Aesvic Vampire Au

VampireAesvic au
V!Aesop x H!Victor

Vampire turning..

Fangs are bared, bared and ready and poised as a weapon. The embalmers gaze flits to bare skin, skin exposed above the hem of a torn collar, the hunger almost impossible to suppress. Craving, primal craving, the desperation and bottomless hunger of yearning for something, no- someone to be near. The postman, this postman- no, Mr.Grantz- no, Victor Grantz. His Victor Grantz. His dearest and beloved who would now eternally be his. Selfish and foolish, little rational residing within Aesops mind. All he was aware of in this present moment was that he needed to make Victor Grantz be his for all of eternity. 

Cradling the mans lean form, he embraces the others trembling frame. Warm, so very warm, warm and pulsing with life, mouth watering, craving again. Victor was weak against him, leaning into him accepting (?) the close proximity. Not close enough- surprisingly, the postman didn't seem afraid. Despite Aesop being unable to suppress the more prevailing vampire traits, the obvious fangs; rather than withdrawing, Victor raised a shaky hand to Aesops head, pulling him closer- dear god-

And all restraint broke. 

Fangs pierced sun kissed skin, breaching the fragile barrier, digging deep in search for the vein located between the collarbone and that junction of the neck- yes, that special crook. Sinking deeper, a sigh of relief leaving him as he savored the sweet taste which flooded his senses as well as his mouth. It was overwhelming-

Like a breath of autumn, something akin to a warm and soothing drink offered to you on a breezy evening, topped with cream and just enough sugar to mask any underlying bitterness. The smell of ink which was imprinted into the postmans skin also grew stronger, as well as that of freshly burnt paper and the ashes from a warm and gentle smile. It was intoxicating- something which he could easily become addicted to. 

Drinking, feeling the other man grow ever weaker- how did they even get to this situation ? Ah, right. His postman had come earlier.. instead of for work, to deliver a personal letter to the embalmer himself. Guiding the other by holding his hands (hands laced with papercuts, a fascinating map of injuries) and leading him down to the cold and dark morgue. After reading the letter, no, the confession. Yes, a confession.. this desire had ignited within him and now would not be subdued. The confession was.. his silent friend, his beloved silent companion had passed a note entailing how he was aware of Aesops situation for some time but did not view him as any less for it and would still accompany him regardless.  

Nothing more had to be said (it was unlikely Victor would speak anyways) a mutual agreement came to be. 

Drinking deeper, a hand reaches to tangle in Victors hair, hearing a pained and quiet whimper escaping the other. Mm.. he had forgotten that the bite tends to offer a sort of euphoric feeling to those it is inflicted upon, even as they grew fainter due to the quantity drunk. . More insistent, more forceful, drinking, draining his lifeforce. Feeling Victor become progressively more limp, the embalmer finally withdrew. Gently licking the wound, lapping up the last few droplets, looking adoringly at the gaping wound he had left in his would be lovers neck. Peppering kisses along the pale exterior, hearing the pained and ragged breaths from the other who was struggling to remain conscious. 

Blood loss was a strange thing.

Prying Victor slightly away from his chest, Aesop held his own pale wrist to his lips, removing gloves with care before sinking teeth into his own wrist and drawing blood. Holding it to Victors lips, seeing how confusion swept across clouded and dazed eyes. How beautiful his eventual lover was. Pooling a little of the crimson liquid into his lips, pressing a kiss against the others forehead and whispering sweet soothing's to him. Becoming more insistent with the matter of getting the other to drink him own before he fully lost consciousness- no, that absolutely could not happen, if it did occur, he feared his beloved would never awake again.

Leaning in more, holding him closer, lips brushing his ear and earning a shiver as he spoke as gently as possible,

"Let me kiss your bruised lips and paint the blood so delicately smeared upon it to give life to the lush texture; the once warm skin now so cold, so cold and pale against the moonlight, a stark contrast to the life which shone through you. Be not afraid my love, there is no need to hold fear in your heart anymore. Taste me, indulge in me as I have openly indulged in you. Return the favour to what I have blessed you in, reach out and drink. Drink the blood which spills from my veins and which paints the story of our new life together, one which you must accept willingly or not. Feel our bare skin pressed together, open your eyes and feel alive for once. This is not the end, this is the beginning- our eternal beginning."