Blood Rave

All Ryder could do was shake his head ‘no’, but with the way his body tensed and his mind swam; he wouldn’t be surprised if he slipped out of consciousness any second now. The fluorescent light flickered overhead, reminiscent of a scene peeled straight off the reel of an eighties B-horror movie, although this time any blood spilt would be all too real.

“Good,” flaxen hair suddenly created a curtain around him, icy lips pressed against his forehead. “We should get going while the night is still young, don’t you agree?”

Ryder nodded; what else could he do?

One corner of Vincent’s mouth quirked upward, pleased by how easy the other was making this.

His instructions had been clear, and Ryder followed them to the letter for fear of what the consequences of disobedience would be. He exited the restroom as if nothing completely fucking bizarre had just happened and approached the front desk where Meghan and Sanjay offered him worried stares.

“Are you alright? You look live you saw a ghost,” Meghan frowned a bit.

“I’m not feeling well,” that wasn’t exactly a lie; the knotting of his stomach certainly could not be described as being in the pink of health. “I’m gonna head home now.”

He didn’t wait long enough to gauge his co-workers’ bemused reactions before he slipped into the employee locker room to gather his things. His heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears as he stepped out into the cold night, feeling like a virgin sacrifice about to be thrown into a roaring volcano. Vincent was waiting for him directly in front of the entrance to Pages. Shadows played on his unfairly handsome face, giving him the look of a sinister, marble statue. He wore all black: a silky dress shirt, boot cut vinyl pants, and the same chunky boots he’d been wearing at Vena Cava. He was propped up against a sleek, red Ferrari, his arms folded over his chest. White hair and skin, black clothes, red car. At least there was something to be said about the aesthetic beauty in the midst of this mess.

Vincent opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

“Where are you taking me?” Ryder stubbornly refused to comply before his question was answered.

“To your apartment, and then we’re going out. Now get in.”

His voice was barely audible as he slid into the plush, black, leather seat. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I don’t intend on doing so, provided things go my way. We’ll see what happens by the end of the night, won’t we?” and with that cryptic statement, Vincent closed the door, leaving Ryder to feel claustrophobic and asphyxiated inside the small vehicle.

Neither of them had spoken during the short journey to Ryder’s place; Ryder was practically paralysed by fright and Vincent seemed content with the way things were. But why wouldn’t he be? After all, he was holding all the cards. What was gnawing at the corners of Ryder’s mind was how Vincent even knew where he lived. However, he didn’t have the balls to enquire. The answer might’ve been difficult to brook. It was disturbing to discover that he had nowhere to hide from these people, whoever they were. He stared unseeingly at the blurred scenery through his window.

Vincent swerved into the parking spot which was reserved for the landlord, but Ryder was too tongue-tied to point it out. Hell, such a thing was trivial at the moment. He felt as though his legs had morphed into rusted joints and sticky jelly as they trekked through the lobby and into the lift.

As soon as Ryder unlocked the door to his apartment, Vincent pushed his way inside and headed straight for the bedroom. Ryder stayed back in the living room, opting to light a cig to calm his erratic nerves. By the time he caught up with Vincent, his ‘guest’ had already made himself at home enough to carry out a ruthless search through his closet.

“Smoking is an unattractive habit, you know,” Vincent commented, not looking away from his self-appointed task.

“So is kidnapping,” Ryder anxiously added, “what are you doing?”

“Finding something for you to wear.”

“If you told me where you’re taking me, I’d be perfectly capable of doing that myself.”

Vincent turned to smirk at him. “But that would ruin the surprise.”

“Does Natalie know you’re a vampire?”

“No.”

“That’s an interesting thing to keep from your girlfriend.”

“We’re not in a relationship.”

“What? But—”

“I thought you were supposed to be taciturn.”

Ryder chose to be quiet then; it wouldn’t do him any good to make Vincent angry. He busied himself with taking long drags on his second cigarette in efforts to speed up the suddenly elusive, calming effect. He needed something much stronger than nicotine if he wanted his thoughts to stop attacking his skull at 100 miles per hour.

