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Jim liked clubs. He liked clubs on Halloween even more.
He liked them normally because they were their own kind of feeding frenzies, the smell of lust and sex and sweat and desperation in the air and god, the way he could hear the blood racing as soon as he went through the doors was heavenly. Sin itself. Hearts pounded, each beat clear to his ears over the music if he cared to listen. Everyone was just so alive, and too consumed with each other and lust to notice him, to care if someone disappeared from the dance floor with a dark haired man and never returned. Given the frenzy everyone was already in when he arrived, it took a minimal amount of work to coerce someone out with him, someone convinced that this would lead to another one night stand and not end with them left gasping in an alley somewhere with two absolutely perfect holes in their neck as Jim walked away, licking blood from his lips. It was a perfect system, and the easiest way for him to find victims in a day and age when there were eyes everywhere and every disappearance was investigated. It used to be so much easier than this. People used to disappear all the time, no muss, no fuss, nearly no danger of getting caught. For god’s sake, H.H. Holmes had killed dozens of women, easily covering his tracks because young women went to Chicago all the time to make their fortunes and simply disappeared. He was a legend in the vampire community, and he hadn’t even been a vampire.
Though Jim’s hunts were also made easier now by the fact that vampires were no longer seen as real. They were myths, silly legends that superstitious people had once believed in, and now they were no longer hunted actively, except by perhaps a few that knew of their existence. So Jim could slip about unnoticed, could hunt as he pleased, and even if he somehow left a victim alive, no one would ever believe them if they said they’d been attacked by a vampire. It was a beautiful system, and Jim made his visits to the clubs frequently, rotating which ones he went to to avoid suspicion. And he always made sure he went on Halloween.
Because on Halloween, oh, he could go as himself. Join the crowd of costumed people lost in a haze of lust and desire, dressed in his typically overdramatic costume, and everyone would think that his fangs were just hyper realistic prosthetics. Perfect. It was even easier to feed, then, people being drawn to him and flirtatiously offering their necks, not realizing the danger they were in. He’d pick the one with the best smelling blood and charm them out, and if anyone saw him feeding on them they’d assume it was just a nearly fetishistic thing based on the costume. God, humans were so stupid sometimes. He really didn’t feel bad about feeding on them. Natural selection and all that. It was almost boring, how easy it was. And he kept tasting the same sort of blood over and over again, hardly finding anyone who had a better than average taste. Then again, every vampire had their own preferences and his had a tendency to run towards the gourmet end of the spectrum. Some vampires actually liked the lowest quality, enjoyed tasting people who had abused their bodies, whose deaths were hardly a loss for the human race. The thought made Jim wrinkle his nose. No, blood was like wine. Each person’s blood had a different taste to it, different hints of certain flavors and certainly different qualities. The better the notes went together the better it tasted, but Jim had yet to find anything quite up to his standards. That all changed on one particular Halloween.
He’d been in the club for a while now and was already bored, finding the same insipid people as usual and the same barely appetizing scents of blood in the air, lounging at the bar as he started to resign himself to the thought of drinking the same thing he’d been drinking for years. But then he caught something, a scent so faint he had to pause and sniff the air, straightening up from the bar. Yes, there it was, he hadn’t imagined it; something deep and rich and full, a scent complex enough that he couldn’t even begin to separate and appreciate all the notes in it when he was this far away. It was the best thing he’d ever smelled, and he had to find the source, now. He stepped away from the bar, leaving his half-finished drink behind and beginning to sniff his way across the dance floor, ignoring anyone who tried to approach him because they absolutely could not compare to this scent, couldn’t even come close. He quickly grew frustrated, though; there were too many scents around, too many types of rushing blood and he kept losing his trail because this blood wasn’t rushing nearly as fast. Ah, so its owner wasn’t on the dance floor. He skirted the edges, growing increasingly frustrated with each minute and each person that separated him from the human he had to meet, had to claim, and that was odd because he’d never felt the urge to claim a human as his own before. For him it was always a one and done; charm them, fuck them if he felt like it, drain them and leave. This, though, this was different. He couldn’t have this just once. No, something, someone like this had to be treasured, had to be savored. They needed to be appreciated, slowly, repeatedly, continually over time. And probably fucked as well, judging by how quickly Jim was becoming aroused the closer he got to his target.
