Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews. I really, really appreciate them! :)
V.V.D.
Thank you so much! Making Scud and especially Deacon too OOC was and still is my biggest fear. It's so good to hear that I managed, up to now, to write around that iceberg. But since this is the most alternate of alternate universes a little going out of character is inevitable. It's probably the way it's done that counts. ^^
Myurra-K
Okay, I don't know how often I read your comment, but it made me smile every time. I am truly grateful that you gave my story a chance. A lot of people probably don't, which is sad, because this ship, even though underloved and reeeally rare, fits perfectly. It just takes a moment to look behind the rather facile characterization of the movies.
Again, thanks everyone for the love and I hope that I won't disappoint you in the future.
The incident with the pet has made him agitated. When the cold water of the shower pours down on him Deacon hangs his head, lets it just wash away the anger eating away at his insides. He tries not to think about what happened anymore and neither about Mercury's unbearable mood swings. All he wants is to have some minutes for himself without feeling someone tiptoe after him or make him ridiculous reproaches.
And he has to get rid of that erection.
With one hand braced against the tiled wall he reaches down. A pleasant shiver runs through him when he closes his fingers around the aching flesh. When was the last time he had to jerk off by himself? It had been so long, Deacon can't even remember. In some very disturbing way it is amusing. A lot has changed since he took the human with him.
Fucking pet.
He closes his eyes and tries to shut out the world around him. Even though he had a lot of partners during his existence Mercury is still his favorite visitor. He knows her body so well and it doesn't take long until he sees her sprawled out in front of him, eager and just waiting.
The water keeps raining down on him as he starts to stroke his cock in a slow rhythm. In his mind he already explores Mercury's pale body, running a hand over her breasts, her ribcage and down to her thighs. He likes to take his time, go slow and let the tension build up until he almost can't take it anymore himself. When he pushes in she feels as good as always, pleasantly cool and slick.
Deacon groans. He shifts a little so he can lean his head against the wall. His arm knocks against the temperature regulator and the cool rain changes to a warm flow, embracing him with an unexpected warmth. The pet is warm too, Deacon remembers how exotic his finger had felt on his own cold skin.
No, why is he thinking about the pet now? He tries to shake the thought off and focuses on returning to the pleasant image in his head.
Mercury moves with every of his thrusts and rocks back on him, her fingers tightly clutching the sheets she's pressing against. His hands wander down her body to firmly grasp her slim hips, carefully brushing over her cock.
Wait, what?
Suddenly the image changes and instead of Mercury's fine features the pet looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, sweet words dripping from his lips like warm honey and pulls him in with a roll of his hips.
Deacon gasps, eyes still pressed shut. He tries his hardest to return to the original image but the warm water steadily reminds him of the human warmth of Scud. He can almost feel how the pet's body surrounds him, sending excited shivers down his spine. With every new thrust he buries his cock deeper into that slick heat that is Scud. And the young man is all his.
The orgasm hits him harsh and sudden and with a strangled groan he comes all over his hand. The water has already washed away the trails of semen when his body is still shaken by the aftermath. Deacon leans against the wall, trying to recall what just happened.
He had thought about the pet while jerking off. No, that was an accident. He is probably tired and not in full control of his thoughts. If he wasn't so worn out from the past days that would have never happened.
Which reminds him of the reason why it had come to this in the first place.
"Pet", he hisses. He hastily turns the water off, steps out of the shower and slips into shirt and slacks without wasting any time on toweling himself. The fabric clings to his skin and leaves wet spots on the surface but he is too furious to care about that right now.
With a dark expression he opens the bathroom door and heads for the living room.
He doesn't have to search long. Scud has moved onto the couch, hands folded in his lap. There he sits, silently and probably already thinking of a new way to wreck Deacon's nerves. But he won't take this any longer. This is his home and Scud is his pet, not the other way around.
Scud lifts his head when Deacon comes to a halt in front of him. He looks so undisturbed, almost oblivious. Only the loose grip around his slightly swollen wrist a sign of his previous misery. Deacon wants to wipe the calmness off his face.
"Master", Scud says. His tone is flat. He expects everything and nothing of Deacon.
"Who are you, hm?" Deacon snaps and tilts his head a little too enthusiastically as Scud begins to frown.
"I am... your pet?"
"Correct, you are my pet. I am your master. You do what I say, human and when I tell you to shut up, then you will shut the fuck up. And when I want you to stay in a room and keep the door closed, then that is exactly what you do!"
His voice got louder towards the end and now he is almost yelling, the fury quickly spreading through his veins like fire, making his head light.
