Archive of Our Own

Legundo was told his assistance was needed, but…

He'd thought it was medical assistance they needed.

He was wary walking up to the castle. Although he had a direct invitation from Scott Goldsmith himself, Legundo didn't trust it as far as he could throw him. There could be any number of traps waiting, especially now that everyone was aware that the humans were looking for the cure.

He stared down the precipitous drop to the river far below, apprehensive. The light was starting to disappear, well before actual sunset. The mountains around Oakhurst hid the sun from view and cooled the air far before night had any right to fall.

The fact that Scott and Shelby had come during the day told him that there was a sincerity to their invitation. Shelby had looked furtive, biting her lips so hard that there had been a bead of blood on her lip, and dark bruises under her eyes that told him she had not been sleeping well.

Scott had looked… well, he had looked far more put together, but with a shadow of something Legundo was not used to seeing on him. A hint of guilt.

Legundo knew he would not feel guilty if he was leading Legundo into a trap— he'd worry more if Scott looked smug, or sincere. But how carelessly he had asked for Legundo to come across the bridge and meet them in the castle, in the very careful way that betrayed how very important it was, had convinced Legundo to come. In spite of the protests from Martyn, Abolish, Cleo— damn near the whole village had something to say about it.

"I'm not going to hurt him— Legundo is already a vampire, after all," and Scott had said that with the familiar air of smugness, eyes glinting as he looked at Legundo's carefully still and expressionless face. "What more could I do?"

Shelby's poker face was far worse, but thankfully she had seemed so distraught by whatever was happening across the bridge that instead of suspicion, Avid and Drift had even come forward to comfort her with soft murmured words.

So here Legundo was, bringing himself across the bridge on a silver platter.

The door creaked open before he arrived, three times as tall as himself, yet it swung easily at a single touch from whoever was opening it. Whether that was from good construction, or from the strength behind the vampire opening it, Legundo did not know.

Pyro stood in the entrance, and Legundo noted his disheveled look.

His scarred face had been sliced open from cheek, to temple, to jaw by two glancing lines, and stitched closed again to allow the healing to take place. There was a bruise rising on his jaw, and Legundo's mouth opened in indignation to see bite marks on Pyro's neck.

Not neat ones either. Something had attacked him, and he had ripped himself away, leaving wounds over the old healed ones Scott and Owen had left on him. Legundo came forward quicker now, moving through the door and into the grand hall.

His mouth closed slightly on his indignation however, when he saw the state of Scott.

The most disheveled he had seen Scott had been in the fight at the castle. Still weak and playing human, lit by the fire of Martyn's lantern and the bloody red glow of the beacon, Scott had looked like a man possessed. Gaunt, hungry, but with a smug sense of competence that had made Legundo think he wasn't a vampire at all, but a demon. A manifestation of the Oakhurst curse.

(He still wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.)

Now Scott was without a coat, chair tilted back, and a cold cloth held over one side of his face. He looked sour, single visible eye flickering over to Legundo and away again with a heavy sigh. Deep, dark red blood— far darker than a human's, or even Shelby or Pyro's— stained the cloth on his face, the water making it run in thin rivulets down to his fine silk shirt, that probably cost more by itself than the entire contents of Legundo's medical bag.

The way he was leaned back looked wrong for a moment, and then Legundo realized Scott Goldsmith's shoulder was dislocated.

"Who do I have to thank for that?" Legundo couldn't help but ask—

And then shivered, when Scott responded with a deep guttural growl that echoed off of the rafters, and into the suddenly deathly silent castle.

"I am being very patient today, and I would thank you not to test that patience Doctor," Scott said once he had composed himself, visible eye shutting, and willing away the twisted snarl that had bent his expression. "…It's Owen."

Shelby was uninjured, but Legundo could see she looked fretful, pacing the floor beyond Scott, giving Legundo a tremulous smile when he looked at her for confirmation.

"… Owen? Owen did this?" In-fighting among the vampires was good information, and judging by the way Scott turned and gave him a rueful look, Scott knew this as well.

"Not on purpose!" Shelby protested, crossing her arms and cupping her elbows. "He's… he's sick or something, I don't know. We were expanding the castle and we found a chest in what used to be the floor. It— it had some kind of trigger, and… I—"

"The Doctor doesn't need the details," Scott said with a sigh, but Legundo made a vague noise of refusal.

"I might. He's been poisoned?" The vampires hesitated, and Legundo scowled. "What, he's sick? Ill? Attacking you all, or driven mad?"

"In… a way," Scott said. He stood, taking what Legundo could now see was a silk handkerchief away from his face.

His brow was fractured, the bone pushed down towards his eye socket in an unnatural way that closed the eye from view, and swelled the entire right side of his face up to near unrecognizability. His shoulder was bent at that unnatural slumped angle— and Legundo winced to see it, despite the way that Scott did not seem to care, nor notice whatever pain he may be in as he folded the cloth, and tucked it into his trouser pocket with his good arm.

His shirt was half unbuttoned, showing claw marks across his slim pale chest that were luckily superficial, as if they had been any deeper Legundo suspected Scott may have been disemboweled.

"We didn't even open the chest— it was under the thick floorboards where one of the chambers used to be," Shelby continued, and this time Scott did not interrupt. He was gesturing Pyro over, and once he was close enough, began tidying the fledgling— brushing his hair back and removing clots of dried blood, and getting a new silk cloth out of his pocket to gently dab at Pyro's face.

Pyro tolerated it with a resigned expression, wincing when the cloth caught on the hastily stitched cuts. Legundo felt a flicker of despondency, at the already scarred and ravaged skin on Pyro's face. The splattering of holy water, and a slashing of claw marks that Legundo knew for a fact weren't there prior to them speaking about the cure. Prior to Pyro disappearing, for a day or two.

These new marks looked fit to match those ones crossing the bridge of his nose and brow, and Legundo didn't know how he felt now, with the knowledge that it was Owen who had left them.

