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There had been a shortage of sardines at the local Rosen Queen Co. Fenrich had gone to the nearest alternative location to retrieve several crates for Valvatorez himself. He figured sending the prinnies would result in some of his lord's sustenance being stolen. Unfortunately he returned later in the day than he had planned. Valvatorez didn’t seem to mind however, watching excitedly as he lugged the final box of fish into the makeshift storeroom.
“Good boy.”
Fenrich startled, nearly dropping the crate of sardines. Once steady he found himself stiffened in place. Even his tail had gone rigid. The blush that swept through his body was so feverish he was certain it was visible even though he wasn’t directly facing his lord.
Why the fuck would you say that. Swallowing hard he turned swiftly to Valvatorez willingly the color from his face.
“What exactly inspired you to say that, my lord?” the werewolf managed weakly, struggling to maintain his grip on the crate. Had his hands been so damn sweaty a moment ago?
“Oh, the lass suggested you might enjoy if I said that, since you do seem to appreciate affirmation” Valvatorez replied pleasantly, oblivious to the effect the praise had on his servant, much to Fenrich’s relief.
“My lord, I am a werewolf, not a dog” he huffed. Of course it was the lass who had suggested this, she likely thought it entertaining to torment him. No wonder she ended up in hell, he thought bitterly “and I would suggest you don’t take advice from that idiot.”
“Ah. So you don’t want to be called that” Valvatorez replied in an oddly solemn tone. Disappointed even? No, definitely not. Why in Hades would he be?
“No, I’d rather not.” Fenrich agreed firmly.
“Alright, then my apologies. But really Fenrich, thank you.” He gave his steward a light pat on the shoulder before hungrily turning his attention to one of the boxes of sardines.
“All is for my lord.” Fenrich relaxed into a semi-bow, arms still full of boxed sardines.
He was going to murder the lass when she returned from school. And then force this conversation from his memory indefinitely.
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Cold skin against his, bodies intertwining. He held him gently, delicately. His lips peppered kisses across the icey shoulders, neck, chest, up and down. A muffled whine escaped him as he pressed close, closer, he was so close.
“My lord” he groaned softly
“Isn’t there something you need to tell me?” His lord's hands stayed his hips, stalling his grinding. He let a quiet whimper in protest. “Come now Fenrich. Say it.”
There was something he needed to tell him. Desperately. He could feel the emotion swelling in his chest as he gazed blearily at his lord.
“…I love you” He mumbled quietly
“Hm? I didn’t catch that.” Valvatorez responded, but a smile had formed on his lips.
“I- I love you” Fenrich repeated, the words so clear in his ears that he must have said it aloud.
“Good boy.”
The praise sent a hot jolt through him. His hips were released and the werewolf collapsed, a shuddering, warm mess into his lord, stifling a cry into the vampire’s shoulder.
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Abruptly he awoke, trembling and panting and disgustingly sweaty.
Damn it damn it damn it damn it
No one knew, and no one would know, and yet he was utterly mortified. He needed to kill everyone. He needed to kill himself. He needed to find the amygdala in his brain and rip it from his skull to put an end to these revolting sappy, warm, pleasant emotions. He was a horrible servant and an even worse demon.
“What the hell is wrong with me” he muttered quietly. How could two simple words have him so worked up? And if he had to have such an embarrassing dream why couldn’t it have been meaningless at the very least? Why did it have to be so grossly intimate? Romantic even. He shuddered in shame.
Fenrich lost several nights of sleep in sheer dread of encountering that dream again. Apparently, the conversation was going to be harder to forget than he had presumed.