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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"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.

"I'll get some."

He does. He doesn't need any himself -- his need for water has, apparently, disappeared and been replaced by a need for blood -- but the least he can do is get some for Charlie after turning him into his dinner.

He leaves the room, gets water, comes back, hands it to Charlie, going through the motions, but brain very obviously somewhere else.

By the time Meyer's come back, he's propped himself up on the pillows. Even in the dim slight, he can see the dark patches of blood they left on the sheets, but when he brings his hand to his neck he only comes away with dark, dried blood, crumbling in his hand. Looks like the clotting agent worked just as well this time.

He downs the water in about two gulps. It feels like the first glass of water in years.

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

He's still wary, not sure what Charlie's going to say. At least he's not hungry anymore, not thirsty, able to look at the dried blood on the sheets and on the towel that Charlie had discarded without feeling like he's going to go into some kind of crazy bloodlust. Hopefully the amount of blood he took from Charlie will sustain him for awhile; he dimly recalled it being a lot, although the details, perhaps thankfully, were fuzzy.

"What about yous?" he tries, maybe only a little wary. He'll admit it, he's curious. He wants to know if his idea worked. It's not like it happens very often, and he'd rather be able to gloat just a little if it did. Besides, being able to prove he was right over Meyer makes a few pints of blood loss seem like an entirely fair trade.

"What about me what? I'm fine."

This time, though, the 'fine' isn't just a way of dodging the question. He really does feel fine. Maybe not mentally, but physically, he's no longer hungry. He hates to admit Charlie was right, but he did seem to have a point -- this will probably sate him for awhile.

Ha! He knew it. Now that his eyes are adjusting, he can see how much better Meyer looks than he has this this whole thing started. He has some colour back in his face, and he seems calmer and more himself.

Charlie slouches back down against the pillows and grins. "See? I told ya sos."

"Yeah, yeah, so you were right."

It takes a lot for him to be able to say that, Charlie. Be proud of him that he could even get the words out without choking on them.

"Then why the long face, huh? You ain't hungry no more, are you?" He gives Meyer another grin. Come on, he offered himself as your dinner, he's allowed to look smug as all fuck about it for a few hours at least.

"No, I'm not hungry anymore. I'm just wondering how long all this is gonna last."

Ever the pragmatist, he's already thinking about the next time he gets hungry, and the next time Charlie starts wanting to steal things. They can't continue like this indefinitely -- every time he's allowed to take Charlie's blood, he's endangering his life.

"Hey, look. It worked this time, didn't it? Calm your damn head for two seconds. We'll work through all that shit when we needs to."

Look Meyer, you're cramping his groove here. You'd think he was the one suffering major blood loss. He reaches out for Meyer's wrist, circling his fingers around it. His skin's warmer than before, at least, but not anywhere near the burning levels.

His main purpose in life is to cramp your groove, Charlie. That, and make money. Since he can't do the latter, he's throwing everything he's got into the former.

He half expects Charlie's hand to be too warm, instinctively prepares for the burning feeling, and is surprised to realize it's not hurting him; he doesn't yank his wrist back. "Yeah, it worked this time," he agrees, forcing himself not to follow up that comment with the immediate question of but will it work next time? He knows Charlie doesn't want to hear it.

"'sides it's a little late to says you thought it was a bad idea when you sure seemed fucking into it earlier." Rubbing salt into a wound? He would never.

Maybe he is being petty, but once in his life an idea of his actually worked and fuck it if he's gonna let Meyer ruin it for him.

"I'm a vampire. Of course I was into it."

Yes, Charlie, everyone knows you were right. He's even admitted it. Don't make him admit it again, or admit that he had been wrong that time. That would just be cruel.

He just slouches into his pillows again, suddenly tired again. He's not sure if it's blood loss or being right is just very exhausting.

"We gotta gets you some new sheets or something."

"Maybe we should wait until all this is over with before buying new sheets."

Because he's sure this won't be the last time something like this happens, especially if Charlie continues to insist that it was a good idea -- he'll probably insist it happens again, if they're stuck this way for much longer.

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

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