middaeg | what is the sesame street number of the day??

The sun blazes from high above, casting a small shadow around Makoto's hunched form. He sits on the curb of the sidewalk outside the front of a large library in the middle-class area northeast of the Coven, a newly-purchased black cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders, its hood keeping his head in the shade.

Today had been weird. He woke up feeling even more awful than he'd felt in the two weeks before. He'd argued with Shinjiro, eventually being forced to withdraw and leave their fight unresolved. He'd laid on his bed in his room and listened to music, wondering what the point of him being here was and why he'd been given this second chance at being alive. It all came to a head when Fuuka had visited his room and made him realize he's craving something - something that made him particularly sensitive to the smell of Fuuka's hair and sweat, the heat eminating off her skin, the soft beat of her heart that he could hear from across the room if he listened closely enough. That was all it took. He'd quickly slipped from the house, messaged Eren, and is now sitting in front of the library, waiting for the large dragon-man to find him.

There's no denying it, he thinks to himself. There's no avoiding it. I know what's happening... if I'm lucky, Eren will lend me a hand.

During the day when the sisters are awaited to rise in full, Eren grows as anxious and off as any monster would find. He awakens restless, hunts after the precious sharpness of anything with a point, and very well stays that way with little sleep in between the three day mark. Too alert, even hyper-focused at times to the sounds the crack under the steps of a wandering man, or the sight of another coming much too close to his hoard’s boundaries.

His venture was none of those now, though. His hoard was sound, hidden. Food isn’t the problem here and neither is territory. A bond, or bonds, were important for a reason, and while instincts call him, he’s far more sane of mind than his first month (of attacking friends). His thoughts are clear, with only mild interferences that seem like simple white noise, enough that he has no trouble making decisions for himself.

The part dragon finds Makoto through taste and scent alone before he could register his image, hidden away under a black hood. Growing pains plague Eren’s legs, his feet, shaping them oddly as the days pass and making his winged arms seem slightly longer— enough that he’s given up on shoes, his shawl is gone for the time being. He only dawns shorts that have been ripped apart to keep his legs free, and his body, nearly head to toe in scales that would only come as patches on their normal days.

(The spikes poke out of his spine at night. Those were more painful.)

His walk is more of an awkward attempt at wanting to crawl and being unsuccessful with it, hunched forward and only dipping closer to the ground when he can lower himself to the other’s height, extra hand and arm spines curling back to bring membrane with it. The vampire did not need to wish for luck, when Eren was sure of what he came here for.

“Isn’t it bright for you?” He asks on a slight whim. Eren was much better suited for the night now, though he doesn’t complain much of the day. Only if it’s too bright, then the sun doesn’t give his pupils rest.

Makoto heard him coming before he was anywhere near him. How couldn't he? The murmurs of a few witches made him lift his head, and the hulking silhouette of a winged monster was visible even with a dozen people preventing him from getting a perfect view.

As he drew closer, Makoto couldn't help but feel a pang of fear. Eren is just so enormous, and despite the messages he'd written to him suggesting that he already knew what was going to be asked of him, Makoto still didn't feel completely safe asking it.

He swallows and looks up to meet Eren's eyes once he's close enough. He looks different. Less human, more monstrous. It's fine. Eren came here to help you.

"Not really," Makoto answered softly, trying not to tremble. "I guess that's coming later on."

Standing up, he smooths the front of his cloak with his hand and sighs. "...thanks for coming. There wasn't anyone else..."

There is nothing to fear, child. Especially when the reptilian thing towering over him is giving his own sort of silent hellos and nothing more. Something to be frightened of was when anger boiled in him, but none of that seems to be happening today.

Little did he know that Eren had little clue of what he needed, other than he was now sharing the same monster interference. Perhaps best of all: he wouldn't mind, either way.

"The first night is rough," he says, with understanding and hoping to flick away any uncertainty Makoto has about his presence, whether it was fear of misunderstanding or rejection, or, what else. Eren deeps just a little closer, enough to allow space for his tongue (now a pale blue) to capture particles of scent and taste. He can't tell what kind of monster he was taking to, and has only one more thing to rely on. Words. "What're you feeling?"

Makoto gazes at him and, somehow, manages not to flinch when Eren came closer. The sound of his voice helps put him at ease - this is still the same person he'd met in that store a week ago.

