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“Don’t care what the fuck your name is. We had to pick up our own laundry!”

The words tumble out of Nandor’s mouth before he can stop them, and he immediately realises two things.

First, he definitely should not have said that. There were a myriad of phrases he could’ve and should’ve used, including - especially - ‘thank you’, but gratitude hasn’t been his overwhelming response to anything in almost 800 years of existence, so it wasn’t exactly easy to utilise now.

(Also, Nandor reasons that he should be cut some slack, given that he just witnessed his familiar - his soft-spoken, submissive, puny human familiar - slaughter an entire theatre of vampires like it was nothing. Excuse him if his brain was having trouble.)

The second thing was that he was harder than he had ever been in his life, living or undead.

Nandor’s head was reeling. Watching Guillermo cut through those vampires like a hot knife through butter had rapidly filled him with more thoughts and feelings than he’d ever had to comprehend at once. When Guillermo dropped onto the stage, Nandor had felt a spark of joy light up in his chest. Guillermo hadn’t abandoned him after all; he had come to save him.

(And Laszlo, Nadja and Colin Robinson, he supposes, but mainly him.)

As quickly as that flame had lit, it had been doused with surging panic. What the hell was Guillermo doing? Nandor had graciously lied about killing his familiar as punishment for his transgressions, saving his skin, and this was how Guillermo repaid him - by crashing headfirst into his own death anyway. To say he was shocked when his familiar (‘ex-familiar’, he distantly thinks) plunged the stake into the first vampire would have been an understatement.

For the tiniest of moments, Nandor had been impressed. Taking the enemy by surprise was no mean feat, even if it was one of the oldest tricks in the military book. Before he could fully appreciate the skill of Guillermo’s attack, or even the fact that he’d had the balls to do it in the first place, the dread crashed back over Nandor stronger than before. That one must have just been a fluke. Guillermo had had the edge on that one, and Nandor knew that in the heat of the moment, anyone - even delicate, weak Guillermo - could be pushed to kill.

But then dozens of eyeballs were focused squarely on him - eyeballs in the heads of some of the most powerful beings to roam the Americas, if not the world. And Guillermo tore through them all as if he was born to do it.

Nandor couldn’t take his eyes off of the carnage. Well, neither could his three companions, but Nandor assumed (and hoped) that was purely down to shock, not because they shared the plethora of emotions that fired off inside of him. The sounds of screams, hissing, crashing furniture and spattering blood - oh, the blood - richocheted so beautifully off the theatre walls, sweet music to Nandor’s ears. As soon as a vampire descended upon Guillermo, it crumpled to the floor, dead or swiftly dying.

Guillermo was unrecognisable. A thin film of sweat had enveloped his face, his mouth drawn back into a tight snarl. Nandor couldn’t believe how fast the human moved, especially considering how long he took to dust the house. The trenchcoat’s sleeves tightened around Guillermo’s arms with each swing of a stake. The screeching death rattles and the thumping of bodies hitting the floor one after the other didn’t seem to disturb Guillermo at all - he just kept going. Unaware, or uncaring, of the litres of blood coating him, sprinkling his cheeks. This was a side to the human that Nandor could not have imagined in a million years, and it was glorious. He was a warrior. Fierce. Powerful. Relentless.

It was the most gorgeous, most seductive spectacle that Nandor had ever seen.

With all this in mind, could he be blamed, then, for his callousness? Could he really be expected to be graceful when it felt like all of his brain power had gone straight south? (“Yes, you hirsute donkey-brain!” Nadja would later seethe, but Nandor wasn’t to be convinced. Then again, he wouldn’t be admitting the second part to his housemates any time soon, which was surely a deciding factor in the question.)

If Nandor hadn’t realised that his comment about laundry was the wrong thing to say from his own instincts, Guillermo’s face would’ve confirmed it for him. Nandor didn’t think it was possible for Guillermo’s expression to darken further, but tonight clearly was full of surprises.

(It turned out his cock could get even harder after all, as well.)

Guillermo’s eyes glimmer with the start of a raging fire, and it sends a shiver down Nandor’s spine. He feels a rush of something that he hasn’t felt properly for centuries, even when the silver ropes were tightly wrapped around his body just minutes earlier — fear.

“What Nandor means to say, Guillermo," Nadja interjects, glaring daggers at Nandor and clearly convinced that pronouncing Guillermo’s name properly would instantly quash the tension, “is that we are very grateful for your heroics, and would be even more grateful if you untied us.”

