Chapter Text
Meeting a Great One does not leave one unscathed.
Ludwig should have known this, known from the moment word of a fishing hamlet on the far end of the land landed inauspiciously on the desks of Master Willem and—
“Laurence,” He gasped at the first sign of movement, a soft groan, the littlest of twitches in the man’s delicately gloved fingers. “I—I’m here. Please, even just a—”
There was a terror in the way Laurence struggled to breathe, to exist, and all Ludwig could do was watch.
Watch, as Laurence suffered from some inexplicable ailment while Ludwig sprinted up from Gehrman’s Hunter Workshop to the Upper Cathedral Ward, towards the Choir, for help.
Watch, as the lifts proceeded too painfully slowly, never moving fast enough for Ludwig’s desperation.
Thankfully, the hullabaloo of the Holy Blade’s stampede, the racket of his armours, the booming thunder of his footsteps, were nigh more than enough to awaken the entirety of the residents of the Cathedral Ward. The white robes of Laurence’s disciples, filled the air like scattering doves as Ludwig was quickly showered with assistance, all established prior to now, of course, thanks to Laurence’s careful planning and commands.
On Ludwig’s suggestion, as the Vicar’s Holy Blade, who worried more than no one else about His Holiness Vicar Laurence’s safety.
Another presence soon joined Ludwig as he was escorted to a gurney, and he largely ignored it in favour of gently setting him down on the gurney.
“What happened?”
It took but seconds for Ludwig to recognise that voice.
Brador, whose voice was rough, demanding, tinted with only the barest hint of that tone he only ever uses for Laurence’s ears. Despite Brador’s efforts, his voice fell deaf to the man currently struggling to breathe, clinging tight-knuckled to Ludwig’s hand while around them the members of the Choir desperately rushed around to collect the finest of blood tinctures to treat whatever it was currently so direly ailing their Vicar.
“I cannot say,” Ludwig replied, for he truly did not know. The confession earned him a rueful look from Laurence’s sworn assassin, and in turn, Ludwig returned his petulance with a stern look. “By the Gods, Brador, I keep no secret from you. I truly have no clue what has happened to him.”
“And I suppose you truly have no clue as to Gehrman's whereabouts as well, then?” Brador asked as a Choir member gently pried Ludwig’s hand away from Laurence’s to finally push the straining Vicar into the examination room for privacy. Ludwig, bereft of Laurence’s touch, watched the doors click shut at the polite tug of a young woman of the Choir, and sighed as he spotted Brador’s arms crossing in the corner of his eyesight, testily waiting for Ludwig to speak.
It was no way to act in front of one’s superior, yet Ludwig was not one to pull rank—not among friends.
Or, at the very least, not to those Laurence was especially fond of—like Brador, who lived in the shadows of the Healing Church, all for Laurence’s sake.
“No, I do not,” Ludwig admitted again as he turned back to Brador, now that he was deprived of the heaving, pained Vicar. “I was… elsewhere.”
“You were supposed to protect him,” Brador hissed, and it was Ludwig’s turn to look at him ruefully. “His Holiness’s Holy Blade. You tail him like you’re his shadow, and yet the moment you turn your back something like this happens? Whatever this is?”
“I assure you, it is not of my own volition to leave Vicar Laurence alone,” Ludwig said, with a careful, measured tone, acutely aware of the Church Hunters and leftover members of the Choir watching them bicker—if one-sidedly, on the younger Hunter, Brador’s, behalf. “I obey His Holiness with as much obedience as any good Hunter of the Church, I listen to his word—and a few hours ago, said word was to leave him his privacy with Sir Gehrman. What right do I have to disobey him, Brador, and in the company of a Hunter greater than the both of us?”
Brador’s lips thinned into a line of petulance and defiance, but Ludwig levelled him with an even stare.
“Come, let us speak of this matter more privately, if you insist,” Ludwig huffed, making Brador scoff, but nodded his agreement. “Thank you. Now—”
“Sir Ludwig!”
Young Saint Amelia, in the heavenly white of the Church and its Blood Saints, rushed to him. She was a swan in flight with a graceful arrival by the two Hunters’ side, her hands clasped together in worry. Ludwig offered her a strained little smile as she caught her breath for a moment, adjusting her fine lace veil, the beaded accoutrements on its hem, before gathering herself to speak again.
“I’ve heard word that His Holiness had to be rushed here,” She said breathlessly, and Ludwig sighed exasperatedly as she deflated slightly in sheepishness, “Or was I mistaken, Sir?”
“No, you have heard correctly,” Ludwig replied, shaking his head as Brador huffed, crossing his arms again.
“No doubt someone had thought to notify you of the hullabaloo Sir Ludwig was causing, rushing to bring Vicar Laurence to the Choir for healing,” He said, and Amelia flushed as Ludwig looked at Brador witheringly. “He does dote on you, after all. I’m not surprised you would return the affection in kind.”
“Indeed I would.” Amelia smiled, and turned to Ludwig with a polite little curtsy. “Pray, forgive my sudden arrival. If you’re amenable, Sir Ludwig, might I be informed of what happened, as well?”
“I will attempt to explain the situation to the best of my ability,” Ludwig replied, looking at the door separating him from Laurence, and sighed. “Though how much of it I can clearly convey, even I am unsure.”
“Nevertheless, we shall listen.” Amelia nodded cheerfully, “Come, Sir Brador. After Sir Ludwig.”
“After you.” Brador gave her a bow, making her chuckle fondly, and her cheerful countenance was enough to raise Ludwig’s spirits, even by a little. With a nod, Ludwig turned on his heel, and led Laurence’s protégés—in fields worlds apart and yet so similar—towards his own office, where the walls had fewer ears than those in the great halls of the Cathedral Ward.
It had been a day like any other.
Ludwig’s summons to Laurence’s private quarters at the apex of the Cathedral grounds were nothing new. Without fail, he rose through the staircases and corridors to a room long familiar, liaisons with intentions for work or personal reasons.
Earlier that day, his summons were, with some disappointment, about work.
Laurence was accompanied by Gehrman when Ludwig entered the office, between them a small shoebox-sized chest lying innocuously in front of Laurence on his desk.
“Ah, Sir Ludwig. The man of the hour.” Laurence had a smile that Ludwig, admittedly rather delusionally, reserved only for him. Be that as it may, however, he could never look Laurence in the face when confronted with such a beautiful smile—especially in the presence of company, let alone the first Hunter, Gehrman, himself. The greeting and its precision-tailored amiability in the presence of guests allowed Ludwig to give the two men within the room a bow.
“Enough of that bow,” Gehrman grunted, making Ludwig smile slightly as he straightened up, “I have no need of it, and I certainly would not tolerate it if the good Vicar put you up to it.”
