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The night is deep blue already by the time Ritsu finally wakes up, and the first thing he can think to say is, "Maa-kun, I'm hungry."

Mao shifts a little, turns to Ritsu from where he's been reading in bed. The look on Ritsu's face is different-- he doesn't just look languidly sleepy like he usually does. Instead his face is even paler than usual, gaunt and waxy, with unusual dark circles under his eyes.

"I can go get you some food if you need to eat... have you been drinking enough water? You look kind of like death," Mao admits, but reaches a hand over to gently run through Ritsu's hair anyway.

Ritsu nuzzles his head up into the touch, less sleepily and more aggressively than usual. "Don't need food," he growls, voice small yet low muffled into the pillow as he drops his head, nestles down on his other side.

Mao looks at him, puzzled. "But you just said--" And then it dawns on him; Ritsu turns over again, pulling his lips in a grimace, and Mao can see the fang poking out, sharp and white and inhuman. "Ricchan, do you..."

"Yeah," Ritsu sighs, apparently just as unenthusiastic as Mao is. "Sorry... I know it hurts, so..."

"It's not that," Mao insists, flopping back on the bed. "It doesn't really hurt, it just ends up making me all dizzy after a while. And then I need to overhydrate and eat lots and take supplements, 'cause I get all weak... I'm surprised I'm not also a vampire yet."

"Maa-kun, I told you that's not how it works," Ritsu protests sleepily. "I'd have to suck out all your blood to turn you."

"Huh." Mao raises his eyebrows. "I genuinely don't remember you saying that. Now I know."

"Yeah. Though now that I think about it, Maa-kun always lets me drink a lot. I get worried sometimes that I'll go overboard..."

"And drink all my blood?" Mao laughs, his hand reaching over to scratch Ritsu behind his ears. "And turn me into a vampire just like you?"

"I can't say I haven't thought of it before," Ritsu admits, pushing his head more against Mao's palm. "'Cause someday you'll die, since you're a human, and I'll still be here, but..."

He goes silent. Mao doesn't end the sentence for him; he already knows.

I don't want to live without you. Now that I've met you, I can't let you go. I know I'll live a thousand years, but I don't want to if it's not with you.

"But being a vampire isn't fun, and it's a hassle, and that'd be selfish of me." Ritsu turns over with a sad sigh. "I already ask too much of Maa-kun."

Mao wraps his arms around Ritsu's waist, something warm and sorrowful swelling in him. Pulling Ritsu close against him, he buries his face into the back of Ritsu's neck, the skin half-warm with a faint pulse.

Only because you're here, Ritsu would say as a child, nestling closer into Mao as they shared a pullout mattress on the weekends. My heart only beats because of Maa-kun. At the time Mao had thought it some dramatic metaphor for his childlike affection; only now does he realize how literal Ritsu was being.

"Maa-kun, you really do spoil me, don't you?"

"Yeah," Mao says. "Yeah, I do. 'Cause I love you." He pulls Ritsu's shoulder, attempting to roll him, and Ritsu complies, turning to face him. Mao makes eye contact-- his irises are so red, he thinks, and knowing some of that pigment is from his blood, the blood he’s willingly given to Ritsu over the years-- and gently, in affirmation, tilts his head back to expose his neck.

Ritsu blinks, but that quiet look is the consent that he needs. Mao has always had his signals; movements and breaths shared between them that Ritsu wordlessly understands. Mao's fingers curl around Ritsu's forearm, softly, tracing circles on the inside of his wrist. Assurance, and Ritsu nods, scoots himself on top of Mao with a sleepy grunt.

His leg inadvertently presses between Mao's thighs, and Ritsu flinches at the little sound Mao makes at the touch, but something sparks inside him. Reminds him of something his shitty brother said once.

"Blood drawn during... ehem, intimate acts, can be much more energizing than feeding normally. Try it~"

"Shitty brother. How do you know?"

"Oh? Is little Ritsu interested in my sex life?"

"Ew, no, you gross bug. And who are you suggesting I try it with?"

"Who do you possibly think I could be talking about, hmm?"

"Ugh, you're so gross. Leave me alone."

It'll be a cold day in hell before he believes anything his brother says about being a vampire-- at least, before trying it out first.


"Huh?" Mao twitches a little at Ritsu's voice, looks up, worried. "You okay?"

"Do you think it would be better if I did this while we... um..." Why are words about sex so hard. "While we have sex."

