The lake was black glass beneath the blood moon. It stretched wide and silent through the clearing, reflecting the enormous red orb hanging low in the sky. The moonlight painted the world in shades of rust and crimson. The trees stood like dark sentinels around the water’s edge, their branches thin and clawed, scratching faintly against the wind.

Scott stood near the shore. Still. Patient. To anyone else, the forest would have been quiet. But to him, it was deafening. He could hear everything. The creak of the trees. The ripple of water against the stones. The distant scurry of animals deeper in the woods. And most importantly...

The heartbeat in front of him.

Fast. Irregular. Human.

Pyro stood a few steps away, his boots half sunk in the damp earth near the lake. His lantern trembled slightly in his hand, the light flickering across his anxious face.

Scott tilted his head slightly. Listening.

Thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump.

It was racing. Fear had a sound. A rhythm. And Pyro’s was adorable. The scholar tried to keep his composure, but Scott could smell it too, the sharp, coppery scent of fear rising off him like steam. It made Scott smile. A slow, crooked thing.

Pyro noticed it. His brows knit together. “What do you want from me?” he asked. Scott didn’t answer immediately. Instead he stepped a little closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots.

The scholar was fascinating to watch. So trusting. So earnest. So incredibly foolish. Scott’s smile deepened. “You know,” he said calmly, voice smooth as still water, “for a scholar… you’re rather lacking in survival instincts.”

Pyro frowned. “What?” Scott gestured vaguely to the forest around them.

“To begin with,” he said, amused, “following a stranger into the woods at this hour.” He glanced up at the sky. The blood moon loomed enormous above the trees. Everything beneath it glowed red. “And on a night like this.”

Pyro shifted his weight uneasily. The lantern light trembled again. “I didn’t follow you,” he muttered. “You asked me to come.”

Scott laughed quietly. That was true. And Pyro had come without hesitation. A stranger approaches him in a tavern. Mentions ancient texts. Mentions ruins near the lake. And the scholar follows him out into the forest like an eager little hound.

Scott studied him. Head tilted slightly. “You’re shaking,” he observed softly.

“I am not.” Scott inhaled slowly. Yes. Yes, he was.

The scent of fear was growing stronger. And beneath it... Warm blood. Sweet. Alive.

Six hundred years.

Six hundred years buried in the dark earth, trapped in a sleep that felt like drowning in silence. Six hundred years without this. Without the sound of a human heart beating right in front of him.

Scott licked his lips unconsciously.

Pyro noticed. His expression changed. “What… are you?” he asked quietly.

Scott’s smile widened. “That,” he said, “is an excellent question.”

Pyro took a step back. Scott stepped forward. The distance between them shrank again. Pyro’s heart stuttered.

Thump-thump-thump.

Scott could hear every beat. The pulse in his throat. The blood rushing beneath his skin. So loud. So fragile.

“Scott,” Pyro said carefully, “I think I should—” Scott’s hand lifted slightly. For the first time, Pyro saw them. The claws. They slid from Scott’s fingertips like drawn knives, black and curved.

Pyro froze. His breath caught. Scott’s smile slowly revealed something else. Fangs. Long. White. Wrong. For a moment the world went silent. Pyro stared. His mind trying to understand what his eyes were seeing.

“What the—”

Scott moved. He was faster than thought. One moment he stood in front of Pyro. The next he was on him. The lantern crashed to the ground as Scott slammed him back against the dirt.

Pyro screamed. Scott’s mouth found flesh instantly. He didn’t care where. Shoulder. Neck. Anywhere.

His fangs pierced skin with a wet, brutal sound. Hot blood flooded his mouth. Pyro’s scream ripped through the forest.

“GET OFF—!” He punched Scott hard across the jaw. Scott barely flinched. But the impact broke his bite long enough for Pyro to shove him away. Pyro scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

“What the fuck— what the FUCK—”

Scott watched him. Blood dripped from his lips. His pupils were blown wide with hunger. And something else. Something wild.

