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If politely asked, Leon could probably describe this room in striking detail, all the way down to what kind of patterns adorned the fabric on the furniture, to where certain cracks in the stone walls laid. It feels as though he’s sat for an eternity, eyes dragging with a dead sort of glaze to them over the items of his prison, memorizing each and every little piece that formed the puzzle he was trapped in.
He sits, motionless for what must be nights at a time, until the door comes swinging open and that little ember that still burns at his core is stoked somewhat. Leon has long learned that his anger only draws out the pause between those visits, and seeing as how the presence of what should have been his friend - his protector - is the only thing keeping him grounded, those particular visits are quite important for his sanity.
For if Mathias chose not to grace his droll life with his presence these days, Leon’s sure he would have lost his mind long ago.
So his seething and flinging and attempts at clawing at the older man have fizzled out into pathetic whines of “stay” and “just a little longer” and “please, for the love of God, don’t leave me in here again”. Each and every time, it’s always the same, and Leon is more often than not left curled upon his little canopy bed, his chin tucked against his chest and his face sporting tears that leave his cheeks bloodstained.
This was not the life he chose, but instead the one Mathias forced onto him. There was no choice in the matter for Leon, not when the tactician had him crushed against his chest, fangs buried as deep as they could go in his neck, with his inhumane strength pinning Leon in a way that almost felt desperate.
And maybe Mathias was desperate. Desperate not to let him go, for his eyes carried with them a fervent longing, one that had Leon backing away from him in trepidation, until there was a solid chest at his spine, and a pair of arms trapping him where he stood.
His turning hadn’t been extremely painful, but it’d done a decent job of shredding his mentality, leaving his mind in tatters and his heart cracked and broken, because not only did Leon feel any connection he had left with God die that night, but the fact that the betrayal came from his hand of all people sat like a heavy stone in Leon’s gut.
Mathias was supposed to be the one person Leon could trust, could depend on for anything, and that illusion was shattered in an instant. But then, the walls were shakily reconstructed, because it once again became true. Mathias was the only person Leon could trust, could depend on for anything, because Mathias was now the only person Leon ever saw in his many, endless nights.
He barely remembers the last time he’d been outside, can’t recall what his last sunrise looked like or what season it was. The castle is always cold, cold, cold, and Leon knows this, for it leaves even his chilled skin pleasantly numb at times. He hears the howling and screeching of creatures roaming the hallways, can smell the acrid blood of those monsters as they pass by his door with their lumbering footsteps.
Leon has learned not to try and call out to them for help. It always falls on deaf ears, and if some of them are feeling particularly cruel, they answer with bouts of mocking laughter.
So he waits endlessly, seats himself upon his exotic furniture and leans back in his flowing, comfortable garments, feels the cold bands of jewelry lining his wrists, neck, hair, and ears settling against his pallid skin. All gifts from him, all little attempts at showing his condolences, because apparently Mathias feels horrible for leaving Leon alone like he does.
But he never lets him out, even when Leon drops to his knees and begs. Mathias just smiles sadly at him, and his answer is always the same, always in that tone that makes Leon’s chest seize with pain, “You’re safer here than out there.”
Sometimes it feels less like an attempt at an apology, and more like Mathias is dressing a doll. Leon’s not sure which is true, but the shining gems and fluorescent pearls and curls of gold and silver fail to lessen the constant void that gnaws at him from the inside, leaves him aching for any sort of touch, any sort of confirmation of love. Leon feels so disconnected and alone these days, it’s nearly crushing. Some nights, it feels as if his heartache and longing will be the death of him, and he’ll lie in his bed, strewn like a marionette tossed aside, waiting for the cold fingers of Death to claim him.
But he’s met Death before, and Mathias’ servant expressed no desire to claim his master’s toy.
There are stray pearls littered across the floor, angrily torn apart from their strings in a fit of rage and forgotten by Leon in the weeks that pass. There is phantom pain in his arms and legs, memoirs of when his fury got the better of him, and his claws had dug into his cold flesh, drawing wells of dark, cool blood to run in rivulets down his skin. But above all that is the constant thirst that Leon feels.
Mathias feeds him, doesn’t starve him in the least, but Leon finds that the countless bodies that are wheeled from his room do little to nothing to sate the hunger that curls inside him violently. He wonders if this is normal for Mathias’ kind - his kind, now - or if it’s some sort of abnormality caused by his lack of fulfillment. He wonders if that hunger is just his heart crying out for love, for attention, manifested in the only way it knows how; the closest thing that can bring him any sort of happiness these nights.
