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Dimitri is many things.
He’s a history professor at Garreg Mach University. He teaches too many classes a week, according to everyone in his life, which is probably true, but he loves his job. He’s a friend—a dear one, if Dedue is to be believed, and Dedue would never lie so it simply must be true. He’s a poor texter, as noted by everyone in the ‘Blue Lions’ group chat, but will always pick up the phone if called. He’s a good listener. He’s a terrible cook. He’s an expert at vacuuming, mopping, and doing laundry. He’s a loving partner, specifically to one Felix Fraldarius.
He’s also a vampire.
It’s not a big deal, except when it is. Like, when your childhood best friend learns your secret by walking in on you gnawing on a squirrel, struck mad with grief; a bloodthirsty, mindless thing. That had been one of Dimitri’s lowest moments. His species reveal had gone much smoother with his current friend group.
The important thing that Dimitri likes everyone to know is that vampires aren’t that different from the average human. Really, the only things that make them different are the retractable fangs and claws, and the need to drink blood every now and again. Vampires aren’t actually immortal. They can walk in the sun. They can eat regular food, garlic included.
They can also get just as drunk on alcohol as everyone else, which Dimitri has currently learned the hard way.
“You’re heavy,” Felix grunts.
“Sorry, Felix,” Dimitri says—slurs, mumbles, he’s not really sure. Everything sounds staticky to his own ears.
“There will not be a repeat of this,” Felix says. Then, under his breath, barely loud enough for Dimitri to catch, “Fun experiment, my ass. When I get my hands on Sylvain—”
“Felix, I think I’m going to—”
“Don’t you dare say throw up—”
“—fall,” Dimitri finishes, and proceeds to trip over his own feet.
He’s very grateful Felix has quick reflexes. His chin narrowly misses a close encounter with their apartment building’s stairs, thanks to a timely yank. He swings his head to the side to look at his savior, who looks less than impressed. Beautiful, though. But his face seems to be turning red?
“Worse than usual,” Felix says, strangled.
He gives Dimitri no opportunity to reply. He throws Dimitri’s arm around his shoulders and pulls him to his feet, steadying him when he wobbles, and all but drags him up the last flight of stairs to their apartment. He fishes for the keys in Dimitri’s front pocket and shoves them in the door. Then he turns to Dimitri.
“You’re in no state to catch her, so you open it,” he says.
Nosferatu, their escape artist of a cat, is undoubtedly waiting for them on the other side of the door. Dimitri’s reflexes are, presently, an embarrassment. Felix’s plan is a sensible one.
“Felix,” Dimitri says, because this is suddenly the most important thought in his head and he simply must share it.
“What?” Felix says. He’s halfway into a crouch.
“Thank you,” Dimitri says. “I adore you.”
Felix’s face, barely recovered from its earlier flush, flares bright. For a moment, he’s speechless. Then, with perhaps the greatest restraint Dimitri has ever seen from him, he takes a deep breath. Centers himself. Flexes his jaw in a way that, even drunk, Dimitri recognizes as Felix measuring his words.
“Just open the door,” is what he settles on.
Dimitri wants to kiss him. Dimitri has also learned to value his life, so he’ll wait until he’s sober. For now, he does as told, and turns the key.
♡
Blood generally isn’t easy to come by. Dimitri is fortunate that Felix is a pharmacist at a local hospital, and that Felix’s father is—much to Felix’s chagrin—a doctor at the same hospital. By means unknown to Dimitri, the Fraldariuses have always been able to procure donor blood bags for the Blaiddyds, no questions asked.
Well, several questions asked, but Felix always replies with “Don’t ask,” and Rodrigue always gives him a smile before changing the subject.
He’s just finished a bag and is gearing up to ask once again, when Felix says: “Ingrid says if you don’t give her an answer in the next five minutes, she’s going to hunt you down and make you buy her lunch.”
“What?” Dimitri startles. “An answer to what?”
Felix, who has one hand on his phone and the other buried in Nosferatu’s fur, glances up at him and shrugs. “Beats me. Check your texts.”
Dimitri does. He has seventeen unread messages. He hopes they aren’t all from Ingrid, he’d never hear the end of it. He swipes his finger across the screen to open his text thread with her. It leaves a smear of red behind. He grimaces.
“Well?” Felix asks.
Dimitri skims the message while reaching for a napkin. “She says she’s cooking at our get-together tomorrow. She wants to know if I prefer my steak rare.”
It takes all of two seconds for Felix to start snickering.
“Apparently it makes a difference as to what cut of meat she’s going to buy,” Dimitri says.
“And? What are you going to tell her?”
“That I appreciate her consideration, but I prefer mine medium,” Dimitri replies, poking at his phone screen. “And that I’ve just had my share of blood for the week.”
“You don’t have to limit yourself if you want more, you know.” Felix says.
“I know, you can always get more. Speaking of—”
“We’ve been over this.”
“But Felix—”
Felix sighs. “Look, it’s not some big secret. It’s just complicated and involves a lot of moving parts. It’s easier for both of us if you don’t ask. Seriously.”
That’s more than he’s gotten from either Fraldarius in a long time. He’ll take the victory.
“Alright,” Dimitri says, gentle. Then, “Shall I tell Ingrid that you’re the one who prefers rare?”
♡
“Have you eaten?”
Dimitri doesn't look up from his laptop. He's been fast acquiring a headache, reading this student’s paper. Not a slight against the student—it's simply his fifth paper in a row, and he's sorely due some hydration.
