#🖊 — wicktober 2024

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦 ⚜

Sources: One (I lost this link T_T but it was on pinterest. I'll add it if I find it!!) | Two | Three

Event Host: @wickblr

Summary: Sebastian LaCroix gets creative to make Vincent a cup of "hot chocolate" from blood, since he can't eat sweets anymore. (Crossover with Vampire: The Masquerade)

CW: blood, semi-sensual kisses with fangs, and lots of fluff <3

Hot chocolate was a simple enough recipe for kine. For kindred, it was, undeniably, a little more complex, but Sebastian LaCroix had always been a man of ambition. And Vincent had taken the loss of sweets so terribly hard after the embrace…it was really heartbreaking. Something had to be done about it.

LaCroix put his ingenuity to work one day in late October. Vincent had just come in from a blustery night, scattered with the flecks of a first snowfall. The concrete and asphalt floor of LA was just barely too warm for the snow to stick, but the air still stung. Sebastian kissed his lover’s icy cheeks, but it only earned a momentary half-smile before the Marquis’ perfect mouth returned to a pout. “J'espère que tout s'est bien passé? [I trust everything went well?]”

“Votre précieuse Mascarade est intacte. [Your precious Masquerade is intact],” he said, pulling away to sink into the couch by the fireplace. So he was annoyed. Apparently, it had been a long work night.

“Mon associé ne t’a posé aucun problème ? S’il l’a fait, je veillerai à ce qu’il soit convenablement puni. [My associate didn’t give you any trouble? If he did, I’ll see that he’s suitably punished.]”

Vincent shrugged. “Oh, il est mort maintenant. Pas besoin de s'embêter. J'aimerais seulement, les soirs comme ce soir, pouvoir rentrer à la maison avec un parfait ou un vin doux ou… de toute façon. Je vais me nourrir dans un moment, mais ce n'est pas pareil. [Oh, he’s dead now. No need to bother. I only wish, on nights like tonight, that I could come home to a parfait or a sweet wine or…anyway. I’ll feed in a while, but it’s not the same.]”

“Ah. Je suis désolé, mon amour. [Ah. I’m sorry, love.]” Sebastian stifled a smile. He had chosen the perfect day to prepare his recipe, it seemed. “Installez-vous un peu. J'ai quelques affaires à régler en bas. [Settle in for a bit. I have some matters to attend to downstairs.]”

“Bien. [Fine.]” Vincent’s eyes didn’t move from the fire.

In some twenty minutes, Sebastian emerged from the elevator carrying a gold tray, set with an enormous, fluted parfait cup. Vincent was still tucked into his seat, evidently more relaxed now. Sebastian took a moment to just look at him, to admire his quietude. He was reading, with his chin resting on one hand while the other supported the book on his knee. His face was placid and yet engaged, absorbed in some dreamy world, lips moving ever so slightly at times to savor the form of a particular word or phrase. It was almost a shame to disturb him. But Sebastian noticed that he’d also wrapped the throw blanket around himself. Sometimes, it bothered Vincent to be so cold from the inside out – he still wasn’t accustomed to it. And Sebastion could help with that.

He approached delicately, setting the tray on the coffee table in front of him. “Vinny,” he said, sing-song.

“Bast,” came the echo, natural and effortless, even before he closed his book. At last he looked to the coffee table, raising an eyebrow. “Qu'est-ce que c'est? [What is that?]”

“C'est du chocolat chaud pour toi. Et c'est vraiment caféiné. [It’s hot chocolate for you. And it really is caffeinated.]” LaCroix couldn’t help grinning with pride over his handiwork. “J'ai trouvé le noble le plus né possible, je lui ai donné autant de sucreries qu'il pouvait en manger et je lui ai injecté suffisamment de caféine pour qu'il soit mort dans une heure. J'ai même demandé au chef de faire des miracles avec de la mousse de sang et de la poudre d'os pour la chantilly. [I found the highest born nobleman I could, fed him as many sweets as he could eat, and pumped him with enough caffeine injections that he’ll be dead in an hour. I even had the chef work some miracles with frothed blood and bone powder for the whipped cream.]”

Vincent just stared at the cup for a moment, his expression quivering in the most touched sort of way. “Tu as fait ça… pour moi? [You did this…for me?]”

Sebastian smiled. This was one of the many contradictions of Vincent – if he had asked for hot chocolate himself, he wouldn’t have dreamed of being denied his request and would’ve been outraged at anyone who suggested he didn’t deserve it. But when it was a gift, he was painfully overcome with disbelief. “Eh bien, je ne vois personne d’autre dans la pièce, n’est-ce pas ? Essayez-le. [Well I don’t see anyone else in the room, do you? Try it.]”

The cup was big enough that even Vincent had to lift it with both hands (Sebastian wanted to get every last drop of blood that he could). It made him look adorable as he put it to his lips and came away covered in whipped cream. Sebastian leaned over and kissed it off of him, taking the time to run his tongue along each lip and caress each of Vincent’s fangs, which were protruding in eagerness at the taste of blood. He was rewarded with a shiver of pleasure from Vincent. Sebastian sighed against his lover’s mouth. “Mmm… J'ai bien fait, semble-t-il. Il a presque aussi bon goût que toi. [Mmm…I did well, it seems. It tastes almost as good as you.]”

The fresh blood all went to Vincent’s cheeks. “Oui, c'est le cas - presque. Arrête d'être charmant pour que je puisse le boire avant qu'il ne refroidisse. [Yes it does - almost. Stop being charming so I can drink it before it gets cold.]” But he stole another kiss in spite of that, long and fierce with gratitude. His words were barely a whisper. “Je ne sais pas pourquoi tu es si gentil avec moi. [I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.]”

An ache rushed into in his heart, as if it was threatening to start beating. Sebastian fell against the couch next to the Marquis and put an arm around him. “Tu ne peux pas dire des choses comme ça, ma petite fraise, pas autour d'une simple tasse de chocolat chaud. Tu me fais trop sentir comme ça. [You can’t say things like that, my little strawberry, not over a simple cup of hot chocolate. You make me feel too much as it is.]”

For a moment, he was too flustered to speak. “Er - hmmm. Eh bien, je dirai simplement « merci ». [Er - hmmm. Well then, I’ll just say ‘thank you.’]” He noticed Sebastion pulling the blanket over both of them, snuggling up to his side. “Essaies-tu de voler ma chaleur? Ensuite, tu demanderez une gorgée de chocolat et tu ne pourrez pas en avoir. [Are you trying to steal my heat? Next you’ll be asking for a sip of chocolate, and you can’t have any.]”

Sebastion kissed him just above that pesky lapel that was hiding his jugular away. “C’est très bien, de toute façon, je préfère le boire dans ton cou plutôt que dans une tasse. [That’s fine, I’d prefer to drink it from your neck than the cup anyway.]”

“Diablerist,” Vincent giggled, and took another long drink. He came away beaming with a childish joy, and even warmer. Sebastian was starting to feel his faint, gentle heat even through both the vest and the tailcoat. “Tu as interrompu mon livre, Bast. [You interrupted my book, Bast],” he accused, in mock seriousness.

“C'est ce que j'ai fait. Comment puis-je me rattraper? [That I did. How can I make it up to you?]” God, Vincent owned him. He was utterly lost.

“Lisez-moi pendant que je prends mon dessert. [Read to me while I have my dessert.]” The contradiction again - here was the imperious side of Vincent, who had been so shy and grateful just moments ago. And Sebastian was only too happy to obey.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝑰𝑰: 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒆

In dreams, John remains caught in a horrific moment. | TW: Grief. | Event Organizer: @wickblr | Image source.

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