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“Scott?” Sausage called, the sound echoing loudly through the hallways of Scott’s mansion. On second thought, there was far more eco than there probably should have been. Huh. Welp. That seemed like the sort of thing that could threaten what little remained of his sanity if he thought about it too hard, so he just . . . wouldn’t.
“You here?” He called again, pitching his voice up to carry, there was no response.
So, Scott wasn’t home. Ooh. This would be the perfect time to cause some mischief -
No! No.
I’m here to say thank you, he reminded himself with all the practice of someone used to talking themselves out of bad decisions, pranking him would be counterintuitive, and also likely a death sentence.
Maybe if he repeated it enough, it would remove the temptation. Maybe.
“Ooh-kay, then.” Sausage said into the cool air, rocking back and forth on his heels, “Guess we wait, then.”
Yay. Sausage loved waiting.
With a light sigh, Sausage strode further into Scott’s mansion. The quiet click-click of his shoes against the hardwood floor was oddly calming, so he made an effort to step heavier to hear the unnatural echo. He swung around the staircase, seeing a couple of wooden chairs propped against the wall. No better place to wait than the waiting room, he supposed. He bounced forward and plopped down in the very middle chair, propping his legs up on the others, just to be contrary.
He waited there until his brain became numb from boredom and he had scatted his way through at least five songs which probably didn’t exist anywhere but his own head, when, finally, he caught a whiff of blood in the air.
With a triumphant cheer, Sausage jumped to his feet and strolled towards the front door, and -
Oh. Wuh oh .
“Sausage?” Scott said, before reaching up a hand to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. Because he was bloody. Like, covered . “What are you doing here?”
Uh oh uh oh , looped his internal monologue. It was never a good idea to interrupt a vampire’s feeding. He should go, should apologize and hastily beat a retreat and come back another day.
“Wow. That is a lot of blood.” Slipped out, because Sausage was apparently born without a filter. “Like. A lot .”
A lot. Sausage could see the original stains, the older blood dried and turned flakey, and over that, fresh, bright crimson.
“Yeah, I was out hunting, it’s just cow blood.” Scott spoke nonchalantly, holding up his bloodied claws like that emphasized something other than how screwed Sausage probably was. A curious gleam entered his eyes, “Couldn’t you smell it?”
Ok. Scott didn’t seem in the mood to eat him. That was good. Very good, actually. The best.
“You always smell like blood, man.” Sausage rolled his eyes, really, it was kinda sickening. Back when he was an Angel, it had made him nauseous. Now, he didn’t mind so much. It was just a odd quirk.
“Do I?” Scott questioned, a contemplative look on his face, “Hm. Funny, considering I don’t actually have blood.”
“You sure drink enough of it.” Sausage teased, and Scott smirked.
“A girls gotta eat.” Scott shot back, his lips pulled back to show his fangs, “And you didn’t question my answer, Angel, what are you doing here?”
“Not an angel.” Sausage replied on instinct, “And I came to say . . . thanks, I guess.”
Scott looked so damn baffled that Sausage had to hold in a little giggle.
“What for?” Scott asked, tilting his head in a way that was rather reminiscent of the Moth boy.
“You set me free from my wings, man!.” Even just thinking about it, a grin spread across his cheeks. His back was so much lighter.
“Killing you, you mean?” Scott checked, still clearly lost. Like the concept of gratitude was just unknowable.
Aw. He was kinda cute.
Wait. What?
“Uh, yeah.” Sausage said, a bit numbly, as his mind raced.
No, really. What?
Scott was literally covered in blood. He would probably have to burn that shirt, because it didn’t look cleanable. Not only that, he was a vampire . Cute?
Wow. Maybe Sausage had lost even more of his marbles than he previously thought.
“Oh. Well, you’re welcome?” Came the unsure reply, as if Scott had randomly found himself stumbling through unknown ground.
