Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
did you miss me?
Title: A Minor Sacrifice
Fandom: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (book)
Pairing: Abe/Henry
Rating: PG (just a little making out, minor blood)
Warnings: uhm... vampire stuff?
Note: Thought I'd post this before the movie came out... I was writing something else and then got all caught up in the idea of Abe volunteering his blood to Henry.... so then this happened. It takes place during that summer when Abe is 16 and Henry trains him. (Also, heads up, this is unedited by anyone but myself)
Summary: Henry goes without eating a bit too long, and Abe, feeling somewhat responsible, takes it upon himself to help.
Abraham Lincoln stayed with Henry Sturges in his underground home for the better part of three months during the summer of 1825.
During that time, he came to know the vampire's schedules and habits quite well. Most days, Henry spent the day out with Abe, training, fighting and scrapping. The evenings were spent in study and discussion, or occasionally just quiet reading in each others' company, until they each retired to their respective bedrooms for a night's sleep. Henry was a late sleeper, inclined to sleep the day away, as opposed to Abe, who was an early riser by nature and the habits of working on a farm. Always eager to get started, Abe would often wake Henry and drag him from his bed in the mornings. Henry never put up much resistance, but was always grumpy and would take as much time as he pleased in getting himself put together for the day.
Nevertheless, the pair were always hard at work by 9:30 every morning. Abraham would not allow anything later, and despite his feeble protests, Henry would not begrudge his young friend the simple satisfaction of getting an early start.
But some nights, every fortnight or so, Henry's schedule was different, and Abraham was left to his own devices for whole mornings and occasionally well into the afternoon.
On those nights, Henry would leave the house as the sun went down, bidding Abraham a good-night, and to get some rest, and then off he would go. Abraham was never able to note exactly when he returned, but it must have been in the early hours of the morning. He would then sleep and sleep. His door was always locked during these long periods of rest; no admittance allowed.
Abe would pout and chop wood and cook for himself (though he was much less talented in the kitchen than Henry was), and wait patiently until Henry would rise, always looking groggy and damp and in need of a good bath. Often Henry would spend those odd hours after waking wandering through the rooms of the house, dark glasses in place even though it was more than shaded enough underground to not need them, replacing items that Abraham had disturbed in his restlessness. He moved like a ghost then, responding to no attempts at conversation, merely fluttering around the house, touching and shifting his own belongings.
Then he would retire to his room for another few hours. By the time the sun went down that evening, Henry was back to himself, and he and Abraham would pick up their discussions of lore and literature exactly where they had left off.
But Abraham was sixteen years old and curious and could not ignore such strange behavior.
The next time Henry took one of his late night excursions, Abraham ensured that he would be awake to greet Henry when the vampire returned home. This excursion was not quite according to schedule, by Abe's count. It had been about three weeks, instead of the usual two, since Henry had taken a night for himself. They had been hard at work, and Abraham pushed for more training, more lessons. He was beginning to win more of their training matches than not.
Henry was beginning to look tired, to look ragged, to drag, when he finally took his excursion. He had patted Abraham affectionately on the head before leaving, saying, "We must take some time to rest, Abraham. Take the weekend off, after this. Good-night. Sleep well."
Abraham was leaning against the false cabin as the sun rose, sharpening his axe and waiting with as much patience as he could muster. Finally, he saw Henry's lean form come limping into view. From a distance, he waved, and saw Henry return the gesture. He could not help but notice how weary Henry seemed to be. Soon enough, his vampire was back with him again. He slid down against the cabin front, coming to sit at Abraham's side.
"You look awful, Henry."
Usually, Henry was refreshed and renewed after his excursions and subsequent long rests-- quicker in scraps, cleverer in conversation, cheerier in mood. This time, there was no sense of refreshment. This time, Henry looked even more tired and drained than when he had left. His skin was paler than usual, his shoulders slumped miserably. Up close, he looked no better than desperately ill.
"Yes." He buried his face in his hands and leaned forward onto his knees. "I assure you," Henry grumbled, "I feel much worse than I look."
They sat in silence for a long time-- Abe sharpened his axe until it could cut with a touch while Henry merely sat at his side, his head upon his raised knees.
"Henry," Abe said eventually. "Are you alright?"
There was no response, and briefly Abraham thought Henry had merely fallen asleep where he sat.
