Closed RP Spot for loveinsideme/nachtvogel [NSFW WITHIN]

[heyhohey]

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[nachtvogel]

"I took the thorns off," he points out, gesturing to the clean stems. "I didn't want them to sting you."

The nerves are still there, and the touch and the kiss pull him up short, and he blinks rapidly in surprise, lashes fluttering. "Yes -- yes of course I'll come sit with you.

But you like them? Truly?" he asks, moving further into the room and closing the door behind him. Alfred is a tricky one. Sarah, he can spoil easily, with clothing and things for the bath. But Herbert already gives Alfred clothing, and Alfred doesn't seem to... to need anything. Or to know how to want it. And so Georg will simply have to spend more time with him and learn more about him, so he can properly spoil him like he so badly wants to.

[heyhohey]

Alfred marvels at the missing thorns once they are pointed out - the attention to detail that displays, the caring. He beams back at Georg while he crosses his room to fetch a vase, propping the roses in a place on honor on his desk.

"I love them, Georg - they are very pretty, and...and I'm really touched, that you would go to the trouble for me." He walks back over to the other vampire, reaching out in that gentle way he does to stroke at the dark hair that tumbles forward over his shoulders.

"Thank you."

[nachtvogel]

"I'm so glad that you do." He sounds relieved, that Alfred likes his gift. And then Alfred is touching his hair, and he sways into Alfred's space a little, leaning their foreheads together. "I wanted you to be able to touch them. To hold them, if you liked. The petals have a wonderful, soft texture."

He rests his hand against Alfred's arm, letting them simply be close to each other for now. "You're worth the trouble."

[heyhohey]

"You're incredibly thoughtful, Georg. I..I love them, I really do." I love you, too.

For a long moment, Alfred leans into the touch, lightly shutting his eyes as he listens to the sweet things the older vampire is saying. They've been getting closer, gradually, but...outside of intimacy, Georg is so guarded, so withdrawn with his real feelings. This moment, though, he feels...different.

Slitting his eyes open again, he murmurs, softly and sweetly.

"...May I...do something for you, Georg? I...I would like to brush your hair out for you. If that's all right."

[nachtvogel]

"My hair?" He doesn't do much at all with his hair. Not like Herbert does. He brushes it back out of his face and that's about it.

The count is incredibly touched by the offer, and slides his hand up Alfred's shoulder to squeeze it lightly. Wanting to keep this closeness. "I don't think anyone has brushed my hair for me in... I suppose nearly three hundred years now. But -- I would like that. Very much."

[heyhohey]

Alfred's shoulder is strong and steady under Georg's hand - gone are the days when he shook under the Count's touch, when he cowered back when he got unexpectedly close. He's come to welcome it now, the dark bloom he feels in his heart, so much like those roses on his desk.

He marvels at the comment - three hundred years. Such a long time. Gently, he guides the hand on his shoulder to grasp his, not breaking contact, but leading him over to sit at his vanity.

"If it's been that long, it's long overdue. Here - sit with me on the bench, and...and if you like, I can hang your cloak up while I do this, just so that your collar is out of the way."

[nachtvogel]

"Oh, yes. Thank you. You're very thoughtful, Alfred." He undoes the clasps of his cloak and hands it over to Alfred before settling on the bench.

"It's probably a bit tangled," he admits, sounding... a little embarrassed, perhaps. He doesn't take as good of care of himself as he should. Not like Herbert does. He stares down at his nails, realizing how clawlike they are. In bad need of some filing and shaping.

How long has he been like this? Too long, perhaps.

[heyhohey]

"It's nothing, really."

Without hesitating, Alfred carefully drapes the cloak over his arm, walking it over to his coatstand to hang it safely and carefully. Every time he handles one of Georg's cloaks, he is always this way - respecting it, respecting what it means and represents to the Count.

Once it's set, he moves to the bench, taking a seat behind Georg and taking up a brush. His voice is very gentle when he speaks, no judgement there.

"It's all right, Georg," he breathes, long, careful fingers sweeping forward to collect the hair he wears tumbling down his chest and pull it back. Before using the brush, he starts with his fingers, very gently pulling loose any little knots and tangles.

He can guess why Georg doesn't do this for himself. It's something he's been meaning to talk to him about, and...perhaps this is a good moment for it.

"...You...you know that I think you're beautiful, don't you?"

[nachtvogel]

Since the loss of his wife, he's never let anyone do this for him. Not even Herbert, who offered when he was in some of his darkest days, to draw him a bath or at least brush his hair out for him. He had refused it all. He was a monster, he didn't deserve such things.

And yet here is this magnificent boy, handling him with such care. As though he was fragile. As though he was worth caring for.

