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Chapter Text

Sam and Rashid have been called in to perform a forensic examination on London motherhouse.  Under any other circumstances, Sam is convinced that they would’ve been Amsterdam’s second choice in a vampire-related incident of this scale, but Raglan isn’t answering his mobile.

There are both the charred remains of a revenant massacre in the basement and traces of dried blood in the bathtub of the posh top-floor residence.  While Rashid is trying to make sense of the bureaucratic clusterfuck left on the late Greg Owen’s desk, Sam heads upstairs to investigate the one thing for which they truly need his expertise.  He’d wanted to start with the basement since it’s deserted, but Rashid had asked him to hold off until he was done giving the office a once-over.  Sam is strangely touched that Rashid doesn’t want him to go down there alone.

Sam has to push through a gaggle of mortal agents in suits who don’t seem to realize who he is given that he’s so dressed-down; he’s wearing the classier casual clothes he reserves for shows.  But once they realize that there’s a vampire in their midst, one the same age as the lately-ousted usurper (just turned thirty years earlier), they give Sam a wide berth as he eyes his opulent surroundings en route to the bathroom.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Sam asks, pausing in the doorway to glance over his shoulder.  “Gather evidence?  Write field reports?”

“Everything we find here gets handed over to you and Ranghar,” says the boldest of the lot; Sam doesn’t like either his brash tone or the disdainful glint in his eyes.  “Writing the field report on this clusterfuck falls to you two.  Unless something’s changed, isn’t that the protocol?”

Sam does a swift skim of the junior agent’s mind before he locks it down.  Gerard Klaas: seems he’s one of those Amsterdam transfers who want you to think they’re chill, but they’re really sending emails back to the mothership about what a disappointment their new outpost is.

“Ah,” Sam replies, continuing into the bathroom so Klaas won’t see the fury that crosses his features.  “So it is.”  He closes the door behind him, pressing his back against it, willing his fangs not to drop.  The scent of blood is faint, but telling—mortal and vampire intermingled.

“Jasper’s in custody, but Guy Anatole’s in the wind?” one of the agents outside the door asks the other agents present as Sam approaches the bathtub and peers into it.  “D’you reckon the blood in there is his?  D’you reckon maybe Jasper…uh, you know?”  The agent swallows.

Unlikely, Sam thinks, scraping one of the dried droplets onto his fingernail; he doesn’t need to taste it to know that it’s mortal.  If Jasper had fed on the kid, he wouldn’t have been so wasteful.  Still, Sam tastes it.  Early stages of clotting are present?  Might’ve been a minor injury by other means.  He scrapes one of the droplets that smells anything but mortal.  Looks like Jasper patched your careless colleague up.  Touching.

“No, I doubt it,” Klaas takes it upon himself to reply to the inquiring agent.  “We know Guy made it to the train station with some girl named Doris who’s also, God knows why, classed as an asset.  At our level, her file’s so redacted it might as well be solid black.  I checked.”

I’ll bet you did, Sam thinks, glancing toward the mirror over the sink.  He studies his reflection, wondering if he’s looked this weary all night.  He wishes Rashid would hurry with the office, make his way upstairs, and shut these brainless amateurs up.  They’d listen to him.

“The blood in there,” the inquiring agent continues, luridly curious.  That rarely goes anywhere productive.  “If Jasper didn’t eat him, d’you think he at least fucked him?  Wish we’d been able to haul him into custody.  I would’ve liked a firsthand account of what that’s like.”

“How about we ask Ranghar?” Klaas suggests, not bothering to lower his voice.  He knows Sam can hear him no matter what—and wants Sam to hear.  “He’s been sucking vamp cock for almost as long as he’s been on the Order’s payroll.  Raglan James’s, too, for all we—”

Sam turns on his heel and exits the bathroom so swiftly that every agent in the room jumps out of their skin.  He doesn’t bother with anything as theatrical as locking eyes with each of them in turn; instead, he zeroes in on Klaas with his coldest glare, which…has no effect.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time and energy making sure that the latter doesn’t happen,” Sam says.  “Agent James’s moral compass is cracked.”

Klaas shrugs calmly at Sam.  He’s still too smug and unimpressed.  “And the former, Barclay?  You won’t try to deny it?  What about your compass?”

“Do you honestly think someone who looks like me could land someone who looks like him?” Sam asks with forced levity.  “Don’t be fuckin’ daft.”

“Disingenuous, coming from one of your kind,” Klaas replies.  “You could be compelling Ranghar into that sort of relationship for all we know.”

“I could report you to our HR department, negligible though it is, for making such a disingenuous assumption.  Not all of us can do it.  And even if I could,” Sam lies through his teeth, because he absolutely can influence minds like that,  “why would I ruin a sound working relationship?”

“Historical precedent suggests that’s your number one skill,” Klaas sneers.  “Then again, Ranghar’s most recent assignment suggests it’s his number one skill, too.  You did it to the same shitty boss nearly a century apart.  Maybe that means you’re perfect for each other.”

The door opens so abruptly that it startles Sam almost as badly as it startles the junior agents.  For the split second Rashid’s eyes meet Sam’s, he looks so remorseful that it’s difficult not to think about every filthy, romantic thing that Sam wishes Rashid would do to him.  However, that would be inappropriate and unprofessional, so Sam averts his gaze while Rashid gives each of these tossers as terrifying a look as they deserve.

“You lot,” Rashid addresses the room, looking right at Klaas as he says it.  “Basement.  I want extensive scrapings of every bloodstain you find no matter how insignificant—mortal, revenant, vampire, or otherwise.  Bag and leave them on the desk in Owen’s office on your way out.”

“What do you mean otherwise?” asks the same hapless agent who Sam had heard run their mouth with inane, inconsiderate questions earlier.

“Glad you asked,” Rashid replies.  “I found documentary evidence that suggests Jasper was feeding rats to the revenants.  He was methodical.”

The agent twitches.  “Does that mean there might be, um…down there?”

“Wait,” Sam blurts.  “Revenant rats?   Of course not!  Who trained you?”

“How do you know it’s not possible?” Klaas asks.  “Did you try turning—”

“That’s a citation for the willfully ignorant Dutchman,” Rashid interrupts testily.  “Does anyone else care to receive a write-up while I’m at it?”

“That’s not your purview,” Klaas protests.  “Who the fuck deputized—”

Sam finally lets his fangs drop, and then bares them.  “Amsterdam did.”

Rashid smirks as that clears the room, but his expression turns worried once they’re alone.  “I didn’t hear everything.  What else did they say?”

Sam leans into Rashid’s touch, aware that this is how they’ve earned the rumors.  “Leave it.  My fault I’m not revered enough to shut ’em down.”

“No,” Rashid says, making it clear that his ire isn’t at Sam, “that’s courtesy of Amsterdam. If Raglan gets Owen’s job, I’ll recommend that he transfer Klaas home.”  He brushes Sam’s cheek again before setting his hands on Sam’s shoulders.   “He’s been after a promotion for ages.”

Sam works his jaw.  “They should give it to you.  Don’t deflect by pointing out my seniority.  You know that my kind don’t get promotions.”

Rashid takes Sam’s face in both hands.  “I’d never take it,” he sighs, rubbing his thumbs over Sam’s cheekbones.  “Not worth the trade-off.”

“Which is…what, exactly?”

“Paperwork over fieldwork.”

“What’s in the latter for you?”

“For fuck’s sake.  You are.”

Sam averts his eyes again, but he doesn’t pull away as his cheeks heat with the little drinks he’d taken earlier in the evening.  “Condition of the blood when it hit the tub shows that Anatole sustained an injury at some point.  Looks like the Yank used his own blood to heal him.”  

“Amsterdam will incinerate Jasper if he won’t cave to whatever blackmail terms they offer,” Rashid sighs.  “Even then, you know as well as I do that he won’t easily roam free again.  New York’s prisoner is only a fraction more fortunate.  I wonder if Jasper knows about Burton.”

“I don’t think the deal I got in the thirties after getting turned by a mark on the job will protect me much longer, do you?” Sam asks.

“It hasn’t,” Rashid replies, stricken.  “That’s down to…”  He inhales.  “A chain of favoritism.  I’m fond of you, and Raglan’s fond of me.”

“Just fond?” Sam asks, smiling wistfully.

“No,” Rashid admits.  “What about you?”

Sam closes his eyes.  “That lot downstairs would accuse me of taking advantage.”

Rashid pulls Sam close.  “I wouldn’t trade how honorable you are about all of this.”

