#I feel like someone has dug a knife between my vertebrae and is trying to pop them apart by sheer force

[pucciverse]

:-)

[katrandomwrites]

Wierdly Human

Alternate title was "Jon the Archivist is Kinda Hot"

Little in between snippets from the assistants and their impressions of Jonathan Sims.

I declare this a fluff and humor only zone! Episode 160 can kiss my butt.

You can also find this on AO3 under the same title.

I got the inspiration for this from a tumblr post about Jon being a clean boy despite crawling through hell and back but I think the writer deleted it because I spent forever looking for it and couldn't find it :n: Also 2 Drink Jon is a reference to 2 other fics I've read so his wild ass is not mine.

Supplemental Headcanons at the end.

--

Pre-Show

There was somebody new at the Institute. 

He was short and dark with black hair neatly trimmed and styled. A pair of browline glasses perched in front of wide brown eyes that seemed to absorb everything around him.

“Hey, uh, Tim,” Martin whispered as he leaned over to where his coworker was digging through a drawer, “Who’s that?”

“Hm?” Tim’s eyes widened as he looked up, “Oh shit, he’s cute.”

“Not helpful, Tim.”

“Um, I think he might be Daniel’s replacement. I think his name is Joe or something,” Tim swallowed, “I wonder what modeling agency Bouchard raided for him.”

Martin elbowed him in the ribs hard, his face going as red as his hair, “Shut up!”

“But look at him, Martin! He has to have a skincare routine an hour long and don’t tell me you didn’t notice that those trousers are bloody tailored. I see you looking at his arse!”

“SHUT UP!”

”What are you two fighting about now?”

Both researchers jumped away from each other as Sasha popped up behind them.

“Hot new guy,” Tim said, earning another jab and a hiss.

Sasha looked at Martin and grinned, “Short, scrawny, Persian, and angry?”

“He’s Persian?” Martin stuttered before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah, I got to talk to him during his follow up interview. Smart guy but kind of grumpy and super awkward. We got talking about foriegn food and he offered to give me his grandma’s recipe for chelow kababs,” Sasha said.

“What’s his name.” Tim asked, looking back at where the new guy was glaring at a row of filing cabinets with several drawers ajar.

“Jonathan Sims.”

--

Pre Episode 44

Basira watched as Sims limped away with the tape clutched to his chest like a lifeline before sighing and heading out to the car where Daisy was waiting.

“Well?” Daisy asked, “How’s our favorite murderer?”

Basira swatted her feet off the dash, “He looks like he hasn’t slept in 3 weeks and recently got hit by a car.”

“I wasn’t asking about his nasty, worm-eaten face, Basira,” Daisy said, “Does he know we’re watching him?”

“I don’t think so -put your seatbelt on- it seems like he’s more invested in what’s on those tapes for now. I get the feeling he’s more worried about watching the people he works with than us.”

“What a sad little librarian. I’m looking forward to how he managed to kill Robinsen without getting his ass whipped.”

“She was old.”

“Yeah, but Sims looks like he’d get knocked out by a light breeze even before he got munched on by some nasty fucking bugs. Did you see the surveillance from Robinsen’s initial investigation? I went back through to track Sims and watched him struggle move a box that was in front of a filing cabinet for a solid twenty minutes; the big ginger guy had to move it for him.”

“That’s-” Basira snorted, “That’s pathetic.”

Daisy grinned, “He has to be one manipulative bastard to get anything done.”

“Is that your theory?”

“I mean look at you.”

“What about me?”

“He gives you the puppy eyes once and now you’re smuggling him tapes from the evidence locker? I have never known the great Basira Hussain to ever cave to a suspect’s wishes in my life- and don’t say it’s to keep a closer eye on him. We have less illegal tactics for that.”

Basira opened her mouth to argue but found that Daisy had a point. She really only gave into suspects if the circumstances were dire. This was technically classed as a low priority case.

What was going on here? 

--

Post Episode 76

Melanie flopped dramatically onto Georgie's couch and let out a long winded sigh.

"Oh?" Georgie asked from the kitchen door.

Melanie sat up slightly to let her sit down before plopping her head down on Georgie's thigh, "I had to go talk to Sims at the Institute again."

"How's Jon?"

"A fucking bastard is what he is."

"Well I knew that," Georgie laughed, gently beginning to brush through Melanie's hair with her fingers.

"I don't know, he's was wierdly defensive and I think he was trying to gaslight me about one of his new assistants."

Georgie paused her brushing, "I haven't seen Jon in a while but that seems… out of character for him. He's a grump, sure, but I've never known him to be a bully -on purpose that is."

"Yeah, well…"

The pair lapsed into a tense silence.

"Would it make you feel better if I show you a picture of Jon in university that he is very embarrassed about," Georgie ventured after a few minutes, "He's still mad I have it.~"

Melanie twisted her head back and grinned, instantly breaking the tension and sitting up to look at the phone screen presented to her.

