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clansayeed · 9 months

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The Evening ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽

While Nadya is busy making friends among the Ball's other human guests, Adrian and Kamilah retreat to the vampire-exclusive La Soiree. It is there that Adrian meets a pair of vampires with which to spend the evening... and finds himself caught up in the scintillating air of their natural mystery.

note: This piece takes place during Bound by Destiny, during the events of Chapter 10: The Cellar. It is not necessary to read to understand Book 1 or the Oblivion Bound series, but it does provide a fun insight into both Adrian and the original characters Valdas and Isseya.

word count: 4,175 rating: mature content warnings: language, blood drinking, vaguely-described sexual situations find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

By the third time Kamilah sweeps her gaze across the room he’s had enough.

“You don’t need to babysit me all night. Do you think I’m going to up and retreat the moment you turn your back?”

The look she gives him isn’t entirely unwarranted; a simple arched brow and the kind of breath that shifts her bosom at the top of her corset but serves only to be seen and understood.

For as long as he’s known her, Adrian has been fascinated with Kamilah’s skill of speaking columns without so much as an utterance. Maybe it comes with age. More likely it’s just something uniquely Kamilah.

“Give yourself a tad more credit Adrian.” She curls a single finger in the air; summoning a serving boy from out of his line of sight and plucks her choice of dark amber liquor from his offered assortment. “‘Retreat’ is not a word in your lexicon.”

The same silver tray is offered to Adrian. He declines, and the servant flits away.

“You know what I mean.”

Kamilah savors her drink for a long moment. “Perhaps I did, once. Now, however, I find myself in need of a translator where you are concerned.”

And… well, isn’t that entirely not what he was expecting. “What’s that about?”

“It is about the changes I’ve seen in you over the last few months. I’ve yet to determine whether or not to be concerned.”

“A chan—” But before he can even get the full question out, Kamilah cuts him off.

“Do not play the fool to me. Never to me.”

Eyes sharp as the daggers she collects so avidly; plum-tinted lips curled into a frown usually reserved for literally anyone else. All of her discontent plain to see despite the heady fog of incense that curls around the foyer and its guests.

But it’s not exactly difficult for Adrian to figure out the source of her ire. The unspoken name that’s kept her on her toes.

Only Adrian wouldn’t dare do anything but call Nadya a profoundly positive influence on his life. Not even just his—Kamilah’s, too. How long has it been since he’s heard even the whisper of amusement curled into the corners of her mouth? Or seen a kindness as simple as slipping Nadya her Clan symbol so she wouldn’t have to brave the train ride without them at her side?

One of his great personal tragedies of the last century was being forced into the role of silent witness to the hardening of Kamilah Sayeed’s heart. And yet she sits here in front of him and implies he’s the only one changed by the strange yet welcome break in immortal tedium ignited by their wondrous new human friend.

Alas, Adrian isn’t the least bit surprised.

He’s young (compared to her, anyway), but not stupid.

Before Adrian can speak a word in his own defense a familiar and throaty laugh catches the pair’s attention. It has Adrian looking beyond her shoulder while Kamilah twists lithely to join him in watching Lester’s entrance to the evening’s events.

To no one’s surprise their fellow Council member has arrived with a beautiful woman gracing each arm. Mortal, given the flush in their cheeks — and no doubt a disturbingly small fraction of his presumed age. He postures; he always does. Loud bellowing guffaws and over-exaggerated reunions with old friends he will need plenty of liquor to recall the names of.

By the time he’s made his way across the foyer there’s an entire Castellanos entourage on his heels. And as quickly as they gathered… they all vanish together too. Gone behind one of several doorways draped in maroon velvet.

Attentions turning back to one another, the looks Adrian and Kamilah exchange make his heart feel a little bit lighter. Even when they aren’t eye-to-eye on one thing, they will always be on the same team.

“Well we know which salon to steer clear of.” Adrian muses.

“I would venture caution even to those which share a wall with his den of debauchery.”

That, however, brings up the unspoken discussion neither of them have wanted to set in motion. The one where they discuss their own and each others’ participation in the soiree’s intended purpose.

Kamilah is certainly dressed for it. And Adrian isn’t even the only one around them wearing a simple suit — sometimes what is not revealed is just as tantalizing as what is, after all.

