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It's rare for Feinberg of all people to be wearing something with sleeves, especially during the heated nights that they spent outside together. Feinberg likes freedom of movement without restriction, curiosity flowing through his veins as searches through the dusty library with books all owned in Couriway's name. He doesn't mind Feinberg's curiosity, he finds it quite endearing how many questions that one person could possibly have about one topic before moving onto another branch of that same exact topic with countless more questions to pair with it. He finds himself watching with a slight smile on his face as Feinberg scoured through the old library for what he wanted to find that night with Couriway in company if he wanted to know about something that the books didn't have, or if he wanted something more specific that even after several hours of searching didn't provide him the results that he needed. For some odd reason, he finds himself hoping that the books didn't have the answers that Feinberg wanted, requiring him to turn to Couriway for a nice conversation near the fireplace that had found more usage now that the human was hanging around and staying somewhere that wasn't quite connected to the rest of the city nearby.
He wonders what rumors Feinberg had heard before he oh so bravely strode his way into the manor and decided that he would be staying without providing a solid reason why, and Couriway should be insulted from the ignorant invasion of his own residence, but against better judgment, he let Feinberg be, silently watching him from the shadows, appearing only to enforce the boundaries between them and to push Feinberg back behind the line between them if he overstepped. Did he believe the rumors about the man who's seen the city rise and fall throughout the years he's been alive? Has Feinberg heard of the man made immortal against his will and now is forced to feed off the life of innocents to continue to survive? And is he scared of that man?
Foolish as the stranger could be, he hadn't been afraid and hadn't even been prepared to deal with the overpriced advertised tools to "kill" a vampire with, appearing at Couriway's door in his most vulnerable state and welcoming himself in as the vampire bore its eyes into the back of Feinberg's neck, waiting for the right time to sink his teeth into the flesh that was so casually being offered up towards him. Feinberg would've been an easy meal for him to last for a good couple weeks or so.
That was only if he wanted to strike, and he had wanted to do so, but he was a patient man. He could wait until the very right time when he would gain the most from the feast that was being offered up to him, a sacrifice in the cities eyes because it didn't seem like Feinberg was in a rush to ever go back there, confessing that the solitude that he had found here in this manor was better than most places he had stayed in the city, which made something in Couriway shift and preen at the fact that after all, he was still better than the humans that lived in that hoard of a place that could barely call itself a settlement.
He doesn't know when the stalking had become something so casual like this with him watching over Fein's shoulder during the night, holding idle conversation as he drank from his wine glass, and he finds himself enjoying the company that he has with the simple human, the constant questions always pulling answers from him with a hint of laughter that floats through the air like birdsong, and it's like this has been what the last couple hundred years of his life have been like even though it's only been barely a year with the other man around him, though, for Fein, this would've been a new milestone for their relationship, so maybe it does mean something to Couriway too as a result.
Excuse him for going on such a tangent from his original topic sentence, there's just too much to talk about when it comes to Feinberg as a person with his days spent by Couriway's side, learning plenty about each other through slow mornings and long nights. He doesn't know how long it's been since he's had the company of another person by his side to talk through the nights like this with.
The sleep clothes that Fein wears are long-sleeved in nature, but he usually messes with the cuffs and pulls them up further on his forearms, pale skin on show towards the moon and the night sky above, pale enough that it was almost like moonlight reflected off of him while he was basking in the cool breeze, and he roams the night like Couriway does, spending time under the stars until the sun started crawling above the horizon, returning back inside with the vampire and laying himself to rest with Couriway after dragging a mattress entirely off its frame and bringing it next to the vampires coffin and settling down there, nearly getting stepped on when he had woken up to the unexpected change in his surroundings during his slumber.
Often, he finds himself staring at the veins that were visible under Fein's skin, blue, green, and purple webs that trailed up his limbs, cutting off under the sleeves of his shirt before reappearing at his collar and beyond, trailing mysterious paths underneath layers that were easily pierced, and the reoccurring thought of sinking his teeth into where the veins gathered most, easily bringing more blood to the surface for him to gorge himself with. Fein's body is littered with identical twin dots in countless different places, pinpricks like stars mottled in the milky expanse of his skin, and if Couriway traced his finger from each of them to connect them, then they'd form a constellation much like the countless ones that he could trace from memory on the sky itself. Maybe if he looked hard enough, he could find the constellation that formed on Fein's body crafted by his own mouth. Each pair of dots come from his own two fangs, marks leftover from when he had embedded his teeth into fragile flesh that broke under the barest bit of pressure and let blood ooze out for him in a sluggish pace, Fein either baring his neck or wrist up for Couriway to take and sink his teeth into, almost drinking until he was drunk on the intoxicating flavor it provided.
