Chapter Text
Over the next two weeks, the three of them settled into a surprisingly domestic rhythm.
Robby and Dennis worked a string of day shifts together, Robby still patiently teaching Dennis and Dennis trying to become the best doctor he could be. Jack, true to his word, had switched back to his preferred nights, and spent some days doing what he casually called his “hobby”: volunteering as a tactical medic with the SWAT team. He’d shrug and say it kept his skills sharp, but Robby knew it was more; it was the part of Jack that still needed the structure of a mission, the adrenaline of a controlled chaos.
A part of him that wanted danger because he did not truly care about getting hurt or not, something Robby knew he was working on with his therapist.
Dennis, who now had a permanent claim on the guest room, was… better. Not fully recovered, but getting stronger. The two feeds from Jack on that first day, and 3 more feeds over the last 2 weeks, had rebuilt his reserves. The color in his face was no longer just the flush after a feed; it lingered, a faint but persistent warmth beneath his usual pale face. He moved with more energy, his focus in the ER was sharper.
But the hunger still came, still hit him hard.
It was a Sunday. A rare, quiet day where all three of them were off-duty, the house quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher and the soft chatter of a baseball game Jack had on in the living room. Dennis had been restless all morning, a subtle anxiety buzzing in his movements.
He’d seen the cooler Jack had brought home a few days ago, tucked discreetly in the pantry. Inside were three units of licensed, packaged human blood, the expensive stuff Dennis could never afford.
Jack had gotten them, he’d said, for “emergencies”, and had refused to accept Dennis's money for it. Dennis had interpreted that as a hint.
This is your supply now. Don’t ask for more.
So, after lunch, Dennis retreated to his room with one of the cold, plastic bags. His stomach felt full with the lunch Robby had prepared, but his teeth ached and his body felt cold.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the bag feeling alien and wrong in his hands.
It was sterile, efficient, safe.
It was what he’d wanted before all this.
But now… now all he could think about was how it had felt to feed from Jack. The pulse under his tongue, the warmth of skin, the scent of Jack’s soap and sweat, the sound of his steady heartbeat.
The bag was dead. Cold. Silent.
Wrong.
He pierced the port with the attached straw, the metallic smell of blood and the chemical smell of plastic filling the air. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the instinct, the need.
He put the tube to his lips.
The taste hit him first. It was… flat. Like a glass of water that had sat on the counter too long. It lacked the vibrant, warm life of fresh blood. It was nutrition, but it was not satisfaction.
His throat rebelled. He gagged from the taste, the feeling, but managed to swallow it down. He panted after, trying to calm himself.
He tried again, forcing a small sip. It coated his mouth with a bland, chemical taste. His fangs, slightly elongated from hunger, ached with irritation. They wanted connection, not this processed stuff.
Dennis felt a surge of frustration, hot and sharp.
Why can’t I do this? Why is this so hard now?
The shame was back, twisting in his gut. He was being a burden. They’d given him a perfect, safe solution, and he was failing at it.
He heard the soft footsteps outside his door before the knock came. Gentle, inquiring.
“Dennis?” Robby’s voice, warm and concerned, filtered through the wood. “Everything okay?”
Dennis froze, the bag in his hand, the tube still at his lips. He couldn’t speak. He just let out a choked, miserable sound.
The door opened. Robby stood there, still in his weekend jeans and a soft grey henley. His kind, brown eyes scanned the scene instantly: Dennis on the bed, looking stricken, the blood bag held delicately, the tube…
Robby stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t ask. He simply walked over, took the bag and tube from Dennis’s trembling hands, and set them aside on the nightstand. His touch was firm, decisive, but not angry.
“You don’t have to do this,” Robby said, his voice low and steady. Dennis looked up, his pale blue eyes wide with confusion and self-loathing.
“But… Jack bought them. For me. I thought…” he tried to explain, lip still curled slightly as he glanced at the bag.
“You thought he meant for regular use,” Robby finished, understanding dawning on his face. He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Dennis. “Dennis, Jack bought those so you wouldn’t die if we were all at work and you crashed. They’re a backup. A lifeline. He didn’t tell you to use them now, he just told you they were there.” Dennis blinked, the frustration melting into a different kind of anxiety.
