We Dance In Dark Suspension 1/2
Title: We Dance In Dark Suspension 1/2
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Fandom: Blade (the movies)
Pairings: Deacon Frost/Hannibal King
Overall Characters: Hannibal, Danica, Asher, Frost, Mercury, Quinn, Blade, and Abby, with mentions of various Nightstalkers
Genre: Dark. Very dark.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: As Danica's human pet, Hannibal catches the eye of Deacon Frost.
Overall Word Count: Approximately 12,700
Spoilers: For Blade I and Trinity, but this fic definitely carves its own canon.
Overall Warnings: Violence, Non-Con, and Character Death (Not of any truly main characters)
Notes: Dedicated to scrapbullet. Sorry this took me so long, darling! Also, a big thank you to Matt for holding my hand through this! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "The Horror of Our Love" by Ludo
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just here to play.
Author Note 2: **While Reading This Fic, Operate Under The Assumption That More Highly Sophisticated Vampires Can Choose When They Infect A Human. Just Go With It.**
We Dance In Dark Suspension 1/2:
Danica's parties were always that of a flamboyant style, an exhibition of her wealth through and through. But not solely her wealth; also her property. Every major event, she'd be hanging off some new, pretty morsel, be they male or female - as rare as the latter was.
This late September gala was no different. Except it was. The particular candy Danica advertised this time was intriguing, where her former pets had been boring to say the least.
This one had defiance written in every line of his surprisingly muscular human form, accentuated by a constricting black tank top and loose, promising jeans. Furthermore, he had a delightfully vulgar mouth on him. Danica had finally developed some good taste. Or maybe Frost had Asher to thank for discovering this little delicacy; everyone knew what a picky eater he was. He likely gave the human to his sister as a treat; a decision he was largely regretting, considering the envy in his eyes as he gazed hungrily at the two.
“Where'd you get this one, Danica?”
Danica paused her clearly unwanted pawing in order to look up, her patented lop-sided, malicious smirk making its way to her lips. “Frost. How good of you to come...”
She gazed at her toy, who had his eyes planted squarely on the ground, though judging by the working of his jaw, he was just itching to say something. “This little thing? Oh, we just stumbled upon him, didn't we, Asher?”
The vampire laughed, nodding as he reached forward, running his hand amidst the kneeling human's tawny hair. The man pulled his head to the side, extracting yet another cruel chuckle from Asher, who leaned back on the luxurious velvet red couch he rested on.
Asher raised his narrowed eyes, promptly serious, “Why, do you like what you see?” There was a hint of mockery in this voice.
It was well known that Frost despised humans. The few he kept as pets were never allowed in his bed chamber, unlike many other vampires who used them for both snacks and sex. He opted more for the undead, like him. He was unnecessarily stringent about this unspoken rule.
And so, the congregation gathered around the Talos siblings, as well as his own company, were stupefied to hear him speak most emphatically, “Yes, I do. I thought you'd never ask.”
Mercury reached out to entwine her fingers around his arm as a reminder. She was the only vampire he'd ever become attached to, and though she wasn't the jealous type - being relatively certain of her place in his stagnant heart - she did not approve of the fact that she might possibly be replaced by a human; even for one night.
Danica's grinning mouth shut quickly, confusion stretching across her face. He could see the gears of her mind writhing to life. The same effect was currently consuming Asher as well.
They both knew it was not intelligent to forbid Frost anything. Although he was not a Pureblood, and therefore not a corporeal power in their society, he was not one to fuck with. He had made that clear. And everyone had heard whispers of his plans, not exactly what they were, but that it would be best not to get involved or oppose him.
If they were to rebuff his request, he would undeniably take that as an insult. But, yet, they did not wish to part with their leashed dog. They had recently commenced his training, preparing to sculpt him into the personification of an immaculate pet. When his humanity bored them, they would change him. They had their plot, and Frost had no role to play.
“Oh c'mon, it's not like I'll kill him. I'll return him all safe and sound tomorrow night. No harm done,” Frost raised a brow, “Or does a mere human mean so much to the two of you?”
He knew he had them. They couldn't reject him without harming their ruthless reputations now. He smiled as Danica's lips creased into a livid scowl. “Fine, Frost, you can take him. But remember, he's ours. He's not yours to kill or turn.”
Frost nodded, “Of course not. Don't worry your pretty little head over it.”
He glanced at Quinn and a few of his lackeys, gesturing towards the human. Two of them lifted him up by his upper arms, and still, he spoke not a word. Before, he'd had such an elaborate vocabulary... There was something up his sleeve. Let him go ahead and try. At the very most, it would result in asinine violence.
Once they were out of the apartment and walking down the hall, the human embodied his prediction by making a dreadfully silly mistake. In a short scuffle, he was somehow able to disengage the vampires holding him; but in a seconds time, Frost had him by the throat and up against the wall.
Not all that flustered, he looked to the vampires currently crawling off the ground and calmly smiled. “Decent attempt there, King.” He'd heard Danica call him that and, judging by the pissed off look in the man's eyes, he had assumed accurately. King clawed at his wrists to no avail.
“You got farther than most could. You can fight. Perhaps you were a cop before Danica got to you?”
A flicker of frustration. Yep, correct again.
“Well, you're not one anymore. You're a helpless fawn surrounded by a pack of wolves. You should start acting like one before you really get hurt.”
Yet, he wasn't entirely fond of the prospect that his recommendation might be exercised. He'd seen the fight simmering to the surface in King, and that was what he'd liked so much. But, in a morbid way, he was on target. If he acted like the rest of the pets did, then Frost would not have been so totally fascinated and they would not be in this situation.
“Oh, is that so?” King said, well, grunted really since Frost was cutting off the majority of his oxygen supply, “I've never been very good at taking advice, so I think I can safely tell you to shove your pretentious bullshit up your ass.”
“Hmph, quite the mouth on you.” His fingers outlined King's mouth as he leaned in, gossamer blue eyes capturing mahogany ones. “I like that.”
“You think you can scare me with that cliché trash?” Hannibal scoffed, “You ain't got nothing on the psycho twins in there.”
Frost was not in the least bit perturbed, which had been King's flimsy goal. He sneered, revealing his sharp incisors. He was used his fangs frightening mortals like King, but then again, the humans he dealt with were generally unacquainted with vampires.
He switched his grasp from his fragile windpipe to his remarkably sturdy wrists, pinning them on each side of his head, pressing their bodies closer. His thigh edged up towards the man's sensitive crotch.
His mouth was near King's throat, who had inadvertently assisted him by turning away. His fang reached out to nick the stark purple vein beneath, sucking on the tiny squirt of blood he procured. King flinched, breath haggard and strained.
Frost pulled from the bubble of delectably bitter caffeine mingled with a hint of underlying sweet sugar - scrumptious nuances of his former life. It was not an extraordinary combination, but he could detect more flavors yet to be discovered, all sealed within his precious lifeline.
“You do not like to be bitten, King? So unlike your kind... Pets should beg for it. Beg to be bled, and filled,” he laid more pressure onto his groin, emphasizing his meaning, “and bled again. It is your only purpose.”
“Oh really? Tell me if I'm doing it right...” He turned to face him, and Frost pulled his lips from the wound in favor of witnessing the show King would put on.
Rather than experiencing some derisive display of desire, he was on the receiving end of a headbutt. It was enough to jolt him backward, but he refused to let go. A low growl curled in the base of his throat. He was not at all used to being hit by a fucking human, of all things.
His eyes glinted crystalline, cautionary, but there was still no fear in King's auburn light depths. “Be careful. I may find your antics amusing, but only for so long. Don't push my generosity.”
In private, this sort of fight was more than welcome. However, he would not be made a fool of in full view of his men, and especially Mercury.
