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“Please, let me make this right, let me make this right, Sire,” Pyro begs from the cold ground of the crypt. “I can—I can prove myself, I can prove my loyalty—”
His claws catch in Scott’s cape, and Scott comes to a stop and looks down at him with annoyance. Panic thrums like a heartbeat through Pyro’s chest, makes his hands shake, his ears ring distantly.
He’d been clumsy, gotten too comfortable with talking to the townsfolk. He should have known that Scott wouldn’t have gone far, should have known to be more careful when he’d seen Scott vanish. And that’s on him! But if Scott doesn’t trust him, he might decide he doesn’t need Pyro all that badly after all, and then—
No. He can’t entertain that thought. Not while he’s trying to fix this. He can fix it. He takes a shallow breath that he knows he doesn’t need anymore. It’s too instinctive.
“What do you need me to do?” Pyro asks. There has to be something.
Scott tugs on his cape. Pyro tries to unhook his claws from the fabric, that would be a good place to start, wouldn’t it? And, oh, Scott still looks annoyed, looking at Pyro a little like he’s a bug or an inconvenient stain. Disdain, the edges of disgust. Something in the back of Pyro’s throat withers and he withdraws as soon as his claws are free, backing away on his knees.
The panic jumps in time with something close to hope as Scott’s expression twists to consideration. He tilts his head slightly. Absently, he checks his cape where Pyro’s claws had been before letting it fall again.
“There may be one thing,” Scott says.
“Yes? Anything.”
“You can start by getting off the floor.” The disdain is still there.
Pyro scrambles to his feet fast enough he nearly trips backwards. He catches himself just in time. Scott watches him quietly.
“When you said anything,” Scott starts, “did you mean it?”
“Of course. Yes, of course, anything at all that you need from me. I can do anything.” Fixing this is, maybe, the most important thing Pyro could do.
He still takes an instinctive step back as Scott walks slowly toward him.
“In that case” —Scott sets a hand on his waist, gently urging Pyro to turn— “how about a snack?”
That’s all? That’s easy, Pyro carries so much food on him. “I have some bottles on me if you—”
“Not quite what I was thinking.” Pyro takes a slightly-stumbling step back as Scott pushes. “I was thinking something more… direct.”
More direct. What does more direct mean? He’s not sure how much more direct they can get, not without drinking right from the vein.
…Oh.
“Is that possible? I’m not human. I didn’t—I mean, not that I know everything—”
“You have blood, don’t you?” Scott’s other hand settles on his other side as he guides Pyro backwards.
“I—I mean, yes, I do, but—”
“Then I don’t see why I couldn’t.”
A corner of his mind not swirling with panic wonders what it would taste like, whether it’d be closer to drinking from a human or an animal or whether it’d be an entirely different experience.
Now isn’t the time.
“Right, Right, naturally.” Pyro’s shoulders bump up against the wall. “That makes perfect sense.”
Scott watches his face carefully. “I guess it’s a question of how badly you want to make it up to me.”
“More than anything, Sire, I—let me prove myself, please.” It tumbles out of his mouth before he can think it through. He needs to fix this, needs to earn Scott’s trust back.
Scott smiles. “That’s what I thought.”
One hand drifts up from his waist to his collar, pushing the fabric of his clothes aside. Pyro swallows. Scott tracks the motion.
“Relax,” Scott says, running his hand gently over his side. “You’re so tense, this won’t hurt.”
It had last time. He thinks, anyway. That’s one of the only things he remembers, is that it had hurt.
He pushes that away. That won’t help him relax. He takes a deep breath and tries to untense his shoulders. It works for all of three seconds, until he feels Scott’s claws against his ribs before his hand drifts back down.
“Jumpy. You’re not keeping anything else from me, are you?” Scott’s mouth is against his throat. Pyro’s breath catches.
“No. No, not at all, Sire.” He stares at the opposite wall a little distantly, focused on the tips of Scott’s fangs against his neck. “I have nothing left to hide.” Nowhere left. He tilts his head some, gives Scott more of his exposed throat.
“Good.”
When Scott bites him this time, it’s almost gentle.
Pyro still jolts, still brings up a hand to push Scott away on instinct. Scott catches his hand and holds it to the wall, fingers intertwining with his. Pyro still can’t breathe. He doesn’t need to. His lungs are full, something suffocating him from the inside. He wants to cough it out, throat tight. He turns his head away from Scott and blinks. It’s the crypt wall. It’s mud and pebbles and sand in his eyes.