“But… I can’t keep asking. I can’t keep taking from him. It’s… it’s too much.” he murmured. Robby squeezed his shoulder.
“You’re not ‘taking’ from him,” Robby said, his tone gentle but insistent. “He’s giving. Consciously. Willingly. And…” He paused, meeting Dennis’s gaze directly. “And I’ve been thinking. I want to give, too.” Dennis’s breath caught, big eyes flicking up to meet Robby's
“You…? You'd do that?” he asked, voice quiet and awed. Robby nodded.
“I’ve been hesitant. It’s outside everything I know. But I watched, I saw what it does for you. And I saw how controlled it is with Jack. Besides, it’s clearly preferable to this.” He gestured toward the discarded bag. “If it helps you be healthy, be safe, be the excellent doctor you’re going to be… then I want to be part of that solution. But we need to talk about it. All of us. Together.” He stood, taking Dennis’s arm.
“Come on. Jack’s probably half-asleep on the couch, but he needs to be part of this conversation.” he added. Dennis let Robby guide him up, his legs feeling unsteady. He followed Robby out of the guest room and down the short hall to the living room.
Dennis followed, reluctant and anxious, trailing Robby into the sunlit living room. Jack was on his stomach on the sofa, deep asleep. Robby walked over to the sofa and gave Jack’s shoulder a firm shake.
“Jack. Up. House conference.” Robby told him, hand smoothing over Jack's shoulder to the back of his neck when Jack stirred slowly, rubbing the skin soothingly. Jack grunted, burying his face deeper into the cushion.
“Conference is scheduled for never o’clock. Go away.” he grumbled, stifling a yawn.
“It’s about Dennis. And feeding.” Robby told him.
That got him.
Jack rolled onto his back, blinking blearily up at the ceiling, then at Robby, then at Dennis hovering miserably by the armchair. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“What’s wrong? You sick?” His voice was gravelly with sleep, but his focus was immediate and sharp as he propped himself up on his elbows.
“He just tried to feed from one of the bags you bought,” Robby said, gesturing for Dennis to sit. Dennis sank into the armchair, pulling his knees up to his chest. “He nearly threw up. He thinks he’s supposed to use them so he doesn’t bother us.” Jack’s piercing blue eyes, now fully alert, fixed on Dennis.
“Is that what you think?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
Dennis nodded, unable to meet his gaze.
Jack let out a long, exasperated sigh. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, running a hand through his hair.
“Kid. Listen to me. I bought those bags for two reasons. One, for a true emergency where neither of us is reachable for a critical period. Two, as a safety net for you, so you’d know there was something here if the fear got too loud. They were never intended to be your regular diet. Not when you have two willing, healthy, clean donors living under the same roof.” his voice was sharp, but he wasn't angry. He was trying to make sure Dennis understood.
The words ‘willing donors’ hung in the air. Robby felt a strange lurch in his stomach. He’d been turning the idea over in his mind since that night on the couch, watching Dennis drink. He hadn't been sure then, it had felt intense, unknown. But now, he judt wanted to help.
“Willing,” Robby echoed, his voice softer. He moved to sit on the coffee table, facing both of them. “That’s the key word, Dennis. We’re willing. Both of us.” Dennis’s head snapped up, his eyes wide.
“You… you are?” he seemed shocked. Robby nodded, a slight, nervous smile touching his lips.
“I am. I’ll admit, I was… hesitant. Not because I’m afraid of you, or repulsed. But because it was unknown to me. But I understand it now and-” He took a breath, the admission feeling significant. “-and I think I’d like to understand it… firsthand, too.” Jack was watching him, a slow, knowing look in his eyes. He nodded in approval.
“But today,” Jack said interrupted, quietly but firm. “Today, you've already traumatised your taste buds and are on edge. You need to feed from a source you know works.” He didn’t move from the sofa, only sitting up enough to tug off his t-shirt. The movement was effortless, revealing his compact, muscular torso, the broad shoulders covered with freckles and the strong line of his neck, where Dennis knew a delicious pulsing vein was hidden.
He balled the shirt and tossed it onto the far end of the couch, before leaning back against the sofa's armrest.
“Come here, little bat.” Jack told Dennis, lips quirked up into a half smile.
