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iotona · 3 years

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I DONT KNOW WHY I NEVER GOT THIS TAG

But this was such a good story 🥺🥺 so sad this is the end.

Afbranden Chapter 13: A Future (With You) [Last Chapter]

Pairing: Theo/Female Reader, [past] Arthur/Female Reader Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: Approx. 3100

Warning Tags: infidelity, explicit sexual content, hurt and comfort, eventual second relationship, Arthur main story spoilers, sad with a happy ending, vaginal fingering, oral and vaginal sex

Summary: Slow fractures creep across what you considered a happy, loving relationship; the inevitable break bleeding into your and Arthur’s lives, sure and sinister until it’s finally too much. The woman Theo holds untoward affections for finds herself lost and he… he is unable to stay and watch from the shadows as he has, all this time.

Go to Chapters: 1-10 | 11 | 12 | 13 [End]

Tagging: @tell-that-to-my-feather, @shookspearewrites, @iotona, @crystal13unny, @ikevamp-shrine-2, @otomebebe

9 months later

[A cottage in the countryside of Brabant]

Her hair’s grown much in length within the past several months, Theo observes, as she seats herself by the vanity to undo the braids the children she’s taken to teaching — during their time away from France — wove through for her. Perhaps she doesn’t care to cut it because of how it amuses her tiny pupils, to ‘dress’ her up during their breaks in between lessons. He’d once teased her about it; how his little puppy seemed to have adopted a litter of her own, to which she’d responded with a raised brow, a lopsided smile and a very sensual: Like this beautiful man I’ve got on my hands, one so very smitten with me?

She’d winked then before drifting straight out of his grasp. Leading him into a dance; she’d wished to get caught, she breathed against his lips, once he did. Nipping her moans along with the gentle brush of teeth, testing at her lower lip before he kissed her full.

It seems foolish, almost a time long past, to remember how he'd proposed they temporarily move back to his homeland while the Comte sorted matters in Paris. To have dealt with that frisson of fear, of her rejection, if she turned him down. If she didn't want him by his side, anymore... but she hadn't. She'd smiled, so joyous, and kissed him before she uttered her assent in a laugh she pressed against his cheek.

Now, fond of the place as she’s grown, she insists on being entirely foolish, thanking him for bringing her along to where he’d spent most of his childhood. Declaring they simply must visit his home once more sometime within the next year. His heart she’d taken for her own as if once more with the way she’d eased herself enough to speak of a future, with him. It was a foreign experience; to hear of another’s dreams no matter how minuscule they seemed and plot his path against hers, aligning themselves.

“I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again. Aren’t you, Theo? Although I wish le Comte hadn’t arranged return tickets for us.”

“Vincent’s letter mentioned they’re well. He also mentioned how none of them can wait to see you again.” He flashes her a knowing smirk. She laughs.

“I’m sure they’ve missed you too, especially Vincent. I can’t wait to see his reaction when he receives our gift.”

The entire day they’d spent within the nearest town, picking souvenirs for the mansion residents she’d stressed on buying. None of her hard-earned money she planned to keep for herself, for they’d find ‘better use’ in their gifts to their friends.

The sound of King’s eager bark gathers his gaze toward where his fur friend paws at her for attention she more than generously provides. Theo can’t help the grin that pulls at his mouth to witness the exchange. “My hondje seems far too fond of King than she does of her own master.”

She hums in thought at the assessment. “Perhaps… the master’s been rather out and about to give proper care to one he insists is his favorite partner. If you’re not careful, she might just make better friends with King.” His little traitorous friend seems content to bark his agreement before trotting out of the room in high spirits.

Theo snorts at the absurd notion; moving to haul himself off the bed and steal towards her. Heaving his scarf aside, he tosses it onto a nearby chair, stepping behind her. Sharp gaze fixated upon hers within the mirror. He reaches a hand out to ease her free hair over to one shoulder, dragging his palm, slow, across the exposed flesh. She, predictably, shivers; it sets the blood raging tighter within his veins. “Oh? Are you trying to fish for attention?”

She tips a hooded gaze over her shoulder, pink tongue darting to slick a quick path against her lip. Theo's own digits twitch upon her in response. A slow, torturous drag of her chemise off her shoulder.

A smooth delicate finger she moves to tap against her parted lips, “You seem well-aware so why don’t you do something about…” Carding fingers tight through her hair to angle her face upwards, he dips, letting his mouth slip against hers. One brush turning into another. Several kisses: soft, biting, chaste... then wet. Her hands are within his hair, jolting him closer; her hums pleased and delighted, breathless. It pilfers the air from his own lungs to hear the sound of her happiness.

As if he could — no he would — never tire of feeling her skin against his own. His heart, his body and desires ache and beg to flee in her direction every single time he moves to touch her. Each one: burning and singeing his soul like the very first time he'd put his hands on her. Consuming him bit by bit, with each single sound, each important gaze that seeks to find his in her love and lust and begs for him. An insatiable greed for this one woman; the bottom of a well he doesn't see in sight.

She bites down at his lower lip, her voice spills on a needy Theo, more. His entire rationale is bitter ashes in the wake of this one woman, at her mercy and he wants her — wants her as ruined as she has him, the devil within soughs in possession.

Hauling her off of the vanity’s chair and into his arms the second she tries and tests his patience; desperate lips moving against each other. Theo moves to sink his own bite into the plush of her lip — well-earned — her hold around his neck spasms at the stimulation.

Before she taps at him to be let down, impelling his body soon after onto the settee behind. Clambering on top of him, she cements an eager knee on either side of Theo’s thigh. Sinking down upon firm muscle, bunching the fabric of her gown, to expose her own. The warmth of her, damp beneath panties as she gyrates her hips against him. “Greedy,” he muses, his smile wide, — as if he is anything but — fingers threading secure through her hair before he tugs her mouth back against his, sweeping the taste of her onto his tongue.

Her restless digits rush down the line of buttons on his shirt as she moans against him; Theo hauls her tight into himself, catching up her wrists within a fist he pins to her breasts. She makes a sound of protest so needy, it tows a dark burst of laughter from his chest. Meeting her gaze, he holds it firm, flexing fingers in one warning squeeze, so she knows, “Not before I do, snoepje.”

Rebuked once, he tips his mouth back towards her jaw, her neck; dragging gossamer skin in between the bite of gentle teeth. The scrape of fangs he lets settle on her, she feels in each single searing kiss. His name’s a low, desperate prayer across her lips, nails digging into his fist demanding he kiss her. And he goes, to silence those garbling sounds of hers, sealing his mouth against hers till she jerks forward within his grasp. “Theo… Theo, I need you.”

The way each word seeps in desperation, a different kind; the bite of fingernails into flesh each time she moves to tug him closer…

Tongue testing one last sweep against her wet lips, he draws back to capture her gaze — warm in affection and lust so consuming, he feels his own arousal, uncomfortable, beneath the tight placket of trousers.

He’d held her close; he’d kissed and pleasured; drunk from her numerous times they’d lost count along with the sounds he’d pilfered right from her throat…. short of making love to her. Theo had no intention of drawing her into his bed, in that manner, any time soon, not if she wasn’t ready. He was a patient man, used to the test of endurance, but the way she looked upon him, as if her own breathless heaves were blanketed only through his body against hers, he had to halt and listen.

