NaNoWriMo 2009 - Blood Soaked Lovers [ 10 / 10 ]
Title: Blood Soaked Lovers
Rating: NC-17 / MA
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairings: McCoy/Chekov, Kirk/Sulu, touch of Spock/Chekov
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the characters nor the song titles
Warnings: OOCness, gore/violence
Summary: They were blood soaked lovers.
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CHAPTER TEN: COMING UNDONE
When Pavel Andreievich Chekov came back to himself, the world around him felt different. Every scent seemed to be magnified, every sound seemed to be louder, more focused. He could hear the groans of the undead, the clanging of metal blades as they tore through bones and flesh and the labored breathing of those who worked the weapons. He could smell blood, coppery and thick though it smelled sweeter than he remembered it being and the powerful, intoxicating scent of sex that seemed to permeate the room. The entire place looked to be lit up by a red light though there was none of the heat that came with a lam and the designs on the floor, drawn in dried, cold blood, were plainly visible. He would have stayed still if it wasn’t for the slight movement beneath him and the large warm hand that gently pushed at his shoulder, coaxing him to roll onto his back. He did as the touch suggested simply because he was confused, but when he saw that the person he had been laying over was none other than Doctor McCoy, a strange sensation ran through him the likes of which he hadn’t known before.
He opened his mouth to say something but the older man ignored him in favor of getting to his feet, the satanic pentagram carved into his back glowing slightly to the ensign’s new eyesight. The symbol made the earlier sensation become strong enough to where he could identify it as a form of lust though it was different from the lust the teenager had been forced to feel for the bodies of the dead. This was more of an urge to do something, though what that something was he couldn’t identify. It was only now that the touch of confusion broke through the haze that he was able to get a better look at the much older man, the vampire, and see that he was nude and clearly not shy about it as he went about to get dressed. While he normally would have blushed, something told the Russian it was hardly an appropriate reaction. In fact, the sight of the other’s nude body just made him hungry.
“Come on, Pavel,” McCoy all but snapped, his drawl easier to pick out now for some reason while he quickly got dressed in one of his black priest’s suits, “hurry up! Sulu and Kirk are downstairs, gettin’ more exhausted by the minute and need our help.” Even in the darkness of the room, somehow the once slave could pick out the different shades of color in the other’s eyes though the specific colors themselves were too red tinted to make out. “Even with the way you are, you should be able to wield your blades without hurtin’ yourself.”
Even the way he was? The seventeen year old frowned in confusion as he moved to stand carefully, only to find that as he did so the feeling of something cold and wet dribbling down his thighs that was not too unfamiliar sent shivers up his spine and the normal ache that came from such activities was minimal. They had had sex then? When? Or better yet why? He didn’t remember consenting to such a thing. He could barely remember anything beyond the moment when Hikaru’s blade carved a hole into his side…that’s right. He had been stabbed.
Getting onto his feet, his hands frantically searched his side for the wound the knew should be there, a wound he remembered cutting so deeply, a wound that hurt but at the same time didn’t… a wound he had been sure he would die from. He found no trace of it, not even a scar. His fast mind starting putting things together, even as McCoy finished dressing and picked up a wash rag, still cold from the earlier soaking in vodka and with a huff walked over to the boy and began washing him down where he needed to be washed down. The lack of a wound, the smell of sex, the satanic pentagram and the new vision, even the warmth he felt when the vampire’s hands touched him… His now red eyes widened.
Stepping away from the other, fortunately after the doctor was done, he just stared wide eyed at the other man, the man he had thought would be different, who wouldn’t take advantage of him. His memories of the ritual itself were hazy at best but he remembered the touches, the sensations, here and there. “Doktor? How could you?” he asked, still in shock, wrapping his arms around himself and just now realizing that he too was nude, “I trusted you. I trusted you more zan any ozer wampire and you did vhat zey deed. You took from me…”
“Look, Pavel, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
The teenager looked up, glaring at the other man as he walked around, grateful that the other seemed to sense his need to maintain the distance, and sneered. “You deed not hawe a choice… vhat complete bullsheet. You could hawe let me die a human eef I vas going to die zan turn me eento a monster!” He quickly backed away far enough to grab some clothes from the drawers, relying on his now heightened senses to tell him if and when the other approached at all. He needed to dress quickly. He couldn’t stand to be exposed to McCoy’s red eyes a minute longer. His anger boiled. “You should have let me die!”