The command was simple. Dennis uncurled from the chair, his movements hesitant but drawn by a need that was now screaming in his veins, amplified by the failed attempt with the cold blood. He approached the sofa.
Jack didn’t sit up straighter. He simply reached out, his hand hooking around the back of Dennis’s neck, and pulled him down. It wasn’t a violent yank, but a firm, guiding pull that still made Dennis lose his balance. The vampire tumbled forward, and ended up half-sprawled, half-draped across Jack, hands braced on Jack's chest. He blushed, unsure what to do until Jack tugged him closer, Dennis's face pressing into the crook of his neck.
“There,” Jack muttered, his voice a low rumble above the top of Dennis's head “Now stop thinking, and feed.”
The embarrassment Dennis might have felt at the awkward position was overruled by the proximity of Jack’s pulse. He nuzzled against the pulse by instinct, feeling it thud in a calm rhythm under him. After the vile, bitter taste of the bagged blood, his fangs were aching for this, for Jack's warm blood. A soft, desperate noise escaped Dennis’s lips, a whimper of pure want. His tongue dragged over the crook of Jack's neck, tasting where the vein was even though he knew perfectly well where to bite.
The touch of his tongue made Jack shiver the tiniest bit, his hand grabbing Dennis's arm tight. Dennis didn’t need further instruction. His mouth found the familiar spot on Jack’s neck, just above the collarbone. This time, the bite was not frantic and hungry, but deliberate and sure. Robby saw the sharp tension in Dennis’s jaw, the brief flash of white fang, and then the wet sound of Dennis swallowing the first mouthful down his throat.
Jack’s own reaction was a sharp intake of breath, his eyes closing for a second. When they opened, they found Robby’s. He gave that same, steadying nod. But this time, his free hand came up and settled in Dennis’s tousled blond hair. His fingers began to move, not just holding, but stroking, a slow, rhythmic petting from the crown of his head down to the nape of his neck, tugging on the longer strands.
It was different. More intimate. The feed in the living room had been about control and care. This was about comfort.
Robby cautiously got up, moving closer to sit on the edge of the sofa cushions, near Dennis’s hip. Tentatively, he reached out and placed his hand on Dennis’s back, between his shoulder blades. He could feel the subtle movement of Dennis’s breathing, the slow, drawing pulls as he fed.
Dennis responded with a muffled, humming sigh of relief that vibrated through Jack’s chest. The sound was one of absolute contentment,
“The happiest little fledgling.” Jack murmured as Dennis melted into him more, the warmth of Robby's hand combined with the feeding making him feel so safe, like he belonged.
Robby watched Jack’s face. The stern lines had softened into an expression of focused tenderness. His thumb traced the shell of Dennis’s ear fondly as Dennis continued to softly drink from him. Jack was monitoring closely, but he was more relaxed this time, clearly trusting Dennis.
The minutes stretched, peaceful and profound. The only sounds were the wet, soft sounds of feeding, Dennis’s happy little noises, and the steady rhythm of their breathing.
Eventually, Jack’s fingers stilled in Dennis’s hair, then tightened. A firm, unmistakable tug.
Dissonance responded instantly, going pliant. He released his bite with a soft, wet sound, his head lolling back slightly. He was panting, his lips dark red, his eyes glazed and blissful. The healthy flush was back, high on his cheekbones. But as before, his gaze immediately dropped to Jack’s neck, horror dawning through the sated haze at the sight of the twin wounds welling with blood.
“The seal, I’m sorry, I—” he slurred, already moving.
“I know,” Jack said, his voice a low, patient rumble. He held still as Dennis leaned in again, his tongue swiping carefully, efficiently over the punctures. The bleeding ceased, the wounds closing. This time, after the healing licks, Dennis didn’t nuzzle. He simply let his forehead rest against Jack’s shoulder for a long moment, breathing him in, as if solidifying the connection. Then, with a tremendous effort, he tried to push himself up, his arms trembling a little. Jack’s arm around him tightened, holding him in place.
“Stay put. You’re a noodle. Just relax.” Jack was clearly amused, glancing at Robby over Dennis's shoulder. Dennis went limp, boneless and happy. He lifted his head after a long moment, shyly smiling at Jack.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re welcome, little bat,” Jack answered, his hand resuming its gentle stroking of Dennis’s hair. Dennis’s gaze strayed to Robby.
