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Pain seared through Drifter's frame like nothing before. His legs became weak as he stumbled through dark alleyways, tripping on piles of trash and losing his footing to cracks in the pavement.
A large, blood stained hand gripped a wooden stake to keep it steady. It was stabbed through his chest, barely missing his racing heart. The wound viciously oozed thick, dark blood which soaked into his already stained shirt. An unsightly trail of blood splattered behind him as he ran. Normally a measly wooden stake wouldn't be an issue, but the silver bullets riddled inside of his straining body were keeping him from out-healing the blood loss. The silver bled into his flesh like poison—it constricted his muscles and tugged at his veins. The feeling was absolutely indescribable.
He stumbled again, barely being able to keep himself steady. Drifter wasn't sure where he was running to. His instincts were the only thing keeping him alive at this point; the adrenaline flowing through his throbbing veins forcing his legs to keep moving. Though, they wouldn't be able to keep it going for long as his boot catches under a broken chunk of pavement, sending the injured vampire stumbling forward and into a pile of trash.
His entire body tensed as the stake snugly in his chest shoved itself forward. A choked out yell strangled itself inside of a blood filled throat—only coming out as a gargled yelp.
The vampire’s eyes were becoming heavy. He could feel the adrenaline crashing as his arms could barely keep hold of his chest. It had been centuries since he last felt something as horrible as this. The fear of dying. The fear of being left to rot alone while everything moves on. The fear of becoming nothing more than a footnote in history. Nothing more than a story to tell by the fire.
It was agonizing.
Drifter weakly coughed and made feeble attempts to gasp for air; the vampire’s throat was clogged with his own blood. His head felt light as his brain pounded inside of his skull, making his vision blur.
Laying there in the trash, only being able to turn to face the night sky, the vampire coughed once more. He wondered how long it'd take for someone to find his corpse. There probably wouldn't even be a funeral. Just a random mound of dirt in the middle of the woods.
The only thing the beast could hear was the ringing vibrating his eardrums. Though, he swore he could faintly hear the sounds of footsteps nearby... not that it'd matter much anyways.
The Doorman kept his pistol in hand as he rounded the corner next to The Baroness. A guest had made a noise complaint regarding an alley next to the hotel - something about a crash and what sounded like howling from a dying animal. And as its humble bellhop the ginger was more than happy to investigate.
His footsteps hit the ground with a gentle click as he moved with caution. Teal eyes scanned the god's immediate surroundings; there were no obvious signs of disruption, other than rubbish that had spilled from the sideways trashcan next to it and…
Blood?
With a furrowed brow, the cosmic being made a split second glance over his shoulder before pressing forward, following the path of ichor before him. It seemed to be fairly recent, still drying as it reflected the moonlight from above. The Doorman supposed a trail of blood would make sense if some poor stray had been bested, but there was one issue. The trail was wide and only uneven footprints disrupted it.
This was not the blood of an animal — it was the blood of a human. No doubt about it.
A small metallic jingle echoed off the alleyway walls as Doorman clipped his keys back on his trousers and paced ever forward.
"It's much harder to put man out of its misery," He thought out loud under his breath.
The trail continued, each segment fresher.
"Hello?" A cautious shout passed through his thin lips, piercing the silence of the night. The bellhop's shoes were firmly planted onto the ground as he waited for some sort of response.
Instead of a meager 'help!' The Doorman might've expected to hear from a wounded mortal, the only thing the bellhop got in response was a strangled, animalistic snarl. Despite the ringing, he could still make out the jingling of a certain bellhop's keys. There was no way Drifter was going to let Doorman finish the job... but his body seared with horrible pain. He could barely fight or even defend himself in such a state.
With a sigh, the god's body started to relax. He could recognise that snarl anywhere; Drifter had clearly got himself into a spot of bother and resorted to either getting intoxicated or throwing a tantrum. The Doorman rolled his eyes as he imagined the vampire growling at the air around him.
"Good hunting, Drifter." He answered sarcastically as he started to turn on his heel and leave the mortal to his own barbaric devices.
He froze when the pool of blood flowed closer towards him, watching the crimson liquid out of the corner of his eye. Something about it kept the eldritch ginger tethered to the dingy backstreet. Doorman knew that Drifter could handle himself and that trying to help would only make them bicker, but a weight still formed in the pit of his stomach. Was this the feeling of guilt that so many mortals wrestled with everyday? Or maybe it was his cosmic intuition? Whatever it was, the god humoured the sensation with an air of curiosity.
After taking a moment to pinch the area between his auburn eyebrows, The Doorman turned back around and followed the trail once again.
"Whatever you've gotten yourself into this time won't justify a free stay at The Baroness if that's why you've ended up here," The ginger remarked, though the taunt ended abruptly when he turned a final corner.
Drifter laid there, practically drowning in his own gore and dirt. As clear as day, the wooden stake caught the attention of teal eyes next, then the vampire's expression as life fought to leave him. The Doorman's blood ran cold, partly with annoyance and partly with concern, but he sprung into action regardless.
He tugged his gloves off unceremoniously and shoved them into his pocket as he knelt at the vampire's side.
"...What on Earth happened to you?"
A feeble attempt to swipe at The Doorman was made as Drifter choked out a growl from his bloodied mouth.
"Nunna—" A gargled cough, blood flying towards a pristine uniform,"Your g-goddamn business." His words were caught in his throat through rows of bloodied, snarling teeth.
Drifter made an attempt to shove himself away from the eldritch bellhop, growling and gritting his teeth in pain. He wasn't going to let The Doorman kill him. Those piercing blue eyes felt like daggers to him.
...Is this fear? The feeling tugging at his frame to run. His body felt like it was on fire. He could feel his heart practically thudding against his broken ribcage—which only made everything ache worse. The vampire was cornered like a stray dog. Shivering and whimpering with a tail tucked between its legs. Entirely vulnerable.
It was pathetic.
The blood flying at him earned a flinch and grimace from The Doorman, instinctively putting his hands up to shield his face.
"Not on my — uniform..." He lowered them with a frown after the ichor splattered onto his burgundy jacket.
The ginger bellhop watched Drifter's attempt to escape with pity. Genuine pity. But he didn't know why. The two men have hated each other since they met, never passing up a chance to go for each other's throats. And yet here the god was, kneeling at the side of his vampiric foe as he bled out onto New York's streets. A part of him imagined himself there, dying a tragic death with only the rats and the night to accompany him. For possibly the first time ever in his multitude of lives, The Doorman felt empathy.
He knew something had to be done.
"Shut up and save your energy already. Not that you have much left." Freckled arms made quick work of removing his jacket as he grumbled.
The tidy persona the ginger crafted for himself was forgotten, replaced by golden buttons spilling onto the ground as he rushed to pull the bloodstained fabric over his shoulders. Doorman pushed the cloth onto Drifter's chest with one hand and grasped the wood that protruded from him with the other. His voice was firm and clear as he spoke, refusing to make eye contact with the dying brute.
"I need you to stay still while I pull this godforsaken thing out."
Unfortunately for The Doorman, the vampire dying beneath him wasn't going to make it easy. He began to struggle against the cloth being pressed around the stake stabbed into his hitching chest. Drifter snarled and thrashed around like an animal stuck in a bear-trap. The movement was helping neither party, as the commotion only made the stake jostle against his flesh.
