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How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December’s bareness everywhere!
And yet this time remov’d was summer’s time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widow’d wombs after their lords’ decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem’d to me
But hope of orphans and unfather’d fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.
– William Shakespeare, Sonnet 97
The moon is high in the sky on Christmas Eve when Trevor comes home.
It’s a cloudless midwinter night, as clear and crisp as the edge of a blade. Moonlight slants down in muted, brilliant silver sheets, so bright it’s as if some mischievous god is pouring quicksilver through the trees, making it drip onto the forest floor. It transforms the barren, desolate landscape around him into a breathless thing of beauty, time seeming to be suspended in every silver-limned leaf coated in verglas and every branch dripping with long spindly fingers of ice, every spun-sugar spiderweb stretching between the trees.
Snow and dead leaves crunch beneath his boots with every weary step he takes as he makes his way towards the castle, a strange kind of warmth unfurling in his chest despite the winter chill and the fatigue settled heavy in his bones. It’s been a long, long time since his returning somewhere after being away had felt like coming home.
An ironic little breath escapes him, a wry huff that comes out in a cloud of white mist before dissipating into the frigid air a moment later. He isn’t quite sure when his life had come to the point where Dracula’s castle of all places is home to him now—but perhaps it isn’t just the castle itself, but who he shares it with as well.
He glances up at the moon as he climbs the castle steps, a plump, perfect argent globe directly overhead nestled among the stars that glitter like a handful of diamonds flung carelessly across the crushed midnight-blue velvet of the sky. It must be midnight or nearing it, and Adrian and Sypha will likely be asleep; they probably aren’t expecting him for another few days at least.
He jogs the last few steps to the front doors, thoughts of seeing them spurring him on to move quicker as he reaches them. They give way easily beneath his touch, swinging open the moment he lays a hand on it without so much as a creak of discontent.
An almost involuntary exhale of relief escapes him the moment the doors slide shut smoothly behind him; the inside of the castle is mercifully warm, the candles lining the entrance hall lit and glowing softly. They leap and flicker as he walks by, sending elongated shadows sliding across the walls, and somewhere far above he can hear the chandeliers swaying gently with the soft tinkle of crystal.
As used to the castle as he and Sypha have become over the last year it’s slowly warmed up to them just as much, opening up doors and corridors instead of sealing them just before they walk through and leveling the floors instead of sending floorboards shooting upward to trip them up. Now it’s always on its best behavior when they’re around, and Adrian always laughs and says that the only person the castle had taken more of a liking to than them was his mother.
Maybe even more of a liking, he would say if he were here now, shaking his head with a bemused little smile on his face. At this rate it’ll prefer the two of you to me by the time the year is up.
He notices wreaths of holly and slender vines of mistletoe winding their way up the pillars and the banisters as he climbs the steps, likely courtesy of Sypha. He imagines she’s the one behind the strings of tiny self-lighting golden bulbs that had adorned the front doors as well, and he allows himself a smile as he trails a hand up the delicate circlet of emerald leaves and the cluster of blood-red berries at their center.
He heads into the west wing where most of the bedrooms are, the corridor lit to near-brightness by the moonlight that leaches in from the windows. It’s entirely still and waiting almost, like the castle and the serene snow-blanketed country outside is holding its breath in anticipation.
Only one door is ever so slightly ajar, letting out a slice of soft orange firelight. He pushes it open with his fingertips and steps inside, allowing it to slide shut behind him with a soft click. It takes his eyes a moment or two to adjust to the dimness, the gauzy curtains closed halfway and the fire in the grate reduced to a bed of gently glowing coals. It barely illuminates the bed in the middle of the room and the two figures lying entwined on top of it, half-buried beneath a pile of blankets.
