"A favourite? A healthy liver--a female liver--ranks pretty high. I dunno if you can taste that...maleness sometimes with men? It's like boar taint--I don't hate it, but it is distinct. But..." I can barely contain my scoff, weirdly almost embarrassed though I don't know why, "listen, we have a reputation for a reason. When the brain is fresh...sometimes even still alive even after the heart stops? Oh my god, there's nothing like it. You know. You like it too, right?"
I roll my eyes at him, playful, though I don't quite believe he'd really prefer to use a straw. I can't imagine it, I really can't. "You're telling me you'd rather suck plastic than put your lips to human flesh? Come on Simon, I know you're a civilized man but..." I stop myself from berating him, from teasing too much. "You met me at my comfort level tonight. I will meet you at yours next time." I give him a pointed look, matching his tone at that before it shifts again to something a little lighter, a little more inquisitive.
"But...you gotta tell me though...what is it like for you? Was it...good? The drinking? And before you go on about me thinking you've never hunted or that you're so domesticated or something, I just...I mean...you get to experience something so different with them from what I know. Like, he held you to him, he sighed...like I sigh when you drink from me. I've never felt that with someone I'm feeding from...maybe Jamie. Maybe Gemini. But...that's different too. People fight me for their lives when I do it...every time. Do you...do you swoon with them?"
I'm given my hand back after a gentle kiss and I pick my short, half-bitten nails. "It is overwhelming, generally speaking. It's a lot. Tonight felt more calm than it usually does, I think because you bled the fight out of him. But...really, honestly, that you cleaned my face like that was..." I smile at my own hands and glance to him again. "Yeah, that was nice, Simon. That was...real good boyfriend shit right there."
To learn that he doesn't want to cry again, never mind that he doesn't want to cry in front of me, makes me ache a little for him. I'm not hurt that he wants to hide from me--I understand that reflex well enough--but I hurt even for his own self. Hell, I'll probably bawl my eyes out every night for the next little while just because I can and fall into a natural, deep sleep well before the sunrise. I feel about as pleased about the idea as I am when my body gets healthy enough to masturbate. That release is unlike anything else.
"You don't like to cry? Crying makes me feel like a real person. More than sex does if I'm being honest. All those little things add up to being able to relate to people, you know? Maybe you're already people," I give him another little smile, "you're people for sure. People don't question if they're people. Sometimes I wonder though. Sometimes I feel human, but not like a person...not to say I think I don't belong in the world, it's just...well, maybe that's just the grave talking."
His practical question receives a smirk and a shrug. "I dunno honestly. You're a little faster than a living human then? For me it'll be sometime tomorrow night probably. It'll be faster if I don't drink any more blood between now and then but...my body isn't exactly in a rush to metabolize anything. What is it now...really early Monday morning? We'll wake up again on Monday night? If it's not up by Tuesday night I'll drink water and force it up. I don't like to let it sit too long, it just gets...gross."
Simon presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to taste any remnants of their meal. As if it might help him pick out the discrepancies that clearly Jeffrey can taste. "Everyone is distinct enough to my palate, but I don't think I can taste such subtle differences. But my nose is not quite up to snuff, even among my species. I think it's the paint, all the chemicals have deadened that sense over the years."
A small price to pay, as he didn't often indulge in hunting. Besides, bad blood was near impossible to find. Any living person could provide what was needed, "I assume it's the electricity still sparking in the brain. Just a guess. You gave me quite a tasty morsel from the brain tonight. Thank you."
Then, he cannot help a laugh at Jeff's disbelief, a touch too loud in the confines of the car, "I've gotten very used to drinking blood as a civilized man. Still, there is no replacement, nothing else that is like drinking straight from a vein. The pull, the need to finish it all. It's why we have to be careful. Tonight I was too in my head, almost nervous for what was about to come after the draining, so no swoon. But generally, yes, there is a sensuousness to the act that cannot be denied. I've wondered if our saliva contains some concoction that makes those we feed from feel good, even as they're dying."
