Work Text:
It was the first Wednesday of August; four days before his project’s deadline hit and he just finished off he had to submit, never mind that he’s still plagued by the hundreds, if not thousands, of engineering details he needed to refine.
He should be at his workstation, trying to crunch on the already limited amount of time he was left with, or the House of Daena, Celestia be damned, he could even be at home with Alhaitham droning about, making unnecessary and wholly unaesthetically pleasing “advice”. But no, here he was, at fuck o’clock in the morning, sat on a barstool at Lambad’s, his fifth mug of beer in hand, its rough scent permeating his clothes. Yet despite all of the alcohol in his system, his mind would still not cooperate, dangling in the limbo between productivity and utter nothingness, a chaotic nothingness, nonetheless. His body wasn’t fairing much better either, having starved for almost two days of only consuming inhumane amounts of caffeine and a few pieces of fruit he (sometimes) remembered to snatch while passing by the dining table. But there was also his other craving: he couldn’t remember the last time he fed his bloodlust either, which was very clearly felt by the sheer weakness that consumed him till his core. The combination made him miserable, borderline psychotic, yet he just ignored the signs, refusing to deal with them until he got over with his work.
He could almost hear Tighnari’s exasperated speech on how he should “take care of himself and be aware of his limits and to not get inebriated outside, if not unfamiliar locations”, as if the forest ranger also didn’t regularly smoke suspicious leaves and eat hallucinogenic mushrooms. Honestly, the audacity that man has to comment on his habits!
Though, Kaveh had to admit, he had a point about not getting drunk outside his house; he wasn’t sure if he could still stand up, let alone walk all the way home. He looks at the clock hanging off the wall in front of him, reading 1:29: the tavern was closing up in less than thirty minutes, which means that he’ll probably be thrown out in twenty-ish minutes since Lambad himself wasn’t here to offer help, only a few of his baristas all of whom have lost patience with the crowd of drunkards and wished for a good night’s sleep does it still count as night if they would most likely only fall into slumber at 3 am .
Great. Just what I needed: a night on the streets and potential back pain in the morning. Did I even bring my keys? Oh gods, don’t tell me I’ll have to wait for that insufferable moron to let me in!
“Urghh”, he groaned as he slumped against the countertop, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. His head hurt like a bitch, yet his thoughts didn’t slow down one bit, which turned the entire situation into a vicious circle. Curse his mora-less ass for not ordering nor taking his meds since the Akademiya days, depression was kicking at his shins with vigour, and his drunken state was only making everything feel even more delirious.
However, the architect couldn’t care less, as he downed his drink, feeling some of the cool liquid drizzle down his chin. Once the mug emptied, he set it back down, albeit aggressively, which made him slightly slip off of the stool, barely steadying himself. His vision blurred immediately as he tried to prop himself back up, as his bowels also rebelled against him. He felt extremely nauseous yet couldn’t bring himself to turn for help, which resulted in him kneeling on the dirty floor of the tavern, emptying his stomach, bile and beer spilling out of him continuously for another minute or so.
Every staff member turned around to stare at him, and so were the other patrons. Suddenly, the silence overtook the previously bustle of the establishment, Kaveh felt their gaze burn into his skin as he tried (and barely succeeding) to breathe correctly and get off of the floor. Haze took over his body, he felt as though he was floating though space. He felt his face heat up and his eyes water, the air becoming scarcer by the moment and oh he was crying. He hadn’t cried in public in while now.
Very aware of how everyone’s attention was still on him, the blond man slowly picked himself up and walked up to the closest barista and apologised, clumsily hiding his shaking limbs by leaning more than usually on the counter. The barista, a burly woman named Husniya, waved him off languidly, telling him to not worry, but also that she will stop serving him for the night (morning?). Kaveh was about to protest, when he felt his stomach squirm, a reminder that he has no food nor any form of nourishments in his body and that it would be a bad idea to get more booze in him, lest he wished to get alcohol poisoning, which would require a trip to Bimarstan, a trip he couldn’t afford as of now.
