He Shot Me Down [Adley Reed]

[Grayson Wyatt]

There was more of that laughter. Regardless of whatever else it may have said about Adley, Grayson likes how easily it came to the photographer. To him, that sound was the hallmark of a person who knew what they were about, who knew what they wanted and who they were. It was, to Gray, the ultimate sign of comfort in one’s own skin and surroundings, which meant confidence. So he had no problem with joining in. Yeah, it was at his expense, but the only difference between laughing with someone and laughing at someone was what that person was doing at the time. Besides. It was pretty funny wasn’t it? Hadn’t he just been saying that the crotch was a little too tight? Then again, none of the garments had been crafted to fit him specifically. Haute Couture was for the people who bought the garments. Him? He was just the one who gave those bits of fabric life.

“Let’s not talk about what would make me feel better.” He said. In truth, knowing that the shot came out essentially removed any concerns he had. Torn garment be damned, as long as he looked good doing it; that was what mattered. The world was a vain place, after all. A person could be a sum of zero in every aspect but beauty and thrive. All that brilliance brought were tortured souls. “Or I suppose we can.” He said with the glimmer of teeth as his head half turned until his chin nearly touched his shoulder. Adley could probably just make out half of a grin. It only took one really good image to cement a model’s career. If he imparted enough of his infectious energy into it, the product would sell, and he would get even more work. It felt good to be back in the saddle. Back to doing what he knew, what he was comfortable with.

Gray handed the jacket off, and it occurred to him that he was about to strip down in front of the photographer. His thoughts didn’t focus on the potential taboo of the act itself, because guys in his position did that all the time. It just seemed a little silly to keep going back and forth between the main part of the warehouse and the back. In fact, the ‘front’ was warmer because of all of the lighting. So he made an executive decision. Well. First he took off his shirt, which revealed shoulders wide enough to reveal that he’d definitely grown into a man since his last job. He clearly enjoyed the gym, as he was saved from being lanky by the lean muscle which gave his arms definition and created a comfortably warm firmness to the touch. Goose flesh rose because of the chill, but he ignored it.

Adley was probably going to laugh at his hard nipples. Gray’s hands moved to cover them momentarily, before he immediately realized he needed both hands. So he grunted and grabbed his clothing. “I have no clue what she’s doing. She's really driving this car into a ditch. Fast.” He said, deciding to blame the designer for his choices. His gaze passed across Adley’s as he twisted around to slip right back into the other room. It probably seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind. But thankfully, not everything he’d packed was so bright.

He began to wriggle out of the pants, and at the same time, dropped a hat onto his own head. The wide rim spoke more of summer to him than the white suit had. The hat came off because he had to pull on a tank top with a custom print. Really, the two looks could have come from entirely different worlds, and he had to wonder about the target demographic. Oh well. The hat went back on and he realized he had misplaced the shoes, which was why he began to rifle around in the bag - a pair of dark jeans folded in half and tossed over his shoulder as he simultaneously stepped out of pooled slacks and the absurdly bright white suede kicks he’d been wearing.

“Better?” He asked, though he still wasn’t fully dressed. He was getting there. Until then, Adley could watch him march around in those Calvin Kleins. “AHA!” He pulled the black leather from the sack. The shoes actually weren’t part of the outfit, but he’d added them all the same, so it at least looked cohesive.

[Adley Reed]

There’d be time later, Adley assumed, to talk about all the things that would make Grayson feel better. Perhaps Adley could compare those things with what would make Adley himself feel better – though there was nothing that Adley currently needed to feel better about.

Well, no. That was a lie. But the things that made him feel real and undeniable woe were, in fact, denied. They weren’t allowed precedence. Everything that could possibly make the Necromancer feel better had been clung to and consumed, lured and attained. Until he was feeling more like himself again, and those woeful things were tamped down, pushed aside into a dark and dusty corner to be ignored and allowed to rot.