"I'm - I almost hurt someone earlier." Makoto looks away, nervously glancing at the people passing them by, as he continues. "Someone I really care about. I almost... it was like I'd mesmerized her somehow, and if I hadn't stopped myself, I would've bit her. I'm hungry, and I almost bit her."

If Eren didn't know what Makoto is ultimately going to ask him, he probably does now.

While most people are ignoring them, a few spare curious looks in their direction. Makoto sighs and leans in when he speaks again. "Do you mind if we go somewhere less public?"

Edited 2019-08-24 02:23 (UTC)

. . . That most certainly helps paint a better picture. Eren has yet to truly meet any vampires, but he’s done some studying on his own, he’s seen them about when he spoke to Miss Sully, an old chimera Wilder retired from her eventful days with the Coven when it was still a growing movement.

He knows what it’s like to nearly hurt someone you care for, and the last thing you can have are regrets. He’s a strong man. Lizard. He knows this can only be a temporary fix, but Makoto will have plenty of time to look for more donors, just to be safe. Eren, on the other hand— Eren didn’t mind being his first go-to.

“Up sound good?” He gestures up the building. Perhaps the roof, or the roof of the next? “Unless you’ve got somewhere else.”

He doesn’t bat a single moment of hesitation for him.

"Up?"

Makoto cranes his neck backward in the direction of the gesture. The library's roof and tall spire cast a silhouette against the daytime sky. Blinking, he looks back to Eren. "...Sure, that should work, but I hope you're offering me a ride or something. Or directing me to the fire escape."

Between his sense of overwhelming gratitude and the possibility that he's about to ride a dragon, he can't think of much to say aside from that.

The existence of a fire escape may not be known to Eren (not that he makes it too apparent; he only blinks), the possibility of a quick ride is. Makoto may not ride a full dragon, but the possibility of a piggyback was there in the form of the monster flexing his arms and bending his knees in front of the wall.

"If you can keep a good grip on my neck," a clap of his hands against his legs— he's ready. "Get on."

Makoto hesitates, albeit briefly. He flashes back to his encounters with his friends earlier this morning. He'd nearly coerced Fuuka into letting him bite her. He lost his temper with Shinjiro and probably made things worse. He left the house without even talking to Akihiko, leaving him to have the awkward conversations necessary to find out what happened.

He truly doesn't want to hurt Eren in any way, either. As he contemplates having to wrap his arms around Eren's neck, he wonders if he'll have the self-control not to bite him then and there.

"I'll try."

That's as much as he can do. He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he has been able to stop himself so far today, and climbs onto Eren's back. The scent of him immediately intensifies his hunger, and he tries his best to wrap his arms around his neck in a way that would keep him from feeling any kind of pulse. Once he's scrambled his feet up and off the ground, he gives Eren's shoulder a pat of readiness.

Up they go— which doesn’t take long to scale, to Makoto’s luck. Setae line the palms of Eren’s hand and the soles of his feet when the sister moons are plump, requiring less grabs from his claws and just some counterweight against gravity. Vertebrae fins lay flat, and shouldn’t be uncomfortable to straddle when they’re not profusely rigid, even for spines. Steady breaths and an equally steady heartbeat to him to the top, and if Makoto waits enough . . .

They’re in a quiet spot where only the wind blows as their company, crawling over the ledge and keeping his legs bent until his friend’s feet touch the roof to get off.

“Looks good enough.”

When he feels the sudden lurch of Eren's body as he bounds upwards, Makoto grits his teeth and manages not to embarrass himself with any yelps of surprise. It turns out his worries were for nothing - as bad as his cravings are, they can't overpower the instinctive desire to hold on and not die.

He's still shaken as he plants his feet on the roof and swings his body off Eren's back. That was terrifying, but also incredible. The exhilaration makes him feel like he needs to catch his breath.

"Thanks," he says with a nervous smile. "This should be perfect. Even if someone saw us up here, I don't think they're going to mess with you."

As they sit down— or rather, as Eren sits close to the ledge and gestures for Makoto to follow along with him on his descent, he looks over and relaxes his legs, one in and one out.

“A lot of people here say that about dragons,” he says, then curtly continues with a casually asked question. “Is that really the first impression I give?”

It’s not worrying, more so curious. Don’t get him wrong, ten years ago he would’ve been thrilled. He just doesn’t think himself someone . . . Scary.