“I’ve not coerced the good man of anything,” Laurence intoned, and Gehrman snorted at the thought, while Ludwig said nothing of the matter. “Regardless, thank you for your prompt response to the summons. I’ve a request for you and your Hunters, and whichever members of the Choir you may be able to be involved with along the way.”
“At once, Holiness,” Ludwig nodded once, and Laurence huffed fondly. The way he tilted his head, changing the way the shadows of stained glass windows tinted the rare Yharnam sunlight that bathed him, made his eyes seem to flicker with fire, and it was enthralling to watch.
“I ask for you and your Hunters’ discretion. The Choir know better than to meddle in my affairs, but your Hunters answer to you.” Laurence made a lazy gesture at Ludwig, who looked mildly affronted, opening his mouth to protest—“I find this no trespass on my authority, you must understand. Hunters, both local and foreign, have little obligation to Church authorities; they are, after all, not as faithful in worship, merely patients of blood ministration, not worshippers of the healing blood.”
“Otherwise they would’ve joined the Choir,” Gehrman grumbled, and Ludwig pursed his lips again.
“True,” He conceded gingerly. “But… discretion on what account, Vicar Laurence?”
“Gehrman and I will be occupied with our own business for the afternoon, and, should things come to it, the evening,” Laurence explained, gesturing at the box. “The discovery in the fishing hamlet still haunts us, after all, so we must finish what we started.”
The discovery in the hamlet. Ludwig had been there, too, overseeing the operation at Laurence’s behest—watching as Gehrman and some of the old Hunters, with dearly departed Maria at his side, sliced the corpse of Mother Kos open with their own weapons when scalpels proved too fine a tool for such curious brutality.
The Rakuyo, after all, was far more effective in parting flesh, especially of that magnitude. Even until now, Ludwig wondered if that was the beginning of it all—that initial slice of Maria’s beloved blade into Kos’s engorged belly, the first thread that began to unwind Maria’s mind until she could no longer bear the weight of living.
She couldn’t have known, the whispers of those who found her that fateful day in the clock tower—members of the Choir, the Blood Saints, all of whom had known Maria as their benevolent caretaker and mentor—she shouldn’t have blamed herself. Who would have known Mother Kos was with child?
Indeed, none would have known, least of all the Hunters that opened her up. What did they know of the workings of the Great Ones? Did even Master Willem know?
“Finish what we started,” Ludwig echoed, unsure of what he meant by it.
Surely Master Willem must have known. Byrgenwerth would not have contacted the Healing Church, so long in estrangement, if he didn’t consider such a finding so significant and pressing. If Master Willem did know, however, the question that followed that line of questioning, Ludwig could not bear to consider.
“Yes.” Laurence steepled delicate, spun-glass fingers together under his chin. “Worry not of where we plan to do this, of course—we shall conduct our experiments in Gehrman’s old Workshop, you know the one.”
“The old Workshop?” Ludwig blinked. “Why there?”
“Because it will be private, open, and familiar,” Gehrman said, making Ludwig look at him. “We will have easy access back to the cathedral, as well, should things… step beyond planned parameters.”
“Beyond… parameters.”
Ludwig rather disliked sounding like a parrot repeating messages, but the cryptic language of Laurence and Gehrman was confusing. Why the secrecy? What were they even planning on doing with that box—of which the identity of its contents was now, more than ever, clear to Ludwig.
“As experiments are wont to do, things may go awry,” Laurence said helpfully, taking pity on the Hunter echoing words, likely assuming Ludwig was having difficulty keeping up. “Therefore, though I ask you and your Hunters to keep a wide berth around myself and Gehrman at the Workshop, I’d like to request that you stay not too far from us, just as a precaution.”
“The request implies a level of danger, Vicar Laurence,” Ludwig said, making Laurence’s lips curl a little wider, a knowing glint in the inferno of his eyes. “Of which I am willing to cooperate, no doubt, but… with a few suggestions, if you will generously allow me to make them.”
“By all means. I do love to hear your thoughts,” Laurence replied smoothly, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, and Ludwig swallowed down the welling reaction in his heart of hearts at the sight.
“I suggest to recruit a few members of the Choir for medical support, and a few more other Church Hunters for added security,” Ludwig said, “I will, of course, remain close to the Workshop, but there will be others in the staircase higher up, and more still in the landings and corridors that connect the tower to the Workshop to Oedon Chapel.”
Gehrman raised an eyebrow at him.
“I don’t remember you as one so overly cautious,” He said, and Ludwig gave him a polite little nod.
“There have been one too many attempts on His Holiness’s life,” Ludwig explained, “From multiple factions, from individual rogues, and the like. I have since learned to grow more careful in the interim. Forgive the excess, Sir Gehrman, but I will not compromise on such matters.”
Gehrman grimaced at the title Ludwig used, but all three of them knew the intentions of its use—to tease about memories in the past, to show his respect until even now as the Church’s ‘first Hunter’ in Gehrman’s stead, and, most of all—
As a show of power. Gehrman, legendary as he may be, first of all Hunters as he is, was no one within the walls of the Healing Church.
It was not he who held the Hunter Chief emblem, it was not Gehrman who signalled the end of a Hunt to the grateful, the faithful of Yharnam.
That was Ludwig, and it was Ludwig that Laurence would be more inclined to listen to.
(Or, at least, that was what he hoped.)
Gehrman cast a withering look at the still-smiling, pleased Laurence, and the Vicar chuckled fondly.
“My most loyal Holy Blade,” He said with the warmth of a hearth, full to the brim with firewood. “Surely you cannot deny such devotion?”
“Leave me out of this,” Gehrman grumbled, shaking his head, “I’m far too old for your tricks now, Laurence.”
The familiarity made Ludwig bristle somewhat, but restraint was not unfamiliar for one who aspired to train as Spartans. Besides, Gehrman knew Laurence longer than Ludwig did—knew him since Laurence was but a slip of a boy, a student at Byrgenwerth. Ludwig could only wish the same for himself.
“Tricks? I have none.” Laurence straightened up in his seat at his desk, showing Gehrman his hands languidly, a smile in his voice. “Indulgence, I have plenty. I will accept your suggestion, Sir Ludwig. Gather your resources and inform me when you’re ready—Gehrman and I will descend at your command.”
“As you wish, Your Holiness. I depart to return with haste.” Ludwig gave the two men a bow again, and as he straightened up, he saw the tail end of Gehrman’s half-hearted wave, and the full intensity of Laurence’s smile. Once again, Laurence’s affection outweighed any danger Ludwig faced on the nights of Hunts—the next one a mere few nights away, no less—and it compelled Ludwig to face away from them and step out of his Vicar’s door.
As he shut the door behind himself, he heard Gehrman’s voice before heavy wood clicked shut.
“Master Willem will want to look for this soon, I’m sure,” He said, “Whatever it is you’re planning, Laurence, I—”
The door clicked shut, leaving Ludwig standing in the silence of the corridor outside the Vicar’s office.
