taste himself and the Prince and the blood of angels again, he wondered for the hundredth, thousandth time, why he kept on indulging the brat.
RATING: X
FANDOMS: Taniec Vampirow/Elisabeth
CHAPTERS: Prelude, Nocturne, Pastorale, Elegy, Obligatto, Scherzetto and this chapter.
SUMMARY: Death's vengeance on Elisabeth is... interrupted.
PAIRINGS: Death/Herbert, Death/Rudolf, Herbert/Aerean, Death/Rudolf/Herbert
WORDS: 4644
NOTES: Been a while since I've worked on this, but watched the Death-bits of the Elisabeth DVD and kind of ended up finishing it. As I recall only one (or possibly 2) chapters left ;)
WARNINGS: Same as before - Slash, dubious consent, a side of bondage...
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“Oh, he is a pretty thing.”
Death closed his eyes, groaning. The hands that had slid under his skirt moved lazily and he flexed his fingers against the ruffled fabric. The damned brat always had perfect timing, picking the worst moments to have his father break into Death’s dominion.
After nearly three decades, it had become almost habit to stand and just wait for the moment the boy made his presence felt, most especially when he had some great matter to tend to. The Sorcerer and his whelp liked to make things worse, it seemed.
“What do you want?”
The giggle against the back of his neck said it all and Death let himself indulge in the wandering touches for a moment before pulling away. Turning, his glare fixed in place, he glowered at the von Krolock boy.
“You think I have nothing better to do than let you have what you want?”
The boy’s shirt was already open and his hair was rapidly being freed from the ribbon that held it back. Grey-green eyes blinked in surprise. “You think he would be better?” he asked, with a gesture to the figure Death had been watching.
The Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria.
No longer a little boy who had trustingly climbed into Death’s embrace and trusted his mysterious guardian. No longer the politically daring youth he had been when Death had last approached him, encouraging him to uprising.
But every inch his mother’s son in form, down to the proud eyes, even if he was nothing like her in heart and spirit. No one could ever rival his beautiful Elisabeth, so glorious in anger and even more in anguish as she soon would…
And Death realised he had made a mistake in taking his eyes from the vampire boy to look at the Prince as hands grappled his thighs beneath his skirts and an eager mouth latched onto him, that pale-haired head lost beneath the mass of silk and velvet.
Grabbing at shadows to support himself, Death threw his head back with a half-snarl, half-groan. The brat was far to willing to get on his knees and even more to do whatever he damned well pleased to Death, fearless and wicked.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the motion of his angels gathering around the Prince, readying themselves. His companion, the girl, was already being drawn closer and closer by them. Already, Aerean was guiding the Prince’s hands into the blows that would claim her life.
Death’s eyes closed, tension arching through him as the boy’s mouth moved, and he shuddered in pleasure.
And abruptly, the boy was gone.
Furious eyes burst open and Death looked down. Herbert von Krolock was still sitting at his feet, leaning back on his hands, smiling up at Death as if completely innocent.
“I thought you had better things to do,” he observed, licking his lips, which were no longer as delightfully occupied.
Death’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. He caught the brat by his hair, jerking him half-upright, bringing their faces close together. Incorrigible as ever, the boy’s eyes were alight with delight and his fingers snared the edge of Death’s bodice, pulling them hard against one another.
“Deny me,” he hissed, then kissed Death with a savagery that belied his delicate appearance.
Brutalising the brat’s mouth with his own, until they were both bruised and the vampire was bloodied, Death flung him to the floor, his upper lip curling. “You hope for too much this time, von Krolock,” he sneered, then turned and stalked towards the invisible barrier that separated the unfortunate, crazed Prince of Austria from him.
Caught in a dizzying dance with the angels, Prince Rudolf was close to ready, only needing the final guiding hand. The combination of that knowledge and the brat’s wilful and skilful touches made him shiver with hungry anticipation.
Behind him, he knew the boy was still sprawled on the floor, but he could feel eyes the colour of ice on him. “I will await your return most eagerly, mein Herr,” the whisper rippled in the stillness, full of threat and promise.
