gin

There’s a soft touch on your cheek. So different from the cold unyielding ground that presses too hard on your bones where the skin is thin. 

How long have you been laying here? Where is here? It’s dark and freezing and the only colors that can be seen swirl in flashes, eyes unable to focus and vertigo pinning you flat. There is an unnatural heaviness to your joints and a burning in your throat. Something metallic, something chemical. Nothing like the hot, salty iron you expected when you ripped his throat out. 

Anger stirs. 

You did eat him. The context is just out of reach, just behind a curtain so thin you can almost see through but can’t seem to sweep aside. Still, you know you did. 

His face is half-obscured in your mind’s eye. The rage and the panic muddled everything together but the simpering features and godforsaken low taper fade linger in the memory and make you want to tear him apart all over again. 

The touch on your cheek turns into a palm, cupping your face. 

It reminds you of the touch on your waist that had turned into a grip on your arm and then into a threat. A demand disguised as a request until soon it wasn’t disguised at all. 

You shy away from the touch, nauseous all over again. 

That man is dead, you know it because you feel him churning in your stomach. Whatever poor stranger that found you lying here is at no fault for trying to comfort you but the feeling is unbearable. Any additional sensation is too much. They should just let you be, leave you alone until the spinning stops. Until the seeping, cloying strangeness scrambling your mind and poisoning every cell leeches away. You just need to wait it out. 

The hand pets at your hair. There are soft words but they feel so far away you can’t parse them. Fear mixes with the anger and queasiness, you need to be alone. Who knows what incriminating evidence you weren’t able to hide in your delirium. You need to hide, need to clean up, need to be able to think. Is there blood on you? Did you leave blood in the alley? Did you leave any of him behind? 

A second hand joins the first to slip underneath you and the world spins as you are lifted, boneless, and your stomach roils violently.

The misguided samaritan tucks you against their chest and despite the acrid stench in your sinuses they do smell nice. A small comfort, but one that doesn’t keep you from thrashing. If you can call it that. It’s pathetic, barely a twitch. 

How did this happen? Time is fractured, chunks missing and the rest fuzzy. You weren’t drugged, you tore him apart as soon as he pulled his iridescent green cool guy knife, swaying on his feat but intent unmistakable. Were you drugged after? Where did you go? Where are you now?

The repetitive murmurs of the person carrying you do little to soothe as the bounce of each step only increases your nausea, the chemical tang in your mouth unignorable. If you were drugged, why isn’t it wearing off? Nothing ever sticks with you this long. 

Strong arms readjust you and the panic cranks up a notch. Where are they taking you? Do they think you’re sick? Are they taking you to the doctor? 

That can’t happen. 

They’ll find out what you are and what you did and it will open door after door after door that can never be closed. 

Time flows unevenly as the sickening rhythm of steps lulls you into an inescapable loop of thought and panic, trapped inside your own mind as you remain unable to move. It’s hard to tell if the groan you feel vibrate your chest is loud enough to reach your would-be rescuer. You try to focus, to stop the spinning for even a moment to see their face, but it’s futile.

Every sense is warped and each flash of a streetlamp blends into the noise of a car and twists together with the feeling of the cold air on your face. Snowflakes spin overhead to meet the horizon and the leaves of trees replace them before melting into familiar shadow. The sloshing in the canals ebbs back and forth with the wet sounds in the chambers of the heart inches from your ear. It all melts together, one into the next, over and over and it takes every effort not to loose the contents of your stomach. 

It might feel better if you did but there's no way to know what will come up.

Finally, mercifully, things are still. 

You don’t know when it happened but you’re lying down again. Cool, hard flooring. Blue stripes separate white tiles and your eyes flit between them until the belated realization that you can focus your eyes. 

How long has it been? 

It’s cold. Nothing like where you lay when they found you but way too cold for what looks like the concerningly familiar inside of a bathroom. Are you naked? Your numb leaden muscles still fight you but there is enough sensation to stir slightly, the sting against your skin confirming the suspicion. 

There’s a shuffling behind you and then the unmistakable sound of a bath. With concerted effort you roll over, moaning with the strain and the feeling of joints bending just slightly wrong. The person hunched over the bath straightens and turns.

Joost.

Pale and worn. Bags under his eyes and a weariness to how he holds himself. 

Fuck.

The panic must show on your face because he looks pained. “Schatje…” He kneels and it draws your gaze to the bloody pile of clothes beside him. Your clothes. 

“It’s me, it’s me, are you with me?”

You want to cry. 

You are with him, most unfortunately. 

You tried so fucking hard to stay away. You laid low and silenced your phone, didn’t answer the door for the past couple weeks as you waited for the paperwork to go through. Who knew that falling in love would have kept you from remembering things as simple as renewing your passport? 

He came knocking at least once a day, even took to sitting outside your door sometimes, sure that he would catch you coming home or going out. You had to leave the house at odd hours, checking the mailbox for the forms at two in the morning and looking both ways before stepping off the stoop if you did go out.

You couldn’t stop yourself from listening to his messages, hadn’t been strong enough to not read his texts. Message after message begging you to answer, apologizing for scaring you, promising he was fine. All of it missing the point. He wasn’t fine. You hurt him and it can’t happen again. You can’t risk killing someone again.

But then, you just did. 

You did and despite your best efforts you are face to face with Joost.

Shadow blots him out as you curl an arm over your eyes weakly, unable to face his pathetic expression. It makes you want to hold him, to comfort him. There are so many reasons why you can’t. 

“Baby…please. Are you hurt?” He sounds so small.

“Joost…” You slur. “Get out of here.” 

He chuckles sadly. “This is my bathroom.”

Ah. As good a place as any to be naked.

“...Why?”

“I didn’t know where else to take you.” He pauses. “What happened? You don’t look hurt but when I found you you were…I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do.”

You want to disappear. “I don’t know.... Where did you find me?”

“On your porch. I couldn’t find your keys.”

