Work Text:
Young-One watches Mignon for the signs of a young vampire failing to adjust. He watches with his bloodless, blackened heart in his mouth, steeped in guilt.
“Ah, Saem, it’s so nice to go out after the heat of the day has passed, dontcha think?” (This after Mignon’s first day, said while sticking his head out of Young-One’s bedroom window to look out at the city.)
“We’re kinda like a married couple, huh?” (This while reaching for Young-One’s pinky finger on the walk to work.)
“Now that my hair is dark, I blend in more. People don’t stare so much.” (This after the first week working at Young-One’s side.)
“It’s nothing, Saem.” (This after Young-One wakes him from a nightmare. Mignon curls into him, huddling his bulky body into Young-One, and dozes off. Young-One thinks about things he should have seen sooner—the way sometimes Mignon would have cuts and bruises in strange places for a boxer. He has been alive for long enough that he shouldn’t make stupid promises, but he swears to himself that he will never let Mignon hurt that way again.)
The only time Mignon shows signs of faltering is when it’s time to feed. The second time Young-One offered him a blood bag, Mignon looked at him, shy, through his lashes, and said, “It tastes better when it comes from you.”
Young-One said, “It’s more efficient if you drink it directly.” (Bubbling up, effervescent: the memory of Mignon over him for that first time after the change, holding him open, biting into his ankle. The bite healed within minutes but the memory of it tingled in his nerves.)
Mignon deflated. He’d taken the blood bag, and then Young-One found himself saying: “If you drink that first, you can feed from me after.”
Mignon sucked the thing down in ten seconds before closing in on Young-One.
Young-One has not had a pet in decades, but Master Woo keeps a small regiment of cats that he won’t shut up about, so Young-One has picked up a few things. He tells himself that this is like acclimating a cat to a new diet: you mix the familiar with the new, and eventually the animal will adjust. Mignon is new and he needs to feed more, and more often, to keep strengthening his new immortal body. That matters more than the method by which he feeds.
But maybe Young-One is the animal, here, because now, when he watches Mignon drink, he knows he’s next, and it makes him hard. It doesn’t matter if they’re in the treatment room or at home, if they’re utterly alone or if there’s a boxer passed out five feet away.
Maybe he’s spoiling Mignon. Maybe that’s fine. Maybe this is his penance, for condemning a man full of sunshine to a life of darkness.
Although, it should probably feel more like penance for it to count as such.
“Saem? I’m hungry,” Mignon says softly as the last patient of the night limps away. He’s looming behind Young-One and it’s making the hairs on the back of Young-One’s neck stand up.
Young-One suppresses a shiver, refuses to turn and look up at him. “You know where the food is.”
Mignon bends, bringing his lips close to Young-One’s ear. “And after? Can I?”
His breath is hot on Young-One’s ear. On his jugular.
Young-One stands there stiff, hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to lean into Mignon’s chest and bare his neck. He nods once, sharply.
Mignon nuzzles his ear and then he’s gone, striding to the fridge, leaving Young-One’s back suddenly cold.
Young-One feels Mignon’s eyes on him as he locks the door. When he turns, Mignon has a blood bag to his lips, half-drained, and another waiting.
“Finish them both.” Young-One says. His voice betrays him. A little unsteady, a little higher than usual.
He keeps his face rigidly calm and focuses on wiping down an exam table, but he’s not paying any attention to what he’s doing. He’s just going over the same spot again and again, which Mignon probably notices.
Then Mignon comes to him and tilts his chin up with one hand and bends to kiss him with blood on his lips.
Young-One didn’t think he was hungry before, but he is now: he sucks in a ragged breath and licks into Mignon’s mouth, sucking blood from his tongue as Mignon’s other arm comes around his waist.
Mignon makes a soft sound and pulls Young-One against him, and Young-One can feel Mignon’s cock hardening against his stomach. Young-One wraps his arms around Mignon’s neck and clings.
Mignon breaks the kiss for a split second, there’s a flash of teeth, and then he’s kissing Young-One again, mouth open in an invitation, and Young-One tastes him: dark and sweet, almost as sweet as when he was human.