He sits still for Alfred, his fingers touching this mouth briefly in surprise before he folds his hands in his lap while Alfred starts picking out the worst of the tangles with his hands. So gently, so delicately. "I -- thank you. You're very kind. I never considered myself as beautiful. Just an old night bird, skulking through castles and graveyards. Lurking in the shadows. I don't -- sparkle, not like my son does. He favours his mother, as I'm sure you can tell."

[heyhohey]

It's a long moment of consideration before Alfred speaks again - he lets Georg talk it out, lets him say what he's going to say, silently opening his senses to let the older vampire's emotions wash over him. They're dark, so dark...but there's something underneath, glimmers of it slowly showing from the deepest corners.

He's resolved to get to what is underneath, eventually. Like Georg and Herbert have done for him. He's Herbert's sunlight...why not at least offer Georg a candle?

Once the tangles are picked through, Alfred thinks a moment, setting the brush down and taking up a bottle of his own hair oil. The soft, sweet scent of peppermint fills the air as he rubs some onto his hands, then starts working it through Georg's hair to help the tangles slide out more easily.

"You know," he murmurs finally, softly, "All of the birds I have ever seen that come out at night are lovely. Owls, loons, whippoorwills, nightengales. Maybe their feathers aren't as bright, but...I love listening to them. And watching them fly."

Another beat.

"...Just like you."

[nachtvogel]

"Not a bat?" It's a poor joke, but he's trying not to fidget under the compliments. The smell of peppermint is a surprise, but he doesn't mind it. It makes him feel... pampered. It's something he'd never do for himself.

More compliments, and he deflects again, not sure what else to do. "I identify more with the corvid family. Crows, ravens. Magpies, with their tendency to collect pretty things. Often seen as pests."

[heyhohey]

The joke doesn't really land, because Alfred knows it's deflection - but still he laughs softly anyway, just so that the older vampire feels responded to. Skilled fingers work the peppermint down to the root, the oil softly cooling and tingly on his skin.

"Corvids are wildly intelligent," he retorts with a wry little smirk. "Some of the most fascinating birds there are."

He's not letting Georg off that easy.

[nachtvogel]

He feels... assaulted, almost. By the compliments. Instinctively mentally jerking away from them, as though they might burn him if thought about too long. Sarah doesn't give many compliments, and that's fine with him. He doesn't need them, doesn't thrive off them like Herbert does.

But Alfred's fingers running through his hair like this feels nice, and he relaxes a little under the touch. "We have a flock of crows in one of the trees in the yard. A murder of crows, I suppose, is the proper term. I'll see if they haven't dropped some feathers lately. If you would like some."

[heyhohey]

It's like brushing against a pincushion, trying to compliment this man. Behind Georg, Alfred's brows furrow together, lips pursing a little.

"...I would love that," he answers, voice soft and light...but then he pushes past it. He is trying to make a point.

"Georg - why are you avoiding what I'm saying?" Surprisingly blunt - not irritated, though. Patient, measured.

[nachtvogel]

Georg sighs and reaches up to touch one of Alfred's wrists lightly. "I should have known I couldn't fool you. You're far too clever for that, Alfred.

But look at me, Alfred. The things I have done, this -- creature I've become. I've destroyed everything I've tried to hold dear in my life. I do my best to pull myself free of my animalistic nature. To break the chains that hold me back, but they are inked into my skin.

I will never be free of myself. This is my curse."

[heyhohey]

His hand stills as Georg touches his wrist - and he stops, he really LISTENS. Not just to the words, but to the way they're said, the feelings behind them. And for an almost painfully long time, he is silent for it, waiting for words to come.

When they do, they tumble out somewhat more frank than he expects.

"I don't like that you talk about yourself that way, Georg." He winces a bit at himself, but...nothing for it but to continue. He sighs a little, moving the free hand out of his hair to rest on his shoulder.

"You say I'm clever. You say I'm attentive, and perceptive, and smart. If that's so - then why would I be telling you these things, if it isn't what I see? I see the ink, I do, but it's not...you're not...." He struggles for a moment, plainly troubled, trying to figure out how to put his thought.

[nachtvogel]

"You are." He's glad Alfred is behind him, because he's not certain he could look at him right now. Not with everything he's feeling not with everything Alfred is bringing out in him. It aches. Like Alfred has carved open his chest to take his heart out and examine it. Not out of malice, but to know him better.

"You are also these things, Alfred, but you are also so, so kind, and so caring. I believe you believe these things of me. Even if they're not true."

[heyhohey]

"STOP IT."

There is a moment - just a moment - when Alfred's words tumble out in a sharp shout, and a pulse radiates through the room. The candles and fire flicker, dampen before returning to normal...the picture frames rattle, the air buzzing for a moment. Maybe that's what makes Alfred recoil, gasp, or maybe it's the shout itself...whatever it is, he immediately shrinks down again, tone fluttering.

