Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Keith! Getouttheway!” The shriek was the only warning Keith received before Lance's long gangly form barrelled into him and knocked him flat on his face, providing Lance with a nice, soft landing. Lance lay on top of Keith, spread across the other man's, his hips rested over the curve of Keith's ass, his cheek pillowed against the back of Keith's head. Lance howled with laughter, not the least bit concerned by their compromising position or the fact he was crushing Keith's face into the dirt.

“Oh man, just how much did that guy drink!” Lance gasped breathless from laughter. He made no effort to move and wiggled around on top of Keith as if his crotch wasn't rubbing against the other man's ass, so Keith decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Lance, ge'off,” his words were muffled by the ground and tasted of earth thanks to the weight of Lance's head lolling against the back of his own. Keith didn't wait for Lance to respond, already at the end of his patience. He pushed himself up on his hands with what he considered admirable grace and coordination considering his current condition. Lance remained balanced on his back for a moment, still giggling as if he hadn't even noticed Keith move.

There was a split second, a pause where Keith waited for just a moment, and Lance could have saved himself if he had been paying attention, but the other man did nothing, so Keith tilted his body to the side and unceremoniously tipped Lance off his back.

Lance fell in a clumsy tumble, with a squawk of indignation and an awkward flail of his arms and legs as he tried to catch himself. He landed in an ungraceful heap and burst into another fit of giggles.

Keith, his coordination only going so far, continued to tilt to the side, then he began to overbalance. Drunk, and not really caring what happened next as long as Lance wasn't lying on his back anymore he allowed himself to fall and land next to Lance with a heavy thump.

Grumbling something incoherent Keith flopped over onto his back, trying to find a more comfortable position on the cold ground. In the process he rolled closer to Lance, his arm wedged against Lance's, squashed between their bodies and their hands touched as they lay there side by side. Keith's fingers twitched, brushing against Lance's hand so close to curling his fingers around the other man's. The alcohol made him bolder but not stupid, he quickly tugged his hand away but didn't try to put any further distance between them.

Lance didn't seem bothered by their proximity, at least he made no effort to move nor did he try and shove Keith away despite how close they were, so Keith kept still.

They lay in silence for several minutes waiting for the sky to stop spinning above them and for their heads to clear. Lance was the first to recover, he took a deep breath in and let out a loud groan before rolling over onto his side, curling up closer to Keith. His chin hooked on Keith's shoulder with no consideration for the other man's personal space. His weight now lay on Keith's arm, and Keith knew it would quickly go numb if he didn't do something. He didn't try to free it.

“He was sooooo cute,” Lance moaned into Keith's ear, his hot breath spreading down Keith's neck. Lance licked his lips, and the tip of his tongue caught the shell of Keith's ear unintentionally. It sent a shudder through Keith's body and made it even hard to resist the temptation to turn over, turn into Lance and curl up with him.

A vivid memory flashed through his mind of the rugged, muscular man with his smooth, deep voice that rolled over them like honey; it was enough to make even the strongest will crumble. Keith could still hear the sweet rumble of his voice echo in his ears and squeeze his chest. The man's body was beyond godlike, a body like that seemed, quite frankly unfairly impossible. His right arm was a prosthesis, which they'd only noticed because the man's pulse and the rush of blood through his veins sounded slightly lopsided. The false arm did not detract from his godly physique, it had been just as powerful, and just as firm as his left arm. He'd been warm, solid and so broad that there was plenty of him to go around even with Lance on one arm and Keith on the other.

Keith closed his eyes trying to blink away the memories, but it only made them more vivid. He groaned.

“He was more than just cute. He was hot. Like super hot, so hot it's unfair, like how does someone get that hot? And that ass,” Keith groaned. The alcohol rushing through his bloodstream (well their dinners bloodstream) was allowing him to be more honest with himself, and Lance's body pressed against his side, his hot breath ghosting against his neck also helped fuel his lewd thought and loosen his tongue.

Lance laughed again, bent double with the force of it. He rolled over onto his stomach, body trembling with his giggles, and half lay on top of Keith, his arm tucked around the other's waist. Keith could feel every one of Lance's giggles as the other shook against him. It brought a smile to his face.

Too soon Lance gained control over his laughter, and the shaking stopped. Lance sucked in a breath and let it our in a long, sensuous sigh. He hummed in agreement and snuggled closer to Keith, his arm squeezing tight. While Keith may be a truthful drink, who released whatever thought went through his mind without trying to hide it, Lance was a cuddly drunk.

“His neck was so thick, and his pulse was so strong,” Lance moaned as he imagined how powerfully the man's blood might pulse through other parts of his body. The thought made him lick his lips again.

Lance was also a horny drunk.

“And those muscles,” his hand splayed across Keith's chest, slender and flat in comparison. He frowned but continued to cop a feel. While Keith might not have the same bulging muscle definition the man had, he was still solid and beautifully toned.

“Did you see those biceps? His arms were about as thick as you are. He could probably crush our skulls with his bare hands.” Keith tangled his hand in his hair and tugged on it with a groan of frustration. The thought sent a thrill down his spin, as did Lance's hand massaging his chest.

“That man was built like a house, but I'm pretty sure we could take him,” Lance grinned suggestively, a sharp, wicked fang catching the moonlight.

“Hmm,” Keith hummed non-committally. He licked his lips thinking of the blood they'd drank, how hot and sweet it tasted.

“But you know you really need to stop barging in on my meal, or you know, at least ask.” Lance was sulky now. The wandering hand formed into a fist, and he thumped it half-heartedly against Keith's chest a few times before giving up.

“Me?! Barging in on your meal?” Keith huffed, too offended by Lance's accusation at first to say anything more to defend himself.

“Yes, you!” Lance jabbed Keith in the chest with his finger.

“Just like you always do. You make a big show about going off on your own, and then you always end up butting in on my dinner. I know I'm irresistible, but I'm a very generous man too, so you know, just admit it.”

“Excuse me, but you're the one who stole my meal. I was following him since….since...” Keith can't remember. He was pretty sure that there was no sign of Lance when he picked the man out from the crowd as his next meal, but his memories were foggy.

“As if!” Lance scoffed, but there was no fight to his words, and there hadn't been from the beginning. It didn't matter. They'd both been able to satisfy their hunger, and truthfully Lance enjoyed the company, though he would never admit that to Keith.

His mind wandered back to the man, their delicious meal. The last they'd seen him he was being dragged off by a concerned, slightly more sober friend. He would wake up tomorrow feeling a bit worse for wear, but he'd recover, and if he happened to remember anything about a couple of vampires..., well he'd only think it was some hallucination brought on by all the alcohol he'd drank. Humans were convenient like that. It was the main reason they preferred to target people who'd had a little too much to drink, but it did leave Lance and Keith with the unfortunate side effect of getting drunk as well.

Keith grumbled under his breath, but he didn't bother to retaliate further, besides the alcohol was hitting him harder than he felt it had a right to and he was finding it difficult to form a coherent thought. The man had been drunk, sure, but not that drunk. He exhibited the usual lack of coordination and slurred speech, but he had been lucid enough to pick up on their hints when they invited him somewhere more private, and clear-headed enough to consent to go with them. He'd even laughed at Lance's terrible pick-up-lines, or perhaps that had been a sign the man was far more drunk than he seemed, Keith realised now. His tolerance must be immense.

“That scar looked pretty cool. How do you think he got it?” Lance mused. He drew a finger across Keith's face, tracing the same line that the faint scar cut across the bridge of the man's nose.

The scar had caught both of their attention, it added a mysterious sense of danger to the man and made his strong, rugged features seem even sharper, yet his stormy grey eyes had been so gentle and kind.

“Hmmm, maybe he got into a knife fight,” Keith mumbled.

It was always knives with Keith. Lance scowled. He moved his hand from Keith and dragged his finger across his own face repeating the same motion. A knife? That didn't seem right.

Lance's fingers stuttered over his face, his nose and his cheeks. “Do you think he thought we were hot?” he asked dropping his hand down to his side forgetting about the man's scar for now. Thinking of the man's looks had him thinking of his own, and how he hadn't seen his reflection in such a long time. It made him wonder what people saw when they saw him.

“Hmm? I mean he let us drape ourselves all over him and suck on his neck without complaining so he must have seen something he liked,” Keith shrugged, not understanding why Lance was now questioning their looks.

“Hey Keith, do you remember what you look like?” Lance asked distractedly as if he hadn't heard the other man.

“Huh?” The question surprised Keith, but what surprised him more was the heavy air melancholy in Lance's voice. He sounded suddenly sober.

“Your face. Do you remember what it looks like?” Lance repeated patiently.

It always unnerved Keith when Lance was this sombre. No matter how many centuries went past he will never get used to hearing Lance sound so lost, and small. It made Keith want to do the unthinkable; wrap his arms around Lance, hold him lose and whisper soft words of reassurance to him.

“My face is...my face,” Keith answered. It was not the answer Lance wanted, but it was all Keith had to offer in his current state.

“Yes I know that, but do you remember what it looks like,” Lance jabbed Keith's cheek with his finger, his frustration growing. Keith preferred it to when Lance sounded sad.

“This whole not showing up in mirrors or photos, you know, just kinda makes me wonder if I actually remember how I look, or if I'm just making things up.”

Keith was starting to understand now, at least a little bit. Lance cared about his looks and was always boasting about them, to this day he went through a strict skin care regime even though there was no point. It must have bummed him out that he couldn't see the fruits of his labour.

“You still look the same,” Keith reassured him in an unusual moment of sincerity. He hoped it would be enough for Lance.

“Hmmm. I guess the one good thing is we don't age,” Lance sighed and smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It wasn't enough and ordinarily, Keith would have walked away or said something to pick a fight so they could just move past the heavy stuff.

If Lance questioned him about it later, he would just blame the alcohol.

Keith sat up slowly, letting Lance's head slide off his shoulder and fall to the floor. He tried to ignore how much the world was spinning, and how cold he suddenly felt without Lance curled up against him.

“You..” he said swaying on the spot as he tried to focus on the blurry, double image of Lance.

“You have a long face.”

Lance frowned at him, but no longer looked quite so sad.

“Keith, what?”

“You face is long ...and umm...oval-ish shaped,” Keith continued, a note of irritation to his voice because Lance should be able to figure out what he was doing without him having to spell it out.

“Ok…” Lance still sounded confused. He sat up just as slowly and carefully as Keith, swaying in place before righting himself.

“Your face is long, and your chin is kinda pointed, but you have strong, high cheekbones, so it works for you.”

Lance stared at Keith as if he’s lost his mind, and maybe he had. He was very drunk. Lance lifted his hands to his face and touched his cheeks with a faint frown. Then finally it hit him, his frown turned into a smile as he rubbed his cheeks.

“Aaawww Keith you do care.”

Keith bristled. It almost felt worse now that Lance had realised what he was doing.

“You have small eyes though, like really tiny and beady.” he quipped.

“My eyes are not beady!”

“How would you know? You haven't seen yourself in a mirror for how many hundred years now? They're tiny, like really squirrelly,” Keith sneered, perhaps a little unkind, but this was better. This was the way Lance should be.

“Yeah, well, your eyes are so big and round its ridiculous. You have anime eyes, Keith!” Lance finished with a huff as if that settled the argument.

“Anime eyes?” Keith snorted biting back a laugh.

“Yeah, dude. They're purple even! Who has cute purple eyes? Anime protagonists that's who.”

“You think my eyes are cute?” Keith blinked slowly, unknowingly emphasising how round and pretty eyes his eyes were.

“I did not say that!” Lance shrieked indignantly, though the dusting of pink lighting up his cheeks gave him away. Keith couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. He grabbed his stomach and bent forward laughing so hard his sides hurt.

“Ugh, you are the worst!” Lance stretched his leg out, delivering a poorly aimed kick to Keith's shin. It hit Keith's calf harmlessly. Keith snorted at the poor attempt to wound him and didn't even bother to retaliate.

“Squirrelly eyes can be cute too,” Keith was definitely drunk. There was no way he would have indirectly hinted that he thought Lance's eyes were cute if he were sober.

“They’re small but like…..manly,” he added, using the word 'manly' because he felt that was an adjective Lance would approve of.

“They make you look sharp and sophisticated,” he finished with a nod. He didn't bother to add that the effect was spoiled the moment Lance opened his idiotic mouth.

Lance had gone redder.

“Yeah well….your face is round…and soft...and pretty...I guess... it suits your eyes. It fits.” Lance stumbled over his words, flustered. As much as he liked to posture Lance was terrible when it came to taking a compliment and always got all tongue-tied. It was adorable really, and even more amusing when Lance was drunk and he couldn't summon up the usual bravado to hide behind. The fact he'd opted to hide his embarrassment by complimenting Keith was a surprising turn, but a nice one, and Keith wanted to hear more, so rather than nettle Lance, he chose to encourage him.

“Really?” He prompted carefully, hoping that it wasn't too obvious he was fishing for more.

“Yeah. But like it’s not completely round, like you have a good chin, strong jaw, so like your face is pretty but not girlie.”

Keith snorted again, not sure if he should be offended or not. Lance smiled and laughed amiably, and however awkward his words were, Keith knew there was no malice behind them.

It was only polite to return the favour. Keith leaned forward gazing at Lance critically for a moment. Lance stopped laughing and stared back, momentarily looking alarmed, worried that Keith had taken his words badly.

“Hmm, you have a long, thin nose,” Keith said after a moment's though, before Lance could get too unsettled over his staring and say something stupid.

“And it's straight, like completely straight, not even broken once. You've obviously never been in a real fight,” he went on. Keith lifted a hand and ran his index finger down the smooth line of Lance's nose, he stopped at the tip of Lance's nose, his finger hovering in place as he found himself caught by Lance's eyes, suddenly made hyper-aware of how close he was. It would be so easy to slide his hand across Lance's cheek and curl his fingers around the back of Lance's head.

Lance crossed his eyes to look at Keith's finger resting on the tip of his nose and scowled. “I think you mean it's clear I've WON every fight I've ever been in. Can't let anyone damage the goods,” Lance winked. Rolling his eyes Keith flicked Lance's nose as hard he could, and sat back. Keith wasn't sure if he was grateful for or annoyed at Lance's big mouth ruining the moment.

“Ouch! Hey, don't be jealous of my perfect nose!” Lance covered his nose with his hands and glared over his fingers at Keith. Keith glared right back. They remained at a standoff for several moments, neither willing to back down until Lance snorted and his eyes scrunched up with laughter. Keith blinked, and smiled and then they were both laughing.

Lance lowered his hands from his nose and leaned forward his gaze fixed intently on Keith's nose. “You have this little button nose, but it's kinda crooked because you don't try to avoid a punch.” Lance admonished booping Keith's nose with a firm, smart tap of his finger.

“Hey!” Keith tried to swat Lance's hand away, missed horribly and swayed dangerously where he sat almost losing his balance. Lance howled with laughter, and Keith pouted.

“You know your eyelashes are really long too,” Lance said as he leaned in again, coming nose to nose with Keith. He sounded almost annoyed about it.

Keith blinked, going slightly cross-eyed with Lance's face so close in front of him. He didn't try to move back. “Eyes again?”

“There's more to eyes that just size and colour, which by the way, you haven't mentioned my eye colour. But your lashes are so long and dark, so they make your eyes look pretty and mysterious.”

Keith was getting dizzier. He swayed, and didn't bother to try and catch himself this time. Pitching forward his forehead bumped against Lance's. He stared into Lance's shining eyes, unblinking.

“Your eyes are blue, a really pretty midnight blue, like when the sky is completely clear….and blue...and you can see all the stars,” he said the word blue too many times, he felt foolish, but Lance’s wonky, silly smile grew wider with each word. It was worth it.

“You think my eyes are pretty!’ Lance crowed. Keith rolled his eyes and forced what he hoped sounded like a derisive laugh.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” This close he hoped Lance couldn't see him blush.

“You may have purple anime eyes Keith, but they're a nice purple. Like violets, the flower that is, really soft,” Lance lifted a hand and rubbed a thumb against Keith's cheek right beneath his eye.

“But then you have these giant, hairy caterpillars above your eyes, honestly, why can't you at least care a little about your appearance?” Lance demanded. He sat back and held Keith's head firmly with both hands, his thumbs pushing through Keith dark eyebrows. He glared at them as if they'd personally offended him.

Keith scowled or at least tried to. His expression was a bit warped thanks to Lance squashing his face.

“Yeah, well yours are stupidly thin. Do you draw them on or something?” Keith bit back.

Lance gasped, his hands dropping away from Keith's face to slap them over his chest in indignation.

“I'll have you know that my slender, shapely eyebrows are distinctive. They give me character!”

Keith agreed.

“Shame that doesn't make up for your awful personality,” he said instead.

“Well, I never. The nerve!” Lane huffed.

“At least my fashion sense didn't die in the eighties. You still have that awful mullet. It looks ridiculous,” Lance leaned forward and ruffled Keith's hair.

“Honestly why do you keep this mess. if you would just let me…..”

“No way,” Keith grabbed Lance’s wrist and pulled his hand away.

“I like my hair long. Yours is way too short. It's so close to your head.”

“My hair is supposed to be close to my head. It grows from my head, Keith.”

“You know what I mean.” Keith retorted.

“My hair is short for a reason, with this style my look is effortless.”

Keith laughed at that.

“Ah yes, an effortless look that takes you how long every morning?” He smirked.

“You can't shame me for actually caring about how I look, Keith. You could do to learn a thing or two from me.”

Keith shook his head. Even without a reflection Lance still preened and spent hours getting ready.

“Your lips are thin,” Keith said hoping to distract Lance from his attack on Keith's personal hygiene.

“Thin?”

“Yes, thin,” Keith lifted his hand to trace a thumb along Lance bottom lip, “and soft. They’re not even a little chapped.” He pressed his thumb against the corner of Lance’s mouth and held it there for a moment before moving way.

“Yours are plump, and pink,” Lance lifted a finger and tapped it against Keith's lips.

“And dry as a bone, dammit Keith.” He dragged his finger along Keith's lips, his hand then sliding around to cup Keith's cheek. With just the slightest pressure, he tilted Keith's head and drew him close. Keith let him.

Lance's lips press against Keith's in a firm, hard kiss. It was nothing new, and not at all romantic or tender. It was a cold passion fuelled by alcohol and the desire to be intimate with another, never anything more. Lance only ever kissed him on nights like these.

After several long moments of holding his lips against Keith's, and Keith enjoying the soft, moist sensation of Lance's lips moulding against his own, Lance drew back enough to trace his tongue along the curve of Keith's lips, wetting them.

Keith grimaced, he preferred the feeling of Lance's lips to his tongue, but he didn't pull away. Lance moved to the corner of Keith's mouth, and Keith felt a sharp nip at his lower lip, a tug as Lance pulled it between his teeth, and then the scent of blood wafted towards him.

“Ooops,” Lance didn't sound the least bit sorry. He lapped up the spot of blood and hummed in pleasure.

“His blood testes different coming from you,” Lance’s pupils dilated, the blue receding to black.

The smell of the blood and seeing the feral look in Lance's eyes woke something in Keith. He pressed forward, his hand wrapping around the back of Lance's neck he swooped in, pulled Lance's lip between his teeth and bit down hard, and sloppy.

Blood rushed his senses, and he lapped up every drop.

“Ouch! Don't steal my meal!” Lance growled. Keith felt, more than saw him pout. He smirked and licked every last spot of blood from the cut on Lance's lip. It was only a shallow cut, so it didn't bleed much.

“You stared it,” he said defiantly before sucking on Lance's lip.

“You're an ass,” Lance mumbled, the insult having little effect, the words intelligible thanks to Keith sucking on his lip.

Keith released Lance's lip with a pop. “So are you,” he smirked.

There was a long pause, and then they laughed again. Being drunk and kissing Lance always had this effect on Keith, it invigorated him and set him free, even if there was no passion behind it, even if Lance would deny that anything had happened the next day when they were sober (not that Keith ever brought it up either).

Drawn towards Lance's lips, Keith couldn't stop himself, even if he'd wanted to. He leaned in again, pressing a soft, almost apologetic kiss against the small cut before his lips covered Lance's in a full, hungry kiss. Keith's kiss was demanding, forcing Lance's lips to bend to his own.

Lance wrapped his arms around Keith and leaned down into the kiss, his upper body curving over Keith because even sitting down he was taller than the other man. He was encasing Keith in his embrace, pressing him close, and Keith was so tempted to crawl into the arc of Lance's body and occupy that space that called to him.

This was something that only ever happened when they're drunk. They rarely set out to hunt together but the night inevitably drew them to each other. They may bicker at first, but they feed, and then the alcohol sinks in, and they let go of their inhibitions. It was always the same. They kiss, they touch, and they hold each other, taking everything they can, all the intimacy that they both secretly craved.

The kiss tonight is hard and hot, a powerful press of lips though there is no urgency, they're happy to take their time. The heat simmers between them, on their lips, and lights a spark in their dead chest that makes them feel something.

Keith's hands cradle Lance's jaw, his fingers curling just behind Lance's ears he forced Lance's head to the side, tilting it for a better angle so he could deepen the kiss. His lips pressed demandingly against Lance's trying to force them open. Keith was greedy, Keith wanted more.

When Lance didn't immediately give in to what he wanted he nipped at Lance's lips, dragging his teeth against them and then licking at his lips as Lance had done to him earlier, doing everything he could think off to encourage the other to part his lips for him. Lance's response was slow, almost hesitant, and from the smirk Keith felt against his lips he knew Lance was doing it on purpose, making him work for it.

So Keith would have to take what he wanted by force. His hands moved higher, tracing Lance's jaw and sliding into his hair. His fingers threaded through the soft locks, digging as deep as they could into the short strands to get a good hold. When he had a firm enough grip Keith pulled, yanking Lance's head back he rose at the same time pushing up and forward into Lance, to his lips so that the other man would have no choice but to open up for him.

Lance leaned back, arching his body against Keith, his grip on the other shifting and tightening as he adjusted to the change in their position. The new angle of the kiss made him groan, a sound that reverberated through Keith's body too and finally he felt Lance's lips part, and his tongue come out to slide against Keith's.

Their mouths connected in a deeper kiss, lips and tongues locked together. Keith all but crawled into Lance's lap, wanting to be taller, wanting to take ownership of the kiss and Lance's mouth, but before he could Lance pulled away.

“Keith, I just had the best idea!” He proclaimed, his eyes shone with such joy that any protest died on Keith’s lips.

“Wait here I’ll be right back,” Lance promised. He pressed a quick, playful kiss to Keith's scowling lips before he jumped away and vanished into the night.

Keith stared at the empty spot Lance had just vacated for a moment before releasing a long drawn out sigh of frustration. He threw his arms wide and flopped down on his back.

“Typical,” he hissed at the clear, starry midnight blue sky above them. The same blue as Lance's eyes. He glared at the sky. It always ended like this, with one of them pulling away before things could get too far, and it was usually Lance, flighty and afraid of commitment. Keith never challenged it because he didn't have the nerve either. If they ever did take things further then, they would have to face how they felt about each other.

Even now, after all the heated stolen kisses and touches, Keith was afraid to admit how he felt about Lance and afraid to find out how the other man felt about him. He feared he might not like the answer.

How long had they been doing this anyway? Kissing and groping each other after a drunken feed that left them horribly unsatisfied and craving more. It was easy to lose count of the number of years that had gone by.

Keith wanted more, at least he thought that he did, and not just in the sense of carnal desire. He wanted more of Lance. But what if he only wanted Lance because Lance was the only one he had, the only one who understood? Both had their own tragic pasts, twisted even for a Vampire, and they'd both lived long enough to learn the pain of getting too close to the living, and to know that they were better off without it.

