[Hector isn't sure Isaac is ready to hear Hector's thoughts on their alliance. It's likely to spook him, and spoil the relative ease of this moment.
He releases Isaac's foot when he starts to shift, and dips the cloth back into the water to rinse and re-lather while he waits for Isaac to either settle or bristle against his help and demand to finish the job himself.]
Yes, we shouldn't be caught unawares...but I think we have time. Immortals have nothing if not time, and after his last attempt failed, he won't act in haste.
[He does go still, his brow knitting while he strums his roughened knuckles with his fingertips, a cold, distant look settling into his eyes.]
His magic courses through our veins yet; I have found myself wondering if we too shall be longer-lived than most. [Wryly:] ...Assuming we aren't put out of our misery first, one way or another.
[A forgemaster outlasting the violence in Wallachia to die when he is old and grey and limp-dicked strikes him as about as likely to happen as the Belmont turning whip and will against God. A sword through the heart could also be considered death by natural causes, he thinks. Not only more realistic, but a preferable exit.
He glances at Hector after a while, motioning him over with a lazy curl of his fingers. Might as well put him to work.]
Edited (oh my GOD brain, quit it with the typos and shit) 2019-10-13 21:10 (UTC)
[Hector scoots closer to the tub and begins to wash Isaac's calf. Maybe it's not what Isaac meant with his crooked finger, but Hector is moving at his own speed for now. He digs his fingertips into the muscles, willing the stiffness to ease.]
There's no way to know for now. But we've seemed to age normally thus far.
[Hector has no desire to live past a single mortal lifespan. He never sought vampirism to that point.]
Death will find us in its own time. There's no need for us to do anything to seek it out.
['That remains for every man to decide,' he nearly says. But tonight, it's easier to say nothing at all. His bad days are never too far away, and when they're there and lying heavy on top of him, smothering him, there's reason enough to save what little hope he has left for death. But for now, since turning his efforts back to forging, he still surges with motivation, just enough to thrash and keep his head above the water. His hands would've turned against himself long ago, he thinks, if they had no power to create.
It's a fairly smooth part of his leg that Hector has gotten to scrubbing now. Isaac lets him, wordlessly. It's neither keenly pleasurable or unpleasant, though the motions he's making are calming in their sureness, their steadiness. But at the press of fingers into skin he slides free of that grip, easy, sinking back into the bath.]
No. [He says, coolly.
Massage is beyond what he's agreed to. At least, for now.]
[Hector sighs, but he rinses, lathers up the cloth, and begins a gentle scrub of the other calf, not pushing for more.]
My father sought eternal life, you know. I can think of no greater form of torture, but he honestly thought he wanted it.
[That and gold, the oldest and most cliche desires of an alchemist. How someone with so little creativity thought he would be the one to crack the code, Hector will never understand.]
Do you think our craft will die out with us? I have fathered no children; my bloodline ends with me.
no real kids for them is probably for the best, lol
[Every man desperate enough for something rarely thinks of its cost. But he doubts he'd have turned back if he knew from the start what it meant to be a devil forgemaster. He was still a boy when he had decided the end goal would justify all the suffering and frustration and sleepless nights reading by candlelight.
He sighs through his nose, lolling his head back.
No child left alive in that place remained a child for very long, though, he muses.]
Perhaps there will be others clever enough to master this art in time, even if it takes centuries for them to emerge. Curiosity and a hunger for power is without limit among men, and the dark lord will be wanting of new flesh to groom to his purposes.
[He pauses, thinking.]
...I am rather amazed you never had a part in siring a cambion or two, not even in your sleep. [Said to the ceiling with a touch of grim amusement.] More than a few succubi spoke highly of your vigor. [A beat.] Which was rather suspect, as you had struck me at the time as being a man with all the passion of a plank of wood.
I came to the castle as a child, and I knew of their dangers well before I attracted any attention from them. In that interim between when they took notice and when I could repel them, I was careful not to let them collect my seed. That meant satisfying them in other ways.
[Hector has...if not fond, then certainly intense...memories of rutting between thighs or breasts, and so much time kneeling with his head buried between a writhing succubus’s legs.
He thinks it was a mixture of fearing retaliation from Dracula if they truly impaired his favored young student and the pure novelty of his solution that has led the demons to humor him and not force-feed from him.
