Die With My Boots On. **Marcel**

When the final shadow had fallen across Marcel's vision he knew that it was death. Darius had won and Marcel had failed his child. He seemed to hover a timeless moment in infinite darkness, waiting to fall or fade, for the final oblivion to claim the last of him, but it never came. Nothing came, nothing happened, nothing ended. He hung in a void, a drab and meaningless purgatory, changeless.

Somewhere, so very far away, he could almost feel the echoes of another place. Be it heaven or hell or the earth between, he did not know and he did not care, his child was surely dead and he closed his heart to it. After an unmeasurable pause it seemed to Marcel that he began to dream. Thoughts and sounds, flickers of light, familiar scents and sensations. But only in tantalising flashes, fleeting as a dream on waking.

He sensed the beating of a heart racing like a tiny bird, so very fast, a presence that flashed into his awareness and then was gone again. It was when he began to hear the fragmented voice that the first light broke through the armour around his heart. Snatches of song reaching to him, endlessly repeated, until he had heard every part of it and pieced it all together. He was sleeping and he needed to wake.

But the world was spinning by too fast for him to catch hold, and he could not find the strength to seize or chase it. Then.... something different happened. It began with the strangest taste, something beautiful that he had never before experienced. Gradually he began to regain a sense of his own body and his own seemingly racing heartbeat. A pleasant, almost euphoric warmth enveloped him and he willed his heart to slow and his perceptions of the world did with it.

Marcel felt... not a memory or a dream, but the true touch of a hand to his cheek, the weight of a body against him. His heart slowed yet more and his eyelids flickered once, granting him the most fleeting glimpse of those unmistakeable blonde curls that he had never thought to see again. Still the world slowed further and his hand moved agonisingly slowly to brush that golden hair. The weight of the sun pressed down and Marcel wanted to weep, he felt cheated, to wake only to sleep again, but he drifted back into slumber with a lullaby in his mind “It’s safe to sleep my little buckaroo.”
…........

By the time the sun was sinking slowly into the west once again, Marcel's heart was beating slow and steady in time with Hoyt's. His eyes finally fluttered open and he murmured softly in a voice unused for near two centuries, “Je t'aime mon cow-boy d'or.”

It had taken a great deal more from Marcel than he had anticipated just to speak those few words. His voice didn't sound quite right in his own ears and he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He had intended to brush his fingers through those blonde curls but his reactions were so agonisingly slow that his body had not yet processed the thought. Hoyt was instantly alert and he was frightened, which was unexpected and troubling and Marcel's mind was still too foggy to articulate further to him. Hoyt was ready to fight and his eyes flickered around seeking a threat, looking everywhere but at Marcel.

He heard Hoyt calling out angrily but he was still thinking in French and his mind was slow translating. Before he had really registered what was happening Hoyt had lifted him from the bed and sped across the room. His senses reeled, things still seemed to be moving too fast and he felt weak as a kitten. His eyes slipped closed as he tried to focus on Hoyt's comforting voice and unravel his words. He was suddenly aware of more bodies spilling into the room, vampires all or so his senses told him and confusion gripped him again as they began to murmur together.

As Hoyt froze with Marcel cradled against his shoulder, the elder vampire began to recover his balance. He realised then that it wasn't just his mind playing tricks, Hoyt really was moving that fast. His child had grown considerably in strength in the time that he had been sleeping. Whilst in this moment there were a great many things he was uncertain of, the single thing that he knew without doubt was Hoyt. This was his child and he was safe. His lips twitched into a small smile and he opened his eyes again to look into Hoyt's own blue gaze as his child turned to look at him. His tongue struggled to wet his lips as his brain finally caught up with the language. “Good Evening, Hoyt.” he whispered.

The incredulous look on his child's face made Marcel almost want to laugh, but his unused throat protested the effort and so he simply smiled wider. “I do believe....” he murmured softly as his throat began to loosen a little, “...that I may have overslept?” His eyes, so long empty and near lifeless, now sparkled with personality and humour, and his pleasure at the sight of his beautiful, golden-haired child was unabashed.

