MBC #2: 'Blistering Love' (Reese and James Version)

 [Alternate Text: A header image of coals being steadily warmed by the fire beneath them. The dark chunks of rock are tinged red and orange in some places from the building heat. The title 'Blistering Love' is in a heavy black font with a ruddy glow effect around each letter.]

Clang…

You keep your eyes trained on the faded ink of one of your grandfather's many arcane books.

Clang…

The words aren't making much sense as this rhythmic clanking persists, no longer a tune that could accompany dated pop music. It's starting to wear on your patience. The table digs into your middle when you hunch closer in an attempt to block out this incessant noise. It doesn't lessen the alarmingly acute sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. It's been unwavering from the start—a subtle taunt.

Clang…

"Reese!" you snap, part exasperated and part desperate. "You're making a bad thing worse."

. . .

Clang clang clang clang clang clang.

There's no rhythm to the sudden onslaught of metal-on-metal banging that should catch the attention of James's apartment neighbors. You whirl around in your seat to stare at Reese who smiles devilishly—no, dangerously—once your eyes meet. He does settle down after you look at him properly, relaxing with a rattling breath that you hate more than the racket. "What?"

"This isn't how I wanted us to use these."

He raises his right hand, tugging against the handcuff James mournfully yet firmly latched into place earlier tonight. His detective training should allow him to seamlessly and humanely cuff people; however, his hands shook before he filled them with his issued firearm. It didn't help that Reese had looked so wounded by the lack of trust. Even from this distance, you're able to spy the raw redness to his wrist—the abuse to the delicate skin there. It's unsettling.

"Now he will never want to try them, a pity."

"You're not thinking straight about"—his lips curl with an unrealized laugh, though it doesn't match the way he's watching you—"things."

"All I think about is you both," Reese instantly disagrees. "Well, that and how thirsty I am."

A light sheen of sweat has added to the usual photoshoot worthy glow of his fair skin. He must've unbuttoned his shirt at some point, unable to completely shed the layer while bound to the radiator and on the floor. It's only half off, abs and sculpted muscle glistening in a way that would be tempting if you were a weaker person. This probably isn't a deception. Parts of his platinum blond hair are a darker blond, tousled from how he has been leaning his head back against the wall to languish.

"…Do you want some water?"

"Do you need to call James on the walkie talkie to get his permission first?"

Following his biting sarcasm, you turn back around to your still open book to—

"Wait, no!" Reese half-exclaims, words punctuated by a harsh clank that sounds borderline painful. "I apologize—I do, and I would like something to drink, please. It was a lapse—a mistake. I just feel—I'm scared. I am."

The semi-faded words of 'beguiling' and 'lust begotten' slip away from your view, left unread and unprocessed. Silas lent you the book, but staying in James's apartment and limiting direct contact to you and James was to prevent the frenzy effect. Reese poses a different kind of danger to you both than some random citizen on the street. Still, all of this is taxing to witness, too stressful.

"Fine," you relent. "Only if I can check the bite?"

"You can see me however you like."

Reese's smirk retains some of its playfulness when you spare him a glance before getting a bottle of chilled water. He's sitting at attention when you return, legs neatly crossed and arms loosely in his lap. The handcuff has shifted to show the blooming, vicious bruise that James is going to hate himself for later on. "Also, you need to stop struggling," you request, holding the water bottle out of reach. "He's sensitive."

"So are you," Reese confidently replies while leaning closer. "I understand… I will do better."

He seems genuine enough, watching you with dull eyes, pale blue watered down and diluted into something darker. It could be caused by how he is peering at you, almost hungry, or the fact his pupils are somewhat dilated. When you finally inch closer, the attached handcuff skates very faintly along the metal coil to hasten things. "The bite first."

Your prompt earns Reese tipping his head back against the wall before he quickly rolls his eyes.

"Poor foreplay," he retorts. "I already feel rather unwanted by you both. He wouldn't look at me."

"It isn't like that," you reason, alarmed when Reese actually shuts his eyes for the first time tonight. In the momentary silence, you're able to better hear his labored breathing—the low rasp that scrapes along your heart. "We're here for you. You're sick. James is going to kill the—"

"But why stop there, hmm?" he interjects. "This is an opportunity. He would be without blame if we let this run its course… You both would be."

Reese sounds quietly defeated, one sweat-streaked temple pressed against the wall to be further away from view. However, he does let you see the bite mark, curling inwards for you to see what tore into his left collarbone after he refused its so-called fool-proof advances. The wrath of this variant of succubi (incubi? Silas is looking into it) didn't result in death or drained energy, but there was definitely scorn at the rejection.

This feels more personally vindictive…

You ignore the mouth-shaped bruising that fans out along where forked canines dug in. It didn't need to leave those lasting marks along with the toxin circulating Reese's system. "I know you don't believe that," you reason. "It's just the fever talking." You edge closer after unscrewing the water bottle. "Here, look at me."

He doesn't.

"…Reese?"

You have an inkling of something being wrong just before his hand lashes out to twist in your jacket, tugging you down to his level. There's a surprising amount of strength. His other hand is limited by the handcuff, but he tries to cup your face like usual, aggression bleeding into a devouring want. His fingers fall short of their typical places, which results in another angry clank along with a more desperate sound. It was a cross between a grumble and pained groan.

"Fucking little tease," Reese seethes. "So perfect—so out of my reach. I want you."

"And I love you, but not this. Never this."

Your jacket is pulled taut by him, allowing you to feel the faint shaking in his hand when he stops pulling at the fabric. He uncomprehendingly stares at you. You've said this before to both of them. Something comes over him that's from your Reese, not whatever this manipulative, lust-driven affliction is before he tenses to—

"No!"

