Work Text:
He lands down at Trinity Gate and finds the house far too silent, even if this visit has been unplanned, and he arrives unannounced. Where are Armand and Daniel? Silently, Marius begins searching through the rooms for the lovely pair.
And finally, he finds them in Daniel's room, sleeping in each other's arms, tightly holding one another. Marius smiles. He cannot help but feel the jealousy that burns within him, knowing he has lost not just Daniel but Armand as well when he made the choice to move to France. However, seeing them now, so happy and peaceful with one another, he finds it a great comfort that they are together. Especially now that Benji and Sybelle are growing into their own vampires and having their own social events with the growing tribe, it is perhaps for the best that Armand has Daniel again.
He sits at the edge of the bed, looking at both. It's a sight that brings him calm.
At some point, Armand softly moans and wakes, although he still seems very sleepy. "Master…"
"I am here, my love. I came to stay a few nights if you'll have me…"
Armand smiles as he hums, merely cosying up to Daniel. "To have you both in my home, master… It's the dream of all dreams…"
Marius comes near and gently pulls the covers up so both boys might be warm. It aches his fatherly heart more than he can account for.
Yet as Armand turns to drape himself over Daniel, he slides his chubby legs on the soft sheets, and from his dainty feet, a sock escapes and falls onto the floor beside the bed. Marius bows down to collect it, not thinking it wise to put it back in place when his child is already fast asleep on top of his own child.
Marius smiles, rolling the dark-teal crew sock in his hand.
And when it is clear both boys won't move for a few hours, he leaves them to their dreams.
It is only when Marius settles into the crypt Armand built for him in Trinity Gate that he notices he's still got the little sock in his hand. He stares at it.
It is warm — deliriously so, in spite of having been wrapped around Marius' hand. It is as if Armand's seductive heat has been sewn into the fabric. Its softness is second only to his fledgling's bare, smooth skin. It could not possibly smell like Armand did once — when he was a living boy, but Marius still finds that nostalgic smell through some form of synesthesia, as if in the starched powder of fabric softener was the adolescent musk his son had in their golden time.
Marius unwraps the sock and looks at it. He rubs a thumb in the part where Armand's ankle might have been and hums, satisfied.
Holding it by the hem and tip, Marius rubs it across his cheek, then lips. He rubs it on his face, then neck, and sighs.
A burning desire threatens to wreck him and he knows exactly what it is, so Marius holds the beast by its horns. This type of want should definitely be beneath a vampire like him, and if not, it would be highly uncouth of a man like himself to be lusting for such an innocent piece of fabric which belonged to his son.
His warm, delicious son… His finally-accepting-Marius-love-again son… His soft-skinned son… His seductive son…
Armand looked so innocent tonight, holding his fledgling… Two little birds nestled together… And bundled up in fabric, too… Healthy boys... And his beloved child, completely safe and peaceful, let Marius tuck him in bed. Nothing beats a relaxed boy on an inviting bed.
An irrational thought crosses his mind, and Marius dismisses it quickly, but it persists. In truth, he's never done something like this. Logic quickly reasons with him: how is he meant to demonise something he doesn't know? He cannot make an analytic decision if he's not familiar with the intricacies of what lust will feel like to him in this new era where his relationship with Armand is being slowly rebuilt.
For reason and logical decision-making, Marius decides to see where this lust takes him. He even concludes this is the brave and noble thing to do — facing his desires in such an analytical way. Yes, worthy of praise and a sensible choice.
He lifts his heavy wool tunic and grabs his phallus as if trying to make sense of why… He even wanted to do this.
Well, it makes sense. Some phantom memory in my body surely remembers that this is what I would have done when desiring a lover I could not have…
He begins sliding his hand up and down the length. It's dry, so he spits on it to make it slippery and smooth, then does it again to make it wet and good.