Whirling around, his eyes flashing, Death struck the air, the blow carrying and knocking the boy flat. “Not this time,” he hissed. “I indulge your games, but this time I want you gone.”
Spilled onto his side, Herbert von Krolock tilted his face towards Death. His hair was in pale disarray around his features and he lifted himself on one elbow, blood beading and dripping from his mouth. Those bruised and broken lips parted in a hiss, the brat’s shirt slipping from one shoulder. “You allow me no fun, mein Herr.”
Abruptly, Death found himself squatted over the boy, twisting that bloodied face up towards his. He tilted his own chin up, baring his teeth. “I allow you your fun,” he whispered, twisting until he saw genuine pain blaze in the boy’s eyes. “You would do well to allow me mine.”
Pale fingertips touched his cheek, feather-light. “Ours, mein schöner Herr,” the boy whispered and despite himself, Death brought their mouths together. Blood and fire met between them and he lowered the brat to the floor.
“Not this time, Master von Krolock,” he said, his voice lower than a whisper.
Before the boy could voice an objection, Death pulled away, stepping into the dark hall of Mayerling. Moonlight slanted through the windows and Death flanked himself with a number of his angels, sweeping down the staircase and through the hall to the chamber where Prince Rudolf’s final dance was taking place.
In the swirl of skirts and flashing dark eyes, the Prince was stumbling, dazed and trembling. A body was sprawled on the floor, bloody and motionless, and the angels were impassively guiding the Prince’s steps.
By the pale, silvering light, the mortal’s anguished features were a picture of despair and Death smiled as Aerean took up the gun that would be the end of the Prince, extending it towards Elisabeth’s son in his long, pale hands.
It was time, time to see that face with those eyes that were hers but were not hers looking to him, expecting, needing, trusting.
Not his mother, never his mother, but it would be enough, it would show her that she was not everything to him.
One by one, the angels whirled the mortal around in a rapid waltz. His stained shirt was hanging open, his hair matted to his skin with sweat, his hands still stained with the blood of his late lover.
Even from a dozen paces away, Death could hear the desperate, despairing sobs. His tongue slid along his teeth at the thought of the taste of those tears. Moving closer, he snatched the gun and caught Rudolf around the waist, felt the arms clutch at him, the scent of grief-laced despair intoxicating.
As the striking face rose to his, those eyes - so familiar yet not the same - glassy with tears stared wildly at him and Death’s lips curved up wickedly. The mortal hand reached out to him, no, not him. To the gun. Death pressed it into Rudolf’s grasping hand, wrapping his cool fingers around the mortal’s warmer ones.
There was only the briefest moments of resistance, and those full lips parted in silent plea. Bringing the pistol to Rudolf’s temple, Death smiled and lowered his head, his lips claiming the mortal’s, tasting the despair as Rudolf’s finger tensed on the trigger.
The retort was a beautiful exclamation and the mortal collapsed in his arms.
Around them, the angels averted their eyes as Death lowered the mortal’s remains to the floor of the world where death would be eternal, where the fleshy shell no longer meant anything, fluid spilling from the shattered skull and pooling about his feet.
Wiping a smear of the dark liquid from his face with his fingertips, Death slowly licked it from his flesh, tasting the dregs of the mortal’s despair as he allowed the world to fade around him into the twilight place between his own world and the mortal one.
Bearing the mortal, the angels followed him, then scattered into the darkness and left him alone to watch for the final waking of the fallen Crown Prince with the eyes and wildness of his mother and the weak soul of his damned father.
Going down on one knee, Death reached out to touch the still face. There was so little of his mother in his features, but his lips and his eyes were wholly hers.
Death’s fingertips brushed the lashes and the high cheekbones to the tangled hair, his own gaze drifting to the full lips, parted now. Bowing his head, he kissed them once more, imagining the strands of fine hair he was touching were long, dark, hers.
Eyes that had been glassy opened, heavy, dazed as before.
Dragging the back of his knuckles down the Prince’s cheek, Death’s lips slid into a slow smile as he kissed the fallen Prince again, stifling a sound of desperate protest and anguish. Pleasure was rippling through him, a remnant of his encounter with the von Krolock brat mixing with the heady, triumphant success of claiming Elisabeth’s only son.