"Henry?" Abe gave him a small shake, and then another, and then another. Yet Henry did not stir any more than to moan slightly. His skin was cold as ice, colder than usual.
It struck Abraham suddenly, like a ton of bricks against his chest. Henry's bi-weekly excursions were when he went to feed. Henry had been delicate and polite, saving Abraham's sensibilities from the gory realities of his condition, and snuck out when he would not be missed in order to sustain himself.
Of course Henry must eat, Abraham thought. He just had never really thought about it. He had not once considered it.
The sun was beginning to get bright as it rose higher into the sky. The heat of summer was beginning to set in, and Abraham was beginning to sweat.
Leaving his axe against the outside of the cabin, Abraham gently scooped his unconscious friend into his arms and took him inside. Getting down the stairs was a bit tricky, but if Henry was disturbed by any slight bumps, he did not wake. He was easy to carry. He was light, and fit comfortably against Abe's chest; his head rested naturally against Abe's collarbone. He was tall, but his height did not make him awkward to hold.
Abraham put Henry into bed, removing his shoes and tucking blankets around him. He had never spent much time in Henry's bedroom before, and just now noticed that it was easily the most handsome room in the house. The ceiling seemed higher. The way the light of the lamps reflected around the room created nearly the illusion of daylight, though dimmed.
Abraham Lincoln sat at his friends side, while Henry slept.
He dozed off and awoke with his cheek against Henry's quilt and with fingers in his hair. Henry was idly petting him, creating little curls and placing wild and unruly hairs back where they belonged.
Abraham had never been very concerned with his looks, and Henry Sturges was an unusually tidy creature.
"Hello," Abraham said, sitting up and stretching. As he rose, Henry removed his fingers and let his hand fall once again upon the bed. He looked thin, lying there, gaunt almost, and Abraham was for a moment reminded of the image of his mother, dying in her bed. "What happened to you?"
Henry swallowed. "I'm simply tired, Abraham. I'm fine--"
"You're not a very good liar. I know what you do when you go out, Henry. I'm not an idiot," Abe said, neglecting to mention that he had just recently figured it out.
"I'm hungry, Abraham."
"Tell me what happened. Did something go wrong?" He asked, even though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
"I have not eaten in three weeks," Henry said slowly. "And I could find no one last night. No injured criminals, no dying widowers. It had been so long since I had fed, and I was weak... I am weak. Too weak to take a healthy man. I have let my hunger go for too long, and now I am too tired to satisfy it."
Henry gave a weak laugh. "I am starving to death, because I allowed myself to lose track of time. How foolish I have been," he said. "Don't you think so?"
"This is all my fault," Abraham replied, staring at his hands. "I did this. You lost track of time because I pushed too hard to keep working; I didn't pay attention to anything but myself."
"You're sixteen. It's alright."
"No," Abe said. "It's not." His hand snapped out to take Henry's. The vampire said nothing, but stared at the long fingers twined around his wrist. "I'm so sorry, Henry. Let me help. How can I help? What can I do?"
Henry was struck then by the earnest worry and grief he heard in Abraham's voice. He turned his own wrist, twisting to take hold of Abraham as Abraham held him. His cool hands leeched warmth from Abe's wrist; every pulse of his heart jolted Henry's tired, starved body.
"Please, Henry. Let me fix this."
"You can..." Henry hesitated before continuing, looking into Abe's eyes and seeing only sincerity. "You can find me an animal. Something big. A deer or a pig, even. But it needs to be alive; I can't drink dead blood in this condition."
"What would happen?"
"I expect it would poison me."
Abraham nodded decisively, gave Henry's wrist a firm squeeze, stood, and strode out of the room in three long steps.
He paused for a moment at the door, looking over his shoulder. "A deer?" He asked. Henry nodded; "I suppose that would do."
He was out of the room for only a moment, it seemed, during which time Henry closed his eyes. He listened to Abraham's heavy footsteps stop and start around the house, tracking the course of Abe's frantic pacing. The steps took him through the main rooms, into his bedroom, over to the stairs, halfway up them (I must teach him to be lighter on his feet, Henry thought), and then he was charging back into the bedroom, his fierce body all power, all tense energy, all prowling force.
"No," he said in a low voice. "I can do one better."
