Blood Rave

Hands.


So many hands traversing bare, white skin, seemingly innumerable...

...Caressing, stroking, and conquering.

Long fingernails so sharp they resembled claws, digging into flesh as they scratched agonisingly slowly down a trembling but pliant body. Moans of pleasure escaped their victim’s rosy mouth: loud, needy, and deliriously wanton; thoroughly enjoying the intimate abuse as sanguine droplets of blood appeared.


So many hands responsible for the opaque haze of pleasure...



Cigarette smoke drifted lazily from slightly parted lips as bored, blue eyes tried to take in the tragically uninteresting words splattering the thick, Chemistry text book’s aged yellow pages. The thing had been rotting away on a lonely shelf in the university library, almost a decade since it last received a checkout stamp, and he was beginning to see why it had been kicked to the curb. His brain was soaking up the knowledge like a rock, refusing to make sense of the author’s obvious penchant for overly complex terminologies.

Stretching from his hunched position caused his spine to snap and crack noisily, sounding deafening and disgusting in his small, quiet apartment... And cool for both of those reasons. Chancing a glance at the digital clock on the cable box, he decided it was time to end his admittedly brief study session. With a triumphant air, he slammed the oversized book shut and reached for another cigarette. It wasn’t as if he really needed to study anyway; he could pass any Chemistry exam with his eyes closed. It came naturally to him, after all. He was simply too excited to focus properly tonight because in less than two hours he would be heading out to a rave with his friends.

Natalie found out about the event two days ago through her new boyfriend and she had been talking about the Blood Rave nonstop since. All the best underground DJs were going to be there, as well as local scene celebrities, not to mention it was being held in one of the hottest clubs in the city, cage dancers included. Just the thought of the action that lied ahead made Ryder almost fidgety with excitement—almost. He wasn’t someone who jumped around squealing like a teenybopper, even if he was alone.

An hour and a half passed. Ryder stood before the full length mirror behind the door in his cramped bedroom, giving his outfit a look of approval. He kept it simple: a black mesh shirt, black bondage pants and his favourite pair of knee-high boots that had so many silver buckles that they were a terrible inconvenience to lace up. He left his choppy, dyed black and blue hair as is; never one to be arsed with doing more than necessary with it. He contemplated wearing his red contact lenses, but found he wasn’t quite in the mood to jab himself in the eye unnecessarily. He glanced at the remnants of black nail polish on his fingers. They could really use a repainting; however he wasn’t a woman so no one should expect him to fawn over his nails like one. The fact that he was wearing eyeliner was enough.

Three knocks on his front door announced the arrival of his friends. Making one more silly face at his reflection, he went to answer the door. Natalie and Simon let themselves in like they owned the place, which was fine seeing as how they were probably in his apartment almost as much as he was. Natalie was a short, pretty Chinese-American girl, although with the thick platform boots she was currently wearing one wouldn’t equate her with shortness. A red latex corset hugged her waist tightly and her usual, long, black hair was missing; lost beneath a colourful sea of dread falls. Simon looked pretty much the same as always, tall, imposing, and wearing all black. The fact that he was bald and practically made of piercings never ceased to garner stares. The amusing part of it all was that he was a culinary student.

“Ready to go, Theodore?” Natalie asked as she flounced over to check her dramatic eye makeup in the reflective surface of Ryder’s electric kettle.

Ryder clenched his jaw at the name. Yes, his real name was Theodore Ryder: the most uncreative and lame name on the planet. He didn’t think ‘Theodore’ suited him even a little bit. He’d been introducing himself as ‘Ryder’ from the time he was fifteen years old. Since moving out of his parent’s house, no one called him by his first name, except for Natalie when she was in the mood to tease him. Normally he would tell her to fuck off, but he was in a good mood tonight so he’d let it slide.

Simon reached into the baggy pockets of his tripp pants and produced a bag of pills, a wide grin on his face. “I figured we might need a little medicine tonight. I know I do; had a hard day.”

