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Sully comes in like a freak storm in the gentle quiet of the life they’ve built for themselves. They were so good, no more blood and viscera in their teeth. Just sweet mornings, and eating pancakes in their underwear, stealing nothing but kisses. An honest living, honest money, a real job at a bookstore surrounded by the smell of old books and quiet conversation with customers. She spends her days tucked between the pages of a book, or side by side with Lee at a park. Breathing in the fresh air, basking in the sunshine, decorating their little apartment with her shitty bookseller pay. She had been so good. They were so good at being real people, and taking care of each other.
“Why do you like those shirts?”
“The florals? They make me feel pretty I guess. Is that so bad?” he countered.
His shoulders were tense, facing away like he feared her reaction. He phrased it like a question but it was more of a tense challenge. It reminded her of that time he asked her if he seemed nice, something vulnerable and exposing in his tone. She thought carefully on her words, and sent him a smile, grabbed his wrist and drew him towards her again.
“No it’s not so bad, just askin’ is all.”
She planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and bought him three new floral blouses from the thrift store down the street on her way home from work that next day.
Now she looks at one of those floral shirts, the little pleats, the flare at the waist, his white necklace soaked in so much red.
Blood spurting from his veins landing on her cheeks like that one time he came on her face by accident she didn't love the feeling but it’s Lee. She doesn't want hurt him but she can’t waste it, she has to taste it. Has to suck it, has to know him down to the marrow. She wants to keep being good. To keep being people for a while with Lee but his blood sings to her and she heeds its siren song. He looks so beautiful like this.
"I want you to eat. I want you to feed," he gasps through the pain.
She rips that shirt open, digging into the parted flesh of his knife wound and takes and eats and loves. Loves him more than she’s ever loved anything or anyone. Takes him deep within her and covers her body in his blood, a consecration of flesh. She's worshiping at the altar of his still bleeding corpse. She’s sick with how right it feels to have him all over her mouth like this, the delight of it. Sick with how easily she caves to the sheer ecstasy in every bite of his tender flesh. He cries and moans sometimes in pleasure, mostly in pain. She laps at the holes she’s rent in his flesh. She kisses his mouth as he pants and gasps in anguish and it’s so right, she loves him so much. She’s going to love him to death and keep him with her forever tucked deep inside where she can keep him safe. The blood slows to a trickle as his heart finally gives out.
Laying there in a pool of blood, bloated and sick with the feel of him inside her. She hopes she's never hungry again and he can be the last taste her mouth ever knows. The slip of his blood on the hardwood. The way it flakes where it’s dried against her skin. She slides her hands across the floor, slapping at the stagnant rivers of red, crying soundlessly. She licks absently at a finger and recalls a time she whispered, “I’m hungry Lee,” and it wasn’t for food. Wasn’t for raw bloody flesh either but hungry for his lips on hers. Their hips pressed together so hard it hurt, like they could merge into one being. Two halves of something finally made whole. The press of his bare skin and boney hips making her shiver. Feeling his every rib against her abdomen as he inhaled deeply against her neck.
*
“You smell good.”
His gums ached thinking of it. Ripping into her throat with his teeth feeling her life’s blood spill against his skin. Soiling him. Cleansing him with holy blood. He bets she’d taste so sweet.
He kneels then. Puts his mouth on her, sucking and licking when he'd rather be biting and tearing but it’s almost just as good. To hear her moan in pleasure instead of pain. Almost. He salivates dreaming of it, harder than he's ever been in his life. Growing harder still when he lets himself consider her eating him instead. Her body full of him in ways they can’t manage yet. He stuffs two of his fingers inside her where she’s slick and ready for him. Imagines it’s blood easing the way, imagines he can taste the metallic tang on his tongue.
What if they took turns. What if they could eat and glut themselves on the taste of each other and it not be a permanent goodbye. What if they could be together intertwined to their very atoms, be inside each other forever. What if she could suck the rot out of his bloodstream and leave him clean and pure and hers forever.
She’s sweet, the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. The most delicate thing his dirty hands have ever touched. He wants to take care of her, to keep her warm and fed and with him forever. It’s all he wants, all he can think about. Every time she says “I’m hungry Lee”, he wants to offer her a bite of his own thighs, wants to give her every last drop of crimson in his veins. He prays she likes it. Prays it keeps her full. Prays she’s sick with it and stuffs him down all the same 'cause she loves him, and needs him, and wants him so much she’ll take the bones and all.