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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 69 – Would You Take My Hand Now?

“Man, I knew I was born with insight. And I knew you, sir, would pull this off like...”

“Shut up.”

“So you can't cope with compliments when they come from me? Did anybody ever tell you what comes around goes around? That applies to the manner of speech, you know?”

“Then allow me to rephrase myself. I would so very viciously appreciate it if you could please zip those teeth of yours.”

“...You might want to drop the manners, if that's how you're gonna use them.”

“I'll be happy to. Shut your pie hole.”

Despite being the victim of Frankenstein's curses-without-curses for 3 times in a row, Muzaka did nothing to bite back at him.

Few days ago, he received report from Frankenstein and Lukedonia in relay of the situations from Seoul and nobles, respectively.

And earlier in the morning, Frankenstein revealed himself in the werewolf realm without anybody's notice, to demand Muzaka to lead the way to the lab.

As flustered as the werewolf lord was, the blonde human seemingly very inclined to drag him towards the lab if he were not to comply, he had never been so happy to have an uninvited guest.

Because he could think of only one reason why Frankenstein would sneak into his domain to head straight to the lab - diagnosis and hopefully treatment on the mystery of his body's automated refuge during the nuclear missile incident.

And Frankenstein, based on the research files from Ignes he had obtained in advance and the results from his treatment on Yuigi, eliminated to perfection the nanochips in Muzaka's head.

A process during which Frankenstein wore that menacing, sinister looks from beginning to the end, which derived from Muzaka's testament on the behind-the-scenes through which Crombel's nanochips nestled inside his body.

He was aware of the fact that Muzaka had once stayed under Crombel's hospitality, but he has never got a chance to learn what exactly he had been up to with Crombel during the time.

And as soon as he was hit by the comprehension that Muzaka provided himself as a test subject for the dead doctor, Frankenstein held a show of how to directly bombard someone's head with every curse available in human language, minus any syllable that is definitely not meant for the underaged audience.

Muzaka knew he was guilty; now he understood how the Crombel's suggestion he had regarded as a give-and-take deal turned into more-than-troublesome sword and shield against Frankenstein and the RK during their final showdown.

Hence the werewolf lord assumed a silent rock this time.

He doubted Frankenstein would accept an excuse that he had no idea Crombel would develop a weapon to control 1st Elder out of the nanochips he was planted with.

Notwithstanding, Muzaka was a werewolf of manners.

His personality and conscience did not let him forget his gratitude.

“Thanks, Frankenstein. I owe you big. So does Adne. Don't you agree?”

Muzaka peeked at Adne, who had finally risen from his bed.

During his treatment of Yuhyung at Seoul, Frankenstein picked up from his patient that Adne fell unconscious due to the gas he concocted.

While he was treating Muzaka, he injected into Adne the antidote he brewed with Yuhyung's recipe.

Thus Adne opened his eyes, and even though he was advised not to force himself back on his feet just yet, he was watching how Frankenstein was wrapping up Muzaka's treatment, from which he could always learn something, according to him.

“Oh, and I still remember our deal. I will grant you one... I mean, two wishes that you have, no matter what it takes.”

Frankenstein's memory was just as fresh.

He had marked that Muzaka owe him two wishes - one from their deal regarding the latter's body state, and one from his request regarding Lunark's affection.

And Frankenstein already knew how he would expend the two wishes, before which, however, was something he must go through.

Which required more than his power.

He was reminding himself that it is about time for his helper to arrive, when the door slid open.

The resonance of footsteps raised its volume, like the set of notes on a piano, and he spun on his heels as the final footstep waltz-rolled into his heart.

And he was met with Lunark's face, not as startled as he had expected, although she did look as if she were faced with a person she had envisioned as deceased.

He was met with her pink pupils, wide open and spilling alarm from their cores, and her half-open lips.

The lips he once held in his own.

As Frankenstein kept himself busy, choking the outburst of suggestive images in his head, Muzaka greeted his warrior.

“You're back! You did good, Lunark. You did really good. What are you waiting for, Frankenstein? Shouldn't you thank your savior?”

Muzaka speared the air with his nose, copycating a father showing off his proud daughter.

Frankenstein gazed at him with annoyed, questioning eyes before he nodded.

