When you next awake, it is dark. Very dark. Your brain shifts from groggy and bleary into alertness in the few moments it takes you to sit up, to feel the ache in your neck, to remember. Without further thought, your body jolts from the bed and you duck from your bedroom.
A small part of you reminds you to be wary. Who knows if Tabaeus was simply putting on a cute awkward act to get your guard down? Vampires were tricky in various media, weren't they? That turns your thoughts towards earlier musings.
How much did the movies and books and video games get right? Which of the vampiric quirks were genuine and which were completely false?
As you crept further away from your room, a new thought coasted by.
What if none of it had been real? What if you'd had a very intense dream? What if you hadn't even been attacked or bit or given a small fortune in rare coins?
That thought - and the worries that accompanied it - completely drained away once you flicked on the lights to your small living room. Tabaeus sat hunched on your couch, their trench coat folded next to them and their shirt removed. It took you half-a-beat to realize they were intently focused on a needle and thread, presumably from the meager sewing kit you kept around.
They were so intently focused on their chore, they didn't even notice the lights coming on or your approach. Of course, the shirt was in extreme disrepair.
Faintly, you wondered if all vampires had poor survival instincts or if that was simply a Tabaeus thing. As you drew nearer to them, you realized the tattered shirt was made of strips of dirty strips of fabric, all haphazardly sewn together. Their pants were only marginally better than the top.
Something caught Tabaeus's attention and their eyes flicked to you, a little startled. Seeing where your attention was, they gave one of their awkward smiles and nod at the shirt. "I have had this for quite awhile. It is less one piece and more patchwork, by this point."
"I can tell," you mumble, your eyes shifting from the shirt to Tabaeus's bare torso. They're not as unmarred as you'd expect from a supernatural creature, rumored to be gifted with healing powers. Small scars litter their body along with one rather large one, which appears to be an old-timey autopsy scar.
Tabaeus looks down at themself, before their pointed ears twitch and you see the barest hint of a flush at their cheeks. You try not to think how it might very well be your blood helping pink their cheeks.
They press their crumpled patchwork shirt against their chest, obscuring it from your view, but seem incapable of returning their gaze to you. "I apologize for my undress. I meant to get this done before you awoke."
"It's fine," you reassure with a shrug, trying to stow your own sense of awkwardness over your staring. Though hesitantly, they do peer up at you from the corner of their eye. As if they're gauging your sincerity. Trying to ignore the heat climbing up your spine, you point at their crumpled shirt, "But you can't keep wearing that."
"What?" Your words make Tabaeus start, jerking straight-backed from their slumped position. Their lips twist into a pout and they hold their shirt closer. "Why not?"
"I didn't say you couldn't keep it. Just you need other clothes." Especially if that patchwork outfit doesn't clean well or completely falls apart in the wash, you think to yourself. But you don't say it outloud. Tabaeus seems attached to it and, in theory, if it was a singular bit of familiarity, ripping it away wouldn't do either of you any good.
Their eyebrows dip with a look of consternation. They seem about ready to say something, their lips parting briefly. But they quickly snap their mouth shut and shake their head. When their red eyes focus back on you, curiosity mixes with uncertainty in their tone, "Is... is there a tailor that works this late?"
"No, we'll have to buy some pre-made at the store." At that, Tabaeus wrinkles their nose. You aren't sure if they just can't comprehend the thought of 'fast fashion' or if they are actually snubbing the thought. "If you don't like anything we find tonight, I can measure you to do online shopping later."
At that, Tabaeus narrowed their eyes. "On... line?"
Oh no. Is Tabaeus that old? Or are they that unaware of new technology? The memories from them supping from your veins were confusing enough. Despite your rest, there's an edge of fuzz to your thoughts. You rub at the bridge of your nose and momentarily close your eyes, trying to settle on the best and most concise way to explain.
"You use the computer," you open your eyes and point to the desktop not far away from the couch, "to order things."
The vampire - which still sounds odd to think - looks at the desktop dubiously.
"You use that to order? Oh!" Tabaeus claps their hands together, a smile spreading over their lips as they finally seem to understand, "Like a catalog!"
"Yeah, like a catalog," you agree, relieved for their understanding. You could try to explain the Internet more in-depth later or perhaps set them up with some sort of educational videos. There was just too much to cover. "But ordering clothes will take time and isn't always accurate. So, let's take your measurements here and then head out to the store."
"Are you certain a clothing store will be open this late?" They ask, watching you as you go to your junk drawer in your kitchen. Your apartment is relatively small. Other than your bedroom and master suite, the only other closed off space is the guest bathroom, which is little more than a water closet.