Something hot and wet trails down his face and it takes him too long of a second to recognize it as tears. A quiet, scared sound slips from his lips as he holds Scott’s hand back, possibly too tight. Scott squeezes Pyro’s waist gently, almost comfortingly. Pyro takes a shuddering breath and tries to collect himself. He can’t fall apart at this. He’s doing good, isn’t he? Doing exactly what Scott wants from him, proving that he can cooperate.
And it doesn’t hurt, is the thing. When he doesn’t fight, it doesn’t hurt. Which makes sense, so much sense, but still makes a hysterical little laugh bubble up in his throat. He’s okay, he’s just… wobbling, a little. The wall across from him is tilting. He blinks and it rights itself, at least temporarily.
How much has Scott taken? Should he be worried?
His legs buckle.
Scott’s grip on his waist tightens as he starts to fall. Scott shifts forward some, body pressing Pyro more firmly against the wall. His hand that isn’t in Scott’s comes up to wrap around Scott’s back. He grips the back of Scott’s cape like it’ll keep him upright. He’s so dizzy. He’s so cold, too cold. His tears burn. He shuts his eyes and flinches a little as Scott adjusts his fangs in Pyro’s neck.
Pyro doesn’t know how much more blood he can lose. He doesn’t know how blood loss even affects vampires. He feels so weak. He must look absolutely pathetic. He certainly sounds it, mumbled half-words slipping past his lips.
Scott continues to take. Pyro stays as still as he can and lets him.
He doesn’t think, in the big picture, that Scott takes much more. He doesn’t think he’s been here that long. He still slumps a little as Scott unhooks his fangs from Pyro’s flesh. Scott presses a kiss gently to his neck. A shudder tears its way down Pyro’s spine.
Scott shifts slightly, the hand on Pyro’s waist moving slowly, softly up to his jaw. Pyro only flinches a little as the claws trace over his ribs. Scott brushes away a tear before taking his chin in his hand and tilting Pyro’s head so they’re looking at each other.
“Perfect,” Scott says. “Exactly what I needed.”
Pyro feels the tension unwinding from the top of his spine. He smiles.
“Anything for you, Sire,” he mutters. Scott’s smile widens a touch. There’s blood on his lips. There’s Pyro’s blood on his lips.
He kisses Pyro.
It’s slow, gentle but possessive. Pyro sinks into it, kisses back and feels Scott’s grip tighten as it gets more forceful. Pyro can taste his own blood, sharp and metallic. He still feels so dizzy. He shuts his eyes and lets Scott take in an entirely different way.
He’ll be okay. He can give Scott what he wants, what he needs. He can do whatever is required of him. That’s a good thing! It has to be a good thing. One day, this will all be over. Scott will come out on top, of course he will, and if he’s lucky Pyro will still be by his side when it happens and not dead and staked somewhere. If he’s luckier, he’ll get to leave after, go back to the Capital and share this—this gift. It’s a gift.
He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s not lucky. He probably won’t have to think too hard about it, because he’ll be dead. Slightly morbid, but it is what it is, isn’t it?
Pyro’s hand falls away from Scott’s cape. Scott’s hand leaves his chin and smooths down along his shoulder. Pyro isn’t breathing. He doesn’t have to.
Eventually, Scott pulls away.
Pyro groans quietly. Even with his eyes closed, it feels like the world is moving under his feet, like he’s going to fall the second Scott steps away.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Scott says. “If this ever happens again, I won’t be so willing to hear you out.”
This was hearing him out?
“Of course, Sire.” Pyro only stumbles over his words a little bit.
Scott steps back and untangles his hand from Pyro’s. He leans against the wall and manages to keep himself mostly upright that way as he opens his eyes blearily. Scott stands back and considers him for a moment.
“I’ll be keeping a closer eye on you,” Scott says at a normal volume, as if they’d just been having a conversation and not—that. “Assume I’m there, because very often I will be.”
God. The leash shortens. Pyro guesses he deserves it for being careless.
Scott doesn’t wait for an answer as he turns and sweeps out of the crypt.
Pyro slides down the wall and hits the ground. He shifts to the tiny corner that exists and slumps, eyes sliding back shut as Scott’s footsteps click away.
He’s earned some goodwill back, at least. He thinks. He hopes. He hopes that was all worth something.
The crypt quiets, and Pyro is left alone to recover.