Chapter Text
“Somewhere, tucked away in the recesses of your nature, there is something which understands— something which responds to my touch like a harp string— something alien, and wild, and uncouth— something savage and untender, something fiercely willing, and fiercely hostile to the rest of you— something which is not you but me! And to that something I make my appeal…”
— Violet Trefusis, in a letter to Vita Sackville-West, dated 11 May 1920.
He’s having a hard time not getting blood on the faded, dirty carpet of the hotel entrance. At least it feels that way, leaning against the wall in the entryway, coat wrapped tightly around his middle— Kaiba’s, he’d given it to him, insisted, something about not making a mess bleeding out all over the place. The late autumn rain pounds a droning hum outside, lights of meandering cars casting it in streaks of white and red through the glass of the front door. The noise is making Jonouchi sleepy. Or, the noise on top of all the blood loss. Hard to tell.
He leans his head against the wall, tucks it against his shoulder. He doesn’t think Kaiba’s been over at the front desk that long but time is stretching all funny. Maybe he could close his eyes for just a second. It’s really only the cold keeping him awake, now. That and the pain, but that’s faded into a dull throb and it’s easy enough to ignore. He’s had lots of practice.
He shivers, pulls the coat that doesn’t fit right anywhere on his body tighter around himself. The cold is in his bones. He wishes he could believe it’s only the rain, only because of his wet hair and the soggy hems of his pant legs. He feels cold a lot, lately, although not like this. This is so much worse.
Kaiba had told him not to bleed on the carpet. He thinks he’s doing an okay job. At least this isn’t that nice of an establishment to begin with. They’d ducked into the first place they’d seen, once they could be sure the rain had muddied their scents enough for their pursuers to lose their tail. They just need to hide out until morning.
It seems dingy enough in here that maybe it wouldn’t be the first time someone’s bled all over their stuff before. So that could be reassuring, in a way.
“Jonouchi,” a voice is saying, and it’s Kaiba, snapping his fingers right in front of Jonouchi’s face.
Jonouchi sniffs, glowers, blinking his eyes open. He’d heard him coming. Smelled him, too. All his senses are extra heightened these days. It’s just that he’s so tired. Couldn’t he just have a second to rest?
“We all booked?” he asks, just so Kaiba doesn’t do something stupid and very un-Kaiba, like ask how he’s feeling.
“Obviously,” Kaiba says, and is already trying to grab Jonouchi by the arm and drag him along.
Jonouchi’s reflexes are still quick enough that he jerks back and out of his grip, glaring, and lingers behind him. Kaiba just huffs. Turns and starts walking into the lobby— if you could call it that, small as it is— and then down the hall. Jonouchi follows after him, feeling he’s doing a pretty good job of staying steady on his feet, all things considered.
They go up one flight of stairs, Jonouchi leaning on the handrail more than he’d like to let on. The walls on the next floor are painted a distinctly late-80s shade of pink, and the carpet doesn’t look like it’s been changed since then, either. They go down the hall to the right, and then Kaiba stops in front of a door on their left, pulling the key out of his pocket. Jonouchi leans against the wall next to him. The low, warm light of the clamshell wall sconces casts Kaiba’s face in reflected pink. Jonouchi would find it funny, if only— well, he’s not sure. But it’s not funny, for some reason. It’s something else.
The door swings open, Kaiba pocketing the key again, and Jonouchi shifts to follow him inside. The room looks about as equally outdated as the rest of the place, and there’s definitely a good bit of dust in the corners, but the bedding is fresh and the bed looks comfortable, so he really can’t complain.
Huh. Bed, singular.
“They didn’t have any rooms with two beds?” Jonouchi asks as he collapses into the overstuffed armchair in the corner, covered in that pale multicolored tweed sort of fabric that always catches under your fingernails. “Or rich boy didn’t wanna spring for it?” he adds, punctuating it with a tired grin.
Kaiba doesn’t seem amused, but that’s pretty normal for him. “I don’t think it’s that kind of hotel,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“Ohhh,” says Jonouchi. He hadn’t even realized. He must be pretty out of it, actually. He sighs. Maybe under other, less extenuating circumstances, he’d have complaints about sharing a bed with Kaiba; but as things are, he finds he doesn’t feel that concerned about it. Besides, Jonouchi’s no stranger to roughing it. “Tha’s alright. Just one night.”
Kaiba just grunts, shrugging out of his damp suit jacket and tossing it over the oak chair and desk tucked into the corner near the end of the bed. He must be exhausted, too, if he’s being that haphazard with his things.
Jonouchi leans back in the armchair, rolling his neck. He’s still cold. It feels like the sort of feeling that might be forever, the way all the worst feelings do when you’re in the middle of them. He shifts his feet against the carpet, starts toeing off his shoes, then his socks, once the cold air makes it apparent how wet they really are.
He should keep his eyes open. Should stay awake. It feels important. He quietly traces the sight of Kaiba rolling up his shirtsleeves. Something to focus on.
After a moment, Kaiba is stepping a bit closer, and saying, “Stand up.” He gestures at Jonouchi, too, as if his command wasn’t clear enough. Jonouchi just raises his eyebrows.
“What?” he asks, trying to mask any of the slowness clouding his head with indignation.
“Up,” Kaiba repeats, and what’s ridiculous is he doesn’t even have that look on his face he gets when he’s trying to piss Jonouchi off on purpose. Like he really just means it, really expects Jonouchi to listen. “Let me see your wounds.”
Oh, that’s what he wants. He could’ve just said. Or maybe Jonouchi should’ve figured. He’s kind of having trouble keeping up with things, at the moment.
Sighing, he moves to stand, only swaying a little as he straightens up. He looks at Kaiba expectantly.
Kaiba looks back at him like he’s stupid. “Take the coat and shirt off, idiot.”
There’s just never any pleasing this guy, you know?
He allows himself a moment to make a face at the ceiling, then dumps the coat onto the armchair, not willing to be any more careful with it than Kaiba was with his suit jacket. His shirt is a mess and probably a total loss; half the blood on it is dried, already darkening. He tries to start pulling it up and stops when the cotton sticks to his skin, hissing in pain as it pulls on the lowest of his wounds. It takes him a moment to carefully pull the ruined fabric away around each one, like working on a stubborn bandaid. His hands are shaking by the time he’s done. He decides to toss the shirt on top of Kaiba’s coat, since it’s already somewhat bloody, too.
Kaiba makes a noise low in his throat, bends a little to get a better look at Jonouchi’s abdomen. “They aren’t healing yet,” he says. “Why aren’t they healing yet?”
There’s four bullet wounds across his torso, Jonouchi counts, each still bleeding feebly. Every breath hurts, but the ache is so constant it almost feels like background noise. Like static.
“Lost a lot of blood,” Jonouchi offers. One of the vampires in that pureblood’s gaggle of underlings had managed to tear into his neck hard enough to knick something bad. That’s already scabbed over, had been stitching itself back together in the minutes before he got shot; but it was a lot of blood to lose in such a short span of time. And he hasn’t made a meal of any vamps in the weeks since his friends discovered his secret nature. Maybe he should have. But it makes him queasy thinking about seeking it out, actually going looking for it. He doesn’t want to know how much worse it can get. How much he can still change.
“I can see that,” Kaiba replies flatly. “Perhaps something you should’ve considered before stepping in front of a semi-automatic weapon.”
Jonouchi looks up, glaring at him. “Sorry, you think I should’ve let you get shot instead?”
Kaiba only stares back at him. “You acted rashly,” he says, voice annoyingly even. “Your intentions and all other potential outcomes are irrelevant.”
Jonouchi still can’t believe him, sometimes. “You’re a real fucking piece of work, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” Kaiba responds dully.
Shaking his head, Jonouchi shifts in place, suddenly restless, as exhausted as he is. Kaiba is still looking at his wounds, stance casual, but the tension in his shoulders is a dead give away that he’s not anymore at ease than Jonouchi is. Jonouchi is starting to bristle under the attention— doesn’t like it, how closely Kaiba is looking. It feels too— too much. Too exposing, too intimate.
He shivers; he’s getting goosebumps. The chill inside him is only worse now that he’s half-undressed.
“So next time I see someone aiming a gun at you, ya’want me to just let it happen?” he says, trying for heated, but it comes out a lot more worn than he means it to. Is that really his voice? He sounds so damn tired.
“I didn’t say that,” says Kaiba. He has his eyebrows raised, all impassive. Stoic.
Patience fraying, Jonouchi turns and steps around him toward the bed. He’s gotten dizzy, standing in one spot like that. Has a headache coming on, too. His vision is swimming a little in the low light of the wall lamps— funny, Kaiba must’ve turned them on when they came in, but Jonouchi can’t remember him doing it.
“Whatever, man,” he says. “If you’d like to be on the receiving end of this bullshit next time, be my guest.” He looks back at Kaiba as he moves to sit down on the bed, but it’s like his foot doesn’t land where he’s just told it to and suddenly he’s tumbling forward. He must’ve stepped wrong. His head feels like it’s just been tossed around a washing machine and his ears are ringing.
A strong grip descends on him before he can hit the ground, and then Kaiba is pushing him back towards the bed so that he lands on the mattress instead of braining himself on the metal bed frame. Jonouchi bounces with a groan, muscles in his abdomen straining at his wounds being jostled.
