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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Sanguine Nocturnus | 1

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : I know I said I’d wait. But y’all have been clamoring...

Death has a way of manipulating time. Moments meant to go slowly end in a blink, while junctures that ought to speed past, linger like dew on the vine...

Carla Montanari stared at her mother’s corpse, waiting for her to move. Waiting for the only family she’d ever had to open her eyes and say it was all a joke. Her mother had always had a cutting sense of humor; no topic was off-limits, and as she aged, death was a favored punchline. Now, it seemed, her mother had pulled off the ultimate prank, though Carla failed to see the humor in it.

The mortician had done an excellent job all things considered, but Carla could still pick out the differences between the body that lay at the altar of Saint Vincent’s and the one she had grown up with. A jaw that had been given too much lift, makeup that was a shade or two darker than what her mother normally wore, wrinkles that had disappeared when her face had been sewn back together. She’d been told she was lucky to get an open-casket service at all, given how much trauma her mother had suffered, as if it were some sort of consolation prize.

Looking behind her, Carla did a headcount of those in attendance, smiling softly when she saw that her mother’s bingo group were all in attendance, each woman donning their Sunday best in order to pay their respects. What her mother lacked in family, she’d more than made up for in friends who were all cut from the same cloth. Good, salt-of-the-earth people. Carla had always envied how easily her mother made friends, how she could chat up anyone, no matter how different their background and find something in common. It was a skill she hadn’t passed down, leaving her daughter to carve out a small handful of friends who were more acquaintances than anything else.

Crossing herself, Carla took a deep breath, looked down at her mother once more, and finally leaned down to kiss the cold, clammy skin of her forehead, doing her best to ignore the faint waft of formaldehyde that filled the casket. A solitary white rose tucked beneath her mother’s hands was Carla’s final act before turning away.

Time blinked, and she found herself seated across from her mother’s lawyer, a slab of mahogany separating them, the coffee she’d been offered growing cold as the AC hit it from overhead.

“I suppose we can do away with formality, since it’s just you,” the older man said, his smile tight and distant. Carla nodded, feeling as though the man wanted to be done so he could attend to other, more important, matters.

“Your mother left all her possessions and accounts to you, no surprise there. She gifted her friends each an item from her apparently extensive purse collection, so we’ll facilitate that for you. The accounts are all in order, and what isn’t used to pay off her final bills, will be transferred to your account by the end of the month. Lastly, there’s the matter of the inheritance. This may be news to you, but your grandmother set up an inheritance in your name when you were born. Initially, it was meant to pay for college, but when you got your full ride, your mother decided to keep it going until her passing. Her hope was to give you a nice nest egg for retirement, or your first house...something to that effect.”

Carla looked down at the document, counting and recounting the total in disbelief. Her mother had always been terrible at keeping secrets, having given away things to her friends that had mortified Carla when she was younger.

Guess you were better at it than I thought.

Inhaling deeply, Carla sat back in her chair, hoping the meeting was over. The quicker she could get out into the fresh air, the better off she’d be.

“There’s one more thing,” her mother’s lawyer said, keeping Carla rooted to her seat even as the muscles in her legs twitched in readiness to stand up. “Your mother wanted to ensure you were aware of the fact that you have legal claim to Italian citizenship, if you should ever choose to take it. They call it Jure Sanguinis; Right of Blood. The process can be expedited, given that you’re only second generation American. Sign here and we can get it in motion for you.”

Carla signed blindly, eyes unblinking as she tried to process the information. Her mother had always been a planner, but had never once mentioned so much as a will to Carla. Now, seeing everything packaged up so neatly, her mind spun wildly.

“Think you know a person…” She muttered mostly to herself, the lawyer giving her another one of his performative smiles, his eyes going to his watch for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes.

Leaving the office with a folder and the untouched coffee, Carla couldn’t help but feel time begin to crawl, reinforcing the feelings of numbness and solitude that would haunt her for weeks to come.

Working steps from Wall Street had its perks. Tips were usually far more generous than in other parts of town, fights were rare, and drunk girls crying over their shitty boyfriends were nonexistent. None of that made it any easier, however. Frat boys turned into day traders, socialites grew even more entitled as their brunches turned into botox appointments, and there was never a shortage of patronizing stares for those that had to actually work for a living. For Carla, navigating the catcalls, one-liners, and straight-up sexual misconduct was easy enough; it was the entitlement that never failed to get under her skin.

“Um, hello? Waitress? This is wrong. I asked for a Negroni.” Looking up, Carla swept her long black hair over her shoulder as she processed the words that were spoken. Having decided to keep living life as though things hadn’t irrevocably changed, Carla was doing her best to ignore the stress that had been slowly creeping higher and higher each day. Busy nights at the bar were proving the worst, with Carla coming through the door at the end of her shift ready to rant about the night to her mother, only to find the place pin-drop silent and utterly empty.

Looking down at the drink, Carla gazed back up at the woman with the blond, news anchor hair and cocked her head to the side in confusion.

“That is a Negroni.”

“Uh,” the woman snorted in disbelief, “no it’s not. Remake it, and do it right this time.”

“This is a Negroni. One part gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari each, with a peel of lemon.” The woman laughed condescendingly and Carla could feel her patience start to disappear.

“No, a Negroni, if you knew anything about bartending--which you clearly don’t--is made with Rye and dry vermouth.”

“Lady, I make at least ten of these a night. I work six nights a week. You’re the first, and only, person to ever tell me it’s wrong. You’re thinking of an Old Pal, and I’d be more than happy to make that for you, but this? This is a Negroni, which is what you asked for.”

“Fine, we’ll see about that.” The woman huffed, her manicured hand slicing through the air in a dismissive motion.

“That’ll be $10.99.”

“Absolutely NOT! I’m not paying for your mistake. Make it again, make it right, and make it now!” The woman crowed, her hair imobile as she shook her head, looking for all the world like Carla had slapped her.

“It’s a different drink. You paid for a Negroni, you got a Negroni. You want an Old Pal, you pay for an Old Pal.” Carla replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for the woman to make up her mind.

The alcohol burned Carla’s eyes and she stumbled back in shock, moving towards the large sink she knew was behind her on pure instinct. Washing her face to get as much of the cocktail off as she could, she knew she’d reached her breaking point.

Any other time and she’d have brushed it off, had security kick the woman out and gone about her night. Now? She’d had enough. Moving slowly to the back, Carla took off her apron, hung it up next to her coworkers’ and slipped out the back door.

Nearly sprinting the whole way home, it was only as she stepped through the door of her apartment that the tears came unbidden. Sliding down the wall, Carla cried for the first time since her mother’s passing.

The next morning, after calling in her notice, Carla allowed herself a day to simply be. To scream, to cry, to let out all the emotions that had befallen her since answering the phone that fateful night and hearing that her mother had died in such a vicious and preventable way. She let rage fill every vein as she thought about how the person who hit her hadn’t even bothered to stay at the scene. She lamented every missed moment, every fight, every what-if. Finally, she curled up in her mother’s robe, and cried herself to sleep.

Knowing she couldn’t handle another day at a bar like the one on Wall Street, catering to bratty adults who’d never been told no a day in their lives, Carla began leaning more and more towards escaping it all. Her now-empty apartment, her routine assortment of familiar faces (none of whom had even bothered to call and offer condolences), and more than anything, the city itself; all of it seemed worthless and foreign without her mother’s smiling face. As she sat and scrolled through picture after picture on her phone, the promise of a new life in Italy seemed more feasible, and more and more necessary.