Remembering he still has the little sock in his hand, he smells it again, and once more, a burst of nostalgia weds synesthesia to make him smell Armand's earthy, salty sweat — the elixir of youth and life. Marius moans almost obscenely. Looking at his cock, he knows what he wants to do and only resists it one second. He holds the sock against his Osirian phallus, the dark teal contrasting with the whiteness of his vampiric skin. His hand closes around both the sock and his cock, and he shivers, almost melting.
This is madness.
This is ridiculous.
And it's good.
Gods in heaven it. Is. Good.
It feels like his whole body is now wrapped by Armand's sock. He begins rubbing up and down with the sock in place, burning from the texture of the fluffy cotton and wool against his skin. He feels every soft, downy thread, and it draws from him moan after moan. Even now, the sock is warm — Warmed by Armand's dainty feet and seductive ankle...
Marius no longer wants to look at the raw, horrid sight of his cock, dead as it has been for two-thousand years. But it does feel nice to touch his own body, be aware of it, and the sensation of Armand's little sock on his body is maddening. So he does what any sane man would do in his place, of course.
He slips his cock inside the sock, so he may look at the swirls of the fabric instead of the veins he's known all his life.
His eyes flutter closed, and he leans back into soft cushions.
It's heaven. The heaven which tortured Andrei so badly lies inside his warm, used socks.
Thoughts begin to muddle up in irrational, almost pointless visions of Armand's feet. The lovely toes, the delicate arch, the strong heel leading to chubby ankles meant for grabbing. Marius kisses them in this vision, salivating. He licks the veins on Armand's feet, moans obscenely with his mouth open and a dangling, thirsty tongue as he traces the dorsal venous arch, one of the body's greatest vessels, a little favourite of perfusionists all over the world. And inside Armand's veins… Blood. His blood pumping madly.
Marius curses in Latin, thinking the only thing which could make Armand's little sock more maddening would be blood.
He lifts it from his cock, and touches a claw to his slit. He hums, thinking. Swapping for his pinkie, he presses it against the slit as much as he can, pressing his sharp claw deep. He scratches his cock's inside, and blood droplets begin trickling. Marius covers his cock with the sock again. When he pumps his cock once more, he can feel more than see or smell the blood which smears the sock. The dark teal becomes blackened red with his blood. He looks at the splotch it's created as if hypnotised.
The blood which made Armand… The blood he gives Armand…
Marius continues pumping, dirtying the sock more and more with blood.
Filling Armand with blood… Replacing his delicious smell with Marius' scent… Making the boy wholly his… Belonging to him again, belonging to Marius de Romanus.
Slowly, the Roman opens his mouth, tracing his own fangs with his tongue as if he were preparing them for going inside Armand's body, lubricating them with his saliva to make them slip inside more easily. The cut on his cock heals, and Marius promptly makes another.
He imagines Armand sitting on his lap, his dainty feet — one socked, one bare, tucked in his thighs while the boy straddles his hip. Boyish moans at the shell of his ears, and his son squirms, begging for his fangs.
Begging for it… I need them, master! Give me a bite, lord, please… Of course, my child… If you desire them, then you shall have them, my son… Yes, give them to me, my father, my master...
He feels tears at the corners of his eyes.
Marius tightly bites his tongue, and at the same time, he forcefully squeezes one last droplet of blood from his cock.
The blood he swallows, which is his, feels transubstantiated to become Armand's… He moans and shivers, his legs wobbly…
"Master."
The only thing which stops Marius from having a heart attack is the fact his heart has been dead for a long time. "Yes?! Yes… Yes, cherub?"
Armand, at the other side of the very heavy door, is quiet for a brief moment. "Sire, is everything alright? I smell… blood."
Marius looks at his own life choices — notably, at the sock he just bled on, at his cock, which is out and about and finely dressed in the bloody sock. "Hm…" He removes it and hides it all behind his back because nobody has yet said there is an X-ray Vision Gift, which means it's also not impossible that Armand secretly has it. "Yes, it's all fine; I somehow managed to cut myself with my…" he looks around the crypt. "Lamp. The lightbulb went out, and I didn't mind my strength."
