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Dying fucking hurts.
Teddy knows this already. He's seen plenty of people die. More than half of that has been within the last few days. But it's a little different when you're on the receiving end of it, after vomiting and shitting out every vital and spare organ that just got obliterated with one hit. He's so fucking cold, but his body can't even shake from it, because he's, y'know. Fucking dying.
It's noisier than he thought it would be, too.
"–stupidest fucking idea ever," a voice says, gravely and pissy, definitely that fucking cop, "and we've had some stupid-ass ideas in the past few hours. Really, this takes the dumb-fuck cake."
Teddy manages to open his eyes, and sees fucking Renfield leaning over him with a pinched expression, the cop glaring down with her arms crossed at whatever Drac's favorite is doing.
Teddy should have been the fucking favorite.
"He's got some issues, I agree," Renfield says.
"Issues? The guy tried to kill us at least three times now. I think it's a little more deep-seated than issues." The cop is pacing now. Part of Teddy still wants to rip her throat out. "We seriously have to do this?"
Renfield sighs. His eyes are strikingly blue as he stares down at Teddy. "I would like to. I believe he just needs the right… push."
"You're getting that based off of the two fucking times you met?"
"It's complicated."
"It's fuckin' dumb." The cop huffs. "Fine. Fucking go ahead. But you gotta feed and water him, and you gotta put him down if he pisses on the carpet. You feel me?"
"Yes, Rebecca," Renfield says with a soft laugh, and then Teddy feels the faintest trickle of something in his mouth. His body automatically gulps it down, even if his intestines are fucking liquid.
Everything goes dark as the cop, Rebecca, grits out, "Ugh, that's gross."
Teddy's eyes shoot open as his mind fucking kick-starts back up, like he just did a foot-fucking-long line of blow and everything's clear.
He has no idea where he is. The first thing he notices is that the place is offensively bright. Green, orange, and yellow walls that seem freshly painted; fucking Pottery Barn and Drew Barrymore furniture; a billion motivational posters right in your fucking face; a bunch of packages by the door stacked so high you'd think the fucking shopaholic from Clueless lived here. A charming dining room table with goddamn pastel cupcakes stacked high. Whoever lives here must be a fucking psychopath.
The second thing he notices is he can't fucking move. Teddy's arms are tied in front of him, feet bound with rope. And he's on a fucking sofa. Not strapped to a radiator, or full-body duct taped like that one time he pissed off the wrong guy before Brice had to come rescue his ass. Just tied up, chilling on a sofa that looks like it belongs to a suburban fucking grandma.
Finally, he notices with shock that he's alive, somehow. He distinctly remembers fucking exploding from the inside and dying, so. What the fuck?
"Ah, you're up."
Teddy yelps when who else but fucking Renfield, his arch nemesis, emerges from what must be a bedroom, wearing a goddamn canary yellow sweater and an aggravatingly warm expression. He ignores Teddy's baffled stuttering as he rounds to the kitchen, setting a few cupcakes on a plate before sitting on the armchair right next to Teddy. Renfield sets the cupcakes down on the table awkwardly, slides the plate over a little closer.
Teddy shoves himself up into a seated position, smoothing his hair back as best as he can, practically (definitely) vibrating with anger and leftover Dracula powers. "Are you offering me fucking cupcakes right now? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Renfield pauses. "It worked okay last time. Should I have gone with cookies?"
"I– what the fuck!" Teddy yells, hauling himself up and immediately tripping, caught by Renfield just before his head collided with the corner of the table. The guy just sets him back comfortably on the sofa, like an asshole. "Where the fuck am I?!"
"My new apartment. The last one got a bit shot up. But this isn't so bad!" Renfield glances around at the horrible fucking decor with sickening fondness. There aren't any gold wolves, or decorative vases filled with guns and drugs anywhere. It's atrocious. "I couldn't really leave you at your place, on account of it's a crime scene and everything."
"How the fuck am I alive?" Teddy touches over his mouth, his ribs, manages to even get a hand under his ass to see if it's still inside-out. "You fucking liquefied my insides. Is it the Dracula powers? Did they make me fucking invincible?"
Renfield tenses, and sighs. "No. Well, kind of. But I did nearly kill you, the same way you nearly killed Rebecca's sister."