“I… I would really like it,” he said, the words soft but clear, “if someday, maybe soon… I could feed from you, too, Dr. Robinavitch… Robby.” He swallowed, gathering courage. “It’s not just the blood. It’s the… the closeness. It feels safe. I’d like to feel that with you.”
Robby smiled, eyes crinkling warmly. He saw the hopeful, vulnerable look in Dennis’s eyes, and the quiet, approving look in Jack’s.He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from Dennis’s forehead, his touch gentle.
“I’d like that too, Dennis,” he said, and found he meant it completely. “We’ll figure it out. When you’re ready. When I’m ready.” he added. Dennis's cheeks were pink, both from the feed as the shy blush at the promise.
They could make that work.
~~~
The days settled into a new, strange, and deeply comforting rhythm after that. Dennis, for the first time since his turning, wasn't just surviving day-to-day; he was, tentatively, living. He was no longer going hungry, no longer scared he wouldn't have a place to live. He had a home, he had a willing donor with the promise of a second possible donor soon. But, this security did something unexpected: it made him feel more connected to his other nature.
He began to shift more often.
Not for any practical reason, not to escape or hide. Just because it felt nice.
In his bat form, the world was simpler, softer. His worries about being a burden, about his future, seemed to shrink down to a manageable size, tucked away with his human consciousness. What remained was a collection of simple sensations: the warmth of sunlight through a window, the texture of soft fabric, the comforting, giant presences of Robby and Jack.
He’d shift in the living room after a long shift, fluttering tiredly through the air a bit before dropping onto the back of the sofa with a nearly inaudible thump. Robby, reading a medical journal, would startle only slightly, then a slow, warm smile would spread across his face.
“There you are,” Robby would murmur, reaching back without looking to gently stroke the velvety head between Dennis’s pointed ears. “Long day, little guy?” Dennis would chirp, a soft, clicking sound, and nuzzle into the touch. Robby was unabashedly, completely charmed by the tiny fuzzy form. He’d speak to the bat in a low, soothing voice, telling him about a difficult patient or something he had read online, as if Dennis could understand every word, even if Dennis's consciousness was a little fuzzy in this tiny form. But Dennis still understood the tone, the tone was everything.
It was safety. It was fondness.
Jack’s reactions were more subtle. The first time Dennis, in a fit of playful bravery, launched himself from a bookshelf to land on Jack’s broad shoulder as he washed dishes, Jack had gone completely still. Not with alarm, but in surprise. Dennis had clutched at the fabric of Jack’s t-shirt with his tiny claws, his wings folded tight, waiting to be told off. But Jack just huffed out a laugh.
“You’re a sneaky little bugger,” Jack had murmured, but he’d resumed washing the plate in his hands, moving with deliberate care so as not to jostle his small passenger. Dennis had chittered proudly, preening the fur on his chest. Jack had, after a moment, tilted his head just slightly, bringing his cheek close to the bat on his shoulder in a gesture that was almost a nuzzle. He’d never admit it, but he’d stood at the sink for ten extra minutes, finishing dishes he normally would have left to dry, simply because he didn’t want to disturb the tiny weight anchored to him.
Robby caught him once. He’d come out of the study late one evening to find Jack sitting in his armchair, the reading lamp casting a pool of gold over him. He was reviewing a SWAT team incident report, his glasses perched on his nose. Dennis the bat was curled in a tight, furry ball on the arm of the chair, right next to Jack’s elbow, fast asleep. As Robby watched, Jack finished a paragraph, set the papers down, and with a tenderness that made Robby’s heart ache, leaned over and pressed a soft, deliberate kiss to the top of the tiny, furry head, right between the flicking, translucent ears.
Jack didn’t know he was seen. Robby didn’t say a word. He just backed silently into the hallway, leaning against the wall with a hand over his own smiling mouth.
The most common development, however, was nocturnal. The guest room was comfortable, but it often felt too big, too quiet. The first time it happened, Robby had woken in the deep, pre-dawn hours to a faint rustle at the door. Before he could fully wake up, a small, dark shape had flitted across the room, circling the room briefly and landing with a soft puff on the empty space between Robby's pillow and Jack's. The bat had shuffled in a tight circle, happily chittering a bit, before falling asleep with a content little sigh.