Shaping a palm against her cheek — she’s incredibly warm, he wants his mouth back on her soon — he asks, “Are you sure?”

Her answer is a sweet, gasping sound; a nod and the imprint of her lips as she tips her head, into the palm he holds against her cheek. “...More than I’ve ever been in my life. I want to take you… entirely.”

Theo's heart very nearly gives with how she coaxes his undoing, effortless, disastrous thing; how her affections — and comfort within their love — sifts through to the surface in a smile so vivid, he very nearly releases hold upon hard-bunched control within but this — her assent to be his, all of her…

“That’s a good response, hondje.” Mouth pulling apart on a grin, Theo teases a thumb against her own flushed smile as if he wishes to make sure it is true. Sweeps her back against him, forearms folding beneath and buckling the plush of her thighs as he lifts her. Theo basks in the taste of her high squeal of delight as it presses into his mouth before tossing her onto the sheets. “Don’t expect any mercy, hondje. Tonight, I’m not letting go even if you beg me to.” He can’t drag his shirt, fast enough, off of his back before discarding it, brusque, to the floor.

A happy, dazed smile framed by the glow of her cheeks; locks scattered as if floret vines across his pillows: she’s nothing short of exquisite art herself. He bites back the words before they tumble free off a traitorous tongue.

“I have a greedy lover on my hands, Theodorus van Gogh.” She quips his words right back at him.

Palms sinking into the mattress on either side of her body, he offers her a grin of his own. “Never denied it, hondje.” His hands are upon her, bunching the fabric of her nightgown in a drag up against her body. Tossing crumpled fabric and her bra off the side. Until she is entirely his to admire and touch; his breaths punched into a deliberate inhale to curve the path of her exposed collarbones, the swell of her breasts — the softest of grazes of fingernails across the tip has them puckering hard beneath a shuddering gasp.

If he’d been told she’d be here within his arms, that she’d be far more devastating — beautiful — beneath tracing fingertips, more so than he’d ever envisioned within vivid dreams; Theo might’ve laughed at the very notion of such folly. Dreams had always been just so; beautiful swathes of visions he’d been chasing after, since his humans years, stubborn as he was and now, not dead, as a creature of the night. That she chooses to relinquish herself to him of her own will, as if choosing to fulfil his dreams... He’s in love with this woman. It’s hard to think of any other state of being when she is beneath him like this: open affection across that crooked smile.

Theo breathes her in; a fortifying breath. Fingers following trail of a hungering mouth upon her, he hooks her legs apart, pressing into the space in between. A low gasp of discontent and desire breaks the air, “Theo—”

“Hands where I can see them,” he directs, harshly. Dark, sapphire gaze meeting hers — flushed — in between her legs, he tucks her panties to the side. And halts: the sight of wet folds, glistening with her arousal, flushed, erotic, his cock throbs at the sight and scent of her, it nearly drives him insane.

Eyes flickering her way, he quirks a brow — eyes on me — before he drags a broad swipe of tongue against her folds. Her jaw falls open, head thrown back onto a startled moan, shattering onto a hitched squeal as he hauls her closer. “This… is in the way,” he mutters, bunching her underwear to tear apart. “Don’t you dare look away.” The warning’s a low, rattling sound of lust, Theo tracks a harsh bite into the soft of her thigh to affirm that threat in place. She listens, trembling gaze returning to watch, a fist she presses into her mouth to bite, smothering her moans.

The entirety of her being as if made to hound and steal his senses. He withdraws his attentions back to how her pussy weeps; his own arousal tightens and burns with the urge for release. Moving forward to bury his face into her, his tongue steals a quick, angled path across her — she shivers but otherwise, remains obedient.

Good girl: he chuckles. Secretes his praise into her slit, Theo kisses and sucks a path across her. Nosing at her clit as he moves to curve his tongue into her. Her hips jump along with the groan that claws free of his body at her drenching his mouth, her taste, liquid addiction. His fangs, scrape against her and she moans a distant, broken sound. High, pitching higher, he moves to push two fingers into her depths. Her body immediately clamping onto the sensation with an obscene squelch.

Theo moves to wrench himself away from the intoxication of her body, pressing an open-mouthed smirk onto her mound. She’s whining as if a broken, wrecked thing; eyes clouding over and begging for release, the sight shoots straight to his groin. Adding a finger to the mess of her, scissoring into her walls; withdrawing slow before he thrusts in deep. Curving tapered digits up into her spasming walls to rub at that one specific spot he finds makes her clamp hard, scream loud.

Her breaths are labored, breaking apart the syllables of his name into three wonderful, fucked-out garbles — she could sound much more ruined, he knows she will — until she makes of his name, a senseless Th-eee-o. He relishes it, traipsing open mouthed kisses across her heaving belly, a twisted sound of laughter leaves the confines of his chest at her next scream. “You’re slurring your words, lekker ding. Don’t think I can decipher your whining like that.”

Her eyes are as round, as the formation of her mouth into an O as if she means to retort… before he breaks her for himself. Trapping his fingers as he hooks them into her depths, grinding against her spot, her voice flees entirely. Soundless cries and tears, her incessant shaking the only response of her body to her orgasm.

Trembling fingers reach to frame his face, weave through his hair before she heaves him onto her mouth, pressing heated breaths against his tongue and he lets her — for a few moments of reprieve. Extracting himself out of her — she whines into his mouth — before he draws away, smearing the tips of slick digits against her lips. Painting her glistening for himself before he sweeps in to sample.

She tastes just as — better. Divine, his mind whispers — than what he’d conjured within fever dreams; her body’s pliant beneath his touch and she is his, a primal part within snaps, rejoices.

Her fingers clutch into fists across his chest before she knocks him back gently; Theo lets her glide along with his own descent onto his back as she moves to trap him in between her legs. Unbuttoning his pants before those coveting digits reach into and palm at his cock; his palms convulse across the flare of her hips as she raises herself. Positioning his cock in between her thighs, gaze skewing to meet his.

“Sit on me— Godver!” He clenches out in between grinding teeth, fingers trailing across the slope of her ass to settle upon the small of her back to push. And she goes, thankfully, down. Theo’s unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of her nether flesh parting around him, drenched, tight, a feral growl singes free of his throat along with her choked whimper.

The erratic movement of her breasts along with her urgent thrusts upon him, streels his gaze and fingers, rolling the dark tips of them until she breaks onto a pleading whisper. Scraping fingernails across his scalp when he pitches his mouth across her nipple, sweeping a broad lap against the hardened peak. Squeezing at the soft flesh, a palm he forces down against her spine to guide when the symphony of her rhythm falters. Theo’s almost addicted to the sound of her voice around the syllables of his name, making and breaking apart. “T-That! This feels… i-insane!” she gasps.

“Insane? So it feels good then.” The smirk he feels pulling around the release of her peak to nip in between her breasts. She yelps, the torturous, wet squeeze of her pussy around his length dragging his own grunt.

“S-So…” She breathes, shatters, head tipping back in pleasure but he’s there, gathering a palm at the back of her head to pull her gaze towards him. Keeping her from withdrawing too far. She tries and frowns, around her breathless sounds — fails — before attempting words. “So… very aware and — ah — modest t-too.”

Her palm caressing across a firm pectoral before she finds her own target and pinches at his nipple in between middle and index — the pleasure that jolts through him at her audacity blooms white-hot just as her stuttering phrases, coiling into his groin.

