![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veiledndarknessTitle: A Human Link
Author: veiledndarkness
Rating: R
Pairing: Deacon Frost/Scud (Josh)
Summary: He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.
Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine, no harm is intended, and no profit has been made.
*I’ve messed about with the storylines from Blade & Blade 2. For now, let’s pretend neither movie went as we’ve seen it.*
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
X
Scud awakes alone in the bed some time later. He blinks and rubs at his face, disoriented as always after a feeding. The toxins that keep him toeing the line flow freely through him and he can’t remember to care, not when he feels like he’s riding the best fucking high ever. He smiles and slips off the bed, padding to the adjoined room where he knows Deacon will be by now.
And as he expects, Deacon sits at his desk, rifling through sheets of paper, a pensive frown marring his pale face, his blue eyes icy cold with annoyance. Scud kneels down next to him at the desk and smiles anew, uncaring of his nudity, not when he’s higher than can be, not when his blood is singing in his veins and he can see the frown slipping away from his Master’s face.
He can feel that hand come down, petting his hair absently. There’s something terribly comforting and frightening in knowing that he’s nothing more than a pet for his Master. He doesn’t feel safe but the outside is much more frightening and his Master takes care of his needs and yeah, you can’t ask for much more than that.
(And after the high wears off, he finds such disgust with himself for his delusions)
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, pet,” Deacon murmurs, though his gaze stays on the stack of papers before him.
Scud shifts closer to him and he chews on the edge of his thumb, his crooked grin tilting his lips up around his thumb. He shrugs one shoulder and rests his head against Deacon’s thigh. He doesn’t like to sleep alone but Deacon’s hours of rest don’t always mesh with his own and when Deacon allows it, he sleeps curled up with him, clinging to the cold flesh.
“Couldn’t sleep,’ he mumbles around the side of his thumb, his eyes half closed as his hair is smoothed over and over.
Deacon makes a sound in his throat and his hand comes to a rest in Scud’s hair. He sits back in his chair, drumming his free hand on the arm rest. “Even the dead have paperwork,” he says and Scud knows his response isn’t needed.
He peers up at the brooding vampire cautiously, gauging the mood he might be in. There’s a moment where he considers slinking back to the opulent bedroom and hiding away in the thick blankets that Deacon doesn’t need but he ignores that urge.
Hours could pass and he’s not even sure what day it is anymore but he knows that Deacon is pre-occupied, even more so lately, and the amount of time he spends scowling at his desk and the reams of paper tell Scud that there’s more going on than just bill payments and red tape to sort through.
He sits and waits until the hand resumes stroking his hair, the cool fingers reaching down to rub over his neck, to that spot that makes his skin ache. In the heat of the moment, he’ll willingly lie across the desk and let Deacon have his way, do anything he wants. He’s his slave, and he knows it and this seems to be his purpose and yeah…yeah he does kind of miss his old life.
Deacon strokes the side of his neck, as absently as he pets Scud’s hair and he sighs again to himself and stares down fixedly at the nearest sheaf of paperwork. “Have you heard anything for vampire weaknesses before?” he asks and the sound of his voice startles Scud.
He stares up at his Master, blinking in confusion. “Uh,” he manages, more than a little unnerved by the sudden question. Deacon doesn’t converse with him normally, he expects obedience and Scud knows when it’s better to shut up.
“”Sides what the movies say?” he offers hesitantly.
Deacon chuckles and it sends shivers scurrying down Scud’s spine. It’s not a pleasant sound, but then again, it’s not nasty either. “Besides that, yeah,” he turns a paper over and traces the words with one pointed fingernail. “Besides sunlight or garlic or stakes through the heart.”
“Then no,” Scud murmurs and he watches Deacon’s lips purse in disapproval.
“I figured as much. Humans…” he starts to say and then shakes his head impatiently.
Scud bites his lower lip and worries at it. Life with Deacon Frost is spent on a dagger’s edge and he hates him for bringing him into this world, for saving him when he should have died, and a part of him is grateful that he’s even still alive, scarred though he may be.
All he knows is what he hears in whispers and that’s nearly nothing in itself. He knows that Deacon is powerful, that many of the older vampires, the ones from some important council, don’t like him. Beyond that…nothing, nothing more than guarded looks and he knows nothing good ever came from being nosy enough to ask.
He’s lifted suddenly and before he knows what’s happening, Scud is settled on Deacon’s lap once more. He fights the urge to squirm and a shivery moan escapes him as Deacon’s fingers stroke his neck, over and over until he’s dizzy, his blood singing in his ears all over again.
