Chapter Text
"State of emergency in Ontario? What the… MJ! Matt!"
"Whuh?" comes Matt's groggy response, muffled by the blanket swaddled around his face. "State of what?"
"MJ, they're declaring a state of emergency," Jay clambers to the bunk bed and pulls the blanket back. Matt sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "State of emergency! 'Cause of, cause of the—"
"The Chinese virus!" Matt sucks in a breath. His brain ejects the spell of good rest and soft pillows and counting sheep. He launches off the mattress, slides off the ladder, leaps onto the couch, and leans forward. "Turn the TV up, will you Bird?"
"Hey, don't call it the Chinese virus, that's— that's offensive, call it COVID-19—"
"Turn the volume up! Sound, UP!" Matt yells. Jay finds the remote and does so. They've declared an indefinite state of emergency in Ontario, urging citizens to remain in their homes and quarantine until further notice. Almost every business, like all the restaurants and stores and banks are gonna be forced to close, and every hospital is reaching all-time highs for admittance. This pneumonia thing is getting serious.
"Quarantine?" Matt whips his head to look at Jay. A smile widens across his face. "Quarantine?! You know what that means, Birdie?"
"Uber Eats, Amazon delivery, I don't know?"
"It means the Rivoli... will be closed!" he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. Matt twists around to grab a marker, uncapping it with his teeth and scribbling like an animal. "No employees; no one guarding the big boss' room; no one manning the security cameras! It's perfect!"
Uber Eats. Uber... Eats. Eats! Oh shit, what is Jay gonna eat?
"What the hell am I gonna eat?" he says aloud.
"Who cares? The Rivoli's ripe for the taking! For the playing! By us! We'll be doing the playing!" Matt turns back to the whiteboard. He's writing again, but Jay couldn't care less. "The only state of emergency, is—, is the emergency we'll be in, if we can't get this show."
Matt's prattling turns to static. Jay's got five, maybe six weeks of blood left in the fridge. Eight if he rations, but how can he live like that? It was hard enough already, getting blood that he could stand the taste of, but now they're forcing a quarantine? How's he gonna get his blood bank orders now that so many people are getting sick? And of course, that's the last thing on Matt's mind. His own best friend forgetting about Jay's dietary restrictions.
"...Bird? You okay there man?"
The squeak of whiteboard marker has stopped, replaced instead by knit concern in Matt's eyebrows. Jay clears his throat and nods.
"I'm fine. What were you saying? Another plan?"
—
Nearly two months have passed since Ontario entered lockdown. Jay's last blood bag lasted an impressive two weeks, eking out a few pathetic dribbles per meal. That was five days ago. They've been DoorDashing Timmy's and TripleO's for ages, the smell of donut holes lingering in the air. While human food slightly curbs his finger, the cravings always come back stronger and faster than before.
"Eight weeks. How many days are in eight weeks?"
Jay makes an unintelligible caveman-like noise.
"That's right, fifty six. Fifty six days have passed and no Rivoli show. We still haven't executed the quarantine plan," Matt's reaching into boxes and pulling out screwdrivers and crowbars or whatever, completely oblivious to Jay's issues. "There's something wrong with that."
"I gotta make a call." he grumbles, grabbing on the armrest for support as he stands.
"Whu—, we're in the middle of a plan! You can't just go off when I'm... woah man, what's the matter with you?"
Jay's leaning against the wall and punching in a number, phone receiver nestled on his shoulder. A phone book lays open on the counter with pen marks and circles. He glowers at Matt.
"You look awful. Aw, Birdie, what's— you're so pale!" Matt gasps. He moves forward and pats Jay's face, then notices the phone book. "And cold! Who're you calling, who's... Ling's Fresh Meat and Poultry? What is this?"
"I'm out of food." Jay dials and waits.
"Oh! Like you're, you're out of blood! Shit, why didn’t you just say something? I could've shifted gears, we could've done a blood-for-Bird plan! A Bird food plan," Matt sputters, looking down at the phone book once more. "T&T Supermarket? Seriously Jay, these places are not gonna be open; let me remind you, the Chinese virus—"
"COVID-19."