“I concur with my good lady,” Laszlo pipes up, “Much obliged. Who would’ve thought you had it in you, old boy?”

Nandor can hear Guillermo exhale from across the room, his features collapsing into something still and unreadable. “Alright, hang on.”

The stakes clatter to the floor and Guillermo approaches. He glances at a particularly high pile of bodies before snapping his gaze away, tensing his shoulders and walking resolutely to the stage. He seems ashamed, Nandor thinks. Ashamed! Of such a valiant conquest!

The sound of footsteps as Guillermo climbs the staircase is deafening in the theatre’s silence. He starts furthest away from Nandor, freeing Laszlo first, and Nandor abruptly becomes aware that there is almost no chance that Guillermo won’t see his hard-on. The thought excites and terrifies him in equal measure. It’s nowhere near the most sexually depraved situation he’s found himself in, but Nandor knows now that he really doesn’t know Guillermo at all. He has no idea how Guillermo will react when he spots the tent in Nandor’s leather trousers, and it’s thrilling.

“Thanks, chum,” Colin Robinson says as he’s freed of his bonds, and it snaps Nandor back to attention. All of his senses are on edge as Guillermo moves behind him to untie the ropes. If his heart could beat, Nandor knew it would be thumping right now. He twists his head slightly to glance up at Guillermo and — nothing. Guillermo’s eyes are locked onto the unfastening rope, and before they even hit the floor, he’s turned away to walk back down the staircase.

“Come on,” he calls, and the vampires wordlessly oblige.

The journey home in Guillermo’s vehicular machine is silent. Nandor takes his rightful place at the front, but regrets this when he realises he can’t conspicuously stare at Guillermo. He manages to keep his eyes fixed forward most of the time, but can’t refrain from the occasional sideways glance at his familiar (no, ex-familiar, remember), raking his gaze over Guillermo’s still expression. The wild tousle of his hair. The blood droplets freckling his chin.

He is the most exquisite vision Nandor has ever seen.

The wordless trip in the stale-smelling machine may be causing his erection to flag, but the flame of pure need simmering in the pit of Nandor’s core still burns strong. He cannot believe it. Guillermo is a killer. Guillermo is his saviour. Small, sweet-smelling, virginal Guillermo, with his soft sweaters and delicate voice. Kind, patient, endlessly loyal Guillermo, who held Nandor’s hand to help him out of his coffin every night — who was always there for him, vigilant while Nandor slumbered —

Nandor very suddenly grasps that he is fucked. Totally, absolutely fucked, and definitely not in the way he usually likes.

Nandor barely has time to dwell on this revelation before Guillermo is unlocking the front door and leading them all inside. The human only makes it a few steps before he glances down at the victims littering the foyer. Immediately, he shoots his neck up towards the ceiling and squeezes his eyes shut, scrubbing a hand over his face.

When Guillermo turns to face the vampires, Nandor is eager to hear him speak. His housemates, too, all stare at the human, captivated. He can sense their fear and their wonder, like they expect Guillermo to suddenly launch stakes through their hearts as well.

Instead, Guillermo says, “I’m going to go get the mini-fridge.”

He heads off towards his room before the others can respond. As soon as he disappears from view, Nadja whacks Nandor’s arm, and he yelps.

“You babbling imbecile!” she hisses, smacking him more, “Did you have to talk about the fucking laundry at that precise moment?”

“I was surprised!” Nandor shoots back, scowling as he skitters away from Nadja’s reach. Any remnants of the lust wriggling in his stomach immediately vanish, his loins firmly unfirm. “Did you expect me to be thinking right after that?”

“Yes, you hirsute donkey-brain!” she seethes, “We all were! It is common sense! Somebody kills those about to kill you, you thank them. Even Varamir the Pig-Boy from my village could've told you that, and he was raised by goats!”

“Why was he called ‘Pig-Boy’ if he wasn’t raised by pigs?” Laszlo asks.

“He just had a very piggy face,” Nadja explains, before she rounds up on Nandor again, jabbing a sharp fingernail in his face, “Now Guillermo definitely isn’t going to come back and clean up this mess!”

“He wouldn’t have anyway! He quit his familial duties, remember?”

“And he came back to save us! To save you, although Satan knows why, you rotten piece of jism!”

