Chapter Text
The world of Vampires wasn't for everyone. Humans found their behaviours and ways obscene and strange. And in the fear of their ignorance, they sought to destroy and undermine what they could never truly understand. And for this, it was the main reason as to why vampires hide away from human kind.
While they were creatures once in kind with man, their new abilities and senses could not be shared and indulged with one another.
But there were still some who would try. After all, to expand one's coven and influence was to take in and give the gifts of these sensations to a human, bring them into the fold and grant them the eternal comfort and connection of a coven. To some, humans were just fledglings in waiting.
Owen read over the scripts again, curiosity mounting as Louis' fingers gently tugged at his hair, curling and twisting it into place. A feeling of bemusement tickled his mind, a feeling not of his own making and surprising him yet again. A wash of comfort, as though it were physical touch, warmed him with reassurance and coated over. Followed were the true sensation in Louis holding his cheeks and kissing the top of his head. Owen grimaced at the touch. Still his own body recoiled despite his desires to receive the affection Louis enjoyed delivering. Though, as the connection in their minds was quid pro quo, Owen had some relief in Louis' knowing his want without the burden of his body displaying otherwise.
Water sloshed behind him and Louis hummed as he wetted a new section. Owen closed the book and bracing for the sharp tugs of the brush, though they never came. Louis was gentle in his grooming, more than Owen was himself.
As a human, the lumberjack couldn't stand the feeling of his hair as he worked. The strands clumping in unseemly ways, frizzing on the top of his head despite the oils making the hair look perpetually damp. He always tied it back and up to keep from falling into his face, but without a barber willing to help him manage the mess, it only worsened with mats and debris. The river never fully washed it clean. And despite his want in its length, years ago, Owen took one of his blades and cut it all off in rage. The mess was bloody from terrible aim and his numb, fumbling fingers.
Louis helped him maintain it now, but there were mornings Owen couldn't help but see the horrible matted clumps from before. Clumps impossible to brush out. He would feel a need to chop it all off again. However, doing so would mean fully sacrificing his natural hair length as it could never grow again.
"You know you can ask me any questions you have about this new life," Louis said. "I know everything is a lot to take in, but I will be here for you, to guide you."
Owen's mind couldn't stop from racing away with scepticism. "Will you?" Forever? Will he let Owen stay? Will he decide to stay and not leave out of disgust, believing Owen had infected the palace he called home? He wouldn't rather gather all his staff for a new town and leave Owen behind in the middle of the night for the lumberjack to awake in an enormous manor filled with a crushing and haunting silence?
His mind washed away the anticipation of a profound loneliness with an insistent and ever pressing blanket of comfort. Unspoken memories of Louis holding him in the nest throughout the nights and mornings, reminding him of Louis' unrelenting devotion shrouded him. He is not alone. He would never be alone — ever again.
His mind attempted to grasp onto a reminder of his old pain, an attempt to warn against such affection, determined to find a lie in those thoughts. But as Louis' hand brushed over his arm, his touch added warmth to the duvet muffling his mind. His work paused, the sire wrapping their arms around their fledgling, holding him as though he were something too precious to let go. With the connection between them intensified, for a brief moment Owen believed it. He took his arm, and gave a small squeeze in thanks.
"Sorry," Owen said after a few silent moments. "I shouldn't have doubted you."
Louis continued to cradle him, his thumb offering soft repeated stroke. A subtle affection, yet fulfilling a primal want inside of him. "I have no qualms with your doubts, Owen. Only with you keeping them from me so we can dispel their incessant presence."
His doubts on that statement tried to surface so as to voice a sarcastic remark but was quickly squandered by Louis' comforter playfully clouding it away. Owen's brows pinched, and Louis chuckled.
"You need practice, Love. Your thoughts are wild and carry away from you quicker than you can keep up."
"They're only thoughts," Owen said weakly. "It's not that important."
Louis' grip tightened. He could feel the duvet weigh in further, leaving his senses weak and perception beyond the vanity difficult to feel as real. His sire and his upset were the only thing around him. But as quickly as it came, the hooded world was lifted. Though his Sire's warmth still cottoned his mind.
"Your doubts and thoughts are what shape your perception of the world. What you feed your thoughts, feeds the mind's eyes."
Owen frowned, looking at the book in his hand. He knew as much. He'd not been a philosopher, but he could understand that concept well enough. It had taken Louis years to break through the internal chants of the Village whispers and taunts. Whispers and Taunts buried under the warm comforter, but ever present. It was part of his human life, the echoes of his old internal processes.
"And if your mind's eye sees yourself in a certain way. Your body reacts to those thoughts, as your body is the material connection to the mind, and your mind expressed into the material."
"I'm aware of this," Owen said. "We've had many discussions over dinner about mind and body, and body and mind. And they still give me a headache."
Louis purred, pulling away to return to his hair. Owen smiled, feeling his warmth in and on his skull. The mirror didn't catch either of their expressions, though by his hairs flips and twists -and the blanket holding his head above water, the fledgling was secure in his sire's delight.
"Perhaps we should discuss it again," Louis mused. "Busy your head and keep it from that terrible habit of rumination. Maybe some Plato or Aristotle."
"Good God, don't. I'd rather have my brain fall out."
Louis' laughter brightened the room, curling up something deep in Owen's chest. "I only want to fill your head with knowledge —"
"I prefer my head empty."
His chuckle was gentle like a summer breeze. "No. You prefer me in your head," he said, leaning over his shoulder for a silk ribbon. His cheek against his own was ice cold, but his touch was like a cosy hearth.
"It's that a crime I wasn't aware of?" Owen said, his senses basking in the hold of his sire.
Louis took his time as he finished up his work. "Of course not," he said, pulling the finished braid over his shoulder, and following up by draping his arms as well, his cheek on his head. "I enjoy your company too."
Again, memories of a tearful, shaking, backing away Louis haunted him before his sire curtained them away. Fingers combed his band, grounding him back to the vanity, back to his touch.
"I do," he said, despite Owen's grimace. "I couldn't ask for a better companion to spend the rest of my days with. You are perfect. Even with an empty head."
Owen smiled, feeling Louis' brightness seep through him. He held onto his arm, pressing it closer to kiss. "Thank you."
Louis leaned down, delivering a kiss with a pressing warmth secured in his mind, whispering I love you, in all ways.
Owen returned the kiss and any lingering barriers surrendered to his gift.
I love you, forever and in all ways.