A/N – I have too many ideas for fics of these two and none of them seem to be getting written, but I did manage to finish this one at least. I was going to save it to use as part of a larger fic I am working on (hence some extra details about a largely scheme), but decided it worked as a stand-alone.
Summary: Weeks have passed since they spent the night together, and Hirokawa is being driven to distraction, prompting Gotou to instinctively act on his clumsiness. PG13. Blood & references to vore, cannibalism, sex.
For A, who encourages me to write. I hope you like this one now that it's finished!
Inhale
By PikaCheeka
Hirokawa disliked working with paper, but it was an unavoidable part of the job. No matter how many boxes he checked, indicating that he only wanted electronic correspondence or subscriptions, he found himself barraged with a stack of dead trees on his desk every morning. Today was no different. Another pile of mail, diminished only in part by his secretaries, another mug of coffee from the drip machine that only stayed in the office kitchen because he had asked a certain parasite to destroy every Keurig that made its way into the building (thousands of plastic cups seeping toxins into the soil), and another day starting with a bored Gotou scuffing his shoes on his office couch as if he were still merely a bodyguard with bad manners, and a dull ache in Hirokawa's mind that he knew came from waking up alone again. He had no reason to believe that anything would change today.
He almost didn't notice the blood himself; he'd felt the twinge of pain when the paper had sliced into him as he tore the envelope open, but could have easily forgotten it were it not for the parasite's sudden movement. Gotou was no longer on the couch across from him, flicking through what was likely some piano tuning manual on Hirokawa's tablet with a blank expression on his face, and was suddenly beside him, fingers drumming on the desk with a hardness that scratched ivory.
"Human skin is very weak, isn't it? To be cut by mere paper." He said it neutrally enough, but his intentions were clear enough for the mayor, who raised his right hand slowly, provocatively, holding it in such a way that they could both clearly see the blood welling up on his finger.
Gotou took his hand without comment, and Hirokawa made no attempt to stop him. He caught himself longing for that touch again, badly enough that he ignored the sudden warnings that were going off in the back of his mind as the parasite uncurled his fingers and pulled the offending one into his mouth. He did it so casually that Hirokawa suspected the thought of seduction had never even crossed his mind, though it was uncomfortably apparent on his.
His first reaction when he felt Gotou's tongue slide around his finger was to jerk back. His second, following so close that he scarcely noticed the first, was to lean over, grab him by the collar of his shirt, and pull him close. That tongue, so recognizably inhuman in its strength and sharpness, finally on him again. It has been nearly a month since their encounter in his bedroom, and other than a few moments where one or the other managed to brush up against his partner, there had been little contact between them during that time. He wanted, needed, that mouth on him again, and he would need it until he finally succumbed and died beneath it. He pushed his finger against Gotou's teeth and felt that infinitesimal taint of inhuman, the extra ridges on his molars, the grooves etched into the sides of his canines, slight adjustments the parasite had made to his human body to make it more bearable and familiar. It was not something Hirokawa could ever ask him about, something he pretended he hadn't noticed (after all, if he hadn't spent the morning after examining his own teeth, he might not have noticed), but something he found himself feeling a deep and strange affection for Gotou over.
If the parasite noticed (which he did), he made no reaction (he was used to Hirokawa's inquisitiveness of his body and it pleased him), only curled his tongue around his finger again before sucking it gently, siphoning off what little blood there was. Blood from his fingers tasted different from blood elsewhere. It wasn't enough. Crumbs, and stale crumbs at that, and Gotou found himself faintly frustrated that there was nothing more. Until he inhaled again, felt the tug of Hirokawa's veins, and became aware of something more. When he finally released his finger, after what could not have been more than a few seconds, he kept his face pressed to his hand, running slowly up and down Hirokawa's palm before settling on his wrist.
"What are you doing?" Not irritation, but curiosity, and a vague creeping sense of excitement, prompted him to ask.
"Listening to your blood."
"It's just a papercut."
"No." He said it calmly enough, but after months of living and working with parasites, Hirokawa recognized the sound of hunger. He wondered absently if his office door was locked, and what the chances were of anyone walking in on something that only slaughter could keep them silent over.
"Gotou?"
"There's more blood than this."
