Work Text:
Oliver quickened his pace under the hum of the florescent lights. Passing shops full of crap no one really wanted but at this dismal season everyone was called to consume. Food, gifts, energy… just consume. He chuckled to himself how disgusted Epicurus would be. These people don’t care about the simple life or the good life. They cared about what they could shove in their bodies and houses. The wonton greed disgusted him, so much more now, than it did when he was alive.
He approached the bottom of a flight of stairs and caught sight of his hands, once tanned and strong from various sports and writing, now ghostly white and elongated almost talons. The years like this had made him so much more like his sire, Elio.
Elio Perlman, that elegant, charming and talented boy, who had entrapped his heart and mind during that Italian Summer all those year ago. The spell he cast over him was almost otherworldly. He was so clever, lyrical and dexterous. ‘What didn’t he know about everything?’ So accomplished for a boy of only 17; more like 1700 or so it would turnout.
The gracious hosts, Professor Perlman and his delightful academic wife in their majestic if not a little rundown Villa near B, a constructed fictional world. The reality of the situation was a house full of army ants enraptured with their Queen, or rather King, living only to protect the nest. Year in, year out, they made their generous offer of a summer in Italy, to lure the best and brightest into their trap.
Before landing in Italy Oliver’s life was on track. He would complete his Doctorate in June and be fast tracked to be full tenure Professor by the end of the next year. His ‘on again off again’ girlfriend was pushing for him to close the deal and he and both their families were happy with the match.
The thought of or any interest in any divergence from the norm had not even entered his mind. Homosexuality was only in classical references and slightly irrelevant tales in dusty tomes, that he paid little or no mind to when he read them. It just didn’t enter his thoughts or dreams until that summer. Now he was cursed by it, marked forever to walk the world, from one feeding to the next.
He laughed to himself about how he had foolishly concerned himself with being the one to take Elio’s innocence and virginity. When his own very soul should have been his prime concern, but no, Elio and his wellbeing came first. If he knew then what he knew now he should have run for his life, because that was what was actually at stake. Like a moth to a flame he reeled him in, like the dozens before and after him. Once Oliver was engulfed in his peridot eyes, the trap sprung, it was all too late.
Maynard, a predecessor, had not fared so well. His working holiday came to an abrupt end after he fumbled his advances. His ink stained hands didn’t even get close to the prized lustrous ivory skin. Pavel didn’t fare much better after his opinions were deemed too anti-Semitic. Elio, the greatest Vampire of his age and possibly the most magnificent Nosferatu left, didn’t just choose anyone to be his playthings. Oliver should feel proud that he made the grade, but he wasn’t and couldn’t be.
Elio was driving his thoughts now. His body, veins and mind ached for communion. He needed to feed. As he came around a corner, he entered a narrow hall of tacky shops sparsely populated with the occasional shopper and bored shop assistants. Realizing that he wasn’t totally alone, his senses tingled, exploring the space with not just his eyes. He could smell, feel and taste the inhabitants of the hallway and the adjoining spaces.
A couple of columns ahead shuffled a homeless man. His petrifying body was hideous and the release from this his mortal coil could be considered a favour. No one would notice his absence. The man shuffled from the light of a shop window into the shade of a column and then into the light again. Light, dark, light, dark. The man momentarily dazzled in the light of each window, like a bug in the light of a bulb. Oliver timed his interception.
A move so intimate he reveled in the dance, or rather this man’s final dance. Light, dark, light and as he shuffled into the shadow of the column, Oliver clasped the man firmly as he released the life from his body. His warmth flowed into Oliver. In real time, it took only a few seconds to make the exchange, and went unnoticed by anyone likely to witness them from the shop windows. The actual time could be measured by the winding down of the man’s metronomic heart beats.
Oliver thought back to one of the pieces that Elio would play on his piano. He would wind the metronome with a little silver key. The beat would be impossibly fast, his pale fingers would fly over the keys like Valkyries. Striking down so many, so frequently that it was hard to believe it was only one person playing the instrument. Years of practice and the ability to think and function outside of mortal time made his playing incredibly beautiful but also slightly otherworldly. Now was not the time to relax or drift off into his dreams. Now he was at his most vulnerable, he was high off the warm life-giving blood. He needed to make his escape unseen.
Oliver discarded the shell of the rapidly cooling corpse once his use of it was complete. He crumpled like a pile of litter by the column; no one would look twice at the pile of old drunk. Oliver regained his pace. He was delirious as his heart started pumping again. He wanted to dance and he wanted to fuck the first person he found. He knew he had to get out of there.
Taking two treads at a time, he glided up a flight of stone steps and was assaulted by the blinking lights and the throngs of Christmas shoppers. He was almost human again. He felt a kinship with these strangers. He knew what he had to do, blend in and disappear. He pulled his coat tighter around him and barged into the middle of the crowded street.
Smiling peacefully from face to face, but they didn’t smile back. In a small girl’s eyes he saw reflected back at the reason for their fear and disgust as they looked at him. The reason for the horror was reinforced as a large crimson droplet struck his boot. His nose was releasing a river of warm sticky blood across his face. For the first time in years he felt the repulsion that was reflected in the eyes around him. He carelessly wiped the line of blood off his face. He was truly a monster just as Elio had made him. But what could he do about it?