Work Text:
Javier doesn't get to do jobs with the gang that often anymore. He had never been the man to rob under the cover of night, so when it became his only option, he found himself last picked for anything that occurred past sundown. That and, well, the obvious.
They're finishing up a stagecoach robbery. Nothing special, but everything seems tougher these days. More law, more enemies. This time they find themselves ambushed by lawmen, like they were lying in wait for the gang to appear. Unfortunately for them, they failed to account for the gang’s newfound supernatural advantage.
Javier's chasing down the last policeman, the only one who's left alive and trying to escape. But there can be no survivors. They can't risk the information on their whereabouts being passed along.
Javier jumps from Boaz at the last moment, tackling the man around the middle and off his horse. They hit the ground heavy, and Javier feels something jam oddly in his wrist. But he knows it’ll heal, that it's just a momentary setback, and nothing that'll keep him from doing this job.
He sinks his teeth into the man's neck and drinks.
The gang still isn't comfortable with it. They're not casting him out, not trying to hunt him down, but they're far from used to seeing Javier dispose of men the way he can. Usually he tries to avoid drinking in front of others, but he hasn't fed in some time, and was due for a meal.
“Bad fuckin’ business,” Bill comments under his breath. Charles says nothing, just watching with that steady gaze of his. Even Arthur usually finds something to do with his hands, smoke a cigarette, page through his journal, rather than watch.
John is the only one who doesn't seem to mind.
It's pretty obvious why. Javier doesn't need to scrutinize it. The man has been his meal more often than not these days, save for the times when he finds something else, so that John doesn't get too weak. But usually it evens itself out enough that Javier doesn't get hungry until John's back in shape. Maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe it's how creatures like him survived, feeding off one person for an extended period of time.
Again, he doesn't need to scrutinize it.
They head back to camp when it's all done. The night is still young, and their new camp has a place for Javier to lay low during the day. It's not the nicest space, more like an old root cellar, but he gets to be close to the gang again, for what feels like the first time in months, when it's really only been a few weeks. And what weeks they've been.
Shady Belle seems like a creature of the night itself, although Javier has never seen it in daylight, so he can't really say otherwise. It creaks and groans in the wind as they enter camp.
Arthur and John head over to debrief with Dutch. Charles makes himself scarce as soon as they're back, heading off to tend to his weapons. Bill already has a bottle in his hand. Javier hesitates. He's been feeling more and more like a stranger amongst what he thought of as his family. It had been so gradual, so surrounded by other larger, louder events that he had hardly noticed until it had come upon him.
His eyes are better at night now, so he can catch every glance he gets, every flinch when he draws near. The reverend practically scrambles out of his sight, muttering verses under his breath. Words that used to bring Javier comfort, now slung at him like mud.
“Javier,” Dutch’s voice shakes him from his thoughts. The man is approaching him, where he stands by the campfire. Where he'd set up his tent, if he still stayed here. Dutch is smoking a cigar, the end of it glowing in the dark.
“Law won't trace it,” Javier supplies, nodding at the bills in Dutch's hand. “No witnesses.”
Dutch hums in agreement.
“I'm sure you took care of it,” Dutch smiles as smoke seeps from his lips. “In your own special way.”
Javier steals his expression, tries not to react. Dutch’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes, somehow.
“You staying around, son?” Dutch adds. “Or do you have places to be?”
The word, son, seems like it’s spat at Javier’s feet. Like the term no longer applies. And the phrasing, like Javier would rather be anywhere else, like it’s something he could choose if he had the will. As if he doesn’t have to stay away for the safety of everyone, for his own safety. That Dutch considers it some kind of dalliance that Javier has to live differently now. The words cut, sharp and quick, and they don’t seem to heal as easily as everything else these days.
“Nowhere until morning,” Javier manages to reply. Dutch smirks, like his response confirmed something he had been considering.
“Well then,” Dutch turns on his heel. “Until morning.” The smoke leaves a trail in the air as he heads back into the house. Javier looks everywhere except at his retreating form as it folds into the shadows. His stomach churns, something so similar to his unnatural hunger, just as dark, just as festering.