“Anatole ran off with an asset,” Sam hisses, tucking his face against Rashid’s neck.  “With a vampire.  Not even the first one he met!  Why can’t…”

“Want me to run off with you?” Rashid murmurs, not quite teasing.  He splays one hand against Sam’s back, and then twines the other in Sam’s hair.

Yes, Sam replies in Rashid’s mind, nuzzling beneath his open collar, pressing a kiss there with fading hesitation.  Or, failing that, I just…want you.

Rashid exhales tremulously, hauling Sam to the red velvet sofa.  Come here, then, he thinks, pulling Sam down in his lap.  That can be remedied.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks in scandalized shock.

“Martyrdom is overrated,” Rashid replies, shrugging.

Sam knits his brows in bafflement.  “Rashid, that’s not a serious reason.”

“Sorry,” Rashid says softly, cupping Sam’s cheek.  “I shouldn’t tease.”

Covering his mouth, Sam shakes his head.  “If you’re having me on…”

Rashid pulls Sam’s hand away and kisses him on the lips, exasperated.

Sam whines into the kiss, nodding eagerly as Rashid unsnaps his coat.

“Can you be quiet for me?” Rashid asks, his tone gentle as he pushes Sam’s coat off his shoulders.  “I can’t guarantee the crew will leave without sending someone up to pester us.”  He rucks up Sam’s long-sleeved flannel and the tee underneath, stroking Sam’s belly before thumbing at the button of his jeans as he kisses him again.  Let me touch you? Rashid asks tentatively, his thought a reverent plea.  Tell me what to do.

Sam shudders, nodding in response.  He swallows an involuntary wail as Rashid gets his trousers open.  Rashid’s hand is so warm as he unbuttons Sam’s underwear, so careful as he slips it inside and pets Sam’s cock.   Sam is mortified, but can’t bring himself to care too much about the fact he might embarrass himself.  He’s lost in blissful sensation as Rashid draws him out into the cool air of the room.  “Wait, I think—oh!”

“Shhh.  Need me to stop?” Rashid soothes.

“No,” Sam gasps, clinging to him.  “Don’t.”

“Sweet, pretty thing,” Rashid says with a tremor in his voice, working the pad of his thumb tenderly over Sam’s slit, exhaling in awe when a pulse of slickness eases the way for his touch.  “Do you want me to kiss you here, too?” he whispers, abashed.  “Suck you off?”

“You heard more than you let on,” Sam accuses.

“I did,” Rashid agrees, stroking him attentively.

Sam feels the tension in his gut snap.  He sobs breathlessly as he splatters Rashid’s hand and shirt with blood.  Rashid’s shocked, pleased intake of breath as he tightens his fingers around Sam’s cock to work him through it makes Sam jolt, the white-hot flash down his spine and in his belly almost searing.  Rashid is holding him securely with his free arm, kissing his neck, telling him how lovely he looks.  It’s too much.

“Sorry,” Sam manages, burying his face against Rashid’s shoulder.  He’s trembling with aftershocks, pressed flush against Rashid now, both of Rashid’s arms wrapped tight around him while he writhes and gasps through the last of it.  “Ah, Rashid, that’s…that feels…”

“How does it feel?” Rashid asks, caressing Sam’s back.

“So good I might die for real this time,” Sam laughs.

“Mmm.”  Rashid sounds relieved, kissing Sam’s cheek.

Sam bumps his nose against Rashid’s.  “What’s mmm?”

Rashid cradles Sam’s jaw in his palm, his lips soft against Sam’s.  “Not used to being told you’re beautiful?” he asks, forthright and reassuring.  “Sam, what are you...”  Rashid nuzzles Sam’s cheek as he gets his trousers open, kissing him gratefully.  “We don’t need to rush.”  

“But I want you, remember?”  Sam kisses Rashid back, and then adamantly shakes his head.  “I’m a Plain Jane at best,” he sighs wistfully, taking Rashid’s reading glasses off his face, tucking them into his jacket pocket.  “My eyes were nice enough when I was mortal, I suppose.”

“They’re stunning now,” Rashid insists, fervent.  “I’m sure they were even then.”  He rolls his hips against Sam’s, biting back a groan.

“Darlin’,” Sam praises, working a hand between them, mindful of his nails.  He wraps his fingers around as much of Rashid’s cock as he can, which…fuck him, that’s not nearly enough of it.  Sam scoots back and wraps his other hand around the base.  “Speaking of stunning.”

“It’s, ah,” Rashid falters as Sam gives his cock an affectionate stroke with both hands, “not a talent.  But…thanks, that’s, fuck.  S’nice.”

“Sure, it’s a talent,” Sam says, steadily working Rashid’s cock, “making me feel this good.”  He watches Rashid snap his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the sofa.  “What do you need?” Sam asks, kissing the hollow of Rashid’s throat.  “There’s nothing I won’t give you.”

Rashid’s breath escapes him, a low moan.  He watches Sam with half-lidded eyes, licking his lips.  “I want…want you to keep doing that,” Rashid rasps.  “Almost there.”  Adorably, he struggles to meet Sam’s eyes as he chooses his words with care.  “Next time, your mouth.”

Hearing that, Sam wobbles out of Rashid’s lap. He strips out of his bottom layers, gets down on his knees, and pushes Rashid’s thighs apart.  He maintains eye contact as he unlaces Rashid’s shoes, takes them off, and then tugs his trousers and underwear off him.  It’s absurd, both of them naked from the waist down with socks on, but it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Sam, and Rashid’s hazy eyes suggest it’s the same for him.  Sam runs careful hands over Rashid’s inner thighs before sliding them up beneath his stained shirt to rest on his hips.

“Oh,” Rashid breathes, threading his fingers in Sam’s hair, cradling the back of his head.  “I know that I offered to do this for you, but that doesn’t mean…”  He shakes his head adamantly, holding Sam’s head still.  “Love, look at me. You don’t need to do it just because…”

“Yes, love, I do,” Sam insists, his heart hammering as he returns the confession, or at least he hopes he’s not mistaking what he’s just heard.  He cups Rashid’s cock against his cheek, turning his head enough to nuzzle the delicate, heated flesh as it twitches in his grasp.  “Rashid?”

“Please,” Rashid replies, trying not to beg. He eases the tension of his fingers in Sam’s curls, making it easier for him to move as he finds an angle.

“Don’t hold out on me, sweetheart,” Sam murmurs teasingly against the tip of Rashid’s cock.  His fingers tremble as he wraps them around the base.  Sam dips his tongue in Rashid’s slit, pleased as he shivers at the taste of him.  It’s just what Rashid had suggested: a kiss.

“Sam,” Rashid moans, his hips jerking so suddenly that Sam ends up with half Rashid’s cock in his mouth before he takes Sam by the shoulders, holds him still, and withdraws a fraction.  He’s shaking all over as he takes Sam’s face in both hands, undone.  “Oh, not yet, no—”

Flustered, Sam lets Rashid’s cock slip the rest of the way out of his mouth even as the first pulse of wet heat hits his lips and chin.  He recovers quickly enough to take the shaft in his grasp again—to kiss it, nuzzle it, and close his eyes as the mess catches his cheek.  He angles it lower, letting the rest hit his chest so he can mouth at Rashid’s belly through his shirt and then nuzzle between the buttons.  Love you so.

Rashid is making such wrecked sounds that Sam has to assume he’s done something right.  Rashid’s hands are both back in Sam’s hair, his fingers wound painfully tight.  He heaves urgently for breath, tipping Sam’s chin up as he trembles through the comedown, blinking at Sam through a faint sheen of tears.  The sense of how overwhelmed Rashid is feeling is tangible in his scattered, post-orgasmic thoughts.  Love me?

“Yes,” Sam blurts, scrambling clumsily back onto the sofa beside Rashid, relieved when Rashid tugs him back over to straddle his lap.  “You called me—so I called you—”  He presses his forehead against Rashid’s, closing his eyes.  “I thought that you meant it, so I risked—”

“I did, Sam,” Rashid replies, sincere.  “I do.  Did you?”

“Yes,” Sam mumbles against Rashid’s mouth.  “Fuck.”

Rashid guides Sam’s arms to wind around his neck, and then kisses Sam with such depth of feeling that Sam feels his stomach flip.  He wraps both arms around Sam’s waist and hitches him closer, nipping his lower lip.  “Still so tense, shhh, it’s all right.  What do you want?”