"Would you like me to bring you a new bulb? Were you reading?"
"No, my darling, the sun will be up soon. Are you two in for the night?"
"Yes… I just put Daniel to bed."
"Good."
Armand is silent again, and Marius thinks he's done with this conversation when his little voice comes. "Would you like to join us in our crypt?"
Always and any time, except when he has a bloody sock he just stuffed with his cock and "masturbated" with it for the first time in two thousand years. "Tomorrow surely, cherub. I was reading a book, and I was wholly absorbed in it… I need to… Reflect on very important subjects, and I will be a terrible company otherwise, distant and distracted."
"Hm. Alright then. Good night, master."
"Good night, my little one."
As he hears Armand shut himself in his own crypt, Marius lets out a long breath. Did the boy hear his moans? Was he being loud? Marius swallows, looking again at the little sock, and shame consumes him. What was he thinking, and why did he do it? He should be above such a shameful display. The black splotch is there, staring back at Marius as if judging him for his questionable life choices. Marius merely rolls it into a tiny bundle and puts it in his cape's inner pocket.
He'll make sure to wash it and return it to Armand's wardrobe. Then he will just have to pretend tonight's little blunder didn't happen.
Masturbating into the tiny sock is too addictive, and, once again in France, Marius starts doing it nightly.
He seems to have a moment with the dark-teal sock whenever he is left to his own devices at Court. It gets to a point where he wakes up every sunset, takes hold of it, cuts the inside of his slit and then quickly covers his cock to pump the blood out into the fabric while imagining doing unholy acts with his child.
The cut heals too fast, so Marius stops feeding to try and make the little visions last longer.
Armand with his sky-blue velvet tights in Venice, Marius gripping his ankles and checking that their soles are getting smudgy and dirty, which prompts a scolding and a chance to playfully slap his boyish ankles. Armand, wearing no-show red socks and red chucks that leave his ankles out and exposed, asking Marius to tie his shoelaces. Armand in pantyhose, the pretty veins all visible through the sheen black fabric — begging Marius to get up close and find each little line of bluish vessels with his tongue. Armand, this time in high heels too big for his feet, as if he had stolen Pandora's, one of the shoes falling off when Marius lifts the chubby ankles to place them in his shoulders. Armand, giggling and his bare toes wiggling while he says, "Stop, papa! It tickles!"
Each little vision is a new cut.
It takes about three weeks for the sock to be pitch-black from blood and smelling absolutely foul. Vampire blood cakes it completely, and it's almost dusty with the dried luracastria.
It gets out of hand when Pandora comes to spend a night with him in his crypt and asks, "What is this strange, musky smell?" Marius needs to lie that perhaps a rat died between the walls. He needs to endure the humiliation of going to her crypt instead, knowing Dmitri Fontayne sleeps in the coffin beside theirs.
Enough is enough.
Marius cannot let himself be controlled by Armand's damned, used sock.
He flies to one of his residences and begins the process of purging himself of such base desires. Marius places the lovely sock — well, not that lovely now that it's dusty and smelly and pitch-black with his blood — into a washer bag and throws it into a delicate cycle inside his washing machine. It removes some of the dried blood, but not all. He fills a bucket with warm water and oxygen peroxide, a classic to remove blood stains. The liquid bubbles up around it. He lets it sit for a whole night and day, and when he collects it the following sunset, he starts seeing a little bit more of the dark teal it originally had.
But it's still dusty by the time it's dried.
Taking a deep breath and swallowing his pride, Marius hits the call button. "Fareed," he sighs. "How do you remove a blood stain — when the blood belonged to an ancient vampire, without destroying fabric?"
"That's oddly specific. Luckily, I know exactly how."
