For day one of Monstrous May: Vampires. We have three returning characters, some blood, some feelings, and a little bit of plot between the rest. Trans M/cis M/trans M, NSFW

The silence stretches for an uncomfortably long time. Long enough that Rourke’s skin starts to itch, as ridiculous as that seems. He glances back at Bishop, whose gaze is boring into the stranger sitting at his- their little kitchen table, then back to the stranger who’s staring into space, expression pensive.

It feels like the sort of thing that should be happening somewhere else. Not in Bishop’s- their home on an otherwise ordinary day. Well, evening.

The stranger, who Rourke actually recognized immediately, came round after dinner, something about him immediately making Rourke’s hair stand on end. He clearly wasn’t fae, but he clearly isn’t human either. Or maybe not clearly to most people, but Rourke likes to think he’s always had a good sense for these things.

And from the second he opens the door, this one feels… off. Clearly not of this time, barely of this world. So much so that Rourke initially tries to slam the door, only for the man to catch it with his hand.

“Bishop, you want to tell your attack dog to let me in or am I just going to scruff him like a kitten?”

“He’s not my attack dog,” Bishop had called back from the kitchen, sounding as unbothered as Rourke’s ever heard him, “but some manners might not hurt you.”

The stranger had turned his attention back to Rourke, his smile predatory, sharp. Too sharp. Fanged. Vampire. “Hello Rourke, mind if I come in?”

“I say no, you can’t. That still how it works?”

“Maybe if I were an infant. Maybe if I hadn’t been invited in before,” he’d replied with a wink. “As it is, I’m just trying to be polite before your… roommate starts getting snippy. Best say yeah before someone down the hall notices a strange man at your door and starts having thoughts, eh?”

Jaw tight, Rourke had stepped out of the way and waved him in.

“It could work though, right?” Bishop says eventually, breaking the silence. He sounds strained, which is oddly worrisome. Bishop isn’t supposed to question things; he’s supposed to know things. More things than anyone else on this goddamn planet.

The vampire’s knee stops bouncing. It’s been doing it – so quickly and silently that Rourke hadn’t even quite noticed – for most of the conversation, he realizes now. Kol, his name is, or at least he’d said. His expression had done something tight when he’d introduced himself to Rourke, and it does the same thing now.

“Well…?” Rourke stands, pacing a few short steps before he whips back around and gives Kol another sharp look.

“I don’t know,” Kol snaps, his accent curling around the words in a growl that barely sounds like English. “How the fuck should I know anything about this? You’re the fucking archivist. If you think it might work, then you’re probably right. But just because it might work doesn’t mean it should be done.”

“What are you two even talking about?” Because Rourke still doesn’t know. They’ve been talking in circles for over an hour now, about magic and changes and regeneration… all things that Rourke only vaguely understands and he’s had enough of being in the fucking dark about whatever’s going on in his own bloody home.

Kol’s eyebrows creep up just slightly, his mouth forming a silent oh of surprise. “You haven’t even told him of your little idea.”

Jaw working, Bishop tips his head back to glare at the ceiling. It’s something he does a lot, Rourke has noticed, when he’s stuck.

“Bishop?” he says softly. “What’s he talking about?”

Another few silent seconds pass before Bishop looks at him. “You’re just getting worse,” he breathes. “And I can’t watch- I won’t, not if there’s something that could be done to make it stop.”

“Hey, no-” Rourke stands, fighting the way it sends shooting pain to the tips of his fingers and toes and makes his head spin. He folds Bishop against his chest, and that’s how he knows this – whatever it is – is serious. Bishop doesn’t even fight him on it, despite the fact that someone else is around. But Rourke can’t really even deny it; there are too many things that Bishop has seen, too many nights he’s woken up barely choking back a scream or moments where Rourke’s been slumped against a wall, or a shelf, or a chair, just trying to breathe around the pain because no matter how much magic Bishop tries to siphon off anymore, it doesn’t seem to be enough. His own body just can’t keep up.

He knows he’s out of options. Running out of time. If he’s honest with himself, he’s pretty much accepted it. It clicks, then. What Bishop is getting at. Why Kol is here. “Darling, I’m not going to…” He sighs and cups Bishop’s jaw. “I would rather live out whatever time I have left with you than spend countless lifetimes without you,” he whispers. His forehead drops to Bishops, his eyes closing against the sudden tightness of his throat.