Broad hands clutched at his arms, but seemed undecided about whether they were pulling him closer or pushing him away. He almost laughed, giddy exultation tearing through him with shocking force and he froze, jerking his head up.
Staring beyond the blackness around him, ignoring the panting of the once-mortal who clung to him, Death growled. He felt a blaze of something, a sensation from his angels that none save two could understand; pain.
Apparently a third had just been introduced to it, combined with pleasure.
“Von Krolock.” Death spat the name, surging to his feet, the skirts swirling around his thighs. With one hand, he hauled Rudolf with him, stepping out of shapeless blackness to a sight that made him freeze.
Against the darkness that served as walls in his endless dominion, Aerean was pressed face-first. His fingers were hooking into shadows, his body arched, still clad in the dark green gown that had cruelly imitated the clothing of Rudolf’s mother.
And against his back, one hand mercilessly clasping the half-transparent, trembling golden wing, the other lost in the dark, beaded silks of the skirts, Herbert von Krolock was thrusting viciously against the moaning angel. His mouth was fastened against the angel’s throat and Death could see the pale stream rapidly staining the bodice of Aerean’s borrowed garb.
By Death’s side, the Prince exclaimed faintly, stumbling to one knee. Death didn’t need to look at him to know he was staring at the sight before them. Anyone with eyes would have been doing the same.
With a satisfied hiss, the vampire tossed his head back, proud and magnificent, the angel’s silvery-white blood spattering Aerean’s back and shoulders, even shimmering like diamonds on the pale shapes of his wings.
Aerean’s head rolled forward, pressing to the shadows between his shaking hands, whimper after wanton whimper escaping his tightly-closed lips, and the von Krolock brat laughed aloud, hissing his satisfaction at the air.
He wasn’t oblivious to them, Death knew, and it was proved when that head rolled lazily sideways and grey-green eyes flashed from beneath golden lashes through long strands of pale hair. His lips parted enough in a smile to show those fangs, still shimmering with ichor.
“Oh, you brought me something pretty,” he whispered, his voice hungry. Those eyes flicked to the kneeling Prince, and the smile turned even more sinful. “So many lovely toys, mein Herr...”
With a savage snarl, Death closed the distance between them, tearing the brat from his chief angel. Aerean staggered, then slumped, his wings unfolding to shield him, his trembling hand clutching his torn throat.
Hurling the brat to the ground at his feet, Death’s hands clenched and unclenched in violent fury, his eyes blazing. “I told you to depart,” he snarled, the backhand hurling the vampire half a dozen paces across the room.
Rolling, his shirt slipping halfway down his arms, the vampire raised his face from the floor. “But, darling,” he whispered, “I told you when we first met, I never ever do what I’m told.”
A savage kick sent him rolling, and Death realised belatedly the direction the brat was going. He had not fallen where he had by accident, and as he scrambled backwards, as if terrified of further violence, and collided with Rudolf’s body, Death wondered if there was any way to discourage the boy.
Rudolf’s broad hands clutched the vampire’s bared shoulders, staying his momentum, and unseen by the Prince, the brat’s lips twitched in an impish smile. He leaned back into the Prince’s touch as if afraid of Death’s continued ire.
“You will not let him harm me, Majesty?” he implored, bringing his hands up to desperately clutch at Rudolf’s, his fingers squeezing the Crown Prince’s. He turned his pale head, his face suddenly close to Rudolf’s, eyes wide with innocent helplessness that almost made Death laugh aloud in disbelief.
After the sight that had encountered them, the Prince would have to be a fool to believe...
“Damn it, von Krolock!” Grabbing the brat by his trailing hair, Death pulled the brat’s mouth off the startled Prince’s. Parted in shock, the Prince’s lips shone pale silver with Aerean’s stolen blood.
Pulled back onto his knees, his spine arched, his head twisted back mercilessly, Herbert von Krolock grinned up at him. “Oh, darling,” he said, lips twitching wickedly. “You truly thought I could resist?”
