Chapter Text
They say vampires don’t feel the cold.
But whoever ‘they’ were- Levi knew they were wrong. Dead wrong.
They were especially wrong today, when Levi walked out the front door of his home only to be hit squarely in the face by a gust of clammy, fish-scented air that sent him straight back inside. He emerged five minutes later in an old woolen coat, mumbling about the unwelcome change of seasons and something indistinct about a lousy tide. Sure, the leaves were cheerful yellows and tints of orange. True, the crisp edge to the air hadn’t yet given way to bleak rains and howling winds. Strictly, in all fairness, the shortening day length was something Levi actually found quite welcome. But all the pretty trappings of autumn did was serve as cover for cold to steal closer in the days and nights, and from that there was no escape.
Levi walked quickly to his car, keeping under the long shadow the big ash tree spread over short-cropped grass. The ground felt firm under his step, another sign of the coming winter. He unlocked the door and slid into his car, putting the heavy bag of tools he’d scrounged out of the basement down on the passenger seat. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he took one final look at it to make sure he had the correct address.
Atlantic Road. Levi snorted. Mr. Smith was either very rich or very lucky, and Levi wasn’t sure which one was worse. It didn’t really matter, not when the request had been an interesting one. He was tired of swapping out generic locks on slum-lord apartments and getting stupid teenagers back into their cars at 3 am. Besides, it was weekend work, and Levi could charge double for that. He turned the key in the car’s ignition and rolled down the driveway, turning towards downtown.
It was a short drive, through narrow streets, houses pressing close to the sidewalks. The sun setting behind him, Levi tried to avoid its reflected glare in his rear-view mirrors. It wasn’t easy to drive fast through the town. There were too many stop signs, too many cars parked halfway onto the curb, too many twists and dog-leg crooks in the road that made it difficult to see oncoming cars. But Levi managed it anyway, barreling down the narrow lanes, passing a hair’s breadth by a stopped delivery truck, and swerving around the corner at the last second with no turn signal. Zipping through a light just as it was about to turn red earned him an extended blast on the horn that Levi dismissed with his middle finger raised.
“Fuck you very much, too,” he quipped, but the slight upward quirk at the edge of his lips said otherwise. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t die, so he might as well live it up. Levi sped down the road as the houses thinned, the meager mile of dense town turning to larger plots and an even larger hill. When he’d crested the top, even the trees had become sparse, and as he raced around a familiar turn he took a moment to enjoy the scenery. The land ended to his left- crushed into a rubble of dark water-stained boulders. Low beach plum bushes lined the road, clinging to the only strip of sandy soil separating it from the rocks. Falling over each other, rising out of the water in humps of black, big and small jumbled and heaped at the edge of the world, the boulders meant there were no houses off the ocean side of the road. There was nothing to obstruct the view. Only wild coastline, white peaks of spray, and the ever-present shushing of waves breaking below.
Riding around the turns, not a single car in sight, the setting sun shining white on the twin lighthouses just past the cape, Levi could almost imagine he was alone. He could almost see the land the way it had been long ago. The way he remembered it. There was still some of that flavor left, of the untamed and primitive, a place of rocks and sky and wind. But it was impossible to imagine for long, especially when he passed the Greco-Italianate monstrosity of a villa to the right. Thankfully the tacky eyesore wasn’t the address Mr. Smith had given, and Levi drove on.
The blight of the overwrought house had put him in a more dour mood, and Levi only realized he was driving too fast even for him when he almost missed the turn. His tires screeched, losing grip for a moment as they slid on crumbling asphalt before whipping him around the turn and onto an unpaved road. Gravel crunched under his wheels as he drove away from the sea, an overgrown thicket of bush and small trees obstructing any view of the house he approached. When it loomed up, two and a half stories of heavy stone and slate, Levi wasn’t ready for it. The driveway branched, a wider path turning towards overgrown hedges and what Levi knew would be the front of the house while the other path continued straight back. He kept driving straight. He’d known the address would be fancy, the street name alone had told him that, but the distinguished mansion was older and more stately than he’d been prepared for. This wasn’t just money. This had taste, and some amount of age, and Levi had a healthy respect for both of those things.
“Interesting,” he admitted to himself, bag of tools in-hand, as he got out of the car and approached the entry. The mansion needed a little work. Nothing major, its old bones were built to be solid and there wasn’t anything obviously falling apart. But he could see gaps where a slate shingle or two had fallen from the roof, and the mortar in the stonework was powdery and brittle at its edges. The manor’s grounds had made it seem far worse. The unmanaged bushes and hedges he’d driven by were in just as sorry a state as the rest of the unkempt landscaping. Old leaves littered the drive, the grass had gone to seed long ago, and the occasional tuft of unruly weeds sticking almost a foot up above the rest of it all in the yard made the place look a little abandoned. The longer driveway had brought him around to the side of the house, as some estates did, and he knew what he was seeing was only the modest end of the property, rather than the grand entry and formal garden that had likely been designed at the front. They might even still be there. That is, if Mr. Smith was both rich and lucky. Levi rang the bell, wondering more and more at what kind of man would own a house like this, all the way out here, and would also call him with such a specific request.
