By Quon and Tom
5.
The phone dangled from the call box as Carlos gazed across the street at
Paul’s apartment. Tinny, his friend’s voice whispered ‘murderer, murderer’: the
vocal confirmation of a thousand secret thoughts.
Murderer. Pervert. Animal. Vampire. A tear stroked his cheek and he
pictured Paul: disgusted, scared, bleeding. Yes, that was the worst terror of all that
this curse would lead him to hurt the very person he would lay down his life to
protect. Paul, Paul, Paul: his daytime mind called him friend. His nighttime brain,
his vampiric desire, regarded Paul with an unholy hunger to touch, to taste, to eat
and drink.
Carlos hugged his own body as he walked, cold and lonely. “Paul,” he
sobbed as the ache began in his jaw. He tried to repress it, tried so hard, but it was
impossible. The tip of his tongue confirmed the growing sharpness of his teeth. His
senses of taste and scent heightened. His fears began to subside as his legs walked
on with an animal grace, his eyes narrowing to take in the gloomy shapes far away
down the street. Rent boys, jaded and used and cynical, clustered together while
waiting for trade. His eyes caught a glimmer of blond off to one side.
He said his name was Will, pulling the sweater to his chin to keep out the
cold. He was new to this, his smooth lips spelling profanities and agreeing prices as
his eyes wished for a home far, far away. Somewhere deep inside, Carlos wished it
didn’t have to be this way. He was hungry though, and in the right light the kid
looked enough like Paul to sate him for another few days. Wrapping a long dark arm
around the boy, he led the way towards a hotel with a flickering neon sign. It was
time to feed again.
The taste of blood brought Carlos to his senses once more. There was so
much crimson flowing in these young veins, dilated and fluttering with pleasure and
panic, ready to give up everything.
Carlos made himself stop. No! Don’t kill him! He was starving, but he
forced himself to withdraw before he bit.
Only a little.
He wouldn’t feel anything. Carlos was not the most skilled at feeding, but he
was certainly an expert at fucking. The kid would be too ecstatic to notice the sting
of fangs beneath the fine line of his jaw, just above the carotid artery. He licked his
lips, slicked his tongue over the spot, bit lightly, then harder. Will writhed and
groaned against him, his voice so low and sweet and husky. It would feel like the
tiniest shaving cut.
Yolky crimson spilled into his mouth, and he suckled at the small puncture
gently, trying not to burst the vein. It pumped into his mouth and the kid shuddered
beneath him, gasping for breath. Will twisted beneath him, moaning as he came.
“Carlos?” Will’s voice came rough and faint. “Carlos, I…” his eyes rolled
back into his head and he went limp against Carlos, his breath shallow. Carlos
pulled himself away from the wound, which leaked bloody threads onto a spit-
slicked patch of flesh. The puncture was tiny, and Carlos was sure Will wouldn’t
notice.
He was still hungry, certainly, but this would hold him for a little while.
This way, he could avoid killing. He might have to feed every other night instead.
He didn’t care.
So Carlos curled himself around the boy’s cataleptic body, closed his eyes
against the first light of dawn coming through the curtains, and slept.