[Maybe he'll shower first this morning. And make up for getting rid of all the braids by asking Sypha to brush his hair.]
I see. And it's all done with delicate tools as well, I imagine, otherwise the material would break. I'm sure the practice is ancient and...
[On one hand: oh no, don't throw him into the briar patch. On the other: this is a pretty dumb thing to be getting into briar patches about in the first place. So confession it is, soft and embarrassed.]
There's precious little I dislike more than patronizing names for you both. But that is, I suppose, how I see you at times like last night. It simply is not something I voice.
[For her. So that's what it was, then — her explanation, colored by his bashfulness, offered up in mitigation once she'd coaxed it out of him. A patronizing name, or so he calls it. A bit of affection, spoken, to go with the expression that she remembers him wearing while he looked at her.
Hearthfire. That's how he sees her, he says; that's the word that comes to mind when a moment passes between them like the one last night. As though she is the fire that warms his home, a light to make his shadows withdraw, burning red-orange in tandem with his own gold and moonlight white.
He always compares her to fire, doesn't he? And not just to flames in particular but to heat, to the sensation of being warm. Sometimes he teases her about it, with more unflattering nicknames than this one, but always he acknowledges her as the warm spot in the room, his foil when he himself is so often cold.
(It surprises her, a little, to consider that. In his worse moments, she sometimes perceives him as a deep well of sadness, withdrawn in a way that gives off a chill. It's never really occurred to her that he might harbor similar thoughts of her in return, perceiving her as the warmest place in a room, a burning flame that night moths couldn't help but be drawn to.)
His fire, but not just any fire. The one that burns in his hearth. The one that burns in his heart.
And he thinks such a thing is patronizing.]
Why don't you voice it?
[She's barely even noticed that her cheeks have flushed; now even her face is hot, further proving his point.]
There are many terms of endearment used. Thousands of others who response to all of the same ones. There is only one Sypha, same as there is only one Trevor. [There's a terribly large amount of Trevors, but that's not the point.]
Your names are yours and yours alone. Why would I use something else that is not fully you?
[At the end of the day, he cares about them being them. They mean the world to Alucard, he's shown that in all ways great and small. But they are unto themselves, people in their own right, and that is something too much of the world around them seems keen to forget or ignore. (Pets. He hates it.)]
[Is it possible for her to flush any redder? It turns out that it is, and she has to press her lips together, chewing on her lower lip because her mouth is aching with a smile that pulls unbidden at the corners of her lips.]
...Yes. But for me, there is only one Alucard to call me such sweet things.
[And she really does shift now, nudging the blankets aside just enough that she's able to climb on top of him, forearms braced on either side of his head so that she can look down into his face. If her hair were long enough, it would make a curtain around the two of them; as it is, it's too short to do her that courtesy, but given the way she holds his gaze, in Sypha's mind there's nothing else in the rest of the world but the two of them right now, anyway.
(And Trevor, of course. Always Trevor. He's always there as a part of them, even when he's not there in reality.) ]
And Sypha is my name that everyone has the right to use and to call me. But only you have the right to call me that endearment.
[Oh. Oh that's cute. Alucard may be very flustered about this, but the look on Sypha's face eases so much. He forgets that his Overthinking sometimes means he misses obvious things, like terms of endearment being something others like. Or that he can make Sypha smile like that with just a word.
He likes doing that last thing whenever he can, after all.]
All the same.
[He sighs, but then Sypha's climbed atop him. He's still on his side, so he shifts to change that. Make it easier for her to look at his stupid, embarrassed face. It's about as red as his face can ever get, although maybe sillier for all of those tiny braids.]
You'd get sick of it if I used it constantly anyway.
Well, yes. I like the sound of my name in your voice, too.
[She ducks down a little, stealing a kiss from the corner of his mouth, very lightly and very fleeting. What a pair they make, both red in the face for related yet differing reasons.]
But could you, just once? While I'm awake, so I can appreciate it.
[And yet, here she is, cuddled up with him beneath the covers, her half-braided overly sentimental blushing beau of a vampire, letting him haggle with her about the whens and the hows of calling her a pet name.]
I don't want to get up yet. We can stay a little longer, can't we?
Mmm, is that why you watched me sleep for an hour?
[They are so very warm like this, Sypha being where she is. Snug for the blankets piled atop them both to keep out the chill. Alucard looking ridiculous for Sypha's efforts and his own...everything, because he's a disaster.]