On it was a picture of Jon passed out, mouth wide open and drooling, on the ugliest couch she'd ever seen.

"He still owns that couch by the way," Georgie said. Melanie waved a hand in her face to silence her as she took in the details.

Jon was in a pink crop top that Melanie was sure she'd seen in Georgie's closet, union jack boxers, gladiator sandals, and The Admiral was planted square on his chest, though he was about half the size of the fluffball that roamed the flat now. Surrounding them where piles of papers and books on the paranormal.

Melanie began to cackle.

"Our friend group used to call him '2 Drink Jon' and this was after he'd done four shots in the kitchen and decided to lecture us on how ghosts are bullshit and he could beat one in a fist fight," Georgie elaborated, "I'm still not sure when he ended up in that outfit but honestly, if we had recorded his rant he probably could have used it for his Masters thesis."

Melanie wheezed into her shoulder as tears began to stream down her face.

"2 Drink Jon was actually a lot more charismatic than sober Jon. This one time he almost had us convinced that he could talk to plants after two gin and tonics, granted we were also drunk but-,"

"Stop, please," Melanie wheezed, "I'm dying."

"Gosh, one of these days I'll have to tell you about tequila and the alien conspiracy. Randall could almost recite the whole speech from memory."

Melanie fell off the couch.

--

Post Episode 109

Julia and Trevor exchanged a look as the Archivist powered through the spiciest Thai food they could find without even breaking a sweat. 

It was supposed to be a joke, spiking Jon's food, the cashier had even given them a panicked look at the restaurant and Trevor's eyes had been watering the whole way back to the safe house. They'd even waited by the door in case Jon tried to make a break for the case of water bottles in the car but he just unwrapped the plastic fork and dug in without even asking for a drink.

Julia picked at her own food but couldn't quite manage to eat it and glanced back at Jon, "Are you sure you don't need a water or anything?"

Jon looked up for a moment, his eyes were more alive than they had been all day and practically sparkled in the shitty fluorescent light. He shook his head and instead reached for another packet of chili sauce to add to his food.

"What the hell is he," Trevor whispered to Julia in horror.

"I don't know but he's definitely not normal."

--

During Episode 132

Daisy had misjudged Jon. She'd grossly misjudged him.

She flexed her fingers around his, ignoring the way the sand dug into her skin, and gently pulled him closer. The man she'd called prey gave her a soft smile and compiled, pressing against her side like she'd never held a knife to his throat, like she hadn't just admitted to planning his murder before she was trapped here.

Daisy turned her head awkwardly and dug her face into his shoulder savoring the human contact, her tears soaking into his shirt.

The Hunt in her blood tried to sing, tried to fight the Buried, "Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect", it echoed faintly.

Jon said something and began to move, pulling Daisy forward along with him.

"Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect"

Hours past as they shimmied through the coffin, the pain of being scraped and crushed was overpowered by the sheer ecstasy of moving more than an inch every few days.

"Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect"

There was a door, Jon tucked himself under her arm and pulled her up the stairs to the blinding lights of the institute. She ducked her head down to his shoulder again and grimaced as her joints popped and groaned.

"Jon, you stupid idiot! What did you think-"

Daisy looked up to the person she thought she’d never see again and smiled.

"Hi."

--

Post Episode 132

Martin had horrible timing really. He just needed to pee, was that really too much to ask?

Of course it was. The universe hated him.

So instead of slipping into the private bathroom upstairs which was magically broken, he had to go down a level and walk in on Jon shaking dirt out of his clothes.

Martin was going to die here but at least he'd die happy.

Jon didn't even seem to register that someone else had joined him (thank the Lonely) so Martin took a second to sneak a guilty look before darting back out and hiding for 40 years.

Jon was painfully thin. Martin got the idea that he could count every vertebrae and rib if he was allowed and even at a glance he could spot the sunken area where at least one rib was now missing.

Worm scars and burns were peppered up his back along with a few moles and freckles. Little red marks circled his chest in a way that Martin immediately recognized as being from the black fabric crumpled at Jon's feet.

And to top it all off, much to Martin's delight, were a set of three black gears tattooed down Jon's right shoulder blade. Sasha had mentioned once that she had gone out for drinks with Jon when he first started and they'd managed to get on the topic of tattoos. Tim had spent months trying to get Jon to show it to him before 'giving up'.

Martin stepped out and stood in the hall for a moment, red faced and giddy, before stumbling off in search of another bathroom.

--

Somewhere between Episode 132-154

"Hey, guys?" Melanie called.

Daisy and Basira glanced up to see Melanie holding a giant plate of the best smelling food they'd seen in weeks. Steam wafted up into her very confused face.

