Author's Note: This story was originally posted on my now defunct Wordpress blog. I didn't feel confident enough to post it here, but surprisingly I still receive notes about "How to Get Away with Murder." Hehe… whoever thought there would be others who wanted to see Damian spanking Frankie?
I was quite the bad writer in 2011, so I went back in and fixed it up as best as my present writing capability would allow. It's still a little mean-spirited, but come on – we're talking vampires here. :)
Summary: Frankie feels the consequences of saving a life. Takes place before Season 1.
Warning: discipline/spanking of an adult mortal male.
DON'T BE A HERO
by Evgeniya
In the crowded club, Frankie was hunched over his drink trying his best to create a wall around him and ignore the knot of people behind him. The Lair was notorious for its other attractions, so the bar was hidden deep within the shadows.
With a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, Frankie could easily find the quiet in the bustling nightlife of the island. Frankie conceded long ago that until the sun came up, this barstool was the safest place to be. Even with the darkness looming over him, he knew it was better to remain out of sight.
Every so often, a flash of red and blue would flicker across the bar. For a split second, Frankie could catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bartender. Deep lines of sadness were etched all along his frown. Frankie often questioned if he was grieving for a life he had yet to lose. However, the lights were always fleetingly and his glass was always full, so he never had to ponder that thought for very long.
Frankie could feel the knot of people behind quickly scatter. No matter how hard he tried to hide behind a wall of isolation, the Courtenay coven could always penetrate that barrier. So, Frankie timidly prepared himself for their next order.
Frankie clutched his glass and tried to listen in on the eager voices behind him. Colin was admiring a new customer, but he had to be more special than that for him to have the vampire's full attention. Frankie's fingers nervously drummed again his drink. Then he heard the word 'invitation' and his glass immediately shattered.
"I am sooo sorry," Frankie stammered as the bartender set a pair of grim eyes upon him. "I'm not doing this on purpose, I swear."
"That's the fifth glass this week," the bartender commented disapprovingly and swept the fragments away.
Frankie fidgeted with the new glass he was handed. No matter how many he broke, he knew there would always be another.
"I just can't tonight," Frankie pleaded, knowing that the bartender knew exactly what he meant. An invitation wasn't simply an invitation. An invitation on the island was a death warrant and Frankie knew he would be responsible for cleaning up the grisly aftermath. The emotional strength needed to drag a dead body across the island was never in him.
The bartender's only answer was to hand him another bottle of bourbon. Frankie whimpered.
Frankie cringed as he overheard Colin charging the man an entrance fee. The vampires always played with their victims till the very end, but there was something so indescribably cruel about charging someone for their own death.
Frankie could tell that this customer was oblivious to everything around him. He stood at the doorway of a sex club, trying to entice Colin in a conversation about the history of the island. He talked about covens, monolithic ruins, and even the mysteries of the John Doe murders. Frankie spent his evenings praying for a light in the darkness, but not one person in this town was capable of putting two and two together. It left Frankie feeling completely hopeless.
Frankie soon realized that the man was thwarting all of Colin's attempts to urge him along and a fleeting sense of promise swept through him. If the man had never been to a sex club before, there was a slim chance that he could turn back. If even just one person could walk away from the Lair, Frankie's days would be less dark.
"Have a drink on me," Colin offered with a menacing smirk and Frankie suddenly didn't know what to do with himself.
"Why he is sending him over here?!" Frankie questioned the bartender, who wasn't at all interested in the panic in his eyes.
Frankie huffed at the lack of help from the bartender. He soon found himself fumbling with his jacket and trying to find a way to sit on the barstool that would look more casual and not at all terrified.
"Hey, you can really kick them back!" the man praised as he shook Frankie by the shoulder.
Frankie was stunned for a moment. He wasn't normally allowed to associate with the customers, but this one approached him first. Unprepared either way, Frankie settled on gripping his glass and not making eye contact.
"It's not what you think," Frankie insisted before he finished another glass.
"You come here often?"
