Harvestman slept like the dead he was; unmoving from the initial position he took, on his back with one hand over his eyes and the other on his chest, fingers curled around his dog tags. He managed to discard his shoes, shirt and jacket before collapsing completely.
Lee's presence was comforting, calming, almost lessening to a degree. He didn't dream of fire, of the taste of gasoline down his throat, or of voices whispering in his ear about how much he deserved this. The memories just melted by instead, disappointment in his father's face, hatred in the face of Lily's family (his fault she died, his fault), pictures of a little girl growing up year by year, taken when she wasn't looking.
The breath he sucked in was slow, but sudden. It contained a barely audible whine when he let it out, opening his eyes to the darkness of the room. No more memories, no more. He couldn't take it anymore.
This wasn't new, per se, but he wasn't in the habit of bringing people home, let alone emotionally unstable vampires. Of course, if they were going to go there, he wasn't in the habit of letting them suck his blood, either. The memory of that found sudden persistence, a strangely embarrassing feeling with Harvestman right next to him, as if they hadn't already fucked before. It was bizarre, but now he was reluctant to touch him, found the idea of sex almost alien. Something had changed in the way he thought of Harvestman; extending comfort was not second nature for Lee.
Still, he managed to find John's forehead in the dark with his hand, a brief gesture of... something, he wasn't even sure what. He didn't say anything yet, feeling rather naked despite the pair of sweatpants he had on.
It was a fair trade; Harvestman didn't know what the fuck Lee was doing either. It almost made sense, coming from a suicidal man who claimed he wasn't suicidal, but hell, if that made sense, pigs fucking flew.
He was, he supposed, substituting. He didn't sleep with people, actual sleeping that required letting go, not with nobody but Brisbane. If his own memories didn't plague him now, little else could wake him, not until the sun fell again or his own exhaustion faded away. It was part of it, the vampire thing. Another catch. It took trust.
He sure as hell didn't trust Leander.
Harvestman reached up to grab Lee's hand, keeping it against his forehead. Why may have been the right question, but it wouldn't get him far. Maybe talking right now was a bad idea anyway.
He slid his fingers over the vein in Lee's wrist, feeding the monster within the acknowledgment that Lee would always be food first, people second.
The little twitch said Leander hadn't expected any contact, but he didn't try to remove his hand from Harvestman's forehead either. What Harvestman wanted and what Harvestman let him get away with were two different things entirely, so whatever this meant, he had no clue.
"You're the only thing in my life right now that--" He'd expected this to be easier to say in the dark, but it wasn't. It didn't help that he was, in the back of his mind, imagining Harvestman biting his wrist. Which, fuck. He really hadn't been lying about the addictiveness. "-- look, I've dealt with worse than one depressed vampire, some vampire hunters, and a precocious little girl." This was an easier tack, despite or because of its inaccuracy. He could live with Harvestman believing he was a total asshole (as opposed to a partial one).
Comments 17
Lee's presence was comforting, calming, almost lessening to a degree. He didn't dream of fire, of the taste of gasoline down his throat, or of voices whispering in his ear about how much he deserved this. The memories just melted by instead, disappointment in his father's face, hatred in the face of Lily's family (his fault she died, his fault), pictures of a little girl growing up year by year, taken when she wasn't looking.
The breath he sucked in was slow, but sudden. It contained a barely audible whine when he let it out, opening his eyes to the darkness of the room. No more memories, no more. He couldn't take it anymore.
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This wasn't new, per se, but he wasn't in the habit of bringing people home, let alone emotionally unstable vampires. Of course, if they were going to go there, he wasn't in the habit of letting them suck his blood, either. The memory of that found sudden persistence, a strangely embarrassing feeling with Harvestman right next to him, as if they hadn't already fucked before. It was bizarre, but now he was reluctant to touch him, found the idea of sex almost alien. Something had changed in the way he thought of Harvestman; extending comfort was not second nature for Lee.
Still, he managed to find John's forehead in the dark with his hand, a brief gesture of... something, he wasn't even sure what. He didn't say anything yet, feeling rather naked despite the pair of sweatpants he had on.
Reply
He was, he supposed, substituting. He didn't sleep with people, actual sleeping that required letting go, not with nobody but Brisbane. If his own memories didn't plague him now, little else could wake him, not until the sun fell again or his own exhaustion faded away. It was part of it, the vampire thing. Another catch. It took trust.
He sure as hell didn't trust Leander.
Harvestman reached up to grab Lee's hand, keeping it against his forehead. Why may have been the right question, but it wouldn't get him far. Maybe talking right now was a bad idea anyway.
He slid his fingers over the vein in Lee's wrist, feeding the monster within the acknowledgment that Lee would always be food first, people second.
Maybe. "You shouldn't be doing things like this."
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"You're the only thing in my life right now that--" He'd expected this to be easier to say in the dark, but it wasn't. It didn't help that he was, in the back of his mind, imagining Harvestman biting his wrist. Which, fuck. He really hadn't been lying about the addictiveness. "-- look, I've dealt with worse than one depressed vampire, some vampire hunters, and a precocious little girl." This was an easier tack, despite or because of its inaccuracy. He could live with Harvestman believing he was a total asshole (as opposed to a partial one).
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