In the unlikely case of you visiting this page without having given the description a least a cursory glance, this missive serves as a final warning: There will be men. They will be doing things, and possibly (or possibly not) enjoying themselves immensely in the process.
I thank you to go elsewhere (perhaps to another of my fanfics..?) if that sort of thing doth not please you. ~ End transmission ~
Oliver stalked across the street, collar pulled up to protect the back of his neck from the heat of the midday sun. His legs moved in short, irritated bursts within the confines of his long trench coat, muscles working furiously to drag as much ground behind him as they could before the sun became aware of his presence.
He could already feel it beginning to irk him, like the faint tingling one gets before the onset of full-blown toothache - the kind that results in several agonising hours in the dentist's chair and the eventual removal of the affected tooth. Oliver swore to himself and reminded himself again of the set of circumstances which had rendered it necessary for him to be crawling about in the sun, walking, at human pace no less.
Trawling the entire town, looking for that half-witted fool Amelie usually liked to keep locked beneath the Day house. The vampire ground his teeth together in frustration, feeling satisfied at the sharp jolt of pain which shot through his jaw.
If he found him first - he would wring his neck.
xxx
"You ought to keep a closer eye on your pets, Amelie."
Amelie looked at him sharply, her irises flashing red.
"Myrnin is not a pet, Oliver," She hissed, "He is my oldest friend."
Oliver snorted.
"You certainly keep him caged like one."
Amelie sighed and leaned back in her wing-backed chair, the fingers of one slender hand drumming on the surface of her desk.
"He remains there... For his own safety, and for the safety of others. He is free to leave, if he so chooses," She said, quietly.
"Then why this witch-hunt?" Oliver growled.
"I am... concerned about him."
His face softened, and he reached across the desk to encapsulate one of her hands tenderly in his own.
"Myrnin is over nine hundred years old, Amelie. Not a child. Surely this is ridiculous, the man can look after himself for a while."
Amelie withdrew her hand from his.
"No, Oliver. He cannot. You saw what he did to Ëosulf. You know what he is capable of. He is insane."
xxx
Oliver growled. The man truly was a maniac. He had been missing for almost a fortnight now - although he had gone unmissed for almost three days before the Danvers girl had noticed his absence - and he had left a bloody trail of bodies in his wake, the most recent of which belonged to Ëosulf, one of Amelie's minions. The fair-haired vampire was of Nordic descent, five centuries old. A mere child compared to the likes of himself and Amelie, but those five hundred years had now been erased as though they never existed. His body was found on the upper floor of an empty house - a Founder house, left empty for a particular, grisly reason. It had been well used back in the days when hunting was allowed, but more recently, since Amelie had passed new laws, it had fallen into disrepair. Oliver sneered a little. He still thought that Amelie was losing her wits. The vampire population would not put up with this forever - hunting was an instinct, like lust; not something which can simply be turned off, crushed, forgotten. They would rise up, and he - well, he would be there to destroy any who tried to challenge Amelie.
He would protect her with his life, and worse, she knew it. He had fallen in love with her slowly, so slowly he had not realised it was happening - otherwise he would never have allowed it to happen. His hatred for her in the beginning had gradually cooled to resentment, had wavered over to grudging respect for a long time, and then had slowly morphed into something stronger. Now - well, now he was crawling around in the sun for her, sweating and burning in the light of the day, looking for a madman. Oliver had a suspicion that all he had to do was look in the mirror, and he would see one.
He had been walking around all day, following Myrnin's trail. Since Ëosulf's body had been found, Amelie had taken all but the most able fighters off the hunt. It was understandable; Ëosulf had not been merely a follower. He had been a friend, and a companion to her also for a span of time. He had been truly loyal to Amelie, and although she never showed it, Oliver knew she regretted his death. She had been shocked by it, appalled at the state the body had been found in. Oliver had seen the room himself. It was truly the work of a lunatic.