"Did either of you make this? I went to ask Martin and I can't find him."

"I didn't make it," Basira said, "Daisy?"

"I once made spaghetti and lit it on fire.

Basira grimaced and walked up to Melanie, "Kebabs, Tahdig rice, flat bread, and jam cookies. Those are Iranian dishes, or Middle Eastern at least.”

Daisy looked at Basira, "How do you know that?"

"Took a foreign cuisine course focused on middle eastern food a few years ago," Basira said as she made her way to the kitchen area with the group in tow.

Sitting on the table were three more huge plates of food and two empty plates sitting in the sink. Martin was standing next to the table with pure confusion on his face.

"Did you make this?"

Martin jumped and looked at the group, "Uh, no? I really only do pastas… this is a little outside my skill set. I think-"

"It could be a trap," Daisy interrupted, "Maybe it's laced with something?"

"No, I'm pretty sure-"

"Could be, but who would go to this effort, the Web?" Basira said.

"Guys, it was probably-"

"It was the Archivist!" Helen exclaimed from behind them, somehow having opened her door without making a sound and scaring the shit out of them, "He is an excellent cook."

"Bullshit," Melanie wheezed, setting her plate down before she dropped it.

"No, she right," Martin sighed, "Jon actually cooked something similar a few years ago for a company thing. He gave this whole speech about how grandparents immigrated here from Iran, well Persia at the time, and his grandma made him learn to cook what she called 'real food'."

"You mean to tell me that Jonathan Sims, the skinniest guy I have ever met, can cook like this," Basira said in disbelief before cautiously sitting down at the table with the rest following suit.

"He called it his grandmother's curse," Helen provided cheerfully, "He said that no matter what he does,  he always makes far more than he needs and never has people around to give it to. So he just never cooks."

"You talked to him?" Melanie asked. Daisy began to pick at a plate and made a sound of confusion and delight at the taste.

"Oh yes, he even let me help by getting things off high shelves!"

"This is amazing," Daisy said in disbelief before grabbing a fork and beginning to eat in earnest.

"It is! Jon and I had a lovely chat and I'm not much for 'real' food these days but he really convinced me!" Helen declared, spinning back around to re enter her door, "And I must say it was delightful."

"Huh," Basira shrugged and began to eat.

Not bad.

--

Post Episode 159

For the second time since he woke up, Martin pinched himself. He had to be dreaming, the smaller body smooshed up against his chest and the boney limbs clinging to him had to be a figment of his imagination.

Jon huffed in his sleep and burrowed deeper into Martin before settling again. A few stray rays of the morning sun slipped through the blinds highlighting Jon’s gray hairs and the raised edges of scars that trailed along his skin.

Gently, Martin carded his hand through the wild mess of hair, marveling at how soft it was despite everything. Jon sighed, leaning into the touch without stirring.

He could stay like this forever, with Jon safe in his arms and the dangers of the world outside, away from his happiness.

"Wha' time?" Jon mumbled, stretching before re-draping himself over Martin. He looked up and the light caught his eyes in a way that Martin could see all the blue heterochromatic spots in Jon's left eye through dark, heavy lashes. 

"Doesn't matter," Martin whispered as he pulled him closer, "We have all the time in the world."

--

Supplemental Headcanons: - Jon is a 3rd gen Persian/Iranian immigrant. His grandparents on his dad's side moved to England post WWII. (Persia became Iran in 1979) They took the last name Sims during immigration. - His mother was full blooded English. - He can out cook 87% of the local grandma's when he really gets into it - He built an unnaturally high tolerance to salt and spice as a kid to keep people from taking his lunch or trying to mess with his food and now thoroughly enjoys spicy foods. - Jon does care a lot but his grandma never taught him to show it in any other way but tolerance and mute acceptance. It's hard to know where you stand with Jon because of this. - Was a runner while in school. - Was forced to take violin lessons as a kid and Georgie taught him some piano in University. - Jon is and always has been feral little man though he is more bark than bite (unless he's under the influence of something). He learned it from his grandma. - He's one of those drunks that often wanders/ runs away from his drinking group. He has strong drunk college girl tendencies. - He changed his middle name to Ulysses when he got his first name legally changed because he’s a nerd. - Jon has had the same pen pal since he was 10. They are one of the few points of normalcy he has left. - Jon and Daisy are trans mlm and wlw solidarity. Fight me.

Fun Fact: Sims means "the Listener" which seems almost too on the nose.

[dragonfics]

Dark Pleasures - Chapter One

On AO3 if you’d like to skip my gushing.

This fic goes to @cheapbourbon - for inspiring me with all of their wonderful Cash art. It’s only going to be 3 chapters long, but holy hell, I really want to write more of Cash after this. I just need to yank myself away from Spicyhoney for a minute, dear god.

