Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thunder clapped in the distance as Sandro ran through the forest. He was completely drenched, the rain pouring down in sheets. Mud caked his boots and the cuffs of his pants. With each step, his feet quenched in his shoes. His clothes clung to him like cling wrap and the coat he was using to protect his head from the rain was soaked, making it ten times more heavy. His hair was glued to his head, plastered from the rain and his muscles ached. Sandro had no idea how long he had been wandering for, but he was helplessly lost.

Now one may be wondering how he ended up in the middle of a forest in a torrential storm. Well, you see, Sandro here is a courier and he was out delivering packages when his carriage crashed, sliding in the mud. Thankfully his horse had gotten away, but he was stranded in the wreck, in a lightning storm. Sandro had hoped that maybe the residence he was delivering mail to was close by, so he left the wreck and trudged into the forest.

Sandro was becoming hopeless. He had been wandering for only gods know how long and he was shivering, chilled to the bone. He stumbled over tree roots and slipped on mud. Fortunately a bush caught his fall. Unfortunately that bush was a rose bush and he suffered quite a few scrapes. He wobbled back onto his feet and continued. The mud slipping and sliding. Squidging under each step. 

A loud clap of lightning struck and Sandro was able to make out the shape of a house in the distance. He thanked every god and started to make his way toward the house on a hill.

As he approached the house, it was less of a house and more of a manor. It was tall and wide, castle-like. It had turrets and large windows. The muddy ground turned to brick under Sandro’s feet as he crept up to the door. It was a large wooden door with a skull shaped door knocker.

Sandro was thankful for the overhang by the door, protecting him from the relentless rain. He reached a shaking hand up to the door knocker and gave it two taps.

The noise echoed and the door creaked open. Sandro cautiously peeked inside, but it was completely dark. He gulped and took a step forward.

“Hello?” he called. His voice bouncing off the walls. He would have waited outside for someone to let him in, but the door was open, he was freezing, and the air in the manor was warm. So Sandro stepped further inside.

The door slammed behind him and Sandro yelped. He turned around and saw a figure looming by the door with a lantern in hand.

“Hello?” Sandro squeaked. He was terrified, but he was hoping this person would help him out a little.

“Who are you?” the figure demanded. They raised the lantern and Sandro could see their face. It was a man, about his age. He was dressed in dark dress pants and a tucked white button up with the first couple buttons undone, showing a blanched chest. His face was regal and timeless. His pale skin reflected the lantern’s light. His hair was of spilled ink that flowed into his face. He had a small pony tail at the nape of his neck, holding unwanted hair. He had stunning dark brown eyes and his leith frame was elegant.

“Um,” Sandro gulped. “My name is Alessandro Enzo,” he said quietly. “I got lost in the rain and I was hoping for maybe some place to take shelter.”

The man regarded Sandro. His ebony eyes scanned him up and down. Then he glanced at the floor and stared at Sandro’s muddy boots. Sandro glanced down as well and his face flushed.

“Sorry,” Sandro said quickly. “I didn’t mean to make a mess, I’ll…I’ll clean it up,” Sandro moved to wipe it up with his drenched jacket but the man suddenly appeared right in front of him.

Sandro startled at the sudden close proximity and backed away. The man raised a hand and sighed. “No need,” he said, referring to the ground. “I will have it sorted. In the meantime you shall change and draw a bath.”

Sandro was too stunned to speak. The man swiftly turned around and started up a large spiral staircase. He stopped at the base and looked to Sandro, who was still frozen in place. Sandro caught his eye and quickly shuffled to follow him up.

“Leave the boots please.” The man said to Sandro at the bottom of the stairs, looking him up and down.

“Of course.” Sandro immediately discarded his boots and placed them neatly at the bottom of the stairs.

The spiral staircase was lined with red carpet which was soft under Sandro’s drenched socked feet. The man led Sandro down a set of corridors. Sandro noticed the lamps lighting the hallway and how the walls were lined with different types of weapons. Daggers, swords, shields, bows and arrows. He saw a few paintings and portraits as well.

Sandro was so distracted by his surroundings, that when the man stopped in front of a door, he accidentally slammed into his back.

“Sorry!” Sandro exclaimed, catching himself and leaping away from the man.

The man simply turned around and regarded Sandro once again. His face was expressionless, but Sandro could see a faint tilt up of the corner of his mouth. The man then opened a door and lit a couple lanterns; illuminating a bathroom. It was tiled with pearl white. The bath tub in the corner had golden faucets. There was a stand alone sink with a mirror and across from that a toilet. There was a small table near the bathtub and a set of shelves adjacent to the sink. 

“I will be back with fresh clothes.” The man simply stated. Sandro stepped into the bathroom and when he turned to thank his host, he had lucidly vanished.

Sandro stood there confused for a second, before closing the door and starting the bath. He filled the bath with warm water and stripped. His wet clothes still stuck to him and it was frankly annoying to get them off. Once he was completely bare, he sank carefully into the tub, his muscles aching as he lowered down. The warm water relaxed him instantly, his troubles temporarily forgotten. As he looked up at the ceiling, he noticed ornate carvings in stone. The white stone had been cut to depict different stories. Tales of heroes and tragedy. Sandro was so engrossed at scanning the ceiling, he didn’t notice when there was a knock at the door.

The door creaked open and Sandro whipped his head around. In the doorway stood the man from before, holding a pile of clean clothes. He kept his gaze to the ground, his face looked a bit flushed. He didn’t say anything. He simply placed the clean clothes down by the sink and turned to leave.

Sandro noticed how when the man was in front of the mirror, his reflection didn’t show. At first Sandro thought maybe it was a trick of the light. He was tired, yeah, that’s what it was. And then the man was gone, before Sandro could say anything, again.

Once Sandro had dried off, he dressed in the clothes the man had provided. They were a soft pair of dark gray silk pants and short sleeve button up shirt. He then stepped out of the bathroom and looked both ways, trying to remember which way was back to the stairs. He took a left and scanned the walls, trying to figure out where he was. 

He took another turn and the moment he rounded the corner, the man was standing in front of him. Sandro startled and jumped back, clutching the wall for balance. The man was still very stoic, but his eyes shone with amusement as he scanned Sandro’s reaction.

“Sorry, I,” Sandro pointed vaguely behind him. “I got lost.”

“This way,” the man replied. He walked right past Sandro, his hands behind his back. Sandro shuffled to follow. Gods, that guy moved quickly.

“So, um,” Sandro started, trying to keep pace with the stranger. “May I ask your name?”

The man stopped and Sandro almost bumped into him again. The man turned around and once more racked his eyes up and down Sandro. “Elio Alessio.” he said simply, before turning back around and continuing on.

“Well, Elio, thank you for helping me.” Sandro said as he jogged up to walk next to the not-as-much of a stranger.

Elio didn’t reply. He simply led Sandro down the spiral staircase, to what looked like a living room. There was a strong crackling fire and a dark leather couch. The carpet was plush and red. There was a small coffee table in front of the couch and above the fireplace was a large portrait. It was a painting of two women. One older and one younger. They both had the same regal and timelessness about them that Elio did.

“Sit,” Elio commanded, motioning to the couch. “Warm up, I will fetch tea.” His voice was monotone. One that was rather demanding, but for as little emotion he showed, there was a small glint in his eye.

Sandro sat down obediently and inhaled sharply. He felt a shiver run down his spine. Even after the warm bath and the cozy fireplace, he was still freezing.  Elio was still studying him. His eyes drifted from Sandro to the throw blanket that was draped over the couch beside him. Then Elio flicked his wrist in Sandro’s general direction and the throw blanket fell from the couch and onto Sandro’s lap, spreading itself like it had a mind of its own. 

Sandro gasped as he watched the blanket unfold and lay evenly over his body. The blanket was soft and knitted. It was a deep burgundy color and was just big enough to cover most of him. He looked up at Elio in surprise, but Elio was no longer there.

Sandro couldn’t quite process what had just happened, but he had a weird feeling about this Elio Alessio from the start. He was spooky. He just appeared out of nowhere and with the flick of his wrist he was able to make a throw blanket drape itself across Sandro’s lap. Freaky. 

But soon, Elio had returned. He was carrying two cups of tea. He placed one gently down on the table in front of Sandro and sipped the other one. He took a seat at the other end of the couch, his back straight, one leg crossed over the other. He held himself with poise and control. Sandro noticed how beautiful he looked in the fire light. Shadows dancing across his face, defining his jawline and cheekbones.

Sandro reached over and clasped the cup in his hands. He didn’t notice how cold his hands were until he picked up the cup. He tentatively raised the cup to his lips and took a small sip. The tea was tasty and warm. It sent a hot rush down to pool in his belly.

“Thank you,” he said softly. When Elio didn’t respond, he glanced back over to find the strange man simply staring at him. Sandro had gotten used to him constantly looking him over, but the way he was just sitting there, quiet, completely still, it made Sandro shudder. Sandro took another sip and felt the same pooling sensation in his stomach. He saw Elio’s eyes go from the tea, to Sandro’s face, examining him as he drank. Creepy.

Then anxiety rushed through him. He was in a stranger’s house, in a storm, wearing their clothes, sitting on their couch, and drinking their tea. For all he knows the tea could be drugged! How could Sandro be so stupid, that’s why the man was intently watching him. That’s why it felt weird when he drank the tea. It was because this man was drugging him, and then was going to kill him! Sandro felt his thoughts go wild. He shakily set the tea back on the table and tried to breathe. His body was trembling violently and his heart felt like it was going to explode. His stomach churned and he felt like his throat was closing up. How dumb could he be? Of course this stranger was going to kill him. No one lives in the middle of a forest in a giant creepy castle because they’re nice and cheery. No. People live in giant creepy castles in the middle of a forest because they’re murderers. Sandro’s body felt numb and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the tea or his panic. He really couldn’t catch his breath. Was the room getting smaller? Sandro tucked his knees to his chest and curled into the side of the couch. He glanced over at Elio and caught his eye.

Elio was awfully confused as to why this lost puppy of a boy was curled up and breathing ragged on his couch. Elio had simply offered him tea. Did he not like tea? Elio wasn’t trying to be distant or cold, he just hardly ever interacts with people. Elio tilted his head in concern. He examined the shaking boy from afar. He looked on the brink of tears and his face a ghostly white. Was he gasping for air? What was wrong?

Elio gently placed his cup down on the table. But when he moved, Alessandro flinched. Elio stared at the boy in confusion. Then he slid over on the couch, inching closer. He saw Alessandro tense at every movement, but he didn’t know why he was scared. Elio gently reached a hand out and placed it on Sandro’s forearm.

Sandro jumped at the touch and tried to scoot away, but he was already pressed as far into the arm of the couch as possible. Great, Sandro thought. Now Elio knows he’s scared and now he’s definitely going to kill him! Sandro still couldn’t breathe. His body was shaking violently and his throat was stinging. The feeling in his gut had vanished, but he still felt like he might throw up. When Elio reached out, Sandro was prepared for the worst. But all he felt were soft, delicate, cold fingers gently clasping his forearm.

Sandro brought his head up and looked at Elio. Elio’s head was cocked and his eyes were wide in confusion. He looked like an owl, or a curious kitten. Not a murderer. Sandro examined his face. His once uptight expression had collapsed and he looked genuinely concerned. His dark eyes filled with warmth as they looked into Sandro’s. The fire made him look less ghostly pale and his hair wisped around in the draft.

Sandro gulped and reached up to wipe a stray tear from his face. He was still weary of Elio, but he had started to come down from his panic.

“What is wrong?” Elio asked gently. His tone was so different from how it had been before. There was empathy that seeped into it. His lips were parted in a confused pout and his eyes were still searching Sandro. “Are you alright?”

Sandro swallowed and shook his head. He looked away from the curious man, but didn’t make any effort to move.

“Are you going to kill me?” Sandro asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His tone was shaky and he felt tears well up. He really didn’t want to cry, but he felt himself losing the battle.

Elio snatched his hand away in surprise. Kill him? Why on earth would Elio kill him? He actually found himself starting to laugh. It was ridiculous. This poor boy thought he was inviting him into his home, letting him take a bath, change into dry clothes, and warm up by the fire just for him to kill him? 

Sandro shot his head up at the sudden laughter. Elio was doubling over, holding his stomach. His laugh bubbled out of him, completely out of control. Sandro found this situation not funny at all, but couldn’t help but admire the new emotion Elio was showing. Elio’s nose scrunched up and his eyes crinkled. He was adorable. His regal and royal demeanor gone at the outburst. He seemed more human, less like a statue. Warmth spread through Sandro as he watched the other wipe a tear from his eye and try to control his laughter. Sandro really tried to not admire this potential murderer, but he really couldn’t do anything but so. Elio’s full red lips extended into a grin and his hair swooped in front of his face. 

Elio had reigned in his laughter and gained some composure. “Now Alessandro, why on earth would I want to kill you?” he asked. His voice smooth and less rigid form when they first met. “What would lead you to believe that?”

Sandro gulped, a light blush spreading on his cheeks. “Well, you gave me this weird tea that made my insides all melty,” Sandro grumbled, not appreciating the mockery. He plopped his head on his knees and hugged himself tight.

Elio looked at him, his face was more tame now, but he had a small smile on his lips. “Why that’s just how the tea works, darling,” he said, leaning closer to Sandro to be able to see his face. “It’s special. It helps when you are really cold. I made it for you since you were out in that storm for so long,” he took a breath and Sandro felt it fan over his face. “It’s not poison, if that’s what you are asking.”

Sandro was flustered at how close he was. The man seemed much more relaxed and Sandro felt himself come down from his anxiety high. “Oh.” he simply stated.

“B-but,” Sandro stuttered. “But you can’t blame me. You creep around all creepy-like. You appear out of nowhere and you magically made a blanket fall into my lap. You barely even touch the ground when you walk.” Sandro mumbled the last bit and glanced at Elio again.

He saw Elio tense and took a deep breath. “I would say that’s a little harder to explain, Alessandro,” Elio said softly.

“Sandro,” Sandro corrected as he gazed up at the other.

“Sandro,” Elio repeated. He drew a breath and sat back on the couch. Still not moving away from Sandro though.

Sandro raised his head and moved to sit criss-cross. He turned and faced Elio. Elio caught his eye and gave him a soft look.

“Are you feeling better?” Elio asked calmly and he propped his arms up on the back of the couch.

Sandro’s gaze scanned Elio. “Yeah,” he breathed. He adjusted the blanket back up to his chin and reached out to drink the tea again.

He stopped once it touched his lips. “This isn't poisoned, right?” Sandro asked. Though he was mainly joking, he was still wary.

Elio chuckled. “It’s not poisoned, dear,” Elio assured. Sandro once again felt his face grow hot, but he sipped his tea in an attempt to hide his blush. He still felt the pooling of heat in his stomach, but it actually felt rather pleasant, when he wasn’t freaking out about it.

“So,” Elio prompted. “Why is it you got lost in the woods in the first place?” he gave Sandro a sly smirk.

Sandro felt weak under his expression. How could someone look that good? He shook his head to clear the thought. “Um,” his mouth was a little dry. “I was making deliveries and um, my carriage crashed. And my horse ran away,” he cleared his throat. “I just stumbled across your manor when I was trying to find shelter.”

Elio nodded and looked Sandro up and down ceaselessly, taking his time to get his gaze back up to Sandro’s. Sandro still felt like a puddle under Elio’s gaze. Then he cleared his throat and looked off. He glanced over the fire and noticed the portrait above the mantle. He studied their faces again, then looked to Elio—who’s gaze was still on him.

“May I ask who they are?” Sandro said as he pointed to the painting.

Elio took a breath and sat up. “They were my mother and older sister,” he stated. He stood up slowly from the couch, placing his tea on the table, before heading closer to the fire. His hands crossed behind his back as he stared up at the portrait. Sandro saw him take a shaky breath, then he shook his head of a thought.

“Were?” Sandro asked gently.

Elio glanced at him with a grim expression. “They are both dead.” he stated. He reached up and lightly caressed the side of his sister’s face. Then he drew his hand back and returned to the couch.

“My condolences,” Sandro said softly. He found himself reaching over and placing a comforting hand on Elio’s leg. Elio looked up at Sandro with a gentle smile.

“Thank you,” Elio replied. He then glanced at Sandro’s hand, which was still resting on his thigh.

Sandro’s face grew red when he realized he hadn’t retracted his hand. He swiftly took it back and cleared his throat.

Elio let out a faint chuckle, but didn’t mention anything. Sandro felt himself become sleepy. He was exhausted and the warm fireplace and tea were really getting to him. His head lulled and he felt really heavy. He let out a sigh and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Elio looked over and let out a breath.

“Why don’t I show you to your quarters.” he said as he stood up. Sandro blinked his eyes open enough to make out Elio’s hand offering to help him up. Sandro took it and got to his feet. He really did feel tired.

Elio led him back up the spiral staircase, past a few doors and around a couple corners until he stopped in front of a large door. He turned back to Sandro and nodded. “This will be your sleeping chamber. I shall be going now.” 

Sandro turned to face the door and then turned back to Elio. But yet again, he had vanished. Sandro shook his head and opened the door. 

The room was nice. It was spacious and had a large queen size bed in the middle of it. The sheets were black and there was a crimson red comforter as well as pillows. There were thin black hangings that framed it elegantly. Beside the bed was a small mahogany table with a lamp. There was a plush carpet in the middle of the hardwood floor and there was a dresser opposite the bed. There seemed to be a small closet and a large window on the far end that opened to a balcony that looked over the forest.

Sandro took a breath as he closed the door behind him and made his way over to the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow he was out like a light. Not able to think about any of the strange occurrences that the day had unfolded. And definitely not able to think about the beautiful, albeit creepy, man that had helped him out.

Chapter Text

A creaking noise awoke Sandro from his slumber. He glanced over at the door just in time for him to see it softly close. Sandro was mildly confused until he remembered where he was. In a stranger’s castle in the middle of the woods. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. That wasn’t just some weird dream. Or a nightmare. But either way it was real and he was boarding with a very stunning yet very strange man.

Sandro swung his legs over the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his bed head. He looked around and the room was less eerie in the daylight, but it was still ominous. Much like the host.

