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The first time Zhenya meets Sidney, Zhenya’s in a nightclub in Moscow, drunk and horny. Sidney’s been at the bar for over a half-hour, and if the eyes he’s been giving Zhenya are any indication, he’s down for whatever Zhenya wants to bring to the table.
What Zhenya isn’t expecting is to be pressed up against the brick wall behind the club, five minutes after an introduction, Zhenya buying a vodka Sidney didn’t touch and then following Sidney toward the back of the club.
He can feel the bass thumping in time with his heartbeat, and Sidney’s eyes flash golden in the light of the solitary bulb flickering overhead. Sidney kisses a line along Zhenya’s jaw, stopping to suck and bite the skin, laving his tongue over it afterwards to soothe the sting. Zhenya hasn’t been this turned on in years.
He digs his fingernails into the solid muscle that makes up Sidney’s back, feeling it shift as Sidney arches, responsive and beautiful. Sidney’s eyes flash again as he pulls back, fingers like a vice around Zhenya’s arm, holding it above his head and pinning it to the wall. Zhenya’s other hand is free but he wouldn’t dare-- this is Sidney’s show.
Sidney smirks and moves closer, grinding against Zhenya’s insistent dick, and Zhenya can only blame being really fucking horny for the fact he doesn’t notice Sidney’s incisors. Not until they’re buried in his neck, sucking from his jugular while he allows Zhenya to rut against his leg.
Zhenya comes inside his pants as Sidney does something with his tongue, still draining the blood from Zhenya’s veins. He’s ashamed, more than ashamed, but he knows that being drained by a vampire feels orgasmic, and yeah he can attest to that. He idly wonders if vampires can come, if he makes Sidney feel good while he drinks. He likes the idea.
But then Sidney pulls back and frowns.
“You taste weird,” he says in English. Zhenya’s come-drunk and blood deprived, so it takes him a few sleepy blinks before he parses what’s being said to him.
“What.”
Sidney’s tongue darts out, pink and perfect, to lick at the few smears of blood around his thick, plush lips. Zhenya’s slumped against the wall, his limbs tingling from the encounter. He wants Sidney back against his front, hard and immovable, like stone or marble. He wants Sidney’s fingers back around his wrist, holding him tightly in place. He wants Sidney’s mouth back on his, Sidney’s breath fanning against his face as he takes him in. He wants it all.
“I think you’re sick,” Sidney says, his nose wrinkling. Zhenya pulls a face.
“I’m okay health!” he exclaims, indignant. Drunkenly so. His English is not the greatest, but he knows that much. He hasn’t had a cold for years, and the last time he was sick he’d managed to get over it without having to see a doctor.
Sidney doesn’t look convinced.
“I don’t think so,” he says, and runs his tongue over his lips again. “I drank too much from you tonight. I’ll come by your place tomorrow. We need to figure out what’s going on.”
“Yeah right, crazy vamp,” Zhenya mutters, passing a hand over his neck and hissing at the sting of pain. Sidney looks recalcitrant.
“I wish I could-- I mean,” Sidney starts. Zhenya frowns. He’s been bitten twice before, and each time the vamps had either stuck around to fuck or disappeared. This is very… new. He’s never had one look so sorry about the whole ordeal.
“You so weird, vampire,” Zhenya says, straightening up his collar and trying to put his hair back into some sort of styled disarray. It’s a lost cause. His hair, and his shirt. And possibly this weird vamp.
Sidney looks affronted. “I’m not weird! I’m being polite, and concerned about your wellbeing.”
Zhenya snorts. Some mystery illness he supposedly has-- yeah, okay.
“Whatever you say, vampire man,” Zhenya says with a shrug. He turns to go back inside the club, returning to Ilyusha and Sasha in the booth.
“Where’d you go?” Sasha asks, waving at the waiter for another drink. Zhenya sprawls out, knocking their knees together.
“Vamp out back,” is all he says. He doesn’t really know how to explain Sidney, nor does he want to. Sidney was just for him.
Except Sidney is apparently a man of his word, and won’t stay in whatever box it is that Zhenya’s trying to shove him into.
The next night, Zhenya’s cooking noodles to go with his vegetables and napolitana sauce in the kitchen at the bar, when there’s a buzz at the front door. Zhenya frowns. The bar is located in the Garden Ring, nestled on a busy street between several other bars and clubs, and while the surrounding area is nice enough, it used to be a rough place to live and there’s still some shady business that happens locally. It’s enough to make Zhenya nervous when there’s a knock before or after opening hours.
