6
Lathan
He can see clearer now, think clearer, and he’s enraptured by the beautiful boy across the room, who was unabashedly melted into his lap just moments ago. The sweet wolf that pleaded to help, even while he’s still hurt himself. The young man ranting passionately about literary dissection.
He feels warm. Fluttery. Is this an effect of wolf blood?
He wants to touch him—all of him. He wants to kiss him. Caress his brunette curls. Hold him close. He wants to sink his teeth into him again and again and evoke those beautiful moans from his throat. Lathan’s never been into werewolves, but he’s attracted to every part of Kylo. He tries to remind himself that although his concern and care is genuine, it doesn’t mean he’s harbouring mutual feelings. That the act of neck-feasting can be addictive, and that very well is only what he desires from Lathan.
Regardless, his attraction grows for the wolf, his desires, and he comes to a definitive conclusion: I need to protect him.
From Lathan himself, too. It took everything left within him to resist Kylo’s offer to quench his thirst, and then those precious pleas still got to him. His predatory instincts would have had his ancestors hunting days ago, feasting on anything they could, drawing any drop of blood—and then going overboard with their bloodlusting kills.
“I trust you,” Kylo had said, and it both relieves and terrifies Lathan that he does.
Yet here he is, humouring the wolf with a game of Twenty Questions, because seeing him geek out over books and his interests makes Lathan feel even better than the new wave of blood calming the threatening collapse of his organs. His lip twitches again, this time the corner staying lifted, as he watches the excited pup ramble about the literary value of Lathan’s favourite novel. He’s so cute.
Before Lathan can agree and encourage more of Kylo’s animated ramble, his phone rings; the default melody of a video call. He reaches for it, frowning, and doesn’t think to put headphones on or leave the room for privacy—he’s never had to in the past, still unused to sharing his room with another person. So he answers it, his phone upright in his lap.
A man’s voice comes through the speaker, haunted by the phantom remnants of a Korean accent. “Hi, son.”
Lathan doesn’t greet him; his brows dip at the screen. “What are you doing?”
“Packing,” his father says. “Your mother and I are heading to Seoul for business.”
“When? For how long?”
“Tomorrow. We will be gone for about a month.”
Lathan scoffs under his breath, looking slightly annoyed. “So, I guess you won’t be coming to—”
“No,” his father cuts him off, as is routine. “If you finished your degree, maybe you could go on these trips for us.”
“You know the program. You did it yourself. I can’t go any faster.” Even though he technically is—taking those few classes during the summers, since he stays on campus anyways. They keep him from overthinking about his parents’ absence in his life.
“I’m saying you need to focus on your studies. Don’t be stupid and party and let your grades drop. We don’t want you to have to repeat classes.”
We , he thinks, or you don’t? He huffs through his nose, looking off. He’s aware of his roommate’s poor attempt to look uninvolved, straightening his shirt and suddenly realizing he has a phone himself that’ll help make it look like he isn’t listening.
There’s the chatter of his mother’s fluent Korean in the background that Lathan can’t quite decipher—not that he practices their native language anymore. His dad answers her, then says, “Have to go. Talk later,” and ends the call.
Lathan knows they won’t talk later. Not for months, unless something happens. Something bigger than him. And he also knows his mother in the background wasn’t trying to say hi. He may not speak Korean fluently like his parents do, but he still grew up under their tongue and understands it. His dad was even offscreen, packing a bag, not looking at Lathan despite it being a video call that he made. He probably saw Lathan’s reddened eyes from wherever his phone was propped and actively ignored them. They don’t talk about being vampires.
Four consecutive years at Obscura, and he still won’t have anyone coming to see him for the upcoming midterm visitation. He didn’t expect for them to, seeing as they never have, but it still bothers him, slotted deep down with other things he doesn’t address.
“Do your parents go on a lot of trips?”
Lathan sets his phone down and combs his fingers through his long, black hair, the ends licking up around his collarbone. The tension in his jaw wanes, hearing Kylo’s question—clearly he decided to abandon the idea of hiding his eavesdropping.
“They do. They have a lot of international clients,” he says, folding his arms and allowing himself to look at Kylo again. Just the sight of his big, innocent eyes—sparking golden in the midday sun, slanted across his bed—makes Lathan relax. “They’re lawyers, too.”
It’s one of the only adequate fields in his parents’ eyes, one that’ll grant him respect in Society, which is harder for Ethers to receive. It’s a structured career, and he’s set up already with a job, working underneath his parents at their firm, but truthfully it isn’t what Lathan cares to do. At least, he knows he doesn’t want to follow the same path as his parents, fighting only for people they wish they were; they’re so integrated they pretend they aren’t vampires, and actively defend cases against their own.