The body - drained of blood - lay spreadeagled in the middle of an otherwise bare room. At first they had thought perhaps it was the work of a vampire-hating citizen; blood was everywhere, flung against the walls and smeared over Ëosulf's face and mouth as if he had been feeding - only it was his own blood. Upon closer examination, they discovered that the blood, far from being simply flung onto the walls, had been daubed on carefully, forming strange alchemical symbols and ineligible formulae. The entire room, floor, walls, even the ceiling, were covered in it. Red, red, everywhere. And Oliver had seen the dawning horror on Amelie's face as she had come to the inevitable conclusion that her old friend - her dearest friend - had done this.
Oliver could well see him in it, now. The expressive smears of blood across the wall, put there by Myrnin's own long fingers. That insane grin distorting his features. His thin hands, digging mercilessly through layers of bone and flesh to pull the heart out of its warm cavity, still beating. The madman, crowing over his prize. And then later, realising what he had done, falling to his knees beside the body, pale, bloody hands fluttering over the dead face, staining the mouth red. Crying, begging. And then the anger. The broken shelves, overturned table. The knife, now buried in the wall, raised on himself. Then finally, huddled in the corner, staring into the abyss. Yes, Oliver could see it. He had known the man long enough by now.
But then what? The body had been at the end of a series of increasingly grisly killings, human and vampire. That was four days ago, and nothing had been heard of since then. Oliver suppressed a shudder. Somehow, the silence was worse.
He turned into Birden Street, where Ëosulf's body had been found. It was only a few blocks away from the Day house. The end of the trail. Oliver had followed in Myrnin's footsteps all over the town, asking questions and checking every likely location, but had discovered nothing they did not already know. Myrnin, for whatever reason, had snapped and embarked on a pretty impressive killing spree. No one had seen him - or rather, Oliver assumed, no one had seen him and lived to tell the tale. Save for Claire. Of course the Danvers girl had seen him, and of course he apparently had broken his own rules and not killed her. Claire had a peculiar, irritating way of bringing out the best in the old fool. According to her report, she had simply woken one night, three days ago, to see him sitting in the shadows of her room. She had screamed, but by the time her friends got there, he was gone. They had not spoken, but Myrnin had also not killed since the encounter. Well, that or he had started hiding the bodies.
Oliver stopped in front of the empty Founder house where the body had been found to give its surroundings a quick scan. It was in what had been the most run-down area of Morganville, where only the most desperate lived. It had been a prime hunting area up until very recently, with the advent of the new laws to encourage equality between humans and vampires. Amelie had even had street lights installed, which made the street almost as bright as day. They were beacons of hope for the humans, and symbols of oppression for the vampires. Or so Oliver had been informed by one particularly poetic young protégée of Amelie's. She could be excused, however, having been born in the late 1700s, during the Romantic movement. Not that Oliver cared about her opinion in the slightest. He would continue to do as he pleased, as he had always done, secure in the knowledge of his position as one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in Morganville, as well as Amelie's second in command. He was almost untouchable, and the thought brought a small smirk to his features.
After briefly surveying the outside of the building, he made his way inside, searching the house quickly. He did not expect to find Myrnin there, but he checked anyway on principle. It was a well known fact that fugitives often hide in the last place they are expected to be, which is also why people rarely check those places. Myrnin was not there, as Oliver had expected.
As he was walking back out of the house, however, he became aware of an odd feeling in the air which he had overlooked before; the crackling of energy, almost intangible but still there.
He followed it to the kitchen, and it was as he was studying the room with new eyes that he realised what he had missed before. The Founder houses all had the same layout, but in this one the door to the pantry, which would usually be just to the left of the kitchen door, was missing.
Oliver frowned, staring intently at the patch of wall where the door should be. He could just make out the badly hidden seams where a plastered and wallpapered panel had been made to look like part of the wall. Oliver had no doubt that somewhere nearby was hidden a lever or switch which would open the door. He achieved the same result far quicker by kicking straight through the panel.