Young-One breaks away, shuddering with want. “No,” he says weakly, watching the blood pool at the corner of Mignon’s lips and trickle down his chin.
“I drank plenty,” Mignon says. “You can have some from me.” He licks the corner of his mouth but doesn’t wipe away the trickle.
Young-One’s gaze darts between Mignon’s red eyes and the red on his lips. “You’re too young to feed from,” he says, and it sounds like he’s pleading.
“It’s okay,” Mignon murmurs, leaning in, and—
Young-One twists in his grasp, turning bodily away. “No, Mignon!”
He can’t. He’s already taken too much. He can’t take this, too. Not again. Mignon doesn’t taste candy-sweet anymore, now that his body has to scrub someone else’s blood instead of making its own, and Young-One hates himself and craves the dark chocolate taste of him in equal measure.
Mignon loosens his hold and lets Young-One pull away. “Oh,” he says, bulging shoulders drooping. “Sorry.” He wipes his chin and laps it away.
Not being able to see it helps, but the scent is still on the air.
“We need to go home,” Young-One says.
“Okay.”
And Mignon follows him, brow a little furrowed but never complaining.
He so rarely complains.
Young-One makes it two blocks before the guilt is eating him alive, and he drops back to fall in step with Mignon. It makes him sweat to reach for Mignon’s hand. But he’ll be damned if he ever treats Mignon the way that coach did. (Young-One should have killed that waste of air himself. At least the fucker died screaming. He takes some solace in that.)
He can’t make himself speak until they’re within the safety of four walls. After they shed their shoes and coats, he takes Mignon’s hands and draws him over to the couch, because if they make it to the bedroom it will be too easy to let the words die unsaid, to let them fade away under the persuasion of Mignon’s hands and mouth.
He pushes, and Mignon sits, two hundred pounds of muscle moving willingly under Young-One’s direction.
Young-One crawls into his lap, straddles him, puts his hands on his shoulders. “I,” he says, and stops.
Mignon’s broad hands come to rest ever-so-gently on his waist. “I just want to be useful to you, Saem,” he whispers.
Young-One stares at him in shock. “W-What?”
Red eyes search his. “You’re feeding me. Sheltering me. Teaching me.” Mignon’s thumbs trace circles on Young-One’s hips.
“You don’t owe me anything.” Young-One can’t stop himself from leaning in, drawn to Mignon’s heat. He wonders if this is how the moon feels: incapable of shining on its own, all of its good qualities owed to the blazing star it reflects.
“You saved me,” Mignon says, their lips so close that it’s like the words barely touch air before they’re slipping down Young-One’s throat.
Young-One flinches, stiffening in Mignon’s lap. “I damned you.”
“No, that can’t be right.” Mignon’s voice is so gentle and earnest. “Because I get to be with you, Saem.”
“Then—Then stop worrying about being useful!” Young-One’s fingers dig in to Mignon’s shoulders. “I don’t care if you’re useful! I didn’t turn you because of your use. I turned you because—because.” He shakes his head. He has not loved like this in decades, and never someone he could keep. So the words are hard to find.
He tries again:
“I turned you because I didn’t want you to go. I wanted you—with me.”
Mignon’s eyes shine. “I love you so much,” he murmurs, like it’s easy. A lifetime of hurt, and still he loves, easy as breathing. “Can I kiss you?”
Young-One kisses him. Mignon is pliant beneath him, opening for Young-One’s tongue like some night-blooming flower. Hands capable of breaking a man’s jaw hold Young-One close, sneaking up under his shirt to feel his back and sides. His hair is so soft under Young-One’s fingers.
They kiss for a while, until Young-One no longer feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin. Until he feels full of sticky-syrupy heat and he’s starting to grind down against Mignon’s rising hardness.
Mignon breaks the kiss, and says, “What if I wanted you to drink from me because it would feel good?” His voice is rough, the way it gets when he’s close to flipping from I’ll do anything for you, Saem, to I’m going to make you scream, Saem.