And then he saw him; a gorgeous little blonde who couldn’t have been more than 18, laughing while surrounded by a group of mates. Jim sidled close enough to hear their conversation, pretending to be scanning the dance floor for a partner.
“Look, I told you I just wanted to go to the pub,” the blonde was saying, a laugh in his voice.
“But it’s so much harder for you to get laid in a pub!” one of his mates was saying, grinning from ear to ear. “And considering the circumstances, you’ve got to go out with a bang, mate.”
The blonde shook his head but he was smiling. “Wankers,” he said almost affectionately, and another one of the men clapped him on the back, saying, “That’s the spirit! Now come on, you’re not going to get any if you’re not on the dance floor.”
They began pushing the blonde in the direction of the dance floor as he laughed. “I need some more drinks before I go on the dance floor!” he protested weakly, but then he was on and it seemed that despite his protests, he actually could dance. Well, Jim really had no idea if he was a good dancer or not because he was focused on the blonde’s hips, watching their fluid movements avidly, hungrily. God, what would it be like to drink from him while they were fucking? Ah, now Jim had a frustrated hard on and he was nearly salivating. Just what he needed. The good news was that the blonde’s friends were quickly becoming distracted by women on the floor, leaving the blonde on his own as he found some attractive girl to dance with. And ‘dance with’ actually meant grind against, and the sight of someone else getting the gift of those beautiful hips spurred Jim into jealous action. He managed to slip nearly unnoticed onto the dance floor and had his arm sliding around the blonde’s waist before he even noticed, pushing the girl away with his more powerful than human strength as he pulled the blonde back flush against him. God, this close to him the scent was heady, intoxicating, and Jim’s fangs would have instantly descended if they hadn’t already been out. He didn’t just want this blood, he needed it like humans needed oxygen. How on earth could he have fed on anything that didn’t smell as good as this? He was pulled out of the reverie the blood put him into as the blonde turned, slightly confused, as the girl instantly started dancing with someone else, and smiled almost apologetically when he saw Jim.
“Ah, sorry mate, I don’t swing that way,” he said.
“What’s your costume?” Jim asked in reply, smoothly bypassing the blonde’s statement. Whatever sexuality the man thought he was didn’t really matter, at this point.
The blonde’s brow furrowed in a way so adorable that it made Jim want to eat him whole. “Oh, right, Halloween,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile. “I don’t have one. And you’re a vampire?”
Jim bared his fangs willingly, and the other man let out an appreciative whistle. “Must have paid a fortune for those.” The smile he gave Jim was on the cusp of flirtation, though Jim suspected that that was more of a natural reaction than anything. This man seemed the type to flirt unconsciously with everyone and besides, Jim had a natural allure to him that aided him in entrancing victims. Vampires were predators, after all. “But, sorry, I still don’t swing that way,” the blonde was saying, and Jim instantly replied, “Then why are your hips moving in time with mine?”
The blonde looked down, seeming to realize for the first time that his hips were, in fact, moving in time with Jim’s, falling into the natural rhythm the other man had set. He coughed a bit, his face flushing, and then offered up the excuse, “Habit, I suppose.”
“Or,” Jim purred, sliding in to speak directly in John’s ear, “perhaps you don’t just swing in one direction.” He was amazed that he managed to get the words out at all, considering how infuriatingly close he was to the man’s neck. He could smell the blood rushing under the skin there, the same blood darkening his cheeks now, and god he could get high off of that scent alone. It was a testament to his will, to his self-control, that he didn’t just bite down on him right then and there. Because fuck was it tempting. The expanse of his neck was exposed, the blonde’s head turned slightly towards him as he did his best to see him, and he wondered if anyone would honestly notice one teeny tiny blonde disappearing from the dance floor. Well, his mates might. But he wanted him so badly…
“What’s your name, love?” he asked before the man could manage to splutter out another excuse.
“John,” the blonde replied, and Jim’s lips curved up into a smile that showed a hint of fang.
“Jim,” he replied. “If you don’t want to dance, maybe we can get a drink.” Though, really, he did want to dance, because he loved being in this rhythm with John, loved the fact that he could smell the beginnings of attraction and arousal in the other man, loved that he was the reason that presumably delicious blood was rushing. Oh, these feelings were dangerous.