His face close to the vampire brat’s, Death bared his teeth. “This one is mine,” he hissed, his lips near touching von Krolock, drawing a longing whine from the vampire. He could taste the scent of Aerean’s blood and desire on those incorrigible lips and saw the gleam in the grey-green eyes an instant before the brat’s hand caught his hair, pulling his mouth down, letting him taste it in its purity, mingled with the flavour of the Prince and the brat himself.
Throwing the vampire away from him with a hiss, Death heard the brat laugh as he tumbled into the Prince again, sending them both sprawling. Somehow, the brat came out on top, on his knees between the Prince’s splayed thighs. Lunging to his knees behind the brat, he sank a fist into the brat’s hair, pulling those roaming lips from the dazed Prince’s. His other arm wrapped around the brat’s waist, stilling him.
Death watched the vampire’s left hand catch the heavy buckle of the belt of the Prince’s breeches, staying him, then groaned as the right hand slid beneath the skirts that still covered his legs, those slim fingers kneading his thigh.
Sprawled beneath the vampire, Rudolf’s eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to scramble back across the floor, his hair in disarray, his full lower lip grazed by the vampire’s fangs. His eyes were on the vampire, who was arching in Death’s hold, his head thrown back, his lips parted, moans escaping him.
That more than the hand held the Prince in thrall and motionless, snared like so many others before him, dazzled by the sensual lure of the vampire. The beauty of the fear and uncertain lust was not lost on Death. He had seen it in his angels before, and in the eyes of the boy’s victims for years.
“Give me a reason to let you stay, vampire,” he whispered in a low growl against the vampire’s throat. Fingers moved nimbly beneath the ruffles of silk and velvet and the brat inclined his head to run his cheek against the tip of Death’s nose. Death snorted with reluctant amusement. “Aside from that.”
A mannerless tongue emerged between the fangs, flicking the end of Death’s nose. “How can I show you when you hold me so, mein Herr?” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with hunger and wickedness. His hand slid from Rudolf’s belt down across the front of the Prince’s breeches, making blue eyes go wide, and up Herbert’s own breeches to wrap around Death’s wrist, gently drawing the arm from his waist.
Then with an elegance that belied his motive, the vampire swept down to claim the dazed prince’s lips again, sinking his hand into the Prince’s golden hair. The brat’s body rolled, his hips shifting again until there was barely a finger’s width between his unliving body and the Prince’s still-warm one.
With a yelp, Rudolf seemed to shake himself from the haze surrounding him, twisting his head away from the vampire’s lips, but that did nothing to dissuade the brat. Death found himself grinning despite himself as the brat’s lips teased the Prince’s throat and jaw, then the tip of that pale tongue daintily tasted the dimple in the Prince’s fair cheek.
And despite all his innocence around the Prince’s face, the vampire’s hips were writhing like a snake, undulating wickedly. Death could see the Prince trying to lift trembling hands to push the brat away, but every time they rose, the brat would twitch just so and poor, guileless Rudolf would jerk with a gasp, his fists flinching inches from the floor.
Under Death’s skirt, the brat’s hand slipped, touching his thigh and Death let himself be guided forward until he was rising on his knees over the brat, pressing close against the boy. He reached down, dragging the brat’s pale hair back and felt the shudder of pleasure run the length of the brat’s body, echoed in the gyrations of the brat’s hips.
The brat whispered something close to the Prince’s ear, his tongue teasing the lobe, and Rudolf’s face contorted in anguish and he shook his head tightly. His hands were quaking fists, his eyes squeezed closed. Herbert laughed softly then ground his hips against the Prince’s, drawing a strangled cry of want from the Prince’s stubborn throat.
With a coy glance over his shoulder, the brat caught Death’s hand at his hip and slid it between his body and the Prince’s. “He claims he does not wish this, mein Herr,” he whispered, the Prince’s body belying his gestures. “Your poor fool guest...”
“Guests,” Death replied, his hand closing over the vampire’s groin. He met those shimmering grey-green eyes, his lip curling, and his hand squeezed mercilessly. “Should be treated with respect.”
“You never respect me,” the brat pouted, a hiss of air escaping him as his head was twisted ruthlessly towards Death’s.