So he sighs, accepts defeat, and politely stops the closest server for his pick of red wines on offer. “I’ll stay—salut,” his raised glass meets hers between them, “but I’ve got too much on my mind to even think about… joining in.”

Knowing it’s the best she’s going to get out of him, Kamilah accepts this and begins to unwind herself from the supple leather sofa.

“One of these days you might want to try not shouldering the world’s every burden.”

“One of these days.”

“And when such a day comes, I might just die from shock.”

“Just don’t resent me for being your demise.”

With a bemused little smile Kamilah bends down to bestow chaste kisses to his cheeks. It’s enough to give Adrian a strange yet fleeting sense of relief. “I cannot make any promises about not holding it against you,” she teases. “But in all seriousness— do try to find something to keep you entertained tonight. You might even find yourself enjoying what opportunity comes along. It does so only once a decade, if you recall.”

Then Kamilah takes her leave. Adrian watches her go for lack of anything better to do… though the sight of her greeting an unfamiliar woman with a coy smile and friendly kisses isn’t exactly easy on him. He’s glad she’s giving into the opportunity to let loose even a little bit — but knowing what Adrian does about Nadya and her feelings towards Kamilah…

Well, he’s frustrated. Torn between two loyalties. But that’s nothing new.

La Soiree is still in its early hours. Eventually the foyer, still bustling with the last wave of attendees under the impression fashionably late has modern relevance, will be no more than an echoing chamber. And Adrian still doesn’t know if he plans on being one of the scant few left behind.

Wistfully his thoughts drift—unsurprisingly—to Nadya and the Cellar party happening below. Maybe he could pop in. Could check and just make sure she’s acclimating and finding friends and doing well. But would the attendants even let him in…?

The other end of the long couch sighs. Drawing Adrian’s attention to the man helping himself in taking up Kamilah’s place.

He gives the stranger a polite nod out of sheer courtesy — already readying himself to stand and take his leave.

“Surely there is enough room to share?”

Adrian blinks, startled. Looking back at the man but unsure of what to say.

“Yes, you,” the stranger offers a small chuckle and a sweeping hand to all of the empty cushions around them. “There’s no need to leave. In fact, I invite the pleasure of your company.”

The pleasure of his company? Words no doubt carefully-chosen here… of all places.

“Unless…” The man shrugs one shoulder before looking up at Adrian through obviously lowered lashes. “You have a prior engagement, of course.”

Something about the unspoken implication rubs Adrian the wrong way; and makes him debate staying solely to prove the man wrong. There’s a touch of the sinner in the glint of the stranger’s honeyed eyes and the almost predatory way he watches Adrian while sipping his drink.

Apparently… he’s doing this. Adrian sits back down… and tries to reassure himself of the feeling that he may not have really had a choice in the matter. Of course he did.

… Right?

The other vampire doesn’t bother hiding the victory lacing his smile. “Forgive me, where are my manners…”

He extends a dark hand… and the moment Adrian reciprocates the other takes it as unspoken permission to snatch up the empty cushion between them.

“You will call me Valdas.”

Oh will he? “Adrian, Adrian Raines.”

Only Valdas doesn’t relinquish his grip so easily. Leaving Adrian watching with growing confusion and unease as he turns over their joined hands with a tender curiosity.

“Ease the tension in your jaw. It isn’t good for such a handsome face to always look so displeased with the world.”

Reluctantly, Adrian does. “I don’t think I look… displeased,” and brushing the barely-concealed compliment aside… “May I have my hand back, Valdas?”

Apparently not. Well-trimmed nails brush along the inside of his upturned wrist. They linger in the same way winter just won’t let the city go in February. The barest touch dragging along the lines of Adrian’s palm in a way only a lover’s should.

Valdas hums as if pleased. “The trained eye can always tell who among us are survivors of the days of old. Indulge me this, Adrian Raines — I would put you at two, three centuries walking?”

“Pardon?”

“You are pardoned. I’m asking for your age, young man.” Which is a strange endearment to hear from someone who looks pretty close to him in physical age at the very least. Adrian can almost imagine a bit of a baby face hiding under that thick and well-trimmed beard.

While asking someone’s age isn’t any taboo among their kind—especially those gathered at La Soiree—Adrian can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable; sharing his age with a man he’s only just met. It’s a clear indicator at the very least that he’s not from around New York or the surrounding states. If he was he’d know Adrian by sight. And age has always been an important measure of decorum — among the Council anyway. It’s why the likes of the Baron will always hesitate before crossing Kamilah; or even Adrian himself for that matter.