Dimly, he hears Deacon speaking, and it occurs to him that Deacon’s speaking to himself, as if deep in thought. He lets his eyes drift shut and through the pounding of his heart, he can hear him reciting a list. A list of descriptions…
“…immune to silver…imagine that, immune to sunlight…”
Deacon’s lips graze his neck and he feels his stomach surge and twist and he has to fight to keep his mouth shut, to keep from begging and deep inside his mind is the raw hatred of how easily he responds after the first feeding.
He hates that he wants to feel those fangs sink in, that the toxins in his blood are screaming for it, and he hates how submissive it makes him, and oh God, he wants this to be over with and why does Deacon keep him as a pet…
“…everything we are, only better,” Deacon continues and his mouth is right below Scud’s ear.
His voice is hypnotic and Scud whines low in his throat, his hair falling over his eyes. His skin burns with shame but he can’t stop from needing this. One hand wanders low, down Scud’s body, past his chest, over his scarred abdomen, and down, down between his thighs and he’s still slick from earlier and his breath catches in his throat as Deacon toys with him.
His hips jerk and stutter as he feels the familiar sensation of one sharp fingernail rubbing just so inside. He knows without looking that Deacon’s undone his own pants, multitasking at a speed that’s eerie to watch and before he can exhale, he feels him slide inside. Scud bites down on his lip again, frozen for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe from the sudden pressure inside him.
Deacon cups his face and whispers in that language that he doesn’t know, the one that he’s since learned is only for them, the vampires, and it makes his skin crawl the same as it did when he first heard it in the alleyway, when he’d been sure that he was dying.
And in between whispers of words he doesn’t know, he does hear one strange word, one that echoes around his mind as Deacon begins to thrust within him, as those fangs slip into his neck and he gasps, his orgasm slamming into the base of his spine and scorching up through his body, he hears it again and wonders why he can’t stop hearing ‘…daywalker…’ while he’s screaming through his release.
X
Author: veiledndarkness
Rating: R
Pairing: Deacon Frost/Scud (Josh)
Summary: He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.
Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine, no harm is intended, and no profit has been made.
*I’ve messed about with the storylines from Blade & Blade 2. For now, let’s pretend neither movie went as we’ve seen it.*
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
X
Scud awakes alone in the bed some time later. He blinks and rubs at his face, disoriented as always after a feeding. The toxins that keep him toeing the line flow freely through him and he can’t remember to care, not when he feels like he’s riding the best fucking high ever. He smiles and slips off the bed, padding to the adjoined room where he knows Deacon will be by now.
And as he expects, Deacon sits at his desk, rifling through sheets of paper, a pensive frown marring his pale face, his blue eyes icy cold with annoyance. Scud kneels down next to him at the desk and smiles anew, uncaring of his nudity, not when he’s higher than can be, not when his blood is singing in his veins and he can see the frown slipping away from his Master’s face.
He can feel that hand come down, petting his hair absently. There’s something terribly comforting and frightening in knowing that he’s nothing more than a pet for his Master. He doesn’t feel safe but the outside is much more frightening and his Master takes care of his needs and yeah, you can’t ask for much more than that.
(And after the high wears off, he finds such disgust with himself for his delusions)
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, pet,” Deacon murmurs, though his gaze stays on the stack of papers before him.
Scud shifts closer to him and he chews on the edge of his thumb, his crooked grin tilting his lips up around his thumb. He shrugs one shoulder and rests his head against Deacon’s thigh. He doesn’t like to sleep alone but Deacon’s hours of rest don’t always mesh with his own and when Deacon allows it, he sleeps curled up with him, clinging to the cold flesh.
“Couldn’t sleep,’ he mumbles around the side of his thumb, his eyes half closed as his hair is smoothed over and over.
Deacon makes a sound in his throat and his hand comes to a rest in Scud’s hair. He sits back in his chair, drumming his free hand on the arm rest. “Even the dead have paperwork,” he says and Scud knows his response isn’t needed.
He peers up at the brooding vampire cautiously, gauging the mood he might be in. There’s a moment where he considers slinking back to the opulent bedroom and hiding away in the thick blankets that Deacon doesn’t need but he ignores that urge.
Hours could pass and he’s not even sure what day it is anymore but he knows that Deacon is pre-occupied, even more so lately, and the amount of time he spends scowling at his desk and the reams of paper tell Scud that there’s more going on than just bill payments and red tape to sort through.
