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"Oh I know, I'm adorable," he agrees, nuzzling into Alfred's hair and giving him a squeeze. But he would happily drain dry any bastard who'd ever made Alfred feel less than. Who made him feel like he couldn't wholly be himself. There's a reason why Herbert doesn't leave the castle overmuch; it's hard for him to hide the way he is, to try and be less like he is, and people can be cruel.
"Ribbon flowers! I'd love to watch you make ribbon flowers, that sounds lovely. All of this sounds so... so festive. I think Father will be very pleased when he's seen all the work we've done."
He's likely out in the graveyard, or in the gardens with Sarah. Or -- doing something with Sarah that he'd rather not think about.
No, he'd much rather concentrate on the glorious tree before them, and all that they'll do to decorate it.
He's likely out in the graveyard, or in the gardens with Sarah. Or -- doing something with Sarah that he'd rather not think about.
No, he'd much rather concentrate on the glorious tree before them, and all that they'll do to decorate it.
Maybe it's that he's getting used to the cuddling, the affections, but...he doesn't pull away from it, gladly accepting the comfort and smiling fondly up at Herbert.
It's amazing, really. Both of them are cold, now, but the hugs still seem so warm to him.
"...Thank you, Herbert. I know you were serious, and I - I can't really...say I want anyone...to die? But it means a lot, that you would stand up for me."
It's amazing, really. Both of them are cold, now, but the hugs still seem so warm to him.
"...Thank you, Herbert. I know you were serious, and I - I can't really...say I want anyone...to die? But it means a lot, that you would stand up for me."
"Oh, I can even show you how, I think you could absolutely do it."
He giggles excitedly, taking the kettle over to the nearby sitting area so he can start setting up for crafting.
"You really think he'll like it, too?"
Alfred does his best, honestly, not to think about Sarah anyway.
He giggles excitedly, taking the kettle over to the nearby sitting area so he can start setting up for crafting.
"You really think he'll like it, too?"
Alfred does his best, honestly, not to think about Sarah anyway.
"Oh, do you think so?" He looks pleased at that. At the idea that he can make something beautiful to decorate the tree. That he could do something that would make Alfred proud and pleased.
"Oh I think he'll love it. And the idea of eternal flowers will appeal to him."
"Oh I think he'll love it. And the idea of eternal flowers will appeal to him."
"Oh, definitely! You're such a fast learner, and they're really very simple."
Taking a seat, he pats the couch beside him, encouraging Herbert to settle up close. He's really become such a cuddler, over time, especially when he's in a good mood.
"I'm glad to hear that," he murmurs slyly. "It means I'm doing well with his Christmas gift."
Taking a seat, he pats the couch beside him, encouraging Herbert to settle up close. He's really become such a cuddler, over time, especially when he's in a good mood.
"I'm glad to hear that," he murmurs slyly. "It means I'm doing well with his Christmas gift."
"You must tell me what you're doing for him," he coos, snuggling up next to Alfred on the sofa, settling a hand on his shoulder. "Please, do. I have to know, you deliciously sneaky thing."
"You have to promise not to tell him," Alfred warns - but even as he does, he leans over to pull up his own personal sewing basket into his lap, opening up the top for Herbert to peek inside.
Inside is the yoke and collar to a cape he's making, black silk roses being worked down one shoulder.
Inside is the yoke and collar to a cape he's making, black silk roses being worked down one shoulder.
Edited 2021-12-20 23:15 (UTC)
"Alfred," Herbert gasps softly, reaching out to brush his fingers against one of the silk roses. So much time and skill must have gone into that, and Herbert is touched by the effort. "Oh he'll love it, he really really will. The one he wears all the time he's had for ages, he badly needs a new one, and this he'll love. Did you know he grows black roses? He loves them. There the one flower he has that isn't planted because it blooms at night."
The praise and affirmation is received with Alfred's usual sheepishness, letting Herbert touch and inspect his handiwork. The reaction makes him glad of the time he's put in...both for this, and for Herbert's gift.
"I didn't actually know that, no," he chuckles, closing the basket back up when his lover is done inspecting. "But I'm glad you think he'll like it. You and he have been so good to me."
He spares a moment to smile at Koukol as well - he certainly hasn't forgotten the faithful servant in all this.
"I didn't actually know that, no," he chuckles, closing the basket back up when his lover is done inspecting. "But I'm glad you think he'll like it. You and he have been so good to me."