“And what about the rest of mine? Have you thought about that, hm?” Bishop replies, gone sharp again. “The next fifty years?”


“Don’t Elazri me,” he snaps.

“Yes, well, clearly you two need time to talk so I’m just going to go…” Kol says from somewhere near the door.

Bishop’s attention whips to him. “No. Sit.” Jerking out of Rourke’s grasp, Bishop rakes his fingers through his hair and paces another short circuit.

Kol hasn’t sat, but he hasn’t left either, Rourke notices when he looks away. His expression is somewhere between uncomfortable and pissed. Rourke can identify; right now, he’s not far off wanting to wring Bishop’s neck either.

“So what,” he asks, “he turns me into a fucking parasite and then what, hm? Because I might not be you, but I know a thing or two. Spend my nights drinking my way through London for a year or two, hoping nobody catches on, and then I have to leave. That’s how it works, right?”

“Generally, yeah. City this big you might be able to get away with a bit longer,” Kol says with an uncomfortably nonchalant shrug. Rourke isn’t sure how old he is, but suddenly the thought is disconcerting. Like a hundred years, or even two, isn’t anywhere close to the mark. He wants to ask, but he’s almost scared of what the answer might be.

Because suddenly, it clicks what the uncomfortable, otherworldly characteristic Kol holds reminds him of: the fae, and their impossible lifespans. The strange, distinctly inhuman qualities the older ones have. There’s something in Kol’s eyes, especially, that stands out. He can’t become that.

The look he gives Bishop is pleading. Rourke sinks back into a chair. He catches Bishop’s hand on the way down and tugs him into the space between his knees. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… You’re right. You shouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life watching me deteriorate. And I know it’s only going to be worse for both of us if-” he shakes his head. Bishop might think he’s fine with this now, but give it time?

Bishop’s hands curl into fists, his knuckles going even whiter. “You stupid, impossible fucking man. I don’t want you to do whatever other ridiculous self-sabotaging thing you’re thinking of doing. I want you to let Kol handle this and then we’ll figure out the rest. If that means in a few years we have to leave, then we do.”

“But you’ll… die,” Rourke says weakly. “Not now, but one day.”

“We’ve got time to worry about me. It isn’t like you haven’t already got a few years on me to burn. Rourke, please.”

Sighing, he slumps back in the chair. Lets his head loll slightly until he can meet Kol’s unsettling gaze again. “So how does this work?”

“How d’you expect, mate? Bit of blood. Then a bit more. Then a bit more.” Kol grins, too sharp again. “Probably best we go somewhere a bit more comfortable, though. You can black out your bedroom window, yeah?”

Bishop nods. The question makes Rourke’s eyes narrow, though. How does he know what Bishop’s room is like? Before he can ask, though, the bastard is traipsing past them like he owns the place. Rourke twists in his seat, starting to push himself upright until Bishop’s long fingers curl around his forearm. He meets his gaze, then lets Bishop’s wiry strength act as a counterweight to drag himself to his feet. God, how had he thought he was fooling anyone?

Once he’s sure he’s steady, he ducks and kisses Bishop slowly, savoring it. “You’re sure about this?”

Bishop nods again, his expression unguarded. Vulnerable in a way that cuts right through any fight Rourke might have left.

“Alright. Let’s go do what the definitely-not-terrifying old vampire says then, shall we?” he replies, holding out an elbow for Bishop.

“I can hear you, you know,” Kol says dryly.

“Apologies. Let’s go do what the wholly unsettling and unnatural fucking bloodsucker says.” Rourke looks down at Bishop, at his hand where it’s tucked in the crook of Rourke’s elbow. “Better?”

They make it into the bedroom just in time to hear Kol mutter, “Should just fucking eat you and move on with my life.”

“And then we’ll find out exactly how good you are at disappearing,” Bishop replies cheerily, without missing a beat.

“Aw, you’d start a blood feud with a vampire to avenge my death. That’s so sweet.”

In reply, Bishop sighs loudly and rolls his eyes, pulling his hand free. “Right, so how are we doing this?”

Kol’s eyebrows arch suggestively. “Eager, aren’t we? I would recommend removing anything uncomfortable, as well as anything you don’t want to get blood on. I’m generally pretty neat, but well… things do happen.”

Rourke isn’t quite sure what to make of that, but Bishop starts unbuttoning his shirt without further question so he does the same.

