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“Does it hurt when they bleed you?” Lunka asks as they made their way down to the river.
“Only a bit,” Coen answers, his feeder had been careful with him, thankfully.
“Unless they suck you dry!” Mirto calls back suggestively.
“Mirto, that's enough!” Yanna chides, “Why do you have to go and say such things?”
“Vrakhiri are evil,” Mirto snarks, “I bet they’d do just that if they could.”
“But they saved us, didn’t they?” Lunka asks.
“That they did sweet pea, but we still have to be careful around them,” Coen answers. That’s his own personal motto anyway, to always be on his guard around his feeder.
Coen remembers when the Blood Masses started. He recalls the very first time which Ambrus chose him to drink from at mass.
Ever since then, it’s always been him…
The other Vrakhiri overlords chose different villagers each time to sate their needs. All save for Ambrus who kept coming back to Coen time after time. Naturally, those actions had made Coen question Ambrus’ motives at one point in time.
“Do you think it means something?” Coen had asked Yanna one evening after a mass.
“I suppose you’re his favourite feed,” Yanna answers with a shrug, “Perhaps your blood is suited to his taste more than any others?”
“Well he hasn’t even tried tasting any others since Brencis arrived,” Coen argued, “He can’t have decided that he prefers my blood compared to others.”
“Why don’t you suggest that he feed from someone else then if you dislike it so much?” Yanna asks.
And perhaps that’s the question Coen had been asking himself since the second drink Ambrus had taken from him. There is a bond that develops between Vrakhiri and their prey and Coen had seen…things through the memory bleed because of the bond. Ambrus’ feelings had lingered between them the second time he’d drank from Coen.
It was something like a mix between desire and self loathing. Coen himself had not been entirely unaffected either though he did his best to keep his feelings under wraps.
But by the fourth time he’d spent the night with Ambrus, Coen had discovered that the Vrakhiri was sweet on him. Or at least, Ambrus’ feelings seemed of an affectionate sort.
Which was strange to Coen for they barely talked more than was necessary. Coen kept his silence mostly out of fear. Though he also felt that Ambrus didn’t seem like the kind who wished to converse. Unlike the rest of Brencis’ company who seemed to bask in their supernatural powers, Ambrus seemed more reserved. He was a good fighter, that Coen knew well enough for he’d seen the man fight the knyaz’s soldiers off before. But other than that, Ambrus remained much a mystery.
Coen supposes that Ambrus was new to Brencis’ coven, for at the masses, it is Ambrus who had the last pick. So he’s the runt of the litter then. Perhaps he’s lonely. Or perhaps he just sought familiarity in the person he fed from? One day, Coen would find the courage to ask him.
The last time they’d met, Ambrus drank deeper than usual. Coen had seen something flicker across his enemy’s scarred face, a fleeting hint of emotion. But what had surprised him were the words that came next, “My apologies for the extended drink,” he’d said, cool hand slipping from Coen’s neck, “Eat,” he says nodding to the food laid out on a table nearby, “It should put strength in you after I’ve fed from you.”
Coen had stared at the food wondering when it had appeared. Then perhaps meaning to understand Ambrus better, he had asked, “Are you going to join me?”
“No,” came the reply almost coldly, “I do not eat human food any longer.”
“Why?”
Ambrus scowled, “It tastes like ash on my tongue.”
Coen nodded as though he understood, “So you’ll watch me eat then? Won’t you feel…jealous?”
“I can leave if that is what you would prefer,” Ambrus offered at once, proving to be quite the gentleman.
“But then you’d come back?” Coen asked, one brow rising in question.
“Yes.”
“Hmph, so that you can feed from me again?” Coen scoffs lightly as he reaches for his shirt, “What a glutton,” he teased pulling away from Ambrus as he made to dress.
But Ambrus catches his wrist, “What did you say?” he asks shocked almost.
“I called you a glutton,” Coen answers, looking Ambrus in the eye as he said that, “Teasingly of course,” he adds for good measure with a nervous smile, “It’s just you know…a bit greedy if you’re feeding from me twice in one night,” he continues, hazel eyes looking upon soulful blue ones.
It had become an unspoken rule amongst them that one must not look the Vrakhiri in the eye but well…perhaps Coen had become far too familiar with Ambrus. The latter had after all fed from him nearly half a dozen times now.
In a flash of movement, Ambrus had a grip on his neck and Coen tenses under the cool touch. Ambrus’ hand squeezes soft, testing and Coen winces at the ache, his neck still tender from Ambrus’ feeding.