This is just a silly little ExpensiveSpicyHoney (SpicyHoneyMoney?) Vampire AU (not, in fact, the vampire AU I promised to write when I did that poll the other week). Chapter one isn’t too heavy on the sexual content, but the next chapter is going to be VERY explicit - just a fair warning.

Also, Warnings for this chapter: non-consensual biting, seduction of an intoxicated person (no actual sex), mild sexual coercion. I would also like to point out that as far as the “non-con” parts of this chapter go, the characters themselves do not perceive it this way. Basically, they’re assholes. Mostly Rus.

This is my contribution to the petition to GiveCashMoreLove2k18. So naturally, he, uh, isn’t exactly in the first chapter??? I’m so sorry, Cash. Don’t worry, he’ll be making an appearance soon.

Anyway, here you go, Bourbon! I hope you enjoy this. The first chapter is almost exclusively Spicyhoney sexual tension.

Chapter 1: Dinner Date

The city, though small, was never quiet. Even now, in the dead of night, young party-goers and labourers returning home late from work swarmed the streets. Music could be heard from within almost every shop, home, or rundown warehouse. The streets smelled of alcohol and something a little fouler, and lights flashed at every turn.

Edge was grateful when he reached the outskirts of the city, the streetlamps growing dimmer, and the people scarcer. Soon, he was passing through a narrow underground pass, and he felt himself relaxing considerably. It was dark, but the shadows had never been a hinderance to him. On the contrary, he was rather fond of them. They gave him a distinct advantage when it came to hunting.

He could see his prey only twenty or so metres ahead. Not so close as to alert him to Edge’s presence, but not so far that Edge might lose sight of him. And Edge could smell him. Stars, he smelled good. Edge could feel his fangs extending of their own volition. Not yet, he urged himself. But he was hungry. He was so hungry, as he often was these days. But he kept his head ducked and remained in the shadows as he followed his target. The last thing he needed was to scare the other monster away. Edge wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hunger under control if he didn’t feed soon, and experience had taught him that a ravenous vampire often led to more than just one dead monster. This. This was necessary.

Edge trailed the figure for another ten minutes or so. He was thankful that the monster was heading away from the city. It certainly made him an easier target; out of reach of prying eyes and curious ears. Even from this distance, Edge could hear the steady beat of the monster’s soul. It served only to amplify his hunger, and he conceded to leave his fangs extended, no longer able to keep them at bay. The figure turned a corner into an alley wedged between two buildings. Perfect. Perhaps the universe had decided to make this easy for him.

But when Edge rounded the corner, he was met by nothing but an empty street, the alley deserted but for scattered litter and a few rotting crates. Edge crept forward hesitantly. He was in no mood for a trap, but then again, what could a mere mortal do to him?

Perhaps he had turned too soon? Or perhaps the monster had left the alley somehow. Though a quick glance around revealed no exits but for the way Edge had come…

The cold press of steel against Edge’s throat halted him, and he gasped as the metal burned at his vertebrae. Silver. He dared not struggle or fight—one quick slice of the thin blade and Edge would be dust. He felt a hand grip at his shoulder, the blade stinging against his bone as it dug a little deeper. “care to enlighten me as to why you were following me, vampire?” a smooth voice said. Edge couldn’t see the speaker, but he could smell him, and immediately recognised the scent of the monster he’d been trailing. Trust his luck to draw him to a vampire hunter of all people.

“I—” Edge rasped as the knife dug deeper. “Please, I-I won’t—”

“turn around slowly,” the monster said. “any sudden movements and this goes straight in your throat, got it?”

Edge would have nodded if he’d dared move his neck, so he gave a low grunt of understanding instead, slowly shifting to face the other monster. He was stunned upon realising it was another skeleton monster. His features were smooth—almost pretty—and his eye-lights were a deep shade of gold. A scarf was wound around his neck, but Edge could still sense the magic coursing through his bones. Perhaps what startled Edge most though, was the fact that he was smiling. “oh, you poor darling,” the skeleton crooned—sounding somehow sympathetic, despite the burning press of his blade against Edge’s throat. “look at you, you’re starving.”

Edge blinked in bewilderment. Was this some sort of trick? Or perhaps this hunter just had a twisted way of killing his victims. Either way, Edge wasn’t convinced. He bared his fangs, which dripped with salivary magic. “If you don’t let me go, hunter, I’ll—”

“hey, come now, there’s no need for that. i’m not a hunter.” The skeleton smiled sweetly, raising his hands defensively and holstering his knife. “i’ll feed you, if you like.”

Edge could only stare, frozen in utter perplexity as he rubbed the still stinging bones of his neck. “You—” His gaze darted unwittingly to the skeleton’s cervical vertebrae, barely concealed by his scarf. He was suddenly reminded of the consuming hunger searing his soul.