He shuffled over to the door and opened it, peeking either way before he exited. He had managed to find the spiral staircase that led back down to the foyer easier than last time. The house was completely silent and Sandro found himself wondering if he had been imagining Elio from the start.

He crept through the living room and saw a faint light shining through from another room. He started towards it and quickly found himself in a kitchen. It was a Victorian style kitchen with ornately carved cabinets. The sink was of white marble and was carved. Sandro was instantly drawn to the icebox. It was tall and made of oak. He crept over and as he reached for the handle, he stopped. Should he wait for Elio? Is it rude to just eat other people’s food without them knowing? But Sandro was awfully hungry and he hadn’t the faintest idea where his host could be. So, he decided he would just take a peek. He wasn’t going to eat all his food, maybe just have a snack.

Sandro slowly opened the door. What he was expecting was maybe some beef and eggs. Some butter and cheese, or even some milk. What he did not expect were boxes and bags of… blood ?

Sandro gulped and his face paled. All the shelves were lined with bags of blood with different numbers and letters on them. There were boxes and large milk containers filled with it too. He felt nausea trickle through him as he stumbled back.

Then the fridge door was ripped from his grasp and slammed shut. Sandro took another step back, but he ran into something… more like someone. He yelped when the person seized his wrists in a cold deadly grasp. He was spun around so he was facing the person and his back was harshly pressed into the edge of the countertop.

Elio was pinning him against the counter. His eyes, deadly and cold. Sandro struggled against his grasp. He flailed and grunted, trying to break free, but it was in vain. The man had his wrists pressed into the counter, and his lower half firmly keeping him from moving his legs.

Elio leaned forward more until their chests were pressing. He could feel Sandro’s heartbeat against his chest and could hear the rush of blood through his veins. Elio put his lips to the shell of Sandro’s ear and exhaled.

The breath caused a shiver down Sandro’s spine and he whimpered. He felt Elio smirk against his ear. Sandro’s chest was heaving. He couldn’t catch his breath and his legs were wobbly in fear. Not that it mattered since Elio was pressing into him so close that he wasn’t even holding himself up.

“I’m going to need you to calm down, dear,” Elio whispered. As he moved his lips, they brushed against Sandro’s ear.

Sandro struggled against his grasp again. “Why would I calm down?!” Sandro screeched. “You are a maniac who is holding me hostage!” he gasped for air in an attempt to not pass out. If he passes out, this man will without a doubt kill him.

“Why, Alessandro, I am doing no such thing,” Elio said sweetly. “You chose to stay here. But eh, those are technicalities,” he shrugged. “And I will have you know that I'm no maniac,” he growled. His tone caused Sandro to shudder. “That is quite rude.” he sighed, his breath yet again puffing into Sandro’s ear and down his spine.

“You have gallons of blood in your fridge!” Sandro argued. He tried Elio’s grasp again, but everytime he struggled, his grip got tighter.

“That does look bad doesn’t it,” Elio said softly. “But dear, I would still like you to take a breath. I don’t need you passing out on me,” Elio sing-songed the last bit and raised his head to softly kiss Sandro’s temple.

“Why? So I can be conscious when you drain me of my blood?” Sandro snapped. Though there was a dark blush that spread over his cheeks when Elio’s lips pressed his temple. He was very conflicted because not only was he about to die, but he was also heavily attracted to who was about to kill him. Which was purely unfair.

“And why would I drain you of your blood?” Elio asked innocently. He pulled away just enough to look at Sandro. Staring into those terrified green eyes.

“Because, because you’re a…” Sandro couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

“Vampire?” Elio finished with a raised eyebrow. Sandro nodded.

Elio let go of one wrist and brought his hand up to Sandro’s face. Sandro braced for impact, shying away and squeezing his eyes shut, but all he felt was Elio’s cool fingers trace down his jaw. He peeked his eyes open and looked at the other man.

Elio traced Sandro’s jaw and cheekbone with his fingers, then he gently tucked a strand of curly brown baby hair behind his ear. His fingers lingered behind Sandro’s ear for a second before cupping his face with his palm.

“Well, you aren’t wrong, dear,” Elio sighed. His eyes softened and his fingers played with the strands of fluffy hair behind Sandro’s ear.

Sandro’s eyes were still blown wide and his muscles were pulled tight, but he had started to catch his breath. Elio was a vampire. Yeah, that checks out.

“Are…are you still going to suck my blood?” Sandro squeaked.

Elio let out a loud laugh, rolling his head back. Sandro watched his face scrunch up from laughter and was annoyed that he found him highly attractive.

Then the laughter stopped and Elio leaned forward once more. He tilted his head up until he and Sandro were nose to nose. Elio stared into Sandro’s green eyes. They were blown wide with so much fear, it actually hurt Elio a little bit. Elio gave a small smile and tilted his head up more. He lightly kissed Sandro’s nose.

“I was never going to, darling,” Elio said. “Now, I am going to let you go, but I need you to not run away please. Okay dear?” 

Sandro searched Elio’s eyes, but nodded.

Then Elio had disappeared from pressing into Sandro and was now standing a couple feet away, leaning against a countertop. Sandro blinked. Elio had just been pressed into him and now he was magically on the other side of the walkway.

Sandro still didn’t move though. He was gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles were turning white. The marble countertop was still pressing into his back almost painfully. Sandro didn’t move a muscle. He stayed in his exact spot, afraid that if he moved, it would be the end.

Elio perpetually scanned Sandro up and down still. Sandro had gotten used to it, but it was not unlike a predator looking at prey. Then Elio flickered and he now had a juice box in his hand. The icebox door had been opened and slammed shut so fast that Sandro blinked again, having to make sure he was seeing it right.

Elio bit into the box with a chomp and the popping of cardboard sound startled Sandro. He took a long sip, sucking up the contents of the box, keeping his eyes on Sandro’s. He kept sipping until he made a sucking air noise like he was using a straw. He pulled the box from his mouth, his fangs scraping on their way out. Then he raised the box, looking at it like he was reading a label.

“Um,” Sandro licked his dry mouth. “Is that… is that human blood?” he asked tentatively.

Elio looked at him, amused. He smiled wide and Sandro saw red staining his lips and teeth. “Alessandro, dear, this here is 100% humanely processed, organic pigs blood,” Elio answered. His voice light with humor. He then crushed the box in his hands, which caused Sandro to jump, pressing further back into the counter. Elio disposed of the box and made his way back over to Sandro.

Sandro tensed as Elio appeared at his side once again. Elio glanced over and intently looked at Sandro. Did he feel bad for scaring the boy? Yes. But in a way it was kind of fun. He liked how Sandro trembled before him, though he knows he would never hurt him, it’s almost exhilarating.

“Are you still afraid?” Elio asked as he leaned an elbow on the counter beside Sandro. He raised a hand to Sandro’s face and turned his head so they were facing each other.

Sandro swallowed thickly. “Um,” he licked his dry lips. He saw Elio’s expression. Elio was amused. Highly amused. I made Sandro angry. How could this hot vampire terrify Sandro so much, and be completely calm about it? And how come all Sandro wanted to do was be closer to him?

When Sandro didn’t really reply, Elio inched closer. He moved both of his hands to Sandro’s shoulders, at the base of his neck. Sandro tensed under his hands, but then Elio circled his thumbs into Sandro’s muscles. He felt all the tension in his shoulders and started working it out.

“W-what are you doing?” Sandro stuttered. Elio’s hands felt really nice on his strained shoulders and he found it hard to keep them stiff under the press of his thumbs.

“Helping you relax, of course.” Elio replied. He kept his gaze on Sandro’s as he rubbed circles. 

Sandro really shouldn’t have started to relax. No he really should not have. There was a vampire standing extremely close to him, able to kill him in an instant. But that vampire was also massaging his shoulders and Sandro would never admit to the fact that it actually felt amazing. Sandro has had it tough the past couple days. He got trapped in a storm, trudged through a forest in perpetual mud and rain. He found out the man who lent him a place to stay is a vampire. He’s just so tired . And even before that, the stress of his job and having to try and make enough money to make ends meet. Sandro has not had an easy life and he felt like he deserved to relax. But at the hands of a vampire? Well, he was finding it hard to say no.

Sandro’s head started to lull as Elio continued to work up and down his neck and shoulders. He really shouldn’t let his guard down. Elio could easily swoop in and drain his blood. But Sandro’s eyes felt heavy, and even though he had just woken up, going back to sleep sounded like heaven. 

Elio watched intently as Sandro’s eyes drooped and his head started to bob. Elio felt his muscles relax under his hands as he continued to work out tension. Sandro still had a wary look on his face and Elio could tell he was contemplating things in his mind. He could tell it was taking a lot out of him to just keep standing. That it was taking a lot for him to keep his guard up. But Elio kept going.

And soon, Sandro’s eyes drifted closed and his head dropped. Elio felt his knees buckle and before Sandro collapsed, Elio swiftly scooped him up and carefully brought him to the couch. He gently placed Sandro on the sofa in front of the fire. He draped the same knitted blanket from the other night over him, and then left him there to rest.

Elio really couldn't rationalize why he felt a sort of protectiveness over the human. Maybe it was his beauty. His light acorn curls and emerald eyes, but Elio really couldn’t bring himself to even think about harming him. Sure, Elio never really wanted to harm humans in general, but usually he wanted them to just move on and forget about him. If Sandro was any other human, he would have scared him away the moment he stepped in his manor. But Sandro wasn’t any other human. Elio was entranced by Sandro the moment he saw him and couldn’t explain why. Something about him made Elio want to know more.

Elio glanced at the sleeping boy and sighed. He really shouldn’t grow attached, but he couldn’t help himself. He moved over to the couch and gently nudged Sandro’s feet so there was enough room to sit down. He carefully sat, making sure he wasn’t touching Sandro. He picked up a book and took a breath, still trying to justify his attraction.

Sandro stretched and felt his feet bump into something cushiony. He thought nothing of it and rubbed his eyes. Whatever was at his feet was very soft and Sandro felt himself pressing further into it. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, not quite remembering how he ended up asleep. He sleepily pulled the blanket up to his chin and nestled into it.

Then he shot his eyes open. He remembered how he got there, where he was, and most importantly; who he was with. He looked up and saw Elio sitting on the other side of the couch, one leg crossed over the other, and a book in hand. Sandro saw his own feet, which were dipping into Elio’s thigh and he instantly yanked them away, bringing his knees to his chest. He wrapped his arms around himself and shied away. Then he slapped a hand to his neck, panic seizing him. Had Elio drinken his blood? Did he decide to have a snack and that’s why Sandro was so tired? Sandro felt around his neck and shoulder, feeling no tenderness or bite marks.

“I didn’t do anything,” Elio said, not looking up from his book. “If that's what you are wondering.”

Sandro took a breath of relief, but didn’t relax. “Why are you keeping me here if you will not drink my blood?” Sandro asked quietly, eyeing Elio up and down.

Elio let out a sigh and leaned forward, placing his book on the table. He then uncrossed his legs and turned towards Sandro. Sandro braced himself whenever Elio moved, just in case. When Elio caught his eye, Sandro found himself glancing off and hugging his knees closer.

Elio tilted his head in confusion. “Keeping you here?” he said. “Darling, I’m not keeping you anywhere. Do you notice any bonds that are making you stay? Have you tried to leave and I have blocked your path?” 

“No,” Sandro mumbled, his cheeks flushing.

“You have been welcome to leave at any given moment. You could have left after you took a bath and got clean clothes. You could have left the moment I gave you that tea. You could have left early this morning when you woke up. And yet you stayed.” Elio’s tone was calm and firm. 

Sandro shifted, but found himself looking into the vampire’s eyes.

“You could have bolted the moment I acted creepy. You could have gone back into that storm and tried to find a cave for shelter. You could leave right now and go back to your life. Though I wouldn’t recommend it. The terrain outside is horrific and completely washed out from the storm. You could leave here right now, trudge back the way you came, in an attempt to find your wrecked carriage. And when you find it—if you find it—you’ll realize you don’t have a horse to pull it so what’s the point. And if you don’t find it and get lost…well, there are many a beasts in these woods that would make me look like your safest bet.”

Sandro shuddered and bit his lip. Elio made a good point. Sandro could stand up right now and walk out that door. He could be free. Free to get lost in the forest without a map. Free to slip in more mud and trip over roots. Free to starve and die of dehydration. Free to be eaten by the numerous animals that roam the woods.

But if he stayed, he would have a nice warm bed. A comfortable fireplace. Food and water. He would have nice warm baths and lounge on the couch. He would be with Elio.

Wait. Since when was Elio part of the equation? Elio doesn’t mean anything to Sandro. Not a thing. Nope. Elio would be like a creepy, half demented roommate, if anything . Elio was definitely a reason to not stay. Boarding with a vampire? Not a good idea. Who knows how long until he snaps and decides to drink Sandro for breakfast?

And even though Sandro weighed both options. Staying in this haunted house was his best bet to survive. Sandro had absolutely no hunting instincts. No tracking instincts. And pretty much no instincts. He was not always in agreement with his gut, so he usually chose to ignore it. He guesses that’s why he ended up in this situation. This ultimatum, if you Sandro. Because he was so much of a birdbrain that he actually went out to deliver mail IN A GIGANTIC THUNDER STORM. So, if Sandro had anyone to blame, it was himself.

Elio studied Sandro from the other side of the couch. He saw the wheels turning in his mind and how he was contemplating each thing. Elio secretly hoped Sandro would stay. He still couldn’t justify why though. Then Sandro’s stomach grumbled. Elio glanced down at his stomach and then back up to his eyes. Elio forgot that humans need food.

Sandro chuckled sheepishly and hugged himself tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Um,” Sandro licked his lips. “Do you have any food that’s not blood…by any chance?” His voice was low and hesitant.

Elio cleared his throat. “Not much…” he sighed. “But I have some bread…if you would like that,”

“Bread sounds nice,” Sandro said, beginning to relax a little bit. As Elio went to stand up, Sandro asked, “Do you not eat food, like at all? Like do you only drink blood?” Sandro was less hesitant. He stared up at the vampire with curiosity.

Elio chuckled. “I don’t usually eat normal food…”

“Do you ever get bored of blood? Like drinking it for all of eternity sounds like it might get old,” Sandro’s curiosity was getting the better of him. 

Elio smiled at Sandro’s questions. “Normal food tends to dull my fangs. And to answer your question, I have different types of blood that make it less repetitive, I guess.”

“Huh,” Sandro nodded and adjusted his position, sitting criss-cross, his hands in his lap; less guarded.

“Well,” Elio cleared his throat after he found himself mesmerized by Sandro’s curious eyes and wondering face. “I shall fetch you breakfast.”

And with that, Elio had flickered and vanished. Once again, leading Sandro to think he was never there at all.

Sandro drew a breath. He couldn’t believe he was starting to trust this vampire. But he couldn’t help himself. He was curious and the only things he knew about vampires were from myths that might not have even been accurate.

Elio abruptly appeared in front of Sandro. Maybe a little bit too close. Sandro had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. Elio gently placed a plate in Sandro’s lap and a cup in Sandro’s hands. Then he went to sit on the opposite side of the couch again. A cup in his hands as well.

Sandro blinked at the speed. He glanced at his lap. There was a small plate that held two thick pieces of bread and a few strawberries? Sandro glanced at Elio in confusion, but brought the strawberry up to his lips and took a bite. 

His eyes widened in delight as he stuffed the rest of the berry in his mouth. “Gods these are amazing,” he mumbled through a full mouth.

Elio raised a brow and chuckled at him, taking a sip from his own cup.

“I thought you said you didn’t have much food,” Sandro said as he gulped down bread.

“Well…this house was passed down to me when my father left, and well after my mother died and he remarried, his new mother in law blessed the gardens with a magical greenhouse that has any type of fruit, vegetable, and herb you could want. They don’t need to be taken care of, and they don’t need to be eaten. They are just there when you need them. I guess,” Elio shrugged like it was no big deal to have a magical plant garden and Sandro was stunned.

“That’s amazing!” he exclaimed. Then he toned it down when Elio looked at him surprised. “Um, I mean that’s cool,”

Elio snickered at him, taking another sip. Sandro noticed how he didn’t wrap his lip around the cup. He would place his top teeth on the rim and… suck? Then Sandro noticed how his tea was a rather opaque shade of red, rather than a transparent brown color like most teas. Sandro continued to examine him with squinted eyes. Did Elio even swallow? When he sucked blood was there a place in his fangs that collected it and sent it down a different pipe than just drinking something normally would go? Can he choke when he sucks through his fangs? Does he only have top fangs, or does he have bottom fangs too? How sharp are these said fangs and how did he not cut his own tongue on them? Well they had to be sharp enough to pierce skin easily… Sandro thought.

Sandro was startled out of his thoughts when he was met with warm brown eyes. Elio was looking back at him, a slightly confused frown on his lips. Those lips… Sandro thought. They were rather enticing and were a rich red color. They tended to be quite pouty, which made them look more full. Sandro didn’t know if they were red because they were blood stained, or red because that’s just how they were. Then Sandro moved his gaze back to his eyes. They were still taking in Sandro and he noticed small flakes of gold around the pupil. Elio’s eyes were blown wide and his irises were rather thin compared to the black insides, though it was hard to tell because of how dark his eyes already are. 

Sandro turned back to his food, taking a sip of tea to wash his bread down. This tea was different from the other type Elio had given him the day before. Rather than a pooling of warmth that spread to his stomach, this tea caused his muscles to relax. He felt himself becoming more at ease than he was just a minute ago. The tea smelled of honey and chamomile. Sandro always loved chamomile. His mother would give it to him to sip when he wasn’t able to sleep. Sandro’s heart felt heavy thinking about his mother. She had died a couple months prior and Sandro felt himself longing for her embrace. The warm tea made him feel her comfort, like she was there, but it could never replace her warmth.

Elio noticed Sandro’s expression fall when he sipped the tea. “Is something wrong?” Elio asked, fairly concerned. “If you don’t like the tea I can always get you a new cup,” Elio said quickly. Sandro didn’t respond. He just stared longingly into the rippling liquid. “I-I promise it’s not poisoned,” Elio assured. He placed his cup down and shifted closer to Sandro.