“That still hurts you know,” he answers with a grimace.
At once, Ambrus’ grip loosens, “My apologies,” he says quietly. And then he seemed to be contemplating something.
Which, looking back now, Coen had not expected at all.
“You…you have nice eyes, Coen,” Ambrus says and then in a puff of crimson smoke he’s gone from the room, leaving Coen alone.
“What in the heavens…” Coen mutters rooted to his spot on the wooden bench, “Th-thanks? I guess?” he says to no one in particular.
Pulling on his shirt, Coen had gone to eat his fill of the meal laid out for him. Then he’d waited for Ambrus to return in another puff of smoke perhaps or as a swarm of red butterflies. But neither happened and the hours went by, beeswax candles dripping down in their holders. It got later and later and Ambrus never turned up again that night.
Coen had eventually curled up in what he presumed to be Ambrus’ bed, dozing off to sleep from the food and the lethargy of being Ambrus’ feed for the night.
At dawn, Coen had taken his leave of a quiet keep.
And that was the extent of their last visit.
It had left Coen curious as a cat.
All through the week he anticipated the next mass and when the time came, he helped his father bring his mother up to the church. She was quiet as a mouse this week and both he and his father were relieved for that. At least Anca’s medicine seemed to be working.
“Coen,” his father calls now, “You’d best not stay the night again.”
“It’s not like want to,” Coen answers calmly, “Things happened the last time.”
“Things?” Pieter asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion now, “What does Ambrus do to you?”
“Nothing, father!” Coen snaps looking thoroughly affronted, as his cheeks heat at the insinuation of his father’s words, “He drinks. That’s it. That’s all there is. I’m just his favourite blood snack.”
“Then there’s no need to stay the night,” Pieter continues stoically, “You get yourself home as quickly as you can once the feeding’s over.”
“You think I want to linger?” Coen argues, “I don’t want my throat ripped out. So I do what’s necessary.”
“As long as my son doesn’t start…” Pieter begins and then thinks better of it, shaking his head as he sighs, “You should take your dagger with you. It might help you in a pinch.”
“Against a Vrakhiri? It’s a needle,” Coen scoffs as they step into the church grounds.
The Blood Mass begins as it almost always does. Brencis, Xanthe, Bakir and then Ambrus take their pick of their humans to feed from.
Though this time, Coen feels anxious every time it’s one of the Vrakhiri’s turns to pick someone. It’s like he’s afraid he’ll be chosen by one of them before it gets to Ambrus’ turn to pick. But soon enough, Coen hears that familiar voice, “I will have him,” Ambrus announces nodding over in Coen’s direction.
As usual, Coen steps out, heading up the aisle.
Only this time there is more commotion.
“Again?! Are you not tired of his taste, Ambrus?” Bakir booms, “I’ve heard there are others who wish for your bite too you know. Why don’t you shower you attention on them instead? I can point them out to you if you need.”
“No. I do not wish for others,” Ambrus answers, coldly, “Do not tell me what to do.”
Then Ambrus is looking at him, “Come, Coen. Over here.”
Coen cautiously takes a step towards Ambrus.
But in the blink of an eye, Bakir is standing before him, towering over him all menacing-like. “How about this, Ambrus?” the hulk of a man says, “I’ll bleed your dearest Coen this time. See what’s so good about this one that has you going back to his neck week after week, hm?” he says with a devious grin, one hand closing about Coen’s jaw, fingers digging in hard enough to make Coen wince.
Coen felt a rush of wind as Ambrus moved a flash of blond from the corner of his eye.
“Hands off,” Ambrus snarls, sending Bakir flying across the altar, crashing into the wooden pulpit which splintered under the Vrakhiri’s weight, “He’s mine,” Ambrus continues in a growl, fangs bared like a wolf, threatened. His fledgling powers thrummed strongly in his veins as he stood there, shielding Coen with his body lest Bakir decided to attack.
“Brencis!” Bakir yells, “This cannot stand! He grows soft with affection,” Bakir sneers as he stands dusting himself off, splinters and all.
Brencis holds up a hand to still the arguments, “Get your temper in check, Bakir. Go and feed. Ambrus gets to choose whomever he wants. That is my rule,” he says then turns to look at Ambrus, “Take him and be gone.”
Ambrus doesn’t waste a moment as he grabs Coen by the wrist and whisks them away, back to the confines of his room at the keep.
