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The night is calm and cold, and alas, the castle is warmed by the fireplace, of which Roman lounges by alongside his beloved. Virgil sits upon a plush black chair, feet resting upon the seat and knees tucked under Roman’s. He leans over so that be may be closer to his lover. With one hand, he reads a book, and with the other, his long nails scratch the scalp of Roman, who lays in the other’s lap, half napping. His legs dangle over Virgil’s, face pressed against his faintly warm breast, arms limp and partially wrapped around his own waist.
Roman’s eyebrows knit over his face, skin glowing with freshly killed blood, his flesh radiating heat and ensuring that Virgil stay warm. A thought comes to his dazed mind. Virgil has taught him much, all he knows in fact. And alas, he never speaks of his own experience. Only that, in come cases, certain experiences may feel different for different vampires. In fact, Roman was occasionally the one to teach him this, often feeling something so deeply different from Virgil that it sparked a minor squabble (Virgil is just stubborn, but he’s come around). The taste of the blood he fed on just hours prior remains in his mouth— that bitter copper that he adores so. What a convenient starting question.
“How does feeding feel for you?” He asks softly, peering up at Virgil, who turns his attention to Roman and draws a bit closer.
“It is just as eating.” He says simply. Virgil has always been so apprehensive about feeding on humans… Roman did expect such an avoidant answer. He shakes his head no, a hand coming up to rest upon the junction between Virgil’s neck and shoulder.
“No, no. Like… your heart— your soul. What’s it like? I want to know.” Roman’s voice is sultry whisper. A voice that indeed persuades Virgil so. This they both know well. Virgil chews his lip with his front teeth for a moment, thinking.
“Horrid.” He murmurs out after a moment, nose scrunching. “Well, I am not immune to bloodlust. No, all vampires experience that… from what I’ve read. Ah… but… I find the life flowing into me is… overwhelming. I feel as though that, with each life I take, I take their regrets too. That must be why I do not like to feed.” Virgil sighs against Roman’s auburn hair. “But killing is my nature— death is the fabric that weaves the vampire.”
“You’re so poetic,” Roman muses, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against Virgil’s lips. “hence why I adore you so.” He takes great pleasure in watching as his darling’s cheeks turn a faint pink. More than usual tonight.
“Ah, no, poetry is your thing… I’m no good at it, not at all.” Virgil murmurs softly, his cheek pressing against the other’s. “I would like to hear your response to the same question.”
Roman contemplates this for a few moments. “Art. Sweet, forbidden art. Deep red rouge and forgotten poems and wine. And sex— the kind that fills your head with warmth and fuzzies all your senses. The feeling of you and your lover becoming one, if only for an hour. Do you understand? It feels like hot fire in my veins, and, oh! how cold I was!” Yes, it’s all Roman could have wanted. It’s the addictive indulgence and decadence and freedom he craved in his human life.
“You ought to write books, darling. Publish them, I mean.” Virgil murmurs, shoving his face further into the softly curled hair that spills over Roman’s soft neck, pressing a gentle kiss into the skin.
“Oh, no. Writing is your thing.” Roman teases, tilting his head back for Virgil. He would rather not suffocate his beloved in his thick hair. “How come you can write novels, but not poetry?”
“I just… observe and store things,” Virgil begins to explain. “and you do as well. But you… turn things into gorgeous metaphors, painted with long, ethereal strokes. I don’t understand how you can do it.” He peers up at Roman, who laughs softly in response.
“Oh, I’m just a dreamer I guess. You ought to be glad for that.” He turns to press a kiss against Virgil’s head. “That’s why I’m here. …Rest now. I can tell you’re weary. I shall be here when you awake.” Virgil, unwilling to argue, nods his head and curls up tighter against Roman. He no longer has such issues falling asleep. Not with Roman by his side. And the other falls asleep in Virgil’s arms too, eventually. By the warm fireplace, surrounded by only the sound of their own breath