#snowcrow

"Hush." Zayne pushed back the strands of sweat-slicked hair that stuck to Sylus' forehead. "There's nothing to apologize for."

"How much longer do you think I'll have to suffer like this?" Sylus asked with a sardonic smile.

Zayne loathed that Sylus had resigned himself to his own fate so quickly. While there wasn't much Zayne could do to stop the infection from spreading and overtaking his body, Zayne at least wished that Sylus would pretend he wasn't dying- for his own selfish sake.

"I'm going to have you out of that bed by next week. I don't want you to sick on my birthday," Zayne huffed. On the bedside table, he began to wring out a cloth in a bowl of cool water.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I was thinking we could go to the seaside, for the fresh air." Zayne dabbed the cloth along Sylus' forehead and neck. Caught between throwing the book of his medical knowledge at this raging fire, and giving nothing but hospice care to make Sylus' transition as comfortable as possible, Zayne went back and forth between the two, wildly. He was clearly past the point of saving, but Zayne couldn't just give up. He refused to.

"How? Do you plan to take me there on a magic carpet?" Sylus chuckled. "I don't think I could manage even walking to the window."

"I'll carry you myself if I have to." Sylus looked a bit more comfortable with the cold cloth on his face, so Zayne busied himself with organizing the cabinets that hung around the room. The fine cabinetry once held books and papers, maps from all over the world- but now, all that had been replaced with medical supplies. He shuffled around bottles and refolded the cotton bed sheets; none of this was necessary, however. Zayne wanted any excuse to be able to linger for a moment before heading back to his desk in the study to write.

Sylus had initially started out at the hospital, but when there were fewer beds available than there were sick patients, he asked Zayne if he could be cared for in his own home- he found no need to take a room away from someone that might actually get better. Heaven knows he had enough money for his own personal doctor, it was just a matter of finding one that would be comfortable enough to take him on. Denied help by most doctors, on account of prejudice alone, Sylus went to the last place a noble like him would be seen: a rundown slum of a clinic- treating street whores, pick pocketing orphans, and drunken bastards that were too cheap to buy themselves medicine over ale.

Zayne, a young and aspiring doctor, was one of the only kind souls at that clinic. He was a promising, handsome man, with a bright future that was dashed the second he was found out to be a homosexual. In a jealous fit, a spurned man dragged Zayne's name through the mud. Countless hospital doors were slammed in his face, so he went where no one knew him and inquired after the first listing for medical staff he found. The work was thankless and his patients rarely got better, but being able to provide them even a sliver of peace before their passing made his heart's burdens not so heavy.

"What are you doing?" Sylus rasped. He cleared his throat and sat up in his bed a little higher to take the pressure off of his lower back.

"Finding any excuse I can to avoid writing," Zayne replied as he took a mental inventory of the medicine bottles that lined Sylus' dresser.

"Have you made more progress on your book?" Sylus asked.

"Very little." Zayne shook his head lightly. "The research is slow, and there are far more important things to do besides sit at that damned desk and write myself into a spiraling madness."

"Will you come and sit with me then?"

Wordlessly, Zayne moved across the room. It was like he was waiting for the invitation, for the permission to embrace Sylus. Even in complete privacy, he felt that the walls had eyes and ears to judge him with. The bed sunk under his weight as he sat on the edge near Sylus' side. "Do you want another pillow?" Zayne offered.

"I'm fine." Sylus entwined his fingers with Zayne's, brought the back of his hands to his face, and ran Zayne's scarred knuckles lightly back and forth over his lips. "Feels nice… Your cold hands," Sylus commented. Cold hands, warmer heart, Zayne thought to himself. It was something his mother always said to him growing up.

"Yours feel like you've been sitting near the hearth for too long," Zayne sighed. "If I could just get your fever to break, that would help you to feel more comfortable."

"This is comfort enough, stop fretting." Sylus lightly bit down on the space between Zayne's pointer finger and thumb, chiding him. "If I had wanted a hen to smother me, I would have asked your mother to come and stay here instead of you."

"She would, in a heartbeat nonetheless. She adores you…"

"You should have her come here," Sylus coughed again, "and live here with you when I'm gone."