“I'll do that. While I'm at it, let me borrow her for a minute.”

“...Say what?”

Lunark and Muzaka sang in unison as they gaped at Frankenstein.

“It won't take long. So excuse me, but excuse me.”

Frankenstein did not even finish his sentence before his arm extended itself towards its target, and the next moment Lunark was tiptoeing her way out of the lab, caught by Frankenstein's hand.

Muzaka and Adne could only stare at the door, dumbstruck by the event that befell in the speed of light.

“Couldn't you at least give us a hint what this is about?”

*****

'Why are we here?'

Lunark flung her eyes about her, unable to settle down.

Yet she could only retrieve her eyes at the pink poking her eyes.

She and Frankenstein happened to be standing in the sea of wolfsbanes, the site that held the memoir of their first kiss still oscillating with gorgeous pink.

Because of which Lunark could simply fumble in silence, lost in the details of the disaster from the past.

And that was a cue for Frankenstein to begin.

“First of all, thanks.”

“Uh... What's that?”

“Thanks for saving me at Lukedonia.”

“O-oh... D-don't mention it.”

“And sorry.”

“A-about what...?”

“You had to go through all that trouble because of me. And I almost killed you. Not to mention you had to break your long-lived bow.”

“Uh... Oh... You mean the fact that I accepted the Noblesse's power and therefore broke my bow that I shall nurture my natural-born power without any experiment or body modification? Don't be sorry. I knew what I was doing, and I have no regrets whatsoever. Even if I were to go back in time, I would have made the same choice, although I have to admit that was the only option available for me back then. And, uh... No need to be sorry that you almost killed me. It wasn't you. It was the Dark Spear.”

A hurried array of excuses naturally rendered Lunark speechless, which did not bring the same effect upon her company.

“When I drank the tonic with the components altered by 3rd Elder...”

Days were not enough to dilute his nightmarish memories from the time.

The moment he downed the liquid, he could feel sleep - no, he could feel vertigo looming towards him, giving no time at all for him to look for a spare awakening or tonic.

Like a tumult of unstoppable torrent from a dam cracked, the tsunami of sleep he had been long forcing in imprisonment engulfed him.

He could feel the Dark Spear screaming in glee even before he blacked out.

The weapon was screaming, Now it's all over!!!

As he felt his legs and eyelids giving in, the best and the most he could do was picturing a series of faces.

Raizel.

M-21, Takio, and Tao.

Regis and Seira.

Gechutel, Karious, Rael.

Razark, Rayga, and Tesamu.

And......

Lunark.

Soundlessly shrieking out her name was the last thing he did before his mind slipped away from his grasp.

“That was when I realized how distinct my feelings have grown. I realized that my feelings for you can no longer stay unspoken.”

As Frankenstein was stitching the air with a now-I-don't-care-whatever-happens tone, Lunark was still quiet.

This time, however, she could not speak up.

'Did I hear correctly...? Frankenstein loves me...?!'

Clutching tightly to her heart that had been fluttering like petals dancing in the moonlight since who-knows-when, Lunark kept attentive to Frankenstein's speech.

“I knew what my heart was telling me, but I could only play deaf. The Dark Spear in me has grown powerful enough to jeopardize my control, after it took over Crombel and his Blood Stone. I was afraid it will hurt those dear to me... I was afraid it will hurt you. But thanks to you, it has lost the Blood Stone and became tame enough -somewhat - so now I have no more reason to avoid you. And most importantly, my master told me this. We should live our lives to the fullest during the time given to us, without any regret. We must look into our hearts to determine what it is that we really want. And we must make a choice for ourselves.”

Sounds just like something from a soul born with eternal time but bound to the burdens of Noblesse, thought Lunark as she nodded.

“And as I came up with your name in the course of my possession by the Dark Spear... I felt regret burning like hellfire inside me. I kept lamenting, if only I were honest with my feelings for just a little. If only I could at least give a signal of my feelings for you. Back then I'd thought my future is no more, so I'd thought I'll be losing you and the rest of my people.”

Lunark's lips were fastened seamlessly as she took in Frankenstein's voice, now turned into a whisper.

For she had gone through something similar rather recently.