Master Willem will want to look for this soon, Gehrman said, and Ludwig tried not to think of what that contraband might be.
He trusted Laurence. He knew his Vicar was doing the right thing—not just for the Church, but for Yharnam as a whole. Whatever this revelation was, about Mother Kos, the Old Blood, that umbilical cord—all this was for the sake of humanity, for eradicating disease and pain, for ascending to a greater state of existence, the greatest gift of all to humanity.
He didn’t fully understand the whole thing, but one thing Ludwig did know was that Gehrman and Laurence were going to finish what they started—commune with a Great One, whichever would deign to answer, with the umbilical cord extracted from the corpse of Mother Kos and her wizened child.
Such was the story Ludwig conveyed to the listening youth of the Church—to Saint Amelia, the youngest Blood Saint at barely half a score, and to Brador, Laurence’s silent killer in the name of the Church.
It did have slight obfuscation with regards to the existence of the umbilical cord, for no one but the top officials of Byrgenwerth, the School of Mensis, and the Healing Church and the Hunters that carved Mother Kos open knew of its true nature. They were but a handful, Ludwig knew, but their numbers dwindled by the day, with the most painful blow being Maria, who took her own life at the clock tower above the Cathedral Ward’s research hall.
The details of the story that Ludwig did share, at least, satisfied Brador and Amelia’s worried curiosity, though there were more than just the secrets of the old Hunters and their masters that Ludwig kept.
Mainly the mere moments right before Ludwig parted from Laurence and Gehrman before their ill-fated communion.
“Holiness, I’ve returned.”
“There’s no need for such formality, my love. We are alone.”
Indeed they were, Ludwig realised, as he stepped into Laurence’s office to find it bereft of its other guest half an hour ago. Laurence was out of his chair and looking out of the window, dressed down without his cloak and pearl-beaded veil, both of which were left resting on his study table along with scattered papers and inkwells half-full and half-empty. The box of Mother Kos’s umbilical cord was suspiciously absent, but Ludwig could not help but be grateful for its absence.
Its mere existence made a pang of guilt well inside him. It, after all, was the root of Maria’s guilt that killed her.
“Where’s Gehrman?” He asked, shutting the door behind himself politely, and Laurence did not turn to look at him.
“Headed down to his Workshop already, to clear it of any lingering Hunters that use it as a means to escape duties every now and then.” There was a smile in Laurence’s voice that put a smile on Ludwig’s lips, as well. “Shame on you, their Captain, for leaving such a place open to loitering.”
“I apologise for the trouble,” Ludwig said, though he, too, was smiling as he approached Laurence, wrapping his arms around his Vicar’s waist to hold him from behind. Immediately Laurence melted into his touch like it was second nature, a sigh escaping his pretty lips as Ludwig pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear. “Though I seem to recall that when I first reported this loitering ground to you, you told me to allow the children their freedoms.”
“Mm, did I say that?” Laurence hummed, snuggling closer still into Ludwig’s embrace. “I don’t seem to recall…”
“Indulgence, you have plenty, indeed,” Ludwig huffed fondly as he pulled away just enough to let Laurence tilt his head up and smile at him warmly. “Tell me the truth of the matter. What are you planning, really?”
“We’re to commune with a Great One, whomever will deign to listen,” Laurence replied, and Ludwig frowned as he gently squeezed Laurence a fraction tighter to himself, “Oh, treat me a little more delicately, darling, your affection can sting quite a bit.”
“Entanglement with Great Ones can lead people to madness,” Ludwig said, as Laurence smiled at him exasperatedly. “No, listen to me. You know what happened to Caryll when—”
“I know.” Laurence pulled away from Ludwig to face him, pressing a finger delicately to his lips. “And I know what happened to Rom, as well. I know what happens to those who experience an interaction with the Great Ones—living or otherwise.”
Living or otherwise, he said, and Ludwig knew he meant not just poor, unfortunate Rom, who was now Kin herself thanks to Mother Kos, and Caryll, who went mad with insights and runes thanks to Ebrietas, far, far below the Cathedral, but the villagers of the fishing hamlet, all of whom were horribly disfigured by the mere proximity to Mother Kos’s rotting corpse.
And now, here was Laurence, chasing after yet another Great One—should it choose to meet him, a likelihood growing by the second, considering Laurence’s possession of Mother Kos’s umbilical cord.
“And yet you still persist with this endeavour?” Ludwig asked exasperatedly past Laurence’s gloved finger, and Laurence’s lips widened into almost a smirk. “Laurence.”
“I have contingencies, I promise,” He said, “And, for what it’s worth, Rom and Caryll were lessons in what not to do.”
“And what shouldn’t they have done?”
“Be a woman.”
Ludwig blinked at him as Laurence nodded, chuckling softly at Ludwig’s confusion.
“And, not be in possession of a Great One’s umbilical cord, of course,” He said with a satisfied nod. “Caryll’s revelations are not without merit, after all.”
“Three third cords.” Ludwig’s eyes widened.
“One, to be granted audience. Two, to reveal insight.” Laurence counted his points with delicate fingers drumming one by one on Ludwig’s chest. “And three…”
A third finger, resting on Ludwig’s sternum.
“To ascend.”
“You’ve only the one cord, though,” Ludwig said breathlessly, “How will you guarantee anything following suit?”
“Again, contingencies,” Laurence replied, “I’m no fool to walk into such a situation and be caught unawares, much like you are no such fool to be caught unaware by the beasts you hunt.”
“Beasts are beasts, Laurence, you are dealing with gods.”
“Things will be alright, I promise,” Laurence purred, smoothing his hands up Ludwig’s chest to slip his arms behind his neck, drawing their faces close together, close enough for the scent of lilies and roses—fragrance oils, one of many gifts from wealthy patrons of the healing blood—on Laurence’s vestments to fill Ludwig’s lungs with heady longing. “Have faith in me. Don’t you have the utmost faith in me, my love?”
Laurence’s fingers tangled in Ludwig’s hair, pulling it out of its careful, immaculate styling, and it was oh so very distracting, when it felt so nice.
“I do,” Ludwig whispered, his hands obediently coming to a rest on Laurence’s hips, pulling him closer, heart to heart.
It felt like a vow, of sorts. Laurence’s smile he could only feel, not see, with such close, intimate proximity.
Ludwig would like to believe it is of affection, not triumph.
“Then allow me mine own freedoms,” Laurence murmured, “And we shall reap the fruit of what we’ve sowed together, later.”
“Later.” For what else could Ludwig say, really?
Laurence hummed, and leaned in to kiss him, open-mouthed, slow, and with a deep-gutted, roiling heat that lit a fire in Ludwig’s heart.
If the smoke that rose from the flame obscured his eyes, it would be just as sweet as the vapours of incense used in worship services of the Church.
They parted with twin sighs, and Ludwig watched the clear string of wetness linking their tongues disappear into nothingness the further they pulled apart. Laurence gently cupped his cheek, his thumb stroking Ludwig’s cheekbone tenderly.
