Archive of Our Own ^beta

Air here is thick with the smell of sweat and vomit, lights flashing across the room packed with hordes of drunk dancing creatures, their chaotic, twitchy movements annoying to the eye. 

Speakers crack with the sound these madmen dare to call music. “Dance or die!” yells the vocalist, voice hardly audible through the grinding. The Slogan, picked up by the mob and spread around, transforms into a hodgepodge of sounds. 

“Your thoughts?” A sudden whisper could have scared the blonde, but he is centuries over being this sensitive.

“As if you don’t know yourself.” Man’s gaze is fixed on the skipping herd, scrutinising their mugs.

“It was your request to only read the thoughts written on your face.”

The blond man finally turns around to face him. 

“I think they are all wrecked. I even pity them a bit. But…”

“But?”

“I like this place. It will do... I think…”

“This is your evening, you should know…” Blonde suddenly finds himself in a warm embrace. The place he stood just a second ago is wet with foaming beer spilled by a drunk youngster.

“This .” He ends the sentence with a hiss.

This scarecrow of a man starts swearing. First he complains about the cruelty of fate, then curses two men, who looked as if they entered this place by accident - too tidy to be here. Apparently, they should have saved him from the fall somehow. 

“Law, he is not worth it.” Cool hand gently touches the shoulder. The blond looks into the eyes of his companion. Irises are so dark, they are almost black. “I’ll sort it out.”

Swirling darkness retreats from the eyes, until only pupils are black.

“And it is time for you to feed.” The blond adds quietly. 

“What the heck are you shitting there, fuckers?!”

“My apologies.” He barely turns and as the first few sounds leave his mouth, the stranger freezes as a statue. It seems his inebriated eyes just have learned how to focus, finally being able to see. “You here alone?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “No-no. My buds are over there.”

“Can you introduce us?”

“Yeah. Yes, sure.” The man quickly scans his appearance, hands fly to dust his shirt off in a hurry. It will hardly help, even ten cycles in the washing machine and a dry cleaning will not save this rag. “Uhh… May I know your name?”

“Sanji.” The blond smiles as he walks towards a rowdy company. No one in the whole world can smile like he does. Mona Lisa’s smile is a mere child’s play in comparison.

“Do you have to be this nice?” Another hiss by his ear as soft steps shadow him through the crowd.

***

Same room, similar night, but there is not a soul around. His skin is smooth, no goosebumps triggered by chill steadily crawling under the shirt. The blond carefully dips a wide brush in viscous crimson liquid generously seasoned with ground herbs, and draws precise lines over crackled plastering of the wall. The concoction takes seconds to absorb. It pulses with saturated red at first, then its glow shifts until it settles into a dim shade of indigo. There is no surprise when his shape emerges out of nowhere. Blue eyes shine, scrutinising. He can see the other one skipped another meal. He thinks he can go without it again. Usually his eyes are light grey as a summer sky before the rain, but now even sclera has turned black. Thick undulated lines are visible on the exposed skin, they can’t pass for tattoos anymore.

Sanji almost regrets the night he has agreed to work with one of the heretics of Ordo Dracul. Trafalgar is indeed a genius when it comes to the study of both body and soul, but he is still wary of approaching a mortal with a piece of bread, despite claiming he nearly lifted the curse a century ago. The Beast inside growls from such careless behaviours of seemingly responsible kindred. As if locking himself up in a lab was the only thing he can truly manage… or pump vitae through a blood vessel in order to stay awake for four nights in a row, or get waist deep into the guts of a being that is forcefully kept alive. And the only thing left for Sanji, is to storm his haven to find coal black Trafalgar muttering mad nonsense. He is quite aware that the body might endure this science marathon, but the brain is a different thing, and it is smouldering with exhaustion; he could just leave for a walk in the middle of the day without the protection of an epidermis bath he’s so fond of. This behaviour of the older man drives Sanji insane, and he keeps questioning how Trafalgar D. Water Law even survived to reach his six hundred and twenty six years.