“Generosity? Fuck you, you bloodsucking parasite.”
Reverting to his composed self, Frost released him to land a startlingly harsh punch on his face. He could smell the burst of blood in the air as King spit a glob of it onto the floor. The scent riffled through him, renewing his appetite. He'd had a small meal before arriving at the party and was therefore capable of not devouring the man right then and there. And that was the sole reason for his discretion.
He heard Quinn laughing, and making some dumb comment to get his attention. He was tuned out. Frost wasn't in the mood to humor him tonight.
He snapped his fingers and this time it was Quinn and one of his more trusted men who took over King. As they made their way to the car and then onto his flat, he mostly neglected the man, choosing to dote on Mercury.
During their many fervent kisses - more languid than he'd ever profess to - Frost listened to King's colorful remarks. Something about 'stupid cock gobbling cum-guzzlers' and 'raging thundercunt', plausibly directed at Vanessa, God knew she merited the title.
To Quinn, he distinctly heard “why don't you take a picture there, big guy? It might last longer, you ugly, pit-faced assbitch.” Then there was some conversation about the fact that he was too cute for this shit.
Frost couldn't refrain from smiling. Mercury no doubt thought it was because of her.
~~~~~
“Gotta give it to ya, Frosty, these are some nice digs.”
They were alone in Frost's apartment. The various pools of water shimmered off the walls, giving the dark room an iridescent quality. Hannibal was hiding his nerves by smart-mouthing, as usual.
There was an echo of pain in his jaw from where he had been hit, not to mention the throbbing in his skull from that insanely moronic decision to headbutt a fucking vampire. Specifically one that had been able to intimidate Danica and Asher into giving him up for a night. That meant the undead creep in front of him must have been as strong as Satan himself. In addition, the circumstances themselves were royally fucked up. He was not a piece of meat to be bartered.
“So, is that your real name, Frosty?” He hoped that the nickname might irritate the vamp, but he was getting no reaction thus far. Didn't mean it wasn't affecting him. “Cuz, damn, your parents must have been two sadistic motherfuckers.”
Frost pivoted on his heels, striking him with another one of those soul-piercing gazes. His eyes were just so god damn blue! Danica and Asher were all about the dark, where Frost surely lived up to his name; whether it was his real one or not. Likely some dumb vampire name. So lame, like some immature teenager. Too bad it was actually badass.
Frost walked towards him, glance never straying, “I do appreciate your conversation, King, but that is not why I brought you here. I assume you know why?”
Hannibal flashed one of his smarmy grins, “My charming personality?”
Frost was an arm's length away, smiling in a slanted manner and exposing one canine tooth. “That was definitely part of it, sport.”
Feeling crowded, Hannibal began to back up. He should have known by now not to heed such instincts. They molded him into more of a weak prey than he already happened to be. Suddenly, his back collided harshly with a wall made of glass, steel shrouding the outside of it. Must have been made to shield the sun.
Frost was at his throat once more. He'd used that speed of his. Hannibal hated that inhuman shit! When he felt the smooth surface of Frost's tongue ghost over the drying blood from before, his hands jumped to the vampire's shoulders. It was not an aggressive gesture. He simply wished to acquire his acknowledgment.
“Hey, hey! Cool it, tiger. You should at least take me out to dinner or something first. I'm starving. Don't want to be rude, do you?”
In response, Frost bit in deep.
Hannibal groaned, “Fuck!” He tried to pull away, and normally wouldn't get far except the vampire chose to liberate him. “C'mon, this is ridiculous... Can't taste that good with no nutrients.”
Frost raised his head, visibly licking his lips. The crimson receded to a somber pink, as if the color had been drained out of the typically vibrant flesh. Which, he supposed, it had.
After being appraised, outright uncomfortably if Hannibal had anything to say about it, he was curtly turned to face the wall, “I think you taste fine, so quit your bitching.”
Frost's frigid chest was at his back, his marble-cold hand slipping underneath his shirt to journey up the taut ridge of his vertebrae before moving to his torso. His free hand rested idly on his hip. Hannibal shuddered, closing his eyes. He was sick of being these bastards fuck-toys.
“You know, you're the only human I've wanted in over a century,” Frost said as his fingers continued to pillage his heat.
“Oh, lucky me.” Hannibal clasped his curious hand from the outside of the fabric, squeezing firmly. “I was serious about that date first.”
He could feel the rumble of the vampire's laughter, matching it exclusively for the hell of it. “No, really, you god damn corpse. You gotta court me or wait in line like all the other dirtbags.”
“Oh?” Frost took his hand out from underneath his shirt, twirling the man around by his shoulders. He flung him back into the wall. Hannibal readily gritted his teeth, all too acclimated to abuse.
“Is that why you spread your legs for Danica and Asher? They court you, so you let them do whatever they want?”
It was as if Frost had doused him with gasoline and set him aflame. Anger at his predicament surged zealous and caustic in his veins. He had always been impulsive, but lately he'd been exerting a bit of control over that characteristic of his. Not tonight, because before he knew it, his fist had made solid contact with Frost's face.
It probably hurt Hannibal a hell of a lot more than the vampire, but it was enough to get him to take a step back. Frost was virtually in hysterics, behaving like a nutter who had escaped the psych ward.
“Hit me again, King. Do it, I fucking dare you.”
And he was desperate enough to try. He was shocked when, once more, he made his target. He didn't stop with two. Retreating into the mindset of his cop education, his foot cracked into Frost's head, dropping him to the floor.
Finally, Frost fought back, grabbing his fist when he tried to hit him again, eyes that inconceivably translucent blue as he stared up at him from his kneeling position. He grinned, fangs longer than before, and that was when he knew he was in trouble.
Without a warning, he was staring into the glossed, wooden floor. His arm was twisted behind his back while Frost straddled his hips. When he tried to raise himself up, the movement pushed his arm further out of joint. Hannibal hissed and ceased all activity.
Frost laughed, leaned down to his ear, surprisingly hot breath ghosting his skin - vampires could abstain from oxygen-intake at any time, but many breathed merely because they could.
“Oh, King King King... You've no idea how much you entertain me.”
“Glad I could be of service, you gimp dicked freak. Can I go now that I've given you a good chuckle?”
He nonchalantly bypassed his oh-so unique choice of words, “You wouldn't want to leave before I give you your reward, would you?”
“Not so sure I wouldn't.”
The vampire grinned anew. Hannibal always had aspirations of being able to conveniently shut himself up and stop provoking these cocksuckers, but he didn't work that way. Frost let go of his hand, slithering down his body. His shirt was ushered up, directly succeeded by the titillating sensation of a tongue chasing the indentation of his spine.
His back arched reflexively, trapping a lewd groan before it escaped. Sure, this was a vampire, and he was nothing more than dinner, but he was still a guy, after all. And besides, Frost had caught him off-guard with this unusual tactic.
He was up to the base of his neck now, and Hannibal's nails had all but dug into the floor in an attempt to withstand his endeavors. He kissed the frail skin at the crux of his shoulder. He could feel the malevolent simper enveloping Frost's lips.
“Danica and Asher got it right with you. You are one in a million, King.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes, “Man, I get so tired of being told how great I am. Why don't you show me instead of telling me?”
For the life of him, he could not be silent for even a minute.
“Oh, I will. I'm going to fuck you so hard, your feeble human brain won't be able to comprehend a god damn syllable after I'm finished.”
Frost rolled his hips into Hannibal's ass, grinding ever so subtly before gliding his fangs so easily into his brimming veins - stocked because Danica and Asher had wanted him healthy for their party. Sadistic fucks.
They both knew how to bite without infecting, but they were not endowed with total discipline due to their tempers - a reality they would never confess to anyone else - and so they ordinarily just bled him, beat him, and screwed him.