A trembling claw swiped at The Doorman again, this time making contact with his cheek. There wasn't much damage done to the eldritch ginger's face, but it was a slash against his face nonetheless.
Another strangled cough from the vampire as he kept squirming beneath The Doorman; his legs weakly kicking underneath him in an attempt to shove himself away. He couldn't even process the fact that the bellhop was trying to help him. All he knew were his instincts, and they told him to run as fast as he could.
The cosmic being didn't register the slash - he couldn't. He was too focused on trying his best to restrain the vampire, eventually having to press one knee into his jerking legs.
"Stop moving, you fool!"
His patience slipped shortly after his need for perfection. Time was very quickly running out for Drifter, so the sooner he got it through his thick skull and let The Doorman try his best to aid him the better. Freckled knuckles turned white, bordering on a glowing cyan as he held onto the stake like the handle of a mechanical bull. The vampire's efforts managed to shift the jacket's position, causing a spurt of ichor to, ironically, hit the god's face. Streaks of mortal blood dripped onto the collar of Doorman's undershirt from his chin and hair. Ignoring this, the god pressed the fabric back into the wound and held it down with some might.
More struggling and wrestling followed, ruby pupils and enraged fangs glaring up at The Doorman. With a growl of his own, the bellhop gave up on stilling the vampire's movements.
"For goodness sake! Let me HELP YOU!"
Disembodied souls howled in harmony with the eldritch being's voice when he shouted, yanking the piece of wood. The moon gazed upon the men as blood shot up into the night sky. It felt as if the world was moving in slow motion, the ginger not even comprehending what he had done for a moment.
With an aggressive toss of the stake to the side, the god came back to reality. His second hand joined his first in willing anymore blood to stay in the struggling man's chest.
A gargled yell filled the alleyway as Drifter’s struggling body tensed up at the scorching pain viciously ripping through his frame. His claws flew to grip the god's wrists—sharp nails digging into softer skin as the vampire sputtered blood from his mouth through hitching breaths.
Drifter's vision blurred from the sensation, only being able to make out those bright cyan eyes glaring above him.
Exhaustion was beginning to take over the beast's body as his hands began to lose their tight grip. The silver still riddled in his flesh still proved to poison him. The gaping hole in his chest was simply too large for his beaten body to keep up with and try to heal.
Another sigh left The Doorman as blood effortlessly soaked into his jacket, rendering the wound near impossible to treat away from The Baroness. Glowing blue eyes darted over the exhausted vampire in an attempt to search for any other injuries.
Drifter’s veins had turned a painfully obvious black against his stark grey skin. The ginger’s pupils followed the fatal webs until he found the source—
Silver bullets.
This was worse than the god thought. Someone was hunting his foe… And he would have none of that.
“If you really do have to use your final moments in such a brutish manner, please hold this down instead of wasting your time fighting me.”
A lean arm wrapped around the vampire’s shoulders and propped him up as he pressed one of Drifter’s crimson paws against his gaping chest. Once the jacket was as secure as it could be, Doorman scrambled to unclip his keys from his now scuffed work slacks. With a turn of his wrist a portal door opened.
Luckily, the cosmic bellhop always left a passage to his personal quarters available for times like this. Not that he was pleased to be inviting Drifter in to stain his room, but there weren’t any other viable solutions that didn’t require waiting, which he was not prepared to do. He cared too much to wait on an ambulance or possibly even a healing spell from an ally. The Doorman gritted his teeth at the pang in his chest; his curiosity did have a habit of getting him into trouble, but never anything this dire.
Wasting no time, the bellhop repositioned himself so he could scoop the vampire’s legs up. He stood with a grunt, carrying the dying man straight through the door and into his bathroom.
Sharp teeth gritted as the press of the jacket into his chest sent jolts of pain through his body. He had no other choice but to keep the blood soaked jacket pressed down.
The vampire’s vision was still fading, only being able to make out faint silhouettes and a warm orange light surrounding them.
Drifter struggled slightly as he was effortlessly picked up by the bellhop. He'd try swatting if his hands weren't the only thing keeping his dark blood within his body right now. Soon the scenery changed. He could make out that The Doorman had brought him to a bathroom of sorts—assuming it was in the personal room of the ginger.
The beaten vampire was soon set down on a soft rug, leaned against the cold marble of a footed tub. His breaths were shallow and ragged as blood dripped from his bruised lip. Tired, crimson eyes soon followed the other man in the room. He seemed to be gathering things hurriedly from the cabinets.
The Doorman placed the vampire on his bathroom floor as gently as possible, though that was hard to do given his current state. Even an exhale would cause him to wince.
"Keep pressing it down, I need to get creative..." He rolled up his sleeves once he stood, briskly turning to face the cabinets above his sink.
The ginger opened each one methodically, trailing a finger down each shelf and pulling out items he thought might help. Gauze compress, saline solution, a clean cloth, bandages. Hell, even the tiniest bottle of whiskey – Infernus told him once that alcohol is a good distraction from immense pain. Anything and everything he found in The Baroness' first aid kit whenever it was needed. Most importantly, though, a long pair of tweezers. If Drifter really had been shot, he'll have to remove the bullet casings, the god thought to himself.
Kneeling at the scruffy man's side again, the ginger placed all the items he selected between them. He looked up at the exhaustion in those typically feral pupils and found himself feeling... Sad? Angry? Scared? No time to think about that. The Doorman had to act.
"I sincerely hope you hold no sentiment for your outfit," The cosmic being thought out loud before he tore the vampire's shirt open. He decided using his strength to remove Drifter's shirt would cause far less harm than forcing it over his head.
What he could see of the torso he revealed was in a ghastly shape. Dried and fresh blood alike had caused the vampire's chest hair to matt, and a scattering of dark bruises didn't make the god feel any more hopeful. He made swift work of opening the bottle of saline, pouring a generous helping of it onto the cloth. Freckled hands approached Drifter carefully.
"This is going to sting quite a bit, but rest assured I am trying to help." The Doorman warned the man on his bathroom floor before cleaning the wounds surrounding the blood drenched jacket.
The stinging sensation sent a jolt through his body. A clawed hand gripped the cloth it held tightly to a bloody chest. A low, weak growl rumbled from the back of a sore throat as The Doorman wiped thick blood from his heaving chest. Even when he's dying, Drifter still can't help but make it known how much he hates the current situation. His brows were knit tightly together in a scowl.
"Don... try anythin'... stupid..." The vampire managed to strain out through heavy breaths.
Red eyes focused below, watching The Doorman clean wounds with haste. Each time the solution soaked into a wound, Drifter growled in response. He couldn't fully comprehend why Doorman was even here. Why he was... helping Drifter. It didn't feel right... but he was in no shape to argue. He simply laid there clinging onto what little consciousness he still had.
"Me? Stupid? Please." A soft chuckle escaped the ginger. Admittedly, he could feel his face brighten slightly at the sound of that usually grating Cajun accent.
The Doorman set the cloth aside once he had cleaned the wounds as much as he could. Now that they were cleaner, he could see that the smaller holes in the vampire's chest were definitely bullet wounds. He hummed out loud to himself, mulling over a decision in his head. With a small nod he stood up again and started to make his way out of the bathroom. The cosmic being turned to Drifter before taking his temporary leave.