“For the sake of the dark mother! Have you eaten anything since that night? Can you take care of yourself at least a bit? Why haven't you just drained the guy?”

“Do you know what collection of substances he pumped himself with?” As Law tries to explain himself, the blond looks away, his focus returning to the symbols on the wall. “I do. I took his blood for analysis. And trust me, low haemoglobin and high cholesterol was the least of his problems.”

“Why the hell were you testing his blood instead of just drinking? Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”

“I did it, Sanji, because time passes and the world around us changes. Men haven’t been using injections of malaria and mercury for a long-long time. Not studying or appling their methods is just stupid.” The blond huffs, puts his brush down and turns around to face Trafalgar. - Especially if you are not interested in picking up an interesting present. Bubonic Plague for example.

“Plague? Are you fucking serious?” He breathes out all the air that was prepared for angry speech. “Ok, what are you holding there?”

“Flowers.”

“Do you think I am going to buy this?”

“Ch… give me your bowl.”

And indeed, his exquisite hands, painted with abyss black swirls, clutch a bouquet of white roses. It is a tasteful sight, pure white against the gloom appearance of the Kindred. Sanji wouldn’t be surprised if he found a similar painting hidden somewhere in the art museum’s archives - Trafalgar’s “distant relative” holding white flowers. However, he is not falling for these tricks anymore, not for the past couple of centuries.

To his surprise, those memories are still vivid. On that night Mother was expecting a courtesy visit from foreign covenant member, pleasantries and information exchange in store. Sanji was assigned to escort him. They met in a public place, walked the main street and entered an old library building. The blond greeted the security man with a charming smile, and led the guest through the winding passageways into the large underground hall decorated with various occult symbols. And all the way he couldn’t wrap his head around why this heretic carries a teddy bear and a box of chocolate. Mother has surpassed her first hundred years, and she wouldn’t be smitten by such trivial gifts more suitable for mere mortals. He understood this was a huge mistake, when he saw Mother’s normally calm deep blue eyes shone with near excitement. Trafalgar’s offerings that appeared trivial, turned out to be the embalmed head and withered heart of the bureaucrat, who dared to push for construction of a shopping centre at the Mother’s favourite ritual spot. The blond remembers how he was shook with disgust, not because of the presents, but because all the way the Kindred was holding THIS with his bare hands.

Trafalgar cannot be trusted. His terrible sense of humour is paired with abilities to decorate himself with guts and walk in any door with a grenade launcher on his shoulder, his appearance betraying nothing, not even for some of the most gifted supernaturals.

Black patterns slither from under the sleeves and onto elongated greyish fingers with sharp knuckles, hands curl to squeeze rose buds, positioned carefully over the carved wooden bowl. White petals ooze under pressure with thick bright-red blood. Smell is so sweet and intoxicating that Sanji cannot understand how Law holds himself from licking the remnants off his hand.

He can see the hunger manifest itself, it has almost swallowed the older man, his eyes are blackened, and dark swirls creep over his throat and face, and yet, Law remains impassive to this luring aroma. Sanji finds it beautiful.

It is a statement of art filled with hidden meaning, a special act shared between them, understood by these two alone.

With a sharp movement Trafalgar shakes the remnants of blood off his hand and disappears. He knows that the younger one doesn't like harvesting resources for his rituals, and it is not hard for him to help, or to use abilities to veil bleeding organs that once belonged to the men Sanji himself lured into Law’s lab.

“Do you have to waste vitae to get rid of this rubbish?”

Trafalgar was absent for a mere second and now he stood in front of the blond, his hands completely black, no present or blood visible.

“Is it fetish of some kind, to play on my nerves?”

Sanji’s gaze heavily traces the blackness on the other’s body. He puts his bowl aside and with single swift movement tears the skin off his wrist. The cut is severe but it is not swelling with blood, providing perfect view on sliced tendons and muscles.

