If you visit the town of St. Rose, Louisiana, you will find lovely old houses, quaint shops, and picturesque trees draped airily with spanish moss. The citizens will be friendly, and will proudly show you the church, the courthouse, and the treasures of the St. Charles Parish History Museum.
Your welcome will be warm up to the point that you inquire about a certain old sugar plantation -- The Cypress House. Just the mention of its name will cause the conversation around you to fall silent. Ladies who would never think of abandoning a guest to his or her own resources will suddenly have an urgent need to be elsewhere, and gentlemen will cough discreetly and steer the topic of conversation politely but firmly down other avenues.
Don't think too uncharitably of them --they are only remembering the stories they were told as children, stories held in reserve for when a truly ghastly tale was needed, or the night was particularly humid and dark. When those tales were spun the Cypress House plantation would rise again from its charred remains and the good men and women who share your company would cling to their mamas and pray for the end of the story.
What's that you say? You've never heard the tale? Well it would be a shame to leave southeastern Louisiana without having listened to the tragic story of that doomed and haunted place. So sit back, feel the balm in the air, and I'll take you back in time to when the great house still stood, deep in the swamps that used to lie between Lake Pontchartrain and the Great Mississippi River...
Chang Wufei wished he could push his hair back out of his face as he twisted the winch that would haul the bucket up from the bottom of the well. He kept turning, though, bringing the wooden pail up to the edge and sitting it upon the stone that surrounded it before he tucked the shoulder-length strands back behind an ear.
It was barely dawn in Louisiana, the mosquitoes still buzzing about in the pinkening sky, shrouds of fog dancing in and out of little hollow dips in the ground, between buildings and trees, not yet ready to filter back over emerald grass and red brown dirt to the place in the swamp where it belonged. He'd already been up for nigh on two hours, but it made little difference to him; he'd always been an early riser, determined to please his superiors before... IT had happened.
It seemed a lifetime ago that he'd been a warrior in the Imperial Palace of China; more than a lifetime, some days, since Shan Tzu had so carefully framed him and gotten him sold to slavers heading for the Americas, his queue sliced off so that the world would know his shame. He still missed the comforting weight of that knee-length braid and, on occasion, in the dark of the night when no one could hear him, he cried for it, the shame he felt.
Not that there was anything to be done for it at all.
His first master had not been so kind as the one he had now; he'd been bought off of the docks in Louisiana speaking no English at all and taken to a plantation that was run-down and filthy. It had disgusted him, to be amongst filth like that, the people sick from lack of proper care and nutrition, beaten beneath the hot sun until they were scarred so that they would work even faster than they already were. He'd thought then that only an idiot would abuse another human like that, and that the idiot must be even more stupid to injure something that was viewed as 'property'.
Not that he was treated like that; not at first. It didn't take him long to figure out why he'd been bought. The first night visit to his room had proven that fairly well, and warrior or no warrior, there wasn't much to be done about what had happened. Simply enough, it had been done and done again, and finally he had accustomed himself to it, at least as much as anyone could; his shame wouldn't allow him to fight back.
It wasn't until the filthy old bugger had gotten tired of raping him that he'd been put out in the fields with the others instead of kept in the kitchens, convenient for him.
Wufei shifted uncomfortably and filled the pail he'd brought with him, leaving the well-bucket there on the edge, its rope carefully tied so that it wouldn't fall and be lost. There was no particular reason to think about that man, except...
Well. Perhaps there was, after all.
The bastard had died suddenly, murdered by a slave even younger than he, a boy of barely twelve where he had been fifteen. The slave had been hanged, of course. Slaves always were, no matter the circumstances... but the man's widow had carefully sold off the more rebellious of the slaves after that, including himself. He'd thought, then, that she had known what was happening the entire time and had wondered if perhaps she'd been the reason for the scars on his back and down to his heels, if it hadn't been her orders, revenge for the humiliation she'd felt at being left in her bed alone and replaced with boys. It was an unworthy thought, he knew, but he'd not been entirely coherent when it had been happening and only after did he realize that it wasn't so. Only when he knew that she had carefully supervised who bought him and made sure that the man who did so was kind did he understand the sympathy she must have felt for them, the boys who went to that wicked man's bed.
He wondered, sometimes, if there weren't scars of her own to match the ones that marred his caramel skin. He hoped not. No one deserved that.
Lifting the bucket carefully, he headed back for the kitchen to help make Master Zechs and Mistress Noin's breakfast. That brought his roundabout thoughts back to where they'd ought to be, somewhat, as he hurried in, listening to the cook, Precious, gently directing the girls scurrying in the kitchen.
"Honeychile," Precious told him calmly, her round black face gentle, "y'all bring that water on ovah heah. I gots to start the grit water iff'n we gonna have brea'fus' ready in time an' ya KNOW how Miss Noin needs he' brea'fus'."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied in his own accented English, carefully placing the pail beside the stove for the hefty woman. He liked the place and the people in it. He even liked Master Zechs -- he was sure now that the woman Hilde had been very careful in choosing someone that would be nice.
Zechs was kind, genteel, tender.... his attentions were not overt and Wufei liked that. He felt somewhat sorry for the very ill Miss Noin; one of the swamp fevers had weakened her during their first year of marriage and they'd never had any children nor would there be any, for she wasn't capable of withstanding the sorts of attention which would create them. He'd learned that from the servants' gossip (though none dared to do so near Precious for the head cook was quick with her wooden spoon if she thought something disrespectful).
He'd also learned that the man had a fondness for young men as a result of his wife's illness.
At first, that had made him nervous. At first. As the weeks passed and turned into months, though, he'd become accustomed to the small tender attentions cast his way, the glances and smiles, the tiny presents that sometimes appeared in the little room he'd been granted on the third floor as a house servant. He was the only one up there, for the other slaves all had families who lived in the quarters that were a little less than a half mile from the house, but he didn't mind it. It was quiet up there, mostly, so that he could read the little English books that he was finally beginning to understand.
If it wasn't for the ghost, he'd be deliriously happy, or as close as he'd been since he'd lived with his mother and father as a child.
And that was another strange thing, really. The ghost terrified him, for Chinese ghosts were often vicious and full of pranks, flesh-eaters that liked nothing better than the meat of young men and women, children, but this ghost... Well. This ghost wasn't quite like that, he didn't think. This ghost mostly watched the household, from what he could tell, and only at night. He'd wakened on more than one occasion to see the white face that almost seemed to float outside of the mosquito netting around his little bed; he'd been quite frightened by it, in fact. Still, it had never caused any harm and he'd come to think that perhaps the ghost was watching over Zechs and only wanted to be certain that Wufei was no threat to him.
Maybe.
"Look OUT, chile," Precious chided him, shifting him out of the way and bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Heah now. Y'all ain't doin' none o' us a bit o' good this mo'nin'. Go an' fetch that basket yonner an' fetch the chicken aigs. Go on, an' don't you go pausin' by that gahzee-bo, either, boy, you unnerstan'?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said again and went to fetch the egg-basket. He didn't mind. It was a beautiful morning and his head was in the clouds, in remembrances, in the little book he'd found tucked beneath his pillow last night when he'd finally finished washing dishes and had a quick cold bath outside.
"Be back heah in time t'wash 'em! I gots to have aigs fo' brea'fus!" she reminded him and so he hurried out, intent on his task.
He was quick to fetch the eggs -- faster than he'd gotten the water, at any rate, but then, the water pail wasn't set to peck him, either. They were gathered quickly and he hurried back to the kitchen, washing them in a little pot that was out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the rest of the kitchen.
By the time he'd finished washing the eggs, Precious had finished breakfast. "Now, chile, heah's yo' tray, y'all take this on up to Miss Noin an' Maste' Zechs. They'll be 'wake now 'cause yo' know he's gots to get down to th' surp shed an' make sho' the cane squeezin's done right, yo' heah? An' come righ' back down 'cause we gots ta put up beans today an' Ah'll need yo' han's out in the ga'den. Y'all know how ha'd it is fo' a fat woman t'be pickin' butte' beans," she chided, smiling at him.
"Yes, Miss Precious," he answered her affirmatively for the third time that morning, receiving a hearty laugh and a kiss upon his forehead for it before he grasped the large tray with its two plates, Chicory coffee and fresh milk and heading out of the kitchen and upstairs.
Behind him, Precious shook her head and moved to scale the fish her husband had brought in for lunch. /That boy's gonna be a heap o' trouble somehow. Ah jus' know it, n'matte' what. Miss Noin' sho' don't like it none, no matteh how she smiles at th'Maste'./
"Twenty-two years old, and destined to live my entire life as an old man..." Not a particularly pleasant thought to be having on this fine summer morning, but it was a thought that often greeted the lean, tall blond who stood at the window of his bedroom and watched the houseboy do his morning chores.
He was there every morning, to watch the boy, and to say the one prayer that meant anything to him. He was not a particularly religious man, and that was an odd thing in the small community of planters that had come to this new country from France. But standing at the window, he could see the lithe and lovely boy perform his thankless tasks, and he could turn around and see the wan form of his young wife, pale, but lovely still, lying in their large bed, blessedly still asleep. And he prayed, "Make her better, or let her die."
She would wake soon, around the time the boy brought up their tray, and the first thing out of her mouth would also be a prayer, a proper one, taught to her as a child and sanctioned by the Holy Catholic Church. The boy, an exotic young beauty from Cathay, would arrive and arrange the tray to suit her, and then leave the room, pausing at the door for the briefest time to give the man a timid smile and then be gone.
His wife would eat exactly half of her egg, three spoonfuls of grits, and have a sip of milk, before declaring that, really, it was far too much food for a person to eat, to which he was supposed to smile indulgently, with just a touch of concern. She would then beg him to pull the table closer and breakfast where she could see him, telling him that his beautiful face was sure to speed her recovery. When he had finished, she would lose some of the light in her eyes, the color of wet violets, and ask in a faint voice if he had plans for the day. He would tell her yes, she would look slightly crestfallen, and then she would take his hand in her two fragile ones and ask him to return to her soon. Being the good and dutiful husband that he was, he would give her his promise.
Every morning, just the same. No detail differed, no gesture or phrase was left out, and it happened day after day after day. The events around the afternoon hours, dinner, and bedtime had their own lists of rituals and they, too, would be performed perfectly.
And every time he said the words, every time he kissed her limp hand, he died just a little more inside.
The parish of St. Charles knew him as Monsieur Zechs Marquise, the youngest son of a French noble. He had gone into the military, as youngest sons often did, and come to the Americas as a new French naval officer. He had been second-in-command on the battleship Antibes when, in December of 1814, they had put into port on the southern coast of Louisiana, only to find themselves under attack by the British, who were beginning the Battle of New Orleans with the Americans. Under heavy shelling, the entirety of his crew were lost, until it was down to himself and his captain. They had managed to fight their way off the ship and disappeared into the swamp lands west of the city, where they had met up with the rather motley American army and had fought with them to repel the attackers.
They would have done anything, at that point, to humiliate the British.
It was an intense fight, and the dampness of the swamps had taken their toll on his captain's health. As he lay dying of yellow fever, he told Zechs that his family owned a tract of land between the great lake, to the east, and the Mississippi river to the west. A lawyer was summoned at the the older man's insistence and a will was drawn up that ceded the land in question to Monsieur Zechs Marquise in its entirety.
Later, as he stood at the door of the small crypt in which his captain had been laid to rest, Zechs had promised the man that he would return someday to claim the land that had so graciously been given to him.
He spent another four years in the French navy, finding himself, in 1818, back in Paris with money to burn and a great deal of freedom. Although he was not inclined to marry, his family had urged it upon him. It was not hard to find interested ladies. He was tall and well-built with a handsome face, long, pale-gold hair that reached to his waist, and eyes the color of a winter sky on a sunny day. The choice of brides was his and, although his heart was not in it, he courted and married Noin Archambault, a young woman of noble birth who was said to be the most beautiful of Paris's eligible women that season.
Before the wedding, he had ordered a team of builders to begin work on a plantation house, and to clear some of the adjacent land for the planting of indigo and sugar. He and his bride had been married for just four months when they received news of the completion of the house and so they sailed for America to begin a new life there.
It had been a pleasant enough existence at first, and Zechs had tried hard to make Noin happy, both in her surroundings and in bed. She had been timid from the start and Zechs's natural inclination would have been to let her be, but his father-in-law had impressed upon him how important an heir was to their side of the family and that he expected Zechs to have gotten his daughter with child within the first year of their marriage. So, he had gently persisted with Noin, and at last, in the spring of 1819, the news came from the doctor that she was pregnant. Noin was in tears with joy. Zechs got himself drunk from sheer relief.
And then, that summer, Noin took ill. One of the swamp fevers had swept through St. Rose, and she was near death for a week. At last, the fever broke and she seemed to be getting better, but just three days afterwards, she lost the baby and from that point got weaker and weaker. The doctor was summoned but all he could tell Zechs was that the fever had damaged some of her internal organs as well as her nerves, and that she was in a most delicate state of health. Complete bedrest was ordered, all exertion was out of the question, and marital relations, as the doctor so politely put it, were strictly forbidden.
Needing a way to relieve the inevitable tension, Zechs had thrown himself completely into the affairs of the plantation and they had seen a profit their first year -- a rare occurrence for a new estate. They had acquired more slaves to help with the caning and in the mill, as well as extra house attendants. But the more Zechs succeeded with the plantation, the more reclusive Noin had become, rarely leaving her bed and never venturing downstairs again.
So, while his marriage had never been a love match, all bonds with Noin were left to wither away, at least on Zechs's part, and he spent more and more of his free time reading in his library, or taking long walks into the gloomy swampland that surrounded his estate.
A chance meeting with an acquaintance at one of the many slave auctions led him to purchase the houseboy, Chang Wufei, who was strong and sturdy and absolutely lovely to look at. At night, as Noin slept her dreamless sleep, the tall blond would fantasize about what it would be like to touch the boy, to kiss the glowing caramel skin, and run his fingers through that silky, black hair. It nearly drove him to madness at times, but he was careful to be the soul of politeness around the boy, although he knew that Wufei must suspect him.
It was a lovely dream that would forever be unrealized, exactly like the dream he'd been having lately of a tall, elegant man who stroked his hair and touched him in ways he'd never been touched before.
So he stood here, at his window, a hell of longing and desire inside of him, covered up by the beautiful face and calm demeanor.
/This is my life. This is the hand I've been dealt. Best to accept it and not hope for things that can't ever be.../
/Some mornings look just like lavender.../
Ensconced in the large, spanish-style bed she shared with her husband, Noin du Marquise gazed out at the new day through long dark lashes nearly indigo in color. The whitewashed walls of the room were dappled in lovely colors of pale purple and the softest yellow as the morning sun once again filled the windows of their bedroom. Her husband himself was also filling the window, a tall, slim figure, mostly turned away from her, with hair that seemed to gather all the sunlight streaming in so that it glowed around him like a holy thing. She didn't want to disturb his quiet meditations, so she closed her eyes again and lost herself in what remained of her hazy memory.
/That's one of the reasons I first fell in love with him... he looked just like the angel statue in the cathedral back home. He couldn't stay that way, of course, having the needs of all human men, but even if he's not an angel, he's a perfect saint to put up with me the way I am.
/I know that I used to be different somehow -- that I used to run the house from downstairs and that he and I would take long walks through the cypress groves and talk about how the crop was doing, whether certain slaves were working well or not. I remember having my arm in his and feeling as if I was the luckiest girl in all of Louisiana to be his wife.
/Girl... no, that's not right, is it? I'm not a girl anymore. I'm a grown woman and I've lain with my husband, and that in and of itself would have stopped me from being a girl. Oh, those first nights... it seemed so wrong, so sinful. I remembered every word the sisters told me and how they talked in hushed voices as they told us vaguely of men's appetites and the duties of a good wife. And I was a good wife, wasn't I? Will the angels take that into account when I come before them? Or will they look at me and just know that once... many, many times actually... that I... Holy Mother, forgive me!... I enjoyed what he did to me...
/How could he do that to me? My mother never said anything about it, and the sisters would never speak of such things in detail. If only someone had told me... I might have gone into the sisterhood myself! But instead I did what my family wanted me to do... No, not just that. It was what my heart wanted as well... And he did those things to me, and he... he made me like them... sweet husband how could you betray me this way?
/But something good did come out of that sinfulness. My precious Michel, my dearest little boy... so tiny he was, too tiny, I heard them say, to stay here in this wicked world. So they took him away from me and they put him in the Doll Room, where he is always safe and nothing will ever hurt him...
/How I love visiting mon petit Michel... I love closing the door of the room and being alone with him, holding him in my arms and slipping into the rocking chair... and all the little babies who were too small to stay in this world look down at us and they smile. They bless us because they are just like little angels... and they listen as I sing to him, all the lovely songs my mama sang to me when I was a very small child. Michel is a very good child. He has his father's lovely golden hair, those beautiful blue eyes, and his father's mild temperament as well. He never, ever cries -- now what do you think of that! Well that's how good a baby my Michel is... I tell him that. That he is a very good baby -- even better than his father, who is very good, because Michel will stay in the Doll Room and he will never, ever put his hands on a woman, or make her feel so full that she cries out and believes in her own defilement. He will stay in that room and he will be pure all his life... My Michel./
There was a soft knock at the door and Zechs gave permission for Chang Wufei to enter the room.
The boy moved in on silent feet, head slightly bowed as he quickly brought in the tray, heaped with eggs, grits, biscuits and a delicate cobbler to hopefully tempt Miss Noin's palate. "Good morning, sir," he murmured, the sound of his voice soft in the post-dawn air, consonants almost as soft as the vowels. "I have brought breakfast and Miss Precious has made...." For a moment, he searched for the word; it was something different in his own language and it was one he had a hard time remembering, really. "...has made cobbler," he finished weakly, unable to grasp the word for the sweet fruit after all.
Zechs turned slowly, and looked over at the boy. How could anyone in his position be so respectful, so eager to please? An amazing young man, indeed. He smiled softly at him. "Thank you, Wufei. I'm sure Miss Noin will love it." A quick glance to the bed and he was amazed to see that she was still asleep. He could give it to the boy now, then -- no need for another secret present. "Wait for a moment," he murmured, "I found something for you in New Orleans. I'd like you to have it." Crossing the room to his desk, he opened it and pulled out a small book and handed it, almost shyly, to Wufei. "It's in Mandarin -- I think I remember your former mistress saying that was your native tongue. I... I hope you like it."
Soft voices broke in on her maternal reverie and again her lashes parted a bit and she saw her husband speaking to... that boy. /That boy. I don't like him./ The sound of him in the house made Michel cry, and he never cried but when that heathen boy was near. /I don't like the way he looks, the way his eyes look and the way he talks. And I have a terrible feeling that he may have done something to my dear Zechs. Look at them, talking together... How my lovely man looks at him, and smiles at him. Something's passing between them -- he's given that boy something! Oh my poor Zechs, what has he done to you?/
She saw Zechs began to turn towards her and she shut her eyes again. There was another exchange between them, and to her, Zechs's voice seemed far too kind and soft for that boy's ears. But she said nothing, like she always did. After all, Zechs was very happy with her. He was a saint, really, except for his desires, and the doctor said he couldn't do that to her anymore.
The tray now seated carefully on the little table in the corner where the Master breakfasted, Wufei took the book with an equal shyness, head ducked. "Xie xie," he whispered, clutching it to his chest momentarily before peering up through dark lashes at the tall blond. So, it WAS him leaving the gifts! Wufei had been almost certain of it... almost... and now he was sure! The smile that danced across his face momentarily was brilliant and full of gratefulness, somehow. It was so *nice*, living here! And the Master, for all that Wufei hated being owned, was kind and delicately genteel in a manner that, if not the same as his home country, was acceptable. "Thank you.."
"You're welcome," Zechs said, his own English softly accented. "I remember coming to this country and feeling a little sad without any books in my native language. I thought you might be feeling the same way." He turned slightly, thinking to end the conversation, but hesitated a bit and then turned back. "Are you... are you comfortable here? Are the household staff treating you well?"
"Yes, Master," came the sibilant reply, Wufei watching him carefully. "The duties are not onerous and the others are very..." What was the word? "Very polite? Very...?" He sighed slightly, the little smile of pleasure not fading yet. "Very good."
/Oh, so very, very lovely... his hair, that skin... ah, those eyes I could drown in, surely... But he would never welcome warmer attentions from the likes of me.../ Another soft smile at the boy. "I'm glad to hear it. Thank you again and please tell Precious that I will be lunching at the Mill today, yes?" He nodded, granting an unspoken permission for the slave to leave the room, and turned to Noin.
Now his voice was even softer, the way it was when he talked to her and only her. So she opened her eyes and smiled at him, and remembered to say her prayers because her dear husband looked like an angel...
Her eyes were just opening, and she smiled weakly at him as he helped her to a sitting position and propped the pillows behind her. She looked especially vulnerable for some reason and he felt a wave of almost guilty tenderness, so he leaned over, intending to kiss her forehead. A small, but firm hand made contact with his chest and she looked at him determinedly. "No -- not before prayers."
"No, of course not," he murmured, "forgive me." Straightening up, he stood back, feeling dirty somehow, while she folded her dainty hands and began the Divine Praises:
Blessed be God. Blessed be His Holy Name. Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true Man. Blessed be the Name of Jesus. Blessed be His Most Sacred Heart. Blessed be His Most Precious Blood. Blessed be Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar. Blessed be the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete. Blessed be the great Mother of God, Mary most holy. Blessed be her Holy and Immaculate Conception. Blessed be her Glorious Assumption. Blessed be the Name of Mary, Virgin and Mother. Blessed be Saint Joseph, her most chaste spouse. Blessed be God in His Angels and in His Saints.
Slowly she opened her eyes and smiled at him again, this time a bit more enthusiastically. He took the delicate hand that reached towards him, and kissed it, then delivered the kiss to her forehead that had been unacceptable before the morning's religious devotions.
Only then did he realize that the houseboy was still there, and had been watching the entire time. He felt his cheeks go scarlet. /Now he knows how repellant she finds me... what a disgusting beast I must seem to both of them./
Flushed slightly, Wufei turned to go, glancing back once at the woman in the bed, the look in her eyes strangely unreadable to him but giving him shivers all the same. Their ritual had halted him as he moved to leave and he had, instead, watched, somehow sad that it was not his forehead being kissed. /I wouldn't stop it for prayers or anything./ "S..." He stopped, searching for the word. "Apologies, Master!" Then he was gone, slipping quickly out the door, lip bitten tightly between his teeth. /He won't beat me for it... surely he won't, he's too nice for that.../
The door clicked shut and Zechs felt a strange sadness pass through him, as if the light in the room had all gone out. There was a tugging at his sleeve, however, and he brought himself back to tend to Noin. "What is it, cherie?"
