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The myth of vampires existing has been around since the XV century, changing a few times throughout history.
At first, humans were sure that vampires could walk in bright daylight, but they attacked at night, because they were more powerful at the time of the dead (which would be correct; the rumors didn't start from nothing, after all).
But then, a hundred-or-so years later, a guy came along and decided that fuck vampires bro, they are way too boring, so he mixed the story up, going on about how a vampire would burn if an inch of their skin was ever to meet a ray of sun. And humans, the absolute idiots they were, believed him.
Oscar couldn't be too upset about how lies about his kind were being spread out, since they did help him live a normal life (or something close to it. He didn't remember the last time he experienced a brisk of normality).
Anyway.
These days, most people didn't even believe vampires were real. It did make sense in the modern day and age, because if vampires existed, how were there no recordings of them? Oscar sometimes wondered, too (it was a little scary to think that he could be the last one).
And then came Lando, who, for some unexplainable and ridiculous reason, decided that Oscar had to be a vampire. There was no true or sincere purpose behind it, no sense in the words, it all being (as Lando said a multitude of times) a mix of 'having the vibe' and a 'no human could ever be as hot as you are, there has to be a reason behind it. You like- you are meant to lure in your pray or something,' and while Oscar appreciated the compliment, he didn't really like being put to the test every single time they hung out.
Lando didn't even bother trying to hide it at this point, his attempts at making Oscar admit that he wasn't human clear.
Oscar, obviously, denied it every time.
Which didn't change the fact that he actually was a goddamn vampire, and Lando had been getting closer and closer to crossing the line, to entering the space where Oscar couldn't control his instincts anymore, where they took over him, like police entering his house without a warrant (he was still upset about that).
(And yes, theoretically, Oscar could tell him — but it somehow felt like losing. To be discovered for the first time by a too-horny-of-a-man-in-his-twenties, who had a thing for vampires felt like the biggest failure Oscar could experience. So he didn't dare to say anything — it's not like Lando would actually cross the line, that would be crazy. He wasn't that mad, Oscar was sure.)
The testing-if-Oscar-was-a-vampire-thing started small, inconspicuous, the cuts and scratches barely draining any blood. Most of the time, Oscar wouldn't even be aware of the red liquid until Lando pushed the small injury into his face. His body never had a reaction to it (ignoring the small tug of his brain that made him want to lick the torn skin, but he could control that with no problem whatsoever. He wasn't an animal, after all).
Then it evolved into something so much more intense, the accidental paper cuts happening more and more often, Lando intentionally cutting his finger when chopping the carrots, or scratching his skin for too long, long enough that red drops started appearing, started making themselves known.
It was enough for Oscar to be able to smell the blood, to feel its presence from a different room, to know that it was there, waiting for him, waiting to be consumed. He still had some control over himself — the injuries not being blood-gushing wounds, not crossing the invisible line, but right at it. Right at the edge.
He hadn't tasted a human in what must've been a few decades now, and Lando was really doing everything to make him miss the taste more and more with every night, and he started hating the man just a tad for doing so (not truly, he could never truly hate Lando, even if he tried).
Oscar stopped visiting Lando after the worst cut for a longer while. He needed a break, and maybe Lando would understand that he needed to stop with the whole bullshit, or they couldn't be friends anymore (the risk was enormous, and yet Oscar, the selfish man he was, would never outright tell Lando to fuck off. He liked the man just a little bit too much).
And if Oscar was a normal human, he would be weirded out, too, so it was not like he was blowing his cover.
When they saw each other again, a few weeks later in some random market, the Brit didn't apologize — just tugged Oscar closer, hugging him in greeting like he always did, completely ignoring the fact that Oscar had been ghosting him for the last weeks.
Well, okay then. Sure.
Their latest meetup (this meetup) was a calm one, filled with comforting silence rather than anything else. Oscar always stayed as quiet as he could (a habit from a few centuries ago, when he had to be very careful as to not show his fangs), but it wasn't exactly normal for Lando to not talk. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, stopping sporadically in the middle of a task for a few seconds every now and then.
They've been cooking dinner together (for Lando; Oscar said something along the lines of 'I've eaten already', so they wouldn't waste any food). It was fine, chill, some tension there, making the air static, but nothing happening.
Until-
Until Oscar found himself in a shit of a situation. Fucking bullshit, if you were to ask him. He had been staring at the floor for the past few minutes (seconds? hours? fucking eternity?), his sharp fingernails digging digging digging into his hands, the pain being the only thing that was stopping his instincts from coming out, the only thing that felt actually real. Oscar missed being a human, needed the feeling of blood escaping his body to ground himself, but that didn't happen, because he had no fucking blood flow.
Lando, the absolute asshole and menace he was (at that moment, Oscar really wished he could despite the guy. Sadly, he kinda had a thing for him, especially for the asshole and menace side of him), decided that he didn't want to half-ass shit anymore, and just cut his wrist open.
Like- he just grabbed a fucking knife (dirty knife, mind you) from the kitchen counter and did a quick slash right there, in the middle of his white-tiled kitchen, like it was normal. The quickness and speed and sureness of the motion made the red liquid get everywhere, the white cabinets and the floor and Oscar's bright clothes painted red (everything was red, no matter where Oscar looked, he saw the blood, he saw his food, and closing his eyes only amplified the need to do something about it).
Lando mumbled a quiet 'shit' just a second later, like he didn't mean for it to happen, like it was an accident, the words quiet and fearful — but then, in a brisk of a second, his whole demeanor changed, a proud smirk appearing on his face. He was either putting on an act, or was going crazy.
Oscar couldn't-not come to the conclusion that (ignoring the mad part) Lando had to be a suicidal moron. Because who in the hell, who valued their life, acted like that? What the fuck?