Sausage decided to fridge his little crisis for a time when he wasn't actively in a conversation with a being who could kill him. Who had killed him.
Really? Cute?
There was a few moments of quiet, awkward silence, as they both stared at each other, lost in two very different crises.
“Did you really hate them that much?” Scott said, apropos of nothing, he continued at Sausage’s confused look, “The wings, I mean.”
“Yeah, I definitely did. I mean, there was a lot of pressure, you know?” He waved his hands through the air, as if that would somehow make Scott understand the very complex emotions he was trying to explain, “Like, to be good. To do good. I was supposed to help everyone, now I’m free from that, you know?”
“I think I do.” Scott’s smile was softer, this time, and Sausage got the impression he had just been let in on a great secret, only he had to puzzle it out first.
“I think I like being the bad guy more.” Sausage confessed, and Scott nodded knowingly.
“Yeah.” Scott agreed quietly, “I mean, I lost my wings when I died, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more free.”
“Funny, that.”
“I kept them, you know. Your wings.” Scott looked askance, as if he was expecting to be scolded. All Sausage could think was, ‘aw, he kept them?’ which probably wasn’t the sanest thing he could have thought at that moment. Like, he was supposed to be disgusted or afraid, but instead he felt oddly . . . flattered? Like Scott taking his wings then just, like, keeping them was something sweet, and not horribly deranged.
“Can I see?” The words slipped out, because, once again, Sausage had lost his filter at some point along the road that he called life.
“You - Sure, I guess.” Scott looked a bit taken aback, but that quickly fell away, replaced by something so pleased that Sausage couldn’t help but grin.
Scott swept over to him, holding out an arm for him to take in such a gentlemanly move that Sausage giggled.
“Old fashioned, eh?” Sausage teased, reaching over and hooking his arm into Scott’s.
“Oh, shut it, Angel.” Scott scoffed, before they strolled towards the stairs.
Ok. Scott was definitely cute. What had happened to his standards? When had they lowered to ‘nice’ and ‘covered in blood’ because yowzah , that was much hotter than it should have been.
Sausage took the stairs two at a time, just to force Scott to match him. He got an exasperated look for his troubles, but it was tinged with amusement, so he counted it as a win.
They turned the corner, and -
Oh. Oh, wow .
There they were.
Stuck to the wall with nails through the base and tips and coated with blood, the presentation should have been gory, terrible, but Sausage looked at them and saw the careful reverence with which they had been hanged, not a feather out of place. The dark red was a beautiful contrast to the glowing, holy white of the feathers.
They looked so much more beautiful than when they were on his back. They were loved so much more.
“ Oh .” Sausage breathed, rendered speechless by the almost reverent display. He may not have been an angel anymore, but he could still recognise worship.
“Beautiful, right?” Scott squeezed his arm, seeming just as absorbed in the light of the wings in front of him as Sausage.
“Yes. I - I never realized -” Sausage cut himself off, going back to staring at his old wings.
They stood in silence for a few moments, before Scott spoke up quietly.
“Do you miss them, now?”
Sausage took a moment to think, and found that he could answer honestly.
“No, I don’t.” It was almost shocking, when faced with such beauty, that he still found the concept of having to carry them so appalling. “I don’t think they’re meant for mortals - not for me to carry.” A burden. A beautiful, holy burden.
“They’re meant for the wall to carry.” Scott joked with a shaky voice, and Sausage barked a laugh as the tension was broken immediately.
“The wall sure is handling it better than I was.” Sausage giggled, almost hysterically. There was something so freeing about joking about that time of pain. Like it was the past.
“A sturdy thing, that wall.” Scott continued, trying to sound conversational and failing miserably and his voice broke into laughter, “Well constructed, you know? Definitely built to carry divinity.”
“Oh, definitely.” Sausage choked out through his laughter, letting go of Scott to put his hand to his face. He resolutely ignored the blood it smeared over his cheeks. He also ignored the way Scott’s pupils dilated as his fangs poked out of his mouth. Sausage was very, very good at ignoring things.
