Chapter Text
In Jackson’s defense, Bambam panicked just as much as he did (if not more!) when the terrifying axe murderer suddenly lunged at them through the ambient fog.
This is the excuse forming in the back of his mind as he tries to hurry through the haunted house, flinching away from scares and calling increasingly frantically for the little brat who ripped himself away from Jackson’s grasp and bolted.
“You’re the one who wanted to come, Bam!” He scrambles away from a bunch of too-big, too-realistic spiders, shrieking tonelessly when they scuttle after him. “Bambam! Seriously, where are you?”
When the fog intensifies and something moans before thumping heavily to the ground behind him, Jackson reflexively dashes forward despite the complete lack of visibility and hurtles blindly and painfully right into one of the set’s walls.
He screams as it proceeds to unceremoniously give way under his weight, flailing uselessly through the open space behind the fake wall. In the complete darkness afterwards, getting his legs under him again proves to be a struggle until he stumbles headlong into something solid.
Whatever it is grabs him. Jackson screeches at the top of his lungs, struggling in his assailant’s grasp and mentally bemoaning the dumb unwieldy wolf paw hindering his left hand.
“Calm down - hey, I’m not trying to - stop squirming - hey!”
The shout, more than anything, startles him into stiff stillness, heart still beating double-time in his chest.
“Okay. Stay calm,” the voice implores, and the stranger’s composure does actually manage to settle his terribly shot nerves a little. “I’m going to move us so I can get the light.”
He manages to gather his scattered wits enough to reply, even if it's in more of a shaky croak. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm calm, I'm calm, all good here, go for it."
"Alright." The low voice seems slightly entertained by his response. Jackson pouts a little instinctively, even if there's no one to see it.
Hmph. At least this dude is having a good time, I guess.
He finds himself being walked backwards, one of the guy’s cold hands holding his arm in a surprisingly firm grip while the other reaches past his ear (he can’t quite help his instinctual flinch and tiny yelp at the movement) to flick the light switch behind him.
Jackson blinks in the sudden brightness. The presence swiftly moves away and he misses its closeness immediately - it would have been nice to cling to someone after being scared half to death.
Except when his eyes adjust, Jackson gulps, mouth going uncomfortably dry. This time, however, the surge of nerves has nothing to do with his waning terror and everything to do with the gorgeous man in front of him.
This isn’t the first time he’s ever seen the guy, but it’s definitely the first time he’s been in Hot Blond’s actual vicinity - the man seems to like keeping to himself, and even Jackson, who is known for being the city’s premier social butterfly, has only seen him once before (and in passing, to his incredible displeasure).
Up close, he can tell that the man is slightly taller than Jackson himself (ugh) and that he’s actually a bit leaner, but there’s something about him that suggests a casual but supremely attractive strength.
If he’s noticed that Jackson is very blatantly staring, the guy says nothing about it. Instead, he flashes a small but horrifically dazzling smile.
“Hey. Glad you're not freaking out anymore...did you actually break our set?”
Jackson wets his lips nervously, ducking his head in meek contrition. Not the best first impression, even if Hot Blond seems more amused than anything. “Hi, yeah, sorry - really, I'm sorry about that, I've honestly been hoping to meet you, but not like this, I was just - Bambam!”
“Bamb- oh, you’re Jack-Jack?” The guy is obviously barely holding back a laugh, which makes his image soften from handsome and cool to oh-no-he’s-cute. It also reveals what appear to be a pair of wickedly sharp fangs, which, okay. So the guy's dressing up as a low-effort vampire, that's fine.
Jackson is more distracted by the overwhelming relief. “Yes! Yes, I am! Uh, okay, actually my name is Jackson or Jiaer, but that’s what Bammie calls me, please tell me you know where he is?”
“Yeah, I know.” He gestures towards the stairs with a shake of his head. “Come on, he's up there.”
“Thank fu - shit, sorry,” Jackson winces, adjusting his headband and internally whining about having to meet Hot Blond with a silly little wolf tail clipped onto his pants. “Uh, I - I like your teeth, by the way. Super authentic.”
That gets him another flash of said teeth. “Thanks, man. They are.”
“Oh, cool.” Jackson pauses, mentally playing back that answer. “Wait, hold on, wh-?!”