"Sylus, I don't think-"

"I don't want you sitting in this empty house all alone, collecting dust like the books in the library." Though this argument had taken many different forms, it had circled between them several times over the last month. Sylus wanted to leave Zayne the manor and everything in it, but Zayne couldn't imagine living in the house where the ghost of Sylus' love would forever haunt him. But selling it, and pocketing the capital from doing so, felt disgusting- like blood money. Stuck, Zayne was facing a future where any route he took was not an optimal one. Especially if it meant it was without Sylus. "You should start planning a trip… God only knows you deserve a vacation."

"Can we not talk about this? Please?" Zayne snapped. "I'm sick of having this conversation." He gripped Sylus' hand tighter, like he would disappear in front of him with all this talk of leaving.

"Love," Sylus started.

"No, Sylus, don't. I don't want to talk about what I'm going to do when you're gone because I, frankly, haven't a fucking clue as to what I'm going to do, except mourn." He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to argue. He didn't want to have to plan his life around the death of a man he barely had enough time to love properly. "I just want to be here with you. I want to hold you, I want to make you feel better. God almighty- I want to shake this fever from your body, so I can be with you."

There was a beat of silence before Sylus purred, "Are you feeling overwhelmed, Doctor?" He was completely undisturbed by Zayne's outburst. He dragged the fingers of his free-hand up and down Zayne's arm, as he kissed the back of his hand. "Do you need to unwind?"

"You're such an ass," Zayne snarled softly, suddenly feeling hot under his collar. He made no attempt to pull himself away from Sylus' touch. "A sick and twisted man, truly."

"Oh, dear, you flatter me."

A late autumn rain pitter- pattered on the window as the smell of a snuffed candle filled the room. No one had blown it out. There wasn't a draft in the air. And yet, when Zayne lit the small lump of wax in the warmer, the flame went out merely seconds later. How odd.

He struck a second match and held it to the wick, only to find that it went out again, just like the first time. Cursing under his breath, Zayne grabbed the tealight to inspect it, when a woman's voice from down the hall of his office called out to him.

"Zayne, dearest? What would you like me to do with all of Sylus' clothes?"

"You can donate or sell them, whichever is easiest," he called back. Turning it over in his hand, the candle seemed fine. The wick wasn't wet, the wax wasn't old. For all he could tell, there was simply no reason that the damned thing shouldn't have been able to hold more than a flicker. Shuffled footsteps approached, and Zayne looked up as his mother hobbled into the room, her arms full with hangers of coats, shirts, and slacks.

"Are you sure you don't want to keep any of this? It's all such nice material."

"They don't fit me, mother," he said simply.

"Oh, well- we could have them tailored. It just would be a shame to get rid of it all."

"I don't need any of it." He set the candle onto his desk. "Nor do I want it."

Zayne's mother looked at him with glistening eyes. She wasn't sure how to best help him move through his grief, but she tried. Lord, did she try. Though he was slow to admit it to himself, Zayne was glad to have her here, even though it meant that that was another thing Sylus was ultimately right about in the end. Much to his dismay, Sylus left Zayne his quaint townhouse, and everything in it. As it had only housed a flamboyant bachelor, it was a gaudy little thing. With four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a study with a small library, and a garden in the back, each space was decorated to the nines.

Zayne hadn't stepped foot into Sylus' room since his passing. It still smelled too much like him, even just from the doorway. In the the final days, when Zayne knew the end was near, he wrote to his mother and asked her to come help him clean the place out to sell. He knew it would be too painful to live in without Sylus, but cleaning it out himself would be nearly impossible.

"Not even for sentimental value?" Zayne's mother asked him gently. She began to comb over each item, holding one up at a time while the rest sat in a pile on the armchair in the corner. She hummed a tune as she folded and unfolded each shirt and pair of pants. "Maybe just his greatcoat? It's a gorgeous long thing, and you do look so dashing in black."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zayne huffed with a clenched jaw as he tried to find his patience. "I don't want it. I don't want to be reminded of him every time I-" He turned, ready to lash out, only to bite back his remarks. The greatcoat was indeed quite beautiful. Fine, dark stitching, with a matching black silk lining the interior. It seemed just his size too. Had Sylus ever even worn that? Zayne couldn't recall. Most of his daily wear had consisted of cotton pajamas and loungewear for months.

"You can put the coat in my closet."

With a quiet smile, she bowed her head and did as he asked. Zayne turned his attention back to the papers scattered across his desk, and back to the candle. He frowned. The candle had vanished from where he had set it down, just moments ago. "Mother?"

"Yes?" She replied from the staircase.

