ATAO
Wow, okay. When I saw this incredible piece of art I legit started to cry. Still overwhelmed by the fact that you sat down and drew that, and it looks so beautiful. You're very talented and you did this for me and... just, thank you, it means so, so much to me. (And it seems FF deleted the link but luckily I saved the picture. Wee! :D)
V.V.D
Hah, I love that you called him Josh! And that you seemingly got the little hints. Thank you for taking the time to write those reviews, I get so happy every time I see them. Makes me feel like the effort was worth it. :)
LovinNorman'sChestTatt
Gah, thank you! I got all fuzzy and warm reading that. Also, it's more than flattering to hear the characters stay intact when this whole thing is pure AU. Hopefully doing it right here.
Thanks everyone for the lovely comments. It means so much to me, you don't even know. Alright, enough of the rant. Thanks for the patience, it won't take this long again, promise.
The smell is worse than the sounds. It's a mixture of blood, vomit and something Scud doesn't even want to think about too closely. The thick air stings in his nostrils and is interrupted by all kind of noises, making his nerves stand on edge like never before, not even the hunger could dampen the sensations.
It's like Scud has entered hell itself.
He tries to keep pace with the man who all but drags him over the cold stone floor. His knees give in every now and then and only the rough hands holding him in a bruising grip keep him from stumbling into the next puddle of body liquid.
'Breath, breath', he reminds himself. It's all he can do to lessen the upcoming sickness twisting and turning his empty stomach. Scud feels his throat contract reflexively, but there is nothing he could rid his body of.
They reach a door, thick and gray, looking like it was built to keep anything from coming in. Or out.
The man unlocks it and shoves the weakened Scud through the frame. He trips over his own feet and tumbles into the darkness of the room.
His hands stave the fall off and the skin on his wrists rips open. Scud hisses. Even though his whole body trembles violently, from hunger, from cold, from sheer panic and fear, he manages to push himself up. His heart is racing so wildly, it feels as if it's about to burst out of his chest any second.
With a shaking hand Scud reaches up to feel for the wounds on his neck. The skin is damp with something wet. Whether it's sweat or blood he doesn't know and doesn't really want to.
"Fuck", he mutters, his voice raspy from not having been used the past two weeks.
"So it can speak. That's good, thought I'd have to keep the monologues up."
He whirls around, staring blindly into the darkness. His eyes haven't adjusted to the shadows swallowing any form in the room yet, but then something in the near corner shifts and he can make out a pair of eyes staring back at him.
He feels as if his mind has reached it's maximum capacity.
"You're new", the owner of the eyes says. "Don't look as dried out as the other guys, not yet."
The sound of something metallic scraping over the stone floor makes him flinch and back away. Out of the shadows the rest of a face appears.
"Sorry, those are... quite nasty."
The woman lifts her arms to show him the dirty surface of a handcuff. The skin around her wrists is sticky with clotted blood.
"What's your name?"
Scud clears his throat, visibly confused by the unforseen companion.
"I'm... My name's Scud."
"Sharon."
She doesn't reach a hand out for him. Scud can see the large scratches decorating her upper arms. He licks his lips nervously. They taste like sweat and dirt.
"Where are we?"
Sharon huffs, shrugging and leans against the nearest wall. The room is very small, the ceiling so low Scud wouldn't be able to stand straight. There are no windows and the stone floor tilts a little to the middle where a trellised drain leads further down. Scud feels his stomach do another flip and he bravely swallows down the bile jumping up his throat.
"At the house of our master. Think they called him Antoine or something. Whatever, it doesn't matter because I'm not one of his favorite pets. There are other names I have to remember."
"What, pet? What...?"
His chipped lips hurt with every word but a new wave of adrenaline immediately dampens the pain. Scud looks back at Sharon and sees the compassionate look in her eyes.
"Oh, Scud. Hate being the one to break it to you, man, but... you're a pet now, a vampire's personal toy. That tattoo they gave you? It's called glyph, it shows that we belong to them, that they own us. They are our masters and we do as they say, that way it hurts less, sometimes."
It feels as if someone wrapped a whole roll of absorbent cotton around him. He doesn't feel the cold of the floor or hears the sounds coming from the rooms next to theirs, and neither do Sharon's words reach his brain. They settled but they make no sense.
"Scud?"
She leans a little forward, trying to read in the other human's face.
"Okay", Scud mumbles. He feels a sudden tiredness crash over him. Carefully he lays down on the floor and shuts his eyes.
xXxXx
With a sigh he drops the blood stained fabric into the bin. Another ruined shirt. Deacon can't remember having wasted so much clothes in so little time, and that has to mean something, since blood is an essential part of his existence. He avoids looking into the mirror, Scud's worried looks have been enough of an indicator that he looks terrible. It's not like he would care more about it than necessary, but a tired expression and a weak composure always attract scavengers. Like he hasn't enough enemies already who long to see his fangs in a little wooden casket.
The reason for Deacon's bad reputation among his own race is no different than that of other outcasts. He doesn't like to follow the rules. There's no sense in encouraging a system that is plain stupid.
He draws a hand through his hair. It feels exactly the same as it did back then, when he was still a human. The times have left no visible mark on him, even though Deacon had been in some bad conditions during the years. Not everyone reacts very happy to the presence of a man who seemingly doesn't age, has a remarkable healing ability and has a mass grave in his backyard, full of drained bodies, all in different states of decomposition.
Deacon is used to be the outcast. He has never fitted in very well. The main reason why his creator abandoned him and left him to starve when he was still young and inexperienced.
"You're a failure", she had said and had held him down with a foot to his back. "Do me the favor and die."
But he didn't, he survived and on some days he is less happy about it. On those days, he accepts it, just like everything else, because after having lived a certain amount of time, things start to lose their meaning.
Deacon exists. At least one thing he has common with other vampires.
A look to his watch wakes another wave of annoyance. He later has a meeting with Dragonetti and his little lap dogs. Waste of time.
As he steps out of his bedroom, he looks for the pet. Scud had insisted on removing the improvised fort, which showed a surprising stability as Deacon shook it tentatively. The human had smiled when he thought Deacon didn't look, like he was actually proud of it. It was the second time Scud smiled, small though, but honest.
He finds him in the living room, accurately folding the last blankets and putting them aside to the others.
"You look better, master", Scud says when he notices him. The addressing still makes Deacon a little uncomfortable, it feels like he's betraying a part of himself with having a pet. But Scud isn't really his pet and Deacon has a plausible reason to keep him. So maybe he should just try and get over it.
He doesn't respond, just walks past the human and watches to keep enough distance between them.
He can still feel the curve of the wrist press against his fingertips. After some time the realization of what he had done kicked in and the grip around Scud's wrist loosened until the pet carefully pulled his hand back, eyes downcast, as usual. It had been just a gentle touch but Deacon saw how tensed the human's form got as soon as he felt his master's cold skin.
The discrepancy in Scud's doing is what confuses him. He offers himself to Deacon but flinches at the slightest touch, he wants what his master wants but his eyes fill with fear when Deacon approaches him, he tries to make his master's life better, but truth is he just makes everything worse.
Deacon doesn't want to lose control over the situation and maybe do something even worse to Scud than a twisted wrist. The human wears his mark, so Deacon will protect him in any way he has to. This much of tradition he accepts.
xXxXx
"How did you get here?"
Sharon looks up from her nails. She has spent the last hour trying to pick the last remains of glass out of her skin.
