“Good morning, darling.” the voice that reached the Count’s ears was soft and warm. A weight settled near his shoulders, soft human skin on his back. Ah. Lysander. Smiling despite himself, Braham peeled one crimson eye open and twisted to gaze upon his beloved. So beautiful… He reached up to stroke skin as pale as porcelain and smooth as glass. Lys closed their wide, golden eyes and nuzzled into his broad palm.

They were so small, compared to him. Where he stood nearly three meters, Lysander capped out just under 160 centimeters. Their frame slight and waifish, delicate as a doll. Short locks of steely green framed their gentle face and chin with a delicate curl, silken strands kissing the back of Braham’s own clawed and ghost pale hand. Their slender neck and shoulders were marred, sullied with the divvets carved into sweet flesh by his fangs. Dutifully, he twisted himself to lick the newest mark, still pink. Lysander laughed, bell-like and sweet, and reached up to stroke their fingers through the curtain his hair formed between the two of them. They tugged at sable and sanguine, wrapping a lock around the span of long fingers to bring to soft lips. “Or should I say good evening, being the time it is?” Lysander’s lips quirked with mischief and they opened their eyes again. “Did you rest well, my love?”

“As well as ever.” the Count breathed in return. “And you, my dove?”

Lysander’s smile warmed him like the sun couldn’t, even as they pulled back, releasing his hair as they went. Slender chest coming into view, giving way to wide-flared hips and legs that brought deer to mind, human though they were. All so pale… Guilt clawed deep into Braham’s chest. He’d been taking too much of his beloved lately, no matter how spritely they behaved after. He’d need to feed elsewhere for a time…
Yet his love interrupted his thoughts. “I slept wonderfully, dear.” Lysander soothed, trailing their hand across the spanning breadth of Braham’s shoulders, then down along his side. “I found breakfast for you, as well. Einar has been replenished.”

Ah, so Lys had been up for a while… hopefully wearing more clothes about the castle than they currently did. “Thank you, dove. I’ll be certain to visit him.” the Count chuckled. “What is the time? I smell night dew.” he made a point of sniffing towards the window, past the heavy curtains of the four-post.

“Late enough that I’m going to sleep for a bit. Wake me before the moon is high, will you love?” Lysander said, slithering with all the grace of a faun under the blankets. “And no, you’re not to stay with me. You’ve work to do, dear.” they scolded before Braham could even entertain the possibility of curling up around his beloved and returning to sleep. …As much as he’d like to, he shouldn’t. The scent of their pulse was sitting sweet and heavenly in his nose.
He should feed before he took more than his share.

“As you say, my dove.” he reached out to stroke their back. “Get some rest.”
 Reluctantly, he extracted himself from the blankets. His legs, long and slim, feet almost human yet tipped with claws and padded in an echo of his Lucedarian ancestry, carried him swiftly from behind the curtain, across the room to the wash basin to splash his face. His tail, a thick whip of black fur, twitched and swayed to maintain his balance as he bent in half to reach the cool stone with the bubbling water. Under his palms, he was keenly aware of how long his face was. The sharp, stern angle of his brow, the jutting of his cheek bones. His nose carried the Lucedarian flatness, though crooked with a roman bend. His hair fell around him in a curtain, sable and streaked with sanguine from the temples, peppered with streaks of silver. With a sigh, he pushed it back behind ears that had settled the difference between Jordskar, Lucedarian, and human, with an appearance not unlike a bat’s. Gathering the locks behind his head, he reached for the crimson ribbon he preferred to tie his hair back with. He’d slick and treat it later, for now he merely needed it out of the way while he dressed himself.

Lysander, thoughtful as ever, had already hung his suit for the day up behind the privacy screen. He stepped into his briefs, settling the band just under his tail. Next, slim fitting black slacks, trimmed in delicate silver thread and embroidered filigree. A lovingly tailored white blouse, frilled at the ends of its long sleeves. Broad in the shoulders and narrow at the waist, with some room in the back for the line of black fur down his spine. His favorite waistcoat followed, the back panel black, the front crimson with more of that silver trim and filigree. It was enough for moving through the castle, but he eyed his jacket curiously as he reached for his pocket watch and a black tie.

Across the room, the steady thrum of Lysander’s heart had slowed. Sleep had already taken his beloved, so he would not be able to ask them how he looked.
He’d have to assume he looked fine then. Skipping the jacket, with a flick of his tail, he turned and strolled out of his quarters to greet the night.