ruffians | vampire trash? me?

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vampire trash? me?

[It's been on his mind a lot over the last few weeks, the idea of becoming a vampire. Partially because he's looking older than Arthur these days, and if he lets that go on too long it's going to get pretty weird, but moreover he just feels ready]

[Anxious as fuck, but ready.]

[The idea of it is terrifying — he'd gone to Mal for an explanation of the finer details rather than worry Arthur with his questions, seeing as she's actually done it before and Arthur hasn't — the idea that he could just... Die. It's not one that sits easy with Eames. He rather likes being alive, in fact half the point of becoming a vampire is to keep being alive, for a stretch on the word, forever.]

[So he's been dealing with that a lot, pretending otherwise whenever Arthur notices him being distant or pensive so he can work out his feelings on this without any outside influence. He knows Arthur wouldn't be mad if he changed his mind, it's a huge change to undertake, but it's not that he might not want this so much as wondering if the risks are really worth it.]

[They are.]

[But now they need to talk about it, so Eames is psyching himself up to do exactly that. Offered to stay in and make dinner while Arthur's off doing his errands to give himself some time alone to think about it. Maybe making some significant progress on a bottle of wine to calm his nerves, maybe it'll slow him down enough Arthur won't realise how keyed up he is the second he gets home.]

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[Eames sticks close to Arthur the whole time, not that Arthur would be willing to let Eames move more than a few teet away from him anyway. Not in a place like this. It sets Eames on edge to be around this many people, but he manages to tone his reactions down to a twitch of his hand at Arthur's back.]

[It's a relief for a moment to be off the floor and somewhere else in the building until Eames realises what this room is. He's sure he can smell blood too, which puts him back on edge. It's not a surprise, considering what they're here for, but it still makes his greeting a little less warm than ususl.]

Antonia, you remember Eames.

[Arthur can sense how on edge Eames is and it makes him a little nervous too, highly aware that three of the guests have bandaids on their arms where Antonia has already tapped them for a pint of blood. She seems unconcerned as she looks Eames up and down and makes some offhand comment about it really must be true love, but Arthur isn’t terribly interested in banter or being teased right now. He just tells her he wants two half pints from someone who doesn’t smell like weed (with a judgmental glance at a gentleman in the corner) and that they’ll be next door.]

[She tells him five minutes as Arthur’s leading Eames back out to the balcony and straight to the nearest door to another room. This one’s smaller; just a couple of couches and a table, but at least they have a wall between themselves and the room of inebriated blood donors.]

[Eames follows Arthur's lead, it's probably the quietest he's ever been around any of Arthur's associates, but Eames is also desperately trying to focus on anything except the smell of blood and the sounds of hearts beating. Ironically the smell of weed is a helpful one for Eames, a lot of layers to pick apart.]

[He relaxes considerably when they're in the next room, sighing softly and moving to stand in front of Arthur and put his hands on Arthur's hips. Five minutes is plenty of time for a little affection.]

[Arthur smiles at him and puts his hands on Eames' chest, leaning in for a quick kiss.]

You doing okay?

Yeah. It's just a little...

[He frowns, looking for the right word.]

Overwhelming.

I know.

[He smooths out Eames’ shirt affectionately.]

You’ll get the hang of all this.

Fangs didn't come out this time though.

[He says it like it's a joke, smirking and raising his eyebrows at Arthur, but he's a little proud of himself for it. He knows getting a real measure of control could take a while, that it could be months before he can go out and about on his own without attacking anyone, but he's got to celebrate the small steps. Especially with how many times he's scraped his fangs on their mugs this week already. Or the time he punctured his lip passing by someone who smelled particularly healthy.]

That’s good.

[He mirrors Eames’ tone, grinning as he tries to sound reassuring. He glances toward the door and drops his voice just a little.]

I’m pretty sure Antonia buys their groceries for them, so that group is particularly... appealing.

[He rolls his eyes just a little as he says it, clearly unimpressed with her bordering on ridiculously indulgent lifestyle.]

[Eames' face goes through a few expressions as he processes that, mostly expressed by his eyes narrowing in consideration, but he eventually turns it to mock offence, gasping at Arthur and shaking his head.]

You never fattened me up! I could've saved so much money on food.

[Arthur shakes his head, smiling wryly and turning away so he can sit down on one of the couches.]

You would have hated that.

[Eames laughs softly and joins him on the couch, lazily resting his arm along the back behind Arthur. It's true, considering he even insisted on paying rent, but on the other hand he does love free food.]

I could've been swayed.

[Arthur puts his hand on Eames’ thigh and turns to grin at him.]

You still had steak just for me once in a while.

Well, it wasn't just for you.

No, and I’m sure she doesn’t have to do a lot of convincing to get her group in there to agree to a healthy, organic diet. They make enough that they only have to hold down part time jobs and then they come here and give up a little blood while they party in a private room.