He catches Abigail’s stare from across the main campfire. Unlike the others, she doesn’t look away. It’s steady despite the fear behind her eyes. That’s something he’s noticed. They all have it these days, and he’s not sure if it’s something in reaction to his change, or if it’s something he sees now. That they all read as prey to him, and the way he looks at them is more akin to a hawk does to a rabbit than a man does to another.
But with Abigail there’s something else, a scrutiny, like she’s trying to put a puzzle together, and if she commits enough of him to memory she might figure it out. It’s worse than the fear. Javier can handle fear. He’s seen it long before he became what he is now. But that gaze rubs him raw more than anything else thrown his way.
She has to know. There’s no way she wouldn’t, and surely not with the way she looks at him. But bringing it up to her would mean breathing life to a thing Javier hasn’t even spoken about with John. Something else in his life that has no right falling into pattern as easily as it has.
Javier looks away.
-
John finds him watching the stars out behind the shed. The gators give him a wide berth, scuttle away into the water whenever Javier gets too close. Instead of prey they must see something else when they look at his eyes glowing dimly in the dark.
John takes a seat next to him, their backs leaned up against the rotting wood.
“How’s the hand?” John asks. Javier had nearly forgotten. He flexes his wrist this way and that, but there’s barely a twinge leftover from before. He shrugs absentmindedly, and John nods. They sit in silence for a bit, listening to the other creatures of the night.
“We’re robbin’ a bank I guess, ‘dya hear?” John adds, after a moment. Javier’s hands fidget for a cigarette, but they don’t seem to do much for him these days.
“You know I didn’t,” Javier returns. “There's no point in telling me if it ain’t happening at night.”
He used to be the first in line for new jobs. Always in the wings to jump at a chance to fight, to prove himself. Now he hears about them after they’ve been completed. He doesn’t mourn the rewards. He hardly needs much anymore, not when he’s able to keep himself fed and safe easier than ever.
Without the struggle to survive, does he even need to be here anymore? No, that can’t be true. He needs the gang, needs Dutch and his family. And they still need him, right? What would they be, without Javier?
“Don’t think Dutch thinks too high of me,” Javier admits, hates that it comes out wounded and small. John makes a frustrated noise at his side.
“Don’t worry about what Dutch thinks,” John comments. “He thought he needed to kill Bronte. He thought he needed that whole mess with the Braithewaites.”
“What’re you saying?” Javier asks, turning his head to regard him. John’s gaze drops to the ground between where his forearms rest on his knees.
“I dunno,” John concludes. Frog call fills in the silence between them. Javier shifts his gaze back to the swamp. An owl hoots in the trees nearby.
“Abigail knows, right?” Javier asks. His stomach churns just thinking about it.
“Not sure,” John replies. “But that…that’s over.” Javier faces him, unable to hide the confusion on his face.
“What?”
John avoids his eyes.
“You know when we had to change camps? You an’ I were…” John swallows, leaving the sentence open. “Jack got taken. By Bronte. ‘Cept we didn’t know that yet. By the time I tracked everyone down it was over ‘n done. Arthur got ‘im back. But Abigail, that was it for her. Said if I couldn’t keep her son safe what good was I for?” John huffs out a laugh, and it sounds bitter.
Abigail’s son, not John’s. Javier doesn't fail to notice the phrasing.
“Prolly for the best,” John adds. “I don’t know how to be a father.”
Javier says nothing, just looks back out at the water. The stars have weakened in the sky, the first sign that dawn is on its way. Javier needs to find somewhere to rest.
Javier feels a touch at his jawline and turns toward John.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” John leans in. “Dutch needs you. We all do.”
Javier sees the look in John’s eyes, wonders when the last time he gave that look to the mother of his son. If it had been before John found him in that darkened bedroom. If it had been after.
John kisses him, sweet and slow, but it doesn’t last long.
When did they start doing that?
“You stayin’ here, or heading out?” John asks.
Javier shakes his head.
“Got places to be,” Javier decides.
-
There's no one on guard. Javier had thought it strange John hadn’t come to him in a while, and the worry had morphed into terror upon entering camp and finding it empty. Shady Belle is abandoned, packed up and left in a hurry. There's no sign of a scuffle, just a swift exit. Javier can see their tracks in the dirt, smell their scent still on the air. They haven't been gone long.
