Chapter Text
October 29, 2025
Marius is an imposing silhouette as he stares out of the bay window in his home. It overlooks the marina, and his expression is somber as he tracks the movements of the humans outside. Here, now, he has too much on his mind as he waits with waning patience.
Where Amadeo - or Armand - is concerned, his patience inevitably wears thin. He may as well be in their bedroom at the palazzo waiting for Amadeo to stumble in, inebriated and stifling a giggle as he murmurs into Marius’ neck that he wants a blood kiss.
Marius sighs heavily, forcing the thought away. He cannot dwell on it now.
The purple hues of twilight give way to deep night, and the golden gate bridge lights up as fog rolls into the bay. He watches as the mortals in the park below scurry to collect their belongings from their picnics and social activities. They call out their dog’s names and the hounds come bounding back to their humans as the street lamps flicker on, casting an amber glow on the tree lined streets.
It is an unusually comfortable October evening in the city, although nearly any temperature in San Francisco is warm compared to the chill of summertime. Jack o’lanterns offer eerie smiles on the stoops of homes and orange lights are wrapped around porch columns. Some mortals go one step further and place hay bales on their staircases with plastic skeletons perched on top. The neighborhood has been buzzing with excitement for weeks.
The corner of Marius’ mouth lifts into a wry smile.
Halloween. Samhain. All Saint’s Eve. Various academic books, published papers, and pop articles on social media describe Halloween as having deep origins amongst the Celts, as if they were a monolithic group.
Marius remembers the autumn rituals of his mother’s people well, though the mortals today would not recognize them. The language used to describe the ancient festival is dead and the religion of the Aedui has long been absorbed into other belief systems.
Of course, this flavor of Halloween is inspired by the American Irish diaspora, not his maternal origins.
Still, it is endearing to watch mortals hold onto that sliver of ancient ancestral memory. It may not be the Roman Empire, but Marius has a growing fondness for the United States Empire and its frivolous, over the top celebrations. He gives the blood in his glass a swirl, the thick liquid sloshing around the edges. He takes a contemplative sip and closes the heavy velvet drapes.
If he compares his current country of residence to the vibrance of Venice in the sixteenth century: the art, opulence, jewels, boys, the blood - the angel that once graced his bed - it doesn’t hold a flame to it.
Marius could let his mind wander for decades, but tonight is special. A ripple of anticipation shoots through his spine as he checks the time on the mounted wall clock, and again on his modern phone. It is 6:12pm, and his guest will arrive in three minutes. He lowers the harsh lights to something warmer, more intimate, and presses a button to ignite the fireplace.
The person coming is more than a guest - this is a long overdue reunion.
Marius languidly strolls over to his oak desk, lifts the manila folder from the surface, and opens it. He takes out the enhanced image and traces the edge of a glossy photograph with his finger. The image itself is a high resolution photo pulled from the camera security footage from the intersection of Walnut Street and West Washington Square in the city of Philadelphia on August 5, 2025.
The tension in Marius’ body mounts as a wave of arousal and searing jealousy twists in his stomach.
In the photo, Daniel Molloy’s hands grip the collar of Armand’s jacket as he shoves him up against a wall with raw desperation. He looks like a creature starved and driven half mad.
And Armand likes it.
His sweet, rotten boy.
Marius’ gaze lingers on the delicate beauty of Armand’s face caught mid-gasp. At the messy curls that frame his face. At his devastatingly elegant profile that inspired more paintings and sculptures than the modern world will ever know. The contrast between Armand and his fledgling is stark. Daniel, frozen at the physical age of sixty-nine, carries the weathered lines of a life well lived on his face; while Armand looks impossibly young and breathtakingly angelic.
Marius makes a noise of haughty disapproval and flicks the photo onto the desk.
The second photo shows Daniel bunching Armand’s coat into his fists and yanking him closer until their noses are touching. A bold move, to manhandle Armand in this manner. A bold move indeed, for any fledgling to pull on their maker.
And what does Armand know of being a maker? He is out of his depth. Armand had no business bestowing the blood kiss on his pet journalist. Irresponsible, reckless - Marius’ hand itches for the handle of a switch to remind Armand (how he loathes this new French name) of his place. Marius would draw Armand into his arms afterwards, kissing the welts on his back and buttocks while whispering sonnets of love and comfort.
Just like old times. Before the fire, before Armand’s descent into madness and cultish fervor.
A furious shadow passes over Marius’ face at the third photograph. His muscles tighten as his fingers crinkle the edge of the picture: Armand’s head is pitched back against the wall, his eyes shut and lips parted in a gasp as Daniel presses his mouth against the hollow of Armand’s throat.
Marius’ fangs lengthen in response to the percieved threat of seeing Daniel all over his fledgling.
