Path of the Vampire forum

Finally, the Telepath made a decision and burst into the gentleman’s washroom. It would have caused far too much drama to have entered the ladies’, even if he did look the part. The few men that were inside the dank, tiled room hugged their urinals or shied away as the tall figure dressed all in black, drenched with blood, and sporting long white hair and elegant make-up, power-walked his way to the sink. Of course, Myk cared little about their reaction to his appearance and cared even less about the fact that he lacked a reflection. As he waited for the shallow basin to fill with warm water, he put Fable’s top down on the side and cautiously removed his chiffon shirt, piling it on top. It was a struggle to slip his right arm free of the material, but even worse was to expose his soft, snowy skin to the grim air of the lavatory. He could probably wash his own shirt and dry it quickly under those hand blowers, but that grey jumper would need to be taken to the dry-cleaner.

Once the water had reached the overfill line, Myk turned the tap off and dunked his right arm into the water. However, when only a thin layer of surface blood came free in turgid crimson dots, Myk knew that he would have to reach for the hand soap and scrub off the rest with paper towels. He didn’t particularly care for the wide-eyed looks of his audience, with many preferring not to bother washing their hands at all to avoid being close to him. Clearly, this was the only room in the establishment where mortals felt safe from his kind because what ordinary circumstances would provoke a Vampire to visit the restroom?

Myk put their concerns behind him and continued to address his own. A few pumps of jojoba scented, creamy foam and he could already see the white of his skin bobbing out of the claret water. He emptied the basin, swirled clean water around it, then set the tap to fill it once again. This rinse and repeat action was the most effective way of cleaning up even if it wasn’t the most hygienic. He would repeat this cycle just a few more times before moving onto his shirt and then he would dry off under the heated fans of the Dyson powered blowers. In total, the Telepath would have only disappeared for seven minutes, which gave Fable enough time to order drinks at the bar and be leered at by a certain spectre.

“I advise you take extreme, cautionary measures when dealing with that Vampire,” Rutherford spoke to Fable from the side of the booth. “You are aware of his illness, are you not?”

Of course, Rutherford did not know that the other Vampire lacked the sight to discern the Wraith as the wispy mass of ink beyond an ephemeral voice. That knowledge would surely amuse him, as it had done for many years before Myk had discovered the gift of sight.

“I have known Myk longer than you,” Rutherford added, his voice chiding. “And I regret to inform you that his presence only brings misfortune. I can distract him, if you would like it of me, or make an excuse on your behalf so you might flee. It really is in your best nature, Fable.”

Fable was still tapping his fingers against the wood of the table idly. Waiting for any sign of Myk. The man was still in the gents. Or maybe he had run away. Fables brows furrowed in thought, would he had done such a thing? Fable didn’t think so. He did however have its doubts. Fable was a high maintenance man. He had low self confidence and needed constant attention in that sense. Myk could probably sense it and ran a mile.

Fingers wrapped around the glass with the red liquid within. His arm brought it to eye level where he then proceeded to take a sip. The warm liquid sliding down his throat warming his insides and he felt himself calm. He was over thinking as usual. The man shook his head in disbelief at his own self consciousness. Myk would never have ran for the hills. When Fable was thirsty he would often go a little crazy, panic or overthink.

When he was away from Harper Rock he had gone to local blood drives or hospitals. He had stolen. Without fangs he wasn’t able to do much else. He regretted at times ripping them out. It was a weak moment in his life. He was sure Velveteen didn’t like him at the time when he did it. He was denying what he was, a vampire. He growled a little within himself at the recollection. He didn’t bring any left over blood bags with him. It was still within his mini fridge back in Alaska. Well he wouldn’t be getting it back now.

”Stop it.”

He chided himself. That was when he heard the voice. He was warning him about Myk. Telling him not to trust him. Fable knew he was a little fucked up in the head but Jesus Christ.

Fingers raised and rubbed his temples in a circular motion. Pushing the skin against his temple up and down. Twisting.

”Your okay Fabs. It’s just a side effect to the blood. You’ve not had anything for a while. Your fine.”