Sometimes it feels as if his entire existence has been whittled down into a single, consuming desire for companionship, for validation. Leon feels so unbearably alone and abandoned in his little, extravagant prison, left to drown in the silken sheets and smother himself in the sheer canopy of the bed. His hatred for Mathias seems to burn out over time, leaves him a smoldering pile of ash before the tactician is sparking the smallest of embers inside of him, warming his frigid heart after an eternal, dark winter.
His presence becomes less of a curse, and more of a necessity. Leon is elated when the door opens to show his handsome, pale face, and his spindly, dark hair. He’s filled with dread when the other announces his departure, always pushed to the brink of tears as he clings to him, begs for just a few more minutes, just a little longer - please, at least take me with you, don’t leave me here, don’t abandon me, you’re all I have, please, please, Mathias.
The outcome is always the same, and Leon is left aching for many nights to come.
He makes desperate, feverish promises to Mathias, all in the hopes that he’ll listen, let him go free, let him roam and learn and know what happens outside of his little box. “I promise I won’t wander, I’ll stay right here, I promise, you can trust me.” It always falls on deaf ears.
The realization strikes Leon that he’s so frighteningly dependent on Mathias for everything; from his meals, to his clothing, to even using his voice in conversation. Perhaps that is the reason Leon doesn’t balk when Mathias’ soothing touches begin to bleed a sort of sinful allure, have him eagerly wanting to curl in his sire’s lap and accept the soft presses of his lips to his crown of hair, to his ring-laced fingers and the soft bottom of his wrist.
Perhaps that is the reason Leon invites his gentle kisses at the beginning of his visits, is more than willing to go into his arms and let the alchemist swallow him up in his robes and make him feel wanted, protected, loved for the short amount of time they have together.
Perhaps that is why Leon begins to let Mathias dress him with his jewelry and pretty, liquidious clothing, instead of bitterly accepting the gifts and begrudgingly putting them on in privacy. There’s a bit of heat then, something to shatter the coldness of Leon’s shell, his face warming pleasantly as Mathias’ nimble fingers work on clasps and ties and buttons. The dragging of his fingers across Leon’s skin has him shivering with delight, silently craving more insistent, claiming touches.
Leon realizes that those touches make him feel adored, cherished, important. He begins to lust after them, to thirst for them as much as he does the blood in the veins of his many victims. Mathias either catches on and humors him, or shares the sentiment entirely, because it’s not long until Leon is invited to participate in more intimate moments with him, and it starts with them sharing their meals.
And that ends with the bodies pushed onto the floor, grey and lifeless while his sire smothers him with bloody, dripping kisses and paints his face and neck with their crimes. Leon is left shuddering and moaning in his hold, dizzy from the blood and the eroticism of it all, legs curled around Mathias’ own and bodies tangled together in all their posh finery.
It’s the first time they do anything sexual with each other, and it leads to Leon sinking deep into the pillows and inviting Mathias to straddle his naked thigh, their cocks straining and dripping with precome by this point. And then he’s leaning heavily against Leon and rutting slowly, sensually against his thigh, his cock catching the knight’s own and trapping it between the crevices of their hips, squeezing the head between their slick, cool skin.
Leon, for once, doesn’t feel any sort of emptiness clawing at him, is left wonderfully numb and breathless by the way their bodies seem to fit perfectly against each other, can only run his fingers down Mathias’ shoulder and subsequently his back as his head tips back, his eyes closing against the apex of the canopy. It’s so wonderfully good, so tantalizing and euphoric to be rendered motionless by Mathias’ weight, left victim to his slow, patient rocking that gently works the knight towards a wet and messy orgasm.
That alone would have been enough to get Leon through the night, but then Mathias’ voice is finding his ear, his tone dripping with praise and fondness and encouragement, all of which leaves Leon choking out whimpers in between his haggard breaths, his head nodding almost dumbly as he takes it all in.
It’s everything he’s ever wanted, and somehow not. Leon only finds that he wants more, deems it not enough, because as long as Mathias exists without him by his side at all times, then what does it all mean? Doesn’t that mean he’s not good enough?
He comes with something akin to a pained mewl, but it leaves him trembling in the sheets and hugging Mathias tightly against him, his thighs quivering and toes curled in, his nails denting the tactician’s skin almost dangerously, but never piercing through its surface. There are hands petting at his hair lovingly then, sweet murmurs of how much he means to Mathias, of how important he is in the tapestry of his eternity.
Leon can’t help but think, “If that were so true, then why do you keep me caged like some treasured pet? Why do you not let me stand at your side as an equal?” But his lips stay sealed tight, for he knows to voice these concerns would shatter the illusion, and Leon wants to cling onto the little shred of happiness he feels in that moment.
