I do not claim to have created any of the characters from AHS: Hotel and do not publish this story with the intent of making money.

I am well aware that the risk of writing this story after only three episodes have aired is that any assumptions I make could end up being way off base. I'm perfectly okay with that. I felt compelled to write this because even though Tristan and Mr. March have appeared in two episodes, I already find their relationship to be quite interesting.

To think a year ago I was walking the runway in Prague, chasing down hotties in tight skirts and snorting crystal to get a mediocre fix. Now I'm a resident at the Hotel Cortez, a newly born vampire filling my days with murder, blood, and sex. Murder, blood, sex.

You feel more deeply as a vampire. When I taste the bloody river from the neck of some poor fuck lured in on Grindr, I can taste the residual lust, the terror. The basic, primal emotions crackle through my body like electricity and I feel high, way higher than I ever felt on meth.

The sex I've indulged in here is the best I've ever had, too. I traveled all over the world and got it from anyone and everyone; women, men, models, editors, junkies. Not once, though, did I ever feel truly fulfilled beyond the immediate release. Get off, pull out, go home and start the hunt over again the next night. Now, though, I sleep with the Countess or Mr. March and feel like I'm on fire. I cum and it's like my entire body is dipped in a heavenly river, a stream of erotic energy. It's not just the virus, though, with its side effect of heightened sensation. It's the intimacy. How ironic, that these two towering figures in the domain of murder help me to reach mind blowing completion that I've never once felt in the world of law and sanity. Sex has always been a weapon for me. I just turned on the swagger and got whatever I wanted; orgasm, meth, the upper hand. Now, fucking the Countess or letting Mr. March take me is like making art or having a spiritual epiphany.

Murder, blood, sex. And so it goes. Day after day, and yet it never gets old, never feels desperate like the daily grind of fiending and hunting for meth. That doesn't mean this is all uncomplicated. In fact, I feel like something might break soon. If Elizabeth finds out my true feelings for James March, I'm fucked. She'll either throw me out or shoot me dead. Both are the same to me. I can't imagine living outside of this hotel now. This is home, and they are my family; James, especially. What the hell am I going to do?

When I first saw James kill a woman, I was repulsed and shocked by the sudden turn of events. I ran away from that sicko as fast as my legs would carry me. The powerful vibrations of rage fill me up almost every day of my life, but I had never up to that point seriously considered releasing that rage in the medium of murder.

Then I had my encounter with Elizabeth. She turned me, put me on a new path where taking life became a necessity, a tool for survival. The two of us sparked a new passion in each other. She was the first that I had that true feeling of rapture with, and I felt that I owed her every ounce of my being, my entire soul itself. As our relationship burned on, I told myself I really did love her, that my feelings for her weren't only the affections of a newborn dark creature for his queen. Yet, one night only a few days after my rebirth, when the two of us were fucking on Elizabeth's balcony, the memory of James firing that pistol and killing that woman flashed before my eyes. I remembered the look of pure ecstasy on his handsome face, and my body lit up in a purifying blaze unlike anything I had ever experienced.

I went to Room 64 the next day, wanting to talk to James again, to see if my instinct was right. Something told me that the two of us were one in the same, both erotically charged by the act of murder itself, that highest form of release for rage. For Elizabeth, the hunt is the erotic part, the searching and the luring in. For me, though, it's the killing, the powerful sway of the act of taking life. I'm a damn slut for it.

The ghost and I talked about the true nature of the Hotel Cortez, March's temple to homicide. The hellish arrangement was made that day as I assured James that our mutual addiction would be fed.

It's March, and my stay at the hotel has been relatively uncomplicated up to this point. Elizabeth and I have been fucking constantly while James and I feed our addiction. So far our relationship has been pure bloodshed and murderous release, but I know deep down that James and I are coming to a tipping point.

I sit at the bar as Liz Taylor pours my victim a scotch. I get up from my stool four seats to the left. I act confident, cocky as I take a seat next to the handsome blond who's currently reading a giant tome that turns out to be a text of Constitutional law.