It would make them more effective predators, if their victims weren't screaming in their final moments. In the moment Simon had worried he had taken too much blood from the human, but told that it might have helped calm things has him smiling. At a red light he can risk looking over Jeff as he's called a 'good boyfriend'. Simon's knuckles brush against his cheek lightly, clear of blood, but could do with some soap.
As he knows he could as well. "Next time, we meet in the middle. We'll find an equilibrium." Hands back on the wheel, the streets begin to look familiar, wondering if Jeff knows where they are now.
"I just... don't cry. It's not a natural response for me. That could be from years of not allowing myself to feel overwhelmed. You're more than welcome to cry as often as needed." He takes a few breaths before continuing, the idea that Jeff would rather be buried a lot to take in. "Those turned can feel separate from the living. Hopefully you'll hit it off with one of my turned vampire friends, have someone who understands what you mean more than I can. I've never felt human, but I also never felt not like a person."
He cannot help the grimace at Jeffrey having to force up his waste product. "Your body wouldn't want to expel it, naturally? Now that I think about my own body, because I at least consume blood every night I'm not entirely sure how long it takes. I had more meat tonight than I tend to consume, so I'll know eventually."
There's only street parking near his house, but at least he manages one somewhat nearby, and not down another block. He doesn't move to get out of the car now that they're home, just looking at Jeff, as if he wasn't going to spend the night, as if this might be good night. "Your hair grows long. Can you grow facial hair? Do you have to shave? I probably have a spare razor if... think we should test if we can fit in my bath slash shower together?"
"It's good meat," I offer with a smile, meeting his fleeting gaze, smiling long after his eyes return to the road. Everything about this is peaceful, from the quiet of the car to his persistent calm, here in the cabin with the night and the glowing red and white lights swerving their slow dance around us. Real life is made up of these little moments, and I can imagine returning to this memory in some distant future and feeling happiness. I feel more like the living person I'm trying to be the farther we get from that lonely grave. "You mentioned the femoral artery the first time you drank me. Worth a guess that you might like the meat too. But I know a limit when I see one."
His request to use the knife is characteristic, but I laugh anyway. "It's totally absurd to use a knife! It's like asking you to use an IV straw instead of those beautiful teeth of yours," I grin at him, but I squeeze his hand as well, softening. I wish I could kiss him. I wish my nails were cleaner so I could pretend to fix a strand of his hair just to have an excuse to touch it.
"But...if we hunt again I can use a knife and be a good, clean butcher about it. We can take it home, carve it up nice, make something pretty. But I reserve the right to call it something other than a proper feed though--we can both compromise. I'm healthy enough now that I don't need to do it that way anyway--did you see I cried real tears?" I squeeze his hand again, feeling a little brighter as I remember it. "God it felt good! We should watch something sad and just wail together. What's a good one? Quest for Fire? Into the Wild? I dunno...Bambi?"
His grin has my full stomach filling with butterflies. He lists off his friends and I wonder how close he really is to these people if I haven't heard much of them until now. Still, this smile of his as he talks about introducing me to them can't be anything but genuine, and it's a comfortable spot for me to anticipate some mutual curiosity. "A were-tiger! And a vampire doctor? How interesting. I mean...I don't mind questions, especially when they come from interesting people and I would honestly probably rather die than retreat at your party," I scoff, but I know he's just being thoughtful. "Though I'll join you in your bedroom after...I'll even help with the dishes and everything. We can be domestic and civilized like real people."
As he gentles into a reassuring tone about how we might match more than I think, I find myself smiling at our clasped hands. He's so warm, he always is. I bring those bent fingers up and kiss them. Even though we washed they smell of dirt and lightly of blood, though he really didn't get much of that on him.
"I think we fit nicely," I agree, "maybe we don't match, but we compliment. Don't you think? I don't want to play contests of who can handle more disturbance--it shouldn't be like that." If Simon knew even half the shit I've done--half the shit with Nic, with Jamie, for Alexander...not to mention all the vampires we've eaten--I shudder to how he might react. If he's content with the way things are; if this is a romantic fling of a relationship he's already prepared to give up, then he doesn't need to know those things. Like I told Rose, this can just be nice.