With Frost, it was clearly going to be otherwise.
Hannibal's mouth gaped, frozen in pain. There was always an edge of elation to a vampire bite. Before they defiled them with their disease or simply fed from them, some sort of toxin dedicated to the subjugation of their victims was unleashed. It was the reason so many of his kind volunteered to be familiars; they enjoyed the thrill which accompanied being bitten, as Frost had stated earlier.
And he was right. King was no such man. Be it genuine will-power or something every bit as inexplicable, he had proven himself to be practically immune to the enchanting symptoms of their innate allure.
How could anyone covet being at the mercy of a merciless creature, of being powerless? He hated to admit it, but this was when he was afraid. Scared of a vampire finally going too far and taking his life, scared of being made into one of them as Danica so often threatened. He didn't want to lose his humanity, his control - they were ruled by their thirst alone, like animals. He didn't ever want to be debased like that. Every bite, he prayed to be left with a still beating heart afterward.
Hannibal was released, feeling somewhat muddled, but nothing compared to the Talos cruelty he was accustomed to. Frost licked around the injury, going back to the shell of his ear, nibbling the thin flesh enough to breach it. Hannibal winced, pulling away, but unable to get very far.
“I can taste your fear, King. Not so brave underneath all of that arrogance, hmm?”
For once, Hannibal had no clever insult to whip out. What could he say? Blood didn't lie. As Frost turned him over with scantily any effort, indignation simmered and remained evident in his eyes.
His captor smirked, “Good to see I haven't driven that delicious insolence out of you quite yet.”
He stood up, stepping over Hannibal, who loitered there. His mind retreated to moments when Asher would kick the shit out of him when he went down. And why not? He'd at least be too numb to notice much of anything after. Seemed beneficial at this juncture.
Frost watched him, signaling him to follow. Yeah, right. He wasn't going to walk into that room quietly; he knew what would happen there.
“It's either on a bed or the hard-ass floor. Your choice.”
Hannibal didn't move an inch. Frost rolled his eyes, “I get it. You want me to beat you until you comply? Understandable. You don't want to seem willing. Fine. I can give you that excuse, if you really want it.”
Hannibal's cheek unceremoniously smacked against the floor, his tongue snapping out to taste his own blood at the side of his mouth. Before he could lift himself up, his gut was wrenched to pieces by a brutal kick.
“Jesus Christ, what are you fucking wearing!? Steel-toed boots?” he muttered through scalding lungs.
He'd meant to think that, but he often lacked a barrier between his mind and his mouth. Not that it mattered, he knew Frost wasn't.
“Change your mind? I assure you, this makes no difference. I'm going to make you beg for me no matter.”
“Bullshit. I doubt you have the ability to make me beg. You don't give off the impression of being all that experienced, Frosty. A proper lover would have already had me laid out, naked on velvet and eating chocolate bon-bons.”
Frost chuckled, “Vivid imagination. Maybe next time. But tonight, I promise you, you'll ask me to fuck you.”
He was no longer playing Hannibal's games. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up, all but dragging him to his bedroom. Apparently it hadn't been his choice after all.
Instantly, Hannibal was disconcerted by the sheer amount of white in the room. It was enough to blind him. There was a computer in the corner, but other than that, everything was maddeningly pallid. Even the bed, which appeared to be a gigantic box slowly opening to reveal a large mattress.
“How innovative.”
Frost tossed him onto the bed, disregarding his words. The door closed behind him, bolting of its own volition.
Hannibal clambered into a sitting position, where it would be easier for him to fight - he didn't even know why he bothered. He would lose. He always lost.
Frost was taking off his belt, slowly and in a fashion which was oddly captivating. Next, he unbuttoned his shirt, eyes never leaving Hannibal.
“Good, don't undress. I prefer to rip your clothes to shreds anyways.”
Leaving on his fancy, snug leather pants, he crept into bed. Hannibal did not back up this time. He stared at him, trying to gauge his next move. His opponent beamed at him, cocking his head to the side. It was the strategy of a cat and mouse. Moving every once in a while, the other reacting accordingly. Well, mostly Hannibal. Weary of the ruse, Frost seized both of his ankles, pulling him forward so abruptly all he could do was fall onto his back.
Hannibal attempted to kick him, but the purchase on his ankles was too strong to break. He growled, vexed with his failure. He lashed out, his blows avoided as if he was attacking in stop motion.
“You bloodsucking bastard! Slow down so I can fucking hit you!”
Frost maneuvered his legs up onto his shoulders, freeing one hand to fasten his arms above his head, while the other literally tore open his shirt.
“Hey, douchebag, that was my last good shirt!”
He threw the tatters to the ground, exploring his chest before moving down to his pants. He undid the belt, and the top button, allowing for closer inspection of the degrading tattoo on his pelvis.
Frost didn't miss a beat, his lips sucked almost delicately on the black glyph before slipping into the flesh. Being an overly susceptible portion of his body, Hannibal tightened up, grunting his objection.
“Fucking bitch, that hurts!” Yeah, that's not all it did.
Frost paused, gazing luridly up at him. “You should have been mine. I would have given you immortality, power, and you would have wanted it. But Danica and Asher, those pitiful imbeciles, made you afraid of it. If I'd found you, I would have made you perfect.”
Hannibal raised a brow, “Ego much?”
“I still could, King. I could change you. You would stay by my side, and, eventually, you would grow to love me.” Hannibal rolled his eyes, but Frost continued, “As a vampire, you would be my equal. You have my passion, my ambition, I can taste it in you. Better than even Mercury...”
“Alrighty then, I think you forgot to take your crazy pills today, Mr. Delusional.”
“I'll show you everything you could have, if you were to say yes to me...”
“Uh huh, right.”
Frost resumed his physical ministrations, for that Hannibal was almost thankful. Except, this included their first kiss. And it really was a kiss; compassionate, soft, enticing. The stubble around his lips was coarse on Frost's icy skin; he wasn't certain that he didn't mind the sensation. The vampire reached under the waistband of his pants to gingerly grasp his previously uninterested cock.
Initially, his grip was cold as winter, but as they shared in his human warmth, he became flushed. His touch was no longer disturbingly chilly; which did nothing for Hannibal's resistance.
There was no qualms about who he was with - a bloodthirsty leech - but nonetheless, he found it more difficult to not respond appropriately. Danica and Asher were very rarely kind about their seduction. It was always uncouth, demanding, sometimes suggesting affection only to transform into unadulterated carnage.
Danica would sometimes...
As if knowing his mind was wandering, Frost simultaneously bit his lower lip and tugged on his groin, respectively banishing all rumination.
“Don't think about them. I can tell you are. You are not with them. You are with me.”
This was too weird. The ambiance exuded the calling card of lovemaking, contrary to what it was supposed to be. Rape. This was rape, and yet it had none of the typical staples of such a savage deed. He was mindful of what reaction Frost was pursing, and he would have none of it.
He sought to shimmy himself away, reaping no success. He subsequently started to laugh, “Stop. This is... You're a vampire, not some lovesick teenager. Drop the act and fuck me like I know you want to.”
Frost's azure gaze caught him, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No! I just hate to see anyone not be able to be themselves, that's all.”
The vampire smiled, “How sweet”, and then - honest to god - gave him a fucking eskimo kiss.
Hannibal stared at him, bewildered.
“Just because you know a couple vampires doesn't mean you know them all, King. I'm not as heartless as you might think. But, if what you want is a vicious monster, I'll give you precisely that.”
Without fanfare, he sunk into the incisions on his neck, this time truly drinking from him. Hannibal's mouth was wide, not a sound exiting, as his body bucked up into Frost's, paroxysm spilling through every fiber.