“Tell me you summon us,” He murmured, “Command us to descend, my Holy Blade.”
“As you wish, Your Holiness,” Ludwig breathed as Laurence pulled away from him, letting Ludwig take his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles, “Your humble servant implores you to begin your endeavours.”
Laurence’s smile widened, and lifted his hand as Ludwig let it go to press a kiss to the same spot.
“Lead the way,” He said, and Ludwig could only—as ever—obey.
Shutting the door to the Workshop behind Laurence and Gehrman was the last time Ludwig saw Laurence awake and well. A cacophony of distressing noises several hours later had Ludwig slamming open the door to find the Workshop on fire, Laurence writhing on the ground, moaning in pain and struggling to breathe, the umbilical cord and Gehrman missing.
And now here he was, keeping vigil by the Vicar’s bedside by the day, by the night. Only his Holy Moonlight Sword could pull him away from Laurence, its brilliant resonance crying out for slaughtering beasts just hours before the nearest upcoming Hunt.
With a heavy heart and great reluctance, he left Laurence’s bedside to Amelia, and joined the Hunt that night.
Hours of blood and moonlight later, triumphant at dawn and with the receding gates of the Cathedral Ward with the flash of Ludwig’s unsullied Hunter Chief emblem, Ludwig rushed to clean himself of filth before returning to Laurence’s bedside.
Dawn broke less than an hour ago, signalling the end of a Hunt. Yharnam was brightest during the dawn, when the sun broke through the oppression of moonlight’s veil, and golden dewdrops of warmth trickled in through the windows to gently stir Yharnam awake from their slumber. High above the city, in the Vicar’s private quarters, the sun gently slithered into fine, incense-scented bedcloths, and Ludwig slowed to a halt, his heart catching in his throat.
Laurence was still asleep, no longer infused with sedatives and simply allowing nature to continue his slumber. Next to him, little Amelia, still just ten and two years, fast asleep hunched over the bed, her head cradled in her crossed arms. Her veil was left discarded on the nightstand next to several vials of blood, full and empty both, and a stone-cold, half-finished teacup. The sun could not reach them through their slumber.
There was a tenderness at such an innocent sight that brought Ludwig to his knees in exhausted relief. He made sure to drop without a sound, unwilling to awaken his Vicar and his sweet protégé, but a dazed, tired smile spread across his lips as he clutched his heart.
Laurence was safe. Still here, in the Cathedral Ward, where he left him. Sighing deeply, Ludwig buried his face in his hands to take another deep, steadying breath, only to hold it at the sound of rustling fabric.
A Hunter’s reflexes were almost faster than bullets. Ludwig’s, perhaps the fastest of them all.
Immediately, his head shot up to see a delicate hand, spun glass and porcelain skin, gently resting upon Amelia’s little head. His jaw dropped, his heart dislodged itself from his throat to spill emotion from his eyes, and not a word escaped his lips as finally—finally—he could see the sparkling embers in Laurence’s burning eyes flicker anew in the golden morning sunlight as they peeked out from behind fluttering sundew-gilded eyelashes.
A gentle smile spread the Vicar’s pink lips as his thumb weakly stroked the girl’s hair, affection in every movement, before his eyes—and only his eyes—turned Ludwig’s way.
“Darling,” He said, his voice hoarse with disuse, “Why… such a most… frightening countenance?”
“I,” Ludwig said intelligently, and laughed dazedly. “Good morning, Your Holiness.”
“Good morning.” Laurence smiled. “I’ve made you wait, it seems.”
“I would wait forever if I had to.”
Laurence’s eyes softened at Ludwig, and, yes, truly, bathed in the golden sunlight of Yharnam’s brightest moment of the day, Ludwig was reminded of the man he fell in love with.
Laurence, just like this. Tender and soft, unguarded, and just… himself, again, if but for a few fleeting moments.
“I know you would,” Laurence replied.
Beneath his palm, Amelia stirred blearily awake, and Laurence looked down to smile at her, too, as she gingerly sat up.
“Sir Ludwig?” She mumbled sleepily as Laurence tenderly carded his fingers through her unruly hair, mussed from sleep and inept, but innocently childlike upkeep. “Have you returned from the hunt already?”
“I have,” Ludwig replied warmly as he strode over at Laurence’s weak gesture, and he knelt down next to Amelia to meet her gaze as she slowly blinked at him. “Have you kept good vigil, Saint Amelia?”
“I think so,” Amelia said, “Vicar Laurence is…”
She turned to see Laurence looking at her, a smile on his lips, and she immediately jolted to wakefulness.
“Vicar Laurence!” She gasped, and, as children were wont to do—Blood Saints or otherwise—tackled her beloved Vicar with a hug of relief.
Their laughter signalled to the rest of the Choir and the Church that the Vicar had returned from his long slumber. Breakfast, it seemed, would be even more joyous than it already was, having celebrated another successful hunt the night before.
Ludwig watched the flurry of activity and joy at Laurence’s return from the shadows of the walls protecting those he loved, accepting stolen glances from Laurence every now and then when their gazes met. It wasn’t like Laurence could move around much, despite his recovery—Brador had taken it upon himself to escort Laurence’s wheelchair himself, and Ludwig decided to indulge him. Amelia could not be extricated from Laurence’s side, either, anyway, and Ludwig was a man who knew patience.
Laurence spent the day with the members of the Choir who scrambled to save his life, with his people, calming their nerves with his mere presence, while everyone around him was careful not to discuss exactly what caused his injury in the first place—not this soon. There was faith, anyway, that the Vicar would explain himself, and Laurence had assured that an explanation would arrive anon, when he was well enough to move around on his own.
Thus, Yharnam’s faithful celebrated Laurence’s return with happy hearts.
In the shadows of the celebration, Ludwig was left to wonder one thing—
Where was Gehrman, truly?
After Ludwig rushed Laurence from the botched communion, he’d seen neither hair nor hide of the man. The Workshop was ablaze, but thanks to cooperation between the Church Hunters and the Choir, the flames were quickly put out. Unfortunately, the old thing had to be condemned—it was no longer stable to hold people, and besides, it had not been in much use since the Church Hunters began using overlapping spaces with the Choir as Hunter Workshops.
There was, inexplicably, Gehrman’s doll left inside, unscathed from the fire, but far too full of painful memories to extract from her final resting place. Ludwig resolved to leave her there for her sake—if, somehow, Gehrman were to come back to the Workshop, she would still be here where he left her, to welcome him back.
(Another part of Ludwig refused to admit that his reluctance on relocating the poor, plain doll was also due to the fact she reminded him far too much of Maria. Let the poor woman’s soul already rest, doll body or no.)
And so the way to the old Workshop was destroyed, the door locked, and the Hunters forbidden from accessing the ruined area.
