Misery of our making...
"There's enough sorrow in the world, isn't there, without trying to invent it."
Gawain brushed the boy’s hair back, kissing Percy’s temple as he watched the boy. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words since the death of his beloved Luca. For the elder vampire, there was a sense of accomplishment in the way he observed his childe. So beautiful, so full of sorrow and misery.
His fingers traced the curve of the boy’s face, the soft lips that still held the tint of blood. The pale brow that was hidden beneath the soft, dark locks of hair. His Percy, his sweet, sweet Percy.
“Go away,” the boy spoke softly, voice barely audible under the clatter of the Venetian world beyond. The revelry of Carnival still holding the city hostage as dawn slowly peeked over the horizon.
“Why, my precious boy. Why should I leave this bed for one that is empty?” Gawain smiled as he kissed the tender cheek, fingers reaching out to turn the angelic face. “Look at me Cherie… Do you not love me? Does my presence not stir your woeful heart to pleasure and happiness?”
Percy’s eyes lacked the glitter of joy as he gazed at Gawain, but the pitiful sight he made gave the elder a thrill of delight. Such exquisite pain, rooted so deep. Someday he would hide it, and some day it would turn sour and twist into the most dangerous and seedy brand of hate. And the though thrilled him. Excited his senses. Here was a work of art, and he was sculpting it in a way no one had ever sculpted art before!
“No,” Percy said, a firmness in his tone that had not previously existed. The younger vampire put a hand against Gawain’s chest and pushed at him, fruitlessly trying to put space between sire and childe as he moved to sit up and stand. But Gawain’s frame did not buckle under the weak pressure, and instead leaned into the frail creature beneath him.
“No, Precious. You cannot move me.” He purred, lips brushing of the soft curve of Percy’s neck, tongue lapping up the taste of the vampire’s skin. “No, I like it right here.”
“Stop!” Percy’s fingers curled into a ball, knotting themselves about the fabric of Gawain’s shirt. “Stupid cunt! Go away!” The vampire growled, before Gawain landed a dizzying blow across his delicate features, blood spurting from the broken and bruised nose.
“Do not ever call me such, you vulgar, filthy whelp.” Hands tightened their grip upon the boy, as he bent closer. The words hissed him from his lips, Percy’s wild eyes doing little to deter him. “You suffer, but obviously you need more to suffer from.” The boy needed to invent more, to suffer worse…
Well, who was Gawain to truly deny him such?
Snatching the younger vampire up by the scruff of his hair, Gawain tossed him across the room, laughing as the thin frame bounced and skidded across the stone floor. The boy’s linen shirt was soaked with his blood, glinting crimson red in the lamplight, a tasteful perfume that only the damned could wear so well.
“Why must you make it so hard on yourself?” Gawain asked as he slowly moved across the cold floor. “Why can’t you enjoy the pleasure’s I wish to lavish upon you, mm? Am I truly so tasteless that you cannot find it within you to love me as you loved your dearest lord?”
“No, you are made of the foulest mud in hell!” Percy spat, climbing to his feet as Gawain advanced him, glancing about the room in hopes of finding some method of defending himself.
“Oh, but my darling boy, how I long for you…” To posses him, disgrace him. Destroy him. “Come here.”
:”No.” Percy growled as he glared, squatting low as if he played to attack Gawain. And in truth he did! A sturdy chair clattered across the stone as Percy took a careless, untrained aim for his sire. Gawain batted it away with such easy that it seemed fruitless, but Percy tried again.
And again. Anger and frustration fueling the power behind every chair and book that flew at his master, the lamp the last to go hurtling across the room and exploding against the wooden frame of the fireplace.
“Foolish boy!” Gawain roared, closing the space between them with a blink of an eye. Percy’s head snapped around unnaturally with the force of the vampire’s blow, teeth and fangs breaking free and falling away as blood and bile filled the boy’s mouth. His head slammed into the floor, only to be forced up and down against the stone again within a matter of seconds, Gawain screaming his frustration into the unhearing ears. “Damn you! What did Luca have? What made you love him? I saved you! I loved you!”
Percy’s face was pool of blood when Gawain pushed him away finally. The elder vampire turned away from his bleeding, pathetic child to inspect the smoldering embers of the lamp, glad that it seemed the oil was so little that nothing caught flame.
It was only the pathetic mewing behind him that drew his attention. The garbled pleas as the boy’s mouth gummed vainly for something. “Oh, oh my boy.” Gawain cooed, bending low to scoop the child up into his arms. “Oh my boy, why do you have to make things so much worse for you?” If only Percy would not call such punishments down on himself, “it wouldn’t be so much pain. If you would only do as I wish you to….Hush, hush, Precious.”
