Chapter Text
It’s better this way, he thinks. More incentive to be alone, to be away from others. Life like this isn’t glamorous, nor is it any good for his conscience, but even that seems to be slipping away these days. Easier that way, to drown out the gurgles and other carnal noises that he seems to rip from some poor stranger when the time arises.
Doesn’t mean that his thoughts aren’t haunted by those noises when he’s left all alone to his devices. He tries to block them out as best as he can, but they slip through, like water pouring from his palms in between his fingers. He’d rather be numb than feel the full brunt of it, and the high of his meals is the perfect buffer between him and his mind.
A vicious cycle, feeding each other, but also necessary to dull the reality of it all.
At least he gets peace and quiet these days. No one presumes him to be alive, at least none of his family. One night, he disappeared beneath the light of the moon and never came back. Wandered off foolishly into the woods. Last mistake he ever made, but if he was being honest, he was so desperate to get away from said family that the idea of danger didn’t phase him.
Animals he could handle. He seemed to share an understanding with the creatures that transcended words or motions. But what he encountered that night was something he’d never dreamed could be real, never dreamed would be the thing to pluck the humanity out of his soul and leave him as something entirely new.
Monstrous, really. That’s the only way he knows how to describe himself, and it’s not from a place of spite, but genuine classification. He was a monster. Not animal or human, or anything that could be grouped together with either of those two things.
Humans weren’t a species he could call his own anymore. They were prey . A source of food and sustenance. Their lives only served one purpose to him now, and it was a grim truth that he slowly came to accept. Perhaps it made him selfish, giving into this new nature of his, but it was easier to go on if he wasn’t fighting his own instincts every step of the way.
Easier to give in, to relish the taste of them and find pleasure in it. There were so many of them, and he thought, perhaps a bit maliciously, that sometimes life wasn’t fair. It certainly wasn’t fair to him. There was no one to give a damn as he clung onto life desperately, bleeding out on the forest floor from a bite that damn near severed his artery.
There was no one to give a damn when he awoke suddenly one night, finding the wound to be healed and a terrible thirst to be scratching his throat raw. No one to care about the fact that something wasn’t right, and he should most certainly be dead.
He wonders if his parents even tried to look for him. He was such a ghost in their lives that he didn’t blame them if they didn’t. In fact, he prefers it this way. His feelings for them were far from amiable. In fact, one could say that he teetered the line of hate with them.
Hate for their money, their lavish lifestyle, their insistence that he be this or that and if he didn’t, they would never accept him as their child. Lectures that once left him in tears, but towards the end only left him numb and full of silent anger.
No, he decides. It’s definitely better this way.
He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, scarf wrapped loosely around his neck as he wanders the neon landscape. Buildings are lit with promise of life, whether it be office workers clocking in some extreme overtime, or little bars and clubs vibrating with the sound of chatter and music. It’s late fall, and the partying months are winding to a close, but it’s obvious that the city still has plenty of life left to give.
He stops at a corner of a street, waiting for the crosswalk to light up so he can pass through, but his attention is earned by the neon glow of blue light bleeding from a blacked out building. He turns his dark eyes to an open door, where a bouncer stands, chatting with a few party goers who’d stepped out to smoke their cigarettes. Dance music drones on, muffled by the walls, but nonetheless loud enough to be heard from where he was standing.
He turns his eyes back towards the crosswalk, huffing moodily beneath his breath that he shouldn’t go inside, shouldn’t let himself hunt just yet because he knows he can hold out for longer. But it’s like a buffet calling him to dinner, and he quickly finds his will eroding. The temptation is just too much, and once the thought enters his mind, he’s unable to banish it.
His feet carry him to the other side of the street, and the bouncer gives him a long, scrutinizing look before patting him down loosely. Nothing to note, no weapons or contraband to be seen. The bouncer jerks his thumb towards the open door, and in he goes.
The world turns dark and colorful. Only the glow of light up jewelry, flashing spotlights, and black out lamps guides the people inside, but he can see just fine in the shade of the building. He was built for hunting at night. The darkness was his domain now.
His nose wrinkles for a moment, so many different scents assaulting him as he slowly shuffles into the crowd. He’s surrounded by bodies, all writhing together to the sound of the music, brushing against him yet being completely oblivious to the fact that he was even there. He could have been the wind for all these people cared. The music was too hypnotizing to them.
