Hello again. I return. Alrighty, I wrote this a while ago after I finished Put Out the Light. In fact, this is sort of a sequel to that fic. To make a long story less long, Vindemiatrix survived that attack, only to be made a vampire a few months later by another vampire. I'll be happy if this is even half as well written as Put Out the Light. Please let me know what you, dear Reader, think of the fruit of my labor.
Warnings: slight hints of yoai. not much really (no where near as much as in Put Out the Light), and death of a minor character constructed only to be dinner.
Disclaimer: I can actually claim everything in this fic. Yeah!!!
There was something about the being across the room of thumping music and grating bodies, something almost unnatural. At first glance the youth had a lovely face, but his taste had never before strayed from the softness of women. So why would he be so moved by the youth's features? He supposed the youth was pretty enough that a model would crave the youth's face with the interesting mix of the aristocratic nose, defined and strong jaw, and sharp and angled cheekbones. Though strong, the sharpness of his cheekbones and triangular shape of his jaw made the youth's face seem almost delicate—breakable.
Most of the youth's long hair was pulled back by a ribbon at the base of his swan-like neck, but bangs long enough to fall into his eyes hung loose, masking the shape and color of them, not that he would have been able to discern the color of the youth's eyes anyway. The flashing lights and colored spotlights of the club discolored everything, turning the youth's skin bright green and violet and his clothes shades of blue and red.
Though not tall—indeed, the youth came only to his shoulder (if at that at all)—his slenderness made him seem long of limb, but nearly everyone around towered over the youth. He stood off the floor crowded with sweating, colliding bodies, watching (or so it seemed) those around him. The youth made no sudden motions, (in fact, he seemed as life-like as a Greek statue) but it seemed as if the subtle motions he did make (gentle fussing at his collar and cuffs or a gentle stroke of a few strands of his hair) had been planned deliberately instead of spontaneous motions of insecurity. Each little movement seemed to have a purpose and was completed with liquid grace enough to make a dancer envious.
He could not see if the youth was attracting attention from those close by, but neither he could see any one consistently close by enough to be escorting the youth, an oddity considering his prettiness and apparent age. From what he could speculate, the youth was definitely well past childhood, but not yet an adult. There was something childlike and innocent, however, about the way the youth caressed his hair and how one arm seemed to hug across his chest almost defensively. His entire stance screamed, "Save me!" He was much too young to be here by himself.
The youth looked up without warning, and though he could still not see the eyes, he knew the youth was watching him back. The corners of the youth's pout curled upward. A feeling of dark dread filled him, and he did not know why.
A mass of pulsating flesh blocked his view of the youth for a moment, but a moment was enough to lose sight of him. One breath before the youth had been standing on the outskirts of the mob, and the next he was simply gone.
"You okay, dude?" a voice asked him.
"Huh?" he asked, jerked from his trance.
"You've been staring at that damn wall for an hour now," the nameless figure continued from his side. "Did ya have too much to drink or something?"
"Where'd the kid go?"
"What kid?" the voice continued.
"The kid that was just standing over there. Real pretty. Maybe 16 or 17."
"Dude, no one was there, and no one under 21 can get in here." the look in the eyes clearly doubted his grasp on reality. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah; must have had too much to drink," he answered to get the unnamed person to leave him alone.
He could have sworn there had been someone there. There had to have been. Hadn't there?
Hours later he left the place of tattooing, throbbing music, flashing lights, and more dubious substances. None alone, he made his way back to his dormitory. It was very late—or very early—so he cut through several alleyways. The streets were quiet and no one was around. He was alone except for his thoughts in which danced the image of the youth he had seen earlier, if he had even seen him at all.
"I saw you watching me," a quiet whisper echoed, breaking the silence. He turned around to find who spoke, but no one was there still. Attributing the voice to either his alcohol-fueled imagination or the sound of an unknown someone's television, he, now nervous, turned to continue on his way, only to see something shocking. Halfway down the alleyway a figure stood in the center of his path with its back to him, hands clasped behind him. The shorthairs stood on the back of his neck and arms as fear spiked through him.
"Hey, yo!" he called loudly.
The figure did not move.
"Yo, where'd you come from?" he called just as loudly as he continued to approach.
"Everywhere," the same voice answered, this time from somewhere behind him. He turned to look for the voice, but saw no one. When he turned round once more, the figure ahead of him was gone without a trace. "Are you scared?" asked the voice from behind again, this time closer.
He whipped around once more to see standing a few feet away the youth he had seen in the club, bangs brushed aside from beautiful almond shaped eyes that seemed a little too large to be truly possible of a clear grey flecked by amethyst and icy blue sapphire specks glinting like stars. He hadn't known that eyes could be that color; however, the eyes were blank of feeling and cold. Full scarlet lips were curved upward, tempting him.
"Well, are you?" the youth asked softly, almost curious. The youth stepped closer and cocked his head ever-so slightly to the side like a bird listening for its prize to show his long neck of snow white.
The voice wasn't as high as he though it would be, but it wasn't deep. The youth's voice could easily have belonged to either a girl or a boy, but he was clearly male. It was almost like music.
"Why should I be afraid of you?" he asked, but somehow, he was. He was afraid beyond what words could say, yet he was also more at peace than he could ever remember being. The sinister feeling was fading as he looked on in wonder at the youth.
He was even prettier up close. His hair, long and black as night, begged to be touched. His marble white skin pleaded for a gentle caress. His eyes implored for warmth to be stirred in his core. His lips demanded to be kissed…
"Just what is a pretty little thing like you doing out here all by yourself?" he asked the youth, reaching out to touch a smooth cheek. The skin was ice, but it was the finest skin he had ever touched. The youth's feathery eyelashes fluttered as his hand touched the too cool skin.
"I'm looking for something," the youth answered sweetly, his voice ingenuous. "Will you help me?" He sounded just like a child—trusting and a little anxious.
In his core bubbled a desire to take the youth in his arms and protect him from all the evils of the world. The youth was angelic and perfect. "Of course," he whispered his answer soothingly.
The youth's smile transformed from a teasing temptation to a genuinely pleased grin. The eyes commanded, 'Hold me.' Without hesitation, he pulled the youth to him and cradled him in his arms tenderly. The youth did not flinch or make any motion of complaint as he ran a hand through the long hair no longer tied back in the ribbon. It felt like liquid silk beneath his fingers.
He hadn't noticed before, but the youth's clothes were very old fashioned with fancy lace and fine velvet cloth, almost as if he had stayed straight from the High Renaissance. The youth seemed like a spirit of some previous era preserved for every more.
The youth was balanced on his toes as he stood as tall as he could make himself in his arms. The youth turned his face to hide it in his neck, allowing himself to be held and protected. Cold lips whispered against his skin, "I am called Vindemiatrix, but to those who know me I am Trix. Would you know me?"
"If you'd allow me," he answered. What other answer was there to give? How could he refuse such a lovely creature? It would be blasphemous to do so.
The icy lips curled against his skin as the youth nuzzled against him. "Then you shall," he whispered before the youth wrapped his own inexplicably strong arms around him and he felt two pinpricks at the vein in his neck. . .