Before he can stop himself, Nandor hisses at her and launches himself in the air. Without hesitation, Nadja mirrors his movements, raising her hands into claws. Just as quickly as the spat begins, Laszlo wrenches them apart.

“Alright, alright, stop it! You’re enabling Colin Robinson!” he shouts, rubbing his wife’s back as she settles back onto the ground.

Nandor smooths out the front of his cape and catches a flash of blue fading from the energy vampire’s eyes, to which he gives an admonishing glare.

“Well, excuse me for being a tad peckish after that ordeal,” Colin Robinson mutters, “I’m going to bed. Laters, taters.”

Hurriedly, Laszlo begin to usher off Nadja as well. “Yes, we’ve all had a long night - my lady and I are going to rest, too.”

“You go sort things out with your familiar immediately,” Nadja commands before briskly heading down the hall.

“You will do as my darling bids,” Laszlo points accusingly at Nandor, before continuing in a hushed tone, “Or else she’ll make me clean this shit up.”

“Laszlo!”

“Coming, my dear!”

Before Laszlo’s scurrying patter even begins to fade away, Nandor rolls his eyes and hovers towards Guillermo’s room under the stairs. There, he hovers again, although metaphorically this time. What is he even going to say? Where does he begin? For the second time that night, Nandor is overwhelmed with emotion. Anger at Guillermo’s abandonment; elation at his return; awestruck at his slaughter, but most of all, sheer desire for his everything.

He wants more than anything to speak to Guillermo - to touch him - and yet would rather do anything but. The unyielding whirl of feelings remind him of what it was like to be human, although the exact memories have long since become faded. What a bunch of bullshit that was. Guillermo has some nerve reigniting all of that.

“Fucking guy,” Nandor mumbles. He suddenly remembers Guillermo’s claim that he was going to obtain his mean-fridge, so he may be on his way promptly after. Nandor forces himself to move before he loses his chance.

“Guillermo?” he calls out, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too masterful. He reaches the flimsy curtain blocking off Guillermo’s room from the hall, and delicately pulls it open.

Guillermo has his back to him, crouching down in front of his mean-fridge. Understandable, Nandor muses. If Colin Robinson was famished just from watching tonight’s events, then Nandor can’t imagine how starved Guillermo must be. But he quickly notices that the mean-fridge doesn’t contain any cheetah chips or bottled dew from the mountains — only stakes.

“Guillermo?” Nandor repeats, dropping his voice even lower. “How...how long has this been going on?”

There is a beat before Guillermo responds, “A while.” His voice is thick and he sniffles just once before furiously wiping his nose. He still won’t face Nandor.

Squashing indignation at being physically ignored, Nandor wanders into the bedroom. He gives Guillermo as much berth as physically possible in the tiny space, as if the faintest brush of their bodies would send the human dashing. He takes it as a good sign that Guillermo still doesn’t move when he sits down onto the bed, even if the avoidance vexes him.

Nandor stares at the side of Guillermo’s head for a few seconds, before he’s hit by deep discomfort and pretends to be interested in the wall instead. He knows he should thank Guillermo. He knows he should say something, anything, but as soon as something resembling a coherent thought reaches him, it vanishes, replaced by the sight of Guillermo tearing through the crowd. Smashing silver crosses in the faces of the attackers, searing their skin, the sizzling of flesh almost as loud as their screams.

Too late, Nandor realises Guillermo takes his silence for impertinence, because Guillermo is suddenly stood up, finally facing his former master with a look of pure distaste.

“So that’s it? You don’t have anything to say?” the human accuses.

“Guillermo, I...” Nandor falters. When it’s clear his sentence has ended already, Guillermo looks even more incensed.

“Christ, you can’t even manage a ‘thank you’? After everything?”

Instinctively, Nandor recoils at the title, a dull burn searing in his chest. Angry at the curse, he immediately snaps back, “You want me to thank you? After you abandoned me?”

Something flickers in Guillermo’s eyes, before the rage engulfs them once more. “I didn’t abandon you, Nandor! You pushed me away!”

“Ridiculous,” Nandor responds, trying to hide his shock at the use of his first name, “I have never pushed you.”

“It’s a metaphor!” Guillermo barks back. Nandor has never heard him speak so loudly. “You don’t give a shit about me! You’re not even thankful that I saved your life — that I have been saving your life for weeks — let alone for the past decade I’ve given you!”