It gives him a heady rush, all the different smells coalescing into something delicious. Jake feels his mouth begin to water, and he clears his throat, trying to rid it of the sudden itch it has. There’s so much to choose from, so many different flavors of human that it makes his head spin. He’s still not quite used to it, and the sensory overload leaves him reeling in the sea of bodies.
He tries to focus on them one at a time, parse through the smells until he finds something he definitely wants. He sniffs lightly, eyes closing and music becoming a muffled hum in his ears. Too mild, too strong, too foreign, too rancid. He’s typically not a picky eater, but tonight, he has many options laid out before him. He can afford to be a little choosey now.
He wanders through the crowd like an ominous shadow passing between the dancers’ bodies. No one pays attention to him as he ghosts around the club, chasing a meal that’ll leave him nice and satisfied. No one is aware of the danger that lurks nearby, not a single soul has any idea of the violence his teeth can rend. It’s almost sad, he thinks. Sad to think that someone won’t be making it home tonight, and their blood will be on his hands. Or rather, his lips.
He buries the thought deep inside of him, and refuses to touch it again.
Something wafts close to him, and the scent is sweet, intoxicating. He can feel saliva pooling on his tongue, his eyes cracking open to a half-lidded stare. It’s such a smooth smell, inviting and warm, with the barest hint of spice to it. His feet begin carrying him towards the source, working of their own accord as he walks with tunnel vision towards his prey.
The crowd thins and allows him out into an opening, where a neon lit bar resides. Sitting at the counter is a rather nervous looking man, his hand elevated to his lips, his teeth biting nervously at his nails. His eyes show obvious panic, and his posture is withdrawn, guarded. Short, ruffled hair frames a pale face, a set of thick black-rimmed glasses sitting upon his nose. He looks to be in work attire, though it’s obviously been undone a bit to relax in the late evening hours. An undone tie is wrapped around his neck and a dress shirt hangs loosely over the waist of his trousers.
It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to be here. His light grey eyes flit about wildly, before shifting back down to his lap. Submissive, nonthreatening. Jake can smell the vulnerability on him. An easy target, indeed.
Those eyes flit back up suddenly, landing dead on Jake, who stops cold in his tracks, returning an unreadable look towards the stranger. The hand lowers from his face, and the man offers him a shaky, unsure smile, giving a little wave before swallowing thickly and lowering his gaze again. Jake hesitates for a moment, weighing his options.
He decides posturing is the best line of action, and promptly lets his feet carry him to the empty seat next to the timid stranger. He seats himself gracefully, slowly, trying to mask the unnerving aura he gave off. The last thing he needed was his prey getting away from him.
“You look like you hate this place,” he murmurs quietly, resting his cheek in his hand. His dark eyes focus on the man, flitting down and then back up in a motion of observance.
“I guess you could say that,” the stranger’s voice has a barely there tremble to it, a sure fire sign of nerves flaring on end.
“I don’t like it either,” Jake answers simply, huffing out a breath of air that sends tufts of his fluffy hair swaying.
“Oh… why are you here then?”
“I wandered in by accident.”
There comes light laughter, and Jake is surprised to see the man’s lips tug up into a faint smile. “I wish I could say the same. I was dragged here by a coworker. They basically left me to fend for myself.”
“Sad.” It’s all Jake says, before he’s shifting in his seat to match the stranger’s position. His hands rest on his thighs, and his face is schooled into a bored expression.
“A-Ah,” There comes a nervous noise of recognition. “Umm… not to sound rude or anything, but can I help you?”
“I don’t know,” Jake sighs, feigning exasperation. “I figured I could help you instead.”
“Oh, huh?”
He jerks his head towards the exit of the club, hidden by a writhing mass of bodies. “Go outside with me?”
“Um,” The stranger hesitates, his hand coming to rub at the back of his neck nervously. “That’s, uh, a nice offer. But, um, I don’t even know your…” He pauses for a moment, motioning wildly at Jake. “...your name?”
“Jake.”
“Jake?”
There comes a silent nod.
“Okay. Jake. Um. My name is Dwight.”
“Dwight.” He remains curt with his words. Once more, he motions to the exit of the club, this time with his thumb. “Outside?”
The man - Dwight - laughs nervously, all the while shaking his head. “You don’t talk much do you?”