“What the hell,” he huffs, and tries to push himself into sitting up, fighting against another wave of dizziness. He drifts to the side, suddenly nauseous, and has to just hover there for a second, trying to shake it off. Eventually he manages to drag himself upright. His heart is pounding, and he can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline of almost-falling or if it’s been beating that hard this whole time and he just hadn’t noticed. Leaning back on his palms, he looks up at his shitty excuse for a savior.
Kaiba is standing at the end of the bed, staring at him. His face is as unreadable as it was before, but the blank, unimpressed look is gone. He’s just watching, processing, mouth beginning to pinch in at the sides in a way Jonouchi can’t decipher.
“What?” Jonouchi asks, because he has no idea what else there is to say.
After a moment, Kaiba steps forward, almost too slow, like he doesn’t want Jonouchi to spook. He hovers in front of him, right at the edge of the bed.
Jonouchi fists his hands into the duvet beneath him, fabric bunching between his fingers. He’s about to say something else, something about how deeply weird this moment is, how much his head is spinning, why is Kaiba standing so close— when Kaiba raises a hand and places it lightly on his forehead. Jonouchi stops himself from instinctively flinching away from the touch, but it’s a near thing. Kaiba’s palm doesn’t feel like much, just a barely-there weight, the lightest pressure, not any warmer or cooler than Jonouchi’s skin.
“You’re way too cold,” Kaiba says, voice low like he’s wary of speaking too loud. He removes his hand, lets it fall back to his side, but still lingers by the edge of the bed.
Jonouchi blinks up at him, dazed, and only partly from just almost passing out.
Kaiba’s mouth is set all thin, but he shifts on his feet in a way that allows Jonouchi a little more breathing room. “You might not heal at all at this rate. Has this ever happened before?”
“No,” says Jonouchi. His brain feels sluggish, like he’s moving through molasses. But he knows what Kaiba is saying. Has been vaguely aware of that possibility, since the first few minutes of trying to keep pressure on his wounds. “But I’ve never… lost this much blood before, either.”
Kaiba makes a “hmph” sound, turning away and pressing his lips together. His hands are on his hips, which admittedly registers as vaguely funny to Jonouchi, although he can’t quite identify why. The old alarm clock on the nightstand ticks insistently in the ensuing silence, loud to Jonouchi’s sensitive hearing. Or maybe it’s just how his focus is drifting, his mind latching onto anything steady, anything it can find through the haze.
Whatever Kaiba’s deliberating over, he appears to reach a conclusion the next moment; his spine straightens a little, and then he’s turning back to face the bed, his arms now crossed over his chest.
Kaiba looks back towards where Jonouchi is sitting, giving him a once-over, and the thumb of his right hand comes up to press against his teeth. A drifting beam of light from outside in the wet, grinding city peaks through the little gap between the room’s beige curtains and sweeps over the top of his face, gone as quickly as it came, having momentarily painted his brow and cheekbone white. The rain is still coming down. Jonouchi, with compounding unease, watches himself being watched. Kaiba takes a breath; tilts his head.
“Well,” he says. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it.” And then he reaches up and starts unbuttoning the top of his shirt.
Jonouchi blinks at him aggressively. “What,” he croaks.
“You need blood,” Kaiba says matter-of-factly. He stops with the shirt after the first few buttons, thank god.
Struggling to catch up, and admittedly at a distinct disadvantage considering he’s currently going into shock from blood loss, it takes Jonouchi a moment to register what Kaiba’s even said, mouth hanging open slightly.
But then— “No,” he says, automatic. “No, that’s— no.”
Kaiba has the gall to roll his eyes. “I know you and I don’t have the most palatable history, but you of all people must be aware that beggars can’t be choosers.” He sniffs, apparently shifting into an even higher gear of annoying jackassery. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to choke it down.”
This really isn’t helping Jonouchi’s headache. “That’s not— that’s not the point,” he says with a groan. “Like, at all.”
“No?” Kaiba looks at him expectantly. “Then what is?”
Jonouchi frowns. Kaiba has no way of understanding how deeply personal any of this is for him— and he’s not exactly in the best shape for explaining it. He sighs, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “I’ve never,” he tries, and swallows, letting his hand fall back to the bed. “I’ve never drank from a human before. Not even once. It’s a… line I haven’t wanted to cross. An important one.”
Kaiba looks somewhat surprised, his eyebrows raised. “Really?” he says. “Not even from…” He blinks, tilting his head, like he’s revisiting some previous mental calculations and checking his math. For a moment his mouth slackens, and then he looks back to Jonouchi. “Well,” he says, his eyes strangely bright. “There’s a first time for everything.”
It’s hard not to think Kaiba is making fun of him, considering it’d be so completely expected. Jonouchi digs his fingers into the duvet harder than before, knuckles blanching. “You don’t understand,” he says, hoarse. His throat feels heavy.
Kaiba’s head shakes a fraction, his gaze assessing Jonouchi yet again. “How so?”
Jonouchi doesn’t really know how to answer— his head hurts, his body hurts, he’s so tired, and he can barely keep up with the conversation to begin with. He stares at the dull, worn carpet, and thinks about the smell of blood and liquor on the same breath. Kaiba scoffs, shifting on his feet, clearly running out of patience.
“If you’d like to die out of your own dimwitted stubbornness, then be my guest,” Kaiba bites out. “Perhaps you’d be doing us all a favor. But if you feel like pulling your head out of your ass, I’ll remind you that you’re being offered something freely given, something I’m under no obligation to give. If it’s your ridiculous principles that’s kept you from your friends’ necks, try to find it in you to spare me that same bullshit.”
He reaches up, undoes another button, jerks his shirt collar to the side to fully expose his neck. Jonouchi’s mouth dries instantly. He wants to look away, instinctively— can’t, for the very same reason.
Kaiba just raises his brows at him, stretches his neck a little to the side. Watching.
It’s maybe the cruelest thing Kaiba’s ever done to him, actually; which is saying something. And Jonouchi doubts Kaiba even realizes it. This has to stop. Doesn’t it have to stop? He doesn’t understand how they got here. All he knows is that it’s humiliating, and he can’t take much more of it.
“Anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to bait a hungry dog with food?” Jonouchi asks, voice like gravel, and yet he tries for the joke anyway— something to flip the absurdity of this moment, to make this end, anything at all.
Kaiba’s face doesn’t so much as twitch. “I’m not baiting anyone,” he says. “I’m offering.”
Kaiba’s pale enough that there’s a soft translucency to his skin, and the branches of his veins creep blue around the edges of him like they’re peaking out through clouded stone. Jonouchi’s never seen them before now; except for the one that sometimes goes tight along the slope of Kaiba’s temple. This is the most exposed he’s ever seen Kaiba, literally, for once not covered from head to toe.
Now, dressed down as he is, it’s easy to make out his veins even in the low light; easy for Jonouchi, as his vision has only gotten sharper and increasingly accustomed to the dark over the last five years. His headache recedes as his focus narrows, the pain and disorientation taking a backseat to instinct. He studies the vessels curving at the edge of Kaiba’s throat and can see the pulse point thumping— the smallest, subtlest, shadowy movement, and yet his eyes land on it like a flare. Vague unease squirms in the back of his mind; he shouldn’t be looking. He’s— not supposed to. But he is looking. And even if he closed his eyes— he doesn’t want to, but he could— he’d still be able to hear it. The heartbeat, and even— the sound of the blood moving inside every vessel, the rushing, the rhythmic soaring, like the call of water at the fountainhead.
He hears the change in his own breathing, but barely registers it. It’s just an echo of the pulse filling up his head, syncing to the dance of its rhythm, closer, deeper.
“I didn’t know your eyes could do that,” Kaiba says, and his voice sounds strange.
Jonouchi blinks, gaze snapping back to Kaiba’s face. He realizes he’s no longer sagging under the strain of holding himself up; his body’s gone still, coiled, spine straightening in little eager ticks.
“What?” he asks, and the soft, deep drag of his own voice is just as uncanny. “Do what?” he tries again, face heating as he begins to realize how badly his control has lapsed.
Kaiba swallows, and Jonouchi’s eyes jump immediately to the bob of his throat. “Get so black,” he says, low. His pulse quickens as he speaks, thumping harder and louder, and his gaze watches Jonouchi’s in a way that’s almost avid. He should be afraid; his heart should be beating harder out of fear, but there’s no trace of it in Kaiba’s face. His heart hammers anyway.
Jonouchi’s mind doesn’t stop to try to understand it. He’s getting pulled into the rhythm again, the sound of the blood rushing, that sweet, aching call. Ba-wump, ba-wump, ba-wump— so strong and insistent, so alive. He falls under the spell of it, simmers lowly in the hunger creeping in higher, and higher, chill tingling in his fingers and toes and spreading over him until the cold, awful weight in his stomach threatens to drag his body apart into one gaping void.
The balm to his suffering is right there. He just has to take it.
No— no, that’s not— he jerks back, nearly doubles over from the wave of nausea and dizziness the sudden movement causes. He’s not supposed to think like that. He’s not— like that. Like them. Like—
His father, stumbling home in the middle of the night, stinking drunk in a way he could only get from someone’s blood, because drinking alcohol the regular way only ever got him a light buzz, courtesy of his vampire heritage. Who had it been tonight? How had he picked them out? What made him zero in on them, in whatever shitty bar he’d wandered into? Chatting them up, plying them, getting them so black-out drunk they wouldn’t remember him dragging them off somewhere and taking a bite out of ‘em.