Keith rubbed his hands over his face, trying to clear his head. He didn't want to use Lance. He wanted to be sure if he did ever do anything, but how could he be sure if he only ever thought about these things when he was drunk?

An image of the man they'd fed from swam into his mind, and something sparked in Keith's chest. Tonight's feed had been different, he just couldn't get the man, or Lance, out of his mind. It wasn't just that the man's blood tasted different, it excited and energised Keith in a totally new way, but it was the way he'd fed with Lance. They'd laughed together, their bickering almost affectionate. The man had teased and encouraged them, and they all exchanged whispered sweet nothings. The three of them together had felt so easy and natural. It felt like everything he could ever need.

He wished he could remember the man's name. Lance always asked them their names and seemed to remember every single one of them (“It's the least we can do when we're taking their blood!”), but Keith never paid any attention to those sort of things. He'd have to ask Lance when he came back.

“Here!” Keith didn't hear Lance approach, but he felt the multiple books and packs of pencils dropped on his head. It started him so much he shot bolt upright and didn't even feel dizzy.

“What the hell?” Keith demanded with a scowl.

Ignoring Keith's anger, Lance plopped down on the ground and sat cross-legged opposite Keith. He gathered up the books and pencils he dropped on Keith and shoved one of the books into Keith's hands before opening the other on his lap. It was a sketchbook, the pages all blank.

Keith stared at the book on Lance's lap questioningly, then flicked through the pages of his book, which were also blank. Still, Lance offered no explanation and instead tipped the new pencils out of their box and set them up in a neat line between them.

“Since we can't see our own reflections, we're going to draw each other!” He explained when he was done. So that was his plan? Lance grabbed a pencil and brandished it, quite threateningly in Keith's opinion, at the other man.

There was one major flaw in Lance's plan; neither of them could draw. Keith's scowl spoke volumes, but Lance cheerfully ignored it.

“Come on, I know trying to capture this perfection on paper may be intimidating, but it's me you're drawing. You can't possibly fail,” Lance grinned seductively, one eyebrow quirked toward Keith.

“And don't worry I'll make your mullet look good...well as good as anyone can make a mullet look,” he nettled, his grin challenging.

Keith took the bait. Angrily he flipped open his book, snatched up a pencil, and began to draw.

It was true that neither of them could draw, and to add another spanner in the work they were both still quite drunk.

“What the hell is that?” Lance demanded stabbing the paper accusingly with his finger when Keith presented his finished masterpiece to him.

“It's you!” Keith ground out between gritted teeth because it was bloody obvious, who else would he be drawing? And Keith was quite proud of it, considering. He felt he'd captured Lance's likeness very well.

“How so? I can't even tell that it's supposed to be a human.”

“You aren't human.” Keith deadpanned.

“You know what I mean. I still look human, don't I? That doesn't look like a person.”

“Sure it does. Look here’s your tiny eyes and your straight nose,” Keith said pointing out the features with a stab of his finger.

Lance’s eyes narrowed. He turned his head to the side and squinted at the drawing trying to make sense of it.

“Is it suppose to be abstract?”

With a long-suffering huff, Keith slammed his book shut. “Fine let's see what you’ve got!”

Lance flashed a grin that was all confidence and presented his drawing to Keith with a flourish of his hands. It was Keith's turn to narrow his eyes and stare at a drawing now, trying to make sense of it. His silence was enough to offend Lance.

“What gives? My drawing is definitely better than yours! Look, I got your mullet perfectly!” He insisted stabbing the page with his pencil, pointing out the mess of scribbles that Keith suppose was meant to be hair.

“Nope, I don’t see it. Try again,” Keith replied flatly. Grabbing his own sketchbook, he opened it to a new page and started to draw again.

Never one to back down from a challenge Lance opened his book to a new page as well.

They scribble intensely in silence for a few minutes. Lance stared over his sketchbook at Keith, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. His eyes fixed on Keith he only looked away to draw down a few lines before he glanced up at Keith again and resume his intent study of the other man.

Keith found it hard to concentrate with how much Lance was staring at him. He tried to focus on Lance, but every time he looked at him their eyes met, and he had to look away again. There was also the issue that he was starting to see double.

“Ok, done!” Lance lay his sketchbook face down on his lap so Keith couldn't sneak a peek before he was ready. Keith's eyes widen in a moment of panic because he hadn't finished and he knew how impatient Lance was. He hurriedly scribbled a few more lines and decided the picture was as good as it was ever going to get. Lance would complain about it no matter what.

“Me too,” he said hurriedly. He put his pencil down and hugged the book close to his chest so Lance couldn't see it just yet.

They present their drawings to each other on Lance's count.

Lance laughed. “Keith that looks even worse than last time.”

“Hey, I actually tried this time!” Keith lied. The sentiment was there, he meant to try, but Lance was too distracting.

“Are you saying you didn’t try last time?” Lance asked with mock indignation, his eyes shining with mirth.

Keith rolled his eyes before turning his attention to Lance's offering, taking a proper look at it. There was a slight improvement. The face looked more like a person, and Lance hadn't drawn the eyes in the same overly comical way as he had last time. It still, however, looked like something a five-year-old had drawn.

“My nose isn't that crooked,” Keith said critically.

“And my eyes aren't that small,” Lance retorted.

They flipped to a new page and started again.

This time Keith finished before Lance. When they were done, they swapped sketchbooks, passing them to each other face down, before flipping them over on the count of three.

“Lance, why does my hair look like...is that...Lance are those dog ears?” Keith asked trying to sound unimpressed, but he couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up.

“Well, you didn't like any of the real drawings of you, so I improved your look.”

Keith snorted. As much as he felt like he should be mad, he couldn't help it.

“At least you managed to catch my winning smile this time,” Lance conceded, nodding at Keith's drawing in approval. Keith drew Lance with the most obnoxious grin possible with his mouth wide open. It was comical and meant as a joke. Of course, Lance would like that one best.

With nothing better to do, and finding that they were actually having fun attempting to draw each other they tried again.

“Why are my ears so pointy? They aren't that pointy!” Lance exclaimed clapping his hands over his ears; he traced his fingers around them just to be sure.

“They were meant to look like fins, like a fish. See I gave you sharp fishy teeth too,” Keith said pointing to the row of spiky teeth he'd drawn in Lance's mouth.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Lance huffed lowering his hands from his ears. It was Keith's revenge for the dog ears.

“Why did you draw my hair short?” Keith asked, turning his attention to Lance's drawing.

“I wanted to show you how you'd look without that mullet. See, you look so much better,” Lance exclaimed waving the sketchbook in front of Keith's face. Keith could see nothing with Lance waving the sketchbook around frantically. He grabbed Lance wrist and forced him to hold still.

“What is your obsession with my hair?” He sighed. Lance had drawn Keith's face three times on the page, keeping the details simple he made no effort to jot down Keith's features clearly and instead focused only on his hair. Each head sported a different, shorter style.

“It's on offence to fashion, but it looks so soft and fluffy I want to pet it. It's irritating.” Lance was brutally honest. It was the alcohol talking, the alcohol allowing him to say exactly what he thought.

“Oh.” Keith stared at the page thoughtfully, as if seriously considering the change.

“I'm still not going to cut it,” he announced.

“Figures,” Lance rolled his eyes, but he sounded relieved.

“Oh, hey Lance, what was that guy's name?” Keith asked, suddenly remembering that he'd wanted to ask Lance.

“Hmm?” Lance blinked at him slowly, taking a moment to process the question.

“Oh, he said his name was Shiro,” Lance said the name with a dreamy sigh.

Keith nodded, flipped to a new page and started to draw again.

“What you drawing?” Lance leaned forward, trying to take a peek but Keith angled the book away from him.

“I'm drawing Shiro.”

Lance's eyes lit up.

“Oh me too me too,” he said excitedly.

They spent longer on these drawings, finding it harder to draw from memory, especially when those memories were slightly out of focus.

“Are you done?” Lance asked after a while, glancing over his sketchbook. Keith scowled at his own drawing, at a loss. He wasn't finished, but he's wasn't sure what was missing.

“No...” he scowled.

Lance nodded and went back to his own drawing.

Eventually, they drew something they were willing to share.

“His hair wasn't that long,” Keith critiqued Lance's drawing.

“You forgot his scar,” Lance complained over Keith's.

Neither drawing truly captured Shiro's likeness. It seemed almost impossible to get those sharp, handsome features down on paper, especially with their lack of skill. They silently agreed it was pointless to try again.

“Maybe we need to take another look at him,” Keith mumbled as he closed his sketchbook. He meant it as a joke, but he couldn't hide the longing in his voice. Lance heard it.

“We don't go back for seconds,” Lance quipped smartly. It was a rule they'd both agreed on long ago; no matter who it was, no matter how addictive the taste of their blood, they would never go to the same human twice. They wouldn't get attached.

“I just meant to look, so we could remember what his face looks like,” Keith bristled.

“If you go look at him you'll want another taste. I'm surprised you haven't run off already to track him down with how much you've been mooning over him,” Lance sneered. He sounded angry, or maybe he was upset. Keith couldn't tell, and he was too drunk, too annoyed to step back and try to figure it out.

“You were mooning over him just as badly. You were practically dry humping him when we fed, if anyone wants to go hunt him down again, it's you,” Keith jabbed an accusatory finger at Lance.

“Me? You're the one that slid your hand under his shirt first!”

“And you went for his pants!”

They glared at each other, their chest heaving in anger. Lance's eyes flashed, and Keith's lips drew back in a snarl.

Keith was the first to move. He got unsteadily to his feet, glaring down at Lance considering whether or not he should throw a punch, be he decided against it. He was pissed off and frustrated, but he didn't want to get in a fight with Lance.

“You know what, you're not worth it,” he growled. He didn't mean it. That wasn't what he wanted to say at all, and it hurt even to say the words. It hurt to see the pain flash across Lance's face.

Keith turned away and left before he could do any more damage.

“Matt I'm telling you there were two of them! Two! And they were both so hot,” Shiro moaned, his words surprisingly coherent considering the amount of alcohol he'd drunk. He was leaning heavily on Matt his arm draped over the other man's shoulders. He stumbled and swayed as he tried to walk but Matt's firm, guiding arm around his waist kept them mostly walking in a straight line.

“Yes, I know. You've already mentioned this several times,” Matt sighed. He grabbed hold of Shiro's wrist with his free hand and yanked his arm more securely around his shoulders. He'd lost count of the number of times Shiro had mentioned the two men and Matt was getting tired. It wasn't the first time Shiro had more than one person lusting after him during a night out, but he didn't usually brag about it this much afterwards.

“But Matt, Matt,” Shiro hissed urgently, he tried to whisper and failed miserably. Matt flinched as Shiro yelled right in his ear. Shiro, of course, didn't notice.

“They were Vampires, two of them, both Vampires,” Shiro went on. He glanced around furtively as if he expected them to appear from the shadows suddenly.

Ah yes, this was the main reason Shiro kept talking about them, and this was where Matt knew Shiro had too much to drink. He'd seen to two men briefly when he went to scoop his friend up off the pavement, the three of them drunk and falling over each other. The two men had clung to each other with hungry looks when Matt took Shiro off their hands. They were reluctant to let him go, but they hadn't complained, and neither had Shiro. Matt hadn't paid much attention to them other than to note they were attractive, nothing else had stood out, nothing as fantastical as pointy sharp teeth or anything like that anyway. Looking at the bruises on Shiro's neck it was obvious they'd done a number on him but Vampires? Really?

“It's true what they say, Vampires are hot,” Shiro groaned leaning more of his weight on Matt, almost causing the other's knees to buckle. Matt grunted and heaved Shiro up.

“Ok buddy,” he huffed. Stopping at their front door, Matt resisted the urge to drop Shiro on the doorstep and leave him there and dug in his pockets for his keys instead.

“They were Vampires Matt,” Shiro repeated sternly, reprimanding Matt for not believing him.

“Right, Vampires. Guess I better hang up some garlic tonight,” Matt answered solemnly, humouring his friend. All he wanted to do was get inside, throw Shiro in bed, and then curl up in his own bed and fall into blissful unconsciousness. Why was Shiro making this so difficult? Maybe he should have left him to the mercy of the two 'Vampires'; then he could have gotten some peace.

“Noooooo, they weren't dangerous. They were so pretty, and nice,” Shiro sighed dreamily, more of his weight landing on Matt's shoulders, again almost taking the other man down with him. Matt cursed and caught his balance while simultaneously holding Shiro up and not dropping his keys. Overall it was a damn impressive feat that he managed to do all that and get the key in the lock.

Shiro had a far away, dreamy look in his eyes and was absolutely no help at all.

“Right. And a pretty vampire would never harm anyone,” Matt muttered under his breath.

“They were so nice! And pretty, beautiful, they were the most beautiful men I have ever seen. One of them he was so tall, and slender, and elegant, like a prince. And his skin was so dark and soft like…like...the sun...” Shiro fumbled over his words, struggling to find the right ones to describe the impossibly beautiful men.

“The sun?” Matt lifted an eyebrow. Finally, he got the door open, and he shoved Shiro forward into the apartment.

Shiro scowled and stumbled through the doorway, still holding on to Matt he dragged him with him.

“No. You know what I mean, his skin was pretty and tanned and like, glowy,” Shiro flailed a hand through the air still trying to find the right word, but it eluded him.

'Sunkissed' was probably the word he was looking for but Matt did not offer it to Shiro, his friend had made him suffer more than enough for one night.

“Whatever, he was gorgeous, and he had these pretty blue eyes like, like the sea.” Shiro released his hold on Matt and staggered the short distance to the living room. When he got there, he collapsed onto the sofa.

“The other guy was so cute, he had this soft fluffy hair I just want to bury my hands in,” Shiro mumbled making a motion with his fingers as if he was grabbing on to something.

“And he was so strong and hard,” he whined. Shiro had felt it in the way the dark-haired man's body had pressed against him and in the way his hands ran across his body. While the taller stranger's body had moulded against him like water, the shorter man had been like a wall pushing against him.

Matt almost choked, he knew Shiro was talking about the man's build, rather than something else, but that didn't make hearing his friend share every little detail like that any easier.

“His eyes were so pretty, and they were purple, like big purple jewels… are they any purple jewels Matt?” Shiro asked looking at his friend hopefully.

“I don't know much about jewels, sorry,” Matt said absently as he hung up his coat and took his shoes off in the hallway. 'Amethysts,' he thought to himself, but again he didn't offer it to Shiro, he was still feeling rather spiteful. Shiro was not light.

“Do you remember their names?” Matt asked as he stood over Shiro, his hands on his hips.

Shiro was silent for a moment.

“….no,” he gasped in horror.

Matt had to bite back a laugh. Shiro looked stricken as if Matt had told him he was going to die or something.

“Matt, I...I don't remember their names! How am I supposed to find them again?” He said frantically, eyes wide.

“You want to hook up with them again?” Matt asked. That took him by surprise, Shiro never usually wanted to hook up with a one night stand again, after all, they were one night stands for a reason.

Shiro nodded furiously then stopped groaning at the pain it caused.

“You don't understand Matt, they were amazing!” Shiro grumbled pressing his face into the sofa. He could still feel their bodies writhing against him, and their hands roaming all over him. Their laughter was like like a tempting song, and their smiles enchanting and playful drawing him to them and lighting the fire of desire inside him.

He remembered the tall, dark man's pick up lines. They'd made Shiro laugh and caused his heart flutter in his chest. He remembered the shorter man's irritation and the sulky way he tried to steal Shiro's attention. It was adorable and made Shiro's heart swell with fondness.

“So you want to hook with them both again?” Matt questioned.

Shiro bit his lip, looking worried.

“Do I have to choose one?” He asked his voice a low whisper.

“Most people would say you do,” Matt shrugged. Making out as part of an alcohol-fuelled threesome on a night out was one thing, actually entering into a healthy polyamorous relationship was quite another, even if Shiro did manage to find them again who was to say the two men would want that? Matt wasn't going to get Shiro's hopes up or encourage him to do anything rash, especially when he wasn't quite in his right mind at the moment.

“I don't want to!” Shiro pouted.

“Even though you can't remember their names?” Matt teased.

“I'll just marry them both. Then we can all be called Mr Shirogane, and I won't have to remember their names.”

Matt let out a loud, sharp bark of laughter at Shiro's imaginative solution. He couldn't deny that it was an effective one, maybe one with several major flaws but it was logical.

“Ok hot stuff. Just promise me I'll be best man at your wedding,” he chuckled. It was easier to just go along with it.

“Of course! You're my best friend!” Shiro said emphatically.

“Great. Well now that we have that sorted let's get you to bed. You're going to need your beauty sleep for the big day,” Matt said as he coaxed Shiro off the sofa so he could get him upstairs to his room.

“No. I'm sleeping here,” Shiro stubbornly refused. He curled up on the sofa and made himself comfortable.

“Oh no, you're not. You'll wake up sore and stiff if you do, and then you'll blame me for letting you sleep here.” Matt grabbed one of the cushions and hit Shiro with it.

“Come on. Get up and go to your room.”

Shiro groaned and tried to fend him off, but he didn't have the energy or the coordination to stop Matt.

“You are no longer my best friend,” Shiro scowled at Matt as he struggled to get to his feet.

“I can live with that,” Matt deadpanned. He didn't seem to mind. He grabbed Shiro and hoisted the other man's arm over his shoulders again before leading him upstairs to his room.

Again Matt had to listen to Shiro go on about how beautiful the men were all the way to his room, but thankfully he was soon able to deposit Shiro in his bed. Finding himself somewhere comfortable Shiro crawled under the covers and curled up. He was asleep within moments. Matt didn't bother to wake him up so he could get change, he didn't want to hear Shiro talk about those men anymore. He got Shiro to bed, so his work was done.

Matt stumbled to his room and like Shiro fell into bed fully clothed. It had been a long night.

Before falling asleep Matt silent hoped that Shiro would forget all about the 'Vampires' in the morning.

Chapter Text

When Shiro woke the next morning, he felt somehow worse than he had when he'd fallen into bed the night before. He groaned as the too bright sunlight flooding his room shone on him, his eyes burning behind closed lids. He didn't even have the energy to roll over to hide from it, so he pulled the covers over his head instead.

He had a fairly clear memory of how much he'd drunk last night, though he remembered little else. Shiro knew his limit and knew how to handle himself, and he was always careful not to push those limits, so there was no reason he should feel this awful. He searched his muddled memories, but could not remember drinking more than he'd intended.

The thought that someone may have spiked his drink crawled sluggishly to the forefront of his mind, and a momentary spike of panic gave him the energy to crack his eyes open and lower the covers just enough to peek over them. He was in his room.

He groaned when the light practically blinded him and hoisted the covers back over his head. He'd seen enough to know where he was, that was all he needed to see. A quick fumble of his pockets (he was still dressed) revealed he had his wallet and his phone, so whatever had happened he'd neither been kidnapped or robbed.

“Maybe I'm just getting old,” he mumbled miserably to himself, and then he groaned again. His voice was far too loud and grating to his sensitive ears.

Everything was fuzzy, but as Shiro lay there trying to piece the events of last night together, things slowly began to come into focus. There had been two men. The sensation of them pressed close, grinding against him, their hands roaming his body, and their lips and teeth lavishing his neck with attention surfaced like a forgotten (erotic) dream.

Shiro lifted his hand to his neck and winced. He didn't need to look in the mirror to know his neck was covered in bruises, now that he'd touched one, every single love bite was painfully making itself known.

They'd done a number on him, and although he had enjoyed it at the time, it was the biting, more than anything, he remembered with odd, vivid clarity. They'd bitten and nipped at his neck so much he remembered the feeling of their teeth more than that of their lips. He remembered the blunt, heavy incisors and canines continually dragging along his throat, then there had been a prick, like a needle. It hadn't hurt at the time, and Shiro had been riding too high a high to care, but he remembered it on both sides of his neck from each of them. It was why he mistook them for Vampires.

Vampires.

The next memory that struck him like a bus, a bus that's destination was humiliation, was his conversation with Matt. He'd been so convinced the men were Vampires he'd blabbed to Matt all about it, and he'd even gushed over how much he liked the two men. But Vampires, really? Shiro laughed at his own foolishness and instantly wished he hadn't as his whole body ached and his head felt like it was splitting in two. Ok, so speaking and laughing were off the table.

He should just go back to sleep.

“Shiro! Are you up yet?” Matt barged into his room, his voice hitting Shiro like a sledgehammer.

Shiro grumbled and curled up into a tight ball under the covers, burying himself deeper into the muffled darkness.

Showing no mercy, Matt grabbed a corner of the duvet and yanked it off his friend in one swift motion. Shiro hissed and tried to grab the blanket back, but he missed.

“Matt please,” he whined his eyes screwed shut, reaching blindly for the duvet. Matt held it further out of his reach.

“You do realise you have work today,” Matt said flatly. Shiro grumbled and found just enough energy to roll over and bury his face in the pillow.

“No,” Shiro protested his voice muffled.

“You were the one who said you'd be fine if we went out drinking on a work night. In fact, you promised me you'd have no trouble going to work, and I wouldn't have to cover for you.” Matt huffed, he was annoyed, but it was hard to stay mad at someone who looked so miserable. Even if he couldn't see Shiro's face, he could see it in every line of his friend's body.

Matt knelt down beside the bed eyes narrowed critically taking in the sorry state of the other man. Shiro was pale, making the dark bruises on his neck stand out more vividly. Exhaustion made him seem smaller, even though he was lying down. Shiro turned his head just enough to look at Matt mournfully, his eyes dull and weighed down by big, dark circles.

“You look like death,” Matt announced.

Shiro continued to stare at him.

“Oh ok fine, I'll cover for you,” he sighed. Getting to his feet, he dropped the blanket on top of Shiro.

“But at the very least you need to take a shower and get dressed, you'll feel better. Oh and drink lots of water,” Matt advised before he left the room.

Shiro sighed and curled up gratefully beneath the duvet. He fell asleep to memories of wandering, curious hands, laugher, and sharp teeth nipping at his neck.

Shiro woke again a few hours later feeling refreshed but still drained and oddly cold. He shivered and huddled beneath the duvet, though it did little to help as the chill seemed to have sunk into his very bones.

A nagging voice at the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like Matt) told him he couldn't stay there all day. If Matt came home and found he hadn't even tried to get changed there would be hell to pay.

It took him several minutes to find the willpower to leave his comfortable bed, helped along by the chill in his skin that was steadily making him very uncomfortable, but he had slept well and recovered enough energy to successfully crawl out of bed, out his room and to the bathroom. When he got there, Shiro shed his clothes and grimaced. It felt like he was peeling off a layer of dead skin to reveal fresh, new skin. His clothes were sweat soaked and smelled strongly of stale alcohol, he hadn't noticed how bad they were until he took them off. Already, he felt better.

Climbing into the warm shower felt like a baptism, the water soothing his aching muscles, waking him up and making him feel new again. He stood under the steady stream for a long time, his mind wandering back to the two men from last night. He lost himself in the fantasy of imagining them there with him in the shower for a few minutes.

That invigorated him more than anything else.

Too soon the water began to grow cold, and Shiro was chased out of his fantasy, and the shower, by the lack of hot water.

He stumbled back to his room and picked out the most comfortable clothes he could find, sweatpants and a baggy shirt that was his favourite. He hadn't had the heart to throw it out after it got stretched out of shape in the wash.

