Legacy of Kain (Vorador/Janos)
Title: What Was Swept Away
Author: Emerald Embers
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Yaoi, violence, character death, angst up the kazoo and gratuitous use of Muse lyrics (seeing as this pairing *insists* on having Muse as their soundtrack)
Pairing: Vorador/Janos
Word count: 1627
Prompt: Vorador/Janos: Loneliness, Lost, Wingplay. - "Odd as it seemed, they were almost the same age."
No, no, no
No
God, please, no
Janos trudged up the last few steps to the blacksmith's, breath ragged in his throat from running and the smoke and the fact he'd vomited himself raw already, hammered on the door. The lights seemed to be out and he couldn't help fearing that even with his strength Vorador had somehow been subdued, been slain by one of those that didn't take their own lives, and it was only when he got close he realised he could smell the humans within, smell the blood that wasn't even spilt.
"Vorador?"
Silence, but even though he'd never smelt it before there was something familiar about the blood of one of the residents. God, how could he tell more than one human was in there?
"Vorador, please, talk to me!"
The door opened a crack and before Janos could open his mouth he'd been grabbed by the arm and pulled inside, slammed up against the door as Vorador locked it, cold surface of steel against his throat. "What in Hell's name is going on out there?"
"I don't know," Janos replied, holding onto the shred of goodness still in the world, the fact not every human had been slain alongside the vampires. "God stopped talking." He shook his head, the words still not feeling quite real. "He stopped talking. The Hylden, their curse, and-"
There was a thud outside, Vorador raising his hammer to strike until enough time had passed that all realised the sound had been a one off. Two merchants huddled in a corner, pathetic knives drawn that might hurt a human but would barely scratch a vampire's resilient skin. "I'm playing host tonight because your people started tearing mine apart," Vorador hissed, his breath hot against Janos' face, eyes firmly on Janos' mouth. "Your teeth. Fangs. What -"
"I don't know," Janos repeated, softer, easing away from the door but keeping his distance from the clearly terrified guests Vorador was entertaining as he took the hammer from his human friend's other hand, searching for nails before returning to the door and nailing it closed around the edges, firmer than any lock. "It's a blood curse. I don't know. It might... oh God." He froze for a moment, taking shaking breaths once more on realising he'd been holding his air in for too long. "I don't know." He knelt, pulling one of the floorboards out of place easily and placing it across the door, nailing it in place too, anything to reinforce their safe keep.
Another moment and he paused to breathe, looking for something else that needed doing, anything he could help with, feeling sick once more as his legs weakened and the faint that had been waiting for its chance took over.
I'd forgive you anything
Vorador looked up at the aerie, the air pleasantly warm as if to remind him that life was supposed to be going on as normal provided you weren't a vampire. They'd come to him for protection, and he'd failed.
Vorador wasn't a man given to questioning himself, but the idea of facing his sire after the last argument they'd had seemed painful. He almost wanted it to rain, to let him look like the pathetic wretch he felt. How old was he and still seeking outside comfort? Janos had not truly needed company in centuries, and odd as it seemed, they were almost the same age.
Ice crunched wetly beneath his feet, wiping redness from his boots where slain Sarafan had damaged the leather. There wasn't any point in making excuses. If Janos turned him away, he'd just...
Just what?
Vorador ignored the thought, too aware that he didn't deserve forgiveness. He'd let his fledglings down, and he was as angry at himself for still feeling the heat of their last argument as he was at the subject of the argument itself.
Janos hadn't changed the wards, still allowing vampire magic to pass through the balcony where human magic could not, and Vorador looked around the familiar books and statues, everything arranged meticulously, the habit of hundreds of years trying to find something to do to pass the time. It almost didn't look lived in. Wouldn't have, were it not for scattered feathers and the black-winged creature spread out on one of the pieces of furniture, some strangely exotic cross between bed and chair Vorador couldn't have named.
Letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding Vorador walked over and knelt at Janos' side, finding the sweat on his sire's forehead strange after so many years amongst his own kind. They were technically dead, while Janos was alive through and through. He'd almost forgotten.