Robby had just chuckled, gently stroking the bat's wing before going back to sleep too.
In the morning, Dennis was human again, curled on his side and blushing furiously between their pillows, mumbling apologies. Jack had just yawned, stretched, and said, “You snore less as a bat. It’s an improvement.” The matter was settled.
After that, it became a semi-regular occurrence. Some nights Dennis stayed in his room. Other nights, the faint sound of flapping wings would signal his arrival. He was always careful, always respectful, just seeking warmth, safety.
The night it happened differently was a Thursday. Jack had just finished a string of night shifts and was reveling in being home, awake, and energetic at a normal hour. Robby had had a predictably chaotic day in the ER. They’d shared a bottle of wine over dinner, the conversation easy, peppered with the familiar, easy banter that was their love language. Dennis had participated shyly, glowing under the focused, positive attention, before making a show of yawning and retiring to his room with a book, giving them what he undoubtedly thought was ‘couple time’.
An hour later, Robby, washing the final wine glass, felt Jack come up behind him, the solid, warm presence unmistakable. A calloused hand slid around his waist, another taking the glass from his hand and setting it in the sink.
“You’re thinking about the MVA with the pediatric case,” Jack stated, his breath warm against Robby’s neck.
“How do you always know?” Robby sighed, leaning back into him.
“Your shoulders got all tense and you are washing dishes like you’re performing surgery on them.” Jack’s hands came up to knead the knots at the base of Robby’s neck. “Stop thinking. You’re home.”
It was a command, but a gentle one. Robby let his head fall forward, a low groan escaping him as Jack’s strong fingers worked the tension away. The hands moved down to his waist, gently nudging. Robby turned in the circle of his arms, finding Jack’s mouth waiting for his.
The kiss was deep and familiar. It tasted of red wine and chewing gum and something unmistakably Jack.
The kiss deepened quickly, Jack nipping at Robby's lip as they stumbled out of the kitchen, a tangled, laughing, kissing mass, shedding clothes in a haphazard trail down the hall towards their bedroom.
They barely made it to the bed. Jack backed Robby against the frame, making him sit down on the mattress as he broke the kiss the mouth at the line of Robby's throat. Robby sighed, his fingers tangling in Jack’s short grey hair. The world narrowed to the heat of skin on skin, the scrape of stubble, the low, hungry sounds Jack made against his collarbone.
“Missed you,” Robby breathed, the words more air than sound.
“Shut up,” Jack growled, but he said it against Robby’s lips, kissing him again, harder.
It was at that exact moment, with them tangled and heated, that the soft whoosh of wings sounded in the hallway.
They froze.
Dennis, in bat form, had flown from his room, perhaps headed for the kitchen for a sip of water, perhaps just restless and looking for comfort. His flight path took him directly towards the comforting, familiar dark of their open bedroom doorway. He saw the two large shapes, heard the ragged breaths, but processed the intimacy a half-second too late. His tiny brain, operating on instinct and surprise, sent a panicked signal to abort.
He tried to bank mid-air, a sharp, jerky turn. His wingtip brushed the doorframe. It was enough. With a startled, high-pitched squeak, he cartwheeled, tumbling through the air in a flurry of black fur before hitting the hardwood floor of the hallway with a soft, pathetic plop.
The passionate heat in the room evaporated, replaced by a shock of cold alarm.
“Christ,” Jack hissed, pulling back, his eyes wide.
“Dennis?” Robby gasped, his doctor-brain snapping online before any other part of him. He scrambled up from the bed with Jack's help before they both rushed to the open door.
There, on the polished floor just outside, lay a small, dazed-looking bat. It was on its back, wings splayed, tiny chest heaving. It blinked its beady black eyes up at the big shadows looming over him, making a soft, disoriented chittering sound.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Robby murmured, his heart lurching. All embarrassment was instantly drowned in a wave of pure, protective concern. He dropped to his knees, carefully scooping the small, warm body into his cupped hands. The bat felt impossibly fragile, a rapidly beating heart under his thumb. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
Jack was right behind him, pulling his discarded t-shirt back on. He peered over Robby’s shoulder, his face a mask of worried scrutiny. “Is he conscious? Any obvious wing damage?”