Pyro backed away. Then turned and ran. Scott didn’t chase immediately. He just stood there. Listening. The frantic pounding of Pyro’s footsteps crashing through the underbrush. The terrified rhythm of his heartbeat fading into the trees.

Scott wiped the blood from his mouth with his thumb. Then slowly licked it clean. Warm. Fresh. Alive.

His chest rose and fell with a breath that felt almost human. God. He had missed this. The hunt. The fear. The taste of blood in his mouth. For six hundred years he had slept in darkness and rot. Now the world was bright again. Sharp and electric

He laughed quietly to himself. Then he stepped into the forest. Not running. No. There was no need. Pyro could run as hard as he liked. Scott could hear him perfectly. Every crashing step. Every desperate breath.

Pyro was sprinting through the woods like a man possessed. Branches whipped across his face. Roots snagged his boots. His lungs burned but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

He was going to die.

He was going to die.

“What the FUCK was that?!” His voice came out ragged and breathless as he crashed through the trees. His shoulder throbbed where Scott had bitten him.

Warm blood soaked his shirt. His mind spun wildly. Claws. Fangs. Speed. The blood moon. The stories. The warnings.

Avid’s voice echoed in his memory.

“You laugh now,” Avid had said once, annoyed, “but vampires are real.”

Pyro had rolled his eyes.

“Yes, of course. And next you’ll tell me they live in castles and drink wine from goblets.”

“I’m serious.”

Pyro stumbled over a root but caught himself. His heart hammered violently.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Avid had been right. All along. About everything. About vampires. About the strange man who had appeared in town. About Scott.

Pyro’s breath came out in panicked gasps. “What the fuck—” He nearly sobbed the words. “What the fuck what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK—”

The world dissolved into a blur of panic and pain. Pyro’s shoulder burned where the fangs had pierced, a deep, throbbing ache that pulsed in time with his runaway heart. He crashed through a thicket, thorns tearing at his clothes and skin, but he didn’t feel them. All he felt was the crushing, animal terror.

He’s behind me. He’s right behind—

A root snagged his boot. He flew forward, the air whooshing from his lungs as he slammed into the damp, leaf-littered earth. He tried to scramble up, his hands slipping on wet moss.

A shadow fell over him. Pyro froze, the cold seeping up from the ground into his bones. He slowly, slowly, looked up.

Scott stood there, silhouetted against the bloody moon. He wasn’t breathing hard. He looked… amused. A dark smile played on his lips, which were still stained a wet, glistening crimson.

“Tired already?” Scott’s voice was a soft, velvety rumble. It shouldn’t have been able to cut through the forest sounds, but it did, landing directly in Pyro’s ear like a physical touch.

Pyro tried to speak, to curse, to beg. A strangled whimper was all that escaped.

Scott knelt. Not hurriedly. He took his time, settling on his haunches in front of the prone scholar. He reached out, and Pyro flinched violently, squeezing his eyes shut. A clawed fingertip, cold as river stone, traced the line of his jaw.

“Open your eyes,” Scott murmured. “Look at what’s hunting you.” Pyro’s eyes snapped open, wide with terror. Scott’s face was inches from his own. The inhuman beauty of it was terrifying, the sharp cheekbones, the pale skin, the eyes that held the ancient darkness of the lake itself.

“Please,” Pyro choked out.

Scott’s smile widened. “Please? That’s a start. But it’s not specific.” The claw trailed down Pyro’s throat, stopping over the frantic pulse. “Please don’t kill me? Please let me go?” He leaned in, his breath a cold ghost against Pyro’s ear. “Or… please, don’t stop?”

A fresh wave of shameful heat flooded Pyro’s gut, warring with the fear. His body was betraying him, a traitorous, aching stiffness growing in his trousers despite the cold, despite the terror. Scott’s nostrils flared, and his smile turned into something knowing and vicious.

“Ah,” Scott breathed. “There it is. The little scholar likes to be chased. Likes to be prey.” His hand moved from Pyro’s throat to fist in the front of his tunic. With impossible strength, he hauled Pyro up to his knees. “On your knees. That’s where you belong when you’re begging.”

