March 28th, 1891 — Montys Place

Monty had turned twenty-eight just the week before. On the actual day itself, Monty had been as grandiose as ever, delighting in celebrating his continued presence on Earth. And then as the days passed, he had become increasingly moody. Turning twenty-eight no longer felt as grand as he came to realize something.

He was increasingly looking obviously older than Ishmael, his immortal lover. He would become old someday with wrinkles and white hair whereas Ishmael would be young and beautiful forever. Albeit kind of corpsey.

As he gazed into his vanity mirror, he periodically glanced over his shoulder at Ishmael as the vampire lounged on the bed behind him, comparing despite himself. He didn't look too much older right now. Especially given Ishmael's physical vampire traits. But still...

"Have you ever considered turning anyone?" Namely, him? Who wouldn't want to be around him for eternity?

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Ishmael / Elias Grimstone

  

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“I have turned people,” Ishmael reminded him dryly, thinking about Azazel. (About whom he was sure he had explained a little to Monty from time to time, as far as he could mention her antics without delving into overt talk of ex-lovers, which was a conversation better not begun.) “Nothing like a bad fucking accident that can decide to come back to bite you.”

Metaphorically, obviously. He had done the biting; that had been the problem. He’d been young and inexperienced and -

Oh. Ishmael had just looked up, caught Monty looking at himself in the mirror, realised perhaps it was not just the passing question he had taken it for. Oh. That was a - loaded question.

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   Reuben Crouch

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"Well yes but I mean recently." He had heard about Azazel and had been keen enough to notice that she had sometimes caused his lover stress. He was also pretty sure he remembered Ishmael mentioning some buddy he had once turned who had been a little ungrateful about it.

Becoming a vampire also meant losing his magic - would that be a price he was willing to pay to be forever young? Monty personally thought he was rather ingenious even without use of a wand. He had almost always gotten by with street smarts rather than spellwork.

"We've been lovers for quite a while. Has it truly never crossed your mind to turn me? Even once?" He turned in his seat to scrutinize the vampires expression.

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If Ishmael did try again, he had at least learnt a few lessons from the first disasters. Namely: new vampires needed help. A lot of it, or there was a lot of messy self-teaching involved. Also namely: that people he had liked in life could be, in undeath, un-fucking-bearable.

“It’s crossed my mind,” Ishmael said finally, purposefully non-committal. He had drunk from Monty before, so of course he had been forced to consider all the consequences, every conceivable option and ending for them: turning him, accidentally killing him, just letting nature run its course and enjoying the time they had, possibly leaving one night and fleeing across the world to forget him. He loved Monty, he did, and if he turned anyone it would be him, but -

But ‘forever’ was a much bigger commitment than ‘now’, and there were plenty of ways it could go awry, be it in a day or in another century. So Ishmael eyed him with a healthy dose of skepticism. “It’s crossed yours, has it?” Evidently, yes, but was he casually asking or was he asking?

He glanced at the mirror, at Monty’s perfectly unlined face. Or was this just about his bloody birthday?

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   Cassius Lestrange, Monty Morales, Reuben Crouch

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Monty was not wholly surprised that it had crossed Ishmaels mind and he felt a sense of vindication. It wasn't that he doubted the vampires feelings for him but he was mortal and Ishmael had lived for many years more than he had. Had surely had other loves that were now either dead, old or left behind.

"It has," he answered, standing up from the vanity and pacing a bit in a rare show of nerves. What if Ishmael didn't want to? He had only said it had crossed his mind. What if it had and the vampire had vetoed the idea.

"Fleetingly before but more seriously these days. If I asked you to - would you?" If Ishmael would not, there were other vampires he could probably go to. But none he literally could trust with his life as he did Ishmael. Besides, there was a sense of romance in Ishmael being the one, Monty felt.

So. It would be Ishmael or no one when it came to possibly trading his mortality and magic in for vampirism and eternal youth.

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Oh. He did mean seriously; he really meant it, otherwise he wouldn’t have stood up like that, gotten weird and slightly jittery and begun that aimless pacing. It was very un-Monty of him. Almost in counter to this, Ishmael stayed perfectly still where he was reclining, like if he just didn’t react, he could convince himself they were having a casual conversation. That there was nothing in it that deserved an answer.

Monty probably deserved an answer. And it wasn’t like Ishmael didn’t know which the right answer was, which he would want to hear, but...