What little firelight reaches the bed allows him the barest glimpses of them, impressions and suggestions of them in the dark; the pale cascade of Adrian’s hair spread out over the pillow and the delicate, rounded curve of Sypha’s shoulder, the scars there gilded by the light and turned to threads of gold woven into her skin. He can hear their breathing, shallow and disjointed in sleep, the soft sounds of Sypha’s snores reaching his ears even from halfway across the room.
The warmth that had been gathering in his chest earlier swells bigger and brighter as he looks at them, an ache of fondness pressing against the back of his throat; it’s only been a week since he had left, but he had missed them inexpressibly.
Careful to be quiet so as not to wake them he toes off his boots, unlooping his whip and unbuckling his bracers and his belt before padding across the room to hang up his weapons. He’s beginning to strip off his shirt when a flash of gold in his periphery catches his eye, making him turn his head almost involuntarily towards it.
“You’re back,” Adrian says quietly, his eyes open and reflecting the ruddy light of the embers in the grate, making them glow an eerie yellow in the dimness like a cat’s. He holds out a hand and Trevor makes his way across the room to take it, their fingers lacing together. Adrian’s are warmer than usual from all the blankets and the body heat his skin had leached from Sypha’s, thawing Trevor’s icy ones.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says softly, his thumb running lightly over Adrian’s knuckles. “It’s late.”
Adrian’s lips curve up into a drowsy little smile and for one breathless moment it transfixes him, everything else falling away but for being looked at with such adoration, being on the other end of the warmth in those golden eyes. Suddenly the last week without them becomes years, seeming to stretch out interminably in his mind.
“You’re not slipping through our fingers so easily,” Adrian says. “Come here.”
His fingers tighten on Trevor’s and then he’s tugging him down, nearly making him lose balance as their faces collide clumsily, Adrian’s nose bumping against his chin. They both draw back, giggling breathlessly, and then long fingers are sliding into his hair, drawing him back down and tilting his head to kiss him properly. He feels himself melt into it, his eyes drifting shut as Adrian’s lips move over his in patient, thorough caresses.
Trevor braces a hand on his shoulder and tries to keep up, Adrian’s skin smooth and cool against his fingers, familiar and warming rapidly beneath his touch. Adrian’s tongue sweeps over his bottom lip and curls against his own when he parts his lips to let him in, tasting of wine and snow and nutmeg.
“I missed you,” Trevor murmurs between kisses, his hand sliding up Adrian’s neck and into his hair, feeling the soft pliant locks of it like corn silk against his fingers. He feels Adrian exhale, his breath warm against Trevor’s lips before he pulls away, his eyes wide and shimmering and dark.
“I missed you, too.” His thumb traces gently across Trevor’s cheek, a featherlight brush of skin on skin. “We both did.”
He pulls Trevor in for one last quick kiss before letting him go, propping himself up on his elbows and wresting himself upright, raking his fingers through his hair. He turns to put a hand on Sypha’s shoulder and Trevor almost tells him he doesn’t have to, that he’d prefer not to wake her—but he knows she would murder them both if she ever found out they hadn’t woken her after Trevor returned.
She makes an inarticulate, mewling sound of protest as Adrian gently shakes her awake, reaching out to brush her tangled cloud of curls out of her face. Her eyes are still screwed shut as she mumbles something soft and unintelligible, turning her face into Adrian’s hand like a sleepy kitten. He gives her another light shake, leaning in to murmur in her ear and tenderly kiss her awake, drawing back when her eyes flutter open at last.
“What happened?” she mumbles, blinking sleepily as she turns towards Adrian, still clearly not quite awake. “What’s—”
“He’s home,” is all Adrian says simply, and then she’s sitting up, all drowsiness forgotten as she looks around with wide beautiful eyes that fall on him a moment later. Her face breaks out into a dazzling smile that leaves him a little tongue-tied and then she’s holding her hands out to him and all he can do is reach out and take them.
