The Devine Image
Disclaimer: Legacy of
Kain belongs to Edios and
Warning: it has to be said . . . .
This fic contains YAOI (GuyXGuy),
blood play and a lemon, if this offends or upsets you do not read this, it’s that
simple. Please also note it contains Possible
If you choose to avoid any of these things the back
button is right there for your use and I hope you find what you are looking
for. By continuing and reading you are acknowledging the above information and
accepting it.
Pairing: Vorador/Kain. Yaoi elements but little emotion, maybe a hint of
Vorador/Janos
Rating: NC-17
Part: One of five maybe more.
Set: Pre Blood omen two, why oh why
can’t I get out of this time frame *cry’s pitifully*
Authoress note: A
completely stand alone fic, not related to any of my others. I wanted to try
something a little different but I think this is turning out very similar to
all my others . . . bother. But I just really wanted to write it.
The name RAINER comes from my forgotten god’s fic. But
this fic is STAND ALONE.
Dedications: As always
this is dedicated to my wonderful beta reader, Odeena skywalker who without, this would be unreadable for most.
Also to Eiko the werewolf for
sharing my insane moments and my bizarre mood swings and not freaking out and
for passing her driving test, I’m so proud.
For all my
reviewers, who without I would have surely given up a long time
ago.
Express WARNING: Long chapter and LEMON.
The Devine Image
Cruelty has a human heart
And Jealousy a human face
Terror the human form divine
And secrecy the human dress
The Devine image. William Blake. Songs of experience
Chapter Three
Egotist. A person of low taste, more interested in himself than in me.
Vorador – The divine Image
{Vorador}
The slums were aptly named.
He could actually start to smell
them when he entered the lower city, and now that he slipped across the slum
rooftops, the stench was almost overpowering. The slums, in his opinion, were
like
But despite their rank state,
the slums did have their uses. The Serefan hated the slums as much as the
vampires did, and only an odd guard was stationed down here. Glyph guards were
almost unheard of. That was why he’d chosen this place for Kain; this was the
safest place in the entire city. Looking around to make sure the coast was
clear, he made a great long leaping jump across three streets and landed on his
destination. Sliding across the tilled rooftop, he found the rooftop door,
hidden, made to look like part of the rest of the roof, and slipped inside.
Landing silently in the corridor,
he paused and listened. He could hear Umah talking and smiled widely, unable to
stop himself. He knew she spoke to him; many a time he had entered,
interrupting what appeared to be an important conversation. He also knew she
had read every book in the room aloud several times. The ones Vorador had named
as Kain’s favourites were now so dog-eared and over-read that Umah could
practically recite them anyway. He’d always found her doting behaviour rather
touching and wondered how she’d react if . . . when Kain woke up.
She’d been doing this job for
nearly two hundred years now, and Vorador worried about what her reaction would
be when it ended. He’d chosen her for this job because of the trust he had in
her, but also because of her maternal side. It was almost overpowering; he’d
watched as in one breath she’d been reading aloud from one of the ancient books,
and then in another had torn a thief apart because she had dared come too close
to the house. He’d known Kain would be safest with her, but now he worried for
her; Kain had been showing signs of waking for a little over a month now, and
when he did, Umah would have nothing left to protect . . . maybe he’d get her a
puppy.
He’d been so lost in his worrying thoughts he’d not
realised he’d been standing in the corridor for nearly five minutes, until Umah
dropped down in front of him, a dagger aimed at his throat.
“You dare to enter . . . FATHER!” The dagger was dropped
and arms wrapped around him; he smiled a little and returned the embrace,
lifting the rather petite woman from the floor and making her yelp.
“Good evening.” He dipped his head a little when he put
her down; she smiled widely at him, showing happiness to see him along with
fangs. “How are . . . things?” he asked.
“I thought he would wake earlier this evening.” Umah
looked at the floor for a moment, then back to her sire, “But he settled again.”
Worry pierced Vorador deeper
this time. Umah had sounded sad at the prospect of her charge waking. He sighed
and followed her downstairs, into a room set aside to receive guests. Not that
she got many though. He cursed himself as they sat and wondered why he hadn’t
done this sooner.