The small part of Nandor’s brain that has retained common sense tells him not to rise to the argument, but he can’t help it. He’s a soldier through-and-through, after all - it’s in his blood to fight back.

“I thought you wanted that!” Nandor says, throwing his hands up, “You wanted to be my familiar!”

“I wanted to be a vampire!”

Nandor doesn’t miss the use of past tense. “You don’t want to be a vampire any more?”

A breath of laughter escapes Guillermo, but there is no humour in it. “I don’t know. No. Maybe. It doesn’t seem right, what with the...”

He gestures towards the fridge, and Nandor idly wonders if Guillermo would yank a cold stake out of it and plunge it into him. The mere thought feels like a bucket of ice water has been thrown over him - and also exhilarates him.

“I’m a descendent of Van Helsing,” Guillermo confesses, and once again Nandor flinches at the sound of a name. Guillermo doesn’t react this time, too caught up in his own words. “I don’t - I didn’t want to kill any vampires, but the Council started sending assassins here after you and - and it just - I wanted to protect you, to protect the others, and it turned out to feel so natural and easy, and..."

Nandor is struck by the look in Guillermo’s eyes. It’s a pleading look, that starkly reminds Nandor of the silent call for mercy from the countless victims of his pillaging, before he would drive his sword through them.

“It felt good to be good at something,” Guillermo continues, raising his arms to his chest and balling his fists.

“You were good at being a familiar,” Nandor replies before he can stop himself.

Guillermo snorts. “You had a funny way of showing your appreciation.”

He has never spoken to Nandor like this. Nandor is stunned. The human in front of him is the same he’s always been, yet totally different. His insolence sends a pang of instinctive annoyance through Nandor, coupled with something entirely new. Respect. Admiration, even.

Guillermo once again takes Nandor’s silence as indifference and scoffs, “I mean. I save your life and your reaction is to complain about picking up laundry.”

“To be honest, I was not the one to pick it up,” Nandor admits, hoping this will humble himself in Guillermo’s eyes, “It was Colin Robinson who braved that terrifying task.”

Guillermo knits his eyebrows in confusion in that way he occasionally does, turning his head to give the camera crew a knowing glance that never fails to irk Nandor. Mainly because he doesn’t usually understand what it means.

The camera crew. Nandor had quite forgotten they were there.

“Begone!” Nandor commands, flicking two fingers in distaste. The crew are all too happy to obey; the curtain entrance flaps for a good few seconds after their hasty exit.

Guillermo sighs. “I’m leaving too.”

“No!” Nandor’s hand shoots out to grab Guillermo’s, and he tries to soften the action by rubbing his thumb on the flesh. Guillermo seems captivated. He stares down at their hands, unblinking. “Guillermo. Please.”

As soon as the last word escapes Nandor’s mouth, Guillermo’s head wrenches upwards to gawk at him. Any displeasure Nandor had felt at resorting to begging vaporises under Guillermo’s intense gaze.

“Guillermo,” Nandor repeats, “I do not know what to say.”

Guillermo huffs and tries to snatch his arm from Nandor’s grip, but Nandor quickly reaches out and grabs his other hand as well.

“No, Guillermo, please,” Nandor continues, and the word seems to entrance Guillermo once more. “Tonight was...the most magnificent thing I have ever seen.”

“It was?” Guillermo exhales.

Encouraged, Nandor continues, “Of course. I never would have dreamed that you could do that. You were incredible. So incredible that I cannot quite put it into words.”

“You mean that?” Guillermo’s voice drops to a whisper, “You - you weren’t scared?”

Never in an eternity would Nandor have thought he would succumb to fear, let alone admit to it. It was not befitting of a king, after all. Fear was an impulse that had been drilled out of him before he could even pick up a weapon. But the memory of the leer that Guillermo had thrown his way after he mentioned the laundry - it was sharper than any stake. It had terrified him. It had enthralled him.

“Oh, yes, Guillermo, I was scared,” Nandor lowers his voice, too. He can tell that Guillermo has stopped breathing, and he is pleased that the human is appropriately honoured by this admission from such a renowned warrior as himself. “I felt a great many things. Things that I - did not know that I could feel.”

“Like what?”

Nandor screws up his face. “Do not make me say these things.”

“Alright,” Guillermo responds briskly, and moves to leave again, so Nandor tightens his grip. At this, Guillermo smirks, and Nandor inwardly curses himself for being bamboozled so easily.