Somehow this time, it’s different. The room seems quieter, more tense and Ambrus doesn’t know what to do or say. So he watches as Coen starts to undress, unlacing his tunic before pulling it over his head.
“Stop,” Ambrus commands, “Leave it.”
“I…beg your pardon?” Coen asks, voice muffled.
Ambrus finds a headless Coen, stuck in the confines of his tunic. He peers out, hazel eyes shining as he looks at Ambrus through the opening of his tunic, “You want me to stand like this?” Coen asks flailing his arms about while looking almost horrified.
It’s so much so that Ambrus finds a laugh bubbling up. He hasn’t laughed in quite a while. Brencis’ coven aren’t exactly a friendly lot and Ambrus had kept himself well guarded while he was amongst them.
“You look ridiculous, Coen,” he says as he steps in closer, tugging at the hem of Coen’s tunic and helping him back into it. Ambrus’ hands skimmed cool against Coen’s warm torso, an accident. One which seemed to draw a soft, sharp inhale from Coen who steps back as Ambrus withdraws his hands.
“First time I ever heard you laugh,” Coen comments, with a wry smile, “You’re in good spirits this evening?”
“You could say that,” Ambrus answers, “I like when Brencis tells that pig-headed fool off.”
“Bakir, was it?” Coen continues, hands clasped before him.
“Yes. He has a temper that one,” Ambrus reveals, “He also thinks the world is his alone to conquer,” he continues moving over to take a seat upon his bed.
“Actually…” Coen begins all cautious-like as he follows Ambrus over to his bed, “I have a question if you will indulge me?”
‘I’ll bleed your dearest Coen…’
Ambrus shuts out Bakir’s taunting words. Usually, he’s always business. The first few times they hadn’t spoke at all when Ambrus had fed. Then after one of the nights when Coen had staggered out of his room and nearly keeled over, Ambrus was shocked to find that his heart skipped. He was afraid Coen would faint away and injure himself. So the next time, he offered food, that Coen might eat his fill and hopefully not faint from Ambrus’ increasingly lengthy drinks.
The conclusion Ambrus had come to was that he was addicted to the taste of Coen’s blood. He didn’t want to examine things too closely though, especially his feelings.
“Ambrus?” Coen prompts, calling him back to the present, “So…can I ask you a question?”
“One question,” Ambrus permits, “Then I feed from you.”
“Alright…” Coen answers ever the cautious one before he asks, “Why do you keep drinking from me? I’ve wondered that for awhile actually. Do you…like how I taste or…what is it?”
If Ambrus is being honest, then yes, he likes how Coen tastes immensely. He likes the way he smells too and not to mention a number of other things.
“You smell impossibly delicious,” Ambrus answers all matter-of-factly.
“And that’s it?” Coen presses he’s not sure how Ambrus would take it if he revealed the memory bleed and the things he sees when Ambrus drinks from him.
“Your company is…acceptable.”
“Acceptable?” Coen snarks with a disregarding laugh, “So what am I then? Your favourite blood snack?” he huffs rolling his eyes. It seemed rather offensive of Ambrus to call him only acceptable when they’ve been meeting like this for the past few months.
“Blood snack…?” Ambrus asks, head cocked to the side, “No. You’re a person, obviously,” he answers and then after a moment he adds, “My person.”
Coen feels like he’s been smacked in the head with a stone. Ambrus is far too calm about this. “You can’t…I…” Coen swallows, as his brain stalls, mouth opening and closing as he flounders like a proper fish, “Ambrus!” he snaps instead watching blond eyebrows rise innocently in question.
“What?”
“I…” Coen finds his cheeks heating as he averts his eyes. He had not expected the Vrakhiri to say such a thing. Much less defend him from Bakir just now.
“You can’t just say that,” Coen settles now eyeing Ambrus quietly.
“Why not? You asked, did you not? So I told you.”
“Yes but— “Coen tries hard not to think about it. The insinuation. The way his father had thought there to be something more between them.
‘He probably doesn’t mean it that way. Or he would’ve acted on his desires by now.’
“If you do not like it then I will not say it again,” Ambrus answers seemingly unaffected now.
“No! I mean it’s…”
‘Nice? Safe?’
Ambrus is Vrakhiri and they are evil things. At least…Coen has always thought them to be so…until now with Ambrus.
“Alright, look all I’m saying is that ‘my person’? It sounds a bit possessive.”
