No matter how carelessly or ungently you yank me one way or the other, the end always justifies the means. I'm rewarded with the sight of you, the smell of you, the taste of you, and the sublime touch of your body against my own. With a word, you can destroy me, leave me crawling in the dust at your feet. A moment later and your mood has changed and I am uplifted by your benevolence and unmerciful nature. I can beg for you all I want and even though you feign to give in to my ceaseless demands, you let me know that you simply enjoy to indulge your eager admirer and that my pleas will always fall upon deaf ears. You alone decide my fate and I don't doubt that you will turn your head away from my justifications one way or the other.
There are times when I think you hate me, despise me for all the trouble I cause to you. I can tell myself that it's in fun, in jest, and that I am your entertainment. While you can become exasperated by my actions, I lie to myself and state that if not for me, you would become exasperated with the boredom of your own daily rituals and subservience to mortal laws and regulations. I am out of their field, out of their world, and well into your own. You've made me so, Alexander, and I do abide by your own rules.
I abide but I can push my own limits. I fear that if I don't, if I remain your obedient, pathetic little lapdog for very long, then you will tire of me as you have tired of so many others. There's much I see and hear, Alexander, simply because I'm not the fool many take me for. I have my moments of clarity, of understanding deep within my own pit of darkness that you've forced me into, and people are so willing to talk around me. They think they are safe by telling their little secrets to a fool, to the arrogant, disobedient fledgling that Dracula made, to your mistake.
You once told me that the devil performed the greatest trick of all and that was by getting people to believe that he did not exist. You, yourself, feast upon that assumption by allowing people to also believe that you cannot exist. I have expanded such a literal usage. My greatest trick of all would be getting people to believe that I'm hardly any threat at all. That I'm a defanged lapdog vampire that has gone positively batty and is only a danger to mortals.
Insanity is a triple-pronged pitchfork. One prong aimed at society, one prong aimed at authority figures, and the third is always pointed at the indirect cause. You, Alexander, are my indirect cause. I have known two worlds in my lifetime and both lead down the road of insanity and madness. In my psychosis, I find my own fun, my own darkness in which to drown. I have allowed no one the right to kill myself; that heinous deed is given to my own self-destructive ways. Not that I'd ever go that far, of course.
Ah, but I'm rambling about myself and not concentrating on the matter at hand, namely you. Alex, my Alex, my master, and I'd accept no other title for you. Nor would I ever acknowledge another master for myself. You gave me this life of darkness and enjoyment, and any more gratitude I could throw upon you would seem far too ostentatious for your cultured and refined tastes. You know how I feel and I know how I feel.
It's always a bit of a letdown when I tell you that I love you. The words sound so dry and acrid to me, like an old coin or metal on the tongue. What good are words, Alex? They're not the defining points of our relationship. They can only take us so far before they run out and we are left with my clumsy fumbling at your belt and your impatient sighs. What are we if not for the pain and the pleasure you derive from extracting mixed emotions from me? You run me ragged, Alexander, and I adore you for it. You make me yours and I show you with careless touches and gropes in the night and how I cling to your well-defined body despite being given your indifferent shoulder. You make me realize that I have to work for what I want.
You're a very cruel man, Alexander, but you know this. You know who and what you are while I am still learning. Not only learning about myself but about you. I want to define you as you've defined yourself but I'm constantly being treated to such benefits that you'd allow to no one else.
You sometimes curl up around me at night, you sometimes want to be held, you sometimes nip at my ear and tell me that I'm yours and, to me, that's your way of telling me of your love. Though you'd never admit it. I'd like to think that you need me in some small way. A foil shows you where you stand, shows you what your temperament should be. How could one define sane without insane? How could one define callous without sentimental? How could one define Alexander without Klaus? Yes, that is us, isn't it? Two opposites. But I, the one in the dark, the lesser of the two, constantly wish to become what you are. The man in the gutter is forever looking up to the stars. No matter the impossibility, no matter the obstacles, there is always that extended reach. And if I was to reach out right now, I could touch you, grasp a clothed shoulder, feel the soft fabric between my fingers and if I applied pressure, you would turn and stare me down, letting me know that I should, once again, learn my place.
