BL Lemons and Fluff!

Seto Kaiba X Joey Wheeler

//werewolf x vampire AU!
//no smut. Sorry.

Blood Bank's Origin

Joey was gonna die.

He'd been doing great. Been running to his dingy little house in the woods, ready to hole up for the night. Been almost there.

And now, he was covered in blood. He wasn't entirely sure all of it was his, and he had no time to find out. He staggered out of the barn, his head swimming and his teeth aching. He looked around, very disoriented. A harsh wind cut through his bones and he realised that his clothes had been torn to shreds. He had to leave.

His bare feet sunk into the dirt as he ran, and when he reached the treeline again the branches whipped against his arms and legs. He didn't stop. He couldn't. Or else he would die.

No. He was dead anyways.

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There had been an attack last night. Seto sighed as he walked through the market, not paying any mind to the stares that burned through his back. He entered the butcher's shop at precisely his usual time, and any customers inside quickly cleared out. The butcher glared at him from across the counter.
"If you didn't buy such an ungodly amount each time, I'd stake you myself for runnin' away the customers." The man said, and Seto's lips curled into a snarl.
"I'm the only reason this place hasn't been infested by others. You'd be wise to shut your mouth while I'm still feeling generous." Seto said menacingly, his tone clipped. The butcher went silent as he went about getting Seto's usual order ready. Sheep's blood was hardly appetizing, but it was a hell of a lot better than pig's blood; and exceedingly better than the punishment were he to indulge in the blood he actually wanted.
He paid a hefty price every week, all for the sake of having it bottled fresh. He'd been questioned once about the bottles, but really, he hadn't bothered to answer. After all, saying "Pretending that it's wine makes me feel less an animal" was just depressing.
Once his order had been filled, he paid and stowed his bottles away in a shoulder bag at his side. He usually travelled by carriage, but today was wonderfully sunny, and as such he had no reason to fear running into others of his kind. He walked down the road, his mind wandering as he did. It wasn't until he felt the cool of the shade on his face that he realised he had walked to the forest. Something seemed to draw him in; to entice him forward, like a child smelling a cooling pie in the window.
It was the ripe, blooming smell of spilled blood.

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It was fine. He was good. Great. He was fine.
No one would find him in his house, he was sure. Hell, no one would even suspect him. He had scrubbed the blood and dirt off of his skin, and his hair was featherless now. He smelled normal. Yep, perfectly normal.
He cursed the dad he'd never met.
He had hoped beyond reason that his father's blood had skipped a generation; that maybe he'd be normal like his sister.
He was the firstborn.
He knew what it meant.
And he knew even more what it would mean if he were caught. They sent werewolves to the front lines, fighting like dogs for a kingdom that saw them as even less. He didn't want to fight in some stupid, pointless war.
He didn't want to die a pointless death.

He didn't want to die.

But he heard the footsteps. He smelled the men that were looking for him.
He heard the dogs baying in the distance, and cursed them for being so traitorous. He pressed himself into a corner, his arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead resting against his knees.
They would find him.
He didn't want to delude himself. He was going to die today, and it would be all his fault. Not his dad's for passing down the wolf blood; not his mom's for harboring a war criminal. His, for ignoring the signs leading up to the full moon. His, for hiding in denial and a false sense of security.
His. Just for existing.