He hardly registers the fall, or change of perspective. They could be in a void for all he understands; it takes everything he is to wrench perception from Ginger's circuitry to comprehend his surface when all he wants to do is scream, the way his insides twist like razor blades.
Is there a reason why he can't drain Ginger? A reason he shouldn't? He can't come up with a reason. He isn't Yuu-chan. He shouldn't matter. His scent's scared. (Of Mika?) Oh, )
—I'm not like this. ( Yes he is. ) I'm not— I might not stop. You'll die.
( Don't give him permission. Don't ask him to stay. Ginger's scared, so why is he still here? For someone who defines himself as a protector, Mika's terrible at it. He did the same thing to Yuu. When will he get it right? Mika's gaze seems clearer, but only just.
His hands come up - and he digs his fingers into his own neck, both sides. Digging deep enough into skin, he's more than willing to make himself bleed if it can help him contain the compulsion to grab him, bite him, drink.
Ginger shouldn't really matter, but - he doesn't know if he'd forgive himself for killing him. He isn't sure. And that's scary. )
[ He tries to ply Mika’s hands from his neck. Please, stop - he’s only asking now that it’s not his own neck. That was allowed; this isn’t. Long fingers curl desperately around smaller ones. They’re shaking. Please. ]
You won’t kill me. But if I leave you, if you die -
[ His voice shakes, too. Ah, his entire body has been shaking all along. ]
No, if I’m leaving, I’m taking you.
[ That’s it. He sees so clearly that Mika hates this. Mika’s panicked. He’s scared, too. The monster, exposed. The one most at risk is Mika. They need to go somewhere safe - and Ginger thinks, the couch. ]
( There's clear resistance, but Ginger manages to pry Mika's hands off himself - he's trying!! to distract himself!! And Ginger's just— Ginger's just— Why? He doesn't have the wherewithal to ask or ponder. Ginger just is, and that's a problem he has to deal with right now, as he feels control slipping away— fangs bared as he scowls, frustrated, hungry, hungry.
Fuck, is that Ginger shaking, or himself? Ginger? He thinks it's Ginger. Mika's breathing hard, feeling feverishly hot - and cold, all at once.
He doesn't - really, want to be left behind. But he'll keep pushing for it; he always does. )
I don't want to do this— Ginger.
( Asking Ginger to leave is really just letting Mika put someone else at risk - and Mika is willing to live with that. But he doesn't have it in him to debate this right now. He screws his eyes shut, the inside of his eyelids red. The sound of Ginger's blood rushing is near louder than either voice. He doesn't know if he can keep his fangs to himself for too much longer. )
Look— Look, if I kill you— If you die, I'll rip my own heart out. Do you get it? I'm not— I won't survive that. Okay?
( This isn't necessarily an agreement to go along with feeding on Ginger, nor an approval of Ginger taking him wherever— wherever. But it's a request, almost: whatever you do, don't die. If he has to take himself hostage to get this through, fine, he will, while he still has the sense to. )
[ Ginger is strong and Ginger is big. That’s something he tends to forget, as though the child with the paper bag over his head never grew up and he has just been - pretending… to be an adult.
He guides one of Mika’s hands to his shoulder, holds it there. Under white fabric accented by black, there are tremors. There’s also broad shoulders that fill out the fit of his dress shirt - and a wiry, strong frame underneath.
Strong - he can be this for Mika. Stubborn, he can be that for Mika, too. Ginger hates change and now that they’ve met, now that they’re linked, he can’t let Mika go.
Their eyes meet, mismatched in every way; he holds Mika’s gaze for as long as he can, willing him to focus. To stay with him. He’ll take everything.
His hand slips away after a tight squeeze, leaving Mika’s behind where it rests. It moves to Mika’s neck where only panic thrums, behind it into soft wisps of white hair, beneath it onto a back that feels too tense. If Mika doesn’t want his touch, he can pull back. But until then, Ginger leans in, intent. If Mika won’t allow this, he can pull away from how Ginger’s so close his quiet, quivering breath can be felt in his hair, by his ear.
It’s a hug. ]
… You won’t - I’ll cry myself to death if you do. And I won’t, so someone’s there to look after your heart. [ His hand continues its path south. ] Mika, can you hold on with both hands? I’m going to take us where it’s safe, so you can feed.
( Ginger holds his gaze, but Mika's is shaky, like someone who can barely stay awake. But he sees - he thinks - he sees him in more dimensions than just prey. Ginger had said he wasn't scared of Mika, he thinks. He remembers that now in the muddled haze, in Ginger's mismatched eyes and his tremoring frame.