"You have no idea how lucky you are. I don't fuck you, I don't feed on you... I'm not even giving you to my companions. Do you know how much trouble you make me in return? Don't you humans know nothing of gratitude?"
Scud stares at him. He looks confused, almost shocked.
"I-I am sorry, Master, I never meant to-"
"To what, huh? To annoy me? To get in my way? It's a little too late for that. Fuck, I shouldn't have saved your pity life back then. I should have left you at Anton's mansion and let you just die. Who would miss you anyway? No one. You probably have no family, no friends, not a single person in the world who would give a shit about your life! You are all alone, you have no one. Am I not right? Isn't your life just one big fucked up tragedy?"
During his speech his hands curled into tight fists and he can feel how his own nails dig into his palms. He never stopped to look at the pet while talking, took in every little change in his face and now he doesn't look confused anymore. Deacon frowns. The human looks almost understanding.
It makes him even more furious.
Before realizing he lunges forward and grabs the boy by his collar. He yanks him off the couch, bringing their faces close together. Scud's breath comes in little shaky rattles and Deacon can hear his heart thud in his chest, but he doesn't fight the hands shaking him. And he doesn't look scared. Deacon growls in frustration.
"I could make you do anything", he hisses. "I could make you cut off your own foot if I wanted to. I could throw a little party and then every of my guests would have a turn on you and you would fucking enjoy it, if I wanted to. You are nothing against me, just a human. Nameless. Homeless. Tell me, do you think anyone looked for you when Anton made you his little bitch? Hm?"
His grip around the collar tightens. But the realization written all over the human's face doesn't give him the satisfaction he had hoped for.
"You're right", Scud says and his voice is surprisingly stable. "No one would ever look for me. I don't have a family anymore and the only friend I had is dead. Funny, isn't it? Everyone I love dies, but I still live. Ain't I'm lucky?"
A thought hits him, sharp like a stab to the chest and he almost lets the body drop to the floor.
"Do you want to die?" he asks bluntly.
Scud swallows and nibbles his bottom lip. "No", he says but it comes out as a whisper. "But I would deserve to die."
"What makes you think that?" His grip loosens and Scud slips out of his fingers, falling with a huff back onto the couch. He glances up at Deacon and now he looks a little bewildered.
"Why do you want to know that?"
"Because", Deacon says darkly and leans down to him, pressing both hands into the couch next to Scud's head. The pet presses back into the leather but their faces still are just mere inches away. "I am the master, remember? So, what makes you think you'd deserve to die? Did you kill a family's father? Did you rape a young girl? Did you push an old lady down the stairs? You humans speak so quickly of deserving death as punishment. You don't even know what death is like..."
"But you do", Scud whispers huskily. He licks his lips in a nervous gesture. Deacon can see how his gaze clings to his own ashen lips like honey. It makes him realize how close he is to the pet, his skin only a faint dip of his head away from that wickedly promising warmth.
He feels the flesh around his deathly fangs tingle in anticipation. The human smells so good, Deacon can almost taste the irony flavor of his blood on his tongue. Only a thin layer of pale skin separates him from the delicate fluid that keeps his race alive.
Without his affirmation his nails began to turn into long sharp claws which are now digging into the fine leather. The fabric rips under his forced touch and the sound seems to shake the pet awake from his trance-like state. He tears his gaze from Deacon's lips and instead lets his eyes wander over the vampire's fine features. When his gaze locks right over his light blue eyes a small surprised huff escapes him.
"You have a scar", he mumbles. Deacon doesn't back away when one tip of a finger follows the small trail over his eyebrow. "Did you get it during your human life?"
Maybe it was the soft touch, just a gentle press of warmth against his own cold skin or the mockingly tender voice of the pet, but something in Deacon snaps awake and the arousal turns to wrath, slickly swimming through his veins like ooze.
With a shattering roar he grabs the human by his hair and all but heists him off the couch. Scud yelps, a high, pained sound escaping his small lips. Deacon jerks him onto his feet and around the couch, ignoring the human's begging and pleading, dragging him over to one of the windows. The shutters are drawn back and reveal the perfect black night sky to his view. Under them the city of Los Angeles is going it's usual business, hundreds of people hurrying over the asphalt. None of them takes notice of the scene above them.
They come to a halt and Deacon pulls the bent form of the pet in front of him. He releases the boy's hair, some strands of hazel clinging to his fingers and with a wholehearted growl buries his claws in his shirt. With one single movement he rips the fabric open like it's thin paper. Scud gasps, almost tumbling to the side by the force of the move. But Deacon is there to grab his upper arms, squeezing them violently and keeping him turned to the window.