Sandro was still unresponsive. Even as Elio scooted over. Sandro watched as the ripples of the tea got bigger from shifting on the couch and only snapped out of his trance when he felt cold fingers on his wrist. He moved his gaze from the tea to the hand that was clutching his. Elio’s long fingers gently traced the side of Sandro’s hand then up to his thumb that was resting on the lip of the cup. Back down to his wrist and forearm. Sandro slowly lifted his head up and looked at Elio. He was rather close. Though Sandro found himself a lot less scared than he thought he would be. Elio’s eyes were filled with worry as he searched Sandro’s. Elio gently raised his hand from Sandro’s wrist to his cheek. He carefully wiped a tear from under Sandro’s eye with his thumb. Sandro hadn’t even noticed he had started crying until Elio had done that. 

Sandro let out a shaky breath that ended up ruffling Elio’s bangs. Elio’s hand was still on his face, but Sandro didn’t mind. In fact he found it rather comforting. “Sorry,” he breathed, his voice a little choked.

“Don’t be,” Elio spoke gently. “May I ask what the matter is?” Elio’s eyebrows were raised in concern.

Sandro heaved a sigh and shifted so he was leaning his back against the arm of the couch and his legs crossed. He dropped his hands to his lap and fiddled with the blanket. Elio had removed his hand and shifted so he was oriented towards Sandro, his legs still crossed over one another. One hand supporting his weight and the other in between his thighs.

“The tea…” Sandro started. “It’s chamomile,” he said, glancing up at Elio like he was verifying. Elio nodded. “My mother passed away a couple months ago. She always used to give me chamomile tea when I was a young boy. When I couldn’t sleep,” Sandro felt himself having the urge to cry again. Tears slipped from his eyes and landed on the hands in his lap, rolling off his skin and soaking into the blanket.

Elio placed his hand on Sandros’. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. If you want I can change the tea,” Elio offered. He felt Sandro’s stray tears drip onto his hand as well, rolling down the cracks in between his fingers.

Sandro shook his head. “No,” he croaked. “No, I–I love it. I have felt so numb since her death and I feel like I am finally able to breathe again,” Sandro’s gaze was serious, holding Elio’s sternly. “Thank you.” Then Sandro smiled. A true smile. Not a tight lipped one, not a sad one, not a joyous one. Just a smile. One that lit up his whole face and revealed pearly white teeth.

When Sandro smiled, Elio was sure that if he had a heart beat, it would have stopped. Sandro’s smile was like a light shining through a dark tunnel. Blinding, but gives you hope that you will be able to reach where you want to go. It took every ounce of self control that Elio had, to not lean forward and kiss that blinding smile. To claim that mouth as his. But Elio kept it together. He smiled and brought his hand up to wipe the tear streaks from Sandro’s cheeks.

After a moment of silence Sandro broke it. “So,” he said, shifting, suddenly feeling embarrassed for crying. “What do you do around here for fun?”

Elio took his hand away and rested it back in his own lap. He heaved a sigh. “Fun?” he asked, his eyebrows pinched.

“Yeah,” Sandro said. “Fun. Like, do you write or read? Do you go outside and do something or maybe garden? You know, like what do you do to pass the time?”

Elio looked puzzled. “I don’t really do any of that besides reading,” he admitted.

Sandro scoffed. “So you just sit in the dark and drink blood?” Sandro raised a teasing eyebrow. “That’s fairly stereotypical of you, don’t you think?” Sandro was messing with him and enjoyed the confused expression on Elio’s face. “What, do you sleep in a coffin too?” Sandro's voice was light and he felt himself become more at ease in the vampire’s presence.

Elio gawked. “I’ll have you know I do not sleep in a coffin!” Elio exclaimed, though his voice was full of humor.

Sandro leaned forward, a smirk on his lips. “I don’t believe you,” he murmured as he invaded Elio’s space, making the vampire blush. Sandro was close to his face, noses inches apart.

Then Elio smiled wickedly and seized Sandro’s wrists. Sandro looked down in surprise, but before he could say anything, they had appeared in a dark room in a flash.

Chapter Text

Sandro stumbled, feeling dizzy. Elio steadied him and Sandro took a look around. This room was colder than the rest of the house. It was almost pitch black and the patio was blocked out completely by black curtains. The room was twice the size of Sandros’ and had an attached bathroom. There was a large oak desk in the corner, but other than that the room was bare. Well…besides for a large bed that sat in the middle of the room, attached to the wall. It was a dark gray bedspread and bed hangings; much like the one in Sandro’s room. Elio’s room must have been on a different wing of the manor because it seemed to be positioned so the sun was never shining directly on it.

“Did you just vampire teleport me?” Sandro asked, rubbing his temples after he had regained some composure.

“Maybe…” Elio said with a sly smile as he sauntered over to the large bed. “Told you,” he said as he plopped down on the edge of the bed, bouncing ever so.

Sandro put a hand on his hip and rolled his eyes. Who knew vampires would be so childish? Then something caught his eye. 

The desk in the corner had papers scrawled across it. He made his way over and gazed at the table. There were dozens of sketches. They ranged from objects around the house to portraits. There were multiple of a girl from different angles. Her features closely resembled Elio’s. Though hers were softer. She was beautifully sketched and Sandro thought she looked familiar. Ah, he remembers now; the painting above the fireplace. This was Elio’s sister. Sandro gently moved some papers aside and found more. One of a woman who looked like both Elio and his sister. His mother, Sandro deduced. She was in the painting too. Then there was another person, but Sandro didn’t recognize him. His eyes were cold and his features impossibly sharp. He looked stern and unforgiving. Sandro shuffled a few more papers around and found a single sketch of a dark skinned girl with curly hair. She was grinning and her face was softly rounded. She held an innocence to her that brought a smile to Sandro’s face. One more drawing caught his eye. This one didn’t look finished. A pencil was still resting on it, but it took Sandro no time to figure out who it depicted. It was himself. His bouncy curls and freckled face. His eyes were somehow shining even though it was all in graphite. Sandro could tell Elio had struggled on getting his lips right, most of it lightened up compared to the other features; but it was stunning nonetheless.

“Elio,” Sandro breathed. “These are beautiful,” he turned over to where Elio was, but noticed he was no longer on the bed. Sandro turned back and Elio was standing at his side, his face solemn.

“Thank you,” he said as he touched one with the dark skinned girl’s face.

“What are their names?” Sandro asked curiously as he hovered his hands over them.

Elio smiled and took a breath. “Well this one is Azzurra. She was my older sister,” he placed his fingertips gently on the edge of the sketch, the one that was of a female Elio. He stared at it lovingly. “This one is my mother, Maya. She was always so beautiful,” Elio said with dreamy eyes. She was the one who looked like both. He caressed her sketch too, but his eyes were sad with grief. “This here is Jasmine,” Elio said with a small smile gesturing to the dark skinned girl. “She is still very much alive,” he chuckled. “She is my half sister. Though I hardly get to see her, she is still very dear to me. Her smile could light up a room,” He looked at peace staring at her picture. His fingers brushed along the streaks of pencil, following her curls. Then his expression darkened when he moved to the other drawing. “My father,” he said, his tone changing to one that was colder. He was referring to the stern looking man. “Edoardo. There is not much to say about him.” Elio’s lips turned down and his eyes became distant.

Sandro reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Elio snapped out of it and turned his head to Sandro. He still had a frown on his lips until he saw Sandro with a small smile. Elio’s face immediately softened and he felt the corners of his mouth tilt up.

“I think they are all very impressive,” Sandro said genuinely. “Is that one me?” Sandro asked as he pointed to the sketch with the pencil resting on it. Almost teasing since it was obvious.

Elio’s cheeks dusted pink. He bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered, looking off.

Sandro’s stomach fluttered at Elio’s flustered and embarrassed state. “I love it,” Sandro smiled and reached over to touch the tip of his finger under Elio’s chin and his thumb over; pinching lightly, turning it gently so Elio was looking at him. “It’s very good,”

Elio stared at Sandro with wide eyes. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes wide. “You don’t find it creepy?” Elio hesitated. His eyebrows were raised in mild surprise.

Sandro chuckled, keeping his hand where it was. “Maybe a little,” he admitted. Elio’s face dampened. “But I think it’s still wonderful. I mean it really does look like me,” Sandro said as he turned his gaze back to the drawing.

“I can’t really get the lips right,” Elio mumbled. His lips turned to a pout as he looked at the sketch in distaste.

Sandro could feel Elio’s pout brush his thumb and turned his attention back to the vampire. Sandro couldn’t resist the urge to raise his thumb up to Elio's pouting bottom lip and gingerly pull it down, then release it. He got a small glimpse of Elio’s teeth and didn’t really see fangs. But that was in the back of his mind as he was further distracted by the sheer softness of them. Before Sandro even knew what he was thinking, he spoke, “I could help you.”

Sandro’s thumb seared through Elio’s bottom lip, sending warmth through him everywhere. Elio usually likes being cold, but Sandro’s warmth felt so good . He was utterly captured by his eyes. The eyes that were bright, with dark lashes that brushed his cheeks every time he blinked. Then he looked down to his lips. Those same lips he just couldn’t get right. All Elio wanted to do was lean forward and kiss him.To get to know those lips on a different level. To see what those lips could do… besides talk.

But Elio knew that wasn’t what Sandro meant. Or, rather, what he really meant. No, no matter how much Elio wanted to indulge in that fantasy, he knew that Sandro simply meant that he would allow Elio to use him as a reference.

Sandro suddenly went ridgid when the words he said sunk in. He took his hand from Elio’s face and stepped back, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. “S-sorry,” he said quickly, glancing off. “I, um, that’s not what I-,” he was cut off by a cold finger to his lips. He slowly brought his gaze up to meet Elio’s.

“It’s okay,” Elio assured with an understanding smile. “I know what you meant,”

Sandro let out a sigh of relief and he eased once again.

“So, what do you wanna do?” Sandro asked, feeling less embarrassed. 

Elio shrugged. “I mean, usually I don’t wake up until 3:00 and then just grab a couple books and boxes of blood to last me the night,”

Sandro tilted his head in confusion. “So vampires are nocturnal,”

Elio chuckled and shook his head. “Not exactly, but I find myself more energetic at night. The mornings always drain me,”

Sandro nodded and looked off. “Um, I, I can leave you if you want,” Sandro scratched his arm. “So you don’t have to disrupt your routine because of me,” Sandro was closing up again. He was creeping back towards the door. He really didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. Especially not Elio. He really likes Elio. Wait. He really likes Elio. But Elio’s a vampire. But Elio’s not a scary vampire. He’s nice and funny and impossibly beautiful.

Elio’s eyes widened. “No, no Sandro I-,” Elio was watching as Sandro reached for the door handle. “Wait!” Elio exclaimed hastily. Sandro whipped around and stared at him confused. “Wait,” he said quieter that time. “You don’t have to leave. I swear you’re not bothering me. I actually enjoy talking with you. I um, I’m not usually around people, but I really like talking with you,” Elio mumbled at the end, a light blush on his pale face. He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

Sandro blushed too and stepped away from the door. “Oh, okay,” he couldn’t suppress the smile that came to his lips at Elio telling him that. “Um, if you want, i could help you with your drawing, if you didn’t already have something in mind,”

Elio smiled. “That sounds lovely. Just let me get my supplies ready,” Elio shuffled through pacers; moving them aside, grabbing an eraser and a new pencil. He turned on a lamp. Then he turned around with a finger tapping his chin in thought.

Then Elio was gone. The door was swinging on its hinges and just a moment later Elio reappeared with a chair in hand, the door slamming behind him. He placed the chair just to the side of his and turned them both to face each other. Elio stepped over to Sandro and took him by the arm. Sandro blushed at the contact and let Elio drag him to the chair. 

Elio gently pushed Sandro down by the shoulders so he was sitting in the chair Elio had brought up. Sandro simply let him direct him where to go. Elio sat down in his chair, using a book to draw on, he picked up his pencil and refined his sketch. He just started on all the stuff he already got right; just defining it, making certain things stand out. He would glance at Sandro to make sure they were correct, but mainly keep his eyes on the paper. 

Sandro simply sat there, looking at Elio. He didn’t mind though. He loved the look of concentration on Elio’s face and the way his hands moved to draw was mesmerizing.

After a little while, Elio had finally made his way back to the infamous lips. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning forward, his knees bumping into Sandro’s as he took a closer look at his lips.

Elio was close. Really close to Sandro. Elio scooted forward more and now their knees were slotted past each other. Their faces were inches apart and Sandro was blushing darkly. He could feel Elio’s breath fanning over his face. He could see all the small details in his skin.

Then Elio was gone. His knees retracted, he was leaning back against his chair again and was focused on getting the lips right. Sandro kind of missed his closer proximity.

They stayed like that for a while, until Sandro had to eat again. 

⋯

Time passed in the manor. Sandro had slowly become more comfortable with Elio and never really felt unsafe around him. Their days were rather boring and consisted of much reading, drawing, and chatting. Neither of them though, would wish for anything else.

Until one day, things started to change.

Usually, they would eat all three meals together, even though Elio didn’t really eat. Sandro would prepare himself food and he and Elio would sit at the dining table and dine together. Sandro at one end, Elio at the other, an ocean of wood between. Elio didn’t want to pressure Sandro, so he kept his distance. He let Sandro come to him. So, when they sat awkwardly together at meal times, a vast table in between, Sandro quickly noticed that he didn’t like being super far away from Elio. Slowly, he would sit in the next chair up, making his way to Elio’s side at the head of the table. When Sandro finally reached it, Elio gave him a small smile.

He would never admit it, but Elio was so glad that Sandro was becoming more comfortable with his presence. Not shifting uncomfortably, or tensing whenever he moved.

Sandro would eat and they would talk. After some time, Sandro noticed Elio becoming paler and tilted his head in concern.

“Do you need blood?” he asked Elio as he gazed at the pale vampire.

Elio sighed. “Yeah,” he breathed. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Sandro smiled softly and placed a comfortingly warm hand on Elio's shoulder. “Go ahead, I don't mind.”

Elio slowly stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He came back with a box of blood in hand, going for the more opaque option since Sandro wouldn’t be able to see the blood itself.

Now, it would go on like this. Everyday, for every meal. Sandro eating whatever he could scrounge up from the garden, and Elio sipping on a box of blood.

But, one day, there was a terrible storm. 

Sandro had just turned in for the night and was getting into bed, when a loud clap of thunder startled him. He couldn’t help but think back to the night that made him end up at the manor. The storm outside was much like it and Sandro found himself becoming anxious. Frankly he was scared. His room was rather cold and dark, and the warmth of the fire in the hearth downstairs sounded blissful.

So, Sandro wrapped himself in his duvet and shuffled downstairs.

As he rounded the corner that led to the living room, he spotted Elio resting on the couch. He was sitting properly, like always. One leg crossed over the other, straight back, lifted chin. He was reading a book like usual, and hadn’t noticed Sandro.

Sandro padded over, his bare feet cold on the hardwood floor. The carpet that was under the sofa was soft and fluffy. The closer he got to the fire, the warmer he felt.

Sandro didn’t know exactly what came over him at that moment, but the only thing that sounded good was cuddling. He wanted to wrap himself around someone, warm by the fire.

Elio noticed Sandro hovering above him, wrapped firmly in the duvet from his bed. He looked quite snuggly and all Elio wanted to do was hug him.

“Are you alright?” Elio asked as Sandro’s demeanor changed and he started closing in on himself.

Sandro bit his lip. “I, I couldn’t sleep…because of the storm.” he said softly.

Elio took a breath and put his book down. To his surprise, Sandro plopped down on the couch with a heavy huff. And what was weird was that Sandro plopped down right beside Elio. Like really close. Elio would be lying if he said it didn't cause a warm feeling in his chest.

Then Sandro’s head softly lulled and landed with a plop on Elio’s shoulder. Elio held his breath, not daring to move as though Sandro was a spooked animal who was just starting to feed from his hand.

Sandro really didn’t know what possessed him to do this, but he then wrapped his arm around Elio’s and cuddled into his side. Elio was cold, yes. But he was comforting and Sandro had no idea why.

Elio stayed still as a statue until he felt Sandro’s body completely relax. His shoulders slump, cheek squished against Elio’s shoulder, and mouth agape ever so. 

Elio let out his breath and leaned back against the couch, Sandro following with. Sandro was out, no speck of consciousness left. Elio wasn’t quite sure what to do. He’s never really been touched like this before. He wanted more though. He wanted to feel Sandro’s warmth all throughout his body. But, Elio pushed those thoughts aside and leaned his head against Sandro’s, closing his eyes, and embracing the only bit of contact Sandro would most likely give him.

The night passed in silence as Elio just stayed where he was, not wanting to disturb the peacefully sleeping Sandro. But, Elio soon realized that the position was not one of the most comfortable, especially for Sandro. That poor boy’s neck and back would be sore in the morning if this continued on. So, with much reservation, Elio gently lifted Sandro up, praying that he would not wake the sleeping boy. Elio made his way up to Sandro’s room. He softly placed him on his bed and grabbed a spare duvet for the boy, since the other one had been left downstairs. 

Elio tucked Sandro in, making sure he was comfortable and cozy, warm between the blankets. Elio stalled by the bed, not sure what to do. He wanted to stay, so badly. But he had no desire to force anything on the other, so he bent down and gave him a small, featherlight peck on the cheek, before he patted Sandro on the leg and turned to leave, shutting the door as quietly as possible. 

Chapter Text

Sandro’s eyes fluttered open, sunlight shining through the bottom of the curtains that blocked the large window in his room. Wait. His room? How did he end up here? The last thing he remembered was sitting downstairs on the couch and falling asleep… on Elio? God that’s embarrassing. Sandro rubbed his eyes with his hands and squeezed his face in embarrassment. 

After his minor cringe session, Sandro swung his legs over the side of the bed and waddled out of his room. He made his way down the stairs, but instead of going to the living room or kitchen like normal, Sandro decided he would explore a bit.

He turned down a different corridor than he had before. He walked down this wing of the house and noticed some different stuff about the decor. It was simpler, no flashy knives or swords on the walls. In fact, there were so many more paintings. Many of the people Sandro could recognise as Elio’s sister, mom, or step-sister. But he did notice another little girl in some of the paintings too. Elio had never mentioned her. She looked even more like him than his mother or sister did. 

