Familiar

Disclaimer: I do not own Blade (although he does not appear in this story), Deacon Frost, Dragonetti or any other character. I only own this plot line and that comes for free.

Warning: Slash, yes ladies and gentlemen, slash. That thing with two guy bumping uglies, making out and whatnot. So please do not read if you do not agree with this. Remember, that this story is entirely fictional and took place only in my mind. Even though this is how I like to think things went.

Summary: Before Deacon Frost was the arrogant vampire with a god complex who basically tried to turn everyone into vampires, he was a human. But every human has a story. This is Deacon's. Who he belonged to and how he became what he became.

A/N: Seriously, did anyone else see the body language and the contact between Dragonetti and Frost? Something was seriously going on there. I know it. And how Frost calls him "Donno" and no one else does, pet name much. So this is my interpretation on how things went before the events of the first Blade movie.

"Deacon..." Deacon Frost looked up from the book on medieval architecture to see Lord Dragonetti standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He promptly dropped the book he was reading and scrambled off the bed.

"Lord Dragonetti... I didn't hear you come in. My apologies." Frost said, bowing at the waist. Dragonetti smiled lightly and entered the room further, closing the door behind him.

"You may drop the formalities, Frost. No one can hear us," he said, sitting on the velvet-cushioned chair by the door. Frost nodded.

"Yes, Donno." He said with a smile. He was Dragonetti's only familiar and only he was allowed to call him 'Donno,' if only in private. Dragonetti had picked him up off the streets a year ago, when he was only eighteen. He had nearly eaten him but for some reason, decided against it at the last moment. So now Frost lived with him, his ever faithful servant.

"Frost..." He whispered. Dragonetti hardly ever talked loudly. He found that his points were better made if he made people listen to him very carefully. He extended his right hand forward so that it was in front of him, palm down. His House of Erebus signet ring glistened on his ring finger. "Pledge you loyalty to me."

Frost knelt before Dragonetti and leaned over his hand, eyes closed. He briefly pressed his lips to the cold ring before turning the hand over so that the palm faced up. He reveled in the slight hiss of pleasure Dragonetti let loose. He slid Dragonetti's index finger into his mouth and suckled it lightly. The pureblood moaned, his other hand moving to pet Frost's hair.

"My good pet. My so very special pet." He whispered huskily. Frost released the finger and smiled up at Dragonetti.

"I pledge my eternal loyalty to you, Donno. And only you." He murmured. Frost sat back on his heels, perfectly in balance. "Will you turn me one day, my Lord?" At that, Dragonetti stood, upsetting Frost's balance and causing him to fall.

"We've gone over this, Frost." He said, coldly. "I do not make anything other than purebloods. And what do you have to do to be a pureblood, Frost?"

"You... you have to be born a vampire." Frost sighed.

"And were you born a vampire?"

"No..."

"Exactly, no. Because if you were, you would not be here at my feet. You would most likely have a seat in the House of Erebus. I would not have had to scoop you out of the gutter. Do not ask me foolish questions, Deacon. You know that you will never be a vampire."

"The why do I stay with you? Why do I stay loyal to you?! What point do I have to be at your side?" Deacon asked bitterly.

"Because you bear my mark! Because you are my familiar and my servant! Out of all the ones I've had over the years, you are my favorite of all of them. And if you were to leave me... I would, without a second thought, bleed you. Be thankful that I've told you the truth instead of stringing you along as I do the rest of the idiots that serve me. Be happy you're still alive. If for nothing else, you are in my debt. You owe me your very existence to this day." Dragonetti hissed.

"Sometimes I wish you had left me. Better to not... not have known..." Frost cut himself off and turned his chilling eyes from Dragonetti.

"Known what?"

"My own mortality. I can see myself age more every day and then I look at you and the other vampires... And I realize how worthless I am. Just... just leave me alone." Frost stood and started for his closet. "I've got a party at a club in a bit."

"You're not going..." Dragonetti said, holding out an arm to stop Frost. The human stopped before he hit the arm and gave Dragonetti a cold look.

"Why am I not going?" He asked quietly.

"Because you seem to have forgotten your place."

"And where would my place be?" Dragonetti grabbed his familiar by the arm.

"It is where ever I tell you to be. And today, it's in my house, in the bedroom I gave you." The vampire pulled Frost closer to him. "You would do well to remember this."

"Let go of me. Go amuse yourself elsewhere. Or go visit the other House elders." Frost spat out angrily, wrenching his arm out from Dragonetti's grip. He turned away from the man and tried to continue towards his closet. He found himself spun around and his back pressed against Dragonetti's chest.

"I do not understand your sudden compulsion to rebel against me." Dragonetti whispered in his familiar's ear, one of his hands creeping up Frost's shirt. The skin of his abdomen was wonderfully soft to the touch and deliciously warm contrasted against his own cool skin. Frost shuddered, unconsciously pressing his lithe form closer to Dragonetti's. The vampire's lips skimmed over his neck, eliciting a shiver and an oh-so-seductive whimper from the human. Frost gasped as the hand inside his shirt traveled farther upwards; his skin was on fire and felt like it was two sizes to big for his body. He shivered again, this time without any coercion from the other party. Then, without warning, all the mind-numbing sensations stopped.

"Wha—" Deacon managed to choke out before Dragonetti stepped away. Frost hadn't noticed his own body's inability to hold itself up, that Dragonetti was doing it for him and collapsed, gracelessly to his knees. The collapse to the stone floor was painful and the cold of the stone immediately permeated the material of his pants. Dragonetti rested a hand in Frost's spiky hair.

"Maybe now you'll learn not to defy me. That all of you is mine. Such a foolish little boy you are, Deacon. Sometimes I wonder why I didn't eat you. It's not as if your blood is bad. I can smell it through your skin. The scent is delicious and the taste would probably be close to ambrosial. Oh... how decadent it would be to feed on you." Dragonetti mused and when Frost remained silent, he continued.

"Oh... I could just imagine it. The slight resistance of your flesh before it yields and my fangs sink into you. The torturous moment before your blood bursts into my mouth, sweeter than the nectar of any fruit. The minutes of drinking, savoring your taste and your little whimpers and moans of pain and maybe a bit of pleasure. I won't devour you savagely, you're too good for that... I'll make you last and when you're twitching in your death throes... I'll remove my teeth from your beautiful throat and share with you your own blood for a moment before I return for the last succulent drops." The pureblood described stroking Frost's hair gently. He thought that the description would make Deacon react a little. What he didn't expect was Frost to grab a small blade out from between his mattresses and draw it down the length of his arm. The coppery, meaty scent of blood hit Dragonetti like a wall. The red liquid sluiced down Frost's arm and dripped to the floor. The familiar turned cold eyes on the elder man, the vampire that owned him.

"Do it." He whispered, challenging the vampire to follow through. Dragonetti took a step back. He desperately fought the urge to devour the delicious-looking young man.

"Go to... go have someone fix that. Before you die and waste all of that blood." The pureblood spat. Frost smiled coyly.

"Then I suggest you start drinking. I don't heal like you and I'm not sure what else I might want to cut later on. Come on, Donno... take a taste. You know you want it more than anything else. My blood is what you want, what you crave. But you can only have it once; you want to save that moment for the day when that is the only use you have left for me. The day when my blood is all that is left of me that is worth something." Dragonetti hauled the boy to his feet.

"Go have someone fix that up. It's not worth dying... such an insignificant wound." With that, Dragonetti left, believing that Frost would go and have his arm patched up. Despite the rebellion in the boy's eyes, he had never once disobeyed an order.

A/N: This is my first Blade fic and probably my only one. Please be kind and review and tell me what you think of it.