“Are we expecting someone?” he asks Jeffrey. Jeffrey doesn’t move from his spot on the floor with his chew toy. He brings him to the club when he has to open up early sometimes, just to have some company. Tanya doesn’t mind, so whatever. Zhenya steps over the dog and walks through the bar to the front, silently hoping it’s not the mafia or anyone else unsavoury.
When he opens the doors, he honestly is surprised to see Sidney. Sidney, who is now dressed in nice shoes, a well-cut navy blue suit and a perfectly crisp white shirt, with his hair slicked back and a thick grey peacoat and scarf to complete his look.
Zhenya’s mouth goes dry.
“Um, hi. I’m Sidney-- we met here last night?” Sidney says, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.
Zhenya nods dumbly.
“Look, I just-- I know there’s something going on in your blood. I was hoping you’d let me take another taste, or at least sample it so my friend who works in a lab can test you for particular illnesses.” Sidney produces what looks like a vial from his pocket, brandishing it in Zhenya’s face.
“You weird vampire,” Zhenya says, because it bears repeating. Sidney scowls.
“So you’ve said. Now, can I come in or not?”
“Come inside, I’m just make dinner before I’m open,” he says, shaking his head and stepping to the side.
He wears a bunch of medallions to protect himself, and he has a crucifix hanging up in the office. It’s a safe space for the human employees, or so Tanya tells them. She allows them their space, and doesn’t come in. He notices Sidney recoil a little when he walks inside, skirting to the edges of the room.
“Let me eat first, then take sample,” Zhenya instructs, pointing at the tiny kitchen table and returning to preparing his food. Sidney sits obediently, giving Zhenya a thrill that shivers right through him. A vampire, probably hundreds of years old and completely capable of snapping him like a twig without a thought, is obeying him, a measly human.
He hurries through his prep and sits down, pouring two cups of tea and asking Sidney how he takes it.
“Oh, three sugars.”
Zhenya blinks at him, his hand hovering over the sugar bowl.
“How many?”
Sidney gets flustered at that, which catches Zhenya so off-guard that he laughs. Sidney plucks the spoon from Zhenya’s fingers and takes care of his own cup, the tips of his ears red as Zhenya’s chuckles recede enough for him to eat.
“So, how you find me here?” Zhenya asks, once he’s taken a bite and sighed happily at the taste. Sidney sits back and sips at his tea, crossing one leg over the other.
“I live in this neighbourhood as well. I recognise you. I’ve seen you head to work this time on the same days each week when I’ve been going to work myself.”
Zhenya freezes, his fork halfway to his mouth. He grew up in this neighbourhood. His parents live two streets over in the house he was raised in, and his older brother Denis and his wife live two streets in the other direction, Alyonka pregnant with their first baby.
“How you recognise me?”
Sidney coughs and sips his tea, mumbles something about the grocery store, and watches Zhenya like a hawk as he shovels down his pasta.
“Fine, fine, take sample,” Zhenya grouses, holding out his arm. Sidney extends his incisors and pierces Zhenya’s vein, and the familiar warm, floating feeling takes over as Sidney fills his vial and licks over the wound to close it.
“Magic spit,” Zhenya says, slumping in his seat. Sidney giggles-- a terrible, honking thing-- which in turn makes Zhenya laugh.
Then Sidney helps Zhenya to his room, tugging off his pants and house slippers, and then he’s gone.
“Weird vampire,” Zhenya sighs to himself, before he passes out. He can worry about this fantastical illness he apparently has later.
Zhenya works as a bartender on the weekends, and during the week he juggles grad school and writes the obits for the city’s newspaper. It means he spends a lot of time at the mortuary, a lot of time hunched over a laptop, and a lot of time making shitty drinks that end up being straight vodka after twelve. His life is kind of crazy, but working two jobs while studying means his time management skills are on point. Supposedly. (He’s mostly late to everything.)
It’s fifteen minutes after his shift is due to start and Zhenya’s still on the bus, Major Lazer pumping through his knockoff earbuds. Tanya, the bar manager, knows about Zhenya’s chronic punctuality issues, and either rosters him on early to trick him, or deals with it because he’s good at his fucking job and doubles as a bouncer when they need it. Business is good and he’s only got a year left of school before he can quit everything and pursue his dream.
His phone starts buzzing in his jeans, and when he pulls it out, it's Tanya’s face on the screen. Her skin is pale white, lips blood red and her eyes ice blue. She’s also a vampire, but it’s never bothered him or the clientele. If anything, they’re packed out every night because of her. She is kind of ridiculously gorgeous-- if he was into girls, he’d probably drunkenly beg to become her human too.
