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It has been a week. One long, grueling week with little to no progress on Nandor’s rehabilitation. They have done everything- consumed vampire media, had Colin Robinson drone endlessly for hours on the trivialities and many boring aspects of humans, had Nadja sing a surplus of songs from her beloved village (which may have aided in reminding Nandor why pillaging was a good, albeit drunken, idea- though the singing was suggested by Colin Robinson and in retrospect was probably just a ploy for his own personal feeding benefit). And now, they have even gone so far as to, according to Lazlo, flaunt some decadently irresistible virgin blood . The blood, in turn, has come from Guillermo. The sightly group had been gathered in the fancy room, mulling through thoughts on Nandor, when a stream of red came trickling from the body guard's nose. Immediately Nadja released a hiss, plugging her nose as she yelled out,
“Guillermo, what kind of stupid brainless act is this!?” It was Lazlo who jumped from his seat, rushing towards Guillermo, who had covered the affront with the sleeve of his sweater. They matched one another in steps until Lazlo had him backed against the wall.
“No, my good lady wife, this is a splendid occurrence! Gizmo’s enticing virgin blood is absolutely decadent- Nandor will be unable to resist. Come, you must flaunt!”
His protests fall to deaf ears, his struggles unable to match the ferocity with which Lazlo drags him to the basement. Guillermo nearly falls as he is pushed to the cage, grasping the metal bars as he stumbles.
“Lazlo- no!” But the other has already left, locking the door behind him. Guillermo lets his hands fall from the cage, leaving behind fingerprints of red. His nose still flows steadily. The basement isn’t cold, but the ambient chill seeping from the stone floor makes him shiver. His brown sweater, now rorschached with his own blood, does nothing to stop the goosebumps creeping along his arms. His eyes are wide, heart thumping as he gazes into the cage. Nandor is standing center, eyes narrowed and upper lip drawn up. The dim light still manages to glint off of his bared fangs. His body is tense, and though his expression fades into one of neutrality, there is a cautious air about his sulking frame.
“What is it now?” He asks, the annoyance in his tone not quite holding.
“This wasn’t- I, you see Laz… lo… he, uh...” he stumbles over his words, voice muffled by his sweater sleeve, brain scrambling to decipher what he himself was even trying to say, before giving up. In the unsettled silence, Guillermo stares at Nandor. He stares at that awful blue and white shirt, stares at those out of style leg warmers, stares at the long brown hair still somehow perfect as it rests around his stiff shoulders, stares at Nandor. His vampire looks tired, weary in a way that he has never seen before. It is in his eyes, in the way he moves to sit on the cot, in the emptiness as he returns Guillermo’s look.
“Guillermo,” Nandor begins unprompted after a lifetime, “I have a favor to request of you.”
“Anything,” he whispers without thought. Though his nose has stopped its timely betrayal, he doesn’t move his sweater from his face.
“One last human request.”
“What is it?” He asks, opting not to comment on the wording. If he notices the way Nandor picks at loose strands of his blanket, or the way his eyes soften ever-so-slightly, then Guillermo doesn’t comment on that either.
“A kiss.”
“A… oh. W-well I can go get Lazlo I’m su-”
“No,” Nandor’s interruption stops his back steps towards the stairs, “humans should not kiss vampires, Jan told us that many times.”
If Guillermo’s expression flickers with indignation, at perhaps thoughts of Twilight or Gail, then Nandor doesn’t comment on that.
“I-I-I-I-It would be too late f-for me to get a human, and then of course trying to explain why yo-”
“Are you not human Guillermo?” It is not a question, nor a reminder of his lack of vampirism as such would have normally been. There is something lingering beneath the words, something that Guillermo cannot quite pinpoint. And if a flush of heat snakes up from Guillermo’s neck and settles into his cheeks, well then Nandor doesn’t comment on something so noticeable.
“I am.” His voice isn’t as strong as he tries to make it, but he shuffles closer to the cage, pushing up his glasses in habit. His arms hang limpy by his sides, uncertainty in his every movement.
“Then will you not suffice?” More words, posed as a question when they aren’t- when they have meaning that Guillermo cannot evade. Nandor wants it to be from him . He swallows, throat clogged with cotton, and nods once. Tentatively he closes the distance between himself and the cage, his shaking hands reach to move the silver chains. Nandor stands in front of Guillermo, unmoving as if studying the human before him. His hand reaches through the square space that separates them, cold against the warmth of Guillermo’s russet cheek. He dips down, no hesitance in actions as his lips press to other mans. They are cold, but they are soft and gentle. It is a simple kiss, but it is lovely, and despite himself Guillermo melts. He feels Nandor’s tongue lilt against his bottom lip, tasting the blood that had dried there. All too soon he feels the absence of those lips, as Nandor slowly begins to move away. And if Guillermo follows after Nandor's mouth, catching them sweetly for a few seconds more, well then it just piles onto the mound of things that neither of them comment on.
“Thank you, Guillermo,” Nandor murmurs, near imperceptible as he uprights himself. Guillermo stares for a few moments more, catches himself and glances down, then behind to the door.
“I should go check on the others,” he all but mumbles, stepping back. Nandor merely nods, returning to the cot without once moving his eyes from the other. A silence settles, one that Guillermo opens his mouth to break, but decides against. He turns away, walking to the door that does not appear to be locked. And if he hesitates on those steps, wanting to confess to Nandor something he has long ago realized, well then he stays silent and doesn’t comment on the ache in his chest or the feeling of Nandor’s eyes still holding him captive.
Neither of them comment on any of those little things, but they notice them and they hold onto them- and Guillermo leaves the lights on when he goes.