"I'm looking forward to the party," it feels weird to admit. "I get to be your boyfriend, for real, in front of real people and everything? That's like, genuine romance."
"Do you have a favorite piece? Humans talk about preferring certain vegetables over others, it only stands to reason that we also can have certain preferences." Stuck behind a large truck, he could switch lanes and get them a few cars ahead, but he stays in this lane. If only to let this easy conversation stretch on a little longer.
With his hand held, and in stop and go traffic, Simon leans back. He's still alert, but the risk was far less now that they had no where to go beside inching up every few seconds. "Hey, I'd absolutely use an IV straw if it was less mess. Call it whatever you like when we go out again."
Able to look over to Jeff, his smile is coy, but he softens at the mention of tears. "I noticed them. Were you overwhelmed? You didn't begin sobbing so I assumed nothing was overly wrong. There is a catharsis to tears, but don't expect that I'll join you even if it is Bambi. I think I've had my fill of my tears for the next decade."
Brake lights ease up and he advances several more feet forward. Jeff's mention of washing dishes has him chuckling, taken back to that first night when that domesticity felt so natural. "Aren't we real people? The world sustains us, and it must endorse us or it would find a way to eradicate us all."
Perhaps that is not what Jeffrey meant, and he was being obtuse. With a kiss to his hand he wonders if he can make it all the way home with only one hand on the steering wheel.
"You're right, it's not a competition. And you're my boyfriend, audience or not." It's Simon's turn to lift Jeff's held hand up to his lips, a soft, lingering kiss before he has to reclaim his hand. Taking an exit, they're out of traffic, on local streets with stoplights instead.
"How long until you need to hawk up the white stuff? Takes my body twelve to twenty-four hours to digest properly."
"Mmm..." Gazing out the window, speaking quietly, thoughts feel just a little less fuzzy now as we converse so calmly.
"I don't know if I'd say you're closed off. I can't tell what you're thinking sometimes...but, that's normal." I smile at that. "I kind of like it--I don't need to know, I just need to trust. That's how it goes with people, isn't it? I guess I worry sometimes that when you're unexpectedly calm you're just...grinning and bearing something uncomfortable. But...well, maybe that's normal too. To some extent anyway, I don't know. I just know I'm happy with you. You make me happy. You make me calm. If you're happy just existing with me for a while then I guess I can't ask anything more of you."
In a very weird way it reminds me of Jamie. We exist together. Simon doesn't fetishize me, doesn't want to kill me, doesn't want to watch me kill, doesn't want to maim or torture me. Maybe I don't know what he wants from me without the demand of some niche desire. Maybe I've never really had anyone else to just spend time with.
I look at him again. "I'm glad you were there tonight, even if it's just to know for certain that you don't want to do it again. For what it's worth, I like that you have limits. I like that we don't match."
With my thumb I wipe a stray smudge of dirt from the back of his arm, careful not to distract his driving.
"You really want me to meet your friends? I guess I will at this party of yours. Tell me about them."
The closer they get to home, the more Jeffrey seems to come back to himself. Not that he had become so unlike himself that Simon had been worried. But the further away from the body, from the feed, the more he sounds like the man he knows.
If only because he is speaking more than he was minutes before. "If I am uncomfortable, I will mention it. After, even if not in the moment. Thigh is my favorite meat, but I could not handle carving it out tonight. You understood my silence." Trust worked both ways, and Simon did trust Jeffrey.
The touch to his arm only has him glancing down, for a moment. His eyes dare to look at Jeff, counting the seconds, before returning to the road, a smile still on his face.
"I am happy, with you. More so than I have been in quite some time. And I am also glad I was with you tonight. Next time, would you mind using the knife for all of it?" That wouldn't be natural, of course, but he wouldn't mind a next time. So long as it was spaced out, a rare occurrence.