His skin visibly blanched, Frost was taking too much, too fast. He felt as though his very soul was being sapped away.
Ultimately, when his thirst had been sufficiently quenched, Hannibal was liberated to strive for unimpeded breath. He was paralyzed, nerves disabled by the unexpected loss of blood. His eyes were bloodshot and stinging.
Frost nipped at his mouth, devouring it next, smearing scarlet before messily licking it up, “Not very fun, is it? I may be naturally rougher than your human fragility is used to, but if I am going to have someone in my bed, I'd rather them not be catatonic.”
He snatched his chin, “Judging all vampires to be the same is equal to the crime you accuse us of, Hannibal.”
He knew his name. He panicked, “How did you...”
Frost sighed, “There is a lot you don't know about vampires.”
Hannibal swallowed awkwardly, not even knowing what to think about what just happened. The vampire climbed off of him, a victorious expression on his face.
He gradually recovered tactility, generating first with a tingle in his fingertips. When he could sit up, which took what felt like an eternity, he did so. It triggered further dizziness, a swell even more potent than before and he tumbled backward.
Still addled, he was barely cognizant of Frost peeling off his pants and boxers and crawling between his thighs once more. He remained enthralled by the punch-drunk haze even when Frost began to stroke him.
His hips slanted to meet the touch, utterly forgetting where he was. Vampires were far from his mind; it was as if he was back in his own world. Work eight to five, nameless and faceless fucks every few weeks - as glorious as they often were.
He moaned obscenely as a mouth which was irrefutably amorous, tinged with the slightest hint of ice, surrounded his tip, teasing. Nails tore across his chest, somehow enhancing the fog of euphoria and resulting in a burning path of carmine flesh.
“Holy fuck!”
He salaciously asserted what he wanted by tangling his fingers in the hair of the talented individual, pushing them downward. They wrenched themselves from his appeal, leaving him desiring so much more.
The dissolute bliss was brusquely severed as reality literally pierced the opaque veil of rapture in the form of a bite.
Hannibal jerked up only to be guided back onto the blankets. He opened his eyes, which he had not even realized he'd closed, and gazed down. There was Frost, gaze confident and taunting as he drank from his thigh, holding his legs apart to achieve a more suitable angle.
And it felt good.
He was more aware than ever before, and that was his problem. The cloud produced by poignant bloodloss had allowed for Frost's poison to affect him; an experience he'd never intimately encountered before.
He covered his face, embarrassed, fingers pressing into his eyes in disbelief. He liked it, this intoxicating agony-ecstasy. He had not anticipated this phenomenon. Red-hot flares of lecherous misery ravaged him, merging in throes of malady and jubilation so persuasive he was quickly succumbing, and essentially happy to do so.
“You fucking asshole...” He most certainly didn't sound as incensed as he'd planned.
Frost had long since ceased feeding from him, but the venom in his veins was there to stay. The vampire was now concentrated back on physical reinforcement, fingers coiled around his dick. His hands were forcefully removed from his eyelids as Frost kissed him, well, more like nudged his lips open and pliant.
Hannibal felt too overwhelmed to even struggle. He was assailed by exhilaration as it exquisitely permeated down his spine and seeped into his limbs, rendering him mindless.
Impelled by unrestricted revelry, he reciprocated the kiss, rewarded for his submission as the vampire increased his efforts. Frost pulled from him, nuzzling into the side of his neck. He lightly rolled Hannibal's earlobe back and forth between his teeth.
“I told you I'd show you.”
His hand promptly left his groin, as if penalizing him for his earlier skepticism. He reached towards the edge of his bed, taking something out of a drawer. Hannibal felt him graze his entrance with the obtained lube, and he immediately jerked away. Frost caught him before he went very far, a hand clutching his hip to keep him steady.
It was amidst this interval that his volition sluggishly began to reappear. Had he kissed Frost? Fuck, he definitely had. Why had he done that? Abashed, he squirmed beneath the pressure of his grasp. His arms shot out to push him off. He was batted away like a mere insect. It stood as no surprise that the vampire was unfazed by his convalescing conscience. Granted, he went through the motions, but even Hannibal had accepted there was no chance for him to prevent the inevitable.
“Shhh, don't worry, sweetheart.” Frost slid a finger in, “I'll make you feel good. I'm sure Danica and Asher never bothered to fuck you as soundly as I will.”
He went back to covering his mouth as he proceeded to prepare him. It was a moderately easy affair, as Hannibal was a far cry from being a blushing virgin. However, Frost was accurate in his assumptions that he seldom felt pleasure from his tumbles with the Talos siblings. They were far too intrigued by hurting him. That was not to say he had not felt the odd orgasm here and there, but it was rare indeed.
Furthermore, he preferred it that way. Nothing to enjoy or look forward to. It was downright torture. In Frost's case, well, he was familiar with the affliction called Stockholm Syndrome.
Frost audibly unzipped his jeans, withdrawing his fingers and pushing in fairly gently. Ending the one-sided kiss, he revisited his ear, tenderly sucking on the nick he'd created earlier. From there, Hannibal could feel every transition in the cadence of his breath as he penetrated deeper.
Frost neatly fit the sleek contours of his body, leading to a dull ache as the last genuinely discernible pain present. Lingering in tandem was deceptive sensuality.
“Jesus, Hannibal, you...”
No, Hannibal refused to hear it. It would be something infuriatingly common, like how tight he was, and he was sick of having to listen to that shit. And so, he cupped Frost's face, instigating a kiss; a warranted sacrifice if it accomplished his objective.
Alas, Frost was a spiteful son of a bitch, drawing from the attempt in order to pepper his neck and chest with his lips. He was following the trail left by his prior adventures, lapping up the leaking vermillion. He tantalized the area around his groin with his long, tapered nails.
He developed a rhythm, a beguiling medium between languid and frenzied. “Holy shit, King, you feel fucking fantastic.”
Hannibal could never not suffer such compliments. His fingers were now buried in the sheets, resisting the temptation to emit some positively disgraceful noises. His endeavors were wholly defeated as Frost intentionally slammed into the sparking spot inside of him. He clenched around him as his body pulsated with satisfaction.
He keened, making vocal all he'd been restraining. Frost pulled at his length, completing the crescendo for him. A string of indisputably gratified cuss words ensued, the pale room spinning around him, dappled with vivacious heat.
“Oh god...”
Frost laughed into his neck, “No, not yet, my sweet.”
The vampire was close, he could hear the husky indication in his voice. Suddenly, he halted, looking down at Hannibal with pensive eyes.
“You are so stubborn, so reckless, just like me. Just like me...”
He resumed his movements, rocking into him more deliberately now, as if he'd made an exceptionally significant decision. That alone horrified Hannibal, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was trapped.
Frost traveled to his post at his throat, his hackles raising in apprehension.
“They don't deserve you.”
Hannibal's eyes widened with realization. “Frost? Please, don't do this.” Like any plea on earth would aid him now.
The vampire predictably sliced through the still fresh wound despite his entreaty. His blood abandoned him for the seventh time today, and he knew it would be the last.
He could pinpoint the exact moment the virus invaded, coupling with Frost's nearly violent orgasm, usurping cells and destroying any enduring fragments of mortality. Death resembled a crushing weight of malignant vertigo, both corporeal and evanescent.
His nails delved into Frost's back in a futile attempt to get him to come to his wits. But the vampire had set his mind to this. He could only groan, incapable of piecing together any eloquent opposition. His consciousness was deserting him. Soon, he was scrabbling to maintain his grip.
Eventually, Hannibal's arms fell uselessly to his side, body becoming slack. Color faded from his vision before he shut his eyes, losing sight altogether. Imposed sleep overtook his racking heart as he lost himself in dreams of depravity.