“I’m on my way, there’s lots of traffic,” Zhenya lies perfunctorily as he picks up. What he isn’t expecting is to hear Sidney’s voice come down the line.
“We both know that’s a lie,” he says, in perfect Russian. Zhenya chokes on his tongue.
“...Sidney?”
“Yeah. I’m friends with Tanya. She’s serving at the moment. You know, there’s rosters for a reason. It’s very busy tonight, you should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago.” Sidney’s disapproval radiates down to Zhenya’s core, and he feels like shrivelling up in shame. Instead, he squares his shoulders, because fuck this guy. Sweeps into his life, says he’s sick with some bizarre illness and is now apparently trying to mother him.
“Fuck you,” Zhenya spits. Sidney laughs.
“Tanya told me you were feisty. I said I knew already. Hurry up Zhenya, it’s getting busier.” Sidney disconnects the call. Zhenya’s fingers feel slippery around the cool metal. The way Sidney’s mouth had rolled around his name, the zjh sound coming out so perfectly, settles somewhere deep inside Zhenya’s chest, taking root.
Well, fuck.
*
Zhenya hustles into the back room, pulling his black polo out of his backpack and ripping off his henley. He’s just readjusting his hair when there’s a knock on the door. He looks over his shoulder and does a double take.
“Sidney,” he starts, turning around, his hands still in his hair. Sidney smiles and tips his head. The thump of the bass from the dancefloor is back, and Zhenya watches as Sidney comes in and sits on the edge of the lounge chair, next to the shitty mirror Tanya installed months back. They had all complained there was nowhere proper to get ready, and the employee bathroom was more of a closet with a toilet and the tiniest cracked mirror he’d ever seen.
“I’d be surprised at your poor timekeeping if I didn’t know you were shit at it already,” Sidney says as Zhenya wipes his hands free of gel and crosses his arms. Sidney makes him feel off kilter-- he doesn’t know if it’s the fact that his eyes are such an ethereal shade of gold, or if it’s the two bright spots of pink on his cheeks, contrasting with the otherwise creamy white complexion. Vampire beauty isn’t always Zhenya’s thing, but on Sidney it just works for him.
“Fuck off,” Zhenya says. Sidney laughs, looking and sounding delighted. His face then sobers and he pulls a white envelope out of his pocket and hands it over.
“Your test results,” Sidney says. Zhenya frowns and rips open the envelope, reading them over.
“I have anemia?” Zhenya looks up at Sidney, who’s now standing in front of him.
“It means you’re lacking in iron. You need to eat more meat and leafy green vegetables.”
Zhenya knows what anemia means, thank you. He thinks to his mostly meat-free diet, given how expensive it is, and how tired and run down he feels. He’d attributed it to working crazy hours and his study, but apparently there’s a medical reason behind it as well. He’s relieved, though. It could’ve been a lot worse.
“Okay then,” Zhenya says with a shrug, pushing the results back into the envelope and tucking them into his bag. Sidney frowns.
“Okay, then?”
“What am I gonna do about it? Meat’s expensive and I work two jobs while I study. No time or money to cook a steak. Thanks anyway,” Zhenya says, and forces himself to push past Sidney and out onto the bar floor.
Tanya’s making a tray of cosmopolitans as Zhenya ties his apron and slips behind her.
“You’re late,” she says, not looking up from the drinks. Zhenya rolls his eyes.
“Sorry, won’t happen again,” he mutters. Tanya laughs; a beautiful sound that makes the tension from the encounter with Sidney drain from his shoulders.
“You know, Sidney is my maker’s maker. He’s been around a long time. I don’t think I’ve seen him take an interest in anyone as much as you,” she says.
Zhenya hunches up again and scoffs. “Whatever,” he snaps and leans forward to listen to a sloppily dressed businessman slur an order into his face.
*
Sidney stays in the club for Zhenya’s shift, ordering a steady stream of drinks and holding court at a booth with his vamp friends. Tanya drifts over occasionally to join them, laughing and cracking jokes, and comes back with fistfuls of money and a fresh order for Zhenya -- and only Zhenya -- to make.
Zhenya would be pissed off about it, if he weren’t too busy being oddly pleased that Sidney, this apparently old vampire, is taking such an interest in him.
He never sees Sidney during the day, but there’s a huge box sitting on his doorstep when he gets home from the newspaper the Monday following his ‘diagnosis.’ Frowning, he takes it inside and feeds Jeffrey, cracking open a Tupperware of his mama’s borscht and putting it in the microwave while he uses a butter knife to cut into the package.