Talk of home, of the life he has built there has him grinning, "I want to show you off. Most the people you met that night Rose brought you won't be there. This party is only for those that are close. There is a born vampire doctor, a few other vampires of various origins. None like you, but a witch, a were-tiger. They're all open to invite those they wish, so it should be a fairly large gathering. No humans, is my only rule. You can always escape up to the bedroom if it's too much. If I'm occupied, and you don't want to leave yet, stick close to the doctor. She will probably ask too many invasive questions about what you are, but only out of pure curiosity."
Veering off of one highway to another, Simon offers his hand to Jeff as traffic increases, closer to the city and yet still a ways to go. "I think we match. Not as perfectly as twins, but good enough. No couple is ever equally yoked. I am sure you'll find something about me you can't stomach, it's only a matter of time."
I watch him drive. I watch his careful, attentive face, his quick glances. He drives fast and he's good at it. Modern man, modern car, modern vampire.
I feel suddenly very young and very old at the same time. I feel naive and weary.
"But it was lovely," I say softly, "to hold you then. Even though you were in pain. Why would I berate you for that? You were so very...sweet."
I watch the road pass, the cars, the trees. I wish I could see the stars but I can't with the light pollution. That's what would have made tonight better: more stars. I don't want to think about how weird that night was, how hurtful it was that he couldn't stomach to lay next to me, forcing me to take that big bed alone. I was humiliated then, but I know he had tried to be kind and tactful about his limits. Like tonight.
He could stomach more of me tonight, I guess, and that ought to count for something.
I sigh. "We're both very polite to each other, you know? I wanted you to fuck me in that grave--no, I wanted to make love in it," I smile, almost grin at that, at myself, at this weird dreamy mood. I laugh quietly to myself, just a chuckle. "You're good at it, making it feel lovely? You really are. You're very present, very attentive, very patient and good...but it's not just about the sex. Every conversation, every stroll, every evening on the couch...patient and attentive. I told you that I want someone to want me as I am, imperfect. I guess you do. You do exactly that. Imperfect...temporarily...lovely. Mmm."
"You've never asked me for anything at all. What do you want?"
Only road noises settle into the car as Simon feels unable to answer the question. The soft doppler effect as he passes a truck. He cracks his window just for fresh air, and it brings the rush of wind that matches the speed of the car. Loud in his ear, wiping away any thoughts. But he cannot drive with so much noise, not with over an hour to go. The window must be closed, and with it, the thoughts return.
He glances in the rearview mirror as if he can see the grave they dug together from this distance. That Jeff wanted to have sex there is beyond him, more than he would have been able to take. For the best that he's only bringing it up now. He isn't against getting dirty, but not with the dead man they shared in eating just above them.
But is he making concessions, far too easily acquiescing to all of Jeff's whims? No, he wants to please, wants to give all any lover of his wants, deserves, and then some. Jeffrey is easy to please, easy for him to be attentive and patient because that is what he wants to do.
Does he think Simon is putting this on as a front? His hand scratches at his forehead, annoyed with himself that he can't quite find the words to convey what he wants to say. Returning his hands to the steering wheel, holding it properly, he sighs, eyes on the road.
"That's not my way. I've had others break up with me because I'm so closed off. Or, I appeared so to them. I want you. We have each other now. Am I supposed to want more? I want you to sit for me one night, at my studio. I want my friends to know I'm taken, that we're together and happy. At least I think we are. I don't.. what do you want me to ask for, Jeffrey? I wanted you in my life, and I have that now. I'm content. More than satisfied."
I feel out of body as we walk to the car and drive away. I'm pulled briefly back only as he washes me, thoughts just as empty, but happy to be touched. The water is cold but it feels good. The dirt scrapes nicely over my chest. His hands are so warm and gentle, all I want in the world--if I can't lay in the earth--is to lay beside his warm body and have his fingers in my hair. He will take me home. He may put a bell on me yet.
The car cruises quietly along, and when he speaks it's the dreamy half-asleep sound of voices in quiet cars. The pressure is different, speeding along the smooth highway, headlights carving the path of black ahead of us.