“Fuck, dude. Is that LSD?” Ryder snatched the pills from Simon’s hands.

“...And MDMA,” Natalie smirked as she approached them. “We’re candy flipping tonight, baby.”

The night just kept on getting better and better and they hadn’t even reached the club yet.

“Come on then! Time’s a-wasting! Vincent’s waiting outside and I don’t want gross whores there all over him,” Natalie grabbed both men’s arms and dragged them through the door, barely giving Ryder enough time to lock up.

“You’ve known the guy for like a week and you’re already possessive? I feel sorry for him,” Simon chuckled as he pushed the elevator’s ground floor button.

“He’s amazing. I’m sure you guys will get along great,” she beamed.

“I can’t wait to meet him then. Maybe we can have a threesome,” Ryder drawled sarcastically. The sarcasm was lost on the old man who shared the elevator with them, though. He stared at the club goers as if they were deviant aliens about to anally probe him any second now. Then again, they probably did look like aliens to him with their outlandish outfits. They shared knowing smirks before staring straight back at the poor senior citizen.

They joked about the elevator experience as they got into Simon’s Honda Civic. Vena Cava was only fifteen minutes’ drive away from Ryder’s building. The ride felt much shorter than usual; Ryder didn’t talk much, but Simon always had the power to turn him into quite the conversationalist. Natalie, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically quiet in the backseat, busy texting Vincent on her cell phone.

As expected, people came out in droves tonight. The line to get into Vena Cava seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. Even the VIP section had a large gathering outside. Finding a decent parking space was turning out to be a nightmare. Simon hadn’t even bothered to try Vena Cava’s parking lot because it was obvious it would’ve been full. Everywhere a car could fit, sure enough one was already occupying that space. They kept driving until they were on the street behind Vena Cava, but there was still nowhere to park.

“Why don’t we park at your parents’ bakery? I’m sure they wouldn’t tow you,” Ryder suggested.

“I was just thinking that, actually,” Simon nodded in agreement.

“You seriously expect me to walk an entire block to get back here in these shoes?” Natalie complained.

“I’ll carry you if you need me to,” Simon shrugged nonchalantly, turning into the small car park in front of Thompson Pastries.

Natalie seemed pleased with that response. “Aw, Simon, you’re so sweet. Why can’t Ryder be more like you?”

“Ryder isn’t much bigger than you. He’d fall flat on his ass,” Simon grinned.

Ryder rolled his eyes and flipped them off. Sometimes he wondered why he hung out with them...

It took about five minutes to get back to Vena Cava. They’d garnered more than a few stares on the way, not just because of their outfits, but because Simon had been giving Natalie a piggyback ride as promised. She’d gotten off his back before turning the corner of the street the club was on, though; she had an image to maintain. However, that image was quickly forgotten when she let out an excited squeak and ran into the arms of a man who could only be Vincent.

Vincent was about 6’4, just two inches taller than Simon and so pale that he was like a beacon in the darkness, the streetlights reflecting off his long, platinum locks. It looked as though he had started partying already; sweat dampened his hair and glistened on his muscular body. Oh, and for some reason he was shirtless, clad only in leather trousers and boots. When Simon and Ryder finally reached the happy couple, Natalie got the introductions rolling.

“This is Vincent. Vincent, these are my friends I was telling you about. The bald guy is Simon and the other one is Ryder.”

“So we finally meet the infamous Vincent,” Simon said amicably as he extended his arm for a handshake.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Vincent’s voice was deep and seductive, like molten pleasure dripping from his lush lips.

