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It’s kind of strange, Anton thinks as he steps through the front door of the local vampire residence, to go over to your mortal enemy’s house so you can learn how to beat the shit out of each other.
It’s not like this was anything new; Stu’s Taekwondoe lessons had been going on for a couple weeks now. He had originally suggested the idea as a sort of bonding exercise that might begin to undo the years of emotional tension from when vampires and werewolves had mutually agreed to hate each other’s guts. Surprisingly both sides had agreed almost instantly, though it’s hard to say no to someone as effortlessly charming and lovable as Stu.
It had gotten off to a bit of a rough start: pleasant social visits were one thing, but swinging punches and kicks at each other involved a whole different level of trust. Even he had been wary, almost uncomfortable with the idea once they really dived into it, until–
Viago waves from across the room and bounds towards him, bringing any circulating thoughts to a screeching halt.
He had been the first of the vampires to approach him, to talk to him like he wasn’t afraid of being mauled to death and/or getting rabies. They had chatted about this and that: seventeenth century fashion (or eighteenth, he had never really gotten a solid grasp on the guy’s age), what kinds of squeaky toys one could get the most mileage out of, ex-girlfriends (in Viago’s case), how to wrangle a pack of petulant, supernatural beings, the usual. It had been going on for a while, but if there was anything growing between them, anything more than casual conversation, Anton couldn’t say.
Besides, Viago was probably out of his league anyways.
“I hear we’re going to fight as partners today—so exciting!” Viago whispers to him, as it was clandestine information and not something Stu had announced loudly at the end of their last session. “I was thinking maybe we—”
“--Could go together?” Anton blurts out, a little too quickly. “Yeah, I mean, probably. If you want to. I’m here. If you want. Whatever.” Smooth.
Whatever intelligible information he gleaned from that makes Viago beam at him, and for some reason, god knows why, he feels his face flush red.
“Great! I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Yeah,” Anton says, dazed. “Really looking forward to it.”
Ten minutes later they’re standing across from each other on the old, beat up exercise mat he’s pretty sure one of his pack members stole from the gym.
“We’ll start with basic, one-step sparring.” Stu says, pacing in a loop between them. “Remember we’re still very much in the learning process, so don’t speed things up until I tell you, okay?”
Viago grins at him earnestly, his fangs poking out ever so slightly above his bottom lip, and it’s hard for Anton to imagine the guy having ever fought anyone. Rationally, he knows that vampires do it literally all of the time for their own survival, but there’s something about Viago’s neat, straight-backed posture, foppish hair-do and frilly outfits that make even the thought of him engaging in anything violent egregiously offensive.
“Viago, come at Anton with a basic punch.” Stu says, helping Viago angle himself into an attack position. “Anton, you’ll counter with a single knife-hand block and attack, just like we practiced.”
He readies himself into a wide stance and digs his feet into the mat, trying to find some semblance of balance. Viago watches him closely as he shuffles around, body unusually tense as he widens his own stance and extends one close-fisted hand towards the ground, just like Stu taught them. His eyes narrow ever so slightly with the focus, and for the first time, something about them seems different, almost predatory.
“Begin.”
It’s slow, almost painfully so.
Viago takes a wide step towards him and punches past the left side of his head, waiting patiently as Anton blocks with his left hand and brings his right out in an open-palmed attack, stopping just short of Viago’s neck. They stand awkwardly for a second, enclosed on either side by each other’s positions, and Anton startles for a moment when he remembers that Viago doesn’t breathe. For some reason, the rise and fall of his chest seems almost stupid, and all of a sudden the room feels about ten degrees warmer.
“Hi.” Viago says shyly, breaking position to give him a little wave. Somewhere in the background he can hear Stu sigh.
“Hi.” He says, waving back.
They’re both giggling then, and suddenly the weight on his shoulders feels fifty pounds lighter. They return to their starting positions and run the steps over and over again, Viago’s housemates and the rest of the pack watching them step back and forth with bored expressions plastered across their faces.