Kylo nods, picking at his nails for a moment, then straightens and cheerily offers a new question, resuming their previous game. “So how long do you think you’d actually last in a zombie apocalypse?” A cheeky, toothy grin spreads his mouth, showcasing his short fangs, and he laughs. “‘Cause I think I’d be fucked.”
Surprised by his silliness, the sweet, contagious sound of his laughter, Lathan releases a breath that almost sounds like a laugh; it’s the softest he’s let Kylo see him. He’s very hard most of the time, even miserable-looking. He doesn’t say things with a lot of inflection. Being this way tends to keep a lot of people away from him. But he’s been caught off guard by Kylo’s warmth and sweetness, and it’s wearing off on him.
“Wait, no!” Kylo’s eyes bulge, enticed by a new question to throw into the mix. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done after getting really drunk?”
“You wouldn’t be fucked if you stuck with me,” Lathan says confidently to his first question. Though, he adds internally, you might be fucked by me.
He adjusts himself on the bed now that his thoughts are sexualized and stirring. Kylo’s clearly awaiting further explanation, but Lathan’s pretty sure he wouldn’t want to actually hear it, so he jumps to the next answer. “I don’t know how much you know about vampire physiology, but it doesn’t take much to get drunk. I found that out the hard way when I was younger.”
“ Oh, really?” Kylo leans forward with intrigue, elbows perched on his crossed legs; Lathan swears he can see an imaginary tail wagging again, like he could imagine when his roommate found himself at their door. “Why’s that? I only really know the basics about vampires. Have you done any crazy drunk-stunts?”
You know more than you should , Lathan thinks sadly, but hides his guilt from his roommate and plays along. “We have a naturally low blood volume, so it’s easy to become intoxicated. My parents don’t drink, and don’t talk about…things. So I didn’t know. Got into a bar fight off campus my first year. And vampire fights aren’t pretty. Ever seen one?”
He ended up needing his stomach pumped at sixteen, unaware he couldn’t metabolize alcohol like his high school peers, and was thereafter transferred to a private school to finish his credits for Obscura. He’s always found it ironic that the drinking and partying only got worse with the preps.
“Oh, shit. No, I haven’t. What happened?”
“It was pretty bad. Couple nights in the clinic for both of us. I don’t even remember why it started.” As a werewolf, there isn’t much of a need for Kylo to know the gory details about another species—aside from humans, of course, and all students at a certification school have to take human science classes—so it makes sense why he doesn’t know a lot and is sitting pretty as he learns. Lathan wants to share, wants to be able to talk about it without disapproving looks, but also doesn’t want to scare him away. It’s an intimidating biology to know about, and he’s already gotten quite a taste.
“We aren’t each other’s prey, so our venom reacts differently when a vampire is bitten. It’s painful.”
“It is?” His brows jump, scrunching his forehead into lines, and then he hums with a sheepish smirk. “That’s kind of hard to believe.”
Lathan swallows as he eyes the fresh, soft bruise on Kylo’s neck. I’m glad my venom doesn’t hurt you. I’m glad it makes you feel… He rubs his face, hearing the memory of Kylo’s panting from the party last term, his moan from mere minutes ago. Dammit.
His mind can’t stop wandering to these things. Over and over again, he’s relishing as he remembers Kylo melting at his lips. His mid-level thirst drives his hormones deeper. I can’t admit that it makes me fucking horny to need blood.
He runs a hand over his lower stomach, trying to knead out the growing tension he’s feeling in his body. “What about you? Done anything stupid while drunk?”
“Well.” His smirk deepens into something mischievous, and the sight does the opposite of changing Lathan’s thoughts. “I may or may not have gotten absolutely liquored during my first year with a few other werewolves. One of them was training to become a chef, but the head chef was a total dickhead, so we ran across campus, broke into the culinary building, stole five cakes, and TP’d his office.”
Lathan’s heart clenches, which takes him aback, but everything Kylo says pulls him in more. Even his dumb stories have charm. He’s never felt like this about someone. And he hasn’t felt this kind of…comfort, happiness, even just in this small moment, for many years.
“You must be full of those kinds of stories,” he says, and he hopes he is. He hopes he gets to hear more. Learn more. Be around him more.
Because he likes this foreign feeling.
They continue to bask in each other’s presence, feeding off the energy in the room, the warmth—or is that in Lathan’s head? He wants to believe it, though, that Kylo feels it too—whatever this is. Because he eats up whatever Lathan feeds him, and doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to end their conversation.