Archive of Our Own

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His boots scuff against the street as he meanders down it, leather on unforgiving concrete. It’s a dark night, full of fanged shadows and chilly, whispering breezes yet Ricky isn’t scared. He is the most dangerous thing in the darkness by far. Cats and would-be thieves and things that go bump in the night all slink away from him, quelled by his very aura. 

He relished in the feeling for many hundreds of years, stalking through the grimiest of hidey-holes and laughing at the way even those depraved inhabitants shrank from his fluttering cloak. Now, though, he finds the night a bit— lonely. 

What would it be like, he wonders, to have another at his side? Would he enjoy the company, the chance to point out a shooting star or retell a favorite story of old? 

Zhang Hao thinks so. Zhang Hao keeps telling him to find a pretty, shiny human with warm blood and a candle-fast lifespan. 

He tilts his head up as he walks, mindless of where his feet take him and guided only by the scattered diamond stars above. They are especially bright tonight, almost painfully so, shining at him in brilliant retribution. 

Ricky snaps his slicing teeth at the sky, so close tonight he almost believes he could conquer it, and walks on.

Dead leaves skitter across the pavement, carried along by an autumn breeze, and curl around his ankles for a moment before falling still. That’s how it always is, how it’s always been; the world stills for him, bends to his presence and his might and his flashing red eyes. 

It’s all become so tiresome. 

Ricky desires a new challenge.

He’s lived years and years, centuries falling off his unaging shoulders easily as drops of water, but he’s bored with it all now.

He wants something full-blooded and warm, something enticing in life he can sink his teeth into and drink his fill of that will endear him to existence once again. 

A stray cat yowls at him, too young to be cowed, and he hisses at it playfully. The animal's black tail stands up straight, every hair on its body puffing up as the chill of him reaches out for it. The cat slumps, trembling, and Ricky walks on, uninterested by the animal's easy submission. 

He wants something to fight back. The world gives up so easily to him now, no knights in shining armor or chanting priests amusing him with their antics anymore. He misses the Crusades of old and the terrified villagers massing together with pitchforks and silver crosses and fire; they, at least, were a delightful distraction. 

It had been so fun, jumping out of the shadows and scaring them into an early grave. And the castles of the ancient, bygone age were plentiful and nicely decorated with spiked maces; now all of his favorite haunts have been cleaned and turned into museums full of excitable tourists. 

It simply isn’t fun anymore, Ricky thinks mournfully, and he loses himself a little in reminiscing the past as he wanders. He doesn’t feel the cold night air on his skin or the sharpness of stray pebbles under his boots; his diamond skin has always been impervious to the dangers of the world. 

And the world is so full now, practically teeming with humans and their little cities. It’s something most of his species grudgingly admits has some advantages; meals are plentiful and there’s a wide selection of flavors to choose from. 

But Ricky misses the quiet of long ago, back when it was still possible to find a wild corner of the world untouched by industrialization and busy worker-bee humans with all their aspirations. He finds them so silly, so stupid in the way that they work and work until they keel over dead as if they don’t already have limited lifespans, and yet they applaud themselves in the name of progress. 

Humans are idiots but then again, he shouldn’t expect much from his food. As long as they exist, as long as humans continue to flourish and bare their necks for him, Ricky supposes he can’t be entirely critical of them much as he detests them and their soft, bruisable skin. 

The alley he meanders down narrows, uneven brick walls closing in around him, and the scent of something sweet floats through the night.

Ricky’s nostrils flare as he inhales just once and though it isn’t necessary to breathe, has never been a chore his lungs have had to suffer through, still he pulls air into his chest. 

Grime, decaying trash and scrabbly, bitter weeds, spicy autumn leaves and polluted smoke and— blood. 

Sweet, lovely blood, coppery-rich and full of iron warmth that pools on Ricky’s tongue before he can even taste it. 

He supposes that blood is the thing that has stood the test of time. Blood has always interested him, has always caught his attention and kept him engaged when he would have otherwise faded away into ashes from sheer indifference. 

He has never lost the delight of a mouthful of hot blood, has never learned how to look at a human’s jumping pulse or bared neck and not feel anything. 

Ricky’s fingers twitch at his sides and he turns slowly, searching for the source of the enticing scent. A tiny, cramped alley threads off to his right, the forgotten passage shrouded in inky darkness and danger. 

Glass crunches under his boots as he stalks down the alley, walls so close on either side that decaying stone and graffiti almost dirty his clothes. A squeaking rat runs from him, genetic instincts from millennia of dead ancestors telling it to flee, and Ricky feels his pale mouth curve up. 

He hears the human before he sees it, weak gasps and the choking of a chest filling with blood as lovely as any symphony to his ears. Ricky stares through the muddy gloom, sweet venom pooling on his tongue and sliding down his throat. 

The human is slumped against the filthy side of a building, limbs akimbo in the way that tossed out dolls and broken toys are so familiar with. It’s making pitiful little sounds, whimpering, dark blood coating its neck and running down to blacken its clothing. 

Ricky tilts his head, inspecting the weakened food, and slows his steps only a little at the sight of a dark figure crouched over the human. 

He hadn’t realized another of his kind was eating but then, any other vampire’s presence is so weak in comparison to his own that he hardly has to acknowledge them. Their auras are but a wisp of smoke when compared to his own; irrelevant and unimportant. 

Still, he has all the time in the world and so he stops, sliding his hands into the pocket of his elegant trousers. He can wait a little to determine if perhaps tonight won’t be quite so dull. 

“Please,” the human whimpers, garbled and thick with blood as it chokes to death on its own life source. “Please.”

They never learn that begging does no use. Even if the vampire were to suddenly relinquish its catch, there is nothing to be done about the amount of blood that has been spilled. The human will die either way; it might as well be useful and feed another. 

The dark figure hunched over the human is visibly shaking from hunger, arms braced on the human's shoulders. The vampire's head is bent but for some reason it has yet to lean in and feed, yet to take its prize. 

Ricky tilts his head a little, cool hair slipping against his dead pulse. Why has the vampire not begun to feast? The human smells so delicious, sweeter than anything he’s tasted in years. 

“I’m sorry,” the vampire murmurs, the words choked and ringing with grief. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

The human makes another sound, thick and wet; a death rattle. 

“I’m sorry,” the vampire repeats, higher than time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I’ll fix you. You’ll be fine, you’ll be okay, I’ll fix it I’ll fix it I’ll make it better.” 

The vampire crashes to their— his— knees, hands sliding to press against the steadily spreading wetness on the human's chest. He leans in, hands covered in blood so heavy it’s black, and presses as if he can stop the flow of red. 

Ricky’s lip curls. He dislikes those of his kind who go against their instincts, who attempt to retain a semblance of humanity and silly, useless morals. 

In the end, all that matters is blood. In the end, all that matters is survival. Starve someone long enough and it won’t matter what they eat as long as they continue to exist. 

“I’ll make it better,” the vampire continues to chant, his voice cracked and spiraling high with some sort of emotion. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

Ricky watches the vampire gather blood in his hands, cupping it uselessly as he tries to push it back into the human. The human has stopped making sounds, has stopped moving weakly, has gone— still. 

No faint heartbeat echoes along the alley, nothing but the sound of the sighing breeze and the desperate vampire and Ricky’s own careful steps forward.

“Stop.” 

The vampire jerks, wrenching his head to the side and gazing up at Ricky through overlong black hair. Dark eyes gleam at him, red lips and red-smeared cheeks and so much terror that he almost feels something like sympathy. 

“It’s dead.” Ricky tells the vampire, sliding his eyes to the blood-drenched human for a second. “Eat before it grows cold.”

The vampire shakes his head, blinking desperately, and turns back to the human. He renews his efforts, trying to gather the growing pool of red and shove it back into the human's chest. Blood drips through his fingers and down his wrists, seeps into his knees where he kneels and begins to spread towards Ricky where he stands over both bodies. 

The vampire is still muttering to himself, a frantic string of “no, no, no,” but when he presses his hands too hard against the human's chest in an attempt to stem the flow of red, loud cracks echo down the alley as he breaks the human’s ribs.

Ricky sighs as the kneeling vampire makes a high pitched keening sound and scrambles back, pressing his spine against the opposite building wall and burying his head in his red, wet hands. 

Deciding not to waste the cooling blood, and curious to taste the sweetness he’d smelled, Ricky elegantly sinks to his knees and curls one cold, pale hand around the human's throat. The skin has been messily ripped open, pinkish-red muscle and viscera dangling in a macabre necklace. 

He wrinkles his nose; the vampire must be very young, then, or incredibly hungry to hunt so inelegantly. It is a mark of frivolous youth or an absent sire; both things Ricky dislikes. 

He opens his mouth, stretching and stretching, his jawbone clicking quietly. His fangs are always ready, constantly coated in venom, but the delicious scent of this human's blood has the clear liquid pooling heavily in his mouth and sliding down his throat. 

He inhales to catch the scent again, eyes rolling a little at the lovely copper-iron tang, and leans in. It would be easier to drink from the ripped mess at the pulse point but Ricky slides his fangs in higher up, neat and clean because he isn’t a fledging and never has been. 

The blood is— fine. A little too cool for his taste, but wet and salty-thick, mildly flavorful despite the tang of pollution and low iron. 

Ricky swallows one mouthful and then pulls away from the corpse, his face perfectly clean. He frowns at the human, displeased by its deception, and then turns to the vampire at his back. 

The fledgling is still whimpering into his hands, making horrible dry crying sounds, hunched over his curled up limbs like he needs to protect himself from something. And while Ricky is the most dangerous thing this most vampire will ever encounter, he doesn’t needlessly kill his own kind. 

“What is your name?” 

The vampire ignores him, which hasn’t happened in so many centuries that Ricky almost finds himself…amused. 

Still, he is older and infinitely powerful and he will be recognized by this absolute baby. “Fledgling. Your name.” 

“Gyuvin,” the boy gasps out, spreading his red fingers and peeking out at Ricky. Again he is confronted by those wide, shining eyes and a face even more covered in crimson. 

“Gyuvin. Where is your sire?” 

Gyuvin stares at him, silent, though his shoulders and chest continue to heave in airless sobs. No tears roll down his cheeks for vampires are unable to cry but the blood suffices; it looks as if he is crying red. 

“Sire?”

Ricky almost gives up. He very much does not have the energy for this fledgling, nor does he care. What is it to him if this young vampire goes on a rampage and kills hundreds of humans? What is it to him if his kind has forgotten the old ways and no longer cares for their own? 

But the blood, that sweet scent of blood that had drawn him down this alley…

“Why did you not feed?” Ricky asks and he tries to gentle his voice, tries to make himself less of a dead thing for this trembling, quivering infant. “Are you not hungry?” 

“I,” Gyuvin whispers and somehow he looks more terrified than ever. “I killed her.” 

“Yes,” Ricky agrees calmly, “you did. But you waste her life all the more by refusing to feed.” 

“I killed her,” Gyuvin repeats, a little louder. His eyes are enormous in his cream-and-red face, scarlet lips wobbling. Ricky can see the tips of his tiny, gleaming fangs; they’re adorable. “I killed her. I’m a murderer, oh my god, I killed her.” 

“You are hungry,” Ricky tells him, wishing he had walked away without involving himself. “You are a vampire. Death is our constant companion.” 

“I’m a murderer,” Gyuvin says to Ricky, tilting his pale face up a little. Slowly his dripping hands slip from his face, leaving prints on his surprisingly round cheeks and sloping nose.

He’s quite cute, actually, with his big big eyes and tiny fangs peeking between his lips each time he speaks. “I’m a murderer.” 

“You are hungry,” Ricky tells him again, sighing. He inhales curiously; the sweet scent of blood is still there, a thousand times stronger and so delicious his tongue curls in his mouth. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Gyuvin asks him, clenching his hands around his bent knees as he looks up at Ricky. “Because I killed her?” 

“No,” Ricky says softly, almost amused once more. Have the centuries of isolation finally addled his brains? “I will not harm you.” 

“Oh,” Gyuvin says a little too quietly, almost as if he’s disappointed. “Okay.” 

“Fledgling,” Ricky calls, leaning in. He can feel the sharp points of Gyuvin’s knees against his chest, the way the younger vampire doesn’t even flinch away from him or his frigid aura. How peculiar. “You must eat.” 

“Okay,” Gyuvin whispers again, his shiny eyes blank. The wet redness on his cheeks and chin and mouth is slowly drying, coagulating into fanciful shapes. 

Ricky does not understand his own actions but he reaches out and slides his cold hand around the back of Gyuvin’s neck, gentle. 

Gently he leans a little bit forward and gently, slowly, he angles his own head, baring the column of his neck and the vulnerable skin of his throat. Where a pulse should pound a frantic tempo there is only stillness, as there has always been, but he has blood in his veins. 

It is a sluggish, dark, fermented thing but it is his, now, taken from humans, and he will share it with this fledgling. Ricky has not done this in thousands of years, has only bared his neck to others a handful of times and always it was to Zhang Hao or another ancient friend as a last, desperate measure.

He has never sired his own fledgling and so he jolts a little at the feel of Gyuvin’s lips against his throat, the way the boy snuffles wetly like a true baby seeking out milk. 

“Bite,” Ricky murmurs, pressing Gyuvin’s face more firmly against his throat. He can feel cool hair brushing against him, sticky blood transferred to his own skin, little panting breaths as the fledgling decides whether or not he truly desires to live. 