Marcel gazed at his child as the myriad emotions flashed across his features. His own relief as the fear and tension in Hoyt melted away was equally great but his refined sensibilities would not permit him to express it quite so bluntly. He had been so certain that his golden child was lost to him that he had hardly wanted to live at all. To be here, wherever 'here' was, alive and held in his arms... it was more than Marcel had thought possible. Fate it seemed had smiled upon him and Hoyt's tears of joy were beautiful things. As they sank to the floor Marcel melted into his rugged embrace with a soft sigh, a pale pink tear trickling slowly down his own cheek.

He should have had more faith in Hoyt he thought ruefully. From that first moment he had set eyes upon him in the desert, the boy-child who lived only because he refused to die. Whilst he had nursed the boy through his infirmity and fever he had listened to him talk in his sleep and delirium. Angry, stubborn, always defiant. Marcel had been uncertain as to whom the boy thought he was speaking, Marcel himself, his attackers perhaps, but it appealed to the romantic in his soul to believe that Hoyt's defiant mutterings had been addressed to death himself.

It filled Marcel with such joy to hear Hoyt laugh that he chuckled himself, though a little gratingly. He kissed Hoyt's neck gently as he was hugged close and tight. “You? frightened? That would be a first my golden one.” he murmured as Hoyt lifted him again and carried him back to the bed. Marcel was actually glad when Hoyt turned his attentions briefly to his ….children? His child's distraction allowed him to conceal his own concerned surprise. Just how many children had Hoyt created? At least six from what he could see... he hoped desperately that Hoyt had remembered his teachings and obtained consent for his brood.

Two centuries? That was a considerable span of time. It did however explain his current weakness and Hoyt's new-found strength. What else he wondered had occurred during that interlude? The mention of a name caught his attention again. “Thor? Thor is here? That is.... a pleasant surprise...” he murmured to Hoyt. “We were... friends, once upon a time...” The authoritative manner with which Hoyt spoke to his brood warmed Marcel's heart and the reverent obedience his children showed was reassuring.

“...and you waited for me... Where else could I ever want to be?” Marcel smiled at Hoyt, his eyes sparkling again as he revelled in the strength and beauty that Hoyt had grown into. He relaxed into the gentle touch and loving care of his devoted child, the damp cloth soothing to his skin, which seemed drier and tighter than it should. He finally managed to raise his hand enough to brush is fingers lightly through Hoyt's hair. That such children had successfully dispatched an elder was a shocking revelation to him, but he was beginning now to see that there was nothing Hoyt could not achieve in need. “I have always been proud of you Hoyt, and I shall treasure them as you do.”

Marcel smiled softly as Hoyt kissed him. He longed to take him in his arms and kiss him properly but right now even the strength to sit up seemed to elude him and he was not going to start flailing around like an idiot. He would wait, he could be patient, and he would show his beloved child his appreciation and love all in good time. Hoyt would do what needed to be done for him now, with love and with dignity. Marcel tried to relax a little though his mind churned with questions. The touch of Hoyt's rough fingertips brushing his hair back into place was soothing and when their eyes met again his own conveyed the promise that 'later' would be worth the waiting.

He listened intently as Hoyt began to summarise 'recent' events for him, but it seemed every answer just provoked another question. A Sanctuary City? He knew his confusion must be showing as Hoyt sighed. “Where exactly are we?” he murmured softly, trying to keep the uncertainty from echoing in his voice. He did not like to feel so helpless and unprepared and even less to show it. Even though these children had been his guardians it seemed, through the centuries of his long sleep, it still felt wrong to Marcel to show such frailty before them.

As Hoyt presented his children, Marcel graced each in turn with his gentle smile and softly appraising gaze, growing more and more pleased with each mannerly greeting and he allowed them to see that he was indeed pleased with them. When Hoyt had them recite their litany of loyalty and allegiance Marcel's heart swelled with joy and pride, and another pale tear came to his eye. “You have worked a miracle Hoyt, my golden cowboy.” he murmured as the 'boys' trooped obediently out of the room.