He sits and waits until the hand resumes stroking his hair, the cool fingers reaching down to rub over his neck, to that spot that makes his skin ache. In the heat of the moment, he’ll willingly lie across the desk and let Deacon have his way, do anything he wants. He’s his slave, and he knows it and this seems to be his purpose and yeah…yeah he does kind of miss his old life.
Deacon strokes the side of his neck, as absently as he pets Scud’s hair and he sighs again to himself and stares down fixedly at the nearest sheaf of paperwork. “Have you heard anything for vampire weaknesses before?” he asks and the sound of his voice startles Scud.
He stares up at his Master, blinking in confusion. “Uh,” he manages, more than a little unnerved by the sudden question. Deacon doesn’t converse with him normally, he expects obedience and Scud knows when it’s better to shut up.
“”Sides what the movies say?” he offers hesitantly.
Deacon chuckles and it sends shivers scurrying down Scud’s spine. It’s not a pleasant sound, but then again, it’s not nasty either. “Besides that, yeah,” he turns a paper over and traces the words with one pointed fingernail. “Besides sunlight or garlic or stakes through the heart.”
“Then no,” Scud murmurs and he watches Deacon’s lips purse in disapproval.
“I figured as much. Humans…” he starts to say and then shakes his head impatiently.
Scud bites his lower lip and worries at it. Life with Deacon Frost is spent on a dagger’s edge and he hates him for bringing him into this world, for saving him when he should have died, and a part of him is grateful that he’s even still alive, scarred though he may be.
All he knows is what he hears in whispers and that’s nearly nothing in itself. He knows that Deacon is powerful, that many of the older vampires, the ones from some important council, don’t like him. Beyond that…nothing, nothing more than guarded looks and he knows nothing good ever came from being nosy enough to ask.
He’s lifted suddenly and before he knows what’s happening, Scud is settled on Deacon’s lap once more. He fights the urge to squirm and a shivery moan escapes him as Deacon’s fingers stroke his neck, over and over until he’s dizzy, his blood singing in his ears all over again.
Dimly, he hears Deacon speaking, and it occurs to him that Deacon’s speaking to himself, as if deep in thought. He lets his eyes drift shut and through the pounding of his heart, he can hear him reciting a list. A list of descriptions…
“…immune to silver…imagine that, immune to sunlight…”
Deacon’s lips graze his neck and he feels his stomach surge and twist and he has to fight to keep his mouth shut, to keep from begging and deep inside his mind is the raw hatred of how easily he responds after the first feeding.
He hates that he wants to feel those fangs sink in, that the toxins in his blood are screaming for it, and he hates how submissive it makes him, and oh God, he wants this to be over with and why does Deacon keep him as a pet…
“…everything we are, only better,” Deacon continues and his mouth is right below Scud’s ear.
His voice is hypnotic and Scud whines low in his throat, his hair falling over his eyes. His skin burns with shame but he can’t stop from needing this. One hand wanders low, down Scud’s body, past his chest, over his scarred abdomen, and down, down between his thighs and he’s still slick from earlier and his breath catches in his throat as Deacon toys with him.
His hips jerk and stutter as he feels the familiar sensation of one sharp fingernail rubbing just so inside. He knows without looking that Deacon’s undone his own pants, multitasking at a speed that’s eerie to watch and before he can exhale, he feels him slide inside. Scud bites down on his lip again, frozen for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe from the sudden pressure inside him.
Deacon cups his face and whispers in that language that he doesn’t know, the one that he’s since learned is only for them, the vampires, and it makes his skin crawl the same as it did when he first heard it in the alleyway, when he’d been sure that he was dying.
And in between whispers of words he doesn’t know, he does hear one strange word, one that echoes around his mind as Deacon begins to thrust within him, as those fangs slip into his neck and he gasps, his orgasm slamming into the base of his spine and scorching up through his body, he hears it again and wonders why he can’t stop hearing ‘…daywalker…’ while he’s screaming through his release.
X
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
YAY!
Date: 2012-03-22 10:42 pm (UTC)Re: YAY!
Date: 2012-03-22 11:05 pm (UTC)I know how it can be, reading fics with someone in the room with you, and you try to explain, and they stare at you like you're speaking Klingon.
The toxin thing I added cause I liked the idea, lol. It just makes sense to me. What better way to ensure your pet never turns against you, than to addict them to the venom? If they only take a certain amount, and you feed it back to them, it'd be there in the system, drugged-like.
Ehh, creative licensing, lol.