“Hello?” The door opened, answering Levi’s question immediately.
A hot man, as it turned out.
Levi stared for a second, looking up and up to take in the man filling the doorway before him. Tall, very blonde, muscular and handsome in a way even worn-in moccasins, green plaid pajama bottoms, and a plain v-neck undershirt couldn’t hide, the stranger was far more impressive than the house.
“Are you Mr. Smith?” Levi asked, wondering how it was humanly possible to look so good in clothing he himself would never even consider leaving the house in.
“Yes,” the man replied in a deep baritone that made Levi even more confused.
“Ackerman,” Levi stated, thrusting his free hand out, adding, “from Ackerman Lockworks. You called.” Mr. Smith reached out, giving his hand a firm shake almost automatically, his face still blank, before he registered a flash of recognition.
“Ah, yes. That’s right. I guess I hadn’t realized you’d actually come tonight.”
“You said 6:30. It’s 6:30.”
“No, I know. I mean you, personally. You must be the owner. Ackerman,” the man clarified.
“It’s a small business,” Levi replied, unfazed.
“So I see.” Mr. Smith accepted the answer with a note of thoughtfulness. He then turned, walking into the house. For a moment Levi watched him go, staring a little more than he should at where the undershirt tugged around the man’s shoulders and biceps. His eyes traveled down, over a wide back, only to pause again at the curve of the man’s ass. Even through baggy pajamas he had no trouble admiring its shape, and Levi wondered briefly if the man was even wearing anything underneath. Reminding himself that he was here for business, he frowned, consciously turning his attention down to the door-frame.
This was potentially more of a problem than Mr. Smith’s unexpected attractiveness. The toes of his leather shoes just touched the edge of slightly raised granite. He could feel it, pressing on his soles, a hard line. He had not yet crossed the threshold. The door was open. Mr. Smith had opened it for him. His presence and purpose had been acknowledged. But still, it wasn’t quite as much as Levi was comfortable with, and he stood still.
“Come in, the chest I called about is upstairs,” the man called over his shoulder, motioning with a nod of his head. The invitation released Levi from his indecision, the line breaking, as a sigh brought him through the doorway and into the stranger’s home. Hurrying a few steps to catch up with the man’s longer stride, he followed. There wasn’t much time to take in the home’s atmosphere, but the few glances Levi managed told him more than enough. They also explained the condition of the yard. The place was almost completely empty. Almost unsettling, in fact. They’d come in the side, crossed through a kitchen totally devoid of cooking utensils or appliances, and passed by an equally barren butler’s pantry before the reason for the lack of furnishings was revealed. As they walked down the hall, the space opening into a foyer, piles and piles of cardboard boxes came into view. The manor was completely empty because Mr. Smith had not lived here long; he had just moved in.
Levi tried not to stare at the precariously stacked boxes, his fingers almost itching with the urge to straighten them. He pointedly ignored another pile, their tops all flapping open, miscellaneous contents strewed about. Clothing, and books, and a glass 20-gallon aquarium were the only items he could identify at first glance. The chaos of it all made his skin crawl, and there was no relief from it anywhere he looked. There weren’t even any signs of labels or marks on the boxes’ exteriors and their size and shape ranged all the way from absurdly tiny gift box, up through wine case, and ending at nearly refrigerator-sized. The mess was palpable, pressing in from the corners, shrinking the foyer until there were only narrow footpaths, and Levi almost breathed a sigh of relief when they mounted the grand staircase.
It elevated them above ground zero of Mr. Smith’s in-progress battle with unpacking. On the second floor they passed a single room that Levi didn’t even dare to look inside before coming to their destination. The man waved him into a generously-sized, if almost empty, study, and pointed to a large sea chest at its center.
“There it is. Picked it up a few days ago. You know how it is,” Mr. Smith admitted with a charming hint of bashfulness. Levi looked at him. The way he said it was so genuine, like he was telling a little secret, the innocent kind that brings people closer. It made Levi badly want to know how it was, even against his better judgement. “There are so many antique places around here,” the man continued, “and I’m a bit of a history buff, so I couldn’t exactly pass it up.”
