#human!host

Title: Sleeping

“My, my.” The figure in at his feet lay, unmoving, pressed into the half-frozen ground, huddled underneath a puddle of tan fabric. To anyone else, the figure might’ve been nothing more than another dead transient, left for the garbage truck; but Dark knew better. His fangs glimmered in the weak moonlight as he purred, “look what I found.”

The Host did not stir, but a single drop of blood dribbled from underneath his soaked bandages. Bright red against his deathly pale skin, it made its way down his gaunt cheek.

Dark bent down, scooping the unconscious Host into his arms. “This won’t do,” he told him, knowing the Host wouldn’t wake, “I will not have you freezing to death.”

Title: So, You Live

“So, you live.” The Host jerked his head toward the voice, knowing who approached him even without his sight.

“I do,” he answered, turning his head back to face the empty, snow-covered park. He heard Dark come closer, but did not acknowledge him. Did not rise from his spot below the snow-laden tree to greet him as he might have a week ago.

There was a pause, and the Host knew Dark was tilting his head, considering the flat, uncaring answer he’d been given. “Isn’t that a good thing? Humans tend to celebrate when they survive life-threatening situations.”

The Host barked out a laugh. “I suppose it could be considered good, as much as being turned back onto the streets as soon as the bleeding stops can be.”

“I know I went too far.” Dark knelt over him, shielding him from the bulk of the snowfall. He reached to touch the Host’s neck-- at the nearly-healed cuts raking down his pale skin-- hissing with displeasure when the Host pulled away from his touch, batting away his hand.

“You went too far,” he sneered, “such an understatement.”

“I will . . .” Dark hesitated. “I will keep my wits about me in the future.”

The Host snorted, but nonetheless did not resist when Dark reached to touch him again. Did not resist when he pressed ice-cold lips to his.

Welcome back from the dead!

Also, there is now a sequel here.

Trigger warnings for blood

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Prompt: “Please turn out the lights.”

    It was the soft groan that alerted the Host to Dark’s presence, and a few mumbled narrations revealed him lying on his bed with one arm swung over his eyes, lips slightly parted to allow for protruding fangs.

    “Turn off the lights,” he muttered as the Host slipped in, not bothering with pleasantries. His voice was edged with pain. Pain and … something else.

    “Dark is hungry,” the Host commented, approaching the bed once the light switch had been flicked, plunging the room into black, flickering shadow. 

    Dark gave a small sigh, his arm flopping to his side. His eyes were heavily bloodshot, with pupils so enormous they nearly swallowed the iris. He regarded the Host with disdain, as if he’d spilled some deep, dark secret, but otherwise said nothing.

    The Host frowned, unimpressed. “How long has it been since Dark has fed?”

    A hiss. “You know the answer to that.”

    “He does.” The Host sat at the edge of the bed, working with nimble fingers to unbutton the top few buttons of his trenchcoat. He pulled it aside, revealing his bare throat. “Dark also knows what must be done.”

    Dark’s gaze shot to his neck and his nostrils flared, but still he ground out, “don’t be a fool. It could kill you.”

    “Dark is the fool.” Came the reply. The Host folded his hands in his lap, ever-calm. “Is he going to continue as such?”

    Dark muttered something under his breath. Something the Host heard but chose not to describe. Then he was rising, first to a sitting position, then to his knees. His eyes glinted and his fangs were bared, and the Host knew that he’d lost himself to hunger.

    “You brought this on yourself,” Dark’s voice was little more than an animalistic snarl. He gripped the Host’s shoulders- bracing him- before sinking his fangs in, tearing open his skin and spraying blood over the bedspread, down the Host’s front, and himself.

Sequel to this post!

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Prompt: “I’m not going to yell at you.”

Sequel to Prompt: “Please turn out the lights.”

    “Now, I’m not going to yell at you.” Dr. Iplier’s own fangs poked from underneath his upper lip and his pupils were enlarged as he half-dragged, half-carried the Host into the clinic, toward one of the medical beds. But despite these obvious signs of hunger he examined the bite wound with only a doctor’s interest, inserting an IV and cleaning it with quick, clean precision. “But that was a dumbass move. What were you thinking?”

    “No, don’t speak,” he said, when the Host’s mouth opened and a rasping attempt at words came out. “There might be damage to your vocal cords. Dark really was . . . hungry, wasn’t he?”

    The Host nodded wearily, cringing at even that small movement. Dark had fed voraciously, his fangs ripping, tearing, spraying hot, coppery blood, losing control in a way uncharacteristic of him.

    And then, he’d left. He’d wiped the blood from his mouth with the sleeve of his already blood-soaked suit jacket and left the Host a quivering, semi-conscious mess, disappearing like he hadn’t done what he’d just done.

