▽ ɪɴsɪɢʜᴛ

[Jameson Dade]

There was something like nervous energy in the air, very akin to the type a junkie might have experienced after going a decent amount of time without getting a fix. Jameson was pretty sure it wasn’t just him, but that was the beauty of getting high with other people. Sure, the drugs themselves were amazing, but so was knowing that the person you were sharing the experience with was as into the moment as you were. That type of substance was magical in that way. It could be the greatest barrier between a person and the entire rest of the world, or it could strip away everything and leave a person raw and exposed next to someone who knew what it was like to be lost in the euphoria.

It was like knocking on heaven’s door and then being ripped back down to earth later on. It was something that only another person with a near death experience could really understand. That was the power of the drugs, not just to feel good but to create unique memories. Level the playing field. A junkie was a junkie no matter what life they led before. For a man who had grown up with nothing but a shitty father and a shitfaced mother, that was like power.

There was beauty in the world two people could make together.

“Nah. Corpses smell terrible.” The look he shot the other man practically dared Robin to shine a negative light on Jameson’s scent. It was teasing, of course. “I think it’s different for some vampires than it is for others. Like I think that some are closer to death than others. Judas, Morama’s loverboy, looks a lot more like a corpse than I do, and he has a couple of zombies he keeps as…pets? I’m not sure, but yeah. Someone like him, he’s very close to death. Me? I think I’m too grounded in the physical world, and living, and human stuff to really, fully give myself over to the other side.” He shrugged as he worked, and a couple of seconds later, he had the blunt rolled. He leaned to pop the thing into the corner of a mouth before he reached for the lighter. There was this snick-sound as the flint and metal hit then a flame burst from the top.

“I don’t feel all that different from how I used to. I don’t have to eat, but I like to. I’m stronger and faster than I was. I can break into places and get out with so much ease that it’s freakin’ ridiculous. You know that ‘Hanged Man’ thief on the news? The one that always leaves behind a tarot card? That’s me. But shh; it’s a secret.” He continued even as he lit the end of the blunt until the paper and herb inside had burned to ash and it glowed a fiery red. He licked over his lips as the scent of it began to spread. He then slumped against Robin’s side, leaning into his body so that he didn’t drool like some kind of weirdo.

“Most of the time I just feel like I can take on the whole world. It feels like I can do anything.”

[Robin Little]

Now that Robin had got Jameson started, he just wanted to know more. He stared at the other man, slack-jawed, as he explained that vampires had their differences. They weren’t all the same. Did that mean they all followed different rules? How would they go about teaching each other how to do ****, if they weren’t all on the same page to begin with? Some look more like corpses than others?

And to think, that one would have to get accustomed to living between life and death. To be neither one nor the other. Robin hadn’t thought about it before. That vampires think of themselves as dead. For a second, Robin’s head spun. He wasn’t even high yet. But he blames the fumes, just now filling the space between the two men. Was that something Robin himself would ever want to experience? To be stuck between life and death?

It was a lot of information to compute. It might not seem like a lot to an ordinary person, but Robin was there trying to put himself into Jameson’s shoes. Trying to feel it, like Jameson felt it. To imagine what it would feel like if he could take on the entire world – and, well, be organised enough to be a serial thief, leaving calling cards behind. Robin didn’t pay all that much attention to the news, but it was a name that he had heard of.

Well, who’d have thought he was fraternising with a celebrity?

Robin took the blunt between his fingertips and brought it to his lips. Still deep in thought, he took a deep drag. And, as he was breathing that acrid smoke into his lungs – even as he held it there – his brows furrowed. There was something that Jameson had said that Robin had overlooked, and which had snagged in his brain, only now to be retrieved. The smoke billowed from Robin’s mouth as he turned to sharply look at his companion.

”Wait, wait. Did you say zombies?” It probably shouldn’t surprise Robin, really, but one when thought vampires the next leap was werewolves. At least in popular culture. In popular culture, vampires and zombies didn’t mix.

”Or was that just… are you kidding me? Is that some kind of euphemism for something?” he asked.

[Jameson Dade]

Jameson hadn’t realized that the other man didn’t know about the zombies, something that probably should have occurred to him given that he’d only just a few weeks before been totally oblivious to them as well save for a few rumours he’d picked up on the periphery. He hadn’t put much thought into them at the time because they had sounded like little more than urban legends. Zombies growing out of the ground inside of the area that had been quarantined off a few years back. His assumption was that there was really just some kind of major construction project going on there that would eventually be revealed once it was done. Like a new civic or city center.