It wouldn’t have mattered to him how John looked; the smell of his blood would outweigh any physical defects he had. But John was attractive, handsome, and cute in a way that made Jim want to go at him with his teeth. Yes, fucking and feeding at the same time sounded positively delightful. He could take him out of here, incapacitate him and then lock him away somewhere to keep him alive and slowly bleed him dry. He’d keep all of that wonderful blood for himself. Just for him. All of John could belong to him. He would take him apart slowly, make him writhe beautifully with lips and teeth and hands and tongue, marking every inch of that beautiful flesh as his until John begged him for some sort of relief, consummation. And Jim would give him all that and more, feeding on him as he filled him to create the most beautiful cocktail of blood and sex and desperation.
That would all have to be after the first feeding, though. After multiple feedings, in all likelihood, because there was no way he’d be able to have anything even resembling patience the first time. Or the second. Or the third. Actually, it might take several years before he could move slowly with John. The temptation was just too much to resist, the blood too good, the man too enticing. Alluring. Good god he wanted him so much it hurt. And his neck was so close and it would be so easy to just sink his fangs in and drink…
He didn’t hear John’s words the first time and had to ask, “I’m sorry?”
“I said I’m still very much straight but if you want to give me free drinks I’m not going to say no,” John repeated with a smile that indeed seemed to have tipped over the edge into flirtatiousness, a hint of amusement at Jim’s apparent distraction present. No, John was decidedly not straight. Not when Jim could smell the arousal swirling around him the more they danced. Bi, perhaps. Or maybe just too much of a coquette to care. Heteroflexible?
“Dancing or drinks?” Jim asked, making the question sound as innocent as he could.
John snorted. “Drinks, then we’ll see about more dancing.”
Reluctantly—though that wasn’t even close to strong enough to describe it because it felt like he was tearing out a piece of himself—Jim let go of John, but snagged his hand as the other man pulled away. He led them over to the bar, ignoring John’s protests about the hand-holding. What John wanted didn’t matter. Jim had to make sure everyone knew John was his. It was surprising, how pressing of a component this was at the moment. Usually, with victims, there was no need to mark them as his territory. After all, they usually only lasted one night and a good chunk of them were hardly worth the effort. But John…he hated the fact that John was different at the same time as it excited him. Because this made things so much more complicated.
“What’s your poison?” he asked, glad that at least the music by the bar was still loud enough that he had to lean in close to John, though perhaps he was a little closer than he had to be, his lips nearly brushing against the other man’s ear. He was rewarded for it, however, by the slight shiver that worked its way down John’s spine, though John straightened his posture immediately as if to make up for it.
“Ah, usually I just drink beer, nothing fancy,” he said, leaning slightly away from Jim, much to the vampire’s displeasure. He retaliated by sliding his hand over John’s hip, looping a finger through one of his belt loops to pull him closer. A combination of speed on his part and surprise on John’s made John slow to react, allowing Jim to pull him nearly flush against him.
“Not really my taste,” Jim said, keeping his index finger curled around John’s belt loop, the thumb of that hand brushing up under the edge of John’s t-shirt. It was just too much effort to try and keep his hands off of John. The other man was magnetizing, drawing his hands, eyes, attention, and interest whenever any of them wandered. Not that any of them were, at the moment. “Brave enough to try something new, Johnny boy?”
Surprisingly, John didn’t try to move the hand Jim had on his hip, fingertips toying with the skin near his waistband, and a look into his eyes confirmed why; the coquette had won out over whatever reservations the sweet blonde had, and Jim had to remind himself that this wasn’t a total victory yet. Maybe feeding him a few drinks and then slipping him out would be the best bet. John looked to be in good shape, and was young and had plenty of energy. Jim was hundreds of years old and had superhuman strength and speed, but he couldn’t afford to cause a scene. An opportunity like this might never come along again, so he had to take full advantage while he could.
Jim’s theory about the coquette was further confirmed when John smiled and said, “Depends on what you had in mind. Why, what do you drink?”
You, Jim’s mind unhelpfully supplied. Blood was an equally unsuitable answer. “Usually anything with vodka. Ever had a Greyhound?” His fingertips were slipping up one by one to caress the skin above John’s waistband, the blonde hardly seeming to notice the contact anymore. Good, the faster he became acclimated to Jim’s touch the better. Though, of course, a gentle hand was a far cry from fangs, but it was the same principle. Jim’s touch meant Jim’s possession.