“You’re getting attached,” he said, straight to the point.
He’d never been tactful. Umah paused, shocked at the accusation, her mouth open
still from the words she was about to say. She closed her mouth and looked
thoughtful for a moment.
“It’s a bad thing?” she asked eventually.
“Yes, it’s a bad thing,” Vorador snapped, surprised at his
child’s stupidity.
“But . . .” Umah began.
“No buts, Umah. He’s not always going to be some helpless
little thing that you can take care of. When he wakes up he’s going to be
confused, angry, and probably knowing him as egotistical as always.”
“Egotistical?” Umah asked.
“Yes, egotist. A person of poor taste, more interested in
himself than in me,” Vorador snapped and ignored her giggle. “When he wakes
he’s not going to want you following him around like some love-struck puppy.”
Umah said nothing. She’d only ever argued with her sire
about things she was sure of before, and she knew she couldn’t be sure about
this. Vorador saw the confusion and sadness as she thought over what he had
said and how she’d been acting. He wanted to sigh again; he didn’t blame Umah
for this. It was half his fault; he had known her desperation for something to
mother and had used it against her. He could hardly get angry now that she had
only acted as he had expected. Her want for a child had been the reason she had
become a vampire.
When she had been human, Umah had always wanted a child. She
and her husband had owned a small plot of land north of Vasserbund and had enjoyed
a comfortable life; they were in no way rich, but they were not as poor as
some. They had been trying for a child for years and had been unable to
conceive. Umah had confessed to Vorador shortly after her creation that it had
been her fault; there was no way to be sure, but something inside her told her
it had been her fault. She had been infertile.
The knowledge had almost killed
her. Grief had almost overcome her, and when she had told her husband her suspicions
he had reacted very badly, claiming the reason for marriage was for children
and if she could not give him children, then… She’d woken three nights later in
a ditch, beaten half to death by the man she loved because she couldn’t bare
his children. That was how Vorador had found her.
“Umah,” he said quietly after a short silence. “When Kain
wakes, he will leave here. He will not need your . . . care and will not wish
for it.” He swallowed, knowing deep down this was a bad thing to promise given
the circumstances with the Serefan. “But when he does, I will teach you to
create your own children.”
“What?” Umah gasped, eyes wide and shocked.
“When this war is over, we will need to rebuild our race
and I cannot do it alone.” He paused, “You will make a good mother.”
The pure joy on Umah’s face let him know he’d done the
right thing.
* * *
He’d sent Umah out into the city
to hunt, to stretch her legs while he stayed here to guard. On nights when he
didn’t come down here he knew that she had to stay close to the house. He also
knew that the people in the slums were more polluted than in other areas. The
blood here tasted more like the green toxic pollution than of human life. He
watched, stifling his laughter as every half hour or so Umah dragged in another
body taken from the lower or upper city. The fifth time she had also dragged a
sack that smelt of stale bread. Noticing the look Vorador gave her, she turned
and huffed.
“He hates it as much as we do,” she snapped.
“He told you this?” Vorador asked, knowing full well Kain
did indeed mumble in his sleep, but he highly doubted he’d ever said anything
coherent.
“It’s obvious,” Umah huffed, disappearing back out into
the street again. He was right; she really would make a perfect mother.
After she’d been gone for over an hour he wandered
upstairs and into the room set aside for the sleeping Kain. He watched him
silently. The covers he was lying atop were slightly rumpled, apparently from
his earlier attempt at waking. Vorador shuddered, remembering the dream he kept
having. The strange place. The torn wings.
“Why
can’t I wake up?”
It made his stomach turn to
think of anyone being trapped like that. He swallowed loudly and tried to turn
his thoughts in a different direction. Kain still wore the clothing that he’d
done the night he’d fallen. That made him smile a little. Kain had absolutely
hated them. He hated the fact he felt like he was being put on display . .
.
“No!” was the snapped answer.
“Kain,” Vorador growled, clenching
his fists at his sides to stop himself from lashing out. He wasn’t in the mood
for another of these arguments.