Henry was about to ask what exactly he meant when Abraham clambered onto the bed with him. His body was heavy and warm as he arranged himself over Henry's thin self, propping himself up with his elbows. Their faces were close; Henry could feel Abe's heavy breathing against his cheek, could see the ridges of the iris's of his brown eyes, could almost taste his skin in the air between them. Henry's hunger spiked sharply, a stab to the gut which nearly robbed him of his reason. He pressed himself back into his bed, closing his eyes, trying to resist the temptation of Abraham's strong throat by removing it from his sight.
Abraham pried open his collar and tilted his head to the side. "Go ahead," he said.
Henry clenched his jaw. "No."
"Henry," Abe said with a power in his voice which would serve him well later in life, "you must."
"No. You'll hate me, if I do."
"I am inviting you, Henry. I'm offering. You are my dearest friend. I won't allow you to die, to slip away to nothingness, because I have been thoughtless. Please."
"I won't."
Abraham took Henry's chin in his hand and turned his face. "Look at me."
Obediently, Henry opened his eyes. They simply looked at each other.
"I don't want you to see me like that," Henry said quietly, after a long moment. "A monster."
Another long moment passed. Then Abraham leaned in, slowly, hesitantly, and placed a kiss on the corner of Henry's mouth. Light and chaste, it was technically Abraham's first kiss. He presented his throat again, and pointedly closed his eyes.
"Please, Henry," he whispered. Fingers crept up to touch his cheeks, his jaw, his shoulders. Feeling Henry's fingers dig in-- one hand on his shoulder, one hand around the back of his neck-- a jolt of fear shot through him. He didn't know what to expect, except that he was sure it would hurt. Henry hesitated. Abe screwed his eyes shut further. He could feel the cool brush of Henry's breath against his neck. "I'm sure."
"If you begin to feel light-headed, you must stop me drinking. No matter what it takes, Abraham, do you understand?"
Abe nodded.
A pair of cool lips pressed against his neck, just along the major artery, just above where throat meets shoulder.
"Just here," Henry whispered; "Thank you."
Abraham felt the prick of the teeth first. He gasped at the touch of them, his mouth falling open, and then Henry sunk in properly.
He had been right; it hurt. At first, it hurt badly. Blood poured out of him, encouraged by careful ministrations from Henry's tongue which kept the small wounds open. He kept his eyes closed. The teeth themselves were gone almost immediately, merely used to puncture and start the bleeding, and when they receded the pain generally went with them. Strong fingers held him firmly in place, and while Abraham tried to concentrate on other things, his mind kept finding it's way back to the feeling of Henry's fingers against his spine, running through his hair, the pressure of chest against chest, the hot wetness at his neck.
Henry drank and drank, gentle yet forceful, and Abraham did not move. It had started to feel quite nice.
The dizziness set in soon enough after that, but instead of diminishing the pleasant feeling, quite the opposite happened. Light-headedness set in, and Abe could feel his heart pounding fervently in his chest. He suppressed a strange urge to laugh.
With a little gasp, he opened his eyes. He was seeing stars; his body was on fire. Henry's hands held him firmly in place as his each lick and lap of his tongue sent sparks shooting through him. Still propped up on his elbows, Abe began to feel his muscles weaken and shake.
"Henry," he moaned, his voice peaking to a whine at the end. "Henry, you said to stop you."
The sucking at his throat continued.
"You have to stop..."
Henry's tongue did something extraordinary, and with an involuntary shiver and low groan, Abraham ground his hips down. Beneath him, Henry mewled and his mouth released it's hold on Abe's throat. The dizziness washed over him, and Abe rolled off to one side, clamping a hand over his bleeding neck.
He took a deep breath to steady himself.
And then in a heartbeat, Henry was on top of him, his mouth covered in blood and his eyes black as night. He still looked gaunt and exhausted. A ghoul.
This was not a good idea, Abe thought. The reality hit that Henry might not be able to control himself, that infused with enough blood to have his strength even partially returned, Henry could over-power him easily, could drain him dry of blood. Henry could kill him. Looking at the monster hovering over him, Abe understood why Henry had not wanted to be seen like this.
Abraham could not breathe, could not move. There he lay, simply entranced, a very frightened sixteen year old boy, tall and strong for his age, but sixteen nevertheless. Nothing compared to Henry, who was in his 261st year.
These are the last moments of my life.
Suddenly he tasted his own blood, metallic and salty, as Henry swarmed down to kiss him. Overwhelmed and unsure what to do, Abraham opened his mouth and allowed Henry to do what he would. His hands hovered awkwardly along Henry's shoulders, feeling like he should perhaps push him off. But he didn't. He began to feel the blood drip down his neck again.