"That's like asking if I remember my birth", she replies snappishly. "I don't know, suddenly I was here. They found me, they captured me and brought me to some kind of... hall. There were cages with other humans. Men, women, girls, boys... Just when they tried to stuff me into one of that this weird guy came and took me with him. After that... well, same procedure as everyone else."
On the third night Sharon had shown him her glyph. It had been tattooed right under her breasts, looking like a giant black fly in the little light they had in their cell.
"And you?" she asks, tilting her head in played curiosity.
"Like asking someone about his birth", Scud mumbles sarcastically. Sharon pokes her tongue out at him and focuses back on her nails.
They sit in silence, they often do. There isn't much they could talk about without getting painful despair tear at their insides. Every memory is a reminder of the world outside and it hurts to think or talk about it. Heck, even the orphanage seems like a palace compared to this shit hole.
"Since when are you here?"
"I don't know how long. Last time I saw the sky it was clouded with snowflakes."
"Last time I checked in by Ronaldo it was April."
They exchange a look. It had already been too long.
Scud shifts a little closer to her. When the sounds around them get louder, they offer each other comfort and a voice to listen to.
"I thought they only put the new ones here", he mumbles, taking a look at the gray walls. To his left he can see a nail still sticking to the rough stone.
"Or the ones who refuse to get their will broken."
Sharon doesn't look at him. She stopped picking at the reddened skin of her fingertips and just stares at the small cuts in her nails.
"They can hit me, they can fuck me, they can drain me and throw me into a cell sticky with piss and blood. But they can't take this from me, not this one thing. I won't let them, Scud, I won't let them."
Her voice breaks. Scud lets her be, doesn't try to shush her when a tear rolls down her sunken cheek. They fall silent after that, each one of them trying to cling to the more pleasant memories. Scud tries to think of a reason why he should stay strong. Sharon does it for herself. She does have a family outside of this, a little sister and a father who are probably waiting for her every day to come back. But she's clever enough to know that she will never come back.
When Scud can't think of a decent reason he slumps back against the wall, hissing when he leans on his bruised tailbone.
xXxXx
He follows Deacon into the open kitchen, leaning onto the counter and watches interestedly as his master pushes various buttons on the microwave next to the fridge, all the time mumbling darkly before giving up with an annoyed huff.
"Something wrong?" he asks carefully. Deacon shakes his head and takes a step back.
"No, it's just... those stupid things always break so easily. I hate this. Fuck."
He clears his throat before he speaks again. "Maybe I could, like, take a look at it? Maybe?"
When skepticism darkens his master's expression, Scud quickly continues.
"I know some things about stuff like that. Electrics, I mean. Only if you don't mind, of course, master."
He quickly looks away, fumbling with the hem of one of his sleeves and curses himself silently. Only talk when asked, it's not that hard to understand, is it?
"Fine", Deacon says suddenly. With a quick wave he gestures him to come closer, and Scud follows, although hesitantly.
"Do you need a screwdriver or something?"
"Yeah, that would be good. I mean-", he stammers when he notices Deacon's expression. "Please, if you don't mind."
Out of the corner of his eye he watches as Deacon searches through some drawers until he finds the tool and holds it up for Scud, eyebrows raised in question. He nods and takes the small thing from the hands of his master with stiff fingers. A familiar tautness is building up, but Scud tries to cover his unease by concentrating on the microwave in front of him. Deacon stands a few feet away, leaning against the counter, head tilted in slight curiosity.
"How comes you know so much about this?"
He vaguely gestures into the direction of the microwave and Scud almost chuckles at the sudden helpless expression on the other man's face, but he can suppress it just in time.
"My father showed me some things. It kind of developed to a hobby."
"Ridiculous", Deacon huffs. His brows are furrowed as he watches Scud take off the plastic casing. "How can someone want to deal with this voluntarily?"
"Gotta do something, right?"
"Yeah", Deacon mumbles. "Did MacHorvath knew you could do that?"
The screwdriver almost slips out of his fingers but Scud catches it before it gets lost in the tangle of cables. He holds the tool so tightly his knuckles turn white. When he answers he leans even further down.
"No. He didn't, never even asked for my name."
"I see."
Scud has the urge to turn around and ask him, ask his master if he really does, if he really understands what it's like to be nameless, without identity and just a neck to wrap a collar around. But he doesn't because he is the pet and Deacon is his master.
xXxXx
The conversation took a wrong turn. Deacon can see how the human's form tenses and he hunches up his shoulders. He shouldn't have asked.
"You know it's not your fault."
The words come out without his permission, suddenly they hang in the air between them and Deacon can't take them back. Scud doesn't respond directly but he can see how the human turns his head a little. Just for a second before he focuses back on his task.
"Wouldn't be so sure about that", Deacon hears him mumble. There is something swinging in his voice. Annoyance? No, a bitter resignation, like he has been told this already multiple times, over and over again until the words lost their meaning.
Deacon wants the words to regain their meaning, and it makes a part of him yell in caution. But it's too late anyway, the line has been crossed. He could just as well go on.
"Do you really think that, Scud? Why? Tell me."
When he doesn't respond Deacon's voice gets harder, more insisting: "Tell me, pet."
Scud winces at the hard tone, but when he opens his mouth to respond he sounds calm, almost thoughtful.
"There were... things. Things I shouldn't have done."
"Tell me about those things you did", Deacon says and it sounds less like a command than an invitation. A chance to share some of that ballast.
"I betrayed and I tricked. Anything, just to keep my head over water. There are many people I disappointed and made sad, and I feel guilty... But still, sometimes I think this whole... being a pet and all, it's some kind of punishment for all the shit I've done. Like someone wants to make me pay for everything that happened."
"Well, I may not know what this someone you talk about had in mind, but no one deserves something like that."
"You say that as if you'd care. But you don't, right? You don't care, master."
He almost spits the last word out, like an insult and for a second Deacon has the urge to punish him for that. Instead he just clenches his jaw and swallows his anger down. Scud is a human, he doesn't have anything like respect for him, but he saved his life last night. He should spare him this time.
"This has nothing to do with caring, but I know what it means to be forced to do something you don't want to do, never even thought about. What it means to lose control over your life and just..."
He almost chokes on his words. The silence that suddenly takes the small space between him and Scud makes Deacon realize what he just said, what he just told his pet.
This time Scud turns around and even though his face is blank, like his master didn't just confess to him, Deacon can see how it works behind the facile expression, how the dull eyes suddenly light with curiosity.
"What I mean", he babbles, words all but stumbling out of his mouth in a weak attempt to save the situation, "is, that, it should have never been like this."
"That's nice of you to say, master", Scud mumbles. For a split second their looks cross and Deacon can see that Scud really seems to appreciate his words. It makes something inside of him jump, the realization that he managed to make this sad creature a little happier. His grip around the counter edge tightens involuntarily and he waits for the wave of anger brushing the pleasantly light feeling aside, but this time it keeps out.
He clears his throat and pushes himself off the counter.
"I have to go now. It might take longer. Try not to break anything, okay?"
"Yes, master."
He ignores the disappointment in the pet's voice, at least he thinks it's disappointment, and grabs his dark coat while heading for the door. When he is just outside and about to close it behind him, Deacon dares a last look into Scud's direction.
Scud has his back already turned to him and for the blink of an eye he wants to call out to him. But what should be say? Maybe something glorious like "It's not your fault" again. No, better not. Scud lives in constant fear, let him have this small shelter.
This time he doesn't lock the door. Deacon is sure Scud won't leave him.
The meeting place is a big storage, that's what it looks like from the outside. They never meet at the same place twice, not since the assaults on high rank vampires have increased. Deacon is just fine with that; less big-mouthed idiots who cling to their ridiculous traditions.