A delicate hand comes up to lay against his back, so light Ricky barely feels it, but still it is the first touch he has received in…years. He can’t understand; is this fledgling so delirious with hunger that he isn’t registering the frigid, draining fright of Ricky’s presence? 

“Feed,” he murmurs, nudging the fledgling against his throat. He dislikes this position, this vulnerability, but the tiny noises the boy is making and the increasingly heavy scent of sweet blood seem to have clouded his judgment slightly. “You must eat.”

Tiny, dull fangs scrabble against his throat for a moment as the baby opens his mouth and struggles. Ricky feels wetness gloss across his skin as the fledgling licks him and Gyuvin makes a low sound, soft, almost apologetic. 

Tentatively he nips Ricky’s throat, as small and painless as the sting of a kittens claws. When Ricky doesn’t pull away, only tilts his head half an inch more, the baby grows braver. He bites again, a little harder, almost enough to break the pale skin. 

“Very good,” Ricky praises as he slides his hand up the nape of Gyuvin’s neck and into his cool, silky hair. He cups the baby’s skull and pulls him against his throat, urging him on. “Bite harder.” 

Gyuvin makes a final whimpering, keening sound and at last, at last, fully unhinges his jaw and sinks his baby fangs into Ricky’s throat.

It is barely painful, barely felt at all; the older vampire focuses more on the sucking sensation at his neck and the way the baby laves his tongue over the bite every few mouthfuls, as if in apology. 

They sit curved together, Gyuvin’s head supported by Ricky as the fledgling slowly drinks his fill. The older vampire’s blood is much richer than anything gleaned from a human, heavy with time and concentrated iron, and so the baby will fill up quickly. 

It is— strange, to be touched like this. Ricky is unfamiliar with the sensation of closeness, with the feeling of another body wrapped around his. He is not sure he dislikes it. 

“Enough,” he murmurs when the boy begins to grow heavy against him, his hands slack on Ricky’s back and his lips pressed to the older vampire’s throat instead of actively sucking. The baby will need to learn restrain but first he must sleep, must be cleaned and given time to adjust to this new un-life. “Enough, fledgling.” 

Gyuvin makes an odd, soft sound and closes his mouth, his little fangs withdrawing easily from Ricky’s skin. Instinctively the fledgling licks over the puncture marks, sealing them with his venom, and Ricky hums in approval.

Perhaps not all is lost with this very young one’s future. 

The fledgling turns his head, laying his cheek against Ricky’s collarbone, and settles down as if to sleep right here. Perhaps he has forgotten, well fed and cradled in the safety of Ricky’s cold arms, that they sit in a dirty alley only inches away from a ripped up, cooling body. 

Ricky sighs without sound, about to chastise the fledgling and push him away so that he can depart, but the boy speaks.

“Thank you,” Gyuvin whispers against his throat, quiet as a mouse. “I’m…full.” 

Ricky softens, though he does not know why. He tilts his head down, brushes his nose against the curve of the fledglings cheek, inhaling sweet sweet blood. 

“You are welcome,” he murmurs against the young skin that will never age, will never flush red again or be touched by the sun. He wonders if the little vampire will ever understand what an honor Ricky has bestowed upon him by sharing his blood, and then decides it unlikely. 

He shifts the baby in his arms just a little, tightening his grip on the limp, heavy boy and then stands in one fluid movement. Gyuvin murmurs against his throat but settles when Ricky strokes his hair, running a soothing palm down the baby’s spine. 

Ricky does not look back as he strides down the alley towards the larger street and the world behind, shadows nipping at his heels. He thinks only of the fledgling in his arms and the tantalizing blood he cannot find, thinks only of soft cotton sheets and warm baths and large, sparkling eyes. 

Mist and shadows creep across the small alley after the two vampires depart, only the lingering echo of Ricky’s footsteps and a cold, wet corpse left behind.

_____

Ricky settles Gyuvin into the enormous, palatial bed of his apartment, turning on a lamp to study the boy in the golden glow of light. He’s a very pretty thing, young and smooth and pretty-pale all over, even beneath all the blood and dressed in shapeless human clothing. 

Gyuvin stirs a little as he’s placed onto the mattress, crimson hands reaching out for Ricky even as the vampire moves away. Ricky does not allow the sight to stir anything in him; he turns away, shuts himself in the shower until any traces of grime or gore are gone from his pale skin. 

As he dresses in an inky blouse embroidered with tiny golden flowers and slim, soft trousers, he calls Zhang Hao. He has never had a fledgling before, never sired, and though Gyuvin does not quite belong to him in that way Ricky feels— unprepared. 

Zhang Hao answers the phone mid-laugh, the chatter and bustle of a city vibrant even through the phone. 

“Hyung,” Ricky murmurs, staring at the empty mirror in front of him. 

“Ricky-yah, how are you?” Zhang Hao coos, saccharine sweet and lilting as any angel. He’s the least vampire of any of their kind, able to blend and mix with humans and their flushed, beating hearts in a way Ricky has never understood. 

“Fine,” he says, because he is always fine and he is always unchanging. Ricky is a marble pillar, a mountain, an ocean that is cold and deep and full of shadowed currents that take eons to shift. 

“Fine?” Zhang Hao repeats and it sounds like a shower of golden coins when he laughs, happy and bright. “Ricky-yah, tell me something new! Have you conquered a kingdom? Bought a palace? Found a cute little human yet?” 

“Hyung,” Ricky sighs, closing his eyes. He allows himself to press a finger to his temple, a solitary sign of annoyance. “You are exhausting.” 

“Hmm,” Zhang Hao says and he sounds as if he is on the verge of laughter again. Through the phone Ricky can hear gulls crying, waves lapping on a beach, the hiss of bubbling champagne being poured. “It must be serious if you felt the need to interrupt my honeymoon.” 

Ricky presses a second finger against his temple, considers sighing just to be dramatic, and then barely constrains himself.

Zhang Hao has been luxuriating in his honeymoon with his little human, Hanbin, for many years now. Every so often the two of them will return to Korea and shower Ricky in stories and photos and strange little trinkets that caught Zhang Hao’s fancy. 

And, because Zhang Hao is his oldest friend in the world, and perhaps his only, Ricky plays along. He pretends as if it is perfectly fine for a human and a vampire to play house together, pretends as if he does not want to lean across the dinner table and rip Hanbin’s beating pulse out.

He pretends as if there are no new lines at the corner of the human's eyes, pretends and pretends so hard that he almost makes himself believe he could want what they have sometimes. 

They stay a few weeks or a few months or occasionally a few days, Hanbin and Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao and Hanbin, the vampire and the human who claim to be in love. 

Ricky doesn’t think it’s possible. He can’t imagine a human would ever look at a sheep or a cow and fall in love with it, want to marry it and sleep beside it, so how can Zhang Hao claim that feeling? That four letter word that is so elusive? 

But Ricky is a good friend and he is patient and so he lets them into his apartment and listens to their stories and stares at the tropical photos with glazed eyes. He waves goodbye to them when they leave and he calls Zhang Hao, very rarely, and listens to him gush about whichever corner of the world they’ve chosen to vacation in. 

Hyung, he thinks about saying, your honeymoon is lasting years and years. Do you not think it time to come home? Time to return to being a vampire? 

Or, he could say; hyung, don’t you know he will die soon? What is the point of spending time with him when he will only leave you? 

But Ricky doesn’t say those things. He is a good friend and he is tired and he does not want another century of silence from Zhang Hao like their last fight. 

“Hyung,” he says instead, “I need…help.” 

He can feel Zhang Hao’s shock and worry through the phone, can practically see the other vampire sit up straight and push away all traces of laughter. He hears Hanbin murmur a question, the human’s voice warm and concerned. 

“We’ll take the first flight in the morning,” Zhang Hao says, clipped and very fast. “We can be there in about twelve hours. Will you make it?” 

“Ah, hyung,” Ricky says and he feels maybe a little endeared. “I really am fine. I found a fledgling.” 

Zhang Hao heaves an enormous sigh and says several very rude, very ancient curses down the phone to Ricky in their native, incredibly old dialect. 

And perhaps those insults are warranted, because the last time Ricky asked Zhang Hao for help the Northern and Southern Xiongnu tribes were attacking his empire and he hadn’t fed in months. 

“Ricky-yah, you idiot,” Zhang Hao says and he sounds warm as sunlight and still a tiny bit worried. In the background Hanbin laughs and asks what the blonde vampire has done this time. “It’s a fledgling, not a bomb. Just— feed it. Talk to it. Try to teach it how to be a person.” 

“Yes, hyung,” Ricky drawls, deciding this has been entirely useless. “That’s such wonderful advice, thank you.” 

“Ah, Ricky-yah, you’re very welcome,” Zhang Hao says happily. “But please don’t bother to call for the next few years— Hanbinnie and I have decided to go backpacking in Indonesia.” 

Hyung, Ricky thinks about saying, you hate nature . But he doesn’t and he accepts the kisses Zhang Hao blows into the phone and he even tells the other vampire to give Hanbin his kind regards. 

The phone call was an exercise in restraint and when Ricky finally hangs up and is blessed with silence, all he wants to do is rest. He returns to his bedroom, draped in pre-dawn shadows, and closes the layers of heavy blinds  until it is as dark as midnight. 

Exhausted despite his inability to ever sleep, Ricky climbs into the massive bed beside the fledgling and crosses his arms over his chest, readying to deep his mind into a meditative state. 

No sound or breathe of air moves the room, the apartment seemingly still and empty despite the two figures on the bed.

Gyuvin has curled himself up into a tiny ball, bloody cheek pressed against a once-white pillow and crimson hands tucked under his chin.

He’s very cute and very small and something about his slimness in his baggy human clothes makes Ricky wonder why he never sired his own fledgling. 

_____

Gyuvin does not stir until well into the afternoon and he wakes from his blood-trance loudly, in a way that instantly demands Ricky’s attention. 

The fledgling rolls about, leaving flakes of dried blood all over the sheets, and stretches his arms up before he even opens his eyes. His red lips, still stained, stretch wide in a yawn so that Ricky catches a glimpse of tiny white fangs and soft, pink tongue. 

Gyuvin grumbles as he sits up in the bed, legs sprawled out in a wide V, and his hair is so rumpled and his mouth so pouty that Ricky has to press his lips together to force down a smile. 

He must be going soft in his old age. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs, leaning back in the wide leather armchair he favors and closing his book. “How…”

And then Ricky trails off because Gyuvin has started screaming, his shiny eyes incredibly wide, and doesn’t seem inclined to stop. At first he thinks he is the cause, his pale skin and crimson eyes and spiderwebbing veins startling in the light, but Gyuvin has raised his bloody hands before his face and is gazing at them, horrified. 

“Ah,” Ricky says to himself over the screaming, rising from his chair. “I did forget to clean you. My apologies.”

Apologizing— another first. Hmm. Perhaps he will need to call Zhang Hao again and consult him on the possible cause of this madness. 

He sweeps Gyuvin up in his arms, holding the baby against his chest without worrying about the dried, flaking blood or the assault on his senses, and enters the enormous white bathroom. The tub, which is more a small swimming pool, fills quickly and Ricky even makes the concession of adding bubble bath.

Gyuvin stops shrieking when Ricky lowers him into the water but he refuses to let go of the older vampire, clutching at his arms in a death grip.

It would be easy to break free, incredibly so, and yet… and yet there is something in Gyuvin’s shiny eyes that has Ricky sinking down beside the edge of the tub and murmuring, softly, “I’m here.” 

It takes a long while before Gyuvin moves even an inch, his whole body frozen in the steaming, bubbly water that smells of jasmine. Blood and grime float around him in concentric circles, the dirt of his life before Ricky rescued him slowly seeping away, but he needs to properly cleanse himself of the ordeal. 

Ricky makes a humming sound low in his chest as he slowly extracts one of his hands from Gyuvin’s tight grasp, cupping hot water in his palm and bringing it to the fledgling’s face. Gently, as if he is touching a flower, he trickles water over Gyuvin’s reddish-brown cheek in an attempt to wash away the blood. 

At last the fledgling seems to come back to himself, the water awakening him. He turns his cheek into Ricky’s palm, soft skin and sticky-dry blood, and looks at him through his shaggy hair. 

“Who are you?” 

“You may call me sire,” Ricky murmurs and perhaps he’s been in denial to himself since he walked down that alley and heard the baby apologizing to a dying human, but deep inside he thinks he always knew this was going to happen. “My name is unimportant.” 

“But you know my name,” Gyuvin whispers, a little pouty. He catches Ricky’s raised brows, though, and instantly quells, tacking on, “sire.”

“Well done,” Ricky praises and he can’t help the way he purrs the words, satisfied. He cups more water in his palm and brings it to Gyuvin’s cheek again, scrubbing lightly at the dried blood. “Would you like to ask me any other questions?” 

Gyuvin thinks for a moment, his shoulders slowly dropping as Ricky continues to gently clean him. “Where are we?” 

“My home,” Ricky responds, pleased when the last bits of blood fall away and Gyuvin’s round, pale cheek is revealed. He likes pretty things to be dressed in blood and gore usually but somehow this baby, this fledgling, seems to fit iridescent bubbles and warm light better. 

“And you’re… you’re like me? Right?” 

