Embracing a new life

Chapter 10: Masters

(17th century)

“Bow?” Andreji asked with contempt in his deep voice. “To thin air?”

“Just do as I tell you.”

They stood in the meadow, an hour’s walk from the next village, and Alaric was growing impatient. He was made of hard wood, yet he had never met anyone as rigid as this wannabe-loner. How could anyone still talk back at him after he had almost been killed by him twice? Admittedly, the last occasion had been an act of rashness, of fury, not of reason. He had felt compelled to actually share his blood with the idiot to ensure he stayed alive. Alaric’s fingers itched merely from the sight of the young man. It was there, it was in him, so close… -and Alaric could not reach it because this stupid bumpkin blandly refused to follow his orders. Clear, simple, unmistakeable orders. What was so difficult about it? Such a talent – wasted. Alaric felt violent energy well up in him. Was the scar he had given the blond not reminder enough that refusal was dangerous?

“Why?” Andreji again talked back. That fool hardly ever uttered a word but given a command, he could suddenly talk his head off. Why was Alaric even bothering?

Because the stubborn git was the most talented man he had met in his whole lifetime - himself excluded, of course.

“Because I tell you to, for heaven’s sake!” Great, now he was actually making him talk in Christian vocabulary, the pagan. “If you know what is good for your own hide, you will start doing as I say, the way any person with the slightest trace of intelligence would!” He started marching over the rain sodden ground towards his inferior, his body posture a clear threat.

Not that the blond was intimidated in the slightest.

“Your reasoning lacks logic, old man,” he countered. “Why should I blindly follow the mindless commands of a person that is unable to resolve its disputes with anything but threats and violence?” Andreji was walking towards him as well, cold disdain dripping from his tongue. He stopped inches from Alaric, looking down on him derogatory. “You do not honestly expect me to trust or even respect you for using your vampire power against a man not a quarter of your age, do you?”

That was too much for the smaller, yet superior man. He lunged out to smack Andreji’s jaw to pieces for the impudence that had erupted from it.

The younger one had expected the move, however, and was bending his upper body back, at the same time putting forth his left leg and driving it sideward into Alaric’s legs. That move would not have managed to unbalance an experienced fighter like him, had it not been for the wet, slippery grass. With a splashing thud he landed on his back, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs. This moment of surprise was enough for Andreji to swiftly turn him onto his stomach and pin him to the floor with the sheer weight of his body – his one physical advantage over the otherwise superior leech. He ripped off the short sword that hung on a belt around Alaric’s hips and examined it while the owner struggled beneath him.

“You will not even have the time to regret this before I end your miserable existence,” Alaric hissed. He had not been degraded like this in centuries.

“That is a very elaborate piece of work. Where did you get it?” the blond asked as if they were sitting amicably together. “Northern Italy, I would say, although the shaft has been reworked by a smith that obviously did not know what he was doing.” He laid it on his index finger and it plumped ungraciously to the floor. “No wonder you did not manage to strike me deadly; the balance is off.”

“Do not worry. I will manage to kill you without it,” Alaric promised, his voice was rough, thick with his anger.

“I could right that for you.”

“You will not have sufficient time for that.”

Andreji chuckled. “You really cannot bear the idea that anyone does not accept your authority without question, can you? That someone might like to think for himself…”

“You? Think?” Alaric demanded spitefully.

“Imagine that. Even a bumpkin like me desires to know why he is supposed to do something before he does it.”

“And to tell me this you sacrifice your life?”

Andreji watched the moonlight as it was reflected on the blade. “Honestly,” he spoke with a subdued voice, “I would rather lose my life than hand the decision of what its purpose should be over to another person. Kill me, but do not expect me to play your lapdog. That is not in my nature.”

There was no reply to that statement.

After a few moments of silence, Andreji threw the sword as far away as he managed and let go of Alaric. As was to be expected, he was immediately attacked.

After a brief skirmish, he was thrown to the floor, the rain soaking his clothes and Alaric dropping on top of him, a hand at his throat. “Fine,” he hissed, his eyes wide, his voice a low growl, “I will aim to explain things from now on, but you will pay me the respect that befits my rank!” His hand closed dangerously around Andreji’s neck.

They held each other’s gazes, Alaric’s eyes glowing with rage, Andreji’s face schooled into careful neutrality with a trace of defiance. Eventually, Alaric let go.

Andreji had taken a thorough bath in the river the following night. He did not want to reek of the other vampire. It was a trick that Demyan had taught him, pleading with him to always take care of the smell that stayed behind on his body so it would never be accidentally discovered that Demyan had a fledgling even though his own master neither knew anything about him nor would have allowed Demyan to have one. When it came to his maker, Demyan could grow quite paranoid. Andreji often laughed at him for his gutlessness. If he despised his master so much that he already led a second life behind his back, then why not leave him for good? Furthermore, it seemed that Demyan’s master lived far away – how likely was it that he came to this area, stumbled over Andreji, and noticed Demyan’s scent on him?

