The Downfall of Count Abbot

Step Seven | Fuck His Best Friend

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Lawrence waited until Percival's patrol ended. He went through the three suitcases he'd packed and brought with him the morning before Abbot turned him, and when he found his feminine lingerie, he took his shirt and trousers off and put it on. He chose his black lace bra and matching jock strap, as well as his silk, lace-trimmed stockings. He also found his black lipstick and put it on as best as he could without the aid of a mirror—he couldn't see his reflection anymore.

Once he was done, he pulled a blazer and some trousers on so that he wasn't walking around the castle half-naked and grabbed his black high heels. He put them on and headed over to his door; despite knowing what he had to do, though, he felt nervous. Percival was much higher-ranking than he was, and if he messed up even the slightest, he could lose his head...or end up getting the shittiest jobs for the rest of his life.

It was worth the risk, though. Abbot needed to be taught a lesson.

He pulled his door open and peeked out into the hall. Muffled crying came from several of the rooms; he knew that the Fledgelings inside were moping, sinking deeper into the depression that the Count had caused them. Lawrence felt bad for them, and he hoped that tearing Abbot down would give them all some peace of mind—or something other than misery and heartbreak.

But he wasn't doing this for them.

He pulled his door shut behind him and made his way down the corridor. His heels clicked against the hard floor, and he hoped that it wouldn't draw anyone near; no one in this castle had seen him dress like this before, and he wasn't sure how they'd react. And Abbot...well, he wasn't sure he could face him dressed up or not. Seeing him in the hall had almost sent him spiralling down into the same pit that the other Fledgelings were dwelling in.

Lawrence sighed quietly and continued through the winding, empty castle halls until he reached the stairs that would take him up to Parcival's room. He made his way up, his angst increasing with each step he took, but he had to calm down; he needed to focus or everything could go horribly wrong.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he slowly approached Percival's door. He listened for a moment, and to his relief, it didn't sound like the Master vampire had company. So, he lifted his hand and knocked.

"What?" Percival called.

Lawrence turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

Percival looked confused to see him at first, but when Lawrence stepped in, the black-haired vampire sighed and stood up from behind his desk. "Look, Lawrence. I don't have time to tell you the same thing Bronson did."

As a small smile stretched across his lips, Lawrence leaned back against the door and let it close behind him. "I'm not here about that," he said with a sultry tone.

The Master vampire stepped out from behind his desk and frowned slightly. "What do you want?"

Lawrence gradually unbuttoned his blazer as he said, "Oh, nothing really. Maybe just...the attention of someone...older," he said, looking Percival up and down as he let his blazer fall to his heels.

Percival's crimson eyes widened and explored every inch of Lawrence's exposed body. "You want...I...really don't have time for—"

"Please?" Lawrence pleaded and started to move towards him, fiddling with the lace on his bra. "I promise to make it worth your time."

As his eyes once again looked Lawrence up and down, Percival exhaled deeply. "But the Count—"

"Is done with me," Lawrence said, holding a finger to Percival's lips as he reached him. "I'm just..." he paused and sighed, exaggerating a little. "I'm just so alone. I need someone to take my mind off things and tend to my needs. Don't you...Master?"