Rating: NC-17

Warnings: blood, bloodkink, barebacking

Given an excess of money, a lot of boredom, and the ability to do basically whatever he wanted, Roman Godfrey's primary hobby was pushing the bounds of overstimulation. As such, he was always drowning in sensations. He had a sense that something big was happening, a vague sense of impending doom, and whatever sensory stimulation was brought on by whatever drug he was using and possibly abusing at any given moment. But these sensations only existed on top of two underlying feelings. Because if there were any constancy in his insane, fucked-up existence, it was in the fact that Roman Godfrey was one: always horny and two: always craving a cigarette.

Roman had gotten used to the fact that he was always horny in a kind of deep, spiritual way, even when he was having sex. He preferred not to question the unsatisfied itch that seemed even prostitutes and cheerleaders couldn't scratch, but he felt the mysterious, unsettling craving even with a loose-limbed, leggy brunette in his lap.

And he could always really use a cigarette. With a mother as psychotic as his and a town as small and filled with boring idiots as his, cigarettes helped him get through the fucking day. The rush of nicotine with the first long drag had been his only friend for a long time, before Peter Rumancek showed up.

Peter Rumancek was the one thing that upset this constancy in Roman's life. With Peter around, the craving for cigarettes all but disappeared (he still smoked them, sure, but only out of habit and to have something to do), and the other craving, well. That had weirdly intensified and yet felt closer to being satisfied than it had ever felt. (He spent a lot of time drinking to forget the fact that the craving got stronger than he had thought possible whenever he was around Peter. Because, fuck that. So he imbibed in a lot of substances to forget that Peter looked the way blood smelled, and it was mostly working.) If you asked Roman, it was pretty fucked up.

And maybe it was just a product of all the deaths and weird dreams and excitement of recent times, but lately Roman this sensation was getting so strong that it was more potent than any alcohol, pot, cocaine, MDMA, molly, acid, or nicotine that he had ever put into his bloodstream. It was a craving and a high all at once – a craving he had to satisfy, a high he had to chase. And it all had to do with Peter goddamn fucking Rumancek.

"Damn, this paper cut is huge," Peter said, showing a long slice down the tip of his index finger. Red, red blood glistened on his fingertip, beading at the bottom of the cut.

Peter looked at Roman from under the long locks that fell prettily in front of his face. "Can you help me with this?"

Roman's lips parted, his eyes fixed on the scarlet-painted finger. His voice sounded like it came from someone else as he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

Peter stepped closer, raising his hand in front of Roman's face. "You know what to do."

Before Roman could move, Peter put his fingertip lightly to Roman's lips, as if shushing him.

"Such pretty lips," he murmured, before pushing his finger in between them.

Roman felt a dizzy rush the moment the blood touched his tongue, and was instantly high, higher than he had ever been. The world was reeling, and it felt so, so good. Desperate for more of this amazing high, he sucked Peter's finger farther into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as hot blood flooded his mouth.

"Ah, yes, Roman," Peter said huskily. "Roman… Roman."


Roman's eyes snapped open to see his mother standing over his bed. He turned over quickly, murmuring, "Leave me alone, mother."

He was so fucked.

Roman was half asleep in English class when a balled-up note landed on his desk. He glanced over at Peter, who raised his eyebrows significantly.

Unwadding the note, Roman read a single sloppily scrawled line: "Fuck third period let's blow this joint," with the word "joint" underlined. Roman rolled his eyes – Peter probably thought he was clever – but smiled nonetheless. Making his face neutral, he glanced back towards Peter, caught his eye, and nodded.

As Roman sped his car out of the uninhabited school parking lot, Peter let out a whoop.

"Thank god we got the fuck out of that place. I was so bored I thought my balls were going to fall off," Peter laughed.

"Well, we can't have that," Roman smirked. "So do you have a spot in mind to do whatever shit you planned for us to do?"

He turned to the passenger seat to sneak a look at Peter, whose hair was flying around him in the wind. Roman caught his own eye in the rearview mirror and looked back at the road. Cutting class wasn't a big deal – he should not be feeling such a rush of adrenaline right now.

