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It had started simply, in their time together with the hansa (and didn't that feel like a lifetime ago) Geralt had become accustomed to the sound of Regis' voice. How could he not, with Regis constantly talking, at every waking moment and several ones that should be for sleeping. Still he didn't mind so much, the vampire had a cadence to his voice that, in the proper setting, could lull a chort to sleep.
Dandelion had at one time described to Geralt a certain style of writing particularly for sonnets, one that emphasized with the beating of a heart. Iambic...something. Anyway, it was supposed to capture the audience because the "music moved with them" or something. He didn't understand it then, because he could never find himself syncing up with it, it seemed too fast. He had totally forgotten about it for years as the bard moved away from sonnets and toward ballads.
Forgotten, until Regis. Though he talked quickly, and at great ( great ) length, it felt like he put pressure on every few words. When the witcher was meditating, he could tune out the chatter of his companions to a low hum. But with the vampire, the words had a steady thrum to them that melted the furrow between his brows, that lowered his shoulders.
And so it was that, even after he died, Geralt would sometimes fall asleep to the few remembered stories he had from their time together.
It was strange, it took him years longer to remember details about the other members of his group: Cahir's mournful eyes, or how Milva's face softened when she thought no one was looking. He hadn't been able to think of Angoulême's crooked grin until he had Ciri safe in his arms, with how much the two of them were alike. But almost right away, his mind turned to memories of Regis on hard nights.
--
For Dettlaff, it was quite different. Though he'd met Regis when they were in their youth, they had not spoken at length. Not to mention, the older vampire was a very different person when he was intoxicated, chattering away at stuff of minimal importance. Sticking to whatever kept the attention of a crowd rather than what he would find stimulating.
Much later in time, when fate or luck or sheer chance had brought them together again, Regis was unable to communicate. He was able to make simple noises about two years in, and by the fourth year he would wind himself trying to get out a few sentences. His voice was choppy, syllables often dropped by his raw throat, and it infuriated him. They had the bond, which they used quite a bit in the early years to convey the basics, but he knew that Regis thrived on nuance.
Yet every day he would push himself a little further, as invested in the development of speech as he was walking. Part of his practice was reading aloud, when Dettlaff was attending to the needs of the warren and wasn't there to converse with. After catching the younger vampire listening to him read a story of a siren turned human cover to cover, Dettlaff asked if he could be there while he read.
It began their nightly ritual. Regis would be propped up in bed, sometimes against his chest, sometimes with him curled against the smaller vampire's side. He would pick a book and begin reading, sipping honied tea occasionally for his throat. It was as if a spell would be cast of Dettlaff, he would settle almost the instant Regis began, eyes unfocusing and a purr beginning deep in his chest. He had this rhythm when he spoke that commanded everyone stop and listen, without ever being forceful, just guiding. Any time they were apart, sleep just never came as easy.
--
When the three of them began their...arrangement, there were many questions about how their routines could possibly blend together. Despite budding mutual interest and their shared love of Regis, the other two were nervous around each other. They would try to impress each other, which Regis assumed was normal for the beginning stages of courting. But leave it to his lovers to take it too seriously. They were both serious men, after all.
Today was one such day. The both of them, driven by nesting instinct and the healthy sport of competition, had tried to out-handyman each other. The estate had all of its serious repairs done when Geralt moved in, but there were quite a few more minor issues that had accumulated in the old property.
He had sat on the bench at the front of the house as the two of them criss-crossed the grounds in search of things to fix. Geralt had dug new rows in the herb garden, saying it needed to expand now that Regis was living there. Dettlaff had cut and installed some new shingles, claiming that a few were rotted through. It was all very amusing, how similar the two of them were. He supposed this meant he had a type, but he couldn't be bothered to care.
Eventually, he got tired of being pulled in different directions to look at their latest projects, and announced he was going to retire to their room for a bit to relax. What he did not expect was for the both of them to fall in step behind him, trailing wordlessly to their quarters.
In the room was a very full, very disorganized bookshelf. Many of his tomes were still in the cemetery, but he had brought a few with him to add to Geralt's nonsensical collection. He gave pause as he entered, looking over the titles. He wasn't sure what he wanted to read until a thin, gold and orange spine caught his eye. He slipped it out from between two large books on the life cycle and temperments of archespores and looked it over. The Lion Princeling , it read, in swooping font. He recalled reading it some decades ago, it would be perfect light reading for an afternoon doze.
Turning, he saw Geralt already stretched out on the bed, while Dettlaff had been peering over his shoulder at the books. Seeing that Regis had selected one, his crystal blue eyes flicked up to his own black ones.
"Would you like me to read to you?" He asked the other vampire, and was surprised when both he and Geralt answered yes.
They looked at each other a moment, his two mates. Both had sheepish looks on their face, like wanting to listen to a story was something embarrassing. He supposed that maybe to some it was, but no one would dare insinuate that to the powerful beings in front of him. He smiled, fully, without hiding his teeth like he had to usually. Despite the newness of this romance, they were all safe to be who they were with each other.
"Oh, alright. Dettlaff, dear, climb in bed too." He requested. His dark-haired love crawled into bed easily, settling in with some hesitation next to Geralt, who pressed close to him. Alarm passed on the vampire's face for a moment before settling again into tentative comfort. It would take a long time for him to heal fully from Syanna's betrayal, Regis mused, but he had come so far already. Pride swelled in his chest.
Regis sat with his back against the headboard and his leg along Dettlaff's flank. He cracked open the book and began to read steadily. The book itself was simple enough, and the themes of family, destiny, and revenge were familiar enough to be relevant while fantastical enough to not rub salt in any wounds.
He had lost himself in the story when he felt, then heard, vibrations next to him. Dettlaff's eyes were half-lidded as he gazed into middle distance at nothing, his hands squeezing and letting go of the blanket rhythmically as he purred. Geralt was wide-eyed, he hadn't yet experienced this level of comfort from the other vampire, though Regis had purred around him a few times. He watched the witcher roll onto his side toward Dettlaff and tuck himself under one arm. This roused the vampire out of his trance, and his purring slowed until he looked at the distraction. When he realized it was Geralt, his purring kicked up again, harder this time. Geralt took this as an invitation, and slung an arm over the taller man's chest.
Regis had almost forgotten about the book entirely, so enraptured in the sweet exchange of affection in front of him. To watch the two people he loved most in this world learn to love each other, it was a blessing he didn't think he'd ever be worthy of. He etched the moment in his mind, before turning back to the book.
--
When not a single one of the gentlemen of the house came in for dinner, Marlene placed her hands on her hips and frowned. It wasn't like them to be late. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen them since the early afternoon. She walked around the house, not finding them anywhere. Finally, she came to their bedroom door. She knocked gingerly, not wanting to interrupt anything...private. when no noise came, she cracked the door ever so slightly and peeked in.
All three of them were in bed. Geralt and the charming, shy new arrival were curled up together, dead to the world. Master Regis was asleep too, leaned against the headboard with a book open face down on his lap. He had the smallest smile on his otherwise slack face. She closed the door slowly, and stepped back to smooth the pleats on her apron. It seems they'd be taking their supper later.