The statuesque vampire finally found what he was looking for. He pivoted to face Ryder, holding out a pair of tight, black PVC pants with numerous buckles on the sides which Ryder had never worn and a deep burgundy shirt which was almost entirely composed of functional zippers and rips.

“You’ve got five minutes. Make yourself look nice,” Vincent said evenly.

Ryder observed the clothing sceptically. “Are you taking me to a club?”

“Something like that. I’ll be outside,” the garments were shoved into his arms as Vincent sauntered past, slamming the bedroom door close on the way out.

With shaky hands, Ryder undressed and pulled on the selected outfit. The PVC clung to his legs like a black, liquid skin and the shirt revealed quite a bit of skin. A spiked collar, platform boots, and quickly applied eyeliner completed the rent boy look which Vincent seemed to be a fan of. He’d barely managed to give himself a once over before Vincent returned.

“Let me have a good look at you,” Vincent leaned against the door frame.

Awkwardly, Ryder got to his feet. Vincent circled him slowly, inspecting him like livestock. A startled gasp escaped him as those sinful lips brushed the outer shell of his ear.

“Beautiful,” Vincent whispered, frigid fingers reverently following the curve of Ryder’s jaw and tipping his chin up. “You were on my mind all night.”

“What about Natalie?” Ryder’s pulse quickened.

“Why do you keep bringing her up?”

“She’s my friend; I’m worried about her.”

“I didn’t hurt her, Ryder. She was going to have a threesome behind my back, or did you conveniently forget that? She doesn’t remember a thing from last night. She served her purpose, a purpose you’ll find out about soon enough. Anymore questions?”

Of course he had more questions. He was smart enough to save them for later, though. He shook his head ‘no’.

“Good,” Vincent graced him with a deceptively sweet smile. “Shall we leave now?”

The weight of dread only increased as they climbed into the Ferrari once more. This time they were travelling to the downtown area as far as Ryder could tell. Not only was the downtown district ripe with wild nightlife, but it was no rarity for murders and disappearances to occur, both of which were never solved; too frequent and deemed unimportant. No one mourned for a stripper or a silly teenager who was too young to be there in the first place and probably on drugs anyway. Whatever was in store for him was not going to be a good thing.

There was a fair amount of traffic the closer they got to the downtown area. This was no surprise seeing as how it was Saturday night and people loved to blow the week’s stress off by grinding on strangers. Ryder started to chew on the already low nail of his thumb, something he did when he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. The longer their commute took, the more he felt like he was going to self destruct. In his peripheral vision, he could see Vincent’s elegant profile, his straight, pointed, aristocratic nose and relaxed, square jaw line. His calmness was positively maddening to observe. The blur of headlights and moving vehicles transformed into nightclubs and patrons traversing the broad sidewalks. Ryder had to admit that he felt a bit safer in the company of others, emphasis on ‘a bit’.

“We’re here,” Vincent announced. ‘Here’ turned out to be Necrosis, a gothic club notorious for its extreme performances and the live bondage shows in the dungeon which were exclusive to members. Ryder had never been there himself; it was way out of his budget. He’d always wanted to go there before he died, just not immediately before he died. The parking lot was packed, save for one convenient space near the front. Ryder assumed it was reserved, whether or not it was actually reserved for Vincent was anyone’s guess.

Confidence oozed from Vincent’s pores as he led Ryder by the hand to the front of the long V.I.P line. One of the burly bouncers flashed a big grin, his jagged teeth glimmering in the streetlights.

“Vincent, you sly motherfucker, what happened to the sexy Oriental girl from last week? Not that your new toy isn’t equally pretty.”

“She wasn’t suitable,” Vincent’s grip on Ryder’s wrist tightened as if sensing the other’s rising desire to haul ass.

The bouncer nodded in understanding. “Well, I hope this one’s worth it, and if not, looks worth a few fucks at least,” he reached out to run his meaty fingers through Ryder’s hair, only to have Ryder pull away and glower at him.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself, asshole.”

“Feisty little bitch. You should put a leash on that collar of his, old man,” the man snorted crudely.