"He's too forward, Zechs. You should get rid of him." The look on her face was somehow both weak and petulant and she clung to the soft lace of his cuff as she continued. "He makes me very nervous... I don't trust him at all. What if he begins stealing from us?"
"Noin!" Zechs was looking at her, aghast to hear how strong her dislike of the boy was. "Please, my love -- don't say such things. He is a reliable and hardworking slave, and has never given us any reason to suspect such things of him." He sat down on the bed, facing her, and took one of her hands in his. "Now please, Noin, don't fret about this anymore. There is really nothing to worry about." He looked over at the breakfast tray. "And look here -- Precious has made a lovely cobbler for you, and you know those always make you feel much more energetic."
Noin showed a hint of interest, sitting up a little more. "Well, I could try just a spoonful. Perhaps... perhaps I could visit my darling Michel today!" She laughed, a pretty, tinkling sound and and gave a little clap with her hands.
The tall blond put her tray over her lap and ducked his head so that she wouldn't see his expression. "Oh, of course... that would be... lovely for you, cherie." His heart was sinking in equal parts of despair and horror at the thought of Noin's little 'visits'. He thanked a God he didn't really believe much in that he would be safely away at the mill when she did it, so he wouldn't have to see her face...
The morning was already hot and humid, a sign of a tortuous afternoon, or that rain might be coming. Zechs headed out from the plantation house and walked slowly along the small road that ran along the western side of the property. It was lined on either side with tall oak and cypress trees and was known as 'The Avenue'.
He had let Noin choose his clothing, as he always did, and she had fitted him out with dark blue breeches and a snug-fitting coat of deep scarlet. He wore a plainer linen shirt than he would have, had he not been going to the shed. It wasn't a place for lace or finery and Noin had insisted that his long hair be tied loosely about halfway down his back with a silky scarlet ribbon. Long, black boots completed the outfit, along with the traditional straw planter's hat.
As he rounded the corner of the shed, his foreman, Louis Trepagnier, came out of the building to greet him.
"Is a good mawnin' fo' th'sugah, Mistah Zechs," the red-faced little man told him, mopping at his face with his white handkerchief before raising his straw hat and plopping it atop his bald pate. "We got Dan'l an' Moses crankin' the cane t'rough an' the guhls is stirrin' the syrup. We'll have us a coupla barrels by nightfall, I'm thinkin', yessuh," he nodded solemnly.
"Excellent work, Louis," Zechs said softly and smiled at the man. Trepagnier was a first-generation southerner, his father having come from France to work as foreman on a neighboring plantation, but in just one generation the southern had completely taken over and any trace of French in the Louis's voice or mannerisms was long since gone.
As they walked towards the small syrup mill, Zechs looked around in a pleased manner. "You and your workers are to be commended, Louis. I have to admit I was worried when we started up so early, but with that large crop beginning to ripen so soon we really didn't have a choice but to begin now. However," they stopped just inside the door, "you seem to have made quite a success of it. How are the mules holding up around back?"
"They fine, we'll be switchin' 'em out ever' so often. No worries, Mistuh Zechs, we got thangs well in-hand an' you c'n go 'ttend to the big sugah mill now iff'n you want. Dan'l c'n hannle thangs here an' we'll head on down an' see how the refinin' goes," Louis suggested solemnly.
Rag in hand, Wufei was solemnly dusting the mantelpiece and the few delicate pieces of porcelain in the drawing room when the sound of rolling carriage wheels caught his ear. Carefully placing the pale 'Blind Man's Bluff' piece down on the mahogany, he moved to the window to peer outside.
A carriage rolled to a halt before the front steps and he thought he recognized it -- that of Madame de la Villesbret, one of the local matrons who sometimes came to visit Master Zechs and give him advice on Mistress Noin's condition, among other things. She was an exacting visitor and his black eyes flew wide as she stepped down out of the carriage.
With hurried tread, he flew into the foyer to await her knock, straightening his dark trousers and the very simple shirt Precious had made him from one of Zechs's cast-offs. /And the Master gone to the mill!/ he thought, biting his lip. /That means I'll have to bring her the lemonseed cakes and iced coffee and make sure she's not left alone.../
There was a firm knock on the door -- a signal that the person asking entrance was a woman who knew her own mind and did not suffer fools gladly.
Drawing a deep breath, Wufei opened the door. "Hello, Madam," he said in his sweetly sibilant voice. "Won't you come in? Master Zechs is..." His face paused with intense concentration for a moment. "He has gone to the sugar mill."
Madame de la Villesbret was 52 but didn't look a day over 40. She was married to the single-most wealthy planter in all of southeastern Louisiana and hence had enormous power in the tight-knit plantation community. To be graced with a visit from her was an honor indeed and to be gone when she called could mean the end of her kind words and favors.
The one person who seemed to be the exception to this rule was the owner of the Cypress House plantation. If Zechs were not at home, Madame would wait for *him*.
Still standing in the entryway, she raised one, perfectly manicured eyebrow and looked the houseboy up and down. The she gave him a wink. "Well, well -- I suppose you will just have to keep me company while I wait, Wufei." She glided past him in a haze of violet perfume then turned and waited for him to show her to the parlour. "I'm sure we'll find *something* interesting to talk about... while we're waiting for you master."
"Yes, Madam," he answered her, trying not to swallow audibly. "If you will come this way, I shall fetch cakes and tea, if you wish?" he murmured, turning to lead her into the room in which he'd so shortly been dusting.
"Oh, that *would* be a treat. Everyone knows that Precious is simply the best baker in all of St. Charles Parish." She opened her fan and batted her eyelashes at him. Then, as he turned to fetch the tea, she discreetly eyed his delightful bottom and fanned herself a little harder. "Do hurry back dear," she murmured.
He could almost feel her eyes on him and he flushed to the roots of his silky black hair as he hurried back into the foyer and down the hall, through the small loggia and to the kitchen building.
"Miss Precious," he began softly, "Madame de la Villesbret has come to visit and..."
"Laaaawd!" the overweight cook moaned, a hand going to the tignon around her neck as she stopped, as if to pray. "She be wantin' lemonseed cakes, don't she, chile? An' I ain't got none made!"
A timid reply came from one of the kitchen girls, Precious's youngest daughter. "Momma, y'all made Aint Laurene's teacakes fo' Miss Noin' this mo'nin'. We c'n make mo' teacake, iff'n 'fei gives 'em t' the Madam."
A heavy sigh came from Precious. "I'd be lost 'thout my guhls," she told the slim young slave who was by now smiling slightly. "Gimme jest a bit, chile. Y'all eats y'one o' them cakes, 'fore y'hafta go entertain that woman, Lawd knows how long it'll be fo' the Mastuh comes home!"
Nibbling at one of the cakes, Wufei watched Precious move about, her skirts swinging with the rapidity of her movements. The cakes were placed just so on one of the pretty French porcelain plates Mistress Noin always ate upon, little shards of ice that had been almost magically preserved in the basement's tiny room that was chilled by a cold spring added to a glass, a thin slice of lemon laid atop the ice, sweet tea quickly filling a small pitcher. "Now y'all hurry on back out theah, boy, 'fore that woman gets a min' t'come afte' ya!"
Trying hard not to smile, Wufei lifted the tray and moved quickly back across the loggia and into the house, careful with it as he re-entered the parlour. "Madam, Miss Precious didn't have the lemonseed cakes today, but she did have teacakes..."
The matron raised a delicately gloved hand to her throat and said in mock horror, "No lemonseed? Well I never..." Her expression suddenly changed to one of pure wickedness. "Well I guess *you're* going to have to be the little tang I have today." She patted the chair that stood kitty-corner to where she sat. "Now you come on over here and talk to this old woman, and maybe I could find something interesting to tell you about your Master..."
Gently, Wufei settled the tray down on the small table beside the settee occupied by Madame de la Villesbret and then sat upon the edge of the chair indicated. "I only hope I can occupy you, madam. I am..." He paused, thinking, searching. "Yes. Poor company, because my words are slow sometimes!"
The gracious lady smiled seductively at him from behind her fan. "Oh, don't worry about *that*, sweet thing. You've got *plenty* of other charms to make up for *that!*" She let out a girlish giggle and winked again. "Now how about you pour me some of that delicious-looking tea while I tell you what I heard in the French Quarter on Monday."
"Yes, madam," he told her easily, leaning forward and pouring the tea, handing it to her even as his other hand raised the plate to offer one of the cakes to her.
She took the delicate glass and one of the lovely little cakes and then looked over at Wufei as if about to tell him the most important thing in the world.
"I have it on good authority that your Master had different tastes the last time he was in New Orleans. Back before he married your mistress." She leaned in even closer and put a hand on his knee. "He apparently was on, shall we say, *intimate* terms with another soldier. At least," she cocked her head to the side, "that's the rumor flying around the parties these days..." She sipped her tea and smiled at him. "Has he noticed *you*, my dear?"
By the time she reached the end of her sentence, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes shyly turned away. "I think I don't understand, madam," he said slowly, fidgeting slightly. "I apologize for my ignorance!"
Certainly he knew what she meant, more or less, but... some things, one did not discuss with anyone else!
Madame took the end of her lavender parasol and lifted Wufei's chin with it, coaxing him to look at her. With a sly smile, she purred, "Oh, I think you do. I suppose the question is not whether he's noticed *you*, but have *you* noticed *him*?" Her eyebrows raised suggestively and she let his chin drop. "I do think you'll need to refresh this teapot, my dear. You master is a long time in coming."
Wufei needed no encouragement to lift the glass and the pot on the tray and scurry from the room, both cheeks blazing with color. The trip to the kitchen was quick, the tea and cakes replenished by the kitchen staff. When he returned to the parlor with fresh ice and tea, he was much more under control. "Madam..."
The woman being addressed was admiring her expertly powdered face in a small gilded mirror. "Hmmm?" she asked, intent on her reflection, pulling a delicate pincurl down to dangle just above a lovely, powdered bosom.
"You wished for more tea," he reminded her solemnly, moving into the parlour to set down his tray.
"Such a sweet-mannered boy," she said, smiling sweetly at him again, although her eyes were somewhat mischievous. "Now, sit back down and let me tell you about my tour I took last month." Accepting the tea Wufei offered, she sat back on the satin-covered sofa and made herself comfortable. "I visited several of the local plantations, you know -- and I learned all about their *ghosts*. For instance, did you know that the ghosts of Jean Campet's two little girls have been seen playing on the veranda at Old Cedars? They both died of yellow fever three years ago."
The mere mention of ghosts raised the little hairs on the back of Wufei's neck and he gave a little shudder, paling slightly. "Madam, surely not..." Oh, it made him nervous! Ghosts and ghouls.... Another shudder rippled through him, visibly this time.
"Oh heavens, yes!" his guest replied with relish. "The servants have heard them running up and down the hallways, as well. But that's nothing on what they have up at Beaumont." The woman leaned forward, fixing Wufei's eyes with a level stare. "It seems," she began in her best storytelling voice, "that one of old Gagnon's daughters -- Gagnon was the original owner of Beaumont, you know -- well, one of his daughters was very willful and one day her mother shut her out of the house as punishment for what she did. Evidently the child pounded on the windows and cried to be let in for hours but the mother wouldn't relent -- even when it got dark. So the child wandered the grounds until she was exhausted. That's why she didn't see the well," Madam's eyebrows lifted and she gave the houseboy a significant look. "She tripped and fell straight down about thirty feet and drowned, and *now* Madame du Cherault -- the current owner's wife -- tells me that on windy or stormy nights the girl has been seen outside of the windows, peering into the house as if she wanted to get in. Now what do you say to *that*?"
As she spoke, the young man grew more and more pale beneath the warm color of his skin, nerves slowly settling into an edginess that he could not deny. "Please, Madam!" he begged her, biting his lower lip. "Ghosts are horrible things! They..."He paused before continuing. "They are... they.. hungry!" he got out quickly. "Ravenous eaters, ghosts are," he assured her, shuddering again. "Surely the ancestors would not be happy to hear such things!"
A soft, low voice came from the doorway of the parlour. "Madame de la Villesbret, a pleasure as always, but what *are* you telling my houseboy?" Zechs moved into the room with a easy grace and put an arm around Wufei's shoulder. Looking down at the boy, the Master of Cypress House patted him gently and frowned in concern. "Are you all right, Wufei?"
The face that turned up to him was slightly frightened and more than a little pale. "F..ine, Master," he reassured the tall blond man, only now remembering his faux pas of the morning and witnessing the Mistress's prayers. "Madame was telling a story, that is all."
Long, graceful fingers whispered across the side of the boy's neck. "Is she trying to scare you?" Zechs said, giving a knowing smile to his illustrious guest. "Madame de la Villesbret tell the best ghost stories I've ever heard, but they can be quite -- unnerving." He smiled down at Wufei again. "Will you pour your master some tea, please?" The his arm slipped from the slender shoulders and he walked to the couch to kiss the visitor's hand and sit next to her.
Once again, Wufei slipped out to make the trek to the kitchen to fetch the little chips of ice and more tea with fresh cakes as the two settled in to speak with one another. His movements were quick and when he returned, it seemed almost as if the two of them had not moved so much as an inch while he was gone.
Madame de la Villesbret was positively glowing with pleasure. She leaned over towards Zechs, showing off the soft mounds of her breasts to full advantage, and said in a playful voice, "I've been waiting for absolute ages, Monsieur. Your lovely little houseboy was keeping me company until you could do it for yourself. Now tell me, how is your poor dear wife?"
Zechs fought with himself to keep his eyes off Wufei. The boy had felt so warm under that proper servant's shirt, and his cheek the softest thing he'd ever touched. His visitor's provocative (and typical) behavior was having it's intended effect, making him feel aroused, but what she didn't know was that he would have rather buried his face in the Chinese boy's hair than in her sumptuous breasts.
"Noin is much the same," he said smoothly, "as well as can be expected. I am grateful for your suggestion of the syrup tonic, it seems to have helped with her sleep. Thank you so much for giving us the recipe."
"You are most welcome, my dear Monsieur," she assured him warmly, her smile directed at him entirely, as though the sun rose and set upon him. "The poor thing, her childless state must surely worry you."
Zechs's face went just a shade paler than its normal golden color. /I know she's outspoken, but really -- what a topic to bring up.../ He smiled -- a rich golden thing he'd learned would enchant the ladies. "On the contrary, Madame, I am concerned first and foremost with my wife's health and if that can only be maintained by her forsaking motherhood, then that is what I prefer. May I offer you a teacake?" /Take that and spread it around the other plantations./
The older woman sighed and smiled in return. "Ahh, Monsieur, you are indeed a wonderful example of ideal manhood," she praised him gloriously even as Wufei resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"It's been my experience that a man's true goodness is only attained when he is in the company of an exceptional woman," Zechs murmured. He remembered Paris all too well. The little flirtations and graces of the planter's community were nothing compared to those of the 'circuit' along the Right Bank, no matter how much the Creoles wanted to pretend it was. "What an absolute delight visiting with you has been," the blond said smoothly, rising as he took the matron's hand and gently tugged her to her feet. "Will you be at the the Count de l'Arichier's ball next week? I insist that you save me a dance."
No one in the surrounding area would have dared to do such a thing to Madame de la Villesbret -- no one save Zechs du Marquise, for he was the only one with even the remotest chance of getting away with such a thing, Wufei knew. He watched with the vague disinterest of a slave, though perhaps he wished that it was his hand that Master Zechs was now kissing and not hers.
"I shall save all the dances you wish Monsieur, of course," she said to him in her sultry voice. "I shall see you then, yes?" Her eyes flitted to where Wufei stood quietly in attendance. "A shame your boy cannot join you as well," came the murmur, teasing, provocative -- suggestive. "But there will be many others to entertain you, I doubt not."
"When I am at that particular ball, I shall have eyes only for the lovely ladies of our society, mais non?." His gaze was was mild but appreciative, calculated to flatter but not engender gossip. "Wufei, see Madame to her carriage and then come back for the tea things. Au revoir, mon cher Madame." A soft flutter of golden eyelashes, one last kiss of the hand, and he let her go.
Wufei came forward as bid to lead the madame from the house and she moved behind him, through the archway of the parlour, into the foyer and out the front door onto the porch. Once there, her coachmen (still waiting nearby) perked up and began to bring her carriage around to the steps.
"I hope you have a good evening, madam," Wufei told her quietly, bowing to her.
"Oh, I *shall*, Wufei. I make it a point to have very good evenings..." She trailed off and winked at him. "Perhaps *you* will have one, too..." With a last flourish of feathers, she was in the carriage and gone.
Shaking his head, Wufei turned and walked back into the plantation house, slightly embarrassed that she almost seemed to know things that even he wasn't so sure about. This place was desperately different than his childhood but similar to the Emperor's court in that everyone knew the business of everyone else and sometimes tended to it as if it was their own!
Gently, he shut the front door behind him, fading rays of sun shimmering through the glass panes on either side as he did so, shivering at the thought of the Madame's "ghosts" and the thought of the one who'd been coming upstairs for the past month or so. /Oh, please don't let him come and look at me tonight!/
It was early evening, and dusk turned the sky a myriad of clashing colors -- grey, pinks, peaches and red, all cooling to purples and blues, the colors of midnight.
He could go out anytime, walk about any time he wished, without tiring, without needing sleep. But the night was a beautiful thing, and when he was his strongest.
So, walking in an even, glancing pace on the property of Zechs du Marquise, the tall, pale man seemed to be in a strange amount of control. Servants and the master himself walked those fields by day, but he...
By night, they were Treize Khushrenada's.
A soft laugh slid past full, colorless lips at that thought. /As if I want the land at all... As if I'd ever wanted it, or cared a whit about such a thing./ "I am master of all I see, and none challenge me."
It had been two hundred years since he'd last met another of his kind; countless years before that since he'd become what he was. Born of a germanic tribe, he'd befriended a wood-man, a loner that never seemed to age. Beautiful, with silken blonde tresses, and skin dyed golden-brown by the sun. He'd taken him when he reached full man-hood, taken him and turned him into something so horrible, yet wonderful...
But he'd been killed, just years after that, barely a blink of time for his then new-found existence. And now...
/I've found you again, my love. Same face. Same Familiar./
Zechs was standing at one of the long windows in the parlour when Wufei got back. He was too lost in thought, however, to notice him walk in. He was thinking of Madame's comments -- about Noin and their lack of children, about the Ball and the boys that he would find entertaining -- and he was trying very hard to give a damn about it all. He knew plantation society. Sizing up the complex eddies and whirpools of the polite groups he'd always lived in was second nature to the tall blond. In Paris, one developed those instincts or became the laughingstock of one's social circle. So, in his heart, Zechs knew that it didn't look at all proper for Cypress House to be empty of children, nor for a man's wife to stay in bed all day and shun his touches.
It was the slaves, of course, who spread the rumors initially. He couldn't really blame them for gossiping -- they had so little to occupy their minds and everyone treated them as inanimate objects anyway. Why, he knew men who had made love to their mistresses with their personal attendants standing close at hand. They all got together when the plantations held common parties and told tales of the their masters and mistresses.
Worse, of course, than being childless was the fact that someone had started a rumor about him and other men. Had he been too forward with Wufei? The thought mortified him, but not because of the social disaster it could be, but that the boy might be feeling the press of unwanted attention.
So now he stood, staring out at the long shadows of the early summer evening, and telling himself he had to care about such things. The reputation of the house, Noin, and he, himself were all at stake, should some rumor stick to him. But at the moment, the idea of finding someone who understood, of being alone with a man who felt the same urges and desires as he did, and who could talk to him of things other than crops and weather and slave auctions... well -- it seemed there might not be anything he wouldn't give for the company of such a man... So he put a hand up to the windowpane, as if this phantom lover stood just outside, waiting to be caressed.
"Sir?" Wufei asked tentatively after several moments of quietness had passed between them. "Will you be having dinner downstairs tonight?"
"Hmm?" the blond man looked around, his face just a bit confused. His gaze fell on Wufei. The setting sun was filtering though the windows of the room, turning the boy's skin an even warmer color than it was normally. The sight of him that way, along with thoughts that had been pervading Zechs's mind, combined to create an intense wave of desire that seemed to flood through the plantation owner's body and threaten to drop him where he stood. He held the ebony gaze a few precious moments more than politeness demanded, then turned back to the window, closing his eyes against the longing he felt. "No," he said hoarsely, "no, I... I'm not hungry this evening..."
For a moment, Wufei gnawed his lip before he stepped farther into the parlour, the gathering shadows almost seeming to pool at his feet. "But Master, you should eat something. You have worked, all day long, at the sugar refinery and been in the fields. Surely you would have something? We have been in the gardens and I have picked the things you especially like..." His voice trailed off and he flushed, his pleading stopped as he realized that was what he was doing. /He's a grown man and doesn't need a shameful creature like you to tell him what to do!/
He turned halfway towards the boy, not risking a full glance. "How very kind of you, Wufei, to do such a thing... I, I'm sorry that Madame de la Villesbret was being so horrid to you, telling you frightening tales."
Moving forward yet again, Wufei gave his Master a tentative smile. /Ah, Master... So kind, why? Is it true, what she said? Ridiculous of me to hope.../ "Where I am from, ghosts are demons and monsters that like to eat flesh and drink blood, so it frightens me some. Even a... hmmm, even those who are not children are afraid of them. Do not think me a child, Master, frightened by wicked tales; more frightened by the terrible truth of the demons."
The closeness of the boy was too much to ignore -- that and his soft voice pleading not to be misunderstood. Zechs turned slowly to face him. "Eating flesh and drinking blood? How perfectly horrible -- it's no surprise that you were frightened." /Dear boy -- how can I possibly tell you... how I burn for you.../ A soft smile played around his lips as he glanced out the window again. "But take heart -- western ghosts are not nearly so vicious. All they do is make noise and leave strange stains on the wall or the carpet that no one can clean away." A soft laugh and then, "Rather boring, yes?"
It helped, some, but Wufei was still suspicious of those ghosts. "Perhaps," he murmured, "they are only waiting until it is convenient to eat someone, Master!" Once again, he stepped a bit closer, heart beating quickly.
The boy's strange words pulled Zechs's gaze back to Wufei and the boy's unexpected nearness almost made his head spin. /Close enough to touch.../ He watched as if he were dreaming -- his hand reaching out, fingertips brushing the dark silk of the slave's hair. "Truly, dear boy, you have no need to worry," he said in a soft, slow voice. "There are no demons here, and I would never let anything hurt you."