He insisted he’d never killed anyone, and Jonouchi had asked plenty, screamed it at him sometimes. But how would he know, when he was so damn wasted by the end of it? Would he even have had the control left to make himself stop? Would he even have noticed if he’d killed someone? How many might there be, chalked up to alcohol poisoning or exposure with a halfhearted shrug, discovered however long after? Jonouchi could guess the type his dad went for. They were people who wouldn’t be missed, who fit right in the dirty little oases of misery the man was always inexorably drawn to.
“Stop,” Jonouchi says, voice breaking, although it’s muffled under his hands. He’s not even sure which of them he’s pleading with; Kaiba, or himself. He’s folded half-over his lap— when had he brought his hands up over his face? But it doesn’t matter. “Please. I can’t.” He’s practically begging now, and if he’s ashamed of doing so, as he would expect himself to be, he can’t feel it, not now— not when an older, deeper shame is taking up all the space in his lungs, a shaggy rot creeping up his throat.
He can only partially see the obscured outline of Kaiba’s legs still standing in front of him, but there’s a pause in Kaiba’s breathing, a sort of lingering stillness, like he doesn’t know what to do with Jonouchi’s outburst. Jonouchi can imagine the face he’s making, but he doesn’t want to look at him— can’t stand to, just right now.
“You don’t want to?” Kaiba asks, surprisingly careful, and the question actually makes Jonouchi laugh, it’s that ridiculous. And— he can practically feel Kaiba frowning at that. “Jonouchi, answer me,” he adds, much more demanding.
Jonouchi does have to look up at him then, and he takes the dizziness it causes with a bit more ease now that he’s expecting it. Kaiba is just looking at him, and he is frowning, Jonouchi was right about that. “‘Course I do!” Jonouchi huffs loudly, tugging a hand through his hair. “That’s why. You don’t know what… I don’t know how to make you understand. I’m not a monster.”
Kaiba keeps staring back at him, but the pinched look on his face eases slightly. After a moment, he looks down, jaw working as he appears to gather his thoughts. “I’d say I hate to break it to you— although I really don’t— but you’re not exactly human,” he says. Normally, it’d sting Jonouchi to hear it, but he doesn’t really have it in him, right now. Go figure. “You already are what you are… let’s say you get to make the rules about what that entails,” Kaiba continues. “But if you’re going to be a… ‘monster,’ being a self-denying one seems particularly foolish, even for you.”
Jonouchi’s not sure what to say to that. The exhaustion has quickly crashed into him again, all that momentary focus dissolving under its weight. He rubs his fingers against the ache at his temple, sighing into the fluttering twinges of pain in his core that come and go with each breath.
Kaiba clears his throat. “It’s obvious you’re greatly overthinking this.” He shifts on his feet, then continues in a tone he must make use of in the boardroom, hand in his pocket. “If it’s the typical human-vampire dynamic that bothers you so much, I believe there’s a clear solution.”
“Yeah?” Jonouchi mutters, studying the dried drops of blood— his blood, presumably— that managed to end up on Kaiba’s fancy leather shoes, which he’d evidently toed off and left under the desk when they entered the room. “And what’s that?”
“We make the exchange an equal one,” Kaiba says easily. There’s a slithering, disorienting ease about the way he’s moving now, head tilted, body carefully mimicking something casual. Jonouchi must’ve seen it before, a long time ago, but looking back, he feels this isn’t a side of Kaiba he’s actually been able to observe all that often, at least not up close. “You need my blood, which I’m very helpfully offering. To make it reciprocal, you supply me with some of your blood as well.”
Jonouchi looks back up at him, eyebrows raised. “I’m not letting you do weird science shit with my blood, Kaiba.”
He can see Kaiba valiantly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It appears to take a fair amount of effort. “While that could possibly be interesting— assuming the results weren’t simply inconclusive— that wasn’t what I meant,” Kaiba says.
Jonouchi frowns, blinking at him. He really doesn’t have the energy right now for puzzling out a Kaiba Seto who, for some reason, wants something he has to offer. Trying to think of what else Kaiba could possibly want with his blood, he can only come up with one thing. “Then… You wanna, what? Drink it?”
“Obviously.”
Jonouchi isn’t sure how it’s remotely obvious, actually. “Why?”
“Scientific curiosity?” says Kaiba, eyebrows raised. “And reciprocation, as I’ve just said. It’s not particularly complicated.”
Jonouchi just stares up at him, brows pinched together. His current limited capacity aside, he does know how to spot a bullshitter; always has known. He just doesn’t know why Kaiba is bullshitting him right now, especially when he already so obviously has the upper hand.
Maybe he is just curious; but, he’s not letting on why that is. What piece he’s really curious about. Or maybe he’s just eager to have something new to hold over Jonouchi’s head. But it’s true that he does seem— fascinated, somehow, by what Jonouchi is. His eyes are too bright and hungry, a stillness in his face like he’s holding his breath for something, and he’s running out of air.
“I don’t think I exactly have a lot of blood to give, right now,” Jonouchi says, trying to drag his thoughts back to earth by stating the obvious.
Kaiba shrugs. Jonouchi makes a face at the gesture. “It’ll likely be a different story once you’ve had some of mine; but regardless, it’s logical I’d take only a small amount from you, yes. Seeing as I’m not naturally built for that like you are.”
“… You’ve thought of everything, huh,” Jonouchi says, somehow both disgruntled and impressed. He bites his lip. A part of him is actually considering it now. Even when Kaiba telegraphs his movements so obviously, it’s somehow hard not to play along. But then— he’s right about why Jonouchi’s always been so insistent on not drinking from humans. It is different somehow, if it’s reciprocated. Jonouchi can’t deny that. Logically speaking, a human drinking vampire blood seems wrong, but it’s not as if Jonouchi’s blood has ever posed the same risk as that of full-blooded vampires; he’s not even capable of turning anyone. And besides, turning someone requires draining them first. Vampire blood might not do anything at all, otherwise. He sits back a little, says, “I don’t think it could make you sick or anything like that, but it’s still…”
“I’m sure just a little won’t be of any concern.” Oh, well, if Kaiba’s sure. The man straightens himself up, crosses his arms. “Now, do we have a deal? Or would you like to continue to sit and slowly bleed out on that godawful bedspread?”
Jonouchi can’t help but huff a laugh. “Well, when you put it like that.”
He feels himself circling, tipping into the gravity of such a decision. Can he? Could he? Would he really? He might. He really, really might. He’s so cold. And the thought of cold has the hunger rising up again. He looks back up to Kaiba’s neck only to see it suddenly moving closer; Kaiba is leaning in, laying a hand on his shoulder, a mockery of sympathy.
There’s a carefully guileless not-quite-smile on his face; he’s trying so hard to look reasonable, understanding. A viper, Jonouchi thinks, eyes narrowing, and even more absurdly, greedy little fox. It makes something icy seize in Jonouchi’s throat. He finally finds the raw anger that’s eluded him throughout this whole conversation, his frustration boiling over not into rage, but something meaner, sharper. Kaiba should be careful, because right now his neck looks like a fawn begging for the hunting knife.
But Kaiba, of course, is no fawn. He’s as much a hunter as Jonouchi is; a lot more proud of that fact about himself, actually, than Jonouchi could probably ever be. Jonouchi has at least a vague understanding of how he got to be that way. He’d say Kaiba must’ve learned to enjoy cruelty in a way he never did, but he knows better; has enough memories of using his fists and his teeth, and his blood roaring with it. He’s not sure he’d call it enjoyment. But he’d taken it up anyway. Picked it up and let it occupy the space of him. Colonize him. Make him into something else. Not a boy, or a brother, or a friend— just teeth and fists and the gleam of a split-open eyebrow.
He likes to think it’s different now. That at least, he’s given it a purpose, tries to use it for something good. Sitting here, looking at Kaiba’s neck and seeing something fit for taking, he’s not so sure he ever really changed.
But maybe that’s exactly what Kaiba’s banking on. Maybe he knows exactly how transparent he’s being— just wants to piss Jonouchi off, make him snap.
Well— Jonouchi would hate to disappoint him, but two can play that game, can’t they? And it’s not as if Kaiba’s doing it particularly subtly.
Jonouchi smiles humorlessly. “You’re something else, you know that?” he says, voice low.
Jonouchi wants to see exactly how serious he is. It’s hard to imagine someone like Kaiba in a position so vulnerable, offering up his neck just like that. Does he have the nerve to follow through? Probably, knowing how stubborn he is. But Jonouchi wants to see how far he can push him, what soft spots he can dig his hands in, what exactly Kaiba will have to give up to go through with this.
“So?” Kaiba asks, ignoring Jonouchi’s remark. His smile is thin, his hand squeezing a little harder on Jonouchi’s shoulder.
Oh, yes— if he wants Jonouchi’s hunger directed at him, he can take it.
“Okay,” says Jonouchi, and turns the taste of it over in his mouth, and doesn’t find it as bitter as he thought he would.
