AU popewhit (dennis as a vampire!) pt. 3
Pope sighed and closed his eyes, wearily rubbing his face. He lowered his hands and watched how the boy slowly touched the plasma television his brother kept in the middle of the living room. At that moment, he just wanted to clean up, go to bed, and wish none of it had happened, but that was impossible with the boy there.
"Why are you touching things like that?"
Pope couldn't help but ask, mentally scolding himself for wanting to know why the boy was acting that way. On the other hand, upon hearing Pope's voice, the boy moved his hands away and slowly stroked them. He looked almost as if he'd been caught off guard and was acting like a child who'd just been scolded.
"Is there a way to touch things you don't know?"
The boy asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. Huh. Pope couldn't help but grin slightly, noticing the boy's embarrassment. He looked down at the rug, frowning as he realized his dried blood had been absorbed. Now he had to replace it with a new one. Great.
The boy asked, pulling Pope from his thoughts and making him look up until he met his gaze.
Pope asked, relaxing his furrowed brow, genuinely—confused—curious to hear him. He didn't know why he was still talking to the kid; he should have kicked him out of the apartment at the first opportunity, but there he was, talking to a stranger—a weird kid who was really pale and had crawled out of a freaking safe—about nothing in particular.
"You think a lot. I can almost hear your thoughts."
The boy said between yawns, his tired eyes half-closing and struggling to stay open.
Pope felt compassion upon seeing him in such a vulnerable state, and somehow it reminded him of himself when he was younger. What he would have given if someone had taken care of him.
He thought to himself, lowering his gaze and getting lost in his thoughts again as he remembered the warmth and tenderness that Julia had shared with him since they were born.
The boy's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he frowned at the strange nickname.
He said sharply, but unintentionally. He was slightly surprised to see that the boy hadn't reacted and simply shrugged again, paying no attention to his reply.
Pope still couldn't believe that this kid had come out of a damn safe.
He thought to himself, frowning, as he approached and bent down to examine the safe and sighed in disappointment, confirming his suspicions that it was empty and contained nothing of value. But he still wondered, who in their right mind would dare lock up a pale but strange teenager...?
"What are you doing here for fun?"
The boy asked, watching him inspect the safe. Pope turned to look at him, unable to accept how cheeky he was in a stranger's house. Well, he wasn't a stranger too, but he had more advantages because he was the owner's brother.
"Are you ever going to answer my questions?"
Pope's refusal to answer his question and just stared at him in silence. The boy sighed with his brow furrowed, and crossed his arms as he sat down on the couch. He frowned at how presumptuous the boy was in front of a stranger.
"Why were you inside the safe?"
Pope asked, direct and blunt and watching the boy's reactions, but he remained unfazed, though his blinking was slower than before.
"My sister doesn't like me very much and…"
The boy stopped talking, and for the first time that night, he looked bewildered as he tried to remember what had happened. Pope stood up and walked slowly over to where the boy sat in Deran's old couch but didn't sit beside him.
"I… I can't clearly remember how I ended up in the black box."
The boy said, his gaze unfocused. Pope observed him as if examining a specific stranger—which, it was, he probably was—but seeing how hurt he was by not being able to remember, he decided to give in and slowly sat down beside him.
Pope extended one of his hands and placed it on the boy's, in an attempt to comfort him. Just as Julia had once done for him when they were young and slept together when he had nightmares.
Pope thought, feeling how icy his skin felt. It wasn't normal, but even if he wanted to mention it, he could read the situation like a normal person, and this wasn't the right time.
He was lost in thought again when, unable to stop himself, he jumped slightly at the sound of a giggle coming from the boy. Pope turned to look at him, his brow furrowed and one eyebrow raised, as the boy regarded him curiously.
It was as if he could read his thoughts.
They both remained silent for a couple of minutes until Pope felt a small, cold hand take his rough, calloused hand. He looked down, finding his hand intertwined with the boy's, and suddenly felt uncomfortable at the sudden closeness.
He wasn't like this. He didn't know why he was acting this way. Maybe it was his desire for touch after spending so much time in prison. No. That was impossible, and it was wrong. He couldn't simply appreciate the moment of closeness; this boy was barely a child—
The boy's response made him release his hand and step away from him, quickly getting up from the couch.
"How the hell did you do that?"