Ricky bares his teeth and it isn’t quite a smile, more of a snarling thing, but Gyuvin only looks at his long white fangs with open curiosity. Slowly, mesmerized, the fledgling raises a dripping hand from the water and reaches forward as if to touch Ricky’s fangs. 

He hisses at the boy in warning and Gyuvin gives a little shriek, splashing his pinkish hands back into the water. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, bowing his head. 

“Do not touch what does not belong to you,” Ricky admonishes even as deep, deep inside his immovable chest he feels amused. Gyuvin’s other cheek is now free of blood, as is his chin, and he’s starting to look like a true young one instead of a monster of the night.

“But,” Gyuvin says, frowning a little. He shakes his hair out of his face and looks at Ricky with his shiny, glittering eyes. “But you’re my sire— so do you belong to me? Or is it the other way around. Do I belong to you?” 

Ricky hums, a tiny bit impressed.

“Both,” he says to the fledgling, swiping his wet thumbs over the tops of Gyuvin’s cheekbones even though the skin there is already clean. 

“You belong to me and I belong to you. That is how sires and fledglings are.” 

“But you didn’t make me like this,” Gyuvin says and he sounds sad, a little scared. “You didn’t make me a monster.” 

“You are not a monster,” Ricky admonishes, pressing his hands a bit too tight against Gyuvin’s cheeks until the boy looks at him. He can feel the intensity of his own gaze, the cold rasp of his voice. “You are a survivor.” 

“I killed her,” Gyuvin argues, barely pushing the words out. His eyes are wide and wet, glossed with impossible tears. “I killed her. I’m, I’m a killer. I’m a murderer.” 

“You are a baby,” Ricky tells him, cupping more water in his hands and pouring it over Gyuvin’s head. The boy doesn’t even splutter. “And you were hungry. You did what you needed to in order to ensure your own survival.”

Gyuvin goes quiet, as if he has never considered this before. To Ricky it makes perfect sense; one life for another.

It is perhaps regrettable that it is always the humans who lose and the vampires who win more time, but that is the way of things. Sharks do not apologize for hunting and devouring their prey and neither should Gyuvin. 

He washes the fledgling carefully, running his fingertips through dark hair and dislodging more blood than he thought was possible; he doesn’t even know how it got there. The water around Gyuvin gradually turns pink despite the size of the tub and the scent of jasmine bubbles takes on a coppery tang. 

At last he decides the fledgling is clean enough for now and so he reaches down into the water, uncaring that he is soaked through in an instant, and lifts the boy out. Gyuvin, who seems to have slipped into a sleepy trance as Ricky carefully washed him, clings onto him immediately. 

“I’m here,” Ricky finds himself whispering and he isn’t sure who the words are for, though of course he is comforting the fledgling and not himself. Of course. “You are not alone.” 

“Sire,” Gyuvin whimpers against his neck, sad and high pitched in a way that makes Ricky want to attack whatever has disturbed his— this baby. “Sire, I’m hungry again.” 

Ricky smiles against the crown of Gyuvin’s dripping wet head, pleased. Already the boy seems to be breaking away from the trauma of last night’s initial attempt at feeding. 

“I know,” he soothes, carrying Gyuvin back into the bedroom and setting him down on the bed. He wraps a fluffy towel around the boy and is back in the blink of an eye with fresh clothes. “I won’t let you go hungry, fledgling. You will never know that feeling again.” 

Gyuvin stares up at him with those enormous, shiny eyes as Ricky carefully undresses him and dries his pale, shining skin. The boy is truly coltish, fine boned and almost gangly— he must not have lived out very many of his human years. 

Ricky, despite the thousands of human lives he has ended decades early, dislikes the thought. Gyuvin was clearly turned against his will, has had this life and this undead body forced upon him, and Ricky will rip apart the one who did it when he finds them. 

He will avenge the fledgling even if it takes him years to find his— the baby’s original sire. 

Ricky dresses Gyuvin in a cashmere sweater, fluffy and warm, and sweatpants as soft as a cloud. He drops to his knees to pull cozy socks over the boy’s feet and even though vampires cannot feel temperature, can never suffer from cold or heat, he hopes Gyuvin is warm. 

He dries Gyuvin’s hair last of all, curving over Gyuvin as the fledgling sits on the edge of the mattress and obediently tilts his face up. His sparkly, wide eyes are so trusting as he looks at Ricky, his round cheeks and pretty mouth and sweet, sweet scent of blood and jasmine. 

“Almost finished,” Ricky murmurs as he carefully rubs the towel over Gyuvin’s head, the fledgling puppy-like as he leans into it.

He can’t imagine it truly feels that enjoyable but Gyuvin is almost…smiling, something going on with his eyes that make them truly gleam like diamonds. 

It’s a little unbearable. Ricky turns away quickly, casting the damp towel aside, reminding himself that he is ancient and powerful and fearsome.

He has conquered empires and ripped out the throats of kings and walked into the darkest, deepest places on earth. 

He is a vampire, an important being, a king among kings and he will not be felled by some baby with sparkly eyes and a cute nose. 

“Thank you, sire,” Gyuvin chirps when he turns back around and Ricky— is lost. 

He settles at the head of the bed, sitting up against the blood-speckled pillows without a care, and beckons for Gyuvin. The speed with which the fledgling crawls into his lap and perches on Ricky’s thighs, as if he belongs there, conquers his heart all the more. 

“Right here, baby,” Ricky murmurs, wrapping his cold hands around Gyuvin’s hips to steady him. He tilts his head to the side, deliberately slow because the action makes him uncomfortable, baring his throat and frozen pulse and the place where Gyuvin bit him the night before. “You remember how?” 

Gyuvin, his chest rising and falling in airless breaths, nods. His gleaming eyes are trained on Ricky’s throat, red lips parted.

He is practically salivating and it’s so cute that Ricky scrunches his nose to stamp down a smile. 

“Feed, fledgling,” Ricky commands in a whisper, truly relaxing against the pillows. “Take your fill.” 

With a gasping sound Gyuvin surges forward, his nose and lips bumping clumsily against Ricky’s skin. The older vampire breathes a silent laugh, steadying the baby, but then stills when Gyuvin’s hands tentatively reach up to rest on his shoulders. 

He has—  not been touched like this in centuries. The weight is light, atop his shirt, and still Ricky is… very aware. Aware of the scant layers of clothing between them, aware that he is not alone in his apartment.

Gyuvin scrapes his teeth over Ricky’s skin a few times, as if to refamiliarize himself with the elder vampire’s scent, and then sinks his fangs in with a hiss.

It is better, this time. He strikes more quickly, closer to a snake, and there is no hesitation in Gyuvin as he starts to draw mouthfuls of Ricky’s rich, dark blood into his own body. 

“Good, baby,” Ricky breathes, closing his eyes and tilting his head a bit more to make everything easier.

He does not want to scare his fledgling away, not during this vital moment. He wants Gyuvin to associate feeding and satiated hunger only with good memories, only with softness and praise. “You’re doing very well.” 

Gyuvin hums and inches closer, his chest pressed right up against Ricky’s. If they were human, their hearts would be beating together. If they were human, Ricky might be blushing. 

Sharing blood between vampires is not done lightly and even between sires and fledglings it is uncommon.

Feeding from another vampire is done in a relationship or, occasionally, as a sign of dominance to drain an enemy dry and condemn them to the most slow and painful of deaths. 

Ricky knows very well that each time he allows Gyuvin to feed from him, a bond will grow and strengthen between them. There will be a connection there as long as his borrowed blood rests inside Gyuvin. 

He does not mind. He thinks it would not be such a terrible thing to be tied to this shiny-eyed boy, to be his protector and caretaker and sustenance. 

Perhaps Gyuvin will never have to taste another human. Perhaps Ricky can simply feed him always, can provide everything in this second life that the fledgling needs; it does not sound so terrible, does not seem to be such a burden when this boy is the one he will sustain. 

Gyuvin licks over his throat in between swallowing mouthfuls of blood, not a single drop wasted. Ricky likes that he isn’t a messy eater; the baby is already learning manners. 

They fall into a peaceful haze, Gyuvin gradually slowing down as he fills once again with Ricky’s blood, his whole body slumped on the blonde vampire’s chest. His hands are limp on Ricky’s shoulders, fingers loosely curled in the elders shirt, crumpling the delicate silk. Ricky does not mind. 

“Have you had your fill, fledgling?” 

Gyuvin nods silently against Ricky’s throat and chin, his damp hair turning fluffy as it dries. 

“Be a good baby and close the wound.” 

Obediently Gyuvin slides his fangs from Ricky’s throat, reddened lips and crimson tongue darting out to lick over the puncture marks. He laves over the pale skin a little longer than necessary, truly like a teething baby, then surprises the elder by placing a tiny, lightning fast kiss on his neck. 

“Thank you, sire,” Gyuvin murmurs, leaning away. His head is ducked, like he’s shy, and it’s so adorable. Ricky wishes he could have seen him as a human, flushed pink and with a  pounding heart. 

“You are welcome,” he replies because he’s proud of his baby for having such nice manners and because that lightning fast kiss is still sparking electricity over his skin. “Are you tired?” 

Gyuvin nods a little, his fingers still twisted into Ricky’s shirt. His dark hair flops over his face, hiding his expression; Ricky finds this displeases him. 

“Fledgling,” he croons, pressing his thumbs into the base of Gyuvin’s spine. “Look at me.” 

Gyuvin jerks his head up, shiny eyes and cute nose and red, red mouth. Somehow he smells better than ever, the sweetness of him intensifying; Ricky feels venom pool in his own mouth, completely on accident. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin whispers, fidgeting a little atop Ricky’s thighs. “Are— are you going to drink my blood now?” 

Ricky blinks, even though it’s unnecessary, and  decides he will torture the boy’s sire before ripping them apart because clearly they taught the little one nothing.

“No,” he murmurs very softly, trying to comfort. “I will not.” 

Gyuvin, though, seems displeased. “But,” he says, tugging a little at Ricky’s shirt, “but why not? Aren’t you hungry too?” 

Ricky laughs. It is a grinding, cold, raspy thing but still it is a miracle because it has been decades since he was last stirred by amusement. 

“Gyuvin-ah,” he murmurs and, ah, he sounds fond. How mortifying. “I am ancient, and very strong. You are sweet to worry for me but I am not so weak as to be drained if you take a few mouthfuls.” 

Gyuvin frowns even harder, cute nose scrunching up and his smooth cheeks puffing out. “But I want you to,” he argues and he sounds insistent, upset. “I want you to drink my blood, sire. Please?” 

Ricky does not understand. Is this what having a fledgling is? Is it this bright thing in his chest, this invasion of space, this endearment with everything the baby says and does? 

Perhaps he is not prepared for this. Perhaps he needs to call Zhang Hao home from his honeymoon. 

“I,” Ricky says and then lapses into silence, considering. He could take just a little. He had not lied to Gyuvin; he is infinitely strong and the sharing of his blood has not weakened him. 

And he could taste the fledgling’s blood. He could cement the bond between them, could tie them together in the way sires and fledglings are meant to be linked. 

“Please?” Gyuvin repeats, shrill and whiny. Perhaps he is not such a good, obedient little one after all. Ricky likes the thought very much. 

“A little,” he agrees and Gyuvin beams at him, tiny fangs and regular teeth flashing in the light. He’s smiling as if Ricky has granted all his dreams simply by agreeing to taste his blood; this boy is ridiculous and Ricky adores him. 

“How should I do it, sire?” Gyuvin asks excitedly, bouncing a little on the elder’s thighs. “Do you want my neck?” 

Before Ricky can answer Gyuvin cracks his head to the side, exposing his pale throat and delicate collarbone and the still, soft place where his pulse has gone silent. It is an incredibly vulnerable position and yet Gyuvin does it with such ease, gives himself to Ricky as if he is not at all scared of him. 

Is that what trust is? This fragile, glass-winged thing beating in his chest and under his jaw in an imitation of something he has never tasted? 

Ricky hisses just a little as he leans in, careful and slow, giving Gyuvin all the time in the world to change his mind. He does not know what to do with his hands, does not know how to hold himself when he is the one taking instead of giving. 

Somehow it is a thousand times more vulnerable to be the one placing his mouth on Gyuvin’s skin; he is unguarded, unshielded, defenseless in the bright face of this lovely, young thing. 

Ricky can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to the fledgling’s skin, returning the kiss from earlier. It feels only right, to leave him with lingering affection before the pain. 

Gyuvin, terribly, giggles. “Sire,” he huffs, his hands sliding around Ricky’s back and holding him as if he is not terrifying? “Sire, that tickles. Just bite me.” 

Ricky, unwinding his sanity, presses another kiss to Gyuvin’s throat, a little higher. A bit more dangerous. 

The boy trembles under him and Ricky experiences a second of horror-pleasure in which he thinks the young one has finally, finally realized he should be terrified with Ricky’s pale mouth so close to his jugular. 

Gyuvin is laughing, light and breathy.

Gyuvin is curling into Ricky, pressing his fingertips harder into Ricky’s shoulder blades. Gyuvin is peeking at him and inviting him in with a coy little smile.

“C’mon, sire,” he teases sweetly, “bite me. It’s not that hard— I did it.” 

This little one is delightful. Ricky purrs against his throat, licking lightly, enjoying the way Gyuvin shakes with laughter in his arms and yet still leans closer, still leans into him as if for comfort despite the fangs hovering against his skin. 

“My fledgling,” he murmurs against the pale, soft skin, his lips brushing Gyuvin’s frozen pulse. “So brave with your little fangs.” 