“Buckle up, hondje.” He grins, fierce, riled; tongue sweeping a path against glistening teeth as he folds his hands beneath the give of her ass, lifting — she whines her protest — and tosses her back towards the pillows. Sweeping just as soon after, inhuman brisk reflexes sanding in, he fists a hand beneath the back of her head before it meets the headboard. Fixating a firm grasp across her arm, knees knocking her thighs apart to hold her down hard. Theo snaps his hips forward, entering her on a swift thrust, she screams to her God on her next, fractured breath.

“Your words are pleasant to hear, snoepje. Make me want to prod at you.” Letting her head roll onto the down of their pillows as she sobs out broken, beautiful sounds, he feels his own release rising imminent within his groin. “But you sound sexier when you can’t form them, let alone gather sane thoughts.”

Looming over; every single propulsion brushes against her clit and she’s pretty and ruined beyond measure as she unfurls her arms towards him. Securing his head within the crook of her shoulder, as if she’d never let go. Theo breathes his final warning, hot against her neck, “Sing louder, mijn liefje.” Tongue sweeping a desperate, wet path against her skin before he plunges aching fangs into her, just as her walls flutter and drench in a tight hold around — she listens, obedient, and screams her release.

The light streaming in is merciless against his closed lids and her fingers are restless, feathering patterns across his chest; he catches her wrist within a loose, languorous fist before dragging it up to his mouth in a nip. “....My hondje’s got the energy to play so early in the morning?” Meeting her wide-eyed, contrite gaze as he tips his head at her, half-draped across him.

“I am… sorry?” Wriggling the digits of her captured wrist before she smiles.

He beams, unkind; the Devil. “Don’t apologize. I’ve got energy to spare.” She releases a choked sound of disbelief, gathering his palm within her free hand just as he's moving to slip it in between her legs.

“Thank you, no. I am sore and satisfied.” She breathes, feathering a kiss against his captive fingers. Angling a sanguine brow at him. “Perhaps this afternoon…”

He laughs then, a surprised, unrestricted burst of happiness. “As soon as we’ve had breakfast, I’ll need my sugar, knabbeltje.” He amends. She returns to peppering open-mouthed kisses across his neck, his face — he almost considers asking her to give way before his heart does. Almost.

But she is merciless, a finger traces familiar patterns right across his heart. “What are you doing?”

“Writing. Words. Since you’re fond of them.” She skews a loving grin his way, dangerous—

Gathering herself up above him before she drops in for a kiss. Murmuring her words against his mouth, the truth of her heart, fracturing his own to fall into her palms. “…Ik hou van je, Theo.” Brutal, cruel but she's still just his.

I love you, too. More than life, more than I’ve ever loved and I will, for as long as my heart continues to sound its renewed beats. Across centuries and through time, schatje, I will.

Go to Chapters: 1-10 | 11 | 12 | 13 [End]

End Notes: Thank you all for joining me for this long, almost an entire year long journey. This story has been so very dear to me and I'm delighted I got the chance to share it with you all. And for Nana, who let me run with this spark of idea, starting with some soft loving wisps for Theo and the prompt she requested:

I am so sorry, Nana and thank you for letting me write this, ILU2!!

Ahem, friends, you can find the rest of my stories within my master-post here.

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iotona · 3 years

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Omg yesssss! I love this story so much 🥺😭all the feels

Afbranden (Chapter 12: Sputter Then Burn)

Pairing: Theo/Female Reader, [past] Arthur/Female Reader Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 8k

Warning Tags: infidelity, explicit sexual content, hurt and comfort, eventual second relationship, Arthur main story spoilers, sad with a happy ending, mentions of murder and a certain IkeVamp Act 2 character

Go to Chapters: 1-10 | 11 | 12

Tagging: @tell-that-to-my-feather, @shookspearewrites, @iotona, @crystal13unny, @ikevamp-shrine-2 and @otomebebe

The cries of death sound close and menacing with each second wasted, beyond heavyset doors but the man knows they stand no more than feathers in resistance to the force that lurks just beyond: impending doom.

“Please my Lord! I did as you commanded. You promised me protection! I beg you. Save me! Save me Lord!” His supposed Savior — the Devil incarnate in that moment — tips a listless glance his way as if that eerie carmine gaze regards him as no more than insect. To be crushed underneath a cruel heel.

Before the Devil lets loose a delicate exhale, slow and deep as if they happen to have all the time in the world. “And you are informing me you let them escape your men?”

“M-My Lord, they must be dead by n—” Quicksilver motion deadly, impossible to follow. The Devil has his claws buried within his neck as he lifts him off of the ground; preternatural strength, squeezing the very life out of him.

“M-My Lord V-Vla—” The man froths in his last, desperate attempts for mercy.

“I do not recall asking for their deaths. But you can pay for your folly by your own.” Digging long, pale fingers deeper into the man’s neck until he hears the crush of bone beneath his hand, letting the corpse fall, lifeless, at his feet.

Only the Devil remains; turning one last glance at the closed heavyset doors and the figure beyond, he knows approaches, for recompense of loved ones hurt. “A pity, dear Comte, for our reunion shall have to wait.”

“—chérie.”

You had awoken alone then; momentary fear gripping your heart to not spot him in your immediate vicinity. And then, that awful thought: Did he—did he not… survive?

The door had swung open before you could scramble out of bed to search for him, half delirious in your desire to see Theo once more.

A hand smooths across your arm in gentle query, dragging you out of winding thoughts. Shifting your gaze towards the mirror in front, to meet with an aureate gaze, softened in worry as le Comte inquires once more, “Is everything alright, ma chérie? Do you not feel well?”

You smile; quick to reassure him. “I’m perfectly good, Comte. I’m sorry for not paying attention.” Gesturing towards the dress you have on at the moment, a lovely, striking shade of ultramarine sequined with delicate stones. “The outfit is gorgeous but I’m not sure I could possibly accept—”

“Consider it a gift, chérie. It would make me happy were you to accept and wear it to the exhibition. It is an important occasion for both you and Theo, isn’t it?”

You meet once more, with that knowing gentle smile and concede, “…Yes it is. Then… I graciously accept. Thank you so much, Comte, I love it.”

“You are most welcome, my dear.”

The Comte’s gaze stays on you, watching you observe yourself within the full-length mirrors, absent strokes smoothing out invisible creases until you hear him speak once more. “I’m sorry I could not return earlier. My lack of insight is what resulted in that frightening experience for you and Theo.”

“It’s hardly your fault Comte.” You turn to face him, quick to refute. “Please don’t say so and after you’ve been so kind. I hold nothing but gratitude towards you.”

Le Comte affords you a brief smile before that expression morphs back into solemnity. “I assure you nothing of the sort shall ever happen again. For that, I give you my word.”

“And I trust you.”

The Comte turns to leave, affording you privacy to change back into your clothes, before he halts at the door. “Should you require my help in matters other than the one we discussed, know that it is yours, always, chérie.”

And you smile at the quiet, encouraging gesture, knowing he speaks of what passed in between you and Arthur, certain of one fact alone, “I think I’ve got this one, Comte, thank you.”

⚡⚡⚡

Scrabbling to reach for her in delirium the moment he’d woken from fever dreams. Body drenched in sweat, chest rattling with the effort it took to claw air back into lungs. The violence of nightmares, of her lost to the beast that dragged at its scaffoldings, within, whispering ominous still within his mind.

