Dusty "THAT DUMBASS THAT SLEPT WITH COBY" Baker (dusty_storm) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2009-11-04 17:40:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | 2009-06-20 |
Ohhh, Here I Go
Who: Dusty and Gareth
When: 10:37pm and onward
Where: Trailer -- and then DETROIT!
What: Were-hunting.
Gareth was satisfied... No. More than satisfied, there was a bright rod of excitement running through his gut. Clenched in his left hand was a crinkled newspaper that he'd fished out of a trash can. His muscles ached in a pleasant post-coitus way, and his head felt a little clearer now. The only thing that would make the night better would be if Dusty was at home when he got there. Humming, verging on happy, Gareth walked around the bend that led to the trailer he shared with his best friend, hoping to see the bald man sitting on the porch. The light was dark, night having quickly approached, but as the blonde man grew closer to his home he saw the silhouette of his room mate. He stopped in his tracks, his blue eyes widening a little. There was a tendril of apprehension in his chest, a feeling of relief and joy. Dusty was home. He stood still, staring for a long moment, taking in the sight of his best friend. He was dying. He had four months, and Dusty was sitting there on the porch, completely unaware. Gareth moved forward again, realizing he wanted nothing more than to apologize to the other man. He wouldn't of course, apologies not something either of them were comfortable with. He took a deep breath before walking up to Dusty and peering down at the vampire in silence.
Dusty had been lingering on the steps for a few hours now, just waiting for Gareth's foolish ass to get back home again. He'd paced around the trailer several times, banged on the windows just to be sure, and then had finally dragged the stairs back to where they belonged. Feeling anxious and irritable after a day of not knowing what to do with himself, Dusty had taken up residence on the stairs, head in his hands and closed his eyes to wait it out. Eventually Gareth would have to come home, and there was no way in hell he was going to go out looking for him in this stupid city. He hated Ann Arbor almost more than he'd hated Arlington, and that was saying something. No good had come out of this place yet. Finally Dusty looked up when he caught a familiar scent, hours having passed and the sun having set long ago. Good lord, when had that boy bathed last? He watched the taller man as he approached, not saying anything. He didn't really have the willpower to pick a fight right now. Things just... seemed so bleak. When Gareth had paused, Dusty stood up, taking his time as though he were tired and too old to really maneuver himself. In reality he was stressed out, starving and just downright cranky.
Gareth watched Dusty, not speaking. After spending thirty-nine years with the bald man, they seemed to share a mutual telepathy. He could feel the weight of Dusty's unhappiness and for a moment it muted his own excitement. His chest tensed as he thought again of the disease that was working its way through his system, eating at him, weakening his body. He looked at Dusty, thinking about how in four months time, the vampire would be left alone, no one to feed from, their partnership permanently over. The thoughts made his throat hurt, his stomach twist and he pushed them away. Dusty was standing, looking weary and a little sad, and Gareth, feeling much the same, moved forward. He took a slow breath and reached out, his arms slipping around Dusty's waist. The vampire was cold, but Gareth leaned in, burying his face against the smaller man's shoulder and pulling him close. He embraced the older man, holding as tightly as he could, simply wanting to be reminded of the comfort his friend had always provided.
Sighing, Dusty allowed the other man to get close to him. There were very few moments in his life where close contact was okay or even allowed, and right now would just have to be one of them. He'd had a rough couple of days... really, they both had, and fighting Gareth off would only do more harm than good. He could at least try to be nice until he was allowed back into their trailer again. The arms that slipped around him made a cold shiver run down his spine, the feeling unsettling and making it all the more difficult to stand still. He swallowed against the unease building in his chest and bit the inside of one cheek to tough it out. Dusty patted Gareth on the back a few times, giving him a good man-hug before finally hitting and going over his comfort line. He attempted to pull back, no longer alright with the contact and quickly growing short tempered over the matter. He'd never enjoyed being touched, not his whole life. Time spent with prostitutes even tended to push his boundaries. "Alright Gare," he said quietly.
Gareth let his eyes fall shut, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his body trembling minutely. Dusty smelled like faint musk and that scent that was entirely his own and it was the most comforting thing Gareth could think of. He practically melted into the hug, even relishing in the mild touch at his shoulder, the three manly "I'm. Not. Gay." smacks on his back. He could feel when the bald man stiffened, when he tried to pull away, but for another moment Gareth didn't let go. Hugging wasn't something he did often, and he had never needed the contact more. Finally though Dusty's voice was in his ear, rough and deep, his breath was warm against Gareth's all too human flesh and he reluctantly released his friend, taking a couple steps back. "You're home." He finally said, meeting Dusty's cold eyes. There was noticeable relief in his voice, his gaze wandering over Dusty as though he were in a dream.