“Fine, fine,” Nandor concedes, miffed. He tugs Guillermo over slightly so that the human is standing right in front of him, their legs pressed against each other. Even with Nandor sitting down, Guillermo is barely taller than him. “I was unhappy when you left. Again.”

Easy enough, Nandor thinks. He already admitted that after the whole Celeste debacle (may she rest in peace).

Guillermo is looking at him expectantly, so Nandor continues, “But on the stage, I was more unhappy than - before - naturally, what with the whole impending head-chopping situation. All I could think was, 'I wish Guillermo were here.' And this confused me, because what could you have done? Against the likes of Vladislav the Poker, Tanya, and so on? But you did it. You did save me.”

The images of Guillermo butchering the crowd flash through Nandor's mind once more, catching him off guard. His loins begin to stir again.

“You were so brave, so savage, so strong," Nandor murmurs, drinking in the memories, releasing his grip on Guillermo’s hands to rub up his arms instead. He notices Guillermo starting to tremble. “You were so...so..."

“Relentless?” Guillermo says, barely audible. His lips twitch upwards into a brief smile, before his tongue darts out to sweep his bottom lip.

Yes,” Nandor replies, the prolonged sibilance crackling through the air. His hands reach Guillermo’s face, and Nandor is struck by the warmth. There are still droplets of blood spattered on him. Guillermo’s cheeks are pink, and Nandor feels like the flush could seep into his own cold skin and course through him, setting him ablaze. That wonderful, pure need blooms inside him again, creeping around his chest and stirring his cock further. “A relentless soldier.”

The resulting moan that leaves Guillermo (that Nandor thinks was meant to be quiet, but to his enhanced vampiric hearing, very few things ever are) spurs Nandor on, tipping him over an edge that he didn’t realise he was teetering on. His hands drop back down, to Guillermo’s hips this time, and he tugs the human forward, forcing Guillermo’s legs to wedge open so that he’s awkwardly sitting on Nandor’s lap.

“And does such valiance not deserve to be applauded?” Nandor hums, his face mere inches from Guillermo’s now. It is a monumental test of will for Nandor not to crack at this proximity. The scent of Guillermo’s blood, so pungently sweet and virginal, is like a punch to the gut. Guillermo’s heartbeat thrums furiously in his chest, in Nandor’s ears; the pulse in his neck is pounding against the skin, thunderous over Guillermo’s laboured breathing. Nandor feels as if he’s been gorging on buckets of drug-blood.

“Master?” Guillermo swallows, and the word destroys the last remaining ounce of hesitation that Nandor held. Guillermo is still his. Maybe not his familiar, but they can work out the logistics later. Right now, Nandor has much more pressing concerns, such as pulling Guillermo forward even more until their bodies are flush together, and burying his face into the delectable crevice of Guillermo’s neck.

It would be so easy, Nandor thinks, to sink his fangs into flesh and feast - at least, it would if it were anyone else, he reminds himself. Before teeth would even have the chance to pierce, he now has no doubt that Guillermo could just as quickly bury a stake into him.

(Well, Nandor hopes that Guillermo wouldn’t actually do that to him, but still. He definitely could.)

The thought brings Nandor to full stiffness, now, and his nose tickles against Guillermo’s skin as he trails his face up to draw the human into a deep kiss.

For one beat, Guillermo is completely frozen; then, all at once, the tension completely oozes out of him and his hands are flying to run up Nandor’s chest, to cradle the back of his head, to tangle his fingers in Nandor’s hair and tug.

It’s like a dam has burst, and Nandor is not prepared for the wave that crashes over him. A decade’s worth of memories flood his senses, of all the little moments that Nandor has fought so desperately to dismiss over the years. How sometimes he’d catch Guillermo glancing at him, and his insides would flutter when the man whipped his head away like he’d been burned. Guillermo gently humming as he dusted, a light tune that Nandor would permit himself to be serenaded by for only a few seconds before commanding Guillermo to be quiet. Guillermo gazing tenderly down as he put Nandor to coffin, his curly hair haloed by candlelight. If Nandor could stomach the thought of angels and the Creator, he’d see them in Guillermo’s face.

Bloody hell, Nandor thinks. Nadja is right. I am a donkey-brain.

Guillermo is kissing back with fervour, and Nandor feels like he’s being devoured; he growls, bucking his hips up to grind against Guillermo’s plush rear, and he’s delighted when Guillermo responds in kind, pressing his own hard-on against the vampire.

