Sweet William
folder
+S through Z › Vampire the Masquerade
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,682
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S through Z › Vampire the Masquerade
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,682
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Vampire: The Masquerade, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Sweet William
Disclaimer: This story in no way represents the attitudes of White Wolf Gaming Studio. Don't Sue me Please!!! I'm just a poor college student!!!
The bedroom was one of those places one would only see in dark, dismal fairytales. The walls of the room were stone, seemingly there to assimilate the walls of a castle, and what little artwork there was seemed to set the place in a gothic time period. The fire was roaring in the fireplace, and the warmth that permeated the room was almost overwhelming. The linens were all black and red satin, with silver and gold trim, and the woodwork in the room was done completely in oak. The floors were white marble.
Robert watched from his prison while Alexander licked a line of blood from the unconscious young man’s back, his eyes filling with blood tears. He’d watched what Alexander had done to the boy. He had watched his sire destroy the innocence in those warm, expressive brown eyes. He had watched it all, unable to do anything but witness the destruction of that purity. He had watched his sire replace it with fear, pain, and finally a desire to die, just so it all could end.
The word “rape” wouldn’t even begin to cover what had happened in this room in the past 6 hours.
Alexander had entranced the boy almost as soon as he had wandered into the Crematorium, obviously lost as he had nervously pulled on the collar of his Oxford sweater, and Robert had been unsuccessful in getting the boy out of the place. He’d been knocked unconscious by Alexander and had woken here, in this prison of a closet, unable to do anything but watch. He could have turned away--refused to see it--but someone had to witness the utter pain and humiliation that Alexander had force upon this boy.
If the boy had to endure it, the least he could do is not turn away from the pain.
The worst part of it was that Alexander had started off the way a one would when preparing an inexperienced, virginal lover. He’d been gentle, yet firm, and the first two hours had been nothing but soft moans and whispers of encouragement. It had been heartbreaking to watch--because Robert knew, firsthand, what was coming next.
And then Alexander’s demeanor had completely changed. In an instant, he’d gone from an understanding, patient lover to a complete terror. The desperate, confused cries of first fear, and then pain would have been enough to break someone of lesser will.
Now, William--that was the boy’s name--was laying unconscious in the bed, one delicate, slender hand dangling from the edge of it as a slow trickle of blood dripped onto the white marble floor. He’d tried desperately to get away, but after about a half-hour of frenzied struggling he’d given up, his eyes becoming blank and unfocused while Alexander indulged himself. Robert had met those eyes unflinchingly, watching silent tears of pain, fear, and betrayal fall down that delicate face. He watched those eyes beg for death--an end to the pain--before they’d closed in unconsciousness.
Alexander got out of the bed, delicately covering the unconscious mortal with a sheet, before he wrapped himself in one of his blue silk robes, completely heedless of the blood and other fluids that were now drying on the various parts of his flawless body. His eyes were bright, his body warm. He’d quite obviously just fed.
He picked up William’s khaki pants from the floor, pulling a wallet from the back pocket of them before he took a seat in front of the fire, heedless of the soft sobs coming from the closet.
“Dear Robert, you must learn that I always get what I want.” Alexander stated, quite matter-of-factly. He opened the wallet, taking out a card of some kind before he continued. “And I wanted a new toy. All of my others are quite broken. I’m sure you understand.”
He suddenly smiled--and then chuckled. When he next spoke, he was reading from the small plastic card, his voice taking on that of someone who was highly amused. “William S. Maynard III. Oxford University. Majors: Music and Political Science--quite the mix--Class: Freshman. Age: 18.” He laughed again. “That would make our pretty guest 10th in line to the Royal Throne, would it not, Dear Robert?”
Robert’s vision went red. It was no wonder William had recognized his last name. The boy was his cousin--most likely a second cousin--but still a member of his mortal family. Once upon a time, HE’D held the same position in the Royal Family that William did. He never had understood Alexander’s hatred for the Royal Family of England, but he always found great pleasure in harming any member that came within his grasp.
And poor William had been his latest target.
“I am thinking about keeping him.” Alexander was saying, standing from his chair. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, his fingers quite gently playing in the sandy-brown hair. “He would make such a pretty addition to our household. Wouldn’t you agree, Dear Robert?”
“After all, I can’t very well let him leave. He’s seen my face....and he’ll quite quickly turn me in to mortal authorities. I’ll either have to kill him--which will cause quite the uproar in England, I’ll have you know--or I’ll have to make him one of us.”
Robert lost his hard-won battle with control then. He lashed out, trying desperately to get out of the cell that his sire had put him in. The door--which was made of metal--was all that kept him from storming into the room and attacking the monster that he had once loved quite deeply.
Alexander chuckled a bit, tracing patterns in the drying blood on William’s back. “He is so young, Dear Robert. So innocent. I think Sweet William will make a nice addition to the Maynard bloodline, don’t you?”
With that, Robert helplessly watched his sire sink fangs into the sleeping boy’s wrist. He listened to the thready heartbeat finally slow to a stop, the soft, labored breathing cease, and the pain stricken face relax in contented rest. He looked angelic, at peace, and completely free.
Robert watched his sire turn the boy onto his back before ripping his own wrist open and dribbling a bit of vitae into the slack, unresisting mouth. It wasn’t long before the boy had mindlessly grasped the wrist, drinking the tainted blood with abandon.
When it was finished, Alexander laid the boy back in the bed like some morbid father would his dead, unbreathing child. He looked to Robert. “And now, you get to watch innocence die, Dear Robert.”
With that, he turned toward the door, calling out. “Michael, my ghoul, come clean up this mess.”
The young mortal--who dwarfed poor William by about 6 inches and 125 pounds--lifted the broken form out of the bed and walking toward the doorway. He was about halfway there when he saw William’s eyes open. The new Kindred looked a bit confused for a few moments before his eyes locked to Michael’s face.