“Does it?” Ambrus purrs, a flicker of interest sparking in blue eyes, “Good. I do not like others touching what is mine.”
That should not make a shiver of delight course up Coen’s spine but it does and he doesn’t want to think why that might be the case.
“Again with the words,” Coen chides, “I’m not something to be owned you know!”
“You don’t have a choice,” Ambrus answers, “At least not while we’re here. So you’ll just have to live with it. Now enough talking, I want to feed.”
“Yeah? Well I want to leave,” Coen snaps as he pushes to his feet, “You can go and find someone else who wants to be kept as your pet.”
All at once, Ambrus spurs to life, cornering Coen before the latter can make it to the door.
“There is nowhere that you can run to that I cannot catch you, Coen. Don’t be silly now,” he warns approaching his human cautiously, “You’ve always been so good.”
“And you’ve always been so stoic,” Coen throws back.
“Ah, so you would prefer that I talk to you more before I feed? Is that what you’d like? Because it can be arranged,” Ambrus promises, taking another cautious step closer.
“Yes I—I mean, no! I don’t even want you to feed from me!”
Ambrus’ features darken, “Is that so?”
Coen gulps as he eyes Ambrus, gauging the distance between him and the door.
“I see your desires when I drink,” Ambrus reveals watching hazel eyes widen in surprise, “It’s a two way thing.”
“Then you must know that your thoughts are filthy,” Coen bites back as he lunges for Ambrus, intending to tackle the Vrakhiri to the ground and make his escape. But Ambrus is like a solid brick wall. Immoveable. And Coen only panics, flailing as the Vrakhiri’s arms enveloped him tight.
Ambrus chuckles, “And you think yours are any purer? Shall I show you what I last saw when I drank from you?”
Coen’s breath hitched as he felt Ambrus’ form pressed up against his back, “I don’t need you to show me anything,” he argues, squirming as he tried to escape. But Ambrus’ arms are banded tight about him.
“I want to show you, Coen,” Ambrus purrs, “Come,” he orders the Vrakhiri’s command making Coen stop his struggling as he walked them over to the brass mirror set into the stone wall of the keep. When the grey haze of his command wore off and Coen’s eyes returned to panicked hazel, Ambrus gripped his sun-kissed human’s jaw and tilted Coen’s head to the side, exposing his neck.
“Ambrus!” Coen cried meeting silvered eyes in the mirror now, “Stop it. Now!”
“No,” came the deep, growl, “I’ll show you how you want me to feed from you,” he husks and Coen whimpers, watching the way they stood so close together, their reflections practically melded into one now.
Coen bit his lower lip as he felt Ambrus’ cool breath feathering against his neck, that blond head tucked close to his own dark-haired one. He’s thought of this particular image the past few times when Ambrus had fed from him and it makes his skin prickle over in anticipation as Ambrus made to carry out his most secret of desires.
He watched as Ambrus kissed his skin, soft, hot and open-mouthed. And the longer he watches Ambrus littering his neck with kisses, Coen is embarrassed to find his own hand lifting to card into blond locks, guiding those lips closer.
“Drink…” Coen breathes the word, a single command and Ambrus is wanton to obey.
Ambrus inhales Coen’s sweet, intoxicating scent and feels the ache in his jaws as his fangs extended. Then Ambrus bites into that sun-tanned skin and drinks. The first pull of Coen’s blood has them both moaning. Ambrus’ arm winds about Coen’s waist as he presses them closer together. He knows he’s long gone for Coen, since the moment he’d called Coen to be his at the second mass. It was then that Ambrus realised that he had developed an addiction to this human, to their connection, to Coen’s blood on his tongue.
For Coen, this was the one thing he’d never told a single person. Not even Yanna. In the quiet hours between the weeks when he met Ambrus for the mass, Coen had thought of shamefully intimate moments between them. He had desired Ambrus’ mouth on him, those cool hands, slipping between the ties of his tunic, to burn into his skin. Between duty, caring for his family and his need to escape this village, Coen had shoved thoughts of love and affection for another person away entirely. He didn’t need one more problem…and yet…here they are now…
Ambrus’ pale hands slides up under his tunic, bunching the fabric as his hands wandered along Coen’s tanned, lean frame. Coen felt heat rise to his cheeks the longer he watched their reflections behaving so scandalously. It felt like a dream to have Ambrus’ hands on him, sliding cool over every inch of his bared skin, mapping his body, every turn of a muscle, every ridge of a scar. Ambrus let his hand settle low, splayed across Coen’s belly now, waiting.