"Right, COVID-19—wait, the Chinese part is actually pretty relevant since everything you've circled is... Chinese... why's it all Chinese?"
"...One of them's Filipino," Jay corrects. The ringing stops, sending him to voicemail. "God-fucking-dammit! Everything's closed!"
"What'd I say, Bird?" Matt tentatively reaches for the receiver. Jay yells, knocking his head against the wall and slamming the receiver down on the table. "Hey! Calm down man!"
"I'm supposed to eat every two days," he groans. "It's been five."
"Didn't we have Wahlburgers last night?"
"Not human food! It doesn't work!" Jay shouts, pushing off the wall. He shoulders past Matt, bumping him in the process, and flops down on the couch. "I'm so fucking hungry!"
"Ow! Right. I forgot you can't just eat... people food." Matt follows him into the living room and sits down.
"Yeah, you forgot," he says with more snark than necessary. "Sorry. I didn't mean to— I've just been having a hard time, alright? I'm out of blood and there's no way I can get any more. Legally, anyways... before, when I wasn't able to do blood bags, I would get pig's blood... or duck blood, from Asian places. And that worked well enough."
"Dude, that's nasty." Matt grimaces.
"It's— apparently it's a delicacy to a lot of people." Jay half-smiles. "But anyways. I don't know what to do. I mean, if I don't eat soon, I'll probably starve and—"
"—die!" Matt shoots up into a stand. He starts pacing. "You can't die! Bird, you're my best friend!"
"I know, man! But MJ, how are we gonna find some blood?" He's sitting straighter now, attention piqued at Matt's new enthusiasm. So Matt really cares. And he's gonna help Jay out, somehow.
"Just hang on, Bird. I'll think of something."
—
Fuck! Shit shit shit fuck SHIT!
He hisses in pain and rolls over, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The floor's cold. Everything's so cold. Straining both of his hands, he claws along the hardwood to propel himself forward. After finding the wall, he scrambles his way into a passably standing position, and travels to the kitchen. His knees shake like it's his first time on rollerblades.
Once the sink is in sight, a force starts to tug on his stomach. Sharply. Oh, there it all goes. There goes all his spit and stomach contents and etcetera. The half-digested remains of a Double Decker Wahlburger exit his mouth and slap against the drain. He keeps retching until it's all gone, and then does it a few times more. Then maybe a few times even more. His head hurts so, so badly, and his stomach is on fire. And still, he's so fucking hungry!
"Birdie?!"
Matt races into the kitchen like a man on fire. His hands go to Jay's face, immediately patting (slapping) it.
"Bird, what's wrong?" His nose scrunches up. "Oh god, what's that smell? Did you— you threw up?! Gross, man! Gross!"
"M—, hurts," Jay whispers, sliding out of Matt's grip, curling up roly-poly style. He tucks his knees into his chest and leans on the sink cabinet. "I think I'm gonna die. I'm so goddamned hungry. This is it, MJ, I'm dying right now."
"No! No Jay, you are not gonna die! We're gonna get you your blood so you can live! And you're gonna live so we can play the Rivoli!" Matt claps at him with each clause, furiously insistent.
"You know MJ, I'm so hungry I almost just wanta take a bite out of you..." he slurs. A fuzzy haze covers his vision. It's making it hard to think about anything, really, other than how much he wants to eat and how little of anything there is for him.
"That's... that's it! You're a genius, Bird! I've got a plan, just— just hear me out!" Matt says excitedly. Jay wishes he could match an ounce of that cheer right now. "You, just drink MY blood!"
Matt leans forward on his knees, eye-level with Jay. He tugs his lapels and shirt collar aside. Pale, smooth skin stretches along his neck and shoulder. Matt's finger travels in a perfect arc, pointing at it as he inches closer and closer.
"It's the perfect solution!"
The haze lifts. Jay becomes very aware that he's been literally backed into a corner—he's melting into the sink cabinets, panic filling his veins. He can't bite Matt. He can't drink from him. That's— that's just— it's the wrong thing to do, is what that is! It's messed up and perverted and all WRONG.
"MJ, I don't think—"
"What, you're worried my blood will taste bad?" he frowns. "That hurts my feelings, you know Bird, you're hurting my feelings! Just drink it, it's not that serious."
