Bad Blood

[mordacita]

Characters: Rafa and Kavinsky
Summary: Rafa makes a vampire out of Kavinsky.
Date(s): 19 August (evening)
Warnings/Notes: Blood, vampire biting/turning, bad language, sexual themes. Kavinsky in general. Proceed with caution!

Rafa waits until the sun dips behind the trees. He slides his sunglasses from his face and heads out, his path set. This has been coming for months; for years, even centuries, as far as he is concerned, but for months from Kavinsky's point of view. Rafa's blood feels hot with anticipation, with the knowledge of what he's about to do. He has been thinking of Kavinsky has his fledgling for quite some time, but until tonight, that has only been a name.

Now he will make it real.

He arrives in silence, as the evening darkens behind him. He doesn't knock at any door, but climbs the building to stop at Kavinsky's window. His tap of the glass should be expected; they'd planned this night, and this time. If anything, Rafa is slightly early.

Unusually for him, he carries a bag. Inside is a change of clothes, and several bottles of blood from the machine Kavinsky had given him. There's no better test for it than this; Kavinsky will need a lot of blood tonight, and all things being fair, Rafa will too. The clothes he's wearing are notably plain and loose on him, and in paler colours than he likes; he doesn't expect them to be wearable for much longer. His hair is pulled back for convenience. Perching comfortably at the window, he waits to be granted entry.

Comments

[pillz]

[kavinsky doesn't mind at first. he doesn't usually mind kissing hot dudes! he also doesn't usually mind being bitten by vampires, although that's a somewhat more recent development. he doesn't mind the beach, he doesn't mind pain mixed with pleasure; he's always liked the night, the blue shade of darkness, the dim glint of the moon. maybe he should have learned to be afraid of it, at some point during his melodramatic youth, but fear was so omnipresent in his life, irrespective of time of day, that darkness didn't differentiate at all between danger and not.

his sleep cycle was pretty fucked. not as fucked as the nightmares he'd bring to life.

but he'd never dreamed of death itself, in part because his mortal imagination couldn't conceive of it. dying, sure. killing himself, the sweet promise of nothing. this is different. how cold his fingers suddenly feel, the sudden pang of panic in his chest, which has nothing to do with distrust of rafaello. it's pure biology, the neurochemistry of fight or flight. his fingers spasm, feet kicking through the sand involuntary. coarse grains hit rafa's arms, but the struggle is weak at best. certainly nothing that vampire strength and loving conviction can't handle.]

R--af.

[mordacita]

[ Rafa's arms are a vice. Lightweight and small as he is, he's stronger than any human could be, even at their full strength, and Kavinsky has been weakened considerably. He keeps him still, and ignores the hands scrabbling at his arms and the feet kicking up a fuss in the sand.

His lips detach, and he looks at the boy in his arms. If he waited, Kavinsky would die now. He'll feel it tugging at him; the dark and the cold, pulling him down. ]

It will be all right. Trust me.

[ He touches his fingers to Kavinsky's cheek. Then he sinks his fangs into his own wrist, pulling so that it creates a tear. Cradling Kavinsky's head, he brings the wound to his lips. The moment he tastes Rafa's blood, his body will find a new instinct, and a new hunger. ]

Drink it all. Don't stop, until there is no more to take. Quickly now.

[pillz]

[kavinsky feels weak. not in the emotional, sunken, fucked up soul-broken way that he remembers feeling in life, the first time he died, all of the other times when he wanted to. that weakness had been quailing and lividly hot, the toxic womb from which he birthed evil dragons, in a truer sense than most of the mom jokes he's ever made about rafaello. he'd been so afraid. he'd given into that fear.

but this goes deeper somehow, is worse, because he doesn't want to give him but the uncertainty grips him if he can escape it. spines of freezing cold in the core of him, his fingers stupid, his tongue thick and furred like a dead maggot that's beginning to turn. his eyes keep closing, and he barely feels rafa's hands on his face. but the blood is familiar to him— the old pull of addiction, combined with the sluggish twitch of panic.

he seals his lips over the wound and begins to suck. thee's some shitty stupid sex metaphor in here somewhere, but for once kavinsky isn't thinking of it. he only wants to live. badly, more intensely, than he ever has before in his life.]

