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Hybristophilia

 

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Vigil Leroux let out a thin sigh.

 

“They will like you. No, you cannot jump out of the carriage. And yes, you have to come,” she said for probably the twentieth time in the last hour. Honestly, she’d heard of inferiority complexes before, but Quinn Johnson seemed to take the cake.

 

“Why are we going now, though? Why can’t we wait a couple more years?” Quinn urged, and since he was well aware of the fact that pleading to Vigil would get him nowhere, his eyes were all for his doting lover-slash-husband-slash-sire, Damian Helldirge.

 

Their baby talk was so sweet it killed. Their sex life was so healthy it was on overdrive. And the two were so madly in love with each other that Vigil sometimes just had to stare at them in amazement.

 

But now was not one of those times.

 

She gave Damian a Look. “Please tell me your horrid teaching hasn’t extended towards Quinn’s vampiric education on top of his sexual one,” she said, as pleasantly insulting as ever when it came to her companion. Plus it always helped to add in a jibe towards the happy couple’s sex life just for fun, not to mention it reminded Damian she still had yet to get her threesome.

 

Damian, as ever, rose to the occasion. “Well, I must say, you certainly gripe a lot for something you seem to enjoy.” He paused. “When you get it, at least.”

 

Per usual, Vigil gave him a thin, sardonic smile, mouth never opening. “And you still have yet to explain about the vampiric calendar to Quinn.”

 

“…there’s a different calendar?” Quinn asked, frowning.

 

“Yes. To simplify everything, you remove 323 years from the human calendar.” Damian explained.

 

“We celebrate the years of our kind, not humans,” Vigil added.

 

“See, Quinn, vampires are far younger than most humans seem to believe,” Damian said, slipping into his lecturing mode with his usual enthusiasm. It was a little-known fact that Damian Helldirge absolutely loved knowing more about something than you did. It probably came from his almost painfully ignorant background before he was turned.

 

“How young?” Quinn asked. As ever, he was quick on the uptake. “I thought there were legends dating back to…well, Egypt, at the least.”

 

“There are,” Damian nodded. “But those were just legends. It’s actually more of a surprise that we actually showed up than they foresaw it.” He paused. “Psychics are very, very real too.”

 

“But we’re not talking about that right now, though.” Vigil glared at the two opposite her.

 

“Right. Well, the first vampire turned someone the first time in the year 323 AA, so to vampires, that is the first year, period,” Damian stated. “Which, according to that-”

 

“It’s 1900,” Quinn said, smiling faintly.

 

Damian grinned at him. “I love your mind. Have I told you that recently?”

 

And there they went again. If the sugar rotted off her teeth, she’d be sure to make Damian foot the medical bill.

 

Dear gods she missed her boys.

 

Damian and Quinn’s “honeymoon” period, where neither had to confront anything other than Vigil’s bland sense of humor and an immense amount of sun exposure as they rode around the wild west, was over ten years now. Quinn should be a thirty-year-old father with the mayor’s obsessive daughter, but instead was a twenty-year-old-looking gay vampire frolicking about the center of North America with the love of his life. And Vigil.

 

The honeymoon was about to end, when their carriage finally arrived in New Orleans. Vigil would get to see her boys after almost fifty years, Damian could try and protect his darling from every other Jiardo-Line Vampire (since Quinn positively reeked love, and it was absolutely addictive to any vampire in the Jiardo line). Sure, there were only nine of them, but Sage alone had to count for fifty different pursuers.

 

The carriage rolled on, Quinn and Damian cuddled closer to each other, and Vigil tried to pay attention to the volume of Chaucer laid open in her hands and not the fact her boys were just a few miles away now and that she could practically FEEL them now.

 

“…Vigil, maybe you can read it better if you don’t try to strangle the binding,” Quinn suggested, and it was only then that she realized both covers of the book were snapped open to the extreme, pages almost flying out at the strings’ excessive stretching.

 

“Thank you, Quinn,” she sighed out, and shook her head, only to gasp. She’d forgotten to do up her hair this morning. She hadn’t forgotten to do that since some time in the 1700’s, in the years before even Damian.

