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There’s a second set of footsteps behind him.
Legundo almost doesn’t catch it, not with his head swimming with pain and his insides very urgently threatening to become his outsides. But when he wanders into his house he pointedly doesn’t kick the door closed behind him, just to be sure, and the fact that it gently closes on its own is enough to confirm his suspicions.
“Owen?” he calls into the open air, using one arm to prop himself up against his desk while the other keeps pressure on the wound. He starts to wonder if maybe he's imagining things as the silence drags on, so he busies himself with tugging off his surgeon's robes until his suspicions are confirmed.
Owen’s voice is sharp, icy. “Who got you?”
“What?”
“The wound,” he hisses, his voice closer now. “Who was it?”
Legundo hesitates. “Does it matter?”
Owen lets his invisibility fall away, close enough that he crowds Legundo against the desk. His jaw is set, pupils blown wide, lip curled back into a snarl. “Yes. It matters.”
Truth be told, it had been a team effort. He’d been out with Martyn and Pearl turning beacons when the vampires tracked them down, but the group splintered when Scott chased the others off further into the forest and Pyro drove the doctor closer to town. He’s lucky he’d made it out of the woods and into the sunlight before the fledgeling got the chance to tear open his chest cavity.
Not that he’s sure why Owen is particularly inclined to care. He has his theories, of course; Owen did say he would tell the others to leave him alone in exchange for his blood and his trust. From what he can gather, things at the castle aren't exactly stable right now— he suspects this is more about a fledgeling going back on their word than anything else.
“Can this wait until I’m not actively losing blood?”
“Doctor,” Owen growls, which is all the rebuttal he really needs.
Despite how persuasive bared fangs can be, Legundo would really rather not say, especially with how angry Owen seems— he’s more confident in his own ability to handle Owen’s temper than Pyro’s. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, even if he’s sure Owen can hear the way the doctor’s heartbeat kicks up a notch as his claws curl, digging shallow trenches into the wooden desk beneath them.
Legundo doesn’t meet his eyes, just focuses on fishing a needle and suture thread out of his bag. “Later, Owen.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t think it makes any difference,” he answers. “Now would you please–”
Owen takes him by the elbow, hauling him away from his desk (and more importantly his supplies) swiftly enough to make Legs let out an embarrassing yelp. He always seems to forget how strong Owen actually is, when it’s all wrapped up in those wiry limbs and spindly hands. Legundo’s vision swims as Owen turns him around and sends him stumbling backwards onto the bed. He grits his teeth around a pained whine as he props himself upright. “Owen–”
Owen is looming over him now, so close that Legs has to crane his neck to look up at him. His anger has smoothed down to something less harsh but no less intense, freezing Legundo in his stubborn gaze.
“If you’re not going to tell me who did it,” he grumbles, “then at least let me help.”
The small flicker of what seems to be genuine worry that surfaces through all the frustration catches him off guard. That’s… sweet. What exactly he’s planning to "help" with he’s not sure, Legs is perfectly capable of managing this himself, but it’s nice that he would try.
“Owen, I can stitch myself up just f–”
“No,” he interrupts, leaning down into the doctor’s space– Legundo parts his legs easily to make room for him without even realizing. He climbs onto the mattress, pressing a hand to Legundo’s chest to push him down onto his back. “Just let me—”
Surely Owen isn't implying what he thinks he is, but he's forced to entertain the outlandish thought once he registers that Owen’s hands are going for the buttons on his waistcoat. He makes a grab for Owen's wrist, but the blood loss has rendered his limbs weak and clumsy. “Owen, we can’t– I-I don’t have time to–”
“No, no, be quiet,” Owen continues, brushing easily past Legundo’s feeble attempts to stop him.
His second attempt to push him away at least gives Owen pause, long enough to actually meet his eyes again. Whatever blend of disbelief and unease he must find on his face has Owen leveling him with an exasperated stare, rolling his eyes.
“A vampire’s saliva has healing properties,” Owen explains, untucking Legs’ shirt. “You noticed how quickly that bite healed over, I’m sure. So…”
He did notice– he had his suspicions about something of the sort, but it’s nice to get some confirmation. So Owen’s going to…
Oh.
“Wait, Owen, listen–”
But Owen is already pulling his shirt up over the wound and wedging himself between Legundo’s thighs. He loses his words immediately, because Owen is peering up at him through lidded eyes, lashes fluttering, naked hunger dancing across his face.
He leans in and tentatively, almost gently, presses his tongue to the surface of the wound.
Legs recoils, hissing through his teeth at the pain, but still unable to draw his eyes away from the vampire as he pulls back slightly. Owen watches him for a moment, studying his reaction. It's a familiar look on him by now, one Legundo’s learned to spot since their first little trust exercise; Owen’s pushing him. He’s testing to see just how much it will take to make Legs admit he’s afraid of him just like all the others. He’s waiting for Legs to bite back and shove him away.