He sinks his fangs into Gyuvin’s skin quickly, wanting to minimize any pain. The boy gasps against his shoulder and then slumps, still and soft, his laughter transformed to tiny, breathless sounds. 

Ricky has only a moment to smile against Gyuvin’s throat, his hands gentle where they cradle the little one against him, and then he tastes his blood. His blood. 

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, almost floral, like what he imagines sunshine or starlight or pollen would be on his tongue. 

That’s what he smelled, the night before. It wasn’t the human’s seeping, weak blood that drew him down the tiny alley— it was Gyuvin. This fledgling, this baby with his tiny fangs and innocence, has the most delicious, enticing blood. 

Ricky wants to eat him up. Ricky wants to drink and drink, not because he’s hungry but just to keep that sweetness on his tongue. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin sighs, tiny and baby-soft. His fingers, barely cool, scrabble against Ricky’s shirt. “Feels… feels good.” 

The soporific effects of blood sharing are much stronger for the fledgling, Ricky’s blood filling the baby with heavy richness, but having that blood taken back probably feels lovely for Gyuvin. It’s a pleasurable thing, being bitten, especially because Ricky’s venom is very powerful and he’s being very, very attentive to Gyuvin. 

He forces himself away from Gyuvin’s throat, away from the blood that is his own and yet not because it is a thousand, a million times sweeter. Ricky’s head spins a little, something thrumming at his temples, and he withdraws only a little because he cannot bear to let the fledgling go. 

Carefully he licks over the twin puncture marks, dark and a little wet, and carefully he ensures they are sealed with venom. He peppers kisses around the slightly paler skin, thanking the little one with words he does not know how to say. 

“Sire?” Gyuvin murmurs when Ricky shifts them, laying them both down upon the wide mattress but keeping their bodies curled together.

The little one will stay in his arms, now and forevermore. Ricky will allow nothing else. “Are you already finished?” 

“Your blood is so sweet, baby,” Ricky breathes, pressing the fledgling’s sleepy face against his collarbones. He curls around Gyuvin as if he can shield him always, can heal any hurts he suffered before they united. “I only needed a taste.” 

Gyuvin hums, a sleepy pleased sound. He is entirely relaxed in Ricky’s grasp, as he has been since the moment they met; the elder vampire’s looming, icy presence seems not to phase him one bit. 

This fledgling is a miracle, Ricky reflects, drawing Gyuvin closer. He inhales sweet copper and jasmine and something like burning paper, ashy and bright. 

“You taste good too,” Gyuvin confesses, his words slurred. Clearly he is tired from feeding and being fed from, his young body probably bowing under the weight of a new sire bond and all the changes he has been through. “Like… kindof like strawberries.” 

Ricky laughs into Gyuvin’s dark, fluffy hair for the second time in a millennia. He does not quite remember how to smile but the upward curve of his lips is easy with this precious, sweet little darling in his arms. 

Gyuvin sleeps peacefully in Ricky’s frigid embrace, the ancient vampire's chest his pillow and a pair of dark, crimson eyes watching over him. He is in the safest place in all the world; at his sire’s side.

_____

“Sire,” Gyuvin asks a few days or evenings later, his round eyes shiny-bright where he sits on the thick rug at Ricky’s feet.

He is a lovely thing, obedient yet playful when the mood strikes him, and there’s a gleam in his eyes now that warns of impertinence. Ricky sets his thick book aside, hiding his smile in the curve of his shoulder. 

“Fledgling.” 

Gyuvin makes a face at him, happy-annoyed, and leans in, propping his sharp chin on Ricky’s knee. The vampire inhales needlessly and slides his hands into the baby’s soft hair, massaging his scalp in the way he likes. 

“How old are you?” 

Ricky is unable to hide his smile in time. He likes the way Gyuvin asks him questions at all hours of the day, some quite normal and some completely strange to him. He cannot always work out the twisted thoughts of the baby’s mind and that is why he answers every call of his title, flies instantly to attend to his little one’s needs whatever they may be. 

“Quite old,” Ricky says at last, thinking back on the centuries and centuries of his existence. “Older than you, by far.” 

His earliest memories disappear into darkness and blurred shapes, vague hunger and a yearning for light he has never quite been able to shake. 

Gyuvin huffs at him; already Ricky has discovered the baby does not like to be reminded of his youth, of his newness to the world and to this undead existence. 

“And how old were you,” Ricky asks conversationally as he strokes silky hair behind one of Gyuvin’s round ears. “When you were turned?” 

He wants to know more about the little one’s original sire. He wants a name or a face or even a location, anything that will allow him to exact the revenge this darling boy deserves. And yet at the same time he must tread very carefully, must be gentle with Gyuvin because the fledgling is only just beginning to recover. 

“Eighteen,” Gyuvin says, tilting his head so that his cheek lays against Ricky’s knee. His brown-black eyes are sincere but there’s a tiny wrinkle between his brows; Ricky smoothes it away with a swipe of his finger. “But it was only a few days after my birthday, I think. I can’t remember it that well.” 

Ricky hums, looking down at Gyuvin steadily. If he had a heart, it would be beating and beating for the confusion in the baby’s voice. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin says and his voice is lighter, almost cheeky. “Do you like being a vampire?” 

Ricky cannot help himself. He reaches down, wrapping his hands around Gyuvin where they belong, and draws the fledgling into his lap. The boy goes willingly, almost eagerly, as if he was just waiting to be held. 

Gyuvin nestles in his arms, fitting his head against Ricky’s shoulder and his folded up legs over the elder’s thighs. He fits perfectly in Ricky’s cold embrace, made to be there; Ricky can hardly remember his un-existence before this fledgling entered his endless nights. 

“I have never known anything else,” Ricky tells Gyuvin quietly, stroking the boy’s bumpy spine. His free arm winds over Gyuvin’s waist, holding the baby tight against his chest.

There is no chance of escape, no possibility of letting go. They are entwined, now and always. “But I like some things very much.” 

He does not want to scare his fledgling. He does not want to speak of the endless, dreary march of time or the constant change that cannot be halted. He does not wish to mention the loneliness, or the dark so shadowed it burns his eyes, or the days in which vampires were hunted and torn apart. 

Ricky wants Gyuvin to be sparkly-eyed and smiling, always. He will not speak of those trifling pains of the past because his baby will never experience them; Ricky will make sure of it. 

“Really?” Gyuvin asks, clearly curious. “Like what? Will you tell me?” 

Ricky adores him. His sweet, innocent darling who refuses to touch the warmed mugs of blood Ricky brings him and insists he can drink only from his sire.

He is perfect, everything Ricky has been longing for in a companion without realizing those secret wishes of his undead heart. 

So Ricky tips his head against Gyuvin’s soft hair and holds him a bit tighter, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. A fire crackles away in the hearth and the bedroom is dim and cozy-soft, curtains drawn on the world because they are all that matters in this little mikrokosmos of two. 

Ricky tells Gyuvin of ancient palaces and towering libraries and gorgeous stone carvings taller than any skyscraper.

He describes pristine oceans and unexplored forests, emerald green, and he tells the fledgling of all the wonders of the world he has seen with his unending un-life until Gyuvin is asleep in his arms. 

_____

“Gyuvin-ah,” Ricky sighs, leaning against the open doorway of his enormous closet. “My baby, what trouble have you managed to find this time?”

He is not angry. He is entirely fond, and endeared, and he will never cease to be those things when it comes to his fledgling. 

Gyuvin looks up at him from his nest on the floor, expensive silk shirts and cashmere sweaters and wool coats worth more than a cat piled around him. 

“Sire,” he says and already there is a laugh tucked away in his sweet voice, playful antics hidden in the crinkles by his eyes. “Sire, don’t be angry, but—.” 

Ricky swoops down, his fingers curled to attack, brows furrowed. 

Gyuvin shrieks, raising his hands in surrender, head tipping back as he accidentally bares his pale throat. 

“Naughty thing,” Ricky hisses playfully, his fingers digging gently into Gyuvin’s ribs as he tickles him, cold touch dancing across the baby’s skin. “You’re as troublesome as a kitten.” 

“Sire,” Gyuvin giggles, rolling around in the mountain of soft, fuzzy clothing but doing nothing to truly escape. “Sire, really, I’m so good! Don’t scold me!” 

Ricky snaps playfully at his throat, fangs closing an inch above the pale skin, and relishes in the way Gyuvin doesn’t even flinch. 

In only a matter of days the fledgling seems to have become completely assured of his safety with the elder vampire; he trusts Ricky with his vulnerable throat, with his sleeping hours, with his sadness and his laughter. 

It is the most precious gift the older vampire has ever received and yet Gyuvin has given it all to him so freely, so easily, almost as if his faith in Ricky is a surety of the world rather than a tentative question. 

“Pretty fledgling,” Ricky murmurs, pressing a kiss against the edge of Gyuvin’s chin before forcing himself away. “Do you find my clothes that unsatisfactory?” 

“No!” Gyuvin almost yelps, sprawled out on the mess of clothes still and giving Ricky a shining, sad look. “I love your clothes, sire. Really! I just— I was a little bored, that’s all.” 

Ricky makes a cooing sound, too high for the fledgling’s ears to register yet. He reaches for Gyuvin, his cold hands greedy for the softness of the little one, and pulls him into his arms.

Gyuvin goes eagerly, easily, the mountain of clothes forgotten in favor of pressing his face against Ricky’s chest.

“My sweet fledgling,” Ricky murmurs, rocking him slightly. “Name anything you desire and I will bring it to you. I want you to be at home in this new life.” 

Gyuvin hums, his arms looped around Ricky’s  neck. In the days they have spent together the fledgling has barely walked on his own feet; Ricky carries him everywhere, keeps the baby in his arms or pressed against his chest so they are never made to separate. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin breathes, whisper soft. “Can we go outside?” 

_____

They venture out a little over two weeks after their first meeting, Gyuvin tucked tightly against Ricky’s side. They are dressed in the elder vampire's clothes because even though Gyuvin smells of him, smells of his blood and his frosty-aura, he will take no chances. 

And he finds the baby to be lovely in one of his many black sweaters, a little too loose in the shoulders. Gyuvin is adorably tiny beside him, curled into Ricky and yet peering about at everything with those wide, starry eyes. 

The fledgling had fed from him only two hours earlier and Ricky’s throat still tingles with the reminder of those tiny fangs, Gyuvin’s lips darkly red with traces of blood.

They have marked each other, in blood and in trust and in laughter, and no one in this world will take his fledgling from Ricky’s side. 

The autumn evening is supposed to be warm, balmy almost, but Ricky does not feel the gentle breeze or the brush of a curious cloud. He has eyes only for Gyuvin, for his darling little one with wide eyes and parted lips and innocent, unblemished cheeks. 

Ricky, clad entirely in black and armed with the weapons of his teeth and his claws and his frozen, terrifying presence, guides his sweetheart down the wide street. It is early still, barely dark, and people meander past every few minutes; on their way home from work or simply out for a walk. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin breathes against his chest after they have walked a while, their steps measured to fit in with the humans. “I can smell them— their blood.”

Ricky hums, pleased. “And do you like it?” 

Gyuvin shakes his head instantly, lips pursed in rejection. “No,” he says, emphasizing the word.  “You smell much better. I don’t want to drink from anyone else.” 

Ricky’s chest vibrates with satisfaction, his arm tightening around his little one. Gyuvin is his and his alone, entirely dependent on Ricky for guidance and the blood of life; the trust the fledgling has in him is tantalizing, heady, better than any chest of pirate treasure. 

“Sire?” Gyuvin says again, his cool fingers slipping under Ricky’s jacket to rest lightly on his spine. The touch is startling, blazing, and yet entirely common between them now. “How— how do I smell?” 

His darling sounds almost worried, his lips pressed together, and Ricky will not stand for that.

He sweeps Gyuvin in a dizzying circle, bringing him in against the shelter of his chest and dipping until their foreheads are pressed together. 

“You, my fledgling, have the sweetest blood I have smelled or tasted in all my existence,” Ricky murmurs, his palms dangerously low on Gyuvin’s slim waist. “No other can compare.” 

Gyuvin’s smile is a sunrise Ricky will never survive, sparkling eyes and flashing teeth and shallow, perfect dimples.

He is everything the elder vampire has wanted and waited for, flawless in his newness; Ricky wants desperately to return to their home and lull the baby to sleep in his arms. 

“Sire, you’re so cheesy,” Gyuvin tells him, bravely reaching up and poking the blonde vampire’s pale cheek. He is so fearless, his little darling. “You talk like a Shakespeare character. It’s kindof gross.” 

Ricky has no idea what any of those words mean. He cares only for the joy on his baby’s face, the smile curving his pretty mouth and the way he skips away, wriggling out of Ricky’s embrace. 

“Darling,” Ricky murmurs, lengthening his strides as he gives chase even though only a foot or two spans between them. He knows Gyuvin can hear him, can pick up every one of his words. “I hope you remember our agreement. Run from me and I will carry you.” 

“Ha, sire,” Gyuvin whispers over his shoulder, starry eyes shining at Ricky. “You have to catch me first!” 

_____

Ricky carries Gyuvin to the event he’s chosen for them tonight on his back, his hands clasped securely around the baby’s thighs while Gyuvin clutches his neck and shoulders. The bay had protested for only a moment before relenting, pressing himself tight against Ricky and staring around at the world and humans from his safe perch. 

