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When he enters Elias’ office, he expects it to be about work. About the Unknowing, maybe. Elias had been vague in his email, and had insisted Jon come up as soon as he could. Tim had told him it was probably dangerous, to say he was doing something important. But if Elias had something for him, it would surely be worthwhile even if it were dangerous. He’d deliberated over it, but in the end he’d walked up to the lion’s den a few minutes after reading the email. It's hard not to feel like he’s obeying Elias’ whims whether he likes it or not.
“Ah, Jon. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Elias says. His voice is warm and polite; his eyes (the only trustworthy part) are curious, attentive, entirely focused on Jon. “I wanted to talk about your... condition.”
Right. The vampirism.
After a few days of strange cravings, he’d gone to Elias, both desperate for answers and frustrated to be asking him for them. He’d tilted his head back, showing the two little holes in his neck, side by side. A proof he’d wanted to ignore. He’d found himself almost frustrated - how was it that this encounter, that had changed him so much, was nothing more than something passing in the night?
Elias had examined him. His hands had been far gentler than Jon had expected, brushing over his throat, so close to the scabbed over wound Daisy had put there. Normally Jon flinches away from anything getting close to his neck, especially the hands of a murderer. He hadn’t been at all concerned, though, at Elias’ thumbs brushing over twin scabs, at his palm over Jon’s lifeblood. Rather, he had found himself soothed. The memory of it makes him blush even now.
It was a targeted attack from another power, Elias had theorised, an attempt to weaken Jon. Said that there was the possibility it could be used to their advantage, but that Jon would have to be careful, strengthen his now endangered connection to the Eye. Elias had asked if Jon could do that on his own. His eyes had pierced into Jon’s, and for the first time in the days since being bit Jon had felt the Eye’s gaze on him, both comforting and terrifying.
“I'll be fine,” Jon had lied. He’s certain Elias knew it was a lie - why wouldn't he - but he hadn’t said a word about it.
Now, a few months later, Jon is pale. He shakes nearly constantly, wracked with exhaustion - he’s fallen asleep at his desk multiple times, and thinking feels like wading through mud. The others have noticed, although they probably put it down to the whole Archivist business. He does read more statements in an attempt to stave off the hunger, but he's still taken someone's blood. Twice, in fact - as little as he could, only enough to stop the shaking. It still makes him feel ill to think about.
“How are you handling it?” Elias asks. As though it’s not obvious, as though he’s just toying with Jon. Daring him to lie. For a moment he wants to, simply to be contrary.
“I’ve been fine,” Jon says, too soon, too quick. Defending himself despite the lack of an accusation. If Elias didn’t already know, he certainly does now. “Some difficulty adjusting, but it’s fine.”
It’s almost instinct to lie to Elias, despite the fact that he doesn't really know why he bothers. Elias could help him. Although, historically Elias’ help has been rather unwanted.
“Hm,” Elias says. There’s a heavy weight behind it, and Jon can almost feel him deciding what to do next, exactly what would satisfy him most right now. “I’d like to confirm that myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Um,” Jon gets out. “Okay?”
Elias crooks a finger, and Jon obeys the silent command, bringing himself into Elias’ space. His natural trepidation he so desperately wants to identify with tells him this is a trap. His inexorable pull towards Elias he so desperately wants to blame on the Eye tells him to fall for it.
Elias grasps his chin. It’s not forceful, but there’s an amount of strength behind it that stops Jon from moving away. He has to remind himself not to lean into the touch. Elias turns his head this way and that, and makes some contemplative noises, although Jon’s not entirely certain what he’s ascertaining that he couldn’t have before.
“Jon,” Elias says, and although his voice is quiet, it doesn’t quite earn the descriptor of soft. If Jon listens for it (which he always is), there’s an undercurrent of affection, and concern. “You’re starving.”
“It’s fine,” Jon repeats. Still defensive.
Elias merely hums. “You understand I can’t allow this.”
Jon means to refute - to make clear that Elias has no capacity to allow Jon to do or not do things - but he’s stopped by Elias’ hand on his waist, pulling him forward. He stumbles, a little bit, and Elias takes advantage of the momentum, reeling him in.