“Sure, I know how it is,” Levi lied. The man seemed to relax, and the gratefulness in his features over Levi understanding a sin so inconsequential as being a rich man buying an antique was somehow even more endearing. It was almost more than Levi could stand, this friendly stranger in his too-casual clothes, with his easy trust, and his surprisingly blue eyes. Levi was staring again. And the faint outline of a bulge he could almost see even through the lines of the plaid made him pretty certain- Smith was definitely not wearing underwear under those pajamas. Levi swallowed, a flash of arousal jolting him from his increasingly inappropriate thoughts.
He frowned, his usual defense mechanism for inconvenient interactions, and made his way over to the chest. If he walked a little more stiffly than before, well hopefully Mr. Smith wouldn’t notice. In front of the large chest he stopped. Leaning over to inspect the wood, he ran a finger over flaking green paint. It looked a little shabby, shriveled and cracking away from the wood, showing its age. It would have been handsome, if utilitarian, somewhere around the turn of the century. The nineteenth century, that was. Still, it stood like a rock, and the wood beneath the paint was solid, speaking well of its construction.
Levi knelt in front of the chest, inspecting its lock. This was what he’d been called for, and seeing it up close he felt a glimmer of excitement. It had been a long time since he’d worked on a lock like this. He ran a finger over the iron, appreciating its smooth surface. It was bound to be simple, Levi knew, rather primitive when it came to mechanisms. It wouldn’t necessarily be difficult to open, but that didn’t bother him. That wasn’t the point. The point was that this lock was old. It had been made at a time when each lock was unique, when each lock was crafted by hand, and when each lock held its own small puzzle to be appreciated.
“I didn’t even try to open it once I realized it was locked. Figured I’d leave that to a professional,” Mr. Smith commented, his voice close. He had come up behind to watch.
Levi nodded. He placed his bag of tools on the ground and opened it, fishing out a can of WD-40 and fitting the thin nozzle into its front before giving the keyhole a close spray. “Good,” he muttered, searching through his bag before settling on a tool with a particularly windy point that otherwise resembled an old-fashioned key. He picked a second tool, one with a simple right-angle bend that slid easily into the bottom of the keyhole. Keeping a steady hand he guided the corkscrew-like first tool in as well, probing gently inside the mechanism. Mr. Smith kept quiet, his presence fading from Levi’s attention as he worked.
Levi focused, manipulating the tools carefully. A slight metallic scraping and the odd clink were the only thing to break the silence as he inspected the lock. A few more angles and calculated applications of force were all it took before Levi knew the sum of the lock, and though it was turning out to be more simple than he would have hoped, it still had one trick he appreciated from a professional perspective.
Setting to work in earnest, Levi swapped out the corkscrew tool for something more suited, a flat-ended piece with a small upturned hook. He jiggled it into the lock’s opening, applied pressure with the other tool, and threaded it carefully. Twisting and pressing, he eased it underneath an internal barrier, his brow furrowing as he worked by feel. It was a tight fit, but Levi kept the pressure steady, guiding the flat tool through the narrow space before he felt the resistance just barely change. Knowing the tool’s end could move freely now, he gave it a little twirl, and a gentle tug. There was a faint sound of metal on metal as it scraped inside, age and rust making it grind into place before it caught on the spring-loaded bar he’d been looking for. All it took was a second tug and a flick of his wrist, and a satisfying click sounded from the lock. “Gotcha,” Levi said, the volume of his voice loud in the room’s silence.
“You opened it?” Mr. Smith asked, his voice coming from immediately above, surprising Levi enough that he stood and turned -
Only to find his face directly in the middle of the man’s sternum. The cotton undershirt mere inches from Levi’s nose, he could easily see the shape of defined pectoral muscles beneath it. That, and the blonde hair curling out of the top of his collar, likely also spread generously over the chest he was standing far too close to. Levi stumbled, the back of his legs hitting solid wood before he sidestepped, shuffling out of the way. “Uh… yeah,” Levi said. “It’s open. I opened it.” Still recovering from the momentary shock, he forced his mouth to close as he steadied his breath and ignored the arousal that had come flooding back.
Mr. Smith, however, seemed unaffected. Barely contained excitement was written across his handsome features, the almost-boyish look softening them. He leaned over the sea chest, gripping the sides of the lid, and pulled it up.
They both peered inside.
A bit musty, a long, shallow wooden box lay inside, perched on slim side rails. The man hooked a finger under its lid, revealing rows and rows of glass bottles with glass stoppers, yellowed labels and looping handwriting marking them.
Levi knew immediately what they were: medical supplies. It seemed that Mr. Smith knew as well when his deep voice rumbled in delight.
“Look at this. There are so many still intact. What a collection! It’s a nearly complete kit. We must be the first people to set eyes on these bottles in- oh, two hundred years?”