Henry kissed with force, guiding and bruising, biting and pressing. It was not at all, Abraham thought, an entirely unpleasant experience. Hands scraped over his chest and arms, and through his hair. Henry's mouth moved from his, creeping wetly down his jaw, back towards his throat. Dipping his head, Abe recaptured Henry's mouth with his own. He did think he ought not to lose any more blood, if he could help it.
Abe wrapped his arms around Henry's back, holding him in place. His hips moved of their own accord, rutting and rolling against the weight and pressure above him. Henry kissed in a way that Abe had never imagined; his understanding of kissing was limited generally to the chaste and familial kisses that were rare flowers in his life. He had only ever seen his father and mother kiss on the mouth once, and that was over seven years ago. But here was Henry, now-- his lips soft and cool, his mouth warm and wet and sticky, his tongue doing delightfully wicked things. And Abraham had no words with which to complain, and no desire to do so. Abraham bucked his hips and Henry growled, grinding purposefully in a way that make Abe gasp and whine. He screwed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into Henry's back. Above him, he heard Henry let out a low, warm laugh. He could feel the quirk of Henry's lips against his own, the reverberations of the laugh, and then an affectionate nip of teeth.
He smiled.
Though Abe felt he could continue in this manner for hours, Henry eventually began to slow. The blood had helped with the immediate discomforts of starvation, and now his body was demanding rest in order to fully recuperate. His kissing slowed, and somehow this was nearly better. Abe savored every drag of lips, every swipe of tongue.
This was possibly the best he had ever felt in his life, to date.
"Henry, this is..." He wasn't sure the words to describe it. Henry slid back down onto the bed, fitting comfortably along the lines of Abe's body, curling around him, nuzzling into his warmth. He licked gently around the little wounds on Abraham's throat, cleaning him. He pressed loose-lipped kisses to the spot behind Abraham's ear. The sensation was strange but wonderful, and it was one Abe would enjoy and encourage from other lovers through the rest of his life.
They lay together on the bed for the whole of an afternoon and night, still generally covered in blood. Abe began to feel it dry around his mouth and on his chin, the drips that trailed down onto his chest began to itch, and then felt it begin to flake off as time passed. He kept his arms around Henry's shoulders.
Henry slept and Abe watched him. He watched as Henry's skin regained it's warm tones, as his cheeks seemed to fill out before his eyes. He watched as Henry's eternal youth and health returned to his face.
And he could not help himself but to pet lightly at Henry's arms.
Eventually he plucked a book off Henry's nightstand (something new by Shelley), and then dozed off sometime after midnight.
He awoke to hands carding through his hair and a tongue scraping along his chin. Henry was cleaning more blood from him, putting his hair back into order. Abe gave a little groan and twisted his head away from Henry's cares. The movement agitated his wounded neck and he cringed. He was sore all over and still tired.
Henry stilled, and kept his eyes fixedly away from Abe's.
"I am... so sorry, Abraham. I promise you this will never happen again. It should have never happened to begin with."
"Yes," Abraham said. "Uhm."
Henry looked up at him, his eyes familiar and warm brown again. Dragging his fingers down out of Abe's hair, his touch light and tender as it ghosted over his eyebrows and cheekbones and jawline, he gently touched the two puncture marks on Abe's neck. They were hideous things, surrounded by dark purple bruises and rust brown scabs. Henry sighed sadly.
"It was... it was fine, really." Abe said, feeling a bit awkward about how to proceed. He wanted to be comforting. "It was actually... rather nice, for a bit."
Henry's mouth twisted into something like a smile. After a moments hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Abe's again. The kiss was tender, an echo of the one Abe had delivered hours earlier.
"It really was," Abe said against Henry's lips; "Quite nice."
He returned the kiss, though slightly wetter.
"You've saved my life, Abraham. Thank you."
"It was nothing. Now we're even."
"Yes," Henry said, adding a bit of tongue to their kissing. "Even. I wonder how long that will last."
Abraham laughed and with a twist of his hips, rolled Henry onto his back on the bed. He just saw the twinkle in Henry's eyes before the movement was reversed and Abe found himself pressed firmly into the bed with Henry straddling him and laughing.
"Well. I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Yes," Henry said, smirking. "As am I."