"Sire?"
Janos' eyes opened sleepily at first, widening quickly as he sat up. "Vorador?"
"I-" His breath caught and he was suddenly painfully aware of the lump in his throat, the words that couldn't come, the apologies and the I don't deserve this, I don't deserve anything, they died, it's my fault, I'm sorry, I should have stayed, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry...
Janos straightened, expression infinitely understanding, infinitely compassionate as he took Vorador in his arms, spreading his wings out deliberately to cover them both, shelter against the world even though it was so warm it could only have been causing him discomfort. "When you're ready," He said, calm and patient, and Vorador dug both claws into his sire's sides, heaving dry sobs that had begged to be let loose since the bridge collapsed and drowned his children in the swamp.
I'd give you anything
Vorador had tasted the sweat of many a human in ecstasy, the blood of many of his brides in the same, but everything was swept away when he returned to Janos' arms. Humans were too fragile, a stray touch could break or scar them, while his wives were beautiful but cold and undeniably dead.
And he couldn't give up the wings. The taste of sweat, of the oil used for waterproofing, the feel of different feathers as he stroked the base, the bones that let them extend, down and pinions, softness, hardness, all of it. The smell, even if Janos seemed to find the musk of them a little embarrassing. The sounds Janos made as he had his way with them.
Janos rode him towards climax, their favourite position over the years for the freedom it gave to Janos' wings while still allowing Vorador to dig claws into Janos' sides, keep him from taking off at the point of orgasm. Janos' kind had frequently made love in the skies, flight nearly a mating ritual, and some habits refused to die even after decades spent grounded.
He knew Janos was beautiful, had always been aesthetically minded, but it was rare that beauty outright clouded his judgement. He could normally keep his wits about him no matter what, had killed a wife in his bed before on realising what she had kept hidden from him, killed the soldiers she'd let in by unlocking their gates. If Janos brought a blade to bed with him, Vorador would have bled to death and scarcely noticed, distracted by firmly muscled thighs, the play of light over blue skin and gold eyes, black lips as fatally delicious as they looked.
Vorador let one hand slide up into Janos' feathers, and Janos' reaction brought them both into orgasm.
Stay
Time had run out. Vorador lifted away the last chunks of rubble, only able to guess at Janos' whereabouts given the heavy scent of blood all over the remains of the aerie, finally dug out the broken body.
Cold. Someone else had seen his sire's dying moments.
He'd felt the death and known better than to question it, but he'd not contained himself. The circle felt his revenge, same as any Sarafan who came near. It wasn't enough.
Vorador pulled the body up into his lap carefully, dusting the last from Janos' hair and rubbing his thumbs into the facial muscles, easing the expression into something more... more what? Comfortable? He laughed to himself, aware of the wetness running down his face but ignoring it anyway.
Humans shouldn't be able to do this. They should be cattle. They should be herded, grown in stables, not allowed the luxuries of free thought and speech and happiness and emotion, they should...
Vorador clutched the body tighter, closed his eyes to try and gather his thoughts. No one else remained. He was the last to know of Janos' race, save the circle members who had escaped, and they weren't letting the world know vampires had once cared for Nosgoth.
He'd keep fighting, for now. Keep the humans down as much as he could, care for his children as much as he could. But he knew inside.
He knew his battle was over.
I'll protect you
Who'll protect everything else?
Janos kissed Vorador, hands gripping hair desperately tight as he pushed their lips together, his breathing unsteady as he took the affection he'd craved since the blacksmith first saved him, pulling back for a moment. "Don't hate me."
"Tell me why you'll die for this world!"
"No one else will."
"There's nothing in this world that's worth you!" Vorador gasped, angry, would have been yelling if his breath weren't gone as well.
"Vorador," Janos said at last, squeezing his eyes shut as their hips ground together, not even knowing how they both got so hard when arguing, not knowing what it was that made Vorador's scent go straight to his groin.
"What?"
Help me, tell me why I didn't die while the others did, tell me again why it's my responsibility, tell me anything but what you're going to say, "I can't get it right since I met you."