Defeatedly, he nodded at Husniya and took a seat on the closest stool, closing his eyes as he tries to expel the lingering sensations of being judged, of being scrutinised. Soon enough, bar activities took off once again, as if nothing ever disturbed it, and Kaveh sighed in relief. He could almost feel his consciousness slipping, as all the noise faded into the back of his mind. He finally felt some semblance of the peace and quiet he wished to achieve.
But of course, his peace was never lasting. It took him a bit too long to process his surroundings, but suddenly, the air became still once more, and all eyes were on the figure who was standing in the archway of the tavern entrance.
Archons! What is this utter buffoon doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be asleep by now? Doesn’t he have a curfew set for 10pm on working days? WHY is he looking at me? Does he have a bone to pick at 2 in the morning? What in the world is going on?
The figure, Alhaitham of all people, had locked eyes with him, staring him. Kaveh could feel the judgement, as well as the condescension, and it irked him to no end. After stumbling off his stool, he stomped towards the scribe, swaying slightly yet still making B-line, fully intending on getting in his face and potentially spitting in it. He was aware of the murmurs surrounding him, yet his vision had narrowed onto Alhaitham, sequestering all outside noise to the corners of his mind.
He stopped in front of the slightly taller man, and started ranting angrily, without a care about his slurring nor the mix of tears and sweat flowing down his face. He went off without a giving a second thought about his tantrum being exhibited to the entire tavern, enraged voice tearing through the place: about Alhaitham, about his deadline, about his dissatisfaction, about his job, about his anxiety, about his health, about his mind and burnout, he was spilling just about everything to the world, and Alhaitham wasn’t stopping him.
It was only when the drunk man was about to talk about his constitution and cravings that the scribe cut him off with a hand on his arm, making the former flinch as silence reigned once more. Without a word to spare, the younger man dragged the other out of tavern and towards their house, despite the indignation of his inebriated senior, letting go even a second to adjust his grip.
Only until they crossed the front door and closed it did Alhaitham let his arm go. Kaveh stumbled backward, almost falling to the ground in his haste, yet his fury was etched perfectly into his features as he opened his mouth to continue his disturbed train of speech. Only for his knees to buckle under him as he clutched his aching stomach and froze from dizziness. It wasn’t the alcohol taking effect, though it may be amplifying the effects. No, it was his vampiric needs acting up, begging him to feed himself. It wasn’t the first night this week where he experienced the weakness from blood-withdrawal, but the fatigue that followed up was starting to get to him, destabilizing him immensely. He could feel himself groan as his senses got blurry, when his body went completely slack, and he felt himself lean backwards, numbness taking over his limbs.
He was about to hit the floor when a pair of arms shot towards him and caught him by the shoulders. In his dazed brain, he could barely register that he was being hauled up into somewhat of a bridal position and carried towards one of their rooms.
Kaveh could tell that his energy was almost completely drained, he could barely keep up with the passing of shelves and books lining the walls. Once Alhaitham deposited him onto the bed, the vampire was halfway comatose, so much that he couldn’t hear the commotion right next to him. Yet before he could definitively fall into the void, the mattress dipped on both of his sides and the weight lowered until he could feel warmth radiating above him, as well as the smell of flesh.
He could feel his instincts kicking up, yet his muscles were stiffer than bones, refusing to follow orders. The other must’ve realised that as well, as he heard some mumbling and shuffling before he felt a hand slide behind his neck and lift his head up, until he felt his lips pressed against something spongy and warm. Immediately, a frenzy took over as his mind singled out on the epidermis, trying to sense the movement under the dermis with his heightened senses. And there, he could smell it: blood.
