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It must have happened during their time of recovery, when the lieutenant was in his tent, passing in and out of consciousness, and his sergeant beside him, too exhausted from all the pain to keep his eyes open. Maybe this dark mysterious creature, as Hajime imagined it to be, had snuck in at night and found the man masked with bandages worthy of turning.
He wondered if it was painful or peaceful, if Tsurumi had even awoken to it, if he could have saved him from it. All he knew was that he only noticed later that the man’s eyes, with its lids torn and burnt, and his gaze dark beneath the shadow of the gauze covering, often fell on the sergeant’s fresh red wounds. Unfocused, and in need of something.
Only now though did Tsukishima understand what it was he needed, as well as Tsurumi himself. When the sun fatigued him more than usual and a nagging restlessness began to bug him, he’d ask his sergeant aside, ask if they could be alone for a moment.
It was never a command, as it wasn’t even him who came up with the idea, but Hajime himself. When they both seemed confused and baffled by the older man‘s — was he even still a man? — state, and by what Tsurumi had called the yearning for something that shouldn’t be, it was the former delinquent who offered to give it to him. His life was already in the shinigami‘s hands, what were a few drops or litres of blood?
Though this routine of theirs had been repeated again and again now, Tsukishima never could get quite used to it. He’d think that he would by now, when he’d take off his jacket and unbutton his shirt, folding them over a chair carefully to avoid wrinkling, but every time he came to notice how intense the lieutenant’s look was on him the hairs on his back would stand up.
The unusually cold hands that wrapped around his neck, sending a shiver throughout him and pulling him close, were always followed by a soft "Stop me when it’s too much."
Once Tsukishima would nod, "Yes, sir.", and tilt his head invitingly, he’d always end up feeling as tense as he must have been the first time. Another shiver would take over him when he felt his superior’s breath against his neck, and no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, he’d always end up gasping when the sharp teeth broke his skin.
The hold on his neck — loose enough for him to pull away anytime — would begin to warm as he felt the fresh pair of wounds being stretched open enough for Tsurumi to lap his tongue at the pouring blood. Slowly the wave of panic would calm, and Hajime would feel as if there wasn’t a monster by all definitions hanging onto his neck. It all began to become a little hazy, though it was too early and too comforting to be from any blood loss.
"It’s something getting released into the bloodstream," Tsurumi had explained after the first time, "so that there isn’t a big fight against the intrusion. Like a sun pitcher intoxicating its prey with the sweet smell of nectar."
Tsukishima didn’t have the slightest clue what he was talking about, how he knew that when he had only turned recently, or what a sun pitcher was. But he knew that intoxicating was the right word for whatever this was.
"This is a dangerous game you’re letting me play, sergeant," he heard from far away, and his only response was to pull at the uniform before him, bring him closer. A thigh would press — accidentally? — between his trousers and a shaky breath that barely felt like his would escape him.
And just as a light-headedness was about to creep over him, it would stop. Tsurumi would pull away slowly, press a tissue against the spot he had assaulted and let Tsukishima lean against him until he was released from the trance.
He’d still feel groggy when he’d get the usual "Go and rest, sergeant. Thank you for your hard work." and put on his clothes. He wondered if it would be this peaceful to let the lieutenant drink all of his life, whatever remained of it, away. Maybe it’d be as painful of a rebirth as catching a Russian howitzer’s artillery fire on the battlefront. Rubbing at the slowly approaching dull pain at his neck, Tsukishima figured that he didn’t care too much. His life was already in the shinigami‘s hands.