"I have a place in mind, but I haven't exactly planned activities. Hope that doesn't disappoint you too much," Peter said with friendly sarcasm.

"You're lucky that I'm not turning this car around right now," Roman responded in kind. He couldn't help the smile that spread over his face, especially when he caught a glance of Peter's own grin.

Before he could ask what place Peter had in mind, Peter gestured and said, "Turn left here. Then when you reach that big tree, take a right."

Peter's directions led them to a half-hidden dirt road that led a short ways into the woods before coming to a stop. There was nothing around but trees, and they were all but concealed from the main road.

"Now what?" Roman asked as he turned off the car's engine.

"Now, we smoke," Peter replied, holding up a joint between his fingers. Roman smiled and shook his head – it was as good of a pastime as any.

He was about to get out of the car when he noticed a flash of metal glinting between the fingers of Peter's other hand. He stopped and stared at the straight razor blade turning in Peter's fingers. Noticing his stare, Peter spoke.

"Why do you have this in here?"

Roman shrugged. "No reason." He got abruptly out of the car and Peter followed suit, taking the blade with him.

"You got a light?" Roman asked, when they were both leaning against the hood of his car. He turned to look at Peter, who was standing to his left. Doing so, he had to pretend not to notice how close their faces were. He was slouching against the car, and Peter was standing more upright, so their faces were level.

"Yeah," Peter said, his eyes dropping from Roman's to glance at his lips. Roman licked his lips instinctively, and caught Peter drawing in a sharp breath.

Before he could say anything like, "Let's light up, then," Peter drew in an even sharper breath and hissed, "fuck!"

Roman leaned back a bit, surprised, as Peter dropped the razor blade on the ground and then lifted his hand to look at his thumb, which had a large slice in it from where the razor had dug in.

"Fuck," Peter repeated.

Roman's heart stuttered. "You shouldn't play with razors," he choked, and it sounded so strained that Peter cocked his head at him for a second.

"Yeah, thanks, that's very helpful," he said, bringing his hand up. Before he could suck on the cut, which was now dripping a single drop of scarlet blood down the side of his thumb, Roman grabbed his wrist.

"I can be more helpful," he said, too enraptured by the sight of the blood to care how husky his voice sounded. He stepped closer and, acting on pure instinct, slipped Peter's thumb into his mouth.

"What are you –" Peter started, but stopped as Roman stepped closer yet, pressing his leg between Peter's and pinning him to the hood of the car. His mouth was hot around Peter's thumb, and it felt like his whole body had been lit on fire.

In one quick, forceful movement, Peter pulled his thumb out from between Roman's lips. The two boys looked at each other for a moment, bodies still pressed together, breathing heavily. Finally, Peter broke the stalemate by grabbing the sides of Roman's face and crashing their lips together.

Peter's mouth tasted even better than his blood, Roman thought dizzily. He felt a powerful, overwhelming head rush as they licked aggressively into each other's mouths. His blood spiked with adrenaline and something he couldn't name as his tongue pressed desperately against Peter's.

Without him realizing it, as the world spun around Roman's head, Peter had spun their bodies together so that the bumper of the car was now pressing into the backs of Roman's legs. He let Peter pull off his shirt, and sat down on the hood while Peter took off his own. Once their shirts were discarded and forgotten on the ground, Roman grabbed Peter by the hips and reached up to bite aggressively at the warm skin of Peter's neck. Peter straddled Roman's leg, groaning loudly as Roman sucked at the spot on his neck and pressed his leg harder between Peter's, where his hardening dick was straining against his jeans.

Peter pulled away suddenly, and Roman looked up at him, lips parted and swollen dark pink, his right hand still resting on Peter's hip.

"Do you – do you have –" Peter scratched the back of his neck, seeming to rethink his words.

"Do I have what?" Roman asked impatiently, grip tightening on Peter's hip, as if to pull him closer. "Do I have a fucking STD? I don't, can we shut up now?"