Now the doctor looked really angry as well. “You know what? I probably should have let an ungrateful brat like you bite the dust but could I have done it?” The old surgeon scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as the teenager slipped the black dress shirt over his shoulders, a pair of black pants, underwear, socks and shoes already on. “I took an oath when I became a doctor all those years ago to save as many lives as I can with these two hands and I never go back on my oaths.”
The teenager snorted in disgust as he tucked the shirt in and slipped his black suit jacket over his shoulders. It was hardly as if he could do anything about it now. He was already changed and, if his new senses were not exaggerating, he and the doctor were needed downstairs. He turned and unsheathed his favorite daggers, brushing the silver against each other. The man was lucky he didn’t have the time to pay him back for this betrayal just yet. He shifted the grip on the handles as he walked away, letting the doctor move to gather his own weapons from the same closet.
He went to where the door was, closing his eyes and just listening while the humans retreated up the stairs near the door he stood behind. The smell of blood, both warm and cold, makes this odd feeling within him boil to the surface. He barely recognizes the instinct while the soft footfalls of Leonard McCoy coming to his side, the sharp smell of silver only making the blood stand out all the more sharply. The dark room grew brighter red. His grip on his own actions started to slip while his mouth fell open a little bit to avoid cutting into his own gum line and lips. Chekov didn’t notice Leonard’s movement to the wall next through the door, his pale hand opening the door while the other tightened his grip on his long, hooked blade, it’s opposite in the looser grip of the hand that held onto the door handle. The barrier that closed off the room from the rest of the small inn was removed and it seemed it was not the only barrier that was taken down.
The moment he stepped out of the room, Pavel didn’t notice anything other than the half decayed bodies of the ghouls that continued to draw nearer to the few humans that still lived. His blades shown in the candlelight and he could feel a smile stretch across his face distantly. He felt no fear. Just amusement and a sick sense of joy as if he was about to open a wonderful gift of some kind. It was the last thought he could truly remember having. Everything beyond that point was just blood and death as he carved the remains of what had been the long dead village folk to strips. Faintly, in his own ears, he could hear the echo of his own maniacal laughter. In the back of his mind, where his still very human conscience lay, he could hear himself enjoying the re-killing.
It didn’t take long for his blades and it seemed natural fighting instincts to clear the inn of the ghouls and once out in the streets, it seemed only easier. Chekov could tell it was cold outside. He knew he should be shivering and his fingers aching but he felt none of that. It was as if he had stepped out into a slightly cooler room than he had been staying in though perhaps adrenaline had something to do with that. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, the sweeping arch of another set of silver blades that were equally blood stained as a collection of felled bodies formed at the wielder’s feet. It took a moment for him to recognize the fact that the other, clearly well versed re-killer was none other than Doctor McCoy himself.
The ghouls stopped coming, or rather they simply stayed in place. Pavel straightened after his blades tore apart a final one, the red tint to his vision lessening now that he had calmed down somewhat. The sound of a wolf baying, louder than any wolf he had ever heard as a human, made him look down the street that the ghouls that remained, all twenty of them, had stepped aside from. Even in the darkness with only the full moon to cast it’s white light across the small village, he could make out the large, menacing animal easily. It stood as tall as a carriage with thick white fur and blood red eyes, his ears folded back against it’s head and its bloody muzzle open to reveal sharp fangs, only a little longer than Pavel’s own though much thicker. It’s paws were the size of the bread plates they had eaten their breakfast off of that morning and the long, thick claws clicked loudly against the ice that had formed, it’s haunches moving with the grace of a purely natural predator.
Chekov knew his silver daggers alone wouldn’t be enough to take care of this animal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the doctor shift so he was centered on the road, the blood dripping from the hem of his coat staining the white snow a deep read. It took the boy a moment to register what was happening. A temporary distraction until he got the new weapon. He wondered, in the back of his mind, where Sulu and Kirk had gone. Perhaps they were being wise and staying with the other humans? He was surprised when his heart didn’t twist at the thought of Hikaru with the commander. At least there was one advantage to becoming a monster, he thought. Monsters couldn’t feel love.
Now, however, was not the time to contemplate this. In fact, now was hardly the time to think of anything at all but the shredding of dog meat. Not too far off, there was a bale of hay with short handled scythe that, judging from how his instincts screamed to avoid touching it, had to have at least trace amounts of silver. He buried his daggers deep into the bales and with little effort picked up the longer, heavier blade at the end of a rather short staff. It was heavy enough to need both hands and it wasn’t as if he had wielded something like this before. He’d have to learn as he went and hope he was a quick enough learner that he made it through this relatively unharmed.
