Title: Blood Kiss

Author: TheVampireLucinda

Summary: Every vampire needs his or her daily dose of blood. Blood is warmth; blood is life; blood is fire; blood is sometimes even...love. Whatever it is, it is necessary. So, one must wonder...what does the WWE's resident vampire do when the Thirst hits? It's not easy being Nosferatu...but that doesn't mean it isn't fun.

Disclaimer: I own nothing...unless I randomly decide to insert another vampire into this...which may or may not be me... *ahem* XD Also, this fic will have a mixture of het and slash moments...depends on what my Muse is feeling hungry for.. ;) .By the way, this story isn't exactly supposed to have a plot...It's more just a series of one-shots following our dear BloodDrinker around. But, if a plot starts to develop, so be it. I'm cool with that. XD

Sometimes I can't believe my good luck.

I mean, it's not everyday that you find a job where not only are you surrounded by healthy and beautiful men and women, but also put in a situation in which you are allowed to be yourself without fear of suspicion or torment. Never in all my 500 years would I have guessed that such a day would come. It's one thing to survive; it's another to true live, and right now, I am truly living.

Well, "living" in the poetic sense, of course.

But, ah, let me pause for a moment, and introduce myself, for I am sure that you're wondering who it is that is 500 years old, and where such a being could possibly work.

I am known in this modern age Kevin Thorn, and I am a vampire. Nay, do not gainsay me; it's true. I can go into details if you want, but the short version of the story is that, as a young man, I had the fortune of running into a certain Prince of a land that is now called Romania, long since dead, or so everyone believed.

Well, no, not everyone. My Tutor warned me to stay away from the broken battlements of that cursed castle...and yet my curiosity drew me ever towards it. His horror stories only inflamed me. I had just entered my 2nd decade of life when my curiosity overcame my reason and fear, and I journey to that forbidden castle, alone, at night, searching for I had no idea what.

That is how I met him. Well, technically, his wolves met me first, and, though I was armed with my father's broadsword, I trembled to see so many. It was the dead of winter, but surprisingly warm; I remember snow, and not ice. The forest itself was magnificent, shimmering and shifting in the moonlight as though the very trees were bursting with life. Even the wolves were magnificent, in a deadly way.

I thought that I would be torn to shreds when, suddenly, he into my line of sight, walking past the wolves as though they were merely pets. Looking back, I guess they were his pets.

The first thing I remember thinking was that he was beautiful. His green eyes and long brown-black hair were all lustrous in the bright moonlight. His skin, pale as bone, seemed to have it's own radiance as he approached me with slow, light, soundless steps. And his lips! Never had I seen lips so red and full, not even on a woman, and when they curled into a soft smile, I could see the tips of extraordinarily sharp teeth. I was seized with the mad thought that he should kiss me.

The second thing I remember thinking was that I should run for my life. He was terrifying. He was unearthly. He was not of this world as I was. My Tutor had been right—I should have stayed away, and now I was going to die by the hand of this...this creature. I was alone in a deep forest, surrounded by wolves, and yet my blood was going to be spilled by a being that should have been impossible.

Much later, I learned, he found me beautiful as well in that first moment. He admired my foolish courage...called it a rare thing in these days of dishonorable peace. I watched his lips move as he spoke, although his voice, deep and rich, seemed oddly disconnected from them. I was entranced. I couldn't move. I wanted to scream.

When he was not three steps away from me I began to weep. I don't know why. He continued to smile—although, thank God, it wasn't malicious, or else I would have fainted dead away—and ran a long, thin finger through my dark hair.

"So, you have found me," he said, amusement evident in his voice. "What will you now do?"

I tried to speak, but my voice had died in my throat. My throat...

I placed a hand against my neck, protectively, eyes wide, breath coming out in short gasps. I knew well what he was, for my Tutor had told me the stories. They returned to me in a flood, and I grew even more afraid. I cringed away from his touch, feather-light against my head. To my own horror, I could feel the vein under my trembling hand warm and throbbing, surely beckoning him like some demonic signal. He gave me a patient smile and repeated his question. I figured it was best to answer, in the hope that I would not anger him.