“I am not letting you go, before you eat, and this - is all I have to offer.”

Trafalgar remembers the night he first saw the new acolyte - the blond man laughed unapologetically, danced on the bar stand and used his newly acquired abilities on any mortal who passed by, not being bothered about consequences. He kissed women with reverence, gently nibbling on their lips to lick off tiny droplets of blood. With men though he was more assertive, biting forcefully into the open of the neck, but never forgetting to lick the wound to cover the traces. He looked divine. Nearly caused an orgy in this dingy bar Law visited only out of curiosity for the new child the Witches. Trafalgar didn’t enjoy the Elysium but joined it occasionally, driven by necessity to keep the decorum. And each time he attended, tired after sleepless days and nights, he kept on observing the young one. Sometimes he just followed his movement with the gleaming eyes, remaining hidden in the darkest corner; sometimes he carefully studied what type of prey acolyte preferred and how he fed; Sometimes he came closer to be able to hear and observe how his face changed, shifting through emotions, but he never let his interest to become known. Law tends to obfuscate his presence - hard to tell if it is the nature of his Beast or his personal preference. Regardless, unnecessary intrigues and empty gossip were hardly desirable. He was just analysing a new chess piece on the board.

Their meeting in person was just a matter of time, and when you have eternity - you don’t care about such trivialities.

As for the Mother of the Circle of Crone, one could say, Trafalgar was in an amicable relationship with her. Nico Robin came from the same clan, she shared his passion for research, appreciated dark humour, and, due to her status, perhaps, could give solid advice. It was her, who subtly suggested that Trafalgar should get closer with the circle Maiden, who escorted him every visit, the Mothers’s eyes haven’t missed how he got more and more mad with every night even by her own standards. Just a little bit more, and she will have to look for another partner to indulge in intellectual discourse. And if those pompous beings didn’t bother to arrange their own “psychologist” she could be generous and lent her own untainted child in order to brighten the nights with amusing discussions on inner world of living things.

“It sounds like a threat.” Trafalgar comes closer, slit of his smile as close to harmless as it can possibly get. “Are you not afraid that my resolve might waver and I will drink you dry?”

“Stop this nonsense.”  Sanji rolls up the sleeve, open wrist is stretched towards the brunette. “Either you drink it, or I’ll have to shove it in your throat.”

Sanji stares intensely into the black eyes, and once Law shifts his gaze down to the wound, he allows a few droplets of blood to saturate air with tantalising aroma.

“I am not letting you go, before you eat.” He repeats.

“As you wish.”

Water Law, fucking heretic from the fucking Ordo Dracul is exceptional at art of mimicking life. His breast heaves steadily as if he is actually breathing, cheeks and ears dusted with red - unmistakable reaction to the smell of blood - and, remarkably, he is warm to the touch. If mimicking vital signs is a matter of time and practice, temperature doesn’t come that easily. Doesn’t matter if Sanji expects the touch or not, this warmth never ceases to surprise him. His fingers are gentle and hot, breath that caresses skin feels nearly torturous. it sets his body aflame, as if he is Jeanne d’Ark, forced to relive her last minutes. 

Law breathes in deeply, and studies the meal offered to him, in no rush to start. It drives Sanji mad. As if he mocks him, gently strokes palm, stretches ripped off skin to investigate nerves and blood vessels rigidly sticking out, but does not start. The blond wants to yell, to smash his wrist in the muzzle of this fucking idiot to speed up the process at least by fracture, but all his ideas on contrary, will only cause a delay. 

When Trafalgar’s tongue finally touches the wound, moves across exposed muscle titillating rigid age on purpose, Sanji wants to howl how hot he is. When he nibs to ease the process of drinking, Sanji pushes frozen air out of his lungs. There, from the point of contact, from his wrist and up his arm, across his entire body, moves a swelling tide of torturous and charring delight. His bite - a sacred knowledge, answer to the mystery of the entire universe, epiphany after endless all consuming darkness. Not enough! 