The raven eyes that lifted to to meet his own azure gaze were grateful despite the little shivers of fear still evident in them. "Xie xie, Master..." came a solemn mix of Mandarin and English, another step bringing him slightly closer, those fingertips heightening his nervousness as well as a certain sense of desire that was undeniable.
/He's so nice.... he wouldn't hurt me, he's not like that other man, and it doesn't hurt to find out if what the Madame said is true, does it? The worst that can happen is that he will be angry and beat me, and he wouldn't beat me as bad as all that, only a little.../
/Don't do this, dear boy -- don't move closer... pull away from me and tell me what a monster I am... for wanting you this much... and don't listen to anything I say.../ Graceful fingers trailed down to the boy's cheek, too hungry to pull away from the sweet warmth of him. Unreal, almost, that he was touching someone and that someone wasn't recoiling in disgust. Something in those dark eyes that pulled him in and took away all the air in the room.
Fingertips continued caressing the warm skin. "Did your former master... did he hurt you, Wufei?"
Wufei's gaze darted away and found the floor, his shame welling up at those words. "Some," he admitted reluctantly, the caresses against his cheek soothing and sweet.
Zechs leaned down and cupped the boy's chin, bringing his gaze back. He leaned forward, staring into the dark eyes with infinite tenderness and whispered "I swear to you it will never happen again."
The air between them seemed thick with the oncoming dusk and the sound of that promise accompanied by a sudden rush of sweetness. Wufei leaned forward and up, lips touching Zechs's lightly in the lightest of motions, soft and gentle for a moment that seemed to last for an infinite and unknowable amount of time.
Pale gold lashes fluttered downwards as Zechs's hand wandered to that soft cheek again. It was almost as if a current of electricity ran through him, let in by the touch of the slave's warm lips on his. That's all it was, the merest touch, a mingling of breaths, but oh, the desire behind it!
There was a sound of heavy footsteps outside the closed parlour door and the tall planter pulled quickly away from his houseboy. His gaze, however, was still adoring. "Wufei..."
"Chile," came a slightly disapproving voice from the doorway, one that made Wufei's eyes fly wide open as he turned. "I's time fo' us t'be makin' suppah, Mastah."
Zechs looked up at the cook. He was still dizzy from the touches of the houseboy but managed a lovely smile anyway. "Forgive me, Precious, I did not mean to detain him from your service." He looked down at Wufei once more, gaze heavy with meaning. "Run along, then -- I wouldn't wish Precious's wrath on you." He smiled, trying to caress the boy with his eyes. /You have made me so happy, little one... bless you for that.../
"Yes, Master." With a small bow, Wufei was gone, moving quickly after Precious as one of her daughters moved about the house lighting candles and oil lamps to lighten the almost-darkness that was upon them.
The click of the parlour door brought a flood of powerful feelings to the young planter, who stumbled to a chair and sat down heavily. He gazed silently out of the long windows at nothing at all while his mind raced in ten directions at once.
/Why did he do that? Does he feel anything for me? Is he trying to make a fool of me? Oh dear God... he felt like heaven.../ His left arm was propped on the arm of the chair and leaned slightly towards it, brushing his fingertips lightly across his lips. The memory of that contact, so faint and yet so overwhelming, came back in full force and Zechs had to close his eyes against the desire he felt.
/I've never once laid my hand on a slave in anything but kindness. I've never beaten them, never thrown them to the floor or against a wall, and I've never touched one of them in lust. The thought sickens me, and yet... when I think of him, he stops being a slave... he's just a boy, on his own in a foreign land... just as I was.../
"Zut alors!" The blond stood and stalked to the windows again, looking out on the twilight that had covered the tall trees that surrounded the house. A slight breeze had come up, and the hanging moss was moving listlessly in the high branches. Pressing his forehead to the cool pane of glass, he begged for some higher power to give him guidance on what he should do.
But... what was that? Movement over by the path? Zechs frowned and walked to a window further down the wall to get a better view. What he saw made him draw a sharp breath and put his hand out against the window frame to steady himself. He had seen a face -- not more than that -- just a face, but it was known and familiar to him, beloved almost. And yet, that face that had moved across the pathway and then disappeared around a large jasmine bush, had no business at all to be wandering the grounds of Zechs's plantation. The only place he had ever seen it was in dreams, when the tall and elegant man came to him and set fire to his blood with a single touch.
Without a thought, he ran out of the room and towards the back of the house, servants looking at him as if he'd gone mad. But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to Zechs now was finding that man, and asking him who he was and why he had come.
He stepped out one of the back doors onto the rear patio, a small, intimate space with a flagstone floor and flowers filling the humid air with scent. /He went down the path to the gazebo... I know he did.../ The master of the house set off down the path, walking quickly, looking to either side of him, praying that he wouldn't lose the mysterious stranger. /What's wrong with me? Why is my heart pounding like this? Is it really this important...? *Yes*, damn it, it *is!* I don't know why, but it *is.*/
Coming out of the green gloom of the pathway he saw ahead of him the vine-and moss-covered gazebo. He stopped in his tracks, searching it for signs of the man, looking left and right as his heart started to sink and then, suddenly, the man was there...
"A fine evening for a walk, is it not?"
His voice was carefully casual, though his command of english was high, and flooded with the accent of one who'd lived all over the european continent during his life -- hard to pinpoint the origin of.
The pale man had his back turned to Zechs, while a hand so alabaster it could have been a glove threaded and sought through the flowers that crept up the gazebo. Softly curling strands of golden-brown hair were tied back in a low tail, mid-shoulder length, and it almost seemed to blend into his clothing, of the same warm, tannish shade as his hair.
The voice made him shiver, so strange and intimate somehow. In his dreams, the man had never spoken to Zechs, and hearing it now it seemed somehow the only voice that the refined gentleman could ever have. A hypnotic voice, one that would soothe or lull into a false sense of safety.
Shaking his head a bit, Zechs collected his wits and tried to act like the owner of the plantation. "Excuse me, sir," he said, voice soft but confident, his accent a little stronger because of the anxiety he felt. "Might I inquire why you are wandering my grounds? I don't believe I know you, so... if you had business with me or any member of my house, why have you not come and introduced yourself?"
"Is there really a need for me to introduce myself to you, Monsieur du Marquise?" The speaker turned, and his face was now visible, framed by a few loose tendrils of gingery hair. "I know you, and you know me -- really, the names matter little."
His eyes were like sapphire set in porcelain; glittering, with a brightness that made them seem illuminated from within, rather than from without the tall, lean frame. "I've watched you now for some time, Monsieur; I've felt your frustration and pain, as if from first hand. And I know what you want." The pale hand reached out at the same moment the man took slow, gliding steps, until his fingers lightly touched and lifted Zechs's chin, as if the man were inspecting Zechs's face by the dusky light.
/So beautiful... that face, those eyes, almost unearthly in their color... the most beautiful man I've ever seen.../ Pale fingers touched him and he felt the fire that had always come in the dreams -- making him gasp softly. "No," he whispered, unable to take his eyes from the stranger's. "No, you're just a dream... those were all... just dreams, monsieur..."
"I am Monsieur, or Herr Treize Khushrenada," the ethereal man uttered, tone even and haunting. There was an undertone to it, but it seemed as if shellacked, heavily silvered with something. /Eat up the meaning of my name, my dear Frenchman./ He'd always had a weakness for the French. They were a beautiful, stubborn people... "And all the world is my dream."
At that moment, Zechs believed that the easiest thing to do would have been to fall far, far down into those eyes and give himself up to the strange man before him. It was so hard to think clearly -- the touch, the voice, the strange words that were impossible but had such a ring of truth to them...
A soft evening breeze found its way though the cypress trees, and the tall blond pulled himself out of the spell like a drunken man. "I... I don't ever remember meeting you, Monsi -- Herr Khushrenada, yet you say you've been watching me. How is that possible?"
"Do you believe in ghosts, Monsieur? Ghosts of the past?" His pale hand slid down from Zechs's chin, down, resting lightly above his pulse-point. The throb of life there was so tempting, so hard for him to resist. "I've met you before. At parties, in battles."
Azure eyes narrowed and a confused frown crossed the planter's face. As he stood, transfixed by the stranger, it seemed as if a flood of images came to him from deep within the piercing blue gaze...
A ball, long ago in Paris, before he joined the military -- a man in evening dress and a devil's masque gazing at him, moving across the crowded floor...
... Dragging his captain ashore as the British overran the Antibes, he had looked back and seen someone standing on the bow, someone with silky ginger hair...
... Running through the swamps just west of Lake Pontchartrain, he and a few dozen American soldiers running down a British regiment -- there had been a few minutes where he seemed to be lost, not within sight of his fellow soldiers, the deadly silence of the graceful cypress swamp filling him with dread... and seeing him, this man? He had been bent over a fallen British soldier and when he stood, he had stared over at Zechs and then held a hand out, pointing in the direction of a path through the tall trees... when Zechs had looked back, he was gone...
... The New Year's Eve masked ball in New Orleans, seven months ago... another episode to fuel the rumors. He had seen a man on the opposite side of the dance floor and they had studied each other through the eyes of their masks, his a butterfly of brilliant indigo, the other man's a moth the color of a midnight sky... They were still staring at midnight when the clocks chimed and the guests began removing their masks and laughing as they recognized now familiar friends in the exotic costumes. He and the man had dropped their masks slowly, at the same time and now Zechs could remember the face, exquisite with a masculine beauty that put the gaudy dress around him to shame...
"You..." Zechs whispered, feeling lightheaded. "That was you... all those times..."
"Yes. I've lived among the French, fought with the British and the Americans, lived here... and sought you out." His tone was more serious, as he took a step closer, hand sliding to the back of Zechs's neck. "Do you know what I am?"
A shake of the head sent pale gold strands swinging over the younger man's shoulders. "What you are...? I don't understand..."
"Something more and yet less than what you are," he breathed. "Monsieur du Marquise... do you care to dance with me?"
The man's closeness, his breathy voice, and the regained memories of that ball in New Orleans, that feeling of desire that seemed to sing between them that night... and it was after he'd returned home that the dreams began.
He raised a hand slowly, as if in a trance, to the man's shoulder, the other hand reaching forward seeking the other man's. "Of course, Herr Khushrenada..." he heard himself say, "of course I'll dance with you..."
Considerately, Zechs's hand was grasped, in a firm, warm hold, that belied the cool glow of the man's skin. Slender fingers seemed to engulf the golden hand. Treize's other hand slid down, with aching slowness, to grasp the manor-lord's waist. "You're more beautiful now then I've ever seen you before."
"I... I don't deserve such praise, mein Herr. Next to you, I feel a pale copy of a man..." /What are you doing, Zechs? This isn't the way a man should act, coming upon a trespassing stranger. But something about him is familiar, and he's both terrifying and fascinating... and very dangerous I'm sure of it./
"No, Zechs, you are a most perfect specimen of humanity that I've seen."
As he began to lead the blonde into a dance that lacked music, he breathed softly against Zechs's neck, not moist warm air, but closer to tiny puffs of a chill wind. "You know what your name is in my most native tongue? The devil's number. Six. Are you a god-fearing man...?"
A shiver went up the blond man's spine at the touch of that breath, those words. Surely he should say yes -- for wasn't he a Christian and baptized in the Holy Roman Catholic Church? "I... I..." He made the mistake of looking up into the bottomless pools of blue that passed for Herr Khushrenada's eyes -- eyes that demanded no less than complete honesty. "I... don't believe so, sir... My wife considers it one of my greatest failings..."
"Then, you shouldn't be terribly afraid of me," he smiled softly, a glimmer of teeth; on either side were elongated canines.
The young planter's eyes widened at the site of the small fangs. A thin current of fear that had been threatening to spark leapt up in him and he felt his heart begin to race. He shook his head softly, struggling with disbelief as he stared in horrible fascination at the tiny, sharp edges of the man's teeth. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Why are you here?"
"I am here because you're someone I miss dearly, and have found again," he uttered, cool breath gusting on Zechs's face as he began to lean in close, incrementally. "I can hear your heart racing, Zechs -- fear me not. I seek to rescue you from this place."
Head spinning from the man's closeness, Zechs whispered, "Miss me? How... you don't know me..." The man's body seemed to call to him but not with the warmth that the houseboy's had just an hour earlier. There was no warmth coming from him, just a predatory desire that seemed to demand being sated. "I... I don't need... to be rescued..." He was trying to argue, trying to come up with a good reason for the man to stop his sensuous advance, but his voice trailed off and he was left gazing into Herr Khushrenada's eyes, looking no doubt as much a creature of longing as the other was of conquest.
The gaze was steady, even as he made another subtle movement, a shifting of his grasp. His hand, still holding Zechs's, now rested against the man's hip. "Your wife, du Marquise -- the facade you call happiness? You want a man, a beautiful man. Myself, and... your young servant."
Zechs could feel his cheeks go scarlet at those words. "How...? There's no way you could know..." Anguish flooded him, and guilt over his feelings for Wufei, and, God yes, for this beautiful man. That night, in New Orleans, he had wondered what he would have done had the man approached him, suggested something intimate, and whenever he thought of what his answer would have been... "I... I should go..." he managed to say, but his feet wouldn't obey, no matter how hard he tried.
"I know." And he knew so much! "Dinner, du Marquise. I'll keep watching over you both until a better time. Just remember that I am here." But he didn't let Zechs slip from his grasp yet -- not before he'd had a little taste. His lips, soft and comfortably warm, brushed over Zechs's, before trailing across his cheek and down his neck. There he let his teeth sink, ever so lightly, into that golden flesh.
A soft gasp escaped the young planter as his skin was broken. There was a flash of pain and some small part of his mind began clamoring at him to fight what was being done to him, to push his attacker away and run like hell. He knew that he *should* do that and he made a feeble attempt, bracing his arms against the vampire's broad chest, a whispered plea -- "No..." And then everything changed.
Suddenly, he could feel his blood flowing out of those tiny wounds and Treize's warm, hungry mouth sucking at him. It seemed then that fire spread out from that tender place to every part of him, settling at last as a sweet and pulsing ache between his legs. The world around him, the moss and oak and cypress, the gazebo and the swamp beyond it, all of it became misty and for a moment the only thing that existed was Treize.
He could feel his eyes closing, the warm erotic pulsing growing stronger, wanting to speak, but being unable to say a word. At last, with a soft, confused moan, the seed flowed from his aching shaft in the same infernal rhythm as the blood flowed in Treize.
The same impassioned feelings he'd felt that first time, and every time after, that he'd been fed from. Or fed from one so.... pure. Married, lusting after his servant boy, yet pure. Of heart, in the least. Zechs wanted, yes, but they were tangible things that every man had a right to want -- a sane wife, children, someone to love him, to bask in his touch and grace him with golden pleasures of his own.
Treize withdrew slowly, so as not to shock the gorgeous blonde that, by then, he held fully in his arms, in a supportive grasp. His fangs seemed to slip back to a more manageable position as he lapped and nuzzled Zechs's neck, making tender murmuring noises. "Lovely, Monsieur... Simply lovely."
Held in that warm and strange embrace, the Frenchman drifted for a time, not wanting to move or speak. One hand was still gripped tightly around the vampire's shoulder, the other hung loose at his side. In an eerie way, he felt as if he'd finally come home after being away from that sweet place all his life.
Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes and gazed up at the man who held him. He was so beautiful, now that the sky had darkened and the moon was out, turning everything to silver. /An angel, perhaps... is that what he was?/ His voice was hoarse but he managed to speak. "Am I... Am I dead?"
"No... at the moment, you're very much alive, Zechs," the fanged man sighed softly, sated in the most wonderful way. /So long since I drank such rich and wonderful blood. A pity I cannot just feed off him.../ But that wasn't an option; Zechs was someone to preserve, to make him so he'd never be lost to him again.
One arm stayed holding strong around Zechs's, while the other slipped down to palm the man's now softened groin. "Ah... I see you enjoyed it." As he spoke, the damp cloth was kneaded gently with one warm, pale hand.
Zechs let out a soft groan at the touch of those fingers, burying his face against the vampire's neck. It was wrong, of course -- horribly wrong of him to feel the way he did. /I'm a married man, respected by my neighbors and my slaves... how can I possibly have... ahhh, dear God that feels so good!/
"Please," the planter whimpered, "Please don't..." But his body betrayed him, arching up into Treize's hand and making him feel dangerously wanton.
"Let me do this for you, Monsieur, after being such a willing snack," he uttered softly, feeling that warm breath against his neck, and wishing just then that the other man was another vampire as he was. It was something special to feed off each other like that, far better than simple sex. "Hold onto my shoulders -- I wish to take you in my mouth." Gradually, he began to move down, his arms now securing itself around Zechs's waist.
/This can't be happening... this really can't be happening... just one of those dreams, it has to be... ohhhh, feels *so* good.../ Zechs did as he was told, gripping Treize's shoulders as he felt himself stiffen again. It had been so long since since the last time -- his beloved captain... "No... no... ahhhh, no..."
"The tongue does protest, but the body wants," the now kneeling vampire murmured, his free hand undoing the buttons that sealed Zechs's trousers shut. "It is safe to want me -- for I shall never leave you, nor ever die on you. You lost your dear captain, didn't you? Still afraid to love, to want, again? I'll protect you and all those you wish to have me protect."
"My... captain -- how did you...? Ohhhh..." The blond man's eyes were closed, his face soft in pleasure as he rocked against the fingers that played lightly over him. "Protect me," he whispered. "Protect him..."
"I've been watching him, you know," he uttered, pulling Zechs's now hard member free of constricting cloth. "I'll keep you both safe, Zechs..." He breathed, puffs of air against that warm skin, before he leaned forward, taking it in his mouth. The very tips of his fangs just dragged lightly across that sensitive flesh.
A tiny cry came from the planter, equal parts of pain and pleasure, and his fingers found silky hair, holding Treize's head in place as he pushed further into that mouth. It was overwhelming, delicious and so forbidden, and he couldn't pull away now if he wanted to.
A rush of erotic imagery came unbidden to his mind as the vampire worked him. He and the slave boy, staring into each other's eyes, lips touching, so hungry; lying in bed and dreaming of this man kissing and touching him everywhere -- but had it been a dream?; a fantasy he'd once had of making love to Wufei in the big, soft bed that stood in his own room, pinning slender wrists above the dark head and pushing into the boy's tight body; and lying beneath this beautiful man, giving in and giving himself up to the masterful touch.
On it went, each image more wanton than the one before it, as the Treize set fire to him and he thrust harder and faster into the silky mouth. "Ohhhh, mein Herr..."
Heated, and to have such a blood-filled piece within him, without biting and giving in to the temptation was hard and erotic in and of itself. Sapphire eyes seemed to stare up at Zechs, a separate part of Treize from the mouth that was steadily coaxing orgasm from him, from the body that held him close.
Past, present and future swirled before him in his own mind's eyes. Heated nights of sharing blood with his then-lover, of being fucked nearly through the hard cot-like bed they shared after he'd left his people; that heady feeling that came only with being mortal and tasting the blood of the un-dead; the orgies in rome; the celebrations of the gauls; the druids of the island; having the beauteous angel before him beneath him, writhing and moaning in a blood-scented room; having that same angel within him...
"Ah, mon Dieu!" Zechs was arching against Treize's mouth, softly murmured French coming out between little whimpers as he felt everything in him tighten. "C'est trop*...ahh, je ne puis pas durer!**" He gave a sharp cry as an intense throb of pleasure raced through him, warmth flowing out of him again as he pressed himself against the other man. "Ahhh... c'est si bon***... c'est si bon..." Suckling it all down, until it was gone; even then, Treize mouthed the softened member, as if to get more. Nowhere near as good as blood, but it had it's own appeals... He drew back slowly, letting Zechs's softness fall seductively out of his pale lips, colored only by friction. "Gut."
Zechs's body began to tremble, slightly at first, then more pronounced as Treize pulled off of him. /Can't believe I did this... would have done it in New Orleans, too... what has he done to me... make me want him this way?/ The young planter pulled Treize to his feet and then, before he could stop himself, pulled the man to him and took his mouth is a long, fiery kiss, one which Treize easily acquiesced to, glad to, and to make it a bit more interesting than it already was, scrapped his tongue on one of his teeth, drawing blood. His hands grasped Zechs closer against him, letting the man feel his hardness against him, as he deepened that kiss.
When he pulled softly away, Zechs put a hand up to Treize's lips, where a spot of blood had remained. He seemed to be in a trance, as he raised a slender finger and dabbed at the crimson drop. Then slowly, he brought the finger to his mouth and sucked it clean, never taking his eyes off the vampire as he did so.
"Enjoy the taste, Monsieur?" he asked in a husky voice. "You can have more of a taste of it tomorrow night, if you wish to meet me here again..."
"Tomorrow...?" Zechs felt as if he were awakening from a long, strange dream. The man in front of him was beautiful and frightening and he wasn't at all sure he should come near the man again ever. /That's impossible though... not see him...? Not touch or kiss him again... ever? Is that what you want...?/
He suddenly became aware of his disheveled state and hastily rearranged his clothing, eyes never moving from the vampire's lovely face. "I... I don't know about... tomorrow... /Liar. You'll be here. You know it -- and more importantly, *he* knows it.../
A look of anguish crossed his face. "I have to go..." and he forced himself to turn away from the man, feeling a strange pull backwards, wanting to go, wanting to stay.
"I will see you then," Treize uttered, remaining on the Gazebo, waving casually. "Thank you for a glorious night. And don't forget that I'll always be there. Just in case."
Zechs turned at the sound of that silky voice and stared up at the man. He was still staring as he backed away and then turned, stumbling down the path towards his house.
"I have him," Treize uttered to himself. "After so long of waiting... I have you again as mine, Mirialdo. You don't know who you are, but I do... And that's all I've ever needed."
* = too much ** = I can't last! *** = That's so good...
The kitchen was almost steaming when Wufei stepped foot into it, much warmer than the parlour had been, and his hair went limp and clung to his skull within the first minute. Two of the girls, kerchiefs on their heads, were busily snapping beans, their fingers flying as they moved. Another was busily forming the huge biscuits that would shortly go into the oven and yet a fourth cut little circles of squash with a steady motion of her knife.