What often made Adley feel better was beauty, and the appreciation of it. Those cool eyes of his set their sights on many beautiful things to try to banish images of that one beauty that had struck a dagger through his soul, despite everything. Craven, Lakenna and Jericho were welcome distractions; Adley was constantly playing that game, trying to draw them closer, trying to lure them into his arms. Even Jericho, regardless of whether the other male welcomed such a gaze or not, was victim to Adley’s assessment. Those pouting lips and heterochromic eyes were, frankly, mesmerising.

The body wasn’t bad either.

Which surprised Adley, honestly. It continued to surprise him even now, years after he was first introduced to the novel pleasures a man could visit upon another man. Never had Adley thought it was something he was into; never had he tried. Now, there was no stopping him. Male or female or anything in between, Adley was not picky. He loved it all. Would have it all. And he knew that his avid appreciation of Grayson would not be cause for insult. The model had very clearly suggested something to the photographer, what with that fluttering glance over his shoulder. Adley had some idea about the things that might make Grayson feel better.

Later.

”Better,” Adley concurred as Grayson finally dressed in the next outfit. The hat was useless here, inside, at night, but the viewers of the photographs didn’t need to know that. With lighting and editing, miracles could occur.

”Want to try the skate board next? I’ll have to move the lights…” Adley said, glancing over his shoulder. Everything was still there, in sight. Grayson had opted to get dressed out in the open rather than in the lockers, which relieved some of Adley’s anxiety about thievery.

”Another hour, maybe. Want to go out afterwards?” Adley asked, casual, confident. He wasn’t accustomed to being told no.

[Grayson Wyatt]

The pants went on next, and they had that look about them as if it would take them ages to put on, and probably required them being dampened first so that the fabric was just stretchy enough to move up the legs without tearing the hairs there. They were surprisingly wearable though, but it was not how leg-hair friendly they were, which made his eyes widen a fraction, and his gaze lift. His grin was lopsided and immediate. There were a number of other small reactions which indicated exactly how he felt about the invitation, like the way his pupils grew larger so that it more resembled an eclipse in blue as opposed to a speck of darkness in the daylight sky. There was the way his heart beat a little faster, and how he visibly chewed the inside of his lower lip. There was also the slightly vacant look when his mind turned from the task at hand to getting to know Adley outside of a work setting and the fun that might entail. These (mostly) tiny factors all amounted to an answer before Gray ever even opened his mouth.

“I was about to ask you the same.” He said, and then followed it up quickly with “Yeah, of course.” The truth was that he would have loved any opportunity to watch the vampire. One of the blessing of having been born a ‘pretty boy’ was that Grayson felt no reluctance to appreciate the appeal in other people. There was something strange and different, unique and a little bit haunting about Adley. It didn’t come as a shock really, that he was undead. He didn’t look like he was entirely living, but nor really was he truly corpse-like (or perhaps that was was just Gray’s perception getting in the way). More, he was undeniably handsome, and the model classed that sort of physical beauty in the same realm as classical statues made from marble. Though the stonework from which Adley had come was imperfect in some intangible way. After the manner of Ms. Monroe, that imperfection only accentuated what was already there, rather than distract from it.

So yes. Gray could have spent any amount of time watching the way the other man moved, how his lips parted when he laughed. Or perhaps his time might have been spent looking for something a little less concrete, like if all of that personability and warmth was real, or if his smiles were as big as they really seemed.

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” He asked. The clothing he wore was more similar to his own taste than the white had been. He liked the dark and muted colors, how subdued they were. Which was not to say that he could not be a peacock. Only instead of vibrant color, he let hints of his flesh show from beneath distressed or torn fabric. The show he put on was, in many ways, far more elaborate than colourful, fanned tail feathers. This too, went to the very nature of his philosophy as a model. It was one thing to look good. Being beautiful was just a collection of different asymmetries arranged in such a way that they were pleasing to the eye. Aesthetic was skin deep, but Gray wanted to evoke something deeper and stronger. He wanted to yank at heart strings, and pull their guts right out. He wanted, when someone looked at him, to crave the opportunity for him to look right back at them.

