Let’s face it. Story characters are often victims of their writers‘ twisted minds. Also quarantine. 2020 hit hard. I can see how different kinds of storytelling can affect one’s mood. I also believe that with a little more of practise one can become immune to its side effects and just write more freely. Am I right?
The story takes place in London 1932, Alternate Universe from my main story, following fates of my two heroes from the episodes I wrote in Czech and English languages. The title is partially in Czech to keep episodes altogether. „Dopis“ means „Letter“ and it all started exactly with that back in October 2019 with a story from 19th century. Is amateurish, contains typos, bad grammar and unclear parts, but my desire is to continue writing because I enjoy it. I’m always tinkering and correcting. Accept my apologies for any unclear thoughts and bad grammar, though, and enjoy the rest.
I just see those fictional characters in my head, sitting in an armchair, sipping their morning coffee when the siren goes off suddenly and that crazy writer picks up the pen and start scribling his embarrasing thoughts. They just roll their eyes, get up and go to fulfill whatever the demand is with a lot of cursing and growling.
Age restriction: by continuing reading you agree, that you are mature enough.
Tags for your consideration: Original Character, Mature, Alternate Universe, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Male Slash (M/M), Bisexual, Gay, Romance, Soft, Vampire, Supernatural.
Words cca 1,800.
We got home with a crack of dawn, the rising sun piercing through thick morning fog, tinting old brick buildings with its gentle orange light. Charles was lost in his thoughts and I didn’t want to trouble him so I kept silent for a whole ride to his Victorian palace.
I might as well once ask him about his family history. It never occurred to me before, not that I wasn’t curious. Mine was gone long before I ever met him and I was on my own. Just a kid in a big world back then, starting my career in military ranks. His past, however, must be much more interesting.
Only once he mentioned blue blood and his name meant something back in the days. Yet he chose the most humble approach to his life and dedicated his youth to get some education. And some he got. He was a war surgeon, fighting all kinds of maleficent human nature. His spirit never broken, never corrupted. Always giving and helping. To me also. I couldn’t be where I was after the war without my best friend.
Learning about Amelia’s departure must have been a shocker, having dealt with her murderer after all these years didn’t make it any easier. She definitely meant a lot to him, but he never admitted that fact. She chose her own path and he was all respectful.
I couldn’t blame him going PI*. To a gunpoint in his grief, leaving a massacre behind and not looking back. That’s what life does to people. And the soul, if we have any, slowly rotting away.
May we become ruthless over time?
It probably already started in the second Anglo-Afghan conflict long ago, the place where we met.
Witnessing him killing three people without blinking an eye this evening made me realize we were going to the dark side with a daunting certainty.
I put my overcoat and jacket at the tall floor hanger, fedora hat on a side table and went to a ground floor bathroom to check on damage. A smear of blood covered my right temple, sprinkled over my ear, and disappeared in my short dark brown hair. Tight shirt collar all rusty red yet my gunshot wound healed once I got to my feet to face Tony Rosso, Amelia’s murderer, arranging his departure by my own hands. He cracked his neck involuntarily after I knocked him flat. I didn’t learn about his connection to Red Cross nurse Amelia until later, so it was way too fast. Lucky for him. Maybe that’s why I had to do it and not Charles. He would probably provide long lasting experience due to his own unwilling stay in Rosso’s torture chamber. Tony was one sick bastard.
I made some attempt to clean the mess on my face, taking down my shoulder rig and unbuttoning the vest, the shirt, thinking about how the most exciting night went, when I overheard glass being smashed to smithereens followed with a thump sound of a collapsing body. My irises went yet again from hazel to pure green under the stress.
I bolted back to the main hall where my partner in crime had fallen, crushing empty whisky glass. His unaware self laying flat, twitching in seizure. Shell shock took over his nerves, turning his conscious mind backwards, brain giving up. Pale skin, clenched teeth, his eyes helplessly staring at the ceiling, pupils dilated so no bright blues were visible.
I knew right away what it was, I saw it in a field hospital.
First I tried to reach his short-circuited mind with a soft voice. I cannot restrain him, that would be very unwise, he might hurt us both if I ever tried.
„Charles, pal, listen to me.“ Gently palming his cheeks, trying to get his shattered attention, locking his unaware gaze with mine. „It’s over. You are safe. They cannot hurt you any more, you hear me? You are safe.“ I felt confident enough not to go all-panic mode yet.
„Charles, it’s me, your friend William. I’m here with you. Fight it. You can get it under control. Fight it for us, for her..“ I kept talking to him in a low and soft voice until the worst of the trembling was over. Then I continued murmuring all kinds of calming words and the gears in his head gradually shifted towards the conscious thoughts. His watered bright blues filled with puzzlement.
„How did I go horizontal like that?“ The softest of whispers left his mouth. Thin layer of sweat covered his bonny face of aristocratic features. He touched one of my hands.
„Seizure, shell-shocked, that’s it. It just got to you.“ Holding a straight face.
„Aren’t we delicate flowers? Humiliating. Did you see?“ He lost it all yet was worrying if I saw. I ignored that.