Vincent chuckled in amusement, and Ryder wanted nothing more than to punch him and the obnoxious bouncer in the nuts for that little performance. This was all fucked up enough without having to be treated like a fucking piece of meat, as well. The bouncer opened one half of the engraved, iron doors. It was time to find out what he’d gotten himself into.

Purple illuminated the dark club. They ventured further inside, and it became apparent that Necrosis blew Vena Cava out of the water when it came to the décor. A large, stone gargoyle was positioned at every corner of the spacious, rectangular, LED dance floor which glowed blue with the occasional splash of red beneath the dancers’ feet. The east and west walls each supported a massive flat screen monitor which alternated between shots of the patrons, the performers on the stage overlooking the dance floor, and a black screen which read in bold, white font: ‘Blood Rave: Decadence’. The bar encompassed the entire parameter of the dance floor, separated by a black, barred partition.

Overhead a chandelier designed to look like it was made using various bones of the human body took up most of the ceiling. Ryder was stunned to discover there were actually more performances on the chandelier; two women in nothing but skimpy, black thongs and fishnet stockings, their feet pointed in ballet boots, were putting on a show for the club goers in the balcony booths. They were dancing around in a circle, intertwining black and red ribbon around the chain holding the chandelier up in some perverted homage to maypole dancing. His heart almost gave out when another similarly attired woman climbed over the wrought-iron banister to join the others on the chandelier, carrying a purple ribbon. Anxiety and arousal assaulted his body at once; torn between hoping none of them seriously injured themselves up there in those ridiculous heels, and enjoying the view of their perky, white breasts and round asses.

With great difficulty, he tore his eyes away to look at bodies pressed close against each other on the dance floor, hips undulating to the music provided by the androgynous two-man, Industrial act on stage.

“Think you can enjoy yourself for a few hours?” Vincent rasped into his ear, massaging his exposed hipbone with a cold thumb.

A wry smile stretched across Ryder’s face. “I’ll try; for all I know this is my Last Supper.”

“Ha. I’d love to bask in your eternal optimism a little while longer, but I’ve got a few things to take care of. Don’t try anything stupid while I’m gone; you’re being watched. I’ll be back for you before the rave is over.”

A cold gust of air caused goose bumps to rise on his skin. He quickly pivoted, releasing a startled noise when he found Vincent was no longer behind him, nor was he anywhere nearby. What the fuck?

“Mind moving out of the way?” a female voice brought him out of his stupor, reminding him that he’d still been standing by the entrance. He figured no one had said anything before because Vincent had been with him. He stepped aside, watching with a quirked eyebrow as the plump, middle-aged woman strutted arrogantly past in an orange coloured rubber dress, tugging a tattooed, twenty-something year old blond with his hair in pigtails and a cincher around his waist by a leash so that he had no choice but to follow obediently. They must’ve been headed for the bondage dungeon.

Disgusted by the mental images conjured by that thought, he shook his head and made his way over to the bar. He slid onto one of the barstools, wanting to slam his head into the concrete countertop when he realised he had no money. So much for drinking himself to the point where nothing mattered… Enviously he watched the woman next to him slush around her glass of Baileys. He released a frustrated sigh at the alcohol on display in front of him. Vincent was insane if he expected him to stay here, sober and paranoid. So what if he was ‘being watched’? Getting the hell out of here was worth a shot.

Going out the front way wasn’t an option; that asshole of a bouncer would get cause trouble. He cradled his face in his palm, thinking of another escape route when a Confucktionary was slid in front of him.

“The dude at the end of the bar sent this for you,” the Mohawked bartender nodded in the aforementioned man’s direction before going over to another customer. Ryder eyed the drink sceptically and then turned to get a look at the sender. He was relatively attractive; in his early thirties, lean, extremely spiky, red hair, and a mischievous smirk. Ryder turned back to the Confucktionary, throwing caution to the wind as he gulped some of it down. It was easy to become addicted to the saccharine foretaste and subsequent burn. The stranger took his acceptance of the drink as an invitation to come over.

“Mind if I join ya?” he spoke with a strong cockney accent.

Ryder shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

“I’m Hayden,” he took a seat.

“Ryder.”

“What’s a nice looking boy like yourself doing all alone, eh?”