“I said no!” Kain
yelled. “It’s bad enough that I’m here at your every beck and call, but I will
not be paraded about in front of mortals like some wild animal you’ve tamed!”
Vorador blinked; he hadn’t seen it like that. Kain had a point, but . . . they
needed to do this right, they had to appear stronger.
“We need to make a
show of force!” Vorador snapped, throwing the trousers and scant shoulder
armour down onto the bed. “This could turn into an official declaration of war,
Kain, in history has a general ever not been present!”
“A declaration?” Kain muttered.
“Yes, a declaration. The
Serefan are bringing half their army for this and we don’t even match that in
numbers. We are going to look weak and frail!” Vorador yelled, throwing his
hands up.
“And you think having me there will
make such a huge difference?” Kain snapped,
“What’s going to be a
better show of force than you? For crying out loud, you tore the Pillars down
single-handedly!” He stopped. He knew that had been the wrong thing to say.
Kain was silent for a
moment, glaring at the clothing Vorador had dropped on the bed. They’d already
had the argument about the uniforms, about how they exposed more than they
protected. Vorador had claimed they were there to be provocative. Kain had just
scoffed, claiming that just because vampires healed faster than humans didn’t
mean to map out and expose the best areas to aim for by dressing them up like in
a bad porn film.
“This already is war,
Vorador,” Kain growled, walking forwards, forcing Vorador to back up out of the
room. “A bit of paper won’t make any difference.” Then, the door slammed.
Later Vorador sat in
the biggest hall in the mansion, with the Serefan on one side, and the vampires
on the other. The armies lined the balconies, while the entire floor was left
open for the leaders and their chosen few. Vorador was tense, perched in a
large chair on one side of a small table with Faustus, Marcus, Sebastian and
Magnus spread out behind him. The Serefan lord was in an equally large chair on
the other side; he had fifteen lieutenants behind him. So far the debate had
been very one-sided. The Serefan were winning, but at the moment this didn’t
seem to be a declaration of anything. The Serefan were forcing surrender before
the war had even begun.
Vorador had been
staring at the Serefan Lord now for nearly an hour. He had to wonder what on Earth
this creature was; it claimed to be human, but there was something really not
right. The tiny amount of exposed skin under the golden armour was crusty brown.
It looked dry and brittle, the creature’s eyes glowed green and its hands had
vampiric talons. It stank of glyph energy, and Vorador wondered if it had been
human once and had just changed due to the constant exposure. There was no
other theory he could think of that would work.
“We cannot agree to
these terms,” Vorador said when the Serefan lord handed over a contract,
although he had to wonder on how they would stop him from enforcing them. Half
his army outnumbered the entire vampiric one. He opened his mouth to continue,
but it was then that Vorador noticed the Serefan lord had gone very, very
still.
The main doors had
been left open, too large to keep opening and closing at a whim. The Serefan
lord was facing them, and for a moment Vorador didn’t know what on Earth it was
that he was looking at to have caused such a reaction. Then he realized.
Kain had finally decided to help.
His power flowed into
the room, slightly more under control than when he had first arrived. The
lessons from Vorador were having some small effect, it seemed. He smiled,
feeling the fledgling approach from behind, sensing how uncomfortable he was,
no doubt as the result of the clothing. But it was having the desired effect.
Vorador felt Kain stop behind him
and lean forwards.
“I hate you so very
much,” he whispered, but the slight smile let Vorador knew he was enjoying the
reaction he seemed to be getting. The stillness was very tense and Vorador had
to wonder whether the . . . thing that was the Serefan lord could actually
sense what Kain was.
The rest of the
meeting had gone quickly, Kain’s mere presence having more of an effect than
Vorador had expected. The Serefan Lord had seemed unable to focus on anything, his
green glowing eyes constantly slipping up from Vorador to the fledgling
standing beside him. But he hadn’t counted on the reaction from Kain. He’d
expected the Serefan Lord to be uncomfortable, but he hadn’t expected the barely
controlled rage that emanated from Kain, directed solely at the creature.
