Work Text:
If it had not been for the small ripples on the surface of the water it would have been almost impossible to tell where the yellow sky of this cold evening ended and where it was where the lake begun. You would think that an evening that was as cold as this one would at least have brought fresh air with it, but to Lettou’s disappointment the opposite was the case: The air around him felt oily and heavy, the dust the wind had brought with itself was making his throat feel all scratchy.
There was the persistent smell of stale blood around the entire property of the young baron, and it lingered. Yesterday they had eliminated him, after Theresis had decided the connection of that noble with the resistance had become too big a threat. The only useful thing the man could still offer were the grounds of his manor that was about to be converted into a base for the Military Commission, out here in the suburbs of Londinium. Lettou let his gaze rest on the manmade lake that was located in the carefully kept garden that until yesterday had belonged to the young baron. You’d think at least out here the smell of blood would be gone, but even out in the open you could still sense it. A sweet and heavy scent Lettou was all too familiar with. The young baron had gathered a bunch of loyal followers they had needed to get rid of, and some of them Lettou had slain himself. It was whatever.
Next to him the Sanguinarch had become so silent that it would have been easy to forget that he was even there. He was staring at the surface of the lake with eyes that held a barely hidden disgust, the unvoiced thoughts that were flickering behind his eyes making them look a deep red.
It was the kind of expression that made you think that maybe after all there was some kind of insecurity or doubt he carried with himself. It was the kind of expression that made Lettou go all quiet, drawing away all attention from the fact he was observing everything there was to see.
When the Sanguinarch started talking his voice sounded unreadable: “Lettou? It’s true, having to spend our entire time with those nobles is a waste of our efforts but… Next time Theresis sends us to one of those horse track races these nobles insist on holding you should bet on a horse.”
“I… I never bet, Your Highness.” It was the truth. Drinking in excess, smoking, betting, all of those were only things holding the potential to distract Lettou from his goal. He needed to keep a clear head at all times if he wanted to gain the trust of Londinium’s nobility. Otherwise he would get no chance to turn that carefully earned trust against them.
“Not a large sum. Just a small amount. For the fun of it.”
“I don’t know.”
The Sanguinarch tore his gaze away from the water, now fully looking at Lettou: “Not even if I am the one to pick out the horse for you?” His voice had started to sound almost carefree by now: “I’m far from a horse person. But in the meanwhile I’ve developed a sense to see if one has it in itself to become a winner. I know that you usually don’t bet. But if I find a horse that shows all the signs of being a winner, would you trust my judgement and just that once place a bet on it?”
Lettou hesitated, feeling he was facing something that in the meanwhile had become familiar. Some people brought you to a venue they’d know you’d enjoy if they wanted to offer you something special. Some gave you a present. Some picked out the most promising horse just for your sake only. “Your Highness, in that case I would make an exception.”
He would. Because why not? These things never were about the present you got, or the horse that was chosen for your sake. They were about the gesture. He had to remember a time set shortly before the Sarkaz had come to Londinium. The last man Lettou had been seeing before he had met the Sanguinarch had been the type to actually gift you flowers. A sentimental gesture that had possessed no consistency, but it had fit the man: Shallow. Not too intelligent. But he had been very nice. Maybe that was why Lettou was still remembering those pointless flowers so clearly.
Or maybe Lettou still remembered it because he never had had many chances to see someone else to begin with. If it had been a guy that held too sincere a loyalty towards Victoria that obviously had complicated things, and finding someone reliable who wouldn’t make himself an obstacle often had been a problem in itself. Aside from the fact that getting too close with someone who valued Victoria was a thought that was utterly repulsive in itself. The choices would have been broader if he would have been interested in women, but he wasn’t, so there was that. It was whatever.
“Betting just once, I can do that,” Lettou repeated, feeling he was more speaking to himself than to the Sanguinarch.