He bites areas on Feinberg's neck, then his wrist, then sometimes, if the cover of the night allowed it, just under his clavicle, a scattering of small scars that almost look like freckles if Couriway hadn't known that he was the exact cause for all these new markings. They hadn't been left with the intent to scar, but Fein's constant scratching and picking at them to prevent their flawless healing had left them to become permanent markings all over his body, a reminder of what he had let happen to him; and sometimes if the night progressed in the right way, Feinberg would lay himself bare and let Couriway trace his finger from mark to mark, his chest rising and falling slowly underneath the vampires cold touch, leaving goosebumps in his wake. In return, Feinberg sees marks where silver bullets had burnt into his flesh and left deep starburst scars even with his enhanced healing after extracting them from his body by his own two hands, looking away from the overcasted expression that Fein had as he ran his all too warm touch over long weathered scars burnt into his body.
Fein looks up and tips is head back to look at the vampire when he hears Couriway's footsteps echoing behind him, and Couriway reaches out and brushes the caramel curls out of the Fein's face, leaning against the back of the chair and looking at what Fein decided to check out this time. His cheek rests against the side of Fein's hair, grown out from his extended time at the manor.
"Is it that time already?" Fein questions as a murmur, closing his book and turning his head to meet Couriway's eyes from where he's resting his chin on the broad shoulder, partially hidden in Fein's neck, and he hums quietly in reply to the question.
He's not the hungriest he's ever been, but he wouldn't mind a drink.
He doesn't know when he started thinking about Fein like this– like simply a convenient meal that he wants to keep around. He knows that he wants to keep him around for more than just this one purpose. Truthfully, he enjoys the company provided by Fein, he hasn't felt this calm in a long while. It's not something he's done often in his lifespan where he simply just lets another being co-exist with him by his side, sleeping when he does and changing their life to be established with his own cycle, keeping him fed while also living themselves.
Carefully, he's managed to get Fein to eat somewhat healthier than he had when he first walked into the dusty manor, lies slithering past his fangs about his blood being more filthy than wild animals blood, turning away from the crestfallen expression that had shattered the dazed look on Fein's face, closing his eyes and wiping away the blood that had dribbled down the corner of his lip, attempting to focus on everything but the downright heartbroken expression and the way his blood had tasted like the ambrosia of gods that clung on and refused to disappear even when he had drank blood from the lowest of creatures to let the foul taste overpower the taste of Fein that lingered no matter what, licking his teeth and tasting the simple human over everything else.
Maybe he isn't any better than just a simple human since eventually, he had caved to his foolish urges and sunk his teeth back into the flesh which tasted of salty sweat that mixed with the sweet addictive ichor that flowed through Fein's veins. How a simple human could make him cave so easily like this, he'd never know, but he knows that he'd never get sick of the taste of Fein's blood mixing with the dried sweat on his skin, his tongue passing over the small indents of scars from other causes that Couriway didn't know just yet, feeling Fein shiver in his grasp. He soaks the warmth from Fein's core when they're pressed close together during the night, and this bizarre feeling was something that he had only felt back when his heart still beat in his chest, and not even sitting directly next to the fireplace could provide this pulsing ache of warmth that thrummed deep in his long dead body.
He doesn’t know when the truth will spill itself from his mouth, but maybe Fein already knows that his blood is different from others but hasn't said anything, still allowing Couriway to take from him without question. Sometimes he takes blood that isn't from Fein, returning from the outskirts of his property where he had sensed a disturbance and found trespassers stumbling about in the brambles, finding his ability to dispatch these people that were in way too far over their head a bit rusty, and he wonders if Feinberg had been at fault for it.
Fein doesn't blink an eye at where the blood comes from after he had returned, only pointing out the red that stained the collar of his shirt and wiping away the blood that dried on his face with a thumb wet with his own saliva, drying tacky on Couriway's cold skin with questions being murmured into the air between them.
"You hunted for dinner tonight?" A curt question asked in a tone of voice that sounds just a bit more tense, no caution found at all, but rather a hint of jealousy leaking past and flashing in Fein's eyes as Couriway reaches up and pulls his hand away from his face by his wrist, keeping it near his mouth for a moment before lowering it.
"Had to take care of some matters, decided to also have a free dinner while at it– I've been getting sloppy it seems.. too many easy meals lately." He absentmindedly fixes his cuffs as he speaks, eyeing the flecks of blood drying and dyeing the pristine fabric, tucking the fold under and away from his own eyes.
"I'm an easy meal?" Fein inquires, and Couriway can't help the soft huff of laughter. Fein doesn't sound offended, but he sounds amused, as if he's aware of the allure that he has on the vampire and how the taste of his blood is enough to make Couriway's centuries of meticulously trained self control break in days.
"You offer yourself up to me, of course you're an easy meal." He leans close, mustering an exhale to brush against Feinberg's ear and the moonlight dappled scars scattered upon his body like a painting. "I'm getting sloppy at killing now that you're around."
