Smiling Shyly
chapter-ified re-write
III.
You just make it on time to the club, narrowly avoiding injury from your insane manager. Your band mates are more forgiving, knowing you overslept, as they also follow your schedule of sleeping during the day and hunting by night.
As you're warming up, the guitarist is bragging about his post-performance catch. She's a pretty brunette he met the other day, around your apparent age. The keyboardist is smirking at the idle chat, paying more attention to his keyboard, double checking the music.
And soon it's time to start. Your singing and the raging beats backing you easily draw everyone tot he dance floor. It is this that reminds you of why you still keep this job, besides the steady stream of prey; the thrashing bodies and loud cheers induce a high of their own, different from the sensation of blood pulsing down your throat and feeding your life-force.
But you are disappointed when you can't find the blonde head you so longed to see. 'He's just not here yet,' you tell yourself. 'He'll come.' And you put the intoxicating man out of your mind, hiding your disappointment. But you keep glancing at the door, hoping to see him come in.
The performance goes by fast, and soon your break arrives. Climbing from the stage you see the blonde man quietly slinking in, trying to remain unnoticed. He heads tot he bar, barely glancing at anyone.
You tug at the guitarist's sleeve, whispering excitedly that your catch is here and he's way better than the other's girl. He smirks at you, daring to disagree, and leaves to go find her for a little snack.
It is then that you approach the man, sliding your arms around his neck and nipping affectionately at his ear. You feel him shiver slightly at the bite, then he stiffens, trying to ignore you. You know it's hard.
"Did you miss me?" you whisper breathily in his ear before drawing away. He is trembling slightly, and you know he can't get enough of your touch, no matter what he says.
He glares at your shyly smiling face in response, grumbling at your affection.
All too soon your break is over, and you return to the stage, more giddy than before you left. Now you have the audience you craved before; he is watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, and it's like you're singing only for him. He stays till the end, waiting for you despite his cold glare.
The band is packed up, and you pull him out the back. And you can barely keep your lips off him, and you are kissing fiercely. You don't even have to mess with his mind to gain control; he easily surrenders. Soon you stray to the large vein in his neck, carefully piercing the skin and drinking deeply. He closes his eyes in ecstacy, moaning softly at your touch. You can feel other parts of him responding as well; he moans louder, his breathing harsh and labored.
You draw away when he begins to sag against you, his sounds of protest echoing faintly in the enclosed space. You leave him confused and disoriented, knowing that if you stay things could escalade to levels you'd rather not approach, for if you stay it would be your fault.
But you know you'll see him again; you're too drawn to him not to. Whether it'll be by chance like before or if you seek each other out, it remained to be seen. Just as long as you see him again, nothing matters.