"I need to grab some more supplies, I'll be back as soon as possible. I don't necessarily think you have the strength to run away or even stand right now, but please; don't move." With a concerned tone, he turned his back to the vampire and locked the bathroom door behind him.
The bathroom felt colder as the bellhop swiftly exited. A long, heavy sigh shakily filled the air as Drifter sat alone on the floor. His breaths were labored at this point—the feeling of the silver embedded in his flesh made his veins feel like they were on fire.
Freckled hands immediately came to his face. He dragged his palms over his cheeks and sighed. Don't try anything stupid. Like that isn't how they've both ended up in this mess. The sigh morphed into a firm exhale as he scanned his room, looking for three things; a bedsheet to replace his jacket, a fresh cloth or rag of some kind, and his letter opener.
The bedsheet and rag were quickly acquired due it being laundry day in his personal schedule. He had originally planned on changing his bedding before having a bath once the work day was done, but alas, fortune had clearly turned its back on him tonight. As for his letter opener, deep down he knew where it was, but he was reluctant to grab it.
Don't try anything stupid.
He had no time for hesitation. Whether he liked it or not, once he left the bathroom his mind was made up... Drifter was going to revel in this for centuries.
The small, thin blade shone when the light from his desk lamp hit it. The expression on his face was remorseful when he looked at it, twisting the handle slowly in his palm.
Don't try anything stupid.
With a deep inhale he braced himself before swiping the sharp silver of his letter opener across his skin. His freckled jaw clenched as he rushed to wrap the rag around his hand and teal eyes watched as his wine-purple ichor soaked into it. The Doorman's mind was filled with the image of Drifter smelling his blood in the air, aching to get a taste even when close to death. Especially when close to death.
Please, don't try anything stupid. Please.
His eyes... they felt so heavy. Tired blinks became longer; his breathing slowed down.
Though, as Drifter’s body started to give in to exhaustion, his attention was soon nabbed by a familiar, rich smell.
Blood.
Not just any blood, but his blood. Drifter’s eyes opened further as the smell punctured his nostrils. It was just as strong smelling as he remembered. He tried to lean up, to stumble his way to the source, but even just slightly pushing himself the tiniest bit off the ground had his head throbbing in pain.
A quiet groan of pain was muffled behind gritted teeth as the vampire rested back against the tub. Thankfully, it wasn't long before The Doorman returned, holding something quite peculiar in his hand.
The bathroom door opened with a mechanical click, the ginger swiftly passing through the space and kneeling a third time. Wordlessly, he replaced his soaked beyond repair jacket with the bedsheet and unravelled the rag from his bleeding hand. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this.
Teal eyes locked with crimson as Doorman gave the vampire his offering. Drifter, despite his pain and probable hunger, looked dumbfounded at the gesture.
Is that...?
"I need to pull the bullets out, but I also can't have you disrupting the guests. Therefore... you'll have to bite into this."
The scent became overwhelming as the god kneeled in front of the vampire, holding out a bloodied rag.
"Go... throuh so... much effort tryna... get blood from you... an' now it's jus' hand..ed... tah me..." The vampire growled in annoyance. So much time was spent, and all he had to do was get shot to get some.
Unbelievable.
Drifter bared his fangs with a snarl before opening his mouth for Doorman to stuff the rag into. As expected, even in his wounded state, the vampire was still drooling from the blood being handed to him.
"That's what I thought. Now, focus on feeding so you can regain your strength." His own blood stained his fingertips as The Doorman slotted the rag into the vampire's mouth. A look of concern briefly switched to a raised eyebrow of annoyance when Drifter's drool soaked into his own beard. The ginger bellhop shook off the urge to berate him.
With a golden shimmer the cut on the god's hand healed in an instant, but he chose to rub a drop of saline solution across his palms anyway. Once the vampire had settled from his revelation, Doorman leaned forward as he held the tweezers.
"Please keep your attention on the rag, as this may take a while," The cosmic being ordered calmly before he got to work.
The precision needed to alleviate Drifter from the bullets was no small feat. The Doorman worked slowly and meticulously, pulling out small fragments of bloodied metal and dropping them onto the discard rag, ensuring no cross contamination occurred as he made progress.
Every time his tweezers dug into the scruffy man's chest, a knot grew in the pit of the ginger's stomach. The absolute gall of the person responsible to try and pick off Drifter. There were plenty of ghouls and killers in Manhattan, why were they not satisfied with those vermin? Whoever it was, no matter why they did it, The Doorman knew one thing - that person had made a powerful enemy that night. The only person who will ever end the vampire's sad excuse for a life is him, and he shall do so when he pleases. That time is not right now.
A muffled sound of pain was stuffed into the bloodied fabric as the vampire clamped his teeth down. The action caused the god’s blood to squeeze out, dripping down his chin and further down his neck. If he weren't actively on death's doorstep, he'd savor every last drop. The blood was positively rich as it seeped into his mouth. His eyelids fluttered, breath huffing through the rag and his scrunched nose.
Each poke and prod of the tweezers was followed by a muffled growl from the vampire. The bellhop’s blood was indeed helping him regain strength, but it'd take time for the silver to weasel its way out of his system.
The entire ordeal was humiliating. The fearsome Drifter being nothing but a game of operation to the god kneeling in front of him. Even then, the bellhop didn't seem too pleased about the situation either.
The Doorman's face was scrunched up in a focused scowl, and if Drifter didn't know any better, he would be sure that the ginger was plotting his demise shortly after this. Keeping him alive just long enough just to toy with him further.
"Well done," The Doorman praised Drifter quietly as he removed yet another piece of silver. Maybe it was because he was so used to being near invincible, but the ginger god didn't expect bullets to break apart upon meeting with flesh. He'll have to make a note of this once he's finished nursing the vampire, he thought to himself.
Towards the end of the extractions he ripped some toilet paper off the roll behind him and started wiping any residue away from the wounds. Deft fingers repeated this process a handful of times so as to not create and spread infection that might not live within the vampire already. Happy with his work, The Doorman placed the tweezers on his discarded jacket and reapplied saline solution to his hands.
During the procedure, Drifter kept his eyes locked on the eldritch being. He couldn't trust that The Doorman wouldn't try to gut him while he was vulnerable. His veins ached from the silver, and his skin crawled from the cold feeling of the tweezers plunging into his bruised flesh.
This was fear, wasn't it? He felt like prey instead of the predator. Vulnerable to anything that could happen to him. And the being kneeling over him could snuff his life out at any second if he pleased... but... he hadn't. The Doorman put effort into... saving his life. Why...?
Bushy brows furrowed underneath matted hair. Surely Doorman was just making him feel safe, just to turn around and put an end to his pathetic life. What other reason would there be? He couldn't even try to run, let alone lift his claw to tear the ginger's throat; the silver left him weak and drained. His life truly was in the hand of the bellhop above him.
Unsure of what to do next, Doorman looked Drifter's form up and down as his hands rested on his own thighs.
"How do you feel?" The cosmic being eventually decided on checking in on the vampire, for whatever reason. The pang in his chest still swam in the back of his mind; he typically couldn't care less if Drifter ended up bested, so a near death experience earning this reaction from him was a... curious development.
A pale ear twitched at the question. His chest heaved with a labored breath as the vampire let go of the bloody rag held in his mouth. The majority of the blood had been sucked out. It was enough to keep him awake and alert, but his body would need time to flush out the silver.