There's resistance, as Ginger moves him - a stiffness that asks Ginger again to leave. But it's not a full rejection; his hunger dragged him back from the forest to feast. Pulling away from a warm body is so much harder than it is to pull in— and still, he makes himself reluctant, because that's the strongest trace of Mika there is right now.
Why would Ginger cry for him? How is this fair to Ginger? Was it really okay to let Ginger hold him, comfort him, when Mika is the one about to do him harm? )
... I...
( I don't know if I can hold on that long, is what he wants to say, but he can't find the words to manage with Ginger so close. He hesitates, a frustrated sound - his head's a mess, and Ginger's warm. Faltering, the resistance drops slow, and he lets himself relax into the hold.
It feels nice. It feels safe. )
... Don't die.
( Softly. Redundant, but urgent.
He grips Ginger's shirt where his hands had been placed, but they reach around his neck in the end for a firmer hold - holding onto him tight, forehead to his shoulder. He's a lot bigger than his demeanor suggests. His pulse resonates clear. The fabric is terribly thin.
He'll let Ginger carry him. He's not going to pay attention to how far or where. But before they reach their destination he's going to feel first - Mika's lips, pressing against his neck. And then the scraping of fangs... Not a full bite, not yet, but— )
[ Adrenaline does most of the work, long legs carrying them as Ginger sprints through the halls. At points, his wings come out to give them bursts of speed and balance around corners. At his lower back and not actually attached to his body, they seem to be there and gone.
(He would fly, but he hasn’t tested it in this world yet. What if he can’t. Worse: what if he can, but they fall mid-flight -
… He won’t risk Mika… )
He feels the lips, the slight prick of fangs - an accident from Mika being jostled from the run, he thinks. Is he going too fast? He’s afraid to slow down, and absolutely terrified of dropping Mika. His arms adjust to hold Mika more firmly against him, the one supporting his back curved noticeably tighter than the one under his legs. Protective. Who he’s carrying is possibly the most important person to him here.
He honestly has no idea how long it takes them to get to Mika’s room. Faster than he thought. The sound of him roughly wrenching the door open is drowned out by loud panting and the uptick of his heart, elation at having made it.
The door is kicked closed once they’re in. (They’re here, they’re safe.) He staggers in the rest of the way, quick steps before falling back onto the couch. And he stays there, sunk into the many pillows, Mika still held tight. ]
… Made it. [ Somehow, he has enough strength to laugh a little. ] Was so scared of dropping you.
[ He’s glad he didn’t. He’s sad, too. He might cry after all, possibly before this is over. He wishes - wishes Mika didn’t have to struggle over what he freely gives. ]
( It's the lurch of Ginger's wings around the curves that stays his full bite, keeps the fangs to sharp red lines along the skin - a laceration or two, if Ginger's unlucky on a turn. Mika's fighting, too, as if holding out long enough means this would all just sort of go away. (Not all that different than when he'd been trying to hold out in the woods, as if that effort wouldn't have killed him a third time.)
It's tortuous, though, not to - not when all the effort exerts such a vivid effort in Ginger veins.
It would be a kind thing, a good thing, if he could at least thank Ginger once they actually get into wherever this is. No - not thank him. He should apologize. He should be sorry. But he can't think it, can't say it. The words are barely free from Ginger's lips before the fangs sink into his neck with a satisfied sigh, his arms locked tight around his neck like a snake with a rat.
This is a terrible night to be Mika, really, because the blood here really shouldn't be so addictive.
His bite is firm at first, but then pushes in more aggressively - as if he can't get enough. The blood spills in excess; he runs his tongue along the skin, chasing blood where it strays. It's sweet - so sickeningly sweet, like honey on his tongue, thick in his throat. He lifts his fangs early, then bites down again beside it, the flow doubled, his tongue running along the blood, the wound, so eagerly. How rich, how rich... It leaves him relaxed, even as he presses Ginger up against the couch-back, forgetting, entirely, why he'd been so afraid.
Everything free from his mind but this, he doesn't seem keen to stop. )
slightly nsfw look i’m sorry his canon don’t @ me aaaaa
[ It feels good. That’s the surprise punch in the gut, the shuddering gasp that follows. Ginger knows this sensation from his dreams - the thick haze of heat and want. It comes sudden. He thinks, Rum - but he knows it’s Mika.
He doesn’t - he doesn’t want to think at all.
(Not this. Not while Mika’s suffering, anguished.)
His body will react how it will; he knows the inevitability of this. Pleasure makes itself known. With how close they are, there’s no hiding it. He doesn’t bother to shift away.
Mika just needs to feed to be well, and Ginger can help. That’s all. He throws an arm over his eyes and - keeps them shut. Keeps his mouth shut.