“Are--" Guillermo starts, not breaking free from the kiss, groaning as Nandor’s tongue swirls against his, “Are you going to -- to --"

“To what?” Nandor mumbles against Guillermo’s mouth, “To turn you? To fuck you?”

The noise that tears from Guillermo is halfway between a sob and a moan, and Nandor breaks away to place his face against the curve of Guillermo’s neck again, deeply inhaling the chaste aroma once more.

“Not tonight, Guillermo,” Nandor continues, but before Guillermo can even react, Nandor swiftly lifts him up - relishing the opportunity to squeeze his ass - and throws him down onto the bare bed. “Tonight, I’m going to worship you.”

There is no colour to be seen in Guillermo’s eyes, his pupils are blown so wide. “Oh my G—" he begins, cutting himself off with a bite to the lip. “Sorry.”

“Do not apologise, my dear Guillermo. It is not befitting of a champion,” Nandor looms over Guillermo’s splayed form, drinking in the sight of him. Guillermo starts to pull off a sleeve of his trenchcoat, and Nandor immediately pins his arms down. Their noses are brushing again. “No. Keep this on.”

For a moment, Nandor is worried the command will annoy his former familiar, but to his surprise and utter delight, Guillermo nods, “Yes, master.”

“None of that now, Guillermo,” Nandor gently chides, relinquishing his grip to skim one hand down Guillermo’s chest and stroke the side of Guillermo’s face with the other. “It is I who will honour you tonight.”

Nandor drifts his fingers down to Guillermo’s trousers, pushing aside the coat on the way, which is still damp and heavy with blood. His middle and index fingers dip behind the fabric, fingertips just skimming the heat of Guillermo’s groin, before hastily retreating, playfully snapping the waistband on the way up. This small touch alone makes Guillermo whine, and Nandor sits back on his legs to fully appreciate the view. Even in the dimness of the bedroom, he can see that Guillermo is positively glowing with desire. In a haze, Nandor presses his palm against Guillermo’s crotch, massaging in slow yet firm circles.

So absorbed in the sight, Nandor doesn’t pick up on Guillermo’s increasingly loud moans, until Guillermo snaps his head up to stare directly into Nandor’s eyes, his eyebrows screwed up in what almost looks like pain, and tears brimming in his eyes.

“Please, mas— Nandor,” he chokes out, “I need - need - I’ve wanted...for so long...”

“Yes,” Nandor grins, not missing the way Guillermo’s eyes flicker to the exposed fangs. “And you deserve this, Guillermo. You did even before tonight.”

Shit, Nandor thinks. He didn’t mean to admit to that, so he all but rips open Guillermo‘s pants as a distraction. The rainbow-patterned undergarments offend Nandor’s eyes, but the sight of the bulge underneath them is a lovely treat indeed. He lowers himself down, as gracefully as he can given the confines of the bed, until he is nestled in between Guillermo’s thighs, his face directly in front of Guillermo’s cock - he can see it twitching through the fabric. Guillermo’s heartbeat is thumping in Nandor’s eardrums now, quickening even further when Nandor opens his mouth and drags his teeth and tongue up and down Guillermo’s clothed length. Overwhelming instinct threatens to possess Nandor, to send him rocketing back upwards to bite into Guillermo, to have the sound of a heartbeat racing and dying in his mouth as he feeds.

Growling, Nandor yanks the affronting cloth down, and is captivated by Guillermo’s bareness. He smells so enchantingly human, thick with sweat and a mysteriously delicate undertone that Nandor recognises as distinctly Guillermo. Like a freshly cleaned cape, or cut grass. For once, Nandor’s sight overpowers his sense of smell as his eyes suck in the glorious view before him. Guillermo’s cock is beautifully rosy, a droplet already crowning the head as it strains against Guillermo’s stomach. Beyond a heaving chest, Nandor spies Guillermo’s equally flushed face, his gaze fixed unyielding on Nandor’s.

“Guillermo,” Nandor croons, wrapping his hand around Guillermo’s cock and smiling wider at the moan this draws out. “Brave, powerful Guillermo. Time for you to reap your reward.”

On the last word, he tightens his grip and squeezes up, revelling in the almost inhuman sound Guillermo makes. Surely, no amount of sunlight could burn Nandor up as much as Guillermo warms his palm. The touch blazes all through Nandor, scorching through him head to toe.