"Like shit," Drifter bluntly stated.
The vampire’s body ached—all of his muscles still felt like they gave out.
"Hm. I should have expected that response," The Doorman replied.
A small silence filled the air as he began to discard the bloodstained items on his bathroom floor. The tension between the men was thick with parallel internal conflicts; the god could practically taste it, feel it, hear it. Drifter was confused as to why The Doorman put so much effort into aiding him, and he himself was curious about him feeling anything towards this situation at all. He rose to his feet without as little as a breath, his scowl softening slightly thanks to the satisfaction of portalling away his bloodied uniform and washing bullet fragments down the bathroom sink.The eldritch bellhop watched as diluted ichor flowed down the same basin.
A quiet snarl rumbled in the vampire’s chest, but was soon followed by a weak cough. His body was still trying to keep up with everything.
Grunting in annoyance, Drifter scowled to himself and looked away, averting the bellhop's gaze. While The Doorman cleaned, Drifter looked down at his beaten body. The holes in his frame still ached, but were beginning to feel dull. Crimson eyes lulled to his bloody hands as he pulled them into his lap. They were still scraped and bloody.
A quiet sigh exited his mouth as he held a clawed hand near his face, and began to lick the fresher blood off of the top of his hand. Even if it is his blood, it's still blood nonetheless. Besides, some of Doorman's blood managed to trail from his jaw to his arms.
The bellhop dried his hands with a fluffy towel as he sat on the edge of the small basin. He crossed one freckled arm over the other, a pointer finger absentmindedly tapping on his bicep. Teal eyes watched Drifter as they towered over him.
Is he... washing himself? Doorman kept his gaze on the vampire's crimson paw and a small smile painted his face. The motion reminded him of Ava, a purple Sphinx, as he and her owner made small talk over tea. He was sure the cat would find Drifter to be positively delightful. The god's head tilted with amusement.
Using his foot to propel himself forward, The Doorman stepped towards the bathtub. He allowed the vampire to continue his licks as he wordlessly turned on a golden faucet. Warm water started to flow in the marble tub. The ginger used a hand to test the water's temperature and plugged up the bath once satisfied. His body then turned to Drifter.
"Can you stand?" He asked plainly yet politely.
His tongue had moved to the claws jutting out of his fingers, licking out blood trapped beneath sharp nails. Though, his attention turned to The Doorman, beginning to hear water running behind him. His ear twitched at the noise, and narrowed uncertain eyes at the ginger.
"If I could, I woulda been long gone by now," Drifter huffed with sarcasm.
As he said this, the vampire pulled his leg in slightly. The action sent jolts of pain through his body, and grimaced at the ache he felt.
His eyes narrowed towards The Doorman once more as he plugged the tub.
"Can't even wait till ya throw me back outside ta get all nice n' freshed up?" The nerve of the god to just act like he wasn't lying there on the ground, still bleeding in a few areas.
"Nice to see you have enough energy back to be snarky," Was all he said before returning his attention to the bathtub, "However," He poured some lavender scented liquid into the water, "If you must know, this isn't for me. So I'll ask again, but not as vague this time. Can you stand by yourself, or do you require help?"
The sound of hot water filling the marble container made no room for complete silence as The Doorman offered a freckled hand to the man below him.
"If you leave here as your... typically mangy self then my work will have been a waste. A normal infection is bad enough, but I'm sure you'd rather not be infected by silver and dirt, hm?"
His eyes widened as the god's hand reached out towards him. Drifter’s look of surprise was soon turned to one of disgust and anger.
"You oughta be insane tah think I'm gettin' in dat goddamned tub." Drifter growled, baring his fangs before swatting the freckled hand away.
He'd rather Doorman finish killing him than to be bathed by the god.
"Jus' drag me outside, I don' care," He spat, "I've been throuh worse."
"Worse than silver bullets and a stake near your heart? ...If you insist." The Doorman raised an eyebrow, his tone that of an unimpressed judge.
He used the hand that had been swatted away to gesture to the air before preparing the tub once again. Thanks to the vampire's reaction time being hindered by his injuries, spectral hands emerged from a collection of small doors with no resistance. One pair of hands per limb worked swiftly to peel Drifter's remaining clothes off of him. The god merely had to click his tongue once to command them to slow their pace and avoid touching any of the sitting man's wounds. He didn't even have to see the hands to do so, which added bemusement to the tension in the room.
A trivial yet useful display of power.
"That will be all, thank you." The cosmic being sent the hands away with the same gesture before scooping up Drifter for the second time that night, but hopefully the final time ever.
With only a small noise of effort from the ginger, Drifter was gently placed in the bathtub.
The beaten vampire could barely react to the hands stripping him. A few confused noises, growling, and a half-attempt at a swipe—but with how much his body ached, it was hard to do much of anything. All he could do was cover himself with giant hands and snarl angrily at the god standing above him.
Before he could even spit out some nasty remark, the vampire was quickly scooped up by The Doorman like he weighed basically nothing.
"Now dontchu dare—"
Too late.
The water turned an odd shade of pink as soon as his body was put into the tub; blood and grime coming off his haggard skin. The warmth of the water sent shivers up his spine, and the feeling of the water splashing into open wounds caused a few jolts of pain.
Shakily grasping the edge of the tub, Drifter made an attempt to pull himself up as he growled at the god.
"You goddamn—f-fuck—" He snarled through strained teeth. Eventually, his body gave way to the pain as Drifter succumbed to sitting in the water—some of it splashing out the side and onto the floor.
Crimson hands still gripped the rim, claws digging into the ceramic as he steadied his strained breath.
The Doorman was smug when Drifter finally submitted to the bath. He dodged the splash of water that erupted from the vampire's attempt to escape and was quick to cover it with a towel. Afterwards, though, he had no choice but to sigh at the tiny cracks in his tub.
"Rest assured, friend, you'll find a way to get your dirt back - you always do. Now, where to begin..." Another small door opened, but this time it spat out a pair of surgical looking rubber gloves. The god pulled them over his hands effortlessly before taking a moment to roll his sleeves further.
Drifter was absolutely filthy. Within seconds, the fresh bath water became an off-putting brownish pink; no scrubbing required. The ginger bellhop frowned at this as he knew the vampire wouldn't allow him to change the water under any circumstances. Regardless of him nearly dying, it was a miracle that the brute didn't attack Doorman the second he leaned towards the faucet.
After he gave the vampire some time to become acclimated to the tub, the god decided it'd be best to start off with a simple task. He reached past Drifter and picked up a shampoo bottle, alongside a cup from the bath rack in front of them both.
"If you even so much as try to take my hand off I will throw you out onto the streets. In which case you'll likely have to fend off pneumonia and the humiliation of being naked in public, as well as your injuries. So doing anything but keeping your claws to yourself is ill advised," The Doorman warned before using one of his hands to shield Drifter's eyes. He dunked the cup in the bathtub with the other and used it to pour water onto the naked man's locks.
A low growl came from the bottom of Drifter’s throat as The Doorman began to pour the warm water onto his matted hair.
"Dis whole fiasco don’ leave dis room. Gottit?" Drifter warned. Considering the situation, neither men would probably want this being known.