To put it mildly, Vincent made Ryder wish he wasn’t kidding when he’d talked about having a threesome. The man was a fucking work of art. It was as if he was carved from the finest marble, all pale colours from his whitish hair to his pallid skin to his grey eyes. Looking at him made everything else secondary. Ryder didn’t hear the muffled pulse of music anymore, nor did he hear the muddled conversations of the people in the queues. He was absorbed by Vincent’s perfection. Not only was the man exquisite eye candy, but he made Ryder feel inferior in every way. He wished he had worn more than a mesh shirt; his leanly muscled torso was no match for Vincent’s brawny build. The man probably found him repulsive. He stopped these thoughts in their tracks. Even if Vincent was into men, or more specifically, into him, he was dating Natalie so he was still very much off-limits. Stress had to be responsible for making him think like that.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ryder shook Vincent’s hand, trying his best to ignore the way the strong grip sent tingles down his spine.

“You’re a quiet one, I see,” Vincent said coolly as he released Ryder’s hand.

“He doesn’t talk much. You’ll get used to it,” Natalie interjected.

A strangely predatory smirk tugged at Vincent’s lips, a peculiar glint in those alluring, grey eyes. “I’m sure we’ll be able to loosen that tongue after a few drinks.”

“Don’t count on it,” Ryder folded his arms, trying his best to fight the images of exactly what he wanted to do with his tongue.

Vincent chuckled, a deep, husky rumble in his throat, his eyes glimmering mischievously at the unspoken challenge.

“We should get in line now if we plan on getting in tonight,” Natalie’s voice brought Ryder back to reality.

“Natalie, what kind of man would I be if I let you and your friends wait out here in the cold?” Vincent snaked an arm around his girlfriend’s slender shoulders. “The V.I.P lounge awaits, all expenses paid. I’m very good friends with the owner.”

“Natalie, marry this man,” Simon sounded awestruck.

So did Natalie when she squealed excitedly and pulled the pale man down for a rather amorous kiss, praises spilling from her lips. Ryder watched the couple with a small frown. Something about Vincent was off; he was just too... perfect. And it wasn’t jealousy making him think that.

They bypassed everyone in the V.I.P line, and Ryder didn’t miss the envious stares a few people shot at them. They were probably wondering who the fuck they thought they were. Ha. He couldn’t help flashing them a smug smirk. The bouncers at the ominous, black doors took one look at Vincent before holding the door open for them.

Immediately, it felt like they had stepped into another world. Strobe lights flashed randomly, their colourful rays the only source of illumination. Loud EBM rocked the walls and enslaved the gyrating bodies on the dance floor. Flat screen televisions were mounted on the walls, some showing footage of the dancing club goers, others displaying erotic acts. Above the stage, there were scantily clad men and women in cages, their painted bodies contorting in the most provocative of ways. The DJ was stationed in his own barred cage high above the dance floor, a wrought iron, spiral staircase the only way to get up and down.

Above the dance level, there were couches and booths where people were drinking and watching the dancers below, or simply fucking right where they were, not giving a damn who saw. The regular club was located on the floor beneath the V.I.P lounge, and the ground vibrated with the music coming from downstairs. Ryder grinned. This was heaven.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t go too far,” Vincent announced as he started to walk away, leaving the trio to their own devices. They’d barely heard him over the deafening music.

“We should take the pills now,” Simon yelled to make sure he wouldn’t have to repeat himself.

“Good idea. Let’s get something to wash it down with at the bar,” Natalie nodded.

The bar was on the opposite end of the dance floor, and it was no small task reaching it. Drunken people staggered in front of them, hands tugged at them; trying to pull them for a dance or slightly more adult activities. They’d even had to dodge a few stray glow sticks in order to save themselves from certain blindness.

The bar stretched from wall to wall, its black marble counter shining and reflecting the strobe lighting. Bottles were displayed on glass shelves which were lit up with white lights. There were eight bartenders manning the shift, but only two were available. An attractive, muscular, tattooed, black guy with long dreadlocks and a busty redhead in a blue, latex number which clung to her voluptuous curves like a second skin.

“What can we get you lovelies?” the barmaid enquired, her voice light and flirty.

“I think you guys should try the club special,” her co-worker recommended.

“What’s the club special?” Natalie tilted her head curiously. “We wanna get fucking wasted as soon as possible.”