Marcel finally had the chance to observe the room in which he had awoken with more than a passing glance. It was painstakingly rendered in the old pre-gothic style, the one he had always found the most comforting and that reminded him always of home and his childhood, far away and long ago. He was surrounded by his most personal and treasured possessions, many of which he knew he had left behind in Europe when he had travelled. Marcel had trouble picturing Hoyt in France, somehow he did not think the ambiance would have agreed with him, but much had changed in the world whilst he slept, or so Hoyt had gently warned him.

A tiny frown marred his smooth brow for a moment, he must get Hoyt to elaborate on that and soon, but it was important to prioritise. He was feeling tired, more than tired... drained. Marcel knew that he could not risk slipping back into the sleep of death. Who knew how long it would take him to wake again if he should? If this were Thor's city he would need to speak with him, propriety demanded no less, and old friend or no, for that Marcel would need his strength back.

He needed blood and his eyes flickered to the mocha skinned boy on the leash Hoyt was now holding. The boy stood obedient and demure, his eyes lowered but Marcel could feel his fear, for some reason being in this room seemed to frighten him. Marcel's lips parted slightly in anticipation and his feeding fangs slid free. He looked back into Hoyt's beautiful, devoted eyes and smiling face and smiled his own charming and sensual smile that lit up his fine aristocratic features and brought a sparkle to his eyes. “Let me sample this sweet morsel you have chosen for me.”

The wide eyed incredulity that still lingered in Hoyt's expression made him seem much younger again to Marcel, more the innocent young man that had woken to a new life and a new world in his arms. He found it strangely reassuring that he could still see that boy in the man he had become. When Hoyt spoke of the technologies Marcel had missed he found himself laughing softly. He could just picture how excited Hoyt would have been by such things and wished he could have seen it.

The conversation took a darker turn however as Hoyt spoke of how swiftly and thoroughly the world had fallen to ruin, and its technologies scattered uselessly like broken toys. It was shocking to hear how openly vampires now walked in the human world, or was it how carefully humans now walked in the vampire world? And a disease that affected vampires? There were horrors unleashed in the world indeed. His thoughts were racing as he tried to process the information and the ramifications it must have had for their kind. If most of the humans were dead, how many vampires had survived? Were all humans now like the boy kneeling beside his bed?

Marcel looked toward the human boy as he bared his throat. He could scent the fresh blood pumping through the throbbing vein in the boy's neck and hear his racing heartbeat. He flickered his tongue lightly across the boy's pulse, seeking the perfect place to bite. The taste of his warm skin roused Marcel's appetite, and a dire hunger he had not even realised he had been suppressing, it had become such a pervasive part of him during his long sleep. Yet however much he hungered, Marcel would not succumb to the animal instinct to feed like a pig at a trough.

Hoyt was a comforting presence at his side as he climbed onto the bed beside him. Marcel wondered how many times Hoyt had held him thusly as he slept. Often he would surmise, his beautiful loving child. It was where he belonged, always by Marcel's side and now he had awoken that was exactly where he intended to keep him, his golden child. Marcel made an approving sigh as Hoyt wrapped his arms around him. He could feel the urgency in Hoyt's embrace and he shared it, longing to hold his child and lover and answer his need with his own. A pox upon the weakness of his flesh, he needed the human now.

Marcel's fangs pierced delicately into the boys throat and the warm fresh blood rushed into his mouth in a wave. He almost gasped at the sweet shock to his system that the blood provoked. He forced himself to slow down, to sip and not to guzzle. He had not the energy to spare for soft games with the boy and as Hoyt nuzzled into his neck it was not the human that he desired to expend his energy upon. The warm glow of the human blood began to spread slowly through his limbs, bringing some small return of strength to them. He continued to drink, more than a sample, far more than a taste. Marcel did not begin to pull back until he felt the boy's heart slowing its beat. He withdrew his fangs with a final flicker of his tongue and took a slow deep breath.

The boy slid limply from the bed to the floor. Marcel knew the human would survive, but he would not be doing much beyond sleeping for the next week or so. However Marcel had other more pressing things on his mind in that moment than one random human boy. He turned a little in Hoyt's arms, his limbs finally beginning to respond to his will, if sluggishly. “I knew you were with me.” he whispered gently, comfortingly, to him. “I could feel the beat of your heart. It was the sound of your voice that drew me back from the sleep of death.” Marcel blinked back a blood red tear.