When she was pouring Raizel's power into Frankenstein's body via kiss, she did not think about what will break beyond that point.

The only thing she could think of was saving Frankenstein.

Ironically, at the corner of her brain she could view a list of highlights from her life.

The list of every word and time she shared with Frankenstein, ever since they first met as enemies at Seoul.

Her survival instinct screeched at her that she can no longer carry or cumulate these memories, which left bitter regrets in her heart for a second.

She regretted that she did not confess her feelings or make more memories with him.

And here she was, figuring out that Frankenstein had felt the same regret that had haunted her.

His feelings were the same, so she could feel tiny expectation bloating like a balloon.

“And recently, I almost lost you. I almost lost myself. I almost lost everything I treasure... And I shall have no more regrets.”

So you mean...?

Lunark could only reiterate the question stuck in her throat, when Frankenstein at last turned his eyes towards her.

“You might be disappointed in me, since I've been staying single for more than 820 years. Nevertheless, would you take my hand now?”

Frankenstein's confession was quite direct, truthful to his claim of being single for more than 8 centuries, which was regardless faded in the feathery texture of his voice and the heart-melting perfume from Lunark's cardiac muscle.

Which was why Lunark let out a relaxed sigh of laughter in reply.

“I could say the same thing. I had no reason at all to familiarize myself with romance so far... Why would you opt for a terrifying woman like me?”

“Because you're terrifying. Or should I say fiery?”

Lunark did not expect him to remember the semi-jest she threw at him during their first encounter.

She could once again revel at how deep her love is, feeling no cringe at all at his delicacy, and her hand was bound by a quintet of huge, slender fingers.

“Which reminds me, isn't this near the spot we had our first kiss?”

A sentence was more than enough to drown Lunark's cheeks with streaks of red like bombs, and Frankenstein smirked.

“The first one was an accident. And the second one was stolen by the Dark Spear, during a situation that will allow no chance in hell for a romantic mood... Which is why this time I'll do it myself.”

What?! H-hold on a sec!!

The man did not spare a second for her to stop him.

As outgoing as he is, his arm was weighed with strength just as audacious, and its mind-blowing aftermath soon took over Lunark's lips.

And the werewolf was swept in the impression that the entire blood in her body was drawn to her lips.

For each of strokes and rubs Frankenstein's mouth made, a rumbling noise one would hear from a freight train spread from her lips throughout her wholesome form, to raise full blooms of elation to every corner and plain of her body, not a speck to be left desolate.

Lunark's hands, wobbling between sweetness and daze, soon secured themselves onto Frankenstein's chest, to slowly wind across his shoulders and around his neck.

The two figures basked in the kiss more electrical than the first and more ecstatic than the second, while the pink petals of wolfsbanes surrounding them rippled like dancers blessing them.

*****

A follow-up on their fluffy-soft and flowery-perfumed kiss in declaration of love, Frankenstein put on that signature full-of-poise smile of his.

“Now it's time for us to deal with the remaining obstacles. But first thing first - I need you to get changed.”

He pulled out from his jacket a white dress shirt, meticulously squared and folded in a clean bag of plastic.

“Sorry. I know I should've brought a brand new one, but I have no knowledge of your accurate size. So I had to opt for one from my own closet. And don't worry. It's washed.”

Lunark took the bag from him, locking her teeth from spilling that if it is from his collection, he is practically rewarding her.

“But you'll have to grab one from your possessions as for the fabrics to cover your lower appendages. And it'd better be something comfortable for you to move in.”

“Uh... Sure. But why would you offer this out of the blue...?”

Her eyes twitched in puzzlement, earning from Frankenstein an unexpressed pleasure of witnessing her loveliness, and he smirked and retorted with a brief explanation.

“...What?!”

And Lunark could once again realize how outgoing her man could be, as she rolled her eyes in bewilderment.

(next chapter)

At last, ladies and gentlemen, Frankenstein and Lunark are official in my fic! XD It took 69 chapters for them to be together, but guess what - next chapter will be the final chapter for this fic. :P

As for Raizel’s advice mentioned in the middle of this chapter, I made a reference to the theme message from the original webtoon during its early seasons. We must live our lives to fullest during the time designated to us, making choices by ourselves and for ourselves. Back when the webtoon was ongoing, the only impression I got was that it sounds good to me, but nowadays as days pass and seasons change, I’m growing to agree with this idea more and more. Which is why I personally wanted to make a reference to this message in my fic.