“Talking to strangers,” Ryder sarcastically replied, eyeing the man’s unimaginative, tribal tattoo with a slight grimace.

“Is that a good idea in a place like this?” Hayden leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Aren’t you afraid?”

Unease crept up on him. “What should I be afraid of?”

“Not me,” Hayden chuckled at his own humour.

Ryder wasn’t quite so amused.

“I’ve never seen you here before; first time?”

“Yeah,” Ryder took yet another sip of the hot pink liquid, already feeling the beginnings of a buzz.

“Fantastic. I love virgins.”

Ryder grunted to acknowledge the innuendo, lest Hayden get the wrong idea and keep going.

The live act on stage ended, replaced by a DJ whose face was partially hidden by a respirator, goggles propped up on his forehead. He was surrounded by male and female dancers wielding glow sticks. The music was faster, the bass line nothing short of infectious. The clubbers were in a trance, nothing more than slaves to the rhythm. Just watching them made Ryder want to join them on the dance floor. It seemed Hayden felt the same.

“Fancy a dance?”

“Give me a minute,” Ryder said, knocking back the remainder of the Confucktionary. He didn’t know how he managed to guzzle such a large amount of alcohol in one go. However, that didn’t stop him from smirking at Hayden’s impressed gawk. He would probably make an ass of himself soon enough; the alcohol was already going straight to his head.

Not surprisingly, he felt dizzy as soon as he got to his feet. He held onto Hayden’s tattooed arm as they joined the other patrons on the floor. His movements were so uninhibited that he entertained the idea that Hayden had slipped something into his drink. He was so uninhibited, in fact, that he didn’t even give a fuck if that was the case. He looked up at the chandelier; curious as to if another performance was taking place. This time two women clad in pleated skirts and electrical tape over their nipples were engaged in erotic grinding, lips meeting occasionally. One fell to her knees between the other’s spread, fishnet covered legs, kissing the sliver of skin between the stockings and the skirt. Nothing could titillate a crowd like faux lesbianism.

Hayden pulled him closer in a wordless demand for his full attention. In return, he wrapped his arms around the slightly taller man’s neck, more an act of steadying himself than anything else. Everything seemed to be coming at him, frantically moving blurs. He was pissed out of his mind. Ever presumptuous, Hayden’s hands steadily migrated from his hips, down his lower back and settled on the curve of his buttocks.

By the second track, Hayden’s mouth was sucking and nipping at his neck, one hand fondling his ass, the other rubbing gently between his legs. This was becoming a rather unsafe habit; just last night he was doing this same thing with another stranger. There was something about these Blood Raves which made him lose all sense of control. He moaned softly when Hayden traced the outline of his hardening cock through the maddeningly tight PVC.

Boldly, Hayden hooked an arm under his right thigh, using it to lift his leg out of the way so he could easily grind their crotches together. The friction was enough to drive him mad. Their lips came together in a messy kiss, all slippery tongues and colliding teeth because Ryder was seeing doubles and he couldn’t figure out which mouth was the real one.

“You’re a right tease, you know,” Hayden murmured into the hair.

“Doesn’t have to be teasing,” the blunt, flirtatious tone he’d been aspiring for wasn’t as seductive as he’d hoped due to his slurred speech.

“Are you offering, Ryder?”

Ryder shrugged. He’d grown rather apathetic at this point. If Vincent was going to kill him, then why shouldn’t he have anonymous sex? It was only fair. Other people seemed to be basking in carnal knowledge: he could make out a couple fucking behind one of the gargoyles, probably assuming they were hidden in the shadows… or perhaps they were simply exhibitionists.

In an instant, they were navigating through the sea of bodies en route to the bathroom. It took a great deal of concentration not to fall on Ryder’s part. Their quick pace was disorienting in his drunken state. He could already see the purple light reflecting on the laminated, men’s restroom sign. Just before Hayden could pull the door open, someone prevented them from going any further. Cold fingers were wrapped around Ryder’s wrist, pulling him in the opposite direction.

“Sorry, but I need to take him off your hands,” Beatrice smiled at Hayden, her white teeth gleaming brightly against her black lipstick. Tonight she wore a long, figure-hugging dress, a split to the hip revealing her shapely leg.