At the next pull of Ambrus’ feeding from his neck, Coen sighs softly, arching into Ambrus’ mouth as heat flickered low inside him. He should be pushing Ambrus away, should be stopping the other man. Yet he’s got a hand tangled in blond locks, hazel eyes watching the way his body trembled in the mirror. He caught it, the way his hips shifted, under Ambrus’ hands, seeking a touch.
For Ambrus, each thick pull of Coen’s blood hot upon his tongue made him groan like a man starved. It had only been a week since he’d last fed. Yet every time Coen returned for the next mass, Ambrus would be salivating at the thought of tasting him. More than once, Ambrus had wondered if he might broach the topic of them lying together. Then he’d thought better. That would only complicate things. It wasn’t until he’d seen Coen’s thoughts, his desire that Ambrus thought he might stand a chance.
Ambrus lifts his head now, licking his lips when he’s finished feeding. He feels Coen lean back against him, knees no doubt going weak from the feeding. He meets Coen’s dazed hazel eyes in the mirror, “Still with me?” Ambrus asks, one hand trailing up Coen’s side drawing his tunic up once again.
Coen nods and Ambrus grins as he rends his human free of his tunic.
Excitement thrums under Coen’s skin all foreign and overwhelming. Intimacy has never been something afforded to him at such close quarters before. He didn’t have the time back home to think about matters of the heart. It just…wasn't a priority for him. His heart had yearned to be close to someone a dozen times over but Coen had never acted on it. Now though, as he stands here half undressed in Ambrus’ arms, his heart skips as his body responds to Ambrus’ touch.
Ambrus is pleased to see the way Coen arches into his wandering hands. He is even more pleased to watch the way Coen’s cheeks coloured as his thumbs flicked lightly over Coen’s nipples. They budded under his touch, hardening till Ambrus can tease them between thumb and forefinger. He adored it, the moment Coen gasps because of him, hazel eyes shyly watching their reflection. This time, Ambrus feels a hunger that didn’t have a thing to do with blood.
He wants Coen.
The Vrakhiri let his hand drift lower now coasting over Coen’s hip before settling over the obvious tent in Coen’s breeches. Ambrus cupped Coen’s hardening length, palming him through the cloth. He began to move his hand, palm pressing firmly in slow, deliberate strokes.
Coen’s head tipped back against Ambrus’ shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a whimper escaped his lips. He felt his cock twitch, growing larger under Ambrus’ ministrations. When he looks back in the mirror, Coen is appalled to find how perfectly debauched he looks, dark hair mussed, lips parted on soft cries, his chest flushed as Ambrus worked his nipples with one hand, while the other teased his cock to attention. And Coen’s hips are working traitorously hard, pressing all needy-like into Ambrus’ hand.
“Ambrus…” he cries, one hand tugging against blond locks.
“Yes?” the Vrakhiri purrs, lips kissing the bite mark upon his neck, “What is it?”
“This…we shouldn’t be doing this,” Coen sighs despite the way his hips thrust to grind his cock into Ambrus’ waiting palm.
“Shouldn’t we?” Ambrus asks, fingers working the ties of Coen’s breeches open, one lace at a time till it hangs open allowing him just enough space to slip his hand inside touching Coen, skin on skin, “The way I recall it,” Ambrus continues temptingly, “When a man is hard like this, he usually likes what’s happening to him.”
Coen lets out a sharp exhale, biting down on his lower lip as he felt Ambrus take his length in hand, tugging him ever so sensually. Any further protest died upon his lips as Ambrus other hand made to shove his breeches further down about his thighs, freeing Coen’s shaft fully to pleasure him with measured strokes of his cock.
“Look at you,” Ambrus husks, nuzzling close to Coen’s cheek, “You like it so much, you’re dripping,” he says, thumb dipping into the slit of Coen’s shaft, smearing the clear liquid over the swollen head of his cock.
“Ambrus!” Coen whines, the sound rather unbecoming for a man now as he pushes at the Vrakhiri’s arms, “You said you wanted to feed and you’re done…so…let me go.”
“Mmm but look at us,” Ambrus purrs, chin tucked over a sun-kissed shoulder, “See how good we look together like this?”
Coen did look.
He took in his own, half naked bare form, pressed against Ambrus’ still armoured one. He feels a delicious shiver up his spine as Ambrus kissed his neck again softly, licking against the tender bite wound he’d left.