Stumbling his way through the mansion until the Comte had chanced upon him, and he’d begged then, to let him see her.

Colors swell just as vivid; brilliant expanse of canvas beneath the scrutiny of his magnifying glass. Drawing back in satisfaction, Theo cannot help the thought that flits through his mind: she is going to adore this piece.

Restless feet dither, to not have her in immediate sight. The longer he idles in wait for her return is another second of concentration lost. Work he ought to be focusing on but his mind refuses productivity.

Eyes drifting over the space of the gallery in an effort to scrabble for distraction, drawn as if on instinct towards one of her favored paintings on their last visit: a man’s devotion to his wife. Lips pressed against the woman’s fingers, delicate, in adoration.

“Kisses bear a language of their own, you know. A kiss on the fingertips signifies great regard. ‘I care for you’, it means.”

And then; a swift, vehement surge of recollection once more.

The slip of a yielding digit against his fang until her skin split open to blood upon his tongue. Possessive arms curling around her body, fingers finding purchase within her hair to hold firm as he’d shoved her to the ground. Fangs plunging, ravenous, into soft flesh. Digits entwined as if they’d never part, the press of her shivering smile into the palm of his hand.

“You told me to trust you, didn’t you?”

A tremble eases its way through him at the memory; he scrubs a hand through his hair to strip himself of thoughts he’d rather not have at the moment.

Grousing a low curse at the sluggish passage of time, Theo turns to inspect the remaining paintings before he catches sight of the straggling figure behind, tailing his movements in silence, as if in waiting.

Theo prods a less than pleased frown at his unexpected company. “I thought I told you to take the day off, Samuel.”

“And abandon you this close to the exhibition? Nonsense, Master Theodorus. Not when I am in perfectly good health, thanks to you.”

“Stubborn as a mule.” His mouth, softening into a grin at his employee’s staunch words.

Samuel angles a casual look over his shoulder; Theo realizes he’s watching her favorite painting. “Both you and the Mademoiselle seem particularly fond of this artist’s works.”

He does not reply, choosing to turn towards it once more, instead.

“The painter’s a romantic soul, isn’t he? No wonder you like him so, Master Theodorus.”

“Hah. You think so, do you?” Theo moves to pocket his magnifying glass, fixing a raised brow at him.

“It was a compliment, sir,” he hears the smile pulling at Samuel’s words.

Perhaps, he’s correct, Theo means to respond before a voice, so very aching and familiar — welcome — breaks through his thoughts.

“Sorry I’m so late!”

As if his want conjured her out of frangible dreams; she’s walking towards him now, arms ladled with paper bags even as that smile — Godverdomme, that gorgeous quirk to lips he isn’t able to wrench his gaze from — draws nearer.

Before she’s in front of him at last and he’s able to scrutinize her expression for what it is: rather drawn as if she’s got something going on in that mind of hers. Again, it bothers him to not know what she’s thinking.

Moving to probe a thumb at the edge of her mouth, testing soft skin beneath, before he presses in harsher to drag at the corner of her smile, disbalancing the stilted symmetry of it.

“T-Teo?” Her eyes wide in bewilderment, she tries to give words to her question around the intrusion of his finger.

“Brazen hondje¸ skipping out on work to scamper about the city without a care. Did you get your tasks done like I asked you to?”

That stunted smile’s gone as if it never were, slotted in instead by the moue that pulls, indignant across her face. Furrowed brows that leave him wanting to knot them tighter in vexation, or smooth a finger across them until she smiles for him, unabashed.

Tipping her face just that bit, she tries and bites — bites— his thumb away, teeth snagging against the pad of it before he has it withdrawn, just as brisk. “Of course I did. Whatever do you take me for?”

Before pink crawls up her cheeks, light, arousing, in her mortification. “I’m sorry, I hope that didn’t hurt.”

Theo can no longer tame the grin he feels dragging at his mouth. “No more than it would if a puppy nipped at her master.”

The vexation is back across her features, before she turns away to try and divert his attention back to the upcoming exhibition. He joins her without further complaints, watching her as she speaks. Proposing her own amendments, in conjunction with Samuel’s input to the placement of paintings: as if all is right once more, back in place. Another day spent working at her side.

And Theo feels those palpable strains of relief seeping into his bones, at the familiarity of the situation.

He’d barged into her room at the mansion, where le Comte told him she rested, body tightening as if in fear of the worst. But there she’d sat upon her bed. Dazed and lost before her gaze swiveled his way, a swift rotary of emotions flittering through at the sight of him.

And then she was rising, slow and unsteady. Mouth falling open as if in disbelief, eyes darkening with moisture that threatened to overflow. He’d felt the weight of her body crash against his, he almost faltered in his own steps before her arms were coiling around his waist, quivering fingers hitching at the cloth of his back. Holding firm as she sobbed, the sounds loud, wrenching at his own heart as she called for him over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but I had to. I had to, Theo. You’re alright. Oh God, that’s all that matters.”

Folding her in close, crushing her body against his till he felt her gasp break within his ears.

He did not lose her, after all.

⚡⚡⚡

“Could you please lower it a little? To the right. Yes, that’s perfect.” Thanking the workers as they move to carry over the next painting to be displayed within the spacious hall of the auberge, your eyes drift over the entire space coming together at long last; the final day before the betrothal ceremony-cum-exhibition.

The entire chamber’s rife with nervous energy and animated preparations, workers bustling about to get last minute adjustments in — you catch sight of Samuel heaving about a few heavy fixtures through the door along with a couple other men.

Your gaze, inevitably, with much reluctance — you’d been trying to maintain focus for you’d let your eyes wander over, seeking him far more times than you could count — slipping over the crowd to single Theo. Just as assured as ever, vigorous as he’s ever been, as if that awful night hadn’t happened at all. Relief seeping in anew, in the knowledge that he’s well and alive. You did not lose him.

Palpable relief and something more; it was irony to be forced to acknowledgement through the near-death of one you held so dear. The mind-numbing claws of fear seeping in along with what you were feeling; for you'd experienced the terrifying loss of it with Arthur.

And with it, the weight of your guilt settling in once more, in the recollection that you’d forced Theo's hand, regardless of the outcome.

Observing him now, debating something with Samuel before he claps a heavy hand across his back. The slide of that well-known grin in place, bright sapphire gaze slipping over towards the painting he stands in front of; the light that sparks within — all of it you so admire and adore. Resolute mettle and propensity to maneuver and storm the art world of 19th century Paris as he so does, boundless pride swells within to witness him realizing a notable right step towards his dream.

A resigned smile, you feel pulling across your mouth to know how far you’ve both come, how your relationship has shaped itself anew over the years and then these past months.

His infuriating gibes at your expense, but you’ve caught the kindness in fingers that settle to card through your hair. His odd name for you, you’ve grown so used to hearing over time, you recall the day when he’d all but yelled at you, you weren’t some wide-eyed stumbling puppy, waiting for protection — ‘hondje’ seemed peculiarly endearing.

And then, his patience and steady kindness; never over-bearing nor influencing your grapple with your sorrow, watching quiet at your side. Your own growth and pace you found… gradual, with him at your side. He’d helped you find yourself once more, your own person, not one so mired within the susurrating ghosts of despair and hurt as you’d once been.