It makes him think of Guillermo dousing the vampires with holy water (which, truly, was an excellent strategic touch - Nandor himself could not remember using anything half as clever during his conquests) and how they screamed. He wants to hear Guillermo scream, too, so he begins to pump his fist up and down.

Swallowing heavily, Guillermo props himself up on one arm and stares down at Nandor with a reverence that goes straight to his head - both of them. Nandor’s mouth gapes open impulsively at the sight, and it’s like Guillermo is hypnotising him, compelling Nandor to jerk his hand faster. How close Nandor had come to never experiencing this; he resolves to never treat Guillermo badly ever again.

(Fine, he had promised himself that before several times over the past decade, but he really, genuinely, one-hundred percent means it now.)

In the corner of his eye, Nandor spots Guillermo’s hand repeatedly clenching open and shut, as if he’s willing himself not to do something.

“You can touch me, Guillermo,” Nandor reassures him, “I am yours for the taking.”

Like a spell has been lifted, Guillermo’s hands instantly tangle into Nandor’s hair, and the vampire hums with pleasure. He’d felt Guillermo’s fingers trail through his locks before, of course, during countless coffin-time rituals after Guillermo had untied Nandor’s low-bun to brush out any knots. Occasionally, Nandor would request for some oils to be combed in, and Guillermo would oblige, rubbing in argan or lavender or jasmine. He never would’ve thought such a simple action could summon such bliss now.

The pressure of hands at the back of his skull instinctively makes Nandor lower his head, and the minuscule movement closer to Guillermo’s cock is all the excuse Nandor needs to open his mouth and engulf the tip.

Guillermo looks like his poor human brain is struggling to comprehend this development. At first, Nandor moves slowly, careful not to scrape his fangs against flesh. He has been on both the giving and receiving ends of that particular experience, and it’s not something he would recommend.

Suddenly, Guillermo’s grip tightens and he simultaneously bucks into Nandor’s mouth and pushes his hands down. A shock of anger instinctively reverberates through Nandor at the subjugation; it’s quickly replaced by delight that Guillermo is taking what he wants. He starts sucking, and Guillermo continues both of his motions, breathing heavily. Nandor becomes abruptly aware of his own erection straining against his trousers. He ruts into the mattress once, twice, before shoving his free hand down his undergarments in desperation and furiously pumping his aching cock. Seven hundred years have taught Nandor well the art of self-control, but this skill has presently flown straight out of his head.

The bed is rocking frenziedly now, which seems to temporarily bring Guillermo out of his revelry. He goes completely still, eyes transfixed onto Nandor’s, full of pure adoration. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, “So beautiful.”

Well, yes, I am aware that I am a particularly sexy vampire, Nandor would’ve said if his mouth wasn’t full. As if on cue, Guillermo gently lifts Nandor’s head up, his cock popping free from wetness with an obscene sound. Before Nandor has the chance to be surprised, Guillermo has tucked his hands under Nandor’s arms and hoisted him up, shoving him backwards so he’s sat on his legs again, and Guillermo clambers onto Nandor’s lap.

“You’re mine, aren’t you, Nandor?” Guillermo mumbles, hands shaking as they pull open Nandor’s trousers. As soon as Nandor’s dick is exposed, Guillermo leans forward to push his own throbbing hardness against it. If Nandor was capable of weeping, he would’ve started at that moment.

“Yes, Guillermo, yes, I am yours,” Nandor snakes his long arms around Guillermo’s back, digging his fingernails into the meat of Guillermo’s sides to rock their bodies together, “And you are mine. Only mine.”

On any other day, the stream of curses leaving Guillermo right now would make Nandor give him a stern chiding. Instead, it serves to propel Nandor shockingly close to the brink of orgasm. He throws his head back and groans, and when Guillermo barely manages to wrap a hand around both of their cocks, jerking clumsily, Nandor’s vision goes white.

“Yes, Guillermo, yes!” he gasps, “Own me, claim me, conquer me!”

With a strangled yell, Guillermo throws his other hand behind Nandor’s head and yanks him into a kiss, moaning into Nandor’s mouth. His orgasm seems wrenched from somewhere deep inside him; he shudders tremendously, sucking in air like a dying man, and Nandor wonders if he’d react that way having the blood drained out of him. Tears are streaming down Guillermo’s face, a sight that cracks Nandor completely; the wave of his orgasm is immense, washing over him so powerfully it reminds him of dying all those centuries ago.