You're the one atop me, Sypha. I don't see how I can get up unless you allow it.
No, I watched you sleep for an hour because you are very handsome when you sleep.
[She is nothing if not honest. Also warm. Also settling down over him because holding herself up isn't as comfortable as just draping herself over him, and she's probably light enough that it's not a massive burden on him, anyway.]
And also because you watched me sleep last night, I think. Or at least saw me when I was close to it. Fair is fair.
When you're awake, you are very beautiful. A slight but significant difference.
[There's no way he'll resist that bait, but that's sort of the point. Baiting clarification through deliberate ambiguity is always an enjoyable game to play, especially on a lazy morning in bed.]
Are you warm enough? Comfortable? I am not crushing anything?
Hm, I hadn't been aware of that. How, precisely, do you define that difference?
[He shifts a little, just to make it clear to Sypha that he is, in fact, very comfortable indeed. She's the warmest weight. The best weight.]
You'd know if you were. But this does beg the question of how long do you wish to laze here versus how much do you want me to go and make coffee? [Some routines are important. And moreover, he really, really needs it.]
A force of nature is not handsome, but it can be beautiful.
[She bends, kissing the tip of his nose, because she's in reach for it and he hasn't tried to gracefully rearrange her, so why not.]
When you sleep, you are soft and content, like a picture from out of a storybook, very handsome. But awake, you become like a diamond. Your wit, your resolve, your sadness and joy both. Your different facets shine depending on how the light hits you. Beauty is a more nuanced thing, than simply being handsome. And you are much more than the pretty face you show when you are asleep.
[She settles back down again, resting her head on his shoulder.]
Just ten more minutes, now that we're both awake. I just want to enjoy being with you.
[His nose wiggles just a little from that touch. He had a planned response to this, he really did, but leave it to Sypha to stun him into complete and utter silence. Make him as red as he can possibly get. To want to melt into the bed for all of the warmth in those words, in how she says them.
The most she gets is a little strangled noise of surprise and delight, which is to say she's bested the vampire, and neither of them have gotten out of bed yet.
What else can he do in this moment but tuck a few stray strands of Sypha's hair back where they ought to be when she settles again? Kiss her gently on her forehead, because that's what's in reach? Hold her fast where she is, because what other place ought she be but there?
Alucard sighs, content. Murmurs some noise that's agreement, because really, how does one follow up words like those?
But ten minutes do pass. Become fifteen, and there's a cry from Alucard's stomach that interrupts the peace and quiet. Rather than nudge Sypha, he kisses the top of her head to reclaim attention.]
I'll make something we can both have up here. All I intend to do for the rest of the day is to stay in bed, tending to the fire.
[Evidently, one follows up endearments like hers with, well, a remark like that, because it's visible in her expression how the pieces fall into place, and confusion shifts into recognition. One for one, it seems, they're even; her eyes widen just a fraction, and her lips part just enough to allow for a silent intake of breath to pass through, and her cheeks flush pink for a hint of a moment, as much with unexpected pleasure as with fluster.
Tending to the fire, indeed. It's such a little thing, to leave her so overwhelmed.]
...Oh.
[Oh.]
You'll have to be quick. It's not sensible to leave such things unattended for long.
I'm afraid it will be fifteen minutes at the very least.
[Because coffee takes time. So does the rest of breakfast, even with vampire speed. Stoves, stoves work in real time, no matter how hard his father tried to change that. Laws of heat abide by no rule but their own.
He can't help but relish that reaction. It's a fair turn for leaving him breathless earlier, but more than that, it's just a sight to see. Rendering Speakers speechless that's an accomplishment.]
Are you now going to make as many puns about fire as you can? Because I am enjoying them immensely.
[Reluctantly, and at length, she finally lets go and lightly rolls off of him, landing with a pleasant flump on the mattress on her side, facing him with a smile on her face.]
Such as: are you carrying a torch for me, my old flame? I can think of no one who could hold a candle to you.
I'll lose a pun contest with you, and I've no intent to shame myself in such a humiliating defeat.
[Besides, there's something more important than puns. Alucard lingers where he is just a few moments longer. Long enough to place a kiss on her lips, one to her neck, and one to whatever bit of exposed shoulder he can reach. Soft as anything. Not teasing, not in truth.