On day three, after a day spent mostly in bed, dreaming about the possibilities of what life could bring now that she was committed to leaving, Carla put in a call to the lawyer, vaguely remembering the document she’d signed. There was nothing but relief when she was told they were simply waiting for a few more documents to finalize it all.

With the foundation for her new life in place, Carla began to flesh out the bones, focusing her research on where to live, and who was hiring. Though the inheritance was enough to live comfortably for several years, Carla didn’t want to squander it. Moreover, she still wanted to work and feel useful in some way; early retirement could wait.

While she was spoilt for choice when it came to renting, a job was harder to come by. Carla started her search with the lofty goal of finding something where she could put her history degree to good use; a research assistant, a curator, hell, a tour guide. When it became clear that her lack of experience was a hurdle she wouldn’t be able to cross so easily, Carla reluctantly turned to what she knew.

Weeks went by like thick molasses as she looked at bar after bar, finding that they either weren’t hiring, or looked like the kind of place people went into and never came out of. Her options were narrow to start with, since Carla had her heart set on Rome, the need to entrench herself in one of the world’s oldest cities, one she couldn’t possibly ignore. With each day that passed, she felt her dream beginning to slip away. Carla was nothing if not tenacious, one of the few traits she’d shared with her mother, and despite feeling discouraged at her prospects, she kept looking.

Finally, as the clock nearly ran out on her deadline to provide proof of employment, Carla found the perfect spot. Though the bar catered to a higher-end clientele, gone were the stockbrokers and lawyers, and in their place, a younger, cooler set. Attracted to the dark, almost feral, atmosphere the bar promised in its advertising, Carla applied, crossing her fingers in the hopes that they’d call.

She was still browsing the site when her phone rang and the owner greeted her in a thick, Italian accent. Breezing through the interview questions, Carla’s eyes roved over the pictures of all the beautiful people that frequented the night spot, pulled in by how effortlessly cool each of them looked. With the promise to call her by the end of the week to confirm the position, the owner ended the call, and it was all Carla could do not to jump for joy.

Flopping back on the bed, she couldn’t help but let herself feel true happiness, happiness which she’d unconsciously been denying herself while she mourned her mother’s death. Though she’d been dealt a life-changing blow, Carla felt as though, slowly but surely, time was going back to its usual pace, and her life was taking a turn for the better.

With a smile from ear to ear, she sat back up and emailed the lawyer, confirming she’d gotten a job, an apartment, and a plane ticket to Rome. As the message zipped away and the window closed, Carla found her eyes drawn back to the website, and her new place of employment.

Romulus

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #deathonyourtongueoriginals #sanguine nocturnus

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stargirlfics · 4 years ago

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Girrrrrlll, if you're into vampire Henry, this one'll have you dy-ing!! 🥵🥵🥵

https://deathonyourtongue.tumblr.com/post/634323513561530369/sanguine-nocturnus-masterlist

YES!!! @deathonyourtongue’s writing is immaculate and I’m sooo late to reading it but very excited to dive into that one!! 🖤

#fic recs #fic authors

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Thanks for the tag, @mary-ann84 !! 💖

1. Resurrection

2. Sanguine Nocturnus

3. Winter Passing

4. He Doesn't Have to Know

5. Asteria

Tagging anyone who wants to share!

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues/interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

Tagged by: @stars-in-my-damn-eyes @ghostinthelibrarywrites & @buffskierights because when one mutual is tagged all mutual are tagged 😂😂😂

From The WIP Files

1. UNTITLED WITCHER ICE CREAM SAGA

2. Elided follow-up

3. Unshaken

4. body horror diner

5. Never say the end: if you’ve done it right you’re just repeating yourself

Lol I know I’m boring

Tagging: @disasterboysandtheirgruffloves @schutzie-writes (fandom branching!) uhhh and @jask-jaskier-jaskiest (shhhh I didn’t know if you already got tagged or not)

Plus, as always, anyone who wants to do it!

#tag game

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Sanguine Nocturnus | 5

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Sorry this took so long. Hope y’all enjoy it!!

The night was cool, despite the sun’s remnants still radiating from the cobblestone roads like a thin blanket, the heat spreading up Henry’s legs as he and Vinicius made their way to a matte black Ashton Martin Vanquish, the car looking as though it had just rolled out of the dealership.

“Spending wisely, I see,” Henry smiled, taking in the car with an appreciation he shared with most mortal men. While it wasn’t a sturdy black stallion, it would certainly do the trick.

“It was a birthday present from Lucy, I had no say in the matter.” Vinicius answered with an equally cheeky grin, unlocking the car with a push of a button, the engine roaring to life simultaneously. It was only once the doors opened that Henry noticed Gregory sitting in the back seat, looking around anxiously, like a junkie looking for a fix.

“I’m afraid he’s still famished. Nearly emptied the vaults of A+, and yet he’s still ready to bite the first thing that moves,” Vinicius explained, nodding towards Gregory, who barely acknowledged him before turning in his seat to look over his shoulder, watching for anything that could pass as food.

“So m’lord, tonight we go hunting for your first real meal!” Vinicius announced as he looked through the rear-view mirror at Gregory.

“I’ve hunted before,” Gregory replied in a defensive, whiny tone, his gaze showing his confusion. In that moment, Henry read the young vampire’s thoughts and had to discreetly move his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Hunting, for Gregory, had consisted of going to a nightclub and picking up the most self-conscious girl there. Their new elder hadn’t even bothered to try and pose her in a way that would keep the Carabinieri from asking questions. It was amateur at best, and Henry was certain Gregory’s victim hadn’t gone to her death in ecstasy.

“Not the proper way. Not even close,” Henry smirked, sharing a knowing grin with Vinicius as the Vanquish sprinted out of the city center, heading North towards the vineyards.

Once clear of the light pollution, Vinicius eased his foot off the accelerator, preferring to take the two-lane roads at a more leisurely pace, something which, judging from how fidgety he was being, was pure torture for Gregory.

“What have you lined up for us tonight, oh Master of Feasts?” Henry joked as Vinicius began to look around, watching as much for buildings as he was for the road. It didn’t take long for him to find the farmhouse, the small amount of light coming from the dwelling's windows confirming that it was a family owned vineyard they would be enjoying. Henry could hardly keep the grin off his face.

“Lesson number one, Gregory. If you are going to feed on a human, do so with discretion. Pick wisely, and choose only the sweetest of bloodlines.” Henry explained as they veered off the road and onto a gravel laneway.

“And never drink them dry. That’s the easiest way of getting ill.” Vinicius added, glaring jokingly at Henry, both having gone through the undead equivalent of the stomach flu when they were newly-turned.

As Vinicius pressed a button on the dash, Henry heard a sudden whoosh of air spill from the tire in front of him. Briefly shocked, his smile grew into one of awe and mischief as he realized why Vinicius had kept such a present.

“You fiend! What else does this contraption do?” Henry laughed, knowing that they now had a verifiable excuse to ask for aid. Shaking his head, he could only chuckle as the car came to a slow stop and Vinicius cut the engine.