Ah. Makoto pauses, gauging the meaning of Eren's curt question. He hadn't seemed particularly hurt or offended by Makoto's words, so he rightly assumes that the part-dragon is asking for some other reason. His cravings pull on the edge of his mind, but as he sits down next to Eren, he steels himself to resist for just a while longer.

"Yes and no," Makoto says softly. If Eren wanted to be repaid by having someone to listen, he's bargaining with the right person. Makoto won't lie to him, but he won't be insensitive, either.

"No, because the people here don't seem afraid of you so much as... impressed? Respectful," he clarifies. "I don't see a lot of dragons around, but the locals here don't act like they've never seen one before."

He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests folded arms on them. One hand's fingers curl into the fabric of his cloak as he ignores the sound of Eren's heartbeat.

"But also, maybe yes... for mirrorbound, at least." He smiles to himself and confesses, "I was terrified when I first noticed you in that shop. It only took a few seconds for me to realize you were an alright guy, though."

An alright guy. Perhaps a week or two after this, Eren would quietly long to ever be someone like that again. For now though, he takes the words and tucks them away to remember. He knows there’s more beneath those words when it came to the opinion of others— he just didn’t care too much. His curiosity now, in relation to Makoto (who mattered right now), was satiated.

“A few minutes,” Eren corrects him, but it’s in a friendly manner with the way he smiles. There’s just one more thing he’s like to do . . . Raising his arm, Eren runs his fingers over his wrist, and holds it out. “I just didn’t bring my knife.”

He keeps his sharp things hidden on full moons, unless he’s picked something sharp up again.

"That might be more accurate," Makoto confesses with a soft laugh, thinking back on that day. He wonders if he should apologize, or think of a joke to make, or let Eren continue his thoughts...

But the talk is over already. His gaze drops as soon as Eren raises his arms to touch his wrist, his fingers moving over the veins just below his skin. Don't look creepy, he tries to tell himself, as his eyes follow Eren's wrist like it's an entree being set in front of him at a restaurant.

Makoto frowns and stays silent for a moment. Then, he reaches out and takes his wrist in both hands. It's warm, and now he can feel and hear his heartbeat.

"...alright," he says with a deep breath. No knife means he has to use his teeth. They still aren't as sharp as they eventually will be, and Eren's skin seems thick and tough. Is he going to be able to do this without - gnawing on him?

"I've never done this," he breathes. A part of him feels like he needs to apologize for this already. Drinking blood is disgusting, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone, and in the moment it feels like he's facing the reality of dying all over again and becoming something horrible.

But he's got no choice and he knows it. After a second deep breath, he brings Eren's wrist to his mouth and bites. When he fails to pierce the skin, he bites a second time, harder, and then a third time again after that fails. Finally, he punched a fraction of an inch of skin between his teeth and pulls again, trying to tear the skin instead.

There’re scar marks there, worst of all. Scar marks that seem far too similar to the half-circle a human mouth makes (a good story to tell him). He must be a little worried he’ll hurt him, for sure, and Eren is patient. Each bite earns at most a flinch between his eyelids that are . . . Much too used to harm for comfort.

The last time helps, the best one yet in drawing blood, though it was little. Little, eren figures, for someone wanting a snack.

“Here”, he says, pulling in closer to show him the inside of his palm, the closest to his wrist. “Bite where you have more grab, and don’t think.”

More meat to puncture rather than hardness and bone— he’ll hit the vein there. Eren doesn’t bit for him, though he easily could, and instead, leaves the mark of his teeth where his skin was the softest.

Tearing his skin worked, for better or for worse - his first instinct is to withdraw and make sure it hadn't hurt that much - but blood leaks out and hits his tongue. Immediately, something is tripped in his brain. It is so odd that he couldn't describe it if he tried, even if he had the breath and the mind to attempt it, which just as immediately seemed to leave him and be replaced by that sense of deep need that he'd been repressing the entire day.

Eren pulls in closer, and Makoto feels the distance between them grow more intimate; he had hear his heartbeat even clearer now and his hulking body is keeping the sun and wind away. When he's forced to withdraw enough for Eren to lean in and leave bite mrks on his palm, he feels mildly frustrated, but the advice works. This time, when he bites into the base of his palm instead, his teeth break the skin and sink a few millimeters into his flesh. Blood starts to rise up against his teeth and into his mouth.