It’s filled with supplements and vitamins, with a crisp, white envelope placed delicately on top. His fingers shake as he open it-- excitement, fear, who knows-- and his eyes whizz over the blocky handwriting.
EVGENI,
I HAVE MADE AN APPOINTMENT WITH DR. FEODORA IVANOVNA RASHNIKOVA ON TUESDAY AT 3PM. SHE IS A SPECIALIST. DO NOT BE LATE. PAYMENT HAS BEEN TAKEN CARE OF. SHE OWES ME A FAVOUR… OR FIFTY.
IN THE MEANTIME, HAVE SOME SUPPLEMENTS AND VITAMINS. I IMAGINE YOU ARE NOT VERY WELL STOCKED. YOU TASTED HORRIBLE.
THERE IS ALSO A RECIPE BOOK IN HERE FOR ANEMICS, STEAK ISN’T THE ONLY SOURCE OF IRON.
SINCERELY,
SIDNEY CROSBY
Zhenya can’t help but laugh as he peers back into the box. Sidney’s given him enough to last through the next war, he reckons.
“What are we to do with this vampire, eh?” Zhenya sighs down at Jeffrey, who has finished inhaling his food and is resting his big head on Zhenya’s toes, keeping them warm. Jeffrey just blinks up at him, unimpressed.
At least he has a last name, now. He pulls up his phone and searches for SIDNEY CROSBY MOSCOW. All he finds is Sidney’s name attached to some law firm Zhenya vaguely recognises from having seen adverts in newspapers; particularly the one he works for. They’re huge, multinational, but Zhenya’s more surprised that’s the only result that comes back. Given Sidney’s age, Sidney’s apparent esteem in the vamp community, he thought there’d be… more. He doesn’t know if that scares him or exhilarates him.
*
Zhenya arrives at Dr. Rashnikova’s office ten minutes early for his appointment, and submits himself to being poked and prodded and questioned on his entire medical history. The doctor is terrifyingly pretty and extremely thorough. She looks over his blood test results and makes a lot of thinking noises that remind Zhenya of being back in the principal’s office.
“Sidney’s right, you are anemic. We’ll have to readjust your dietary intake to make sure you’re getting what you need,” she says. Zhenya nods.
*
At work that night, Sidney’s at the bar in the seconds between Zhenya slipping behind it and turning to reach for a bottle of vodka.
“So, how did it go?” he asks. Zhenya yelps and almost drops the bottle.
“Fuck, you scared me!” he says. Sidney looks chastened.
“Sorry, my apologies. I can go…” he trails off, looking like he’d much rather set himself on fire than leave. Zhenya rolls his eyes.
“No, it’s fine. The appointment was fine, she’s given me a strict diet and told me how many supplements to take.”
Sidney grins, wide and happy, and Zhenya can’t help but return the smile.
“Thanks,” he says, and Sidney ducks his head.
“I got worried. People shouldn’t be sick if they don’t-- if it’s not intended, or whatever.” He drums his fingers along the bar. “I read your obits, you know. You’re very good. Too good to be writing about dead people all day.”
Zhenya feels himself stiffen. “There’s nothing wrong with obituaries. It takes a lot of tact, of skill, to be respectful and generous to the dead. We owe them that much.” He pours a scotch for Sidney, and a shot for himself. “Besides,” he continues, tongue between his teeth, “you just don’t appreciate them because you’ve never had one yourself.”
Sidney laughs at that, clinking their glasses together. “That may be true,” he muses, sipping at his drink and leaning against Zhenya’s bar.
Zhenya echoes him, propping his chin up with a palm. “So, what is it that you do when you’re not lawyering around, eh? What does Sidney Crosby do for fun?”
Sidney blinks slowly, and Zhenya watches as the dull bar light catches in his eyes, stealing Zhenya’s breath away.
“I used to like fencing. I was good at it. I read, take care of my pets, visit my friends… normal things.” Another shrug. “I like seeing the world pass me by. Things change, but I don’t.”
“That sounds sad,” Zhenya says. Sidney nods.
“It can be. Just like you and your obits. But you find joy in small places, I guess. So-- what about you, eh? What’s the plan?” Sidney grins at him, and Zhenya feels that flush run through him.
“I’ll finish my Masters at the end of the year, and get an internship at another paper. I’d like to write sports,” Zhenya says. Sidney hums and traces a finger through the condensation ring left on the bar from his glass.
“I love hockey. I loved hockey when it was shinny, and before. Seeing it evolve into what it is today, my god. I go to America constantly to see games. Have you been?” he asks. Zhenya shakes his head. He’ll never get out of Moscow at this rate.
