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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"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.

Meyer will probably be able to tell how much Charlie's heart is racing, even as he works extra hard to seem calm about all this. As much as he talked himself up as this being the right thing to do, well- it fucking HURT last time and he can't help but brace himself as Meyer leans in closer. His pulse is going a mile a minute and his skin pulsing heat, even as he's concentrating at keeping it below burning temperatures. If you're going to do it, Meyer. Now would be the time.

He's going to bite him even if Charlie's skin is so hot it burns his mouth. There's no way he can stop himself now, not when Charlie's told him to do it, not when he's so close and all that blood is right there, ready for the taking.

If there were a way to make it hurt less, he would, but there's nothing he can do about that. Finally, he leans in and sinks his teeth into Charlie's neck greedily, hungrily, his bite not particularly precise, trying his hardest not to rip at Charlie's skin any more than he needs to, but finding it difficult. As soon as the taste of warm blood fills his mouth, that's all he can think about.

It hurts. God it fucking kills. But he was ready for it this time. (And maybe there was a little preemptive liquid courage happening before this to take the edge off.) But he concentrates hard on keeping his body temperature down, at least to levels that won't burn in side of Meyer's mouth. His hands are gripping hard into Meyer's side now, fingernails biting in as the pain washes through him and he staggers on his feet.

It should become obvious fairly quickly that Meyer's not going to stop unless Charlie forcibly stops him -- and he might want to hurry up, because from the way he's going at Charlie's blood, Charlie might be feeling awfully woozy pretty soon.

Meyer's not thinking about that, though. He's beyond those kind of thoughts, drifting somewhere else where logical thought doesn't even occur to him. He can't even feel Charlie's nails digging into his side. All he can feel is his teeth in Charlie's neck, Charlie's blood in his mouth.

He is feeling whoozy. In fact, he can feel himself sagging against Meyer's shoulders. The world is starting to blur around the edges, and the bits not on the edges are starting to spin. He knows he should be using his powers, making Meyer let go. But for whatever reason he just keeps giving it one... more... minute...

At this point, he might not have one more minute, if he doesn't push Meyer away. Maybe Meyer's thirst will be quenched, maybe he'll stop feeling so ravenous, but for now, he's like someone who hasn't eaten in two days -- and to be fair, he hasn't. He's gorging himself, completely unable to stop, assured in the fact that since Charlie isn't burning him, isn't shoving him, isn't yelling at him, he can just keep going.

Maybe it's his survival instinct kicking in at last, that last surge of adrenaline before the end. He feels on the edge of passing out for a few days, but somewhere summons up the strength. His skin goes from warm to white hot in the span of seconds, the blood in his veins reaching almost boiling point. Even the hands still gripped into Meyer's side start leaving scorch marks on his clothes.

Charlie's burning skin and practically boiling blood are an effective defense mechanism, that's one thing he can say about them. As soon as the too-hot blood reaches his mouth, he yanks back, scalded, his brain beginning to snap back to normal.

Or at least normal enough, though he's still feeling altered from the effect of the blood, to be horrified by just how pale and close to passing out Charlie looks. This is why he didn't want to do this. This is why it was a bad idea.

And yet... he finally feels satisfied, for the first time in days.

His body seems to wait until he doesn't look entirely on the edge of death any more, and then Charlie's tipping forward, his knees buckling and head reeling. he though the blood loss from the first time left a dent. This one's gonna take a little longer to sleep off.

He's quick enough to grab for Charlie to catch him so that he's not falling onto the floor, not caring if he gets burned in the process. While his mind still feels fuzzy, he knows that he has to get Charlie lying down, has to do something to stop the bleeding, even if they'd found the last time that the bleeding hadn't been nearly as bad as expected.

He manages to half tug Charlie onto the bed, which is better, at least, than the floor. There are many things, countless things, that he'd like to say right now, but he's not going to say any of them. How could he even begin to formulate them?

A small part of his mind wonders about them getting blood on the sheets. A weird thing to thing about at a time like this. But then again 'weird' is becoming pretty fucking relative by now.

"Towel?" he just about mumbles out. After all, this bed is nice. He's like to stay in here for a while and not move.