It’s thrilling every time though, stepping forward to meet Viago face to face, bodies both frozen in wide, angled poses. He can’t explain why, but something about the strange intimacy of it all makes his heart flutter. Just a little bit. Every step, every sweep of the arm Viago does is precise and accurate, carried out with the elegance one might expect of someone who’s been doing this for years, for centuries. Maybe he had underestimated him. Maybe he’s curious to see what else he’s capable of.
Maybe he’s about to do something monumentally stupid.
“Attack me.” he says the next time they get into starting position. He lets his arms drop by his side, and turns his palms outwards in invitation. “Anything you want to do—-punch, kick, whatever, I just want to see what you’ve got.”
“We’re just working on the basics, mate” Stu sighs, running a hand over his face. “Nothing too advanced yet.”
“Come on, it’s just for a laugh isn’t it?” he says, throwing a pleading look in Stu’s direction. “Not like anyone’s going to get hurt or anything.”
“I think it sounds fun.”
The room freezes and everyone turns their head to look at Viago, who grins broadly across the room at his sparring partner, hands clasped together in excitement.
“I’d love to give it a go.”
“Alright, then.” Anton says, straightening himself out. He’s honestly kind of surprised Viago had gone for it, having always thought him to be a pacifist of sorts. Wanton violence didn’t seem like his style. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“So I can go with any attack I want to? Anything at all?”
“Yeah.” he says slowly, already starting to regret the whole idea. But it’s not like Viago was known for being particularly vicious amongst vampires; hell, he wasn’t even particularly vicious amongst his own household. This was the guy who made chore wheels, and tucked his roommates into bed and probably sang them lullabies and stuff when they had nightmares. How bad could this possibly be?
“Alrighty then.” Viago says, rocking back and forth on his heels. A dead silence hangs over the room as he clears his throat and adjusts his cravat, so that it’s tucked neatly into the top of his waistcoat.
And then he promptly lunges forward, and buries his fangs in Anton’s throat.
There’s very few times in life, he thinks, that something actually surprises you. Most of the time you have some idea in the back of your head that something’s coming, for better or for worse. Sure, people convince themselves they could never have predicted something happening, but a lot of the time the subconscious strings the pieces of an event together long before it actually happens. He had been surprised, really surprised for the first time in his life when he had been turned. This is the second time.
He sees nothing, just muddled blank space as he sinks downwards, knees hitting the floor with a thud. People in movies usually look pained when a vampire bites them, melodramatically squeezing their eyes shut and gasping for breath, as if a bite on the neck had knocked the wind out of their lungs. He doesn’t know if he’s out of breath, doesn’t know if he’s sunken through the floor and dropped fifty stories into nothingness. All he can feel is a sharp sting in his neck and his blood pumping through his veins, surging and sparking as if it had been electrified. It’s not bad actually.
Far from it.
His eyes droop half shut as he blindly reaches forwards and grabs hold of Viago’s waistcoat, focusing his blurred, swirling vision on the intricate patterns decorating it. Hard to tell, but it looks like some asshole had spilled blood across the front of it, ruining the graceful, dancing patterns with a random, chaotic, spatter.
Oh yeah, that asshole was probably him.
A shaking hand up to his neck confirms it, as a warm, steady stream of blood laces itself through his fingers.
“Sorry” Viago mumbles, mouth still full. “I try not to get too messy. Probably should’ve put newspapers down or something.”
And with that he passes out.
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“Fucking hell, is he dead?”
“He better not be dead, talking to policemen once is enough for a millenia.”
“And look at this shit, it went off the mat. Blood takes ages to scrub out of the floor.”
“Sorry guys, guess I got a little carried away.”
Slowly but surely, he blinks his eyes open. The room still spins and shakes like a tilt-a-whirl, but he can make out Vladislav, Deacon, Nick and Stu frowning down at him, along with the rest of his pack.
“I think he’s waking up, thank fuck” Vladislav sighs, sitting back on his haunches. “Thought we were going to have to bury him in the backyard.”
“Are you alright?” Deacon asks, crossing his arms. “You were gasping and choking like something was being exorcized. Thought you’d claw Viago straight to shreds if you hadn’t passed out.”