“I should reward you for how good you’ve been with me all this while,” Ambrus whispers, “Would you like that Coen?”
“How…how will you reward me?” Coen breathes and he feels Ambrus guide him forward, closer to the mirror. He flinches as his chest pressed up against the mirror’s cool surface. The silvery glass fogged over with every exhale he made.
“Stay here and wait for me,” Ambrus murmurs against his neck, pressing a soft kiss in promise before he pulls away.
Coen obeys the request and stays there, pressed against the mirror. Behind him he could hear the sound of shuffling as he listened to Ambrus shifting. He heard the clink of armour and the snap of a belt and his heart thunders in his chest, forehead pressing hard into the cool glass. This isn’t happening. Surely, it must be a dream…surely Ambrus isn’t helping him out of his boots and guiding him out of his breeches…
Once he had rendered Coen entirely naked, Ambrus eyes Coen’s tanned form pressed shyly up against the mirror. He hadn’t turned back once to look at Ambrus at all. But that makes him smile. He likes how Coen looks, all lean and almost fragile. He reaches for a glass vial now, uncorking it. Scented oil pours forth into his palm. Then, he guided his slicked fingers between Coen’s legs, stepping in close behind his human.
Coen tenses at the feel of Ambrus’ fingers teasing against his furl of his arse. He should speak up, say something. But the only thing that leaves his lips is a surprised cry as Ambrus’ finger circled the rim of his opening before pressing in slowly. The soft scent of lavender fills his nose as the Vrakhiri works him open with gentle fingers. One digit becomes two, curling and stretching inside him, plying through a passage where no other has touched him before.
“Ambrus…!” Coen keens, breath hitching as he felt one hand clamp upon his bared hip, steadying him. His breath hitches as Ambrus fingers thrust into him, the burn slowly giving way to a pleasure that he has never felt before.
“Hush, do not fret,” Ambrus whispers, pressing a kiss to the curve of Coen’s shoulder, and then working higher till he’s kissing the bite mark he’d made, “You’re doing so good,” he praises quietly, fingers continuing to prepare Coen for him.
“See? Just feel how you open for me,” Ambrus continues adding a third finger to the heated, slick mess of Coen’s passage.
Coen made a soft, needy sound in the back of his throat, hips acting wantonly as he pushed back onto Ambrus’ fingers, thighs quaking at the newfound pleasure he’s discovering with Ambrus. Coen leans into the cool glass of the mirror, breath clouding the glass in short bursts every so often, “Ambrus…please…what are you doing to me?”
“Rewarding you,” Ambrus purrs, “Just you wait,” he whispers withdrawing his fingers now, pleased at the absolutely needy sound Coen makes for him. His heart twists when Coen looks over his shoulder, hazel eyes questioning him.
Coen’s breath is stolen from him. For the first time since they’d met in this room, Ambrus’ stands pale and naked. The Vrakhiri’s body is well toned, arms leanly muscled, with a waist that tapered. He had beautifully sculpted thighs and calves and…when his eyes rose higher, Coen saw the proud, thick shaft that stood to attention between the Vrakhiri’s legs. Ambrus is certainly larger than Coen, thicker too…
“Goodness…” Coen breathes as he watches Ambrus pour more oil from a vial, into the palm of his hand. Ambrus slathered the liquid over his cock, the soft squelch as he moved his fist over that thick, veined length made Coen’s mouth run dry. And then he’s stepping closer, grabbing Coen’s him and lining up against him.
“Breathe,” Ambrus whispers as he pushes, slowly into Coen, the head of his cock, nudging the tight furl of muscle.
Coen did as he was told, breathing of the scented lavender oil that filled the room. He felt a deep ache filling him as Ambrus slowly rolled his hips, pushing into him, inch by thick inch. He moans brokenly as Ambrus wound an arm about his waist, all possessive-like, the cool line of his body pressing against Coen’s back. Ambrus’ other arm extended, hand wrapping over Coen’s one braced upon the mirror. Ambrus’ lips pressed feather light kisses to his cheek, along his jaw, seeking…his lips…
Coen turned to meet Ambrus’ lips in a slow, heated kiss, tongues dancing as he felt the Vrakhiri’s cock, filling him up. He is well and truly trapped now as they kissed, something needy and desperate. Perhaps he doesn’t want to leave. Perhaps this is where he belongs.