A heavy sigh escapes your lungs that feel wet and hollow. The weight and darkness of your arm are a poor shield against the nausea and adrenaline, still fighting for control even now. “How much…blood was there?” Maybe you can still clean up before the sun rises. 

A bare but bloody ground flashes in your mind’s eye, shining behind the last chunk of him in your hands as you bring it to your mouth. It's a clear piece of memory among all the fuzz and it tempers the panic slightly.  If nothing else, you ate all of him. There won’t be much to do but scrape up the frozen spatters. 

“There was a lot. You-... I tried to clean your porch but you were so cold I had to get you out of there.”

Your hands curl into fists as you begin to shiver. You’re cold now too but it’s the farthest thing from your mind. Joost is almost unbearably sweet even though the hurt in his voice is palpable. After you injured him and avoided him and made him accessory to a crime he doesn't even know the details of yet he is still so kind.

His hand startles you, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he peels your weak arm away from your face, looking down at you miserably. “Can I put you in the bath?”

You nod after a beat, fighting tears, and let him scoop you up once more. It’s hard to remember the days when you weren't bothered by much more than the minutia of work and hoping Joost would come over that evening. What the weather was going to be and if Joost would like the drink you bought for him at the convenience store.

The alternating agony and numbness of the past week made it seem so far away and now, even as he holds you in his arms, you know it is impossible to go back. Not after what you did to him and not after what you did tonight. 

You really did it again.

He sets you in the hot water and you notice the blood stains on his hoodie where he held you as they press against the edge of the tub. Small waves lap at your skin and the blood blooms outward from where you sit like it's reaching for the other half of itself coating him. Joost retrieves a small cup from the cabinet and uses it to start pouring the water over you as he kneels. 

The water only gets darker as he bathes you in silence, touches chaste and methodical but eyes wandering as he continues to check you for injury. He dabs at your skin so gently with the washcloth as you sit there, still residually intoxicated. Under any other circumstance it would be relaxing but the tension in the air is almost a physical thing. 

It all feels like a sick twist to an already doomed ending, one last glimpse of him before you have to tear yourself away for the last time. Joost’s jaw is clenched, eyes wet, and each time your eyes meet he blinks down to focus on his movements. He drains the water and fills it again, stroking down your back to soothe your shivering as you wait for the water to rise. 

Eventually, he breaks. “Are you…do you feel better?” 

You hum in disagreement. 

He meets your eyes this time. “I don’t think…I mean I don’t know, but, that seemed like a lot of blood…Was it your blood?” 

“No.”

“So…someone you drank from?”

“Yeah.” 

He takes in your clipped responses, pausing his gentle wipes at your cheek. “Please…” It’s almost a whisper. “Why were you on your doorstep, in the snow, half dead, when I came to ask you for the hundredth time not to leave me?” 

A part of you curls up and dies.

“Why did you leave? I know you’re worried about me, I know that’s why you're avoiding me, but I’m worried about you too. I know you don’t have anyone and it’s not-, it’s not pity or whatever,” His voice breaks. “it’s just that I fucking miss you!” 

You bring your knees to your chest sluggishly despite the way your heart pounds, muscles fighting to tense but failing against the heaviness of the poison. “You don’t know what you’re saying Joost…You’re nice, you’ve always been nice, but I shouldn’t be here…You can’t come looking for me any more.” The words are slow, just as drawn out by how much you hate to say them as by residual intoxication.

“Why!? Can’t you see I’m fine? Please just answer the question, I still don’t even know if you’re okay! When I found you you didn’t…you didn’t even recognize me.”

“Joost…” How can you make him understand without saying it? How do you even begin? “I fucked up.”

“Are you talking about what you did to me or whatever happened tonight? Because if you’re talking about the papercut you gave me then you need to take a good look because I am just fine!” He pushes his bangs up with one shaky hand. 

True to his word, there is only a thin red line, held together by two small clear bandage strips. Head wounds bleed a lot but even so you were sure it had been to the bone. 

You sit there, staring each other down as you both tremble.

“I…I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry I left you alone like that…Did Tantu take care of you?”

He snorts derisively. “The ambulance got there first. Patched me up even though I could have done it just fine myself. When Tantu showed up he thought I was dying, the paramedics being there really spun him up. You might want to steer clear of the studio for a while….” 

He huffs, brow knit as he tries to collect himself, beginning to massage the blood from your hair with soapy fingers.

“I just mean…You never needed to do any of that. Everything was fine. Honestly, it would have been fine even if you had bit me. I know you think it’s a bad idea but I don’t care if it hurts and I know it’s not dangerous because you drink from people all the time. Who cares if you go a little extra crazy on me? I like that I make you crazy! I wasn’t gonna push because I thought it would end up happening anyways but then you fucking-, you ghosted me and I just- !”

“Joost…” Your veins are filled with ice.

“Please! Can you please, just, explain anything?! What happened tonight?!” He’s breathing hard now, clenched fists coming down to rest at the edge of the tub as his eyes dart over your face. 

You can only look at him, unable to find the words. He has no idea how wrong he is. 

You thought you had made up your mind, to do everything it takes to keep him safe, but some small traitorous part of you knows there is no getting him back once you tell him, no second chance. A part that refuses to draw the line by speaking it aloud.

“Say it! Just say it! Whatever it is you’re always never saying, you can tell me. You’re not going to scare me. I knew what you were from the beginning. I knew what I was getting into!”

Being yelled at naked in the bathtub, even if well-intentioned, starts to take its toll. You hug your knees weakly, trying not to cry as the nausea kicks up stronger. 

“...I can’t stand the way you will look at me…” It’s only a whisper.

“Would it be worse than me never looking at you again!? You were going to leave! I talked to your landlady, she said you’re moving out!”

Oh Joost.

“I literally killed someone!”

“I literally don’t care!”

Of course.

“No! You don’t fucking get it! I killed someone and I ate him and I’ve done it before and I could do it to you and it’s fucking crazy that I’m sitting here in your bath talking to you when there is an entire person in my stomach!” 

He freezes. 

Not a word. 