“Okay,” Kaiba nods, slow like he’s testing it out. He searches Jonouchi’s face, nods again. Purses his lips. “Okay.”
He stands up straight, fingers moving back to the buttons of his shirt. Stepping back, he circles slowly around Jonouchi, moving towards the other end of the bed. Jonouchi can’t help but turn his head to keep looking at him, even though it makes the room spin. Kaiba looks smug, a familiar expression but one that’s particularly aggravating now; Jonouchi can’t tell which part of all of this he’s smug about, whether it’s because he thinks he’s won or because Jonouchi wants to keep looking at him. Maybe it’s both.
Reality starts to sink in with an absurd wave of lightheadedness as Kaiba shrugs out of his unbuttoned shirt. It makes sense to remove it, but that doesn’t make the sight any less jarring.
“Maybe you should lay down,” Jonouchi says, grasping at any tether of control. “In case I take too much, and you get woozy.”
Kaiba pauses, tilts his head like he’s considering it. “Mm… Reasonable. Although it seems like you probably need that more than I do.”
It’s annoying that Jonouchi can’t even disagree with that.
Kaiba starts piling a couple pillows up against the headboard, tossing back the duvet. Jonouchi doesn’t know how to square the sight of him moving so casually while half-nude. He’s wiry, lanky but with an edge of toned muscle in a way that’s still identifiably boyish. The image of him half undressed and preparing to climb into bed suddenly feels bizarrely domestic.
“Might ruin the bedspread,” says Jonouchi, because the only other option is continuing to stare at Kaiba like an idiot.
Kaiba sits down at the head of the bed, looking up at Jonouchi with an eyebrow raised. His gaze falls to Jonouchi’s stomach, and Jonouchi realizes he has, in fact, already been bleeding slowly onto the duvet— and his own jeans— leaving dark little drips everywhere. He’s been a little distracted, in his defense. Kaiba shrugs, shimmying down a little and lying back against his pile of pillows, apparently getting comfortable. “I’ll pay for it.”
Figures.
Something about the little sigh Kaiba lets out as he stretches against the bed has Jonouchi’s brain short-circuiting. He looks bizarrely like a princess waiting for true love’s kiss, but with darkened eyes that make Jonouchi’s skin feel like it’s covered in ants.
“Well?” Kaiba says, blinking impatiently at him.
He’s really doing this. He can’t exactly back out now; can he? Maybe he could, humiliation and possible death be damned, but he finds he doesn’t really want to.
He swallows, slowly turns and swings his feet up, and starts crawling up the bed. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to stand; his head’s spinning enough as it is. Reaching Kaiba’s legs, he sits back, pausing before moving to gingerly climb on top of him. He ends up seated over Kaiba’s thighs, hovering above him.
“Wow, you really haven’t ever done this before,” says Kaiba, smirking.
Jonouchi thinks about smacking him. “Shut up,” he says, far too petulant. He’s trying to figure out just how much their bodies are going to have to touch for this to work, and he’s starting to think the answer is “all over.” He really should’ve thought about the position they’d be in before saying Kaiba should lie down. He huffs, trying to recover himself. “You said there’s a first time for everything, right?”
“Yes.” Kaiba’s lips are still curved into something satisfied, but the mockery seems to fall away. Jonouchi doesn’t know what to make of it; his vision’s swimming a little again. Have Kaiba’s lips always been that pink? He’s just such a pale guy, that doesn’t seem right. Shit, there’s so many more veins for Jonouchi to see now, and so close. They’re even starker across his collarbones, over his chest, around his arms. Jonouchi trained himself to ignore the sight of people’s veins a long time ago, even if he still couldn’t help but notice them; he’s certainly never allowed himself to just look.
But he’s so close now he can feel the warmth of Kaiba’s body under his, can smell him, the scent of dried sweat and adrenaline and traces of deodorant and body wash. He’s lowered himself a little further over Kaiba’s body without thinking, leering closer against his will. Kaiba’s heart is right there, under his bit-too-visible breastbone, and it beats harder like it wants Jonouchi to hear it calling for him.
His fangs descend with a quiet, slick sound, but it’s unmistakeable for Jonouchi, cutting through the noise of quiet breathing and Kaiba’s thumping heart. He remembers himself— sits back, can’t help the hand that flies to his mouth even though he knows it’s ridiculous. It’s not like he can hide it.
Kaiba stares at him with wide eyes. “Let me see,” he says, his hand twitching against his stomach.
That’s the last thing Jonouchi wants. Maybe he can’t go through with this, actually. What was he thinking? He’s nauseous again, has to look away, cover his eyes so Kaiba can’t see him wincing. He wants to stop thinking of his mother’s face.
It’d begun with him biting through his lip in his sleep. He’d wake up, mouth bloody and sore, with no understanding of how it’d gotten that way. It wasn’t like anyone had told him what he was; his dad didn’t give up the game until mom left. Jonouchi must’ve been— nine? Ten? When it started. And eventually it began to happen during the day, too; not all the time, but when he got into a scuffle with the kids at school, or when he skinned his knee while riding his bike, or his dad came home after a night out smelling like something Jonouchi couldn’t quite understand yet.
He did alright at hiding it; it never lasted long, his fangs retracting back after a few seconds. Of course, he hadn’t even really known to call them that, then. He’d spend any unsupervised time he could get sitting on the bathroom vanity and peering in the mirror, trying to figure out where the sharp teeth went when they weren’t out. He’d picked at his gums until they bled, and it was only at the taste of blood in his mouth the fangs had finally come sliding smoothly out over his canines.
One morning— before dawn, maybe around 4 or 5— he’d wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, and seen his mother on her hands and knees, scrubbing at the tile. In the pale blue light, he could make out a track of dark smudges leading from the side door. He’d asked her what she was doing; she hadn’t answered. But he knew she knew he was there, from the set of her shoulders, the way her arms went tense. She kept scrubbing. He’d gotten down on his knees in front of her, trying to get a better look at what it was she was cleaning, and then he’d smelled it before his eyes recognized the sticky smear of blood, left by a shoe— large, a man’s; his dad’s, then.
He wasn’t aware of it when his fangs extended; not until his mom was pausing in her work to look up at him, and then she froze. He’s never forgotten how she looked at him then. Her eyes, so big and shining they’d looked like two huge pearls set into her suddenly pale face— her expression blank with horror.
“Don’t do that,” she’d said eventually, still looking at him, her voice rough and quiet. “Don’t ever do that.” And then she’d covered her mouth with her hand, rubber glove smacking a wet noise against her skin, and her eyes had begun to brim with tears. Jonouchi’s hand had jumped to his own mouth, realizing too late just what had happened.
She’d looked at him like he might hurt someone and it was strange mostly because he hadn’t even understood his own instincts then. He didn’t even know that gnawing, awful feeling inside him was telling him to bite; that what his body was wanting was something that had to be taken. No one had ever really taught him about hunger. But she could see it on him anyway.
“I said let me see,” says Kaiba, although it’s far too quiet, thin and strange.
Jonouchi lowers his hands to look back at him, too confused to keep hiding. Kaiba’s eyes widen again— big, just like pearls. But there’s no horror. Just fascination; something keen.
Kaiba reaches up; Jonouchi realizes he’s reaching for his mouth and jerks back on instinct. But Kaiba just makes a dismissive noise and keeps reaching. Jonouchi goes still, freezing like any animal does witnessing this kind of uniquely human hubris.
Kaiba’s eyes are so big and bright, his face almost childlike. His hand drifts closer, one of his long fingers extending towards Jonouchi’s open mouth. When he runs the tip of his finger lightly along Jonouchi’s fang, he lets out a quiet, delighted little sound Jonouchi has never heard him make before.
Jonouchi feels the lingering touch, his face scrunching up on instinct at his fang making contact with something. Kaiba’s mouth twitches into a grin, but he lets his hand fall back down to his stomach.
“I think you’re kinda fucked in the head, man,” says Jonouchi.
Kaiba shoots him a flat look, like he’s disappointed in having his little moment interrupted, but his eyes are still shining. “As if that’s any sort of revelation.” He sighs, reclining back against the pillows. “Now, get on with it.” His head tilts, the usual smirk sliding back into place. “Unless you’re nervous?”
Jonouchi grits his teeth. He leans forward, plants both hands on the bed, bracketing Kaiba’s shoulders. “You talk a lot of shit for a guy within biting distance, you know that?”
Kaiba’s eyes widen the smallest fraction. “Well, you haven’t killed me yet, have you?” he replies, lips twitching. “Seeing as you impulsively stepped in between me and several bullets, I figure the odds are in my favor. Unless something changes.”
“You should stop testing me, then,” Jonouchi mutters.
Kaiba only manages to look even more smug at that.
He’s lucky the hunger is getting too loud for Jonouchi to really care, now. Any remaining agitation and fear and shame joins the growing, overwhelmed static inside Jonouchi’s body, filling him up the way only the loudest of sounds can. It takes up all the space inside him and doesn’t leave room for anything else.
He’s still feeling petty enough to reach up and place a hand on Kaiba’s head to reveal his neck at a better angle; to his surprise, Kaiba seems to almost instinctively comply, head falling to the side with all the ease of gravity. It makes a rush of heat spark in Jonouchi’s freezing body, an electric current running over his skin.
“Jesus,” breathes Jonouchi.
