Work Text:
It catches Mithrun off guard on a regular day, while he’s closing his shop. Kabru is there too, insisting on helping him, and Mithrun can’t say his company isn't pleasant. He enjoys it. Misses it when Kabru is too busy, even. The windows are open to welcome the last rays of the setting sun, but when the breeze hits just right, Mithrun feels it.
A scent as familiar as the Earth itself invades his nostrils, and it's like everything is burning. There is blood nearby, his slumbering instincts tell him. There is blood nearby and for the first time in decades, he craves it; a deep want that makes his throat dry and his mind shut off anything else that isn't the thrill of the hunt.
And it smells so much like Kabru, too, something so undoubtedly his. Mithrun has tasted Kabru's blood before, when they were in the dungeon, but at that point all blood had the same metallic, dull taste. This is new, this need, and just like the first time he ever felt it, back when he was transformed, it's just as uncontrollable, as if a parasite crawls inside his brain and takes it over.
Kabru's attentive eyes, of course, don't miss the way Mithrun's posture changes, the way his muscles tense and he freezes in place.
“Captain?” Kabru questions, getting closer. Mithrun holds his breath. “Are you okay?”
“You should leave right now,” Mithrun says, swallowing. With each step Kabru takes, the smell of blood gets more intense, fills his senses more. And it’s ridiculous, because Mithrun is too old to be thirsting like this, to be letting it get out of his control, but right now, he feels like the only way to lessen the burn on his throat is to sink his fangs in Kabru's skin and feel his flesh tear beneath his teeth.
Rationally, he doesn't want to hurt Kabru. He probably won't, even in the state he's in; he has had more than a century to learn how to keep his hunger in check. But Kabru steps closer with every word, and the way it makes Mithrun's mind numb to everything that isn't Kabru is disconcerting, and it makes his head spin unpleasantly with a desire that is now so alien he wants to spit it out until he is empty again.
“Did I do something?” Kabru asks, brows furrowed in concern. Mithrun kind of hoped that Kabru would be able to read through this. He has always been so good at understanding him, but of course he wouldn’t know this . Mithrun is the first vampire he ever met, and for a while, he was docile and tamed, stripped of his thirst. Kabru couldn't know what a predator preparing to strike looks like. “If I did, you know can always tell me-”
“You don’t understand,” Mithrun says, putting his hands on his face as if that could help stop the overwhelming smell, “I haven’t felt this thirsty in so long.”
Kabru's furrow deepens, still clueless. “Are you hungry? That's good, Captain. You could have just said so. I have given you blood before. What's the problem?”
Mithrun clears his throat. “Kabru. I need to make myself clear. Right now, the only thing my mind can think about is ripping your throat and drinking every last drop of your blood. It would be best if you kept your distance.”
Kabru's eyes finally widen in understanding.
“I see. Your hunting instincts are coming back,” he says as if it’s nothing, and he didn’t just hear an admission of Mithrun's desire to kill him. Inexplicably, like many things Kabru does, he smiles. “That’s good.”
“Didn’t you just hear me?” Mithrun asks, starting to feel frustrated. His fangs are uncomfortable in his mouth now, practically tearing into his gums. He opens his mouth and uncomfortably closes them around nothing.
“I did hear you, but I don't think it's such a big deal,” Kabru says. Mithrun looks at him and only vaguely notices the way his blue eyes glimmer with some sick type of excitement. “I have given you blood before. I can do it again.”
“This is different.”
“Is it? You're only hurting yourself by refusing to get what you need,” Kabru says, and he steps closer, and Mithrun can’t help the snarl that leaves his lips, inhuman and hungry. “Come on, Captain.”
Mithrun groans like a wounded animal when Kabru closes the distance between them. He can no longer fight it. When Kabru tilts his head invitingly, the beast wins the fight and Mithrun jumps for the kill.
He manages to put a hand behind Kabru's head so he doesn't hurt it when he hits the floor with an oof. Blue eyes stare at him in surprise, and he pins Kabru's wrists above his head.
“You asked for this,” Mithrun says, moving closer. Despite the fleeting surprise in his eyes, Kabru doesn’t look the tiniest bit scared. Instead, he smiles again.
“I know,” he says, and he sounds almost excited. All the times Kabru has given him blood, it was from a cut in his hand or wrist, like the other Canaries usually did. Mithrun had never bitten him, and he couldn't imagine why Kabru would be particularly thrilled about it.
Although, having Kabru under him, feeling the warmth of his body heating up his cold one, and looking at him with that little thrill in his eyes — it’s definitely making him feel some unnamed type of way. He isn’t very good at recognizing the name of his desires yet, but this one he seemed to remember from before. A satisfying heat runs up his spine.
“Well? Are you going to bite me or are you just going to stare the entire day?” Kabru asks, eyebrows raised in amusement. Mithrun scoffed.
“Shut it,” he says, and then buries his face in the crook of Kabru's neck, opens his mouth and bites down.