Zayne stood and walked out to the railing. "Did you see a tealight on the desk when you came into the study just now?"

"No, why?"

"I just had one, and now it's gone."

"Well, it couldn't have grown legs and walked off, Zayne." She chuckled and continued down the stairs.

With a shake of his head, Zayne walked back into the study to finish writing his letter. He could go out and buy another candle later- or even send his mother out to do so- so he could seal it with his wax signature, and send it to the realtor he'd been in contact with. However, when he sat down to tuck the folded offer into an envelope, the letter too had disappeared.

"What in the hell-"

He looked on the floor, frantically searched each drawer of the desk, and upended the wastepaper basket just to be doubly sure it hadn't been tossed in there. Nothing. As his head began to spin, Zayne closed his eyes and breathed deeply- inhaling through his nose, and exhaling through his mouth in a small 'o' shape.

Was he going mad?

As lighting flashed outside the window, it illuminated the mess thrown about the room. Papers scattered across the floor, piles of clothing- both from Zayne's and now Sylus' closets- tossed on the bed, the chair, and dumped onto the floor. It was a stark difference from the usual tidiness that Zayne maintained.

As an ill weight settled into Zayne' stomach, the hair on his arms stood on end. The room felt cooler, like a current from an open window had blown in, despite the air inside being still. He knew for a fact that only himself and his mother were in the house, and though he didn't allow himself to believe in childish notions like ghosts, there was little else to explain objects moving and altogether disappearing by themselves. Perhaps he was going mad- with how little sleep he had been getting over the last three days, it was a strong possibility.

Yes, yes that must be it. He was merely having lapses of memory because of his fatigued state. That could account for the voice he heard last night too. In his bed, as he tossed and turned, he could have sworn that he heard Sylus whisper his name from the empty armchair in the corner of his room. But when he rolled over, the chair was empty, of course.

Or maybe this was just a part of the grieving process. Denial. This could be his own emotions coming forward with no better outlet than to keep Sylus alive by any means possible. Zayne certainly felt enough anger, so there was no denying that he had crossed that threshold of the process. All of this was of his own making- the candle being blown out, the papers being moved. It was his imagination. His memory being faulty. There were plenty of things to choose from to point the blame at.

Even still, as he sat at his desk that night, going over his research notes for what felt like the thousandth time, the chill kept him company; like an unwanted stray, brushing against his ankles. The irony of his research wasn't beyond his own grasp. A cure for death. Not quite resurrection, but the ability to bring someone back from the brink of it. A cure-all. The math was correct, the science was there, but one missing element eluded him. It taunted him with how damn close he was to cracking the code.

Though, if he succeeded, would he not be playing god? Would this not be spitting in the face of His timing and long-foretold, prophesied plan? No. Leaving him here- alone, without a friend to his name- that couldn't be part of some ethereal plan. What supposed all loving god would put this sort of pain on someone's shoulders? Life didn't make a lick of sense until Zayne had found Sylus- and it lost all meaning the second the light was gone from his eyes.

If this didn't work, then there would be little point in living, as Zayne saw it. What else was there if the sun of his earth had turned to stardust?

All of the medicinal properties compounded to rid the body of all impurities, a bit of salt water to help with natural conduction of the heart- the only thing this elixir was missing was a bit of life itself. Something to promote what it was intended to do. As the shadows in the room grew around him, taking on seemingly a life of their own, they seemed to chant in whispers as they danced about the walls.

His once honed craft had become hoodoo and devils' work. As Zayne began to pray feverishly to whatever angel or demon that could be listening to a desperate man's plea, he promised whatever any entity wanted, they would get. All his riches, his own soul- whatever it took to bring Sylus back. He didn't care about the cost of such a feat. Anything would be worth it to hear his voice again.

Damn the equations- damn the measurements! If he was to play god, then so be it. His sanity died with Sylus. Zayne didn't even feel the sharp sting as he drew a blade across his palm, and squeezed- pouring a thin stream of blood into the mixture. Rationality was a fucking joke, and desperation was his new bible.

Would this be enough? Looking at the crude, vile mixture in the bowl, it seemed… Lacking. He couldn't very well slit his wrists- though he would if it meant succeeding in this unholy endeavor. Zayne thought harder. Blood lost all value once spilt. It couldn't survive being outside a body for longer than a few minutes…

But something else could. Something else quite literally could create life, as well as survive on its own once spilled from him….