It takes him a whole week to go through the almost surgical process to utterly and completely disintegrate luracastria, and he feels a little more powerful and dangerous to have this knowledge.
"It can also be used to dissolve vampires while leaving their belongings behind."
"Right… Well, I do not wish to do that."
He shakes his head, and this thought goes away. Finally, the little garment is recovered, and Marius can throw it in a delicate wash. Soon enough, it smells soft and gets downy again. He then makes it to Armand's room in Auvergne to place it back in his sock drawer.
Problem solved.
But after a whole week without masturbating, his entire body seems itching for the habit.
Marius starts to wonder whether a man — a living one, of course — could die from not masturbating into their son's socks.
He appeals to practicality and logic. There are easier ways to quench this maddening thirst. He goes to Armand's again and playfully teases him until his fledgling all but throws himself into Marius' embrace.
He dresses Armand in thigh-high black socks and in an almost translucent white camisole and spends the whole night playing with his body: pinching nipples, having his fledgling suckle on his fingertips, stealing droplets of blood in passionate kisses, rubbing his nose on his auburn pubes. He gives Armand oral pleasure like he often did in Venice and loves how his son still reacts as if he could achieve any form of climax from merely having Marius' lips on his mortal parts. Armand begs Marius to finger his tight hole while he does it, and he's more than happy to oblige. The Roman then lets his fledgling lead in any way he desires, and Armand licks his nipples like he enjoyed doing in Venice while straddling his hips and frotting their dead cocks.
Then comes the blood. Thirsty bites and heavy gulps nearly drive Marius insane, for he hasn't fed in months now.
The two spend the whole night rolling in bed and moaning into the other's mouth until the sun starts to come for them.
Marius carries Armand in his arms to his crypt. "Let me undress you now. I need to feel the softness of your skin against mine."
“Yes, master… Let me feel your cold body…”
The following night, Armand asks for more respectable clothes to be seen walking out of Marius' crypt, and he brings his child proper court attire.
Marius neatly folds and puts away the camisole.
And not just one — but two thigh-high socks his fledgling wore while letting Marius have his way with his lithe, delicious and seductive body.
He tells himself: I will just put them to wash and keep them in my room for future dates. It makes no sense to indulge in such foolishness, I can just come into Armand's rooms again, or I might cross the Atlantic to find him, and we can have another passionate night.
Nonetheless, after two whole months of almost nightly pleasures in either Armand's or Armand and Daniel's company, the pair decides it's time for them to go back to New York, and Marius stays in Court.
It takes two nights after his son's departure for Marius to make a cut on his cock again, covering it with the hem of the thigh-high sock while the tip of it goes into his mouth. He suckles and gently nips into the fabric with the blunt part of his teeth while thinking of doing the same to the fatty part of Armand's ankles.
It has been a horribly stressful night with some younglings breaking into fight to the point of death — in Court, no less. Lestat, Pandora, Gregory and Sevraine had been in favour of forgiving the attacking party, but not Marius, Cyril, Thorne or Louis. It evolved into a heated argument, and ultimately, no decision was made. They were going to keep a watch on the surviving group, and that was it.
It takes a few hours for the high to pass, and now the whole place is eerily silent.
Marius is fuming and angry, alone in his crypt.
He needs to unwind.
By now, the left sock of the pair is basically destroyed and emanating a horrid stench from the hermetic drawer it's being contained in, so Marius sighs, taking the right one.
Starting like he always did, he undresses, rubbing the fabric across his body as if it were Armand's little hands. Marius slowly, sensuously, comes to grab his cock, as if Armand was savouring his path there. He wraps the organ with the fabric to begin pumping, not wanting to go inside the sock — and Armand's mouth in this fantasy — one minute before it's time.
But soon enough, the cuts start.
Sometimes, he thinks it as if he was dripping blood into Armand's little mouth, feeding him as is his duty as his maker. On other nights, he drips into the boy's well-fingered hole, offering him the pleasures the boy used to beg him for.