When he mentions watering my plants I find myself smiling. I rest my head back and look at my hands, my bloody nails.
"You're too kind to me, Simon," I say quietly, keeping my light smile, "how are you so ready to compromise for me? To swallow your bile for me time and time again, to wait so patiently first for me to get healthy, and now for me to die?" I look at him, still feeling dreamy. I hear my words coming out slow and calm. In another tone the might be accusing. Right now I just genuinely want to know.
Maybe I shouldn't be asking questions like this. Maybe I should just let nice be nice. He agreed to take me home after all this. Maybe I should just say thank you.
"You told me last night you know I'm going to leave you. So why endure all this?"
There's a level of attention he must pay to the road, even though it is past midnight and there are far less cars than just a few hours before. It still does not mean the highway is empty, gripping the steering wheel with intermittent flashes of strength as Jeffrey asks question after question.
The streetlights throw their shadows across their bodies at this speed. Simon risks glances to Jeff, looking almost high with how he leans back, the shifting highlights and lowlights dance over his copper hair, his still angular features no matter how much he's fed. It's a shame he can't reach over and kiss him now, but he would not risk them. Though Simon is the fragile one between them.
It is a few minutes before he answers, weaving them between slow cars. He's still careful with his driving. It's not his fault that others don't want to drive as fast as he's going.
"I find you fascinating. Besides, have you forgotten how good you are to me? Taking care of me, consoling me, not berating me for falling apart. This isn't enduring for me, Jeff. I give and you give. Some nights you need more, and I am capable of holding back my bile for you. Because I want to."
He lifts one shoulder, a half shrug, changing lanes again. "If I lose you to Gemini, I'll be in the same place I was before. Alone. It's not the worst place to be. Easy enough when it's near impossible to share what I do with just anyone. For now, I want you. I want all of you. Is that so hard for you to believe?"
I'll start with the most successful, as it's the shorter story. It was a commission heist by someone with a net worth neither of us will see, even if we both live to a thousand. The rich get what they want, and they wanted a Rothko. Not my taste, but this piece was in a smaller museum, and not for sale. It was my first, and only, low 7-figure take. Not typical for this line of work, but the buyer got it at a steal considering what it could be worth at auction. I bought my house with my cut, all cash.
My favorite was my first heist in Boston with my first crew. It took me quite a few years to settle down here, and then I was hustling with smaller pieces. Doing it alone, relying on no one. I had few contacts, and was eager to grow both my clientele list and potential marks.
The pieces I wanted to take were far more involved than I was ready for. So I worked my way into the underground, befriending those that were already beholden to other bosses. And I poached them. It was a slow process, over months, but I grew a decent reputation, and I always paid them well.
That first heist with a loyal crew who knew how to behave was almost magical. Every step went off without a hitch, all of us operating as if it were not the first time we'd done this together. A few of those members are retired now, admirable, and one went on to another city to try it on their own. I always want those under my employ to do well. Even if I remain in this profession for decades more, I'm sure I'll never have a crew quite as perfectly curated as that first set.
I understand all too well, and for what it's worth I'm relieved that he doesn't feel burdened to push through and speak. Not for me.
He hasn't said it yet, and every deliberate gesture he has made has been kind and careful, but I know that he is done. I can see it in the set on his jaw, I can see it in the way his eyes shift, in the way he swallows nothing again and again. Simon has had quite enough of the brutal practicalities of feeding on human life. Still, he stays.
The digging is good, good for the soul. There's a pang somewhere deep, something I know I can't possibly describe to Simon, that makes me want to lay in this pit and just be in the earth. Even healthy as I am I want it, though not as strongly as I've wanted it when the rot clings and the hunger feels like a burden. To do it, even just to be here half in the ground is a profound pleasure--dirt under my nails, in my pores, in my hair, on my face; I can taste it in the air and it will cling to me long after we leave this place. Beautiful.
