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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
Chapter 3
X
It’s an ever changing array of guards that watch over him.
Silent, still statues that look human, but he knows they aren’t.
He knows that they report to him and he’s not stupid enough to do anything that’ll get him into serious trouble but there’s a big part of his pride that wants to act out like he brat he once was.
He wants to trash the main room he spends much of his time in, smash the mirrors and glass that surrounds him.
Instead, he settles for smoking petulantly by the window in the main room, watching the sun set on another day. All of his days blur together now. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was tricked by those bitches, since he almost died. It might be weeks but he thinks it might be more like months.
There’s one guard nearby and he knows that none of them will ever speak to him.
He can hear footsteps echoing far away and he hunches his shoulders, burrowing deeper into his well worn coat. The sun is down when the footsteps come to a halt and he wrinkles his nose, rubbing at it with the back of his hand. He can almost smell the vampire behind him.
It’s not Deacon and it bothers him that he kind of wishes it was.
“Still sulking, huh?”
Scud doesn’t respond and he knows better than to rise to anything Quinn has to say to him. He stubs out his cigarette and lights a new one immediately, blowing out a plume of smoke. Maybe if he pretends he can’t hear…
“Man, you gotta learn to appreciate what you’ve got here.”
He feels a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat and his cigarette bobs between his lips as he tries to suppress that. Appreciate his invisible chains, oh sure, absolutely…
“Such a fucking punk,” Quinn mutters and slams a metal container down on the floor next to Scud. “The hell he see in you, I don’t even know, man.”
“That make you jealous?” Scud finally mutters as he squints up at him.
Quinn’s nostrils flare and he clenches one fist threateningly and Scud knows that Quinn would gladly throw him off the top of the building without a second thought if it weren’t for the fact that Deacon wouldn’t like it.
“You shut the fuck up!” he hisses, looming over him, his orangey-reddish mess of hair hanging far too close to Scud and he feels the urge to flick his lighter to one of the long braids and see if he’ll roast.
“Or what?” Scud rests his head to the wall. He doesn’t care and he’s not afraid of Quinn and he can’t drum up the energy to verbally spar with the half-wit vampire. The guard’s still nearby, he’s still watching, observing. He won’t let Quinn kill Scud.
Quinn makes this sound and it’s almost a growl and he grabs at Scud’s hair, yanking him off the ground. Scud tries, he really does, but a whimper of pain escapes as Quinn shakes him like a rag doll and he can feel his scalp aching, the strands of hair caught in Quinn’s fingers.
“Goddamned punk ass human,” Quinn snarls at him and Scud could almost cry with relief when he hears that horrible language assault his ears and Deacon’s there, shoving Quinn back as he swears at him in words Scud can’t understand.
Scud hits the floor with a thud and he grips his head, touching his hair gingerly. His scalp is on fire and he wants to just run. Deacon’s distracted with Quinn and Scud can hear him berating the other vampire. He doesn’t need to speak their language to know when someone is being given shit.
He could, he could try at least and as he lies on the floor, willing his body to move, he feels the weight of Deacon’s eyes on him. He freezes, absurdly paranoid that, oh Christ, maybe Deacon could read his thoughts and that idea is ridiculous, he knows that his Master can’t do that but he’s suddenly terrified that maybe he can.
“Scud,” Deacon snaps at him, but there’s no real venom behind his words. He points to the door and Quinn hightails it out of the room as soon as he turns his gaze Scud’s way.
“I didn’t do anythin’, honest,” Scud mumbles as he sits up, still holding a hand to his head.
Deacon stares at him, his face unreadable beyond the clear anger he radiates. “Yeah, I know that.” He glances at the guard and a scowl forms on his lips for a moment.
Scud finds the still burning cigarette on the floor nearby and his hands shake as he brings it to his mouth, badly needing the reassurance of routine. He inhales and tries not to cringe as Deacon moves suddenly, and then he’s next to Scud, looking him over intently.
“Don’t suppose you could tell him not to scalp me?” Scud asks before he can keep the thought inside his head.