"No, you prick, do you have lube? Jesus," Peter said, blushing. Roman stared up at Peter for a moment, lips parted. His eyes unfocused for a moment as that strange unnamed craving intensified stronger than ever before.

"I mean, we don't have to – I just meant –" Peter stuttered. Instead of answering, Roman pushed him away and hurried around to open a door of the car. He was back in seconds, a tube in his hand.

"Do it," he said, handing the lube to Peter.

"Are you sure?"

"Jesus fucking Christ." Roman pulled Peter into a kiss, while undoing first Peter's jeans and then his own. Pushing down Peter's jeans and boxers, he let them fall to the ground as he snatched the lube from Peter and slicked up his hand. He wrapped his hand around Peter's cock, slipping his other hand up Peter's side to grip desperately at his waist. He slid his hand slowly down the length of Peter's cock, coating it with slippery lube as Peter shuddered against him.

Roman pulled back and smirked up at Peter, his eyes hazy with lust. "Show me what you've got, Rumancek."

Peter's eyes flashed with something animalistic and he moved quickly, pushing down Roman's pants before turning him around and leaned his tall frame over the hood of the car. Peter coated his fingers with lube, gripping Roman's pale hip with the hand he had cut as he pressed the index and middle finger of his right hand against Roman's hole.

Roman hissed. "You still bleeding?" he rasped.

"Yeah," Peter answered hoarsely. Before Roman had to tell him what he wanted, Peter was slipping his thumb into Roman's mouth. Roman's head rushed again with a strong spell of dizziness that only intensified as Peter pushed a finger into him. He spread his legs, adjusting around Peter's finger, focusing on the taste of his blood as Peter slipped another finger in, stretching inexpertly but with concentration. Growing bold, he pushed them still deeper, and crooked his fingers inside of Roman, who bit down hard on his hand.

Roman felt like he was blacking out, in the best way. The rush was insane – the world was upside-down, he was floating, his blood was racing, everything was spinning – and he bucked back on Peter's hand, desperate for another hit of whatever this drug was. He tasted fresh blood – he had bitten too hard – and Peter was pulling his fingers away. Roman whined against the salty hand in his mouth for half a second before that very hand was wrapping around his own length and he felt the hot press of Peter's cock against him.

Peter stroked the length of his hard cock with gentle fingers, leaned down to press a kiss to Roman's shoulder, and murmured, "get ready, baby."

And then the world fucking exploded.

Roman was flying – he was Icarus, getting closer and closer to the sun, too high to care about death – he was spinning, the world was spinning, everything was sparkling and beautiful and terrifying as Peter pushed deep inside of him, his blood swirling in Roman's mouth, his right hand expertly stroking Roman's aching hard cock. Peter grunted behind him as he smashed his hips against Roman's, who gasped breathy little gasps of unimaginable pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed as his all his cravings were satisfied for the first time he could remember, as he caught the best high of his fucking life.

Peter's hand pumped faster and faster up and down his cock as he rocked his hips into Roman's body with the same frantic rhythm.

Roman felt every molecule of his body acutely spark with pleasure as he reached the pinnacle of his incredible high, just as Peter's frantic rhythm neared new heights. His vision blurred for a second time as Peter gave him the most insane high of his life. He felt his muscles tense, Peter's hand around him, and then – release. Roman let out a breathy sound as he came all over the hood of his car, Peter's hand gingerly pumping his dick.

With all the energy he had left, Roman pushed back against Peter, bucking his hips into him and helping Peter find the speed he had built up to. A moment later, Peter was coming with a low grunt and a hand on Roman's shoulder.

When the two had separated, Roman sat back onto the hood and looked up at Peter, who glistened with sweat. Fucking beautiful, thought Roman in satisfaction.

"Do you want a smoke, or something?" Peter asked when he had regained his breath.

"No, thanks," Roman said, standing to take a step closer to Peter. "Don't need a cigarette," he murmured. He cupped a hand around Peter's jaw, looked into his eyes, and leaned in for another hit.