"Look", he hisses and shakes the pet when the boy keeps his eyes pressed shut. "I said, look!"
Scud's eyelids flutter open and he follows the stare of his master. The clean surface of the window reflects the two bodies standing in front of them. Deacon watches him intensely as Scud's eyes wander from the distorted face of his master over to his own, flushed by panic and pain, and finally down to his stomach. The reflection demonstrates every thick scar in it's own cruel beauty. Deacon doesn't have to see his face to notice the wave of emotions crashing onto the pet, right in this moment.
"Do you see this?" he growls. His grip around Scud's arms tightens, but the boy makes no sound. „That's the difference between us, pet! I am a vampire, a creature of night. Nothing can harm me, no weapon will ever leave it's mark on my skin again. But you... you are just a filthy little human, not able to stand a chance if I wanted to kill you on the spot. I could paint your skin with showings of my claiming and it would be nothing of an effort for me to do so. So never call me mortal again, you understand? Or I will rip your tongue out to make you shut up!"
He doesn't wait for an answer or a hasty nod of his head. With a harsh shove he pushes the boy away from him, his face shadowed in disgust. His hands burn were he touched the human. Scud tumbles to the floor. His shoulders are hunched, like the hurtful words are pressing down on them and with a faint whimper he crawls over to the near corner.
There is no feel of regret when Deacon watches him press against the glass, pull his knees tightly up against his chest and bury his face in the rough denim. There is not the guilty press of a bad conscience in the back of his head when a strangled sob tears from the pet's throat, shaking his bony shoulders for a small moment before he digs his nails into his own skin to keep any sound from coming out.
Deacon doesn't feel like the cause for the boy's misery. But neither does he feel satisfied with the view.
xXxXx
As soon as the sound of Deacon's steps dies out Scud starts to maltreat his own head with hard hits.
"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" he hisses to himself. When a pain starts to spread in his skull he stops the self-punishment, even though the anger and desperation inside of him, mixing to a dangerous poison for his mind which could lead him to another careless step, urges him on.
How could he have been so stupid as to let himself be weighed in a false sense of security like this? The surprisingly nice treatment of his master had made him thoughtless, almost cocky. He doesn't deserve anything good like that.
Anxiously he starts to gnaw on his bottom lip. What should he do now? Deacon is already disappointed in him and something inside of Scud tells him that his new master wouldn't approve of the usual strategies he had used to sooth Anton's anger.
He hears Petty's words in his head. He is a man of more honor than most of his kind. Scud had never thought of the possibility that, maybe, this wouldn't be only an advantage. He is used to the fallen people, the ones without morality or shame, who would see him as a piece of meat, bottom of the food chain and utterly submissive to their commands.
What does an honorable man want? Even before his time as a pet Scud never had to think about that question. The circles in which he had moved knew nothing of respect and honor. His life has always been a struggle for survival and no method to do so had been too dirty or unmoral to scare him off.
The fact that he still doesn't know why exactly he is here is of no help for his miserable situation.
Maybe Deacon really wants nothing of him but his mere companion. Under different circumstances Scud would have laughed at himself for this. The thought alone that someone would want him, of all people, of all the facets of smut and dirt from the streets, to be around amuses him.
Scud knows of his value or more his non-existent value. The only thing he managed to be good at, after months and months of training as Anton MacHorvath's pet, is what his new master rejects the most.
"Fuck", Scud mutters. His lip stings at the movement. When he reaches up to brush over the surface with one finger he feels a warm wetness moisten the tip. He had bitten his lip bloody.
xXxXx
The next days consist of a fraught silence between them. After his outburst Deacon hasn't even looked at the pet anymore. He refuses to see those eyes and take in their silent condemnation. Scud would never open his mouth to an opposition, but he is a human and, as improbably as it seems when he sits silently on the couch for hours, doing nothing but stare at a spot on the opposite wall, he has thoughts on his own. Deacon can feel his shy looks bore into his back every time he walks past him, and it drives him crazy.
Isn't a pet supposed to make his master feel better? But Scud isn't his pet, at least not in the usual sense of understanding.
Deacon begins to look forward to Petty's visits. The young familiar shows up in his apartment more often now to bring the human fresh food. He uses those chances to vanish for a few hours. Sometimes he just drives through the city, watching the night lights pass by, sometimes he visits his own clubs to see with calming satisfaction that they are still as full as before the incident with Anton. He noticed that he hasn't been on a hunt for quite some time now. There was no need to do so since his fridge is filled with fresh blood from the hospital.
But tonight his primal instincts urge him on to find a decent victim.