Clean and dressed in fresh clothes Shiro felt more human and actually capable of standing and moving about on his own. He made his way back to the bathroom on steadier feet to study himself in front of the mirror, paying particular attention to the bruises covering his neck. It was no wonder his alcohol-soaked mind thought the men were Vampires. It took a lot of sucking and biting to make even one hickey, let alone enough to cover both sides of his neck in a thick pattern of bruises. He searched his skin for any signs of cuts, or holes and, of course, found none. There was just very tender, very bruised skin.

“Vampires,” he chuckled to himself with a shake of his head. It was silly, there was no such thing as Vampires as a sensible adult Shiro knew that. Vampires were the things of fantasy and nightmares, and Halloween was a long way away. Reasonably, he knew there was no way the men could be Vampires, but the memory of their teeth breaking his skin felt as real as the memory of their bodies against him. Shiro was no stranger to a hickey, so he was no stranger to the sensation of teeth against flesh, but there had been that sharp prick, and then the sucking...

Shiro pressed a hand lightly to his neck and shook his head. Whatever that prick had been was probably just them coming across an odd nerve in his neck. He was no stranger to hickeys, but he'd never received quite this impressive a coverage, so it was no wonder it felt a little different, and that they found an extra sensitive area in their exploration. That was all it was.

Styling his hair so that it no longer looked like as flat and lifeless as he'd felt when he first woke up Shiro tucked his racing thoughts of the two men to the back of his mind before heading downstairs for breakfast.

It wasn't long before he was thinking about them again, wondering if they were suffering as badly as he was, and wondering what they were eating for breakfast. Were they eating together? Or had they been as much strangers to each other as they were to Shiro?

He daydreamed over the three of them eating breakfast together, and how they would react if he told them (while very drunk), he'd been convinced they were Vampires.

The taller one would probably laugh it off, or do a very bad, exaggerate impression of a Vampire and then playfully bite Shiro's neck. The shorter one would unblinkingly call him an idiot, and roll his eyes at the taller man's antics, but then he too would press a small, gently kiss to Shiro's neck mindful of the delicate skin.

He could picture the way their hands would link together and rest on his chest as if they were really there. They would be more affectionate in the morning, softer and not driven by passion but still full of devotion. Their hands would caress him, and each other and Shiro would wrap his arms around both of them and hold them close.

Shaking himself from his fantasy, Shiro dropped his dishes in the sink and turned on the tap. This was all based off a few minutes of intense make out, he knew absolutely nothing about them and couldn't even remember their names, but he could picture it all so vividly it was as if he'd known them for years.

“I need to get laid,” he muttered to himself as he washed the dishes. It had been a while since he'd been with someone, and those men had been very handsy, that was probably why he couldn't stop thinking about them.

Shiro went back to bed after that, the effort of cleaning himself and making breakfast, and his vivid fantasies, exhausting him.

Over the next few days, try as he might, Shiro could not forget the two men. They were all he thought about. It didn't help that Matt, once he was sure Shiro had recovered, teased him mercilessly about the whole Vampire thing. His current favourite joke was offering Shiro a clove of garlic every time he was about to go out.

However, even if Matt had given him a break, Shiro knew he couldn't just forget them so easily. Their memory was seared into his mind, the feeling of their bodies against his burnt into every inch of his being.

Shiro had it bad.

He wished he could remember their names.

This was probably the longest Keith had gone without even seeing Lance. Not that he'd made any effort to track him down over the past few days, but Lance was (helpfully) avoiding him too.

Usually by now, no matter how bad their fights, Lance would grow bored or frustrated enough to confront Keith, even if it was just to start another fight. Their friendship was a strained, volatile but they always came back to each other in the end. The fact that Lance hadn't even tried was a sign Keith had gone a step too far.

He should apologise. 'You're not worth it.' It was the very worst thing Keith could have said, words that struck harder than any punch would have. He may as well have just said he never wanted to see Lance again and that he hated him. For all his boasting and bragging Lance's ego was fragile, it was no secret and after centuries of loss, betrayal and never finding the validation he craved things had only got worse.

Even Keith, who knew he had trouble reading people, could see through Lance's bravado. He'd tried in the past to boost the other's self-esteem, but anything he said or did was either laughed or scoffed at, and normally ended with Lance trying to beat him in some competition Keith had no memory of entering.

It didn't help that when they first met, Lance, for whatever reason, decided they were rivals and that Keith was someone he had to compete with and defeat, an idea he still clung too despite the fact they had formed an alliance of sorts.

Keith tried to be understanding, he really did. He tried to show Lance, in his own way, that there was no need for them to compete and that he'd never viewed Lance as 'less' than him, but Keith was bad at putting his true feelings into actions or words, and even worse at handling other peoples tumultuous emotions. Plus Lance could be so infuriating it strained his short patience.

Keith snarled and kicked a stone with the toe of his shoe. The stone skittered away sending up a small spray of water from the wet pavement in its wake.

Blaming Lance's pig-headedness wasn't helping. Keith had to make the first move, which meant he needed to apologise, and with Lance, he would have to pick his words carefully. Keith wasn't good with words, and he didn't want to make things worse, not to mention it was rather tricky to apologise to someone who was avoiding him.

Of course, Keith could track Lance down in mere minutes if he really tried, Lance wasn't hiding from him, just staying out of his way, but that was beside the point. Keith kicked another stone and his expression growing darker, the darkening sky above him reflected his mood. He shook his head his bangs damp with the light spray of rain that had been falling since that morning. It wasn't enough for an umbrella, but it was wet and cold and annoying which only soured Keith's mood further.

“It's not like it's all my fault! He obviously liked the guy too, why am I the bad guy?” Keith muttered to himself. Thinking of the man made him feel hungry, and made his chest tighten. Damn it. He was the one who caused this problem in the first place. There was a weight to the air, a heaviness that promised a storm and weighed heavily on anyone brave enough to wander outside.

“Lance should be mad at him, not me,” Keith grumbled sulkily, but he felt no animosity towards Shiro, not really. Shiro was like one of the heavy rain clouds, a shadow far out of their reach, his presence over them at first like a revitalising shower, but the rain had turned into a flood and ruined everything between him and Lance.

Keith could feel the rain start to seep through his clothes, a hint of dampness that prickled at his skin unpleasantly. It wasn't enough to affect him or weaken him, and Keith had always had a higher tolerance for water than other Vampires, but maybe he should have brought that umbrella after all. He grimaced.

An arm snaked around his shoulders, and a solid weight leant against him. Keith stiffened for a moment but kept walking. The man's scent suffocated him, and he knew immediately who it was, what he was. Keith would not give him the satisfaction of tripping or hesitating.

The man laughed and leaned more heavily against him.

“That's it, keep walking half-breed,” the man growled his grip on Keith tightened, warning him not to make a scene. Not that Keith needed it, he was reckless, but he wasn't a fool. He wasn't about to get into a fight and reveal himself for what he really was in the middle of the street, no matter how grey and dreary the day was. The wet pavement and thick cloud made everything seem muffled, and while the crowds were thin and most people hurried along with their heads bowed against the drizzle, without even sparing them a second glance, it was still too busy. They would be too conspicuous if Keith retaliated now.

“What do you want, Haxus?” Keith demanded in a low, menacing voice. He may be following Haxus, but he wasn't going to go quietly.

“Just a friendly little chat, that's all,” he sneered.

Keith didn't buy it for a moment, there would be nothing friendly about this confrontation, but he could handle one Werewolf. He kept walking.

Shiro lounged in his favourite coffee shop, his mind wandering. He nursed his second cup of coffee while gazing out at the figures that hurried past the window, all hunched against the threatening grey clouds and the steady, misty rain.

He still felt incredibly lethargic even though several days had passed since that 'wild' night out, and the dull weather was enveloping him in its own brand of lethargy too, which only made things worse. Still, even with the weather, enough time had passed now that he should have recovered.

'It's not a hangover,' he thought stubbornly, sipping his coffee. He was nowhere near old enough to be so utterly wiped out for such a long time after a night out.

It was more than the headache, nausea and general feeling of wrongness that too much alcohol brought. If anything it reminded him of the fatigue he experienced after giving blood, it was the same, bone-deep sensation of having the very life drained out of, and he was left weak and with no energy, except when that feeling normally left after a couple of days.

Shiro smiled over his coffee cup, the 'Vampire theory' coming back to him. As impossible as it was, it would explain a lot, especially if both of them had been Vampires and 'fed' from him.

He shared none of these musings with Matt, of course, his friend still hadn't let up on the Vampire jokes.

As wild and impossible a theory as if was Shiro kept coming back to it. The memory of their teeth piercing his skin was still as vivid as the memory of their lips against his neck, so strong that he couldn't easily believe he'd imagined either of those things. The memory of them sucking the skin of his neck was real, the bruises attested to that, and with it, he remembered the sound of swallowing, and slurping. Something that the sensible part of his mind said he imagined, but the memory felt so real.

The very idea of Vampires, and having two Vampires bite him, should have sent a shiver down his spine, but they'd made him feel so good, lavishing attention on him and whispering sweetly in his ears so that he enjoyed every moment.

It hadn't hurt, and he hadn't been afraid not then, and not now.

Lost once again in his memories Shiro almost missed the dark-haired figure that passed the window, but the familiarity of his silhouette pulled Shiro from his thoughts. It looked like the shorter, raven-haired man from that night.

At first, Shiro was sure he was imagining things. It wouldn't be the first time he'd mistaken some innocent bystander for one of them, Shiro had lost count of the number of times he thought he'd seen them out on the street or in the supermarket, only to be proven wrong when he looked closer.

But Shiro kept watching because, really, he had nothing better to do, and he was curious. At this point, it was almost a game to see how long it would take for the rose-tinted vision to fade and for his eyes to see the person properly.

With his head bowed and shoulders hunched it was hard to see the man's face, but the cut of his shaggy black hair was so familiar, probably the most similar of all the people he'd seen so far.

Maybe too familiar.

Shiro narrowed his eyes studying the figure more closely, and the clearer the hazy image in his mind of the dark-haired man with violet eyes became.

Just as the figure was about to walk past the window and out of sight another man approached him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. To anyone who happened to glance at them, it might look like a friendly, everyday gesture, but Shiro saw the way the smaller man flinched at the contact. The dark-haired man hunched his shoulders further, tensing up and the other man smiled, sly and cocky.

Something was off, and Shiro was growing more certain that the dark-haired man was one of the Vampires from that night. Before he could properly consider the wisdom of following two strangers, one who may or may not be a vampire, Shiro set his cup down and rushed out the shop, hurrying down the street after them before they could disappear out of sight.

The two men appeared to be talking in low, hushed voices. The smaller one, although he looked uncomfortable, didn't make any attempt to shrug the other man off or try to get away. Shiro followed them passed several buildings, hanging back reluctant to just jump in without any cause. The young man didn't appear to be in any trouble, maybe he did know the man hanging off him and just didn't like to be touched?

The man didn't seem to be in any danger, and Shiro knew that it was probably his desperation, beyond any desire to help, that had him grabbing any opportunity, any excuse, even going as far as to follow two strangers like a creepy stalker because he thought one of the looked like one of the men he couldn't forget.

Maybe if he turned back now, he could get back to his table, and his coffee before someone cleared it.

The tall, lanky figure veered off and dragged the other man into an alley with him. The young man stumbled, taken by surprise, and although he didn't put up a fight his whole posture was tense and defiant. Shiro saw his lips pull back in a snarl, and his hand curl into a fist.

Shiro squared his shoulders, and any thought of going back to the coffee shop vanished. He ran after them.

"Sendak would like a word with you," Haxus whispered into Keith year, breath hot and threatening. Keith shuddered, and the urge to rip the other man's throat out grew stronger.

Haxus dragged Keith deeper into the alley, yellow eye daring around, carefully taking in their surroundings. The alley was dank, bleak and uncomfortably off-putting to anyone with an ounce of caution. No other soul, living or dead, was foolish enough to linger here. Confident they were alone he released his hold on Keith and strutted a few steps ahead of him, moving a little further down the alley.

"I'm guessing Sendak isn't going to grace us with his presence," Keith sneered as he looked around. There was no one else there.

"If he wants to talk to me so bad then he could at least show his ugly mug." Keith stood with his hand on his hip, defiant. If it was just Haxus, then he could easily outrun the other man, but Keith was not a coward or a quitter. He would stand and fight. Haxus made the mistake of coming alone and dragging him somewhere out of sight. Keith would not lose.

Haxus glared at Keith his eyebrows knitting together. "You'd do well to remember your place, half-breed," he snarled. The tall man hunched forward and the alley seemed to grow darker and colder. A sickening crunching and snapping sound echoed around him, the sound of bones breaking and mending in new twisted positions as Haxus took on his large wolf form. His arms elongated and his hands mutated into heavy paws, they landed on the ground with a menacing thump, wicked claws clattered on the asphalt, and he snarled, showing off a row of sharp, yellowing teeth his transformation complete.

The Werewolf crouched low on the ground, his tail swishing menacingly. A sudden wind howled down the alley, ruffling the Werewolf's shaggy coat making him look bigger.

It blew Keith hair into his eyes, and it cut through his damp clothed. He shivered. He growled his lips pulled back to show off his own sharp teeth. They may not have been impressive as the Werewolf's, but Keith didn't let that stop him.

“Oh shit!”

Shiro's exclamation caught them both off guard, but Keith was the only foolish enough to take his eyes off his opponent to see who had been unfortunate enough to wander into the alley with them. Violet eyes widened in recognition. It couldn't be…

A human or two really made no difference to the Werewolf. Killing him would be messy and risky, though it was a smaller risk than allowing him to live. Plus Keith's distraction worked to his advantage, so really he was grateful to the human. He might even make his death quick. Haxus charged towards them, fangs bared.

“Look out!” Shiro rushed forward putting himself between Keith and the charging animal before Keith could do anything to stop him. Haxus leapt forward, and Shiro grabbed the attacking dog by the scruff, plucking him out of the air Shiro threw him to the side against the nearby wall.

It all happened in an instant, so quick Keith almost missed it. He couldn't deny he was impressed.

Haxus hit the wall with a strangled yelp and landed in a heap. He twisted and righted himself quickly however and slowly got back up on all fours, snarling more fiercely angry, hate-filled yellow eye fixed on Shiro.

'No!' Keith's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't allow Shiro to get hurt by the Werewolf. His eye flashing in warning and sharp fangs growing longer Keith stepped forward, standing beside Shiro.

“Leave!” he bellowed, and he pulled out a knife from his belt angling it so that the wicked silver bladed glinted in the low light.

Haxus' ears lay flat against his head. He continued to snarl eyes darting between the two men. The silver blade in Keith's skilful hands was enough of a deterrent, the sight of it alone made him shudder, and the human was proving more trouble than he'd anticipated. The man was strong, and Haxus has no desire to be thrown around like a rag doll again.

If he attacked again, they would no doubt protect each other. Neither was an easy target, and that knife was real silver. He crouched low to the ground hackles raised still growling, his cold eyes darting between them.

It wasn't worth the risk, he decided. With an angry swish of his tail, he shot Keith a look, his eyes darkening with the promise of revenge before he turned on his tail and left.

“Holy crap what was that? A wolf? It looked like a wolf. Are there any wolves near here?” Shiro said in a breathless rush adrenalin pumping through his body.

“You carry a knife around with you?” Shiro asked turning to Keith, his gaze drawn to the blade Keith continued to hold up threateningly.

Keith peered down the alley, his sense on alert for any sign of Haxus' return or reinforcements, but they were alone. Sure they were safe now Keith tucked the blade back into its sheath and turned to Shiro.

“You never know when it might come in handy,” he shrugged.

Shiro stared at him for a moment, not sure if he should be alarmed at Keith's flippant attitude. After a moment he laughed.

“Well it did come in handy,” he conceded. He didn't know if it was the knife or the man's aggression that scared the dog off, but either way, the knife would have helped them if things got ugly. He stifled his laughter with his hand, his expression softening as he took a moment to study the other man, concerned eyes scanning him for any signs of obvious injury.

“Are you ok?” Shiro asked.

“I'm fine,” Keith said dismissively. He was being cold on purpose, hoping not to invite any further, awkward questions, but it was hard. He couldn't quite meet Shiro's eye, and he was antsy. He couldn't quite believe that the man in front of him was Shiro, of all people. Why now?

“Oh, ok. Good,” Shiro nodded curtly a little taken aback by the chill in the other man's voice. Keith flinched and bit back the apology that threatened to spill from his lips. No, he couldn't encourage Shiro.

But Shiro wasn't so easily put off. “That was crazy huh? That really did look like a wolf? Why was it attacking you? And where did that other guy go?”

Keith tensed, his mind racing trying to think of excuses. So Shiro had seen Haxus drag him into the alley. Great.

“That wasn't a wolf, just a stray. And that guy was a coward, he ran for it as soon as he saw the dog,” Keith scoffed.

“Really? I didn't see him run out,” Shiro mused. The man hadn't run past him at least which meant he would have had to run the other way, past the dog.

“That thing was pretty big for a stray too,” he mumbled doubtfully.

“It was a really big stray,” Keith said adamantly.

Shiro wasn't buying it, but then again he wasn't so sure it had been a wolf either. There had been something strange and twisted about the animal. It looked almost like a man crouched on all fours, but stretched out and made to look dog-like by someone who didn't know what a dog should look like. It was easier to call it a wolf, calling it a 'monster' would have been just a bit of an overreaction.

The man was hiding something, Shiro recognised the stubborn evasiveness. He wasn't going to get anything else out of him right now.

“A stray,” he acknowledged. He'd allow that for now, besides the alley was making him uneasy. His eyes darted around, checking the shadows for any sign of movement. It didn't feel safe.

“How about a coffee? A hot drink would be good right about now,” he offered.

The abrupt invitation took Keith by surprise, and just when he'd been hoping Shiro was going to give up and accept everything he said. He tensed, put on the spot once again.

“I'm not really a coffee drinker,” Keith tried to refuse. He turned away and made to leave, but Shiro caught his arm, stopping him. His grip wasn't at all tight and Keith could have easily pulled his arm free, but it was the gentleness that stopped him. Shiro's grip was so tender it was almost a plea.

“Please,” he spoke softly, and there was a new, intense look in his eyes that had nothing to do with what had just happened. It was desperation and jubilation. Shiro recognised him, and it looked like he'd been searching for him. He wasn't going to let go easily.

Keith knew he should say no. If Lance ever found out he'd met with Shiro after their fight concerning said man he would likely never speak to him again. Keith could use his powers of persuasion to send Shiro on his way, and make the man forget he'd seen anything. He could make him forget it all.

But Keith couldn't do that to him. He couldn't take away that look in Shiro's eyes, it called to him, drew him in and implored him to stay. Keith felt like he was being pulled in two, Shiro's eyes and his loyalty to Lance tearing him apart.

“Fine, a coffee,” Keith agreed. Just one coffee wouldn't hurt. Right?

Shiro smiled, an expression so soft it made Keith's heart leap. When was the last time anyone had looked at him like that?

“Great, I know this lovely little place just down the street,” Shiro said brightly. He released Keith's arm and turned to lead the way out of the alley.

Keith watched Shiro's back for a moment as he moved further away from him. He took a step forward and followed him. It was still raining, barely, still the annoying fine, misty rain, and the sky was still a deep, broody grey, but it seemed to have brightened, just a little.

By the time they got to the coffee shop Shiro had lost his table by the window, but they quickly found another free in the corner, tucked away granting them a little privacy. When they got to the table, Shiro pulled out one of the chairs and held it out for Keith. Oblivious, Keith walked past him and sat in the other chair. Shiro said nothing, and held on to the back of the chair, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling.

Keith glanced around curiously taking in the unfamiliar sights and smells that surrounded him. Coffee shops were not typically the type of places that appealed to his kind, so he'd not been to one in recent years. In fact, Keith was pretty sure he'd never been in one, but he had to admit, it was nice. There was a prevailing sense of calm that hung in the air creating a relaxing atmosphere even though many of the tables were occupied and the shop was a little crowded. Several people sat in small groups or couples, and others sat alone. Conversation was low and hushed, and no one tried to invade other people's bubbles, it was a place you could feel completely alone, even surrounded by people.

“What would you like?” Shiro asked starling Keith from his admiration of the shop.

“Black coffee,” Keith answered abruptly. He wasn't lying when he said he wasn't a coffee drinker. Keith knew absolutely nothing about coffee, and he was certain he'd never even drunk coffee, not once, thought it was difficult to remember everything one did after such a long life. However, he knew that black coffee seemed to be the standard, accepted way to drink the beverage, and while there may be many other types of coffee, Keith had no idea what they were called or what they contained. Black coffee was the safest bet.

Shiro smiled a warm, kind smile, and there was perhaps a hint of amusement in his eyes, but he didn't laugh. He turned away and went to order their drinks.

Keith let out a small sigh of relief. Judging by Shiro's reaction he'd ordered the right thing.

Sinking into his chair, boneless Keith glanced around slowly. There was still time for him to leave. It would be easy to slip away while Shiro ordered the drinks, but that would be even crueller than using his powers to make Shiro forget he'd ever met him in the first place. He couldn't do that.

Guilt ate away at him, by considering Shiro's feelings he was risking Lance's. How would Lance feel if he found out Keith met up with Shiro behind his back like this?

No. He should leave, but first, he would erase Shiro's memories.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted sugar or not, so I just grabbed a handful,” Shiro said as he dropped a handful of sugar packets onto the table, a small tray with two steaming drinks on held in his other hand. Keith snapped up in his chair, back stiff and straight. He cursed at how quick Shiro had been getting the coffees. It had given him no time to solidify his resolve and prepare himself.

“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly. He watched as Shiro set the tray down on the edge of the table, picked up one of the cups and placed it down in front of Keith, shooting Keith a small smile that Keith returned with a sharp nod. Shiro placed the other cup down on the table and left to take the tray back. He was gone only long enough for Keith to catch a whiff of the drink in front of him, it was bitter and strong. He crinkled his nose up at it.

Shiro sat opposite him and reached for one of the sugar packets. He ripped it open and tipped it into his drink, which was also a black coffee. After adding the sugar he stirred the drink slowly, watching the swirling black liquid without saying a word. It seemed he had something very important, yet difficult that he wanted to say and he was struggling to find the words.

Why else would he have been so insistent on Keith coming to get a coffee with him? Keith didn't want to interrupt him, feeling Shiro should be the first to speak. Besides, he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and allowing something he shouldn't say slip.

He quickly decided he wouldn't speak unless Shiro spoke to him, it was safer that way.

To distract himself from the heavy silence, broken by the chime of the spoon hitting the china cup as Shiro stirred and the indistinct background chatter, Keith grabbed a couple of sugar packets and poured one into his own drink. It didn't help to take the bitter smell away in the slightest. Keith ripped open another pack.

Shiro stopped stirring his coffee and looked up at the man sat opposite him. “You were at Arus last week, weren't you?” He asked, breaking the silence. Keith almost tipped the second pack of sugar all over the table instead of in his drink.

“Yes,” he barked, the truth startled out of him at the abrupt question, though he knew there was no use in lying now. Shiro knew who he was.

“Oh good,” Shiro let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“I thought it was you, but then I keep thinking I see you and your friend everywhere since that night and well,” he chuckled sheepishly with a little twinkle to his eye, “I was worried I was mistaken again. I'm glad I wasn't.” Shiro smiled, a smile that was almost shy yet full of delight. A smile that made Keith's heart melt and made his already shaky resolve crumble. This just wasn't fair.

“Sorry. That probably sounds really weird and stalkerish. I didn't mean it like that,” Shiro said quickly, panicking when Keith remained silent.

“No, it's fine. It was a good night,” Keith admitted stiffly, afraid to say any more than that. He lifted his cup and blew on the coffee to cool it so he wouldn't have to look directly at Shiro.

