Chapter Text
The front door closing rattles the windows behind Robby's head.
He's been meaning to get the windows replaced. They're the original single pane from when the old rowhouse was built, almost a century ago, but the window sizes are odd, the style ornate, and he's primarily reminded in the winter when the cold of Pittsburgh's winters creeps in around every seam.
It means he's sending an unhappy glance over his shoulder at them, half distorted through the frame of his readers, when Frank walks in.
That, unlike the windows, is still new. A little spontaneous, especially for him. No one had expected the man's marriage to implode the way it had, but two months ago, it had. Quiet, contained, all the more devastating for it. Robby hadn't thought when he'd offered up his guest room, but once Frank's surprise had faded, he'd nodded.
"Thanks, boss. I'll- I'll think about it."
Two weeks later, he'd turned up with a suitcase and a box of knock knacks that Robby had tugged from his hands and carried up the stairs for him. He hasn't left since. Robby hasn't asked.
"Hey," Frank gets out on a shivering breath, kicking off his boots and tugging gloves and a hat from his snow covered frame. "Fucking hate winter." The last is quieter, mostly to himself, and Robby turns his head to track the other man's movements.
"Picked a shitty residency if you were looking for mild winters," Robby says, sticking his finger in between the pages of his book.
"Yeah, well," Frank shrugs, unzipping his jacket and making a face as he twists out of it. "If I forget my meds and I'm south of the 35th parallel, it's not a great time."
Robby snorts, and his eyes drop back down to his book. The sound of Frank's quiet grumbling, his socked feet on the stairs, and his movements upstairs are almost familiar, a few weeks in. More so, they're soothing.
The fact he doesn't head towards the kitchen before he goes to bed is something different.
Frank isn't the first vampire Robby has met. He'd done his residency in New Orleans, after all.
He is, however, the first borne vampire Robby has known.
They're not rare, necessarily. Certainly not in Europe, where old families had a certain cache politically, or in Russia, as easy a target for propaganda during the Cold War as bread lines. But in the United States? Less so.
Frank had been pale and soft spoken, but undeniably sharp in his Zoom interview during his residency application, and his determination had been enough for Robby to want him in his ER. So the bright eyed, pale faced kid on the other side of the computer screen had shown up in July, gone from Dr. Langdon to Frank, and by the end of the first week, his excitement had been contagious.
It wasn't obvious, usually. He was quick, but so were most young residents, and the dark circles under his eyes were even more common in his peers. But during a trauma, Robby might spot the sharp flash of extended canines, instinctive in response to all that blood; or he might find himself held in Frank's gaze for a beat too long before the younger man blinked and broke his focus intentionally.
"Sorry about that," Frank had murmured during his first month, arms crossed over his chest a little sheepishly. "I don't— I'm not—"
"Hmm?" Robby doesn't startle, but he has to twist to face him. Frank looks smaller than usual, an uncharacteristic hunch to his shoulders. Robby finds himself disliking it almost on instinct. "What are you talking about? Last I heard, he was in the OR getting that blockage resolved."
"No, I— Not the patient." Frank's gaze finally settles on Robby's, and it's only then that he processes what he means. "I don't usually catch people like that. Certainly not unintentionally."
Thrall. The thought makes something shiver up Robby's spine, instinctive and hard to ignore. He hadn't thought anything of Frank's stare in the trauma room, bright eyed and focused. Everyone tended to look like that with a complex case in front of them. His inability to look away, however, he'd written off as his own hang ups.
"No worries," Robby finally settles on neutrally. "Didn't really notice."
Frank looks like he wants to say something more, but with another nod, he slips away.
Robby's never once been worried about the other doctor's self control in the emergency room. Or if he was a distraction. For all his sharper points, he's a good doctor, and it means its easy for Robby to forget that those opinions aren't always shared.
"This might be a bit much," Frank murmurs, settled next to Robby on the low sectional in the front room.
There's a fire going. Robby had started it earlier, in a fit of nervous pique as he waited for Frank to come back downstairs. It leaves the room warm and comfortable, despite the cold outside, and despite Robby sitting in nothing but a thin t shirt next to Frank.
Frank had put on a long sleeve shirt before he'd come down. Robby's not quite sure what to read into the increased coverage. He probably shouldn't be reading anything into it.
"You need to eat, don't you?" Robby says, trying to keep himself relaxed. The confession a week or two ago that vampires were more sensitive to scent hadn't been a surprise, but the added detail that strong emotions came through as something identifiable hadn't been a welcome addition. He doesn't want a spike of anxiety to convince Frank this is a bad idea.