The Sanguinarch was still looking at him with patient eyes. “That’s settled then. Next time we go to the horse tracks I will be looking for the most reliable one I can find, I promise.” His voice had sounded unbothered, but he was still having that forlorn look on his face that only got stronger the moment his sight had set on towards the horizon again, as if the sky above them held some nebulous threat that was located too distant to see.
Maybe there was some sort of looming threat that was approaching, Lettou thought while he continued to listen to what he Sanguinarch had to say. The Sanguinarch had found a way out of his earlier silence, but all he was talking about was how he despised the design of the garden they were in, how he hated the location of the manor out here in the suburbs, how he felt bothered by the icy wind that was disturbing the quiet of this evening. Coming to an end of his lamentation he let hear a tired sigh: “Lettou, I will be honest: This recent trend of Victoria’s nobility to let one’s entire garden appear like a part of archaic wilderness, manmade lakes and all... It’s confusing to me.”
Lettou only nodded, voicing his agreement. He did not care too much how other people ended up constructing their garden, but he could see how this specific trend would be one the Sanguinarch would find puzzling. It was a sentiment that… fit him. Sometimes insisting to chose a specific horse had nothing to do with the animal itself, and sometimes complaining about a garden had nothing to do with the place itself either.
The sun had set nearly under the horizon by the time they were returning inside. The first thing Lettou noticed was that the overpowering smell of blood that had lingered the entire day around the building was gone. Now it only smelled of cleaning solvent and disinfectant. Of pine that had never seen a forest and of citrus that did not know what a lemon was. It was preferable to the blood.
The light in the old hallway was very dim, making the entire space look hazy. The walls of this building were made out of a dark grey stone that seemed to blur into the shadows of this evening, chasing away all light that was still left. The Sanguinarch had chosen a bedroom for himself from where you could not see the lake that was placed in the garden, Lettou had noticed already earlier. He seemed to find the thing genuinely disturbing. The Sanguinarch closed the door behind them, locking out the last bit of weak daylight. That leaden heaviness was still weighing down his voice: “You know, Lettou, I really hate that stupid lake. Just looking at it makes me feel uncomfortable.”
It was the kind of open weakness he only showed seldom, and something about seeing it felt distracting, up to a point that Lettou needed a moment to bring his thoughts back into order. It was an openly displayed weakness but ultimately it was a meaningless one: “I was already suspecting something among those lines.”
The Sanguinarch held his gaze and for the fracture of a second Lettou felt completely seen through. As if he had been caught in the middle of a forbidden act. Which probably was not that far off. The thing was, he had gotten used to looking for and finding the weaknesses in the people he encountered because you never knew when you needed that ammunition so you could use it against them. And it sometimes bothered him that there was no clearly definable weakness he would have been able to use against the Sanguinarch, should it ever come that far. He could not see any, no matter how carefully he looked.
The Sanguinarch stepped closer, holding his gaze. “Hold still. Your hair has become sort of messy,” he said, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of Lettou’s eyes. His fingers felt cold. And gentle. Something about the gesture felt entirely disarming.
Lettou just held still: “I’m… I’m sorry. I had tried to fix that.” He had, but it never lasted. With the way his feathers were growing his hair would just keep falling into his eyes.
“Hm, don’t worry. If anyone has to apologize it’s the wind we’ve gotten today.” That leaden tone his voice had carried had disappeared. He was still touching Lettou’s hair, letting his fingers linger in a way that felt very absentminded. Lettou felt himself hold still. The gesture was not unpleasant. He sometimes wished it had been. Showing leniency towards someone in a situation he had no full control over… It felt like a softness he should not have allowed himself.
“Is your neck still hurting from yesterday?” the Sanguinarch asked, showing that genuine concern he would display during these occasions. It sometimes looked like he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it.