Pyro’s knees hit the soft earth, his body trembling uncontrollably. Scott stood before him, a tower of predatory grace. He undid the fastenings of his own trousers with a slow, deliberate click and a shush of fabric. He freed his cock.

It was… monstrous. Thick, veined, and already fully hard, jutting out from a thatch of dark cyan hair. It looked utterly inhuman, a weapon of flesh. Pyro’s mind screamed. He tried to turn his head, to squeeze his eyes shut again.

A hand, vice-like, gripped his hair and wrenched his head forward. “Look at it,” Scott commanded, his voice dropping to a guttural growl. “Look at the fucking thing that’s going to ruin your throat. You came all this way for knowledge, didn’t you? Well learn this. Learn what it means to be used.”

Pyro stared, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. The scent of musk and cold night air filled his senses. “No,” he whispered. “I can’t… it won’t fit…”

“It’ll fit,” Scott said, his tone conversational, even as he began to guide the broad, leaking head towards Pyro’s lips. “I’ll make it fit. You’re going to swallow every fucking inch, you desperate little thing. You’re going to choke on it, and you’re going to love the feeling of being this full.”

The blunt head pressed against Pyro’s tightly closed lips. He kept his mouth shut, a final, futile act of defiance. Scott chuckled, a low, dark sound. He increased the pressure, not forcing, just waiting. The pressure built, an insistent, threatening presence.

“Open,” Scott whispered. “Or I break your jaw.” A sob ripped from Pyro’s chest. His jaw went slack. The moment his lips parted, Scott shoved forward.

The thick crown breached him, stretching his lips obscenely wide, immediately hitting the back of his throat. Pyro gagged violently, his body convulsing, tears springing to his eyes. Scott didn’t pause. He pushed deeper, the massive shaft invading, filling, a brutal, unyielding intrusion. Pyro’s throat opened in a spasming, unwilling as the head forced its way into his esophagus.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Scott groaned, his grip tightening in Pyro’s hair. “Take it. Just a fucking hole. A warm, tight, begging hole.”

He began to move. Not a rhythm. A pistoning. Short, brutal jabs that buried his cock to the root with every thrust. Pyro’s world narrowed to the sensation of the slurp and gurgle of his own saliva, the wet smack of Scott’s hips against his face, the ragged, choked sounds he made with every inward drive.

Scott set a relentless, pounding pace. Pyro couldn’t breathe. Each thrust stole the air from his lungs, his vision spotting with dark stars. He clawed at Scott’s thighs, but his efforts were weak, pathetic. The overwhelming sensation of fullness, of being used, began to spark something else beneath the panic. A filthy, degrading heat coiled in his own groin. He was hard, painfully so, his own cock straining against his pants.

Scott saw everything. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” he snarled, fucking Pyro’s face with renewed vigor. “You filthy cocksucker. You followed me out here because some deep, rotten part of you wanted this. Wanted to be a vampire’s little slut. Admit it.”

Pyro couldn’t speak. He could only gag and drool, tears and saliva slicking his chin. But his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.

Scott laughed, a sound of pure, dark triumph. “You were born for this. To be on your knees. To serve.” He changed the angle, driving downward, and the thick head pressed against a new, impossible depth. Pyro’s body went rigid, a silent scream locked in his stuffed throat. “Gonna fuck my cum straight down into your stomach. Gonna fill you up until you taste nothing but me for a week. You want that? Beg for it.”

He pulled almost all the way out, letting Pyro gasp a single, shattered breath. The cold night air burned his raw throat.

“Please,” Pyro rasped, the word torn and wet.

“Please, what?” Scott demanded, the tip of his cock resting on Pyro’s swollen lower lip.

“Please… fuck my throat,” Pyro sobbed, the confession shattering him. “Please… fill me up. I’m just a hole. Use your hole.”

Pyro, with his dark monstrous eyes and face horrific and scared by holy water and claws of his becoming, blinks at Abolish sitting on the bike seat, feet on the ground keeping the bike steady, hands lingering on the dark motorcycle trousers by Pyro's shoes - his legs spread inviting Abolish to take what he wants and pressing into his thigh to balance himself against the bike.