Despite the exuberance with which Gyuvin had readied himself for tonight, despite his cheerful assurances that he really did want to go out, Ricky knows he is apprehensive. To be reintroduced to the world after such a cruel, violent farewell cannot be an easy thing. 

He is so incredibly proud of his brave, fearless little one.

Ricky wishes to shower him in dripping jewels and golden crowns and roses red as blood. He thinks Gyuvin would be lovely in scarlet and diamonds, would look just as pretty in a silk suit as he does in Ricky’s oversized sweaters and fluffy socks. 

“Sire, what is this? Why are there so many people?” 

Ricky’s brought them to a park, the glitter of dark water to their right while bare trees and skeletal leaves surround them. It would perhaps be a chilling place, ghostly and strange, were it not for the many dozens of people around them. 

“Shh, fledgling,” Ricky murmurs, carefully skating around the couples and families and groups of friends. He ensures none of them come even close to his baby, his cold face and even colder aura keeping the humans at bay. “Trust your sire.” 

Gyuvin settles against his back, tucking his soft face into the nape of Ricky’s neck, needless exhales puffing over the elder’s skin. “Okay, sire,” he murmurs, “I trust you.” 

Ricky would like to slide Gyuvin into his arms and press him against his chest and kiss him. 

He would like to taste his blood in his fledgling’s mouth and he would like to run his tongue over those tiny fangs and he would like to lay Gyuvin out and map his body, inch by inch, until the little one adores his new undead self.

They stand at the end of a line at the edge of the crowd, the few humans ahead of them shying away from Ricky’s dark coat and too-pale skin and cold, cold face. He does not care. He does not mind. 

Gyuvin chatters in his ear, a mix of questions and excited exclamations, everything about his baby frenetic-happy. Ricky listens attentively and nods along and looks wherever Gyuvin directs his attention. 

Together they peer up at the stars and together they laugh at a dog with a silly haircut and together they smile at a little girl in a pink coat. 

“Two lanterns, please,” Ricky says to the woman when he reaches the little stall and she shudders, skittering away from his dead eyes and cold, sucking presence. She refuses to take his money and so Ricky slips it into the tip jar when she turns away, not because he cares but because Gyuvin asks him to. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin breathes against his throat as they venture out into the open expanse of the park, people in little groups around them. A few lanterns are already drifting up into the sky, warm and glowing buttery-yellow like tiny suns. “Sire, are we— are we going to do that too?” 

Ricky laughs quietly and carefully sets Gyuvin down on his feet, allowing the fledgling to stand free for only a moment before he is pressing up against the boy’s back, curving him into his chest. 

“Your lantern, baby,” he murmurs, pressing the compressed paper into Gyuvin’s eager hands. “Write your wish and we can send it up to the stars.” 

“Sire,” Gyuvin asks, twisting around to peer at him with wide, glossy eyes that reflect the glow of a thousand stars. “Will my wish come true?” 

Ricky leans in, nuzzles against the softness of his fledgling’s round cheek. Inhales coppery jasmine and sweetness, wraps his arm more tightly around the little one’s waist. 

“I think it will,” he murmurs and if Ricky has to conquer the stars, has to suck them dry of their light and threaten the moon too to ensure his baby’s wish comes true, he will do it gladly. “I think you will be given anything you desire.” 

Gyuvin makes a soft sound, wispy as a breeze, and relaxes into Ricky. “Okay,” he murmurs, “but you have to make a wish too.” 

“Ah, darling,” Ricky murmurs, so endeared he could happily allow the world to burn as long as Gyuvin remains in his arms. “My wish has already been granted. I have you.” 

Gyuvin giggles and Ricky thinks, knows, that if he could the boy would be blushing.

“Sire,” he pouts, making his eyes enormous in the way he’s learned Ricky can’t resist and now weaponizes. “I want you to make a wish. Please?” 

Ricky blinks and Gyuvin grins at him and together they sit on the dry grass and scrawl their wishes upon the unlit lanterns. Around them humans make their own foolish wishes, their lanterns as bright and flickering as their own brief lifespans.

Ricky finds it amazing, the way humans continue to hope and hope and try and try. They are more stubborn than any other species, determined to persist and go on living. 

They build churches they will never see completed in their lives and they write down history for people who have yet to be born to read and they plant trees even with the knowledge they will never taste the fruit to come. 

The sky fills with a golden glow, more and more people arriving, and yet the night feels velvety-soft and friendly. Wishes on lanterns float up to join the stars, white and yellow light blending until all that matters is the glow of hope and earnest yearning. 

Ricky stares at his own lantern for a long while, unsure what to write.

He did not lie to Gyuvin— his hearts desire has been fulfilled. The fledgling is every joy in his eons of existence, the reason for every smile and laugh and action Ricky takes. 

I wish, he writes at last in an ancient, flowing script no one with a beating heart would understand. To walk always at my fledgling’s side. I wish never to be parted from him.

“Sire,” Gyuvin chirps, tugging excitedly at Ricky’s coat. “I’m done! Can we light them up now?” 

They borrow a torch from a friendly family and light the lanterns, Gyuvin insisting that they send them up at the same time. Ricky counts down quietly, his free hand wrapped around Gyuvin’s cool fingers, his attention entirely on the fledgling. 

Gyuvin is lovelier than ever in the warm, golden glow of the lantern. He beams up at the sky filled with wishes and stars, his eyes reflecting back nothing but light, and he is so perfectly made that Ricky’s unbeating heart almost thumps. 

“Three,” Ricky whispers and together they release their lanterns, allowing their wishes to be caught on a breeze and carried up into the velvety black night.

Gyuvin tucks himself into the elder’s side, their fingers tangled together as they track the progress of their little lights growing smaller and smaller. 

They are quiet for a long while, united with the humans around them as they all turn their eyes to the sky and watch the glowing, floating dots of light.

The night seems incredibly warm, almost golden as daylight, and Ricky is so content that he refuses to be the first to leave this moment. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin murmurs at last, his body heavy where he leans against Ricky yet no burden at all. “Can we go home?” 

“Yes, my little one,” Ricky whispers, catching Gyuvin up in the circle of his arms and pressing him against his unbeating, thrumming heart. “We can go home.” 

_____

Days turn into weeks and somehow, before Ricky can really realize it, Gyuvin has been the center of his universe for a little more than a month. The fledgling is his delight, the reason for Ricky’s existence and the thing in all the world which he treasures most, yearns for most.

Gyuvin allows his personality to shine as he becomes more comfortable, as he settles into Ricky’s home and the new un-life existence they share. He is incredibly sweet, always, and yet he has his moments of naughty playfulness that please Ricky all the more. 

His little fledgling likes to play pranks on him, likes to hide in the massive apartment and force Ricky to search him out.

It is easy, ridiculously so when they are tied by blood and sire bond and he can smell the sweetness of the boy from miles away, and yet Ricky indulges him. He takes his time, stalking around his home, pretending confusion until Gyuvin bursts forth laughing and clutches at him, winds himself around Ricky and demands to be carried back to bed. 

Gyuvin is curious and he picks up the trinkets and books and old, ancient weapons Ricky has collected over the years and asks about them, asks for stories of the world and all the elder’s adventures. 

He listens with enormous eyes and a parted mouth, tiny white fangs flashing occasionally when he grins at Ricky or asks a question. He is intensely curious about Zhang Hao and Hanbin and asks often when they will return to Korea, when he can meet them. 

Ricky is uninclined to share his darling with anyone, already sure of the teasing he will receive from Zhang Hao, and yet he will deny his baby nothing. 

Gyuvin slowly begins to make requests to Ricky as he opens up to the vampire, his fingers nervously twisted together when he asks for something called the internet. Ricky grants his request instantly and swings his fledgling round in a circle, praising him for voicing his desire.

Slowly the apartment changes to reflect that two beings reside there instead of just Ricky and his black, frigid aura. Books full of sketches and little text bubbles wait in the library for Gyuvin, colorful spines a bright contrast to Ricky’s heavy, ancient tomes. 

His darling introduces him to music that is loud and colorful and bright as clashing bells, Gyuvin laughing at the way Ricky jerks away from the record player with pinched brows. The fledgling sings along, his voice clear and sweet, and then Ricky decides he does not mind the eclectic music so much. 

One evening, when Gyuvin pulls Ricky up off an armchair and grins at him, wide and gleaming, the elder vampire goes along with it. A song blasts from the speakers, pretty and light with a tripping, catchy chorus. 

Gyuvin sings along, somehow knowing all the lyrics, and Ricky can only stand statue like as the fledgling dances and whirls around him a blur of color and light and— and happiness. 

Ricky wants a taste of that sunshine, golden joy.

He wants to drink up Gyuvin’s affection for the world and for existence like he swallows down the boy’s sweet blood, wants to gorge himself on borrowed love for life until he feels less of a dead thing. 

Perhaps his fledgling can teach him how to— live? If that is even possible, if his un-life can even be called such a thing.

And yet this is more than existence, more than simple survival with his fledgling at his side; Ricky is more than that and yet still not quite alive, a shifting in-between he does not understand and does not know how to inhabit. 

Gyuvin does not have to ask Ricky to dance with him. The elder vampire makes that choice all by himself and though he cannot be energetic or flail his limbs about in true joy, he clasps their hands together and leads his baby into a slow, stately waltz. 

Round and round they turn, everything blurring and fading until Gyuvin’s eyes, his soft face and pretty smile, are all that center Ricky. As it has always been, as it will always be, his fledgling is at the heart of everything. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin murmurs, those dimples Ricky longs to see in sunshine tucked into his cheeks. “Sire, you dance so well. What if I step on your feet?” 

“Is that a threat, darling?” Ricky whispers, smiling down at the little one as they turn endless, perfect circles, their bodies perfectly matched in rhythm. They can never be discordant, can never be anything but harmony together— Gyuvin need not worry. 

Gyuvin’s eyes crinkle as he laughs, his baby fangs flashing in the low light of the fire when he throws his head back in mirth.

“Never, sire,” his baby promises, and Ricky can almost imagine his cheeks flushed pink, a pulse jumping at his throat. “I could never hurt you.” 

He is so alive, Ricky’s little one.

So warm, so joyful, brimming with emotion and curiosity and a hunger for the world Ricky has only ever felt in relation to blood. His undead heart thrums in his ribcage, painful stirrings that he does not mind because he can gaze only at his fledgling, starstruck. 

The music drifts sweet and clear around them, echoing symphonies and lullabies forgotten by the earth but not by the vampire. 

He holds his darling close, allows propriety to slip as he twirls Gyuvin out and then reels him back into his arms, brings him home to where he belongs. Their chests brush, cool fingers sliding together, and Gyuvin is so light on his feet as they dance that Ricky can almost imagine they float above the earth. 

Ricky does not wish to separate when the music ends and so he dances on, pulling Gyuvin with him, their muffled steps on the carpet the only sound.

And then, because his darling is so dear to him, Ricky hums an ancient tune he danced to at a ball long ago and leads Gyuvin into the new steps, echoing a memory he has not thought of in centuries. 

Perhaps it is not wise, to give so much of himself to his little one.

Yet when Gyuvin smiles , when Gyuvin carefully learns the steps and dances along with him, when Gyuvin tells him he has a pretty voice… Ricky does not mind laying pieces of his frozen heart into Gyuvin’s palms. 

That night they rest curled together, Gyuvin’s palms pressed against Ricky’s chest while the elder holds him close, cradles him as if he can tuck him into the protection of his diamond skin and guard him always with his white bones. No breaths ghost one another’s skin, no warmth shared between them, and yet Ricky drifts into a dream-daze for the first time in centuries. 

He knows peace with his fledgling in his arms. The shadows that nip at his heels, that lunge up to warn the world away and keep even other vampires cowering in fear…slumber under Gyuvin’s cool palms. 

They continue to feed solely from one another, Gyuvin turning his nose up at each cup of warmed blood Ricky offers him.

The elder does not try incredibly hard to sway his baby’s mind, not when he so deeply enjoys feeding his darling and caring for him after each meal.

It is perhaps not the most practical way to survive, a chain of blood passed from humans to Ricky to Gyuvin’s own little fangs, but it pleases his fledgling and Ricky will never deny a request made from his baby. 

“I just don’t like it,” Gyuvin says one day as Ricky gently offers a warmed blood bag, allowing his little one the chance to smell the blood and decide. “It smells…bland. Your blood is so much better, sire.”

Gyuvin looks at him with wide, earnest eyes, paused in the middle of playing his strange game. As he’s grown more comfortable he’s begun to make requests to Ricky and so now an enormous TV has been installed in the sitting room, wires and cables and electric game things at a juxtaposition to the smooth oak and velvet and ancient luxury Ricky favors. 

“Sweet darling,” Ricky murmurs, tossing the blood bag aside and curling his cold fingers around Gyuvin’s cheek. “Your palette is refined as any connaisseur.” 

He does not try very hard to convince his baby to drink the thin, overly salty human blood. Now that he has tasted Gyuvin, has held that indescribable sweetness on his tongue and swallowed mouthfuls of it, he holds no interest for the lifeblood of humans. 

Yet still they must feed in order to survive and so Ricky drinks his fill of the least disgusting humans he can find because doing so means his baby will eat, means his baby will never go hungry.

Gyuvin sniffs him eagerly when Ricky returns from his hunting trips, always ready at the door with a warm hug and a warmer smile. 