Chapter 2
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Fandom: Blade (the movies)
Pairings: Deacon Frost/Hannibal King
Overall Characters: Hannibal, Danica, Asher, Frost, Mercury, Quinn, Blade, and Abby, with mentions of various Nightstalkers
Genre: Dark. Very dark.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: As Danica's human pet, Hannibal catches the eye of Deacon Frost.
Overall Word Count: Approximately 12,700
Spoilers: For Blade I and Trinity, but this fic definitely carves its own canon.
Overall Warnings: Violence, Non-Con, and Character Death (Not of any truly main characters)
Notes: Dedicated to scrapbullet. Sorry this took me so long, darling! Also, a big thank you to Matt for holding my hand through this! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "The Horror of Our Love" by Ludo
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just here to play.
Author Note 2: **While Reading This Fic, Operate Under The Assumption That More Highly Sophisticated Vampires Can Choose When They Infect A Human. Just Go With It.**
We Dance In Dark Suspension 1/2:
Danica's parties were always that of a flamboyant style, an exhibition of her wealth through and through. But not solely her wealth; also her property. Every major event, she'd be hanging off some new, pretty morsel, be they male or female - as rare as the latter was.
This late September gala was no different. Except it was. The particular candy Danica advertised this time was intriguing, where her former pets had been boring to say the least.
This one had defiance written in every line of his surprisingly muscular human form, accentuated by a constricting black tank top and loose, promising jeans. Furthermore, he had a delightfully vulgar mouth on him. Danica had finally developed some good taste. Or maybe Frost had Asher to thank for discovering this little delicacy; everyone knew what a picky eater he was. He likely gave the human to his sister as a treat; a decision he was largely regretting, considering the envy in his eyes as he gazed hungrily at the two.
“Where'd you get this one, Danica?”
Danica paused her clearly unwanted pawing in order to look up, her patented lop-sided, malicious smirk making its way to her lips. “Frost. How good of you to come...”
She gazed at her toy, who had his eyes planted squarely on the ground, though judging by the working of his jaw, he was just itching to say something. “This little thing? Oh, we just stumbled upon him, didn't we, Asher?”
The vampire laughed, nodding as he reached forward, running his hand amidst the kneeling human's tawny hair. The man pulled his head to the side, extracting yet another cruel chuckle from Asher, who leaned back on the luxurious velvet red couch he rested on.
Asher raised his narrowed eyes, promptly serious, “Why, do you like what you see?” There was a hint of mockery in this voice.
It was well known that Frost despised humans. The few he kept as pets were never allowed in his bed chamber, unlike many other vampires who used them for both snacks and sex. He opted more for the undead, like him. He was unnecessarily stringent about this unspoken rule.
And so, the congregation gathered around the Talos siblings, as well as his own company, were stupefied to hear him speak most emphatically, “Yes, I do. I thought you'd never ask.”
Mercury reached out to entwine her fingers around his arm as a reminder. She was the only vampire he'd ever become attached to, and though she wasn't the jealous type - being relatively certain of her place in his stagnant heart - she did not approve of the fact that she might possibly be replaced by a human; even for one night.
Danica's grinning mouth shut quickly, confusion stretching across her face. He could see the gears of her mind writhing to life. The same effect was currently consuming Asher as well.
They both knew it was not intelligent to forbid Frost anything. Although he was not a Pureblood, and therefore not a corporeal power in their society, he was not one to fuck with. He had made that clear. And everyone had heard whispers of his plans, not exactly what they were, but that it would be best not to get involved or oppose him.
If they were to rebuff his request, he would undeniably take that as an insult. But, yet, they did not wish to part with their leashed dog. They had recently commenced his training, preparing to sculpt him into the personification of an immaculate pet. When his humanity bored them, they would change him. They had their plot, and Frost had no role to play.
“Oh c'mon, it's not like I'll kill him. I'll return him all safe and sound tomorrow night. No harm done,” Frost raised a brow, “Or does a mere human mean so much to the two of you?”
He knew he had them. They couldn't reject him without harming their ruthless reputations now. He smiled as Danica's lips creased into a livid scowl. “Fine, Frost, you can take him. But remember, he's ours. He's not yours to kill or turn.”
Frost nodded, “Of course not. Don't worry your pretty little head over it.”
He glanced at Quinn and a few of his lackeys, gesturing towards the human. Two of them lifted him up by his upper arms, and still, he spoke not a word. Before, he'd had such an elaborate vocabulary... There was something up his sleeve. Let him go ahead and try. At the very most, it would result in asinine violence.
Once they were out of the apartment and walking down the hall, the human embodied his prediction by making a dreadfully silly mistake. In a short scuffle, he was somehow able to disengage the vampires holding him; but in a seconds time, Frost had him by the throat and up against the wall.
Not all that flustered, he looked to the vampires currently crawling off the ground and calmly smiled. “Decent attempt there, King.” He'd heard Danica call him that and, judging by the pissed off look in the man's eyes, he had assumed accurately. King clawed at his wrists to no avail.
“You got farther than most could. You can fight. Perhaps you were a cop before Danica got to you?”
A flicker of frustration. Yep, correct again.
“Well, you're not one anymore. You're a helpless fawn surrounded by a pack of wolves. You should start acting like one before you really get hurt.”
Yet, he wasn't entirely fond of the prospect that his recommendation might be exercised. He'd seen the fight simmering to the surface in King, and that was what he'd liked so much. But, in a morbid way, he was on target. If he acted like the rest of the pets did, then Frost would not have been so totally fascinated and they would not be in this situation.
“Oh, is that so?” King said, well, grunted really since Frost was cutting off the majority of his oxygen supply, “I've never been very good at taking advice, so I think I can safely tell you to shove your pretentious bullshit up your ass.”
“Hmph, quite the mouth on you.” His fingers outlined King's mouth as he leaned in, gossamer blue eyes capturing mahogany ones. “I like that.”
“You think you can scare me with that cliché trash?” Hannibal scoffed, “You ain't got nothing on the psycho twins in there.”
Frost was not in the least bit perturbed, which had been King's flimsy goal. He sneered, revealing his sharp incisors. He was used his fangs frightening mortals like King, but then again, the humans he dealt with were generally unacquainted with vampires.
He switched his grasp from his fragile windpipe to his remarkably sturdy wrists, pinning them on each side of his head, pressing their bodies closer. His thigh edged up towards the man's sensitive crotch.
His mouth was near King's throat, who had inadvertently assisted him by turning away. His fang reached out to nick the stark purple vein beneath, sucking on the tiny squirt of blood he procured. King flinched, breath haggard and strained.
Frost pulled from the bubble of delectably bitter caffeine mingled with a hint of underlying sweet sugar - scrumptious nuances of his former life. It was not an extraordinary combination, but he could detect more flavors yet to be discovered, all sealed within his precious lifeline.
“You do not like to be bitten, King? So unlike your kind... Pets should beg for it. Beg to be bled, and filled,” he laid more pressure onto his groin, emphasizing his meaning, “and bled again. It is your only purpose.”
“Oh really? Tell me if I'm doing it right...” He turned to face him, and Frost pulled his lips from the wound in favor of witnessing the show King would put on.
Rather than experiencing some derisive display of desire, he was on the receiving end of a headbutt. It was enough to jolt him backward, but he refused to let go. A low growl curled in the base of his throat. He was not at all used to being hit by a fucking human, of all things.
His eyes glinted crystalline, cautionary, but there was still no fear in King's auburn light depths. “Be careful. I may find your antics amusing, but only for so long. Don't push my generosity.”
In private, this sort of fight was more than welcome. However, he would not be made a fool of in full view of his men, and especially Mercury.
