Disclaimer: I don't own The 100. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: a tumblr anon prompted: "ok but after the last Kabby episode, where Abby basically aggressively made out with Kane and straddled him, would you consider writing this: vampire!abby?" – Set in early season three, sometime after Pike's death but in an au on canon where none of the chip stuff has happened yet or will happen.
Warnings: canon typical violence, emotional and physical hurt/comfort, vampires, blood, blood drinking, dark!abby, vampire!abby, nudity, sexual content, biting, dub-con, possible consent issues.
Súton
Chapter One
She let the limp body in her hands drop. Ignoring the weak, barely there pulse as the dark haired thing let go of thready whimper. Every part of her suddenly alert, honed, senses alive with the ghost of a familiar smell.
Mate.
She wiped her mouth. Hair stringed blood-slick from when her fangs had teased her prey's artery. A young thing that had called her by name when she'd found him. Fumbling with his radio as he backed away. Colliding with a tree trunk and trapping himself as she advanced, laughing throatily. He was a pup now, pale, mewling and weak in the frosted long grass as she stepped over him, her long fur-lined cloak trailing over his twitching fingers. But he'd live, even after she'd drank her fill.
Bellamy.
She remembered the prey's name only belatedly. After she'd cradled him to her breast and tongued down the full of his pulse. Holding him easily as he tried to thrash and break away. Breathing in the smell of rushing iron surging warm and violent under his skin before baring her fangs and sinking them deep.
He hadn't said her name again after that.
She cleared the wall of the camp with ease. Dropping down into a crouch on the other side as she viewed the world in a red-tinted haze. She was a blurred shadow to them now. Moving too fast for them to see. Deja vu or the merely the wind. Easily explained as a trick of the light or not caught at all as she wove between the guards and into the main corridor. Using the low light and night shadows as she hunted down the smell to its source.
Marcus.
She found him in the showers, naked and alone, back bowed into the pounding spray. Stinging the air with salt as he leaned up against the cool metal walls. Dark hair slicked back. Fingers curled like claws into the cracks of the wall as his cock stayed soft and tired against his thigh. Letting the water rain down too hot in his delicate human skin. Reddening enough to make her mouth water as he hissed out a breath and slammed his fist against the wall.
He was crying.
It took her a moment to understand as she stepped fully into the room, dropping her cloak on the floor beside her as she studied him. Her long nails click-clicked across the wall, just low enough not to be heard above the groan of the pipes as she took him in. Relearning him with her new eyes - new senses - as his shoulders shook with grief.
It was such a simple thing, but some things seemed so distant now – foreign - human. She could still cry of course, but it painted her red. Not that she had any cause to do it. The world was hers now. She was aloof, unaffected. Every door that had once been closed, was open to her. Pain of both the body and the heart erased so that only pleasure and the thrill of the hunt remained.
There was only one thing she was lacking now.
Only one thing she needed.
Him.
She scented the air, waiting for the grief smells to fade. Only they didn't. Instead, her mate was starting to cave to its thrall. Allowing himself to break, perhaps like he never had before, as he gritted his teeth into the spray. Tarting the air with loss and broken things as the muscles in his calves trembled like a great foundation on the verge of collapse.
The animal that lived under her skin purred in pleasure.
Sensing what wasn't being said as he wavered unsteadily.
Her mate was mourning her.
Weak without her.
The animal preened and chuffed as she bared her fangs.
As always, he showed he was worthy of her.
He felt what she felt - as if she couldn't sense it now, clear as the moon rise.
Still, watching him like this pulled at her. Tugging at her core with overripe discomfort as she tried to understand the reason behind it. The emotions themselves were unrelatable now - impossible to return. But that was why she was here. She wanted to share this with him. She needed to. He was hers just as surely as she was his and it was time.
She hissed without sound when a sliver of unease rippled through her. Tossing back her hair - now heavy and dew-slicked with the mist from the shower - as the sharp of her fangs flirted with the plush of her bottom lip. His grief was petty and small, but she did not like to see him hurt.
It was perhaps that, more than anything that made her to break the quiet.
"Marcus," she murmured softly, allowing her voice to rise in the humidity as she flicked the lock that led into the converted showers firmly closed behind her. She caught the blur of her reflection in the metal. Skin ivory pale and alluring - where it wasn't blood-spattered - with hair that was just as wild. Sincerely looking the part of someone who'd been through hell and back - at least on first glance. But ultimately choosing not to hide an inch of it as his heart beat stuttered.
He froze. Bones brittle-hollow behind taunting red before he turned slowly on his heel.
She smiled, mouth closed as her fangs ached to kiss his skin.
To know him in every intimate way.
"Abby…"
His relief was an emotion that tasted like early spring – sweet and unexpected against her tongue as his mouth fell slack. Taking her in as expressive eyes narrowed, then widened. Too caught up in the joy of it to remember that he was naked and dripping wet as he crossed the room in a flash and gathered her up. Holding her close as he ducked his head into the curl of her neck and just breathed.
Hunger and desire rumbled under her skin, two sides of the same instinctual violence.
But still, she allowed his touch.
It felt good to be whole again.
"Oh thank god…" he whispered, shattered by gratitude to an absentee god as he pressed his lips to her hair, kissing her. Inhaling greedily as she wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself be lifted. Enjoying the melding of their scents as his warmth leeched into her skin. "Thank god."
The mist from the shower hung heavily in the air. Beading down the smooth, scarred plane of his chest in a kaleidoscope of color. Still newly turned, she was quickly fascinated. Watching them trickle down. Finding a singular sort of beauty as her enhanced senses picked up the minute tremors from his body as they reverberated through the separated molecules.
Cause and effect.
Predictable movement and chaos.
"When did you get back?" he questioned, pulling away so he could look at her face. Frowning suddenly as he brushed a tangle of hair off her face. Almost painfully gentle as concern ushered in. "Jesus, where have you been? We've been searching for weeks.
Abby, I thought- god. I thought that you were-"
She licked her lips, wondering how he'd taste when she finally had him. Would he arch up, desperate and pleading for more? Cock weeping opaque-pearl down his shaft as she teased her fangs down the jut of his hip. Sinking them shallowly into the lush of his inner thigh, tongue lapping. Or would he fold into himself and struggle. Finding no pleasure from an act that could send you soaring. Like with the dark haired boy outside the wall, the one that had tried to reason with her. Who'd said her daughter's name like it was some sort of talisman that would stop her in her tracks.
Clarke.
"You're hurt," he ushered, holding her by the forearms now. Like he was afraid she'd disappear the moment he took his hands off her. Reaching up to daub at the cut above her eye before pausing when the blood smeared off, leaving flawless skin behind.
It wasn't her blood.
She cocked her head, amused. Aware on some level that he hadn't always been like this. Not that not long ago, on the Ark, he'd still made the same noise but now the words and tone were different. With his heart plain on his sleeve in every way possible, rather than with a rule book and earned authority.
They'd both changed since then.
In more ways than one.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be one more chapter, stay tuned.
Reference:
The title of this work, "Súton" is a rare word meaning: "twilight; the approach of death or the end of something."