DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

AND Dracula – Bram Stoker

CASTLES IN THE AIR

SEVEN

1897

Tell me of your work," Vladimir asked, the entire contents of my satchel spread out before him on the floor. "Why do you use such strange tools?"

I did not know, then, that this would be the beginning of our end together. I might not have answered if I did.

Instead, I answered readily:

"I use these tools to map the world."

"Why?" he pressed, turning metal instruments over in his hands. I smiled down at him from my perch, lying on my stomach at the edge of the bed. I wanted to reach out and touch him.

I always wanted to be touching him.

"Because it must be done, of course."

"Does it?" he challenged. His red eyes captured me. "Knowledge is the murder of mystery, you know. And mystery is the romance of the world."

"It is always better to know than to not know."

Vladimir put down the tools and rose to his knees in front of me. "Would you know me, my dear scholar?" he whispered against my lips.

"I have known you," I teased, stealing a kiss. He laughed; such a beautiful sound.

"But would you know all of my mysteries," he purred, forcing me back into a sitting position as he crawled seductively onto the bed. "Or, would you leave me a mystery unknown? Will you learn all of my secrets and then lose interest in me? Will you leave for better puzzles again and again until the whole world has been solved?"

He was in front of me now, his legs folded under him and his hands resting on my thighs. He leant in toward me.

I slid a hand through his hair, cupping the side of his head, and said: "I fear I will never lose interest in you."

"Why do you fear it?"

I froze at his words, and for a moment I did not know why. Then my heart began to pound and, suddenly, I did know—of course I did. How could I not, for it was my single greatest fear. But I did not want to voice it. I did not want to give it substance. And I did not what Vladimir to know. I tried to keep it a secret, but as I gazed helplessly into his ruby eyes, I knew that I was a man caught in a lie. Something between us compelled me to speak, the words falling out of my mouth before I could reconsider:

"I fear it, because I do not think you will let me stay here forever," I said in regret. "Even if I asked it of you."

Vladimir's golden eyelashes fell against his cheeks, closing his eyes. He angled his head into my touch, and, gently, confirmed my fear:

"No, I will not. But you would not like to stay, Boris."

"I would—"

"You belong in the world," he interrupted, softly but sternly. "I do not.

"I would not like you to resent me for this isolation," he said, opening his eyes and shifting his weight. "I do not want you to regret lost opportunities, or your aging mortality, because I will not make you the undead, Boris. I will not take your life and shackle you here. My mind is quite unchangeable in that, you know it is. You doubt the gravity of eternity because it is inconceivable to you, but you would not like it here with me, I promise."

"Vladimir—"

"Let us be grateful for this time together and never forget and never resent. Let this be our castle in the air, my dear, where we may enjoy each other, and love each other, and remember it all as a wonderful dream."

"If this is a dream," I told him honestly, trying desperately to convey my deepest emotions, "then I do not want to wake up."

"I know," he said, taking my hand. He rubbed his fingertips over mine. "But you must go, Boris. Dreams are sweet only because of their fragility, just as your mortality is. Only things that end are truly precious."

"I will end someday and you will not," I translated his words.

"I will end," he said, "but it will be my choice to do so. That is the difference between you and I, the only true difference. But," he added, seeing my sorrow, "even if my end is far in the future, I will never forget you, my precious, imperfect mortal man. I do love you too, Boris. And I do understand your fear, but you must also understand mine."

"Yours—?"

Vladimir's look was vulnerable as he pressed my hand to his cheek, as though he would cry if only he could.

"My greatest fear," he confessed, never taking his eyes off of mine, "is that my love will kill you if you stay."

1897

The days and nights rolled over as ever, but time felt fast and fleeting now, like it hadn't since our first night together.

"Boris, you are dying here," Vladimir said in sorrowful regret. "You must leave me before you can no longer do so."

"You want me to go?"

"I want you to live. I want you to fulfill your dreams, see the world, fall in love."

"I am in love—"

He pressed his cold hand to my mouth, silencing me. He would not tell me he loved me again, no matter how much I yearned to hear it.

The torchlight reflected in his ruby eyes, revealing his great age to me in the briefest glimmer. In them, I saw the wisdom of centuries, as well as the sadness.

"I do not want to see the world without you. I am afraid of it now," I admitted, pulling down his wrist. I took his hand and squeezed it. "Come with me," I begged.

"I cannot. I am bound to this place."

"But you don't have to be. We can take your coffin and the dirt of your grave and smuggle it all into the hold of a ship and sail away together. We don't have to be apart. There are ways, I will find them—"

"Oh, Boris," he said in pity, "listen to yourself."

"But—"

"Please," he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine, "don't tempt me. I belong here and you do not. You must accept that. Do not marginalize my feelings for you. Do not make light of my request and think it is not painful for me to see you go. Had I a beating heart in my chest it would be aching now, and I am selfishly glad I do not, else the pain of letting you go would cripple me. But to stay here is your death, my mortal man, and I cannot watch that. I will not. So, you must go, for both of our sakes."

"Vladimir, I love you."

"You will love again."

"I will not."

"Yes," he chuckled softly, sadly, "you will, for you were not born to be alone in this world, Boris Bookamooka. You will find a love to span your own lifetime, not mine, and you will be happier for it. Find someone with whom you can live and love with no regrets."

I took his face in my hands and kissed him deeply, his tongue like silk upon my lips. "I will never regret you," I vowed, kissing him again.

"Boris, you have given me something truly precious to cherish for all the days of my future."

"I love you."

"I know, my dearest. And that is why you must leave."

I knew why he warned me to leave the castle, for his thirst was becoming more and more difficult to assuage. He took greedily from me, and, by this time, he needed much to satisfy his need. Even as I glutted myself each night on him, so too did my human body quench the thirst of a vampire. Every time he fed on my lifeblood I wanted him more, and, for my sake, he tried to want me less, but his intentions were futile. He was a hungry predator and I was his willing prey, and I was slowly but certainly dying because of it.

My mother often said that it is an unhappy party when pride and stupidity join in company. I heard her wise advice in my mind that night. I knew it was true, and I knew that I had become proud stupidity incarnate, willing to sacrifice my life for my lord's pleasure, but I did not care. Try as I might, I could not bring myself to care, too addicted to the drug that was Vladimir's love.

Perhaps it was luck, or fate, or divine intervention then, that we were soon after found and attacked.