Well. Sausage was also very good at poking bears.
“So, you gotta tell me, Scott, did I taste good?” He grinned cheekily, tilting his head up and exposing his throat. Ooooh. This was a bad idea. Fun though. Very, very fun.
“Bit sweet for me, Angel.” There was a certain eerie quality to Scott’s voice, as it too echoed like the mansion. Maybe it was a vampire thing?
Well, in for a pound in for a penny, and all that.
“Have you ever tried Wither blood?” Sausage could have sworn Scott stopped breathing at that moment. And then . . . didn’t start again. Wow, that was oddly unnerving.
There was something considering in Scott’s eyes as he regarded him, something that made Sausage shiver slightly, suddenly feeling a bit like a mouse trapped beneath a cat’s paw. Which. Wow. Ok.
Sausage allowed himself a brief moment to mourn the tragic loss of his standards, may they rest in peace.
“You offering?” Scott raised an eyebrow, a careless smile on his face betrayed by the bright red glow of his eyes.
Ooh, and apparently his dignity was terminal. A real shame, that.
“Think I might be.” Sausage said honestly, because he really was curious. “Can you do it without killing me?”
“I can.”
“Then yeah. I am.”
With permission, Scott slowly stalked forward. Was this a good idea? No, probably not. But, well. To late, really -
Sausage’s train of thought was abruptly derailed as Scott placed one hand on his chest and pushed, gentle but firm. He kept pushing until Sausage had his back to the wall, and. Oh . Yeah, he was really doing this, huh?
Scott was still smiling, but there was something . . . off. Too wide, with too many teeth, sharp, sharp teeth. He leaned down, pressing his lips to Sausage’s neck. Sausage made the executive decision to blame his rapid heartbeat on fear and nothing else. Nope, nothing.
“I’m not really that hungry, you know.” Scott mumbled into his neck, fangs running over the skin and leaving behind raised white lines, “But there’s always room for desert.”
Oooohhoo. Oohh.
“Aha, yep! And I’m happy to be yours. Dessert, that is! heh,” Oh Ender, he was rambling. Scott needed to bite him and bite him now to get his stupid mouth to stop running -
Scott chuckled, before pressing a single kiss under his jaw.
“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you this time.” Scott reassured, completely misunderstanding Sausage’s panic, and thank god for that -
All at once, pain exploded in his neck. He shouted and bucked once in pure instinct, before holding as still as he could manage. No need to cause any extra carnage, right?
Apparently, Scott did not agree, because in the very next moment he was biting even deeper. Blood practically poured from the twin wounds, and Scott licked it up enthusiastically, which totally terrified Sausage. Yep. That was why his heart was racing, no other reason, and he’d wither anyone who said otherwise.
A hand twined in his hair, roughly pulling his head to the side to further expose his neck, and, wow Scott, bloodsucking just had to play to all his kinks like that. Rude and unfair.
Some hindbrain prey instinct had him trying to tuck into himself and protect his vulnerable bits, which Scott was not at all pleased with. Sausage had to bite his lip to keep from making any mortifying noises when Scott growled into his neck and tightened his grip in Sausage’s hair.
“Ah, good?” Sausage asked shakily with the few words he still possessed. Luckily, he’d managed to maintain basic vocabulary in the Great IQ Loss suffered at Scott’s hands. And mouth.
Scott looked up at him through his eyelashes, face and mouth stained with blood, and licked his lips. Sausage got the terrible and exciting notion that he had gotten himself into something a bit out of his league.
“Good.” Came the rough reply.
Sausage lost track of . . . well, everything, to be frank. That was probably blood loss, but it could also have been ‘pretty man has a hand in my hair and mouth on my neck,’
Probably blood loss. Probably?