“Then you’re going to love it. It’s called Confucktionary; really sweet and sugary like candy, but it’s got enough alcohol to make even the biggest drunkard stagger,” the female bartender pointed to a woman at the end of the bar who was just given the aforementioned beverage. It was in a tall glass, sloshing around in all its hot pink glory.

Ryder raised an eyebrow. He didn’t want to sip some pink drinking and lose the chance to fuck some hot chick if the situation arose. Faggot drinks turned girls off, and he was bisexual, not gay.

The barman noticed his expression and laughed. “Relax, guy. Everyone here drinks this shit. No one will think you’re gay just because it’s pink.”

“It’s more like fuchsia...” the redhead elbowed her fellow bartender in the rib.

“We’ll have three,” Simon decided for them.

The bloody drinks rang up a total of $45, but the steep price was worth it. It was sweet, the bitter tang of alcohol barely noticeable beneath the sickly, syrupy foretaste. It was extremely warm when it settled in your stomach. They headed to the upstairs lounge to down the LSD and MDMA. They selected the booth farthest from everyone else. Drug usage wasn’t allowed in the building even though half the patrons were tripping on something. If you were caught, security wouldn’t think twice about throwing your ass out. Simon produced the little bag once again and rationed the tablets out equally. They felt the effects almost immediately, the alcohol reacting to the chemicals. It was fucking otherworldly. The music was almost tangible, like you could hold it in your hands or lick it if you extended your tongue far enough. The lights were fascinating, everyone was beautiful and everything that touched your skin produced shivers. They were lost in euphoria as they ambled back onto the dance floor where Vincent was waiting for them.

Natalie threw herself into his arms as she grinded against him, her face flushed. Within seconds they were kissing, barely moving to the music anymore. Ryder felt as though he were intruding. He turned to tell Simon they should fuck off, but found his friend was already dancing with some Goth chick, his hand conspicuously up her short, leather skirt. Rolling his eyes at his friends’ antics, Ryder decided to find his own conquest for the night.

There was no shortage of willing participants. He danced with both men and women, returning their brazen touches, and teasing kisses, but he didn’t want to go farther than that with any of them... That is until he found his current dance partner.

Something about the man reminded him of Vincent, and on a subconscious level that was probably why he dragged himself across the room to shamelessly obtain his attention. The man was tall, pale, and powerfully built, a thin, black, armless shirt leaving little to the imagination, and loose, black jeans hung on his hips. Their bodies were flush against each other, and Ryder could feel a very obvious bulge pressing into his lower back. The man’s lips were sucking at his shoulder, long, sable hair tickling him as he was masticated.

“Why don’t we go somewhere more private, gorgeous?” came the breathy innuendo in his ear.

“Huh?” if Ryder was anywhere near sober, he would’ve cringed at how whiny he sounded. “I don’t even know your name...”

“Christophe Charlemagne, but I don’t think you’ll remember all that by the time I’m through with you,” Christophe’s hand slithered down his torso, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Ryder let out a startled gasp as the man’s cool hand grasped his cock, freeing it from the confines of his boxer briefs. “And what are you called, angel?”

“Ryder.”

“How suggestive,” Christophe’s tone was so casual despite the fact that he was jerking another man off in the middle of a club.

The public nature of this situation wasn’t lost on Ryder, even in his intoxicated state. There was a wall of writhing bodies all around them, and he wasn’t so sure that no one saw what Christophe was doing to him. Like most people, he’d fucked in clubs before, but not out in the open where anyone could see. He could almost see his mother shaking her head in dismay. His dilated eyes drifted up the cage dangling above his head, the topless dancer inside smirking knowingly at him as she rubbed her breasts against the bars. And then he looked at one of the flat screen TV’s and saw none other than himself and Christophe being shown to anyone who looked in that direction.

Fuck.

At that moment, Christophe chose to tease his right nipple through his mesh shirt, tearing a moan from his lips as he bowed his back, his cock jerking forward into Christophe’s hand.