“I’ll have to take you sometime. It’s magical.” Sidney slides a stack of rubles across the bar and disappears off to his usual booth, vamps clustered around to welcome him.
*
“What specialist did you see?” Tanya asks on their break. Zhenya’s eating a steak the size of his face that Vova, the club chef, cooked up for him on Tanya’s demand. It tastes so good, and it’s been so long since he’s been able to have steak, fuck.
“Dr. Rashnikova.”
Tanya’s eyes widen. “As in, Feodora Ivanovna?”
Zhenya nods, his cheeks bulging with meat.
“Wow. Do you know who she is?”
“No. Just a specialist Sidney found for me.”
Tanya laughs at that. “She’s more than that, Zhenya. She’s a specialist, sure, but she only services patients who are in relationships with vampires.”
Zhenya almost drops his fork. “What?”
“Yeah. Vamps come from all over the country to take their partners to her. She’s amazing, the best. My last boyfriend had pains in his side, she fixed him up so quickly.” Tanya smiles at him, wide and free. Zhenya doesn’t remember the last boyfriend.
“How old is Sidney?” he asks instead. Tanya cocks her head.
“Why do you ask, Zhenya?” she questions. Zhenya fiddles with his fork, food forgotten, and waves a hand.
“I want to know how old he is. Whether the gap in our ages is worth it,” he jokes. Tanya doesn’t laugh.
“I told you he was my maker’s maker. You know how old I am.”
She’s 140. Zhenya can barely comprehend that age.
“I was 23 when I was turned, and my maker had lived for 150 years before she found me. Sidney turned her when he was 400.”
Zhenya licks his lips. Some quick arithmetic means-- “He’s 690.”
“689. He turns 690 in July.” Tanya looks bemused now. “Why do you ask, Zhenya?”
Zhenya doesn’t want to become a vampire. He doesn’t think so, anyway. Tanya sees it on his face anyway. She sighs and leans across the table, cups her fingers under his chin, tilting his head. It almost hurts to stare at her like this, her beauty so unearthly.
“He only turns one person every hundred years. You think you can hang on ten years, Zhenya? You think you can be that person?”
He shakes his head and goes back to his food. Tanya goes back to her fashion magazine, and they finish their break in silence.
Zhenya doesn’t look over at Sidney’s booth once that night. He goes home alone, crawls into bed alone, and tries not to imagine if it’d hurt as much to look right at Sidney, like he did with Tanya. Wonders if it’d be the kind of pain he’d put up with forever, if it meant Sidney would feel the same looking right back at him.
Zhenya’s on his way to class one morning, when he hears someone hissing his name from an alley he cuts by to get to campus. He squints and--
“Sidney?”
Sure enough, Sidney’s hiding in the darkened alley, dressed in a suit, massive trenchcoat, fedora, scarf and sunglasses. He looks ridiculous.
“I’d rather not combust, thank you,” he snaps when Zhenya vocalises his thoughts. Zhenya just rolls his eyes and hoists his backpack higher.
“What do you want?” he asks. Sidney looks annoyed.
“I wanted to make sure you’re eating properly, and taking your vitamins. You’ve got another appointment with Dr. Rashnikova as well,” Sidney informs him. Zhenya sighs and starts walking.
“I’m fine,” he says. Sidney reaches out for him.
“But you’re not, anemia can be dangerous, I think--”
“Bye, Sidney,” Zhenya says firmly, and continues walking past the edge of the alley and toward his class.
“The sun will go down eventually! I’ll shove those vitamins down your throat!” Sidney yells after him.
Zhenya grins and tucks his shitty earbuds into his ears.
Sidney has him up against the storeroom door this time, his face buried against Zhenya’s clavicle as he licks a path up to his jugular.
“You’re all I can smell,” Sidney mumbled, blood drunk already, though they haven’t even started. Zhenya clenches his fingers into fists and prepares to come in his pants again. How embarrassing.
Sidney’s fangs are extended when he stops, pulls back and makes an ungodly face.
“Are you sure you’re taking your vitamins? You smell kind of bad,” Sidney says, instead reaching for the nearest bottle and taking a swig. He’s lisping a little, but the teeth retract as he drinks.
Zhenya’s feeling extremely offended by now.
“Fuck you, I take the fifty billion pills you gave me every day! Maybe my blood is no good,” Zhenya spits back.
“No, no way. Maybe it’s like eating pineapple so your semen tastes better. Maybe there’s something you can eat to make your blood taste better,” Sidney muses, readjusting his shirt and tucking it back into his pants. Zhenya’s dumbfounded.