This, of course, was not just beauty, nor art, but something which ran beneath them. If appearance was a thin layer, a silk cocoon, then he wanted to be that thing writhing beneath it. He wanted to make people feel, not just from a philosophical point of view either. He wanted to be that thing which made people breathless, and flushed, that made pants tighten, and a pulse quicken. When he put on a show, a display, he didn’t just want people to look at him and think he was attractive. He wanted them to feel the animal magnetism that pulled people closer and closer to him. He wanted them to feel the heat, and the electric impulse his touch promised.

Ironic then perhaps, the situation he was in.

“The skateboard, yeah.” He confirmed then, without missing a beat. “Want help moving the lights first though?” Not that he moved to aid the vampire. Those lights looked absolutely expensive, and if not heavy, then at least awkward. Talk about a mood killer, if he somehow broke one. Instead, he carefully adjusted his hair. The hat was a strong look, and one had to fluff accordingly, otherwise there was danger of it looking totally ridiculous. Difficult to do without a mirror, but the photographer could always adjust if he didn’t manage to get it quite right.

HAT + OUTFIT

[Adley Reed]

Grayson’s reaction to the invitation would have been amusing were it not so endearing; it was a reaction Adley had expected, but he did not know Grayson. He did not know what the man’s quirks were, or what delight would look like upon his features. Now he did.

”Good. And no, nowhere in mind just yet,” Adley said. The usual places people ‘hung out’ were generally watering holes; they sold food and beverages, neither of which Adley could consume. As tempting as it might be to brush his lips over the taut curve of Grayson’s neck, puncture the skin, and consume the blood that rushed through the other’s veins, that too was an impossibility. Pushing the thought from his mind, Adley turned his attention to the lights, ready to shake his head, to tell Grayson it was fine. He didn’t need the help. He knew what he was doing; shifting these lights around were now second nature. If photography was an art, these lights were a palette.

Before any response could be made, however, booming laughter filled the space. It was not the laughter of one person, but of several. At first Adley could not see them, their voices a babbling brook of youthful conversation, their feet scuffing against the cement floor. Soon, the group meandered into the pool of light, coming out from behind one of the industrial pillars. Their laughter died down when they all, one by one, realised they were not alone. Their comfort with their surroundings told Adley that this was somewhere they often came to hang out – which would, he guessed, explain the cigarette butts he’d found squashed beneath the monkey bars.

”Who are you, then?” one of the youths asked – a young man, perhaps twenty-two years old. The ringleader, perhaps, in all his swagger and confidence. These were not kids who’d go home to parents who had no idea what their children got up to at night time. They were not pretending to be dangerous; these were kids who’d grown up on the streets of Harper Rock, and who lately had had to learn to deal with more than they had bargained for. Vampires were just something new to protect themselves against; vampires, as opposed to hunger or disease or the cold. They were armed. There were five of them, all together. One lingered behind the ringleader. The other three broke off, split up to assess the equipment. Adley rounded his shoulders.

”That is none of your business,” Adley said, cool as a cucumber. It earned him a sneer.

”I think it is, though. You’re one of them, ent you?” the kid asked, chin jutting toward Adley, who in turn had to change his tune. For someone to pick that up so easily… well. These kids could be more dangerous than they appeared. As soon as the question was asked, the others all perked, their attention now steadfastly on the two man they confronted.

”I have zero interest in any of you,” Adley replied. Neither a yes or a no. It didn’t matter. The sidekick had already drawn a gun. Two of the kids backed away – they looked like they hadn’t even hit puberty yet, their young eyes wide. Perhaps they hadn’t seem much violence. The two directly in front of Adley were the oldest, the ones with nothing in their eyes but cold determination. The last looked to be about eighteen; he was on the cusp. He wasn’t afraid. But nor was he terribly sure about this situation.

Adley’s jaw clenched, hands lifted in half surrender.

”Give us yer camera, then,” the leader said, nodding to the device that hung from Adley’s shoulder. One corner of Adley’s lips turned upward in a wry smile. He shook his head.