Anyways, next chapter will be the final chapter for this fic. I’d like to say you’ve been doing an amazing job of keeping up with me so far, and I’d like to ask you to please stay with me for just one more week. Thanks so much! :)

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #lunarkxfrankenstein #wolfsbane #Mr.Wolf #AnAngelicDay

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eighthchiharu · 7 years

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TOWDIAV - BroCal, Pt.2

It’s full dark when the guards hustle Calvin and his new Master out to the street. There’s no formal bow of farewell, nor any attempt to give Calvin a cloak or hat, and the marble doors, so heavy that only vampires could move them easily, boom shut so quickly that they nearly pinch Calvin’s well-dressed posterior.

“Watch it!” he snaps, and doesn’t quite believe it when the doors don’t immediately spring open for the guards to babble apologies. He stands there in the quiet, the uneven paving stones rough beneath his thin-soled, decorative shoes, as the chill of the night starts to lick at his toes. “They can’t be serious. This is outrageous. Someone’s poor idea of humor. A joke.”

“You’re pretty much a joke now, Cal, yeah,” Ambrose agrees.

Being a vampire, he doesn’t feel the temperature. He glances around, lifts his head slightly to scent the crisp air. What he finds there beside woodsmoke, cooked meat, and piss remains a mystery. He turns and marches off to the right, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the street. “C’mon, keep up, fancy pants. Can’t ditch me and we both know it.”

“It’s Calvin.” He follows because he knows his father expects him to, hating that the uncouth fledgling is right: Calvin can’t ditch him. They’re bound now, the tug of his new leash smarting deep inside him, throbbing like poison. The reflection of the knife wound aches, too, but with less insistence. Something soft squishes beneath his shoe, and he feels every bump before the wet sinks in through the seams. “God -- why don’t you have a horse? Or a litter, or -- You’re some poor, starving street rat, aren’t you? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get me a horse. You’ll treat me right. My father won’t tolerate any damage done to my person, Ambrose.” No honorific, no surname.

“Bro’s fine,” Ambrose hums, irritatingly unperturbed. “Not Amber, though, don’t like that one. Have to kill you if you try that one.”

The threat of casual, actual death is startling, until Calvin realizes the man’s got to be posturing. No-one would dare kill him. “You’re temporary, you know. You’ll last maybe, what, a year? He’ll expect me whole and healthy when I return, not nasty and lice-ridden as you no doubt are.”

“You’re nasty enough. Don’t need my help on that account.”

“Shut your insolent mouth,” Calvin hisses. “My father –“

“Fuck your father.” Bro’s back is to Calvin, but all the same, Calvin’s positive Bro’s rolling his eyes. "Lucifer’s blood, for someone so old, you're sure stupid. Your dad don’t want you around, can't you tell even that much? And he won’t want you, not for a long, looong time. Anything I do to you will be healed up by the time he even remembers that you exist.”

“That’s a lie –“

“Yep, obviously a lie, that’s why you’re my Servant. What a coincidence. Shut up already. Keep walkin’, or I'll leave you here, and let whoever finds you have their way with you.”

Calvin seethes. As if his father wouldn’t want him. As if he’d just hand him over to some mentally deficient vampire baby. The very idea is absurd. His father always wants him. Calvin is Lord English’s only child, the only one born before his mother left for darker shores and sweeter men. His father adores Calvin. Of course, yes, his father is punishing him, that much is clear, but this setup can’t be permanent. The longest exile was a month, and even then, Calvin was kept in a French country house with three servants, given delicious food and expensive wine for every meal. This is perhaps more extreme than anything else Calvin has previously experienced, but so what? This too shall pass, isn’t that what the Good Book says?

…although, to be fair, hosting a drinking party for twenty of Calvin’s closest vampire friends inside a walled convent perhaps also surpassed any previous known villainy on Calvin’s part, especially since it was the nuns, and their tiny orphan charges, that were the drinks. All of the nuns. And all of the orphans. In one night. Calvin couldn’t imbibe, such as it was, but oh, watching the frenzy was amusing!

