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Stan didn't consider himself particularly keen. He could acknowledge the fact that his strengths lie in places other than sensing when someone was perturbed or unwell. Like perhaps his musical inclimation, or getting a feel for a crowd rather than an indivual. But it would truly take an entirely new sort of unobserving person to not notice Kyle's state.
On any normal day, Kyle held himself strictly. Perfect aged posture, a default face that dared anyone to pick a bone with him, and perfectly tailored clothes that hugged his frame. It made his entire being mystic, beautiful with the contrast of his stark white skin and gothic clothing.
The town knew him as a weirdo shut-in. Eccentric but nothing more.
Stan saw him differently. Most notably because he had seen the fangs Kyle calls from his canines when he feeds. It was an intimate moment when Kyle had first shown them to him. Dark and obscured as they sat knee-to-knee on an old forgotten park bench. The setting summer sun basked them in humid heat that was deterred only by the occasional light breath of wind that jostled the trees. Kyle's perpetually cold hands had graced Stan's neck, brushing back hair as his green eyes shifted to a reddish hue and hunger danced along his sharp features. He smiled then, lips rising to reveal what he warned Stan made him an irredeemable monster.
Stan thought they suited him perfectly and made him nothing less than a piece of carefully perfected art.
Kyle refused to suck his blood, though. The closest he got was holding Stan's clothes up to his nose while he fed off a package of animal blood. Or, sometimes he ran his tongue along Stan's wrist. It was weird to anyone else, so the pair only did it in private. Each time it happened, Kyle's sandpaper-like tongue dancing along the smooth inside of Stan's wrist, it felt deeply intimate. The good memories were something Stan often occupied his mind with at night, fantasizing about the day when Kyle would break skin. None of his blood had been drawn outside of imagined scenarios. Stan tried not let himself be offended by Kyle's repeated refusal toward drinking his blood, but it was difficult when Kyle's face turned sour each time the scenario was suggested.
Today Kyle was noticeably out of it. His typically aware eyes seemed dull, missing things that would never go without comment on a good day. It was especially noticeable within Kyle's house, an abode miles out from town that sat sticking out on a hill which no one dared to venture up. Usually Kyle fit in perfectly with the aged and dark aesthetic of the house, his skin an artistic contrast against the black and red frill the decorated the windows and walls. But something about his appearance today was horribly off.
His clothes, notably, seemed almost... loose on his hunched body, and his perfect skin had deep bags beneath his eyes. Stan wasn't even sure it was possible for vampires to have eyebags. His cheekbones as well were jutted and lacking their usual structure.
"Are you sick or something? Bad blood?" Stan asked from where he was sitting on an old, victorian style couch. He wasn't sure of Kyle's exact age, it was a sore subject, but he could generally guess by the different eras of decor he had going on.
"I beg your pardon?" Kyle turned toward Stan, narrowing his eyes as he adjusted a baroque vase.
Stan stiffened at the response, he seemed short tempered today. Moreso than usual.
"You don't..." he was scared to make the comment, "look... right."
"You mean to say I've lost my attraction?" Kyle's lip twitched slightly as he abandoned the vase, taking a step toward Stan, "despite my lack of beating heart I do still have feelings, you know."
His intimidation attempt was nearly effective, and Stan might have been scrambling if a second later Kyle didn't crumple to his knees, coat tail sprawled beneath him.
Concern trumping any sort of fear toward the mythical being, Stan rushed to Kyle's side.
"Christ you're incessant."
Kyle had a gloved hand covering the lower half of his face, eyes fully red as they glared at Stan.
They were captivating, elusive and gorgeous as they stared at Stan like he was on a garnished plate at a world-renowned restaurant. It made Stan bristle with a sensation that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"You're hungry," Stan connected the dots, gaping slightly as Kyle's chest heaved half-aborted breaths. Which was odd, since Stan had assumed Kyle only breathed to maintain human appearances or to smell him. Another odd thing was the edge of fear in the way he eyed Stan, eyebrows quirked in that one particular way.
