8. Chapter 8 (1/2)

couldn't leave you hanging for too long there, so have another bit. enjoy!

disclaimer: not mine, don't own.

"bertrand?" the boy was peering worriedly at him, but bertrand couldn't tear his eyes away from the small stream of blood running down his arm. he couldn't stay here; robin was between him and the door, so he couldn't leave either. it was all he could do to keep himself pressed against the wall, clinging to the stone in the hope that when his hunger took over, his body would be fooled into thinking it needed the wall. he pushed himself backwards, tighter against it. it was a losing battle, he knew; the best he could do was buy them some time. time in which robin could leave, remove temptation, find vlad. vlad could protect him.

"you need to get out." it was a struggle to force the words out; he was hungry, that was why he'd turned from robin in the first place, searching for a bottle. he'd had to go without, back in stokely; he hadn't exactly planned for the day spent in bed with the

eather when he'd set out. he hadn't planned for anything, really. he'd just gone. yes, this was good, this was a good train of thought – don't think about the hunger, bertrand, think about robin – but then that surprise attack had prompted the instinctive response he'd been warning his idiot about for all this time. he'd hurt robin, and now robin was bleeding, and his blood smelt so good-

"i can't go out there, b, the count and ingrid-" bertrand let out a frustrated snarl; the boy was right, but didn't he see he was in just as much danger here? perhaps more, because as far as he knew, the draculas had not starved themselves for the last day, and suffered from no addictions. robin didn't even look scared, except at the thought of leaving the room. what was wrong with him? didn't he understand what bertrand could do, what he was mere moments from doing?

"bertrand, look at me." he was looking at him; he couldn't look away from the wound on his arm; superficial, where he'd scraped it against the wall or the floor, but bleeding profusely. the boy must mean his eyes; he dragged his own up to meet them with difficulty. robin swallowed hard, as if noticing for the first time that bertrand's eyes were blown black, but held his gaze. "you're… b, just come here." what was he thinking? he must know the danger he was putting himself in. he shook his head stubbornly even as his eyes drifted back down to settle on the drop of red liquid now beading in the crook of the boy's elbow. he hated himself for the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. this was wrong, this was all wrong, and he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to resist.

robin wasn't an idiot – contrary to popular belief – he knew he was in a bad situation here. he should never have crept up on bertrand, and he certainly shouldn't be trying to tempt him closer given that he was bleeding and the vampire was clearly hungry. come to think of it, when was the last time bertrand had had blood? unless he'd stopped for a drink with vlad – and he'd hardly been gone a few minutes – he can't have had any in over a day. no wonder his eyes were black. and yes, robin was dimly aware that that should have been terrifying, but he actually found it… kind of… sexy. he blushed as he acknowledged that to himself, and noticed bertrand's eyes widen slightly at the rush of blood to his cheeks. he only hoped the vampire wouldn't notice where else blood was rushing to; he crossed his legs in front of himself just to make sure.

he really didn't dare go outside, though, where ingrid and the count might be tempted. it wasn't as if he could realistically outrun bertrand anyway. so instead, he held his gaze steady, aware that bertrand wasn't really looking at him as much as at his blood, and tried to ignore the stirrings in his stomach as the vampire licked his lips."i'm sorry, i shouldn't have crept up on-""i'm not angry. robin, this isn't about anger. you need to leave." well, he seemed to be capable of longer sentences now. that was progress. still, it didn't make a lot of difference in the long run; what robin was about to do would either save him, or kill him. there was no middle ground. it was make or

eak.

he held his arm out towards bertrand, careful not to spill any blood on the floor. he'd seen the count's reaction to spilt blood once or twice, and he didn't want to trigger any such anger in his vampire boyfriend. bertrand bared his fangs, as if in warning.

robin shuffled forward slightly, still holding out his wounded arm in front of him."bertrand… you can have it."