“You have grown so strong and so beautiful, and I have missed so much of you. When I thought you were... “ his voice became for a moment too hoarse to finish the awful thought. “I did not wish to wake again without you.” He ran his lightly trembling fingers through Hoyt's curls, he did so love to do that, it brought him such comfort and pleasure. His fingers continued to trace a path brushing the edge of Hoyt's ear then along the stubbled line of his strong jaw. Fingertips played over the deep slow pulse at the side of his neck, the human had merely whetted Marcel's appetite, not sated it. A glass of water to a thirsty man, but his beautiful Hoyt... he was a fine rich wine to be cherished and savoured.

“Darius is dead...” Marcel did not make it a question. That Hoyt was here beside him after two centuries of sleep made it an inevitability. His child would not have repeated his own mistake. “...and I am not.” His hand brushed along the collar of Hoyt's black button-up shirt and popped open the top button before sliding down to open the next. He smiled the soft smile that he reserved just for Hoyt, “Love truly does conquer all.”

It felt so good to be held by Hoyt. Though Marcel's mind did not seem to have registered the passage of time as it should, his body had and the sensations that Hoyt's tender embrace generated in him were intense and unsated. The gaze of his eyes, the touch of his hand, the gentle kiss; as the slave's proximity had fanned his hunger for blood, he now hungered for ….Hoyt.

Hoyt's bashful smile lifted Marcel's heart. The years of waiting could not have been kind to his child and he would never allow Hoyt to suffer such pain again. But in that smile, in his soft chuckle and lowered eyes, Marcel could see all those most beautiful qualities that had first drawn him to fall so hopelessly in love with his young cowboy. Hoyt had been strong for them both for so long, it was time for Marcel to recover his own strength, though that seemed easier said than done.

He could feel Hoyt shuddering at his touch, so much need in him and it pained Marcel that he could not yet answer it. The strength he had gained from feeding was already waning, but he could still take pleasure in physical closeness with his lover though he feared it might leave Hoyt only more frustrated. He smiled a little roguishly as Hoyt followed his lead and near tore his shirt open for him. He ran his hand over the firm, perfect musculature of Hoyt's torso, his sense of touch reacquainting itself with the glorious feel of his lover's body. So beautifully masculine... and so his.

He returned Hoyt's kiss equally gently but with a deep and passionate longing. He made another pleasured sigh as Hoyt began to stroke his hair. “Hold me close” he whispered. “Hold me tight.” He nuzzled into the side of Hoyt's neck, touching with every inch of flesh he could as Hoyt pressed their bodies closer. “I want you Hoyt, I want you now, desperately.” he murmured softly into Hoyt's ear. He kissed the side of Hoyt's neck and his tongue flickered over the pulse. “And I will have you one way or another...” the last came out as a lusty whisper as Marcel's fangs slid out once again. “I in you and you in me.”

Marcel nuzzled Hoyt's neck. He was so sure he could still scent there after all this time, the scent of sunlight. Perhaps it was true after all that he was simply too romantic for his own good. However nothing felt too romantic, too affectionate, too much, for his precious Hoyt. His desire was aflame for his beautiful lover and it was a trial to even think how badly he could weaken himself by claiming him again here and now. The frustration was enough to make him weep.

It was almost frightening when Hoyt took his hands firmly in his own, to feel and to know that he could not in that moment have resisted nor broken free even should his life have depended upon it. Not that he would or could ever have reason to fear or distrust Hoyt, but the weakness it his flesh made him fearful in a manner he had never experienced before. When Hoyt whispered into his ear he quite suddenly did not know how to answer.

However what Hoyt said next... Angel blood? That was enough to shock and distract Marcel, at least momentarily, from his burning need for Hoyt. It was now his turn to wear a look of overwhelming incredulity as Hoyt spoke of angels on earth and the Archangel Michael. His lips moved as if he were about to say something but he could find no words to fit. Softly he began to laugh... at Hoyt, at himself and at this strange new world he found himself in.

“Oh Hoyt...” Marcel chuckled. “You never cease to amaze me...” His pale beautiful eyes sparkled with the love he felt for his incomparable child.