To see direct evidence of Daniel defiling Armand with his filthy mouth on Armand’s skin, and his greedy hands all over Armand’s body, offends Marius on a visceral level.
The fourth and final photograph is the most offensive: Armand pulls Daniel in for a deep, all consuming kiss. Their lips slant together, hard and urgent. Daniel’s shock is evident: his arms flying outward with his fingers splayed wide in surprise. A low, livid snarl slips through Marius’ lips.
Armand cradles the back of Daniel’s head with one hand, in total control of the kiss, while the other wraps tightly around Daniel’s waist. A violent impulse rushes through Marius’ veins. The series of intimate moments captured mid-motion are charged with such lust filled heat that the sterile lens of the security camera fails to dilute the passion between the vampires.
Marius seethes.
Armand’s former drug-addled human plaything turned vampire, Daniel Molloy, has ensnared his heart. Marius studies his own reflection in the ornate mirror above his desk. There is a pearlescent quality to his ice blue eyes, and his white-blonde hair falls in mussed waves over his shoulders. He has a mature face, strong jaw, and smooth skin free of any lines. Marius had been amused when a mortal once asked him what spa he went to in order to achieve such marble-like skin and which hair dresser dyed his hair the perfect shade of platinum blonde.
Marius turns heads with his stunning appearance, and the mortals flatter him. But Marius knows what he thirsts for, and it is something much more luscious, rare, and alluring. Something so captivating, so divinely beautiful and that no paintbrush or poem could fully capture it. His radiant crown jewel and masterpiece: Amadeo.
Marius’ fingers clench inwards, claw-like, as though twisting phantom strands of silky midnight curls in his hands.
What could Armand possibly see in Daniel Molloy that he does not have? Armand would be wise to let Marius take Daniel under his wing and give the poor fledgling a proper introduction to vampirism. Not whatever disorganized mayhem Armand has been subjecting the new vampire to.
Marius looks at the time again. 6:15pm.
There is a tentative knock at the door, and Marius adjusts his red satin robe. This has been years in the making. Years of trying to find him, hunting him down, convincing arguments drafted, meetings scheduled and cancelled, one disappointment after the other.
The challenge should make the victory delicious, but Marius feels apprehensive. He won’t believe it until he sees him.
When he opens the door, his breath catches. Marius’ heart is in his throat the second he lays eyes on him.
Yes.
YES.
Finally, he is here - and perfect. Despite being thousands of years old, Marius is still taken aback by the sheer brilliance of Armand’s beauty. No, not Armand: it is Amadeo’s beauty. Marius inclines his head, his eyes fixing onto the boy with a quiet, lethal fascination.
“It is you,” Marius breathes, his face both terrifying and welcoming. “My beloved and dearly missed Amadeo. Words fail to convey my joy at being reunited with you after so long. Do come inside, my love.” Marius steps aside and gestures with a grand sweep of his arm.
Amadeo remains rooted to the spot. He licks his full lips and looks up at Marius through impossibly huge, innocent eyes framed by long lashes. A thick mane of black ringlets bounces with movement as Amadeo anxiously shuffles back and forth.
Marius’ heart aches when Amadeo nervously tucks a loose tendril behind his ear, because he wants to do that. Marius wants to run his fingers through his hair, and cup his face, and kiss him until they forget all about the horrors of the past.
Marius is in love with Amadeo, painfully so.
How he has missed the sight of those familiar curls sprawled across his bed. Marius reaches out, his fingers catching a lock of Amadeo’s long, shiny ringlets. Giving in to the urge building inside him, he buries his hand deeper into Amadeo’s hair. He aches to the point of weeping at the softness, giving the tresses a gentle tug before dragging a knuckle slowly down Amadeo’s cheek.
Marius drops his hand and shivers with excitement.
Amadeo’s throat bobs as he uneasily shifts his scuffed backpack. He wavers in the doorway, tilting his head up to meet Marius’ eyes. He inhales a deep breath, his lips wordlessly repeating a phrase before he finds the strength to speak aloud. When he does, his voice has a soft, sweet, and melodic lilt to it.
“Marius. I haven’t been addressed as Amadeo in centuries.”
Marius hums with approval.
He drinks in the light blue shirt and casual jeans Amadeo is wearing. The worn sneakers. He looks terribly young.
“Call me Master, Amadeo. Or Maestro, if that rolls off the tongue easier. You remember, how it was between us.” Marius wraps an arm around Amadeo’s waist and leads him down the hallway. It is a firm touch, not rough, but entirely inescapable all the same. Marius’ other hand lightly brushes the nape of Amadeo’s neck and he feels gooseflesh rise all over his skin.
“Master? No, not anymore. To me, you are Marius. I have no master.” Amadeo turns his head, his glittering dark eyes meeting Marius’ intense gaze dead on.