“Gods,” Kol says as Rourke pulls it off, “I’ve never seen…” He’s closer, now, than he’s been all night. Close enough that Rourke can smell the strange smell of him. Like old stone.

Uncomfortable having the vampire staring at him from behind, he turns. Kol’s expression changes then, to something almost appreciative, and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse. If Bishop notices, he doesn’t say anything; just finishes stripping down to his underclothes and sits down on the end of the bed, one pale ankle tucked under his opposite thigh. For a moment, it’s enough to distract Rourke from what’s going on. But only for a moment.

By the time it’s all said and done, the contrast is a bit uncomfortable. Rourke, and Bishop too, for whatever reason, are well and properly indecent for company, meanwhile Kol has only removed his belt and rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows.

He sits down at the head of the bed – Bishop’s bed, Rourke’s bed – legs spread slightly, and says, “Have a seat. You already know I bite, so that’s out of the way.”

Astonished, Rourke looks to Bishop. For… confirmation, for approval, permission, anything, but all he finds on Bishop’s face is faint curiosity. “I-”

“Come on. Trust me, you’re going to want as much time as you can get to sleep this off after.”

With a frown, Rourke crawls into the space between Kol’s thighs. When he pauses a few inches away, Kol just sighs and manhandles him into position, with his back to Kol’s chest.

“There we go,” Kol purrs. It makes goosebumps spread over his skin and his pulse quicken, but Rourke tells himself it’s just the strangeness of it. The man he’s spent the last few years of his life with, who he hopes to spend the rest of it with, is right there.

At his pleading look, Bishop moves closer, until he’s sitting just outside of the V of Kol’s thighs, one of Rourke’s hands in his. “I love you,” Rourke says softly.

“Well yes, I should rather hope so-”

“And I hate to interrupt what I’m sure would continue to be a very touching, drawn out moment, but if you could do this some other time? Some of us have things to do, and I promise you if you make me vomit blood it will not be something pleasant for any of us. It’s not like he’s dyi- well, he’s sort of dying, but you’ll still be able to tell him all of this after.”

Bishop flushes a pretty pink and looks away. “Of course. Sorry. Carry on.”

There is no confirmation, or countdown, or warning. One second, Rourke is sitting there, the strange cold of Kol’s body slowly leaching through his shirt, and the next, the faintest of pinpricks betrays the puncture of his fangs and Rourke feels… Everything, nothing, hot and cold all at once. Like he’s under the influence of some strange magic, or perhaps some drug. The sound that leaves him, because it is him, he realizes, can only be described as inhuman. Not exactly a moan, but something equally punched out and desperate.

“Kol, what’s happening?” Bishop snaps.

Kol sighs, the pressure on Rourke’s throat increasing slightly before it’s gone. “Mouth’s a bit busy right now, love. He’s fine. The venom can be a bit… stimulating. You know this. Now if you don’t mind-”

He’s never seen Bishop look chastised before, but he does now. Rourke squeezes his hand and tries to smile, but at that same moment, Kol’s fangs puncture his skin again and a breathless gasp escapes instead.

It goes on, long enough that his body begins to ache and feel heavy and his head begins to spin, although this time it’s not quite so unpleasant. He’s dying, a helpful little voice provides. That’s what this is. There’s not enough blood left in his body, and soon he’ll just fade away. It seems peaceful.

“D’you have the- perfect,” he hears Kol murmur, shifting slightly behind him.

A moment later, he feels something warm and wet against his lips. Tea, maybe? Whatever it is, it smells nice, and he could use a drink. Rourke opens his mouth and lets the liquid run down his throat, swallowing gladly against the dryness of his throat. He reaches for the mug, wanting more than the lean drip, but his hands instead close around the hard, corded muscle of someone’s arm.

“There’s a good boy,” Kol murmurs into his ear. “Just a little bit more, and…”

Rourke whines in protest when Kol pulls his arm away, but then the smell of something else floods his nostrils. His eyes snap open, locking on Bishop immediately. It’s him, Rourke realizes immediately. The smell. It’s the blood in his veins and his cunt

He inhales deeply, letting it saturate his lungs.

“Ah ah ah.” The arms around his chest are like iron bars, Kol’s grip unyielding until it does. “Bishop, sweetheart, your turn.”

And then Bishop is in his lap, lips on his own only for a moment before his head tilts to the side, exposing his throat.

“Carefully,” Kol says, but Rourke barely hears him.