He knows Kaiba doesn’t ever do anything he doesn’t want to do— and only now does it really sink in that Kaiba wants this. Explicitly and wholly, and not only does he want it, but he’s impatient for it.
It’s a heady and all-consuming feeling, that knowledge, blending with the hunger and creating one aching pulse of need, and for a moment it’s impossible to tell where it begins and ends, where Kaiba’s want becomes his own.
That heartbeat is a siren song— strumming itself in the veins of Kaiba’s exposed neck. Jonouchi lowers himself onto his elbows, hovering over Kaiba’s body, taking in shaky breaths of the smell of his skin, of new, prickling sweat. They’re close enough now Jonouchi can feel the low heat coming off of him, a novelty for a body that had always seemed so cold from afar. Every movement of Kaiba’s breathing presses their bodies a little closer, held apart only by a thin line of air and heat; then apart again, then closer, and on and on.
Kaiba’s heart beats harder, the pulse in his neck a visible feather-light trembling, a little animal. Jonouchi watches him and breathes in his skin, and the sight of his throat— of temptation splayed out and so willingly exposed— seems shockingly obscene, downright filthy. It’s infinitely more damning than the first time he ever saw a skin mag or got his hands on a pink film, twists even deeper in his stomach like a hook through his gut and doesn’t let go.
“Are all vampires this slow?” comes Kaiba’s voice, teasing but breathy.
Jonouchi can’t help but smile. “Maybe I’m savoring it,” he says, low and close to his ear. He watches the tendons in Kaiba’s neck strain as he attempts not to react to the sound of Jonouchi’s voice so close, or perhaps the puff of air against his exposed skin. “First time and all. Can you blame me?”
He’s careful, holding one last moment of clarity between his teeth, placing himself high enough on the edge of Kaiba’s neck that he won’t damage anything important. His fangs, which had retracted in the interim, descend again. He presses his lips lightly, bluntly against where he wants to bite, his mouth instantly watering so hard it hurts.
Kaiba is breathing in a rhythm that’s clearly intentional, like he’s trying to keep himself calm, but Jonouchi can feel his anticipation, is full of the same bright, painful feeling. He opens his mouth.
In the end, giving in isn’t difficult. It’s easy, actually; alarmingly easy. Something folds inside him, like an embankment giving itself up to floodwaters. All he has to do is fall.
There’s an almost-silent pop when his fangs break the skin. Blood wells and greets his tongue and Jonouchi is gone. The headrush is instant and dizzying, hitting before he’s even had a chance to swallow. Liquid heat floods his mouth so fast he groans, swallows his first mouthful, finds himself clutching at Kaiba’s shoulders to pull him closer. The sheer relief is so potent that it hurts, aches everywhere inside him; it echoes with a deafening silence.
Vampire blood does not taste or feel like this. It’s thick and sluggish, dead-tasting, often a little cold unless they’ve fed recently. For anyone squeamish, it’d be a feat to choke down.
Kaiba’s blood, his human blood, is hot and rich, syrupy, tinged with the salt of his skin. It’s incredible. Jonouchi might be shaking. He doesn’t care. It’s Kaiba’s blood but it’s passing through his mouth with each successive swallow and it becomes his, becomes his body, and a burning, possessive feeling rushes up inside him and winds his arms around Kaiba completely until they’re touching chest to chest.
As soon as Jonouchi bit down Kaiba let out a sharp intake of breath, his whole body tensing. He’s coiled tight against Jonouchi like a spring. Jonouchi licks at his neck, begins to find a rhythm in his feeding, grateful for the pulse against his tongue he can follow like a metronome. Blood always has a weight, and it lands hot and heavy in his stomach, clings to his throat and coats his insides. The heat is unbelievable; he’s on fire, lips and fingertips burning as the cold of his body vanishes under the rush of living warmth.
He realizes then how loud the sound of him drinking is, the heavy swallows, all the wet little noises; he’s never really been in the position to pay attention to that sort of thing. When he did drink directly from a vamp it was still usually in the midst of a fight, of distractions and adrenaline and ripping out a throat with his teeth. This couldn’t be more different.
Kaiba’s breathing sharply through his nose, in and out, like he’s trying to keep himself from making any sort of noise. Like he doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth. But now there’s a hand on Jonouchi’s head and it’s pressing down hard, holding him there like Kaiba doesn’t want him to stop. Jonouchi groans again in response, sucks wetly at bleeding skin and latches on tighter. It earns him a gasp, Kaiba’s diaphragm quivering underneath him.
The movement of skin on skin makes Jonouchi shiver; they’re caught in a feedback loop, sensation sparking sensation. He soaks up the pleasant press of their bodies together, the warmth passing between them. Every nerve is singing with it. It might be agony. If it ever ends, then it will be. Jonouchi is lost and Kaiba tastes like the desert, the salt of sweat and hot dust, the sharp green smell of rain falling on dry earth, the metallic tang in the back of one’s aching throat. He feels a strange and uncertain sympathy for it— yet he can’t articulate what ‘it’ even is. He tastes a ruined and lonesome place and cannot help his sadness.
Jonouchi, half-delirious, spurred by some unnamed thing in his chest, presses their bodies harder together. Kaiba is shaking now, a fine trembling all over, limbs twitching as if he’s struggling to keep still. All the squirming only lights up the hunter part of Jonouchi’s brain even more. One of his hands curls around the back of Kaiba’s neck, cradling his head, digging his nails in. Kaiba begins to make quiet, barely-there little sounds with each breath, like he just can’t help himself, letting out furtive, choked little gasps and wounded sighs.
Jonouchi is overcome by a sudden understanding; a revelation that comes on like a creeping itch and then sweeps through him all at once. Kaiba stops being all the things Jonouchi has known him to be for the last three years, and then the boy in his arms isn’t a boy at all. This thing now pressed against him isn’t what he’d thought— all snarling mouth, cold void of a white room, unforgiving edge of metal. No, this thing is… eager, and bleeding, and downright needy. Jonouchi has never tasted desperation like this, and he’s captivated by it.
What he’s touching now is something unspeakable. It’s the sort of gruesome ache that’s hard to even look at; makes other people flinch, glance away on instinct, disturbed and overwhelmed. Like a severed limb, or an open wound. He’s dug his hands in and found an excruciating emptiness, ripped open siding to reveal hollowed out wood edged away by skittering termites. It’s oozing and rotten, pulsing and sucking him in. Kaiba is cracked open on his mouth.
Jonouchi finds he only wants to open him up wider.
What he’s holding now is really a big squirming bug, an insect on its back, revolting in its unadorned animal honesty, its precarious body. And this repulsive, aching creature is trembling, bleeding, giving it up for him. Just for him.
Jonouchi holds him even tighter.
He wants more, more, more of him. And then he’s holding a boy again— a body, straining, hot breath puffing over his head, tickling his hair.
Jonouchi’s blood-addled brain decides it’s never going to let him go. How could he? His chest aches with gratitude. He could cry. All this, just for him. Don’t all the greatest meals you ever have feel like they love you?
Kaiba has gone loose-limbed, pliant, letting Jonouchi scoop him up and crush him closer. His noises are lovely. The tighter Jonouchi squeezes him the more sounds rip out of his chest. Keeping him, I’m keeping him, Jonouchi thinks. There’s still a hand on his head, still holding him, but its grip has gone lax. Thin fingers clench and flex rhythmically in his hair.
As Kaiba’s shivering sighs grow more and more relaxed, Jonouchi feels a spark of clarity cutting through the haze of his feeding. Inwardly he knows, somehow, that he hasn’t actually been drinking very long; not more than a minute, maybe two. But time seems to expand, stretch all funny.
Jonouchi knows he’s fed enough, his whole body burning with it. Knows he should stop, even if he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. But he should.
It hurts to let go. It shouldn’t have to end. But it has to, especially if he ever wants to feel this again. Right?
He sighs, rolls his tongue a few more times over the skin of Kaiba’s neck, savoring every detail. He has to stop. It’s not fair.
No. He knows better. Stop. Come on, stop.
With more effort than he would like to admit, he finally tears himself away, gasping like he’s breaking water for air.
Kaiba makes an awful, disappointed noise, choking out a “no—” as Jonouchi releases him. He groans long, loud, and then his eyes flutter open. It takes a moment until it seems like he’s really seeing anything.
His face is flushed, and his eyes look wet, still a little dazed. Jonouchi has never seen him look like this before, face so disconcertingly open.
Kaiba breathes in deep, seems to come back to himself a little more— and then he looks up at Jonouchi, and he’s staring at his mouth. Jonouchi blinks down at him, realizing his mouth is covered in Kaiba’s blood. He can see why he would stare. He reaches up, tries to wipe most of it off with the back of his hand. It’s a bit silly, maybe.
The wound on Kaiba’s neck bleeds slowly, blood running down along his collarbone. Jonouchi lets out an unhappy grunt, grabs Kaiba’s hand from where it’s flopped against the bedspread and covers it with his own, moving it to press down against Kaiba’s neck to staunch the bleeding. Kaiba shivers hard. It must hurt a lot if he’s reacting like that.
Kaiba licks his lips, opens his mouth. “So?” he asks, voice a quiet rasp.
Jonouchi frowns, blinking back at him.