“I wonder if you’re so responsive when you’re not on ecstasy or whatever you kids are doing these days,” Christophe laughed, his eyes glued to the screen they were being displayed on. His cock twitched at the sight of Ryder’s pleasured expression under his ministrations, his pouty, pink lips parted and his eyes lidded.

“Are you an exhibitionist or something?” Ryder panted, thankful that the screen flickered to another set of dancers.

“I asked if you wanted to go somewhere else and you never gave me an answer, so I assumed you wouldn’t mind if I continued here.”

“Oh. Well, where do you plan on taking me?” Ryder pulled Christophe’s hand off his dick; if they kept on as it were he would shoot his load in no time. He tucked himself back into his trousers.

“There are back rooms we can use,” Christophe pulled away and turned Ryder to face him.

“Lead the way.”

Casting a look back at the dance floor, Ryder could no longer scope out his friends. He’d have to figure out a way to get home in the morning. And he wasn’t looking forward to people staring at him as he boarded the bus in a mesh shirt and bondage pants looking and smelling like he just left an orgy. Christophe led him by the hand as they manoeuvred through the crowd. They went up the stairs to the lounge area. There was a pair of black doors identical to the ones leading into the club. They were mostly hidden in the darkness, melding into the shadowed walls. Christophe was obviously very familiar with this place.

Behind the doors, a receptionist sat behind a black desk, wearing a similar latex dress to the redheaded bartender's. Her black hair was pulled into a bun, held in place by a hair accessory which looked like chopsticks. Her red lips stretched into a coquettish smile when she saw Christophe.

“Mr. Charlemagne, a pleasure to see you again,” she greeted him. “I see you’ve brought fine company tonight. I couldn’t help but notice you two on the dance floor. You put on quite a show for the cameras.”

“What can I say, Beatrice? The little one is a born entertainer,” Christophe ran his fingers through Ryder’s hair affectionately.

Normally Ryder would’ve come up with some caustic remark about being called ‘little’. He was only 5’4”, so naturally people were always making inane jokes about his height. It pissed him off to no end how his diminutive stature was always brought up. But tonight it was like he hadn’t even heard it; it went through one ear and out the next. His attention was elsewhere. He was distracted by the rows of glittering disco balls on the marble ceiling. So many colours and reflections... The last song he’d heard downstairs was still echoing in his head and the disco balls seemed to turn in time with the bass line. He almost fell flat on his ass when Christophe tugged his arm to indicate they were walking again. They bypassed the receptionist and ventured down a hallway.

There was an Asian theme in the backrooms’ decor. Rice paper doors lined the hallway, red, paper lanterns dangled overhead. Ryder absentmindedly wondered why he couldn’t hear any passionate screams and heavy breathing through the thin doors. The material didn’t really allow for much privacy. He got his answer when Christophe slid one of the doors open, revealing a narrow corridor with a black door at the end. Christophe slid the paper door shut behind them. Japanese artwork in simple, black frames lined the white walls. A potted bonsai tree sat on a low table where condom packets of various types and colours were laid out, along with a pamphlet on safe sex. Oh wow. Ryder couldn’t help the childish snicker he let out. Christophe produced a key card and slid it into the allotted slot, causing the door to unlock with a noisy click.

Ryder had expected one of those low Asian beds, but instead it was the height of a usual bed, but intricate designs of Eastern dragons were carved into the wooden headboard, their serpentine, scaled bodies intertwined. Silky, red sheets were fitted onto the bed, a matching paper, floor lamp providing the ambient lighting. His visual exploration was interrupted by large, cold hands grasping his narrow hips, those sinful lips once again ghosting over his jugular vein.

“I finally have you all to myself,” Christophe whispered huskily, tugging impatiently at Ryder’s pants. “I want you naked.”

“Let me take my shoes off then,” Ryder said as he took a seat on the bed. How the hell was he going to get all these stupid laces and buckles undone when he could barely stand without swaying?