Frankie snorted. Pickup lines were unnecessary at the Lair since everyone was there for the same thing, but this man sounded more like an insatiable conversationalist. Overcome by his own trembling curiosity, Frankie inspected the man out of the corner of his eye. He was well dressed and polished. The only skin exposed was his face and hands. He was the exact opposite of the usual mysterious patrons of the club. He had a genuineness to him that was palpable from the very moment he sat down.
He did not belong here, Frankie immediately decided. Then he recalled a time long ago when he made a similar mistake by seeking out the Lair.
"I work here," Frankie finally whispered. He hated to admit to that doomed fate, but he hated the gesture he made every time he lifted a glass to his lips even more. The gloom that gripped the club was beginning to consume him along with it.
"Really?!" The man's voice was lively with excitement. "What do you do?"
Frankie shut his eyes briefly. Everyone naturally assumed that there was an undeniable thrill to working at a gay sex club.
Frankie bit his lip and answered hesitantly. "I'm the janitor."
"Very cool."
Not expecting that response, Frankie raised his eyebrow and finally looked at him. He usually felt a curiously detached sensation when it came to patrons of the club, but this man treated him with something he did not recognize. If he had to put it into a single word, he would describe it as civility.
"It's actually kinda gross," Frankie assured quietly and went back to playing with his empty glass.
The guy smiled and raised his drink. "Nothing's wrong with an honest day's work, am I right?"
Frankie winced at the word honest, but the card in the other man's hand caught his eye:
Number 4.
The low number caused Frankie to sink into his barstool. The man's life was counting down by the seconds and he wasn't even aware of it. Worst of all, the last act of kindness he would experience would be from the twitchy, spineless puppet of the very people who planned to kill him.
"How'd you manage an invitation?" Frankie asked softly and finally poured himself another shot of bourbon.
Frankie was well aware that vampires weren't the only monsters on the island. Sometimes, the greatest of evil found itself in the hearts and minds of even the most trusted of neighbors. Frankie noticed that residents were normal before coming to the island. There was just something about the area that had a way of tainting someone's innocence. Frankie succumbed to that malice himself and since he fully did not understand why, he was curious to hear about it from others.
"I got the invite from my partner," the man answered with a smile that slowly faded. "Well, I guess ex-partner would be more accurate."
Frankie nodded knowingly.
"No, it's not like that," the man immediately corrected once he read Frankie's expression. "We were business partners. We came to the island to start an advertising agency."
"Ex-partner…" Frankie muttered quietly. "You quit or something?"
"The island is great, don't get me wrong." His hand was back on Frankie's shoulder as a gesture to prove how sincere he was. "It's just not me. The water is wonderful. The surf is perfect. The beach is indescribably beautiful! Everyone here is so amazing and there is such a rich history to the island, but… I miss my family."
Frankie felt his heart melt and he automatically decided to drown that weakness with another shot. How was it that every stranger he met had more reason to live than he did? Frankie never had a family or anyone to grow attached to. The Lair was his home and that was an abysmal thought. Immortality was always in reach, yet it was just bait that the vampires would dangle in front of him to pass the time.
"And I miss my dogs!" the man continued on. "I couldn't bring them with me and it killed me to leave them behind. I hope the little guys haven't forgotten about me. They're staying with my grandma, but I can't wait to get back and see them."
Frankie froze as the man moved. However, he was only reaching for his wallet.
"Here they are!" the man bragged as he took out several wallet-sized photos. Frankie hesitated at first, but he gradually brought his eyes down to look at the pack of Siberian huskies.
"That middle guy is Cooper," the man explained. "He was the latest edition to the family. I am absolutely heartbroken that we didn't have the chance to bond before I left. I guess I'm gonna have to make up for lost time, huh?"
Frankie bit his lip, but offered a weak nod. This conversation quickly reminded him of how alone he was. His wallet was empty. He barely had any dollars, let alone pictures of loved ones to carry with him. After all this time, he wasn't even entirely sure if vampires could be photographed. There was not one aspect of his life that he was willing to brag about.