Saint Denis looms in his periphery as he tracks the gang. The bank job must have gone wrong, something must have happened. They’ve had to pick up and move fast before, but this looked bad. Blackwater bad. Boaz shares his anxiety, muscles tense and fluttering under the saddle as they find themselves heading north, into the bayou.
He follows the trail, up until the path turns muddy and wet, down into the swamps where he finds a trail marked with skulls staked on spears. He fears the worst, it’s almost a relief when he sees Karen aiming a shotgun between his eyes.
She doesn’t say much, just lowers the weapon and jerks her chin towards the rest of the camp.
“Should go talk to Sadie,” Karen suggests. She doesn’t move from her spot on the perimeter.
“Sadie?” Javier echoes. His heart flutters a bit, his stomach twisting. He sends Boaz over to the horses and makes his way to the largest shack in the camp.
Javier opens the door and finds Abigail and Sadie speaking in hushed tones.
“Javier,” Sadie’s voice holds a bit of surprise, but its mostly tinged with exhaustion. Abigail says his name as well, albeit with a bit more concern in her voice.
“What happened?” Javier asks. “Where is everyone?” Abigail’s mouth pinches into a firm line as she averts her eyes. “Where’s John?” he adds, growing too frantic to put on a charade about it all.
“It was real bad,” Sadie says. “We didn’t hear from no one. ‘N then the horses came back…we knew we was in trouble.” She glances at Abigail, some unspoken comment made her way that makes her square her shoulders and regard him.
“Hosea’s dead,” Abigail’s voice warbles just slightly. “Charles says they got Lenny too. The rest of them stowed away on a ship of some sort. But…but they got John.”
Javier feels cold. His heart threatens to stop completely, his breath caught in his lungs.
“They got John?” he asks, and damn how fragile his voice sounds when he does.
“Law did,” Sadie is quick to add. “We think they got ‘im in prison. Charles overheard it when he was gettin’ out of the city.”
Something in his chest loosens. Alive. Taken, but alive.
“Where’s Charles?” Javier asks.
“He’s out hunting,” Sadie answers. “We couldn’t grab everything from Shady Belle. Said he’d be back in a few days.”
“Everyone else?” Javier adds.
“They’re good,” Sadie replies. “E’rything considered.”
Through the hallway of the shack Javier can see Tilly peeking out from behind a wall. Her face brightens when their eyes meet. Javier lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
“Okay,” Javier scrubs his hand over his face, his mind racing. “Okay,” he repeats. He swallows, his throat dry and tacky. “We gotta get John.” He looks out the window, sees the sky beginning to lighten. “But…”
“We’ll figure out where he is,” Sadie offers. “When we know, you an’ I can go get ‘im.”
Javier meets her gaze. It’s strong, solid despite all the turmoil that she had just laid at his feet. He gives her a nod. Abigail repeats the motion.
“The one next door's got thicker walls,” Abigail gestures. “Might work for you.” Javier watches her expression. Still a bit of what he had seen before, that calculating, decrypting expression. But the offer is genuine, despite it all.
“Thanks,” Javier replies. He scratches at the back of his neck. When he glances down the hallway Tilly is gone.
The shack next door is pitch black on the inside, the walls sealed tight between the wooden beams, tarp hung up across the breadth of it to keep in, or out, the light. Javier brushes his hand across the fabric, inspecting the building for cracks, before he sits on the bed and lets the reality of their situation wash over him.
-
Javier tries to stay away from Saint Denis, but these days he can't seem to do so. He knows there's information about John, somewhere deep in the bowels of it. Somewhere amongst the filth and rot. He can only see the city as a reflection of what he's become.
A monster. A threat.
He prowls the streets at night, hoping a word of gossip will catch his ear. He finds newspapers that say nothing of John’s whereabouts, and even the police department doesn’t seem to speak on his behalf. Still he returns every night, knowing that if he hears about it anywhere, it’ll be with the city limits.
He knows he's being watched, a sinking feeling clawing at the back of his mind. It's only when he sees it does he make the connection. Its skin is pale as the moon that hangs in the sky, eyes a bright blood red. Javier finds it standing at the end of a long, dark alleyway, far from the streetlights.