Christophe seemed to have similar thoughts; he kneeled before Ryder and proceeded to unlace the boots with impressive precision. Ryder fell back onto the mattress, his head swimming. Whatever was in that Confucktionary was borderline toxic. He would’ve probably been trashed on that alone, much less after candy flipping. That hot pink drink sure showed him. His pallid face turned pink when he realised his reflection was staring back at him. It shouldn’t have been surprising that a place like this would have mirrors on the ceiling. He stared at himself, carelessly sprawled on the bed with Christophe between his legs. He could feel himself hardening at the thought of what Christophe could be doing down there, other than untying his shoes because he was too smashed to do it himself.

The second his shoes were off, Christophe was peeling off his pants and underwear. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror even if he tried. There was something so erotic about watching this. Maybe the incident on the dance floor opened up exhibitionist tendencies he wasn’t even aware he had. There he was, clad in only a shirt made of fishnet, his erection lying against his stomach and his pale legs spread before a man he’d met less than an hour ago. He knew tonight was going to be a good night.

“I see you can’t stop watching yourself,” Christophe smirked. “It’s understandable; I can’t stop watching you, either.”

“Kiss me.”

“As you wish.”

Christophe slid between his splayed thighs, the feel of denim against his skin making him shudder in delight. His tactile sense was highly increased by the pills. He was amazed by how cold Christophe’s skin was. It was rather strange. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, not with the way the man’s lips were moving against his. Christophe’s tongue slithered into his mouth, exploring the moist cavity slowly, as if savouring the flavour. Christophe’s own mouth had the diabetes-inducing taste of a Confucktionary lingering in its depths. The bartenders weren’t kidding when they said everyone drank them.

Those talented lips were soon gone, instead nipping lightly at his neck, a pink tongue occasionally lapping at his flesh. He moaned softly as Christophe grinded his clothed cock against his own exposed one, creating unbearably exquisite friction. His hips involuntarily bucked and thrust in return, his mind comfortably blank. Christophe grunted a few expletives as he fought with his zipper. The cursed thing finally gave way, revealing his impressive arousal, a drop of pre-cum pearled at the slit. He gave it a few lazy tugs, his green eyes boring into Ryder’s blue ones.

“Lie down on the bed vertically,” Christophe instructed.

Once Ryder got into the desired position, the other man was between his legs again, this time sucking and nibbling at his hard, reddened nipples through the fishnet of his shirt. He was currently focussing all of his attention on the right nipple. He’d even tugged the shirt so that the nub slipped completely through one of the gaps in the netting. His tongue flicked it with force Ryder didn’t even know a tongue could possess, and he panted loudly at the sensation, his cock throbbing desperately. Christophe’s lips went lower and lower, over his heaving ribcage, and down his quivering stomach. He didn’t know why the man didn’t just take his shirt off... Perhaps he had a fetish for fishnet.

“Fuck!” Ryder moaned as Christophe tongued the sensitive glands beneath his cock head.

“Thought you’d like that,” Christophe chuckled.

In the blink of an eye, Christophe had swallowed him to the hilt, sucking so hard that his cheeks hollowed. Ryder gave incoherent words of encouragement, burying his slender fingers in the man’s long hair as he thrust in and out of his skilled mouth. That heaven sent tongue massaged the underside of his cock. There were so many sensations to feel... He couldn’t take much more of this. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip and trying his best to stave off his impending orgasm.

Suffice to say, he didn’t have much control over his body at the moment, and so he came hard down Christophe’s throat, cursing all the while. He was breathless when the other man pulled his cock out of his mouth, giving it a few licks before smirking at him.

“You had fun.”

“Fuck... that was awesome...”

“And you’re still hard. Insatiable, little kitten, aren’t you? That’s fine with me... I love a partner who can keep up with me.”

Ryder was still trying to catch his breath as Christophe peppered his inner thighs with butterfly kisses. He let out a yelp when the man bit his thigh. It hurt so fucking much that he wouldn’t be surprised if blood was drawn.