Suddenly, Kyle pushed Stan away, using the nearest loveseat to pull himself to his feet. Any average day the shove would send Stan across the room, but with Kyle's reduced strength he only stumbled a bit before returning to Kyle's side like a dog playing fetch.
"Let me..." Stan gnawed on his lip, fearful once more of rejection, "I can help."
"No."
"Kyle, you're starving! Jesus, dude I hate seeing you like this. It's not right," Stan argued, hating knowing that he had the ability to help Kyle, to make him feel better, but was actively being blocked from doing such by the very person he craved to save.
"I can manage my own," Kyle spat, though his eyes were intense and his voice came out nasally from pinching his nostrils shut, "I advise you to leave, go home and return in three days. I'll be fed by then."
"You can be 'fed' now!" Stan argued, growing frustrated. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it on the couch so that his low cut t-shirt left his arms and neck exposed. It was warm on the walk over and the thick fabric of his sweatshirt was the only thing keeping his body's natural smell from filling the room.
This was a fact that was quickly made appearant to Kyle, whose gloves were no longer any match for the alluring scent that wriggling it's way through his fingertips and into his nasal passage. He squeezed his eyes shut, the hand braced on the love seat clenching so hard a crack sounded out.
"Leave," Kyle's eyes were squeezed shut, the wooden structure beneath him splintering once more beneath his grasp. A shame, that was one of Stan's favorites to cuddle on.
"No," Stan stepped closer, deciding now wasn't the time to mourn the loss of furniture.
It happened quickly, like a taut string being sliced through. One second Stan was reaching out to a trembling Kyle and the next he was being restrained by thin, powerful arms pinning his arms to each side and a stone-like body pressed against his back. One gloved hand remained around his waist, digging into his stomach and the other reached up to tilt his head to the right, edging on painful. Yet, Stan couldn't find anything but relief in the burning overextension of his neck, not while Kyle's unnervingly cold tongue was licking the sensitive skin, the small perforations of his tongue numbing the skin while his fangs grazed the area. Stan shuddered, and Kyle squeezed tighter. Unwillingly, it forced a desperate noise out of Stan that teetered on a whimper as his breath was pressed out of him like a squeeze toy. A second later alarm bells went off in his mind, Kyle's perfectly white fangs digging into his tan skin and sucking greedily the liquid that provided Stan his life.
The whole thing felt weird, Kyle's hair tickling his cheek as the vampire made sounds of enjoyment toward the delicacy of which he considered Stan. Still caught of guard by it all, Stan's eyes were wide at the mirror mounted opposite wall, and he hadn't yet garnered control of his panicked breathing. As calm and trusting of Kyle his conscious was, his body was on edge at being at the mercy of such an entity.
He chalked up the black edging his vision to poor lighting, and the cold buzzing at his fingertips was nothing more than fight-or-flight. The weak knees? He always got them around Kyle, and this situation would surely have a heavy effect on his body, more than his usual lovesickness.
It wasn't until his vision began fully going black that the idea of Kyle having been lost to his urges flashed across his mind. Kyle would never hurt Stan, he knew, but whatever being resided within him which provided him immortality when given blood... Well maybe that might.
Mustering his energy reserves, Stan gaped his dry mouth, smacking his lips together and attempting to return moisture to the crevice.
"Kyle-" he gasped out, his vision a pinpoint on his odd and bent reflection. For a brief second he could see two disembodied glaring red orbs in the mirror, then green, then black.
"Oh God," his wavering voice came out, arms immediately loosening around Stan. Without the tight support, Stan stumbled to the side, his weakened body unable to hold himself up. Kyle, his skin once more bright and eyes wide with their usual keeness, made haste out of catching Stan and rushing him over to the couch.
"I told you to run," his eyes were wide as they bore into Stan's half-lidded ones. His pink tongue darted out to get the excess blood from his lip, an uncharacteristic messy feed.
