Chapter Text
Rashid finishes folding the last few pieces of laundry still warm from the dryer. He’s aware that Sam’s typing across the room has grown heavier and more erratic, which means he’s agitated. Sighing, Rashid sets the pile of his and Sam’s shirts in the basket and wanders to the sofa.
“Last location unknown?” Sam blurts, staring at the screen. “How do you fuckin’ figure?”
Rashid sits down beside him. “The portal’s always been next to useless. You know that.”
“Right, I do,” Sam replies, gesturing at Armand’s dossier, “but it’s worse than ever. His last locations are known! You and I know them! He was in Paris, and we know that because I was on assignment specifically to keep tabs on him. Then, he was in Dubai, and we know that because we were both on assignment specifically to keep tabs on him. The oversight is so far beyond absurd that it’s obtuse. This needs editing. If they want to keep the unknown designation, they need to add a ‘present location’ line and shift it there. We don’t know where he is now.”
Rashid scoots a bit closer to Sam, sliding an arm around his shoulders. Sam’s rants about the webmaster’s incompetence have been adorable in the past, and this one is still kind of adorable—but he’s getting upset. Sam being bent out of shape about anything, even something minor, can spiral quickly. Rashid studies Armand’s dossier, scanning the first couple of lines. NAME: Armand. ALIASES: Rashid, Arun, Amadeo.
“I should’ve left the part where he was impersonating me out of the field report,” Rashid says. “It’s not a long-term alias. He used it for two weeks. They list it as if it’s significant. Also, Arun isn’t…” He feels a flash of indignation on Armand’s behalf. “That was his name.”
Sam nods slowly, chewing his thumbnail. It’s a stress habit; left to his own devices, he’ll gnaw the digit bloody. He makes a chagrined sound as Rashid pulls his hand away from his mouth and kisses the back of it. “Have we ever figured out who’s in charge of this train wreck?”
Rashid scrolls to the next dossier, wincing over whose it is. “I haven’t had any luck,” he says, making a face at the annotation reading recently transfigured after Madeleine Éparvier’s species designation of vampire. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but 1949 isn’t all that recent.” Rashid pauses. “Maybe to you that’s recent since you were the agent on duty when it happened, but you’re not the one maintaining the website.”
“Not so recent that I’d bother with an annotation like that,” Sam scoffs. He squints at the screen as he reads Madeleine’s dossier, sitting forward in alarm. “Alleged cooperation during German invasion? That’s not what I wrote in my report! Spending one night with barely-of-age cannon fodder isn’t the same thing as being Vichy trash. Who the ever-loving hell is behind this site update? I’m going to hunt them down and—”
“Sam,” Rashid says, turning Sam’s head away from the screen with a hand on his jaw. “I’m not happy about the state of it, either, but…” He kisses Sam fiercely, and then sits back, stroking Sam’s cheek. “If we’re going to figure this out, I need you to look at it with a clear head.”
Sam gives Rashid a dubious look, endearingly hazy. “And you think that kissing me like that is conducive to me thinking clearly?”
Rashid grins at him. “No, but it’ll shut you up long enough for me to get us back on track.” He reads over Madeleine’s dossier. “Wait, what the—this is nonsense. ‘Deceased’ isn’t a location. It’s a status. Also, I’m pretty sure her date of birth is a matter of public parish records in the village where she was born. I can research and retrieve that within a few days, maybe even a few hours, if need be. Who the fuck wrote this?”
“A lazy twat, by your reckoning,” Sam mutters, “and I’m in agreement.” He scrolls to the next dossier and chokes when he sees that it’s his own. “Name: Samuel ‘Sam’ Barclay? Guess the quotation marks are cute. Aliases: Samuel Barclay Beckett, Samuel Beckett. Hate to disappoint, but those are just variations on my full name.” His expression is disgruntled as he reads on. “Species: Vampire. I can’t help but think they need to account for the fact that we were human once. The anti-vampire bias that’s run through this organization from the start is still there if you squint.” Sam hisses in annoyance at the next lines. “My birthdate is restricted and my current location requires higher authorization? What’s the difference between those security designations, exactly? My continuing ed courses sure haven’t covered that, have yours? This is a farce.”
Rashid skips to the notes section at the end while Sam spins out his rant and feels his stomach clench uncomfortably. He wants to shut the laptop before Sam can get there, but he can tell by the next shift in Sam’s posture that it’s too late to prevent him from reading it.