Deacon’s hand comes down hard and Scud feels his eyes water when Deacon grips his head. “That mouth of yours gets you in trouble. You might want to consider that.”
He winces and struggles to hold still and as he breathes out, he feels Deacon’s grip relax and a look of concern washes over the vampire’s face. To his surprise, Deacon kneels down beside him and removes the cigarette from his lips, holding it askew.
“I ought to just keep you in my bedroom,” he murmurs and Scud hates the coil of desire he feels. “My little pet…you’d be safer there, I think,” and he nods as if that settles it.
Scud chews on the inside of his cheek and shakes his head rapidly. “But…”
He doesn’t want to stay in Deacon’s bedroom and he wants to kick up such a goddamned fuss. There’s no window in Deacon’s room and at least here, Scud can watch the sun move. He opens his mouth to say no but nothing comes out and he hangs his head, sighing heavily.
“You don’t really want to be left to your own devices out here, do you?” Deacon asks as he examines the last of Scud’s cigarette like it fascinates him. “After all, I’m not always around to…monitor you.”
“Yeah, you’re doin’ a bang up job so far,” Scud mutters and he’s caught off guard by the light sound of laughter above him.
Deacon’s face has relaxed from his initial anger and he looks more amused than anything else. He smoothes his hand over Scud’s hair, his touch gentle this time. “Is that what you think? Hm? Do we need to have that discussion about what’s outside?”
“Just as many monsters inside,” Scud mumbles under his breath. He’s tired, his head hurts and he wants to curl up and hide until Deacon finds something else to hold his interest.
There’s no response and he listens to the sound of his own shallow breathing for a long moment before he looks up.
Deacon’s frowning at him but there’s no real anger behind it. “Get up.”
Scud wants to refuse but he knows it’s not wise to do so. He gets to his feet and hunches his shoulders, watching the last bit of sunshine drop out of sight in the skyline. He’s beginning to hate the night.
X
He’s never slept on such fancy sheets or on a mattress as soft as the one Deacon uses in his bedroom. Scud lies across the bed, draped over it unceremoniously, his head hanging off one side, his hair falling back to brush the covers beneath him. Deacon’s got the room lit with a few candles and he’s kneeling over Scud’s prone body, whispering to him in words he can’t decipher.
His skin is on fire and his earlier anger and bitterness has been forgotten and he’s powerless to move. His invisible chains are strong tonight, he thinks as his spine arches upwards, reaching for more of Deacon’s touch. He may not wear any cuffs, there might not be a collar around his neck, but he feels leashed nonetheless, tied to this building, tied to Deacon’s rooms, tied to Deacon.
He can’t think straight and it bothers him how easily Deacon can manipulate him. He bites his lip, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He can pick out familiar sounds in the language the flows above him, similar ones he’s heard before and it’s the one word that breaks through his lust-addled haze.
“…Daywalker…”
Scud jolts and his skin moves up and Deacon’s sharpened fingernail slits across Scud’s chest, parting the skin with ease.
“Oh fuck!” Scud sucks in a shaky breath. He lifts his head up and watches with morbid curiosity as blood wells up from the cut and trickles down his skin.
Deacon stares down at the blood and his eyes are dark, his fangs gleaming in the candlelight. He runs his finger through the slick trail and Scud wants to scream when he sees Deacon lift his finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplets.
It’s too close to what happened before, those women, and he feels a hysterical shriek building in his throat. Deacon’s eyes gleam and he makes a sound that sends shivers down Scud’s spine. He cringes back and his lips move and he’s gasping out his question to try and distract the vampire from tearing his chest wide open.
“What’s a daywalker?!”
Deacon stops and he cocks his head, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “What?”
“I…” Scud licks his lips hurriedly and he can feel his chest itching from where the cut begins. “You said somethin’…that word, I…it was daywalker.”
“It’s none of your fucking business!” Deacon snarls at him, his hand fisting in Scud’s hair.
Scud closes his eyes and he forgets to breathe as he panics. Every instinct he has is screaming and he’s beyond terrified, beyond plain fear. He’s dead, he knows it and it’s all he can do to not faint when Deacon yanks him upright with one vicious tug.