“We have a flat. Come on boys, it looks like there’s help just up the drive,” Vinicius smirked, motioning for the other two vampires to follow him.

Vinicius exhaled deeply, invigorated by the fresh blood he’d just pulled from the now-limp girl in his lap. Looking around, he found their new Elder still suckling from a hearty old man—the owner of the vineyard—and Henry looking down at the seemingly-sleeping form of the wife that he’d just drunk from.

With a sharp look to his oldest friend, Vinicius pointed out Gregory’s quickly-approaching error. Eyes narrowed, Henry waited until the last possible moment before sweeping in and yanking the man’s body out of Gregory’s grip, a move which was met with understandable hostility and a hiss of aggression.

“I wasn’t finished!” Gregory lamented, standing and wobbling a bit as the blood coursed through his veins, shooting straight up to his head.

“You would have been if you’d kept drinking any longer,” Henry answered, shaking his head. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get a stomach ache. If you’d kept on and tried to drink her dry, you might very well find yourself in the ground next to her…permanently.” He explained. No vampire to his knowledge had ever tried to drain a meal, but the warning had been there as long as he’d been a creature of the night, and Henry wasn’t about to take the risk of finding out when the vampire in question was the head of the Roman coven.

“Good stock.” Henry commended Vinicius on his choice of victims, both men ignoring Gregory’s silent thoughts regarding how they could wipe out an entire family so easily. It was natural for a young vampire, especially one thrust into such an important position, to question the nature of how they came about their food. While many newly-turned preferred to stick with the donation system, those born before the 1900’s were accustomed to feeding from the source. It was imperative for Gregory to become accustomed to both, especially since he would be parlaying with the heads of other covens, most of whom expected the luxury of a fresh meal whenever meetings were held or visits were made. Though it was still too early to tell, Henry didn’t foresee Gregory’s initial reaction being any sort of hindrance to his rule.

“Dessert is back at the house, so if you two don’t mind, we’ll be on our way.” Vinicius announced, getting up and all but throwing the poor girl to the ground, stepping over her as one would step over litter on a sidewalk as he made his way to the front door.

Gregory's fidgeting only increased on the way home, his mind filtering through both Vinicius and Henry at the speed of sound, most of them relating to food or his fear of being prosecuted for murder. The two older vampires smiled, both restraining their laughter at the new vampire's paranoia and hunger.

"Don't worry. We're untouchable." Henry smirked, allowing the thought to filter into Gregory’s mind so subtly that it would seem like his own idea. He watched in the fold-down mirror as their new Elder’s anxiety diminished, allowing him to slump back against the seat and actually relax for a moment.

Almost as soon as they arrived, Gregory was accosted by no less than six coven members, all of them offering their fealty in the form of gifts, all of them desperate to get on their new Elder’s good side, lest they incur his wrath. In a flash, he was being made comfortable; fresh blood, warmed to perfection, a luxuriant housecoat and the finest tobacco. Like any new child in a household, he was being spoiled, something which would only make Henry’s job of teaching him that much harder. It was bad enough he had to walk a newly-formed vampire through the ways of his new life; to do it with one who would be ruling over all of Italy for the next 100 years would be near-torture.

The older he grew, the less patience he had for new vampires. Though he did his best to stay in tune with society and culture as it progressed at faster and faster speeds, having to put up with the endless questions, insatiable hunger, and now the endless fixation for social media would be trying for even the most saintly person. It was one of the many reasons he could never be convinced to sire his own fledglings.

Finding the whole scene distasteful and feeling a touch jealous of the boy, Henry turned on his heel and headed back out into the night, his mind venturing back to a time not long after his own immortal birth, when he was still ravenous and wild.

Four years had simultaneously been an eternity and a single moment. Through it all, his hunger had never abated. Romans who dared live in the darker recesses, or outside the city gates knew to fear the creature that came unbidden in the night. The one who left nothing but terror and blood in his wake. Prayers were useless, as were offerings. Even sacrifices to the gods did nothing to keep him at bay.

The hunger ruled his every waking hour and removed any notion of sanity, allowing him to commit unspeakable atrocities to anyone unfortunate enough to be in the domos he entered. He drank five to seven bodies’ worth a night, sometimes more if any of them were particularly small. Man, woman, child; It made no difference. They were all massacred, left in pieces, ripped limb from limb in his blind need for satiation.

When the high of drinking his fill wore off--and it wore off quickly--Herminius inevitably found himself sickened by what he’d done. Many tears were shed over the corpses of those he’d sent to Charon, a litany of apologies whispered over bits of hair and skin before the hunger invariably took over once more, the ache in his belly unquellable.

Night after night, he scoured his birthplace, looking for those who were already near death’s door, those too feeble to cause a scene when his teeth sank into their flesh. More often than not, their blood did little to satisfy, and he would be forced to find a family of young, healthy, Romans to feast upon. It was a vicious, never-ending cycle that Herminius thought would be nearly impossible to break. At his most desperate, he attempted to end his existence, but not a single method he attempted did anything other than temporarily open his immortal vessel.

When it became clear that Rome was no longer a safe haven, Herminius wormed his way into the hull of a ship heading for Alexandria. By the time it reached the Pearl of the Mediterranean, he was the sole inhabitant of the vessel. Though he’d learned some restraint on the voyage, being in a new city seemed only to amplify his need for blood.

Herminius had only been in Alexandria a few nights when Caesar’s men--his former brothers--set the port alight, maligning any chance of him returning to his beloved Rome without further risk to his life. His maker had only taught him one lesson, and it was one which made travel nearly impossible for one such as himself:

The sun is your death.

Homesick and famished, Herminius watched as the library of the great jewel burned along with the port, the vast knowledge turned to mere ash by the carelessness of men he’d once fought alongside of. He wondered if any of his brothers had given any thought to what they were doing or, if like him, they’d thrown themselves headlong into the task with blind fury. Though they were now two very different animals, seeing the glee on their faces eased his guilt some; at the base level, all people were bloodthirsty creatures.

His hunger eased some that night at hearing the cries of anguish from learned men who were forced to watch as their life’s work disappeared before their eyes. By the time the fire was extinguished, nearly half the library had been engulfed, tiny scraps of papyrus floating through the air like the snow in Gaul that had so marveled some of his brothers.

He drank from only one soul that night, that of a young prostitute. Unlike the madness of meals past, where anger and desire coursed through him in equal measure, this time, Herminius sought only to drink and enjoy the nubile woman beneath him. For the first time, he heard the sweet music of pleasure come from his prey, her body writhing, begging him for more. Piercing her neck with his teeth as he pierced her core with his cock, Herminius made the girl sing. Her slim figure trembled in his arms as he slowly drank, fingers pressing her down until he felt the familiar ripple of delight sprint its way up her back.

She took no note of the blood streaming down her neck as he moved his lips down to her small breast, nipping gently until he found the perfect place once more. Sinking his teeth in brought another moan from the girl, Herminius smiling as he drank what little there was left of her. Her final breath came as he spilled his impotent seed, unlatching from her breast just as she went limp in his arms.

Setting the girl down, Herminius covered her and quietly slipped out the window, feeling solace for the first time since he himself was bitten.

A few patrons still lingered at Romulus when he entered, and though it was accidental, Henry couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction when his scowl had them all scampering for their belongings, not one of them making eye contact as they headed for the door.

