He awoke in the castle.

On the very bed where, not long ago, the passionate vampire Mina had tried to seduce L — and paid the price for it.

It was daylight. In the bright sun, the room seemed strangely unfamiliar. Dust had gathered in the corners, the once-opulent drapes of Blutstein had faded, and the carpet was stained with wax from too many dripping candles.

He sat up, testing his body — still weak, but somehow lighter. At that moment, the door flew open, and L all but burst into the room.

"I thought you’d never wake up!" he exclaimed, delighted. "I even had a stake ready."

"How considerate." Makishima rubbed his forehead, wincing. The sunlight streaming onto his face was an utterly foreign sensation. "Why am I not burning?"

"Probably something to do with my blood," L replied airily.

Makishima had already begun to suspect as much. He no longer heard L’s heartbeat, nor smelled his blood, nor felt that same aching hunger at the sight of his throat.

He felt, in every way, disturbingly... human.

"And I," L continued, frowning, "didn’t turn into a vampire after drinking your blood... And my own blood isn’t poisonous for you anymore."

"How do you know?"

"Well… I tracked down Carmilla and Erzsébet. Thought they might know how to save you. My blood didn’t work, so I had to resort to, uh, other methods. Good thing your castle has a torture chamber."

It took true talent to condense a horror story into two casual sentences.

Makishima could only hope he was joking. It was a fragile hope.

"You’re a demon," he muttered. "You really did turn this into a horror story."

"I thought that’s what it was." L raised an eyebrow. "What was it supposed to be?"

"A love story."

A silence fell between them.

Then L, businesslike, declared, "Well, that explains why we’re still here. The plot should be over — you woke up, everyone except us is dead. But we’re still here. That must mean we have to kiss or something before we can leave."

Or something.

Straight to the point.

L settled onto the bed beside Makishima, staring at him expectantly.

Makishima thought that putting this plan into action had been much easier back when L smelled of wine and de Sade, when the sight of that faint bluish vein on his neck made his breath hitch. Now, though, the whole thing felt unbearably awkward. Ridiculous, even.

Alright, let’s call this a controlled case of stupidity… He brushed his lips against L’s dry, chapped ones, teasingly licked his upper lip, then pushed his tongue into his mouth — L yielded obediently but didn’t react in the slightest. His compliance wasn’t arousing in the least. Kissing him felt about as passionate as kissing a rubber doll. Or a corpse.

Makishima pulled back, glancing around the room as if hoping something had changed. But no, they were still in Blutstein.

"I’m no expert in this particular genre," L said in a flat tone, as if delivering a news report about minor fluctuations in car sales, "but it seems highly probable that we’ll have to have sex to conclude this story."

Makishima appreciated objects with a noble patina of age, but even he thought the bedding in Blutstein Castle could stand to be a little less gray with time, and the bed’s canopy a little less devoured by moths. Still, at the moment, the dilapidated state of their so-called love nest was the least of their problems.

"Do you have experience with men?" L asked.

"Yes," Makishima decided not to elaborate.

"I don’t," L admitted. Then, after a pause, he clarified, "I don’t have any experience. At all."

Well, not exactly a surprise.

"…Does it hurt?" L asked.

Makishima hadn’t exactly been aiming for romance, but there was something fundamentally wrong about that being L’s first concern. It made him realize just how alien all of this must be to him. Even leaving emotions aside, L — unlike Makishima, who viewed the physical world with detached amusement — clearly had his own set of issues with embodiment itself. He was probably feeling uncomfortable. And, let’s be honest, scared.

Makishima also wasn’t particularly eager to find out how much L actually knew about the mechanics of sex. About preparation, about making sure it wasn’t painful, about making it at least somewhat enjoyable for one of them.

With a sigh, he said, "Let’s simplify things. I’ll be on the bottom. You just… do what nature intended."

L stared at him like a stuck pig.

Makishima swore internally. Right. Nature. As if L had ever concerned himself with anything as pedestrian as biological imperatives.

"I mean—"

"I understand. I’m supposed to insert my penis into you."

"Something like that," Makishima muttered, cursing everything in existence. "And occasionally put your tongue in my mouth. And, you know, touch my body in various places. And maybe make a face like you’re at least somewhat interested. That’s generally how people have sex."