"We— Owen said we should get Scott, because. Because it's his damn castle," she lowered her voice to a mimicking drawl, and Legundo caught the flicker of a smile from Scott out of the corner of his eye. "But it burst open, and— and there was a flash of light, but it was slow. Like… a bubble that built up and expanded, of light! And… and Owen pushed me out of the way," Shelby sniffled, before dragging a trembling breath in and scratching at her nose as she gathered herself.

"It hit him dead on, and… and…"

"And now he's feral," Scott finished, sounding far too cavalier.

Legundo wasn't sure what to say. He moved to the table and dragged one of the heavy chairs out. It was finely made, new since all the other wood in the castle had been rotted, or old and warped.

Legundo knew Scott had not made it, and Pyro and Shelby did not seem the sort besides.

He sat in the chair Owen made, and rested his elbows on his knees, face in his hands. "What were… how did you two get injured?"

There was a moment of silence, as Scott finished tidying Pyro and sent him on his way with a small push. Pyro went to Shelby and took her hand, drawing her over to two chairs of their own, to sit near each other and listen. They looked hopeful— as if Scott would fix everything, despite the tattered mess he looked. Legundo could almost believe it, the way that the man was thinking still, tucking the second cloth away and looking contemplatively at Legundo.

"I'm not unfamiliar with the spell affecting Owen," Scott said after a moment, as if deciding how much to reveal. "And it is a spell, don't look at me like that."

"… I wasn't going to doubt you," Legundo said, who had absolutely been about to do such a thing.

"Hm," Scott gave him a dry look, and continued. "There were many who plotted my downfall in Oakhurst, and many of them were magic users. It was magic that finally bound me, after all— but it was far from the first time someone tried to bring me low through… underhanded means."

"So this is your fault, you're saying."

Scott bared teeth at Legundo in a displeased smile. "If that's what you'd like to think. The same way rat poison left in a barn is the fault of the farmer who had left it, fifty years ago."

Legundo felt his stomach drop at the mention of poison— he paled, feeling cold and clammy at the unexpectedness of it before he mastered his expression, and sat straighter, removing his elbows from his knees.

It was too late however. Scott had noticed— and Legundo saw him notice, and tuck some kind of knowledge away that made his irritation easier to swallow, his concession to peaceful conversation easier to manage, based on the way his expression smoothed out.

"The spell is one meant to kill, but not before burning you up through fever first. They no doubt thought it would be ironic, to kill me through my tremendous appetites, as if I wouldn't tear through every single one of them down in the village first before it would kill me," Scott said idly, bored almost, and taking his own seat at the table across from Legundo.

"What do you mean?" Legundo asked, not quite understanding. "It is… hunger inducing?" That would explain the bites, the way Pyro and Scott had been mauled.

"Sex, Doctor Legundo, the spell induces sex."

Legundo stared at Scott, and Pyro coughed into his fist from three seats down the table. Shelby gave a nervous, wet sort of giggle, but Legundo did not have eyes for them at the moment.

"…I'm sorry?"

Scott sighed long and loud. "Vampires can be induced into a sort of… season I suppose you'd call it," Scott wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction. "Normally it's not quite as dangerous as what poor Owen is going through, nor so deadly. There's dangers of course, since you're not thinking clearly when you are seeking someone to mate with. Vampires are known to go into the sun, brave silver, get staked down because they are leaving the safety of their castles and dens to go seek out companionship."

"Vampires can… breed?" Legundo didn't know where to start.

"Yes. Well, and often," Scott said slyly, and grinned wider at the disgusted look Legundo gave him. "Not that I'd tell you any more about it Doctor. All you need to know is that this condition of his is not natural, and this spell is going to kill Owen, unless he's satiated."

Legundo stared in silence a moment more. He truly did not know what to say.

Scott allowed him the silence, his brow furrowing a moment, face wrinkling in displeasure as they waited— and then there was a series of rippling pops that made the entire table flinch, as Scott leaned against the arm of the chair, popped his shoulder back into place, and gave a near orgasmic sigh of satisfaction. So close to their discussion of… of satiation, Legundo found himself blushing, mortified, and standing up so fast that he almost knocked the great chair he was sat in over.

"Oh, calm down," Scott said, voice soft with relief as he tested the range of motion in his shoulder, looking satisfied. "I went in first to see if I could take care of business myself."

"You?" Legundo asked, a sour feeling in his stomach despite himself, that had him clenching his hands.

"Me, yes, of course. Owen is mine Doctor, I take care of what's mine," Scott said easily, smiling at the way Legundo tensed. "Besides, Owen is a handsome man, and I knew Shelby would not do for him."

Legundo didn't know what to say to that either, casting a look at Shelby who shrugged with some kind of morbid amusement.

"He wasn't having it however, nor was he amenable to Pyro. You were next on our very short list, although I'm going to be honest, if he's a fraction as rough in his denial of you as he was for us, you're going to be in for a very not fun time."

"Owen won't… hurt me," Legundo said, although he hesitated.

Did he know that?

He hadn't hurt him in the forest, when Legundo had left himself vulnerable for feeding. Hadn't hurt him any of the other times they had spoken. He never let Legundo forget that he could of course, and Legundo took it for granted that Owen was just… Just seeking control in a way, where he had probably had none before.

But did Legundo know Owen so well, that he knew he would not hurt him— if he had sliced open Pyro's face, whom he liked, or Scott, who he respected?

"Well, after you it's Abolish— I don't think he's nearly as intrigued by your little hunter," and Scott made the word near a slur, wrinkling his nose. "As he is by you. No accounting for taste, but although Abolish might be better able to escape alive, I think that Owen would… hm. I think you're just the ticket Doctor," Scott finally decided to say, tapping his chin thoughtfully, and Legundo tried to keep the flush from his face.

It did not help. The nauseous cold of shock from earlier was gone, replaced with a heat in his ears, his cheeks.

They were speaking of hypotheticals of course, but. He was truly considering… fucking Owen, when he was out of his mind in some kind of way, and violent.

Even under the circumstances, Legundo was humiliated to admit to himself that the idea of Owen in... in his bed, or his arms, had crossed his mind before. He wasn't a monk, Legundo regularly found companionship in towns he had passed through, even paid for it on occasion. In addition to paying the workers he often did checkups for free, or looked at their little children, who the big city Doctors might refuse to see.

