#beedra

They were on day three. Day three of holing up in the sketchy hotel in the middle of nowhere, desperately trying to get in touch with Ex, Lucien, and August. It had been Ex’s idea to split up on their manhunt, and it was all Sidra could do to hope that the other part of the Del Luz Detective Agency had some sort of plan to get them out of this situation.

The situation being the strange pocket dimension that Bee and Sidra occupied. It had taken a couple hours to figure it out; that they were trapped in a bubble that copied itself whenever they drove through the circumference. It was likely that Ex and co. were currently tracking down the magician who had cast such a spell. Now, all Sidra could do was wait. 

Lifting himself from the chair, they took a seat next to Bee’s prone frame, leaning over to block out the glare from the light fixture in the ceiling. Without the harsh yellow fluorescence painting Bee in a warm haze, Sidra had a first row seat to glassy, unfocused eyes, gaunt cheeks and dry lips. Prodding Bee’s chest with his index finger, Sidra raised their brow in silent judgment.

Eyelashes kissing the dark bags under his distant stare, Bee grunted in indignance, not bothering to move from his position sprawled across tossed bed sheets. His jacket had bunched up in the middle of his back, his spine arched in a manner that had to be uncomfortable. 

Something melted inside Sidra, sympathy peeling away frustration and layering itself upon concern. Flopping onto his side, he let their chocolate hair splay across Bee’s chest, strands of pink turned orange in the terrible lighting. With their ear to Bee’s sternum, Sidra hummed a sound he hoped rang as supportive, with a lilt of deep comprehension. 

His eyes were just fluttering shut, the steady rise and fall of Bee’s chest lulling them to an early sleep, when Bee spoke softly.

“I’ll go hunting.”

Sidra’s fingers walked across Bee’s stomach, gently pulling at the lime fabric of his shirt. His index and middle fingers did the cancan. “You went hunting the last two nights,” Sidra fretted. “You said it yourself, this place is a wasteland.”

Another grunt of agreement from the vampire moping beneath them. Sidra’s stomach twisted, the desire to make Bee laugh spitting acid up his throat. The absence of an amused snort or an entertained chuckle split a chasm in their heart. 

Sidra forced a snicker, “That sounds like a bad dad rock song.” Lifting his head, they squished up their nose, bared their teeth and sang, “THIS PLACE IS A WASTELAAAAAND!” 

It was a little out of tune, but Sidra felt the impression stood on its own. However, a peek at Bee sent blue eyes rolling back in his head, a slight snarl tugging at his lips. Sidra dampened instantly. 

Bee was unamused, Bee was nervous, and Bee was stressed. 

Pulling himself into a seated position, Sidra gently ran their fingers through Bee’s unruly hair, fear creasing his brow. Worrying their bottom lip, he asked, “Is there anything else you can eat?”

Eyes still closed in a faux show of serenity, Bee muttered, “Yeah.”

“But it…” The silence stretching between words was beginning to gnaw at Sidra’s insides. “It doesn’t quite do the trick, does it?”

A beat. Two.

Pain seeped into Bee’s voice. “...Yeah.”

He lifted a hand as if to reach for Sidra, then gave up halfway, his knuckles bouncing against the plush duvet. A low groan leaked from Bee’s throat, his tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips. A sharp canine gleamed in the bright light, eliciting a shiver that dripped from the crown of Sidra’s head, all the way to the tips of his toes.

They frowned, brushing Bee’s hair away from his forehead. He grumbled softly, turned his head and tried to dislodge Sidra’s touch.

Sidra huffed. Enough was enough. 

“Bee,” he tried, poking Bee’s cheek. “Beeee.”

Lips pulled towards his feet, Bee pointedly ignoring Sidra’s call. “Bee, Bee, Bee!”

A deep breath in, held for fifteen seconds. A timed exhale to help steady the nervous roiling in Sidra’s stomach. This time, when Sidra spoke, he dropped any playful pretense. “Björn.”

Blue eyes fluttered open, pupils contracting in the harsh light. He stared at Sidra, a fresh sort of vulnerability in each slow blink. He summoned enough strength to place his palm upon Sidra’s cheek, his skin cold and clammy. 

“Please?” Sidra leaned into his touch. “You’re looking a little pale.”

Perhaps it was sugar-coated, but Sidra wasn’t about to tell a starving vampire that he looked like fresh garbage. 