The plaster cracked and fell inwards, throwing up a small cloud of dust which engulfed Oliver, obscuring his vision and covering his clothes in a thick dusting of plaster powder. Cursing, he renewed his vow to wring Myrnin's neck when he found him, and climbed carefully through the jagged hole into the darkness beyond.
Once inside, the dim light from the kitchen only filtered a few feet in, ending abruptly as if blocked by an invisible wall. The crackling of energy was stronger here. Oliver took a few steps forward, and a strange feeling passed over him - strange, but familiar. The darkness around him was suddenly complete - for a moment, he could not see a thing. And the scent of the air had suddenly changed. It was musty where before there had been the scent of damp and rot from the abandoned house. There was also the vague, acrid tang of chemicals in the air.
Oliver turned, and suddenly understood what had happened. He had passed through a portal hidden in the darkness of the 'pantry'. Amelie had told him that the portal system was down, but Myrnin had obviously found a way to get it working again - and had been very careful in not letting anyone find out. Despite his shows of lunacy and idiocy, Myrnin could be a cunning and calculating foe, and Oliver reminded himself not to underestimate him.
He crept further forward into the room, his eyes having adjusted enough by this time to see the silhouettes and dark shapes of objects around him; a few tables in the distance, a small sofa directly in front of him, a chair to his left. He could not make out much more, and hissed as he took another step and heard the loud crunch of glass beneath his foot. The silence that followed seemed somehow even deeper than before, and it took Oliver a few seconds to realise what was missing - the almost inaudible electric hum of the portal had stopped. He cracked his head to the left slightly. It was gone.
Oliver stopped moving, focusing all of his energy on his sense of hearing and his sight, eyes narrowed. No movement. No sound.
He almost relaxed, and then - rustling, off to the left. Oliver's head snapped round to face the noise, eyes flashing red.
"Myrnin," He hissed.
The rustling stopped.
"Who iiis iiit?!"
Myrnin's voice came slithering out of the darkness, seeming to come from every direction at once. He spoke in sing-song, his words pitched childishly high, and Oliver repressed a shiver at the sound of it. It was the voice of madness.
"Myrnin, you fool!" He snarled, "It is pitch black in here!"
The sound of the other man's giggling echoed horribly around the darkened room; Oliver fought to keep control of himself, grinding his teeth together in irritation.
"For God's sake, man!"
Abruptly, the giggling stopped. After a brief pause, Myrnin's voice sounded again, closer this time. His voice had dropped, dangerous and low, so that he almost growled his words.
"Will you walk into my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly..."
Oliver turned abruptly and stumbled backwards, startled at the closeness of Myrnin's voice, and just caught the shadow of a shadow flitting away in the corner of his eye.
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy..."
Myrnin's breath was at his nape this time, and Oliver spun around with a snarl, grabbing on to the man just as he heard a switch being thrown nearby.
The lights suddenly flicked on overhead, and shocked and temporarily blinded, Oliver loosened his grip on the other vampire's clothing, raising an arm to shield his eyes.
Myrnin immediately lunged at him, knocking him off balance and sending him flying backwards. They crashed to the floor together, both grappling for control. Oliver, still almost blinded, opened his eyes in time to see a clawed hand descend towards him. He turned his face to the side reflexively, snarling as Myrnin's fingernails, missing their mark of his eyes, tore open the flesh of his right cheek instead.
The other man fought like a wildcat, hissing and scratching and biting wherever he could, and though Oliver was the more intelligent fighter, Myrnin was possessed with the unnatural strength of the insane, and held the upper hand.
Within a single minute, just a blur to the human eye, Myrnin had him held tightly in the wiry confines of his limbs, unable to move. Oliver lay on his back, Myrnin beneath him, arms twisted painfully beneath his body. The man seemed to have more than the usual number of limbs, somehow able to hold Oliver immobile and have an arm spare to snake its way around his neck, squeezing like a constrictor.