He only really came back to himself when Scott pulled away after what could have been minutes or hours. A small whine slipped out that probably would have given him quite the blush if his body had any blood to spare. Oh, whatever. Dignity was dead, Sausage had killed it with a dull stone shovel. He made grabby hands at Scott.
“Any more and you’ll pass out, Sausage.” Scott seemingly chided, but it was more amused than anything. He, quite notably, did not go back to drinking Sausage’s blood, which frankly was unacceptable.
“Meh,” Replied Sausage, which was not at all what he meant to say. His intention being something along the lines of ‘I swear to any gods listening Scott if you don’t keep touching me I’ll wither you so hard no one will recognize your body.’ “Bleh,” He tried again, to equally limited results. His lips felt numb and he just couldn’t make them move.
Something concerned made its way onto Scott's face, which just wasn’t right. He was so lovely, he shouldn’t be upset. Of course, most attempts at communicating this came out as incomprehensible noises.
“Might have taken too much,” Scott mumbled, seemingly to himself, before looking up, red eyes shining with something like guilt, but just a shade too dark, a little pleased in a possesive sort of way, “You’re in no state to be walking home, here.”
Scott held out an arm, which Sausage less took, more ‘used to support the entirety of his weight’ because his legs didn’t seem to be working quite right. That concerned look flitted back across Scott's face, but he seemed to shake it off easy enough. Well, that was good!
Slowly, Scott led him over to a . . . coffin?
“Sorry it’s not a bed . . .” Scott said, sounding a tad sheepish, he slowly lowered Sausage into the coffin, “I . . . ah, I don’t actually have a bed? So this will have to do. Hope you’re not claustrophobic.”
Sausage wasn’t. And the coffin was honestly more comfortable than his bed back home, figures Scott would figure out how to make a coffin cushy.
“There we go,” Scott murmured as he settled the limp doll that was a half unconscious Sausage. Should Sausage be concerned that he couldn’t really move? Probably. Eh, Scott would take care of him. “Should probably keep the lid open”
It didn’t seem like he was actually talking to Sausage, so he didn’t even try to respond. Then, Scott started to walk away, which just wouldn’t do! Sausage gathered up all of his energy to make an affronted noise, tragically, it came out a bit more whiny than anything, but it got Scott to stop and turn around, so. You know. Win.
“What?” Scott asked, walking back over quickly, that almost-guilt reappearing “Are you alright?”
Sausage responded by making grabby hands at him, because it was so cold in the coffin, and Scott would - well, probably not make it warm, but make it better. Scott didn’t seem like he’d be warm. In fact, touching Scott kinda felt like touching a dead body, all waxy and cold. But still, it was the concept that counted.
“You want me to . . . get in?” Sausage nodded vigorously, making the grabby hands again, “I don’t actually sleep, you know, and I’m filthy.”
He sounded so disgusted with himself at that moment that Sausage took a moment to consider, before deciding that, no, actually, he didn’t care about blood. He cared about Scott getting his ass in the coffin.
To make this abundantly clear, he twisted his magic until the wood of the bedside table rotted and withered, collapsing in a heap that actually made Scott flinch.
“Is that a threat?” Scott asked amusedly, shaking his head, “Get in or you’ll destroy my furniture?”
Pretty much, yeah.
“Well, alright.” Scott finally acquiesced, Sausage just barely held back a cheer as he carefully climbed into the coffin next to him. It was a lot smaller with two people, clearly not built for it, but it worked. “I guess I do have something to make up for, here.”
Sausage nodded, though at what he wasn’t entirely sure? But he had definitely been right, it was much more comfortable with Scott in there.
Scott carefully wrapped his arms around Sausage, like he was afraid he’d break if he held on to tight, and tucked Sausage’s head under his chin.
They were covered in sticky, drying blood, and Sausage’s neck was throbbing something awful, but still. It was better than any heaven Sausage had ever felt.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
Sausage could almost fool himself into thinking Scott sounded fond.