”No,” he said. A mistake, to be sure. But Adley was stubborn. And there was no way he was just going to give over his most prized possession…

[Grayson Wyatt]

There was laughter, and Gray glanced in the direction of the nearing footsteps. Despite the lights, and the cement tubes, most of the warehouse was empty so there was this metallic echo. The blond boy’s blue gaze found the guns almost immediately. They might have looked like kids, but the moment Grayson saw those firearms, he put them in the same category as a wild, rabid animal with sharp claws and an even sharper bite. He had lived in Harper Rock for a few years. He had been part of the night life - a stint as a bartender, an attempt at being in a rock band, a few nights as a gogo dancer. His interests were all over the place, but he had shitty follow through. None the less, he was not oblivious to the dangers of the night, and not all of them were undead. The American - New York born and raised - had seen his share of guns. Like at the family owned shooting range. Or at the country club, shooting clay pigeons. However, guns took on an ugly form when they were in the hands of people who didn’t know how to use them - or who knew how to use them way too well for their age.

His throat felt dry. His natural instinct was to back away slowly. Maybe hide somewhere in the back. Except, that would leave Adley out there to handle these hooligans all on his own. And the moment he heard those words You’re one of them… In that moment, he knew he couldn’t let his fight or flight dictate what he do. After all, those instincts were animal - of which he was not one. He breathed in slowly to settle his nerves. He exhaled his tensions and he approached slowly, his arms slipping loosely around Adley from behind as if he might perhaps borrow of the other man’s cool. He pressed closer still, because one of those guns was already drawn and internally Grayson was terrified. It was a lot like seeing the grim reaper’s scythe - catching sight of it repeatedly from the corner of your eye.

Adley was a port in the storm, a familiar point in an unsteady and dangerous situation.

He had been terribly lucky, all things considered. He had never been forced to buy a firearm of his own. He didn’t even have a knife. He just went about his life without any real concerns. He felt very stupid in that moment. Stupid because he wished he had invested in something to protect himself or to protect the man the thugs had their eyes on.

He had read somewhere once that teenagers essentially tested positive for signs of sociopathy. That they hadn’t finished developing. These boys couldn’t have been that old. Why did they have guns? Why were they out so late?

But that was the type of thinking someone indulged in when they weren’t in Harper Rock. That was the type of thinking someone had when they came from a privileged background.

“You don’t want that camera.” He said as he finally slipped away from Adley’s back, though he immediately regretted that. He felt like the vampire had been propping him up. Maybe these boys didn’t mind robbing from the ‘breathing challenged’, but Gray was a human. He had a pulse, and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold. “If you think about it - any pawn shop is going to hold it for a few days to make sure it isn’t stolen goods. Unique piece like that is easy to track. You can’t sell it online. And only a niche market is going to want to buy it anyway.” He insisted as he slipped around. He was very careful, very slow. He didn’t want to get shot. He needed to make it clear, with upturned palms, that he was not armed.

They wouldn’t shoot an unarmed human would they?

“I have some cash. I brought it to pay for this photo shoot.” He glanced towards Adley apologetically. “It’s not a ton, but if you guys take it and go, we can all go about our night. Yeah?” He asked, as he looked right into the eyes of one of the men which had previously been in front of the vampire. Then the eyes of the other man. His hand reached out slowly as if to shake on a deal. In his head, they were already accepting the deal. Then maybe all of them could have a laugh (you know, while he was getting mugged), and they could all go about their respective nights.

Yeah. It was a very naive thought.

A thought shattered by the sound of gunfire. And then a gasp which came from Gray’s own throat. The pain of it didn’t hit him at first. Instead, it was like someone had slammed full on into his chest. The wind knocked out of him.

”Or we can take everything.”

[Adley Reed]

Adley wasn’t anxious, though he should have been. There was a way to diffuse this situation – had to be. Everything would work out, even if he lost his camera. He might not be able to afford one just as good straight away, but he would eventually. And it wasn’t so much about affordability, it was what Adley was used to. That camera probably wasn’t being made anymore. If he got a new one, he’d have to learn its particularities.

But he was starting to grasp the concept of immortality. This is how it would always be. He would lose things, over time. They would degrade and break, get stolen or lost. They would die, like all natural born things do. And he would move on. In the grand scheme of things, the loss of a camera was small fish. Grayson, however, was still mortal. Grayson was living the here and now in a life that might be short, so long as he lived hard.