Sandro walked up to a particular painting that was of Elio’s mom, sister, and the mysterious little girl. The picture was of them swinging on a wooden bench under a glooming willow tree. It was stunning, but Sandro couldn’t shake off the feeling that he knew the mysterious little girl somehow. 

He decided to move on and eventually found a grand library. This must be where Elio keeps all of his books, Sandro thought. He stepped into the great hall, his bare feet sticking with every step to the blonde wooden floors. The walls were completely lined with shelves, books covering every inch. There was a large crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, shimmering and reflecting on the waxed floors. In the corner of the hall nearest the entrance, there was a grand piano. It was the most breathtaking instrument Sandro had ever seen. He hadn’t ever learned to play, but he was drawn to the ivory keys. He padded over to the piano and gingerly pulled the bench out and took a seat in the middle. He rested his fingers on the keys, feeling the smoothness under his fingertips. 

Sandro drew a breath, but was scared to play any keys. He knew little to nothing about pianos and he wouldn’t want to accidentally do something to break it. So he sat, admiring the golden room. Books till the end of time and a chandelier that shimmered like the sun. His eyelashes brushed closed and he breathed in deeply, the smell of books and wood filling his nose.

“Quite tranquil, isn’t it?” a voice from beside him suddenly rang. Sandro just about jumped off the bench from surprise. He whipped his head around and was met by Elio. In all of his stupidly hot vampire glory.

“You have got to stop appearing out of thin air and scaring me half to death!” Sandro practically yelled.

Elio just gazed at him with an amused expression. His eyes twinkled with mischief and his lips were curved into the slightest smirk. It was infuriatingly attractive.

Sandro huffed and crossed his arms, pouting. Elio placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned him so they were facing each other once more.

“Would you like to learn?” Elio asked. Sandro was confused for a second before he realized he was referring to the piano.

Sandro shrugged. “I’m not sure, I don't think I would be very good at it. I don’t know anything,”

“Well that’s just foolish,” Elio stated. Sandro gave him a half hearted glare. “I am not saying you are a fool, I am simply saying that it is foolish to let the fact you know nothing about it stop you. I shall teach you.” Elio gave no room for disputation as he took Sandro’s hands in his own and placed them on the keys. 

His hands were cold and soothing, sending the butterflies in Sandro’s stomach a light. Sandro took a breath in an attempt to calm down and simply let Elio lead his hands to the proper place. Elio shifted closer and swung an arm around Sandro, so one was on his left hand and the other on his right.

“Is this alright?” Elio asked as he gently traced Sandro’s fingers with his own.

Sandro simply nodded. He couldn’t do anything but that. His voice would have most definitely come out as some sort of embarrassing squeak.

Elio smiled softly and scooted even closer so their thighs were pressed together and Sandro could feel Elio’s breath on his neck. Sandro shivered and his face lit a bright pink at the new position.

“We will start with the basics.” Elio stated. He moved Sandro’s hands and fingers to clink out the alphabet. Sandro barely focused on what Elio was having his hands do. All the information about what was A and B and C went completely out the window as he was too distracted with the fact that Elio’s hands were on his, his cool fingers guiding his own. He was too distracted at the almost burning hot contact between them with Elio’s thigh pressed against his, Elio’s chest pressing into his back. Then there was Elio’s breath on the back of Sandro's neck, making the hairs stand on edge and shivers rush down his spine.

“Are you listening?” Elio asked. His voice was right in Sandro’s ear. Sandro sputtered and froze, not sure what to do. “Sandro,” Elio said a bit sharper. “Are you paying attention, darling?” his voice was teasing and Sandro knew he knew exactly what he was doing when Elio’s lips brushed the shell of Sandro’s ear.

“Um…” Sandro licked his dry lips, but couldn’t form words.

“Well,” Elio sighed. “If you aren't going to pay attention, then why am I wasting my time trying to teach you?” Elio pulled away and Sandro was left shivering.

“No, I,” Sandro really didn’t want Elio to leave. Elio smirked, but sat back down. And when he sat, he sat close enough their legs touched again. “Can you… can you play something for me?” Sandro asked shyly and ducked his head.

Elio smiled warmly and scooted over close to Sandro again bumping him with his hip. “I can if you scooch over.” Elio’s tone was light as he pressed into Sandro.

Sandro blushed and scooted over so Elio could sit in the middle of the bench. “What are you going to play?” Sandro asked.

“A piece my mother always loved,” Elio let out a breath and placed his finger on the keys, Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven.  With that, he started the tune. It was hauntingly beautiful from the very first note. Sandro found himself feeling sleepy. The kind of tired darkness brings. The darkness wrapping around you. Though not in an intimidating way. In a way where the darkness is there to hold you, to envelop you in comfort and belonging. Like nothing could touch you and you would be safe. It was stunning.

Sandro swayed in his seat and leaned his head on Elio’s shoulder, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He dissolved into the music, letting it take his soul and leave his body behind. He felt like he was floating, the sensation of sitting on the bench gone. He was floating in a dark void. It was not scary though. He felt more relaxed than he had in ages.

Elio was so absorbed in the melody, he forgot where he was. Sandro had become just a presence as he was teleported back in time. 

Back to when his mother would sit with him and his older sister on this very bench. Elio would be in his mother’s lap as she played and his sister would be curled up in her side. It would always lull them to sleep. 

Elio remembered wanting his mother to teach him. He would always beg her to teach him and she would always say, “But angioletto, you must learn the basics before you can do a piece.” Elio would always stomp his little feet and pout. His mother, though, would clasp his balled up fists in her hands and lead him to the bench. She would sit him down and kiss his forehead. “Now, my angel, don’t pout. You will learn someday and you will be the best of all.”

“Better than you?” he asked, his eyes blown wide as he stared up at his mother

His mother would chuckle.“Yes, better than me.” she would tickle his stomach and he would burst out in giggles.

Elio missed those days. His sister and him playing with their mother, learning sheets and sheets of music. Elio realized that he hadn’t touched the piano in a while. When his mother died, it became too painful. The memory of her. Her presence was always in this room. Her love of books and music. 

Elio was at first a little upset that Sandro found the room. But he then saw how amazed Sandro was by it and decided it was time to maybe spend time in the room again. Even though it is always painful.

The moment Elio touched the keys, though, everything came rushing back like a dam bursting. He instantly remembered everything his mother ever taught him and what was her favorite. When Sandro asked him to play something, Elio didn’t hesitate to. He was rusty, sure, but it was beautiful and raw and he never realized how much he missed playing piano.

He was snapped back to reality when the song ended and the final notes rang out into the grand hall.

Sandro lifted his head and opened his eyes, his vision blurry from his eyes being closed.

“That was beautiful.” Sandro whispered into the now still room. No other sounds besides their breathing could be heard.

“Thank you.” Elio said quietly. He turned his head towards Sandro and gazed at him, their eyes locked and unwavering. Elio’s ink hair flowing down his face, his pale skin that was flushed ever so. His sharp features that made Sandro weak. 

Sandro found himself leaning forward, drawn into the vampire before him. Some gravitational force pulling them together. Sandro couldn’t fight it. He didn’t really want to though. 

Elio noticed Sandro get closer, their noses a few inches apart. He could feel Sandro’s breath fan over his lips. Sandro leaned closer still, their noses bumped. Closer and closer, Elio jutted his chin out just enough to brush their lips together.

 Sandro’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a breath. He was waiting for Elio to kiss him, but it never came. Their lips barely touching. Sandro realized Elio wanted him to be the one to do it. So, before any other thinking could go into what he was doing, he leaned in and captured Elio’s lips. They were soft and cool like everything else about him. His lips tasted of strawberries and Sandro had no idea why since Elio tended not to eat normal food. 

Elio placed a hand on Sandro’s neck, his cold fingers playing with the strands at the nape of his neck.

Then he pulled away. The kiss was brief for how long it felt. It was sweet and small and nothing needy. Elio wanted desperately to make it so, though, he wanted to kiss Sandro so hard he would forget his name. But, he held back and broke the kiss before it could lead to anything. Elio only had so much self control. Especially when they pulled away and Sandro’s eyes were screwed shut and a dark blush was spread across his cheek bones. He was adorable.

“Sorry,” Sandro whispered as he slowly opened his eyes, expecting the worst. He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing, but he felt like he needed to.

Elio scanned him up and down, taking in his insecure stature. The way he closed in on himself again and how his voice got smaller. He was curling back up into that shell. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” Elio sighed. “I should be the one apologizing, I should have made sure you wanted to.” Elio placed a hand on Sandro’s thigh and looked him in the eye.

Sandro brought his gaze up to meet Elio’s and saw the softness in them. The rich chocolate brown eyes that stared back at him. They looked safe. Sandro drew a breath. 

Then it really sank in. He just kissed someone. He just kissed a vampire. Good lord he just kissed a vampire! This man could kill him in two seconds and Sandro is yielding to his good looks? How foolish is he? But, Elio’s not just a pretty face. He’s caring and kind and doesn’t push Sandro to do something he doesn’t want to do. Sandro was scared before. Heck he still is. But maybe that’s what draws him to Elio. The fact that he is capable of such power, but is humble and reserved and doesn’t use it to dominate people. Maybe Sandro doesn’t have to be as afraid anymore. Maybe he can put some trust in someone else. Maybe he can trust Elio.

Chapter Text

It was night time, after dinner, and Sandro was getting ready for bed. He was in the bath, arms propping his head up as he relaxed into the warm water. He was once again entranced by the ceiling’s carvings, when his mind started to wander. 

Him and Elio kissed. They just kissed. Sure it was small and short and really not more than a mere peck, but it made Sandro’s stomach churn. Not necessarily in a bad way, but it made him anxious. Why does it make him anxious? It was just a kiss. But, Sandro can’t quite figure out his feelings for the vampire. Part of him resents him, what for? He doesn’t know. He just resents him. Maybe he resents the fact that his life before he stumbled across the manor was boring and difficult. He had to constantly fight for everything, work hard. And now, now he’s living in a large house with unlimited amounts of food, a warm bed to sleep in and anything he could ever need. He felt guilty. Not having to work for anything, everything just handed to him. It was so different from how he had lived all of his life, he’s having a hard time coming to terms with it.

Another part of him is grateful for what he has now. He gets free board and everything he needs. But he’s also scared. What if Elio decides that Sandro is annoying, or wants something from him. What if Elio starts to demand payment for staying at his manor? Sandro doesn’t have any money to give him and he doesn’t even let his mind wander to other forms of payment. 

Sandro has to remember to keep his guard up, even though he really doesn’t want to. He wants to believe that Elio will never hurt him or want anything in exchange, but he can’t help his fears. Falling for the vampire definitely won’t be good. Nope. Nothing good will come out of it. Elio probably doesn’t even see Sandro the same way anyway, so it would be pointless. Elio probably just kissed him back because he was being polite. Yeah, that’s it. He was being polite. So, that means that Sandro should most definitely not think of the kiss as anything. It was barely a kiss anyway! Sandro should just forget about it. Elio probably already forgot about it, so he should let it go too.

Sandro was ripped from his thoughts when he heard a loud knocking on the front door to the manor. He furrowed his brow in confusion. No one has ever come to the manor and if Elio leaves, he has a key. 

Sandro unplugged the drain and got out of the bath. He dried off his hair and wrapped the towel around his waist before opening the bathroom door and heading back to his room to get into night clothes.

As he crossed the hallway to his bedroom door, he ran into Elio. He gripped his towel tightly but lost his balance and almost fell over. Elio swiftly caught him, an arm around his bare waist.

“You need to start watching your step.” Elio said smoothly, moving Sandro back onto his feet, though his arm stayed around his waist. Cold fingers dip into Sandro’s warm, damp skin as their lower halves press together firmly.

“S-sorry.” Sandro stuttered. His face burned and his chest heaved.

Elio smirked and brought his other hand up to fix Sandro’s wet, frazzled hair. He carefully combed it through with his fingers and moved it out of Sandro’s face. Then he let go completely, leaving Sandro to stand on his own again. “No need to fret,” Elio replied. “I am going to go check the door, and if you are to come down, please do put clothes on.” Elio’s tone was light with amusement, but then he was gone.

Sandro let out a breath and entered his room. He got dressed in little time at all and went to check his hair in the mirror. Elio had combed it out rather nicely and he barely had to mess with it. Then, Sandro made his way down to the foyer.

As he climbed down the stairs, he heard loud talking and laughter. He was confused. No one comes to the manor. Sandro didn’t even know Elio could interact with people either.

Sandro carefully made his way toward the voices. One was definitely Elio’s, but the other one Sandro couldn’t recognize. He approached the living room and saw Elio sitting in the cushioned chair by the fire, while the guest was seated on the couch across from him. Elio glanced up at him and motioned for him to come. Elio’s eyes glowed as they reflected the flickering fire. Sandro felt he had no choice but to do what he said.

“Oh, E, he is adorable!” the guest squealed. Suddenly, the newcomer, whom Sandro definitely thought looked familiar, was gripping his face like a toddler. She was rather beautiful. Her hair voluminous and long, with dark brown, tight curls springing in every direction. Her face was round and her skin was of burnt umber, her eyes almost golden. She was one of the people Sandro saw drawings of. Elio’s step-sister? Sandro wasn’t sure. He was frozen under her enthusiasm and had no idea what to do. His eyes were wide like an owl’s and he frankly was a little scared.

Elio cleared his throat. “Jazz,” he said, his voice firm, but not mean. “Give him some space,”

She immediately retracted her hands and took a step back, a huge grin still on her face. “Sorry,” she said. “My name’s Jasmine,” She held out her hand for Sandro to shake.

Sandro warily took her hand and gave it a weak shake. Her hand was cold, like Elio’s. “Sandro.” he replied through his daze. She giggled and let go of his hand.

“Why don’t you sit down, Sandro,” Elio said, breaking Sandro out of his shock. “I’ll properly introduce you.”

Sandro did as told and sat down. He found a chair that was near Elio, feeling a little uncomfortable around the new person.

“So, Sandro,” Elio started. “This is my half-sister, Jasmine. Jasmine, this is Sandro, he is a human.” he introduced. Sandro didn’t really know what to say or do, he just kind of sat there, timid.

“It is so nice to meet you Sandro,” Jasmine smiled at him. Her smile was warm and reached her eyes, making them glow subtle gold. “Though, Elio,” she turned towards her brother. “I never thought you of all people would allow him to stay. I know how much you like your space.” she said it with no malcontent, rather with immense curiosity.

Elio drew a breath. “Well, usually I wouldn’t, but he needed my help,”

She nodded. “Ah, and Sandro, I do hope my brother hasn’t been giving you any trouble and has been treating you well.” she raised her eyebrows in question.

Sandro cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, Elio has been uh,” he licked his dry lips. “He has been really good to me.” his voice was betraying him and he could barely recognize it was his own by how high it was.

Elio smirked at him then turned back to his sister. “Jazz, not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but why are you here?” 

Jasmine laughed and crossed a leg over the other. Sandro just noticed how similar her posture was to Elio’s. “Well, I have only come to see my wonderful older brother, whom I love so much.” she batted her eyes.

Elio raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “What’d you do this time?”

Jasmine huffed and deflated a little. “Okay, fine. I may have talked with father recently.”

Elio eyed her skeptically. “What does that have to do with me? You know we are not on talking terms,”

“I know,” Jasmine sighed. “But, he came and visited Henry and I,” she paused and turned toward Sandro. “Henry is my husband,” she clarified, then turned back to Elio. “Father asked about you.”

The look on Elio’s face was one between rage, annoyance, and hurt. Sandro was on guard. He’d never really seen Elio angry and he wasn’t planning on it. “I don’t talk to that bastard for a reason, Jasmine, and you know that.” his tone was short and he crossed his arms over his chest, closing his legs even more.

“I know, I know, but he seemed to maybe want to reach out to you,” her voice was soft in attempt to console.

“And why would he want that? He hasn’t spoken to me in over a thousand years, what world does he think we live in?” Elio’s voice was louder, but he was not yelling.

Jasmine let out another sigh. “Maybe you should give him a chance?” she was hesitant, and for good reason.

“I will do no such thing!” Now Elio’s voice was yelling. He stood up from his chair so quickly, the chair almost fell backwards. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his nails digging into his sleeves.

Jasmine stood up and walked over to him. She wrapped her hands around his biceps, gently pulling his nails away from digging into his skin. She looked at him gently and rubbed her thumbs over her arms. “I’m sorry, Elio, but, I don’t think you have much of a choice,” her eyes were apologetic and she looked worried.

He glanced up at her, his eyes glazed. “What? What do you mean I don’t have a choice?”

“When I tried to tell him that you most likely would not want to see him and he should leave you be, he wouldn’t listen. He said that he was going to come. That this is his house, so he should be able to come and go as he pleases,”

Elio rolled his eyes. “This house is mine, not his. When he left and never came back, this became my house,”

“I’m sorry.” Jasmine said and brought her older brother into a hug.

Elio hugged back and Sandro thought he had never seen Elio so soft. The way he looked at his sister, the way he held her, he looked so much warmer. “It’s not your fault, Jazz,” Elio pulled away from the hug, but she kept him at arm’s length. “It’s his fault for being such an ass.” His lips formed a frown and Jasmine smiled. Then she leaned forward and kissed him sweetly on the head.

“Well, I don’t think there’s much we can do tonight.” She released him and sat back down on the couch, the same way she sat before. 

Elio took his seat again too and huffed. “I suppose you are correct. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to. We haven’t spoken in a while,”

“And whose fault is that?” She raised an eyebrow playfully, her tone amused. Elio blushed and scratched the back of his neck, looking off. “Anyway, I have been wonderful, I am so content with how Henry and I are, not to mention Lucia is growing up so fast. Gosh, your niece is extremely intelligent.”

Elio smiled, but then glanced at the fire remorsefully. “I am sorry I have not been able to meet her,”

Jasmine gave him a small smile. “No worries, brother, I understand. She is still young, if you would like to meet her, I would be happy to arrange that any time you would like. I am sure she would love you.”

Elio met her eyes and returned the small smile. Though, Sandro could tell that he still felt guilty. Why Elio hadn’t met her, Sandro couldn’t say, but he could tell that the man had many internal struggles. He wishes he could help sometimes.

“Well,” Jasmine said as she stood up. “I ought to get going, speaking of my little one. Do you mind if I grab a couple boxes of blood before I go?”