His mouth reacted on its own, fangs growing as he clamped his jaw around where the artery was, swiftly breaking skin, sinking them into the fleshy warmth. And Archons did the salty red nectar taste good. The tangy aftertaste of iron mixed with thickness of blood and the aforementioned saltiness made for a subtle bitterness that reminded Kaveh of a funny fontainian combo that his mother wrote to him about, a mixture of coffee and some sort of bread-based pastry (a brioche if his memory served correctly), without the crunchiness of the bread of course.
He could hear the wince of his prey when he first pierced into the flesh (which he just realised was a neck), as he felt the hold under his neck slacken. He adjusted his newly revitalised arms to cling to the back of the individual, though it wasn’t necessary, as the person flipped onto his back, therefore landing the vampire on top of him, with the two chest-to-chest.
Without having to fight gravity no longer, Kaveh slumped down, putting even more pressure into his bite, feeling a dash of contentment when he heard the wincing.
A few more minutes passed, with only the sound of sucking and breathing interrupting the peace. It was after he sank his fangs particularly deep that he felt a shove against his forehead, trying to pry the vampire’s fangs off of the bite wound. But said vampire was still hungry (somehow he wasn’t draining Alhaitham of his blood in big gulps despite his hunger, instead relishing in the teasing and reactions he elicited), and resisted the push by clinging himself even tighter to the body.
From there on, it escalated from simple bantering and whining to choked screams and creaking floorboards. It was chaotic, yet Kaveh’s blood-frenzied brain controlled little of his actions, if not the coursing of the biggest adrenaline rush he’s felt in a long while in his veins.
Kaveh could feel the aching of his body before he even woke up, which meant that he felt heavier than all of the House of Daena’s books combined when he finally decided to open his eyes.
He was greeted with the blinding light of the morning Sun and a neatly organised desk, with only a few scattered papers on it, definitely not his desk.
It was only then he realised that he wasn’t in his own room, but his roommate’s. He also just realised that said roommate was also still in bed, shirtless, and terrifyingly still.
Holy Lesser Lord Kusanali did I actually kill him?
The rigidity he was feeling moments ago suddenly vanished as he scrambled up, trying to do damage control. Firstly, he checked that Alhaitham was still breathing, which wielded positive results. So he was still alive, to Kaveh relief.
Then he checked if the bite wound he left on his neck had clotted correctly, which did but there was dried blood smeared all across his neck all the way down to his collarbone, Kaveh could only begin to imagine what happened before delving headfirst into very detailed BDSM scenes.
He moved onto the rest of his body, which looked like a mosaic of blues, bruises, hickies, as well as various other superficial wounds. Luckily none of those broke skin so they would only linger for a few hours, days at most.
The biggest surprise, however, were the red tracks that ran down his cheeks, going even beyond his jawline.
Celestia be damned I actually made this bastard cry? How the ever-loving fuck did that happen? Am I really that freaky when I’m drunk and frenzy?
He was still slightly shell-shocked as he traced the marks with his index, questioning whether or not he was seeing things but also:
This is NOT a kink I thought I had.
Amidst his whirling thoughts, he failed to notice that he jabbed his finger too close to the sleeping scholar’s eye, which warranted a grunt and a groggy awakening, coupled with an annoyed glare, one too common in his life.
The silence felt slightly suffocating, before being cut off by Alhaitham sitting up and grumbling “You didn’t have to go that rough you know? I’ve still got work.” Which broke the other out of his previous trance “Yeah sure, like you’re oh so considerate.”. As their banter dragged on, both men climbed out of bed and got ready to leave the house, not without a few snide comments on how suspicious they were going to seem with so many layers in the middle of summer.
As the Haravatat scholar left the house, closing the door behind him, the architect grabbed his blueprints and equipment, ready to leave for the Akademiya once more when he saw that there were two coffee mugs on the kitchen counter, the grey one emptied, yet the yellow one still filled with steaming fresh coffee. He couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, and it widened when he saw the lion keychain right next to the mugs.
For once, Kaveh left the house knowing that he was definitely welcomed back in that house that was becoming home, and that his roommate definitely was an awkwardly affectionate idiot.