Mao stares at him blankly.

"--I mean so it's not as bad and maybe you'd look forward to it?" Ritsu trips over his words a little, saying them faster than he usually speaks, eyes flickering elsewhere and then back to Mao's face, waiting for approval--

Mao bursts into bright, hearty peals of laughter.

"Wh... What's so funny, Maa-kun!" Ritsu paws frustratedly at his shaking shoulders.

"Nothing! Nothing, just. Are you like, oblivious to everything else while you're feeding, or what?" Mao puffs out a laugh, flashes his sun-bright grin. Ritsu almost has to look away. "Do you have any idea how-- turned on I get when you drink from me? Like, isn't it a pheromone thing? Weird vampire shit?"

Ritsu feels his nerves melt away at Mao's frank confession. "I guess so, but I never really noticed. Explains why you barely ever say it hurts, or try to get away."

"Yeah, it literally feels like I'm melting," Mao admits, and only now does he show his embarrassment, turning his head into the pillow and throwing an arm shyly over his eyes. "I've wanted you to do this for forever, Ricchan. So, uh, don't be shy, I guess."

Ritsu smiles; his face feels hot, and the rest of his body is starting to warm as well. Being pressed against Mao like this, he feels more human, more alive, so much that he can feel a pulse without even touching his skin. Mao scoots back against the headboard, coaxing Ritsu forward, until his thigh slides against the meeting of Mao's legs as he leans in enough to kiss him.

Ritsu feels the whimpered breath between his lips, Mao's warm hand still fastened around his wrist, and resists the urge to bite down already. He's already starting to get hard, and the idea of being inside Mao while he drinks is still lingering there, burning deep in his head. Slowly, he moves his thigh between Mao's, who opens his legs a little wider to accommodate the way Ritsu is moving against him.

"Ah-- clothes, it's too hot, Ricchan," Mao complains after a moan, and Ritsu nods, pushing up under Mao's shirt at the indent of his hips to tug it off. Mao lifts his arms, then pulls it the rest of the way off and sets his hands to Ritsu's buttoned shirt.

"Don't take it all the way off, I need to keep my back warm."

"Alright." Mao chuckles. "I like how you look with your shirt open, anyway."

Ritsu sighs a laugh, kisses him again, short and sweet before Mao's hands work quickly to undo every button. The linen shirt falls halfway off his shoulders, open and a little crumpled. Mao is blushing.

"Cute, Maa-kun," Ritsu singsongs. Mao lets out what Ritsu can only describe as a squeak, and launches forward to kiss Ritsu before he can say anything incriminating.

Thankfully, the kiss lasts longer, warm and open-mouthed, so much that Ritsu has to take extra care to make sure his fangs don't puncture Mao's lips. Mao is noticeably canting his hips against Ritsu's leg, now, and he's even more noticeably hard, pressing urgently into his thigh. Ritsu takes this opportunity to break from his lips and start undoing his zipper.

"Getting impatient?" Mao teases, poking Ritsu's forehead with his index finger. Ritsu doesn't catch on to the joke-- he just nods, blunt and unaware as usual, because he's not sure how long he can hold out before he needs to drink. The visceral, almost animalistic craving is swelling inside him, hot and harsh, and it takes a lot of rational thought not to just sink his fangs into Mao's neck right fucking now.

Mao laughs, pushes his pants down once they're unbuttoned; Ritsu's fang grazes his hand, and he abruptly stops laughing. There's blood, but it's a shallow enough cut that nothing else will come out of it-- Ritsu clasps onto his hand, hungry, and licks up the drop of blood from between his thumb and index finger. His breath goes harsh, his voice throaty and raw and decidedly not sleepy and indifferent (not the Ritsu he knows, not now, not here) and Mao freezes. "More," Ritsu pants, low and twisted in his throat, and Mao gently uncurls Ritsu's fingers from around his hand.

The kind, warm touch soothes that something that was just burning primal inside him-- Ritsu breathes, lets go of the hand. Mao has always known how to calm him down, even when he's about to snap from this kind of waiting. Ritsu nuzzles his head against Mao's thigh, suddenly a bit sleepy, but Mao prods him.

"Hey. Ricchan. Wakey."