So much so you almost resented how utterly without blame you found the entire man called Theodorus van Gogh. Even with all his infuriating quirks, the way he never let slide an opportunity to butt heads with you and yet, your heart still adored him all the more for it, and feared in equal measure how deeply he'd found himself ingrained within you. How he seemed to settle as if a piece of puzzle against yours. You were… you were—

“Despise me so much, do you? You’ve resorted to making those terrible faces now.” A finger prods in between your brows, smoothing the frown in between. You swat the intrusive hand away in surprise, eyes finding Theo's, the light in them mischievous as he smiles.

“Theo! I didn’t notice—”

“Clearly. What’s got you so bothered?”

Trust him to catch you fretting from a mile away. You could not help the smile that pulled taut at your mouth at the thought.

“And now she’s smiling. Do you need a break, hondje?”

“Hush, no I don’t.” Angling a furtive glance his way — he did not seem particularly angry — you couldn’t help but watch him ever since, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Tomorrow’s the last day.” He began, the words somehow settling ominous within your heart.

“I… yes.”

“Tell me what you need to after we’re done, alright?” Sapphire gaze; slipping to meet yours, he holds it until you nod, slow.

“Good hondje. That was the correct response.” Fingers slipping over the crown of your head to pet and card through your locks, he smiles, gentle enough it twists your heart to witness it.

A beat, two, of silence before he speaks again. “Trust me, don’t you?”

And that is perhaps your one yawning fear; that irrefutable faith in him.

“…Always.”

⚡⚡⚡

The hall’s alight with merry conversation and bright laughter beyond heavyset doors. The spark of chandeliers glittering across the ceiling’s dome. Elaborate suits and flamboyant gowns flittering about the center of the marbled floor in an ocean of tightly meshed bodies as the orchestra continues to play its beautiful melody.

The engaged couple in question, you meet at last, extending their heartfelt thanks for their venue of choice. Heaping praise upon praise for your collective efforts at commemorating their occasion with works of art they insist they’ll never forget.

They move away soon after, joining to cater to their crowd of guests. Polite invitations extended towards you and Theo to enjoy the ball to your heart’s content, having discussed future negotiations and sales of a few paintings with your companion. You’re almost admiring his uncanny ability to have secured a deal out of them, before his voice breaks through your reverie. “Tch, the entire circus was invited.”

Tracing his gaze to settle upon a surprising sight: Mozart with an amiable smile upon his features — looking far too stiff, compared to his usual demeanor — as he converses with a crowd of over-enthusiastic nobles, surely praising him for his piano solo at the beginning of the evening. Farther behind, you catch sight of Napoleon in tow with Leonardo, an odd combination, as the two linger at the edges of the dance floor, neither appearing particularly enthused in joining the couples upon the floor.

A few more of your friends among the crowd — you catch Vincent’s eye, returning his smile and greeting with a wave and happy nod of your own — with obvious absentees, Jean being one.

Breathing out a chuckle you secrete behind one laced hand, “Give it a rest, Theo. They’re all well-known individuals within the city and with the Comte’s name associated with you all, this was to be expected. We really ought to be thanking Comte instead for generously contributing to the expansion of the exhibition to the upper gallery.”

He makes a low noise; a reluctant rumble of an assent, before you catch sight of a few junior artists making their way towards the two of you.

“Well then, I guess I’ll relinquish hold upon our star of the night for a while. Thumbing at the far table of treats, “I’ve been meaning to sample some of those drinks all evening.”

“Hey now, hondje—”

You let your hand linger across the crook of his elbow a moment longer before moving away.

It’s an important night for him as well, one you’re adamant on letting him relish to its fullest.

⚡⚡⚡

Theo takes distant note of the Comte moving to replace the artists as soon as they’re out of sight. As if he’d been waiting for the moment. He nods at the older man, eyes sweeping across the spacious hall. His own questions, impatient at the tip of his tongue.

The Comte answers his unspoken query before he can utter it. “The immediate perpetrators have been dealt with, rest assured, Theo. The matter’s now been handed over to the officials.”

A polite smile pulls across the Comte’s face, in acknowledgement of a passing couple’s greeting. “However, there is something that bothers me…”

Theo’s spine stiffens at the words, voice dropping as he prompts him to continue.

“I do not believe I’ve been able to uncover the true mastermind behind Goupil and Cie. The entire situation is rather… odd.” A rare knot of a frown, the Comte’s golden gaze hardens for an instant before his brow relaxes. “I apologize, Theo but I will need time.”

Le Comte watches his companion's jaw stiffen, words unspoken. Gaze still fixated afar as he weighs the gravity of the situation. “What do you suggest be done? I don’t want to let her into anything even close to that kind of situation again. I— Surely you must know…”

“I do, which is why I wish for you to move out of Paris for the time being. Until I can make sure neither of you will be put in harm’s way again. I can provide you both residence in one of my chateaus a few cities over, were you to wish it, Theo.”

Silence settles upon them as Theo turns upon his words in mind.

“Is she aware of the situation?” Sharp gaze fixated upon her figure as she skirts the edges of the floor near the buffet table — Theo’s been unable to let her linger far out of sight, irrationality he berates but is helpless to resist.

“She was the first to know.” Comte assures. “She has agreed to think over the proposal but she did request I focus my efforts on ensuring the safety of you and yours, foremost.” He smiles, almost knowing.

“That foolish—”

Theo’s words taper off as he watches a familiar, despicable face — Shakespeare — making his way towards her through the crowds. Back teeth snagging against each other in an irritated growl, he wrenches his gaze from the sight momentarily.

Tipping a glance le Comte’s way, “It doesn’t matter so long she’s far away from here, right? I have a place in mind… if she agrees.”

⚡⚡⚡

Gaze streaking through the throng in restless search of the man he’d witnessed, drawing closer to where he’d spotted her moments earlier, Arthur’s steps hasten as he maneuvers past the tight crowd of bodies.

A chance he’d been dithering about for all evening, to brave his courage to face her once more; to receive her righteous anger, whether she cursed him, or turned him away, he couldn’t leave without knowing if she were truly well. The night she’d been taken burned bitter regret still.

Forged to fiery pain, now, to be hindered by that unearthly fey of a man.

The playwright, William Shakespeare, he finds soon in his sights. Engaged in conversation with her; the quick knit to her brow before it smooths, the tightening of pressed lips before she returns his smile. It unsettles him far more than he cares to admit. Dashing uneasy thoughts as the writer’s gaze — mellow and blood-red, a disquieting contrast to that smile plastered upon his face, unpleasant — meets his across the room.

Perhaps Shakespeare excuses himself from her presence, Arthur catches him making his way towards him soon after. Plucking glasses of champagne off the nearest silver platter before he offers it to him, along with his airy greeting. “‘Tis a blessed encounter to meet you well, Arthur.”

Ignoring the drink, he answers that treacly smile with a drab one of his own, “I don’t quite share your sentiments, Will, old boy. Meeting you here is hardly pleasant.”

“Strong insults thou speak in. I admit I am hurt.” Shakespeare remarks, smiling as if it’s anything but. “I shan’t keep you then.”

“Do you have any business with our sweet resident?” Tipping his head in her direction, Arthur inquires, unable to conceal the edge to his voice.

“Surely, our private conversation should be of no consequence to the ears of an unconcerned cozener.”