Breathes.
Monitors his racing heart because he promised. He can handle a little more. ]
( In Mika's mind, there's only this scent, only this taste - so nauseatingly intoxicating some greater part of him wants to waste it, rip Ginger open with his fangs and let the blood flow so he can drown in it. He isn't, at first, aware of Ginger's reaction - but there is a sort of satisfaction in this too, for Mika; a sort of pleasure that supplants the humane kind.
Instinct tells him this is all natural. Instinct tells him this is how prey should react - the undercurrent of their taste excited, the blood rushing in greater circulation, their beat quickening (which spills blood at twice the pace)... All the elements of arousal without conscious acknowledgment of the name.
His fangs part from Ginger's skin again, and he runs his tongue along the neck - his fangs scrape against the skin again. Even if he's drinking too much, he doesn't seem keen to be done yet (and he wouldn't want to be, until there's nothing left to drink).
Still, his breath comes warm against Ginger's neck: )
... More?
( A sweet voice. Almost enticing. A vampire's voice, playing with its food. He doesn't mean anything by it - not consciously; it just seems to be the right thing to say. Maybe because by instinct he knows into flirtation improves the circulation - keeps up the pulse, keeps more blood on his tongue. )
[ He lifts his arm enough for one bright eye to slowly blink open and glance down at Mika. He sees a crown of white, wild and curling in stark contrast against his skin, pinks and reds and purples. His hand moves from Mika’s back and, after a moment, settles on his head. He’s sorry.
Arousal is there, its heat pulsing damp against fabric and skin. He’s sorry about this, too. His stomach twists uncomfortably, angrily - but everything feels molten slow now. Too slow.
He counts - then counts again. Tha-thump. A heavy pause. Another thump. Oh.
He’s sorry he has to say: ]
No.
Next time. [ Coaxing fingers card through Mika’s hair, urging him to look up if he can. ] Mika?
He digs his fingers into Ginger like a buoy, exhaling cold - from stress, more than need. The fingers running through his hair helps. His voice helps. The saccharine blood in his stomach helps, too.
Ah, he's awful.
Swallowing, he turns his face up, the picture of guilt. His face - his cheeks, his lips, his mouth, his chin - are all smeared with Ginger's blood, messy in his desperation.
His lips part, but nothing comes out for the first moment. He can't meet Ginger in the eye. )
[ Ah, that’s his blood on Mika’s tongue, all over his face. He can only imagine what his neck looks like. What a mess, the both of them.
And some deep, dark part of him… likes it. The demon called possessiveness. It stirs in his stomach where heat pools.
It’s a good thing Mika’s not looking directly at him because it shows on his face: his own guilt. Guilt mixed with sadness. Even after all the blood loss, the redness on his face, around his eyes, still has that particular hue of want. ]
I wish… [ His voice catches. He clears his sore, sore throat and very carefully does not wince. ] … I wish you didn’t have to feel guilty about something you can’t control.
[ He wants to say, ‘don’t be sorry. But as someone who’s been told don’t be sad, don’t cry - well, it just doesn’t work, does it? If anything, it has always made him feel worse. ]
But - I’ll take that apology for disappearing on me. [ Hurt slips through. ] And for putting yourself in this state. Those are choices.
I can tell you hate it. [ He’s sorry. ] But I… hate the idea of you suffering… when I’m right here.
[ Maybe he should have specified that keeping Mika safe, being on his side, looking after his heart - all of that included this.
His voice lowers, husky with emotion. The first word disappears into the space between them. ]
… was scared for you. Won’t ever hate you, or… your monster.
( It's not a response he expects, any of it - poisoned by his own self-hate, he always expects, or perhaps wants, the worst. Understanding and care wraps around him like a blanket, and he - doesn't think he deserves them. Not at all.
But... Ginger's good for laying it there. He's kind. Warm - no, did he lose too much blood? Is he okay?
His eyes finally flit to meet Ginger's, and though his gaze wavers, it's full of concern. )
... Why me...?
( He wants to say so many things, but that's what leaves his tongue first. He doesn't think he did anything to be worthy of this acceptance - this patience, even though Ginger is clearly hurt by... some things he did (he should resent him for more things, Mika feels). He doesn't think he's worthy of it. But Ginger still...
He shakes his head, pulling back from him. )
No— First, how much did I— We need to find you a healer, I...
( Pulling back is when he finally realizes, ah, um, the residual things he'd taken in stride while feeding - ah, hell, he made that happen, too. It's not Ginger's fault. )
Should I... I can get off— You stay here, or maybe I'll take you to...