Title: A Minor Sacrifice
Fandom: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (book)
Pairing: Abe/Henry
Rating: PG (just a little making out, minor blood)
Warnings: uhm... vampire stuff?
Note: Thought I'd post this before the movie came out... I was writing something else and then got all caught up in the idea of Abe volunteering his blood to Henry.... so then this happened. It takes place during that summer when Abe is 16 and Henry trains him. (Also, heads up, this is unedited by anyone but myself)
Summary: Henry goes without eating a bit too long, and Abe, feeling somewhat responsible, takes it upon himself to help.
Abraham Lincoln stayed with Henry Sturges in his underground home for the better part of three months during the summer of 1825.
During that time, he came to know the vampire's schedules and habits quite well. Most days, Henry spent the day out with Abe, training, fighting and scrapping. The evenings were spent in study and discussion, or occasionally just quiet reading in each others' company, until they each retired to their respective bedrooms for a night's sleep. Henry was a late sleeper, inclined to sleep the day away, as opposed to Abe, who was an early riser by nature and the habits of working on a farm. Always eager to get started, Abe would often wake Henry and drag him from his bed in the mornings. Henry never put up much resistance, but was always grumpy and would take as much time as he pleased in getting himself put together for the day.
Nevertheless, the pair were always hard at work by 9:30 every morning. Abraham would not allow anything later, and despite his feeble protests, Henry would not begrudge his young friend the simple satisfaction of getting an early start.
But some nights, every fortnight or so, Henry's schedule was different, and Abraham was left to his own devices for whole mornings and occasionally well into the afternoon.
On those nights, Henry would leave the house as the sun went down, bidding Abraham a good-night, and to get some rest, and then off he would go. Abraham was never able to note exactly when he returned, but it must have been in the early hours of the morning. He would then sleep and sleep. His door was always locked during these long periods of rest; no admittance allowed.
Abe would pout and chop wood and cook for himself (though he was much less talented in the kitchen than Henry was), and wait patiently until Henry would rise, always looking groggy and damp and in need of a good bath. Often Henry would spend those odd hours after waking wandering through the rooms of the house, dark glasses in place even though it was more than shaded enough underground to not need them, replacing items that Abraham had disturbed in his restlessness. He moved like a ghost then, responding to no attempts at conversation, merely fluttering around the house, touching and shifting his own belongings.
Then he would retire to his room for another few hours. By the time the sun went down that evening, Henry was back to himself, and he and Abraham would pick up their discussions of lore and literature exactly where they had left off.
But Abraham was sixteen years old and curious and could not ignore such strange behavior.
The next time Henry took one of his late night excursions, Abraham ensured that he would be awake to greet Henry when the vampire returned home. This excursion was not quite according to schedule, by Abe's count. It had been about three weeks, instead of the usual two, since Henry had taken a night for himself. They had been hard at work, and Abraham pushed for more training, more lessons. He was beginning to win more of their training matches than not.
Henry was beginning to look tired, to look ragged, to drag, when he finally took his excursion. He had patted Abraham affectionately on the head before leaving, saying, "We must take some time to rest, Abraham. Take the weekend off, after this. Good-night. Sleep well."
Abraham was leaning against the false cabin as the sun rose, sharpening his axe and waiting with as much patience as he could muster. Finally, he saw Henry's lean form come limping into view. From a distance, he waved, and saw Henry return the gesture. He could not help but notice how weary Henry seemed to be. Soon enough, his vampire was back with him again. He slid down against the cabin front, coming to sit at Abraham's side.
"You look awful, Henry."
Usually, Henry was refreshed and renewed after his excursions and subsequent long rests-- quicker in scraps, cleverer in conversation, cheerier in mood. This time, there was no sense of refreshment. This time, Henry looked even more tired and drained than when he had left. His skin was paler than usual, his shoulders slumped miserably. Up close, he looked no better than desperately ill.
"Yes." He buried his face in his hands and leaned forward onto his knees. "I assure you," Henry grumbled, "I feel much worse than I look."
They sat in silence for a long time-- Abe sharpened his axe until it could cut with a touch while Henry merely sat at his side, his head upon his raised knees.
"Henry," Abe said eventually. "Are you alright?"
There was no response, and briefly Abraham thought Henry had merely fallen asleep where he sat.
