mwestbelle | commentfic again

The sun reflects off the sea, sending shimmering light up to the windows of the house. The Way family's summer manor is really quite beautiful, with smooth pale walls. Michael sits on one of the short walls surrounding the courtyard, waistcoat forgotten somewhere inside, sleeves rolled to his elbows and collar undone--quite a shocking sight, and the maids would gossip about it, giggling behind platters for weeks. But he is content to sit here, looking down at the small dark shapes on the beach that is his brother and an easel. He can just barely make out the outline of Gerard against the brightness of the water--his eyes have never been very good anyway--but he smiles and raises his hand in acknowledgement when he sees Gerard waving enthusiastically at him.

In just a few moments, Gerard is next to him, easel and paints abandoned in the sand, grinning, hair a horrid mess and the bridge of his nose burnt raw. "Morning, brother."

Michael grins back, ruffling Gerard's hair fondly, and they sit contentedly on the wall, staring out at the ocean. It's silent except for the sounds of birds flying overhead, obscured by the bright sun, and the chatter of the maids indoors.

"I can't believe you're getting married tomorrow," Michael says, after a pause. He can barely picture Gerard with anything other than his paint and easels (himself included), much less a wife.

Gerard grins even harder, slightly crooked but brilliant. "I know. But Liana is lovely, isn't she? I'm glad father picked her."

He leans a little back against Michael, enjoying the solidity of his brother, even though he's so much lankier in stature and many years younger. "Do you think mother has anyone in mind for you?"

Michael scoffs, accepting Gerard's weight and balancing it with some of his own. "Please, Gee, be sensible. I'm only fourteen, and ridiculously scrawny. Mother could go to Roma before finding a lady with an interest in me."

Gerard looks up at him, eyes bright. "I am being sensible," he says, head tipping against Michael's shoulder. "Give it a year and ladies will be lining up to have a chance with you." He hasn't thought about it yet, exactly, what it's really going to entail.

He sighs, staring out at the beach, the birds that have started to peck curiously at his paints, abandoned in the sand. "Hang on--" and he slides off the wall easily, sliding down the sandy hill to the beach.

He shoos the birds with a wave of his hand and gathers his things. Looking back at Michael--head tipped back, sun shining on his face--Gerard wishes he didn't have to be married, that he could stay here with his brother forever. Liana is a very lovely girl--hair dark like his and laughing eyes, wealthy, very talented with instruments and watercolors--but he's never been particularly interested in girls. He prefers painting, and sunsets, and poetry.

But he wouldn't mention that to Michael, because if he had the slighest thought that Gerard wasn't happy, he would sulk and cause such a fuss. And Michael is already in trouble after that unfortunate incident with the bath and Grandfather's compass; the last thing Gerard wants is to cause trouble. He sets his supplies as gently as possible on the wall before sliding back next to Michael.

Michael leans back against him, head on Gerard's shoulder, trying to ignore the tugging at his chest at the thought of Gerard leaving.

The next day is the wedding, and Gerard sees nothing of Michael through the flurry of activity going on around him. He sits in the midst of chaos as his mother scurries around, ordering the maids in every direction. They have a feast to finish, he knows that, so he just stays out of the way as much as possible and watches the platters pass.

He doesn't realise how much he's distracted himself until he's standing at the altar, Liana's hand in his. She's smiling blissfully, brown eyes shining, oblivious to his spaciness.

The first time he sees Michael all day is when he hugs his brother as a married man.

"Gerard." Michael buries his nose in his brother's hair. It smells too nice--Mother wasn't about to let her eldest boy be wed without having his hair washed, but it's not how Gerard's hair is supposed to smell--but he inhales deeply anyway, clings closer than is strictly polite amongst this crowd, but everyone is fawning over Liana. No one pays any attention to the brothers.

Gerard smiles, a little shaky, feeling the tiniest bit sick. It's nerves, he tells himself. Most of the other young men have tumbled with chambermaids before their wedding day, but Gerard would rather do a portrait of the giggling upstairs girl than take her to his bed. He's just worried about doing it all properly; he wants ever so to be a source of pride for his family, and to father many strong sons. Except when he doesn't want that at all.

"Gerard," Michael says, stern, making Gerard face him, hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine." He's always had a sense of what Gerard's feeling, and he can feel the tension from Gerard so strong he almost feels sick himself.