"Yeah, I came home," Dusty said, his tone matter-of-fact rather than nasty. He gestured vaguely at himself and sniffled a little to fill the space where they maybe should have been speaking to each other. Hands on his hips, Dusty leaned to look over his shoulder, the closed door behind him still a very real barrier until Gareth invited him back inside. "I been sittin' out here all night, y'shit-ass. Where you been at?" His accent was thick, coming out harder in his sort of slurred state of exhaustion. "And why the hell do you smell like that...?" Dusty leaned in to get another whiff of Gareth, hesitating and making a display of it. "You been out, fuckin' some girls, ain't ya? And without me? That just ain't even right, Gare. I thought we was friends. You didn't even bring me back nothin'." Dusty wasn't really put out, merely giving Gareth a bit of light teasing because it was all he knew. They joked around with each other back and forth mercilessly and near constantly, ever since they'd been old enough to have clever insults to toss around. It was - in their own small way - a sign of simply affection, and Dusty knew the other man would pick up on it. They didn't need hugs or deep talks or any of that. They never had.
"Well, I somehow got the impression that you didn't want nothin' to do with me today." Gareth teased back and moved towards the door, forcing himself to resume life as it always had been. He moved over to the door, cocking his head back and giving Dusty a broad grin. "Woo-ee boy, let me tell you though, she was some whore. Did damn near about everythin' a woman can do fer a man, short'a clippin' my toe-nails. Probably would'a done that too, had I asked." He dropped a wink, but found himself a little concerned with Dusty's ability to smell. If he had fucked up and had sex with that were girl, would Dusty have been able to tell? They'd always had a rule. No matter how desperate you were, and no matter how hot she was, you didn't fuck a supernatural. Not if you knew she was one. He didn't want to think about it. The fact was that he hadn't slept with her, and that was good. He moved, opening the door to the trailer and giving his long time friend a look. "You wanna come on in?"
Dusty rolled his eyes at the comment about not wanting anything to do with Gareth. It wasn't his stupid ass that had revoked permission to enter the trailer. He sighed and followed up the stairs behind him, shaking his head as Gareth rambled on about the whore he'd visited. "She sounds like a wild ride, Gare. You should'a roped her and brought her on home with ya." He grinned deviously, blue gaze catching his friend's when he was glanced back at. "Hell yeah, I wanna come in. You invitin' me or is that some kinda low-brow, low-blow type'a humor I ain't quite catchin' onto on account'a how tired I am?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly, gesturing toward the opened door briefly.
"Nah, ain't no humor." He grinned and leaned back against the wooden door. "C'mon in Hoss. Y'more than welcome. I got some great news anyway." He waited until the bald man was in the house and then swung the door shut behind them. Pulling the scrap of newspaper out of his pocket, the blonde man strode forward, holding it up for his friend. "Lookie here what I found. Apparently, there's been a lot of killin' goin' on out in Detroit. And in this here newspaper article, it says that it's been weres doin' the killin'." He spoke in an overdone drawl, feeling pleased. "I'm 'a thinkin' that it's about time we got off'a our asses an' got back to work my good friend. We been wastin' time this past month."
With a widespread grin, Dusty nodded and headed inside, taking his hat off as he ducked through the door and into their fairly warm trailer. It was nicer in here than it was out there, anyway. He didn't need the heat, but it was pleasant all the same -- familiar. "Great. Now you just go on an' tell me those good news of yours then, Gare." Dusty flew backward into the couch, getting comfortable on the furthest cushion from the other man, legs spread and arms up on the back and side of the couch. It felt damn good to be back home again, even if home had only been that for them for just over a month, now. His jaw set, lips pursed, Dusty listened to what his younger friend had to say. "Huntin'," he commented, letting out a quick sigh of interest. "You think we should go huntin', Gare? You uhh... you think we're cut out fer it? I mean, we been kinda lazy these last four'r five weeks. You -- hey," he said, stopping himself for a moment. "Wait a sec', there. How you even know about that, Gare? You cain't read any better'an I can."
