I had to do a Blade story for Valentine's Day, and this couple has been nagging at me all freaking month. So here it is. BTW, it has nothing to do with Good Charlotte's song of the same name.

DISCLAIMER: I. Don't. Own. It.

Bloody Valentine

Deacon glared at the window of his apartment, choosing not to see the view of the night sky afforded him by the glass. Instead, he watched his reflection, picturing a certain someone at his side. Someone who wasn't there, and probably didn't want to be.

The young vampire sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. His gaze turned to thestreet below his huge penthouse. The one he longed for was most likely prowling the streets right now. Tight black leather pants clinging to shapely, powerful legs, black cotton hugging that perfect flat stomach. Deacon quickly diverted his thoughts. Now was not the time to get aroused. The council was holding a meeting soon, and he had to be there. One last time, he wished that he could meet with the object of his desire under more friendly circumstances, some childish hope that wishing on a star would be helpful still lingering in his heart.

Pushing himself away from the glass, Deacon stood up to his full height again. He banished his infantile dreams of fairytale romance in that moment, at least for the time being. The only fairytale in his life was a dark and twisted one with an Author that was clearly insane. After all, Deacon's greatest childhood fear, the monsters he saw lurking in his closet, were exactly all the things he had become.

The twisted Writer who was moulding Deacon's life to suit its own petty whims had put him smack in the middle of a fight he really had little belief in, as well. He wanted everyone to stand a chance, that was the real, one and only reason he had for entering this strange underworldly war. He put up a tough, cold front to keep certain other vampires from believing he was weak, and slyly tried to turn the tables so that everyone would have a shot at survival, at least. If Deacon didn't play it off just so, it resulted in a lot of needless killing of humans.

Now if only the one he had fallen for would see his true intentions.

But that would never happen, and Deacon would most certainly never admit them to the one who owned his heart. Besides, better to wish for something more but never get it, than to lose what little he had.

Deacon sat through a rather boring, routine council meeting. Part of him wanted desperately to flee the room out of sheer boredom. He longed for the days when he was a teenager and such boring events could be spent doodling. Anything to relieve the boredom would have been nice. For crying out loud, when is this torture session going to end? Deacon wondered, briefly pondering whether sanity's borders could be breached by boredom.

Somebody put me outta my misery, he thought. Suddenly the droning voices silenced. Crap, did I say that out loud?

"Is something wrong, Mr. Frost?" asked an old, weasly looking elder vampire.

"Oh, just a little tired. Don't mind me, I didn't mean to interrupt your attempted homicide-by-boredom," Deacon quipped, trying to put up the same smart-alick front he'd kept up since becoming a blood-sucker. He smirked irritatingly in Weasly-Vamp's direction, then leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He had learned how to pull off acting more arrogant than he really was. Deacon had had good reason to learn. Bully or be bullied.

Weasly-Vamp looked annoyed, then turned his attention back to the mundane debate the group had previously been occupied with.

After what seemed a hellish eternity, the meeting was over and Deacon was free to work the kinks of the yawn-fest out of his system. The meeting had nearly put him to sleep, but now he was wide awake. He decided to stir up a little trouble to entertain himself.

Blood Moon, one of Deacon's clubs, was really noisy when he came near it. It wasn't from music that was turned up too loud, though, like it usually was. People were screaming inside. A lot of people. Two seconds later, bloody bodies came stampeding out the big metal double doors, shrieking and panicking.

It didn't take long for Deacon to realize what was going on. Well, guess I don't have to hunt for trouble after all; it found me, he thought, smirking as he moved against the living tide. He made his way into the club. His smirk grew as his eyes landed on the only other person not fleeing the scene.

Blade.

Deacon's smirk grew as he put on another facade. It wouldn't do to allow his enemy to know what he was really up to. So, drawing the pistol he had bought for just such occasions, he aimed just to the left of Blade's body. Perfect. Another near-miss, Deacon thought with a smirk.

Then Blade pounced, and before Deacon could blink, the cold, sharp metal of Blade's custom katana was pressed to his throat as he hit the floor. Deacon smiled up at him. Several gunshots rang out, and a cry. "Blade! Yo, B! HELP!"

Blade scowled down at him. "You won't be so lucky next time."

"Sure thing, big guy."

"Asshole," Blade growled.

Deacon cocked an eyebrow at that last remark. Huh. Maybe the feeling is mutual after all. Can't tell him, though. Not yet. He lay there on the dirty, bloody floor of the nightclub for several minutes before letting himself gravitate back into reality. Someday, you'll see I'm worthy of your trust. Maybe- huh, awfully big maybe- even your love. Happy Valentine's, Blade.

END.