"Henry?" Abe gave him a small shake, and then another, and then another. Yet Henry did not stir any more than to moan slightly. His skin was cold as ice, colder than usual.
It struck Abraham suddenly, like a ton of bricks against his chest. Henry's bi-weekly excursions were when he went to feed. Henry had been delicate and polite, saving Abraham's sensibilities from the gory realities of his condition, and snuck out when he would not be missed in order to sustain himself.
Of course Henry must eat, Abraham thought. He just had never really thought about it. He had not once considered it.
The sun was beginning to get bright as it rose higher into the sky. The heat of summer was beginning to set in, and Abraham was beginning to sweat.
Leaving his axe against the outside of the cabin, Abraham gently scooped his unconscious friend into his arms and took him inside. Getting down the stairs was a bit tricky, but if Henry was disturbed by any slight bumps, he did not wake. He was easy to carry. He was light, and fit comfortably against Abe's chest; his head rested naturally against Abe's collarbone. He was tall, but his height did not make him awkward to hold.
Abraham put Henry into bed, removing his shoes and tucking blankets around him. He had never spent much time in Henry's bedroom before, and just now noticed that it was easily the most handsome room in the house. The ceiling seemed higher. The way the light of the lamps reflected around the room created nearly the illusion of daylight, though dimmed.
Abraham Lincoln sat at his friends side, while Henry slept.
He dozed off and awoke with his cheek against Henry's quilt and with fingers in his hair. Henry was idly petting him, creating little curls and placing wild and unruly hairs back where they belonged.
Abraham had never been very concerned with his looks, and Henry Sturges was an unusually tidy creature.
"Hello," Abraham said, sitting up and stretching. As he rose, Henry removed his fingers and let his hand fall once again upon the bed. He looked thin, lying there, gaunt almost, and Abraham was for a moment reminded of the image of his mother, dying in her bed. "What happened to you?"
Henry swallowed. "I'm simply tired, Abraham. I'm fine--"
"You're not a very good liar. I know what you do when you go out, Henry. I'm not an idiot," Abe said, neglecting to mention that he had just recently figured it out.
"I'm hungry, Abraham."
"Tell me what happened. Did something go wrong?" He asked, even though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
"I have not eaten in three weeks," Henry said slowly. "And I could find no one last night. No injured criminals, no dying widowers. It had been so long since I had fed, and I was weak... I am weak. Too weak to take a healthy man. I have let my hunger go for too long, and now I am too tired to satisfy it."
Henry gave a weak laugh. "I am starving to death, because I allowed myself to lose track of time. How foolish I have been," he said. "Don't you think so?"
"This is all my fault," Abraham replied, staring at his hands. "I did this. You lost track of time because I pushed too hard to keep working; I didn't pay attention to anything but myself."
"You're sixteen. It's alright."
"No," Abe said. "It's not." His hand snapped out to take Henry's. The vampire said nothing, but stared at the long fingers twined around his wrist. "I'm so sorry, Henry. Let me help. How can I help? What can I do?"
Henry was struck then by the earnest worry and grief he heard in Abraham's voice. He turned his own wrist, twisting to take hold of Abraham as Abraham held him. His cool hands leeched warmth from Abe's wrist; every pulse of his heart jolted Henry's tired, starved body.
"Please, Henry. Let me fix this."
"You can..." Henry hesitated before continuing, looking into Abe's eyes and seeing only sincerity. "You can find me an animal. Something big. A deer or a pig, even. But it needs to be alive; I can't drink dead blood in this condition."
"What would happen?"
"I expect it would poison me."
Abraham nodded decisively, gave Henry's wrist a firm squeeze, stood, and strode out of the room in three long steps.
He paused for a moment at the door, looking over his shoulder. "A deer?" He asked. Henry nodded; "I suppose that would do."
He was out of the room for only a moment, it seemed, during which time Henry closed his eyes. He listened to Abraham's heavy footsteps stop and start around the house, tracking the course of Abe's frantic pacing. The steps took him through the main rooms, into his bedroom, over to the stairs, halfway up them (I must teach him to be lighter on his feet, Henry thought), and then he was charging back into the bedroom, his fierce body all power, all tense energy, all prowling force.
"No," he said in a low voice. "I can do one better."