He chooses one of his own clubs to look for a human. Some of them aren't reserved for vampires only and this comes in handy from time to time, especially tonight.
The dancing floor is crowded, sweating bodies moving to a fast techno rhythm and his nerves are standing on edge by the delicious smell of adrenaline hanging in the air. Deacon watches the crowd from his spot in one of the dimly lit corners. It doesn't take long until he makes out his prey between all those other meat bags. A young man, not older than twenty maybe and with dark curly hair.
Deacon smiles in pleasant anticipation. The hunt has begun.
He makes his way through the crowd, passing by all sorts of sweet perfumes, hair colors and blood types. The man is alone, dancing for himself in the middle of all those other humans. He moves fluidly to the beat, eyes closed and seemingly lost in the momentum.
Deacon moves up behind him and carefully wraps an arm around his waist. The young man turns his head, his eyes are of a full mesmerizing brown, but he instantly relaxes in the vampire's gentle embrace when he sees the small smile pulling at the corners of ashen lips. He smiles in return, a gesture of empathy.
It happens every time, the small jolt of scorn blossoming from Deacon's very essence when he realizes how easy to trick humans are. It just needs a smile, a few charming words and a gentle touch and they give in to him, letting his hands roam their body and forget everything their parents told them.
No one takes notice of the two men in the middle of the crowd who move to their own rhythm. Deacon leans down and takes in the scent of the young man. He smells... human, a mixture of salt and something metallic. There is nothing special about him, nothing that would wake his interest. Deacon doesn't know what led him to this particular meat bag, but it doesn't matter. Under their thin skin they all taste the same.
After some minutes of dancing, or more rubbing against each other, Deacon has enough of the seductive play. He dips his head to whisper dark, promising words into the man's ear. With a satisfied smile he feels the shiver which runs through his body at this. With glistening eyes the young man takes his hand and leads him away from the crowd. Away from safety.
Deacon won't take him home, he never does, but the streets around the club offer enough chances for a quick meal in the shadows of the night.
They found a near alleyway and he is almost a little thankful for the human's stupidity. But it doesn't matter, nothing matters now besides Deacon's own longing need for fresh, warm blood.
When he is sure they are well hidden by the shadows of a large fire escape he roughly pushes the man against the nearest wall. In the blink of an eye he is on him, pressing the fragile body with his own against the hard brick behind him. The young man is panting, pupils widened in arousal and Deacon feels the slight tremble of anticipation turn the body against his even more alive.
This is his favorite moment.
The small window between starry-eyed trust to a stranger and the realization that the charming man is in reality a wild monster, as often described in fairy-tales and cheap Hollywood movies. For a heartbeat, right before Deacon buries his fangs in their fragile throats, something like surprise lights up in their eyes. Something like "So vampires do exist".
He sniffs the spot where the young man's pulse thunders against the thin layer of skin, the surface glisters with sweat and some reflecting powder. Then, for the last time in this beautiful star painted night, he allows the human a shy smile, his small lips pulling apart and making his eyes shine under the longer strands of dark hair.
It hits Deacon like a freight train and for a second he forgets where he is.
The young man caught his attention because he reminds him of someone. The dark messy hair, the round trusting eyes and the oblivious smile.
He reminds him of Scud.
The wave of anger which suddenly crashes around him and pulls him down into a whirl of uncontrollable emotions lets him forget about the finesse he usually cares for. His fangs slip out of the flesh and a growl, coming from the depths of his chest, tears free from his throat. The young man's smile fades. He opens his mouth to a scream but Deacon knows this part, knows what always happens after his favorite moment is over.
A hand shoots up to cover the man's mouth and another holds his shoulder still as Deacon leans down and sinks his fangs into the warm living flesh. He can feel him fight, press against him with all the strength his arms could offer. But not even a grown bull could overpower Deacon. It's a breeze to hold the human in place while warm blood pours out of the puncture wounds, into his mouth and over his chin.
Deacon moans against the flesh. He tastes better than he expected, there is a faint, undefinable note running in his blood. It wakes a memory in the back of his mind but he can't figure out what it is...
Suddenly it feels as if the world around him begins to spin. With a grunt Deacon releases the still bleeding neck of he human. His hands begin to tremble and they slip down to the young man's arms, clutching them more for balance than for anything else.
He can hear him beg, whimper to spare his life and let him go. Deacon shakes his head but the world is still turning. His vision blurs and sharpens and his mouth begins to burn like it's on fire. Finally he remembers the faint metallic taste. It's silver. Why didn't he notice this? The young man must have gotten in contact with some kind of powder. That's why his skin glistened so weirdly.