The first collision with the wall is unavoidable, his stubborn, hard-headed skull bouncing off of it before you grab him. He blinks, dazed and pained. You secure a hold on him and toss a discarded blanket behind him for extra padding.

"I do not want to harm you!" Reese cries, more upset at himself than anything. "I can't!"

"That harms me!"

"It's my head, [Surname], so—"

"It hurts me," you sharply interrupt him. "Don't do it again. Don't."

"Can you leave me then, please?"

This goes against everything you managed to read in the book about targets and how past emotional connections can be a risky tether. It shouldn't be possible. Reese is imploring you while he's able to think more clearly, even weakly shoving your leg away after he lets go.

"…Fine, I'll be in the hallway."

You grab the arcane book off of the table, steps growing more reluctant the farther you get from him until you're hovering by the door.

Reese watches your every step, still begging you to listen without a single word spoken.

"I love you too."

He says that right as you shut the door.

. . .

. .

.

You're plastered up against the door to listen for any worrying banging noises or the call of your name. This is one hundred times worse than sitting with an afflicted Reese who likes to demand your full attention. The not-knowing is slowly killing you. The wood has grown warm beneath your left cheek while your legs are stiff.

"[Name]?"

You stiltedly turn to see James coming down the hallway, white shirt streaked with black ichor or some sort of substance that has the barest hue of crimson. He has one of Reese's thermoses in hand; you all three got a matching set. "Did you kill the bitch?" you demand with more emotion than intended. "Is it really dead?"

"Yes."

James's reply is kept succinct to allow him to bridge the distance to take your hand without any preamble. He knows you're struggling. It was actually much harder to stay behind.

"He carved out its heart, so double yes."

Becca's presence barely registered to you until she said something, but that death still doesn't feel like enough after what it did to Reese. Both things, the potential and the punishment. You nod to show you're still listening to her and also Silas who is walking more slowly with a book in hand. They all helped. "So, what now?"

"He drinks that—don't ask what's in it—and then, uhm, it said something about cherishing him?"

"'Chastely cherished without any carnality'," Silas says. "It's written in an outdated, possibly biased, way by the priest, but essentially a pure form of affection. Love: romantic, platonic, even familial—it just helps to ground the victim. It's only a recommendation along with a hymn."

"We'll handle that, but you two still need to stay out here, okay?"

James wasn't truly seeking agreement as he opens the door, stepping inside first with you close behind him. Instantly, you both seek out Reese, who is slumped against the wall with his head leaning against the metal radiator. It's fortunate it isn't in use. "Be careful," you warn James. "He tried to trick me—by accident, but he isn't completely himself. Just watch him."

"Stay back then."

You bite back your disagreement to remain a few steps away while James kneels down by Reese's side. He doesn't stir in the slightest, a testing hand on his knee and James's fingers along his cheek ends in nothing at all. You're too concerned to stay back, creeping closer to check if he's still breathing. What if he's dead?

"James."

There's no trace of a question in your tone, only a plea.

"He's still with us," he reassures you. "This is from the fever—it just made him pass out."

"I never gave him water…"

"That wouldn't have broken it; it's unnatural."

Well, that logic doesn't quell your irrational guilt that will only be soothed when Reese is in your arms again, smiling like usual with clear eyes.

James maneuvers Reese's head to—

"Be gentle," you fret. "He hit it hard"—James's gaze is on you in a second—"when trying to knock himself out. He didn't want to hurt me."

He continues what he was doing with added fragility, careful to brace Reese while ensuring he drinks the mixture. A little stray drop of it is whisked away by James, but you saw its rich color. He seals the thermos that you'll probably need to burn later before moving to sit with Reese.

"I… I can't uncuff him yet," he decides. "I can't risk both of you."

James isn't looking directly at you after coming to that regretful conclusion, so you move to sit across from them. "I know," you reassure him, reaching to take his hand and Reese's limp one that's uncharacteristically warm. "You're doing what you have to do. We all know that."

He still doesn't look up, yet you spy the subtle sheen to his eyes before he focuses on fussing with a blanket for Reese. James couldn't stand staying behind. Every part of him loathes when either of you are at great risk and he's unable to protect you. He killed the thing—carved out its still beating heart to juice it—but he also left your side and had to handcuff his other partner.

The three of you silently sit together, waiting for everything to be okay again.

. . .

. .

.

[A Few Days Later…]

"Why must it still be silent time?"

Reese's question is partially muffled from where he is pressed up against your side so you feel the teasing kiss he places just under your jaw. He lays his head back down, letting you thread your fingers through his hair. (His first 'demand' upon waking up was a group hug and then a relaxing bubble bath.) You share a fond look with James who's across from you, arm thrown over Reese with his hand resting on your hip.

"We're cuddling," you lightly reply. "Dozing."

"Which I adore to no end, but the Detective taking off work deserves something more monumental, I think." Reese shifts some to be on his back, glancing between you both in hopeful curiosity. "A picnic? A movie marathon? I do not feel up to hiking, even for him, but a minor scenic trail could work, especially if there is a piggyback? This time should be enjoyed."

"I have everything I need right here," James genuinely replies, kissing Reese's forehead before kissing you softly. He pulls back to share a rare, teasing smile with you before latching onto Reese in a loose hold. There's no getting up from it. "Now rest for us; maybe a movie later."

You pile on with a grin, noting Reese's faint blush that comes from your dual sweet affection instead of an unnatural fever.

You'll give him all of the cherishing he deserves.