She pulls him forward with a startlingly forceful strength considering she had been fast asleep not half a minute ago, and a moment later he’s sprawling across Adrian’s lap in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets, laughing as Sypha presses kiss after kiss after kiss to his lips. Her hands come to rest on either side of his face, holding him to her, her mouth soft and yielding. He feels Adrian’s hand settle on his back, rubbing slow and careful circles down his spine before smoothing back up again as if to anchor him, tether him to earth lest he go entirely unmoored in the feeling of being in their arms again after so many days of being without them.
He holds himself up with a hand braced on the mattress, reaching out to loop an arm around Sypha’s waist to tug her in close, nipping softly at her lower lip the way he knows she likes. She hums gratifyingly against his mouth before pulling back, beaming at him with flushed cheeks and bright eyes and lips swollen from kisses.
“You’re home early,” she says, her fingers combing through his hair as she looks down at him fondly. “I thought you would be here on the eve of the new year.”
“Thought I’d surprise you.” He settles a chaste hand on her hip, fingers brushing over her soft, unmarked skin. “I got back as quickly as I could.”
“Hmm.” She runs a critical eye over him, lingering on the dust and grime settled on him in a fine coating, clinging to the sweat on his skin. “I can tell.”
“Rude.” He stretches with a sigh, feeling his already sore and aching muscles twinge and throb as he does. “It’s not like I could jump into a river to get clean, they’re all iced over. I haven’t bathed in at least five days.”
“Well, perhaps we should rectify that, then,” says Adrian, his hand stilling at Trevor’s nape.
“It’s nearly midnight,” Trevor laughs. “You’re going to scrub me down now?”
“Why not?” Trevor can hear the smile in his voice. “We’re all awake, and it’ll do you some good to get clean before we go to bed.”
“The water will be hot, too,” Sypha says with a grin, her eyes glittering imperiously. He’s particularly familiar with that look; it usually means that he’s powerless but to bend like a reed in the wind to her will. “We promise we’ll do all the hard work for you as well. We insist, don’t we, Adrian?”
“Very much so,” Adrian murmurs, his nails scratching ever so lightly over the back of his neck and sending a shiver scampering down his spine. “Shall we, then?”
Which is how five minutes later Trevor finds himself being manhandled out of the rest of his clothes and into a gently steaming bath, the fragrant oil Adrian had poured onto it lending a light sheen to the surface of the water. It ripples lightly, pulsating arrays of color spangling the walls with the movement as the candlelight glances off of it.
The water is hot, just a few degrees south of scalding, but it’s more soothing than anything else; he lets out an involuntary groan as his rigid muscles loosen considerably when he lowers himself into it, his eyes slipping closed as he rests his head back against the edge of the tub. It feels indescribably good to submerge himself into hot clean water after days of grimy travel, the weight of the scented water already beginning to dissolve the worst of it.
He leans his head back lazily to watch Adrian and Sypha undress, allowing his eyes to roam over them, over the candlelit shadows that caress their skin like a lover’s adoring hands. His gaze lingers on the lithe hard lines of Adrian’s stomach standing out in stark relief as he lifts his arms to tie his hair back and the smooth creamy expanse of Sypha’s thighs, her soft unblemished skin like flawless marble as she steps into the bath.
Adrian gets in behind him, his chest curving against Trevor’s back and his legs bracketed by Adrian’s on either side, his head fitting to curve between his neck and shoulder. Sypha deposits herself in between his legs, the humidity of the steam wafting through the air making her hair spring free in adorably frizzy curls. The movement effectively pins Trevor between them—it’s his favorite place in the world to be, though he’d never give them the satisfaction of saying it aloud.
They waste a few long, blissful minutes trading lazy kisses, hands made slow and clumsy by the water languidly searching for each other’s skin. Eventually Adrian draws back and swats Trevor’s wandering hands away, sternly saying something about how they’re here to get clean and not the other way around.