“Wow, you sure know how to clear a room,” the bartender smirked as she dried a row of shot glasses, unphased by her other customers’ quick exits.

“It’s a gift,” Henry murmured, taking a seat in front of her, still feeling the barbs of anger pushing into every fiber of his being.

“Long night?” She asked, ducking her head a bit to try and catch his gaze. Henry finally looked up, feeling the edge begin to dull on his mood as he was met with a warm, open smile.

“You could say that. Glass of the old stuff with a splash of bourbon, if you please,” Henry requested, jerking his chin towards the wall behind her, pointing at the bottles of Sanguinem that held a place of high regard among the other booze.

“You and your buddies are real fond of this stuff, huh? I’m not sure I get the appeal,” Carla chuckled, shaking her head as she got everything ready to go.

“There’s a certain…generation of us that grew up having sips of it. It became an old habit.” Henry explained, giving her a wink, his smile growing as he saw a blush flood Carla’s cheeks.

He fell silent as he watched her prepare the drink, intrigued when Carla took a shot of the sanguinem before looking over her ingredients. Eyes narrowed, she chose carefully. Henry was hooked as he watched her light a few Cloves until they smoked, quickly turning what he assumed would be his glass over the smoldering herb and a sprig of Thyme before allowing the glass to cloud with the white plume. In her shaker, she put the sanguinem and his requested shot of bourbon, sprinkling cinnamon on top before shaking it up, knowing better than to add ice, as she’d yet to see any of the patrons who ordered it ask for it on the rocks. Finally, she turned the glass over, quickly pouring the drink into it and trapping the smoke in amongst the alcohol.

“I present to you, the Caligula. Get it, ‘cause the sanguinem tastes like blood?” She beamed, taking a joking bow before watching Henry take his first sip.

Before he could even let the liquid touch his tongue, the scene brought him back to the Rome of old, Henry’s eyes closing of their own volition as he drank. Savoring it, he did his best not to swoon, memories of meals past coming back as though he’d just finished them, the flavor bringing back with it memories that actually made him smile.

When he finally came to, Henry’s expression had softened into one of wonder and appreciation. Staring into Carla’s eyes, he felt something he had felt in ages; attraction. Without allowing his mind to crawl into the decrepit place it usually went when it came to any sort of relationship outside of friendship, Henry let his mouth and heart do the work.

“Carla,” he read her name tag, “my name is Henry, and you, bellissima, have just created the only way I’ll take this drink for the rest of my life.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #sanguine nocturnus #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Sanguine Nocturnus | 2

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 3K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Couldn’t leave y’all hanging a week without meeting our main character, now could I?

It was rare that he woke to an empty bed. Rarer still that he woke feeling as though every cell in his body was vibrating. Checking the time on his phone, he sat upright and looked around, keen eyes searching the pitch-black room for any sign of his previous night’s companion. His two dobermans, Phobos and Deimos, marked the spot, the dogs framing the corpse of last night’s entertainment. She’d been a pretty thing, fresh into her 20’s, and still so naive that she’d hung on every word he’d whispered in her ear.

At least she didn’t die a virgin.

Bending down, he picked her up easily, slinging her over one shoulder as he made his way to the cold room. Too restless to take care of her immediately, he slipped her into one of the five drawers built into the wall and locked the room behind him. By the time he made it back upstairs to shower and dress, her face was already a half-forgotten memory in his mind.

Deciding on an all-black ensemble with a ruby-toned, velvet brocade waistcoat, he showered, dressed and stepped onto the wet cobbles of Rome’s quiet streets, still feeling as though electricity was coursing through him. The moon hung over the Pantheon, looming and casting a reddish glow on all below it.

Feeling none of the restless energy dissipate despite the fresh air, he turned in the direction of the Vatican, needing to take the edge off.

He’d been a customer of the club for years; ever since it opened in fact. Over the thirty years Romulus had been serving the public, the staff had come and gone, but thankfully the owner had stayed the same. Nodding to the man as he came in, the owner automatically motioned for the bartender to set up his drink, knowing his most loyal patron only ever drank one thing; Sanguinem. A blend of wine and other, more secretive ingredients, it was the oldest drink the owner ever kept in stock. The owner had tried it once or twice, always wincing when the metallic taste hit his tongue, always confused by the popularity of the drink among many of his patrons.

He sighed as he took a seat at the bar, his blue eyes gazing up at the artwork that adorned the walls. Seldom seen when the club was in full swing, the paintings were recreations of those who had encountered a brutal end. Everyone from Marie Antoinette to Kurt Cobain lined the walls, their images altered to show them post-mortem. Sometimes gruesome and always detailed, each painting was a one-of-one, and if times ever got tough, an easy sell to a discerning collector.

As the name suggested, Romulus’ atmosphere evoked the age and bloody history of the city it called home. Dim lights, chaise lounges, and arched stone ceilings all lent to the feeling like one were in the catacombs beneath the city. Most nights, the place was flooded with red neon, the gleam of the lights off the dance floor emanating to every other corner of the establishment.

For a Saturday night, the place was oddly vacant, until he remembered that tonight was All Souls’ Day and most of Italy was either in church or in their homes, celebrating the holiday. He had never had much respect for religion, especially Catholicism; as far back as he could remember, the church had been the instigator of more deaths than any other group in the world.

“They can all go fuck themselves,” the patron muttered under his breath before taking his first swig, the bartender giving him a look as though the drinker had just murdered his mother. The owner smiled, knowing the man was referring not to the employees of the club, but to the religious fanatics that kept most of the country in church on a night like this.

“Non è cattolico.” The owner told the bartender, explaining the man’s religious views to the slightly offended man, who nodded in understanding as he connected the cussing to the holiday.

“Non cattolico a tutto.” The patron agreed, his tone low and sharp, his accent different than that of his fellow countrymen.

“Thank you for the drink, old friend.” The man said as he took his final sip, standing to his full height before extending his hand to the owner who shook it happily, his smile filled with the usual wonder that came across his face whenever he observed his patron up close. Although years went by and the world changed, his loyal customer never seemed to age a day.

No money was ever exchanged, the owner having long ago gifted his patron with a lifetime supply of Sanguinem in exchange for a certain…favor he’d needed done.

Herminius Calvisius, Henry as he was known these days, had indeed done a few favours for a select few in Italy over the years. Personally, he adored when said favours had to do with the Vatican, for he loved the food there; if you could call it that.

Food for Henry was not exactly appetizing fare for most others he resembled. Henry's idea of a meal usually consisted of a glass of Merlot followed by a pretty young thing looking for a good time around one of the dark alleys surrounding Vatican City at midnight. He never failed to get a laugh out of the shock that came from the Swiss Guard when they would find the woman the next morning, pale as St. Peter's Basilica, with the exception of two gentle circles in her throat.

Yes, he was un vampiro, as they liked to call him; a vampire.

Tonight however, the meals would be scarce, and since he was quite selective of his dinner—despite favouring the occasional streetwalker—Henry found his feet guiding him towards one of the few places where blood was a commodity.

Located just outside the Porta Settimiana, the old villa was vast, and most found it disturbing, in a way they simply couldn’t define. It made the hairs on their arms stand, and quickened their step, but if one were to ask, not a single soul could say why they avoided the piece of history.

To Henry, it was like gazing on the picture of heaven.

