It was the end of the full moon cycle, and the Sniper couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Werewolves were not the easiest of prey, and it was nearly impossible to survive when they all came out on the same night. Yet month after month, the hunter managed. It was his job, and there weren’t many of his kind out there. Few and far people wanted to accept the fact that supernatural creatures of mythology and horror existed, and even fewer wanted to put their lives on the line in the name of human safety.
With the full moon gone, the biggest threat to any nearby towns was vampires. Sure, nymphs and gremlins and the like were about, but they weren’t a plague like vampires. They were sneaky, shape-shifting bastards, preying on the weak or anyone who had their backs turned. They were the reason he’d gone into this business, and he had developed a deep hatred for them.
He retreated to his camper van, the only thing he trusted and cherished in this harsh, cruel world of which he had become a part. He flipped the lights, which flickered on as if just waking up after a long nap. Then he closed the lock, checking it twice just to make sure it was good and tight. There was no sense in not taking extra precautions in his line of work. In fact, it could prove fatal. That was not a chance he was willing to take.
He’d been traveling for so long that his typical stubble had grown into a full blown beard. Whenever it got too unruly, he would take his machete to it in order to keep it short, not terribly interested in taking the time to shave it properly despite his regular access to a real bathroom. His hair had grown out too, so long that he had taken to keeping it in a low-set pony tail (so that he could still wear his beloved hat). New scars decorated his body, only covered up by his clothes, blood, and dirt, and he admittedly didn’t shower as much as he would have liked to. New clothing wasn’t something in his life, either. Every single article of clothing he had was painted in blood stains, among other things, and often wreaked due to lack of hygiene. He was unsightly and even smelled a little bad, but he didn’t care. He only cared about one thing: vampire hunting.
The evening had been long, but with the spare time he had, he decided it was time to shower. He stripped himself of his bloody shirt, dropping it wherever it landed, and walked half-heartedly into his bathroom. It was no longer the clean, pristine place it used to be. Mildew seeped from the corners in the walls and the cracks in the tiles, and soap scum was simply a thick layer through the entire shower. He spun the white-speckled handles of the faucet and let the water run hot until undoing the buckle of his belt. He hadn’t even pulled it lose when a familiarly eerie voice pushed by a wave of cold breath crept over his shoulder.
“Bonsoir, mon ami,” he said, his voice like daggers. The only thing sharper was the feeling of lifelessly cold fingers tracing lines up the Sniper’s sides.
“It’s you,” the Sniper answered. He was dead still. Even his hands remained clenched around his belt, refusing to move a single muscle in the face of his unsavory predicament. The voice brought him right back to that day, and his hands balled into fists around the buckle. He could still see the smug bastard’s face, twisted with delight, as he drained the Sniper’s lover of his blood and vanished in a cloud of smoke with his lifeless body. The poor youth was deprived of a proper burial, as his body was never recovered.
“Shh,” the other man answered. His fingers, freezing with death long passed, continued to dance about the living male’s torso, nails raking against the dirt and grime caked onto his sweaty skin. The hunter could only obey as he knew what the vile creature was capable of with his maddening strength and enchanting capabilities. One word was all that need be spoken, and the Sniper’s body would move against his will, completely at the other’s command. He hated that to the very core of his being, and it was one of the many reasons he had taken up the thankless profession of killing the monsters of this world in the first place, among other reasons he would rather keep to himself.
“I ‘ave a present for you, mon delicieux un,” the human-like creature hissed into the taller man’s ear, purposely allowing his breath to raise hairs on his neck and reveling in the scent of hatred emitting from his pores. “But, first, you must do something for moi.”
“Like ‘ell I’d do anything for the likes of you,” the hunter snapped as his shoulders tensed and withdrew away from the offending nails trailing against them in disgust. In his mind, the only rightful thing he would ever do for this ungodly creature would be to force a wooden stake into his unbeating heart and rip it from his chest cavity and throw his damned soul into the void of after-immortality.
The vile being merely chuckled before moving with unnatural speed and power, forcing the Sniper against the bathroom wall with a sickening thud. His breath escaped his diaphragm harshly and the living man could only gasp for the air that was so violently removed. The camper made a groan at the pressure, having been rocked on its old and withered wheels and the tile beneath the hunter’s chest cracked under the force.