Young-One makes a pleading noise. He can’t help it. Mignon kisses his jaw, scrapes his teeth a little lower. Mignon’s hands grip his ass, fingertips digging between his cheeks despite the layers of clothing between them.
“It feels so good when I drink from you,” Mignon says. “Don’t you want to?” He breathes against Young-One’s neck. Licks. Then bites, not hard enough to break skin.
Young-One moans. “I—ngh. You need it more than me. You’re still changing.”
“Then… Will you take it from my mouth, at least?” Mignon asks. He soothes the bite mark with a kiss, then hovers over a new spot just to feel Young-One squirm up towards his teeth.
“Fine,” Young-One gasps, grabbing the nape of Mignon’s neck. “But only when you’ve been good.” And he presses Mignon’s open mouth to his throat.
Mignon’s fangs are a brief, piercing sting that fades quickly under a dizzying rush of heat.
Young-One sags into Mignon. His hips twitch and Mignon grinds him against his cock. His breathing is unsteady. It’s always especially intoxicating when Mignon feeds from a place where the skin is sensitive. His cock is leaking so much that it’s starting to soak through his pants.
Mignon doesn’t drink long before he’s finding Young-One’s lips again, so that Young-One can lick his own blood from his mouth. Mignon’s tongue slips in and drags across a fang, opening a cut that blooms bright in Young-One’s senses. Sweet overlaid with something heavy and rich, not quite bitter.
He sucks on Mignon’s tongue. Moans and rocks back and forth between Mignon’s stomach and the cock pressing up against his ass.
“Saem,” Mignon groans when they break apart so Young-One can strip off his shirt.
“My name. Use it.” Young-One nips his lower lip one last time before standing so he can kick off his pants and underwear.
Mignon goes shy, looking up at Young-One in a way that makes Young-One dizzy again. “Young-One,” he says, and blushes.
Young-One digs the lube out of the couch cushions and straddles Mignon’s thighs again. Mignon wasted all that time looking at him instead of getting naked, and that’s not Young-One’s problem. He still gives up the lube without a fight when Mignon reaches for it.
Mignon likes fingering him open—he gets this enraptured look on his face, feeling Young-One’s body stretch for him. He’s clumsy but getting less so each time, and always eager, and his fingers are so much thicker than Young-One’s.
Mignon tugs Young-One against him, crushing him to his chest so his back curves at an obscene angle, ass high in the air. So Mignon can watch his fingers disappear inside.
Young-One pants open-mouthed into Mignon’s chest when that heavy hand slides down to rub against his hole. Even though a vampire’s body is sturdier than a human’s, Mignon likes to use a lot of lube—says he likes the sounds Young-One’s body makes when he’s fingering him. (He says things like that so earnestly and it wrecks Young-One every time.)
“I can feel you twitching,” Mignon murmurs. He still hasn’t breached him.
Young-One clutches him, embarrassed and impatient. “Stop teasing,” he says, but it’s more like a whine. His cock is dripping on Mignon’s shirt.
“Young-One wants my fingers inside,” Mignon says to himself. He’s definitely smiling, though Young-One can’t see his face, and he presses a finger in—in—in to the root, and Young-One lifts his hips to take it deeper.
The stretch doesn’t burn, just stretches, his body welcoming and hungry. He can take more. He needs more. His fangs ache in his mouth and he’s enveloped in Mignon’s scent and it’s not enough. He’s naked while Mignon is still mostly dressed, and the softness of Mignon’s sweatpants against his inner thighs is a reminder of how needy he really is, how quickly the facade falls apart with Mignon.
He tries to be patient. But he moans like a slut when Mignon gives him a second finger. Pushing lube into him and stroking him inside, watching his hole clutch at his fingers every time he pulls out.
“Mignon,” he’s saying (begging). “Hurry. Please. Please.”
Mignon scissors his fingers, his other arm an iron bar holding Young-One in place against him. “Bite me, and I’ll give you another.”