Many unanswered questions swam around Ludwig’s head as the day dragged on at a shockingly glacial pace, despite Laurence’s happy return. Perhaps it was his distance from his beloved Vicar that made the day slow to a crawl, but it was eventually nighttime, and, at the behest of the older members of the Choir, Vicar Laurence was to return to his quarters for a private dinner and rest.
The question of who was going to assist him hardly needed to be asked.
“Thank you, Ludwig,” Laurence murmured as Ludwig politely packed away their dinnerware, gently setting them on the rolling tray and covering them with silver cloches, as instructed by the Church orderlies that had brought their food to them that evening. Ludwig simply nodded, rolling the tray away from the tea table they’d commandeered for dinner that night.
“I hope you’ve not been too tired out?” Ludwig asked upon his return, and Laurence gave him a little smile as Ludwig began to push his wheelchair a ways further away from the tea table.
“No, I’m quite alright, thank you, my love,” Laurence said, chuckling fondly as Ludwig locked his wheelchair in place. “And what are you up to?”
“Moving you around a little more easily,” Ludwig replied, easily picking Laurence up in his arms, making the Vicar laugh softly as he was hoisted into the air. “Will you still have ablutions to do?”
“Yes,” Laurence sighed happily as he leaned against Ludwig’s chest, and the other man nodded determinedly, striding towards the en-suite without prompting. “Though if you’re keen to assist me with my evening ablutions, perhaps we should skip the preamble and head straight to bed?”
“Not so soon after you’ve just woken up.” Ludwig felt his cheeks burn as Laurence giggled softly, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw. “I’ll help you, innocently.”
“Innocently.”
Ludwig didn’t know if that was in agreement or if Laurence was teasing. Still, he carried Laurence to the en-suite, awkwardly holding him up to the washbasin to let him wash his face and rinse out his mouth. Laughter bubbled from Laurence’s lips as Ludwig’s awkward hold sometimes faltered, spilling droplets of water on both of them.
“Oh, my invalidity is tiresome and troublesome,” Laurence huffed as Ludwig grunted in exertion, changing his grip on Laurence to carry him in his arms again. “I’m sorry, my darling. If only I could walk…”
“A few days of rest and a blood vial or two will put you back on your feet,” Ludwig replied, carrying Laurence out of the en-suite to head to the bedchambers with a huff. “For now, that will have to do.”
“True. You’ve experienced far worse, haven’t you?”
“Laurence,” Ludwig said exasperatedly, “We don’t have to make love tonight. Don’t push yourself.”
“You’d like to talk, then?” Laurence asked as Ludwig carefully set him down on his bed, nodding. Gently, the Hunter helped his Vicar sit upright, propping a pillow behind his back as he settled down against the headboard. “Very well. None in the Church would be so bold as to interrogate me on such a harrowing experience this soon, save for you.”
“I do believe that is a boon, not a bane,” Ludwig replied simply, making Laurence let out a little huff of laughter. “I’ll fetch you your nightclothes?”
“Not tonight,” Laurence sighed, already beginning to undo the fine pearl buttons of his waistcoat, normally hidden by his Vicar’s cloak and robes. “I’ve not the mood to complete getting dressed; leave that to the version of myself that would bother with such things, should he choose to rear his head anytime soon.”
“That man, I’ve not seen in a very long time,” Ludwig said, widening Laurence’s smile slightly as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to him with a soft huff. “If you’ll allow me to assist you…?”
“My trousers, stockings, and garters, then, please.”
Ludwig shot him a withering look as Laurence gave him a catty little smile, and the Hunter sighed.
“As you wish.”
“Sometimes, I wonder what you mean when you say that,” Laurence said, turning his attention back to his waistcoat and the fiddly little pearls that fastened it closed. Ludwig hummed, mildly inattentive as he got to work undoing the knot of the drawstring garter pulling the trousers closed around Laurence’s calves. “It comes out so differently every single time.”
“Do not think you can distract me with affection, Laurence. I can be dogged in my line of questioning,” Ludwig warned him gently, squeezing Laurence’s calf to emphasise his point. Laurence’s breath caught in his throat, and Ludwig looked up from his large hand dwarfing Laurence’s slim leg to realise the man had stopped fiddling with his buttons to stare at him instead. He smiled exasperatedly, and looked away from Laurence again. “I shan’t ask again, beloved. Tell me what happened.”
He considered his hand around Laurence’s currently far too weak legs, and worried about injury.
“Please.”
Laurence sighed deeply, and looked off to the side, waistcoat once again forgotten, while his Holy Blade continued to remember his mission.
Silence lapsed between them as Ludwig’s fingers carefully loosened the drawstring of Laurence’s trousers, gently slipping his fingers underneath fine black linen to separate it from the delicately-knitted black silk stockings beneath. A long moment passed of just that silence, with only the sound of rustling fabric under Ludwig’s fingers as he gently slipped his hands up Laurence’s calves, over the sides of his knees, until his fingers reached a garter ribbon helping hold the stockings up.
He stopped there, and heard Laurence take a frustrated breath before speaking again.
“A Great One descended from the moon to speak with us.”
“Which Great One?” Ludwig asked, rewarding Laurence with a sure tug on the ribbons, making fine silk slip from around Laurence’s thighs. The Vicar took a shuddering breath, his eyes slipping shut as he threw his head back against the headboard.
“I’ve not been given her name. She did not offer it, though I have offered mine and Gehrman’s,” Laurence said to the canopy of his bed breathlessly. “Instead she asked about our intention to speak with her.”
“And what did you tell her?”
Ludwig slipped the garters holding Laurence’s stockings up out from under the hem of his trousers, and slipped his hands up the left trouser leg to pull the stocking down, slowly, silks a delicate whisper over Laurence’s porcelain skin.
“By the Gods, Ludwig, where did you learn this—”
“That is not the question I asked.” His hands stopped, and Laurence let out a frustrated breath.
“I told her I had questions,” Laurence gasped quietly as Ludwig moved again, easily slipping one stocking off Laurence’s leg to toss it over his shoulder behind them. “Yes, I—”
“Questions,” Ludwig echoed, pleased now that he was echoing for a different purpose as he moved to the other stocking, next. He was running out of garments to remove—he needed to get the conversation going. “You know as well as I do that you do not have simple questions.”
Laurence laughed headily.
“Oh, you know me so well, darling,” He huffed, and lifted his head to glance at Ludwig. “And it seems she knew me, too.”
Ludwig frowned at that. “She… knew you?”
“Knew that my intentions were not to simply speak with her,” Laurence clarified, “And chastised me for attempting to conceal it. She had the insight to already know what I wanted, and yet decided to indulge me our little conversation, regardless.”
“Indulgence aplenty.”
Ludwig’s words made Laurence give him a sharp smile.
“Indulgence aplenty.” He nodded in agreement. “And as such, offered another revelation… as part of a deal.”