Dennis stirred in Robby’s palms. He righted himself, shaking his head as if to clear it. He flexed one wing, then the other, testing. He let out another series of clicks, this time sounding more embarrassed than pained.
“I think he’s just stunned,” Robby said, his thumbs making gentle, stroking motions over the soft fur. “A little rattled. The doorframe is not that hard, and he didn’t have far to fall.” He brought his hands up closer to his face, looking into the tiny, intelligent eyes. “You scared yourself half to death, didn’t you?”
The bat ducked its head, a gesture so profoundly human in its shame that Jack let out a short, relieved breath that was almost a laugh.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Just mortified.” he chuckled, reaching out to gently stroke Dennis's wing. Robby stood carefully, cradling Dennis against his chest.
“Come on, let’s get you checked out.” He carried him into the bedroom, Jack following. Robby gently placed the bat down on the corner of the bed. “Shift back for me, Dennis. Let me make sure you’re really alright. My speciality is not veterinary medicine, unfortunately.”
There was a hesitant pause, then the familiar, unsettling shimmer in the air. The small form on the bed shifted and elongated. In moments, a very red-faced Dennis was curled up on the edge of the bed, just in boxers and a t-shirt with his knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins, hiding his face.
“I’m so sorry,” came the muffled, mortified voice from behind his knees. “I didn’t mean to- I was just… the door was open and I wasn’t thinking and I’m so, so sorry, I’ll just go-”
“Hey,” Robby said, his voice firm but infinitely soft. He kept one hand on Dennis’s back, a steadying pressure. “Look at me. Are you hurt? Any pain in your head, neck, or back?”
Dennis slowly, reluctantly, lifted his head. His pale skin was flushed from his hairline to his chest. He wouldn’t meet either of their eyes. “No. No, I’m fine. Just… my pride is shattered into a million pieces. I flew into a door. Like a moth.”
This time, Jack did laugh, a warm, rolling sound that eased the last of the tension in the room.
“Happens to the best of us, kid. I’ve walked into more sliding glass doors than I care to admit.” He walked to the dresser, pulled out a pair of soft sleep pants, and tossed them onto the bed beside Dennis. “Here. Before you catch a chill.”
Dennis fumbled for the pants, his movements clumsy with humiliation. Robby tactfully looked away, giving him a moment of privacy as he pulled them on.
“It’s alright, Dennis,” Robby said, looking back once the soft rustling stopped. “Really. You just… surprised us. That’s all.”
Dennis finally chanced a glance at Jack, who was leaning against the dresser, his arms crossed, a wry but not unkind smile on his face.
“We weren’t exactly expecting an aerial spectator, no,” Jack said, his tone dry. “But you’re not in trouble. You’re allowed to be in this house. In any form.”
The reassurance seemed to puncture the last of Dennis’s defensive panic. His shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in relief.
“I just… I heard a noise and I got worried it was something else, and then I saw and I tried to get away and…” He trailed off, burying his face in his hands. “God, this is so embarrassing.”
Robby chuckled, a little amused at the younger man's distress but mostly just so fond of the polite vampire. He put an arm around Dennis’s shoulders, pulling him into a sideways hug.
“It’s forgotten. Honestly. Are you sure you’re not hurt? No dizziness? Double vision?” he asked again, searching Dennis's eyes. Dennis shook his head.
“No. Just a tiny headache. It’s already fading.” he answered.
“Vampire healing,” Jack noted with a clinical nod. “Comes in handy.” He pushed off the dresser. “Alright. Crisis averted. I’m going to go put the kettle on. For tea. A very boring, non-eventful cup of tea.” He shot a look at Robby that was full of unspoken communication as he left the room.
’You handle this'
Robby held Dennis for another minute, just letting the quiet settle. He could feel the young man’s rapid heartbeat slowly returning to normal.
“He’s right, you know,” Robby murmured. “You’re always welcome. Even if your entrances need a little work.” he added with a grin. A choked, semi-hysterical giggle escaped Dennis.
“A little work? I’m a walking, a flying, disaster.”
