The standoff stretched, thick with unspoken challenge. Elias, despite his obvious weakness, held himself with a rigid dignity, those dark grass-green eyes blazing with a cold fire that seemed to scorch the air between them. Milo, though outwardly defiant, felt a prickle of unease. He was pushing his luck, he knew. This wasn't some regular drunk he'd dragged in; this was something powerful and potentially dangerous, currently only incapacitated.
Finally, with a soft, exasperated sigh that sounded more like air escaping a very old, very annoyed pipe, Elias slumped back against the wall. He didn't sit down fully, but slid a few inches, his legs still awkwardly stretched out. It wasn't a surrender, more like a tactical retreat born of sheer physical inability to continue the argument.
"Smart choice," Milo said, breaking the tense silence, though he couldn't resist adding, "Now, about that 'prattling' comment. I'm just trying to be a decent human being, which, by the looks of it, is more than I can say for some people with horns and a goddamn tail." He gestured pointedly at Elias's features.
Elias's jaw tightened, and a low growl, surprisingly deep and resonant, rumbled in his chest. His wolf-like ears, still somewhat matted, flattened slightly against his head. It was a sound that warned of a formidable temper, barely held in check.
"Watch your tongue, human," Elias said, his voice dropping to a dangerous timbre. It wasn't loud, but it held the weight of ancient stone.
Milo actually found himself grinning, a genuine, slightly unhinged grin. "Ooh, scary. Got it. No talking about your adorable little horns and your magnificent, fluffy ears. Got it. Noted. But seriously, you're bleeding. And you're soaked. You need to get out of those clothes."
He walked over to a spacious linen closet, pulling out a thick, clean towel and a set of old, but clean, sweatpants and a T-shirt. They were a bit large on him, but they'd be even larger on Elias, whose frame, while lean, was clearly not built for modern human comfort.
"Here," Milo said, tossing the towel and clothes onto the polished floor near Elias. "Dry yourself off. There's a bathroom through there," he pointed towards a door off the living room, "if you feel up to it. Hot water. Luxurious. Unless you prefer, you know, sleeping in a puddle of your own blood and the city's finest rain."
Elias merely glared at the offered items, then at Milo, his expression a mixture of contempt and disbelief. "I do not wear... human garments."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Milo groaned, rubbing his temples. "Look, I get it. You're special. You're ethereal. You're a majestic creature of the night. But you're also currently dripping dirty rain all over my very expensive hardwood floors, and I'm not a fan. So, either put on the damn sweats, or I'm calling someone who will appreciate your unique anatomy. Like, say, a lab. I bet they'd be fascinated by your... genetic makeup." He left the unspoken threat hanging in the air.
The green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and for a moment, Milo thought Elias might actually lunge at him. The air in the room grew heavy, almost oppressive. But then, Elias let out another one of those deep, weary sighs. He reached for the towel with slow, deliberate movements, as if every fiber of his being rebelled against the indignity.
"Fine," Elias gritted out, the single word dripping with pure disdain.
"Good boy," Milo chirped, unable to resist. He knew he was being a complete ass, but something about this situation, about this utterly out-of-place, disdainful creature, brought out the worst and most irritating in him. And a tiny, selfish part of him was enjoying the challenge of getting a reaction.
He watched as Elias awkwardly, painstakingly, began to strip off his sodden outer garments. As the heavy, wet tunic came off, Milo's breath hitched. Beneath the layers of damp fabric, Elias's torso was a canvas of lean, powerful musculature. His stomach was a landscape of sharply defined abs, each ridge and line visible even in the dim light, a testament to raw, inherent strength. Milo felt a sudden, unexpected heat flush his cheeks, a distinct blush that had him averting his eyes with a speed that almost made him stumble.
Damn it, Milo, focus! He's a guest! A weird, horned, tailed, fluffy-eared guest!
He mentally berated himself. The dark, thick scales along Elias's back and shoulders seemed to shimmer more prominently now, a stark contrast to his otherwise human-like skin.
After a few minutes, Elias reappeared from the bathroom, looking utterly ridiculous in Milo's too-big sweatpants and T-shirt. The fabric hung loose on his lean frame, and the ends of the sweatpants pooled around his ankles. His long, dark hair, while still damp, was slightly less matted, and the obsidian horns protruded clearly. His wolf-like ears were still flattened, giving him a slightly forlorn look. The bandages Milo had applied were visible, stark white against his pale skin.
He still moved with a stiff, almost painful grace, his head held high despite the absurd clothing. He walked over to the large, comfortable armchair in the corner of the living room and lowered himself into it with a sigh that was almost a hiss. He looked like royalty dethroned, forced to wear common rags.
"Better?"
Milo asked, trying to sound genuinely helpful, despite the smirk fighting to break free and the lingering flush on his face.
Elias simply closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushion, the line of his scar stark against his face. "This is temporary," he stated, his voice a low, warning rumble.
Milo shrugged, walking towards the kitchen. "Everything's temporary, Elias. Even grumpy, horned, wolf-eared mystery men showing up on your doorstep. Now, how about some real food? Or do you just subsist on, like, the souls of mortals or something?" He grinned, opening the fridge. "I've got leftover pad-thai."