Jake shrugs nonchalantly. “I say what’s important.”
Dwight’s lips purse for a moment, and it’s clear that he’s considering his options. He looks around himself, seemingly searching for something or someone, before turning back to Jake and sighing, almost in defeat. “Sure. Let’s blow this joint.”
An amused noise tears its way out of Jake’s throat, something akin to a snort. He didn’t expect that phrase out of Dwight, considering his mousy nature, but it’s a pleasant surprise nonetheless.
The two of them stand, and Jake is quick to find Dwight’s wrist, which causes the other to gasp softly in surprise. “O-Oh, hey… buy me dinner first?”
He turns his head a fraction, levelling Dwight with the barest of smirks, before turning forward and patiently leading him out of the nightclub. His soon to be prey’s face is lit up with a light blush, and the blood pooling in the other’s cheeks has Jake muffling a needy curse beneath his breath.
He hadn’t forgotten how mouthwatering Dwight smelled. With him so close, it’s harder to ignore the thirst that leaves Jake licking eagerly at his lips, trying to quench the dryness there.
The two of them make their way around the block, and the streets are still damp with an earlier rain, reflecting the stoplights and all the colors of a city at night. The weather is mild, dew pooling wetly on their skin and hair, but not so humid that it’s uncomfortable. The crisp fall air is refreshing, invigorating. Jake feels himself start to thrum with adrenaline, his fingers slipping from Dwight’s wrist to his own fingers, intertwining them in a deadlock.
To his surprise, he feels Dwight squeeze back.
Wordlessly, he ushers his victim into a nearby alley, walking quickly down the length of it before turning into a private alcove. Immediately, Jake is turning, and his fingers slip from Dwight’s, his palms coming to press against the other’s chest, sending him stumbling back into the brick wall. Dwight chokes out a gasp, the air having been knocked out of him from the impact, but he gets no time to recover, for Jake is on him in an instant.
Fingers dig into the meat of Dwight’s arms, drawing a pained hiss from him. His hands instinctively rise, press flat against Jake’s chest, pressing lightly, but not with enough force to shove the other away. That makes Jake hesitate, his lips parted, mouth ready to open and clamp down upon the other’s tender skin. Dwight looks up at him expectantly, before a concerned look dawns upon his face.
“You’re, um. Not a serial killer, right?”
Jake’s brows furrow. He wonders if he should tell Dwight the truth, be upfront about his fate. Part of him knows that the other would probably laugh in disbelief or think it was a sick joke. Jake kind of wished that was true.
Dwight is, and he begrudgingly admits this, kind of attractive. Soft in the face, kind in the eyes. Even those thick black glasses of his lend to his charm. Jake can feel his conscious slowly trickling back, making his throat constrict and his blood rush faster. His fingers soften against Dwight’s arms, until he’s simply holding the other, and his dark eyes soften somewhat.
He should have chosen a different target. This was… difficult. Dwight was too innocent, too woefully unaware of the danger that lurked right in front of him. Jake couldn’t kill him, couldn’t bring himself to snuff out the light in the other’s eyes.
He feels a hand sliding up his chest, over the fluff of his scarf and around his neck to curl into the ends of his hair. Jake decides then to give his answer. “No.”
“Oh. Okay… good.”
He’s slowly pulled forward, and he feels his lips meet Dwight’s own, a soft press of their mouths together that leaves Jake feeling drunk off of the contact. It’s not rushed or needy or violent, but slow and perfectly timed. Dwight pulls back a breadth of an inch, only to press his mouth more insistently against Jake’s own, his lips parting slightly, his breath warm and sweet against Jake’s lips. Jake feels himself melting into the touch, a soft sigh slipping past dry lips, and he feels Dwight canting his head. The light touch of a tongue glides over his lips, presses softly between them until it’s meeting Jake’s own.
The flavor is almost overwhelming. The scent and taste of blood isn’t the only thing altered by his vampirism, but so is the taste of people in general. Skin is sweeter, mouths promise something more delicious, and Jake can’t contain the soft noise of pleasure that resonates from his throat.
Dwight’s other hand raises to stroke gently at his cheek, fingers eventually smoothing their way into the wild tufts of hair on Jake’s head, rubbing sweetly at his scalp. The light touch almost has him shivering, and he responds in kind by sliding his hands up Dwight’s arms, until he’s cupping the other’s face.
