#totallynotavamp

@totallynotavamp

There are some things a guy shouldn’t be into, and he’s reasonably sure that this is pretty high on the list. Damien would never hurt him–Robert practically had to force him to bite, the first time–but there’s something undeniably predatory about him, about the way he handles his human companion like he’s afraid he might snap but still can’t possibly stay away. It’s flattering, really. Makes Robert’s head spin a little.

(Maybe that’s the nerves, actually, but fuck it–fear, arousal, the line’s always been pretty thin.)

In the absence of a life-threatening (unlife-threatening?) situation, he can’t really justify encouraging this shit. He can’t rationalise tilting his head to give Damien better access, or the way his breath hitches, rough hands pulling Damien–settled in his lap like he belongs there–in closer to himself.

“Does that make me the bad boy in this situation, or you? Because traditionally, it should be the vampire, right?”

@totallynotavamp

Damien was isolating himself, he needed to. He hasn’t been able to get any blood for himself for a while and it was making it difficult for him to resist his friends- people he didn’t want to hurt. He had even sent his son to stay with Mary and Joseph so he would be safe too. He flinched when he heard someone come into his house and he curled himself up in the darkest corner of the basement, shaking his head when Robert found him.

“Robert you need to leave!” He hissed curling into a ball and whimpering trying to move away as his worried friend moves closer to him “Please stay back!” He pleads shaking his head “No! W-Well yes but not willingly. I-it’s been hard to find some” he confesses “P-Please… Please leave I don’t want to hurt you..” he whispers. He can hear Roberts heart beat, he can almost hear the blood rushing through his veins. The thunderous beating is almost too much for him. Damiens scared.. mostly of himself and what he’s capable of. If he could help it, Robert would have never seen him in this state. Hence why he was trying to hide in the shadows, trembling with temptation and hunger, skin paler than usual, his fingers tangled into his long dark hair.

The basement is, unsurprisingly, fucking dark. Robert likes to think he has pretty good eyesight even in dim light, but he can barely make Damien out at all aside from flashes of pale, ghostly skin under the dark, tangled hair. It’s--discomforting, to see his friend like this. Damien is normally so composed, so refined in his aesthetic and persona; witnessing him brought to his lowest is deeply disquieting. It feels like Robert’s violating a boundary just by being here, and in a way, he supposes he is. But Damien can be upset with him later, if need be- Robert’s more concerned with what happens to vampires that don’t feed.

“Okay.” He sounds--remarkably calm. Which isn’t unusual, but even Robert tends to be a little more shaken up by danger than he is now (though his pulse is still racing, anxiety clenching his gut the way it always does before he does something stupid). “Hold on a minute. Just keep it cool for one minute. You’re gonna walk me through something first, buddy, and if I don’t like the sound of it, I’ll go.”

He’s not an idiot: his first thought is, of course, that he should find a supply of blood from somewhere else. But where? If Damien can’t find any, there’s not much hope of Robert doing so - unless he wants to find a vampire’s nest and risk getting murdered. 

Better a friend than an enemy, he figures. Robert thumbs the closed pen-knife in his pocket, thinks about the wooden stake tucked into one of his inside pockets. Safe enough. He takes a breath.

This dance is old, by now. Robert’s lost plenty of friends to it. He’s sure he used to apologise, in the old days, but now more often than not he barely even acknowledges that he’s been gone, to most people. 

Damien, of course, is one of very few exceptions, and Robert has never seen him this distressed over it. So he loses the irritated, flat stare he’d been holding, lets his expression crumple back into a tired kind of resignation. 

“Don’t apologise. I’m sorry. I just--couldn’t. It just happens.”

(’Just happens’, like everything else seems to, like you’re not the one responsible for how fucked everything is.)

Robert looks at him - really looks at him, at the sad eyes and worried frown, and finds himself worrying, too.

“Have you been... doing okay?”

Robert grins sideways at him, one arm wrapped around Damien’s shoulders to keep him close, body slouched into the sofa. “I like to think it’s the alcohol.” He can’t help shivering a little at the featherlight touches, lashes flicking downward as his gaze drops. He’s enjoyed this closeness with Damien since it started; somehow, the feeling of being wanted - even if it’s literally a desire to consume him - only adds to it.

(Robert, buddy. See a therapist.)

It still throws him off-guard when the simplest of touches is enough to make him weak at the knees, like a gentle breeze might knock him over. All the same, the feeling is welcome; Robert’s looked forward to spending time with Damien even more than usual since the exchange of physical affection became standard between them. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, resisting the urge to bump his nose against Damien’s. Settles for simply holding Damien close, arms wound around him, all warmth and security. “I mean - yeah. Of course.” 

(Please. ‘I really enjoy your company’ - after a compliment like that, Damien could ask for the moon on a string and Robert would do his damnedest to provide. Sue him.)

@totallynotavamp

He doesn’t protest the closeness, wrapping Damien up in his arms as close as they can get. “Sure,” Robert murmurs, in a whiskey-rough whisper of a voice. He rests his cheek against Damien’s head, nuzzling idly at dark, soft hair, and doesn’t speak for a while. One hand smooths reassuringly up and down the other’s spine, a constant, steady pressure.

@totallynotavamp

Robert blinks at him, a little dazzled by how clean his house looks now that Damien’s had his way with it for a couple of hours while Robert went to, quote, “locate sustenance for his crumbling flesh vessel”. Two grocery bags hang from one hand as he stares at Damien with a mix of wonder and disbelief. 

“If you’re trying to seduce me? It’s working.” 

He makes his way to the kitchen first, dumping the grocery bags on the counter before scooping Betsy up to kiss her flat snout, cooing affectionately, then puts her down again. Her tiny claws skitter all over the floor as she zooms around his ankles, tail wagging frantically.

“Oh - if I go up these stairs only to find that you haven’t covered my bed in rose petals, this friendship is over,” he calls casually over his shoulder, ascending the stairs with both Betsy and Damien behind him.

The bedroom door swings open. Actual, honest to Christ rose petals. He might be blushing a little.

“Holy shit. Really gave it the trashy Victorian romance novel touch.