It reminded him of the rage between
Janos and the Hylden.
“I found something out,” Umah said, sitting next to him, making
him jump. “Sorry,” she smiled.
“No . . . I was . . . thinking,” Vorador muttered, feeling
embarrassed to be caught staring and lost in thought.
“You looked sad,” Umah said
slowly, as if treading on glass. She knew Vorador’s relationship with Kain was
a strange subject and how you approached it affected the answer you got. Once
she’d just asked and had been shouted at; at another time he’d broken down in
front of her and at another he’d just shut off completely. She’d asked
questions about his Sire before and Vorador’s reaction had always been the same
- complete and utter depression. But Kain sseemed to get a variety of emotional
responses. It was . . . difficult to understand.
“I was just remembering something,” he muttered. “You said
you found something?”
“Yes,” she nodded, knowing a
change in subject when she saw one and gladly accepting it. “The Serefan have
found something big.”
“Yes, I know. I had scouts sent out,” he answered,
frowning as Kain made a noise and rolled over.
“They’re hunting the Seer.” Umah nodded, “I heard they had
her in a holding in the upper city.”
* * *
{The following night}
It was a disaster.
He’d sent out three fledglings
and only one had made it back alive with news that indeed the Seer was captive.
He had known the Seer from when he had been a fledgling himself, and she had
already been old then. It was she who had told his people of the prophecy, or
at least part of it. In total, seven of the ancient Seers had dreamt of different
parts of the prophecy, and it had taken them three years to piece it together. She
had handed them the missing piece. The key.
There had been some confusion;
they knew the Hylden would try to break free, that they would find it easier
because the Pillars had fallen to humans and they knew that one would rise to
stop them. But some of them said that they saw a demonic creature saving them, while
others saw a whole creature that appeared vampiric. It was the Seer who had
told them that there were two champions; she told them of the destined fight
and of the Reaver, the blade, the key and the prison.
She had said who would be victorious.
It was then that shrines were built and the murals were
painted.
He had always liked her. She had
been shunned by the ancients and made outcast, due to her ‘unique’ heritage,
but they knew truth when they heard it and believed her. Once she had told them
that she had been outcast once more. Vorador used to speak with her on occasion
when he was the only made vampire in
existence. The fact that they were both the only ones of there kind gave them a
strange link. He could not let her die by Serefan hands. He would rescue her.
He took a few steps backwards and collapsed into his chair.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, trying in vain to rest. In vain
because the moment he closed his eyes he heard high-healed boots marching
angrily towards him. Lillith, the only fledgling to have survived the scouting
mission. Opening his eyes he winced. She was badly hurt; bruises and cuts
littered her body, and she had obviously had to fight in order to return.
“Why do you keep asking this of us!?” she snapped, the moment
she was a polite distance away. “You ask us again and again to risk our
freedom, to risk our lives to bring this army down, and when we die you simply
shrug!” She paused for unneeded breath. “How dare you?”
“I ask nothing of you, Lillith,” Vorador began, perfectly
calm despite the hiss from his left. Opening an eye, he spotted Cyan at his
side. Strangely, he hadn’t heard her arrive. “You are here by your own will and
you are free to leave at any time.”
“Liar! Why do you keep making us fight?” Lillith
whispered, but her anger was by no means gone; there was venom on every
syllable. “Why! When there is no hope of winning?”
Was there any hope of winning, why didn’t he just take his
people out of here, back to the forest, back to the mansion, back home? Why did
they still have to fight this war?
“If you don’t fight they will just get stronger. They will
increase in number and they will come for us no matter where we run.” He sighed,
as if weary. “We have to fight. We must stop them.”
“But we
have no chance!” Lillith snapped. “Why fight when we have no hope?”
“There is always hope, Lillith, my small one.” Vorador
smiled, remembering Kain had said that the morning he woke to find his
lieutenants had deserted him, his champion among them. Vorador had bid them
return to the mansion, regroup and re-think. This ambush was going to destroy
them; if they ran now some would die, but most would escape.
But Kain
had scoffed at his advice and had stood his ground. And then, the inevitable
had happened.