"Hey, here's my twin brother," the man said suddenly as he flipped through the photos. "He promised to take the pack out every day for a walk. He's a liar, I'm telling you now! He probably walked them to the mailbox and back. I can guarantee you they're feasting on whatever snack he's binging on. My brother is a notorious junk food junkie."
Frankie nearly choked on a sob as he listened to the man describe his family with such fondness. This was the first time he learned anything personal about one of the Lair's victims.
"Whoa…" the main suddenly grew silent and placed his hand back on Frankie's shoulder. Then he squeezed. "Are you alright?"
Frankie bit back another choked cry. He felt way too guilty to ever accept sympathy from another human being. He quickly shrugged the hand off.
"I'm sorry," Frankie hissed and turned his back to him. He hoped the man would leave it at that.
"Look, you've finished your drink," the man observed with kindness and gestured to the bartender. "He'll have what I'm having."
"That really isn't necessary," Frankie argued faintly. He never had to pay for a drink at the Lair since the coven took him in. The vampires thought it was the best way to keep his shaky nerves calm.
"Nonsense," the man laughed to brush aside Frankie's protest. "My partner is buying me out of our business. By this time tomorrow, you will be looking at the wealthiest man on the island. So, believe me: I can afford one drink for a friend."
Frankie sniffled and accepted his glass. He noticed it was a drink that the house named Courtenay's Legacy. It was made from a bottle of champagne cognac from the 1800's. It was the most expensive drink that they served.
Frankie finally understood how this man came to receive his invitation. He had seen many people die for greed. He knew this businessman's partner had no intention on buying anything.
Well, except for the price it cost to rent out a pair of double fangs for the night…
"Your friend sounds like a jackass," Frankie observed with a burst of honesty. He wasted no time to down his drink.
The stranger met Frankie with an unblinking eye. He shook his head, clearly unable to tell if he misheard Frankie over the blaring tunes of the club. His mouth opened and closed several times as he debated the appropriate way to approach the situation, but a crackling voice broke loudly over the PA system:
"Number Four."
Frankie held his breath. With horrible fascination, he watched the man finish his cognac and push himself away from the bar.
"Wait!" Frankie pleaded as he attempted to drag the stranger back by the wrist. "Let's have another drink. This time I'll pay."
The man raised an eyebrow and looked Frankie up and down. He clearly saw he was a man of little means. Plus, he was still offended by Frankie's earlier comment about his friend and partner.
"No…" the man answered with strained politeness as he peeled Frankie's fingers off his wrist. "No, they called my number. I should go."
"Oh, come on!" Frankie begged shamelessly. "I mean, look at you! You don't belong here! Newcomers always watch their first time. They don't participate!"
As Frankie searched the stranger's eyes, he desperately wanted to warn him about the vampires, the witchcraft, the John Doe Murders, everything – but he could feel the eyes and ears of the club closing in on him. The vampires kept him close in a way that he could never betray them.
"This is my last weekend on the island," the man said reasonably as the softness returned to his voice. "We don't have places like this back home. Besides… I'm hoping to see that cute blond again."
Frankie retreated back into his stool with a pathetic sigh.
"I'm sure you will," he mumbled as the man walked away.
Frankie looked up towards the entrance and saw that Colin was no longer standing guard at the door. He was most likely lurking in the shadows of the backroom by now. Frankie would just have to take some comfort in the knowledge that the man would have a little pleasure before he died. Colin always remarked how their victims died doing what they loved most.
"Good luck with everything!" the man shouted from across the club as he slowly disappeared into the back.
Frankie winced and spun back in his barstool to retrieve another shot of bourbon. He desperately needed to make himself feel alone and forgotten again.
"Don't forget to hydrate," the bartender said as he planted a bottle of water before him.
Frankie snorted. They may have kept him in a constant state of inebriation, but they never wanted him smashed enough to be completely useless to them. Frankie started to work on that bottle of water, understanding that it was some sort of timer. Once the bottle was empty, he assumed enough time had passed to check out the backroom. Hopefully, the worst of the carnage would be over.