Arthur’s smile goes frigid across his face to catch the accusation, flinching at the pain it brings before Shakespeare continues as if he hadn’t noticed. “Wherefore must I ignore a friend I do not see often? I merely wished to extend but well-wishes to the fair one, seeing how she flourishes still past the adversity wrought upon her. Wouldst thou agree, Arthur?”

He remains stock still, the smile pressed away as he watches the playwright ease into a gentle smile. “A pity though it be through perfidy of one you called friend, thou hast lost what is most important, nay?”

“…If it’s not too much to ask, I’d thank you to shut up.”

A soft sound of laughter is what Shakespeare leaves him with, “Farewell then, gentle Arthur.”

⚡⚡⚡

You’d known he’d been invited and you’d glimpsed sight of him at the entrance, before you’d retreated back towards your own final checks with the artists, in lieu of Theo who was busy elsewhere.

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to approach Arthur; you worried for his wounds, you did. The men hadn’t left him any well off and you hadn’t had the chance to inquire after him, yet.

Arthur had chosen to keep himself strictly out of sights during your recuperation at the mansion. Or perhaps it was your sight he wished to avoid.

It was only too easy to parse his thoughts after. He did not know how to face you, perhaps even more so than you. The soul-deep regret and pain you’d witnessed across his face that last night, Arthur wasn’t a man who let go of his demons so easy.

You were determined tonight to untangle those threads — entirely — to find a moment with him, to check after… and thank him, even if that was all you could give.

And so, when the voice of the man within your thoughts materializes at your back, you almost jump in tense surprise.

“…Would the lady be so kind as to provide me the honor of a dance?”

You swivel on your heel, coming face to face with his smile, the creases at the corner of his eyes warming it, the very same as when he used to look upon you once upon a time… but also, a flickering sense of dread you sense within that bright, cerulean gaze as if he fears your rejection. You have none to offer tonight.

“Arthur...” And you see how he flinches at the sound, as if you might’ve pushed him away.

“It’s quite alright to turn me down! But I do so wish to speak to you. It was my hope tonight… that you’d allow me your time, however brief you may have, for me. Please?” The please leaves him on an almost whisper. Eyes not shying from yours as he awaits your verdict, his expression tense.

Perhaps you should hate this man, you should but you search yourself and you hold no hate for him to receive. Perhaps you have always been soft for him or perhaps… he’s earned a lifetime of regrets and you hardly wish to steal the remaining life out of a man who lives so burdened by his own past, you could never harbor ill-will towards him.

Breathing in to steady yourself, to make sure you are well and truly prepared, you move to place your hand in his outstretched one, accepting at last.

Arthur’s relief is instant, palpable “…Thank you.” He moves to guide you slow into his arms.

One careful hand settling at the shell of your hip — you realize, with some surprise, how his touch no longer burns or aches — as you two move to flit amongst the rest of the couples.

Silence is your companion for the next few moments before Arthur begins to speak, albeit halting. “I’m glad you and Theo are safe. I’m not quite sure what I would’ve done if you—” His voice breaks upon the words, abrupt and sharp on an inhale, as if he realizes how their continuation stands inappropriate now; faded fast as if mist fogged upon glass.

You see the slide of his Adam’s apple, — a slow, pained swallow — the downward tremulous twist to his mouth, cerulean gaze flitting about your face… you move to settle your hand at his shoulder, fingers pressing in; mute comfort.

At last, he splinters his silence once more. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save you that night. Proved myself far useless than a leaden sack of rice, didn’t I?”

You shake your head at his regret. “It wasn’t your fault, Arthur. I’m… glad you’re safe too.” Your eyes meet his and stay; the tension you’d felt threaded tight within muscle, beneath the fingers upon his shoulder, eases.

“Thank you.” He whispers once more, you’re not sure why he speaks them and you do not choose to question him either; moving quietly instead to the strains of the music.

“I gather you don’t wish for me to apologize—”

You shake your head. “Don’t.”

Arthur begins to speak once more, tone far flippant and casual, belying the nature of his statement. “Well then, that’s that, I believe. You’ve washed your hands of a rotten fool; quite right too. You’ve always been a tad too brilliant for me, luv.”

“Arthur—”

“Now, now, I don’t speak out of piteous self-loathing.” He shushes you with a gentle grin. “I just… I see you’re much happier now. That makes me happy. And you… you are, aren’t you?”

Your eyes meet across the pocket of space in between, cerulean gaze wrought with worries as it traces your features, waiting for you to speak. The one answer you’re more than sure of providing, “Yes… I am. I’m well.” Bated breath that leaves him at last, at your reply.

The smile that takes his face: relief, melancholy, surrender… love, you choose to turn your gaze away instead.

“Ah. Theo… that crafty bugger! For once, I think I’d quite enjoy punching the living daylights out of him.”

That extracts an unexpected smile, sheepish; you turn to look back up at him. “Please don’t do that, I think my heart’s had its fair share of seeing the two of you bruised and battered, for a lifetime.”

That smile, at last, you see it blossom into unburdened quiet laughter. “I’m positively gutted. But since you request so sweetly, I’ll spare the chap his medical bills.”

A man who made you so happy once upon a time; neither friend nor lover as he stands, your heart pulses with a gentle ache as you push those memories back deep and turn the lock on them, forever.

⚡⚡⚡

She’s dancing with Arthur.

A quick, sharp tug, a pinprick of pain follows that first bite of surprise he tamps down in a clench of teeth. Halting in his progress towards her. Dark possession lurches within him for a moment before Theo strangles it, quick and merciless. Turning on his heel to head for the open doors of the balcony, instead.

The cold of the night helps revive some semblance of sense into him. Back leaning against the balustrade, he watches the proceedings of a successful night — theirs — but his assistant isn’t by his side to relish in that celebration. That cold, envious demon whispers derision and anger at him once more.

He lets it burn through him for but a moment’s reprieve before the approaching figure of an encroaching guest draws him back. Leaning away from the railing, his moment of peace shattered, Theo clicks his tongue in mild irritation, turning to head inside. Before the figure sharpens in his vision, familiar, standing firm in his tracks. “Theo,” she says.

⚡⚡⚡

You’d searched for him after parting with Arthur. Fortunately le Comte had been kind enough to point you in the right direction with a smile that seeming so knowing, it made you halt in your steps. However, your immediate greeting upon finding Theo seemed to be his characteristic frown, before he murmured, “Hondje?”

You had to mince back that smile tugging at your lips, a desperate bite of teeth into lower lip, to witness the familiarity of your exchange. The first time you’d laid eyes upon this handsome, although brooding man following his older brother's sunny introduction and he’d stood just as he did now: an assessing gaze, a deeper frown and then, “Watch yourself, hondje. I’m not here to make ‘friends’ like Vincent.”

Watching that scowl in front, turn fiercer, “What’s got you so tickled?”

“I’m not saying.” You allow yourself a smile at last, moving to join him.

“Cheeky hondje. Think you’re so smug.”

Watching the swathes of gardens below — it’s a beautiful place — letting silence help your courage to speak. Important words need to be spoken. This exhibition might be your last; le Comte’s words of warning return to you in startling clarity. Danger might still be afoot for Theo. You might not see him for a long time after you return to the mansion tonight: a decision mulled over and taken the day le Comte had visited you with the news. You steal a glance his way; the thought warps into a terrible, seething ache; you steady a palm against your heart in hopes to mitigate it.