The skeleton’s light laughter broke him from his brief daze, and he quickly glanced up. Amusement coloured the other monster’s features, and he shook his head. “not from me, precious. that… might rub my master up the wrong way.”

He grinned at Edge’s bewildered stare. “Your… master?” Edge swallowed, glancing around anxiously.

The skeleton seemed at ease however, and took a step closer, a playful smirk dancing across his face. Edge cringed away as the smell of the other monster flooded his senses and reignited the burning hunger in his soul. But if the skeleton noticed Edge’s discomfort, he gave no sign, instead resting a hand on Edge’s arm. “i’ll take care of you, if that’s what you want, love.” His fingers traced idle patterns over Edge’s bare ulna, and Edge struggled to suppress a shudder. The smile on the skeleton’s face was almost sickly sweet, but Edge found it … inviting. There was no rationality remaining in his mind—he was a slave to his hunger. He nodded, the movement feeling stiff and automatic—but not reluctant by any means. The skeleton intertwined their fingers, a warm pulse running through Edge’s entire body.

“excellent,” the skeleton breathed. He looked nothing short of delighted at the prospect of helping Edge find his next meal. Any amusement Edge felt at the notion however, was immediately snuffed out as the skeleton pressed his teeth against Edge’s cheekbone. “and if you behave, perhaps we can even have a little fun of our own.”

If he’d had any magic left to spare, Edge would have blushed.

 ****

  The skeleton introduced himself as Rus as he guided Edge back towards the city’s centre. He made idle chatter as they walked, speaking of his master, his home, the joys of metropolitan nightlife (and the pleasures). Edge tuned most of it out. In fact, he found himself rather distracted for a large majority of the journey. He couldn’t keep his focus off Rus’s slightly exposed neck and clavicle. His heightened senses allowed him to feel the flow of magic through the other monster’s bones; all he needed was to reach out and—

“here we are.” Edge froze, gaze quickly darting up to Rus’s face. He thought he caught a glimpse of the silver blade again at Rus’s belt, but he couldn’t be certain. “don’t worry, love,” Rus murmured, taking Edge by the hand and guiding him through the swinging doors of the establishment. “there’ll be plenty to eat in here.”

Rus wasn’t joking. As soon as they entered the bar, a thousand different scents hit Edge at once, and for a second, he was stunned into immobility. But as he came to his senses, he felt the fierce urge to feed reawaken tenfold, and he had to bury his claws into his femur to restrain himself.

Thankfully, Edge’s dwindling self-control didn’t escape Rus’s notice this time, and he quickly guided the vampire to a less populated corner of the room. A roaring fire burned in the hearth beside their table, and Edge tried his best to focus on the smell and sound of the crackling logs, and not the tirade of magical scents and soul-beats assaulting every ounce of his conscious. He gripped the edge of the wooden table until he felt something crack beneath his fingertips. Rus observed him—appearing more curious than concerned.

“how long has it been since you last fed?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. Edge found his complete lack of fear extremely uncanny. He seldom came across mortals who weren’t at least a little intimidated by him—much less when they learned what he was.

“I-I don’t know,” Edge admitted, shakily.

Rus cocked a brow bone. “you don’t know?”

“A month, maybe,” Edge muttered, trying to avoid Rus’s gaze. He felt uncomfortably scrutinised beneath the deep gold of those eyes, and he opted instead to stare at the grubby table. The wood had split beneath his fingers.

Vaguely, he registered the sound of Rus releasing a sigh. It wasn’t weary though, or even exasperated. The word that came to mind was ‘empathy’, but such an emotion didn’t seem fitting, directed at a vampire. “alright, look around,” Rus instructed, after a pause.

Edge frowned, but glanced up, gaze wandering the room. “What am I looking for?” he asked in confusion.

“pick someone.” When Edge conveyed his misunderstanding with a tilt of his head, Rus laughed softly. “someone to eat,” he elaborated.

“Oh.” Edge swallowed, though his throat still felt dry. His brow furrowed as he scanned the room, until at last he settled on a squat bunny monster, nursing her drink alone in a far corner. “Her.”

Rus glanced over his shoulder at the monster, and chuckled. “she may appear appetising, but i promise you—try to touch her, and she’ll break your pretty fingers.”

Edge flinched slightly, frowning at Rus. “Oh really?”

“really. i’m good at reading people. and i can tell you with certainty that she’s not the type to sit idly while a vampire sinks his fangs into her.” Rus leaned in, voice dipping as he added, “and i might need those fingers of yours later.”

Edge tried to hide his embarrassment with a scoff, crossing his arms indignantly. “Very well, since you’re so perceptive – why don’t you tell me who would be willing to serve as my food source? I don’t exactly have time to waste on guessing games.” The last part came out sounding a little more desperate than Edge had intended, a ravenous bite creeping into his tone.