Nothing quite like a good ol’ pep talk. His mind was telling him to run away, that it would make a distraction. Maybe he was growing a second head and it was talking to him. That’s a thing right. Maybe this was a second personality.

Whatever it was he was choosing to ignore the wraith, unaware of the being floating nearby. Getting a kick out of Fable’s reaction. Fable on the other hand thought he was going insane. Maybe he did need to leave. Myk didn’t want to have a date with someone insane.

Believe it or not, there were perks to being a ghost. Perhaps the biggest fret to their kind was being forgotten, being ignored. Most spirits – Wraiths included – were imperceptible to most people, and they were rarely able to interact with the physical realm beyond the manipulation of energies. Having no physical form of their own, these often ephemeral beings existed in a state of limbo – doomed to walk the Earth watching, learning, suffering, but having no effect on its history. Rutherford was one such Wraith who didn’t mind the limitations of his being. As a matter of fact, being unseen, unheard, and unfelt was rather practical. As a Vampire, and even before that, Rutherford had prided himself on going unnoticed. Of course, he wasn’t actually invisible at the time, with only the transient abilities to disappear into the shadows upon his turning. This… this was a whole other level of discretion. Rutherford could now come and go as he pleased, passing through the physical realm unhindered and unobserved. He could choose whether or not to involve himself, he could choose to have responsibility, and it was somehow titillating to be privy to so much and have the freedom to never disclose what he knew to others.

Said invisible being was left to watch Fable as his Master left to yet again attend to his vanity. Judging by the way the blonde’s eyes flitted around and how he addressed Rutherford as though talking to his own mind, it seemed safe to determine that Fable was unable to detect the Wraith after all. While this news would generally cause great relief for the Wraith, it was also irritating to not be acknowledged at all as it put something of a damper on his fun and games. This was not the first time that Rutherford had taken to interacting with Myk’s acquaintances while the Telepath was otherwise engaged. However, as time went by, the role became increasingly tedious and instead of doing as he was told, the Wraith decided to have some fun at his Master’s expense. He had learned that while Myk was rather difficult to upset on any personal level, he did have a great deal of sensitivities that could stir ire in him. One such trigger could be found in removing access to luxuries – such as removing his access to Fable.

“Childer…” growled the Wraith.

And somehow, without a mouth, a tongue, vocal chords, or even a set of lungs, he made an irritated clicking sound and then huffed. It was only when he spotted his charge exiting the lavatory did he retreat out of sight entirely, deciding that he might continue his games on another occasion.

Ignorant to the mind-games which had just been spun around the blonde like a fairground carousel, Myk returned to the table with a triumphant swagger. He promptly sat directly next to Fable – even if there was far more room to be had by sitting on the opposite side. A warm, clean, and dry hand reached over to stroke Fable’s jawline as he placed a chaste kiss on the other side.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” the Telepath said. The character of Myk’s voice was low, yet ethereal; this dark, seductive sound that a cat may make while it is fondly considering the canary before it. “Admittedly, I could still do with a shower and…” He lifted Fable’s soiled grey shirt and then tucked it under the table. “I should have that dry-cleaned for you.”

childer

That word echoed - he couldn't quite understand where it was coming from. He blinked a few times. He looked around. There was no one - just a small breeze from where a human, or vampire - Fable couldn't tell which had left the back door open - which lead to the smoking area. Awkward. Being a vampire he couldn't feel the cold - but instead felt relief from the cold hair, it brushed through his shaggy blonde hair and so he sighed in relief.

He continued to rub at his temples. He was muttering to himself, much like a crazy person would that he was ok. There was no one around to see him - he was shoved away at the back of the club. His ocean blue eyes looked to the glass resting on the coast and he grabbed it. Taking another heavy swig draining almost half the glass. The thick liquid remained at the side of the glass slowly trailing back down the glass to join the rest of its friends in the main pool of blood

Eyes raised at the Telepath when could see him approaching. He looked cleaner thats for sure. His grey polo was no longer around his arm - which again was a good sign he could see the wound already healing. He nodded his head in approval, it was only a slight nod of the head as Fable through the male a smile. The words of the wraith echoed in his mind, not that he knew it was a wraith. Myk had an illness? He didn’t believe it for a second. His tongue slowly moved across his lower lip before copying the motion on his upper lip next. The man sat right next to him, close enough that if they were both human with beating hearts the body heat would have been felt emitting from the both.