Teddy winces. He knows his mom and sister didn't go light on the torture. They never did. It was a sign of weakness. "Did… did she–"
"She's fine," Renfield says. "Dracula's blood can heal fatal injuries. I was able to bring you two back, and the people from my support group. Which–"
The man goes digging through magazines on the coffee table until he pulls out a brochure. It's for a fucking self-help group about codependent and toxic relationships.
Teddy quickly shakes his head. "Oh, what the fuck is even this. No. Go get me a fucking bug, dude, we're fighting; I'm not doing this fucking kumbaya bullshit."
Renfield sighs.
The cupcakes are fucking good. Especially after getting effectively pummeled back into the sofa, but at least Teddy's hands are free. Bugs or not, he can't get past Renfield without some kind of boost. His insides still feel like a hamburger slushie and the dickbag has a shitload of years of fighting on Teddy, apparently. "90 years, really? Just hopping from fucking castle to castle, snacking on randos?"
"Unfortunately," Renfield says. His hands are clasped together like this sad-ass conversation actually means something, like those soft eyes actually care or some shit. "And I see a lot of that toxic behavior in you."
"You don't know shit about me."
"You were a pawn for your mother," Renfield says, "and she was the only thing you were ever truly afraid of. Even when you were dying."
Teddy scoffs. "Yeah, she's fucking terrifying, no shit." He slams the cupcake down on the table frosting-first, revels in the wince from the other familiar. "And I had an in. A good in, that would keep her from cutting my fucking balls off for some tiny thing–"
"See, this is what I mean," Renfield interrupts, a little too excitedly. "There are deep-seated issues here that you can work on, really–"
"Shut up," Teddy barks out, lobbing the cupcake right at Renfield's head. The bastard catches it and starts eating away, and that just makes Teddy feel even more frustrated. "I was finally– everyone finally saw. What I'm really fucking capable of. I'm Teddy fuckin' Lobo."
"Indeed," Renfield says. "But Dracula was never going to help you. Not in the long run."
"Shut up!" Teddy yells again, trying to haul himself up again. He needs a fucking bug, or a line, or something. "Shut the fuck up. What Drac and I have–"
"Drac, really?"
Teddy charges at him again with a roar.
The fight is short. It ends with Teddy pressed against the floor, his wrists in Renfield's grip as the older familiar looks down with boredom, a bit of pity. "Are you done?"
"Fuck you, you're fucking ruining this," Teddy says for the hundredth time that day, his voice shaky and eyes wet. "You don't know shit about me. Stop trying to fucking fix me–"
Renfield leans a little closer. "There's nothing wrong with getting help. And you're right. I don't know you very well. But I find you very interesting, so if you could stop attacking me every twenty minutes, we could fix that."
Teddy chokes on a sob. "Fuck you, dude."
An hour later Teddy is flipping through a book about defending yourself against narcissists. There's a glass of Drac blood on the coffee table with the cupcakes to heal his broken ribs and busted lip. Renfield is in the kitchen, cooking carbonara and humming softly. "This sounds like little bitch shit, Robby."
"I told you not to call me that." Renfield shoots him a teasing look. "Robert or Renfield is just fine."
Teddy sighs and shuts the book. His hands are shaking too bad to turn the pages now. "So am I, like. Your fucking prisoner or something? Can I go? I have shit to do."
"Your entire gang is either dead or arrested," Renfield says. "Technically, you're also dead, as far as everyone's concerned."
Teddy balks. "Seriously?"
Renfield nods, portioning out pasta onto two plates. "Your entire blood supply and internal organs were all over the floor. Most people don't come back from that. Luckily no one's questioned where your body ended up."
"Fuck." Teddy sighs as the food is pushed in front of him. Renfield sits on the sofa with him, with a fair amount of space in between them. "I, uh. Don't really eat much."
"I figured," Renfield says, readily tearing into his food. It does smell fucking incredible, like the shit Teddy's mom used to cook before their empire was even an idea. "Cocaine tends to do that."
Teddy raises an eyebrow. "What, you do a bunch of blow with Drac in the '80s? I'd fucking kill to see that."
Renfield actually laughs, his blue eyes crinkling, and fuck if that doesn't melt Teddy's heart a little. It's been a while since he's seen anyone laugh for reasons that don't have to do with fear and mayhem. "No. In the 20th century half of our prescribed medication was cocaine-based. I had a toothache once and the syrup they gave me kept me up for days. Cleaned Dracula's entire castle, and trust me, he did not fucking skimp out back then."
"That sounds fucking awesome."
