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Sam doesn’t extract himself from his nest of blankets and pillows on the walk-in closet floor when he hears Rashid’s key in the front door. Even when he hears Rashid call out to him, asking if he’s had enough blood bags to tide him over until they can go out to hunt, all he does is roll onto his back and stare at the fairy lights he’s wound around the sheet-draped clothing racks overhead. Sam reaches toward the nearest wall; his nails graze one of the sofa cushions. Using a closet to structure your fort surely counts as cheating, but he’s too depressed to care.
That’s likely why Sam doesn’t feel insulted when Rashid heads to the kitchen first. Judging by the sounds he makes while pottering around in there, the sequence of events goes like this: open the fridge, pull out blood bags, open the cupboard, get down a pair of mugs and…something made of cardboard that sounds like it contains sand. Rashid hasn’t been a vampire for that long, around a month, so there are still a handful of dry goods from his human existence. Puzzlingly, Rashid goes back to the fridge, pulls out the milk carton, and fetches yet another mug.
Rashid’s knock doesn’t sound on the closet door for nearly twenty minutes. That’s because he takes a few minutes on entering the bedroom to suck in his breath when he realizes their clean clothes have been scattered all over the bed and floor. He sets down his handful of mugs, and then changes into a set of garments whose rustle give them away as his faded gray King’s College London hoodie and his favorite black joggers.
“Sam?” Rashid ventures, nudging the door open. “Is it all right if I join you? You might feel better once you’ve eaten something.”
“Says who m’not feeling…” Sam trails off, covering his eyes against the onslaught of light as Rashid enters. “Ow. Too bright.”
“Sit up,” Rashid instructs. He’s concerned, but no-nonsense as he hands Sam one of the three heated mugs, and then cautiously sits down facing Sam with the other two still in hand. “Close the door, would you? I haven’t got the hang of that yet,” he continues, taking a sip of the mug he’s holding that Sam can smell contains blood, setting down the one that contains…aha, that’s hot cocoa. “Thanks, love,” he sighs, and then takes a curious sip of the cocoa while Sam polishes off his own mug of blood in several gulps. “Tastes…scorched, sort of?”
Sam sets aside his empty mug and accepts the cocoa from Rashid. He takes a thoughtful swallow, licking his lips as Rashid resumes sipping his mug of blood. “Varies from vampire to vampire, but…doesn’t taste like that to me. Not to Armand, either, which you remember too well.” He gives Rashid an apologetic shrug. “I still get chocolate from that. It’s just…weak, like you made it with water. But I know you didn’t.”
Rashid grins at Sam, lets him take a few more sips of the cocoa, and then snatches the mug back when Sam offers it. He dumps it into what’s left of his blood before Sam can stop him. “If this is disgusting, then I accept full responsibility,” Rashid says, swilling the concoction, and then takes a swallow. “Not bad, actually.” He holds the mug out to Sam. “Finish it. I hunted on my way home. Raglan tried to make me sign an MOU a week ago saying I wouldn’t do that within a certain radius of the motherhouse, but I laughed in his face. Did you have to sign one?”
“You didn’t mention that,” Sam replies, taking a tentative sip of the blood-cocoa cocktail. Rashid’s not wrong; it could be worse. “And no, I didn’t, although I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s a recent requirement. This sounds like retaliation for you not remaining human while holding this new diplomatic position. Good luck to him finding anyone else to fill it should you decide to quit. I’d prefer not to go back after having handed in my notice. I’m a homebody when I’m not onstage. Armand will torch me if I back out now that we’ve found a suitable theater.”
“Armand will do no such thing, not with Daniel back in his life,” Rashid consoles, holding out his arms as he reclines against the nearest pile of pillows. “I don’t know what I was expecting when I got home tonight, but it wasn’t this,” he adds appreciatively, taking hold of Sam’s hands when he crawls close enough, tugging him into his lap. “I can tell that you need a distraction. What can I do to—mmm, hold on a minute, Sam—”
Sam presses his cheek fretfully against Rashid’s as he guides Rashid’s hands to the belt of his robe. “Please, darlin’, just—I need—”
“Okay,” Rashid whispers, kissing Sam softer and slower in return, patiently untying the hasty bow at his waist. “Shhh, it’s okay, okay, calm down. Take these off,” he coaxes, gathering the robe around Sam’s waist so that he can tug Sam’s boxers partway down. Rashid steadies Sam while he shifts out of his lap for a second to remove them, and then pulls him right back to straddle him with his robe hanging open. He rucks Sam’s ratty West End Into the Woods tee up enough to squeeze his hips before awkwardly removing the hoodie he’d just put on. “Good?”
Sam nods eagerly into their next kiss, clumsy as he slides one hand down the front of Rashid’s joggers. Sam mustn’t be doing too poor a job, though, because Rashid moans into the kiss with each demanding, reverent stroke to his cock. Sam has vision as far as where he hopes these mostly impromptu holiday shenanigans will lead, and all it takes is rummaging in the pockets of his robe for the travel-sized bottle of lube. This happens often enough when Rashid gets home from work; having learned their lesson a fair few times, they never let supplies wander far.