“You were with that klootzak. Did he say anything to you?” For a moment, you stared at him. You’d spoken to almost all the mansion residents in attendance and assured, as well as thanked every single man for inquiring after your well-being. Among them, as far as you were aware, Theo referred to only two of the vampires as such: William and…

He blew out a short breath. “Arthur… did he bother you?”

Oh. The question’s hardly an accusation and yet you feel as if you might as well have done deeds begetting guilt. “No, he… a mere check-in. He wanted to know how I was faring after... you know." A dismissive wave. "That’s all.” Words that feel as if spoken to re-assure him; for what purpose, you didn’t know. Theo might never come to share your feelings, it was a silly notion.

“Is that so.” Perhaps you wished for it hard enough; his posture seemed to soften with your words.

“Anyway,” Bringing palms together to break through stifling thoughts. “Congratulations on your successful exhibition, Theo. I’m so proud of what you’ve achieved!” And you were, reveling in the success as if it were your own.

“What’re you on about? It’s just as much your victory as mine. You worked hard there, hondje.” He reaches a hand towards and almost on instinct you’re tipping your head just that bit, for one of his ridiculous pats — your own heart thrills at the prospect, you almost smile at the silliness of wanting to be praised like the very puppy he claims you are. Those pets frustrated you so, once but now, each time Theo touches you… “Hey, I am not a little dog—” Your budding smile dies swift across your lips.

Theo’s touching you, lean fingers threading through loose locks before he slips them secure behind your ear. They brush their way back across your cheek in a caress, it breaks trembling sparks across your skin. Discomfited by the gesture, you can’t help but meet his gaze, staring up into those cobalt eyes — a dark, unsettled ocean — as if they might disentangle this… mess for you.

He grins, weak and muted though it seems by night’s velvet. “Now, you're looking at me.”

“What?”

“You haven’t noticed?" He snorts in derision. "You’ve refused to meet my gaze for longer than seconds for the past few days.”

“I have n—”

“Try lying again and you’ll bite through your tongue, hondje. Dishonesty doesn’t sit well against a frighteningly blunt one like you.” He exhales, tipping his gaze into the distance. “I don’t think it’s because you despise me—”

“I don’t! I could never hate you, Theo!” The refusal’s strong, far vehement than you wish it were but it garners his attention once more. “You’re being ridiculous…” you insist again.

A disastrously undoing smile pulls across that taut mouth; you heave your eyes away from the sight. “Hah… good to know.”

Restless hands; they refuse to still, you collect the courage to reach for his across the space, weaving fingers through his. He lets you. His hands, you marvel for a moment, at how they dwarf yours. His skin, course across his fingertips as you brush yours over; it brings you comfort as much as heat, to hold him.

Thoughts reeling temporary to how they’d grabbed for you in his moment of agony, how they’d held you close against a heated body, pushing you closer against his torso as his fangs, needle-sharp, traipsed across your neck.

Before he speaks, “I hear the Comte’s informed you of the situation.”

Heat siphon’s out of warm cheeks; fast and biting cold, your fingers tighten against his. Refusing to meet his gaze, refusing to hear him speak of leaving. Not yet. Not when you haven’t even told him the most important things…

“I can't say I don't agree with his assessment. Those posh bastards always seemed far too witless to try executing something this big without some sort of foreign obtrusion pulling the strings. So far, I don’t like the picture I’m seeing, one bit—Hey…” He softly raps a knuckle against your lowered head. “Are you paying attention, hondje?”

You bob your head in affirmation.

“Is that so?" Theo grunts. "Well then listen close. I want you to—”

You cannot.

“I’m sorry, Theo. I, I… I need a moment. I don't think I can.”

“What?” His sound of surprise compels a quick glance up at him, as if he’s struggling to comprehend a difficult statement.

“Le Comte's a good person, he’s agreed to let me back to work for him. I know I requested you be his first priority and I’m happy you agree—” You’re gibbering through words now, but you’d much rather speak now before he leaves.

“Yeah, I heard.” His voice seeps bitter sarcasm. “That was one incredibly stupid and selfish move. You didn’t think you might want to talk to me about it first?”

His words, that cool manner of speech, it stings and flames at an irrational anger. “What do you suggest be done then? Our ‘little gig’s’ over and I don’t want to be your piteous ward anymore! All I wish is to help keep you safe!”

That’s not what I want from us, your mind screams. I don’t want you chained as my guardian, I’ve never viewed you as such.

His eyes flash — brilliant, burnished sapphire — mouth drawing into a terrible line, the anger you see roiling beneath in great, simmering waves, leaves you lost for words. “Is that what you believe?" He asks quietly. "That I viewed you as some kicked waif, out of desire for needless charity? Hah, the joke’s vapid enough; I can’t even laugh about it.” You’ve never seen him as far from mirth as he does now; Theo looks as if you might’ve punched him — that joyless gaze seems to lose some of its ardor, he drifts backwards as if struck.

The look on his face pierces your heart far keener than a blade. “Theo—”

“Say hondje.” He interrupts. “Why’d you try and save me that night? One of us sure seems to be operating on some wildly inaccurate assumptions here.”

"Theo, this isn't..."

"I need an answer, hondje.... Was it compassion?"

That question strikes you, sharp as a slap, mind conjuring the accusation he refuses to outright hurl at you for your selfish decision. Hands feeling far colder for the loss of Theo’s warmth now that you no longer hold them. You’ve never felt as tenuous as you do now, as if you might be knocked over by another word from him. And perhaps the most appalling of all thoughts is one: you don’t regret your decision to save him.

“I’m so sorry…” An apology, for being unable to respect his wishes, for how you’d make that choice again without thought, no matter how many times you were forced to.

Theo’s expression turns hard; a barrier thrown in between strangers, you feel your heart breaking apart all over again, for the loss of him. “It’s fine,” he speaks at last, his voice as if scraped a hundred times over.

Watching the slow bob of his Adam’s apple as he looks down upon you, refusing to turn away as if he means to imprint your features onto memory, “Heat of the moment. You had no choice. You didn’t mean to. I get it now hah…” He seems to be muttering as if trying to convince himself of something.

You’re losing him, he’s letting go, slow but sure. You didn’t let go that night but now he’s the one releasing you; a frantic voice within seems to cry. You aren’t reaching him, no, he doesn’t understand—

“I meant to.” Extending a hand towards him; he avoids the touch…

“I heard you, hondje. It’s enough. Stop speaking.” A harsh bark of words; it sounds more plea to your ears.

…before indignation steals you captive and you reach forward to clench vexed digits into the lapels of his jacket and pull, harsh. "Look at me!" Forcing his gaze to yours, “It wasn't a passing whimsy. Do not dare make light of my decision! I wanted to save you and I will fucking do it again because I care for you, you hear me? You’re important to me, is that reason clear enough for you?!”

That sapphire gaze — bright, beautiful — wavers and shifts; wide, as if in disbelief, as if you might be an apparition materialized out of thin air. Mouth parting at last, as if he means to reply but you’ve just had enough of his bull-headedness.

Leaning forward to press your lips against the corner of his in a quick, fleeting kiss, your heart thrills at the sensation of intimately touching the man you’ve learned to love and fear for in equal measure. Even if it is your first and last. He’ll never know… “Curse me for eternity for all I care… I don’t regret it, you... you mulish idiot.” You wail. Throttling a sob back as you move to draw away.