But right there, Marius catches it: the Amadeo's breathing is shallow and uneven, his chin trembles. He is small in stature, a tiny slip of a thing really, and there is a slight tremor to his frame. Marius smells the sour scent of fear in Amadeo’s body. His eyes twinkle as he grins.
“Just as troublesome and strong willed as I recall, my lovely angel. I like my boys obedient, Amadeo. You know that.” Marius fixes Amadeo with a warm paternal smile that softens his features. Amadeo just blinks as Marius tightens his grip on his neck.
“You will call me Master.”
Amadeo swallows and recoils at the dissonance between Marius’ fatherly expression and his tone that does not welcome any argument. His neck is tacky with sweat under Marius’ grasp and his pulse flutters like a scared rabbit under his skin. A rough beat of silence hangs between them, and Amadeo grinds his teeth and lowers his gaze.
“I understand.”
“You understand….?” Marius prompts.
“Master. I understand, Master.”
Profound satisfaction washes through Marius. This kind of fragility and defiance is precisely how his Amadeo behaved all those centuries ago. Oh, how Marius has missed being challenged and irked by Amadeo. How he has missed teaching Amadeo his proper role.
Lestat had served as a wonderful pupil for some time, but Marius could not banish the curse of guilt festering inside of him. It should have been Amadeo with him, learning alongside Lestat. Marius is hesitant to admit to mistakes, but believing Amadeo to be corrupted and lost forever was a grave one. He has to make up for it.
They enter the bedroom and the golden silk wallpaper shimmers on the walls. The dark wood paneling is framed by gold and red trim, and a large hearth roars and crackles with fire. Long shadows cast from the flames dance across the plush carpet.
Amadeo stands deathly still in the middle of the bedroom as Marius circles him.
“Let me examine you. Take off your clothes.”
Amadeo drops his backpack and kicks off his shoes and socks. He quickly strips down to nothing and lightly kicks his crumpled piles of clothes away from his body. The air hits his chest and Marius stares at the way the boy’s nipples harden, at the length of flesh between his legs and hairless scrotum behind it.
Most tempting of all, Marius thirsts for the pulse points throbbing all over Amadeo’s body and the rich blood pumping beneath the surface. He craves the hot gush of Amadeo’s blood pouring down his throat.
Marius tightens his circle around Amadeo and looms over him. Amadeo just stands there, shy, blushing, and utterly out of character. As if he doesn’t know just how pretty he is.
“I - I shaved everywhere, just as you requested, Marius. I mean, Master.” He stammers and rushes to correct himself. A humiliating squeak breaks his voice, but even as it fractures, his tone remains sweet and musical.
Marius does relish in having this effect on Amadeo.
With a critical eye he appraises the high sweep of Amadeo’s cheekbones, the contours of his face, impeccable nose, the bow of his lips, the flawless, rich complexion that seems to glow from within, and enormous oval shaped eyes.
Those eyes - the vulnerability Marius sees swimming within them captivates him. Holds him hostage. Amadeo looks like a lost ethereal angel dropped at Marius’ doorstep. He cannot get enough of Amadeo: a living, breathing work of art that he will continue to shape. Marius catches hold of Amadeo’s hand and laces their fingers together before guiding him into a smooth, graceful twirl.
Ever the enchanting dancer, his angel.
Spinning Amadeo slowly into the firelight, Marius lets his fangs elongate as his gaze rakes over Amadeo’s exposed form: youthful, smooth, and entirely bare. His chest boasts a delightful fullness, accented by dark nipples that beg to be bitten. Amadeo’s flat stomach is soft and undefined, with a perfect little belly that betrays his youth. Marius runs a warm hand against it.
“Such a pretty thing.” Marius’ smile, dark and ravenous, stretches wide across his face.
“How wonderful for you to come back to me, beloved. Nothing has ever felt as perfect as you do in my arms. I adore you so very terribly, my love. You will behave, won’t you?" His tone is laced with absolute, unyielding possession.
“Yes,” Amadeo whispers, unable to tear his frightened eyes from Marius’ fangs. A chuckle rumbles low in Marius’ chest as he watches Amadeo attempt to veil his fear.
“What an incredible creature you are,” Marius murmurs. He traces the curve of Amadeo’s cheek with a slowness that feels reverent, brushing gently across the high bone, then his jawline, and last, the pad of his thumb caresses the seam of Amadeo’s lips. Marius presses a little too hard against Amadeo's bottom lip, his eyes glowing with centuries of resentment and unfulfilled fantasy.
There is a raw vulnerability in Amadeo’s gaze that hurts to hold, and Marius can’t bear it. He bends to cradle Amadeo’s face between his large hands and kisses his forehead.
“You are gorgeous and perfection incarnate,” he murmurs against Amadeo’s temple. “You will be good, my sweet Amadeo. Promise me we will never be parted again,” Marius rasps, his voice rough with desperate need. Amadeo lets out a soft gasp, and before he can react, Marius claims his mouth in a kiss that is anything but gentle.