„You went through hell, Charles. I’m here for you. There’s nothing humiliating about anything.“ His soul was apparently there somewhere after all, being torn apart.
„I’m sorry.“ His voice was weak. The apology wasn’t meant for me, but for her and everyone we left behind. Never saw him so defeated in all our history but I wasn’t always there. I might have missed some things. That last crusade for example.
He’ll need all the strength to heal himself and I’m going to do my best to be of support. There is no shame in showing weakness sometimes. They taught us that a gentleman doesn’t talk under particular circumstances, but it was all wrong. And being vampires, yes, those blood-sucking specimens, we felt much more, everything could get quite intense unless shut down. Hate, fear or love. Ablazing emotions in our beating hearts.
We weren’t dead inside, we might have held a stone cold mask until some breaking point. As any human.
I gently caressed the side of his face with my fingertips, feeling his smoothly shaved skin underneath them. I let that sensual perception flow through my being, altogether off my guard. Almost invisible golden aura emanated from my hand, disappearing when my touch disengaged.
I had his attention, knowing very well how my touch affects others if I desire it. But this was something more. A feeling from a long ago. A reminiscence of freedom, affection and love.
Still sitting by his side at the very edge of thick carpet I was little unsure about how wise this angle might be. But I learned one thing: that life is way too short and as unpredictable. I might get slapped with a brick in the next second yet I let the walls collapse once more, getting myself into all kinds of situations. I was used to playing with fire after all.
I leaned closer, gently kissing his slightly parted lips, tasting salt, feeling the softness. He didn’t resist my very unique form of help. Or was it just my selfish desire?
Quite the opposite. I felt the touch of the palm of his hand on the back side of my neck, his fingers stroke through my hair, pulling me closer. His heartbeat was strong right next to mine. He returned the favour and kissed me, taking it slow, letting the arousing feeling sink in and through his body, awaking all senses.
With his eyes closed he whispered in between the breaths, „that’s how you want to heal my damned soul?“ His voice in low tones, as all the brakes went loose. My corner teeth descent in response. „I hope so.“ Imagining all kinds of possibilities shamelessly.
I was holding very close, feeling his hot breath on my lips and yet again we connected in a long kiss, tongues and all, giving and taking. My sharp canines hurt him slightly and the taste of blood opened another dimension of desire.
He grasped on my clothes and rolled on top of me.
‚Oh, wow.‘ I felt strangely weak in his embrace and I surrendered. Empowered he moved his attention to a pulsing spot on my throat. His lips brushed over it slowly. My back neck hair raised in sudden alert. ‚Oh, God.‘ My mind shrinked, restricting vocabulary altogether. My wildest expectation spread its wings. I recalled that feeling when he did this to me a long time ago, it was in that hunting lodge basement of his.
His corner teeth stopped right at the blue vein line under my jaw, the pressure on the skin and the skin giving up. He drew two little drops, not going any deeper. I lost it all as the sensation intoxicated my body like a tidal wave, crushing right at the core and another one as he kissed me on the clavicle right where the artery ran underneath.
I only gasped, holding him tight when another wave kicked in. He drew more blood, painfully, only adding to my vampiric climax. A moan left my mouth as I tilted my head back, losing my mind in crimson vortex.
He opened my already unbuttoned shirt wide to gain access to my flat belly, giving more bloody kisses. I don’t quite recall when I lost my trousers and skivvies**. Only then I woke up a bit counter attacking his efforts, stripping him naked. Our clothes tossed all around us. We went into it unstoppable.
I pressed him against the leather armchair and moved down. He was hard already and it took only a little tongue work to bring him to his very human climax. He sprawled, leaning against cold leather, eyes half closed, goosebumps all over his skin, muscles tense, heart drumming. I could feel it with him. To make it last I shifted towards his thigh’s inner side veins and made good use of my predatory teeth, going through just enough to make him scream and leaving him breathless for some time and not from pain.
His long fingers in my hair, the other hand clenched to the armrest, leaving visible scratch marks in its surface. Well, better that armchair than my own flesh alright. I enjoyed a little bit of pain when timed right, it only added to skyrocketing pleasure, but wasn’t fond of torturing of some sorts, it would awake bad memories and I didn’t want to ruin the rest of the morning for any one of us.
We ended up on the thick carpet again in a very thirsty embrace, touching and kissing, tasting, dying as the end of the world awaited us right behind the corner. Entangled we eventually eased our efforts, breathless.
I tried to cover us with what I thought was a shirt, but it didn’t work very well.
„Your bedroom perhaps?“ I suggested in articulated English.
„Uh-huh.“ Agreement, sort of. We left the mess behind and fell into the duvets in the upper floor bedroom where the tall big windows were. Sun already in full power, shining through glass.
I let him sleep with his head resting on my chest. I held him in my arms gently, thinking about our past and our future. We opened this gate wide together and it felt right. I don’t know if it can help him in the end but I’ll do my best to get him from the darkest of places he ever fell into.
There Solid drop Of crimson life In a palm Of my shaking hand I drowned In your tears In your pain I surrendered And now We are bound Forever.
* PI = Private Investigator
** as for men’s underwear, slang, Australian English.