Don't Judge A Vampire By Its Fangs

A/N: Here is a fic that I was going to submit to a horror anthology but then it got too big. And for those who know, yeah, the \"vamps\" are from Black Widower. Wasn\'t sure whether it should go here or in the \"vampire\" section....

Don\'t Judge A Vampire By Its Fangs


(Look up, Weasel,) Angelo says in Nightspeech as he rims my eyes with black kohl pencil. Nightspeech is the way we naturally talk without taking the breath so Breathers hear us.

(What are you dressing up as?) I ask him.

(You\'ll see.)

Now he\'s brushing my lashes with mascara, making them longer and darker. (Shit, Angel Boy, are you trying to femme me up or something?)

He stops a moment and flashes me that provocative grin of his. (Lover, you\'re all boy.) Angelo\'s hand slides between my legs and gives my crotch an affectionate squeeze. \"I prefer it that way,\" he whispers into my ear before sticking his tongue inside and driving me crazy.

I seize his hand. (If you don\'t stop that, we won\'t make it to the dance club,) I tease, sliding his fingers into my mouth and sucking on them, smudging the black lipstick on my lips.

Angelo pulls his fingers out of my mouth and lets out a throaty growl, messing my lipstick up even more because he\'s devouring my mouth. Our kiss deepens and he grinds against me, why am I not surprised that he\'s rock hard already.

For a moment, I think he\'s gonna rip off the whole costume, cape and all and ravish me right then and there. But Angelo gives me a final hard kiss on the mouth before pulling away. (You\'re almost done, kaloz mou,) which is Greek for \"my beloved.\" It\'s also an endearment he uses for no one else but me.

I grumble, not liking all this makeup, (Eyeshadow? Fuck, no, Angelo.)

(But it\'s essential to the look,) Angelo insists, opening up a pallet of creme eyeshadows, then dipping his finger into this smoky eyeshadow with glitter. (And it makes you look irresistably sexy,) he says as he applies the eyeshadow to my eyelids.

(And the final touch.) Angelo reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out.... fangs? Plastic fangs?

I can\'t help it, I burst out laughing. (Um,) I stammer, choking on my laughter, (can\'t I just use my own?)

Angelo rolls his eyes. (The idea here, sweetling, is create the illusion that you\'re just pretending to be a child of the night. Real fangs would shatter that illusion.) He opens a jar of some kind of styling pomade and puts some in his hand. Then he rubs his hands together and works it through my hair, slicking it back. Gotta admit, I love the cape. Black velvet with red lining. The black leather pants and the white ruffled shirt completes the look and so do the boots.

Guess I\'m not only a vamp, I\'m a gothy vamp. I wish I could look in the mirror and see myself but that\'s a no go until I\'ve juiced some and gained some substance.

I look at my lover. (You gonna get into your costume now?)

(The costume is in my room. See you in a bit,) Angelo says, leaving my room before I can say a word.

I sit down on my bed, wondering how he talked me into this whole thing at the dance club. Then my lips curl into a little smile as I remember that \"talking\" had very little to do with it. It rarely does.

I don\'t like the feeling of this goop in my hair and the crap on my eyes. Angel Boy had better make it up to me later.

Then he opens the door and makes his entrance and I lick my lips hungrily. Angelo looks that good.

A skintight black PVC catsuit that hugs his body. A black tail, whiskers and of course, black cat ears. He\'s got on those fuck me boots I love and even furry gloves with the fingers cut off, like cat paws. Angelo makes a swiping motion and reveals his long nails, which aren\'t quite claws but are even sharper.

Angelo sits down beside me and rubs his cheek against mine; marking me, no doubt.

(Where\'s the rest of your fur,) I ask, rubbing his belly, my hand drifting downwards.

(I\'m a catboy,) Angelo answers, then moans as I quickly make him regret that he\'s not wearing something that\'s easier to take off. It\'s not long before Angelo roughly shoves me off of him, murmuring, (I suppose it won\'t matter if we\'re a little late,) as he quickly scrambles out of the catsuit.

Between Sharing pleasure, then the both of us getting redressed and Angelo reapplying my make up, it takes about three hours -- okay, two of those hours were spent Sharing pleasure -- but we finally manage to make it to the dance club, Club Noir.

Dance clubs are the perfect environment to hunt in. Filled with beauties that make my mouth water and my cock stir, they are heat and passion in motion. On the dance floor they writhe against one another; bodies sliding and slithering together, a dance that will be simulated tangled in sweat soaked sheets later that night. It gives my lover and me the opportunity to get up close and personal with our pickups in a way we wouldn\'t be able to otherwise. When we we\'re that close, we can smell any possible sickness in their bodies or any excess of drugs or drink that would render them toxic.

Once we find a pickup that\'s pretty enough for both of our tastes, reasonably healthy and not so wasted that he can\'t feel, we\'ll either go to his place or bring him to one of our rooms. We\'ll focus our attentions upon him; kissing and caressing, bringing him to such rapture that he\'ll never notice how icy our mouths and hands are. Or that our kisses are growing rougher; meant not to arouse anymore, but to inflame in a whole other way, until our tongues probe his flesh and he feel our teeth and hungry lips.