Gareth was getting ready to explain to Dusty that taking a few weeks off wouldn't hurt their ability to hunt when his friend cut himself off with a fair enough question. "Y'right, I cain't read no better 'n you. Fer a fact, I read a lot worst. But uh, you remember how that woman did damn near everythin' for me but cut my toe-nails? Well, I uh, I had her read this to me." He breathed, and then grinned broadly. "But I was goan say, we'll totally be able to take down a were tonight. I'm in the mood to fuckin' kill, and from the looks'a things, you might be too. It's been a shitty couple'a weeks, and we both gotta let off some serious steam, right? So I figure, we can get our tools and jus' take a little jaunt out to Detroit. Find us some nasty supernatural an' take 'im down like the little bitch he is, eh?" The more he spoke about it, the more excited he became. "It'll be great man, and maybe we can start workin again fer real, right?"
Dusty was flat-out shocked at how serious Gareth was being about this hunting business. He'd really thought they would be off the scene for a while, if not permanently. Neither of them were getting any younger, though one of them wasn't getting any older, which would help their efforts pay off. He had a feeling this had nothing to do with money, and everything to do with just... being themselves for a chance. "Well!" Dusty declared, pushing himself up from the couch to wave his hands up in front of his friend and hunting partner, "What the hell are we waitin' for then?! Let's haul our asses outta here and kill us some nasty-ass weres!" Laughing, Dusty bent over to snatch up his cowboy hat from the coffee table, throwing it on his slightly fuzzy scalp before turning to grab up the leather jacket he'd been trying to get his hands on the night before. "We're gonna knock the shit outta someone sadly less fortunate than us." Figuring Gareth would need a moment to pretty himself up, Dusty went off in search of their hunting supplies. From the hallway, Dusty leaned back into the living room to add on a quick, "Hey. 'Fore we go on our way an' get us some action, why don't you go into the bathroom an' wash that nasty whore stank offa you."
-- one hour later --
Gareth parked the truck, giving Dusty a broad grin, his blue eyes bright and excited. He licked his lips a couple times, practically thrumming. "Okay. You all set hoss?" He asked enthusiastically, and reached for the door handle. The moon was out, the stars bright in the sky; the night air smelled fantastic. They were parked along the Detroit river, where a few sparse trees had been planted futilely. The cityscape was bright and colorful, quite a contrast from the usual forests and rural areas. They'd had to stop and ask a few people here and there about the murders. Most of their questions had proved fruitless, too many people suspicious and unwilling to answer their questions. Finally, Gareth had resorted to the newspaper article, which had featured a shot of a dead man lying alongside the shore of the Detroit river. Gareth had asked a scared looking woman if she could tell them the area. She directed them to the location and then had fled into the safety of a taxi. They'd followed her directions and found themselves on the site. "Lets get our shit outta the back." He declared, knowing the first thing they would have to do is look for prints.
Dusty was on top of and all over the subject of getting their weapons together, out of the truck and into the bed in a brief and impressive feat of strength. One hand on the rim, he hoisted himself into the back where the gear had been placed and he began to unload what they needed, grinning wildly in the moonlight. The pair lived for this, had been trained since before their voices had finished changing. This was almost all they knew in life -- aside from fucking and fighting, and oftentimes that line became relatively blurred. "You better be ready for this!" he shouted, mouth wide open as he laughed, fangs bright as he tossed Gareth his crossbow and ammunition. "You got your blade, dontcha?" he called out, nodding and moving on without really waiting for a response. If he knew Gareth as well as he figured he did, the blond had never taken it off, the wise sonuvabitch. Dusty knew he wasn't in tip-top condition to be doing this right now, knew he was hungry and weakened after too much stress and healing after their fight the night before, but... oh well. They were here, and not even wild horses would stop them now. Quicker than he even really processed what he was doing, Dusty suited up, strapping his holsters onto his body and loading in his twin silver six-shooters, a sense of pride filling him as he continued on his way. Along with these preparations, Dusty pulled out their nylon/silver-woven ropes, several more blades that were holstered and tucked away, extra ammunition and Gareth's gun which he handed off to the other man. At long last the pair seemed ready, leaving the truck to walk the shore of the Detroit river.