"But you don't mind." It's not a question, but a statement that Feinberg brings forth with a grin playing on his lips, playing with his life in his hands, pressing close to let Couriway's mouth rest against his pulse point, fangs pricking right where you could feel his heart beat in his chest if you placed a finger against it.
"I don't mind." Couriway confirms as a whisper for only both of them to hear, pressing his lips against the spot rather than sinking his fangs right in where they'd be home, and Feinberg looks at him from the corner of his eye while he pulls away, an all too smug expression painted his face.
Couriway leans up and kisses the smug look away, teeth sinking into Feinberg's bottom lip and licking away the ambrosia that he draws from the two exit points. Maybe he is weaker than he previously thought, especially when he caves to teases like this so easily.
Maybe it's just because it's Feinberg.
"It is not that time yet, no." He shakes his head, eyes catching on the countless faint twin dots scattered across the expanse of Fein's throat.
"You're staring at my neck awfully hard for the fact you're saying it's not that time yet." Maybe Feinberg knows him too well now, or maybe it's just something he says to egg Couriway onto biting him and drinking from him, and there's a morbid thing to this relationship they have where Feinberg allows him all to casually to drank his life force away with nothing in return, and maybe Feinberg sees this skewed friendship (and maybe more) as the thing he gets in return for his efforts, but Couriway finds that even without Feinberg acting as his dinner, he would still want something like this with the other man.
But it's not something that he can have, especially with the difference in their lifespans. Feinberg's existence in his life would pass by in the blink of an eye, and he's not quite sure about how he would be able to live a life without the man. Feinberg has been such a prominent presence in his night to night dwellings, so waking up without hearing the snores that he finds a fond type of annoyance in makes his still heart ache, so he closes his eyes and wills those thoughts away for another night.
Leaning close, he presses a kiss against a scar, feeling Feinberg's breath catch under his own lips before pulling away.
"Yet." He clarifies, putting clear emphasis on the word and seeing the way the human grins, all too happy to give himself up like this to such a lethal force. "It is time to lay ourselves down to slumber now, the sun is coming." It pulls Fein's attention away from Couriway himself, startling at the sight of sunlight starting to peek through the dark curtains. Books return to their places on the shelves, and they return to their respective resting areas, spending a good hour bickering with Couriway debating if he should pull the cover of his coffin back on or leave it off like he's been doing with Feinberg around, rising before the human and keeping an eye on him through the night as precious moonlight was wasted, waiting for him to wake up too.
Not that he cared too much, watching a human sleep was facinating.
They experience something called a sleep cycle, fully incapacitated for several hours and experiencing different forms of dreams, and sometimes things worse than dreams, specifically nightmares that haunted Feinberg enough that Couriway grew used to watching over him while he slept, then sitting by his side when he jolted awake earlier than he would ever normally be up, his breathing coming in fast pants that barely provided him any oxygen at all, along with his heart pounding in his chest as he shook beside Couriway's coffin, noises of distress eventually quieting as he fell back asleep against the vampire, sitting as still as he could, watching moonlight slowly pour into the room and cast itself over Feinberg's sleeping expression.
While Feinberg slept, his face was active in displaying whether he was experiencing a dream or nightmare, visible enough with quick twitches in his expression, eyebrows either furrowed or entirely relaxed, burying himself further against Couriway's cold body, seemingly finding comfort in the cold feeling rather than shying away from it. Although he was familiar with the manner that Feinberg's body sounded like if he had woken up in a panic, he was also extremely familiar with how his body was like while he was resting peacefully, even softly snoring with his limbs thrown around on the mattress, blanket half on and half off his body, shirt slightly hiked up and revealing the bit of chub that rested there. He listens to the quiet thump of Feinberg's heart while laying in the dark, the only audible thing that he wanted to focus on as the trees outside rustled with the sound of animals running around in the wild outskirts of his property.
Seeing the man without his glasses was a rare sight, eyes always squinted in Couriway's direction if they were off, every part of his face screaming soft and squishy and human, a constant reminder of the weaknesses that humans held that were simply just a day to day inconvenience unless something like their glasses were lost forever, then they'd be impacted for until they could get what they needed again so that they could function. Fein leaves his glasses directly next to him when he sleeps, and with how much he moves in his sleep, Couriway finds himself worried about them getting crushed by his body if he were to turn over so he finds himself reaching over after Fein's breathing evens out and taking the fragile frame and placing it elsewhere so that there would be no chance for them getting broken unknowingly during the night.
For some reason, he finds himself sleeping in the mattress dragged down to the floor rather than kept on the frame with countless pillows and blankets surrounding them, Feinberg's head resting against his chest where his heart doesn't beat and his chest doesn't rise nor fall, Feinberg's chest rising and falling against his own, hot puffs of air meeting his neck and leaving a damp feeling behind, but he doesn't quite mind at all.
With Feinberg in his arms like this, this is the closest he's ever felt to being human again in a long time.