He already knows what to do, some strange instinct taking over. His gums itch for a second, but then Bishop’s blood fills his mouth and nothing else matters. Rourke groans, dragging Bishop closer, needing more.

“Easy. Easy.”

Easy? The order, however gentle, rankles him and his jaw tightens.

Bishop moans, and with it the smell sharpens. God, Rourke needs him. Now.

“That’s it, that’s enough.” This time, Kol’s fingers clench in his hair, hard enough to hurt.

His fangs – because he has those now – retract quickly as his head is pulled away.

“Fuck,” Kol swears, “you have to- come here, sweetheart.” He hauls Bishop forward and fits his mouth to the same spot that Rourke’s had just occupied, humming contentedly. “There we go.”

Bishop’s familiar weight settles back in his lap, his expression slightly dazed but otherwise… soft. Content. He tips forward and licks into Rourke’s mouth and that’s- god, it’s like every inch of him lights up. Feels like so much more than it normally does, even, and how long has it been since he’s had Bishop properly? Since they haven’t had to worry about his own body falling apart on him?

His hands encircle Bishop’s waist almost completely, at least until a voice in his ear says, “Careful. At least if you don’t want to rip him in half.”

The sound that leaves Rourke then can only be described as a snarl; he twists as far as he can, caught between Bishop and Kol, and meets the stone-steady brown of Kol’s eyes.

“You’re not the same man anymore, love. He’s still… fragile. You have to go slow. Be careful.” A hand on Rourke’s jaw, Kol turns his back to face Bishop. “Gently,” he says, right in Rourke’s ear.

It makes him shiver. That and the dazed, hungry look on Bishop’s face. He’s so wet that Rourke can feel him soaking through his underwear. That Rourke can smell him. “Darling, I’m going to need you to get off of me unless you want me to-”

“And if I want you to?” Bishop shoots back before he’s even finished.

Rourke’s cock jumps. He wonders what it would feel like, to sink his teeth into Bishop at the same time that he… “But there’s- he’s-” he protests, breathlessly.

“Well don’t stop on my account,” Kol says. “I can keep my hands to myself, if you want.”

He groans, because he doesn’t want; he should, he knows, but right now every inch of him feels more alive than he has in years. The magic is still there, beneath his skin like a poison, but it doesn’t hurt. Rourke feels like he could fight a god and win, more untouchable than he felt during the war, but better because no one is trying to kill him.

Bishop kisses him. Once, twice, a third time – quick, pleading things. He still has a bit of that dazed look on his face, but his eyes are brighter now. “Rourke. William, please.” Another kiss, this one dragging.

The sound of ripping startles him.

“What do I keep telling you?” Kol says, sounding tired.

Panic quickly transforms to anger, Rourke’s fingers unclenching from the shredded back of Bishop’s shirt as he faces Kol again. “Shut. Up.”

Kol smiles. “I’d be happy to, if you’d stop trying to kill him instead of fucking him. As it is, I’m wondering if it’s even safe to leave him here with you until you’ve gotten a hold of yourself. Don’t take it personally, sweetheart, everyone takes some adjusting after-”

The angle is awkward, but his hand around Kol’s throat cuts him off pretty effectively. “I’d die before I hurt him.”

“You say that,” Kol says, no longer smiling, “but the next thing you know you’re covered in blood and he’s not breathing. Trust me love, I’ve been there and it’s not as sexy as it sounds.”

“Stop calling me that. Just because you’re the one who… made me like this doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like that. I’m- he’s my-” he looks back at Bishop, whose eyes have gone even darker than normal, his cheeks and lips red.

“Oh trust me, Rourke, I have no interest in taking you from him or him from you. But I am responsible for you now, because you’re right. I made you, at his behest. So the least you could do is listen to me and make it worth everyone’s while, hm?”

Rourke takes a breath, actively, and realizes he isn’t sure how long it’s been since he last did. He notices it because the smell of Bishop fills his lungs again. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers.

“I know.” Bishop’s long fingers cradle his face, warmer than he is for once. Forever, now. He shifts against Rourke’s cock, subtly enough that Rourke thinks it’s unintentional, but then he sees the dangerous glint in Bishop’s eyes. The silent challenge.