He plays with the smoke of his cigarette and tries to form rings but fails miserably. So many years of smoking and he still has no idea how to do it. A familiar had once tried to show it to him but Deacon had grown impatient and simply beheaded the poor bastard. Since then no one ever showed it to him again.
Maybe Scud could show him. He wouldn't hurt him, not him.
Now and then Dragonetti's voice pervades the invisible wall he has built around himself, but he politely ignores the pure blood's rant. He wouldn't address Deacon directly anyway. He's just a non-pure blood after all, nothing really of value. A bastard. A disgrace of his own race. Deacon has been called all the names in the books and by now he doesn't care about any of them anymore.
He wonders what the pet would call him if he hadn't asked him for the formal address, which Deacon highly regrets by now. Maybe he wouldn't call him anything. Deacon can't imagine Scud speaking to him with his first name, even though it sounds nice the say he pronounces it. There's always a slight jump in the sound, like his name is something fragile that could break easily and has to be treated with carefulness. The same carefulness Scud would deserve to be treated with...
Deacon frowns a little and watches his latest, terribly weak, attempt at a smoke ring. The formless figure rises to the high ceiling and fades into nothing on it's way.
Now and then he drops back in and listens to some snatches of the current conversation. Nothing of interest though, just something about some murders in Russia. Deacon has never been to Russia, never even got to drink vodka. Quinn says it's good and that he drank plenty of it before Deacon turned him. That had erased any interest Deacon had had in the liquid.
If Scud had ever tried vodka? Or booze at all? Deacon can't imagine him lose control over himself like that, he always seems so restrained, at least when Deacon isn't threatening to rip his tongue out or something.
Even though Scud is a human and even though he is his pet, Deacon doesn't feel like his thoughts are wrong. This alarms a part of him, but he tries to ignore it. He had spent so many years trying to avoid the topic, now that he is confronted with the situation he could as well make the best out of it. But he won't touch Scud, that's no option. And the accident in the shower will always be just an accident. That's definitely something he shouldn't spent too much time on thinking about, since it makes his head spin really quickly.
The meeting ends and he rises from his leather chair to head back home. Deacon prefers to spent as little time around those pride idiots as possible.
"Frost."
He almost rolls his eyes when Dragonetti approaches him, silently wondering what he had done this time to displease the older vampire.
When he turns around to face him, an ironic smile curls his lips. "Dragonetti, hello."
The pure blood comes to a halt in front of him. He is about the same height as Deacon, but he still tips his chin up and studies the other man's face with sharp eyes. Always so focused on the hierarchy.
"Frost, I heard some interesting rumors about you going on", Dragonetti says, his eyes still wandering over his form like searching for something.
Deacon starts to feel slightly uncomfortable under the investigating look but covers his unease with an even brighter smile and a curious tilt of his head. "Really? If you mean the incidents in my club than I can reassure you that everything is perfectly fine."
"No, that's not what I was talking about." He makes a dramatic pause and Deacon gets the impression this is where he's supposed to get the hint, but he doesn't. The corners of Dragonetti's thin lips turn downwards and a little impatiently he says: "People have been telling me that you own a pet now. I felt the need to tell you that I welcome this new state of mind of yours. After all, traditions are important. I am glad to hear that you finally embrace those."
If Deacon's heart was still alive and pumping in his chest, it would have skipped a beat right now. People know of Scud, and there is only one person who could have told them. But Anton isn't that stupid, he knows he is in the more disadvantageous position. So why would he tell anyone?
"It's even more important for you to accommodate to this. As you know, I often get criticized for tolerating you at this table, so a little courtesy from your side is more than welcome."
The rush of anger flooding through his body and setting his mind on fire almost lets Deacon forget where he is. He wants to scream, rip that supercilious expression off of Dragonetti's face and fucking kill MacHorvath.
Accommodate? Being tolerated? What the fuck is this arrogant twat thinking? Deacon Frost isn't someone to be tolerated and he surely didn't turn into one of Dragonetti's little lap dogs. Just one second ago he had felt like controlling the situation, but that has been an illusion. He isn't in control of anything anymore. And whose fault is that? Whose fucking fault is that?
His expression must have darkened as the pure blood raises his eyebrow at him. When Deacon speaks, his voice is slightly trembling with building wrath.
"I have to go now. My pet is surely already waiting for me."
xXxXx
After his first night outside of the cell he finds himself curled together on the floor, breath coming in hysterical hitches. His throat feels sore and his eyes hurt but he can't stop crying. He still feels him, around him, inside of him and hears his voice repeat the same mockingly comforting words over and over again inside of his head. He retches at the memory of cold hands wandering over his skin, touching him everywhere, leaving every inch of his body begrimed and filthy.
When Sharon places a warm hand on his shoulder he doesn't flinch and when she lifts his head and gently places it on her lap it doesn't reach him. He is already pulled into another shattered world.
"It will get better", he hears her mumble, but her voice is tired and shallow.
xXxXx
The wake up is worse than the nightmares themselves. The first few seconds, when his mind is still caught between the haze of sleep and the violent rush of adrenaline flooding his system, quickening his breath and pace of heart until a familiar pain fills his chest and robs him from any air, Scud sees the images of his dreams painted in front of his eyes, like a negative and he can't but stare at the memory. He knows they aren't there, that it's just a projection of his mind, but it feels real nonetheless.
Back at his former master's mansion he never had nightmares. He didn't need to sleep to go through that torture.
Scud tries to rest as little as possible, mostly to forgo the images in his head that he can no longer control as soon as he closes his eyes. But sometimes the tiredness would hit him so suddenly that he had to lie down and let himself drift off into a bleak fog, the certainty that it will be a sleep full of pain and cold, dark cells again gnawing at the back of his mind.
He stands up from the couch, ignoring the tremble of his limps and takes a few wobbly steps around the room. By now he got used to Deacon's apartment. It doesn't exactly feel like a home of course, but it's the closest to it he had in a while.
What he had told Deacon, that he would be good to him, Scud meant it. And the vampire had looked like he wanted to believe it, for whatever reason. He still hasn't figured the man out. Every time Scud thinks he's close to the solution, like he would have finally found the last piece to solve the puzzle, the vampire suddenly destroys the card house that is his reality. With a snip of his fingers. Or more an unexpected gentleness, which is even worse.
He is convinced if his master would just decide on one way of how to treat him, beat him up or let him be, Scud's life would be a splitter bit easier, somehow.
But if he is honest, he likes to stand himself in the way. Because he craves this unexpected gentleness, likes the feeling of being cared for. Scud knows that it's foolish to believe in the good things, at least as him, because he already decided that it's not what he would deserve. Still, he wants to deserve it and for this he hates himself.
When the door behind him unlocks and swings open almost inaudibly his mind immediately jumps to one single thought: Deacon is back. Which also means to put on the mask again and act like the good, obedient pet that he learned to be.
It's what he can do best, the submissive part, take commands. A guiding hand is what he needed in his life, he just didn't know it before. But the past months had shaped him and Anton had made sure to leave his mark on him.
"This collar suits you", Anton had said. "Let's put it to use, get on your knees. That's a good pet..."
A shiver runs through his body and he quickly hides his suddenly shaking hands behind his back, straightening his position a little.
Standing in the middle of the room like this he watches Deacon enter the apartment. As he sees his master's expression, his heart sinks. Still he forces himself to speak up, clearing his throat subtly.