“Oh, I'm glad. That you enjoyed it, I enjoyed it too, that night,” Shiro stumbled over his words, but as awkward as his words were he sounded so pleased and he beamed from ear to ear. Keith could hear the spike in his pulse, and the rush of blood pulsing through his veins in excitement. He could practically taste the rosy blush that rose in Shiro's cheeks.

His appetite awake, even though he didn't need to feed. Keith liked his lips and took a sip of coffee. He almost spat the drink out at the sharp, bitter flavour that flooded his taste buds.

Keith slammed the cup back on the table with a sharp thud and grabbed another handful of sugar packets. He poured them all in. The coffee was horrible, but the foul taste had at least put a damper on his appetite, and put him off the idea of feeding all together.

Shiro laughed. It was a quiet, small chuckled that the other man tried to suppress by pressing a first over his mouth, but Keith's sharp ears caught it. He grabbed another packet of sugar, added it to his drink and stirred furiously.

“There's just one thing...” Shiro said carefully, hesitant. There was still a smile on his lips, but he seemed nervous. Keith stopped stirring his drink and looked up cautiously.

“I remember that night pretty clearly. I remember both of you,” Shiro faltered, his blush getting darker. The rush of his blood was so loud it was distracting.

“It's just that...I kinda...forgot your names. No matter how hard I try to remember I just can't,” Shiro groaned. Keith could hear his pulse quicken in his embarrassment, and fear of Keith's reaction.

Whatever he'd been expecting to hear from Shiro, it wasn't that. Keith stared at the other man for a moment, then he laughed.

Shiro groaned and held his face in his hands. “Oh god please don't laugh. I know how bad that sounds. I've tried so hard to remember, but all I can remember is...well...” he trailed off, and Keith heard the sharp spike in his pulse.

“Keith, my name is Keith,” he said taking pity on Shiro.

Shiro slowly lifted his head from his hands. “Keith,” he repeated his name with a little smile that made Keith's heart flutter.

“And what about your friend?” Shiro asked the hesitant emphasis he put on the word 'friend' adding a second, hidden question. He wasn't just asking for Lance's name, he was asking what Keith's relationship with him was.

Keith paused, his mood soured at the reminder of Lance. He didn't want to answer because not only would he have to think about Lance, but he would have to think about what Lance was to him.

“His name is Lance,” Keith said quietly. He acted like he hadn't caught on to the other question Shiro was asking.

“Lance,” Shiro repeated the name with the same tender, breathless tone and warm smile. Keith ignored the jealous sensation that gripped his heart, not sure whom he was really jealous of.

“Have you known him for long?” Shiro asked going for a different approach. He wasn't going to let this go.

Keith squirmed, he never did have the patience for lying.

“A while,” he answered tersely. Keith wasn't quite brave enough to try a sip of his coffee again, so with nothing else to distract himself all he could do was grab the spoon and stir the drink again.

Shiro smiled sympathetically as if understanding something Keith hadn't even said. He picked up his own mug and took a sip of his coffee.

Keith welcomed the silence.

“Are you fighting?” Shiro asked after setting his cup back down. Keith flinched at the question and stopped stirring the coffee. He stared down at the swirling liquid and watched it as it began to slow, he didn't say a word.

“Sorry. You don't have to answer if you don't want to,” Shiro added quickly, sensing Keith's discomfort.

“How did you know?” Keith asked sullenly, he was still staring at his coffee.

“It just seemed like something was bothering you, and from the way you spoke, I figured it had something to do with Lance,” Shiro shrugged.

“I don't mean to pry, and you can tell me to mind my own damn business, but if you want to talk about it, I can listen.” There was no judgement in Shiro's voice, no hint of blame. He was letting Keith know he had a sympathetic, impartial ear if he needed it.

The other man was being so sweet and charming, how could he say no?

“It's his fault,” Keith spat, his hands shaking slightly as they curled around the warm coffee cup. Shiro said nothing but he kept his gaze fixed steadily on Keith to show he was still listening.

“He-” Keith started but then stopped himself. He couldn't very well say their fight had been brought on by them arguing over Shiro. His mouth snapped shut, lips pressed together in a hard line.

“It's mostly his fault,” he grumbled sullenly. He was reluctant to admit his own fault in the fight, and what he'd said. Would Shiro think less of him? Would he walk away, disgusted at Keith's behaviour?

He couldn't hide it.

“It's not all his fault. We were arguing about something stupid, and maybe he had a point, but he was being such a nag and kinda a hypocrite. I didn't want to listen, so I said something nasty, something I knew would hurt him,” he admitted at last. After his confession, Keith lifted his cup and took a big gulp of coffee, as if the bitter taste could take away the hateful words. The coffee was still terrible and made him shudder, but it stopped him from thinking of their stupid fight and how Lance would probably never speak to him again, if only for a moment.

“Do you regret what you said?” Shiro asked evenly. His tone betrayed no judgement of what Keith had done. Simply just patience and understanding.

“Yes.” There was no hesitation this time. It was almost a relief to admit it out loud, though it didn't make him feel any better.

“Have you tried apologising to him?” Shiro asked.

“No. I've been kinda...avoiding him,” Keith hung his head in shame.

Shiro took a sip of his coffee considering his next words, but Keith could see the line of disapproval on the other man's lips. Avoiding Lance wasn't the right course of action.

“Has he tried to talk to you?” Shiro asked, lowering his cup. Keith shook his head.

“But you two are close right? You've known each other for a while?” Shiro prompted. The situation between the two men was clearly delicate. If he was going to offer any worthwhile advice, then he needed more information.

Keith nodded once, hesitantly. “I'm not sure that I could say we're close, but we have known each other for a very long time. We both have difficulty forming lasting connections with other people, and we have this thing in common, you could say, so we understand each other. We kinda just stuck together because of it.” It was impossible to explain why he was attached to Lance without bringing up the whole Vampire and immortality thing. He hoped the answer wasn't so vague that it would invite more awkward questions.

“We may have this, understanding, but we always seem to get in these dumb arguments. It's just, he's so stubborn, and he thinks that everything is a competition that he has to win, that he has to be the best at everything, but he's fine the way he is. I like him the way he is, why can't he just accept that?” Keith rambled, his words sharp with frustration. He let out a big huff and sank lower in his seat, scowling.

Shiro bit his lip to hold back a laugh. “Have you told him that?”

Keith took another sip of the foul tasting coffee. It tasted as bitter as he felt.

“I've tried, a few times, but whenever I do it just ends up soundings sarcastic, and then we get in another fight.”

“But you care about him, a lot,” Shiro said softly with a sympathetic smile.

Keith stiffened, his shoulder hunched together tightly. His initial reaction would be to deny it and list all of Lance's bad, annoying qualities, to prove that he didn't like Lance that much and he wasn't in love with him or anything silly like that. But that was just the knee-jerk type of reaction that more often than not got him in a fight with Lance in the first place.

“He is important to me,” Keith whispered. It was easier to admit it to Shiro. Maybe because Shiro was a stranger and didn't know them that well, but there was more to it than that. There was something about the man's warmth and his smile that made Keith feel comfortable and confident enough to admit it.

Shiro sighed, dejected. His chances with the two unforgettable young men slipped further away with every word that passed between them, but that didn't mean he was going to abandon Keith, even if it meant ruining his own chances.

“How do you think he feels about you?”

It was a question Keith thought he knew the answer to without having to ponder it, but with Shiro asking he paused to consider it for a moment just in case there was something, anything. Talking with Shiro was making him soft, the more he thought about it, the more he thought about their constant fighting and bickering.

The answer would always be the same.

“He hates me,” Keith said miserably.

“Are you sure? If you've been together as long as you say then I find that hard to believe. People don't usually stick with people they hate.”

“But he's always trying to compete with me at stuff and then gets annoyed if I beat him, but if I let him win, he gets even more annoyed. I can't win!”

Shiro considered everything Keith had told him so far, and why Lance might behave the way he did. It was a little difficult what with only hearing one side of the story, but the competitive, showy behaviour sounded familiar. There was only one answer he could reach.

“It might be that he looks up to you and is trying to impress you, prove that he's as good as you and that he's worth your time?” Shiro hoped he wasn't wrong.

The suggestion sounded so wrong that Keith couldn't say a word. He couldn't even begin to say how far off the mark Shiro was. It was impossible. That Lance was competing with him to prove a point, was one thing, but that Lance was trying to prove that he was Keith's equal, and worthy of his time was something else. It would mean that Lance respected him. It would mean that Lance maybe even like him.

Impossible.

But then there was a small voice at the back of his mind that piped up, agreeing with Shiro. Perhaps, all along, Lance had just been searching for a sense of validation by competing with Keith and proving himself.

It left a sour taste in his mouth worse than the coffee.

“I don't know about that.”

“Then how about this, is there ever anyone else around he might be trying to impress when he was trying to beat you at something, or is it usually just the two of you?”

It was true that their competitions were only ever amongst the two of them. If Lance was trying to impress someone else it usually involved empty bragging or a hollow one-liner. When he was trying to beat Keith at something it was different, he was more fired up, and it was never to show off to another.

Shiro smirked, smug and satisfied, taking Keith silence as his answer.

Keith huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, you might be on to something,” he conceded. Just saying those words somehow made him feel lighter. Shiro's warm enthusiasm was infectious, and it was starting to give him hope.

“Now that that's sorted let's work on what you're going to say next time you see him,” Shiro said gleefully. He shuffled his chair closer and leaned across the table towards Keith. It felt like he was back in high school again, conspiring with a friend to hook them up with their crush.

Keith gaped at him, never before had he met someone so enthusiastic to help fix his life despite how much it hurt him. Shiro may not be showing it outwardly, but Keith could hear the ache in his heart, and he could smell the disappointment coming off Shiro in waves.

“Why are you doing this?”

Shiro's smile fell, and his gaze dropped to the table sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn't mean to impose, it just seemed like you might need some help, and I like helping people.”

“No, it's not that. I'm... grateful for your help, really,” Keith stuttered, awkwardly shifting in his seat. There was probably a more delicate way to approach this, but Keith wasn't good with things like that.

“It just, you seem really, um, bummed,” he said carefully.

Shiro stared at him for a moment and blinked. Then another flush rose to his cheeks, and he looked away. “Well, I guess I am a little disappointed. I've been thinking about the two of you so much since that night, and to find out you're both taken is a bit of a blow,” he mumbled, finishing with a small sigh.

“Well, it's not like we're in a happy, healthy relationship. You could swoop in and take Lance for yourself. I'm sure he'd gladly jump into your arms,” Keith muttered sullenly.

“And what makes you think I wouldn't go for you first?” Shiro asked, surprising Keith.

“I...well...” he shrugged. He didn't have an answer.

“It's a tough choice. Honestly, I don't think I'd be able to pick, so if I can help fix things between the two of you, then that feels like the better option. Besides I figured the two of you were probably an item, I'm the one who got all hung up over a casual hook up at a nightclub. I should know better,” Shiro chuckled.

Keith squirmed in his chair. It wasn't as if they'd lead Shiro on, right? Sure they'd used their powers to make sure he enjoyed the encounter, but neither of them has used enough to keep Shiro under their spell. Still, Keith felt guilty.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

“Why are you apologising? I made the decision to go with the two of you.”

“I know, but...” but it felt like he was taking advantage of Shiro. It wasn't fair.

“It's fine, really. I had a good time, and it gave me some nice memories I'm not going to forget it anytime soon,” Shiro said with a suggestive smirk and a wink that sent a thrill right down Keith's spine.

Keith coughed sharply to clear his throat. “So what do you think I should say?” he asked. His tongue felt thick and awkward in his mouth. He hoped Shiro didn't notice.

“Well that's entirely up to you, but it should come from the heart,” Shiro said seriously, placing a hand over his heart.

“Why don't you tell me some of the things you like about him? Maybe telling me will help you find the right words to tell him.”

Keith took a deep breath and accepted the offer, it was worth a shot. With Shiro to help him, he felt like it might actually work. But where to start?

“I like his enthusiasm and his energy, he always feels so alive,” Keith breathed. Alive was how Lance truly made him feel. With Lance, he wasn't just some immortal bloodsucking monster. They had fun, and they laughed, it almost felt like a normal life…well, when they got along and weren't fighting.

Shiro smiled a small smile as if he understood the deeper meaning behind Keith's words, even though there was no way he possibly could.

“I even like his dumb pick-up lines. They make no sense to me, but he always looks so happy and proud of himself when he says them. I like his smile,” Keith went on.

Shiro laughed.

“Maybe don't tell him you think they're dumb, maybe instead say you like his humour," Shiro suggested.

Keith nodded, making a mental note of that. He remembered the last time he'd said something disparaging about Lance's pick-up lines. The other man hadn't taken it too well.

“You laughed at his lines. Were they really that good?” Keith envied how easily Lance could get along with people. How he could make them laugh, and become friends with others just like that. It had been the same that night with Shiro, with a few sweet words Lance had Shiro wrapped around his little finger, hanging off every word as if they'd known each other forever.

“Granted not everyone appreciates a good pick-up line, but I guess our sense of humour is similar, so they worked on me,” Shiro admitted with a sheepish smile. His face was flushed again, remembering that night and all the things Lance had whispered in his ear.

“But I have a feeling I would have fallen for them anyway. There's just something about the way he delivered them that just made them special,” he sighed softly, a distant look in his eye.

Keith nodded in understanding. Although he had never been on the receiving end of Lance's flirting, he often felt a twist of jealousy when Lance turned his attention to someone. Even though it was usually for the sake of a meal, Lance always made them feel special.

Keith wanted those words directed at him, even if they were stupid.

“What else?” Shiro prompted.

It took several more cups of coffee for them to get through everything, Keith switched to a mocha for his second drink and found that far more palatable. After Keith managed to get out all his thoughts on Lance, as best he could, Shiro helped him form them into something more coherent and sincere. He helped Keith work on his apology, and gave him some ideas on how he could express to Lance how he really felt.

With anyone else, the conversation would have died there, their business dealt with, but Keith found himself naturally falling into conversation with Shiro and even engaging in small talk, a thing he usually hated.

“Will you let me know how it goes? I hope I at least get an invitation to the wedding.” Shiro teased as they were getting ready to leave. Keith knew Shiro was fishing for his number.

“I doubt it'll go that far,” Keith scoffed, “and I don't have a phone, sorry.” He added. It was the truth. He hoped Shiro believed him.

Shiro's smile faltered, but he was not deterred. He grabbed a napkin and took a pen from his pocket and quickly wrote his name and a number on it.

“Well when you do get a phone, feel free to get in touch. You can call me whenever,” he said holding the napkin out to Keith.

Keith hesitated but then reached out for the napkin. His fingers brushed against Shiro's as he grabbed it and for a moment Shiro did not let go as if he knew this might be the last link between them, and he would never see Keith again after this.

“Ok,” Keith said. Shiro let go of the napkin and Keith tucked it safely in his pocket. It wasn't a promise because he knew, no matter how much he would want to, he could never call Shiro, but Keith silently vowed he would keep the napkin safe, forever.

When he got outside the rain had stopped, but the sky was still a deep, ominous grey. So it was just Keith's dumb luck that shortly after his encounter with Shiro he ran into Lance, completely by accident. At first, he thought Lance would walk past him and ignore him, which would have suited Keith perfectly. He needed time to go through and process everything he'd talked about with Shiro, and then find the courage to say it all to Lance, calmly.

Unfortunately, Lance did not ignore him.

Lance breathed in through his nose, catching a familiar scent and he glared at Keith.

“You've been with him haven't you?” He hissed rounding on the other man his eyes flaring in anger.

“No,” Keith baulked, regretting the lie the moment the word slipped out of his mouth. Lance already knew, there was no hiding it, and now the lie would make things worse. Damn.

Lance's expression flashed with hurt and then darkened with anger. It was too late to take it back. A cold wind whipped around them and Keith could smell the hint of a storm in the air.

“I'm not stupid Keith, I can smell him,” he snarled. Of course, he could.

Keith winced and tried to keep his cool. At the very least he could keep a level head and just explain things, as long as he didn't lose his temper then maybe he could recover.

“I ran into him, and we talked a bit, that's all,” he said evenly. He looked Lance right in the eye to show he wasn't hiding anything.

“Keith, he's human. We had a pact,” Lance warned. He sounded almost desperate and hurt. Keith had broken a promise, something they'd both agreed on. Lance no longer saw Keith standing in front of him or the sincerity in his eyes. He only saw the betrayal and similar memories from the past that still haunted him.

“I know he's human, I don't need you to protect me,” Keith bit back before he could stop himself. What had Shiro told him earlier? 'Patience yield focus', why hadn't he remembered that?

Lance drew back, his expression going blank and Keith knew he'd lost.

“Suit yourself,” Lance said coldly, “but don't come crying to me when this ends badly.”

The sky darkened, and a roll of thunder sounded overhead.

Lance left, and Keith didn't stop him. He couldn't.

Chapter Text

Anger bubbled in Lance's chest, attempting to overpower the rest of his emotions, but as angry and hurt as he was it could not mask the fear that burned deep inside him. He was afraid. Afraid that he was going to lose Keith, his one constant and the one person who understood him, once and for all and there was nothing he could do about it.

If Keith got close to Shiro and they fell in love, Lance would lose him. Maybe only for several decades, and Lance would be there to pick up the pieces when the inevitable happened (should Keith not share his secret or should Shiro not choose the path of immortality to be with him). He would comfort Keith as best he could and support him through his grief, as painful as it would be, Lance would run back to Keith the moment the other man needed him. But after that things would never be the same. He could never measure up to Shiro, he could never replace him if Keith truly, and deeply fell in love with the human.

Worse yet was the possibility that Shiro may give up his humanity to be with Keith, and really, why wouldn't he? There would be no place for Lance with them, and he would be alone for eternity.

And whichever way things went, Lance had lost all chance of getting to know Shiro.

His gut twisted unpleasantly, and Lance felt ill at his own jealousy and selfishness. As usual, he was only thinking about himself.

If Keith had found someone who truly made him happy and could give him the life he deserved, then Lance should be happy for him. He should support him. They may bicker a lot, but they were friends of sorts.

He should be happy for Keith, he should push his own feelings aside and be there for his friend, but Lance would never be able to fake that.

If Keith chose Shiro, if Keith had the chance of finding true happiness then Lance only had one choice. Before his jealousy and bitterness could ruin things for Keith, he had to disappear from the other man's life.

- - - -

“So let me get this straight. You actually managed to find one of these guys you've been so hung up on," Matt drawled. He sat sprawled out on the sofa with Shiro, nursing his friend's sorrow with beer. Over several bottles, Matt had wrung out the full story of Shiro's morning, and his meeting with Keith.

“Yes,” Shiro muttered sullenly. He went to take a big swig from the bottle in his hand and scowled when he found it was empty. He set the empty bottle down on the coffee table with a hard clunk.

“And instead of taking your chance to get with him, you helped him fix his relationship with the other guy, who you also have a thing for?” Matt asked incredulously.

Shiro groaned and pressed his hands over his face.

“You didn't even, you know, try to see if they had room for you in there?”

“Please stop,” Shiro muttered his miserable voice muffled by his hands. Taking pity on him, Matt opened another beer and passed it to Shiro.

“You're too soft for your own good,” Matt sighed. Opening a beer for himself, he clicked it against Shiro's and took a swig.

“I gave him my number,” Shiro mumbled before taking a deep drink of his own beer.

“I thought you said he didn't have a phone?”

“Don't remind me.”

“And you didn't get to see the other guy either?”

Shiro's answer to that was to down the entire bottle of beer as quickly as he could.

“At least you know their names,” Matt tried to console him.

“Hmmm,” Shiro hummed. He repeated the names in his head for the umpteenth time. Keith and Lance, two quite common, simple names. They were the most beautiful name Shiro had ever heard.

“Do I need to get more beer?” Matt offered. He'd known Shiro long enough to know where this night was going and how much beer it would take.

"What do you think their names mean?" Shiro asked absently as if he hadn't heard Matt. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to type Lance's name into the browser, but Matt snatched the phone away from him.

“OK more beer,” Matt said authoritatively.

“And I'm taking this with me,” he added slipping Shiro's phone into his pocket.

“But what if he calls?” Shiro whined. He made to get up and swipe his phone back, but he missed terribly and tumbled back down on the sofa.

“I'll take a message, promise,” Matt said dryly.

Shiro didn't have the energy or the willpower to complain. He lay there and groaned softly, very much like a kicked puppy.

“I won't be long, try not to drown yourself in beer,” Matt called cheerfully as he left. Shiro grunted in reply.

There was no call from Keith while Matt was away, nor did he call as they continued to drown Shiro's sorrows.

No matter how much Shiro drank, he couldn't forget them.

- - - -

Lance did not make the mistake of counting the days since his second fight with Keith. It felt like an age had passed though he knew it hadn't been that long. He knew too that Keith was looking for him (probably out of some sense of obligation), but Lance had his ways, and he could hide his presence even from Keith if he really wanted to.

He perched on the edge of a tower block, so high up that no one would be able to see him, and even if they did their eyes would just glide over. The more perceptive might pause for a second, imagining they saw something out the corner of their eye but they would soon forget it, and the thought would slip away. Even another Vampire wouldn't be able to sense him. Keith had no chance.

It was childish, but it was for the best. Lance's hand curled around the seashell that hung around a cord on his neck, his thumb rubbing over the smooth surface as he stared off into the sky even higher above him.

He like being this high up, with nothing but the blue sky around him, it was the only time he could feel the sensation of sinking, of descending into something deep and fathomless. He missed it.

The shell was old, older than Lance, a gift he'd received when he was born and the one thing he'd been able to take with him. He still dreamed of going back, of fighting the Vampire blood that infected him and kept him from his true home, but even if he could find a way to return to the sea he doubted his family would welcome him with open arms.

They would never forgive him.

He clenched his fist around the spiny conch shell, the sharp edges dug into his palm painfully. He gripped the shell tighter, just short of making the spines cut into his skin.

No, he could never go back. He didn't blame them, it was his own poor judgement and bad choices that lead him here and cut him off from them, and even if they did allow him to return there was no way he could cross the ocean and sink into its depths in his current state. Crossing water was apparently fatal to a Vampire, which in Lance's opinion, was completely stupid. He could be safe and dry on a boat, but he would still probably turn to dust if he sailed out too far.

He'd tested the theory, as far as he dared to push it. The rain had little effect on him, he could stand out in the wildest storm for a reasonable length of time before his skin began to itch unpleasantly. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

He could wash his hands and take care of his general hygiene with some stubborn perseverance. He found the sound of running water jarring, like nails on a chalkboard, and the force of it felt like it was stripping away his skin if he ran the tap too fast, but it was bearable for several minutes. Enough to bathe at least.

He'd attempted a bath a few times and found he could sink into the water for maybe five or so minutes before his skin started to prickle and burn, and it always left him feeling queasy and uneasy for a while afterwards.

Although it had never caused him any lasting damage thus far a stab of anxiety would always grip his heart whenever he got too close to any sizeable bodies of water. A deep primal instinct of self-preservation took over telling him he had to stay away. He could face the rain and water from a tap, but he couldn't find the courage to approach a lake let alone the ocean.

Sighing he uncurled his fist, ignoring the deep pink indentations on his palm (the spines hadn't broken the skin). He studied the shell. It was a sleek iridescent blue though had visibly lost some of its lustre after so many years. It was still smooth and shiny but marred with shallow scratches all around, sharp lines of white that cut through the blue. There was still plenty of power left, several decades or maybe even centuries if he was careful.