Javier goes to meet it like he could do nothing else if he tried.
The creature, his sire, doesn’t speak when he approaches. It watches unblinkingly, head twitching this way and that, as if to try to size him up. Javier has so many questions, but he can’t seem to find the words. The creature finally points a long, bony finger in his direction.
“Speak, child,” it rasps. Something looses in Javier’s chest, a weight he didn’t know had formed unraveling at the words. Javier’s heart thunders. He wonders if the thing before him even has one anymore, if at some point his own will cease to beat. The longer he stares the worse he feels, but he has to ask.
“Why me?” Javier’s voice sounds small, swallowed up by the presence before him. The creature’s eyes are bloodshot, eyelids almost nonexistent in how they’re pulled back behind their sockets. Its mouth forms a facsimile of a smile, its teeth gnarled and crooked.
“You’ll feel it too, one day,” the creature ignores Javier’s question. “The need to turn, to change.”
Javier flinches like he’s been slapped. Turn? As in turn others? He’ll want to?
“It will grow,” the thing continues. “A hunger of its own.” It crooks its head to the side. “Will you sate it?”
Javier doesn’t get a chance to answer. The creature rushes him with a speed that surpasses Javier’s own supernatural abilities. Javier holds his hands up to block whatever comes his way, but all he’s met with is a blast of warm air. When he opens his eyes, he stands alone.
-
With each day the dread grows. There's a pit in his chest with the loss. Hosea. Lenny. The others uncertain. Sadie continues to lead the group, keeping everyone up and running, but there's an undercurrent. Like she's preparing for the inevitability that Dutch might not come back.
And that scares Javier.
It's impossible. It can't happen. They've gotten out of worse scrapes than this. Sean had been caught by bounty hunters while everyone else starved up in Colter. This has to be similar. They'll stumble back from wherever they ended up, and then they'll keep moving. Find somewhere else to call home.
Without Sean.
Without Hosea and Lenny.
Maybe without John.
It takes two weeks, but Sadie finally hears news of John’s whereabouts. Javier is able to follow up on the lead, beating down a few cops until he gets confirmation that John’s held at Sisika. She arranges for a boat, just for the two of them, and he meets her on the edge of the Lannahechee River. They’re quiet as they begin paddling, but Sadie speaks up when they’ve left the shoreline.
“Heard there’s a lotta law,” she states. “Like they’re expectin’ us to try an’ come get ‘im.”
“They won’t know what’s coming,” Javier reassures her.
“I know,” Sadie retorts. “Just-” she huffs, avoiding Javier’s unnatural gaze. Her hands tighten on the oars. “We can’t lose more of us, y’know. If he ain’t comin’, you gotta get out.”
“Why wouldn’t he-”
“I don’t know!” she snaps. “I’m just sayin’ that if it’s either both of you or just you, you gotta think about what’s best for all of us.”
Javier couldn’t disagree more. And what startles him is how strongly he opposes Sadie’s statement. It makes his guts churn, his throat go dry, thinking of somehow John not returning with him tonight.
“Okay,” he agrees. Sadie gives him a look like she doesn’t believe him.
She shouldn’t.
They pull up onto the shore. Other than the moonlight, and the distant glow of the penitentiary, there’s no light on the island. Sadie heads up to the guard tower, incapacitating whoever she finds along the way and signalling when the coast is clear. Then, it’s Javier’s turn.
He can see easily in the night, and he’s able to crouch through the reeds and sparse foliage as he nears the prison. There are guards walking the perimeter, two side by side, their lanterns glowing dimly as they bob along their path. He creeps closer, hiding under the bridge near the front gate, and waits.
Javier slips up behind a set of guards, silent as the night itself. His knife slashes across the neck of one of the guards, and the second the other turns they lock eyes.
“Drop your weapon,” Javier commands. The gun falls from his grasp, half out of fear. The guard falls into a trance, waiting on Javier’s word. His partner bleeds out at Javier’s feet, the scent filling Javier’s lungs, making his mind short circuit.
“How do you enter the building?” he asks.
“Th-there’s a side door,” the guard stammers. “Just around the corner.” Javier smiles.
