Birthdays weren't something that Guren typically celebrated, who knew when life could end in just the blink of an eye. But he had heard a rumour that it was Crowley's birthday, inexplicably drawn to at least give him a treat. There was no denying that he missed the vampire's presence, a gap that only the other could fill. Lips pressed against the others in a searing kiss before the tender flesh of his neck was bared in invitation. Silent words meaning more than a mindless birthday wish.
- - ☩ The namanari had been granted his freedom long ago. Not that it meant much. How free were they really? Equally caged by their position and circumstance. Though Crowley had long since learned how to spread his wings in the confines of his own, he was still tethered to something bigger, much as he tried to pull away from it. It’d turned into a bitter acceptance and an illusion of freedom. Surely, this human could relate.
Still there was that draw. Still they’d seek each other out, whether of Guren’s own accord, or the second the scent of his blood caught the progenitor’s keen senses, like it had now. How they’d have to stop meeting like this. More for his own sake than Guren’s. What a selfish notion, but it at least kept barriers in place to convince him of his own heartlessness. It was a fragile one.
The significance of the day in particular had yet to cross the vampire’s mind. It was another day. One like any other. The sun would rise. It would fall, and the moon would take it’s place. An endless cycle that continued despite the fact the world had long since ended. Or rather, the world as they had once known it. Time was irrelevant when you were immortal.
Still, it didn’t keep him from pausing, and drawing closer. A wolf to the lamb.
Crowley had not been one to initiate acts of affection. Old habits died long, hard deaths, he supposed. It was a need suppressed long ago, and replaced with things just as intimate but in a different manner. Even when his need for human contact began to lull, just before loneliness reared it’s ugly head, just as he’d been told it would. Or maybe, in the case with the namanari, it was to keep that distance, a distance that had already grown far too short and in a far too quick amount of time. (He knew he was capable of love. His collection kept growing. But he kept trying to fight it. It reminded him how human he still was.)
Either way, the kiss made him falter. He returned it, lips surprisingly gentle against Guren’s own despite how the heat was reciprocated. Perhaps even the need.
Dark brows furrowed in question as Guren pulled away, and Crowley’s head tilt, not unlike a curious bird.
The progenitor felt his resolve hitch as that pale neck was bared, with the barest traces of faint pink scars of previous, repeated feeding.
He’d been surviving. Human blood was a necessity. Stale vials were a thing of the recent past with the destruction of Sanguinem, leaving him and those who remained to take from the source once more. He drank enough to sustain himself. Just enough to keep off the edge. But he was a large man. He required more than the average vampire, so it was always a delicate balance to never drain dry what little resource there was left.
There was just something far more satisfying, more filling in the sulfur of the namanari’s blood. It was as if he knew just how the vampire had been struggling.
Again, Crowley gazed at Guren, as if to ask permission. His large hand cradled the human’s jaw gently. And fangs sank into their mark with the faint pop of breaking skin. Ambrosia filled his mouth.
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