“I am not giving you the choice in the matter. However,” the Frenchman paused, returning to the other male’s ear and giving it a playful lick, “You will enjoy the reward.”
A gargled cough was all the Sniper could conjure as he felt his body being crushed beneath the weight of the death-being. He really had no choice at this point, unless he truly wished for everything to end. The idea did dance in his head, as he lost his purpose with the loss of his lover to the very being now squashing his body; however, the bastard, in turn, was the very reason he kept himself alive. The hunter desired nothing more in this world than revenge. And, the gods laughed in his face as the present situation was well beyond ironic and cruel for them to have conjured into reality.
He managed to catch his breath somehow amidst the crushing weight of the smaller figure and wheezed in momentary defeat. “Fine. What do I need to do?” The hunter fell to the floor as the pressure disappeared with the evil being stepping backwards. His expression, had the other male seen it, would have chilled him to the bones as it was turned into the most distorted of grins, one no mortal could have ever replicated. The Sniper found his body being flipped as if he were merely a ragdoll, and he was made to face the most vile of creatures as his back pressed against the unforgivingly cold wall. Despite the rising steam of the forgotten water filling the shower and putting the small bathroom into a haze, his body temperature dropped as the masked man loomed regrettably close to his face, and all the nightmares and flash-backs impaled him upon seeing the fiery light of blood-red eyes digging into his own.
“I am insatiably hungry tonight,” the pale being sneered, forcing a mock pout as if it would gain sympathy from the glaring eyes upon him. He chose to ignore the disdain of his prey, instead tracing a finger over the taller man’s collarbone as he inspected the array of veins beneath his reddened skin which pumped with enough force and sound to drive the beast insane. The hunter’s heartbeat was deafening to his acute hearing. But, unlike most vampires, he was capable of containing his own blood-lust, for he enjoyed toying with his victims before he stole their lives; killing for nourishment alone was simply too boring for an immortal being, especially when humans were so vulnerable. And, this particular item on the menu was a bit more decadent than the worthless humans he had feasted upon in the past. No, the Sniper was a special breed, trained in the art of assassination, devoid of weaker human emotions like lust and affection and budding from the core with hate and anger. He was not so easy to manipulate with the typical vampire charm most other people would fall victim to, and the thrill of the chase was more than enough to allow him to live until now. However, there were other means of mentally breaking the murderer of his fellow race, and the creature had nothing but time to get under the man’s skin. He would have nothing less than pure pleasure in watching him writhe in agony at his own hand.
The Sniper could only force his back against the wall as he attempted to distance himself from the cold digits tracing his torso. One twitch was all it would take for the evil bastard to rip out his heart. He hated feeling this weakness and helplessness despite his years of solitary training to destroy the very being now holding him at his mercy. As close as they were, just one stab into the vile thing’s chest and everything would be done; the entire vampire race would fall as its father would finally be sent to Hell where he belonged after plaguing the earth for so many thousands of years. It was a damn shame that he was so close to achievement, yet so far away at the same time.
The icy fingers now danced in the Sniper’s beard and the creature made something of a disgusted face. “Non, this does not suit you, mon ami. I must see your face.”
“Funny, comin’ from a person who hides ‘is face behind a mask,” the hunter spat in retort.
The beast could only give a ‘tsk’ as his shield from prying eyes was his own business and he had more important things to consider at the moment than a puny human’s sarcastic remarks. He stood up and took to the sink casually, finding a straight razor beside the faucet which was still sharp and shiny from being all but forgotten by the hunter in the recent weeks. He gave a smile as he effortlessly yanked the human male by his neck and perched him atop the closed toilet seat as daintily as he could allow without killing him, then turned the faucet on and ran the blade beneath cold water. The Sniper protested as he wriggled beneath the vampire’s grip.
“Be still, human,” the creature cooed playfully as he brought the blade to the man’s neck and gave it an expert knick, allowing a patch of fuzz to float to the floor, “We don’t want to lose any of your magnifique blood. At least, not quite yet.”
