#vampire!dark

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Vampire!Darkstache

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Prompt 96: “I brought you an umbrella.”

    Dark hovered in the shadows of the doorway, unable or unwilling to step out into the sunlight pooling across the floor of the hallway. He regarded it with a carefully maintained expression of placid indifference, composure perfectly in place despite what was going on beneath the surface; a gnashing snarl of fangs and fury, writhing blackness buried deep. 

    His shell twitched once, settled as he delicately removed one black silk glove, revealing a dead, gray hand that seemed to flicker every so often. He extended it outward, into the light.

Immediately, smoke began to curl into the air and his skin began to singe and burn. Dark hissed and snatched back his hand, the edges of his form rippling. 

“Darkie!” Wilford popped into existence in front of him, a flirtatious smile upon his face and a mischievous gleam to his eye. “I figured you’d be here,” he said earnestly. “It’s such a nice day out.”

Sunlight splashed across his shoulders and draped itself over his chest, making the yellow of his button-down seem even brighter and his exposed fangs gleam like pearls. The bastard never had issues with the sun.

“What do you want, Wil?” Dark grumbled, avoiding his neon pink gaze and instead fixing his eyes on the window, as if it were the sole cause of his ire.

“Oh!” Wilford exclaimed, grinning. He held out his hand and a black bundle appeared in his open palm, which he then offered to Dark. “I brought you an umbrella.”

He pressed the umbrella into Dark’s hands. The entity looked down at it. “And what shall I do with this?”

The first time he drank from your neck, you thought it would be the last breath you’d ever take. But he knew the perfect, exact amount of blood to take. Of course he did—he’s done this before. To countless others....his victims.

Victims. You hated the word. But that’s what they were, right? To a vampire?

“I am so sorry, dear,” Dark purred in his lowest register, your blood staining his teeth. “You just smell...divine.” He inhaled dramatically, long and drawn out, and exhaled with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “And I can hardly help myself when I’m famished.”

“I—it’s okay...” you’d promised, the phantom pain of his fangs fading to a numbing, dull ache. Your bleeding had staunched. Clots had begun to form. And Dark was hard at work, pressing a thick cloth to the side of your throat. “I kind of...asked you to do this, after all.”

The immortal man purred, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of your torn flesh and the beads of crimson that threatened to spill from the puncture wounds.

“No matter,” he told you. “We can patch you up. I know some tricks of the trade.”

Right...of course he did. Because he’s done this before. However-many-times in however-many-ways.

Dark excused himself and returned, carrying an armload of goodies to the sitting room you were stationed in. Some thick bandages and gauze, a rattling bottle of pain medicine, an ice pack.

He handed the thick block of frozen goodness toward you.

“Place it to the side of your neck after I stick on the gauze and bandages,” he informed you. “It keeps the swelling down. Be sure to put pressure on it as well. That’ll help with bruising.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say next.

“What if...someone notices?” You say. “What am I supposed to tell them?”

Dark was now fussing over your gauze and bandage, trying to get them perfect.

“Tell them a vampire bit you.” He laughed once, coldly. “What will they say? Will they believe you?”

“I dunno,” you answered sheepishly. “I’ve never had to make an excuse for a vampire bite before.”

“There’s a first time for everything, love.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek—warm now, full of life. Full of your life. You shivered in spite of yourself.

“Take a couple of these tablets as well,” Dark reminded you, pointing toward the bottle on the table. “Every few hours for the pain. And drink lots of water to rehydrate.”

A tiny grin pulled at the corner of your lips. He’s doing so well taking care of you.

The ice pack seemed to melt against the white-hot blazing pain in your new neck wound, and you pressed it further against you.

Dark’s lips nuzzled closely to the opposite side of your neck, teasing your soft and unbroken skin. You could have sworn you’d heard him moan.

“You need to be well before we do this again.” There was an inkling of something...dangerous in his tone. Your breath hitched in your throat.

Again? What if you didn’t want him to do it again? This time hurt, a lot. And you weren’t sure that you wanted his fangs buried in your neck again.

Dark sensed your worry and slipped his arms around you from behind, comforting and warm. Full of your life.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “Not today. Not ever.”

But it did hurt. It hurt how much you wanted him to love you back, in the same way you loved him. It hurt how much you knew you weren’t his first—or last—feeding partner. His victim. There were so many before you, and so many after.

“I really love you, Dark,” you said, heartbreak in your voice. He hummed in approval, but his words didn’t feel true.

“I love you too, my darling.”

*Here we go*

When Wilford woke up, his neck hurt. He knows he didn’t sleep on it wrong, and he knows he didn’t do anything crazy the night before. How could he? He didn’t go out drinking or leave his home on Tuesday nights. Even if he did go out, he wouldn’t be long. But this wasn’t his bed, which was covered in soft silk and cotton. This wasn’t his room, either, with the midnight purple walls, cold wooden floors, and heavy red window drapes, coving the morning light. Even the shadows in the room were darken by the drapes. 

He carefully sat himself up and let his eyes linger for a while. He should be in his bed at his home. Who’s bed was he in? A dreadful thought came over him when he thought of his history of one night stands. He promised he won’t do that anymore. So, who’s bed is he in?

“I wasn’t expecting you to wake this early.” The deep voice was sudden that it made him tense, his eyes scanning the room. “I thought you would be out for a while.” 

Wilford calmed himself and called out to the darkness. “Show yourself. You have no right to--”

“Calm down, my friend.” Within the shadows, he saw a figure emerged. Dark wore his normal suit, the black one but his red tie was missing, and his hair was off to the side, messy and dry. His eyes were lighter, though, like a morning blossom in the spring. “It’s only me.” 

“Dark, not that I don't like seeing you, but,” he glanced around the room. “Why am I here? Did I have a drunken night, again?”

He saw Dark shake his head, chuckling at the thought. “No. I brought you here.” 

Wilford blinked in confusion. “Darkie, that doesn’t sound like you--”

“There’s a lot of things that happened to make me... change,” he said thoughtfully. “Things have to change at some point.” There was a smile in the air, iron and bitter to breath in. “I hope you understand.”

Wilford shook his head. “What happened? What’s going on, Dark. Stop with these secrets.”

Within a drop, Dark was in front of him on the bed, nose to nose with him. Wilford jumped back until he felt his back hit the bed frame. Dark’s eyes searched him up and down, an ugly smirk forming on his lips. Wilford doesn't know why he’s shaking when he inched closer and closer to him, his head turned to his neck. 

“Dark, please,” he whispered frightfully. “Please, tell me what’s going on?”

Dark lifted his head, his hand colder than a promise. “You still don’t know?”

“Dark--”

His breath hitched when he felt his skin crunch under Dark’s bite. He shivered as he felt his blood leave his body, lifting high above. his thoughts that were racing fell silent and still as Dark began to drink. With cold hands, he lowered Wilford in the bed and towered over him, careful enough not to scare him. Wilford wanted to cry and scream, but his gut told him that this was right. Letting him take over and hold more power over him felt... right. 

Dark pulled away and licked his mark. He hummed, his nose deep and tinder. “You’re mine, yes?” 

Wilford felt as if there was a drug in his system. He didn’t know how to speak his own thoughts. “Yes, all yours.” 

Dark smiled before biting again, sinking his teeth deeper.

**************

Well... that was fun.

Goretober, Day 20: Big Teeth

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.”