Even when Robin questioned it, Jay wasn’t quite there. He had very nearly shoved the side of his head up against the other’s chest so that he could listen to that smoke fill lungs. He decided against it, but his eyes went a little distant at that first drag and then exhale, and he could have sworn he felt a tingle of something across the surface of his flesh. That was likely just some sort of phantom itch, he reasoned to himself, or anticipation taking root inside. Most people would not have known it looking at him, but Jameson could be absolutely pathetic when it came to drugs. That was just who he was. If someone had spilled them all over the ground, he would have been there, lapping at the dirt, hoping for a high.

He might have even done that a few times at parties in the past.

He wasn’t particularly proud of the effect they had on him, that deep hunger they brought out in his soul, but had absolutely no power over the way he responded. That was what 12 step programs taught. That people were essentially powerless to their cravings and addictions, that they had to give themselves over to some kind of higher power. Jameson was a vampire. If there was a higher power, it had turned its back on their world a long time ago. Maybe he had lost his faith and that was why he didn’t care about being clean anymore. Or maybe he just missed the feeling.

Either way, he grunted a soft answer before the words caught up with him. “Oh yeah, zombies are real. Like legitly real. Like if you go into the Quarantine Zone, you’ll see them wandering around like a really bad take on the Special Olympics. There are creature similar to those under the mausoleum, and other things out there that would probably take me a little while to explain to you. Maybe when we’re both high and I don’t sound like a crazy person.” He mused before his arms stretched up and over his head. There was still an ache where the bone had broken before, but it was more dull than anything, slowly fading as his vampiric body healed it.

He slumped then, his head turning enough for him to press his cheek against Robin’s, his hand slipping to cover the one holding onto the blunt. He licked over his lips, even as he felt that tingle again, and then there was this wave of euphoria that rolled through him and felt like it poured onto Robin’s flesh through those areas where they touched.

First taste of pacification. It's not fully developed for Jameson yet in RP, but Robin got a little dose of it <.<!

[Robin Little]

Zombies. Robin’s head spun. Of course at this point, his head was spinning for several reasons, only the first of which was the overload of information. Second was the weed, curling in his lungs and shooting into his blood stream, the scent wafting around them like an aromatic blanket. The third and probably of least contribution was Robin’s already depleted bloodstream and his empty stomach. Fourth was Jameson himself, except Robin didn’t know that. Or did he?

Touch is something that humans could not do without. Robin knew this. It was something that he had pondered in the past. As soon as he had discovered the blissful benefits of touch, he had taken advantage of them. Not excessively, of course, but he knew it was something that he craved if he went without it for too long. It was ingrained into their very nature. It was natural. It was instinct. Skin against skin, and for a couple of very long seconds Robin was completely and utterly distracted.

On one hand he was imagining zombies trying to jump hurdles and completely failing; swimming the one hundred meter freestyle with chunks of flesh sinking into the crisp blue water behind them. If it weren’t for those images he wasn’t sure what he would have done; but the giggling started, then. As it was bound to. The broad lips split as a snort rolled in the back of his throat.

”Special Olympics,” he repeated, laughing. To focus on zombies trying and failing at Special Olympics was a far better distraction than the touch of Jameson’s skin against his, or the fact that zombies actually existed to begin with. Animated corpses. Or the fact that Jameson was rather feminine, when he wanted to be. What do they call it, when males look like females or vice versa, not intending to? Not as a choice of lifestyle but just as a pick of the draw when those little tadpoles connected with the egg and the DNA collided in a mess of evolution. Evolution had been kind to Jameson.

Robin didn’t think about that though. He thought about zombies doing high jump and throwing shot-put balls that instead crushed their collarbones and sent them crumbling to the ground. His body wriggled, to disengage cheek from cheek, to swap the blunt from one hand to the other so that he could bring it to his lips – so that he could suck in the happiness in one huge inhale. He sank into the corner of the couch, imagining it was swallowing him whole.

”Are they like they are in the movies?” he asked about the zombies. ”Are there animal zombies, too? Why doesn’t the whole city know about them? And… Mausoleums? Where the hell are they? Can we go exploring one day?” he asked. Day, he said. Because it still hadn’t sunk in completely, that day wasn’t entirely possible for Jameson. The questions tripped from Robin’s tongue like ducks falling over a cliff – he had to bite the muscle to make them stop.