He wants to hiss, to beg for more. Law’s teeth sink into flesh with a renewed force, his fingers acquire greyish shade, black thick lines dissipate, slither back under the clothes, cheeks get dusted with blush. He savours the taste, his neck and ears turn red with pleasure. Trafalgar is a terrible Kindred, but sometimes Sanji thinks he wouldn’t mind if he was drained dry as threatened by the man. Older carefully licks off the marks from his bite and raises his eyes - they are still pitch black, but this time only because his pupils tried to overflow the borders of pale iris, filled to the brim with pure ecstasy. The blond is sure his are not much better.

“Thank you for the treat.” Law’s gaze doesn’t flinch. He slovenly wipes his lips, licks off the remains of blood from the fingers. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes.” He pulls the sleeve down, adjusts his hair for no reason. “You may go. I need to finish here.”

“See you tomorrow, candy boy.” He comes closer, cups cold cheeks with his hands, lands a scolding kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up late.”

Door shut with the bang, the sound followed by a soft echo. Sanji was about to fight back, irked by the treatment, but by the time he lifts his head, the room is vacant. The only thing left is to frown and chew on his own lips with frustration.

***

Same space is now filled with new decorations, dirty walls emblazoned with colourful lines, that remain unnoticed by the ratched mob. No one seems to be able to tell what is depicted or written, no one seems to care. This night club hosts a special event tonight. Regulars were not too excited to hear about the unexpected dress code, but when they learned it is total back and free booze until midnight, space got crowded with loud companies in no time.

Funeral wreaths were meticulously placed along the perimeter. Under the ceiling, just below the strobing lights, are candles holstered in decorative constructions. New DJ plays today, but he maintains the same well-loved playlist, therefore guests have nothing to complain about and can only enjoy an unexpected gift of fortune.

When music stops abruptly the dancefloor turns silent. Mob looks around in bewilderment, all eyes are focused on a flimsy, dirty stage. There, lit by the spotlights, stands the brunette, cladded in a black robe. Calmly she re-adjusts many necklaces and bracelets, adorning her bosom and wrists. She checks the microphone, softly tapping it with an elegant finger, nonplussed by screeching sound it makes or the yells thrown her way from down the stage. For a while she silently stares in the drunk faces below her, until eventually rowdy voices lower to quiet, unhappy mumble in the back rows.

“What would you like to say, before the end of the world?”

“Go fuck yourself!” Someone yells back.

Brunette’s smiles softly. Her blue eyes sparkle. This will be the last thing the speaker saw before his headless body collapsed on the floor.

View that opens from the stage is absolutely terrific. It reminds of a late spring evening in the mansion by the sea. Bodies sway in panic, almost as grass would in lush fields. Writings on the wall glitter with red as if they were the remnants of the sunset caught in clouds. Screams - voices of seagulls. Sweet aroma that spreads across the room reminds of freshly brewed Irish coffee.

Eyes locked on the bright fountains. Droplets shimmer in the air with a multitude of colours. Content.

Do not argue with the Mother. It is a simple rule every kid should know. Because, no matter how kind, gentle and understanding the Mother is, she is not all sweets and praises, she also has an iron glove to treat the unruly child. Anyone who dares to confront her will surely drown in their own blood.

“Now, dance or die.” She orders.

Music never heard in these walls engulfs the space.

Stirring voice of the violin is echoed by screams, and the cello is perfectly complimented by heart-rending howls. Robin is not at all surprised by this harmony of cries and choir chanting. Clocks have just reached zero and this means time for celebration has finally come. Perfect night to forge a timeless bond between a beloved child and a dear friend.

Trafalgar stands on the stage as if he was always there. Pity no one minds what is happening in the spotlight. He looks tidier than usual, ceremonial. Shirt, tie, three piece suit, shoes. All various shades of black. All fitted perfectly. His gaze briefly stops on the couple of cadavers by the stage, then moves to the brunette.

