You Always Will

The tailor of Lenore groaned, fitfully tossing and turning in his sleep. His mattress was one of the few luxuries he refused to compromise on, no matter how tightfisted he remained. The fabric was filled to bursting with only the finest feathers a man of his station could buy. Compared to the hard surfaces surrounding him everyday in the shop, his bed was akin to sleeping adrift on a cloud.

But, all he could feel beneath him now was an oppressive, leeching cold. The kind that ached as it seeped deep into the bones. His finger tips ran along the smooth slab of black stone beneath him in confusion; something had gone terribly wrong.

Green eyes flew open, as their owner sat up to find himself in a bizarre landscape. The ground was cracked and barren as far as the eye could see. It lacked even the sparsest covering of sickly grass. And the light seemed muted. Distorted, somehow; almost faded. As if Simon was viewing the sky from deep under the water of a murky sea.

"..What the devil is this place?"

More importantly, why did it feel so eerily familiar? Following his inquiry came a deep rumbling from behind. The tailor turned just in time to see a door. Had that always been there? Slowly rising to his feet, Simon never took his eyes off of it; gods only knew what lurked behind the mysterious entryway.

As if triggered by that thought alone, runes began forming along its frame. One by one they lit up, until the sheer sight of them was blinding. The sensible thing to do was look away. But, the creaking of the door opening captured both the man's curiosity and dread.

The tailor dared to take a few steps closer, only to be knocked back by a powerful force that often went underestimated. That smell! A handkerchief was swiftly yanked from his pocket and stuffed over his mouth and nose. Though, his efforts did little to stifle the putrid vapors leaking through the door left ajar; the stretch was the worst kind imaginable.

However, as horrific as the odor was, encrusted with yesterday's rot, human waste and old, dried blood, it was nonetheless, familiar. But, where could he possibly have-? A hand shot out from behind the door, gripping the wood with splintering force! Simon's heart leapt into his throat as a menacing, red eye appeared through the crack.

"Well, well," the voice lilted with a fanged smile, "We meet again."

Shooting up in bed, his green eyes darted around the room as Simon fought to calm himself. There was no crumbling landscape; no horrifying smells, mysterious monsters, or accursed doors. Just his chambers with the old armoire, a chipped washbasin he had gotten for a pittance, a wobbly table and a chest in the corner of the room in dire need of varnish.

He let himself fall back in bed, an arm slung over his face, as he sighed with relief. His bedroom may not have been much to look at, but he never felt so relieved to see that faded, peeling wallpaper in his life. He was home. Everything was fine- A knock sounded at the door downstairs; the customers!

Gathering his wits, Simon threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed. It was daybreak! He was late opening the shop! That was far worse a nightmare than some shy specter creeping behind a door! Daylight was burning and time was money!

The knocking just kept coming and coming, as he pulled on his attire with one hand, while combing his fingers through his hair hastily with the other. There was no time for breakfast, he accepted as he dashed passed the kitchen. Not even enough time for a cup of tea, he mourned.

But, that's what he got for staying out so late with that troublesome vampire. Vivid memories sprung to mind by the time he got downstairs. That infuriating smile Alabaster had given him was a slice of humble pie; such a bitter thing. The only thing he would be dining on that particular morning, it seemed.

"Just wait until I see that rogue! I'll grant him an earful!" Simon righteously fumed, "If he has any sense whatsoever, that Alabaster Stone will stay as far away from me as possible!"

Yet, as he flung open the door to silence that incessant knocking, who should he find, but the man of the same name. He was wearing his elvish glamour on that particular day and carrying a basket of something that smelled bewitchingly good. Oh, how that scent contrasted ever so sharply with the one from his dreams; it was like letting in the wind to ward away the staleness of a room that had been locked up for years. In fact, just seeing the nobleman was like a breath of fresh air.

However, even if he was glad to see the other man, Simon Hart had to keep up appearances. Alabaster had made an absolute nuisance of himself the night before; it wouldn't do to reward bad behavior. Crossing his arms, the tailor put on his most disapproving look.

"What is it you want now, you insufferable fiend?"

Alabaster stared for a moment, before shooting Simon a disarming smile.

"Oh, just to help out a very tired tailor and bring him breakfast. Could you use a shop assistant today, my dearest one?"

Simon had seen so much: murder, violence, theft, debauchery, betrayal, greed and death. It was enough to make a young man feel old before his time. But, seeing Alabaster offer himself up so freely made the brunette feel as if he had not seen nearly enough of what life had to offer. That sincerity melted any quarrel he might have had; softened his heart like few other things ever could. The green-eyed man sighed at last, giving a tired, albeit fond smile.

"Oh, get in here, you troublemaker."

The Ode to Maria was, once again, closed for business as the companions took their time dining on luxurious cuisine from the castle kitchen with a pot of mint tea brought out just for the occasion. Alabaster hummed in delight, as he sank his teeth into something soft. It was a food that could only register to the tailor as a dessert, not something suitable for the first meal of the day.

"Simon, you simply must try this!"

"And what, pray tell, is that, exactly?"

"A red-velvet, gold-encrusted crepe."

The vampire held it out, obviously expecting the tailor to take a bite right out of it. Simon wrinkled his nose in distaste, before shaking his head.

"I will not be eating the one you slobbered all over, thank you very much. I'll have an untouched one, if it's all the same to you."

However, when Simon dug around in the basket, he came up empty handed.

"What the devil?! You didn't get me one?!"

"My dearest tailor, I believe you know that I would move Heaven and Earth for you. But, concerning this is one thing, not even I can help."

