He isn't going to cry. He isn't so weak as that, and what might be a hellish torture for a mortal is more easily taken in stride by a vampire. The past day has been an eternally long one, painful (and pleasurable, and painful again, an endless ouroborosian cycle that left his nerves raw and his mind flayed), but not traumatizing, not really.
But that unexpected brush of kindness from Vakares (the last echoes of their sire now long asleep) are overwhelming. Like a cool breeze in the dead of summer; like a sudden mouthful of blood when you've been told you'll starve . . . it's nothing and it's everything, all at once. Not patronizing. Not belittling. Just kind, in the gently removed way their sire has always been.
Gods, but he misses him.
So he's grateful Simon looks away, for it gives Fenris time to let his expression falter (his eyes hot, his fangs flashing as he bites his lip) and then pull himself together.]
Yes.
[Oh, he can admit it. Yes. Captive archduke forcibly turned consort, at least for now— yes, he needed it.
He's still hungry. He wants a full person to drain, some luckless slaver who prowled upon the wrong prey, sucked clean until there's nothing left but a husk (oh, he's drooling for the thought). But even a mouthful of blood is enough to revive him in a pinch— and so though it still hurts, though it takes far more energy than Fenris would like, still, there's a blaze of azure. A buzz of magic bursts through the room, and in the aftermath, those shackles fall free. Fenris sits himself up, grimacing as he rubs his wrists— he'll have to phase back into them, he knows, and that will hurt, but at least he can take a few moments for himself.
Think, now. Before he comes back. Before he claims you and starves you all over again, your mind wiped blank and your position forcibly remade. Think, little gem. This was not what your sire wanted, but his desires only go so far.]
I did not know he was so close to you. But, [Fenris says, biting back a groan as he staggers up and off the bed,] I found there was much I did not know about him.
[Little secrets, little facets . . . and someday, Fenris will have the chance to discover them again.
He glances over at Simon, a rueful sort of stare in his gaze.]
You must clean me. And then you must dress me in something obscene. The first I can handle on my own. The second . . .
Perhaps it would be better if you simply left. You can say I ordered you away— and he will be occupied enough with me that I doubt he will bother to remember you.
no subject
He isn't going to cry. He isn't so weak as that, and what might be a hellish torture for a mortal is more easily taken in stride by a vampire. The past day has been an eternally long one, painful (and pleasurable, and painful again, an endless ouroborosian cycle that left his nerves raw and his mind flayed), but not traumatizing, not really.
But that unexpected brush of kindness from Vakares (the last echoes of their sire now long asleep) are overwhelming. Like a cool breeze in the dead of summer; like a sudden mouthful of blood when you've been told you'll starve . . . it's nothing and it's everything, all at once. Not patronizing. Not belittling. Just kind, in the gently removed way their sire has always been.
Gods, but he misses him.
So he's grateful Simon looks away, for it gives Fenris time to let his expression falter (his eyes hot, his fangs flashing as he bites his lip) and then pull himself together.]
Yes.
[Oh, he can admit it. Yes. Captive archduke forcibly turned consort, at least for now— yes, he needed it.
He's still hungry. He wants a full person to drain, some luckless slaver who prowled upon the wrong prey, sucked clean until there's nothing left but a husk (oh, he's drooling for the thought). But even a mouthful of blood is enough to revive him in a pinch— and so though it still hurts, though it takes far more energy than Fenris would like, still, there's a blaze of azure. A buzz of magic bursts through the room, and in the aftermath, those shackles fall free. Fenris sits himself up, grimacing as he rubs his wrists— he'll have to phase back into them, he knows, and that will hurt, but at least he can take a few moments for himself.
Think, now. Before he comes back. Before he claims you and starves you all over again, your mind wiped blank and your position forcibly remade. Think, little gem. This was not what your sire wanted, but his desires only go so far.]
I did not know he was so close to you. But, [Fenris says, biting back a groan as he staggers up and off the bed,] I found there was much I did not know about him.
[Little secrets, little facets . . . and someday, Fenris will have the chance to discover them again.
He glances over at Simon, a rueful sort of stare in his gaze.]
You must clean me. And then you must dress me in something obscene. The first I can handle on my own. The second . . .
Perhaps it would be better if you simply left. You can say I ordered you away— and he will be occupied enough with me that I doubt he will bother to remember you.