“I’m assuming the revelation does not come with the prerequisite madness so common among those who have communed with the Great Ones before?” Ludwig asked, removing the other stocking, and Laurence shrugged.
“I’m quite sane, I would think,” He said, and Ludwig huffed at that. “No. She did not drive me mad—she only told me that I would need to consume the umbilical cords for them to have any sort of effect. And that I was missing a step—or, at the very least, I was doing something wrong.”
“Something wrong.” Ludwig frowned. “Like… Rom and Caryll?”
“Exactly that,” Laurence huffed, “Now one cannot help but wonder if womanhood is a key feature of a Great One’s induced hysteria at all. I understand Caryll was not born in her true gender, but still… a woman she is, despite everything.”
Despite everything, Laurence said, and meant the madness that claimed poor Runesmith Caryll at only ten and nine years. It had been years since then, and she remains now in the care of the School of Mensis, who would make more use out of her mad ramblings than the Healing Church.
“She said… that if I wanted to ascend so desperately… I should understand what that means first,” Laurence said hesitantly, and at that, Ludwig completely stopped. He looked at Laurence worriedly as any sense of sensuality immediately evaporated at the confession, and he sat up a little straighter, scooting closer to Laurence to hold his hand comfortingly. “To this moment, I’ve not received any insight as to what that means.”
“That’s… unfortunate,” Ludwig sighed, and pressed a kiss to Laurence’s temple. “But nevertheless, we will find that answer, eventually.”
“Yes,” Laurence mumbled, squeezing Ludwig’s hand. “Eventually.”
“But what about Gehrman?” Ludwig asked, and Laurence grimaced. Immediately, nerves sparked anew in Ludwig’s gut as he pulled away from Laurence to look at him sternly. “Laurence? What happened to Gehrman? Why was his Workshop ablaze when we got there?”
“It was?” Laurence blinked at him in surprise, and it was Ludwig’s turn to grimace. “Remember well, Ludwig, I’ve yet to see the old Workshop and what’s become of it. You mention a blaze—is it completely destroyed?”
“No, we—the Choir and some Church Hunters quickly doused the flame. It is not destroyed, but it is too fragile to support activity within.” Ludwig sighed, shaking his head. “We’ve since condemned the building and destroyed the means to reach it to prevent untoward situations.”
“I see.” Laurence frowned deeply.
“There is, however, Gehrman’s doll within,” Ludwig said, and Laurence looked at him in surprise. “From your reaction, I realise that you had no idea she was there.”
“Not a clue. I didn’t… Gehrman brought his doll to the Workshop while we communed with the nameless Moon Presence?” He asked in bewilderment, and Ludwig nodded.
“I don’t know what for or why, but she was there within the blaze. She is, however, unharmed, though I… I could not bear to bring her with us away from the Workshop.” Ludwig looked off to the side dejectedly. “Better to let her rest there, and wait for Gehrman’s return.”
“I don’t know if Gehrman will ever be able to return,” Laurence murmured, and Ludwig looked at him in horror. “Remember, the Moon Presence and I struck a deal. A contingency, if you will.”
“A contin…” Ludwig’s eyes widened. “You’ve sacrificed Gehrman for this.”
“I have done no such thing,” Laurence snapped, frowning deeply, and Ludwig reeled back like his words physically stung. “How dare you, Ludwig?”
“Forgive me, I…” Ludwig shook his head. “I just… I worry about him. He’s missing, and you’ve told me he might not come back. I’ve been exhausted from the Hunt and still I continue to worry for you. I might not be at my most cognisant, after all.”
Excuses, and Ludwig knew that Laurence could see through them. Still, it was all he could ever bring himself to say.
The truth, after all, would only make things worse—
I am of the opinion, Laurence, that you are capable of that. Rom and Caryll were not isolated incidents, and you were always Master Willem’s best student, weren’t you?
The look Laurence gave him told him exactly what he thought of Ludwig’s feeble blithering.
“So… where has he gone?” He asked sheepishly, like a child apologising for being reproached, and Laurence sighed exasperatedly.
“Don’t misunderstand, Ludwig, like myself, Gehrman was with his own intentions for the Moon Presence, should she grace us with her presence. His deal with her is his own volition, and is the reason for his absence,” Laurence explained, and Ludwig frowned at that in concern. “I’ve asked him not to go, but he insists he can withstand the terms of their bargain. So he remains in the Moon Presence’s company in a dream, while I am the only one to return to the waking world.”
“Why would…” Ludwig trailed off, and thought of the doll. “Oh.”
“It is indeed what you think.” Laurence smiled wryly, “He confided in me, in the silence as we waited for the Moon Presence to approach us, how losing Maria had taken a heavy toll on him. The doll, he said, had been an attempt to grieve, but, dare I say it, it is most maladaptive.”
“I agree.” Ludwig nodded.
“I can only speculate as to what the terms of his deal with the Moon Presence are. As for me… I feel like I’ve lost my end of the bargain.”
Laurence looked down at his and Ludwig’s joined hands.
“I lost Mother Kos’s umbilical cord. I wonder if Gehrman made sure to keep it with him as his insurance against the Moon Presence.” He gave Ludwig’s hand a weak squeeze. “Perhaps he was not as loyal as I was at the end.”
“Was the umbilical cord your insurance?”
Laurence met Ludwig’s gaze.
“Gehrman and I are much alike, aren’t we?” He smiled sadly, and Ludwig sighed, cupping Laurence’s cheek with his free hand. Laurence leaned into the touch with a sigh as Ludwig gently stroked his cheekbone. “I’ve lost the cord before consuming it. At the very least, should Master Willem begin to ask questions, I will have truthful answers.”
“And had you consumed it yourself?”
“Then I will have untruthful answers.”
Ludwig sighed exasperatedly as he shook his head.
“Laurence, you worry me often,” He said, making Laurence laugh softly. “This… this obsession with communing with the Great Ones… the Healing Blood, ascension—I understand what you’re trying to do. And why.”
“But?”
“By the Gods, Laurence, why does it have to be you?” Ludwig asked, and Laurence sobered up as their gazes met again. “The fear that seized me when I heard your cries. When I saw how much pain you were in. How long I waited for you to wake up. All this—I fear no beast, but you, coming into harm’s way? I am no better than a spooked horse.”
“Ludwig,” Laurence murmured, “And do I not fear the nights when you leave my side to bathe in blood and moonlight?”
Ludwig stopped as Laurence squeezed their joined hands again.
“Do I not worry for your life on nights of the Hunt, on nights beyond those when you sneak out by the moonlight at your sword’s behest?”
Ludwig’s eyes widened. “How did you know…?”
“Do I not wither with terror, Ludwig, when I see you possessed by the Holy Moonlight Sword, beastly from the blood you’ve spilled, mangled from injuries you sustained protecting others and I have to stitch you back together myself?”
The two of them fell silent, Laurence dropping his gaze with a shaky breath.