Jay looks to the side, then the other side, then at the ground, then scoots back, because Matt is too TOO close with his nice-looking and warm-smelling neck. He can tell Matt's pretty fired up right now (being so offended and whatnot) from the relentless volume of his heartbeat. It's thudding like a four-on-the-floor bass drum, pulling Jay closer, reaching out, and...
"A-ha, so we're doing it!"
"No—!" Jay shoves Matt backwards, then stands. He's breathing fast. "No! I can't— won't, drink your blood! MJ, not only is that highly illegal, it's also super dangerous. I mean, we're talking hospitalization here, Matt!"
"Let's just be careful. We can be careful, you know how to be careful, don't you Bird?" Matt gestures. He brushes off his clothes, then once again tugs away the collar to reveal his neck.
"I am careful!" Jay snaps. "I drink from— bags, and I buy shitty animal blood, and I never," he sighs, then pulls his lips into a grimace. "I never take live blood. Because I shouldn't. It's not a good idea. You could get into some serious physical trouble!"
"And so could you, huh? If you don't eat? I mean, what place is even open right now that can give you blood? You said it yourself, didn't you, that every place you like is closed down?! We're in a lockdown! It's the coronavirus! Good luck finding anything Chinese, man!" Matt steps forward, hands finding the raised points of Jay's shoulders and pressing them down. "Just. Drink. From. Me!"
"No!" He looks away.
"Drink from me!"
"NO! No, I won't! I won't do it!"
Matt grasps Jay tightly with one hand. The other starts to undo his own shirt. As the top buttons come loose, sweat beads on Jay's forehead. He's right there.
Matt's right in front of him. He's asking to be bitten. He wants it! All Jay has to do is lean down and let his teeth sink into his soft flesh, press his mouth against his neck and drink. Maybe... maybe Matt would scream at first. That's how it is in movies, the girl always kicks a little, scared in the beginning—but then he'd relax. He'd start to like it. He'd let Jay take what he needed and more until he was all full. And then maybe he'd ask Jay to do it again. And again and again. There’d be bite marks, twin pinprick holes all over him—and people would see them, know that Jay left them there. Saliva floods his mouth.
Jay drops his head against Matt, forehead pressed under his chin. He inhales, a deep diaphragm singer-actor-improvisor-who-knows-how-to-project breath, smelling the blood pumping through his jugular.
"Or— or— you will! You are! Oh, Bird, I knew you had it in you! Go ahead, whenever you're ready." Matt quiets his voice in an attempt to soothe him, tracing a soft encouraging hand along Jay's shoulder blade.
He would probably taste so good. Jay can tell from the way it sounds and smells. And don't people say the flavor's better if it's from someone you trust? Best-friend-blood is probably kilometers better than random-stranger-on-the-street-blood. He opens his mouth and drags his lips, fanged teeth, across Matt's neck. Somewhere beneath all the heat and iron and heartbeat, he feels Matt shiver. His heart drops like a stone.
"I'm scaring you," Jay tears himself away from Matt. "I have to go. I shouldn’t be here."
"I'm not scared! You're not scaring me! Hey, where are you going? It's four o'clock in the morning and we’re in a lockdown, where could you even go right now?" Matt follows Jay's pacing around the living room. His head's in his hands, panic peeling off his frame like bark. "I knew it. You think I'll taste gross!"
Jay does another jittery lap. A stream of bullshit sprints around his brain: leave, leave, leave, no, sit down, leave, stay here. He decides on taking the stairs two at a time, sparing no glances back.
"JAY! Birdie! Come back! My blood tastes fine! I eat healthy, I exercise, why do you think I'll taste bad? Why won't you drink my blood?!"
The yelling echoes until Jay locks himself in the bathroom, sliding to the ground against the door. Matt's voice lowers to a mildly annoying vibration, until finally, it completely ceases.
He drags himself up and stares into the mirror. Sweat lines his pale forehead, while pearls of blood dot his lips. He must've chewed at it without realizing. Better him than Matt.
Hunger gnaws away at his gut, like there's a dozen rats clawing their way outside. Jay closes his eyes and groans. What is he meant to do? He can't just brutalize his best friend like that, but he doesn't want to starve either. Maybe he should sleep on this. Yes, a good night's rest will help them both think of a plan that doesn't involve someone dying of blood loss.