Kaiba’s eyebrows draw together, confusion and annoyance transparent. It’s a weirdly precious look on him. “Did it work?”
“Oh!” Jonouchi says. He thinks so; he’s no longer cold, still thrumming warm all over like he was just a moment ago. The exhaustion is gone; his head is pounding and hot, but not in a way that hurts anymore. He feels really good, actually. Really, really good.
He’s still shaking off the haze of feeding; he’s certainly not used to it feeling like that. The bloodlust of a fight scarcely compares to whatever he just experienced.
“Um, yeah,” he answers when Kaiba’s face only grows more pinched. “Feels— a lot better.” He sits back, suddenly a bit overwhelmed, his hand slipping away from Kaiba’s neck.
Kaiba makes a noise low in the back of his throat. “Well, it does look like it’s helping,” he says, eyes trained on Jonouchi’s abdomen.
Jonouchi looks down to see his wounds— moving is the only right word for it. Shifting. There’s a pulse of fresh blood, a sharp, squeezing sensation that makes him gasp; the wounds gurgle. Kaiba’s eyes go wide. Slowly, painfully, Jonouchi can feel each bullet pushing itself back out of his flesh. With a wet, sucking squelch, the first one slips out and lands on Kaiba’s stomach; Jonouchi had already gotten blood all over him, he realizes, when he was lying on top of him. A hot wash of shame burns the back of his neck.
The next bullet squeezes out, then the next. Each one feels like the injury happening all over again in reverse. Jonouchi digs his nails into the bedspread, struggling not to double over.
The last slug falls out of his body, and Kaiba is just staring, apparently rapt. Jonouchi’s having a hard time getting a handle on his breathing, gasping for air as the wounds begin to close, each releasing a gush of sticky, half-clotted blood that oozes and drips down onto Kaiba’s skin. Jonouchi sucks in a breath, abdominal muscles clenching and unclenching in response to the rapidly changing tissue. He groans, wipes a hand over his sweating forehead.
Kaiba is still staring at Jonouchi’s damaged flesh knitting itself back together. The hand that was covering the bite on his neck slips down, hovers for a moment over his own stomach. And then he’s reaching forward, edging his fingers closer, and Jonouchi jumps as the tip of one smears at the edge of a closing bullet wound.
Jonouchi grunts at the accompanying jolt of pain. “What’re you doing,” he wheezes out.
Kaiba doesn’t even look up at him, just rubs the tip of his finger over the bloody edge of the receding hole. “What’s it look like?” he says. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Jonouchi’s too stunned to process that. “That scientific curiosity again, huh?” he huffs. He’s really beginning to think the curiosity in question isn’t so scientific at all.
Kaiba just hums, dipping a finger at the edge of the wound as it begins to close completely, coaxing out a little more blood. The muscles in Jonouchi’s abdomen won’t stop twitching. He wants to tell Kaiba to stop, and could probably easily make him if he tried, but the sight is so bizarre he can’t really even think straight. Heat chokes at his throat, his gut twisting.
The wounds are webbing over with new tissue, dark pink and raw, but Kaiba’s fingers slip down to the mess of gummy blood that Jonouchi had leaked all over him and start sliding through it, playing with it. Jonouchi feels inexplicably dizzy. And then Kaiba’s hand reaches up, and he licks his fingers.
Jonouchi stares at him. Kaiba sticks the tips of his fingers in his mouth, sucks away the sticky blood as if it were honey. “Are you serious?” Jonouchi asks, making a face.
Kaiba removes his fingers, red still sticking under his nails. “You said I could have your blood in exchange,” he says, face perfectly blank.
Jonouchi’s mouth drops open; closes again, a second later. He did say that. And Kaiba did let him drink his blood and bleed all over him. Jonouchi clears his throat. “I didn’t think you meant like that, is all…”
Kaiba just shrugs, apparently unconcerned. He closes his eyes; shifts against the pillows, breathes long and slow. The wound at his neck is still bleeding feebly, but it seems to have slowed for the most part, thank goodness.
Jonouchi looks back to Kaiba’s face to see his eyes are open again. Kaiba’s gaze catches his, then slips down the path of blood on his chest, down his body, to the mess he’s made all over both of them. Kaiba’s hips shift up underneath Jonouchi like he’s trying to get a better look. Jonouchi tries very hard not to think about the feeling of muscle pushing against muscle, thigh against flexing thigh.
Kaiba’s stained fingers are drifting back to the blood on his stomach, smearing it into his skin. A couple of the crumpled slugs— .22 caliber, Jonouchi is pretty sure, although he’s not exactly an expert, nor did he get a look at the gun up close— are still lying in the splattered blood on Kaiba’s skin, the other two having rolled off god knows where. Every breath Kaiba takes makes them shift, glint bloodied and golden in the low light.
Kaiba’s fingers settle over one, roll over it softly. His eyes are gleaming just as bright, and just as dark. He pinches the metal between his fingers, raises his hand, and puts it in his mouth.
Jonouchi blinks at him, at a loss.
Kaiba just stares up at him. His lips shift like he’s rolling the bullet around over his tongue.
“What the hell was that?” Jonouchi manages, mouth catching up to the situation before his brain does. “What the fuck? Spit it out.”
Kaiba’s eyes go flinty, narrowing, and he shakes his head.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jonouchi says, bewilderment only growing. Not remotely thinking it over, he’s grabbing Kaiba’s jaw and trying to pull it open, which just makes Kaiba thrash his head around angrily. He’s warm to the touch, vein under his jaw beating hard against Jonouchi’s fingers. “Spit it out!” Jonouchi repeats, shaking his chin a little for good measure. Mostly he’s afraid Kaiba’s actually going to follow through and swallow the damn thing— it’s a crazy thing to do, but not that much crazier than having put it in his mouth in the first place.
Kaiba stills, still glaring up at him. His lips press together, metal clinking against his teeth.
Jonouchi taps the bottom of his chin, holding out his hand. “Fucking come on, man.”
A ruddy flush has worked up all over Kaiba’s face; his fault for tossing his head around like that, Jonouchi figures. His eyebrows pinch together. A beat passes, Jonouchi looking back at him impatiently. Slowly, he opens his mouth, and the bullet tumbles out and drops into Jonouchi’s hand, blood only left in the creases of the busted metal.
Fucking hell, Jonouchi thinks, and tosses the slug somewhere on the bed, out of sight. He’s starting to worry that he took too much blood from Kaiba and now the guy’s out of his head because of it; it’s the only thing that makes any damn sense. “Are you delirious right now, or something?”
Kaiba actually pouts a little. “You said I could have your blood,” he says.
It’s so ridiculous Jonouchi can’t justify it with a response. Instead, he reaches up to feel Kaiba’s forehead, although he’s not really even sure what he’s feeling for. Kaiba feels just as warm as he did a second ago.
“I’m fine,” Kaiba grumbles, shaking Jonouchi‘s hand off. His cheeks are still red, his eyes big and dark. “I’m good,” he croaks, rolling his neck. “I feel good.”
That’s not as reassuring as Kaiba seems to think it is.
“Well, clearly something’s fuckin’ wrong with you,” Jonouchi huffs. “Just don’t know if it’s my fault or not.” He looks down at the mess on Kaiba’s stomach, can’t help but groan. “Fuck, man, what was that about?”
Kaiba blinks slowly at him. It’s clear he doesn’t plan on giving Jonouchi any kind of explanation; not that there’s one he could give that would make sense, anyway. Jonouchi sits further back on Kaiba’s thighs, rubbing his hands over his face. This night just keeps getting more and more absurd.
“I said I was fine,” says Kaiba after a moment. As if Jonouchi just hadn’t heard him. “I’m’okay.”
“People who are okay don’t go around sucking on bullets, Kaiba,” Jonouchi says, a bit muffled by his hands.
“Yeah?” comes Kaiba’s voice.
Jonouchi snorts. “You’re such a fuckin’ freak…” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. He scrubs a hand through his hair.
He feels Kaiba shifting, his hand moving, hears the rustle of skin and fabric.
“Jonouchi,” murmurs a breathless voice that should not be Kaiba’s. It’s a tone he would never in a million years have imagined hearing from him.
Jonouchi blinks, lifting his head. His ears feel hot and he thinks he must’ve heard wrong.
The sight that’s waiting for him is a dozen times more jarring, Kaiba’s hand drifting down to squeeze the growing bulge between his own legs.
Oh.
“What,” tries Jonouchi, then swallows. “What?” Warmth rushes down into his gut.
Kaiba’s eyes bore into him, his pupils blown.
“What does it feel like,” he says, flush creeping down his throat. “When you tear their hearts out. When you bite into them.”
“I— Are you kidding me?” says Jonouchi, even though the hungry look on Kaiba’s face tells him without a doubt that he’s completely serious.
“Like you’re any better.” Kaiba jerks his chin, and Jonouchi follows his gaze down to where their bodies are pressed together and sees he’s pitching a tent of his own. Looking back, he’d probably been half-hard since he first swallowed Kaiba’s blood, but it hadn’t really registered to him even after he’d stopped. The problem reaching full mast, however, can be blamed on Kaiba.
Kaiba, who’s still looking at said problem, eyes wide, grinding his palm over his clothed erection and flexing his fingers, a breathy little “fuck,” leaving his lips.
