taste the whip
Title: Love Not Given Lightly
Author: Nihilism
Pairing: Malachi Tavarius/Finn Nilsen (original characters, think a smaller Davey Havok and Jonne Aaron of Negative)
Summary: Malachi would do anything for his Master, and his Master doesn't hesitate to take advantage of that fact, meanwhile failing to acknowledge just how much Mal does for him.
Notes: Another blathering inspired by roleplay. Vampires. D/s. Malachi is mine, Finn is borrowed. Bad capitalization intended.
The marks on his throat are tender, raw, and burning. malachi strokes his fingertips, soft as the life he used to lead, over the slowly healing wounds and purrs deep in his throat, more for the memory than the pain the action elicited.
They would heal, leave hardly a spot against his skin, only four thin slashes slightly lighter and slightly rougher than the rest of his alabaster, smooth complexion. Before they ever healed, though, there would be new marks. In the same spot, or on the opposite side of his neck. At the crook of his shoulder. On his taut, toned tummy where the blood beat so vivaciously it would sometimes pulse the flesh covering it. The inside of his thin, pale, shaven thighs. The ink-laden underside of his tiny wrists. And malachi anticipates each one more excitedly than the last.
His Master, Finn Nilson, a vampire though young, incredibly powerful and intimidating in His slave's eyes, had fallen asleep only an hour earlier. Dawn light was now just barely tinting the dark blanket nailed up over the window. malachi hated the cheapness suggested by the blanket being used that way, but he had plans to fix it. he had plans to 'fix' the entirety of the bleak, cookie-cutter apartment and yesterday's online shopping and upholstery planning had only been the beginning of the long process. When he was done with the 'little project,' the apartment would be more decadently decorated and richly renovated than any of the mansions mal's parents had owned before.
Before. In his other life. When he was Malachi, with capitalization, when he believed in God and thought of vampires as fairytales, a myth like the unicorn or the FBI.
This morning, mal is curled up at the foot of the boring mattress that his Master is balled up on, in His usual fetal position. Some days, mal would sleep on the floor near the bed. Some days, though not here, not yet, he would sleep in a cage - he was already on the hunt for a new one, and had already plotted out its space in the corner of the relatively small bedroom. The rarest of occassions, though, would find the boy alongside his Master, tucked into the curve of His body like an envelope and a letter, their forms so similar in size and shape that they fit together perfectly.
malachi loved it, that cuddling, that affection and the reward inherent in Finn allowing him so close. he loved to feel His cold hands brushing across his tummy and through his long dark hair, petting him so gently that malachi could convince himself, if only for a moment, that the vampire really did love him, as He claimed so often and easily, empty promises laden with sweet words.
But it scared him, terrified him beyond known limits, when the sun would start to seep over the horizon. When Finn's body would go colder than ever, completely still, even the faint beat of someone else's blood pumping through His veins seemingly ceasing. Those thin arms, which usually made malachi feel so safe, would become icy dead weight on top of him. Because that's exactly what He was, when the sun was out. He was dead. And it scared mal, how devoted, adoring, and - he thought, wasn't quite sure but suspected - loving he was towards what was essentially a corpse.
It also scared him that like this, Finn was completely vulnerable. He was dead, but when the sun disappeared He would awake. He would be alive. Unless...unless.
There are people after Him. malachi knows, though it's never been said in so many words, though he isn't sure why. There are people, other vampires probably, who wanted his Master dead. Dead for good, completely gone. And Finn was young, by their standards, even by human standards He was barely 23, the total sum of His years on this earth in either form. Despite how strong He seemed to malachi, He was weak. Young and weak and vulnerable, particularly during those daylight hours when He would be incapable of defending Himself from anything.
And that's why malachi is awake. That's why he will be awake, throughout the daylight hours, going down the street to buy gallons of coffee or diet pills to keep himself alert, until his Master can wake to defend Himself again. And play with His favorite toy, of course. And if malachi's lucky, sometime before dawn he can catch a nap in the arms that will then be warmed by others' and malachi's own blood, possessive and protective around his scant frame.
malachi isn't aware how imminent the threat is. he doesn't know if they're any safer here than they were in the States proper, or if Finn escaped the threat when He left His home behind. But he knows that sometimes, when they're out at night prowling for playthings, the pretty girls and boys Finn will entreat into a private place to tease and taunt or alternately set malachi loose on to watch lecherously, that the line of his Master's back will go tense. He'll throw a cautious look over His shoulder, even grasp mal by the arm to drag him into the nearest alley to escape whatever it is that makes Him lose his innate grace in favor of paranoia. However warranted that paranoia is, malachi has no idea. But he does not want to find out.
And so he keeps his vigil, only sitting up hours later to peer over the corpse laid out above him and, silently, promise to protect Him with his life into the air just as dead as the body, before slipping into the other room. Where he'll stay alert, conscious of every movement and nearby noise that his considerably less perceptive human ears can catch, until his Master lives again and by proxy, makes malachi more alive than he's ever felt, even with how exhausted these long days make him. They'll both be alive, for a while.