Drifter sighs into the air. This entire thing was downright humiliating. Stuck without being able to move. Being bathed like some elderly person who lost their motor function. ...Admittedly, the warmness of the bath was quite nice. Being something that can be considered dead leaves your body quite cold... so the heat of the water was welcomed.
As he sat in the water, Drifter was left to his thoughts... and with it, a simple question.
"Why're doin' dis?"
"Would you like an honest answer or an answer that will stroke your ego?" The Doorman answered with a somewhat light hearted question.
From the looks of the water, Drifter's hair was sufficiently rinsed. A shimmery liquid hit the god's palm with a squirt before he placed the shampoo bottle back on the bath rack. He spent a couple of seconds lathering it in his hands before massaging it into the vampire's scalp. Or getting as close to that as he could, at least. A hum mixed with concern and disapproval escaped from him as he made a gentle attempt at untangling some monstrous knots.
The vampire quietly scoffed at the god's response.
Drifter mumbled under his breath before closing his eyes, as to not get soap into them. He simply listened to the sound of the water shifting slightly; the bathroom was quiet otherwise.
He could feel the small tugs of The Doorman's fingers as they ran through his matted hair. Drifter huffed through his nose with each tangle being pulled. Whether it was unintentional or not—he couldn't help but slightly lean into the touch of freckled fingers going through his hair. Doorman's gloved hands were as gentle as his unruly mane could permit.
"I can't imagine letting myself get into such a state." His voice bounced off the walls of his near-pristine bathroom. The bellhop froze at the realisation, intending for that statement to only be a thought. "I apologise," He followed up quietly.
More silence other than the soft wading of bath water and the washing of dark hair filled the room. Doorman tried his best to leave Drifter's locks spotless, but eventually accepted that would be a near impossible task. An awkwardly slow moment passed before he began to wash away the shampoo.
"Regarding your question, Drifter. If I must be honest... I don't know," The ginger's scowl returned, "I suppose seeing you at death's door left me conflicted, and my vessel acted before I could put any thought into it," He continued to rinse the black hair of the man in his tub.
A pale ear twitched gently at The Doorman's words as his hair was rinsed out. The vampire’s face shifted.
"You shoulda' jus' left me fo' dead."
"Perhaps." The cosmic being placed the cup down as he picked up a bottle of conditioner.
He repeated the lathering and massaging process, this time finding it easier to tend to the vampire's mats. The Doorman's soft smile returned as he watched Drifter lean into his touch. Wet, dark hair reflected the bathroom's light. Satisfied with his work, the bellhop wrapped the ends gently until they formed a thick strand and let it rest between the bathing man's shoulder blades. He allowed himself a moment of rest, sitting on the marble seat of his toilet.
Now that the vampire's back was no longer turned to him, the god observed his features. The bullet wounds already seemed to be healing, but the hole that pitiful stake left behind would require some more attention. It would be an easy fix, thanks to the ginger's inhuman abilities, but it was whether or not Drifter would allow that to even happen that was an issue. Whether or not he would allow himself to do that was an issue. Admittedly, the care The Doorman showed his foe confused him more and more as the night went on. Not once had he ever made these sacrifices for anyone else, and on any other day he'd laugh in the vampire's face as he watched the light leave his crimson eyes. So what's changed?
"Forgive me, but it's my turn to have a question answered. How did you end up like this?"
A stained claw reached from under the water and scratched at a peppered beard.
"Killed sum poor bastard. Guess he whus bit more important dan I expected. Now I'm sittin' 'ere inna damn tub while you wash me like sum fuckin' mutt."
Drifter's face twisted in another scowl. Oh how he wished The Doorman would've just ended his miserable existence in that alleyway. If this ever got out, he'd be ruined. The fact this is even happening is going to haunt his pathetic life for the rest of his days.
A quiet, shallow breath filled the still air. Drifter’s head lulled down to the water he laid in. It was filthy from the blood and dirt that had caked his pale body. The sight was a bit repulsive all things considered... and it was a little embarrassing he couldn't remember the last time he properly bathed.
Not sure standing out in the rain counts…
“Quite important indeed.” The Doorman had to stop himself from resting a gloved hand on his chin; old habits die hard. “Well, unluckily for them and luckily for you, your gargling had alerted some guests.”
He walked towards the bathtub, positioning himself behind Drifter. A freckled hand used the cup by the marble container to gather some water before he poured it over the vampire’s cleaner looking locks.
“Besides, don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this,” The god added as he ran his fingers through the wet locks, allowing more conditioner to be washed out.
The rinsing process continued for a small while longer before the ginger was finally content with the results. Also slightly envious - a bath of his own was desperately needed as soon as possible. Water flowed freely from the vampire’s ends as they laid on his neck and his upper back.
The Doorman’s broad shoulders leaned slightly over the vampire’s larger frame as he pulled the bath plug free. The sight of dirt coloured water disappearing was very much welcomed. Once all the water was gone, he slotted the plug back in its place and turned the faucet again. Fresh water poured into the tub until it reached the vampire’s midriff.
Next was the simultaneously important and dreaded task: washing the Drifter’s body. Having him sit in the bath definitely made it more feasible, but he must’ve had years of grime caked onto him, Doorman thought to himself. With a brave exhale, he picked up a bar of soap.
Another scoff from the vampire. The Doorman was right, but was he going to admit that? Absolutely not.
Drifter sat in silence once more as he watched the dirtied water empty. Thankfully, it was replaced soon enough with fresh, hot water. A small exhale of relief from the warmth exited the vampire's lips.
Though, the content state he was in was soon interrupted by The Doorman reaching over with a bar of soap. Grabbing an eldritch wrist as fast as his arm would allow him, Drifter growled under his breath.
"Don' go stickin' dat anywhere unsavory," He warned.
With a chuff from behind his teeth, Drifter let go of the wrist before settling his hands in his lap and stared ahead.
"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it." The ginger bellhop pulled his wrist towards him as he spoke.
Fresh, warm water was poured over Drifter's back before The Doorman began to rub it with the soap. Internally, the eldritch being wished he had a spare bar to hand so he wouldn't have to waste his on the vampire. But alas, he had a job to do and knew the scruffy man couldn't afford to wait. The combined scent of jasmine, tea leaves, and sandalwood filled the air as it lathered on the wide expanse of flesh. Before taking on his mortal vessel, the god didn't care much for perfumes or anything of the sort, thanks to being naturally odourless. However, even he could admit smelling good did wonders for his mood. He silently hoped the vampire would feel the same.
The scented bubbles were lathered further into Drifter's skin with a washcloth. Each ministration banished dirt into the water and left soft shoulders in their wake.
A bout of silence filled the air as The Doorman lathered Drifter’s back in suds.
The vampire’s nose twitched at the scent filling the air. It was so strong to his heightened senses; almost giving him a mild headache.
"Dat stuff reeks," The vampire grumbled, "Coulda used sumnthin less flowery."
Months of hard work covering his natural smell were being washed away and down a fancy gold plated drain—being replaced by pleasant and earthy scents. Once he recovered, he was going to break out of this pristine room and find the nearest corpse to slather himself in.
The silence returned again. Only the slight splashing of water and the scrubbing of a hairy back filled the air. Though, another sound began to make itself known. It was a low growl coming from the vampire... but it seemed less threatening. A quiet rumble from the bottom of his gullet, almost like some sort of weird purr. Drifter seemed to not even notice it as he sat there, staring down at the murky water.