Getting confronted with the sentiment, Lettou had to avert his eyes. “No. Not a lot.” The Sanguinarch had drunk from his blood yesterday. Most of the blood he consumed these days was Lettou’s, actually. Lettou could not remember anymore when that one had become a habit. The truth was, with all the change the arrival of the Sarkaz had brought to Londinium, getting his blood taken on the regular did not even feel like the most notable change that had occurred. That was fine. It was whatever. If it meant it would make things easier so he could avenge what Victoria had done to Gaul then… then… It was whatever. The blood Vampires needed wasn’t even that much. They just needed to drink on the regular. And the blood had to be human.
Lettou got ripped out of his line of thought by the Sanguinarch gently tugging at his coat. “So, it does still hurt a bit then. Let me see.”
Lettou did not bother to hide a sigh, feeling more and more at loss with the concern directed at him. He started loosening his collar, knowing there was no point to resist this. The Sanguinarch always healed up those bite wounds once he had taken Lettou’s blood. The entire thing was healed up, it was fine. “It’s not that bad. Just still a bit sore.”
“I don’t know, ‘not that bad’ is still bad enough, I think” the Sanguinarch decided, getting a hold on Lettou’s jaw, turning his head to the side and getting a better look. He went quiet, just looking. The red of his eyes looked very bright and vivid when he was getting lost in thoughts like that. The Sanguinarch had beautiful eyes. They were eerie and distant, and whenever they focused on Lettou they seemed to win in intensity.
The Sanguinarch was still holding Lettou’s head in place: “Let me take care of that. It feeling sore is annoying enough, no?”
It was. Lettou reluctantly sighed in agreement. He had never once asked how exactly the Sanguinarch’s blood arts worked because knowing that it wasn’t connected to originium arts already seemed like information enough. But the entire process of whatever happened when the flesh healed up like that did take the pain away almost completely. There was no reason he could not admit that, he decided.
“Better?” the Sanguinarch asked, that deeply set melancholia that had been lurking in his voice all day now completely gone. He almost sounded… the comparison should have felt absurd, but the truth was, in these moments Lettou always could feel a trace of innocence linger around the Sanguinarch. He didn’t know what was disturbing him more. Having to admit that it was actually there or coming to the realization that it was he himself who seemed to bring it out.
“It’s much better. It no longer hurts,” Lettou admitted, despite his attempts to sound indifferent hearing how some real and actual relief had crept into his voice. He was good in enduring pain, but that didn’t mean that he liked encountering it.
He blamed the sudden absence of all pain on not even feeling surprised when the Sanguinarch leaned down the next moment, kissing the spot on Lettou’s neck where the bite mark had been. “Isn’t it better when you let me help you? Aren’t things better when you’ll do what I ask you to?”
Lettou heard himself mumble an agreement. Things were better like that, unfortunately. At this point in time Lettou could not deny this. He put his arms around the Sanguinarch, feeling drawn in by the warmth this offered. This evening had been unexpectedly icy. A day where the sun had been this bright should not have felt that cold. But that was Londinium for you. Even the appearance of the weather deceived you and could not be trusted.
The Sanguinarch was still kissing his neck, displaying a not atypical caution around the area he had just bitten into yesterday. The gesture always reminded Lettou that the Sanguinarch very much did not have to be careful like that. For some reason he had just decided that that was what he wanted to do. The Sanguinarch took a long breath, reluctantly ending their kiss. “Now look at me Lettou. I’ve just had your blood yesterday and I still can’t stop myself from taking advantage of how nice it is to have you around.” It wasn’t an apology or a justification. Just an explanation. Lettou had never once heard the Sanguinarch apologize for anything to anyone.
Yes, he was just giving Lettou a reason. Ultimately, that was more than Lettou was used to get from most people who had no reason to take his opinion into consideration. It was more than what Lettou was willing to give to people he had only a pretended accountability for. For those he had nothing but carefully constructed lies that would help him to come closer to his goal. Lettou felt a worry leave he almost constantly felt these days. “I wouldn’t want Your Highness to feel concerned about that. I’m feeling much better.” The Sanguinarch allowed him no room to tell lies and forced him to stay as close to the truth as possible, and sometimes Lettou almost felt glad about that.
