(A/N): I am dedicating this one to my Best Friend. Her favorite number is 25, so that's what I named this fanfic. Hope you like it, M.A.C.! (Need I say more?)

And now, without further ado, I, SacrificialSacrifice (Or Shrimpy/Shorty/Samhain, to M.A.C.) present:

Twenty-Five

He was waiting, waiting for the young man to come back. His raven-black hair waved slightly, and his otherwise motionless body was crouched – relaxed yet wary, and confident. The teen would be a good hunt, a challenge, but nothing he couldn't handle.

His already black eyes darkened impossibly, expressing his anticipation as he caught the distant scent of his prey. Inhaling deeply, he sighed his satisfaction.

He was waiting just inside door of the hotel room the teen had rented out, awaiting his chance.

The young man, unaware of his impending danger, was unwary, and therefore was not ready for the surprise he was about to receive. He unlocked the door and turned the handle, anger and torment on his tattooed face, especially in the depths of his warm brown eyes. His cocky smile was wiped from his mouth, bleak disinterest in its place. The light brown hair on his head was unkempt, though it normally was anyway.

All of this, however, did not pacify the older man. He grinned, a victorious light in his eyes, as the teen walked through the door. He leaped, and pinned the young man against the wall, holding the slender arms out on either side of an equally slim body.

As the fangs inside the older man's mouth elongated, the teen stared.

"Where are your tattoos?" His question made the raven-haired man pause a moment, his mouth near the young man's neck.

"What are you talking about, little boy?" The question was almost a sneer.

"My name's Stark, thanks for asking. Well, I'm assuming you're a vampyre, right?" Stark asked.

"Clever boy. Yes, I am a vampire. Damon, by the way. That's my name. As if that wasn't obvious," Damon replied cockily.

"Are you forsaken by Nyx, then? I mean, you're a vampyre, but your tattoos are gone. You don't even have the fledgling's crescent. And considering the fangs, you'd be a Red vampyre."

"I am not a vampyre, I am a vampire." Stark looked at Damon like he was a nut job. "My type of immortal being is spelled with an 'i' rather than a 'y'. It would seem as if you are a vampyre."

"Well, yeah. Why are you hunting me then?" Stark asked.

"You may be a vampyre, but there is blood in your body. And you caught me at a bad time. I'm thirsty." Damon's last word echoed with hissing sibilants.

"As long as you don't kill me, I'll let you. But then it's my turn," said Stark, his eyes flashing.

Damon brought his mouth closer to Stark's neck, not quite touching it but still oh so close. "I'll have to thank you for that." He pressed his lips against Stark's jugular. Opening his mouth, he let his elongated fangs bury into the soft flesh there.

Stark felt the pain of it before the pleasure set in, though it wasn't near the level which the vampyre endorphins could reach. Damon hummed against his neck, the vibrations sending shivers down Stark's back.

He gently detached Damon from his neck, groaning at the loss.

"Are you sure?" he asked Damon. "Our endorphins are much more powerful than yours."

Damon looked like he could care less, so Stark lowered his head to Damon's neck and bit him.

The rush of vampyre endorphins was all-encompassing. Damon's head fell back and he moaned softly. He released Starks hands, which moved to Damon's shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing softly against the underlying skin. Damon was happy to comply; backing up until his legs hit a bed.

They both fell, Damon backward and Stark forward. One of Damon's hands ended up on the small of Stark's back, the other on the back of his neck. Stark was straddling Damon, but was no longer drinking. Instead, his lips were moving gently but insistently on Damon's neck. They moved upward, ghosting until they covered Damon's own lips.

He asked for entrance, running his tongue over Damon's bottom lip. Damon opened his mouth easily, and smiled into the kiss as Stark pressed his tongue against Damon's.

Rolling so that he was now on top of Stark, he accidentally thwacked Stack's head against the head of the bed. His hand flew to the back of his head, surprised as he felt the pain of it too.

"What just happened?" He asked, startled.

Stark looked at him strangely, and said, "Don't you know? We've Imprinted."

(A/N): This is NOT a cliffhanger. It is a perfectly good ending to anything, and if you want any more written, you'll have to beg, and plead, and cry, and hope to God that I remember I even wrote this. I'll write the 15th reviewer a really stupid poem.

Love, SacrificialSacrifice