The promise of violence is lost in the sensual meeting of their mouths, the way their hands slide and grab at each other slowly, wantonly, but without any iota of urgency. The night air is cool, and only punctuated by the warmth of Dwight’s breath, whereas Jake’s remains cold, lifeless.
He feels something tugging at his scarf, and it slips away, leaving his neck bare. It’s not long before he feels the absence of Dwight’s lips, only to find them at the pulse on his neck, mouthing away and leaving damp trails in their wake. Jake’s teeth clamp down onto his bottom lip, suppressing a hiss of appreciation.
There’s a hint of teeth against his skin, a bruise he knows won’t form, and the sensation reminds Jake of a pressing matter, his throat burning on queue. Before, it would have been easier to turn away, to find someone new to stalk and lure away, but now it was even harder, the presence of Dwight so close making him almost tremble with need. The scent is consuming, thick and heady and layered all over him.
His fingers slip into Dwight’s short hair, wrap around the fine strands, and then they tug , pulling Dwight away from his neck and forcing his head to rest against the cold, brick wall. Jake’s eyes open, and there’s a sharp edge to them, something far from human and more feral than ever before.
Dwight seems to recognize this, and Jake can see him visibly swallow. Still, he makes no move to run, to try and escape, and it’s all the urging Jake needs to claim what he came for.
He draws near, lays a tender kiss against Dwight’s neck, lulls him back into a false sense of comfort that has the other sighing out a soft noise of pleasure. His arms encircle him, a sinister embrace meant to hold him still as he prepares to take his fill. Dwight’s head tilts back, his eyes closing against the murky city sky, offering more of his skin to Jake, unknowing of just exactly what it was he was doing.
It’s too easy. Too tempting to wait any longer. Jake’s mouth parts, sharp teeth unseen by his prey. He clamps down on the soft skin of Dwight’s neck, and feels the flesh give beneath the razor sharp points.
There comes a sharp gasp, and a violent twitch of Dwight’s body. Blood fills Jake’s mouth, thick and saccharine sweet, filling his senses with both the taste and smell of it. His arms still around Dwight, form an iron grasp that doesn’t allow the other to wiggle free. Dwight squirms in his hold, fingers curling into the back of Jake’s jacket, gripping it with a sort of desperation that only dying men display.
He bites harder, the flesh parts more, and a gush of warm blood flows into Jake’s mouth. A moan slips from him, low and smooth, and he drinks slowly, savoring every little drop of the crimson fluid. Dwight’s breath quickens, coming in pants now, and he lets loose a whimper that has a chill running down Jake’s spine.
“O-Oh my god,” It’s a weak moan, and not quite the words Jake was expecting, but the sound is somehow enticing. Dwight’s voice is soft and broken, but it bleeds a sort of allure to it that makes Jake pull him away from the brick wall and manhandle him until he’s clutching at the shoulders of Jake’s jacket, trying to stay steady on his two feet.
Through the pulse of his own blood rushing in his ears, Jake can hear Dwight’s heart hammering away, a wild rhythm that causes the other’s blood to rush out quicker. Jake mouths hungrily at his neck, tongue lapping at the wound, catching every stream of crimson that threatened to dye Dwight’s shirt red. He’s in the middle of the frenzy now, dark eyes ringed by inky spots of red, teeth leaking a venom that snakes its way through Dwight’s veins and leaves the other a limp doll in his grasp.
There’s a weak thump against his back, and he barely recognizes it as Dwight’s fist, fingers balled weakly together and trying their best to get his attention. Jake ignores it for the most part, lost in a world of carnal pleasure and a high that leaves him buzzing with renewed energy. It’s only when he hears the other speak that his head surfaces above the clouds, and the message staggers the rhythm of his feeding.
“S-Stop, stop, please…” It’s shuddered out on a weak breath, a barely there whisper full of primal fear. “Y-You’re killing me, please…”
His whole body goes tense, his mouth stilling against Dwight’s neck. His fingers are dug into the back of the other, curled bone-white into Dwight’s shirt. Should he stop? No… no, it was too late. He’d already begun, and there was no turning back now. No, no. He needed to finish this, finish him, quench his thirst and leave -
“J-Jake… Jake…”
If his blood ran any colder, it would be solid ice in his veins. Jake’s heart drops into his stomach, a sinking feeling that leaves him feeling hollow despite how much he’d drank. He tears away from Dwight with a gasp, stumbling back until his hand is catching himself against the opposite side of the alley. Dwight crumples immediately, all loose limbs and unnervingly pale skin, and Jake is left staring at his handiwork, rivulets of blood dripping lazily off his chin.