"Now ya listen heah, chile," Precious told him quietly as she ushered him towards a chair in the corner. "An' ya listen like ya ain' evah listene' befoah. The Mastah is a good man. He's a ha'd wo'kin' man, a man what loves his wife an' his people, an' you won' be takin' 'vantage o' his good will. Heah me, boy? I knows how them looks you castin' a'e meant to be. I see 'em an' you cain't fool me. Now, yo' a good boy. I don' doubt yo' a good boy. But don' ya be givin' out them looks like that. Heah me? They's a sick woman upstai's an' she don' need no boy comin' in an' makin' he' husban' thank them kinda though's yo' makin' him thank. That kinda thang, it ain't right boy. I's agin God an' i's agin th'loa. You unne'stan', boy? Don' mattah to me what yo' mastah befoah heah mighta wanted, it ain't somethin' tha's needed heah."
The longer her speech had gone on, the more he'd become aware of the stares cast him from the corners of glimmering women's eyes and the more he'd wanted to run out the door; run and run until he could find a way home again, where the people weren't strange, where men didn't look at him the way some of them here did and where even if they did, no woman would take him to task for returning the looks... somewhere where the shame and humiliation that filled him up now would not touch him or harm him.
Finally, he said the only thing he could say, head turned down so that he could bat the growing tears loose from his eyes with no one to see. "Yes, Miss Precious."
Her arms came around his shoulders and she patted his back gently, hugging him close despite the heat. "Yo' a good chile," she said softly. "I know yo' a good chile. I's gone be awright now, ya heah. Now, put that pretty head up an' you smile fo' me."
It was awkward; almost impossible, in fact, but he tucked his chin up and forced a smile onto his lips.
"Now, then," she told him gently. "Y'all go'n fetch a pail o' wawte', chile, an' wash yo' head, 'cause it looks like yo' 'bout to swelte' clean down t'nothin'. An' you come back heah when I call ya t'suppah 'cause Miss Noin's still in the Doll Room an' she'll be wantin' he' suppah up the'e. Unne'stan'?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said solemnly, and slipped gratefully from the room for a while.
Behind him, Precious shook her head slowly, expression sad. "Po' chile," she said to herself as her daughters all turned from their work to look at her. "That po' chile..."
"I's all right, Momma," one of them said. "He ain't bad. Not like some o' them boys in th' fields are."
"No," she agreed, "tha's true. But honey, they's bad an' then they's BAD. An' what we got he'e, I jes' don' know."
Candles danced in the wind as Wufei carried a tray up the stairs, piled high with hot biscuits, onion and squash browned out in butter, beans, fried chicken and a little dish of gravy, a fresh cup of buttermilk balanced carefully with a small flower beside it. He didn't want to go upstairs; didn't want to go into the Doll Room at all, for it made his skin shiver! There wasn't anything to do about it, though, and so he went trudging down the hallway runner and gently knocked on the door to the room.
The voice that came through the door was high and dreamy. "Come in."
Permission having been granted, Wufei tentatively opened the door and slipped inside, shuddering as he did so.
Noin was in the rocking chair, sitting next to a beautifully turned wooden crib. She was dressed in white, and held a doll in her arms, cradled like a real baby. It's hair was the palest gold, exactly like her husband's and now and then she stroked the stuff absently. Her face as she looked down at the doll was radiant and she was singing to it softly:
~~"Sur le pont d'Avignon On y danse, on y danse Sur le pont d'Avignon On y danse, tous en rond..."~~
"M...Mistress," Wufei tripped over the word, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as she sang her little song despite the fact that most of his hair was wet. "I have your supper..."
Noin looked up dreamily, and then saw Wufei. The change was sudden and dramatic -- her eyes widened to a hostile stare and she held the doll fiercely to her breast. "*You've* made Michel cry," she hissed. "You want to do something bad to my little Michel, you wicked boy! But I won't let you! Now say you're sorry! Say you're sorry for making him cry. You have to make him happy again! Do it!!"
As goose-pimples began to spark all over his skin, Wufei drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry for making Michel cry," he murmured, swallowing hard. "I only meant to bring your supper, madame..."
Noin sniffed a little haughtily and her expression changed again. "Do you want to come see my little Michel?" she said, her voice drippingly sweet and yet completely sincere. "Come on, now that you've apologized he won't cry." She pinned Wufei with a glance that almost *compelled* obedience.
It made Wufei sad and frightened him, somehow both at once. Carefully, tray held in trembling hands, he moved forward. "Michel is very lovely, Madame," he managed to eke out, shivering still. "Would you like for me to place your supper here?" /The more quickly I leave your supper, the more quickly I may go!/
"Ah, my supper," the woman cooed to the doll as Wufei drew closer. "Yes, put it down so you can see my baby get *his* supper! Is mon petit hungry tonight? Yes?" She looked up at Wufei with a serene smile. "I know you've wanted to watch. I know you've been thinking about it..." Turning back to the baby, she raised a hand to the ribbons of her dressing gown and in less than a minute, she moved the white silk away from a small, rounded breast, stroking the nipple until was hard. "Here you are, mon cher, and it's only for you... *only* for you..." She raised the dolls mouth to the turgid nipple and pressed forward a little, rubbing the tight nub against its pale pink lips. Her eyes closed, expression one of bliss. "All yours, Michel, mon petit ange... mon cher... Vous êtes si beau*... Zechs..."
"M...Madame..." Wufei almost whimpered as he closed his eyes tightly. "Please, Madame. May I go?" Oh, horrible horrible thought and sight! That white porcelain face pressed to pale pink breast and given such tender invectives, such sweet words. He shuddered again, trying not to turn and rush back downstairs, hoping that the Master would be back. "Please, Madame!"
But Noin was lost to the world, rocking back and forth, rubbing the doll against her breast. Languidly, she opened large, violet eyes on him and smiled, all the while continuing to rock. "You know who Michel is, don't you," she said, the words more of a statement than a question. "And it makes you so *jealous*... to know that I give him this, doesn't it -- ahhh!" Her eyes closed briefly in pleasure. "You know who he is..."
The fright was obvious in Wufei's voice as he insisted, "No! No, I don't know! I don't know what you are talking about!"
"Be very careful," she replied in a high sing-song voice as she pushed the fabric away from her other breast. The doll was pressed to the small nipple again and she continued. "The angels are watching you. Look at their eyes -- their beautiful, blue eyes..." She was looking at the dolls that were sitting on the shelves, the tables, in little carriages and rocking horses on the floor. "I only bought dolls with blue eyes," she said, still rocking slowly, "because Michel has blue eyes... just like his papa..." Her dreamy gaze drifted to Wufei once more. "All the good things are in Michel... All these pretty angels keep him safe, right here where I can always see him..." She lifted the baby high over her head, laughing up at him, pretty breasts completely revealed. "And you know who put my Michel in here -- who made it so safe for him? My sweet husband..."
Bringing the baby down she leaned forward towards Wufei, her voice hushed as if sharing a confidence. "The doctor told me that Michel was too tiny to live in the world, so his papa brought him here after he was born and he put the baby angels here to protect him. I have the most wonderful husband in the world, do I not?"
She laughed suddenly. It was harsh and disdainful and her eyes narrowed as she rose, shakily, from the rocking chair and moved towards the slave. "But *I* know the *real* reason my Michel couldn't stay with me. He thinks I don't but I do, I *do* know..." Now she was almost on him and she reached a hand out towards him, still cradling the doll in the other. "So you tell him that. Tell him I *know* and God does too!"
Wufei cried out and flinched away, turning and running for the door as quickly as he could move. He was out it and it was slammed behind him, shutting the crazed woman in as he ran sobbing for the stairs.
* You're so beautiful (polite form)
Halfway back to the house, Zechs turned and looked back. He felt a wave of relief that the gazebo was no longer in sight and he could walk a bit slower, knowing no one would follow him. As he walked, the moss stirred in the trees overhead and the sultry night air made him feel drowsy and mournful. /What have I done? Ah, mon Dieu, what have I done! I've twice been unfaithful to my wife, who can barely leave her bed... once with the houseboy, and now, even worse.../
He checked back over his shoulder again, feeling cold and haunted despite the warm evening. /Why did I do it? Why did I let him -- oh God, what have I *done!*/
He was shivering now, his legs feeling weak, and the tiny wounds on his neck were throbbing. He entered the house through a side door away from the kitchen and started up the staircase, trying to think of how he would explain his lateness to Noin.
It must have been something of a surprise to him that, before his foot had landed on the third step, Wufei flew down the stairs and directly into him, tumbling them both to the foyer floor.
"Aiyah!" Wufei cried out, almost hysterical as he struggled to loose himself from the man, fearful somehow that the crazed woman was behind him, no matter how fast he'd flown.
"Wufei! What is it?" Zechs held him gently and got them both to their feet. "You're... you're crying. What has happened, are you hurt?"
"Bú shì!*" Wufei sobbed, shaking his head frantically as he looked up the stairs with more than a little fright. "Ah!!"
His old manservant, Guy, was at the top of the stairs now. He peered down at the two of them, old face wrinkled with concern. "Monsieur? Something wrong?"
Zechs followed his gaze but saw nothing on the stairs that could have frightened the boy. "No, he's all right, thank you, Guy." Putting an arm around Wufei he led him into the library, off of the main entryway. "Come in here," he said quietly.
The room was dimly lit, just a few reading lamps glowing, and a warm breeze blew in through the open windows. Zechs led the boy to a long chaise, and sat down with him, peering anxiously up into his face. "Breathe deeply, it will help you to calm yourself."
He gently rubbed the boy's back, waiting for the sobbing to stop. When it did he patted his coat pocket, looking for a handkerchief, but none was there, so he took off his scarlet coat and carefully wiped the tears from the boy's eyes. "Please -- Wufei. Tell me what has made you so upset?"
Wufei shook his head silently, sniffling as the tears poured down his round cheeks and struck the red jacket, lips trembling. It took him what seemed forever to dredge up the correct English words, his mind scattered. "Your wife I took supper. She... the..." His hands made motions for a moment, implying the dolls. "She say Michel in the doll, she say you, your fault, she know and God know and Precious say... Precious say God know and it against God!! And wife, she chase me..."
He knew he sounded stupid and childish, not even capable of clinging to the soft accented English words he'd learned with such precision, but it was all he could do to eke them out in his misery and fright.
Little did Wufei know that everything he said made horrible sense to Zechs. /Oh, God... I wasn't here, so Noin was still -- *sacre bleu!*/ The planter slipped an arm around the boy, stroking his hair and catching tears with the jacket in his hand. "I... I don't know about what Precious said, but... She should never have asked you to go into the Doll Room... My wife... The fever... it has made her... different, and when she's in there..." Shaking his head softly, Zechs fought down a wave of mortification and repeated, "She just shouldn't have asked you... I'm so sorry, Wufei..."
"I so sorry, I no mean to upset her, please, do not want be sent away!" Wufei whispered in a rush, horrified to be so willing to plead... horrified that it was more fear of being away from the lovely Master than it was frightened of having to go somewhere new. "Please, I... I... I am sorry!"
/This hurts! Its hurts, physically to see him this way -- this upset. How can I get through to him...?/ Deciding that more contact might get the boy's attention, Zechs scooped him up to straddle his lap, so that they were facing each other nearly eye-to-eye. One arm went around the slender waist, and he stroked the dark, silky hair with the other hand. "Shhh... quiet now," he soothed, his accent strong again from the depth of emotion he was feeling. "Look at me Wufei," he said softly, "You will *not* be sent away -- ever. I would not do that to you. And you have no need to apologize. This was not your fault; you were not to blame at all. Now please, calm yourself, and know in your heart that I would have you near me... it would hurt so badly to lose you... so I won't let that happen."
Arms crept around Zechs's neck, fervent kisses given with gratitude and happiness at those words, some of the fright leaving him. "Thank you, thank you!" was whispered thickly as he clung to Zechs, catching his breath, the little sobs slowing to a halt.
Zechs could remember the guilt that he'd felt earlier about what he and Wufei had done, and this was so very much more. But having him so close, the warm, spicy scent of him and the softness of his skin, proved too much for the young planter. When the boy's cries quieted, the blond man whispered his name and pulled him close, taking his mouth with a soft moan, and losing himself in the slave's arms.
This was not at ALL like the master before! Warm cinnamony breath tasted delicious to his tongue and lips, hard muscles beneath his arm held him close and, he knew somehow, safe. Wufei tightened his grasp about Zechs's neck and kissed him in return, dark eyes shut tightly.
Oh, it was so lovely! Better than anything ever before, even kissing the little girls at the palace when he'd first been sent to be a warrior as a boy! "Mmmm..."
Breaking off gently, Zechs ate softly at the boy's mouth for several long moments before moving to cover the rounded line of his jaw with open-mouthed kisses that trailed to Wufei's neck and throat. A small part of him, tucked away deep inside, could not believe the way he was acting. *Never* before had he done *anything* like this... never risked so much for a small taste of pleasure. /This isn't me -- I don't do things like this. I don't touch my slaves and I don't let strange men touch me and kiss me and -- oh, God, he *drank* from me.../
The thoughts were supposed to make him feel ashamed -- ashamed enough to stop what he was doing with Wufei, but instead the thought of what the mysterious Herr Khushrenada had done to him made him feel wanton and hungry. He kissed the boy's shoulders and felt himself stiffen at the taste of that lovely skin. "Ahhhn... Wufei..."
Little sighs were parting Wufei's lips, sounds of pleasure, sounds of affirmation. "Shi... shi, shi**... mmmm...!" His fingers, buried now in silken platinum tresses, massaged slowly at the scalp they touched, his sigh filtering loose from him slowly. "Yes, oh, yes..."
Zechs was pressing a kiss to the hollow of the boy's throat when a knock came at the door, causing his to pull back and set Wufei on his feet again. "Yes?" he called, hoping he didn't sound as flustered as he felt.
"Pardonnez-moi, monsieur," Guys voice came from outside the room, "but Madame is asking for you. Shall I tell her you will be up shortly?"
Pulling away from him slightly, mouth swollen, eyes shimmering with heated pleasure, Wufei looked at the man who held him and gave a deep sigh. Oh, it was so nice, to be kissed and touched by him! It was worth that scary woman upstairs, worth the ghost in his room, worth Precious's lectures!
"Yes, Guy -- tell her I'll be right there." Looking down at the houseboy, Zechs smiled softly, then leaned in for one last kiss. "I have to go now -- be well... and know that I'm thinking of you, dreaming of you..." A soft brush of lips and then he was gone, disappearing out the door and up to his wife, leaving behind him the tear-stained, scarlet jacket.
A desperately happy little sigh parted Wufei's lips as he clutched the jacket close to him for a moment, rubbing his face lightly against the familiar delicious smell of his Master, clean soap and sweat and delicious man, all of those things. He hated to give it up and go back to the kitchen...
Feeling like a thief, he gently tucked the coat into a corner of the settee and scrubbed at his face. /Well... I shall go back to the kitchen. But I will come back and get the jacket and, tomorrow, I shall wash it for him... but tonight, I will hold it and it will be as him with me.../
That decided, he hurried off to the kitchen to tell Precious that the Master was home and that Miss Noin and her dinner were happily settled with him in that awful little Doll Room.
* No ^_^; ** Yes ^_^;;
Zechs approached the door to the Doll Room with something resembling dread. He hated the room -- had since they had lost the baby. Inside of its pale pink walls Noin was at her most unstable and frightening, and today she'd been in it for hours because he had been... /With Wufei... little angel... with... Khushrenada... oh, how I wish I believed in God -- someone to ask for help, for protection.../
He knocked on the door lightly and stepped into the room.
Across the way cradling the little porcelain doll to her bare breast sat Noin, rocking and rocking in the tiny wooden chair kept there for her. "Ampèreheure, mon mari. Entrez, entrez, et voyez le notre enfant!*" she encouraged him, her stiff face lighting up at the sight of him. "He has missed you, our darling Michel. You do not come to visit often enough," she told him reproachfully.
/Mon Dieu, did she look that way when Wufei was in here? I don't need to see that right now, with my memory full of kisses.../ Closing his eyes briefly against the site of those hardened nipples, and a completely unbidden image of himself laying on top of her and sucking those pretty nubs until she moaned... He crossed the room and kissed his wife on the head. That was allowed in the evening because Noin had not yet said her prayers. "I'm so sorry, cherie, I was detained this evening..." He knew what she wanted him to do, but he couldn't bring himself to kiss the cold porcelain head of the doll. He couldn't stand the sight of it -- kissing it was an absolute horror.
"It is all right, mon mari. Michel and I, we were happy here together. Will you not kiss him, as a good father should?" she asked him. Her bruise-colored eyes sparkled faintly with adoration as she lifted the figurine from her pale bare breasts and offered it to Zechs, head tilted to the side. "Michel has missed you and that thieving little houseboy came and made him cry."
Doing everything he could to suppress a shudder, Zechs took the doll into his arms. /God help me! Or if God won't help, then someone... anyone.../ He held the body of it carefully so that his hand and arm would cover his face as he lifted it to his lips. That way he never actually had to kiss it, to really touch it. It would just look like he had. When he'd done his 'fatherly duty', he gave the thing carefully back to Noin. "Wufei is not a thief, cherie. But I am sorry you were upset."
"Not so upset," she told him with that vapid smile, "except for when Michel cries." She took the pale plaster doll back from him and cradled it in her arms gently, placing its face to her nipple once again. "It is too bad of you not to be rid of him when our child should come before anything else!" she chided gently, her face sad, disappointed. "One would almost think that we were not even as important to you as a slave..."
The young planter knelt by the rocking chair, reaching out a finger and stroking the back of Noin's hand. "Noin, please -- don't say things like that. You know how important you are to me, and how much... how much I want you to be well again. But surely you also remember how difficult it is to find a slave who is hard-working and reliable and willing to work with Precious. The boy is all that and I wouldn't want to lose my investment in him, now would I?" /Funny -- I've talked about my slaves like this countless times before... talked about Wufei like this, too... why does it sound so cruel and heartless to me only now...?/
He took her free hand and bent his head over it, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth, pale skin. "Everything is well, mon cherie. Please don't worry. Let me bring your supper into the bedroom and you can eat in there. I will keep you company, yes?"
Her insipid smile caught at him. "Yes, yes, we must put Michel down to sleep and then we shall sup. Ah, mon doux beau mari..."
"Yes, well," he said, rising to his feet and offering a hand to her. "Why don't you put the doll -- Michel down, and I will carry to tray to our room, n'est-ce pas?" When she was standing, he lifted the tray from the table and moved towards the door.
"Sommeil bien, mon petit Michel. Mama vous verra demain,**" she cooed tenderly to the doll as she placed it in the bassinet with the gentlest of hands and covered it carefully before turning towards Zechs. "Tell Michel you will also see him tomorrow?" Noin asked Zechs. "S'il vous plaît, mon mari...***"
The room was fast becoming too small for the blond man. Not enough air, not enough sanity and his head was starting to spin, the cooling dinner he carried looking more sickening by the minute. But one didn't deny Noin her fantasies. The results were almost always highly unpleasant.
"Bonne nuit, mon petit Michel. A demain.****" It was all he could get out before he fled the room.
Noin followed him, almost floating down the hall, dressing gown and nightclothes still open and baring her breasts as she moved down the hall, singing softly to herself.
~~"Mon Michel, mon Michel! Mon petit fils chéri! La montre d'anges au-dessus de vous, la montre d'anges au-dessus de vous, et toutes seront bien. Tous seront bien!"~~*****
Guy was hovering around the door to the bedroom. "If I can help at all, monsieur?" he offered. Guy had been with the young nobleman since birth, as his personal servant, and understood better than anyone in the house the toll that Noin's illness had taken on Zechs. He leaned towards Zechs and murmured quietly, "I can take the tray, monsieur. If you would like to see to Miss Noin..."
"Bless you, Guy," Zechs replied and turned to his wife as supper was carried into their room.
"You must be chilled, cherie," he said softly and reached up to close the front of Noin's dressing gown. /Thank God there are no slaves here to see this.../
"Yes, now that you mention it," she agreed softly, smiling at him with a gentleness that could not be denied. "My dear dear husband. You are so wonderful, to be so kind to me even though I am unwell."
"It's not hard to be kind to you, cherie," Zechs murmured as he closed the gown with trembling fingers. /I need to get out of here -- get some air... but I can't. I have to stay with her, while she eats, while she rambles... until she falls asleep... help me...!/ Now please, get into bed and have some supper." He nodded to Guy as the old servant closed the door firmly and left the two of them alone.
"Of course, mon mari," Noin acquiesced, stepping around to their large bed. "Precious always makes wonderful meals. Why were you away so long, tonight? Michel missed you dearly, mon ange charmant."
/When you can't tell the full truth, tell as much as you are able.../ Zechs arranged the bedclothes around his wife and then brought the supper tray to her. "A man came to visit -- quite unexpectedly. He was someone I'd met in New Orleans at New Year's, when I went down with d'Angleur and his son. The meeting went longer than I expected it too -- please forgive me cherie." He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, unsure of her mood, wary of upsetting her. "Is supper to your liking?"
"The soup is a bit salty, but delicious," Noin smiled. "This man, why did he come? For a job -- or to try to lure you away again? I hate when you go off to parties in that city."
/All right, so I have to lie a bit./ "A business proposition, but I turned him down." He pushed the glass of buttermilk closer to her and tried not to look at the food. "As for going into the city... you know I have to be seen at some of these gatherings, mon petite. Otherwise the other plantation owners and their wives would begin to gossip." /Not that they don't already.../
A small, genuine smile crossed his lips as he looked up at her. "I look forward to the day you are better and can go with me. Would you not enjoy that? Accepting invitations again? I know you used to love it," Zechs continued and reached out to smooth a lock of hair behind her ear. "You would come home with your cheeks glowing and such sparkle in your eyes... And we would talk about everyone we met and what we thought of them, all of the silly things they did..."
His mind was feeling crowded again, too many memories coming back -- of the way it felt to live a 'normal' life, or as close as he would ever be allowed to get to one, of the times he and Noin had actually enjoyed together when she was well, and of of coming home from those parties and making love half the night... /Don't go there, Zechs. It's painful, and might very well be dangerous if she knew.../
/Before you made me sin and love it,/ she thought, looking at him with those bruise-colored eyes. Before they'd been livid things, violet jewels, but the sickness had changed that; had changed so much. "I'd love to do that again -- and show Michel off to everyone. Mon petit ange... and you. The parties would be alight with us."
"Ah, oui. Michel..." He just managed to cover up the shiver that her words brought to him. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit his greatest fear about the Doll Room: that one day, Noin would go into it and never come out. That she would be here in their bedroom physically, but her mind would be trapped back there in that strange, pink room, with her dead baby and her dead baby angels. He put a hand to his head, feeling suddenly sick.