Zayne's mouth ran dry as the thought took hold of him. Why not? Why not try it? Everything was fucked to hell and back anyway.

Just…. Try…. Even one drop is potent enough to cause life to take hold in a womb.

With numb fingers, Zayne unlaced his trousers and began to pull out his limp cock. As he pawed at himself, bloodied fist thumping into the base of his groin, a dull ache leeched into his hand. A thumping ache that matched each pulse of his frantic heart. The pain was secondary to his purpose- he shoved it to the back of his mind as his dick hardened in his palm. Finally, the dizzying pleasure began to build. Zayne let his eyes slip closed as a groan climbed up his throat.

Each clap of thunder covered the lewd moaning Zayne could hardly swallow. If he closed his eyes, and let his mind wander, he could almost convince himself that Sylus was the one touching him. That it was Sylus' hand gripping him, his hot breath puffed on the back of Zayne's neck. With his free hand, Zayne gripped the back of his desk chair and unceremoniously, came into the bowl. The milky white against his own dark crimson was sickening. What in god's name had he done?

Zayne had circled the building twice now, half debating even going through with his plan, and half wondering how in the hell he was to pull this off. And, once inside, how was he supposed to find the body? The mortuary had closed hours ago. The streets were empty, the cold rain had driven everyone else into their homes. He didn't have to be nearly as sneaky as he felt was necessary.

Not a single light was on inside the place of business from what he could see on the pavement. There was a back door with a window he could try to break into, and that was even more obscured from any would-be onlookers. Once more, he walked through the side alley and to the back loading bay where there was plenty of room for a horse and funeral carriage, though it was currently empty. To his luck and dismay, the back door was unlocked; it opened with a creak. How had he not noticed this earlier?

The smell of death was heavy in the small building. It seemed to have soaked into the walls of the place, like a black mold, but it was spotless. Clean beyond a doubt. If Zayne already wasn't in such a demented state of mind, the contrast of it all would have made him uneasy. Walking down the hallway, his head on a swivel as he looked into each room he passed, Zayne searched for Sylus' body. The first was empty, with only a barren table in the middle of the floor, and shelves lining the walls. The second room he passed had a body under a sheet, but it wasn't his Sylus.

As he pulled the sheet back over the stranger, Zayne's heart stopped. There was a lantern lit in the corner of the room, a book lay open on the counter, with embalming tools all set in a neat row. Was someone here? The back door. Of course it was unlocked, because someone hadn't left yet. Zayne backed out of the room, his bandaged hand clutching his heart. Footsteps upstairs confirmed he wasn't alone, but he still had a third room to check.

Silently, he slipped into the final room and waited for the old mortician to scuttle by, unaware of their secret visitor. There was a body in this room too, but only a sheet covered its lower half. Hair still like starlight, his skin now even paler, Sylus' lifeless form laid before Zayne. It was a punch to the gut to be seeing him again like this. Reverently, he moved to the tableside.

"Oh, my dear," Zayne whispered as he ran his thumb over Sylus' cold bottom lip. "I shall have you right again, just you wait…"

From his pocket, Zayne pulled out a vial, and delicately poured the contents into Sylus' mouth. Leaning over, he sealed his final act of desperation with a kiss. With baited breath, he waited. He waited as long as he could- figuring that if the elixir was to work, that it would have done so by now. Minutes ticked by and as the cloud of his mania evaporated, he began to feel silly. Absolutely childish. Of course this wouldn't fucking work- of course not. He truly was insane to have believed it would.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he rushed from the building. He didn't care if the old woman saw him walk out the back door and back into the freezing downpour. Whether he was arrested for breaking and entering, or whether he caught his own death from being so utterly rain-soaked and bone chilled, Zayne didn't care. Nothing fucking mattered anymore.

More lightning lit up the sky as he trudged home. The storm was raging over the whole town, striking nearby lampposts and chimneys as he walked, searching for a target to fill with crackling energy.

He wasn't sure how he found sleep that night with how much the thoughts in his head were pacing his skull. When his mother left in the morning for the grocer, Zayne planned to hand the deed to the realtor himself, sell the estate as soon as possible, leave the remaining fortune to his parents, and then send himself to bed with a mouthful of poison. As much as that would devastate his sweet mother, Zayne just couldn't carry the heartache anymore. Three days with Sylus gone, and he couldn't bear even a single day more.

