Two very evil authors

[winter]

Fic later. Now, recs for the people who are making me write it.

First of all, I've mentioned guede_mazaka's The Black Road before. Now she wrote an extra not-quite-epilogue that shorted out my brain rather neatly.

(In return, I owe her Van Helsing angelic party fic.)

And second, the usual suspect. In the Name of, the story that'll make you see just why adore the Tanz vampires so much. Because they can, in utterly plausible ways, kick anyone's arse. No, honestly - you really, really don't need to know anything about Tanz to read this crack. But I don't guarantee sanity afterwards.

(In return, I owe her Herbert ficlets galore, as soon as I come up with enough pretentious German titles.)

In related news, I still can't decide which is weirder as OTP: Dark!Harry Potter/Stockholm-syndrome!Lucius or Herbert von Krolock/Spike. H/S is way fluffier, though. And more blood. *gives up and ships both*

Comments

Re: Gah! *De-invisiblifies on AIM!*

[winter]

The sun was setting when Tibor made it back to his family’s farm, brushing the dirt off his clothes as he walked. They had made their way to the upper meadow after all, and he had been dared to try and ride one of the half-trained horses again, with slightly better results. At least he’d managed to land rolling this time.

Imre was in the yard, feeding the dogs. He looked up as Tibor approached. “And where the hell have you been?”

“Out.” Tibor shrugged. “Herbert was teaching me to ride.”

“Herbert!” Imre spat. “So now you’re better than all of us just because the Graf’s son tells you to call him that?”

Don’t look, don’t flinch, don’t react, Tibor thought. Just get past, get home, get in bed and try not to think about the afternoon and sunlight on Herbert’s skin.

Just this morning, he’d promised God he wouldn’t do it again, but that was before he had seen Herbert at church.

Re: Gah! *De-invisiblifies on AIM!*

[winter]

His brother’s hand fell heavily to his shoulder. “Answer me when I’m talking to you!”

He squirmed, trying to free himself. “Leave me alone! Can’t I have friends?”

“Friends? You? You’re-“

Imre fell silent suddenly. Tibor looked at his brother’s paling face, then realised the cause. His shirt had been tugged off one shoulder, exposing a perfect imprint of teeth.

Before he could react, Imre dragged him into the barn and threw him against the wall. The impact drove the air out of his lungs.

“What did he do to you?” his brother growled.

“N-nothing!”

“So what, you’re telling me you two were tumbling girls up there?” In the dark barn, Imre’s pock-marked face loomed like a sculpture of the Devil. “Or you got bitten by a wolf?!”

Tibor squeezed his eyes shut. This was too much – he didn’t even want, it was just too hard to say no, everybody found it hard to say no to Herbert-

Grasping desperately, he settled for a half-truth. “He – he tried to kiss me. Bit me and tried to hold me down like a girl. I told him to go to hell!”

Imre stepped away. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Why?” Tibor felt his head spinning. “What do you care?”

“You’re a moron, but you’re my moron brother,” Imre spat. “Nobody treats my brother like that!”

Was this happening at all?

But yes. Imre’s hand, back at his throat now, hurt too much.

“Listen. Do you know when he’s coming back to the village again?”

“Tomorrow.” It felt like someone else speaking. “Midnight vigil on the eve of St John the Baptist’s. The Graf’s patron saint...”

The hand at his throat disappeared, and Tibor sat down heavily. He was alone now, and the barn smelled of fresh hay.

Wait for me after the vigil, Herbert had said.

Re: Gah! *De-invisiblifies on AIM!*

[winter]

At night, the forest looked like something out of Grandmother Szekely’s fearful tales. Vampires and werewolves behind every tree, Imre thought. He never bothered with idiot tales like that.

He saw the light of a lantern first, then the white figure walking down the path from the castle. The Graf’s spawn almost always wore white, he knew. Normal colours not good enough for him, just like tumbling normal girls.

Imre had an axe and a knife, and he could turn wood to toothpicks and pigs to sausages with both. Now he clutched the hilts hard as he tensed.

Jumped.

The light moved. A desperate twist, and he evaded the burning oil as the lamp whipped past his head. He barely managed to put his axe up to avoid a – sword?

The silver blade, the moon-bleached hair and the steel-cold grey eyes were the last things he ever saw.