"Yes -- they would be indeed," he replied to his wife's comment. "So you will work very hard to get better, won't you, Noin? Perhaps, one day, you will try your dresses on again? Or even walk downstairs? Wouldn't that be nice, Noin?" With a growing sense of horror, he felt as if he were watching and listening to himself talk, hearing the desperation in his own voice, knowing that he was treading too close to dangerous ground to really be safe. But an image came to him -- the beautiful man, Herr Khushrenada, and somehow, because he was there, Zechs could only watch himself walk towards the flames of Noin's madness.
His hands were over his face now, tears beginning to prick at his eyes. "Wouldn't you like that Noin? To get dressed every day and be mistress of your house once again? To live in the present again instead of living in the past?" Slowly, as if he were in a trance, the planter dropped his hands from his face and stared pleadingly at his wife. From somewhere far away, Zechs screamed a warning to himself, fought to get out of the vampire's embrace, but the man held him fast.
"You do know that's the past, don't you? You know that the dolls in the Doll Room aren't real babies -- not real angels? You pretend they are but you know that's just pretend -- right, ma cherie?" He was crying now, grieving for the woman in the bed as if she had died. Unwilling to face what seemed to be the horrible truth: that her mind was going, died a little more everyday.
And then he heard himself say it, and he crumpled to the ground, sobbing, at the vampire's feet. "You know that little Michel is dead and with God in heaven -- don't you? Tell me you know that, Noin..."
Herr Khushrenada had won without even trying.
From so far away, the vampire held Zechs's mind close, cradling it and whispering soft words, even as the vampire himself watched over the servant boy.
But he couldn't stop the horror that went on in the master bedroom. Not yet.
"You're lying!" Noin screamed suddenly, shoving aside the dinner tray, spilling soup and milk across the bedspread. "Vous diable! You LIE!! Michel is not dead! You made him safe and stay with us!" She stood sharply, with a strength belying her illnesses. "He is safe and the angels watch over him!"
Zechs had jumped up from the bed to avoid being hit by the tray and the dishes and now he could only stay with his wife and make sure she didn't hurt herself -- or anyone else.
Taking a step towards her, he held his hands out in a appeasing gesture, but whereas, in the past during times like these, he usually would agree with her quickly to get her quieted down, he couldn't seem to stop insisting that she accept the horrific truth from which she was hiding. "Of course he's safe, mon cherie, and the angels *are* watching over him, but they do that in heaven, aimee. Not in that little room... he's safe in *heaven*, Noin, because he's *dead*! He died when you had the fever and he's buried by the pond -- please Noin, can't you just accept that?"
"Vous diable! My husband saved our darling boy, so you cannot be him, if you say that he's DEAD! He would never let Michel die!" She nearly stormed towards him, hands extended as if to choke. "Pécheur! Pécheur! I am married to an angel, not a devil!"
He caught her wrists in his hands as she neared him and managed to hold them down near shoulder-height, but the strength in her was terrifying, almost unnatural, driven as it was by the madness that consumed her. He tried to talk to her as they struggled. "Noin, please -- can't you see what you're doing right now? You say that I'm not your husband, but Noin! This isn't *you*! You were sweet and gentle, and you always had a calm head... please wake up, cherie! Please be my Noin again..."
"I am Noin!" she snapped. "You say our child is dead, mon cheri! But he ISN'T. I can show you how dead he isn't!"
Zechs dropped her wrists and back away slowly, a stab of fear going through him at her words. "Noin... what are you talking about? He's dead, ma petite, I buried him myself!"
"No, you put him in the doll that looks like him!" her returning argument was sharp. "You know Michel is in the doll!"
The sound of his own sobs was growing stronger. He was clinging to the vampire's legs now, down on his knees, begging for it all to stop. He didn't want to hurt Noin any more than he had, but he bowed his head and said it anyway.
"No, cherie -- he's not in the doll. He's in his grave. The grave that *I* dug for him, near the pond."
He felt a sensuous caress down the length of his hair, Herr Khushrenada's silken fingers urging him to take the last, logical step.
Holding his hand out to Noin, he looked into her eyes and whispered, "Let me show you..."
The caress through his hair grew stronger, more urgent, and the vampire pulled him to his feet, into a tight embrace. ~Let me protect you...~
"NO!"
A shouted word, and Noin fled, from the room and toward the doll room. "Michel is safe and here!"
The world Zechs knew -- his wife, his bed, his plantation -- seemed to be falling to pieces around him, and now he whimpered softly as dizziness overtook him. Suddenly the room felt hot -- so hot and there wasn't any air to breathe. As the edges of his site grew fuzzy and gray, he looked up at the beautiful man and whispered words he dreaded saying. And as he said them, the world faded completely.
"Help me..."
It reached the vampire's physical form, and as Noin stormed out of the room, to tend to her doll, the large bay window swung inward, letting a cool breeze fill the room. And then Herr Khushrenada, having stopped in his vigil over the boy, entered the room on silent feet, pale skin aglow from the moon-light.
"Poor Zechs." Strong arms scooped the man up, holding him close. /Now, where to take him.../
*Ah, my husband. Come in, come in, and see our child! **Sleep well, my little Michel. Mama will see you tomorrow! ***Please, my husband. ****Good night, my little Michel. Tomorrow. *****My Michel, my Michel! My darling little son! The angels watch over you, the angels watch over you, and all will be well. All will be well!
The Vampire made his way through the house soundlessly, and up to the third story, to the door he assumed was Wufei's -- then he knocked once. "Monsieur, open up."
For a moment, it seemed that there would be no answer and then the sound of bare feet padded quickly across the floor and the door was opened, a sleepy face peering around the corner. "Mast.....aieee!!!" The beginning of that sentence sounded in a little shriek. "Gui!" he whispered shakily, eyes becoming huge as he backed away, his nightclothes wrapping about his legs in his hurry as he tumbled to the floor clumsily.
"The mistress of the house is a madwoman," Treize stated calmly, as he entered the room, and closed the door behind him -- without touching it at all. Zechs was still cradled tightly in his arms. "Let me put your beloved master in your bed, child."
Fearful, Wufei huddled on the floor for a moment before pulling himself up and moving to strike at the man, despite his terror. "Let him go!" he demanded in English. "You let my Master GO!"
Sharp sapphire eyes caught Wufei's gaze. "I am here to help."
The incredible draw of that capturing look set him atremble and he was still, whether he wished to be or not entirely unknowable. "Xixiejiangshi," he whispered. "Blood sucking demon. Vampire!"
"Yes," Treize agreed in his softly accented voice. "All of those things. But will you begrudge my aid?"
Wufei gnawed on his lower lip, afraid. A monster, a true live monster, held his sweet Master in his grasp, and the draw of him was deep and almost impossible to resist. "You will promise not to eat me?" he asked, voice warbling. "Or my Master?"
"I drank of your master earlier in the night, and will require nothing more in that manner," he spoke blandly, not about to lie to the boy. "No one will be eaten."
Oh, what horrible news! Wufei's hand flew to his throat as he looked at the two unhappily. "Put him in the bed and then go, monster! Go from this house! It is not right, that you are a monster, that you are here!"
"I am here to protect you, and I have," he uttered, walking to the bed and laying Zechs's unconscious body onto it. "Sleep well, my love." A softly whispered murmured, and he pressed his lips gently to Zechs's.
Uncertainly, Wufei stepped closer to the bed, leery of the tall ginger-haired man. "You are the ghost who comes to my bedchamber," he said, making it more of a question than the statement it seemed.
"Yes," he uttered, looking up, "yes, I am. To watch you and your master."
Thoughtfully, Wufei's lips compressed into a pucker. "Why? Why would a monster be interested in us here?" he asked, finding it strange, this conversation with the glimmeringly attractive xixiejiangshi standing beside his bed.
"I knew your master when he was in a different life, child. And I want to know him again." The smile that Wufei saw next showed fangs. "And he loves you."
A vibrant shiver chased down Wufei's spine. "Please, please, vampire, go away!" he whispered. Ahh, the words were sweet, though, weren't they? That his master loved him... and the creature's very presence was making those shivers he'd first thought fear quite something else.
Reaching out, Wufei carefully grasped his Master's hand and shivered again, that pleasant feeling that he almost couldn't bear. "Please!"
"My name is Herr Treize Khushrenada -- do not forget it. I shall be around." He neared Wufei, one hand reaching out to cup Wufei's face. "He wants you -- want him, in return."
The ice cold fingers that traced his jaw, palm lightly pressed to his cheek, brought tears to his eyes. "I... I... I..."
"I would hate to watch his heart break, as mine once did, to have a loved one die or shun him. Mortals and even vampires die eventually -- and there is only the now to live life in. So love him as he wants to be loved." Calm instructions, from a walking monster, as he let his other hand touch across Zechs's cheek.
"Please, Monsieur," Wufei whispered hoarsely, dark eyes beginning to glisten as he shivered. "I would not be so cruel... only you frighten me and I do not understand the why of you or the how of you and I am afraid! Please, you won't hurt my master, say you won't!"
"He will not be hurt by me." Sincere, and soft, as Treize drew back to take another kiss. "Goodnight."
And then he was gone.
It seemed like no more than a wisp of wind from the already open window, but Wufei shuddered all the same as he fell to his knees beside his bed, whimpering softly. "Oh, please, please, my Master, PLEASE wake up, please!" he begged.
The blond man lay silently for a time and then moved his head restlessly from side to side on the muslin pillow, almost as if he were fighting to stay asleep. It took another few minutes for him to open his eyes but finally pale gold lashes fluttered on his cheeks and he looked up at the ceiling, trying to determine where he seen it before.
In his muddled state, he only knew that he was not in his bedchamber, but then -- where else could he possibly be? /Khushrenada... I was... Begging him... to let me go, to let me stop -- Noin!/
He sat up suddenly and immediately regretted it, falling back a bit against the headboard of the unfamiliar bed. He looked around warily and saw the houseboy sitting next to the bed, eyes wide with -- what? Fright? Concern? He couldn't tell, only that for some completely unfathomable reason, he was in Wufei's bed and he had no idea how he'd gotten there.
"Wu... Wufei... How did I... how did I get here?"
"The xixiejiangshi brought you," Wufei whispered, shivering and holding his master's hand so tightly. "I was so afraid! But he has gone and left you here and safe, Master..." Warm lips pressed lightly to the palm of Zechs's hand.
The blond man's heart felt his heart race at that touch and it only made his dizziness worse. Drawing a shaky hand across his forehead, he shook his head slightly, frowning. "I... don't understand -- who was it brought me here?"
"The xixiejiangshi," Wufei repeated, pushing Zechs so that he laid down entirely, gentle as he pressed the other man into his pillow. "The demon. The... the vampire. The blood-drinker..."
Zechs felt a wave of panic and tried to sit up again. "Khushrenada was here?? In the house? Ah, mon Dieu..." Wide blue eyes stared into Wufei's and the planter's hand was tight in its grip. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, no," Wufei told him. "I was afraid but he said..." A little frown puckered those lips momentarily. "He said that he was... he said something about protection..."
"Protection?" Zechs put his hand to his head again. /If only I could think properly! Why did he come here? Did I... did I call him? Would I have really done that? God help me... what is going on...?/
"I'm sorry you had to... to see that. /What do I tell him? How could I possibly explain?/ "I seem to have, well -- fainted I suppose. I... I forgot to have dinner tonight, as you warned me I should." /He was here... Did Noin see him? Was he really protecting me, protecting Wufei? But... from what?/
Trying to push the jumbled thoughts out of his mind, he smiled up at the boy softly. "I'll follow your orders next time, n'est-ce pas? You were very thoughtful..." One long, slender finger reached to Wufei's cheek and stroked it. "I'm so sorry to have troubled you like this."
Carefully, Wufei leaned forward, soft mouth brushing Zechs's lips with a delicate touch before he withdrew to gaze adoringly at the man, expression slightly troubled. "It is the heat, Master. It..." He paused, thinking. "It drags at one and makes one very tired. You work too hard, you do too much and you MUST eat, and.... and the monster, he said he drank from you, and..."
Part of him wanted to pull the boy down and kiss him until he moaned, but those last words shocked him out of such thoughts. "He told you that? He told you..." Zechs closed his eyes, mortification flooding him. /How could I ever explain to him... to anyone? Why I let him do that... why I wanted him to./
"You must think of me as a monster too, Wufei. To have let such a thing happen to me." Turning to face the boy once more, he looked at Wufei with pleading eyes. "I swear I'm not though!" HIs voice was no more than a whisper. "But... the way he looked at me, seemed to know who I was... And he was so beautiful... I'm so sorry, dear boy. Your master is a weak man, indeed."
Wufei's head had begun shaking even as Zechs said the words. "No, no. You do not understand, the power of the xixiejiangshi is irresistible. He is... How do you say? He has many powers of the mind and strength of body and he cannot die because he has already died and clawed his way up from hell," Wufei said solemnly, "or so they say in my country. He cannot be resisted, but... in some ways, he is here to do something or finish something, perhaps. He say... He said he knew you from before. From another lifetime. Some people, they believe we have more than one lifetime. You know him then, he has come to fix right something gone wrong, maybe? Maybe no more than that." A hand lightly touched his master's face as Wufei soothed him. "Not so bad, this. He seem...." Wufei's head tilted to the side. "He seemed to be... not so bad," came the reluctant finish.
/Not so crazy as crazy wife.../
"Wufei..." Zechs was shaking his head softly. There was a long pause while he studied the boy's face and then he smiled again and pressed his cheek against the cool hand. "You're right. He... he wasn't all bad. That's what made it so hard to fight him. And this..." he turned his head slightly to kiss the slave's palm and his lashes brushed the soft skin. "As you said, this is not so bad, n'est-ce pas?"
With a little sigh, Wufei leaned over and kisses his master's cheek. "Will you sleep here, Master? So that I will not be alone? I think I am afraid to be..."
"I'll stay as long as I can." He couldn't help but smile at the slave's earnest young face, and he whispered words to him that he only thought possibly in his fantasies.
"Come to bed, Wufei."
Carefully, fully aware of the now-throbbing flesh between his legs, Wufei stood and slid into the small bed. His nightshirt tangled around his knees momentarily, but a short bout of squirming did away with that and then he slid his arms around Zechs's chest and placed his head upon the pillow of his master's shoulder with a deep pleased sigh.
Outside the window, a ghostly form watched, pale fingers reaching out to touch the now-closed glass. He smiled, watching those two mortals in pleasant repose, remembering how in his youth, he'd been held just like that. Then he lingered no longer, choosing to leave again.
They would be safe.
The boy felt like heaven in his arms, and Zechs sighed as he pressed his lips to silky black hair and stroked his fingers down Wufei's back. He knew he shouldn't be there, should be trying to coax Noin out of the Doll Room, apologizing, telling her he was wrong and that their baby was still alive. But every time he thought about doing it he felt a wave of despair pass through him and the only thing that seemed to fend it off was this lovely creature beside him.
The slave boy was so *real*, so warm and clear-headed... his skin didn't feel like winter, and there was nothing in him of death or madness. He shone with life and it drew the young planter like a flame draws a moth. /I know full well what happens to the doomed moth who courts that flame, and I go there, willingly.../
Moving his hand to caress the boy's lean hip he lowered his head and begged a kiss from soft lips that seemed made for that tender action.
They parted easily, yearning for the kiss of the taller man, and Wufei sighed softly as his tongue traced his master's lower lip, white teeth nipping with a gentle scrape. He could feel that kiss to the depths of his toes, leaving him tingling and shivering with a pleasure that was undeniable. One hand crept up to lightly cup a golden cheek and he sighed again, the sound almost a moan, so full of happiness was he. "Yes... yes."
The boy's lips were sweet, his mouth warm and spicy, and he made Zechs's head spin with the passion he gave back. Finally, after so very long, someone who would move into his touch, instead of pulling away; someone whom he could kiss, knowing the other would kiss back. There in that narrow bed, he didn't have to be a saint or a monster. He could be a man, with wants and needs that were merely human, not sinful.
His arms tightened around the slender houseboy, one hand buried in his hair, the other sliding over tight, round buttocks and squeezing them softly. "Ah, Wufei... vous etes si beau*... mmmmnn... tels plaisir**..."
"Oh!" came the breathless response as Wufei pressed against his hip, bliss pervading him as he returned those kisses, his arms creeping up to circle the other man's neck as he pressed close. He shivered as his erection brushed a hip and he pressed closer, the sound of his whimpering audible. "Shi, shi!"
Rolling the boy gently onto his back, Zechs covered him with his body, trailing his tongue down the finely made jawline to kiss and nip at Wufei's neck. He was moaning softly and the feeling of the slave's erection beneath him made him press forward, rubbing his own hardened shaft against it, hands moving to cup the pretty bottom and pull the boy upwards against him. His knees were pushing Wufei's legs apart slowly and now he found a smooth, erotic rhythm to move to, murmuring endearments in French and panting softly in the houseboy's ear.
Hands trailed forcefully over his back as Wufei's legs sprawled open, wrapping on either side of Zechs's hips. /Ah! So different.../ he thought even as he moaned in response to the steady rocking that pressed so wonderfully against him. /So different and so wonderful... oh, this feels good!/ His eyes closed and he allowed his mouth to trail lightly over the tall blond's cheek, teeth nibbling at a lobe and sending shivers down the other man's spine, shivers he felt with his fingertips that lingered in his own body all the way to the soles of his feet. "Wo... ai... ni..." he panted, pressing soft kisses to the curve of that ear.
"Ahhhnn... mon petit... lovely boy..." Zechs's breath was ragged in Wufei's ear. He'd forgotten how good it could feel, when both people wanted it and the Chinese boy's moans were such sweet encouragement. And now everything was tensing inside of him, the friction of their shafts against each other aching and exquisite. "Wufei... ah, mon cher... aaaaah!" Wonderful, agonizing release, pulsing against the boy, nuzzling deep into his neck and holding him as if he wanted to come right through his skin. "Ahhh... Love you..."
The feelings were explosive, gunpowder in his veins as he gasped and arched against that steady rocking. The feel of his master's lips and teeth on his throat sent frantic shivers down his spine as he cried out, voice breaking with the wonder of that touch. "Ahhh!"
The release had been sudden, but it seemed to Zechs that it lasted an eternity, a long delicious time of pressing and shuddering and milking every last bit out of himself.
He never let go of the boy beneath him, wanting to be closer, knowing it wasn't time for that and loving it anyway.
When it was done, there were frantically tender kisses, across his face and his throat, the boy almost limp with replete pleasure beneath him, soft little words spoken in that language he did not know, endearments, perhaps, almost certainly.
Finally, the more understandable language came to Wufei's brain again and he sighed, stretching deliciously. "Master, oh, Master..."
Zechs turned onto his side, keeping Wufei close. He nuzzled the boy's cheek and brushed back the damp silk of his hair from eyes that looked like endless night.
"I shouldn't feel this way about you," he whispered. "But you're... you're so different. You feel so different... from her."
"Not so crazy," Wufei whispered in sleepy contented agreement.
A resigned sigh from the planter, who rested his cheek against the top of the boy's head. "No... but that's my trouble... you should rest now." He pressed a kiss to Wufei's temple. "Bon nuit, mon cheri..."
"Good night, my... Good night, Zechs."
* -- you're so beautiful ** -- such pleasure
Forward was an understatement for what he was doing just then -- and in the middle of the day!
But after three days of evening meetings with Zechs, and drawing him closer and closer in, Treize had dubbed it the proper time to visit during the day.
Such heat! It seemed to seep into his very skin, but it couldn't touch his paleness. To make his appearance less suspicious, he wore warm-colored clothing; Rich red riding pants, with doe-colored leather, and a doe colored shirt, hanging loosely off his lean frame. /Quite the dandy, Khushrenada./ He face was young, only late twenties at most, and scarless, but the eyes ruined the facade.
He raised a hand, and rapped pale knuckles against the massive front door.
The sound of quickly moving feet came from behind it and it swung open to reveal the Chinese houseboy, eyes suddenly widening in a panic. "Y...y... xie... bú shì..." he breathed, unable to get out two consecutive whole words.
The pale man raised an eyebrow slowly, expression cool and amused. "Where is your master, boy?"
That unhappily panicked face darted to the floor. "Gone to the sugar mill, sir," he whispered, afraid of the monster so blatantly standing there in the daylight. /He must be terribly powerful, indeed, to resist the day!!/
"Hm. I'll await him in the parlour, then -- when is he expected back?" Not only powerful, but coolly arrogant.
Wufei gnawed on his lower lip momentarily. "In time to eat the noon meal, sir," came the soft-spoken words, filled with nervousness.
Silently, Wufei turned and walked to the parlour, indicating the place where his Master would, at least, be able to see the vampire when he came into the house. "Stay here, monsieur," Wufei said softly, "and I will send someone with tea."
He was gone before Treize could object.
/One day... he will become comfortable with this idea,/ Treize mused, looking at the maid who entered shortly after Wufei was gone. "Good morning, Madame."
She was a tall, gaunt woman, with pale gray eyes that seemed too large for her face and a long, black dress that covered her from neck to ankles. She looked at the man with suspicion and then murmured, "Sir..." and put the tea tray down. Then she straightened up and folded her hands in front of her, looking at him silently for a time before saying, "How would you like your tea, sir?"
"One sugar, a little cream," Treize spoke absently, looking at the woman with a calm gaze. "May I ask why you seem to be staring?"
"We don't get many visitors of your type here, sir." Her voice was rather flat, without much inflection, a strange voice that, nonetheless, matched her strange gray appearance perfectly. She handed him the cup and went back to staring. "Mostly it's women we get, from the neighboring plantations, and sometimes their husbands, although the *Master*," and here her tone was almost derisive, "usually sees them away from the house."
"And you seem to like it that way," Treize mused. "Why?" /See how much I can find out about the inner working of this house.../
The woman didn't answer right away. Instead she picked up the tea tray and set it on a small filigreed table next to the sofa. From there she went to open the long windows that ran along the west wall of the room. "I was engaged by Madame du Marquise two days ago," she said, a strong southern accent combining strangely with a slow and rather vapid speaking style. "It seems that recently her husband had frightened her dreadfully for no reason at all. He thought she might be wanting a lady to look after her and she chose me. I told her that I don't hold with gentlemen acting in such a manner, and I don't. Mistress Noin is a very delicate lady and her husband should have known not to treat her that way."
Her speech stopped suddenly and she returned to her folded-hands position, staring down at him with narrowed eyes from her place near the windows.
"You're friends with the Master, aren't you?"