He lay back a little more to gaze at the ceiling rather than drink in Monty’s expectant face. When he eventually spoke, his tone was dry and laconic. “You think you could survive without seeing your own reflection every day?” Ishmael jerked his chin briefly towards the mirror to labour the point.

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That thought had definitely given him pause. How could he live without seeing his perfection? How could he be sure he had applied the eye makeup he pretended was nature perfectly? It was definitely something that would have the scales leaning heavily in favour of staying human.

"That would be horrid, yes. But I think other things might just outweigh it," Monty finally answered. "And if I choose to become as you are, it would need to be you. Just you. I wouldn't trust any other of the vampires in my acquaintance." Those words had him feeling vulnerable so he kept his gaze on anything but the vampire in his bed.

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If they had just been joking about it, Ishmael would have laughed easily at the question he’d raised, but instead his jaw was firmly clenched as he considered it. Not only would Monty lose that luxury, he’d lose his looks - at least in one way, if keep his youth in another. He’d lose his magic, too, and maybe Monty didn’t think he’d mind that now, but Ishmael wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up missing it. And, selfishly, Ishmael would miss it; because of all the wizards he knew, he didn’t trust any like he trusted Monty, could not rely on any of them the way he did with this.

Just as Monty couldn’t trust another vampire, he supposed. That was fair: Ishmael would not have trusted any vampire except himself either. No one else had his self-possession or his ability to steer clear of trouble, if he did say so himself. He made a noise of approval at this, in agreement enough purely out of pragmatism. (Although Monty, he mused, might be a little more sentimental, if he was avoiding his eye for a reason.)

But just because Ishmael could do it didn’t mean he wanted to. “What other things?” he pressed, needing more reason than just it had crossed his mind, even seriously. “And why now?” It was not as though becoming a vampire had any real requirements, needed a whole rigorous application form or anything, but - if Ishmael was going to turn anyone at his age, on purpose, he could damn well afford to be choosy about it.

...Hopefully Monty would not take this personally.

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   Monty Morales

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"Eternal life, not losing my youth.. you," Monty answered when Ishmael pressed him for what he meant by 'other things'. When you really thought about it though, there was little reason to willingly become a vampire other than not wanting to die someday. Monty didn't know what he had been expecting but he hadn't been expecting all this resistance, all these questions about why.

Was it really so ludicrous for him to become a vampire?

Monty was taking it very personally that Ishmael seemed so against it. "Why not now? When I am still young and virile? Or was I always meant to be a temporary stopover in your life?"

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   Ishmael

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Ishmael felt a pang at you, because he wanted to believe it, he really did. But he also felt a twinge of guilt at Monty’s eagerness to give up all the rest of it; Ishmael knew he might make it seem like he was blasé about living this way, like there were only upsides to being a vampire, but... there were downsides too. And how would he feel, if Monty ever came to regret the choice? Or worse, one day blamed him for it? Never mind the yawning, meaningless shape life took when it was too long, never mind the difficulties of drinking blood or lacking magic or existing in a world where everyone was suspicious of or outright hostile to you: there were human things to miss. Ishmael was too old already to remember some of them, but even something as simple as the sun on his skin was another thing Monty would lose. Ishmael had learned to like his life - had learned to make the best of it - but he was less sure, presently, whether it was truly something he wanted to make anyone else face forever.

But he had to snort aloud at young and virile, had to sit up now and perch, a little tensely, on the side of the bed to properly exhibit his utter disbelief. If this was going to be a fight, better have it face to face. Monty was still in his twenties, for Merlin’s sake, he had a whole long life stretching out in front of him and he wasn’t going to go bald or decrepit or die tomorrow, fucking hell, there wasn’t a rush. (He almost wouldn’t be surprised if Monty was talking about now and meaning tonight by it.)

“So why not in another decade or two? Or three?” Ishmael retorted, with a little more acrimony in his mouth than he had perhaps intended. “Since you’re so confident we’ll make it there.” How long had they been together, really together? A year or two, a few years more in the same gang of thieves: but what Monty didn’t understand was that was nothing, Ishmael had known people for longer stints than that before things had gone terribly sour one way or another, and that was when they’d still been human. “Or was I just meant to be your shortcut to eternal youth? Was that the long con here?”

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   Monty Morales, Reuben Crouch

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"Because I will look much older than you in decades from now," Monty snapped back to Ishmaels retort. He was vain and he did not want to look like a man who had a much younger lover. And never mind that it wasn't like the rest of the world would know aside from their trusted few due to the nature of their relationship and the fact that they were both men. One never knew what the future might bring, after all.