“What gives?” Hayden snapped, grabbing Ryder’s other wrist challengingly.

“Orders from the higher-ups. Do you really want to push your luck, Hayden? You’re already out of their good graces,” she narrowed her eyes warningly, daring him to step out of line.

Ryder was growing accustomed to not knowing what the fuck was happening

After a few tense moments, Hayden spat, “Fine.” He raised his hands in surrender before taking a few steps back and vanishing into thin air.

“What the—”

“You’ll get used to it,” Beatrice’s tone was nothing short of motherly. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you? Come on; let’s get you away from the wolves.”

“Did Vincent tell you to watch me?” he put two and two together.

“Can you blame him? Most people here are vampires. Hayden’s one of them, and he isn’t exactly known for being overly friendly with fragile, little humans like you.”

Stunned into a near catatonic state, Ryder allowed her to pull him up the steps to the balcony. It was only through sheer coincidence that he didn’t fall, what with his ungraceful, inebriated staggering. It should have been obvious Hayden was a vampire from his disappearing act, but having the face be explicitly stated was another story altogether. His nightmare was a reality. They reached the landing, and the first thing that caught his eye on the balcony was a man’s head bobbing up and down over another man’s crotch. At the neighbouring booth, a slip of a boy was snorting suspicious, white powder off the table’s surface, his friend watching disinterestedly with a cigarette burning between her fingers.

Now he had a closer view of the action on the chandelier, but the performers were gone. Instead, a few adventurous patrons had climbed onto it for a photo opportunity. They manoeuvred through the tables, finally settling into a booth which was next to, of all things, an old fashioned snow cone machine. It was downright strange to see a girl who looked way too young to be in a place like this operating the machine in her red, heart-shaped sunglasses and gothic Lolita dress. Ryder watched curiously as a customer approached. The girl smiled as she scooped crushed ice into the conical, paper cup until it was perfectly rounded. She then squirted dark, red fluid onto it. It didn’t appear to be syrup; something about the consistency was off. It looked like blood. In a place crawling with vampires, he didn’t think fake blood would be necessary. He looked away; instantly nauseous and quickly sobering.

“Why did Vincent bring me here?” he focused his gaze on Beatrice.

“He should be the one to tell you that. Don’t fret yourself; you’re a smart boy. You should be fine,” she placed a comforting hand over his. However, her hand was so unnaturally cold that it achieved an opposite reaction. It didn’t also didn’t help when she used words like ‘should’.

Time became an indiscernible concept. He had no idea how long they were sitting there. He no longer heard the music, he just observed everyone, expecting them to grow fangs or sprout giant, bat wings at any moment. He hadn’t even noticed Beatrice was gone until she came back with one of those repulsive snow cones. He wanted so badly to ignore her, but his attention kept on returning to the red liquid surging through the transparent straw and into her mouth.

“Is that blood?”

“Yup, cute idea, isn’t it?” she snickered at the face he made. “Like I said, you’ll get used to it.”

“Why would I need to? Vincent’s going to kill me anyway.”

“I doubt Vincent’s going to kill you.”

“I agree; my cousin would sooner fuck you,” none other than Christophe plopped down onto the leather seat beside Beatrice. He looked just as perfect as Ryder had remembered; no sign of the bruise he’d expect to see on his forehead after the walloping he’d endured.

“Sorry about the head trauma last night,” Ryder said.

“No need to apologise, my dear Ryder; I had a moment of weakness. I must say, though, I hadn’t expected so much power in such a small body. I find it exciting,” Christophe’s smirk was dirty, dirty sin. “Vincent has his eyes set on you, but I have a feeling I’ll enjoy the warmth of your body soon enough.”

Ryder felt his cheeks warm, and he hoped it was too dark for Christophe to see him blush like a sheltered virgin.

“Intense,” Beatrice pressed her bloody snow cone to her neck as if to cool herself down.

“Not as intense as it could be,” Christophe quipped.

“Vincent won’t appreciate you stealing Ryder from him so quickly, Mr. Charlemagne.”

Ryder scoffed, “I think Vincent would need to own me for someone to be able to steal me.”