Hector’s rather amused to hear that they’d spoken so highly of him, even if Isaac does offer that fact in mockery. He snorts, and follows the line of Isaac’s leg so he can scrub above his knees.]
Did you solicit that particular piece of gossip, or did they offer it freely?
[It comes as something of a surprise that Hector hadn't wandered in blind like he had. Isaac gives him a look of mock-astonishment, eyebrows going up.]
Clever boy. [He purrs, mimicking their lilting tones with a twitch of amusement on his lips.] ...I had no need to press them, for they were quite fond of wagging their tongues when they weren't putting them to good use.
[Always keen on getting a rise out of him, in all senses. He idly plucks a chamomile bud from his chest, rolling it between the pads of his fingers.]
All their tales of you and your ten inch horse-cock could only ever lead to disappointment.
[Carelessly flicking the bud back into the water:]
There was more to my interest than what lay between your legs.
[He leaves it at that, closing his eyes a moment and fighting the pull of a dark curiosity that dares him to ask what Hector may have heard about him from others' lips. Not all rumours that swirled around the castle and came back to him fell into the realm of amusing nonsense, and in a black fury, his hands had found their way around the throats of a few of those giggling succubi, their laughter ringing in his ears long after he had squeezed and bruised his fingers into their skin, silencing them.]
Oh, an army of little hellions, surely. [Wearing red jasper, he learned, eventually, kept them from draining his strength, which allowed him to fuck with abandon. And he did, for years, seeking them at times as often as they sought him, shoving them down and pumping into them with all his savage frustration.] Although it hardly matters, now least of all.
[He notices Hector's hesitation before long and cants his head at him, unamused.]
No, you were more interested in my power, weren't you?
[Goaded on, he pushes forward with a soft snort, plunging his arms further into the fragrant waters to trace Isaac's thighs with the cleaning cloth. He slides along the outside of one leg, then shifts to the softer inner thigh.]
Does it bother you, that there could be living beings still with your blood in their veins?
[Hector wonders if he could kill a demon, if it were possible it was his offspring. The demon's origin shouldn't matter, but Hectors thinks it would, for him. It is a weakness, but one that keeps him human in spite of his dark powers.]
[The first question is left hanging, although his silence is telling. Yes - of course Hector's raw talent had captured his attention like it had the dark lord's, though not in a way entirely the same. Power aside, the sheer novelty of seeing another human in the castle, someone who had looked to be close to his age, had made his pulse quicken with an anxious excitement and a yearning he hadn't felt in a long time.]
They would mean to nothing to me, begotten by a demon-whore.
[The cloth passes along his inner leg and he stirs, fingers tightening around the tub's rim.]
[Maybe it is that easy for Isaac. Hector has no attachment to the family that spawned him, but he isn't sure the apathy would go the same way.
He moves to the other leg, up and down the thigh, slow and gentle. Hector's not trying to seduce. This, the closeness and conversation, coexisting in the same space, is the goal.]
There have been some succubae sniffing around the castle. I assume you're aware.
[Hector could put up wards, but this is Isaac's abode, and must be consulted.]
[Isaac snorts softly, a mirthless sound, supposing this is Hector's oh-so-aloof manner of pointing out that he's noticed the company Isaac has kept in the last few months.]
You assume correctly.
[With a cocked brow, he presses Hector on, half-expecting all the while for his touch to lose focus, daring to wander where it hasn't the right to be. But it doesn't - and for the moment, their truce holds.]
[Hector lets out a breath, but doesn't press the issue. If Isaac wanted them gone from his keep, they would be gone. He'll ward his own room and leave Isaac to his 'demon-whores'.
He reaches as far up Isaac's legs as he can go without groping more tender areas. He draws the cloth out of the water and reaches for Isaac's left hand.]
[His jaw stiffens, weeks of hard-won progress on the verge of coming undone in an instant.]
Then leave.
[The cloth sweeps over the beginnings of a crisscrossing of scars that extend to his inner elbow, the tendons in his arm flexing and unflexing and his hand one word away from snapping out to grab a fistful of Hector's tunic.]
You would do well to remember that my business is my own, as is this castle in which you sleep. [Crisply.] My purpose here is not to make life more comfortable and convenient for you.
