Summary: Raphael contemplates his strange feelings towards his fledgling while the man is out. When Simon returns from the wedding he proceeds to fanboy over Alec and Magnus until he startles both Raphael and himself with a surprising recreation of the night's proceedings.
By: Wolves_of_Innistrad
Raphael was... Intrigued. Since recruiting the fledgling, he'd had to deal with those horrid Shadowhunters more and more, which was true; however, he'd also gotten to play at manipulating them for his own ends. The boy was young and foolish, but also brave, maybe too brave, and loyal. Now all he needed to do was siphon off a bit of that loyalty for himself, which he had no doubt he could, and he'd soon be on his way to having a perfect second in command. Surely Camille had never expected he would overthrow her so easily, the folly of those in power for far too long, but he would not fall prey to the same errors in judgment. No, Simon Lewis was not to be trusted, but he was also trustworthy, and that curious contradiction made him perfect for the task at hand.
The crown molding glinted like the rays of the sun, the only semblance of it Raphael was like to see in his lifetime. His fingers trailed over the mahogany of the table, the velvet of the upholstery, tracing each edge and line in sensuous fashion. This was all his now; his to use, his to do as he pleased with, his to share. He could admit that there was something more than simple self-service to his goals, but, unbeknownst to anyone else, there was a third, far more personal goal in hand as well.
Simon had become something of a curiosity to him. He'd spent long nights pondering what it was that drew his attention. He wasn't as gangly as he had seemed upon first meeting, scared out of his mind or lusting after Camille in turns. No, now he was more confident, self-assured in a way that Raphael knew firsthand came just as much from the taste of immortality as it did from a change in perspective. There were rules at the Hotel Dumort, but Simon had not felt their harshness, not been bound by their words or laws any more than the redheaded girl had from the Clave. They were both neophytes, and in that lay opportunity.
Surely he'd be quicker to trust, quicker to learn, if only he'd apply himself. Then again Raphael thought, draping his form across the chaise in the corner, he was enjoying having him under his thumb. It was no secret Raphael took no lovers, had rebuffed and denied, claimed himself above the debased carnality of man or monster. In his passions and his truths he was prudent, he was meticulous, he was also prone to surprise. The fledgling had been interesting, far more than he should have been, and on at least one occasion he'd found himself wishing he'd been the one to sire him fully, had felt the blood coursing through his veins, knew that his own flowed through the boy's. It was silly, but then again, all attraction had been to him he'd thought. Now though, now he was inclined to think it might not be as clear-cut as he'd once thought.
The very thought of sex or romance, companionship, didn't repulse him, he knew that much. On the contrary, it was simply a lack of desire for any of the trappings of the carnal world beyond the singing of blood in his veins, the taste of that sweet ambrosia cascading over his tongue. Now thought, now he wondered if he might be tempted by this one, a soft spot maybe in his old age, or simply a moment in time he'd been waiting for. He felt as if he only needed a sign from above, or something more substantial than his own indecision, to lead his way.
His reverie was interrupted by the door, eyes darting over preternaturally fast and catching sight of the very man who'd been occupying his thoughts. A slow smirk spread across his lips like blood oozing from a cut, tongue washing over them as his eyes scanned the man's form.
The fledgling had borrowed his clothes, a nice jacket, pants, a shirt even, and there was some humor in knowing he could not yet dress himself fully. Certainly he'd been able to pick out an outfit, but only after Raphael had arranged for the choices he was brought to have been vetted by himself first. Simon filled it out well, not gaining muscle or mass from his conversion, simply carrying himself differently, accentuating the right areas. Dragging his eyes back up, he came into their conversation already in progress.