“I had the leftovers,” Dimitri replies absently.
“Not that kind of eaten,” Felix says.
This draws Dimitri’s attention. He pulls his gaze away from the computer screen and refocuses it on Felix, who is toeing off his shoes at the door. He's got his lab coat slung over his gym bag, still hanging from his shoulder. He pulls it over his head and drops it next to the closet with their washing machine.
“Don't give me that look,” Felix says, noticing his stare. “I saw the blood bag was still in the fridge last night.”
Oh, right.
“I forgot,” Dimitri admits.
“Of course you did,” Felix sighs.
He doesn't look the least bit annoyed as he approaches Dimitri. Rather, he looks relaxed—unusually so, after a late shift. He slips between Dimitri and his laptop's perch on the coffee table. Almost immediately, Dimitri's hands come up to rest on Felix's thighs. Seeing Felix like this, at ease, he wants to pull him close.
“If you want,” Felix says. Stops.
“Hm?” Dimitri prompts.
“…you can feed from me. If you want to,” Felix says.
This causes Dimitri to lock eyes with Felix. It lasts only a second before Felix averts his gaze. The tips of his ears are burning red.
“Are you sure?” Dimitri has to ask, just to be certain.
“I wouldn't offer otherwise,” Felix says.
For once, Dimitri isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He gives in to the temptation and pulls Felix down into his lap, curls one hand loosely around his hip and brings the other up to thread through his hair. Felix tilts his head with a little sigh, offers his neck like it’s nothing. Like it isn't the ultimate display of trust, to put his pulsing life in the hands of a vampire. This is far from the first time Dimitri has fed from Felix, but still it makes his throat tight with affection, reverence.
He noses the crook of Felix’s neck, then draws a path up it with his mouth. When he finds what he's looking for, he unsheathes his fangs and bites down. Beneath him, Felix tenses, before sighing again and loosening his limbs. His hands find their way into Dimitri’s hair, one toying with his hairband, the other the fine strands at the base of his neck. Dimitri drinks and he drinks until Felix makes a low sound—his signal. Carefully, Dimitri extracts his fangs and then licks across the marks they leave. Cleaning the wound of blood and, curiously, promoting healing. Vampire saliva moonlights as a potent wound salve, in a pinch. Felix shivers at the sensation.
Dimitri draws away to look at him. Ravishing, he thinks. Felix’s hair is mussed, his eyelids half-mast. He watches as Felix's cheeks flush in pleasure, catching the way Dimitri is staring at him.
“Insatiable beast,” Felix mutters, without heat.
Once, Dimitri would have apologized. Now, he flashes him a wolfish grin, fangs resting dangerously against his bottom lip.
“Positively ravenous,” Dimitri agrees, and pulls Felix down for a kiss.
♡
“Felix, have you ever given thought to marriage?”
“No,” comes the automatic reply. A pause, then, “Yes. When I was a kid.”
“Oh?”
There is another pause, longer this time. Dimitri is patient. He's used to this sort of response, when he touches—inadvertently or otherwise—on topics that Felix finds difficult to speak about. Felix always gives him an answer, even when it's hard; the least he can do is wait.
“I said I was going to marry you,” Felix says, at length. “To Glenn. Made him swear to keep it a secret. Probably the only secret of mine he ever kept, now that I think about it.”
“That's funny,” Dimitri replies. “I told Glenn the same thing. That explains why he started laughing when I did.”
He looks over at Felix and finds him smiling, small but pleased. It's difficult, even now, remembering Glenn. Some days, Felix chokes up at the thought of him. Some days, Dimitri can't look at his picture without crying. Those days are fewer now than they were before. Lately, they've been able to mention him more in casual conversation. Little memories, kept and shared.
“Why are you asking, anyway?” Felix asks.
“I don’t have a reason in particular,” Dimitri says. “Did you know that summer is wedding season? I always thought it was spring.”
Felix is now staring at him like he’s grown a pair of wings. (He can’t, he’s tried. There’s no such thing as a bat form.)
“I read it in a magazine,” Dimitri admits. “My therapist was running late. I availed myself of the nearest reading material while I was waiting.”
“And what, the thought of weddings has plagued you ever since?”
“I'm a vampire with mental health issues, Felix,” Dimitri says mildly. “I’m allowed my moments.”
Felix snorts. It's unattractive and childish and makes Dimitri smile.
“You're a well-fed, medicated vampire with mental health issues. Try again.”
Dimitri loves him. Dimitri loves this . That they’re able to speak easily of topics that used to devolve into fights and tears, is something Dimitri will never take for granted. Of course he’s thought about marriage—Felix’s is the only face he wishes to wake up to, every day for the rest of his life. Felix is the only person he’s willing to bare his soul to, the person he most trusts to guard it with proverbial fang and claw.
“Truthfully, the thought of marriage has been lingering in my mind for a long time,” Dimitri says.
“Is it… something you still want?” Felix asks. He’s turned his head away now.
“Very much so,” Dimitri replies.
His earnestness has Felix’s ears coloring red. Felix scrubs a hand through his hair, getting caught on his hair tie. He doesn’t pull it out, but it’s a near thing. Dimitri takes his chance and steps closer, quietly slips his hand over Felix’s free one.
“…If you propose, it better not be in public,” Felix finally says.
“I would never,” Dimitri promises.
“And you have to be the one to give the news to my father.”
“I can manage that.”
Felix laces his fingers together with Dimitri’s. It’s an answer all on its own.