Mathias ends up leaving shortly afterwards, and Leon can’t even find the energy to retrieve his clothes. He ignores the dead bodies on the floor at the foot of the bed, knowing very well that a servant of some sort would come by to remove them soon. Instead, he curls into the sheets like a frightened child, and tries not to let his sorrow drown him. It fills his chest like sand, however, chokes him and reduces what should be little cries to nothing more than pitiful sniffles.
This is worse, he thinks. Worse, because now it’s not simply a matter of keeping company to stay sane, but rather, because he’s so irrevocably in love with Mathias, and the fact that he’d rather keep Leon locked up rather than invite him into his own bed makes his stomach turn with a sour feeling.
And really, should he even love Mathias? It’s a question he turns over and over in his mind, a carousel of doubt and tainted memories. What little logical part of him remains adamantly says no, but Leon has long since given up on appearing stately, so why not? Why not cast away what little shred of dignity he has left to hand his shredded heart to the man who took everything from him?
It’s not as if there’s a God watching him anymore to care about his sins. Leon is damned, and he accepts this fact like a man facing death. He’ll love Mathias regardless, despite his crimes and atrocities. He’ll love him long into his insanity, would throw himself into the throes of death if it meant he could stay by his side, could keep his love only for him.
He’s already halfway there. No need in trying to turn back now.
Their visits grow more silent, for Leon doesn’t have the desire to argue and spit venomous insults at Mathias any longer. He also doesn’t have the energy to say much aside from his quiet pleas, will only speak when spoken to outside of that, and finds himself battling back bitter tears for most of the time that Mathias is around.
Really, it’s a shame that he can still cry. He feels as though he’s bled himself dry in these.... What, months? Years? Decades ? It’s become almost impossible for him to track time, and Mathias is careful not to make mention of how long Leon has been here. Leon may try to ask, but Mathias is so painfully sweet in his refusal to answer.
He always finds a way to deflect, and Leon has grown tired of trying.
When he feels as though he may snap and expend all the breath in his lungs on an erratic tangent, Mathias seems to sense this, and he does an annoyingly good job at chasing away the onsetting madness with his kisses and soft touches. Leon has found that it’s hard to focus his grief into words when they’re being stolen out of his mouth by a sinfully good tongue.
It’s even harder when he’s choking on whimpers and moans, lost in the throes of pleasure so intense, it robs him of his ability to think clearly. Leon forgets many things in his time inside his prison, but he’ll always remember being taken by Mathias for the first time, and how it literally reduced him to needy tears and sharp cries for help.
Help for his heart, help for his mind, help for his shattered soul. He didn’t know what else to say in that moment, but if it did anything to make Mathias feel for his plight, then he apparently doesn’t show it. Leon clings tightly onto him as he’s fucked to the brink of unconsciousness, overstimulated and so clouded by euphoria that he barely knows where he’s at anymore.
His pleas for help dissolve into a delirious mantra of Mathias’ name. “Oh, please, please, don’t stop, please, yes, right there- there, yes, yes, yes, Mathias -”
He’s pushed to orgasm many times, barely afforded any time to recover in between each of them, but Leon relishes in the feeling of it all, is relieved to have something strong enough to block out the reality of his existence. In those moments where Mathias’ mouth finds his, and their bodies are pressed so tightly together, it feels as if they could merge into one, Leon almost thinks that this is acceptable. He could have just this, and be happy enough to keep persevering on.
He’s left in a hazy, half-aware state by the time Mathias is done with him, and the only thing he recalls before falling unconscious is the soft press of his sire’s lips to his temple.
When he wakes, he feels almost sick with loneliness, is still pleasantly sore and marked up from their coupling, even if the bruises have already began to fade. Leon wishes they wouldn’t, for they seem to be the only thing that acts as a companion to him in Mathias’ absence. The only reminder that there is still someone out there that loves him, and wants him.
Maybe Mathias does want him, but to what extent, Leon is unsure. He only hopes that his former friend sees him as more than an amusing pet. Leon couldn’t fathom continuing his gilded existence if the truth came out that Mathias was merely using him for entertainment. He’d find a way to end it all, if it ever came to that.
A variable arises in the form of a curious servant, some lowly turned vampire that isn’t even important enough to do much besides keep the castle tidy. Leon always ignores the servants who come into his room, but this one seems intent on trying to speak to him, and the unexpected prodding has Leon’s mouth going dry.
When was the last time he spoke to anyone other than Mathias? It feels almost… wrong to be talking to anyone else, like some sort of grievous betrayal to his sire. Mathias should be the only one who has his attention. There was no one else worthy of it.
