kore_logs | I'm tired from last night's fight, I wish I hadn't started it

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I'm tired from last night's fight, I wish I hadn't started it

Who: Meyer and Charlie
What: What's a little sharing of blood between ~~gangster husbands~~ roommates?
When: Day 61
Where: House 19
Warnings: Blood, vampirism, feelings

It's been two days since Meyer decided Charlie's neck looked particularly more delectable than usual. And three days since the incident with Ned and that tree girl.

He has no fucking idea what his timeline is for any of this. How long between kidnappings before he starts going nuts again, if Meyer deciding to use him as a tasty mid-day snack slowed any of that down. All Charlie knows is that they've been avoiding each other for the better part of two days and he's completely crawling out of his own skin over here. He's itching to get OUT, do something. Sitting around has never been Charlie strong suit in the past but now...

His feet carry him to Meyer's door, and he's opening the door without any preamble, walking right up to him and saying, "I gots an idea, and you ain't gonna like it."

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Meyer's lying on his stomach on the bed, propped up on his elbows, staring intently at one of his arms. To the casual observer, it might look like he's daydreaming or simply lying around doing nothing, but in fact, he's completely absorbed in counting hairs on his arm, a task that seems likely to take up much of the afternoon; with a lot of arm hairs and the fact that he keeps losing count and having to start over, he's already dedicated a couple hours to it. He's found that the counting not only distracts him from potentially attacking people, it dulls the desire for blood that he's been feeling, too. The counting might not be enjoyable, but it's preferable to attacking relative strangers -- as the whole incident with Ned had begun -- or attacking Charlie.

"Yeah? What?"

His tone might be a little surlier than usual, or maybe it's just that he's distracted by counting.

Charlie is used to Meyer's surly voice enough not to be deterred by it.

"You should eats me again. Drink me. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it," he says, bouncing visibly on the balls of his feet. There's really no point beating around the bush with this type of thing, and what's the point of doing that with Meyer, anyway?

Of all the things Meyer had been expecting Charlie to say, that wasn't one of them. He'd been expecting something along the lines of "I kidnapped some guy who can make plants magically appear again" or "I got mad and lit the kitchen on fire" or "I stole a bunch of shiny things and now the townspeople are coming after me with pitchforks." A proposition to bite him is so ludicrous he actually stops counting for a moment to stare at Charlie.

"Why would I do something like that?"

Other than the fact that he's hungry, and Charlie's delicious, of course.

"You ain't bit no one else since that time, has you? And you're thinking about its."

He's always been able to tell when Meyer's worried (well, more worried than the perpetual state of low-lying worry he seems to exist in) because of the way he hides himself out. And it's been two fucking days of hiding. Charlie's sick to fucking death of it.

"No, I haven't bit anyone else. In this small of a town, you'd've probably heard about it."

He hasn't even left the room except for absolute necessities for two days. Short of answering several posts on the network -- via audio, of course, because he doesn't show up on the video, and what's the point of a blank video -- he hasn't communicated with anyone in person. As a generally paranoid person, this whole situation has thrown his paranoia into overdrive.

"Yeah, like you're thinking about stealing stuff."

"Course I'm fucking thinking about it. It's driving me up the fucking wall." His hands really are shaking as he walks over to sit on the edge of Meyer's bed.

"I ain't slept none for ages now. Can't fucking think straight for two seconds cause all that gets into my heads is that there's stuff to pinch out there. And people," he noticed the tremble in his hands as he speaks and crosses his arms. "Only time I stopped thinking about it was after you..."

If he scoots away from Charlie a little, it's not because he doesn't want to be around him -- it's simply that he's hungry, and he doesn't trust his vampiric instincts. The feeling of not being able to control himself is a vaguely sickening one, but he's done everything in his power to avoid letting himself lose control again. Twice had been enough.

Still, what Charlie's saying is interesting, and he frowns a little as he processes it. "You didn't feel like stealing or kidnapping after I bit you?"

Might as well call it what it was. "So you want me to do it again because it'll help you?"

"I passed the fuck out for a good eight hours after is what happened. Better to sleep through this whole fucking mess," he stares down at his feet as he speaks. Not looking at Meyer is making this a whole lot easier.

"Yeah, I guess so. And I figured however bad it is for me, most be just as bad for you except you ain't gonna say nothing about it. Since it's you and everything."

"What's there to say? I'm fine."

He's always 'fine,' never 'upset' or 'shaken up' or 'just hating this whole week and everything that's happened in it.' He knows his protestations are pointless; Charlie can almost always tell when he's not fine, even if he manages to fool just about everyone else.

He goes back to staring at his arm. It's easier than looking at Charlie.

"Fine. Yeah, like I'm fucking fine. Meyer. Meyer. Will you fucking look at me?" He's not going to touch him, not yet. He knows what's happened the last few times he tried that.

"You think I ain't thought about this? I wouldn't be here if I figured there was a better way."

He looks up reluctantly, shaking his head, frustration mounting. He's so damned thirsty, and he knows it's not the kind of thirst that water or a good stiff drink is going to fix. It's an awful combination of thirst and hunger, and having tasted blood twice before, he knows how quickly blood would quench that desire.