[Hector asks quietly, not yet withdrawing from the side of the tub. He washes up the forearm, over scars and inked designs. If Isaac sends him away, he'll have to see to the rest of the scrubbing himself.]
This hasn't been so bad, has it? [A real conversation after months of isolation, warmth and sweet scents, and the temporary suspension of the rivalry between them. Hector doesn't wish to lose that.]
[He looks away to stare sullenly into the bath, at the pale islands of his knees, offering neither a yes or a no to Hector who isn't challenging him, who isn't pushing like he has before. It's this soft-spoken Hector he thinks he trusts the least.
In all the ways he has changed and magic has changed him, he's still human in ways he can't shake. He still yearns for a meaningful place in the world, for a sense of belonging somewhere, even if somewhere only means being welcomed between someone's legs, wanted for just a moment. He still yearns for company: wanting to sweep his hands over skin and raise goosebumps on command and feel his own tingle, alive; wants to pull moans from willing and unwilling throats, wants to bury himself into someone and leave a part of himself inside. The reason demons were here in his tower, where Hector stands now, is because Hector wasn't.
But this he doesn't try to explain. He doesn't know where he'd start if he meant to and doesn't like the way thinking of Hector and the last time they lay together still makes something twists in his gut. When he opens his mouth again, it's easier just to slip around the question and counter with one of his own.
Leveling Hector a look through the gauzy steam:]
Is it jealousy that compels you to judge me?
[It's less a question seeking understanding and more of one seeking confirmation.]
[Hector’s jaw clenches, and he focuses his attention on the arm he is washing- rivulets of soapy water snaking over the marked skin.]
Does it matter? I don’t want to kill a child of yours, but neither would I want to allow it to take what it wishes of me.
[The question for a question is a damning answer in itself. The tangled situation demon children present is real enough, though. He doesn’t want to be put in that situation.]
[He scoffs. Of course he's denied the wry satisfaction of an actual admission, of having some vague sense of what it'd have felt like to be the favoured one, competed for. Water sloshes around as he shifts a little, restless to pull his arm free.]
My devils alone are my children.
['Child' feels like the wrong word for the product of a loveless union, a living thing carelessly brought into the world. There is no loyalty among succubi, as far as he's aware, and their business is to feed and to create when they can with as many men they can sleep with, not to rear those cambions. The indifference is mutual.]
And should it ever come to pass that I find a creature claiming to carry my blood, be this real or imagined, I will destroy it myself as I would any other.
[There's no room for negotiation in his voice, his mind already made. All things considered, it may very well be an unintentional act of mercy.]
[Every conversation with Isaac is fraught with pitfalls. Had he admitted jealousy, it would be a coin's flip whether Isaac would sent him away, spitting about Hector's clinginess and sentimentality again.
He slides the cloth past Isaac's elbow and up the tense, wiry muscles of his bicep. It draws him closer, though he keeps his eyes downcast, like a good servant or a man wanting to avoid the vulnerability that would come with eye contact.]
I will leave them to you.
[Hector has no illusions about the goodness or loyalty of demons, but he still doesn't want Isaac's blood on his hands.]
[Isaac doesn't turn his eyes away but wills himself to stare into Hector's face, resisting a twinge of misplaced discomfort.]
Of course I have.
[He says, with a snappish edge. It has often felt like the only way he could bed a human would be by force, and by then they'd have been victims, in no position to offer anything resembling what he would later see while watching Hector and Rosaly, smouldering with envy and wrenching, hopeless want. He's known demons by and large to be selfish and unkind, but he can't say he hadn't learned from the formative sexual experiences many provided. It had meant something, long ago, that someone had wanted to touch him, had wanted to familiarize himself with his body and with the idea of seeking pleasure in others. The focused attention had been more thrilling than threatening, then; it had been a simpler time, before touch became a weapon and one he discovered he could use as well.]
{Hector reaches Isaac's shoulder, knotted with tension. Breaking out of the Isaac's stare, he slides around the the back of the tub, and gives Isaac a gentle push to urge him forward so he can begin on his back. If Hector could have his way, there would be oil to rub across the planes and ridges there, and he would work his fingers in deep until he could force all the knots into relaxation.
But since when has Hector ever gotten his way with Isaac? He has been granted a cloth and warm water, and he will have to make do.