"Your sarcasm is unnecessary. I’ve watched porn," L said. "I just don’t know how to… start."

"Well, for starters — undress me," Makishima instructed.

He knew he was attractive. But under L’s gaze, as he was being stripped, he felt deeply uncomfortable. There was no hunger in that stare, no admiration — L wasn’t lingering anywhere, but he wasn’t avoiding anything either. It was clinical.

"Leave the shirt on. It’s more erotic that way."

What am I saying, Makishima thought immediately. That’s like preaching to birds.

Still, L obediently froze, then moved on to the buttons of his pants, face unreadable.

Makishima hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you even like me?"

L took the question seriously — tilting his head, studying Makishima’s body with the same intense focus he might apply to solving a particularly complex case. For some reason, he pressed his palm against Makishima’s, comparing their sizes (his was slightly larger), as if only now realizing that other people weren’t just copies of himself. Then he traced his fingers over Makishima’s chest, through his hair, along his cheekbone.

There was no shyness in his touch. No tenderness, either. Just the curiosity of an investigator.

"I don’t find you repulsive," L finally concluded. "You have nice hair. And your shirt… is acceptable."

"Wow. We’re really gonna have to work on your compliments."

Makishima turned his face into L’s palm, licking his fingers. He wrapped his own hand around L’s cock, but got no reaction — not even a gasp.

And yet, he wanted to hear it. Wanted L to moan, to tremble, to whisper his name. The realization surprised him.

Come on, there had to be a line somewhere, some threshold past which even a young, healthy guy — no matter how detached from the world — would finally give in to instinct.

Luckily, they were still in the kind of story where failure wasn’t an option.

Some readers care little for the moral dimensions of our tale, nor for the subtleties of our heroes' inner turmoil. They await only the scandalous scene of their baser indulgences. And so, to satisfy their curiosity, we must, setting decency aside, recount the events that transpired so they too might share in the unearthly rapture that our protagonists experienced.

With the fervor of a devoted lover, the former vampire sought to ignite the fire of lust in his innocent companion. Beginning with gentle kisses, the seducer soon descended to Elias’s manhood, lavishing it with expert attentions that betrayed just how long he had been enraptured by this most exquisite part of the human form. With skilled lips and tongue, he worshipped the sacred staff, lapping up the precious pearls of dew that formed at its tip as if they were morning droplets on a flower’s petal.

At first, the youth seemed immune to the count’s wicked expertise, but soon, desire overtook him. Drunk on passion, he took control, toppling von Weisshaar onto his back, rendering him a helpless victim of his newfound ardor. Though Elias lacked experience, he made up for it with the raw intensity of his youthful soul. Soon, unable to withstand the sweet torment, the count pleaded, “Oh, please, take me!”

Yet, when the moment came to act, Elias hesitated once more, recalling his lack of knowledge. Laughing, von Weisshaar reassured him that, with such a guide, he needn’t worry. He straddled Elias’s lap, aligning their bodies in a manner befitting his depraved tastes. Lost in ecstasy, he guided his lover into him, trembling with sinful pleasure. Elias, quick to learn the art of sodomy, thrust into him with powerful strokes, while simultaneously ensuring his partner’s pleasure with eager hands. The heat of their union melted the vampire’s frozen soul, and he surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation. Lips met, tongues entwined, gasps mingled — until, finally, they reached their shared climax in an eruption of carnal bliss.

Makishima would later, out of curiosity, open that accursed book and read the passage. It was so tedious, so mock-moralizing, that de Sade himself would have choked with envy.

In reality, though?

It had been… rather hot. Maybe not the best sex of his life, but certainly not the worst.

Neither of them noticed exactly when the dilapidated bedroom of Blutstein Castle faded, replaced by the familiar, almost-homey library. Makishima only realized when a few books toppled noisily to the floor around them.

He met L’s equally stunned gaze.

"Well. We’re home," he said, in the most casual tone a man could muster while sitting in another man’s lap (and, well, not just his lap). "That was, without a doubt, my mistake."

L withdrew his hand from Makishima’s pants and said, "Next time, let’s be more selective about our reading material."

Then, with a gesture both obscene and breathtakingly innocent, he licked Makishima’s release from his palm.

Makishima swallowed. His lips and tongue still tingled with the lingering taste of L’s mouth.