He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality, or his appetites, although they occasionally. Well, he had scared people before, he knew— and that was a thing he tucked down in himself and did not look at, the same as the memories of the well, and the village, and limbs being sawed off to fall onto the medical tent floor.

But Owen.

There was a tale he had read once, of a woman whose lover was taken away by dark fey creatures, to a palace under a hill. To get him back from the evil Queen of Air and Darkness, she had to hold him tight and not let him go, although he turned into all manner of things;

A snake, sharp fanged and venomous. A bear, so large she could barely keep her slim arms around him. A bird whose wings she had to crush in her hands. A snowflake, a breeze, a memory— until finally he became a flame that burned her so horribly that her tears eventually put the flames out, and her lover was there again, naked and trembling and weeping himself.

"Well Doctor, what's it going to be?" Scott asked, his face near healed now, his right eye visible beneath the fracture of his brow. The white was bruised with burst blood vessels, giving Scott a dangerous, uneven look as he stared at Legundo, legs crossed neatly, blood mopped away.

"… I'll try," Legundo nodded slowly, heart pounding. "I'll try to help Owen."

Owen had retreated to his chambers, Scott explained.

"Vampires when they're in this state naturally will go to whatever is safest to them. The best Owen has is his rooms, although devil knows he barely uses them any other time," Scott looked disgruntled about it, as he led Legundo through the halls.

Scott had instructed Pyro and Shelby to stay behind, and Legundo did not miss the slump of relief in Pyro's shoulders. Scott was not a good man, but Legundo was satisfied at least that he did not want his fledglings dead.

He did not know what to make of the way Scott fussed over them, and the way Pyro had been choking in fear when he spoke of Scott, the way he explained his sire was always watching. Whether it was a baseless mania on Pyro's part, a delusion on Shelby's, who insisted nothing was wrong— or some combination of it all perhaps, Legundo did not know.

And Scott clearly cared for Owen, as he had submitted himself to physical harm and debasement, all for the sake of a man who pushed at his every order, and refused to call him sire besides.

"I'd say let me know if you need help, but by the time you'd be able to ask, he'd probably rip your throat out, or eat you by then," Scott told him flippantly, as they approached a door at the end of the corridor. "And I'm not going to be listening in anyway."

Scott paused to give Legundo a palpably distasteful look up and down, and Legundo glared at him.

"I'll manage," Legundo said drily, hoping it was true.

Scott shrugged, and approached the door. He gave it a brisk knock, looking every inch the Lord in his Castle despite his half open blouse, and the blood still drying on his face and chest.

There was a furious rending growl from the other side, and the sound of something breaking.

"That better not have been my antique bedframe Owen!" Scott called out in a sing-song, and did not flinch as something heavy slammed into the door on the other side. "Well, good luck."

Scott opened the door once there was a moment of silence on the other side, and Legundo slipped in, before fear could stop him.

As soon as he was clear of the door, there was a blur of motion, and he was forced to cast his binding spell before he had even made sense of what he was seeing, heart pounding wildly, and flinching back against the wall next to the now shut and barred door.

Owen was frozen mid leap, arms at his sides with claws bared, straining furiously against the glimmering points of light holding him bound.

There was blood on his claws, and teeth. His pupils were wide dark pools, dilated until only a ring of dark reddish-brown remained, almost invisible against the black.

His hair was a wild tangle, silvery white and damp with sweat at the hairline, and Legundo could see he looked fevered. His face was drawn in a dehydrated, fretful kind of way, eyes huge and lamp-like, his mouth open and panting like a dog with sharp teeth bared and furious growling pouring from him.

Legundo stood himself from the wall and quickly crossed the room, putting distance between himself and Owen— although Owen could not turn his head, so he remained within his sights. He looked feral, eyes sticking to Legundo like a rabid dog after a rabbit.

"Owen— I know you are… are not feeling well, I'm sure. Scott came into town—"

Owen hissed and growled again, louder at the noise, throwing himself imperceptibly forward and backwards with such a ferocity that Legundo began to fear he'd hurt himself. "Owen, please—"

"Get out!" Owen roared, snapping his teeth so loudly that Legundo could see a fleck of saliva fly from his mouth, hear the steel trap noise of it from where he was braced, ten feet away. "Get the hell out Legs, I don't want you here, I don't want anyone—"

His voice was hoarse, ravaged. Legundo looked around— there was a simple desk that had been shattered, tools scattered on the ground and across the rug, which had been kicked up and folded over itself in a crumpled heap against the wall. There were blocks of seasoned wood that had been thrown and snapped— supplies for projects, or perhaps test pieces for the castle construction.

The room was a single large bedchamber, with a large opening leading to further connected rooms. They looked bare from here, as if Owen had fit the minimum of furniture in the part he inhabited, and then left the rest to collect dust. The idea of the four vampires filling this castle by themselves made Legundo doubtful—

But of course, Scott did not want four vampires. He wanted everyone turned, and either here to stay, or gone from his lands when the wall came down.

Legundo did not doubt which one he himself would be.

The bed was intact somehow, the blankets almost torn to shreds, and piled high on top of it. Legundo could see all manner of things among the blankets and torn mattress— there might have been colored heavy cloth that was a tapestry, and he doubted Scott had been pleased about that.

He turned his attention back to Owen, who had not stopped struggling. He was dressed in his dark colored shirt, vest gone away somewhere— Legundo could see it actually, hung up by the door. He had missed it when he had come in, but it was carefully kept away from any of the mess, or destruction.

Legundo had wondered at Owen's clothes, when he had shown up in them with his hair turned white and eyes a deeper bloody red, but not thought to ask.

"I'm here to help you," Legundo finally said, over the sound of Owen growling. "You won't take Scott, or Pyro. Owen, you're…" He swallowed, throat clicking. "You're ill, Scott says you're going to die."

"I don't care," Owen snarled, voice cracking and hoarse. He sounded dehydrated— Legundo knew that vampires could drink water, and thought a moment whether he'd risk coming near enough to offer Owen some of the flask on his hip.