Adley was not concerned about himself, he realised. As soon as Grayson moved away from him, stepped in front of him, Adley tensed. It didn’t matter what happened to Adley. If he died, he’d come back. But he didn’t think these clowns would be able to kill him. They weren’t hunters or soldiers, they were just kids. And Adley didn’t want to hurt them. But he would, if it came down to it. He might catch a few bullets but they’d be flesh wounds, easily healed.

He reached out to pull Grayson back, to tell him that it was fine, that they could take what they wanted and they’d laugh about it later. But it all happened so fast. Adley’s fingers curled around Grayson’s shoulder at the same time the trigger was squeezed; the shot of the gun echoed and bounced back to them in the vast space. Warm blood splattered Adley’s fingers. He could instantly smell it. At first he did nothing, choosing to believe it was some kind of mistake. But the words rang in his ears.

Or we can take everything.

In an instant, Adley changed. Pupils dilated, teeth bared. He was no longer the laughing, optimistic photographer. He was vampire, feral and fierce. He stepped forward, advancing upon the gun wielder, who took a step backwards. Again, the gun was fired. A bullet slammed into Adley’s shoulder but he barely paused. He rolled said shoulder, pain radiating from the wounded muscle, but he only advanced faster.

This singular action caused the two youngest boys to flee, terrified. Adley reached for the hand that held the gun; his fingers curled around the wrist. Just a touch and the human wilted, sapped of energy. He was weakened. Adley snapped the wrist and the teen screamed. With no other weapon at his disposal, Adley lunged at the exposed neck and with sharp canines ripped into the rough-skinned throat. He didn’t drink anything, no. Had no desire to. Instead, the artery was severed. Blood pooled and spurted and the boy went down on his knees.

The violence caused a third miscreant to flee.

Now there was only one left – a brave, foolish soul who leapt onto Adley’s back, as if by weight alone he’d be able to bring the vampire down. No – he had a dagger, which he’d plunged into the vampire’s back, just below his neck. It sent tingles down his spine, and he felt a twitch in his knee, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. A growl tore from the vampire’s throat; he reached over his shoulder and gripped the blade of the dagger and ripped it from his own back. He turned on his attacker, who’d slipped down and away, now fully aware of what it was he faced.

Death.

Adley wanted to rip him limb from limb. He wanted his blood to coat the walls, the floor. This is what blood did to him. The frenzy had him in its grasp. He advanced, dagger held tight; the last miscreant slipped in the gathering pool of his friend’s blood, falling heavily to the ground. He was terrified. Easy prey.

[Grayson Wyatt]

Grayson had never been hit by a car, but he was pretty sure, this was about what it felt like. He had staggered back a step after the gunshot hit him in the chest. Somewhere along the way, he lost his balance and he was suddenly on his ***. There was a lot physically going on all at once, so much so that he didn’t even notice the hard landing, save for in the faint warmth it created shooting up from his tailbone. He sucked in breath, but it felt like something heavy was seated on his chest. Like there was an elephant there, stepping on his lungs and keeping them from fully inflating. There was this ghastly rasping sound every time he tried though. It occurred to him that what he had done had been very brave and very stupid. Also, that he was handling the pain itself rather well. In all, it felt just a little bit like someone had jabbed him with a needle. Except he could smell his own burning skin, which wasn’t great.

His hands had slipped to catch his fall, and were behind him, leaving him to watch what happened with Adley and the hooligans. He was able to assess every single bit of it with the detached nature of someone who was stepping outside of their body. He knew he should have been scared of what the photographer was. What he could do. But he wasn’t repulsed in the slightest. On the contrary, had he the mind for it, he would have gotten up, crawled his way over and let his fingertips brush over those wounds which had been left behind like minor inconveniences on Adley. He wanted to see the way muscle shifted under skin as the vampire moved in ways that no human could. He wanted to get a look at those fangs up close and personal. And those were certainly not the thoughts of someone who had been gravely injured.