"Did you have a nice night?" Scud asks, suppressing the urge to turn and run when Deacon shrugs his coat off and glares at him in silence. What has he done now?
The fabric drops to the floor where Deacon leaves it be. Scud stares at the crumpled clothes, his thoughts already racing with all the possibilities of how he could have upset his master this time, so he only notices him when he stands just a few feet away. Scud doesn't have to look up to feel the anger vibrating off the man's body. To be honest, he would prefer to never look into those icy cold eyes ever again, not like this.
He is such a damn fool.
"Pet", Deacon says. His voice is stable, but Scud can hear the anger swinging with it. Vampires are terrible liars and not exactly in control of their rather short range of emotions, which Scud likes to forget about when it comes to his new master. "Look at me."
It's a command and he follows.
"Master", he says. Scud suppresses the urge to duck his head. If Deacon chooses to hit him, he would injure him in some way, that's out of question.
"Do you know why you are here?"
There is a hidden meaning, Scud can feel it, but he knows that any answer would offend Deacon. So he stays silent, wondering how many hard hits his neck could take before it finally snaps.
When Deacon understands that he won't answer his question an amused huff escapes his lips. Any other master would have punished him for this open reluctance, but he, even though his form is tensed, hands curled to fists and eyes glistening in fury, stays calm. And this scares Scud even more.
"Do you remember the night when I took you away from your master?"
Scud nods. He wouldn't be able to forget even if Deacon forced him to.
"Anton didn't treat you well and I used this to my advantage. I wanted to get him out of my way."
Why is he telling him this? Scud bites his tongue to prevent himself from screaming "Just get it over with!", because whatever point Deacon is trying to get, it won't have a good ending for Scud. It never does.
"Tonight I realized something... You're ruining me, pet. It seems whatever trouble is on, you would just drive me deeper into it. You can say it's not your wish to stand in my way like this, but in the end you do. People know of you when they shouldn't. Tell me, what am I supposed to do with you? Up to now it seemed as if you knew perfectly well what would be good for me. Do you know it now?"
Seconds ago his mind blossomed with scenarios of how Deacon would punish him and they all included physical cruelty. Vampires can be very imaginative. Scud can trace the lines of Anton's work with a finger over his skin. But he didn't expect this, and it's even worse than being thrashed around like a rag doll. Scud had done nothing on purpose to make his master unhappy. The thought alone seems ridiculous to him. But maybe Deacon is right, maybe he is just that fucked up.
"Do you?"
He is still waiting for an answer, and Scud can't give him one.
xXxXx
When he realizes the human won't answer him, Deacon lets it drop. There is no point in asking the boy anyway. He probably doesn't even know what day it is, where should he take the mind from to manipulate Deacon like this?
But knowing doesn't make it better and his hands still tremble with anger. Images flash before his eyes; Scud on the floor, weeping and trying to cover his body from hard hits and punches. Blood spilling over the clean marble and sinking into the thin seams... It would all be easier if he could just kill him.
"There's still some work to do, maybe even more now. Keep yourself occupied and try not to make further damage."
That was uncalled for and it didn't feel as good as Deacon had hoped. He knows it must have hurt when Scud doesn't even response with a shy "Yes, master". The pet stays silent, standing in the room with his eyes downcast like some pale statue.
Deacon knows it's time to go when the faint hint of an apologize lies on his tongue.
xXxXx
People have often told him that he's a burden, that he's no good. After some time Scud stopped listening to those voices. In the end, they were all the same. He accepted his life as it is and he accepted himself. Couldn't do anything about it, right? But hearing it from Deacon, not even from his master, but from Deacon, tore another hole into that wall around his mind. It's gotten thin, and with each passing day Scud can feel himself be dragged closer to reality.
He didn't ask for a savior or a knight in shining armor who frees him from his misery. And he didn't get one, but he got Deacon Frost. A man so confused and far from knowing the first thing that he doesn't even realize what he's doing to Scud.
Over the months Scud learned how to deal with all kinds of abuse. He learned to shut his mind from all what was happening around him and lived inside of his head, where it was quiet and nothing could reach him.
Scud could take it all. But what he can't take is this. The constant zigzag between gentle and rough Deacon follows like it's the most natural thing to him. The man changes between empathy and animosity on a daily basis, stripping Scud of another protective layer before burning the newly discovered skin.
The fact that Scud waits for another gentle wave more eager each time just makes it all so much worse.
He is a pet, his master shouldn't treat him like an actual person. This is not how it's supposed to be! And it makes him angry. Scud mustn't feel angry, especially not at his master. What master says and does is right and the pet will accept it. It couldn't be more easy.
Suddenly his lungs refuse to take in the air. He bends a little forward, gasping and fighting the urge to whimper. His feet move on their own accord, carrying him over to the balcony's entrance. He needs to breath. It's not like it would matter that Deacon doesn't want him to step outside, nothing really matters anymore.
The glass door swings open and he stumbles out into the chilled night air. It's such a difference between inside his master's apartment and outside under the star sky. No sound reaches the rooms, but now Scud's ears are filled with the noises of big cities. It sounds so unfamiliar to him, and he doesn't get very far. In front of the small pool he sinks to his knees, his whole form loosening until he has to brace himself with one arm on the edge.
Everything is even more messed up than it has ever been, he can't follow the trails anymore. Not that there have been many of them ever.
One of the rubber ducks floats close to him. Scud stares at it and notices how it's beak curls into a small smile. It seems to be completely happy with it's existence. Of course it can be happy with it, there are no occasions to confuse what it's meaning in life is and what it has to do. He reaches out to gently push the duck away again. Maybe it's the first sure sign that he's starting to go crazy, the day he's envy of a rubber duck.
xXxXx
He is in complete darkness. It's not only the all consuming black of the night. When the moon stands high Scud only manages to catch a glimpse of it as he's being led from one room to another. This is the only prove that the world outside still exists.
The nights go by in a blur, weirdly distorted pictures of faces and the distant feeling of another body's presence. Nothing really reaches him, but it gets deep enough to send violent shivers down his spine every now and then when his mind fights it's way back to the surface, before quickly being drowned again. Scud doesn't know what drowning feels like, but it must be similar to this, the slow pressure building up inside of the lungs, the panic which struggles to overtake any clear thought and the missing of air to breath, so everything starts to feel numb until any sound, any sensation, is covered by the cold water surrounding him in a silent embrace.
And then there's the fire, hot pain burning his insides and clutching at his back and bones. Scud knows it's not permanent, but when he brushes with numb fingertips over the burned places the fire starts to lick at the skin once again. He starts to look forward to his cell because then neither water nor fire can reach him. He's alone with himself in his head and then he remembers. The face of his mother with the faint hint of freckles decorating her shoulders, the aseptic smell of the orphanage which used to make him cringe his nose but seems clean and pleasant compared to that of his cell, the first time he kissed a boy, the first time he touched a girl's soft curves. Any part of his life, the good and the bad. It's all that keeps him sane, bound to reality.
But terror's roots grow deep and with each passing night Scud can feel it's poisonous tips infest his mind with new memories and the old fade like a soft fog over the water, blown away by a cold breeze.
Sometimes even Sharon can't reach him. No one of them cries anymore, they've shed their tears and now their bodies are too tired, so they often sit in silence, reaching for the other one's hand by the slightest sound.
"Promise me something", she says one night, dry lips slurring the words. "You will make it, you won't give up. Promise me."
He doesn't promise anything to her, neither does he tell her none of them will make it. She is too far gone anyway.
And then they take her away.