He decided against it. The spell would not last forever, and already he felt the strain of it like he had never felt before, as Owen threw his own will against it again and again. The only reason that he assumed the other vampires had never done so before, is it probably hurt.

"I don't want anyone— there's no one, you're all…" Owen panted, sounding so much like an animal that Legundo was frightened— not for himself, but for Owen. He sounded so… so unlike himself, fractured and speaking in a short, furious way. As if the words would not come to him, where Owen was normally so verbose, and observant. "You're all rotten, there's nothing here for me. Not even you."

The disgust in his voice startled Legundo— his stomach dropped. It was a thing he had heard from himself many times before. In his dreams. His thoughts— rotten. Disgusting, not worth salvation. Selfish even in his service, because he thought he'd be able to seek redemption.

But. Owen—

The spell dropped.

Owen came at him faster than he could see, and Legundo was thrown against the window, the speed of it enough to bruise him, his head cracking the thick glass pane with a bright sharp sound, and a ringing in his head.

'Not enough for a concussion,' Legundo thought blearily, resigned now to being killed. It had been a possibility, one he was reluctant to admit. At least he'd damaged Scott Goldsmith's castle in some tangible way before he went.

"I… I saw what you did," Owen sneered, so close to him, his lips drawn back from those sharp teeth, breath hot and humid against Legundo's face. Owen did not look well— his skin had a sallow look, and Legundo could see his eyes wobbling where they tried to focus, unable to keep track of what he was looking at.

Perhaps the reason Legundo was not dead, was Owen was starting to die himself, and the thought made Legundo squirm in protest, to try and get the choke-hold grip Owen had on his neck to loosen.

Even if Owen did not want him Legundo could help him— ease his discomfort, honor his choice.

"Owen, let me—"

"I saw you kill those people," Owen snarled, and his grip tightened to choking. Legundo felt something pop in his neck, and stilled himself carefully at the starburst of pain, gasping airlessly. It was hard to fight the adrenaline, but he was in sudden very real danger of snapping his own neck if he struggled. "I thought you were… were different, but you're just like the rest. Worse— a murderer. A poisoner."

Legundo stared at him. He felt like he was living a nightmare— nobody... he hadn't wanted—

"I should take you up on your offer. What did Scott tell you I'd be nice? That I wouldn't hurt you? Is that the only reason you were stupid enough to come up here to be raped to death?"

Owen spit the words out to hurt him, and Legundo flinched, shutting his eyes against the hot tears that wanted to flow. He was too old and broken to cry, he didn't deserve to, but… it hurt, it did, from Owen. He hadn't thought it would.

"Scott didn't… lie," Legundo managed to say, almost inaudible. His vision was spotting. "Whatever… you need."

Owen let go of him and backed away like he'd been burned. He wiped his hands on his legs, looking at Legundo with a strange expression on his face. Lip raised in a half snarl of disgust, like a wolf that had stumbled on rotten meat, but was too hungry to think.

Legundo dragged in heavy breaths, and reached up carefully to feel at his throat. Something had popped— a muscle. He could not turn his head to the right any longer, the pain too immense, and he was having trouble drawing breath.

He slid down the wall, the back smearing cold from his own sweat as he did, and fumbled a healing potion out with trembling fingers. He took a sip once he had uncorked it, the effect immediate, and Owen ceased his fevered pacing long enough to throw him an angry glare.

"You're trying to sell yourself as a… a good person—"

"The fuck I am," Legundo spit out, angry now despite himself, and did not flinch at the way Owen swiped claws in his direction, before turning his fury on to the rug tangled the ground.

As Owen shredded it in methodical, furious motions, uncontrollable and snarling and flinging bits against the wall in place no doubt of Legundo— Legundo had to raise his voice to be heard.

"I told you I knew what evil men looked like. Hunger, and... and monsters, who would do any selfish thing to save themselves."

Men who would save themselves the horror of watching their friends march to die, of fixing them up again and again— but that wasn't the only reason, no. Legundo had wanted that victory deep down in himself, he had wanted that large number, as vengeance. As justification for this stupid, endless fucking war. Legundo had wanted to stand on top, and look down, and be pleased.

Instead he had seen bodies in the streets. Men, women— the little children, who had been asleep in their beds. The ones the poison didn't take, the infantry had.

It hadn't been as bloodless as Legundo had imagined.

Owen was not killing him. He was shredding a rug. He didn't want Legundo dead— he could have crushed Legundo's skull through the window and tossed him to the ground seven stories below. It was harder not to in fact—

And so Legundo swallowed, and began taking his surgical robe off.

The buttons were hidden behind the front panel, but it only took a moment for him to remove his gloves, and make stripping it easier. His fingers were damp with sweat, and shaking with nerves, but even with the potion still in hand he managed.

"What are you doing?" Owen demanded, when he turned and caught sight of Legundo unbuttoning his shirt now, robe discarded to the side. His hip was hurting, from the floor. "Stop that."

"Kill me then," Legundo snapped, more irritably than he intended, as he finished removing his shirt, and slid it off.

It was cold, especially with the stones against his back, and biting into him where he was sat at the uncomfortable angle he had fallen. He shivered, hair prickling and raising on his arms and chest, and Owen looked… well, he looked frightened, pressing himself to the wall as if Legundo was brandishing a weapon at him.

"Stop," Owen said in a small voice, swallowing heavily, before he opened his mouth to pant. He couldn't seem to stop himself— tilting his chin to the side, trying to rip his eyes away from Legundo as he brought a hand up to the windowsill behind him, and dragged himself up to his feet. His fangs were on display, but not in threat. Owen's tongue kept coming out, as if he was not aware of it— before he turned it into a swipe along his lips, or a touch to the points of his fangs.

But he kept watching, unnaturally still now, like a cat watching at the baseboards for a mouse.

Legundo reached a hand down, and undid the button of his trousers.

There was a blur of motion, and then Legundo's sweaty front was pressed to the bed. There was a clink as his bag was kicked in the struggle, and went sliding across the room. A bottle rolled free, but thankfully the one in his hand had been stoppered after he had drank from it, and did not go spilling everywhere as Legundo was pressed down on to the bed.