Tonight, the pristine shape of this unsoiled sock has him mad about Armand's small feet. His delicious toes and soft soles. He kisses and kisses his right foot, drawing little bites and leaving punctures open to drip tiny droplets into his tongue, and then he leaks his own blood into the wounds. Armand's moans are delicious, and he never stops Marius in his conquest — letting Marius brand his body in bites and healed cuts.
It always ends with Marius heavily biting his tongue, flooding his mouth with blood and swallowing at the exact instant he imagines himself piercing Armand's neck with his well-lubed fangs, moist from his tongue and hungry for his warmth.
Marius sighs, holding the sock near. Because it's black, it makes it hard to see the stain, but preternatural sight sees it. The sock is now tainted with his irrationality. He sighs, refusing to acknowledge how far he's fallen with his dirty little secret. It enrages him that he's gotten so ludicrous over… Armand's socks.
But he's tired.
He hasn't been feeding in what feels like a whole year now, and it makes him a little sleepy.
So he pulls a blanket and falls into a gentle nap, naked and holding the lightly used sock against his chest, over his heart.
Marius awakes not long after. There is someone else in his crypt. Something smells horrid. There is someone else on his body. He jerks awake in a rush, lifting his torso.
It's Armand sucking his cock under the blankets. Shock gives way to pleasure because the visual is too much. His puckered, glistening lips are rosy and plump, his mouth a perfect vacuum. His brown eyes face Marius with tease and indifference, the dichotomy so enticing. Marius lifts a hand to pet his curls. Nothing else exists but his view of Armand right now.
"Amadeo…"
"Good evening, master. I just arrived from New York to a lot of gossip… And Pandora saying you were in a piss-poor mood. Her words."
"And who's to blame…" He sighs, leaning back against his pillows.
"I came here…" He sucks him to the hilt, his nose touching Marius' crotch and his chin scratching his balls, curls deliciously tickling him before pulling back to let Marius see his engorged lips, wet with saliva. "To soothe your worries."
Marius smiles and finds himself ready to lose it on the boy's sexy mouth when suddenly it hits him that he had gone to sleep with the sock on his hands, and it's not there anymore.
A surge of shame takes complete hold of him. Marius chuckles as he feels Armand deep-throat him again, but curiosity and worry are too great. "My love… Did you see a… Strip of fabric that was… Here? Or?"
Armand closes his eyes tightly and dives in to deep-throat him again, pretending to say something and gagging in a way that would have driven any sane, mortal man utterly mad with desire. He swallows and licks his lips once he pulls back as if trying to get used to the absence of Marius' cock. He grins. Wicked, teasing and cunning, Armand smiles one of those smiles that had him say they were never once innocent.
"A strip of fabric? Oh! Do you mean my socks?"
He pulls off blankets and lifts his feet in the air.
To Marius' horror, the smell fills the room promptly.
There they are, bundled up on his ankles instead of thigh-high. The lightly tainted right sock… As well as the absolutely wrecked left one — heavy, glittery, reddened from all the blood caked in it by now. Now that they aren't under the blankets, the smell is impossible to ignore. Its stench is humiliating. A dead rat inside the wall would be a flowery meadow in comparison. It's a good thing he's already gossamer white, for all colour on his skin would have gone right there.
"Maestro, what exactly happened?" Armand asks while holding Marius' cock and gently slapping it against his tongue.
"There was an accident, and my hand was chopped, and I bled all over it! A veritable tragedy… I must have forgotten your sock there in my desperation to reattach my hands."
"Hm-hm," Armand grins and nods.
"Forgive me, I shall put them to wash right this instant…" He moves to grab Armand's feet, but he quickly slams them on the soft mattress again. "Armand…"
His fledgling plants a single kiss on his cock's engorged head. "Such a shame that's all that happened to them… I almost wish you had… Bled on them on purpose. That would have been unfathomably sexy of you."