Rus seemed unfazed however, his smile widening. “you want my advice, vampire?” He turned, surveying the room for only a few seconds before nodding in the direction of the bar. “him.”

Edge followed Rus’s gaze dubiously. A muscular monster sat at the bar, torn jacket barely concealing his chiselled chest and biceps. A broad grin stretched his long face, white teeth flashing as he flexed, much to the delight of the small crowd of monsters surrounding him. Edge turned back to Rus, ensuring the doubt was plain on his face. “That bravado of scales? Are you serious?”

“over-confidence makes him the perfect target,” Rus countered, shrugging. “don’t go for the quiet ones. they come here anticipating a fight; they’re wary of strangers. those ones—” Rus nodded over his shoulder with a smirk “—the ones with egos larger than their muscles – they’re your ideal targets. they love attention, and if you give it to them, they’ll be eating out of your hand—so to speak.”

Rus’s words were punctuated by a loud bark of laughter from the muscular monster at the bar, who took a long swig of his drink before shamelessly shrugging his shirt off and tossing it over the barstool. Edge grimaced in distaste. “Well, that’s all well and good, but surely it would be easier to simply pick someone off the street?” he contested. “Why go to all this effort?”

“picking someone off the street went well for you tonight, didn’t it?” Rus was grinning at Edge, who dropped his head with a scowl. “besides, fear taints the magic. pleasure your prey first, and the feed will be even sweeter.”

Edge felt Rus’s fingers find his own across the table, and he flinched away abruptly, pushing down the sudden curl of heat in his mouth that couldn’t be entirely attributed to hunger. Lacking the energy to argue, he sighed in resignation. “Fine,” he grunted, rising from his seat. But he was stopped by Rus’s hand on his wrist. He looked down at him with a frown. “I thought—”

“not yet. wait until the bar has emptied—closing is in an hour, so you won’t have to wait long,” Rus added, at the stricken expression that must have crossed Edge’s face. “we don’t want to make a scene if this goes awry.”

“If it goes—” Edge slumped back into his seat with a huff, trying to keep his composure. “I thought this was supposed to be a foolproof plan?”

Rus seemed unconcerned, shrugging and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “no plan is foolproof. it always takes a fool or two to execute a good plan.” Edge had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as Rus chuckled quietly to himself, lighting the cigarette between his teeth. Edge may have tried to argue if he wasn’t feeling quite so unstable, but he didn’t trust himself not to snap.

So, he conceded to wait until the patrons began to scatter, every moment sending fresh waves of agony to his starving soul. Not once did Rus show any sign of agitation however, his smile ever-present as he watched Edge across the table, smoke curling from between his teeth. Edge began to find Rus’s placidity more and more off-putting as the night wore on. What mortal would be so relaxed around a vampire? He certainly hadn’t met any who behaved this way; most would try to run screaming the moment they discovered the true nature of his being.

And the longer they waited around, the more intoxicating Rus’s scent seemed to become. Edge was almost thankful for the slight mask of his cigarette smoke, but more than once, he caught himself transfixed by the other skeleton’s pale bones. He could almost perceive the magic rushing through them, golden as their owner’s eyes.

When Rus finally stubbed his cigarette out against the table’s corner and rose to his feet, Edge was certain he’d left scars on his legs where his fingers had been clinging. Rus nodded in the direction of the bar, his eyes flashing. “ready for supper?”

Edge could only nod in response, too famished to chastise the phrasing. He trailed after Rus as they approached the scaled monster—now sitting alone with his drink at the bar. Edge was thankful that his shirt was back on, at least. As they drew close, Rus turned to murmur, “follow my lead,” before sending one of his sweet smiles in the direction of the muscular monster. As he leaned against the bar, Edge caught a glimpse of his iliac crest, peaking just above the waistband of his pants. Edge had to wonder if it was deliberate. It probably was, but Rus’s languid movements and easy smile betrayed no sense of effort on his part.

Needless to say, the boisterous monster appeared impressed, a lascivious smile crossing his face as he glanced up at Rus. “Can I help you, sweetheart?” he asked, voice marginally slurred.

“oh, i’m certain you can,” Rus said. “what’s your name, love?” Edge may have mistaken the brush of Rus’s fingers over the monster’s arm as affection if he hadn’t known better. There was a twisted glint in Rus’s eye that was almost alarming.

“Aaron,” the monster replied, grinning. He certainly hadn’t missed the deliberate touch of Rus’s fingertips (though undoubtedly, he was missing a lot, or he wouldn’t have been nearly so eager to accept Rus’s affections).

“well, aaron,” Rus purred, leaning close and touching his teeth lightly to Aaron’s ear, “my friend and i are in search of some company for the night, and you seem rather well… equipped for the task.” Edge heard Aaron release a low hiss as Rus’s fingers grazed over his crotch. “are you up for it?”

