Barmond did not linger outside afterwards. He was hungry, the reasonable thing to do would have been to go and find someone else to bite - someone a bit more to his liking - but he did not want to do that.

Instead, he craved Yoven.

He tried telling himself that he did not, in fact, crave his body.... or his blood... but the sight of him. And it was true, in part. He wanted to see him, his face, and he wanted to be near him as the effect of the alcohol had faded and he could think completely straight again. He wanted to sit near Yoven's resting form until the taste of the stranger's blood had washed off his tongue. And then he would leave again, go in the night, find someone else.

Or so he told himself, naively.

He returned to the nest, to its deep undergrounds, seemingly alone. If Owren followed him again, he did not know or care about it. He hated how he was not as sure as he usually was, how there was a blurriness on the edge of all his sharp senses. It created a zone of uncertainty, and in that uncertainty lived the impression of being watched.

He was glad when he was underground again. And he was even gladder when he was at the door of his room, finally, where he was safe.

And with Yoven, even if Yoven was sleeping.

He shed his dark coat and his gloves in the common room of their living quarters, leaving them on the backrest of a chair and the table respectively, before he ventured further back and stopped on the edge of their room.

There was Yoven, sleeping in their bed. Because they still shared the double bed there, ever since their stay in Lamare, even though there was a servant's bed carved out of the wall and behind a curtain. But Yoven was no servant to Barmond. Yoven was... a retainer.

And maybe more, that Barmond did not dare name but that he knew, in his cold, dead heart, as he watched Yoven sleep. There was a single candle in the room behind him, shredding light that was enough for Barmond to see the shape of his face. Memory provided the beloved rest.

He did not dare move as he watched and listened. He could hear Yoven's breathing, the faint beat of his heart. Even at rest, he was alive, inhabiting that body that Barmond craved.

He did not know if it was the alcohol in him that made him do it, but he moved to the bed, sitting on the other side of the sleeping human as to not disturb him. He looked so peaceful. And the way he laid his head on the side exposed his neck, some of it at least, reminding him that he had still not drunk enough to sate himself.

No, he told himself. Yoven had not recovered. Not yet... not tonight.

Maybe, answered a beast inside.

And suddenly, he was reaching out to touch Yoven's head, running his hand over the gentle fuzz that covered his scalp. It had grown to the point of covering his skull now, that it wouldn't be so visible, but not enough that one could sink their hand in it. Barmond stroked it, then stroked Yoven's soft cheek, alongside the elegant arch of his high cheekbone.

Barmond did not what else he expected, but Yoven groaned a little and started to wake up. He froze. The human's eyes opened, fluttered, but from the way he started he was completely blind in the darkness. But he suddenly realized that it was Barmond's hand that still lingered near his face, even if Barmond was not touching it, and he reached to hold it, bringing it back against his cheek.

"Barmond?" he asked.

"Yoven."

Yoven sat up when the other responded to him, still holding Barmond's hand against his face, but Barmond leaned in and pressed his other one against his shoulder so that he would not rise.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," he said. "I'm sorry. It's nothing. Go to sleep."

"It's fine," Yoven said.

"You need rest."

"I'm in great shape."

But he laid back down anyway, this time facing the direction of Barmond's voice. He was looking out into the darkness, seeing nothing but searching anyway, as if he would see Barmond's face if only he could find it.

Barmond tried to pull his hand away, but Yoven held it firmly. Innocently, probably unaware of what it did to the vampire, he cradled it against his chest, right against his heart.

Barmond's teeth were starting to ache from the sensation alone. He turned so that he would be on his knees rather than sitting, leaning towards Yoven that still did not see what he was doing.

"I really am," Yoven said. "I'm no longer tired or out of breath. It's like no vampire ever bit me, but I'm also getting my strength back from eating again and sleeping in a warm bed. I'm fine, you got to know."

"Why are you telling me that?"

"It's fine if you bite me."

Barmond's throat became dry. It was not. It was too early. Surely Yoven did not know what he was saying. He had to be imagining it.

"You are hungry, right?" Yoven asked. "You went to Hugo two nights ago. And now, it's my turn."

"I am not," Barmond lied. "I just ate."

Disgusting, common blood, a sneaky voice answered in Barmond's mind. Yoven was so much tastier, and rich, giving him exactly what he craved. He had thought about it, had he not? Even as he had bitten that drunkard, he had been thinking of it. How delicious it would be. How warm was his Yoven.

He shut that voice. He knew it well but rarely did it talk to him with such clarity. Was it because he was a little more vampire now? Was he more a slave to his hunger than before?

Or was it just Yoven tempting him?

"You were looking at me," Yoven said. "You are hungry still."

"I was just watching you sleep. I can't sleep myself but I don't want to forget what it is like."

"But then you touched me. You came closer and you touched me. Do you watch me sleep often when you don't want me?"

Barmond wanted Yoven, always. But he had to admit that it was harder to resist him when he was, indeed, hungry as he was now.

"I tell you, it's fine," Yoven said. "You can bite me if you want."