His heart pounded in mix of arousal, and fear, and even the small squirm he made to get himself further up the bed, to get more stable, or comfortable, was met with a loud furious snarl. Owen's hand caught in his hair and twisted, almost hurting his neck again at the angle. Legundo did not fight the manhandling, too afraid of hurting himself further as Owen pinned him down. His heart was pounding, the skin of his neck jumping with the pulse of it as Owen breathed hot against him.

"This is what you wanted?" Owen demanded, and Legundo shouted in pain as his head was shoved more roughly down against the piles of cloth on the mattress. It smelled like dust, and the heavy thick dirt smell that permeated the abandoned castle grounds— he almost couldn't breathe, struggling to drag in air through the thick cloth, and the way his chest and neck were being contorted. "You think I won't? I killed too, and I didn't pretend to be anything else. I didn't lie."

But the bed also smelled like cedar, and candle wax, and Owen. Legundo could feel heat stirring in his gut, and grit his teeth.

He pressed back as far as he could, to feel Owen hard in his trousers, pressed to his backside. Owen made a noise like he was wounded, weight going dead and flat across the top of Legundo, hand losing it's grip in his hair as he rut forward once, twice. His breath was on Legundo's ear now, and the damp heat of it made Legundo shiver from his toes all the way up to his prickling scalp, rocked with the motion of Owen humping him.

"Yes, Owen you stupid ingrate, it's what I want, because you're going to die," Legundo snapped, popping the cap on the potion bottle, and dipping his thumb into it without looking. It made a mess, but he managed to abandon it without spilling all of it, and reached back behind himself.

He had to shove Owen back to do it, who was panting like a ravenous dog behind him, grinding against the back of Legundo's thigh now. Legundo was grateful he'd undone his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, since Owen would not let him up, and he was half falling off the damned bed besides.

He managed to get his wet hand behind himself and put two fingers in his hole right away, furrowing his brow at the discomfort, and the awkward angle of his wrist. It took a few dragging pulls— and then he was elbowing Owen to make room for himself because Owen was so busy rutting against him it was getting in the way.

Owen growled in fury at being interrupted and snapped his teeth. He tore Legundo's hand away, pinning it by his head, and when he flung the other back to hit him in reprimand, Owen pinned that down too.

He started to protest, to open his mouth, but suddenly he was in pain— a good amount of it, unfiltered, as Owen sank his teeth into the back of his neck, and slid his cock home inside of Legundo in the same motion.

It hurt, but that was mostly the bite— Legundo had managed to slick the way enough with potion that he was not injured. There wasn't any tearing but he was at the cusp of it, breathing shallowly as if the pain would not find him. There was pleasure there of course, dizzying, because Legundo was not new to this, he knew what he liked.

He swore regardless, twisting under Owen simply for something to do, muscles straining in the hold he was at. He tried to go forward on the bed but Owen followed him, gasping feverishly, and his voice sounded wet, and small all of a sudden, as he said,

"Sorry, Legs, sorry— I just— oh,"

And then Owen was fucking him, jackrabbit fast, his hips slapping, and the pain was thorny, but tolerable. Owen let go, his hands coming to either side of Legundo's head, the claws digging tattered furrows in the mattress.

Legundo could see now, the deep tears, and the way clawed hands had dug deep before he had even gotten here. He wondered if Owen had jerked himself off in the bed, to make the pain go away— but doubted it. If it was possible for masturbation to solve the issue, Scott would have said. Or, he would not have allowed a dislocated shoulder for himself besides.

Legundo braced himself on the bed and pushed back, gritting his teeth, trying to ease the glide— he was panicking, and it was making the penetration tighter than it should have been. He just had to— had to ease up—

"Oh, christ," Owen panted, his mouth wet against Leg's throbbing neck, with blood. All Legs could see was the mattress below him, spotted with saliva and tears from his face as he struggled to keep his head up, and keep getting air.

He wondered what Owen looked like. He had looked so soft, and satisfied after feeding from Legundo before. Hair loose and white and shining, his eyes wide and grateful and fey almost.

Now he sounded pained—

And then Owen was coming with a gasp, his hands coming down bruising tight on Leg's hip and shoulder. Legundo felt the cold of it inside him, feeling the pain through his entire tailbone all the way up to the base of his neck.

Owen laid across Legundo's back a moment when he was done, gasping. Legundo could feel him mouth against his neck again, his shoulder, purring uncontrollably— but when Owen finally bit Legundo's ear with a slightly too sharp excited nip, Legundo shoved his elbow back and managed to throw Owen off of him in his shocked state.

He turned over and slid up the bed, expecting any moment for Owen to be back on him, but his hip and leg were throbbing. He needed to be on his back or this wouldn't work—

And then Owen was on him again, so Legundo was right to be quick with it.

"What, changed your mind?" Owen hissed, pinning Legundo down with a hand on his chest, his other hand grabbing Legundo's trousers where they had trapped his legs, and tearing them off. He was stymied by Legundo's boots only for a moment, before Legundo rolled his eyes and managed to wrench them off himself with a toe on each heel.

They were not laced too tight. They were the same pair he had worn when he arrived, suited for travel, and hiking. He didn't know what they would do if they were here longer than a year or two, and things like shoes or combs or soap started to run out.

"I'm not changing my mind, I'm fifty two Owen," Legundo snapped.

Owen removed his shirt, which was near tatters anyway, and his pants were short to follow. Legundo had not noticed, but he'd been barefoot. It wasn't as if the splinters of wood and glass in the room were a danger to him, nor the cold of the stone floor. Now he was bare, bones like a cathedral beneath his skin, scarring dappling across his thighs, and chest, and under his arms.

Legundo reached underneath himself where something was digging into his back, and withdrew the potion bottle. Based on the damp feeling of the sheets and the smell of bright melon, most of it had spilled. But there was enough to coat his fingers again, and he winced as he reached beneath himself once more.

