Archive of Our Own

"How old-" Frank gulps in a breath. "How long have you been a, you know. When did it happen?"

There's a tremble in Frank's limbs that makes Gerard feel bad, like he's personally guilty for the human emotion known as fear, and it doesn't sit well in his stomach to see the other man's face so contorted in terror. He would much rather see that face smiling, happy. Maybe slightly tipsy. Gerard isn't quite sure yet what he wants from Frank, to be honest.

"Um, actually, it was only a few months ago," Gerard says, his voice rising at the end like it’s a question, like he isn't too sure himself when he was turned. 

"I'm still getting used to it. I was pretty pale and stuff before but like, dude, I miss garlic so much."

Frank stares at Gerard.

"Pasta is so bland without it, and it sucks." He watches his own right hand go from tapping at his left arm, to reaching behind his head to rub at his neck, to his arm again. 

"Also, the whole 'can't go in the sun thing'? Totally false. I can't touch silver though.”

He fidgets with his shirt hem. 

“So like, please don't ever wear silver, because that would suck even more."

And finally he's done talking out the stilted words.

Gerard’s so nervous, Frank is almost unsettled. He would be actually unsettled if he wasn’t so fucking scared. Weren't vampires supposed to be confident, suave, intimidating sonsabitches? Gerard is not any of those things. Frank is still waiting for him to switch into some vampiric alter-ego when he asks,

"So what about all the, like," Frank prods his own canine tooth with a finger. Gerard nods.

"Blood stuff," Gerard finishes for him.

"Blood stuff," Frank echoes.

There's a pause and, for a moment, Gerard just sits there, looking at Frank, who drops his hand from his tooth. He's debating telling Frank any more than he already has, because even though he's not part of a nest or a coven or any kind of group, he still has a sire, and he's not totally sure what vampire politics says about keeping your mouth shut. But there's a small part of Gerard's consciousness that says hey, Frank is cute, Gerard is a fucking vampire, and Frank hasn't run away yet. So he quickly reaches into his bag and tugs out a smaller bag, closed by a drawstring. 

Frank notices that it's made of some sort of black velour-type material when Gerard drops it into Frank's palm. The shorter man gives the other a questioning look. Gerard nods in response. Frank opens the drawstring carefully, letting the contents of the bag slowly tumble out into his left hand.

There's a small vial that looks like it was meant for eye drops, a ring of tablets which resembles contraceptives, and a few small packets of what he assumes is a powdery substance. He rummages through them with a finger, inspecting how normal they all look. How it looks like you could've gotten them from a Walgreens not five minutes from the shady club corner they're sequestered in.

Gerard says, "It's all blood. Or- well, some of it is synthetic but the stuff in the bottle is real."

Frank's head shoots up to frantically pin his gaze onto Gerard's face. It makes Gerard jump a little, hands seemingly getting more fidgety by the second.

"Not human real!" Gerard squawks, which makes Frank look only marginally less terrified. "It's all from pigs. I think. I'm not entirely sure because it isn't exactly, uh, normal stuff you pick up at a pharmacy."

Frank gives a tiny groan. His gaze hasn't wavered from Gerard. 

"What?" asks Gerard.

"I'm a vegetarian," Frank answers, voice steely. 

"Oh, ohhhh oh oh god I'm. I'm sorry? Um, if it makes you feel any better," Gerard backpedals as quickly as he can, "The synthetic blood is all made from plants. The tablets are basically just iron supplements with added nutrients, and same goes for the powdered stuff." 

Frank blinks. 

"Is this all you eat?" Frank's voice is quiet when he asks. "Or wait, sorry, you mentioned pasta. So do you like, eat it on a schedule? Is this like Jenny Craig but for vampires?" 

There's a beat of pause, and then in the next second Gerard is cracking up, holding his stomach as he laughs, bright and loud, over the noise of the bar in the background. Frank smiles involuntarily.

Leaning on the wall of the booth for support, Gerard wheezes out, "Oh my god, no. Frank, no. I just eat when I'm hungry! Please, oh my god. Jenny Craig." 

And just like that he's laughing again, nearly doubled over, Frank leaning toward him as he begins to laugh along. It's infectious, really. He puts the contents of the bag back into their velvety container, and draws the string taut while Gerard gulps in air. 

It's a moment before Gerard sits up fully again, swiping his hair back, smile plastered onto his face, tiny teeth on full display. His canines are only slightly curved, coming to sharp little points next to the other flatter incisors. They sort of glint when he moves his head around the corner of the booth seat and towards the dim light of the entrance, and Frank really can't help watching his eyes as they seem to scan the entrance and the people going to and fro. It's mesmerizing, even as Frank is struck with the idea that Gerard could rip out his throat at any moment. He wonders what it would feel like, the sharp teeth coupled with the blunt ones scraping on his skin, Gerard's lips on his flesh, mouth buried in the crook under his jaw. 

He's awoken from the unwelcome fantasy when Gerard snaps his head back under the safety of the red plastic cushion, eyes a little frazzled and hands eerily still. 

"Frank, we need to leave," Gerard's voice is void of all the brightness that had been there while he laughed.

Frank nods. Gerard's eyes move to his palm, and he quickly darts his hand out to take the velvet bag. In one fell motion, Gerard is out of the booth seat and walking away from the entrance, his call of "follow me" the only thing keeping Frank in tow. For a fleeting moment, Frank doesn't understand why they're heading towards the bathroom, and he nearly falls over himself when the images of Gerard's mouth on his neck and Gerard's hands on his skin come flooding back. But when Gerard begins to weave towards the red ‘exit' sign, Frank gets it, and keeps his stride in line with Gerard's. Gerard, his newly met vampire friend, who he is currently stealthing out of a bar with.

Frank realizes that if this was a ploy by Gerard to get him to come home with him, and get little vampire nibbles or whatever the fuck, Frank is so down it’s unreal. But Gerard is setting a quick pace, body tense, and Frank’s starting to feel a modicum of fear. They’re going down the alley, taking a turn past the dumpsters and north towards another back alley. He realizes they’re behind the funky pawn shop that’s down the block, that he’s always amazed is still open despite getting very little business. 

Maybe it’s a money laundering front, he thinks to himself, and then there’s a strange hand around his wrist and Frank nearly squeaks until Gerard hisses, “Stay behind me,” into Franks face. Frank can only nod.