He pushes him away.
"Go", he growls. His knees give in a little as an acid-like burn starts to spread through his veins. The brick walls reverberate the echo of hasty steps through the alleyway before the sound gets drowned out by a high-pitched noise inside of Deacon's skull. He clutches his head, trying to focus and drown out the paining noise. But he is too far gone to have much control over his senses anymore.
xXxXx
With each visit Petty stays some minutes longer. Sometimes she even sits by Scud and waits until he has finished his meal. But only when Deacon isn't around, or Mr. Frost.
While he enjoys the sandwich she brought him, chicken with some mustard sauce, she looks through a pile of sheets. Deacon surely wouldn't approve of having them sit so close to each other, especially not while Petty is reading important papers about his business.
He swallows the bite in his mouth, his stomach giving a slight twitch. After all this time of starving and getting only fruits to eat his body still isn't used to real food. The first times he even threw up when he scarfed his food down too quickly.
"Can I ask you a question?" he starts and watches her ruffle through some more papers.
"Mhm", she mumbles, a look of concentration on her face, but Scud knows by now that Petty's multitasking abilities are impressive. Probably one of the reasons why Deacon engaged her.
"Why do you work for my master? You don't seem like a person who longs for the existence of a vampire."
She stops writing small notes on a block to her right and lifts her head. Scud thought she would maybe tell him to stop asking or even stand up and leave the apartment. Petty is very clever and probably capable of far more than Deacon thinks. Or maybe he knows and that's why he only lets her do simple stuff, like checking the cash receipts of his clubs or sitting at the reception down in the hall of the building.
But he surely didn't expect her to answer him with what sounds like purest honesty.
"I'm not sure", she starts. With an almost thoughtful move she puts down the pen in her hand. "I was looking for a job as a secretary and somehow I found my way to one of Mr. Frost's clubs. It was... quite the experience."
At this memory her eyes get a little glassy, like she is remembering something uncomfortable. With a blink she returns to Scud.
"But, to my own luck I guess, it was Mr. Frost who was watching over the club that night. I had no idea that he was a, you know..."
With her fingers she imitates two drawn out fangs in front of her mouth. Scud smiles weakly. "A vampire?"
Petty nods. "Yes, exactly. After that everything happened very quickly. He told me, if I wanted to work for him I would need something like a mark, a sign that showed other... vampires that I already belonged to him."
She absently starts to rub her left wrist. When the sleeve of her dark blouse slips a bit Scud can catch the glimpse of a black glyph tattooed into her fine skin. Just like his.
"He said it would be to my own security", she mumbles. He can see that the thought makes her uneasy but she still hasn't answered what interests him the most.
"Petty, why do you want to be a vampire? You can't even say that word without shivering."
Petty looks at him in utter and honest surprise. "But I don't want to become something like that", she says. "I just wanted a job and I already told Mr. Frost that I am indisposed to the thought of living forever. Who would want that? Someday you would be all alone, when all your friends and your family died. The weird thing was he understood my concern."
After that she falls silent, her gaze still wandering into distance. Scud finishes his meal silently, even watching not to chew too loudly, as if he could scare her away like a shy deer.
He likes Petty, probably because she is kind of a slave too, like him. They both belong to a man who sees nothing but cattle in them, cattle that is able to manage his business or just annoy him to the very bit. When she stands up to leave he feels something like disappointment tug at his guts. As soon as Petty is gone he will be all alone again. Alone with his thoughts and with the silence of his master's apartment. But he doesn't want to make it too difficult for the young woman.
After all, they are both struggling to survive.
xXxXx
Josh is woken by a pair of loud voices. Through the haze of sleep he can make out that of his mother, but there is a second one. It belongs to a man and he speaks very hastily.
"This is madness!" he yells and is quickly hushed by his mother. She speaks to him in a lower voice as to calm him down. Josh can hear an angry huff. "Don't try to shush me like a little kid! You know I'm right. He won't come back, Eli. We have to leave, now!"
Josh pushes the blanket aside and slips out of his bed. With careful steps he tiptoes over to the door and peeps through the small slit. His mother never closes the door completely.
The man has his back turned to Josh but he recognizes the short brown curls as those of his uncle Ben. He already wants to open the door to run out and hug him when Ben turns around. His face is distorted in anger and frustration. Josh has never seen him like this before. Usually his uncle is a very cheery guy who likes to throw him over his shoulder and whirl them both around until the whole world is spinning.
But today he looks like a different man.