It is a punishing, bruising collision of teeth and hunger steeped in centuries of unresolved agony and longing. Marius kisses Amadeo like he is trying to consume him, frantic to erase the fear of losing him ever again. Their mouths move together with a hungry, intoxicating rhythm.
Amadeo pulls back and parts his lips, heaving for air as he fights to keep up with the onslaught.
“Marius….” Amadeo whimpers, the sound breaking apart as Marius tracks hot kisses down the column of his throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just hard enough to draw a shuddering, breathless cry from Amadeo's lips. “I’ve missed you. Promise you’ll never abandon me again. I've been lost without you.”
“Never, beloved. Never will I abandon you."
Marius advances on Amadeo, forcing him back step by step until the edge of the mattress catches Amadeo behind the knees. He falls backward onto the sheets, and Marius instantly sinks to the floor, his hands pinning Amadeo’s thighs to the bed.
Amadeo lifts his head for a brief moment, a question rising from his throat, but Marius places a hand on his chest and pushes him back down.
“Hush, and stay still.” Marius orders, lowering his head between Amadeo’s legs. He kisses along Amadeo’s inner thighs, leaving bruising love bites in his wake. The tips of his fangs scratch and leave marks as he makes his way deeper into the boy’s body. Amadeo’s breath hitches and he squirms when Marius swirls his tongue around his hole, his nose nuzzling against the tender flesh. Marius takes his time licking and kissing Amadeo’s sensitive skin, titillating his testicles, and running a finger up and down his cock.
An merciless onslaught of sensations and stimulation.
“M…Marius…ah….”
Amadeo dissolves into a mess of gratifying moans as Marius licks him with warm, slow laps. He takes his time, letting Amadeo adjust until his hips begin to thrust and his thighs clamp tight around Marius’s head.
Amadeo’s moans pitch higher and higher as small beads of sweat gather across his skin. His hips roll faster, the buildup turning torturous as Marius begins pumping his cock. When Marius finally pulls back, a sated grin stretches across his face while Amadeo quakes, soaring on the edge of his orgasm.
“Say my name. Admit what I am to you, what I have always been.” Marius demands as precum drips in rivulets down his fist. “Say the name of your god, Amadeo. I want you to look at me and say it.”
Amadeo’s breaths are piling on top of one another, mouth parted as he pants hard, but eventually he finds a way to speak.
"Marius - Master - my Master Marius, you are my God - I am yours…." Amadeo cries out, his hands reaching out for Marius as he climaxes.
“Again.”
Amadeo answers the command through ragged, gulping breaths.
“I am yours.”
“Tell me what I am to you. Tell me what I have always been to you.”
Marius feels Amadeo tense, feels his chest holding in a single, shallow breath.
“My God, my Maker, my Master.”
A low, approving groan escapes Marius as his hand slides to the back of Amadeo’s neck. His fingers tangle tight into those flowing curls, forcing Amadeo’s head up into a desperate kiss. Amadeo whimpers into his mouth, seduced by every touch and every feeling that Marius pours into him.
Marius breaks the kiss first, his breath hot against Amadeo’s flushed and glistening skin, his fingertip dragging across Amadeo’s swollen lower lip.
Amadeo leans back on the mattress and draws his knees up, spreading himself as wide as possible for Marius, for what comes next. The silk robe Marius dons drops onto the floor, revealing a thick, enormous cock that looks carved from marble rather than a mortal man’s flesh.
“Oh - that’s - that’s…. you are….I’m gonna need lube….” Amadeo’s dark eyes blow open in a panic, his gaze locking onto Marius’cock in disbelief.
“This is what you will gratefully take, as you always have, Amadeo. You do not complain or protest. You are eager to please me and your pleasure is my priority. And hear this, Amadeo: I never want to hear the word ‘gonna’ slip through your lips again. It is distressing to hear your vocabulary deteriorate into common blather.”
“I am sorry! I am eager to please you, Master, I am!” Amadeo cries out, nodding enthusiastically. But Marius watches as Amadeo fights an internal battle not to squish his knees together or curl into a tiny, defensive ball. Amadeo is terrified and trying to hide it, and dangerous irritation seeps through Marius.
This is not how Amadeo is supposed to behave.
Marius forces his icy visage to melt into a charming smile. He steps between Amadeo’s thighs, his hands firmly on Amadeo’s waist to steady him.
Marius forgoes the extra lubricant. Amadeo can take it. Creamy red precum beads at the head of his cock as he lines himself up and smears the wet, heavy head of his shaft around Amadeo’s hole. He dips the crown of his cock in and out of Amadeo, groaning at the slippery lewd noises his fledgling makes around him. Marius holds Amadeo still while he pushes deeper, keenly alert to the way Amadeo grits his teeth in response to the burn of his hole stretching.