"You poor bastard," I start. "Nine o'clock on a Friday night in spring and you're partying with a textbook and a cross dressing bartender." Liz gives me the middle finger.

Blondie smirks, glancing up briefly before turning back to his book. "I'm not in Los Angeles to party," he explains in a subtle southern drawl. "I'm interviewing for law school in the morning"

"Ah, a scholar. That's still no excuse." I slide my hand over his muscular thigh, settling my firm grip just below his crotch. "I'm guessing you've been studying for weeks." I lean in to whisper in his ear. "Don't you think you deserve a break? One night of indulgence before your big day?"

The man keeps on with that endearing grin as he moves my hand off his thigh. "No thanks. I'm not gay anyway."

I roll my eyes and I see Liz do the same thing in my periphery. "It's 2016, man. Everybody's fucking everybody. Who cares about gay or straight?" The guy stares down into his scotch as I lower my voice again. "Why don't you come up to my room for a bit? I've got some of the purest coke you've ever had and I give one mean fucking blowjob."

Blondie blushes and then looks up at me, contemplating his decision. "Maybe for a few minutes, but only a few. I have to finish this chapter."

I put my hands up in surrender. "Fair enough, dude. Quick blowjob and then you're right back down here sipping scotch and reading about-," I lean over to look at page 135, "comparative parliamentary procedure. Whatever the fuck that is."

I flirt with the guy as we make our way up the elevator to the blackened heart of the hotel. I don't relish this part as much as Elizabeth does, tricking the poor bastards. I'm good at it, no doubt, but I feel almost bad for the fucker. That doesn't mean I'll make any move to warn him of what's ahead or give him the chance to run away. The kill is just too sweet, and the look on James's face is something I can't help but anticipate with an admittedly erotic fervor. I throw aside his shirt, manhandle him on to the bed, and kiss my way down his chest; my mind isn't with him, though. My attention is on the room around me as I wait for my ghostly companion to come out and play.

I see him just as I am unbuttoning the student's jeans. Mr. March steps out of his black closet and slowly makes his way over to the bed, knife in hand. He looks positively mad. His eyes are practically bulging out of his skull, never blinking as he stares at his victim, the thirst for murder evident on his handsome face. I should be terrified, but I'm not even close to that. I'm turned on, and this southern beauty's sun-kissed skin and luscious lips have nothing to do with it. I feel my erection straining against my tight jeans as the hotel's builder continues to inch forward. This is our dance, the one we've spent months perfecting. The two of us haven't had any physical contact yet, but in a way we've been fucking all along and I'm only beginning to admit it to myself. This ritual has become our own act of mutual masturbation as we stroke the fires of murder inside and between us.

I take blondie's cock into my mouth, granting him one last pleasurable sensation as James stands menacingly over us, holding the knife high, shaking with the stimulating anticipation. I feel myself orgasm, ejaculate into my boxers as the serial killer slashes the weapon through the air, burying the blade deep into the carotid artery as the student's eyes fly open with shock. I see the terror on the young man's face as blood pours in heavy pulses from his open wound. I look up into James's eyes, see that look of satisfaction. I moan and then move up to drink from the dying man's life source. I love the taste, the smell, the electricity of fear on my tongue. I stop just when the blood begins to sour, just when the young student dies.

"Good man," James says as I turn around to look at him again. "I hope you don't mind me taking this one. I'll let you have the next."

"I like watching," I admit. "I'm a voyeur, I guess."

James flashes a wicked smile and I can't resist any longer, don't even realize what I'm doing before I'm standing up, kissing him with every ounce of lustful passion zinging through my body. His lips aren't cold as I expected them to be. He doesn't really kiss back, just stands stiffly as I take advantage. I finally pull back and see a curious frown on his face. He seems confused, unsure. I feel the same. I turn away to compose myself, to think of what I should say next. I turn back and the room is empty. I fear that I may have scared James away.

There you have it! Chapter one. I welcome and appreciate any reviews or comments that y'all wish to leave for me. I thrive on constructive criticism, so please nitpick at me as long as you're respectful. Looking in particular for structural pieces that are confusing (like chronology) and awkward phrasing. Thanks for reading!