Oliver made a last, desperate move to get free, but there was an audible crack as Myrnin flexed the muscles of his right arm slightly, and broke Oliver's left wrist. He hissed in pain, then tensed and swore as he felt as well as heard the other man laugh maniacally beneath him, and continue to recite the eerie nursery rhyme, his words ragged with the effort it was taking him to restrain Oliver.
"The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,"
"What on this earth are you talking about?!" Oliver wheezed, unable to force sufficient air past Myrnin's restricting arm to speak. His only reply was another surge of giggling, before Myrnin resumed his rhyme, still speaking in sing-song, the lilt of his Welsh accent strong.
"And I've many a curious thing to shew when you are there..." At this point, he trailed off and began muttering to himself, "Can't remember the rest. Where is it? No...no, no. All wrong. Wrong!"
While he had been speaking, his grip on Oliver has loosened as if he had forgotten he was there, but with this last word he seemed to come back to himself again, and he clamped down again with frightening force. His voice changed again in timbre, becoming low and almost seductive.
"Now then, my pretty, what will I do with you? Why have you wandered into my parlour and disturbed me? Hmm?" He spoke huskily into Oliver's ear, causing the vampire's face to twist in disgust and anger.
"You are raving, you fool! Release me!" When he remained silent, Oliver snarled, feeling the pressure building in the bones of his arms, threatening to snap them. His wrist, bent at an unnatural angle, still hadn't healed, "Myrnin! Amelie sent me, you wretched dog!"
"Oh, you know my name!" In an instant, Myrnin had somehow rolled them over as if running on steam and, possessed of a strength Oliver never would have guessed at, dragged him up to standing, still keeping his arms twisted behind his back. He was still unable to see Myrnin's face, but now they were standing he realised exactly where they were - Myrnin's infernal lab. How no one had discovered he was here was a mystery, and one that irked Oliver very much. He was put in this position through the sheer incompetence of others, and to his humiliation was at the mercy of a man he had always mocked and disparaged.
"How is it that you know my name?"
Once more, Myrnin sounded excited, like a child. Oliver ignored the question.
"Enough. I tire of this. If you are here, my job is done. I have found you, and you are safely returned to your little pen."
Myrnin released him suddenly, pushing him forwards.
"I know why you're here!" He shouted, "She sent you!"
Oliver stretched and rolled his shoulders, feeling several ligaments pop back into place. Then he turned slowly to regard the man in front of him.
Myrnin was unkempt, dishevelled, dark wavy hair in an untamed halo around his head. His clothing was nothing out of the ordinary for him, if the man even had an ordinary; black frock coat, half of the lower left side missing, torn away. A dirty white shirt, hanging open to expose a pale, well-defined chest. Black trousers, stained and filthy. Lack of shoes. Perhaps slightly more bedraggled than was normal, Oliver thought. He answered slowly, calmly.
"Yes. Amelie sent me to find you. I have done so."
An odd look settled on Myrnin's face. He licked his lips.
"...Find me?"
"Yes," Oliver said impatiently, shaking out his sleeves and straightening his collar, managing to summon up a vestige of his usual sneer as he surveyed their surroundings disdainfully, "To find you and ensure that you are returned to your...hole."
He took out his cell from his pocket, flipped it open, and began to key in Amelie's number.
"What are you doing?" Myrnin's voice had sharpened, he was watching Oliver alertly now, sinking into a slightly offensive stance.
Oliver sighed, looking up briefly in a gesture which seemed dismissive but was actually calculating. He was wary of Myrnin now, having already been made aware of his strength and speed.
"I am informing Amelie of -"
"No!" Myrnin's furious roar filled the room and fuelled the wide sweep of his arm which knocked the phone out of Oliver's hands and sent it crashing into the wall, where it fractured into several component pieces and dropped to the floor, dead. Oliver sighed, and turned to face the man again.
"Make no mistakes, Myrnin. I am not Ëosulf. I am under no oath to Amelie, and I will not hesitate to snap your neck the next time you interfere with me."