The next time he sees her is on his way to one of Anton's customers. The man always requires the same room. He has almost reached the door, then loud voices catch his attention. As he looks up, Sharon stands at the other end of the corridor. One of the guards is bending her arms behind her back, but Sharon doesn't scream in pain. She fights, kicking with her legs and yelling so loudly it actually gets through the fog inside of Scud's head. There's another man, no, a vampire and he just watches the scene. Suddenly Sharon lunges forward and spits into his face, her legs still trying to kick any part of him.
A strong hand grabs Scud by the upper arm and then he is dragged inside the room.
Scud waits the whole night for Sharon in their cell, but she never comes back. As he stares onto the spot where they spent most time clinging onto each other Scud remembers her last words to him.
This time, he makes that promise.
xXxXx
He never asked for this, for this gift. You don't need eternal life when you're happy with the one you have. Or had. Deacon had been happy. All this time since that faithful night back then Deacon stopped to waste any more thought on what could have been but was never meant to be. Decade after decade he successfully convinced himself that he misses nothing of his human existence. Not the clearance of the air in the morning, or the warmth of sun on his arms in summer, or how his heart beat inside of his chest, always a little faster when he got to hold his younger sister when she was just a newborn.
Deacon had started to believe himself and trusted in the superiority of his race. But this faith has always been shaky and there have been a few times when questions, doubts were forming in the back of his mind.
Now they are replaced by confusing thoughts. No, not even thoughts, more like a light idea, always slipping out of his grip when he just closed his fingers around it. Such a fragile thing.
But he won't blame Scud for it. If he did it would all just become more real. Deacon is aware of this conclusion, but he lives for too long now to let one simple thing like this throw his mind into chaos. He's not a human anymore. And he's most definitely not like Scud.
Still he feels bad for what he's done. Ridiculous, he doesn't feel bad. You feel bad when you pulled an inappropriate joke on someone and see how you saddened that person. Deacon feels guilty, because he has done a lot worse than just pulling some mean tricks on the boy.
Chances are that he's just as cruel of a master as Anton was, and this idea alone sickens him deeply.
He wanted to use Scud to his advantage. But the joke's on him, it seems more like Scud's the one in control. The thought doesn't exactly anger him, but it scares him. Things are getting more complicated with each passing night, every time he takes sight of that damaged creature in his apartment. Deacon can lie as much as he wants to himself, but the truth is that he's been in the same place as the pet. A time when he was confused and scared, and then, one day, all by himself.
A helping hand, that's what he had prayed for back then, someone who would take on of his pity existence.
Maybe it's not just about his own advantage anymore, maybe he really has something like sympathy left for the human. Even though he is... but what does it matter by now? He can't blame him for Dragonetti's narrow-minded thinking, that would be too easy. And he won't give Anton the satisfaction of a madcap step even if that's what he would have done any other time. A lot is different with this pet.
Blankly he stares at the sheets next to his laptop. Nothing of it makes sense and the black ink blurs as he scratches tiny cuts into the white paper. It leaves a faint dirty path with the dried blood under his nails. He frowns as he investigates the small ring under the usually clear white. If Scud hadn't saved him he wouldn't be here anymore, wondering about all those things.
With a faint idea leading him he stands up from his chair and wanders through the apartment, looking for the familiar silent form of the pet. But the living room, where he usually expects him to sit on the couch and investigate the walls like they are some kind of art piece, is empty. Therefore the door to the balcony stands a little open, a cool draft dancing over his skin. For a split second his throat tightens with a sudden jump of panic. Balcony, incredible heights and an instant death is what crosses his mind in that short moment. Then he hurries over to the entrance.
It started to rain, the gray floor is already wet and slippery. Dark clouds cover any star and only now and then the moon manages to fight through the thick black and sends pale dots prance over the buildings' surfaces. Deacon likes the rain, likes the smell of it when it cools the heated concrete in summer or drowns out disturbing thoughts with it's rhythmic drumming against the windows, like a thousand tiny fists asking for an invitation.
When the moon sends another silver line over the balcony he sees him, crouched down on the edge to the pool. Rain drops fall down on him, soaking his shirt and running over his bare arms. But he doesn't even seem to notice, doesn't even bother to move.
The next wave of panic takes hold of his chest and Deacon hurries over, watching not to slip on the wet ground.
"Scud", he calls. No response. "Scud!"
When his hand touches one shaking shoulder, feeling cold and bony against his own skin, that's when Scud notices him. He whirls around, as if ripped out of a state of trance – and yelps. With a sudden move he backs away, the hand he had braced himself on slips over the edge and then he's gone and Deacon hears a loud splash.
With a curse he jumps after him, landing feet first in the icy cold water. It's not exactly deep, only reaching to his waist, but Scud fell head first. When a wildly reeling arm breaks the surface, Deacon grabs it and pulls the rest of the pet from under the water. Scud gasps for air, dark hair clinging to his forehead but not enough to cover the panic in his eyes.
"It's okay, I got you", Deacon tries to calm the fighting boy down. "Scud, stop, I got you!"
He presses the quivering body to his own until the fighting lessens and finally dies out. Scud's breath comes in violent rattles, hot against his ear and then there are hands, nails burying themselves into the fabric of his shirt and part of his flesh. Deacon doesn't complain, just holds the pet in a firm embrace.
"I-I'm s-sorry."
He would have never thought to be so relieved to hear that small, raspy voice again.
"Let's get you out of the water", he mumbles. With a fluid movement he lifts himself out of the pool and over the edge, reaching out for Scud with one hand. The human's skin feels dead cold as Deacon pulls him out. Just like his own.
Together they lumber back into the apartment, leaving dark spots on floor and carpet on their way to the bathroom.
"What were you thinking?" Deacon asks, voice sharper than intended as he kneels in front of Scud who he has sat down on the tube's edge and starts to rather roughly dry his hair with a towel.
"I'm sorry."
"I told you not to go out on the balcony. You disobeyed me, pet."
"...'m sorry."
Deacon sighs. He stops to rub the human's hair only to throw him an unconvinced look.
"How about not doing it in the first place, hm?"
Scud doesn't dare to look him in the eyes, instead stares at the tightly curled fists in his lap. Deacon can see that he's fighting the urge to gnaw on his lips, something Scud always does when he's nervous. Sometimes he downright chews on it and leaves an almost torn layer of skin behind, with the blood pulsing under the damaged area. Deacon never told him not to do it because he liked the look of concentration on Scud's face, like he's fully into the act.
"What am I supposed to do with you?", he mumbles. Carefully he brushes a wet strand out of Scud's eyes. They are slightly reddened, he probably cried. Deacon doesn't have to think of a reason. It's his fault, he hurt Scud, once again. "You're not making it easy for me."
When he catches an escaping rain drop with his thumb, gently smearing it into the pale skin of his cheek, he feels Scud tensing under the touch.
His expression hardens.
"You can do the rest yourself, right?" Deacon babbles as he quickly stands up, letting the towel drop into Scud's lap and grabbing another one for himself. Without a last look he leaves the room, not bothering to close the door behind him.
xXxXx
After drying himself up, for which he takes his time because Scud has the feeling Deacon won't let him go with a simple rub over his cheek, he tiptoes from the bathroom over to the only empty room in his master's apartment. There he stores his clothes. It's not that much, only an accurately folded bundle of some shirts and a pair of jeans, but it's his and has of course nothing to do in his master's drawer.