Dwight isn’t quite unconscious, but he’s clearly out of it, eyes blinking out of focus, hand weakly raising to cover the still bleeding wound on his neck. The white of his shirt begins to go damp with red streaks, and his lashes dip against his cheeks as he fades in and out. Grey eyes flit up through the fog, and they land directly on Jake, as if asking silently, ‘Why?’
Jake’s teeth snap together, and he suppresses a noise of anguish. He immediately goes down onto his knees, hands rummaging through Dwight’s pockets until he finds what he’s looking for. A cell phone slips free of his pant’s pocket, and Jake immediately pushes the emergency call button, dialing nine-one-one with feverish urgency. A woman picks up on the other end, and drones out her rehearsed greeting.
Jake barely lets her finish, “I need medical help right away. End of fourth street, alley on the left.” His hands tremble, the plastic of the phone rattling in his grip. His other hand shoos Dwight’s own away, palm pressing harshly against the wound on his neck, trying to stem the bleeding there. The blood slips through his fingers, sticky and red and a reminder of what he’d done.
He doesn’t even give the operator time to respond, hanging up on her before positioning the phone in Dwight’s limp hand. He curses softly beneath his breath, his efforts at stemming the bleeding failing. Dark, red-ringed eyes flit about the alley, until they land on his discard scarf. He reaches for the loose cloth, repositioning Dwight’s head onto his lap so he can tie the item around his neck as a makeshift tourniquet.
Dwight’s eyes are closed now, though his chest rises slowly with labored breath. Jake’s brows furrow downwards, his lips pressing together into a flat line. They’re still slick with blood, and he can’t help the way his tongue snakes out to lick at them afterwards. The taste is tainted by the guilt he feels.
“Sorry,” he whispers quietly, resting Dwight’s head back down onto the cold pavement. “Hope you live. You’ll be the first if you do.”
He rises to his feet, and forces them to carry him away, backing out of the alley like a man facing down his mistakes.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Something flickered in his vision, small slits of light that seemed to disturb the endless sleep he was in.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hushed voices, cool air, sterile smell. Television droning on in the background. Something sticky on the top of his hand, something burning as it entered into it.
Beep. Beep. B-Beep. B-Beep.
“Oh honey, are you awake? Doctor, he’s moving, I think he might be waking up.”
His neck. So sore, tender. Feels like something has stripped away the flesh there. Something stuffy wrapped around it. Gauze?
“Oh no, don’t try to move. You’ve been through a lot, dear. Just stay calm.” Soft hands pushing him down, forcing him to still.
Grey eyes flit open slowly, blinking up at the elderly face above him. A woman in scrubs, a stethoscope laid loosely around her neck. White walls, scratchy blankets, elevated bed.
He was in a hospital.
“Wha-” He croaks weakly, surprised to find that his voice was barely there. “...happened?”
“You don’t remember? Some wild animal attacked you. It tore into your neck pretty good. But shh, it’s okay now. You’re safe and you’re going to be alright.”
“Wild…” He struggles to clear his throat, finding that the motion sent pain sprawling across that area of his skin. Wild animal? No… no, that couldn’t be right. In the middle of the city? That made absolutely no sense.
“I’ve met some folks with poor luck before, but I believe you take the cake, darling.” The woman’s voice is a soothing balm against the harsh, white light of the room and the beeping of the monitor. “We had to give you a blood transfusion right away. You’re lucky to be here, dearie. The paramedics thought they were going to lose you.”
Dwight squeezes his eyes closed, trying to wrack his mind for the memory, or at least a reminder of what happened. Woke up, went to work, went to a club. Club, club, club… Jake.
Jake .
His eyes open, wide against the square lights of the room’s ceiling. Slowly, his hand reaches up, touches tentatively at the gauze wrapped around his neck.
“Not a dream…” He croaks weakly, finding it hard to use his voice.
Just what the hell was Jake supposed to be?