Gareth's eyes glinted in the low light, his heart thudding in his chest. This was exactly what he loved doing, what they both loved doing. "You know I got my blade." He laughed and holstered up his guns. "Get that rope ready man." He spoke in low tones and strolled leisurely towards the banks of the river. "Hey D, check this out. They don't got much of a clean up crew out here in the big city." He jogged forward, his eyes immediately landing on paw prints in the soft mud and grass. He knelt, peering at the prints, and then something caught his gaze and he lifted his head a little, looking forward. The foliage up ahead was stained dark, each blade seemingly saturated with some dried dark substance. He didn't need to be a vampire to know what it was. "And lookit this D, we got blood, this crazy asshole must'a ran off still chewin'. He left us a trail of prints and blood damn near a mile wide." There was joy in Gareth's voice, the joy of a child who has just received the best Christmas gift ever. "This'll be like takin' candy from a baby." He muttered happily and stood up again, glancing over at Dusty. "You got that rope ready man? If he's out an about, we gonna lasso us a bitch."
Dusty had already caught up with Gareth by the time the blond was turning to face him, his expression dark and mischievous, all cruel intent and fun-seeking smiles. He'd already prepared his lasso, his hand and pinpointed coordination superior to Gareth's in that respect. It was his job out of the two of them. Gareth did the initial contact, the wound that would bring the enemy down, and he -- well, he had the fun part. Using the lasso, tying him prone, taking him out. They would make the kill together, and each were fine-tuned and well exercised in their particular strengths. They were confident and boastful, sure there had never been a better team in all the years this game had been running. Together they had cleared out towns, likely thousands of supernatural bastards one by one... and tonight would be no different. "Lead the way, Gare." The words rolled out of the deepest part of his chest, growling and baritone as he hunched over slightly, muscles twitching in anxious excitement. He couldn't fucking wait.
Gareth led the way. His breath was high and whistling, his excitement peaking. His stomach tightened and rolled, a feeling of apprehension building in his chest. He could practically smell the were -- the blood, the wet fur and musk. Moving forward on silent feet, Gareth crooked his arm downward, letting his blade unhook from its harness and slip down the sleeve of his jacket and into his waiting palm. He could hear Dusty's breath behind him, the desire for the hunt in his voice. "It's a dog." He muttered back to his friend, and his grin grew wider. "Big un' too. Mastif, maybe a rottweiler." About four hundred yards ahead the paw prints disappeared and human foot prints were left indented in the dewy grass. Now Gareth smiled, showing all his teeth, and the blonde man snorted. "He changed back right around here pard." Ahead there were stone pillars leading into a large and grassy park -- the only really grassy part of Detroit Gareth had ever seen. "I think we might'a found his home."
Following closely behind Gareth, trying to be patient, Dusty nodded at the softly spoken comment about finding his home and took off ahead of his partner. He hunched down low in the grass as he went, taking care to be silent, blue eyes wide as his sense worked for the both of them. He was trying to smell this sucker out, unearth him for the worthless piece of shit he was and chase him right into their blades. After several minutes of silence, Dusty came up on a small patch of flattened grass, what looked like claw marks in the dirt and at last the scent of the were they'd been tracking. "He was here," he growled back to Gareth, lips pursed and chin stuck forward. "...real recent, too." Dusty hesitated where he was, fingertips touching the spot where their prey had rested; the wind changed and his muscles tensed. "He ain't gone."
Gareth caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye as Dusty spoke. There was something moving a few feet away. Gareth had been blessed with perfect eyesight and he could see it as it ducked behind a tree, the were. It was filthy, naked, and Gareth spied just a flash of bare hip before it was gone, behind a bush. "I see 'im D." He whispered low, and let his knife fall the rest of the way into his palm. He grasped the hilt for only a second before pulling his arm back. The blade flew, end over end, and landed soundlessly into the foliage. A shrill scream sounded and Gareth launched himself forward. "Get th'god damn lasso goin' D." He hissed, though he knew the scruffy man was probably all ready for this particular hog-tie. "I got him in the leg, so he cain't run." Gareth wasn't positive he'd gotten the were in the leg, but his aim had never failed him before. There was a burst of activity from the bushes then, the were lurching out in his half-form, teeth bared and eyes wild. The hunting knife stuck out just above his knee, buried to the hilt and Gareth growled, wishing the silver worked quicker.
Dusty was already tearing through the grass toward the were when the explosion happened, the creature coming out in black and brown fur, snarling and howling in pain. He didn't need the instruction from Gareth, the silver-lined lasso ready and thrown before the other man could even finish all his yapping. The rope landed around his neck and with a quick tug on Dusty's part, it - nearly effortlessly - drew tight around the furred creature. He yanked hard, much more strength in it than had been needed. He knew that the other man would continue the attack as he restrained it, the sounds of grunting and growling filling the grassy area around them. Already though, the scent of blood was heavy on the air and Dusty found his grip trembling, his head clouded over with a sudden pang of hunger.