Kamilah had even explained to him once the importance of age in the old European vampire culture. How it dictated everything from eye contact to forms of address to even whether you could speak to someone at all.

If Adrian’s placing this Valdas’ accent even remotely geographically close… these could be dangerous waters ahead.

Subtly, Adrian tries to coax his hand free. “Is it that important?”

He fails. Earning instead the stroke of a roughly calloused thumb over the top of his palm. “My curiosity has you uncomfortable,” Valdas answers; a statement that leaves Adrian slightly taken aback.

“Well, no, I —”

The other vampire’s grasp tightens suddenly. It’s minuscule, but definitely noteworthy.

“I do not ask the same thing twice.”

That Adrian doesn’t have a hard time believing. At this rate it’s just easier to answer and get it over with. “I’ve never had a reason to count the years off,” he coolly lies, but still offers, “somewhere over the head of two hundred and fifty, though.”

His acquiescence is met favorably; an almost proud curve added to Valdas’ smile while he nods.

“Yes. I thought so.”

“How could you tell?”

Valdas seems glad Adrian asks. He gestures with a sweep of his thumb over calluses so old Adrian often forgets they’re there; no more important or defining unto him than the scar on his foot from the angry end of a horseshoe nail in his youth, or the chip on his bottom tooth he had been forced to wait for modern dentistry to finally get corrected.

Judging by the way Valdas looks at them, too, their permanence is kind of the whole point.

“The evidence is here, do you see? So many of us lucky enough to have survived have telltale marks such as these. Marks from a farmer’s labor or a blacksmith’s skill. Yours, Adrian, are a tad more distinct though. I would recognize another soldier’s hands anywhere.”

There was once a time when Adrian would have recoiled at the assumption. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. But Gaius has been gone for so long, now. Titles like Soldier, like Bloodqueen, have faded into nothing more than words; as mundane as their current occupations of CEO and Council Member.

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, huh.”

Valdas again shrugs a single shoulder. Then he turns his own hand up and into Adrian’s cupped palm to reveal his own similarly rough hewn skin.

“Deduction has its uses to be sure. But I’ve found experience to be a far more adept means of investigation.”

At least Adrian can take his hand back, now.

“Well I guess my eye isn’t as trained. I hope you’re not waiting for me to guess your age.”

“Why would I, when the time it would take you to do so even close to accurately could be spent in far more amicable ways?”

In the time it takes Adrian to realize his intended insult, Valdas throws his arm over the back of the couch and allows himself to sink further into the pliant leather for comfort.

Well, Adrian thinks, there are worse ways to spend the evening.

He could be in the same room as Lester.

“I take it you are local to the area?”

Adrian nods. “Well—Manhattan, yes.”

“I mean to say that this is not your first of these events.” Valdas gestures broadly to the foyer around them; growing more empty with every passing minute. The intricate and semi-sexual dance of small talk and choosing partners seems to be nearly over.

Ah. “Oh, no then,” he answers. “What about you?” Since it’s highly unlikely his companion is here for someone’s Debut.

“‘Tis our first on this continent. Though the Balls of old hosted by the young Lord Lafayette weren’t so specific in nature back then — they never were.”

There’s… quite a bit to unpack there in a simple statement; and Adrian doesn’t really know where to begin. Maybe that’s a good thing—famous last thoughts—when Valdas reaches forward and cards a surprisingly gentle touch through his hair.

Adrian should be leaning away.

Why isn’t he leaning away?

Because apparently once again Kamilah is proven right — only this time she isn’t even here to reap the spoils of her victory. And because maybe it has been a while since Adrian has… indulged himself with the company of another. It’s not as though Valdas isn’t an attractive man; that’s not it at all. He just isn’t the first person Adrian would have picked out in a room full of equally eligible vampires ranging from casually friendly to just plain horny.

So where does that leave them?

It leaves Adrian speechless; a wordless yet not entirely unwilling participant to the way the other vampire takes slow and purposeful advances. It’s not like Valdas is trying to lure him in falsely with a ruse. They both know exactly what’s going on, what each movement and action mean, and what they could very well build up to.

And Valdas is surprisingly patient as he waits to see if his affections will be reciprocated… or politely refused.