Henry was about to ask what exactly he meant when Abraham clambered onto the bed with him. His body was heavy and warm as he arranged himself over Henry's thin self, propping himself up with his elbows. Their faces were close; Henry could feel Abe's heavy breathing against his cheek, could see the ridges of the iris's of his brown eyes, could almost taste his skin in the air between them. Henry's hunger spiked sharply, a stab to the gut which nearly robbed him of his reason. He pressed himself back into his bed, closing his eyes, trying to resist the temptation of Abraham's strong throat by removing it from his sight.
Abraham pried open his collar and tilted his head to the side. "Go ahead," he said.
Henry clenched his jaw. "No."
"Henry," Abe said with a power in his voice which would serve him well later in life, "you must."
"No. You'll hate me, if I do."
"I am inviting you, Henry. I'm offering. You are my dearest friend. I won't allow you to die, to slip away to nothingness, because I have been thoughtless. Please."
"I won't."
Abraham took Henry's chin in his hand and turned his face. "Look at me."
Obediently, Henry opened his eyes. They simply looked at each other.
"I don't want you to see me like that," Henry said quietly, after a long moment. "A monster."
Another long moment passed. Then Abraham leaned in, slowly, hesitantly, and placed a kiss on the corner of Henry's mouth. Light and chaste, it was technically Abraham's first kiss. He presented his throat again, and pointedly closed his eyes.
"Please, Henry," he whispered. Fingers crept up to touch his cheeks, his jaw, his shoulders. Feeling Henry's fingers dig in-- one hand on his shoulder, one hand around the back of his neck-- a jolt of fear shot through him. He didn't know what to expect, except that he was sure it would hurt. Henry hesitated. Abe screwed his eyes shut further. He could feel the cool brush of Henry's breath against his neck. "I'm sure."
"If you begin to feel light-headed, you must stop me drinking. No matter what it takes, Abraham, do you understand?"
Abe nodded.
A pair of cool lips pressed against his neck, just along the major artery, just above where throat meets shoulder.
"Just here," Henry whispered; "Thank you."
Abraham felt the prick of the teeth first. He gasped at the touch of them, his mouth falling open, and then Henry sunk in properly.
He had been right; it hurt. At first, it hurt badly. Blood poured out of him, encouraged by careful ministrations from Henry's tongue which kept the small wounds open. He kept his eyes closed. The teeth themselves were gone almost immediately, merely used to puncture and start the bleeding, and when they receded the pain generally went with them. Strong fingers held him firmly in place, and while Abraham tried to concentrate on other things, his mind kept finding it's way back to the feeling of Henry's fingers against his spine, running through his hair, the pressure of chest against chest, the hot wetness at his neck.
Henry drank and drank, gentle yet forceful, and Abraham did not move. It had started to feel quite nice.
The dizziness set in soon enough after that, but instead of diminishing the pleasant feeling, quite the opposite happened. Light-headedness set in, and Abe could feel his heart pounding fervently in his chest. He suppressed a strange urge to laugh.
With a little gasp, he opened his eyes. He was seeing stars; his body was on fire. Henry's hands held him firmly in place as his each lick and lap of his tongue sent sparks shooting through him. Still propped up on his elbows, Abe began to feel his muscles weaken and shake.
"Henry," he moaned, his voice peaking to a whine at the end. "Henry, you said to stop you."
The sucking at his throat continued.
"You have to stop..."
Henry's tongue did something extraordinary, and with an involuntary shiver and low groan, Abraham ground his hips down. Beneath him, Henry mewled and his mouth released it's hold on Abe's throat. The dizziness washed over him, and Abe rolled off to one side, clamping a hand over his bleeding neck.
He took a deep breath to steady himself.
And then in a heartbeat, Henry was on top of him, his mouth covered in blood and his eyes black as night. He still looked gaunt and exhausted. A ghoul.
This was not a good idea, Abe thought. The reality hit that Henry might not be able to control himself, that infused with enough blood to have his strength even partially returned, Henry could over-power him easily, could drain him dry of blood. Henry could kill him. Looking at the monster hovering over him, Abe understood why Henry had not wanted to be seen like this.
Abraham could not breathe, could not move. There he lay, simply entranced, a very frightened sixteen year old boy, tall and strong for his age, but sixteen nevertheless. Nothing compared to Henry, who was in his 261st year.
These are the last moments of my life.
Suddenly he tasted his own blood, metallic and salty, as Henry swarmed down to kiss him. Overwhelmed and unsure what to do, Abraham opened his mouth and allowed Henry to do what he would. His hands hovered awkwardly along Henry's shoulders, feeling like he should perhaps push him off. But he didn't. He began to feel the blood drip down his neck again.