“Of course,” Elio said, standing up and heading to the kitchen to fetch some.

That left Jasmine and Sandro alone.

“I do hope you are enjoying your time with my brother. I know he is not the… warmest person, but I promise you that he has a big heart, whether or not he likes to show it,” Jasmine stepped closer to Sandro and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Yes,” Sandro said in a breath. “He is not what I expected when I found out about…” he made a gesture to his neck.

Jasmine laughed. “Yes, there are many stereotypes about us but, I hope you were not too quick to judge him. He is rather sensitive when you get to know him. He’s been hurt before, and I think you are good for him,”

“Good for him?” Sandro asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Jasmine giggled. “You are a rather dense human, aren’t you? Well, just know that I can tell that he does care about you. You mean something to him whether he admits it or not,” Then she lifted Sandro out of his chair and gave him a huge hug. “Goodness, you really are precious,”

“Jasmine,” Sandro heard Elio scold as he made his way back to the living room. “Leave him be, I am sure he is frightened enough,”

Jasmine pulled back and ruffled Sandro’s hair affectionately. “Oh please, he hardly seems too afraid. Nevertheless, I must be going. Thank you brother for the blood and I do hope to see more of you. You as well, Sandro.” she winked at him, then collected the boxes that were in Elio’s hands and made her way to the door.

Elio shook his head and escorted her outside. They exchanged one last goodbye, before Jasmine was off, and the manor was silent once again.

Elio plopped on the couch with a sigh and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. After a couple seconds he opened them again and looked at Sandro. He motioned for Sandro to sit next to him and Sandro did.

“I really do apologize for my sister’s overbearing behavior,” Elio pinched the bridge of his nose. “She can be quite excitable.”

Sandro smiled softly and placed a hand on Elio’s knee. He quickly went to retract it when Elio looked at it. But before he could pull his hand away, Elio gripped it tightly and pressed it once again against his leg. An invitation. Sandro blushed madly and looked away. Though he kept his hand where it was, per Elio’s seeming request.

Sandro cleared his throat then spoke. “She is sweet, I do not mind too much,” he met Elio’s eyes. Elio’s face was soft and unguarded. He looked tired. And stressed. Sandro guessed it was from the threat of his father visiting. “Would you like me to fetch you anything?” It even surprised Sandro as it came out of his mouth, but he did not take it back.

Elio eyed him, but then nodded. “Yes, actually, a box would be nice.” 

Sandro gave a curt nod and moved to stand up. He took his hand from Elio’s knee, but felt Elio’s fingers lingering on his own as he moved to the kitchen.

He opened the ice box door and inhaled. He hadn’t really ever thought he would willingly touch one of those boxes, but he swallowed his mild nausea, and picked one up. 

He made his way back to Elio and handed him the box.

“Thank you, dear,” Elio said as he brought the box to his lips and pierced the top with his fangs. Sandro shuddered a little as the fangs scraped their way into the top, but then sat back down and brought his legs to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees and closed his eyes, sleep calling him.

Elio scanned Sandro and, once he finished his snack, placed a hand on Sandro’s back, rubbing small circles. Sandro was almost asleep at that point and felt himself grow more tired under the vampire’s touch.

“Go to bed, darling,” Elio whispered. Sandro felt his breath against his ear. When had Elio gotten so close? “You are tired. Sleep.” At that moment, Sandro couldn’t agree more. He fully closed his eyes and collapsed his head against his knees.

Elio smiled at the exhausted human and placed a small kiss on the shell of his ear, before he picked him up once again, and carried him to his chambers.

⋯

A few days passed since Jasmine had visited. Elio was still restless about his father and Sandro found himself wanting to comfort the vampire, though there wasn’t much one could really do.

One morning, Sandro made his way downstairs, his feet light on the steps in an attempt to be quiet, knowing Elio would be asleep at this hour. 

He padded down the foyer and made his way to the kitchen, getting himself some breakfast. Sometimes Elio would join him, but he had been stressed lately, so Sandro figured he needed his sleep. He made himself a plate of fruit and nuts, as well as a couple slices of thick bread and headed to the living room to eat in front of the hearth. And maybe pick up a new book while he was at it.

When he breached the archway that led to the living room, his heart stopped. Sitting on the couch, with a book in hand, was a man. He looked creepily like Elio, but much older, though he had the same ink hair and sharp features. However, Elio’s features were much kinder compared to this man’s. The man’s eyes flashed up at Sandro and before Sandro could even move, the man was in front of him, pressing him against the wall. Sandro’s plate dropped from his hand and shattered to the floor. The man didn’t seem to care. He had an arm pressed to Sandro’s throat and leaned in. His fangs were bared as he snarled. A sick smile played on his lips and he leaned in, his nose traced Sandro’s jugular. He inhaled deeply and pressed further into him.

Sandro was petrified. He couldn’t move, he didn’t know who this scary man was and he was terrified. He just wanted Elio.

“My, what a lovely specimen you are,” the creepy man purred. “Such beautiful, untouched skin. Unmarked, so fresh,” The man buried his nose further into Sandro’s neck. “Tell me, what is such a helpless creature like you doing in my halls?”

Sandro couldn’t speak, he felt faint and he was shaking. He tried to gasp for air but the man was pressing on his throat firmly.

“Answer me.” the man growled. His other hand firmly gripped the side of  Sandro’s waist, his fingers barely under his shirt and sharp nails gouged into Sandro’s soft, fluffy skin. Then he opened his mouth and his fangs scraped down Sandro’s neck. Not hard enough to puncture, but they were sharp and Sandro could feel his skin become raw from just the lightest touch.

The man moved the hand from Sandro’s waist up to his hair and yanked his head to the side, revealing more neck. Right as the man’s fangs were about to pierce, he was gone. Sandro was stunned. He was still up against the wall, but the man had vanished. And standing in front of him protectively was Elio.

“Get away from him!” Elio yelled. “What do you think you’re doing!” The man had been flung back and stumbled. Elio stalked towards him.

“What a nice way to greet your father,” the man mumbled. “I was simply going to have a snack.” 

Elio’s eyes flashed with fury. “Sandro is no snack, he is not something for you to drain dry. How dare you come into my home and touch my things,” Elio’s voice was scarily even.

“ Your house , please, this is my house,” Elio’s father scoffed. 

“Not anymore it isn’t. Not since you left and never came back! It is mine.” Elio’s father didn’t have a chance to respond before Elio swiftly turned around and slowly approached Sandro.

Sandro was shaking against the wall and was still frozen. Elio gently caressed his face and ran a hand down his arm.

“Did he hurt you?” Elio’s eyes were soft and full of concern, but Sandro still couldn’t answer.

“He’s fine,” Elio’s father said. “You ruined any chance I had to get some delicious, fresh, blood.” Elio whipped his head around and glared at his father.

“I was not asking you,” he said coldly. Then he turned back to Sandro and tucked a few stray curls behind his ear. “Now, Sandro, did he hurt you?” 

Sandro just blinked at Elio, then his eyes drifted to the man behind him. 

Elio’s father smirked at him, “The name’s Edoardo,” he said in a low voice. 

Sandro swiftly turned his gaze back to Elio, ignoring the man. “I don’t,” Sandro swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t know.” his tone was barely above a whisper.

Elio exhaled and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on Sandro’s forehead. “That’s okay, dear,” he whispered. Then he picked Sandro up and in a flash they were in one of the many bathrooms. 

Sandro was placed gently on the sink countertop, Elio standing between his legs with an anxious look on his face. “Where does it hurt?” he asked.

In the new environment, Sandro relaxed a little. He was in a smaller room where he could see everything and the only person with him was Elio. Elio with the most concerned face Sandro had ever seen. He looked really pretty. “...It isn’t too bad,” Sandro tried to reassure.

Elio shook his head. “It does not matter how bad it is, Sandro. That was not my question. Now tell me, does it hurt anywhere?” Elio’s eyes were kind but firm. He cupped a hand on Sandro’s cheek and brushed his thumb over his cheek bone.

Sandro nodded jerkily. He pointed vaguely to his side, the one where Elio’s father had dug his nails into.

“Thank you darling,” Elio gave an attempt at a small smile. “May I lift your shirt up and look?” He placed a gentle hand at the hem of Sandro’s shirt.

“Yes,” Sandro said in a breath. On command, Elio promptly lifted his shirt, just enough to look and see the scale of the injury. Sandro blushed when Elio’s cold fingers glided down his side gently to feel the red and heated skin.

Elio sucked in a breath at the sight. It was not nearly as bad as it could have been, but there were five significant nail marks dug into the boy’s fleshy side. At each mark there were small pearls of blood, just from the rawness of the skin. Elio felt unfiltered anger sizzling in his stomach from the sight. Sure, it’s a mere flesh wound, but how dare someone even lay a finger on him. Elio also narrowed in on the small amount of blood that dribbled out of the boy’s skin. His eyes flashed with hunger at the sight and he could feel his mouth water, the smell was so delectably sweet. But, Elio mustn't. He is in control and he can’t do that to Sandro.

Elio shook his head to clear it and gently lowered the fabric back down over the wound. “I am going to clean it out, alright?” Sandro nodded and Elio retrieved a wash cloth. He turned on the sink and soaked the wash cloth with warm water. Then he wrung it out and lifted Sandro’s shirt back up. He carefully, and with great precision, cleaned around each small wound and tried his best to stop the inflammation.

Sandro flinched when Elio pressed on an especially painful spot on his side. “My apologies,” Elio said softly and before he could even think, he placed a feather light kiss on the chafed skin.

Sandro sucked in a breath and did his best to not burn up. Elio was done fairly quickly and applied a small amount of salve to each mark to soothe the pain.

“All done,” Elio said with a smile as he lowered Sandro’s shirt. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Sandro said shakily. “Thank you,”

Elio scoffed. “Of course, it was my pleasure.” Sandro caught Elio’s eye and got lost looking at him. There was a force that made it feel like they were drifting closer, their faces inching forward. Sandro cleared his throat and his eyes dropped to Elio’s lips. Elio noticed and the corner of his mouth tilted up ever so. Sandro’s heartbeat picked up and he was breathing heavily as their noses bumped. Elio loved the feeling of his soft breath fanning over his face. Their lips brushed and Sandro’s eyes slipped closed.

Suddenly, there was loud banging on the bathroom door. “Are you almost done? It is not polite to leave someone waiting without any entertainment!” Elio’s father shouted through the door. Sandro startled and accidentally bumped his head against Elio’s. Elio pulled back with a hiss, at what? Sandro didn’t know, but he figured it probably wasn’t from the mild head bump.

“He is such a…” Elio mumbled under his breath and Sandro couldn’t catch the last part, but he doubted it was anything positive. Elio stepped back and offered a hand to Sandro to help him down from the counter. “I really do apologize for all of his behavior, Sandro.” Elio’s eyes were sad, but he offered a small smile.

Sandro accepted the hand and hopped down from the counter. “It is not your fault, Elio. I really do appreciate you.” Sandro smiled back and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Elio’s forehead.

Elio stood stunned for a second, but then snapped back. “Well, I ought to go see what he wants,” Elio said with a heavy sigh. “I wouldn’t want him getting bored and destroying my house,” He scanned Sandro and let out a breath. “I think it is best you do not join me in this interaction with my father. As you know, he can be quite… confrontational,”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to be there, I wouldn’t want to leave you with him, he seems unstable,” 

Elio laughed sharply and shook his head. “You are not wrong, but I would feel much better if you were out of his sight. I would hate for anything to come back on you.” Elio placed a hand on Sandro’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.

“Very well.” Sandro grumbled. He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want to just take this chance to not be around that horrible vampire, but he felt an odd sense of protectiveness over Elio.

Elio chuckled at him, but then ran his hand that was on his shoulder, down his arm, and intertwined their fingers. He then led Sandro out of the bathroom and quickly made it up the stairs to Sandro’s room.

“Stay in here, for the time being, okay?” Elio said as he walked Sandro to his bed and pushed the boy down onto the mattress. Sandro didn’t protest and sunk into the sheets. Sandro’s stomach grumbled and he flushed, embarrassed. Elio raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I’ll make sure to get some food up to you as well, seeing as you missed breakfast,”

“Thank you,” Sandro said. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened his eyes a second later, Elio was gone.

⋯

“Look who decided to show up,” Edoardo said cruelly as Elio passed him on his way to the kitchen to get food for Sandro.

Elio ignored him and simply made a plate of fruit for Sandro. He made his way back up the stairs and dropped the food off for Sandro.

“Are you going to give me a proper greeting, now?” His dad prodded once again as Elio stepped into the living room with a broom to clean up the shattered plate.

“I can’t, I’m too busy cleaning up your mess,” Elio said shortly, not looking up.

Edoardo scoffed. “It’s not my fault your useless pet dropped it,”

“Don’t you dare speak about Sandro that way!” Elio shouted. He stomped his way to the trash can and disposed of the broken ceramic and wasted food.

“Well that’s what he is isn’t he?” his father spoke, straightening his posture on the couch. “Why else would you keep a human around? I always thought you hated the idea of using one, but I guess I was wrong. In a way I’m proud,”

Elio scoffed and took a seat on the chair opposite him. “That is not how it is between Sandro and I,” Elio stated.

“No?” Edoardo raised his eyebrows. “Then I take back my former statement, you are just as pathetic as I thought you were,” Elio gripped the arms of the chair and dug in his nails, in an attempt to calm down, rage bubbling up in his chest. “Though I will say, I am surprised you haven’t used him at all. In other ways I mean,” he waved a hand around. “He is very fetching and rather weak, it would be easy to have him on his knees in an instant.” his eyes shone with perversity. 

Elio’s face went red and he took a long, deep breath, trying his hardest to not explode. But it was futile, his father is just so infuriatingly horrible it’s hard to control himself. The worst part is that Elio knows that his father only says things like that to bait him. To get him to lash out and get angry. “You are a horrific person,” Elio grumbled.

Edoardo barked a laugh, high and sharp. “Like I care,” he shrugged. “You have your uses for humans and I mine,”

“I have no uses for Sandro,” Elio snapped. 

“Then tell me,” Edoardo leaned forward on the couch. “Why is he still here, then? Knowing you, he would have been out on the street already. Why are you keeping him if he serves you no form of pleasure?”

“He needed my help,” Elio protested. “He was lost and, he didn’t have anywhere to go, so he is here.”

Elio’s father nodded, his eyes slitted. “But why keep him if he gives you nothing in return?”

“I need nothing from him,” Elio answered quickly. “I have no desire to use him, nor do I have desire for him to repay me in any sort of way,”

“That is an awful way to run a business,” Edoardo scoffed, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am running no business,” Elio said. “My acts of kindness need nothing in exchange,”

“So you are kind now?” Edoardo laughed. “We don’t do ‘kind’, child,”

“There is no ‘we’, there never was,” Elio fired back. “Furthermore, I know you are avoiding using my name and ‘son’ on purpose. You are not as sneaky as you think.” Elio’s voice was even.

Edoardo clenched his jaw and stared at Elio. “Does he know?” he said after a tense staring contest.

“Know what?” Elio asked in feign ignorance.

“You know what I mean, don’t play the fool,” 

“I would like to hear you say it,” Elio gave a wicked smirk.

Edoardo ground his teeth together and exhaled. “Does your little human know that you are… a… masquerader?” his voice was low and quiet, as though if he said it louder something evil would come up from hell.

Elio snorted a laugh. “That is one way to put it. But, no, not that I am aware of. But it does not have any relevance. If he asks, I will be truthful. If he does not, then I feel no obligation to make it known,”

“You don’t feel that you are lying?” Edoardo sought.

“Of course not. I am a man and that is all he needs to know,”

“You are different from when I last saw you,” Edoardo said.

“Of course I am, you left after mother died. You could not bear to look at me. Especially after I had changed . You picked up and moved on, not giving me a second thought. Alone and grieving in this large, haunted prison,”

“This is hardly a prison,” Edoardo argued. “It has everything you could possibly need! You are just as ungrateful as you always were,”

“Don’t you dare,” Elio growled. “Admit it! You are a horrible father and an awful person! You care for no one but yourself and I am glad mother never saw your decline, for if she had, she would have left you in a flash. She was too good for you and you know it!” Elio had shot up from his chair and was leaning over his father, voice raised.

Edoardo shot up from his seat as well. “Do not talk to me that way you dissatisfied brat! Your mother was too easy on you and the moment you showed signs of,” he gestured to Elio’s body, “we should have done something about it. Sent you off to finishing school and turned you into a proper lady. But your mother was too soft, now I see my mistake, Elina, we should have cut you off before you could have even gotten any ideas!” Their chests had gotten closer and Edoardo was yelling in Elio’s face. 

Elio’s eyes watered at his birth name. His chest heaved and he could hardly breathe. He stumbled back and clenched his jaw, eyes boring into the carpet.

“Out,” he demanded, his voice low but firm. When his father made no move to leave, he shouted. “Get out!” his voice was booming, but it cracked, his throat clogged with impending tears. He pushed his father’s chest and moved to the front door. He swung it open and stood there, a finger pointed outside. “I said, get out!” His yell was more of a scream and he heard it echoing out in the woods surrounding the manor. His chest heaved and his hands shook with fury.

Edoardo stood stunned for a moment, before collecting his coat that had apparently been hung up on the coat hanger and made toward the door. 

“I hope I never see you again.” Elio growled as he slammed the door in his father’s face the moment he stepped past the threshold. 

The crystal chandelier that hung in the foyer swung back and forth on the impact. Paintings swayed and vases rattled. Those were the only noises heard until they went silent as well and Elio slipped down the door, head in his hands, sobs wrecking his body.

Chapter Text

Sandro startled awake at a loud slam that shook the whole manor seemingly to its core. He rubbed his eyes and moved to get out of bed. What was that? Is Elio okay? Is Edoardo still here? Sandro had no idea what happened. He fell asleep after he stuffed his face with the fruit Elio brought up earlier that morning. He wasn’t sure why he fell asleep, but the adrenaline crash after his interaction with Edoardo shook him to his core and made him immensely sleepy.

Sandro stuck his head out of his door and looked both ways. Though, once he heard sobs coming from downstairs, he rushed down the spiral staircase faster than he ever had before, feet sliding on the carpet.