Sam presses his face against Rashid’s neck, squirming as pleasure builds in him again.  He pushes his half-hard cock against the damp fabric of Rashid’s shirt, grateful when Rashid takes the lead and makes him stop for a second so he can get their shirts off.  After that, it’s just Rashid’s fever-hot skin and Rashid’s soft encouragement in Sam’s ear—ah, that’s right, just like that, love you so much, feel so good for me, Sam—

Sam comes so hard it nearly hurts.  He sobs desperately as it washes over him, digging his toes into the backs of Rashid’s calves.  If this is what fooling around on the sofa is like, then Sam can’t imagine what’s waiting when they do this properly.  He hopes that’ll be tonight.

Rashid rubs Sam’s back, mouthing lazy, possessive kisses beneath his earlobe.  “Shhh, shhh.  There you are.  Shhh, precious thing.  That’s better.”

“Don’t leave me anymore,” Sam mumbles.

“Never again,” Rashid promises earnestly.

“Take me to bed?” Sam asks, hopeful.

“Of course.  And then?” Rashid laughs.

“Fuck me stupid.  How’s that sound?”

“How about till I can’t think, either?”

Sam rests his head against Rashid’s shoulder.  He presses a kiss against his neck, and then bites down contemplatively.  “What about forever?”

Rashid turns his head for a kiss, hugging Sam.  “I like the sound of that,” he replies, running his fingers through Sam’s hair.  “Hoped you’d ask.”

Sam returns the kiss, nipping Rashid’s lower lip with just a hint of fangs.  “Why didn’t you want to let me go downstairs all by myself?”

Rashid hugs Sam even tighter, pressing their foreheads together.  “I don’t like either of our chances against a stray revenant, do you?”

“Always taking care of me,” Sam says fondly, kissing the corner of Rashid’s mouth.  “What about the poor sods down there as we speak?”

“I hope it puts the fear of London in them,” Rashid replies viciously.  “Doesn’t seem fair to let Amsterdam have all the fun, all the time.”

Sam kisses Rashid deeply, melting against him.  “There’s a bed in the next room.  If you fuck me in it, I might tire the rest of the way out.”

“Want to sleep here all day?  Check what the flunkies have left for us tomorrow night?”

“Nothing summons Raglan like indolence.  Maybe he’ll come take Klaas off our hands.”

“Sounds like you have doubts about whether or not Klaas will be leaving the basement.”

“If the others have any sense, they’ll lock him in one of the cells and run far, far away.”

“Love you so much,” Rashid sighs, gazing earnestly up at Sam.  “I hope you know that.”

Sam hums happily.  “Love you, too.  And poor Klaas will know before we send him off.”

Chapter Text

Rashid can’t believe he’s awake first, especially not given the racket that’s been filtering up from downstairs.  He feels like the luckiest man on earth, though, to be seeing what he’s seeing: Sam, still unconscious as the sun sets outside, his face half-hidden in the pillow just a hand’s breadth away, motionless and unbreathing.  Rashid scoots closer, curls an arm around Sam’s waist, and tucks his chin over the top of Sam’s head.  

Sleeping Beauty, Rashid thinks, hugging Sam tightly.  Good job he doesn’t have to worry about cracking Sam’s ribs.

Meanwhile, the banging and shouting that’s been echoing up one of the pipes in the wall continues.  The Dutchman has an impressive set of lungs.  Rashid isn’t sure whether Sam mindfucked the others into locking him down there before or after they left the bagged evidence in Owen’s office, but…no matter.  It’s such a romantic gesture that Sam deserves to be rewarded for it before they get to work for the night.

Sam draws a shuddering breath, tensing for a moment, disoriented on waking.  And then he remembers where he is, why he’s in a bed instead of a coffin, and relaxes into Rashid’s embrace.  “Makes a better alarm clock than an agent,” Sam mumbles against Rashid’s neck.

“You’ve helped Klaas find his true calling,” Rashid agrees, massaging the back of Sam’s neck.   “You’re safe.  The curtains are drawn.  Made sure of that before I fell asleep.”  He shivers at the feeling of Sam grazing gentle, possessive fangs over his skin.  “No regrets?”

“No,” Sam replies warmly, “and you’d better not have any, either.  You’re stuck with me from here on out, I thought we agreed on that.”

“Nice try,” Rashid replies, grinning stupidly as Sam lifts his head to squint at him.  “I thought we agreed that you’re stuck with me.”

“If this is the kind of domestics I’ve signed up for, maybe the plan to turn you needs rethinking,” Sam deadpans.  He kisses Rashid for all he’s worth, rolling onto his back, dragging Rashid with him.  “Aren’t you lovely,” Sam sighs into Rashid’s mouth.  “Spoiling me so.”

Rashid feels his cheeks heat as Sam bites his lip and gazes up at him from beneath half-lidded eyes.  This is par for the course when Sam hasn’t fed—his earnest, endearing silliness so close to the surface that not kissing him had always been a struggle for Rashid in the past.

“I’m spoiling you?” Rashid asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Looking at me like that,” Sam replies, shyly abashed.

“How’s that, then?” Rashid asks.  He can be coy, too.

Sam huffs petulantly.  “Like you’re the hungry one.”

“I want,” Rashid says, patiently tugging the sheets away from where they’re bunched between Sam’s thighs, “to do what Klaas thinks I’ve been doing to you for years.”  He pets Sam’s cock until Sam squirms and muffles a breathy cry against his shoulder.  “How are you so sweet,” Rashid whispers, nuzzling the underside of Sam’s jaw, rewarding him with tight, leisurely strokes.  “Do you want to come like this?”

Sam drops his fangs against Rashid’s neck, panting as he fucks Rashid’s fist.  “Nnn, I’m…don’t know, it’s…”  His breath escapes him on a strained sob when Rashid pauses to cup his balls and run his thumb idly over the delicate skin.  “Don’t tease!  What are you doing?”

“Finding out what you like, love.”

“Well, I think…just, ah, maybe…”

“Think maybe you like that?”

“Oh, darlin’.  Who wouldn’t.”

Rashid kisses Sam’s whimper back into his mouth as he shifts on top of him.  The night before, nothing had made Sam come harder than being kissed and held; not even fucking a third orgasm out of Sam had hit the same fever pitch in the feedback loop of their minds as when Rashid had let him ride his lap.  Go on, Rashid thinks, turning his head so that Sam can sink his fangs, hoping that addressing Sam’s hunger might get him a clearer answer.  Rashid is achingly hard against Sam’s belly by the time Sam licks over the wounds in Rashid’s neck to heal them.

“Please,” Sam gasps, licking his lips between tremulous kisses.  “Your mouth, please.”

Rashid thumbs over Sam’s lips, smearing glistening scarlet down to his chin.  “Where?”

Sam’s cheeks turn as vivid as the flush spreading down his chest.  “Where d’you think?”

“It’s all right.  I know,” Rashid murmurs, kissing the hollow of Sam’s throat, lightheaded as he scoots down to settle between Sam’s spread thighs.  He bites the slight softness of Sam’s hip sharply enough to make Sam’s breath hiss through his teeth as he retracts his fangs, and then licks away the pinkish smear that Sam’s cock has leaked against his belly.  The trace of blood is sweet at first on Rashid’s tongue, and then burns.

“Wait,” Sam whimpers, his fingers tangling in Rashid’s hair, his nails stinging as they graze over Rashid’s scalp.  “Rashid, wait—”

“Shhh,” Rashid soothes, kissing the tip of Sam’s cock before sucking it for a few seconds.  If nothing else, Sam instantly shuts up; Rashid watches him toss his head against the pillow with his eyes closed and his stained lips parted.  “I’m not chasing a fix, Sam.  I’m not Daniel.”

“Then…”  Sam struggles to form words, running his shaking fingers through Rashid’s hair.  “Are you sure it’s going to be…”

“Yes,” Rashid whispers, pressing a worshipful kiss against the heated skin at the base of Sam’s cock.  “You taste fine.”

Sam moans, molding one hand to the back of Rashid’s neck even as he keeps the other tangled in Rashid’s hair.  “How…”

Easy, Rashid thinks, licking into Sam’s slit a few times to hear Sam wail before taking him deep.  So easy, mera dil.  I adore you.

Mera dil? Sam asks, shuddering breathless and undone as Rashid lifts one of his legs over his shoulder just to get a better angle.

My heart, Rashid replies, swallowing around Sam’s cock.  He breathes through his nose, pressing his forehead against Sam’s belly.

“Hold on, ah,” Sam chokes, his hips twitching violently against the mattress as he tugs on Rashid’s hair to warn him.  “Sorry!”

Rashid coughs, mouthing frantic kisses slick with blood and spit from the crease of Sam’s thigh to his bellybutton.  He strokes Sam through each subsequent pulse of his climax, ashamed of how easily he’d been startled by the first.  “Don’t apologize.  My fault.”

