"Reid," Lucas begs, the rasp in his voice and tenseness in his muscles giving away the fact he's holding back. "It's important. Really—" His voice falters at the curl of Reid's fingers around his wrist. "Really important. You'll—damn, listen to me."

Lucas doesn't try and hold back his groan as any semblance of shaking control Reid might have had dissipates, and he licks the blood that's calling him so sweetly he'd have to be insane to deny it's beckoning. And Reid's not insane. No, he's not. He doesn't think so, anyway. He's just a sane guy who isn't averse to lapping at his friend's fingers.

A very good friend who suddenly has a fistful of Reid's hair, and those wonderful fingers are thrust between Reid's lips and pressed heavily against his tongue. He chokes because he hadn't expected it in the slightest, although the dark whispering delights in the forwardness.

His brain flips from hunting to giving without any resistance. Reid realizes belatedly that he can physically feel the innate sense of dynamics that his brain is constantly rewiring. He understands now why the vampire hierarchy has always seemed so bizarre to outside observation: sir and ma'am, master, and loyalty to the death.

Reid's fingers shackling Lucas's wrist tighten with some basal instinct to keep him close. The blooming taste of blood has Reid close to feralness. He can hear the animal sounds he's making from a distance. The most important thing in his teetering world is quelling the ringing in his ears and the crashing waves of misery in his gut.

Then the bloody fingers hook behind his teeth. He can't do anything. The blood is kept out of reach of his tongue. Reid's angry—so angry that he digs his nails into the wrist he's clutching, trying to entice a reaction, but the hand holding his mouth hostage shakes hard enough for Reid's head to fog terribly.

Reid gives up and complains, garbling curses around the fingers. He thinks Lucas is talking to him but can't hear the words. His ears are ringing, and the dark whispers are too loud and velvety. He doesn't want to listen to anything else.

The fist grasping Reid's hair pacifies his struggles by tugging painfully. And Reid kicks out, shoes crunching glass, only to lose his fight quickly because he thinks maybe if he does, the fingers will return. It's pitiful, really, but he can't find it in himself to care all that much.

Suddenly, a deep voice rises above the din in Reid's splintered mind. Lucas must have been talking for a while because the man is mid-growl, "—control yourself, or I'll do it for you."

The threat isn't subtle, and Reid glares at Lucas through half-lidded eyes. "Fuck you," he garbles; his impulses have taken over his mind and his mouth.

The slap to Reid's face is startling—a rough palm meeting bruised skin hard enough for Reid's vision to whiten. The fingers leave his lips, but the grip on his hair remains, keeping him upright.

Reid is gasping and shaking with an unfamiliar rage. The lack of heat in Lucas's eyes, instead clouded with despair, has Reid livid beyond reason.

"I hate you," Reid growls, not meaning the words. "I hate you!"

Lucas snarls. "I'm not Kane."

"He'll kill you," Reid growls. "You—" Prick. Skin hitting skin, and then pain.

Reid was unprepared for the second slap because he'd not thought Lucas would dare. The same cheek, the one that throbs from his earlier fall, and his gaze waters with involuntary tears.

"Stop hitting me!"

"No. Kane coddles, and it'll be the end for you, both of you," Lucas says, his voice gentler. "I won't let that happen." He chuckles. "I'll beat your ass if that means you'll stay you. Hell, it looks like it's working."

There's a venomous retort on Reid's tongue, but another slap has his mind blanking. It is working. Another, and Reid's anger snuffs like the last embers of a flame that had burned so brightly moments before.

He can taste blood, which is unfortunately his own. His nostrils flare as his wild glare, which has been refusing to back down from Lucas's brown eyes, falls away, gradually yielding its iciness.

Reid whispers, "No more."

"There you are." Lucas hums softly. "Sure, you don't need another?"

"No," Reid chokes, "you're going to give me brain damage."

Lucas laughs at that, his fingers slipping from Reid's hair, but he doesn't retake his hand, rubbing soothingly to quell the deep ache he's caused Reid's scalp.

Reid allows it because, once again, it's nice.

Lucas says, "Sorry."

Reid grumbles, "No, you're not." He wipes the dampness from his cheeks and his eyes. He's shaken by his behavior but doesn't have time to unpack his conflicting thoughts on the matter, so he shoves it deep down to be looked at later when he has time to spiral.

"You can't blame me, love." Lucas grins wickedly. "You look good when you cry."

