A/N: Another short one, sorry! Work just killed me this week. Well, work and an obsession with the fanfic Faust by Ryuujitsu. Finally finished the massive epic this morning (what she has of it, there's still like, three chapters til the finish) and OMG ITS AMAZING. You all must go read it. Now. But, I suppose only if you have the time to give to its epic addiction factor. It like, swallowed my week but I don't regret a moment!
I did laugh pretty hard tho when Otogi showed up in it as a vampire. I'd already started this fic with that intention I swear XD
Oh, and apparently being sick means creepy words. This fic was crack until about three days ago!
Warnings: generic vampiric creepiness, random italics, abuse of the divider line. Oh, and probably way less proof reading than the fic needs.
Fingers through midnight black hair, whispers in his ear, touches that sizzled along the skin, awakening nerves and senses.
Euphoria even before the skin on his neck was broken and especially after as life drained through the gaping wound.
And that creature that stood over him...
Beautiful.
Otogi woke in a bed not his own, body unnaturally heavy with exhaustion all the way to his eyelids. It felt as though it took all his strength to lift them.
The room was finely decorated, almost, but not quite to the point of gaudy. Rich fabrics and dark wood and Otogi tried to sit up for a better look but only made it as far as lifting his head and one shoulder when black edged his vision again and he fell into it.
Awake again, brought there by the cold touch, cold fingers across his forehead, down the side of his face, to a point just under his jaw where they grasped tight enough to bruise and tilted he head to expose the neck.
No. Not so soon. I could die.
The words stick in his throat and make an odd gurgle as silvery hair falls over his face and makes his nose itch.
The man is tall, taller than he is which is saying something. And beautiful. Almost as hansom as he is and that's also saying something. It's the only reason he accepts the drink, and the company that comes with it, which he is certain will lead straight to a single conclusion that he may, or may not depending on how many drinks are bought, regret in the morning.
He's surprised, this wasn't what he had expected. Could never have expected. The night ended in the man's bed, yes, but he never imagined being kept there, too weak to stand for days turned to weeks, going on months.
He hates his captor. Hates the man with silver hair and mismatched eyes and cold dead hands that don't always constrain themselves to his throat but take off with a will of their own to wander the rest of his body as well.
He hates the way the cold, dead fingers still heat his skin.
Once, the man didn't visit him for five days. Long enough for him to regain some small amount of strength, enough to struggle and strike at the man when he returned.
He tried to strike the creature but couldn't.
It laughed.
"Bloodslave," it called him.
But nothing remains the same forever and shouts, obscenities and prayers cried into the night startled him awake as torchlight flickered in through the window and played on his walls.
He lifts himself from the bed for perhaps the fourth time in what seems like years, fighting the weakness and black that hedges his sight, the body finding its own reserves in times of dire need.
Before he became a captive, he had been a business man.
The vampire paused in it's mad dash down the hall, startled by his presence. It had meant to leave him here he was sure, but now it watched him warily.
"Make me what you are. Let me help you. There are too many for you to handle by yourself."
The creatures eye's lighted with interest. Its hand found his throat again, its favorite hold, and turned him to face the opposite direction so that he stared down the dark hall. The fingers didn't bruise this time but fondled his neck in a sour caress.
"See the shadows," the creature whispered in his ear, its voice rotted silk but he saw. "See how they move, see how they live, see how they breathe."
He did, heaven help him he did. The dark corridor was alive with shadows that twisted and reached for him. They're whispering joined the voice of the vampire as the man raised his sleeve and drew a sharp nail across his forearm, cutting straight through to the vain.
"Invite them in."
The rush of power was heady and glorious. They promised everything he desired and he reached for them. They sank into veins, spread under his skin, sapped him of warmth and life but replaced it with something better.
They didn't run, they stayed. They met those who would drive them from their home and tore them apart, reveling in the way muscle separated from bone and blood that sprayed and splattered and dried sticky against the skin. When it was over, he picked up one of the fallen knives and turned on his creator, catching the moonlight with the blade, a brief flare in the dark before the edge stopped against the man's neck, jarring Otogi's arm as if he had struck stone. He pushed harder and harder with all his new strength and still the edge would not part the creature's skin.
The vampire stood, unmoving, hands at his sides, head high and posture open.
He made no move to defend himself and as Otogi attempted to force the knife, began to laugh.
"So that's why you were so eager to help. Did you think you could get away so easily, poppet? These," cold fingers against the still lingering scars at the side of his neck, "mark you as mine, boy. Forever and always mine."
"I hate you."
"I know, my pretty little pet. I know."
Hands at his throat and paper dry lips at his mouth and under their insistent demands, the knife slid from his grip and Otogi surrendered.