With a low groan, Marius presses forward, sinking into the heat of his beloved. Amadeo is painfully tight, gripping and clenching like his body is stuck between pulling Marius in and pushing him out. He’s never been a loose thing, and Marius leans his weight forward and sinks inside another inch, then another, stretching the tiny hole, the rim puffy and red.
Amadeo twitches as Marius drives deeper, straining as his body works to accommodate him. Marius feels Amadeo shudder as pain forces exquisite choking noises from the back of his throat.
“Look at you, Amadeo,” Marius breathes, fully seated inside of him at last. They’re both breathless. Amadeo feels so good, clamping down around him, hot and slick and tight. “See? I knew you would take all of it. My angel returns to me at last.” Marius lifts a hand, tracing the length of Amadeo’s neck until his fingertips catch the steady jump of a pulse beneath his skin. Amadeo is so deceptively fragile.
Marius’ nostrils flare at the rich copper scent filling his nose, and he spots blood between Amadeo’s legs.
“Are you enjoying our reunion, little one? This is far superior than being with that old dog Daniel, isn’t it?”
A small, trembling nod breaks from Amadeo as tears leak from the corners of his eyes. He tries to blink them away, but his chin wobbles, and the hot tears spill down his cheeks.
“Wh-why is your cum bloody? You - you rubbed it on me. Are you sick? You said it was okay with no condom but if - if I get sick, I can’t work. My family, they need money....please, please understand, Mister Romanus.”
No, no, no.
Something inside of Marius snaps. His meticulously crafted illusion is shattering in front of his eyes, and he is powerless to stop it. The years of searching, the colossal effort put into this reconciliation cannot end in a ruinous disaster, and yet, it is. Marius is suddenly overcome with heartsickness, the blood in his veins pumping with levels of terror and disappointment that he has not felt for centuries.
A vengeful storm brews within Marius.
His next thrust is brutal and hard and the boy gasps. The boy reaches forward, trying to push Marius away while the headboard hits the wall with a repeated thud thud thud timed with Marius’ grunting. The boy is shrieking beneath him and Marius tosses his head back and moans. He quickens his pace against the boy’s protests until his thrusts turn ruthless and inescapable, and his seed spills deep inside the boy. It’s a heavy load, and Marius pulls out with a sloppy, wet noise.
He watches as his seed trickles out of the boy. It has been ages since Marius partook in copulation, and he rather likes the look of his spend dripping all over his lover’s body. He decides carnal pleasures might be worth reviving permanently.
The youth whimpers and Marius stares down at him, his expression cold and unmoved. The next question is painful for Marius to ask.
“Remind me of your name, dear one. The name your parents gifted you at birth. Not the one your handler tells you to use.”
“Anish Lakkur.” Fresh tears track down the boy’s face, and Anish winces as he pulls his knees against his chest. His hand wipes between his thighs, and he stares in alarm at the cooling red liquid on his fingers.
“How old are you?”
The words scratch their way out of Anish’s throat.
“I turned sixteen last week.”
“Where were you born?”
“Karnataka.”
“Where is your family?”
A second of hesitation, and then Anish sighs.
“My sisters are in Karnataka.”
“How many clients have you had?”
“You’re the first real one. My handler told me you wanted someone -” he pauses, humiliation burning on his cheeks, “- someone inexperienced and disease free.”
Marius knows all of this. Of course he knows. He just wants to hear the boy say it.
“Unsullied blood, yes, that is correct. I don’t want to taste any maladies or sickness inside of you. I’ve tasted too many sick boys in the past, and I paid a pretty sum for you, Anish. More money than you could ever conceive of. My people searched to find someone to meet my high quality of standards. They searched hard to find you. Over the years there were many boys who came close to resembling my Amadeo in appearance and temperament, but you,” Marius leans in and breathes in wonderment, “you are a mirror image of him. And breathtaking in your own right. I have not been doomed by celestial beauty such as yours since I heard him calling to me from the brothels of Venice. I am deeply impressed and touched by your performance to become my Amadeo.”
Anish swallows down another sob.
“Okay? But I’m not really Amadeo, you know that right? This - this is a fantasy that you paid for. And unsullied blood? Tasting sick boys - what does that even mean?” Anish buries his face in his hands and groans. “Oh my god, oh my god, you’re one of the crazy ones. Like, really, really, bad crazy.” Anish starts to hyperventilate, voice pitching higher and cracking with hysteria. He is crying almost too hard to form a sentence, and his words come out in a jumble.