”Welcome back.” He told the male as Myk’s hand lifted to stroke the jawline - before placing a kiss on his skin. Fable shivered in anticipation. Feelings stirred within him again, memories flashing back to their night tonight. He formed a mantra in his head. He would not let his mind go to the gutter. Instead he smiled at the man, and leaned in - inhaling his scent. He didn’t smell - however the man could smell the dried blood on him from the encounter with those lovely men outside the QZ. There had been a broken heart, or two. HA.

Fable waved off the comment of the dry cleaning - the polo shirt was not a prized possession. It could go into the bin for all the man cared. It was used in a crisis and fulfilled its purpose. ”Chuck it in the bin, it’s just a polo shirt. I can go to the mall and get another at some point. Plenty more clothes in here.” He lowered his gaze to the suitcase that was leaning against the booth to the right of the seat. Myk’s comment about the showering however had piqued his interest. ”You do smell. You need a shower.” He winked at the man, and grabbed at the other glass of blood he had bought the Telepath. He pushed the glass in Myk’s direction.

“Well, in that case, I’ll keep it,” Myk said with a grin and curled in to rest his head on Fable’s shoulder. He cradled one of Fable’s hands in both of his; his fingers idly stroking at the other’s soft skin in swirling motions.

The shirt would be a little memento for him; a little piece of Fable that he could keep even when the other man would leave him. They all left, didn’t they. It was an inevitability that Myk no longer cried about even though he felt their loss with just the same potency as he always had. It hurt, of course, it always hurt, just as being shot and stabbed and set on fire hurt, but Myk rarely let the pain take over because he rarely dwelt on such things. He preferred, instead, to enjoy the moments of his life that were pleasant for as long as he could remember them. Unfortunately, the Wraith had been correct in his assessment; the one he had shared with Fable in an attempt to scare him away. Myk was sick and the illness had carried over – perhaps becoming more pronounced – when he became a Vampire. There was no real cure either and Myk refused to take the drugs that would help, so, he persisted as he was; a natural blunder.

“I see,” Myk replied to Fable’s comment about his scent. His eyes narrowed and his tone had shifted an octave into more sinister territories. He straightened, leering at the blonde, and his grip on Fable’s hand tightened. “If your sense of smell is so accurate, then you’ll have to be the one to wash me. To make sure I am clean enough for your standards.”

He somehow made the indecent invitation sound like a threat and he was still glowering at Fable even when a glass of blood was offered. Of course he knew that Fable was joking around – probably – and either way he didn’t mind because he’d smelt a lot, lot worse on more regular occasions than he did at this moment in time. Likewise, he was only teasing too because the last thing he believed himself to be was a burden on the eyes. He was a burden on one’s patience and sanity, most assuredly, but Myk believed that he was treacherously attractive and wouldn’t hear it that the option to shower with him would somehow be a punishment. Still, he did seem a little surprised and confused by the drink; mistaking it as appeasement. Fable had gestured to his luggage tonight and something about his mannerisms suggested that he felt guilty or uncertain about something, but Myk couldn’t determine just exactly what this all meant. He decided not to mention anything, at least for the moment, and took the offered glass of blood.

The warmth was the first thing he noticed about the beverage. The crystal’s hard surface softened against his skin when he closed his hand around something akin to body temperature rather than a glass of cold liquor. Concern pressed into his features for only a second before he turned away from Fable slightly to lift the glass to his lips. A plume of sweet iron greeted him and the taste of sugar-coated pennies filled his mouth as he took a sip. There was not even a hint of alcohol – an acknowledgement that disappointed him on some level, but it did make it easier to drink. Besides, he needed to replace what he had lost to save him going on a hunting spree or using up too much of his energy on supernatural gifts. Myk set the glass down after a single mouthful; his tongue lathed away any remaining liquid.