Frankie made his way to the backroom and Damian was already in the doorway, supervising the situation. Frankie slowly took his place behind him and watched from over the vampire's shoulder. Colin was bent over the naked stranger, his fangs plunged deeply into his throat. The blood was rapidly pooling onto the floor and it was a sight that Frankie had seen all too often.
"We're closing early tonight, Francis," Damian announced as he felt the man's presence behind him. "I want this guy disposed of immediately. It has become entirely too easy for the police to discover these bodies. Let's make them work for it this time."
"Yes, Damian," Frankie nodded nervously, never taking his eyes off the gruesome scene. "I won't disappoint you again."
"Oh, I know you will," Damian grunted. "Just make sure you get rid of him before the sun rises this time."
Frankie shivered. "As soon as Colin finishes," he promised.
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The morning sun was always so strong on the island. Frankie tried to shield his eyes with his hand, but it was all just a meaningless effort. The warm light was not a hopeful sign; it would never be a beautiful day to dump a body…
Frankie bent down and took the stranger by the shoulders. He jumped back when the body's hand twitched. It had been such a long time since he had seen any life stirring from one of the Lair's victims.
Frankie paused and forced himself to become motionless. With so many illusions on the island, he was sure it was just a trick of the eye.
On the other hand, he was just eager to get this task over and done with. Frankie grabbed the shoulders again, but noticed that this body was warmer than the others he still had to deal with that day. For the second time, Frankie let the body drop to the cement and he soon knelt down beside the stranger.
Frankie pressed his ear to the man's chest. He could not sense any breathing and wasn't sure what to listen for anyway. If there was a heartbeat, it was too weak to hear above the squeals of the seagulls or roar of the ocean. He pressed his palms against the man's face. He definitively decided that the body was still warm.
Frankie bit his lip and quietly assessed the situation. He knew the risks he took anytime he even thought about undermining Damian. However, the man had shown him an ounce of kindness and was about to flee the island anyway. Frankie hoped for the slim chance that the vampires wouldn't notice just one extra living soul in this world…
The vampires did the killing. All Frankie ever did was hide the bodies. Even that was a task he never did very well. Frankie never held anyone's life in his own hands before. The most he ever held was a container of bleach.
Frankie took a deep breath and leaned over the stranger. He tilted his head upward and for a brief moment he hesitated. He knew that once he did this, he could never turn back. This would be an act of outright defiance. Of course… there was always the possibility that Colin and Damian would never find out.
Frankie held his breath and finally sealed his mouth to the stranger's. He pinched his nose and awkwardly blew into the body's mouth. He was far too nervous to ever complete full breaths, but he soon settled for quick puffs of air into the mouth.
Frankie waited a moment. Nothing happened. He took another deep breath and blew harder. Then he pushed down onto the center of the man's chest, frantically pressing hard and fast.
Suddenly, the stranger's body shot up and he was immediately gasping for air. Frankie jumped back with a shout. After realizing what he had accomplished, he didn't know whether to be excited or scared. Hopefully, this man would be like other surviving victims and not have any memory at all. Of course, those were all chosen survivors. Frankie had no idea what happened to those who survived by deception.
"What happened?" the man choked out and desperately grabbed at the pain in his neck.
Frankie was panting hard now. The realization of what he did finally set in. Far away from the Lair and Frankie could still feel their eyes upon him.
"You need to go to the hospital," Frankie finally urged. He knew it was best for the both of them if the man just stayed away from the club.
The stranger's entire body convulsed as he coughed and wheezed. He had a difficult time finding his bearings. "What's… your n-name?"
"…shit!" Frankie muttered as he sprung from the ground and took off. He helped the man as much as he could. He was alive after all. Frankie owed him no more than that.
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As the night wore on, Frankie finally settled back into his usual spot at the bar. He was still disturbed by the day's events, but ultimately believed that he found security in his customary barstool. He had sat there every night for the past year. Essentially, that was his home. Routine could chase away the knowledge that he had just freed a John Doe…
"Hi…" came the weak greeting and Frankie immediately spun on the stool. He nearly collapsed at the sight of the stranger.
"No…" Frankie nearly choked on his cry. "No, no, no, no, NO!"