What should his next move be? Going 'home' was out of the question, Keith would find him, and he couldn't stay in this city. Being close to Keith would be too tempting, even being in the same country would be a struggle. He would have to leave, maybe visit Europe, they seemed to have a thing for Vampires there. Keith would stop looking for him soon enough, once he settled down with Shiro, Lance may as well make things easier for Keith and get as far away as possible.

It would make things easier on him too.

Shiro. His mind wandered to the man, and that heated night. He remembered how it felt, the three of them pressed so intimately close, Shiro sandwiched between him and Keith. How hot and heady it had been, how comfortable and easy.

They'd taken it in turned to drink, one distracting Shiro with sweet words and playful touches while the other sank their teeth into the thick vein in Shiro's neck. Their hands roamed over Shiro's broad body, bumping against each other on more than one occasion. At one point Lance caught Keith's hand and laced their fingers together, giving a tight squeeze before lifting Keith's hand and settling it against Shiro's abs silently urging him to cop a feel.

Keith's hand lingered in his for a moment before wandering off. Or so he thought. It was probably just his imagination.

Lance could still taste him. Shiro was his most recent meal and his blood pulsed through Lance's veins. He could feel the thrill of it, the way Shiro's blood made his whole body buzz, and if he really focused, he could still smell the tang of the other man.

Lance closed his eyes and breathed in deeply….no, that really was Shiro's scent.

Blue eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide, the sharp point of his teeth peeking over his lip instinct taking over for a moment. He peered down at the people passing below, the familiar scent drawing his eye. Even from his high vantage point, Lance could hear the familiar sound of Shiro's heartbeat, a deep, steady drumbeat that called to him.

All human heartbeats generally sounded the same, only changing depending on their emotional or physical state, but after drinking from Shiro, there was something about his heartbeat that seemed different. A unique rhythm that had echoed in Lance's ears for days afterwards.

He dove off the building feet first and glided down as a nothing more than a hazy wisp of smoke, a shimmer through the air that no one would notice to land silently, a short distance behind Shiro. The man walked at a steady pace, moving with purpose, he knew where he was going but was in no hurry to get there.

This was the man Keith chose. He was as gorgeous as Lance remembered, maybe even more so in the daylight. The sharpness and strength of his features were even more apparent, as was the kindness in his eyes.

Lance sighed.

Shiro stopped abruptly and turned around eyes scanning the crowd behind him. Lance, even though he knew no one could see him, ducked into a doorway and held his breath. Shiro stayed where he was, his expression crumpling in confusion and something else, a name hovering on his lips. The crowd continued to flow around him, no one dared jostle him even though he was the one who'd come to a dead stop in the middle of the street.

Shaking his head, Shiro muttered under his breath and turned around, carrying on his way.

This was a bad idea, Lance thought as he let out a breath, he shouldn't follow Shiro. He should stay away, he should leave...but he couldn't. At the very least he owed it to Keith to make sure Shiro was a good person, that he would look after Keith.

When Shiro was a safe distance ahead, Lance stepped out of the doorway and began to follow him again.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Shiro continued to walk to wherever he was going and didn't look back once, or show any indication he suspected anything. Lance continued to follow him, keeping to the shadows more than he ordinarily would have, just to be safe.

Intent on his target Lance didn't notice that the crowd was thinning around them as they moved to a quieter part of town. If he'd been paying attention to his surrounding Lance might have noticed they were heading away from the bustle of the shops and other businesses. If he listened, he might have heard the way Shiro's pulse quickened with unease, and he would have smelled the tension rolling off the other man. If he focused then Lance might have seen that Shiro appeared to be taking corners sharply, and apparently at random as if he were trying to shake someone, or something off.

Lance might have noticed this, but he was too busy considering how he could test Shiro. Should he go up and just confront him, or should he trail him for a few days first?

“I know you're there!” Shiro barked. He spun around his stance strong and full of power, ready for whatever might come at him. His eyes narrowed a hard, challenging look. The street was empty, but he knew something was there.

Lance froze and quickly glanced around. There was an alley, or to be more accurate there was a dark, narrow space between two buildings he could hide in. He ducked into the shadows without a second thought. Shiro couldn't see him, and wouldn't be able to unless Lance willed it, but Lance couldn't face the intensity of those eyes.

Shiro stood his ground, he wouldn't brush it off this time. His gaze hardened and he glared at the empty street ahead of him, searching for the faintest sign of anything. It was completely empty with no sign of anything living, but he knew someone was following him.

He took a step forward, his eyes slowly scanning the area, inspecting every shadow. Whoever was following him meant him no harm he was sure, their gaze was intense but not threatening. It was the reason he'd felt it safe to lead them to a quieter area, framed primarily by residential blocks and empty buildings. A quieter place for a (hopefully) peaceful confrontation. Still, being followed was an uncomfortable experience. Plus he had no idea who they might be, or what they wanted from him.

“I know I'm not imagining things,” Shiro muttered to himself. His hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He'd been questioning a lot of things lately. That night with Keith and Lance and the niggling doubt at the back of his mind that kept questions what had really happened.

When he'd met him for the second time, Keith had seemed so normal, and Shiro hadn't noticed any sharp teeth (he'd looked). Besides, Keith had been out during the day too. That alone should have put his mind at rest, but still, his thoughts would wander, the smallest thing bringing him back to that night, and the memory of their teeth against his neck. The way he kept looping back to that night, to the thought that those men might be Vampires and then the predictable doubt that there was no way Vampires were real was enough to make him question his sanity.

Shiro took another step forward getting closer to the narrow alleyway. There was something about that space, even though it seemed too narrow for anyone to comfortably lurk in. Something drew his attention there, but he couldn't see anything, so he moved closer.

Lance pressed against the wall as much as he could. Shiro may not be able to see him, but if he happened to bump into Lance or touch him, then it would take more to trick his mind. It would mean Lance having to use his Vampire powers on Shiro to deceive him again, and Lance was reluctant to do that.

Now was the time to leave. He should trust Keith to make his own decisions, and not stick his nose in. Keith was an adult and could take care of himself, he didn't need Lance.

Lance stepped out of the alley instead and allowed Shiro to see him.

“Hey Shiro, do you come here often?” He said with a sheepish grin, throwing out the cheesy line in self-defence. No one could be mad at you if you were charming, right?

When he saw the person following him was Lance Shiro relaxed, the tension leaving his body in a big whoosh of relief.

“Lance?” He all but laughed the others name, smiling fondly at the out of place line. Shiro's eyes shone, and he sounded so happy to see him it made something in Lance's chest flare up and twisted, a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“You remember my name?” Lance said softly. He shouldn't be so happy, but he couldn't help himself. He was overjoyed.

“Um, sort of? I couldn't remember either of your names but then I ran into Keith a few days ago, he told me.” Shiro admitted.

The twist in Lance's chest became entirely painful.

“Anyway, this is actually my first time in this part of town. Why are you here?” Shiro asked with a good-natured chuckle, already forgiving Lance for practically stalking him.

Lance was glad for the awkward question, at least he wouldn't have to give any sort of response to the revelation that Shiro met with Keith.

“I, um, saw you but then I wasn't sure it was you, so I kinda...followed you...sorry. It kinda got too awkward to call out after a bit, so I just kept following you.” Lance confessed, his head bowed. Well, it was almost the truth, or as close as he could get to without admitting what he was.

“Well, I'm glad it was you and not a mugger,” Shiro smiled brilliantly. He had every right to be angry, or wary of Lance. At the very least he should find it creepy, but his smile was so genuine and welcoming Lance wanted to go over to him and fall into his arms.

No. He firmly pushed that thought to the side and buried it deep down in his aching chest.

“I dunno, you should be careful. I could still be a mugger. Your money or your life,” Lance said in a low, threatening growl, shooting up both hands in a finger-gun motion.

Shiro burst out laughing, which made Lance laugh too, his serious expression completely falling apart.

“How about a coffee, or something to eat instead?” Shiro offered.

'Say no. Leave. You can't get in Keith's way.'

“Sure,” Lance agreed. He wouldn't flirt with Shiro or try to steal him away. He only wanted to check him out, to see if he was good enough for Keith, that was all. Now that he'd spoken to Shiro he may as well do that in person, as soon as he'd confirmed Shiro was a good guy then Lance could give them his blessing and disappear from their lives.

“Great, I know just the place,” and with a smile that said 'follow me' Shiro turned around to lead the way.

How could Lance refuse?

Shiro took him to a cute little café that Lance wouldn't have immediately pictured someone with Shiro's large build and rugged looks going to. It was quaint, with red and white striped awning and a big window that doubled as French doors that would be thrown wide open in finer weather.

The moment they stepped through the door a bell chimed above their head, announcing their arrival with a cheery tone. Inside the café was cosy and homely with many small round tables as possible crammed into the small space, each one covered with a pristine red and white check cloth, and although there were a lot of tables they were arranged in a way that didn't make it feel crowded.

In the curved, glass counter next to the till was a neat display of cakes, pastries and small, delicate sandwiches that, while they looked delicious, didn't appear to be adequate enough to satisfy a child's hunger. Behind the counter, there was a big, old-fashioned silver and brass coffee machine. On a shelf near it was a selection of teas with fancy names kept in pretty, decorative tins. The smell of coffee and baking hung thickly in the air, coiling around them in a warm embrace that invited them to sit down and relax.

Dotted all around the shop was a variety of leafy green plants and bright, cheerful flowers adding a vibrant splash of colour and life. Several pretty landscape painting hung on the wall, and all around on shelves, hanging from the ceiling, and anywhere else they would fit was a wide selection of teacups and teapots.

It was charming and sweet, and Lance loved it.

“Didn't peg you as the type of guy who liked a bit of afternoon tea,” he teased casting a sidelong look at Shiro with a little smirk.

Shiro flushed, and Lance could hear his heart stutter for just a few beats.

“This place just happened to be nearby, and the cake here is good. I don't come here often or anything,” Shiro said quickly. Too quickly. He marched briskly over to a table in the corner and refusing to make eye contact with Lance.

“Uh-huh,” Lance hummed absently, following Shiro over to the table. Sitting without a word Lance glanced around, slowly taking in his surroundings, letting the topic drop. He didn't need supernatural hearing to the relieved exhale he let out under his breath.

Lance turned his gaze to the table and the black, leather-bound menus, embossed with gold, standing in the middle on a little silver stand. They even had tassels on them. He grabbed one and cracked it open, grinning over it at Shiro. “So what do you recommend?”

“Well the strawberry shortcake is a classic, but a good one. They use strawberries that the owner grows in her own garden. The coffee cake is delicious too, but the black forest gateau is my favourite.” Shiro rattled off without looking at the menu. Lance arched an eyebrow at him.

“Don't come here often, eh?”

Shiro coughed sharply and picked up a menu.

Lance bit his lip to hold back a laugh. “I like it here, it's nice,” he admitted, his gaze still fixed down on the menu so Shiro wouldn't feel he was looking at him and judging him.

Shiro peeked over his menu, the embarrassed hot flush in his cheeks already cooling down. Bright and considerate, Lance had a warm, accepting aura that put a person at ease and made them feel good, even when they'd just made a fool out of themselves.

“Hmm. I think I'll go with the chiffon cake, and the house special tea,” Lance announced with a nod. He wasn't sure what the 'house special' tea was, it had another, fancy name, as fancy as all the other teas listed in the menu all with posh, hard to pronounce names. The house special, at least, was easy to say.

He closed the menu and set it down on the table in one careful, deliberate movement his long fingers sliding along the cover as he set it down, distracting Shiro. Lance had nice hands, and nimble, slender fingers. Shiro could still remember how they felt, wandering all over his body, touching him, teasing him.

He ducked his head into the menu, pressing his nose against the pages staring blankly at the words. He knew it off by heart, but he made a pretence of studying it so Lance wouldn't notice him leering.

“I'll stick with the black forest gateau,” Shiro said once he'd managed to regain control of his senses. He lifted his head from the menu, closing it and placing it down on the table in front of him.

“Welcome gentlemen. May I take your order?” A cheerful, cheeky voice piped up beside Shiro. Shiro jumped, springing up in his seat at the familiar voice. He heard her trying to discretely snort back a laugh, and immediately regretted his decision to bring Lance here.

Katie was working today.

“A chiffon cake, black forest gateau and two house special teas please,” he said brisk and business-like as if he had never met her before. He hoped she would take the hint and play along.

“Right away, sir,” she said drawing out the formal word with a smirk and a knowing glint in her eye. So Matt had told her about his romantic woes. It was no surprise, the two siblings shared everything, though Shiro had hoped Matt might give him some form of reprieve before exposing his shame to her. How much did she know about Keith and Lance? Would she be able to figure out the man sitting opposite him was one of the men he kept talking to Matt about?

Katie turned to Lance shooting him her usual friendly, service smile before glancing back at Shiro. She wiggled her eyebrows at him suggestively before hurrying off to get their order.

She knew. Shiro held back a groan and resisted the urge to smack his head on the table.

“She's my friend's sister,” he explained quickly, just in case Lance had noticed her odd behaviour.

“Oh, so you have connections here? Does that mean we get a discount?” Lance asked brazenly.

Good, he hadn't noticed anything. Shiro chuckled.

“Katie could swing it, but then she would want something in return,” Shiro shuddered, “it's not worth it.”

Lance watched the girl. She was small, with a sweet face that appeared utterly unthreatening. But there was something about her, something in the way she carried herself and the cunning glint in her eye that suggested she was not one to be crossed, and definitely not the sort of person you should owe a favour to. Lance nodded mutely.

“Probably for the best,” he agreed.

“So how have you been?” Shiro asked, jumping into the lull in the conversation before things could get awkward.

“Oh you know, good. You?” Lance answered a little too forcefully, quickly turning the question back on Shiro, which didn't go unmissed by the other man.

Lance seemed to be hiding something.

“I've been good, although I still seem to be recovering from a hangover from that night. I must be getting old,” Shiro joked, well he was only half joking.

“Yeah, that was a wild night.” Lance gave a tense laugh and avoided meeting Shiro's eye. It was hard to tell if he was embarrassed about that night they'd spent together, or if it was something else.

“Hmm, so have you spoke to Keith lately?” Shiro asked, almost off hand. Talking about that night had made it easy to drop Keith's name into the conversation, and Shiro wanted to know how things were going between the other two men. He needed to know if Keith had managed to fix things between them.

Lance flinched at the mention of Keith's name, but he managed to mask it well. “No, I haven't seen him,” he said shortly doing his best to keep his tone neutral, and not as bitter as he truly felt.

“Oh, that's a shame.” Shiro bit his lip, trying to stop himself from saying something more. He couldn't help it. He felt sorry for Keith, and Lance seemed somewhat dejected, especially after Keith's name had been brought up.

“He mentioned he had something important he wanted to tell you. He seemed quite keen to see you,” Shiro said, trying not to sound too insistent.

“Oh really?” Lance bit out unable to hide the bitter tone that slipped into his voice. He hated himself for it.

Had Keith already told Shiro how he felt? That he was choosing him and wanted to be with him? That he didn't need Lance anymore...

Taking a deep breath, Lance reminded himself why he was there. This was for Keith.

“You two must have had a pretty long talk if he told you about stuff like that. He doesn't usually confide in people right away.” Lance forced a bright smile and hoped it was enough to mask his envy.

Shiro caught the sharp tone in Lance's voice, and saw the way he tensed hearing Keith's name, and yet he was biting those emotions back, forcing them down. Lance's resentment didn't seem to be directed toward Keith, although he was part of it. It probably had something to do with whatever Lance was hiding.

Matt's voice rang in his ears, berating him for fixing Keith's love like and simultaneously ruining his chances with Keith. Now, he was being given a second chance, and he was about to shoot himself in the foot all over again. After this Matt would have enough ammunition to tease him for the rest of his life, but if he could erase the troubled scowl creasing Lance's brow, and Keith's apprehension, then it was worth it.

“We had a long talk. It just sorta came up,” Shiro said with a soft smile. It wasn't his place to reveal exactly what they'd talked about, and how Keith felt about Lance. That was all for Keith to do, and after their talk, Shiro was sure Keith could do it if he and Lance could just talk. All he could do was get Lance to relax, and open up a little before giving him a gentle nudge towards Keith.

“Hmm, funny. Keith isn't usually much of a talker.” Lance no longer sounded bitter, but now he seemed forlorn as if he given up.

“I think he just needed someone to talk to, someone who didn't know him.”

Lance smiled weakly. “I suppose that makes sense. I've known him for ages, and he never shares anything deep with me,” he shrugged.

“Here's your tea gentlemen.” Katie appeared at just the right moment holding a tray with two cups, and a candle flickering in a red glass. She set the cups down, giving Lance his first, and then placed the candle in the middle of the table.

“I'll be right over with your cakes,” she said brightly. As she turned away, she winked at Shiro.

“Did you order a candle?” Lance asked sceptically. Was it Shiro's imagination or was Lance watching the candle nervously? His shoulders looked tense, and he appeared to have shuffled his chair back, away from the table, just a fraction.

“No, but Katie likes to have a laugh at my expense,” Shiro sighed. He picked up the candle, blew it out and then set the glass down beside him.

Lance seemed to relax after that and leaned closer, reaching across the table to grab the pot of sugar he pulled it towards him and dropped several cubes into his tea. Shiro stopped counting after four.

“Keith tells me you've known each other for a while. How did you two meet?” Shiro asked, taking some sugar for himself when Lance pushed the pot back to the middle. It was a safe question, Shiro felt, although a slightly selfish one. It wouldn't aid Keith and Lance in mending their relationship, but Shiro wanted to know. He hadn't really gotten the story from Keith, all he knew was that they had a strong understanding that kept them together.

“We have known each other for a long time,” Lance mused as he stirred his tea. He didn't look at Shiro or even the tea. He stared through it, seeing something passed the drink and the table and everything else. There was a weight to his words, a suggestion that 'a very long time' was something he couldn't measure. As if he'd lost count of the years.

“We were both outsiders, lost,” Lance went on, still with that far away look in his eye. He had to be careful, he didn't know how much Keith had told him, perhaps Shiro knew everything, but he couldn't risk letting something slip that might ruin what was blooming between the other two men.

Even among Vampires, they were freaks, outcasts. Not being pure-blooded they were looked down on and sneered at. They'd never been welcome. Being ostracised like that was what had pushed them together, more out of desperation at first than anything else.

“Here are your cakes, sorry for the wait,” an anxious but warm voice interrupted Lance's train of thought. He looked up from the table to see a big, burly man holding a small silver tray with their cakes. He looked nervous and kept shooting apologetic glances to Shiro and Lance as he set the cakes down. Looking over to the counter Lance saw Katie leaning on it with a dark scowl. Apparently, the man had ruined her fun.

“Thank you Hunk,” Shiro smiled at the man, and Hunk smiled back relaxing somewhat. He turned to Lance and offered him a sheepish grin before turning away, whisking the candle off the table as he left.

“A friend of yours too?” Lance asked.

“Yes, his mother owns the place. He created the recipes for most of these cakes.”

“Wow, impressive,” Lance whistled, looking down at beautifully presented cake. It looked almost too good to eat. He picked up the small silver fork and cut off a small piece, popping it in his mouth. The cake was light and fluffy and tingled on his taste buds.

It wasn't often that Lance ate food. He only needed blood to survive, and while he could eat solids if he wanted to, it was largely pointless. But food like this made him want to eat. He couldn't help the small moan that slipped out at the heavenly taste.

“Good right?” Shiro grinned.

Lance looked momentarily embarrassed, but then shrugged and took another bite. “This is the best cake I've ever eaten.”

“What did you mean, by you were both outsiders?” Shiro asked after taking a bite of his cake. Those words stuck with him and made his heart ache with concern for both men.

Lance had been expecting the question. Anyone would understandably be curious after hearing something like that, but it told Lance all he needed to know. It told him that Keith hadn't told Shiro about his past, so he had to tread carefully.

“We both lost our families and had nowhere else to go. We didn't really fit in anywhere, so we were on our own, then we found each other and it just sorta worked out for both of us. It was better than being alone.” Lance tried to sound nonchalant as if there was nothing more to their friendship that necessity, but he couldn't hide the emotion in his voice.

Shiro remembered what Keith had said, that he and Lance understood each other. So that was what he meant. Shiro could tell that this was something deep and powerful that held them together, something that he had no business sticking his nose into.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Shiro said softly, and he sounded like he truly meant it.

“It happened a long time ago, don't sweat it,” Lance said dismissively, he took a bite of his cake and Shiro waited for him to finish, giving him the opportunity to say more if he wanted.

Lance took it, the words falling out of his mouth unbidden.

“Keith was just so...lost you know. I was a mess too, and I guess at first I was just being selfish. I didn't want to be alone, and Keith was naive, he still is in a way, it makes you want to take care of him.”

Shiro smiled fondly, nodding in agreement. Keith was not innocent, but he lacked experience in certain aspects of life, his conversation with the other man had revealed as much.

“And let me tell you he is so impulsive and headstrong. He rushes in head first and doesn't even ask any questions later and then I'm the one that has to run after him and make sure he doesn't kill himself,” Lance scoffed throwing his arms up in exasperation.

Shiro laughed, a deep booming laugh that he stifled with his hand. It warmed and stabbed Lance's heart in equal measure.

“He may be an idiot, but he's smart. Way smarter than me. He's good...”

'too good for me.'

Lance couldn't go on.

“He is,” Shiro said softly the words escaping him fond in a whisper. The way Keith spoke about his feelings for Lance, with such frustration and forthrightness had been endearing. He had trouble expressing his feelings, but he had a loyal, sincere heart. Even if he had only met the other man twice, Shiro was sure of that.

And Lance. Lance was funny and bright and warm, a ray of energising sunshine that lifted anyone around him up. He cared for others, but there was a cloud that hung around his edges, a shadow of self-doubt that creped in when he wasn't trying to be a happy character. Shiro saw everything Keith had told him about and saw why Keith loved him.

Shiro could see how they would fit together, how good they could be for each other once they were on the same page. Keith could give Lance the confidence he needed to believe in himself, and Lance could give Keith the loving stability he craved. They were perfect for each other.

“Keith really wanted to talk to you, whatever you're fighting about...I hope you can work past it.” Shiro was deeply concerned, and it wasn't a selfish concern. Lance knew how that sounded, how a person's pulse would change. Shiro wasn't thinking only of himself, or Keith, he was considering Lance's feelings too.

“It was something stupid, it always is, probably my fault too,” Lance sighed sinking into his seat. He reached for his tea and took a sip, savouring the light flavour and how it complimented the cake.

“I'll talk to him,” Lance promised. Talking with Shiro made him see that after everything, he owed Keith a proper goodbye. Disappearing without a word was the cowards way out.

He could trust Shiro with Keith, and once he said his goodbyes, he could leave without any regrets.

When they were finished and getting ready to leave Lance took out his wallet to pay his share, but Shiro refused the offer.

“It's not much of a mugging if you pay,” he laughed. He placed a few notes on the little silver plate, along with a generous tip, and they left the café together.

“I'll talk to him tonight,” Lance promised as they stood out on the street, hovering just outside the café neither making a move to leave.

“Good, I hope that it works out,” Shiro looked like he wanted to reach out and say something more. Lance stepped away before he could.

“Thanks.”

Lance was being followed. Even though the Werewolf was cautious, stalking him like a true predator, Lance knew he was there, but he couldn't quite keep track of him. The Werewolf's presence shifted and wavered like a haze just on the edge of his sense. There, but not clear enough for him to pinpoint.

He turned down a narrow side street and kept taking random turns until he wasn't quite sure where he was anymore, but it was quiet and desolate. This was good enough. He came to a stop and turned to face his pursuer, standing his ground. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him, the fact that he'd done the same thing to Shiro earlier, but now the roles were reversed.