Myrnin grinned, "I would dearly love to see you try, old man."
"You test my patience," Oliver snarled in return, "Must I forcibly restrain you?"
His fingers, tensed into claws by his sides, secretly itched to dig into the other man's throat. For years had he wanted to rip the smile off his face, a thousand times over those years had he endured the man's taunts and jibes and overwhelming, blasphemous stupidity - now, now he had been handed this chance on a golden platter by Amelie, to really, truly hurt the man. To make him suffer as he deserved. Something close to hatred rose up suddenly like bile in Oliver's throat and he grinned, fangs extended, as Myrnin made his reply.
"I would love to see you try." He ground out, still grinning like a dog. That was all the encouragement Oliver needed.
He flew at Myrnin suddenly, not even giving himself time to think about the movement lest the thought of it show on his features, and he was rewarded with a grunt of surprise from the other man as he crashed into him.
Myrnin's head hit the wall behind him with a loud crack, and Oliver saw his eyes roll up into his head with the force of it. His grinned savagely, and felt the lust for the kill pumping through his veins as he secured his hands around the other's throat and began to squeeze until he felt things beginning to pop beneath the skin. The rest of his body ground into Myrnin's, keeping him pinned to the wall. He pushed a thigh between Myrnin's legs and used the other to keep one of them immobile.
For a moment there was only the sound of Myrnin struggling in the air as his hands scrabbled uselessly, first at the wall, then at the hands on his throat, and finally at Oliver's immovable chest before dropping limply to his sides, unable to find enough leverage to facilitate his escape or even cause any damage to his captor.
"You see," Oliver growled, squeezing until Myrnin convulsed slightly and he saw blood begin to trickle from the corner of his mouth, "You see how easily I can crush you?"
Myrnin closed his eyes, and for a wild moment Oliver basked in his victory. And then Myrnin's dark lashes fluttered and Oliver felt something in his stomach tighten at the sound which rumbled up through the man's chest and left his lips. A guttural moan, filled with lust, arousal, passion, desire - Oliver's eyes widened and he almost let go, filled with stunned revulsion. But then his mind caught up and with a snarl he pressed closer, convinced it had been a ploy for freedom on Myrnin's part.
"Give it up, dog," He said, leaning forwards to growl in the other's ear, "I have you."
This time, he emitted a high pitched keen, and Oliver felt Myrnin's hips begin to move beneath his own. Shocked, he watched in growing consternation as the man moved wantonly against him, quite clearly and obviously aroused by the situation. Oliver swore, torn between the desire to rip Myrnin's throat out, the knowledge that if he did so Amelie would surely have his own served to her for his trouble, the desire to hurt him as much as possible anyway, and his repulsion at the man's actions - not that he believed they were borne from genuine arousal.
"Myrnin, you vermin! Stop."
Myrnin lifted his eyes to meet Oliver's. There was minimal recognition in them - none of the challenge or gloating Oliver had been expecting. Instead, they were clouded with lust, and suddenly Oliver felt dread as he felt hands questing beneath his coat, fluid fingers searching out the hem of his shirt.
"What are you- " He loosened his grip and moved away slightly, suddenly unsure of himself, but Myrnin threw his head back and arched his back, keeping the pressure between their bodies intact. Oliver felt the heat of the other man's abdomen and groin pressed against him and staggered back, his mind jarring and reeling at the unexpected turn of events. He fought to think rationally, but Myrnin had surged forwards into him as he moved back as if locked to his body by magnets.
"Stop- Myrnin-"
Oliver had completely released Myrnin now, and attempted to shove him away, but the fingers inside his coat had found his shirt and were drawing it up, exposing part of his stomach to the rapidly warming air of the lab. Hastily, Oliver batted Myrnin's hands out of the way, pulling his shirt back down. As he did so Myrnin let out a moan of frustration and brought his thin hands up in a blur to grasp the sides of Oliver's head. Before the other vampire could react, he had lunged forward and crushed his lips to Oliver's, whose mouth was half open in a snarl.
