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Guillermo had cautioned Nandor about drinking too many of the Mayday partygoers, but of course Nandor hadn't listened. And now he was making it Guillermo's problem.
“Oh no, I cannot walk any further Guillermo, I am far too drunken and injured! Surely there is a big strong slayer who can carry me!”
“There’s a big strong slayer who could put you out of your misery.”
Nandor pouts, batting his eyelashes at Guillermo like he thinks that will get him his way (he is, unfortunately, correct). Guillermo grumbles under his breath some more, but ultimately sighs and holds out his arms. Nandor smiles and actually giggles, stepping into Guillermo’s arms and gazing at him expectantly. Guillermo glares at him for a moment more–just out of principle–before finally huffing an exasperated laugh and kneeling to grab him under the knees.
He knocks Nandor off his feet with a bit more gusto than strictly necessary, catching him easily as he falls and straightening with six feet of ancient warlord held securely in his arms. He smirks at Nandor’s wide-eyed expression.
“Ready for home, Master?”
“Yes, Guillermo,” Nandor manages, sounding stunned. He of course decides to cover this by burying his face in Guillermo's neck. Guillermo feels his cheeks heat up and hopes it’s too dark and Nandor is too drunk to notice.
He should be so lucky. Nandor's head whips up at him immediately.
“Ohhh your face is so warm and round and red, Guillermo. Like a ripe little tomato in the sunshine!” Nandor wraps both arms around his neck, holding tight as Guillermo begins to make his way up their street. This is made more difficult by the way Nandor keeps nuzzling into the juncture between Guillermo’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and making happy little humming noises.
“So delectable,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against Guillermo’s skin. Guillermo tries to ignore it. Nandor only gets like this when he’s gotten into the drug blood. That’s also been a more frequent occurrence over the last year, which Guillermo does worry about a bit. But his new status as the house bodyguard doesn't give him the authority to do much about it. So every couple of weeks lately, he finds himself fending off the clinging limbs of his drunk master as he carts him home.
He should probably mind it more than he does, if he’s honest with himself.
He manages the stairs up to the house with some difficulty, with Nandor still unwilling to uncurl himself from around Guillermo’s shoulders and go inside under his own power. He shoulders the door open and carries Nandor over the threshold with Nandor caressing his face and hair, mumbling something about forbidden fruit. Guillermo can only be thankful none of their other housemates are anywhere nearby to witness this; they would never let either of them forget about it.
And Guillermo needs to forget about it, for his own sanity. After all, Nandor certainly will, once the drug blood wears off.
“Okay Master,” he says once they’re in Nandor’s crypt at last. “We’re home. You can let go now. Time to go to coffin.”
“No,” Nandor says, petulant. He clutches at Guillermo’s shoulders harder, as if afraid Guillermo will try to pry him off. The cool breath against Guillermo's overheated skin makes him shiver, as does the tickling sensation of Nandor’s beard as he speaks.
“You are soft and warm and Guillermo and my coffin is lonely and cold. I won't go to it.”
“Master,” Guillermo pleads, his face on fire and his heart skipping a beat in spite of himself. “Come on. I just brushed the lining and fluffed your pillows today. It’s gonna be so nice and soft, I promise.”
“No it won’t.” Nandor’s voice sounds so sad and small that Guillermo almost considers carrying his master to his room and dumping him on his bed, curling around him and holding him.
But when the drug blood wears off, Nandor will forget all about how much he doesn’t want to let go of Guillermo now…or at least pretend to. And Guillermo can’t take a direct rejection from Nandor, not now that he’s acknowledged to himself what he’s sure has been obvious to anyone with eyes for a long time. He thinks that would actually kill him.
He sighs. “Come on, Master. Just give it a try. If you hate it, you don’t have to stay in it.”
“Promise?” Nandor sniffs. Guillermo can’t help but smile. He turns his face into Nandor’s, nuzzling him back, just a little bit.
“Promise,” he says softly.
“....okay,” Nandor concedes at last. He finally loosens his grip and lets Guillermo put him down, though he doesn’t remove his hands from Guillermo entirely. Instead, he sneaks a hand down to twine their fingers together, smiling sweet, sleepy, and totally guileless. Guillermo allows it, and smiles back, and aches.
He leads Nandor to his coffin by the hand, helping him climb in and lay down. Taking a massive liberty, he reaches in to smooth Nandor’s hair across his pillow, brushing the errant strands carefully into place. Nandor leans into every touch, watching him with liquid eyes and slightly parted lips.
When Guillermo finally starts to pull away, Nandor captures both his hands, refuses to let him go. He turns Guillermo’s hands over, looks at them, scrutinizing them as though they hold the secrets to the universe.