A cold wind cut through him and the moon offered little light to illuminate his surroundings. Nothing happened. The shadows remained dark and unmoving, and there wasn't a single sound. Even the usual rumble of traffic and buzz of people was distant and muted.

But he could smell the werewolf.

“Whatever business you have with me can we just get it over with? I'm a very busy man,” Lance drawled, sounding bored. His hands clenched into fists, his lips pulled back in a snarl that revealed his sharp fangs.

He saw the yellow glow of the beast's eyes first looming from the shadows, and then heard the deep guttural growl that sounded like it was mocking him. Lance bristled.

The Werewolf circled him it's unnerving yellow eyes never leaving him for a moment. It made no move to attack and continued to prowl ominously around him, its eyes boring into him, searching for something.

“Look, I'm flattered, really, but I'm afraid I'm not into the hairy types,” Lance spat. He spun around sharply trying to keep track of the animal, and his necklace fell from the collar of his shirt at the sudden movement.

The Werewolf's eyes flashed. It had found what it was looking for. It lunged forward without warning, teeth bared.

Lance dodged to the side, but the Werewolf recovered quickly and lunged again. Again Lance managed to evade the attack while delivering a blow to the beast's side that sent it crashing to the pavement. It wouldn't be enough to keep the Werewolf down, so Lance ran turning down another side street the Werewolf snarling and hot on his heels.

Feeling the hot breath getting too close for comfort he spun around just in time to catch the Werewolf by its throat before its teeth sank into his shoulder. Lance shoved it away quickly moving his hand out of the way of it's angry, snapping jaws.

Twisting in the air, the Werewolf landed awkwardly on all fours and took a moment to recover, crouching low to the ground. Lance grabbed at the opportunity that gave him and lunged first, sharp nails aiming for the beast's throat. It leapt out of the way at the last moment and took a swipe at him for his troubles. Lance felt sharp claws graze his arm and rip his clothes. It wasn't enough to break the skin, but it was far too close.

He jumped away, putting some distance between himself and the Werewolf, and snarled. The beast didn't give him a chance to recover as it lunged again jaws open wide, sharp teeth flying towards Lance's throat. He threw himself to the side but knew he wouldn't be able to escape, the Werewolf's momentum was against him, so he threw up his arm. No matter how damaging a Werewolf bite was, he'd rather have his arm ripped open than his throat.

Razor sharp fangs sunk into his flesh, just above his wrist. Lance grunted and bit his lip to hold back a cry of pain. He stumbled, and big, heavy paws thudded against his chest throwing him off balance, sending him crashing on his back to the hard, unforgiving concrete. It knocked the breath out of him. The paws pressed down hard on his chest, pinning him there. Lance struggled to breathe.

The Werewolf's jaws locked on his arm, and it shook its head. Lance allowed his arm to go loose, moving with the jaws trying to minimise the damage that those teet tearing through his flesh could cause. When the beast stopped shaking him he attempted to swing his arm, and throw the animal off, but the Werewolf had a firm grip, and it shook him again for his trouble.

Lance gritted his teeth.

The smell of blood invaded the air. His blood. It made him dizzy and hungry. Claws slashed at his chest, but Lance barely noticed them, the scratches too shallow to concern him. He felt a sharp tug at his neck when one of the wolfs claws caught the cord of his necklace. It yanked, and the cord snapped.

Finally, the beast's jaws opened, letting go of Lance's arm it snatched up the necklace in its teeth and jumped back but was in no hurry to retreat. It knew it had won. It knew Lance was weak. It smirked at him, muzzle and teeth covered in blood.

Breathing heavily Lance struggled to sit upright. The combination of blood loss and the fiery pain in his arms made him slow and sluggish. It was so hard to breathe, it still felt as if the heavy paws were weighing down on his chest. Each limb was heavy and useless, his body refusing to respond.

Of course, that didn't stop Lance posturing. “That the best you got?” He slurred. The Werewolf may well kill him, but he wouldn't go down without a fight.

The Werewolf cast one last look at him, Lance's necklace held in its jaws and it's head held high in triumph. Its lips pulled back in a sneer and then, deciding Lance wasn't worth the effort to kill, it turned tail and bolted.

Lance slumped back down and sprawled flat out on the ground.

“Shit,” he cursed. He was glad the Werewolf was gone, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel a little insulted it hadn't even tried finished him off.

“Guess I'm really not worth it,” he sneered. With a wince, he slowly lifted his arm to inspect the damage. His sleeve was in tatters, and everything was red, the puncture wounds deep and still oozing blood. It was nasty, but not fatal, though if he didn't do something about it soon, Lance would be in trouble.

If it had been a wild dog bite then there wouldn't be a problem, the wound would heal in a matter of hours, but this was a Werewolf bite. He could already feel the poison from its saliva eating away at his skin, like acid. Even the shallow scratched on his chest burned as if he'd been scalded.

It wouldn't turn him into a Werewolf, of that, at least he could be thankful for. A Vampire could not be turned, but a wound from a Werewolf was poison.

He needed to feed, and quickly. Doing the best he could to make himself appear less like a murder victim he pulled off his shirt and soaked up most of the blood with it. When he was less blood-spattered, he tied the shirt awkwardly around his arm. It was a bulky, useless bandage but it would do for a few minutes while he found someone to feed on.

Lance stumbled back to the main street, the walk long and seemingly impossible. He felt he would never reach civilisation in time. He was growing weaker, but he just needed a person. One person.

Finally, the sound of traffic and life picked up, and he found himself on a brightly lit street. He kept to the shadows of an alley as he watched the crowd go by. He could easily tempt anyone towards him, but even in such a dire situation, Lance was picky about his food.

Then he saw her, tall and slender with beautiful blonde hair.

“Excuse me miss.”

She looked over at him, a look of alarm flashing in her eyes for a moment, but as soon as their eyes met, she was under his spell. Her eyes dimmed, and she walked over to him without any hesitation.

“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked dreamily, her gaze unfocused.

“Perhaps you can, but first what's your name, miss?” he asked because he still had his manners and Lance always asked their names. Besides she was about to save his life, even though she would never know it.

“Nyma,” she said softly, her eyes gliding over him hardly seeing him.

“Well, Nyma I just need a small favour. I have to take something from you, and you may be tired for a while after but you'll recover. I promise I won't hurt you, ok?” He asked cupping her cheek with his uninjured hand. He didn't want to taint her with his blood. She was beautiful.

“Ok,” she nodded slowly, in a daze.

“Thank you,” he whispered before ducking his head to her neck. He sank his teeth in gratefully and drank deeply.

She gasped at the sharp bite, flinched and almost broke out of his spell but Lance eased her worry with a gentle touch of his hand, and she remained still until he finished drinking.

“Nyma, you should head straight home now and get some sleep. You'll feel better when you do. And make sure you have a good breakfast when you wake up,” he instructed her as he ran his fingers through her hair. She nodded absently, the words didn't seem to register, but he knew they would stick with her, he made sure if it.

He watched her leave making sure she was safely back in the throng of people and on her way before he sank further back into the alley, out of sight, so he could tend to his wounds.

“I have the necklace, but I fail to understand why you ordered me not to kill him. It would have been so easy,” Haxus sneered. He dropped the necklace into Sendak's waiting hand and then wiped his hand on his leg, shuddering. It was bad enough having the lingering taste of Vampire blood in his mouth, he didn't want the stench clinging to his skin as well. The necklace was spattered with the Vampires blood, and it reeked of him. It was foul.

“If you'd killed him the half-breed would know, and then he would be less than cooperative with us,” Sendak said with a tired sigh as if he were explaining something to a child.

“You injured him, I presume?” Sendak demanded sharply. He inspected the necklace closely, the shell and cord caked in drying blood.

“I did. It will take him at least a day to recover from those injuries, but should we not have at least taken him hostage? What if he goes straight to-”

Sendak cut Haxus off by raising his hand, commanding silence with just a look.

“I've been observing those two for long enough to know how proud the tall one is. He will not run to his half-breed friend after losing a fight with a Werewolf,” Sendak smirked. He closed his hand around the necklace and tucked it into his pocket.

“The half-breed will be enough trouble to keep subdued when we get hold of him. We don't want to be holding two filthy Vampires prisoner.”

“And what if his friend figures it out and tried to come rescue him?”

“If he does, he will be no match for our pack,” Sendak scoffed. “Now any further questions regarding my leadership?” he snarled.

“Forgive me, sir, I failed to see the brilliance of your plan,” Haxus bowed low exposing the back of his neck in an expression of submission. There was still some doubt there, Sendak could smell it coming from the man in waves, but it didn't matter. He would learn soon enough.

“So the wanderer returns,” Matt chimed as Shiro walked through the door. He looked smug, and Shiro knew why.

Katie had told Matt about the 'company' Shiro brought with him to the café, and the too smart for their own good siblings had put two and two together.

“I have no idea what you mean. I'm not particularly late,” Shiro said with a shrug, feigning ignorance. It wouldn't be enough for Matt, when it came to opportunities to tease Shiro Matt never let one slip by, but Shiro could dream.

“You had a date,” Matt crowed gleefully, drawing out the word date. “With one of your hot Vampire lovers too,” he sniggered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“It wasn't a date. We just talked,” Shiro explained, ignoring the Vampire dig. Matt still wouldn't let him forget that.

“Talk. Right, and lemme guess instead of putting the moves on him you helped him fix his love life too?”

Shiro did not answer.

“You're going to die alone if you keep this up,” Matt added dryly.

“Don't be so dramatic,” Shiro rolled his eyes.

“It was nice talking to him actually. It gave me a bit of closure, I can tell they both really care for each other so I'm sure things will work out between them and they'll be happy. Now I can let them go.”

“Really? Just like that?” Matt asked sceptically.

“Well, it might take a little while,” Shiro admitted.

Matt shook his head.

“You know Katie tried to take some photos of you two, but when she looked back at them they were all black,” Matt said showing Shiro the pictures Katie had sent him on his phone. Each one was pitch black. There was nothing on the screen at all.

“Weird,” Shiro agreed with a shrug.

“She says you must have done something and you better fix it,” Matt grinned.

“And how exactly would I mess with photos I didn't even know she'd taken?”

“I dunno man, but it's your problem.”

“Great,” Shiro sighed as if he didn't have enough troubles already.

Lance stumbled into his apartment and made straight for the bathroom. He unwound the blood-soaked shirt from his arm and let the ruined, tattered thing fall to the floor, where he would worry about it later.

Now that he'd fed the wound had healed over enough to stop bleeding, and he was able to focus on fighting back the infection from the bite that was still inside him, lingering just under his skin. Lance shuddered, he could still feel the phantom sensation of the Werewolf's teeth sinking into his arm, and the beast smell clung to him heavily.

He had to face the shower.

Stripping out of the rest of his clothes Lance threw them on the floor as well before turning the shower on and jumping under the steady stream of water. He swayed, almost collapsing under the weight of the Werewolf bite, and the flowing water working against him. Lance slumped against the wall, groaning, and closed his eyes for a moment. If he just pretended it was rain, then it wasn't so bad.

After allowing himself a moment to adjust to the water beating down on him, Lance grabbed a sponge and some soap and set about scrubbing all traces of blood and the Werewolf's stench from his body.

It took longer than he would have liked, but Lance did not budge until all traces of blood were gone, and a fresh, soapy smell clung to his skin. Turning off the water he climbed sluggishly out of the shower and all but crawled to his bedroom, collapsing into his bed naked and still wet.

He didn't care. Healing himself and fighting off the Werewolf infection had taken far too much power and energy, and even with the boost from a fresh feed he was drained and boneless. Lance curled up in the welcoming softness of the goose feather duvet and closed his eyes.

Somewhere deep in his foggy mind, Lance knew he should tell Keith about the attack. The Werewolf hadn't killed him and only take his necklace (he had to get that back later). It was weird, and Keith wouldn't like it. He'd suspect the Werewolves were up to something again and then probably fly off in a fury.

No, Lance was too tired to deal with that right now.

Besides he didn't want to have his final conversation with Keith in such a sorry state, right after having his ass kicked by a Werewolf. It would be too pathetic, and he didn't want that being Keith's last memory of him either.

He'd talk to Keith tomorrow, when he was more himself, Lance promised as he drifted off to sleep.

How long was 'long enough' to give Lance his space and allow him to cool down? Shiro advised him that it was important not to rush, or force things with Lance. He had to respect the other man's boundaries, but shouldn't leave things for too long, he should be firm in letting Lance knew he was there, that he wanted to talk. It was all a very delicate balance, and very confusing, even Shiro couldn't give Keith an exact figure, saying that it differed from person to person and that Keith would know when the time was right.

Keith felt Shiro had more faith in him than he really should. Keith was clueless.

His run in with Lance after his meeting with Shiro had thrown things even more off balance. Chasing Lance down and confronting him by force would make things worse, but leaving him alone too long would allow things to fester.

He wanted to talk to Shiro again. Shiro would know the answer, but it was talking to Shiro behind Lance's back that got him into this mess in the first place.

Keith groaned and wished he had a punchbag or something to hit. His frustrations was growing making it hard to make a rational decision. If he went to Lance like this, they would probably get into a fight, but if he didn't talk to him soon, then all the words Shiro had helped him piece together would slip away. He could already feel some of them fading and trying to write them down had proved fruitless, it had only confused him and gotten the words even more tangled in his head.

He was running out of time. Tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow. He would track Lance down, be sincere and make him listen. Lance had surely calmed down and forgiven him enough by now to at least not run off the moment he saw Keith.

There was a knock at his door.

Keith scowled but silently welcomed the momentary distraction. He wished it was Lance but already knew it wasn't, the smell was wrong.

“Yes?” he barked, a little too sharply, as he threw opened the door. His neighbour, a young woman with her long white hair piled up in a bun, jumped and almost dropped the envelope she was holding.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Allura coughed, recovering her composure. She shot Keith a sharp look, disapproving of his manners but she said nothing.

“There was a man outside, and he asked me to give you this, said it was important,” she said, her words a little unsteady. She was anxious, and with the way he'd answered the door, Keith couldn't blame her.

“Sorry for snapping at you, and thanks,” Keith nodded, his tone was still gruff, but he tried to be as friendly as his mood would allow.

Allura still seemed nervous, her gaze darting back and forth down the hallway.

“He's still outside, said you'd want to speak with him when you saw what was inside...you're not in trouble are you?” She asked, surprising Keith with how genuine her concern was. He always tried to avoid his neighbours as much as possible and so he hadn't said more than two words to her since moving in.

The man, whoever he was, must have really unnerved her. Keith gripped the envelope tighter and kept his expression neutral.

“It's nothing. Don't worry,” he smiled, hoping it would be enough to get rid of her. She didn't look convinced, but she took the hint with a small nod of her head.

“Well if you need anything...” she said as she left, trailing off leaving the offer of help open.

Keith waited until he heard her door close and lock before he opened the envelope. He tipped the contents inside out onto his hand and almost dropped it. It was Lance's necklace, covered in dried, flaking blood. Lance's blood, he could smell it, mixed with a tinge of Shiro's scent.

Keith stared at it for a moment, his hands shaking. The cord had snapped, and there was a fair bit of blood covering it, though it was hard to tell from the necklace alone how injured Lance was the fact the Werewolves had made Lance bleed, even a little, made him see red.

He threw the envelope on the floor, not bothering to check for any other contents. The necklace was carefully placed in his pocket, he knew how important it was to Lance before he slammed his front door shut and ran outside.

“Finally. I was starting to think you' never show,” Sendak smirked.

“What did you do to him?” Keith snarled, hand curled into shaking fists at his sides as he marched towards Sendak. He was ready to tear the other man limb from limb.

“Now now, you wouldn't want us to hurt him again would you?” He asked. Keith froze.

Sendak smirked and chuckled. “That's better. Now, if you'd like us to keep your friend alive, I suggest you come along quietly. I only want to talk.”

“Why should I trust you? How do I know you haven't-” Keith stumbled over the word, it felt too thick and heavy on his tongue. He swallowed.

“How do I know you haven't killed him already?” He demanded his voice trembling only slightly.

“You know,” Sendak stated simply.

Keith paused taking a deep, shuddering breath. Sendak was right, although he couldn't pinpoint where Lance was he knew Lance was alive, and he would know if Lance had died. His eyes narrowed, cold and hard.

“What do you want?” Keith demanded.

“If you come with me you'll find out.”

“If you hurt him...” Keith snarled threateningly.

“I'll have no reason to hurt him if you come quietly,” Sendak sneered.

Keith sucked in a breath. It took everything he had not to launch himself at Sendak and tear his throat out. He couldn't risk it, he couldn't risk Lance getting hurt more than he probably already was.

“Fine, let's talk,” Keith spat. He let out a slow breath, tight fist uncurling.

The other man smirked, his victory assured.

“Follow me.”

Sendak led him down the street into a quieter, darker part of town. When he was sure they were alone, he stopped, turning to Keith.

“Now I'm sure you will understand we must take some precautions,” as he spoke two men appeared behind Keith, grabbing an arm each they clamped iron handcuffs around each of his wrists. Keith roared as the iron burned his skin. He tried to shake the men off and break out of their hold, but the sound of Sendak's tutting stopped him.

“Remember our deal, the less you struggle, the more likely it is your friend will live.”

Keith's body went slack and then tensed, shaking from the effort it took to hold in his anger, to hold himself back. His eyes narrowed, dark with hate.

“I'll kill you,” he snarled ignoring the burning around his wrists. He could only imagine what they'd done to Lance, and what else they might do to him if he didn't cooperate, the iron scalding his skin was nothing in comparison. It didn't mean he couldn't warn them though. There was no way he'd allow them to get away with this. As soon as Lance was safe…

As if reading his thoughts Sendak laughed.

“This way.”

The two men, both Werewolves, kept a hold of his arms and frog-marched him after Sendak.

Keith allowed himself to be dragged along by them, keeping his body as tense and heavy as possible. Sendak had only said he had to be 'quiet', Keith wouldn't make it easy for them. The men gripped his arms, fingers digging painfully into his skin, but he could feel them struggling with his weight. Good.

He would be quiet, and he wouldn't fight back, for now. He would stay on alert and wait for an opening. He would save Lance, and get them both back safely.

Chapter Text

“Keith. You there?” Lance yelled, hammering on Keith's front door with his fist early the next morning. He'd healed up enough to put on a convincing front, so as long as Keith didn't focus too closely on him, he wouldn't notice that anything was wrong.

There was no answer to his first knock. “Keith come on. I just want to talk,” he called impatiently, hammering on the door again even though he knew it was probably futile. Lance could sense that Keith's apartment was empty, and the other man really wasn't the type to hide his presence and sulk. Keith was more likely to storm off somewhere where he could let his frustrations run wild, and he wouldn't go to the trouble of making his presence for that, but there was a first time for everything.

He had to try. An anxious itch niggled at the back of Lance's mind. The problem was that he couldn't sense Keith. At all. Lance couldn't detect him anywhere in the city, not even the faintest trace, which suggested either Keith really was sulking and hiding from him, or he'd left the city, and quite possibly the country.

Neither seemed possible which left one other option. Some outside force was hiding Keith, against his will. A memory of sharp teeth and claws flashed through his mind, and he felt the absence of the necklace around his neck more strongly than ever.

Lance hammered on the door harder, more urgently.

“Look Keith I know I was an ass, and I'm sorry ok so can you please answer the door?” he bargained. If admitting he was wrong didn't get Keith to answer the door, then nothing would.

There was no answer.

“This is ridiculous. I'm coming in,” he snapped. Grabbing the door handle, he twisted it with a sharp turn of his wrist, and almost fell through the doorway when the door swung open without any resistance. The door wasn't locked.

Lance stumbled, righted himself and glanced around the empty hallway, gaze daring about quickly searching for anything out of the ordinary. The lights were on, suggesting Keith had been there recently, but the apartment cold. Empty and completely silent. It was unnerving.

“Keith?” Lance called his voice wavering. He stepped further into the apartment, wary and on high alert. Something was off, and there was still no hint of Keith or anything to suggest where he was.

Slowly he moved into the living room, which was pretty much empty except for a few, bare essential items of furniture and the odd pile of books and boxes stacked against the wall. Keith didn't own much, and he kept little. He never saw the point in making anywhere a home because they always had to move on after several years to avoid suspicion.

Lance, in contrast, liked to make his living spaces as warm and welcoming as possible, even if he was only going to live there a decade or two (the blink of an eye to a Vampire). Keith's place was always so cold and lonely. He shuddered.

“Keith,” he tried again though with the way his voice echoed Lance knew he was alone.

Still, he had nothing else to go on. Where ever Keith had disappeared to, there had to be a clue lying around somewhere.

After searching the living room and finding nothing of interest Lance moved to the bedroom. It was impossible to tell if Keith had slept in his bed last night because Lance knew that Keith never made his bed, it was always a mess, but the scent in the room was faint and fading. Keith probably hadn't been here for at least a day or so.

Lance went to check the closet first and found it still contained the small, uninspiring collection of Keith's clothes (Lance really wished the other man would allow him to give him a few pointers). He scowled, slammed the wardrobe shut and checked the drawers. They were full, nothing seemed to be missing. So Keith probably hadn't left of his own volition, he may not have much of an attachment to material objects, but if Keith had left the country, he would have taken some clothes with him at least.

Continuing his search of the room Lance moved to the bedside table next and found a napkin lying on top of it, next to a small, simple lamp. The napkin caught his eye right away, and he snatched it up, his heart clenching in his chest at the writing on it. Shiro's name, and his number.

Was Keith already with Shiro? Had Keith given up on him because Lance hid and refused to talk to him? Shiro had seemed so sure that Keith wanted to speak to him, that it was important. Lance had hoped Keith would wait, but after shutting him out, he couldn't really blame the other man for giving up. It hurt that Keith was hiding from him completely, but Lance supposed he deserved it…

He gripped the napkin tighter, nails digging into it tempted to rip it up into tiny pieces. Instead, he took his phone out of his pocket. Lance didn't shun technology, even though he didn't have many friends to call on a regular basis the device had a variety of other uses too, and he was glad to have it now.

Punching in Shiro's number, he hit dial and waited tapping his foot harder, quicker with each ring.

“Hello, this is Shiro.” He answered the phone on the third ring, and Lance's words got stuck in his throat. Shiro's voice was deep and smooth, even when it was made to sound tinny and electronic through the phone. Enough to make Lance shiver. Just hearing Shiro's voice had such an effect on him.

God, he was pathetic.

“Oh, uh, hi Shiro, it's Lance,” he stuttered with forced cheer, hoping that Shiro wouldn't notice the strain in his voice. A mixture of guilt and selfish desire twisted in his gut making him feel queasy. He scrunched the napkin up in his fist, and pressed his fist into his stomach, trying to push the feeling down.

“Lance? How did you get my number?” Shiro sounded puzzled, yet pleased. Or was it Lance's imagination.

Must be.

“I found that napkin you gave Keith,” Lance blurted out. His fingers curled tighter around said napkin, so tight his hand shook. His heart was racing fluttering every time Shiro spoke.

“Oh! Does that mean you've talked with Keith? Did you two work things out?” Shiro asked, kind and gentle. He sounded almost excited and eager for things to be ok between them.

“Actually, about that...” Lance trailed off his fist dropping to his side. A cold dread washed over him. “I was wondering if Keith was with you,” he asked although he was already sure of the answer. If Keith was with Shiro, then Shiro would know if they'd talked. Unless Keith had lied to him.