“Tell you what; you order one and I’ll try yours.” His lips were lifted at the corners in a smile Jim reciprocated. Ah, clever, clever John. If Jim had any less than pure intentions, taking a sip from his glass ensured that John wouldn’t be in any danger, because obviously Jim wouldn’t drug himself. Smart, very smart, but not enough to save him. John was protecting himself from the wrong things.
Jim responded with a smile and turned to order the drink, letting his full hand slip up under John’s shirt as he wondered when the other man was going to enforce boundaries. Surely he had to stop him at some point, right?
“So I take it you’re not here for Halloween,” Jim said as he turned back to John.
John snorted. “What makes you say that, the fact that I don’t have a costume or the fact that I had no idea it was today when you asked me what my costume was?”
“A combination thereof,” Jim replied with a smile, fangs slipping into view again. He felt so much better having them constantly out, though it also cut down on his impulse control. Then again, easy access to John’s neck…and his thoughts were wandering again and he had to pull himself back into the present. “If you’re not here for the holiday, what are you here for?”
“Oh,” John said, “I’m in the military. I’m shipping out tomorrow.”
And just like that, Jim’s no longer beating heart was being strangled in a cross between anger and panic. No. No no no. John couldn’t go into the military. If he did that, it was likely Jim would never see him again, would never be able to find him, would never be able to have him. Shit, so tonight really was the deadline. Well, he’d wanted to get him tonight anyway, but he had had the feeling that John was a long game, that he’d have to slowly influence him over time if he couldn’t get him in one night. Now, however, he absolutely had to get him tonight, there was no choice in this. If he wanted him—and oh god did he want him—then it’d have to be now. About a thousand different expletives in several languages went through his head. Of course his human had to be a perfect little soldier boy. Of course he had one night and one night only to get him. Of course he was absolutely fucked.
Though, to be fair, it would be worth it. It would be completely worth it, because this close to him, his hand against John’s warm skin, he could smell the individual notes that made up his scent, and therefore his flavor. He sniffed, once, subtly, leaning in close to John on the pretense of shifting his weight, and that was all he needed to cement his resolve. Worth it. John was worth it. “Going to go play soldier, Johnny boy?” he asked with a smile at John that was more teasing than anything.
“Army doctor, actually,” John replied with a smile of his own, and Jim could see the pride hidden in it. “Hoping to save a few lives, if I can.”
“How noble of you. I think it’s sweet.”
John chuckled. “Sweet? Now that’s one I haven’t heard before.”
“Yes, love, I think you’re adorably moral. Good enough to eat,” Jim said with a smile that John didn’t realize was dangerous and/or serious, and John laughed.
“Haven’t heard that one either,” he said. “If this is your version of hitting on me, it’s not working.”
“Your pulse disagrees with you.”
John’s brow furrowed. “How do you know what my pulse is?”
Fuck. Well he couldn’t exactly tell John that he could hear it as clearly as the music pounding around them because that would lead to a lot of questions he couldn’t answer. He tapped gently on the part of John’s ribcage his fingers could reach. “You’re practically vibrating with it, love,” he said with a smile. John didn’t look convinced, something wary appearing in his blue eyes that hadn’t been there before. Fucking doctors.
Luckily he was saved from more suspicion as his drink arrived, John taking a look at it to see exactly what he’d be trying. Jim took a sip, half to avoid speaking and half to see if the bartender had done it properly or fucked it up, before offering it to John. “It’s good, I promise,” he said to John’s dubious look.
“And how do I know that you have good taste?” John teased, taking the drink from him anyway.
Jim smiled and said, “I picked you, didn’t I?”
John snorted and took a sip, swallowing before handing the glass back to Jim. Jim knew his pupils had to be the size of saucers as he watched the motion of John’s throat and had to look directly in a light for a moment before John turned back to him so he wouldn’t look ready to devour the man. “It’s not bad,” John said, offering Jim a smile that Jim eagerly accepted to distract himself from staring at the smooth expanse of John’s neck.
“Want one?” Jim asked, managing to hide his eager hopefulness under his smooth voice. It’d be extremely bad for John to notice how eager Jim was to feed him drinks, make him pliant with liquor. Those intentions were usually frowned upon, and John was so boringly moral.
John shrugged. “Sure, why not. I’m supposed to be going out with a bang tonight.”