Sam writhes, still clutching the back of Rashid’s head and the back of his neck.  Both of his knees bracket Rashid’s shoulders now, although it only takes a few seconds for them to fall slack.  He’s crying and gasping with each stroke.  Hold me, he’s repeating now instead.

Rashid kisses his way from Sam’s belly to the hollow of his throat.  He settles right where he started as he licks into Sam’s open mouth, finding his fangs exposed all over again.  Rashid moans, cutting his tongue on each in quick succession, dizzied when Sam’s just as quick to do the same and heal him.  It’s the sting even more than the grind that does him in; he’s fucking gone on Sam, bliss so searing it steals his breath.

“There’s my sweetheart,” Sam whispers, caressing Rashid’s cheek.  He kisses the corner of Rashid’s mouth, licks a smear of blood away, and then hugs him tightly through the aftershocks.  That’s where the risk of sustaining cracked ribs really lies for one of them.  “Mmm?”

“Mmm,” Rashid agrees faintly, relieved that their in-joke isn’t as cringeworthy as Daniel’s yeah in Dubai.  He nuzzles Sam’s neck, play-biting there until helpless laughter bubbles up in Sam’s throat.  “I love you so much.  I may not get this right at first, Sam, but I promise—”

“You think I’m getting this right, darlin’?  Can’t hold it together for even a second because you’re such a fuckin’ catch.”

Sam frets when Rashid rises to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom.  Once they’re clean, Rashid is happy to use Sam’s clinginess as an excuse to delay their examination of the blood samples waiting in Owen’s office.  They trade lazy kisses until someone knocks on the door.

Sam clutches the duvet to his chest, mortified.  “Oh my fuckin’—” he scrambles in the sheets, failing to find any of his or Rashid’s clothes, because of course they’d left all of them in the living room in their haste the night before “—don’t tell me he’s actually turned up.”

“You said it yourself,” Rashid sighs, rising.  He starts opening bureau drawers.  “Nothing summons him like indolence.”

“Would the two of you care to explain, assuming you’re both in there,” Raglan ventures with trepidation from the other side of the door, “why one of Amsterdam’s best, brightest recruits is shut away downstairs like he’s been earmarked for transport and court-martialing?”

“Sure,” Rashid says, raising his voice just loud enough for Raglan to hear him as he tosses what looks like a set of gray joggers and a faded black tee onto the bed.  “Agent Klaas was rude to Sam last night.  As you can imagine, that’s counterproductive to our investigation.”

“Spare us your misguided chivalry.  Sam has more than a century on you and can look out for…”  Raglan trails off, and then makes an astonished noise.  “Oh dear.”  He’s silent for another minute while Rashid locates a set of pajama bottoms and a robe; Sam makes a tortured face while they get dressed in Jasper’s cast-offs, because it can only mean Raglan has noticed their discarded clothes on his side of the door.  

Once they’re decent, Rashid gathers Sam against his chest and lets him curse out his embarrassment.  It’s a few minutes before Rashid can get Sam calm enough to face Raglan without there being a real risk of fatality.  He holds Sam’s hand as he finally leads him into the living room, meeting Raglan’s consternation with an air of challenge.  Sam’s just staring at the floor, which is covered in Owen’s dried blood.

“Do you honestly think I’ll let you clock this as overtime?” Raglan demands after a beat, his tone stuck between impressed and mortified.

“Not the hours we spent asleep,” Rashid says with sarcasm.

Raglan makes a face at him.  “Touché.  And your partner?”

Sam’s head snaps up.  “What’s that mean?  I’m right here.”

Rashid pulls Sam closer, angry on his behalf.  “Ask him.”

Raglan tsks at Sam.  “Know what the note in your file says?”

“I don’t care what it says,” Rashid seethes.  “I’m not his minder.  I’m his partner on the job and his companion otherwise.  Note that.”

“Here’s where my companion and I differ on the matter of overtime,” Sam retorts.  “I expect it for the whole fuckin’ duration.”

Raglan rubs his temples.  “Once you two finish this postmortem, my first official act will be to send you after the deserters.”

“You mean Guy and Doris?” Rashid asks flatly.

“Anatole and the asset,” Raglan confirms.  “Yes.”

“They have the right idea,” Sam sneers at him.

Raglan shrugs.  “Who’s to say you find them?”

Rashid takes his turn to blink.  “I’m sorry, what…”

“What would it take to convince you, hmmm?” Raglan asks.  “Sending the insolent twerp downstairs back home?  I’ll do it.”

Sam squeezes Rashid’s hand.  Lie to him, darlin’.

“Fine,” Raglan adds, “I’ll pay you the overtime.”

“Whatever,” Rashid says with a shrug.  “Deal.”

We’re going to run? Sam asks as Raglan leaves.

Rashid pulls him into a kiss.  Anywhere, love.

Chapter Text

Sam has to admit it’s petty of Raglan to send Klaas up with the remaining paperwork and blood samples from Owen’s office.  He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Rashid’s side on the sofa, and Rashid is sipping the tea Sam had made for him after Raglan’s exit.

Disheveled after his day spent alone in that burnt cellar, Klaas drops his armful of nonsense on the coffee table.  He makes a show of studying Sam’s and Rashid’s state of disarray, their borrowed pajamas, their scattered clothes—his demeanor subdued, but furious.

“Thanks for those,” Rashid says curtly, sparing Klaas a glance over the teacup.  “Is there anything you’d like to say?”

“Agent James’s compass is cracked?” Klaas asks, aiming the venomous question at Sam.  “You’re as good as ash.”

“That’s not what I had in mind,” Rashid replies, his tone turning frigid with warning.  “Perhaps you’d like to try again?”

“If you expect me to grovel to your pet monster,” Klaas sneers, scarcely sparing Sam a glance this time, “then not really.”

Sam wants to drain the bastard, but Raglan is downstairs.  It would be bad for business given the deal he and Rashid have struck.  Sam settles for feeding on Klaas just shy of the point where he’d pass out, wipes his mind of the incident, and sends him back to Raglan.  

Rashid holds his arm open and lets Sam settle back in.  “I really wanted him to apologize,” he says, reaching for the sheaf of paper.  “As far as I’m concerned, you took what he owed you.”  Rashid hands Sam one of the evidence bags.  “I’m afraid these are your purview.”

Sam wrinkles his nose.  He reaches for the notepad and starts classifying the samples while Rashid processes the paperwork.  Over the next few hours, they can hear Raglan and Klaas talking heatedly downstairs.  At one point, there’s a conference call with Annemieke, Amsterdam’s head admin bitch herself, where Raglan does a lot of arse-kissing and tells Klaas to shut up, please, because the adults are talking.

Sam stops what he’s doing when he hears Annemieke say, Agent Klaas has just made grave allegations about what he experienced at the hands of his colleagues.  According to your account, Agent Ranghar has all but admitted he did nothing to stop Agent Barclay from manipulating the others into trapping him.  Why are you attempting to downplay the situation by calling it a harmless prank, Agent James?

Barclay is more vital to Ranghar’s job satisfaction than ever, Raglan explains tersely.  You wouldn’t take New York’s fanged asset no matter how he happened to misbehave, would you?  No.  You’d just tell Helen to keep parceling out his lost trinkets.  Look, if we want both Ranghar’s talent and a vampire on a slightly longer leash, there’s no surer guarantee than to let these two keep doing…whatever this is.

Fucking? Klaas interjects, snide.

Be quiet, Annemieke says sharply.

Er, Raglan manages.  It seems—

Serious? Annemieke prompts.

I’m afraid they’re smitten, Raglan sighs.

Klaas snorts.  Smitten?  Those heartless—

Barclay almost killed you a few hours ago because he loves his companion at the expense of all else, Raglan tells Klaas cheerfully, and Ranghar was perfectly happy to watch.  Just because one of them is mortal doesn’t mean they don’t hunt together.  They’re the same kind of creature already.  You assume it’s turning that warps someone’s mind like that?  Don’t make me laugh.  Ranghar will fit right in when his time comes.

“Hear that?” Rashid snorts, curling his arm tighter around Sam’s shoulders.  “Raglan thinks I’ll make a great vampire.”

“What the hell does it say in my file?” Sam asks sulkily, cuddling closer against Rashid.  “You’ve been protecting me.”

Rashid kisses Sam’s forehead, flipping through a few more pages.  “Sorry.  I didn’t want you to get bent out of shape.”

“Is this what Raglan meant by your misguided chivalry?” Sam asks.  He nuzzles Rashid’s neck, and then bites down with his fangs extended—tender and possessive, barely breaking the skin.  “Don’t apologize, darlin’.  You shouldn’t, what when I’ve killed for you.”

