Bomber stirred. He didn’t want to wake up, feeling like he did on lazy days when he had stayed up all night talking or screwing. He almost fell back to sleep, and then he smelled something delectible.
His eyes snapped open, and he thought he could feel his own bit of sluggish blood start to move, like oil in a car that had been sitting in a car for way too long, and was now trying to be coaxed back into starting up. The coffin lid had been put aside – a coffin, he had thought, how morbid, but it was actually quite comfortable.
I’m dead, I don’t feel shit, he thought, even as he sat up. Standing before him was Locarno, his hat at a jaunty angle and a grin on his face. “Evening, sleepy head.”
He didn’t realize his fangs had dropped at the smell of the man. He wanted to grab a hold of him right there and sink his fangs into his neck, to drink his sweet nectar. Locarno even tempted him by baring his neck to him.
It was too much. Bomber grabbed him and pulled him down in the coffin with him, and then bit him, not realizing how hard he did. A primal instinct took over: the hole he tore was larger than before, but the man in his arms whimpered in rapture. He took a couple of deep draughts before his mind cleared, and he realized what he was doing.
Listen to the heartbeat, came his sire’s voice in his mind, and he forced himself to focus. He slowed down, even as Locarno sighed in pleasure of his “kiss”. He stopped, while Locarno’s heart was still strong. He refused to take more from him than he needed. A simple man with simple needs, he had told others, and he resolved he wouldn’t change from that.
He was still hungry, but he didn’t want to take advantage of Locarno. He would go feed on a human somewhere out in Cap au Diable before the night was over in order to feel satiated. He released Locarno and also pulled his head back from his neck, licking the wound closed. “Good morning Locarno Javier Octavio Castillo.”
He smiled, “Evening.”
“I don’t know if I’ll get used to that.”
“In a couple of years you will.” He held a hand out and helped Bomber out of the coffin. “Your sire’s either gone or still asleep.”
“I need to talk to him about last night. I screwed up. I killed those cops.”
“I’m sure if he wanted to talk to you he would have woken you up himself.” He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “So! What do you want to do?”
Bomber merely leered at him. “But it’s too early for that.” He caressed Locarno’s chest. “I need to go for a ride.”
“Want me to come with you?”
He shook his head slowly, “I need to think.”
“Oh.”
Bomber kissed Locarno, knowing he smelled of blood, and glad that Locarno didn’t care. “I’ll be back.”
Locarno passed his hand over Bomber’s chest, and then his crotch. “Okay. I’ll be around.”
Bomber went over to his bike, parked just outside. He raised himself on it and kickstarted it. It roared to life immediately. He took off to the ferry.
Disembarking in Port Oakes, he rode aimlessly. He felt stronger than he ever had been, even with Cobb’s blood in his veins. That had been a taste, a temptation to what he was living now. Living… he chuckled to himself. If you want to call it that. He didn’t need to breathe, or eat, all he needed was blood, all he wanted was blood. The sex was good, but the blood was better; it filled his very being. He could accept that, not like Will who wanted to be human again, who was perfectly happy at being human. No, this was amazing, and wonderful, and he was going to enjoy every damn second of it.
Dave Palemo was pissed off. He got a six, and lost all his money at the craps table. “No wonder they call it craps,” he snarled, walking away. He stormed out through the fire exit door that didn’t work.
He started walking back to his dingy apartment four blocks away. He was already in a sour mood when he saw the panhandler in the doorway. The man had sightless grey eyes, and looked like he was going to settle in for the night. Dave smiled, and walked over, reached down and took the man’s cup. It jingled with change. The bum yelled, “Hey!” He swiped at empty air.
Laughing, Dave danced away easily, and bumped into something. He turned around to see himself looking at a bald man in leather. The man said, “I’d put that back if I were you.”
Dave didn’t go around Cap au Diable unarmed, so pulled out a switchblade and went to stab him. The man grabbed his wrist and bent it back. Dave took a breath to yell in pain but the man put a hand on his mouth. The scream was muffled by his hand.
“Shh,” said the man, “You’ll wake the neighbors.” The man put his arm around his waist and picked him up easily. Dave kicked the man in the leg, but nothing happened.
“What’s going on,” said the panhandler.
“Be righ’ back ol’ man; you stay righ’ there. Don’t move.”
The man sat back, while Dave felt himself being carried. He was thrown against a wall and pressed there. His wrist was throbbing and he was in agony, and now this guy was going to rape him.
With his hand still on his mouth, he tilted the man’s head sharply to the left. Dave knew what was coming next and tried to push the man away. He murmured “No, no, no…” while the man’s head bent to his neck. He felt a prick of pain, and then…bliss.
It was better than any sex, any drug he had ever had. He found himself leaning into the man’s embrace, his eyes closed in ecstacy. Then, all too soon, he felt the man raising his head from his neck. He slowly opened his eyes, but felt his legs give out and he slumped to the ground.
The man stood above him. “Don’ pull a knife on me nex’ time, an’ don’ steal candy from babies. Now empty yer pockets.”
Dave started pulling out all his change, staring up at him. Holy God, he was huge. The man held his hand out for it. Then he clenched a hand around the change, easily swallowed in his huge paw. “Go get that looked at.” He nodded to his swollen wrist.
The bum heard someone move close to him and held up his stick at him. “Easy, ol’ man,” said a man’s voice, with a touch of southern accent in it. Someone put his cup back in his hand. He noticed it was heavier than before. “Have a good night.”
The bum said, “God bless you, sir!”
“Heh,” the man grunted.
Words: 1085
Inspiration: Bombardier’s first full night as a vampire
Music: Breathe – Prodigy