He splashes cold water on his face and gingerly lowers himself onto the moldy bathroom carpet. They'll figure it out tomorrow.
—
It turns tomorrow. Jay wakes several hours later, aching back and stress tightly set into his neck and shoulders. He brings himself to a wobbling stand and pisses, then brushes his teeth, slumped over the sink like he's hungover. God. His canines are too sharp. He shouldn’t be around anyone like this!
Once he's done, he unlocks the door and hobbles out. It seems his appetite hasn't caught up with him yet, though he feels weak—his body's conserving what little strength he has left.
"MJ?"
Huh. Matt's not awake yet. He glances at one of their clocks; it's almost noon.
"MJ, are you there?"
Jay descends the stairs with slow steps, aided by a steady hand on the railing. Once he reaches the turn, he hears a distant "ow", and the scent of iron fills his nose.
Blood. That's blood. Why is there blood in their house? It's fresh, he can tell, and so warm, and it smells so— so—
He races down the remaining stairs and follows the thick trail of scent. His mouth is open, salivating, trying to drink up whatever’s in the air, ready to take a bite of— whatever that is— whatever's in here that smells so goddamn delicious. He stops in the living room.
It's Matt. He's sat on the couch with an X-Acto knife next to him, hands pressing firmly against his neck. Jay’s sure there’s a bleeding cut underneath. Dark red stains his shirt collar and blooms under his fingers. Who knew necks could bleed that much?
"Jay," Matt breathes. "You're here."
He lowers his gaze and slinks forward. There's a meal right in front of him, just sitting complacent and waiting to be devoured. He slides inch by inch, until Jay's only a few feet from the couch. Then he lunges. Hands grab Matt's shoulders, pushing him down till he's horizontal, and Jay climbs on top of him, pressing his body weight into the cushion.
"Woah! You seem— healthy! You're stronger than I remember!" Matt stammers. "Bird, I th— ohmygod."
"You hurt yourself," he murmurs, pressing his nose against Matt's blood-slick neck and inhaling. Jay moans—suddenly he's hungrier than he's ever remembered being in his life, ever—and opens his mouth. He wants to lap all the blood away and then some. "Oh god, MJ, you're bleeding."
"Yeah man, I'm— I cut myself," Matt says quietly. "For you, so you can drink it. It's okay, I want you to bite me, remember? I don't want you to be hungry and starve and die. Thought this would be the only way you'd listen to me."
Jay makes some sort of inhuman noise and meets Matt's neck with his tongue. He's not gentle, not in the slightest; it feels as if it's been years since he's eaten, like a man parched and sweating in the Saharan Desert, crawling to a mirage of water. Except this isn't a mirage. This is real. He's really tonguing at his best friend's neck, taking what dribbles he can from the small wound.
"So good, you taste— m—" He stops to take a breath. The trickle of red, meager and tiny, has stopped. "Not enough. Let me, MJ, can I bite? You?"
"Yeah," Matt hisses. There's something strangled about his voice that Jay can't decipher. He ignores that and focuses on more important things: i.e., eating. Jay psyches himself up for the bite, inhaling sharply and— he might as well just do it, right? Right? He's never done this before, but it should be easy. It's coded into his DNA. He sinks his fangs into what he thinks is the carotid, moaning when a jet of blood pours around his lips. Matt yelps loudly, tensing below him. Jay can't bring himself to care. It's like Niagara Falls as he slides his teeth out and fixes his lips around the bite, whining as he sucks away with greed.
It's a weird angle, the way Jay's sitting. He hauls his other leg over Matt and straddles him, bearing down on him as he drinks, one hand fisted in his hair and the other pressed on his chest. He hears Matt suck in a shaky breath and relax. So it really is like in the movies.
"Bird, that's— ah, you’re like an animal—" He makes a sound like he's in pain or enjoying it or both. It reminds Jay of when he heard Matt jerking off in the bunk, when he thought Jay was asleep. He listened with grit teeth to the wet noise of him palming his dick and the way he sounded when he came, and then laid awake for hours because he felt like a creepy pervert.