“Celebrating in style?” Jim asked, turning momentarily to order another drink from the bartender.
“I guess. Clubs aren’t really my thing, though, my mates just decided it’d be easier for me to get laid here.”
“Want to?” Jim asked with a nearly predatory smile as he turned back to John, and John chuckled.
“Not giving up, are you? Still straight. And even if I wasn’t, a one night stand isn’t up my alley,” John said. “I’d rather hang out with my mates since I don’t know when I’ll see them again.”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit. John was too fucking loyal for his own good. He was absolutely fucked on getting him tonight. Though, really, there was always a catch, wasn’t there? He could have the most delicious blood ever, but its owner was going to be the most difficult person that he’d ever had to charm. He hated it, even though he knew it would be worth it in the end.
“But you can see your mates and have a little fun,” Jim said, his fingertips beginning to draw circles on John’s skin. John leaning into his touch was enough to settle the flare of frustration caused by John’s earlier words.
John smiled and shook his head. “You’re biased,” he said, picking up and taking a sip of the drink the bartender had placed on the counter for him.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not right.”
“Look, let’s establish this now. You want to buy me drinks, you want to dance with me, you want to flirt with me, fine. But you’re not going to take me home.”
Jim pouted to cover up his growing frustration. Jesus Christ this situation was slipping out of his hands rapidly. Why did John have to be so goddamn willful? “Alright, Johnny boy,” he said with a melodramatic sigh, “if you insist. But it won’t stop me from trying.”
John chuckled. “Trust me, I know.” He paused to take another sip of his drink. “So, what do you say we finish up our drinks and head back out on the dance floor?”
“Perfect,” Jim said, lips curving up to show his fangs, sharp, dangerous, ready.
“What lovely teeth you have,” John said with an amused smile.
Jim leaned in to whisper in John’s ear, fangs lightly brushing against his skin without breaking it; “All the better to eat you with, my dear.”
He thought, then, that he had him. That, difficult as it would be, he would still be able to manage luring him out of the club before the end of the night. Things started going better. There were more drinks, John getting more flirtatious with each one, which led to more dancing, John losing inhibitions and moving against Jim in a way that made it that much harder to avoid bodily hauling him out of there, pressing him back against an alley wall, sinking his fangs in, and sucking until John fainted. Not died. Just fainted. Sexuality and feeding were intrinsically connected in vampires; bloodlust and arousal were nearly the same thing, both of them appetites that needed to be satiated through someone else, someone who would give themselves completely over, whether willingly or otherwise. The effects of sex compared to the act of feeding were nearly the same as well; a heady rush of elation and intense physical pleasure, a release of tension in the body. Jim needed both, and John was making it hard for him to resist the urge to satisfy both desires. His body was so close, so warm, so willing, his scent strong to the point of nearly suffocating Jim in the loveliest way. Yes, Jim was sure he could get him. John was getting to the point of loose enough morals and enough lust to be persuaded to leave.
And, just like that, Jim made a critical mistake. He let John out of his sight, and John disappeared. Oh no. No no no no no no—he had to be here somewhere, he couldn’t have just vanished, he’d been right there just a few minutes ago! Fuck! Jim prowled the entire dance floor, checked the bathrooms, went outside and came back in, but he was absolutely nowhere to be found. His scent had disappeared as well, and no matter how hard Jim tried to catch even a hint of it, a wisp, the only place he could find it was on his own clothes, hints of it from where John had been pressed against him. Worse, his friends were gone as well, which meant that he was gone. Really and truly gone.
He must have killed at least ten people that night. He only technically drank from a few of them; mostly he just ripped their throats directly out, tore them to pieces, destroyed them in whatever way he felt like because he’d lost him. This had been incredibly lucky, a chance encounter, and it was extremely unlikely that he’d be able to find him again. Not when John was leaving the goddamn fucking country and returning god knows when with the potential for death while he was away. No, this was not how this was supposed to go, he was supposed to have John, John was supposed to be his, and he’d fucked this up and he was never going to find him again and after hundreds of years he had been so close and now he was going to have to start over—
After several hours, multiple dead bodies, and some wrangling on Seb’s part, Jim felt a bit calmer. A bit. Though he didn’t have much information to go on, he at least had somewhere to start and plenty of resources to use. He didn’t have a last name, true, but a first name, a physical description, and the knowledge that John was an army doctor being shipped out tomorrow—today, actually, considering the time—were all things to start with. It would be an incredibly difficult search, but not impossible. Really, he thought as he cleaned the blood off his face, his blood-stained suit already hanging off of him, it would all be okay. He could find John. He was sure he could find him.