It was the first place he had deemed worthy enough to call home after he became immortal, and it had yet to lose its value in his eyes. Prying open the gate, which badly needed oiling, Henry smiled as he saw Brutus stand from the front door to greet him.

“Hello, boy. It’s been ages, has it not?” He greeted as he pet the mastiff that eagerly sniffed him for bones.

“None today, boy, my apologies.” Henry’s lips turned downwards at the same time as the dog’s, both spending a few more silent moments together before the large black door of the Italianate house was opened.

Had a human have witnessed the action, their blood would have run cold, for like many of the other houses of the period, the front door of this one was unbelievably heavy, usually taking the strength of two men to open. The hand that gripped it however, was delicate, manicured and thin; precisely the hand belonging to the woman he had come to see.

“Lucrezia, my love, hello.” Truly, being in her presence over the years had provided Henry with a great many memories, and fond ones at that, something which was scant for one such as himself.

“Hello, my little hermit.” She smiled. Others in the Roman coven had always called her grin wicked, but to him, it was beautiful and warm; one of the few smiles that had ever pervaded his dreams, turning nightmares into impish fairy tales.

Lucrezia, as her name would suggest, was also Italian, and although younger than him, she had seen the days when Rome ruled the earth—or what was known of it at the time. She had seen several Caesars come and go, and had been just outside the senate when Julius himself had met his end at the tip of Brutus’ blade.

Her hematite locks descended past her shoulders in loose waves, only serving to accentuate impeccable bone structure, a creamy complexion, and burgundy lips she methodically painted every time she awoke. Henry could tell she was feeling dramatic today, as she was wearing an old Roman gown, given to her by a courtier during the reign of Octavian.

“What’s the occasion, Lucy?” Smiling at the intended reaction he got at the nickname, he did not hesitate to kiss her cheek in pardon.

“I do hate it when you call me that, Henry; Makes me sound like a child.”

Indeed to any onlooker, she might be confused for one, Lucrezia having been made an immortal at the tender age of twenty. He did not know her then, but news of her beauty spread quickly among the covens of the Empire, her likeness drawn on both papyrus and walls alike, so that any who felt the need could gaze upon her visage. Henry smiled, remembering how the portraits did her little justice when he finally gazed upon her in the flesh.

“If you must know however, I had company over just an hour ago, and there’s some very exciting news coming from the coven.”

“Will I have to be there?” Henry rolled his eyes, knowing that any news from the coven could only be one of two things; either there was to be a new celebration, or one of the elders had gone to ground and a new one had been chosen to take his place.

“Hush. I haven’t even told you the news yet. Marius was lovely enough to come and keep me company tonight on such a dreadful holiday, and since he had just been to the house, he was brimming with new gossip that I just had to hear. Apparently, Cassius has decided to sleep, and a new elder will be taking his place. According to Marius, this one is…different.”

“Different how?” Henry asked, his interest piqued despite his detestation for any and all gossip to come out of the coven he had so long ago abandoned in favour of a life less formal.

“Well, first off he’s apparently quite…awe striking, fear-inducing, etcetera. A real Roman sculpture is how Marius described him. And secondly, he’s of the…Greek persuasion, if you will.”

Her grin became even more deviant as the two headed inside towards the parlor, Lucrezia immediately pulling a decanter off a small flame and pouring two glasses of blood so good, the scent alone was enough to make Henry’s head spin.

“A boy lover?” He asked, looking curiously at his companion. It was not uncommon for those of his kind to frolic with their own sex, but among the elders and those next in line, it was a rarity, simply because it was a public imbalance among the sexes of the coven and their kind liked nothing more than to appear egalitarian.

“MAN lover, actually. If Marius was looking at the right man, then apparently our next elder has already found a companion in Fares.” Henry raised his eyebrows, indifferent to the news.

“Where do you find them?” He asked, tipping his glass in reference to the fine liquid he soon after began pouring down his throat.

“Oh, you know…The old money, the papacy, the brothels, the usual.” They shared a laugh, both knowing that no matter what a person’s station in life, their blood did little to hide their history.

“Well, my dear, for someone as young as you, you have fine taste.” And with that, he took a full drink, feeling his body reconstitute in seconds.

“Back to this fledgling, my love, and pay attention. The ceremony is taking place two nights from now, at the house, and yes, you must attend.”

Henry tried to hide his annoyance at the fact that despite severing ties to the house, he was still required to go to such frivolous functions, for the sake of tradition alone. For all he knew, the fledgling was already in power, probably getting the youngest members of the house to do his dirty work for him.

Above all though, he felt bitter that despite his lack of connection, he had yet again been passed over as elder of the coven. It was not as if he were the youngest of vampires. Over 2,000 years old and plenty educated in the ways of the coven, Henry found it an insult to be passed over time after time; it was one of the many reasons he’d separated himself from their ancient ways.

“How old is this boy lover and what’s his name?” Henry asked, feigning interest for Lucrezia’s sake, only mildly interested in knowing whether this new elder was an acquaintance or not.

“He is a 26, and his name is...Gab-No! Gregory, from what Marius could gather. Do you know him?”

“Is he Italian?” Henry asked, knowing that the chances of this man being familiar to him would increase tenfold if he was of Roman descent.

“When have you known the elders to ever pick a foreigner as the next in line? Of course he’s Italian.” Lucrezia laughed, thinking Henry foolish for even entertaining the notion.

“Well, there was the time when we put in a Frenchman, temporarily. That didn’t go over too well though.” He reminded her, every member of the coven all too eager to forget that one particular mistake in their history.

“And you said he was my 26? As in, older than me?”

“No. 26, as in he was born yesterday,” Lucrezia’s eyes went wide, her gaze speaking volumes to Henry as she took a sip from her chalice. He, like her, was scandalized that they’d pick someone so young to their ways to be the next leading elder.

Licking his lips, he tried to remember all the faces he had come across in the last three decades, linking each to a name and finding that none of them matched the one he’d been given.

“Unless my memory deceives me, or he has changed his name, I do not know him.”

“Pity, for I was hoping you’d introduce me.” Lucrezia grinned, a single line of blood falling from the corner of her lips, making her indeed look like a celluloid vampire.

Finishing off her chalice, Lucrezia’s blue-green eyes turned to the night beyond her window, Henry smiling as he sensed where the night would go.

“Everyone’s tripping over themselves, naturally; either in love with his youth and beauty, or wanting to maim Cassius for choosing a fledgling who hasn’t even weaned yet, as far as Marius could tell.”

“It’s little wonder Cassius decreed you--” Lucrezia stopped short, her eyes traveling up and over the lip of her chalice, a devilish smirk exposing her fangs as she waited for Henry’s reaction.

“Decreed me to what, Lucy?” Henry asked with a warning tone, one eyebrow raising as he waited for her to spill the rest of the gossip she’d received second-hand.

“Decreed that you will be his tutor in all things...Vampiric.” Her delicate fingers slipped through the air, creating a ballet all their own and momentarily distracting Henry from his own ire.

“He has no power to do so! Lucrezia, tell me this is another one of your humorless jests!” He finally barked, teeth bared as he stood and began to pace around the room.

