A Taste of Red

They were preparing dinner when Komaeda let out a sudden yelp and dropped his knife. Even before he could see, Hinata knew what he’d done – the bright coppery scent of blood had filled the air. And without thinking, Hinata stepped in toward him and took Komaeda’s hand in his, and took Komaeda’s finger in his mouth.

Komaeda made a sound, an aborted protest, but he didn’t pull away. And Hinata sucked the blood clean.

There was a moment where they just looked at each other. Then Hinata felt suddenly hot and awkward, and he let Komaeda’s hand go.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘There’s really nothing to apologise for,’ Komaeda said, his breath a little uneven. He reached for the knife again, and as Hinata watched him, he drew the edge down along the flesh of his forearm.

Hinata’s world went topsy-turvy. There was nothing else but that line of blood, the trail it ran over Komaeda's skin – no space even for hesitation. He took the arm Komaeda offered and he ran his tongue up along the blood that trickled out, warm and sweet and not enough. He licked again, forcing more blood from the wound, and heard Komaeda gasp. But when he looked up, he didn’t think the expression on Komaeda’s face was pain.

What was he doing?

A sudden noise from the door startled them both, and Hinata jumped guiltily upright. When he turned it was Souda, standing there bemused. Hinata tried to think of a rational explanation.

Komaeda held up his arm and said, ‘The knife slipped.’

‘Uh –’ Souda wasn’t sure.

‘It’s alright, Hinata-kun,’ Komaeda said. ‘I’ll go see Tsumiki-san. She’s used to patching me up.’

‘Right,’ Hinata said. Now Souda had broken the spell, Hinata couldn’t bring himself to look at Komaeda. The scent and the taste of his blood was still thick in the air, and if Souda would only have stepped out a moment, Hinata could have ...

But it was Komaeda who left, and Hinata had to get ahold of himself.

Souda had only come for a drink, and he left Hinata to finish making dinner alone. Later, when they were eating, Komaeda returned, his arm safely bandaged up by Tsumiki. He acted as if nothing strange had happened, and Hinata wanted to act that way, but the memory of what had come over him was too big. He had no appetite, and he didn’t know if that was an effect or a symptom.

What was wrong with him? All he could think of was that he’d been caught in a cave after an unfortunate downpour the week before, and there had been bats there. But if he’d been bitten, it should have been rabies he had to worry about, not this ... bloodlust.

After he gave up on dinner, he went to the library. He felt foolish, searching through the shelves for books on vampires. He didn’t know which was worse – that he was actually considering that vampirism might be a real disease, or knowing that it wasn’t and that there was just something wrong with him. And the reason it had been so imperative to know what Komaeda’s blood tasted like was just that he was messed up.

He was reading about cases of mass hysteria in 18th century Europe when he heard the library door open. Feeling caught out, he shut the book and pushed it aside.

‘I wondered where you got to,’ Komaeda said. He walked over, and Hinata stood up, feeling stupidly as if he might run away. ‘You didn’t eat much at dinner, did you? I thought you might not be feeling well.’

‘I’m fine,’ Hinata said. ‘I just wasn’t hungry.’

‘Weren’t you?’ Komaeda pulled the seat out opposite him, and took something small from his pocket. A paring knife.

Hinata’s stomach flipped.

‘Are you sure about that?’ Komaeda asked, and he held out the knife with an eager smile.

Hinata flashed hot and cold. ‘I’m not cutting you,’ he said.

‘It’s alright,’ Komaeda said, ‘I don’t mind. Look.’ He pulled the knife over the heel of his palm, and the line blossomed red. He held his hand out to Hinata, the blood running down into the creases of his palm. Hinata could smell it; he could taste it even before he leaned across the table, even before he put his mouth on Komaeda’s hand and lapped at the blood there. He kept Komaeda’s hand cradled in his, eager to catch every drop.

He was either a monster or he was seriously messed up – and which was worse?

