Collin (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} theoutpatient) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} sons_of_cain,@ 2011-08-31 20:59:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Where: A hotel room on the cheaper side of things.
When: After Collin's first meeting with Thorne.
What: Waking up sleeping beauty
Rating: There will be blood
Incomplete
Collin was both unhappy and proud of himself for the fact that he was towing a conscious human backward the hotel with him. He had fed somewhat, which he knew wasn't really fair considering the other vampire needed blood more than he did, in the end they both needed it though, and the Commander solved all his problems before he had even really started worrying about them! He wasn't sure what to make of the cop, but till he was starving again he'd give him a few points in his favor.
He'd just started to figure out how the town worked, humans were bought and sold like cattle, one could order them at a bar on tap, could buy them, maim them, and kill them, and it all went back to some group, all the proceeds. At least they were allowed to kill them though, that was nice--except the more he thought about it, the more he thought they probably needed to keep one alive. He and Quijote weren't the cleanest of eaters, and they weren't rich enough to keep buying humans to make into corpses.
Maybe they could manage to keep one alive.
It was just a thought as he walked back into the room, and closed the door behind him. He didn't even know the human's name, but it never mattered. He left him near the door before climbing up onto the bed and over Quijote's sprawled out form, hands went to rest on the other's shoulders in attempt to rouse him.
---
If the longevity of a human trough ranked even close to a vampire's omnipotent instinct to feed, Collin might have reconsidered bringing home the bacon to his peer. Quijote existed on the principles of a scorched-earth policy, reaping and rending and then simply moving on to more fertile grounds, but decreasing hunting real estate had gotten them into this position in the first place, hadn't it?
The Canadian was a creature of scrawn to begin with, all sharp and bony lines without any softness to show save for the sudden bloom of his large lips. But in the state of torpor that the lycan had left him in, even those were dried up, pocked and chapped like two arid figs. Nearly fossilized in the dirt-caked rags that once counted for clothes, Quijote had only the memory of being attacked inscribed behind his sealed eyelids before the proximity of something ripe caused the thin skin to ripple with movement. Possessing no sense of pressure, of sound or touch, the glimmer of animation within the dessicated shell of him was an exclusive response to the ripeness, and beneath Collin, his mummified lips broke apart with a tinny, hoarse gasp.
---
Collin was thinking too much. He was planning too much, and both were thinks he didn't think he would jump to start doing again at the sight of civilization. He liked their guilt-free life. he liked the lack of any logic that accompanied it. He liked doing and enjoying it, and falling into the cracks all between those times.
He leaned down and kissed the dried lips of his lover. He'd do it if he was conscious of it or not, he'd do it if the other vampire never moved again. He glanced back again at the human against the wall who seemed to be trying to disappear into it sure he was about to be ripped to pieces by the vampire on the bed that resembled a corpse or mummy at that point.
He bit into his wrist, and dragged his fangs downward, he wanted to reanimate Quijote before he threw a human at him, and he knew there was fresh enough blood in his veins to help as he brought the bleeding appendage to the other's mouth hoping he'd still drink it readily like he did before to help them move there.
---
The familiarity of that skin with its supply of fresh, heated blood broke Quijote's lashes apart, pinning his savior with two discs of solid blue. Collin's veins were a drive-thru that he'd eaten at many times before, more often on those occasions when, having successfully glutted themselves on their prey, the two Caitiff descended into a frenetic orgy with one another. At other times, albeit rare, he shot his fangs into Collin in clear, maniacal forgetfulness, coming away from the unsatisfying taste of another vampire's blood with a confusion that was as shocked as it was innocent with the desperation of hunger.
But now he suckled at the ripe sap of whatever human being coursed through Collin, sieved yet barely unadulterated -- no doubt owing to the state of starvation that the vessel had been in when he fed. Quijote's throat worked visibly with every swallow, a dance of taut cords and tendons before Collin's eyes, and little by little, jagged movements of animation flickered through his limbs. Within seconds, he had his hands around Collin's forearm and his tongue out to lap at the streams of blood that nearly dripped to waste.
---
Collin was hopelessly devoted the mission he'd set before himself, which was to keep he and Quijote in whatever state of alive they could manage for as long as they could manage it. He knew how long he could last on how little blood before he became the more feral of the two (as hard as that was to manage). When he'd been fed from for too long the world started to move in a manner he found similar to the aftershocks of the end of the world. It was like having sea legs on dry land, and it always was first noticeable with his eyes closed.
It was for that reason that when Quijote drank, Collin found himself in the dark, that and the undeniable association he had with the other's mouth on his skin, and the evolution of it to much more interesting forms of penetration.
His other hand wrapped around one of Quijote's wrists pushing it down to the bed somewhere above his head as his eyes opened again, the familiar sensation of getting close to the edge of a cliff taking over his senses. If they killed the boy, he'd need to feed again too as they did it. "I brought you something." He said in an exhale, the police shield still in his pocket reminding him he didn't really get anything, he just found someone who'd get it for him. "Us something."
"They count and number them here too though, so maybe we should brand it for us." He said as he, if he could, pulled his arm back from the other's mouth, wanting to replace it with his own. Quijote had been out for too long for Collin not to want to get at him faster than was perhaps polite.