Chapter Text
There's the drumming of storms raging outside, it's been going on for hours now yet Vlad Dracula Tepes doesn't mind, and with how his wife's hand is tenderly clasped in his, their shoulders brushing together, he finds that he doesn't want it to cease.
He flips idly through the page of his book, the aged paper smelling of sandlewood and wax, eyes drifting lazily on the words, skipping a few repeated phrases in their dialogue and strokes the knuckles of his wife's hand, abstentminded.
Lisa leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder, gazing at the faint raindrops racing down the window a few feet away from them. The thunder crackles, lightning sparking down and splitting the sky. None of them flinch, well accustomed to gloomy weather.
Vlad is content, just to read here, feel the warmth of her by his side, to finish a few more chapters until he can set it down and lay his head on her lap; until he can feel the brush of her fingertips against his scalp.
A surge of bliss captures his heart, and he turns his head to find his wife quietly watching the rain, eyes sinking down to the gentle curve of her pink lips.
He closes the covers then, heart impatient, setting the book down and turning his body to face her completely, now free hands gently grasping her wrist, turning it over and massaging the faint lines of her veins.
At his sudden but not unexpected caress, Lisa hums, tilting her head up to subtly brush her lips against his jaw.
"Woman," he murmurs, closing his eyes, "have I ever told you how grateful I am to call you mine?"
"Hm," she grins, sky blue eyes sparkling like champagne, "not at all, dear husband."
Vlad feels himself chuckle, hands drifting up to frame her face. "Perhaps I should remind you again then, wife."
With that, he traps her lips in his, gently stroking the curls of her golden hair down, tracing the skin of her shoulder down to her waist.
She smiles against his kiss, leaning forward and looping arms around his neck, the cowlicks of her locks tickling his face.
Their kiss is gentle, tender, and when it ends, Vlad presses his forehead to hers and pushes their noses against each other, his hand cradling her head close.
His wife only traces a trail up his nape, thimble fingertips skimming against his cold skin and he breathes a breath out softly, opening eyes that were closed and staring at the blue pigment in her iris, unspoken affection gleaming in his crimson eyes.
Her lips press against his nose, brushing against the tip of it as she laughs breathlessly. "Not going to finish your book anytime soon?"
"No," he says quietly, tucking a strand of gold betwixt her ear, his mouth quirking upwards into something akin to mischief, "I'd rather finish you."
It's a poor line, and with the snort of pity he receives from her, half-fond, half endearing with sympathy, Lisa knows it too. "You are so very saddening," she tells him dotingly, grinning like the same sun that is covered by the storm clouds outside, "but I would like to start something this evening."
He raises a brow, adopting a curious look. "Oh?"
She rises to her feet, a hand enclosed around the fabric of her dress slightly as she looks at him with all the playfullness of a pup. "Dance with me."
He blinks, taken aback; then Vlad laughs, fangs shining under the warm light of their castle. "No, dear, absolutely not."
"Come on now," Lisa pouts childishly, taking his hands in hers, warming the back of his palms, "I know for a fact that you can dance."
"And you are correct," he manages, holding her as she stares at him pleadingly, mouth opening again to add into his statement when she suddenly tugs him forward, away from the safety of his seat, only managing to silently mouth, "but -"
Pitter-patter goes the rain above their heads, Dracula can picture it in his mind, the droplets of water dancing on the roof of their home, bouncing away to different directions, the rhythm leading the storm into a catastrophic melody.
He, right now, thinks himself unable to copy their familiar movement, and his dead heart does not have the boldness to tell her he hasn't danced in millenia.
"Darling," Vlad says carefully as he is pulled to his beloved, finding himsef unable to fight his woman with her thin and delicate fingers intertwined with his as she leads him, his bicep firmly grasped in her free hand, the heels of his feet shuffling over the floor, "I do not like this."
"You'll be fine," Lisa smiles to herself - stubborn, staring at their bare feet on the carpet, "stand across from me, and place your hand behind my upper back."
Even with all the centuries he's lived without her, even after only being married to her for a few months or so - even after being blessed to her for more than two years - he's completely helpless when it comes to his wife's requests. The Count would never have thought he would be so willing to do as a human pleases.
Such a thing would be dancing. Slowly. As men do.
Only because she asks it of him, Vlad does as she says, touch feather-soft, ready to retract for the possibility that he's done it wrong. Which instead she only smiles at approvingly. He is not afraid, but he is dumbfounded, clumsy as a fawn when she hauls him closer, muscles awkward and useless, the long-forgotten memory of a waltz taunting him.
"Good," she hums, holds his hand up just so their elbows are levelled with their shoulders. "Now shift your right foot a little to the left."
Vlad follows, allowing just the upturn of his lips. "I beg of you," he says, half-hearted as much as it is internally desperate, just as she lays her hand on his shoulder, "let us just return to our previous spots and cosset there."
"Cosset?" Lisa echoes with a chiming laugh, grasping his hand tighter. "Is this not how we could also cosset?"
"It would be more delightful," he reasons, a flutter in his chest as she presses her body to his, "if I could do it properly."
"Exactly why I am," she smiles, presses a fleeting kiss to his mouth, "teaching you."
He sighs as he gives in to her, down from his stomach as he gently ghosts his lips to her forehead. "Must you be so obstinate?"
"When it comes to you," she grins, pecking his cheek, "yes."
Vlad gives her a fond look, caving into the deep ocean of her eyes. "Teach me then, Lisa of Lupu."
"What is a dance," she presses herself against him more firmly, and his hand tightens on her back, "without music?"
He grins, and with only his will - and magic, she supposes - music, soft and tender and slow accompanies them in their home.
Even though he is in the position of leader - at least he assumes he is, she is the one to guide his steps, carefully moving against the floor, she is the one to look into his eyes and draw him into another kiss. He wraps his cloak around her after he's done twirling her around, marvelling at the way her hair flows behind her.
As they sway and dance gently in the quiet evening, Vlad hums along with the music and thinks, this is worth so much more than knowledge.