Sam breathes shakily through the burn of Rashid taking him apart from the inside out with slick fingers. Spent all night wishing you were here.
You don’t have to tell me what happened unless you’re in the mood, Rashid says tenderly in Sam’s mind, bracing Sam’s hips as Sam wobbles into position. Only if you feel better up here—he briefly reaches up to tap Sam’s temple with the hand that’s least sticky—once we’re done. I just want you to feel good in your body otherwise. Can you do that? Rashid eases Sam down on his cock, and then gathers him close.
Already do, Sam thinks, sinking a fang in Rashid’s earlobe. And then he shifts his hips, spending a few minutes making sure Rashid can’t think.
You’re just what I needed, too, Rashid reassures Sam, laying him down on his back when his movements finally grow erratic. Always are.
Sam digs his nails into Rashid’s shoulder blades. “Please,” Sam implores with a groan as Rashid snaps his hips. “Please, please.”
“You don’t have to beg,” Rashid pants, fucking Sam achingly slow. “I’ll give you anything no matter what, everything…” He puts enough conviction behind each circling grind of his hips to have both of them trembling in no time, so close they can taste it. “Nights like tonight, I wish you were still, ah, around the office, fuck…” Rashid palms the backs of Sam’s thighs and gives his arse a squeeze just to make his hips stutter.
“I’ll come back,” Sam whimpers, winding his arms desperately around Rashid’s neck. He fails to stifle a cry as Rashid works one hand beneath the small of his back, arching in response to the white-hot shock of pleasure down his spine. Sam digs his heels into the backs of Rashid’s calves as he comes, only a bit annoyed that his orgasm is so messy due to the fact he’s just fed. It’s going to ruin his shirt, which…while from the 1990 production, isn’t totally irreplaceable. He doesn’t think he’ll want to replace it given the memory that’ll be attached to this stain.
“No,” Rashid groans, “no, like hell will I let you.” He’s shuddering through his own climax, too, only a few seconds behind as his weight goes slack on top of Sam. “I haven’t seen you this happy in…fuck, don’t know how long. Lestat’s tour and…everything else, that was hard on all of us.” Rashid kisses Sam’s forehead, and then his closed eyes. He holds Sam close, nuzzling the crook of Sam’s neck while they both shiver with aftershocks. “You have a theater company to start. One with proper accreditation where you won’t be dealing with corpses every night.”
“Love you so, darlin’,” Sam mumbles, feeling somewhat better now that Rashid has fucked him stupid. “I know that we don’t usually put much stock in much winter holiday fuss beyond fairy lights and a gift or two, but…” He’s pleasantly hazy enough to bask not just in the aftermath, but also in the lights’ kaleidoscopic glow. “I feel better about it because the Halloween stuff’s still out. Adds a certain, morbid je ne sais quoi.”
“It’s so lovely that you went to all this trouble,” Rashid whispers, tipping Sam’s chin up to give him a proper kiss on the lips. “Where’d you get the idea to combine the lights with a blanket fort? It really adds to the atmosphere.” He keeps his finger in place so that Sam can’t abashedly duck his head over the admission he’s about to make. The trouble with mortal agents once they’re turned is that their Mind Gift game is absurd from the start. Add the fact that the two of them share the same ancient maker, and it’s nearly a level playing field abilities-wise.
“I was rewatching Community while you were at work,” Sam admits. “That’s partly to blame. I got up through…you know, those episodes. Might’ve gotten bent out of shape over the Abed vs. Troy conflict like I usually do. Just can’t help it.” He huffs, frustrated with himself. “That wasn’t the smartest thing I could’ve done,” Sam pouts. “Easier not to get upset about my media viewing choices when you’re here to kiss it better.”
“You’re such a brat this time of year. Don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” Rashid sighs, all mock seriousness, but the ruse doesn’t last. “I’ll always have your back,” he reassures Sam, fondly carding his fingers through Sam’s dire case of bedhead. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Breaks my heart. How can I not? You’ve always had mine even when I’ve been a stubborn arse about this, that, or the other. Ride or die, Sam.”
“Fortunately, we can’t do that.”
“Ride, then. Which you just—”
“Oi, don’t you fuckin’ say it—”
“Which you just did. Briefly.”
“Mockery? Not on.”
“I’ll ride you later.”
“I want to go again.”
“Can’t get enough?”
“Like you’d say no.”
“Never, mera dil.”
Sam’s eyes sting as Rashid reaches to one side, digs his handkerchief out of the pocket of his joggers (insane work, transferring that from his waistcoat pocket in the process of changing clothes before joining Sam in the closet; Sam adores him for it), and gently wipes the mess of blood off Sam’s belly. “It’s been an awful night, if I’m honest,” Sam admits. “My worst in a while. Nothing went the way I wanted till you got here.”