“I taste plenty fine. I’ve been drunk from before and had no complaints!”
Sidney growls, somewhere deep in his chest, and then seems to catch himself, looking shocked. Zhenya’s got a raging boner from their make-out session, and from the promise of being drained, and the possessive sound that rips from Sidney, apparently unbidden, almost sends him over the edge.
“I’m so sorry,” Sidney says, looking mortified. Zhenya reaches for Sidney and pulls him in, kissing him as hard as he can manage.
He has a bizarre relationship with the vamp, he fully admits that. Sidney’s taken to leaving diet plans and disturbing cookbooks titled ‘HOW TO TASTE DELICIOUS’ lying around at the newspaper and at the club, and Zhenya knows if he didn’t find it hilarious, it’d probably be creepy and disturbing.
One night, Sidney takes him out for dinner at some fancy, upscale restaurant that’s so exclusive that only vamps and the highest echelons of humanity can get in. It seems that Sidney’s some kind of vamp royalty, given how the other vamps defer to him and murmur exaltations and prayers when he walks past.
“This is weird,” Zhenya whispers as they’re seated and given menus. Sidney’s gone pink again, and hunches into his menu a little more.
“I know. It’s why I hate going out. People are so fucking strange,” he whispers back. Zhenya can’t help but laugh; he doesn’t feel bad about it when he catches Sidney grinning behind his menu.
“I made you a steak and a huge salad,” Sidney informs him as Zhenya stands on his welcome mat, gaping at the inside of the apartment. The view of St. Basil’s and the city itself is breathtaking, and the windows that stretch across the space make it seem vast and so open. There are huge blackout curtains, and once he’s gotten over the view, he notices that it’s minimalist in that way vamps tend to embrace as well, not liking centuries of clutter to follow them. At the same time it manages a homely vibe that makes Zhenya want to settle in and, well. Stay.
He’s been thinking more and more about the enigmatic vampire and his fascination with Zhenya’s health-- whether it’s just for his blood or something more. Something deeper. His mama always told him he went looking for trouble when he was little, and it seems like she’s right.
“Sound good,” Zhenya says in English. Sidney smirks.
“English tonight, eh?”
Zhenya may or may not have to interview some foreign family for an obit tomorrow, and needs to make sure he can still communicate in English. This fucking language.
“Yes,” he grumbles and waits. Sidney cocks an eyebrow.
“Gonna invite me?” Zhenya feels rebellious, like he wants to test whatever boundaries Sidney has. He knows next to nothing about the vampire, except for the fact that he’s old and cares far too much about the state of Zhenya’s health.
The corners of Sidney’s mouth twitch, but he defers and steps aside. “Please come in,” he says, all infallible politeness. He takes Zhenya’s coat and scarf, and walks them deeper into the apartment. Zhenya knows he’s being indulged, and something about that stokes the warmth inside him-- that Sidney is indulging someone as meaningless as he.
The kitchen is more of the same; homely but sparse. There’s a small dining table, a well-kitted food preparation area and some dishes in the sink. The smell of steak permeates and Zhenya’s mouth waters. He hasn’t eaten this well, ever.
“Sit,” Sidney says, standing beside the table. Zhenya sits down and Sidney pours a glass of red, before returning to the kitchen to finish serving up dinner. “How was school?”
Zhenya swirls the glass, slumping a little in the chair. His posture is for shit, part of the joys of experiencing a massive growth spurt at fourteen.
“Don’t slouch,” Sidney’s voice floats across.
“Such bossy. Why you always tell me what to do?” Zhenya says.
Sidney’s gaze is pensive, and he taps the corner of the counter with a spoon. “Guess it comes from having to teach new vampires how to act once they’ve turned. There’s a lot of responsibility linked with turning. You have to be sure of the person, sure of their character and your ability not to kill them by taking too much when you’re turning them. That, and new vampires have a tendency to be quite… tiresome sometimes.”
Zhenya straightens up in his seat. Sidney tilts his head, considering Zhenya. “How was your day?” he asks, and Zhenya thinks back, still a little flustered from Sidney’s sudden openness. He’s been with demanding lovers before, on both ends of the scale; being a younger child, he’s used to having someone telling him what to do-- so much so that Sidney’s directions are just normal background noise.
“Day was boring. Big assignment to finish, have interview with family tomorrow. In English,” he adds sullenly, and Sidney hums.
“Which is why you want to practise,” he says, matter-of-fact. Zhenya doesn’t answer; Sidney didn’t ask a question, so why should he?
“How was you day?” Zhenya says instead. Sidney clucks his tongue as something doesn’t go his way on the board where he’s slicing.