He ended up in the foyer and immediately saw Elio. He was sitting against the door, head in his hands, knees curled up to his chest, body shaking. Sandro’s heart sank at the sight. He had never seen Elio show such strong emotion, and such strong sadness made Sandro’s body hurt.

He slowly approached Elio and crouched down in front of him, a couple feet away. “Elio?” he whispered, reaching a hand out to place on the man’s shoulder.

But Elio slapped it away and shot up, rubbing his nose and straightening his clothes in an attempt to look like he was fine. “Need not worry–” he was cut off by his own sobs. He rubbed his eyes furiously with the heels of his palms.

“Elio,” Sandro whispered again, standing up and facing him.

“I’m quite al–” Elio tried to reassure Sandro again, but Sandro ignored him.

“Shut your mouth,” he said softly as he brought the smaller man into a hug. Elio tensed under his touch, but then relaxed and gripped the front of his shirt, burying his face into Sandro’s shoulder, effectively making the silk wet with his tears. 

Sandro rocked him back and forth comfortingly, swaying gently to the silence in the halls. After a short time, Sandro pulled back and cupped Elio’s face in his hands. His face was red and puffy, eyes bloodshot and cheeks bright red. Sandro soothed his thumbs over Elio’s cheeks and kissed his nose gently. Then, without a word, he led Elio over to the sofa and sat him down. 

Elio was limp against the couch cushions, his face stone and breathing still irregular. So, Sandro sat down on the sofa as well, his back against the armrest and his legs open in front of him. He carefully positioned Elio between them, cradling him to his chest. One hand cupping the back of his head, intertwining with fluffy black locks and massaging down his nape. Sandro’s other hand was rubbing soothing circles along his spine, pressing him against himself in an attempt to soothe.

Elio was surprised by how direct Sandro was, but then wrapped his arms around Sandro’s middle, his hands gripping firmly to the back of Sandro’s shirt. He eased into the other, pressing his nose against his collar bone and inhaling deeply, trying to calm down.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Sandro asked quietly after a few minutes passed and Elio seemed to be more calm.

“You would not understand,” Elio said with a shake of his head. He then brought his chin up and rested it on Sandro’s chest as he looked up at the boy.

Sandro let out a breath, a smile played at his lips. “Try me,” he challenged as he ran his fingers through Elio’s hair, scratching his scalp.

Elio leaned into his touch and closed his eyes. He swallowed thickly. “I do not want you to…” he took a breath, “to react the way my father did,”

“I highly doubt him and I would react much the same way,” Sandro chuckled.

Elio shook his head. “I do not want to risk it,”

Sandro smirked. “My, sir Elio, it almost sounds as though you care about what I think,” he teased.

Elio blushed. “Maybe I do,” he raised an eyebrow. “What would you possibly do about it?” 

Sandro sputtered, his face flushed, not able to say another word.

Elio laughed a light chuckle and promptly raised himself off of Sandro’s chest, retreating back between his legs.

Sandro immediately sat up too, concerned as to why Elio had pulled away. “Where are you going?” He asked, concerned as Elio made a move to stand up.

“Well, if I am to tell you, I may need some help explaining. Follow me.” Without another word, Elio marched off leaving Sandro to stumble behind him to keep up.

Elio led Sandro to the other wing of the house, the one less explored and where the library and piano room lay. The decor down the corridors were just as Sandro remembered. Less weapons and more paintings. 

Elio stopped near the large painting that Sandro saw before. It was the one of Elio’s mother and sister on a bench swing in a willow tree. But, the other little girl was with them. The one Elio never talked about.

“Why are we at this painting?” Sandro asked, his voice echoing in the silent hall.

Elio stood stoic, up close to the piece. His eyes were sad and longing and Sandro noticed him staring at the mysterious little girl. He brought a delicate finger up and brushed it over her face. “This,” he said. “We are here for this,”

“I was curious about her,” Sandro said as he moved closer to Elio, standing slightly behind him, intentionally letting his chest bump softly against Elio’s shoulder. “You never mention her,”

“Well,” Elio laughed sadly. “You already know her, so why would I need to introduce you two,”

Sandro was utterly confused. He had never seen this girl in his life. What is Elio talking about? “Elio,” Sandro said as he placed a hand on Elio’s shoulder, turning him to face him. “I do not know this girl,” Sandro said firmly.

Elio raised a brow. “She does not look familiar at all?” 

Sandro shook his head. “I suppose she looks much like you, but she is not you,”

Elio smiled and shook his head. “Sandro, that girl, she is me. Was me,” Elio paused to see Sandro’s reaction.

Sandro’s eyes flashed from the little girl to Elio. “That can’t be you,” he denied. “She’s… well she’s a she!” He raised his hand to point at the girl.

Elio gently lowered his hand and kissed his palm. “Sandro, I was born a girl. She was me,” he waited for Sandro to respond, but Sandro was frozen, stunned, not sure what to say or do. So, Elio continued. “She was me, but I realized I am not a girl. I never felt like one, so I became a boy.” Elio really felt as though he was talking to a child in grade school, but as long as Sandro understood, he could bear it.

“So you were born a girl…but then you turned into a boy?” Sandro said slowly. Elio nodded and Sandro let out a breath. “Oh, alright,”

Elio was stunned. Sandro had no further questions, nothing. Just, alright. “You are not curious about other things?” Elio asked, skeptical.

Sandro shrugged. “No, you are a man. There is nothing further to discuss.”

Elio blinked, still not sure he heard him right.

Sandro let out a laugh at Elio’s confused expression. Then he smiled. “You are the prettiest boy I have ever seen,” he said quietly, as though it was supposed to just be a thought. The moment he heard himself say it, he slapped his hands over his mouth, face red. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I—“ but Elio cut him off.

Elio’s lips tugged into a smirk and he moved closer to Sandro, chests pressed together. “No, Sandro, please do tell me it is true,” their faces were inching nearer.

“It is,” Sandro said, his face still pink.

“Show me.” Elio whispered, their noses brushed and Sandro’s breath caught in his throat.

Elio was extremely close. Lips centimeters apart. Sandro knew what Elio wanted and decided to show him. 

Sandro placed his hands on Elio’s hips, bringing him in. He leaned in and captured Elio’s beautiful, red lips in his. This kiss was nothing like the one they shared in the piano room. No, this kiss was steaming and Elio slipped his hands up into Sandro’s curly hair, his cold fingers grazing his scalp. Sandro wrapped his arms around Elio as tight as possible, becoming one. 

Elio stepped forward and pushed Sandro against the opposite wall of the hallway. As his back hit the wall, Sandro let out a gasp. Elio smirked and continued to kiss him. Sandro leaned back into the kiss, running his hands up Elio’s spine. One hand was pressed into the small of his back, forcing Elio to arch into him. Sandro’s other hand was in between his shoulder blades, holding him with his large hands, cradling him. Elio kept a hand intertwined with Sandro’s hair, but moved the other to his nape, kneading the base, his cold fingers sending shivers down Sandro’s spine in the best possible way.

Sandro pulled back for air, gasping into the small gap between their lips. Hot breath mingling. “Do you believe me?” Sandro’s voice was low and gravely.

Elio grinned. “I could use more convincing.” his hooded eyes gazed into Sandro’s.

Sandro hastily leaned back in and kissed Elio harder. Elio returned the enthusiasm by opening his mouth ever so slightly and scraping his fangs against Sandro’s bottom lip. Sandro shuddered and groaned, loving the feeling. Elio swiftly invaded Sandro’s mouth and tasted him sweetly, their tongues colliding.

Sandro’s stomach burned with desire, Elio taking control of the kiss, pressing so hard Sandro’s head hit the wall. Sandro gasped for air again, tilting his head back so he could properly breathe without the temptation of devouring Elio’s lips.

Elio took that opportunity to trail kisses from the corner of Sandro’s mouth, down along his jaw and up to his ear, leaving small bites in his wake. He reached just behind Sandro’s ear and continued down his neck. Elio could smell the sweetened blood in Sandro’s veins. He could hear the rushing, the pumping of it through his body. It was irresistible. It was hypnotizing and Elio inhaled as deeply as possible, trying to taste it through the smell. It could never be enough, but it had to be.

He tried to distract himself by kissing along his neck again and leaving a small bruise where his neck became his shoulder. He moved one of his legs in between Sandro’s, his thigh pressing into Sandro’s crotch.

Sandro sucked in a breath, his head lulling to the side from the pleasure of Elio’s kisses, as well as the new pressure added to his lower half. He could tell Elio was having a hard time controlling himself around his neck. But, oddly, it did not scare him. It felt invigorating, somehow knowing that Elio’s fangs could pierce him at any moment.

Some sick part of Sandro wanted him to. To bury those fangs deep into his neck and drain him. To float between the land of the living and the dead. But he suspected it would bring immense pain. Sandro is a sensitive soul, barely able to handle the smallest bits of pain.

Elio had moved down more, kissing Sandro’s collarbone, his nose nudging the fabric of his blouse away to reveal more skin. Sandro took a deep breath and slipped his hand up to Elio’s hair, gently pulling his head back enough to look at him. 

“Elio,” Sandro whispered as Elio tried to fight his hand and swoop back down to kiss his throat. “Elio,” Sandro reminded patiently.

Elio huffed and relented. Sandro caught his eye and moved his hand from his hair to his chin to keep him focused. Elio’s eyes were blown wide, the chocolate brown hardly visible after being engulfed by the dark void of his pupil. He looked blinded, lust wringing his features.

“I want to bite you so bad,” Elio whimpered, tilting his head against Sandro’s forehead. But, once those words breezed past his lips, he sobered up, leaning back, a panicked look on his face. “I apologize, that is not–”

Sandro placed his thumb to Elio’s lips, pressing them together to make him stop talking. “I would not be opposed to it,” Sandro admitted quietly, his heart racing.

Elio stared at him with wide eyes, shocked. “Are you positive?”

Sandro gulped. “I am not certain, what does it feel like?”

Elio cleared his throat. “Well, I am not entirely sure, but I do know that it is not painful…usually,”

“Usually?” Sandro cocked his head.

“It should bring immense pleasure to the victim. But if one were to take too much, it would become painful,”

“Oh,” Sandro exhaled. “I trust you,”

Elio stared at him. Not sure if he was serious, but Sandro’s eyes were unwavering. “You are confident?” he checked again.

Sandro nodded curtly. “Yes.” he said surely.

On cue, Elio leaned back in and breathed down the side of Sandro’s neck, taking his time to find the perfect spot. He could feel Sandro shake under him. Sandro was scared. Of course he was. But he was also excited and curious.

Elio is soft. He is gentle. He means no harm, he never has, so Sandro is in safe hands, right? Sandro’s muscles were taught and stiff, as Elio raised a hand to pull Sandro’s head to one side, revealing more space. Elio found the spot he was going to puncture, but pulled back and looked at Sandro.

Sandro’s eyes were screwed shut and he was tense. Elio let out a breath and moved to kiss Sandro sweetly on the lips. “You must relax, dear, it will be much more enjoyable if so.”

Sandro released a breath and opened his eyes, immediately met by Elio’s warm ones. Elio gave a small reassuring smile and Sandro returned it. Elio left one last lingering kiss before swooping back down to Sandro’s neck.

Sandro breathed deep, calming himself as he felt Elio shift to press him further into the wall, hardly letting him stand by himself.

Elio opened his mouth, and licked the spot he was to bite, tasting the skin. It was soft on his tongue, slightly salty, but so tremendously silky. Then he placed his fangs on Sandro’s neck before he bit down, skin popping under the pressure of his teeth, thick, luscious blood flooding his mouth on impact.

Sandro gasped, his eyes rolling back. His body felt limp with the pleasure that shot through him from his neck, radiating out. He felt floaty, his fingers tingled and his body felt hot. Everything was hot. Every point Elio was touching burned with energy, sparking a fire. He could not feel the blood leaving his system, he could not feel the stab of Elio’s fangs. He could only feel the intense pleasure that bubbled over in his stomach. The deep, pleasureable burning sensation sending stars to dance in his eyes, comforting darkness closing in on him from all sides.

Elio had never tasted anything so delicious, so fresh, so sweet. Sandro was a drug and he was addicted. He wanted to taste him until the end of time, never let his lips leave this place, keep him pinned to this wall for all of eternity. But, he could not. He cares about Sandro deeper than just how delectable his blood tastes. He cares about the dense, warm boy who does not care that he was born a girl. About how he’s been hurt in the past. He cares about every part of Sandro, even the parts he does not know.

Elio reluctantly pulled away. He gently removed his fangs, in attempt to not irritate the skin further. He lapped up the surrounding blood from the puncture site, cleaning it best he could and pressing his tongue into the two hollows in his neck, gently sucking the lingering blood out, to hinder the bleeding. He pulled away, a thin streak of saliva snapping on his way up to meet Sandro’s eyes. They were wide with pleasure and ragged breaths puffed out of his parted lips. Elio chuckled lowly and licked his own lips clean of the blood. He brought a hand up to caress Sandro’s face to gently coax him out of his trace. Sandro blinked slowly, rocking his head to gain back consciousness.

Elio kissed him on the temple, then he brought his own finger up to his lips and bit it, drawing his own blood. Sandro looked at him, perplexed, though his gaze was still distant, his consciousness clearly still escaping him. He watched as Elio brushed his bleeding finger over the two wounds in Sandro’s neck. He swept the blood from his finger over them and in an instant, both of the marks were gone. Nothing left in their wake to indicate any sort of penetration.

“How did you…” Sandro was stunned, turning his head to try and look but there was nothing to look at. Infact, his neck was sore, so turning it caused him to hiss in discomfort.

“Vampire blood, darling.” Elio said with a smirk. He then placed his hand on Sandro’s sore shoulder and rubbed it soothingly.

Sandro’s eyes fluttered closed. Goodness he was tired. His limbs were heavy, coming down from the intense euphoric feeling that felt like a high. 

Elio anticipated this and gently tilted Sandro’s weight onto his, picking him up, and carrying him up to his room to sleep off the effects of the pleasure the bite had given him.

As Elio placed Sandro softly in his bed, bringing the covers up and tucking him in, Sandro reached out and grasped Elio’s wrist.

“Don’t…don’t leave,” he managed to mumble before soft snores were heard, his body relaxing into the mattress.

Elio smiled and kissed his forehead sweetly. “I would never dream of it, love.” Then he crawled into the bed beside Sandro and brought the boy into his chest, cradling him from behind. Sandro sighed in his sleep and moved back against Elio, pressing further into him. Elio kissed the nape of his neck, warm against his cold lips, and closed his eyes as well, drifting off with Sandro.

Chapter Text

Sandro shifted, bringing his elbow back to stretch it when he bumped into something. He blearily turned his head to the side and his nose touched soft fabric. He only saw black for a moment before he pulled his head back enough to identify the figure next to him.

It was Elio. He was sitting up, back against the headboard, book in hand. His thigh was right next to Sandro’s head, which was what Sandro had bumped into, the fabric of Elio’s pants being the cause of why he only saw black.

Sandro let out a breath, recalling the event that led up to his current situation. Him and Elio kissed. Again. But, that was not merely just a kiss, no, it was intense, strong, scalding even. Sandro was having a hard time wrapping his head around it. It was so amazingly wonderful too, the floating, pleasured, numb feeling that coursed through his whole body as Elio’s fangs were in his neck. Goodness him, he let Elio drink from him! What was he thinking? Elio could have easily taken advantage of his vulnerable state and ended him! But, he didn’t. Elio was controlled and comforting and not once did Sandro feel his life in danger. In fact, it felt freeing to Sandro to put his trust in someone like that. To let his existence hang in the hands of another. He’s been looking after himself, struggling, taking care of others for so long, he had forgotten what it felt like to place all of his trust and well-being in the care of someone else. In the end, at this moment, Sandro has no regrets. No lamentation, and would do it again in an instant.

Sandro shifted to his other side, facing Elio and pressed his nose against Elio’s thigh, nudging  it deep, the velvety fabric soft against him. He inhaled, Elio's faint scent of pine, smoke, and mild musk filling his senses as he wedged further into his supple skin, his face becoming engulfed.

He heard Elio chuckle, “Well hello, darling,” his voice airy as he brought a hand down to Sandro’s hair, twirling the ringlets of curls through his nimble fingers.

Sandro sighed contently and smiled against his thigh. “Let us stay like this for the moment.” he whispered, his voice muffled. He then shifted and wrapped his arms around Elio’s leg, both grasping tightly to him as he bent his legs and sandwiched Elio’s shin and calf between them, their feet lightly brushing.

Elio blushed. “Alright, dear.” he said softly. Sandro was adorably wrapped around him, limbs melting into his. His breath hitched as Sandro moved the arm that had wiggled under his leg, up, Sandro’s fingers dipping into his uppermost inner thigh, ever so slightly brushing his groin. Sandro had no clue the effect he has on him and it is mildly infuriating. He’s just allowed to touch him like this, make him feel things like this, it is cruelly unjust. Elio let out a breath, attempting to not become excited. He regretfully succeeded when he moved ever so to the side, so the teasing pressure was relieved and his urge went down. He gulped and let out a long breath, tilting his head back and closing his eyes briefly before he turned back to his book.  Then he continued to comb his fingers through Sandro’s hair, scratching his scalp and playing softly with his ear.

Sandro’s thoughts wandered as he got comfortable, Elio’s doughy legs and comforting hand letting his mind think back. 

He thought back to his life before stumbling across the manor, just a mere few months prior. Sandro has worked hard almost his entire life. His mother being the only form of family he had ever loved, the both of them working just to have scraps on the table.

His mother, a seamstress, who worked achingly long hours for twenty cents a day, tried to raise him alone and keep them both alive. Once Sandro was old enough to work, meaning when he had freshly turned ten, he was thrust into the same suffocating work as his mother. His mother had no desire to make him work, she suffered over that her whole life, apologizing every night before he went to bed, grasping his little hand tightly and kissing his head softly, a whisper of a prayer on her lips in hope for a better, more sustainable life where she could keep Sandro safe from the outside world.

But that was never feasible for them. Not only being a single mother, but also someone of color. His mother was born in brazil, but left in hope of a new life. 