“Why, love?” Rashid asks, setting the stained handkerchief aside once he’s wiped himself off, too. He strips Sam out of his shirt, licks away the few smears of blood on his chest (oh, no, that’s hotter than it has any right to be; it gets Sam halfway to hot and bothered again), and then hugs him. “What happened? Would it help to tell me about it? I mean, only if building this obviously didn’t sufficiently take your mind off—”
“Losing the watch I’ve had since Paris?” Sam asks. “I tore the flat apart looking for it! That’s the real reason I threw this nonsense together. It was less depressing than re-folding the entire contents of the linen cupboard.” He tries to blink back his despair, ashamed that he can’t even use any of his gifts to locate a lost object. “That Zvezda came straight off the wrist of a Russian officer’s wife. Tuan caught her hiding behind the bar one night after an English-language performance in...1946, that had to’ve been. It was around a year after Louis and Claudia arrived, if only they’d had the fuckin’ sense to turn right back around and never set foot on our shores, much less the theater’s pavement. Where was I? The curious gospozha wanted to see if we were the real deal. She got her wish. Went to her death with a modicum more dignity than usual. Real beauty, Santiago said afterward, if you like that sort of thing. He was always on me about broadening my horizons. Rude. Anyway, Eglée about had my neck for not giving her first dibs on the watch, but she admitted that I wore it better. Don’t understand how I’ve managed to misplace it for the first time in eighty years. Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me I’ll forget my own head next.”
“When have I ever done that, Sam? Name one time.”
“You haven’t, but I would deserve it. You should start.”
“Can you do me a favor? Please stop blaming yourself?”
Sam snorts in exasperation. “Are we talking about the watch or about what happened in Paris, period? You’re still trying to get me through that.”
“Can you wait here?” Rashid asks, stroking the blood-tears from Sam’s cheeks before throwing on Sam’s robe to leave the closet. “This is my fault.”
“Unless you borrowed it, I can’t see how that’s the case.”
“It’ll make sense shortly, I promise. Stay put for a second.”
Sam sits up and situates himself with his back against the padded wall. He wipes his nose on his hand, tugging several of the blankets over himself. Rashid takes such good care of Sam even if there’s not much he can do about a situation of Sam’s own making. It isn’t even Christmas Eve—it’s the early hours of Tuesday morning now, and that doesn’t fall until Thursday—but Sam truly wants to give Rashid the gift he’s bought for them to share. He digs behind the sofa cushion in the corner for the bubble-and-gift-wrap layered parcel, clutching it to his chest.
Rashid returns with a long, flat box in his hand, closing the closet door behind him as he sinks to a crouch next to Sam. He sets the box in Sam’s lap, peering questioningly at the gift-wrapped parcel in Sam’s arms as he settles next to Sam and slides an arm around his shoulders. He taps the box, grinning self-deprecatingly. This goofy side of Rashid, hardly anyone else gets to see; Sam counts himself indescribably fortunate.
“Is…is that what I think…” Sam sets the gift-wrapped parcel aside, taking the box in his trembling hands. He removes the lid and stares at his watch nestled against the cotton inside. The chrome-plated brass case and the perspex face are still just as sorely scratched and dinged as they’ve always been, but the deteriorating, narrow black leather band has been replaced with a nearly identical new one. “When?”
“I noticed that it had stopped running few nights ago. Even when you tried to wind it, the mechanism didn’t start. I waited until you took it off before we went to bed last sunrise,” Rashid admits sheepishly. “I dropped it off with Kirill Yurovskiy in Chancery Lane before work. He agreed to batch it into his last-minute holiday late shift. I told him to focus on the insides and the band. I knew you’d be fussed if the restoration was too…”
“Invasive,” Sam sniffles, taking the watch out of the box, running his thumb over the perspex in wonder as the minute hand ticks around the face like the well-oiled machine it’s again become. “You’re perfect. Can’t compete with this, I’m…” He sniffles again as Rashid takes the watch from him and puts it on his left wrist even though he’ll be taking it off again in a few short hours. “Still. You’d better open yours, too. Only fair.”
Rashid brings Sam’s left hand up to his lips and kisses it. He picks up the unwieldy parcel and holds it until Sam gives him a nod; after that, he uses his nails to slice it open. When he’s able to peel back the layers of bubble wrap, he takes the hefty, handblown wine glasses’ stems between index finger, middle finger, and thumb in each hand with the same impossible care that he uses to touch Sam. Rashid lifts the set, his eyes soft.
“Jerpoint isn’t the oldest Irish workshop I could find,” Sam says. “Around for fifty years. We needed a matching set and—mmm. You like them?”
“So much,” Rashid says, setting the glasses aside before giving Sam another kiss, “that I’m going to suck your cock until sunrise. How’s that?”
“Let me put those away first,” Sam replies breathlessly. He steals a third kiss, whimpering as Rashid pulls him back into his lap. “Or not?”
“I haven’t sucked you off in a few nights,” Rashid mumbles. “You’ve had your mouth on me every chance you get. That’s unforgivable.”
Sam squirms and flushes. He’s going to come just because Rashid has pulled him in tight and started teasing his neck with his fangs. “Darlin’—”
“Just feel good for me,” Rashid murmurs against Sam’s skin, caressing Sam’s back as he sinks his fangs. We still have a few hours until dawn.
Sam glances at his watch. So we do. He closes his eyes and sags against Rashid’s shoulder, content to be overwhelmed, to be so fiercely loved.