    “You know,” Dr. Iplier finished stitching the wound. He spoke in a lowered voice, almost a whisper. As if afraid that he might be overheard. “It might be better for you if you left.”

    A pause. “You lived on the streets, right? Even that would be safer. Because he’s going to kill you eventually, you know. Kill you, or . . .”

    He trailed off, but they were obvious, the words unsaid: turn you.

    But immortality and power was not repulsive to the Host. And so he said, voice hoarse and paper-thin, “the Host will take his chances.”

    “Fine.” Dr. Iplier held up his hands. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m going to give you a transfusion,” he added, “and keep you here overnight. You lost a lot of blood, and I want to make sure he didn’t turn you by accident because he wasn’t careful.”

This destroyed my heart. Had to write something for it (obviously) so I could destroy all of yours too.

Title: But God, He Did

He was too late.

He’d run all the way here. Had run at a much faster pace than any human could ever hope to achieve.

And he was

still

too

late.

Dark sank to his knees beside the body of the Host, hunching over him like his bones were suddenly liquid, like his muscles were suddenly gone. He curled over him like a shield, protecting him from any prying eyes that might come wandering through that wretched back alley.

But of course, no one would; it was why the Host was dead now. There had been no one to save him. No one to protect him when he’d needed it most.

Gently, tentatively, Dark pried the cell phone from pale fingers already stiffening, already too cool for life. He examined its cracked screen for a moment, scrolled through dozens of messages-

where are you?

I’m coming to find you.

Answer your phone!

- before hurling it at the wall.

He didn’t pause to watch it break. Instead, he gathered the Host into his arms, cradling his head to his shoulder, his body to his chest, feeling the seething rage, the drowning grief, welling up inside him.

It was against his nature to mourn but God, he did. He did, the same thought running through his head over and over and over again: too late. Too late. Too late.

How could I not write anything for this?!

Title: You Know What I Told You

He hadn’t been paying enough attention. He hadn’t noticed the time- though, in his defense, he rarely knew what time it was- and certainly hadn’t noticed that it was dark out when he ventured outside for a walk.

Dark would’ve told him to never go by himself. But Dark was out running errands, picking up human food and medicine for his blind pet, and so the Host had disregarded his advice.

He realized this was a mistake the moment clawed hands seized him from behind and threw him forward, sending him sprawling across the muddy, half-frozen growl.

“Wait-” the Host managed to stammer out before, with speed no normal being should have, his attacker was there, forcing him down with greater weight, wrenching his head back and clamping an ice-cold hand over his mouth.

“No wonder Dark wants you all to himself,” a voice growled in his ear, husky and familiar. But the Host didn’t have time to ponder who it belonged to before a pair of fangs plunged into his neck.

A muffled cry tore from his throat as pain seared through him, pain like he’d never known before. With Dark, it never hurt. But with this stranger-not-stranger, it was agony.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a loud snarl and the fangs ripped from his neck, spraying blood everywhere. The Host collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily and reaching up to clutch at his neck with violently shaking fingers.

He could barely hear anything over the frantic pounding of his heart, but he did feel Dark when he came, when he gripped the Host’s shoulders and rolled him over onto his back.

“What were you doing out here by yourself?” His voice was low. Gruff. Pained. He was injured; the Host could smell his blood. “You know what I told you.”

The Host didn’t reply; his tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth, and his head lolled against Dark’s arm as the creature scooped him up.

Something soft.

Commission Me

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Prompt 45: “Why are you not scared of me?”

    “Why are you not scared of me?” He spoke quietly, black eyes focused entirely on the figure slumbering in the grass beside him.

    The figure did not stir; did not even twitch, even as Dark reached out to gently brush a stray, black curl back from his ear, even as a sharp gust of wind blew through the park, rattling the near-bare branches of the trees.

    Fall was fast approaching, bringing with it cold nights and making sleeping in the park uncomfortable at best; despite this, the Host had his trenchcoat bundled up beneath his head, leaving his threadbare dress shirt and worn slacks as his only means of warmth.

    He should have moved inside by now; should’ve found a shelter or a church or a hospital lobby to spend his nights in. But he insisted on continuing to sleep outside, because those were places Dark could not go.

    “You should’ve run off long ago,” Dark continued, voice as soft as falling snow. As frost creeping across a windowpane. “When I first encountered you.”

    When the Host realized who and what Dark was, he hadn’t fled. Hadn’t been afraid. Had been curious, even. Eager to fall headfirst into danger.

    “You’re more of a fool than I thought.” Dark tore his eyes away, glancing up into the gloom that had settled over the park like a shroud. There was not a sound; no rustle of wildlife, no chirping of insects. Only silence.