“My…my handler told me about the roleplay you required. Vampires. Weird, but whatever. I read the script and rules you wrote. It took me three days to finish. But my handler, he made me read it. He even quizzed me on it - he promised that you were a safe old guy. Did - did you drink something to make your cum red? Is that why you wear fangs? You aren’t seriously going to try and drink my blood, are you? I did not agree to bloodplay. I can’t get sick, mister, I can’t.” Anish cries out, his voice cracking with sheer outrage and despair. A fresh sob hitches in his throat, and he lets out a bitter, wet breath, sniffling and wiping at tears that just won’t seem to stop. He screws his eyes shut and wails as Marius strokes his cheek.
“Of course not, precious one. Do not be afraid, Anish. It pains me to see you cry like this. I promise you, I am of sound mind. You will never get sick. Not if you stay with me.”
And he will. He will stay with me.
Marius scoops up Anish and cradles the boy into the warmth of his chest. He tucks Anish’s head beneath his chin and holds him tight. Marius tries not to let the rage in his chest seep over into Anish, lest the boy worry it’s directed at him.
The only person deserving of his anger for putting him in this situation to begin with, is Armand. If Armand had proven to be a worthy fledgling, if he hadn’t been weak willed and subjugated into a cult; only to then fanatically lead a death coven for hundreds of years - Marius stops the onslaught of rage. He can't go there right now.
Marius whispers kind, placating words of comfort and carries a distraught Anish to the adjoining bathroom. Anish catches his breath as a dozen scattered candles and fireplace alight at once. He whips his head around and stares at Marius.
“How did you - ?”
Marius presses one finger to Anish’s lips.
“Shush, little one. I am going to take care of you.”
Marius revels in the awe-struck expression on Anish’s face. The boy wipes snot and tears from his sweaty face, and hiccups as he soaks it all in. Once upon a time Amadeo was also enchanted by their special baths together.
The candles illuminate murals depicting scenes of Venice on the ceiling and detailed tile mosaics cover the floor. Four huge Roman-style columns surround a grand bathtub elevated in the center of the room, large enough to hold multiple people. A lavish spread of food sits piled high on a tray next to the ornate tub, and the air is heavy with the aroma of myrrh and cloves. Vases with red roses rest on the vanity, their floral sweetness cutting through the headiness of the incense.
“Um,” Anish glances anxiously around as Marius lowers him into the steaming bath. “I’m going to be in so much trouble if I’m late meeting Max. He’ll kick my ass if I keep the next client waiting, he’ll take my pay. Like, all of it. Max is my -”
“Your handler, yes, I know him, Anish. I sent him the script and details of our meeting - you said so yourself. You are not thinking clearly and you are in no state to be making decisions right now, beloved.” Marius interjects sharply, settling behind Anish in the perfumed water. He wraps his muscled arms and legs around Anish, drawing him in close before the boy can shrink away to the other side of the tub.
“I told you I paid an exorbitant amount for you, Anish. My time with you is unlimited. You are, without a doubt, a worthy purchase.” Marius reaches for a silver cup and pours water over Anish’s head, then adds a dollop of shampoo into his hair.
Marius massages the soap into Anish’s scalp, the tension melting from Anish’s body ever so slightly. He rinses the shampoo and inhales the fresh scent of Anish’s hair. Much better.
“I talked at length with your handler. We came to the agreement that I am to be your only client.” Marius places his mouth on Anish's neck and kisses him. The boy stiffens. “I will teach you so many wondrous things. Languages, art, music. A boy like you deserves a proper education. To be molded into your full potential. I know you have a skill for painting, it is one of your many human attributes that endeared you to me. Your inflection is angelic Anish, it is lyrical, and seduces me with its beauty. I will coach you to weave a Venetian accent into the way you speak. My Amadeo spoke flawless Venetian-Italian, and Latin. A quick study, my cherub. Always wanting to impress me, seeking me out to perform his lessons for a morsel of praise.”
Marius’ mind drifts for a second, trapped in the memories of Amadeo vying for his attention at the palazzo. His Amadeo was such a competitive, tempting little thing.
To Marius’ surprise, Anish snorts. It sends a flurry of soap suds flying. A spark of brazen defiance returns to his demeanor and his voice shakes from stunned outrage more than fear.
“Venetian? How I speak is too Kannada for you? Too ethnic? Fuck you and fuck off.”
A dark rumble of suppressed laughter rolls through Marius’ chest. Amadeo was similarly hot headed at times.
“Now, now. Calm down, child. Do not put ugly, blasphemous words in my mouth, Anish. If you weren’t perfect, I never would have purchased you. Your natural cadence is lovely. My Amadeo was mute when I rescued him. When I managed to coax a few words out of him, he had a similar accent - a variation of it, but the difference is inconsequential now.” Marius’s brow narrows in concentration as he reminisces on how Amadeo used to sound. It makes his heart ache.
Marius eases two fingers inside of Anish, slowly circling to heal any lacerations or tears he may have unintentionally caused from their coupling. The boy feels tight inside, and Marius is pleased. In the bedroom, Anish was vice-like and snug around his cock, and Marius intends to keep him that way.