Young-One yanks the neck of Mignon’s shirt down hard enough that it tears and bites his pec. Holds the flesh in his teeth like a dog, works his tongue against the blood that seeps out.
Mignon moans and kisses his hair and keeps his promise. Three fingers now, and Mignon digs into that place inside that makes Young-One’s lower half go molten, rubbing firmly because he’s figured out that Young-One likes it when it’s a little too much, likes being forced over the edge.
The lube is dripping down Young-One’s balls and he’s sucking Mignon’s chest and his hips hitch, trying to get away as Mignon finger-fucks him. The squelching noises are humiliating. He can’t get away because he doesn’t want to, because Mignon has him, big strong body all around him, holding him tight and saying his name until Young-One comes with a sob.
Mignon works Young-One through it, slowing in time with the rhythm that Young-One’s sucking on his chest. He stops when Young-One extracts his fangs and laves the wound closed. His arm loosens, and Young-One sits up and back languidly, sinking down on Mignon’s fingers with a pleased shudder. Vampiric stamina means neither of them are satisfied after just one.
Mignon’s shirt is a mess—torn at the neck, a wet patch from Young-One’s orgasm.
Young-One rocks on Mignon’s fingers as he gets Mignon’s cock out of his sweatpants.
He strokes him once with both hands, tugging the foreskin up over the slick, fat head before pushing it back down.
Mignon whimpers and pulls out his fingers, and then he’s scooping Young-One up and turning to push him down on the couch flat on his back. He twists, reaching behind himself for a throw blanket to shove under Young-One’s hips, both for a better angle and to protect the couch (because he’s a good boy and learned from the first time they fucked here). Then he bends one of Young-One’s legs back and Young-One grabs the other, opening himself.
Mignon breaches him and it still shocks Young-One how stuffed full he feels when Mignon’s hips finally rest against his ass. His spine curves and he tips his head back into the couch, trying to take a deep breath and gasping instead.
“Feels so good, Saem,” Mignon groans, and lets Young-One drag him down into a kiss, folding Young-One in half as he licks into Young-One’s mouth.
Young-One can barely move, just a vessel for Mignon’s cock and tongue. He swears he can feel each thrust under his ribs. Mignon won’t reach his full vampiric strength for a while yet, but in the meantime it’s fun to pretend he’s stronger.
Mignon starts slow, dragging in and out as Young-One’s cock hardens again, twitching every time the motion rubs against his prostate. The way he stretches Young-One’s rim is obscene—Young-One has reached down and felt it before, so he can imagine what it looks like.
He can’t control the pace at all, speared open like this, and his cock is starting to weep steadily against his stomach.
“Harder,” Young-One says (pleads). “Need it, Mignon—”
Mignon pulls back to look at him and grinds his hips in hard as he watches Young-One’s face. “So pretty,” he murmurs. He bites his lip, intentionally piercing it with his fang.
The blood wells up and Young-One opens his mouth for it, tilting his head up for a kiss.
Instead, Mignon combs a hand through Young-One’s hair and tightens to hold him in place. He hangs his head so a droplet falls on Young-One’s cheek. The next drop hits lower, on the edge of Young-One’s lip.
Young-One licks his lip, swiping it away. “Mignon,” he says plaintively.
“Stick out your tongue,” Mignon says. When Young-One clenches around him and obeys, he smiles, pleased.
Mignon feeds him in drips and drops, hips swiveling against Young-One’s ass, hand in Young-One’s hair.
Young-One feels half-feral, squirming helplessly on Mignon’s cock, sticking out his tongue for another drop of blood. For anything Mignon will give him. Mignon is incapable of being cruel to him, and somehow that makes this even more difficult to bear.
The precum streaming from his red, aching cock is starting to trickle up his sternum. It’s not enough, he’s so full but it’s not what he needs, it’s not—
“Pl—ease,” Young-One almost sobs.
“Pretty,” Mignon breathes, all wide-eyed, and his grip in Young-One’s hair softens, slipping down to support the nape of his neck, and he kisses him hard.