He had to finger through Owen's come to do it, and Owen leaned back enough to watch, looking stupefied, mouth open and panting. He was still hard— had never gotten soft truthfully, and he kept rubbing against Legundo's hip in an uncontrollable way.

"Whatever you need," Legundo told him, propping his good leg up when he was done and hooking it around Owen to drag him forward by his hips. His own cock had finally started to get hard, laid across the slope of his belly, but it was an after thought. "Come on, you can kill me after."

Owen whimpered, and Legundo did not know it would affect him as much as it did but he felt a hot clench in his belly at the sound. Then Owen was sliding into him again, his length still warmed from Legundo's own body heat, and his own blood running abnormally hot, and feverish.

As Owen started fucking him again, Legundo wondered whether a vampire would be cooler, had he not been magically poisoned. Whether Owen would be whimpering as he currently was, burying his nose into Legundo's throat and begging with his mouth, so soft. He moved in and out at the same rapid pace he had before, unceasing, and every time Legundo thought he had braced himself sufficiently, gotten used to the thrusting in and out, Owen would heft him up further on the bed, growling in annoyance to try and get a better angle, get deeper.

Those sweet purrs and whimpers turned into frustrated growling, and Legundo shouted as Owen sank his teeth into his chest, over the soft muscled swell of his pectoral muscle.

"I am trying to help you you brute," Legundo said, adding a swear when Owen simply growled louder and bit deeper, not ceasing to fuck him, curled over him like a beast.

'This better be the damned spell,' Legundo thought irritably and without much conviction, hooking a thumb into the corner of Owen's open growling mouth that was on his chest, and clenching down on where his cock was thrusting in and out of him.

In Owen's moment of gasping weakness at the feeling, Legundo wrenched the fangs out of his chest, and brought Owen's face up to his own mouth instead, like leading a dog to a treat. Legundo pressed a hard demanding kiss there, unable to help himself, resigned to whatever injury may ensue.

But Owen did not bite— at least not hard. He pressed his mouth to Legundo's once he was given the guidance to, purring again, his tongue sweeping out to feel the roof of Legundo's mouth, his tongue rough and cooler than his own when they met.

But then Owen's mouth was slipping off the side of his, against his damp cheek, gasping and swearing and then sobbing in frustration. His hips stilled, twisting, trying to get an angle, get deeper, and Legundo winced at the sudden pain of it.

Owen was being careful, astonishingly so, and it told him more than Owen's words did. But he was still a vampire, and Legundo was sturdy— but Owen could hurt him very easily by accident.

"What is it?" Legundo asked, reaching a hand up to press to Owen's cheek— and he expected more venom, more nastiness, but instead Owen was almost crying, face twisted in a mixture of fury, and misery.

"It's not— not working it's not enough, oh—" and he started thrusting again, tempestuously fast, gasping against Legundo's cheek and neck.

Legundo grabbed a fistful of Owen's hair in his fist, thinking of what— what the men he had slept with before liked. He pulled, and it was enough to wrench Owen's head back, and then Legundo was biting on his throat as hard as he could.

Owen came immediately, shouting at the ceiling, and Legundo thought in a smug sort of way that it didn't matter if Scott was listening at the door, he'd probably hear them anyway.

Owen gave a few more thrusts, gasping and shivering through it, his hands tight on Legundo's hips, and the pain was near burning now in the bad one, both from the pressure and the angle, but he had somehow managed to stay hard in spite of it. His cock was being rubbed by Owen's stomach as he curled over him, gasping and panting, and buried his face again into the soft swell and fur of Legundo's (bleeding now god damn it) chest.

Legundo released his hold on Owen's hair to let him press down and hide his face, licking at his own teeth— there was no blood, but he could taste something undeniably Owen that was a sort of sweat, a sort of bitter smell that he associated with the forest, and growing things.

Owen was still hard, but he was shivering, trying to move in and out again, the noise wet where they were joined, as well as where Owen's knee was placed in the puddle beneath them.

"Come here, calm down," Legundo ordered in a hushed tone, lifting Owen's tear-stained and frustrated face. He looked betrayed, as if he could not believe the disservice being done to him by his own body. Brows furrowed, eyes wet with reddish tears and saliva and blood smeared across his mouth.

Legundo rubbed a thumb on his cheek, drying the tears, scraping the wet blood away and leaving rusty streaks instead. Owen turned his head incorrigibly, sucking at Legundo's fingers, purring and lidding his eyes in sudden pleasure.

It was unnatural, how quickly his eyes went from sensible, and conscious, to this... creature, seeking only Legundo's heat, and the clutch of his body to sink his cock into. A switch, flipping back and forth like a metronome. Legundo could only be satisfied with the knowledge that it had not been Pyro, or Scott Owen had wanted, but himself.

Legundo took the opportunity of Owen being pliable to push him back, slip his cock out of him, and drag him up until he was straddling Legundo across his middle. He winced at the feeling of the cum dripping out of him, his thighs tacky and sore from the way Owen had forced them open, and held him down.

Owen's cock was still hard, uncut, and Legundo rolled the foreskin back to look at the flushed head of it, slick with come, and the remains of the potion. He thought to take it in his mouth for a moment— but even with the antimicrobial properties of a healing potions, it had just been in his ass.

Instead, he slowly started stroking it with his right hand, watching that foreskin roll forward and back until it was back more than it was forward, growing even harder somehow— and Legundo put the fingers of his left hand in his mouth to suck on.

Owen gasped, staring down with feverish intensity, hands taking a handful each of Legundo's chest, and Legundo winced at the sting of the bite being pulled. Owen's cock was velvety in his hand, the pulse of blood in it different, just slightly cooler than a humans but much warmer than it would be normally. Legundo covered the length entirely with his hand— not that Owen's cock was small, it was a good solid weight. Charming, he thought, and smiled slightly around his fingers.

"What?" Owen demanded, voice hoarse and cranky, and wet from gasping.

Legundo removed his fingers with a slurping noise, and noted the shiver that rocked Owen on top of him. "Just didn't think I'd see you like this," Legundo commented, and put his fingers to Owen's hole.