"There's synthetic options out there— other donors, I could try and—"
"There's been synthetic options. You haven't been drinking them." Robby cuts him off quickly. Peer pressure only worked if he didn't give Frank a chance to squirm out of this. "I volunteered. I'm here." He sticks a wrist out with an air of finality. "Bite me."
Frank grabs his wrist and pushes it down. "Christ, Robby." It's the first flash of real annoyance he's seen on the other man's face all evening. "Are you done being glib about this?"
It's enough to make Robby still with the reminder of exactly why they both were in this position. "Sorry," he murmurs. "No, I'm— however you need to do this. Just— tell me." He swallows down the joke that wants to slip out, cut through some of the tension that's snuck into the room. "If you prefer femoral, I didn't shave my legs."
Frank's laugh is tired, but genuine. "No, I, uh— I can pass on that one." He wets his lips as he considers, an absent gesture, but Robby can already see the slight point of his canines, longer than his usual flat, straight line of teeth. When his eyes return to Robby's, they're wide and just a little earnest.
"I don't like wrists. Too easy to bite too hard, mess something up." He sends a tiny smile Robby's way. "Don't want you dropping a scalpel during a trauma tomorrow, do we?"
The tiny, conspiratorial 'we' makes Robby shiver with something that's not entirely nerves.
"-Course not," Robby agrees quietly. "So—"
"Throat," Frank says quickly. "Off to the side, it's— easier."
Robby can hear the substituted 'safer' in his sentence, even if Frank had tried to avoid it.
He hesitates for a moment before nods. "Okay. Throat." He swallows, and when Frank's eyes dart down to his skin, he feels his cheeks pink slightly. "I— Okay."
It's a bit of a shuffle, following Frank's prompts and trying to arrange two full grown men into a position that didn't feel like the cover of a bodice-ripper romance.
Eventually they settle, Robby leaning back against the couch, and Frank sat next to him, half turned to face him and legs folded away underneath him.
"Is it normally this— awkward?" Robby asks, hands perched on his lap as he fights not to fidget.
"Uh, well. Usually, I put people under." Frank murmurs, the barest lisp to his words with his teeth fully extended. When his gaze flashes up to meet Robby's, there's no hint of anything persuasive or disquieting in it, but Robby has to work to hold it anyway. "They don't jerk during the bite, it's less— weird, for everyone, I guess."
He doesn't offer for Robby. Robby doesn't ask.
The process should feel more intimate than it does, at first. It's mostly clinical, and Robby's more than happy to watch Frank in his element.
Frank mutters a quiet narration of what he's doing, and it's enough of a peek into this that Robby's relaxed when Frank's nose bumps his throat. His voice cataloguing through the anatomical landmarks that define the carotid triangle could be a med student reviewing for an exam, or a surgeon planning their dissection. The fact he mapped the area with the tip of his nose and the soft brush of his lips was the only thing that kept Robby from forgetting what this was.
"You don't— you avoid the carotid. Keep low, to stay anterior to the hypoglossal nerve." Frank's lips ghost over the stubble just below the edge of Robby's beard. He hadn't thought of this when he'd trimmed last night, but he doesn't know if he'll be able to think of anything but this the next time.
Robby doesn't have to work to stay still. Like a sort of hypnosis, he's relaxed, eyes half lidded, and the only movement he's aware of is one of his hands coming to find Frank's forearm and grip onto it like a tether.
"Squeeze if it gets too much," Frank murmurs, and on the next brush of his lips, his tongue darts out to taste the skin.
Robby's inhale is loud in the quiet of the room. The crackle of wood in the fire is the only thing that interrupts them, and Robby takes a second to realize that Frank's not breathing. When Robby squeezes softly, it's in encouragement, not protest.
"Sorry. Go ahead," Robby breathes out. "Just forgot."
Frank had been thorough, when they finally agreed to this. Outlined for Robby the exact process. The vampire section in med school had been relatively brief, and based on Frank's description, not the most accurate.
Saliva, with mild topical analgesics and anticoagulants. Licking over the skin to make the donor more. Receptive. One of the upsides to a borne vampire, as opposed to a turned one. The process didn't need to be quite so— violent.
Robby shivers again, but Frank doesn't check in with him again. The next brush of his tongue is less shy, and the rasp of it over the stubble on his throat feels like it vibrates through the delicate structures just underneath. Robby's lips slip open, and his next inhale is deeper. When he exhales, Frank lets his teeth just barely graze the skin.