Gareth let out a whoop of excitement as the were went down heavy. He bent over beside the fallen creature, plucking his knife out of its knee. Glancing over at Dusty, Gareth felt the old routine kicking in again, as though they had done this just yesterday. He began to hum quietly as he unloaded his crossbow, blue eyes bright and cheerful. The were was whining and roaring, writhing in pain and barking. "Fuckin' freak, ain't it D?" He asked cheerfully and let out a mock howl. He crouched, knees bent, elbows resting on them, and waved his bloody knife in front of the were's face, slowly, teasingly. "You like the taste'a humans eh? Think that they're just about the hot-pocket a' the were world?" His breath blew hot and heavy and he leaned down, cutting a slow gash along their victim's cheek. "Well I got news buddy. We don't take no shit from yer kind." He looked up at Dusty. "You think he needs a few bullets put in 'im?" His grin showed all of his teeth, sharp and white in the darkness as he turned to ask his friend's opinion.
Dusty outright laughed as Gareth tortured the were, enjoying himself through and through. There was nothing any sweeter than taking down a dangerous were, making him bleed and letting him die. He was going to get what he deserved after those deaths in the newspaper. Nobody fucked around with the dominant race on the planet and lived to tell about it -- not while Dusty and Gareth were around, anyway. "I dunno, I think he just might," he returned, his smile bordering on downright creepy. He pulled out one of his six-shooters and laughed, taking aim for the were's shoulder. Without much thought he squeezed the trigger and a shot rang out, blood spattering back upward toward them. The scent went wild in the air, surrounding Dusty on all sides, making it difficult to ignore. The temptation was powerful after having fed so little since his initial change. The were was screaming and gnashing on the ground, pinned down by Gareth's boot for the moment and bleeding heavily. "Kick his ass," he snapped, feeling aggressive, fuzzy headed.
Gareth began to hum, applying pressure, and he reached out, taking the lasso that had slipped from Dusty's hand. With a practiced ease the blonde looped the extra rope around the were's ankles, tying them to his wrists. It was a classic hog tie and Gareth smirked down at his work. With the were like this, he no longer had to hold him down with his boot. He leaned back, cracking his back, and stood, beginning to sing, loud and clear. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaai yam a maaaaaaaaan 'a constant sorrowww, I see trouble all mah daaaays." As his voice rang clear he pulled one leg back, bringing his booted foot forward again in a rush. It made contact with the were's head, a resounding "crack" sounding through the park. "Aaaaaaaaaai bid farewellllllll to old... uh... Kentucky, the place where I was borned an' raaaaaaaaaaaaaised." His voice cracked and he wiped the blood that stained his knife off on his jeans, looking over at Dusty. "I'm gonna finish 'im." He intoned and knelt, meaning to stab the were in the heart with the silver blade.
He had been focusing on the song, trying to sing along with his friend, trying to stay focused on their work. But as the were continued to bleed, his form shifting even in it's weakened state, Dusty could feel his restraint slipping. His mouth hung open as Gareth moved next to him, pulling something out, something shining, and then suddenly there was warmth spilling into his open mouth. It was wet and hot and came until he had to swallow, a whimper somehow escaping through the seal his lips created. There was fur against his face for a moment before it changed, smoother, soft and cooling. He couldn't stop himself, couldn't control himself, couldn't escape the strength in his arms as he held the dying body of the were pressed tight to his chest, drinking and drinking until he thought he would drown in it. Gareth's singing and even his company seemed to fade into nothingness for the moment... it was just Dusty and the were underneath him, pulling him in.
Gareth was startled, shocked even, when Dusty lunged forward, knocking him out of the way. He sprawled onto his back and stared in stunned confusion as his best friend moved, grabbing the were and pulling him close. He sat up more, watching Dusty press his lips to the brunette's neck. "D, D! No!" The blonde man leaned forward, his blue eyes worried. "D, don't drink from that weirdo! Who knows what weres'll do to yer blood!" He began to panic as the other man ignored him, and he brought the blade to his own neck, cutting his throat. There was a flash of pain with the action, a sting and sear, and he found himself hoping like mad that he'd cleaned the blade well enough on his pant leg, otherwise he was going to have some were blood mingling in with his own to contend with. He winced and let out a low hiss, his brow drawing in. A warm wetness seeped slowly down his neck. His first instinct was to wipe it away, but he was hoping the scent would get to his mindless roommate. "Dusty! Look, have my blood! Drink mine! Mine! Drink my blood!" He pushed at Dusty, trying to get the older man off the were. "Please Dusty, he's 'bout dead anyway, his blood ain't goan be no good no more." Gareth used his strength to try separating Dusty from the creature in his arms and leaned forward, baring his dripping neck, trying to get the blood in the smaller man's line of sight, needing to get his attention.