Edge decided it was worth rolling his eyes at the pun.

Rus’s expression remained painstakingly dispassionate as Aaron gripped his exposed iliac crest, yanking him forward so that he almost toppled into his lap. Rus released a husky laugh, even as Aaron began to trail his hands further down his ilium. “careful there. my friend tends to get a little jealous, don’t you, love?”

Edge could feel himself growing abashed as the other two monsters turned their gazes on him. Aaron’s eyes raked over him lecherously, and he had to push down the urge to cringe. “Aw look, he’s shy,” Aaron mused. “C’mere, sweetheart. I won’t bite. ‘Less you ask.”

Edge almost laughed at the sheer irony of the comment alone. He caught Rus’s gaze, and was thankful when the skeleton turned to Aaron to whisper, “perhaps he’ll find his confidence if we take him upstairs? i warn you though, he tends to get a bit vocal when properly motivated.”

Rus shot an impish look in Edge’s direction, which Edge returned with a scowl. Rus’s words had the intended effect however, because Aaron willingly obliged, sliding off his stool and casting a glance over his shoulder at them as he marched for the stairs. “Never fucked a skeleton b’fore,” he told them, stumbling slightly at the foot of the stairs. “You two’d better have something more than bones underneath all them clothes.” He chuckled, clearly amused by himself.

“we’ll be sure to send apology notes to all your suitors if we disappoint you,” Rus said pleasantly, sweepingly indicating the almost-empty bar with a flick of his hand. The subtle mockery seemed lost on Aaron, who just chortled as he led them up the wooden stairs, clinging to the railing for support. Rus turned his smile on Edge, looping an arm around his waist. “this is the fun part,” he whispered. “for you, at least.”

Edge felt almost queasy with hunger, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to pin Rus against the banister and sink his fangs into him. Soon, he promised himself. Just hold on a little longer.

They came to a corridor at the top of the stairs, and Aaron turned at the first door, extracting a key from his pocket and fumbling slightly with the lock. Clearly, he’d been anticipating company. Edge felt nerves arising as they entered the room, and he frantically looked at Rus for support. In truth, he’d never done this before. All his past meals had been snatched from the streets. No planning or strategizing—simply spontaneous enactment of his urges.

Seeming to sense his anxieties, Rus gave his hand a gentle squeeze, tracing his teeth lightly over Edge’s cheekbone. “i promise you’ll enjoy yourself, love. just relax.”

From across the room, Aaron chuckled, drawing Edge’s gaze. He had already kicked off his shoes and was removing his shirt as he watched them. “You two gonna give me a show?”

Rus’s exceedingly saccharine smile returned as he observed Aaron, and he released Edge’s hand to stride over to the scaled monster. “only if you behave, darling,” he murmured, trailing his fingertips over Aaron’s exposed chest. He circled the monster for a moment, smile still firmly plastered across his face. He caught Edge’s gaze over Aaron’s shoulder deliberately, before stepping close and kissing the monster.

Aaron immediately growled, gripping Rus hard and grinding into him. Edge watched them with uncertainty. He was reminded of the aching lack of magic in his soul when he caught the mingled scents of the other two monsters in the air, and he clutched onto one of the bedposts to keep himself subdued. “don’t be shy, my love,” he heard Rus call. Aaron was latched onto his vertebrae, half-pinning Rus to the wall as he tore the scarf away from his neck. Rus was watching Edge, gaze steady. A small—but deliberate—inclination of his head made his meaning fairly clear.

Gathering his resolve, Edge approached them slowly. His fingers trembled as he moved the monster’s hair away from his neck. A fire seemed to scorch his soul inside his chest, and he grit his teeth, willing himself to hold off for just a few more seconds as he looked to Rus for reassurance. Over Aaron’s shoulder, Rus smiled, whispering, “go for it, precious.”

With no more strength to deliberate, Edge ducked his head, and ran his teeth over Aaron’s neck. His skin was cold, as it was with many aquatic monsters, but Edge could sense the heat of the magic beneath. Aaron groaned against Rus, muttering, “Fuck, someone’s gained his confidence.” With nothing left to hold him back, Edge allowed his fangs to extend to their full length, sinking them into the soft flesh of Aaron’s neck.

Immediately, Aaron went stiff, a gargled scream escaping him. Any further noise was stifled however, and Edge vaguely registered Rus holding him still, hand pressed firmly over his mouth. Hot magic flooded between Edge’s teeth, and he moaned in appreciation as his soul sparked to life. He sunk his teeth deeper, and Aaron writhed weakly. Edge felt euphoria washing over him, and he began to relax, sinking into the feeling.

“good boy, you’re doing so well. that’s it.” It took Edge a moment to register that Rus was speaking to him. Soft words of praise and encouragement spilled from his mouth, and his fingers stroked deftly over Edge’s spine. Edge shivered pleasantly, sighing as his soul began to fill with magic.