He looks up towards Mao's face, and the sight of Mao's half-removed jeans and tented boxers in front of him immediately makes him remember exactly what they were just doing. Ritsu snaps out of it, rousing himself from Mao's lap.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, breathy. "Here, take them all the way off." Hooking his thumbs under the belt loops of Mao's jeans, Ritsu struggles to undress him, but it's not exactly working when his hand is shaking this strongly. Mao just laughs, light and breathy, and does it himself, wiggling out of his jeans, making sure Ritsu still gets to be the one to take off his boxers (because he wants that, he wants Ritsu, to reveal him and expose him and wrench him open-- )

Ritsu's fingers brush deftly over the line of Mao's cock, straining against the thin fabric. Mao's toes curl, however slightly, into the bed, and he drums his fingers impatiently on Ritsu's shoulder blades. "Ricchaaaaan," he whines, despite himself. "Just touch me already, or something, jeez..."

"Hehe, I got Maa-kun to beg for me," Ritsu taunts, pulling the red tartan-patterned boxers off. Cute, he thinks. They look like Trickstar's outfits. Mao blushes, grumbles something incoherent that trails off into a sigh when Ritsu's thin fingers run gentle up his length, teasing, alighting on his flushed skin like butterfly wings.

"And that's not how it's going to work anyway, Maa-kun," he continues, slow hand still stroking, feeling his own body twitch with arousal. "I'm not getting you off like this, I'm the one putting it in you this time, remember?"

Mao opens his mouth in protest, but instead he just huffs a sigh. "You never said that," he groans, voice cracking as Ritsu's fingers keep ghosting over him, "but I guess I'm not complaining."

"No complaining allowed," Ritsu says, "or else I'll stop cold turkey and just be all boring when I drink Maa-kun's blood, yeah?" But his body is trembling now, and no matter how much he wants to tease, to delay gratification until Mao is begging for it, all his instincts are lit up-- he needs to feed, as soon as possible, or else...

"Yeah, yeah," Mao chuckles, twisting under Ritsu a little bit. "Jeez, you look impatient, though. You get the lube, you're closest to the drawer after all."

Ritsu scrambles, tipping off of Mao's legs to reach the bedside drawer and dig around in it until he finds a familiar bottle of oil. He can't do this, he's all on edge and prickling; he hauls himself back on top of Mao and wordlessly pushes his legs apart.

"You better not rush this, okay? If you make me bleed I won't forgive you." Then an unsavory thought comes to mind. "A-And don't you dare say that you'll--"

"Gross, no." Ritsu reads his mind, as usual, uncapping the bottle and coating his fingers. He lets out a sigh; Mao's familiarity, their usual banter, the comfort of his warmth brings a strange tranquility, his body a fluttering of wings rather than a beating of hooves. "That sounds like something my shitty brother would be into."

Mao laughs again-- he's been doing that a lot tonight, Ritsu thinks, and blushes happily-- and slowly runs his thumb over the side of Ritsu's free hand. Calming, comforting-- Ritsu feels his frantic, almost human pulse slow a bit, relaxes, catches his breath just as Mao's quickens as he works one finger inside.

Mao tightens at the first intrusion into his body, but Ritsu is so careful and insistent now, cupping his face with his other hand, and Mao pushes down against the touch, opens his legs wider as Ritsu sinks in down to the second knuckle. Ritsu pats his head, and that faint warm smile Mao loves so much finally rises to his face. Slowly, Mao breathes, relaxes as Ritsu pushes all the way inside, works him open with gentle care.

It's rare to see Ritsu like this in any other situation; he's alert, though his eyes are half-lidded as usual, and he feels less languid, more attentive, responding to Mao's wants and needs with an effortless, selfless ease. In moments like these, Ritsu is unselfish, understanding, and his usual sleepy pout is replaced with these widened eyes, this quickened breath, the constant scanning over Mao's face asking are you okay? does it hurt? do you want more?

Only Mao gets to see this, and both of them know it. Mao is the only person Ritsu has ever cared about more than his own selfish indulgences, and though Ritsu doesn't show it often, it shines through here, just like this.

Mao gasps as Ritsu works a second finger in, spreading him on the slim digits, slickly curling within. Ritsu brushes over something dazzling-hot inside him, and Mao writhes down onto his fingers, pressing his face into the pillow. He feels open, vulnerable-- ready for the taking, and Ritsu prods a little more, sinks in deeper, listening to Mao's quiet moans.

