Ilya Dragomir has always been a creature of restraint. He bides his time. He watches his tone and he makes sure not to leave too much of a mess. He’s always been careful with his emotions. Emotions that had once dragged him down. Emotions he’d once turned off. Emotions that Luka had awoken in him. With every moment spent in the boy’s presence - although it had been so hard at first - he’d become less like the beast. Less like the ancient vampire. More like the human he’d long since given up.
Humanity he can now feel trickling away with every last moment he’s got left on earth. His hand curls over his chest, a deep groan spilling from parted lips as his gaze returns to the now moving Luka. The stupid brat is so stubborn, he knows that no matter what he says, Luka isn’t going to leave him like this. Not when he’s dying. Not when he’s already told the kid he loves him.
He loves him with everything he is, and everything that he’s slowly losing.
The first scent of blood is like a switch engulfing him in warm light. He can feel it beneath his skin - what skin he has left. The beast stretches like a large cat, bearing fangs and growling low. The sound rumbles up from the cavity of his chest, falling from his lips as he watches the blood well from the slit. He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to hurt Luka, but the moment the first drop falls against his mouth, he knows he’s lost.
The growl deepens, and Ilya’s restraint slips away, as does his sanity. His remaining hand clutches tight at Luka’s wrist, and he wrenches him closer so his teeth can sink into already sensitive flesh. At first he drinks slowly, well aware there isn’t much for the blood to do but sit in what’s left of his stomach. But the longer he indulges, the more his body starts to respond. Soon enough his organs are rebuilding, bones are returning to place and skin, muscle and tissue start to reform.
Within moments the petrification has disappeared, his chest has refilled and there’s no longer a gaping hole where his organs had once resided. His eye slowly heals, and as his strength returns, the harder it is to restrain himself. Until something snaps and then Luka is beneath him. Red colors his newly healed eyes, blood drips from his lips, and slowly the bones of his missing hand regrow as he sinks his fangs into Luka’s throat. He drinks deep from him, every moment returning strength to his body.
Deep down he knows he should stop. Because he’s as healed as he’s going to get. And if he keeps going, he’s going to kill the one thing he has left in this world. Only he doesn’t. He’s been chained in a cell, starved to death for weeks. And Luka is warm, sweet, pliant. But then he realizes, and as the pain bursts through him, he rips himself away from the younger and stumbles to the opposite side of the room, limbs weak and body aching with renewed nerves.
"L-Luka… that was fucking foolish. What the hell were you thinking? Wh-What if I couldn’t stop myself?"
He knows, he knows so well what he’s about to get himself into. Knows it better than he is willing to admit. It’s risky, it’s as dangerous as anything could ever become but Luka heads into it with his head held high; thoughts scattered like always. With a mind as weak as it once had been strong. So many things have caused the shelter built around him to crack, Luka is gone and left with the aching soul of someone he doesn’t want the world to know, someone he doesn’t want Ilya to know and he tries his best to cover up for it, to be the stubborn brat he always is, the fearless stupidly reckless image of Luka. But who Ilya really is facing is none other than Sanha. Lee Sanha. The bruised and broken boy who doesn’t know what he’s supposed to live for if he doesn’t have the warmth and comfort of the undead beside himself.
But even so, terror aches in the marrow of his bones and he has to keep himself from shuddering as the first droplet of claret lands upon sealed lips. He knows before teeth dig into his flesh, that he’s about to risk his life for someone he used to hate, someone he now loves with all the scattered pieces of his heart and soul. And he does so unhesitatingly. Because to Sanha, there’s nothing that can provide him more peace than knowing that Ilya will be alright. That his pain will be eased and that he can continue living. Even in the afterlife, Sanha will be happy like this.
Beyond thick and prickly armor, lies the sincerity of a boy who used to be
driven by emotion.
Teeth pierce his skin and he tries his best not to gasp, not to yelp. It’s difficult and he can’t stop his teeth from digging into his lower lip, enough to actually pierce fragile skin, The taste of his own blood makes him grimace, eyes closing as he waits. Because he doesn’t know how long it will take. But he’ll give the vampire as much time as he needs, as much of himself as he needs. Just to make sure he really is fine, that he really gets better. Nothing, shines as brightly as the light on the other side of the tunnel, right?
Sanha thinks things are going fine, surprised that it’s going so slow. Even though the way his wrist is clutched at hurts more than a little bit. But that thought is broken, shattered into a million pieces together with the last fragments of his hope. He hasn’t kept track of time, but it happens so suddenly that he doesn’t even have time to react. His back collides with harsh flooring, his head following a moment later and this time he can’t help the way he hisses, the way his eyes snap open and he finds himself staring into Ilya’s red hues. The fright settled in his bones begin to surface and he swallows harshly, blinks up at the vampire that he barely recognizes. But his mind is wry, Sanha’s mind has been corrupt since many years back, and the way he smiles so lovingly makes it all so much more apparent.
He knows he’s going to die.
But he doesn’t mind. Why would he? For the past five years, he hasn’t wanted anything else besides death, and if someone was to make that wish of his come true, he’s glad it’s Ilya. He’s glad they’re like this, because at least he’s dying for a good cause instead of having a bullet put between his eyes.
At least, freedom will finally be reachable…
Chill starts to spread through his system, as his veins are slowly drained of what keeps him warm and it gets harder to focus, gets harder to notice the pain radiating from so many places that he thinks it makes it harder to breathe. His fingertips are numb, eyes half-open as he glances up at the elder without a trace of melancholy in his hues. Because there is none, only the bliss of giving someone life. If giving his loved one his life back in exchange for his own.
It takes him several moments to even realize that Ilya has pulled away, that the weight of another body is missing and that he’s alone, gasping for air. And even though the male’s words register in his mind, he can’t bear to answer. He’s gasping, struggling to keep his heart beating as his lungs crave oxygen he can’t get. Agony. It washes away whatever trace there is of peaceful wishes to decease. But there’s nothing he can do, is there? He coughs, chokes on his own breaths as he tries to locate the elder in the room, without much luck. He can’t even get his head to move properly, the aching throb of a wound that still remains open makes it too difficult and he’s so tired. So very tired. and so very cold. ” I was… “ He stutters a bit, voice weak and low and raspy and in no way close to the way it usually sounds. ” I was thinking that I need you to live.“ He breathes slowly, heart rate slowing with each passing second.
He’s still smiling, in that broken little way he never shows, and his eyes brim with tears, tears he’s furiously trying to blink away. ” I was thinking… that I’d happily die in your place.“ He chokes on another breath and it almost makes his back arch, causing him to roll over to his side, arms wound tightly around his own midsection. As if he’s trying to keep himself warm.
I was thinking that I needed to give you your life back in exchange for my own, if it’d come to that. Because you’re worth so much more than I am, Ilya. You always will be.
" I’m sorry. "
I love you.
His fingers relax after that, hands loosening their grip as his muscles stops trembling and hues finally come to a proper close. His breathing continues, slow and brief as his left arm collides with the floor.
I love you so much.