He carefully licks any traces of blood from the elder vampire's diamond skin, cleaning his cheeks or jaw or fingers with tiny, darling swipes of his tongue.

Ricky indulges him, allowing himself to be inspected and cared for by Gyuvin, so incredibly endeared that he can only look at the fledgling with fondness. 

Gyuvin sends him off to bathe after each trip, demanding in his sweet voice that Ricky clean himself before climbing into “our bed.” And each time the boy grows impatient, unable to wait, and so much like that first day they spent together Gyuvin will sit beside the tub as Ricky cleans his skin, will play with jasmine bubbles and chatter about his day. 

And once Gyuvin decides he is ready, once he can wait no longer, he will pull Ricky from the pink water and into the ocean of their bed. 

Modesty has no meaning between them, not when they are tied soul to soul and un-life to un-life and so Ricky goes easily, follows his baby as he will follow him always. 

Gyuvin sleeps in his arms after each feeding or whenever the fancy strikes him, his dislike for their bed clear because his true pillow is Ricky’s chest, his true blankets the elders arms. 

Ricky cannot sense temperature, cannot feel the difference in their bodies and chilled skin, yet he knows that Gyuvin is warm as surely as he knows the Earth circles the sun. 

The fledgling exudes warmth, keeps it in his shiny eyes and bright smile and round, soft cheeks. His laughter is sunshine, giving Ricky his first taste of golden daylight, and his weight on the vampire's lap or in his arms is burning hot as any fire. 

Gyuvin grows more confident in his gradually sharpening fangs, striking fast and true each time he feeds. He still likes to take his time, likes to suckle slowly at Ricky’s neck for hours, sleepy and cozy-soft as he presses against the elder’s chest and pets his shoulders and takes tiny sips of blood. 

Ricky does not mind.

He would not mind if Gyuvin were to splay him out and delve into his chest, would not utter a word of protest if Gyuvin slid his hands between Ricky’s white ribs to remove the heart that has never beat and yet still belongs to the fledgling. 

Ricky would allow the baby to drain him dry without a thought towards his own survival, would willingly give and give and give of his blood if the little one decided he wanted it. 

Is this what Hanbin feels, for Zhang Hao? Is this how the human knew he was in love, when he offered up his body and did not tell the vampire he ever had to stop? 

If this is trust, then Gyuvin holds Ricky’s completely. The fledgling is so young still, incredibly so, and yet Ricky offers up his throat and his blood and he risks his continued un-life each evening to the baby because he cannot, will not, ever deny him. 

He trusts Gyuvin to take as much blood as he needs, as he desires, and if one day the fledgling decides that he wants to drain Ricky dry… well, the elder has had a long existence.

He would not mind his end, would not protest save for the loss of his presence at the fledgling's side. 

And yet still he would go willingly into that oblivion, would cross into darkness and his second death if it meant his little one slept with a full belly and those pretty, red lips curved in a smile. 

And as much as Gyuvin takes from Ricky, he is incredibly willing and eager to give back. He’s the sweetest thing, so caring and attentive that Ricky often doesn’t know how to accept the affection Gyuvin lavishes upon him so easily. 

He is a dark thing, an ancient thing, a monster of shadows and ice and cold, cold uncaring. He does not deserve kisses on his cheeks or happy morning cuddles, does not measure up to the being Gyuvin believes him to be and treats him as. 

And yet… and yet Ricky cannot force himself away. He can do nothing but bend to the fledgling and his affection, his desires, his sparkling eyes.

Ricky accepts and accepts because he cannot turn himself away from the glittering sunshine of his baby, not when the little one is so earnest in his quest to care for Ricky as Ricky cares for him. 

Maybe this is what it is to be— adored. Maybe this is what has kept Zhang Hao at his human’s side for so many years despite Hanbin’s aging face, despite his limited breaths and candle-flame life. 

Gyuvin offers his pale, slim neck up to Ricky every day because his sweet little darling wants the elder to feed as often as he does. No matter how many times Ricky assures him of his strength, of hunger that can be ignored and ignored and ignored, Gyuvin insists on feeding him. 

“Sire,” he says, lips tinged red and eyes glossy-wide, settled on Ricky’s lap or held against his chest as if the elder is his throne. “Sire, you need to eat too.” 

“Darling,” Ricky murmurs, inhaling sweetness and iron and the rich, earthy tang of his own blood on the fledgling's mouth. “I care not for my own hunger but only for yours. Your blood is infinitely more precious than mine and should not be spilled so easily.” 

Gyuvin pouts, brushing silky hair out of those wide, shiny eyes and slumping against Ricky as if he can make the elder feel his displeasure. 

“But don’t you like my blood?” He wheedles, cool fingers tracing all over Ricky’s chest and shoulders and arms because his fledgling has never learned to fear him, has never realized Ricky would slaughter any other who dared to invade his space like this. “I want to take care of you too, sire. Am I not sweet enough?” 

And then of course Ricky will have to lower his lips to Gyuvin’s throat and press them just under the edge of his jaw where the boy is especially sensitive. Of course he will have to gently, gently slide his fangs in and swallow a few careful, shallow mouthfuls of the most addictive blood he’s ever tasted. 

He has no choice, really. Tell his darling he isn’t sweet, utter the falsity that Ricky does not adore his blood? 

He could never. He will never. Lies are unable to pass his lips when he looks at his little one and words that could hurt, words that could take away that precious smile or scare his fledgling away from him… Ricky would rather peel off his own skin. 

He apologizes for the pain of his teeth with a hundred kisses pressed to Gyuvin’s cheeks and throat and forehead, kisses on the tip of his nose and the curve of his brows and the sharp line of his jaw. Kisses that make Ricky’s lips feel as if they burn, kisses that ignite something in him he has never felt before, kisses that Gyuvin giggles under and yet raises his face for eagerly. 

Kisses everywhere, soft and sweet and full of the words Ricky cannot say, the things he does not understand because he is a thing of darkness and Gyuvin is pure, shining light. 

Kisses everywhere, tinged with blood and venom, kisses that press his scent more firmly into the fledgling’s soft skin.

Kisses, everywhere, save for Gyuvin’s full mouth. 

Ricky wants to taste his lips more than anything and yet he holds himself back, always.

His fledgling is a tiny thing, young and innocent and only just learning how to have a second life. He is Ricky’s responsibility and his joy and the elder will never, ever bridge that gap between them because he is incapable of harming his baby. 

So he relishes in the kisses tinged with blood he places on Gyuvin’s skin and he tugs the baby into his lap for every meal, cradles him close and luxuriates in the feeling of his baby sucking and licking at his throat, purring against his diamond skin. Ricky treasures each time Gyuvin falls asleep in his arms and he waits eagerly for his fledgling to sweetly kiss his cheek or throat in thanks after each feeding. 

They are linked as surely and as closely as any two things can be, the viscera of their blood and first meeting binding them.

Ricky is never far from Gyuvin’s side and the fledgling hardly ever strays from his, the boy carried more often than he walks and Ricky is constantly followed by a sweet, laughing shadow that he does not dislike at all. 

He wishes to kiss him. He wants to take Gyuvin into his cold arms and slide their mouths together and know, at last, if the fledgling tastes of sunshine and sweetness as he suspects. 

Yet he is the baby’s sire and his protection and his guide to everything in the un-life. Ricky cannot take that step, cannot breach that gulf of responsibility between them, and so he denies himself what he wants as he learned to do long ago when humans and blood were scarce. 

Though he is determined in his resistance, solid and steady as any Arctic Ocean, Gyuvin does not make Ricky’s task easy. 

His darling is simply so affectionate, his arms constantly wound around Ricky’s chest or waist or throat, his curious hands roaming every inch of the vampire's skin because the elder has never denied him or turned him away. Gyuvin treats Ricky as if they are one being, one entity, and the touches are so sweetly electric that the blonde vampire can never do anything save accept and take, take, take.

Gyuvin presses kisses to Ricky’s skin and cheeks and throat as if he is a thing to be loved, a person to be treasured and cared for and adored.

Gyuvin carefully washes him of any traces of insignificant human blood and Gyuvin calls him to bed each night even though the elder vampire cannot ever truly sleep. 

Gyuvin asks about his past and he listens to Ricky’s stories with shining eyes and he reads Ricky’s favorite book when the vampire tells him about it.

He holds out his hands some evenings until Ricky sets his books or art supplies aside and they dance, slow and close together to music that is modern and fast and so cheerful Ricky almost understands Gyuvin’s optimism. 

Gyuvin looks adorable in Ricky’s silk shirts and soft sweaters and he carries the scent of the older vampire on him always, pressed into his throat and carried in his blood.

He laughs at things Ricky does not mean to be funny and he looks at the blonde vampire with shining eyes as if his surrogate sire is the most wonderful thing and he fits perfectly against Ricky’s chest, in his arms, as if he was crafted to be there. 

He is sweet and he is playful and he slowly opens Ricky’s eyes to the many small joys of existence. He is genuine and bright as sunshine and even on his gray days when he cries dry tears over the woman he killed or refuses to climb from bed, he is precious to Ricky. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin murmurs one dusky winter evening as he lays sprawled over Ricky’s chest and lap, the two of them cuddled up on the balcony to watch the shifting colors of the sky. 

Ricky, one hand cupped around the nape of Gyuvin’s neck, hums in answer. The sky above their home is a great sweep of hazy indigo, streaked with lavender and creamy pink and pale, pale blue. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin mumbles again, untucking his face from Ricky’s sweater. The cold of the winter does not affect them but still his fledgling huddles close, invades Ricky’s space as if it is a necessity. “Sire.” 

Ricky’s mouth twitches, a smile bitten down quickly. He strokes his fingertips through the soft, silky hair at the nape of Gyuvin’s neck, tugging ever so lightly. He loves the little whimper his darling makes in response. 

“Sire.” 

Ricky cannot hold his smile back a moment more. Indulgently he tips his head down, gazing into bright eyes and a pouty face. Gyuvin’s chin rests against his chest, the fledgling’s arms tightening around Ricky’s waist in silent demand. 

Sometimes, he has learned, his baby has nothing in particular that he wants to say; it is just that he likes the sound of Ricky’s title in his mouth, likes to know that his calls will be answered instantly. 

Spoiled, petulant darling, Ricky thinks fondly, his other hand settling possessively on the curve of Gyuvin’s lower back. 

“Fledgling.” 

Gyuvin hisses at him, baring his tiny fangs in an adorable display of anger. Ricky laughs a little and tugs his hair harder, enjoying the way the boy’s pink mouth parts in a silent gasp, his head falling back.

He’s so pliable, his sweet baby. Malleable, obedient, perfect. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin says again, scrunching his cute nose a little. His eyelashes cast very faint shadows against his squishy cheeks. “What’s your name?” 

“Ah,” Ricky says, shifting a little, “are we playing that game again?” 

Gyuvin likes to attempt to guess Ricky’s name. He’s very bad at it but also very, very determined. Sometimes he will pounce on the elder vampire, pinning him down with baby-weak arms, and list off different, increasingly strange names as Ricky laughs under him. 

It’s a very amusing game. Ricky pretends to hate to play but really, he could escape at any moment and yet he allows himself to be held down, to be trapped. It’s a fun illusion of power he indulges his baby in every so often. 

“I want to know,” Gyuvin says, whining just a little. He flutters his eyelashes at Ricky, pouty and sweet and completely devilish. Ricky adores him. “Can’t you please tell me?” 

Ricky hums, smiling, and flicks his eyes up to the sky. Navy and deepest violet roll in, the very first diamond flecks of starlight shining upon the city already. 

“What will you give me, fledgling of mine,” Ricky murmurs, teasing. “For the knowledge of my name?” 

Gyuvin huffs, annoyed.

“Anything,” he says instantly, his arms vicelike around Ricky’s waist. His legs are splayed over the elder vampire’s hips, two Vs slotted together. “Anything, sire.” 

Ricky turns serious, dipping his chin to study his baby. “You should not grant that possibility so easily,” he admonishes, “you must be careful.” 

Gyuvin huffs again, resting his cheek on Ricky’s stomach.

“I don’t have to be careful with you, sire,” he dismisses and he sounds so assured in his safety with the elder vampire, unaware of everything he’s offered up. “You’d never hurt me.” 

“No,” Ricky murmurs, pressing his thumb ever so gently against Gyuvin’s cheekbone. “I would never.” 

Gyuvin scrunches his nose at him again, obviously bored with this turn in their conversation. The fledgling is so sure in his belief that Ricky means safety and protection and trust that he cannot feel the weight of these words, of Ricky’s adoration for him. 

“Very well,” Ricky relents after a moment, sliding his thumb down the hidden line of Gyuvin’s cheekbone. “I will tell you my name in return for another.” 

He wonders what his baby would look like if he had been given the chance to grow up, wonders what kind of human he would have become. Ricky wishes his darling had been given that time and yet he cannot help but be grateful to have him now, and forever, frozen in time.

Gyuvin nods eagerly, perking up and lifting his face to Ricky. “Okay!” He agrees and oh, he is so young so vulnerable so innocent . 

“My name, sweet darling,” Ricky murmurs, smiling softly at his baby. “My very first name, was Shen Quanrui.” 

“Oh,” Gyuvin breathes, his eyes going wide. Above them more stars rise, the white pearl of the moon breaking through wispy clouds to shine on their little balcony. “Pretty.” 

Ricky laughs, as quiet as a breeze.

