Devour

All Tyler wants to do is get drunk, get drunk and stop thinking, but it's hard with people just past the door, talking about what a great guy his father was, the best mayor Mystic Falls has ever seen, and it's even harder when Jeremy Gilbert walks in.

Tyler keeps drinking because he definitely doesn't want to talk and it's a better alternative than sitting here not knowing what to say. And maybe he's had more than he thinks, because he doesn't know why else he would be honest with Jeremy of all people.

But he feels a savage pleasure in the words. "My dad was a dick," he says, and he's glad he says it. He's hardly even angry when Jeremy agrees. He feels more tired than anything, and he wishes he could sleep, but he can't because of the coiled energy in his chest.

He expects Jeremy to take a swig and then turn away, go back to the rest of the party and the rest of the lies, but Jeremy hesitates, hovers there by the couch.

"You can punch me for that, if you want," Jeremy says. "For what I said about your dad. That was," he pauses, hand moving up the back of his head and ruffling his hair, "a pretty dick move on my part." He grins self-consciously.

"Don't be stupid," Tyler says.

But Jeremy's lips are set and his mouth is hard. There is a tilt to his chin that tells Tyler that, for whatever reason, Jeremy wants to be hurt, and suddenly Tyler really does want to hurt him. Not for telling the truth about his dad, but for offering to help, for intruding just far enough.

He takes a step toward Jeremy, who looks a little surprised but not very, and only plants his feet more firmly on the rug Tyler's mother insisted they buy once, even though his father said they didn't need it and held her wrist too tightly as she signed a check with a flourish, the one Tyler has never really liked.

He can feel his fist balling almost of its own volition and he doesn't look at where he's punching, but instead looks at Jeremy's eyes, which are dark and clouded and full of something too complex to be just pain as Tyler's fist collides with his stomach, sinking solidly into a soft, flat stomach not ridged with muscles.

But it is the rush of air from Jeremy's mouth that makes Tyler want to do it again and so he does, bringing his fist back again and Jeremy crumples slightly against him. Tyler wraps an arm around his back and draws back his arm again, bending his head into the crook between Jeremy's shoulder and his neck to keep him upright.

And that's what makes him stop. Because when he breathes harshly in, he can smell cheap detergent and something musky mixed with a faint herbal scent and that's when it hits: He wants to devour this boy.

He can't control his fingers anymore and his eyes have gone blurry, like they do when he gets really mad, but he's not mad now though the same hunger is tugging at his insides. He doesn't know where his last thought came from, but he doesn't exactly have time to analyze it because the smell is still there and so is the desire, so he moves his face six inches to the right and clamps his lips down on Jeremy's.

It's like something explodes inside his head. He's never felt so much so fast, and it's all he can do to catalogue the details: the weight of Jeremy leaning on his body, the heat of his mouth, and that smell, that smell everywhere. Then Jeremy jerks upright, his hands finding a grip in Tyler's shirt and pushing away, but still holding on.

Jeremy takes a ragged breath. "What the hell, man?" he says, but though his words are angry, his mouth just looks confused and god, Tyler can't stop looking at his mouth.

Then he takes stock of himself and moves to pull away. He looks up, nervous somehow to meet Jeremy's eyes, even though this was obviously a freak accident and will never, ever happen again. But even as he thinks this, Tyler feels the tremor still in his fingertips and has a feeling he might not have control over that. Nevertheless, he forces his eyes up to meet Jeremy's.

"Your eyes," Jeremy says, practically a gasp.

"What?" Tyler asks."What about my eyes?"

But Jeremy doesn't have time to answer, because there are footsteps outside and a voice says, "Hey, what's going on in here, Tyler?"

Mason scans the scene before him, eyes locking on Jeremy's hands still fisted in Tyler's shirt, the flask now on the floor, dripping onto the rug Tyler hates. He jerks his head at Jeremy. "You got somewhere to be?" And Jeremy mumbles something indistinctly and fades away.

Tyler crosses his arms across his chest and bites his lip. He refuses to be sorry. He refuses to explain his actions to the prodigal uncle.

But he doesn't have to, because all Mason does is bend to pick up the now empty flask. He takes a drink, nods once at Tyler and says, "Just be careful, okay." It is not a question.

Mason walks back the way he came. Tyler looks down and contemplates his hands. He flexes them, and sees tendons pop into life. Something is going on, and he's going to find out what it is. His mind flashes back to the shape Jeremy's mouth made, the ragged inhalation of air in the moment right after, and feels something twist, hot and delicious just below his stomach. Oh yes, he's going to find out what's going on.