Henry kissed with force, guiding and bruising, biting and pressing. It was not at all, Abraham thought, an entirely unpleasant experience. Hands scraped over his chest and arms, and through his hair. Henry's mouth moved from his, creeping wetly down his jaw, back towards his throat. Dipping his head, Abe recaptured Henry's mouth with his own. He did think he ought not to lose any more blood, if he could help it.
Abe wrapped his arms around Henry's back, holding him in place. His hips moved of their own accord, rutting and rolling against the weight and pressure above him. Henry kissed in a way that Abe had never imagined; his understanding of kissing was limited generally to the chaste and familial kisses that were rare flowers in his life. He had only ever seen his father and mother kiss on the mouth once, and that was over seven years ago. But here was Henry, now-- his lips soft and cool, his mouth warm and wet and sticky, his tongue doing delightfully wicked things. And Abraham had no words with which to complain, and no desire to do so. Abraham bucked his hips and Henry growled, grinding purposefully in a way that make Abe gasp and whine. He screwed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into Henry's back. Above him, he heard Henry let out a low, warm laugh. He could feel the quirk of Henry's lips against his own, the reverberations of the laugh, and then an affectionate nip of teeth.
He smiled.
Though Abe felt he could continue in this manner for hours, Henry eventually began to slow. The blood had helped with the immediate discomforts of starvation, and now his body was demanding rest in order to fully recuperate. His kissing slowed, and somehow this was nearly better. Abe savored every drag of lips, every swipe of tongue.
This was possibly the best he had ever felt in his life, to date.
"Henry, this is..." He wasn't sure the words to describe it. Henry slid back down onto the bed, fitting comfortably along the lines of Abe's body, curling around him, nuzzling into his warmth. He licked gently around the little wounds on Abraham's throat, cleaning him. He pressed loose-lipped kisses to the spot behind Abraham's ear. The sensation was strange but wonderful, and it was one Abe would enjoy and encourage from other lovers through the rest of his life.
They lay together on the bed for the whole of an afternoon and night, still generally covered in blood. Abe began to feel it dry around his mouth and on his chin, the drips that trailed down onto his chest began to itch, and then felt it begin to flake off as time passed. He kept his arms around Henry's shoulders.
Henry slept and Abe watched him. He watched as Henry's skin regained it's warm tones, as his cheeks seemed to fill out before his eyes. He watched as Henry's eternal youth and health returned to his face.
And he could not help himself but to pet lightly at Henry's arms.
Eventually he plucked a book off Henry's nightstand (something new by Shelley), and then dozed off sometime after midnight.
He awoke to hands carding through his hair and a tongue scraping along his chin. Henry was cleaning more blood from him, putting his hair back into order. Abe gave a little groan and twisted his head away from Henry's cares. The movement agitated his wounded neck and he cringed. He was sore all over and still tired.
Henry stilled, and kept his eyes fixedly away from Abe's.
"I am... so sorry, Abraham. I promise you this will never happen again. It should have never happened to begin with."
"Yes," Abraham said. "Uhm."
Henry looked up at him, his eyes familiar and warm brown again. Dragging his fingers down out of Abe's hair, his touch light and tender as it ghosted over his eyebrows and cheekbones and jawline, he gently touched the two puncture marks on Abe's neck. They were hideous things, surrounded by dark purple bruises and rust brown scabs. Henry sighed sadly.
"It was... it was fine, really." Abe said, feeling a bit awkward about how to proceed. He wanted to be comforting. "It was actually... rather nice, for a bit."
Henry's mouth twisted into something like a smile. After a moments hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Abe's again. The kiss was tender, an echo of the one Abe had delivered hours earlier.
"It really was," Abe said against Henry's lips; "Quite nice."
He returned the kiss, though slightly wetter.
"You've saved my life, Abraham. Thank you."
"It was nothing. Now we're even."
"Yes," Henry said, adding a bit of tongue to their kissing. "Even. I wonder how long that will last."
Abraham laughed and with a twist of his hips, rolled Henry onto his back on the bed. He just saw the twinkle in Henry's eyes before the movement was reversed and Abe found himself pressed firmly into the bed with Henry straddling him and laughing.
"Well. I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Yes," Henry said, smirking. "As am I."