Warmth, sudden and startling, sparks under his skin. The reality of this, the fact Frank's lips were almost against him, that he was about to feed from Robby, hits him in the stomach like a truck. He can't move, and with a small start, he realizes he doesn't want to.
Frank had said he wasn't going to put him in thrall—
The brief lapse in Frank's voice is the only warning he has before the cold, swimming sensation of the bite hits him, followed by a blistering heat in his throat.
It's pressure— no, discomfort— not pleasure, he can't—
Frank's hand comes up to cup the opposite side of Robby's throat, taking Robby's hand with his grip on Frank's forearm with it. The touch is a comfort, and when Frank shifts, Robby realizes Frank's teeth are out of his throat, and just the warm press of his lips remain, forming a seal against Robby's skin and working gently as he drinks.
As he feeds.
Robby's heart races like a rabbit's in his chest, fast and thrumming, but he doesn't move. Not with Frank's lips against his skin and the soft rhythm of his thumb stroking along Robby's jaw. It's repetitive and slow, and the longer he does it, the more Robby's chest relaxes.
"Frank," Robby breathes out, not sure what else he can say, his eyes squeezed shut against the force of the sensation. "I—"
The words die on his tongue when Frank shifts, pressing closer until his nose bumps into Robby's throat. It forces Robby's head backwards, further and arching, and the noise that comes out of Robby's mouth is unmistakably a whimper.
He should squeeze. It's too much— Not like this—
Robby doesn't move. His vision swims behind his closed eyelids, heat building in his throat at the sensation of Frank's lips on him. He's not— sucking, just letting Robby's nerves and heartbeat do the work; but it feels like he is, leaving Robby overwhelmed with the hot slide of his blood being dragged backwards away from his heart and lungs and into Frank's waiting lips.
It should hurt, friction and sandpaper and instinctive protests of just how wrong this all was.
The next pulse of sensation feels like fire in his veins, and he groans, warmth blooming from his jaw to his stomach.
Frank's fingers tighten against his jaw, and Robby swears he can feel a smile against his skin.
He feels like he's floating there, surrounded by the dark behind his eyelids and the faint touch of dizziness as Frank takes what he needs. He'd warned him that he might be hungry, but the reality of sudden blood loss doesn't quite compare. It means the brush of Frank's tongue over the pair of pinprick wounds is a surprise, and he startles, eyes opening and his free hand coming up to fist in his shirt.
Frank doesn't pause, just continues the treatment, his tongue dragging softly over the bite and stymieing the blood.
Coagulants and clotting factors, Robby remembers distantly, released from glands in Frank's mouth. If vampires ever consented to research, they'd have some medical miracles just waiting to be found in their systems.
Probably why they hadn't consented. The thought bounces in Robby's head, a distraction from the way Frank keeps touching him, and just how warm his fingers feel on Robby's neck.
"You alright, boss?" Frank finally murmurs, pulling away and slowly lowering his hand.
He's hard to look at. Not anything monstrous, far from it. The pallor of his skin looks like ivory, instead of anemia, and the dark circles under his eyes are almost gone. Worse still are his lips and cheeks, flushed pink and dark.
He's fed. Well fed.
"I'm okay," Robby says quietly, swallowing against the sudden dryness of his throat. "You— that helped?"
Frank nods, and reaches up with a surreptitious glance to wipe at the corner of his mouth. Probably bad manners to belch and pat his belly, but the mental image makes a slightly startled giggle work free of Robby's lips.
"I'll go get you some juice," Frank murmurs, and his eyes are fixed on Robby's. Too carefully. Too steadily.
It seems insane to try and put him in thrall now, after the fact. Wouldn't this whole thing have been easier with it from the start? It's the only thing Robby can think of, and he's opening his mouth to protest when Frank stands and retreats to the kitchen.
It's only when Robby shifts to sit up that he realizes exactly how hard he is.
Robby flushes pink with blood he wasn't sure he still had, cheeks heating and mortification filling him. No wonder Frank hadn't let his gaze wander. He's grateful for the distance, and he focuses on the sound of the other man in his kitchen, tugging open cabinets and the fridge, and providing Robby a much needed moment of privacy.
Robby tugs a pillow into his lap, and when Frank returns, accepts the juice he'd brought him. As soon as he can, Robby bolts for his bedroom.
He's done his good deed for the other man. Hell, he's done two, given Frank was still installed in his guest room. Abby and her absence in Frank's life had obviously done a number on him, but there's no reason why he wouldn't bounce back. It didn't seem in his DNA to flounder.
It won't happen again. Robby's certain of it.