"What- what are you doing?" Jon practically yelps, but he doesn’t resist Elias moving him. Allows Elias to draw him onto his lap. This close, he can hear his blood, life itself moving through his jugular, his heartbeat making Jon's mouth water. He takes a breath to steady himself.
"What I've always done," Elias says, mostly composed except for the breathless quality in his voice. His hand comes to the small of Jon's back, keeping him where he is, although the touch is light. "Taking care of my Archivist."
"I, I don't-"
His protests die in his throat as Elias bares his own, tilting his head back. The vein is prominent, tantalising, and he's hyper-aware of his fangs in his mouth. He leans forward before he really processes what he's doing, and only stops himself from biting into Elias' neck by licking at it instead. Elias makes a contented little hum, which gets cut off by a gasp when Jon's fangs graze skin.
"Go on, Jon," Elias says, his grip on Jon tightening, pulling him forward somewhat. His voice is but a murmur, and full of anticipation, excitement. "It's okay. I want you to eat well."
He can't help but bite down, at that.
Blood spills into his mouth, hot and sweet. There is so much of it, and he's sure he's making a mess of Elias' collar (which he only now realises had been pulled down before Jon had even entered his office) but he doesn't care . His hunger has sharpened to a point, the emptiness profound now that he has the opportunity to sate it. It's good, and it's made better by Elias' pained moans, although Jon hardly hears him through the haze of feeding.
It tastes different, he realises. There’s something about it, some inextricable quality of Elias’ blood, that makes it just delectable . This isn’t just nourishment; it’s indulgence, and god does he want to indulge. Is it the fact that they share a god? Or is it the vampire part of him, antithesis to the Eye, rejoicing in what it perceives to be an attack on an enemy. Most likely it’s the simple fact that it’s Elias’ blood he’s fervently drinking down. Whatever it is, he wants more of it.
Right now, the thought of going back to his self-imposed starvation makes him feel more ill than the reality of his newfound monstrousness ever had. He's making little whining sounds against Elias' throat, and Elias is murmuring encouragement and praise in between sounds of pain or pleasure or both, and he doesn't want this to end.
It has to, though. Instinct has him drawing away before he takes too much, licking at the rapidly closing wounds, both the desire to soothe and the now-fading desire to feed. It leaves only a pair of pinpricks in Elias' neck, matching Jon’s own. Rare possessiveness curls through him at the sight of them. Elias takes his chin again, brings their mouths together, and Jon sighs, content with this turn of events. Elias is surprisingly gentle, and it takes Jon a moment to realise he’s kissing his own blood off of Jon’s lips. The realisation has Jon making a small and happy sound. Eventually Elias is done, and Jon rests his head on his shoulder, letting his eyes close, sated and satisfied.
"Good, Jon, very good," Elias says, running a hand through Jon's hair. The praise lands deep in his chest, next to his newly beating heart, and it has him making another contented noise. Now, reality returning in waves, he can hear the exhaustion in his voice. He looks up to see Elias pale, almost sickly, and he can feel him shaking against him. "Are you still hungry?"
"Ah," Jon says, taking stock of himself. He isn't. He feels better than he has in the months since he turned. It causes a fresh wave of shame, guilt, self-hatred, although the sensation of finally being full is stronger. "No."
"Good. That was all I needed you for."
"Right," Jon mutters, removing himself from Elias, standing and making his way towards the door. He can’t let that happen again. He can lock the memory of this in Elias’ office, where it’ll wither and die, so that he won’t keep thinking about it. How good it felt.
"Jon?" Elias says.
Jon turns to face him, scowling. He has a fond expression on his face, unbothered by Jon practically tearing his throat out.
"Do try not to starve yourself in the future," Elias tells him. Then he hums, contemplatively, and says "Or perhaps do. I certainly wouldn't be opposed to helping again."
As though that’s a normal thing to say. He surely doesn’t mean it. Jon pointedly ignores the way his heart flutters at Elias’ proposal.
"Right," Jon repeats, turning and leaving before he can consider it. The door to Elias' office closes heavily. It feels like he’s stepped into a different reality, one where that didn’t just happen. Nevertheless, he can't help but dwell on it. On how good it felt, and how satisfied he is now, calm in a way he hasn't been in weeks.
Maybe he will take Elias up on his offer. Just once, so as not to hurt anyone else. No other reason.