Ocean blue eyes stared at the Telepath. A coy smile appearing on those lips of his as he nodded his head. The man had noted the fact that his keen sense of smell was superior to the telepaths and so he had nominated himself automatically to help wash the man, get all that remnant blood and gore off him that was not so visible to the eye. He winked at him. Another notion that was out of character for the male - the time away had done him so well. He had found himself - and here he was a completely different male to who he was before - but also the same man.

”Yes, I feel I must help you wash. I feel it is my duty as I had so diligently advised you of your odour.” He watched the man pick up the glass of blood he had gotten for him whilst he had a quick clean as to not alert the other humans in the area that he was caked in blood from where he had pushed and shoved people about. The empty glass dropping to the coaster. A few dropletsof blood remain in the glass but nothing more. Fable shrugged.

He grabbed the man's hand and got up from the booth. He had his suitcase in his other hand. The club was simply a stop off point. They had other things to do this night and washing was one of them, perhaps he would even join Myk. A smile at the very thought appeared on his features.

”Come on then. Let's head off.” He tugged Myk along in an overeager way. It wasn’t playing in his favour - made him come across as needy - but who cared. Myk knew Fable, and Fable knew him. He wanted to go back to the boat so very much - where they had made several memories in the past. The suitcase tugging along behind him dragging across the dancefloor as for the third time this night Fable passed the ocean of bodies dancing along to the beat of the music - Fable didn’t even give them the time of day. No. Fable was firmly taking control and was going to take what was his.

He was going to help Myk get clean. He was going to get every single inch of dirt off him. He was going to inspect every single bit of that males flesh with a magnifying glass. They are both going to enjoy this night.

The white-haired male was surprised at having his hand squeezed and for Fable to so suddenly get up from the booth. Of course, he could only resist the motion for half a second before he was pushed back onto his heeled feet with a metallic clang. The frustration wore heavier and for longer on his features, however. While he often enjoyed being man-handled - feeling a crude, basic thrill chase and down up his spine and fill his abdomen with heat - he wasn’t so sure he enjoyed being pushed out of his seat so eagerly. They’d only just sat down, he hadn’t finished his drink yet, and there was plenty of fun to be shared in their quiet little corner before they raced off for that much anticipated privacy. Myk frowned as Fable wasted no more time than the sun gives thought to the moon, grabbed his suitcase, and was marching the diva along the dancefloor and then out the door of the club altogether.

“I suppose foreplay isn’t your thing,” the Vampire ushered those daring thoughts into the mind of his companion.

Telepathy had a nasty habit of revealing Myk’s innermost feelings and thoughts. As skilled a liar as the white-haired man was, he found it actually challenging to manipulate the inherent truths of what he felt when he was channeling his thoughts into the minds of others. As such, he failed to completely control the disappointment and the chiding that rang into Fable’s head like a death knol when he spoke about a lack of foreplay. He was mildly annoyed at having his plans changed, especially since Fable hadn’t expressed his position in the past to be so dominant, but he could get over it. Perhaps time had transformed the plaintive puppy into a full-grown, rousing Rottweiler, and now, the male thought it was time to challenge Myk for supremacy. That much amused the Telepath enough to curb his disappointment and even stirred a laugh from his bird-like ribcage; the glint of wolfish teeth was ever stark against his dark lips.

“Fine, fine,” he added. “But you’ll have to promise to be a very good boy when we get home. And keep your paws to yourself.”

Myk squeezed Fable’s hand in tandem to the finality of his telepathy and his pace matched the blonde, rather than allow himself to be dragged anywhere. Fable hadn’t established a destination, but Myk knew where he wanted to go and that was good enough for both of them, or so he had decided. It was unlikely that the smaller male would be able to physically bully Fable into getting his own way, but Myk had more tricks up his sleeve than even a celebrity magician. Penn and Teller would gasp in surprise as Myk cast his magic on the senses, creating images as real as blood and soil but with creative licencing. In his world, the flowers could sprout from the clouds and the sun would never burn. Equally, he could convince Fable that he wanted to go to Myk’s boat.