Levi nodded. Only a couple of the bottles were cracked, and many were either full or close to it. This ship’s medicine chest hadn’t seen much service. It was a rare find.
“I wonder if the rest is here,” Mr. Smith mused, slowly lifting the box of bottles out of the chest. “Looks like it,” he commented, placing the long box to the side on the floor, as Levi glanced at the second layer of compartments he’d revealed. These were quickly opened, revealing a set of knives, scalpels, and other sharp tools meant for cutting. Tweezers, primitive forceps, and all manner of surgical items were neatly packed and ordered, the only hint to their age the dull oxidized layer covering them. “I bet these would shine right up, probably still sharp, even,” Mr. Smith breathed, awed over the variety. He pored over them, fingers tracing wood handles and metal implements, before gently lifting them from the chest.
Levi watched, content to fall back towards the wall’s shadow, as the man who had hired him unpacked the rest of the chest. His enthusiasm was genuine, each compartment lovingly opened and its contents individually appreciated. Some elicited comments of surprise, like the collection of different sized vials and jars, while others were dwelt on for only a moment before moving on to the next thing. Though Levi had seen many sea chests of all kinds and sizes in his life, containing all manner of things, he was certain he’d never seen one that clearly brought its owner so much joy. Seeing Mr. Smith discover each item as he got closer to the chest’s bottom was like watching a child open gifts on Christmas.
A messy child, Levi noted with a wrinkle of his nose. The musk of the chest’s interior was starting to tickle his nostrils, and the medical supplies were strewn over the floor in a growing half-circle ringing where Mr. Smith knelt. As amusing as it was to live vicariously through this stranger, he’d already finished the job he’d been hired for and he began to feel like he was intruding. It was time to go, he thought to himself as he gathered up his tools and put them back into his bag. There was just one more thing he’d need to take care of - but Mr. Smith was fully engrossed, flipping through a ratty old log book, his perfect nose barely inches from the weathered pages. Levi crossed his arms, wondering if he should say something to interrupt. Instead he cleared his throat.
“Ah,” Mr. Smith paused, turning towards him. “I’ve gotten distracted. It was more than I’d hoped for, and almost everything is here. There are even some things here I’ve never seen before and the account book is…” the man cut himself off, as though he hadn’t meant to ramble. “What do I owe you, Mr. Ackerman? I can write you a check. I’ve got one right here.” He fumbled in the right pocket of his pajama pants, then the left, making it very difficult for Levi not to stare at his crotch. Finally, he pulled out a folded rectangle of paper and smoothed it open. “I guess I don’t have a pen though,” he admitted, offering the check with a shrug.
“Fucking… blond,” Levi whispered under his breath, reaching into his bag and pulling out a pen. “Here,” he offered it to the man. “You owe me two hundred and eighty bucks. Make it out to Ackerman Lockworks.”
“Two hundred… and… eighty…,” Mr. Smith repeated slowly, printing the letters as he hunched over, writing the check against a massive thigh. “Not bad, thought it would be more for the weekend night,” He concluded, handing both check and pen back.
“Yeah, well, not like I’ve got much else going on,” Levi said. The man’s pleasant expression didn’t waver, and Levi wondered if he’d even heard at all. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I can find my own way out,” he offered, turning.
“Oh, no, I’ll see you out,” the man insisted, but then waved Levi on to walk ahead anyway. It was a little bizarre, walking back out of the room and down the hall, taking his steps down the stairs, all with Mr. Smith trailing behind. The man followed closely, and Levi quickened his steps, only to find Mr. Smith matching his pace, easily closing the distance. Unsure whether to slow down or speed up, and unable to shake the sense that he was being watched just as closely as he was being followed, Levi made his winding way through the piles of boxes on the first floor and felt a wave of relief upon reaching the door he’d entered.
He opened it and stepped outside, cool air hitting him, its chill a welcome distraction. He could finally breathe, finally get back to his car, his home, his peace and quiet without some ridiculous, rich, hot bastard breathing down his neck. He turned to say his goodbyes, only to find that Mr. Smith had already stuck a massive hand out.
“Huh,” Levi grunted, taking it. The shake was quick, decisive, strong- and left Levi with a very different impression than the man’s earlier mild manners had.
“I’m Erwin, by the way,” the man said.
“Levi,” was all Levi could manage.
A smile and a nod, and Levi took a dazed step backward as Erwin gave a small wave and closed the door.
He walked back to his car, steps mechanical. The job was done. He’d thought he could breathe. He’d thought he could finally get back into his car, and go home, and have that peace and quiet.
But Erwin Smith was making that all seem a lot more difficult than it had before.
And his fingers were already starting to feel cold.