Just like before, the taste of it has an instantaneous effect on him. For the past two weeks, he'd been surviving by eating meat cooked as rare as possible, but this - it's like drinking cold spring water in the middle of a desert. He huffs out an eager sigh through his nose and bites down harder, so much blood into his mouth that it begins to leak from the corners and collect where his lips touch Eren's skin.

He swallows loudly. The blood travels down his throat and hits his stomach, burning hot and sickeningly delicious and sending a thrill up his spine. He huffs another sigh out of his nose and gnaws, hoping to fill his mouth again.

A resilient monster, perfectly healthy and at his prime, Eren doesn’t falter when Makoto digs in for more. He only clutches his fist and undoes it constantly, forcing more blood to come naturally and allowing the share he needed to satisfy the hunger.

He knows where to stop for his own good, more or less, and will only begin to gently pry Makoto away when there’s been a little more than enough. he still has to stop the bleeding himself, and have enough energy to get home.

Makoto's mouth lingers on his wrist as he begins to gently ease him away, his lips and tongue still massaging more blood from beneath his skin. The more he swallows, the more his sense returns to him. When he finally releases his bite to let Eren pull away, his face is flushed and his moist lips are tainted red. Compared to how sickly he looked before, it's like he's overcome the flu in less than a minute.

But. With the return of common sense comes something more - shame. The blood was intensely gratifying. Drinking it was unlike anything he'd experienced before. It made him feel alive, powerful, motivated, peaceful...

And something else. Aroused. The front of his pants feels suspiciously, familiarly tight. Avoiding eye contact with Eren, he hunches over and hugs his long black robes around him gratefully. As wonderful as the blood made him feel, it is quickly being replaced by shame and guilt and...

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, staring down at the roof tiles. "I'm sorry. Thank you."

It’s still August, and the summer twist to the season grapple hard onto an instinct he usually keeps under composure with his bonds in sight. That isn’t to say that it it’s an easy thing to ignore when he picks up the scent of arousal by the tip of his tongue.

He swallows dryly, sits back, and tries to clear his throat. He just can’t pretend he didn’t realize now— it was like dangling something wonderful right over his face, then carefully hovering it back. A difficult task it was, to ignore something that had just woken up, tranquil at first, satiated and ready for the next opportunity to appear.

Eren just hadn’t expected it to be this one.

He holds at his wrist, careful to keep the small wound turned upwards. He didn’t have a shirt, and whatever pants he had were torn— well, tearing a bit more wouldn’t make things worse. A bit of fabric it was, at least to keep some pressure on the bite.

“Don’t apologize,” he ends up saying, tending to himself first before his body is turned to the other, wrist in his lap, and— his other hand, the better one, clasps his shoulder. The dragon inhales, and readily, he continues, dipping downwards to close the gap that had been there between their seating: “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His heart is beating faster, and his scales dawn a far more brilliant color than they used to hold. Reds and oranges mingle with obsidian and flashing a mood usually meant for attracting attention.

Makoto reaches out his hands at first, trying to help Eren stop the bleeding, but the movement almost separates the plackets of his cloak. He recoils at the thought of his clothing underneath - specifically, his lap - being exposed for Eren to see; he pulls it tightly around himself again and watches him wrap his wrist in the torn cloth gloomily instead.

Is this normal? he wonders to himself. Eren's not just another man, he's a dragon. His preference for women aside, why would his body be reacting this way to a dragon, of all things? Is it another vampire change? Maybe it was caused by lingering witch's magic in Eren's blood?

A powerful clawed hand clasps his shoulder, shaking him out of the thought. He looks to see Eren's face, drawn much closer than before, eyes and teeth glinting and scales changing colors unexpectedly. His heart skips a beat out of fear. What's going on?

"Eren?" he breathes, feeling his rejuvenated face beginning to flush. Something is going on between them both right now. He's not sure what it is, or whether it's good, but it's something. "What is... what's happening?"

This would get awkward if it went farther in silence and stares, nerves and anxieties (if it already wasn’t). It would be bad, for the both of them, he thinks. Eren would slip away with a few growing inches of primal frustration that he’d take elsewhere, that wasn’t the problem. Makoto would be left behind in a rush and a part of Eren knows that he’d feel— left alone, maybe. Ditched. It’s not quite what he wants after sharing his blood, after opening up about something Makoto was worried of in the first place.