"I suppose it could be said that we're friends, yes, why?" he asked curiously. His pale face looked up to hers, eyes glittering with every accented word he spoke. "I knew him from back on the mainland."
"Mistress Noin doesn't approve of having strangers in her house. She believes that houses should be quiet and peaceful. Strangers put everyone on edge. That's what Miss Noin says."
She walked slowly to the table and held up the tea pot, filling his cup again and then going back for the sugar. As she stirred the cup for him her eyes took in the pale face and hands.
"It looks to be like you're afraid of sunlight, monsieur. Don't get out much during the day, do you?"
"No -- I worked at night, Madame; in France, I was a truffle hunter," he lied elegantly. "Made quite a bit of money that way. It also helped that I'm pained by the sunlight -- headaches and such. It burns the eyes. But my doctor says that sunlight could be helpful, in small doses, which is why I decided to visit through the day." Such a well spun lie, and there would be no way to see through it, would there? /I've been covering my tracks for years./
The maid walked slowly back to the table, placing the tea pot on it with deliberate care. "Strange you should say that, monsieur. When I was a child we had us a man who visited from another country. He told everyone that he had to stay out of the sunlight -- doctor's orders, he said, just like you..." She trailed off while she picked up a small plate of pralines and set them on the low table by the sofa. "*That* man was run out of town," she said calmly. "Everyone thought he was one of the undead..." She stood staring down at him pointedly, now fingering a small crucifix that hung around her neck on a silver chain.
"Madame, allow me to say that such creatures are simply wives' tales -- god forbid you ever met a pure albino -- what would you do with one of those? Run a stake through his heart?" he asked, calmly, laughing quietly. /What does she think she will do with that crucifix? I was alive long before their Christ... I watched him die with the Romans. Stupid mortal./ "Superstitions, Madame, and nothing more. Now, is the tea ready yet, or would you like to add holy water to it before serving?"
The maid brought the pot over to where Treize was sitting and poured slowly until the cup was full. When she spoke again her tone was darker, more ominous. "I'm sure a demon would say that that the devil was a superstition, if it met his purpose..." Returning the tea pot, she paused for a moment with her back to him and gave a little shudder. "Do not mistake, monsieur. I have been sensitive to these things all my life and I know you are not what you seem."
She spun around to face him, her eyes wide with terror, her thin body trembling as she pointed a long bony finger at him. "I will make it my job to convince every person on this plantation if I must. You will not harm my mistress, I will make sure of that!"
"I don't give a whit about your mistress, Madame," he drawled, sipping calmly from the tea, "because I'm here to speak to your master. And I refuse to listen to your infantile accusations until you can come up with hard, SOLID proof, hmn?"
She was about to reply, her eyes gone exceedingly large, when a soft, low voice was heard at the door of the room.
"Eugenie -- thank you for entertaining my guest. You'd best run upstairs now. I'm sure your mistress will be needing you." Zechs walked slowly into the room and stood behind the sofa, just to Treize's left. The maid stared at him with an equally suspicious gaze, looking back at the vampire once and again taking hold of the crucifix.
"This house," her voice trembled, "is *all* in darkness, and the dead walk its halls..." With that she backed out of the room and fled for the stairs.
Zechs watched her go and part of him wanted to run with her. But another part, a part that was new and just beginning to grow, rejoiced to hear the door shut and the fading footsteps of the maid.
"I was at the mill," he said softly, still standing behind the vampire. "And suddenly I knew you were here..."
"You are in me, as I am in you," he uttered, rising slowly as he finished the tea. "How are you today, Monsieur?"
"Oh," Zechs replied, his voice somewhat distracted, "much as usual, I suppose. I hope Eugenie was not rude to you." As he spoke he noted absently to himself that he'd wished Treize had not stood. He wanted to run his fingers through the silky golden-brown waves. /What is happening to me? I'm... not myself anymore. Something very profound inside is beautifully, horribly different.../
But the man had risen for the purpose of moving closer. "Eugenie is a very bright girl, sadly," he murmured, a wicked smile curling his lips. "Is there anywhere we can go and be assured privacy?"
As the vampire neared him, Zechs became aware for the first time of a certain scent that seemed to cling to Herr Khushrenada. It was a heavy, rich scent -- slightly spicy, almost sweet and it caused a barely audible gasp to escape the Frenchman's lips. He knew what it was, of course, even though its odor had not been registered until this very moment.
It was blood. Warm and crimson -- heady stuff that made him want to fall to his knees, perhaps in worship of the gorgeous being who carried it, or perhaps to beseech God for divine protection from him. All he knew for certain was that the closer Herr Khushrenada got to him, the stronger and more powerful the scent, and the greater the desire and terror.
"In the attic... there is a small servant's room. It isn't used at the moment..." /What would it be like to let him feed on me, lying in my own bed.../
"Then, lead on," Treize murmured, placing a hand lightly on Zechs's shoulder. /How much of your lust can I satisfy today, my love-of-old...?/
Zechs led the way up the back staircase to the gallery. No one was there to see them and the young planter had half a mind to take Treize into his own bedchamber and if someone saw -- /I can't keep fantasizing about this!/
They came at last to a narrow doorway which opened onto a small room. Zechs knocked softly. When no one answered, he turned the door handle and pulled Treize inside.
The vampire closed the door at the same time he slid his other arm around Zechs's waist. "Are you sure this place is safe for you, monsieur Zechs?" came the softly voiced question, as Treize focused in on the blood he could feel beating just beneath the neck that was so near to his lips.
The scent of the man was overwhelming now, and Zechs had to close his eyes against the dizziness he felt as Treize pulled him close. /Dear God, here I am again... worshipping at this beautiful demon's altar... no salvation for this damned soul.../
Sliding his arms around the elegant man's neck, twining long fingers in the silky hair, he pressed his lips to Treize's pale cheek and whispered, "No place is safe anymore. Safe from you..."
"Now why would you want to get away from me, love?" the vampire asked slowly, voice a rich purr as he nuzzled at the side of Zechs's neck. "Will you let me take you this time, my angel...?"
/A demon's angel... I haven't sold my soul to the devil. I've given it to him freely, willingly. And then wait with no patience at all to wallow in the curse he brings me./
Lips so close to the tender skin of his neck, and Zechs knew that the fangs were there, poised above the skin and waiting to mark him as the vampire's plaything. The anticipation of being fed on, the intense arousal it always brought, the wanton feeling of submission it caused, made his shaft stiffen and he smiled softly with un-focused eyes. "Anything you want, dear sir. Anything."
"Ah, ich leibe sie," the vampire breathed softly. "Ich leibe sie." The words were spoken as tender endearments, as he scraped his teeth gently over that flesh, before letting them break skin, tapping into the blood he so savored.
"Ahhhnn!" Zechs moaned softly and pressed himself against the beautiful demon. Since that first night, the pain had been lessening each time the vampire had taken him, and now when he felt the tiny fangs sink into him his primary reaction was of intense sexual arousal. The feeling of blood flowing out of him was as delicious as his shaft being stroked and he fell into little whimpers that followed the rhythmic sucking of the vampire on him. "Je suis a vous... a vous..."
Arms tight around the human, Treize carefully backed Zechs up to the bed, sucking harder and harder with each suck, until Zechs's knees caught on the mattress and they both fell back onto the bed; then he stopped, pulling back to lap at the over-flow. "I'm going to tell you a story, my love, if you wish to hear it..."
Zechs's voice was low, no more than a breathy murmur as he lay, half-covered by Treize. "I hear your voice in my dreams... I could listen to you for eternity..."
/Good,/ came the vampire's thoughts, as he held Zechs close, nuzzling that spot where he'd drank from. "When I was just a child, the world was a savage place --tribes and clans, and all the warfare that went with it. Outside my clan's home, there was a man, who lived away from the entire tribe, and every time someone disappeared, they sought him out, though they could never get rid of him.
"The man had long, golden hair, and a beautiful pale face -- he went out only at night, and I often stood at the door, watching him go about his business. His skin seemed to be made of moonlight, and he dressed better than any of us -- we wore loincloths and kirtles, crude furs, while he wore pants that protected, soft leathers... Ah, those leathers always felt so good against one's skin." For a moment, the vampire slid into his own reverie.
The implied intimacy in the statement didn't elude Zechs, who wriggled just a bit, pressing his neck against Treize's lips as a man might press his shaft against a warm hand. He let out a long, soft humming sound and waited for the vampire to continue.
A sharp nip, and there was a little more blood. "One night, as I watched him, he came to me, and asked if I wished to go home with him. I agreed, and it was that night that I first tasted fresh blood that wasn't of a living creature. For years and years, I went to him every night, until he at last deemed me old enough to make just like he was. I felt like he'd killed me, and fell into a deep sleep; when I awoke hours later, my skin was the same as his, just as cold... but my blond god held me tight in his arms and made everything all right. Years later, the tribe killed him, and I left the area for search of civilization. I lived among the Greeks, then the Romans, and I watched your Christ die."
Zechs's eyes were half-lidded as he pulled back a bit, gazing up at the vampire. "How is that possible?" he whispered, studying Treize's face. The he put an hand up and grazed a pale cheek with his fingertips. "And how did he do it...?"
"How is what possible, and how did he do what, my love?" Treize asked in turn, needing to know the specific question asked before he replied with anything.
"Possible that you saw Christ crucified..." Zechs murmured. His fingers move to the vampire's lips and one slid between them to touch a small, sharp fang. "And how did he make you into what you are...?"
Treize's tongue slid out to lick that finger, keeping it from cutting on that tooth. "I am very very old -- I was born when bronze was first being used to make tools. And I became as I am through a ritual, where I was drained of blood to feed him, and then he fed me his own, enough to make me live again."
Zechs's body began to tremble, but whether it was from fear or excitement he couldn't tell. Something he didn't understand drew him towards Treize's mouth. He brushed it lightly with his lips and murmured against its warmth. "He killed you." It was more of a statement than a question and a strange expression, confusion and enlightenment combined, crossed the planter's face. "He killed you... because he loved you."
"Yes -- he killed me because he loved me so much he didn't ever want to lose me to the ravages of time; funny that he died before me." Gently, the vampire kissed Zechs's mouth, the texture and feel of them familiar to him from both their rendezvous and from the past. "And now I've found his twin in you, Zechs -- face, frame, hair, those beautiful eyes you have..."
Something in the words made the blond man sad. With the greatest difficulty he moved back from Treize and tried to think coherently. "So, I look like him. And you've been coming here, doing this to me... because you miss him." The blood was singing again, calling him to heed, to move into the vampire's embrace, but he couldn't quite make himself do it. "Just a shadow of someone else, as I am with Noin..."
"No, you don't see," Treize uttered, pulling Zechs close again, with a strength that his lean frame didn't seem to have. "You *are* him. Thousands and thousands of years later, but you are him."
Ice-blue eyes widened at the idea of it. "No..." Zechs whispered, "I can't be... I'm..." He broke off for a moment, almost as if he weren't sure of his identity. "I'm the third son.. of the Count du Marquise..." he murmured, not sounding at all sure of it. "I can't be... can't be the one you knew... I was born in St. Denis, outside of Paris in 1802..." His voice trailed off as he stared at the vampire. "I don't understand..."
"Born again, my love," Treize purred. "When some die, they go off to the heavens; others, when they die, had something else they wanted to do or something they had failed at. So they are born again, to perhaps get 'it' right. And you are *he*, born again. It is your destiny, Zechs."
"No... no, no, no!" Trying to pull away from Treize's tight embrace, Zechs shut his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see that beautiful face -- the one who had haunted his dreams, had permeated his memories. He struggled for awhile, but the man had a strength that no human could match and soon the young Frenchman found himself held firmly to the bed, panting and staring up at the vampire, eyes pleading for some sense of reason, of sanity. "How... how do you know I'm him? You could have mistaken me for him, simply because of how I look, n'est-ce pas?"
"Your eyes. The eyes are like a thumb-print -- no two pair are alike. Yours are a perfect duplicate to his, down to what I see behind them," the creature purred. "And your soul calls to mine, Zechs -- it calls. You feel it too, no?"
Oh, he couldn't admit that... couldn't let the fiend know how the thought of him resonated in Zechs's being, until he hummed with the man's voice, his taste, and that heady fragrance that only Treize seemed to carry. No, he had to fight against this, didn't he? Had to seek redemption for his soul somehow -- had to still the voice inside of him...
"No!" he cried softly. "No, this is some wicked magic you work on me! You've... you've... done something to me... to make me feel this... I'm an ordinary man... ordinary..." Treize was so very near, warm breath on his face, lean body pressed to his. "Please, monsieur! Don't... don't hold me... so close..."
"Stop fighting me, my love," came the calm words, as if from a void. "I have no powers beyond my own body. I cannot cast 'spells' or work 'magic', Monsieur." His lips pressed again to Zechs's, in a tender kiss. "Do not be afraid -- why are you so afraid?"
"You want me to leave here, don't you?" Zechs whispered against lips as warm as summer. "But... I have responsibilities... the planting, and the mill... the slaves... Wufei... my wife..." Unable to hold out further, he closed his eyes and pressed his mouth against Treize's. Oh, but it was like heaven and so sweet!
Far off in the back of his mind, a voice was murmuring to him. /Sweet, yes... yes indeed... and so very familiar.../
"I'm very willing to take your servant boy under my wing, Zechs," he purred at length. "He's a beautiful boy, utterly loyal to you -- I wouldn't dream of parting the two of you."
"So many things I don't understand." The blond's brows drew together at the mention of the boy. "I... I love him, and... I love you. But they're not the same..." Then he looked up at Treize and his frowned deepened. "Noin -- I could never leave Noin. She's not capable..." His voice trailed off and he shuddered in the vampire's arms.
"Of ever living on her own. Of facing reality. Of letting go of your dead son." The arms lent support in such an aching moment. "I will not make you leave -- not unless you want to. But there will come a time, soon, where I will want to make you as I am, for your own protection."
Thoughts of Noin shattered as he heard the words. "N...n... no!" He struggled once more against the vampire's powerful embrace, heart pounding at the thought of willingly letting himself be killed. He was frightened and confused and far too human to accept that thought lightly. "That means dying..." he whispered, eyes pleading for mercy from the beautiful man. "You want me to die? You think this will protect me?" His hands were on the vampire's arms, gripping them tightly, needing the contact. "What could dying possibly protect me from?"
"The world, Zechs -- it will protect you from the world!" Treize exclaimed, not letting Zechs go. "But you will not die in the way you think of death -- you will keep living, as I live. You will feel, walk among humanity unscathed, do what you please with your life... I would die inside to see you slip through my fingers again, Zechs!"
The vampire's words were strangely calming, but the Frenchman still trembled in his arms. "And tell me, if I keep living in the way that you do... How could I ever live my life as I please?" Then he gasped and held a hand to his mouth. "I didn't mean that!" he said his low and fierce. "I didn't... I'm very... h-happy here... I didn't mean it..."
"Tell me how you didn't mean it," Treize uttered at length, tone even as he kept holding the Frenchman close.
"I love my wife," the planter said in a shaky voice. "I... I know she's... not normal in many ways... but I married her and it was my fault that she's the way she is now... so... I didn't mean that, well, that I think my life would be better without her..."
He closed his eyes tightly and buried his face against Treize's shoulder. /Dear God -- just the sound of it! Life... without her... I mustn't!/
"I mustn't think such things," he whispered against the cool body, "she's a wonderful wife, really... beautiful, and gentle most of the time... Oh, I'm a wicked man for thinking such a thing..."
"No, Zechs, you aren't. I've seen how she acts; how she treats you," he whispered softly. "You'd do better with the house-boy, or myself, or perhaps even both. You do not love Noin -- you married her because it is proper for a man to marry. You loved your captain, Zechs --I saw that, too, the dazed look you would get in your eyes whenever he came near."
Zechs lifted his head and started at Treize. His face held a stunned expression and he fought back tears that made his eyes shine. "How could you know that?" he whispered, searching the beautiful face before him. "How could you possibly know...?"
"I know how one looks when they have love in their eyes, Zechs -- I've seen it in eyes that were replicas of yours." Moving tenderly, the vampire kissed each of Zechs's eye-lids. "Were you a bit older, I would have tried to protect you both -- but it's hard to do when you fight on the other side. But in the here and now I can protect you and your new little love, the boy. And I want to keep you both safe. To make you happy."
A thought struck the young Frenchman and he frowned, tracing his fingers across the vampire's lips. He leaned in and kissed him, a long, passionate kiss that made him feel aroused and strangely complete. When they broke away, he whispered, "And you? What would make you happy?"
Ah, the taste of those fine, familiar lips, on his just as they had once been... "You would. To have you again brings me remarkable joy."
The vampire's words touched something in Zechs that, until that moment, had lain completely hidden. It was as if, without warning, a curtain had been lifted and he saw the man before him as a boy -- a beautiful boy, who made the notion of eternity seem wondrous again to a being who'd grown jaded with time.
Zechs gasped softly and in an instant, the image was gone. Treize was watching him and he didn't know what to say, how to put what he was feeling into words, so he reached for the other man and pulled him close. His arms slid around strong shoulders that had been more frail all those centuries ago. The silky hair he stroked had been dirty and matted when the boy had come to him, and Treize had been suspicious of the soap he used to wash it. The tub he used to bathe him in had been black after that first bath, and the boy who emerged more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen...
The memories were overwhelming and for a while all he could do was hold tight to his ancient friend and let them wash over him.
"Trieze... how long have you been alone?"
"Far too long. Roughly... ah... three thousand years, I think -- perhaps more," he murmured slowly, savoring the arms that came around him; Zechs was doing it willingly. Another bridge crossed over. "As the years drag on, the count gets harder and harder to keep on, Zechs. One can only bide one's time for so long before boredom takes hold; other vampires build empires. I do not think I have the patience for it. I remember my humanity too much and love humans too much to do such a thing. And I needed to find you, Zechs; I first saw you when you were only ten. And I've followed, watched you from afar since then. Felt your sorrows and joys."
"Ah, Treize... He remembers everything about you -- or... is it... *I* remember? I'm still confused." Zechs sat back for a moment and regarded the vampire, letting the strange new thing inside of him take a long look at Treize. A torrent of feelings assailed him and he had to reach out and cup that beautiful face with one, trembling hand.
"We were more than lovers, weren't we?" he asked. "Something even deeper... "
"Partnered," the vampire breathed. "It was perfect, and he died so suddenly, wrenched from me..." The creature turned his head to kiss the palm that touched his cheek, a gentle kiss, before he licked the flesh there, so lightly. "I love you."
"How did I -- he -- die?" Zechs said, voice nearly a whisper. "There aren't any memories for that..."
"We were sleeping, in our bed, and the door was broken in. Some child had fallen into the river and the tribe blamed us for it; we'd not fed in some days, and didn't move fast enough... They had adzes, and as I rolled out of bed to fight, one was brought down on my sleeping lover's neck. It cut his head clean off. I wiped my tribe off the map that day."
"Strange that I'd have no recollection of it..." Zechs said. His voice was a bit dreamy, as if he were far back in time, searching for some elusive event. Then he shook his head and looked at Treize again. "What's going to happen? To me... to us?"
"It all depends on you," Treize whispered. "I can go anywhere, or nowhere -- but I won't go away."
Zechs got up from the bed and walked to the small, gable-end window that looked out on the Avenue. The events of the morning had been shocking, and now his head reeled just trying to understand all the implications of it.
"Give me some time... I need to think, before anything is decided."
"Of course," Treize uttered, stretching languidly on the bed, a rich smile on his lips. "You have all the time you want, as long as this house remains safe."
Zechs frowned and turned his head partially away from the window. "What would make it unsafe? Do you mean the slaves could cause trouble if they found about you?"
"No -- other plantation owners, servants like that girl, your wife..." It was an endless list, really.
The blond man sighed and turned to the window again. "Yes... Noin's already got it into her head that Wufei is a thief. And he mentioned something about Precious as well, although I couldn't understand what it was."
Long, slender fingers traced an outline of the Avenue's spanish moss on the window pane. "Now with Eugenie here... this house is full of suspicions."
Dropping his hand to his side, Zechs carefully tucked an escaping strand of golden hair behind his ear. "Treize? How do you feel about Wufei...?"
"He's a wonderful, caring boy, Zechs -- and I'd enjoy getting to know him, if he'd stop cursing every time I came near him," the vampire uttered, tone almost wry.
Zechs couldn't help but smile at the thought. Wufei was always so polite around him...
"So... you're not... jealous? How would this work?" /Mon Dieu, I can't believe I'm asking questions like this -- that I'm thinking there might be the remotest possibility of.../
"Not in the least jealous, Zechs --age has brought to me fully the wisdom of sharing." As he spoke, he rose, to stand close behind Zechs, an arm around his waist. "And neither would I mind, Monsieur, getting to know the boy as well as I know you..." A rich purr, buried in that suggestion. "And I can see the love he has for you, deep in his eyes. No sane man would stop such a thing."
"No," Zechs said softly, "of course not." /Perhaps I was mistaken about the two of them... the two of us? More very close friends than lovers, perhaps. Otherwise, why would we be special?/ So many things he didn't understand...
A loudly clanging bell signaled the end of the lunch period and Zechs turned to Treize. "I... I have to go back to the mill... Trepagnier is expecting me... Where will you go now?"
"Nowhere," Treize drawled, pressing a kiss to the back of Zechs's neck, letting his teeth scrape gently. "I really never stray far from here. But I'll come back... this evening, if you please...?"
"I'd like that... Perhaps you can come to the house. Noin generally retires at eight o'clock, and Eugenie after her. All of the other servants will be gone, except Wufei." Remembering the the vampire expressed an interest, Zechs found himself asking, "Do you want Wufei there? Or would you like to meet with me alone?"
"Wufei there. All three of us, perhaps. I wonder how it will go with all of us lucid." He mused to himself, stealing another kiss. "I'll leave you now, my love -- tonight, then." And he stepped back from Zechs, in a whisper of sound, and was gone.
The day was beautiful outside, or so Noin had decided. She sat in her bed, brush in hand, and carefully pulled the bristles through the almost-black curls that had finally grown down to her shoulders. They'd cut it when she'd had the fever, and she had carefully put that on her secret list of things that the evil Zechs had done. It always surprised her, when the evil Zechs appeared. He wasn't at all like her sweet husband and their darling son, but there you had it. He came and went and she never even noticed when her wonderful husband was replaced by him until the hateful words came out. /Michel is NOT dead! Mon doux bébé is only in the doll, where my sweet husband has placed him to protect him from the evil one and his minions!/
That was a rather recent notion; that there were two Zechses and not merely one, an idea that had occurred to her after the beautiful man had told her that their Michel was dead. /I know the difference between dead and not dead!/
"Madame?" the flat-toned woman, Eugenie, broke in. "Do you wish to eat, Madame?"