The Sanguinarch strengthened his hold around Lettou, pulling him closer. “I already had your blood yesterday and now I still can’t let go of you. Will you awfully mind if I go on to be selfish tonight?”
The Sanguinarch told Lettou a reason when he owed him no explanation and he asked him for his approval in situations he had no need to ask for permission. He probably did not even realize that it already meant something he bothered to put these sentiments into words, Lettou thought, feeling how his hold around the Sanguinarch got tighter. “I wouldn’t awfully mind, no.” The words people decided to speak out loud meant something, even if on the surface they had no deeper meaning. Just as the words you never spoke out loud meant a lot. Maybe Lettou was so brutally aware of this because he was living several lies and always had to be careful with what he said to who. He could not afford to get tangled up in contradictions. He still had a goal he wanted to fulfill. He felt his eyes fall shut, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the clear red glancing down on him. Having to be truthful, sometimes he was not sure if he felt comfortable with it that much.
The Sanguinarch bit into Lettou’s neck, right over the spot he had drawn blood from yesterday. The bite wasn’t strong enough to cause an injury, Lettou could tell. There had been so many times the Sanguinarch had gotten his blood, in the meanwhile he could tell. Relying on that knowledge felt like something Lettou should not have done, but every time he tried telling himself he should be more cautious, part of him already stopped caring again. The Sanguinarch was so much stronger than him, it was not like Lettou could have stopped him should he have tried. So, ultimately, why care, Lettou decided, starting to get distracted by the warmth around him.
Lettou felt himself twitch together, realizing only a moment later he had gotten startled by the feeling of sharp teeth scratching over his skin. He felt shaky fingers dig into his shoulder. But there was no pressure nor any actual force. Just an unrest that was rippling though the almost perfect self-control the Sanguinarch seemed to display at all times. That unrest seemed to stand in an atypical contrast to it. And Lettou couldn’t see the source of it.
He still hadn’t managed to figure out the reason for the restlessness that was disturbing the Sanguinarch’s self-control when he had steered Lettou into his bedroom since some time. He had started to kiss Lettou, in a heavy and lingering way, making it hard to hold a clear thought. Lettou was absentmindedly kissing back, distracted by the unrest around him that had gotten much more solid. He wanted to know the reason. He needed to know the reason. If he had no way to put pressure on the Sanguinarch then he at least wanted to understand how his thoughts worked and by what his emotions were affected by. Maybe he would eventually find a way to turn any of that against him. As long as you stayed patient you’d eventually discover a weakness – in everyone, in everything. So far Lettou always had found one the moment he had needed to find a way to remove an obstacle that had been standing in his way.
He could feel the Sanguinarch breaking their kiss, the reluctance apparent. He leaned up on his elbows in a slow and lagged way, looking at Lettou with hazy eyes. The heavy yellow light of this evening had given his silver blond hair a muted gleam and he no longer looked so pale. When he started talking his voice sounded breathless and hollow: “I never told you, but do you know that your eyes look brown in this kind of light?”
Lettou felt the softness of the bed around him. It was all he could think about. He had understood what the Sanguinarch had just said but his words left him puzzled. “I… in this light they do, I guess,” Lettou admitted. He had dark blue eyes and when the light was bad you couldn’t always see their actual color. He paused. Despite his best effort to observe the Sanguinarch he had caught Lettou off-guard, and Lettou could feel how the realization made a strange resentment build up in him. All his life he had made it a habit to collect the vulnerabilities of the people around him. He had no intention to share any weakness of his own.
The Sanguinarch continued talking: “I just mean because they look very pretty like this.” He smiled, lightly, a sincere expression. It was the kind of expression he rarely ever showed. Lettou could remember every occasion he had seen that look.