The End
Author: Emerald Embers
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Yaoi, violence, character death, angst up the kazoo and gratuitous use of Muse lyrics (seeing as this pairing *insists* on having Muse as their soundtrack)
Pairing: Vorador/Janos
Word count: 1627
Prompt: Vorador/Janos: Loneliness, Lost, Wingplay. - "Odd as it seemed, they were almost the same age."
No, no, no
No
God, please, no
Janos trudged up the last few steps to the blacksmith's, breath ragged in his throat from running and the smoke and the fact he'd vomited himself raw already, hammered on the door. The lights seemed to be out and he couldn't help fearing that even with his strength Vorador had somehow been subdued, been slain by one of those that didn't take their own lives, and it was only when he got close he realised he could smell the humans within, smell the blood that wasn't even spilt.
"Vorador?"
Silence, but even though he'd never smelt it before there was something familiar about the blood of one of the residents. God, how could he tell more than one human was in there?
"Vorador, please, talk to me!"
The door opened a crack and before Janos could open his mouth he'd been grabbed by the arm and pulled inside, slammed up against the door as Vorador locked it, cold surface of steel against his throat. "What in Hell's name is going on out there?"
"I don't know," Janos replied, holding onto the shred of goodness still in the world, the fact not every human had been slain alongside the vampires. "God stopped talking." He shook his head, the words still not feeling quite real. "He stopped talking. The Hylden, their curse, and-"
There was a thud outside, Vorador raising his hammer to strike until enough time had passed that all realised the sound had been a one off. Two merchants huddled in a corner, pathetic knives drawn that might hurt a human but would barely scratch a vampire's resilient skin. "I'm playing host tonight because your people started tearing mine apart," Vorador hissed, his breath hot against Janos' face, eyes firmly on Janos' mouth. "Your teeth. Fangs. What -"
"I don't know," Janos repeated, softer, easing away from the door but keeping his distance from the clearly terrified guests Vorador was entertaining as he took the hammer from his human friend's other hand, searching for nails before returning to the door and nailing it closed around the edges, firmer than any lock. "It's a blood curse. I don't know. It might... oh God." He froze for a moment, taking shaking breaths once more on realising he'd been holding his air in for too long. "I don't know." He knelt, pulling one of the floorboards out of place easily and placing it across the door, nailing it in place too, anything to reinforce their safe keep.
Another moment and he paused to breathe, looking for something else that needed doing, anything he could help with, feeling sick once more as his legs weakened and the faint that had been waiting for its chance took over.
I'd forgive you anything
Vorador looked up at the aerie, the air pleasantly warm as if to remind him that life was supposed to be going on as normal provided you weren't a vampire. They'd come to him for protection, and he'd failed.
Vorador wasn't a man given to questioning himself, but the idea of facing his sire after the last argument they'd had seemed painful. He almost wanted it to rain, to let him look like the pathetic wretch he felt. How old was he and still seeking outside comfort? Janos had not truly needed company in centuries, and odd as it seemed, they were almost the same age.
Ice crunched wetly beneath his feet, wiping redness from his boots where slain Sarafan had damaged the leather. There wasn't any point in making excuses. If Janos turned him away, he'd just...
Just what?
Vorador ignored the thought, too aware that he didn't deserve forgiveness. He'd let his fledglings down, and he was as angry at himself for still feeling the heat of their last argument as he was at the subject of the argument itself.
Janos hadn't changed the wards, still allowing vampire magic to pass through the balcony where human magic could not, and Vorador looked around the familiar books and statues, everything arranged meticulously, the habit of hundreds of years trying to find something to do to pass the time. It almost didn't look lived in. Wouldn't have, were it not for scattered feathers and the black-winged creature spread out on one of the pieces of furniture, some strangely exotic cross between bed and chair Vorador couldn't have named.
Letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding Vorador walked over and knelt at Janos' side, finding the sweat on his sire's forehead strange after so many years amongst his own kind. They were technically dead, while Janos was alive through and through. He'd almost forgotten.