“Show me,” Javier asks. The guard begins to walk, but before he can get far Javier calls out. “Keep your eyes on me.”
They walk abreast each other, the guard holding the lantern while Javier drags the body of his companion by the collar. There’s a smaller building sat up next to the walls of the Penitentiary, windowless, with one door. When they approach Javier pauses.
“Open it,” Javier purrs. The man nods numbly, his hands fiddling with the keys as he keeps his eyes locked on Javier’s. The door groans as it’s pulled open. Javier stuffs the body just inside, and waits for the guard to close the door before giving the final command.
“Sleep,” he suggests. The man sags back against the wall, slumping to the floor next to the body. Javier rustles the keys from the man’s pocket and leaves.
Inside the walls the space opens up to a courtyard. Various buildings scattered amongst the grass. Javier picks around until he finds the cell block, unlocks the door with his keys, and slips into the darkness.
The adrenaline wanes as he slinks down the halls, eyes shifting this way and that as he takes in his surroundings. John is here, he has to be. Javier just has to find him before the guards discover something wrong, before they see the blood on the ground or the bodies piled by the door. There’s a kind of high that lingers after hypnosis, heightening his senses, making him feel even less human than before. He can smell John on the air. His mouth waters, his body honing in on the scent.
The cells are small, little accommodation provided other than a rickety cot. When Javier finds John, he’s curled in on himself, facing the bars of his cage. Javier feels the relief wash over him as he approaches. He shivers with it, despite his own temperature. His hands shake as he fiddles with the keys, metal clinking on metal as he fixes it in the lock. The door swings open, gently and quietly.
Javier closes his hand over John's mouth, and when he starts awake Javier is quick to turn John's head to face him. It's pitch dark in the cell block, but Javier’s eyes glow bright at the sight of John, and the look on John's face is enough to bring him to his knees.
“Shh,” Javier soothes, his thumb tracing back and forth on John's face. “Gotta be quiet. C’mon.”
John nods, and Javier retracts his hand.
He unlocks the cuffs around John's ankles, leaves them in the cell when they depart. They're silent as they walk, but Javier can hear John's heartbeat, can feel his pulse where he holds the man's hand as they navigate the darkness. The other prisoners are sleeping, the sounds of their snores droning and echoing in the space.
The guard is still sleeping next to the body when they reach the outer building. The keys get tucked back inside the guard’s pocket. Javier leans his ear up against the door, but he can't hear anything outside. They make their move.
They're approaching the corner of the penitentiary when Javier hears voices. He presses himself up against the wall, motioning for John to do the same. It's the second set of guards. No doubt they’ve discovered the blood. The stench of it is in the air, making Javier feel fevered and panicked. He has one moment before they alert the others. Javier makes a dash out from the side of the building. His hunting knife sticks into the guts of the first guard. The second is fast, too fast for Javier’s expectations. A shot rings out in the night.
Pain blossoms in Javier’s gut. The kind of pain no one should experience twice. But Javier’s felt the searing sting of a shot meant to kill far too many times since his unnatural change. It’s blinding, agonizing, but in his case, survivable. And the guard doesn’t suspect that.
Instead of crumpling to the ground, Javier pivots to the guard who had fired the shot. It’s easy to get his hands around the man’s neck. A few moments of struggling followed by the telltale snap, and the man falls limp.
Silence.
Then the alarms begin.
Javier turns in his place to catch John’s eye, then they’re both darting into the shadows. Already there are lights appearing along the parapet, whistles blowing as guards congregate.
“Javier- shit-” John curses as he follows along behind him. He tries to ignore how his name on the other man’s tongue makes him shiver. “I can’t see nothin’, you gotta slow down.”
Javier hears the groan of the main gates open. They don’t have that kind of time. He turns and grabs ahold of the sleeve of John’s uniform. John in turn closes his hand around Javier’s wrist. Then they make a sprint for it.