He doesn’t. He just holds Owen’s gaze, doing all he can to keep his breathing even and slow his frantic heartbeat.
It seems that’s all the permission he needs, because Owen is pressing in again, dragging the flat of his tongue over the wound once, twice, lapping up the blood dripping down his abdomen and into the divot where his hip meets his thigh. The doctor winds his hands into the bedsheets, thighs spasming with the effort to keep still as he watches Owen work. It’s oddly mesmerizing, seeing Owen so focused, so single-minded in his task. So much so that Legs loses himself enough to jerk away from the touch, twisting in barely contained agony as Owen plunges his tongue into the wound.
Owen pulls back with a growl. “Stay still.”
“I’m tryi–”
Owen plants his hands on the doctor’s hips, driving them down into the mattress as his claws dig tiny pinpricks of red into his skin and he presses back into the wound. His body thrashes on startled instinct, but Owen holds him down like it’s nothing, not relenting in the slightest as Legs cries out in a mix of pain and perverse satisfaction.
Owen freezes. Legundo burns with paralyzed shame as knowing amusement blooms on his face, baring his fangs in a smirk. Humiliation burns under his skin. They both know that was far too close to a moan for comfort.
“Enjoying yourself, doctor?”
“Owen,” he gasps, breathless, because there’s no excusing this, no way to explain himself. “Listen, I–”
“Oh hush, that’s okay,” Owen soothes, leaning in with his tongue to draw another small, pained noise out of him. “I’ve been thinking about this, you know. Since that day in the storm.”
The professional in him notes that this can’t be sanitary. He— respectfully— doesn’t know where Owen’s mouth has been, especially with all the biting into dead animals he seems to do. But he can't find it in himself to object as Owen moves back in for another taste, not with I've been thinking about this still ringing in his head.
“You just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?" Owen teases, nipping lightly with his teeth at the surrounding unbroken skin. Thankfully, he doesn't plunge his fangs in to feed— that would very much defeat the point of all this, anyway. Still, the fact that he could has Legs tensing with a breathless moan. Owen hums quietly against his skin, almost a laugh. "Every wound, every little cut and scrape, I can smell it on you. It’s like you’re asking for me to tear you apart one of these days.”
Owen hefts Legundo’s knees over his shoulders, punching a sharp gasp from his lungs as one hand returns to holding his hips down, the other raking thin lines of red down his inner thigh. He returns to his meal with a fervor, no more teasing licks between jabs– his movements are deliberate, purposeful. He feels the bizarre urge to relax into the touch; maybe some small amount of Owen’s venom has made it into his system or maybe he’s lost so much blood that his body’s given up. A dim, fuzzy part of his brain reminds him that he should probably be dead by now, or at the very least unconscious, but maybe the small amount of healing from the beacon is enough to mitigate the blood loss.
Either way Owen rewards him with a low, rumbling purr, the sound humming against his thighs as Owen draws in eager gulps of his blood. His eyes slip shut as he works, looking oddly at ease despite how gruesome the scene is. He settles into a nearly meditative rhythm, almost (almost) enough to make Legs lose himself in it too, despite the pain and the growing weakness in his limbs.
(He tries not to think about how right this feels despite setting off every alarm bell his brain is capable of. He doesn’t know what to make of the fact that part of him aches for this– Owen here, safe, fed, satisfied and unburdened by worry. The two of them, here, together. He’s sure his rational mind will have something to say about all this later, but right now he can’t help but feel like he’d rip himself open again and again for another chance like this.)
This strange veil of softness between them has Legundo following the urge to touch, his hand carding gently through Owen's hair. It's only once he finds his silver curls streaked with red that he realizes his own hands are still bloody too, but the vampire doesn't seem too fussed about it as he leans up into the contact with a quiet mrrp of approval. Owen finally lifts his head to look at him again, his blood smeared down his chin and across his face.
The soothing drone of Owen's purring stutters for a moment as darkness swallows Legundo's vision— when he comes to again Owen is still staring, brows furrowed in undisguised concern. He softens slightly as the doctor blinks up at him, another purr humming against his skin as Owen nuzzles against his inner thigh. He notes that something in Owen's eyes has gone a bit glassy as he leaves his position between his legs to crawl up into bed next to him, curling into Legundo's side with a short chirping sound. Not that it's unwelcome necessarily, even if he does briefly feel his sputtering heartbeat jump as Owen peers down at the small, pinprick scars on the doctor's neck. Legundo half expects a bite as Owen leans in, but he just presses his lips against the mark, peppering kisses across his throat.
He only momentarily bares his teeth again, scraping them lightly over the scar and chittering happily when he finds they still fit.