Out of Isaac's direct line of sight, it's a little easier to continue his line of questioning.]
What would you want of them? Someone to be a partner, or someone to submit to your will? Do you know what you want, Isaac?
[It's too bold, but Hector can't figure it out on his own and frustration makes it hard to hold back his tongue.]
[Why couldn't it be both, he wonders. Why couldn't he dominate and thoroughly fuck someone he forged a rare sort of bond with whenever he pleased, someone he could trust in battle, at least, if not with a secret, but didn't have to in bed? The answer is one he already knows, of course. There are no such people. With Hector, it's complicated, it's a mess he doesn't know how to untangle himself from. Hector is too stubborn, too defiant to be pleased with such an arrangement; he asks too much.
It seems too good to be true, anyway, Isaac tells himself. In the end, the more a person knows of him, the deeper they can cut him. And the more he knows of them, the more of his time and his interest that he invests in their lives, the closer he is to a disaster waiting to happen. For every moment he'd enjoy, he'd spend the rest braced in constant anticipation of the other shoe dropping, and senses fate would never keep him waiting too long.]
...Does it matter? [Throwing Hector's words back at him.
He follows him with his eyes until he disappears behind him, lost in his blindspot. Then Isaac listens, waits. And though he's well familiar with the washcloth on his skin, despite never quite relaxing into Hector's touch, there's a twitch at his shoulderblades when Hector makes to guide him, to lean him forward, tension flaring through his spine. His back stays tight as a drawn bow, all of him stilling.]
Edited 2019-10-17 15:19 (UTC)
HE’S NOT SAYING IT SHOULD totally absolutely BE HIM
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He releases Isaac's foot when he starts to shift, and dips the cloth back into the water to rinse and re-lather while he waits for Isaac to either settle or bristle against his help and demand to finish the job himself.]
Yes, we shouldn't be caught unawares...but I think we have time. Immortals have nothing if not time, and after his last attempt failed, he won't act in haste.
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His magic courses through our veins yet; I have found myself wondering if we too shall be longer-lived than most. [Wryly:] ...Assuming we aren't put out of our misery first, one way or another.
[A forgemaster outlasting the violence in Wallachia to die when he is old and grey and limp-dicked strikes him as about as likely to happen as the Belmont turning whip and will against God. A sword through the heart could also be considered death by natural causes, he thinks. Not only more realistic, but a preferable exit.
He glances at Hector after a while, motioning him over with a lazy curl of his fingers. Might as well put him to work.]
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There's no way to know for now. But we've seemed to age normally thus far.
[Hector has no desire to live past a single mortal lifespan. He never sought vampirism to that point.]
Death will find us in its own time. There's no need for us to do anything to seek it out.
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It's a fairly smooth part of his leg that Hector has gotten to scrubbing now. Isaac lets him, wordlessly. It's neither keenly pleasurable or unpleasant, though the motions he's making are calming in their sureness, their steadiness. But at the press of fingers into skin he slides free of that grip, easy, sinking back into the bath.]
No. [He says, coolly.
Massage is beyond what he's agreed to. At least, for now.]
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My father sought eternal life, you know. I can think of no greater form of torture, but he honestly thought he wanted it.
[That and gold, the oldest and most cliche desires of an alchemist. How someone with so little creativity thought he would be the one to crack the code, Hector will never understand.]
Do you think our craft will die out with us? I have fathered no children; my bloodline ends with me.
no real kids for them is probably for the best, lol
He sighs through his nose, lolling his head back.
No child left alive in that place remained a child for very long, though, he muses.]
Perhaps there will be others clever enough to master this art in time, even if it takes centuries for them to emerge. Curiosity and a hunger for power is without limit among men, and the dark lord will be wanting of new flesh to groom to his purposes.
[He pauses, thinking.]
...I am rather amazed you never had a part in siring a cambion or two, not even in your sleep. [Said to the ceiling with a touch of grim amusement.] More than a few succubi spoke highly of your vigor. [A beat.] Which was rather suspect, as you had struck me at the time as being a man with all the passion of a plank of wood.
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[Hector has...if not fond, then certainly intense...memories of rutting between thighs or breasts, and so much time kneeling with his head buried between a writhing succubus’s legs.