He spares a moment to smile at Koukol as well - he certainly hasn't forgotten the faithful servant in all this.
"I absolutely must take you on a walk through the garden some night, mon cheri. All the flowers come to life at night, and it really is quite a spectacular sight. And the roses look like velvet under the moonlight." He strokes his fingers over Alfred's cheek, kissing the corner of his mouth.
"Of course we have," he says, slightly startled. "You're a guest in our house. And practically part of the family, now."
"Of course we have," he says, slightly startled. "You're a guest in our house. And practically part of the family, now."
"Oh, I would love to see it - it sounds beautiful," he breathes, leaning a little bit into the stroke and the kiss.
He pauses a moment at that - something is on his mind, but...not now, not the time. He shrugs a little bit, looking sheepish at Herbert starting.
"I know, Engel, I don't mean to sound as if it's new, I just - it's so new to my life, being treated this way. I've been here a while, and I am...still getting used to it. Still, ah...well...healing."
He's never quite put it that way before, even if he knows it to be the truth.
He pauses a moment at that - something is on his mind, but...not now, not the time. He shrugs a little bit, looking sheepish at Herbert starting.
"I know, Engel, I don't mean to sound as if it's new, I just - it's so new to my life, being treated this way. I've been here a while, and I am...still getting used to it. Still, ah...well...healing."
He's never quite put it that way before, even if he knows it to be the truth.
"Healing? Are you unwell?" His hand goes to Alfred's forehead, but finds it just as cool as his own hand. No, of course not. He can't get sick, not like this. Or at least, Herbert is fairly certain he can't.
"Healing from what, my darling?"
"Healing from what, my darling?"
"I hate the idea of anyone saying what you are, what you enjoy is somehow bad or wrong." He strokes his hand through Alfred's hair, though the gesture is almost protective. As though a simple gesture could keep him from all the ills of the world.
"No, no, I'm not - I'm not sick," he murmurs, soft and patient. He reaches up to grab Herbert's hands, holding them and tracing little circles on his palms with his own short, blunt little claws.
"Healing from...what living like I was did to me. The way people treated me, the things they told me, over and over. It hurt me, and it's...taking me time to figure that out. Being here, with you, it's...helping me. That's what I mean."
Biting his lip for a moment, he realizes - "...If you... want, I can show you, I think. What I mean, how it feels, just for a second, so that you can really understand. It just might not be...very pleasant."
"Healing from...what living like I was did to me. The way people treated me, the things they told me, over and over. It hurt me, and it's...taking me time to figure that out. Being here, with you, it's...helping me. That's what I mean."
Biting his lip for a moment, he realizes - "...If you... want, I can show you, I think. What I mean, how it feels, just for a second, so that you can really understand. It just might not be...very pleasant."
"No, not here. Here, you can love poetry and sewing and any activities that please. You can love whomever you want. Father would hardly judge, he's taken more than one male lover over the years, among his female companions." It's said quite casually, as though Herbert finds nothing odd about it. Which, truly, he doesn't.
Oh, oh no. His heart aches for his poor Alfred. Having to hide himself away for so long. But he rests his forehead against Alfred's, stroking his tenderly.
"Show me, then. I want to see. And if I can help relieve any of that hurt, I will."
"Show me, then. I want to see. And if I can help relieve any of that hurt, I will."
This...makes Alfred blink at Herbert in surprise, just a little. The topic is... complicated, for him. He's been learning that his worldview before the castle was narrow...and learning what that means for him, exactly.
Nodding a little bit, he finally takes the shirt back up, tying off the seam and grabbing a wooden hoop from his basket.
"...The first night...after I was turned...you told me you had. You had always preferred men. How...did you know?"
Nodding a little bit, he finally takes the shirt back up, tying off the seam and grabbing a wooden hoop from his basket.
"...The first night...after I was turned...you told me you had. You had always preferred men. How...did you know?"
"Okay," he whispers, looking deeply into Herbert's eyes before shutting his own to focus. He's still clumsy at this, but... it's easier with Herbert than anyone else.
It takes a moment before the connection is set - and then...he thinks back, letting the memories flutter past.
'Alfred. Stop crying.'
'What were you THINKING, boy? Must I spell it all out for you?'
'Stand up straight. Stop flinching.'
'What are you STARING at, Schreiber? Creep.'
'You are really nice...so you'll forgive me....'
'Son, you need to be a man.'
'Oh, it's...you.'
'You are useless in the field, boy. No spine.'