But I know what living people think of these kinds of thoughts. Macabre, obscene. He would worry. He wouldn't understand, and look at him, he's so raw, how could I possibly describe this beauty to him? Not even just to languish in the grave alone, but to lay here with another person, to kiss here, to share blood--life!--and to move together and then lay very still and grateful to be as alive as we are, and grateful too to be Dead enough to love it...how could I describe that to him? How could I possibly suggest that I want to make love in this grave? I do want that.
Instead when he grips my dirty hands in his dirty hands, I take his muddy palm and lift it to my cheek. I lean on him wordlessly and sigh. I am happy here, even if it aches. Even if I don't think I can describe what I want to him, the fact that he reached for me and offered this gesture here, to show me that I am still wanted in any way here...it's a seemingly small thing but he can't possibly know what it means to me. He utters some pretty little words, his soft mannish voice almost startling in the quiet, sombre and grateful though it is. That is the right tone for all this at least, isn't it? A pair of killers, sombre and grateful together.
It seems for a moment that I won't be able to get out of our pit, to move or say a single word to him. But then I do, I climb out, and I help him with the carcass. I help him fill in the grave. There's a weight in my chest, deep in my gut, jealous of the corpse. When it's done at last, earth packed, leaves scattered, I kneel by that grave and sigh yet again.
"I miss the earth," I hear my own quiet voice sounding foreign to my ears. It has been a long night. "I miss the nights Jamie and I would wander endlessly through the forest only to bury ourselves at dawn. So simple. So...calm. I miss..." I dig my fingers into the ground we just reset. I pick up the dirt and let it crumble in my hand, sprinkling down on the leaves, then press my palm to my still naked chest. I think, in the weird way that unwanted memories can surface, again of how Nic used to bury me in the garden at dawn--I told Simon about that just yesterday. I think now that for all the heinous things we did to each other, that it was unfair of me to pull that one surprisingly lovely detail and shove it at Simon to shock him. I regret doing that. That detail was more about my evil than Nic's and I never should have made it seem like it horrified me. It didn't then, and it never has.
"Mmm. Sometimes I...I wonder if there's something that calls to us to the earth..." I confess, "I don't mean to...I don't want you to think that..." I look up at him, struggling. "I am committed to building a proper life for myself. But...sometimes all of this," I gesture loosely to the nature around us, "feels more like my world than any other part of what I am."
I stand, finally. Things are packed--meat, teeth, cash. Nothing left to do now but flee the scene.
"Thank you for sharing with me Simon," I offer finally. "Can...will you take me home with you? Can I ask that of you too?"
He wants to pull his hand away, to not dirty Jeffrey's face with the dirt staining his palm, his fingers. But this touch seems to be needed, a lifeline between them, though Simon cannot guess as to why. Just remain still and solid for him.
With the body beneath their feet, he stands to leave before Jeffrey speaks. Of the earth, of his brother, of a connection to both that Simon does not understand. It almost seems as though Jeff isn't quite speaking to him, merely speaking out his thoughts. Simon just happens to be the only thing in earshot that can parse these words.
This connection to the earth, to nature, speaks to Jeffrey having died. Many times, not just the once when he was turned into the being he is now. His brother and him killed one another again and again until it felt like second nature. The earth could be home to them in a way that it never would be for him.
Then the hesitation creeps into his voice and Simon shakes his head. This isn't about him, about them as a new couple. It is their species divide, and it is one that he can never cross into. He'll always be a little too human to understand what it means to die and be reborn. When he dies, it will be final. There's less he can romanticize of the act when there is no return for his kind.
When he stands, Simon moves to carry the bag, wiping his hands on his pants. It would do for now, and he didn't want to stain the rental car and have to worry about cleaning it before he returned it. At least he had booked it through the full weekend, he didn't have to worry about returning it tonight.
"Of course you can stay over. Don't even need to ask." He retrieves Jeff's shirt, draping it over his arm as they walk to the car in comfortable silence. The death is too top of mind for Simon to say more, to answer all that had been shared with him.