He opened his mouth to say something about how those assholes had gotten what they deserved, and wetness flowed out. Was he drooling? His hand lifted and he wiped his lips and chin, only to see his hand come back red. Was this what they meant by ‘red handed’? He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the thought. Except the sound came out wet and grotesque. It made more of that blood pour out of his mouth and from the bullet hole. His shirt clung to him tightly already, and he forced himself to stand - though his movements were slow and shaky. He was getting more and more pale with every passing moment. His flesh was normally blessed with a blush of good health and he didn’t need to do much to pick up a tan. But his vital energies were flooding out of him so quickly that he looked pale as porcelain.

He could taste the coppery flavor of his own blood. And he’d never had it in such quantities before. It was inescapable. By the time he finally reached Adley, the vampire was approaching the last of the boys. Gray’s hand lashed out. He gripped an arm. He didn’t even know why. He couldn’t have stopped a vampire mid-rampage had he wanted to. And he certainly didn’t want to. But there was something very wrong with him. He needed help. He needed some kind of medical attention. And sure. Maybe Gray wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but he was pretty sure if anyone could get him to a hospital quickly, it was the guy who moved like myth.

The moment he touched the vampire, it was like someone had zapped all of the adrenaline out of his system. Suddenly, he was hit with the pain of his wound. With the fatigue of being nearly bled out. The reality of his death hit him like a hammer. It didn’t just hurt in his chest. It hurt everywhere. He crumbled to the ground once more, this time, not so much landing on his backside as falling completely to the floor. He left behind a lone red handprint on Adley’s arm. And from there, Gray struggled just to keep his consciousness. His eyelids felt heavy, his breaths were labored. He had blood pouring from his mouth and even some in his nostrils. His teeth were slick with it. “****. How’d you get up there?” He whispered with some difficulty.

[Adley Reed]

Both assholes had not yet got what they deserved. The one who’d slipped and fallen in his friend’s blood had let loose a shout of agony – probably a cracked tailbone. Amidst the strong, overwhelming scent of blood Adley caught the whiff of urine. The youth had wet himself in his fear. What did he see, when he looked up at Adley? Was it the fierce grim reaper come to collect him at last? Would he beg for forgiveness or for mercy? Nothing seemed to come from those lips but blubbering.

Adley didn’t really have a plan about what he intended to do. It wasn’t as if he did this on the regular, slaughtering teens for fun. But nor did he really have a morality switch. He lived in a grey area between right and wrong and if he took a detour down a wrong path, he generally came out into the middle again with nothing but a smile and, well, complete lack of remorse.

Whatever non-plan he’d had was halted as a hand grabbed at his arm. The reaction was sharp, the vampire’s eyes bright and frenzied as, for a few precious seconds, he saw Grayson not as the model whom he’d been so set to befriend, but as nothing more than a bag of flesh containing blood, so heady and sweet. The grip slipped from Adley’s flesh and left a burning sensation in its wake, the blood sticky in the subtle blonde hairs of his arm. And then Grayson was on the ground again, his bright and youthful expression threatened by the faraway look of death.

Deep down, Adley knew that he didn’t want to rip Grayson to shreds. No, Grayson was something beautiful that he wanted to keep. Somewhere deep down he would eventually acknowledge that that invitation to go out after work wasn’t just an innocent invitation. It wasn’t just friendship Adley was after, not really. Eventually, he knew that he would have offered immortality to Grayson; with looks so refined, so perfected – the apex of the human race – he was too good to waste to the ravages of time.

And there wasn’t much time, before Grayson was taken away for good.

Still, Adley delayed. He turned back to the kid who was still trying to scurry backward; he’d rolled and was trying to stand, but failing due to whatever damage he’d done to his tailbone. Over his shoulder he witnessed Adley’s fresh approach. Now, the kid was back on his back, pushing at the slippery floor with his feet. There was a miniscule, whimpering …please that went ignored. Adley’s right foot landed between the kid’s knees. The arch of his left foot went hurtling toward the kid’s family jewels. Something broke as foot connected with groin. The scream that exploded from the kid’s throat could curdle blood. But Adley didn’t kill him. Not yet. No, he would be needed. And anyway, the scream was cut off as the kid passed out from the pain.