“How the hell do you even know what I said?” he demands, his face a mere inch from Scud’s.
“I…I don’t! I swear, it’s…you were speaking and I uh…” he babbles desperately, his eyes fearfully wide. “It’s the words, they sound um…that one word, I heard…”
“You heard what?” Deacon shakes him once for emphasis and his fangs are so close that Scud turns his head, baring his neck reflexively before he can think of doing otherwise and his blood hums under the surface, eagerly anticipating the moment of injection.
“You, you said it the other day!” Scud hears himself say though he sounds far away. He thinks he might be having a panic attack or maybe he’s too well trained for his own good, submissive to bring Deacon’s rage back under control. “In English…”
Deacon’s grip on him relaxes and Scud can feel the bruises already beginning to bloom on his skin. His eyes sting and he wants to fucking bawl when Deacon shifts back down, straddling Scud’s thighs. He’s breathing too fast and he’s so goddamned afraid.
“It doesn’t mean anything that you need to know about.”
Scud nods rapidly. “Ok…ok,” he whispers as he rubs his sweat-slick hands on the sheets. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he’s still not entirely sure that Deacon won’t kill him.
Deacon eyes him, a suspicious glare to his face. He smears his thumb over the still wet cut on Scud’s chest and Scud winces, a wisp of a gasp leaving him at the jolt of pain.
“You ask too many questions,” he says, pressing on the cut.
Blood droplets pool around his thumb and Scud bites his bottom lip to keep the little noises of hurt to himself. Deacon’s rubbing back and forth on the wound and, God help him, Scud watches in numb horror as the vampire licks along the cut, neatly removing the traces of blood.
Nausea swirls in his stomach and yet…Scud feels desire begin to coil there as well.
He closes his eyes once more and it’s not long before he’s responding, his body jerking and rising with Deacon. He grips the sheets in both hands, shaking as he’s taken, pain sliding into his neck and then he feels nothing but bliss but in the back of his mind, he hears the word over and over and he’s more afraid of the vampire that saved him than he ever was before.
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
Chapter 3
X
It’s an ever changing array of guards that watch over him.
Silent, still statues that look human, but he knows they aren’t.
He knows that they report to him and he’s not stupid enough to do anything that’ll get him into serious trouble but there’s a big part of his pride that wants to act out like he brat he once was.
He wants to trash the main room he spends much of his time in, smash the mirrors and glass that surrounds him.
Instead, he settles for smoking petulantly by the window in the main room, watching the sun set on another day. All of his days blur together now. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was tricked by those bitches, since he almost died. It might be weeks but he thinks it might be more like months.
There’s one guard nearby and he knows that none of them will ever speak to him.
He can hear footsteps echoing far away and he hunches his shoulders, burrowing deeper into his well worn coat. The sun is down when the footsteps come to a halt and he wrinkles his nose, rubbing at it with the back of his hand. He can almost smell the vampire behind him.
It’s not Deacon and it bothers him that he kind of wishes it was.
“Still sulking, huh?”
Scud doesn’t respond and he knows better than to rise to anything Quinn has to say to him. He stubs out his cigarette and lights a new one immediately, blowing out a plume of smoke. Maybe if he pretends he can’t hear…
“Man, you gotta learn to appreciate what you’ve got here.”
He feels a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat and his cigarette bobs between his lips as he tries to suppress that. Appreciate his invisible chains, oh sure, absolutely…
“Such a fucking punk,” Quinn mutters and slams a metal container down on the floor next to Scud. “The hell he see in you, I don’t even know, man.”
“That make you jealous?” Scud finally mutters as he squints up at him.
Quinn’s nostrils flare and he clenches one fist threateningly and Scud knows that Quinn would gladly throw him off the top of the building without a second thought if it weren’t for the fact that Deacon wouldn’t like it.
“You shut the fuck up!” he hisses, looming over him, his orangey-reddish mess of hair hanging far too close to Scud and he feels the urge to flick his lighter to one of the long braids and see if he’ll roast.