The lack of gunfire proves that the men searching for them truly cannot pinpoint their location. Javier makes towards the tower that Sadie resides in. If they can get to the boat before they pick up the trail-
A shot rings out from the tower. There’s an answering call of shouts and cries from the officers, far too close behind Javier for his liking. Dammit. If she had just kept her cool for a bit longer-
Bullets whizz past the two of them as they make for the shore. Sadie continues firing from above until they reach the tower, then the three of them are running. John and Sadie get in the boat while Javier fires shots back at the guards. He has the advantage of sight. Other than the pain in his side, he manages to keep them at bay without issue.
Lantern light doesn’t reach far on the shoreline, and the officers are left staring into the darkness as the three of them paddle their way across the river.
Javier stows his weapon and winces at the searing paint at his side, his hand clenching over the hole in his gut, feeling the wet warmth of his own blood.
“Javier-” John starts.
“-I’m fine,” he cuts him off. “You know this can’t kill me.”
“I know,” John huffs. “I was jus’...nevermind.”
Javier flicks his gaze over to where Sadie’s pointedly pretending to ignore their conversation. John’s hands are fidgeting on his knees, like he’s trying to keep still.
“Thanks,” John breaks the silence. “For comin’ for me. Knew you would.” Javier’s gut churns.
“Yeah, well,” Javier deflects. “Ain’t no one else who could. We ain’t heard from Dutch.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Javier repeats. “Dutch, Arthur, Bill, Micah. All gone. Charles said they might’ve got on a boat.”
John doesn’t respond. He’s staring at the floorboards, hands gripped on the seat.
“Hosea.”
Javier’s jaw tightens.
“Yeah,” Javier confirms. “Lenny too.”
-
The ride is silent for the rest of the way. John clings onto Javier’s back as they ride to their new camp. It feels like forever ago when they had done the same, the cold of the Grizzlies instead of the steaming humidity of Lemoyne. John’s hand is gentle around the gunshot wound, despite it no longer bleeding, the skin already knitted back together.
Javier feels small, somehow, with just the two of them making their way back to the remains of their family. Too many losses at once, too much fear and instability. And now with Dutch gone? What chance do they have?
John presses his face in between Javier's shoulder blades. It helps a bit.
They're welcomed back warmly. Seems like most of them stayed up late to see their return. The group looks like they needed a win, everything considered. Abigail pulls John into her arms, holding him tight and murmuring in his ear. The sight makes Javier's chest ache. Maybe they aren't as done as John had made him believe. Javier averts his gaze. The sun’s threatening its light on the horizon, anyways. He doesn’t belong in this scene.
His shack is dark, sounds from the camp dampened between wood and cloth. The feeling that has been gnawing at him for weeks comes into stark reality. Loneliness. He thinks about the creature that stalks the city. Is that what he’s to become? Is that why they get the urge to change others, to fight that isolation? How could he forgive himself for subjugating another to the life he now lives?
The door creaks open, sending a sliver of dawnlight into the space. Javier jerks away from it, sending him skittering up against the wall. There's a curse and a motion, and the door shuts again. Javier sees John standing in the doorway, leaned up against the closed door.
“Sorry,” John apologizes. He's still wearing the prison uniform, black and white stripes stark in the din. He squints as his eyes adjust, but Javier can see him bright as day.
“Thought you might…” Javier can't find it to finish the sentence. He feels like he has a better handle on his inhuman condition than whatever this is.
“I told you,” John replies. “That's over.” Something flares in Javier’s gut. His eyes glow.
“ ‘S that true?” Javier asks, taking a step closer.
“It is,” John insists. “I wanna be here.” John's shirt is covered in Javier’s blood from when they rode together. He reaches out, takes Javier's hand. “ ‘M yours.”
Yours
The word echoes in Javier’s mind, buries its way down into his gut. He closes the distance between the two of them, sneaks his hand up into John's hair.
“Mine,” Javier confirms, his lips a breath from John's.
John responds by closing the gap, sealing his mouth to Javier's. His tongue licks in deep, skates across the sharpness of Javier’s teeth as if to tease him with the blood inside, just a scratch away. Javier groans and pulls him close, pressing John’s body up against his own, needing to feel every inch of him. All the while the thought replays in Javier’s head.
Mine, mine, mine.
The time away had only made this desire, this obsession grow. With John before him it’s spun alive, threatening to drag them both along with it. Javier tears at John’s clothes as they’re yanked away from his body. Seams pop, the threadbare fabric no match against his desperation.