[Jameson Dade]

The other man was giggling, and that sound just made Jameson feel as light as a feather, like he was going to float up until he scraped against the ceiling and then slid along it away from the warm exhale of a vent. And then there was the repetition of that phrase to tell Jameson exactly what the other man found so funny. It seemed the herbal remedy was having its desired effect and the saliva in the vampire’s mouth only thickened at the thought. It was like this deeply physical, emotional, spiritual reaction to the thought of fleeing waking world and walking with stars and wonders. He didn’t immediately pounce the other man and sink his fangs in, which was, to his credit, a lot harder than one might have thought.

Delicate ragdoll of a human. He had to remember that.

Robin pulled away from him, and all but sank into his seat, which left the allurist with this gap between their bodies and it was intolerable for more than one reason. He had to remind himself that Robin didn’t swing his particular way. Had to remind himself that no matter how much he wanted to touch and taste, he could only go so far before he would cross a line and then it would all end. He valued what they had, the friendship and…whatever one wanted to call their relationship.

He moved to stand, going from seated to not in the blink of an eye, his body moving in a smooth motion so that when he turned to face Robin he could peer down over his features for a moment before he pushed arms open and then slumped into a lap, facing the other man. They connected right at the hip, but there was this distance between a set of abdomens that only grew wider as it approached their heads. There. Much better. The scent of smoke was stronger there. Right where the other man blew it out into the air, and it was this welcome thing that Jameson all but reveled in. He wondered idly if there would be that feeling of guilt afterwards.

Nah.

“There are animal zombies, yeah. Kinda. And then there are these great big things that are like a lot of corpses put together, and sometimes there are animal corpses in there too. I assume the city doesn’t know about them because of the government and vampires. I’m pretty sure the govies know about us and all the dead rising things. S’why the Quarantine exists, you know. To keep the dead things in.” His words had grown softer, as he watched the pule point on Robin’s neck. His throat worked as he swallowed and the leaned so that they were pressed flush and he could nudge a chin up to one side as if contemplating the feed.

But was it too soon?

“Yessss. We should go and explore. Just be careful and stick close to me when we do. I’ll show you things you won’t believe.” It was nearly a whisper, and he ached to sink his fangs in, but instead he nudged his lips to flesh, soft instead of sharp and painful. He just needed a few more seconds to be sure it was in the blood.

[Robin Little]

It should bother Robin, that Jameson didn’t get the hint; that though personal space wasn’t something that Robin prized so much, it was still a thing. There were lines, and Jameson had a habit of crossing them. When the blonde ended up in Robin’s lap, the writer did nothing to encourage the behaviour. He had nowhere else to go, so remained where he was – but his arms flew up and away from the other’s body. The blunt was brought to his lips, and another long drag was swallowed. When the blunt was not against Robin’s lips, the arm rested over the back of the couch. Even his upper body seemed to inch away from the other’s advances.

The vision of zombies doing sports disappeared, to be replaced by the thing that Jameson was describing. A creature, made of corpses. Robin had a feeling that his nightmares, later on, would be a little more vivid, with a fuller cast of hellish characters. His nostrils flared – as if he might be able to smell the decaying corpses; at least that hadn’t been something that he’d been subject to in that castle up north. One could say at least the bodies were fresh but that was a horror all on its own.

Quarantine. Dead things. Robin nodded, slowly – it terrified him. All of it terrified him so much that he was losing sleep. His eyes were too bright, the rings around them only electrifying them a little more. He walked around like a zombie himself – but he realised, in that moment, that his curiosity overshadowed his fear. The nod was a vague aquiescence to Jameson’s request that he be safe, that he stick close. Though Robin already knew that he wouldn’t be going at night time. He’d be going during the day.

And he didn’t say anything else, at this point. The giggles had stopped. Thoughts of dead things took over; and, more than that, the feel of Jameson’s lips against the skin of his neck. There was something erotic about the way they were sprawled; about the tenderness with which Jameson went about gaining his meal. Robin’s heart thundered in his chest; he was waiting for the needle sharp pain and the proceeding high – the dizziness, and the rush of blood. He was already dizzy, his body slack and loose. There was no inching away from Jameson, now. There was the wait, as he swallowed air, the Adam’s Apple undulating against the rough, shadowed skin of his neck. He had not shaved for a few days.