“I know that you have.  Many times over,” Rashid replies, tossing the sheaf of paper onto the coffee table.  He hauls Sam into his lap and kisses him, both hands kneading Sam’s hips.  “It’s one of the sexiest things about you.  My efforts scarcely compare.”

“What does it say, Rashid?” Sam asks fretfully.  “I deserve to know.”

“You do, love,” Rashid sighs, stroking Sam’s cheek.  “I hate them for it.”

Sam bumps his nose against Rashid’s.  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You don’t have to fuck the information out of me,” Rashid says, earnest.

Shrugging, Sam kisses the corner of his mouth.  “I’ll fuck you anyway.”

“It says you get distracted and need consistent monitoring,” Rashid admits, holding Sam close.  “Raglan noticed how well you seemed to focus when you were training me.  It’s why our partnership became a permanent assignment.  He thought I was up to the task.”

Sam snorts, kissing Rashid properly this time.  “Up to the task of monitoring me,” he muses, nuzzling Rashid’s cheek.  “Joke’s on Raglan.  I fuckin’ distracted you instead.”  Sam squirms in Rashid’s lap; another kiss, and he’ll risk making a mess of his borrowed joggers.

“Sensitive,” Rashid murmurs, stroking the small of his back.  He rolls his hips up against Sam.  “I love making you feel like this.”

Sam curls forward against Rashid.  “Klaas had us dead to rights,” he pants, deciding Rashid shouldn’t do all the work.  “I want…”

“Anything,” Rashid says, gently stroking along Sam’s waist.  “The overtime’s guaranteed.  I’ll take you back to bed.”  He nips Sam’s earlobe hard enough to sting, stubbornly holding Sam still while he grinds up against him.  “Finger you nice and slow, how’s that?”

Sam comes gasping and shaking after a few seconds, almost too embarrassed to speak.  “Fuck off!” he moans, clawing at the back of the sofa while Rashid eases his hold enough to let him writhe through it.  “Christ.”  Sam shudders, falling loose-limbed and content.

“That’s never going to get old,” Rashid says softly, caressing Sam’s hair.

“Doubt it,” Sam mumbles.  “What was that about fingering me, though?”

Rashid’s restless under him, painfully hard in his pants.  “Still going to.”

Sam works a hand between them, petting Rashid’s cock.  “Mmm, and?”

Rashid shivers, squeezing Sam’s waist.  “I’m going to make sure Raglan and Klaas can hear us.  They’ll clear out faster.” 

You’re going to fuck me till I scream? Sam asks in Rashid’s mind, dizzy as Rashid coaxes him to his feet.  Did I last night?

You don’t realize how loud you are, Rashid thinks, laughing as he pushes Sam ahead of himself to the bedroom.  Sweet thing.

“You really think I’m sweet?” Sam asks, turning on his heel once they’re through the bedroom door.  He sheds the borrowed black tee, biting his lip as Rashid backs him down on the bed.  “Even knowing what I’ve—”  Sam yelps as Rashid tugs the joggers off him.  “Aren’t you gorgeous,” he breathes, pushing the robe off Rashid’s shoulders, and then helps Rashid shimmy out of his pajama bottoms.  “Darlin’.”

“It’s been a struggle,” Rashid says, his voice low in Sam’s ear as he pins him, “not letting myself ask if I could kiss you, touch you—”

“All you had to do,” Sam gasps, clamping onto him so tightly it probably hurts, “all you…”  He moans, winding his arms around Rashid’s neck when he feels Rashid’s fingertips brush his inner thigh, and then lighter, more tentative over his hole.  “Please,” Sam begs.  “Rashid.”

“To answer your question,” Rashid says, making an awkward grab for the tube of surgical-grade lube they’d left on the nightstand, “yes.”  He kisses Sam softly, fumbling the cap off.  “The sweetest.  I don’t care what you’ve done,” Rashid continues, tossing the tube aside, thank fuck for that first-aid kit in the bathroom.  Rashid’s slick touch is cool at first, but gradually warms as he works one, two, three fingers deep. 

“Don’t fuckin’ stop,” Sam pleads as he digs his nails just a fraction more ruthlessly into Rashid’s skin, a startled response to Rashid’s hiss of pleasure.  “Don’t.”  He arches his back when Rashid nudges up against him with his cock, nodding wildly.  “Wait, no, you know what I—”

“I do know,” Rashid laughs, stealing Sam’s breath as he presses inside an inch at a time.  “So tight, love,” he hisses.  “Fuck.”

Sam inhales tremulously as Rashid withdraws, and then wails in surprise when he thrusts back in a touch too sharply.  He digs his heels into the backs of Rashid’s thighs when Rashid freezes in apprehension, rewarding him with another cry when he repeats the action.

“That’s right, like that,” Rashid praises, fucking Sam in earnest.  “Let me hear you.”  He slows his pace after a few minutes so he can kiss Sam’s neck and play with his nipples, which, between that novel sensation and how close he is to losing control again anyway—

Sam screams, beyond caring how he must sound.  The sensory overload is exquisite; it would be nearly unbearable if not for Rashid holding him, trembling through it with him, flooding him with heat.  He can scarcely tell where his pleasure ends and Rashid’s begins.

“Shhh, shhh,” Rashid soothes, muffling Sam’s next sob with a breathless kiss.  He cards his fingers through Sam’s sweat-damp hair, withdrawing from him with an apologetic wince.  “I think maybe…they’re still on that call.  Would you mind patching us back in?”

“Oh, you want me quiet now,” Sam grouses halfheartedly.  He tugs Rashid back into a kiss, ignoring the stickiness between them.  Sam lets the background noise from downstairs filter into the euphoric haze that currently passes for the connection between their minds.

…a sufficient demonstration? Raglan is asking with a tone too shocked for disgust.  The job will get done, just with bouts of…er, that.

They’re honeymooning in an active crime scene, Annemieke replies. The potential for tainted evidence doesn’t concern you?

They’re done gathering evidence, Raglan points out, exasperated with Annemieke.  They have no reason to gather, well…  Sam tries to imagine whatever awkward set of hand gestures he’s making and bursts out laughing into the kiss.  Their own biological material.

Witnessing your acceptance of depravity firsthand is extraordinary.  Does this bring you any closer to understanding why you’ve earned a degenerate reputation, Agent James? Annemieke asks, sounding as close to amused as Amsterdam brass ever deigns to sound.

Rashid nuzzles Sam’s cheek, running idle fingertips from Sam’s shoulder down to his elbow and back up again.  “Head office isn’t discerning enough to designate us as a better class of degenerate,” he sighs.  “I shouldn’t be surprised.  I’m sort of disappointed, though.”

“There’s whatever kind Raglan is, and then there’s whatever kind vampires are,” Sam reminds Rashid, taking a crack at fixing Rashid’s tousled hair.  “You heard Raglan’s assessment of you earlier.  You’re on my side of that divide already, so…no wonder he feels superior.” 

Are the two of you…any closer to deciding what you’re going to do with me? Klaas interjects with uncertainty.  I’m still here.

Yes, in fact, Raglan replies.  You’re going to help me sort out a mess at the West Croft Hotel before I put you on the Eurostar. 

Very well.  As Acting Head of London motherhouse, what are your plans after that? Annemieke asks, her tone oddly resigned.

I’m sending Ranghar and Barclay after the deserters, of course, Raglan replies.  Got to bring them in for questioning, haven’t I?

We’ll see whose men get to them first, Annemieke says smugly.

I’m sorry, what? Raglan asks with forced politeness.  Explain?

Houseman has sent one of Amsterdam’s best trackers after them, Annemieke clarifies, taking her turn to sound malevolently cheerful.  Consider it friendly intra-Order competition.  They’re in our sights, but we haven’t made a move on them.  We want to see if they’ll lead us to…

“Hang on,” Rashid says.  “Audio was recorded by the bug that Owen—well, I assume it was Owen, but it could’ve been Jasper—had someone plant in that West Croft suite. I reviewed that track along with the surveillance video while you were up here with Klaas and the crew.”  He gives Sam a quick kiss and sits up amidst the wrecked sheets.  “Raglan offered Guy to the coven in exchange for that briefcase of blood vials.  He’s responsible for the deal going south because he let Guy follow him upstairs in the first place.”  He chews his lip.  “Raglan’s not talking about the literal mess, because the coven will have cleaned that up already.  I think they’ve threatened him with some…unpleasantness, unless he makes amends.”