I know my place. It is with you and it is with you I shall remain. My master needs his devoted follower but, more importantly, you need your constant. I cling to your stability and don't think I haven't realized how you occasionally slip and cling to my needs. I can learn patience, Alex. I can learn self-control. But it would require being away from you for a time, for how am I supposed to learn self-control when you are right there, standing before me in your immaculate wardrobe, your hair styled so perfectly, your lips pursed in that disapproving frown and then you say my name in your accent that would make the women swoon and so many men jealous.
"Klaus."
I'd destroy a thousand villages if you would just say my name, would just acknowledge the fact that not only do I exist, but that you know me, that you care, that you want me to learn even though you need what I have yet to understand. Why is it that you always know the right thing to say at just the right time and I've yet to learn that? Do you think it reflects on your failings as a teacher? No, I don't think you'd allow yourself such a repulsive thought. For you could do no wrong, therefore the problem must lay within me. I tell you now that the problem will always reside within me, for I see it as you. You're as much a part of me as this absolute desire for blood.
I need your attention, I crave your touch, your discipline, your gentleness. Even when I know I'll be in pain for weeks afterward, still I want and need you. This offense has been ingrained so deeply within myself that I cannot tell where I end and you begin within my own soul. You've become so much more than a master and much more than simply Alexander. A part of you must realize this. Else you would have had me staked long ago, perhaps after I tried to destroy you or after we came out of that monstrous void. Your discipline then was far more painful than I'm used to and yet...you could not bring yourself to thrust down that stake and end it all for me.
You knew that I would not welcome death, that I love my life and wish to go on. The worst punishment would be my destruction and since you are my creator, you could just as easily be my destroyer. Am I your weakness, Alexander? I think not. For destruction is merely one facet of our life and there are many other ways you could just as easily punish me. Denying me your presence would, perhaps, be the most painful, bitter form of hell you could inflict. I push, but not so hard. Even I have my limits, Alex. Even I have my fears that far outweigh any insanity I could ever possess.
You denied me your presence these few days and though you say that I did nothing wrong, I still feel the sting of disapproval as you speak of 'that infernal machine,' my motorcycle. If you despise it so much that you are willing to depart from my company because of it, then I shall take the bike into the garage and never use it again. I'd do the same for all of my possessions as they are materialistic toys and nothing could ever compare to the absence of you.
I am sad and pathetic in my devotion, in my limitations. I know this and it hurts, yet I cannot change what I feel. Love is a driving weakness. You're so very right there, Alex. But without it, where would I be? Fending for myself while dealing with mortals who cared not for me when I was alive, let alone now when I'm undead? Perhaps I'd only become another vampire's? One that would not treat me as well as you. One that would not understand me as you do. One that is simply Not You.
You lavish your gifts upon me and I believe I detect a note of jealousy in your generosity. For even you are never generous, merely indulgent to this strange, eager child you've created. The car to replace the motorcycle. The jackets to replace my 'horrid' taste of clothing. All of that, I can accept as I've accepted your criticism for the past 13 or so years. Yet, I cannot have you feeling guilty on my account, even though I'm not sure why you should be feeling guilty in the first place. Perhaps you don't either and the emotion is merely a side-effect of something much bigger.
I wish you'd tell me what you felt, Alex. I wish you more upfront. But I understand your ways. I know that you can only allow yourself and me so much leeway. This only makes me adore you all the more. I study you more eagerly now, trying to detect hidden motives or agendas that you always keep from me. You're my own private puzzle, Alex, and the easiest way to put the pieces together is to relax you.
The bath is my own idea, mentioned in my quick little ramble when you came home. I'm very good at planting seeds, even with you. As I am certain you plant your own within my head. I cannot break into your mind as you can with my own, so my only recourse is through verbal wit. You think I can lose so easily at that act, so your guard drops ever so slightly, but enough to let me through. You underestimate me but I allow it and don't dare take advantage of such things. I lack your diabolical ways.
