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the blood shines black in the dark, gleaming and still hot, white light from the full moon slicing through the branches overhead. the ends of his long dark hair are matted with it, and if it wasn’t dripping from him in fat tears of crimson, john might be fooled into thinking it was just water, like he’d been caught out in the rain.
joey’s small body hums from the rush, the high of being entirely satisfied like static electricity in the air around him. it’s palpable from where john is, not far but not too close. it must be so good. john knows it’s gotta be so good.
blood is all over his skin, almost steams in the cold night. not willing for any to go to waste, joey licks it from around his mouth, collecting it from his jaw and chin with his fingers and licking those as well. their eyes meet, joey still baby blue, open sky, ocean water, scleras black as pitch, pools of tar inlaid with perfect blue jewels. it’s so much. it’s too much. john breathes through the sickly metallic air that makes it so hard to think, to do the right thing, makes him want to drink himself sick with it. so much blood.
it’s still warm when joey takes his face in both hands, now warm themselves from the feeding, the blood, his stomach full with it, his skin as flushed as it ever gets anymore. blood, warm, running down his arms, dripping now along john’s jaw, he feels it slide down the cool skin of his throat. so close. his stomach turns.
joey’s mouth is hot and slick, and john gets as much blood as he does joey’s spit, the stinging taste of his venom like alcohol and acid but so sweet. sweet as the blood. he knew it’d be so fucking sweet. it’s good. it’s just a taste. it’s enough. there’s the wet click of them parting and he breathes, joey’s wrists pulsing under the grip he has them in, hands still holding his face, soft, warm. both of them are covered, joey pressing so close, hands on him, face against his neck, leaving smears of blood everywhere they touch, sticky and cooling in the night air.
john grips joey’s shoulders, along with handfuls of tangled hair, black and thick. he squeezes, hard enough to crush bone, and joey hums against his throat, noses higher, holds him closer.
“joey.” his throat burns, voice barely there at all, the saliva pooling under his tongue making him swallow hard.
another hum, airy and satisfied, before he speaks into john’s skin. another turn of his stomach. “yeah, baby.” and another.
john wants to whine, wants too much.
joey has him, holds him, knows just as well the feeling of fangs sharp in his own mouth.
john whispers, “he’ll wake up soon enough. he’s gonna be scared. you remember how scared you were, don’t you?” his chin is tucked into joey’s shoulder, eyes on the body laying only a pace or two from where they stand.
“it’s okay, we’re here for him, like we were there for each other, like we still are. he’ll wake up under a bright moon in a clear sky, the wild grass beneath his back, and we’ll be here.” and john knows it’s true.
“he’s so beautiful...” they look to where he lays as if sleeping, on the soft grass by the base of the large ancient tree that stands watch over miles of quiet woods and fields, far from anyone who would disturb their peace, intrude on such a private thing.
the wound is deep and bloody, a cruel looking bite, clear punctures that go deeper still, deep enough. joey had been careful, so careful, gentle. for the amount of blood on him, and now john, too, he’d managed to not make a huge mess of the man, nor the ground beneath him. so careful, john can still see it in his mind. so controlled. it overwhelmed him, the trust that had been placed in them. the love. jim loves them. will love them forever.
“he’s going to be incredible.”