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immoral and borderline pornographic, julius runs his fingertips over his neck. in some sick, obscene way, he wishes that he could feel the scars. in the mirror he stands for ages, tilting his head in forlorn attempts to catch a glimpse of any blemish. but there is never anything that stands out against the pale skin and it’s making julius’ leg jiggle under his school desk.

fourteen months into being a bloodletter for andrew detmer, countless drinking sessions and only one attempted “date” (a trip to a mcdonald's’ drive-through in the middle of the night), and julius still can’t see any marks. there’s always intense pain when andrew buries his fangs inside of him, breaking him until he bleeds, and yet julius doesn’t have any proof of it happening. then again, maybe he should be thankful. his brothers don’t suspect a single thing. they haven’t heard andrew crawl through his window, or the silent arguing over that andrew should text him first (“i’m sleeping .”), or julius’ silent whimper when andrew tears him apart, and, most importantly, they don’t hear julius’ moans, muted by his cramping hand. so, yeah, there is a point behind “having andrew’s mark on you won’t do any good,” but, goddamnit, there is a charm behind it all that julius wants to keep. he’d frame it, if he could.

still, he sits there with his fingers going over seemingly untouched skin. they’re pushed far into the collar of the lavender turtleneck he’s wearing (although unneeded, the thought of hiding bruises makes him all warm and fuzzy), fingernails scratching over the two invisible holes that leaked red just two days ago. it’s a difficult feeling to explain. it’s like something’s missing. like something’s been removed. as much as julius loves andrew’s soothing tongue on his skin, he’d prefer the bruises.

glancing over his shoulder at the clock above the door, he is disappointed. there’s a whole hour left until lunch, until andrew. two days is a lot longer than they usually go, but yesterday was the sunniest day in a long time, so andrew had stayed home and julius had had too much homework so he hadn’t been able to visit. but today it’s raining and there’s no sign of any amount of sun for the rest of the week, so julius knows that he’s here for sure. it’s just a bummer that andrew won’t answer his text.

“eyes to the front, julius.”

turning back, his gaze settles on his teacher before it lowers along with his head and he returns to his math equation. one hour can’t be too bad. it’s not like he and andrew are dating. they’re not in love. julius’ just desperate. so is andrew.

andrew doesn’t necessarily need julius, however. he’s told him about the others . julius’ the only one in this part of michigan, but over in marquette just 24 miles away he knows of darcy , that slut. andrew only mentioned her briefly while shrugging his jacket off in the front of julius’ car and julius had stuffed his mouth full of french fries and he hadn’t said much on the whole way back to his apartment, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t boiling on the inside, which he was. he was angry and jealous , which is so rare for him andrew should get a diploma for his accomplishments. fuck bachelor’s degrees, he should be able to get any job by simply mentioning that he can made julius’ neck red in more ways than one. not to mention joey in detroit. fuck joey.

still, julius gets butterflies in his stomach when he’s walking down corridors with andrew’s hand in his and when he can feel his burning gaze on the side of his neck. julius has on more than one occasion worn shirts that slide down his shoulders just to tease him. it doesn’t only make andrew press his nose into his throat, it also makes other people stare, which julius knows that andrew doesn’t like. there’s hands on his shoulders, on his waist, on his wrist whenever some closeted jock towers over him and oh, julius adores andrew when he gets like that . he won’t say it, but he knows. he’s a dog or whatever and andrew’s the one holding the leash, but that’s okay. it’s always okay when it comes to andrew because julius loves the aftermath of being feasted upon. he loves the cuddles, he loves how andrew lingers with his mouth on his neck long after he’s licked clean of blood. he loves being tucked under his chin and he especially loves following him to the window and leaning out to catch some last words with him before he disappears into the night and leaves him pale and empty, heart pumping him full again.

andrew doesn’t fuck him, but he doesn’t need to. julius’ gotten off on the thought of him tearing him open many times.