One went in easy, and Owen yelped for it, rocking faster on top of him until Legundo had to move himself up further on the bed, to give Owen the surface of his chest to drive against. He moved his finger in and out, smug, watching how Owen clenched down on it and furrowed his brow in open mouthed concentration.

Two went in slightly harder, the clench of Owen's hole protesting the intrusion. He had to rock Owen back and forth a few times, get him used to the burn of it— there was no getting his fingers in if they wouldn't go, they'd break first on a vampire. But they went eventually, eased along by spit.

Legundo wasn't a fool however, this wouldn't be done with spit alone.

"Do you see my bag?" he asked, driving his two fingers in and out.

Owen opened his eyes and stared down at him, looking concussed. "What?"

"My bag, do you see my bag," Legundo repeated, feeling mean as he brought his fingers up to the knuckle, and forward, and Owen moaned so loud that Legundo thought he'd come for a moment, and had to check.

"Fuck your bag," Owen snarled, rocking back on Legundo's fingers and almost hurting his wrist. "Are you kidding me?"

"No— it should be right down to the side," Legundo stretched the hand not currently buried in Owen, and gestured toward the floor where it had been kicked. "Give it to me, I'll fuck you for real," he said, temptingly, and he saw Owen squint down at him with red-eyed irritation.

At least he no longer looked about to weep.

Owen growled in frustration, and finally tore himself away to stretch flat across the bed and over the side. Legundo enjoyed the view of his long narrow back and whipcord shoulders, ending in those graceful legs that were still hooked to either side of him. As if Owen did not want him to escape while he was distracted fishing for the bag over the side of the bed.

There was a clatter of glass, and Owen retrieved Legundo's bag and shoved it at his face. "There— now fuck me," he growled, rocking forward on Legundo again-- helplessly, against Legundo's stomach, his chest, leaving a damp trail and sounding frustrated. He was slicking the hair on Legundo's chest with precum, the sweat there making the glide smooth in the channel between his pecs. His hands were pressing the fat there together to make a shallow spot to tuck his thrusting into— an uncomfortable feeling, especially with Owen's cock almost making contact with his face every other thrust. But the discomfort was worth the intense, wide eyed and frowning way Owen was staring at him, the way he was distracted from what Legundo was doing with his own hands.

Owen would be sweet again soon Legundo suspected, as he dug out one of the remaining potions, and popped the cap to slick his fingers. He put them to Owen and pressed in while he was distracted by Legundo's chest, and immediately Owen fell to purring, mouth open in a gasp, the tight grip of his hole so much easier. Two fingers sank in without resistance, Owen's muscles loose from two orgasms, and eager.

"Oh you're sweet already I think," Legundo commented, and laughed when Owen clenched on his fingers and bent forward to bite him in irritation. He tried to pull his head back and avoid it, but it just bared his neck for Owen's teeth.

But that was it's own pleasure too, letting Owen drink.

His throat hummed with the vibrations as Owen purred and stuttered in pleased gasps, and Legundo slipped a third finger into him. His fingers were large, but his cock was larger, where it jutted behind Owen's back and tapped against his tailbone. He could feel Owen drinking, the pull of it, but only allowed a few gulps before he was tapping Owen on the hip to get him up and off, so he could shift him back.

Owen looked uncertain now, staring wide-eyed at Legundo while he lifted himself on his knees, Legundo's cock looking obscene between his thighs.

But he backed himself up until Legundo felt the dampness of him touch the head of his cock, and then Owen was catching and sliding down— until the head was pressed snugly inside, mouth open, and shoulders bowed.

He didn't shut his eyes— he stared sightlessly down instead at Legundo's chest, his mouth smeared with blood and a single thread of drool hanging down that he did not seem to notice, but that Legundo found unbearably fascinating. Owen's brows were furrowed in concentration, as he rocked himself forward, and then back, taking Legundo's cock one single inch at a time.

"Slow— it'll hurt," Legundo started to try and say, but the soft tone he took seemed to snap Owen out of it, and he growled jealously instead. As if Legundo was trying to keep something from him, and reached below himself to hold the rest of Legundo's cock steady as he forced himself down the rest of the way.

It was a gritty slide, and Legundo was right about a vampire's muscles. They did not give before Legundo's cock did, and he was only grateful he did not snap off with the force. Instead it was so tight about him that it almost hurt, and Legundo swore and shouted and slapped a hand against Owen's hips to get him to stop—

But Owen was already sitting smug and satisfied across Legundo's hips like a cat that had got the cream, cock seated entirely inside of him.

"You're going to kill me," Legundo protested, meaning it in the least arousing way possible.

"Good," Owen snarled, rocking forward so Legundo's cock dragged out of him, moaning at the feeling. His cock was hard and flushed, so wet it was glistening, and Legundo reached up to take it in hand, feeling slightly vindictive as he twisted his wrist and jerked Owen with a punishing pace.

Owen hissed, seeming to want to bow himself away from Legundo's hand— but he did not want to give up the prize of Legundo's cock, and instead rocked back and forth, moaning and growling, and bowing his head as if to push off the onset of orgasm that was rising up in him like a thorny tangle.

"Come on," Legundo encouraged, grinning, and Owen opened his eyes to glare and snap his teeth at him, sinking his claws into Legundo's chest like ten small daggers. The pain did not deter him, merely made him wince and laugh.

Legundo's jostling him seemed to do it, as well as the twist he gave of his wrist. His hands were rough despite his vocation, and he kept the pressure mean, and tight. He could feel the pulse of Owen coming a moment before he started gasping, almost sobbing with it.

His hands came up to grab at Legundo's wrists, although he didn't try to stop him truly. Merely held on to them, wincing and snarling and twisting as if to get away from Legundo's cock still hard inside, and Legundo's hands dragging pulse after pulse of come out of his cock and onto Legundo's chest and belly. Owen was clenching so hard about him that Legundo didn't think he'd be able to pull out if he tried.

Owen was crying now— there were silver shining tracks running beneath his eyes, brow furrowed and teeth bared. He felt as tense as a piano wire beneath Legundo's hands, his thighs grasping so hard to either side of his waist that it felt bruising where Owen's knees were digging in.