"Tabaeus." You shoot them a look, your voice stern. Whether it's true or not, you feel you have more working knowledge of the present and sensibility than them. You decide to hold onto the feeling. It seemed Tabaeus responded well to being told what to do.
"Yes, yes. How silly of me to question." The airy way Tabaeus answers makes you frown, wondering if they are teasing you.
Even if they are, it doesn't matter, for you have found your tape measure! And it is tangled amongst the garbage in the drawer. With a groan, you take some time to disentangle the mess, your cheeks warming as Tabaeus watches you with those earnest red eyes.
When you finally pull the plastic measure free, you return to Tabaeus, pointing to the middle of your living room. "Alright, stand there."
They acquiesce with little complaint and you watch as they push themselves off the couch. Their movements seem smoother than earlier, less jerky and uncertain. But, then again, most of your coherent acquaintanceship has been with them relegated to your bathroom. Not exactly a lot of room in there.
As you raise the measuring tape to them, they visibly tense. Tilting your head, your eyebrows quirk with concern, "You okay?"
"Yes, it's just..." They trail off, lips pursing. Their red eyes cannot meet yours. "I do not know when someone willingly touched me last, but I believe it's been awhile."
"Oh." Now you can't look at their face. A plethora of memories slide through your head. Memories that aren't yours and that might not even be Tabaeus's. But there were some saucy recollections in the bunch. Groping hands and kissing lips and thrusting and grinding. A vague sense of the movements, the sounds, the smells teases your mind.
You shake your head hastily, dispersing the thoughts.
No, don't get distracted! You're just measuring them so you know what to look for. That's it. Tailors do it every day and don't make it weird.
You move quickly, holding the tape measure up to their body and noting the numbers on your phone. You're not certain every measurement you'll need, so you try to cover all bases. Arm length, shoulder width, and - even though you're not sure they'll need it - you take their chest width and underbust measurements along with, more necessary, their waist.
Tabaeus clenches their eyes shut, flinching each time your fingertips lightly brush their body. More than once, you catch them swallowing heavily or flexing their fingers. Since their claws are nowhere to be seen, you're not very concerned.
Your assuredness as you work sputters as you move toward lower region measurements. With a questioning glance, you try to catch Tabaeus's eye. Their discomfort is evident and the flush on their cheeks seems to have darkened, though it's hard to tell.
Getting a grip on yourself, you kneel in front of them. You are simply getting information to find them the most appropriate clothes possible! That's what you try to tell yourself as you move the tape measure.
At least they're wearing pants, you remind yourself. There won't be any skin-on-skin grazing.
Once more, you're uncertain of what sort of measurements you need, so you simply choose everything that seems like it'd be helpful. Around the ankle, around the calf, around the knee. Those were always potential problem areas your more masculine-presenting friends talked about, when it came to pants or boots.
Measuring across Tabaeus's hips - just above their intimate zone - is the worst of it, until you remember the inseam. The measurement taken along the inner part of the leg, up to the crux of their crotch. In a bid to hesitate, you take a little longer to type in the hip width notation.
Pressing your lips into a tight line, you force confidence into your movements. Holding one end next to Tabaeus's ankle, you slowly unfurl the plastic up the vampire's leg. An almost-too-high-to-heard keen seems to come from Tabaeus, but you can't verify. Maybe your ears are malfunctioning.
You're unsure of how close to their groin you need to get, but even with your conservative measurement, your knuckles brush against something. You freeze as a short, choked whine leaves Tabaeus. The heat of whatever you grazed against radiates against the back of your hand. A sensation clenches at your stomach. Once more, those images exchanged during the bite dance about your head.
Perhaps it is temptation, or maybe it is curiosity, that draws your knuckles slowly, gently closer to Tabaeus's groin. The heat and weight of their private parts presses against the back of your hand. They whimper, their hips rolling minutely as if they're trying to restrain themself and failing. Beneath the patchwork pants, something hardens and begins to tent the fabric.
The air in your lungs feels strangely hot as your eyes trail up Tabaeus's body. Over the expanse of tattered cloth and skin and scars, until your gaze lands on their face. Their eyes are tightly clenched and their fangs bite into their lower lip. You think you can see a small droplet forming, where the tip of their teeth meets flesh, but you're not certain.
Lost in the moment and guided by intrigue, you nudge your hand more firmly against Tabaeus's groin. You see their throat work as they swallow. Their hips jolt a little against your touch, but the vampire holds back.