“You’re not,” Robby said, giving his shoulder a final squeeze before releasing him. “You’re adapting. To a lot. It’s okay.” He stood, fetching a hoodie from a chair and handing it to Dennis. “Here. Come have some of Jack’s boring tea. It’ll make everything seem less dramatic.”
The next few hours were spent in the living room, all three in sweatpants and soft clothes, sipping tea and watching an utterly mindless game show. The awkwardness dissolved, replaced by a shared, unspoken understanding. Dennis eventually slunk off to his own room, offering them a shy, sincere goodnight, while Jack and Robby chatted a little longer before retiring back to their room too.
The next morning, Robby woke first, as he often did, to the pale light filtering through the blinds. He was on his side, facing Jack, who was still deeply asleep on his rare day off, his features relaxed in a way they rarely were during waking hours.
And between them, nestled in the valley where their pillows met, was a small, furry, sleeping bat.
A profound warmth spread through Robby’s chest. Even after the events of yesterday, Dennis had dared to come back, to seek them out again.Dennis trusted them enough to be this vulnerable, this small, in their space.
In their bed.
He watched the tiny creature sleep, the delicate rise and fall of its body, the occasional twitch of a wing-tip. He was so fond of this little being. The protectiveness he felt was overwhelming.
Jack stirred, his blue eyes cracking open. They found Robby’s, then slid down to the bat between them. A slow, sleepy smile touched his lips. He didn’t say anything. He just lifted a hand and, with a single, careful finger, stroked the length of the bat’s back, from the head down between the folded wings.
Dennis stirred, letting out a soft, sleepy chirp. He nuzzled blindly into Jack’s fingertip before his whole body gave a little shudder. The shift this time was slow, languid, like someone stretching in bed. The bat form dissolved, and Dennis the human was there, blinking sleepily, curled on his side between them. He was still wearing the pyjamas pants he had been offered the day before, as well as his t-shirt.
“Morning,” Jack rasped, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“Morning,” Dennis mumbled, hiding a yawn against the pillow. Then memory seemed to dawn, and a faint pink tinged his cheeks. “Oh. I… came in again. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing for existing in our general vicinity,” Jack said, but there was no bite to it. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Dennis. “You slept okay? No residual headache from your crash landing?”
“No. I feel fine,” Dennis said, the truth of it evident in his clear eyes and rested face.
Robby pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his waist. The atmosphere was serene, content. The light was soft, the house was quiet. It felt… right. The offer he’d made days ago, which had been hovering in the air ever since, suddenly felt not like a future plan, but like the natural next step in the present moment.
Jack’s eyes met Robby’s over Dennis’s head. A silent conversation passed between them. Jack’s eyebrow quirked in a question. Robby gave a small, sure nod.
“Dennis,” Jack said, his tone shifting into that gentle-but-firm command that Dennis instinctively responded to. “You’re due. I can feel the slight tremor in the mattress from here. And Robby’s here. He’s willing. And,” Jack added, a hint of his usual wryness returning, “he’s conveniently already in bed. Seems like a waste of a good opportunity.”
Dennis’s eyes went wide, the sleepiness vanishing. He looked from Jack to Robby, who gave him a reassuring, encouraging smile.
“Only if you want to,” Robby said softly. “Today. Now. No pressure. But the offer’s open.”
Dennis swallowed, his gaze dropping to Robby’s throat, then to the exposed skin of his shoulder and collarbone. The want was there, clear and sharp, but so was the nerves.
“I… I do want to. Are you sure? You’re not just doing it because…” he trailed off, averting his eyes.
“Because we feel sorry for you?” Jack finished. “No. He’s doing it because he wants to help. And because he’s curious. And because it’s practical. All good reasons. Now, shift up a bit. Don’t make the man crane his neck, he is too old for that.”
Dennis moved slowly, pushing himself up until he was kneeling on the mattress, facing Robby. The morning light caught the gold in his tousled hair. He looked young, solemn, and deeply focused.
Robby adjusted his position, settling more firmly against the headboard. He was wearing an old, soft t-shirt. He reached for the collar and tugged, pulling it down and to the side, exposing the curve of his neck and shoulder. His skin was pale there, a contrast to his tanned arms and face. He could feel his own pulse, steady and strong, beating just under the surface.
“Here?” he asked, his voice a little thicker than he intended.
