The cycle was simple. If Gale was well fed he would plump up like a ripe apple; rosy cheeks and flushed lips and sunkissed skin that could tolerate the sun. His body electric, warm to the touch, deceptively strong. When he was hungry he was pale, wan. Skin leeching to an icy hue, lips and eyes bruised blue. Still beautiful, but colder and less alive. John knew Gale was getting hungry because he would start to feel warm, and Gale cold. And he knew that if he was busting out the fuzzy socks when it was only sixty degrees outside, that Gale was probably feeling pretty good.
It was a delicate balancing act, toeing the line of health for the both of them, symbiotic and parasitic.
The side of John's neck itched, wounds healing flaky and old covered by a high collar. He can feel Gale staring, shoulder to shoulder walking home from work. Around them the crowds of New York move with blatant disregard, paying no more attention to anyone else than they would an ant on the sidewalk. Still, John talks under his breath, knowing Gale will still hear.
"Could just ask-- instead of looking at me like a sunday roast."
Gale huffs, unimpressed, "You're wearin' a jacket in April."
"And you can't feel temperature, there's a breeze."
Silence. John looks over and finds Gale's attention fixed back on his neck, at the pulse beginning to pick up speed, the fearful, prey animal part of John starting to rear its head. He blushes hot, and looks away. They're crossing through Central Park, the weather too good to waste on the subway, and John can see where there's a line of pink spreading across the apex of Gale's handsome cheeks, the skin beginning to look irritated.
John glances to their left and right and then hops off the jogging trail, into the thicker trees and less traveled paths. He doesn't look back, knowing Gale will follow. Does follow, judging by the soft sigh, Gale always silent on his feet so it only sounds like John brushing aside a few stray bushes. When he comes to one of the hundreds of glacial rocks dotting the landscape, he turns around, dropping his backpack and letting the rough granite scrape his shoulder blades.
Like John knew he would be, Gale was right there, eyes flashing a faint metallic sheen, the trees above affording him more shade. Already the pink was beginning to fade, his skin smoothing over. John's eyes drop to his mouth, where two pinpricks of white shine wetly. And Gale's pink tongue beyond.
"C'mon, Buck," he wheedles in the quiet, "I'm good for it."
"I can wait a few more days--"
"Buy me a big lunch after, baby. Come on."
Mostly, Gale moved and acted like a human. People weren't afraid of him. They found him likeable, quiet, soft-spoken and calm. Not easygoing, but more so measured and controlled. He was tall, smart, confident. His eyes didn't normally glow like an animals, and his fangs were kept hidden away. He didn't move like a predator, quick and liquid, sliding into the open space in front of John, who sucks in a breath, heart skipping a beat. The rabbit caught.
Gale presses a soft kiss to John's neck. Then another, nuzzling into his pulse with a slow inhale, a quiet moan. Exhales on a sigh and then John hears the wet sound of his mouth opening. Two quick pinpricks sinking into his skin. He stiffens, the initial feel of something inside him being pulled out agony until whatever numbing venom or magic Gale had made the burn something wildly pleasant. Quickly he slumps against the rock, Gale reaching out a hand to brace them both, the other holding his waist as John settles both hands on Gale's hips, trying to draw him closer.
It's better than a throat wrapped around his cock, a suction all over from the inside out, he's hard so quick it makes him dizzy, Gale drinking from him in slow pulls. John can feel drool slipping down his neck, the sweat drying rapidly on his skin and chilling him.
Slowly, he feels Gale growing hot against him and bucks his hips desperately.
It only takes a quick press, Gale's hand dragging down to flatten over him, a casual kindness that has John grunting and coming in thick pulses, eyes rolling in his head and mouth falling open in a ragged noise. Gale drinks from him through it, pulling off only when John starts to recover, tongue dragging over the marks again and again until the blood stops trickling, leaving John sticky and satisfied and a little lightheaded.
"Jesus," he breathes, laughing lightly. "Never gonna get used to how good that is."
"Mm, come on, we need to get some food in you."
They come out of the trees a few minutes later, John all easy swagger and Gale pink-cheeked, the freckles on his skin the brightest they've ever been. When John looks over there's a smear of red on Gale's lip, quickly licked away by a pink tongue.
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