Your gaze falls back down to their trousers, their bulge pressing against the fabric. A stray thought - a temptation - steaks across your mind. Raising up higher on your knees, you lean toward Tabaeus's groin. The heat emanating from them caresses your face and your lips part, about to press your mouth against the growing erection through their pants.
Something tells you to look up and, before your lips can make contact against the fabric, against what grows beneath, your eyes meet Tabaeus's red vaguely-glowing gaze. They're staring down at you, their own chest rising and falling rapidly and a flush definitely on their face. Their eyes burn with hunger, unlike the one from earlier, and you can see that, yes, a trickle of blood oozes from the corner of their lip.
Cold shock sends you wheeling backward. Slapping a hand over your traitorous mouth, you scoot further back from the vampire and avert your gaze. Your palm feels cool against your flushed face. In your chest, your heart pounds from remnants of excitement joined with confusion.
What the fuck were you about to do?! You had never been so brazen about something like that with someone you barely knew! Let alone someone that was a paranormal creature. A creature, your sense of survival reminds you, that feeds on humans.
Tabaeus's gaze is still on you, but they haven't moved an inch. You're not even sure they've breathed. They're frozen in position, back straight and shoulders back. Intuition says they want to pounce on you, but that might just be your libido deceiving you.
Still, Tabaeus's attention makes your body sizzle with mortification.
You still can't bring yourself to look at Tabaeus as you say, the words muffled beneath your hand, "I have everything I need. You should shower before we go."
It takes them a moment to respond. Faintly, you wonder if they are having similar problems within their body as you. Confusion and concern and worry. Or are they angry and annoyed?
When they do say something, their voice is both rough and weak, "Y-yes, I believe I should."
They duck down your short hallway, back to your room, as you remain seated on the floor. Presumably, they explored most of your apartment while you slept and knew you only had the one shower. You breathe deeply, settling the pulsing of your heart and willing the heat in your cheeks to go down.
You had mostly gotten yourself back under control, when Tabaeus shyly leans around your bedroom door. They are, thankfully, still partially dressed. You have to fight against the urge to close your eyes, wondering what they could possibly need now.
"I apologize," Tabaeus's voice is painfully quiet from obvious shame. They're fidgeting with their fingers again, staring at a spot of carpet just below their feet. "I do not know how to work it."
It takes your compromised brain a second to realize they mean the shower.
You take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the hormones still threatening to rekindle. Pushing yourself to your feet, you head for your bedroom and slip into the bathroom. You keep your eyes focused on the tub as you instruct Tabaeus of the purpose of different knobs, explaining which one does what as you demonstrate. From the edge of your vision, you watch them nod, with little affirmative sounds.
Once you finish, you move to leave, but Tabaeus says something that gives you pause.
"I thank you greatly for your patience," they say, their eyes still avoiding yours and their voice painfully soft. Their fingers are tangling amongst each other, their shoulders arching slightly toward their ears. "I realize I am having an effect on you a-and I apologize for that."
You stare hard at Tabaeus for a breath. An effect on you? Your eyes narrow and suspicions flounder about your brain. Were they the reason for your actions earlier? Did they will it? Maybe that's why their eyes were glowing. Or was it a side effect from sucking your blood? Like the memory thing?
There's too many unknowns right now and trying to ponder them all makes pain throb at your temples. You need to focus on one thing. Which means your brain sinks its teeth into the Get Tabaeus Some Clothes plan.
"We'll talk about that later," you sigh, with a shake of your head. In a bid to get as much distance as quickly as possible, you leave the bathroom while calling over your shoulder, "Just take your shower so we can get going, please."
Tabaeus responds, but with what you don't know. You are already in your kitchen, rooting around for something caffeinated to fend off the returning tiredness and headache. Even after you grab something and pop it open, your thoughts swing back to Tabaeus.
If the two of you were going to head to the store, you had to plot your route. Avoid problematic areas. The buses stopped running at eight in the evening, so those were a no-go. The subway still ran, but you worried about their clothes causing a stir. Besides the trench coat, the outfit looked like something dug out of a grave. And Tabaeus wasn't exactly nondescript.
Even if Tabaeus only wore the trench coat, it was liable to cause problems, you realize, as your thoughts turn to more common trench coat wearers like flashers.
You really didn't want to deal with cops. Especially when it involved hauling a vampire around. Which meant Tabaeus would have to borrow something of yours to go to the store.
As you continue to sip at your drink, you think of what you own that could feasibly fit the tall vampire.