 

“I was wondering when you’d notice that,” Damian added.

 

Vigil glared at him, and then, in a fit of desperation, pulled one of the strings out of her Chaucer’s binding. Quinn gaped, since he still wasn’t used to the fact they actually had enough money to afford a wasteful action like that. Vigil ignored them all, wrapping her long white hair around the top of her head as quickly and simply as she could, molding it into the simplest of knots she knew and tying it off with an expert hand. Sure, it was one of the older knots she knew, which probably meant it was from the 1500’s or so, but it was an act of desperation.

 

“That was very impressive, Vigil,” Quinn said, honest awe on his face.

 

“You should see what else she can do with her hands,” Damian said, stage-whispering to his husband.

 

Unlike the Quinn they’d known during the first few years of vampirism, this Quinn laughed, a carefree, amused laugh that couldn’t help but do wonderful things to Vigil’s stomach.

 

Dear gods did she miss her boys.

 

“…Vigil?” Quinn frowned at her, concern etched on his smooth, soft face. “Are you okay?”

 

“She’s alright,” Damian answered for her, barely restrained amusement shining through his voice. “Our dear Vigil is just a bit anxious to get back to the family.”

 

“Which is right there,” Vigil stated, a true smile sliding onto her lips. Finally, thank the gods, after all this time…

 

The carriage slowed, then stopped in front of the Jiardo Line’s home.

 

The Jiardo Line’s official home was probably not what Quinn expected. Which was almost exactly why they’d had it built. A small lot of well-kempt grass stood near the outskirts of New Orleans, surrounding an old, elegant three-story red brick house, a basement level invisible to the random passerby. Surrounding the lot was a brick-and-iron fence which was in no way ominous, more for privacy and propriety than any sort of security for the owners. The house itself was a strange affair of two turrets (almost dangerously unfashionable) and an L-shaped structure to it, two small houses- one presumably a carriage house, and another possibly a carefully constructed shed – sat next to the white sand road up to the door.

 

Vigil didn’t even wait. She simply opened up the door and strode out of the carriage, Damian’s amused mutter of “I HATE it when she does that” nipping at her heels as she strode up the pathway, holding her fashionably loose teal skirts up from the ground to avoid extreme wear to them. She was well aware that laundry was not her forte, and neither Damian or Quinn would be inclined to help her for doing this.

 

She could FEEL them inside the house, now, and knew they could probably feel her just as well.

 

“Vigil!” came a happy cry from a blissfully familiar voice, and she smiled again, hurrying up the rest of the path to meet an oncoming train wreck of long white hair, happy turquoise eyes, and a dazzling smile. They met in a tangle of limbs, Vigil wrapping her arms around the man as he laughed against the side of her head.

 

“Aidenai,” she sighed out happily, enjoying how he hugged her closer. “Been a good boy for your brother and the rest of your harem?”

 

“We could only pray,” a different but still familiarly silky-smooth voice slid out, and Vigil smiled at her other brother, Nixas, as he strode out the door with his usual cat-like grace and arrogance. “Welcome back, Vigil.”

 

She smiled, letting go of Aidenai to turn to the other pale-haired man. “Nixas,” she greeted, and hugged the waiting body next to her.

 

A soft chuckle rising from his chest, Nixas tilted her chin up and pressed their lips together, a lingering welcome that had Vigil sighing happily. Again.

 

“Now, Vigil,” Aidenai smiled at the two of them. “I think you deserve a proper welcome, don’t you?”

 

“I do indeed,” Vigil intoned, trying to ignore the fact she had smiled more in the past thirty seconds than the last thirty years, even with Damian’s ever-amusing company. Her brothers shared one of those ‘she has no idea’ looks that she hated, but finally each looped an arm around her waist and escorted her through the double doors they’d installed in the manor for this reason alone.

 

---

 

Quinn Johnson blinked.