Gasping for air, Sylus' lungs ached like he'd been underwater too long. His throat burned as though he had swallowed a live ember. He sat up on the metal table, chest heaving. Where was he? And how in the hell was he back? Had he been in some kind of dream? Was he still sick?

His joints felt stiff and sore, and even the gums in his mouth felt awful. Running his tongue over his teeth, he felt something new there. Long and sharp, there were fangs where his normal canines once resided. Was this hell? Looking down at his hands, his eyes weren't bothered by the darkness he was in. Blue and purple veining spider-webbed across his skin like great bruises.

He threw his legs over the side of the table and stepped onto the ground. There was an inch of water covering the floor, coming from where, he did not yet know. His only goal at the moment was to relieve the dry stinging in his throat. As he stumbled through a doorway, naked as the day he was born, a low sound caught his attention.

A quiet rhythmic thumping, a slow heartbeat. Sylus turned down the long hallway, and there in the middle of it, lying face down in the water, was an elderly woman that Sylus had no memory of. The door at the end of the hall was ajar and the source of the flooding. This woman would either die from drowning here on the floor, or her heart would eventually give out- Sylus could hear it faltering already.

Instinct, feral and purely animal, told him to rip into her same lightning-bruised flesh with his newly grown fangs. Her blood was stale and bitter, but it did stop the pain of his thirst. With a new clarity, Sylus stepped out into the rain, reborn and feeling more alive than he had in months.

Numb. Rain-soaked and freezing, Zayne peeled off his drenched clothing seconds after bolting shut the front door. Of course the elixir didn't work, how dense did he have to be to think that it would have worked… It was utter nonsense and he was a fucking mad man for believing in any of it. He felt disgusted with himself, thinking he had defiled the body of his most beloved- that he was a perverted, warped psychopath for breaking into a mortuary, and- sick. A wave of nausea suddenly overcame Zayne, and up the stairs he fled to the bathroom, where he began to dry heave into the commode.

Shaking, Zayne spit only bile into the bowl. His stomach was empty. He hadn't had a sliver of an appetite since Sylus passed. His mother had cooked for him, but every meal was tossed without her knowledge. Either fed to the two hunting dogs Sylus kept, or thrown out when she wasn't looking. Food had lost all flavor anyways, and the stomach pains Zayne had felt were of little bother. He could ignore them well enough, and often they were a distraction from the physical and emotional pain he was carrying in his chest. They felt justified somehow, like he didn't deserve to relieve his pain so easily, when Sylus could not.

As Zayne's chest heaved, sweat dripping from his brow, he didn't notice the unmistakable sound of the lock turning in the front door, or the creak as it opened and hastily shut. No, the pounding in his head was much too loud for him to hear the footsteps following his path up the stairs, or the quiet hush of someone walking down the hallway. Zayne leaned over into the sink and splashed cold water onto his face, hoping that it would wash away the nausea still swimming in his gut. He was breathing deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth, forcing himself to try and calm his racing heart, when he finally smelled it.

Incense and citrus. Candle smoke and blood. Following the scent, Zayne cautiously padded down the hallway to Sylus' room, where the smell grew with each step. To his dismay, the door was open when he knew he had been keeping it shut. Had one of the dogs shoved it open? But then, the light…

There was a small glow coming from the room that made him stop in his tracks. His mother wouldn't be in there, not at this late hour.

"Who's there?" Zayne asked, boldly. He continued, one slow foot in front of the other. "Leave now, before I call the police… You have no right to be in this house and in that room." Anger flared within him. How dare someone come in and try to steal things from a dead man's home. His body wasn't even in the fucking ground yet and already some mouth-breathing half-wit burglar broke in? He had no weapon to fight an intruder but with how he was feeling he didn't need one. Fists clenching at his sides, Zayne rounded the corner of the bedroom doorway only to be met with the frightening image of his dead lover standing stark naked in the middle of the room, pulling folded clothing from the boxes his mother had been packing up.

"I have no right? In my own home?" He didn't even turn when he responded to Zayne. "Honestly darling, I know you've been trying to sell the place, but the deed is still in my name, is it not?" Sylus snickered when he looked at Zayne standing gob smacked at the entry. Zayne's mouth had run dry, and his words were completely gone from him. Dreaming, yes surely he was dreaming. That had to be it. When had he gone to bed?