He thinks it was a mixture of fearing retaliation from Dracula if they truly impaired his favored young student and the pure novelty of his solution that has led the demons to humor him and not force-feed from him.
Hector’s rather amused to hear that they’d spoken so highly of him, even if Isaac does offer that fact in mockery. He snorts, and follows the line of Isaac’s leg so he can scrub above his knees.]
Did you solicit that particular piece of gossip, or did they offer it freely?
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Clever boy. [He purrs, mimicking their lilting tones with a twitch of amusement on his lips.] ...I had no need to press them, for they were quite fond of wagging their tongues when they weren't putting them to good use.
[Always keen on getting a rise out of him, in all senses. He idly plucks a chamomile bud from his chest, rolling it between the pads of his fingers.]
All their tales of you and your ten inch horse-cock could only ever lead to disappointment.
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Is that why you were so interested in me back then? I am sorry to disappoint.
[He shakes his head, amusement outweighing the embarrassment of this conversation.]
Do you think you left little half-demon Laforezes behind in the castle?
[He pauses with his arms wrist-deep in the water, hesitating to brush his cloth up Isaac's thigh without some indication of Isaac's permission.]
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There was more to my interest than what lay between your legs.
[He leaves it at that, closing his eyes a moment and fighting the pull of a dark curiosity that dares him to ask what Hector may have heard about him from others' lips. Not all rumours that swirled around the castle and came back to him fell into the realm of amusing nonsense, and in a black fury, his hands had found their way around the throats of a few of those giggling succubi, their laughter ringing in his ears long after he had squeezed and bruised his fingers into their skin, silencing them.]
Oh, an army of little hellions, surely. [Wearing red jasper, he learned, eventually, kept them from draining his strength, which allowed him to fuck with abandon. And he did, for years, seeking them at times as often as they sought him, shoving them down and pumping into them with all his savage frustration.] Although it hardly matters, now least of all.
[He notices Hector's hesitation before long and cants his head at him, unamused.]
...Have you come only to stare?
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[Goaded on, he pushes forward with a soft snort, plunging his arms further into the fragrant waters to trace Isaac's thighs with the cleaning cloth. He slides along the outside of one leg, then shifts to the softer inner thigh.]
Does it bother you, that there could be living beings still with your blood in their veins?
[Hector wonders if he could kill a demon, if it were possible it was his offspring. The demon's origin shouldn't matter, but Hectors thinks it would, for him. It is a weakness, but one that keeps him human in spite of his dark powers.]
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They would mean to nothing to me, begotten by a demon-whore.
[The cloth passes along his inner leg and he stirs, fingers tightening around the tub's rim.]
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[Maybe it is that easy for Isaac. Hector has no attachment to the family that spawned him, but he isn't sure the apathy would go the same way.
He moves to the other leg, up and down the thigh, slow and gentle. Hector's not trying to seduce. This, the closeness and conversation, coexisting in the same space, is the goal.]
There have been some succubae sniffing around the castle. I assume you're aware.
[Hector could put up wards, but this is Isaac's abode, and must be consulted.]
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You assume correctly.
[With a cocked brow, he presses Hector on, half-expecting all the while for his touch to lose focus, daring to wander where it hasn't the right to be. But it doesn't - and for the moment, their truce holds.]
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He reaches as far up Isaac's legs as he can go without groping more tender areas. He draws the cloth out of the water and reaches for Isaac's left hand.]
I don't want to see your cambions firsthand.
[Try to have a little restraint, Isaac.]
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Then leave.
[The cloth sweeps over the beginnings of a crisscrossing of scars that extend to his inner elbow, the tendons in his arm flexing and unflexing and his hand one word away from snapping out to grab a fistful of Hector's tunic.]
You would do well to remember that my business is my own, as is this castle in which you sleep. [Crisply.] My purpose here is not to make life more comfortable and convenient for you.
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[Hector asks quietly, not yet withdrawing from the side of the tub. He washes up the forearm, over scars and inked designs. If Isaac sends him away, he'll have to see to the rest of the scrubbing himself.]
This hasn't been so bad, has it? [A real conversation after months of isolation, warmth and sweet scents, and the temporary suspension of the rivalry between them. Hector doesn't wish to lose that.]