Not a twitch. 

Face blank.

His heart picks up, slowly at first like he’s still registering what you said, then, all at once it skyrockets as the scent of fear perfuses the room. 

Oh.

Fuck.

You pitch forward as your gorge rises too far to hold back, clutching the far side of the tub as you puke over the edge onto the floor. It isn’t much, mostly blood, but you gag over and over as you watch it spread into a perfect red pool around the mush at the center. The hand you clutch over your mouth barely keeps more from coming up when Joost scrambles backwards, his face a mask of horror, eyes fixed on the point of impact like if he loses sight of it for even a second it might hurt him. 

You knew it. There was never a world where anyone would be that understanding. You let your eyes fall, unable to look at him as shame starts to set in, when you see what he’s really looking at. 

There, in the middle of the puddle like some kind of dollar store halloween decoration, is a single eyeball. 

Oh fuck oh fuck.

You grab it, unthinking, and swallow it as fast as you can just to make it disappear. The sound of Joost gagging almost makes it come right back up again. 

God.

Fuck.

Make it stop.

You stumble up and out of the tub, limbs impossibly heavy. The guy you are still digesting must have been rolling on something. There’s no way anything else would take so long to burn off. 

You fall to your knees harshly in front of the toilet and frantically gather a wad of paper to press against the puddle. Anything to cover it. Anything to make Joost stop looking at you like that. You throw the wad into the toilet and grab another, wiping up the splatters as Joost continues to heave in the corner. You stand slowly, shakily, water dripping everywhere, and step towards the door.

The sudden hand around your ankle brings you down hard.

“Fuck! Sorry! I'm sorry! Don’t go! Please, I’m sorry!” Joost has a death grip on your leg, tears streaming down his face even as he reeks of terror. 

“Let go! What are you even doing!?” The slight ache of the impact is nothing compared to the sight of him as you twist to look over your shoulder, his face twisted in despair that rends your heart clean through.

“Just wait-” he gasps, crawling forward and grabbing at you desperately as you scramble against wet, slippery tiles. He uses his entire body to press you into the floor, the breath leaving you in one big whoosh. He grabs both wrists, holding them in front of you as you continue to struggle ineffectively, still too weak. “Just wait.” He chokes between stilted breaths, the kind that you can’t take properly when you cry. He buries his face in the back of your neck as he continues to shudder wordlessly, his death grip remaining firm. 

His heat at your back, even through his clothes, is a sharp contrast against the cool porcelain on your bare front. It’s clear you're not going anywhere and slowly you let go of the little tension you had been able to muster. The solid weight of him makes it impossible not to relish in the contact for a moment, the last you will ever have. He really is so much bigger, it’s a shame you never got to be beneath him the way you wanted. 

“Joost… Let me go.” You murmur.

“Stop talking. Just gimme a minute to process okay…Just, wait. You always run.” He hiccups and it makes your heart squeeze. 

“I know…and if I weren’t drugged to hell you wouldn’t be able to stop me. I’m gonna leave anyway when it wears off. Let me go, Joost. There’s no way you can tell me I’m not bad for you.”

He sobs once, loud and wet. 

“Joost…” Your own tears finally fall.

“I love you, I don’t care if you are, I love you!” The words are smeared into the skin of your shoulder.

The breath seizes in your throat. 

Everything inside you wails, shrieks, howls to say it back. Your teeth find your lower lip and you press your forehead to the tiles. He deserves to be loved and to know he's loved but you can’t give him hope, not now.

He shakes apart above you, the minutes stretching on and his hot tears sliding down your shoulder as he absorbs the weight of your silence before he finally speaks.

“Why did you eat them?” His voice is thin. Choked.

“...That's just what vampires do.”

“No, I mean, why them? You say it like you only eat some of them.”

He knows everything now. Everything important. There's no reason you shouldn’t explain. If you can’t give him what he really wants, what you both want, at least you can help him understand. Maybe it will help him let you go.

“Two. There were two…The first one tried to rape me, maybe kill me, I don’t know….when I ate him I ate all of him... I didn't know I could do it. I had no idea if it would happen again. I thought I could move on from it, I tried so hard, but tonight….fuck. I didn’t think something like that could happen twice, I hoped, but I was wrong….You asked me once why I started traveling. The first one is why I left home….It's time for me to leave again. Joost, I have to go.”

He winds tighter against you with each word. “Schatje…I’m sorry…” a pregnant pause, “That’s so fucked, that so fucked that that happened to you ….but… that was self defense. That wouldn’t happen to us. You’re not gonna do that to me and they’re not gonna catch you! Nobody will ever guess. Nobody is gonna know, you don’t need to go anywhere!” he sniffles, rocking his forehead against the back of your neck, trying to come up with the right words. Any words to make you stay.

You remain silent. It could happen. He makes you react in ways that make no sense and he always has. But if the hard, bloody evidence on his tiles wasn’t enough, then trying to reason with him now is pointless. 

He knows. He doesn’t care. 

He really is something else.

Eventually, when his crying tapers off and he realizes you’re done fighting, he eases his weight and crawls off you. “Sorry, that can’t be comfortable.” You smile dimly as he helps you sit up, more than happy to have endured it just to feel him a little longer.

“You still haven’t told me why you were on the porch like that. Why were you so out of it?”

“The guy was on drugs I guess. I didn’t know before I ate him.”

He swallows thickly. “Oh…well, how do you feel now? You’re a lot better than when I found you” He glosses seamlessly over the homicide.

“Weak.” It’s too much effort to do anything but answer him simply and honestly now, the emotions of the night have drained you dry and the inevitability of what you have to do brings a certain numbness. He still smells like discomfort and it’s not hard to guess that it’s because he’s unsure of your silence. He can’t tell if he has won. 

With a small frown he nods. His long arms reach above the medicine cabinet for a new cup which he fills and hands to you wordlessly. Joost drapes a towel around you so gently you almost want to cry again, and when you’re done drinking he scoops you up and carries you into the bedroom. He sets you gently on the edge of the bed and grabs a stack of clothes from his desk.