“Or what?” Scud rests his head to the wall. He doesn’t care and he’s not afraid of Quinn and he can’t drum up the energy to verbally spar with the half-wit vampire. The guard’s still nearby, he’s still watching, observing. He won’t let Quinn kill Scud.
Quinn makes this sound and it’s almost a growl and he grabs at Scud’s hair, yanking him off the ground. Scud tries, he really does, but a whimper of pain escapes as Quinn shakes him like a rag doll and he can feel his scalp aching, the strands of hair caught in Quinn’s fingers.
“Goddamned punk ass human,” Quinn snarls at him and Scud could almost cry with relief when he hears that horrible language assault his ears and Deacon’s there, shoving Quinn back as he swears at him in words Scud can’t understand.
Scud hits the floor with a thud and he grips his head, touching his hair gingerly. His scalp is on fire and he wants to just run. Deacon’s distracted with Quinn and Scud can hear him berating the other vampire. He doesn’t need to speak their language to know when someone is being given shit.
He could, he could try at least and as he lies on the floor, willing his body to move, he feels the weight of Deacon’s eyes on him. He freezes, absurdly paranoid that, oh Christ, maybe Deacon could read his thoughts and that idea is ridiculous, he knows that his Master can’t do that but he’s suddenly terrified that maybe he can.
“Scud,” Deacon snaps at him, but there’s no real venom behind his words. He points to the door and Quinn hightails it out of the room as soon as he turns his gaze Scud’s way.
“I didn’t do anythin’, honest,” Scud mumbles as he sits up, still holding a hand to his head.
Deacon stares at him, his face unreadable beyond the clear anger he radiates. “Yeah, I know that.” He glances at the guard and a scowl forms on his lips for a moment.
Scud finds the still burning cigarette on the floor nearby and his hands shake as he brings it to his mouth, badly needing the reassurance of routine. He inhales and tries not to cringe as Deacon moves suddenly, and then he’s next to Scud, looking him over intently.
“Don’t suppose you could tell him not to scalp me?” Scud asks before he can keep the thought inside his head.
Deacon’s hand comes down hard and Scud feels his eyes water when Deacon grips his head. “That mouth of yours gets you in trouble. You might want to consider that.”
He winces and struggles to hold still and as he breathes out, he feels Deacon’s grip relax and a look of concern washes over the vampire’s face. To his surprise, Deacon kneels down beside him and removes the cigarette from his lips, holding it askew.
“I ought to just keep you in my bedroom,” he murmurs and Scud hates the coil of desire he feels. “My little pet…you’d be safer there, I think,” and he nods as if that settles it.
Scud chews on the inside of his cheek and shakes his head rapidly. “But…”
He doesn’t want to stay in Deacon’s bedroom and he wants to kick up such a goddamned fuss. There’s no window in Deacon’s room and at least here, Scud can watch the sun move. He opens his mouth to say no but nothing comes out and he hangs his head, sighing heavily.
“You don’t really want to be left to your own devices out here, do you?” Deacon asks as he examines the last of Scud’s cigarette like it fascinates him. “After all, I’m not always around to…monitor you.”
“Yeah, you’re doin’ a bang up job so far,” Scud mutters and he’s caught off guard by the light sound of laughter above him.
Deacon’s face has relaxed from his initial anger and he looks more amused than anything else. He smoothes his hand over Scud’s hair, his touch gentle this time. “Is that what you think? Hm? Do we need to have that discussion about what’s outside?”
“Just as many monsters inside,” Scud mumbles under his breath. He’s tired, his head hurts and he wants to curl up and hide until Deacon finds something else to hold his interest.
There’s no response and he listens to the sound of his own shallow breathing for a long moment before he looks up.
Deacon’s frowning at him but there’s no real anger behind it. “Get up.”
Scud wants to refuse but he knows it’s not wise to do so. He gets to his feet and hunches his shoulders, watching the last bit of sunshine drop out of sight in the skyline. He’s beginning to hate the night.
X
He’s never slept on such fancy sheets or on a mattress as soft as the one Deacon uses in his bedroom. Scud lies across the bed, draped over it unceremoniously, his head hanging off one side, his hair falling back to brush the covers beneath him. Deacon’s got the room lit with a few candles and he’s kneeling over Scud’s prone body, whispering to him in words he can’t decipher.