Soon. Soon Percy would never recall his dearest lord. Soon he would understand that sorrow and misery could be abandoned for revelry and sin. For pleasure…
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
Word Count: 950
Gawain brushed the boy’s hair back, kissing Percy’s temple as he watched the boy. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words since the death of his beloved Luca. For the elder vampire, there was a sense of accomplishment in the way he observed his childe. So beautiful, so full of sorrow and misery.
His fingers traced the curve of the boy’s face, the soft lips that still held the tint of blood. The pale brow that was hidden beneath the soft, dark locks of hair. His Percy, his sweet, sweet Percy.
“Go away,” the boy spoke softly, voice barely audible under the clatter of the Venetian world beyond. The revelry of Carnival still holding the city hostage as dawn slowly peeked over the horizon.
“Why, my precious boy. Why should I leave this bed for one that is empty?” Gawain smiled as he kissed the tender cheek, fingers reaching out to turn the angelic face. “Look at me Cherie… Do you not love me? Does my presence not stir your woeful heart to pleasure and happiness?”
Percy’s eyes lacked the glitter of joy as he gazed at Gawain, but the pitiful sight he made gave the elder a thrill of delight. Such exquisite pain, rooted so deep. Someday he would hide it, and some day it would turn sour and twist into the most dangerous and seedy brand of hate. And the though thrilled him. Excited his senses. Here was a work of art, and he was sculpting it in a way no one had ever sculpted art before!
“No,” Percy said, a firmness in his tone that had not previously existed. The younger vampire put a hand against Gawain’s chest and pushed at him, fruitlessly trying to put space between sire and childe as he moved to sit up and stand. But Gawain’s frame did not buckle under the weak pressure, and instead leaned into the frail creature beneath him.
“No, Precious. You cannot move me.” He purred, lips brushing of the soft curve of Percy’s neck, tongue lapping up the taste of the vampire’s skin. “No, I like it right here.”
“Stop!” Percy’s fingers curled into a ball, knotting themselves about the fabric of Gawain’s shirt. “Stupid cunt! Go away!” The vampire growled, before Gawain landed a dizzying blow across his delicate features, blood spurting from the broken and bruised nose.
“Do not ever call me such, you vulgar, filthy whelp.” Hands tightened their grip upon the boy, as he bent closer. The words hissed him from his lips, Percy’s wild eyes doing little to deter him. “You suffer, but obviously you need more to suffer from.” The boy needed to invent more, to suffer worse…
Well, who was Gawain to truly deny him such?
Snatching the younger vampire up by the scruff of his hair, Gawain tossed him across the room, laughing as the thin frame bounced and skidded across the stone floor. The boy’s linen shirt was soaked with his blood, glinting crimson red in the lamplight, a tasteful perfume that only the damned could wear so well.
“Why must you make it so hard on yourself?” Gawain asked as he slowly moved across the cold floor. “Why can’t you enjoy the pleasure’s I wish to lavish upon you, mm? Am I truly so tasteless that you cannot find it within you to love me as you loved your dearest lord?”
“No, you are made of the foulest mud in hell!” Percy spat, climbing to his feet as Gawain advanced him, glancing about the room in hopes of finding some method of defending himself.
“Oh, but my darling boy, how I long for you…” To posses him, disgrace him. Destroy him. “Come here.”
:”No.” Percy growled as he glared, squatting low as if he played to attack Gawain. And in truth he did! A sturdy chair clattered across the stone as Percy took a careless, untrained aim for his sire. Gawain batted it away with such easy that it seemed fruitless, but Percy tried again.
And again. Anger and frustration fueling the power behind every chair and book that flew at his master, the lamp the last to go hurtling across the room and exploding against the wooden frame of the fireplace.
“Foolish boy!” Gawain roared, closing the space between them with a blink of an eye. Percy’s head snapped around unnaturally with the force of the vampire’s blow, teeth and fangs breaking free and falling away as blood and bile filled the boy’s mouth. His head slammed into the floor, only to be forced up and down against the stone again within a matter of seconds, Gawain screaming his frustration into the unhearing ears. “Damn you! What did Luca have? What made you love him? I saved you! I loved you!”
Percy’s face was pool of blood when Gawain pushed him away finally. The elder vampire turned away from his bleeding, pathetic child to inspect the smoldering embers of the lamp, glad that it seemed the oil was so little that nothing caught flame.
It was only the pathetic mewing behind him that drew his attention. The garbled pleas as the boy’s mouth gummed vainly for something. “Oh, oh my boy.” Gawain cooed, bending low to scoop the child up into his arms. “Oh my boy, why do you have to make things so much worse for you?” If only Percy would not call such punishments down on himself, “it wouldn’t be so much pain. If you would only do as I wish you to….Hush, hush, Precious.”
Soon. Soon Percy would never recall his dearest lord. Soon he would understand that sorrow and misery could be abandoned for revelry and sin. For pleasure…
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
Word Count: 950