“Playing with food, aren’t we?” 

“Tarao, symbolism never was one of your strengths.” She smiles softly and shakes her head. “Don’t try to grasp what is beyond you. Just think of it as a cog in the well oiled machine.”

Flowers of wreath along the walls move, as if troubled by the gust of wind, candle lights flicker, and the blond man appears by Robin’s side. Sanji anxiously fiddles with the hem of his suit, fixes invisible wrinkles on the bouquet wrap.

Trafalgar thought he had put more than enough effort to look decent tonight, however he wouldn’t stand a chance if this was a competition. Sanji's clan has been known for this aura of perfection, but even among them - he is special. Where the rest emit light of a full moon, Sanji’s light would blind you like the summer sun at its zenith. He holds ten white roses - stark contract against his black suit. Pale of petals resonates with the pale of his skin, and highlights the gold of his hair. Trafalgar cannot possibly look away and no disciplines are to blame for this magic. Little smile slips from under his control. “Beautiful”, he thinks.

“Sorry for being late.” The blond man tucks one long golden lock behind the ear. Eyes drift towards the dance floor, but do not linger there. 

“I was worried you made your escape.” Woman behind him chuckles softly. So innocent.

“Please, don’t ruin the moment.” The gaze of his blue eyes seems to be glued to the wooden planks of the stage, then he looks up, eyes meet with Robin’s.

They nod, almost simultaneously, and only after Sanji musters enough courage to look at the other man. His gaze shamelessly devours all the minute details he can grasp, it is hard to tell, if he desperately tries to avert attention from the bloodbath that is happening on the dance floor, or genuinely admires the sight. Trafalgar thinks he would be happy with both reasons. Law’s lips move soundlessly forming a few words. Sanji chuckles and replies in the same manner: “You too, idiot”.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Maybe a dozen eyes flickered back in response to the sweet, calm voice of the woman. Short break taken from tormenting the flesh, generously soaked with blood and tears. Bodies contort with the fear for their life. “Tonight, before the Dark Mother’s eyes, two cursed souls will be united. Every kindred present here shall witness the making of endless, mutual death.” Her eyes run across the dance floor, reading the mood of the guests. “The Vinculum must not be broken. Anyone who dares an attempt to weaken the bond will be hunted by The Circle of the Crone,” She looks for a moment into a particularly dark corner. “As well as by our brothers and sisters from Ordo Dracul .”

She shifts her gaze to the dark haired man, waiting for him to return the attention.

“Now you can speak your vows.”

Trafalgar makes a step forward, reaches to touch cold pale fingers, swallows heavily before he starts to speak.

“I, Trafalgar D Water Law, hereby take Vinsmoke Sanji into my Requiem forever.” Envelops his hand gently and carefully. “I swear before all that is holy and all that is unholy that we, tonight, seal our fates by bonds of dedication and honour. When my partner is hungry, I will bring food.” Sanji chuckles quietly and brightly. “When my partner sleeps, I will watch and bear witness upon waking.” He squints, as if targeted by a bright lamp. “When my partner is afraid, I will give comfort, and when my partner is wronged, I will have vengeance.” Cool fingers caress the back side of the hand. “This I swear on the blood, and the flame and the spirit.”

In his blue eyes flashing light reflects, candles burning twice as bright with the last spoken words. Law squeezes a cold hand, trying to reassure, give comfort, prevent flashes from setting kindred’s mind aflame.

“I, Vinsmoke Sanji, hereby take Trafalgar D Water Law into my Requiem forever.” His voice is the sweetest thing that ever touched ears, in both life and un-life. “I swear before all that is holy and all that is unholy that we, tonight, seal our fates by bonds of dedication and honour.” His fleeting touch playfully skims through tan fingers, icy sensation brings clarity and bliss of inebriation at once. “When my partner is hungry, I will bring food.” Law’s smile is barely there. “When my partner sleeps, I will watch and bear witness upon waking. When my partner is afraid, I will give comfort,” He is the most gentle and kind hearted, so much is obvious in every syllable of every word. “And when my partner is wronged, I will have vengeance. This I swear on the blood, and the flame and the spirit.”