“I’m glad you feel that way now. Whatever happens, don’t let him own your heart,” all flirtation was gone from Christophe’s voice, replaced by a grave timbre.

“Mr. Charlemagne…” Beatrice seemed disapproving of the turn the conversation was taking.

“Beatrice, you and I both know he has a history of neglecting his toys.”

Ryder was beginning to come to his own conclusion about what Beatrice and Christophe were talking about, despite how utterly lost he was. And he didn’t like what his rationality was coming up with.

Friction was evident in the silence which lasted until Vincent arrived. If he noticed the tense atmosphere, he didn’t show it. He politely excused Ryder from the booth and soon they were off to God knows where.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions right now,” Vincent started as they walked through a lonely corridor. “I’ll try to answer them as best as I can. First allow me to explain the concept of the Blood Raves. In an effort to harmonise the co-existence of humans and vampires, the government put limitations on our feeding. Taking advantage of the nightclub scene was the agreement reached. It made sense since vampires are nocturnal beings. A fixed number of vampires are allowed to stay in one city; therefore we’re allowed a fixed number of nightclubs and events to obtain blood. The deaths are covered up by the forensics and police departments as long as a contract was made beforehand. It prevents mass hysteria.”

Ryder swallowed noisily, his throat gone dry. “How do you obtain this blood?”

“You’re about to find out.”

They now stood before a small door which looked as though it would lead to a janitor’s closet, hidden somewhere deep in the winding hallways in the building’s belly. Ryder steeled himself for a shock, but it didn’t prepare him for what he saw. The room was massive, white and sterile. There were about ten hospital beds, a sallow, naked body on each one. They were obviously club goers, the telltale makeup and elaborate hairstyles remained. Blood was being drained from their jugular veins by a machine similar to that used for embalming purposes. There were people wearing lab coats fussing around them, monitoring the sickening process.

Ryder turned away, unable to watch this any longer. “What do you want with me, Vincent?”

“Your blood, your body…” he lifted Ryder’s hand, kissing his wrist gently.

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Never; not when I can smell your blood… So sweet I can virtually taste it,” the gentle kisses ended abruptly; he sank his teeth into the thin wrist.

“Ah!” Ryder cried out as he felt the fangs lengthen inside their point of entry, the pain blinding. His arm went numb and his knees felt ready to buckle. He could see the blood running down his arm, staining his sleeve with brownish splotches. He wanted to run, knew he should, but he felt paralysed. His body refused to cooperate.

The agonising pain returned when Vincent pulled his fangs out of his wrist, burning and throbbing so much that he’d lost control over his fingers. He stared at Vincent’s bloodied mouth with horrified eyes. The blood continued to trickle down his forearm, dripping onto his fingers which had taken on disfigured, claw-like contortions, wet and sticky. His entire arm was on fire; as if someone hacked it off with a dull chainsaw.

Vincent’s tongue ran over his reddened lips, slowly as if savouring the flavour.

“If anyone kills you now, it’s yourself. I’ve started you on the path of immortality.”


==
The Munez Feed:
You know, I feel all lame when I write vampire stories. I always fear it reads like a gay Twilight. I’m going to go cry about that now.

Crown of Leaves: It is sort of like a gothic scene fanfiction. I wanted to read hot, gay goth action, and I couldn’t find any that really seemed… accurate? Then again, I didn’t look that hard; I’m impatient. So I wrote this, and threw in vampires like a lame-o. The last chapter indeed was pretty boring, mainly because I went too far with illustrating how bland The Hangover Day is (in my experience) and how bland/normal Ryder’s life is. I’m a pretentious fuckwit when it comes to my writing, and I miss the mark A LOT because of it. I suppose practice makes perfect… I can only hope this one isn’t as dull. I also hope you didn’t hurt yourself holding your breath for such a long time!

JT: If you keep saying you love me, I’m going to start asking you to put out. I’m that kind of guy those Sex Ed pamphlets warned you about.

PS: Does anyone know any stories with boys in thigh high stockings/garters? I’m so serious. I wanna read one! I’ll write you something in return if you find me one… or if you write one. *bats eyelashes*

Don’t judge me.

Munez