Dusty couldn't stop himself as he fed mindlessly from the weredog, clinging so hard he was crushing the body in his arms. After a short while his mind caught Gareth's panicked voice and he gasped, breaking the contact by dropping what was now a dead body onto the ground. He turned to find the blond, blindly seeking him, depending on his scent to zero in on the source of the distress and the smell of blood. He didn't say anything but grappled with Gareth's body, strong arms pulling him forward and keeping him close. Dusty didn't make the decision for himself, his mouth closing over the wound to continue feeding on the man now being held captive. Gareth couldn't have saved himself if he'd wanted to, the new vampire's strength superior even now and as he fed, Dusty pushed his friend and companion back onto the ground, pinning him there and weighing him down.
Gareth shuddered mindlessly as Dusty attacked, his hands lifting for a moment, trying to stop the older man from taking control completely. It was in vain however, and Gareth found himself on the ground, Dusty's warm and wet mouth was covering the wound on his neck. For a moment the blonde man fell prone, his arms limp at his sides, his head tilted to give the fuzzy headed vampire better access. "Nng." A soft noise escaped him, the sensation of being fed off of wholly strange and yet slowly becoming more familiar, more comforting. Gareth allowed Dusty to feed for a few moments, not thinking, just adjusting. It slowly dawned on him that if he didn't do something to keep Dusty at bay, he would soon be as dead as the were beside him. Taking a deep breath, Gareth's arms lifted. His motion was limited, his hands just lifting enough to touch Dusty's sides, but he held on to the other man, squeezing gently. "Hey, that's right D, it's just me. Gareth." He began to talk softly, wanting to remind his friend of just who he was feeding from, wanting to stay alive a little bit longer. "Go slow now, it ain't like I got a whole lot." He was murmuring quietly, breathing slowly, and as he did, he could feel Dusty's heart beating against his, the sensation startling. Gareth let his eyes close, his hands still touching Dusty's sides carefully as he focused on the other man's heart-beat. "Just plain ol' Gareth. Don't ferget y'gonna hafta stop." He finally whispered, hoping his friend heard.
For a long time Dusty didn't even really respond, his mind focused on Gareth, on the blood passing between them and the way it was making him feel -- or maybe that was the blood of the were changing his mood, making his body feel lighter, stronger. He wanted as much as he could get, blindly drinking until Gareth's voice caught his attention. The other man sounded quiet, possibly weakened, not screaming or startled like Dusty had imagined it might. He was trying to comfort him. Dusty didn't know what to do about it, or didn't want to do anything about it, grunting in response and shifting on Gareth, pinning his arms down onto the floor. For right now, this was what was important. He needed to feed, damn it. Gareth needed to just shut up and take it for once.
Gareth sighed softly as Dusty moved, pinning his arms down completely and he tilted his head as much as he could, providing as much access to the older man as possible. Dusty was growing warm against him, his heavy body somehow a comfort to the blonde, the weight on his stomach and hips pleasant. "D, just don't kill me, okay?" He breathed quietly, even as his mind retorted "Why not? You're dying anyway." Gareth's fingers were growing cold, a sign that the loss of blood was starting to get to him, but he still made no move to push the other man off or away, instead simply shifting a little feeling a strange but sort of sweet pleasure ripple down his spine at the close contact, the bizarre and almost perverse intimacy of the moment. "Cuz uh, I don't think that's what you want to do man." He added, wanting to keep talking in an effort to keep conscious. "Might want to stop soon... feelin... feelin' kind of drained man."
Dusty groaned as Gareth shifted to give him better access, almost stroking his friend's arms in his fervor. He heard the warnings and knew he had to stop soon, but there was no part of him - other than his mind - that was willing to listen. Eventually though, Dusty could feel the cooled temperature in Gareth's body, could feel the weakening in the muscles underneath him. It wasn't a good sign, and with every shred of self control he could muster, Dusty pulled away from his friend, lips breaking the seal. He made an awful sound, a roar of annoyance as he fell over backward in an attempt to escape the allure of the blood still coming from Gareth's neck. The feel of bloodlust coursing through him was incredible and he found the ground, fingers running through the grass as he attempted to calm himself. "Damn it," he whispered, closing his eyes to focus himself, find where he'd gotten so lost and exercise his willpower again. He needed to get back to feeling normal. Gareth was likely still bleeding on the ground next to him; his friend needed him to get over this.