As to the bath – Andreji was not inclined to let Demyan know about his other bloodsucking ‘acquaintance’. It was none of Demyan’s business. It might even be better for Demyan’s own good. As long as he remained in the background, Alaric did not seem to be bothered by him. He hardly asked about Andreji’s maker. Yet Andreji was certain that Alaric had a special interest in him, one that he would not suffer to be disturbed by a competitor. And without any doubt Alaric was superior to Demyan. If Demyan detected that Andreji was tutored by another vampire and sprouted the entirely insane idea that he needed to defend his rightful place as Andreji’s ‘master’ (the blond could only sneer at that), he would probably be in mortal danger. No matter how annoyed Andreji sometimes was with the man, he was also a welcome distraction at times and a rare constant in his life. It would be inconvenient to lose him.

When the late evening breeze that was still quite warm at the end of summer had dried his skin and hair, he went to town. He was just contemplating to seek out the brothel where he was acquainted to some blood selling ladies when he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Demyan walk up to him.

He beamed. “I had hoped to find you here. You are not making it easy for me. Murtagh is always questioning me why my travels take so long…”

Andreji lifted his brows in indifference. “I was just going to take a drink. Care to join me?”

Demyan agreed.

Whorehouses were special places. Places in which women accepted that they were the sex objects as which they were regarded by men anyway. Places in which they were eager to fulfil a man’s perverted fantasies without any judgement. Places far from reality. Andreji had to admit, though, that he was not enjoying the idea of being where half a dozen men had been before him that evening. If he had had to choose between the common woman that had hard work to do all day and was too tired to show much sexual interest for her husband in the evening and the woman that was specialised in pleasing him roughly but effectively, he would have chosen the common woman. In her he at least had a chance of awakening an as yet unknown lust. With her he was a man. He liked the hunt. Taking what was available to every coward who dared not approach his own wife did not excite him.

Still, Andreji was a regular guest in the brothels of the towns he thrived in due to his never ceasing hunger. It was an often used food source for blood suckers. Not every lady was willing to donate, of course. The average street walker was easier to persuade than the lady who did well in her business and was never hard-pressed for money.

A flock of ladies surrounded them as they entered the establishment (Andreji had to duck his head as he stepped through the door). The one who had served Andreji on previous occasions immediately fought her competitors off, however, and greeted him delightedly. She knew that he was generous and did not only pay for the act itself but also for the amount of time it would take her to recover in which she would not be able to work as usual. What she did not know, of course, was that it was hard for Andreji to finance his expensive lifestyle at times. It occurred that he had to relief a wealthy merchant of his earnings – always making sure he was not seen doing so.

“Is there a girl you can recommend my companion?” Andreji enquired.

The prostitute – she was about as old as Andreji had been when Demyan had first fed him blood – smiled at him seductively. “Is he as hungry as you are?”

Andreji glanced at Demyan. “He has the same taste, yes.”

She turned and called for one of the others in a quite harsh tone before she smiled at Andreji and Demyan once more and led them into a separate room.

“How is your son?” Andreji initiated some polite small talk while they sat down.

“Well again. I had a daughter in winter as well, but she did not make it.”

“That is sad to hear.”

“Yes, well, perhaps it is better that way. This is no place for a girl to grow up.”

Andreji swayed his head. “One never knows what will happen.”

She smiled benignly at him, but it was plain that she did not indulge in dreams of that kind.

The second woman had taken a seat very close to Demyan and they were agreeing on the terms of their business. Andreji pulled out his pouch and counted off the coins.

His lady rose and walked with swaying hips over to him to sit down on Andreji’s lap. She bared her arm and held it out to him. Andreji purred while he licked the soft flesh. In the corner of his eye he saw that Demyan watched him. Voyeur. His fangs pierced the skin, and the rich taste of blood flooded his mouth. He closed his eyes and savoured the flavour.

An hour later, they sat in the corner of a tavern. It was a pretty filthy den, but it was open, dry, and warm. Demyan had brought a thin book of poetry that he handed Andreji to exercise reading.

“…Dull sublunary lovers love
(Whose soule is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love, so much refin'd,
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care lesse, eyes, lips, and hands to misse.

Our two soules therefore, which are one,
Though I must goe, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to ayery thinnesse beate.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiffe twin compasses are two,
Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th'other doe.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
And growes erect, as that comes home…“ Andreji looked up at Demyan with a frown upon his face. “So you have found someone that shares your perverted little fantasies and even writes them down and calls it art?”

The dark haired man smiled ambiguously. He ran his hand over Andreji’s knee. “Your reading skills have much improved…”

Truth be told, Andreji had not managed a single line without halting and corrections. Demyan tried for five years, now, to teach Andreji his letters, but the large gaps between their meetings and the blond’s refusal to practise on his own (it had taken Demyan decades to even convince him to learn to read and write at all) retarded the process.