Pope demanded, no—he insisted, frowning as he pointed his finger at him. When he received no response from the boy, who just stared at the floor and looking completely ashamed, his hands clenched into fists, a surge of fury coursing through his body.
He didn't take it out on him, but what he did do was search every corner of the apartment for any wires that the police used to spy on people. Pope had learned a lot in prison.
The boy asked worriedly as he watched Pope turn the kitchen chairs upside down, his fingers intently searching for something on the legs of one of the chairs. Upon hearing it, Pope look at him angry and threw the chair to the other side of the room, making the boy tremble and jumped up from his seat on the couch, seeing him like a scared puppy.
For a second, Pope regretted showing his explosive personality to the boy, but remembering that he didn't know this stranger at all, he decided to put his feelings aside.
He approached the boy with determination, and for a moment he wanted to back away when he saw the boy with whom he had shared a pleasant moment of vulnerability trying to distance himself from him.
"I'm only going to ask you once, and you'd better answer truthfully, did they send you to spy on me?"
Pope asked with his brow furrowed, his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were turning white from the pressure he was exerting. His eyes scanned the boy's every expression, who could only blink rapidly without saying a word. The boy looked completely confused by the question, but Pope wasn't going to make things easy for him just because he was a kid.
"I have no idea what you're talking about right now."
The boy said, his face still showing fear, but the certainty in his words threw him off balance. Pope growled and grabbed his arm, causing the boy to quickly squirm in an attempt to break free, but it was useless. It seemed almost as if all the force with which he had initially knocked him down had vanished.
"What do you think you're doing?! Let me go!"
The boy demanded, struggling with Pope and trying to push him away, but the man was taller and knew his surroundings well enough to move around as he pleased.
"I tried to be nice to you, but you refuse to be honest."
Pope said, grabbing the boy's arm as he searched for the apartment keys to unlock the front door.
"How can I be honest when this feels like an interrogation!"
The boy said amidst the struggle, suddenly feeling weak. His legs trembled, and for a second he thought he would fall to the ground, but Pope's arms caught him carefully as his concerned gaze looked at him.
"Hey, kid, what's wrong? You were fine a second ago!"
Pope said with a grunt, abandoning whatever he was searching for, and scooped the boy up in his arms as he hurried to the room where he had slept the night before. Once there, he laid the boy down and carefully arranged the pillows under his head and back, making sure not to shake him too much.
Pope asked softly, almost in a whisper, and the boy nodded slowly, frowning as he noticed he looked paler—if that was even possible—than usual. One of his hands went up to his forehead, but he groaned at the lack of warmth; he felt completely cold, almost like a...
The boy said slowly with his eyes half-closed, which unsettled Pope but but he stayed close in case anything happened. However, that didn't change the fact that he was probably imagining the whole thing.
Perhaps the reason he was so paranoid was because he had just gotten out of prison and was afraid of going back there. Adding to that, he was on parole and had just robbed a damn safe that he thought would contain a ton of cash, but instead he'd encountered a thin, very pale boy with extraordinary strength, and he didn't even know his name. It was impossible that the boy knew what he was thinking…
"Pope… you're not imagining anything. I can't explain it for sure, but I can read your mind."
Okay. He hadn't expected that.
Pope frowned and tilted his head forward, almost close to the boy's as if that would answer all his questions, making the boy chuckle softly at his reaction.
"You do it… all the time?"
The boy shook his head and turned to look at him with a smile.
"Only if... I concentrate."
The boy answered with a sigh, struggling to keep his eyes open. Pope's brows furrowed in concern, and he gently took the boy's small hand in his own.
"By the way.... my name is Dennis."
The boy—Dennis said in such a soft voice that for a moment Pope was afraid he wouldn't have the strength to speak again.
"I'm fine, Andrew. You don't need to worry about a stranger like me."
Dennis said with a small smile, feeling his hand tighten around his own, and he simply stroked his knuckles with one finger, his eyes half-closed and his breath was slow.
Pope asked, suddenly feeling embarrassed, which made Dennis laugh with what little strength he had left.
"To be honest… I found out against my will. It's not like I was snooping into other people's minds. I hate it when people do that."
Dennis said, biting his lip lightly, drawing a little blood to ease the dryness in his throat. After seeing him, Pope wanted to get up quickly to get him a glass of water, but Dennis took his hand, stopping him and making him sit down next to him again.
"Don't go. You're being kind."