The werewolf’s growl sounded menacing and dangerous, the thinness of the animal proving just how starved it naturally was for human flesh. Still, it did not pounce them or charge them. In fact, at one point it stopped. Both vampires stayed on their guard but glanced behind the large animal to the humanoid figure that emerged from the shadows behind it. Pavel Chekov felt himself tense at the sight of the being that controlled this beast. He knew it could be no other. It had to be Lord Spock.
The Vulcan stood tall, his black Vulcan’s robes flowing elegantly around him while some snow clung to the stair, black hair and his lean, fine boned face and smoothly pointed ears remained untouched by any sort of blush from the cold. His skin in general had a greenish tinge to it though that was because, from what Pavel could remember, was because the creature’s blood itself was green. His jaw tightened as his hands around his scythe did too. Perhaps, once he and the doctor had taken care of this dog, he would feel the pleasure of tainting the snow green with the bastard’s blood.
“Lord Spock, I presume,” Doctor McCoy’s voice said in it’s usual gruff manner, although the words were clipped and cold. The sound of footsteps approaching from behind got Pavel somewhat jumpy for a minute or two until he was able to calm himself down. He didn’t need to look behind him to see who it was. There were only two humans who would be foolish enough to join them in this fray. The Russian frowned to himself. Perhaps they were not as smart as he had given them credit for though he supposed he could blame that, at least partially, on the commander. From what little he had seen of the man in action, he always leapt before he looked and fought no matter what the odds.
The humanoid creature tilted his head. “Yes. You are Doctor Leonard H McCoy if I am not mistaken.” He folded his arms into his sleeves. “And behind you is James T. Kirk.” His familiar dark eyes flickered momentarily over the Asian who Pavel could almost feel standing next to him before pausing on him, taking in his appearance which was, undoubtedly, different from all those weeks ago when he made his escape. “I am pleased to see you again, mister Chekov. Or is it Ensign Chekov now?”
Testing the weight of the scythe carefully, Pavel swept it in a graceful arch before twirling it behind him as a form of reestablishing his hold. “Eet ees neizer to you,” he snapped, tossing his head to get some of the curls away from his line of sight. “Vhat do you vant here anyway? Zere ees no castle to take as your own.”
The Vulcan-vampire’s lips thinned, the only visible sign of his annoyance that the once slave recognized only from long years of watching the lord’s facial expressions for any signs of a change in his mood. They were few and far between so it didn’t take him all that long to memorize them. “I have come to reclaim what was taken from me,” The dark eyes shifted their gaze to Kirk. “As well as get an apology from the one who took said object.”
Jim Kirk, despite the cold, glared as he stepped forward through the mangled corpses of the ghouls, his torn clothes and dirty face only making the intensity of his blue eyes stand out even more against the blond of his hair and the very slight tan to his skin. “I do hope you’re not talkin’ about me there, Mister Spock,” he said with his usual cocky attitude, though he looked fairly serious. He kept his gun lowered though ready, his face already reddened by the cold winter wind. At least, however, he was dressed against the winter temperatures, with the exception of the lack of hat. “Because kidnapping and slavery in every country is against this thing called the law. If anyone should be apologizing here, it’s you to misters Chekov and Sulu.”
The Vulcan straightened and quirked a dark eyebrow. “Fascinating. Your human concept of justice has evolved greatly over the centuries.”
Kirk didn’t seem impressed. “Really now? What did it use to be?”
“I do believe the phrase to describe it at the time was ‘an eye for an eye‘.”
McCoy scoffed. “Yeah well the answer to that later on was that ‘an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’.” Pavel turned his gaze to the wolf for a moment, who was still hunched up, growling, ready to pounce though who it was aiming for he couldn’t pick out just yet. “Besides, he ain’t yours anymore, Vulcan.”
The made Lord Spock visibly straighten himself. Pavel braced himself to a need to move quickly. He recognized that stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hikaru doing the same thing. It was what the Elder always did when he preparing himself to strike. “Explain, doctor.” His calculating voice was downright icy now. The werewolf’s growl became more menacing and it crouched lower.
Chekov got the feeling that, had he been human, the smirk on the doctor’s blood splattered face, along with the effect of the blood that stained his clothes and hands, would have frightened him. As it was, he simply found it more than a little arousing. He wanted to shake his head in disgust with himself over finding the bloody vampire’s smirk a turn on but he also knew better than to do that where it could be seen by the enemy. This strange new form and it’s odd kinks were things he would simply have to discovered later.
