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Two men collapsed into the safety of their unmarked sedan with hastily shut doors echoing off the narrow confines of a dark alley. Rashid is heaving and panting within the silence of the car, while his shaking hand comes to feel at the two puncture wounds defacing his neck. A steady stream of blood trickles and flows into his stiff collar, only to join a modestly expanding puddle upon his chest.
Beside him, Raglan didn’t look any better. Underneath shattered circle lenses, a red mark promises to bruise across the crest of his right cheek, pairing well with his tender split lip. He’s staring straight ahead into the empty darkness around them, desperate to break the aching tension. “Well… that was fucked. Huh, Rashid?” Then a full analysis of the evening is launched into, with his cracked ribs and possible concussion just barely slowing his customary tirades.
In all honesty, Rashid couldn’t fault his partner for the need to evaluate the evening’s events, even as he chatted a mile a minute. The evening had started with an easy enough mission: attend The Vampire Lestat’s Detroit concert, do a little reconnaissance at the after party, then head back to their company-provided hotel room to submit a brief report.
The first bit went as planned. The partners split up to opposite ends of the lively crowd, taking mental note of any vampire-revealing activities done by the lead singer. Well, that was what Rashid was doing, as Raglan began impassively bopping his head half way through. The after party was uneventful for them as well, besides the attempt to traipse through the dense crowd of coked-up groupies. Deciding to head back to their room early, they leave with a parting wave to a former agent behind the sound booth.
As they meander through gloomy city streets, their trek back to their car was cut short by a glowing-eyed duo before them. Apparently, the regional “Fang Gang” coven didn’t take kindly to the Talamasca encroaching on their territory. Raglan, with an index finger pointed high, foolishly attempted to correct the assumption. “Ah, but that was not the intention of my partner and I! Was it, Rashid? No no, we were actually just monitoring the rather foolhardy front man. The one that was gyrating his hips and whatnot,” he explains with his signature overtly toothy grin.
The justification, delivered in that peculiar dialect of his, did not convince the vampires to leave them alone. Only emboldened by the agents’ bookish excuses, the vampires advance. Their teasing movements run the two humans in disorienting circles, plainly toying with their food. Then, one makes a sudden dash behind Rashid with their enhanced speed, finally securing their fangs in his neck.
Rashid’s knees buckle instantly as his veins are pierced, landing him pinned to the ground. Upon hearing the subsequent anguished noise that escapes his partner’s, Raglan abandons his attacker to rush to his partner’s side. All from a rapidly drained haze, Rashid just about recognizes the familiar grey shape of his partner rushing to tackle the vampire enveloping him. Punches fly from behind him as he makes contact with the cement, and he swears he could hear the impact of each foot and elbow land in the most sensitive of areas.
Soon enough, matching pairs of shoes skid across the sidewalk, along with a half baked shout from his partner. “Y- Yeah…! You better run you-”
Then there was a firm pair of hands that came to wrap around his arm, each sporting an array of slashes across the knuckles. “You okay, Rashid? I- I’ve chased them off I think,” Raglan murmurs. “Bloody Gen Z vampires… I guess we’re lucky they’re too busy scrolling instead of learning how to fight, ey?”
As he’s helped to his feet, Rashid takes a glance up at his partner-turned-protector and nearly stops short at the sight of the damage. The image stirs something within Rashid's chest (mostly likely his heart struggling to replenish all that he lost to an immortal with microbangs, he supposes) and suddenly he felt drawn by the intense need to slump against his partner. He presses his dirt-scraped cheek into his shoulder, sighs, and lets safety wash over him like a balm.
Raglan takes a concerned glimpse at him, making his busted lip tug into a stinging frown. “Come on, Rashid! Let's get you back to our room. And y'know- we're actually in luck! I remembered to pack my emergency suture kit!”
Now, having been half-carried back to the safety of their car, Rashid was still finding it difficult to take his eyes off of the man across from him. His blood-deprived brain just couldn't quite grasp this feeling that has overcome him. He and Raglan have worked together for nearly a decade now. They've shared desks, shared lunches. shared weeks-long missions together, hell, even shared a bed on a few cost cutting occasions.
And, besides general proximity, of course Rashid has noticed that his partner is… oddly handsome. Listen, he works with vampires, he can identify an attractive man when he sees one.
But, why now? Why has this altercation caused him to feel so… drawn to Raglan? And why hasn't that warm and pleasant feeling in his chest not left him?
Blinking his way out of his introspection, Rashid tunes back into his partner's continuous rant. “...it's not as easy as the movies, y'know- all the garlic and stakes. Would make our job a lot easier, that's for sure,” he scoffs. “But, hey… I'm really glad you're mostly in one piece, Rashid. Alive at least.”
Raglan clumsily pivots in his seat to face him before continuing, “We've had quite the adventures you and I and well… I'd be devastated if you went out by the fangs of a couple of over glorified toddlers. I- I couldn't let them just-” He huffs an awkward laugh at Rashid's typically empty expression, followed by his throat clicking around a dry and dejected swallow. “Because, Rashid I uh. I couldn't imagine being here- in Detroit of all places- with anyone else but you. You… You mean a lot to me.”
Oh
Yeah, that'll do it.
The vulnerability, the rush of adrenaline, the friend turned violent savior. He gets it now.
Once upon a time this feeling took hold of Mr. Du Lac, and now it seems to have returned for his faithful servant.
And you might say that it's just the near death experience or The Vampire Lestat's intoxicating explicit energy that's somehow gotten to his head. Or maybe… it's the feeling of that gentle sentiment, eccentrically muttered between them like a secret, that settled in his chest and refused to leave.
God, and how confused Raglan must have been as his seemingly shellshocked and pensive partner suddenly surges across the center console to kiss him. Raglan, falling back against his door on impulse, lets out something akin to a squeak with the first brush of lips. Their glasses clack on impact, Raglan's lacerated lip smears blood across Rashid's tongue, and fuck, its almost enough of a fail for him to give up and run back into those vampire-infested streets.
But, just as Rashid begins to think he's ruined it, he feels the chill of his partner's hand snake its way up his side. It rests with greed up on his hip and beneath his blazer. Raglan makes a delighted hum as he finally kisses back with energetic pecks. He moved like it was an indulgence, like he was savoring how his own blood tasted on Rashid's lips and committing the shape of his tongue to memory.
He's finally able to knock a whine free from Rashid's throat, needy and laced with desire.
The sound makes Raglan snicker and pull back to admire his partner. He flashes that typically uncanny grin of his, only this time it's softened around the edges, blissful and content. Then, the hand that once rested against his side now finds a new home, tenderly resting against Rashid's cheek.
“Never thought I could make you, of all people, blush…” he declares in a warm tone.
Rashid, suddenly self aware gulps and sits back a bit in his seat. “A thank you,” he answers simply.
“Ha!” His partner cackles as he reaches for the keys. “Right. Well, perhaps we should omit your gratitude from tonight's incident report, hm?”