"Pervert," Reid says tersely.

Then, with the confidence of a man who just slapped someone silly and then told them he liked how they looked crying, Lucas's fingers, no less harsh, are suddenly groping intimately between Reid's legs.

A zing of heat from Reid's heaving chest to his lower stomach makes a sound he's never made before slip from his quivering lips. Reid refuses to acknowledge it for what it is: a squeak.

"Oh?" Lucas whispers smugly. "Because I hit yah?" He hums appreciatively. "That's really hot."

Reid knows he's so red in the face; the flush must be stark against the rosy fabric of his unfastened shirt collar. He hadn't even noticed that he was raring to go; now it's impossible to ignore when a hand has his arousal in a very threatening grip. He's scared to move and lose a part of himself; he quite likes being right where it should be.

Maybe he's been roused since that sexy vampire forcefully straddled him; he'd rather that be true.

Not one to be on the receiving end of teasing for long, Reid grins, his face aching. "Oh, that? That's from thinking about Kenneth kicking your ass when he finds out you smacked me."

Lucas chuckles. "Oh yeah?" His grip tightens just enough to have Reid wheezing from the pain. "No shame in using him as your feral guard dog? Can't fight your own battles? Get off on him coming to your rescue?"

Laughing nervously, Reid instinctively seizes Lucas's wrist. "It'll be..." He chokes back a wail when the fingers grope him roughly, hurting, and he manages to gasp angrily, "You asshole!"

"Tell me to stop."

"Stop," Reid sobs, "trying to castrate me."

And thank everything in the world that Lucas stops, because Reid would have really started pleading. Reid keeps his legs firmly shut and will do so for the rest of his days because that was terrifying. He falls into dramatics: "Who grabs another man's—like that? I don't think I'll be able to have kids."

Lucas laughs deeply and gruffly. "Your blushing. Did you want them?"

"I'm not—what? Kids? It doesn't matter now, does it? I won't be able to."

"You are."

Reid huffs, "I am?"

"Blushing."

"Anyone would be after being groped by a monster."

"Can I bring you off?"

Reid's heart hastens. "There's a body right there that may or may not be dead." He narrows his eyes. "Kind of fucked up, isn't that what you said?"

Lucas rubs at his mouth, and it's such an absent gesture that Reid thinks the man might be wanting a cigarette. "I meant later, you know, when we aren't in a life-and-death situation. Ah, and I said, messed up, you've got Kane's vulgar mouth." He smiles wolfishly. "You didn't say no."

No, Reid hasn't. He's very aware of that. He tests the waters. "Kenneth will kill you; I wasn't teasing."

"Fuck Kane."

"That's not what you're asking, is it? He doesn't seem like the type of guy to roll over, but you could try."

Lucas grins darkly. "Fuckin' cheeky brat."

Reid smirks. "Who's got the dirty mouth now?"

A deep, rumbling laugh, and then they're close. Lucas is everywhere—his cologne, his touch, his fingers digging into Reid's bruised jaw, controlling the tilt of his head, leaving an ache.

Lips near Reid's ear have him flinching, but the deep voice that follows has Reid's whole body shuddering. "You tell him, and... I'll tell him you came after I hit you quiet."

That just isn't true. The liar. Before Reid can say just that, from his peripheral view, he catches sight of subtle movement in the darkness. He sees a streak of colors—very familiar colors—and red hair, like a beautiful flame.

But then he's struck stupid when the fingers clutching his jaw drag his gaze forward and his mouth is suddenly very close to Lucas's mouth, and that's something.

Lucas has long, dark lashes and nice eyes. Expressive. Lighter this close, near to the color of the bourbon Reid used to prefer. A few faint scars mar the dusky skin of Lucas's face from past battles fought and won.

Lucas is good-looking, objectively. Reid's never noticed.

But that's not what has Reid's heart bounding; it's the way Lucas looks at him, as he always has, with obvious longing. The desire isn't what has Reid's world titling; it's the respect behind the attempt. After years of knowing Reid's intricacies and even with the very real threat of Kenneth going molten, Lucas has kept trying. Like Reid, is worth the effort.

"Why?" Reid breathes and doesn't fully know what answer he's looking for.

Lucas smiles fondly. "You're easy on the eyes."

Reid thinks the man is going to stop there, but then Lucas is touching their noses and spewing sappy hogwash: "You're sly, and that wicked look you get in your eyes is hot as hell. Most importantly, you look really good in jeans, love."