Ambrus trembles at the feel of Coen’s heat about him, tight and wet from his fingers. He is seated fully now and the feeling is utterly overwhelming. He breaks their kiss, hugging Coen tightly as he drops his forehead to rest against the nape of Coen’s neck, breathing hard. He could never have imagined this happening between them. He had told himself when he’d first chosen Coen that it was simply hunger. That he had chosen any of the humans.
In truth, Ambrus had found himself drawn to Coen’s good looks like a moth to flame. He liked the way Coen wore his hair in that half up, half down style. He liked how Coen was protective of his mother, obedient to his father. Ambrus had told himself that he would keep choosing Coen every week at mass because it was only a part of his new routine, sustenance.
It was all a lie.
Later when he’d thought to care for Coen, Ambrus had labelled him a pleasant diversion from the sterile company he keeps with Brencis’ coven. He could never quite be honest about it but Coen tasted better than anyone he had ever fed from before. And now, as Coen’s body yielded to him…as a sun kissed hand reached back to grip, encouragingly at his hip…Ambrus’ heart aches.
Coen isn’t just some blood sack. A snack. A plaything.
Coen is so much more than that. A stubborn, funny, comforting presence that Ambrus wishes to keep forever. He had fallen for Coen from the moment he’d saved Coen from the old knyaz’s henchmen. Coen had tried to fight a battle that he knew he could not win and all for his little sister. Someone like that? Would be devoted, loyal…a good lover…
Ambrus began to move just then in a slow, drag of his hips. He relished the feel of Coen’s body, the way they fit so well together. In and out he thrust his cock, hands gripping tight, palms pressed to Coen’s heated flesh. He hooked his chin over Coen’s shoulder, watching his human as the mirror fogged over and over with each of Coen’s open mouthed cries. He adored how each thrust of his hips made Coen cry for him, calling his name softly. This is a sight he truly relished. For Coen, caught in the throes of pleasure is a beautiful wonder to behold.
Coen noses against Ambrus’ cheek, his free hand reaching to tangle in Ambrus’ hair once more. He dragged those lips against his in a needy, clumsy kiss all sweet and desperate. He wanted Ambrus close. Closer than they already are. He wanted them melded together. Coen delights in it, the way Ambrus kissed him back eagerly, lips curling into a smile as though the Vrakhiri enjoyed this too.
“You…you feel good,” Coen breathes against Ambrus’ lips, “Don’t stop…please…don’t stop.”
Ambrus’ laugh is deep and throaty, “I won’t,” he promises, pressing a kiss to Coen’s cheek, “I can tell you like this,” he continues teasingly, “You flutter about me so much, I could spend inside you like this.”
“Ambrus! Don’t talk like that!” Coen chides cheeks heating.
“But you’re perfect like this,” Ambrus hums.
Coen’s knees buckled at that. His forehead thumped softly back against the mirror, fogging the glass up with a needy little moan. Ambrus is too much for him, every slow thrust of his hips, sent Coen rocking up onto his toes now as they moved together, desperately in tandem. Ambrus took his time, fucking into him all nice and slow till the only thing that fills the room is the soft, supple slap of skin on skin and Coen’s wanton cries.
It isn’t long before Coen felt his pleasure cresting. He couldn’t recognise himself as he worked his hips back something desperate onto Ambrus’ cock, seeking that pleasure. And Ambrus, the devil, had a fist about Coen’s cock, stroking him perfectly in time to his thrusts.
The twin attacks made Coen’s toes curl as he finally spilled with a sharp, muffled cry against the mirror’s cool surface, painting it in thick, pearly ropes of seed. Ambrus continued to milk his cock, till Coen whimpered, trying to stop him. His body trembled in the aftermath of his undoing and his walls clenched rhythmically tight about Ambrus, dragging the Vrakhiri along with him moments later.
Ambrus’ world shattered as he buried himself to the hilt in Coen’s fluttering heat. He spent with a low groan, forehead pressed to Coen’s back as he spilled inside Coen, his hips stuttering through the final waves of his undoing.
For a long moment after, they stood there, locked in each other’s embrace, both breathing hard.
Then the distant rumble of thunder startles Coen to life once more.
“Shit…I should probably be going back now,” he mutters as he extricates himself from Ambrus’ arms.
Only as he does, the soft hiss of rain can be heard outside the as the wind howls through the open windows. Thunder rumbles again, deep and rolling like a drumbeat.
