La Petit Mort

17

"I wonder what you taste like," Baizhu blurted out before he finished thinking. He blinked, removing his chin from his hand for a moment before putting it back. Dottore didn't stop cooking.

"If you're asking what humans taste like, sweetheart, it all depends on how you cook them. They're a rather versatile meat," Dottore answered, without any concern. 

"If I just took a bite out of your arm, then what?" 

"Then you would taste iron from the bloodied mess." 

"You probably taste good." 

Dottore looked over his shoulder and opened his mouth but closed it again. He stepped away from the stove and closer to where Baizhu was at the kitchen table. He rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. 

Baizhu grabbed his arm and placed his lips against it. He licked from wrist to elbow but, of course, it was just salty. 

"Go on, bite." 

"Why do you look more excited than I am?" Baizhu snickered. "Do you think I won't bite?" 

"I'm curious. I'm just incredibly curious," Dottore's eyes lit up as his cheeks flushed slightly. "Are you going to bite me?" 

Baizhu opened his mouth and pressed his teeth against Dottore's skin. He didn't press too hard and continued to stare at Dottore's face. 

"Do it," Dottore urged. "Go on, bite me." 

He bit down enough to take a small chunk of Dottore's flesh. Baizhu nibbled Dottore's arm even after he did so, licking up the blood until he stopped bleeding entirely. 

"You barely bit enough to taste," Dottore stared at the small wound. 

"I'm not a big fan of raw meat," Baizhu shrugged. 

"Hm, should I cut my arm off?" he grabbed the knife from the kitchen and raised it. Baizhu blinked, remembering the murder. He closed his eyes tightly, grabbing his head. It was fake. It was fake. He was sick. It was fake! 

"Are you alright?" Dottore lifted Baizhu's chin up with the dull part of the blade. 

"If I asked you a question, would you answer me honestly?" 

"Depends on the question, sweetheart," Dottore shrugged, bringing the knife up to his shoulder and tapping the dull side on his shirt. 

"Did I really see you kill someone that day?" Baizhu blurted out before he could stop himself. He slapped his hand over his mouth. 

"Well now, sweetie, what do you plan to do if you find out?" Dottore smiled politely. 

"Sometimes..." Baizhu stared up at him, "people do bad things," he said. He folded his hands tightly on his lap but couldn't stop thinking about how sweaty they were. "But we love them anyway. I care about you a lot, Dottore," Baizhu's voice cracked. He couldn't maintain eye contact anymore and glanced away. "I might even say that I love you but I have this thing about lying, you see, or saying partial truths... I don't want someone I love to feel like they have to hide themself from me."  

"Those are just words," Dottore picked Baizhu up by the shirt collar and slammed him up against the wall. He pressed the knife's blade into his throat. "Can you still say such sweet words in a situation like this?" Dottore's face remained neutral. Baizhu could hear the ticking of the clock louder than his own heart's beat. 

"Do you ever wonder if the blood gushing from your own neck is beautiful?" Baizhu asked. "I wonder, sometimes, if someone would still find me pretty," Baizhu grabbed Dottore's wrist to press the blade further into his skin. "Will you be able to tell me?" he smiled, closing his eyes. 

"Ha...haha..." Dottore dropped the knife and held his face in his hands, cackling. "You're insane," he pointed at Baizhu while tilting his head back. "You're absolutely bonkers! Alright, sure, it was me. You weren't hallucinating." 

Baizhu stepped forward and grabbed Dottore's face, pulling him to his level for a kiss. He didn't care anymore about right and wrong. For some reason, he was deathly attracted to this murderer. If Dottore were to frame Baizhu for his crimes, he wouldn't care. 

"I love you, Dottore."