One Taste

by Vivi

“Fuck,” Viggo hissed, a curl of red just barely visible before he stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked at the wound. Sean picked up the knife from where it had fallen on the floor and set it on the counter, careful not to cut his own fingers on the sharp blade. Viggo was still muttering around his finger, blurbs and gummy slices of words.

Amazing how a man could speak in several languages but always stuck to the most basic of curses.

“Let me see it,” Sean took hold of his wrist and tugged, pulling the offended finger reluctantly from Viggo's mouth. A ragged flower of red bloomed instantly across the pad of his finger, seeping over the white-edged cut. Not too deep, he decided, not enough for stiches but it was going to hurt like a bugger for the next few days. Bad spot, that, right on the index finger.

A slight tug reminded him that he was still holding Viggo's hand in his own. Blood was starting to seep over his thumb, just below the still bleeding cut. Without thinking, he raised his thumb to his mouth and licked it away, startling at the sudden burst of it over his tongue. Tinny, bitter, Christ, what a filthy thing to do. Not that he thought Viggo had anything in the contagious way of it, still, it was stupid.

He was still holding Viggo's wrist with his other hand, mostly aware that he should let him go and get a plaster for that cut so they could finish making the snacks. The game was on in half an hour and the beer was chilling in the refrigerator. Only Viggo had decided they needed some salsa for the crisps and fucked if he could settle for something out of a can.

Surrounded by the half-made cuttings of tomatoes and cilantro, holding Viggo's wrist lightly in his hand, Sean couldn't move. Just beneath his fingers he fancied he could feel Viggo's pulse, each beat of his heart pushing out another bead of crimson to spill over his finger. The shining bulb held for brief moment, shimmering deeply, before it broke and spilled over, sending fat droplets to the tile floor. Three perfect circles of crimson, Sean saw, the rest falling in a weak trickle towards Viggo's palm.

He didn't think as he raised it to his mouth, feeling the sudden clench of tendons beneath his hand as resistance. Not strong enough to pull away though, not nearly, and gently, Sean sucked on Viggo's finger. Tongue probing lightly against the tiny wound and there was the oily taste of garlic, watery tomato and thank God Viggo hadn't been cutting the peppers because that would have bloody well stung. Beneath it all, rather disgustingly, was the taste of blood, thin as paint and like biting aluminum. Nothing that important, really, a carrier of red blood cells and fucking germs. The postal service of the body was all, that was what blood was.

All the flavor was sucked away, leaving the rubbery taste of clean flesh. Sean let the finger slide out of his mouth and glanced at Viggo, met his eyes.

Wide and blue, utterly shocked, Viggo was staring at him, mouth open. All right, yeah, that had been pretty fucked up. Sean had always known he was a bit of a cracked nut but that was probably teetering on the edge of fully broken and blended to peanut butter.

He looked back down at Viggo's hand, at the arabesque of drying blood in his palm and realized he was still holding it. He dropped it hastily, took a half step back. Right, fleeing from Viggo, like he was the one sucking on a cut like some kind of homeless vampire addict desperate for a hit.

Viggo swallowed, hard, and Christ, if his eyes got any bigger they'd be rolling around on the floor like golf balls. “You've got--“ he husked, clearing his throat, “You've got...blood...” he made an abortive gesture towards Sean's face and, again without thinking, which was become a really bad habit for him, Sean licked his lips and caught another silvery flash of that taste.

Viggo caught the edge of the counter and leaned hard against it, the cut on his finger already forgotten. “Christ,” he said, weakly. “What was that all about?”

Sean shrugged. “Dunno. Just making sure you were all right.” A doubtful look flashed over Viggo's face but hell, Viggo was on the peanut butter side of the Force too, and he seemed to shrug it off, wandering off in the direction of the toilet for a plaster. The kitchen was suddenly quiet, only the whir of the ceiling fan stirring the air.

“I wanted to taste your life,” Sean murmured to the silent kitchen. The damp vegetables and herbs sitting chopped on the cutting board didn't seem interested, so he scooped them into the bowl and started cutting the jalapenos.

He wondered if it was better or worse that he hadn't kissed that shocked look off Viggo's face.

Maybe next time.
 

-finis-

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