Gerard nods, forcing himself to keep smiling. I can do this, he tells himself, and god, he's pretty sure his friends who got married didn't need encouragement to sleep with their wives. He's not sure what's different with him.

"Now go find your wife," Michael says, fixing Gerard with a fond smile. "Come on."

Gerard obeys, slipping over to stand next to Linia and flushing when the fawning turns to him as well. The entire day passes in too much of a rush, and then he's leaving, leading his bride (oh dear heavens above, his bride) to the villa on the edge of the property where they would live out the summer until moving back to the main estate.

Linia beams at him, blushing a delicate rose as he escorts her through the door. "I'm so pleased I was given to you," she whispers, shy, and Gerard wants to say the same, but he can't seem to find words. Thankfully, she seems to grasp his troubles, and pulls her arm out of his grasp. "I'll...I'll go make myself ready for you."

And she sweeps up the stairs, pausing to give him another smile as she disappears into (oh god oh god) the bedroom. Their bedroom.

Gerard can't think about it--their bedroom, and Liana actually expects something to happen tonight. He's not sure he's not going to just die, instead. He thinks of her face, blushing and hesitant but excited, and god, he doesn't want to be terrible. He has to take a calming breath, think of hugging Mikey to assuage his nerves, before he can even start to climb the stairs.
And then, from the bedroom, he hears a shriek, high and terrified--Liana's voice. He bolts up the stairs, staring at the sight before him.

Liana is...god. There's a man holding her in tight embrace that would be scandalous--except it's not a man, it can't be, not with that horrible gleam in too-golden eyes and blood smeared all around his mouth. Blood. Liana's blood.

Gerard makes a choked sound low in his throat, out of disgust and horror, and the manbeast looks up at him with a devilish glint. It snarls, and Gerard can't think, that's his wife and even though he hasn't more than affection for her (if that), he knows his duty. Grabbing a vase off of the table near the door, he runs at the beast, unsure of what to do but knowing he must do something.

Gerard runs at it but it's faster, and whatever the beast is, it's strong, because it reaches out one hand and wrenches the vase out of Gerard's hand and tosses it aside. It hits with a sickening crunch.

The manbeast lifts itself from Liana, lying limp on the bed. Gerard can't tell but he can't see her chest moving, any sign of life in her limbs.

He has only a moment to think before it lifts itself from her, clambering off the bed with almost sickening grace. It moves toward him, blood on its mouth and down the front of its chest.

Gerard remembers searing pain, worse than anything he could ever imagine in his darkest nightmares, and he cries out when he wakes.

"Gee!" And Michael is leaping nearly atop him, arms spread wide to cover him on top of all his blankets. "Oh god, Gerard, I was so frightened for you." Michael squeezes him, burying his face in Gerard's hair as he has done since he was a child. Although he doesn't remember the soft curve of Michael's neck smelling quite so good before.

Gerard has the sudden urge to lean forward, taste it with his mouth and his teeth, and he has to almost physically shake off the thought.

"What happened to me?" he asks, speech a little indistinct. He can't quite focus his eyes (and it's bright, so bright it stings). "God, Mikey--could you shut the curtains?" He winces, trying to deal with the searing pain that lances through him, sharp just below his neck.

Michael nods, looking concerned, and crawls off the bed. He doesn't mention that the sun has barely started to rise--Gerard has been through a lot. He was so afraid he would never open his eyes again. Curtains securely closed, he returns to his place next to Gerard, reaching down to stroke at his hair.

"What happened, Gerard?" And Gerard has never wanted to suck his brother's fingers into his mouth and bite down, hard, but he has to fist his hands in the bedclothes to keep himself from doing it now.

He takes a deep, shuddery breath, hands clenched in the sheets. Michael is worried, scared out of his mind, because Gerard is in pain (he's clutching the sheets so hard) and he hasn't called Michael Mikey since he was five. No one has.

He leans closer, and Gerard's eyes widen like a frightened animal's at the kind of thoughts going through his head. "I--" he begins, and his hands clench tighter. "I don't know, I. I heard a scream and I came to see what it was and there was this thing--" He breaks off, shuddering at the memory.

"What happened to Liana?" he asks, abruptly, looking up at his brother with wild eyes.

"She--" Gerard squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look into Mik--Michael's open and innocent eyes. "--it, it had bitten her. Just, chewed on her neck." He chances opening his eyes to look at his brother. "Is...is she all right?"