The hunter unwillingly complied, having no other choice but to allow the vampire to groom him in such an awkward manner, though his golden eyes bore into the bastard as a last-ditch act of defiance, knowing that he could easily have his throat slit right then and there. The thought of the Frenchman lapping up the puddles of red life as they pooled onto the floor was sickening. The creature worked skillfully, removing layer after layer of the dark beard as it piled onto the floor and into the lanky man’s lap, the chilling touch of the beast’s fingers registering against the sensitive skin now appearing on his chin and neck as he was gripped firmly by the jaw-line; the lump in his throat was very visible and bobbing as he swallowed nervously against the blade.
“Tres belle!” the vampire cheered as he gazed upon the man’s face, forcibly twisting his head to and fro to admire his own work and completely ignoring the deathly stare he received from the corner of squinting eyes. “You look years younger if I do say so myself. This—yes, this—I can work with.” In the blink of an eye, the creature’s icy mouth was against the other man’s own, much to his surprise and disgust.
The Sniper grunted in protest as the vile and freezing tongue darted into his mouth, reveling in the ecstatic flavor of the living warmth encircling it. His hands flew up to push at the clothed chest, but the smaller and stronger male gripped at the back of his head and continued his assault until he withdrew his mouth in his own time. The hunter could only cough and gag as he regained his breath when the creature finally broke the one-sided kiss. He gave his prey another eerie grin as he took the liberty of planting himself in the taller man’s lap and straddled him. It was so delicious just watching the living male squirm uncomfortably, but it was not quite as much as the mortal was capable of doing in his eyes.
“The bloody fuck are you doin’, ya bastard?” The Sniper managed to choke out as he was clearly enraged at the unbecoming nature of the situation. Death would have been a nobler ending than this.
“It is not what I am doing that you should be concerned with, but what you are going to be doing instead.” The undead male chortled, reaching around and untying the hunter’s hair and allowing it to fall about his neck. “I need quenching. And, you—you are going to satiate me.”
“Over me dead body!” The Sniper spat, though he merely received a chuckle for his efforts.
“Oh, non, peu de. Not your dead body. But, what of your lover’s, non?” The creature whispered into the hunter’s face, delighted as his expression dropped into a shocked and stupefied state. He could not resist grinning as he was now officially crawling under the skin and into the very being of the man he sat upon, finally touching the nerves he so longed to ignite under pressure. Thus, the true torment began. The evil male once again mocked emotion. “Oh, I did not tell you? ‘Ow silly of moi!” He took one of his hands and playfully smacked the other on the back as a form of mock self-punishment, chuckling in spite of himself.
“You lie,” was all the Sniper could come back with, as he refused to put it past the evil bastard to deceive to get his way.
“Maybe,” the vampire spoke, taking time to remove an annoying ball of lint from his own red suit, rolling the offending thing between a finger and thumb before he acknowledged the human male once more. He gave a very nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, not caring whether the other believed him or not. “But, maybe not? How can you be so sure?”
The hunter paused in his scrutinizing stare, mentally beating himself up for agreeing with the manipulative beast. He had no way of knowing for sure, but there was that tiny glint of hope that swelled in his belly that his beloved may not have died as he had sworn to himself that he had seen with his own eyes. But, if he were alive, the question remained: why? Bait? Torment? These things were highly reasonable theories, and having nothing else to really live for beyond this point, it was a shot the man would have to take. He was first and foremost a sharpshooter, so a shot in the dark couldn’t be that hard, right?
“I’ll ‘ave to take yer word for it.”
“I ‘ave told you before; you have no real choice in the matter.”
“Fine, fine, I don’t,” the Sniper grumbled, “So, what, yer just gonna take my life for his? If so, quit wastin’ yer time and just kill me already.”
“Ah-ah-ah!” the creature shook his finger in the taller man’s face, tapping it to the other’s lips. “Why does everyone assume we only want to drink their blood? I said I was insatiable, not starving for a meal.” He leaned into the other man’s face, and that demonic grin was once again upon his pale face. “So, hunter, satiate me.”
All of the wrinkles in the Sniper’s face ironed out as the meaning behind the vampire’s words dawned on him. To the vampire, that expression was better than any squirmy movement the hunter could have made. It was sheer and utter disbelief and defeat. It was perfection.
“No,” the Sniper said firmly as he recollected himself. “I won’t.”
“Oh?” the vampire answered, his voice dripping with mock-surprise. “Well, there are ways we can change this, no?”