[ Right, it’s probably best if they minimize contact. Maybe they shouldn’t touch at all. His hand falls away from Mika’s hair, his other arm drops back over both eyes.
Normally this would be so embarrassing he could die, but he’s bone-tired. Exhaustion wins this time. ]
… No, it’s fine. I’m not human, Mika. [ He doesn’t want to move right now, not for anything. A healer isn’t necessary- probably. He’s just drained (ha), emotionally. A bit physically. ] And, um, I’ll take care of that later, if it… doesn’t go away on its own.
[ So, don’t worry, he means. He’s fine. ]
We’re… the same. That’s why. [ Mika understands the parts of him that no one else does. ] I don’t care about myself much. There’s… a lot… to dislike. But it’s easy to care about you. Maybe that’s also why.
[ It’s a selfish answer. What he can’t do for himself, he can do for Mika. ]
( He... almost regrets the loss of contact, once it stops. But he can't be thinking about himself right now. That isn't fair. It also feels weird to just leave him like this, but also - what else can he do? He's hesitant to stop worrying just because Ginger isn't human - so he doesn't.
He shifts... off him, but tucks up beside him. He should move further away, he should go across the room, with how strong the scent of his blood is, but...
The words come unexpected, because it's hard to see cause for someone to care for you when you don't care for yourself. But it feels strange to hear Ginger speak of himself the way Mika would talk about himself, too. )
... A lot of people are like that.
( Don't smile when they don't want to, he means. He purses his lips, looking at Ginger - the state he's in, because he tried to be there for him, tried to comfort and protect him... like he said he would. It's... )
... I don't... like myself, either. But...
( A beat, and he... gingerly - raises his hand, pressing his palm over the wound, whether or not it's healing - a gesture that means... something even he isn't sure of.
Despite his fever moments before, Mika's body returns to what it was - closer to room temperature, closer to cold. )
... if you can like me... for me, ( care for him in his place, ) I... can like you for you, too.
[ The wound will heal completely over time, one or two days max. He’ll be alright to move around - soon.
Mika’s hand is a soothing balm on Ginger’s skin, which is several degrees hotter due to all the obvious things. His flush hasn’t receded any. His body is so stubborn to cling to this reaction he finds so damn inconvenient.
He never wanted to be like this.
All the parts of him are so… frustrating, but Mika’s words get a small, quiet smile. He already likes Mika just fine. What’s with that if? Even now, Mika helps. ]
Mm. That’s nice. [ The cool hand. ] At least this didn’t hurt, not really. I think I’ll be more prepared next time.
[ For the moment, he keeps his eyes hidden under his arm. He has a lot to think about - hadn’t expected to feel good; hadn’t expected to feel greedy and pleased. It turns his stomach - that small, nasty part of him. And he doesn’t want any of it showing in his eyes. Blue is a terrible color for hiding emotions.
But -
It’s not hiding if he’ll tell Mika about it later. Probably. ]
( "Next time" makes his brows furrow and his gaze drop, following the stain of Ginger's clothes.
He doesn't say anything, immediately. )
... Every night. But... I can manage having just a little bit every three nights. That's how I've been managing until now.
( And clearly he was hoping he could somehow manage longer, though to what end is... unclear, even to him - motivated primarily by self-hate and shame as he was. )
He doesn’t know if he can regenerate enough blood. This is - a very unusual situation? He thinks he’ll be okay since he’s stuck in this half-unsealed state. He can’t say it with any certainty, however. ]
I don’t want you to be hungry either. A third of the blood you need, just to get by? [ He drops his arm and looks at Mika, eyes entreating. ] I’ll visit a healer everyday if I have to - or… we might be able to get another volunteer.
( He really wants to argue, and he looks as much, but it's also difficult to slap away all reasonable approaches to managing his situation when Mika's management method (avoidance) led to this situation to begin with.
He grits his teeth, frustrated - at himself, rather than Ginger. )
... Fine. ( Reluctantly!! ) ... Just a little bit. With a healer on standby. And someone else to help. I'll... We'll... figure out the specifics.
[ His smile turns crooked at the apology. He doesn’t need to say it, but he understands why Mika did it. He’s very familiar with things like avoidance, stalling, running - from his feelings, his own thoughts, his own fears. But he’s always been bad about running from people. ]
I’m sorry, too. I’ll tell you why later. Um, when we’re not like this…?
[ Mentally and physically exhausted, covered in blood, additional demon/vampire side-effects.
He sits up and catches Mika’s hand before it falls from his neck, threading their fingers together like the last time they were here on this couch. ]
Heh, like we’re kids. [ It’s a warm thing, another bit of lingering reassurance he seeks. Mika won’t run again. Ginger will be here to help him. Others will help too, he’s sure.