"It really wasn't." Renfield gives him a Look, the kind that feels like he's being psychoanalyzed and makes his gums itch. "You want some, I'm assuming?"
"Fucking need some," Teddy huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. The product in it is gone and it's starting to curl. He fucking hates it. "Need some fucking hair gel, too. And my clothes, man."
"Well, I grabbed some of the product after we used it to trap Dracula." When he notices Teddy's baffled expression, he notes, "Oh, yes, he isn't coming back, by the way. Well, not anytime soon at least."
"The fuck does that mean?"
Renfield slurps down a noodle. "We took all his blood, beat the undead shit out of him, chopped him up, and turned him into concrete." He gestures vaguely at the pasta. "There's ground mealworm in the sauce, by the way."
Teddy throws up.
"So where's my mom?"
Renfield looks over from his screen. He's playing fucking Animal Crossing on the switch. "Rebecca arrested her. I, um. Don't think you'll be able to visit, unfortunately. Seeing as how you're technically dead, and all."
Teddy scoffs. He feels warm and full. The carbonara actually settled well in his stomach. "Yeah, like she'd wanna fucking see me right now, anyway. I'm a fucking embarrassment. Dracula was supposed to change all that."
Renfield hums. "You can't think that way. You've got to have faith in yourself. Do you think I should let this little spiderweb dog live in my village or is that too on the nose?"
"I don't fucking know, dude; I play GTA and Fortnite. Speaking of on the nose, where's my secret stash?"
Renfield sighs, sets his game aside, and rises to go grab what Teddy hopes is a fat sack of coke. Before he disappears into the bedroom area, Renfield says, "For what it's worth, I think your hair looks nice like that." He glances from Teddy's eyes to his hair, which is at full fucking floof right now. "It looks soft. There's nothing wrong with soft. But make a list of what you need and I'll get it for you."
When Renfield's gone, Teddy lets out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding. He drags a hand through his hair again.
It is pretty soft.
Two fat lines later Teddy is flipping through a milk crate full of records Renfield hasn't unpacked yet. "Dude, you've got fucking shit from the 50s mixed with– is this fucking Taylor Swift? The fuck is wrong with you."
"Lots of things," Renfield says as he moved books onto a wicker bookcase that looks like it would belong to Teddy's fucking grandma. "Don't think my taste in music is very high on the list, though."
"Yeah, no, you're a fucking psychopath." He huffs a sigh out, throws himself into the armchair. "God, I'd say you need a woman's touch, but your whole fucking apartment looks like it's been decorated by Martha Stewart."
Renfield hums, and there's a playful look in his eye that makes Teddy swipe his tongue over his teeth, tasting the bitterness that comes with the coke drip. "Not all of it." He pushes the box of books aside and waves a hand for Teddy to follow. "I think you'll like this room."
He pushes open the door to the other room Teddy hasn't asked about yet and clicks the light on. There's a bed and a dresser, the normal shit, but there's also a bunch of shit from his own penthouse. The one his mom paid for, that he filled with vintage Playboy centerfolds, signed sports memorabilia, a shitload of random crap that Teddy only bought because it was a flat surface. The mini-safe he kept in the closet that weighs hundreds of pounds is set up like a bedside table. His tiger-print duvet is even folded on top of the bed.
"What the fuck?" Teddy says eloquently.
"Couldn't have you sleeping on my sofa all the time. And your place isn't exactly yours anymore. I tried to grab what I could."
Renfield is avoiding Teddy's gaze with a nervous look. He knows that look. The one where you think you're never doing enough, that the best you could do is going to get your ass handed to you.
"I– fuck." Teddy lets out a shuddering breath. "Thanks, Renfield. This is real fuckin' gay of you."
The happiness that takes over the familiar's face is blinding, and Teddy convinces himself that his own racing heartbeat is just from the drugs.
A day later the cop comes by, with an armful of coffee and danishes. One coffee is plain, black, and the other is stacked high with cream and whip. Teddy's mouth waters at the sight of it.
Rebecca, however, freezes at the sight of Teddy lounging on the sofa. "Yo, why the fuck is he untied?"
Renfield winces, setting his book aside so he can get between the cop and the criminal. "He's been doing very well–"
"I don't give a shit if you've been braiding each other's hair! I didn't think you'd actually– you can't fucking adopt the dipshit cokehead I've been trying to arrest since I became a cop, Renfield! I thought he'd just die from fucking centipede withdrawals after the first night!"