“I worry you, the way you worry me.” He laughed bitterly. “In that regard, one would wonder if we truly are fated to be together. If the stars of our souls were truly as crossed as we wish they were.”
“Laurence, I…”
“I tire of this conversation,” Laurence mumbled. “Finish undressing me, and choose to stay or leave, if you must.”
A dismissal, but an invite, as well, should Ludwig take it. He took a deep breath, and scooted closer, pressing their foreheads together.
“If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay.”
Laurence shut his eyes.
“I would very much like you to.”
Ludwig gently kissed him, a silent apology, and slipped his hands back down to Laurence’s trousers to unbutton his fly. They exchanged kisses with slow, apologetic languidness, unhurried by the terrors beyond their walls, content with this mutual movement like it was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
They parted for air at Ludwig’s movement, another bridge of wetness snapping into air the last thing separating them.
“I shall lift you,” Ludwig murmured, and Laurence nodded as he shrugged his waistcoat off, now finally undone while Ludwig was undoing his fly. Ludwig moved off the bed to stand properly, lifting Laurence’s upper body with one arm while his free hand tugged Laurence’s trousers down his weak, delicate legs.
And that was when he spotted it—wetness, this time clinging from the crotch of Laurence’s trousers to a sweet little shadow beneath the rumpled hem of Laurence’s shirt.
“Ludwig?” Laurence asked breathily as Ludwig slowed down in bewildered wonder.
“Hush,” Ludwig said distractedly as he set Laurence down on his back, head resting on the pillows, now. He moved to the end of the bed to pull Laurence’s trousers down completely, and his eyes widened when he realised the trousers were, indeed, wet. “What is…”
“Perhaps you oughtn’t—” Laurence began, but was hushed by Ludwig once more.
“Hush,” He said more insistently as he toed his shoes off absentmindedly. He climbed into bed with Laurence again, staring determinedly at Laurence’s covered crotch, concealed only by the hem of his shirt—the last barrier shielding Laurence’s bare body from his sight.
Slowly, Ludwig took hold of the hem, and lifted it.
Slick wetness glistened on Laurence’s inner thighs.
Higher still, went the hem of his shirt, revealing the seam between Laurence’s thighs and hips, between them Laurence’s most intimate of parts. Laurence gasped quietly, covering his burning face with both his hands as Ludwig continued to undress him, pulling his shirt ever higher until it came to a rest just beneath his beating, rabbit-fast heart.
His cock stood half-hard, keenly showing Laurence’s arousal the way his face and hands tried to hide it.
Beneath that, however, a most stunning peculiarity.
Ludwig had seen Laurence in many forms of undress before, of course—even completely nude, in the years they’ve loved each other, in the privacy afforded by spaces beyond the eyes of their peers, their subjects. He’d seen Laurence in fine cotton linens, in warm woollen knits, in delicate silks and lace—and without, each moment of being treated to the sight of his lover a treasure he held dear to his heart. He knew Laurence’s body like it was his own—knew it better than his own.
So when he saw that Laurence's perineum had a fine line between a pair of glistening wet lips—a privy chose—instead of unbroken skin to his puckered hole, Ludwig’s head spun.
He’d lain with maidens and matrons before, of course. Back when his feelings for Laurence—and even before that, really—were not as clear as they were now, Ludwig had his fair share of experience.
Fellow hunter trainees under Gehrman, both men and women. Whores in the Cathedral Ward, in Old Yharnam. Experimenting until he understood himself as a man who enjoyed the company of both gentlemen and gentlewomen. Even a brief, very ill-fated dalliance with Maria (where she learned she much preferred ladies and had no interest in men).
Ludwig knew how to pleasure a woman. Confident he could pleasure a man—pleasure Laurence.
But a new challenge—should he dare call it that—emerged in the divine revelation between Laurence’s thighs.
The Moon Presence gave him a gift, it would seem.
“Ludwig?” Laurence asked meekly behind his fingers. “I’m almost afraid to ask what it is you see that made you stop so suddenly.”
“Sometimes I wonder what it was about our arguments that make you so fond of having them,” Ludwig murmured in response, gently taking hold of the backs of Laurence’s knees. “To think that our arguments bring you pleasure… I ought to keep that in mind when I start mouthing off at you again.”
“You’ve not made much sense,” Laurence said, though with a sheepishness that told Ludwig he was correct in his assumptions. “Don’t think I’ve been pleased with how our conversation has gone, darling.”
Darling. The pet names that only appear during affection—perhaps this was the only way Laurence was going to concede to the truth of the matter.
Ludwig shrugged in response, and parted Laurence’s legs wider. The man gasped quietly in surprise and pain, letting Ludwig know that he was straining Laurence a bit too much, so he closed Laurence’s legs a little bit to ease the pain.
“Ah, apologies, beloved. Tell me if it hurts, alright?”
The new parts certainly explained the pain in Laurence’s body and his inability to use his legs now, for sure.
“What… what hurts?” Laurence asked dazedly as Ludwig leaned down to press a kiss to his pussy, making Laurence jolt in shock. Unable to use his legs, though, he couldn’t squeeze his thighs shut, helpless to lie there as a moan tore from his throat when Ludwig’s tongue traced a hot, wet line between his pussy’s lips.
“What—” Laurence gasped as Ludwig kissed his pussy again, and then gently, so very gently, slipped his tongue between his folds. Laurence jolted again, this time with a shout, as his hand shot down to grasp Ludwig’s head. His fingers roughed up the man’s hair as Ludwig dove into tasting Laurence’s pussy for the first time.
There was a strange sort of divinity—a quiet, rapturous feeling in the way Ludwig devoted himself to worshipping Laurence like this—with his lips and tongue laving loving attention to flesh made anew. Laurence’s gasps and moans as Ludwig’s tongue gently fucked him—his new, his untouched, unsullied pussy, was like birdsong, or even the heavenly tones of the Choir during worship services, punctuating Laurence’s dulcet voice as he spoke scripture and venerated the gods, the healing blood, the Great Ones.
Now, it was just the two of them. A devotee worshipping his own god by bringing him pleasure however he could. By the Gods, Ludwig could stay like this forever, a dreamlike state far more desirable than any form of existence, but there were futures yet unseen, and, indeed, opportunities yet unseized.
Like second nature, Ludwig pulled his gloves off without looking, tossing them aside, unmindful of Laurence’s dazed sound of confusion. He reached forward, pulling away from Laurence’s soaked pussy to hold his lips open with one hand, marvelling at the pink flesh of his entrance, at the way clear slick shone in the dim candlelight around them.
“L-Ludwig, oh, Gods, I…” Laurence said breathlessly to the canopy, “Is that… what…”
“The Moon Presence gave you a gift,” Ludwig murmured, now realising that Laurence’s cock was in place of where a clitoris would normally be. No matter—Ludwig had experience with both. Perhaps the Moon Presence left that alone to not spook Laurence with the sudden change. Or perhaps to not emasculate him.