“You were never a guest, von Krolock.” Death reminded him quietly. His fingers twisted in the vampire’s pale hair. “Intruders deserve nothing better than what you receive.” The vampire’s mouth opened, his moan swallowed by Death’s lips and punctuated by a growl when Death bit his lower lip. “Violence and pain, little brat.”
“Oh, promise me more,” the vampire whined, his hands both slipping beneath Death’s full skirts, pawing, kneading wantonly. Death grinned and brought his mouth against the faint scar that marked the change from mortal to unliving. His teeth scraped the lightly raised skin and the vampire’s fingers sank into Death’s flesh. “Mein Herr!”
One hand sliding between cloth and flesh, Death squeezed the brat hard and with his other hand stifled the cry that escaped the vampire as he bit that very scar, bit with enough violence to tear flesh and make the vampire keen wildly before him, bucking in his grasp.
Smothering the vampire’s sounds, his own breathing rapid against the pale throat, Death slowly slanted his eyes towards the Prince.
Though he was free of any restraints and at liberty to flee, Rudolf was staring at the writhing vampire with more than just terrified wildness in his eyes. Half-sprawled on his back, raised on his elbows, his shirt open and loose, his breeches half-undone, his hair in disarray, he licked kiss-swollen lips.
It wasn’t a nervous gesture.
With a ruthless tug of his hand, Death directed the vampire’s face downwards until both of them were watching the Prince watching them. Death felt the brat’s mouth curl in a panting smile against his palm, and slowly lowered his head to lick the blood from the vampire’s wounded throat.
Herbert moaned. A little overdramatically, Death, thought, but the way the vampire arched his neck was indication enough and he dragged his teeth up to tug on the brat’s earlobe. It would only have been a completely senseless fool who could have ignored the stifled groan that escaped the vampire.
It was watching a Master at work, he had to acknowledge it; the way the graceful, pale hands reached out then drew back, enticing the dazed Prince closer until he was within touching distance, until his hands - in turn - reached out, caught by the vampire’s charm.
Long, white fingers were laid with shocking tenderness on the Prince’s shoulders, the brat’s every touch chaste, delicate, touching the Prince’s throat, shoulders, the elegant collarbone bared when his shirt had been torn open. Every gesture the polar opposite of the brat’s previous rude gropings.
“Tease.” Death’s mutter was for the brat’s ears only and he felt the chuckle under his lips as Rudolf tried to stifle a sigh, Herbert’s fine, soft fingers delicately brushing cheeks, eyelids, lashes, lips.
Tilting his head slightly to rub his jaw against Death’s brow, Herbert’s voice was little more than a breath. “I can be worse, mein Herr,” he murmured, then his mouth was on the Prince’s, softly, tenderly, gentle and seductive.
His hands brushed down the bared arms, dispatching the tattered remains of Rudolf’s shirt, until his fingers circled the Prince’s wrists. He had something in mind, Death could tell, as he leaned close and kissed the brat’s neck, a silent query as to his intent.
Twisting from Rudolf’s lips, ignoring the sigh, to claim Death’s mouth, the brat whispered a single word into the kiss; “Chains.”
Sliding his own hands up Herbert’s arms to cover his hands where they were wrapped around Rudolf’s wrists, Death smiled, his lips against the brat’s neck as the brat distracted Rudolf with that skilful mouth of his.
Shadows shifted to his wishes and silent darkness coiled around his Majesty’s wrists, his attention caught completely by the lips and teeth and tongue of the devil child that was pressed between him and Death.
Herbert’s hand shifted and move to Death’s side, tapping. Death’s fingers squeezed his other hand in acknowledgement. Next move to the brat. His mouth moving from Rudolf’s to kiss the Prince’s throat, his grey-green eyes slanted to Death even as Rudolf’s head fell back, his lips parted in panting breaths.
The mischievous eyes said it all. Up.
Perhaps, he should have allowed some sound.
If he had, though, it would have denied them the look on Rudolf’s face as he was abruptly jerked upright by his shadow-shackled arms, torn from Herbert’s wicked lips and touches, his feet an inch above the ground.
With a lazy smirk, Herbert leaned back into Death.