“I’m afraid not, my darling. If Marius was correct, the decree came with an ultimatum as well. Come to heel, or…”

“That pompous bastard. He knows full well what he does. I knew it would be another century of trouble once he rose. Had to get one last kick to the teeth in. I swear, if this is still because I told him his mother was a beautiful as a donkey’s prick, I will have his head while he SLEEPS!”

“Easy, Centurion. It’s generally frowned upon to decapitate an elder nowadays. Come, let us slake your lust elsewhere. I ordered in.” Her smile turned even more secretive as she rang a bell next to the snifter, Lucrezia’s gentle hands pressing Henry towards the area of the parlor that she’d long ago turned into something more closely resembling an Andaruni.

Slipping her hands into the collar of his jacket, Lucrezia helped Henry undress before allowing him to do the same to her, the sweet tone of her giggle as she spun out of her dress completely dissipating any of the lingering anger Henry felt. When they were both nude and relaxed among the many cushions that separated them from the floor, Lucrezia’s day man sent in a feast.

“Twins! Lucy, you’ve outdone yourself.” Henry’s eyebrow raised for a very different reason as both he and Lucrezia opened their arms for the two young blondes who had been ushered in, bare, and more than a little tipsy if their footsteps were anything to go by.

“What did you give them tonight?” Henry questioned with a chuckle, reaching up and catching one of the girls before she could crash headlong into the low table that held a variety of accoutrements for pre and post-dinner. Undeterred, the woman found her way easily into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did a sloppy grind of her hips against his hardening shaft.

“Just the usual. Bit of Absinthe, touch of Laudanum for the nerves.”

“I owe you dinner.” Henry smiled as he sank into the girl in his arms, watching as she arched back instinctively against the exquisite pleasure he provided.

Moans filled the air before a deathly silence blanketed the villa, two more souls joining the countless others being prayed for on that sacred night.

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #sanguine nocturnus #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Sanguine Nocturnus | 4

The invitation came just as Lucrezia said it would, the handcrafted card a modern iteration of the same gaudy pomp and circumstance that Henry had come to expect over the years. For a moment, he considered not going, but given everything Lucy had made him privy to, he knew better than to play coy; it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility for the coven’s security task force to show up at his door like a far more sinister Secret Service.

Given the occasion, Henry knew better than to show up in his usual fare, and instead pulled a bespoke number out of the closet. The three-piece suit combined black satin and vermillion brocade, the pattern emblazoned on the waistcoat and the piping of the lapels. With a matching pocket square and two elegant brooches for his tie, he slipped on a pair of black Oxfords and made his way through the ancient streets that were so different, yet still held the same familiarity they had when he was human.

With the moon hanging over the temple of Venus as though the structure itself was holding up the orb, Rome looked primed for a ceremonial changing of the guard, and as he came upon the coven’s high wrought-iron gates, Henry could almost feel the change on the wind.

ID to enter the coven was simple enough; a smile would do the trick, so long as one’s canines were on full display. Like the rest of his ilk, Henry was able to retract his fangs when they weren’t needed, and when they were--whether it was to feed, or simply put the fear of the unknown into a human--his blue eyes would flash as though catching a stray bolt of lightning; it was a trick rarely seen, one only elder vampires seemed to have. Fledglings’ could only make their natural color more vibrant when necessary. While it was equally impressive to humans, it did little to frighten their own kind.

It had long been rumored that the Villa Nocturnus had been designed by Michelangelo, but having been around far longer than many of his cohorts who presently resided in the coven, Henry knew this to be a simple fallacy. The truth was that the Medicis had used the coven’s villa as inspiration for their own, and that their architect had asked for intercession from the renowned artist. It had been another scandalous choice by the powerful family, only because anyone who’d lived in Rome at that time knew the Villa Nocturnus as a place of darkness and ill-repute, a legacy which still lived on, especially among Rome’s older population.

Built primarily out of limestone and concrete, the villa had been redesigned and restored innumerous times throughout history, with facets of contemporary style added or removed as was fashionable. While the exterior underwent regular facelifts, it paled in comparison with how often the interior was reworked. Originally just a place to gather, feed, and sleep in relative privacy and safety, the elders had always sought to improve the villa both in functionality and aesthetic. As technology improved, so too did the comfort of the lowly Roman vampire, and now, with everyone carrying the world in their pocket, Henry could only imagine what changes were in store for him.

Though mostly unchanged from the last time he’d visited, Henry immediately noticed the addition of automation to the property. Doors now opened and closed with sensors, and in the parlor, roving donors had been replaced by a touch screen dispenser filled with every blood type, the machine able to fix a glass to whatever specifications the drinker might desire. The biggest change however, had been to the sleeping quarters. No longer relegated to coffins, those who chose to reside within the coven’s walls full time were able to enjoy the luxury of a regular bed, thanks to a specialized tint on every window and security shutters for extra protection. From what Henry had been told, the place turned into something of a Fort Knox while the coven slept, a peace of mind his kind had not known before.

Henry’s thoughts were pulled away from all the technological changes in the villa by the sound of chanting. Though vampires prided themselves on being far superior to humans, much like their living counterparts, they could never truly shake the traditions of old, and so the changing of the guard went on in the same fashion it had since the inauguration of the coven. The chants accompanied the procession of the departing Elder, the ominous notes setting the tone for the ceremony that would see one vampire set into the earth for at least a century, while another took his place, ruling over the coven with only the former elder’s powers and notes to guide him; it was no wonder they always demanded a tutor.

“Charissimi immortuos, nos congregentur hic hodie ut videre ad transitum de saeculum.”

The fact that the ceremony began similarly to a Catholic mass had never been lost on Henry; just one more remnant of the Vatican’s stranglehold on all. The thought crossed Henry’s mind, fleetingly, that perhaps having a young ruling elder might not be so bad after all; he would shortly possess the power to make changes as he saw fit, with very little input from the rest of the coven. In fact, the only person he truly had to listen to was Henry himself--if he wanted to learn the proper ways of existing.

“We now come to the Veneration. Cassius will open his vein for our new Elder, imparting all of his knowledge and wisdom, his strength and power, to our new ruler. Afterwards, you will all have a moment to bid our beloved Cassius a peaceful rest. The Veneration will now begin.”

Henry could see the starvation in Gregory’s eyes, knowing the fledgling had been fasting for two days prior to the ceremony; while it was par for the course, Henry couldn’t help but wonder if it was in coven’s best interests to starve so young a vampire prior to giving him some of the most powerful blood in the country.

He watched, unblinking, as the titanium blade was swept elegantly down Cassius’ forearm, the cut made just deep enough to allow a free flow of the elixir Gregory so desperately needed, and to prevent the younger vampire from doing any harm to their departing elder. Henry could tell when the first drop of blood touched the fledgling’s tongue, Gregory’s eyes widening as the world was revealed to him. The natural inclination was to close one’s eyes as the swoon came, the warmth and richness of the liquid relaxing the body and the mind without fail.

Almost too quickly however, Gregory’s eyes were open again, and Henry found himself staring at eyes that seemed electrically charged. He wasn’t sure what color the young vampire’s eyes were naturally, but the ice blue that flashed through them was unlike anything Henry had ever seen...In any fledgling...Ever. Blinking, his eyes flashed to the tall windows, looking for any sign of lightning that may have reflected off young Gregory’s pupils. Though he was met solely with a black sky and a smattering of stars, there was no way to be certain that it wasn’t just some trick of the light.