“Generosity? Fuck you, you bloodsucking parasite.”
Reverting to his composed self, Frost released him to land a startlingly harsh punch on his face. He could smell the burst of blood in the air as King spit a glob of it onto the floor. The scent riffled through him, renewing his appetite. He'd had a small meal before arriving at the party and was therefore capable of not devouring the man right then and there. And that was the sole reason for his discretion.
He heard Quinn laughing, and making some dumb comment to get his attention. He was tuned out. Frost wasn't in the mood to humor him tonight.
He snapped his fingers and this time it was Quinn and one of his more trusted men who took over King. As they made their way to the car and then onto his flat, he mostly neglected the man, choosing to dote on Mercury.
During their many fervent kisses - more languid than he'd ever profess to - Frost listened to King's colorful remarks. Something about 'stupid cock gobbling cum-guzzlers' and 'raging thundercunt', plausibly directed at Vanessa, God knew she merited the title.
To Quinn, he distinctly heard “why don't you take a picture there, big guy? It might last longer, you ugly, pit-faced assbitch.” Then there was some conversation about the fact that he was too cute for this shit.
Frost couldn't refrain from smiling. Mercury no doubt thought it was because of her.
~~~~~
“Gotta give it to ya, Frosty, these are some nice digs.”
They were alone in Frost's apartment. The various pools of water shimmered off the walls, giving the dark room an iridescent quality. Hannibal was hiding his nerves by smart-mouthing, as usual.
There was an echo of pain in his jaw from where he had been hit, not to mention the throbbing in his skull from that insanely moronic decision to headbutt a fucking vampire. Specifically one that had been able to intimidate Danica and Asher into giving him up for a night. That meant the undead creep in front of him must have been as strong as Satan himself. In addition, the circumstances themselves were royally fucked up. He was not a piece of meat to be bartered.
“So, is that your real name, Frosty?” He hoped that the nickname might irritate the vamp, but he was getting no reaction thus far. Didn't mean it wasn't affecting him. “Cuz, damn, your parents must have been two sadistic motherfuckers.”
Frost pivoted on his heels, striking him with another one of those soul-piercing gazes. His eyes were just so god damn blue! Danica and Asher were all about the dark, where Frost surely lived up to his name; whether it was his real one or not. Likely some dumb vampire name. So lame, like some immature teenager. Too bad it was actually badass.
Frost walked towards him, glance never straying, “I do appreciate your conversation, King, but that is not why I brought you here. I assume you know why?”
Hannibal flashed one of his smarmy grins, “My charming personality?”
Frost was an arm's length away, smiling in a slanted manner and exposing one canine tooth. “That was definitely part of it, sport.”
Feeling crowded, Hannibal began to back up. He should have known by now not to heed such instincts. They molded him into more of a weak prey than he already happened to be. Suddenly, his back collided harshly with a wall made of glass, steel shrouding the outside of it. Must have been made to shield the sun.
Frost was at his throat once more. He'd used that speed of his. Hannibal hated that inhuman shit! When he felt the smooth surface of Frost's tongue ghost over the drying blood from before, his hands jumped to the vampire's shoulders. It was not an aggressive gesture. He simply wished to acquire his acknowledgment.
“Hey, hey! Cool it, tiger. You should at least take me out to dinner or something first. I'm starving. Don't want to be rude, do you?”
In response, Frost bit in deep.
Hannibal groaned, “Fuck!” He tried to pull away, and normally wouldn't get far except the vampire chose to liberate him. “C'mon, this is ridiculous... Can't taste that good with no nutrients.”
Frost raised his head, visibly licking his lips. The crimson receded to a somber pink, as if the color had been drained out of the typically vibrant flesh. Which, he supposed, it had.
After being appraised, outright uncomfortably if Hannibal had anything to say about it, he was curtly turned to face the wall, “I think you taste fine, so quit your bitching.”
Frost's frigid chest was at his back, his marble-cold hand slipping underneath his shirt to journey up the taut ridge of his vertebrae before moving to his torso. His free hand rested idly on his hip. Hannibal shuddered, closing his eyes. He was sick of being these bastards fuck-toys.
“You know, you're the only human I've wanted in over a century,” Frost said as his fingers continued to pillage his heat.
“Oh, lucky me.” Hannibal clasped his curious hand from the outside of the fabric, squeezing firmly. “I was serious about that date first.”
He could feel the rumble of the vampire's laughter, matching it exclusively for the hell of it. “No, really, you god damn corpse. You gotta court me or wait in line like all the other dirtbags.”
“Oh?” Frost took his hand out from underneath his shirt, twirling the man around by his shoulders. He flung him back into the wall. Hannibal readily gritted his teeth, all too acclimated to abuse.
“Is that why you spread your legs for Danica and Asher? They court you, so you let them do whatever they want?”
It was as if Frost had doused him with gasoline and set him aflame. Anger at his predicament surged zealous and caustic in his veins. He had always been impulsive, but lately he'd been exerting a bit of control over that characteristic of his. Not tonight, because before he knew it, his fist had made solid contact with Frost's face.
It probably hurt Hannibal a hell of a lot more than the vampire, but it was enough to get him to take a step back. Frost was virtually in hysterics, behaving like a nutter who had escaped the psych ward.
“Hit me again, King. Do it, I fucking dare you.”
And he was desperate enough to try. He was shocked when, once more, he made his target. He didn't stop with two. Retreating into the mindset of his cop education, his foot cracked into Frost's head, dropping him to the floor.
Finally, Frost fought back, grabbing his fist when he tried to hit him again, eyes that inconceivably translucent blue as he stared up at him from his kneeling position. He grinned, fangs longer than before, and that was when he knew he was in trouble.
Without a warning, he was staring into the glossed, wooden floor. His arm was twisted behind his back while Frost straddled his hips. When he tried to raise himself up, the movement pushed his arm further out of joint. Hannibal hissed and ceased all activity.
Frost laughed, leaned down to his ear, surprisingly hot breath ghosting his skin - vampires could abstain from oxygen-intake at any time, but many breathed merely because they could.
“Oh, King King King... You've no idea how much you entertain me.”
“Glad I could be of service, you gimp dicked freak. Can I go now that I've given you a good chuckle?”
He nonchalantly bypassed his oh-so unique choice of words, “You wouldn't want to leave before I give you your reward, would you?”
“Not so sure I wouldn't.”
The vampire grinned anew. Hannibal always had aspirations of being able to conveniently shut himself up and stop provoking these cocksuckers, but he didn't work that way. Frost let go of his hand, slithering down his body. His shirt was ushered up, directly succeeded by the titillating sensation of a tongue chasing the indentation of his spine.
His back arched reflexively, trapping a lewd groan before it escaped. Sure, this was a vampire, and he was nothing more than dinner, but he was still a guy, after all. And besides, Frost had caught him off-guard with this unusual tactic.
He was up to the base of his neck now, and Hannibal's nails had all but dug into the floor in an attempt to withstand his endeavors. He kissed the frail skin at the crux of his shoulder. He could feel the malevolent simper enveloping Frost's lips.
“Danica and Asher got it right with you. You are one in a million, King.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes, “Man, I get so tired of being told how great I am. Why don't you show me instead of telling me?”
For the life of him, he could not be silent for even a minute.
“Oh, I will. I'm going to fuck you so hard, your feeble human brain won't be able to comprehend a god damn syllable after I'm finished.”
Frost rolled his hips into Hannibal's ass, grinding ever so subtly before gliding his fangs so easily into his brimming veins - stocked because Danica and Asher had wanted him healthy for their party. Sadistic fucks.
They both knew how to bite without infecting, but they were not endowed with total discipline due to their tempers - a reality they would never confess to anyone else - and so they ordinarily just bled him, beat him, and screwed him.