The perfume of human chaos was steadily invaded by the fresh, fruity scent of the ocean as they pushed toward RiverRock. A Human nose could easily detect the presence of salt and dirt in the aquatic aroma, but a Vampire’s was a lot more sensitive. Myk compared his new life to that of a bloodhound, exploring the intricacies of tiny, trivial things like staring at a thousand piece puzzle. Amongst the more obvious elements, Myk found that he could also identify the musk of seabirds, the sweet tang of algae, the citrusy notes of seaweed, and even make out the tin-like molt of fish scales and crustaceans. The sable waters beckoned them with song; each wave lapping against the hulls of boats and the wooden storks of docks was like the beat of a drum and the hiss of a cymbal. A chorus of gulls held their own nuanced melody above their heads. Approaching the door, Myk paused to address his handsome companion.

“Are you going to be a good boy?” Myk asked, his accent and tone adjusting to something that imitated a South African thrum, but he didn’t wait for an answer.

As the Telepath pushed the door open, it became immediately apparent that he had redecorated since Fable’s last visit. The front room was no more an artist’s den, where beads, paint, glitter, and feathers carpeted the floor. Crepe paper streamers no longer danced haphazardly from points of height, threaded from lampshades and bookcases and shelves like the web of spider on LSD. Instead, everything had been packed away into transparent acrylic containers and stacked from floor to hip height. The floor space was clear, clean, and stretched unobstructed from wall to wall. The warm, glossy beach wooden floor looked like a dance studio - a feeling that was substantiated with a floor to ceiling monitor that reflected back onto the room like a mirror. Myk and Fable would be able to see their reflections, as it were, as the tiny dot of a camera captured the room in real time.

Upon entering the space and flicking on the lights, Myk recognised with a happy sigh that what was visible had remained just the way he had left it. By the time he was in the centre of the room, standing mere inches from the velvet loveseat, Myk turned back to Fable. He shifted his weight onto his right then perched his hand upon the protruding hip bone, the other arm fell lazily at his side still clutching the grey shirt.

"Welcome home," Myk purred.

Eyes looked directly at Myk. His head twisting backwards simply just to glance at his mischievous, handsome face as he shrugged his own shoulders. Foreplay had never been his thing, he had never done such a thing - so he had never had much experience in it. So when the words entered his mind its why he directly looked at him with one of the strangest glances. He blinked slowly before twisting his head to view the street ahead of him.

”Never.” Myk was the type of male to say whatever came to his head without a filter - which was safe to say how Fable liked his coffee - filtered. He could hear Myk laughing behind him. He could feel his chest vibrating through the males fingertips as he was dragging him along and out of the club to get them where they needed to go and quicker. A coy smile appeared on the males features as he blinked the ocean blue orbs at the street sign in front of him. He couldn’t remember his way around Harper Rock which is when Myk took over.

”No promises.” He said coyly. In response to Myk’s question about being a good boy. Fable had been a good boy all his life. Every once in a while he could take the leash of and live a little - he was starting to now, especially upon his original meeting of Myk. That meeting had opened up a door within him that had been locked. Myk seemed to be the key.

Nothing as corny as Myk being the key to Fables heart.
He had inspired him to tune into his wild side, take what he wanted.
Live a little.

Myk had forever changed the man, for better or for worse was undecided - but it allowed him to make more risky decisions - especially when it came to flirting the meek little mouse that was Fable had grown a pair of balls.

Before he knew it they were at the docks, and he was back in familiar terrirtory.

He had been told he was home as Myk opened up the door and revealed the small space which had changed in the length of two years. ‘Welcome Home’ those words made his stomach flip. They made him slightly emotional.

”Home? You make it sound like you want me to move in with you and go steady.” A joke perhaps, or an honest remark.

Myk playfully shrugged one single, elegant shoulder at Fable’s remark as a hand reached up near his own chin to tussle a lock of bone-white hair. It might have seemed innocent enough, a simple flirtatious thing, but for the dangerous smile teasing his black and red lips and the glint of something even more treacherous in his pewter eyes.

“Hmm...something like that,” Myk murmured.

