Work Text:
After more than 350 years, one would hope that you would begin to face your own problems with a little bit of maturity. Well, maybe that was hoping for a bit too much. it surprised Viago often how much he still felt so young, trapped in the mind and body of the man he used to be. He'd seen wonders, lived through so much... and yet he sometimes fell within himself, avoiding confrontation with the intrusive thoughts that bounced wildly in his mind.
Four months ago, they thought they lost Stu. The home was distraught. Viago had put on a brave face, doing his best to care for Deacon and Vlad (all the while worrying about Nick). He remembered the way the anxiety overtook him one morning as he saw Deacon slumbering in front of the laptop, open window to his back. Voice calm, he woke his friend up and guided him out of harm's way, but the thought of being too late plagued Viago's mind for days following the incident. He thought back to Petyr, and the grief they all shared in that moment, to lose a terrifying but beloved housemate in such a gruesome way. But he wouldn't let it show. For the first time, he was taking care of his clan, and they needed it. But one night, Nick changed everything. Deacon had embraced Stu at the door, overcome with joy to see their friend in one piece, having believed him to be dead. The reunion was sweet, and Viago no longer hid his relief to see both Nick and Stu back in the home where they belonged.
Stu was a werewolf now, but that was no matter. He was the same fellow they all cared for deeply, even if he smelled a little odd. But then Stu had asked for their trust, and soon a pack of werewolves were at their door. After a little trouble in the first 30 minutes, the walls seemed to come down and the werewolves and vampires found that they got on better than any had thought they would.
And now, months later, game nights are a regular thing for the two groups. They share their interests, introduce each other to new things; Deacon has fallen in love with yoga thanks to the pack. But Viago had fought an uneasy feeling for the past couple weeks, and it seemed that tonight it was going to bubble to the surface:
Viago was very, very into Anton.
He liked the way his blond hair fell onto his forehead. He loved how his facial hair accentuated his jawline. He liked Anton in his work uniform, bushpants and snazzy sun hat, or in a pair of jeans and his favorite bomber jacket. He liked the way Anton talked about nature, how his legs bent as he led the pack in a yoga class, how his strong hands held down the riled wolves, his soft voice reminding them to count and breathe. He was enamored with the way he held himself, always sure, always in control, always keeping an eye on his pack. And now, he protected the vampires. He'd never said it, but Viago noticed the way Anton's eyes swooped over him and his flatmates, watching for any danger. The way he dutifully checked the windows before leaving the vampires' home after a hangout. How he tore a vampire hunter to shreds for daring to touch his friends, and then sat in the corner instead of celebrating with the rest of them. Viago was so curious about Anton's conscience; why he tried so hard not to hurt anyone, and shared that message with the young men in his pack. Why he rarely turned unless it was transformation night. The way his eyes seemed hollow after killing the vampire hunter, and his knuckles turned white around the beer bottle in his hand.
Viago sighed. He stood up, coat tails flapping behind him with the movement. And he left the group, approaching the alpha male where he sat against the wall, tucked away from the laughter and drinking of Viago's housemates and the Te Aro wolfpack.
"Can I sit here?" Viago asked, pointing to a spot on the carpet beside Anton. The blond startled slightly.
He nodded curtly, and Viago hunkered down next to him.
"Thank you, again," the vampire said softly, but the way Anton inhaled sharply made him instantly regret it.
Anton turned to look at Viago, head leaning back against the weathered wallpaper. He smiled slightly, in a sad kind of way. He seemed to study Viago's face. Anton was so... enamored with Viago's face, the curve of his cheek bones, his dark lips, the way he smiled and his fangs poked out in the cutest way Anton had ever seen. When they had begun all of this, Anton said he was doing it for Stu, and to help keep his pack calm. But soon he was planning game nights, movie marathons, night hikes, and the like just so he could listen to the German vampire's velvety soft accent. He watched Viago's slender fingers dance in the air as he spoke, his frilly sleeves dancing on his thin, tan wrists. Anton wanted to hold them, to run his fingers against the skin. He knew Viago was cold, but he couldn't help but think he would be warm - the way he smiled at Anton only convinced him further.
And there was that toothy grin again, this time a little embarrassed. "Sorry, you don't want to talk about it, do you?" Viago asked. God, why was he so beautiful?
Viago wondered the same thing, watching the adorable crinkle of skin at the edges of Anton's eyes. How could someone who spent so much time outside be so pale, and why was it so pretty?
"I don't... like hurting people," Anton said softly, voice gravely in his chest. "Even when it's protecting others."
Viago nodded solemnly. He never understood the werewolves' desire for control, to protect the world from their affliction. Well, at least Anton cared. Some of his pack turned at the first sign of aggression, leaning on their curse. But Anton knew the more you let yourself fall into the rage, the more it would consume you, and he worked to alleviate the anger from his pack. He wanted them to be happy. He wanted everyone to be happy.