An unexpected yelp from some vagrant mutt yanks him from his musings, and he notices Bro has stopped and a skinny hound is scrabbling to its feet, darting as fast as it can across the narrow street. It disappears into an alley between houses that are smaller and shabbier than anything Calvin’s ever stayed in. There’s some plaster and paint, but most of it is dirty or peeling or both. There are few lanterns out, and fewer people. Those that are around hurry past with eyes averted, cloaks pulled tight, trying to avoid notice. There's no servants running errands, no merchants trying to catch an exiting theater crowd, not even the rowdy but rich sons from the universities who frequently tomcat at night. There's little life here at all, save that which skitters unseen through the trash accumulating in the gutters.

With a twist of his lip, Calvin sneers, “You kick dogs. Color me surprised.” He’s not, at all. “Why are we still headed this way? There’s nothing but slums in that direction, and sick, skinny people that no self-respecting vampire would ever touch. I’m accustomed to a certain level of existence, I’ll not spend my days squatting in a dirty hole with a vampire who’s barely broken in his fangs and already kissing my father’s ass.”

“Duly noted. I don’t give a fuck, but noted.”

Enraged, he lifts his chin at the dark. “I am Calvin English, Prince of the Southern Vampire Realm, and you will afford me my due, or –“

The breath is knocked out of him instantly as Bro’s wide hand slams into his chest, pinning him to the nearest wall -- a wall that had been ten feet away. He chokes, then gags uselessly, eyes bugging in pain and surprise.

“Okay, listen good, pipsqueak,” Bro says cheerfully, as if Calvin isn’t drumming his heels against the wall, unable to touch the ground. If the lack of oxygen to his human servant is causing Bro pain, Bro doesn’t show it. Bro doesn't seem to care at all. “You’re one of those spoiled brats who don’t have half the brains God tried to give ‘em. You been hooked up to your Da for so long, hidin’ in his shadow, that you ain’t had a chance to be your own man. You're a cowardly lickspittle, but hey, maybe that ain't your fault. So I'm gonna make you a deal.” He shoves harder, and something in Calvin’s chest creaks. “You do what I tell ya, and I won't snap your neck. Understand?”

Calvin gasps for air that doesn’t come. He’s going to die here. The vampire he’s bonded to is a monster, a real monster. There’s no hope. No help. His father has abandoned him –

“Glad you get it.” Bro steps back, releasing his hold, and Calvin falls to the filthy ground, coughing. He sucks in great coughing breaths, the air burning his throat. “Now let’s try this again. Get up and follow me, and I’ll show ya everything y’need to know to stop being a twat.”

Dizzy, Calvin snarls and tries to hiss.

Bro ignores him. He steps past Calvin, just a couple of feet, and pulls a key on a leather thong out of his doublet. Shrugging as if to say, What’s a guy to do with troublesome kids?, he unlocks a wooden gate in the wall and steps through, leaving it open behind him.

The message is clear: Calvin can sit here all night if he wants. He can sulk out in the cold, which he feels, though not as keenly as he would if he weren't bonded to a vampire. He won't actually die, and he won't fall ill if he spends hours on the street... but it's not exactly comfortable, either. Calvin isn't used to anything uncomfortable. He spends most of his time avoiding the very idea of discomfort.

The winner this round is not Calvin.

He stands, staggers unsteadily to the gate, and steps through it. It opens into a bleak, squalid little patio, mostly cracked paving stones and shriveled plants. There’s a broken chair and an overturned table, a shattered urn with mold growing along its pieces. Disgusting. He picks his way over the refuse to the half open door beyond. He pushes it open, peering inside, prepared for the worst.

“Shut the door.” A spark flares in the dark, the sharp click of flint against steel loud to Calvin’s ears. He does as he’s bid, staring in wide-eyed surprise as the fat candle before Ambrose catches, and the room is illuminated in faint gold light.

“You lit that yourself,” Calvin gapes. “Are you mad? You could’ve died!”

The vampire places the bit of flint and steel back into a box and sets it down. “Nice o’ you to care.”

“You would’ve taken me with you if you did!”