Along with the bags he'd bought a gallon of water, using it now at the car to wash their hands, Jeff's face and chest. Clear of most debris, Simon resumes the drive back home as if little has happened.
It isn't until he's at a steady speed on the highway that he speaks, "Again, thank you. I'm not sure I'll be doing this with you often, or ever, but I am appreciative that you've let me see how you feed. If you need to return to the earth, there are some state parks up north. I can water Edith for you."
As Simon leaves the scene for supplies, it feels odd to be alone.
I shift, and kneel where he knelt on the other side of the carcass, watching the path from our secluded spot and the direction he left. Soon he's out of sight.
I get to work. The flannel comes off the body, already soaked in blood. It reeks of cigarettes and sweat and living, mouthwatering even though I'm more well-fed than I've been in decades.
The shirt is laid out, and on it I begin to place the pieces we will take with us.
For organs there isn't much for organ meat worth taking, just a single kidney. There's more we could harvest from this body that will end up going to waste--lymph, marrow, meat, but even though Simon has been patient and sweet, he's already seen so much. I'd bite open the spine and suck the last of the fluid from it if he hadn't already cleaned my face, and having gone to the car I imagine the gears are switching back to civilized for him already. For me, it's a slow thing but I still have enough sense to rationalize that the feed is over for him. For us. Even Simon must have a limit to his patience and I don't want to find out where that limit is tonight. Not now.
So, with some amount of hesitation, I leave more than I usually would.
I find the wallet, uninteresting but with forty bucks of gas money and government ID. Also in pockets there is a pack of smokes, a lighter, and a vape, which I also set on the shirt. With my knife I pry out every single tooth and set these aside in case he's found. I cut off both hands, which I will probably snack on this week. These practicalities are all very quick and I think of nothing while I do it, listening for Simon's return on the path. Hoping he will return.
I take off the shoes. I strip off the rest of the clothing, cutting off his jeans, pulling off the socks. This can easily be burned.
I'm digging by the time I hear footsteps on the path, it's his familiar gait but I still freeze, listening, and wait until I see that familiar shadow and the glint of his blond hair in the moonlight before I start again. It's wonderful to do this with strong hands, with fingers that can feel the earth and the rocks and the roots.
He came back.
"Do you want any meat to take?" I ask him, quiet. I stop my digging again to look up at him, brushing the fallen hair from my eyes with the back of my bloodied, now muddy wrist. "Nice thigh there and a marrow bone to go with it. Or the tenderloin? It's now or never."
Clearly a lot of work went into preparing the body that would have probably been beyond him had he stayed. The shirt is a staging ground of an organ, hands, and documents, that Simon would never have thought of salvaging. Not unless it was a kill for not food. The elimination of his crew had been done meticulously, no room for error in those bodies being found. This attention that Jeff has clearly done before had never even crossed his mind with his prey.
Simon first prepares the cooler bag, though only one part needs the insulation. There's a fastidiousness in the way he organizes the bag, sure that it's going to Jeffrey with the kidney and hands, each one getting its own zip top bag. The other articles they can keep or discard, but he still packs them away as if for a long voyage.
Then he hears the question. Had it been asked minutes ago? The thigh is appealing. Does Jeffrey know him so well already? He does not answer, finding that he cannot. He won't be able to stand this body becoming more mangled than it has already been, swallowing down forcefully.
Instead, he takes action. The easier path. First, he brushes back Jeff's hair from his eyes with his clean hands. A slight smile, hiding the rising nausea now that the deeds are all done, but wanting to care for him nonetheless.
Kneeling beside Jeffrey, he begins digging with him, uncaring for this dirt under his nails as he would be with charcoal or paint. The grave is deep by the time they are done. Simon is so well fed that he feels he could dig to China, as the saying goes, but he stops when he's sure it's too deep for dogs to sniff out.
Action was always good, felt worthy of allowing himself to catch his breath. It's only then that he can look to Jeffrey, not daring to touch him now with dirty hands. Ah, but then his own are just as touched by the earth as his own. Simon grasps Jeff's hand, unable to stop himself from saying what he wanted to save for the car ride, "Thank you for inviting me into your world."