"I remember when I had to feed for the first time," Viago shared, looking down at his bent knees. "I was so... unhappy with myself. And the feeling took a long time to go away. This... this vampirism... We are not the only victims. But what else do I do? Die? I... I thought about it. Maybe I'm selfish..."
"No," cut in Anton, "you're not selfish. I'm just sensitive. Overthinking. I am glad you're alive. I would be very unhappy if you weren't."
The air was punched out of Viago's chest. His mouth fell open, only slightly, his fangs peaking out behind his rosy lips. Viago wouldn’t let him believe that Anton’s eyes were darting between the vampire’s lips and eyes. It was probably meant platonically, but it was still the kindest, most heart felt statement anyone had made to Viago in ages. And it was a werewolf. The pair sat in a moment of silence, second stretching, until Anton cleared his throat abruptly.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he finally asked, cutting through the tension.
Viago nodded, picking his jaw off the floor. He watched Anton stand up, and delighted when the paler man extended a hand to help Viago to his feet. The warmth was almost overwhelming. It seemed like Anton’s skin was on fire. In the short time their palms met, Viago splendored in the texture of calluses, so unlike his manicured hands.
It was then that Viago truly saw Anton; the way his eyes drooped with exhaustion. Anton gave the best of himself to his pack. It was not odd for the boys to sleep over at Anton’s flat, long legs sprawled on the sofa. Their favorite foods filled their alpha’s fridge. His phone buzzed off the hook with messages in their groupchats. He spent hours, staying up late into the night, no matter how exhausted work had left him, taking care of them. The burnout seemed to hang on the wolf’s face, dragging his features down with it. Viago was taken aback by how beautiful the wrinkles by Anton’s eyes were, the hooded gaze he held. It was almost 3 AM on a Thursday, he thought, Anton must be exhausted.
The paid ducked out through the kitchen, and Viago watched Anton bristle as the cool night air blew past his ears. “Ha, someone just woke up,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
Viago was puzzled. “How do you know?”
The werewolf sniffed once, twice, and faced another house on the street. “They’re brewing coffee.”
The vampire made a breathy chuckle. “I forget how strong your sense of smell is,” he said.
“I smell you before I see you.”
The air was so thick with tension, Viago felt like his chest was being pushed down. Or maybe that wss just the butterflies by what was, really, not at all a romantic statement.
“Ah, do us vampires smell a certain way?” Viago eeked out, watching Anton walking beside him in his peripheral vision.
Anton laughed softly. “No, but you smell so flowery. Your cologne.”
Viago instinctively pressed a hand to the back of his ear.
“I like you a lot, Viago,” Anton added, voice non-chalant, as if a werewolf saying this to a vampire was a normal occurance.
Viago startled, but replied, “I like you a lot, as well.”
“No, I mean… I think we have a lot more in common than we’ve ever let ourselves admit. I see you protect Vlad and Deacon and Nick. Even Stu. I admire that.”
“I like to take care of the things that matter to me,” Viago said. “My friends are… very important.”
A smile played at the corners of Anton’s lips. He was walking with his head down, eyes on his shoes, hands shoved in the pockets of his bomber jacket. “I don’t really know who I’d be without my pack. They drive me insane, but… They’re all I have. Well…”
“Well?” Viago raised an eyebrow.
“Except you.”
The vampire’s eyes widened.
“You guys! Except you guys! Sorry, I’m…”
They had stopped walking, illuminated by a light along the footpath. The soft yellow light cast long shadows across Viago’s face, and Anton followed them with his eyes, before settling on his lips. At the moment, Viago’s lips parted, dark tongue darting over a sharp fang. Anton’s breath hitched.
“Can I kiss you?”
They asked at the same time. God, what a cliche. Their teeth crashed together, both men grinning through the jitters; Anton’s hand wrapping around the nape of Viago’s neck, Viago pressing a cool hand to the blond man’s side. The separated, noses touching lightly, and kissed for real - soft pressure that ended almost as soon as it started. Anton gasped, eyes fluttering shut, and his hand twitched as if he was debating removing it from the back of Viago’s neck.
“Well…” he said.
“Well…” was the reply.
Anton - boldly - scrunched his fingers around the dark hair at the nape of the vampire’s neck, relishing in the sharp inhale he earned from Viago. He felt his fingers tighten against his waist. But then, gone. Anton’s eyebrows began to knit in confusion, but soon the cool pads of Viago’s hands were cupping his cheeks, pulling him in, swallowing him whole as Viago kissed the werewolf, so sweet and tender. Electricity coursed through their vains, static buzzing in their fingers as they fought the urge to smile wide. Above them, the street lamp flickered once, twice, and then blew out.