Mika will be okay.
(… Though it would be nice if Ginger could be the only one.) ]
( He'll agree to shelve whatever that's about for now, but he's Concerned over whatever Ginger thinks he has to apologize for. He doesn't think there's anything. )
... I won't let you forget.
( Kids... If there's anything that gets the twitch of a smile from him, it's that - it doesn't fully form, because there's just... so much weighing on him, but. Ginger's touch helps. His smile helps. His words help a lot.
He squeezes tight. Like when he was a kid. Back when he had his family - his real family, that he...
He squeezes a little tighter. This... feels a little like family, too. )
... Would be nice if we still were.
( For that brief period of his life, things were... nice. Even knowing what he knows now about the truth of what was going on then. Even knowing they were being used. He was oblivious, then. And things were ... okay.
He exhales, soft. He doesn't know if things can be okay now, but they can be better than this, maybe. Having Ginger around... helps. And... he thinks that, even if he might not have the right to - he... does want to protect him. Protect this, whatever this was, that made Ginger want to stay close and warm with him. )
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no subject
He hardly registers the fall, or change of perspective. They could be in a void for all he understands; it takes everything he is to wrench perception from Ginger's circuitry to comprehend his surface when all he wants to do is scream, the way his insides twist like razor blades.
Is there a reason why he can't drain Ginger? A reason he shouldn't? He can't come up with a reason. He isn't Yuu-chan. He shouldn't matter. His scent's scared. (Of Mika?) Oh, )
—I'm not like this. ( Yes he is. ) I'm not— I might not stop. You'll die.
( Don't give him permission. Don't ask him to stay. Ginger's scared, so why is he still here? For someone who defines himself as a protector, Mika's terrible at it. He did the same thing to Yuu. When will he get it right? Mika's gaze seems clearer, but only just.
His hands come up - and he digs his fingers into his own neck, both sides. Digging deep enough into skin, he's more than willing to make himself bleed if it can help him contain the compulsion to grab him, bite him, drink.
Ginger shouldn't really matter, but - he doesn't know if he'd forgive himself for killing him. He isn't sure. And that's scary. )
Leave me. Just— Go, right now—
no subject
I’ll stop you.
[ He tries to ply Mika’s hands from his neck. Please, stop - he’s only asking now that it’s not his own neck. That was allowed; this isn’t. Long fingers curl desperately around smaller ones. They’re shaking. Please. ]
You won’t kill me. But if I leave you, if you die -
[ His voice shakes, too. Ah, his entire body has been shaking all along. ]
No, if I’m leaving, I’m taking you.
[ That’s it. He sees so clearly that Mika hates this. Mika’s panicked. He’s scared, too. The monster, exposed. The one most at risk is Mika. They need to go somewhere safe - and Ginger thinks, the couch. ]
no subject
Fuck, is that Ginger shaking, or himself? Ginger? He thinks it's Ginger. Mika's breathing hard, feeling feverishly hot - and cold, all at once.
He doesn't - really, want to be left behind. But he'll keep pushing for it; he always does. )
I don't want to do this— Ginger.
( Asking Ginger to leave is really just letting Mika put someone else at risk - and Mika is willing to live with that. But he doesn't have it in him to debate this right now. He screws his eyes shut, the inside of his eyelids red. The sound of Ginger's blood rushing is near louder than either voice. He doesn't know if he can keep his fangs to himself for too much longer. )
Look— Look, if I kill you— If you die, I'll rip my own heart out. Do you get it? I'm not— I won't survive that. Okay?
( This isn't necessarily an agreement to go along with feeding on Ginger, nor an approval of Ginger taking him wherever— wherever. But it's a request, almost: whatever you do, don't die. If he has to take himself hostage to get this through, fine, he will, while he still has the sense to. )
no subject
He guides one of Mika’s hands to his shoulder, holds it there. Under white fabric accented by black, there are tremors. There’s also broad shoulders that fill out the fit of his dress shirt - and a wiry, strong frame underneath.
Strong - he can be this for Mika. Stubborn, he can be that for Mika, too. Ginger hates change and now that they’ve met, now that they’re linked, he can’t let Mika go.
Their eyes meet, mismatched in every way; he holds Mika’s gaze for as long as he can, willing him to focus. To stay with him. He’ll take everything.
His hand slips away after a tight squeeze, leaving Mika’s behind where it rests. It moves to Mika’s neck where only panic thrums, behind it into soft wisps of white hair, beneath it onto a back that feels too tense. If Mika doesn’t want his touch, he can pull back. But until then, Ginger leans in, intent. If Mika won’t allow this, he can pull away from how Ginger’s so close his quiet, quivering breath can be felt in his hair, by his ear.