Whenever Sandro asked of his father, she would always ruffle his hair and shake her head fondly. For the longest time she only told him vague things. How he was a cold man, how he was white, not brazilian, which was why Sandro was lighter than his mother, but still inherited her tightly curled hair and soft features. Sandro would try to seek more details about his father. Was he a good man? Why did he leave? Did he know about him? Would he ever get to meet him? Why did he not help them?

His mother would always sigh at the questions,  but never waved them off completely. She would answer with simple words, leaving usually no room for further discussion. It took Sandro a long time to realize that his father was a sensitive topic for her. So he stopped asking about him, knowing that it could help his mom move on, from whatever she was still running from.

Flavia Enzo, without a doubt loved him with all of her being and Sandro never thought ill of it. Even if at times she was short with him to keep him out of trouble, she would always make up for her mild outbursts and Sandro never could stay mad at her for long. After all, she was all he had. He was all she had too.

As Sandro grew older, started to become a man and get a different job that paid more, even if it was just a couple cents more, his mother felt guilty that he knew so little about his father. She decided he should know more of the other half of him, even if it was not pretty.

One night, after both she and Sandro had returned from their day's work, she sat him down on one of the rickety old ‘dining room’ chairs, chipped with paint that surrounded an equally beat up round table that wobbled when things were placed on it. She poured him a tin cup of tea from a pot and placed it in his hands. She then took a seat in the other chair across from him and scooted it closer, taking one of his hands in hers.

Sandro remembers the day as if it were not so long ago. It was the day that any fabrication of his father’s image he had, was shattered and broken into a million pieces he never would want to look at again. The day when he found out that his father never loved his mother, never cared about her, and violated her. He had left her broken in the shed, nothing of her own, not even her own body. After moments passed of her tears and aches, she got up, fixed her dress, held her chin up, and carried on. She had no time to mope around and feel remorse for herself. She had to keep going. So she left. She left that place, that man, all traces of that incident gone in physical form, so only nightmares could terrorize her. Or so she thought.

After she left, a couple months passed and she felt off. She went to a local doctor who she was barely able to pay for since she had just moved and made very little. But the doctor took pity on her and examined her. He quickly determined that she was bearing a child.

When she got home, home being the cramped, tin roof slum she lived in, she broke down the moment she stepped through the rickety wooden door. Numb with shock and grief. She held her stomach and prayed that everything would work out. But she had no idea what would happen. She could barely keep herself alive, let alone a baby. She was scared and alone and the trauma she had thought she escaped would be bound to her forever, never letting her breathe.

But, months later, the moment she set her eyes on Sandro, all bitterness slipped away with the small bundle of a new and innocent life pressed against her chest, gripping her in his tiny fists. She decided that Sandro would not be bound to his father. Sandro is her own. Sandro is hers and no one else’s no matter who the father is and what he did. 

She later realized Sandro was completely himself, he was not his father, he was not even her, he was his own brand new person who would go on and become a great man. His mother said that she decided, in that moment, to let go. To let all of the anger and loathing she had, end with him. To pour all she had into him and to keep him safe and turn him into a good, respectable man.

Sandro's memories then drifted off to the more recent, painful, heartache. His mother, lying sick in bed, usually warm, sepia brown skin, now pale and cold. Muted and discolored as her health kept declining. Sandro had just turned eighteen and picked up three or more jobs at a time to afford mediocre medicine and doctors. He would sacrifice his meals for her, insisting she eat his share since she was sick and he was a strong boy. She always laughed at him when he worded it like that, but it was dry, no warmth in her eyes as all her energy was seeping out of her along with her life. Sandro knew she would never get better, she got too bad too quickly. The doctor told him there was little he could do, especially with how little money they had. But Sandro did not give up, he worked and worked and worked, then he got home and gave any food he bought to his mother. She started to refuse after a while when she found out he was not eating at all and giving it to her instead. She yelled at him, calling him a fool for putting her first. After Sandro let her get all of her anger out, he sat on the bed and stroked her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing her knuckles that were sticky with sweat. He paid no mind though.

She then caressed his face and gazed at him. She called him a good man, and that she was proud of the man he had become. He took her hand from his cheek and kissed her palm then placed it on her stomach, getting up and using a cold wet rag to wipe the sweat from her body.

After months of her deteriorating, she begged Sandro to stop bringing doctors and to stop paying for treatment. She begged him to stop wasting money on her, she would not get better, she would die eventually, so it was pointless to keep spending. Sandro tried to convince her she would get better, but she was stubborn. She was proud of the man she had raised, of the boy who was everything she ever wanted or needed. She had no other goals other than for Sandro to become a good man. She said that she could rest easy knowing that raised someone so wonderful and handsome. That it was her doing that made Sandro turn out the way he did, selfless and kind, the way all men ought to be. In that moment, Sandro vowed to keep being the man his mother would be proud of. 

A few days later, Flavia Enzo passed, her body still on the cot and her spirit finally free. Sandro was kneeled next to her, grasping her hand tightly in his own, tears streaming down his face as her pulse died. He remembered how he scooted closer to her head, gently caressing her face and running his fingers through her hair to calm the frazzled curls. He kissed her cheek and laid his head on her chest, trying to soak in any last bit of warmth that still remained in her body before she was completely cold and it all became real.

After that, well, he continued working hard. He was broken and hurt, raw with grief but he could not afford to lay around in his tears. He worked even harder, getting lost in the routine of labor to try and forget his sorrow. This continued for a year, a long painful year, where he changed between jobs rapidly, taking any work that would give him decent pay.

Sandro though, was fairly trusting, one might say gullible, but he had been raised to see the better parts of his dull life, it was the only way he would ever survive. So, when a man showed up claiming to have known his mother, he trusted that he did and was so excited to finally have family.

The man said he knew his mother when she was younger, a relative. He gave his condolences and asked if he could stay with Sandro. Sandro, of course agreed and was happy to not be living alone anymore. But, the man never worked. After some time, he spent Sandro’s hard earned money on alcohol and gambling. Sandro could do nothing to stop it either, the man would threaten him and manipulate him and Sandro had no choice but to comply. That was when he got the job as a courier. That finally paid just enough and he held onto that job. It also kept him busy and out of his house since he was often gone for days at a time delivering to farther places. 

His own memories brought him back to the present. The reason he ended up in the manor at all was because he was delivering packages. In a way that job brought him to where he was now. Wrapped around the leg of a vampire and Sandro wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

He moved his head, placing a kiss to Elio’s thigh before peeking his head up and gazing at the man above him. Gosh he surely was beautiful from this angle, his sharp jawline somehow even more defined.

Elio glanced down as he felt shifting and smiled softly at the boy beneath him. He ran his hand that was resting at Sandro’s ear up to his forehead and down his nose gently, then traced his lips.

Sandro smiled back at him, causing Elio’s fingers to move along with his mouth and accidentally fall in between his teeth, touching his soft tongue. Elio was surprised at first and immediately went to pull his fingers out, but Sandro caught them between his teeth and winked at him. Elio sat stunned as he felt Sandro move his plush tongue around them, closing his plump lips and sucking ever so. Elio had no idea what to do. What was he supposed to do in this situation? Sandro seemed weirdly content, eyes falling closed as he just sucked on his fingers, so he wasn’t going to pull them away, but was he just to sit there and let Sandro go at it like an infant? In a way it was sensual and Elio’s face lit crimson the more Sandro moved his tongue. 

Sandro seemed to get lost in the sensation, forgetting what he was actually doing and the consequences. Elio relaxed his arm after a while and gently let his hovering hand that was in Sandro’s mouth, down to rest on his cheek. Elio tried not to focus on the wet heat of his mouth and softness of it. That was really not something he needed to think about. Him and Sandro must take things slow. Sandro was still a little skittish and the last thing Elio would want is to scare him away.

On the other hand though, anyone who moves a tongue like that and just gladly sucks on someone’s fingers is not as “innocent” as they would be made out to be.

Sandro’s eyes fluttered back open and the realization of what he was doing hit like a ton of bricks when he saw Elio’s hand resting on his face. He slowly brought a hand up and pulled Elio’s fingers from his mouth. Though, he kept a hold of his hand.

“Apologies,” Elio said quickly once he noticed Sandro move his hand away.

Sandro blushed in embarrassment and flusteredness and shook his head, looking anywhere but Elio’s eyes. “No, no I uh,” he cleared his throat.  “I liked it,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Elio nodded, still stunned. “Oh, very well,” he laughed awkwardly, his face still aflame as he was not sure what to do next.

Sandro panicked. “I-I mean as long as you are alright with it,” he insisted, flipping onto his stomach, now looking at Elio right side up. He placed his hand back on Elio’s thigh trying to be comforting.

Though, all it did was make Elio even more aroused than he already was. “I’m content with it,” Elio squeaked out, his voice high.

Sandro giggled at his voice. Elio’s usual suave demeanor dissipating. It was adorable, really. Sandro made him like that. Sandro makes him like that. He accidentally twitched his hand and he heard Elio gasp quietly. His gaze drifted from Elio’s blown wide eyes to the hand that was on his thigh. He smirked and he grazed his fingers along the top, feather light touches. Then he looked back at Elio who was gripping his book tightly, his fingers growing paler. Sandro teased him again, moving his hand up even more, testing.

Elio let out a shuttered breath. “Sandro, I am not…I am not sure that is such a good idea,” he tried to angle his voice deeper, but it was in vain, his voice still shrill.

Sandro did not let up. He drummed his fingers insistently on the crease of Elio’s pants where his waist bends to accommodate for him sitting. “Why’s that?” he asked innocently.

Elio inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth. This boy would be the end of him. Sandro has no idea how easily Elio could flip around and pin him to the sheets, showing him what really happens when he teases a vampire. But, as much as a temptation that would be, he exhaled instead, calming down before he brought his hand to Sandro’s naughty one and lifted it off of him, intertwining their fingers and bringing it up to his lips to leave a lingering kiss. “Because, dear,” he said as he dropped their hands from his lips. “You must be hungry, you have barely eaten today. It is dinner time, I shall prepare you something." He gave Sandro no room for objections as he swiftly moved from the bed in a flash and made his way to the door.

Sandro shivered and groaned, annoyed that he was alone. He rolled to his back again, draping an arm over his eyes dramatically before he gathered his wits and sat up. He stretched for a brief moment, then made his way to Elio who was patiently waiting by the door, a hand on his hip.

Chapter Text

“Wait,” Sandro exclaimed as he caught up to Elio, who moved to walk swiftly down the hall, somehow already at the end. Sandro wrapped a hand around Elio’s forearm, stopping him. Elio looked down at Sandro’s hand in mild surprise. “You don’t cook,” Sandro simply stated, meeting Elio’s eyes.

Elio huffed. “Of course I do,” 

Sandro snickered. “Then why haven’t you been cooking me meals since I arrived?” Sandro teased, leaning into Elio’s space.

Elio scoffed. “My, aren’t you spoiled now,” he seized Sandro’s wrists and pushed the boy against the nearest wall, Sando’s back hitting with such power that a vase on a nearby table wobbled. “Someone should put you in your place.” Elio’s eyes shone with amusement.

Sandro’s cheeks lit up a bright pink and he gulped. His heart raced, but not from fear, no, Sandro was exhilarated. He felt the desire radiate from Elio and he wanted him to make a move. Kiss him, touch him, put him in his place , as Elio had said. Lord, Sandro could only imagine what that would entail. He shook his head clear of those unholy things. His mother would not like him thinking such thoughts. “I–I was only fooling,” Sandro squeaked out.

Elio licked his lips and scanned Sandro up and down. “You enjoy it when I press you to the wall, don’t you?” Elio’s eyes met Sandro’s sharply, a smug smile on his delicious lips.

Sandro blinked. “So what if I did?” he tested, feeling brave.

Elio chuckled. “Then maybe I should just keep you pinned down like this, what do you think?” One of Elio’s hands left Sandro’s wrist and landed on his chest, running up and down, feeling his firm sternum and torso under his fingers. He trailed them down and slipped them under Sandro’s shirt, tracing patterns on his stomach.

Sandro shivered under his touch, his breath catching when Elio felt around his pectoral. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, his voice stuck in his throat.

Elio kissed along his neck lightly. “You’d like that wouldn’t you.” he said lowly, reaching Sandro’s ear, his breath curling around the shell.

Sandro gulped and reached his hand up to Elio’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing his face to his own, kissing him lightly on the lips. “I do believe you said something about dinner?” Sandro whispered. 

Elio stared at him in shock, before stepping back. “Right,” Elio said, then cleared his throat. “Come along.” He took Sandro’s hand in his, delicately intertwining their fingers and led him down the staircase, to the kitchen.

They reached the kitchen and Elio immediately started on getting ingredients. Sandro was mildly confused and he saw Elio get a sack of flour from the cabinet and eggs from the icebox.

“Elio,” Sandro said, leaning on the kitchen island. “Why haven’t I known that you have flour and eggs?”

Elio shrugged. “I just got them,”

Sandro squinted his eyes. “All along, you could have gotten me these types of things?” Sandro gave the vampire an annoyed glare. Elio simply washed his hands and dumped some flour out onto the clean counter.

“You never asked,” he stated, spreading the flour out into a mound and creating a well in the middle with his fingers.

Sandro gawked and marched up to him. “I never asked? I never knew I could ask!” He placed his hands on his hips.

Elio glanced up from what he was doing and raised a brow. “I do believe that falls within your scope of responsibilities, Sandro,” there was mirth in his tone. He reached right past Sandro to grab an egg.

“You are informing me that for the past four months, I have been living off of fruit, nuts, and bread, for no purpose?” Sandro huffed, annoyed at Elio’s passiveness.

“You were so content with the garden, dear, I assumed you did not need anything else,” Elio cracked an egg into the center of the flour well he made, placing the egg shell on the counter next to him.

“I can not believe you!” Sandro exclaimed.

Elio slowly turned his head to gaze at Sandro. “You sure are getting your knickers in a twist. Take a breath,” Elio was getting pleasure from seeing Sandro like this. The boy never showed such strong discontent, it was fascinating to watch, really. Then, Elio reached into the bag of flour, letting it cover his fingers, before he tapped Sandro on the nose, the flour sprinkling down Sandro’s face and shirt.

Sandro flinched in surprise, taken aback. Elio giggled at him, finding it adorable. Sandro reached over and grabbed a handful of flour. He threw it at Elio, right in his face.

Elio blinked in surprise, the flour coating his eyelashes and eyebrows. Sandro burst out in laughter, seeing the such serious vampire beaten by flour.

“Oh, you’re getting it now,” Elio growled playfully. Sandro’s eyes widened and he dashed, realizing his mistake. He only made it a few feet, before Elio appeared in front of him.

Sandro smashed into his chest and scrambled back. But, who was he fooling? Elio was a vampire, with vampire strength and speed. It was useless to flee. Elio wrapped his arms around Sandro’s waist from behind, holding him firmly to his chest.

“I got you…” he chided in Sandro’s ear, before ramming Sandro’s front into the island and pressing into him from behind. Elio moved his hands down Sandro’s chest, and kissed down the nape of his neck, nipping his skin. 

Sandro’s breath caught in his throat at the feeling of Elio’s fangs scraping his neck. Then Elio did something unexpected. He started tickling him. Sandro tensed as he felt Elio’s fingers dance across his sides. Then he burst into laughter, sides aching from the tickling assault.

Elio admired every laugh that escaped the boy he had pressed to the counter. It sounded like music, angelic. He never thought he would enjoy the sound that comes out of someone’s mouth so much as he did with Sandro’s laughter. Elio hadn’t had contact like this for a very long time. He hasn’t had a genuine moment like this one in an eternity and he was soaking it all in. Soaking in Sandro’s melodious laughter, his wheezing and watering eyes. Good lord, Sandro was beautiful. So, so very beautiful and perfect in every way imaginable.

“S–stop,” Sandro giggled, his throat hurting from laughing.

Elio gave him one last tickle, before stilling his fingers and simply holding him. He buried his head in Sandro’s shoulder blades, just embracing his essence.

Sandro caught his breath, chest heaving, before he turned his head and looked at Elio, whose face was gone in his back. “Elio,” Sandro whispered, bringing his hands to Elio’s arms and giving them a squeeze. “My stomach hurts from being pressed into the counter,”

Elio raised his head and stepped back immediately. “Apologies,” he mumbled bashfully, looking down.

Sandro turned around and grabbed Elio’s face. He smiled before he pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I do believe you were in the middle of cooking me supper?” Sandro raised a brow and grinned.

Elio snorted. “Of course, how could I forget.” he moved back to what he was doing earlier and added two more eggs, before bringing it all together with his hands.

Sandro watched, but then wrapped his arms around Elio’s waist, leaning a head on his shoulder. “Is this alright?”

Elio froze, but then nodded. “Of course,” his voice was high and Sandro giggled before pressing his nose to Elio’s cold neck, nuzzling his hair.

“You are awfully distracting,” Elio mumbled, hardly able to focus on what he was doing with Sandro’s warm body pressed against him. 

Sandro just grunted in response.

Elio rolled out the dough and cut it into long, thin strips, before laying them out to dry while he boiled a pot of water. As the pasta cooked, he heated butter in a pan and added crushed black pepper he had Sandro smash using a mortar and pestle. That was the only way he was able to get Sandro off him, though, he truthfully had no problem with it.

“I had no idea you could cook like this,” Sandro said as Elio placed a large portion of pasta on a plate for him.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” Elio handed the plate to Sandro, then placed a hand at the small of Sandro’s back and led him to the dining table, scooting a chair out for him and offering him a seat.

Sandro sat down graciously, thanking Elio. He grabbed a fork and dug in as Elio took a seat to the right of him, back as straight as ever and gaze piercing. Sandro found himself less bothered by it as he was a while back, not feeling unsettled as Elio’s eyes examined him closely, gauging his reaction to each bite. 

The food was amazing, definitely the best thing Sandro had eaten in maybe his entire life. It was warm and buttery and the pasta was springy and cooked perfectly. He practically scarfed it down, leaving little time for savoring the taste.

“You like it then?” Elio asked, grabbing a napkin and wiping the corner of Sandro’s mouth gently.

Sandro flushed, Elio’s soft mannerisms making him weak. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat and licking his lips.

“I am pleased,” Elio gave him a faint smile and placed the napkin down before taking Sandro’s plate and standing up. “Would you like more?” he asked.

Sandro shook his head, still entranced by the vampire, now towering over him as he sat in the chair. “I am full, thank you.”