when it comes to andrew, it’s useless to fight. they’re polar opposites, making julius unable to corner him if he’d want to. he has to stand on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his cold cheek when they part. his temple rests on his chest when they hug. one hand of andrew’s is enough to swallow both of julius’. it’s impossible to not feel inferior to him but that is okay, too, because julius had tried to end it once, but he hadn’t been able to go through with it. three hours was all it took for julius to tug on andrew’s clothes again. he had been ashamed when they sat close together, julius in andrew’s lap trying to study while andrew drained him. red strings tie their fingers together and julius doesn’t want to cut them. but he had tried that time. he hadn’t answered his texts or his phone calls, yet he had watched the screen on his phone light up and die down. he had paced his room. when andrew finally got a hold of him (julius hadn’t been able to keep his defiant fingers away), he told him that he meant a lot to him, so, yeah, their break up didn’t last for very long. but it’s alright, once again. julius had breathed in andrew’s warmed skin and he’d realized why he stayed. it wasn’t love or the feeling of being needed. no, no. no, it was knowing that he’d found someone that he’d be alright with being used by. he’s sick and he’s twisted and he probably needs help, but having his blood stain andrew’s mouth and chin makes flowers blossom under his skin in ways that no amount of love can. andrew makes him sick, but julius has never felt more alive.

julius refrains from calling him at lunchtime. they had agreed on meeting in the cafeteria, but andrew’s running late and julius promised a friend to study in the library. he’s got to go, looking around corridors on his way to the only room in the school that you actually have to be quiet in. approaching the doors, he doesn’t see it as a problem. but just half an hour later it’ll be a curse put over his head.

he’s lucky, either way. you can’t google everything, meaning that he’ll have to retreat to the thick encyclopedias in the very back of the library. his fingers run over the book backs as he looks for volume number seven, barely used and barely touched. he steadies it on a shelf as he flips it through, gaze traveling up and down paragraphs in an attempt to find what he’s looking for. hidden in the far right corner he is all alone, his friend busy proof-reading his essay.

julius is approached.

andrew doesn’t need to make a sound, julius just knows he’s there. looking up and between books he finds him on the other side of the shelf, looking right at him. he’s got the dead gaze he always has when he’s cold and empty and julius lights up like fireworks when he finds that andrew’s trying to propose that they “get out of here”. he usually just puts a hand on his lower back or mutters into his cheek but he can’t do that now. there’s a million and one words between them. julius turns shy, pulling the collar of his sweater over his mouth. andrew shakes his head.

“not here.”

yeah, he knows. julius knows. they can’t do it in public. the closest they’ve ever been to “being public” is when julius got a nosebleed and had to lie down on the bleachers by the football field. the blood had dripped to the back of his throat and onto his tongue and whenever julius talked he had just let the smell of it out, making andrew (who sat on the grass beside him) come closer and closer. it probably looked like a makeout session when it in reality was julius feeding andrew by pressing his tongue against his, arms going around his neck to deepen the illusion to the rest of his class that continued their game of baseball. maybe julius had enjoyed kissing him like that. he has, however, never hit himself to give himself another nosebleed. he is not that fucked up. (but it was tempting.)

“i know,” he says, looking past andrew’s head and onto a group of students studying by a row of tables. “i promised oliver we would study, though.”

andrew is clearly disappointed, shown by his slouching shoulders and the childish pout on his pale mouth. julius feels nervous by the time andrew looks at his phone. maybe he’s considering darcy . he swallows, pressing the encyclopedia close to his chest.

“i can be quiet.”

andrew looks at him. “no, you can’t.”

he’s right. fuck. “you can make me quiet.” they’ve done it before. andrew doesn’t mind having julius bite down on his fingers. still, andrew chews on the inside of his cheek.

“someone can come.”

he’s right about that, too. four months ago they had locked themselves inside a bathroom stall and even though it would be impossible for anyone to know what they were doing inside of cubicle number x in the boys’ room by the chemistry labs, andrew had still pulled away so fast julius’ blood had gushed out onto the floor (and as much as andrew likes the taste of him, he wasn’t going to lick it straight from the tiles in a high school bathroom). julius on the other hand buzzes with excitement whenever he thinks about someone pulling the handle.

he lowers his voice. “we can be quick.”

andrew is a child. “i don’t want to be quick,” he says, making julius tremble.

“i can’t leave.”

andrew is a stubborn boy so julius expects him to protest, but he is surprised to find him rounding the bookshelf and appearing at his side instead, talking lower than ever. his voice is rough and dry. he sounds like he needs a drink. julius shudders.