“Lay down,” Javier demands as he’s pulling his own clothes off, leaving them in undignified piles on the ground. John scrambles onto the mattress, watching Javier strip, chest heaving. The only light is from the glow of Javier’s eyes, bright enough to reflect off the pale of John’s skin. It practically shines when Javier draws near, when he laves his tongue over John’s flesh so that it’s dewy and damp. John swallows around a moan, his hands squeezing at Javier’s waist, his ass, giving back as best he can as Javier licks and mouths across his body, from his neck down his chest.
Javier takes his time, lapping across his nipples, sucking bruises around the edges until they look like purpled petals blooming from peaked centers. His nails scratch along John’s sides, across the thickened scars left from the last creature who tried to claim him. If only he had claws, like a proper monster, he’d replace those marks with his own, show everything that dared to take John Marston just who he truly belonged to.
“Jesus-” John gasps. “Oh fuck-” His hips rut against Javier’s stomach, the heat of his length stark against the cool of Javier’s skin. In return Javier closes his lips around one of his nipples and sucks, hard enough that John arches off of the bed. There’s no one, no one else who can make John move the way Javier does. He can play him like an instrument, finely tuned to his touch. He does it again just to prove it so, until John’s entire chest is slick with spit, nipples puffy and swollen, skin bruised and scraped.
Javier continues down his body, skirting around where John’s flushed and weeping to mouth along the man’s legs. His thighs are muscled and solid, strong from riding, but the insides are still soft to the touch. He can feel John’s pulse within, rapid and strong. The marks he’s laid before have faded. It feels almost like an insult to Javier, the idea that something as simple as the weary drag of time to try to reclaim the man laid before him.
He scrapes his fangs along that softness, not enough to piece skin, but enough to make John tremble and whine. It’s like he wants to belong to Javier, to be owned and claimed just as much as Javier wishes claim and own. A hand threads into his hair, strands yanked out of the tie with how John grips close to his scalp. He’s pressing Javier into his thigh, albeit weak and shaking. The last of Javier’s restraint crumbles.
The first bite is little more than that. A quick puncture of the flesh, the wound quickly sealed but leaving behind twin marks along his thigh. He does it twice, thrice more until John’s thigh is riddled with marks. The taste of blood merely sits on Javier’s tongue, not even enough to coat his throat, but it makes him wild eyed and fevered. He shifts, passing across John’s hips to his other leg, where he finally takes a proper bite. With his other hand he presses his palm into the marks he had just laid, letting the sting of it come from both sides as he digs his fangs in deep, feeling the warmth flood his mouth. John lets out a proper moan, though hidden behind his hand, as his hips jerk and shake while Javier drinks.
John tastes different than the others. Javier doesn’t know if it’s due to the frequency, or his own attraction to the man. He just knows nothing compares to the way John feels on his tongue, settles in his stomach. It makes pleasure wash over him in waves when he drinks, how it rolls in his belly once he’s filled. He’s never had anything else like it. It’s why he’ll drink when his thirst is quenched, when he’s not searching, not hungry. It feels like a drug, a vice unlike anything else, having John.
Javier takes a wet breath before he seals the wound, taking care to lick up any trace of blood left behind. The salt of his skin feels like a garnish on his meal, and he can practically taste the want John’s emitting. Javier noses his way to John’s core, lapping lazily at his balls, up his cock. He flicks his tongue over the flushed tip. John sobs in response.
The hitch in John’s breath betrays real fear when Javier closes his lips around the tip, but he only sucks once before shifting up to look at his results. John’s gaze is unfocused and roaming, seemingly unable to control any attempts to see clearly. Dark patches appear on his skin, from collarbone to thigh, places where Javier’s coaxed to color against the white of his skin.
“Pl-,” John pants. “Please. I n-need-”
“Say it again,” Javier murmurs.
“What?” John seems too dazed to comprehend him.
“Whose are you?” Javier asks. He can see John visibly shiver.
“Yers, Javi,” John slurs. “Jus’ yers.”
Javier grins.
John’s rewarded with a gentle, slick press to his entrance. He’s surprisingly silent, other than the rough panting and loud breaths as Javier works a finger inside. Javier crowds into his space, forcing his legs to spread wide as Javier hovers over his form.