Praise be to Her, Ludwig thought, for making this endeavour about half as familiar as it would be.
“A… a gift?” Laurence asked incredulously, melting into a moan again when Ludwig gently lubricated his finger up with Laurence’s slick, before slipping it into his pussy. “Oh, Ludwig!”
“One would call it a maiden’s womanhood,” Ludwig murmured, watching raptly as Laurence shuddered in pleasure, squirming helplessly as Ludwig shallowly thrust his thick finger into his pussy. “Yet you are neither maiden nor woman.”
“She—she gave me… a cunt.” Laurence threw his arm over his eyes. “Oh, that—that Moon Presence, is th—nngh, oh Ludwig, right there—”
A little thrust just slightly deeper, slightly angled, derailed Laurence’s rambling, putting a smirk on Ludwig’s lips as he began to aim for that sweet little spot within his Vicar, making him mewl with pleasure.
“This is her answer, yes,” Ludwig murmured, still staring as Laurence began to pant heavily, his pussy squeezing around his finger desperately, and he knew what that meant—his lover was close. He wondered how beautiful his climax must be.
“Explains the hip pain.” Laurence’s voice trembled with the faux calm he would put on in times of great pressure. Ludwig smiled fondly at the effort—he didn’t need to put on a front like that, not to Ludwig, but perhaps petulance at the Moon Presence’s gift may have irritated Laurence to such petty efforts. “Oh, Gods, Ludwig, darling, I—I’m so close—”
“Show me,” Ludwig said, his voice growing rough as Laurence whined, throwing his head back against the pillows. Laurence squirmed weakly in growing desperation, so Ludwig took pity on him, letting go of Laurence’s folds to reach up to his cock with his other, similarly slick hand. “Come now, my love. Show me how beautifully you climax.”
His hand wrapped around Laurence’s cock, fully erect now, making his Vicar gasp as Ludwig began to stroke him in time with his finger thrusting in and out of him—
“Ludwig!”
Laurence’s orgasm was as beautiful as ever. The way his lips fell open, the flush high on his delicate cheekbones, the way his lean muscles twitched, the way his golden hair fanned out behind him like a burning veil—a view not unfamiliar to Ludwig, who had undone Laurence numerous times by now, a view that was never tiresome in the slightest.
Laurence’s pussy squeezed around his finger, gripping him tightly as his cock twitched in Ludwig’s grip—and a surprisingly clear fluid spilled from Laurence’s cock while more wetness squirted out from his pussy.
Ludwig drank in the sight rapaciously: his Vicar, often so put together, so neat and clean and pure, covered in the filth of pleasure and wetness, panting heavily and twitching helplessly as his sex—both of them, Ludwig supposed, were within Ludwig’s grasp. His erection, not since flagged, was still trapped in Ludwig’s large hand, his pussy still open with Ludwig’s thick finger lodged firmly inside.
If only he could burn this gorgeous sight behind his eyelids.
“My love,” Ludwig said, surprised to hear how rough his voice sounded. “You were stunning.”
Laurence could only lie there, panting heavily as he looked up at Ludwig through half-lidded eyes.
“I—you’ve bewitched me, all over again.”
“You find me desirable, darling?” Laurence murmured, and Ludwig nodded so quickly he almost felt lightheaded. A tired little smile crossed Laurence’s lips. “You do not find my mutilation so hateful?”
“Mutilation?” Ludwig echoed, “Do you think yourself so disfigured by this?”
“My forced feminisation is… unsettling, to say the least,” Laurence said, and Ludwig’s heart ached to see him look shamefully off to the side. “I thought that perhaps it was womanhood that caused problems for Rom and Caryll… but clearly, womanhood is the answer.”
“The umbilical cords’ significance might have been some indication of that, yes,” Ludwig said, earning him a withering look from Laurence, but Ludwig raised an eyebrow at him. “You like it when I mouth off at you.”
“Hush,” Laurence sighed in defeat, covering his face shamefully. “The Moon Presence gave me a cunt. That is how she will teach me to understand what it’s like to be a Great One.”
“From the ones we do know of, they are mostly feminine.” Ludwig gently let go of Laurence’s cock, and began to slowly ease his finger out of his pussy, making Laurence wince in overstimulation. “Mother Kos, this Moon Presence…”
“Rom, if we’re to count her ascension as legitimate,” Laurence said, “And Ebrietas, downstairs. The only allegedly masculine Great One we do know is Oedon, but even then…”
“Even then,” Ludwig murmured, and Laurence nodded. “Perhaps womanhood—childbirth? Might be the answer. Caryll could not bear children… is that why she did not ascend? Just went mad?”
“So must I bear a child to ascend?” Laurence frowned, looking down at his crotch, and so did Ludwig, a bit more sheepishly now. “Wouldn’t that make my child the Great One? Not me?”
“There is also the question of… parenthood,” Ludwig said lamely, and Laurence looked at him owlishly. “Oh, come now, Laurence. You know it takes two people to make a child.”
“Well, yes,” Laurence said, “But if I were to bear a Great One… must I lay with a Great One? How would I even go about that?”
The thought of sharing Laurence with someone else—even a Great One—made an ugly, caustic sensation curl in Ludwig’s gut. He did particularly mind that he would have to share Laurence in that manner, should things come down to it.
“Brilliant bedside manner, the both of us,” Ludwig grumbled, shaking his head, and the comment snapped Laurence out of his thoughts, making him laugh slightly. “Perhaps not the best discussion to be having while we’re making love.”
“You said we weren’t going to,” Laurence chuckled fondly behind a delicate hand. “I’m not the one who immediately dove into cunnilingus the moment he saw a cunt.”
“It was your cunt,” Ludwig replied half-heartedly, feeling his cheeks burn at the confession. “My curiosity and eagerness got the better of me.”
“You’d be right at home in Byrgenwerth, then.” Laurence smiled at Ludwig warmly, who smiled back at him sheepishly. “Imagine if we’d met earlier…”
“If I was a student at Byrgenwerth with you, love, I might not have become your Holy Blade,” Ludwig said, and Laurence shrugged easily in agreement.
“But we would have been sleeping together much earlier.”
Ludwig let out a bark of surprised laughter at that, pulling Laurence along with him into a fit of laughter. Their laughter echoed through Laurence’s bedchambers with a mirth sorely missed through such dark times, and eventually, they sobered up, twin sighs of contentment passing lips only a hair’s width apart as they grew closer, foreheads touching.
“I love you,” Ludwig murmured.
“I love you,” Laurence replied, and then, a little more quietly: “No matter what happens, will you stay by my side, Ludwig?”
Ludwig smiled warmly at that, and kissed Laurence again, deep, slow, and gentle.
As if he had to ask.
“As you wish, Laurence.”
He hoped this time, Laurence knew what he meant by it.