His body feels hot and cold all at once; just the sound of Mao's voice has Ritsu twitching and achingly hard, and the chill of hunger is setting in, unrestrained now even by Mao's calming presence. Ritsu becomes frantic again, thrusting his fingers in now, before tugging his pajama pants down with his other hand. Naked except for the light linen shirt draped over his shoulders like a cape, he pulls out, setting his hands on Mao's back to coax him into his lap.

Mao is content with just wrapping his arms around Ritsu's shoulders and pulling him down on top of him-- this is strange, because Mao usually likes to ride him, likes having some sort of control. But now Mao is just giving himself over, surrendering, looking up at Ritsu with big, pleading eyes, hands trembling on the nape of his neck, pushing himself back against Ritsu's cock-- and that's too much, that's when Ritsu gives in.

The anticipation twists his breathing shallow and lights up every nerve in his body, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of literally sliding into Mao, the drag almost nonexistent, tight and trembly and melting-hot around him. Ritsu moans, mouth dropping open, eyes nearly rolling back but fluttering closed just in time to save him from showing a rather awkward-looking face, and he pushes slowly forward until his hips meet Mao's skin and the space between them has been closed entirely. Mao's hands grip desperately at anything they can reach-- Ritsu's hair, his sheets, his wrinkled, open jacket. He finally grabs for Ritsu's collar to pull him down, presses their lips together in an urgent kiss to take the edge off.

"Maa-kun, ah," Ritsu sighs into his lips, the slick heat around him so tempting and sinful and hard not to bury himself into. "You feel so good, Maa-kun, so good..."

Mao is hissing in pleasure, clinging to Ritsu's shoulders as he pushes back against Ritsu's slow movements. He feels dizzy already, feels his body swelling with heat-- Ritsu, though, Ritsu looks so hungry, pale skin gaining a semblance of flush, his mouth open and his fangs flashing, and Mao suddenly wants this more than anything.

"Do it now, do it now, Ricchan, please," Mao begs, tilting his head back to expose the vulnerable thin skin of his throat. Ritsu can't resist, not anymore, not when he's-- presenting himself-- like this, and he leans forward, breath hot and pulse pounding, and sinks his fangs deep into the soft flesh of Mao's neck.

He's not prepared for the burst of sweet blood that immediately steals his senses, and he feels woozy, intoxicated already-- but Mao yelps, sounding terrified and very much in pain, and Ritsu panics, almost dislodging his fangs from Mao's neck. But just a second later, the long, indulgent moan he hears (and feels!) in Mao's throat is almost as delicious as the blood itself, and Mao just melts, body sinking into the mattress as he tightens around him. Ritsu knows the pheromones are kicking in, and Mao suddenly feels pliable and limp under him, shuddering and whimpering. Oh, he already feels so energized, so much more alive, and it spurs on the speed of his hips. His shitty brother was right. Drinking from Mao in any other circumstance has never made him feel this powerful before, but this, this is something new.

If only Maa-kun would have let me done this with him in the mornings, he thinks. He would've never had to carry me to school again.

He licks up the rest of Mao's blood, dripping from the wound in his shoulder, careful not to leave behind a single drop as his hips snap in deeper. Mao cries out, high and weak, his arms sliding down from around Ritsu's shoulders and falling boneless onto the bed. Ritsu pulls him closer, with no resistance from Mao, lets his legs rest on his shoulders as he bends over him and mouths at the bite before indulging himself and letting his fangs sink in again. The taste of Mao's blood is... just exquisite, the most delicious he's ever had, and the fact that it just happens to be from Mao's veins makes it even better. Ritsu can feel vitality spread like electricity through his body, long-thirsty and long-deprived of this kind of feeding-- with both the blood and the energy he's receiving off of Mao right now, he can do anything, he could go for hours. The idea makes his head burn, makes his cock swell even further, and judging by the high, helpless keen that wrenches itself from Mao's throat, he feels it too.

Mao whines, gasps, moves his lips weakly; even that feels like controlling jelly instead of muscles, so his words are almost indecipherable when he whimpers, "Ricchan... y-you got bigger... "

Ritsu doesn't say anything to that-- he can't, not when he's still fastened to Mao's neck, drinking and drinking like he's never fed from a human before. All the while, he buries himself deep, the snap of his hips almost feverish into the quivering heap that Mao is beneath him. He's barely aware of how much it is, how much of a toll it could take on Mao's body, until Mao goes almost completely still.