Michael bites his lower lip delicately, trying to think of how he can tell Gerard this even though he's sure Gerard already suspects, and rests a hand on Gerard's knee, soothing as he can. "I'm sorry, Gee. She...they found her. She's dead. They're burying her this afternoon."

Gerard looks down at his knees, biting his lip. It's my fault, he thinks faintly. I could have done something. He keeps replaying it in his mind--the scream, rushing up the stairs, coming after the beast with the vase. He still doesn't remember what actually happened to him but every bit of light makes his head hurt.

Michael squeezes Gerard's knee. "They wanted you to be there, but you were still unconscious... I'm sorry. Are you--what happened to you?" All he knows is that when they found the two, Liana was dead and Gerard was unconscious, slumped against the wall. He was with them and he still shudders at the memory, because Gerard was so pale, like he had had the life sucked right out of him. Even now, he feels cold, like a corpse.

"I don't remember." Gerard lets his head drop back onto his pillow, sinking down a little bit into the plush but not feeling the slightest bit more comfortable. "It's all blank, I, I tried to stop it. To save her. But after that, I don't know."

Michael nods, rubbing a little at Gerard's knee, hoping to give some comfort and maybe warm him up a little. "Gerard, about Liana. They wanted to know--" How could they expect him to ask this, when Gerard was still so weak and the horror still so fresh? He tries to find the gentlest way to ask. "--They want to know what kind of Mass they should say for her." Prayers for a maiden or for a wife. He hopes Gerard, strange and uncomfortable as he seems, is able to understand him still.

Gerard looks away, flushing slightly. "We never--you know. It got to her before anything happened."

Michael nods, grateful to Gerard that he can understand, and he leans forward to pull his brother into a hug. He's glad that he's the only one around, able to do this without disapproval from anyone. And Gerard desperately needs the comfort.

Gerard wraps one arm around Michael, the other still clenched in the sheets, and Michael's neck is right there. He can hear the blood flowing and he wants more than anything to just bite down and drink and oh God what did that beast do to him?

Before he knows what he's doing, he's leaning forward, nuzzling his nose against the graceful curve of Michael's neck, inhaling deeply. He can feel blood rushing past, practically taste it--his mouth is watering.

Michael freezes and tightens his grip on his brother, not for a moment considering pulling away or thinking there could be any need to. "Gerard?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Gerard babbles into his skin, and god, he has to stop this now, what is he doing? "Mik--Michael, please, don't, I--there's something wrong with me, I--"

Michael frowns, looking worried, and he hugs Gerard tighter. "It's going to be okay, Gerard. I know you're still not well. You'll get better." He doesn't know why Gerard is doing this, but he has to get his brother better. Has to.

Something terrible obviously happened there--Michael knows that it must be horrifying to see your wife murdered, but he also knows--or well, he suspects--that Gerard wasn't in love with Liana, not truly. So surely that can't be the only thing making him so horribly pale--the sprinkling of freckles and the faded red across his nose are gone completely, color he saw just days before.

Gerard tries to nod, but it just moves his mouth closer against Michael's skin. And just below the skin...pumping, hot, fresh and good, he needs it, god, and he maybe mouths a little at Michael's neck before he stops himself with a shuddering gasp.

Michael pulls back a little, looking at Gerard concernedly. "Gerard," he says, frowning. "What's wrong? I want to be able to help you, but I can't if I don't know. Please."

Gerard can't tell Michael. He can't. He wants to pull away, hide under the covers until the urge to pin Michael down and bite him goes away. He shudders again, clenching his teeth. He can fight this.

"You can't, Michael, please." Gerard keeps his eyes shut, but it doesn't matter because he can still smell it--heady and sharp and sweet--and though he can't quite convince his body to move away, every muscle he has is stiff and tense. "Please, just go. Leave me. I can't..."

Reluctantly, Michael loosens his grip, allows Gerard to sink back down into the bed. He chews at his lower lip--it's a nasty habit, says Mother, one that he will have to break if he ever wants to find a proper wife--and tucks some of Gerard's hair behind his ear. "All right. I'll tell Mother that you've awakened, and that you want your rest." He's so very worried. Gerard has never pushed him away before now, not once that he can recall. Something is seriously wrong with his brother.

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