He grabs a dark blue shirt which feels wonderfully soft between his tips and shrugs it over his head. Even in dry state his hair is messy, but now the tips of the shorter strands curl up and fall into his sight when he bends down. With an annoyed huff Scud tries to clam them behind his ear, but they're still too short for that. Anton demanded to let his hair get cut every two months so it reached just over his eyes and never fell on his shoulders. He said he liked the way it swung when he fucked him from behind.
Scud ignores the knot in his stomach and quickly changes into some dry jeans. On some days it's especially hard to hold off those thoughts and on some days he can't do it at all.
Deacon isn't in his room, how Scud had hoped, or at least how he thinks he had hoped. His master stands in the kitchen, a cup in one hand and with the other searching through the drawers. When he notices Scud who stopped a few feet away, he puts the cup aside and tilts his head a little.
"I wanted to make you a tea", he begins, "but then I noticed that I have neither tea bags nor a water boiler."
Scud doesn't laugh about this, he's a little too baffled by the sight of his master. Deacon looks gravely disappointed, but quickly hides it with a stern frown.
"Humans get sick when they're undercooled."
"I know", Scud mumbles as he sees the slightly helpless look in Deacon's eyes. "I fixed the microwave."
"What?"
"I... uhm, fixed the microwave. You could, or I could, make hot water, maybe. That's close to tea, right?"
Deacon watches him for a moment, then he takes the empty cup and fills it with water. "It's at least something. I don't like the thought of you spreading your germs around here."
"Of course not", Scud says slowly.
He stays frozen on his spot while Deacon puts the cup into the microwave and pushes some buttons, all the while having a suspicious frown on. It's such a ridiculous situation that the happy beep startles him.
"Sit down."
His legs begin to move when Deacon points to the wooden table nearby. Carefully he pulls one chair back and glides down on it, hooking a feet around one of the legs. The edges are round and feel smooth like silk against his still slightly cool skin.
"Shouldn't you put on socks, or something?" Deacon asks darkly as he puts the cup with hot water in front of Scud.
"I prefer it like this", he says, just realizing when the words are already out that Deacon probably didn't ask for his opinion. The hot shiver flowing down his spine is almost enough to warm his whole body. But he doesn't dare to say any more and just lets it hang in the air, leaving it to Deacon to understand it as an effrontery or not.
"Just don't get sick."
Scud silently sighs in relief and reaches for the cup. Not only the water is hot, but the whole ceramic and he carefully pulls it near with two fingers around the handle. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees that Deacon is watching him. He takes a sip, burning his tongue and glances up to the other man.
"It's good", he says almost inaudibly.
Deacon nods, and sits down on the chair opposite of Scud's. His heart sinks at the sight, but he doesn't let it show, instead keeps himself occupied by taking tiny sips from his cup. The sudden wish of his master to be around him makes him nervous, incredibly downright nerve-wrecking nervous. The fact that Deacon stays silent and stares at a spot on the table is not exactly calming.
His hair is almost dry again, Scud notices. And he doesn't wear one of his finer shirts. It's a simple T-shirt, almost looking a little worn with a small tear right under the collar. It horrifies Scud in a way he can't describe.
"Thank you", he mumbles.
"What were you thinking?"
The question comes so sudden, the fingers holding the cup loosen a little and some droplets of water fall to the table's surface.
"I-I'm sorry, master?"
"When you went out there, you purposely disobeyed me. Why? Aren't you scared of me? Did you want to prove anything?" Deacon still doesn't look at him, but his words are harsh and cold. Scud unconsciously leans a little back on his chair.
He doesn't know what to answer, his mind is completely blank. He just stares at the man in front of him, holding the still hot cup and ignores the increasing burn on his skin.
"Answer me", Deacon growls and now he looks up, directly into Scud's eyes.
"I don't know", Scud manages to whisper. He is scared of Deacon, that's out of question, because his voice still shakes a little when he looks into those cold light eyes. "I don't know, I just -"
His gaze glides down before he can think further of words to explain his miserable situation. It doesn't matter anyway, if Deacon feels the need to punish him for what he did then he will. No stammered sentence could change that. The more he is surprised to hear him speak, a sudden softness in the voice.
"Maybe I don't want you to be scared of me. And maybe I was... imagining you in a position which would not please me that much."
"Oh. Uhm, thank you?"
Deacon snorts and turns a little on his chair, scraping at an invisible spot on the table.
"It's nothing to thank me for. It shouldn't have come to that in the first place. Well, shit, but it's not like this wouldn't be a fucked up situation anyway."
"I'm not-", he starts, gripping the cup a little tighter despite his already burned skin, holding on to it like some kind of anchor, "I'm not doing this on purpose. You asked, what you should do with me. I don't know, never had to think about that, people always found some kind of use for me. But... I'm sorry, and I don't mean to be a burden. That's just what happens, always."
"And how much do you think does your apologize mean to me?" Deacon asks, speaking slowly and perfectly calm. He doesn't even look angry, just really tired.
Sighing, he rubs over his face, palming his eyes for a moment. As his shirt slips a little Scud sheepishly takes a closer look for the first time. Deacon is pale, just like all other vampires, only that his skin looks cleaner, finer. He's not exactly built like a brick shit house, his figure's similar to that of a swimmer, lean muscles that keep close to the bone, defining under a cold layer of skin with every move. No matter what he does, whether he walks through the apartment or tosses his belongings around in a fit, every single movement looks fluid, controlled – although Scud knows that Deacon is not really in control of himself, not always at least.
If he was a human, Scud would describe him as attractive, someone who would pull a lot of gazes after him when walking down the street. But he's not human, there isn't a steady heart beat sending warm blood running through veins and heating up the body, making it alive and waking in Scud the urge to touch. He would feel just like all those other suckheads, cold and dead under his fingertips.
Suddenly the temperature in the room drops and with a shiver Scud takes another sip of the still warm water. Quivering, he feels it hotly run down his gullet. Despite the rather tensed atmosphere between them, he tries to enjoy the gesture.
"This turned out very different from what I imagined."
Deacon sounds tired, the usual annoyance replaced by honest frustration. Scud feels bad for him.
"What did you imagine, master?"
"Not this", Deacon mumbles and glances at Scud through his spread fingers. Without any gel his hair looks really soft, the longer strands falling over his eyes before they gently swing and lay on his cheek as soon as he moves. Since some time Scud tries to figure out what color it has, but it changes between a light hazel and a deep brown, almost like his, in the shorter parts. And on some days it has a blonde shimmer, which Scud likes most because it softens the man's often worn hard expression.
"I thought a pet is supposed to make his master feel better, not worse. What do you think, hm?"
The cup is of a deep blue. Scud rubs with a thumb over the shimmering surface. He chooses the next words very carefully.
"I think... I could make you feel very good, if you let me."
When he glances up, bottom lip gently caught between his teeth, Deacon watches him. For a second his gaze is empty, hanging on Scud's lips. Then he snaps back. He sighs, again, something he's doing a lot lately, as Scud noticed.
"That again? I thought I made it clear, I have no interest in you."
Scud huffs, a joyless smile crooking his lips a little. "That didn't keep anyone off so far. It wasn't always me people imagined, you know. I've been called a lot of names, but never my own. Just tell me, I can be very quiet."
If his words moved anything in Deacon, then he doesn't let it show. They just stare at each other from their sides of the table, only the steam of the water interrupting the sight. Scud holds in his breath, doesn't dare to move because it could show how scared he really is. His fingers clutch the cup and his grip is to tight that his knuckles turn white. Still he doesn't look away, this time he will stand the cold look of his master.
"You're so fucked up", Deacon growls.
The breath he had held comes out sharper than intended, and the sudden wave of anger flooding his chest surprises himself, but his mouth is already moving.