Bro cocks an eyebrow. “I actually kinda liked you for a minute there. It’s gone now. ‘S fine, I can teach you plenty without liking you.” He carries the candle to the hearth, squats beside it, and begins to lay a fire in the brick fireplace, taking tinder and small logs from a copper tub off to the side.

Calvin watches, horrified, but even that most basic of fears dissipates as he watches the man work. It takes a while to start a fire from nothing; Calvin can’t maintain the required energy to be shocked the entire time. His attention wanders, taking in his surroundings. There’s a red-cushioned sofa and two matching chairs; a carved table with angelic faces running up the legs; a few unlit lamps with stained glass shades; two paintings of country landscapes in what looks like the haze of dawn. “What is this place?”

“A house.”

“But…” It’s Spartan, but clean. It smells of wood polish and herbs. The kitchen must be in the back, through the unlit hallway. It’s almost… tasteful. “Is it yours?”

Bro ignores him. “The bedroom’s down there, and the middens are beyond that, in the yard. Share it with the neighbors. Bring your own rags if you need ‘em.” Bro stands, dusting off his hands as the new flames climb onto the logs and the house grows brighter. “That oughta do it.”

Calvin refuses to step closer, though the warmth is delicious, curling around his legs. “What do you even need a fire for?”

“Not for me. For you.” Bro leans the iron poker up against the wall. “Gonna get cold otherwise.”

“I -- Well, that’s very --”

“Now strip.”

Both of Calvin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

“We need to get our relationship real clear. You’re the Servant, I’m the Master. You ain’t gonna learn nothin’ ‘til we set that all straight. Now.” He snaps his fingers. “Strip, or I’ll Order you to do it, and have you bark like a dog, too.”

They stare at each other, Calvin testing the magic that holds them. Bro waits, placidly unmoving. Faintly, the desire to take off his clothes begins to stir through Calvin’s brain. Wouldn’t it be so comfortable to be naked? It’d be so very nice to feel the heat of the fire on his bare skin --

“All right,” he snarls. “Stop it, I’m doing it, stop trying to control me!”

Bro smirks. "Then hurry it up."

Calvin does. Uneasy, he unties the laces on his velvet doublet. He removes the voluminous thing with some effort, debating where to set it and finally placing it on the table. His tunic slides off much more easily, the silk whispering against his fingertips. He steps out of his shoes, undoes his garters, then balances on one foot, then the other, to slide his stockings off. All of it goes on the table’s polished surface.

“Small clothes, too,” Bro says.

“I know that,” Calvin snaps back, trying to sense what Bro’s feeling and getting nothing. The bond between them should share emotion; is Bro that good at shielding? But he’s so young! “I know what ‘undressed’ means.”

Bro doesn’t comment. Calvin tries to stall, rolling up his stockings and lining up his shoes, but at last he has no choice. He loosens the drawstring and take the small cotton shorts off. He folds them and sets them atop his other clothes, as if this whole thing was his idea, then stands before the table, the firelight dancing over his skin, his hands on his hips. Bro stands there for a moment, his eyes roving over Calvin’s form. What a pig. Fine, let him look. Let Bro drink in as much of Calvin as the bastard wishes.

“Skinny little fuck, you got a damn high opinion of yourself, but I knew that already. Since yer so smart, I guess ya know what comes next, Cal.”

“For the last time, it’s Calvin --” Calvin starts, but a gate opens somewhere in his mind, the one he sought but couldn’t locate. It opens, and he can tell it’s only cracked the barest amount, but that tiny crevice lets through a flood of hunger that rocks him back on his heels.The want, the eager, visceral desire, is incredible.He staggers back a step, then another, until the edge of the table bumps his ass.

Bro watches him with glowing eyes, glinting in the deep-set hollows of his face like pools of lava or puddles of molten gold. They burn, those eyes, and Bro pulls his own doublet over his head, dislodging his hat, and yanks off his codpiece, and Calvin is surprised none of it burst into flames. “You ready? Gonna teach lesson number one. Hell, the best lesson, if y’ask me.”

Calvin fumbles for something sharp to fend Bro off with, a word or a claw or a knife, but nothing comes to him. “You can’t,” he says, and it sounds pathetic. “You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t!”