“No, he's not here.” The uncertainty in his tone and the way the reply sounded more like a question with an underlying hint of concern told Lance all he needed to know. Keith wasn't with Shiro.

“Oh...well we must have just passed each other, I'm sure he can't have gone far, Sorry to bug you.” Laughing Lance attempted to sound nonchalant, but he was failing, and he knew it. He had to hang up and end the conversation there. There was no sense in worrying Shiro too.

Shiro's voice stopped him. “Lance, is something wrong?”

Was something wrong? Could Lance be sure? Just because Keith had disappeared completely didn't mean he was in danger. Maybe he'd just left the country for a bit. Perhaps he would come back in a day or two after he'd cleared his head and Lance would feel like a fool for worrying.

No. Keith was impulsive and headstrong but if he was going to leave he wouldn't have left the door unlocked and the lights on. He would have taken some clothes or something with him.

“Lance?”

“Sorry. I...I don't know,” Lance sighed. He uncurled his fist, winching at the mess he'd made of the napkin. Now he felt bad for scrunching it up. Great.

“I can come met you if you want to talk.” Shiro offered, the note of worry growing more urgent, and it wasn't only for Keith.

Greedily Lance reached out for the hand Shiro offered him. “Ok. That would be...nice. It's probably nothing though.” He nodded, trying to convince himself more than Shiro. There were too many pieces that didn't fit, making it difficult to piece together what had happened. Keith had formed such a quick, powerful connection with Shiro the other man might have some answers, or at the very least, he might be able to offer some helpful insight. “Can you meet me in the park? By the benches near the south entrance.”

“I'll be there in half an hour,” Shiro promised without any hesitation. Lance could hear the smile in his voice, trying to reassure him.

“Thank you, Shiro.”

Lance hung up and tucked the phone back in his pocket. He cast one last look around the room, but it was clear that the empty apartment wasn't going to give him any more answers.

He moved to the front door and found his way blocked by a young woman, her arms crossed and a suspicious scowl on her lips. “Who are you?” She demanded.

She was beautiful.

“Hey there, the name's Lance. I'm Keith friend,” he smiled, immediately turning on the charm. His smile alone had gotten him out of plenty of sticky situations in the past, and he liked to avoid using his Vampire powers where he could,. He didn't want to give Keith's neighbours any reason to be suspicious.

The woman's scowl deepened. His smile and charm had no effect. “Are you with the guy who came yesterday?” She demanded.

“What guy?” Lance's smile faltered, and a flash of alarm rang in his mind.

Not good, not good.

The change in his expression was enough for the young woman. Enough for her to believe that he was telling the truth anyway. She relaxed her guard, tension leaving her shoulders, and she no longer looked like she wanted to punch him. Chewing her bottom lip, she cast a furtive look both ways down the corridor before stepping into the apartment, towards Lance.

“There was this guy outside the building yesterday asking for him. He gave me this envelope to give to Keith. I knew it was suspicious, I should have said no but that guy, he gave me the creeps.” She shuddered. “I heard Keith leave just after I gave

him the envelope, but…I haven't heard him come back,” she added softly, her hand, curled around her bicep, squeezed tightly. She was worried and blamed herself.

No, this was definitely not good.

“Can you tell me what the guy looked like?” Lance asked her gently his smile soft and kind betraying no hint of the panic he felt. Something was definitely wrong. The pieces were slowly adding up, and he didn't like the picture they were painting, but he wasn't about to make a pretty girl worry and blame herself even more.

She gave him a surprisingly detailed description of the man. Despite her unease, she had clearly made a point of paying attention to every detail. It was easy for Lance to put a name to the face. Sendak, the leader of the city's Werewolf pack.

“Thank you, uh, what's your name?”

“Allura,” she introduced herself. Her arms had dropped to her sides, and though she still seemed restless and anxious, her conscience had been cleared a little, her eyes were brighter, softer.

“Thank you, Allura, and don't worry about Keith, he'll be ok. I'm sure it was nothing. I'm going to bring him back and drag him to your front door so he can apologise for worrying you,” Lance winked playfully, trying to reassure her.

She smiled weakly and nodded. “I know I shouldn't have accepted the package, I should have warned him…will you tell him I'm sorry?”

“I will,” Lance promised. He patted her on the shoulder before he left the apartment. Shutting the door behind him, he walked away, down the corridor as calmly as he could.

Only when he was out on the street did he break into a run.

Lance paced in front of the bench. This was a bad idea, he should leave. Why was he even waiting for Shiro? Now that he knew the Werewolves were behind this there was no way he could involve Shiro, a human. Keith would never forgive him if something happened, and Lance would never forgive himself.

But who else did he have to turn to? He was not foolish enough to think he could take on a pack of Werewolves and rescue Keith on his own. Even if he did make it a covert mission and managed, somehow, to get to Keith without any of them noticing, he would need help freeing Keith from whatever anti-vampire wards they were using to keep him prisoner, because there was no way Keith was with them of his own free will.

Lance groaned loudly startling a jogger who ran passed him. The woman sidestepped away from him and then ran faster, putting as much distance between them as quickly as she could.

“I could catch up with you, you know,” he huffed under his breath, rolling his eyes, but it wasn't the innocent jogger he was angry at. With another groan, he flopped down on the bench his legs stretched out in front of him. Coming up with a plan that would keep Shiro safe and allow him and Keith to escape seemed like an impossible task. He'd already ran through several scenarios in his head, and all of them contained too high a risk of one, or more of them getting hurt.

Of course, this was all based on getting them all out safely, if he focused on just saving Keith and Shiro, then maybe that could work…

“Lance?”

He leaped off the bench and sprang to his feet at the familiar voice. “Oh, hi Shiro. You're early.” Lance said, his voice stilted. He stood stiffly wondering if it was too late to run away now. It probably was, but he could use his powers on Shiro and make the man forget he'd ever called at all.

Seeing Shiro's worried frown and trusting eyes prevented him from doing that. “I was worried, so I ran,” Shiro admitted. His face was flushed, and there was a hint of breathlessness to his word. Lance could hear it in his pulse too.

“So what happened? Did you manage to get a hold of Keith?” Shiro asked his tone low and urgent. A warm hand rested against Lance's arm, guiding him back to the bench so gently that Lance didn't even notice Shiro was touching him until they sat down.

Shiro was so kind, considerate. Worrying for and watching out for Lance while he was probably worried sick about Keith.

Lance let out a long, heavy sigh before answering. “No, I haven't seen him for a few days,” he murmured. Saying it out loud made him realise how long he'd been avoiding Keith for. What if something had happened to Keith in that time that might have suggested the Werewolves were planning to make a move, and Lance could have prevented this if only he hadn't been so childish and actually listened.

His throat tightened, and he found it hard to speak, but he could hide from Shiro. Something about the man's strong presence drew the truth out of him. “We were fighting about something stupid, and I didn't want to listen. It's my fault. If I'd just let him talk then maybe...” Lance trailed off and sank in on himself remembering his last conversation with Keith and the bitter exchange of words.

He didn't want that to be the last conversation they ever had.

“Hey, don't go beating yourself up with what-ifs,” Shiro said firmly, giving Lance's arm a reassuring squeeze. “We don't even know for sure anything is wrong, right? Do you think maybe he's just hiding from you because of the fight?” Shiro prompted softly, kind and without any judgement. Lance almost shrank away from it.

“No, he wouldn't do that. He'd come kick my ass and make me listen. I was the one hiding from him for a while, but now...” Lance hesitated. He could still avoid dragging Shiro into this, Shiro didn't know anything. He could send Shiro on a wild goose chase searching for Keith while he went to take on the Werewolves.

“Now I think he's in trouble, and I don't know if I can get him out of it on my own.” He told the truth.

Shiro's hand gripped his arm tighter and jerked, as of he wanted to pull Lance towards him but then thought better of it. “What kind of trouble? Should we call the police,” Shiro pressed. His pulse spiked, hammering with worry.

Lance shook his head. “No. They won't be able to help.” Lance spoke with such certainty that Shiro didn't question it. His stomach sank as he imagined what kind of trouble Keith might be in. Trouble that even the police couldn't save him from. It made his blood run cold.

“What can I do to help?” Shiro demanded. He still hadn't let go of Lance's arm.

“Honestly, nothing much. I'm not even sure I can do anything, and you'll be in even more danger. You might die...or worse.” Lance winced at the thought of Shiro getting bitten and turned into a Werewolf.

“I'll take that risk.” He had no idea what could possibly be worse than death, but he couldn't leave Lance or Keith to deal with it alone, not if there was something, anything, he could do to help them.

Shiro spoke with such ferocity it startled Lance. His hand moved from Lance's arm to his hand and squeezed tight. Lance hadn't even noticed his hands were shaking until then.

'To save Keith…' Lance thought to himself because there was only one reason someone would throw themselves into a desperate, hopeless situation like that without any hesitation. It was the same reason Lance was willing to go alone if he had to.

He could hear the fear in Shiro's pulse, his heart was hammering even though his grip on Lance's hand was strong and solid.

Somehow it helped Lance feel steadier.

“Even though you'd be going into a den of Werewolves with a Vampire?” he challenged, giving Shiro one final chance to back out. Lance lifted his head, his eyes flashing and his lips pulled back to show off pointy, inhuman fangs, revealing himself for what he truly was.

Shiro's grip on Lance's hand slackened, and he leaned back, away from him, his expression blank and unreadable.

Lance had expected that, of course, it was bound to happen. But still, he was crushed. A part of him had hoped Shiro would accept him for what he was, and still want to help. This was for the best-

Suddenly Shiro's thumbs were hooked in the corners of his mouth, pulling his lips further back to get a better look at his teeth.

“I knew I wasn't going crazy!” Shiro exclaimed, vindicated.

That was not the reaction Lance was expecting, he spluttered but could say much with Shiro's thumbs in his mouth.

“Oh, sorry.” With a quick apology, Shiro dropped his hands away from Lance's mouth, shooting him a sheepish smile. “It's just ever since that night, there are these things I remember, and I kinda thought you guys might be Vampires. Matt told me I was crazy and honestly, I thought I was, I mean Vampires, but I remembered fangs and biting, and then the fatigue I felt after. I knew I wasn't imagining things,” he rambled.

“You're handling this remarkably well,” Lance said mildly as he rubbed his cheeks.

Shiro shrugged. “Oh don't get me wrong I'm very much freaked out, but I've had some time to get used to the idea of Vampires I guess. Honestly, it's kinda a relief to know I was right.”

Lance could hear Shiro's heart fluttering, nervous and apprehensive, but not afraid.

“You're not scared of me?” Lance breathed. He couldn't quite believe, and Shiro was the one that was supposed to be surprised in this situation.

“Of you? No. If either of you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it that night, but you gave me one hell of a night to remember instead,” Shiro winked. Lance was glad Shiro had no Vampire like abilities or else he would have heard Lance's heart skip.

“And I've met both of you since then. Talked with you. You guys are obviously good Vampires.”

“I could still drain you of all your blood right now,” Lance warned threateningly.

Shiro smiled, unaffected. “But you won't.”

Lance stared at him. “You know I can't decide if your brave or just stupid,” he said flatly.

“Let's go with brave, shall we?” Shiro said with a grin.

“Fine. But I wasn't kidding about the Werewolves, by the way. Werewolves are real too, and I think they took Keith.”

“Well I've survived an encounter with a couple of Vampires, so I like my chances. Besides Werewolves

are basically just big dogs right? Kinda like that one that tried to attack Keith in the alley.”

“Wait, what? When did this happen?” Lance reeled. Keith hadn't told him about that, or well, Keith had probably wanted to tell him, but Lance refused to listen.

“When I ran into Keith again. I kinda followed him into an alley after this guy dragged him in there. When I got there, the guy was gone, but there was this massive dog that tried to attack him. I managed to grab it by the scruff and throw it off before it could do any damage.” Shiro said mater of factly as if he hadn't wrestle a probable Werewolf with his bare hands.

Lance just stared blankly at him for a moment, and slowly Shiro's mouth opened in a small 'O' of understanding. “So that was...a Werewolf?” He whispered.

“Yeah, probably,” Lance nodded weakly. There weren't many people who could grab a Werewolf by the scruff, throw it around and live. Maybe he wouldn't have to worry so much about protecting Shiro after all.

“Oh,” Shiro was still for a moment, letting the information sink in. “Well, that just means I know what I'm up against. Now, do you have any idea where they might be?”

“I can track them down,” Lance said confidently. Even if the Werewolves were hiding Keith from him, Lance could still smell the beasts themselves. They could never mask their stench.

“Then what are we waiting for,” Shiro stood and extended a hand to Lance.

Lance shook his head. “You do realise this is certain death, don't you,” he said, taking Shiro's hand he allowed the other to help him up.

“With a powerful Vampire to protect me? I think I'll be ok,” Shiro grinned. Lance laughed dryly, he could only hope that Shiro's faith in him was justified.

“And don't worry, we'll get Keith back,” Shiro reassured him, squeezing Lance's hand once before letting go.

Keith. He was doing this for Keith, and for Keith's sake Lance would rescue him and keep Shiro safe.

“Right, let's go then,” Lance nodded once, his mind made up.

It was almost too easy to find the Werewolves. Although they didn't have the power to mask their presences as Vampires had, they'd made absolutely no attempt to even try. There was only one scent trail, and it lead straight to an abandoned warehouse in a derelict dockyard. Lance was mildly offended they'd been so easy to find. They apparently did not consider him a threat.

The dockyard was as cold and ominous as one would expect, with the added shadowy presence of the ocean nearby. It was the closest he'd been in a long time, but the whispers of the waves made him shudder and made him feel dizzy. The sound was like a howl of warning, repelling him, and the sheer presence of the water rose up and pressed down on him like a wall looming over him, threatening to topple and crush him.

On the plus side, it was somehow less formidable than a flowing river, even though the ocean stretched out in the distance in a vast, endless black shadow.

He took a deep breath and remembered when the sea had been his home, a friend. There was a time when the waves wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, he couldn't forget that. Lance closed his eyes and channelled his anger at having all of that taken away from him into forcing down the primal fear that was telling him to run, that was a part of his DNA now. The water may be able to harm him, but as long as he kept his distance and respected it, then he could cope with this. He would allow himself to be frightened of it.

“Wait here,” he hissed to Shiro as they got closer to the Werewolves lair. Most of the buildings around them were empty, and the Werewolves had conveniently all gathered in one old warehouse. It could be a trap, Lance's mind screamed, but it could also simply be it was the building with the fewest broken windows.

He had to take the risk.

Lance pushed Shiro into the shadows behind an empty, hulking shipping container and glanced around. He'd been careful to stay upwind so that the Werewolves sharp noses wouldn't be able to puck them out, but he was sure they would be able to smell Shiro, a human, the moment he entered the building no matter which way the wind was blowing. He needed something to cover Shiro with, to mask his smell.

“Why? Where are you going?” Shiro hissed, grabbing Lance's arm before the other could move away.

“I just need to scout the area to find the best way in, and it'll be quicker if I go on my own. I won't be long,” he promised, resting his hand over Shiro's his fingers curling around the other man's, not quite prying them off but encouraging him to let go.

“You're not going in without me are you?” Shiro asked sternly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He did not loosen his grip on Lance's arm.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Lance said with a sincere, crooked smile and Shiro's grip slackened enough for him to pull his arm free.

“Just wait, you'll hardly notice I'm gone,” he grinned with a sly smile before melding into the shadows, completely vanishing from view. He heard Shiro's gasp and saw the way the man's eyes bulged comically. Shiro's head whipped from side to side, trying to pick out Lance's form but he soon seemed to accept it with a sigh of defeat. Lance left him with the sound of his playful laugh echoing on the breeze.

Lance immediately broke his promise, he had to. He found an open window, with no signs of life beyond and silently slipped inside. His goal was not to hunt down the pack and rescue Keith though, he at least planned to keep his word to Shiro in some respect, but before they could raid the warehouse together, he needed something.

He glanced around the dark room, alert for any strange sounds or smells. His senses may not be as sharp as a Werewolf's, but they were pretty damn good, good enough to tell him the room was empty.

Melting out of the shadows Lance let out a soft sigh and strode deeper into the room, continuing his search. Luckily the Werewolves were just like a pack of dogs in one sense. They took great care in spreading their sent around to mark their territory, and thankfully they did this by leaving items of clothing and blankets steeped in their scent strew about rather than using other methods. Lance wasn't sure if it was stupidity or sheer confidence in their strength that made them so sloppy, but he was grateful for it. It was almost too easy to find a jacket that looked just about Shiro's size.

Picking it up Lance held the jacket to his face and took a deep breath it. “Gross,” he gagged, immediately holding it away at arm's length. It stunk of the Werewolves, it was perfect. He considered taking one for himself as well, but with the heavy smell in the air already suffocating him, he decided against it. The Werewolves would recognize the Vampire in him no matter how he smelled, he didn't want their scent hanging off him needlessly.

Tucking the stolen jacket under his arm, Lance melded back into the shadows and hurried back to Shiro.

“Put this on,” Lance said briskly, tossing the coat to Shiro as if it were something unpleasant.

“Why do I need to wear this?” Shiro asked curiously, even as he slipped the jacket on. It was a little tight across the shoulders, but as long as he didn't do it up, it would fit.

“It's to cover your human smell. If you went in there as you are now, they'd pick up your scent in moments, but this jacket smells like them so it should mask your scent and stop them picking you up easily. As long as we don't run into one of them and they ask you to transform or something, we should be good,” Lance answered tightly. He really hoped they didn't run into any of the Werewolves.

“My smell? Do I smell bad?” Shiro lifted his arm and sniffed at his armpit, worried that he had a bad case of BO going on even though he'd showered that morning.

“You smell good,” Lance answered quickly. A little too quickly, and judging by the grin tugging at Shiro's lips the other man noticed.

“Better than they do anyway,” Lance added hurriedly, trying to cover himself. “Anyway, now that we're ready, here's the plan,” he coughed sharply, once, to clear his throat and then jumped into laying out his plan for Shiro.

It was simple really, the basis of it to get in and out as quickly as possible, preferably without being noticed. Failing that, if they were spotted, Shiro was to pretend he was a newbie, and Lance was a Vampire he'd caught to show off his skill and loyalty to the pack. It was a shaky plan at best, but it was the only one they had, and as long as Shiro listened to him, and followed his instructions, Lance would be able to keep to his other, secret plan that prioritised keeping him, and Keith safe.

“Right, I'll follow your lead,” Shiro nodded, sincere eyes trusting Lance completely.

Lance didn't understand how Shiro, who had really only just met him, could have so much confidence in him.

He had to keep him alive.

They crept in, unnoticed, through the same window Lance slipped through to grab the jacket. Cautiously they made their way through the labyrinth of small side rooms and office spaces contained in the large building, skirting around the large, central area where Lance could sense the ominous presence of a group of Werewolves gathered. He couldn’t tell how many there were, but he knew they were there.

Their progress was shrouded in shadows, down dark corridors that allowed Lance to hide seamlessly. Shiro, being human, had less of an advantage, but Lance guided him with ghost-like touches to his arm and shoulder. It made Shiro shudder every time, even though he knew the touch was friendly, the dark, foreboding atmosphere made everything twice as threatening.

It was too quiet, too still. Lance could only sense the group in the middle of the building, and none patrolling the perimeter, keeping guard, which seemed odd. Werewolves were protective of their territory, and they should be even more on alert if they

were holding a Vampire prisoner. The fact that he hadn’t run into any trouble so far felt too east. It felt like a trap.

“Which way?” Shiro whispered coming to a stop as the corridor split in two.

Lance paused, looking in both directions. The left fork lead to the central space, where all the Werewolves were. He could tell by the overpowering stench alone. They couldn’t go that way, it was not a confrontation Lance wasn't willing to lead Shiro towards.

The right seemed more promising. An unsettling aura washed from there, something that struck deep at his primal instincts telling him it wasn’t safe, to turn back. If they were going to keep a Vampire prisoner anywhere, then it was bound to be the place Lance least wanted to go.

“This way,” Lance answered with a gentle push to Shiro’s shoulder, nudging him towards the right turn.

As they drew closer, Lance could sense something familiar mixed in with the looming aura of danger. Something that wasn't threatening. A presence so dim that he didn't recognise for what it was at first.

“Keith!” He gasped, the familiarity finally hotting home. The presence was so faint and weak that it was no wonder Lance hadn't been able to pick up on it until now. He broke into a mad dash, barging ahead blindly fear making him reckless. What if he was too late? What if the Werewolves had done some something to Keith he couldn't heal?

The cry of Keith's name was all that alerted Shiro before he saw what looked like a heavy, thick shadow shoot off along the wall in front of him. He ran after it, knowing it must be Lance chasing after Keith.

As they got closer, Lance materialised suddenly, dropping into the dark corridor to run the last few steps before he came to an abrupt stop, as if he'd just smacked into an invisible barrier. He stumbled backwards and would have fallen if not for Shiro behind him, strong hands steadying his shoulders.

Lance had stopped outside a little side room, right in the empty doorway. There was no door, the frame too rotten to hold one. The room was in such a state of disrepair it made the rest of the building look brand new. All that remained of the roof was a few large beams, leaving the room completely open to the elements. The floor was in only slightly better shape, but there were large sections of the floorboards missing, leaving gaping holes. Lance didn’t need to see through the gaps in the floor to know that the sea swayed beneath it. It smelled of rot and damp, and there was a slow constant drip coming from somewhere.

Lance swayed in the doorway, but he couldn’t take a single step into the room. The gentle movement of the tide felt more like a raging storm, tossing him about, threatening to drown him. It pushed him back and made his legs shake. He gripped the door frame with one hand, nails digging into the rotting wood making it splinter under his grip.

“Keith…” he called, voice hoarse. Keith lay in a heap in the far corner of the room chained up in irons. He didn’t move.

Shiro squeezed Lance's shoulders, making sure he was steady before he let go and stepped past him into the room. He didn't bother asking why Lance hesitated. He could tell there was another force at work that the Vampire was powerless against, but the room posed no danger to him, except for the weak floorboards that threatened to give out from under his feet. Miraculously he made it to Keith's side without falling through them.

“Keith. Hey come on, answer me.” He gathered the prone form up in his arms and shook him gently.

A twitch went through Keith’s body. He groaned and slowly blinked open his eyes, looking up at Shiro in a daze. “Now I know I’m dreaming. First I think I hear Lance’s voice…” he trailed off, eyes closing again in defeat.

“You aren't dreaming, I'm here, and Lance is here too,” Shiro said with a warm smile. His body shook with rage and worry at the state the other man was in, but he managed to keep his voice even for Keith. He didn't want to scare him.

“Lance?” Keith’s eyes cracked open and looked over to the doorway. “Don't come over here….there's water...” he muttered.

Lance couldn't help but laugh. “Really, mullet. I hadn't noticed.”

Keith managed a weak smirk.

“The chains…” Lance asked thickly. Iron chains were bad. He could smell the way they scorched Keith's flesh. They'd burnt so deeply the smell was everywhere. How long had they been on?

Shiro turned his attention to the chains. He grabbed them, shook them and pulled on them to test the strength of their connections to the wall. They were thick and strong, and although they were covered in rust, they didn’t budge.

Keith hissed in pain.

“What is it? Are they hurting you? They don’t look too tight,” Shiro frowned, turning his attention the red raw skin around Keith’s wrists where he was bound.

“Iron burns Vampires,” Lance answered. Keith was still winching, gritting his teeth through the pain.

“As long as they're touching his skin they'll keep burning until they hit bone.”

Shiro snatched his hand back, afraid to touch the chains again. “What should I do?”

