trick or treat!
no actual smutty bits because YOU CAN USE YOUR IMAGINATIONS YES (and if you can't you can go read this and the other stuff too)
Also, I have a goddamn cold and I just broke down and took pills for it. >_>
Hiwatari-kun is amazingly matter-of-fact about the whole thing, really. He tells Daisuke not to worry about it, he’ll be fine, and tilts his head to the side and waits.
Daisuke swallows hard and stares at the pale line of Hiwatari-kun’s neck, hesitates, and then reaches forward, puts his hand on Hiwatari-kun’s shoulder and says, Tell me if it hurts too badly.
You’re drinking my blood, of course it’s going to hurt, says Hiwatari-kun, not impatiently. Get on with it.
Daisuke takes a deep breath and sets his mouth against Hiwatari-kun’s neck, which tastes very faintly of warm skin and soap and blood. He can really smell the blood now, and it makes his head spin so much that it’s not until Hiwatari-kun makes a small noise in his throat that Daisuke realizes he’s pierced the skin of Hiwatari-kun’s neck and is drinking deeply. It tastes so sweet, salty-rich against his tongue, that the very force of his hunger alarms him and he tries to pull away.
Hiwatari-kun’s hand comes up and wraps around the nape of Daisuke’s neck. No, he says. Don’t stop.
--
“You taste like sulfur,” says Fullmetal, licking his lips.
Roy can see his canines peeking out from under his top lip, and tries not to reach up and rub the spot where Fullmetal bit him. It still hurts a little, not badly. “Sorry,” he says.
“I don’t mind,” says Fullmetal.
--
This is the dumbest idea he’s had in a while, and he’s actually kind of surprised his friends didn’t stop him. Of course they didn’t stop him, he’s a big boy now, but still, you would think someone would have said, Dude, Strife, crowds and you? Not a good idea, man. But he’s here and by God he is going to stay here for a while, no matter what it takes.
The dance floor is crowded with people five years younger than he is, all desperately trying to attract others. The music has a dull pounding beat that makes the very air vibrate around him. He thinks about getting up and dancing, or getting up and getting another outrageously priced drink, but it’s too crowded on the dance floor for anybody to do anything but move their shoulders up and down, and that’s never been Cloud’s idea of dancing. Cloud’s idea of dancing is more like Tifa and Aerith, at Costa del Sol when they stopped for the night, on the beach, spinning and whirling and laughing to the distant music from the bars. He couldn’t bring himself to join them and he wishes now he had.
He shakes his head impatiently and gets up to go to the bar, because probably being drunk and standing around will be better than being sober and standing around. He wiggles his way through the crowds but before he reaches the bar someone bumps up against him, in a way that is subtly different from the usual way people bump against each other in a place with too many bodies and not enough space.
He turns around.
Sorry, mouths a -- boy? a young man? younger than Cloud, he thinks, but he can’t tell how much younger. Cloud blinks at him and shrugs.
The boy tosses his aluminum-bright hair and looks at him under his lashes. Cloud has been reliably informed that he’s kind of stupid about these things, but it dimly occurs to him that this boy is trying to get his attention. Or someone’s attention, anyway. He’s got on the shortest hot pants Cloud has ever seen, with boots that almost make up for the lack of material in his pants, and a fishnet shirt that barely covers his navel. He’s also got cat ears and a tail, that look like they’re made of real fur. They match his hair. Do you need to get past me? he mouths at the boy, carefully.
The boy looks annoyed and grabs Cloud’s wrist. Dance, he mouths, and drags Cloud to the dance floor. It’s just as crowded there as it looks, and Cloud freezes for a second, stiff and about to panic, when the boy gives him a feline look of annoyance -- no wonder he’s got those ears, thinks Cloud -- and hooks his fingers into Cloud’s belt loops. He pulls Cloud closer and grinds against him in something that might be in rhythm with the music but mostly makes Cloud want to either jerk away or shove back into it, and the two conflicting urges make it so he just stands stupidly in shock. The boy smiles triumphantly and slides his hands up to Cloud’s neck, his arms wrapping around Cloud as he sways against him.