Young-One sucks on his bloody lower lip. Digs a fang in to reopen the already-closing cut, which makes Mignon’s hips buck into him. His nails dig stripes into Mignon’s back when Mignon finally starts to fuck him properly.
Mignon’s hips piston in and out, building to a punishing pace until Young-One’s every breath is hiccuping out of him.
Young-One loses track of the plot. He’s beyond words, beyond thought. At some point, there’s a gush of heat over his stomach as he comes, and Mignon fucks him through the aftershocks. Mignon’s hips stutter and press deep as he comes for the first time not long after. He nuzzles against Young-One’s throat, radiating satisfaction.
Young-One makes a soft sound. “Kiss me more,” he says, a little slurred, a little fuck-drunk. And he might say something about Mignon’s tongue, or maybe he just thinks it.
Mignon listens, because he’s good. He lets Young-One suck on his tongue. He stays inside Young-One, keeping Young-One’s hips tilted up so all of the mess stays inside. He stops kissing him only once (Young-One whines) to use a corner of the blanket to wipe the cum off of Young-One’s stomach, careful not to jostle Young-One’s oversensitive cock.
“Mignon,” Young-One says, reaching for him to pull him close. “Again. More.” He moans when Mignon kisses him and clenches down around the cock stretching his hole.
“So cute like this, Saem,” Mignon says, shifting his hold on Young-One, worming an arm under his back.
Young-One thinks he might be pouting. “Name,” he reminds him.
“Mm.” Mignon lifts Young-One, sitting up and pulling Young-One into his lap. “Young-One,” he says, rough, as he sinks deeper into him.
Young-One sags into him, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of cum and slick gushing out. “Good,” he manages. “So—good.”
Mignon holds Young-One’s waist, lifts him, gives a shallow thrust up into his slick heat. “D’you love me, too?”
“Stupid,” Young-One slurs, meaning Stupid question. Then Mignon bounces him, lifts him up and drops him down, shoving deep inside. “Love you,” he gasps, muffled against Mignon’s temple.
Mignon moans and bounces him again.
“Love you—” Young-One tenses his thighs and starts to move with Mignon. “Love you,” he says each time Mignon sinks into him, until he loses track of words again.
He fucks himself on Mignon’s cock. The pleasure builds low in his belly even though his cock only half-hardens. He clenches around Mignon for the rush of almost-too-much pleasure it sends through his core, and keens.
Mignon watches him, starry-eyed. He calls Young-One pretty and perfect, admiring the way Young-One writhes in his lap. He doesn’t think of Young-One as a slut for enjoying this. Maybe it’s because he’s never fucked someone before Young-One and doesn’t know better. Doesn’t know that it’s not always like this. Doesn’t know how good he is. Doesn’t have a metric for just how filthy Young-One is, for being so desperate for his cum, his blood, anything—
Young-One rolls his hips, and Mignon surges up into him, burying his face against Young-One’s neck.
“Do—it,” Young-One pants. “Bite—”
Mignon bites him and Young-One comes with a sob, cock dribbling weakly as wave after wave of tingling heat rolls through his core. He manages to keep riding Mignon, which means the waves keep coming as Mignon drinks from him, until Mignon finally comes with his fangs in Young-One’s neck.
Young-One rides him through it, shaking, making little cut-off sounds of pain-pleasure until Mignon pulls him tight against him, so all he can do is twitch and shiver as his body settles.
Mignon licks the bite closed and pulls out, gentle, but it still feels like a loss, and Young-One hates it. He doesn’t even care, yet, about the mess slipping out of him to soak Mignon’s sweatpants. He just feels empty, and the sound that wrenches out of his throat his heartbroken.
“I have you,” Mignon soothes, cradling him and kissing his hair.
“Don’t go,” Young-One says. “Not yet.” He’s not making any sense, but he can’t stop thinking about how close he was to never having this.
Mignon cradles his jaw and lifts, making Young-One meet his eyes. “Not ever,” he says, fierce and stubborn.
And Young-One believes him.