Re: Gah! *De-invisiblifies on AIM!*

[winter]

“Ave Maria, gratia plena...”

Tibor’s voice echoed in the empty church. Father Peter had left with the last parishioners, leaving Tibor to keep the vigil until dawn. It wasn’t custom, but Tibor had told the priest that he wanted to ask John the Baptist’s assistance and guidance on choosing his own path.

Instead, he was repeating the words by rote and passing the beads of the rosary between his fingers as his mind felt desperately empty.

What was he waiting for?

“Sancta Maria, mater Dei-“

A footstep, in the empty – empty – church, and Tibor’s mouth was suddenly dry.

A hiss. “Ora pro nobis pecatoribus.”

He knew that voice. He had heard it laugh, tease, shout at horses, whisper endearments that made him blush.

He had never heard it so poisonous.

Re: Gah! *De-invisiblifies on AIM!*

[winter]

An echo, each time a booted foot came down on the flagstones lining the floor of the church. Then hands slipping around his neck from behind, settling around his throat. He swallowed, felt his throat move against cold fingers.

“Only two people knew I was coming down to the village tonight.” Herbert’s voice was closer to speech than hiss now, but still sounded alien. “The other was my father. I really don’t think he mentioned it to Imre.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Tibor rose from his knees. Inexplicably, the hands retreated, leaving him free to turn his back on the altar, his face towards the other.

Herbert’s hair was loose, his doublet partway unfastened. His skin was covered with sweat and pale except for two spots of colour burning high on his cheeks. His eyes were narrowed, heavy-lidded as if with sleep, cold.

Tibor opened his mouth, then blinked. He hadn’t seen Herbert move, but Herbert’s finger was suddenly at his lips.

“I think I’ll do the talking,” Herbert purred. “You’ve done yours.”

Re: Gah! *De-invisiblifies on AIM!*

[winter]

Suddenly Tibor smelled something – sharp, metallic, reminding him of autumn and his father butchering the pigs for the winter.

“You’ll do something for me,” Herbert continued, taking a step forward as Tibor stepped back. “You’ll forget I was ever here. You’ll forget your talk with your brother, too. If anyone asks, all you were talking about was the way he got into a fight with a Gypsy over the virtue of the latter’s sister. Alas, Imre told you he was going to go bed that girl if Hell should bar the way. And that was the last you saw of your brother. Nod if you understand.”

Two more steps, and Tibor’s thighs touched the cold stone of the altar. He nodded.

“Hmmm.” Herbert’s palm touched Tibor’s throat, then moved slowly lower, leaving a faint red trail on the white altar boy’s robe. “I think I’d best drive the lesson in.”

He drew his hand back, then backhanded Tibor savagely. The force of the strike sent the other boy reeling to the altar, and before he could regain his balance, he was pinned to the altar cloth by insistent hands, the movement so fast his head spun.

He felt a stabbing pain at his back and knew he was lying on the monstrance that held the Holy Host.

Above him, Herbert’s smile was as cold as that of the angels that had burnt and killed so many in the Book.

“You will be a priest,” his lover whispered. “And each time you hold Mass, you will remember this.”

Re: Gah! *De-invisiblifies on AIM!*

[winter]

Those in the village who speculated endlessly about the Graf Johannes von Krolock’s outlandish habits, from deviant orgies to worshipping demons, would have been surprised to learn his favourite way of spending an evening was reading in his library.

He smiled at the thought and turned another page. Ralegh’s account of the discovery of Guiana was worth the attention as much for the facts therein contained as the personal remarks of a remarkable man. He wondered if he himself would ever see the lands and seas Ralegh wrote about.

He heard the door to the library open and let out a breath as he felt the tension leave his body. He did not lift his eyes from the book. “Did you have problems?”

“None, Father. An axe and a knife, as you said.” There was a tension in Herbert’s voice, but von Krolock knew better than to pry.

The furs on the floor muffled the sound of Herbert’s footsteps until the boy settled at his feet. He buried his hand in the pale hair and felt his son shiver.

“Father? Does it always hurt so much, in the end?”

What could he say to that?

“It makes love even sweeter in return,” he whispered.

A tremble, a sob, and then he slid to the floor as well, gathering his son in his arms.