Chapter Text
Trevor Belmont likes to think he knows a thing or two about vampires.
Bitey, smug, beautiful vampires, deadly creatures of the night. They lord their superiority over all until brought low (deservedly) by their own hubris, and the crack of a whip or the slash of steel.
But he doesn’t quite know how to handle this.
Alu—
Adrian
is broken in a way that he didn’t anticipate, because he is a fool with little foresight. So concerned with getting back
(getting home)
and stopping Sypha from looking so absolutely downtrodden and destroyed by life in a way that only
he
is supposed to be familiar with, Trevor didn’t stop to consider what so much time alone would have done to a man who just killed his father, a year after his mother’s murder.
(He decides not to mention what they saw in Hell. Sypha keeps her mouth shut too.)
They now know that he wasn’t alone, not all the time, not recently. And they now know what those companions did to Adrian, what they did to deserve their pride of place at the base of the castle steps.
It feels like an age since they slept in front of the fire, curled up and hurting, after Adrian bared his soul to them that first week back.
Things are better now, but they’re not. There’s a weight on Adrian’s (perfect) shoulders, a pallor to his face that isn’t going away, even with every smile that Sypha teases out of him, every touch that he permits them to lay upon his body. It marks him, alongside the horrible scars that aren’t beginning to fade.
Trevor knows it’s not as simple as a click of the fingers, to clear the demons that plague their third (Christ, if only it were). But there’s a need within him, so often unacknowledged, to help, to fix, to do something because he’s not good at sitting around, seeing those he lov— cares for in pain.
So he commits himself to research, sneaking down to the Hold even when he doesn’t have to. He reads, reads like he hasn’t since childhood, devouring every miniscule point of lore that he can find that might provide a balm for what afflicts Adrian beyond the mental scars he now carries.
The signs all point to one thing, whether he likes it or not.
Blood.
Willingly given, preferably, which in all fairness isn't such an ask as it might once have been. If the donor is content and in good health, its benefits pass far more easily to their intended.
He brings it up that night over dinner, casually avoiding Sypha's questioning glances at his refusal of wine with their meal.
"Absolutely not."
"Adri—."
"Trevor." He says, and the novelty of hearing his name from the other man's lips almost outweighs the discomfort of his tone. "Please. I will heal over time."
"I'm offering you a chance to lift some of your burdens. God knows it's something I'd benefit from, and if the answer was as easy as drinking blood then I'd sign myself the fuck up."
"You say that…" Adrian smiles, and oh, okay, that's something to parcel away for another time.
"Would you consider it at least?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s negotiating with a vampire about drinking his blood. “Doesn't have to be tonight but I've avoided wine for you so it might be polite to factor that into your decision."
"Truly a vast sacrifice."
Sypha laughs gently, reaching out to curve a hand over his and Adrian’s arms, calming any frantic fluttering of his heart that the dhampir can surely hear. "If it helps you decide, I can assure you he's quite tasty."
The air in the room changes in an instant, any gentle undercurrent of sexual energy now truly at the fore. Sypha smiles, innocent as a lamb, as if she hasn't instigated this entire moment with calculated words.
Adrian breathes heavily through his mouth, as if the scent on the air is too much for him to deal with, which, fuck, is hot to think about.
Then, with a screech of his chair, Adrian pushes away from the table and taps his thigh with a smirk. "Come on then."
The bottom falls out of Trevor's stomach.
"Oh, you smug son of a bitch."
He goes, of course, because this isn't something he's going to back down from now. It's remarkably easy to sit astride Adrian's slim thighs, though he mutters something about the man's bony ass legs as he does so, because it makes him feel a bit better.
Adrian is gentle, as he tugs Trevor's shirt aside at the nape, the faint sound of Sypha moving to get a better view making Trevor shiver with something akin to anticipation. He's surprised, pleasantly so, that Adrian initiated this contact, determined, resolutely so, not to make it sexual unless otherwise invited.
When Adrian's breath meets his throat, Trevor sighs quietly and wills his body to calm. It works, somehow, a pinch of fear ceasing all discomforting arousal, and he works so hard at maintaining an even mental balance that Adrian is biting him before he realises it.
Trevor sighs again, reedy this time, feeling his blood flow in happy little throbs, his stomach filling with a comfortable warmth. It's odd, to not fight the loss of blood, to give it willingly and allow his lover? friend? to drink his fill. A flood of trusting calm falls over him and he sags in the steel bands of Adrian's hold.
With little more than a swipe of his tongue, Adrian sits back and cups Trevor's cheek. It beggars belief that neither of them are hard, but makes him twinge with something dangerously like love, fuck. Sypha moves to join them, lifting Adrian's arm and turning it this way and that.
And she cries, because the marks are slowly fading. Adrian breathes in a shaky breath, Trevor blinking quickly against suddenly misty vision.
It seems a healing bite is a thing, after all.