Henry shook off the uneasy feeling as he watched Gregory be pried off Cassius’ arm, the fledgling trembling with need and power. There was no doubt he would have to be fed often and that weaning him down to one meal every few days would have to wait. With age, the hunger, the crazed need for blood, dissipated and vampires as old as Henry and Cassius could comfortably go a few months without feeding, although neither him nor the former Elder were ever in much need to do so. Feeding was now a luxury to be enjoyed, like dining at a five-star restaurant every night simply because one could.

Grabbing a glass of O_--one of the easiest bloodlines to drink--Henry made quick work of finding Lucrezia and Vinicius, his eyes never leaving Gregory. Unlike Cassius, who was ushered into the vaults to begin the process of going to ground, Gregory remained out in public, still trembling as he inhaled glass after glass of A+ to try and take the edge off.

“Well, that was far less tumultuous than last time,” Vinicius commented as he sipped his own glass, eyebrows wiggling in good humor as everyone began to form a line to dispatch Cassius with words of praise; a line Henry and a few others had no intention of joining.

“Last time was a forced coup in case you forgot,” Henry deadpanned, watching as Gregory finally began to calm enough to set his glass down, the fledgling immediately fixing his long, strawberry blond hair, tying it back into a low knot before righting his clothes.

“Yes, well, poor Quintas was never the same after he bit that flu-ridden girl. You know they’re still testing his blood?” Vinicius replied, shaking his head as he remembered the last great pandemic, one which had thankfully left many of them untouched, albeit desperate for clean blood. While disease rarely affected vampires, drinking from those who had been poisoned, had raging infections, or were close to death could all have profound and lasting effects on the immortal body, no matter how powerful.

Henry’s eyes stayed on Gregory, watching as the fledgling made eye contact with Fares. Once a prisoner of war under the Parthian Empire, Fares had leapt at the chance for immortality as a means of freedom from bondage. No longer seen for his worth in labor, but rather his quiet, gentle nature (even when feeding), Fares had lived out his days in the coven’s safety, venturing out only when he had to, and only with those whom he trusted most. Having been only 22 when he was changed, time had not withered away his innocence, or the tender affection he felt for humanity and his fellow kind. It was glaringly obvious as he watched Fares smile shyly at Gregory, the fledgling immediately taken with the older vampire. It didn’t take long before the rest of the room seemed to disappear for the two of them, both men entranced by one another.

“Who do you think will make the first move?” Henry smirked, jerking his chin in the direction of Gregory and Fares, the two barely keeping an inch between them as they flirted and made small talk.

“Why don’t we go find out? I heard the baths were being reserved for our new Elder and a few chosen guests.” Lucrezia answered as she slipped her arms through Henry and Vinicius’, dragging both men behind her as she made a beeline for their new leader.

It didn’t take long for Lucrezia to work her charms on the new Elder, Gregory as taken with her as Henry had been the first time they’d met. The offer to share his reserved bath came quickly after, and before he knew it, Henry was following the small group down the hallways and into the depths of the villa, the floor sloping gently beneath his feet as they approached the massive pool of crystalline water.

Steam rose from the liquid, swirling and mixing with the clouds of incense and oil that burned throughout the room. True to the old Roman style, the baths were lit with hanging lanterns, the flame burning Jasmine-scented oil as it provided just enough light to guide their paths towards the entrance. Sixteen white stone pillars flanked the large pool, the lamps hanging from the very tops of the columns; Henry wondered for a moment how many servants of the house it took to clean the smoke stains from the ceiling. Guided towards the end of the room by two servants, three additional staff bowed lowly, all at the ready to help the group undress.

Henry was the first to wade in, the heat of the water doing wonders for the oft-ignored cold of his skin. Gregory and Fares followed, both still too entwined in each other’s attention to pay much mind to their guests. Their eyes only gazed outwards once Vinicius and Lucrezia had entered the water and Henry had cleared his throat quietly.

“So, prof. How long’ve you been around?” Gregory asked, tipping his chin up towards his new teacher in curiosity.

“Long enough to have served under Caesar,” Henry answered without hesitation, his gaze locking on Gregory’s to enforce the fact.

“Long enough to have served alongside him,” Vinicius confirmed, adding his age to the list.

“Long enough to be painted on papyrus,” Lucrezia winked, her own gaze moving to Fares with an encouraging grin.

“Long enough to have witnessed the Parthian empire first hand,” Fares admitted, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Gregory took a moment, looking around at each face as though he were seeing them for the first time. His mouth opened and closed, one finger lifted into the air as though the question he had in mind had simply vanished.

“And what powers do you have?” He finally murmured, Henry able to tell by sight alone that whatever inquiry he’d meant to make had been put on the backburner for another night.

"You read too many pulp novels, but...I possess the usual gifts. Sight, smell, sound, telepathy, flight..." As though to prove his point, Henry floated high above the pool of water with effortless grace, his arms extended in a pose similar to that of Christ on the cross.

"Impressive." Gregory smiled, although as Henry read his thoughts he could tell the word held more than one meaning for the elder.

Sinking back into the water, it was Henry’s turn to smile as he picked up on Vinicius and Lucrezia’s thoughts, the pair beckoning him over with an offer that would be difficult to refuse under the best of circumstances. His eyes took on a more vibrant shade of blue as he waded over, keeping his pupil in his sights even as he did so.

“What can you teach me that I haven’t just got from Cassius?” Gregory asked, feeling the shift in the room and stretching out his lithe form in reaction to it.

“One can always learn new lessons,” Henry smirked, licking his lips before pressing them to Lucrezia’s neck, his fangs grazing over the tender skin just below where her jaw met her ear. Hands gliding over her body, Henry kept pace with Vinicius, watching out of the corner of his eye as Fares finally made his move, capturing Gregory’s lips in a deep, hungry kiss.

The servants, used to the debauchery of the coven, maintained discretion, providing the only accoutrement necessary for carnal pleasure. Henry continued to busy his mouth on Lucrezia’s body, blindly dipping four fingers into the bowl at the edge of the pool, the ancient and familiar scent of Rose Otto filling his nostrils briefly before his hand sank under the water.

It was Gregory who cried out first. Lucrezia’s sigh of ecstasy followed shortly after as Henry and Vinicius took her in unison, her nails cutting into Henry’s neck as she leaned back against the solid wall of his chest. Mouths melded together like honey left out in the sun, fingers traipsed and danced, and before long, soft moans turned into outright apostasy as all five undead creatures grew closer to release. Lucrezia, accustomed, but never ungrateful for such passions, forced herself down on the two swords she sheathed inside her, neck arching like a swan’s as she offered herself to her lovers. Gregory, making a discovery with every plunge of Fares’ body into his own, drew his elixir as much for comfort as for desire, having never experienced anything even remotely as intense as he felt with the man who held him close. The exchange of crimson never failed to be a catalyst for those who were on the edge, and as they drank from one of Rome’s famed beauties, Henry and Vinicius filled Lucrezia’s vessels in equal measure.

In the corners of the room, the servants readied the sherry glasses, warming them over an open flame before filling them with the coven’s finest and freshest.

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #deathonyourtongueoriginals #sanguine nocturnus

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Sanguine Nocturnus | 3

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Thank you to everyone who’s been so excited and supportive of this one. I can’t even begin to tell y’all how much good stuff is in store for y’all!