Yoven grabbed onto Barmond's elbow and tugged at it. It was as if he did not have a choice but to come closer, reeled in Yoven's space. Closer. Until he could smell the musk of Yoven's skin until he parted his lips and his fangs started to come out.

Yoven laid on the side, turning his neck so that he would expose it further because he knew. Somewhat, in the darkness, as Barmond protested but came closer anyway, he knew of the hungry gaze of the other. He did more than just accept it: he welcomed it. Cherished it.

Barmond pulled his hand away from Yoven's grip and was not stopped this time. He placed it on the other side of his retainer, so that he was on all fours above him, and then he lowered himself.

His nose, his head, was full of Yoven's smell.

He did not bite. Instead, he gave a small kiss, then a second. Slowly, he was falling apart, his resistance was coming undone. He curled his arms around Yoven's form under the blanket, gathering him to his chest like a treasure.

Yoven gasped softly. But he was not afraid, he was only... reacting.

Barmond rested the tip of his fangs against the warm skin. For a second, he let the very subtle pulse tease them, travel up to the sensitive bundle of nerves at their base, then down his body, to his hollow abdomen. It resonated there like a drum.

He bit down, piercing the skin. But even then, he did not dare to go deep, only pressing the tip in. The beast inside wanted more, it wanted to go all the way, but somehow the thought of hurting Yoven more than necessary was all he needed to hold back.

He took one small gulp of blood, slowly. Yoven sighed through the nose and reached up, wrapping an arm around Barmond. And Barmond sank in his embrace, closing his eyes to abandon himself.

Never had he drank this slowly. He checked on Yoven's pulse, listened to his breathing, and told himself it was only to make sure that it was all right, but deep down he knew it was because he wanted to make that moment last for as long as he could.

"Bar," Yoven whispered.

Barmond responded with a small purr. Only it was not just that, he had open the floodgates. He breathed in slowly and, each time he would breathe out, it would escape his throat with a low, soothing hum. It felt right to do so.

Despite how careful he was, he stopped before he wanted, because he was still aware that the other should not be giving blood to him at all. But he had not taken too much, Barmond told himself, and Yoven was fine. Fine, and rested enough to give. That was what he had said and that was what Barmond heart when he listened to the beat of his heart.

Maybe that imp had taken even less blood than he had thought. After all, save for the blood of the sire, she really had not been carrying much when Barmond had drained her.

"Four fangs, now?" Yoven asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Oh, Goddess. Barmond had forgotten to explain that.

"It's complicated," Barmond said. "Can you keep a secret?"

Yoven nodded.

"I stole the powers of the imp that attacked you," Barmond said. "When I killed it. I drank its blood. It had four fangs, so I gained that as well."

"Is that the secret I must keep?"

"Yes. Please do not say it to anyone."

"I will not."

"I did something that was forbidden among vampires. If it was known, they might come for me." He did not say that they would kill him. He did not want to worry Yoven like that.

"You did that for me."

Yoven reached up and stroked Barmon'd cheek, before realising that this gesture was more tender than what was allowed between... whatever they were, officially. He drew it away with a jolt.

"Sorry," Yoven said. "I'm just... I'm always a little fuzzy after you've bitten me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be. I like it. It feels... nice."

Yoven yawned.

"I won't tell anyone," he added. "I promise. It's your secret."

"Thank you."

"But can you stay with me a while?"

"With you?"

"Hold me like that."

Barmond had yet to pull his arms from around Yoven, even if there was the blanket between them.

"Unless there is somewhere you need to be?" Yoven asked.

"No, there isn't a place," Barmond said. "I'll stay. But I'm still wearing my outside clothes. Give me a moment to change."

He got off the bed and went to the drawers to get rid of his knives, placing them next to each other carefully. And then he undid the belt that held his pants up but did not take off the pants themselves. He was not going to bed.

"You see in this darkness?" asked Yoven.

"Not like in the middle of the day, but yes."

"And you hear better than I do as well."

"Yes." Barmond hesitated, wondering if now was the time to explain such a thing. "My vampire site, the one that made me, comes from a vampiric line that has naturally sharp senses. All vampires can see better than humans, hear better than they do, but my sire and the sire of my sire does it better than most. It's one of the powers that this bloodline has."

"And you have them too?"

"Yes, partly. I am a weaker vampire than the others, after all."

"What other powers does your bloodline have?"

"Not many that I can wield, but they are not called the Prince of Wolves line for nothing. My sire can command to crows, bats, and wolves, and can even grow wings as a crow."

"Oh. That sounds amazing."

"It is quite the showy power," Barmond said. "I never saw him use it, but I've been told that it is impressive."

They did not say anything more as Barmond was ready to come back. Now more comfortably dressed, he slipped under the blankets, near Yoven, and wrapped his arms around him. Yoven sighed through the nose and rested his back against his chest, even if he was the tallest of the two, and closed his eyes.

It was only when his breath calmed from sleep that it occurred to Barmond that he should have used the occasion to tell Yoven of what Hugo had said, that he would not be opposed to Yoven joining them in... whatever they had. But it was too late to talk now.

He would do that next time, he told himself.