“Oh! Ugh, fuck, Marius -” Anish bucks at the intrusion.
Marius kisses the top of his head.
“Hush little one, no interruptions when I am speaking.” Marius knows where to apply pressure inside of Anish, and through the water he sees Anish’s toes curl. “As I was saying: I will teach you how to blend a Venetian accent into your speech. You will only speak to me with that accent.” Marius drawls on, enjoying hearing himself pontificate to a captive audience. “You will need a new name for a new beginning. I think I shall name you Jophiel. It means Beauty of God. Which you are, Anish - a divine, sacred beauty.”
Marius senses an exhausted weariness fall over Anish. He slumps and drags a hand down his face with a muffled groan.
“Divine sacred beauty? God, um, okay, listen Marius - slow down for a second. I mean, thanks for all that, but you old guys talk a lot. No offense. If you want to call me Jophiel in bed that’s fine. Or Amadeo. I’ll do the savior-master-bondage roleplay thing. I can give you the boyfriend experience too. Whatever gets you off. But my name is Anish. I won’t do the fuckass accent. You don’t actually own me. You are a client and you booked a session for my services. Let’s be clear on that. If there’s a problem, talk to my handler.”
Fuckass accent? For the first time in thousands of years, Marius isn’t sure how to respond in a way that does not lead to the boy’s total destruction. But alas, this insolence will not do.
Marius disapproves of gentle tempered Anish sounding so combative and disagreeable. Anish is bold and rebellious like Amadeo - but Amadeo at least had a healthy dose of fear in his heart when he disobeyed.
Anish is far too cynical and business-like for one so young. The undignified term boyfriend experience hits Marius’ pride, it is a casual mockery of the dynamic he is building with Anish. It dawns on Marius that whether it is Renaissance Venice or the twenty-first century, these young boys seem to insist on harboring feisty attitudes.
This kind of disrespect awakens Marius’ impulse to impose his absolute authority over Anish. A few swift lashes on his bottom would teach him the pleasure in compliance and obedience. Marius decides to save that lesson for another day. He can’t risk repeating the same mistakes he made with Amadeo and punishing him too early in their relationship.
“Your handler does not have your best interests in mind, Anish. Not like I do, dear child. For one so young, you have endured and sacrificed far too much. The death of your parents. Dropping out of school to support a brood of siblings. You were ambitious enough to find a way to the states - a modeling career was what you were promised, wasn’t it? Instead, you find yourself deceived and faced with a different kind of clientele and debts to be paid with the currency of flesh. Such a waste of a beautiful boy.” Marius’s touch is featherlight as his fingers trace the curve of Anish’s throat, hovering over a vein. “I am here to save you, Anish. You are far more than a warm sleeve for men to sheathe their cocks in. I am taking you out of that violent world and into one filled with magnificence and beauty and love - with everything good the world has to offer.”
Anish flinches and chews the inside of his cheek.
“How do you know so much about my life?” Anish whispers and shudders as Marius presses a quiet kiss behind his ear. Beneath his palm, Marius feels the erratic racing of Anish’s pulse as he draws him firmly against his chest in a tight embrace.
Using his thumb and forefinger, Marius gently tilts Anish’s jaw back to expose the length of his neck.
“What are you - no, stop it! Stop! You freak! Get off!” Anish squirms, gasping and crying when he realizes he can’t move, can’t speak, and it feels like a blade is slicing into his neck.
"Naanu saayuttiddeene, naanu saayuttiddeene! Nanna sahodariyaru, nanna sodaraleyandiru - nanage saayalu ishtavilla, nanage saayalu ishtavilla! Akaalamrutyuharanam sarvavyaadhavinaashanam, Deva paadaodakam teertham jathare dhaaraayaamyaham!"
Inside Anish’s mind, Marius hears the hysterical prayers and pleas for his life. There is a spiritual element to them, and he picks up on Anish’s gut wrenching cries for his sisters and family. Yet, even with the prayers drenched in sheer terror, Marius finds Anish’s native tongue soothing to listen to. It is imbued with deep feeling and poetic in a way that captures the essence of humanity that he craves.
For Marius, it is a revelation: he was too hasty to replace the name Anish with Jophiel, and he wouldn’t mind Anish whispering Kannada into his ears from time to time. Anish’s heritage is an unexpected gift; it is like being given the finest clay so that Marius’ hands may shape Anish as he once shaped Amadeo.
Marius catches himself - he is meandering down fantasy laden paths again. Marius returns to focusing on the crucial task at hand: Anish has started violently convulsing from fear that he is going to die, and Marius locks the boy’s body into complete stillness once more.
The first few seconds before the blood kiss are the worst for humans. They sense impending doom and death swooping down upon them and thrash out in one last, panicked bid for survival. Fragile things, humans. So easily frightened and broken.