Fuck. Wrapping one arm around Bishop’s waist, Rourke shifts them both down the bed slightly, so he’s closer to lying down. Beneath his head, he feels the momentary flex of muscle as Kol tenses and sucks in a breath. Right. They still have a third…

Bishop leans down and kisses him. “He did do us a favor, you know,” he says against Rourke’s lips. “And if he just watches… makes sure nothing bad happens…” He rocks back against Rourke’s cock again. The two layers between them are soaked through, now, the wet fabric sticking and sliding in equal parts.

How is Rourke supposed to say no to that? To him, when Bishop is everything? He looks at Kol, whose dark eyes have gone hungry. “You’re here to make sure nothing goes wrong. That’s it.”

“Of course,” Kol replies, voice rough.

Rourke should probably argue, get more explicit confirmation, but Bishop’s wicked, clever fingers have somehow worked both of their underpants out of the way and lined them up and oh. His fingers dig into something, another wrecked noise clawing out of him. Not just him, though – another smell hits the back of his throat and Rourke realizes what he’s done, his grip tight on Kol’s hips and his face buried against his inner thigh.

To his surprise, Bishop laughs, the sound of it going shaky as he lifts up and sinks back down on Rourke’s cock.

“First tip,” Kol says above him, “since you’ve clearly already found something sturdier to hold onto. You still need blood-”

“Obviously,” Rourke groans. He fails to see how this is even remotely relevant right now.

“-including for your cock to work,” he continues, emphasizing each word until somehow it sounds filthy. “And yes, it feels just as amazing to feed and fuck at the same time as that little voice at the back of your head says it will. Not just for you, but for him, too.”

His dick twitches at that, making Bishop clench around him. For something that was supposed to save him, Rourke thinks this might be what does him in.

And then, Bishop says, “Do it.”


“Do it. It was so good earlier, Rourke, you have no idea.”

Except he does. The entire time Kol had been draining him, it had been like that. He hadn’t thought to worry at the time, but now he wonders if he’s been hard since then.

Releasing his grip on one of Kol’s hips, Rourke carefully pushes his fingers into Bishop’s hair and draws him closer. “You’re sure?” he asks, lips brushing his ear.

“Mhmm.” Bishop clenches around him again, making his hips jump.

“Careful, love. I can’t… I can’t…” He can’t. His teeth sink into the soft skin of Bishop’s throat, his moan desperate because there aren’t words for how it feels. It catapults him to the edge, the only thing keeping him from tipping over is how badly he never wants it to end.

Bishop, on the other hand, comes with a shocked sound, the movement of his hips turning into erratic little bursts.

“Fuck,” Kol breathes, that other, second smell growing. He shifts, clearly torn between seeking friction and trying to remain still. To stay out of it. Then, slightly more urgently, “Fuck, Rourke, ease up a bit, there’s a good boy.”

He drags his tongue over the puncture wounds before looking up at Kol. To his surprise, the vampire’s cheeks are flushed – stained with his own blood, he realizes. Like this, he looks slightly more human. He looks… “Ah!”

The look on Bishop’s face is fucked out and devious all at once, an expression Rourke recognizes as promising the best kind of trouble. “You want to fuck him.”

It isn’t a question, but immediately the protest is out of Rourke’s mouth.

“Yes you do.” Bishop’s long fingers curl around his jaw, forcing Rourke to meet his eyes. They’re nearly black, his pupils blown so large it’s hard to make out the dark rings of his irises. “You might be a good liar most of the time, but I can feel the way your cock jumped when I said it. And besides, I thought we agreed you weren’t going to lie to me? It’s annoying.”

Rourke groans and tries to bury his face, but something sharp and stinging stops him. Above him, Bishop has an eyebrow arched.

“Well that’s interesting,” he murmurs.

“The fuck’d you just do?”

In reply, Bishop kisses him filthily and says, “Tell me the truth.”

“I love you.”

“That isn’t what’s in question.”

“I- Elazri, you’re what I want.”

Bishop sighs and sits up, stilling. “Yes, I’m aware. You spent years making yourself as unavoidable and annoying as possible in order to prove that point. And you have me,” he says, tone gentling. “But tell me what you need right now isn’t to not have to worry about… what was it you said, Kol? Ripping me in half?”

“Something like that,” Kol replies. “But I don’t, um- Bishop, I know you’re as much a stickler for balanced books as I am, so to speak, but you don’t have to…”

Pulling away from Rourke’s cock, Bishop leans forward and kisses Kol.