Dennis nodded, scooting closer on his knees. He was close enough now that Robby could see the subtle change in his eyes, the slight dilation of his pupils, the faint, sharp points of his fangs beginning to extend past his lower lip. It wasn’t frightening. It was… fascinating.
“Okay,” Robby breathed. He reached out, not quite sure what to do with his hands, and ended up resting them lightly on Dennis’s shoulders. “I’m ready.”
Jack had shifted too, mirroring Robby’s position propped against the headboard, but he was watching, his gaze calm and observant.
“You remember the rules, kid,” he said, his voice low. “Same as with me. You stop when I say. You seal it after. Slow and steady wins the game.”
A flicker of a smile touched Dennis’s lips. He nodded, his eyes locked on the spot Robby had exposed. He hesitated.
“It’s okay,” Robby whispered, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I trust you.”
Those three words seemed to be the final key. Dennis’s expression softened, the tension bleeding away. He leaned in.
Robby felt the first, cool press of Dennis’s lips against his skin. It was a kiss, almost. Then a soft, testing lick. A shiver, wholly unexpected, raced down Robby’s spine. It wasn’t fear. It was a jolt of pure intimacy.
Then came the sharp, pinpoint pressure. Robby inhaled sharply. It was less a pain and more sharp pricking sensation that was followed by a pulling sensation. He’d seen it happen to Jack, had studied it with a clinician’s eye. Feeling it was entirely different.
His first thought was purely medical: Interesting. Minimal discomfort. The vasovagal response is negligible. His second thought was drowned out by a wave of physical feedback. The pull was rhythmic, deep. He could feel the draw, feel the connection, a literal tether of life being shared. A strange, heavy warmth began to spread from the point of contact, radiating out through his shoulder, down his arm, pooling in his chest. It was pleasant. Deeply pleasant. A languid, almost sleepy contentment began to seep into his limbs.
He heard a soft, muffled sound from Dennis, a tiny, blissful hum, and felt the young man’s body, which had been held stiff, melt against him. Dennis’s hands came up, not to hold or grip, but to rest lightly on Robby’s chest, over his heartbeat.
Robby’s eyes sought Jack’s. Jack was watching them, his expression a complex combination of concentration, satisfaction, and pridea deep. He gave Robby the smallest of nods, a silent ’See? It’s okay.’
And it was. It was more than okay.
He was helping. In the most direct, biological way possible, he was helping sustain Dennis.
He let his hands slide from Dennis’s shoulders to his back, holding him gently as he fed. He could feel the rhythmic swallowing, the slight tremors of relief that ran through Dennis’s frame. The earlier warmth in his own body intensified, a cozy, full-bodied glow that made him want to sink deeper into the pillows. His clinical mind noted the mild lightheadedness, the slight dip in his own energy, but it was a distant observation, overshadowed by the overwhelming sense of rightness.
Time seemed to slow, stretch, become soft at the edges. The room was silent except for their breathing and the soft, wet sounds of feeding. The grey morning light seemed to grow warmer.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt Jack’s hand on his ankle, a firm, grounding squeeze. Then Jack’s voice, calm and clear. “Alright, Dennis. That’s good. Time to pull back.”
The command was immediate. The pulling sensation ceased. Robby felt a faint, sharp sting as Dennis’s fangs withdrew, followed by the warm, slick swipe of his tongue over the wounds. Once, twice. A third time, meticulous and thorough. The small punctures tingled, then the sensation faded to a dull, barely-there ache.
Sealed.
Dennis went utterly boneless against him, his full weight leaning into Robby’s chest. He was panting softly, his breath warm and damp against Robby’s neck. After a moment, he lifted his head. His face was flushed a healthy pink, his eyes were half-lidded and shining with unshed tears of gratitude, and his lips were stained a dark, rosy red.
“Robby,” he breathed. He looked dazed, sated, whole.
“It's okay, Dennis.” Jack murmured softly, warm hand clasping his shoulder. “You did well.” Robby nodded in agreement, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to Dennis's temple.
“Thank you for trusting me.” He murmured. “And we got you, always.” He added as a promise.
Robby glanced at Jack for a moment, the other man nodding in agreement as they kept their vampire between.
Dennis would be safe with them, they'd make sure of it.