“Heartwarming to know that they consider me dependable and value that I’ve completed successful missions,” Sam says quietly, “but…consistent monitoring needed because I’m apt to lose focus?” He sounds bewildered. “Was I being monitored in Paris? By whom?”
“I don’t know if either of us would be able to find the answer to that,” Rashid says as calmly as he can, shutting the laptop and setting it on the coffee table. He pulls Sam over until he’s straddling his lap, hugging him tightly. “I’m grateful we’ve been partners as agents for almost as long as we’ve been companions,” Rashid tells him, “because the Order can think of this as me monitoring you all they like. But that’s not what I’m doing. That’s never what I’ve been doing, mera dil. You make me better at my job and at just…being. And I really, really hope…”
“This makes enduring worth it, darlin’,” Sam replies. “You make me better in every way that matters, so…I’d wager it means I don’t need the kind of monitoring they’re implying because I’m less off my rocker than I used to be.” He buries his face against Rashid’s neck. “There’s something wrong with me like there’s something wrong with Armand. Always suspected that’s why we got on. Why he let me escape.”
“Sam, nothing’s wrong with you. Your mind just works—”
“Differently? I chew my nails off when I can’t fuckin’ cope.”
“So? I ask you to bite me when I need pain as a distraction.”
“But that’s usually a sex thing or a comfort thing for both of us, isn’t it?”
“Sex is comforting and distracting. Keeps me from thinking about stress.”
“And the pain part? I don’t enjoy what I do to my nails, but I can’t help it.”
“I see your point. Whereas when it’s me getting bitten, the pain’s from you, which...after the initial discomfort, that means I enjoy it.”
“Christ, that reminds me. We need to get you turned soon. Everything’s going pear-shaped. I don’t just mean the damned website.”
Rashid nods, stroking Sam’s hair. He’s relieved to hear those words, because for a while now, the safety of fledglings everywhere has been…questionable at best. Sam is only half as old as he’d led the Paris coven to believe. Like Armand, though, he’d been turned by a vampire who’s been around since Rome had been an empire. There is another overwhelming choice to consider: should Sam be the one to do it, or should they seek out Sam’s maker so as not to lose access to each other’s minds? In their work—and in their companionship—that link has been vital.
“I wish the Order had done better by you in Paris. They’re not doing much better by you now except by chance. They didn’t know we’d fall arse over teacup.” Rashid pecks Sam on the cheek. “If it’ll make you feel better, we can look and see if they’ve made a mess of my dossier, too.”
Sam’s expression turns guilty. “About that, they…did. I looked at yours first. I can summarize it, if you like. There’s not much there.”
“There wouldn’t be,” Rashid replies. “I’m meant to be hiding, but the Order’s idea on that front is just letting me…be wherever you are.”
“The best protection against vampires is being with a vampire,” Sam points out, “although I wouldn’t stand a chance against Armand. That’s less likely to happen than Louis coming after me. He wouldn’t be an issue alone, but glued to the hip with Lestat? We’d be fucked.”
“That’s another point in favor of your maker,” Rashid says. “In a fight, two fledglings with abomination levels of strength are better than one.”
“Abomination levels of strength,” Sam echoes with an unreadable expression. “Can’t escape the shadow of the Great Laws even now, can we?”
“Joking,” Rashid sighs, “but I’m sorry I made light of them. I know they’ve caused untold damage. I meant to say we’d have an advantage—”
Sam kisses him hungrily. “Make light all you want,” he murmurs against Rashid’s lips. “Irreverence is the correct response. Fuck ’em”
“The dossier,” Rashid says, pulling Sam in by the hips. “My eyes will bleed if I look at that site again. Tell me about it. I’ll enjoy it more.”
“Mmm, so you will,” Sam sighs, shifting until he can feel Rashid getting hard between them. He makes a plaintive sound and presses their foreheads together; Rashid can feel Sam’s desire, too. “Every other word’s redacted, darlin’. You’re more of a question mark than a man.”
“That’s disappointing,” Rashid says, feigning offense at the apparent lack of information about himself on the site as he unfastens Sam’s jeans. He’s not going to make Sam wait when his mood has turned in such a promising direction. “Did they even get my species right?”
“Actually, ah,” Sam replies, faltering as Rashid draws him out of his underwear and gently strokes him, “they, they don’t…” He folds forward and muffles a soft cry against Rashid’s shoulder, fucking shallowly into Rashid’s fist. “They don’t list…your species at all.”
“Shhh, there, that’s it, you’re doing so well,” Rashid soothes, letting Sam move however he wants for a few minutes, enjoying the wrecked sounds Sam is making in his ear. “That’s…” Belatedly, he realizes how strange that is. “Do they list it for other mortal agents?”
