July 1, 1895 — Vampire Caverns

Being a vampire could be quite exhilarating though he did have moments of missing his magic. A lot of moments. However, even when he had been fully wizard, he had used his own brains and resources to do things. Magic had been a tool like any other but not one he could not find a way to replace with muggle means. It just took some ingenuity and testing, both of which he could do.

The one constant was that he did not regret this. He and Ishmael had never been the sentimental types despite having their moments (such as the the ring) - but if he were to love anyone enough to change his whole life and as good as wed himself to, it was Ishmael. Though he would probably throw a drink in the face of anyone non-Ishmael who dared call him out on this to his face.

Much like when he was a human, they tended to come and go as they both liked. Though Monty felt like they were together a little more often than they had been though not as much as when Ishmael had first turned him. Honeymoon phase, he supposed. If one could call an older vampire preventing a younger one from ripping into all of Hogsmeade a Honeymoon phase anyway.

"I feel like dancing," he said languidly from where he had been traipsed across when he heard the familiar footsteps of Ishmael approaching 'their' part of the caverns.

Ishmael

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Monty, more than anyone, ought to have been born a rich gentleman, Ishmael thought. Ishmael had certainly had his moments in his varied life, sometimes playacting in high society, throwing ill-gotten money at things, swanning about and carousing with the higher classes – and he could do it well, when he wanted to. But at his core Ishmael still always felt like the penniless sailor, footsoldier, scrounger and thief he had been in his youth, something he couldn’t shake. He was happier in the low corners: it was how he liked to live.

Monty’s background had never seemed to fit him as well as his audaciously well-made clothes did, somehow. And the caverns were more comfortable than the word caverns suggested – they had their hoards of little luxuries – but really the surrounding forest ought to have been filled with chandeliers and champagne flutes, for it to really suit Monty.

“Do you?” Ishmael dropped into a mock bow for him, and offered his hand to indulge him his fancy. “Strike up the string quartet, then, and we’ll dance.”

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"I do," Monty confirmed. His lips curved into a smile as the other told him to strike up a string quarter. "I nicked this the other night." He tossed a blanket off of a gramophone and got it going. He took Ishmaels hand and smirked at him. "Now you can't say I never brought some romance to this place." The marks by their bed (and probably a couple of their fellow vampires who had wandered too close) probably also attested to that but that was besides the point.

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“Don’t you just think of everything,” Ishmael said, languidly impressed, as Monty struck up the music on a player Ishmael still thought of as new-fangled, though it was hardly new at this point. He liked to keep up with the world as it turned, to keep immersed in it – but it would be strange for Monty, too, to one day feel a little out of time, living past all natural bounds.

But he wasn’t sure how well he needed to keep up with the world, when nowadays he had Monty right here. “And so is this a dance, or a seduction?” He teased, his other hand finding Monty’s side to move in time with the music, closer than they ever would have been as humans in high society. He was almost surprised, sometimes, that there was still as much as romance as ever. Not because he thought Monty would tire of him, but because Ishmael still expected there to come a day Monty would reckon with the bitter downsides of being a vampire.

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Monty chuckled in response to the other vampires words. Still being a young vampire, he had yet to ponder the possibility of the things he was recently introduced to one day being considered vintage items. Though given his temperament, he was likely to adapt well enough but that was something to be discovered in the far future.

"Can it not be both?" He asked before nipping the others jawline. He missed his magic but although he might rarely speak the sentiment: right now, the thought of appearing too much older than his lover and one day leaving him behind in death was still worse. Time would tell if the sentiment would be steadfast.

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“If it’s the latter, we might not make it through the former,” Ishmael joked knowingly, because the seduction was all but unnecessary, and probably would not take the full length of one dance. Especially – Ishmael thought, as Monty grazed his jawline – if that was how Monty was going to play it. Hadn’t he said he felt like dancing? Then they ought to dance, shouldn’t they?

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"You might be right," Monty said with a chuckle. He knew well just how to touch and tease the other to have him wanting him desperately - and it was the same the other way around. After all, they had danced that other dance together for years now. And things had certainly intensified once Ishmael no longer had to hold himself back.

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“I’m always right,” Ishmael put in. Monty was taller, so perhaps he should be leading this slow dance, but since he was doing all the teasing already, Ishmael supposed he could tease him too, in the opposite fashion – he took Monty’s hand up and steered him outward, into a slow spin under his arm and back in towards him, all formality. Dancing, indeed; and never mind how much he wanted to bite him back right now, anywhere – and as hard as he liked, since it could do another of his kind no harm.

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"Not always," Monty said airily as Ishmael took his hand out. He smiled as Ishmael steered him into a slow spin. There was no one else he would deign to allow the audacity to lead him in anything. Ishmael had always been his exception to many of his personal rules and philosophies. He did not see that becoming any different in the years to come.

"You initially chose to decline my suggestion of turning me," he reminded the other pettily, even as he briefly traced his tongue along one side of the others collarbone.

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Ishmael bared his teeth in a rueful smile or an amused grimace. Monty would hold that against him forevermore, wouldn’t he? “Maybe I was right to,” he drawled, just to argue with him, though it was hard to feign real regret for his eventual surrender in that regard when Monty was busy at his collarbone. He caressed the nape of Monty’s neck with one hand, tilting his own head back to give him better access to anywhere he wanted, giving in to the seduction even now, just as Monty had worn him down about the turning. “Maybe you’ll still end up being my most sublime mistake.” He might be a vampire, but it often felt like Monty might still be the death of him, one way or another.

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Monty smirked as Ishmael caressed the nape of his neck, relishing in the touch. He kissed his way up the others throat. "I suppose we will have to wait and see. But for now, I am going to spend the rest of my unlife making you want me desperately," he whispered into the others ear as he let his hands roam.

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“Will you?” Ishmael purred, as if Monty had not already succeeded in that endeavour, and did not reaffirm it most nights they were together. Frequently. “And here I supposed that a man like Monty Morales would have far grander ambitions than that.”

He dug his hands deeper against Monty’s cool skin, because there was no such thing as grasping at him too hard nowadays, no such thing as wanting him too much. But if Monty wanted him to beg – “Exactly how desperate do you want me to be?” Ishmael breathed, only half teasing.

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