And while he waited, just one more healthy suck of the drug in his grasp, now nearly diminished down to a small stub. Robin was taking every advantage with this free high.

[Jameson Dade]

The other man shied away from him, though that was to be expected. There was intimacy there, in that narrow space between them, and most people did not understand sharing intimacy with someone they didn’t intend to bridge that gap with. To ****. It was almost ironic, because getting high was such a physical and mental thing, but Jameson wasn’t given to pleasures of the flesh in that way. Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t enjoy touch of the romantic variety, it just took him a long time to feel that way about someone. People could be pretty, attractive even, but he was drawn to something that could only be found beneath the flesh, something under the surface. Warmth, skin to skin contact, those things didn’t turn him on. Not really.

What that meant was that he didn’t mind sharing physical contact in a way that some people might have considered intrusive. He…was just comfortable, familiar.

He got a good look at Robin then, his head tipping to one side so that strands of golden hair could drag across his shoulder, before sliding opposite the direction of an upturned cheek. Light danced across those thin bands. Did he look a little gaunt? For a second, he was concerned, worried for the other man’s health, and it was a feeling that might flash through his mind at another time, but then the promise of drugs kicked in once more and his worry was this fleeting thing. Addicts said things to themselves when they wanted to justify what they were doing, what they did to other people. To himself, he said that Robin was still handsome, that he was still the man he had first met only a short time before, that he would be okay, and all that really mattered was that he knew he was cared for. Loved, for lack of a better word.

Jameson was immortal. He felt invincible most of the time, not mad, not danger hungry, but at the back of his mind, he knew he couldn’t really die. Not really. So why should anyone else have had that worry?

It was time to feed.

There was reverence as he exhaled over the thrum of vein as it pulsed under skin. Yes, god of ecstasy and desire, of weak moments, of tiny pleasures, of the places in between, and fractured realities. Yes, my beautiful savior, I love you. I hear you. I crave you. His fangs extended and then he bit into the other man. He pulled him close. It was like a tender kiss, but their lips never touched. Ivories sank deep and blood filled his mouth. Slow. He took it slow, careful not to let it rush, because he needed to enjoy it, that slow spiral into oblivion. He could feel his own blood rushing in his veins, feel the need to suck more and more of that essence into himself. Restraint, he said to himself. Restraint.

But that was an illusion. Lips came away bloody. He hadn’t sealed the wounds on a neck yet, but they were shallow and not over an artery, so they were a slow trickle at best. His pupils dilated, and his throat worked in desperation. ****. ****. ****. Heaven.

[Robin Little]

As canines sunk into skin, Robin’s head rolled back. The hoods over his eyes drooped, and slowly blinked. The smoke whirled lazily from the tip of the blunt, and Robin did not move. Regardless of Robin’s knowledge of what was going to happen, regardless of his willingness, his body would still react instinctually. He was calm, and yet his heart was racing, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Blood was being taken, lost, and his heart tried to hold on to it. The heart was stupid, though. The heart did not realise that by reaching for what it was losing, by pumping harder, it was only chasing it away.

The breath slowly left his lungs in a contented, shivering sigh; it graced the air like something forbidden, a sound that spoke of desire. A caress. The ceiling was a foreign universe, spread out over above them. Were there stars up there, hidden in the speckles of paint? Was the paint melting, swirling, threatening to suck them up and out of this world?

Saliva gathered at the behind Robin’s tongue. He wouldn’t swallow. He would do nothing but lay there, his eyes finally blinking closed, succumbing to the sensation. Blood fled from his face, leaving it a sickly white. The cold clamminess took up residence where before his cheeks were flushed.

He didn’t notice, immediately, when Jameson withdrew. He might have fallen into unconsciousness, for all that he was aware. But his throat was dry – when he swallowed, it was painful. His neck felt bruised, but he ignored it. It might have been a few minutes. It could even have been half an hour. Robin did not know how long he lay there, but it was a burning at his fingers that caused his eyes to snap open, suddenly awake. The blunt had burnt down to where his fingers loosely held it. He crushed out the small spark with his fingers before he lurched sideways and forward, seeking a dish to toss the butt into.