And then he is out of bed. Out with his slippers on his feet, bathrobe forgotten. To the kitchen, because coffee is needed. Coffee and real food, because to feed a fire you have to...actually feed a fire, which this morning translates into poached eggs over English muffins, sausages, bacon, plus extra toast with butter and jam on the side. It's all brought up on a tray holding two plates, the coffee pot, and two mugs. (The fine china is the only china the house has, so it's used on the regular.)
Alucard had the foresight to leave the door open, so there's no struggling with the knob. There is only walking over to present the entire tray in front of Sypha, trying not to look too terribly proud of the work.]
[Despite her grumbling, the time passes by much more quickly for Sypha than she would've thought it would, even once he's gone. Being the preliminary source of heat of the pair means that his absence isn't felt that badly in terms of a lack of ambient warmth, and once she pulls the covers back up around her to help keep it in, it's not altogether difficult to roll over and bury her face in his pillow and breathe deep the lingering smell of his hair while she waits.
She falls back asleep before long, dozing in her nest of warmth and blankets, and eventually rouses when she hears his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches the door, she's rolling over onto her back and sitting up, scowling only moderately at the chill in the air outside of the blankets.]
...Oh, you're spoiling me.
[And suddenly she realizes just how hungry she is, with the aroma of breakfast in the air, and all of it made better by Alucard's return.]
Here, let me have it while you get back in bed. It's better under the covers.
[It should be noted that, among so many other things, all of the braids are still in place. Cooking? Far more important than fussing with his hair. There was no time to focus on that.
All the same, the tray gets handed over to Sypha first so that nothing will spill over the bed. (Coffee is the probable worst stain of them all, but bacon grease is a close second. Alucard is careful as he sits on the edge of the bed (slippers off first!) and then settles in. Makes sure the blankets are up enough to be warm, but down low enough that they won't catch crumbs.]
It's nearly eleven. At this point, we may as well be having lunch.
[She balances the tray admirably, letting him get situated before passing it back to him (she'd sooner trust his reflexes to catch impending spills than her own) and snuggling in close to his side so that she's within reach of the plates, herself.]
...Alucard.
[She lightly walks her fingers up his arm, gently coaxing as she thinks out loud.]
I know that for...many reasons, you tend not to show Trevor and I when you have a meal in blood instead of in eggs and muffins. But I don't remember seeing you even sneak off for one in some time. You...have been, haven't you? And I simply haven't noticed?
[Once they are both settled, he pours the coffee. Most important thing. Alucard takes his dark and bitter, and he drinks it all before he ever eats. It is a strange little ritual, and one he imagines is born of older traditions back in his father's homeland. The Turks, after all, once occupied Wallachia, and it is their custom to have coffee before any other meal.
His leg moves to brush against Sypha's. Rest there, for he is terrible and a prelude is always nice. As nice as the fingers on his arm, even if the question is not his favorite.]
I have. Just at meetings, rather than independent.
[It's been stressful lately. He hates taking human blood, but when it's offered at long talks, he is in no place to refuse.]
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[Maybe he'll shower first this morning. And make up for getting rid of all the braids by asking Sypha to brush his hair.]
I see. And it's all done with delicate tools as well, I imagine, otherwise the material would break. I'm sure the practice is ancient and...
[On one hand: oh no, don't throw him into the briar patch. On the other: this is a pretty dumb thing to be getting into briar patches about in the first place. So confession it is, soft and embarrassed.]
There's precious little I dislike more than patronizing names for you both. But that is, I suppose, how I see you at times like last night. It simply is not something I voice.
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[For her. So that's what it was, then — her explanation, colored by his bashfulness, offered up in mitigation once she'd coaxed it out of him. A patronizing name, or so he calls it. A bit of affection, spoken, to go with the expression that she remembers him wearing while he looked at her.
Hearthfire. That's how he sees her, he says; that's the word that comes to mind when a moment passes between them like the one last night. As though she is the fire that warms his home, a light to make his shadows withdraw, burning red-orange in tandem with his own gold and moonlight white.
He always compares her to fire, doesn't he? And not just to flames in particular but to heat, to the sensation of being warm. Sometimes he teases her about it, with more unflattering nicknames than this one, but always he acknowledges her as the warm spot in the room, his foil when he himself is so often cold.
(It surprises her, a little, to consider that. In his worse moments, she sometimes perceives him as a deep well of sadness, withdrawn in a way that gives off a chill. It's never really occurred to her that he might harbor similar thoughts of her in return, perceiving her as the warmest place in a room, a burning flame that night moths couldn't help but be drawn to.)