***
He did find him again. But it took nearly twenty years.
He hadn’t been able to find him in the army. Too many people, too many false leads, too many goddamn blonde Johns in the medical corps. He hadn’t given up, though. John was worth all this effort and more, and Jim wasn’t going to stop until he found him. He had enough money, enough resources, and certainly enough time to find him. And that was really what it was; a matter of time.
Of course, he didn’t think a matter of time would be twenty years, but the time seemed much shorter to a vampire anyway. He also didn’t expect the way that it happened; he’d always thought that his tireless search would pay off, that he’d find where he was stationed and think of a way to get him back here, back home. Back to Jim. Instead, it was accidental, as unbelievable a coincidence as their first encounter. Because it turned out that his John was John Watson, flatmate and best friend of Jim’s ultimate rival, Sherlock Holmes. Jim fell to the floor giggling when he heard the news, because god that was hysterical. That the man he had been searching for for twenty years showed up as the ally for the greatest enemy he’d ever had. Oh, this was just too much! Fate, it seemed, was determined to bring them together, but had a sense of humor about it as well.
He’d had a feeling, actually, the first time he saw John Watson, all grown up and carrying a gun. He had an excellent memory, and John set off something buried in it, his features reminiscent of that boy from twenty years ago, though they’d been changed by time and age and war. Then, of course, he found out about John’s background, and oh, he knew. It had to be him. Somehow, even though he’d fucked up the first time, the world had decided to give him a gift again, offer up perfection for him to take. And oh, Jim planned on fully taking advantage of that perfection as soon as he could, as soon as he was sure.
He was certain it was him the second he stepped into the laboratory at St. Bart’s. It was the same scent, only a bit more matured, aged like a fine wine. Impossibly, it made it seem even better, though it easily could have been that after years of being deprived of the scent, it affected him more strongly than it had the first time. But god, whatever the reason it did seem to smell better, heady and thick and full and rich and perfect and Jesus he was having trouble concentrating on what he was supposed to be doing. Somehow, amazingly, he managed to stay in character, though a good chunk of his attention was focused on making sure his fangs didn’t slip out accidentally. What really tested him, though, was when he slid past John in order to finish his act by leaving his phone number, their bodies just inches apart. He didn’t know how he managed to not just slam John against the wall and sink his teeth into him, the rest of his visit something of a blur with how focused his senses were on John. He could hear every beat of his heart, see every slight switch in his expression, smell the blood that rushed through his veins, and nearly feel how John had felt pressed against him that Halloween night. The good news was that John didn’t seem to show any sign of recognizing him, but then again, even if he had drawn a connection between Jim at the club and Jim from IT, he’d convince himself he was wrong because of course they couldn’t be the same person. It’d been twenty years; there was no way that the man he’d danced with in a club on Halloween was the same person that sweet Molly had started dating. Which was good, because any suspicion or recognition on John’s part could have led to complications that Jim certainly didn’t need. Instead, everything—for fucking once with John—went smoothly, and Jim found himself alone in a pool locker room with John as he waited for Sherlock to arrive, John glaring flatly at him from across the aisle between the benches as soon as he’d recovered from the tranquilizers in his system.
“Oh, Johnny boy,” Jim said with a broad grin, nearly ready to bounce out of his seat with excitement, “don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m strapped into a bomb vest and handcuffed, I think I have the right,” John said, evidently deciding that he didn’t care about trying to avoid the madman’s ire or anything as silly as that. Jim had been obsessively studying the footage and photographs of John he’d been receiving ever since he discovered him with Sherlock, and he had to say that he liked this John, always strong and independent and unwilling to give in to anyone. He was different, better than he’d been at eighteen, Jim had discovered as he’d poured over the footage, John’s changed character coming through clearly. He liked him even more now, though, and all of this was just another bonus on top of that wonderful, fantastic, amazing, unbelievable blood. The same blood that was currently rushing through John’s veins, the man’s body automatically producing the adrenaline needed for his flight-or-fight response. Amazingly, though, Jim couldn’t smell fear on him. Stress, yes, and certainly the adrenaline, but no fear. He wasn’t afraid of Jim, and wasn’t that fascinating? Well, Jim would just have to give him another reason to be afraid.
