the wolves are migrating eastwards

That night, Legs had been testing a new concoction. He had taken a small sample of Lady Goldsmith's blood — he'd held his breath as he made the delicate incision, he would not let himself be distracted by the intoxicating scent of human blood — and was applying small drops of the mixture to it, watching how it reacted. Scott had joined him after dinner, as he usually did, bringing a plate piled high with decedent foods with him. He had placed the plate at Legundo's side, and reminded him that he was always welcome to join him at the dinner table. Legs lied easily, that he had already eaten, and that he needed to focus on his work. Scott never took the cue to leave. Instead, the noble sat himself down on the couch, lounging comfortably, and easily picked up wherever their last conversation had left off.

The conversation that evening had dragged on long into the night. Despite his frustrations with the young man's eccentricities, Legundo had to admit he found Scott very easy to converse with. He was educated and quick witted, and matched Legundo blow for verbal blow. Scott seemed to take Legs' disinterest as a challenge, and every eye roll and heavy sigh was met with a further cheeky comment and a laugh. It was… frustratingly charming. But as night began to threaten to turn closer to morning, the conversation had been interjected with longs stretches of silence, until finally Legundo looked over his shoulder and saw that Scott's head was tipped back against the couch cushions, and his eyes were blinking so slowly they were more closed than open.

"You should get some sleep," he said softly. Scott lazily lifted a manicured brow at him. Legundo tried not to be endeared by the gesture. He gently set down the vial he was holding, and turned to face Scott fully.

"But, Doctor," Scott muttered, "I find myself simply too tired to walk. However will I make it to my bedchambers in this state?" The slur of his words was clearly performative, but he could not fake the bleariness of his eyes. Legs scoffed softly.

"I'm not carrying you, you fool," he said, and internally cringed at the fondness he heard creeping into his own voice. He shouldn't be letting himself grow attached like that. Even if he ignored everything else, Scott was so young, barely half Legundo's physical age. The flirtatious teasing was just that, teasing. An annoyance that he could endure. He couldn't let it get under his skin, couldn't let affection worm it's way into him. He was a monster, in more ways than one, and he could not inflict that on anyone else.

Scott smirked up at him from the couch, and Legundo clenched his jaw.

"Come now, Master Goldsmith," he said, once the initial swirl of emotion was sufficiently contained. "I will deign to escort you to your chambers, but you must walk on your own two feet."

He extended a gloved hand in offer towards the noble. Scott swung his legs gracefully off the couch, and placed his hand gently on Legundo's outstretched palm. The warmth of fresh blood seeped through the thick leather of Legs' gloves, and he clamped down the instinctual roll of hunger. Scott held heavy eye contact as he rose slowly to his feet, teal eyes sparkling with mischief even through his weariness. There was a different edge to the next wave of hunger that hit Legundo, and he shut that down just as firmly as the last.

Scott did not release his hand once he was on his feet. Legundo could not bring himself to separate them either.

"You are a kind man, Doctor," Scott muttered. There was an interesting inflection in the words, like it was something Scott was only just realising, and he didn't know how to feel about it. His eyes — those unnaturally bright and brilliantly sharp irises — searched Legundo's face, brow pinched with curiosity and confusion.

"I try to be," Legundo replied softly, weariness of his own beginning to seep into his bones.

Neither of them moved for a moment, until Scott slowly titled his chin. He was appraising Legundo, like he was fine portrait he wished to add to his collection. The scrutiny made Legs' skin crawl, but not in the way he expected. He felt Scott's gaze like trailing fingers across his skin, a caress of attention. Legundo did not like to be observed. The more people looked at him, the more likely they were to see the truth. Scott could obviously see the discomfort he was causing Legundo. After one more long look, the noble smiled and slowly, deliberately stepped back.

Legundo was almost drawn with him. He had not realised just how close they had become, until space appeared between them. He resisted the magnetic draw that was Scott Goldsmith. But only just.

Or so he thought.

.

A near millennium later, Legundo would look back on that moment as the point of no return.

Despite it all, despite the lies and the bloodshed and the fury, he would think back to those quite evenings. Before he had revealed the truth of his nature, and Scott had revealed the truth of his intentions. Before the kisses and the bites and the mistakes and the screaming matches. Back when he had been trying so desperately not to fall in love with Scott Goldsmith.

'You are a kind man,' Scott had said.

'You could have been, too,' Legundo still thought.

****