"Jeans?" Reid chokes, laughing. Not the answer he thought he'd be getting.

"Mm," Lucas hums. His smile widens. "Really good. I could take a picture and show you. See, you've got that sweet way about you, so every time I drop something, there you are, picking it up and giving me a great view."

Reid beams genuinely. "I knew you weren't that clumsy."

"Nah. All part of my master plan. I can't believe you picked up my napkin, though."

"I was trying to be nice."

"Was really nice. I like those dark ones."

Reid snorts. "With the logo in the corner."

"The little red bird on the back pocket—yeah, those ones. Hot as hell. Should be illegal."

"Are we talking about my jeans or my ass?"

Lucas chuckles. "We could start talking about your ass. I've got plenty to say."

"Take a guy out first."

"I will."

"Talk about my ass?"

"Take you out."

Reid's cheeks flare hot. "Not really into dates, or are you talking about killing me?"

"Haven't decided. How about I feed yah? Home cooked."

"Feed me? What am I, a stray?"

"Cute as one."

A silence stretches where they simply stare into each other's eyes, amused, trying to figure out what the other is thinking so they can stay a step ahead. Then Lucas's smile eases and he whispers, "You're strong."

Okay, now it's really nonsense. Reid scoffs. "I'm not strong. Have you seen me?"

"Not physically, you tosser." Lucas laughs wholeheartedly. As if the very idea is the most humorous thing he's ever heard.

"You didn't need to laugh that hard."

"I meant..." Lucas says, smiling. "That you're strong. Your heart." He frowns. "You can smile after enduring what would break other men. Laugh. Lighten the room. I'm weak beside you. So, what's not to like? You've been on my mind for a long, long time."

Heart aching. Reid's breathing is getting difficult; his chest is tightening. That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to him. Strong? It's not true, of course; he's weak and a coward, but Lucas made it sound believable. He could be a poet. Romantic bastard.

Lips tingling with the growing urge to close the space between their mouths, Reid hears himself whisper, "I—I'm going to throw up."

If there's ever a record-scratching moment, this is his. He could almost overlook the humiliation flooding him with the hilarious look of utter shock on Lucas's face as the man draws back sharply.

Reid makes it believable by turning his head and taking in deep breaths, his gaze flickering over the shadows where he'd seen the movement, now quiet.

Lucas's palm rubs tender circles over Reid's back in an attempt at comfort; the tenderness is a juxtaposition to the man's earlier cruelness. "Maybe we should get you looked at. I gave it to you good."

Reid mutters, "Don't word it like that."

"What? I gave you it good. Didn't I? Left you all bruised. Had you crying." Lucas's smile remains even with the very unimpressed look Reid is giving from under damp lashes.

Lucas frowns. "In all seriousness, a concussion is a real possibility. If you're sick—"

Reid waves his hand in the air. No way is he stepping foot in a hospital. He'd rather die. Not again. The nightmarish place with never-ending banana popsicles and pills that aren't fun at all, not like they used to be "No... I'm...it was the blood. I need a minute alone. I'll be fine."

Lucas glowers. "I'm not leaving you alone. Azrael could—"

"I would feel him near." That's not a lie; Reid's a vampire alarmist. Shivers ascend his spine whenever they are near. He can feel them below and above, but not nearby currently. The she-vampire is either very dead or simply hasn't begun healing.

"Still...." Lucas risks a glimpse at the pale, limp, manicured hand that rests on the floor not far away and that they've been pointedly ignoring until now. "You could go all vamp again, and I won't be here."

Feeling exasperated, Reid laughs bitterly. "I'm not going to start gnawing on her the moment you turn your back. Relax."

Lucas looks pained.

"Please," Reid begs tiredly. His shoulders slump. "Five minutes. Let me throw up and get myself together. Alone."

"Alright," Lucas concedes with a shaky exhale. "Five minutes."

After Reid vehemently promises not to begin prowling as a creature of the night just yet, Lucas finally gives in. The man's fingers slip away from Reid's back, and it's deliberately slow, and then Lucas is gone, shoulders tense as he makes his way down the dimly lit pathway and disappears around a glass display case that'll lead to the doors of the room that's surely soaked in the blood of Kenneth's massacred foes.

Once Reid's alone, he says loudly, "Enjoying the show?"