He carefully washes Trevor’s hair as Sypha sponges the worst of the dust off his body, occasionally leaning in to peck his lips absentmindedly. All he can do is shut his eyes and allow them to take care of him with gentle attentive hands, washing away the grime and dirt of the last week’s travels. He feels safe and impossibly content in their arms, letting himself relax entirely into their shared embrace.
“So,” Sypha murmurs as her fingers glide over his chest, “how did it go? Did you manage to track down that nest?”
“Yeah,” he says on an exhale of breath. “Sneaky fuckers nearly gave me the slip near the end, but I found them eventually.”
“I imagine this was courtesy of one of them,” Adrian says softly, his fingers finding a half-healed gash on his side. “It looks deep.”
“It was.” He shrugs. “I managed to stitch it up when I got an hour or two in between. It healed up all right.”
“Hmm.” Adrian’s fingertips ghost over the ragged, raised edges of the cut, making goosebumps break out over Trevor’s skin. “I’ll give you something to close this properly tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t hurt. Much,” he amends at Sypha’s raised eyebrow, and she shakes her head with a bemused smile, trailing her hands over the bruises on his chest and sides. “You never could stay out of trouble.”
“Well, in this case I did go looking for it.”
She gives a noncommittal hum in reply, leaning forward to press a slow, languorous line of kisses down the column of his throat. It makes an involuntary little shiver run through his whole body, his hands reaching out to grip her hips and pull her into his lap. Her knees lock around his hips as she seats herself more firmly between his thighs, her maddening trail of kisses stopping just below where the water laps gently against his stomach, lukewarm now.
He feels cool fingers slide up his throat and press insistently to his jaw, turning his face towards Adrian’s. Their lips meet in a searing, openmouthed kiss, Adrian’s other hand splaying over his chest and forming a cage directly above his heart. It’s somehow simultaneously possessive and tender, and there’s a strange sort of comfort in being held against Adrian’s body with such unequivocal command; his arms render Trevor unable to twist free, his mouth demanding and unyielding, but thoughts of dissent are the furthest thing from his mind.
It’s a slow, deep kiss, all breath and teeth and tongues tangling together, amplifying the perpetually-atypical feeling of feeling safe in the clutches of a vampire. He’s out of breath when Adrian finally relents and leans back, lips parted and pupils blown wide. Lambent, pulsing desire fans into an untamed inferno low in his stomach, filling his veins with liquid fire.
“Maybe we should—” Trevor’s voice is scratchy and hoarse and he clears his throat, swallowing hard. “The water’s getting cold. We should probably go back to bed.”
Adrian dips his head and bites gently at the curve of his throat. “Have we tired you out already?”
“I’d prefer not to be ravished while soaking wet and freezing my arse off,” Trevor mutters, reaching behind him and poking Adrian’s side till he relinquishes his hold on Trevor. “Come on, get up.”
They manage to get out of the bath and dry themselves off with minimal grousing, and by the time they drain the bath and snuff the candles out they’re all beginning to get impatient again. Thankfully the walk to their bedroom isn’t too long, and when four hands finally push Trevor down onto the bed and pin him flat on his back he doesn’t protest, merely reaching to pull them down on top of him.
Adrian and Sypha are more than happy to oblige, sandwiching Trevor between them and subjecting him to the exquisite torture of four hands and two mouths, Sypha’s fingers in his hair and Adrian’s teeth sucking up a mark on the back of his neck. He yields to them willingly, one hand curling around the small of Sypha’s back and the other reaching behind him to fist into Adrian’s hair.
He slides a hand in between Sypha’s thighs just as one of Adrian’s slides between his, and Sypha parts her lips just in time to catch his startled gasp in her mouth. It’s been a long few days without this, his body as hungry and desperate for them as he is—and Adrian knows it because he knows him, is more familiar with what he wants than even he himself is. He works two oil-slick fingers in to stretch Trevor open without forewarning, steadying him with a hand on his hip.
