#wwdis

“Guillermo?” Nandor says in that light, cloying way that has still never changed from when he was a familiar. Also, completely and utterly awake. Has he just been…lying there in the dark? It feels like it’s been hours. Shit, maybe that’s why he hasn’t gotten out of bed, trapped underneath him.

“I was just — let me know if I’m too heavy. I can move.” He says it breathy with sleep, quick and slurred with a desire to get it out of the way.

The look on Nandor’s face is not visible to him in the barely there light of the guest room, so the silence that follows is incomprehensible.

“Too heavy for what?” Guillermo opens his mouth but has nothing to say. Nandor continues, “Do you think I am so weak I cannot hold you?”

This shit again. Call a 750 year old vampire weak once and he never forgets it.

“No, no, no. No. That’s — it’s just that, I’ve gotten the — I’ve been told before that when I lie on top of people, it can be a bit…heavy.” Suffocating, one college fling laments in his head. Get off, babe.

“Not to me,” Nandor says, a little proud. He shifts, and Guillermo, pressed length to length all the way, jostles along with him. He places his hands on Nandor’s chest, aware for not the first time that night that Nandor has several inches on him, in literally all measurements. All.

“Okay, well, just tell me if it gets hard to breathe or anything and I can just —”

Nandor tsks, which is maybe the 8th highest sound on the list of expected responses to what he just said.

With a tone of fond condescension just barely edging on concern, but mostly fond condescension, Nandor says, “Guillermo, what happened? Did all the hypnosis you’re “immune” to kick in at once?”

“What are you talking abou — oh. Oh, yeah.” Guillermo laughs, airy, delirious, sleepy and filled with sudden elation. “Vampires can’t breathe.”

“I prefer ‘don’t’ breathe, but no, we do not breathe. Something you’ve known for twelve years. Dear, silly thing.” The last thing is said lower, joined by a hand at the back of Guillermo’s head that nudges him back to lie down on Nandor’s chest. Maybe he’s just tired, but it feels like maybe Nandor has been getting better at hypnosis, because holy shit, a moment of vertigo just took him laying down, and his head thumps against the solid body beneath him. As Nandor’s hand begins to drag very convincing patterns along his scalp, he gently orders, “Go back to sleep before you forget how to zip up your own cockies.”

Literally, my first reaction was to call that thing “SandFlag Omens in the Shadows”.

They replied that if you took the first letters, it forms “OGWS” or “GOWS”.