“Here. These are the ones you left.”

They are the very same. The cute shirt you had thought Joost might like, the bralette that had hung around your bound wrists as he licked your pussy so sweetly. You almost blush. 

You set down the pile and attempt the basics, forgoing the bra, but it’s still a struggle to do more than the shirt. Warm hands cover your own when he sees you shaking to tuck your knees and he pulls the underwear up for you, ignoring your soft noise of embarrassment. A pair of his own huge comfy pants follow right after and then he sets to work squeezing the water from your hair with the towel. 

He strips his own clothes down to the boxers, finally showing some skin after such an unequal bathing experience. You can’t help but smile. The sight of his golden chest hair and soft tummy, his strong arms and long, long legs before he pulls on his own pajamas is one you try and memorize. You’ve never actually seen him this naked before and you never will again. 

Joost seems to sense your melancholy but doesn’t comment as he approaches, tucking your hair behind your ear and holding your face in both huge hands. 

“Stay.”

You say nothing. You will make no promises. 

But, when he crawls onto the bed and gathers you to his chest, you don’t protest either. His body is warm and soft and the sigh he lets out when you relax against him drains the very last dregs of panic from you. The drug still lingers, heavy in your limbs, and he smells like something good and safe. Maybe, you can have just one more moment. Maybe goodbye can wait until morning.

When morning does come, so does the profound dread. There is nothing like a good night’s sleep to sharpen the mind and refresh the ability to freak the fuck out.

Joost is in danger every second he spends in your presence whether he’s willing to admit it or not and you’re in danger every second you wait to go and see how much blood is left on your porch. The cops might already be waiting for you.

Sitting up in his big warm bed, enveloped by his scent with the renewed effect of stirring your arousal now that there are no drugs in your system, the noises of Joost in the kitchen trickle through the crack in the door. Standing, you retrieve the bralette from his desk. There's no telling how soon you will have to leave. You slip it on quickly, giving one last long look around his room, taking it in one last time, and step out into the living space. 

Joost is cooking.

Not just making coffee or toast but actually cooking. 

Not once in all these months have you caught him holding a frying pan. Joost hates cooking in a way you have seen from very few people. Almost every time you come to his place you end up ordering out, and just as often he shows up with bags of takeout when he comes to yours, like he forgets that you can cook. It does seem to be more about ability than anything else. He just doesn't know how and you wonder how he never learned. The few times you’ve asked he brushes it off with humor but it’s clear you’re straying close to that nebulous thing he never talks about. You’re only becoming more sure that something terrible has happened to him too. It feels awful that you’ll never find out. 

Thank god he has friends.

He stirs something in the pan with a furrowed brow, frowning at the contents, but looks up with a smile when he hears the soft padding of your feet. “Good morning!” he chirps. ‘How do you feel now?”

“Good…Better. Normal I think…Hey, are you cooking?”

Joost grins wide as he fiddles with the gas. “Yeah I thought you could use something normal to eat.”

You approach the counter slowly, easing into one of the stools so you can stay upright when you deliver the final blow. “Yeah that would be good…thanks.” The sight of Joost in the kitchen frisking about fully dressed like he’s your lover about to wake you up on an ordinary morning does nothing to help your panic. You need to get this over with. “You’re being weirdly okay about cannibalism.”

He barks a laugh. “I mean, that part was kind of a shock but I told you already, I know you’re a vampire, I kinda figured you’ve killed people at some point.” 

It’s impossible not to stare at his beautiful face as he nudges charred looking onions and peppers back and forth in the oil. So cheerful. So opposite to the apprehension in your gut. Golden bangs glow in the morning light, hair just enough of a mullet now to fan out around his ears a little with bedhead. Perfect lips smile wryly as pale eyes glance back and forth between you and the situation in the pan.

He shouldn't be this calm, this sunny, no matter what he says. Not after what he saw. After the confession you didn’t return and the plea you didn’t answer. His heart is beating a little fast but it’s the only thing that seems off. Maybe he senses your unease. Maybe breakfast is a distraction.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. All these gentle words to make you stay, insisting he doesn’t mind, trying to make light, only delay the inevitable. It’s tempting to listen, to imagine that things could be that easy, but one night in his arms was already far more than you should have allowed. Being drugged and boneless were your excuses but now you have none left. 

It’s time.

“I’m sorry you had to see it, any of it…”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you're back.” He turns off the stove and scrapes the dubious vegetables onto a plate before beginning to chop new ones.

“Joost, I should go soon.”

He doesn’t look up at first, eyes fixed on his slices. The corner of his mouth barely twitches like he’s pretending he didn’t hear you.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to rush today! I already went and checked your porch again. Everything is clean but I still didn’t see your keys. You should just hang here and we can go bug the landlady for new ones later so she can see I’m actually your boyfriend and not a stalker. I don’t think she believed me. Besides, I need you here to taste my first-ever omelet.” He’s smiling again but it’s forced.

Something painful flips in your chest. He’s never called himself that before. Boyfriend. Not directly. 

Even after he bared his heart on the cold bathroom floor and you refused to return his words as he sobbed into your skin, he isn’t giving up. 

God.

The words burn in your throat. Every moment is a conscious effort not to say them back. To not interrupt him. To not scream it. To not make it so much harder on him when you leave anyways.

You’ve never wanted anything like you want him.

It takes a moment before your voice feels like it won’t tremble. “Joost, I gotta go…”

“I know, I know, don’t worry we’ll go after breakfast. Your landlady is always around. Honestly, she’s seen way too much of me recently.” His voice remains light but the knife starts to meet the cutting board with harsher strokes. 

You slide off the stool and his gaze snaps up, no longer smiling.

“Thank you for last night… Joost I-” You halt mid sentence, the nervous rhythm of his knife against the bright red pepper he’s no longer looking at sends a chill through you. “Hey careful, you’re gonna-”

The knipe slips.

“Ah- fuck!” He drops it, sucking his finger into his mouth immediately. 