Author: Nihilism
Pairing: Malachi Tavarius/Finn Nilsen (original characters, think a smaller Davey Havok and Jonne Aaron of Negative)
Summary: Malachi would do anything for his Master, and his Master doesn't hesitate to take advantage of that fact, meanwhile failing to acknowledge just how much Mal does for him.
Notes: Another blathering inspired by roleplay. Vampires. D/s. Malachi is mine, Finn is borrowed. Bad capitalization intended.
The marks on his throat are tender, raw, and burning. malachi strokes his fingertips, soft as the life he used to lead, over the slowly healing wounds and purrs deep in his throat, more for the memory than the pain the action elicited.
They would heal, leave hardly a spot against his skin, only four thin slashes slightly lighter and slightly rougher than the rest of his alabaster, smooth complexion. Before they ever healed, though, there would be new marks. In the same spot, or on the opposite side of his neck. At the crook of his shoulder. On his taut, toned tummy where the blood beat so vivaciously it would sometimes pulse the flesh covering it. The inside of his thin, pale, shaven thighs. The ink-laden underside of his tiny wrists. And malachi anticipates each one more excitedly than the last.
His Master, Finn Nilson, a vampire though young, incredibly powerful and intimidating in His slave's eyes, had fallen asleep only an hour earlier. Dawn light was now just barely tinting the dark blanket nailed up over the window. malachi hated the cheapness suggested by the blanket being used that way, but he had plans to fix it. he had plans to 'fix' the entirety of the bleak, cookie-cutter apartment and yesterday's online shopping and upholstery planning had only been the beginning of the long process. When he was done with the 'little project,' the apartment would be more decadently decorated and richly renovated than any of the mansions mal's parents had owned before.
Before. In his other life. When he was Malachi, with capitalization, when he believed in God and thought of vampires as fairytales, a myth like the unicorn or the FBI.
This morning, mal is curled up at the foot of the boring mattress that his Master is balled up on, in His usual fetal position. Some days, mal would sleep on the floor near the bed. Some days, though not here, not yet, he would sleep in a cage - he was already on the hunt for a new one, and had already plotted out its space in the corner of the relatively small bedroom. The rarest of occassions, though, would find the boy alongside his Master, tucked into the curve of His body like an envelope and a letter, their forms so similar in size and shape that they fit together perfectly.
malachi loved it, that cuddling, that affection and the reward inherent in Finn allowing him so close. he loved to feel His cold hands brushing across his tummy and through his long dark hair, petting him so gently that malachi could convince himself, if only for a moment, that the vampire really did love him, as He claimed so often and easily, empty promises laden with sweet words.
But it scared him, terrified him beyond known limits, when the sun would start to seep over the horizon. When Finn's body would go colder than ever, completely still, even the faint beat of someone else's blood pumping through His veins seemingly ceasing. Those thin arms, which usually made malachi feel so safe, would become icy dead weight on top of him. Because that's exactly what He was, when the sun was out. He was dead. And it scared mal, how devoted, adoring, and - he thought, wasn't quite sure but suspected - loving he was towards what was essentially a corpse.
It also scared him that like this, Finn was completely vulnerable. He was dead, but when the sun disappeared He would awake. He would be alive. Unless...unless.
There are people after Him. malachi knows, though it's never been said in so many words, though he isn't sure why. There are people, other vampires probably, who wanted his Master dead. Dead for good, completely gone. And Finn was young, by their standards, even by human standards He was barely 23, the total sum of His years on this earth in either form. Despite how strong He seemed to malachi, He was weak. Young and weak and vulnerable, particularly during those daylight hours when He would be incapable of defending Himself from anything.
And that's why malachi is awake. That's why he will be awake, throughout the daylight hours, going down the street to buy gallons of coffee or diet pills to keep himself alert, until his Master can wake to defend Himself again. And play with His favorite toy, of course. And if malachi's lucky, sometime before dawn he can catch a nap in the arms that will then be warmed by others' and malachi's own blood, possessive and protective around his scant frame.
malachi isn't aware how imminent the threat is. he doesn't know if they're any safer here than they were in the States proper, or if Finn escaped the threat when He left His home behind. But he knows that sometimes, when they're out at night prowling for playthings, the pretty girls and boys Finn will entreat into a private place to tease and taunt or alternately set malachi loose on to watch lecherously, that the line of his Master's back will go tense. He'll throw a cautious look over His shoulder, even grasp mal by the arm to drag him into the nearest alley to escape whatever it is that makes Him lose his innate grace in favor of paranoia. However warranted that paranoia is, malachi has no idea. But he does not want to find out.
And so he keeps his vigil, only sitting up hours later to peer over the corpse laid out above him and, silently, promise to protect Him with his life into the air just as dead as the body, before slipping into the other room. Where he'll stay alert, conscious of every movement and nearby noise that his considerably less perceptive human ears can catch, until his Master lives again and by proxy, makes malachi more alive than he's ever felt, even with how exhausted these long days make him. They'll both be alive, for a while.