When the blood staunched itself, he pulled back, still holding Komaeda’s hand in his. Then Komaeda stood up and pulled away, and Hinata thought he would leave. But he only walked as far as the door, and Hinata heard the sound of the lock click.

Komaeda came back to the table, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair. He perched himself on the edge of the table and his hand went to the knife where he’d lain it down.

‘What are you doing?’ Hinata asked.

Komaeda smiled at him, and lifted up the knife, drawing it in a slash along his collar bone. Hinata moved as if to stop him, but hesitated.

He met Komaeda’s eyes.

‘It’s alright,’ Komaeda said.

It wasn’t alright. There was no way this was alright. But Hinata got up and bent his head to Komaeda’s shoulder anyway. The blood spilled over Komaeda’s skin, running along the neckline of his t-shirt, and Hinata tried to catch it all. And when it wasn’t enough, he dragged his teeth and his tongue along the wound to make it bleed more, the flavour of it going to his head.

Komaeda’s in-drawn breath became a moan. He put his arm around the back of Hinata’s neck, as if to hold him there. Hinata fumbled with taking the knife off him, and he cut him again, cross-angle to the previous cut, so the blood flowed more thickly. And he lapped it all up.

He was aware of Komaeda getting hard against him, but he didn’t care. Maybe he should feel disgusted, but wasn’t it better that they were both getting something out of this? It wasn’t as if Hinata could judge anyone else for being a pervert.

‘Take off your shirt,’ he said, mumbling against Komaeda’s skin. He pulled back long enough for Komaeda to lift his t-shirt over his head, exposing all the pale skin of his torso. Hinata ran the flat of the knife along the centre of his chest, down to his belly button, and stopped there.

‘Cut me wherever you want,’ Komaeda said. Hinata could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, could almost hear his heartbeat. ‘I don’t mind. If it’s you –’

Hinata cut him under his chest, over his ribs, and Komaeda broke off from talking. Hinata could feel him tremble, as Hinata licked and sucked at his skin. He let his free hand play out over Komaeda’s chest, pinching his nipple hard, and letting his nails drag over his skin.

Maybe he was getting turned on by this too.

He moved his hand down to the waist of Komaeda’s jeans, and it was then that Komaeda said, ‘Stop.’

Hinata stopped, looking up at him. Komaeda was shaking, his face flushed. The cut on his collarbone had opened up again, and as Komaeda watched him, Hinata dragged his finger through the blood there and touched his fingers to Komaeda’s lips. Reluctantly, Komaeda opened his mouth to him.

‘You said anywhere,’ Hinata said.

It took Komaeda a moment. A long moment. Hinata wondered if he’d pushed him too far, but at last, he nodded. And Hinata unzipped him, pushing his pants down over his hips. The front of Komaeda’s underwear was already wet. With one hand, Hinata rubbed the head of his cock through the fabric, and with the other, he picked up the knife and cut Komaeda over his hip bone. He felt Komaeda’s cock jump when the knife broke skin, and he cut maybe a little deeper than he would have otherwise.

‘Hinata-kun, that’s –’

Hinata licked a wide stripe along his hipbone, and then bit down and sucked. His teeth might not have been sharp enough to pierce the skin, but it was satisfying nonetheless. For Komaeda too – he bucked forward, against the press of Hinata’s fingers, and against his tongue. The blood spilled coppery-sweet over Hinata’s lips, and when he bit down again, Komaeda came.

Even through his underwear, his come was thick on Hinata’s fingers.

And Hinata looked up at Komaeda’s face and he licked his fingers clean. And then he licked up the blood trickling down over Komaeda’s hip, and he thought from Komaeda’s expression that he might just about pass out. Instead he put his hand in Hinata’s hair, stroking his fingers through it. And Hinata kept on licking him, until the blood stopped its flow and Hinata was satiated.

He was a monster, or he was seriously messed up. But if the ways they were messed up complemented each other, did it even matter?

Hinata didn’t think so.