He leaned back, fishing a plain, metal cigarette case from the inside of his jacket, and opened it. His lips pursed as he fiddled with it, and suddenly became shrouded in a cloud of smoke. It smelled like tobacco, and caused the Sniper to cough.
“Does this better suit your likings, bushman?” The Vampire’s voice had drastically changed, causing a knot to form in the pit of the Sniper’s stomach. Frantically, he swatted the air until the smoke had become nothing more than a faint addition to the already hazy room, and suddenly sitting in his lap was a perfect clone of his former lover. The creature left no detail ignored. Even the painfully accurate scent of the cologne that the Scout wore the day he was murdered was detected on the vampire’s skin. It was both sickening and alluring; a real shock to the Sniper’s system.
The undead monster leaned in dangerously close to the Sniper, casually throwing his arms over the other man. “Will you satiate me now, Snipes?”
“It can’t be,” the Sniper muttered, touching his hands to the other’s face.
“It can.” The illusion had a far more powerful impact than the vampire could have ever hoped, and as he leaned into the Sniper’s touch, he closed his eyes.
“No,” the hunter reaffirmed his position, pulling his hands from the vampire’s face as he pulled his mind from the hole it was falling in. “This is a lie.”
“Indeed, but you like it, don’t you?” The vampire scooted himself further up in the lap he occupied and ground their hips together. For a lifeless creature such as himself, it was a mundane feeling, but for the Sniper it was electrifying. Every nerve light up in his body, despite his brain crying out against it. The feeling combined with the imagery was simply too overpowering. “Oui, you do,” he confirmed. “Now, feed me.”
With a moment’s hesitation, the Sniper complied. He painfully reached his arms around the Frenchman’s now thin, athletic body and wriggled his fingers into his shirt. With a gentle tug, he pulled the vampire down, applying more pressure to the already stimulating grinding. He bit his tongue and screwed his eyes shut, but the vampire leaned in close to the Sniper’s ear and released a purposeful moan.
The Sniper tilted his head away as teeth began to tease his earlobe. Being at the mercy of his enemy didn’t mean getting pleasured, it just meant giving. That was it and nothing more. Unfortunately for him, the undead man now driving his pelvis into his own said otherwise. It left a sick taste in the back of the Sniper’s mouth, one that he tried to spit out as he passed his tongue between his drying lips.
“Allow me to help you with that,” the creature answered. He tilted the Sniper’s head up with a gloved finger and tickled the outskirts of his lips with his tongue, evoking the man to unconsciously part his lips further. His warm breath contrasted with the cold chill of the vampire’s flesh, inviting him deeper into the hunter’s mouth. He made it a point to explore every inch of the Sniper’s mouth, finding and hitting every sweet spot in a wild attempt to draw out the quiet sounds of fervor that he so longed to hear.
Even the taste of the vampire, although still cold, mimicked that of the Sniper’s former lover, sending him into a frenzy of conflicting emotions and desires. Against his better judgment, he snaked his hands up to the monster’s shoulders, letting his fingers discover all of the bumps in his spine along the way. When his hands stopped, he dug his fingers in little circles, drawing out blissful little moans and grunts. It was almost encouraging, causing the Sniper to unconsciously push away his unwanted partner’s face and lunge for the neck. Their bodies crashed together. Viciously, he raked his teeth across the vampire’s flesh to the point of pulling out bruises and threatening to break the skin. That was all the incentive the vampire needed to shake off his illusion and present his true form back to the Sniper, who barely noticed.
The most satisfying thing about the situation was that he didn’t even have to put the Sniper under a spell. The man simply fell into the motions of his own accord with nothing more than the encouragement of a tiny promise. He rolled his head back, exposing the entire length of his neck for the Sniper to ravish, as his hands dropped down to their waists as to undo the belts, buttons, and flies. His hands explored the contents of each respective pairs of pants, pulling out both forming erections so that the tips touched. Just that feeling alone was invigorating, causing the Sniper to pause his assault, lips pressed against icy, discoloring flesh. Before the living male could resume, he found himself burying his face into the vampire’s neck, choking on his voice as he did his best to contain himself.