Unfortunately for Jonouchi, this only makes the situation in his jeans even more dire. “So?” he says, a little too sharp, then adds even more nastily: “I’m not the one who just started touching myself.”
Kaiba shivers all over, and his breath starts coming out hard and heavy.
Jonouchi can’t believe what he’s seeing. He shakes his head. “Shit, you’re actually fuckin’ shameless.”
“You like it,” Kaiba sighs, ghost of a smile on his lips.
Jonouchi is just now becoming aware of how true that really is, to his own annoyance. “Yeah, well, I gotta lot of instincts I don’t always agree with, don’t I?” he huffs.
Kaiba pays him no mind, his hands instead going for his belt buckle. The fact that they’re shaking as he does it sends a surreal shock of arousal curling in Jonouchi’s limbs. Pants unzipped, Kaiba shoves his briefs down and pulls out his cock. It’s long and pink and overall well-proportioned to him, more pretty than it has any right to be.
“Don’t hold back on my account, I guess,” Jonouchi gripes.
Kaiba doesn’t, of course. Simply takes himself in hand, lets out a little hiss of relief at the pressure of his own grip. He strokes himself slowly, his eyelids fluttering. Jonouchi feels lit up, set aflame, as if Kaiba had reached inside him and set some delicate machinery to self destruct.
“Tell me,” comes Kaiba’s voice, riding an impossible line between demanding and pleading, so uncannily low and quiet and dark. It’s like he knows he doesn’t have to speak up for Jonouchi to hear him, and for reasons that have nothing to do with heightened senses. Like he knows Jonouchi is pinned to his every word like he’s bait on a fishhook. “Tell me what it feels like.”
The impulse to indulge Kaiba is growing outright undeniable, despite the fact that previously, Jonouchi would’ve said Kaiba was someone least deserving of being indulged. There’s no reason for him to do it— besides the fact that he wants to. Besides the fact that watching Kaiba like this makes some snarling beast inside his chest pant with satisfaction. Besides the fact that he’s getting off on it, too. Yes, it’s crazy, but a lot of things about his life are crazy, and at least this thing makes him feel fucking good.
Jonouchi swallows. Kaiba watches him like a starving stray pawing at roadkill.
“I dunno,” Jonouchi says, licking his lips. “It’s hard to, uh, really put into words, you know?” He thinks back, wracking his brain for details to an experience that has always been feeling and movement more than conscious thought. “Just know I can’t psych myself out when I go to reach between their ribs. Have to believe it’ll happen when I push hard enough. Let my body do it for me. It’s weird.”
The weight of Kaiba’s attention on him is overwhelming. It feels like he’s going to drown in it, those blue eyes cast almost entirely black and soaking up him and his words like they want to lick his bones clean.
“It’s not pretty,” Jonouchi continues. “I guess you’ve seen it once, but not super up-close. It’s loud, actually. All the cracking, and it’s just— wet.”
Kaiba’s hand speeds up around his cock, and Jonouchi realizes with a hot clench of desire that he’s dripping, liquid beading at the head and dribbling down his pale fingers.
“Fuck,” says Jonouchi, emphatic.
“More,” Kaiba pants. “What’s it like— when you bite into it?”
Jonouchi leans forward, hands on the bed, feeling a hot, heavy lump of shame in his throat at how greedy he is for a better view, for more, more.
“Kinda gross, honestly,” he admits. “Heart’s all muscle, so it’s just really tough, a little rubbery. And it’s all slippery to hold onto, too. It’s better getting it over with fast.” He watches the sweat beading on Kaiba’s chest, the rhythm of muscle flexing on one side as he strokes himself. “Vampire blood is— cold. All thick. Tastes dead. Human blood is… different. Like drinking liquid heat.” The flush on Kaiba’s face has spread halfway down his body, over his shoulders, all splotchy and red. It’d look ugly on anyone else. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like that,” Jonouchi adds, quiet, a bit embarrassed.
Kaiba bites his lip, eyes tracing Jonouchi’s face, the pace of his hand faltering. “I want more of the blood,” he says, a breathy little croak. “Properly. Like you said.”
It’s probably a bad idea. There’s not a world in which Jonouchi, in that moment, tells him no.
It’s easy to force his fangs out when the smell of blood is still so strong in the air. Jonouchi reaches a hand up to his mouth, barely feels the pain as he cuts deep into his thumb. It takes a moment for the blood to flow, but once it does, there’s quickly a thick dark line flowing and dripping down his hand.
He’s never seen Kaiba’s eyes this wide. Jonouchi goes to hold his thumb above Kaiba’s mouth, not really sure what his plan is, but then Kaiba just surges up and sucks it between his lips, tongue first. Jonouchi gasps at the feeling, the sudden wet heat of Kaiba’s mouth. He’s quickly aware of just how painfully hard he’s become, dick aching as it presses up against his zipper.
Kaiba’s tongue sweeps over his thumb, his teeth pressing at the edge of the first knuckle. The suction of his mouth makes Jonouchi feel kind of insane. What’s even more compelling is the way Kaiba’s eyes glaze over and he bucks up into his own hand like he can’t control himself.
“Holy fuck,” Jonouchi mutters. He presses the heel of his palm down on his aching dick, looking for a little relief, thrills at the hard line of the zipper digging into him. “That good, huh?”
Kaiba just hums, the vibration running along Jonouchi’s skin in a way that makes his whole hand tingle. Jonouchi pets at his tongue and his eyes roll back in their sockets.
Fuck it, Jonouchi thinks, and knocks the hand on Kaiba’s cock out of the way so he can wrap his own around him. Kaiba lets him, just shudders and tips his head back, like he’ll take anything Jonouchi’s willing to give, and that thought is so mind-numbingly arousing that Jonouchi’s whole brain turns to static.
Kaiba is blazing hot against his palm, slick and shining. He groans the first time Jonouchi strokes him, flopping his head to the side, tugging Jonouchi’s thumb with him. He reacts like he’s never been touched by another person before, every new sensation completely unexpected. Jonouchi considers that he might actually be the first person to do this to Kaiba— and it makes him feel a little crazed, something ugly and possessive frothing up inside him.
“You’re leaking all over. You’re so fuckin’ wet.” Jonouchi squeezes at him on the upstroke, flicks his thumb over the head, and Kaiba makes a noise like he’s been gutted. He sucks harder on Jonouchi’s thumb, tongue digging in like he’s trying to fight the rapidly closing wound. Jonouchi almost pities him.
“All that talk about what a mutt I am,” Jonouchi laughs, “and you can’t get enough of my dirty blood. What does that make you? Huh?”
Kaiba’s eyebrows pinch together, the dazed look in his eyes fracturing into something beatific, and the muffled sound he makes strains his throat like a sob. Jonouchi is fairly certain the wound on his thumb is almost closed, so he takes the opportunity to rub around at Kaiba’s gums, stroke over his teeth, watch as Kaiba’s lips stretch and drool. He thinks about how easy it would be to climb up and just push his dick into Kaiba’s mouth, the body underneath him pliant and warm and welcoming, how fucking good it would feel to grab Kaiba’s hair and just fuck his face.
“And you want it so fuckin’ bad,” Jonouchi says, awestruck, breathless. “Just a fuckin’ slut for it.”
The cock in his hand twitches urgently, Kaiba’s mouth forming a euphoric little “oh” as Jonouchi goes to drag his thumb out. Kaiba swallows down an agitated noise at the loss, but Jonouchi just gets a wet grip at the side of his jaw, petting at his bottom lip. Unexpectedly, Kaiba turns his face into Jonouchi’s hand, pressing into his touch. Jonouchi doesn’t know what to do with himself, has never felt so fucking spoiled in all his life.
Kaiba looks completely fucked out, like Jonouchi’s been at him for hours and not minutes, face red and unfocused and gorgeous. Regrettably, Jonouchi has to pull his hand from Kaiba’s face so he can unzip his jeans and finally pull his aching cock out. He shoves the fabric down, leans forward to rub himself through the sheen of sweat and smeared blood on Kaiba’s lower stomach, just enough to get some relief.
Kaiba’s gaze lands on the sight, soaking it up hungrily. Mouth unimpeded, there are little sounds tumbling from his lips, small, breathy sighs and moans, steadily ratcheting up in length and pitch in a way that tells Jonouchi he’s getting close.
“I’m one lucky punk, aren’t I?” Jonouchi tells him, squeezing his hand a little tighter, the wet, slick sound of its movement deafeningly indecent. “Can’t imagine anyone else seein’ you like this. Fuck, no porn’s gonna fuckin’ do it for me anymore after this. I can’t fuckin’ believe it.”
A flicker of lucidity returns to Kaiba’s face as he manages to look smug, preening openly at Jonouchi’s words. Jonouchi snorts at him, wrestles back his smile. Kaiba’s thrusting up into Jonouchi’s fist at almost every stroke, now, his thighs tensing, and Jonouchi works him harder, watches as his mouth drops open and hips move in confused little twitches like he still wants more but it’s too good, too much.
“You gonna lose it?” Jonouchi murmurs, a hand on the bed, leaning closer. Kaiba makes a strained noise, curling in on himself, his face pressed against his shoulder. “I wanna see it,” breathes Jonouchi. “C’mon, show me.”