Sypha briefly distracts him with a hard, driving kiss and he tugs her closer, his fingers finding the molten heat between her legs. She murmurs sweet nothings into his mouth, rocking her hips into his hand as he slips a finger into her, his thumb dipping down to rub firmly at her clit.
She shudders with a moan, her back arching and baring the gorgeous curve of her throat to his seeking mouth. He leaves a trail of love bites down her neck, his tongue tracing over the welts a moment later to soothe the sore spots. She moans again, her hips grinding down into his touch just as Adrian pushes a third finger into him, scissoring them carefully as his teeth graze the arch of his shoulder.
He hears himself swear, feels the faint burn of the stretch that’s far too close to pleasure to be pain, one that feels like Adrian is stoking a fire at the base of his spine slow but sure. He’s as starved for this as Trevor is; there’s none of his usual lazy teasing, no excruciatingly thorough preparation of his body. He curls and thrusts his fingers into Trevor with a reckless voracity, hard enough to make him see stars.
He leans his head against the curve of Sypha’s neck, breathing hard as he slides another finger into her, relishing in the hitch in her breath. He feels Adrian’s hand withdraw and then Sypha is lifting a knee over his hip, lacing his fingers with hers and pinning his arm to the mattress.
A strong, wiry arm wraps around his waist to hold him in place and he doesn’t resist, his head falling back against Adrian’s shoulder as he eases into Trevor slowly, his breaths hot and harsh on his skin. They both groan as he sheathes himself inside Trevor fully, their hips slotting together. The movement jolts him forward and Sypha hooks her leg higher over his waist as it does, using the momentum to angle her hips and take him inside her in a single smooth thrust.
It punches a soft noise out of him, half a sigh and half a moan as they press up against him on either side, their bodies slotting together. He shuts his eyes, his breaths escaping harsh and uneven through his mouth as they still for a moment, allowing the overwhelming feeling of both of them to mellow and tip over the barely-distinguishable line between pain and pleasure.
He feels Adrian exhale measured and deliberate against the back of his neck, feels Sypha’s nails bite harder into his shoulders and then they’re both moving with Trevor caught in between, every slow, hard thrust of Adrian’s hips pushing him forward into Sypha. It’s almost too much but not quite enough at the same time, the exquisite burn of Adrian stretching him with each thrust and Sypha’s irresistible velvety heat rippling around his cock, clutching at him like a silken fist that pulls him in deeper every time their hips meet.
Adrian is pressing quick, toothy kisses to the curve of his neck, nipping at his skin hard enough to bruise but not cut, his arm tightening around Trevor’s waist. They’re both taking him apart slow and meticulous, rocking against him in that same languid, unhurried pace. It’s getting harder and harder to stay quiet, needy little gasps and moans forcing their way past his lips along with an inarticulate litany of pleas and their names that Sypha greedily swallows down, her kisses messy and bruising.
He slides his free hand down her body and tilts his head to kiss her back as he rubs his thumb to her clit again, feeling her clench deliciously around him as he does. They both groan, the searing coil of pure sensation low in his stomach jerking tight as she grasps a fistful of his hair, tugging just hard enough for a dart of heat to shoot down his spine.
Adrian cants his hips up, his breaths harsh on the nape of his neck as the head of his cock scrapes against a spot inside Trevor that makes everything go white for a second, a startled bitten-off oath scraping past his throat. Adrian seems to take it as an invitation to angle his hips and hit the same spot inside him with every hard, deep thrust, and it feels so good that coherency deserts him entirely, his lips parting but no sound coming out.
Sypha kisses her way up the line of his jaw, her breath warm and tickling. “Come for us, Trevor,” she purrs into his ear, her voice low and sultry, and as if his body were waiting for her command, he does.