Bro just smiles and puts his hand on Calvin’s groin. Calvin flinches, and Bro murmurs, low and deep, distractingly normal, “C’mon, Cal. Who’s my Servant? Who’s my li’l Cal?”

“I’m not your anything --” He breaks off, breath stolen at the upswell of lust that rolls through him. He’s drowning beneath it, he hates it, it’s not him --

“ ‘Course it ain’t. That’s me, son, all me. You’re so pretty, I can’t resist.” Bro’s closer now, his mouth to Calvin’s ear, his other hand sliding over Calvin’s hip, down the shallow swell of it. “Don’t gotta be so scared. I know you are, I can feel it. Can hear your li’l heart beatin’ away. It’ll be better if ya just lemme do my thing. Stop fightin’.”

“No!”

There’s a soft chuckle, the warm breath of it sending goosebumps rippling over Calvin’s skin. He’s going to be forced. He’s never been forced, not ever, not in his entire four thousand years of life. He’s only human, but he always manages to escape, or his father rescues him --

“My father! He’s coming!”

“He really ain’t, kid,” Bro says.

“He will!”

“Ain’t nobody comin’.” It’s almost regrettable, except the lust is still there, the want. “Just you and me now. Give in.”

“No,” Calvin chokes, and he’s ashamed, because he’s crying, and he never cries. Not even in front of his father. The tears are hot and wet on his cheeks, the heat of the fire baking them into crisp lines, stiff channels for more tears to follow. “You said you didn’t like me, you can’t want me if you don’t even like me.”

“I lied.” Bro slides his hands downward, past Calvin’s hips. He kneels as he goes, running his fingers down over Calvin’s bare thighs, over his calves. “Don’t know you, Cal, but maybe y’ain’t half bad. Don’t hate me for wantin’ to do it this way. It’ll be faster in the end, you’ll see.”

The suggestion makes the anger suddenly flare up again, and suddenly Calvin hates Bro more than anyone, even though he can sense the sincerity in his words, the honest desire. The door, the gate, the whatever magic between them swings wider, and Calvin can see himself the way Bro sees him: slender, pale in the firelight, the hollow in his navel, the shadows between his legs, the auburn curly hair just before Bro’s face.

“Stop looking,” he protests, seizing the fury, trying to latch onto it, use it. He puts his hands on Bro’s head, grabs his hair -- and a sweet pang of bliss rings through him, a chime as clear as Bohemian crystal. He gasps, shocked. “What --”

“Do it again,” Bro says. It’s half order, half request.

Fresh tears spill down Calvin’s face. “No.” This is wrong. Even with that magical corridor opening even wider between them, displaying sincerity and a little bit of hope, Calvin wants to resist. Bro thinks this is the right way to do things, but it’s not. It can’t be.

“Why not?” It’s as quiet as the crackle of the logs in the fire, those small, noticeable words.

Because no-one can win someone by touching them. It’s impossible. Bro slides his hands up, the big knuckles sliding gently, almost tenderly, beneath Calvin’s balls. They stroke the soft skin, fondle the sack, and Calvin shudders at the sensation, his eyelids fluttering half closed. The fire’s heat seems to stream into his lower belly, barely giving him time to process the sensation before Bro groans again, quieter, and Calvin’s own bliss undulates back to him. He moans, embarrassed, aroused at himself, at how much Bro likes making Calvin enjoy this.

He mumbles, desperate, “You’re using your powers on me.”

Bro licks a line up Calvin’s hard shaft, setting both of them to shuddering. “You know I ain’t.”

He does know. The thing they share goes both ways, and Bro is letting him feel everything. But Calvin’s hands move anyway, clench and tug, just to prove this is bullshit. Bro groans softly, breath against Calvin’s groin, and Calvin doubles over with the echoes of the pleasure of it. “You can’t like this that much,” he whispers, heart thudding faster. He’s so hot now. The fire, or the feelings, they’re drowning him. “You can’t! … can you?”

The answer comes to him in thought, in smug yet encouraging overtones.

Yes.

#towdiav #bro strider #lil cal #vampire au #vampires #homestuck #my writing #fanfiction #brocal #for Dylan especially #:)

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