He rubs over his mouth in a nervous gesture and his gaze goes into the distance. Luckily he hasn't noticed Josh. When he turns around to his mother Josh's heart makes a small relieved jump.
"Peter has been gone for a week now", he starts. His voice sounds pained. "Eli, we have to consider that he's dead."
Now it's his mother who gets loud. "How can you say something like that?" she hisses. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her face darkens in stubbornness. Josh can see the small wrinkle between her eyes which she gets every time she is upset. But today it's not just the wrinkle that worries Josh. Ben mentioned his father. What does that mean? He's on a business trip, like so often. Why would his uncle be so worried and even say he's dead?
Josh can feel his breath quicken. With his small fingers he grabs the door knob and carefully opens the door a little wider. His mother and Ben are too occupied to fixate each other with angry glares to notice the child.
"Peter has been gone for a week or even two before, that's nothing unusual. Maybe he had a breakdown and no cellphone. You know how he is, he wouldn't call anyway."
Suddenly his uncle lunges forward and grabs his mother by the shoulders. He shakes her and her angry expression turns to that of surprise.
"Stop playing dumb!" Ben yells. Finally he stops shaking her but his fingers keep digging into her flesh. "We can't wait any longer, Eli. Peter fucked up and who knows what or who is on our trails now? Goddammit, think of your boy! You have to get out of here before it's too late."
From his hiding spot Josh can see the face of his mother in the dim light of the kitchen. He can see how the surprise turns to understanding, and finally acceptance. But she still looks so sad.
"I know", she mumbles. Suddenly she looks old, like she aged ten years within the blink of an eye. Josh feels his heart sting at the sight. He has never seen his mother being so sad before. His legs almost pain with the urge to run out of his room and hug her tightly and tell her everything will be alright, even though he doesn't know what is wrong.
Gently she brushes off Ben's hands on her shoulders. "But he is my husband."
"And you are my sister", he says and his voice got a pleading tone. "I won't leave you behind, Elizabeth. And if I have to drag you out of here in bonds, you will come with me!"
"No, I won't", she says with a stable voice. Suddenly she begins to smile weakly. With one hand she reaches out for Ben and tenderly strokes his cheek. "I will stay here and wait for Peter. Tomorrow I'll call Madge so she can pick up Josh. But tonight you will go home, pack your things and leave this town together with Betty and the girls. And you won't call and you won't look back because this is the best for all of us."
Silence settles in the small kitchen. Then Ben grabs his mother and pulls her near. Josh watches as she holds her brother close, gently stroking his dark curls while he buries his face in the fabric of her shirt. Josh has never seen his uncle react so emotionally. The hug lasts only a small moment, then he frees himself from her loose embrace and storms out of Josh's sight. When the front door slams shut Josh realizes that his uncle is gone.
xXxXx
His eyes fly open when he hears the loud thud. Within a second Scud sits bolt upright on the couch on which he had fallen asleep. He takes a look at the clock hanging over the kitchen counter. It's almost 4 am. Hasn't his master returned yet? He rubs over his eyes and tries to get rid of the last haze of sleep which befogs his mind.
Then he hears a faint groan. Scud stops in his tracks. He stays perfectly still until he hears another moan, louder this time. His heart begins to race and he stares into the dark of the apartment.
What should he do? Is he still dreaming? Please, let it be a dream. But what if not? What if there is someone or something inside of the apartment and ready to jump at him the next second?
But the noise doesn't come from the inside of the apartment. It comes from the wide balcony behind the couch Scud still sits on. He slowly turns around, silently curses when the leather makes a small squeaking sound and stares through the opened window into the black of the night. At first he sees nothing, just the small swimming pool with the smiling rubber ducks dancing over the surface, faintly illuminated by a handful of lit windows on the side of the opposite building. But then the shadows to his right begin to move. It looks as if they would release a part, callously letting it drop to the gray concrete floor of the balcony. Scud already begins to believe he is dreaming when the shadow moves and then he sees him.
"Deacon", Scud mumbles. He's up from the couch and out on the balcony within a second, crouching down next to the crumpled figure of his master.
He is shaking under Scud's fingertips, as if his body was taken by a fever. The next moment seems awfully long, time stretched like goo and Scud kneels next to his master, feeling completely numbed by the view.
But then his senses jump awake again, a jolt of energy running through his body and mind. He rolls the unconscious vampire on his back. There is blood all over his chin and his mouth. Scud has no time to think who's blood that is, he hooks one of Deacon's arm around his neck and drags the limp body over to the balcony's entrance.
xXxXx
„What's your name?"
