Author: KiyoshiTanaka PM
Marco is a vampire. And, as such, he needs food. The thing is, like a cat, Marco likes to play with his food... m/m, slash, etc, etc more warnings/disclaimers inside. Prequel to 'My Pet.'Rated: Fiction M - English - Supernatural/Horror - Words: 1,274 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 3 - Published: 08-30-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2947934
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
So, this is the prequel to 'My Pet.' This is merely a way to show you what Marco's character really is. His sadism, really. I guess that's really all. It's much shorter than 'My Pet,' but it's definitely the same Marco… who knows how long before he met Bryce?
Warnings: Slash or m/m or yaoi or whatever you want to call it. Rape (sort of… the line between 'rape' and 'consensual' seems to be quite blurry with vampires…). Fairly explicit sexual content (not as bad as some of the stuff on the site, but bad enough). It's rated M for a reason people.
If you have a problem with any of the above, just click the little arrow at the top, left hand corner of your screen. No offense will be taken, I swear.
In addition, I don't really like Marco, nor do I approve of anything he does. I simply feel that a good author should be able to write a vast variety of characters, so Marco is more or less an experiment. I have never written a story with a focus on the 'bad guy.' I needed to teach myself what it was like to write a 'bad guy.' And so Marco was born.
Well, feel free to read. And this one was only placed in romance because it's the prequel to 'My Pet.' There is no reason on earth I would consider this one romance if it stood alone…—KG64
He smelled of alcohol as he led me back to his apartment. But that was weak. Weak when compared to the scent of his blood, pulsing through his body. I could almost taste it already. Delicious. Alcohol doesn't affect my kind the way it affects humans, but we do enjoy it. It makes our lives easier. Humans get stupid when they've had too much to drink. And it's not as though we don't get drunk. We do. We get very drunk on the sweet, metallic taste of blood.
He locked the door. Perfect. We were alone, and there was nothing he could do to stop me. I pressed my lips to his, almost violently. He moaned and kissed back, too drunk to notice how cold I was. Of course, it was often more fun when they realized that I was cold as the grave, leeching the heat out of every surface. They panicked. But it was fun this way too.
I pushed him into the bedroom and quite literally threw him onto the bed. I quickly stripped him of his clothing, and began kissing him again. I nibbled on his bottom lip, my incisors breaking through to give me a sample of what I would have in a very short time. Delicious. He didn't even notice. And then I removed my clothing. I was ready, but it was more fun to toy with them. To make them wait. To make them see what they had gotten themselves into.
So rather than going all the way, I started by jamming a single finger into his tight, hot opening. He cried out, not expecting it. "Lube," he managed to gasp. "Lube, in the drawer. Hurts less."
"Oh," I said, mimicking surprise. "But I want it to hurt. I want you to appreciate the pain."
I groped around the moist space with the single finger, and he groaned. But it wasn't in pleasure. Which pleased me. So I promptly pulled my finger out. Almost immediately he began to relax. I laughed to myself. Foolish, to relax at all, this close to so dangerous a predator. And then I replaced the one finger with two, scissoring them apart forcefully. He let out a shout of pain.
I grinned down at him, pulling my fingers out. He stayed tensed up, knowing I had no intention of stopping. Perfect. Better with it tight. Better for me at least. I licked my fingers clean, and I could only see a very slight amount of disgust in his eyes. The rest of it was drowned by his terror. And then I positioned myself over him. "N-no," he stuttered. "Pl-please…"
"But you wanted this," I reminded him.
"No," he whispered, clamping his eyes shut, as though that would protect him. "No, I didn't. Not this. Stop."
"Oh, but I can't," I answered. "Don't you understand? You invited me into your home, into your bedroom, into your bed… into you. You can't take that invitation back. It would be rude." And with that, I slammed myself into him.
He screamed. Ah, the sound of human screams. There is nothing quite like it. Of course, it never seems to help them, since it just excites me. As always, his scream just encouraged me to pull out and force myself back into the unbelievably tight space. It was exhilarating. His shrieks continued as I fucked him hard and fast, going deeper than his human body could handle perhaps. As I fucked him, I stroked his cock and it hardened, in spite of how much he hated what was happening. I grinned, and forced myself in deeper. "Stop," he yelled. "Please!"
I ignored him, fucking him until I hit my climax. That's one of the things I appreciated about being what I was; even as I felt the orgasm coming, even as I rode it out, I had no seed to spill. That would have ruined the taste.
When I was coming down from the high, I shoved my length into him, hard, harder than I had at any time during the night, farther up into the space than should have been physically possibly for him. It quite likely would have left some internal damage, but that was the least of his worries. I wasn't done with him yet. But as I did that, he let out a bloodcurdling screech. Beautiful. Music to my ears.
I pulled out, and he was panting, lying limp on the bed. I lifted his legs up and draped them over my shoulders. "Wh-what are you doing?" he whispered. He flinched when my tongue flicked out to lick the opening. "What are you doing?" he repeated, the horror in his voice evident.
"There is no point in letting this precious lifeblood go to waste, now is there?" I inquired, licking the blood away as it trickled down the inside of his thighs. And this wasn't even the best. I shivered in anticipation, but restrained myself, drinking the blood from between his legs until the flow stopped.
Then I crawled over the top of him, pinning him to the bed. Not that it was all that difficult, weak as he was, frightened as he was. I looked down at him. "You do know who I am, don't you?" I asked.
"M-Marco," he gasped. "You—you said your name w-was Marco."
I nodded. "Very good. Do you love me, Kenneth? Tell me you love me." I began kissing the fragile skin on his neck, just above the pulse point that was surging with blood in his terror.
"I—I love you, Marco," he whispered, clinging to the one last hope he had to survive.
Futile, pointless hope. "Good," I hissed, and sank my fangs into his neck, lapping up the blood as quickly as it came. He didn't even try to fight which disappointed me a bit. It was more fun when they put up a fight. I drank until there was nothing left and he was merely a pale empty shell.