Then he panics. Lurching back, not even bothering to clean up around the dripping wound, Ritsu stops his movement and places his hands on Mao's shoulders, shaking frantically, in tears. Mao responds worriedly, but it's slow and lethargic, and Ritsu resolves within himself not to drink any more.

"Ricchan, nn... okay?"

"Went overboard," Ritsu gasps, lowering his lips to the puncture in Mao's neck, pushing back in slowly, almost reverently. The gradual stretch, the languid fullness inside of him makes Mao's toes curl, and Ritsu licks the wound clean, presses a kiss to it, sealing it in an apology. It takes all of his strength and restraint not to drink again, but Ritsu’s resolve does not waver-- he needs to take care of Mao now, he’s already done too much. Mao's body still feels melted, boneless beneath him, but this is gentle, spreading warmth through his useless limbs, making Mao shiver when Ritsu presses in slower, deeper.

"Maa-kun, I'm sorry," Ritsu half-sobs, head pressed against Mao's heaving chest. Mao summons enough strength to rest his hand in Ritsu's sweat-damp hair, strokes his head, a silent acceptance of the heartfelt apology. He's smiling, faintly, and Ritsu's still sort of crying, but their pace has calmed down into a harmony of slow movements, skin sticking together, bodies entangled in a symbiotic rhythm. Ritsu kisses him, tangling his fingers in Mao's hair, all lips and gentle teeth, still buried deep and moving through Mao's body like ripples.

Quietly at first, then swelling in volume, their breaths turn to sighs, then to moans and whispers of each other's name. Mao is still molten-hot, twitching around Ritsu, his slowly approaching orgasm showing on his flushed face. His mouth is open, eyes fluttered closed, gasping out reassurances and praise as Ritsu churns within him. He rocks back against Ritsu, letting him bottom out completely, and when the head of Ritsu's cock slides sweet against that spot that made his body spark before, Mao lets out a full-throated, low moan.

"Maa-kun..." Ritsu murmurs, against his ear. "Maa-kun, you're close, aren't you."

"Nnn... haa. Ricchan," Mao manages, nodding, eyes screwing shut at the repeated, precise stimulation. "So good, I... can't, Ricchaaaahnn--"

Ritsu reaches his hand between them, wraps around Mao's neglected length, stroking him slow and full. Mao's voice catches on a moan of Ritsu's name, and something explodes within him, bright and hot and dizzying with pleasure-- he spills, mercifully, over Ritsu's perfect, long fingers, shuddering and twitching, back arching as his hands curl tight into the dark mess of Ritsu's hair.

It's too much. The slow build, the heat and tightness of Mao around him, the sound of his familiar appellation twisted and steeped in pleasure from Mao's lips-- Ritsu buries himself deep, choking on a moan of "Maa-kun-- " before he loses himself. He needs to be as close as he can, as close as his body can get without melding into Mao's, without completely forgetting his own identity, though at this point he really wouldn't mind-- the feeling is overwhelming, all heat and satisfaction and healing, wrapping him in cocoons of pleasure as Mao accepts everything Ritsu can give.


It takes him a long time to catch his breath again, and by the time he does, Mao is already out cold. Ritsu rises, his feet feeling heavy, stumbling around and out of their room to the kitchen. He takes two bottles of Pocari Sweat and one homemade bento from the refrigerator, sets them on the counter, and gets to making chamomile tea.

When the kettle starts to scream, Ritsu sighs-- his head hurts, he feels bloated, he overdid it. But Mao is even worse off, and he doesn't even want to imagine it-- being a human and being drained like that, worn out and sapped and exhausted.

"Maa-kun really does spoil me."

Ritsu says it out loud before he can think, and takes the kettle off the heat to pour hot water over the dried chamomile flowers in the strainer. There's a lot to carry, but he's willing. Mao spoils him enough; the least Ritsu can do is take care of him like this.

Ritsu carefully takes the teacup in one hand, stacks the bento on top of the rim of it, and gathers the bottles in his other arm, walking shakily back to their room. Mao is still unconscious, so Ritsu sets the tea down at his bedside table, puts the drinks and food on his own for later.

"Maa-kun," he says, so soft he can barely hear himself, as he runs a hand through his beloved Mao's hair. "Wake up soon, okay? Your tea will get cold."

"Mm," Mao murmurs in his sleep, and for now, it's fine the way they are.