He somehow got even angrier at Ishmaels next words. "No. I'm in love with you and I don't love anyone," Monty said firmly, hating even having to say such vulnerable things out loud.  The only being he had ever loved in life was himself. At least, until Ishmael. And he didn't appreciate that being disparaged. "You're hardly the only vampire I know so obviously it isn't that."

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   Ishmael

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Oh, fuck off. As if that was important. Admittedly, Monty had a point – was making some sense – but this whole conversation had rattled Ishmael enough that he wasn’t sure he cared whether he could see sense in it or not. He could ascribe this all to vanity, or ascribe it all to the sheer strength of this – affection; but that didn’t change the instinct coiled in his gut, the knowledge that this was a bad idea.

Fluidly, he sprang to his feet before Monty and the mirror, feeling caged and restless in this room, like he wanted to grasp him by the shoulders and shake him until he understood. “And if I say no?” Ishmael challenged, staring hard at him. Just you, he had declared; he didn’t trust any other vampire. But would he hold to that if Ishmael didn’t give him what he wanted? “If I say trust me,” he said, the words scraping harshly in his throat, “you don’t want this?”

The longer they entertained this, the more the lies Ishmael had built up around himself in the last century would begin to crumble. And if he admitted it aloud he might never be able to rebuild the world in quite the same way – might never be able to pretend being a vampire was a good thing again. And there was a stark truth sitting somewhere amidst those lies, that Ishmael loved him too. Loved him badly. That was a certainty: he didn’t want to lose him. He didn’t even want to think about this ending, but... but he couldn’t say yes and see him suffer eternally, either. And if things went wrong and they parted ways after Monty had been made a vampire – well, what if Ishmael never got over him at all? He’d forgotten plenty of things and plenty of people (and if he never crossed paths with Azazel again it would be too soon) but... how would he ever be able to exist carelessly in the world then, knowing Monty was still somewhere in it?

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   Monty Morales

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Monty kept his eyes on Ishmael as the vampire sprang to his feet. It had occurred to him that Ishmael might decline but that still did not fully prepare him to hear it said so forcefully. "Then I guess that will be the choice made for me," Monty said because he hadn't been lying. Any other vampire would be considered lucky to get anywhere near his neck, let alone turning him.

Still, pain coiled in his gut which in Monty, often manifested in anger. He would respect that Ishmael didn't want to for the most part but that didn't mean he was not pissed. There had always been something fragile in how vulnerable Monty allowed his walls to get around anyone. And with Ishmaels forceful rejection, they went solidly back up.

"Leave. I want to be alone."

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   Ishmael

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Then I guess that will be the choice made for me.

Oh. Ishmael almost hadn’t trusted that Monty would respect his decision; he had been worried he’d go out and do something stupid out of spite. “Monty –” Ishmael said suddenly, wanting to say wait; this wasn’t what I wanted; you don’t understand, I love you. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t just turn him because Monty thought he wanted it, and there was no possible compromise here: one of them would get their way, and the other wouldn’t.

They had quarrelled before. Bitter arguments, plenty of disagreements, but – this was worse, and Ishmael teetered there on the spot, tempted to grasp him by the hand or sink his teeth into his neck right now, to see just how he liked it when it was really happening, but –

But Monty was burning with anger in a new way and a little distance was the surest way to quench those flames without further regret. Ishmael stiffened where he stood. “Fine. If you’re going to be a bloody child about it –” he shook his head, and wrenched open the door. “Fine.” He’d leave him to sulk, then, and hope that sooner or later Monty would forget about this.

(Sooner rather than later, Ishmael hoped. Since only one of them had the luxury of time.)

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Monty eyed the vampire expectantly when he said his name. Disappointment pooled in his gut when no other words followed. He didn't really know what he had been expecting Ishmael to say to him anyway. He doubted Ishmael would change his mind when he was so adamant about it.

Ishmael only increased Montys irritation once he finally did speak again. He was tempted to call Ishmael back, to apologize though for what he didn't know, but his pride saw him glaring at the vampire as he made his exit.

Montys heart ached as he sat back down at his vanity and stared at his appearance. He loved Ishmael and the very idea of the vampire going on in his existence without him was too much to bear. He hoped that would pass in time but he couldn't see why it would when the outcome would probably always be the same.

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