And alongside all the echoes...a deep gash in the chest, the threat of hot tears and the vice grip of shame, so tight in the throat it feels like drowning.
His hands tighten around Herbert's as he lets his lover in to a part of himself he has never shared.
It takes a moment before the connection is set - and then...he thinks back, letting the memories flutter past.
'Alfred. Stop crying.'
'What were you THINKING, boy? Must I spell it all out for you?'
'Stand up straight. Stop flinching.'
'What are you STARING at, Schreiber? Creep.'
'You are really nice...so you'll forgive me....'
'Son, you need to be a man.'
'Oh, it's...you.'
'You are useless in the field, boy. No spine.'
And alongside all the echoes...a deep gash in the chest, the threat of hot tears and the vice grip of shame, so tight in the throat it feels like drowning.
His hands tighten around Herbert's as he lets his lover in to a part of himself he has never shared.
Herbert clutches desperately at Alfred's hands, afraid of how furious he feels. How much hate he has for these people who tore Alfred down constantly, mocked him, told him he was less than the wonderful, perfect boy Herbert knows he is.
He blinks away tears and cups his hands over Alfred's cheeks, kissing him fiercely. Protectively. "I'll kill them. I'll tear them all apart."
He blinks away tears and cups his hands over Alfred's cheeks, kissing him fiercely. Protectively. "I'll kill them. I'll tear them all apart."
Herbert reluctantly pulls away and lets Alfred get back to his mending. "It's something I've always felt. When I was younger, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, girls started to notice me. And they were nice, I suppose. I liked talking to them. I even stole a few kisses here and there, but it never... ignited anything in me.
Nothing like what I felt when a boy looked at me. I'd feel a fluttering in my stomach, my cheeks would get hot. I'd find excuses to touch them. Play wrestling, that sort of thing. Just to be close to them. Because it made me feel good, like all the romantic books told me a girl should make me feel."
Nothing like what I felt when a boy looked at me. I'd feel a fluttering in my stomach, my cheeks would get hot. I'd find excuses to touch them. Play wrestling, that sort of thing. Just to be close to them. Because it made me feel good, like all the romantic books told me a girl should make me feel."
The young vampire doesn't stray too far from Herbert, even as he returns to work - he scoots a little closer, instinctively, so that the side of his thigh is pressed against the older man's. He sets the embroidery hoop under the first bloodstain, a thoughtful look on his face as he listens.
There's a guilty little twist in his stomach, in spite of himself. He knows he likes women, but...he also thinks back to private moments with erotic scenes in romance novels, of well-worn pages describing what the men in the scene are doing, feeling.
His cheeks burn. He takes up some rich, thicker crimson thread and affixes it to his needle.
"...Oh," is all he can manage, but it's spoken with realization.
There's a guilty little twist in his stomach, in spite of himself. He knows he likes women, but...he also thinks back to private moments with erotic scenes in romance novels, of well-worn pages describing what the men in the scene are doing, feeling.
His cheeks burn. He takes up some rich, thicker crimson thread and affixes it to his needle.
"...Oh," is all he can manage, but it's spoken with realization.
"Engel, it's okay," Alfred murmurs, sniffling a little on his own tears as Herbert fusses over him. He reaches out to connect again, pushing past the memories of his father, the Professor, his classmates, Sarah.
He refocuses, and the aching wound in the heart, the shame, the fear is slowly painted over. The scent of roses, the giddiness of a dance, a warm glow of hope, of joy.
Healing, like he said.
Wanting his partner to understand his pain, yes...but also to understand what he feels when he looks at Herbert. To see where the spaces terror and shame had been, love is slowly filling them instead.
"I'm okay," he mumbles, his hands moving to Herbert's shoulders. "I'm more okay every day."
He refocuses, and the aching wound in the heart, the shame, the fear is slowly painted over. The scent of roses, the giddiness of a dance, a warm glow of hope, of joy.
Healing, like he said.
Wanting his partner to understand his pain, yes...but also to understand what he feels when he looks at Herbert. To see where the spaces terror and shame had been, love is slowly filling them instead.
"I'm okay," he mumbles, his hands moving to Herbert's shoulders. "I'm more okay every day."
"Oooh?" Herbert smiles slowly, picking out his stitches and re-threading his needle to start again. He knows that expression. That tone of sudden realization. He'd seen it on himself, ever so many years ago.
"It sounds like something's clicked into place."
"It sounds like something's clicked into place."
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