Though, maybe he should have, for Bee only snorted, “It can’t be that bad.”

With a pout, Sidra decided to take matters into their own hands. Slipping one leg around Bee’s waist, he carefully straddled him, leaning in close to dot his finger along every little speck of brown upon the bridge of Bee’s nose. “I can see your freckles more than ever,” they smiled, tracing a polygon on Bee’s cheek, “I could map a star chart on these bad boys.”

There was no response, Bee’s eyes slipping closed once more. 

“Nope! Not doing that again!” Sidra crowed, curling their fingers into the fabric of Bee’s shirt and hoisting him up into a seated position at the edge of the bed. Bee sighed in protest, slumping into Sidra’s arms. With a cheeky grin, Sidra shifted to place Bee’s mouth at the junction where their neck met their shoulder. In a small voice, Sidra reassured, “You won’t hurt me.”

Bee murmured, “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Sidra sighed, the warm breath on his skin bursting butterflies from their cocoon in his stomach. “You won’t hurt me.”

Half expecting Bee to refuse once more, to continue their tug of war, it caught Sidra off guard when Bee straightened up, looked Sidra directly in the eyes and said, “Fine.”

Sidra’s heart skipped a beat. They blinked, momentarily stunned. When Bee failed to rescind his response, Sidra tugged their shirt away from their neck, laughing nervously, “Well, you could at least sound a little excited about–OH!”

It happened too fast for Sidra to truly process the motions. One second, Bee was looking at Sidra with his brows drawn together in a manner that resembled an adorable guilty puppy, the next, his lips were brushing against the column of their neck, his tongue laving up towards their jaw. A pleased hum vibrated Bee’s frame, and Sidra gasped a giggle, slightly ticklish. The sharp inhale of breath accompanied each peppered kiss to Sidra’s skin, up and down, up and down his throat, and just when Sidra thought that Bee would bail, would pull away and apologize for being so reckless, he felt a pinch.

Bee’s sharp incisors pierced at the base of Sidra’s neck, a splash of pain instantly numbed by the tingling pleasure that lanced down their spine. A sinful sound spilled from Sidra’s parted lips, their pupils dilating before their eyes closed in an overwhelming haze. The bright light of the hotel room burned orange behind his eyelids, Sidra’s fingers grabbing at Bee’s oversized jacket, pulling himself as close as possible as if to close any sort of distance between them. The slight movements of Bee’s wet lips sent a blush blooming forth from the bite, painting Sidra with a brush of pink, curling around their ears and splashing the apples of their cheeks. 

It was like nothing he had ever felt before. In fact, it was not unlike the sensation of giving blood, when a needle slips beneath that thin layer of skin that holds you together. A strange tug to your very core, a thread unwinding, suspended in your veins before growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter and oh, Sidra felt like he was going to snap. Bee’s hands cradled Sidra’s face, gripped his hip with a devotion that belonged to the most romantic of melodies, and Sidra decided then that Bee could drain him of all life if he could live on as part of him. 

Pulse slowing, Sidra’s head dropped to rest on Bee’s soft blonde hair as he sucked and sucked, Sidra’s fingertips going numb, his vision blurring. Slumping against Bee, it was as though the tables had been turned, Bee holding his lover upright as they sacrificed themselves, as they fell on their sword to save him. The orange glow had turned to a white now, enticing Sidra with a cool breeze to combat the delightful warmth racking their body. 

But no. They knew they couldn’t waltz towards the light now. Instead, Sidra loosened his grip on Bee’s jacket, tapped his chest with two fingers and murmured an unintelligible protest. In a single beat, Bee’s fangs slid from his skin to be replaced by a barrage of kisses, blooming from his shoulder all the way up past his jaw, little blossoms bursting upon his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Hooking his arms around Sidra’s limp frame, Bee squeezed Sidra tight, so tight that he could feel the beat of his heart through his ribs. Sidra could've sworn they drummed in sync. 

“Better now?” Sidra mused–a soft, dazed sound–as Bee wiped the dark blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. 

There was a hint of resignation glinting in his alert, satisfied eyes. “Better.”

Crawling off of Bee’s lap, Sidra slung one arm around Bee’s shoulders, forcing him to tumble back into the mattress alongside them. With a wispy giggle, Sidra bounced with the box spring, deciding, “This feels like a Snickers commercial. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

And Bee laughed, pulling Sidra close and burying his face beneath their jaw. "Good one."

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