“Too late for that,” Ambrus huffs a laugh, “You can stay the night if you’d like. I’m not letting you go out in that,” he continues as lightning sparks purple across the sky.
“I can’t…my father doesn’t like it,” Coen answers with a sigh.
“Why? Does he think I’m corrupting you? He’s not far from the truth,” Ambrus chuckles as he picks up Coen’s clothes now, “At least use my washstand. Then you can decide what to do with yourself.”
Coen meekly does as he’s told pouring out a basin of water as he cleaned himself under Ambrus’ watchful eyes.
“You could…walk me home you know?” he suggests, almost playful.
Ambrus shakes his head, “I doubt your father would like that.”
“You never know. He might be generous enough to reward you if he knows you walked his son back in the dark.”
“Generous enough to run me through with a sword perhaps,” Ambrus snarks as he eyes Coen pulling on a tunic. He already laments the fact that Coen has to be clothed.
“Please stay,” Ambrus asks again, his tone softer this time as he takes Coen’s hand in his, “I’d…relish your company tonight actually…” he confesses meeting gently startled hazel eyes.
“Ambrus…” Coen begins and then stops, feeling a lump growing in his throat, “If anyone finds us, we’d be in trouble.”
“You regret it…what we’ve done.”
“Regret’s a strong word…” Coen mutters as he squeezes Ambrus’ hand in his, “It…was…a new experience for me. I’ve…never had anyone like that before. It’s just…society will not be forgiving if they found out…so…” his words petered out. ‘It matters not,’ he thinks but does not say.
“It matters to me,” Ambrus ground out as he draws his hand away from Coen’s, “Go then, since you wish to walk home in this weather. Best you take care. I don’t want to loose my favourite blood snack to a pack of wolves or something,” he snaps all sarcastically.
Coen sighs as the thunder rumbles again overhead. The rain would have turned the road to mud by now and it’s not like he wanted to walk in the dark at night in a storm. He just knows his father would not be pleased to find him returning tomorrow. He could always make an excuse. He’s good at that. But it’s Ambrus’ pale form curled up in that large bed that tugs at his heart and Coen finds himself padding over to the bed, crawling in behind Ambrus.
“I’ll stay,” Coen says, nuzzling against a pale shoulder, “but only if you promise me you won’t disappear like you did the last time.”
“I didn’t disappear,” Ambrus reveals as he turns about to face Coen now, “I sat in the tree all night as an owl. I watched you eat, then pace and talk to yourself before finally sleeping.”
“You did?!?!”
Ambrus smiles wryly, “I wanted to see what you would do.”
Coen scowls, letting out a huff of laughter, “Unbelievable!”
“What can I say?” Ambrus answers, “I was shy.”
“Shy!” Coen accuses, voice climbing, “You were not shy just now, were you?” he asks accusingly.
“Only because I tasted your blood and knew taht you wanted me too…”
Coen blushes, “You can…taste that?”
“Desire makes your blood run sweet, Coen and you,” Ambrus says pointedly one hand cupping Coen’s cheek, “You are full of desires. You want to run away from here. You wish things were different. You want adventure and exploration. You want a life you can live and call your own.”
Coen draws a soft, sharp breath. He feels vulnerable like this, his innermost thoughts and desires all spelled out and laid bare, “You can tell all that just from drinking from me?”
Ambrus nods, and then after a moment he leans in close, forehead pressed against Coen’s as he reveals, “You remind me of myself before Brencis changed me.”
Aptly, the deep rumble of thunder sounds overhead all foreboding and Coen trembles. He lets Ambrus wrap the blankets about them now, settling in together.
“What were you like?” Coen asks, stifling a yawn while tucking himself against Ambrus’ chest.
“That’s a story for another time,” Ambrus answers, “You need sleep.”
“But I want to know…” Coen grumbles petulantly.
“Another time, I promise. Now rest, I will keep watch.”
Coen lets out a soft, sleepy hum, “You’ll be bored.”
“I could never be bored watching over you.”
Soon enough, Coen’s breathing evens out into sleep-heavy breaths. Ambrus lay awake long after, feeling the flutter of Coen’s pulse against his chest.
Come what may, Ambrus had already sworn that he would protect Coen even if it meant having his own throat torn out by Brencis one day.
For with Coen, Ambrus actually feels alive inside again. And perhaps after tonight, he can finally say that he has fallen well and truly in love with someone else — Coen, his favourite blood snack, his person.