“Remind me of your word before we begin, my dear.”
Reid full well knows Geoffrey’s word, but he always asks this, and it always makes Geoffrey grit his teeth in frustration. It would be so much easier if Reid would just get started, but of course the leech can never do things the easy way can he? Geoffrey isn’t sure if he does it just to make him squirm or if it's a genuine reminder that the human doesn’t have to do this, that it’s his choice.
He thinks, sometimes, it would be easier if he didn’t have to acknowledge it. If he got to act like it was no choice of his at all. But, well, Jonathan Reid is a good man, for a leech. And that’s the only reason Geoffrey can give himself to him.
“Sanguine,” Geoffrey says, not bothering to suppress the rolling of his eyes. Needless to say, he had not chosen it. But at least the humor of such a pretentious word keeps him from growing tense for what’s in store.
“Thank you,” Reid smiles, just a hint of fang flashing in the low light of a nearby candle. It’s the wee hours of the morning, the rest of the hospital as quiet as a hospital gets with most of its residents asleep. They are in Reid’s office, a place now familiar to them both.
They are both without their jackets, Reid’s shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms that lead down to long, articulate hands. He reaches up to unknot his tie and pull it free. Red as blood, and probably silk too. Posh bastard.
There was once a time when Geoffrey fought this tooth and nail, but that is well in the past now. He doesn’t feel like he needs to protect himself from Reid anymore even while desperately needing him. He feels safe.
The irony doesn’t escape him. A hunter safe in the presence of a vampire. At the mercy of a vampire, even.
Thank Christ Carl isn’t alive to see this.
“Your hands, please,” Reid requests, too polite to be a demand. Geoffrey offers them wordlessly, holding them together as Reid uses his own tie to bind his wrists. It’s only theater; silk is strong but Geoffrey could still easily break free if he wanted to. Geoffrey shudders nevertheless, feeling a layer of the hard shell he surrounds himself with peel back.
Seating himself on the edge of the nearby cot, Reid drops the pillow from its head between his feet. Looking up at Geoffrey, he doesn’t smile this time. Instead, his expression is almost solemn. “Kneel.”
Another shudder wracks its way through Geoffrey and his breath comes quick and labored. He stares down at the pillow, locked in place, jaw so tense he feels the tendons standing in his neck.
“You know your word,” Reid reminds him, completely without a hint of accusation or impatience. Geoffrey breathes hard through his nose, collecting himself. He does know his word, and he doesn’t need it right now.
He kneels. Turning his back to a vampire still makes his skin jump, but he settles on his knees, Reid’s legs brushing his shoulders, his hands bound in front of him. He’s wound so tight it hurts, but he kneels.
“Good man,” the praise comes easily from Reid, sincerely, and it makes Geoffrey’s skin jump in a different way. Anticipation, but not for violence.
Then Reid’s hands are on his shoulders, thumbs digging unerringly into the knots there and kneading them into submission. Geoffrey groans from deep in his chest, equal parts pain and relief. Reid is thorough, exacting, unspooling all of Geoffrey’s tension near-effortlessly. He starts from the shoulders, moves down to his mid back, then back up to the back of his neck. Uncountable minutes later, he’s working on the muscle on either side of his spine, inches below Geoffrey’s skull. An image flashes in Geoffrey’s mind of Reid snapping his neck, crushing his skull, leaning down and ripping his spine out with his fangs. He lets it go; he’s already helpless putty in Reid’s hands anyway and he hasn’t done anything yet. He won’t do anything.
Eventually, Reid stops and simply places his hands on Geoffrey’s shoulders, light as a bird. Without thinking, Geoffrey lists back until his head is resting on Reid’s knee. They sit in silence until Geoffrey feels himself nodding off for the third time. He should go home, back to the theater with his men.
“It’s nearly dawn; will you stay?”
Geoffrey’s knees hurt from kneeling and he knows his legs will be numb when he finally manages to stand. He shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t want to stay, but-
But he does.
Finding his voice for the first time in what feels like hours but was likely only half an hour at most, Geoffrey replies, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay. Help me up.”
And Reid does.