His fire, but not just any fire. The one that burns in his hearth. The one that burns in his heart.
And he thinks such a thing is patronizing.]
Why don't you voice it?
[She's barely even noticed that her cheeks have flushed; now even her face is hot, further proving his point.]
Am I not always that to you?
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Your names are yours and yours alone. Why would I use something else that is not fully you?
[At the end of the day, he cares about them being them. They mean the world to Alucard, he's shown that in all ways great and small. But they are unto themselves, people in their own right, and that is something too much of the world around them seems keen to forget or ignore. (Pets. He hates it.)]
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...Yes. But for me, there is only one Alucard to call me such sweet things.
[And she really does shift now, nudging the blankets aside just enough that she's able to climb on top of him, forearms braced on either side of his head so that she can look down into his face. If her hair were long enough, it would make a curtain around the two of them; as it is, it's too short to do her that courtesy, but given the way she holds his gaze, in Sypha's mind there's nothing else in the rest of the world but the two of them right now, anyway.
(And Trevor, of course. Always Trevor. He's always there as a part of them, even when he's not there in reality.) ]
And Sypha is my name that everyone has the right to use and to call me. But only you have the right to call me that endearment.
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He likes doing that last thing whenever he can, after all.]
All the same.
[He sighs, but then Sypha's climbed atop him. He's still on his side, so he shifts to change that. Make it easier for her to look at his stupid, embarrassed face. It's about as red as his face can ever get, although maybe sillier for all of those tiny braids.]
You'd get sick of it if I used it constantly anyway.
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[She ducks down a little, stealing a kiss from the corner of his mouth, very lightly and very fleeting. What a pair they make, both red in the face for related yet differing reasons.]
But could you, just once? While I'm awake, so I can appreciate it.
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[Is he bargaining? About this??? Really????
He is. Even if there's a faint glow from that kiss.]
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[And yet, here she is, cuddled up with him beneath the covers, her half-braided overly sentimental blushing beau of a vampire, letting him haggle with her about the whens and the hows of calling her a pet name.]
I don't want to get up yet. We can stay a little longer, can't we?
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[They are so very warm like this, Sypha being where she is. Snug for the blankets piled atop them both to keep out the chill. Alucard looking ridiculous for Sypha's efforts and his own...everything, because he's a disaster.]
You're the one atop me, Sypha. I don't see how I can get up unless you allow it.
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[She is nothing if not honest. Also warm. Also settling down over him because holding herself up isn't as comfortable as just draping herself over him, and she's probably light enough that it's not a massive burden on him, anyway.]
And also because you watched me sleep last night, I think. Or at least saw me when I was close to it. Fair is fair.
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[The question is asked in only mock horror. He knows the answer will be better than his smartassed remark deserves.
Besides, he gets Sypha right in the best space she can ever be. All over him, exactly where she feels like it, and nothing more.]
I can't argue the law of equivalent exchange. And you were very charming in those moments.
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[There's no way he'll resist that bait, but that's sort of the point. Baiting clarification through deliberate ambiguity is always an enjoyable game to play, especially on a lazy morning in bed.]
Are you warm enough? Comfortable? I am not crushing anything?
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[He shifts a little, just to make it clear to Sypha that he is, in fact, very comfortable indeed. She's the warmest weight. The best weight.]
You'd know if you were. But this does beg the question of how long do you wish to laze here versus how much do you want me to go and make coffee? [Some routines are important. And moreover, he really, really needs it.]
I have no intention of leaving this house today.
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[She bends, kissing the tip of his nose, because she's in reach for it and he hasn't tried to gracefully rearrange her, so why not.]
When you sleep, you are soft and content, like a picture from out of a storybook, very handsome. But awake, you become like a diamond. Your wit, your resolve, your sadness and joy both. Your different facets shine depending on how the light hits you. Beauty is a more nuanced thing, than simply being handsome. And you are much more than the pretty face you show when you are asleep.
[She settles back down again, resting her head on his shoulder.]
Just ten more minutes, now that we're both awake. I just want to enjoy being with you.
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The most she gets is a little strangled noise of surprise and delight, which is to say she's bested the vampire, and neither of them have gotten out of bed yet.
What else can he do in this moment but tuck a few stray strands of Sypha's hair back where they ought to be when she settles again? Kiss her gently on her forehead, because that's what's in reach? Hold her fast where she is, because what other place ought she be but there?