Zayne blinked hard, trying to make Sylus melt away like a mirage, but there he was- standing in the crude candle light, pulling on trousers and buttoning up a shirt like he wasn't just a cold corpse being embalmed a mere hour ago. "How did you…" There were too many questions to even know where to start. "Are you real?" Zayne didn't dare rush towards him, for fear of breaking whatever spell he was under.

"I think so," Sylus replied, now dressed. "Did you do this?"

"I… I'm not entirely sure." Zayne noticed Sylus' eyes glinting in the light, like that of a cat's, eyeing their prey in the dark. Had he brought back a demon instead that now wore Sylus' face? "What are you?"

"I'm me." Sylus gave one short laugh. "I feel a bit different, but I'm very sure I'm still me." He moved one step towards Zayne, who stepped back in tandem. "Why are you shying away from me?" Sylus held out his pale hand, and Zayne immediately noticed the blueish veining and bruising. He was at war with himself. Part of him wanted to rush to Sylus, hold him close in an embrace and wet his cheek with his tears; the other half thought this all to be some devilish trick or his own insanity finally overcoming him. "It's me, my dear. I promise it's me."

"What was the last thing I said to you?"

"What?" Sylus snorted.

"What was the last thing I said to you before you died? If you are my Sylus, then you should have no trouble answering that."

"You said that you hoped we'd meet in some kinder future, where death would never part us again." Sylus dropped his hand and tilted his head slightly as he eyed Zayne. "You probably thought I didn't hear you. You thought I was already gone when you murmured that against my lips."

Tears stung Zayne's eyes but he blinked them away. "You heard me…"

"Yes, my love. I heard you… I heard you cursing my name for leaving you, I heard you scribbling away at your desk as you wrote to that realtor about selling the house- my house. I heard you praying to god while you were playing scientist in your bedroom- I heard everything." He wasn't angry, though his words carried a bitter weight.

Something inside Zayne snapped in that moment. He rushed forward and pulled Sylus to him, and began to sob as he held Sylus in his arms. As he ran his lips over Sylus' face and neck, he didn't pull away when he realized his body was chilled. It didn't matter to him that Sylus' breath on his skin was like an icy breeze that reeked of decay, Zayne needed to confirm to all of his senses that this was real.

Cold hands roamed over Zayne's body, but he welcomed Sylus' touch with a shiver. He wasn't chained to his bed, he wasn't choking on his own blood, he wasn't dying… Sylus was somehow alive again, or in the very least, something resembling life. Zayne wasn't going to look this gift horse in the mouth- no matter how frightening the horse appeared. Sylus' stiff posture thawed in the embrace and he began kissing Zayne back with the same fervor. Their mouths met in a wet sort of mewling- each one desperate for the other.

"I missed you," Zayne gasped. Sylus had moved from his mouth down to his neck, and was sucking on his bobbing throat. Sylus could hear Zayne's heart rhythmically pounding in his chest. He tongued Zayne's pulse at the side of his neck, and hovered for just a moment. Fighting this new hunger building in his entire being, Sylus let the tips of his fangs drag lightly across Zayne's skin. His breathing was shallow and labored, as he resisted the urge to bite down.

"I know, but I was here the whole time," Sylus whispered into the crook of Zayne's neck. "I was never all that far away… I'd never leave you, completely."

"Hold me tighter," Zayne begged. "Hold me, Sylus, please." Sylus hushed Zayne gently and did as he asked, his grip became firm and steady around Zayne's torso.

Everything in Sylus' new body screamed at him to maim, to feed. But if he allowed himself even an inch, he knew that his greed would consume him entirely. He couldn't do that, he wouldn't- he would never dream of harming his most beloved, Zayne. But the way his blood was rushing throughout his grief-stricken body, with almost painful clarity he could hear it pooling and throbbing into Zayne's cock, though he wasn't entirely sure how that was possible. Whatever he had become, this monster he had become- it needed blood, and the small logical part that still remained in his psyche was playing second fiddle to it.

One bite.

Just one little taste…

That's all he wanted, really.

In a fit of lustful hunger, Sylus began to urge Zayne towards the bed, and shoved him flat onto his back onto the mattress. In seconds, he was straddling Zayne, whose cock was now tenting the front of his trousers. Sylus leaned over him and looked into his eyes. It was there he saw both fear and glowing embers of desire. With deft fingers he unlaced the front of Zayne's pants, and freed his aching member, the head of which was already a lovely shade of reddish purple.