"I...I don't know," I said in a low voice, trembling. "I just...I had to know if you...were real..." He took a step forwards, closing the distance between us in an instant, and I shut my eyes tightly. Several moments passed, and nothing happened that I could discern. I opened one eye; he was just standing there, observing me, and I dared not try and guess that he was thinking.

"Please, kill me quickly," I said somewhat desperately, fighting the urge to throw myself to the ground, embrace his knees and beg for mercy. I knew stories of his cruelty in life...How much more cruel had he become in death? And I knew for certain that I did not have the stomach for any torture he could inflict upon me. Even the thought of being impaled—one of his preferred methods of execution, I had been told—made me want to scream.

"Kill you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "Why in this world would I do that?"

I had no answer, or at least, not one that I was willing to say aloud. He was obviously toying with me now...Just prolonging the inevitable... A low sob escaped my lips. I knew I was dead. This was Death, and he was standing in front of me, and I was simply going to die.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said simply, and my eyes grew wide as I stared at him blankly. Six words suddenly made a world of difference.

Thus began my odd friendship with the Dark Prince.

At first, our relationship consisted of him assuaging my fears—no easy task, I assure you—and I plying him with any and every question I dared to ask. He was a wealth of knowledge, and I would listen to him speak for hours without losing interest.

It did not take me long to realize that I was completely and utterly enchanted by him. Whether by some design of his, I'll never know, but I do know that I was charmed, and soon enough, I found myself wondering about the softness of his pale skin, and the fullness of his red lips. I was falling in love with him. My parents, when they saw me, thought me smitten by some girl.

Oh, if only that had been the case.

The Prince, ever perceptive, knew of my desires, he later informed me, but waited for me to ask for his kiss. He understood better than I that my desire for him was half genuine and half curiosity. I wondered what the feeling would be to have his red lips against my throat...Would he drink my blood if I asked him too? Would I die from it? Would he let me kiss him in return? These questions and so many more plagued me day and night, and soon I found myself unable to go even a minute without thinking about him.

Never will I forget that first time I kissed the Prince. I must have been mad. He welcomed me into his castle—I made a point of visiting him at least once every fortnight—and I embraced him as I always did, and he embraced me back. However, this time, I pressed my lips against his the moment I raised my head. He seemed pleasantly surprised, and, to my own surprise, he kissed me in return.

It is the first time in my life that I distinctly remember thinking that I loved someone. It was a startling revelation, and, although we did not exchange blood, I knew that it marked the sealing of some pact between us.

I wish I could say that our odd affair continued for years without trouble, but, as so often happens with humans, I not long after fell ill. Given the time period, it was not uncommon to become very sick for a small reason, nor was it uncommon to die from something easily curable, and I had developed a cough that slowly grew into a disease which claimed my strength and, soon, my life. I believe that it is called tuberculosis in modern terms, and I caught it from the village doctor who, ironically, died from it.

He came to my village when he learned that I was ill. It was a most remarkable thing, seeing him walk amongst my family and the other villagers. He was so different from them all. They feared him, and my Tutor nearly died of fright when the Prince entered our home. I thought he had come to give me his farewell, for I had accepted my fate, but instead, he had an offer. I could be well, he explained, face more expressive than I had ever previously seen it, and never to fall ill again, if I but became as he was.

"Then I could kiss you at will, and forever," he whispered, pressing his red lips against my fevered forehead.

Even if I hadn't been sick and dying, I would have said yes, I loved him that much. I still do. I always will.

And so, 500 years later, here I am. I signed up to work with the WWE after I decided to reintegrate myself into society (the past hundred years or so have bored me beyond belief, and I saw no need to interact with the mortals). I had the fortune of running into a vampire who was also a Card Reader. She suggested that I join a wrestling company, something I had not considered at all, and she promised that she would come with me, for though she was not as old as I, she wanted to mingle with the mortals. Ah, don't we all...

Ariel and I made out debut together, and, since then, I have had unlimited access to the blood of the beautiful men and women of the WWE.

I never once dreamed that life could be so good.

So...how do you like it? Shall I continue?

Review?