"I don't want to die," Lando said, murmured, his tone quiet, the words way too loud. He was closer to Oscar than he was when Oscar last looked. "I just don't want you to lie to me anymore. A little bite could've prevented this whole thing."
"Why would I bite you?" he answered, snared, something between annoyance and desperation. "You should've just told me you had a kink like that. I wouldn't have judged you."
"Don't play dumb, I know you are a vampire," Lando stated, irritation seeping into his voice, like it was obvious.
"I'm not playing dumb," Oscar stammered out, the words awkward awkward awkward, and there was no way Lando was going to believe him, not now.
(Oscar didn't know what was going on, whether both of them were putting on a show, or they had both completely lost it. It's not like he was scared to bite Lando, to drink his blood — but the mere thought of losing the Brit felt like too much. He didn't trust himself to not hurt Lando, and that was the worst part.)
Lando chuckled, the sound being more of a huff than a laugh, not genuine, nowhere close to meaningful. An empty sound meant to fill up the silence, but not doing a very good job at it.
Oscar could hear the blood flowing from the injury, dulling down the sound of Lando's footsteps. He felt every drop of it hitting the floor, the sound hitting his ears, attacking, making him want to lose the sense to hear forever (making him want to lose control, to let his body take over).
"Why do you still pretend? It's not like a normal human would act like that," Lando remarked, letting go of the knife, the metal hitting the floor with a loud THUD. Oscar shivered.
"I'm scared of blood," he answered, well aware that they both knew it was a lie.
Lando took another step forward, and Oscar could hear Lando's heartbeat, could feel the way blood moved inside of his body. Could feel him.
Oscar, at that moment, wished that he was anywhere else.
(And the worst part of that whole situation was that Oscar hadn't eaten in a while. He was meant to go hunt an animal after he said his goodbye to Lando, which was beginning to feel like it was the worst mistake he ever made, because if he was full, the whole interaction would be so much easier. But he was hungry instead.)
(Actually, scratch that from before. The worst part was absolutely the fact that Oscar wanted it, wanted to taste Lando's blood, wanted to dig his fangs deep inside of him, maybe make him whimper at the sensation.
The risk was too big though, too high for him to propose it.
He felt like a complete monster for feeling like this situation was like a dream come true, for his heart beating faster in excitement rather than stress. He felt guilty.)
"I don't want to hurt you," the words were rushed, a reaction to the darkness in him trying to claw its way out. He used to have full control over it, but that was decades ago. "I won't be able to control myself if I taste your blood. You can't- if you come any closer, I will rip you open and steal every single drop of blood you have in your body," he was acting like a desperate man, but that was what he was. He needed Lando to understand.
He took a few steps back, away, his back hitting the brick wall at the end. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to run from Lando, from himself.
"You will stop before I'm dead," Lando walked up to him, no fear in his movement, so sure of himself, like he trusted him. Oscar couldn't stop his whole body from tensing up. "You care too much to kill me."
"But I-"
"You didn't want to tell me when I asked," he lifted Oscar's head up, using only one of his fingers. Their eyes crossed. "And I just have to know. You understand, don't you?"
(Oscar understood)
He swallowed, the sound loud, way too loud in the empty kitchen.
"For all it's worth, I didn't want it to end up this way," he sighed after a few seconds, letting go of Oscar's chin. Oscar didn't look away. "But there was no way it would've happened otherwise, we both know that."
He took a step closer, their chests almost meeting, and Oscar could feel the heat that Lando's body was emitting. The Brit lifted his wrist up, and the second Oscar could see the fresh blood fully covering his arm, he blacked out.
He never felt anything in this stage, everything turning off, his senses not working with his mind, not even trying to cooperate. Realistically, it was the only part of being a vampire he absolutely despised — that's why he always did his best to stop it from happening.
It's not like he hated losing control in itself, he didn't mind letting his instincts take over (he let them, sometimes, when he was hunting in a controlled environment, where he knew he wouldn't hurt a loved one). He just really, really didn't want to hurt Lando.
When he came back, he was lying on the goddamn white tiles (his clothes wet on the back, the blood from the floor now seeping through them), his head on Lando's legs.
He was still warm and still breathing. Thank god for that.
"See? I told you I would be fine," Lando petted his hair, the movement shaky, oh so shaky, but there. Oscar could barely hear his heartbeat. "You barely drank any of my blood, too. You have way more control over yourself than you give yourself credit for."
Oscar stayed silent, actually feeling full for the first time in decades, his brain absolutely drunk on Lando's blood. It felt like he was finally in heaven.
Talking felt like a nightmare, so he didn't bother responding, way too content to just lay on Lando's legs.
"I am sorry, by the way. I'm not sure what overcame me. I was- I've been thinking of doing that for a while, but I wasn't actually planning to-"
"It's alright," he murmured into Lando's black pants, stopping the man's rambling before it could really start, not moving his head even an inch. "I should've told you a while ago, anyway."
"Still, it's not- it wasn't fair. Not to you," his fingers found a clumber of Oscar's hair, sharply tugging at the ends. He quietly apologized while Oscar groaned at the sensation (either from disliking or liking the sensation. He wasn't going to dwell on it; not now).
"We will have to talk about it later," he said after a few more minutes of fruitless silence passed, the words making Lando fully tense up, his hand stopping.
"I know," Lando responded, a nervous laughter hearable, and Oscar knew damn well that he did not know.
"About both things," he clarified.
"I don't know, Osc... it's not like-"
"Lando," he said, stern, raising his head up even though it gave him the biggest headache he had ever experienced. "We will talk about it. There is no escaping from it, not when I'm alive, and I can assure you that I'm not dying any time soon."
Lando sighed, looking away, devastated, "tomorrow?" he asked, pleading barely hearable in the back of his voice. Oscar nodded.
"Tomorrow."