"Sire?"
Janos' eyes opened sleepily at first, widening quickly as he sat up. "Vorador?"
"I-" His breath caught and he was suddenly painfully aware of the lump in his throat, the words that couldn't come, the apologies and the I don't deserve this, I don't deserve anything, they died, it's my fault, I'm sorry, I should have stayed, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry...
Janos straightened, expression infinitely understanding, infinitely compassionate as he took Vorador in his arms, spreading his wings out deliberately to cover them both, shelter against the world even though it was so warm it could only have been causing him discomfort. "When you're ready," He said, calm and patient, and Vorador dug both claws into his sire's sides, heaving dry sobs that had begged to be let loose since the bridge collapsed and drowned his children in the swamp.
I'd give you anything
Vorador had tasted the sweat of many a human in ecstasy, the blood of many of his brides in the same, but everything was swept away when he returned to Janos' arms. Humans were too fragile, a stray touch could break or scar them, while his wives were beautiful but cold and undeniably dead.
And he couldn't give up the wings. The taste of sweat, of the oil used for waterproofing, the feel of different feathers as he stroked the base, the bones that let them extend, down and pinions, softness, hardness, all of it. The smell, even if Janos seemed to find the musk of them a little embarrassing. The sounds Janos made as he had his way with them.
Janos rode him towards climax, their favourite position over the years for the freedom it gave to Janos' wings while still allowing Vorador to dig claws into Janos' sides, keep him from taking off at the point of orgasm. Janos' kind had frequently made love in the skies, flight nearly a mating ritual, and some habits refused to die even after decades spent grounded.
He knew Janos was beautiful, had always been aesthetically minded, but it was rare that beauty outright clouded his judgement. He could normally keep his wits about him no matter what, had killed a wife in his bed before on realising what she had kept hidden from him, killed the soldiers she'd let in by unlocking their gates. If Janos brought a blade to bed with him, Vorador would have bled to death and scarcely noticed, distracted by firmly muscled thighs, the play of light over blue skin and gold eyes, black lips as fatally delicious as they looked.
Vorador let one hand slide up into Janos' feathers, and Janos' reaction brought them both into orgasm.
Stay
Time had run out. Vorador lifted away the last chunks of rubble, only able to guess at Janos' whereabouts given the heavy scent of blood all over the remains of the aerie, finally dug out the broken body.
Cold. Someone else had seen his sire's dying moments.
He'd felt the death and known better than to question it, but he'd not contained himself. The circle felt his revenge, same as any Sarafan who came near. It wasn't enough.
Vorador pulled the body up into his lap carefully, dusting the last from Janos' hair and rubbing his thumbs into the facial muscles, easing the expression into something more... more what? Comfortable? He laughed to himself, aware of the wetness running down his face but ignoring it anyway.
Humans shouldn't be able to do this. They should be cattle. They should be herded, grown in stables, not allowed the luxuries of free thought and speech and happiness and emotion, they should...
Vorador clutched the body tighter, closed his eyes to try and gather his thoughts. No one else remained. He was the last to know of Janos' race, save the circle members who had escaped, and they weren't letting the world know vampires had once cared for Nosgoth.
He'd keep fighting, for now. Keep the humans down as much as he could, care for his children as much as he could. But he knew inside.
He knew his battle was over.
I'll protect you
Who'll protect everything else?
Janos kissed Vorador, hands gripping hair desperately tight as he pushed their lips together, his breathing unsteady as he took the affection he'd craved since the blacksmith first saved him, pulling back for a moment. "Don't hate me."
"Tell me why you'll die for this world!"
"No one else will."
"There's nothing in this world that's worth you!" Vorador gasped, angry, would have been yelling if his breath weren't gone as well.
"Vorador," Janos said at last, squeezing his eyes shut as their hips ground together, not even knowing how they both got so hard when arguing, not knowing what it was that made Vorador's scent go straight to his groin.
"What?"
Help me, tell me why I didn't die while the others did, tell me again why it's my responsibility, tell me anything but what you're going to say, "I can't get it right since I met you."
The End