Yet that was not the point. Andreji threw the book disgustedly back at his companion. He leaned back and gazed into the room where the daughter of the tavern owner served some hot stew to a sick traveller. “Look at her,” he pointed the maiden out, “young and untainted, taut thighs, padded butt – if anything ‘leanes and hearkens’ and ‘growes erect’ in your trousers, put it there and spare me with your insinuations.”

“She is still half a child,” Demyan pointed out with mild indignation.

Andreji snorted. “Yeah, and I am still a complete man.”

“I am well aware of that.” Demyan brushed over Andreji’s forearm to feel the hard muscles there. “I have missed you, Andreji. Very much so.”

Abruptly, Andreji stood. “I need to take a piss,” he growled and walked out.

Demyan gave him a moment before he followed.

He found Andreji behind an abandoned house as he was just about to fix his trousers again. His heart beating wildly and his own pantaloons growing tight, Demyan approached Andreji from behind and slipped his hand beneath the fabric to caress Andreji’s warm thighs and finally take a hold of his cock. The tension fell off him when he felt that the proud man was half erect. It was always a risky game to play with Andreji. A dance of sorts. Each time they met, Andreji was cool and pretended to be disgusted by Demyan’s advances. If the suitor approached him too soon, he was confronted with a violent rejection. Yet if his timing was good…

Demyan slowly started rubbing Andreji’s shaft while his second hand explored the wide expanse of skin beneath Andreji’s shirt. After a short while, Andreji pushed his hand away and wordlessly kicked in the backdoor of the abandoned house. Demyan followed reluctantly and found Andreji kneeling in front of the kitchen hearth, lighting a fire with some half rotten straw he had found. He smashed a stool into pieces and fed the small flames with them.

Demyan crouched down behind Andreji and looped his arms around Andreji’s broad shoulders. He kissed and licked the nape of Andreji’s neck, drinking in his fledgling’s scent while the other man tended the flames.

When Demyan opened his eyes again, he noticed dark bruises around Andreji’s neck. They looked dangerous. Usually, Demyan avoided talking when he had managed to render Andreji sexually aroused, but he had to ask. “Where did you get these?” He carefully brushed over the bruises.

“Little quarrel with someone,” Andreji muttered evasively.

“Little quarrel with someone? It looks like you have been half choked to death! Who could overpower a giant like you?” Demyan sounded worried. He was responsible for the welfare of his fledgling, after all.

Andreji pierced him with a dark glare. “You want to fuck, now, or what?”

Demyan was struck by Andreji’s sudden rude straightforwardness. He eyed him for a moment and conceded then that any further questions would lead to nothing. He leaned forward and captured Andreji’s lips. The taller man’s mouth remained firmly shut - as always - but he accepted it when Demyan guided his hand towards the dark haired’s crotch. Slowly, they got rid of their clothing. Demyan played with Andreji’s hardened nipples while Andreji slapped him on his buttocks so that the smaller man squirmed in delight. He bent lower and grasped Andreji’s shaft, eagerly licking the reddish, round, firm penis head.

It was always bizarre to have to give up the control over the situation to his fledgling, but his attraction to Andreji had long prompted him to throw all rationality into the wind. He just loved the strong, proud kind of men that had an unbending will. Andreji’s large, strong hand on his bottom was almost killing him with pleasure.

Eventually, when it became unbearable, he looked up at Andreji, panting, silently pleading with him. Andreji seemed to struggle internally before he helped Demyan up and pressed his hands on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. The smaller man knew what Andreji wanted and pressed his legs together. Neither of them was willing to yield to the other, but they had found some sex positions that suited them both.

Andreji searched the kitchen until he found some old lard. It smelled a little rancid, but it would have to do. He smeared it onto his cock, and then he positioned himself behind Demyan and pressed his hardness between the other man’s legs. It was almost as good as entering a woman. Occasionally, he would brush against Demyan’s testes and elicit a moan from the other man while he pumped in and out, always seeking maximum friction. He took his time, blanking out who he was having sex with, only dwelling in the pleasure of it. Whenever Demyan squirmed beneath him, he would give him a slap on his behind, peering out of his half closed eyes to see how the other man’s firm butt cheeks quavered.

When he felt that he was close, he took Demyan’s (rather small) member in his hand and worked it. He took up speed, in his mind ramming his cock into the back of the maiden in the tavern and distantly heard Demyan’s seed sizzling in the flames before his mind went blank as he came as well.

Demyan collapsed in front of the fire exhaustedly, smiling contented to himself.

Andreji, meanwhile, cleaned his member with an old rag and dressed. He gazed down at the figure to his feet as he put some more fuel on the fire and could not help the feeling that he really did not mind these encounters.