He chokes off his question to break into an alarmed yell when the attractive stranger (the vampire?!) lunges at him with supernatural speed and pushes him back against the nearest wall.
Is this part of the scare? Was I supposed to fall through the wall what is happening holy shit he’s so close wow he's so beautiful wait are those teeth actually real oh my God what do I do he's so strong am I going to die in this shitty excuse of a costume -
It takes a few long moments for Jackson’s mind to stop unhelpfully mimicking the probable thought process of some unfortunate prey caught in the talons of a predator (which, to be fair to his currently blue-screening brain, does seem to be rather apt right now). During that time, the maybe-vampire simply hovers over his neck - and while those fangs are unerringly aimed at their target, Hot Blond’s eyes are watching him intently. Assessing.
Waiting.
They stare at each other, Jackson's heart rabbiting in his chest so hard that he's half-sure the other man can hear it. The guy continues to look up at him in silent question from where he's ducked towards the junction of Jackson's neck and shoulder, those intimidatingly attractive eyes (and, admittedly, the fear) kind of scrambling his overclocking brain.
Jackson, who has never had a good track record with handling the dilemma of having hot people stare at him like he’s dinner (ha!) well, nods dumbly and then manages an incredibly high-pitched squeak at the odd sensation of those sharp teeth sinking into his neck, groaning when the slight pain turns into a strange and unbearable heat. It slowly trickles away from where the vampire is attached to his body and burns - hotter and hotter and hotter, up until his consciousness gives up and fades right out.
Jackson wakes up to a child’s sobbing and the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of lying on that dumb wolf tail.
“Ah, Bammie, don’t worry, don’t worry,” he soothes, lifting a weirdly heavy arm to run his fingers lovingly (if a bit clumsily) through the kid’s hair. “I’m just a little dizzy, I’ll be up in no time, don’t cry.”
“Okay,” the dear little boy nods, sniffling, “that’s what Mark said too, but I didn’t believe him ‘cause you didn’t look very okay.”
“Mark?” Jackson asks, finally struggling into an upright position and squeezing Bambam to him in a proper hug. It speaks volumes that the kid only clings tighter at that.
“He means me.” Jackson’s head shoots up at the sudden voice and he groans in instant regret, hunching over a teary-eyed Bambam.
“Are you okay?” The guy sounds a lot closer, and Jackson internally freaks out a little at how quickly the dude managed to get to the side of the bed.
But whatever he thinks happened earlier can’t have been real, right? He’s been doing longer practice sessions for fencing lately, maybe it was just a very realistic dream after passing out and then inconveniencing Hot Mysterious Blond.
Jackson decides to play dumb. “I’m good, sorry about that. What happened?”
“You passed out about 45 minutes ago and I carried you to my room.” The stranger gives him a nonchalant shrug and a rather disappointing lack of information. Jackson carefully gets up off the bed, holding Bambam to himself protectively even as he wobbles a little. The guy seems to prepare himself to catch them if Jackson does end up falling, and he tries to pretend that the move doesn’t make him swoon (or maybe that’s the exhaustion? Or - no, it’s impossible, but - the blood loss?).
“Really? Da--,” he casts a look at the child staring at him, “darn, thank you, I’m really sorry for all the trouble. Please at least let me pay for the damages to the set? Please. I feel bad.”
“It’s fine,” Mark says, and he seems to mean it, “we were going to make another set next year anyways.”
“Are you sure? We intruded on you guys too…” Jackson trails off, unable to resist looking around as he makes his slow way downstairs. The house is full of simple but classy decor, though a few things in sturdy cabinets look scarily ancient.
"Yeah. Don't worry about it."
He smiles at Mark when he reaches the front door, feeling much safer and more than a little silly about letting his probably-exhaustion-related-dreams color his interactions with Hot Blond.
“I really feel like I should pay you back somehow though. Can I buy you lunch instead or something?”
(That makes Bambam whine and clamor to join. Jackson clicks his tongue, shushing the boy with a promise to take him to McDonald’s tomorrow.)
Mark...smirks. It’s an incredibly hot expression on him, but Jackson's line of sight is drawn to the way the guy’s lips curl up to reveal sharp fangs, and he can’t quite help the way his throat works at the realization that it probably wasn’t a dream after all.