“you gotta be quiet this time,” he mumbles and takes the book out of julius’ hands. julius eyes his hands with the intensity of a lioness. they’re ghostly white. “the bathroom incident can’t happen again.”

julius bites his fingernails when andrew moves in front of him and tears at his collar. lifting his arms isn’t difficult, but agreeing is. julius was never vocal until he met andrew and now he has to bite down on clothes and knuckles. maybe they should go to the bathroom, after all. but when he feels andrew’s ice cold fingers on his hot skin he nods. (what else is a boy to do?)

casting a glance down on his now discarded sweater, leaving him in a simple t-shirt, he finds himself tilting his head to the side. his fingertips graze over his neck to brush his curls away, putting them gently behind his ear. he shudders when andrew’s nose presses into his throat, searching for the perfect spot. the anticipation is always the worst part and julius wraps his arms around andrew’s head long before andrew even parts his mouth, but when he does it’s always charmingly sensual. julius can feel his lips move and press down, his teeth grazing over the milky skin in a kind attempt of comforting him. it hurts a lot. it always does, but when andrew drags his teeth across the flesh to make it red it somewhat numbs it. but then there’s the sharp piercing of his fangs and julius always squirms. today is no different.

his arms tighten when he feels the surface of his throat dip down and when there’s a low ‘pop’ he tries his best to not push him away. although he loves it, it is still full of aching and whimpers. julius mutes a sob against andrew’s neck, right where andrew plays games on his own and he has to stay there for the few seconds it takes for andrew to bite down fully, splitting his jugular open. he gushes when andrew leans away. he can feel it. he’s dripping in red, right onto andrew’s tongue and he swallows it in big gulps almost immediately, for julius can feel his life slowly leaving him. that’s always been a huge appeal to him: the fact that he’s putting his life in andrew’s hands. the trust between them is sometimes greater than the trust that julius has with his brothers. it’s sick.

julius releases his hold when andrew leans away to breathe, panting, as if he’s been running. he always drinks too fast, having to take breaks. during these breaks julius usually spends his time drinking water or looking through his phone but this time there’s nothing nearby to keep him occupied so he just leans back to look at the other, admiring the shade of red that colors his panting mouth. he heaves against him, andrew’s hands on julius’ shoulder and around his waist, pressing him close. his chest works against his and julius is starting to feel his weak heartbeat gain strength against the right side of his torso. he bites his lip. he’s making andrew’s heart beat.

andrew returns, licking and sucking on the two wounds he’s created. any heat that julius had from his arousal is starting to disappear, although it lingers like the sun behind a thin cloud. transferring his fever from one body to another feels like pouring milk into coffee or washing a paint brush in clean water—it seeps through flesh and blood, coloring the inside with gentle clouds of smoke. julius feels beautiful, although tired. his knees wobble where he stands and he’s close to collapsing against the shelf behind him. the further he sinks the tighter andrew’s hold becomes even though his mouth won’t leave his skin. he gently puts him on the floor, propping him up against the books. curling over him, he turns a lot more gentle like he always does whenever julius has to sit down. julius’ head is just lolled to the side now, hands holding onto andrew’s arms that are keeping him upright. his legs spread to allow him closer, which andrew complies, but he still won’t go back to the pace that julius likes the most. he’s getting tired, but he’s still warm. he brushes his cheek against andrew’s, mouth searching for his ear amongst the brown hair.

“harder,” he whispers, letting his arm hang around andrew’s neck.

andrew agrees to that too and julius feels his blood run faster through his veins, all in the same direction. his breath quivers under him and his mouth parts around the softest of moans coming from high in his throat. immediately, andrew’s hand cramps over julius’ mouth and he flushes bright red, planting his own over andrew’s. he broke their agreement, but andrew doesn’t stop. he keeps going.

julius pats his shoulder.

they’ve done this long enough for them to know how the other one works by now. andrew leans away and julius lifts his hand to his neck to keep the blood in, looking up at him with sleepy eyes as he backs away and takes a hold of his hips. julius simply aims his head forwards so he won’t bang it into a shelf, letting himself get dragged across the floor so he can lie down. his shirt rides up his stomach and cold air hits him, making him shiver and god, he just wants andrew back on him, but he might pass out if he doesn’t lie down and being dragged around isn’t really shameful in his eyes as andrew looks about three times better than usual when he is on top of him. with his hands on the floor by julius’ head andrew studies him closely. between julius’ fingers blood is seeping through and he’s twitching a little, the pulse in his throat broken against his sternum. it’s a warning telling him that he is going to die. sometimes he wonders why andrew just doesn’t find someone else after draining him completely. he never told him if he’s got any blood on his hands and julius never thought about it more than once as he isn’t scared of him. he was scared their first time, when he had thought that andrew had followed him into his bedroom to have his legs around his waist and ended up being dinner instead, but other than that he’s never contemplated andrew actually being dangerous. now, hanging over him, julius feels small, however. andrew is just looking at him, watching his blood get spilled onto the floor. he is not touching him. he feels cold.