Frankie knew that the stranger could not have entered the club unnoticed. His head instantly jerked towards the doorway and he saw Colin watching him with arms folded tightly across his chest. The vampire's jaw was clenched and he was shaking his head with frightening disapproval that immediately made Frankie sink into his barstool.
"You can't be here…" Frankie insisted miserably. He had risked his neck trying to save this stranger. He couldn't believe that it would all be for nothing.
"I can't remember anything about last night," the man stammered as he searched for his next words. "I went to the hospital. They said I lost a lot of blood. They weren't even sure if they should discharge me, but they needed the bed space. I guess they've seen my situation before."
"You need to leave," Frankie pleaded firmly.
The man raised his hands in defense. "I only wanted to thank you. You're the only person I remember from last night. And now… you're my hero."
Frankie instantly clamped both hands across his mouth to restrain the choked sob that was quickly working its way up his throat. He was no hero. Frankie knew that. He also knew that this man was about to die all over again if he couldn't get rid of him soon.
"Get out!" Frankie managed to choke out. "Nobody wants you here!"
The stranger softened his eyes as he studied the janitor. "Hey, buddy, are you alright?"
"He's fine," Colin growled as he grabbed the stranger by the shoulder. Then he suddenly brightened his mood. "Hey… aren't you the owner of La Gargouille Advertising? We're thinking of reinventing our club and we would love your input on a few ideas."
"Uh…" the man hesitated, looking from Frankie to Colin. "Okay…"
"Great," Colin smiled with one of his fiendish grins. "Let's step into my office."
Colin narrowed his eyes at Frankie and shoved a card at his chest. Then he led the stranger through the back. Colin may have lived to kill, but Frankie sensed that he was aggravated that he had to kill the same guy twice…
Frankie flipped his card over and saw a number. Number 9. He immediately started to panic. He had never received a number before! Why would Colin give him a number?!
"Number 7," came the crack over the PA system.
Frankie stiffened on top of his stool. He immediately recognized the significance of his life being counted down by the seconds…
He looked back into his glass of bourbon and briefly saw the reflection of his eyes. He recognized that scared look. That was the expression he often saw on the coven's victims. As Frankie realized what fate was set before him, he saw how pointless his life had been. He failed at everything. He was no use to either man or vampire. Perhaps he deserved to die – just rid the world of his pointless existence.
"Number 8."
Frankie sniffled. If he was going to die, he should at least accept it as a man. If he couldn't live his life as a vampire, then he would die without giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing him beg.
"Number 9."
"…oh, god, oh, god, oh, god…" Frankie cradled his head in his hands. All hopes as dying as a man was lost. Frankie knew there was no way he could just walk into that backroom on his shaky legs. The only thing that could possibly give him a burst of energy was the thought of leaping off his barstool and springing towards the door.
And that was just what Frankie did.
Unfortunately, Colin had returned to his post. He immediately halted Frankie by the shoulder and used the collar of his jacket to pull him close to his fangs.
"Oh, I don't think so," Colin hissed into the man's ear. Frankie squirmed and twisted in the vampire's grip, but Colin still managed to push him towards the back.
"Please, Colin!" Frankie begged. "If you really want to be rid of me, just let me go! You won't ever have to see me again!"
Colin dismissed him with a derisive snort. "And where's the fun in that?"
The blond continued to push Frankie through the club and with one final shove, the human was tossed into a dark room.
Frankie sucked in frantic gasps of air as he watched the vampire leave. His eyes instantly snapped around the room. The place seemed so suffocating and small even though he stood there alone.
Of course, he knew that wouldn't be for much longer…
Knowing there was no escaping now, Frankie perched on top of a vinyl mattress. He knew it had to be filthy because, well, he was the janitor. However, none of that mattered now.
Suddenly, the door creaked and Damian stepped inside. He brought with him a sense of foreboding and Frankie jumped back when the door slammed shut. He instantly sunk to his knees and resumed his litany of desperate pleas.
"Forgive me, Damian!" Frankie whimpered. "It was a moment of weakness!"