The vampire was not as sensitive as the Sniper. His nerve endings were long dead and needed much more persuasion than a simple touch. He firmly grabbed both members in one hand, pressing them together and thrusting. It wasn’t quite enough to create a sensation until the Sniper began returning the gesture. His face was completely consumed in the vampire’s shoulder with his teeth cutting fresh holes in the pale skin.
It wasn’t good enough, though, and the vampire hissed through clenched teeth, leaving nothing to the imagination as he irritably snapped at the man beneath him. “I know this is overwhelming, but you seem to be forgetting why we are here. Satisfy me, not yourself.” The malice in his tone pulled the Sniper out of the sensation-filled world he had put himself in as a means of coping with the situation. The man groaned; both a reaction to the thrusting and an answer to the responsibility he now faced.
“I’m waiting,” the vampire said as he loosened his hand around their members and stood up. His tongue made a half circle around his mouth, and he made no effort to hold up his now sagging pants as they slid down his hips and over his thighs. The mere sight of the pale and impure skin of his now-exposed flesh was truly a sight to behold, even to a man whose hatred burned to the core by the very presence of the vile creature before him. It was beyond inviting, and the Sniper had not realized his gaze had been so lust-filled as he rose from his seat and tackled the dead being almost desperately. They smashed into the shower and were met with lukewarm water spilling atop them. It mattered not to the living being; with his defenses dropped, it took no difficulty in being charmed by the vampire’s sexual prowess and the constant splashing of the shower head at his back was merely an annoyance as his lips crashed into the other man’s hungrily. The vampire gave a muffled chuckle against the kiss, having been more delighted at the sensations now tearing through his dead being as he knew he had the hunter where he wanted him, cracked skull be damned.
His mind screamed with urgency, trying to find clarity and snap himself back to his senses, but the Sniper’s body betrayed him in ways he could not comprehend. He fought against his soaking-wet pants as they clung to his skin, giving the other man’s lips an aggravated nibble before the fabric was finally peeled away. Having no control of his being and no care of comfort for the bastard he now ravished, the living male thrust himself deep within the cold body and set about his business in giving the bastard exactly what he wanted as the creature writhed against the warmer flesh. He broke the kiss with a snarl, lips curling back and nose wrinkling up. Feral instincts took over. With one hand clawing the Frenchman’s leg and the other mercilessly pushing his head and face against the hard bath tub, the Sniper showed no signs of letting up.
“Oui, oui, that is more like it!” the vampire shouted as his body now reacted wonderfully against the intrusive member and the falsely-placed feeling of lust and desire from his living partner. He had attempted such carnal activity with many a living being, but no man or woman before the hunter had ever gave him such satisfaction as he was repeatedly slammed against the hard surface of the tub with the intensity of the hate and loss of self-control. He gripped his now-throbbing erection with a gloved hand and proceeded to jerk himself to the sloppy rhythm of the other male at his backside. He wanted the feeling and experience to last all through the night, but his animalistic instincts would not allow him the benefit of having a drawn-out session, and he began to tear at the living man’s back with his free hand; despite wearing gloves, his nails managed to rake through and raise welts and draw blood on the burning flesh. The Sniper could only give him the satisfaction of growling with pleasure or hate. By now, it was hard to tell, and the vampire could have given less of a damn at this time. His body gave an involuntary twitch, and the beast could not still the roar that escaped even if he wanted to as his backside was filled with a delicious warmth and he found his own erection spewing under the pressure.
The hunter fell upon the creature, panting and mumbling incoherently as the spell had begun to wear off. The dead man, having no breath to lose and none to catch, merely pushed the Sniper to the side and was in his pants before the other man had noticed. As the living male struggled to move his exhausted body and come to terms with the vile act he had just committed, the vampire was at the faucet, shutting off the now-cold water.
He leaned towards the Sniper’s ear, and with a chuckle, delivered his “gift”. “Your lover-boy remains of this world still, mon ami. Merci for your cooperation.”
And, with that, the bushman was alone.
He sat unmoving in the tub, one leg curled against him, the other draped over the edge. He didn’t even bother to adjust the crooked glasses still resting haphazardly on his nose. With the vampire gone, there was no way to answer all of the new questions that rose up. It was, perhaps, even more devastating than losing his lover to begin with. In that moment, he decided to shift his focus from hunting down the Frenchman to finding his Scout. Some things were just more important.