Summary: AU. Vampires do not cry tears.
Notes: Sequel to Part 1: Meeting.
When Changmin wakes, it is with a cry of betrayal. Yunho holds him down, which isn’t hard. The new vampire’s strength is minimal without the sustenance of blood other than his maker’s. He could have given more, but then, Changmin would have broken free from his embrace.
Yunho wraps his arms around his former master, closes his eyes and tries not to miss the hunter’s human heartbeat which had been his near constant companion for almost twenty-five years. Changmin gasps, perhaps he is crying, but Yunho can only smell the pink watery serum of diluted blood making its way down Changmin’s cheeks.
Vampires do not cry tears.
The first month, Yunho keeps Changmin chained at an old abandoned garrison. He leaves the fledgling each night to feed on the wayward lambs of shepherds. Late evening, he drags one fresh carcass home and bites through the carotid artery until his hands are stained with the crimson liquor. He pushes his wet fingers against Changmin’s mouth but the hunter refuses to bite even though the fangs distend and Yunho knows he must be aching.
Changmin can barely sit up and Yunho cradles him, whispering endearments and threatening him at the same time. The situation of babying a middle-aged man chokes Yunho with mirth when his heart isn’t breaking.
Forty-five days after he is turned, Changmin laps at blood for the first time.
Changmin does not speak. Like a moth to a flame, he is drawn to sunlight and naps fitfully in the night even though the change should have reversed his instincts to wake with the day. He is still weak enough to be killed by an errant shaft of light.
Yunho does not sleep for six days, until exhausted, he drags Changmin to one of the pagan tombs.
He pushes off the marble coffin’s lid, hefts some Ancient’s skeleton out of its stone bedding, and pushes Changmin face-down into the emptied sarcophagus. Yunho slots himself behind him, his mouth brushing tenderly against the shoulder and side of Changmin’s neck. In a human, it would merely be a kiss; in a vampire it serves as a warning.
Changmin stops struggling and instinctively submits.
Changmin learns to drink from Yunho’s throat and Yunho murmurs encouragement, caressing along the silvered temples which will never grow grayer, sliding his fingers down muscles that will never atrophy or wither.
Changmin never drinks him dry. It is himself that he looks at with loathing.
“You have all the time in the world now,” Yunho says. He no longer counts the days, but he can smell the crisp scent of autumn winding its way down the hills. The leaves are turning the most beautiful crimson. Summer is dead. Yunho brushes his fingers against Changmin’s shoulder. “What would you like to do?”
Changmin snaps off a twig from the tree they are roosting on, holding its keen end underneath the moonlight. Its jagged edge is as sharp as a stake. Changmin slides it down his grip until it cuts his palm and he bleeds.
“What I always have,” he says hoarsely.
Yunho bends down to where Changmin is sitting on the bough, and kisses him.