agoodyarn | Vampire AU : The Worst / Best Decision He's Ever Made

Vampire AU : The Worst / Best Decision He's Ever Made

Vampires are immune to every illness, can heal from any injury, withstand almost any damage... other than ennui. The vampire who calls himself only 'John', whose terrible power rolls before him and sets others of his kind trembling...

Is absolutely no different in this regard.

He is ancient and terrible and he has a great court within the city that bores him to tears. Which is why he'd snuck out from their compound and gone, of all things, bar-hopping. Thus meeting Arthur and his partner.

It had been simple enough to get his partner out of the way; a call to one of his court had the man bundled up and carted off, a snack for later. The lack of a companion had made luring Arthur to the back entrance, the one with the alleyway, the one he could enjoy a meal in peace in, even easier than it might have been.

...and then he'd tasted the man's life. Tasted the depths of sorrows in him, the death that surrounded him, the strange shining light, dim and flickering but unwilling to go out, that was the shape of his soul.

Which was why, feeling almost possessed, he'd found himself ripping his arm open and pressing the bloody wound to Arthur's pale lips.

And now, here he was, his new fledgeling in his bed, waiting for him to awaken, his partner beside him on the bed, bound and prepared for his new childe to feed and finish the process.

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He doesn't remember what happened.

No, that's... that's not quite right. He remembers flashes, bits and pieces playing on loop through his mind as he struggles to stir, jumping like a broken record as they try and break through the fog of pain and exhaustion clouding his mind.

There had been... someone... important. A friend... no, not just- his friend, Parker, he had... there'd been a knock, or- or a message, something distracted the man. He was only gone for seconds, surely.

There had been a thump. There had been a voice, and he...

Such a voice, he hadn't... questioned it, beckoning him, outside, he remembers...

Eyes, boring through him, until there was nothing he could think about but that golden, yellow stare...

Arthur shifts, as he stirs, face wrinkling in pain as he struggles to open his eyes. His gaze is unfocused, but it starts to sharpen as he blinks, focuses as he tastes blood, he's so... he's...

Hungry.

He considers letting Arthur figure it out on his own, come to his conclusions himself, smell the blood of the man next to him, hear the heart beating.

But he's never been patient, never left much up to chance, which is why he's going to reach over and just lightly flick a razor-sharp nail next to his artery.

Not across it. The result is a single red line, barely a scratch. But he knows it will be enough for a childe empty from his rebirth.

...it's always fun to watch too.

The scratch makes Parker flinch, and that jolts him against Arthur in a way that makes the childe jerk upright in the bed as Parker gasps in surprise.

"Jesus Christ, what-- w-where are we?" His voice is deep but quickly rising from panic, craning his neck against the sharp sting of pain as the line wells a single drop of blood, and suddenly Arthur inhales, deep and sharp, and stares at Parker with nothing but a feverish, almost animalistic mania - that Parker doesn't miss, and the man immediately tries shifting away but bound as he is, all he can do is jerk back. "Arthur! Art-- Artie, are you okay, what-- oh, God..."

Parker's own eyes widen, in fear at the sight of the blood soaking Arthur's shirt from the neck down - and Arthur's open mouth, fangs bared as he pants, heavily, savouring the smell of the blood in the air before he swings himself up and onto Parker, mounting his waist, pinning the human by his shoulders and making the man yelp, "Arthur--!"

He lunges, bites, rips open the scratch and the skin and the man's whole throat, and the only other sounds Parker makes are pathetic, helpless gurgles as Arthur feeds. It's desperate, hungry, starving, lapping up spurts as they splash his cheek, sinking his teeth deeper and deeper and messier every time to find a vein still pushing that hot, copper ambrosia out until he can suck it completely dry.

Arthur will hear it, deep inside his mind, like a shiver across his soul.

Yessss, Arthur. Good boy. Feed. Taste the hot, pulsing life. Drink it down until you can feel it, until you feel the warmth of him in your veins, the joy of his life on your tongue. Take it all.

The praise from that voice - it brings back golden eyes, walking outside of his control, a lure he couldn't, didn't want to resist - it sends an almost seductive roll down his spine, making him moan as he bites again.

He's not full but there's enough in him now that he's got enough presence of mind to be methodical, and at his heart Arthur isn't unintelligent - he's ripped one side of Parker's neck to shreds, so he lifts a hand to turn the man's head, unable to register the blankness in those dark brown eyes as he shoves the man's head onto an unnatural angle, finds the vein on that side intact and sinks teeth in again.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, I will yes, please... The words start in his mind but he starts mumbling them into the man's neck between bites, that despair turning from the need to feed to the need to please somewhere along the way.

He almost reaches over to put his fingers in his hair, run his hand possessively over him. But the childe is young, needs to finish his meal. He continues to murmur into his mind, coaxing him so gently.