Robert closed his eyes, but he failed to block out the screams.
The bedroom was one of those places one would only see in dark, dismal fairytales. The walls of the room were stone, seemingly there to assimilate the walls of a castle, and what little artwork there was seemed to set the place in a gothic time period. The fire was roaring in the fireplace, and the warmth that permeated the room was almost overwhelming. The linens were all black and red satin, with silver and gold trim, and the woodwork in the room was done completely in oak. The floors were white marble.
Robert watched from his prison while Alexander licked a line of blood from the unconscious young man’s back, his eyes filling with blood tears. He’d watched what Alexander had done to the boy. He had watched his sire destroy the innocence in those warm, expressive brown eyes. He had watched it all, unable to do anything but witness the destruction of that purity. He had watched his sire replace it with fear, pain, and finally a desire to die, just so it all could end.
The word “rape” wouldn’t even begin to cover what had happened in this room in the past 6 hours.
Alexander had entranced the boy almost as soon as he had wandered into the Crematorium, obviously lost as he had nervously pulled on the collar of his Oxford sweater, and Robert had been unsuccessful in getting the boy out of the place. He’d been knocked unconscious by Alexander and had woken here, in this prison of a closet, unable to do anything but watch. He could have turned away--refused to see it--but someone had to witness the utter pain and humiliation that Alexander had force upon this boy.
If the boy had to endure it, the least he could do is not turn away from the pain.
The worst part of it was that Alexander had started off the way a one would when preparing an inexperienced, virginal lover. He’d been gentle, yet firm, and the first two hours had been nothing but soft moans and whispers of encouragement. It had been heartbreaking to watch--because Robert knew, firsthand, what was coming next.
And then Alexander’s demeanor had completely changed. In an instant, he’d gone from an understanding, patient lover to a complete terror. The desperate, confused cries of first fear, and then pain would have been enough to break someone of lesser will.
Now, William--that was the boy’s name--was laying unconscious in the bed, one delicate, slender hand dangling from the edge of it as a slow trickle of blood dripped onto the white marble floor. He’d tried desperately to get away, but after about a half-hour of frenzied struggling he’d given up, his eyes becoming blank and unfocused while Alexander indulged himself. Robert had met those eyes unflinchingly, watching silent tears of pain, fear, and betrayal fall down that delicate face. He watched those eyes beg for death--an end to the pain--before they’d closed in unconsciousness.
Alexander got out of the bed, delicately covering the unconscious mortal with a sheet, before he wrapped himself in one of his blue silk robes, completely heedless of the blood and other fluids that were now drying on the various parts of his flawless body. His eyes were bright, his body warm. He’d quite obviously just fed.
He picked up William’s khaki pants from the floor, pulling a wallet from the back pocket of them before he took a seat in front of the fire, heedless of the soft sobs coming from the closet.
“Dear Robert, you must learn that I always get what I want.” Alexander stated, quite matter-of-factly. He opened the wallet, taking out a card of some kind before he continued. “And I wanted a new toy. All of my others are quite broken. I’m sure you understand.”
He suddenly smiled--and then chuckled. When he next spoke, he was reading from the small plastic card, his voice taking on that of someone who was highly amused. “William S. Maynard III. Oxford University. Majors: Music and Political Science--quite the mix--Class: Freshman. Age: 18.” He laughed again. “That would make our pretty guest 10th in line to the Royal Throne, would it not, Dear Robert?”
Robert’s vision went red. It was no wonder William had recognized his last name. The boy was his cousin--most likely a second cousin--but still a member of his mortal family. Once upon a time, HE’D held the same position in the Royal Family that William did. He never had understood Alexander’s hatred for the Royal Family of England, but he always found great pleasure in harming any member that came within his grasp.
And poor William had been his latest target.
“I am thinking about keeping him.” Alexander was saying, standing from his chair. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, his fingers quite gently playing in the sandy-brown hair. “He would make such a pretty addition to our household. Wouldn’t you agree, Dear Robert?”
“After all, I can’t very well let him leave. He’s seen my face....and he’ll quite quickly turn me in to mortal authorities. I’ll either have to kill him--which will cause quite the uproar in England, I’ll have you know--or I’ll have to make him one of us.”
Robert lost his hard-won battle with control then. He lashed out, trying desperately to get out of the cell that his sire had put him in. The door--which was made of metal--was all that kept him from storming into the room and attacking the monster that he had once loved quite deeply.
Alexander chuckled a bit, tracing patterns in the drying blood on William’s back. “He is so young, Dear Robert. So innocent. I think Sweet William will make a nice addition to the Maynard bloodline, don’t you?”
With that, Robert helplessly watched his sire sink fangs into the sleeping boy’s wrist. He listened to the thready heartbeat finally slow to a stop, the soft, labored breathing cease, and the pain stricken face relax in contented rest. He looked angelic, at peace, and completely free.
Robert watched his sire turn the boy onto his back before ripping his own wrist open and dribbling a bit of vitae into the slack, unresisting mouth. It wasn’t long before the boy had mindlessly grasped the wrist, drinking the tainted blood with abandon.
When it was finished, Alexander laid the boy back in the bed like some morbid father would his dead, unbreathing child. He looked to Robert. “And now, you get to watch innocence die, Dear Robert.”
With that, he turned toward the door, calling out. “Michael, my ghoul, come clean up this mess.”
The young mortal--who dwarfed poor William by about 6 inches and 125 pounds--lifted the broken form out of the bed and walking toward the doorway. He was about halfway there when he saw William’s eyes open. The new Kindred looked a bit confused for a few moments before his eyes locked to Michael’s face.
Robert closed his eyes, but he failed to block out the screams.