Title: Hunger
Rating: M, just to be safe. (R)
Pairing: Chris/Toutetsu
Summary: Toutetsu battles against his nature in the midst of this affair, and finally comes to a compromise between heart and beast.
Notes: Possible squick…T-chan is, after all, a maneater. And Chris is, after all, a child. Shouta, non-graphic.
Beneath the scents of scraped knees and halfway-washed hands, that heady scent thrived. Smooth skin, pure blood, flesh held just between muscular and youthfully soft. It was a decade from the womb, yes, but only saps considered a fetus to be remotely charming in appearance.
A fetus was bloody and too delicate when held, required careful cutting with precisely sharpened knives, disgusting in the method to obtain it. The ends justify the means, yes, but not enjoyable.
The offering laid before him was far from bloody, or delicate, or disgusting, even. He could touch without worry, his palm heavy against the smooth expanse from stomach to torso. Beautiful, the way the boy trembled, hands fisted in the silk beddings. Even as his claws tickled the narrow collarbone and sweating neck, pulsing jugular, those blue eyes gazed up at him in such trust, such adoration.
"I could kill you right now, brat."
And the young one's eyes widened, sapphire set against crème silk. Perfect, like a god-damned confection, and they'd taste so sweet, so fucking perfect…
Small shoulders hunched up, and that pretty, round face turned away as the toutetsu leaned over and laved a slow, hot lick over a cheekbone to the corner of one of those pretty, blue eyes.
"T-chan! Stop, that tickles." Small hands were warm on his chest.
"Hmmm. So?" Hot breath on bare neck and shoulders, such a tempting taste. Give a thirsting man a drop of water, fucking holy water, satiate lust or cherish an ideal?
"Anyways, you can't kill me. Count D would be pissed."
"What if he never found out?" His prey still wasn't scared, cradled in familiarity, in halfwitted reassurance, soothed by the teasing sing-song in the beast's voice.
That bell of a voice was hindered by soft breaths, unsure and unsteady, lured from pink lungs and candy lips by hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses. Mouthfuls he never really took, hunger of flesh and deeper flesh making such heat unbearable.
"Y-you…wouldn't…"
"Who says? You taste pretty damn good." Here T-chan bit, just hard enough to let the human child become aware of the sharpness of his fangs. No blood. He couldn't risk blood.
Another giggle from the complacent child in a nightmare's arms. The tiger in the jungle, who's legend made men become 'two-faced'. The monster in the corners of imagination.
And the child flung his arms around the monster's neck, haze in his blue eyes and a smile on candy lips, musk ripening the pure scent of his skin. "But you still can't eat me."
"Hmm." Purposefully noncommittal, and lips that have glistened with blood were pressed with cloying gentleness against his prey's. He could barely breath, then, as his prey squirmed in his arms, woefully awkward in the kiss and relishing it without shame. But it was sweet, sweet like all the other tastes and the lingering scent that had teased the beast to this utter madness. A most intimate taste, where the tiniest of blood vessels pulsed against his tongue from the inside of the child's mouth, and this most tender of flesh slid, warm, over his pallet.
The plaintive whimper shook him to his core as they separated, gasping breaths and tremors, shaking clutches of pale fingers in blood-silk hair.
It was the way all their kisses ended, with the youth confused, breathless and the beast, famished and fraying in his control. Wasn't it the Count himself who excused his very nature with open arms and offerings of such temptation? Yet, even so…
Toutetsu looked down at the trembling child, crème skin and curved flesh stretched over angular bones. He had dragged his hands through a drying painting, not yet in its prime, not yet complete, with all that had been offered he chose to steal this and he knew he'd leave tracks with his stained hands. On this impressionable mind. In their entwining scents, the sprouting seed in the fertile grounds of his fucking selfish obsession.
And it shouldn't matter, because the legends painted him as a monster. Those with superstitious minds and open eyes lost their hearts in fear when a child fell into his waiting grasp. And the supposed victim would be mourned and forgotten, because of terror, and pain, and wasn't it his own nature, this reasoning sneered at him.
This child fell into his arms willingly. Pushed and pried and pushed some more, wedging himself into the smallest cracks of his most stubborn foundation. Lured and bribed and tempted, with pretty smiles, and open trust, and those fucking confection-blue eyes, every cursed strength became his weakness because he couldn't…he couldn't…
"T-chan." Chris gasped, reaching up to pull him back, closer, close to the fangs and horns and claws and all-consuming hunger.
He couldn't not hear his name on that voice, his ridiculous pet-name, when others had addressed him with awed, quieted voices and shrieks of terror. Those little tastes on the breath of the boy had to be enough to satiate his hunger. He wouldn't devour, even as the fierce kiss made Chris loose himself. Chris would not be an idle fancy, a one-night stand with his own monstrous, violent hedonism.
This human wasn't eternal, but this would be a decades-long affair with his temptation. He'd never taste those confection-blue eyes, but they would always, fucking always be his because he was the only one they beheld with this particular, delicious, utterly satisfying brand of adoration.