Every drop, Arthur, don't waste even one. It's strength, Arthur. Strength and pleasure and life: a gift given to you from me.

And once you're done, I'll take such good care of you. I'll tell you everything you need to know.

Edited 2022-10-29 07:29 (UTC)

And he does. Because there's no feasible way he can't. To disobey the voice, now, is... unthinkable.

It's not a fast process; with the first flurry of hot spurting flows gone he's having to drink longer and deeper, unbearably slow when all he wants is the warmth of life in his mouth and stomach and his own veins.

And when the body's veins are finally dry he starts lapping up the mess he's left over the body itself. Every drop, don't even waste one. The care he takes with it is almost sensual, thoroughness that exceeds reason, until he's practically cleaned the body's neck completely, and he finally sits up, eyelids fluttering as he waits, unnaturally still, for the next thrill of praise from his master.

He's done this countless times before, knows this process like the back of his hand. He smiles, so warm, those golden eyes shining brightly with fondness and pleasure at his new childe's efforts. Then he'll reach out, stroking his hair, the side of his face, intimate and sensual as he offers his praise.

"You did very good. I'm very pleased. Can you feel it, Arthur? How you're changing now? How the blood flows deep and rich and hot through you, like no mortal pleasure you've ever known?"

The other hand picks up the body and tosses it aside, lets it slide across the stone floor until it's well out of sight. He wouldn't want it to upset his new progeny.

You'll never be alone, Arthur, never ever again. Because I'm here with you, will always be here with you, until the sun burns out in the sky and the world grows dim and cold.

Now. Do you remember my name, Arthur?

His head tilts into the hand stroking his face with a soft breath he doesn't need, a quiet whimper as the praise warms him from within, almost more than the blood making his body flushed, tingling with sensation that... were he alive, he might call orgasmic, but more, so much more, and he nods helplessly, tilting his head up towards the voice with something like hope.

"Y-yes... yes, I-I can, yes..."

It's still only a mumble, his eyes don't seem to want to stay open, but it's sincere in a way he hasn't been with himself, with anyone, in years.

The voice in his mind makes his back straighten, catching another pointless breath, and he nods into his master's hand.

"John..."

He notices that perk, and he can't help the low chuckle it pulls from him. That hope-

He loves it. It's beautiful, the sort of thing that immediately makes him sure that he'd picked the perfect new convert, a precious childe he would appreciate til the end of days.

Good, very good. You're doing so well. I knew you would be clever, Arthur. I knew you'd make me so pleased.

Now tell me, Arthur: how are you feeling?

A short pause before, very warm and low and soothing, a feeling of fondness and affection accompanying the words-

You don't have to speak out loud. You can speak to me here, if you like.

It usually takes a while for the young ones to figure out how to reply but there are sometimes those who take to it more quickly than others.

"I-I..."

The touch of the hand on his face is the only thing keeping him upright, because the way the sound of affection purrs through his mind makes his knees weak, and he swallows thickly, licking his lips and leaving a wet trail of fresh blood there.

I... I feel... good. S-So- good, i-incredible, thank you-- "Thank you, John..."

The words are moaned through his mouth and mind at the same time - there's a learning curve, but he wants to say it out loud, wants his master to hear his appreciation, let him know the depths that he means it. Hear the want, the desire to please him.

Perfect. You're just perfect, Arthur. You're everything I could have ever wanted. And you're more than welcome. I'm glad you feel so good.
That's exactly what I was hoping for.

That hand is still petting his cheek, fingers grazing against his temple so delicately.

"I'm going to ask you something, Arthur. And if you feel overwhelmed when you think about it, just ask me to make it stop, all right? With your mouth or with your mind, either way. I can hear you regardless.

"What do you smell?"

The deep breath comes automatically, immediately, and his eyes flicker shit for a moment as he thinks, tries to brave the fog of- of sensuality, adoration, and use his actual fucking brain.

"I smell- ah, I, uh..."

Something thick catches in his throat, making his next breath shudder, and he tilts his face into John's palm. "Blood," he says, and it sounds stupid out loud, so he adds, "A-and... cologne, uhm-- and..."

And you.

It comes through as- barely a thought, just an impulse, because his mouth is occupied, pressing into his master's palm, scraping teeth gently as he presses them with each fresh kiss, and his own hand comes up to press against John's forearm so he can hold it closer against his face.

Good, good. Not ovewhelmed by his new senses yet. Very good. He'll offer up his wrist to the childe, the other hand reaching out to stroke along his hair.

If you're hungry, take more. It won't be warm, but it has other qualities you might enjoy.

He smiles a little. The voracious ones were always the most fun.

"What about sounds, Arthur?"

He wants to take it, he nearly does, but he hears a question and forces himself to still, eyes squeezing gently shut a bit tighter to focus.