Alucard sighs, content. Murmurs some noise that's agreement, because really, how does one follow up words like those?
But ten minutes do pass. Become fifteen, and there's a cry from Alucard's stomach that interrupts the peace and quiet. Rather than nudge Sypha, he kisses the top of her head to reclaim attention.]
I'll make something we can both have up here. All I intend to do for the rest of the day is to stay in bed, tending to the fire.
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[Evidently, one follows up endearments like hers with, well, a remark like that, because it's visible in her expression how the pieces fall into place, and confusion shifts into recognition. One for one, it seems, they're even; her eyes widen just a fraction, and her lips part just enough to allow for a silent intake of breath to pass through, and her cheeks flush pink for a hint of a moment, as much with unexpected pleasure as with fluster.
Tending to the fire, indeed. It's such a little thing, to leave her so overwhelmed.]
...Oh.
[Oh.]
You'll have to be quick. It's not sensible to leave such things unattended for long.
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[Because coffee takes time. So does the rest of breakfast, even with vampire speed. Stoves, stoves work in real time, no matter how hard his father tried to change that. Laws of heat abide by no rule but their own.
He can't help but relish that reaction. It's a fair turn for leaving him breathless earlier, but more than that, it's just a sight to see. Rendering Speakers speechless that's an accomplishment.]
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[She is a DISTRACTION and she knows it.]
Or I could stay, and await you, and motivate you to return in a hurry.
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[What were they saying just a few moments ago about fire?
He nudges Sypha gently. Can't go do this if she's still holding on.]
As Trevor would say, light a fire under one's ass?
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[Reluctantly, and at length, she finally lets go and lightly rolls off of him, landing with a pleasant flump on the mattress on her side, facing him with a smile on her face.]
Such as: are you carrying a torch for me, my old flame? I can think of no one who could hold a candle to you.
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[Besides, there's something more important than puns. Alucard lingers where he is just a few moments longer. Long enough to place a kiss on her lips, one to her neck, and one to whatever bit of exposed shoulder he can reach. Soft as anything. Not teasing, not in truth.
And then he is out of bed. Out with his slippers on his feet, bathrobe forgotten. To the kitchen, because coffee is needed. Coffee and real food, because to feed a fire you have to...actually feed a fire, which this morning translates into poached eggs over English muffins, sausages, bacon, plus extra toast with butter and jam on the side. It's all brought up on a tray holding two plates, the coffee pot, and two mugs. (The fine china is the only china the house has, so it's used on the regular.)
Alucard had the foresight to leave the door open, so there's no struggling with the knob. There is only walking over to present the entire tray in front of Sypha, trying not to look too terribly proud of the work.]
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She falls back asleep before long, dozing in her nest of warmth and blankets, and eventually rouses when she hears his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches the door, she's rolling over onto her back and sitting up, scowling only moderately at the chill in the air outside of the blankets.]
...Oh, you're spoiling me.
[And suddenly she realizes just how hungry she is, with the aroma of breakfast in the air, and all of it made better by Alucard's return.]
Here, let me have it while you get back in bed. It's better under the covers.
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[It should be noted that, among so many other things, all of the braids are still in place. Cooking? Far more important than fussing with his hair. There was no time to focus on that.
All the same, the tray gets handed over to Sypha first so that nothing will spill over the bed. (Coffee is the probable worst stain of them all, but bacon grease is a close second. Alucard is careful as he sits on the edge of the bed (slippers off first!) and then settles in. Makes sure the blankets are up enough to be warm, but down low enough that they won't catch crumbs.]
It's nearly eleven. At this point, we may as well be having lunch.
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[She balances the tray admirably, letting him get situated before passing it back to him (she'd sooner trust his reflexes to catch impending spills than her own) and snuggling in close to his side so that she's within reach of the plates, herself.]
...Alucard.
[She lightly walks her fingers up his arm, gently coaxing as she thinks out loud.]
I know that for...many reasons, you tend not to show Trevor and I when you have a meal in blood instead of in eggs and muffins. But I don't remember seeing you even sneak off for one in some time. You...have been, haven't you? And I simply haven't noticed?
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His leg moves to brush against Sypha's. Rest there, for he is terrible and a prelude is always nice. As nice as the fingers on his arm, even if the question is not his favorite.]
I have. Just at meetings, rather than independent.
[It's been stressful lately. He hates taking human blood, but when it's offered at long talks, he is in no place to refuse.]
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