One, two, three beats pass in complete stillness and silence, before Guillermo garbles incoherently and collapses back onto the bed. A few seconds later, Nandor regains his focus, blinking rapidly at Guillermo’s supine form. He becomes uncomfortably aware of their combined come seeping into his clothed stomach, and he has to suck his tongue to bite back a complaint. Guillermo would probably not appreciate criticism right now. My favourite shirt, ruined so soon after cleaning, Nandor inwardly fusses. He files a mental note to implore Colin Robinson to brave the laundry mission once more tomorrow.

“That...that was real, wasn’t it?” Guillermo mutters.

Nandor eyes the man, scanning for any sign of delirium. He speaks slowly, “Yes, Guillermo, this is real. Have your senses left you?”

That earns him a glare, but there is no real enmity in it. The corners of Guillermo’s eyes crinkle from a slight smile.

“That’s not - nevermind,” Guillermo lifts his palm to his mouth to stifle a yawn. “Should I - you must be tired. Do you want me to take you to bed?”

He blushes at the phrase, and Nandor snorts. The mere mention of slumber makes Nandor realise just how utterly exhausted he is; he suddenly feels much, much older than his many, many years. He could sleep for another age, but there is a small twang of worry inside him that if he climbs into his coffin, he’ll emerge to find Guillermo gone. Again.

“I am very weary, yes,” Nandor admits, “But perhaps I could...stay here tonight? The...the latch on my coffin is being temperamental again.”

Guillermo smiles again, and beckons Nandor closer with one wave of his hand. “Sure. Come here.”

Rolling onto his side, Guillermo shuffles as far to the edge of the bed as he can go to give Nandor room. Nandor lowers himself down, his back against the wall; he hesitates for just a second, then wraps his arms around Guillermo before he loses his nerve. To his relief, Guillermo doesn’t resist, instead murmuring with satisfaction and placing one hand over Nandor’s. There really is no room for the both of them - Nandor has to awkwardly bend his legs to avoid banging his feet against the table. But it’s nice. Nandor wouldn’t trade it for any comfort.

(Also, a small part of his brain thinks that maybe the semen pooled on his blouse will rub off onto Guillermo’s back, and thus be less likely to stain.)

“This is nice,” Guillermo says sleepily.

“Yes,” Nandor responds. He pauses again, before he forces himself to ask, “What are we now, Guillermo?”

“Can we talk about it tomorrow, please?” Guillermo responds, sounding more sluggish with every word, “It’s been a long, unusual night.”

Nandor stares at the back of Guillermo’s head, trying in vain to smother the nerves rattling in his belly. As if he could sense Nandor’s trepidation, Guillermo turns his head slightly to glance back at the vampire, his eyes half-lidded.

“I’m not going to leave again,” Guillermo says.

“I know,” Nandor shoots back, a little too sharply, but all the panic dissolves from him. He believes Guillermo. He does.

Linking his fingers through Guillermo’s, Nandor wriggles even closer, until his nose is pressed in Guillermo’s hair. He quietly inhales the smell, and it eases the last remaining aches in his body.

Everything will be different now - Guillermo is different now, and yet still the same as he’s ever been. For the last few centuries, Nandor had felt like everything was becoming dull around the edges; immortality tended to do that, he had heard. But Guillermo had come along and slowly chipped away at that drabness. And now, now this side of Guillermo had cracked open, like a human chrysalis, spectacular and shiny and new. It had decimated the last remaining rubble encasing Nandor, and exposed him to a world that finally made him feel invigorated once more. He wanted to explore it with Guillermo by his side.

“Guillermo,” he whispers, “Just in case you weren’t sure, I am very thankful that you saved me tonight.”

The sound of Guillermo’s earnest laughter fills Nandor with a joy that sends him straight to sleep.

“Darling?” Laszlo quietly calls out into the darkness of their bedroom.

“What is it?” Nadja replies, at a normal volume.

“Just checking if you were struggling to slumber as well.”

“Of course I bloody am,” Nadja complains, “How am I supposed to fall asleep after tonight? To think, a human crushing all those vampires like ants under a boot!”

“Indeed,” Laszlo agrees. There is a beat before he decides, fuck it, and rolls the dice. “Although, I’m just going to put it out there, it was quite sexy to watch.”

“Well, obviously,” Nadja purrs. She whirls out of her coffin to kiss Laszlo furiously, and pull him to the ground.