The shock made him stumble as Myrnin's full weight was suddenly pressed against him, and he fell heavily as several sensations assaulted his sensitive body at once. First was the intrusion of a surprisingly agile tongue past his shock-slackened lips and into the unprepared cavity of his mouth, second was the definite heat of lust rolling from Myrnin's body, accompanied by a low growl which set his teeth on edge and sent a curious buzzing through his bones, and thirdly there was the unbelievable but undeniable solidity which pressed at him through Myrnin's trousers. He had jerked away from this contact as though scalded, which had caused him to fall, bringing Myrnin down with him.
Oliver gasped as he hit the floor, and their teeth clashed painfully. Blood filled his mouth as the impact caused him to bite the inside of his cheek, and he dimly heard Myrnin's small crow of excitement as he redoubled the assault on his mouth, tongue eagerly searching out the precious liquid. The hands which tangled in his hair and gripped his lower jaw made it impossible for Oliver to turn his head or even close his mouth without breaking his jawbone, and during the fall Myrnin had somehow managed to clamp his thighs around Oliver's torso, leaving his legs to kick and writhe uselessly at the air.
Eventually, Myrnin pulled away, but immediately moved one hand down to work at the top buttons on Oliver's shirt, the other remaining tangled in his greying hair, clutching it almost painfully tight.
"Myrnin!" Oliver choked, as soon as he had worked past the lump in his throat enough to speak, "Stop this! You are not thinking clearly! I am a man!" At the last moment his voice broke, turning from commanding to the closest Oliver had come to begging in the last half century. He would not - he could not - suffer this humiliation at the hands of such a man.
Myrnin was unaffected by his words, and Oliver realised that this was no longer about some petty rivalry or adversity between them. He did not care about humiliating Oliver, or anything like that. The look in his dark eyes said it all; he was lost to sheer instinct - he wanted him. He would not stop.
Oliver knew blind panic for a moment at thought of what this man could do to him, but then Myrnin shifted his hips downwards suddenly in an effort to facilitate his one-handed exploration of Oliver's chest, and a bolt of pure bliss juddered unexpectedly through his body. Oliver started and gasped, and then felt his cheeks burn with shame as he understood what had happened.
Impossible - to react that way to a man - I would never - but then Myrnin, watching Oliver's face closely, bucked his hips again, causing another involuntary groan to rise out of Oliver's throat as another bolt of pleasure sparked in his groin.
Myrnin giggled deliriously and lowered his face to Oliver's chest, where he began to alternate between hard, teasing bites and soft kisses, occasionally flicking his tongue across the skin there and sending little tingles of pleasure rippling out across the surface.
Oliver turned his face away, trying to deny the sensations, but he could already feel the evidence of the strength of his reaction pressing into his assailant's pelvis.
"You bastard!" He shouted suddenly, but his words were almost sobbed, "I will kill you for this! I'll make you scream!"
Myrnin raised his eyes to Oliver's, face still pressed against his stomach. Then he stopped swirling his tongue around Oliver's belly button just long enough to moan quite enthusiastically in a fashion which made Oliver's body twitch, and breathed two words;
"Yes, please."
It pained me slightly to leave our boys there, but perhaps it was for the best. This remains a one-shot for now, but I ~may~ write more if the inspiration strikes me, and if I am given enough encouragement. *hint*
Also, returning readers may notice that I have changed my pen name and deleted a few of my old stories. This comes as part of a series of changes to my choice in writing style, and regrettably I have to inform you that I will not be continuing 'Only in Morganville' or 'A Singular Kind of Romance'. Thank you to all the people who followed, reviewed and gave support for those stories, as well as the few who sent the occasional PM to me. I wish I could continue them but they have been dormant for such a long time now that I feel to return to them would be going backwards. I shall still leave them up for old time's sake. For now, at least. :) ~