[mordacita]

[ Rafa's arms wrap tightly around Kavinsky, holding him in place until the exchange takes hold. His new fledgling will quickly find his strength returning, and growing as he drinks from Rafa. The more he drinks, the stronger he'll get; he'll feel a new kind of energy surging through his limbs. It's not exactly heat – it's almost electric, as though he's an empty battery charging in a socket. The cold in his limbs will never go away, though human bodies will bring temporary warmth, and human blood even more so. But the cold will stop mattering. It won't feel like death anymore, and any sense of numbness will disappear.

For Rafa, the opposite feeling occurs. He loses energy as quickly as Kavinsky gains it. The strength leaves his limbs, and soon he will no longer be holding Kavinsky. Kavinsky will be holding him instead, and it will be up to his new fledgling to keep this process going, to keep them locked together and draw what he needs from Rafa's weakening body.

This is why Rafa turns people rarely. The act leaves him vulnerable and weak, while the new fledgling becomes stronger than they have ever been. It's a dangerous thing to do, requiring trust between both of them. His head sags onto Kavinsky's shoulder, and his fingers lose their grip, his hands falling away.

Once Rafa is drained of blood, Kavinsky will feel the change start to take hold in his body. New colours and sharpness will explode into his vision. His teeth will sharpen and lengthen, thirst will start in his throat, and his heart will beat its last. That's the final thing to happen, the last gasp of his body trying to hold to its humanity. But he will be strong, and he will be a vampire at last. How long it takes varies with each person, but it won't take long. There's no turning back now. ]

eeeeeeeeeee the motherland (some pun intended)

[pillz]

[the transition of strength would be strange for another to watch, like seeing an amoeba enclose its psuedopods around an organism its equal size, or a leach drain a plastic bag of blood. rafaello begins to droop, almost deflate, falling against his fledgling, and kavinsky tucks his arms in close and begins to rise in equal proportion. sitting upright, his spiky head bent over the brown length of the vampire's neck.

his heartbeat doesn't quicken. maybe it never will again. but everything else about him does, a wellness that goes beyond sweet pills and strong coffee, filling his fingers and his muscles with a white-bright jump and skitter that he contains, somehow, without fidgeting at all. he doesn't notice the moment he stops needing to breathe. but he notices after long minutes that he no longer needs to come up for air, through the bloody draft he's sucking out of rafaello's throat.]

Oh shit.

[the gasp is aesthetic, more than anything. respiration is a trick. even the noise of his own breath, chambered inside his lungs, is bizarrely loud. but it tastes like triumph. and it speaks to the depth of his gratitude, uncharacteristic but true, that rafa is the next thing his eyes find in the dark.] Oh shit. Raf. Yo. D'Este. Mom? [tony fingers gather the tip of rafa's chin, rocking his head so that kavinsky can try to look into his eyes.]

[mordacita]

[ Rafa's head lifts only when it's lifted. His eyes are half-closed, but he makes the effort to flick them open, and then he smiles at his new fledgling. His hand moves to stroke his jaw, and he's aware of Kavinsky's skin now feeling no warmer than his own. ]

There you are.

[ Rafa laughs, and lets his head drop back to Kavinsky's shoulder. ]

I will live. I need blood, and quickly. And I expect you would like that, no? You would like to hunt?

[ His eyes turn to the forest behind them, at the edge of the beach. ]

It is full of what we need. Humans taste better, but...we use what we have.

[pillz]

[and this time

for the first time, if perhaps not the last, it's kavinsky who stands up. and kavinsky who bears his sire in his arms, light as a feather, courteous and gentle, the power of a reborn predator rolling easy through his skinny limbs. a prince and his fainting prize. it'd be an easy mistake to make, glimpsing them in the dark from far away over the pearlescent strip of beach.

he'd like to hunt. but he stoops his head first. his hair, undone by wind and velocity, brushes rafa's forehead. he kisses the vampire on the mouth, like some absurd movie filmed under starlight.]

Hey, mom, [he says, in a rare stroke of insight.] It's your turn now. It's your turn with what you'd like and anything you need.

[and it's rare too. that he says it and means it. that he's honest.]