Carrick considered lifting Russell to the bed, but swiftly changed his mind when he tried to stand.
"I'll join you," he remarked, lying down next to him. His skin was prickling all over as it sought to heal itself, Russ' blood racing through him, knitting back together the charred edges of the cracks that had appeared in his skin from the daylight. His throat felt raw, but he could not rest in silence.
"I haven't lost control like that for... I don't know. A long time." He touched the torn flesh at his lover's throat and wrist. "I've hurt you."
All the blood he had drunk was too much and yet not enough - his body demanded more, but he would not do it. Not to Russell.