“You like it?” He asks, pleased though it does not truly matter. Gyuvin could call him any name in the world and still he would answer, still he would come to the boy’s side. “Truly?” 

“It fits you,” Gyuvin agrees, struggling a little. “It’s elegant and pretty just like you.” 

“Ah, baby,” Ricky murmurs, endeared. “You think too highly of me.” 

Gyuvin, wordlessly, wriggles around on Ricky’s lap and the elder blinks, confused, as the fledgling climbs off him and stands up. Ricky’s hands reluctantly slip from Gyuvin’s hips— they feel strangely odd, empty.

His baby is cuddly-soft in pajama pants and an overlarge sweatshirt, his feet bare, pale face cute and very young in the moonlight; Ricky wants to hold him. 

“Thank you, Shen Quanrui-ssi,” Gyuvin tells him sincerely, pressing a hand to his silent heart. He bows deeply at the waist, folding over and holding the position for such a long time that Ricky almost reaches out to pull him up.

“Thank you for my life, sire,” Gyuvin murmurs as he finally stands, his eyes sincere and very bright. “Thank you for giving me your name.” 

“Gyuvin-ah,” Ricky murmurs, holding his arms out, “darling.”

The fledgling falls into his embrace, trembling slightly, and buries his face in the collar of Ricky’s sweater. 

They sit together for a long, long time, Ricky’s cheek tucked against the crown of his baby’s head as he watches the stars flicker into life and listens to his boy breathe tiny, unnecessary gasps. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin mumbles at last, his soft lips brushing Ricky’s collarbone; the elder barely holds back a shudder. “You get to ask me for something now.” 

“Ah,” Ricky says and if it were for anything else, any other reason, he would not complete the trade. “Ah, sweet fledgling. Tell me the name of the one who turned you.” 

Gyuvin stiffens in his arms, icy and cold where usually he is only softness and almost-warmth. He buries his face in Ricky’s sweater, ducking his fluffy head, and clutches at the elders hips as if he can claw himself into him. 

“I don’t remember,” he mumbles, tiny and sad. Ricky smooths a gentle hand down the boy’s spine, his chest heavy as if he is being crushed in the jaws of a dragon. 

“Fledgling,” he murmurs, barely a breath. “Try again.” 

Gyuvin shudders, just once, and then collapses against Ricky. His limbs are liquid, fingers limp as if he is a severed puppet. 

“Kim Hyeongjoon.”

Ricky breathes out, emptying his lungs though it is not necessary and though the action gives him no relief. Wrapping his arms more firmly around Gyuvin, pressing him into his chest, he kisses the top of his baby’s head. 

“Thank you, darling.”

_____

They do not speak of that night or their barter, though Gyuvin occasionally calls Ricky ‘Mr. Shen’ when he is feeling particularly playful or naughty. 

Ricky does not mind. The new title only makes him amused, only makes him joke with Gyuvin about wearing suits and carrying around a briefcase as so many of the men hurrying past on the street below do. 

Gyuvin jokes back, pretends to fetch him drinks and important documents to sign and occasionally brings Ricky the ancient, ceremonial friend hanging above the fireplace. It’s very silly and Ricky finds that he adores the lightheartedness between them, the way they can play and play and forget the centuries that span between them. 

Gyuvin plays his bright flashing games and reads his picture-books and squeals when a band he likes releases a new album. He introduces Ricky to the joys of reality TV and, despite himself, the elder gets hooked on Love Island and the silly, changeable people who have accents stronger than vodka. 

They play board games and cuddle in bed when rainstorms pelt the windows of the apartment with glass and Ricky reads to Gyuvin, shares the words that have kept him from true darkness with the fledgling nestled in his arms. 

Gyuvin asks sweetly for a computer and then even more sweetly for Ricky’s address and credit card and then packages begin to arrive, sweatshirts and fuzzy socks and a blanket so soft Ricky wants to wrap his baby up in it all the time. 

He teaches Gyuvin about art, about the play of shadows and light and the miraculous things a tiny bit of white paint can do, and together they cover canvases in sweeps of color.

Gyuvin makes a mess, more splattered with rainbows than his actual work, and yet he laughs so loudly that all Ricky can do is softly kiss his cheek, his pale lips stained as golden as the adoration he feels for the boy.

Gyuvin orders more art supplies and shows Ricky how to make friendship bracelets and little things out of clay and weird sculptures from fuzzy bits of wire called pipe cleaners. 

Ricky is unfamiliar with all of these overbright, synthetic things and yet he gladly sits with his fledgling and listens to his sweet voice and copies his movements. When Gyuvin sets a crown of fuzzy pink and purple and blue pipe cleaners upon his head and pronounces him a prince, Ricky can only smile indulgently. 

He loves his baby. He loves him, he loves him, and his undead heart throbs for Gyuvin even as it refuses to beat Ricky into true life. 

They talk constantly, Gyuvin’s voice clear and bright as he asks question after question about the world and Ricky and the world and Ricky’s life and when they can next venture outside. 

Ricky answers him honestly, fully, and though he cannot always trace the threads of his baby’s thoughts or understand the words he uses, still he gives him the entirety of his attention. Still he soaks up each joke and story and wish Gyuvin shares with him, still he treasures each piece of his boy that he is given. 

His darling tells him a little about his life as a human, the bits and pieces that do not cut too badly and that he can recall. His fledgling was in high school still, playing basketball and hating mathematical formulas and dreaming of something more. 

Something exciting, Gyuvin had whispered to him in the darkness one night, his head cushioned on Ricky’s chest and his arms around the elders shoulders. Something new, something fun and a little dangerous. 

So Gyuvin had gone out the night of his eighteenth birthday, all alone and many hours after his family had packed up the leftover birthday cake and streamers. He’d found a club, dark and filthy enough to be a thrill, a good story for the morning. 

That’s where the vampire had found him. Gyuvin tells Ricky in quiet, stuttering words over many nights that he’d danced with Hyeongjoon, that he’d enjoyed himself until he hadn’t. 

He doesn’t remember much after that. Flashes of white fangs and dripping blood, a dark sky lightening to gray and pale fingers wrapped around his throat. The scent of blood, intoxicating and strong as any siren song. 

And then you found me, Gyuvin always finishes in a tiny whisper, nuzzling into the elder vampire’s throat, skating his lips over the diamond skin. You found me, sire, and you saved me. 

Always, Ricky murmurs back, his arms so tight around the fledgling they would bruise if the boy's skin was still peach-soft. Always I will find you and always I will bring you home.  

What he doesn’t say, the words too tender and slicing-honest for him to whisper, are— you saved me, Gyuvin-ah. You found me and you saved me. 

Ricky wants desperately to kiss him. He wishes to slide their lips together, wishes to lick into Gyuvins mouth until all he can taste is the sweetness of his little one.

He thinks about how soft the boy’s red mouth would be, about how it would feel to finally, finally give in and shower his fledgling with all the affection he feels for him.

And yet he cannot.

He is a thing of shadows and darkness still, always, no matter how much Gyuvin shines close to him, and he will not bridge that invisible line between them. 

Ricky will not kiss Gyuvin as he so longs to do yet he will kill for him, will murder and enjoy it because doing so will avenge a little of his baby’s pain, his taken-away choices and future.

He perhaps cannot express his love in pink kisses and sweet words and so instead he will declare it in crimson, in the thing he has known and cares for most all his existence until finding his fledgling. 

They do not talk of Hyeongjoon and yet Ricky does not forget, either. He will never forget that name as long as he exists and so he waits and he plans and he slowly sends out tendrils of cold shadow to find the horrible creature. 

One night, as early spring sends tentative buds of green across the trees in the street below and tugs the sun up earlier and earlier each day, Ricky decides he is ready. He cannot wait any longer, will not allow the monster to continue to exist in the same world as his darling. 

“Gyuvin-ah,” he murmurs, setting the laptop aside because there are endless episodes of Love Island and he has all the time in the world to watch. “Come here, darling. It is time to eat.” 

Gyuvin drops his knitting project— a tangle of yarn and needles because he’s only just started to learn— and practically dances across the room to slide into Ricky’s arms. He is light on his feet, smiling and clean, his alabaster skin practically glittering. 

He is so lovely, so dear to Ricky, more precious than any, any thing he has ever known or glimpsed. He loves his fledgling, loves him and loves him and loves him so much it almost makes him feel warm. 

“It’s early, sire,” Gyuvin says, his fingers curled around Ricky’s shoulders, the fledgling already leaning in. His little fangs peek out over his lower lip, pearly white and just a tiny bit longer than when they first met. “Are you tired?” 

“Ah, sweet one,” Ricky murmurs, his hands finally at peace now that he’s holding his baby, touching him. “See how clever you are. Would you like to know a secret?” 

Gyuvin’s eyes gleam, his red lips spreading wide. He bounces a little in excitement, tipping into Ricky with reckless abandon because he feels entirely safe in the elders arms.

“Yes, sire,” he pleads— always Ricky’s curious sweetheart. “Please! I want to know, please tell me!” 

Ricky smiles, curving his palm around Gyuvin’s round cheek and relishing the way his fledgling leans into the touch. “My secret,” he whispers, lowering his voice, “is that I am not tired. Not at all. I simply missed the feel of you in my arms.” 

Gyuvin rolls his eyes even as he twines his arms around Ricky, giving him a hug. “Sire,” he says, mock scolding, “if you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do was ask. I always love to hug you!” 

Ricky knows if he had a heart that moved and beat and pumped his blood, it would be racing like a stallion right now. He loves him. He loves him. 

“I’ll remember,” he murmurs, curling into the hug and wrapping his arms around Gyuvin’s tiny, delicious waist in return. “I will ask honestly next time.” 

Gyuvin hums, satisfied, but makes no move to disentangle their bodies. They fit together as easily as a pair of crescent moons, used to invading every bit of each other's space after weeks of sleeping and existing and doing everything together. 

Ricky does not mind. He wants always to have Gyuvin in his space, to have Gyuvin pressed against his chest and tucked under his arm and grabbing at his shoulders as he giggles. He wants always to hold the fledgling’s hands in his and drop kisses upon his pale cheeks and round, cute nose. 

Gradually Gyuvin tilts his head where his face is tucked against Ricky’s shoulder and throat, his soft cheek cuddled against the vampire’s collarbone. His lips graze Ricky’s throat, pressing light and quick little almost-kisses.

Ricky sighs without sound, his arms cold bands of ice around Gyuvin’s waist and yet he feels warm, little sparkles of sunshine left behind in the wake of the fledgling’s mouth. He has come to look forward to these moments very much, their soft hours of sitting pressed together while Gyuvin feeds from him sweeter than almost anything. 

The boy scrapes his fangs ever so lightly over Ricky’s throat, his jugular, his still pulse. The fledgling is teasing but he’s being sweet about it, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Ricky’s skin almost as if he is apologizing for any perceived pain. 

Ricky loves him. He loves him. He wants to turn his head, wants to tilt his chin down just a little and slide their mouths together. He wants, so very badly. 

The elder vampire almost jerks when Gyuvin licks just under the sharp line of his jaw and though he can’t feel temperature, he swears it isn’t possible, it feels… burning hot. Like a little sun has been buried beneath his diamond skin. 

“Darling,” he murmurs, sliding a hand under Gyuvin’s soft sweatshirt and pressing his fingertips into the boy’s lower ribs where he knows he’s tickling. “Don’t play with your food.” 

Gyuvin makes a horrified sound against his skin and draws back, frowning at Ricky. “Sire,” he almost hisses, scandalized. “Don’t say that! You’re not food! You’re my— you’re mine!” 

Ricky allows his lips to part in a rare smile, his much longer fangs flashing. “Ah,” he says lightly, stroking over the slight lines of Gyuvin’s rib cage. “How could I forget? Thank you for reminding me, fledgling of mine.” 

“Yes,” Gyuvin agrees, his face slowly smoothing back into sweet contentment. “I am yours. I’m your fledgling and you’re my sire.”

Ricky loves him. Ricky is almost sick with it, almost frozen under the golden glimmer of everything he feels for this beautiful, perfect boy. 

“Eat, baby,” he urges, baring his throat for Gyuvin because it does not scare him anymore; it is no longer uncomfortable for Ricky to open himself to the fledgling. He trusts him; he loves him. “Drink your fill.” 

Gyuvin slides his pretty fingers into Ricky’s hair and leans in, the routine familiar and dear to them both now. He drops a fleeting butterfly kiss to Ricky’s skin, sweetsweetsweet, and slides his baby fang’s home to where they belong.

Together they droop a little, relieved. Ricky makes a humming, rumbling sound low in his chest that Gyuvin always teases him for because he says it’s purring. The fledgling on his lap slumps against him, pliant as he slowly drinks and drinks, blood passing between them in an unending circle. 

Ricky strokes his darling’s spine and presses his fingers greedily into Gyuvin’s hips, angling his head until his little one has perfect access. Gyuvin’s mouth is warm and soft on his throat, the fledgling slowly feeding from him even as his hands roam all over the elder’s body. 

The sensation of little swallows and licks at his throat, Gyuvin’s lips pressed against his skin in an almost kiss— Ricky treasures this. He very much likes being the reason for his fledgling’s survival, the only thing that ties Gyuvin to his second life. 

“Drink your fill, darling,” he murmurs, one of his hands cradling Gyuvin’s head against his throat. “Take a bit more.” 