Rourke watches, still lying between Kol’s thighs, as another set of pale fingers sink into the hair of the man he’s spent the last three years of his life with. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, burying his face against Kol’s thigh once more.

“Well only if you promise to make it good,” Kol mumbles, lips still pressed to Bishop’s.

With a giggle – a giggle – Bishop retreats to the other side of the bed, knees drawn up and that same intent look on his face.

The speed with which Rourke moves is… well, it’s inhuman. He finds himself on his knees, face to face with Kol and his calculating gaze.

“Shirt stays on,” Kol says.

“Not a problem. Don’t mind if mine comes off, though?”

“Be my guest,” he replies, eyes once again wandering hungrily over Rourke’s body.

He finishes stripping, then moves on to the buttons of Kol’s pants, pulling them off in one quick move before he buries his face between his legs properly. Kol lets out a surprised gasp, but doesn’t fight it when Rourke pushes his thighs back to make space for himself. For all that the smell of his arousal has been mixing with Bishop’s since this all began, Kol isn’t as wet as he would have expected. Another vampire thing, he assumes, but one he knows how to solve. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he says, “Turn over,” and moves to sit back on his heels.

Kol’s breathing is heavy, his movements almost uncoordinated, compared to their earlier fluid grace. As he positions himself on his knees and forearms, Rourke meets Bishop’s gaze.


Head cocked, Bishop inches closer. Rourke ducks to kiss him, careful to keep his hold around Bishop’s waist looser than he’d ordinarily like. With one hand, he lines himself up, then sinks home into the unfamiliar clench of Kol’s body. He pants into Bishop’s mouth, the subtle differences catching him off guard. Kol isn’t as warm, but everything about him is tighter. More unyielding. Like even here, there’s some hint of danger. Not that Kol actually seems interested in doing him harm now, each of his unsteady exhales almost a hitched moan.

Rourke runs a hand down his back before settling it on his hip. He kisses Bishop once more, then releases him back to the pillows. His first thrust is a quick snap of his hips, rocking the bed with its force.

Some curse that he can’t understand slips past Kol’s lips, then, “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t intend to. For better or worse, Bishop was right; Rourke needs this, and the last thing he wants – the one thing he couldn’t stand – is to hurt Bishop. Kol, though. He’s not even sure he could. Rourke folds himself over Kol’s back, pounding into him until he can’t breathe, and then more still because he doesn’t have to, now. Again, he finds himself approaching his peak, fighting to stave it off. He’d promised, at least indirectly, to make it good, and that means he has to last at least a little longer. Especially when he’s managed to force a needy string of whines and “don’t stops” out of Kol.

“Open,” Bishop says, close again.

Blinking at him, Rourke allows Bishop to push two of his fingers past his lips. He sucks, drawing a moan out of Bishop, then fucks between them with his tongue, wetting them. Bishop pulls them free, but rather than touching himself, he positions himself on his side and reaches between Kol’s legs. The vampire gasps, his hips bucking between Rourke’s cock and Bishop’s hand, before Rourke tightens his grip and increases his pace. Somehow, he manages to hold back until he feels Kol start to tighten around him, but that’s it. He moves, balls already drawn up tight, and ducks to find Bishop’s mouth, stroking himself through his own orgasm before he collapses onto the free sliver of bed.

“Well?” Kol asks after a couple of minutes. “How’re you feeling?”

Rourke laughs and slips his fingers between Bishop’s. “Honestly? I’m a little thirsty.”

Kol laughs, then stands, stretching. “Fuck. I’m getting too old for this. Think you’ll be ok if I leave you for the day?”

He takes a moment to consider, then nods.

“Good man. I’ll be back around tomorrow night and we can get into some of the more important details.” He pulls on his pants, then steps back into his shoes. “I’m sure your little Elazri can answer a lot of the textbook stuff but… from experience, there are some things that are easier if you don’t have to get them on your own.”

“Ok,” Rourke agrees, finding he doesn’t mind that idea as much as he expects.

Kol nods and leaves them, his footsteps silent on the wood floors.

“And Kol?” Rourke calls. Despite the lack of noise, he knows, somehow, that he’s paused. “Thank you.”

The door opens, then closes.

“And thank you,” Rourke says seriously, pulling Bishop close.

Bishop kisses him gently. “Of course. You might be a nightmare, but you’re my nightmare. And I didn’t tell him, but I think I might have an idea on the whole me not dying thing…”

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