Lettou lowered his eyes, suddenly no longer bearing to hold this gaze. He didn’t know what bothered him more, that he was the cause for this kind of smile or that he still hadn’t figured out a way to weaponize that knowledge against the Sanguinarch. It sometimes appeared to Lettou that nothing he ever tried truly ever affected how the Sanguinarch saw him. The apparent affection he held for Lettou was just there, solid and stable, as if once any kind of emotion had arrived in the awareness of that ancient mind he saw no reason to ever let go of it again.
Lettou fought the urge to let his eyes fall shut. What good even was any kind of affection that was given to you when you couldn’t use it to your advantage? How was that different from a burden?
“It’s just, it looks very pretty,” the Sanguinarch repeated, starting to place little kisses at the corner of Lettou’s mouth. That atypical unrest that had gripped him had left, as if speaking out his thought had cleansed him from whatever worry had plagued him.
Getting kissed like this felt very nice. Lettou forced his eyes to stay open. The people were wrong to call the Sanguinarch a monster because he was a Vampire, because of his blood arts he could use in the most horrific ways, or because he was so old that he had survived them all. He was a monster because the workings of his mind and emotions had developed into something that no longer resembled the way normal humans processed the world around them. In his essence the Sanguinarch was an alien creature you couldn’t understand by relying on familiar parameters. That was the only explanation why Lettou’s attempts to find a weakness in him had only ever amounted to nowhere. Lettou reached up, entangling his fingers into hair that was a light blond that almost looked white and always felt incredibly soft to the touch. The Sanguinarch might have been a monster, but he was also a very handsome man. Lettou suppressed a tired groan. He sometimes wished he just could have taken what was being given to him without always feeling the need to question it. He felt the grip of his hand tighten, entangling itself further into strands of blond hair.
Under his hands he could feel the Sanguinarch hesitate. Then his eyes got that forlorn look again and he was leaning further into the touch. But only for a moment. He reached out, starting to unbutton Lettou’s shirt with shaky fingers. Lettou felt no wish to stop him.
The Sanguinarch sat up, continuing to undress himself. His eyes got stuck at the lamp that was standing in the corner. He had turned on its light almost immediately when they had entered the room even though it still had been bright outside, Lettou had noticed. Then he looked at the window that was showing nothing but the dusty yellow sky, a shadow setting over his eyes. For a long moment he was just looking at the patch of sky that was still visibly, looking like he wanted to say something.
Lettou felt his attention getting sharper. If the Sanguinarch would start speaking right now… maybe he finally would reveal a tangible weakness, a doubt, an insecurity. Anything to disturb that stable confidence he seemed to show during all times. It was dangerous to allow the thought even in the privacy of his own mind, but there were times Lettou envied Duq’arael of that stable sense of self he could allow himself to display at all times. Constantly having to hide what he was actually thinking… sometimes Lettou just got so sick of it. Having to pretend he felt even an ounce of care about anything concerning Victoria, it felt like a betrayal of a fundamental part of himself, even though he knew it was the only way to eventually get what he wanted. In comparison to that the Sanguinarch never had to lie about anything and something about the realization made the wish in Lettou grow he could punish him for that. It was a pointless wish. There was no way he could have hurt the Sanguinarch physically, he had long since accepted that, but that he couldn’t even find a way to disturb his peace of mind was becoming unsettling for reasons he found hard to explain.
Lettou waited for the Sanguinarch to start talking, but there was nothing, no words, no confession, just the hazy blue light of late evening that was growing weaker around them with every minute that passed. The Sanguinarch lowered his gaze, staying silent. He crawled back on top of Lettou, the sharp edge that had lingered around his eyes slowly disappearing. He started to trace Lettou’s collarbones, his hands feeling warm and stable. When he started talking his voice sounded clear, and Lettou immediately knew the Sanguinarch was addressing nothing of the worries that had just been on his mind: “The light outside was so oddly bright today. Don’t you think so too?”