Teddy scoffs. "Fuck you! That was fucking cool, and everyone here knows it!"
"Fuck you, you weird-ass bitch!"
Renfield sighs. "He was in an abusive relationship, and just needs–"
"He's a bitch! My fucking grandma has a higher body count than him!"
Teddy drags his tongue over his teeth. He's been hearing a fly buzzing around all day; one little hit from it would give him the edge to rip her throat out with his teeth. "My body count is fucking massive, just like my–"
"Okay." Renfield carefully takes the sugary coffee away from Rebecca, not backing down from her seething glare. "Really, he's fine. Even when he's on bugs it's not like he's a real threat."
"Hey!"
Renfield shrugs. "Sorry."
After a moment of angrily glancing between the two familiars, Rebecca sighs and points a finger at Teddy. Even with how short she is, it makes Teddy gulp, think of his mom when she would get in his face. "You're lucky you're legally dead so I can't kill your ass all over again. God, stop looking at me with your wet fucking eyes, you look like a fucking greasy street cat."
Teddy's brain does a thing. "Hey, does that mean all my priors are gone? No more fucking parking tickets, bitch! Booyah. Suck my dick."
Rebecca sighs. "Unbelievable."
"By the way, next time you come by with Starbies, I'll take a trenta vanilla latte with extra syrup and four shots of espresso, extra whip–"
"Oh wow, really?" Rebecca scoffs. "The fucking coke fiend wants the most heart-stopping coffee known to man? Fuck you. I'm not getting you fucking coffee, bitch."
"Why'd you bring me back?"
Renfield glances away from the television. They've been watching whatever fucking '80s movie Renfield picked out tonight with relative silence. "Hm?"
Teddy nibbles on his thumbnail. He's been thinking of growing them out long, filing them sharp like Dracula's. "Why didn't you let me stay dead? Probably would have been the smarter fucking option."
Renfield takes a breath, like he's considering his words. Teddy doesn't think he's considered his own words once in his fucking life. He's never really had a brain-to-mouth filter. "Like I said, I find you interesting."
Teddy scoffs. "Is that your way of saying, what? You think I'm fucking pathetic? You just pity me?"
Renfield shrugs. "Of course I do," he says honestly, like a bitch. "You remind me of me, back when I first met Dracula. I thought he'd solve all my problems. I thought nothing would ever change. And in the end, nothing did change, except for my own perspective and… desire to be fucking happy." Renfield meets Teddy's gaze, and Teddy just knows he's got that stupid fucking sad dog look his mom always used to tear into him for. "You weren't wrong, when you said you're the yin to my yang. But even if those pieces are total opposites, they fit together rather well, don't you think?"
Teddy takes a deep breath in, a shaky one out, and turns back to the screen. "Yeah, whatever, I fucking guess so. So what, that means I'm just your little pet project like Quincy said?"
Renfield shrugs, and faces forward as well. "I'd prefer it more if you were just my friend."
Teddy absolutely does not cry, and because Renfield is a good fucking friend, he doesn't make fun of it.
It's a few days after that when Rebecca comes through again, looking like she got hit by a fucking bus, minus the blood and gore. It's nearly midnight. She immediately sees Teddy lounging on the couch and drags out a groan. "Oh, goody, you're still here. Where's Renfield?"
"His assholes anonymous meeting is running late." Teddy flips the page to that narcissist book Renfield's been shoving down his throat. It's surprisingly enlightening. Maybe his mom was a manipulative fucking psychopath.
Like she can read his mind, she says, "Shouldn't your broken ass be going to that shit, too? You still thirsting for Dracula's bullshit approval? How are those deep-seated mommy issues doing?"
"Fuck you, shut the fuck up," Teddy gripes. He's too tired to really fight her right now.
Apparently she feels the same, because she ungracefully falls into the empty spot on the sofa next to him. "The fuck are you doing?"
"Waiting for Renfield, bitch. He was my emotional support vampire thrall first."
Teddy wiggles deeper into his seat, not wanting to paint himself as even more of a little bitch.
"Your hair looks better, at least."
He glances over to Rebecca. She looks like she's a minute away from passing out. Teddy is very fucking confused. "Thanks, I guess. You look like shit."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you, too." Teddy fumbles his fingers through the pages. "Did you help Renfield grab all my shit?"
"Fuck no." She fixes him with a steely gaze. "I'm not your fucking friend. You can be his pet project all you want, but you killed my fucking dad, tortured my fucking sister, and tried to kill me several times."
