Just as the delicate fingers moved towards the hair, they were slapped away. Gregory looked at Ian with the pain of rejection in his round eyes. As the sire’s red lips parted, he filled his lungs with un-needed air and blew on the childe’s neck. The air was cold and Ian’s dead heart trembled with disgust.
"No," Ian said softly. Laden with disgust, the words slipped from his mouth weakly.
"You were great last night," Gregory susurated, his mouth touching the younger Vampire’s earlobe, the tongue a whip of lust, slashing the flesh. "You were beautiful." His voice was throaty, passion taking control of him, the feeling an expensive and costly drug. Sliding closer on the leather couch, he gently took the guitar in Ian’s hands away.
Ian watched as the guitar was slowly pulled away, his fingers languid, his mouth unable to protest. When the guitar was delicatly placed on the floor, Gregory stared up at Ian, his master peice. His eyes were filled with unrequitted love and the desire there seemed to ooze across his handsome face, spoiling his cherubic smile, wetting it with his carnal intentions. Again, Gregory lifted his hand and ran them towards the chaotic hair. This time they met no barrier and caressed the mane, the touch throwing him into a stirring calenture, his freezing body now calescent.
Torment. A line drawn and crossed. With all his will Ian swallowed his own dark emotions like a pill, choking on them. Heknew he wanted to scream, but the violation continued, the marionette mastering the strings of the puppet with each passing second. In the cavity of his morals Ian could feel the molding and it’s sickly effects. Beaten, he was passive at first, not responding to the osculation. The kiss was like a poison fruit, the touch on his sanity like water warping wood. Soon enough, Ian was reactive, unable to fight at all.
Hands pressed against his chest, lowering him to the couch. Gregory kneeled above him, the feelings he unnaturally inflicted upon his child aberrant. Tediously, he undid the botton to his sleeve. The eyes down he used to look down at Ian were glowing. Almost mad, Ian couldn’t decifer if they were pits that could barely hold down sadistic emotions, or truly caring.
The wrist was being lowered. There was no escape. Skin so close, so tempting, just a taste away. Ian could have turned away, but he would have been shattered. Instead he chose to be broken aprt slowly. His will capsized as his fangs extended…
His eyes bled purple that night.