The sun seemed different in Rome. Brighter, more nourishing somehow. Carla watched how the early morning light played against the soapy bubbles she brushed along her skin, smiling at the oil-slick colors and the sharp bursts of white whenever one popped. Even plain water looked different as it flowed over her, Carla admiring the little sunbursts that topped her pert nipples as the water brought goosebumps to nearly every inch of her.

The water, so far, was her only complaint. Harder than what she was used to in New York, it had forced her to switch from her favorite shampoo to an Italian brand that promised to work even with the most mineral-deposited water; it was no wonder the locals preferred to drink bottled spring water wherever they went. Even her apartment’s size didn’t bother Carla. What her unit lacked in space, it more than made up for in natural light, French doors opened out to small verandas on each side of her corner unit, and medium-sized windows next to her front door gave Carla a scenic view of her building’s courtyard.

Stepping out of the shower, Carla took a moment to look at herself in the mirror, her smile growing in excitement as she thought about what the night would hold. Having been kind enough to give her a week to acclimate, Romulus’ owner had asked that she work her first shift on Friday the 13th. Far from being leery of the date, Carla found it only fitting given the atmosphere of the bar. Remembering she had all day to play sightseer again, she padded into her room to get dressed, only to find a big, near-blinding ray of sun sweeping across her bed.

Dropping her towel, Carla crawled back into bed with a grin, intent on enjoying the sun for just a moment longer while the residual water dried on her legs. There was something daring about being nude just inside a second-story window, and while back home she would have drawn a crowd of gawkers in the building across the street, her view now held only the Palazzo Borghese, the blue sky, and the tans and terracottas of Rome. In short, she was in heaven.

Since landing in Rome and settling into her apartment, Carla had decided that each day, she would pick a direction, and walk, intent on simply seeing the city as organically as possible. Some days she ended up at the Colosseum, marveling over the ruins, and others, in a little bookstore that specialized in first editions and rare finds. It kept the lonely and restless nature of her mind at bay, and in her opinion, was the best way to honor her mother’s wishes and heritage.

Carla’s walk took her to the ruins of the Stadium of Domitian, and for the first time since arriving at Rome, her fascination for history was paralleled by an anxiety that she was wasting her degree. Having studied History at NYU, she’d always banked on getting a job at a museum or a library, but with each rejection, that dream had become further and further away. Now, with an opportunity to start anew, she wanted to try that path again. The more she walked through the ancient archways and old relics, the more confident she became that she would make something of herself, even after all this time.

After a light lunch in the nearby piazza, Carla made her way home, stopping to grab a few things at the pharmacy and the little market near her apartment. One thing was certain, the pace in Rome was far more to her liking than home had ever been, and though the city was bustling, she didn’t feel the constant rush to get everything done like she had in New York. It eased her stress in a way she hadn’t even considered, and by the time she was back in her apartment, Carla felt light as air.

Unsure of whether Romulus allowed their employees to eat dinner on-site, Carla made an early plate of pasta and readied herself for work. Donning black jeans, a black t-shirt, and her most trusted pair of boots, she added a deep red lip, feeling as though the color would not only act as a counterpoint to all the black, but that it would suit the mood of the bar. Nervous butterflies flitted through her stomach as she threw on a black motorcycle jacket and headed for the door, hoping she’d done enough to impress her new boss.

Romulus’ owner, Fredo, was just as warm and complimentary in person as he’d been over the phone, and in no time, Carla had made herself at home behind the bar, grateful not only for the job, but for the fact that she had full control of her space. There were no other bartenders to contend with, no toes to step on. She was given free reign to do things her way, and that was more than enough to set her at ease. The only thing she’d been warned not to do was get rid of a drink called Sanguinem, one Carla had honestly never heard of.

Coming in an ornate deep blue bottle with a crystal stopper, it looked like the design and marketing hadn’t changed since its inception. Curious, she’d poured herself a half shot of the stuff while on her first break and swirled it around in her mouth, spitting it out just as fast as she’d drank it. Sharp and metallic, she’d barely been able to pick up hints of blackcurrant and cherry before her mind had told her to eject the liquid. Intensely interested in finding out what kind of person would order such a foul-tasting concoction, Carla spent the first half of her shift hoping someone would order it.

It would be two weeks before anyone did.

Despite having spoken Italian with her mother all her life, Carla had found herself freezing when she had to converse with native speakers, her mind tongue-tying her to the point where those she was speaking with often took pity on her and switched to English. Still, despite the occasional language barrier, Carla found Italians, as a whole, far more agreeable customers than their American counterparts. People were simply happy to be out and enjoying themselves, and they couldn’t be bothered to berate someone who was plying them with drinks. The laid back attitude helped her settle at Romulus, in much that same way she’d eased into Italian life in general and though there were times when her anxiety about the future still plagued her, most nights, she was too busy to even give it a second thought.

On the first Saturday in December, Carla’s routine set of faces and orders changed, anxiety once more taking a back seat to the group of three stunning creatures that walked into Romulus unannounced, but very much known by the other customers. Carla watched, fascinated, as some of the patrons all but threw their money at her in their haste to leave, while others moved tables and seats closer to the semi-circular booth the group had chosen at their location for the night. Those who left seemed disturbed, and those who stayed, entranced. Without even needing to think about it, Carla knew she fell into the latter category; the two men and one woman all looked like demigods.

Dressed almost too formally for the bar, the tallest of the three caught her eye first. Dark curls hung just to his brow, framing a jaw that seemed cut from marble and was nearly the same color as the statues of old. It was his eyes that took Carla’s breath away however, their shade reminiscent of tropical waters, their intensity almost neon. Wearing an all black suit with the shirt unbuttoned to reveal a thick thatch of hair, Carla was certain he could have any woman in Romulus that he so much as looked at.

His friends were no slouches either, the other man wearing a navy suit with a cream turtleneck, and the woman wearing a dress that had all the hallmarks of being couture and vintage. All three were brunettes of differing shades, their hair color setting off the pallor of their skin and the alien-like brightness of their eyes. They were, in short, immaculate.

When the man in the turtleneck rose and made his way over to the bar, Carla forgot where she was. She watched his lips move, not hearing a word of what was said, too caught up in his overall presence to pay any attention to what was happening. It wasn’t until she realized he was waving his hand in front of her face that Carla came to her senses. Blushing, she shook her head and gave him her best smile.

“What can I get you?” She asked, stumbling over her Italian and feeling the temperature in the room go up several notches as the man smiled back.

“Two bottles of Sanguinem, and three chilled coupes, please.” The man’s words felt like they were coming from inside her own head and Carla was once more left rooted into place, unable to process how he could make himself be heard so clearly over the din of the music and other patrons.

Blinking hard, she moved to grab the bottles, glad that she’d done her prep work prior to opening and that she had several of each kind of glass in the chiller, ready to go. Carla made a mental note of the type of stemware that paired with the drink, wondering if there’d be any variation in how it was taken; straight, on the rocks, or with a twist.

The man in the turtleneck nodded his thanks, tapping one long finger against the list next to the till, on top of the name Vinicius. Nodding her understanding that he had a tab with the bar, Carla watched as he headed back to the table and began to serve the other two, her glance quickly moving towards the dancefloor when all three of them turned to look at her with their piercing gazes.

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #sanguine nocturnus #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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