Sanji’s hold on the hand gets firmer as he expects another rise of fire glow to radiate the room. Little girl steps forward from behind the stage. She is silent and obedient. So small, seven years at most, her deep chocolate eyes glazed with indifference, strawberry blond hair braided in two pig tales, white gown hugs her fragile figure. She stares ahead absently, woman’s hands leading her by shoulders.

“Time for the sacrifice.”

Hand outstretched to pass the ritual knife. Fingers gently support the ragged blade.

Trafalgar feels how kindred’s claws pierce his skin. He might have broken a few bones, if older wouldn’t strengthen his grip in response. It is hard for Sanji. This is easily seen, his eyes shift frantically, his lips stripped of smile and crooked. Even his touch feels colder than before. He never has taken the life of a sentient being. Even in death Sanji remained pure, his hands and soul unmarred by murder of mortals. Law knows the other is hurt, in his eyes this child is seen as a spit image of the older sister. Trafalgar himself lost in the shattered memories for a moment. Girl reminds him of his late sister, who died too young, too long ago. Despite that he knows he will have enough resolve to put this innocent child to rest, as she obediently waits for her own demise.

This is an essential part for the completion of the ritual. Sanji knows it. This is not news, but he can’t keep his long dead heart from burning and contorting, disgusted by a creeping acceptance. He was the one who proposed the marriage. He was organising most of the celebration. He thought about it many times, about the particular moment he will have to take someone’s life. The scenario played in his head on repeat. But it is not something you can be prepared for. This is a wedding. They are about to enter mutual un-life, their souls are to be bound for eternal death, forfeiting innocence, killing personification of their past. Together.

His hand is shaking, but Sanji hides it, only his grip on the hilt gets stronger. Her face is gentle and soft, with neat childish features, but her eyes are dead already, trapped under the Mother’s hypnotic influence. Colour of Embroidery on the gown matches her hair. She looks like a little princess. Sanji forgets to imitate the breathing, his thorax freezes mid inhale, mechanical movement abandoned. He thought he would be able to do it, to confront the past, to kill for the sake of something new, for the sake of the future. But this first step is terrifying. All his being is trapped Staring in the eyes of the Beast, unable to move. Sanji doesn’t want to lose his humanity, he is afraid to slip, to get comfortable with the idea of his supremacy over humans, his own strength, his right to take life. Few months into his death, as soon as the fog of newly obtained supernatural powers thinned, allowing him to think clearly again, he made a decision to give his all into the effort of keeping whatever “human” had left in this damned shell of the body. Once he got accustomed with business run by the Circle, he found plenty of friends in all the city morgues and knew without failure when fresh carcasses were delivered to local butcheries. When ritual required freshly drawn blood he used his own with no second thought. And now all workarounds are closed, blocked by unmovable boulders. Only one way ahead.

“We are both dead. It’s not going to get any worse.”

His scolding hot breath reminds him to expand the lungs, air forced in with a fake inhale. A warm palm touches softly, fingers carefully wrap around the hand, holding the hilt, the touch reassures, hand redirected slightly outward and up.

“Beheading is better.”

Sanji is genuinely grateful that Trafalgar never listens and reads his thoughts at any given moment. 

One.

He angles cutting edge.

Two.

Touch of his skin is burning hot.

Three. 

Thud.

Mortal dread frozen in the eyes of the dead girl.

Mother bares her teeth in a pleased grin.

Glassy eyes stare right into your face from the floor level, they screw tight into your head - condemning. With each second scarlet spreads around the severed head, bringing a mouth watering stench.

“Now you may kiss.”