Once the pickup realizes what is happening, what we are doing to him, what we really are, he\'ll most likely panic and attempt to struggle. Uselessly, but it excites us so we let him, until it\'s not anymore and we sink our teeth in deeper, ceasing his struggles forever.

That is the Game of seduce, bed, kill and I\'ve been playing it with Angelo since he first introduced me to it over a year ago. Sometimes we play with two. We always Share the kill, letting the ecstasy overtake us until we abandon our prey and pounce on each others, Sharing pleasure and Sharing blood.

Nothing gets me as hot and bothered as the Game and no one can send me into the stratosphere of extreme passion like Angelo. During such bliss I am willing to shove away my conscience, my ethics and my guilt, until I hate myself the next night and swear I\'ll never do it again.

But I know damned well I will. Because I enjoy it. I enjoy killing. I get off on it. I know it\'s wrong. Immoral. But it doesn\'t make me any less aroused when I play with the boys I know I\'ll kill. In fact, it gets me even hotter.

I don\'t always give in. Sometimes my thirst is quenched by Rotgut, a mixture of wine, herbs and the juice I\'m really craving. It helps but it\'s really not satisfying in any other way but the fact that I won\'t kill anyone that night. And it\'s not satisfying because Angelo won\'t go near me when I drink it. He drinks it himself, but only to exacerbate the thirst, to ride that Tiger inside him until he goes feral and kills savagely.

Angelo kills unrepentantly and unapologetically. A master of the game, he usually leads, choosing what the game will be and finding our marks. And I have to admit, Angelo is damned good at what he does.

But when it all comes down to it, nothing matters to me as much as the knowledge that, at least for the night, I\'ll have Angelo. Angelo is my lover, my amant and he is mine. But only so far. He is also a slut who sleeps with any pretty boy or girl who catches his wandering eye. Everyone wants him because he is gorgeous and sexy and fantastic in bed. But he belongs to no one but me.

As much as he can belong to anyone.

I can see that Angelo\'s eyes are already scanning the dance floor, but no one seems to impress him much. It\'s Devil\'s Night at Club Noir, all of the clubbers are in costume; dressed as some undead creature of the night. Now I know why Angelo had chosen this costume for me. It\'s his idea of an in joke.

I give the dancefloor my own cursory glance; nope, too many ghouls, zombies and tacky vamps a plenty, no one that does it for me. Then I see him, standing to the left of the dancefloor, looking bored as hell.

He looks like a combination of creatures who stepped out of the graveyard but it definitely works. Dyed black hair with some kind of styling wax that makes it look even more glossy, full, dark bluish lips and eyelids give him a bruised appearance; fragile yet beautiful. He\'s got on a black t-shirt layered over a black mesh long sleeved shirt and black jeans.

\"Angel Boy,\" I whisper in his ear, \"check out the spookyboy wannabe over to the left side of the dancefloor.\"

He looks, his dark eyes moving up and down the boy\'s body. (Pretty,) he murmurs. (You want him?)

Oh yeah, I do. In every way. I give him a small nod.

Angelo grins wickedly. (I love your taste.)

I grin back. (I thought you would.)

Before we approach him, Angelo and I move a little closer, so our intended mark can see us and within moments, he does, staring and acknowledging us only by cracking the ghost of a smile. His gaze is on both of us, though it lingers a little longer on me. Natch, I realize, the way I\'m dressed alone would attract the boy ghoulie.

These cheesy fangs will have to go, though. It\'ll make kissing this boy impossible and I plan on kissing those lips, not to mention even better parts of him. Can\'t get rid of them yet, however, it\'ll have to wait. Damn. In the meantime, I flash a smile, albeit a closed mouth smile, back at him.

A brief look of jealousy crosses over Angelo\'s gorgeous features. Fleeting but I catch it. I am meant to. He must have figured out my interest in gothboy goes farther than just as prey.

Things are gonna get ugly.

Hell, why should they? Angelo is the one who talked me into this; let him deal with the consequences. Like the fact that sweetening this beauty won\'t be the only reason I fuck him. And although I definitely intend on playing with him, I\'m not so eager to kill him. Both things that I know will piss Angel Boy the fuck off.

And so will what I do next, but shit, maybe this will teach my slutty lover not to use sex to manipulate me into doing things I wouldn\'t want to do otherwise. A lesson that has been a long time in coming.

A lesson that Angelo will completely take the wrong way but, to paraphrase him, his problem. Not mine.

I Shadowdance silently, moving so quickly that the Breather who wishes he wasn\'t one can\'t follow; sneaking up behind him. \"You don\'t like to dance?\" I suddenly say, startling him.

He immediately regains his composure, turning to face me. \"I don\'t come here to dance,\" he tells me, but doesn\'t elaborate.

Ah, a boy of mystery. Or one who thinks he is. \"What do you come here for, then?\" I ask.

He smirks. \"Sex.\"

I like him already. \"Is that a proposition?\" I tease.

For the first time he moves closer; his hand cupping my cheek. \"Only if you want it to be.\" Then he pulls his hand away. \"Wicked! You\'re as cold as ice.\"

Of course he\'d get off on that, he\'s enamored with undeath. \"Not always,\" I reply.


You want more? Let me know!