“Petronia, Arion, and the crew at Polidori have nothing to do with the West Croft cartel,” Sam says crossly, and then Rashid’s meaning sets in.  “Raglan’s going to offer them Klaas instead?”  He scrambles out of bed, following him to the bathroom.  “What’s wrong with that?”

Rashid turns and takes Sam’s hand, pulling him into his embrace.  “Nothing.  I’m not suggesting we save Klaas.  You could’ve eaten him for all I cared.”  He kisses Sam.  “It’s the rest of what we heard that worries me.  We’ll need to leave soon, to warn Guy and Doris if we can.”

“We’re saving waifs and strays while we’re saving ourselves? Grand,” Sam says unhappily.  “They’ll slow us down.  I can’t lose you.”

“Then let’s make sure you won’t,” Rashid says.  “Travel will be tricky if neither of us can face the sun, but I’d prefer it if we were both…”

“You really want this, then?”

“Sam, what did I promise?”

“Lots of things, for which I’m—”

“I’ll never leave you again.”

Sam tucks his head against Rashid’s shoulder, exhaling in sheer relief.  “I'm most grateful for that one.  No question.”

Rashid coaxes Sam over to the tub and turns on the taps.  “Do you think that either Petronia or Arion would do it?”

Sam sits on the side of the tub while Rashid adjusts the temperature.  “Petronia’s been a deadbeat maker.  They owe me.”

“I doubt you want to lose telepathic communication any more than I do,” Rashid says, tugging Sam’s hand toward himself.

“I’ll do it if we have no other choice,” Sam sighs, relaxing when he feels the hot water sluice over his skin.  “That’s perfect.”

Rashid climbs into the tub.  “Come here,” he murmurs, tugging Sam down against himself even though it’s a tight squeeze.

“I’m cold,” Sam manages, burrowing against Rashid.  “Not that it’s news, but—”  He cuts himself off with a relieved sigh.

“If Raglan is Interim Head here, then I wonder what Amsterdam intends to do,” Rashid says as the water rises around them.

Sam shrugs, closing his eyes.  He inhales steam and the scent of blood beneath Rashid’s skin, pleasantly drowsy.  “No clue.”

“We could persuade Doris and Guy to return,” Rashid suggests, turning off the taps.  “Convince the Polidori coven to help.”

Sam opens his eyes.  “One vampire taking over this place went poorly,” he says. “You’re suggesting strength in numbers?”

“Jasper made a salient point, didn’t he?  Also, if Raglan considers me a monster, mortal or otherwise, then…might as well?”

“I can’t believe you’re suggesting this.  Demographically speaking, I’m meant to be the hothead.  How dare you upstage me.” 

“You likely would’ve gotten there given another Klaas incident or two, Sam.  Trust me.”

“No, darlin’.  I would’ve been in lockup like Jasper given another Klaas incident or two.”

“I would’ve come after you, love,” Rashid insists, brushing Sam’s cheek.  “Died trying.”

Sam kisses him, sloshing water onto the floor.  “Oi, shut your mouth.  Don’t even joke.”

Rashid grins at him when they finally break apart, breathing hard.  “Will you make me?”

“What happened to getting a move on?” Sam asks, bracing his hands on Rashid’s biceps.

“We’ll be delayed another night or two, you’ve got to figure,” Rashid replies.  “Turning.”

“Don’t know what’s wrong with you, but, eh,” Sam sighs fondly.  “Everyone else’s loss.”

Chapter Text

The bath is nice—beyond nice.  Rashid bundles Sam to the bedroom afterward, lays him down on his belly, and eats him out until he gasps and stains the pillow tucked under his hips. It’s more of a cuddle than a proper fuck after that, but Rashid feels feverish between the remaining dampness on his skin and the tight, residual heat of Sam’s body.  He loves the weight of Sam’s cock in his hand, the way it pulses as Sam, beautifully oversensitive, writhes and climaxes dry.  It’s dawn by then, so they fall into a doze, curled so close that they’d fit into a coffin.

Rashid understands the way Armand feels about Daniel now.  He’s ready to kill anyone who so much as says a cruel word to Sam, let alone lays a finger on him.  He’s not even the vampire in this equation, or isn’t even one of the vampires in this equation yet, but he’s experiencing the bizarre, intense hindbrain instinct that kicks in around blood-sharing and companionship.  Sam is his to cherish, his to look after, his to pleasure.  Maybe Rashid shouldn’t be so hasty to disavow the similarities he might bear to how Daniel had been at his youngest and most enraptured.

Just before sunset the next evening, Rashid is barely awake when there’s a knock, and Sam is still thoroughly unconscious beside him.  He makes sure that Sam is shrouded in the bedclothes from head to toe before rising and throwing on some of Jasper’s clean, cast-off clothing from the bureau.  Rashid cautiously answers the bedroom door, peering out at the unwelcome caller.  It’s Raglan again, who the hell else?

“I’m going to need you to rejoin the real world for at least twenty minutes,” Raglan says wearily, gesturing at the set of sofas on either side of the coffee table where Rashid’s and Sam’s completed work piles are neatly stacked.  “Can you manage it?  Annemieke has charged me to have a word with you while Sam is…out of commission, so to speak.  We don’t have much time.  I’m not pleased with the situation, but here we are.”

“Fine,” Rashid sighs, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him.  The last thing he needs is for Sam’s most primal, aggressive reflexes to kick in because the function of his vampiric senses that never falls fully dormant tells him that he, his companion, and their lair are currently under attack by an interloper.  Rashid follows Raglan hesitantly to the coffee table.  “What does Annemieke want with our investigation here?”

“Sentimentality will be your downfall,” Raglan says, disgruntled.  “He’s more hindrance than help at this stage.  You know that, right?”

“I wouldn’t be alive if not for Sam,” Rashid replies, “so…no.  That’s not the situation as I recognize it.  Amsterdam thinks differently?”

“You could be Samuel Barclay’s unmaking,” Raglan says.  “Tell him to walk into the sun, and he’d do it.  That’s how much power you have.”

“Are you…”  Rashid stares at Raglan, horrified.  “Are you serious right now?”  He narrows his eyes.  “Is this your attempt at a cautionary tale?”

Raglan snorts.  “It’s more polite than pointing out what a terrible idea it is to stick your dick in crazy.  You’ve read Sam’s file.  Don’t romanticize—”

“Most vampires struggle,” Rashid cuts in.  “Don’t romanticize Sam’s history?  You romanticize vampires in one breath and vilify them in the next.”

“If you pull a runner with Sam like Anatole did with—”

“Who?  Aha, wait, I think you’re mispronouncing—”

“Like Anatole did with our asset, then I don’t need to explain—”

“There’ll be consequences?  Really?  I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, Rashid,” Raglan replies in grave consternation.  “No.”

“Afraid so,” Rashid replies.  “You can’t talk me out of it.”

“HR will throw a fit.  Paperwork,” Raglan sighs.  “When?”

“Not sure,” Rashid lies.  “When things quiet down, maybe.”

“You need to leave the city with him come nightfall,” Raglan replies, his tone suggesting that he knows this is one battle that he just isn’t going to win.  “Tomorrow night at the latest, and in…whatever condition you happen to be in by that point, God fucking help you with those atrocious side-effects.  I can only hold off sending the findings of our investigation to Amsterdam for so long.  Annemieke is quite insistent.”

“Our investigation?” Rashid echoes, his bitterness spilling over.  There’s no sense in maintaining a semblance of politeness at this point given that Raglan has passed along Amsterdam’s suggestion of eliminating Sam.  “It’s not as if you did any of the work.  You’re half the reason we’re in this mess, aren’t you?  Using Amsterdam’s authority to greenlight Daniel’s book, letting Guy follow you into a trap at the West Croft…”

Raglan tightens his jaw.  “Go wake Sam, settle his nerves, and keep him focused.  Get him dressed and out the door.  I’ll finish closing up shop.”

Rashid doesn’t blink.  “I could tell Sam to hunt you and Klaas down.  You’d never make it to St. Pancras.  That’s how much power I have.”

“Bless,” Raglan says.  “There’s no sense to you drawing breath in this world a moment longer, is there?  Off to Polidori with both of you.”

Rashid waits on the sofa with his arms folded across his chest until Raglan has swept the bureaucracy on the coffee table into his briefcase.  He doesn’t give Raglan much more than a curt nod on his way out the door before returning to the bedroom—where he finds Sam awake, curled on his side, and in the midst of chewing his thumbnail down to the quick.  Of all Sam’s nervous habits, it’s the most heartbreakingly human.