Gareth held tight under Dusty's weight, began to feel light headed. His mind began to babble at him, telling him to get Dusty off of him or this would be it, this would be his last breath. Still, even as his hands began to grow numb and he lost all feeling in his feet, the blonde couldn't argue, couldn't protest. He trembled minutely again, his vision starting to darken, but then Dusty was rearing up, away from him and Gareth let out a soft noise of surprise. He arched, feeling weak, empty, and he realized belatedly that once Dusty had gotten his wound flowing, it wasn't going to stop. Feebly, the blonde tugged at a few blades of grass, trying to will himself to speak. "D... D man... You gotta heal me up...." He remembered what his grand-dad had taught them about vampire blood, and the blonde found himself now reaching up with one weak hand to clasp it to his neck, stop the draining blood. "I'm losin' it too fast man." He hoped Dusty understood him, would be able to seal up his oozing flesh.
Turning back as soon as he was able, Dusty nodded, his expression twisted in a mingling of disgust and confusion. He was upset with himself for taking this so far, for letting Gareth get so drained. He'd been drained as it was, and now he was worse off, clinging to his own neck to stop the bloodflow. "Shit," he cursed, moving toward his friend as fast as he could manage it. "You're gon'be in rough shape for a few days there, hoss." It was said with a touch of affection and Dusty paused, not really sure how to go about fixing the wound up. He remembered the bit about vampire blood having healing properties but wasn't quite sure how to do it. Finally he utilized the tip of his left fang to cut a small spot on his tongue and he hissed, mouth coming open as he complained wordlessly. It had fuckin' hurt... but Dusty could feel it already healing and knew he needed to act fast. "Sorry 'bout this," he almost laughed, grabbing at Gareth's shoulders to hold him in place. Without warning, Dusty leaned in, tongue coming out to press against his friend's neck and the open wound. He gave him a good lick and then pulled away, sharpened eyes watching as his own blood mingled with what was there already, the taste in his mouth... and then the wound started to close up on it's own. Dusty felt himself relax, glad he hadn't quite killed Gareth this time. "Damn boy, that was close."
Gareth's breathing was labored. Now that he wasn't caught up in the sensation of being fed from, the effects of blood loss were hitting him hard. He sighed softly, relieved when his friend moved, approaching him. He put up no resistance to the hands on his shoulders, simply letting them hold him up as Dusty leaned in and licked his neck. His body flashed hot, and he imagined that, had he enough blood to do so, he would have been blushing something fierce. "Ew." He managed in a soft cough and immediately felt his skin starting to heal. It tingled, burning a little, but it was better than slowly bleeding to death in a piss-smelling park in Detroit. Unceremoniously, the blonde leaned forward, struggling to get to his feet. "Yeah, I might not be at the top'a my game for a couple days but..." He shrugged loosely and lurched, trying to stand. He almost almost made it, but then his knees buckled and he fell forward, too weakened to stand properly. "Shit, well, that's... uh, not so good." He grunted, and shifted, his head starting to throb a little. "Owch. Man." Taking a deep breath, Gareth gave himself a few moments, gathering his energy. "Nah, though, you wouldn'ta killed me. You got enough control." He added as he relaxed. He had faith in Dusty, as much faith as he always had. If the older man had come close to killing him, it only helped prove just how good he was at controlling himself. He'd still managed to stop at the last minute.
Dusty felt guilt settle into his stomach at the sight of Gareth's struggling, his eyes downcast briefly before he reached out to the other man. "You just hold on there," he chided, taking his shoulders again without nearly as much force as before. "You're gonna fall and crack your damn skull up all gross and whatever if you keep at it like that." Dusty shook his head a little and sniffled, trying to be casual about this but not sure it was really possible. There was nothing at all casual about trying to pick up your best guy friend - who you never touched unless you had no other option - to carry him back to the truck. "Now uh, you just sit still an'let me do this, y'hear?" Dusty reached down and snorted as he grabbed Gareth's legs, scooping him up effortlessly to turn and head toward the truck. "God damn, you feel like a pile a'feathers. Must be all your shitty cookin' what's done that to ya."