He rolls on the bed to lie belly up, looks at Marius upside down and lifts his feet in the air, ankles crossed almost teasingly, forcing Marius to once more look at the proof of his crimes.
"Unfathomably sexy…"
"Hm… Yes… Which fledgling would not find it sexy that their maker wanted to claim all which is theirs with the very blood which made them? Perhaps you don't know that because you were barely a fledgling, but… So sexy, if you had bled on them, master…" He has a cunning grin that tells Marius his little excuse is not efficient. In fact, from the way he sounds, Marius could almost say it sounds like Armand knows he masturbated with his sock.
"Well, the accident definitely happened to the left one. But the right is only lightly stained because I…" He clears his throat, "bled on it purposefully tonight… Just tonight."
"Just tonight… And how exactly did you bleed on it? With your tongue? Cascading blood from your mouth like you usually do? From your wrist? Did you make a gash on your neck and clean the blood with it? Tell me, master… Please… I must know."
"Will it please you to know, my little one?"
"Yes."
It feels like walking into a trap, but what sort of trap is this where he falls into his fledgling's arms? Still, this irrationality enrages him, and Marius huffs. Armand best not question his accident story! He better not! If Marius sticks by his accident story, he'll only have one night to apologise for. Sure, every vampire is allowed one night of weakness, right? If Armand can't accept it, he might call him out on a lesson on empathy. It was just one night (with the right foot)!
"I… Made a cut in my cock and… Pumped blood into it."
Armand's eyes go huge, and he blinks madly.
Oh.
Did he not expect Marius to do that?
"A-and then I… I—" Fucking stammering. The Roman clears his throat. "Well, I realised this is not an acceptable thing to do and that no rational vampire would do such nonsense. There is no desire in me for mortal pleasures, but of course, it was the blood... It was tonight's session that left me so distraught that I was sent back to my hm… Mortal years. To that phantom longing for a time when my worries could be so easily dispelled by mere masturbation… But it was. Nonsensical. So… I promptly stopped—"
Armand stands up and goes into Marius' bathroom. He hears the faucet and a rumple of fabric before Armand returns, not wearing the socks anymore, sitting between Marius' legs.
"Show me." He whispers while handling the right, slightly tainted sock. "Show me, my master. I would like to see."
He sighs.
This could not get any more humiliating.
Marius takes the fabric with a swipe, thinking it is not fair of Armand to be reducing him to some sexual addict deviant, as he sure must be doing in his mind. Marius fixes his posture to explain the ritual like a teacher to an inquisitive pupil.
"The pursuit of mortal pleasures is pointless for blood creatures such as us…"
"It is the symbology of it which compels me, master."
"So," and saying it, Marius sits, getting ready to cover his cock with the hem of the fabric while leaving the tip in his other hand. "I very quickly realised… It had no effect on me."
Except it does have an effect.
Because after months of using Armand's left behind socks — they had grown cold, and this time… This time, his fledgling has just removed it from his warm feet.
As soon as his cock goes inside the damned sock, the same spell from the very first night, almost a year ago, takes hold of Marius. His treacherous nose smells Armand's youthful perfume that was always so sassy and sweet. Spicy the way only his Venetian son could have been and sweet because, in truth, there has always been some docile secrets within the boy's funereal soul. He gulps, feeling his throat tighten as a moan desperately wants to come out. He looks down at his crotch, where his cock is hidden behind the warm… Deliriously hot fabric.
Marius lets out a long breath.
The worst fool is the one who lies to himself.
"The effect it has on me… Is second what your blood would have…"
"The blood…"
"Amadeo..." He sighs, defeated by his own irrational desire. Little changed, and how shameful to Marius. "Amadeo, nothing compares to your blood."
"Is that why you bled onto it? And tell me, master. When you did, was it my blood you were imagining, or was it yours?"
"Mine."