"I'm happy to help," Stan croaked, Kyle's numbing wearing off and leaving his neck feeling sore and raw as if he had just been hit with a bat.
Kyle's lips twitched downward, a gust of wind whirlpooling as he dashed away then returned, a first aid kit in hand.
"Be sure to let me know if it hurts," he opened the kit, grabbing a glass vial out that Stan could not recall being standard procedure in any kit. Maybe some sort of vampire thing. As much as Stan wanted to watch the whole process, keeping his eyes open was a struggle, so he let them slide shut, hands sagging down toward the ground.
"Hey, no, don't fall asleep on me," Kyle lightly slapped his cheek a few times consecutively, and upon returning to awareness Stan could no longer see the aid kit, "I don't have the supplies to properly care for you, I-" he stammered, a horrible thing for someone so perfectly articulated as him, "I can't- I took too much- I knew I would- God you've always smelt so good and- and I knew if I ever got a taste of you I wouldn't be able to contain myself, Stan I'm so sorry."
"No, don't," Stan reached his weighted hand up to catch on Kyle's shoulder, squeezing it lightly in reassurance, "I'm fine," weak, barely staying awake, but he didn't feel nearly as bad as he had when he blacked out. There was a half empty water bottle on the obsidian coffee table and Stan figured he had drunk it at some point during the disorienting haze of being nursed.
"You need blood," Kyle choked on the last word as if it reminded him of the disdain he once felt toward his unconventional survival necessities. He was never vocal about his species insecurity, but Stan could pick up on his self-hatred if only through the language he used regarding himself. Just the fact that he viewed himself as a monster was enough of a giveaway.
"How do you feel? Confusion? Cramps? Thirsty? Cold?" His hands felt Stan's cheeks, "you're clammy."
"Normal sweat," Stan brushed off. He felt slightly disoriented, and he figured the thirst was nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly he believed fully that Kyle stopped before any proper damage had been dealt. Passing out earlier was probably a bit overdramatic of him, he tended to have a lower threshold for tolerance when it came to blood loss, "I'm fine, honest, dude."
Kyle's lips pinched together with skepticism, but eventually his tight face melted, "I enjoy it when you call me that, 'dude.'"
Stan lips quirked into a smile, "it's that new-age slang, I guess it hasn't been around that long for you."
"I consider it relatively new, at least no one I've conversed with yet has been so familiar to refer to me as such, it feels close," lingering clouds of fear still ghosted in Kyle's vowels, but he seemed to trust Stan's declaration of being fine.
"Yea, dudes are close," Stan let the hand on Kyle's shoulder pull him down. If Kyle wanted to resist, he would have easily done such, but he allowed his upper half to be pulled atop Stan.
"What other lingo do you use for closeness?" Kyle whispered, lowering his volume now that they were pressed so close.
"Babe, sweetheart, darling," Stan listed, "there's a lot more."
"Darling... I'm familiar with that one," Kyle repeated, "babe I figure has changed a bit in context. But darling, that one has always been beautiful."
"Suits you then," Stan commented, "'cause you've also always been beautiful," he never considered himself particularly poetic when it came to flirting, but internally pat himself on the back for that line. It was unfortunate Kyle couldn't blush though, Stan was sure that would have made his cheeks dust red.
"You flatter me," Kyle sighed, head coming down to rest on Stan's chest. His legs were bent on the floor beside, the low resting couch suddenly a perfect investment, "I'm not sure I've ever loved someone so deeply."
If there was any fear of hypovolemic shock before Stan was sure it would be dashed away, because his face could not possibly feel so warm if on death's door.
"I'm honored," Stan replied, his mind coming up with a doomed scenario of an immortal waiting centuries for his soulmate. It would make a good premise for a song, "to be loved by you and to love you."
Kyle breathed in deeply, Stan's t-shirt being pulled up slightly, "would you ever mind... Please don't be afraid to decline, but I- Would doing this again appeal to you? I could drink beforehand and only cap off with you-- do it safely but- Stan you're the best I've ever tasted."
"Dude, I would love that."