Also, I have a goddamn cold and I just broke down and took pills for it. >_>
Hiwatari-kun is amazingly matter-of-fact about the whole thing, really. He tells Daisuke not to worry about it, he’ll be fine, and tilts his head to the side and waits.
Daisuke swallows hard and stares at the pale line of Hiwatari-kun’s neck, hesitates, and then reaches forward, puts his hand on Hiwatari-kun’s shoulder and says, Tell me if it hurts too badly.
You’re drinking my blood, of course it’s going to hurt, says Hiwatari-kun, not impatiently. Get on with it.
Daisuke takes a deep breath and sets his mouth against Hiwatari-kun’s neck, which tastes very faintly of warm skin and soap and blood. He can really smell the blood now, and it makes his head spin so much that it’s not until Hiwatari-kun makes a small noise in his throat that Daisuke realizes he’s pierced the skin of Hiwatari-kun’s neck and is drinking deeply. It tastes so sweet, salty-rich against his tongue, that the very force of his hunger alarms him and he tries to pull away.
Hiwatari-kun’s hand comes up and wraps around the nape of Daisuke’s neck. No, he says. Don’t stop.
--
“You taste like sulfur,” says Fullmetal, licking his lips.
Roy can see his canines peeking out from under his top lip, and tries not to reach up and rub the spot where Fullmetal bit him. It still hurts a little, not badly. “Sorry,” he says.
“I don’t mind,” says Fullmetal.
--
This is the dumbest idea he’s had in a while, and he’s actually kind of surprised his friends didn’t stop him. Of course they didn’t stop him, he’s a big boy now, but still, you would think someone would have said, Dude, Strife, crowds and you? Not a good idea, man. But he’s here and by God he is going to stay here for a while, no matter what it takes.
The dance floor is crowded with people five years younger than he is, all desperately trying to attract others. The music has a dull pounding beat that makes the very air vibrate around him. He thinks about getting up and dancing, or getting up and getting another outrageously priced drink, but it’s too crowded on the dance floor for anybody to do anything but move their shoulders up and down, and that’s never been Cloud’s idea of dancing. Cloud’s idea of dancing is more like Tifa and Aerith, at Costa del Sol when they stopped for the night, on the beach, spinning and whirling and laughing to the distant music from the bars. He couldn’t bring himself to join them and he wishes now he had.
He shakes his head impatiently and gets up to go to the bar, because probably being drunk and standing around will be better than being sober and standing around. He wiggles his way through the crowds but before he reaches the bar someone bumps up against him, in a way that is subtly different from the usual way people bump against each other in a place with too many bodies and not enough space.
He turns around.
Sorry, mouths a -- boy? a young man? younger than Cloud, he thinks, but he can’t tell how much younger. Cloud blinks at him and shrugs.
The boy tosses his aluminum-bright hair and looks at him under his lashes. Cloud has been reliably informed that he’s kind of stupid about these things, but it dimly occurs to him that this boy is trying to get his attention. Or someone’s attention, anyway. He’s got on the shortest hot pants Cloud has ever seen, with boots that almost make up for the lack of material in his pants, and a fishnet shirt that barely covers his navel. He’s also got cat ears and a tail, that look like they’re made of real fur. They match his hair. Do you need to get past me? he mouths at the boy, carefully.
The boy looks annoyed and grabs Cloud’s wrist. Dance, he mouths, and drags Cloud to the dance floor. It’s just as crowded there as it looks, and Cloud freezes for a second, stiff and about to panic, when the boy gives him a feline look of annoyance -- no wonder he’s got those ears, thinks Cloud -- and hooks his fingers into Cloud’s belt loops. He pulls Cloud closer and grinds against him in something that might be in rhythm with the music but mostly makes Cloud want to either jerk away or shove back into it, and the two conflicting urges make it so he just stands stupidly in shock. The boy smiles triumphantly and slides his hands up to Cloud’s neck, his arms wrapping around Cloud as he sways against him.