"Your blood into my sock, my body… Maker's blood." Armand moans and almost melts into the bed before he crawls closer to Marius.
He covers Marius' own hand with his tiny one — soft and warm... Deliriously warm... He starts controlling the pace with which Marius masturbates, and it feels like a daydream.
"And how did you make it to bleed into the socks, sire?"
He finds it a little hard to be mad when Armand is so near and touching him… Sighing in resigned defeat, Marius demonstrates it. He lifts the sock, stuffs his slit with as much of his pinkie as he can and makes a cut deep inside. Blood droplets surface and Armand seems hypnotised by the little drop of red. He salivates, gulps and gasps softly.
Armand pulls his sock over Marius' cock. "And into me went your blood…"
"Hm. Yes… That is what made it so appealing — the blood."
"It's leaking for quite a while, sire… Why aren't you healing as fast as your age decrees?"
"Well, I haven't fed in a while."
"Hm. Since around the accident with the other sock?"
Cunning little incubus.
Suddenly, as he sees Armand's dark eyes pooling with desire, it doesn't feel half as shameful. He can hear his heartbeats, and in his uncomparable musk is the scent which is so distinguishedly Marius'. He is Marius' child. His minion, his lover, his secret treasure — his Armand, his Amadeo.
He pulls him in for a kiss as they resume movements in Marius' cock. Armand keeps a fingertip pressed on top of his slit and moans as the fabric under it gets wetter and wetter with beads of red.
"Bleed on me, master. I am here, so don't waste your precious blood on my lucky sock… Do it again, cut your cock, and bleed on me. Where do you want to do it? In my lips? My face? My chest? Cock, hole, mouth?"
Marius needs his ankles — his feet. He needs to kiss his arch and sole, but also his heel and toes. He wants to bite into that dorsal venous arch and gently lap at Armand's blood. But he knows the boy would rather he touched his mortal parts. His son has an inexplicable attachment to mortal pleasures. The only thing greater than his own pleasure would be knowing he brought it to another...
Marius pulls him, making Armand lie on his back on the floor before the bed at his feet. He sits at the very edge of the mattress and pulls the boy close so his ass touches the stone edge of the crypt. "Pull your knees into your chest. Now… tuck your feet in. Dangling and hovering over your cock… That's it."
Armand lets out a confused gasp, but once Marius makes a cut on his cock and pumps blood out, it all makes sense.
The first droplet falls into his toes, but the second falls into his cock, a third into his balls before droplets are on his toes again.
Both vampires moan in thrum. Armand squirms on the floor, eyes fluttering closed in time with his breaths, his chest rising up and down. Marius, on the other hand, is reduced to low groans and inaudible moans from the visual alone. His fledgling looks gorgeous against the cool floor with his creamy skin and fiery hair, and each droplet of red makes him more seductive.
"Your blood, master… Like little drops of snow — you are always cold, and I always love it."
It's exhilarating.
Marius keeps making more cuts because he needs to drip all over Armand's feet and cock. He attempts to do it faster to see if speed makes blood fall elsewhere, and it does — drops flying haphazardly and hitting his chest and belly but also his face. More and more cuts are made, and Armand's body becomes a Pollock of crimson, his feet so covered and so wet they're dripping blood themselves.
Marius grabs one of his feet, smearing blood splatter everywhere, using the blood as lubrication for a massage — moaning every time his fingers press onto his soft skin or touch over a visible vein. He lets the dainty foot return to its rightful position to continue bleeding into Armand.
He leans in, cuts the thick, engorged side vein on his cock and lets the stream of blood pour into Armand's body, making a wet mess of red. The sound of the red rivulets cascading from Marius' cock to Armand's crotch and belly has both of them cursing in their respective mother languages.
His son shakes with a shiver. "So cold… Master, it's so nice… Your blood is freezing but I feel so hot…"
"My little one, I want you, I need you… Need to press my fangs on your supple skin."