"I didn't–" Teddy quickly shuts his mouth, so forcefully his teeth clack together. "I was… I was fucking lying, okay? I was there at first, with your dad, but then he started crying and begging, and I-I couldn't fucking handle it. So I hid in the fucking car until my guys came back out."
"Called that shit," Rebecca sighs, but she relaxes a bit more. "And my sister?"
Teddy sighs, says fuck it, and tells her the truth. "Wasn't there for that either. I was practicing seeing you guys again. The whole… familiar thing, and the centipede. Went through four other fucking bugs before figuring out that looked the coolest."
After a moment, Rebecca bursts out laughing. "God, I knew it. You're so lame."
Teddy scoffs. "Whatever." He trails a finger over the title of the chapter he's just reached. Ironically it's called Emotional Vampires. Like this fucking situation couldn't kick him any harder in the teeth. "You arrested my mom, right?"
She's got a far-away grin. "Sure did. Felt great, too."
"Did, uh. Did she ask about me? When I died?" The words feel like chalk in his mouth, and even he sees her pinched expression.
"You're too much of a douchebag to make that sad babygirl face. Stop it." She sighs. "No, Lobo. She didn't. I told her you died, but she was more interested in being a bitch to me to ask anymore questions."
Teddy shuts the book. He knows he's crying now. Doesn't really fucking care, though.
After a moment Rebecca says, "You're still a dick, but I'm sorry, man. Renfield would be better to talk to about this shit than me."
"Yeah," Teddy says wetly. "Probably."
Teddy doesn't do well with change. He liked being in the limbo of his mother's good graces. He liked having scary shitheads do the violent shit for him so he wouldn't have to. He thought he liked his life, the stasis of it, constantly living on adrenaline and fear.
He used to get these bad days, when he had to take a break from numbing himself with coke and booze, and the anxiety and fear was too much to ignore. The rage always ended with a trashed room, one of his mom's boys holding him down until he stopped thrashing, the Lobo matriarch sitting him down with some fucking terrifying torture devices strewn around so when she tells him to get his shit together, he knows she means it.
"I'm not above making you an example, Teddy," she said to him once, while he was still coming down and shaking. "Do not drag our fucking name through the mud with you."
It all comes to a head when he's scrolling through Twitter on his new phone, all of his accounts now deleted and made new, and sees an article about his mom's trial. She's being put away for life, along with his sister. Included is his own fucking obituary. There isn't a single nice comment about him.
He snaps. Goes through half an eighty bag in thirty seconds, lines on his safe as long as his fucking dick. Grabs that fat fucking spider that's been hovering around the sink, bites down and feels it gush between his teeth, feels the rush in his veins.
Renfield is watching from the armchair with… fucking pity and concern. It makes Teddy fucking rage. "Teddy…"
Teddy runs his hands through his slicked-back hair, drags an arm over his numb nose. "Fucking fight me."
Renfield sighs. "If this is about the article–"
Fuck this. Teddy tosses one of the dining chairs up, kicks it across the room right at the other familiar. Renfield is on his feet immediately, always fucking faster than him, already taking a defensive stance. "Teddy. Is this really what you want? Will this really help you?"
And he still has the nerve to look like he cares. "Yes. It fucking will. Fight me, dude. Fucking come on!"
Renfield sighs. "Alright." He opens his tacky little fucking coffin container, snags a beetle, chews it up and swallows it. His eyes flash gold. Teddy wants to gaze into them and rip them out all at once. "Let's go, then."
He launches himself at Teddy, starts pummeling in as the former gangster cackles, reveling in the taste of blood bursting in his mouth, swings and kicks just as hard, tackles him onto the other side of the room, has him fucking pinned by the neck in one hand–
Renfield bites him, and an unabashed moan makes its way out of Teddy's bloody mouth, feeling his teeth in his fucking soul.
They fight until it's dark out, when they're both lying on the ground panting in the absolutely trashed living room, arms sprawled out and fingers barely touching.
"Do you feel better?"
Teddy grins. "Fuck yeah."
Renfield smiles back, lets his hand twitch closer. "Good."
Teddy starts going out more after that. He keeps to himself, not wanting to piss off Renfield or Rebecca, mostly shopping to replace the shit they broke in the apartment. Today he found a vintage Rush record and a tacky lava lamp, and impulsively bought three Kenough hoodies he spotted in a boutique downtown. He isn't sure if Renfield or Rebecca will even get it, but it's hilarious anyway.