“It was alright. I slept until sundown and I’ve been reviewing a case for the last hour. My associate worked all day today to get everything ready for me,” he says. Zhenya turns around to watch him.
“Lawyer,” he says. He overheard some of his coworkers talking about the latest case Sidney had won, some foreign couple wanting to adopt a disabled child from down south. The precedent it sets completely spits in the face of the Kremlin, and nobody expects it to stand for long. Regardless, it had made Zhenya grin like a moron down at his obits for the better part of an hour.
Sidney nods, looking up from his preparation. “I practise family law, mostly immigration and adoption cases. But I’m capable in all types of law-- criminal, property, business. When you’re as old as I am, you live through most of these laws being created. I’ve got a… unique perspective, you might say.” Sidney finishes with that crooked smile Zhenya’s coming to know, and like, far too much for his own good. A vampire old enough to pre-date most, if not all, modern law is so far beyond his ability to comprehend. What could he ever offer?
He remembers what it felt like to have Sidney drink from him, to have Sidney’s tongue in his mouth and Sidney’s molten gold gaze trained on him and only him. It’s addictive. He wants more. He wants--
“Tanya said you’ve been asking after me,” Sidney continues, disturbing Zhenya from his ruminations. He flushes.
“Not too much,” he says, before draining his glass and reaching for the bottle. Sidney raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything further on his drinking.
“I made her maker. I’ve sired six vampires in my time. She told me she told you I stick to a schedule,” he says. Zhenya nods.
“Every one hundreds years.” Zhenya’s not the best with numbers in English, and if the way Sidney bites on the inside of his cheek is any indication, he fucked up somewhere.
Fuck it-- he can record the family tomorrow and get Alexey in his office to translate. So, he switches to Russian. “She said every hundred years you change someone. She said you won’t change anyone for another ten years, because it’s your 690th birthday soon.”
Sidney nods, and puts the knife down. He picks up a plate and brings it over, placing it in front of Zhenya. The steak is thick and juicy, medium-rare and exactly as he likes. The baked potatoes are beautifully arranged on the side, with a small pot of dianne sauce and a lusciously leafy salad to finish. It makes Zhenya’s mouth water.
“It looks gorgeous,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself. Sidney settles across from him with a glass of what looks like wine, but he swirls it and it’s too thick-- Zhenya pays no mind; he knows it’s blood, and turns back to his steak.
He eats faster than would be acceptable in the kind of company Sidney is, but Sidney just watches him, those golden eyes reflecting in the low light of the room. Zhenya sighs happily as he finishes the last bite, and Sidney rises to his feet and returns with a thick, decadent wedge of chocolate layer cake, topped with raspberries and chocolate ganache.
“Oh, God,” Zhenya groans. Sidney picks up the small fork and slices off a small piece, holding it up to Zhenya’s mouth. Zhenya looks up at him.
“Open up,” Sidney whispers.
Zhenya opens up.
Dinner at Sidney’s becomes a weekly affair. Zhenya tries to bring something to accompany the meals, but Sidney waves him off. “I’d much prefer to just know that you're being well fed and taken care of,” Sidney says, jabbing at Zhenya until he sits down and tells Sidney about his day.
Sidney seems so thirsty for even the most menial details, drinking in his lectures and the obits he writes and silly family stories like they’re poetry, or music. It makes Zhenya feel chastened and empowered at the same time-- having Sidney wistful over his life, over the things he takes for granted, over the things he can do and Sidney can't. He’s not sure what to do about that, or how to go about it. He just knows that he wants to be something special for Sidney, and wants Sidney to be something special back.
“Who are you going to change?” Zhenya asks one night, over rich, smooth beef stroganoff and more wine. Sidney sits back in his chair, swirls his blood and watches Zhenya.
He’s got a fire going this evening, and it flickers against the honeyed gold of his eyes. Zhenya’s throat feels parched, and he reaches for the wine.
“I have a possibility. I don’t know if he’ll wait ten years for me,” Sidney murmurs. He takes a sip and Zhenya watches as the blood stains his lips.
“He would wait ten lifetimes,” Zhenya whispers, the words springing unbidden from him. He’s never spoken like this before, never understood people who dedicated themselves to being a vamp’s human, but now, with Sidney sitting like this and watching him like he’s the only thing in this world? Now he understands.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sidney says, putting his glass down and steepling his fingers. Zhenya puts down his fork.