“Thanks, but I already got a meal from you,” the blond says, stupidly casual even as his dark eyes drop meaningfully to Jackson’s neck, which twinges weirdly at the reminder.
Oh. Oh.
Something stirs in his gut and Jackson honestly cannot tell if it is the anxiety of a prey animal (that he apparently is now, thanks a lot, Mark) that knows it’s too close to a lurking predator or the anticipation that comes from suddenly encountering something with a lot of (very sexy) potential.
It doesn’t help that his monkey hindbrain appears to be very seriously torn between “holy shit, this guy is fucking terrifying, let’s run the fuck away” and “holy shit, this guy is so fucking hot, let’s flirt with him and see if we get lucky.”
“Did you? Okay, how about a meal together where I’m actually conscious?”
Well, in Jackson's defense, he’s always been one to take risks.
The part of him that prioritizes self-preservation wails. But since the handsome definitely-a-vampire didn’t kill him earlier, then it’s fine. Probably. Most likely.
Mark raises his eyebrows.
He kind of seems a bit impressed for the first time all night. Despite the situation, Jackson feels a little pride flare through him at the thought of this man’s approval.
“Sure,” the vampire shrugs, “already saved my number in your phone anyways.”
If he weren’t carrying Bambam (and getting progressively more sore because of it), Jackson would have immediately gone for his phone. As it is, he just breaks into a disbelieving laugh. “Did you really? Oh my God.”
His reaction makes Mark laugh as well, and Jackson squeals a little at the cuteness (which only makes the vampire laugh more). He carefully deposits Bambam on the ground, linking their hands before the child can run off again, and grins at Mark one more time.
“I’ll call you,” he promises, tugging gently on Bambam’s hand to get the kid moving. Bambam dutifully keeps pace, finally tearing his longing gaze away from the candy haul in his plastic pumpkin basket.
Unfortunately, the vampire makes a noise of dissent. Jackson readies himself to test how well supernatural creatures of the night (or this one, at least) fare against pouting.
“Text me instead,” Mark elaborates, comfortably slouched against the doorway of his house. Jackson mentally mourns not being able to hear his voice, but he agrees before pulling Bambam towards the front gate, turning one last time to wave the silly wolf paw at the vampire in goodbye and cooing when Bambam follows his example.
As they wander away, Jackson cheerfully listens to Bambam’s animated rambling, the little boy recovering admirably from his earlier fright with the tenacity only children seem to have.
Even as he giggles at the kid’s hilariously exaggerated expressions, however, Jackson finds himself distracted by the thought of meeting Mark again.
And the thought of how hopefully, just hopefully, he’ll get to experience those teeth again in a much more participatory capacity.
“You’re really going to let him go like that?”
“Yeah,” Mark shrugs, sucking on a strawberry lollipop noncommittally, “he’ll come back.”
“Couldn’t you just drain or even thrall him if you like his blood that much,” his brother grumbles, obviously annoyed.
“He’s not going to tell anyone,” Mark says, rolling his eyes in annoyance right back because this same protest has been levied multiple times against his decision to drink from Jackson Wang in a way that wouldn’t basically kill the younger man.
“You don’t know that.” A frustrated sigh.
Mark disagrees. He can’t be quite sure why he knows, but he has complete faith that Jackson is simply too interested to do anything that would...annoy Mark too greatly.
(Because there is not much in this world that can hurt him, and Jackson Wang is frankly incapable of the things that could.)
Besides it being too much of a hassle to vanish such a popular guy, Mark honestly doesn’t know what to make of his own strangely fierce desire to keep that lovable personality intact. While he could absolutely thrall the guy and enjoy that sweet, delicious blood for as long as he wished to, it would mean the unforgivable loss of all that star-bright vivacity Mark has been drawn to ever since they first moved in and, well, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to thrall Jackson anyways.
But Mark says none of that. Instead, he just grins in a way that he knows infuriates his sibling and shrugs, throwing away the lollipop stick before devoting his attention to where his phone has just lit up with a new message from an unfamiliar contact instead.
(They’ll all see soon enough anyways. He’s sure of it.)