Josh looks up from his mashed potatoes with sugar peas and up into the faces of the boys next to him. They are taller, probably older and one of them at least twice his weight. Josh notices the interest with which they look his small thin form over. Like they have found their prey.
When Josh doesn't respond the boy who asked him, he has very short hair and green eyes and his hard look reminds him of Officer Lennon, reaches out to punch his shoulder. Josh makes no sound, even though the force of the hit almost pushes him off his chair.
"What's your name, asshole?" he asks, louder this time and the sound makes some of the other kids turn their heads into their direction.
"Mom said", Josh begins with a small voice, "it's not polite to call someone that."
The three boys look at him for a moment, surprise written on their faces. Then they start to laugh and Josh feels a hot jolt of anger shoot through his chest.
"What? Asshole?" the boy laughs. He starts to repeatedly punch Josh's arm and completely ignores the smaller child's complaints. "Asshole, asshole, asshole!"
Josh tries to fend the hits flying his direction off, but now the other two boys join in and they stand around him in a half-circle, punching and laughing.
The anger in his voice soon dies out and what stays is a faint mumble of words, interrupted by tiny sobs.
Josh doesn't like the orphanage, he wants to go home again.
xXxXx
It's less of a waking up then a slow drift through the thick clouds buzzing his mind. He doesn't know how long exactly it took him, but when he finally gets a stronger grip on consciousness, noticing the ache in his limbs and the burn of his stomach, Deacon would gladly let go of it again.
His mouth is dry, his lips feel numb and there is the faint smell of blood and bile hanging in the air. With eyes still closed he reaches out with a weak hand to feel for his surroundings. His fingertips brush against a soft surface which slightly gives in when he presses against it. One thing he knows for sure: he is not in his coffin.
A voice inside of his head tells him to open his eyes, to inspect his environment and get up, in case of an attack. But every muscle in his body protests with a sharp sting as soon as he tries to move.
It takes way too much effort to open his eyes. He is surrounded by darkness, the first good thing he wakes up to. With all the strength he manages to come up with he pushes himself up on his elbows and feels again for the curtain-like fabric around him. He pushes it aside, and to his surprise he finds himself in his apartment, instantly recognizing the ground he lays on as one of the dark leather couches of the living room.
His arm begins to shake like a weight is pulling it down and he almost wants to drop back into the darkness again when a movement out of the corner of his eyes catches his attention. He looks down to the floor. To his feet lays the pet. The human is curled together to a ball, arms tightly wrapped around his waist and knees pulled up to his stomach. Deacon already begins to think he might be hallucinating when Scud's eyes flutter open. He looks up, sees his master and... begins to smile.
"You're awake", he mumbles, voice roughened by sleep.
Deacon watches as he uncurls and pushes himself up on stiff arms. The look of concern in his eyes confuses him. Scud shifts unusually close and investigates his face with what he would describe as worry.
"You were pretty messed up last night", Scud begins to tell. "I honestly thought you wouldn't make it, especially not when you began to vomit blood in buckets. And then you got all hot and I didn't know what to do, so I made you a cold application but the ice practically melted away. And then it got day and I was so paranoid the shudders wouldn't go down, that's why I built a fort around you and waited... And – no, you're awake now. That's good."
Deacon watches him while Scud sums up what happened after he knocked out. His expression constantly changes from worry to fear and back to worry. By the end of the report his bottom lip is slightly reddened from the maltreatment of being constantly gnawed on. Deacon must be openly staring at him with a rather displeased expression because the color slowly fades out of Scud's face.
"I-I hope you don't mind that I... but – couldn't just leave you there. So I had no other choice but to touch you and -", he stammers nervously. The worry in his eyes turns to panic, the hands in his lap curling to tight fists.
"I'm sorry, Master", he whispers in a breaking voice.
It takes Deacon another moment until his mind manages to get a hold of the situation, realization lazily dripping in like water off a leaking faucet.
"You", he croaks. His voice is disturbingly raspy and each word hurts in his throat. Deacon tries to cough the roughness away but that only worsens it. Still he manages to form the first coherent sentence since his wake-up.
"You saved me", he slowly says. Those few words, so pure and innocent in their meaning, sound so wrong coming out of his mouth.
But it's true. The pet – Scud – saved him. He could have left him on the balcony outside to bristle and burst in the deathly beams of sunlight. This day could have held the promise of freedom for the human, a chance to escape and not only the violent hands of his master. But he stayed and Deacon can't even begin to think about any logical reason for this. He needs to hear it.
"Why?" he asks. "Why did you do that? You had no reason to save me. Not after..."