And then Owen was slumping limp atop him, trembling, making small kittenish sounds Legundo had not heard before, with every motion of his hand on Owen's cock where it was trapped between them.

It was still hard.

Legundo let Owen press his tear stained face against his neck, let him lick at the blood still there in a soothing, fitful way. He felt Owen's neck, and his head, with the careful, dry fingers of his clean hand. He had taken Apo and Cleo's slow, near imperceptible pulses before. Owen was feeling only slightly closer to a baseline— his skin was taut still, dehydrated, pupils dilated. He was probably trying to hide his face in Legundo's neck because the dim light of the moon through the window hurt him.

Legundo retrieved his flask where it had come off from his trousers, abandoned in the mess of a bed. He uncapped it, and pushed Owen's face back by the forehead, looking at his teary eyes, his runny nose, and blood-stained mouth.

He still looked ill, feverish— but he also looked petulant. Legundo brought the water to his mouth and he accepted it limply, mouth going about the opening while Legundo tilted it.

When he was done Legundo set the flask aside without bothering to cap it, and then slowly turned them over.

He was gentle, and gave Owen's cheek, and forehead, and then his mouth a series of gentle reassuring kisses.

And then he started fucking him again.

He had his good leg braced on the mattress, the other stretched out below him and Owen. Owen was so limp and unprotesting underneath him that Legundo had to look up and make sure he was awake—

But he was. His mouth was open, and Legundo had to reach up and hold his jaw still and stiffen his lips, to make a surface for him to kiss. So he could feel the way Owen was moaning, the breath leaving him in rhythmic bursts as Legundo fucked him into the mattress, up against the pillows he himself had just been laying against.

He held himself up and then used his free hand to draw Owen's leg up, pull his hips down and forward and towards him, so Legundo's cock was driving up— and Owen came to life like he had shocked him, gasping and crying out, eyes wet. His hands clung to Legundo's shoulders, drawing blood. Owen was suddenly writhing underneath him and gritting his teeth, snarling and bearing down as Legundo drove into him again and again into that spot, his fingers biting into Owen's thigh to keep him in place, providing leverage to keep fucking him.

He did not go fast, but steady, making sure his rhythm did not falter, he did not let up no matter how Owen swore, and snarled, and called him a pox ridden whore— although he did grin and laugh again, and suffer Owen glaring at him.

He let go of Owen's thigh and grabbed his cock, and it was so tender and sensitive that Owen practically threw him off— Legundo had to rock himself back on top of Owen and thrust back in, his cock coming free from the clench of Owen's body, and the return of sensation meant Owen drummed a foot against his back and swore, and let Legundo jerk his cock like he did not know what to do with himself—

And then Owen was coming.

Legundo could not help the relief he felt, as he kept tugging at Owen's cock, gentle so the pleasure did not become pain, leaving his cock inside to let Owen clench down on it, moaning and trembling and staring past Legundo like he could not believe that this had happened to him.

Owen finally started shivering in a pained way, although he did not seem to have the energy to move himself away from Legundo, overstimulated and shaking and gasping at every small movement of Legundo's hard length inside him. So Legundo extracted himself— let Owen slump down into the mattress, arm thrown across his twitching stomach, the other thrown across his tear stained and gasping face so he didn't have to see the way Legundo was looking at him.

Legundo took himself in hand, stripping his cock still slick from potion, and almost painful from how hard he was. He prided himself on taking care of his partners, but it had been a near thing.

Now he looked down at the sprawl of Owen's narrow body, his dark colored nipples, and the divot in the center of his chest that Legundo could sink his thumb into, and feel nothing but the hum of Owen's voice, and the lack of a heart beat. Owen's poor abused cock was lying across his thigh, wet and soft now, finally, slick with come and such a tempting mouthful that Legundo though viciously of taking it in his mouth again regardless— he might be able to truly make Owen sob.

He felt his balls draw up and slowed, putting pressure on the base, and in a guilty, amused kind of way, directed his cock onto Owen so when he finally started coming, the mess sprayed onto Owen's stomach and thighs in long, unending pulses.

It felt like having a damned tooth pulled, cock pulsing, and his hips twitching with the effort to hold himself up over Owen as he came in ribbons. Owen slid his arm down off of his eyes towards the end of it, giving him an irritable, betrayed sort of look.

Legundo ignored it— his ass still stung from the rough treatment Owen had given him. He let himself roll to the side, onto his shoulder next to Owen, panting and heart pounding.

Owen was silent, scowling at the ceiling, and Legundo let him be, digging beside himself to find the empty potion bottle, and dropping it off the side of the bed to clink to the floor. There was already so much broken furniture and clothing scattered about, he could not be bothered to worry about the mess.

"… This doesn't mean anything," Owen said finally, after Legundo had wedged himself against him, and made himself comfortable. Legundo did not miss the purring beneath his voice, nor the fact that if Owen could voluntarily stop it, he no doubt would have, judging by his sour tone.

"Yes, it does," Legundo said flatly. When Owen turned to stare indignant at him, he glared back. "It only means as much as you want it to Owen, this doesn't have to be so... so complicated. I am not a good man, I am not selling myself as one! You could kill me now and you'd be doing everyone a favor—"

Owen looked struck, blinking at him, but Legundo pressed on, irritated.

"I am going to find the cure, and I am going to offer it to whoever wants it. If that gets us out, then fine. If it doesn't, then we well find another way. It's magic, there has to be another way."

Owen was silent, staring. He turned onto his side as well, hair stuck to his damp face, eyes now looking less fevered, more normal. They were such a deep dark red, the color of bloodstained soil beneath a forest canopy.

His lashes were a pale silver on his dark cheek, and Legundo had to fight the urge to reach forward and touch them. Smooth them, and run his fingers along Owen's eye lids, and dry the tears and the sweat that were still there, turning the skin dewy, and soft.

His hands were filthy from come, and he was amused to see the mess still on Owen's belly.

Served him right.

"What if there isn't another way?" Owen asked, quietly.

"Then we'll figure it out," Legundo said, as if it was that easy.

Maybe it would be.