Gyuvin makes a soft sound against Ricky’s skin but he does as instructed, does not withdraw his little fangs. Usually by now he would be done, would have had enough of Ricky’s rich blood and be ready for a nap. 

But tonight, Ricky wants his little one drunk-dazed on his rich blood. He wants Gyuvin to be full, truly, his body heavy with Ricky’s dark blood and completely knocked out. 

“Drink,” he urges again, whispering the word into Gyuvin’s fluffy hair, ignoring the knowledge that this is perhaps not his best plan ever. “You won’t ever be hungry, baby.” 

Gyuvin, already heavy and limp in his arms, obeys. Even as his swallows grow slower and slower, his head laying against Ricky’s collarbone, he obeys.

His baby is drunk on blood, his belly probably uncomfortably full, and Ricky cradles him close as he finally falls off into sleep. 

It takes only a moment to settle Gyuvin in the bed, only a moment to pull the covers up around his darling’s shoulders and press a kiss to his soft cheek. The fledgling’s mouth is stained red and wet; Ricky barely stops himself from licking away his own blood and instead uses a fingertip. 

“Sweet dreams, darling,” he murmurs into Gyuvin’s hair, lingering beside the bed. He kisses his baby’s round cheek in farewell, disliking the action of parting from his fledgling though he knows it is necessary. 

In the doorway of the bedroom he glances back just once at Gyuvin, his eyes tracing over the small shape of his darling safe under the sheets. He loves him. He loves him. 

The night is dark but sweet with the arrival of spring, something warm and playful about the shadows. Ricky does not care. He strides down street after street, dark wool coat high around his throat and the open wounds still slowly seeping blood.

He smells of iron and fury and the tang of revenge; dangerous. 

The man—monster— he seeks tonight is at a bar, the interior of the business grimy and fetid with years of stale blood. Vampires pale as bones leer at Ricky as he enters and then shrink away once they register his aura, his frigid burning shadows and the oppressive weight of all he is. 

Hyeongjoon is surrounded by listless, bite-marked humans, their clothes in tatters and their eyes empty. Ricky pays no mind. He is here for revenge and nothing else. 

“Kim Hyeongjoon,” he says and his voice is a whip, an adder’s hiss, a blade. His black boots, tipped in steel, are already wet with spilled blood. 

The wretched vampire gazes at him from hooded eyes, relaxed among his circle of living meals. He is either too idiotic or too reckless to cower from Ricky; truly a fool. 

“Who’re you?” Hyeongjoon asks, flicking pale fingers at Ricky. “Find your own humans, these ones are mine and their blood is mine.”

Ricky snarls, done with this indolence, and in a moment he has Hyeongjoon pressed up against the bricks of the alley outside the bar. No moon shines tonight, only velvety darkness, and Ricky holds the vampire so tightly that the bricks around him start to buckle and crumble. 

“You are going to die,” Ricky murmurs, baring his fangs in satisfaction. “This is your punishment, for Kim Gyuvin.” 

Hyeongjoon, his head lolling against the bricks and eyes wide in terror, trembles. “Who?” 

Ricky snarls again, truly furious, and snaps the vampire’s arm. The man screams, shrill and high— it’s a very satisfying sound. Ricky wants to hear it again. 

He moves on, crushing the slim bones at the vampire's wrist into dust and bending his fingers back until they snap one by one and hang limp, useless. Hyeongjoon is making a high, whimpering sound— pathetic. 

Ricky bends over him when the vampire slumps to the ground, splayed out like a starfish. His fingers are curved, talons of shadow at his fingertips, and he’s almost eager to see the red of the vampire's blood. 

“You deserve this,” Ricky murmurs, soft as any lovers caress. He stares down into Hyeongjoon’s contorted face, his dry tears and silent, screaming wails. “This is your punishment, for everything you took from my love.” 

He sinks his fingers into Hyeongjoon’s chest, layers of muscle and tissue and red, wet flesh parting as easily as a sheet of paper. He slips his claws beneath the curve of ribs and slides them down, through dripping wetness, until he finds the link expanse of unmoving lungs. 

It is only a moment's work to crack the vampire's ribs open, baring his chest, and only another moment or two for Ricky to lift his lungs up and out into a macabre simile of butterfly wings.

Hyeongjoon heaves under him, thrashing and screaming, his broken arms flailing uselessly against the gravel. 

Ricky barely pays any attention. His focus is entirely on the body before him and the things he can do to it, all the ways he can inflict pain. He has survived a very, very long time and fought in many wars; if there is anything Ricky understands fully, it is pain and death. 

Stroking his wet, red hands down the open expanse of Hyeongjoon’s pale torso, Ricky sinks his fingers almost lovingly into the other vampire's stomach. It is so easy to remove the parts of his body, so easy to grip slippery pinkish-red organs and set them aside almost as if they matter. 

He uncoils lengths of intestine and lays them about the vampire, arranging them almost prettily like shining, heavy pink ribbons.

Hyeongjoon is making a sound like a trapped animal, his struggles weaker. Yet still he has not begun to plead, still he is not babbling out promises of riches or fame in return for this to end. 

“Terrible thing,” Ricky murmurs, sliding his gore-covered nails under the curve of Hyoengjoons jaw. He slices slowly, with precision, searching for the lump of the Adam's Apple. “You are weak. You do not matter. My fledgling will outlive you by centuries.” 

Hyeongjoon gurgles wetly as his throat is sliced, Adam's Apple ripped out and skin folded back in messy ribbons. His weeping chest shudders as he heaves, trying to sit up, trying to get away, but Ricky clamps down on the uncoiled intestines and Hyeongjoon screams, flopping back to the gravel and dirt. 

Ricky picks up the vampire's left hand, whole and well, and rips all five nails out as easily as he would pluck the petals off a flower. He hums as he does it, thinking only of Gyuvin’s pretty smile and warm arms. He cannot wait to return to his fledgling. 

“Please,” Hyeongjoon garbles at last, red sliding down his tattered throat and seeping over the edges of his open chest, dripping off the edges of his pink lungs. “Please.” 

“No,” Ricky hisses at him, shadows lunging up behind him like dark, ephemeral wings. “No, I will not spare you. How dare you ask.” 

He slips his dripping wet fingers between Hyeongjoon’s parted lips, giving him a taste of his own insides, and gropes around until he finds the vampire's tongue. The muscle is thick and slippery-wet, hard to grasp, but Ricky pulls with only a fraction of his strength and it splits easily from the vampire's throat. 

Hyeongjoon makes a rattling, keening sound as Ricky throws his tongue to the side, so much blood bubbling up that it’s almost obscene. Blood wasted, blood that belonged to innocent humans like Gyuvin before this monster descended. 

Ricky will avenge them all. He will hurt and hurt this monster until Hyeongjoon goes to his second death knowing that he should have never touched the sweet, perfect human boy. 

Pressing his thumbs to the delicate skin beneath the vampires rolling, terrified eyes, Ricky dips closer to him. He inhales the scent of copper, heavy and metal-rich, and feels only satisfaction.

“Be a good monster,” he hisses, his fangs flashing as he curls his lips back. “And keep quiet for me. We wouldn’t want to scare the humans.” 

Grinning, his pale hands and arms covered in dripping crimson red gloves of blood almost to his elbows, Ricky presses his fingers underneath the vampire’s eyes until he feels two satisfying pops.

He has a long night ahead of him. 

_____

Hours and hours later, after he is clean and smells only of sweet jasmine, Ricky slides into bed beside his fledgling. Gyuvin sleeps on still, curled up in a tiny ball, his sweet face pressed into the fluffy pillows. 

Ricky wraps his arms around his baby’s waist, inhaling the scent of sweet blood and home.

Their bodies fit together perfectly, Ricky pressing himself against Gyuvin’s spine and wishing once again that they could merge their bodies and truly never be separated. He closes his eyes and tucks his face into the nape of Gyuvin’s neck, enjoying the feel of his silky hair. 

His baby is safe. His baby is whole and well and, even if this life has been thrust upon him without his permission, Ricky will spend the remainder of his endless existence sweetening this un-life for him. 

“Sire,” Gyuvin breathes and at first Ricky thinks he is talking in his sleep, is simply calling out for him even in his dreams. His undead heart flutters at the thought. 

But then Gyuvin’s head is tilted back against his chest, the fledgling’s pale, glowing face lifted up to look at Ricky. 

“Sleep, darling,” the elder murmurs, pressing a very light kiss to the tip of his little one’s cute nose. He winds his arms more tightly around Gyuvin’s chest and waist, relishing the feel of the boy sleepy-soft in his clutches. “I am here. All is well. Sleep, my sweet fledgling.” 

“Sire,” Gyuvin whispers again, his eyes liquid-bright and so full of stars it almost hurts to gaze at the light of him. “Thank you.” 

Ricky’s thick brows furrow just a tiny bit, his confusion hidden from his face even as he cannot quite figure out what he has done. 

Gyuvin’s cool fingers rise up to curl around the back of the vampire’s neck, his fledgling drawing him down insistently. Ricky goes, easily, and it feels natural and easy when their mouths press together. 

Gyuvin kisses him softly, sweetly, almost lazily. It feels as if they have been doing this for centuries, as if they have spent their lives kissing and kissing and tasting each other. 

Ricky’s frozen heart thunders in his chest and he dips over his baby, his fledgling, his precious love. He licks into Gyuvin’s mouth in the way he has wished to for months now, flicks his tongue over the boy's tiny fangs and swallows down his incredibly sweetness. 

He loves him. He loves him. Ricky feels as if he is dreaming and as if he is finally experiencing what it is to truly be alive, to taste and feel the heat of golden daylight.

He is home, in his fledgling’s arms, exactly where he has always wanted to be. 

_____

“Sire,” Gyuvin whines, climbing into Ricky’s lap and pushing his ancient, priceless scroll away. Ricky drops it instantly in favor of holding his darling, his hands constantly greedy for the feel of his little one’s gemstone skin. “When will they be here? I’ve been waiting all day.” 

Ricky smiles and presses a kiss to Gyuvin’s cheek, then another to his mouth because he cannot help himself. He is starving for his fledgling, always, and if the boy allowed it Ricky would keep him in his arms, with their lips locked together, for the next hundred years. 

“Soon, darling,” he reassures, gazing up at his baby with eyes brimming with affection. Gyuvin is so pretty, so cute, so precious and perfect. He is the center of Ricky’s everything, his sun and stars and golden daylight. “They said they would arrive before evening.” 

Gyuvin makes a grumbling sound and twists his fingertips in Ricky’s blonde hair, annoyed.

“I want them here now, sire,” he pouts, wriggling slightly where he sits perched on the elder’s hips. “Can’t you make them get here faster?” 

Ricky fully laughs and the sound is not exactly sweet, not exactly chiming bells, but no longer is his amusement is rasping, cold thing. He has been warmed by Gyuvin, his ice and steel tempered by the glittering warmth of his baby. 

“Anything for you, darling,” he promises, clasping one of Gyuvin’s hands in his and raising it to his mouth. He presses a kiss to the smooth skin, an echo of bygone ages, and is pleased when Gyuvin stops his whining and flutters his eyelashes at him instead. “Shall I go and search for them?” 

“No,” Gyuvin decides after a moment, his sparkling eyes trained on Ricky’s face as if the elder vampire is the most important thing in all the world. He looks hungry and the desire in his sweet face, in his voice is— delicious. “I want you here, sire. Anyways, I think I know how we can pass the time until they arrive.” 

Ricky smiles, wicked and sharp.

“Really,” he purrs, leaning back in his chair and gazing up at his fledgling, luxuriating in this glowing, golden thing thrumming between them. “And how might we pass the time, little one?” 

Instead of using his words Gyuvin decides to show him, winding his arms around Ricky’s pale throat and tightening his legs around the elders hips. His darling dips over him, red mouth already curved in a smile, and kisses Ricky as if they are drowning and can only gain air from one another. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss, no need to ever stop or part because they are in love and they do not need air or food and they are endless. 

A long, long while later, yet still not long enough for all of Ricky’s affection that he wishes to express, the door to the apartment is thrown open. Zhang Hao, followed by a tanned and smiling Hanbin, tumble inside along with their suitcases and trinkets. 

“Well well,” Zhang Hao announces, grinning even as he leads his human into the sitting room and stares unashamedly at Ricky and Gyuvin. “Looks like you finally took my advice, Ricky-yah.” 

Gyuvin has ripped his red, red mouth away from Ricky’s and now he huddles against the elder vampire’s chest, his eyes wide and curious in his sweet face as he studies their visitors. 

Ricky tightens his arms around his fledgling reflexively, despite the knowledge that he does not need to protect his baby from the two people before him. 

He presses a soft kiss against the curve of Gyuvin’s cheek, inhaling jasmine and copper, and reluctantly tears his eyes away from his darling. 

Hanbin is giving Gyuvin a kind smile and Zhang Hao, overwhelming as his exuberance can be, is already cooing over how adorable the little one is. 

“Zhang Hao, Hanbin,” Ricky murmurs, only a little annoyed that they’ve finally arrived and interrupted the lovely, golden hours he and Gyuvin had spent kissing. “Welcome home.” 

Gyuvin, cuddled up in Ricky’s arms and with his hands pressed against the elder vampire's chest, beams.

“Sire,” he says happily, bell-like laughter in his voice as he twists to gaze up at Ricky, his eyes brimming with affection. “Your name is Ricky?”