"Towel," he agrees, half-stumbling, half-swaying his way towards the bathroom, looking for all the world as though he's just had several strong drinks -- and maybe, in a way, he has. Blood does seem to have an intoxicating effect on him, although Charlie's isn't anywhere near as potent as Ned's blood, which is probably a good thing, in all likelihood.

He stumbles back, towel in hand, clumsily pressing it against Charlie's neck, thinking about how Charlie's probably getting blood on the sheets, how Charlie might even be scorching the sheets with his body heat, and finding that he doesn't really care. There're other things to care about now, like the nauseating feeling that he completely lost control of himself once again, even if Charlie had told him to bite him.

He hates this. He really hates this. And what he hates the most of all is that it feels undeniably good to bite Charlie, to take his blood. If it weren't so enjoyable, it wouldn't be so awful.

Charlie had dozed off a bit when Meyer left the room, but he stumbles back into consciousness when he feels the towel against his neck. He reaches a hand out blindly, grabbing the air until his hand closes around Meyer's wrist. He's very far from burning the sheets now. In fact, his skin's the coolest it's been since this damn thing started. Cooler than normal, even.

"Hey. You feel warm," he mumbles again, directly into the pillow this time.

"You feel cold," he replies, doubting very much that his own temperature has changed, but realizing that Charlie's has. A direct effect of the bite, maybe, or the resulting tiredness and confusion -- he's simply too close to unconsciousness to be seized by the same fixation for shiny things and shiny people that he was before.

In that way, Meyer thinks, maybe this did help. Maybe. He knows it helped him, because for the first time in two days, he doesn't feel driven to distraction by hunger and thirst. He feels calmer, more like himself. If there's some way he can believe this helped Charlie, too, he'll grab onto it and believe it as best he can; he can't let himself think that hurting Charlie like this was for nothing.

"Mmmm. You coming in?" Maybe it's the blood loss or maybe it's the shock or maybe it's a fun combination of the two. But Charlie's not really sure what he's doing in bed in the first place. After all, it seems light out. He just knows that he feels cold and Meyer feels warm and there's usually a good remedy to that.

He's not sure. Should he? Is it safe? He's not hungry anymore, that much he knows, but can he really be around Charlie and around whatever blood stains the sheets and the towel and Charlie's neck without eventually wanting more of it?

After a few seconds thought, he finally shrugs. "Yeah," he agrees. He's tired. He feels drunk. He hasn't been able to sleep for more than a couple minutes for the last couple days -- maybe because vampires, not truly being living, don't truly need sleep. Some rest would do both of them good.

Still, when he gets in, he's careful to avoid getting too close to Charlie. No sense in pushing it just yet; if he still has any bloodthirsty urges, he needs to be far enough away from him to leave before he loses control again.

Charlie sleeps, harder and deeper than he has in ages, maybe even years. It feels like sinking into a hot bath, all his senses letting go and every muscle in his body feeling like it could sink right through the mattress.

When he comes to, it's pitch black outside. He has no idea if that means he slept into the night, or through the whole day before and into night again. The first thing he notices when he wakes up is that his mouth is completely parched. He tries to swallow, but any saliva he once had seems to have fucked off somewhere. The second thing is the dull, throbbing ache in his neck.

Charlie fumbles in the dark, reaching around him to find the light and figure out where the hell he might even be.

Meyer doesn't really sleep, more drifts in and out of periods of restfulness. Sometimes his eyes are shut, sometimes they aren't. As a vampire, it doesn't seem to matter much. All he knows is that he's relaxed, and he's not counting. That's enough for him right now. At some point, he gets up quietly, wandering around the house, thinking about things, pacing as he always does -- some things don't change no matter what species you are.

When he comes back into the bedroom to lie down again, he notices that Charlie's waking up and reaching for the light, and he rolls over to turn it on for him, looking concerned, looking guilty, looking like some odd combination of glad to see Charlie awake and hopeful that Charlie won't immediately punch him for letting him go through with actually biting him.

"How you feeling?"

It's a careful question, his voice quiet.

"Like a fucking desert moved into my throat. Got any water?" He diplomatically doesn't mention the pain yet, nor the way he still feels oddly lightheaded. But at this point he'll take lightheaded and whoozy over antsy and bored. The former's a lot less likely to get anyone killed.

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