“Oh, love,” Rashid murmurs, tugging Sam’s hand away from his mouth.  He kisses it, examining the bloody nail-bed.  “How long have you been—”

“Whole time,” Sam mumbles, trying to pull his hand back.  “I should take Raglan’s advice and remove myself from the board.  I’ll slow you down.”

“Oi.  Don’t even joke,” Rashid admonishes.  He gathers Sam close, tucking his chin over the top of Sam’s head.  “We both go down together.”

“Maudlin enough to quote Decemberists lyrics, are we?” Sam asks dully.  “I had such high hopes we might’ve outgrown that by now, but—”

“Oh, it’s a we problem?” Rashid asks, hugging Sam tight against his chest.

“Pretty sure I quoted ‘The Engine Driver’ last night,” Sam replies, dejected.

“That one’s always been your favorite,” Rashid agrees, stroking Sam’s hair.

“Oh, not anymore,” Sam insists.  “It’s got to be ‘Joan in the Garden’ now.”

“That’s fair,” Rashid tells him soothingly, kissing Sam’s forehead.  “Sam?”

“What is it, darlin’?”

“We have to go.”

Chapter Text

Sam is mad enough at Raglan and Klaas that he’d like nothing more than to take a detour for purposes of hunting them, but he’s relieved that Rashid gets them dressed, out the door, and on the tube in a rush.  Sam takes little drinks from tipsy late-night Northern Line commuters for the first five minutes of their ride, and then spends the latter five in Rashid’s lap in order to tick snogging on public transit off his bucket list.

Petronia doesn’t look happy to see them when they arrive at Polidori.  Arion’s amused expression confirms that Petronia still pretends to be a massive grump who’s rarely happy to see anyone.  Petronia and Arion have met Rashid before; Sam reminds them it’s impossible to live and work a ten-minute tube ride from London motherhouse and not be bothered by your fledgling and his Talamasca partner.  When Petronia scoffs disdainfully at Sam—Oh, bollocks is he only that to you; I know an elopement when I see one!—Arion tells his companion to have a heart.

They sit through an hour of questioning from Petronia.  Sam answers sarcastically because he’s never been a dutiful fledgling, and Rashid answers calmly because he’s far too reasonable a person to be marrying into this family.  Petronia is doing this because they resent having had to pull a bartender to take their place at the entrance.  Shockingly, though, Petronia agrees to Sam’s request.  When they tell Sam and Rashid to follow them down the hall to some vacant quarters in the warehouse behind the club so that they can get on with it, Sam is too startled to speak.

Something goes haywire while Petronia is draining Rashid and Sam is whispering fond, but fearful encouragement to him.  Call it Rashid’s resistance to vampiric mindfuckery, or call it Sam’s luck finally running out, but they deserve this—Rashid stops breathing.  Wisely, Petronia reminds Sam that he can make Rashid swallow the blood, and they’re back on track.  As soon as Rashid’s regaining color in Sam’s embrace and Petronia’s re-buttoning their cuffs, Sam shouts at Petronia through his tears: Get out!  Thanks, truly, but if you don’t leave us alone—

“Sam,” Rashid rasps, propping himself on one elbow, trying to sit up.  “Petronia, thanks, I’ve—”  He coughs, blood dripping down his chin.

“All smooth sailing from here,” Petronia says, holding their hands up in surrender as they move away from the bed.  They’re drenched.

As soon as they’re alone, Sam takes Rashid’s face in his hands.  He turns it from side to side, blinking through his tears.  “Fuck me.”

“Is that…”  Rashid squints at Sam like everything’s too sharp, too bright, too close.  “Is that good, or…”  He grimaces.  “What is it?”

Sam presses Rashid to lie back down and then reaches over him, grabbing several tissues from the box on the nightstand.  He wipes the blood from Rashid’s chin, and then kisses him softly.  “Your eyes, darlin’,” Sam murmurs, wiping his nose on the bloody tissues before tossing them on the floor.  “Want to see something truly stunning?  I’ll get a mirror.”  He tries to roll away, but Rashid holds him in place with scarcely any effort.

Rashid blinks at Sam faintly.  “They’ve changed?  Really?  That fast?”

Sam nods, brushing Rashid’s hair off his forehead.  “First thing to go.”

Rashid swallows, dazed, the absinthe cast of his irises eerily electric.

Fretfully, Sam bites his lower lip.  Oh, if Rashid already regrets this—

Rashid kisses Sam so hard he can’t breathe.  “Never think that, love.”

Sam hugs him tight.  “You can hear me,” he says in sheer, tearful relief.

Rashid clings to Sam.  “Of course I—”  He makes a sharp, pained noise.

Sam gets Rashid to the bathroom with barely enough time to spare.  Rashid vomits into the sink while Sam is getting them both undressed, and he can’t do much more than sit on the shower floor, seized by violent chills while Sam turns the hot water on full blast.  Once that’s done, Sam joins Rashid on the floor and pulls him back into his arms.  He knows how this story goes: hold your lover fast through the horrors, damn the cost.

“Tam Lin?” Rashid asks weakly, spitting blood-tinged saliva on the tile.  “Does that make you…”  He groans, his body spasming as he curls against Sam’s chest.  “Plain Jane?  Just add a ‘t,’” Rashid jokes.  “No, scratch that, you’re…”  He coughs some more, trying to push away from Sam, protesting when Sam won’t let go.  “You’re perfect,” Rashid moans miserably as Sam reaches for the washcloth hanging above their heads.

Sam smacks the back of Rashid’s head, and then starts to scrub him off.  It’s quite Petronia-like of him, the sheer tough love of the gesture.  “If that were true, then I would’ve turned you myself,” Sam replies, letting the water sluice over Rashid’s smooth brown skin in the washcloth’s wake.  He molds his hand to Rashid’s waist, squeezing gently.  “I love you so,” Sam whispers, nuzzling Rashid’s cheek.  “Shitshow and all.”

“Do you think we’ll find them?” Rashid asks, his voice quiet as he relaxes into Sam’s embrace.  “Guy and Doris.  This has…serious repercussions if Amsterdam already has a tracker on the case.  I didn’t overhear to whom Annemieke hopes the deserters will lead them.  Anna Leamas, though, I’d be willing to guess.”  He slumps against the shower wall while Sam scrubs the latest traces of transformation from his skin and rinses him.

“That’s Guy’s missing mother?” Sam asks, settling so that he can kneel between Rashid’s spread thighs.  He uses telekinesis to fiddle with the angle of the shower head so that more of the spray is hitting Rashid than him.  “What do we think she did to piss off the Order?” Sam asks grimly, trying his best to smile as he rinses out the washcloth in preparation for the next round of…well, whatever.  Raglan’s right; it’s a harrowing process.

“I think,” Rashid says cautiously, but also with a sense of slow, terrible certainty that Sam has never known to indicate that Rashid is wrong when it makes such an ominous showing, “that I know what she did.  The one thing that everyone in the Order wants has been missing for just about as long as she has been missing, but nobody has ever said she has it in her possession.  Now, after a manner of speaking, her son has it.”

“Christ,” Sam sighs.  “You think Anna helped Doris to escape roughly…what, sixteen or seventeen years ago?  If your uncanny intuition has struck again, then she found out what the Order’s been doing to and with vampires…and isn’t a fan.  And if you’re going to posit that it’s a compelling argument in favor of finding and helping her, too—” he heaves another sigh, rolling his eyes “—then you won’t have to twist my arm.”

“I do,” Rashid replies, his hand on Sam’s cheek feeling steadier already.  “The timing definitely checks out.  It would get her on a hit-list.  No wonder the Order had their Stateside minions tell Guy his mother was dead and then placed him with foster parents.  She was meant to die, but…”  He starts coughing again, but he doesn’t retch this time.  His complexion has gone fully back to normal.  “But evaded whatever assassin they sent.”

Sam leans into Rashid’s touch, as hopelessly smitten with the shade of his eyes now as he’d been before.  “We’ll need to leave at dusk tomorrow.”

Rashid tugs Sam forward to settle in his lap.  “At least you’re not rushing me out of here the same night.  Love you, too.  More than ever.”  He nuzzles Sam’s neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against Sam’s skin that carries equal parts passion and hunger.  When Rashid’s fangs drop and catch against the tendon that stands out as Sam turns his head to the side, he hisses in quiet surprise.  “That’s…soon, too.  Sooner than I…”

“Go on, then,” Sam whispers.  He shivers as Rashid sinks his fangs.  You’re the first to claim me like this as a lover, and you’ll be the last.