Sandro followed the vampire to the kitchen and observed as he started to clean up.

“I will do it,” Sandro said, stepping up behind Elio and reaching for the dish in his hand.

Elio swatted his hand away. “You will do no such thing,” he stated with a glare.

“Please, let me help,” Sandro insisted, reaching his hand back to wrestle the dish away.

Truthfully, what was he thinking? He knew Elio was stronger than him in pretty much every sense of the word. What else did he expect if not for water to be splashed at him as the dish Elio was holding was dropped, before the vampire took Sandro by the hands and backed him up, pressing him into the island counter again, the back of Sandro’s legs wobbling a stool.

“I said,” Elio growled. “You will do no such thing.” He pushed Sandro onto the stool and towered over him, either arm on the counter behind the human and caging him in.

Sandro gulped, staring up wide eyed at the vampire. His heart beat fast and his chest felt tight from excitement, not fear. Once again, Elio was thrilling in the best sense of the word.

“There you go,” Elio cooed and placed his hands on Sandro’s thighs. “Now be good and just sit there and look pretty.” 

Sandro’s heart beat erratically, his whole chest felt tight and he craved for Elio’s hands to explore more than just where they sat on his thighs. But Elio pulled back and stepped away, making his way to the sink once more. Sandro simply sat there stunned.

Elio glanced over his shoulder at the human, admiring how Sandro looked. “Very good.” Elio praised, referring to Sandro doing as told.

Sandro exhaled fast, trying his hardest to calm himself and not let that comment go to his head. He shifted on the stool and crossed his legs, laying his hands in his lap where he fiddled with the edge of his blouse. He wrapped the semi damp fabric around his fingers in a pattern as he watched the vampire shuffle around the kitchen, cleaning pots and pans and wiping down counters.

After little time, Elio finished and he made his way back over to Sandro. He trailed a hand up one of Sandro’s arms, leaving goosebumps in his wake, and across his shirt. He smoothed his hand over the damp shirt and frowned.

“Come, we shall find you new clothes.” Elio stated simply, wrapping a hand around Sandro’s bicep and pulling him off the stool and dragging him in the direction of his room.

“W-wait,” Sandro stuttered, trying to keep up with Elio’s pace, his arm aching under the smaller man’s grasp. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“They are dirty and it is time you dress in something other than sleepwear.” Elio replied, determined for his chamber.

The manor became darker and Sandro realized they were at the other wing of the house, Elio’s chamber in a much dimmer area. They turned a few sharp corners and Sandro was shoved past the doors to Elio’s room, the vampire slamming them behind him.

Sandro gulped and looked around, the same barely lit room, sparse with limited things. He spotted the desk. It was more organized and contained different drawings.

Elio paced over to the armoire and thrust it open. He rummaged through it, his small frame disappearing past the doorway, one leg popping up for balance. It was rather cute.

He emerged with armfuls of clothing and threw them on the bed.

“Here we are,” Elio said, dividing them up into piles and then waving Sandro over. “Let’s begin with this one.” He held up a white blouse, high waisted trousers, and leather suspenders. There was a glint in his eyes.

Sandro cocked his head and examined Elio. Who knew he was so passionate about fashion?

“Well?” Elio said impatiently. “Strip.” He commanded and waved his hand around.

Sandro’s whole body flushed and he saw Elio’s eyes get wide with realization.

“I uh,” he cleared his throat. “You apprehend my meaning.” Elio glanced off briefly but then placed the clothes neatly on the bed before approaching Sandro and reaching for the top button of his silk shirt.

Sandro gulped, heat returning to his cheeks. Elio’s hand shook but that was the only indication that he was flustered. Otherwise, his demeanor showed he thought of it as normal. His face was blank and he undid Sandro’s shirt with precision and focus, keeping his gaze on the small ivory buttons. Never once looking up at Sandro or anywhere but his hands.

As Elio unbuttoned Sandro’s shirt, his stomach twisted in the most marvelous way. The skin that became exposed looked soft and smooth and oh dear lord have mercy, Elio wanted to touch him so badly it hurt. His skin was simply inviting, he had small freckles that scattered down his shoulders to his pectorals and stomach. He simply looked beautiful. 

Elio was so mesmerized by the human he forgot to keep control over his actions. He slid a hand up Sandro’s chest and good god his chest was even softer than it looked. Yes, Elio has felt Sandro’s skin before, back when they shared their kiss and sometimes when he gets a little adventurous, but not like this. No this was different. He was able to see an unobstructed view of his human’s chest and that made him infinitely more weak. All Elio wanted to do was wrap his arms around Sandro and bury his face in his chest, his warm, smooth, soft skin.

Sandro’s stomach quivered under the feeling of Elio’s hands unexpectedly roaming his chest. Sandro was by no means uncomfortable. He felt the same longing he’s felt from the vampire for a while. To be touched by him. To be held by him. To be loved by him.

Hold on, love? That may be an overstatement. Sandro hadn’t truly loved anyone since his mother. Did he even know how to? How did he even know he wanted to be loved by Elio in the first place? Sure, the man sparked his skin aflame at each touch and when he gazed at him it’s as though time stoped. When they kissed he felt like he may pass out out of sheer weakness for him. But that didn’t mean love, right?

Sandro gazed down at Elio. Elio’s eyes were wide with amazement as he admired him and his pupils were dilated. His small ponytail was gone, his hair band seeming to have fallen out somewhere. When did that happen? No matter, Elio looked angelic. His stygian locks swept down his face, breaking for his nose like water against a rock, then bifurcating to show his thick lashes that fluttered over his pale cheeks. It swept over his shoulders too, curling at the ends. It looked so much longer than Sandro always thought. He looked good with his hair down, absolutely magnificent. 

Sandro couldn’t help himself, he reached a hand up and raked it though the vampire’s hair, his nails scratching Elio’s scalp accidentally. As he did so, the hair in front of Elio’s face was swept back, revealing his cut jawline and sharp cheekbones.

Elio whipped his head up in surprise, taking his hands away from Sandro’s chest. But Sandro took his hands in the one that was not in his hair, and placed them back on his sternum. Sandro gave a subtle nod, his eyes so soft he felt they were going to melt out of his sockets. Elio’s eyes were wide, but then he splayed his fingers, feeling Sandro’s heart flutter under his touch.

Sandro tightened the hand he had in Elio’s hair, fisting at the back of his neck, to make the vampire look up at him as he tugged him closer by his locks. Elio let out the smallest whimper, Sandro barely heard it. The vampire obeyed and met his eyes as well as pressing himself against Sandro. Elio’s hands wandered to Sandro’s back as the fabric dropped from his shoulders and floated down, catching on the arm Sandro had bent in Elio’s hair. 

The gray silk hung off the crook off his elbow, but Sandro hardly noticed as he felt Elio’s hands run curiously up and down his spine, just the tips of his fingers barely touching. Sandro shivered, but then Elio’s hands were on him firmly, tracing his shoulder blades then wandering dangerously close to the waistband of his pants.

Sandro drew a breath before leaning down ever so slightly to brush his and Elio’s noses together. “May I kiss you?” Sandro asked. Elio’s eyelashes fluttered and he smiled.

“I would love nothing more.” He said. The moment those words were out of his mouth, Sandro kissed him, deep and passionate and oh how he loved kissing him.

Sandro tightened his hand in Elio’s hair even more and brought his other hand up to cup Elio’s cheek and lift his head up and into his lips. 

Elio broke the kiss after way too little time. He was panting and his cheeks were redder than Sandro had seen yet. He licked his lips and placed his hands on Sandro’s chest to take a step back, effectively letting Sandro’s hand drop from his hair.

The silk shirt drifted off of Sandro’s arm and rippled to the ground. Sandro gulped and bit his lip. A seed of doubt and fear sprouted in his stomach. Had he done something wrong? He must have, Elio’s face was a cherry and he had swiftly turned around, away from him. Sandro messed up, didn’t he. He ruined it all. Everything he had with Elio, gone. The horrid story his mother told him all those years back knocked the wind out of him, dread trickling through him at the thought of himself being anything like his father.

“I–I’m sorry,” Sandro blurted, reaching a hand out but then retracting, not wanting to further upset him. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry Elio, I–” his voice caught in his throat and he stepped back, but his foot got tangled in the dropped shirt and his leg slipped out from under him. He wobbled, but it was fruitless, his tailbone hit the hard wooden floor, his palms stinging from the slap of the ground.

Elio whipped around in shock, not expecting the loud slap of skin against wood. He immediately dropped to his knees to check on Sandro. “Are you alright?” he asked, panic in his eyes.

Sandro sniffled and that’s when Elio realized he was crying. Had the fall really been that bad? Elio knew he was telling him something before when he pulled away, but Elio had to tune his voice out to regain control over his body. The way Sandro gripped his hair and asked to kiss him and commanded him to be closer, really did things to Elio that he knew the human wasn’t ready for. He wanted nothing more than to continue kissing Sandro and walk him into the bed and push him against the sheets and watch him squirm and writhe. But Elio stepped back instead, needing distance otherwise things would get out of control and he would scare the boy off and that simply could not happen.

He reached a hand up to wipe away a tear from Sandro’s cheek and the human looked up at him with broken eyes. “I’m sorry.” he whispered, bringing his knees to his chest and curling up like he did all those months back.

Elio took his hand away in surprise, not knowing what he was apologizing for. But that was no matter, he sat down behind him and pulled him to his chest. “Don’t apologize, dear, It is not your fault you tripped.” he soothed, running a hand up and down Sandro’s shin.

Sandro sniffled again and shook his head. “Not for that. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,”

Elio furrowed his brows, what was he talking about? Made him uncomfortable? Wait…. “Sandro, did you think I pulled away because I was mad at you?” Elio asked softly.

Sandro shook his head. “What other reason would there be?” he said in a small voice.

“Oh, darling, no,” Elio’s heart broke. “No, Sandro I didn’t pull away because I was mad. I pulled away because I got too…” Elio searched for the right words. “I got too excited. I’m sorry you interpreted it that way. I’m not mad at you I promise.” Elio kissed the back of his neck, Sandro’s warm body against his chest.

Sandro wiped a tear from his face and twisted in Elio’s hold, facing him and leaning his head on the vampire’s shoulder. “Alright.” Sandro sighed as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of Elio’s neck.

Elio reached a hand up and ran it through Sandro’s curls comfortingly. He kissed his temple. “Sandro?” Elio asked, leaning away to get a look at him.

“Hm?” Sandro hummed.

“May I ask why you instantly thought you did something wrong?” Elio trailed a hand down Sandro’s back.

Sandro gulped and shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said, putting his face back in the crook of Elio’s neck. “At times when I can’t tell people’s emotions, I just assume they’re upset with me.” His voice was quiet and his lips brushed along Elio’s collarbone.

Elio thought about that for a moment. He continued aimlessly rubbing Sandro’s back as he processed the information. It made sense, the boy was always so cautious and observant of how his actions affect others. It was important to know; knowing how one’s action impacted others, but when taken too far it could result in not setting boundaries or asking for what one needs. Elio drew a breath and rested his head atop Sandro’s. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way dear,” Elio started. “Please never hesitate to tell me what you need or what you don’t.” Elio felt Sandro draw a breath and nod into his neck.

“Very well,” Sandro said softly.

Elio smiled and cupped the back of his head. “Is there anything you need right now?”

Sandro pondered. “Maybe a shirt.” he said with a smile and pulled away to look at Elio.

Elio chuckled. “Of course, here let’s try that outfit on, huh?”

Sandro nodded and Elio stood up, helping his human up as well. Sandro groaned as he stood, his tailbone aching from the fall.

Elio made his way to the bed and handed him the clothes. Sandro took them and put the shirt on, before turning his back and changing his pants. He clipped the suspenders in place and turned back to see Elio’s eyes on him.

Sandro blushed and turned around to show Elio. “How does it look?” he asked, spreading his arms out and swinging them around.

Elio smiled and walked over to him. He placed his hands on Sandro’s waistband and dipped his fingers below to check the size. Then he ran his hands down one of Sandro’s legs, feeling the fit. He inspected the sleeves of the shirt and frowned.

“No, this won’t do,” he stated and moved back over to the bed to get another shirt of similar style. “Try this one.”

Sandro complied, taking off the suspenders and replacing the shirt. This new shirt hugged his body better, showing off his frame and ending at the perfect length for his arms, the lacy cuffs ending slightly past his wrist and covering the smallest bit of the back of his hand.

He spun around, showing it to Elio. Elio’s face brightened and he stepped forward.

“Yes,” Elio claimed. “This one is perfect.” He fixed the collar and smoothed out the front of the shirt. “Now onto the trousers, that pattern is awful on you.”

Sandro laughed and unbuttoned the brown checkered pants, folding them neatly and placing them on the bed.

Elio handed him a light amber brown pair of corduroy trousers with a pleated high waist. Sandro shimmied them on and he looked down at his legs. They looked good, he thought. The pants were a straight fit, but the corduroy texture was interesting and soft. 

Before he could even turn back around to show Elio, the vampire was already pressed against his back, arms around his waist. “You look stunning.” Elio whispered, kissing behind his ear playfully.

Sandro flushed, feeling his gut churn with desire. The smaller man pressed against him and exhilaratingly hovering by his neck, his cold nose in Sandro’s warm flesh. At any moment he could bite him, and oh would Sandro just go weak. His knees would give out for sure and his eyes would roll back in pleasure and he would feel drunk. His limbs would go numb and he would feel weightless and worry-free, at the complete mercy of his vampire.

Elio inhaled deeply, Sandro’s blood smelling as delectable as usual. He placed his lips over Sandro’s fluttering pulse just to feel something, to feel like he could have a taste of that sweet nectar. He knew that the blood drinking was probably a one-time thing, but god did he want another taste. Elio wanted to know what every part of Sandro tasted like. His blood, his skin, Elio bet he tasted heavenly. 

Sandro turned his head to look at Elio. “You like this one?” he asked.

Elio nodded and unclipped the dangling suspenders from the back of his pants. They dropped to the floor with a clank. “Just like this.” Elio sighed.

Sandro giggled. “Don’t you have to change too? You got floured as well.”

Elio let out a breath and detached himself from Elio. “Yes, I suppose.” He moved to his armoire. He pulled out his usual clothes; high waisted black dress pants and a plain white button up. 

He had just gotten out of his shirt when he heard Sandro gasp. He looked up in alarm but just saw the human walking over with a look of wonder on his face.

“What is it?” Elio asked as he unclipped his trousers.

With a finger Sandro simply traced under each of Elio’s pectorals, making the vampire shiver. “What are these from?” he asked.

Elio looked down and saw what Sandro was distracted by. He chuckled and took Sandro’s hands in his. “Oh, these are scars,” he said simply.

Sandro looked at him curiously.

Elio snickered. “I was born a girl, remember?” Sandro nodded. “So, to make myself feel more comfortable in my own body, I had a surgery to get my breasts removed,”

Sandro gazed at him in amazement and also probably confusion. You never did know with him. “I did not know you could do that.” Sandro continued running his fingers over the marks.

Elio grinned. “Well you humans haven’t figured it out. But a very long time ago, a family friend did it for me. I have had these scars for over a thousand years.” Sandro’s mouth was agape and he kept his eyes glued to Elio’s chest. “If you look down, I have another scar.” Elio said.

Sandro’s gaze shifted down and it caught on a single horizontal scar underneath Elio’s belly button. Sandro traced that one. That made Elio shiver violently, but he let out a breath and calmed. “What is this from?” Sandro asked.

“That one is from the same type of surgery as the other ones. Though that one changed things down there.” Elio laughed awkwardly and scratched his neck.

Sandro blushed and brought his hand back up to trace the other ones. He really wanted to kiss them. He couldn’t figure out why, but he wanted to taste Elio’s skin and feel his touch and god his mind started drifting to less pure thoughts; like licking along his chest and biting him and pinching his soft pale skin between his teeth in gentle nibbles. To run his lips and hands down, down, down , Elio’s body…

Sandro shook his head violently, his face red from the thoughts. He retracted his hands. “That’s amazing.” he simply answered.

Elio smiled at him, but then buttoned up his shirt. Sandro was almost disappointed, wanting to keep gazing at him. But, alas, Elio wiggled into clean pants and tucked his shirt in. He then made to put all the clothing that he got out, away.

Sandro yawned and sat on the edge of the bed. He winced, forgetting about his sore tailbone from his stumble. “Elio?” Sandro asked, eyeing the silly vampire stuffing everything back where it belonged.

Elio simply hummed in response, too busy shoving things onto the armoire, grunting as he did so.

“I think you forgot that it’s about time for me to go to sleep,” Sandro said.

Elio turned around, his hair a mess from the static of the cloth. He blew a strand out of his face in frustration. Then he processed what Sandro had said. “Ah, I did forget.” he said sheepishly. Then he closed the doors to the dresser, shoving it to make sure the doors were shut. He made his way over to Sandro. “Well, no matter. I will fetch you sleepwear and you shall wear this outfit tomorrow.” Without another word Elio left to fetch pajamas. The door to his bedroom swinging as he sped out.

He returned in no time and Sandro changed into it. He neatly folded his clothes and placed them on the ground near the bed. He made his way for the door.

“Wait,” he heard Elio squeak. Sandro spun around and saw the vampire lying on the bed, body propped up against the headboard. He tapped the bed next to him. “You can stay, if you’d like.”

Sandro bit his lip but never really pondered. He closed the door and swiftly made his way toward the bed. He crawled into the mattress and was immediately pulled into an embrace by the vampire. Sandro flinched, his back still sore.

Elio noticed and pulled away, settling him down on the bed. “Are you in pain?” he asked.

Sandro nodded faintly. “Yeah, my uh, my tailbone hurts from the fall,” he mumbled.

Elio smiled kindly and moved Sandro so he was on his stomach, head propped up on Elio’s shoulder as they both slid further down the bed. Then Elio simply ran his hand down Sandro’s back, applying firm and even pressure to his spine.

He inched farther down, daringly rubbing Sandro’s tailbone in the most stress relieving way imaginable. Sandro practically melted, his limbs going limp on the bed and his eyes even more heavy. Elio’s hand soothed him and he faded into unconsciousness, the only thing he knew was Elio’s hands and body and complete comfort.