If they weren't iron Lance could probably snap them. If they weren't above water, Lance could go over to Keith and take him out of the room. Of course, if the chains weren't iron and if it weren't for the sea under them, then Keith would be able to free himself.

“Try not to move him or the chains too much. I'll go find the key,” Lance said. Pushing himself off the door frame, he stumbled back a few steps before righting himself. The effect of being even this close to the water was making him feel sick, and making his vision blur, but as long as he put some distance between it, he'd recover quickly.

“Alone?” Shiro asked glancing down at Keith then back at Lance, torn.

“Alone,” Lance nodded. “Stay here with Keith, keep an eye on him. If any of the Werewolves come...I'll be back before they come.”

Lance turned around and left, blending into the shadows before Shiro could call after him. Really it made sense for Shiro to go with Lance to look for the key, two pairs of eyes were better than one. But Shiro would want to be with Keith. He'd be worried about him and want to protect him. Lance wasn't stupid.

“Now where would a dumb dog hide a key?” Lance muttered to himself. He made his way back down the corridor and reached the point where it split. He headed in the direction that reeked of Werewolf this time.

Throwing himself head first into a pack of Werewolves was not the best idea. Getting himself caught and killed before he even found the key would not help Keith and Shiro.

The sensible thing to do was to first figure out how many of them there were, and where they were hiding. He drew as close as he dared to the centre of the warehouse, straining with everything he had to get a read on how many of them there were. Not many, he estimated. More than five, but less than ten. Still, too many for him to take alone.

The fact he’d managed to get around unnoticed so far suggested that masking his presence was working, and the pungent smell of Keith's scorching flesh was probably helping to hide his scent too. Lance shuddered. It was not a pleasant thought.

He needed to get one of them alone, at the very least if they didn’t have the key then he could force them to tell him who did. It was risky, but it was the best plan he had. First, he needed to cause a commotion. Something to draw them to him, not enough to warn them that a Vampire was around, but enough to alert them that something was in the Warehouse. As long as they didn’t sense him, then they would probably suspect an animal or some unfortunate human.

Lance found a stack of large wooden crates that would do the job nicely. He pushed them over making sure they caused as much of a racket as possible, and then he sank back into the shadows to wait.

He heard shouts and a great deal of scuffling followed by more shouts and what sounded like an argument, probably trying to decide who should go investigate the source of the noise. Finally, the growling died down, and Lance sense a single Werewolf skulking towards him.

He was in his human form (good, easier to overpower) and looked thoroughly displeased at being the one given the short straw. “It's probably just a rat,” he growled under his breath not suspecting a thing.

When he was close enough, Lance pounced. The element of surprise gave him just the advantage he needed, and his hand was wrapped around the Werewolf’s throat, long, sharp nails pressing against the pulse in his neck, before the other man could even utter a whimper in warning.

“If you transform or try anything funny I'll slit your throat,” Lance hissed. He dug his nails harder into the man’s flesh, drawing a small trickle of blood.

The man glared at him, eyes full of loathing, but he didn't struggle.

“Now tell me, where's the key for the chains binding the Vampire.”

“Why would I tell-” The werewolf tried to act tough, but Lance's hand squeezed tighter around his throat choking the words out of him.

“I won't ask again.” Lance hissed.

The Werewolf seemed to consider his options for a moment before answering. “Go to hell.”

Lance slammed his head into the wall. The Werewolf was knocked out cold, he may even be dead, but Lance didn't care enough to check. It was unlikely anyway, like Vampires, Werewolves had a rapid recovery rate and could take a hell of a beating.

He searched the man's pockets, hissing and almost dropping the key when iron scalded his skin. He couldn't believe his luck! Setting the key aside Lance tied the Werewolf up and shoved him into one of the crates. When he was done, he picked the key up again, holding it tight in his hand not caring if the iron branded his skin. He ran back to Shiro and Keith.

“What happened?” Shiro cradled Keith as gently as he could, trying not to jar him. He didn’t need any

supernatural senses to tell that the other man was in a great deal of pain, and weak from being held prisoner for who knew how long. He could see the burns around Keith’s wrists, where the chains were continually scalding him, and there were faint marks across his body from where the chains had accidentally brushed him.

“I was tricked...I'm an idiot...” Keith hissed. “I thought they had Lance. They threatened to hurt him if I didn't go with them,” he added, his tone softer. He glanced towards the door, afraid that Lance might be there to overhear him. The doorway was empty. Keith let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

“You're not an idiot, you were very brave. You took a risk to help someone you love.”

Keith scoffed. “If Lance ever finds out I let those Werewolves trick me he'll keep calling me an idiot for the rest of eternity.”

“Maybe, but it'll only be because he's worried about you,” Shiro chuckled. He could easily imagine Lance admonishing Keith for his recklessness, indignation masking his genuine concern.

“Why are you here?” Keith opened his eyes a fraction, too worn to open them all the way. He wasn’t upset to see Shiro, his chest felt tight with hope despite himself, but he was worried. A Werewolf’s lair was no place for a human.

“Lance was looking for you. He called me when he couldn't find you. He was very worried,” Shiro explained with a smugness to his tone that said 'I told you so'. Keith scowled, but then his expression softened.

“I'm glad you're here,” he whispered. He was glad Lance wasn't alone, he was glad they had Shiro's help because without him Lance wouldn't have been able to do anything to free Keith, and then he too would have been captured by the Werewolves, maybe even killed. He was selfish.

“Thank you. We'll get you out of here safely,” Keith said vehemently.

Shiro laughed, his eyes shining with mirth and something so soft it made Keith’s heart skip. “Sorry. It's just, I think that's my line.”

“As soon as I get these chains off and get away from the water I'll be fine.” Keith huffed. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “You know, don't you?”

“That Vampires and Werewolves, and who knows what are real? Yes. Lance told me, he tried to warn me off, but I couldn't let him do something dangerous alone,” Shiro smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“You're not scared?”

“Not of the two of you..”

Keith tilted his head to the side pressing his ear against Shiro's chest. It was a sign of just how weak he was that only now, with his ear over Shiro's heart, could he hear just how hard the man's heart was pounding. He was terrified, but putting on a brave face to help them.

There was more that could be said, should be said with Shiro risking his life to help them and expecting nothing in return. It hung in the air between them heavier, and more suffocating than the deadly sway of the water beneath him, but Keith had never been good with words.

“Keith, Shiro, I got the key!” Lance hissed. He came running towards the doorway with his hand held triumphantly above his head in a tight first. As soon as he got too close, he came to a sudden stop.

“Shit,” he cursed stumbling back.

“I'll come to you,” Shiro said quickly. He shot Keith a reassuring smile and set him down gently, taking his time not to jostle him. As soon as Keith was lying down Shiro jumped to his feet and leaped across the worn floorboards to Lance.

“Here.” Lance dropped the key into Shiro's waiting hand with a wince. He tried to pull his hand back quickly to hide the burn, but Shiro caught his wrist with his free hand and pulled it close.

“Your hand...” he winced in sympathy at the key-shaped brand burnt into his skin.

“Don't worry about that now, get Keith out of there, please.”

Shiro shot him a firm look, a look that promised they would come back to this later before he turned around and hurried back to Keith.

The lock was as old and rusty as the chains, but with some persuasion Shiro managed to ease the key in and turn it, freeing Keith. Shiro pulled off the shackles around his wrist with care, before flinging them as far away from the Vampire as he could. The moment the iron left his wrists, Keith let out an audible gasp of relief that choked in his throat like a sob. He bit his lip hard to prevent any further cries.

Shiro waited a moment, giving Keith time to collect himself. When he felt the other was ready, he placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Keith, I’m going to pick you up and get you out of here, ok?”

“I can walk,” Keith ground out through gritted teeth. He tried to sit up but could barely move, the sway of the water dragging him down.

Shiro smiled and without another word, curled his arm around Keith’s shoulders, his other hooking under his knees. Keith squawked indignantly but did not have the strength to stop him. Lance chuckled, in amusement and relief.

He crossed the room, taking more care of his steps, but his strides were wide and quick closing the distance to the door as quickly as he could.

“This way. There's a place nearby we can lay low for a few minutes,” Lance beckoned Shiro to follow him when he was out of the room. Keith squirmed weakly in Shiro's arms, but Shiro held on tighter and did not put him down.

They hurried through more winding corridors, eventually settling down to huddle in a small storeroom. It was dark and cramped, but far enough away from the effects of the water to allow the Vampires to catch their breath and recover.

“How did you even get caught anyway?” Lance demanded when the sickness from the water had worn off, and Keith seemed to have regained some of his strength.

“I let my guard down,” Keith answered evasively avoiding eye contact with Lance.

“Let your guard down? Keith, you should know better than that.” Now really wasn't the time, but after so much anxiety, so much fear, Lance couldn't help but lay into Keith.

“Now Lance, I'm sure Keith has a perfectly reasonable-”

“Don't you tell him,” Keith warned cutting Shiro off.

“Tell me what?” Lance demanded looking between the two suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Keith said firmly. He shot Shiro a dark look, his eyes flashing.

Lance sucked in a breath and went oddly quiet. Keith hadn't expected him to give up so easily.

“Now there's no need to hide. Keith was just as worried about you as you were about him.”

“What?” Lance lifted his head,

“Oh fine, I got this delivered to me,” Keith fished Lance's necklace from his pocket and tossed it to him.“I thought you were hurt. They threatened to kill you, so I went with them, to save you.”

“So...it's my fault...”

“No! Ugh, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell him,” Keith groaned. He shot Shiro an accusing glare before turning back to Lance. “Look I was the one who accepted what they said without checking or trying to find you. I'm the fool here.”

“But...I was attacked by a werewolf, and I knew it took my necklace. I should have told you after it happened, but I got bitten, and I was too proud to admit that to you. If I just told you...”

“You were bitten?”

Lance flinched at Keith's sharp tone. “It was only a little bite, a nip really.”

“Lance, seriously. You know you shouldn't try to deal with a Werewolf bite alone!”

“Uh, guys?” Shiro interrupted them before the argument could go any further.

They glared at each other, then looked at Shiro their expressions softening before they looked back at each other silently calling a truce.

“We'll talk about this later,” Lance said firmly.

“Whatever you say,” Keith rolled his eyes with a smile. “Now, let's get out of here.”

It was only a matter of time before the Werewolves noticed Keith was missing. They would either find his empty cell, or they would go in search of their comrade when one of them finally thought it was suspicious that he'd been gone for so long. Lance had hoped the Werewolves wouldn't notice anything until they were long gone and both he and Keith had time to recover.

Of course, luck had never been on Lance's side, and he had found the key far too easily.

Close to the exit, they found their path blocked by several Werewolves, all in their wolf form except for the leader of the pack, Sendak. He'd only transformed himself halfway becoming a nightmarish vision. He crouched on all fours, hackles raised and legs bent at powerful angles ready to pounce. More notable, and unnerving, was his upper body, more man than beast except for one arm which he's allowed to take on a more wolf-like form. His body seemed even larger than normal, his front paw almost the size of his head, sharp claws out, digging into to floor. His features were twisted, a mixture of man and beast, mouth open in a sneer that made it look all the more frightening.

“So two little rats invaded my territory,” he sneered, yellow eye lighting on Shiro, “and one of them is human!” He laughed, and the rest of the pack joined in, howling and yelping in contempt.

“You must be desperate.” Sendak turned his attention to Lance and smirked taking a step forward. Lance stood his ground his sharp fangs bared. Behind him, Shiro was supporting Keith, who was barely able to walk but could just about managed to stand on his own. He wouldn't be any help and neither would Shiro, which meant Lance had to get them both out of there on his own.

Lance widened his stance, standing taller in an attempt to make himself bigger, cover the other two more and draw Sendak's attention to him. If Sendak was only focusing on him, then maybe he could find an opening for Shiro and Keith...

“Get out of the way,” Lance snarled with as much venom as he could muster. He tried to sound intimidating, but there were seven Werewolves and only one of him. They all laughed at him.

“I don't think I will be doing that. Now hand Keith over, and if I am feeling generous, I may just let you live.”

It was an obvious bluff. There was no way Sendak

would let them go. But even if it had been a genuine offer, there was no way Lance would sacrifice Keith for Shiro's life or vice-versa. He would get them both out of here, even if it killed him.

There was no time and only one option. Lance took a chance. He leaped forward and attacked Sendak. Using the man's momentary surprise to his advantage, Lance caught him by the shoulder and dug his sharp nails in as deep as the would go. Vampire nails may not be claws, but they were sharp.

Sendak roared in pain and tried to shake him off, but Lance had a firm grip, and he dragged his nails through the Werewolves flesh, gouging deep scratches through it. It wouldn't be a bad enough wound to kill him, but it might just buy them enough time just enough so he couldn't give chase right away.

The rest of the pack jumped into action, leaping forward to help their leader. It had to be now.

“Run!” Lance ripped his nails from Sendak's shoulder and jumped back turning to find Shiro already running back the way they came dragging Keith with him. Good. Lance ran after them at full speed, the heat of the pursuing pack hot on his heels. He could feel their breath, the snap of their jaws just inches away from catching him. He could overtake the pair in front of him, Shiro was human and slow, but Lance stayed behind them, protecting them.

If the Werewolves caught up, they would get him first.

Lance was so focused on protecting the two men from behind that he didn't sense the Werewolf approaching from the front until it was too late. The beast rounded the corner up ahead, blocking their path.

Shiro came to a skidding halt and froze. A desperate glance over his shoulder told him there was no going back. They were trapped.

With Shiro distracted, it was the perfect opportunity for the Werewolf to attack. It lifted a paw, large claws aiming to take a swipe at Shiro and Keith.

“NO!” Lance yelled, but he was too far away, too slow.

Shiro saw the Werewolf's movements from the corner of his eye, and he reacted on instinct. Keith was already weakened, and those claws looked dangerous. He wrapped his arms around the Vampire, shielding him with his body. The wicked claws struck his back, sank into his flesh and dragged down. His scream was muffled by Keith's shoulder.

Time stood still. The Werewolf's claws embedded in Shiro's back, its mouth slowly opening ready to clamp around the back of Shiro's neck. Ready to kill.

Lance couldn't move.

Keith's knees buckled as Shiro's weight fell on him, but somehow he managed not to fall. The smell of blood flooded his senses, blood that was achingly familiar and so very enticing. Blood that made his pulse race. Blood that gave him a burst of power, just the smell of it energising him.

He wrapped an arm around Shiro, supporting him as best he could. With his other hand, he reached over Shiro's shoulder and grabbed the Werewolf by the throat.

“Let. Go.” He commanded. He didn't wait for the beast to obey before he lifted it up with one hand and tossed it to the side.

Lance snapped out of his trance and ran forward, and timed moved as normal again. The pack behind them gaining.

“Grab him. Run,” Keith barked. Lance pulled one of Shiro’s arms over his shoulder, and Keith took the other, together they dragged him down the corridor, moving as swiftly as their supernatural powers would allow.

They found a room and ducked inside. Lance shoved a stack of crates in front of the door, reinforcing the barricade with a weak spell that should keep the Werewolves at bay at least for a few minutes.

Keith set Shiro down on the ground gently, and then quickly curled himself up into the far corner of the room, away from the man and the draw of his blood, not trusting himself.

“What are you doing?” Lance demanded when he turned around to see Keith cowering in a corner and Shiro lying on the other side of the room.

“His blood...smells so good...” Keith shuddered. The adrenalin rush he'd received from the smell of it was fading, and now all that was left was weakness and hunger. Lance recognised the bloodlust and saw how hard Keith was trying to fight it.

He looked over at Shiro, his back soaked in blood. The smell was tempting Lance too, sparking his natural instinct to feed, but having drunk recently, it didn't overpower him. He glanced at Keith again, torn over who to go to first. But Keith's life wasn't in any immediate danger. He ran to Shiro.

“Shiro? Can you hear me? How are you holding up?” He knelt on the floor and lifted Shiro into his arms, not caring about the blood that stained his clothes. He tried not to touch Shiro's wounds as much as he could but it was almost impossible, the gashes extended the whole length of his back.

Shiro hissed and gritted his teeth. “I'm fine.”

“No, you're really not,” Lance laughed dryly. Well, Shiro was speaking. That was a good sign.

Now, he needed a plan. Another plan. The Werewolves would find them soon enough, and when they did the charm on the door wouldn't hold for long. Fighting the Werewolves alone was not an option. Lance knew his weaknesses. He was not a skilled close-range fighter. Give him a gun or some other ranged weapon then maybe he'd have a shot, but using only his fists and teeth? No, it wouldn't be enough to clear a path for Shiro and Keith, not now that they were both injured and weak.

“Keith, drink my blood.”

“What…?” Keith lifted his head and looked at Lance as if he were crazy.

“You need blood, and you're stronger than me in a fight. Drink my blood.” Lance commanded.

Keith shook his head. “And then what? I won't be able to fight them and protect both of you.”

“You don't need to. Don't worry about me just fight and get Shiro out. I'll….I'll be ok.”

“I'm not going to do that.” Keith hissed.

“You have to! It's the only way.”

“Drink my blood.” Shiro's voice was barely above a whisper, but they both heard it.

“What? No, you're injured!” Lance snapped.

“You've lost too much blood already,” Keith added.

“It's fine. I'm pretty resilient. How much would it take, for you to be able to fight?” His voice was weak and fading, but it was steady with a determination and a commanding stubbornness they could not ignore.

“I….not a lot...” Keith answered. If he could drink just enough to give him the strength to fight while Lance got Shiro out of there, and then make his own escape, then maybe…

“Then drink my blood.” Shiro closed his eyes and rested his head against Lance's chest. He was so tired.

Lance held Shiro tighter and shook his head. “No, my plan is better. Drink my blood and get Shiro out of here!”

Keith glared at him. “I'm not leaving you behind.” Slowly he drew closer to the other two trembling with the effort it took to hold himself back and not leap at Shiro's neck and feed.

“We're all getting out of here. Together,” he added breathlessly. He fixed Lance with a hard look before looking down at Shiro. It was a dangerous plan. The man had lost a lot of blood, and the Werewolf's scratch would be taking its toll on him. Every drop of blood Keith drank would push him closer to a point he might not recover from. It was a delicate balance, and he had to be careful.

“Are you sure?” Keith asked softly. Shiro opened his eyes slowly and smiled.

“I'm sure. This is all I can do to protect the two of you.” He closed his eyes again, his head sinking against Lance's chest. He wasn't unconscious, but he didn't have the strength to keep his eyes open any longer.

“Ok,” Keith nodded. He looked at Lance again and reached out. Taking the other man's hand trembling hand, he held on tight.

“I'm going to drink,” Keith swallowed thickly, “but only enough to give me a boost.” He squeezed Lance's hand again trusting the other Vampire to stop him if he went too far or if Shiro's life was in too much danger.

Lance squeezed his hand back.

Keith bowed his head into the crook of Shiro's neck and sank his teeth into the pale, soft flesh. He drank quickly, taking no time to savour the taste. He drank until he felt stronger and when he felt a pull on his hand, Keith stopped. He drew back and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. With his other, he gave Lance's hand one final squeeze before letting go.

“I'll buy you some time. Heal him up as best you can and get out.” Keith stood and moved over to the door.

“Keith!” Lance stopped him. He didn't want him to go alone. He knew this was their best plan, but still, he was afraid.

“Don't worry I'm coming back.” Shiro's blood coursed through his veins. He wasn't going to lose to a few dogs.

“Be careful...” Lance whispered. Keith nodded and slipped out of the room.

“Shiro? Shiro are you still awake?” Lance turned his attention back to Shiro. He couldn't afford to waste any more time worrying. He had to trust Keith, and before he could get either of them out, he had to patch Shiro up enough so that the man didn't die before he could get help.

“Mmmhmm,” Shiro hummed. He didn't open his eyes or try to lift his head, but he was responding. Good enough.

“I'm gonna heal you up a bit and draw out the Werewolf poison. It might hurt, but you have to trust me ok?” He said urgently.

Shiro hummed again.

Lance started to sing. Shifting his grip on the other man Lance pressed a hand against the other man's back, over one of the open wounds his fingers splayed across it covering as much as he could. Shiro winched and tried to twist away, but Lance held him firmly in place, his song growing in power.

Too weak to struggle further Shiro stopped moving, but Lance could feel every tremor that went through his body, see his face scrunched up with pain, his teeth gritted to hold back a cry. Lance closed his eyes and pressed his hand harder against Shiro's back. He had to work faster.

The necklace around Lance's neck lit up with a faint glow, steadily growing brighter. Lance's voice was soft and low,

the song in a language long forgotten. Even though Shiro couldn't understand any of it the words were soothing, the melody warm, coiling around him in a way that felt comforting. Slowly he opened his eyes. Had the pain gotten so much he couldn't fell it any more or was it really lessening?

He looked up at Lance. His whole body was glowing, eyes sparkling like jewels. The light around them made it seem like they were underwater, and it pulsed to Lance's song.

Seeing Shiro opened his eyes, Lance smiled, and a happier, brighter note entered his song. Shiro smiled back. It made him feel better, forgetting his pain and everything that had happened. All he saw was Lance, and all he heard was the beautiful song he sang, his voice a comforting embrace that enveloped him.

Lance bowed his head, his forehead brushed Shiro's, and he continued to sing even as one of the cracks along his necklace deepened.

They escaped. After Lance finished healing Shiro, he carried the man over his shoulders and headed for the nearest exit, making it out unnoticed thanks to Keith drawing the Werewolves attention. He signalled the other Vampire to follow the moment he was far enough away.

Keith was holding his own against the Werewolves, fighting with caution and not taking any stupid risks. The moment he felt Lance's signal he took the first opening he could find and ran even as the Werewolves taunts followed him. After all, he had made a promise, they would all escape together. The Werewolves could wait until another time.

They rushed Shiro to the nearest hospital, carrying his unconscious form between them. They were met by a rather enthusiastic doctor, who didn't seem at all phased by the gruesome picture they painted. Lance, covered in blood all down his front, Keith, scratched and bruised all over with burns around his wrist, and Shiro, as pale as a corpse hanging between them. He smiled and greeted them with cheer.

“Good evening gentlemen, what appears to be the problem?” He asked, his bright orange moustache dancing along his top lip.

“Our friend needs help. A dog attacked him he has some pretty deep scratches on his back,” Lance explained as he and Keith lowered Shiro onto a trolley a nurse pushed towards them. Lance had healed Shiro's wound enough to stop the bleed. Enough to make the cuts more shallow, but he hadn't been able to heal them completely.

“Not to worry, your friend is in good hands.” The doctor turned away from the pair for a moment to study his patient before he turned back to them. “Now how about you….oh.” They were gone.

He blinked slowly, and once again turned his attention back to the unconscious man in front of him the memory of the two men who'd carried him in fading to the back of his mind.

“Come on, you could do with some patching up too.” Lance caught Keith's shoulder and steered him towards home.

“I'm fine.” Keith sighed, but he leaned into Lance's touch, following him.

“Also, you owe a pretty lady an apology.”

“What?”

“Your neighbour, Allura.”

Keith groaned and gave Lance a light, playful shove. “Seriously? I'm gone for a day, and you're flirting with my neighbour?”

Lance laughed and threw his arm around Keith's shoulder, pulling him towards him. “Nothing like that! It's thanks to her I knew Sendak took you, that's all. And she seemed worried about you.”

And Keith knew he had nothing to worry about. For once he didn't feel angry or jealous when Lance brought up another girl, not when Lance's arm was wrapped around him so tightly it felt like he would never let go.

His beautiful neighbour might not be a problem, but there was still Shiro to consider, and they would go back to him when they'd worked through what they needed to and were worthy of facing him.

But first, they all needed to heal.