It’s a hug. ]
… You won’t - I’ll cry myself to death if you do. And I won’t, so someone’s there to look after your heart. [ His hand continues its path south. ] Mika, can you hold on with both hands? I’m going to take us where it’s safe, so you can feed.
no subject
There's resistance, as Ginger moves him - a stiffness that asks Ginger again to leave. But it's not a full rejection; his hunger dragged him back from the forest to feast. Pulling away from a warm body is so much harder than it is to pull in— and still, he makes himself reluctant, because that's the strongest trace of Mika there is right now.
Why would Ginger cry for him? How is this fair to Ginger? Was it really okay to let Ginger hold him, comfort him, when Mika is the one about to do him harm? )
... I...
( I don't know if I can hold on that long, is what he wants to say, but he can't find the words to manage with Ginger so close. He hesitates, a frustrated sound - his head's a mess, and Ginger's warm. Faltering, the resistance drops slow, and he lets himself relax into the hold.
It feels nice. It feels safe. )
... Don't die.
( Softly. Redundant, but urgent.
He grips Ginger's shirt where his hands had been placed, but they reach around his neck in the end for a firmer hold - holding onto him tight, forehead to his shoulder. He's a lot bigger than his demeanor suggests. His pulse resonates clear. The fabric is terribly thin.
He'll let Ginger carry him. He's not going to pay attention to how far or where. But before they reach their destination he's going to feel first - Mika's lips, pressing against his neck. And then the scraping of fangs... Not a full bite, not yet, but— )
no subject
[ Adrenaline does most of the work, long legs carrying them as Ginger sprints through the halls. At points, his wings come out to give them bursts of speed and balance around corners. At his lower back and not actually attached to his body, they seem to be there and gone.
(He would fly, but he hasn’t tested it in this world yet. What if he can’t. Worse: what if he can, but they fall mid-flight -
… He won’t risk Mika… )
He feels the lips, the slight prick of fangs - an accident from Mika being jostled from the run, he thinks. Is he going too fast? He’s afraid to slow down, and absolutely terrified of dropping Mika. His arms adjust to hold Mika more firmly against him, the one supporting his back curved noticeably tighter than the one under his legs. Protective. Who he’s carrying is possibly the most important person to him here.
He honestly has no idea how long it takes them to get to Mika’s room. Faster than he thought. The sound of him roughly wrenching the door open is drowned out by loud panting and the uptick of his heart, elation at having made it.
The door is kicked closed once they’re in. (They’re here, they’re safe.) He staggers in the rest of the way, quick steps before falling back onto the couch. And he stays there, sunk into the many pillows, Mika still held tight. ]
… Made it. [ Somehow, he has enough strength to laugh a little. ] Was so scared of dropping you.
[ He’s glad he didn’t. He’s sad, too. He might cry after all, possibly before this is over. He wishes - wishes Mika didn’t have to struggle over what he freely gives. ]
I’ll try not to stain the couch. Go ahead.
no subject
It's tortuous, though, not to - not when all the effort exerts such a vivid effort in Ginger veins.
It would be a kind thing, a good thing, if he could at least thank Ginger once they actually get into wherever this is. No - not thank him. He should apologize. He should be sorry. But he can't think it, can't say it. The words are barely free from Ginger's lips before the fangs sink into his neck with a satisfied sigh, his arms locked tight around his neck like a snake with a rat.
This is a terrible night to be Mika, really, because the blood here really shouldn't be so addictive.
His bite is firm at first, but then pushes in more aggressively - as if he can't get enough. The blood spills in excess; he runs his tongue along the skin, chasing blood where it strays. It's sweet - so sickeningly sweet, like honey on his tongue, thick in his throat. He lifts his fangs early, then bites down again beside it, the flow doubled, his tongue running along the blood, the wound, so eagerly. How rich, how rich... It leaves him relaxed, even as he presses Ginger up against the couch-back, forgetting, entirely, why he'd been so afraid.
Everything free from his mind but this, he doesn't seem keen to stop. )
slightly nsfw look i’m sorry his canon don’t @ me aaaaa
He doesn’t - he doesn’t want to think at all.
(Not this. Not while Mika’s suffering, anguished.)
His body will react how it will; he knows the inevitability of this. Pleasure makes itself known. With how close they are, there’s no hiding it. He doesn’t bother to shift away.
Mika just needs to feed to be well, and Ginger can help. That’s all. He throws an arm over his eyes and - keeps them shut. Keeps his mouth shut.