"What did you say?" In the night, Pyro's eyes are haunting - so he's been told: terrible crimson orbs swallowed up by dark sclera straight out of the abyss - and yet Abolish never breaks eye contact. He's annoying like that, looking at him while talking to him, not through him or past him, he looks at Pyro and none one else. It makes his skin shiver.

"You, the vampire leaning on back on my bike with your cock and behind out, you: what do you like?" Again, Abolish might as well be speaking a different language the way Pyro's face is bereft of clarity. Abolish's dark borderline soulless eyes narrow imperceptibly as Pyro stills like the world is just a ringing in his ears and it has all been swallowed by the dark.

Why would he ask him that? Why would he even care - just get it over with.

"I can stop if you want?"

"No!" The panic that rushes through him hasn't been felt since he was flailing through the lake by the obelisk, torn into and gutted before being dragged under it's current and disappearing in the red mist of his own death. He very well almost bites through his lips his mouth snaps the words out. And then he realises his misstep, his rudeness, he has forgotten his place and the hysteria filling his cold dead heart is like another stake driven through it-

"Okay. Alright. But I'm not doing anything till you give me the go ahead." Abolish states, voice cool and calm and Pyro appreciates it more than he can express. The characteristic unflappable nature of his, unchanged, even now, accommodating him, even now. Being listen to is strange, doesn't feel right - but it feels nice.

His hands come to his face and rub, a deep breath rattling his ribs, and when he brushes his hands into his ashen mop he half expects Abolish to be gone - like batman: he's done it before - but no, he's still there. Still waiting patiently for him to approach at his own pace. Great now he feels like a wounded deer being gently encouraged towards a human for help… but is that so bad?

Pyro breaths deep and he turns to look at the distant camp where he and Abolish - mostly Abolish - had killed a bad 80's slasher of a vampire an hour prior: this was meant to be celebration sex, but it was something more. Something dangerous formative that threatens to disrupt the foundations of his self.

"Can you touch me with your gloves on… I like the feel," Pyro admits, sheepish, bracing himself for the mockery or the disregard or a slap or -

"And where can I touch you?" Abolish follows up, an effortlessly controlled serenity on his face as he makes sure his leather riding gloves have no chance of slipping off. They never would, but Pyro finds the act a comfort.

"Where ever you want-"

"Pyro."

His hands return to his face, each choice and declaration of autonomy it's own little agony.

"You can touch my thighs and cock and arms and chest and my face if you really want to but who would ever want to-" the gentle caress of expensive black leather runs along the scruff of his jaw with military precision and a tenderness that breaks him more than any torture could. The leather feels nice, down right has him purring from the gentle roughness of it's grain and warmth, but when Abolish's thumb drifts up towards his lip, Pyro snatches his wrist.

Abolish startles, not enough to do anything, but Pyro can see the way his eyes focus. He feels horrible. It's more on instinct that anything, but the feeling of fingers threatening to press into his mouth makes his calcified stomach threaten to inverse.

"Not mouth… sorry I should have, I didn't know I just-" the words stumble over themself as they leave Pyro's mouth and again Abolish remains stalwart, sat secure on the seat, a cliff of utter acceptance the turbulent waves of Pyro crash against. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Thank you for telling me." And Abolish stays clear of his mouth, just runs his hand along the vampire's jaws and lets him bask in the gentle affection.

He had a dream about Scott doing this once, of holding him tenderly while saying how proud of him he was, the perfect fledgling, soaking in the admiration of his sire… but it was just that, a dream.

Abolish's hand move with a militarily precise sensualness - at times it's a little awkward: as if Abolish has a errant thought that he is petting a dog and Pyro finds a charm and warmth in that - travelling along his jaw and cheeks and instead of revolting at the stain of holy water or the scars of Owen and Scott, his fingers dance around the borders. And when Pyro says he is okay with them being touched, it is devastatingly soft to have the ugliness of his life admired as if they were jewels.