"Hm? Oh, Eugenie. Hello. You are back again, with the tray? Yes, yes. I suppose I wish to eat, only I wish Precious would not send so much!" she said with a sigh, looking at the biscuits, sliced and salted tomatoes, the butter beans and chicken. "It is so much! Too much for me," she mourned.
"Precious loves to cook, Madame, and perhaps the excess can be given to the master's new frequent guest," Eugene spoke at length, tone still even and flat as she placed the tray before her mistress. "You must wear your cross, Madame -- there is a demon about."
"Yes," Noin agreed dreamily, nodding. "I have seen him. He looks like my husband, at times, did you know that? So beautiful, but he is pure evil. Satan himself, ce le plus mauvais démon, could not control him, n'est-ce pas?"
/A shape changer, too!/ "Yes, Madame. So you must wear your cross to protect yourself! He is frightened of crosses, even though he says he is not."
Faint agreement came again. "Demons are always afraid of the Lord, Eugenie. They are afraid of my precious Michel, as well. I have shown you Michel, yes?" she asked, smiling sweetly.
"The house boy?" the woman asked, not comprehending. "Ah, he is almost as wretched as that pale visitor that comes."
"Visitor?" Noin asked, cocking her head to the side with an almost insect-like motion. "Tell me about this 'visitor'."
"He is a pale man... a monster, who doesn't sleep, and lies with every word he speaks."
A shudder worked its way down Noin's spine. "Mon mari..."
"He's a German man, or so he says, and he's so evil... and trying to cast a spell over the Master."
A little gasp burst from the invalid, the tomatoes sliding off of the tray and onto the white satin of her bedspread, smearing it with red juice. "Non! It cannot be so! Eugenie, you must protect him," she begged. "You mustn't allow that man to do it!"
The tomatoes were picked up promptly. "No, I will not let him Madame. I will not."
"Thank you, Eugenie!" she declared, reaching for the other woman's hands and holding them momentarily. "Oh, thank you!"
The maid looked meaningfully at her mistress. "I know the ways of these creatures, Madame. I know the evil they can do." Looking over her shoulder, Eugenie lowered her voice. "One of them took my own dear child, just as yours is now threatened. But I won't sit by and let one do it again."
She straightened up and carried the plate over to a small side table. Plucking her handkerchief from her sleeve, she mopped at the stained coverlet until it was reasonably dry and then addressed Noin again. "This creature is very bold, Madame Noin. It is just possible that your husband is beyond saving..."
"My sweet Zechs!" Noin cried tearfully, reached and clasping Eugenie's hands fervently. "Please! You must save him and rid us of this horrible demon, madame! Please, Eugenie!"
"I'll do what I can, Madame. But there are many shadows in this house, and I fear they may be able to find you and your baby, just as they have found and nearly captured your husband."
Straightening up again, Eugenie moved to the window where she saw Zechs walking down the Avenue towards the sugar mill. "And remember this about your husband, Madame Noin -- 'The Devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape...'"
At those words, the ill woman burst into tears. "Michel! Michel! Mon pauvre bébé doux! Mon mari tendre! Queest-ce que je dois faire, que dois je faire?"*
"Pray, Madame," the maid intoned as she carried the tray to the door. "Pray."
*My poor sweet baby! My tender husband! What shall I do, what shall I do?
The sound of weeping followed Eugenie as she left the room and headed down the back staircase. She crossed the breezeway to the kitchen building and entered, casting an eye on Precious as she carefully placed the dishes in the sink for the cook's daughter, Cissy, to wash.
"Madame Noin is having an especially dreadful day," she said ominously, to no one in particular."
"That po' chile," Precious sighed, shaking her head as she shelled another butter bean. "Why, he' health jest ain't no 'ccount these days, none a'tall, not since tha' night she spent cryin' in tha' Doll Room. Thangs lack that cain't be no good fo' he'."
"No," said Eugenie, "No, they most definitely are *not* good for her." Eugenie stood with her back to Precious, staring out the window and the stretch of path that led to the cypress swamp. "After all -- her husband should have been with her, instead of leaving her, *abandoning* her, to sit all night in that room -- a room full of lamenting spirits..."
A violent shiver shook the big cook and she sighed again. "Lor', lor'. It jest ain't right..."
"You've seen the strange visitor, then?" the maid asked as she poured a small jug of water for her Mistress. Sighing dramatically, she let her large eyes roam around the kitchen and then said, "All is not what it seems in this house... No, it is not as it seems at all..."
Stepping back into the kitchen from outside, water pail in hand, Wufei paused in the doorway. He didn't *like* the new maid. She was rather a bit scary and left him shivering, so he wasn't sure he wanted to go any farther inside.
"Brang that wate' he'e, chile," Precious told him. "Gotta wash alla these beans fo' we c'n do anythin' with 'em." In response to Eugenie, she nodded her head slowly. "I ain't seen him, but my gi'ls have. I hea' tell he ain't no'mal. The whitest white man..."
Wufei paled as he moved into the room. Oh, they were talking about the vampire! A shiver chased through him as he sat the pale at Precious's feet and began placing beans in the water.
"It's true -- his skin is absolutely white, a sure mark of --" She broke off and looked around the kitchen furtively, then crossed herself. "The Undead," she whispered loudly, then turned to stare pointedly at Wufei. "I understand they like young boys as victims..."
Wufei drew a shuddering breath and went back to frantically washing the beans.
"He'e, now, ain't no need to sca'e the chile no worse'n he's a'ready sca'ed," Precious chided gently, patting Wufei's head. "Miss Eugenie, yo' su'e i's... one o' THEM?" she asked solemnly. "We's got ways o' dealin' with the likes o' them, if yo' su'e."
"Oh I'm quite nearly sure," the maid intoned. "Give me but two days and you shall have your answer." Another sideways glance at Wufei, and then she picked up the water jug and walked to the door.
Wufei watched her get far enough away that she could not hear him before he whispered to Precious, "Miss, she frightens me."
A considering glance still lingered on the woman as Precious tilted her head. "Mayhap yo' right," she said slowly to the woman still in the doorway, ignoring the boy at her feet. "Be su'e. An' when yo' su'e, ya come t'me, an' Ah'll make th'rrangements."
"Certainly. She beckoned to Precious and when the woman was close enough she whispered. "I fear the master may already have been infected; keep the boy away from him as much as possible and don't let that monster in the house again." She nodded solemnly and carried the tray out the door and towards the main house.
Shaking her head, Precious watched her go before moving back into the kitchen proper. "Boy," she said sharply as Wufei looked up from the floor and his beans. "What I done tol' you 'bout the maste' an' wha's right an' wha's wrong?"
The houseboy didn't look up at those word. "That I was to leave him alone," he whispered, mortified.
"An' have you?" she asked sternly, reaching down to lift his face with her hand. The embarrassment and guilt were obvious on his face. "Chile, chile," she said softly. "Ya got to do wha' ya tol' to *do*, now. I's dangerous, now, an' no' jest agin God an' the loa. They's demons involved in this he'e mess we done got ou'se'ves in. You unne'stan'?"
"Yes, Miss Precious."
"Now, ya do wha' ya been tol', boy. Ya bein' watched ove'... an' soon, th'houngan be back 'roun'. When she come, I'm gonna get you protection. Unne'stan'?"
"Yes, Miss Precious," Wufei whispered, and with that, he stood and ran out of the kitchen as though the very hounds of Hell were on his heels.
"What a mess we done got he'e," Precious whispered to herself. "What a mess..."
Having snuck around the house and up the wide trellis to his room, Wufei tumbled over the sill of his window, only slightly scratched by the thorns outside of it. A deep sniffle sounded and he moved to the small mirror that was on his little dresser, looking at himself seriously. How was it that they read every guilty little thought in his head off of his face? "Oh, Master," he sighed to himself. "This will never do. I will never manage to keep these things from them, especially not the xixiejiangshi..."
In his intense concentration, he never even realized that his master was now standing in the doorway, attention captured as he'd walked past intent on returning to the sugar mill.
"What is troubling you, Wufei? You look as if you are about to cry -- or perhaps to get angry?" The tall blond crossed the the window Wufei had climbed through and look down at the trellis. "And why are you climbing the trellis to come into your room? It *does* have a perfectly good door, n'est-ce pas?"
His master's sudden presence had shaken him slightly as he turned to look at him. "I did not want to come up the stairs," Wufei said slowly. "That crazy woman Eugenie is on the second floor and I do not like her. She frightens me. She is not well..." He paused, deliberately choosing not to mention that Zechs's wife was not 'well', either. "And Precious is upset with me again. She can tell, that we touch, that you kiss me... that I like it... I do not know how she knows these things, but she worries about them."
Zechs smiled softly and sat down on the bed, pulling the houseboy to him, strong arms and a smile on his lips. "How can she know what we do?" With that, he slipped his arms around Wufei's hips and then leaned up for a long, deep kiss.
"I don't know," Wufei said softly as their lips parted. "But she does. I am afraid that, somehow, she will know about *him*, too. Eugenie was saying things about *him* in the kitchen.." His hands moved to stroke over the breadth of Zechs's shoulders, a pleasurable touch and one he enjoyed giving very much. "I worry, Master. I worry about what they will do and what *he* will do.. I think Eugenie suspects you and she said that such as he..." A little shudder spread through him. "That such as he like to do horrible things to boys especially."
Another kiss, and while they kissed, Zechs drew the houseboy closer, on to his lap. "She doesn't know anything about him..." the young planter sighed, nuzzling at Wufei's tender neck. "And I think he rather likes you... He wants to meet with us later tonight." Slender fingers trailed under the cotton shirt to find warm nipples. "Oh, God..." he breathed into the small Chinaman's ear. "How I want you... beneath me, moving..."
For a moment, the mention of that meeting sent ripples of fear through him, but the contact of his beloved master, close and warm, left him almost purring. He brought his fingers up to tangle in long locks as he tilted his head back to the nipping touch of Zechs kiss, a little moan breaking from him. "We... we should shut the door... oh, yes, there... right there..."
"Mmmm... I can't stay," Zechs murmured. He brought Wufei's head down just slightly and took his mouth in a deep, fiery kiss.
A soft moan sounded beneath those lips and Wufei shivered. Every time Zechs touched him like that, with those deep claiming kisses, he almost melted against the other man. "Please..." he whispered, ashamed of himself. "Please stay... oh, please..."
Continuing to hold the slave tight against him, Zechs sighed, placing soft kissed along Wufei's jawline. "Mnnn... I can't my love... but I will be back in two hours and... I've been wanting to ask you something... that is, if you want to do something for me. Of course, you may choose to say no..." He broke off, too excited by the taste of Wufei's skin and began pressing his lips feverishly to the boy's collarbones.
"Yes," Wufei agreed fervently, head dropped back, little chill-bumps cascading over his skin as he sighed. "Yes, yes, yes, anything, anything you wish, oh, yes...!"
/Ahhh... Such a lovely neck he has... and his whole body seems to be responding right now... want to... want to push him down, on the bed... no, no -- be patient.../ He continued kissing his way along the line of Wufei's shoulder, talking as he did. "Guy, my manservant, needs this afternoon off for the birthday of his sister. But I find myself in desperate need of a bath... W... Would you do me the honor of helping me with it?"
A delighted little moan escaped as Wufei bit his lip and whimpered, pressing firmly against Zechs, erection sliding against a strong thigh. "Yes!" he gasped as Zechs's tongue lapped across a particularly sensitive spot. "Oh, YES, Master, yes, yes...!"
The young planter shivered at the sound of that eagerness, that arousal. /Ahhhnn... Trepagnier can wait for a few minutes, surely.../ With that, he pushed the boy onto the narrow bed and, at the same time stretched out one long leg and shut the bedroom door. Covering the boy with his body, he let his hands wander over Wufei's face, neck, belly and hips, all the while devouring his skin with hungry, open-mouthed kisses.
Soft repeated words of agitation and desire spun from Wufei's lips with each kiss, each touch, his own hands roaming recklessly over the man atop him. The heat in the room grew dizzying or perhaps it was only the heat in him; Wufei wasn't at all certain as he rocked frantically to meet the tall body pressed against his own, lips parted in gasps to draw in that wonderfully hot air, the scent of lavender and fresh sweat that seemed to radiate from the other man.
Softly, the Frenchman's long, slender fingers moved down Wufei's shirt until his chest was laid bare and those same fingers wandered over the warm, smooth skin. Zechs lowered his head and trailed kisses down to where the slaves nipples were taut, a dark rosy brown in color and so very very tempting... almost begging to be suckled. So he reached out with the very tip of his tongue and drew a perfect circle on the tip of that pretty nub. Then a soft, hungry noise escaped him and he clamped down on it, sucking hard as it stiffened more and more. And while he occupied Wufei with that. his fingers had moved downwards and were busily unfastening the front of the slave boy's trousers.
As slim fingers worked their way past the material that was no obstruction to his master, Wufei cried out, unable to help himself as he was touched. The flesh throbbing between his thighs had never received such lovely delicate ministrations and he sighed impossibly, deeply, flinging his head back and forth against the pillows as incoherent little words broke from him, half in English, half in Chinese. Every inch of him, every nerve, was the most delicious of pleasures, and he couldn't help the sounds that escaped him as he moved to his master's fingers, shuddering.
Zechs moved down, kissing his way along the boy's flat belly to nuzzle for awhile in the jet black curls between his legs. /Uhhhnn... Delicious fragrance... all his own... and so *very* pretty.../ He rested his head for a moment on Wufei's thigh, turning his face so that he could watch the boy's erection. Clever fingers stroked it ever so lightly and it would twitch under his hands every time.
But finally, it proved too tasty-looking to stay away from and he nestled between Wufei's legs and took the very tip of that heated shaft into his mouth.
With that wet suckling, Wufei lost himself. Bones became water and he melted into the mattress, unable to give anything more than a little flutter of sound that barely expressed the sheer wonder *that* was, his dark eyes closed tightly, brow knit. A low sound parted his lips, half-pleasure and half-pain, as though he couldn't decide which wonder it truly was. Fingers moved down to stroke his master's hair sweetly as his legs sprawled open as far as they could go, little gasps escaping him now and again.
Such sweet assent -- that lovely spreading of the legs that came without thought or will, but from the sheer desire that was felt. So, as Zechs took the boy deeper into his mouth, his fingers danced softly over the velvet skin of Wufei's inner thighs, and clutched the silky balls that hung below the shaft.
"Mmmm... c'est si bon*, mon cheri... c'est si bon..." Pressing further down on its stiffness and groaning at the feeling of it in his mouth.
Heaven was what it was, Wufei knew, as he arched up to that deep hot suckle, shuddering. "Oh... oh... oh, oh, oh! Oh!!!" It would take so little more to push him entirely over the edge and into pleasure deep as oblivion, he knew, eyes shut tightly as he concentrated on not exploding. "Oh!!"
Now Zechs pushed Wufei's legs back towards the boy, so that the planter's clothed but aching erection pressed the slave's tight little buttocks. They were heaven to press himself against and he moaned as he took the rest of Wufei's shaft down his throat. /Come for me, pretty one... I need to taste you.../
"AHHH!!" Wufei cried out, shuddering as he spilled himself into Zechs's hot mouth, hot tears escaping him at the wonder that shook him from head to toe, leaving him a sweaty heap.
Slowly, Zechs brought Wufei's legs down to the mattress. He nursed the boy's limp shaft until it was completely spent and then brought himself up to straddle the boy on hands and knees. "Taste yourself," he whispered against warm lips. "You're delicious..." And with that, he claimed Wufei's mouth in a long, tender kiss.
A little whimper came in response, Wufei somehow managing to bring arms still made up of limp willow branches to wind about his master's neck, his tongue plunging deep in response to the other man's kiss. "Mmmm..."
Breaking the kiss gently, Zechs kept his lips close to Wufei's, brushing them as he whispered, "I have to go... or Trepagnier might come looking for me." The brushing continued, playful, open-mouthed, almost-kisses and the young Frenchman felt he could drown in the blackness of the boy's eyes -- all he had to do was let himself go...
But it couldn't be now, despite how much his body wanted it, and he took a last, deep kiss. "I'll be back at four o'clock. I have to be with Noin for a brief time, but I'll call for you... " Zechs placed a tender kiss to Wufei's jaw and sat up, smiling at the boy. He let his fingers trail over those lips as he stood and murmured soft goodbyes in French.
With a last deep sigh, Wufei watched his master go, shivering slightly with delight for the events that had passed. "Ohhhh, yes!" he said to himself when he was finally alone, face alight with the utter pleasure of what had only just now transpired. "Yes!"
/Mon Dieu -- how am I supposed to focus on caning and barreling *now*.../ Walking down the front staircase of his house, the young planter fervently hoped that the flush in his cheeks would go away before he got to the mill. If it didn't... hopefully he could blame it on the heat.
* It's so good
The work that day was hard, just plain hard with the heat and the humidity. Instead of going directly to the mill, the owner of the Cypress House Plantation made a trip to the cane fields first, to see how his slaves were bearing up. Usually cane didn't ripen until the end of the summer, but a particularly warm, wet spring had caused several of the fields to grow abnormally fast, and because of it they were having to pick cane and begin the milling process in July. When he had seen the number of slaves close to heat stroke, he had ordered his foreman to work them in shifts, with half of them picking and half resting under a clump of old oaks at the edge of the field. Two slaves were designated as water carriers who took turns filling buckets with water and distributing it among the others. One older woman was in such a horrible state that Zechs sent her back to her cabin with two of her womenfolk.
On to the mill itself where a large barrel of sugar crystals were being fed into the grinder. He spent a fair amount of time with Trepagnier discussing the quality of the syrup they'd come from and the best technique for milling them. They looked to get a good three barrels of finely milled sugar from that day's labor alone, and the Creole was beaming with pride. Zechs told him that he and his wife must come up to the house on Sunday and have tea with him, and then left the mill in Trepagnier's capable hands and headed for the syrup shed.
The misery was the greatest here, for the great vats of boiling syrup made the temperature inside rise to well over a hundred degrees. Zechs helped the shed foreman to bring a large barrel of water inside and told him to work out a schedule where each slave would receive a dousing of cool water at regular intervals.
He and the foreman then took over stirring the vats while the seven slaves got their first dousing.
He was proud of his slaves -- their hard working ways, their loyalty to him -- and he treated them, if not with the respect he would a free man or woman, at least with a great amount of care. At the very least it was a good way to protect one's investment, but deep down, he knew he could never have done it any other way.
By the time he arrived back at the house, he was drenched with sweat and close to heat stroke himself. He had been determined, nonetheless, to see Noin, and had gone straight to her room, after mopping himself down with a few handkerchiefs. She had drawn back from him, though, her small nose wrinkled with disgust at his damp hair and clothing, so he had bowed to her and gone off to take his bath. Before he had done so, however, he had called down to Precious to send Wufei upstairs as soon as she could spare him.
It seemed, for some time, that he wasn't coming up at all; but finally, the sound of light footsteps flew up the stairs, pausing only momentarily at the landing. The sound of voices came, quick, Wufei's almost apologetic, Eugenie's stringent, and then Zechs could hear him coming down the hall and knocking lightly at the door. "Master?"
"Come in," Zechs called and then turned back to the window, heart racing a bit as he thought of the evening to come.
The door was pushed open and Wufei moved inside, a bucket of cold water in his hands. "Master, how hot do you want your bath?" he asked, eager to please, already, and so very excited to be helping with his master's bath! Oh, if it wasn't for that blood-sucking demon, the whole world would be perfect!
The tall blond turned and smiled at the boy, crossing the room and taking one of the buckets from him. "Not very," he murmured. "I've had enough of heat today. I believe Guy filled the tub before he left. There is a small fire in the little stove in the room, you can heat these two up just a bit. Come with me."
He led the way along the gallery to the far western end, where the small bathing room was. It had a slatted wooden floor that slanted a bit into a drain in the center. The tub was of the large iron variety, large enough for the master and not much else. The walls held pegs for clothing and shelves for towels and next to the bath, which had been filled with water, were several large buckets, also filled, and a small table with a cake of soap and a small cloth on it. Beyond that was a tiny cast iron stove, vented to the outside and big enough to heat one bucket of water at a time.
"You can go ahead and put one of those buckets on the stove," Zechs said softly and then turned to undress, sliding off his jacket and shoes before moving on to his other garments.
Careful, eager to please, Wufei knelt beside the little stove and found it already hot, as if it had been just waiting for this. With exquisite caution, he sat the little metal pail atop it to heat, turning to glance appreciatively at his master as he bared himself. "Sir, am I supposed to help you?" he asked, gaze lingering on exquisitely long golden limbs, face flushing as he noticed the strong thighs, flat belly, the shaft in its bed of golden curls.
Another soft smile. "No, it's all right. The only reason Guy does that is because he's done it since I was two years old and couldn't undress myself." He hung up his breeches and walked to the tub, trailing a hand in the water, a faint blush on his face. /I shouldn't feel shy around him... he's a slave, like any other... and I'm not a very good liar.../
The water on the stove proved warm to Wufei's fingers, the water in the tub already lukewarm from the afternoon heat. He poured it in slowly and set a second pail on to warm for rinsing the soap from Zechs later, turning to watch the other man. "Would you like for me to wash your back?" he asked. "And..." /And everything else I would so like to touch?/
Stepping into the tub, the young planter sat down and reveled in the feeling of cool water against his skin. "Yes, Wufei, that would be very pleasant, but -- please wet down my hair first, oui?"
"...yes," Wufei said softly, filling a pail with the water from the tub and standing carefully. "Tilt your head back, monsieur..."
Zechs closed his eyes and lifted his chin, letting a spill of pale gold hair tumble to the water's surface. Such a lovely feeling -- knowing that they were alone; knowing that Wufei was watching him...
And watching him was something Wufei was *definitely* enjoying. The slightly warm skid of water spilled over pale hair and turned it the shade of faded goldenrod, steadily drenching each long strand. Fingers moved to touch it lightly. "Would you like me to help soap it... Master?" The words spilled from those lips, close to his ear, softly spoken with that exotic accent, sibilant and husky.
The Frenchman turned his face towards the sound of the boy's words and opened his eyes slowly. Wufei was so close, he could have leaned over and kissed him, but instead he just murmured, "Mmmm, oui... that would be very nice, indeed."