”Have you got any wine, man? I feel like some wine…” he slurred as he slid out from under Jameson – as he stood, with the intention of ambling toward the kitchen. But he stood up too fast, and the loss of blood cause his head to violently spin. His toe kicked at the coffee table and Robin hurtled forward; he caught himself on the other armchair. There’d probably be a rather large bruise on his shin where it had grazed the table, but for the moment he couldn’t even feel it. For the moment he was laughing, far too boisterously for how fucked up he felt. But he really wanted some wine. So he righted himself – he stood for a few moments, stock still, to make sure he wasn’t overcome with another wave of dizziness, before he started again toward the kitchen.

[Jameson Dade]

There was still blood on his lips and his eyes were briefly blank. He checked out for a minute as relaxation, and life, and pleasure all rushed to the very core of his being as if they were racing each other. But from opposite sides of a field so that they all crashed right at the center. A shudder ran up his spine and he tipped his head back for a moment. His Adam’s Apple became more prominent and the length of his hair brushed against the top of his back as he looked up to the artificial light that radiated from somewhere on his ceiling. Why was it dancing like that? His hand reached up as if he were trying to capture it, but it kept darting just out of his reach.

That was when he noticed the untreated wound on Robin’s neck. The man seemed to have passed out, so he sealed it over and then decided to go and get a butterfly net from his bedroom so he could catch the photons that kept running away from him. Even with drugs that did not normally cause hallucinations, Jameson had a history of developing full auditory and visual fantasies when he was high. It was just something that went with the way his brain was wired. Some odd genetic switch.

By the time he got back, Robin had disappeared and he had been replaced by…it was Max. Jameson stood there with his shoulders squared off, his back going rod straight. It felt like someone had smashed a brick into his face, and he sniffed once. His butterfly net clunked on the ground as he looked at the other man for a full minute. Wine? Oh right. He had all sorts of wine. He had some spirits from Arbor Vitae, but he doubted Max would want that. Blood and all. “I’ll get it.” He said, but it was soft, breezy, and barely there. The words escaped from past his lips like fleeing dragonflies and fluttered away into the air before having a chance to reach Robin.

His hands shook when he was in the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of some cheap red wine. He didn’t have glasses for it. Why didn’t he have glasses for it? He turned standing right in the doorway of the kitchen was Max again. His throat worked, quivered, and he sucked in a tiny breath. “I missed you.” He said suddenly. And then… “How?” He didn’t feel like he could stand. Did it matter? Of course not. He took a step towards the only person he had ever loved, and pushed the wine into his hands, right over the center of his chest.

[Robin Little]

There was something different about Jameson, when he came back. Something …. Weightier. There was a slackness to his lips and a wideness to his eyes that indicated something. Yes, that was it – he looked like he had seen a ghost. Maybe he was seeing a ghost, Robin reasoned. There was something Jameson had wanted to try, Robin remembered, something different. This must have been it. Getting high off a high person’s blood. Did it really work that easy? Surely, the high must be diluted. But there it was. And Robin himself was far too out of it to pay much attention; not that he’d have noticed otherwise, really, or would have had the sense to try to ask Jameson what was wrong.

So he didn’t. He just grinned at the bottle of wine, taking the cold glass between his fingers even as he tried to figure out what Jameson was saying. Missed him? How long had it been… a minute? Two? Even before then… a couple of hours, since he’d seen Jameson last?

Robin giggled. Again. He couldn’t keep himself from giggling; it was a subconscious reaction to his surroundings. Maybe a defence mechanism, against Jameson’s sudden seriousness. He gripped the wine bottle and unscrewed the lid; he brought the neck to his lips and took a healthy swig. The wine was cheap. It was bitter. But it was what Robin was used to. He never had much money to splurge on expensive alcohol. In his mind, it didn’t matter. The cheaper it was, the more fun it could be. There was always an adventure when cheap wine was involved.

Though this was turning out to be an adventure, even without the wine.

”Generally, I think ‘missing’ someone consists of a couple of things, to explain how. One – a person has to be gone for a long time. Two – there has to be some kind of affection, or addiction. For something to be missed,” he said. That was the one question answered. Now, for the crux of the thing:

”I’m flattered. I really am. But it’s only been … I mean, there’s no reason you should have to miss me because I’m pretty much at your beck and call,” he said with a shrug, turning away from Jameson. As if that was that, and there was nothing else to be said. He wandered back out into the main room, circling it, continuing to drink his wine, before wandering over to peruse the music collection. To stare, blurry-eyed, as if he had the mental capacity right now to care about music. Which he didn’t.

He was still kind of thinking about acrobatic Zombies, somewhere. It was a deep preoccupation.