“I’m not happy to be using this either,” The Doorman replied, eyes focused on the suds under his hand.
The vampire left him to his own devices, which he was silently glad for. It would be much harder to want to do a decent job if his efforts were constantly met with backchat. With no distractions or taunts, the cosmic bellhop fell into a routine of applying soap, spreading the lather and washing it away.
As this routine continued, The Doorman heard the purr-like sound erupt from Drifter’s chest. He paused for a brief moment, listening intently and bracing himself for the brute to make an unexpected swipe. To his surprise, this didn’t happen. Instead, teal eyes watched the hairy body sit in his bath… relax.
Humanoid teeth but gently into thin lips. The god was holding back a laugh.
A pointed ear twitched at the tiniest bit of noise coming from behind him.
Drifter huffed into the air as a scowl crossed his face. The vampire turned his head slightly to the side to listen closer to the noise being stifled in Doorman's mouth.
"Hell're laughin' at?" The soggy vampire scoffed, "What could possibly be even de tiniest bit funny right 'bout now. I'm already humiliated assit is. Don' gotta rub it in."
What an ass.
A freckled wrist shielded The Doorman's mouth in a weak attempt to stop the chuckle. To neither man's surprise, the attempt failed.
"Please forgive me," He answered as clearly as his laugh would allow, "but do you not hear yourself? Drifter, you were purring!"
The ginger was grinning from ear to ear as he stepped away, wrist still covering his face. His cackle filled the room no matter how hard he tried to stop himself. Drifter, the fearsome vampire who had terrorised mortals for centuries, acted like a damn cat. This information amused the god.
...He also thought it was somewhat sweet. Somewhat.
Drifter’s pale face quickly flushed with embarrassment from The Doorman's targeted laughing.
"What?! Hell I don'— I can't even—I can't even do dat!" Drifter spat. He would've strangled The Doorman by now if he could stomach standing in his state. All he could do was sit there, naked in soapy water, and put up with the god's incessant cackling.
A quiet growl rumbled in the depths of the vampire’s chest as he glared daggers towards the eldritch ginger. Drifter cupped a hand in the water, before yanking his giant mitt towards Doorman, splashing the god with murky bath water.
That was something worth snickering over, which Drifter chose to do with a smug, sharp-toothed grin.
"Yes you can—!"
Dirty water hit The Doorman square in his face. He flinched as it splashed into his eyes, obstructing his vision with a sting. After the initial shock he wiped it away from his eyes and scoffed.
"Oh, you brute." With a light hearted grin he scooped some water into his palms and hurled it at Drifter.
His snickering was quickly caught off as his act was splashed right back into his own face.
"Agh—you sunnuva..." Drifter hissed as soapy water obscured his vision as well. Stained hands rubbed at his stinging eyes for a moment as Drifter grumbled.
Though, once his hands lowered and red eyes glared at The Doorman, Drifter’s claws quickly grabbed ahold of the ginger's arm and tugged him inwards. The weak vampire managed to pull the god straight into the bath alongside him, sloshing soapy water everywhere.
Drifter couldn't help but cackle at the act—but it soon devolved into a strained fit of coughs in between laughs.
Bath water hit the bathroom floor with a crash, and the towel The Doorman placed on the black marble tiles was now useless. It soaked in even more of Drifter's grime, though it wasn't the only fabric to do so.
A freckled hand had no choice but to catch the tub's rim as the ginger god was pulled in. Warm water drenched what was left of his uniform instantly; shoes and all. The Doorman wriggled himself into a sitting position, facing the beaming vampire with a frown. His work slacks and undershirt clung to his skin, making the cosmic bellhop feel uncomfortably heavy.
"So childish," He clicked his tongue and tried to step out, completely ignoring his own retaliation.
"Oh, says you, Doorman," Drifter sneered, watching the fledgling god squirm in the water.
His eyes eventually settled on the bottle of shampoo nearby as an idea crossed his mind.
Grabbing Doorman's shirt, he tugged the god down and back into the water. Drifter quickly grabbed the bottle of soap, popping the cap, and squeezed as much as he could onto The Doorman's ginger locks.
"DON'T waste it, you—!"
Too late. The Doorman watched the smug vampire drop the empty shampoo bottle onto the floor. Thick, soapy liquid took its time to glide down his short, coppery locks, almost as if taunting the bellhop. His frown deepened.
"You have no idea how expensive that was," The god sighed, using a freckled hand to scoop some of the shampoo off his head.
Even with fortune turning its back on him even more, The Doorman still felt his chest tighten with a strange stir of emotion as Drifter coughed. A harsh reminder of the night's events and how the ginger fought to save his foe's life. He saved his foe's life. The thought left a partly bitter taste in his mouth.
Regardless, he decided to make the best out of his current state. Freckled hands pulled his gloves off and peeled the soaking undershirt away from its grasp on his torso. Afterwards, those same hands came to his hair and started massaging the shampoo into it.
"You're exactly right. Jus' gonna assume it's 'worth more than my pathetic life,'" He sneered, doing his best attempt at The Doorman's voice. It... was pretty bad.
Drifter coughed weakly once more, squeezing his eyes shut as he did. When he opened them, he saw that The Doorman had a bit less clothes on than he remembered.
"You betta keep ya damn pants on," The vampire hissed, narrowing his eyes towards freckled skin, "An' keep your feet away." He wasn't about to get kicked in his exposed groin. Drifter definitely knows how hard his foe can kick—the thought of it sent shivers down his spine.
The Doorman rolled his eyes at Drifter before washing the suds out of his hair.
"You'd rather bathe with me while I'm wearing my shoes? Which are now ruined, by the way, thanks to your little stunt." The god retorted with one eye open as to avoid the soapy water that ran down his face. He ran a hand over his scalp to distract himself from the sensation of wet socks. "Nevertheless, I regret to inform you that you are currently in my bath in my suite. So, I shall do what I want."
"Good. Hope dey are," The vampire bluntly remarked.
The god could not believe he had to act defiantly in his own lodging. Drifter should be grateful he got saved, let alone had his prank humoured.
Wordlessly, a freckled hand reached down to his lower leg garters and undid them so he could slip off his socks & shoes. He frowned at the drenched state they went in before dropping neatly on the floor of his bathroom. A sigh of relief passed through his lips at the feeling of cotton clinging to his toes disappearing.
The Doorman reached into the water, expertly dodging the vampire's lower limbs as he retrieved the forgotten soap. The movement created some soft waves in the tub.
"I'm assuming I can trust you to wash your lower half, but your chest still needs tending to. May I?" He asked Drifter with the scented bar now in hand.
Drifter avoided The Doorman's gaze, instead choosing to cross his arms with a huff and look to the side. Eventually, the ginger spoke again, prompting an annoyed roll of bright red eyes.
"Whatever."
Drifter lowered burly arms to his sides, letting them rest in the somewhat warm water. The vampire continued to stare off to the side to not make horribly awkward eye contact.
His chest still dully ached, and the skin was still quite tender. The wounds riddling his chest would definitely leave some unsightly scarring in their wake.
It'd still take a while for the silver to flush from his ragged system—that aspect he certainly wasn't fond of. It leaves him vulnerable. That was the last thing he wanted.