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In all the ways he has changed and magic has changed him, he's still human in ways he can't shake. He still yearns for a meaningful place in the world, for a sense of belonging somewhere, even if somewhere only means being welcomed between someone's legs, wanted for just a moment. He still yearns for company: wanting to sweep his hands over skin and raise goosebumps on command and feel his own tingle, alive; wants to pull moans from willing and unwilling throats, wants to bury himself into someone and leave a part of himself inside. The reason demons were here in his tower, where Hector stands now, is because Hector wasn't.
But this he doesn't try to explain. He doesn't know where he'd start if he meant to and doesn't like the way thinking of Hector and the last time they lay together still makes something twists in his gut. When he opens his mouth again, it's easier just to slip around the question and counter with one of his own.
Leveling Hector a look through the gauzy steam:]
Is it jealousy that compels you to judge me?
[It's less a question seeking understanding and more of one seeking confirmation.]
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Does it matter? I don’t want to kill a child of yours, but neither would I want to allow it to take what it wishes of me.
[The question for a question is a damning answer in itself. The tangled situation demon children present is real enough, though. He doesn’t want to be put in that situation.]
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My devils alone are my children.
['Child' feels like the wrong word for the product of a loveless union, a living thing carelessly brought into the world. There is no loyalty among succubi, as far as he's aware, and their business is to feed and to create when they can with as many men they can sleep with, not to rear those cambions. The indifference is mutual.]
And should it ever come to pass that I find a creature claiming to carry my blood, be this real or imagined, I will destroy it myself as I would any other.
[There's no room for negotiation in his voice, his mind already made. All things considered, it may very well be an unintentional act of mercy.]
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He slides the cloth past Isaac's elbow and up the tense, wiry muscles of his bicep. It draws him closer, though he keeps his eyes downcast, like a good servant or a man wanting to avoid the vulnerability that would come with eye contact.]
I will leave them to you.
[Hector has no illusions about the goodness or loyalty of demons, but he still doesn't want Isaac's blood on his hands.]
Have you ever considered taking human lovers?
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Of course I have.
[He says, with a snappish edge. It has often felt like the only way he could bed a human would be by force, and by then they'd have been victims, in no position to offer anything resembling what he would later see while watching Hector and Rosaly, smouldering with envy and wrenching, hopeless want. He's known demons by and large to be selfish and unkind, but he can't say he hadn't learned from the formative sexual experiences many provided. It had meant something, long ago, that someone had wanted to touch him, had wanted to familiarize himself with his body and with the idea of seeking pleasure in others. The focused attention had been more thrilling than threatening, then; it had been a simpler time, before touch became a weapon and one he discovered he could use as well.]
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But since when has Hector ever gotten his way with Isaac? He has been granted a cloth and warm water, and he will have to make do.
Out of Isaac's direct line of sight, it's a little easier to continue his line of questioning.]
What would you want of them? Someone to be a partner, or someone to submit to your will? Do you know what you want, Isaac?
[It's too bold, but Hector can't figure it out on his own and frustration makes it hard to hold back his tongue.]
HOW DARE HECTOR HAVE NEEDS OF HIS OWN
It seems too good to be true, anyway, Isaac tells himself. In the end, the more a person knows of him, the deeper they can cut him. And the more he knows of them, the more of his time and his interest that he invests in their lives, the closer he is to a disaster waiting to happen. For every moment he'd enjoy, he'd spend the rest braced in constant anticipation of the other shoe dropping, and senses fate would never keep him waiting too long.]
...Does it matter? [Throwing Hector's words back at him.
He follows him with his eyes until he disappears behind him, lost in his blindspot. Then Isaac listens, waits. And though he's well familiar with the washcloth on his skin, despite never quite relaxing into Hector's touch, there's a twitch at his shoulderblades when Hector makes to guide him, to lean him forward, tension flaring through his spine. His back stays tight as a drawn bow, all of him stilling.]
HE’S NOT SAYING IT SHOULD totally absolutely BE HIM
[Hector tries to sooth away the stiffness of Isaac’s back, but Isaac is stubborn. He huffs.]
This is supposed to help you relax. What will it take for you to uncoil? I could fetch wine.
[Hector is invested in this working. If Isaac comes away more tense than he went in, Hector will never here the end of it from him.]
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hope this timeskippery is okay -- let me know if you wanted anything changed
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