His skin is on fire and his earlier anger and bitterness has been forgotten and he’s powerless to move. His invisible chains are strong tonight, he thinks as his spine arches upwards, reaching for more of Deacon’s touch. He may not wear any cuffs, there might not be a collar around his neck, but he feels leashed nonetheless, tied to this building, tied to Deacon’s rooms, tied to Deacon.
He can’t think straight and it bothers him how easily Deacon can manipulate him. He bites his lip, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He can pick out familiar sounds in the language the flows above him, similar ones he’s heard before and it’s the one word that breaks through his lust-addled haze.
“…Daywalker…”
Scud jolts and his skin moves up and Deacon’s sharpened fingernail slits across Scud’s chest, parting the skin with ease.
“Oh fuck!” Scud sucks in a shaky breath. He lifts his head up and watches with morbid curiosity as blood wells up from the cut and trickles down his skin.
Deacon stares down at the blood and his eyes are dark, his fangs gleaming in the candlelight. He runs his finger through the slick trail and Scud wants to scream when he sees Deacon lift his finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplets.
It’s too close to what happened before, those women, and he feels a hysterical shriek building in his throat. Deacon’s eyes gleam and he makes a sound that sends shivers down Scud’s spine. He cringes back and his lips move and he’s gasping out his question to try and distract the vampire from tearing his chest wide open.
“What’s a daywalker?!”
Deacon stops and he cocks his head, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “What?”
“I…” Scud licks his lips hurriedly and he can feel his chest itching from where the cut begins. “You said somethin’…that word, I…it was daywalker.”
“It’s none of your fucking business!” Deacon snarls at him, his hand fisting in Scud’s hair.
Scud closes his eyes and he forgets to breathe as he panics. Every instinct he has is screaming and he’s beyond terrified, beyond plain fear. He’s dead, he knows it and it’s all he can do to not faint when Deacon yanks him upright with one vicious tug.
“How the hell do you even know what I said?” he demands, his face a mere inch from Scud’s.
“I…I don’t! I swear, it’s…you were speaking and I uh…” he babbles desperately, his eyes fearfully wide. “It’s the words, they sound um…that one word, I heard…”
“You heard what?” Deacon shakes him once for emphasis and his fangs are so close that Scud turns his head, baring his neck reflexively before he can think of doing otherwise and his blood hums under the surface, eagerly anticipating the moment of injection.
“You, you said it the other day!” Scud hears himself say though he sounds far away. He thinks he might be having a panic attack or maybe he’s too well trained for his own good, submissive to bring Deacon’s rage back under control. “In English…”
Deacon’s grip on him relaxes and Scud can feel the bruises already beginning to bloom on his skin. His eyes sting and he wants to fucking bawl when Deacon shifts back down, straddling Scud’s thighs. He’s breathing too fast and he’s so goddamned afraid.
“It doesn’t mean anything that you need to know about.”
Scud nods rapidly. “Ok…ok,” he whispers as he rubs his sweat-slick hands on the sheets. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he’s still not entirely sure that Deacon won’t kill him.
Deacon eyes him, a suspicious glare to his face. He smears his thumb over the still wet cut on Scud’s chest and Scud winces, a wisp of a gasp leaving him at the jolt of pain.
“You ask too many questions,” he says, pressing on the cut.
Blood droplets pool around his thumb and Scud bites his bottom lip to keep the little noises of hurt to himself. Deacon’s rubbing back and forth on the wound and, God help him, Scud watches in numb horror as the vampire licks along the cut, neatly removing the traces of blood.
Nausea swirls in his stomach and yet…Scud feels desire begin to coil there as well.
He closes his eyes once more and it’s not long before he’s responding, his body jerking and rising with Deacon. He grips the sheets in both hands, shaking as he’s taken, pain sliding into his neck and then he feels nothing but bliss but in the back of his mind, he hears the word over and over and he’s more afraid of the vampire that saved him than he ever was before.
X