It’s getting worse, or better for him, the more he stays. The heat to his cheeks flare, the scent is unbearable and calling, as much as there’s fear of the unknown laced to it. How much was this body versus mind for him? The only way to find out was to advance, gently. His hand retreats, comes to the front of his lap (where he’s also feeling tighter), his tongue wets his lips, blue and unconsciously flicking to Makoto’s direction. He can’t— stop that. Neither can his expressive ears stop seeming to prick up like the horns that curve around his head, or the spines on his black shift like fins.

“We’re,” What’s happening. A breath pushes past his teeth, what may almost sound like an exhaled laugh that hardly picks up into one. He isn’t making fun of him, just simply . . . Perhaps a little surprised up here. “Aroused.”

We’re. That’s one way to put it, though Eren’s always been direct. Blunt and to the point. He knows what Makoto’s hiding at this point and doesn’t care to flee. Not unless he’s rejected, in which he’d respect.

Eren’s scales continue to shimmer bright and call like a male begging for the attention of a potential mate. He’s strong, say the muscles beneath his skin that flex and relax with the most subtle of motions that only the subconscious could grab. He’s beautiful, he’s potent, he’s healthy and he’s confident enough to strut that.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not leaving.” He says, holding a hand out, palm up. “Unless you’re uncomfortable.”

Then by all means, he’d stop. They’re still budding friends, he wouldn’t do a thing to displease him.

Edited (brain) 2019-09-13 10:06 (UTC)

The breathy word aroused hits him like a bullet - he doesn't know how Eren could have possibly known that, with his arms desperately trying to keep his cloak around him to hide it. And although he might know nothing about dragons or what exactly is happening between them, between the flexing and the shimmering scales and the lick of his lips and the offered hand... he can guess.

His first fear is that this is the real reason Eren offered his blood to him. This isn't what he expects in return, is it? Considering how massive he is, and the fact that they're secluded on this rooftop together, the pressure to accept is enormous. Makoto looks down at his outstretched hand and the torn cloth wrapped around his wrist. Is this really happening? Sex with a... monster? Not just another man, but more importantly, a monster.

"I'm..." he begins without knowing what he was about to say. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "I don't know. This is all completely new to me."

He'd barely recovered from the reality that he'd just gulped blood and loved it, and now this. Makoto looks away from Eren, but doesn't pull away just yet, as he debates the situation with himself. Despite his fear, his erection is even worse than it was a moment earlier.

It’s all and well when Eren’s hand comes up empty. He hardly lets it become awkward either, patting at the other’s shoulder once or twice before bending his legs, knees closer to his chest and arms, wing membranes included, then encircling them to keep to their own space, though still close to each other by side. He hasn’t come here expecting a single thing besides giving him blood and having a talk, so— It’s clear that he isn’t pushing in the slightest, by the way his features maintain casual, although open minded and accepting.

“It might be for all of us,” He remarks quietly, as if it would answer some sort of question, but even after that, the initial thought trails off and away with his eyes to the horizon. “The only reason I knew was because I can smell you.”

His tongue flicks again, not so much at his own discretion but the way a person inhaling for air would. Without thinking. Pheromones. He’s sensitive to them as he is absolutely receptive. Eren— just wasn’t all dragon, though. There was still him, human. And not all about disregarding feelings. Here comes understanding in his words, and simple talking to offer rather than something Makoto wasn’t quite ready for (it’s fine— he distracts himself enough with the smell of his own blood, bringing his wrist closer to his mouth, for his tongue, and fixing the soaked cloth).

“It’s a lot. You just got here.”

Although, he is . . . More accepting about his features than most. Even the little bits of head bobbing when his eyes cast sideways. Displays. He can’t quite rid himself of them.

This must be some sort of vampire thing. That's the only explanation Makoto can think of, and it must be the same for Eren too. The breathy tone to his voice, the shimmering scales, the head bob... the flick of his tongue. Makoto watches Eren's face tenatively, his mind still processing the situation, his dick still pressing into his leg uncomfortably.

"But how?" he asks, at a bit of a loss. "How - how would we, I mean? You're..."

A dragon. And much bigger than Makoto is. It sounds - it sounds kinda painful, to put it bluntly. He feels his face flush, assisted by his fresh meal, at the thought. He's certain he isn't ready for that yet, it being too great a leap into the unknown. That isn't making him any less aroused, unfortunately.

"What if..." he begins slowly. Keeping his gaze averted for now, he idly toys with the pull string on his hood. "Maybe ... something simple. And easy."

closed to eren

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