Work Text:
The air was dark and damp by the abandoned mausoleum, the lake creating a thick wall of fog. It seemed to separate the three of them from the outside world. Pyro, Scott, and Owen had went into the forest together, just a few companionable acquaintances out looking for food.
Oh, how that went out the window fast. At least for Mr. Pyro Scythe.
Owen and Scott had asked Pyro to step back for a second, and he did, without any further questions. The two leaned over the beacon, speaking in hushed whispers. Maybe he should’ve asked, he was sure getting that impression. They both looked at him simultaneously and a chill shot down his spine. For what reason, he wasn’t quite sure himself.
“Uh, what’s going on here?” Pyro asked, but was promptly ignored. Something about a goldsmith? He repeated himself, clearing his throat. “What’s up..?”
Scott hummed, standing upright to look at him. “Hm?” He grinned.
“Agh, he’s been around here longer– I suppose he takes claim.” Owen gripes, sounding thoroughly exasperated as he looks toward Pyro as well.
“I was here first.” Scott muses in satisfaction. “I call dibs.”
Owen sighs, leaning up against the wall of the mausoleum, almost defeatedly. “Alright..”
“First dibs on… on the beacon?” Pyro questioned with an upward quirk of his brow. The consecration of beacons was a team effort, they all knew that. Were they really making some stupid competition of it?
The two chuckled, overlapping in various disagreements. “No! Not the beacon.” Owen shook his head. “You’re not gonna– You’re not going to make this difficult, are you?”
Pyro looked between the two, still equally as perplexed. “...What’s up?”
The pair quickly turned back to each other, looking like they knew something he didn’t. For a scholarly man like himself, he sure felt a little stupid.
Then Scott grinned. Too sweet, too warm, far too sharp. And his blood ran cold. “I get first dibs on you, silly.”
“On me?” Pyro’s eyes shifted nervously. Just what was he insinuating here? “What do you mean, what’re you talking about?”
The noble nodded. “Yeah!” He said brightly, folding his hands behind his back.
Before he could think that over, the lumberjack glided over to him, wrapping his arms around Pyro’s shoulders, breathing down his neck. “Can I take, like, just a bit?” He whispered almost submissively to Scott.
And he just sighed, taking a few steps closer, waving his hand dismissively like it was an inconvenience to him. “Sure, fine.”
Owen inhaled deeply into the nape of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head sideways as he held him from behind. He swiftly licked a hungry, reverent stripe up the side of his neck, to which Pyro shuddered, before sinking his fangs into the man’s skin.
He gasped, frozen in fear as Owen took long, greedy gulps of his blood. It stung. It stung like nothing he’s ever experienced before. Nothing he would ever experience again, he thought, nor that he would hope to.
The lumberjack— well, vampire— pulled away, wiping his bloodied lips with a soft “thank you”.
“I-I don’t feel too good...” And Pyro stumbled back, falling into the grass with a dizzied thud. “You… You just drained me!” He says in shock, pressing two fingers to the wound to see if it was really bleeding. It was. Blood spilled down his shoulder and onto his matte black suit. It pulsed with pain rhythmically.
Owen crossed his arms, stepping back now. “Well, I prefer the term ‘feeding’.” His eyes looked a lot brighter than they did earlier. If only Pyro could be as cheerful with the throbbing pain in his neck. “God, I was so hungry. You can take whatever’s left, unless you need my help.”
Pyro scrambled to regain his footing, stumbling in the muddied soil of the small island. “I-I’ve gotta go—”
A hand held him back by the collar of his shirt, making him slip and fall onto his back in the wilted grass. “No, there’s nowhere to go, you don’t need to worry.” Scott smiled from above him, so very sweetly.
“Stand.” The noble ordered simply, almost naturally. And what else could Pyro do but obey? He had no chance of escaping, not from an island, not from the both of them.
Pyro stood on shaky legs and Scott held onto his arms, gently guiding him so they’ll face.
“There…” The noble sighed softly at his lack of struggle. “Isn’t that better? Did you get it all out of your system? Good.” Pyro was pulled into Scott’s chest in a manner he found awkward, if not more demeaning. Scott definitely didn’t have such feelings.
A hand gently stroked at Pyro’s hair, which might’ve been scarier than if he were to just kill him. Scott had a way of playing with his food, I suppose.
He scolded himself for referring to himself as food. No, he was a person. Though maybe not for much longer.
With a delicate movement of his wrist, the noble exposed his neck, pushing his hair aside. He was vulnerable. No, utterly helpless. Scott's other hand wrapped around his waist like a lover’s might while dancing. In any other scenario he might’ve…
Before he could dwell on such feelings, the vampire’s lip grazed his ear and he whispered with a grin, “Don’t scream.”
Pyro swallowed thickly. He wouldn’t bother. However cliche, this game of cat and mouse Scott loved so much would only ever end one way. With the mouse limp in his jaws and a satisfied grin across his face.
“I hate humans,” Scott punctuated with a soft kiss to his neck, the wound Owen inflicted still slowly dripping red. “But you won’t be human much longer.”
With another burning singe of pain, it was Scott’s turn to feast. Just above his previous wound, larger, sharper teeth dug its way into his flesh. And he didn’t scream. He bit his lip until that was bleeding as well, but he didn’t make a sound.
It was strange having something to compare this to. Owen was rough, careless with him. He was only a meal, after all, practically presented to him on a silver platter. But Scott was gentle. At least as gentle as a murderous vampire could get. He found himself more complacent than he should be with his life in peril.
For however long he spaced out for, he returned to reality to find his vision darkening. A black, hazy vignette around the corners of his eyes. But even still, he didn’t scream. The pain had started to feel numb now.
Despite his silence, Scott shushed him, pulling back to admire the cloudy look in his eyes. He loved it. He loved making humans suffer. And for what purpose? Himself. It was always for his own pleasure. Whatever he desired, it was already his to begin with.
Pyro felt his legs give out and his heart slow, the noble’s grip loosening to let him fall into a heap on the dead, dewy earth. It was certainly a sight, Scott standing tall above him, towering above with a smile as his face dripped with blood.
He might’ve thought it beautiful, could he even have been able to think anymore.
Scott lowered himself, though remaining just as regal, and sat on his knees. Even covered in dirt, in mud, he had a powerful presence. Pyro was scooped up in his arms and settled limply on his lap, being pet and consoled like a frightened dog.
He heard Owen’s voice and then Scott’s voice in response, but nothing seemed to make any sense. It was like being underwater, any meaning lost beneath the surface.
Pyro saw over Scott’s shoulder. Past Owen’s silhouette, past the old mausoleum, and to the sky. It was beautiful. Like those watercolour paintings at the academy, he thought. Fiery oranges bleeding into deep purples, Pyro bleeding into Scott. As all beautiful things do, he bled.
He wasn’t scared as he closed his eyes. He couldn’t be scared when all he could feel was peace. A quiet, satisfied peace.
He had come here to learn, and he had. And he will.
Pyro had a feeling this wouldn’t be his last time walking the earth.
Despite it all, even still, he had the same blind trust in Scott. And this time, in this second chance at life he knew he was getting, that Scott was giving to him?
Things wouldn’t be so bad, would they? Not alone. Not with Scott.