Adrian Raines is a polite man by nature. However he doesn’t refuse.

The rough pad of Valdas’ thumb swipes over Adrian’s bottom lip slowly and with care. Pressing down with the barest of pressure; just enough to feel the tip of his nail on his front tooth.

There’s a point to this brief hesitation. Now would be the time to tell him to stop, if that’s the plan.

Instead, Adrian asks— “Which party would you be referring to, exactly? The Ball, or La Soiree?”

The answer to Adrian’s question lies not in words, but in the way Valdas moves his hand to hold the other’s chin with thumb and forefinger; in the way Adrian follows by allowing his head to cant to the side, welcoming a warm exhale of breath on his neck.

Valdas’ lips tease just shy of a kiss. There’s the tickle of his facial hair that Adrian hasn’t felt in—phew—at least two decades, maybe more? Sensations both familiar in theory and new in specific experience. All that and the air of hunger that hangs over them, sultry and sweet.

Adrian’s half-lidded eyes briefly sweep the room around them in a daze; looking but not really seeing anything from beyond this moment the men have sealed themselves in. Why would he even bother — when there’s still so much to be taken in from the awakening his body is undergoing?

That strong grip winds its way into Adrian’s coiffed hair — clutching at soft strands and digging into his scalp. Like the hand’s owner was born in the tumultuous storm straddling pleasure and pain and has never left it.

“May I?”

Two words given breath and life wet against Adrian’s throat. He isn’t given the chance to answer… but he doesn’t need to when blunted teeth suddenly give way to something sharper.

The lightest twitch is all it takes for Valdas’ fangs to pierce Adrian’s flesh. It’s a carnal act as much as it is a relief; eliminating the need to navigate the murky waters of speech any further.

They sit together, each man’s existence honed in on the other, for what feels like an eternity. The soiree, the Ball itself; everything could continue to move and flow around them and Adrian is quite sure he would be none the wiser.

Yet every time he reaches out to offer some kind of physical reciprocation, Valdas declines. Whether it’s seeking out his cheeks or hair, trying to skirt touches to his neck or shoulders… even when Adrian tries to switch subtle tactics and goes for the buttons of Valdas’ dress shirt with certainty—the other man pushes his hands back in a silent command to simply enjoy. To allow himself to be enjoyed.

The next attempt becomes his last. Rejection joined this time by punishment of Adrian’s hands held bound in his own lap. He really doesn’t have a choice after that.

Somewhere in the din of it all the hairs on the back of Adrian’s arms prickle with gooseflesh. It’s enough to drag him into awareness beyond the heated coil burning in his belly and back to the world that—somehow, like a fever dream—exists outside of Valdas’ extremely talented mouth.

They are being watched.

They are being enjoyed.

One of the staff tries to offer the woman an hors d’oeuvre; just doing her job, being polite. But even from across the room Adrian can see the tension rippling underneath supple olive skin; can sense it in the shift of her lithe body under the dim lighting of the chandelier, and in the way the sheer veils that cover just enough of her skin glide effortlessly along her body and curves.

She is dark black hair in ringlets around sharp cheekbones and a sharper jawline. One eye the color of a tree in morning light and the other an ivy-toned green; both pupils blown wide and black and seemingly endless. And her smile… oh how her fangs catch pearlescent in the light.

He has absolutely no idea who she is.

That doesn’t stop her from staring at them with eyes giving new definition to the word desire.

But the attention starts to unnerve Adrian slightly. Enough to make him twitch and move under Valdas’ continued bloodstained attentions — though his body isn’t sure where to go.

Judging by the tightening grip on his hair… nowhere.

But even through whatever lusting frenzy has him so enamored, Valdas doesn’t ignore the chance of ambiance. Rather than pull back entirely he simply shifts; coyly tucking his face into Adrian’s fluttering pulse in order to cast a subtle glance at what exactly has his new treat ready to flee.

“Ah, yes,” he croons, a familiarity in his tone that catches Adrian off guard, “she can be rather… intense at first. But I assure you darling, she means no harm. Well… none that will go unrewarded anyway.”

Blinking through the haze of Valdas is harder than Adrian expected it to be. “You… know her?” He asks.

Only the second the words pass his lips he no longer needs them. Only then does he remember Valdas’ earlier choice of words—

“…our first time…”

—and it all makes sense.