“Your hands are very strong,” Nandor notes. “And very soft. Except this part here.” He brushes the pad of his thumb over the callus along the top of Guillermo’s palm. Guillermo barely suppresses a shiver.
“That’s from all the digging. Shovel handles aren’t really great for keeping soft hands,” he whispers. He’s afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to shatter this moment.
Nandor glances up at him quickly, and then back down, turning Guillermo’s hands over. His fingers find a thin pale scar that curves around the skin between his thumb and forefinger. They trace the line over and over, a barely-there touch that tickles.
“And this?” Nandor asks, his voice dropped to a whisper as well. Guillermo can’t look away from him, the regal lines and planes of his face, the way his black hair gleams in the golden candlelight.
“That’s–” Guillermo clears his throat. “Um, that’s from one of the first assassins I killed. He tried to climb into your window. I staked him through the heart and shoved his body back through, and caught my hand on a piece of broken glass.”
Nandor’s fingers pause on their path. He looks up to meet Guillermo’s eyes and raises their joined hands to his lips. Guillermo holds his breath as Nandor presses a kiss right over the scar.
“My fierce little rascal,” he says, soft, his gaze heavy.
Guillermo’s heart is pounding. This doesn’t feel like drug blood anymore. Nandor is handsy and silly on drug blood. He’s never been like this before. He’s never spoken to Guillermo like this.
“Why are your nails so long Guillermo?”
“What?” The abrupt change of subject and tone nearly gives him whiplash. He looks down at his fingernails, wondering how to answer. He can’t give Nandor the real reason: for defense, to feel a little more like the monster he wants to become. He’s afraid Nandor will laugh. He’s afraid that, too, would break the moment they’re having.
When Guillermo doesn’t answer, Nandor seemingly moves on, turning his hand so he can press their palms together, splaying his fingers over Guillermo’s. He laughs, soft and fond.
“Fierce little rascal with his fierce little hands,” he says, glancing up at Guillermo through his lashes.
You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes, Guillermo thinks. What he says is: “I don’t have little hands, Master. You just have huge ones.”
Nandor grins wickedly. “Yes,” he growls. “And you do know what they say. Big hands…” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Big feet…”
The constant shifting of this conversation is really keeping Guillermo on his toes. He flushes and immediately tries to pull away, but Nandor resists him, pulling him in to clutch Guillermo’s captured hand to his unbeating heart.
“Okay,” Guillermo laughs nervously. “Time for naps!”
Nandor ignores him entirely, twining their fingers together again and grinning at the sight of them. He looks back and forth between their clasped hands and Guillermo’s face, his expression open, sunny and uncomplicated once more.
“Look Guillermo! Our hands fit together so nice! It is like they were made for each other, like little piece puzzles.”
“Puzzle pieces, Master,” Guillermo manages, though he feels like someone is squeezing his heart and choking off his air supply all at once.
“As I said Guillermo,” Nandor says haughtily, still holding Guillermo’s hand. The ridiculousness of it all unfreezes Guillermo a bit, and he laughs.
“Right.”
Nandor nuzzles their joined hands, inhaling.
“You smell so nice, Guillermo. Would you taste even better?”
Guillermo’s mouth doesn’t ask for his brain’s permission before he says what he says next. “You could always find out.”
Nandor looks at him archly. “Naughty, horny little thing.” He nuzzles their joined hands again. “Mmmm…but yes, someday.”
“Someday, Master?” Guillermo’s heart kicks into gear again. Are they really going to talk about this? The thing Nandor never wants to talk about?
“Yes Guillermo.” Nandor draws him in further, leaning up out of the coffin. He nuzzles at Guillermo’s neck again, breathing him in. His beard tickles. So do his lips, when they move as he speaks against Guillermo’s skin, his voice a dark rumble that sends a rush of heat through Guillermo’s entire body.
“When I drink from you at last, I will drink deep, my sweet Guillermo. Until then…”
He withdraws and looks Guillermo in the eyes.
“Perhaps a goodnight kiss?” Those eyes are wide and guileless, but there’s a gleam there Guillermo knows. The drug blood haze has lifted. What Nandor is asking for is something he would never allow himself to acknowledge he wants, under normal circumstances.
Tomorrow, he will pretend that none of this ever happened, and Guillermo will just have to live with that.
He decides that for once, things can be simple. Smiling indulgently at his spoiled, beautiful, capricious Master, he leans in and grants him a goodnight kiss.
And if it’s hotter, deeper, more lingering than either of them had planned…well, it will all seem like a dream in the morning.