"Well, master, that's brand new information. But, and I'm just wondering, why would you get yourself a pet in the first place? Only to complain about how it destroys your life or tell it what a mess it is? I'm not that far gone, I know exactly just how fucked up I am."
As soon as the words are out the anger washes away as quickly as it came and Scud is left with a vast panic cutting off any air, his heart thundering inside of his chest. Deacon can hear it, he knows he can, because the look on his face, which turned from surprise to a dark shadow bringing an alarming glister to the eyes, speaks barely suppressed fury.
Without having to see it, Scud knows that a pair of fangs is gliding out of cold flesh, only to be rammed through his warm, living own.
He feels an apologize tug at his tongue, but he swallows it down and ignores his fear.
"That's just how it is", he croaks courageously.
xXxXx
For a moment Deacon forgets his previous plan of not hurting Scud again. His fingers twitch with the urge to lunge forward and remind the human of his place. But with each passing second the anger fades and instead he feels curiosity. This has never happened before, an open condemnation coming from the pet, showing what really lies underneath the facile submissive behavior. Hate and frustration. A burnt child waiting for his chance to strike back.
And Deacon thought he had a lot of self-control.
The little outrage shows more than Scud probably intended. Deacon can see how the human must have been before he was forced to bow against his will. It makes a part of him cautious, but at the same time weirdly excited.
He needs to see that side again.
"You wonder why you're here?" he begins. "You're the very bottom of the food chain, worthless trash that's whole purpose is to serve a superior race. You're less than nothing, scraping through the dirt and secretly craving the feeling of being fucked over, again and again. Quite literally, as it seems. Anton must have seen something in you, pet, a little slut just waiting to be ridden. Tell me, how much did it really turn you on when he marked you and let you do all those dirty things, letting him degrade you and begrime every part of your body and mind, until you smelled just like that filthy vampire."
To Scud's credit, he never broke eye contact while Deacon spoke. But humans are easy to confuse and with every word the invisible wall around him breaks more. Just a little, but that's okay, Deacon hates when things are rushed.
"When I found you, down in that dark, stinking hole your master called a basement, you looked perfect. The very picture of a pet's final ride. Was it fun? Did you urge him on when he fucked you and took that last tiny bit of dignity you possessed? Did he screw you so well you came all over that broken little body of yours?"
"Shut up", Scud whispers. His throat contracts, swallowing down the tears which threaten to be shed.
"No", Deacon smiles and lightly shakes his head. "First you must tell me how good it felt, how much you enjoyed being torn apart and claimed until you could forget every dark moment in your pitiful life. Until it seemed like you paid your debts and some God would forgive you for what you've done. Wasn't it like that? First the fun and then the redemption? Wasn't it? Tell me!"
"Shut up!"
When Scud jumps up, he reacts immediately, rounding the table within the blink of an eye and building himself up in front of the hysterical human.
"Sit down", he growls, ignoring the violent shaking which took hold of the boy's form. "I said: sit, pet."
Deacon watches as Scud's knees give in and he drops back onto the chair.
"That's a good boy", he mumbles in a mockingly tender voice, slowly stepping back and taking in the sight of his work.
No sound comes from the human, but his fingers clutch at the denim covering his legs, shoulders rising and falling in a constant stutter and the dark spots deepening the blue of his cotton shirt, created by silent tears.
Deacon sighs and leans against the counter. "Breath, Scud."
As if waiting for the command he snaps for air, before hunching down even more with a hollow whimper in the back of his throat. It's not exactly what Deacon wanted, but they're not done yet.
"Well, then. If all my assumptions are wrong, why don't you tell me how it really went? Providing there's a part of you left who actually knows what the truth is. Is anything of that really you? Or is it all just acting? Tell me what you want, pet."
He waits, gives Scud time to collect himself and doesn't make a face when he snuffles wholeheartedly, wiping his eyes with one sleeve. For a moment he stares at a spot next to Deacon.
"I want to survive", he croaks. "That's all I know."
"Now, isn't that something?" Deacon asks. He keeps his voice low and comforting, like he does when seducing a prey.
Scud glances up at him. His lashes cling together and the tip of his nose is already reddened. It makes him look so much more fragile.
"And what do you live for? Do you think you can go on like this?"
"I don't think about whether I can go on or not. Because if I knew the answer, I wouldn't be here anymore."
The next breath he takes comes in a rattle.
"And I live for a promise."
Deacon tries to hide it, but the corners of his lips still pull a little downward. "You live for someone else. Oh, that's always good", he says, not able to hide the sarcasm dripping off his voice.
Scud throws him a dark glare. "What do you care about it? I thought I was just... the bottom of the food chain."
"That's the thing, I shouldn't care. The way you shouldn't care about me taking advantage of you. Why do you do that? Am I that fucking irresistible or do you just don't know what to do with yourself?"
"...guess I don't know."
Somehow he expected that answer, but that doesn't sooth the sudden hate for the pet swimming thickly through his veins.
"You don't know a lot of things", he snaps.
"And you do?"
There it is again, just what Deacon had hoped for.
"What exactly is going through your head?"
He can hear his heart beat, a little fastened and jumping at the last question. The faint smell of adrenaline hangs in the air and it takes all of Deacon's composure not to let it flood his mind too strongly. With his arms crossed over the chest he can at least hide the slight excited tremble of his muscles.
"What would you like to hear?"
"I prefer the truth."
"Then", Scud mumbles, "The past months have been... rough, and I will never be able to have a dream not ending with me being chained up in some dark chamber or feel like giving up because, really, what is this all for? And I will always remember every single time someone took advantage of me. But I will not let it define me. I will be more than just the result of what people did to me. That's what they can't take away, that's what they will never have."
xXxXx
There is no reaction in his face, but Scud didn't expect it anyway. Instead he tries to ignore the clench of his stomach as he reveals more and more to Deacon, tells him about his thoughts which have been kept quiet until now, like they're old friends. It feels wrong, but there's not much he could do about it.
"Why don't you want me to be scared of you? Isn't that a part of your superior race?"
"Usually, maybe."
With a finger he draws little circles onto the wooden table, leaving rings of waters as he drives through what slopped out of the cup when he jumped up. They quickly form to drops, the circles breaking and reforming on their own.
"Why do you hate humans?"
Scud didn't know what he waited for, but when Deacon huffs, frustratedly, he lifts his head. There's this look of being lost in his master's eyes again.
"Humans are...", Deacon starts, slightly rocking back and forth, elbows leaning on the counter behind him, "they are weak. They are terribly pitiful creatures, so unsure of their existence. They don't appreciate life and instead like to throw it away, just ignore all those chances that are given to them. Fucking ungrateful little pricks. I can't stand looking at them and know, one day they'll blow their head off, take an overdose heroin or jump off a building because they think they can't deal with it. You give up so easily, it's sickening me."
"But you were a humans once too", Scud says. "Doesn't that mean you gave up on life when you let yourself get turned? Doesn't that make you just as wea-"
The rest of the sentence gets cut off when his head hits the table's surface. Stars explode in front of his eyes and he feels the force of the impact ring through his skull. For a moment he blinks through the blur in his eyes, fingers helplessly scraping at the smooth surface.
"Don't you fucking say that again!"
Deacon's voice is so close to his ear that his heart skips a beat in surprise. It's just when the pain in his skull dampens that he feels the hand shoving through his hair, grabbing a fistful and pressing his face harder against the cool wood.
