Monty chuckled in response to Ishmaels words, something in him not believing it from the way Ishmael said it. So younger than that, at least. "Ah, I see. Do you feel relief that he did not know what you have become?" Monty personally did not care if his family knew what had become of him. They probably thought he had died by now.

"I cannot imagine it would do much good to up and say 'hello, I am your great-granduncle' looking like you do." If that were to happen to Monty, he would dismiss it as a con.

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“What I’ve become,” Ishmael echoed, almost smirking to himself at the very thought. “Which part of a godless, deviant, immortal, blood-drinking criminal? I think every piece of would have been enough to kill him twice over.” He laughed, because it was hard not to, but in truth thinking about his father - or that vague haze of him that he had left, memories so far removed from any real sensation of those times - might have made him strangely sorrowful, if he had been alone.

It would be a lot for any great-great nephews to swallow, too. “I would be the worst kind of surprise, I’m sure,” Ishmael said with pride. Not that it mattered, the thought of family - at least not while he had Monty. After Monty he might feel differently.

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Monty laughed slightly as Ishmael ticked off all the things that he was. He personally liked Ishmael exactly the way he was. But then again, a lover and partner in crimes opinion was very much different than those of a parents. Though Monty was also the sort who did not take much heed in anyones opinion but his own. Ishmael enjoyed the rare honour in actually having Monty care about his.

"Well, we are each others family now. For the most part, aren't we." Monty said in a rare show of sentiment, more statement than a question.

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From this distance, in this company, it was awfully easy to laugh. About this, about that, about very nearly anything: it was what Monty did best, that devil-may-care unconcern.

So it was a rare gem to hear him admit such a thing, and Ishmael leant in towards him, meaning to press a lazy kiss to his jaw in agreement. He paused just a fraction away, though, mouth tugging up at the corner in protest. “Only for the most part, hm?”

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Monty chuckled in response to Ishmaels protest. "A majority of it, then?" He said teasingly as he brushed his lips against Ishmaels jaw. "You know I love you, right?" They had admitted to it some time ago but Monty had not said the actual words. He lowkey just expected Ishmael to know through his actions that his admission from back then was still the same now.

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   Ishmael

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He had expected the brush of lips to be returned, the touches, the teasing - not more than that, and Ishmael had not particularly been digging for more with his own jibe, but Monty had given it all the same. You know I love you: and Ishmael did, or at least he knew how he felt and had taken it for granted that somewhere, beneath his layers and layers of insufferable vanity that Monty probably did too. But they were not really in the business of making commitments or grand declarations, and even this admission was worth its weight in gold.

So. It might be worth hearing it once or twice again, see how much he could wring out of him. “Sorry,” Ishmael said, feigning an unaffected expression and pretending to be suddenly and extraordinarily and - impossibly, for a vampire - deaf. “I didn’t catch that.”

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Monty snorted as Ishmael pretended that he hadn't heard a thing. "I said you're a git," Monty said teasingly. He pressed a kiss against Ishmaels lips before pulling back to speak once more. "I said I love you. And now I probably will not say it again unless one of us is dying." He was teasing. Mostly.

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Ishmael feigned a pout at that petty answer, though behind it, in his eyes, he was smiling; he knew exactly what Monty had said and he could cling to that almost better for its rarity. Only - there it was again, and this time Ishmael grinned properly, held that grin even though the future cast in one of us is dying shook him slightly: unless Ishmael died by violence or starvation, neither of which he planned on, he knew which one of them it would be.

Best not think about losing him, not now. “Well, even so,” Ishmael returned, pulling him back in to murmur it, “I suppose I love you too.”

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