Chapter Text

Rashid is going to miss the inside cabin that he and Sam have been sharing for the past eight days and nights since the Queen Mary 2 had departed from Southampton.  It’s nearly dusk, and they’ve been docked in New York for six hours.  Passengers will come and go until the ship departs at dawn.  By then, Rashid and Sam will have disembarked with all of their luggage, having arranged ahead of time with Cunard to part ways early—with the understanding that, if anyone asks, they are still onboard.  Raglan had bitched to Rashid via text about the cost.

Sam is a cozy, sleepy bundle in Rashid’s arms.  He makes a petulant noise when he realizes that the ship isn’t moving, hitching his leg over Rashid’s hip beneath the covers.  Sam had been happy with how easy it had been to find proof that Guy and Doris had used valid passports bearing fake identities to head first for the Continent by ferry, and then stateside by ocean liner.  Given that ship is the safest way for vampires to travel, pursuing the runaways by the same means has meant getting to indulge in a honeymoon.  Their cover isn’t far from the truth.

“I can’t hear them,” Rashid sighs, shutting out the psychic chatter as Sam tilts his head up for a kiss.  “Can you?” he asks, and then indulges Sam gladly.  Here, mera dil, Rashid continues in Sam’s mind, cradling Sam’s jaw in his palm, nicking his tongue on Sam’s fangs before licking deeper into Sam’s mouth.  Do you need to eat, or should I make you feel good first?  I’m not hungry yet.  I won’t have us rush.

“No,” Sam gasps aloud, his body taut as a bowstring as Rashid slides a hand down to the small of his back.  “Can’t hear ’em, I can’t—ah,” he replies, his voice breaking on a soft moan.  You treat me like a princess, he continues in Rashid’s mind.  Give me everything I could possibly want, and then some.  He shoves Rashid onto his back against the pillows and shifts to straddle him, hands braced on Rashid’s chest.  

“You deserve it,” Rashid says earnestly, watching Sam’s brows pinch, his eyes snap shut, and his mouth fall slightly open as he curls a hand loosely around his cock.  “So, so pretty for me when you come,” he sighs, making a tease of working Sam’s foreskin back with his index finger and thumb.  Rashid smears the blood there over the head, setting his other hand on Sam’s hip to steady him as he thrusts into Rashid’s grasp.

“Rashid, please, I’m—”  Sam whimpers and squirms, panting as he tilts forward against Rashid, seeking closer contact.  “I want, I want—”  He winds his arms around Rashid’s neck with a quiet, breathy cry when Rashid pulls him exactly as close as he wants to be held, enjoying the way Rashid is grinding up against him.  After a few minutes, the sounds Sam is making grow increasingly desperate.  “Please, just get it before I—”

“Shhh.  Use your words, Sam.”

“Fuck off.  Inside me, darlin’.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Let’s see if the telekinesis lessons—”

“Are paying off?  Sure looks like it.

“Fuckin’ overachiever.  That was so—”

Rashid is relieved that they’re abandoning ship before the month duration of the cruise, if only because he and Sam have been careful until now, for the week they’ve been onboard, not to get more than the odd drop of blood on the linens.  Rashid watches Sam make a bashful show of preparing himself with the lube he’s fetched for him, and then murmurs reassuring praise to him while he helps him sink onto his cock.

“If…oh, if you move,” Sam whimpers, nuzzling Rashid’s cheek, “then I’ll…”

“Good.”  Rashid caresses Sam’s hair, sinking his fangs into Sam’s neck.

As an expression of desire, blood-drinking complements the ones with which Rashid is concurrently growing familiar.  He’s being figurative when he calls Sam sweet, but it’s literal, too.  Sam had tasted wonderful to Rashid even prior to his turning, all sweetness and burn on his tongue.

Sam sobs and clings tightly to Rashid as he drinks, his orgasm a full-body tremor.  He nuzzles Rashid’s neck, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure of both sensations to do much more than flood Rashid’s mind with stream-of-consciousness affection.  Love you so much I can’t want you so much I can’t how can you love me back want me back give me so much Rashid my Rashid my sweetheart I’ll never be able to—

“What…what do you think you’re doing right now?” Rashid gasps, running his fingers through Sam’s hair as Sam’s next feverish clench around him, the next twist of Sam’s hips now that he’s thinking clearly enough to respond, hits just right.  Rashid groans, the intensity of his own orgasm taking him by surprise.  He’s still not used to the fallout from heightened senses in an intimate setting, but he’s not about to complain. 

When Rashid’s mobile starts to vibrate on the nightstand, Sam makes an uncoordinated grab for it and manages to answer on the third shaky tap of his thumb against the screen.  “That had better fuckin’ not be you,” Sam says crossly into the phone’s receiver, the next tap of his thumbnail suggesting that he has likely put it on speaker.  “Complaining about getting us safely from Point A to Point B didn’t inspire confidence.”

“I had better not be…who?” Jay asks, bewildered.  “Sam, is…um, is that you?”

“Oops,” Sam replies after a beat, chagrined, dropping the phone.  “Yeah.  Hi.”

Rashid scrambles for the phone, keeping a tight hold on Sam.  “Jay?  Sorry.”

“Long time no talk,” Jay sighs.  “Where the hell are you?  I didn’t realize…”

“Raglan told you to expect my arrival in New York, but he didn’t tell you Sam was with me?” Rashid asks dubiously.  “Nice try.”

“No offense, Sam,” Jay says, “but don’t you know you pose a risk to Rashid post-publication of Molloy’s trashy romance novel?”

Rashid kisses Sam before he can snap at Jay, soothing him with a brush to his cheek.  “I won’t leave him,” he tells Jay, his eyes on Sam.

“Professional reassignment for safety reasons isn’t personal,” Jay points out.  “You know that, right?”  And then he pauses.  “Aw, shit.”

Sam glances sidelong at the phone, eyebrows raised.  “Says the guy who’s been fucking the witch he’s partnered with for how long?”

“It’s more than that!” Jay insists defensively.

“Well, this is more than that,” Rashid replies.

“Does Raglan know?” Jay asks.  “Does Helen?”

“Yes to the first,” Sam says.  “Second?  No clue.”

“Why’d you call, Jay?” Rashid asks, impatient.

“Our asset picked up some intel,” Jay replies.

Sam rests his head against Rashid’s shoulder, relaxing against Rashid’s chest as Rashid tightens his arms around him.  “That asset has a name.”

“Fine!” Jay snaps.  “Burton picked up some intel.”

“Was that so hard?” Sam asks bitterly.  “Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Rashid sighs, his chest tight with the knowledge that the Order’s prejudice against vampires now applies to him, too.  “What is it?”

“Anatole and Williamson are in the city,” Jay explains.  “Have been for almost a week now.  We think they haven’t moved on because Molloy has a reading at the Strand tomorrow night.  Anatole hit Molloy up at his Rizzoli reading before we sent him to the UK, which is when Molloy told him Leamas had something to do with the 752.  We think that Anatole’s going to be like, hey, here’s the 752, what do you make of her?”

“Hang on,” Sam says, abruptly lifting his head.  “Helen read you in?”

Jay hesitates.  “Sure.  Don’t worry about that.  I need you guys to—”

“Hold that thought,” Rashid tells Jay, and then raises his eyebrows.  What’s wrong? he asks, taking Sam’s face in both hands.  What have I missed?

He’s lying about how he knows Doris is the book, Sam replies, his eyes turning hard and furious.  Helen’s not the one who told him about this.

“Apologies,” Rashid says smoothly.  “What do you need from us?”

“Stay away from the Strand,” Jay continues.  “You’ll spook them.”

“We’re under orders from London to bring them in,” Sam insists.

“Nobody asked you,” Jay pushes back in exasperation.  “Rashid—”

The fury of Rashid’s reaction is so instinctive, so sudden, that he’s certain that he’d have Jay pinned to the wall or worse if he was in the same room with them.  He settles for holding Sam that much more tightly, gritting his teeth—which hurts, given that his fangs have emerged—and taking a steadying breath.  “Asking me is the same as asking Sam,” Rashid says as calmly as he can, but his tone is frigid.  “Do you know why?”

“Because you’re partners?” Jay asks in defeat.  “Because you’re.  Uh.”

“Go on,” Sam prompts, muffled against Rashid’s shoulder.  “Say it.”

“Does the term ‘companions’ still apply when one of you isn’t a—”

“Yes,” Rashid says, “but who says one of us isn’t?”  He hangs up.

Sam sits back in Rashid’s lap, staring at him in wide-eyed adoration for a second before kissing him.  “We’re going tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful.

Rashid nods in weary confirmation.  He kisses Sam back, because that’s much more pleasant than thinking about facing Daniel.  “Absolutely, love.”