“She’s your… partner.”

Valdas chuckles lowly; lets his rumbling voice thickened with arousal burrow itself a home beneath Adrian’s skin.

“To call her such a plain term is almost an insult — not that you could have known. If my beloved is merely my partner, then this—here, you and I—is nothing more than a business-like chat.”

Which they both know is an understatement. Point proven when Valdas finally releases his wrists, reaching between their entwined bodies to palm the evidence of Adrian’s enjoyment of even the little they’ve done so far. Finding him full and aching; eager for release against the tight fabric of his suit slacks.

“I can’t recall business ever putting me… here.” Hard, confused; the itch of the role of prey tingling the base of his spine in a way it hadn’t since Adrian was Turned.

And all-too-quickly due to that woman’s unwavering stare.

Valdas wrenches Adrian’s focus back from across the room with a squeeze. Watching and relishing every expression flickering across Adrian’s face with rapt obsession. “I’m gladdened to know you aren’t opposed to Isseya’s voyeurism.”

Any protests that might have been are thus no longer. They die on the tip of Adrian’s tongue; swallowed down so quickly he almost chokes on them in exchange for the moan Valdas pulls from him when he skillfully destroys Adrian’s button fly without a care.

His head falls back against the back of the chaise, his world sent off-kilter, everything distorted at the edges of his sight.

Only to be brought back by the slow and purposeful approach of the tigress called Isseya.

Deceitfully delicate hands fall on his shoulders. The whisper of a soft thumb stroking the juncture where Adrian’s neck meets his shoulder that quickly grows heavy. Effortlessly she is holding him down — pinned and prone.

Isseya leans over him then — fully aware of how her supple breasts follow the curve of her spine to lean just within reach of his parted lips. But the kiss she captures Valdas with becomes a form of distraction all its own.

Humans invented monogamy because to them life was fleeting. Vampires have a very different mindset—and rightly so. There are dozens of ways two (or more) of their kind can define the relationships they have between one another and all together; probably even more than Adrian knows.

But as he watches their tongues tangle soft and exploratory, two of Valdas’ fingers tucking under Isseya’s chin and the control held in such a simple touch… Adrian quickly learns, and understands.

Calling her partner really was a kind of insult. It belittles them and what they are together; what they have. What they let wash over Adrian in building desperation and raising volume wet and eager and only continuing to grow.

What would it be like to kiss someone like that, Adrian finds himself wondering. It’s not an answer, but as if under a compulsion he watches himself lend Valdas a hand by hooking his finger into the rope belt hanging low on Isseya’s hips — like that could somehow hold her there.

The couple press their foreheads together briefly before parting in a silent reckoning. Isseya’s gaze trails lazily back to Adrian like he’s an afterthought.

Oh, yes. You exist.

“You always find me the prettiest presents, My Beloved One.” Her voice rings like chimes on a twilight breeze.

With a chuckle and a nod, Valdas resumes his earlier pursuit — fingers dipping steadily below Adrian’s bespoke waistline to take his arousal in hand. “Who said he was yours?”

“I did.”

“I rather like him for mine own.”

“Cruel, lover.”

Adrian wants to interject; though at the moment his brain is likely to say something stupid about not belonging to anyone, about being his own man. But it’s difficult to think when he’s… like this.

“Strong jaw, good cheekbones… You know I love the cheekbones.” Yet even the bare minimum of a compliment feels, coming from her, like worshipful praise.

His stare is glassy, and he looks up at Isseya with acceptance as well as desire. Another minute more and Adrian worries he might find it impossible to deny them both of anything. Especially the inevitable.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

“Does he suit your vision of the evening, my love?” Valdas asks, words breathed like worship into Isseya’s slender neck. The vampiress hums at the affection and question both, sweeping Adrian up in another of her all-consuming gazes.

“I’d have to taste of him, first.”

Rather than give her an answer, Valdas simply turns to Adrian with a single eyebrow raised.

The unspoken question hangs loudly between them all.

Well? The choice is his.

Well…

Adrian watches his hand cup the back of Isseya’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss.

There are worse ways to spend the evening.

#bloodbound fanfiction #bloodbound #adrian raines #playchoices fanfiction #playchoices bloodbound #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: drabble #; my fics #oc: valdas #oc: isseya #oblv: bound by destiny

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