“more.”

andrew’s gaze moves from his throat to his eyes, his tongue licking his lips clean. julius’ whole body is tingling. “you’ll die.”

pushing his knees up andrew’s waist, he writhes against the carpeted floor. “more.”

andrew’s hazy and full. the gaze he gives him reminds him of the look girls with lifted skirts and boys with unzipped jeans have, and yet andrew’s is different. it’s not longing or eroticism. it’s something drowsy between admiration and fondness, a look that makes julius feel like he’s bathing in sunlight.

he’s not in love. he just wants andrew to look at him like this forever.

andrew shakes his head, his common sense getting the upper hand, much to julius’ disappointment. even as julius tears at his shoulder and presses his ankles to his back, andrew doesn’t take another gulp. he pushes his hand away to get access to the open cavities but only to run his tongue over them, healing him with his warm saliva. julius mewls, too empty to push him away and too unwilling to let him go. his arm falls limp against the floor and he hopes andrew’s fucking happy.

sitting up again, andrew rubs his eyes. he usually wants to sleep after doing these kinds of things. you can’t blame him—julius is in the mood for sleeping, too. tiredness and lust sometimes go hand in hand, but when one is caused because of the other it’s nothing but infuriating. besides, julius is in pain. he wants out of his jeans. however, he’s too dazed to even move his hand. all he manages is a lazy grind on andrew’s stomach, arms wrapping around him to bring him closer. without much to say andrew nuzzles back into his neck, sharing his newly acquired warmth with him. how kind.

still.

still, julius wants more.

over andrew’s shoulder he sees his hand, coated in red. in the background andrew’s asking if he’s cold and julius nods, although it’s more about his plan than anything else. he allows andrew to dress him again, careful to not accidentally dry it off when his arms slide through the sleeves. he feels clever when he looks up at andrew again, meeting his confused eyes.

“what’s with the look?”

he’s so sleepy and julius doesn’t have the heart to be mad at him when he looks like this. not when he’s so red; not when he looks like a baby. holding up his hand to show, andrew only has to look at it for a small amount of seconds before running his tongue over his lips again. even when he comes closer he looks like he isn’t fully aware of what he’s doing, so when julius pulls his hand away andrew just looks at him with furrowed eyebrows and awkwardly stumbles. julius smiles, pale and pretty, lying down again. andrew’s concentration is on the makeshift dessert and julius is not cruel. no, andrew will get it.

he frowns when julius lifts his sweater and his t-shirt, his bloody palm dragging across the skin of his tummy and up to his chest.

julius’ whole body itches, for he knows that andrew will do it, and he does. julius keeps his sweater by his chin during the whole process—andrew’s hands landing on his narrow waist, andrew pulling him closer, andrew leaning down, andrew’s tongue dragging over his skin. julius sighs, head falling back, back arching. his mouth separates. his heart is beating a lot faster now and the blood flowing back into his body is making him all dizzy, making the whole library spin. eyes rolling to the back of his head, julius sees feet in the distance walking back and forth between shelves, doing what they should be doing in a library. neither andrew nor julius is reading books.

the further up his chest andrew’s tongue gets, the closer he is being pulled. by the time that andrew for sure can feel julius’ heartbeat against his lips julius is already sitting in his lap, fingers tight on the knit lavender threads. andrew has his eyes closed and his cheeks are red, clearly embarrassed. he’s the cutest thing there is and shit, julius wants to kiss him so bad. he tugs his sweater over andrew’s hair to hide him. pulling his arms out of the sleeves and the collar over his head, he joins him. his arms, thin and slowly being heated up, wrap around his neck. andrew looks at him, looking extra warm in the purple light filtering through the pale blue. his parted mouth shows red teeth and a red tongue, but it’s not difficult to look past. julius still presses his lips to his and he feels his own metallic taste on the other’s tongue, coloring the kiss with their sins and vulgarity. it’s nice. it’s so nice.

leaning back again, julius makes sure to wipe his tongue on the corner of his mouth. he only has to wait for two seconds before andrew’s back and he adores him so much.

julius is not in love.

but, fuck, he never wants to leave.