“I’ve heard that you’ve been here a while, but I never see you outside of this room. And I was told to keep the doors locked, but you don’t seem hostile. Why is that?” They straightened the items upon the tables and fluffed the sheets while Leon sat in his chair, whisking around his fancy little cage in an express attempt to spruce it up once more.
Leon, for the longest time, doesn’t respond. Doesn’t know how to. It takes an egregious amount of time to even build up the courage to speak to this stranger. “How long… have I been here?” The question feels taboo, like acid on his tongue.
The servant continues with their work, as if what they’re about to say is the most casual utterance in the world, “I’m not sure. I’ve been here for at least two decades by now, but as for you? I haven’t the slightest clue. I was hoping you could tell me.”
That has Leon growing even paler, his skin going bone-white and his now violet eyes widening as he swallows thickly, feeling suddenly and violently sick. Two decades. Two… entire decades, at the minimum, and perhaps more that he’s been rendered a prisoner to this room.
The servant tries to question him further, but Leon merely raises his hand, his other covering his mouth as he averts his gaze, appearing visibly shaken. The servant shoots him a scrutinizing look, but obeys his request not to question him further. Leon lets him finish his work in silence, and when he leaves, he quite literally slides from his chair to the floor in a pathetic heap.
It doesn’t even feel like that much time has passed. How much of his sentence has he blocked out over the years? What else has he forgotten since he’s been here? It barely feels real anymore, more like some sort of twisted nightmare that is neverending.
The only reprieve from his suffering is Mathias, which is ironic, because he is also the practitioner of his suffering. A double edged blade, one made to chase away Leon’s grief and sew the seeds of sorrow within him.
He laughs halfheartedly, an empty sound that echoes throughout his cold room. It grows in intensity as he mulls over his bleary situation, mulls over the truth that had just been revealed to him, and it loudens and gains more strain to it, threatens to break as it escalates into a disturbing chorus of the utterances of a madman.
Leon laughs, and he cries, and he laughs, and there is no one there to tell him to stop, to hush him with insistent commands, because he is alone, with the only man who cares lounging somewhere high in the castle, completely aware of his slipping sanity, yet more than willing to let it come and pass.
He must fall asleep on the floor, because he’s woken later by Mathias urging him to sit up, his hands finding Leon’s blood streaked face as he cradles the blonde's head against his chest. And Leon, damn himself - damn everything he’s come to realize - presses as close as he can get to the other, his fingers curling into his robes in a silent plea to smother him with love. Smother him with whatever affection he’s willing to give, because Leon desperately needs something to distract himself from the growing lunacy he feels.
They don’t have sex, but Mathias lies with him for a long time, offering almost melodic words of comfort in his calming, baritone voice, and Leon, like the fool he is, plays right into it and accepts each and every single phrase with a starving smile. He spends the longest time curling strands of Mathias’ dark hair around his fingers, more than happy to just be within his presence.
The kisses come, and they’re as delightful as ever; soft presses of Mathias’ mouth to Leon’s lips, his reddened cheeks, to the curve of his jaw, until his head is being tipped the other way, and Mathias’ mouth is finding his sensitive neck. It’s wonderfully beguiling, such a hypnotic sensation to surrender himself to that mouth. Leon doesn’t think it can get any better past that, but then it does, and it happens with a bite.
This was something he never thought could happen, but it apparently does, and Mathias reveals exactly how acceptable it is for vampires to feed off of each other, for he drains Leon slowly and passionately. His fangs barely hurt, feel nothing like the same pair that were used to turn him, and his lips settle over the puncture wound with delicate purpose, drawing in thick gulps of blood that have Leon sighing out his approval and going dizzy with the loss.
When Mathias finishes, Leon is left suspended in a strange, sated state; like experiencing an afterglow without the sex. Mathias, as always, spends just a little longer with him, cementing all his usual promises of loving Leon, and wanting to keep him safe, wanting to keep him with him for all of eternity and perhaps even into death if it ever finds them.
Leon is left dozing in his bed by the time he leaves, and the numbness offered by Mathias’ bite staves off the bout of insanity he’d experienced earlier and allows him peace of mind for a few hours.
Of course, it wears off like everything else. Leon has long since become accustomed to the cold fingers of doubt and abandonment he feels once his mind has settled again. It doesn’t lessen the hurt, but he at least knows what to expect.
As always, he finds himself sitting in his chair again, eyes unmoving of the spot they’ve settled on, his body like a statue carved from marble. Hours pass, perhaps days, perhaps a week, and Leon doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge exhaustion when it sneaks up on him. Only the servants come to continually light the sconces in his room, and they cast their dying embers across his glinting jewelry and light hair, until Leon’s world is going dark again.
This is his existence, and he knows nothing else besides this room, his heartbreak, and Mathias Cronqvist.