 

“Uh…Vigil was…she was all…” he choked out, and Damian was laughing behind him, that velvety chuckle that he always got when he found something Quinn didn’t mean to do absolutely delicious.

 

“That would be the Leroux family,” Damian said, tone as plain as if he’d just explained that they stood on the path, and that it was completely infeasible that Quinn not understand but Damian loved him anyway.

 

Quinn’s sky blue eyes latched on to Damian. “Her FAMILY? Like…like SIBLINGS?”

 

“Well, I’d thought the family resemblance was enough to show that,” Damian frowned, clearly ignoring how Quinn’s throat was constricting. “Huh.” He paused, grabbing his suitcase. “I was under the impression that crazily long white-silver hair and painfully bright eyes would have shown that.”

 

“It’s not the knowing-they’re-family part I have problems with,” Quinn hissed out. “It’s…she’s sleeping with her BROTHERS?!”

 

Damian blinked. “Well, yeah.”

 

Quinn felt like he was going to hit the floor out of the sheer need to ground himself in something he knew was real. Damian was too good to be true, the house was too bizarrely normal looking, and Vigil was screwing her brothers. Both of them.

 

“Hey, Quinn, it’s okay,” Damian was saying…and it looked like he really had been about to hit the dirt there, apparently. “You okay now?”

 

“Yeah, but…” Quinn let out a sigh. Panicking about the situation would get him nowhere. “I’m just confused.”

 

“Well, how about we just avoid those three for a little while then, okay?” Damian smiled encouraging at him. “Besides, you still have yet to meet the others.”

 

He frowned. “Others?”

 

As if he’d summoned them out of the building, four young men came running out of the door, three in front as one waved his hands frantically and shrieked out “GET DOWN!!”

 

Quinn just had time to be boggled by the event before Damian literally tackled him to the ground. There was a small popping noise, followed by a painfully high-pitched whistling.

 

“Hooo, look at it go-!” someone shouted out, ecstatic.

 

“AELAR! GET THE FUCK DOWN!” someone else shouted, three pairs of feet moved, and there were two loud thuds nearby as the whistling suddenly shut up.

 

An explosion tore through the air, and Damian tightened his hold on Quinn almost painfully. In a second, it was gone, leaving four voices groaning (including Damian and Quinn), and two giggling hysterically.

 

“Sage, PLEASE,” yet another new voice groaned. “At least wait until you’re inside.”

 

“How can you expect me to wait when I have such dazzling intelligence trapped under me?” the fourth voice crooned out, followed by more snickering.

 

“…Damian, I think you can get off now,” Quinn wheezed out, wishing he could see more than the dirt beneath him.

 

“Oh.” With one smooth motion, Damian rolled off him and tugged Quinn up onto his feet. Still holding Quinn’s hand, Damian turned towards the four…interesting characters in front of them, two of which were still curled up together on the ground. “Quinn, meet the rest of the line. Guys, this is Quinn Julius Johnson. My…uh, my husband, I guess.”

 

Four sets of eyes stared at him.

 

Well. Fun.

 

The first one to recover grinned and stood up from the ground. Blue shoulder-length hair and purple eyes had Quinn wondering how real these people were, but the downright naughty grin on his lips was proof enough that he was real, since Quinn would never make up someone that perverted-looking.

 

“Welcome to the family-type thing,” he said smoothly, and held his hand out to shake Quinn’s own. “I’m Sage. Glad to see Damian FINALLY turned someone.”

 

Quinn smiled uneasily back at him. “Uh, thank you, I guess?” Manners, he reminded himself. “You all seem very, uh, interesting.”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” snickered the other guy on the ground. Sage helped him to his feet with a rather lingering pull, and the man turned to Quinn, smiling. “I’ve been researching some stuff in the basement, and it got a little out of control.” Red eyes, jet-black hair, and strange blue tattoos that wrapped around his skin…the man would have looked positively demonic if he wasn’t so friendly. “I’m Aelar. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Likewise,” Quinn smiled back politely, deciding right then and there Aelar seemed like a nice enough person…even though he didn’t seem to mind in the least when Sage practically draped himself around the other man’s shoulders.