Within seconds Adley was back at Grayson’s side. He grabbed at the collar of Gray’s shirt and hauled him up so that Adley could slide in underneath, so that his head could rest against Adley’s knee.

”You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he said, his voice rough.

”You’re going to be a fuckin’ God,” he added; despite the severity of the situation, he grinned, his lips and chin still stained with blood. He lifted a hand and tore into his own wrist with sharpened fangs; the wound wasn’t minor, the skin ripped so that it would not heal. So that Grayson could have his fill. Everything that he needed to be reborn.

”Drink it,” he said, holding the dripping wound over Grayson’s lips. ”Please,” he added as an afterthought.

[Grayson Wyatt]

Senses were beginning to fail Gray - frail and susceptible to illusion as they were - they were his only real connection to the world around him. Or anyone’s for that matter. A man who could not see, hear, taste, smell, or feel, was he truly alive? Did he live in the same world as everyone else? Was that death? To be ripped away from everything and everyone, a still consciousness in a wide and unfeeling vacuum? One moment Grayson was out cold and the next his eyes were open and he was straining once more. He picked up fragments of words and other sounds, like screaming. His body had exhausted its stores of adrenaline, so none of that really mattered. Even less so considering that a shot of energy would have done nothing with his life blood pooling around him, a trail of it leading to other parts of the warehouse, mingled with the agony of those who had caused him harm. It was poetic in a way, not that the model was in any position to think of it that way.

He saw the youth running from Adley. Blink The boy was on his ***, and Adley loomed over him like a predator which had cornered its prey. Blink. There was this terrible scream, though Gray couldn’t have said what caused it. Maybe the photographer killed the mortal. Wait. Something about that seemed vaguely off, though he couldn’t have said what. Blink. He was being moved. His head was resting against something - Adley, as it turned out, which Gray realized when he mustered the strength to look up.

Christ. Adley was monstrous and beautiful, like some sort of fallen angel or demon. Some part of Gray knew he should be terrified. But he was nearing the end of his life, so he could perhaps be forgiven for not thinking entirely clearly nor fully rationally. He did not want to run away. What he wanted was to be closer, to feel that cooling, congealing wetness smear over his own features (of course, he was already coated in his own blood). The vampire was chaos and he was perfection. He was power and eternal youth. A thought streaked through his mind, that he could turn his features inward and whisper a final secret before he died to Adley’s groin.

Of course. He was too weak even for that.

He didn’t want to die. Funny the things the mind focused on when attempting to ignore the overwhelming reality of demise.

Words filtered into his brain. A ******* god.

He was going to be a god.

That much, at least, he understood, and when the wrist was pressed close, there was no squeamishness. His hands slipped up, though they were shaking and there was no strength to them. The resurgence of energy was brief, just long enough for him to tug that source of blood closer, because he didn’t think he could lift his head even a little. Adley’s blood poured over his cheeks and his lips, over his chin. Though the model’s mouth opened, the dark fluid passing over his tongue. The flavor wasn’t what he expected. He’d thought there would be that familiar metallic on his taste buds - and while that was undeniably there, there was something else as well. It was more of a feeling than anything else though. It was like he was falling through this great and immeasurable chasm. He was disappearing into the darkness, but the darkness did not scare him. It did not hurt him, no matter how far he fell. Instead, those shadows wrapped around him, warmed his skin, pressed healing kisses over his bruises and even the more dangerous of wounds. He was suspended in the pitch black, like a caterpillar broken down inside of its chrysalis.

The blood brought with it this sense of unease in his stomach at first, and then this euphoria. He was no stranger to illegal substances - that was just how things went when you modeled, and spent most of your time awake at night. Most of the jobs he had ever worked basically demanded he be in the presence of drugs. He had never done anything ‘hard’. But the blood was better than everything he’d experienced. It was as if it undid chains on his mind he had never known existed until that point.

