The youth's eyes are glazed, deep under Keith's thrall. He's a small cute thing, exactly to Shiro's tastes. Keith found him in a gay bar looking for a good time, and once he's done donating his blood, he'll go home to wake tomorrow assuming he found one. Keith sends a mental command to follow him, and pushes open the door to his and Shiro's current lair.

Down a flight of stairs, deep in a basement, where the sun may never shine no matter how many doors or windows humans carelessly leave open, is hidden their room. Dominated by a handsomely carved four post bed, carefully filled by Keith with plush pillows for its more permanent occupants comfort. The room is utterly quiet when they enter.

That's not right, when he left the History channel was still playing. Shiro loves that channel, ever since it came on the air he'd always cajole Keith to come sit with him and laugh at all the things they got wrong. Was he sleeping again? He already slept so much. Sometimes it seemed like he didn't want to wake up.

Keith stepped further into the room and the charred formed of his lover came into view. His remaining hand, the one the hunters hadn't managed to burn to charcoal, lay cracked and blacked on the remote, right where Keith left it. His muscles were charred, nearly useless in his legs and arm, but he'd been left barely enough dexterity in his ring finger that with time and effort he could work the big buttons of the simple remote as long as Keith placed his hand over it first. How many things they'd taken for granted in their immortal lives, that now lay past years, possibly even decades of healing, until Shiro would have them again. Assuming he could convince Shiro to eat enough to last that long.

Shiro's grey eyes, the only thing not stolen from in the fire, stared blank and open at the ceiling as Keith entered. Not asleep then, simply shutting himself away from the small parts of the world he still had access too. Food would help, make Shiro feel better, more like himself, and Keith had picked the perfect dinner. He wouldn't be able to turn this one down, "Hey baby," Keith forces cheerfulness into his voice, as if this is any other night in the century they've spent together. Shiro's eyes don't waver from the ceiling, "I found something yummy at the club tonight, thought you might want a taste,"

Keith drags the prey across Shiro's line of sight, long thin neck on display where Shiro can't ignore him. Shiro closes his eyes, "I'm not hungry," Shiro whispers, voice cracking even over those small words. His smooth voice was one more victim to the fire.

"You need to eat," Keith says, it's been a week since Shiro has accepted any of the prey Keith has brought home. Even before then, he was barely swallowing a mouthful or two before claiming to be full, "You won't get better if you don't." Keith stresses. Shiro can't get better without the blood of the living. Without it…that's not a thought to have.

Shiro's eyes open, meet Keith's for but a brief moment before skittering off to stare at the bare walls, "I'm not hungry," Shiro repeats quietly, barely a sigh over raw lips.

The scent of blood fills Keith's nose, his own nails piercing the prey's skin were his grip has tightened at Shiro's continued refusals, "Are you trying to starve yourself," Keith whispers. Damningly, Shiro's eyes close once more. No, no, no, fear bubbles in his gut. There is no fire to put out, no hunter's necks to snap, no barely living corpse of a lover to pull from the ashes and nurse back to some semblance of consciousness. Just closed eyes and a threat he can't punch, "Shiro," Keith's voice rises in pitch with his panic, "Shiro! Answer me! Are you trying to starve yourself?" Keith lets go of the prey so he can grab the broad shoulders of his love and shake him. The hiss intake of breath isn't necessary to tell him his hands on Shiro's skin hurt, the weeping burns spell that out clearly on their own.

Shiro's grey lock onto his own violet eyes, staring deeper than any thrall, "Would that be so bad?" Shiro asks, and Keith's world is drowned in five little words. Would that be so bad? Would an eternity without the love of his life be so bad? Would wandering alone to never see that smile again, to hear that laugh, to be cared about so deeply despite all his unlovable flaws, would that world be so bad to live in? Keith's lived in that world. Orphaned and alone in the face of the uncaring. Shiro took him away from that, promised him a world where he'd always be by his side, and now, now he doesn't want to stay?

Keith grabs the preys bleeding arm, drags it to Shiro's mouth, "You-you have to eat," He says. He's shaking. Shiro has to listen to him. Shiro shakes his head minutely, seals his lips so not a drop can get it in, "You can't leave me alone!" Pinprick tears sting Keith's eyes.

Shiro looks at him with pity, "You will move on," Shiro says. How, how can Shiro say that? How can he think that? If Shiro dies there will be no moving on. Doesn't he understand what he means to Keith. How much his death would destroy him?

No, he doesn't understand. Keith can fix that, he can make him understand. Make him see what he's doing. Keith throws the prey away, he doesn't care where the youth lands. He bites down on his own fingers, rips his fangs down the length of them so that his blood squirts freely from his ripped veins. Shiro's eyes go wide in shock, "Kei-" Keith shoves the thumb of his uninjured hand between Shiro's teeth before he can finish his sentence.

"I can't live without you," The only explanation he can give for what he's about to do. Keith shoves his bleeding fingers into Shiro's mouth, past his tongue, into his gagging throat. Shiro's limbs twitch in a desire to fight, but he's too injured to even lift his arm, much less do something as complicated as throwing Keith off.

Shiro moans in pain, then shudders as the connection is made. A vampire's blood is a connection to everything they are. Their thoughts, their feelings, their pain. To feed off another vampire is to know them intimately in that moment, to force such a connection would be a wrong on the highest order. When it comes to Shiro, Keith no longer care about right or wrong. Keith focuses his thoughts. Brings up the swirling pit of despair the thought of Shiro's loss gives him, the fear of losing the one person who stayed, every irreplaceable thing Shiro means to him that will never exist again if he goes. Keith brings all those to the forefront of his mind and shoves them along the current of blood flowing down Shiro's throat and directly into his mind.

He may never be forgiven, but he'd rather be unforgiven than alone.

Keith gives all his pain, all his fear, all his love. By the time he pulls his fingers from Shiro's mouth, Shiro's eyes have rolled back in his head, and there are tears on his cheeks that match the ones on Keith's own. Keith doesn't apologize. They'd both know he was lying if he did, but he kisses Shiro gently, as if he was, "Please don't leave me," Keith whispers between them.

Shiro doesn't respond.

Author's Note:

Just a small one shot I wrote based upon a thought I posted on tumblr a while back. Thought I'd share seeing as how it hit over the 1k mark. Hope ya'll enjoyed.

If you like my work you should look for me under ILoveLocust on Ao3 or Tumblr. FF isn't very friendly to making mature work visible, so I don't tend to post my stories here very often.