“There,” he said with a self-gratifying tone. “Aren’t you glad you let me stay?”
As the awareness became clear to the Prince, and the desire gave way to shocked outrage and a fiery passion that had long been burned out in his mortal time, Death felt his lips curve up in a smile to match the brat’s.
“You have your moments, von Krolock,” he agreed, sliding his hand down the front of the brat’s body. “Now, what to do with him...”
“Release me,” Rudolf’s voice was shaking with fury and barely-masked panic, his hands tugging at the shackles and the chains that were suspended from nothing, barely inches above his grasping fingers.
Herbert giggled, his head rolling back against Death’s shoulder as Death’s hand slipped down the front of his breeches. “But that would be no fun, Majesty,” he said, the subtlest of hitches in his voice suggesting that Death had touched him as he liked.
The once-mortal started struggling against the chains in earnest, jerking and thrashing. If anything, that made the brat moan even more, wriggling against Death’s hand, and Death felt that maybe the cocksure little brat had earned something for suggesting it in the first place.
By the time he was spent, the Prince was too, hanging uselessly in the chains and panting like a stricken dog, his expression one of despair, while the vampire purred in satisfaction.
“Now, any more clever ideas?” Death inquired, lifting his hand to Herbert’s mouth, and grinning as the brat contentedly licked his palm clean for him. Fangs nipped at his fingers, then a tongue darted in a way Death had felt only a little while earlier. “Him?”
The vampire giggled, tilting his head to slant a look at Death. “There are two of us, mein Herr,” he purred, arching lazily. “And he has two very pretty sides to him.” He groaned in contentment as Death stroked his chest thoughtfully. “I hardly mind sharing.”
“Whether they want it or not, you insatiable brat,” Death retorted with a snort, getting to his feet, leaving Herbert sprawled in a lazy heap.
One hand fisted in the brat’s hair and dragged him forcefully towards the Prince who tried to shy back, his expression one of distressed distaste as Herbert spilled at his feet, giggling, his breeches around his knees.
Stepping behind him, Death wondered with amusement what the unfortunate Prince looked like as his own trousers were jerked down by Death’s own hands. The yelp of shock was delightful, but it was the predatory mirth on the brat’s face when Death peered over the Prince’s shoulder that was satisfying enough.
He had a feeling dear, sweet Rudolf would be crying for his dear sweet mama all too soon.
_________________________
There was no light in Death’s dominion to indicate the hour in the world of mortals, though the boundary could open whenever he willed it. Yet, there was a feeling of a lazy evening about the main chamber, where Death was sprawled upon a couch of shadows, an enthusiastic vampire mouth tending him.
His feet were propped on a body which lay recumbent on the floor. Occasionally, it twitched, but he was beyond caring about the mild reactions. There would be no more entertainment from that particular plaything.
Several hours of amusing play had extended to days, only haltered here and there when duty had summoned him. By and by, the Crown Prince’s fragile and splintering mind had shattered under delicately applied pressure, but that had not stopped the games, not even for a moment.
Death groaned, his hand fisting in the vampire’s hair, and he felt more than heard the giggle against his skin. He only loosened his hand when the contented licking turned into a reproving nip.
Green-grey eyes rose to him and the vampire set his chin on Death’s thigh, that wicked tongue licking those equally wicked lips clean. He smiled as innocently as he was able. “That was fun.”
Death idly shifted a foot, poking the ribs of Crown Prince Rudolf. “He could have taken a little more,” he protested in a grumble, fingers sinking into the vampire’s hair again. “You got carried away.”
Fangs nipped his thigh and he growled in reprimand.
“He was pretty when he was breaking,” the vampire said, a pout in his voice.
That, Death had to admitted, was true, but it didn’t stop him twisting his fist into the vampire boy’s hair until it tore. “Not the point,” he said in a low snarl.
“True,” Herbert said airily, as one hand reached up and pulled Death’s head down towards his. “But you’re the one who let me stay.”
And as his mouth was claimed, and he could taste himself and the Prince and the blood of angels again, he wondered for the hundredth, thousandth time, why he kept on indulging the brat.