Pope smiled slightly at the compliment and nodded, suddenly feeling nervous. He might have seemed tough and serious on the outside, but compliments were his weakness.
"It's alright if you rest a bit. You were inside the safe for who knows how long. Maybe you can regain your strength if you sleep."
Pope said in a soft voice, just the way he spoke to Julia when she had the flu or felt unwell. He just wanted to take care of him and not disturb the boy. He didn't know why he was suddenly worried about him. Maybe that was what a normal person should feel, but Dennis wasn't an ordinary person.
"It's okay to be different… you know?"
Dennis said, his eyes narrowing, resting his head on the soft pillow while Pope stared at him, wondering how this boy knew exactly what to say. He had so many questions to ask him, but at that moment he just wanted Dennis to get better.
"I'm not a… kid, you know? I even think I'm… much older than you."
Dennis yawned, blinking slowly, struggling to keep talking to Pope. He felt so tired, his whole body ached, his head was spinning, his throat was dry, and he was so hungry, but he had to resist. He mustn't give in to his vampiric urges.
"Really? How old are you?"
Pope asked curiously, his gaze drifting to Dennis's dry lips, which he licked with the tip of his tongue in an attempt to keep them moist.
"It's rude to ask someone's age."
Dennis said, letting out a weak laugh, which elicited a small smile from Pope, who simply nodded and raised his free hand in surrender.
As a few minutes passed in silence, Pope thought Dennis had finally fallen asleep, so he stood up and was about to let go of his hand when Dennis's eyes opened and his hand tightened around Pope's, surprising him.
"I thought you were asleep."
Dennis shook his head, shifting on the mattress, searching for a more comfortable position.
He said softly without thinking, almost certain that Pope hadn't heard him, but he had. Pope got up, but without letting go of his hand, he approached Dennis and stroked one of his cheeks. Dennis closed his eyes and sighed, resting his cheek against his warm hand.
The contrast between their skin temperatures was so obvious as it was sad.
"I can make you a sandwich."
Pope said softly, brushing the wild brown curls away from Dennis's face, but he just shook his head and his eyes were still closed. He really liked Pope's warm touch on his skin, but he was starting to feel different.
"Do you want some chicken soup? I can run to the store and make it—"
Dennis frowned and shook his head, pulling away from Pope's hand as he opened his eyes to look at him. He looked completely different than before, the brown eyes that had once looked at Pope with warmth were now flooded completely black. He looked completely abnormal.
Pope froze at the sound of his serious voice, he looked at him with his brow furrowed and noticed that his eyes were no longer half-closed but now wide open, staring at him intently.
Almost as if he were the prey he longed to devour.
Pope swallowed hard, but was completely determined to help that strange boy—Dennis—with whatever he needed. He no longer cared what might happen to him; his family would probably be fine if he didn't come back to them.
After all those years he spent alone in prison writing letters to his family and receiving none in return were the most obvious answer anyone could give him.
Perhaps that was better. To help those who needed it.
Pope said after a few seconds of silence, which surprised Dennis, who was a little dizzy but still aware of his actions. He frowned at how determined Pope was to help him.
Dennis asked moving away from him, now more conscious, and sitting down in the middle of the bed. Pope climbed onto the bed with him, careful not to step on him and sat down in front of him. Dennis looked at him expectantly, unable to believe he would agree, but at that moment Pope looked so determined and didn't ask for anything in return.
Pope asked, a little worried about feeling pain. Although people might think he enjoyed giving in to violence, it was quite the opposite. He didn't like getting hurt and avoided it at all costs if possible.
Dennis took Pope's hands in his own and smiled as he felt him tremble. He couldn't tell if it was from Dennis's cold body or from the fear of being hurt.
"You'll only feel a tiny prick when my fangs pierce your skin."
Pope blinked in surprise at hearing him say he had fangs. Huh. After all, that wasn't just his imagination. Dennis smiled, licking his lips at Pope's thoughts.
"Are you absolutely sure you want this?"
Dennis asked again, lifting Pope's wrist and watching his every reaction. Pope looked tense but also self-assured, so when he nodded, giving Dennis permission to continue, he guided his wrist to his lips where he first placed a small kiss, and as he felt Pope's body relax, Dennis proceeded to sink his fangs into his skin.
Pope trembled and stifled a growl, but remained still as he watched Dennis feed on his blood.
The situation was strange, but the sight was utterly pleasurable.