After what? The hurtful words, the bruises decorating his body, the humiliation and degrading of his very existence? Or the marking, the claiming of a life which isn't his and shouldn't be his?
Deacon is kind of surprised by the heavy weight of understanding pulling him down and making him almost feel... guilty.
Scud looks at him with the same surprise and confusion.
"I don't know why", he starts and the insecurity and fear in his words is practically tangible. "It's just – you are my Master and I am your pet."
"That's your explanation?" Deacon sounds probably only half as baffled as he really is. "You are my Master and I am your pet? That's it?"
He shouldn't press the scared boy into the corner like this and Deacon is convinced Scud looks worse than him after those few minutes.
"Master-"
"Stop this bullshit! I asked you a question, so answer it."
"You're good to me", Scud finally says, but the words are shy, like their meaning could offend Deacon. Which it does.
"I am not good to you, pet", he growls. With a quick, too quick, movement which sends the world around him rotating he swings his feet over the edge of the couch and leans forward to Scud. The human leans reflexively back, head bowed as to cover his throat. "I may not be as much of a sadist as MacHorvath but I am not-"
He presses his lips together in annoyance. What is he doing? Is he really trying to convince the pet that his life was still a live tragedy? That it may have been the wrong decision to save Deacon because it won't get any better?
"You only say that because you're so fucked up", he snarls. "What do you even know about good and bad treatment? Has there ever been a time when people treated you with respect?"
With each word Scud's shoulders hunch down a little more, but Deacon doesn't stop. He can't.
He leans even closer in, his ears filling with the sound of quickly rushing blood and a fearful heartbeat. Scud's breathing fastened, the muscles in his arms stiff like he is waiting for a hit. But Deacon doesn't need his hands to make damage.
"Listen, pet."
He is about to say something, something terribly hurtful and degrading because that's what he can do best. Remind people of their places. But the words get stuck in his throat, so suddenly he sits with a slightly opened mouth there. Whatever he had wanted to say, it had the intention to break Scud further. But that's not what he wants, and it confuses him, because he shouldn't care about the pet like this.
The pet who had saved his life, even though it meant to keep his own as a slave. Deacon's head begins to spin. With a groan he palms his eyes to shut out the little light that illuminates the room and the hunched form of the pet.
"Are you okay?" Scud asks slowly.
Deacon sighs. "Why would you care?"
Yeah, and why would Deacon care for him? How comes he wants an answer from the pet if he hasn't one himself?
The ache in his own limbs reminds him of something.
"How's your wrist?"
Scud looks up at him in surprise. "Master?"
"Show me", Deacon commands and holds out his own hand. With an unsure shift Scud stretches out his arm, showing Deacon the still slightly swollen wrist. When he closes his own cold fingers around the fragile bone, Scud whines almost inaudibly. He brushes with a thumb carefully over the slender thing, feeling the heartbeat thunder against his skin.
"I shouldn't have done this", Deacon mumbles.
"It's okay", Scud replies too quickly. "It's not broken and it almost doesn't hurt anymore."
Deacon sighs heavily and his grips tightens for a second before he remembers Scud's unease.
"That's not the point", he says, his voice sounding not only hoarse but also incredibly tired. "You wear my mark, that means I'm supposed to take care of you. But instead ..."
Instead he had done the same cruel things his former master had, only that Deacon refused to take what Scud had offered to him. But whether his offering had been one of free choice or just an act of repeatedly graven behavior he would never know.
"You shouldn't be afraid of me", Deacon growls, the anger directed more towards himself than the pet. "Do you understand now why my treatment isn't good? It's anything but that."
"But I don't mind, master", Scud says, his voice softer now. "Because you are good to me, in your own way. You let me shower, give me food and a place to sleep. You won't even take what I offer in return. Even though that's what I'm here for after all, right?"
"But do you want it or is it just an act of courtesy?"
Scud fixates one of the buttons on his shirt and falls silent for awhile. Deacon notices he is still holding his wrist, rubbing small circles against the pulse which has gotten calmer. Strangely, he doesn't care about the touch.
"I-", Scud begins, but his mouth closes again at the loss of words.
It isn't fair to ask him this. Deacon can't possibly expect from Scud to know what he wants and what he doesn't want, not after what happened to him. Not after what people had told him to do, to think, to say.
He decides to break the silence which takes away the air around them and pats Scud's wrist lightly, just enough to rip the pet out of his thoughts.
"A fort, hm?" Deacon muses, taking a look at the tent-like building made of blankets and sheets around him. "That's nice."
Scud tears his gaze from the button on Deacon's shirt and looks him directly in the eyes. A small smile plays around the corners of his lips.