A little smile crossed the lips of the dark-eyed young man, hands already working the lavender soap between his fingers, lather thick and covering them. "Tilt your head back, monsieur," Wufei ordered, reaching for the tall man's scalp.
Zechs did as he was told, closing his eyes again, and letting the boy's hands do what they would. It all felt so blessedly good. "Mmmm," he purred, "it never feels like this when Guy does it..."
Delicately, fingers massaged through masses of wet hair to touch Zechs's scalp, only slowly working their way loose from there to the tips of that long pale stuff. "Mmm," Wufei said softly, lost in a world of heat and wet and the pleasure of touching such lovely strands.
The soft movements of Wufei's fingers made his master feel deliciously wanton. He sighed softly and let his fingers drape over the side of the tub, drifting backwards to brush lightly against the boy's thigh. "So good, Wufei. I love -- this..." Oh, how he'd wanted to say it...
"Leave your head tilted, monsieur," Wufei whispered, filling the empty pail with water again and rinsing through those long strands of hair, suds sliding to leave a slight film of lavender on the water. Another quickly filled pail kept most of the suds out of it and Wufei poured it again, letting the slippery stuff wash over Zechs's shoulders, his eyes dazed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot afternoon. /Never thought I would enjoy a sight like this./
"Mmmm," Zechs was humming with pleasure as he reached up and ran a hand over his hair, brushing water away from his face. "Will you... wash my back now, Wufei?" /Anything, dear boy... just please put your hands on me.../
For a moment, Wufei seemed to pause, and then his hands were on the soap and on Zechs's back, caressing slowly over each muscle, down the line of his spine, across broad shoulders as he sighed heavily with delicious appreciation.
Zechs's eyes were closed and he leaned forward, the heavy cape of his hair around his shoulder to drape down his chest. With a soft sigh, he drew his knees up and rested first his arms, then his head on them, and enjoyed every touch, and the close warmth of the boy behind him. /No response when I touched him, though -- perhaps this isn't a good time to press. Just enjoy being close to him.../
It was then, as water cascaded over golden skin to sluice away the soap, that he felt a tentative brush of lips against the nape of his neck, careful and tiny.
But sometimes tiny things are the most devastating and that was the way of it with that touch. As it ghosted over his skin, Zechs could actually feel the blood as it suffused his cheeks. He didn't want to say a word, didn't want to breathe even for fear of frightening the boy away, but he ached to touch, to be touched, so he whispered, "My chest now, please... Wufei..."
From behind, hands moved around, touching delicately over collarbones as Wufei shifted, face turned down slightly as he watched his hands ghost over pectorals, the tiny perk of nipples. Fingers traced lightly over diaphragm, entranced by the touch and color of something so very lovely.
/Mon Dieu! Surely I don't deserve this at all... he knows just where to touch.../ With half-lidded eyes and deeply flushed cheeks, Zechs allowed himself to lean back against Wufei's arms, working hard to control his trembling but unable to stop the deep, panting breaths that came at the boy's touch. One wet hand came up over his head to stroke Wufei's hair, releasing it from its neat tail as he did so and drinking in the scent of it as it fell around him. He felt drunk with desire and now the other hand came up to caress the back of Wufei's hands as they trailed across Zechs's chest.
A trembling breath drew in as Wufei pressed his cheek to Zechs's, a low whine parting his lips as his fingers moved slowly over that golden belly, not missing so much as a bare inch of skin, dipping lightly into the navel. The touch of his master's hands on him was so deliciously sweet, the larger palms covering his own and gently moving against the back of his hands and his wrists. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he sighed with the wonder of that touch, that gentleness.
Surely this couldn't go on... he would die from wanting this boy... the sweet, intimate touch of that cheek, the languid hands on him, wet and slippery, stoking fire with every movement on his skin. He was a creature of want, now. No thought, no words, only endless desire. His heart raced in his chest as he turned to look at the boy, eyes barely open, and happened to brush Wufei's lips with his own. The touch made him moan, so soft it was hardly heard, as a wet hand moved up to caress the boy's cheek. "Wufei..."
"Please," came the breathless little whisper as Wufei parted his lips slightly. "Please!"
It only took a tiny movement forward --just one small press of lips against that sweet mouth, and Zechs closed his eyes, letting a deep and profound pleasure wash over him. Strange that so much could be had with such a tiny thing as a kiss, but somehow it was heartbreakingly erotic, just to touch him that much.
Helplessly, Wufei's hands drifted down Zechs's belly as they kissed, groping slowly between his thighs and touching the hardened flesh that he'd known he would find, even though he'd pretended to himself that he would not up until that moment. That touch brought a thrill of fear to him even as those delicious lips kissed him, so very sweet it almost made him want to cry.
A soft groan came from the blond at the touch of that hand. Zechs's hand trailed down from the warm cheek to the boy's shirt, pulling at the buttons that came apart easily. His hands were wet and now Wufei's nipples were, too as he plucked lightly at them and deepened the kiss.
The hunger that was undeniable in his master's mouth drove him to caress slowly over the stiff shaft that felt so hot against his palm, hotter than the water, hotter even than the air around them. His own skin was now damp from Zechs's touch and he gave a stuttered little cry as fingers teased at his chest, excitement so much a part of him as he moaned softly beneath that caress.
"Ah, my lovely boy," Zechs breathed against warm lips. "You turn my blood to fire..." He gave a light tug and Wufei moved closer to him -- not so much in back of him any more, but right at his side. Now the planter was free to nuzzle his houseboy's neck, trail light kisses down his jaw and capture a tender ear lobe in his teeth before licking at the pretty ear itself. But it wasn't enough, and now Zechs found himself tugging harder, until he'd pulled the boy into the tub with him.
Wufei gasped as the water spilled around him and onto the floor, but the delicious biting kisses now being spread down his throat completely destroyed any caring he might have felt for it. "Yes," he whimpered, wrapping wet trouser-clad legs around his master's waist and pressing himself close and tight to the other man. "Oh, YES!"
Such sweet friction! The feel of the boy's weight above him, that tender throat, bared completely for his kisses, and now he slid his hands under Wufei's shirt, pulling it down off of his shoulders and covering them with hungry, open-mouthed kisses. The color of that skin seemed like a miracle to the young Frenchman. The skin of Europeans was that of his own and he had seen plenty of slaves with their colorings of tan and cocoa. But this... such a rich, coppery color, like creme caramel brought to life. It made his head spin and suddenly he couldn't get enough of the creamy stuff -- under his lips, his hands, everywhere...
"Ahhh... Monsieur," Wufei whispered, barely able to think coherently in English. "I... I... want..."
Long golden fingers stroked through the slave's black hair, and with each pass it grew wetter and clung to his skin. Zechs was feasting on the slender throat, sucking and sucking hard, when an erotic image of the vampire laying over him came unbidden to his mind. For the briefest moment, he was no longer himself, but another man altogether. A man who was deeply, profoundly, and nerve-shatteringly in love with Treize Khushrenada, who had taken these same little pleasures with him when he came of age, days and nights spent in bed, discovering each other and how much pleasure they could share.
It was a powerful vision, and it made the Frenchman moan with desire for the boy in his arms. He brought Wufei up to face him, their lips brushing, eyes locked onto one another. "What is it you want, Wufei," he whispered against a soft mouth, bruised with his kisses. "Tell me what you want, and you shall have it, I swear..."
In that moment, Wufei knew that it was true... that he could ask for anything and it would be his, even freedom, should he desire it -- and he did...
But he also knew that there was only one thing that he wanted, truly wanted, in that same moment... and he asked for it instead. "Only you, Master," he whispered. "Please... only you!"
Holding the boy's head in his hands, Zechs brushed his lips against Wufei's in light, soft touches, almost too faint to feel. Azure eyes stared adoringly into ebony. "Then I am yours, mon petit enfant, for I would have it no other way. You have possessed my heart and soul so completely that I will never be free." A warm tongue darted out and traced the bottom of the slave's lower lip. "Completely... and utterly... *yours*..." And as he breathed the words, he offered up a holy kiss to the gentle boy-god he worshipped.
Arms wrapped firmly about Zechs's shoulders, a sigh almost heaving from Wufei as those lips touched his and he shuddered in pleasure at the words that were given him. He did not know how to respond in kind, so instead he responded with his body, pressing bare chest to bare chest, erection to erection barred only by the thin material of cotton trousers. "Yes... yes..."
As he was caressed by the boy, Zechs felt desire becoming tangible in him. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted it *now*, not later, not whenever he could steal away with the boy again, but now -- deep and long and meaningful. He moaned softly at his own thoughts and slid his hands down Wufei's back to cup the tight little buttocks in his hands. He squeezed them softly and pressed his hips up against them, wanting to feel their softness against the heated length of his shaft. His head was resting on the edge of the tub and he gazed half-lidded at the pretty thief who'd stolen his soul away from him.
"Wufei," he whispered and pressed upwards again. "I want to be inside of you. Will... will you let me...? S'il vous plait...?"
Uncertainty came into that expression even as Wufei pressed back against him, squirming and rubbing himself against the other man, the touch wonderful, delicious... dangerous. "You will hurt me?" he asked. "Putting it there? Inside? It hurts... You want to do this?" he whispered, pressing his face to Zechs's to hide some of the fright. "You... you, I will let do this... wo ai ni..." /Because I love you... yes./
"Mon petit cheri -- I would never hurt you... all you know of this is pain, but it doesn't have to be that way. It can be sweet, and delicious... It can be paradise, my love... let me show you..." As he spoke, his fingers slid under the light fabric of the slave's trousers and stroked the soft skin of Wufei's lovely bottom. As he moved from the tight, rounded cheeks to the warm cleft, the young planter moaned softly and kissed the boy's throat, gradually pulling down the soft material to reveal the creamy, coppery globes.
Perfection. Zechs nearly came then, just looking at them, but he managed to fight it off by encouraging the boy to his knees. Brushing light, feathery touches deeper between Wufei's cheeks he got Wufei high enough so that he could reach out with his tongue, and take a first taste of those lovely nipples.
Delicious little sounds of pleasure came from Wufei in gasps and pants, skin shivering as his wet pants were stripped off of him slowly, his master's fingers slowly touching his bottom and seeking out the tiny hole hidden where they now probed. All nervousness was cast aside with the lap of tongue against chest, his body tightening with the joy of it. "Ah!!! Monsieur!"
Zechs felt a soft pulsing run through him, desire so strong it made every muscle tense in a rhythm that mimicked orgasm. His suckling grew harder, drawing out the little nubs and grazing them lightly with his teeth as his fingers delved down to the tight little rosebud hidden between Wufei's cheeks. He rubbed softly at it, lightly teasing as his tongue began to flick, fast and hard, over the sensitive nub of flesh in his mouth.
By then, Wufei's hips had begun to rock, erection pressed tightly against Zechs's belly as he cried out for more. His fingers wrapped tightly in the golden hair he had so recently washed, holding his master close as the delicate teasing sent shockwaves from his chest to the throbbing staff between his legs, and he shuddered visibly. "Nnnah!"
"Now, my love..." Zechs continued as he moved to the other nipple. "push out when you feel my finger against you... push hard -- as if you're fighting to keep it out..." Flattening his index finger against the rough little entrance, the young Frenchman gave a few more rubs and then pressed inward, at the same time he pulled the boy's head down for a long, deep kiss.
Helplessly, Wufei obeyed, crying out into Zechs's mouth as he felt that finger slide into him so easily, slick from the soapy water. A violent shudder spread down his spine as his arms wrapped tightly about Zechs's neck and he pulled away to bury his face against them, moaning loudly. Oh! No one had ever done *that* before, and that felt... oh, that felt SO incredibly good!!! "Mmm!"
"Ah... oui, oui, mon cher garcon... just like that... just like... that..." Zechs held his hand perfectly still for several moments, lost in the amazing feeling of Wufei's body adjusting itself to the invasion. The boy's entire body was trembling and part of the young planter wanted to take him then and there. But he was nothing if not patient, and now, as Wufei's breathing slowed a bit, he began, slowly, to move the finger inside of the boy, stretching him softly while he murmured sweet encouragements in-between kisses.
The softness of those lips, the strange tingling bliss of penetration that simply drove him to whimpers and soft pleasure sounds that broke as they left his throat, these things made him want his master all the more. Hungry little kisses pressed deliciously to lips that were so tender against his own and he cried out, a prayer for more or less, he wasn't sure; a pleading for something to help him in the storm of desire that broke over him, something so new and unexpected he could barely contain it.
Slowly, carefully Zechs pulled the finger back a bit and breathed heavily into the boy's ear as he pushed in a second. And this time, to distract from the fullness, he let his fingertips brush over the boy's prostate, rubbing the sensitive gland slowly, and wanting to give nothing but pleasure. "Wufei..." he sighed, "Mon petit cher..."
Oh, it was incredible! Beyond incredible, and Wufei thought he would die happy as he sobbed in Zechs's ear, unable to give coherent words to him. He was only able to kiss him and kiss him again, shakily, pleadingly, feeling clumsy as he smoothed wet strands of hair back out of Zechs's face. With each shift of those fingers, Wufei moved, pressing to take more as he cried out, forehead pressed to his master's as he gasped with the immensity of the feelings inside of him. /So good... so good, so good, so good, never thought it was like this!/
Cupping Wufei's head in one, large hand, Zechs took a long, possessing kiss as the third and final finger invaded the boy. A small but exquisitely hard shaft was being ground against his belly and his thoughts moved fleetingly over the idea of what it would feel like to be taken by the slave boy. It proved too erotic for him and his patience began to wear. Pulling loose from their long, probing kiss, Zechs panted, "*Need* you... *now!!* Ah, push against me, petit... push *hard*..." With that he grasped Wufei's hips and lowered the boy onto his aching member, staring at the lovely face above him, wanting to watch him as he was penetrated... "Ah, Mon *Dieu*..."
Dark eyes filled with tears, at first, as Wufei felt himself opening to the long stiff shaft. His mouth opened with a shattered gasp, the fright almost impossible until he realized that it didn't hurt at all! No, it only felt so so good, impossibly good, and he moaned as he leaned forward, wanting Zechs's kisses again, wanting those sweet touches of lip and tongue as he shook against his master, fingers wrapped in wet hair. "Ahhh!!"
And those kisses came, in hot little nips that covered the boy's face and long, pulsing embraces where the young planter pushed deeper and deeper into his slave's small body. Zechs was growling now in an almost dreamy way and licking Wufei's jaw and chin, then moving back to kiss-bruised lips. "Mmmm... your body feels like paradise, my love..." he whispered against the other's mouth. "Now sit back a bit -- I want to do something, just for you..."
Carefully, Wufei shifted, moving dreamily back and moaning as he felt Zechs shift inside of him. "Mmmmmmmaster!" he managed to cry, shuddering as he moved against those hands, the intensity of the movement sending him into an absolute spiral as he gasped.
"Shhhh... it's all right, cheri. Relax..." Zechs stroked the boy's belly, almost swearing he could feel his long shaft through the slender body. Then he turned his attention to the pretty little erection in front of him. He lifted a hand and began by stroking it lightly from base to tip. Running one fingertip around the head before letting his fingers trail downwards again.
Wufei gasped again, head dropping back as he entrusted himself completely to that touch, eyes shut tightly. "Master!" was a low moan as his own hands moved to touch Zechs's wrist, a hand moving tremblingly to his upper arm to keep himself upright as he raised and lowered on that delicious shaft. "Oh!!"
The soft sounds of the water, moving as he stroked the boy, made it so much more erotic and Zechs felt himself tighten, driven close to the edge by the sight of what he was doing to his slave. "Ahh, that's it, cheri..." he moaned softly. "You're so beautiful... and you feel *so* good..."
The depth and angle of the strokes so deep inside nudged Wufei higher and higher until he thought he'd die from the wonder of it. The fingers caressing him so delicately put an end to the euphoria he was riding and he spilled upon Zechs's belly with a low sob, trembling as orgasm overcame him and left him momentarily still, then trembling violently. "Oh!"
It was enough for Zechs, and he growled deep in his chest, holding the boy's hips steady and pumping upwards. His head was thrown back on the edge of the tub, hard little nipples barely above the water. With a long moan he came inside the boy, the feeling of that tight body clenched around him making him want to scream. /Ah, God! How long? How long since it was this good...?/ As he floated back down to earth, his breath ragged but slowing, he opened his eyes and looked up with complete adoration at the boy above him.
Caramel was beautifully flushed with pink, sweat glistening on Wufei's face from the heat of the room. His wet shirt was still half-on, the only piece of clothing still adorning the slim length of his compact body. He looked down at Zechs with a stunned adoration for a long moment before pressing endless tiny kisses to his face, full of worship, deification even.
A slow smile crept over the planter's face and he had to laugh a little at the tickling feeling of those small tributes. Catching Wufei's head between his hands, he stared into eyes like the night sky and slowly pressed his lips to the slave's -- a long, wet kiss that seemed to last forever, that seemed to carry souls within it.
Sighing deeply, the houseboy finally laid his head against Zechs's shoulder, nuzzling sleepily as his fingers curled about those wet little hairs. "Ah, Master..."
It all felt so lovely, so wonderfully *right* in a very profound sense that Zechs didn't even mind that they were still in a tub of now rapidly cooling water; that there were others in the house who would not look kindly on what they were doing; that his own wife was several doors down the gallery. All these thoughts brushed the edges of the young Frenchman's mind and then fled before the simple fact of the warm and passionate boy in his arms. He was still buried deep within Wufei and the idea of resting that way, the water cooling their skin, was too powerful to resist. "Wufei..." he whispered as he rested his cheek on the boy's wet hair. "Mon petit enfant..."
"I should dry you now, Master," Wufei whispered, thick dark lashes fluttering down slowly as he attempted to fight off the lethargy taking him away from the delicious feel of golden skin against his own body.
"Don't worry about that now," Zechs said softly. "Close your eyes for a little while and enjoy this feeling..."
A little sigh parted Wufei's lips and he closed his eyes, face pressed close against Zechs's shoulder so that he could doze quietly.
"AAAAAHHHHHH!" A high-pitched scream came from the door.
Zechs gave a start and turned his head towards the sound, instinctively pulling Wufei closer at the sound of a potential threat. A girl stood at the door -- one of Precious's daughters, her hand at her mouth, staring at them.
With a strange feeling that he was only watching himself, Zechs pressed Wufei tightly against his chest. Azure eyes bore into the girl's large, brown ones. "How *dare* you treat my privacy with such disrespect," he hissed. "Now get out of here and close the door behind you. And if you say *anything* to *anyone* about this, I swear you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
"Ah... Ah'm sorry, Master!" the girl stammered, obvious frightened by both what she saw and by her owner's tone. "Mamma needed the boy..."
Mortified, Wufei hid his face against Zechs's golden flesh. Taira had heard her mother lecturing him on behavior like this and he knew she would just run back downstairs and tell Precious! Those girls told their mother *everything* that went on in the house and their husband told her what went on outside of it! Oh, he couldn't bear it!
The planter's voice was low and ominous when it came again. "Tell me something, Taira," he said, his musical accent belying the threat behind the words. "Do you love your mother? Do you like living here with her?"
"Yes, Maste'," she spoke, still watching with a look akin to horror.
"And your husband, Taira -- do you like living here with him?"
"Yes, Maste'," she sighed, understanding at last what his meaning was. "I won' tell a soul, Master -- not e'en Mama."
"I'll know if you do, Taira, and you'll be sold the next day. Now go tell your mother that Wufei is detained on *my* account and that she will have to do without him for the rest of the afternoon."
"Yes, Maste'," the girl uttered, before closing the door promptly and slipping out.
Not a WORD of what she saw would be repeated.
Wufei's face lifted as he looked up at Zechs, pale, expression stricken. "Wou... Would you sell me, too, then? As easy as that?" he whispered, the threat terrifying him as much because he couldn't believe Zechs would say it as because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the tall blond plantation owner. /Oh! Please, please, explain it! Please don't say yes or be angry with me!/
Zechs looked down at him, horror-stricken. "No! Wufei..." He cut himself off and stared at the far wall, not able to meet the slave's eye. "I've never said anything like that to anyone," he whispered, shocked at his own behavior. "But if she told her mother -- or anyone for that matter -- we couldn't be together anymore..."
Slowly, he looked back down at the boy's face, shaking his head a bit, and brought a hand up to caress a smooth cheek, brush over bruised lips. "I won't lose you, Wufei. I can't. Not now -- not after this... I love you." A single tear ran down the planter's cheek, and fell into the cool water of the bath.
Fingers moved up to lightly trace the track of it, Wufei's heart stilling its quick painful thumps as he touched his Master's face. "Yes," he whispered, utterly reassured. "Wo ai ni. I knew you wouldn't do it..."
"Everything is different with you," the tall man said, sounding a little confused. "I find myself doing and saying things that I've never done or said -- never thought I *could.* /With Treize as well... Mon Dieu, How can it be both of them.../
He looked out the small window at the long shadows of the afternoon. It was getting late. "You must be cold, cheri. Let me get a towel for you." He slid carefully out of the boy, and stood, leaving the tub and taking a large towel off of a high shelf.
Wufei stood, shivering. "Master, that is my job," he chided with a little pout as he slipped out of the tub and stood, glistening, in the warm afternoon air. Sunlight spilled obliquely through a small high window and highlighted the color of him as he moved after the tall blond man, a look on his face that spoke of adoration and devotion.
Turning to hand the boy his towel, Zechs saw him, standing there like a glowing jewel in the light, the rich color of his skin making his hair look all the blacker, and setting of exquisite almond-shaped eyes. Zechs walked to him, wrapped him with the towel, and then fell to his knees in front of the boy. His hand trailed over Wufei's cheek, brushing damp hair away from his face. "What could I have possibly done to be loved by such a beauty."
Soft lips found Zechs's forehead and moved down the bridge of his nose to the sweetness of his lips. "I do not know what anyone could do to deserve the wonder I feel," Wufei confessed to him, wrapping his arms tightly about his Master's neck. "But I tell you truly, I am loathe to do anything that might cost me your regard, beautiful sir."
"You're in no danger of doing that, mon petit," the tall man breathed and then he pressed a cheek to Wufei's belly, holding him tighter and gently stroking his back. "Herr Khushrenada will be here in two hours. Let me take you upstairs so you can rest before he arrives."
Those dark exotic eyes were half-closed already with lethargy and the sweetness of the afternoon's activity. "Yes," Wufei said quietly, hands lightly touching Zechs's shoulders. "Yes, Master..."
The name of the vampire never even struck him.
End of Part One
(:./kumiko/cypress1)
