Gene ran his hands over the body. He was furious, beyond furious, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He heard Sam and Oswald coming back in so he moved his hands off, unwillingly, and went to pull out a cigarette to light, just to look busy. The tobacco calmed his nerves, his hyped up, angry nerves. He stood casually and nonplussed as Sam tittered away in his annoying, know-it-all voice and Oswald answered impatiently.
Nothing Gene did not already know, and his mind buzzed absently along dark corridors. The morgue was a cold, dead place that killed his sense of taste and Gene wanted out.
He pushed past Sam, smelling him over and above the rank odors of the morgue. Sam: hot and close and closing in. It was all Gene could do not to strangle him on the spot, and Gene saw red -- the fine dark burgundy red of Sam's blood flowing like wine over his hands and through his fingers and he all but ran out of the room.
Too close, it was too close, and Gene was getting sloppy. The boy on the slab was his and would still be in his possession where he belonged if Sam had not become interested in the fate of homeless drifters all of a sudden. It was not even fair because none of them would be dead if it were not for the temptation of Sam, who was untouchable. Gene knew that. He could not have Sam, ever, not if he wanted to stay alive himself. Two ends of a see saw, keeping each other balanced in the worst ways, and Sam did not even know. Instead, Sam was ruining Gene's life because Sam was the only life he wanted and now Sam was even taking his substitutes away, taking away everything that was holding Gene up. Sam, disrupting the balance, again.
The dead boy was young and not ripe but he was hot to the touch – once. Right then, right when his life spilled onto Gene's hands and his soul belonged to Gene like a sacrifice to a god. His, the boy was his...
Not any more. Sam called the alarm, hell he called Gene to alert him to the missing persons report and Gene was dumping the body before it cooled off. The worst damn timing and it was like fucking hard for an hour but never getting off. The closest Gene got was licking the blood off his fingers…he sucked on the tip of his thumb, chewing his nail, waiting outside for Sam. His mind put the taste of Sam on his thumb and he licked his skin, wondering. Sam's blood, Sam's skin, the marrow of his bones, it all flashed in Gene's mind and he knew he was going to be dangerous that night. He was going to take another one, tonight, damn the consequences.
He felt a light touch on his shoulder, and he turned to look at Sam, who was worried and frowning at him with his intense, dark, inviting eyes. Just like that, Gene changed his mind. There were other ways to taste a man, and if Gene could not allow himself the life force that he really wanted, the blood on his hands that he craved, then at least he could take as much as Sam was willing to give.
Seduction was always the hardest part of the game, but Gene had lots of practice.