There's the drumming of storms raging outside, it's been going on for hours now yet, with how your hand is tenderly clasped in his, he doesn't want it to cease. Vlad flips idly through the page of his book, the old paper smelling of sandalwood and wax, to finish a few more chapters until he can set it down, lay his head on your lap. A surge of bliss captures him and he turns his head, eyes sinking down to the gentle curve of your lips; heart impatient.

"My love," he murmurs, soft.