When he gets back to the apartment, Renfield is pulling more fucking cookies out of the oven– oatmeal this time, they smell fucking incredible– and Rebecca is cleaning her gun at their new dining table.
Teddy sets his bags down and rounds the kitchen corner. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, what are you wearing?" Teddy plucks at Renfield's alarmingly bright sweater like it personally offends him. "You look like a fucking Care Bear."
"Shut the fuck up, Lobo," Rebecca says, snagging a cookie and sliding over the sugary monstrosity of a coffee she brought for Teddy this time. He greedily takes a big gulp. "Like your shithead mommy didn't dress you for thirty years? Your shirt looks like it belongs to someone's tacky grandpa from Florida; shut up."
"You're just jealous that me and Renny are best friends now."
"Please stop calling me that."
Teddy sighs, leaning against the table just to see that bit of rage in Rebecca's eyes a little closer. "See, we've got that special bond you can only get–"
"What, by calling the same pale-ass people-eater 'Master'? Yeah, I'm fucking devastated." Her phone goes off and she slides her gloves off to open it. "Goddammit, it's my day off. Why the hell do I have to come down to the station today?"
"I mean," Renfield says, "we did annihilate every corrupt cop in the entire precinct. Which was, unfortunately, most of them."
"What, so now I have to bust my ass even harder?" She slides the gun back together with such ease it makes Teddy's gut furl with jealousy.
Regardless of that, Teddy grins at her. "We'll save you some cookies, Quincy; no worries."
"Fuck you."
"Yo, there's something for you in the blue bag. Grab it on your way out."
Teddy bites into a cookie as he takes her spot at the table. A moment later he hears, "Oh hell yeah, bitch, we are fucking Kenough," and cackles.
"Have you ever been to a nightclub?" Teddy asks later that afternoon as they're eating Caprese sandwiches on Renfield's patio. There's a nice breeze in the air, annoying fucking birds chirping away and hovering every now and then near Renfield's homemade bird feeder he made in a fucking class.
Renfield swallows his bite of food. He's wearing the hoodie Teddy got him. Teddy might be wearing the matching one. "Several times. Sometimes Dracula would send me–"
"Fucking no, not what I meant," Teddy snorts. "I meant for fun, Renny."
"Still hate that name, for the record."
"I mean have you ever gone to a club, taken too many shots, felt the bass thump through your fucking balls while you grind on some–"
"No," Renfield laughs. "I have not."
After a moment, Teddy asks, "Got any plans tonight?"
"Must I really, Teddy?"
"Yes," the former gangster insists as he pats more glitter onto Renfield's annoyingly nice cheekbones.
"You keep saying it'll be hilarious, but I really don't understand the joke."
"Trust me," Teddy says. "It's funny. A glitter-covered vampire familiar? This is peak fucking comedy. Rebecca, tell him."
"It's funny," she confirms. "We'll watch the movies this weekend." She's wearing a surprisingly cute minidress, her hair pulled back tight and her eyeliner sharp. "Can you guys hurry the fuck up? I've got work in the morning."
"Alright, alright." He smooths his glitter-covered thumbs over Renfield's collarbones, peeking out from a bright, colorful button down that Rebecca got him, the first three buttons undone by Teddy to show off his surprisingly nice chest. "There. You're Gucci. Let's go fuck shit up."
Renfield groans, "But fucking shit up is so tiresome."
It's hilarious watching Renfield go from awkwardly charming and violently bloodthirsty to… whatever this is. He's dancing in the mass of bodies, music thumping with him, eyes glazed and stuck on the twisting, colorful lights above. The last two buttons of his shirt have come undone and the glitter smeared on him shines like he's in a fucking episode of Euphoria.
It's making Teddy's mouth a little dry. He gulps down his shot of Fireball.
Rebecca's watching him with similar interest, but she's got an eyebrow raised in a way that makes Teddy nervous. "Yo, did you give him fucking coke?"
He relaxes, but just a little. "Fucking no." He takes his other shot. "I gave him molly."
"You what!" Rebecca screeches.
"Hey, relax!" Teddy quickly pushes a drink into her hands, some kind of fruity beer that she'll probably like. "I got some really good shit. And it wasn't a lot; just enough to, y'know. Loosen him up a little. He does not know how to have fucking fun."
She glanced back to Renfield, and sighs. "Fine. You're not exactly wrong. Guy fucking bakes for fun."