[He sighs like he’s annoyed. Clearly he doesn’t like the setup but she takes care of loose ends when they arise and it keeps the vampires who can pay happy.]

[Eames tilts his head, watching Arthur's expression and listening to his tone.]

I'll be honest, it sounds pretty good. Speaking as someone who was still breathing not too long ago.

[Arthur shakes his head.]

I don’t think you’d feel the same way if you saw the way she goes through them.

I'm not saying it is good. Just that I see the appeal.

[His tone shifts a little as he's talking, a little more detached and more businesslike, like when he's handling something to do with work. If their roles were reversed, if Eames were the centuries-old vampire here, he'd certainly be more like Antonia than he'd be like Arthur, he can already tell that much. Part of him already considering the logistics of something like this at his own bar until he shakes it off as a nightmare that would end with too many bodies to be worth it.]

[He sighs and leans back in his seat.]

A few years of lavish living with a beautiful woman in exchange for a little blood isn't a concept that's difficult to be suckered in by.

[Arthur sighs and leans back against Eames’ arm.]

I guess I don’t remember being young and alive like that. I think I have a little too much perspective to find any of that very attractive.

[Eames huffs a small laugh and tilts his head a little towards Arthur.]

This is better anyway.

It's the best way I could have imagined it.

[He starts to lean in but just at that moment the door starts to open and the smell of fresh blood fills the room. Arthur's hand goes to Eames' chest immediately, ready to pin him to the couch if he moves to get up. Antonia walks in with two glasses on a tray, announcing that it's fresh from the vein as she moves to set the tray down on the table in front of them. Arthur nods his thanks and tells her they can settle payment afterwards with a haste in his voice that suggests he's far more focused on letting Eames have a taste than he is in entertaining her any longer.]

[She leaves and Arthur drops his hand.]

[It takes every ounce of self-control Eames has not to try and rush for that tray the second the door opens and the smell of fresh blood floods in. It's almost unreal, something about it that reminds him of steam on a fresh coffee, and fills him some need to drink it before it dissipates. Before it dies. He lowers his head, looking at Arthur's hand on his chest in some attempt to hide just how hard he's clenching his jaw and swallowing a noise in the back of his throat that might be a growl.]

[When Arthur had told him about this, what Eames had imagined was the two of them enjoying a glass of blood together, something sophisticated and refined. Maybe they'd flirt a little, go home and fuck. Or just make use of the room if Arthur was amenable. What actually happens is nothing like that, and Eames isn't even fully aware of his actions. All he knows is one second he was on the couch, and then he has one of those glasses clutched in both hands, standing next to the table as he gulps it down as if he's been suffering a drought and this is the first glimpse of water he's seen in days.]

[Maybe some time in the future they'll get there, to that sophisticated date Eames imagined, but right now this is going about as Arthur expected. He watches Eames carefully as he picks up the second glass, which is warm in his hands, and only stops watching him for a moment as he enjoys the first sip. It's been less than a week since he's had it fresh - the hunger's only just started to come back - but there's a kind of spark there that is somehow all-encompassing. It lights up all his senses at once.]

[For those blessed few moments that there's anything in that glass, Eames isn't aware of anything except how it makes him feel so close to being right that having this taste is almost worse than having nothing at all. The way it feels like sparks firing along his synapses, like everything's almost running at full speed.]

[It's not enough. He uses his tongue and fingers to get everything out of the glass that he can, and it's not enough. Dimly, some part of him is aware that if he can push through this need he'll realise how fucking good he feels right now, but a much louder, instinct-driven part of him wants to drink and never stop as if that'll finally sate that hunger. He looks at Arthur, remembering the other glass, and for a flicker of a moment he honestly looks ready to attack him for the glass in his hand.]

[If it wasn't Arthur he probably would.]

[That flicker of violence passes though, and Eames makes some attempt to occupy his senses by wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licking the blood off.]

[Arthur sees it. He's watching, of course, ready just in case Eames decides to run out of the room and find the source for more. It's a terrifying half second that has Arthur's guard up immediatey, so quickly that he scares himself at what he might do if Eames were to lose control and lunge at him. He's never had to be afraid of him before. No human could hope to match him for strength, but a brand new vampire might, especially with the right motivation.]

[He takes another gulp of the blood and considers it a moment before he holds it out for Eames to take.]

[Eames looks at the glass, it takes longer than he'd really like to consider to tear his gaze away, and he shakes his head. He didn't actually do anything, but he still feels ashamed in the moment and it's obvious in the way he draws inward on himself and can't make himself look at Arthur.]

[It's not what he did or didn't do so much as that loss of control, it's what he could've done that has him feeling unlike himself, and he doesn't like it.]

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