The question had come so unexpected, Lettou had to think for a while. Yes, today was one of those days where the dust of the wastelands had lingered in the sky and had carried far into Londinium but…. That happened on the regular. It was nothing unusual in itself. “Yes. It’s the wasteland dust the wind is bringing in from outside. That’s normal here.” Londinium was never something Lettou had ever thought of as home, but he had gotten used to it.
“I know, the dust reflects the light of the sun in odd ways. Doesn’t it blend you? I find it awful.” The statement had been firm, unwavering.
Lettou had to think for another moment. It was true that days where the air was full of dust from the wastelands were overly bright. There was no reason he could not afford to admit this right now: “I don’t like it that much either. It’s too bright to see clearly.”
Hearing Lettou’s words, the Sanguinarch looked almost relieved, as if he had been freed from a burden. He angled his head, a tension falling away from him. Like this his hair framed his face in the most handsome manner, falling into his face, covering one of his eyes completely from view. Lettou got the urge to shove that strand away but then he didn’t, feeling like some worry he had carried with himself the entire day was finally leaving him. There was no reason he needed to rush right now. The Sanguinarch leaned down, giving Lettou another kiss. It felt warm and soft, carrying some of that patience that had lingered the entire day behind his eyes.
The Sanguinarch took a long breath before he drew away, just long enough so he could speak: “I can still taste your blood, you know? From yesterday, I mean.” Before Lettou had any chance to say something in return the Sanguinarch continued their kiss, deepening it. Lettou kissed back, feeling the worst of his aggression that never felt too far away getting numbed out. Finally. It felt like a burden was getting taken away from him, even though part of his mind insisted that holding on to the loathing that had become the driving force for all his actions was important. He needed to avenge Gaul. He needed to punish Victoria for what it had done. At this point nothing else could be done. There was no hope for a better world. He wanted everyone else to feel this desperation, he wanted for no one to escape. Except… There were times when he was with Duq’arael where he almost forgot about his anger completely. Sometimes he wished that… that… It did not actually matter what Lettou was wishing for.
The Sanguinarch had strengthened his hold around Lettou, drawing him closer in a way that felt familiar by now. That was alright. Sometimes a habit you developed was not a bad thing. Lettou could feel the longing that was trembling through the Sanguinarch’s muscles. It felt difficult to admit at times, but actually Lettou was glad it was there. He had become close with the Sanguinarch because in their essence they were both following an individual goal that was similar to that of the other in its nature. And what was most important, neither of their goals was a hindrance for the other.
He no longer knew when it had happened, but the thing was, Lettou had stopped expecting to find understanding for his motivations in anyone. He couldn’t find it with the people who were with him in the Gaulish Restoration and overall were still too naïve at heart, and he certainly would not find it with whatever vile bastard you’d encounter in Victoria. It sometimes felt a bit unsettling he had found understanding and acceptance for his motivations in an individual who by all objective means of judgement should have been classified as nothing but a vile monster. But he only found the realization unsettling sometimes. Lately he almost no longer cared. More often than not he even welcomed the thought. Lettou closed his eyes, starting to comb his hand through the silky strands of the Sanguinarch’s hair. It felt so soft, it felt hard to resist touching it now that he had the chance. And then, who said that he had to judge these things from an objective standpoint. The truth was, if the things between him and Duq’arael had been any different from how they were, Lettou didn’t think he would have found it in him to be close to him.
He lightly gripped the Sanguinarch’s neck, deepening their kiss. The Sanguinarch seemed to hesitate, but only for a moment before he pulled Lettou closer, continuing with what he had started earlier. That was fine. Lettou just let him, doing whatever it was the Sanguinarch was asking of him. Today had been an oddly cold and weird day, and this here felt pleasant.