However, now there was hope. Wasn’t there? If Kain woke,
then he would be able to slip through the city, silent and unexpected, able to
kill those who would bring the vampires harm. If Kain could single-handedly
bring down the pillars, surely he could do this too.
“I can see what you are thinking,”
Lillith snapped. She sighed. Her anger was fading; she walked to his side,
opposite of Cyan, and leaned on him. “You place your faith in a false hope, my
Sire. He will never wake and we will all soon join him in rest.”
A part of him told him that she
was right; the chances of Kain waking and riding to the rescue like some white
knight were slim to none, but they had nothing else. He bit his lip. They could
still make a difference on their own. He would not let the Seer die.
* * *
{Slums}
He sighed, watching the two
sleep. Lifting a blanket from atop one of the cupboards, he wrapped it over
Umah and sighed. Then, he set himself in the armchair set aside for his visits
and tried to think. Talk like that of Lillith’s this evening was enough to
cause desertion. In the old times when they had numbered many, he would have
punished one of his children for talk like that, and if they did it again they
would have been killed. But . . . he couldn’t kill Lillith. Not when their
numbers were dwindling so low already. He couldn’t even really bring himself to
punish her; she’d already been through so much, and besides that she did have a
point. He sighed louder, burying his face in his hands.
What could he do?
“Why don’t you hurry and wake up?” he snapped, glaring at
Kain’s back.
He’d often gotten angry with the
fledgling. Even when his anger had been caused by something else, Kain had
usually born the brunt of it. But then it had worked the other way around as
well. When Kain had first entered the mansion, he’d made it clear that he was
there against his own will and the two had clashed about many things. It had
started to look bad. His own fledglings saw this stranger challenging their
sire and their sire doing nothing about it. It was similar to what was
happening now with Lillith; by disagreeing with him, she was fundamentally
questioning and challenging his authority, his ability to rule.
Kain had done that one too many times and Vorador had been
pushed to take action.
He felt bad; guilt and anger ate
him alive from inside out.
Another fledgling had died.
Several had been
captured by a local village and were due to be put to death. He shuddered and
tried to hide it, in case any passing fledgling were to notice. Being put to
death by humans always meant burning by water or fire. The humans wouldn’t care
which.
Vorador had demanded
a rescue and had also asked that Kain lead it. He hated to admit it, but
despite the reckless actions and the increasingly bitter remarks Kain always
managed to succeed. Of course, Kain had argued against the rescue, saying Vorador
could always make more. Why risk five lives to save three when you could just
make more? He was right, Vorador knew this, but still those fledglings were his.
He cared for them; each had a personality, a soul. He had memories of them
clinging to him like infants, looking to him for protection and answers. He
couldn’t just let them die.
So Kain had gone, taking
with him a few others, and they had returned after several nail
biting hours. One fledgling had been killed; another had almost died and remained
close to death even then. Vorador had erupted. He’d sent the rescue group away
to care for the wounded and had turned on Kain. The young vampire had said
nothing and this had only angered Vorador more. He had lashed out. He felt
guilty now; Kain had already been hurt, his normally white hair covered in what
seemed to be ash and soot. Several burns littered his front and back along with
a few deep sword wounds. Obviously he’d taken a risk to save a fledgling he’d
never even met before and he had suffered because of it.
The guilt ate Vorador
alive and so he was currently on his way down one of the smaller hallways to
Kain’s room to see if he was alright. Apologising was unlikely as his pride
cried out against it but simply checking to see if he was ok would be . . .
acceptable. The guilt was currently rather violently competing with anger, guilt
for reacting the way he did and anger at the fledgling for allowing this to
happen. He’d obviously been careless, taken some stupid risk. He gritted his
teeth hard and tried to pull the anger above the guilt. Anger was always better
than guilt, and Kain had the amazing way of making him feel like he was the
fledgling rather than the other way around. He showed no respect and often went
against his orders.
It was undermining his authority,
making him appear weak.