Breathes.
Monitors his racing heart because he promised. He can handle a little more. ]
gently holds u (rip ginger tho)
Instinct tells him this is all natural. Instinct tells him this is how prey should react - the undercurrent of their taste excited, the blood rushing in greater circulation, their beat quickening (which spills blood at twice the pace)... All the elements of arousal without conscious acknowledgment of the name.
His fangs part from Ginger's skin again, and he runs his tongue along the neck - his fangs scrape against the skin again. Even if he's drinking too much, he doesn't seem keen to be done yet (and he wouldn't want to be, until there's nothing left to drink).
Still, his breath comes warm against Ginger's neck: )
... More?
( A sweet voice. Almost enticing. A vampire's voice, playing with its food. He doesn't mean anything by it - not consciously; it just seems to be the right thing to say. Maybe because by instinct he knows into flirtation improves the circulation - keeps up the pulse, keeps more blood on his tongue. )
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Arousal is there, its heat pulsing damp against fabric and skin. He’s sorry about this, too. His stomach twists uncomfortably, angrily - but everything feels molten slow now. Too slow.
He counts - then counts again. Tha-thump. A heavy pause. Another thump. Oh.
He’s sorry he has to say: ]
No.
Next time. [ Coaxing fingers card through Mika’s hair, urging him to look up if he can. ] Mika?
/2
I want more.
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No.
He's not—
He digs his fingers into Ginger like a buoy, exhaling cold - from stress, more than need. The fingers running through his hair helps. His voice helps. The saccharine blood in his stomach helps, too.
Ah, he's awful.
Swallowing, he turns his face up, the picture of guilt. His face - his cheeks, his lips, his mouth, his chin - are all smeared with Ginger's blood, messy in his desperation.
His lips part, but nothing comes out for the first moment. He can't meet Ginger in the eye. )
... Sorry. I'm sorry.
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And some deep, dark part of him… likes it. The demon called possessiveness. It stirs in his stomach where heat pools.
It’s a good thing Mika’s not looking directly at him because it shows on his face: his own guilt. Guilt mixed with sadness. Even after all the blood loss, the redness on his face, around his eyes, still has that particular hue of want. ]
I wish… [ His voice catches. He clears his sore, sore throat and very carefully does not wince. ] … I wish you didn’t have to feel guilty about something you can’t control.
[ He wants to say, ‘don’t be sorry. But as someone who’s been told don’t be sad, don’t cry - well, it just doesn’t work, does it? If anything, it has always made him feel worse. ]
But - I’ll take that apology for disappearing on me. [ Hurt slips through. ] And for putting yourself in this state. Those are choices.
I can tell you hate it. [ He’s sorry. ] But I… hate the idea of you suffering… when I’m right here.
[ Maybe he should have specified that keeping Mika safe, being on his side, looking after his heart - all of that included this.
His voice lowers, husky with emotion. The first word disappears into the space between them. ]
… was scared for you. Won’t ever hate you, or… your monster.
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But... Ginger's good for laying it there. He's kind. Warm - no, did he lose too much blood? Is he okay?
His eyes finally flit to meet Ginger's, and though his gaze wavers, it's full of concern. )
... Why me...?
( He wants to say so many things, but that's what leaves his tongue first. He doesn't think he did anything to be worthy of this acceptance - this patience, even though Ginger is clearly hurt by... some things he did (he should resent him for more things, Mika feels). He doesn't think he's worthy of it. But Ginger still...
He shakes his head, pulling back from him. )
No— First, how much did I— We need to find you a healer, I...
( Pulling back is when he finally realizes, ah, um, the residual things he'd taken in stride while feeding - ah, hell, he made that happen, too. It's not Ginger's fault. )
Should I... I can get off— You stay here, or maybe I'll take you to...
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Normally this would be so embarrassing he could die, but he’s bone-tired. Exhaustion wins this time. ]
… No, it’s fine. I’m not human, Mika. [ He doesn’t want to move right now, not for anything. A healer isn’t necessary- probably. He’s just drained (ha), emotionally. A bit physically. ] And, um, I’ll take care of that later, if it… doesn’t go away on its own.
[ So, don’t worry, he means. He’s fine. ]
We’re… the same. That’s why. [ Mika understands the parts of him that no one else does. ] I don’t care about myself much. There’s… a lot… to dislike. But it’s easy to care about you. Maybe that’s also why.
[ It’s a selfish answer. What he can’t do for himself, he can do for Mika. ]
You don’t smile when you don’t feel like it.
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He shifts... off him, but tucks up beside him. He should move further away, he should go across the room, with how strong the scent of his blood is, but...