Gareth let his eyes flutter shut, his body going limp as he was lifted. "Nah man, I'm just about the same fat-ass I've always been. I think it was that were blood, they're strong an' shit, right?" He tried to remain neutral as the older man carried him, but it was a weird feeling. Gare had carried Dusty once or twice in their life-time of friendship, (only when the man was fall-down drunk and unable to walk on his own) but that role had never been reversed. Now Gareth had to pretend that it wasn't a bizarre feeling. "I mean, I weigh... you know, whatever it is I should... an' with all the beer I drink, it's probably more than I should." He laughed a little and opened his eyes, looking at the line of Dusty's jaw, the incredible blue of his eyes. "An' if anyone ever asks, this ain't never happened, you got it?" He grinned. "Don't need no one to know I had to be carried nowhere."
"Oh, trust me," Dusty returned easily, eyes shooting downward at Gareth for a very brief moment. "I ain't tellin' no one about this, not even if they threaten me." He smirked and went on his way toward the truck easily, his strength ten times what it had been and his senses sharp. It was like being high, he realized, and it made him chuckle. "I gotta go back for our shit after I put you down, so don't you go no where, okay?" He set the blond man down when they reached the dirty red pick-up truck, holding onto him to be sure he couldn't just topple onto the ground and opened the door. "Get on in there, Gare. I'll be back in a minute, okay? An'don't go throwin' up or nothin', 'cause it ain't gonna be me cleaning that shit up. I don't do vomit."
"I ain't in the business a' pukin'." Gareth answered easily, blue eyes glittering mischievously. "On the way back we gotta stop at a gas station or somethin' though. I need some orange juice, it helps with blood loss and junk." He shifted in his seat, getting comfortable, and let his head rest. His neck was so damned sore, and his head felt so... heavy. "Thanks for grabbin' our shit. You didn't bite that fuckin' were did you? If you did, you might wanna borrow my knife an' bleed on him some, we're the brothers'a destruction, we don't leave no fuckin' traces." He reminded his friend, pleased to see the life returning to the older man, to see him feeling so well, even if he was feeling weak.
Dusty nodded at Gareth's instruction. It was a nice feeling, for things to be somewhat normal between them. He hadn't realized how stressed out they'd been, how little enjoyment they'd seemed to be getting from their lives in general. "I got it, Gare. You don't gotta worry your pretty little head none." He kicked the door closed and wandered back off toward where they'd left the dead weredog in the grass. He would gather their things, burn the body and leave it as though they'd never been here. It was simple routine; it was what most of their life had been.
If they could manage it, Dusty wanted it to continue being like this for as long as they could milk it.
-- forty-eight minutes later, back home --
"So I says to the cop "I'm lookin' for the library." and he goes "get in." and for a god damned minute I thought I was being arrested." Gareth continued to recount his day, not pausing. Seated comfortably on the couch, the blonde man wasn't even looking at Dusty as he spoke. It had been a fucked up couple of days, and they hadn't even had a moment to talk between all their fighting. "So I say to this cop "Look here Hoss, I ain't done nothin' wrong. You can go suck it fella." Cuz I AIN'T done nothin' wrong, right? I mean, what the fu--" Gareth had been yammering since they'd started driving back from Detroit. Initially it had been to stay awake -- the blood loss was leaving him woozy and groggy -- but now he just wanted to talk. He just wanted to tell Dusty all the supremely fucked up shit he had seen. It seemed however, that exhaustion was winning out, because Gareth had passed out mid-sentence. His eyes lolled into the back of his head and then his lids fluttered shut, leaving the broken-nosed man completely out.
Dusty had been about to tell Gareth to shut the fuck up already when the talking stopped completely. He blinked a few times and looked away from the television, remote in his hand as he glanced over Gareth's sleeping form. "Well that works," he commented, rolling his eyes as he shut the tv off. It went black and Dusty set the remote down on the coffee table, hoisting himself up from the sofa as though he were headed somewhere. He didn't really have a lot in mind, but watching Gareth sleep - or listening to him snore - didn't sound terribly appealing at the moment. Eventually he happened upon the cards he'd thrown onto the floor the previous night and stooped down to collect them, picking them up to examine them a little closer to his face. He had been told to call the number, to get into contact with others of his House. Dusty hadn't wanted to even really think about it, but now... He glanced back at his sleeping friend and sighed; the snoring had already started and it'd only been a few minutes. There were questions on his mind as well, things he knew he couldn't answer on his own, and without waiting any longer Dusty grabbed his keys to the place, stepped out into the night and closed the door behind him. With a glance in the general direction of Gideon's home, Dusty set out in search of a phonebooth.