He’s almost there, Jonouchi can tell, wavering on the edge. A devilish little thought pops into his head, and he grins. He shuffles over Kaiba’s body, leaning to the side for support so he has his other hand free. Speeding his slick fist even more, he reaches up and digs his thumb in at the edge of Kaiba’s sternum, just hard enough to bruise.
Kaiba arches up off the bed, a strangled cry in his throat, and comes so hard some of it lands on his chin. He keeps spurting thick and hot all over himself as Jonouchi strokes him through it, reduced to a mess of quiet, barely-covered whimpers.
It really is the hottest thing Jonouchi’s ever seen. He’s ruined, has to be. Yet he can’t even feel that bad about it as he watches Kaiba’s face, all screwed up and covered in his own spit, his lips plump and red from use. Jonouchi gives the cock in his hand a few parting tugs until Kaiba starts shaking, then takes pity on him and lets him go. It keeps twitching weakly against Kaiba’s stomach, still, cute and flushed.
Kaiba’s still panting, but his breathing begins to even out as he relaxes into the haze of post-orgasm, body sinking impossibly further into the bed. Jonouchi studies him like a man headed to his execution, commits it all to memory, suddenly terribly aware that this might be the only time he gets to see Kaiba like this; and it’s an awful thought, makes him ache all over.
He can’t help the twitch of his hips, rubbing his still painfully hard cock lightly at the crease of Kaiba’s hip, almost absent. Both his hands have migrated back to the bedsheets, his body hovering over Kaiba’s. Their faces have drifted closer than he realized.
Kaiba blinks his eyes open, looks right up at him. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead threatening to drip down his temple. He stares up at Jonouchi, sees how close he is, and then his eyes drop down to Jonouchi’s lips.
Jonouchi forces himself still, watching Kaiba watch him. His throat aches— for some reason, he could almost cry. Kaiba’s hair is messily fanned out over his pillow, grazing the dark blue velvet of the headboard. It matches his eyes. Jonouchi realizes their foreheads are almost touching.
Taking a breath, Kaiba suddenly pushes up and presses his lips to the side of Jonouchi’s mouth. It’s there and gone, just a soft wet peck, and he falls back against the bed.
Jonouchi blinks down at him, taken aback. Kaiba’s eyes flicker over his face, apparently studying him, although Jonouchi’s not sure what exactly he’s looking for. His own gaze drifts down to the pink of Kaiba’s lips again, pulled like a magnet.
Kaiba releases a breathy sigh, and then he’s surging up to kiss him again, pressing in hard and open mouthed.
Jonouchi groans and kisses him back, squishes his nose into Kaiba’s cheek with the force of it. It should probably be an objectively terrible kiss. It’s obvious Kaiba has never done this before. It’s uncoordinated, sloppy, way too wet. There’s a lagging exhaustion in Kaiba’s movements that stymies all attempts at rhythm. Jonouchi loves it.
He can taste his own blood lingering in Kaiba’s mouth, can’t help but hum against his lips in satisfaction. Jonouchi sucks on Kaiba’s tongue and the come that landed on his chin smears between their faces. Kaiba keeps making breathy little sighs, his arms reaching up to wrap lazily around Jonouchi’s shoulders. Jonouchi pets at his hair, his jaw, squeezes a hand at his waist. Their bodies press together in a messy slide of sticky blood and sweat and come. Jonouchi can’t help how the thrust of his hips starts up again in earnest, the pressure sending sparks of liquid golden pleasure tingling up his spine.
Kaiba groans beneath him, dropping his head so he can take a breath. He lifts it again and looks down, staring between their bodies with his lips parted. Wiping messily at his mouth with the back of his hand, he watches the cock thrusting against him with an interest so hot it only makes Jonouchi work his hips faster.
It’s wet and loud, squelching in the mess of fluids shining on Kaiba’s stomach. The back of Jonouchi’s neck heats at the sound, mortification cloying at him and making the burn in his thighs that much sweeter.
Kaiba reaches down a hand and presses down on Jonouchi’s cock, lets him fuck between his palm and the reddened skin beneath it. He’s sluggish, tired, wants to just lay there and take it. Pleasure clenches sticky and sweet in Jonouchi’s gut. He has no chance of stopping himself now, is too far-gone, thrusting wildly at Kaiba’s body like an animal.
And Kaiba watches him. His eyes are half-lidded, drooping, but his gaze stays trained on the sight between them. It’s like he wants to keep his eyes open just for this, has to, needs to watch Jonouchi rutting against him like a brute, wants to see the needy red cockhead thrusting out from under his hand.
Jonouchi isn’t going to last. He’s panting like a dog and his toes are curling and his thighs are starting to shake. It’s too good. It’s way too good.
Kaiba’s hand flexes, pressing down harder, and Jonouchi chokes out a sob. The way Kaiba’s taking every hard thrust against him makes Jonouchi think about what it’d be like to fuck him for real, to sink inside him, let him moan and beg for more blood in his mouth until he’s gorged himself on both ends, is full of Jonouchi and only him, his completely.
Kaiba grinds his palm against the head of Jonouchi’s cock and he starts to come, gut clenching hard as he moans brokenly against Kaiba’s neck and gives him everything he has to give. It seems to go on and on, syrupy sweet and molten. He’s shaking by the time he starts to come down, still rubbing his hips sloppily at Kaiba’s body.
He turns his head, drags his face over to kiss Kaiba again, and he’s met with a slow, needy indulgence, lips slipping wetly against each other and tongues stroking. Their bodies press back together with a squelch. Kaiba links his arms around Jonouchi again, squeezes at him, and Jonouchi breathes shakily against his mouth.
Jonouchi’s not sure how long he lays there, head tucked down, just knows his breathing has evened out by the time he rolls off of Kaiba and onto the other side of the bed. The air is startlingly cool against his sweaty skin. The shock of it makes a looming clarity slowly settle over him, eating up the buzzing in the his veins.
There’s a grunt next to him, and Kaiba shifts his foot, bumps his ankle against Jonouchi’s, a strange offering of affection. The urge to reach out for him again is immediate and consuming, and Jonouchi’s hand stops halfway between their bodies, lingering on the bed. The longer it stays there the more his chest starts to ache. It feels like he’s being pulled back to Kaiba’s skin like wire being cinched.
He sits up, panic suddenly gathering in his throat. Something isn’t right. Something is different. What has he just done?
He leans forward, steadies himself, tries to think, think clearly. The movement comes easy, his limbs thrumming and alive. He’s okay. He’s not in pain or bleeding out anymore, things are okay. He looks over at Kaiba, studies his steady breathing.
He’ll probably want to kill Jonouchi if he wakes up covered in various crusted bodily fluids.
Deciding on a plan of action centers him. He shuffles off the bed, walking over to the bathroom at the other end of the room. He doesn’t bother turning the light on, can make out enough of what he needs to, and grabs at a couple washcloths, turning on the sink to soak them. There are a few plastic water cups stacked nearby, so he grabs one of those too and unwraps it, filling it up in the sink. Kaiba will have to make do with tap water. Jonouchi figures he’ll live.
He’s thirsty, too, but he just sticks his head under the faucet, taking a few gulps of cool water. Some of it lands in his hair, and he shakes it out as he shuts off the tap, reaching down to wring out the washcloths.
Kaiba is clearly dozing when Jonouchi walks back over to the bed, breath coming soft and even. Jonouchi sets the cup of water down on the night stand, reaching to touch Kaiba’s shoulder, not really wanting to startle him. He stirs enough that Jonouchi doesn’t feel too bad about unrolling the washcloth to start wiping him down.
Kaiba makes a noise in the back of his throat and his eyes flutter open at the feeling of Jonouchi wiping the cloth over his skin. He blinks tiredly, makes a contented little face. It takes a while to clean up the mess on his stomach, and Jonouchi has to fold and turn over the washcloth a couple times, grimacing. He wipes down Kaiba’s neck, too, slow and gentle, trying not to make him bleed again.
Kaiba sighs at the cool feeling, at the soft drag on his skin. Jonouchi has to look away from him, which is fine because it gives him a chance to grab the little cup of water on the nightstand. He pulls Kaiba up a little against the pillows, lifts the cup to his lips gingerly. Kaiba accepts it, luckily, lips parting. He takes a couple slow sips before his eyelids start to flutter like he’s having trouble staying awake.
Jonouchi lets him settle back against the bed, and pauses, deciding to leave the cup on the nightstand for later. He makes his way back over the bathroom so he can dump the used washcloth in the sink. He’s got a lot more blood on him than Kaiba does; it probably wouldn’t hurt to turn on the light so he doesn’t miss anything. He stands in front of the mirror, shaking out the other washcloth and reaching to flip the light switch.
He only gets about halfway through scrubbing himself down before he lifts his head and finally sees the rest of the bathroom reflected behind him. Stomach dropping, he turns and looks at the large, heart-shaped bathtub taking up the entire back corner.
Turning back to the mirror, he wipes down his torso as much as he can with a lot of increasingly aggressive rubbing, his skin turning pink. His hands are starting to shake as he tosses the second washcloth into the sink.
He trudges over to the tiled platform around the tub, sitting down at its edge. Red tub. Red specks of blood on his jeans. Pink tile. Pink skin. Pink walls. Pink lips. Pink—
Fuck.