He moved swiftly, fluidly, without thought or concern, instinctively, wrapping his body around the back of the chair as he enveloped the human. One hand on Hirokawa's, extending his arm to the side, fingers pressed tightly to the inside of his wrist. One hand curled around his back to rest on his chest, directly over his heart, talons extended enough to leave five small holes in his jacket. He pressed his face into the side of Hirokawa's neck, forcing him to look up as he sought the artery.
And he inhaled.
Hirokawa froze. The close proximity of Gotou was enough to intoxicate him, but those hands on his body holding him immobile with a cold-blooded strength and that mouth so full of razored secrets pressed against a sensitive part of his body rendered him helpless. He felt it again, the lurch in his gut of fear and arousal intermingling that came every time he was reminded of who and what Gotou was, and what he was to him. Prey, prey that he had agreed to protect, prey that he might deem his equal, but prey nonetheless.
The parasite licked him slowly, rubbing his face against the side of his neck a moment before he found the spot he wanted, slid his tongue none too gently over the skin there. Hirokawa should have been perfect. He knew him by now, knew him well enough to imagine his morning routine despite never having seen it, knew him well enough to realize that a slip-up, even one as small as this, should have been realized and attended to. But no – Gotou could smell the trace of blood on the collar of his shirt, a spot that a human would scarcely notice but one that should have irked Hirokawa in all his neatness. He should have avoided this, and for a moment something that almost might have been concern flickered across Gotou's mind. Hirokawa needed him. And then the human swallowed, throat momentarily contracting beneath his tongue, and whatever that feeling might have been was long gone.
He could feel, hear, taste his heartbeat accelerate. It was so similar to that night but not quite, not enough. Sinking claws in deeper, pricking holes through yet another layer of fabric until he felt skin beneath them. Hirokawa's heart beat still faster as he tightened the grip on the human's wrist. He could feel the blood pumping beneath his skin, feel the warmth of that slick wetness pulsing through him. Not enough. He caught himself longing to tear his clothing apart, splay his talons over his naked torso and listen, listen to the blood inside of him, feel that soft visceral warmth so close beneath his fragile human skin. No, this was not enough. It would never be enough until he had devoured him entirely, taken him in, made him his own.
Teeth, now slightly elongated, sharpened, grooves and ridges raised (the teeth were always the first to change), bit lightly into Hirokawa's flesh. When he heard Hirokawa gasp, tasted the sudden taint of arousal in his sweat, that same subtle flavor of excitement and desire that had driven him to lose control of his jaws once before, he felt something inside of him give, something he had kept tightly locked away for the last twenty-seven days, something he knew he would not be able to suppress for another one. Gotou needed him, needed to taste that blood again. He sucked hard, sliding his tongue over the surface of his skin, biting deeply enough to leave marks that the human would be unable to hide but not enough to unleash blood. Not yet. He knew just how delicate that skin was, how much pressure and sharpness he could apply before it shattered.
Hirokawa shuddered and moaned against him then, leaning into his mouth, knuckles of his right hand white against the arm of his chair. This was what he had been longing for so desperately all those nights, for Gotou to hold him, bite him, draw blood and flesh from him and take him into himself, consume him. It was all he wanted, to be one with this being, this perfection. But the teeth did not break through, and Gotou only carried on with a series of long, sucking nuzzles down his throat.
He's never kissed me, Hirokawa thought suddenly, but before he could take it any farther Gotou abruptly pulled back, releasing the human in one sudden motion that was nearly too fast for him to register. Gotou exhaled slowly, adjusted his sleeves, and turned away. The tension in his room was palpable, suffocating.
"What was-"
"You nicked yourself while shaving."
That. He remembered then, a pinprick of pain this morning that he had ignored. Waking up to find his bed empty had grown increasingly unpleasant over the last month, and the pain was just another mark of how much in decline his morning routine had become recently. But instead of explaining anything, he merely shrugged, "Mornings."
He raised a hand, flicked two of his fingers into thin blades, and waved them over his shoulder. "I can't have you hurting yourself. I'll shave your face from now on."
If Gotou was going to be in his home in the morning, every morning…There was no need to ask anything farther. He merely nodded, and both pretended they hadn't seen the shadow of a smile, untrained and unguarded, on the other's face.