It’s only a small cut, just a knick, but your attention narrows to the smear of blood on his lip within a millisecond. 

All sound cuts out. Your peripheral vision darkens as your eyes shift in an instant. The whole world exists in the few feet between you and him and his blood that smells exactly as good as last time. 

His eyes widen as he realizes what you’re about to do.

You turn in place, muscles winding, grateful for the large if substandard meal you had last night. Even if you could easily fit more, even with the visceral knowledge that Joost would smother the lingering bitterness in your throat with something exquisite, the remains of your attacker sitting in your gut allow sanity one last win. 

It’s the only thing saving you this time. No threat of someone coming around the corner, no pain on his face to stir your guilt. Only the dead man in your stomach to stave off your worst instincts. 

The stool crashes into the counter as you propel yourself away, lunging for the door. 

“NO NO nonononono wait!” He crashes into the cabinets as he scrambles around the counter over the slick linoleum but you're already jumping over the couch and fumbling with the door. The lock snaps open and you tug violently.  

The door doesn’t move.

Your eyes dart over the face of it as you continue to tug, desperately now, and then you see it. 

A new bolt.

He fucking got a new bolt. 

A bolt with a chain. 

When? This morning!??

You reach for it, fingers wrapping around the chain and ripping it free in an instant.

As the links clatter to the ground, a hand closes around your shoulder.

God. 

You just- 

You can’t anymore. 

You round on him and sink your teeth right in. 

His shout is sharp, strangled, and his hands shoot up to clutch at you. Your nails dig into his sides and the burst of hot wet ecstasy into your mouth makes you bite even harder. He moans in pain but he's not fighting you. His shaky arms come around your back and pull you closer.

The punctures you've made at the junction of his neck and shoulder are bigger than you really need. Everything about Joost makes you want to rip and tear. The blood flows quickly and you gulp it up just as fast. He tastes just as good as he smells, better even, like adrenaline and arousal, sharp against his natural sweetness and a slight tang of fear. There really isn’t enough fear. The small corner of your mind that hasn’t completely given up bemoans his lack of natural instincts. 

He is in so far over his head. 

It’s so fucking good.

You don't know if you can stop. 

He slides his hands down and hooks them under your ass, lifting you up carefully. You let him, unbothered, and wrap your legs around his waist to support your angle on his neck. You distantly wonder where he's taking you as he turns and walks back into the room. The answer comes in the creak of the couch as he sits down shakily, clutching you to him. It jostles you and he whimpers at the way it tugs on his flesh where your teeth are anchored. 

His heart is racing, delivering the mouthfuls to you without any real need to suck. You do anyways, just to hear him groan. It sends the first real bolt of arousal through you and you worry your teeth in his flesh to hear him do it again. He gasps loudly this time and you can really hear the hurt in his voice. The wet, desperate quality to it. His grip on your hips is vice-like. Still, he doesn't do a thing to protest and you are left to continue as you please. 

You can barely taste the cigarette he must have had earlier. Just wet and warm and metal and meat and him. All him. Joost starts laying little kisses on your hair. Lays a few on your shoulder and then back up again with his limited range of motion. He makes a small huff every time you swallow and you can’t mistake his arousal climbing higher and higher on your tongue. It's delicious. You wish you could stay here forever. 

Maybe you can. 

It's not like you can get too full. 

Without meaning to you pull with your teeth and he sobs pathetically, shuddering. It goads the inhuman part of you to tighten your grip, pressing him down where he sits, and suddenly the rigid length of his cock is snug against your belly.

Oh your precious little freak.

Enough blood left for a diamond hard erection at least. 

He groans, strangled, and any pretense he might have been holding onto flies out the window. He starts grinding up into you with soft little whimpers, chasing your hips to try and ride out the pain. He slides both hands up under your shirt, clutching at the skin of your back as you find a rhythm together. 

The sound of his pain both hurts and excites you as you continue to work the muscle between your teeth. The part of you that can think is screaming but you can't pull away to save your life. Not to save his life.

You try to take smaller swallows and wonder if he knows how close to death he is, if he truly appreciates it. 

His hands move over you desperately like he does know, grasping like if he doesn't feel all of you now he’ll never get the chance again. 

They fumble with the clasp of your bralette and skate around to cup your breasts when it pops loose, massaging them, grasping as much as possible in each hand. His thumbs tease your nipples, brushing back and forth before he lets go to pinch softly and then move on. His hot palms burn your skin as they slide all the way up and around to curl into the hair at the back of your head, tug lightly, make their way back down again and grab greedily at the soft curve of your ass. 

Your panties are starting to stick uncomfortably where you grind against him and it's like Joost reads your mind as his hands hook in the waistband of your thin lounge pants, tugging gently. As much as you are onboard with this plan, you can’t spare the attention to help him, too focused on fighting to pace your mouthfuls. After a few frustrated moments of failing to pull them over your hips with the way you are glued to him, he grabs either side of the ass-seam and tears. 

If you weren't so busy trying not to kill him you would have laughed out loud.

Joost wastes no time tugging your panties to the side. He swipes his fingers through your wetness a few times, swears, and drops his hands to start pulling at his belt almost violently. You hear the click when it finally pops open and feel him shove his pants down frantically along with what are undoubtedly Joost Klein boxers. 

Joost fights to raise his hips, only able to get the fabric down a handful of inches with the way you're pinning him like an animal. Finally his cock springs free, bare now, the wet tip sticking to the skin of your inner thigh.

You shift forward grinding down again with nothing in between and the hot slide of him through your drenched folds almost rivals the feeling of his life in your mouth. 

Joost inhales sharply, starts pawing at your hips, desperately trying to control your movements and line himself up.

You can't really help him, can't control yourself at all really. It feels too good to grind him against your clit and you're so much stronger he can't really stop you. Giving up on trying to get your help, Joost takes himself in hand and after a few desperate attempts to maneuver under you the tip finally notches at your entrance. 

He takes the opportunity and slams up into you as far as he can. 