And with each drag of Abolish's hand, each tender touch, Pyro feels his breath weighing down his chest, his pallid cheeks warming effervescently, and a strangle tingle across his breast and dancing up his back. First he thinks it is the wind, a chill, but that hasn't bothered him in many moons.

This is something else.

"Can you…"

"I can if you ask."

"Can you touch my…" Pyro pouts, a sudden almost boyish embarrassment colouring his face, "can you touch my cock, please." Instantly he wants to dig himself back into the grave he pulled himself from.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure," Abolish responds with a collected coolness, perfectly masquerading the abject horror that the way Pyro was beneath him let him know this was the first time he had actually been asked to be touched.

"Just gentle, I-" something catches on Pyro's tongue and his voice comes meeker than he might like, "I don't like it when it's super rough."

"Understood." A hand remains on Pyro's face, a gentle caress he can lean into at his leisure, while his other hand winds down to his crotch. But first he reaches into his pocket and flicks the lid of a petite lube. Pyro blinks at him.

"Always prepared. And don't want it to hurt," Abolish states as a gentle sheen of lube covers his gloved hand.

The anticipation and anxiety is burning white hot in his chest and Pyro mumbles to himself that it is okay, he asked for this, over and over again until the reassurance is echoing in his mind. And then Abolish's hand closes gently around his cock. A gruff noise of surprise slips out as Pyro slumps back on the bike.

It is strange - someone else touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock gently because you asked them - quite strange in a way he isn't sure how to process it. It's familiar, he's touched himself plenty, but it's also not him and when the initial rush of panic seizes him that he has no control, he meets Abolish's dark eyes and remembers that he does.

After a brief moment, acclimating to the savoury feel of the leather around his cock, Pyro gives Abolish a curt nod and he starts to gently stroke the vampire. Slowly, the delicate roughness of the leather clad hand slides down his cock, pulling back his foreskin to expose the pallid rosy head already - embarrassingly - drizzling pre and Pyro immediately grimaces behind his palms. But the mockery doesn't come.

"Hmm. You really like being touched don't you." Abolish says with a soft charm, more of a observation than question.

"I guess so."

Abolish's finger meet his base and gently rise back up his cock, appreciating the curve and every facet of him in the most delicate manner. It is better than he deserves, Pyro can't help but think it every time Abolish makes a whiny groan or sound of genuine pleasure spill out of him with his hands. A gentle stroke, and a finger that presses to the back side of his head as it rises makes him moan in a way he never has and this thighs shake like he's caught a fever. All from a gentle touch.

Who knew gentleness could feel so good...

His cock is so shiny with lube now and it looks good, it feels good - it feels really good to be touched gently, to be slowly worked over while he is caressed like he isn't filthy, like he isn't a monster, like he is loved. Maybe he is.

Maybe he could…

As his chest settles from a devastatingly lovesome moan, head back on the handles of the motorbike sinking into the gentle oblivion of Abolish's touch, Pyro looks at the damphir with a nervous sort of excitement.

"Could you kiss me, if you want," he asks, breathless in a way that doesn't make his throat hurt and doesn't make him grimace at his own pathetic ness.

"I would want to. Nice and gentle?"

"Please…" and Abolish leans up across his bike, his hands still occupied with the soothing rhythm of stroking Pyro, and hovers just above the vampire's lips. The agency is on his. If he wants this kiss, he has to meet him.

And Pyro wants it.

He leans up and tenderly presses his lips to the half-vampires.

There's no hunger, no hurt, no forcing in to dominate his mouth with their own, Abolish just leans into him and brings his lips to meet Pyro's in kind. An uncharismatic warmth graces the undead as their lips press against one another in a tender embrace, and his chest sings like song bird bones dancing. Like fire consumes his ribs and crackles up through him, like he's worthy of love and basking in that knowledge.

A little moan breaks his lips from Abolish and the man laughs, downright giggles at him in a way that has Pyro's eye wide and dewy like he's seeing a sunrise again and not burning up in it.

"Is this okay?"

And every time that question is asked, Pyro feels something old ache, something like a malignancy stained on his very soul, but perhaps in time it will fade every time he says -