Child's body remains still, held upright by hands gently splayed on its shoulders. Robin squints with concentration, licks off red droplets splashed on her lips after impact, nearly timid. 

“May what is forged tonight never be broken.” She whispers.

The knife hits the floor with a clang. The bouquet follows, ten white roses decorated with stark red blotches, their stench is unbearable, intoxicating. 

The hunger he feels is all-consuming. Every neuron vibrates affected by the aroma, blood splashed around smells thickly, various kinds of it, all are tainted to a degree. He salivates; his throat contorts with primal hunger. But in truth, there is only one treat he desires. 

In delirium icy fingers trail down burning tanned cheeks. Sanji almost bites the lip off while kissing his husband. It’s their first marital kiss, and Sanji nearly chokes on this familiar sacred feeling - bite of his beloved. He swallows boiling blood with hunger, sinks his fangs deeper in desperate attempt to deliver this unearthly bliss to each and every cell of the kindred’s body. Remnants of consciousness gravitate to the single burning spot where warm hands connect with the small of his back. He shakes with desire to consume, to combust, to crumble into dust in his hands. All for him, for his warm blood, for scalding ecstasy that burns his body like a lava. 

It sounds impossible, but Sanji really loves him. This body, that only can mimic movements, facial expressions and emotions of mortals - truly loves. And he is ready to pick and select Guinea pigs, lead them to dark laboratory; make predictions on the success of Trafalgar’s dark experiments, maintain victims condition while Law rests; give the last drop of own blood to feed this kindred of foreign covenant; play with his dark hair, soothing tired mind, remind him that he is still part of this world, despite the atrocities performed on his operation table. And Sanji melts with joy, as he knows Law loves him back, squeezes himself dry to extract the remnants of humanity, to show this warm feeling just like a living would, biting deep - almost reaching a soul - as true beast. He loves, as deep as his long silent heart will allow, confessing his feeling with each new gulp of blood, with each mortal killed to harvest bone meal for the rituals, with each bath filled with vitae to meet the sunrise holding hands.

He sees the world through a crimson veil, stares into those marvelous abyss of eyes ringed with a glimpse of cold silver. Sanji languidly licks Trafalgar’s bloody bitten lips, savours the moist and heat of others tongue in his mouth.

The Requiem tantalisingly screeches from the speakers. Walls are bright with writings. Perfect harmony to the overflowing rivers spilled across the room, spreading delicious smell. Sanji smiles brightly, affected by desperate sob from the dance floor.

He honestly finds it amusing: ragged moves of trash that believe if they obey and dance, they will survive to see next morning; their scared tearful eyes; how they gag swallowing their own snivel in fear to make a mistake. Sanji laughs loud and bright, a content smirk slowly forms on Trafalgar’s face. It seems younger has managed this situation. 

Only seems so.

Last thing Law was able to register before his, now spouse, disappears, is sharp grin, - so unlike Sanji's - cold and arrogant.

He lifts mortal by the throat, smiles empathetically to the poor guy, not paying attention to the fact that the victim is not only unable to resist, he hardly can see what force has lifted him above the ground. His white hair slowly turns dark, soaked with blood that splashes out of the man's neck. Sanji has barely made a single gulp. Man's body is slammed to the ground, bones break with a dry crack, as this particular snack was not up to the blond's taste. He dashes around the dance floor with impossible speed, it can only be traced by the sound of bodies crashing to the ground with terror and exhaustion. Some of them are still alive, with gaping wounds and broken bones, but alive, and smiling, an eerie effect of adrenaline and bliss of supernatural bite mixed together. Probably for the first time in his entire unlife Trafalgar is in stupor. He had seen many atrocities, tortures, massacres conducted for amusement, he had his own share of evildoings, carefully labelled and stored away in his mind as “for the benefit of science”. But Law never had seen Sanji like this, never had seen him succumbing to his Beast.