But Theo refuses to let go, an unyielding grip across the back of your head, fingers easing through your hair as he holds close. Gaze as if cut of sharpened stone; intense it draws the breath from your lungs. His words weave low and heavy through the mere pocket of space in between your faces, “You called me an idiot.”

“That’s… that’s entirely beside the point.” You feel as if you’ve been mired in a constant dance, your breaths are difficult with the way he’s watching you, tipping his head as if in observation; the spark of feral hunger and distress, you’ve seen it once before—

His face steals closer, your heart’s thunderous beats almost deafening against his soft, chuckling exhale. Relieved. “Maybe I am.” A brush of his lips against yours, a testing edge; a soft whimper jumps from your throat at the contact.

“Say that again, hondje.” I need to hear you, his hooded gaze seems to whisper.

Strangling your fear of loss, fear of retribution, of hurt; thoughts that whisper countless ‘what ifs’ for another moment. No matter how you fear still, the feeling that trumps true in this moment....

“I am in lov—”

⚡⚡⚡

The sound that rattles free of him; a distant, heavy swear; Theo’s mouth crushes against hers filching words right off the softness of those lips beneath his. Her startled cry renders itself to complete incoherency, her hands, her body moving to work her own impatience off as they seek his. Her words bruising against his own heart until they settle into an echo of their own within, until he makes of it a glorious vision within his mind. And sighs against her mouth, her soft Theo dragging him back towards her just as swift as the fingers that tease themselves through his hair, calling closer.

Hooking an arm about her waist, he heaves her flush against himself until she’s a searing line; all soft against all his hardness. The taste of her is in his mouth, her body against his, hearts thundering he cannot discern if it is hers against him or his own surrender towards her.

“T-Theo, wait… does this mean—” She presses away, eyes glistening; her shoulders heave with her slight exhales, the passion of their frenzied movements still within fingers she combs through his hair as if reluctant to let go completely.

Insanely gorgeous even as she looks just about as not put-together as he’s ever seen her. And she’s allowed him to lay claim to that heart. After how he’d thought her confession earlier their last. Theo can hardly swallow the incredulity of that truth. It’s surreal; she’s surreal. It's hard to think she could ever believe him to harbor anything resembling dislike for her; what a slow little puppy he's got on his hands.

But what he is entirely done with, is holding back. And he does not hold back now.

Drawing her back towards him, Theo fits a palm against the back of her neck, warm and flushed — are there ways to yearn for her even more desperate than his desires now — her mouth fitting against his in an eager gasp he swallows into his own. Releasing his own crushed growl, of surrender: “Yes. Godverdomme, yes. I want you in every single way you can be mine. I have for so long.”

The sound that leaves her at his confession is sublime, a low, keening moan, it undoes his entire rationale. Theo’s spinning her around within his embrace until she’s crushed in between the harsh stone of a column and him — concealing them from sight — and yet, she seems to relish being pinned in place. Her hands, just as flittering across his neck, his shoulders, his jacket, popping open at buttons he couldn’t care less about. Just that she’s here, in his arms, soft and pliant and fragrant, it rips another groan free of him.

The brush of her tongue against aching fangs, a snick she teases him with on a soft moan as the burst of blood within their mouths makes them drown themselves within each other.

The vehemence of his love and desire, answered; he could go down on his knees for how she seems to fill his heart anew. His lips painting strokes against the line of her jaw, her neck. Her ear, he presses a guttural admission of love against it so she may never doubt it again. So he may never doubt it again.

Eyes drifting towards her neck, the bruisings of a light puncture mark; he’d fed on her, tasted of her so. Smoothing a thumb against the spot and she shivers; Theo moves to press a grin, burying a nibbling bite against the very place to hear her croon as well. “You are beautiful, shatje.”

Withdrawing slow on borrowed breaths; even as his own instincts claw away at the thought of being separated from her, he takes her in, his, within his arms. The tightening of tremulous digits against a bicep, the questions, her adoration and fear, he sees so clear, it makes Theo want to heave her close and into his arms and never let go. Witnesses how her heart tears at the temporary remembrance of memories of a relationship past in the way she whispers do not let go. As if he ever could, as if he were capable of it at all.

Theo seals his mouth against hers once more, returning her to softening within his arms, lax and pleasured and loved. Until she believes it too. Until the day she comes to accept his loyalty and heart as given rather than exceptions. One day soon.

Chapter 12.5: A Long Way to Tipperary

The night’s drifted into quietude; the lounge sits empty save for Arthur as he downs his second liquor bottle of the evening, pulled from the mansion’s cellar. Always fine quality, and strong enough he’s starting to lose his sense of self.

Perhaps Sebas would be kind enough to rouse him tomorrow morning but for now… he had no energy stocked to remove himself to the privacy of his room, the solitude suffices. A notebook tucked open across spread legs, he continues to scrawl — more gibberish than intelligence he assumes, he’d take care of it tomorrow. Tomorrow. Not. Now — another Holmes adventure for one of his young readers. A child with the common pox he'd helped take care of. The youngling’s visits had turned monthly to his little clinic located just at the outskirts of town, something of a little test of courage he’d picked once more, upon her gentle insistence.

And now that she was no longer part of him, he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the one piece that made him feel just that less wretched.

Sweeping his glass off the coffee table to drown in another desperate gulp, he spots a pair of fine, immaculate shoes within his immediate line of sight. Arthur’s gaze skews up towards his visitor in loud delight. “By Jove, if it isn’t the generous Comte! Here to check up on your wayward scoundrel so soon?”

The Comte’s dignified figure, the expression he wears is hard to parse within his mind, an expected result of his intoxication but the implication of the Comte’s heavy silence is not lost on Arthur. “Calm down, dear old Daddy. I’ve been… obnoxiously good tonight, if I do say so myself.” Slurring the O and stretching the N of obnoxious; his speech is blunted garble at this stage.

And despite the stupor of his mind, the face le Comte angles at Arthur next sears with startling clarity within his vision; resigned pity. Arthur despises it and the way he prompts the Comte to look upon him that way.

“I sincerely hope you managed to apologize to her at least if not make your peace, Arthur.”

He can’t help but snort at that, loud and onerous. “She does not care for my apologies, Comte. And that is… I am perfectly fine with her conclusion. God knows she’s bloody sick of it now.”

His listener remains silent. The Comte is far too generous, Arthur thinks once more. Even as he refuses to relent that hard golden gaze of his. Fixed upon his sorry figure but... silent. Accepting his intoxicated drivel.

“Assuaging my thoughts however—” He breaks on a tremor of an exhale. “I don’t believe it possible to love someone quite as brilliant as her and then hope for peace, after.” He grins up at his companion but knows it’s registered as anything but when the Comte returns it with a knit of brows, in sorrow.

"I wish for her happiness, always."

Go to Chapters: 1-10 | 11 | 12 | 13 [Coming Soon]

End Notes: Thank you for keeping me company for as long as you have, folks. Afbranden's journey is coming to an end within the next chapter and I am happy to have coddled this piece for as long as I did LOL. If you'd like to be tagged or removed from the tag list for this story alone, please feel free to let me know, friends.

The rest of my stories can be found within my masterpost here.

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