"It's a bit late to start sulking, don't you think?" The Doorman retorted as he began to lather the soap on Drifter's chest with some reluctance.
The slightest blush dusted the ginger's face as he massaged the suds into the vampire's hairy pecs. After centuries of tormenting each other, this level of intimacy should be child's play to the god, but he still found himself embarrassed to be practically fondling his foe. Yet another odd sensation to add to his research of mortals.
Regardless, his movements were tender as he avoided irritating Drifter's wounds.
The vampire chuffed through his teeth as The Doorman began to massage the soap into his fuzzy chest.
His eyes kept to the side, still trying to avoid quiet eye contact in such an awkward situation. Though, crimson eyes eventually did trail to teal, noticing the faint flush of the god's face. It only hit him then that this entire situation left much to be desired, and his own pale face became peppered with red.
A scowl came across Drifter's face before looking in the other direction. If he comes to find the sorry excuse for a patron shares Drifter’s near-death experience, then he'll surely make his life a living hell.
The air remained quiet besides the gentle movement of water and the scrubbing of a bruised chest. Though, another sound slowly came to the somewhat silent air—the return of the brutish vampire’s odd 'purring'. Once more, Drifter paid no mind to the noise, seemingly still unaware of it. Even if he was, he surely wouldn't acknowledge such an embarrassing fact.
The Doorman's face became redder at the return of Drifter's purring. He could feel crimson pupils sneaking glances at him as he washed the wounded chest.
With the vampire's torso being his main focus, the god found it hard to not... admire it. Under the plump flesh there was hard, well utilised muscle. The muscles shifted absentmindedly under the suds; the motion was mesmerising.
As he cleared his throat, The Doorman pulled his eyes away from the sight so he could clean the rest of Drifter's upper body. However, that proved to be just as difficult for the blushing bellhop as he brought the bar of soap to Drifter's stomach.
"How a vampire turned you rather than a werewolf is beyond me." The comment broke the silence as he continued to use the soap.
Red eyes quickly narrowed towards The Doorman with a scrunched nose of confusion.
"Hell's dat supposta mean?" The vampire questioned, seemingly a tad offended at the comment.
The memory of Drifter’s 'inception' is a bit hazy to him. A long faded memory that'd he'd rather choose to ignore and forget.
"I don't mean to offend. It was just a comment on how hairy you are, is all," The Doorman replied, focusing on washing the suds away from Drifter's stomach as he did. "...Which isn't a bad thing, might I add," His voice dropped to a small mumble.
An annoyed huff from the vampire grazed behind sharp teeth.
"Glad I ain't some mutt—werewolves are de worst. Last one I came 'cross tried ta mug me," Drifter recalled, bringing a clawed finger to scratch his fuzzy chin, "Dey blood tastes sumnthin rancid."
The air became quiet once more afterwards, the sound of scrubbing taking front again. But, it soon ceased as the last bit of his front had been thoroughly cleaned and rinsed. Drifter's ear twitched as he narrowed red eyes towards him.
The silence returned as Doorman could feel the vampire glare through him. The god would love nothing more than to meet that glare right now, but much to his dismay Drifter's chest was clean. Hoping the mortal didn't hear his last remark, the ginger bellhop held the bar of soap out to him.
"Well, I've done all I can, or am at least willing to," The Doorman announced, "I'm happy to prepare a towel for you and a change of clothes if you'd wish."
"Takin' a wild guess dat ya ain't lettin' me change inta my old clothes."
"You know me well. But rest assured, Drifter, your clothes will be returned to you once they have taken a trip to The Baroness' complimentary dry cleaning service." The Doorman used his trademark bellhop tone as he stepped out of the bath.
The water that drenched his work slacks weighed him down and created a pool at his feet. The god remedied this with a smug click on his fingers. The sound conjured a golden light that could easily blind him if he didn't know how close his eyes when it appeared. Once the flash had disappeared, The Doorman stood in nothing but a silk, peach coloured dressing gown with a fluffy towel wrapped neatly around his head. He sighed with relief as he looked down at his new attire before heading for the bathroom door.
"I shall leave you to it, then. Some clothes for you to change into will be left by the door. Please find a way to let me know if you need any help; not that doing so will be hard for you now that you have some energy, anyway." With his last remark and a polite nod, almost as if The Doorman hadn't just saved this man's life, he left Drifter to his own devices.
Wishing that The Doorman warned him of the incoming flash, Drifter sat there rubbing his eyes with an accompanying growl at the sudden light.
Once he was finished blinking away the burn to his eyes, The Doorman had already exited the bathroom. The vampire groaned to himself knowing his precious coat and pants were being sent through the wash as well. So much grime and muck he built up over the course of a few years, gone just like that.
A stained hand reached down to unplug the drain, before resting it on the rim of the marble. It was true that his energy was mostly back, but his muscles still felt like they were constantly straining themselves.
There was no way in hell he'd yell for Doorman to come in and help, so he surmised that he's just going to have to grit through it. With some effort and a tight grip on the tub, Drifter managed to step out of the mostly drained water and onto the fuzzy mat he had been laying on. It seemed Doorman had swapped it out while he had been in the bath.
Eventually, he maneuvered to the counter to prop himself up onto, slowly making his way to where the clothes left for him.
"Of course..." Drifter sighed as he held up the silky garments in his claws.
---
A half smoked cigarette rested between The Doorman's fingers as he turned the page of his book. Thin reading glasses now rested on the bridge of his freckled nose as he sat in one of the armchairs that came with his personal suite. Smooth jazz played quietly on the radio in the background. The night was near-idyllic, other than the situation the god was distracting himself from. Even now, hours after the whole ordeal began, he simply couldn't fathom why he decided to save Drifter's life. Maybe humanity was rubbing off on him, after all. He subconsciously shuddered at the thought.
The sleeve of his pajamas - a red, silk button up with gold accents and matching trousers - creased as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. His foot had started tapping the air impatiently as he waited for his foe to finish in the bath. Images of Drifter ransacking his cabinets in an attempt to steal any valuables played in his mind, but the god wasn't bothered by them. He knew where he kept his most precious items and that the injured vampire would have to get through him first if he ever found them. Still, though, he did wonder why the mortal was taking so long.
Probably taking longer than Doorman expected, the door to the bathroom eventually clicked open. Drifter was leaning against the doorway, adjusting the silky pajamas with growing frustrations. There were a few visible tears where the vampire’s claws clearly snagged onto.
Almost as if on que, the bathroom door opened with a click. Some light flooded through, but most of it was blocked by Drifter's burly silhouette. The Doorman looked up, closing his book and setting it onto his coffee table. In an ideal world, the sight of the vampire wearing the hotel's complimentary silks would be a treat to the bellhop's eyes. But in the real world, the sight of ruined fabric made him frown.
"Forgive me, I thought I'd acquired the correct size," He greeted the vampire with a hint of passive aggression.
One pyjama cladded leg unfolded itself from atop the other as The Doorman stood.
"...How are you feeling now?"
"Like a damn clown—" Drifter said before tugging the shirt down again, eventually giving in and scoffing.
The silk shirt was a bit tight for his burly build, unable to properly button the front. The entire outfit felt wrong against his skin, and the fact his entire body was clean made everything feel ten times more off. Not to mention he felt somehow more naked without his beloved hat. Unfortunately, it was being sent through a soapy hell somewhere in The Baroness.