“The kid’s been changed,” was the simple answer , said casually as if it meant nothing, “His body’s no longer living and if I remember my vampiric law correctly, the one who sires a new vampire is the only one that holds claim to him until either he sets the newborn free or is killed in action.” The McCoy did not step closer to the teenager but to Pavel, it certainly felt like they were closer together anyway. The smirk did grow, however. “It’s a shame you never did turn him when you had the chance, Spock. He’s a mighty fine catch.”
“If what you say about vampiric law is correct then it is safe to say, judging from your use of language, that you have not released him from your claim.” He unfolded his arms and stepped forward, his long fingered hand caressing the werewolf’s back. “That leaves me with only one course of action to reclaim my property.” Both black eyebrows went up and if Chekov hadn’t been who he was and spent so many years living with this creature in chains, he might have believed the sincerity of his next words. “I apologize for the fact that it has come to this. I would have enjoyed your company, doctor, as you yourself are a rare breed as well.” There was no grand hand motion or clichéd verbal cue. The wolf leapt forward with frightening speed at the old vampire, barely leaving any of them time to react.
Pavel charged the wolf, not bothering with the Vulcan, knowing that if he killed the animal he could deal with the Elder next, his long scythe flashing in the moonlight, but the hound was able to dodge the blade with the ease of a veteran. The second it’s paws landed on the ground it turned and launched at him instead with a menacing growl. The newborn vampire was able to raise his staff to block the forepaws from catching with his skin but the weight of the creature knocked him down into the snow. The row of sharp teeth came dangerously close to closing on his nose and it took all his strength to keep it from getting any closer. There was a sound of gun shots in the background and shouting but he couldn’t smell any fresh blood. Presumably the shots were Jim shooting at the vampire lord.
It took Chekov a moment to find the right leverage but once he had it he was easily able to shove the wolf far enough away to give him time to stand. He heard a clash of metal in the background from at least three blades but he didn’t dare look to see what was happening. The werewolf started to circle him and he stepped carefully around in complete opposition to it, ready for the next attack. The ghouls from earlier were starting to shuffle closer, presumably to work as a distraction and he cursed his luck. But of course this would be the way things went.
Before the were could charge at him, he charged at the animal, bringing his blade lower to sweep it up in a firm stroke, hopefully to decapitate the animal. The sounds of metal against metal diminished, indicating one swordsman had dropped out and was probably helping Jim with the ghouls. His opponent surged forward just as he brought the blade in it’s upward sweep, then there was a flash of red. It took a moment for him to register the fact that the hound’s claws had torn his pants and thigh a little but the blood that stained the ground was not his cold, lifeless purple. The werewolf turned where it lay in the snow, still somewhat snarling, but looking considerably weaker now that it only had three paws and the stub remaining of the fourth limb was bleeding profusely. His vampire’s senses told him it wouldn’t last much longer. All that was left was the death blow.
He stepped closer to the animal, not worried for his own health, and muttered an apology in Russian beneath his breath when he tucked the blade under the wolf’s neck and, in a single movement, removed it’s head. It was only now that the head was removed that there was any hope of seeing exactly who this person had been. It was a human male with short blond hair that couldn’t have been native to the area. Whoever he was, he was sure someone, once the remaining humans stepped out of their homes, would recognize the decapitated soul and bury him properly. At least, Pavel thought, this man would never have to deal with the monster he had become.
A flurry of movement came from his right before he could get his relatively heavy weapon up to defend himself, it was knocked from his grip and he was pulled, bodily against a too warm body that stank of copper. He could hear the labored breathing and feel the blade of the weapon pressed against his neck, the sharp end cutting him a little. Chekov rolled his eyes, knowing full well Lord Spock couldn’t see it. What was it with the world today? Was it international Kill Pavel Andreievich Chekov Day? One would think he would have known about it before now if that was the case.
“I must admit, Doctor, I had not anticipated you to be such a worthy opponent.” Just the voice being next to his ear sent shivers of fear up his spine but he fought to keep the emotion under tight lock. While the Vulcan wasn’t touching his skin directly, thereby was unable to sense the exact emotion unless it was strong, he didn’t want to bring any undue attention to himself. “For being human born and a healer, you have decent fighter’s skill.”
Pavel turned his attention to the man being addressed, surprised to see the other relatively unharmed despite the battle with this much older and stronger being. His face was neutral but his eyes spoke of a fierce anger that flared periodically. The blades in his hands were still stained with the blood of the ghouls but there were the odd splotches of green in the mix that showed at least a few blows had landed on Spock. His hair was a mess and snow from the scuffles dusted his all black clothes making him look more real, even as the moonlight made his skin look like marble. The teenager could see the faint traces of blood being pumped, no doubt from adrenaline and the effort to fight, in the veins in his neck and again he had to fight to keep emotions at bay. Why was he suddenly lusting after the doctor, the vampire, when before his blood only really burned for Hikaru?