"I - I'm sorry- I'm sorry, Georg, I-"

Even with his back turned, the sound of Alfred starting to cry is unmistakable, his hands shaking where they are rested on the older vampire. "...I just...there's so much in you, and I can feel it, I can see it, but...but you...."

He wraps his arms around Georg, embracing him, sobbing into the back of his shirt.

[nachtvogel]

The candles flicker as Alfred shouts, as though afraid of the boy. Georg can feel his anger, his frustration vibrating through him, as sure as he can feel him crying against his back. And so he turns, and wraps Alfred in his arms, pulling him down onto the bench and into his lap.

"I wish, so desperately, that I could see myself the way you see me. If only because it would make you happy."

[heyhohey]

Alfred is not quick to anger. He's been pushing all his rage down for the last twenty-five years, and he's never felt any the worse for it. But now it feels like a dam has broken, and as he is pulled down into Georg's lap, his tears feel hot, hands balling white-knuckled in the fabric of the older vampire's clothes.

"You will never be able to do that," he sobs, voice croaking, "If you continue being so unkind to yourself. That ink...you're pouring that ink all over YOURSELF, and you can't see that you're holding the bottle!"

He looks up at Georg, blue eyes blazing.

"I don't want you to treat yourself better for me...I'm crying because you are hurting, and I love you."

[nachtvogel]

"I don't know how to be what you see in me." He sounds... tired. He sounds his three hundred years, and then some. And now he's made his beautiful boy cry, because he can't love himself the way Alfred loves him.

"The graveyard is filled with headstones to honour those I've killed. Out of bloodlust. Out of the inability to control this insatiable hunger that gnaws at me day and night. I look inside myself and see nothing but blackness. A vast pit of nothingness. I can cover it up well enough with posturing and bravado but in the end I am... nothing."

[heyhohey]

"That's just IT, Georg - you don't have to BE anything you aren't already."

Young as he is, Alfred does understand. He understands why the Count feels the way he does, why he's ducking into the darkness instead of letting himself step even a little bit into the light. It doesn't mean that the much younger vampire likes it, though...doesn't mean he's not going to try to pull him out, even if it means getting a little darker, himself.

"You're a vampire, yes - but you're also a very sweet man who just picked all the thorns off a bundle of roses so that I wouldn't prick myself on them. Even though you know I will heal fast if I do. I - I'm hungry, too. All the time, now. It's very difficult, and I've only been this way for a little while, not for centuries like you."

Scrubbing at his tears, he gestures with his hand a little as he speaks, as if trying to punctuate what he's saying by painting in the air.

"But - I can feel you. I can feel everyone here. And when I do, there's...there's color. Herbert is like a field of flowers, Sarah is like fire - even Koukol, he's like granite, like something made to last and steady." He reaches up to rest his hand along Georg's jaw.

"And sometimes - sometimes, when you are still - you are like a rich tapestry, like something a king would own. But the moment I try to tell you about it, the moment you think someone else is looking, it's like you try to paint over it. It's there, Georg. You aren't nothing. You're just - hidden."

He draws a very long, steadying breath, more to get control of his voice than anything.

"I'm not asking you to change. I'm...I'm just asking you to let me find you. Like you found me."

[nachtvogel]

He tries to take in everything Alfred has to say -- the young vampire is, after all, a telepath. A little different from the way Georg is, but he is able to read people so well. Even without his powers, perhaps.

And it hurts to hear, though he knows it's true. That he does this to himself. Hides himself away, paints over himself, as Alfred put it, to try and hide what he is from the world. Because he hates how lonely he is. Hates that he's convinced himself that he deserves this loneliness. That he must earn companionship somehow.

Hates that he doesn't know how to change.

"I'm... afraid, Alfred," he admits, his voice cracking at the edges. "Afraid I've been lost so long I don't know how to be found."

[heyhohey]

The honesty is almost enough to make Alfred cry again on its own...but the pain behind it, the sorrow, the loneliness? It's unbearable, and tears course down his cheeks, making him sniffle as he tries to wipe them again with his free hand.

His tears are still clear. Still so human, yet, even for all he cries.

"If anyone knows what it is to be afraid," he murmurs, trying to get his voice back again, "it's me. But...you aren't alone. You don't have to be. I... I'm here, now, whenever you want to talk. I'll listen."

He seems to resolve something in his head, hand slipping up to run through Georg's hair.

"... I'll help you. I'll help you strip away some of that paint. And we'll start small...just like this. I...I already know Count Von Krolock. Don't you think it's time for me to get to know Georg?"

[nachtvogel]

"I would say that Georg isn't someone worth knowing, but I have a sneaking suspicion you'd fight me on that, too." It's said quietly, embarrassed, almost. Scolded. Though he does lean into Alfred's touch, letting the boy stroke his hair in a way no one has in so, so many years.

"I won't know what to do with such kindness, at the start," he warns. "I'll run from it. I'll frustrate you to no end, I'm sure."