Ripped out heart is warm in his hands. Few last contractions. It still keeps beating, despite being dead - ugly, ridiculous, and hilarious. It has almost no blood and it tastes much worse than Sanji expected. A+, slightly bitter, probably due to the amount of alcohol and, judging by the taste, the owner had some lingering liver condition. Unearthly dead warmth makes him open his eyes. Tanned hands carefully extract the ragged sack of heart from his clenched fingers and throw it aside. Trafalgar quietly wipes bloody stains from his chin and corners of his mouth. Consciousness short circuit. Air around him carries the revolting stench of a massacre, tearing lungs apart with a poisonous smell of death. He carefully looks around. Blue eyes shake visibly with confusion, trying to find the answers to what has happened. Law remains silent, grabs Sanji’s hand and pulls him out of the club into the cold of night; he leads him to the nearby alley, presses him to sit on the dirty bench, and lowers himself to crouch in front of the younger man, seeking his eyes.

Night is deep and quiet, disturbed only by the electric hum of dimly lit street lamps. Until Sanji breaks the silence.

“I killed them all.” He studies his own palms; they are covered with dried crimson rivulets and stench that will not wash out.

“Yes.” Featherlike touch slides up his thigh. “You did.”

“And her too.”

“We killed her together.”

Sanji pulls his hand away, when the older man reaches to hold it.

“No. Don't touch me. I am a monster. I killed her and then those people.” His serious tone falters for a fraction of second, in a breath it shifts to a ragged cry. “Fuck! I don't even know how many I have killed!”

Hands fly in the air, slapping away any attempt to touch, to comfort.

“I am a cursed fucking monster!”

He stops abruptly, eyes filled with blood, it drips slowly down his chicks. 

“Don't touch me!” He hisses, trying to hide his face. “I… I fucking did it! She didn’t deserve it. None of them did.”

He smears red tears over his face.

“She was so small. She would become an absolute beauty, and I… Her blood got into my mouth and I could only think how delicious it was!”

The gleam of grey eyes is directed to him, and Sanji can not hold the eye contact, he lowers his head in defeat.

“And those people. They tasted disgusting. And I… Fuck, I know they would taste disgusting! But I still stuffed my mouth! I was not even hungry! And then! … Fuck! I… I still can feel how his spine cracked under my fingers!”

“My sweet,” Tanned hands bracket his face, leaving no room to move, and no way to avert eyes. “I am a monster too. I have killed her too. And you have seen my collection of hearts,” His voice rings with cold steel and lays with warm feathers, an impossible combination he manages to achieve. “No one can survive with his heart out, and I have one hundred. We are the same, i am fucking monster too, just as you are.”

“Law… You are not…”

“I am! Don’t be silly. You are a monster too, but you are much better than I am.”

He gets up, slowly lowers himself on other’s lap, looms over him, studies shiny blue eyes and skin smeared with red stains.

“You did it for our wedding.”

“But I…”

“I don’t care. Because of this I am now yours,” Ghost of his lips land on the forehead. “And you are mine.”

With his warmth, blood on the lips is baked into a disgusting sticky crust. He is so gentle. Soft hands cup his face, strong hot hips rest under his fingers. Fangs get in the way while they kiss but even this is a pleasant distraction. His dead heart is nothing but ashes, love and passion. Sanji shily nibs on the lip, and feels the bite in return. They are a part of this world, just like birds, fishes, humans or other animals. Curse of eternal life can't forbid them to love, to lick off the bitemarks with fervour, only to leave more, to kiss his lips into oblivion, to give in to those seconds with no looking back. Since Sanji died four hundred and fifty years ago. He thought he was doomed to spend the days in complete darkness. But he is grateful to the bottom of his cursed heart that the Dark Mother made his path cross with Trafalgar D. Water Law one of those nights, many years ago.

“Live forever, Ok?”

Law keeps telling him that Sanji’s smile is the sweetest thing in this world, but this is a lie.

He tastes so much better.