"I hear..." his voice is dull, distracted, but the words come easily. "Th-the lights, ah- fluorescent, they hum, it stops when they flicker. Traffic, outside, but... at a distance. The highway, a-a few blocks away, I think. People, closer, o-outside, or- or a few floors down, I hear... conversation, music. Maybe a club, I-I can feel the vibrations of the bass, just barely."

And task done, he opens his mouth to press fangs into his master's wrist and take his reward.

The blood here is not warm, but it is rich and electric, buzzing not with life but power and those sensitive ears will hear the soft "oh yes" of his master's voice purr through the air and the bond between them.

This is the blood in your veins now, Arthur. My blood. Blood with the gift of a hundred thousand nights, each one full with beauty and wonder never ending.

I will show you such sights, my precious one. And I will teach you to wring your pleasure from every one.

He moans again, lapping at his master's wrist as he sinks his fangs deeper, pressing his jaw fully in as he grips tighter with his hand, unthinking as he simply lets himself fall into the heady thrill of pleasure, that threatens to overwhelm him completely.

His other hand comes up and grips just above his master's elbow, tilting his head slightly to bite deeper, harder, and there's a muddled, desperate, beatific litany of thank you, John, thank you John, John, John--

He may not have the willpower to stop himself just yet, as fresh as he is; he's certainly not trying to.

He is ancient... but he's also not a chew toy. Which is why why he's going to start gently extricating Arthur with the other hand.

You're welcome. I appreciate the enthusiasm, Arthur.

He does, truly he does. It's the most interested he's been in anything for a while. When he'd seen that face, the cold and calculated countenance or someone not to fuck with, he'd been settled to that fact for long though to know better.

His teeth in John's arm tighten, automatically, when he feels the grip shift in his hair; but the intent of it comes through a second later, and he reluctantly releases, giving John's arm one last, languid lick to suck the slow dripping wounds clean.

"W...w-what would you have me do now, John?" His voice is hoarse, face flushed with the warmth of fresh blood and the electricity of John's as his eyes try weakly to open, but they're still glassy from overstimulation, and despite himself there's a weak little "Please?" that gets mumbled out after, a quiet beg to be made of use to his master.

That is... terribly endearing.

"I have opened the door to you for anything your heart might desire. I realize that could sound like a lot... and it is. You will walk the night at my side forever more, and while we may part, I will never truly leave you.

"You are now of my court, with all the privileges that entails. You don't have to make any decisions right now, of course... but we could do any number or things.

"Is there anywhere you've ever hoped to visit? Anything you've ever wanted to see..." Give them options. Give them ideas. He at least tries not to just leave them at ends.

"I... I'll have to- to think about it. John."

The way he says it, sighs it, comes out as a claim. Master, in all but those exact syllables. He knows, instinctively, that's what he prefers to be called.

"I-I-I need-- time. To... to consider it."

Oh his voice is terribly warm.

"And I have given you eternity." Softer. "An eternity as my own. Take as long as you like."

Now he reaches out to pet his hair again.

"For now, would you like a bath or some time to rest?"

Nice, simple options. Something to give him a moment to settle into his new life.

Edited 2022-10-29 14:16 (UTC)

A thrill runs through him at that softness, the warmth that settles low in his body, makes goosebumps thrill through his scalp where his master brushes his hair.

"I..." The thought of a bath makes a shiver run down his spine, makes him tilt into the hand a little more at the the thought of his master washing him, but...

So much pleasure, so intense, he's not sure how much more he can stand.

"A-a rest, I think. I need to... I-I-I need..."

To clear his head, maybe, he can't... quite tell.

A rest then...

Syrupy and sweet, like a caress of its own inside his mind.

Sleep, childe. I'll be here when you wake.

As gentle as it is, it's also a command, as impossible to fight as being told to come outside with him, as being told to relax as his life was drained from him.

That's the more convenient option anyway. He has to get rid of the body and clean up both the bed and his new fledgeling. So much simpler when he isn't having to also reassure his progeny.

There's no resisting it. His eyes roll back into his head and his body folds beneath him; he's already asleep before he collapses backwards onto the bed.

And while he's cleaned, he's just dead weight. Compliant, of course, but entirely not present.

It's not until hours later, when he and the bed are left clean and fresh like nothing even happened, does he stir. Furrows his brow, the exact same way, as a quiet groan escapes him, and he rolls onto his side, lifting a hand to rub his head.

God, he feels like he's got the mother of all hangovers, and he groans again, louder as he pushes a body that doesn't want to obey him into a sitting position. And when he opens his eyes...

He. Doesn't recognise the room. And something about that immediately sets off a bout of panic, as he scrambles, achingly slow, off the bed and to his feet.

"W-w-where am I...?" The question's mostly to himself, but it's said aloud anyway. "What-- what happened?"

Edited 2022-10-29 15:53 (UTC)

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