Sick

Allen often found himself in this situation. Kneeling at the feet of Dr. Oliver Ignatius Kirkland, his absolute favourite doctor and psychologist, his head perched perfectly in the smaller man's lap as delicate fingers combed through his hair. He was crying; a sort of messy, heavy and uncontrollable choking really. Thick, cooling blood was seeping into his clothes and caked around his fingernails and mouth, he looked like a toddler, scolded by his father and begging for comfort from his mother. Oliver was loving every dragging second, as a freshly eviscerated corpse lay in crudely torn chunks on his otherwise pristine office carpet. When Allen was finally able to force himself down to a sob, he looked up at the freckled man with ruby blood shot eyes, silently pleading for attention.

"You're such a good little boy, but you've made quite a mess." The doctor purred out, almost too gently, cupping the American's face. Allen was by no means a child, he was almost twenty one, but the way Oliver sweetly insisted made him, over the years, truly believe he was no more than twelve years old. "Come now, sweet heart, you know better than to waste food."

Allen nodded with a pathetic sob, reluctantly crawling from his beloved place by Oliver, to the mass of flesh and innards. With dull nails, he shoved his arms into the body's chest cavity and ripped out a sizable portion of meat, wasting no time in forcing it into his watering mouth. The taste was rich and coppery, exactly what he'd been craving, and the hunger took over, allowing him to tear and slice at the carcass with little care. Oliver rose, perfectly polished loafers stepping to the feeding man, only pet his head kindly and smile.

"Poor little thing. You're famished, eat up. Growing boys need their vitamins." He cooed, offering another light pet and watching as in a mere hour the body was reduced to shining white bones and red stains on the floor. Allen's body heaved, bloated with digesting flesh but still he craved more. He turned his head slowly to the man who had been watching, now sitting back on his green leather winchester, panting hard with a flushed cock in hand. He licked his blood soaked lips and focused on the throbbing length, a small rumble in his gut begging for more, more flesh, more blood.

"Poppet, come here." Oliver barely managed to huff out, extending a shakey hand to American who was crawling over like a baby. "You're still hungry, lad." Allen nodded slow and thoughtfully, eyes fixed. Curiously, his tongue flicked out to taste the head, it was salty with precum and something almost sweet. Oliver let out a startled cry as heat enveloped him, sharp teeth lightly grazing his skin. "Little boys shouldn't know about this." He moaned, slim fingers tangling in dark red hair, pulling Allen closer. Allen bobbed his head quickly, forcing as much of Oliver as he could take down his throat, the air escaping his nose providing teasingly cold bursts to the heated flesh.

In a flash of searing heat and white, Oliver came and Allen greedily swallowed and suckled every last dropped his could, still not satisfied.

"Oliver. I'm hungry." The American finally spoke, voice ragged but childish, whining for more food. Oliver melted a little, slowly and carefully unbuttoning his dress shirt and beckoning Allen to kneel up and close to his neck. Allen bounced a little impatiently, excited for his favourite snack, and once Oliver had folded and set away the cloth, Allen leapt forward and sank pointed teeth into his shoulder, ripping away a good mouthful. He chewed thoughtfully and grinned, a small stream of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Oliver was clawing the arm of his seat from the pain, it hurt and he hated it but the feeling of making Allen happy made it bearable. The man took another, smaller bite, sucking at the exposed veins and rising a little to loom over the doctor. Pulling back, he admired his creation, the small pale Brit a bleeding, panting mess, one hand vainly trying to stop the bleeding whilst the other tried to cover himself.

Allen rested one hand on Oliver's soft hip and thumbed circled on it, coaxing him to calm down and trust him. He wouldn't kill Oliver like he would the others, Oliver was special, he understood him, he hadn't screamed or run when Allen first confessed his addiction, he'd ask to see it and even praised him for being 'such a good little boy'. Oliver weakly shifted to his knees, clinging to the backboard of the chair for dear life as the blood slowly started to reduce to thin streams. Allen pulled down his jeans and briefs only enough to expose himself to the cool air of the office, the shaft of his cock resting happily at the start of Oliver's round behind. He wasn't going slow out of curtesy, rather to just drink in the smell of fresh blood and allow his stomach more time to settle from his meal. Once he heard Oliver let a pathetic whimper slip, he growled and forced himself into the red head with a strangled moan. Oliver bit his tongue, nails tearing into leather and back arched painfully, but he was not given a chance to adjust as the younger man set a furious and hard pace. It hurt and burned more than imaginable but the smaller man couldn't help but moan and scream, begging Allen to push harder, faster, to make him bleed and hurt, all of which said man was eager to comply, burying his teeth into his bottom lip.

A rough hand grabbed Oliver's injured shoulder with agonizing force, making him be slammed into every thrust, while one gripped his thin neck and squeezed till Oliver saw the edges of his vison blur and blacken. With a shattering cry, Allen came and shot white hot semen into Oliver, pulling him backward and almost in half to force his tongue down the man's throat. The doctor's body threatened to pass out but he was released in time, carelessly dropped and made to slide off the younger man's cock and collapse of the floor, abused and satisfied. Allen panted, falling to his knees with a choking sob, sinking futher to bury his head between soft, dirtied thighs. Oliver weakly petted his head and hushed him.

"Are you full now, lad? Do you want a bed time story before you go home?" The red head asked sweetly, Allen shook his head and held desperately onto Oliver's legs.

"Am I bad person, Ollie?" He sobbed.

"No, of course not, dear. You're only a baby." And Allen felt a little better hearing that, the frightening hunger satisfied for now. He loved Oliver, the man understood him and cared for him. Licking at the dried blood on freckled skin, Allen wondered; were Oliver's insides this sweet?

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A/N: It's 1:30 AM. I couldn't get this out of my head. This is so messed up. I hate the fandom personalities for these two but my usual ones wouldn't have worked for this story.