Sylus ran a single finger down the length of Zayne's shaft, teasing him further and watching as his cockhead flared at the stimulation. Zayne whined and his hips bucked up towards Sylus' hand, chasing his touch- begging for more.

"Look at you," Sylus tutted. "So needy. It's so unlike you to lose your composure this easily." Within moments, both of them were bare and bracing the open air with their hot-blooded sexes. With their gaze fixed on one another, Zayne began to stroke both his and Sylus' erections, while his other hand held onto Sylus' hip. "God, I want to taste you," he huffed. "I want to gulp you down and fill my belly with you."

Zayne couldn't help but to rut up into his fist at those words. His delight was heady and intoxicating, while Sylus' was hungry and ravenous. Now, frotting with his once dead lover, when before they had hardly even kissed- for fear of infection- his head was among the clouds.

"Mmph," Zayne whined, "Sylus-"

"Can I?" Though every fiber of his being fought against the restraint, Sylus waited for Zayne's express permission. "Just one small mouthful. I'll stop the instant you say…"

"I…" Zayne gulped when he noticed Sylus' tongue sliding over his canines. "You want to…" It was only with his fangs bared before his face, his mouth inches from his neck, did Zayne now realize that Sylus was intending to bite him.

"Please?" He breathed. He was nearly trembling from the blood lust. The idea intrigued Zayne as well as frightened him.

"I- yes," he nodded. Then more firmly spoke, "Yes." In the blink of an eye, Sylus' lips were on him and moving in search of Zayne's delicious pulse. Before he let his teeth pierce the delicate skin, he kissed Zayne's throat, and dragged his tongue back over to the bulging artery. As Zayne gripped Sylus, the pain came as a startling shock. It was like a sharp branding iron being slowly stabbed into him. He didn't dare jerk away from Sylus, for fear of the damage those teeth would do to his flesh. As Zayne's heart continued to race, Sylus gulped down the ichorous wine that flowed so eagerly from him. Sylus lost himself to it, and began to let his hips grind against Zayne's- their cocks trapped tightly between their bodies.

The pain was gone moments after it had started, and soon enough was replaced with a heady sort of giddiness that made Zayne's tension melt. He relaxed beneath Sylus and lazily ground against him. His hands wandered over his bare back then down towards Sylus' ass. He cupped it firmly in both palms and nearly came undone then and there. It was too much, and yet not enough.

"Sylus-" Zayne whimpered. He was desperate and lightheaded. Sylus, feeling Zayne's grip grow slack on his waist, released his neck from his maw with a huff.

"Zayne…" Sylus panted in the crook of his neck. Blood flowed freely from the bite, staining the bedsheets beneath Zayne's shoulder. Fine silk be damned, he needed more of Sylus. The way his weight pressed him into the mattress, the feeling of his cold skin pressed to his, the taste of his own coppery tang on Sylus' lips. "Turn over," Sylus growled.

With Zayne obediently on his stomach and his arms folded under his head, Sylus drank in the view of his long, toned back. Straddling his thighs, Sylus rested his cock between the curves of Zayne's ass, and slowly began to rock his hips; teasing himself and Zayne with just the idea of burying himself to the hilt. A muffled groan from the head of the bed where Zayne now gripped the bedsheets in his fist- he wanted it. How long had he waited to feel Sylus take him like this, how many times had he imagined crying out in utter bliss with Sylus right behind him? A steady drip of precum began to smear between Zayne's groin and the mattress.

"Fuck, Sylus- please." Desperation was a new look for Zayne. It was almost pathetic the way he arched his ass into the curve of Sylus' cock- eagerly begging for it.

"Is there something you want, doctor?" Sylus laughed, haughtily. "Is this why you brought me back? You needed someone to put you in your place?" He leaned forward, his mouth now next to Zayne's ear. "You needed me to fuck you so badly, you brought me back from the grave, is that it?" Zayne didn't answer, but his ragged breathing gave him away. Fingers tangled in the hair at his scalp, Sylus tugged backwards on Zayne's hair, pulling his face up from the bed. "I want to hear you say it."

"Yes," Zayne admitted with a labored whine. "Yes, Sylus." He swallowed and then continued, "I need you to fuck me."