Sam eases Rashid’s hand away from his cock. He scoots back enough to unzip Rashid’s jeans and return the favor. “Not sure,” Sam admits, stroking Rashid at a tender, but demanding pace. “I’d have to actually look at the others.” He nuzzles Rashid’s neck, teasingly grazing his fangs over Rashid’s skin without sinking them. “They list the Dubai mission as yours alone, but they redact your other ones. They mention Louis, but not Armand. And the last phrase under your notes section is odd. It says ‘Known to redacted.’ Redacted is in brackets, of course.”
Rashid is too focused on how good Sam’s touch feels to care much about what a laughingstock his dossier is, but he manages to shake his head in faint disapproval. That last note, though—it is odd. Rashid is willing to bet that they don’t list species for human agents at all because they assume human as the default, which is damning on the anti-vampire sentiment front, but this final entry gives him pause. Known to what?
“I’m willing to bet it’s not what,” Sam whispers, responding to Rashid’s unguarded thought, “but who…and what you’re doing with that someone.”
Rashid crushes his mouth against Sam’s, dragging his tongue across Sam’s fangs. He licks the blood from Sam’s teeth, guiding Sam’s arms around his neck when he realizes Sam is now too distracted to multi-task. Rashid knows what Sam loves most, and it’s this—being close, being his.
“I like what I’m doing,” Rashid whispers in Sam’s ear, wrapping his arms tightly around Sam’s waist as they move together. “I love what I’m doing.”
Sam trembles, his next few thrusts taut, and then goes still. “Rashid,” he gasps, delicate pulses of wet heat spreading between them. “Rashid, fuck.” He presses his lips against Rashid’s again, breathing harshly through his climax. “So…so, yes, ah…so do I,” Sam whimpers.
Rashid comes while they’re kissing, clasping Sam so tightly against himself that neither of them can breathe. He’s so in love that it makes him dizzy, and that’s even without Sam’s fangs in his neck. He can’t imagine living, can’t imagine enduring, without the man in his arms.
That’s really how you think of me? Sam asks tentatively in Rashid’s thoughts, their minds open in shared pleasure. I’m human to you?
Your heart is still human, Rashid thinks back, catching his breath as Sam runs shaking fingers through his hair. You’re my everything.
“And you’re mine,” Sam replies, grimly inspecting their clothes. “You just did the laundry. I’ll take care of it this time. It’s my fault.”
“Your fault you got upset? That’s not true,” Rashid protests. “I’m the one who decided to see if making a mess would cheer you up.”
“What would really cheer me up,” Sam teases, resting his head against Rashid’s shoulder, “is tracking down whoever ruined that site.”
“If we should find them, then what?”
“I’m going to drain them. Slowly.”
“Figured as much. Just confirming.”
“You’re…really onboard with that?
“Sure, why not? I’m fed up, too.”
“Oh, I love you so fuckin’ much.”
Rashid gives Sam a nudge. “Love you, too, Sam,” he says, “but we need to put these in the wash. And then take a shower before sunrise.”
“I’ll never say no to that, gorgeous,” Sam replies, fussing when Rashid tips him sideways onto the sofa cushions and gets up. He accepts Rashid’s hand, letting Rashid pull him to his feet. “Why do you think we’ve had no luck finding out who’s in charge of those updates?”
“Because the only staff whose identities the Order is more secretive about than agents? Are administrators,” Rashid says, tapping Sam’s nose.
Sam wrinkles his nose, scowling. Rashid hopes that it might be one of those nights where treating Sam like he’s adorable (he is, and he knows it) will get him bitten without asking. Instead, Sam just pulls Rashid’s face down, kisses him, and drags him into the bathroom.
“Administrators,” Sam prompts while they undress. “Sounds like you have a plan regarding how to figure out which one of them it might be?”
“I’m going to get in touch with Daniel,” Rashid replies, pulling Sam back into his arms once they’re both naked. “I’m going to send him screenshots of the portal since he doesn’t have access. He’s not going to like any of it, least of all his dossier and a certain someone’s.”
“And he and that certain someone are just going to, what, doxx the hell out of our webmaster?” Sam asks, tilting his head thoughtfully at Rashid. After a few seconds’ consideration, likely weighing the risks, he says, “Good enough for me. I’m going to enjoy this.”
Rashid grins, pushing Sam toward the shower. “As long as I get to watch you eat them,” he says, kicking their clothes aside, and follows him.