With Frost, it was clearly going to be otherwise.
Hannibal's mouth gaped, frozen in pain. There was always an edge of elation to a vampire bite. Before they defiled them with their disease or simply fed from them, some sort of toxin dedicated to the subjugation of their victims was unleashed. It was the reason so many of his kind volunteered to be familiars; they enjoyed the thrill which accompanied being bitten, as Frost had stated earlier.
And he was right. King was no such man. Be it genuine will-power or something every bit as inexplicable, he had proven himself to be practically immune to the enchanting symptoms of their innate allure.
How could anyone covet being at the mercy of a merciless creature, of being powerless? He hated to admit it, but this was when he was afraid. Scared of a vampire finally going too far and taking his life, scared of being made into one of them as Danica so often threatened. He didn't want to lose his humanity, his control - they were ruled by their thirst alone, like animals. He didn't ever want to be debased like that. Every bite, he prayed to be left with a still beating heart afterward.
Hannibal was released, feeling somewhat muddled, but nothing compared to the Talos cruelty he was accustomed to. Frost licked around the injury, going back to the shell of his ear, nibbling the thin flesh enough to breach it. Hannibal winced, pulling away, but unable to get very far.
“I can taste your fear, King. Not so brave underneath all of that arrogance, hmm?”
For once, Hannibal had no clever insult to whip out. What could he say? Blood didn't lie. As Frost turned him over with scantily any effort, indignation simmered and remained evident in his eyes.
His captor smirked, “Good to see I haven't driven that delicious insolence out of you quite yet.”
He stood up, stepping over Hannibal, who loitered there. His mind retreated to moments when Asher would kick the shit out of him when he went down. And why not? He'd at least be too numb to notice much of anything after. Seemed beneficial at this juncture.
Frost watched him, signaling him to follow. Yeah, right. He wasn't going to walk into that room quietly; he knew what would happen there.
“It's either on a bed or the hard-ass floor. Your choice.”
Hannibal didn't move an inch. Frost rolled his eyes, “I get it. You want me to beat you until you comply? Understandable. You don't want to seem willing. Fine. I can give you that excuse, if you really want it.”
Hannibal's cheek unceremoniously smacked against the floor, his tongue snapping out to taste his own blood at the side of his mouth. Before he could lift himself up, his gut was wrenched to pieces by a brutal kick.
“Jesus Christ, what are you fucking wearing!? Steel-toed boots?” he muttered through scalding lungs.
He'd meant to think that, but he often lacked a barrier between his mind and his mouth. Not that it mattered, he knew Frost wasn't.
“Change your mind? I assure you, this makes no difference. I'm going to make you beg for me no matter.”
“Bullshit. I doubt you have the ability to make me beg. You don't give off the impression of being all that experienced, Frosty. A proper lover would have already had me laid out, naked on velvet and eating chocolate bon-bons.”
Frost chuckled, “Vivid imagination. Maybe next time. But tonight, I promise you, you'll ask me to fuck you.”
He was no longer playing Hannibal's games. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up, all but dragging him to his bedroom. Apparently it hadn't been his choice after all.
Instantly, Hannibal was disconcerted by the sheer amount of white in the room. It was enough to blind him. There was a computer in the corner, but other than that, everything was maddeningly pallid. Even the bed, which appeared to be a gigantic box slowly opening to reveal a large mattress.
“How innovative.”
Frost tossed him onto the bed, disregarding his words. The door closed behind him, bolting of its own volition.
Hannibal clambered into a sitting position, where it would be easier for him to fight - he didn't even know why he bothered. He would lose. He always lost.
Frost was taking off his belt, slowly and in a fashion which was oddly captivating. Next, he unbuttoned his shirt, eyes never leaving Hannibal.
“Good, don't undress. I prefer to rip your clothes to shreds anyways.”
Leaving on his fancy, snug leather pants, he crept into bed. Hannibal did not back up this time. He stared at him, trying to gauge his next move. His opponent beamed at him, cocking his head to the side. It was the strategy of a cat and mouse. Moving every once in a while, the other reacting accordingly. Well, mostly Hannibal. Weary of the ruse, Frost seized both of his ankles, pulling him forward so abruptly all he could do was fall onto his back.
Hannibal attempted to kick him, but the purchase on his ankles was too strong to break. He growled, vexed with his failure. He lashed out, his blows avoided as if he was attacking in stop motion.
“You bloodsucking bastard! Slow down so I can fucking hit you!”
Frost maneuvered his legs up onto his shoulders, freeing one hand to fasten his arms above his head, while the other literally tore open his shirt.
“Hey, douchebag, that was my last good shirt!”
He threw the tatters to the ground, exploring his chest before moving down to his pants. He undid the belt, and the top button, allowing for closer inspection of the degrading tattoo on his pelvis.
Frost didn't miss a beat, his lips sucked almost delicately on the black glyph before slipping into the flesh. Being an overly susceptible portion of his body, Hannibal tightened up, grunting his objection.
“Fucking bitch, that hurts!” Yeah, that's not all it did.
Frost paused, gazing luridly up at him. “You should have been mine. I would have given you immortality, power, and you would have wanted it. But Danica and Asher, those pitiful imbeciles, made you afraid of it. If I'd found you, I would have made you perfect.”
Hannibal raised a brow, “Ego much?”
“I still could, King. I could change you. You would stay by my side, and, eventually, you would grow to love me.” Hannibal rolled his eyes, but Frost continued, “As a vampire, you would be my equal. You have my passion, my ambition, I can taste it in you. Better than even Mercury...”
“Alrighty then, I think you forgot to take your crazy pills today, Mr. Delusional.”
“I'll show you everything you could have, if you were to say yes to me...”
“Uh huh, right.”
Frost resumed his physical ministrations, for that Hannibal was almost thankful. Except, this included their first kiss. And it really was a kiss; compassionate, soft, enticing. The stubble around his lips was coarse on Frost's icy skin; he wasn't certain that he didn't mind the sensation. The vampire reached under the waistband of his pants to gingerly grasp his previously uninterested cock.
Initially, his grip was cold as winter, but as they shared in his human warmth, he became flushed. His touch was no longer disturbingly chilly; which did nothing for Hannibal's resistance.
There was no qualms about who he was with - a bloodthirsty leech - but nonetheless, he found it more difficult to not respond appropriately. Danica and Asher were very rarely kind about their seduction. It was always uncouth, demanding, sometimes suggesting affection only to transform into unadulterated carnage.
Danica would sometimes...
As if knowing his mind was wandering, Frost simultaneously bit his lower lip and tugged on his groin, respectively banishing all rumination.
“Don't think about them. I can tell you are. You are not with them. You are with me.”
This was too weird. The ambiance exuded the calling card of lovemaking, contrary to what it was supposed to be. Rape. This was rape, and yet it had none of the typical staples of such a savage deed. He was mindful of what reaction Frost was pursing, and he would have none of it.
He sought to shimmy himself away, reaping no success. He subsequently started to laugh, “Stop. This is... You're a vampire, not some lovesick teenager. Drop the act and fuck me like I know you want to.”
Frost's azure gaze caught him, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No! I just hate to see anyone not be able to be themselves, that's all.”
The vampire smiled, “How sweet”, and then - honest to god - gave him a fucking eskimo kiss.
Hannibal stared at him, bewildered.
“Just because you know a couple vampires doesn't mean you know them all, King. I'm not as heartless as you might think. But, if what you want is a vicious monster, I'll give you precisely that.”
Without fanfare, he sunk into the incisions on his neck, this time truly drinking from him. Hannibal's mouth was wide, not a sound exiting, as his body bucked up into Frost's, paroxysm spilling through every fiber.