Aaron had gone limp, and Edge faintly noticed the flow of magic growing weaker. “alright, love, that’s enough,” Rus whispered, his fingers still resting on Edge’s spine. But Edge was in no mood to stop. His soul demanded he continue. He needed more. He couldn’t bring himself to break the pleasant haze clouding his mind, or the ecstasy of the feed.

A sharp pain suddenly cut across his cheekbone, and Edge pulled away, hissing in surprise. Rus was giving him a bland look, knife balanced between his fingers. “Why did you stop me?” Edge demanded, wincing as he touched his injured cheek.

“we don’t kill monsters that are kind enough to spare their magic for us,” Rus said coldly, heaving Aaron over to the bed and lying him atop the covers.

“We?” Edge stared at Rus, incredulous. “You—you’re not even—I was the one drinking from him!” He couldn’t believe how much audacity this monster possessed. This mortal monster.

Rus seemed unperturbed by Edge’s outrage however, sighing without a word and disappearing into the en-suite bathroom. Edge stared after him, disbelieving. He glanced at Aaron, unconscious on the bed. Magic still trickled from the small bite wounds at his neck, staining the white bed sheets. Rus returned promptly, a damp cloth in hand, and began to dab gently at Aaron’s wound. He looked up at Edge for a moment, but his expression was plain, and he remained silent until all of the spent magic on Aaron’s neck was cleaned away. “well, he’ll probably wake up with a headache, but he’ll be fine. and i doubt he’ll remember anything.”

Edge frowned, observing Rus doubtfully, but held his silence. His cheek still stung, and he wasn’t eager for a repeat. Rus retrieved his scarf from where it had been discarded on the floor. He wrapped it back around his neck, but not before Edge caught a glimpse of two small puncture wounds piercing his vertebrae. He narrowed his eye sockets, but made no comment. Rus’s honeyed smile returned as he approached Edge, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “how do you feel?”

Edge’s soul was abuzz with fresh magic, and he felt considerably less jittery than he had a few minutes ago. He nodded briskly, straightening the crinkles from his pants and wiping away any remaining magic at his mouth. “Good. I feel… better.”

Rus’s smile widened, and his eyes seemed to sparkle as he leaned in, touching his teeth lightly against Edge’s. Edge tensed immediately, but Rus withdrew after only a second. “wonderful,” Rus breathed. They were both quiet for a moment, and Edge swallowed heavily as Rus gazed at him, as if searching for something beneath Edge’s cool demeanour. “i never did ask, love,” Rus said at length, “what’s your name?”

Edge blinked. “Oh, um…”

“or would you prefer that detail be kept confidential?” Rus’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a hint of something considerate beneath the look.

“Not—it’s fine, um… Edge. My name’s Edge.”

For whatever reason, this seemed to spark an excitement in Rus, his eyes flashing a brilliant gold as he regarded Edge with upraised brow bones. “edge?” His tongue danced briefly over his teeth, and Edge could already feel heat rapidly rising to his cheekbones. “well, edge, you did very well tonight. while you lack restraint, that’s easily learned.” He touched Edge’s arm. His fingertips barely brushing the bone, but a shiver ran through Edge nonetheless.

“Th-thank you,” Edge stammered, “for… helping me.”

“of course, love. though i’ll admit, my intentions weren’t entirely pure. i never was good at resisting monsters quite as… delicious as you.” Rus’s teeth were parted, and Edge caught sight of warm golden magic pooling in his mandible. He swallowed against his own magic and quickly looked away. “my master will be very pleased to meet you.”

Edge looked up at this, eyes widening. “Your… m-master?”

Rus cocked a brow bone, releasing a small laugh. “of course. be advised though, he tends to get a little… possessive. so…” Rus leaned close, voice dropping to a murmur, “some details we ought to keep to ourselves.” Without warning, Rus cupped Edge’s jaw, kissing him gently. Edge could only gasp softly in response, melting beneath his touch. This time however, the kiss didn’t remain chaste, Rus’s tongue trailing lightly over Edge’s teeth. Edge opened his mouth without a moment’s pause, holding back a moan as the taste of Rus flooded his mouth. He could feel his soul stirring with excitement, and it took a great deal of willpower to keep his fangs retracted.

All too soon (though perhaps just on time) Rus withdrew, his cheeks glowing softly. He rubbed his thumb over the thin cut on Edge’s cheekbone, the touch light, but still painful. Edge held back a whimper, though he wasn’t sure it was entirely the product of pain. “though, who can say?” Rus mused, gazing at Edge as if entranced by him. “perhaps if my master finds you impressive enough, he’ll decide to share.” Rus leaned in again, and Edge held his breath. “i should warn you though, i taste exquisite.”