With Beethoven playing in the background, I draw the bath for you and it isn't long before you're seated comfortably within the suds, a glass of red wine resting by your side. It goes untouched for the moment as you find your seating and I kneel down, my knees resting upon the hard marble floor of your bathroom. I can feel no pain, however, as my concentration is focused upon you and only you.
You're naked and that alone keeps me focused. How many times have you commanded me to concentrate on this or that lesson? And how many times have I failed in doing so? Ah, Alex, if only you knew that you were my one huge distraction, perhaps you would remove yourself from the room until I performed the trick you want me to learn. Or perhaps you would be amused at my lavish devotion, taking in my confession as the most natural thing in the world.
In the end, my thoughts matter not and I'm too concerned with whether or not my touch is cold upon your shoulders. The bathroom is warm as heat rises up from the water. It won't be long before a thin mist will cover the mirror but neither of us are particularly concerned. I don't much care for mirrors anymore. Even if we had reflections, all people would see is either the sins we commit together or an invasion upon our privacy and, knowing you, you would tolerate neither. Nor would you be able to relax if there was a chance that the world outside would know of what you and I were doing.
The noises that you make, however, go unchecked by any outside interference and I'm the only one who knows just how to touch you to make you moan in such a way. My fingers press deeply into your shoulder and I feel the muscles and tension all at once. As I massage you, I watch your skin shift and move with my touch, as though you are molding your body around me just as you have molded your own life to not only take me in but also to teach me. How I am such a detriment to your privacy! But you do not complain and I simply cannot do so myself.
The droplets of water on you shine upon your hairless chest as your head moves back against my stomach so that you're more comfortable. Your hair, already wet, has no more gel within it so golden strands hang loose, illuminated by the soft light of the bathroom. I long to light candles around your bathtub just so I could admire your shadow dancing upon the wall or your skin tone as the flame weaves small, untraceable patterns upon your cheek and neck. You're so very soft to the touch, as though you bathe in moisturizer daily rather than water. Have you ever bathed in blood, Alex? I think you'd look ravishing laying within that pool, your skin dyed red and a few drops clinging onto your hair right before they plunge back into the morbid mess that surrounds you. Everyone clings to you, Alexander. Even while you're draining them of their life.
Your beauty nearly makes me weep. You can be so untouchable, even as I smooth out the tension of your upper back and then work my fingers around to your chest. Untouchable and cold as you recline in the hot water of the bath. I don't need to be here with you now, I don't need to be near you for you to relax. But you desire my company and I desire you, so it is here I must remain. The pain of being so close to your skin, to your neck, and not being able to touch my lips to you is dangerously sharp. I can feel the need for you so strongly and how I ache when I know that the feeling isn't mutual. You will never know the full scope of my desire, of my want, my need, my utter yearning for you. You will acknowledge them but you cannot understand them. How could you when you do not feel the same for me? Oh, I do know that you need me in your own way, but you've lived without me for so very long and can do so again. Whereas I did not truly know life until you took me with you.
Alexander, I hiss, going unnoticed and unheard as you sigh and your hairs are ticklish against my own bare skin, for you will not allow my clothing to be near your person when you are nude. They scratch your sensitive skin as you're so very used to silks and satins. Again, I am crude where you are delicate. Opposites attract, Alexander, and that cannot be any more accurate when it comes to you and I.
My hands trail down further, moving in circles against your skin as my heart races each time you breathe. I feel like I'm drowning in you and only you and I must lean down in order to go lower, my nose within your hairs. It itches me but I can only nuzzle against you as my eyes shut, for my hands are now under water and if you look at me, I'm so very fearful that you will see the tears forming. I want to touch you, I need to touch you, and the desire is powerfully overwhelming for me. I ache and I hurt and I only wish to please you if you'd let me.