"There's a good boy." Sylus released Zayne's hair and then spat onto the head of his engorged length. With his thumbs, he spread Zayne's ass open. Teasing, he pressed against Zayne, just enough to stretch him, to make him welcome his girth. Every slow inch that Zayne took made his head spin all the more. Grinding his teeth, sweat began to drip from his hair and face. Finally, Sylus' hips met his rump, pulsing against Zayne's g-spot.

"You're so tense," Sylus murmured against Zayne's shoulder blade. "Breathe, my darling doctor."

Zayne shuddered at the feeling of his breath on his wet skin. Heady and nearly sick with lust, he chewed his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Licking a stripe down the curve of his neck, Sylus savored the moment before his fangs sank back in to the meat of Zayne's shoulder.

Groaning, his hips moved on their own account, pushed forward by the need to both feed and fuck. The pain was nearly unbearable for Zayne, but the incomparable pleasure was more than worth it. Soon, he began to melt under the weight of Sylus bearing down on him. Lightheaded, dizzy, and altogether fucked out into bliss, Zayne whimpered helplessly as he came into the sheets on the bed. The smell of their bodies mixing in the air was that of a thick sauna.

Again, Sylus was at his ear, hautily whispering sweet nothings as he enjoyed Zayne's writhing body. "Cumming already? I didn't take you for such a pushover," he chuckled. "You're just going to have to lie there like the good boy you are, and take it- until I'm satisfied."

As his eyes rolled shut, Zayne's consiousness began to slip. Fading away quicker and quicker with each greedy swallow of his lover's mouth. When he finally came to, the excruciating pain in his head made him nearly vomit. Squinting eyes, bloodshot and bleary, he looked around the room for Sylus. God, it's fucking bright in here.

With his left hand, he padded around on the bed next to him, expecting to find Sylus asleep by his side, but was only met with empty bed.

"Sylus?" He called out, but received no answer. Not a voice from downstairs or the bathroom, not even a shuffle of feet. With aching muscles, he sat on the edge of the bed and finally looked around the room properly. His own clothes were still scattered on the floor, the balcony windows were wide open, and the bedroom door was locked from the inside- the bolt across the top slid shut. Had he imagined it all?

With a start, he rushed to the mirror and began to inspect his reflection. His neck- there should be a bite there- his shoulder too. To his sickening dismay, his skin was perfectly smooth and unmarred. But the bedsheets…? He looked back over at them, torn and bloodied- still stained with last night's haunting tryst. So how was he unmarked now? None of this made any sense. How could there be only be parts of evidence left behind? A small shiver ran through him.

Through the open window, a hollow whisper of wind fluttered the curtains, calling out his name. "Zaaayyyne…"

"Sylus-" Zayne whimpered. He was desperate and lightheaded. Sylus, feeling Zayne's grip grow slack on his waist, released his neck from his maw with a huff.

"Zayne…" Sylus panted in the crook of his neck. Blood flowed freely from the bruised bite, staining the bedsheets beneath Zayne's shoulder. Fine silk be damned, he needed more of Sylus. The way his weight pressed him into the mattress, the feeling of his cold skin pressed to his, the taste of his own coppery tang on Sylus' lips. "Turn over," Sylus growled.

With Zayne obediently on his stomach and his arms folded under his head, Sylus drank in the view of his long, toned back. Straddling his thighs, Sylus rested his cock between the curves of Zayne's ass, and slowly began to rock his hips; teasing himself and Zayne with just the idea of burying himself to the hilt. A muffled groan from the head of the bed where Zayne now gripped the bloodied sheets in his fist- he wanted it. How long had he waited to feel Sylus take him like this, how many times had he imagined crying out in utter bliss with Sylus right behind him? A steady drip of precum began to smear between Zayne's groin and the mattress.

"Fuck, Sylus- please." Desperation was a new look for Zayne. It was almost pathetic the way he arched his ass into the curve of Sylus' cock- eagerly begging for it.

"Is there something you want, doctor?" Sylus laughed, haughtily. "Is this why you brought me back? You needed someone to put you in your place?" He leaned forward, his mouth next to Zayne's ear. "You needed me to fuck you so badly, you brought me back from the grave, is that it?" Zayne didn't answer, but his ragged breathing gave him away. Fingers tangled in the hair at his scalp, Sylus tugged backwards on Zayne's hair, pulling his face up from the bed. "I want to hear you say it."

"Yes," Zayne admitted with a cry. "Yes, Sylus."