He immediately stops moving and tries to focus on a steady breathing, but the constant press against his skull lets images flash before his eyes. Images of his head cracked open, lying in a pool of his own blood.
"I'm sorry", he whimpers, as loud as he can with half of his face muffled by the table. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, master, let me go."
But Deacon doesn't let go. Scud feels a cold shiver run down his spine when the soft tip of a nose nuzzles the hair in his neck, alarmingly close to his carotid. He hears him growl, only faintly but loud enough to make his whole body tense. Scud doesn't dare to close his eyes. He stares at the water droplets forming weird bodies, seemingly untouched by the scene displaying in front of them.
"Please", he whispers hoarsely, fear holding his throat in a grip. "Deacon..."
The hand on his head disappears, but he doesn't try to move yet. Too great the fear of being punished again.
"I'm sorry, that-", Scud hears him babble. His stomach does a little flip flop at the insecurity in his master's voice. Slowly, Scud lifts his head, wincing at the feeling of a forming bump right over his temple.
Deacon leans against the counter again, just not looking as relaxed as before. His hands clutch at the edges like his life depends on it, or his sanity, which is more likely regarding the look of utter confusion in his eyes.
"It's okay", Scud hurries to reassure him. "Didn't even hurt."
He knows that look, sometimes it meant things were just about to get worse. But Deacon doesn't assault him again, he just stands there, shaking his head a little as in disbelief.
With a groan he reaches up, drawing a hand through his hair so the shorter part is now standing off in all directions. It makes him look weirdly unstable, adding just that certain touch of craziness Scud never wanted to encounter.
"No, no, that shouldn't have happened", Deacon babbles, words muttered by the hands covering his face. "It's just that... oh fuck, you're a human and you smell... you smell, and warm..."
Now Scud is sure he's about to lose it. He looks him over, noticing the slight tremble in the other man's limbs, takes in the sight of insecurity forming in every little move, and then his gaze hangs on a denim covered crotch.
"Oh", he mumbles.
Deacon doesn't respond and just keeps on barely rocking back and forth like a traumatized child, his hands still muffling the small incoherent babble.
Scud almost pities him. He should have known that his presence wouldn't leave his new master unaffected, especially since Deacon isn't used to have a human around permanently. Suddenly the fierce vampire looses all of his violent charisma, leaving only the image of an inexperienced teen scared and somewhat ashamed of his first boner. Though the image is all but new to Scud. He had seen all kind of lengths and forms, sooner or later it's normal to numb to the sight. Shame has been something dangerous back then, because an inhibited pet is of no use.
Scud has been of a very good use.
xXxXx
This can't be real, it must be some kind of bad joke someone decided to pull on him. There he stands, known for his unforgiving hatred towards human, while having a growing erection at the same time. Deacon knows it's impossible to control a body's certain reactions... but this is degrading.
Just a moment ago he refused to take any offer Scud would give him, and now the idea gets drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of a warm body close by, hot blood rushing through fragile veins and tearing at his instincts to lunge and bite and take.
Deacon jumps when he feels something crawl over his thigh. The pet, kneeling in front of him while a hand rubs up and down the front of his leg in an almost soothing gesture. He doesn't say a word, just smiles up at him with the most undisturbed expression Deacon has ever seen on him.
They stare at each other for a moment, completely silent. The drag of denim over his skin makes an obscenely loud noise in the silent apartment.
Deacon feels, knows, he should say something now. But his tongue is only a lazy piece of meat, refusing to form the little intelligent thoughts that cross his mind before fading off into nothingness again.
Before he can decide on how long to keep this uncomfortable silence up, Scud leans forward, nuzzling the spot where his stomach meets the waistband. Then he dips his head to mouth Deacon's hardening cock through the rough fabric.
Rather reflexively, one hand shoots down to grab the pet's hair and yank his head back. Scud whines, but doesn't lose the relaxed expression.
"What are you doing?" Deacon asks stupidly.
Scud looks up at him and the dullness in his eyes is gone, replaced by an approaching storm lighting the blue.
"About to give you the best fucking blowjob you ever had", he says, his voice suddenly smooth. It sends an involuntary shiver run down Deacon's spine like fire.
He doesn't answer, head starting to spin with the lunacy of the situation. Something inside of him yells to bloody do something, say no, tell Scud that he doesn't have to do this because it's fucking wrong.
His mouth opens, lips barely forming silent words.
"I'm...", he stutters. His grip in Scud's hair tightens. "I'm not like that."
"Yeah, you're definitely not", Scud says, his tone taking a soothing note. "But... I don't want to be a burden and it's not fair, not when you care for me. I could give you so much. Please, let me."
Gently, Scud releases Deacon's hand from his hair, massaging the wrist before placing a light kiss right onto the palm. His lips feel surprisingly soft, Deacon had always imagined them to be rougher.
"Please", Scud whispers and it's barely more than a warm exhale against his skin.
The voice inside of his head fell quiet. Everything is silent except the heart beat violently thundering in his ears. It's not faster than usual, but to Deacon it seems as alive as it always should have been.
He feels himself nod and Scud's eyes light up for a second. A last smile against his palm, then he lets go of his hand and it drops uselessly to the side. Deacon never loses sight of those eyes, not even when shy hands leave a warm path on his thighs, or when Scud opens his jeans with experienced fingers, slowly dragging the zipper down and heart fastening at the familiar sound.
He almost flinches, barely suppressing his instinct to run, when he's embraced by warmth.
Scud licks his lips, the wet trail shimmering on the surface and then he leans forward, taking in half of the length at once. Deacon bites his tongue to keep the words from breaking free. He readjusts his stance, one hand bracing himself against the counter's edge. The other hand reached forward to lightly grasp the strands in the pet's neck. They curl against his fingers, slipping through his grip as Scud moves.
He's not playing with Deacon, not trying to tease him. His movements are studied, and with the next he watches his cock disappear to the base in Scud's hot mouth.
His hips begin to move, a constant stutter meeting the welcoming warmth. When a wet tongue curls around the hard flesh, Deacon takes a sharp inhale and the fingers entangled in the pet's hair tighten the grip on their own. Scud moans at the harsh pull. He straightens his position to take him all the way in and with a last violent quiver Deacon comes down his throat.
Scud swallows to the last drop. He carefully pulls back to release Deacon when he becomes too sensitive for the touch.
xXxXx
Every now and then he had glanced up, taken in the face of his master as he worked him the way he had learned. He had listened to all the small noises coming from Deacon, and when he came Scud had felt joy spread in his chest. Not because he's happy to have blown him or given him one hell of an orgasm, but because, this time, it had been Scud's will.
He looks at the curled fists in his lap when Deacon fixes himself up. His lips feel a little swollen, hot blood rushing under the thin skin. The mouth stays shut, more out of habit than anything else and he only lifts his head when the hand in his hair is back.
Deacon's expression is unreadable. Only the glister in his eyes an indicator for his previous state. Scud leans into the touch. It feels nice, but he would never tell.
"Did your other master let you come?" Deacon asks, voice roughened. The question comes sudden, but Scud had heard weirder things post-orgasm. He shakes his head, adding a small "Only if he wanted to".
Deacon nods, seemingly lost in thoughts. "You shouldn't sleep on the couch, you're too much of an easy target if someone breaks in. I will call Petty, she will find a sleeping accommodation for your room."
"My room?" Scud asks, honestly surprised.
"Where you store your clothes", Deacon explains. His fingers are still playing with the strands in his neck, and Scud almost sighs when he rubs over a tense spot. "It's better than sleeping on the couch."
"Thank you", Scud mumbles and he means it.