A/N: I have to confess, this all took a really unexpected turn. It's not at all where I thought this thing would be going, and it's even more confusing because I'm not even that much into Krolock/Alfred, but that's what this thing is turning out to be more or less. I guess it all just got away from my hands and the story wrote itself. What's more, I actually sort of even like this. Hope you do too! Rating: T. Pairing: Krolock/Alfred
He should probably have seen it coming all along. Not that there were signs to warn him beforehand, because the older vampire was usually rather reserved when it came to that sort of things – even with Sarah. Then again, it wasn't love what he had with her, and that was the reason Alfred could bear her occasionally sharing the Count's sarcophagus. Enough of his old self seemed to have survived, to have him care of such thing so much.
But he and the Count were the same, so perhaps it was always just a question of time. In any case, when you're a vampire, who is to better understand your longings than another of your own kind?
It happens one night, when Herbert has Sarah out for hunting. Not out of wanting to spend any time with her, but mostly because her restlessness has worn his patience so thin that in the end he actually decides to go and hunt with her himself, just to "make her shut up", like he says. And so Alfred is left alone with the Count.
He finds the older vampire in the sitting room, staring out of the window, and all he intends is to ask if he could go out too, maybe find something to drink or just to enjoy the quiet night. It's not that young vampires are explicitly forbidden from going out (as long as they keep the peace between the castle and the village) – Alfred just somehow feels it's needed. That might just be a remnant of his old life, where he were used to having to ask permission for every thing.
When the vampire turns around, there's weariness about his eyes and face, more than Alfred has ever seen before, and for some reason it breaks his heart. He hates to see such heavy melancholy on his blood-kin's face, and a part of him can't decide if it's because it reflects his own or because he thinks he's seeing his own future there.
Maybe his request shines clearly on his face, or maybe Krolock just reads his mind, but he talks before Alfred can even say anything.
"You can drink from me."
And before Alfred can even feel particularly surprised, he's already taking of his jacket and undoing the cravat around his neck, exposing the pale skin for the younger vampire, and it's not something he can reject. He has seen the Count sometimes offering his wrist for those he favours, but never his neck, and suddenly Alfred trembles with anticipation. Having bitten Sarah numerous times on her neck, he knows just how pleasurable it is... There's something special about biting another vampire, although Alfred can't explain why or how.
Krolock sits down in an armchair, in shirtsleeves with his fine coat hung over the back of the chair, and beckons Alfred with a swift movement of his hand. The younger vampire obeys, and although he's supposed to be the one drinking here, he doesn't feel like he's in control. Instead, he feels somehow vulnerable as he approaches the Count. This is not happening out of his volition, but because the older vampire allows it: Alfred is still the underling, and Krolock the master.
For a moment, he hesitates in the front of the sitting man, knowing the only comfortable way to do this is to sit down in Krolock's lap. He looks cautiously at the Count, who only nods quietly. Touching him in such manner doesn't seem right; he seems to be beyond such things, always too far away even if he's physically right there. Alfred gathers his courage and finally settles down on Krolock's lap.
The older vampire's face remains impassive, making it impossible for Alfred to figure what he might be thinking. He still hasn't learned to read minds, but apparently that is nothing to be worried of: these things take time. Herbert says: "Even with Vati's bloodline, you need to learn to walk before you can run."
After final moment of hesitation, Alfred presses his mouth against the older vampire's neck. It's cool and smooth, just like he would have expected, and for one second, he just enjoys the feel of the bare skin under his lips, the delicious expectation just before that moment when the hunger will be briefly satisfied. Then his vampiric senses take over and he sinks his fangs in the Count's flesh.
Filtered through Krolock's veins, the blood tastes like night and the moon and velvet and winter, and it's even more pleasurable than Alfred expected; it's almost as if he could taste the very passing of time and the summers and thunderstorms and touches hundreds of years ago, almost see faces of people long gone and love them like the Count once had. He latches on the wound he has just made and drinks deeply, very nearly seeing stars as the blood runs down his throat and fills him. Stopping is hard, but he is able to do it with some firm coaxing from the older vampire, and when he licks the last drops from the wound, he realizes that the Count's arms have sneaked around him while he were drinking. At first, he freezes in confusion and wonders what to do, but then he pulls back just a little, so that he can meet Krolock's eyes. Something is moving in those deep pools of dark grey and he's mesmerized by it, so he just sits there staring.
"Was it good?" the Count asks quietly.
"I've never tasted anything quite like it", Alfred mumbles, sligthly light-headed, and the older vampire smiles. This time, his smile is without sadness.
Not saying another word, he kisses Alfred's bloodstained mouth clean.