Blood stained teeth glint in the too bright moonlight. Screams echo through the dense forest, bouncing off the trunks of maples and oaks before fading out into the quiet of the night. Bodies fall in tangled heaps as the unfair fight rages on. And th...
Frank hated the act of drinking human blood, absolutely despised it. He hated the musty smell that filled his nostrils, the metallic taste coating his tongue, the feeling of rubbery flesh between his teeth. But, as much as he detested the experience of taking blood, he had to admit that he was enamored by the sudden burst of energy he felt when the thick red fluid found its way into his body.
He had never been in such dire need of the life-sustaining substance before, never quite this desperate to quench the burning thirst that resided in the back of his throat. It would have been easy to lose himself in the man he was feeding on, to simply refuse to pull away from him until he was drained dry. It would have been easy, except for his uncanny resemblance to Frank's long dead love. Frank had watched those hazel eyes turn cloudy and lifeless once before, he refused to do it again.
It took all of his self control to pull away from the warm flesh that was feeding him. He was gasping for air when he laid back against the hard surface of the tabletop, the rush of vitality making his head spin. Frank couldn't hold his eyes open anymore. He heard the sound of a chair toppling over accompanied by the scrambling of feet. Voices followed, but they were garbled and seemed so far away.
Frank wouldn't die. The blood he had reluctantly taken in had assured that, but his wounds still left him groggy and weak. He couldn't fight it anymore. His body was owed a debt of rest and there was nothing his mind could do to stop it from collecting. The twinkling crystals of the chandelier above him were the last thing Frank saw before his eyes slipped shut, plummeting him into a dark, dreamless, abyss.
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He had to get away. Away from the bright lights of the dining room, away from the unblinking eyes of Mikey and Pete, and most of all away from the feeling of another man's lips pressed to his skin. The feeling of Frank's icy lips sucking at his flesh lingered with him as he pushed away from the table, breaking into a sprint as he fled to the safety of his basement bedroom. The whole experience had brought forward a flood of feelings that Gerard had spent years trying to suppress. He felt cold and numb, used. Yet, beneath all of the negative emotion there stirred something else. Something that felt like want and desire.
It was too much, all of it. The attack, the conflicting emotions, the fact that just above his head there was a half dead undead being laying across his mother's mahogany table. Gerard was spinning out. He scrambled to the far corner of the room, sinking to the floor between the wall and his desk. Gerard tangled his fingers in his vibrant knotted hair, tugging at it harshly as tears began to swim in his tired eyes. He drew his knees up towards his chest, trying to fold in on himself as much as possible as he awaited the inevitable.
Panic attacks had become a common occurrence for Gerard, and though he now knew what to expect, they still left him feeling as if the world was rapidly crumbling around him. A choked sob left him as his breaths became short and fast. Mikey came stumbling down the stairs soon after the attack had begun. Cautiously, he crouched in front of his brother.
"Gee, shhhh, it's okay. You have to breathe, remember. Just breathe." Mikey said in a soft, soothing tone.
Gerard was too far gone for his lanky brother to pull him back now. He could barely register the blond's presence over the sound of himself hyperventilating. Mikey reluctantly left him then, running back up the stairs to their mother's room to get the one thing that would end Gerard's suffering. He knew the older boy would hate it, but an attack this bad called for extreme measures. Upstairs, in the master bathroom, Mikey unlocked the medicine cabinet with the small silver key he kept with him at all times. He withdrew a fresh syringe and a vial of clear liquid, slowly drawing up the correct dosage for his brother. With the needle capped he made his way past a confused Pete and back down the stairs.
Gerard hated needles. He had once managed to hide from his pediatrician for two hours just to avoid his annual flu shot, an event that was followed by another half hour of trying to squirm away from the nurses who restrained him. His trepidation had not lessened in the years since, if anything, they had gotten worse.
At the most inopportune time, Gerard raised his head slightly, the capped needle falling in his direct line of sight. Even more fear and anxiety flooded his already overwhelmed system. A broken scream ripped from his throat as he drew further back against the wall. Gerard's arms flailed, his legs struck out, but Mikey was used to his protests by now. In his agitated state, he was no match for his much faster younger brother. Mikey uncapped the syringe with his teeth before plunging the silver needle into the struggling red head's bicep.
The effects of the tranquilizer were almost instantaneous. Gerard quickly relaxed into his brother's arms, his breathing gradually returning to normal. Mikey hoisted his brother up into his unmade single bed.
"I'm sorry Gee. I'm sure you'll forgive me when you come to." He sighed.
The younger boy pulled the blankets up under Gerard's chin, gently patting down his hair before quietly exiting the room.
