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When Raphael burst through the wall of Simon's cell in a cloud of dust and debris, it didn't come as a surprise. Simon only wished he'd made his grand entrance a little sooner.
"Simon," he said, brushing the dust off his suit and glancing around until his gaze fell on Simon.
"Hey," Simon said weakly, struggling to sit up on the metal bedstead. He winced; his ribs felt bruised from lying on that thing.
Raphael's eyes narrowed, and in a blink, he was standing over Simon. "Where are you hurt?"
"It's just – it's nothing. Bruises. Mostly, I'm, uh… hungry."
Comprehension passed over Raphael's face. "Stand up."
Simon stood, and Raphael caught him with a hand on each hip when he wobbled. On a good day, Simon would have felt something about that, probably. Something embarrassing. Right now, it was hard to feel much of anything over the yawning void in his stomach.
No, not even just his stomach: in his blood, his bones. Turned out vampires even did hunger dramatically.
He tuned back in to Raphael staring into his eyes. Each eye in turn, in fact. Then Raphael tipped his own head to the side and tapped two fingers to his neck, brisk, before returning his hand to Simon's side. "Drink."
It took Simon's sluggish brain a moment to process that he'd heard this right. "...What?"
"You've been gone for days, and you haven't eaten. We can't risk trying to get you back to the Hotel Dumort before your body goes into shock. I'm surprised it hasn't already."
"But – aren't you afraid I'll take too much? I'm still new at this. And what about those goons, those, the henchmen of Valentine's–"
"Simon. I took care of them. And I trust you." Raphael paused for a moment as Simon tried to take this information in. Then he raised a wry eyebrow, looking like himself for the first time since he'd burst through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man. "Besides, you give yourself too much credit if you think I couldn't stop you. Now drink."
And Simon – Simon couldn't think. Raphael's veins didn't pulse like the living, but Simon was starving; his senses were going haywire, he could smell the blood under Raphael's vein. And all this time, Raphael hadn't hesitated. He hadn't let Simon go.
Simon closed the space between them. He closed his eyes and leaned in.
They were close enough now that Simon could feel the soft intake of breath when his fangs punctured Raphael's skin, but beyond that sound, Raphael was silent. He held perfectly still as Simon's teeth sunk further into his flesh, as Simon's lips latched around the wound– as Simon, carefully as he could around the gnawing hunger inside him, drank from Raphael's vein.
Much as Simon felt vaguely sick just thinking it, he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. Either of his lives.
Not that Raphael's blood was special. Blood was blood was blood, even vampire blood, now that Simon had Turned. But he had never been this hungry before, and as the first few drops passed his lips, every cell in his body burned for more.
Hot blood welled up around his teeth, passed the imperfect seal of his lips, dripped down his chin. It trickled down his throat, warming his chest and pooling in his stomach the way Simon remembered hot coffee used to on a cold day. He was on fire. Every part of him ached.
He drank. He drank, and he drank, until finally, his senses began to clear a little. The hunger waned – still present, but duller. His jaw throbbed. He remembered, gradually, where he was, even as the room continued to swirl.
With effort, Simon pulled away. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand – which, gross, this must be why so many vampires carried handkerchiefs – he studiously avoided Raphael's eyes, for reasons that had a lot to do with how close they were still standing. His body still pulled towards Raphael's in a way that no longer everything to do with hunger, and he was a little afraid, if he looked at Raphael right now, that he wouldn't be able to resist that pull. Instead, Simon examined the still-exposed puncture wounds on Raphael's neck.
The twin wounds were red, the skin around them pink and shining and smeared with blood, and this wasn't helping; Simon's head was spinning. He wanted– and Raphael didn't, probably, except he'd offered up his neck to drink from, he'd been so solid and sure and held so fucking still, and–
Screw it, Simon thought, and leaned back in to brush his lips, soft, against the wounds in Raphael's neck.
Raphael's posture, so relaxed before, went stiff. "Simon," he said, but he fell silent again when Simon pressed another kiss to his skin.
Which was probably for the best, because Simon felt, vaguely, like all of his nerves were once again on fire. And Raphael wasn't pushing him away, wasn't expressing disgust or derision or trying to extricate himself. But then again, he wasn't encouraging this, either.
Simon had never been particularly good at impulse control, and the mixture of hungry light-headedness and this new buzzing in his skin wasn't exactly helping him overcome that particular character flaw. But he wasn't going to push this any further without some sign from Raphael. He didn't step back, having nowhere to go with the bedstead behind his knees, but he lifted his head up enough that he was no longer touching Raphael's skin. A second passed, then two, and he waited, waited for Raphael to pull away or express disgust, to do anything.
And then Raphael's shoulders relaxed, and he shifted against Simon, and closed his fist in the back of Simon's t-shirt.
Simon went a little weak at the joints again as his anxiety seeped out of him, and he couldn't help it: he grinned.
"Don't look so smug," Raphael said, and Simon laughed.
"Did you know I can hear you roll your eyes? Like, in your voice? My heightened senses must really–"
Raphael kissed him.
It was... well, a little awkward at first, before Raphael turned to make the angle less weird, but also nice. If Simon had had cause to consider, before, how Raphael might kiss – and fine, he had, sue him, he was a previously-hot-blooded young man – he'd have thought that Raphael would be all, you know, gruff. Old Hollywood movie star kissing his leading lady.
But this was gentle, exploratory. Raphael's mouth was warm, his hands steady on Simon's waist, his fangs sharp against Simon's tongue, his hair... okay, a little crunchy under Simon's fingers. Hair gel on your hands was kind of gross. But Raphael kissed the blood from Simon's mouth like it was no big thing, and he held Simon close. Even when he pulled back a few inches to say, "We shouldn't be doing this here," he didn't let go.
Simon blinked at him a few times, dazed, taking in hs ruffled suit and messed up hair. After a moment, he nodded and gently pushed at Raphael's shoulders, getting enough space between them to let him move. Raphael let go of him and obligingly stepped back.
"You're right," Simon said. "Lead the way."
Raphael did. He made sure Simon kept pace with him – probably ready to catch Simon if he fell, because damn, now that the kissing was done he was reminded that he was still a little loopy with hunger - and together they left through the hole in the wall, passed through a few hallways, and spilled out into a dark back alley behind the building.
They walked for a while in a silence Simon refused to acknowledge as awkward, Raphael not willing to let Simon run back to the Hotel and Simon refusing to be carried like someone's bride again. After a few blocks, Simon started taking advantage of the glow of the street lights to glance at Raphael. He did it covertly at first, from the corner of his eye, until his eyes wandered far enough from Raphael's profile to notice the remains of the blood smeared on his neck. And how it spread to the collar of his jacket. Simon winced.
"Another jacket ruined by the fledgling, huh?"
Raphael glanced at him, looking vaguely surprised he'd broken the silence. For a moment, it looked like Raphael might say something scathing, but he just said, "It's black. It'll be fine after a dry clean."
Simon blinked. "Oh."
A pause. "I'm billing you for the cleaning, though."
Simon laughed, his voice echoing through the dark street, and reached out to take Raphael's hand before he could think any better of it. Raphael glanced at him, eyebrow raised, but he didn't let go.