Grumbling to himself as he limped over to the bed, Drifter gave The Doorman a nasty side-eye as he passed him by. Once he reached the bed, Drifter sat down with a grunt on the edge.
Drifter looked down at his hands, seeing the darkness from the silver still clouding his veins. He still wasn't in the proper condition to leave, that's for sure. Hopefully sleeping things off will ease the silver... then he can finally get out of this godforsaken hotel.
The Doorman replied with a small chuff, giving Drifter his customer service smile as the vampire passed him.
Now that the ginger was over his initial displeasure at seeing the torn silk, teal eyes drunk in the vampire as they followed him to the bed. The pyjamas clung for dear life to his body, sculpted biceps threatening to tear them even more. The awkward length the shirt fell at made it so Drifter's fuzzy happy trail was poking through. As for his lower half, the thin bottoms forced The Doorman to realise how... shapely his behind was.
The slight creaking of the god's bedframe made him jump, cheeks flush with embarrassment. He cursed himself internally for looking at Drifter of all people in such a depraved way. The Doorman cleared his throat in an attempt to clear his mind.
A small portal door spat out the hotel's logbook as the bellhop began to speak.
"I'm trust you'll want a room of your own, or possibly even a pile of mud to roll in—"
Each and every page of the leather hardback was filled to the brim. Freckled fingers flipped through the pages in a panic, only to be rewarded by more bookings. The Baroness had no rooms to spare, leaving the god to either welcome Drifter into his bed, or the vampire to fend for himself after The Doorman's efforts to revive him. Unbelievable.
The vampire idly scratched at his stomach, listening to The Doorman from the armchair behind him. His ear twitched as he heard the sounds of panic flipping through pages.
"What, no rooms available?" Drifter chuckled to himself. In all his time he's visited the hotel it had never been fully booked before.
Drifter turned slightly to look at Doorman, who was staring at him with a rather flustered face.
"Dere's... somethin open... right."
"...It seems not. Quite an unfortunate turn of events."
Unbelievable.
The Doorman took a moment to recollect his thoughts and calm his breathing. With a flick of his wrist the book was returned to the lobby, and the god prepared to make a compromise. Yet another sacrifice, he thought to himself.
"It appears I've checked you in during an inconveniently busy time at The Baroness, and I can only apologise for that," He swallowed hard, hesitating to speak again, "With that being said, I shall allow you to sleep in my bed. Just this once. But don't you dare take advantage of my kindness by wrecking the place. Renovations take time that I simply do not have."
A bold faced lie. The Doorman had all the time in the world. All the time in the universe, even, thanks to his cosmic origins. However, he dreaded the thought of Drifter's barely maintained claws tearing through his mattress, let alone the rest of his quarters.
"As to give you some semblance of privacy, I shall..." Another gulp. "...Sleep on the sofa tonight. The bed is far more comfortable, and you're the injured party out of the two of us, so it's only fair."
Drifter snickered to himself as he laid down, resting his arms behind his head after tugging the blanket onto himself. "Sounds perfect tah me," The vampire sneered. He got to sleep in a nice cushiony bed—Doorman's bed—and all he had to do was get stabbed? This was about to be the best sleep he ever damn had. The thought of The Doorman curled up sadly on the couch had him snickering once more.
Adjusting himself slightly and cozying up into the downy pillows, Drifter sighed comfortably into the air. It wasn't very often he got to sleep in a proper bed. Most times he slept on old busted mattresses, benches, or on the floor of some abandoned building. This was definitely a nice change of pace.
"Splendid." The Doorman's eye twitched as he smiled. Watching Drifter tuck himself into his bed was like watching a nightmare unfold before him. Even after bathing him, the bellhop was still certain his Egyptian Cotton sheets would be stained beyond repair.
With his book in hand, the god made his way to the sofa. He sprawled across it awkwardly, wrestling with firm cushions so the arm wouldn't cause his neck to cramp. Doorman pulled the typically decorative throw blanket over his body and opened his book. His bedtime routine ended with reading a chapter or two every other night, and he saw no reason for this night to be any different.
"Well then. Goodnight, Drifter."
—
About an hour had passed since The Doorman began his rest, yet he was still wide awake. What he told his foe about his bed was the truth; it was far more comfortable to sleep on than his sofa. The seat was ideal for small bouts of respite, yes. But an entire night's sleep? Absolutely not. The material of his bottoms shifted with him as he searched for an agreeable position to no avail.
An exhausted sigh filled the dark room as he sat up. Teal eyes observed Drifter as he slept like a baby, smiling to himself from under the duvet. The ginger replied to the smile with a frown. If The Doorman couldn't sleep, he wouldn't be fit for the work day ahead of him, which now included babysitting a feral brute while he recovered from being attacked.
He tried again to fall asleep, even if it meant sleeping while sat up, but nothing worked.
"Oh, to hell with it." The Doorman muttered as he threw the blanket off of him. Drifter was fast asleep, and it was the god's bed after all. If he wants to sleep in it, he will.
Quiet footsteps ended at the left side of his bed and were replaced by freckled fingers pinching the edge of the duvet. They pulled it up slowly as the cosmic being slotted himself underneath it. He settled into his mattress and pulled the cover over him with a sound of relief. After making sure Drifter didn't notice the intrusion, he turned his back to the vampire and finally fell asleep.
—
The two had been asleep for a while, only the quiet sound of the occasional creak of the bed from gentle shifting. Though, the still air soon became aggravated as the vampire's face turned into a scowl as he slept. Something was clearly bothering him in his dreams.
With a huff, the vampire turned over, reaching an arm outwards as he did. Unfortunately for The Doorman, he was caught under a crimson hand and was soon dragged in by the beast next to him as if he were holding onto a pillow.
The ginger stirred with a mumble, his sleep disrupted by Drifter's huff. The smell of the vampire's breath caused him to grimace as it wafted over his ear and reached his nose.
"Mm, stop that," He grumbled, voice hoarse due his slumber.
The Doorman turned on his back while he rubbed an eye before lazily glaring at the man next to him. He really should've forced him to brush his teeth, the god thought to himself. With a sigh, he began turning his back to Drifter again—
Freckled cheeks flushed red as a redder claw pulled him in, the sensation jolting him wide awake. He froze when Drifter snuggled against him, bringing him impossibly closer. Teal eyes faced the vampire the best they could while in this position.
"Drifter! Drifter! Let me go, you dog!" Doorman whispered angrily as he tried to wiggle his way out of the cuddle. But even when dreaming, the vampire was inhumanly strong.
Upon assessing Drifter's restful expression, the god gave up on freeing himself. In all the time the two had known each other - literal centuries of constantly crossing paths - the rugged mortal had never looked so peaceful. And after such a hard night, even the cosmic being knew he deserved that. He would never admit it in a million years, though, instead chalking it up to not being used to having another person in his bed. He would enjoy the sensation of a back resting against his no matter who it belonged to, The Doorman convinced himself.
With a roll of his eyes, he settled into the cuddle and started to fall asleep again.
As the god fell asleep against the vampire’s cold chest, the quiet rumbling made itself known once more. It was much more audible than before—mainly because the god found himself pressed up against its source—but it did seem louder regardless as Drifter settled into a deeper sleep.