"Oh?" the tailor of Lenore asked with a raised eyebrow, wondering how much he should buy into the idea of an all powerful being finding himself hopelessly outclassed by a pastry.

"Yes. These delicacies are reserved for the king's court, only. Artisans specializing in dishes created for the noble bloodlines of Lenore make just enough for each member to have one. As a guest of this kingdom, it's a great honor to have been included."

Silence fell between them, as the vampire let it sink in just how precious this crepe was. It wasn't just a breakfast food from the castle. It was food fit for a god. A once in a lifetime taste of something reserved only for royalty.

"Of course, I could always use my magic to summon up a copy-"

Simon's hands flew to Alabaster's, almost making him drop the sugary concoction worth more than a thousand laborers could make in their lifetimes. The vampire's smile was blinding, as those fierce, green eyes pinned him down. Seeing his dearest take it, accepting his offering in not so many words, was satisfying. But, knowing that Simon had rushed to stop him, if only to keep the noble from burning through more of his finite life energy? It was more priceless to the Crystal Vampire than the most covetted treasures in the world could ever be. Nothing could hold a candle to it; not even a royal, red-velvet, gold-encrusted crepe.

The tailor was a bit more than huffy. To think that the exasperating man joining him for a meal had the audacity to even think of using his powers to magic up one of these infernal crepes! It was just a side dish, after all. A cuisine for the well to do and nothing more-

Simon's breath caught on the first bite. His eyes widened, before fluttering shut. A once steady heart rate climbed toward the Heavens, until there was only one reaction he could possibly give! Shuddering out of the once skeptical man came a long, deep moan of ecstasy.

Alabaster felt a shiver dance down his spine at the sumptuous sound. His blue eyes shimmered with nothing short of adoration. What a feast for the senses! Oh, how he loved seeing all of those little emotions play across that beautiful face, as his beloved devoured a crepe fit for a king.

"Divine?"

"Oh, yes," Simon hummed, forgetting himself in his state of euphoria, "Delectable."

"Aren't you glad that I shared with you? Gave you the crepe you almost rejected, all because I had 'slobbered' all over it?"

Simon made a face. He put down the last bite out of principle, before daintily dabbing his lips covered in sugary creme. The vampire secretly bemoaned the loss.

"Sharing spit is disgusting."

Alabaster opened his mouth to say something only to pause, glancing at the other man from head to foot in contemplation with the barest hint of a smirk lingering on his plush lips.

"..You weren't saying that last night."

Who knew an innocent, pallet cleansing sip of tea could be so dangerous! Simon found himself choking on it, complements of his paramour's spicy comment. The vampire firmly pat the coughing man's back as he fought to clear the offending fluid from his airways. Though, he feared that his show of compassion would be cancelled out by the sound of his own laughter.

"My Stars!" the tailor wheezed with teary-eyes, "If I knew you would be this infuriating after that event, I might have sooner thrown myself into the ocean!"

"Oh, please don't do that, my love! I can't think of a body of water more deadly!" Alabaster exclaimed, playfully aghast at the very notion, "There are sea snakes and sirens and Simon Hart, with how sweet your lips taste, you would be gobbled up for sure!"

Such flippant teasing left Simon shell shocked and sputtering for words.

"I can't-! I just-! You are so-!"

His fist hit the table, shaking the cutlery.

"Alabaster Stone! One kiss and you suddenly think you are the king!?"

"Two kisses, but who's counting?"

With a feral growl most unbefitting a gentleman, Simon threw down his handkerchief like a declaration of war. He advanced on the nobleman, causing Alabaster to spring from his chair. He darted away from the tailor's grabby hands with a laugh of delight. Around and around the table they went, both feigning, trying to outwit the other in what had become a rather ridiculous game of cat and mouse; one that the ever competitive Mr. Hart was determined to win.

In a stroke of genius, or perhaps merely desperation, Simon's hand landed on that bite of forgotten crepe, before chucking it at Alabaster! The vampire clumsily swerved to the left, only to find arms closing tightly around his middle. They stared at each other for the longest time, catching their breath.

"You can pop in and out of reality at will, performing all manner of miracles. Yet, you bumble out of the way of a flying crepe? Did you do it to save your coat? Is it that precious?"

Simon's grin was contagious.

"I'm very fond of this coat, I'll have you know. Now, it would seem that I have been captured by a very handsome rogue. Whatever shall you do with me? Hold me for ransom?"

"A rogue? Fancy that. I was muttering the same thing about you earlier this morning. And hold you for ransom? I am more charitable than that. All I ask is that you return what is mine."

The vampire rose a puzzled eyebrow.

"Return what is yours-?"

Lunging fiercely, Simon claimed the vampire's mouth with his own. Alabaster took a sharp breath through his nose, allowing himself to fall pliant under the rhythm of those demanding lips. The two men embraced tightly, muffled moans swallowed up between them, lightly seasoned by the lingering taste of that one, exquisite crepe.

At last, they mutually parted for air. As they panted softly from the intoxicating heat of their passions, a smile slowly grew on their kiss-swollen lips.

"That's.. What was yours?"

"Yes. All of your kisses belong to me."

The matter-of-fact way that line was delivered caused Alabaster to titter with amusement.

"Oh? Is that all?"

"Not by any stretch of the imagination. Every inch of you belongs to me."

Simon's arms squeezed Alabaster's body closer to make a point. But, one of his hands slowly let go to trail up the other man's body to settle on his chest.

"...As does your heart."

There was a slight quiver to his voice; a question dancing in his eyes. Alabaster felt it was old ground being retreaded. But, he would happily say it as many times as he needed to, professing his love until the day Simon Hart could finally bring himself to claim it as truth.

"Yes. You have my heart, Simon. You always will."