Oh.

He’s hot and hard and absolutely huge. You suspected it from every time you’ve felt him pressed against you when moments have gotten heavy, but feeling it inside you is something else. He’s so thick. Thicker than anything you’ve ever taken before. It’s too much too fast and it’s perfect. The length of him pulses tightly against your walls in time with his heart. The stretch burns but it's the good kind of hurt. 

The delicious ache matches the pleasure of holding something between your teeth. 

It’s maybe the only thing that ever has.

You're frozen above him. The almost single-mindedness of bloodlust faltering. Joost slides out a little and sinks back in again with a groan, gentler this time but just as deep. The feeling becomes overwhelming. 

Before you know it you are unsinking your teeth with a wet ‘shluck’. 

You can’t believe it. 

You didn't know this urge could possibly overcome the other. Not when they go so hand in hand.

He looks back at you with huge wet eyes. So innocent looking if it weren't for how he's pressing on your womb. “Ngggh, why’d you stop?” His voice is thick with pleasure.

Of course he would ask that. “Oh my… Oh my god are you okay?”

“Yes, why’d you stop?” 

“Idiot! You only have so much blood!”

He grins and gives a tiny roll of his hips, reminding you he has plenty. “I told you everything was gonna be okay.”

“You are so lucky! If your stupidly big dick didn't feel so good just now I probably wouldn't have stopped!

He actually giggles. “Sorry, sorry, I should have told you about all the tools at your disposal.”

You bite him again just to spite him. The other side this time. 

He curses loudly. Grips you and shifts as if to flip you. Something in your hindbrain screams and you lock your legs to brace them firmly on the cushions. One hand shoots up to grip the back of the couch next to his head, pinning him where he sits. He pushes at you for a moment longer, struggles, but gives up when it becomes clear he won’t win. 

He resorts to kissing at your shoulder again, open mouthed and sloppy now, whatever skin he can reach as he runs his hands up and down your sides. You keep your teeth shallow this time and take only occasional swallows. It’s easy when your attention is so consumed by the way Joost fills you as your hips unfreeze, allowing him to go truly balls deep when you sink down to meet him. 

He starts feeling you up again in earnest. His hips work up into yours, doing as much as he can from where you've pinned him, but it's mostly you setting the pace. It feels so good to raise your hips so only the tip is inside and then feel the drag of him sinking into you all over again as you slide down oh-so-slowly. 

You can’t get over the way he stretches you wide open. The way he's angled when he’s seated fully inside presses at something good. You do it again. And again. It's leisurely and you can tell he wants more from the way he pulls at your waist, but he does his best to match your pace when he can't budge your hips to go any faster. 

You drag your tongue against his broken flesh and he goes for your nipples immediately. He tugs and pinches, alternating back and forth under your shirt, much more aggressive than before. The feeling shoots straight to your pussy and you arch so hard you have to detach from his shoulder again to throw your head back and keen. Joost lets out a strangled moan at the way you clench around him. 

“MNNHHH~ fuck! What the fuck! You’re strong everywhere! Did you know that?!” The words tumble out of him.

He makes a good point. You resolve to think later about the necessity of doing kegels as a vampire. Though, it’s hard to feel too bad for him when he's looking at you like he is now, obsessed.  “Hah, sorry.” 

He makes a face like he can’t believe you're laughing at him. The ridiculousness of it all allows you the presence of mind to finally pull your shirt off and remove your bra the rest of the way. He freezes for a beat, watching you do it, eyes glued to your tits, then does his utmost to try and flip you again. 

You let him struggle for a moment. You really do want to let him, but for some reason you just can't. 

“Come on baby pleaseee. Lay down for me.” 

You frown, incapable of putting into words why your body won't allow it. Joost’s shirt has bloomed red at each shoulder where both wounds continue to seep slowly and you peel it off him as you try to put together your own thoughts. 

“Baby please, schatje, I need you.” He’s almost begging.

Well, fuck. 

You put a hand on his shoulder and push him firmly against the backrest, quieting the little animal voice in your hindbrain, and start bouncing on it like dick pays rent. 

His mouth snaps shut. 

You really can't believe how perfect his cock is. You haven't gotten any since well before you turned but even so you know it was never this good. Joost fills you up in a way that makes you want to stop and just keep him there, feel it, but the pressure of him sliding oh-so-close to that one spot each time keeps your hips moving. 

His eyes are fixed now on where you’re connected, the filthy wet slide of him into you over and over. You are so wet it’s dripping down him and the sticky slaps fill the room each time your hips meet. You lean back a little to angle him better, searching for that spot.

The pleasure is blinding. 

You can’t control your moans at the way he hits into you now. It's getting way too good and you let your hips speed up to take you all the way there. He's gasping each breath as he grips your hips and looks up again to watch your face as you bring yourself to the edge. “Oh fuck, oh baby, are you gonna come? Gonna come on my cock?” He looks so fucked out, whole face pink and eyes misty like he’s the one cumming, not you. 

You don’t have time to answer. When the drop hits you slam down, taking him as deep as possible, and pray to god you're not hurting him. He moans loud when you clench hard again and again, twitching up into you as much as he can in your iron hold. 

You rest your forehead against his so you can whimper through the comedown. His hands cup your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing little circles as he looks back into your eyes. He brings one hand up to your cheek and pulls you into a kiss. 

Fuck. 

Finally. 

You didn't even realize you hadn’t been kissing. Too frantic to drain his blood and then to drain his balls. It feels better to kiss than to breathe and you reciprocate hungrily, still awash in endorphins. You open your mouth to him, letting him in. The slide of your tongues is immediate, delirious. He might as well be trying to swallow you. 

Eventually, your kisses become more languid as your pleasure slowly settles to a simmer. 

His remain full of desperation. 

You pull back to look at him and he chases your mouth. You dodge and put a hand on his chest again, keeping him there. 