“Well, that’s mighty nice of you to say, Spock,” he drawled, the accent made all the more appealing with the gruff quality of his voice, “but that doesn’t solve our little problem here. Now you’ve got your hands on my boy and that, I’m afraid, I don’t forgive easily.” He dropped one blade onto the ground and raised his hand towards his face to get his hair out of his eyes. It was only now that the hand was lifted that Chekov noticed the blood that ran down the back of it and his fingers. So he had been caught a few times too. “So you got yourself a choice. You can either hand him over, get the hell out of here, and find yourself a new mate, preferably one a little older than a teenager, or I can kill you. It’s up to you.”
There was no need to see Spock to know his eyebrow was quirked. It was the Vulcan’s natural reaction to such threats. There was a slow, careful movement to the right, in the shadows. He could smell Jim Kirk’s sweat from here. Ugh. Some things he really didn’t want to smell as a human and they were just made more potent now. However, if Jim was doing something like this then Hikaru couldn’t be that far off… “Fascinating. Although it is I who have the upper hand it is you who are making the threats. Unless there is something about human vampirism that I have not heard about, this seems like a foolish endeavor of yours.”
McCoy smiled a little half smile, though it was cold and sadistic looking when his face and clothes were so splattered with blood. “Yeah well, maybe this ‘idle threat’ -as you seem to imply it being- has nothing to do with a type of vampirism.” Jim’s sudden movement, to stand up with his gun aimed, startled Spock into turning rapidly, the blade against Chekov’s neck not sinking any deeper though judging from the jerk in the body behind him and the gasp in his ear, there was a blade that sank into the Elder’s body anyway though thankfully not piercing all the way through. The grip on the Russian loosened and he quickly stepped away while the blade finished it’s job and forced its way out the other side of the body.
Spock dropped to his knees just as Kirk stepped closer, his gun still warm from the earlier dealings with the ghouls, both hands holding the weapon steady. “I know that wound isn’t fatal for your kind,” the commander snapped, “and you’d probably be able to recover from it pretty quick if I had Sulu pull it out so I think I’m gonna have him leave it there while we take you back to headquarters, Mister Spock. I am formally putting you under arrest on the behalf of the Federation for a shit ton of charges I really don’t have the time to name right now. So put your hands behind your head. It‘s over.”
Lord Spock bowed his head but did as he was told, apparently having decided it was best to succumb while he still had the chance. McCoy stepped forward from where he had been standing while Hikaru pulled a set of specialized handcuffs from Kirk’s belt, designed for the strength of a werewolf but more than capable of handling both a Vulcan and a vampire. There was no missing the gentle grope to the blond commander’s ass as the handcuffs were taken from the back compartment of the utility belt nor the very slight smile that touched his face from the contact that faded as quickly as it had shown itself.
While there was a slight pang in his chest at this, there was a warm feeling that compensated for it when a large hand wrapped itself around the back of his neck and massaged it gently. He leaned against the larger vampire, crossing his arms over his chest. The moon was reaching towards the west. It would not be all that long until sunlight. They had to move quickly to get Spock hidden away, probably with the doctor and himself, in a dark, windowless room until the Federation came for them. Normally the thought of being locked away from the light again, forced to spend his days in darkness, would have frightened him. He had just gotten used to sleeping at night in a dark room and waking up to find he was no longer locked away in that dungeon anymore. However, he doubted this would be a problem now.
Turning towards Leonard McCoy, Pavel thought about what it was they exactly were to each other. They had originally been enemies, though that was mostly due to prejudice on his part, then colleagues in a sense. Then they became teammates and not long after that Hikaru -no Lieutenant Sulu now- nearly killed him. The actual ritual that transformed him from a human into what he was now…it wasn’t all pain. He remembered pleasure in there too, a pleasure of the flesh he had never had with his human lover. He smiled to himself and looked back to Jim and Sulu while they helped the still skewered Vulcan up and out of the snow. Perhaps, in the chaos that happened today he had his answer. They were blood soaked lovers.
THE END OF BLOOD SOAKED LOVERS++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
PART NINE: ACCORDING TO PLAN
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story has won me NaNoWriMo 2009 with 50,153 words! *explodes in excite me* I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.