He feels Matt's hips stutter against his. There's a heat around them, enveloping them both, as he gulps down another mouthful of Matt's rich, metallic-honeyed blood. He can't believe Matt accused him of thinking it'd taste bad. There's no way it'd taste bad. It’s the best he's ever had—better than microwaved bags or the solidified duck blood he’s had to melt down—and the smell of it, taste, the warmth, it's driving him insane. Matt's grinding against him. It feels good. He presses back, and oh, there's enough blood in him that he's hard too.
"You like this?" Jay asks. "Does this feel good for you, MJ?"
Matt whines and nods. "Yeah, Jaybird, feels good, feels— you look—" He brings a shaky hand to Jay's lips, wiping a smear of blood off. "—so weirdly hot right now. Like a Halloween creature, straight out of Bram Stroker."
"I think it's Bram Stoker." Jay whispers. He can barely breathe. Matt takes his bloodied hand and pulls Jay's lips back, revealing the ivory glint of his fangs. "What's— jeez!"
"Shh," Matt hums and dips his fingers into Jay's mouth. He mumbles a dizzy, awed wow. "Pretty sharp."
Jay's hand flies to Matt's wrist. He starts to suck at those fingers, cleaning the blood off them, making sure to run his tongue under the nails to get everything. Matt's mesmerized. He can't seem to look away from the curve of Jay's lips, or how his throat's moving as he swallows, or the noise he makes when he tries to take too much and gags.
He pulls off Matt's hand with a huff. Jay goes right back to his neck, which has bubbled up a lot of blood while he was away. It's all over Matt's pale skin, his shirt and blazer—they're ruined—so Jay gets to work scrubbing away at it with his tongue. Matt's breathing grows less and less measured, until he's open-mouthed gasping, and Jay's still pressing his tongue against the bite, trying to squeeze out more and more, rubbing his mouth and nose against it, wanting to live in this expanse where neck meets shoulder. He wants to bite Matt again, hear him, drink from him every day.
"You're such a perfect meal, MJ," Jay groans as he takes another sip. "I could keep you here just to feed, you'd be my personal— my very own blood bag, just for me, doesn't that sound—"
Matt's crying out. He quivers, erratic, like he's been electrocuted. Jay takes him through it, rolling his hips and lapping at his neck. He keeps drinking, still, until Matt's stopped moving.
"MJ?"
A faint groan is all he hears. Jay draws away from Matt's neck and presses his ear against his chest. There's still a pulse, though weak.
"Fuck! MJ, I fucked up— I'm— I killed you! You’re dead! You're gonna die and it's all my fucking fault! Fuck! Why'd I have to go and— be a vampire in the first place, why’d you even say you could… jeez, Jesus!" Jay scrambles up from Matt's body and hurries into the kitchen for a glass of water. Oh, oh, and a juice— a juice is better, and a cookie, like doctors give you when you get your blood drawn. When he's back in the living room, Matt has somehow pulled himself into a sitting position. His eyes are thin and glazed over. He looks like a dog in a hot car.
"MJ! MJ, thank god you're alive!" Jay rushes over, sets the food down, and he's pawing Matt's face all over, smoothing his hands over his damp forehead and cheekbones. He feels cold and sick and close to death. He is close to death, and whose fault is that? Nobody's but his own! He pulls Matt into a hug, burying his face in his shoulder. "I almost killed you! You could’ve died."
"S' gonna take a lot more than that to kill me, Bird," Matt laughs thinly. He rubs light circles around Jay's back, then notices the juice on the coffee table. "What's that? Awh, you got a juice and a cookie for me? Like I’m a blood donor.”
"You are a blood donor. Here," Jay unhooks his arms from where they're clutching him tight and hands the stuff over.
Matt scarfs down the cookie and drinks the juice while shooting imploring looks at Jay, who's sitting with his hands sandwiched between his legs. It's a nervous habit. He feels like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, except the cookie jar is his friend’s life. Guilt swims around his shoulders. It’s awful, really, how his best friend almost fainted—or died!—of blood loss. Because of him.