Alex, Alex, Alex...would you let your starving child touch you? Would you let him feed by allowing him to inhale your presence? I don't need to bite, I promise I won't leave any marks. I promise I'll be good. Aren't I always good to you? Don't I want you so badly that I'd be willing to destroy any in my way? I cannot be given to any other. Not while you are still within my thoughts. Not while I have the memory of you so firmly implanted in my brain. Alex, Alex, let me touch you, let me pleasure you as a good boy can, and then I will be satisfied, I will be content, I will love you and adore you as you deserve.
Your hand closes over my own and I can finally breathe again in a sigh of relief and you, you moan as I touch you ever so gently and stroke so slowly, the way you taught me, the way you want it. My enthusiasm is hard to overcome but when it is between our pleasure, you will always be the one fulfilled. Your fingers dig into my hand as I go only a bit faster, squeezing gently, not wishing to hurt you, and you keep yourself from thrusting up into my hand. I think I hear you call my name. Can you say it? Can you? Oh, Alex, let me hear it...
"Klaus."
And I am fulfilled even as I give a quick twist at the end of each stroke, making you buck your hips up and force you to lose control, giving your trust over to me. Gods, Alex, what you do to me is nothing compared to what I try to do for you. I love you, I love you, my master. Let us finish this but let me savour you and your sounds and your delicious skin and the way you respond to my touch. I've done this for so long, practiced with you as my guide, my teacher, my mentor for so very long. I know how to make you feel good. I know your little quirks, your every move, I know you and I love you for everything you ever do for me and I love you so much I feel like I can just kiss you and you'd know everything...
You give a final thrust of your hips and I can feel you lose control, spilling your seed into the bathwater, baptizing your own bathtub and I have a sudden urge to lift my hand out of the water and lick it clean. Not dry, but clean but I don't. I just give you an additional squeeze before cleaning you as best I can. You'll be out of the bath soon now since you despise sitting in anything dirty.
"Klaus?"
Please, please, give me this moment of sheer luxury. Everything else pales to this time, the aftermath, the culmination of my efforts. Your kindness surprises me, Alexander. Your benevolence grasps me by the shoulders and shakes me hard until I'm nothing more than a weeping mass of foolishness that is kneeling upon your bathroom floor, my head buried upon your shoulder as my tears course down your soft skin.
"Klaus?"
Then you are shaking me and I can come back to my being, inspired and suddenly drained of everything. It is an emotional rollercoaster for me, Alex, to be given such a privilege by you. Oh, Alex, you've no idea and if you knew, perhaps you would not be so kind. So I must pull myself together and am standing once more before you. I have your towel in my hand and I wrap it about your waist after you step out of the bathtub, keeping my head bowed so that my tear tracks would not offend you. Yes, even the jester could still cry it would seem.
You do not acknowledge my weakness and I am grateful for that. I answer your questions in a quiet tone concerning the locksmith and what I have been doing while you were away. I cannot hide the truth and yet, I cannot tell you everything in fear of being seen as foolish. You take off your towel and move into bed. My hair is no longer carefully combed back and, instead, hangs loosely about my face and while I know you don't care for that look, I allow myself to stay as I am, changing into my own robe and shifting up to lay beside you.
Another display of benevolence is granted to me and I am allowed to watch as you lay back against the pillows, your features shifting into one of peacefulness and then of irritation.
"Get rid of your robe, Klaus. It's scratching me."
I clumsily undo the tie around the waist and hastily disregard my robe and you smirk as I shift my nude body against your own.
"I will have to get you a new one," you say to me and I contend that I like that one, for it was you who bought it for me long ago and I can only regard it as an extremely special possession, as I do with everything you get for me. For every trinket you come home with, I know that I am in your mind as you are in my own. I treasure your gifts almost as much as I treasure you. You know this and you seem to laugh even as your eyes shut. "You will have a better one." And that is the end of that.
I hold you close, almost afraid that you will leave once again. But you will not and rather than scoff at my paranoia, you simply shift your own arm around me and hold me to you. It takes me only seconds to flush at the nearness and the unexpected treat of having you touch me. Perhaps when we wake up, you will still be benevolent and indulge me with your hands all the more. I hope, I wish, I need...