Jesse’s gaze was deep and vibrant as he sucked the life of the poor boy that didn’t ask to be so savagely killed.
Jesse was insane, Hokuto thought.
But Hokuto was even more insane when he started to feel his every fiber in his body vibrate and heat up at the sight of an exhilarated, bloodied Jesse. He loved him when he let himself loose, when he painted his lips red. It was a deep, vibrant red, one that screamed for life.
Red was Jesse’s color and his perfume. Jesse smelled like red.
And he wore red like a shadow that wouldn’t leave him.
Hokuto loved him so much he would be damned.
What Hokuto loved even more than the sight of a bloodied Jesse was how he would crawl on the floor to reach for Hokuto after a good kill, making him spread his legs so gently, never demanding, just suggesting.
Hokuto never turned him down, because the adrenaline-fueled, crimson-painted Jesse turned him on to infinity. He let him kiss him, sharing the taste of the fresh blood melting with the heat of Jesse’s feverish lips.
He could be damned, Hokuto didn’t care. He will go to Hell for this infamy but every second Hokuto spent with Jesse was worth it.
Hokuto always linked red with Jesse now – maybe because he kept seeing him bloody, tainted by the crimson fluid of his victims. Hokuto wanted to ask why he was drinking blood when vampires obviously didn’t exist, but every time the desire to question him came, the words remained clogged up in his throat and the only thing he was managing to voice out was a long frustrated breath.
Jesse’s aura took him away. It was strange. He felt like he was forbidden to ask anything. Was he? Was he not? Why did he? Who was he? All of those questions that were tormenting Hokuto’s mind remained unasked.
Still, Hokuto followed Jesse everywhere. He didn’t know why he followed him. It was unconscious but he felt like following Jesse was a necessity for Hokuto to survive.
They had met again by pure coincidence on a blue moon at the Blue Moon. It was a bar. Jesse was sitting at the counter, talking to the infamous barman of the place, Kochi, known for his odd drinks. He had served Jesse a sparkling red wine that Hokuto wanted to try as soon as he glimpsed at it.
There was something about this color that enticed Hokuto.
“Hokuto?”
Jesse had turned around and his eyes had dug deep into Hokuto’s.
“It’s me, Jesse.”
Hokuto didn’t recognize the voice that called his name, nor the face.
He didn’t even recognize the Jesse he grew up with. He became different. Taller, manlier with a sort of ungraspable profoundness and odd maturity… Hokuto grew immediately attracted despite his original assessment of the boy back when they were kids. He always thought Jesse was a bit childish, a bit too simple-minded.
He was now a changed man and Hokuto couldn’t unfathomably look away.
There was just something that made him follow Jesse.
The thrill was unique, unmatchable to the point that Hokuto couldn’t tell apart pain from love any longer.
It was a painful love that even when they bound themselves to each other, Jesse wasn’t completely his, he had something else in mind, a thirst for blood. His blood. Hokuto gave everything to him because he was craving for Jesse to love him back as much as he loved his blood. It physically hurt to love him.
It was only during sex that Hokuto thought Jesse was his. When he was melting into him and drinking him to the last drop before he passed out.
One day, Hokuto knows, he’ll drop dead in front of him.
One more minute, one minute too long was enough for him to die from bleeding out.
And it hurt to know that he wasn’t loved enough to be kept longer than a minute's worth of blood.
…