Maybe he just didn’t do that well with these suburbs they were stuck in for the foreseeable future, Lettou decided the next time he was able to form a clear thought again. Maybe it was the isolated nature of this place that had given the loathing he carried deep within him this sharp an edge today, because right now the sensation was gone. There weren’t a lot of moments that loathing was ever fully gone, he thought while lazily playing with the Sanguinarch’s hair. The Sanguinarch held still, letting Lettou do as he pleased. He had pulled Lettou on top of himself since a while, holding him close, refusing to let go. In the meanwhile the sun had fully set and the only brightness in the room was the artificial light that had a tint to it that looked slightly orange. Lettou looked at the strand of hair he was holding between his fingers. In this kind of light the silver blond hair of the Sanguinarch had a slightly blue shade to it. It never looked like that in daylight.
Lettou had started to talk before he had fully decided he wanted to say something: “Do you know that at first I thought that your hair was white? I didn’t realize it was silver blond, actually.”
Hearing this the Sanguinarch smiled, an absentminded expression that looked completely unguarded. “Oh? Didn’t dare to look too close, was it that?” He probably didn’t realize it, but this smile made it clearly visible how sharp his fangs were. But then, why should he have bothered to hide that. It was a very charming smile either way.
Lettou felt a stubborn gleam of affection getting clearer in his chest he most of the time pretended was simply not there. “Something along those lines. Maybe. Yes.”
A thoughtful look had returned into the Sanguinarch’s eyes and his smile was weakening. He almost was starting to look a bit sad. When he continued talking his voice sounded unreadable: “Silver blond, huh? With what kind of red would you describe my eyes with?”
“The color of your eyes? It looks like blood that is coming out of an artery.”
“An artery? Not a vein?”
“No, not a vein, an artery. Blood that flows through an artery is much brighter, just like your eyes. Blood coming out of a vein has a bit of a blue hue to it. It looks much darker.”
The Sanguinarch looked like he was thinking about what he had just heard. He was still holding Lettou’s gaze, not looking away. “Like blood coming out of an artery then, I see.” He sighed, the last bit of that odd sadness that had lingered in his voice now gone completely: “Come here. I want to have a look at your neck.”
“Because of the bite? It doesn’t hurt anymore, really,” Lettou said, despite his words already turning his head in a way so the Sanguinarch could have a better look at the old bite mark.
“Still. Pain or not, you don’t want to strain that. Otherwise scar tissue can build up.”
Hearing this Lettou had to smile. “Alright, I’m not going to strain it then.” Lettou wouldn’t. If anyone had put a strain on him today that had been the Sanguinarch. Not that Lettou was complaining about any of that, but well, he had not been the one responsible to strain anything.
“…I wanted to know if anything has torn open. The skin on the neck is rather thin, be glad that I care.” The voice of the Sanguinarch had sounded icy. And distant.
Lettou felt a strange sort of regret solidify in his chest. It was the truth, he reminded himself, sometimes choosing a horse was not actually about the horse. Sometimes choosing the horse was just a way of showing that you cared.
The sharp edges that had lingered around Duq’arael’s eyes slowly softened. He reached out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of Lettou’s eyes. Lettou held still, unable from stopping himself from leaning into the touch.
“Nothing has torn open. You’ll be fine.” The Sanguinarch let go of Lettou’s hair, pulling him back on top of him. His hold felt firm and solid. “And in case the bite tears open again, tell me. I will close it up again. It’s nothing complicated. We’ll fix that in a minute.”
Lettou could feel the tension that was still gripping his body lessen the longer he heard the Sanguinarch talk. It was funny to admit a thing like this, but the thing was, since Lettou had started to let the Sanguinarch drink his blood he had not regretted the decision. He sometimes doubted it, but that was not the same as having a regret. “When we go to the horse tracks the next time, will you be choosing a horse for me to place a bet on?” Lettou had no idea why he had just asked that. He should not have asked that.
The Sanguinarch hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yes, of course. But only if I see one that really has it in it to be a winner. I would not want to pick anything less for you.”
Lettou heard himself say something in agreement. After that he forced himself to stay silent, not trusting himself to pick the right words just now. The thing was, he always had been bad at accepting a gift that had been given to him in good faith, until today Lettou had never realized.
The End