The words come unexpected, because it's hard to see cause for someone to care for you when you don't care for yourself. But it feels strange to hear Ginger speak of himself the way Mika would talk about himself, too. )
... A lot of people are like that.
( Don't smile when they don't want to, he means. He purses his lips, looking at Ginger - the state he's in, because he tried to be there for him, tried to comfort and protect him... like he said he would. It's... )
... I don't... like myself, either. But...
( A beat, and he... gingerly - raises his hand, pressing his palm over the wound, whether or not it's healing - a gesture that means... something even he isn't sure of.
Despite his fever moments before, Mika's body returns to what it was - closer to room temperature, closer to cold. )
... if you can like me... for me, ( care for him in his place, ) I... can like you for you, too.
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Mika’s hand is a soothing balm on Ginger’s skin, which is several degrees hotter due to all the obvious things. His flush hasn’t receded any. His body is so stubborn to cling to this reaction he finds so damn inconvenient.
He never wanted to be like this.
All the parts of him are so… frustrating, but Mika’s words get a small, quiet smile. He already likes Mika just fine. What’s with that if? Even now, Mika helps. ]
Mm. That’s nice. [ The cool hand. ] At least this didn’t hurt, not really. I think I’ll be more prepared next time.
[ For the moment, he keeps his eyes hidden under his arm. He has a lot to think about - hadn’t expected to feel good; hadn’t expected to feel greedy and pleased. It turns his stomach - that small, nasty part of him. And he doesn’t want any of it showing in his eyes. Blue is a terrible color for hiding emotions.
But -
It’s not hiding if he’ll tell Mika about it later. Probably. ]
Ah. How often do you need to - eat?
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He doesn't say anything, immediately. )
... Every night. But... I can manage having just a little bit every three nights. That's how I've been managing until now.
( And clearly he was hoping he could somehow manage longer, though to what end is... unclear, even to him - motivated primarily by self-hate and shame as he was. )
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[ Exasperated that’s exhausted but warm. That’s a no from Ginger. ]
Every night, then. Might have to alternate spots.
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No. Even if you're not human, you can't possibly have enough blood in your body to sustain that. It needs time to regenerate.
( Unless... he does...??? But he's worried??? )
And that's even if I was okay with just... hurting you because I'm hungry.
( Which he's not!! )
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[ Some of it clearly did, but the feeding itself…
He doesn’t know if he can regenerate enough blood. This is - a very unusual situation? He thinks he’ll be okay since he’s stuck in this half-unsealed state. He can’t say it with any certainty, however. ]
I don’t want you to be hungry either. A third of the blood you need, just to get by? [ He drops his arm and looks at Mika, eyes entreating. ] I’ll visit a healer everyday if I have to - or… we might be able to get another volunteer.
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He grits his teeth, frustrated - at himself, rather than Ginger. )
... Fine. ( Reluctantly!! ) ... Just a little bit. With a healer on standby. And someone else to help. I'll... We'll... figure out the specifics.
( ...
... His fingers curl into Ginger's skin... )
... Sorry for running away.
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[ His smile turns crooked at the apology. He doesn’t need to say it, but he understands why Mika did it. He’s very familiar with things like avoidance, stalling, running - from his feelings, his own thoughts, his own fears. But he’s always been bad about running from people. ]
I’m sorry, too. I’ll tell you why later. Um, when we’re not like this…?
[ Mentally and physically exhausted, covered in blood, additional demon/vampire side-effects.
He sits up and catches Mika’s hand before it falls from his neck, threading their fingers together like the last time they were here on this couch. ]
Heh, like we’re kids. [ It’s a warm thing, another bit of lingering reassurance he seeks. Mika won’t run again. Ginger will be here to help him. Others will help too, he’s sure.
Mika will be okay.
(… Though it would be nice if Ginger could be the only one.) ]
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... I won't let you forget.
( Kids... If there's anything that gets the twitch of a smile from him, it's that - it doesn't fully form, because there's just... so much weighing on him, but. Ginger's touch helps. His smile helps. His words help a lot.
He squeezes tight. Like when he was a kid. Back when he had his family - his real family, that he...
He squeezes a little tighter. This... feels a little like family, too. )
... Would be nice if we still were.
( For that brief period of his life, things were... nice. Even knowing what he knows now about the truth of what was going on then. Even knowing they were being used. He was oblivious, then. And things were ... okay.
He exhales, soft. He doesn't know if things can be okay now, but they can be better than this, maybe. Having Ginger around... helps. And... he thinks that, even if he might not have the right to - he... does want to protect him. Protect this, whatever this was, that made Ginger want to stay close and warm with him. )