After a few moments, he replies. "Yeah, I think sometimes you say things you don't think about first. Yeah, I don't think it's such a strange thing to assume that maybe you came up with that idea without really thinking through the consequences."

As always, when he's irritated, his speech gets more exacting, his enunciation of each word almost overly exaggerated.

"For fuck's sake, Meyer!"

Charlie's up on his feet again now, pacing the room. If only there were something breakable around because this is just the sort of situation that requires something hurled against a wall. Instead he just tosses one of Meyer's pillows onto the floor.

"I knows its fucking news to you, but I ain't as much of an idiot as you seem to thinks I am."

"I didn't say you were an idiot, I said you were impulsive. Maybe if you learned to listen a little better, you'd've got that."

He's just going for the jugular with his insults today, because he can't go for the jugular literally. Or rather, apparently he could, and Charlie would even encourage it, but he can't understand why Charlie would willingly allow him to do something like that.

He's going to ignore the pillow throwing. That's the least of his worries.

"And maybe if you'd get your head outta your own ass long enough you'd see what someone's trying to fucking help you, Meyer."

He's angry enough that his skin's burning hot again, but he holds back from blowing any more smoke.

"You needs to eat. I needs someone to know me out until sos I don't kidnap any one. We knows I can get you to stop if I needs to, what's the fucking issue here?"

"The fucking issue here--" his tone is almost mocking as he emulates the way Charlie phrased it "-- is that the last time I bit you, it'd been a lot shorter of a time since I'd bitten anyone else. We don't know what it's gonna be like when I'm hungrier. You want to end up dead?"

He gets that Charlie's trying to help him, he really does. He also gets that he doesn't want to hurt Charlie, even if it would help both of htem.

"I seems to remember being able to make you stop whens I wanted you to." He reaches his hand out fast, gripping around Meyer's wrist. Maybe it's a reminder, maybe he just wants to piss Meyer off right now. For either reason, his skin is burning hot against Meyer's cold.

"That was then, this is now, and you don't--"

Whatever he was going to say is cut off by Charlie's hand on his wrist, and instead of tugging it away, or yelling in pain, or punching Charlie, or doing any of the reasonable things he might have done if he'd been fully himself, he bares his fangs, practically hissing, staring Charlie down as though he'd like nothing more than to literally bite his head off.

Charlie can't help it. He doesn't care if he just fucked himself over. Getting a reaction out of Meyer, any kind of reaction, is what he lives for. He grins down at him, wrist still firm in his hand.

"You can't say you don't fucking wants to now, huh?"

"I've wanted to the whole time I've been talking to you."

He's still not yanking his wrist away, though. Maybe he's trying to prove a point, too, that he can go toe to toe with Charlie and face him down, that he's not intimidated by him. Charlie's temper may irritate him, may goad him into reacting in ways that he'd never react to anyone else, but it doesn't scare him.

"I ain't stopping you."

It's simple enough to say, but fuck if it doesn't fill him with enough anxiety and excitement to make his blood boil. He doesn't know whether to feel terrified or turned on, and hey it's not like he hasn't felt those two in conjunction before.

He decided to take his shirt off in anticipation of this, so he only has an undershirt on, as his neck is visible all the way down to his shoulder.

He doesn't want to do this; he knows that both times he'd been unable to prevent himself from biting someone, it had hurt them. When he'd realized that Ned had the ability to heal himself, he hadn't felt quite so conflicted about his attack -- the conflicted feelings had come minutes later, when the inopportune kidnapping had occurred -- but when he'd attacked Charlie, he'd seen the resulting wound, seen the blood.

"I don't know if I can stop myself once I get started."

Because he's hungrier now, hungrier and angrier and those two feelings together make him think that preventing himself from biting down hard and drinking Charlie's blood to the point that it becomes life-threatening for Charlie won't be easy to resist. He shouldn't do this... but he can't tear his gaze away from Charlie's neck, either.

"You won't. I know you won't." He can see where Meyer's eyes are locked, as takes a sharp breath in. "I'll stop you if I needs to.

"You don't know anything about how this works. Anything could happen."

Even he doesn't know, and admitting he doesn't know something, even to himself, isn't easy. "And how'll you know when to stop me, anyway?"

It's obvious Charlie's persuasive tactics are working, or maybe just staring at his neck for long enough is slowly eroding his self-control.

"I'll know. Anyways, ain't it better me when we know I can burn the shit out of you I need to then some poor schmuck out there once you starve yourself and go crazy?" He steps in a little closer as he speaks. His not sure any more if he's trying to persuade Meyer to eat him anymore or he's just coming onto him. They do seem weirdly entwined.

"Yeah..."

His resolve won't hold out much longer. Charlie's right there, and he already knows from experience just how satisfying it is to sink his teeth into his neck. As for whether Charlie's coming onto him, well, he's always thought there was something a little sexual about vampires, from the thing he's read. Now that he is one, he's pretty sure he knows why -- both times he's bitten someone so far have been strangely erotic, although not in an entirely pleasant way.

He leans a little closer to Charlie, like he's pondering it, but really he's just smelling him. It might sound crazy, but he could swear he can smell Charlie's blood, even through his skin.

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