He moved to sit into the corner of the loveseat; his movements were slow and purposeful like the powerful strides of an approaching predator. Only, the white-haired Vampire moved away from Fable and the door, seating himself like royalty with one elegant leg crossed over the other along the length of velvet cushioning. He watched the other male under the heavy curtain of his lashes and considered just what terrible little tricks he could play. Unlike his darling counterpart, Myk enjoyed the foreplay and prolonging the final, delicious thrill for as long as possible.

“Or, perhaps it is a promise that you will like it so much here that you’ll never want to leave.” A pause. A flash of wolfish teeth in his smile. “You’ll want it to be your home.”

When the echo of his voice died on the air, the light in the room was snuffed out also. Of course, a Vampire was capable of seeing perfectly well in the dark and Myk held onto no intentions of sneaking about in the shadows like some squirrelly thing. No. He just wanted the distraction, to utilise the second or so it would take for their eyes to adjust to this new light, so that he could pounce unheeded.

Speed was key in trapping the blonde between his own body and the door. Skill was key in making sure that Fable couldn’t muscle his way out of the Telepath’s grip. He pinned the man’s wrists against the flank of wood behind him - forearms facing up either side of his hips - but just away from his body. He’d kicked the suitcase aside so that it didn’t get in their way, then retained a firm stance, separating and blocking Fable’s legs with his knees. His chrome-plated heels gave him the necessary inches required to meet the man eye to eye. It took every ounce of self-restraint the lunatic was capable of to only brush his lips against the other’s and not devour him in a kiss. The texture of Fable’s shirt grazed against his skin through the black chiffon fabric. Myk stifled the soft moan he felt rising from his core as their unity drowned him in heat and feeling, bringing back that desperate, aching sensation of being alive.

“Or,” he added, his voice so unnaturally muted and raspy that it barely registered as his own to complete his thoughts. “I can just not let you leave.”

It was the man’s own fault, really. He had pushed Myk this far. He had presented himself as a treasure to be plundered. The Telepath had every intention of holding back and playing nice tonight, but Fable had insisted they take things this far. When one’s prey slices its own throat and settles down on a silver platter, it’s impossible to deny the offering. The only catch remained in how quickly Myk would savour it before he’d had his fill.

Myk seemed to move away from Fable then suddenly onto the plush loveseat. He sat there like he was a king on his throne - it was an inviting look he suddenly gave him - his eyes were telling him to join him however his lips were saying something completely different. It was like a challenge of sorts - a promise of a good night, oh Fable knew they could have a good night. They have done this song and dance before. Perhaps this was why Fable felt no embarrassment, or shyness at not only Myk’s forwardness but his own. Deep down Fable did like Myk, perhaps more than he was prepared to admit just yet. Those feelings would stay at the pit of his stomach until he was ready to tackle them.

Myk was teasing him then, his words were enticing. Fable didn’t know how to answer him, not just yet. This was flirtatious banter and Fable wasn’t the best at flirtatious banter. So he began to move to the corner of the bed, watching the male with a curious stare and a tilt of his head - shaggy blonde hair touching his soft skin. His pale skin seemed to brighten under the lights of the boat. However he never got there - when the last word left the telepaths mouth the lights in the room shut off - all within a second. He blinked his eyes in adjustment. The man was able to perfectly see in the dark. It was how the rumours were sent about the species of vampires that they came for them in the night - the dark.

Fable could see now, but what he was seeing now was Myk in front of his face and his body pressing against the wood of the door. His body was moving not the way he wanted it to no, Myk was maneuvering him. He was pushing his legs apart - his arms pinned against the door. Myk was teasing him by brushing his lips against his own Fable leaned forward to try and catch the man’s lips with his own, attempting to bite the man anything that would draw him closer, anything to stop the teasing.

Fable was putty in Myk’s hands.

With a burst of power an inspire left him. Inpsiring the man in front of him. It was a power he was unaware he had - or that he was doing. Myk was strong, but so was Fable. Fable had learnt much whilst he was away from this city. He tensed his own muscles and pushed and wriggled free of Myk, and then he grappled at the telepaths wrists and whirled him around so he was now against the door. His lips now pushed against Myks.

Fable was hungry.

--- fade out here. fin.