“Eat,” Sidney says, and Zhenya frowns but picks the fork back up and finishes. The food is delicious, hearty and heavy in his belly, and he’s gained weight since Sidney started taking an interest in him. But maybe Sidney doesn't want him, maybe all he wants is to get his blood to a palatable level before he moves on. The thought makes Zhenya want to break things.
“You promise ten lifetimes but you’ve got no idea what that even means. You don’t even know who I am,” Sidney says later. They’re in the kitchen, Zhenya washing up his plates and Sidney drying. This vampire, almost seven centuries old, washing dishes like they’ve come home from work after a busy day.
“Then tell me,” Zhenya says. Sidney closes his eyes and nods.
“I was born in 1325. It wasn’t a particularly exciting year-- they crowned a King of Portugal, the Romanovichi rule ended, a few princes were born and died. The Hundred Years’ War had begun. My father was a smith, my mother died in childbirth. He remarried a few years later, and had another child, a daughter.”
Zhenya sits on the couch, legs crossed beneath him and another glass of wine between his fingers. He feels enchanted, listening to Sidney talk, holding his own glass and so far away.
“I was 23 when I was turned. There was no school for children like me then, only nobles and novices were educated. I was working as a smith with my father. My marriage was arranged to the daughter of a trader. There was a depression, and the Black Death was starting to ravage Europe at the end of 1347. My father was worried I’d die before having a child, that our family line would end.”
“And did it?” Zhenya asks, unable to stop himself.
Sidney nods. “It did. My wife-to-be died of the plague before we were married. My sister died.”
Sidney sounds detached, in that way that comes from talking about something devastating, something that hurts too much to deal with in any other way. Geno’s heard the same tone many times over when interviewing for his obits, having to listen to the people talk about their lost loved ones. It makes him ache for Sidney and for how much he’s lost over the years.
“We had been unknowingly servicing a vampire for a few years at that point, making him whatever he required. His name was Mario. He was from France.”
Sidney turns to face Zhenya, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I started coughing up blood and fell to a fever. Mario came to see me, wanting a new sword, and found me half-dead over my anvil while my father was away on business. He said to lose a skill as precise as mine was a sin against God. He turned me, right then and there.”
“My god,” Zhenya breathes, fumbling to put his glass on the nearest table. Sidney nods.
“Mario took me back to France, leaving money for my father, to cover the cost of taking me. I spent the next week going through the change, becoming sensitive to light and religious symbols-- all of that. When it was done, Mario bought me a servant to feed on. He trained me for the next fifty years in control, in being discreet, in survival. He told me to be careful, to be precise. I exercise control in every aspect of my life.”
Sidney moves closer on the couch, and trails a finger along Zhenya’s jaw.
“I was coming home from work the day your mother brought you home from the hospital. It was dawn, and I shouldn’t have been out, but I knew something special was going to happen that day. I couldn’t explain it, I just-- it just was. I helped your parents carry the gifts from family into the house, was invited to stay for dinner.”
Zhenya feels his world fall away from him as Sidney talks; knows somewhere deep inside as soon as Sidney said he’d been around the neighbourhood a while, that he knew Zhenya and his family. This was in motion before Zhenya knew anything of Sidney and his supernatural nature.
“I picked you 23 years ago, Zhenya. I picked you the moment I laid my hands on you, was allowed to hold you, and breathe you in. I just had to wait for you to pick me back,” Sidney said, moving to sit back and reaching for his glass. He took a sip and licked his lips, his eyes dropping from Zhenya’s mouth to his neck.
“And if I don’t? Pick you back?” Zhenya asks, breathless.
Sidney smiles.
“Then I don’t turn anyone this century, and my search begins again.”
Zhenya sags into the couch. He leaves Sidney’s apartment and goes home. He needs to think.
Sidney drinks from him again at the club, except this time he doesn’t recoil.
This time, his fingers grip harder at Zhenya’s hips, and he moans against Zhenya’s neck, as Zhenya ruts against his thick, powerful thigh.
“I taste good?” Zhenya gasps out, his fingers coming to tangle in Sidney’s curls. Sidney just moans again and sucks harder. Zhenya whites out.
“Turn me,” Zhenya whispers when he wakes up in Sidney’s bed the next morning.
Sidney has the blackout curtains drawn, and he’s reading the newspaper at a chair beside the bed. There’s a full tray of food, vitamin pills placed in a small china bowl, and a huge glass of orange juice.
“Okay,” Sidney says, his voice a little tight. He points a finger at the tray, and returns to ruffle his newspaper. “Eat your vitamins, and drink your juice.”
Zhenya rolls his eyes, but reaches for the pills. Persnickety old vampire.
He can’t wait to spend the next millennia learning all about him.