It’s sudden, overpowering almost, blotting everything else out but for searing waves of pleasure that ripple up his body from his toes upward. He thinks he gasps their names but he can’t be sure, sensation crackling through him in heady shockwaves that leave him breathless in their wake. Everything else fades away but the feeling of them there and close, hearing Sypha come apart in the circle of his arm with one of her soft keening cries and Adrian following a moment later with a sharp gasp, spilling himself into Trevor in short, shuddering bursts.
Once the room stops spinning and the world settles back into place around him he finds himself squished between them, draped in arms and legs, the sweat on their skin cooling rapidly in the chilly air. It takes a few minutes for their breathing to even out into some semblance of steadiness, for his galloping pulse to return to normal. He turns his face into Sypha’s hair and breathes her in, sweat and sex and a familiarity so intense that it digs a hook under his ribs and tugs.
“God, I missed you,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Both of you. So much.”
“We missed you too, darling,” she murmurs, her fingers lingering on his cheek. He feels Adrian shift closer behind him, draping an arm over his side as he presses a chaste kiss below his ear. They stay like that awhile, merely soaking in each other’s warmth and nearness. Adrian’s fingers gravitate towards his hair again, gently rubbing the back of his neck and making ripples of drowsiness spread down his body.
He props his chin onto Sypha’s shoulder. “I saw your decorations in the entrance hall, by the way,” he mumbles.
“Mmhmm.” She cups his cheek in her palm, leaning down to kiss him. “Did you like them?”
“Very festive,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Which I thought was odd.”
“Why?”
“Sypha,” he laughs, “you don’t give a shit about Christmas, and neither does Adrian.”
“Well, you do,” she says as if stating something that should be obvious. “You said it reminds you of your family and your childhood, and how on the road memories of them would always be stronger on Christmas. It was clear that it meant something more to you than just another holiday, so we thought to partake in some merriment this year.”
“You…” He blinks, thrown. “When did I say that?”
“Last year,” says Adrian, his fingers still combing carefully through Trevor’s hair. “In those few days after we killed my father. You don’t remember?”
“No, of course I don’t…” It had probably been an offhand comment, a passing mention of it in fleeting conversation. But they had both latched onto it anyway, had heard the words that had gone unsaid; how for all those years on the road drifting it had almost physically hurt to think about the laughter and the song and the lights, freezing and shivering alone in the woods with nothing but matchsticks and memories to keep him warm.
“Trevor?” Sypha’s voice is small and quiet, worried almost. “We—should we not have? If it’s—”
“No—no.” He tugs her down, presses a quick, hard kiss to her mouth. “Fuck, Sypha, I don’t even remember saying that and you both—” He kisses her again, and again and again, unable to say anything that can convey whatever this emotion is that’s billowing up inside him in swelling clouds. Well—almost anything.
“I love you,” he murmurs fervently against her mouth, reaching back to grip Adrian’s hip because the words are for both of them, always and only for both of them. “I love that you put up those stupid decorations even if you didn’t have to, and I love that you remembered even if you didn’t have to.”
He feels her soft exhale of relief as she kisses him back, her arms wrapping around him to pull him closer. “We were worried you’d hate them,” she says, “or that they’d unintentionally evoke bad memories, or…”
“We can make new memories,” he says, gripping them both tighter. “Better ones. We already have.”
Adrian’s fingers tug at his hair, turning his head to place a kiss of his own to Trevor’s mouth. “We love you too,” he says softly, his eyes soft and fond as he looks at Trevor. “And we’re very happy you’re home.”
“Just in time, too,” Sypha says with a laugh as the slow, rich toll of the clock on the mantel sounds at the heels of Adrian’s words, chiming midnight. “Merry Christmas, my loves.”
Adrian puts his arms around them both, gathering them close and pressing a kiss to Trevor’s hair. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Trevor says softly, smiling a little to himself, relaxing into both of them and closing his eyes. Wordlessly they all curl around each other and fall asleep entwined with no beginning and no end, the shared weight of their unspoken promises like a cradle where their future can lie, somewhere safe and peaceful, holding worlds.