You feel more sane than you have since the moment he cut himself and you see now through clear eyes how ruined he is. His chest is heaving and his hips continue to jerk up into yours futilely, unable to move as you continue to press him down. He's running his hands up and down your back, clutching at your ass and your sides like he can't decide where to put them. You stare too long and his brow, slack with pleasure, knits in frustration. 

“Ah, please, can you-, can we-, can we keep going?” He can barely get out the words as he writhes underneath you. 

It’s almost cute that you've brought him this high and now he can't do a thing to go higher. You leave him to struggle for a moment yet again, unable to help the smile that creeps over your face. More than ever you want to let him flip you, take out his frustrations, but the part of you that must still see him as some kind of prey just won't let it happen. He notices your grin and his expression becomes one of despair. 

“Noooo please please please, baby, come on, let me fuck you!” 

His huge blue eyes have you instantly weak. 

“Sorry, sorry, don't worry, you just looked so cute, I’ll help you.” You whisper as you lean back into his lips. 

Joost meets you feverishly, teeth clacking against yours, and gasping into your mouth as you finally start to move again. You’re oversensitive but it's not a bad feeling when you know what it's doing for him. You start off slow, but soon return to a healthy pace. You want to get him there too. 

He can barely keep the rhythm, his need overcoming him as he thrusts up furiously, cut-off groans escaping as he fucks you the way he wants. This and the slide of your tongues distracts you from the slide of his hand over your hip and you gasp when his thumb finds your clit. He swallows the noise, mouth recapturing yours immediately as his thumb works overtime. It makes you clench all over again and he keens. 

You didn’t expect to get off a second time but Joost’s desperation is infectious. The texture of his thumb rubbing you tirelessly in combination with his animalistic enthusiasm in your guts has you climbing quickly. Boobs bouncing so near his face become too much and he detaches from your mouth to bury his face in between, mouthing at the skin. His mustache tickles but it only adds to the onslaught of sensation. 

He changes from little circles to an up and down swipe over your bud that he can do in time with each crash of your hips. Each bounce punches little noises from you and he's murmuring obscenities into your skin to match them. You're almost there now. You can tell he is too. 

There's only one thing that can make this better. 

You sink your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder for a final time and fall apart. 

Joost all but screams as his head slams back into the cushions and his back arches as he shoots into you. You ride him through it, compromising your own orgasm this time to milk him for all he's worth. You stop drinking so you can watch him dissolve. His eyes are rolled back and each spasm of your pussy causes him to full-body convulse, face frozen in mind-rending ecstasy. 

The pulsing of his cock and each thick scalding spurt against your cervix are beyond vivid. You had no idea it would feel like this. His hips continue to jerk up into you like he can get even deeper, hands on your hips tight enough to bruise if you were capable of it.

Joost whimpers over and over as he twitches through the aftershocks. It takes a long time for him to come down. His eyes have slid shut and his chest continues to heave as you kiss at his temple.

You are starting to feel weird, tingly, more so than an afterglow usually does. The sensation grows quickly and before you know it it’s almost like being underwater. Your thoughts are sort of syrupy as you gaze down at his angelic face. Sounds are muffled and the whole room has become strangely pink, a bit fuzzy around the edges. He blinks slowly at you now, back on planet earth, and you gaze right back, smiling. He smiles too and pulls you into another kiss you return without coordination, sloppy and slow. 

He mumbles against your lips “Was that okay?” 

You should be asking him that. You open your mouth to speak. Or, you try, but no words come out. 

Hm?

Earlier, you just couldn't come up with the right words to tell him what you didn’t fully understand about your predatory instincts. Now, the words are right there but it's like the brain to mouth connection has been cut. It should be frustrating, alarming even, but you're too happy to just be in his arms.

“Baby?” 

You can only blink back, too blissed out to fight whatever haze you're in. He looks concerned now. 

“Schatje?” 

When you still don't answer, Joost pulls up at your hips and eases himself out, meeting no resistance. His cum oozes down your leg and the sight captures him for a moment but he tears his gaze away in favor of sitting forward and shifting you off him gently. Careful hands guide you to sit beside him but you're not helping at all and he ends up lowering you to the couch. You go so easily his concern melts into alarm. This is exactly what you wouldn't let him do before. 

He says your name, tension plain in his voice. 

“Are you okay? Do you want your shirt?” 

Distantly, you realize you're freaking him out. That and you're only wearing shredded sweatpants. Hah. 

It takes more effort than you would like, but you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Words are oddly impossible but you move your thumb back and forth, as soothing as you can. After a moment he seems to understand that something else is going on as his face softens, head turning to kiss at your hand. 

“Let me get a towel." 

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off from where they've come to pool at his ankles and moves to stand. The second his skin breaks contact the most pathetic whine bubbles from your throat. 

Joost looks at you sharply, eyes wide, and sits back down, smoothing his hand over your hip. 

“Okay, okay.” 

The tension leaves you just as fast as it came. You don’t know why but you need him to stay with a visceral, primal sort of impulse. Need him close. The idea of him leaving the room for even a moment feels wrong in a way you can't explain, so different from earlier when you itched to flee at the first opportunity. He gets the hint when you tug weakly at his arm, wedging himself down next to you and pulling you to his chest. He rubs his hand over your back soothingly as you snuffle at his skin, happy. 

It takes ten, maybe fifteen minutes, but slowly you start to feel less limp and floaty. The tell-tale tug behind your eyes that accompanies bloodlust is long gone and the probing tip of your tongue tells you your teeth have retracted. Finally your arms find the strength to come up and hold him back. Joost sighs in either contentment or relief, you’re not sure, and shuffles down to make eye contact. 

“Are you with me now? Where did you go?” 

You speak, only a little slurred. “I was right here, I don't-, I don't know. Felt fuzzy. Good fuzzy. Weird though.” 

“Were you still a little high or something? Are you still digesting that guy?”

 “I don't think so, I mean, there's still some of him in there but whatever he took wore off last night. I don’t know what this was…”

It really did feel like being high. You mentally rework the events of the past twelve or so hours, sifting for anything that might have caused it. Any additional source, any reason for delayed effects. It’s easier than you expect to sort through the memories now, to separate yourself from the horror of some of it when you’re here in his arms knowing your very worst fear didn’t come to pass. 