 

“I’m Dante,” sighed out the third, a hand shuffling his curly blonde hair about his head. He looked like he was only eighteen or so, maybe younger, but wore a sword for no apparent reason. “Welcome to the Jiardo line.” A small glint winked from his pastel-green eyes. “Hope you adapt quickly.”

 

“And what is that supposed to mean, dear Dante?” Sage’s voice came out, slightly muffled by the skin on Aelar’s neck.

 

“That you’re all a bunch of horny freaks,” snorted out the fourth, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark jacket. Maroon eyes coolly appraised Quinn. “I’m Locke. I’ll apologize right now for turning these idiots.”

 

“He wounds us,” Aelar sighed dramatically.

 

“Yes, my heart is breaking,” Sage pouted…which looked absolutely ridiculous.

 

“…I’m going to go…do something,” Dante said, shook his head, and quickly headed back up the path and into the building.

 

“Nice to see you again,” Damian’s amused voice called to his back. From the way he was swinging Quinn’s hand like a jump rope, he was probably close to ecstatic.

 

“So, you really gonna marry him?” Locke asked, completely ignoring the ongoing grope fest of Sage and Aelar.

 

Quinn blinked. “Uh…”

 

“We haven’t really talked about that yet,” Damian shrugged, still grinning like he’d just been promoted to deity status. “But I’d sure like to.”

 

“You’re gonna need to go shopping then,” Aelar hummed out, and for the first time Quinn realized he and Sage had matching silver and gold rings. The world seemed to make a heck of a lot more sense now. He smiled at them. “Want me to come?”

 

“I was under the impression you were rather busy right now,” Damian said wryly.

 

Aelar laughed. “Oh, this old thing? Nah, I’ll just put it down for the night.”

 

“I am NOT old,” Sage muttered against Aelar’s throat.

 

“Like hell you aren’t,” Locke muttered.

 

Sage’s eyes met Locke’s. “You’re older.”

 

“Well I don’t look it, mid-twenties.”

 

“What are we going shopping for?” Quinn interjected.

 

“Well, if you’d really like to get married,” Damian said, almost shyly. “Then we’d need rings, a knife, and, uh, a dress.”

 

Quinn stared at him. “A dress.”

 

“Your dress,” Aelar added helpfully.

 

Oh, joy abounds.

 

“If it helps any, I’d be in one too,” Damian grinned.

 

Quinn’s hands instinctively twitched towards his guns.

 

“I don’t think it does,” Locke snickered.

 

“…why, exactly, would we be in dresses?” Quinn gritted out, trying not to kill Damian because really he did love the man, if he could just remember why.

 

“It’s a tradition going back to the First,” Sage explained. “For complete equality, both are submissive and humble…since back then they were all into the patriarchal society and oppression of women and everything.” Quinn blinked at him, and Sage grinned. “Yeah, the First was kind of weird. I think he was just a cross dresser and thought everyone else should be too.”

 

Locke promptly smacked him upside the head.

 

“I had to do it, and so did they,” Locke shrugged, his left hand pulling out just enough to show a silver ring with a tiny turquoise stone inlaid in the middle.

 

“Uh…who’s married to who?” Quinn frowned, trying not to be so confused and failing miserably. These people were absolutely bizarre.

 

“Aelar and Sage are married, and Locke and Aidenai are married,” Damian explained. “Aidenai’s Vigil’s youngest brother…the one with the really, really long white hair?”  Quinn tried to ignore the fact that Aidenai was most likely in the middle of an incestuous undead threesome.

 

“Descriptive.” Sage snickered.

 

“I try,” Damian grinned back, then turned back to Quinn, smiling shyly. “Anyway, I, uh, already have a dress since I knew I’d eventually find you but I was not stalking you or anything but that’s just sort of the thing you expect eventually to be blessed with you know and so I have one and would you like to marry me please?”

 

Quinn blinked, and then swallowed the enormous lump in his throat. “…yes?”