He’d had fledglings
before who were like this and had always physically shown them who was boss. He’d
proven himself ‘dominant’ to them in a number of ways, and always they had
fallen before him, usually bleeding and raw, their spirit broken. Yet he hadn’t
done anything to Kain yet. Something small inside of him did not particularly
want to hurt the pale fledgling. It felt wrong, like he owed Kain something and
hurting him would have been like hurting . . .Janos.
It was a dilemma; one he wasn’t
sure how to remedy.
He stopped outside
the fledgling’s door and sighed. Swallowing a little pride, he opened the door
and stopped, his unneeded breath caught in his chest. The curtains were open,
bright moonlight pouring into the room like water, setting the room in a
strange blue-ish purple light. Kain had obviously been tending to some of the
more stubborn wounds he had received and had stripped to do so. He stood there
naked, moonlight glinting off of his ethereally pale skin, eyes watching
Vorador, slightly confused at why the elder had stopped. He was beautiful.
“Vora . . .” Kain
started frowning, but was stopped when the elder moved frighteningly fast. One
moment he was beside the door, looking in like he had never seen anything quite
like it before; then, he was at his throat, fangs traced momentarily across
sensitive flesh before finding their mark and sinking in deep, the sudden
bloodlust overpowering.
Vorador’s mind
resurfaced languidly a moment later; he blinked and purred lowly when he
realised where he was and what he was doing. One hand and arm was wrapped
around pail shoulders, holding Kain tightly to him, despite the fact that he
was surprisingly not struggling, most likely due to the shock. The other hand
however had automatically dropped and was caressing the fledgling’s member,
which was rapidly growing hard under the attention. A dark idea grew in Vorador’s
mind as he supped lazily from the fledglings veins. He knew how to prove he was
in charge. He was . . . dominant. Lust spiralled through him at the thought,
and he stopped, stroking Kain to undo his own trousers.
Removing his fangs,
he backed them against a wall, a little surprised at the lack of resistance he
encountered. He took one of Kain’s legs, pulled it up, and brutally thrust into
him. He grinned in triumphant pleasure at the surprised pained cry that escaped
Kain’s throat and began to roughly move, delighting in the pained gasps and
whispered curses which all too quickly stopped when the fledgling sank fangs
into his own lip to silence himself. It was pleasing seeing Kain’s golden eyes
glassy with both pain and a little pleasure, yet he also found it a little
disturbing to watch as Kain’s features softened slightly, submissively. There
was something undeniably . . . wrong about it.
He felt Kain’s hips
trust against his own, pulling him in deeper, a reflex that the fledgling was
powerless to control, and he groaned, pushing down the guilt he suddenly felt,
rather shocked that he felt it at all. He was angry that he felt guilt at doing
this; he’d used sex many times to tame a semi-wild fledgling and never before
had he felt guilt at doing so, only the physical pleasure and the content
reassurance that the fledgling would not fight him again.
Why now, when he
looked into half-pained golden eyes, did it feel so wrong? Pausing, he growled
and pulled out, ignoring the sharp whine this caused, forcing the fledgling to
the side and onto the bed. Kain landed on his back; he made to get up but was
prevented when Vorador placed a hand on his shoulder. He applied pressure,
enough to make the bones in Kain’s shoulder grind painfully. He squeezed just
shy of breaking before letting go and lifting the fledgling’s legs. Vorador
placed them on his own shoulders and shoved himself harder into him, forcing a
purr at the sharp cry.
Kain’s eyes were
squeezed shut, mouth partly open, gasping for unneeded breath as Vorador sped
up. The two tiny wounds in Kain’s throat still bled, thin trails of blood running
down onto the sheet. Vorador leaned forwards and used his weight to push Kain’s
legs back over his body, almost bending the fledgling in two, feeling his bones
creak in protest, so that he could lap at the thin trails of blood.
“You’re mine,” he whispered against
the fledgling’s ear. “Mine,” emphasising the last word with a particularly
harsh trust.