He stands and lifts the naked body into the pit, gentle, as if it could still feel. Once inside he adds the clothes and shoes over the form, as if to cover the shame. Another bile filled swallow and Simon pushes dirt over the human, or the human that once was.
There's a sigh, a pure exhalation of relief when he can no longer see the corpse. It's only then that he looks up, "Ready to go home?"
Passing the heart to Simon, I sit on my heels and watch him. His moan is gorgeous, his kiss delicate, but as he sits and eats he's anything but polite.
He uses his flat teeth to pinch, fangs and molars to hook and gnaw. The heart is a tough muscle and he has to work for his food, smearing blood on his cheeks as he chews through those tight fibres and rubbery tubes, sucking the last cooling blood and the lovely jellied clots down with it.
I just watch him. His eyes are closed and he looks lost to it. Even if it's just for a moment I like to see it, this release of the civilized self. It's not because I think he should behave any other way than the Simon I know, or that he ought to be comfortable down here in the dirt with me--a companion to match my energy, my needs, my wants all perfectly? No. I watch and I smile because it looks to me like he's genuinely enjoying himself. I've known there was this duality to him.
The ache I felt just a moment ago feels a little lighter to watch him, to share with him.
When he finishes what he can manage, he speaks almost right away, smiling mouth bloodied. I take the heart from him and kiss him slow and good, tasting the blood on him, and return the favour to clean his face with practiced efficiency. He was tidier than I would have been in the same position.
Of the heart I take a bite, slurp the blood and lick the meat, just to eat from what he ate, to feel that connection. Chewed and swallowed, I sit back again and sigh. I'll call this satisfied.
"Well," I say, quiet, very calm, very present and survey the remains. "Thanks pal," I say in that same quiet way, "probably not how you imagined this night going. At least it was painless for you, hm?" I brush the hair back from the horrible face with the sunken eye sockets and the jaw I accidentally broke postmortem. "Lucky bastard...I wouldn't have been so nice." I lean and kiss the forehead and linger for a deep breath in thanks, then sigh at the mess.
"Well," I say again, but to Simon this time. It feels weird to converse with him politely, but we have to use our words. I seem to be at a loss. "We should take what we can and get out of here, yeah? Still a bit of work to do."
He hadn't expected kisses, to be desired with such a display of his hunger. But hadn't he still desired Jeffrey after his own feast? It wasn't the moment to question such, soft hums as his own face is cleaned, chasing for one more kiss before Jeff finishes the rest of the heart. There is less ceremony to this quick bite, though he looks at ease.
When Jeff speaks to the corpse with a reverence that he's never shown his victims, he bows his head. Like a prayer being invoked, one that no gods would surely care about. In Simon's mind, there was little to be remorseful for, they had taken what they needed, but it was still life. Life that without them, would be thriving.
Well, considering how he had found the man that might be a stretch. Looking into Jeff's eyes at the question, those depths far darker under the moonlight, he nods. To work then.
Licking his hand clean he pulls back on his shirt, but leaves it unbuttoned. "I'll go get the bags." As Simon starts to make his way to the rental car he gives one look back at the scene he's leaving.
Far more intense than any kill he's made, and yet he doesn't feel as though he's running from it. Only a be right back.
Though as the distance grows, there is a fleeting thought that this was too much for him. That getting entangled with Jeffrey, with what he was, could prove to be too much for him. It's easier alone, had been for years. This was complicated, and he was out of his depths with how he had to suppress his innate revulsion. But he had managed. Could he manage again?
But there was no guarantee that a hunt like this would happen between them again. Better to focus on the moment, on securing Jeffrey's meals for the next few days.
The car was in a secluded place, still untouched. He wishes they bought a shovel, but their hands would have to do. Simon is faster on the trek back, a part of him wondering if he'll even find Jeffrey still tending to the corpse, preparing what he wants to take home.
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