His body stilled. His lungs stopped moving. His eyes slid shut and his hands fell away. He stopped drinking from Adley. He lay there for many long moments, his flesh pale, his skin coated in blood. His eyes had sunken some and his cheekbones hollowed.

And then it all changed. The first hint of revitalization struck as blood began to soak into his flesh, which seemed to grow more smooth and soft. He lost the sickly, death pallor, and though he was still pale, he seemed more like alabaster than bone. The translucency of his skin gave him this oddly ethereal appearance. Life returned to his lips next, darkening them. His hair had not been particularly ugly before, but it was as if someone had woven strings of actual gold through it. His cheeks filled once more. His eyes opened to reveal eyes like illuminated gems, and his mouth opened so that ivory fangs were visible.

He was calm. He was at peace. He was looking into Adley’s eyes. And he was hungry, terribly hungry, a need clawing at his gut and lungs and up his throat. He sucked a breath in, though he didn’t need it, and there was none of that gross wet sound from before. He reached up, and hooked his arm around Adley’s neck, yanking him closer. The blood splattered on the other vampire looked delicious. He dragged his tongue flat across it from chin to cheek, and then dragged one of the other man’s lips into his mouth to hold the plump softness there so he could drink the blood right off of it as if he were leeching the sweetness from a frosted fruit.

[Adley Reed]

Adley Reed didn’t actually need to feed. Those sharp canines of his didn’t ever have to see the light of night; as a Necromancer, he had the ability to heal himself of blood, replenish his thirst without ever having to break the skin of a willing (or unwilling) donor. Where was the fun in that? The act of taking (and giving) blood was intimate; it provided tactile enjoyment and, for those willing to allow him some succour, he made sure they never regretted it. Adley did have a big head; he did believe himself to be the bee’s knees. And he did his utmost to follow through on his confidence.

In this situation, however, practicality won out over anything else. Grayson had latched onto the wound that Adley had created and was taking the blood that he needed. And while he took, Adley replenished; he focused his energies on his own hunger. He made sure that, once all was said and done, he had no needs that needed satisfaction. Once this was over, it was Grayson’s needs he would attend to.

A smile curled the corners of his lips as he watched, fascinated, as the change took hold. Death, real death, did not become Grayson. The hollowed cheeks and the deathly pallor… it hurt Adley to see it. But it didn’t last long. To witness the transformation was like witnessing a miracle. And he knew as soon as it happened that Grayson was not a Necromancer. Couldn’t be, otherwise death would still be clinging to him, his cheeks would remain hollow, dark circles under his eyes. Instead, he came to with the air of a revived and radiant Hermes, fleet of foot and sly of eye.

And Adley waited. Vampirism suited Grayson but that did not mean that he would appreciate it; it didn’t mean that it was what he could have wanted. Maybe he’d have preferred a choice. But there was no anger, no confusion, no grief or panic. And when he hooked his arm around Adley’s neck, when he was pulled close and tasted, as it were, he couldn’t help but give in. He lifted his knee so that it was properly propped behind Grayson, though Grayson clearly no longer needed the support. Adley’s palm pressed to Grayson’s chest; he sought the wound, pulled back only a little to spare a glance, making sure that it was either healed or healing. The shirt was in the way. The blood had made a mess. There was no real way to tell, though he could assume. Grayson wasn’t moving like a man still mortally wounded.

It hadn’t been a kiss. Not really. Grayson was hungry, he was looking for blood. But that didn’t stop Adley from re-instigating. Grayson’s blood still stained his own teeth and Adley wanted to taste it, just a little. A little of the human before it became all vampire. It might have been easy to tear off that soaked and bloody shirt, but—

--some decorum still remained. Some sense of what needed to be done – and what Grayson needed. With a hungry, reluctant groan Adley instead pushed the blonde back. Gently, but firmly. ”No. I left him alive,” Adley said, pointing to the unconscious male mere inches from where they’d fallen. ”You need blood. He’s got some…” Adley said. His words were not graceful, nor fluid. He was distracted, still under the influence of the frenzy, still a little wild, as if his heart were beating a million miles an hour in his chest, though of course it was still.