The Story of the Vampire, L (Completed | Featured )

Marcellus, Part 7 - Breathe Deeply

"There was a little boy here," I said to Dasius, whose head rested against the crook of my arm. 

While he was away, his hair had grown longer. It curled on its own very slightly, to frame his face. I thought that it made him look very different, perhaps more charming though not softer. His severe quality is what makes him seem older. He always has that unless grimacing in pleasure or confused. 

When he'd come in through the door, I'd been sitting in a chair thinking about watching television, and I'd seen a look on his face like he wanted to kiss me, but he hadn't. I wished he had, as if we were more than lovers. I had wanted to welcome him home, but he had gone to do work without more than "Hello", hiding the awkwardness I now know he must have felt with stiff coolness. I know now that he wanted more, too, but didn't know how to get it. After that long week of myself left alone, of not knowing if he was OK or if I should feel safe, he had quieted me after "Hello" with a sideways look.Now in bed, the conversation remained stiff.

"Was there a little boy?" he asked, without alarm.

"Yes. I recognized him. He slapped me when I was a baby."

"Did he slap you again?"

"He didn't say a word to me. He spent a day cleaning the house."

"Did you help him?" he asked, tipping my chin up and kissing my earlobe. 

"No. I don't think he wanted any help."

"Did you let him in or was he there when you woke up?" kissing my philtrum.

"He knocked and I let him in because I recognized him."

"When he left did he say good bye?" kissing my lips.

"Yes he did. I saw him make ready to go, and he waved at me, and I waved at him."

"Did he watch television?" 

"No."

If it had been now, he might have said something like, "Now see here, Marcellus," and told me what to think about it. "We will not be holding grudges. We will not be judging a man by his passions, for they are brief and his character is far the longer," or something like that. Things I've heard.

But Dasius is terrible at being manipulative. His method is to let you know what he thinks and expect you to conform. If you do not, there is little punishment. He relies upon a fear in me he does not command.  A time or twelve, he has given me a good slap, but that's it, in thirty-three years. I've delivered him mighty slaps myself, and I think that he quite respects me for it.

In bed he said, "You have grown leaner these two months together. You are not so muscular."

"You like it better the other way?"

"Contrarily, I prefer you this way. A little softer. I like you this way very much," he said, and touched me. 

I moved his hand away and turned my body against his instead. "I just want to sleep now."

"That's unlike you. Wouldn't you like to be petted?"

"It's not really unlike me at all, if you really think about who initiates most of it."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I've been away. Will you be so harsh to me?" he asked.

"If you want," I said, which made him chuckle in that surprised way. "You think I belong to you, don't you? You think I should do whatever you want."

To that he didn't say anything, which made me sigh and put my nose in the space between his collarbones. He's never once asked me, "Do you love me?" It would leave him too vulnerable. He never asks for anything that would hurt him too deeply were it denied. I try not to give him what he wants if he won't ask. I don't know why. I think back then it was because I thought it put me in control, and that control was important. Of course that's stupid. It's still stupid. I'm so stupid.