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Hunger was something Erin Ruunaser had become intimately familiar with. Ever since the Storm and the Dragon, it set in quicker, coursed deeper. He'd found himself going through his trail rations quickly, asking Alinua to grow berries, eating more than his fair share at inns and embassies. It was never enough.
If anyone noticed, they hadn't said anything. And why would they notice? They hadn't known him prior; for all they knew, he'd always been like this. It was easier to hide than he expected. Tess noticed, perhaps, but if anything she would be happy. At home, Erin would leave small portions of his meal untouched, despite the shame he got for being picky. At the Academy, he regularly forgot to eat. He'd always been a little underweight. So no, Tess wouldn't think anything was wrong. She'd think Erin had finally recovered from his issues with eating.
He should bring it up. He knew this. Any way the Dragon interfered with him, his group should know about. It was a valuable, if concerning, data point. But he just. . . couldn’t. It felt like voicing it would make it worse, twist him more out of shape until he was nothing but hunger. So he kept it hidden.
Perhaps most upsettingly of all, this new hunger came with a twisted craving for Kendal specifically. It made sense: not only did Kendal have no void in him, an enticing unfamiliarity for the dragon, but he had starmetal in him. Go figure, the star-eating dragon focused on him.
To make matters worse, Erin suspected he had feelings for Kendal. Really, how could he not? He was strong, exceedingly kind, entirely too trusting. He reliably and repeatedly went out of his way to help strangers, and believed so earnestly that everyone was or could be good. Erin wondered if Kendal saw something in him that he did not; he did not consider himself worth Kendal’s care, but the man stayed with him all the same. It made him feel strange.
At night, on watch, Erin thought about kissing Kendal. Grabbing him by the jaw, pulling him down within reach. A gasp from Kendall as Erin pressed their lips together, pushing into him with all he had. Tasting him like bile in his throat. Biting Kendal’s lip and drawing blood, the metallic flavor dancing across his senses and making him want more. Desperation shaking him to his core as he parted his lips, feeling Kendal all around him, panting as he finally broke away.
Then Kendal would push him, staggering back. A hand lifting to his mouth in shock, betrayal clouding his expression. Such an intimate act, and Erin stole it from him. No warning, no check for willingness, just pure, selfish hunger.
Erin thought about Kendal wounded. His shirt torn as it so often was, his torso all deep gashes and crimson. Alinua occupied with someone else, leaving it up to Erin to heal Kendal. He would do his usual diagnostic scan, lay his hand on the wound. Then feel out the edges of the cut, and reach in past dense muscle, plunging his hand into Kendal's flesh. Curling his fingers around the nearest organ, feeling Kendal’s life beating against him.
Kendal would gasp in pain, his usual stony focus broken by this violation. Alinua would pull Erin away, rage and confusion in her eyes. Just what did Erin think he was doing? He didn't have an answer.
Erin thought about eating. Cutting Kendal open like an autopsy. Rending him apart with a sickening wet sound. Eyes settling on pinks and reds and purples, wondering which organ to taste first. The heart is the obvious choice, but Erin would want to save that for last. The stomach, then. Only fitting to start with the center of hunger. Gripping the hunk of flesh, raising it to his teeth. The first bite awakening a new hunger, unlike anything else he's known. Tearing through it like a rabid animal, blood and viscera staining his hands.
The bones would be next. A rib, maybe, cracked open to reveal soft, half-molten starmetal marrow. Sucking it out of the shell, a flavor he'd never known before overwhelming him with euphoria and still more hunger. A few more ribs, a bite each of the other organs. Then the heart. He'd treat it with tenderness, unlike the rest of Kendal’s body. Perhaps it would still beat in his hands. The first bite would be careful. He'd savor it, take his time, feel so close to Kendal in this moment.
Would Kendal even be alive at that point? Did it matter? At this point, he was just an object of fantasy, a target for his hunger.
Erin felt sick. He took in a sharp, shuddering breath. “You can stop sending me these thoughts, you know,” he murmured bitterly, though he knew the Dragon wouldn’t respond.
Kendal shifted in his sleeping bag, eyes opening. “What was that?” Oh, good. He hadn't even been asleep.
Erin stiffened with another sharp inhale. “It- it's nothing, Kendal. I’m fine. You should really sleep.”
Apparently unconvinced, Kendal sat up. Erin averted his gaze, thinking if he had to look at Kendal's perfectly chiseled chest for half a second he might throw up. “I don't think I can right now. My mind is racing.”
“Mine too,” Erin admitted, though he immediately regretted it.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Ha! Hah. No. You know me. I don't talk about what's bothering me, and it'll be a very long time before I start.”
Kendal frowned. Erin only saw it out of the corner of his eye, but it sent a pang of guilt through him. Damn it all, he'd made Kendal worry about him. Quickly, he added, “I mean, it's not anything major anyway. Nothing you don't already know, either, just. . . Just the Void Dragon, again. I'll be fine.”
Kendal nodded. “We'll take care of it. You don't have to do this alone.”
Something dark and bitter inside Erin laughed. Of course he had to do this alone. He was the only one with a dragon in his head. The only one with this all-consuming hunger that seemed to be getting worse and worse. He wondered how long it'd be until he slipped, and they all saw what a monster he'd become under the influence of the Dragon. He wondered if they'd put him out of his misery.
Erin forced a smile, finally looking at Kendal. “I know. Now, we should stop talking before we wake up the others.”
Kendal blinked, looking a bit sheepish. Adorable. “Right. Goodnight, Erin.”
“. . . Goodnight.”