"Bird. Hey, Bird, it's okay," Matt says. "Look, I'm alright! I've never looked better, eh? Nothing bad happened. Actually, it was great what happened: you're no longer starving!" he grins, cuffing Jay affectionately on the shoulder. "And... oh. Eugh. I'm all— what the, my pants, what happened?"
His pants what huh now?
Shit, that. Jay averts his gaze. His face flushes red, and he bites his tongue to keep his breathing normal. He completely forgot about that; Matt's almost-death was a major boner killer.
It's normal. That must be a normal kind of thing that happens to people who get bitten by vampires. Shit, what if he was being a pervert and stuff, taking advantage of Matt like that? If Matt only acted all horned up for him because he got bitten? Like some kind of vampire aphrodisiac...?
"Bird, did I uh... lemme just ask, did I— was I acting... weird? When you bit me?" Matt's words teeter with hesitation.
"Um... weird how?" He brings his eyes back up to face Matt. Maybe straightens his posture, a little. Acting normal.
"It's a yes or no question, Birdie."
"Er, well, I think it's a— the natural kind of thing that happens when you’re bit by vampire, maybe, you know they're creatures of—"
"Seduction." Matt supplies.
"Yes! Yeah! Seduction! They're creatures of seduction, so it's regular, I think, to, to, to feel... aroused. During a bite. Is what I've seen and read and heard, I mean." Jay's mouth is running a kilometer a minute. What he's seen and read and heard is Twilight (to try and understand girls better), the 1992 Dracula movie (to try and understand himself better), Castlevania, and some gothy vampire pornography on an incredibly shady website that also advertised werewolf and ghost videos.
"Right, seduction. Your bite... seduced me... and made me feel all crazy and stuff. It's not— it's not gonna be a whole thing if it's just my body's natural instincts, like my body's instinctual innate response is to just get all hot and bothered you know? When I'm taken by a monster who's skilled in the art of seduction? You know what I mean, don’t you Bird?" Matt asks with an edge of desperation. He's talking fast too, probably embarrassed and feeling like he’s been accused of some kind of illicit love affair, which is kind of what happened, honestly.
Jay nods slowly. "Yeah. Yeah of course, I get what you mean. I mean, I’m not gay, but I got hard too—" he struggles through the sentence. "—but that's also just my body's natural response like you said. And I mean, I was getting a lot of fresh new blood, your blood, in me, so… my dick could've just popped up. Just 'cause of that. Not ‘cause I’m feeling gay feelings or anything like that."
"Right. Right. Well..." Matt crumples the juice box in his fist. "Are you still hungry?"
"Uh… yeah. Sure, I am, but it's okay. I'll be good for a few days."
"Few days—? That is unacceptable, Jay! You should be at your 110%!" Matt stands with abrupt force and strides over to the whiteboard. He looks like a man reborn, strong and full of blood again, happy to abandon the previous conversation. “The Rivoli plan, remember? You have to be healthy so we can execute everything perfectly. Look, tomorrow..."
He sighs. "...Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Matt declares. "You'll drink from me again. We'll get you back to normal levels. And we can test this vampire-dick-bending thing, with a hypothesis and procedure and all that jazz—SCIENCE EXPERIMENT! We’ll do it like a science experiment!”
Jay cocks his head to the side. How could Matt want to keep doing this? After he nearly died? He finds it hard to believe that he’s okay with being Jay's human blood bag for however-long, even though there's no telling when they'll lift the lockdown order? Something warm and light glows in his chest.
"Only if you're fine with it." is what he says. Internally, there's voices yelling: He wants this! Matt likes being bitten! Matt's providing for him like they're in a nomadic hunter-gatherer society! Matt's blood makes him say "yum"!
"Birdie, of course I'm okay with it. How racist would it be if I didn't accept every part of your whole vampire deal?" Matt scoffs like it shouldn't even be a question. "It’d be very racist, by the way, which I am not. When I signed up for the freaky strength powers and night vision, I was signing up for the blood-drinking and tearing-human-flesh parts too."
"I don't tear human flesh!" Jay says indignantly. Matt narrows his eyes and points at the mess that is his neck. "So tomorrow then, we'll do this whole... thing, again."
"Yeah, tomorrow. Don't you worry Bird, we'll have it all planned out. Now do you remember if we have a first aid kit?"