"It's nothing but weakness when it comes to you." Damian's voice was deceptively slow. "Tell me, Francis, why do I keep you around?"
Frankie swallowed. "I-it was an accident!"
"An accident?" Damian repeated scornfully. "How is this an accident?"
Frankie bit his lip until he was sure it would bleed. There had to be at least one instance in which someone could inadvertently resuscitate a body, but Frankie's mind was so distraught that his mouth couldn't possibly process anything more than apologies.
"Please, Damian!"
"Please what, Francis?"
"Please don't kill me?" Frankie squeaked.
Damian's face softened and his next few steps towards Frankie were light. He reached out to the man and gently caressed his cheek.
"Francis," Damian scolded very lightly. "We took you in when you had no one else. We gave you a home. You are a part of this family as much as any vampire here. How could you possibly think we could hurt you?"
Frankie flinched initially at the contact. It wasn't unusual for Damian to stroke his face or rub his shoulder. Each time, Frankie wanted to crawl out of his skin, but he always forced himself to remain still. He knew Damian just liked to tease him – lull him into a false sense of security right before the attack.
"Stand up," Damian finally ordered.
Frankie sniffed back a tear, but managed to force himself up on wobbly legs. Damian offered a deceptive smile just before he sat on top of the vinyl mattress. Without warning, he lounged at Frankie's arm and jerked the human face down over his lap.
Frankie whimpered as he found his face just inches away from the floor. He noticed a few bloodstains on the tiles that he had missed earlier. If he survived the night, he thought, he would definitely have to improve his cleaning skills…
Damian wrapped his arm around Frankie's waist, firmly and effectively pinning him in place over his knees. A mere second later, he raised his hand in the air and landed a hard swat to Frankie's backside. He would waste no time making the human yelp.
Frankie desperately tried to claw his way from Damian's lap, but all his twisting and pleading was useless. Each painful smack left a searing pain on his backside. He sobbed knowing he could not escape it.
Damian proceeded to deliver a series of stinging swats all along Frankie's trembling backside Each harsh blow elicited a high-pitched shriek from the human. Damian was determined to hand out this hardhearted punishment until Francis was a sobbing mess.
Frankie had been momentarily confused and stunned to find himself bent across the leader's knees, but the embarrassment of a spanking was quickly overshadowed by the soreness of his backside. He kicked at the sting and continued to plead between his frantic sobs. The soreness that he felt was overwhelming.
Hearing that his sobs were thick with distress, Damian decided it was a fitting time for conversation.
"You've never interfered with business before," the vampire observed while resting his hand. "Why now?"
Frankie hiccupped and tried to sniffle back the tears, but the pain in his backside was still burning. "I d-don't knooow…!"
"I don't believe that for one moment, Francis," Damian chided. "I think you were well aware of your actions."
"I'm s-sorrrrry, Damian! Please, please, PLEASE let me go!"
Damian raised an eyebrow as he examined the trembling human over his knees. Frankie was just full of insolence that week, he noticed. It would have been obvious to anyone that Damian was the only one who could decide whether or not a punishment was over. It was clear to him that Frankie had forgotten his place in the family.
So, Damian thought of no better way to respond other than resuming the spanking. His grip around Frankie tightened and the mortal man started to plead and wail at the fiery swats.
Frankie squirmed shamelessly on top of Damian's thighs. He could flail, punch the air, and pound his fists as much as he wanted. None of that was ever going to alleviate the sting. However, Damian soon tired of Frankie's nonsense and he shortly grabbed the man's wrist and pinned it effortlessly to his back. Frankie managed to sob harder.
The human had never felt more defeated and thoroughly miserable. He was embarrassed enough that Damian had to spank him, but that was nothing compared to the shame crawling up his spine at the thought that the rest of the club could hear his cries. Frankie didn't think it would be possible to feel anymore ashamed.
Soon, Frankie's sobs completely broke free from his throat. His body shuddered with tears and there was no more energy left inside him to struggle. He finally fell limp against Damian's knees and wept regretfully to himself.
For the second time, Damian paused.