Teddy scoffs. "Right?" Then after a moment, "His lemon bars are fucking fire, though."
"Yeah, true. But c'mon, crossword puzzles? And he doesn't know half the answers because he's missed nearly a century of dumb pop culture shit." She takes a sip of her beer. "Oh damn, that's good."
"Exposing him to everything he missed is fun, though. He liked the Great British Bake Off. And he's really getting into Lily Allen; you can't tell me that isn't fucking adorable." From across the dance floor Renfield spots them, breaks into a grin and waves like a fucking dork. "Fuck, he's such a disaster."
Rebecca watches too for a moment, then it's like something clicks. He can see it in her fucking eyes. "Oh shit, you like him."
"Ha! No." Teddy nearly drops his empty shot glass, slams it on the bar and flags the waitress down for another one. "No way in hell. He's my mortal enemy-slash-roommate-slash-best friend, I don't fucking like him."
She squints at him. "Please don't add 'homophobic' to the reasons why I don't like you. Gangster dirtbag is hard to beat."
"Fucking– no." Where's that goddamn shot? He's fucking rambling. This bitch (and the sack tucked into his wallet) has him monologuing. "That was, like, the one thing my mom didn't give a shit about. Meant I wouldn't be knocking any chicks up, making us look bad. Straight people are a fucking myth."
She shrugs. "So what's the problem?"
"The problem," Teddy says, but it's more like overwhelmed yelling, "is that he dresses like a fucking Care Bear, and bakes cupcakes, and listens to fucking Taylor Swift. And he's fucking nice. And I'm… not."
"Yeah," Rebecca says. "You're really not. But I've also seen him impale someone with another guy's arm, so it's not like he's a fucking angel. If he makes you less of a dickbag, I say go for it."
Teddy looks down at her, and she's looking back just as hard. "For real?"
She shrugs. "You're kinda good for him too. Just– don't give him drugs again, for fuck's sake."
Teddy laughs, meets Renfield's gaze again, gasps a little at the grin sent his way, and there's that fucking pitter patter in his chest again. "Yeah, alright."
"Jesus." She chugs her beer, slams the glass on the bar. "Just go for it, Lobo. But I am not watching this shit. If you need me I'll be hitting on the hot bartender."
With that she's gone. Teddy gulps down his last shot and weaves through the crowd; even with his unique look, Renfield has managed to pull people in, men and women and everyone in between sneaking touches and trying to pull him away. Like they're better than Teddy fucking Lobo. Like Teddy didn't call dibs on Renfield the moment the guy threw a fucking head at his car and scared the everloving shit out of him.
Fuck that. That endearingly awkward psychopath is his.
He loses track. They start on the dance floor, Teddy's hand tucked into Renfield's shirt to grip at his sides, Renfield's hands in his hair and ruining the slicked look, his pupils wide and grin wider, Teddy dragging his tongue over his own teeth in a smile as hands keep wandering to the beat of the pumping music–
Now they're outside, Teddy pressed against the filthy brick wall, Renfield keeping him pinned with his own body and tongue, dragging it along the tattooed slope of Teddy's neck as the music keeps pounding inside. Teddy's been growing out and filing his nails, he drags them down Renfield's glittery chest, wanting him fucking closer, wanting to feel him in his fucking bones.
Then there's the cock of a fucking gun.
Teddy lifts his head, finally focusing in on four men that have them cornered in the dark alley, two of them strapped with guns and the other two welding shitty little knives. "Everything in your wallets, queers," the guy in front says, the gun fixed to the back of Renfield's head.
There's a swarm of moths flying around the light above them. Even through his daze, Renfield notices it too, and matches Teddy's smile.
Teddy can't help quip, "You fucknuts really wanna do this?"
"Does it look like I'm fucking playing?"
Renfield groans, finally pulls himself away from Teddy, moves faster than fuck as he snatches a handful of moths. "Let's get it over with."
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Rebecca kicks the dead mugger again, and Teddy can't even feel guilty, because Renfield's fingers are tangled with his and his mouth still tastes like moth dust and cinnamon and blood. "They fucking started it."
"It's my day off. You absolute shitheads." She sighs and pulls out her phone. "Alright, you guys head home so I can handle this– Lobo, get your fucking tongue out of his ear and back in your own mouth, I swear to God."
"Yes, officer," Teddy says, knowing he's smiling like a fucking dumbass.