Kabru lets out a sound between a scream and a yelp and Mithrun feels his entire body shiver at the sound. Blood flows gladly into his mouth, and he can't find any reason to suppress his own groans. Kabru struggles in his hold, thrashing violently — even with all his enthusiasm, he can’t fight the natural human instinct to not let himself get eaten . Mithrun takes his mouth away from his neck for a moment.
“You need to relax, or else I’ll hurt you,” he says, and Kabru looks at him with dilated pupils, mouth slightly open, chest rising up and down in a feverish rhythm. Yes, he remembers what the warmth that spreads through his veins like a fire that can’t be contained is called now.
“I’m trying,” Kabru says, and in the split second he closes his eyes Mithrun already misses its bright blue colors. When he opens then again, his expression seems more neutral. “It’s - it’s different, like this.”
Mithrun hums, and clicks his tongue. Blood is still flowing from the unclosed wound in Kabru’s neck. “I told you so. The pain will go away eventually.”
“Just get on with it,” he finally says, and Mithrun wastes no time in sinking his teeth in his flesh again, licking whatever he can find in his skin. Tallmen blood tastes different from elven blood — it’s thicker, more metallic. It takes more effort to swallow while he sucks on Kabru’s neck, but it’s not unpleasant, and he is surprised that he has any thoughts about the taste at all. It has been so long since it actually tasted like something and the feeling of drinking it straight from the tap brought any satisfaction, but now he can feel the void inside himself warming up with just a hint of that unnamed emotion. It’s lust, he thinks, not just a common hunger, and it makes Kabru’s blood taste even sweeter.
He notices the way Kabru reacts, too. He stops struggling, like he has finally beaten his instincts into submission, and he holds into Mithrun’s shoulders like his life depends on it. He lets out a sound or two, but they don’t sound pained anymore, and Mithrun wishes he could see the look on his face so he could pierce together if Kabru is feeling like him, too.
He doesn’t need to, though, because suddenly Kabru’s hips thrust up, grinding against him, uncoordinated and desperate. He figures Kabru didn’t mean to do it. He doesn’t reciprocate the gesture, but he doesn’t think it’s unwelcome. Instead, he just bites down harder, letting more blood come out, and that earns him more beautiful sounds.
Distantly, he recognizes he feels satisfied, full, even, but it doesn’t cross his mind to stop right now. He is aware, or at least he thinks, of how much he can take without causing Kabru any permanent damage. He knows it’s selfish, he knows it’s gluttony, but it has been so long, and he wants to chase this fickle flame of desire before it dies. He has never been dangerous, even before the dungeon; before anything else, he was a noble who had an image to maintain. It’s not like he was overindulging himself, or taking lives to satisfy his thirst, but now, it’s like he has never tasted anything this sweet before, and he wants the taste to linger and linger in his tongue forever.
But he knows that Kabru is probably reaching his limit, and he has no desire to hurt him. He wants him alive and well, he notices, and mentally adds Kabru’s well being to the list of things he knows he cares about now.
“Mithrun,” he hears Kabru whispering weakly, and it feels strangely intimate to hear him say his name like that. The grasp he has in Mithrun’s shoulders weakens.
The elf takes his mouth away from his neck, contenting himself to licking the blood that flows from the wound, and then sits up in Kabru’s lap. The tallman looks even more disheveled, staring at him with such intensity that makes the flame inside Mithrun’s body dance.
“Fuck,” Kabru says, and then he reaches out a hand to touch his chin. His hand comes back bloody, and Mithrun licks around his lips.
There’s a tension here, almost touchable in the air, while they stare at each other watching their breathing even. Kabru’s hands move to hold his waist, and every touch feels cautious, like he is scared to shatter whatever it is that lies between them. Mithrun puts his hands on his chest. Neither of them dares to make another move, and for a few moments, the stillness is enough.
They could do something about it if they wanted. Mithrun can recognize inside himself a half formed desire for more, but it’s not ready yet, like pottery hardening in the oven. If they were to do something, he wants his desire to be in full swing, an undeniable need, and only then can he get the complete satisfaction of having it put out. He can’t be sure about it, but he thinks Kabru would want the same, too.
“Are you alright?” Mithrun breaks the silence, realizing he should probably ask.
Kabru nods. “I’m fine. I probably just need water and a meal.”
Mithrun hums. “I can make you noodles.”
“Clean yourself first,” he says, “don’t get blood on my food.”
“Okay,” Mithrun says, and he gets off Kabru’s lap and helps him up. He sees Kabru moving his hand to touch his own neck, and he wonders if they could do it again sometime.
“Are you alright? Was that what you wanted?” Kabru asks, reaching out to touch Mithrun’s face again.
“Yes,” he answers simply and honestly, and Kabru smiles.
“That’s all that matters,” he says, and when he takes his hand away and moves, Mithrun finds that he enjoys its absence and the desire to have his touch again just as much as his touch itself: the new found want wakes something up inside him, and the hollow of his soul fills up just a little more.