“That hurt! What are you doing?” he protested, trying to snap his legs closed, but it was impossible with the larger man lodged between them. He was even more upset when he saw a small trickle of blood running down his thigh, purple teeth marks imprinted in the creamy flesh.

“I didn’t mean to be so rough. I apologise,” Christophe didn’t sound very sincere, and for some reason he was eyeing the blood hungrily.

“Are you some kind of sadist? I’m not into blood play,” Ryder frowned. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be quite as good as it started.

It was as if Christophe wasn’t even listening anymore. His eyes were glued to the wet, red trail on the younger man’s thigh; some of the blood had dripped onto the sheets. It was as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world to him. Ryder’s eyes widened as the man lapped at the blood lovingly. What he said next was even more disturbing.

“Your blood is so sweet, addictive really. It’s been long since I tasted any like this...” his eyes swivelled up to Ryder’s petrified face. “Do you know that there’s an artery in your inner thigh? You don’t have much fat protecting yours... If I lost control I could kill you. I promise I won’t, though. Let me feed off you, please.”

“I think this was a bad idea. Just get off me,” Ryder attempted to get up, but Christophe pinned him effortlessly.

“Just relax. I promised you I would not hurt you.”

Ryder’s composure was cracking, he was beginning to panic. The LSD trip he was on was turning into a bad one. He struggled against the tight hold he was in. His efforts were proving to be fruitless; Christophe barely moved no matter how hard he tried to throw him off.

Christophe was growing wary of this dramatic struggling. He pinned the silly boy’s hands above his head.

“I’ll feed from your neck then, seeing as how you won’t behave yourself.”

“Feed? What are you, some kind of fucking vampire?!”

Christophe’s laugh was low and decadent, his teeth flashing as he did so. Ryder watched in horror as the man’s unusually pointed canines lengthened into the fangs vampires were depicted as having.

No, no, no. This was some kind of trick. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

A burst of adrenaline suddenly coursed through his system. With strength he didn’t even know he possessed, he broke free of Christophe’s hold and scrambled out of the bed. However, the psycho wasn’t about to let him go so easily. He lunged after him. Having nothing to protect himself with, Ryder had to think fast. He pulled the headboard’s drawer completely out of its compartment, spilling bottles of lube, condoms and edible knickknacks onto the floor. He smashed the drawer into Christophe’s head with such force that the hardwood splintered. The man fell to the ground, blood dripping down his face.

Ryder stood there panting. He knew he should get out while he had the chance, but he was in shock. Could the crumpled man on the floor really be a vampire? Vampires didn’t even exist! This was insane. He let out a frightened yell as Christophe started to move again.

Fuck!

Not knowing what else to do, he tore the silk sheet off of the bed and wrapped it around himself for modesty’s sake. He darted through the door, the cold, hard floor unforgiving on his bare feet. He ran down the narrow hallway, barely managing to stop in order to open the rice paper door. The main corridor was just as quiet as it had been when they’d first come here.

He continued his frantic running when he slipped in something, skinning his knee as he skidded on the floor. His eyes widened when he saw the pool of blood in front of one of the rice paper doors responsible for making him slip. Blood? What the fuck was going on?

The paper door slid open and there stood Vincent. Dried blood that didn’t appear to be his own stained his exposed torso, angry scratches all over him as though someone with long nails struggled against him. Somehow Ryder’s gaze tore away from the blond in order to stare down the hall. He knew he wasn’t going to like what he saw, and he was right. A frighteningly still Natalie lied naked in a pool of blood on the hallway floor, still wearing her colourful dread falls.


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The Munez Feed:

Yes, I wrote another vampire story. I am the bootleg Anne Rice. I don’t know if I like this one so much... I watched the Blade vampire movies for the umpteenth time, so I HAD to make a gay blood rave. Plus I was bored... My ear infection medication doesn’t numb the pain at all. It hurts to sleep so I wrote this instead of sleeping. If you guys like it, I’ll be sure to write more.

Munez