Falling Skies

Fourty

The scent of pastry cream and fried bread lingers heavy in the air of the dining room this morning. The scent clashes with the bustling noises of scattered servants, each one rushing to their designated stations and criss-crossing around one another. This is the first that December has seen of anyone who isn't a close friend or family to the king, the sight of butlers and handmaidens jarring in comparison to the faces he's become accustomed to seeing.

They stand behind the first family sat at the table, a slab of intricately carved quartz that's polished clear as glass, the marbled floor visible from within the crystal. For a world so gaudy and bright, the servants are clad in a shadowy black, the women concealed by thick veils that brush against their waistline. Each woman grips a golden jug in their gloved hands. Their bodies lined against the wall except the few who bring their jugs to the royal family, the burgundy liquid hidden behind opaque chalices and vases.

"Good morning!" Pipes a breathy voice, tone high and enthusiastic as the room's attention turns to Wren gathered in the arched doorway. "Good morning, Uncle Sasha." The boy smiles as he approaches the solemn vampire at the head of the table, arms wrapping around him from behind before planting a kiss on his cheek.

His demeanor is one of pure light, a blaze that rivals the sun that beats through the ceiling length windows at the edge of the room. He's still clad in his sheer robes, a teapot blue that drags along the floor behind him and swirls around each of his thin legs. It's the first robe he's worn that isn't plain gossamer, the trimming adorned with embroidered flowers of white and violet with a sparkling material sewn into the hems of the sleeves. Each sleeve glimmers in the sunlight as he crosses the quartz table, arms falling around his eldest aunt in the same manner as before.

"Good morning to you too, Aunt Stasia."

"Anastasia." She corrects through the first sincere smile to grace her lips, arm coming up to pull her nephew closer before showering him in kisses. "I'm glad to see you wearing something with a bit of style this morning. Purity robes don't have to be boring, regardless of what your uncle tells you." She snickers, words struggling to wade through her thick accent.

Wren takes his seat beside her as a waiter comes forward with a golden jug before being stilled with a simple raise of the hand. A veiled woman seems to whisper something indistinguishable into the waiter's ear, his body perking slightly before slipping away into another room.

"Did you sleep well, December? You're usually not awake early enough for breakfast." Wren smiles, head cocking slightly as he pulls at a curl.

So we're pretending that didn't happen... that Wren didn't nearly kill himself from an overdose last night. That he didn't fall asleep curled in December's chest, pulling his arms tight around December with his face nestled in the human's neck. Pretending like December didn't creep out of his bedroom mere moments before this breakfast started, narrowly avoiding Sasha as he tip toed to his own bedroom down the hall.

Pretending that Wren wasn't straddled in the brunette's grip, that his moans aren't currently echoing within December's mind amongst sounds of clattering dishes and breakfast chatter.

Pretending that December doesn't know what his skin feels like under those sheer robes. The taste of his bloody lips and touch of his hands clawing against burning skin as he begged to draw him closer.

The feel of Wren's body rocking against his own reminiscent of something more than just a midnight feeding.

"U-um yes," December coughs into his hand, expelling his thoughts with the force of the action. "I slept fine. I just didn't have as much work as usual so I was able to come down this morning."