#》verse:bluemoonclan

[goldentemplariumcrow]

@whxlmedwing

How long had it been since the vampire last saw the outside world? Long enough that the walls in his cell didn't have space for any more marks. When was the last time he had the taste of... well, anything that could nurish him? A month, maybe two? It was hard to keep track of time when all his brain could focus on was the pain on his wrists. A pain that he could bear at first, but that escalated over the months and now, was so strong that it even tramped his hunger ─ he'd felt it in the beginning, even raged and tried to escape and run away, only to be captured and forced back into this damp cell.

His punishment. For what exactly, Dionisus wasn't sure. His ex-lover, the vampire he helped for nearly six decades with his strategies and advices decided one day that the blond was going behind his back and betraying him, giving information to some usurper or something. Accusations happened and someone else fanned the flames of his paranoia to a point where madness began to fester in his mind. Lorenzo lost it all at the mere mention of a possible revolt against his ruling... And Dionisus paid the price for it all.

An almost innaudible whimper escapes his dry lips when he looks at his wrists and sees the painful burns on his marbled skin.

Dionisus was beautiful before his incarceration, skin pale as marble with some lingering red on his cheeks, shoulders, knees, and joints of his hands and feet, the marks he received when he was born into his vampiric form were golden and bright, his hair was soft as silk and the color of his locks never faded like those of the rest of his coven and family, and he had a certain air to himself that made him appear lofty, but those who were brave enough to approach knew better of his kindness to his own kin, allways listening and advising his Prince. It's all gone now. His once regal yet simple clothes are little more than rags, his hair is so dirty the gold in it has turned to brown and the locks stick together in crusty masses, his eyes lack any shine to them, welts linger all over his face, just like the marks of whipping on his back, and upon better inspection, the burns on his wrists aren't reserved to the small area alone, they extend all the way to the middle of both of his forearms on the inner sides... if anyone were to find him in the streets looking like this, they'd never know he was their Prince's advisor up until maybe five or six years in the past.

Another whimper and a hiss come out of his barely open lips when Dionisus tries touching the damaged skin of his left side, even with healthy and young blood, that would take months, if not a whole year, to heal properly. It hurts so bad, he can only pull his index and middle fingers back and curl in the corner of his cell even more as his senses begin to fade.

Slumber helps him get through it all, conserving some of what he has left of energy.

He's kicked back to hyper-awareness when the distant sound of something, or someone coming down the hall where his cell is reaches his ears though. It doesn't sound like the heavy steps of his ex-partner, nor of any of his court members. Dionisus also doesn't hear the usual sound of swords or metal that follows Lorenzo everywhere, nor the boasterous sound of voices, in fact, it's too quiet outside, but he can still hear the steps, which he counts and realizes the pauses match the amount required to check every cell down the hall.

An executioner?

He hides even deeper in the corner and, despite the pain he feels when his skin touches the fabric of his pants, hugs his own legs to try to make himself smaller. Maybe they can miss him if he just doesn't move and hide ─ not like he can hide the scent of burned skin, but knowing the kind of people Lorenzo hired to do his dirty work, chances were they couldn't even distinguish that scent anymore. Anything to avoid a confrontation, because in this state, he can't fight — it did take a small army to get him to this cell when he was in full health, and the subsequent visits were far from different, however, now he was barely a shadow of the vampire he once was.

[goldentemplariumcrow]

“We can’t keep doing this. Either your side or mine will find out, and we’ll both be executed. Maybe we need to leave?” (vampire&&hunter meme) (with some added by moi)

And where would they go? No matter where they chose to escape to, to go live together, there would be eyes on them, just waiting for a moment when either side could attack and eliminate one or both of them.

The blond vampire lowered his pale blue gaze to the chest heaving breaths beneath black and green leather and leaned his head forward to rest his forehead on Oliver's for a single moment as he thought of the consequences of them being discovered.

Dionisus would probably be truly killed with a stake to the heart or a decaptation, or contained, locked away in a tomb to dry out, but never truly dead; like a daemon of old, a sacrifice of blood would be all that was required to awaken him from whatever mumified state he'd turn to. Oliver on the other hand would either become live stock, a slave or executed as well. There would be no good endings, just delaying the inevitable.

His lips brush on Oliver's and tremble with anticipation and some hesitation as his brain processes the words, coming to the conclusion that some of it meant they should break-up. A fair request if the vampire was honest, this couldn't last as long as they wished it did. Their relationship, good as it might be, measured by love, care and respect, is still a dangerous one, in spite of their wishes and genuine investiment in keeping it good and healthy, it posed too many tabboos and risks in it to simply ignore.

"Let us enjoy this last night then." Come morning they could be complete strangers again, pretend this hadn't been going on for nearly four years, that neither Dio or Oliver knew the body of the other, where they bore scars and how it felt when they were together. "For now, we sin encovered by the shadows cast by the moonlight."

One last rendezvous to bury their feelings and desires. Dio's single last request before he turned into a heartless monster according to the beliefs Oliver's people held. One last chance to hold him in his arms and feel human again.

His lips pressed on the hunter's, soft, nearly ethereal, and intense in how they kissed the hunter, with small suckles here and there, careful nips on his bottom lip and, eventually, slipping his tongue between his own sharp fangs to wrap on Oliver's should he oblige with his last wish.

All done while Dio slided a hand over the hunter's nearest thigh and squeezed it lightly, then slided his palm and digits all the way to his knee, lovingly groping on it to open his legs just enough that he could bring Oliver's knee over his own, then, trapped his foot behind his calf when the boot he wore hooked on his own, and slided the hand up again to massage his inner thigh — the vampire was keenly aware of how sensitive he made the area after all the times he bit Oliver there over the years of their romance.

@lostxndbroken