“You think about me, when you were gone?” Javier asks.
“ ‘f course- ah-” John gasps. Javier finds the spot that makes his skin jump and shudder.
“Tell me how.”
“Shit,” John’s head falls back on the pillow, his eyes squinting shut. “Everythin’...watchin’ me- ngh- d-drinkin’ me. ff-fuckin’ me.”
“You touch yourself, thinking ‘bout it?” Javier watches with wild eyes, stretching and petting him.
“G-God-” John clenches his teeth. “Yeah.”
“Tell me how,” Javier repeats. John’s brows knit together, shaking his head slightly. Javier’s free hand shifts to grab John’s chin, forcing him to look Javier in the eye.
“Tell me,” Javier demands. John’s hips thrust weakly, a blurt of precum pulsing from his cock.
“Fuck-” John sobs. “Jus’ like this. When no one was ‘round. I- ah- can’t do it like you- ‘m always thinkin’ ‘bout it- Javier please-”
“Shhh,” Javier soothes him. “That’s it. All ready.”
Javier doesn’t waste any time, slicking himself up and positioning himself so he can grind in nice and slow. John clamps his hand over his mouth so the sound doesn’t carry, but Javier can feel it all the same. John’s hot as the sun itself, plush and inviting as Javier sinks into him. John’s got tears slipping down his cheeks, his chest shuddering with each breath.
Javier tucks his face into John’s neck and sighs. He leaves little time for John to adjust before he begins rolling his hips in and out, feeling John loosen and conform to him with each motion.
“All mine,” Javier whispers. “Just mine.” John nods frantically in reply.
Javier begins snapping his thrusts, so each one ramps up to a full slam by the time their hips meet. John sobs with each smack, his breathing gone ragged and staggered. Javier holds himself up on a forearm, his other hand passing over John’s bruised chest, his raw skin. His cock is weeping, a puddle forming where the head sticks to his abdomen. Javier closes his hand around it, twisting and pulling, feeling it jerk and spasm against his touch.
Javier feels it as he noses along John’s neck. A hunger, a possession. Unlike the others. Unlike the way he needs to have him like this. Subordination, dominance. Change. A desire to keep him like this, under his command for time eternal. His sire’s words haunt the back of his mind. He could do it so easily. He knows how to do so. Somehow he’s always known.
John moans and the moment ends. Javier can feel John approaching his peak. He shifts away from John’s neck, so he can watch him, inches away from his face. John’s still got his hand over his mouth, nostrils flared wide to compensate for the air he desperately pumps into his lungs. He looks thoroughly undone, lost in the sensations, the way Javier has wrecked him.
Javier increases his pace, watching with glowing eyes as John hits his orgasm. His eyes roll back, filled with tears as he cums so hard Javier feels his release hit up on his chest. John clamps down hard on Javier, his breath caught in his lungs like his entire body has frozen in ecstasy.
“That’s it,” Javier pants. “So good for me. All mine.”
John’s still riding out the aftershocks when Javier reaches his climax. He’s practically silent as he cums, burying himself in deep and working his hips through it. John’s body is loose and pliant, giving easily to each steady press of Javier’s hips. John lets out a halfhearted whimper at the feeling, and Javier can feel John’s passage turn slick with his own release.
Javier lowers himself down onto John’s chest, his mind a haze. The realization hits him after the fact. He might have changed John, right then and there. Was that what this possessiveness was all about? Was it the unnatural desire to create, to transform that caused him to want John close, to want him like this? And if that’s the case, is it right to keep him so?
“Thank you,” John’s voice cuts through Javier’s thoughts. Javier chuckles despite the concern in his gut.
“Don’t gotta thank me,” Javier denies, his head resting on John’s chest.
“Not this,” John replies with a smirk. “Comin’ for me. Savin’ me.”
Javier feels John thread his hand through Javier’s hair. Javier’s eyes shut.
“Ain’t gonna leave you like that,” the words leave Javier’s lips before he can reconsider them.
“I know,” John replies too easily. “You won’t let me die.”
Javier wraps his arms around John, hoping in fact, that he’s wrong.