If Ford had the ability to kick himself right now, he would have. He knew better than this. Should have known better than to put himself in such a situation, and yet here he was, lying in an alley bleeding to death because he'd gone and acted like an idiot instead of calling for his lackeys when things had become out of his control and out of his depth.
Too tired to try and reach for his phone to call them now, he felt painfully helpless where he lay in a growing pool of his own blood. He imagined he could hear his own heartbeat slowing gradually, but he was pretty sure that was just his own over-active imagination.
A sudden soft rustle at the mouth of the alley caught his attention and he struggled to clear his throat and speak, coughing uselessly and weakly before he managed to get the words out, blood wetting his lips. "H... Hello?"
Makoto stopped in his tracks, fangs extended and dark eyes glittering, reflecting what little light there was in the alley. He had assumed the lump in the alleyway that smelled like fresh blood and still fresh meat had been a dead animal, but the soft voice told him otherwise and had him straining to listen for the man's heartbeat. It was soft and fluttery and for some reason that made him worry, which caused a frown to furrow his eyebrows.
He wasn't the worrying type. He'd been on his own for a long time now, subsisting on the blood of criminals and street punks, only taking a lover now and then for enough times that it took to slake his lust before he moved on.
All of this was why he couldn't explain to himself why was he moving silently down the dark alley towards this man, crouching beside him and dirtying the knees of his pants to run curious cool hands over his body in search of his injuries.
Ford inhaled sharply at the unexpected touches, body stiffening and hackles automatically rising. Raised on the streets from a tender and influential age, he'd surprisingly managed to retain a great deal of his humanity until he'd been taken in by the local gang leader at the age of sixteen. Treated like a wanted son and a valued human being for the first time in his life, his bond with the older man had grown tight, right up until the gang had been handed to him at the young age of twenty-four.
"W-what..."
"How many bullets?" Makoto asked gruffly, questing fingers seeking out the source of so much blood loss, the sharp tang of metal and gunpowder harsh in his nose as it assaulted his hypersensitive senses.
Confused, but for some reason not scared, despite the fact that he was in an easy position to be in further danger should someone take advantage of it, Ford licked cracked lips and struggled to answer the question even as he wished he could sit up properly. He hated the thought that his hair was mashed against the alleyway ground, grinding into remnants of food, and other things. "F-four... I th-think..."
Making a bit of a face at the quantity of bullets, Makoto did his best to gently grab the man under his arms and shift the deadweight of his body so that he was propped up against the brick wall of the closest building. Surprised to see how young the man looked, brilliant blue eyes staring up at him from under a fringe of soiled blond hair, he quickly looked away when he felt unfamiliar feelings bubble up in his chest.
"Stay still. This is going to hurt," Makoto rumbled softly, leaning in to sniff along his skin for the densest pockets of blood.
Confusion covered Ford's face as the man leaned in, nose nearly pressed to his skin. Too exhausted to speak anymore, he flinched slightly at the feeling of cool fingers tearing away already mutilated fabric. If his clothes hadn't already been torn to shreds from the earlier attack he would probably have been upset with the man, but it was too late to worry about his suit now when it was long beyond repair.
Jerking in surprise at the sudden feel of something soft and damp against his skin, Ford struggled to shift enough to look down, eyes peering through the night gloom to see what was going on. The sharp stab of what felt like tiny knives into the bullet hole had him inhaling sharply, pulse skipping a beat dangerously as blood struggled to flow freely from the newly unstoppered hole.
"Shh, stay still," Makoto hissed softly as he lapped at the wound, the enzymes in his saliva helping to heal it rapidly until all that was left was a shiny round scar, fresh and pink on the man's pale skin, the wound too large to heal without leaving any sort of mark. Hurrying to find the remaining wounds, he leaned over the man's body to spit out his blood onto the already filthy pavement, making a face at the smoky taste of gunpowder that saturated it.
While the blood itself was deliciously sweet and tangy, a uniquely fresh flavour considering the man's apparent age, Makoto couldn't stand to stomach the amount of gunpowder that was thick in it, especially directly in the wounds.
"Wuh-what... wht're y'dn... p...p'v't..." Ford managed to get out, finding something strangely intimate about the feel of the man's tongue on his skin, no matter the reason for why he was doing it.
Pausing for a split second in his actions, Makoto found himself smiling against the man's skin at his mumbled and barely coherent words. It was strange that something that should have been insulting amused him so much, but the man seemed genuinely surprised that someone would want to touch him in such a manner.
"Not tonight, sweetheart," Makoto said softly as he returned to the last and deepest wound, a jagged gunshot that had sliced along the outside of the man's thigh. Mid-lick, he blinked a bit in surprised when a light hand settled on his dark hair.
"... thanks," Ford managed to get out even as his eyes slid shut, consciousness starting to melt away from the amount of blood he'd lost.
A bit surprised by the gratitude, something that wasn't often shown in this day and age, Makoto finished closing the last wound with careful strokes of his tongue before sitting up straight and patting down the man's clothes, searching for some sort of mobile phone.
Placing a quick cryptic call to one of the numbers last dialed, Makoto tucked the phone back into the man's ragged jacket pocket before pressing cool fingers under the curve of his jaw to check on his pulse. Pleased with the slow but steady thump, he got ready to get up and leave.
A light touch to his wrist stilled his motions and he looked back down to meet half-closed blue eyes, feeling that strange pulse through his chest again.
"It's alright. I've called someone for you, and you can pay me back later," Makoto added with a small smile, licking his lips absently and remembering the sweet taste of the man's blood.
Unable to ignore the man's look despite how tired and sore he was, Ford swallowed convulsively and struggled to ignore the blossom of warmth that unfurled in his belly at the man's small smile and suggestive lip-licking.
"Another time," Makoto said softly, shrugging out of his outer coat and crouching down to spread it over the man's body, tucking it around him and finding himself gently touching one cool and blood-splattered cheek. It was almost worrying how much this stranger called to him, pulling him close after all the years he'd let himself be alone.
"S'Ford... m'name," Ford managed to get out, eyelids drooping a little, too tired to even lean into the touch to his cheek. If he were all there, he would have been surprised at himself for sharing information that wasn't usually known outside of the gang.
"... another time then, Ford," Makoto repeated, touch lingering almost compulsively before he gave into his inner urges and leaned in to brush his lips against Ford's, licking a little to taste drops of blood that were lingering there before reluctantly pulling back. Not sure why he said it, but thinking maybe he was giving back the man's trust, Makoto found himself whispering his name before getting to his feet and smoothing down his shirt.