His skin visibly blanched, Frost was taking too much, too fast. He felt as though his very soul was being sapped away.
Ultimately, when his thirst had been sufficiently quenched, Hannibal was liberated to strive for unimpeded breath. He was paralyzed, nerves disabled by the unexpected loss of blood. His eyes were bloodshot and stinging.
Frost nipped at his mouth, devouring it next, smearing scarlet before messily licking it up, “Not very fun, is it? I may be naturally rougher than your human fragility is used to, but if I am going to have someone in my bed, I'd rather them not be catatonic.”
He snatched his chin, “Judging all vampires to be the same is equal to the crime you accuse us of, Hannibal.”
He knew his name. He panicked, “How did you...”
Frost sighed, “There is a lot you don't know about vampires.”
Hannibal swallowed awkwardly, not even knowing what to think about what just happened. The vampire climbed off of him, a victorious expression on his face.
He gradually recovered tactility, generating first with a tingle in his fingertips. When he could sit up, which took what felt like an eternity, he did so. It triggered further dizziness, a swell even more potent than before and he tumbled backward.
Still addled, he was barely cognizant of Frost peeling off his pants and boxers and crawling between his thighs once more. He remained enthralled by the punch-drunk haze even when Frost began to stroke him.
His hips slanted to meet the touch, utterly forgetting where he was. Vampires were far from his mind; it was as if he was back in his own world. Work eight to five, nameless and faceless fucks every few weeks - as glorious as they often were.
He moaned obscenely as a mouth which was irrefutably amorous, tinged with the slightest hint of ice, surrounded his tip, teasing. Nails tore across his chest, somehow enhancing the fog of euphoria and resulting in a burning path of carmine flesh.
“Holy fuck!”
He salaciously asserted what he wanted by tangling his fingers in the hair of the talented individual, pushing them downward. They wrenched themselves from his appeal, leaving him desiring so much more.
The dissolute bliss was brusquely severed as reality literally pierced the opaque veil of rapture in the form of a bite.
Hannibal jerked up only to be guided back onto the blankets. He opened his eyes, which he had not even realized he'd closed, and gazed down. There was Frost, gaze confident and taunting as he drank from his thigh, holding his legs apart to achieve a more suitable angle.
And it felt good.
He was more aware than ever before, and that was his problem. The cloud produced by poignant bloodloss had allowed for Frost's poison to affect him; an experience he'd never intimately encountered before.
He covered his face, embarrassed, fingers pressing into his eyes in disbelief. He liked it, this intoxicating agony-ecstasy. He had not anticipated this phenomenon. Red-hot flares of lecherous misery ravaged him, merging in throes of malady and jubilation so persuasive he was quickly succumbing, and essentially happy to do so.
“You fucking asshole...” He most certainly didn't sound as incensed as he'd planned.
Frost had long since ceased feeding from him, but the venom in his veins was there to stay. The vampire was now concentrated back on physical reinforcement, fingers coiled around his dick. His hands were forcefully removed from his eyelids as Frost kissed him, well, more like nudged his lips open and pliant.
Hannibal felt too overwhelmed to even struggle. He was assailed by exhilaration as it exquisitely permeated down his spine and seeped into his limbs, rendering him mindless.
Impelled by unrestricted revelry, he reciprocated the kiss, rewarded for his submission as the vampire increased his efforts. Frost pulled from him, nuzzling into the side of his neck. He lightly rolled Hannibal's earlobe back and forth between his teeth.
“I told you I'd show you.”
His hand promptly left his groin, as if penalizing him for his earlier skepticism. He reached towards the edge of his bed, taking something out of a drawer. Hannibal felt him graze his entrance with the obtained lube, and he immediately jerked away. Frost caught him before he went very far, a hand clutching his hip to keep him steady.
It was amidst this interval that his volition sluggishly began to reappear. Had he kissed Frost? Fuck, he definitely had. Why had he done that? Abashed, he squirmed beneath the pressure of his grasp. His arms shot out to push him off. He was batted away like a mere insect. It stood as no surprise that the vampire was unfazed by his convalescing conscience. Granted, he went through the motions, but even Hannibal had accepted there was no chance for him to prevent the inevitable.
“Shhh, don't worry, sweetheart.” Frost slid a finger in, “I'll make you feel good. I'm sure Danica and Asher never bothered to fuck you as soundly as I will.”
He went back to covering his mouth as he proceeded to prepare him. It was a moderately easy affair, as Hannibal was a far cry from being a blushing virgin. However, Frost was accurate in his assumptions that he seldom felt pleasure from his tumbles with the Talos siblings. They were far too intrigued by hurting him. That was not to say he had not felt the odd orgasm here and there, but it was rare indeed.
Furthermore, he preferred it that way. Nothing to enjoy or look forward to. It was downright torture. In Frost's case, well, he was familiar with the affliction called Stockholm Syndrome.
Frost audibly unzipped his jeans, withdrawing his fingers and pushing in fairly gently. Ending the one-sided kiss, he revisited his ear, tenderly sucking on the nick he'd created earlier. From there, Hannibal could feel every transition in the cadence of his breath as he penetrated deeper.
Frost neatly fit the sleek contours of his body, leading to a dull ache as the last genuinely discernible pain present. Lingering in tandem was deceptive sensuality.
“Jesus, Hannibal, you...”
No, Hannibal refused to hear it. It would be something infuriatingly common, like how tight he was, and he was sick of having to listen to that shit. And so, he cupped Frost's face, instigating a kiss; a warranted sacrifice if it accomplished his objective.
Alas, Frost was a spiteful son of a bitch, drawing from the attempt in order to pepper his neck and chest with his lips. He was following the trail left by his prior adventures, lapping up the leaking vermillion. He tantalized the area around his groin with his long, tapered nails.
He developed a rhythm, a beguiling medium between languid and frenzied. “Holy shit, King, you feel fucking fantastic.”
Hannibal could never not suffer such compliments. His fingers were now buried in the sheets, resisting the temptation to emit some positively disgraceful noises. His endeavors were wholly defeated as Frost intentionally slammed into the sparking spot inside of him. He clenched around him as his body pulsated with satisfaction.
He keened, making vocal all he'd been restraining. Frost pulled at his length, completing the crescendo for him. A string of indisputably gratified cuss words ensued, the pale room spinning around him, dappled with vivacious heat.
“Oh god...”
Frost laughed into his neck, “No, not yet, my sweet.”
The vampire was close, he could hear the husky indication in his voice. Suddenly, he halted, looking down at Hannibal with pensive eyes.
“You are so stubborn, so reckless, just like me. Just like me...”
He resumed his movements, rocking into him more deliberately now, as if he'd made an exceptionally significant decision. That alone horrified Hannibal, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was trapped.
Frost traveled to his post at his throat, his hackles raising in apprehension.
“They don't deserve you.”
Hannibal's eyes widened with realization. “Frost? Please, don't do this.” Like any plea on earth would aid him now.
The vampire predictably sliced through the still fresh wound despite his entreaty. His blood abandoned him for the seventh time today, and he knew it would be the last.
He could pinpoint the exact moment the virus invaded, coupling with Frost's nearly violent orgasm, usurping cells and destroying any enduring fragments of mortality. Death resembled a crushing weight of malignant vertigo, both corporeal and evanescent.
His nails delved into Frost's back in a futile attempt to get him to come to his wits. But the vampire had set his mind to this. He could only groan, incapable of piecing together any eloquent opposition. His consciousness was deserting him. Soon, he was scrabbling to maintain his grip.
Eventually, Hannibal's arms fell uselessly to his side, body becoming slack. Color faded from his vision before he shut his eyes, losing sight altogether. Imposed sleep overtook his racking heart as he lost himself in dreams of depravity.
Chapter 2