"Apologies, Rebecca," Renfield adds, looking much more guilty about the whole situation. "I swear, we didn't mean to–"
"What, rip their legs off and beat them to death with 'em? Uh huh. I've heard that before. Go the fuck home; I'll call you later, and I swear to fucking God, you better put your dicks away long enough to pick up."
"I am not promising that!" Teddy yells as he drags them away from the bloody crime scene. As they make their way to Teddy's new car– less flashy, but just as fucking expensive– he drags his tongue over the smoothness of Renfield's cheek. "I wanna do fucking lines off your dick and fuck you so hard our backs break in half."
Renfield shudders. "That sounds extremely fucking painful. Let's go."
They move through the apartment like a fucking whirlwind, dropping clothes as they pause their nasty kissing for a few seconds of breath, Teddy shoving Renfield through his bedroom and onto the gaudy fucking flowery bedspread.
"Wanna fucking bite you," Teddy huffs out, yanking down Renfield's underwear quickly, settling on his hips, dragging sharp nails down his chest. "Wanna fuck you up–"
"Always trying to fight," Renfield sighs, and faster than he can blink Teddy is thrown onto his back, with his wrists pinned above his head in one hand and the other wrapped around his fucking throat, squeezing just tight enough for Teddy to know he means it. "I think you really want someone to fuck you up. Kind of seems like you're aching for it."
"Fuck you–" Teddy bites out, and fucking squeaks when Renfield takes his hand of his throat to slap him in the fucking face. "Oh, fuck, again–" The hand falls again with a loud smack, and Teddy practically fucking wails, wraps his legs around Renfield to grind them together. "Jesus, fuck, okay, fuck me, fuck me now."
"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit of a brat?"
"You're a tease," Teddy breathes. "C'mon, man, stop fucking around, put your dick in me–"
The hand falls on his mouth, effectively cutting off his begging, and fuck if his dick doesn't twitch at that. "You talk too much, darling."
Teddy whines.
Renfield is hot against his back, driving into him with purpose, biting at the back of his neck like he's a a fucking treat. One hand is curled around his tatted throat, the other firmly on his hip as he helps guide Teddy back onto his brutal thrusts.
"Ah, I'm close–" he grits out into Teddy's ear eventually, grinding in like he doesn't ever want to fucking leave.
"Fuck, fuck, pull out," Teddy gasps, pushing back at him until he slides out with a gasp, and flips himself over easily, yanking Renfield up til he's straddling his chest. "Come on my fucking face, c'mon, give it to me."
"You're a menace," Renfield grits out, furiously stroking until he gasps, coming all over Teddy's decorated chest and coating his face, grabbing at Teddy's fucked up hair to get an even better angle.
Teddy's tongue darts out from behind his manic grin to get a taste, smiling even wider when Renfield moans and pushes away to choke on Teddy's dick until he comes with a harsh shout.
They're eating ice cream on the sofa later, after lazily cleaning up and hitting the bong that Teddy hasn't broken out in a while, with Renfield in Teddy's fucking Gucci sweats and Teddy in a pair of Renfield's polka dot boxers.
"You think we ever would've made 'em happy?" Teddy asks, the taste of strawberry still fresh on his tongue. When Renfield looks over with curiosity, he continues, "Dracula. My mom. You think we ever would have been enough?"
Renfield sighs, drops the spoon in the carton like it's too heavy now. "I don't think anything is ever enough for people like that. Dracula and your mum, all they wanted was power. And the kind of power they craved is ultimately unobtainable. There's always going to be some kind of cost, but that was never our responsibility." Renfield's eyes are shiny, glazed, so fucking blue and brimming with affection. Teddy wants to keep them in a jar. "We did our best. It isn't our fault that our best would never be enough."
Teddy nods, then after a moment asks, "Were you ever happy with him?" He swirls the spoon around like maybe he'll find the answers in the ice cream. "Would I have ever been happy with him?"
Renfield takes the spoon from him and tangles their fingers together, looks at Teddy with soft eyes. "Are you happy now?"
"I–" Teddy pauses, then smiles. "Yeah. I fucking am."
"Then what does it matter?" Renfield picks the spoon back up to feed Teddy a bite. It's painfully sweet, and he doesn't mean the ice cream. "Fuck Dracula. Fuck your mum. We're at full power now, not them."
"You're fucking right," Teddy laughs, feeling loose and high and fucking happy. "Full fucking power, baby."