It just begins to register that Viago is not present in the circle above him, when he becomes aware of two hands cupped against the side of his face, and the fact that his head is resting on something soft. He tilts his head back and is met with an earnest worried expression, as Viago moves one hand off of his face and begins to run it through his hair. As many times as he had envisioned something like this happening, he’d thought that it would have involved significantly more blood being present in his body. Still, even with the blood running down his throat, he can’t help but fixate on Viago’s hands as they smooth back his hair, carding his fingers through it as delicately and apologetically as possible.
“I’m sorry.” he mumbles. “Didn’t think it would be that bad.”
“What the fuck did you expect to happen?” Vladislav snaps overhead. “You just used the poor guy’s neck like a fucking chew toy.”
“I mean, he did say to attack him however he wanted.” Nick shrugs. “Seemed fair to me.”
They all shoot him a disapproving glance.
“No.” Anton groans, shifting his head a little in Viago’s lap. “He’s right. I asked for it, and I got what was coming.” He holds a hand up to his neck, trying to wipe up the blood as best as he can manage. “I should be the one apologizing for bleeding all over your floor.”
Viago stares at him for a moment, eyes shining in disbelief. There’s something hilariously ironic about wearing such a heartfelt, genuine expression amidst blood splatter and razor-sharp fangs, but Anton only focuses on the way his face broadens into a grin as he lets out a snort and begins to giggle.
“I really thought I might have killed you for a moment.” he chokes out, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Thought I had gone and killed you dead.”
“Nah, mate.” Anton grins, joining in with his own bout of giggling. “Werewolves are remarkably tough, even without the full moon. We’re super hard to kill.”
They’re both howling now, holding each other and shaking hard enough to almost ignore the confused, half-disgusted glances the others are throwing their way. For once in a very long time Anton doesn’t feel the need to jump up, brush himself up and reign it back in—be the mature one as usual. All that matters is the sound of Viago’s voice and the feel of his hands as they slide down his face and cling to his shoulders like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.
Eventually someone clears their throat loud enough for them to hear and they let the laughter die down, still looking at each other like they were the only ones in the room. It’s stupid, Anton thinks, how Viago’s eyes just look like that. Deep, rich, and full of so much sparkling hope and exuberance that it’s a wonder he doesn’t burst into some longing, heart wrenching ballad like a princess from a Disney movie. God, when did he become so sentimental.
“So.” Vladislav says, looking around the room nervously. “Are you guys—”
“Let’s do it again!” Viago says, pulling them both up from the floor with one swift movement. It was bound to happen at some point, but the suddenness of it all makes the room go a little wibbly-wobbly again, and he has to steady himself on Viago for support. That’s it, he thinks, wrapping his arm around Viago’s shoulder. Support.
They’re immediately met with a string of protests from the entire room, both vampire and werewolf alike. Anton holds his hands up in surrender, and he and Viago obediently take their place on the sidelines as two more take to the mat to square off. At least they could finally agree on something.
“Alright.” Stu says, casting a weary glance in their direction. “Let’s stick to the basics this time, shall we?”
The same slow-motion show goes on upfront for about a minute before Viago leans over, gently placing his hand over Anton’s own. Oop, there go his brain functions again.
“I really did have fun.” he whispers, as Anton tries to remember how to process words. “I would like to try it again sometime.”
“The fighting part or just the part where you suck half the blood out of my body?”
“A bit of both.” Viago admits, glancing down sheepishly. “If it means anything, you did taste really good.”
Only Viago would be able to say something like that so earnestly.
“I’ll take that as a compliment then.”
“Oh good.” Viago says, relieved. He scooches in a little closer and Anton flips his hand over to interlock their fingers. He’s unsure how to socially categorize the move in a relationship from casual conversation and light flirting to one of them having physically attacked and drained liters of blood from the other. Maybe, he thought, he didn’t have to.
Viago smiles at him again and they both turn back to the match, hands still intermixed in a juxtaposition of clammy and warm.
Maybe he had made the right move after all.