A nearly silent whine
of pain caused him to stop suddenly. He knelt back up and looked down. Kain’s
chest was heaving and his eyes opened slowly; they were surprisingly blank, with
no anger and no fear. There was just pain slipping past the blank mask. Vorador
swallowed loudly, trying in vain to push the guilt down; he twitched when he
felt blood not his own run down his thigh. Vorador hissed as Kain shifted a
little underneath him, sending shivers of pure pleasure up his spine. The smell
of blood and the small movements, made him want desperately to just ram himself
deep inside the fledgling again and again until they both bled and he was sated
but . . . he didn’t . . . want to hurt him.
He’d done this many
times before, taken those who were not willing to show them who was more
powerful, who they owed their allegiance to. It was an animalistic way of
proving dominance, but it was one that worked and that he often enjoyed. It was
alien to him to feel this kind of guilt. It wasn’t even really guilt, it was
more like something deep inside of him telling him this was very wrong, this
creature should not be hurt by vampiric hand. He hissed quietly to himself,
then louder at Kain who was staring up at him, confused and pained. It was like
having Janos inside his head. A deep shame overcame him suddenly, but then Kain
moved again, sending pure pleasure through him, and he whined at his
indecision.
Caught between the
need to fuck him brutally and the want not to hurt him but to share his
pleasure, Vorador sighed, thinking. He came to a decision quickly and moved
Kain so his legs were circling his waist. He gripped the fledgling’s hips and
slowly thrust once. A sharp intake of breath was his only response. The look of
pain faded slightly in golden eyes and he thrust again, seeing a little
pleasure return to them. He moved again and again, slowly, gently but the
sensation of shame didn’t stop. With a deep sigh he stopped and moved to draw
away, but Kain’s legs tightened around his waist.
“Bastard,” Kain hissed “don’t stop
it like that!”
“What?” Vorador
couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. He hadn’t expected Kain to speak,
and if he had the only word he’d expected to hear was ‘Stop’. The request
stunned him so much that he paused for a moment before moving to fulfil it.
“Harder!” Kain growled
as he thrust again, slightly harder this time. “Do. It. Harder,” He growled
slowly, anger in his voice despite its trembling. Vorador obeyed, still floored
by the words, and was rewarded with a small cry and the feel of the legs around
his waist tightening their grip further.
He began to build up a rhythm, not completely gentle, but not rough either. His
hips pumped sharply, building up speed. It had to hurt Kain despite the fact
that the blood he had spilled tearing him open was now stopping the chaffing,
but the whimpers and soft cries coming from him didn’t sound unhappy. Vorador
felt a little better about how he’d started this and changed his angle
slightly, once, twice, a third time and . . .
Kain’s entire body
tensed, claws dug deep into the sheets tearing through them into the mattress,
a flush of colour spread over him, more remarkable due to his natural paleness
and his mouth opened in a silent yell. Pleased with the reaction, Vorador continued.
Kain hadn’t said anything after Vorador had finished and
was still silent when he had gotten up, refastened his clothing and left. The
next day they had spoken like nothing had happened. Slowly, over time, it
happened more and more, until it became habit and routine. Every time it
happened little was said during and nothing after; it was cold and emotionless,
yet it was needed, and now that he didn’t have it he yearned for it. Just
looking at him now made him ache.
But it wasn’t just the sex he missed. He found himself
pondering over this many a time and he found that he was missing little things,
the really stupid little things, such as the sarcastic remarks he threw about
casually, the way he would look to him sometimes when he wasn’t angry - there
was a strange softness tinged with sadness and insanity, but also some kind of
affection. Vorador had often wondered about that. He knew that there was no
love between them; there was some kind of mild affection, but it was not love. His
relationship with the pale-skinned vampire had always confused him, cut him in
half. Part of him saw Kain as one of his own and wanted to protect the
fledgling against anything that might hurt him, but the other part saw Kain as
a bigger threat than the Serefan.
It was all
very confusing.
He knew he would be sad if Kain did not wake up, but it
would not destroy his world, and the sadness felt more like the sadness a
father would feel for a son or a boy for a favourite pet. It was not the
sadness between soul mates or lovers.
End of Chapter Three
Authoress
note: long chapter this time . . . phew.
Please
review.