Marius’s massive fangs extend to their full length and he drags the pointed tips along Anish’s jugular. He sinks into Anish’s neck, piercing and deep. Hot, thick blood gushes down his throat and he hooks his fangs in deeper.
This is the divine intimacy he yearns for, and he washes away the terrified horror that grips Anish. As his sweet blood flows down his throat, Marius sends waves of comfort and loving words into Anish’s mind. It lulls Anish into a dreamy, hypnotic state, and his head rolls back with a helpless moan against Marius’ shoulder.
Drinking from Anish is immensely healing for Marius. The last time he drank from human Amadeo, Marius tasted the rancid tang of sickness in his beloved’s blood. Not this time. Anish is pristine and untarnished.
Marius wants Anish. Not with the casual, fleeting interest of a lonely vampire looking for a distraction or fantastical escape, but with an all-consuming need. Every bit of wisdom gleaned from Marius’ thousands of years of existence screams that Anish is his second chance.
Anish is his true muse, an innocent human life that must be cherished and kept safe. A boy to be sculpted into a beacon of unearthly beauty and moral goodness, so that when the time comes, Marius will have the ideal devoted companion.
The tragedy of Amadeo was his failure to uphold Marius’s teachings. He succumbed to the coven’s zealous doctrine in spite of Marius’ monumental efforts to enlighten and educate Amadeo with logic, reason, and the morality of being a blood drinker. The depraved coven corrupted his Amadeo and twisted him until he emerged as the wretched creature Armand. A creature that has no doubt has grown in power since, but then again, Armand’s beauty is still as devastating as any vampiric gift or ability.
Marius occasionally wonders if his lessons would have taken root in Armand had he not been stricken with that foul disease. The illness left Marius with no recourse: he was forced to bestow the gift upon Amadeo before the affliction could claim his life, or worse, devour his beauty before the dark gift transformed him into a vampire.
Marius’ heart will forever be in a state of grief from the loss of his most beloved fledgling. But however damaged Amadeo is, Marius will always love him.
If he were to return, Marius would take Armand back into his arms in a heartbeat. They would weep together, seek solace in one another, and Marius would reshape Armand once more.
Marius slides his fangs out of Anish’s listless body and gently hoists him over his shoulder. Anish lets out a weak whimper as Marius steps out of the bathtub. He reminds himself that this little one cannot afford to lose as much blood as a human adult. Anish is a child - no, a teenager - a modern term that fascinates Marius, and he must drink thoughtfully.
Marius lays a shivering Anish out on his palatial bed and covers him with a plush blanket. He adjusts and fluffs the pillows so Anish has proper neck support, and retrieves the uneaten tray of food from the bathroom. He places it on the nightstand for his treasured mortal boy and pours a tall glass of water.
“Sip slowly, my love.”
Marius slices his wrist with a sharp finger tip and slips it between Anish’s lips, past his chattering teeth, coaxing the boy to drink. The bloody nectar is meant to rouse and replenish him, but even in his disoriented state, Anish grimaces and turns his head away, he gags and spits loudly as he tries to wipe the blood from his mouth.
“Gross…the fuck is this….” Anish chokes out weakly.
Anish’s reaction is appalling and not at all what Marius expects. It is a shock to his system, and Marius is not one who is easily rattled. Arun loved his blood, he lapped it up. Amadeo begged for it.
There is a fire burning brightly in this little human named Anish. Though Marius is scandalized by Anish’s refusal to cooperate, he does not force blood on the vulnerable boy. Nor does he punish. Anish will learn to crave the taste of Marius’ blood, and the blood kisses.
“Rest well, dear one.” Marius pets Anish’s head and puts the boy to sleep. He feels Anish struggling to stay awake, to keep his consciousness at the surface. He fights Marius with sheer willpower - which Marius finds pathetically adorable - until Marius submerges him into a dreamless slumber.
Marius sits on the edge of the bed and digs through Anish’s backpack, removing his phone and identification. There is a sketchbook inside and he quickly flips through the drawings, genuinely impressed by the skill of the artwork. He’s chosen well.
After Anish comes to and eats, Marius will let him return to his handler. Temporarily.
He isn’t worried about the handler, and he certainly is not worried about the so-called modeling agency that exploits Anish. These modern brothels do not sell their whores as readily as the ones in Venice did, but Marius is cunning and everything has a price. It won’t be difficult.
Anish will never truly be out of his sight because Marius will be with him the entire time. In his head, his thoughts, whispering words of affection to the boy throughout his day. An ever present, loving guardian.
Letting out a soft, contented sigh, Marius gazes down at his beloved Anish. A strange emotion trickles through him: happiness. Marius cannot wait to paint Anish and display portraits of his coveted muse in his art gallery.
___________
Thank you for reading!
Armand and Daniel are on their way.
Chapter 2 is 98% finished :)