"We made a promise to a very respectable client on this island," the vampire stated firmly. "Because of you, we nearly broke that promise. Luckily, Colin was able to tackle the problem before it escalated, but your outright defiance could have exposed us all. You would have been out of a home, out of a job, and out of a family. Is that what you want?"
Frankie knew he was never part of their family. That made it a struggle to speak through his sobs. "No, Damian… I'm s-sorry, I j-just…"
"What is it, Francis?"
"I…" Frankie tried to swallow his tears. "I w-wanted to be a hero," he whispered.
"A hero?" Damian actually managed to suppress a laugh before becoming stern again. "Francis, exactly whose side do you think you're on?"
"YOURS! Without question, I sw-EAR!"
"I highly doubt that."
Damian landed five more painful swats to Frankie's sore backside to finish up the punishment. The human jerked and yelped for each one.
"This is a sex club, Francis," Damian reminded sternly. "We have always catered to a very specific clientele. No one who enters through those doors is ever innocent. That's why we only grant memberships through invites only. Anyone who steps foot inside this place will get exactly what's coming to them."
With that, Damian stood Frankie on his feet, but did not let go of his arms. Frankie kept his eyes lowered. He was far too embarrassed to look the vampire in the eyes after he had just spanked him.
"I am hurt that you would deceive Colin and myself in such a way," Damian announced.
"I'm sorry!" Frankie blurted. He was so worried there would be more spanking to come. "I wasn't thinking! I saw the body twitch and I just r-rrreacted!"
"I could have killed you just now," Damian pointed out as he tightened his jaw. "You should be grateful."
Frankie's hands were immediately at his backside, rubbing out the brutal sting. "I am! Eternally grateful! T-thank you, Damian."
Damian slowly started to leave the room. "Take a five minute break," he offered over his shoulder. "Then return straight to work."
Frankie nodded his head with quick, frantic motions. Once the vampire was gone, he sighed his relief and curled against the edge of the mattress. He was very careful not to rest any weight on his sore backside.
Frankie had wiped his tears so much that his eyes were red and swollen. He soon heard someone enter the room, but his vision was too blurred to see
"It's occupied," he murmured miserably. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but suddenly he felt a bottle shoved into his hands. He instantly recognized the figured flask. Alcohol was exactly what he wanted right now.
"Damian thinks he can control everyone," Colin stated flatly. He didn't place much emphasis on the statement. He just wanted to say enough to imply that he was on Frankie's side. If he ever wanted to usurp control of the clan or the Lair, he would need the mortal's help. He knew it was best to start planting the seeds now.
However, Frankie was confused even more. Of course, he wanted to remain somewhat composed in front of Colin; prove that he wasn't a complete baby. He could still possibly be vampire-material one day. Unfortunately, when he shifted on the mattress, he winced as he applied too much pressure on his still stingy backside.
"I'm sorry things didn't work out for you," Colin offered smoothly.
Frankie flinched. "You are?"
"Of course," Colin smirked. "I saw how important that guy was to you. That's why I didn't kill him the first time."
"What?"
"Frankie, if I wanted to suck a guy dry, I could," the blond reminded somewhat condescendingly. "I left just a little life left inside him so he could be dragged out of the Lair without anyone noticing. Even I get tired of the bloodshed, too, ya know."
"You do?"
"Of course I do, buddy," Colin insisted deceptively. "Plus, you heard that guy. He had a family. What was Damian thinking? Our John Does are supposed to have no one looking for them. Damian's putting us at all risk. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who has the family's best interest, but then you go and pull some crazy stunt like this to prove yourself."
Frankie momentarily forgot about the pain. He wondered if he wasn't alone at the Lair after all.
"Oh," Colin added just before he left. "We're gonna need this room."
"Oh," Frankie frowned and fumbled to say anything else. He wasn't exactly ready to leave just yet. He wanted to sulk by himself for a little while longer, but as usual – the choice was never his.
"And there's still a dead body to dispose of," Colin reminded briskly.
Frankie bit his lip and nodded. He would definitely obey properly this time.
"I'll get right on that."
THE END.