He’s here with you. He’s alive and you didn’t kill him and nothing you did matters since, against all odds, he doesn’t seem to care. He will bear the scars but in a way you feel just as marked in return, the slow seep of his cum from your puffy entrance reminding you of just how badly he needed you too. 

Oh. His cum.

“What?” He sees the quirk in your brow.

“I, wow. Um, remember when I said that I can smell when you're all horned up? Like your pheromones or something? I think it’s like that but like, concentrated. I mean…I’m saying I kinda think it was your cum…It all soaked in.” 

His dick twitches. “Right…Just vampire things.” 

You curl into him again, laughing. Logistics about lack of protection and potential interspecies compatibility can come later. “Mmm, yeah, speaking of, are you okay? I bit you a lot.” 

Joost hums, contemplative. 

“Yeah. It hurts, but yeah. I liked it. Told you it was gonna be okay.” 

It all comes back to you in a rush. 

You sit up quickly and he does too, startled. “Fuck! You fucking idiot! I could have killed you! What were you thinking?!” He opens his mouth but you are miles from done. “Why would you chase me? Did you want to die? I almost couldn't stop!”  

“But you did, I knew you would!” 

“No! You didn't know that!” You can’t stop now, he needs to understand. “I literally ate someone last night! I killed him and I ate him! Whole! Why doesn’t that land for you?!  Look at your fucking neck! When I bit you so hard it was because I wanted to take a real bite, do you get it?” 

His eyes are huge but he says nothing.

“Maybe I don't have a problem most of the time but you know I have a problem controlling myself with you! You know! I told you it wouldn’t end well, I told you we could never go there and you fucking pushed! I-” your voice wobbles. “-I could have killed you.” 

You’re breathing hard now, heart pounding alongside his.

“The reason I move all over the fucking world is because I’m running away from murder. I like it here, I like you, but-” You pause. No, no you're just gonna have to say it. “-this is just another stop on my getaway. You know how I feel about you but it was insane to think this wasn't gonna happen eventually.”

He looks so pained.

“Okay, but…what do you mean by ‘this’? Nothing bad happened? Not to us.”

“No you're not listening! You make me crazy!”

“No you're not listening!” He looks ready to cry again. “I’ve been telling you this whole time! You're so busy being afraid you don't trust the evidence that's right here! You have always controlled yourself. From the night we met until right now. Everything that's happened, maybe it was intense, but it wasn't bad. You never hurt me, not in a way I didn't want!”

You try to deny it but he cuts you off.

“You were so afraid of what would happen but now you know! It’s nothing like what happened with either of those guys and I honestly don’t know how to feel that you thought it would be!” 

His voice goes soft. “I mean- fuck, I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that I know you're just worried about me and it makes sense that you're worried but please, please, I promise that will never be me. That will never be us. Trust yourself like I trust you. I can't imagine what it's like to know you can do that stuff so I won't try to guess. But surviving what made you do it? Living your life knowing that it all happened? I feel lucky that I have you right here. Nothing like that will ever happen again. You're staying right here because I don't care what you did and this is nothing like that and it will never happen again because I’ll protect you too. 

For some reason, those last words are what get you.

The tears come before you even realize and Joost pulls you to his chest in an instant, frustration dissolving immediately as you start to full-on ugly cry. He holds you tight as he rocks you against him. 

You never knew you needed to hear it. All this time what you were capable of was just a fact, an inconvenient one that guided your choices, another facet of your new reality that you had to take care of because it was the only way forward and no one else could take care of it for you. No one else even knew. The idea that someone else on this earth might bear even a part of it, that they might take care of you, was an idea you had shredded and left behind to spare your own feelings so long ago that to feel like it’s possible again almost hurts. 

It never occurred to you that you could be lonely. As much as you always remained wistful for normalcy you were too busy enjoying the world in all its supernaturally unlocked detail. Now, hearing him repeat those words over and over into your hair you know you've been lying to yourself. 

You don't understand how he doesn't care about any of it. How he isn't scared. How he’s so sure. 

He keeps whispering sweet nothings as you shake apart and he holds you together.

“Don’t leave me.”

“Never leave me.”

“You won't hurt me.”

“I’ll protect you.”

“I love you.”

You clutch him tighter. You don’t need to understand. 

You’ll take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. 

Hours later, when both your tears have dried up and you’ve long lapsed into soft silence, heavy and comfortable in each other's arms, you continue to exchange small kisses and slow, sleepy touches. A thumb over his cheek bone, his palm cupping your face, your fingers in his hair, his hand gliding over your back. Over and over in a feedback loop of dull pulsing pleasure at the base of your skull. It’s a kind of comfort you didn’t know existed. 

Eventually, when the winter sun is high enough to break through the clouds and shine through the window, burning away every last shadow between your bare bodies, you both drag yourselves from the trance. His stomach growls audibly and you giggle as you’re reminded of the omelet that never was. You take his hand, kissing once at the small cut and then once at his answering smile before you stand. 

He laughs when you cringe at the stiffness of dried cum between your legs and preens over his newfound ability to get you quite literally ‘dick drunk’. When you step into the shower together he washes it off for you with gentle fingers. Joost lets you wash the blood from his own ragged gashes with closed eyes and deep stuttering sighs, and for the time being neither of you address the way his cock stirs. 

He dresses you in his clothes and takes you to the corner store, hand in hand where you buy new ingredients for a new meal. You cook together, him watching you more than anything, and no one cuts themselves this time. You eat together and promise him he can come with you when you get new keys from the landlady. 

When you both slip into pajamas again Joost opens a new toothbrush and puts it next to his without saying a word, hesitant but hopeful.

That night, when you sit on his balcony under the same blanket, underneath the same stars, and he looks at you like he’s not afraid anymore, like he knows he can keep you, telling him feels simple.

“I love you too.”