"Have me, sir, I am yours."
Marius pulls him up, placing him on the mattress and putting Armand's wet, bloodied feet and ankles on his shoulder.
He holds the right foot and takes a deep breath, thrilled by the knowledge that he smells his own blood but knowing he's about to taste Amadeo once more.
"You belong to me, to Marius de Romanus now…" He repeats in an echo of the past.
"Always and forever," Armand also echoes the past in a whisper as he shivers in anticipation of a bite.
Marius bares his fangs and licks them eagerly like he has dreamt of so many times now. Gets them wet and lubricated so they might go into Armand's body in a smooth puncture.
He bites unto the boy's dorsal venous arch, right where the foot's arch meets the delicious, enticing ankle. He bites into the soft, fatty flesh, and his vision explodes into a thousand colours like pictures from a camera shutter. He sees all shades of tints and inks as they're splattered and scattered in waves timed with each of Marius' light gulps. Veins aren't like arteries — not made for strong, deep pulls from ravaging, hungering men.
Yet Armand claws into Marius; he digs his nails into his thighs as if begging for more and more with force and high-pitched, dreamy moans.
Marius pulls with force, feeling the vessel get wrecked by his thirst until it's ruined. He gasps into the real world that isn't burning with colour and swaps his right foot for the left.
Marius wrecks that dorsal venous, too, with starved hunger. Armand's moans are loud and uncontrollable now.
It's not enough.
He dives into the boy's neck, piercing it and promptly resuming his feasting. He pulls his fangs out just so he might lick them before penetrating Armand's body again and again, a gulp followed by an obscene gasp over and over. Wet sounds of blood and saliva timed with moans.
Marius hasn't fed in almost a year, and each gulp of Armand, of Amadeo, has him shiver in ebbs of passionate hunger.
Once he's done, Armand is no longer moaning but pale, drowsy and almost bled to death. His neck is a series of punctured, healing holes smeared with Marius' red. He looks like a ghost, but his smile goes from ear to ear.
"Have my blood, child…"
"No, sire… You needed it. Oh, to have had you again... Maddening like it had been once when you'd throw me on chenile covers and have your way with me."
Marius sighs. How humiliating...
Armand smiles. "Come, father… Cover my body with yours like you would in a time we knew peace."
They settle down into a cuddle and Marius is vaguely aware the smelly sock is nearby because it's seriously ruining the blissful moment with its stench.
"I shall buy you a new pair of socks, cherub. It'll be easier to set this pair ablaze."
"Can't it be saved? It'd make a memorable possession…"
Marius thinks that it's in the vampire kind's best interests that Armand doesn't know how to dissolve vampires using over-the-counter chemicals.
"No, I don't think we can save them."
"Shameful accident."
"Hm."
"Signore, if your thirst for blood drives you again to… Play… With my socks, I would like to know you have others to use."
"Ah… Well, it should not be—"
"I will be happy to bring you all my used socks, so long as you promise to buy me new ones, kneel before me and dress me up with them so I might decide whether they make it into my wardrobe… And you may do with the used ones as you see fit. Feel free to throw them in the washer, and never repeat tonight's… Solo adventures."
Marius feels his throat tighten. He balls a fist until his skin breaks into blood in a battle of ego. To accept this would be an admission of weakness, of giving into the most base, shameful type of desire. It would be an admission that Marius is no better than the common man who loses it all to his fumbling passions.
But as Armand coos up to him, throwing his leg over Marius's body and hiding his face in his neck with a musical moan of satisfaction and calm, the Roman accepts he's already lost.
The boy, with his wicked innocence, drives him to mad, passionate blunders he has never been able to escape from.
Marius tightly holds him, loving the weight of his relaxed body over his and letting that nostalgic scent of Armand when he was young lull him to peace.
"I want white, silky socks with lacy frills… Fuzzy socks you wore for over a week… And hosiery that touched your cock…"