“You really don’t remember me?” he asked with a touch of a pout.
John’s brow instantly furrowed over his oceanic eyes. “Remember you? You mean as Jim from IT?”
“Oh, no, love,” Jim said with a giggle. “That was just a little taunt for Sherly. I mean something much older.”
The furrow in John’s brow only deepened, and Jim rolled his eyes and said, “Halloween, the night before you were going to be shipped out. You went to a club with a few friends.”
“How the bloody hell did you know that?” John asked, sounding more confused than anything, and Jim breezed past the question.
“Don’t you remember a man dressed as a vampire who danced with you and bought you Greyhounds?”
It was clear from John’s expression that he was wracking his brain for the memory, sifting through dust and debris to find it. Finally his brow smoothed out in one fluid motion as he stared at Jim, eyes wide. “No,” was all he said at first. Then; “I mean yes, I do remember him, but no. He’s related to you or something, right? He must be.”
Jim’s lips were stretched into a smile as he slowly shook his head. “No, Johnny boy. That was me.”
John merely stared at him for a few minutes, clearly looking for the punch line in this joke. When he didn’t find it, he said, “That’s impossible. It’s been almost twenty years since that happened. There is absolutely no way you’re him, there just isn’t.”
“Oh, I’ve wanted to show you this for so very long, John,” Jim said, smiling again. He made sure to stretch his mouth enough so John could see most of his teeth, and then finally, finally, gave his fangs the blessed relief they needed as he let them descend. Oh, there was the fear scent from John. Even if John didn’t believe him, even if John didn’t know what he was, his body could tell a predator when it saw one and Jim was an elegantly designed killer that had the most dangerous ability possible; he could hide in plain sight. “My costume wasn’t a costume at all, my dear. Just ironic.”
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you’re a—” he struggled for the right word for a minute “—vampire?”
Jim made a face. “That’s such an ugly word. I prefer the Romanian nosferatu. ‘Nosferatu! Vampire! First I will save your soul, then I will destroy you’.” He grinned at John, who stared back in a way that was a cross between amusing and positively adorable. Either way, Jim was beginning to salivate. “You don’t believe me, do you, Johnny boy?”
“Amazingly, I don’t believe you’re a supernatural creature that happens to not exist.” John’s voice was still flat, but Jim could detect a thread of doubt in it, a sliver hidden under the even surface of John’s voice. “It’s a trick, or something. You’re a genius, I’m sure you could design something to do—that,” he continued, nodding his head slightly at Jim’s still exposed fangs.
Jim shook his head with a lingering grin. “No, love, it’s not a trick at all. Let me prove it to you.” He stood so he could move closer, the fear in John’s eyes and scent growing with each step, and leaned down, John trying to move his head to block access to his neck. Jim responded by winding his fingers through John’s blonde hair—oh, it was surprisingly soft, too—and yanking his head none too gently to the side, exposing a long swathe of smooth flesh that was all Jim’s for the taking. John swallowed, the muscles in his neck working and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and then down, and Jim lost his remaining patience as he swooped in, fangs bared as he prepared for the bite he’d waited twenty years for—
And that was when Sebastian’s voice came through his earpiece, saying quite simply, “Holmes is here.”
Jim stopped where he was, barely an inch away from John’s throat, close enough that goosebumps were rising on John’s skin from Jim’s warm breath gusting against it. Fuck. He couldn’t do it now, it would be too hasty and sloppy and he wouldn’t really be able to savor the experience. It would have to wait for another time, he’d have to wait for just a little while longer to have him. Jesus Christ this experience was testing his patience. Fucking Sherlock Holmes and his impeccable timing.
Jim sighed, covering his true, burning frustration with a coating of light regret. “I guess we’ll have to wait,” he said, moving close to purr the words in John’s ear. “But it will happen. You’re going to be mine, Johnny boy. All mine.”
John shivered in the most rewarding way at the words as Jim kissed his cheek before finally pulling away, his fangs going back to their usual position because he wasn’t about to reveal his true nature to Sherlock Holmes of all people unless he had to. “Showtime, love,” he said as he straightened up, taking a few steps away from John as two of his lackeys pulled him up by his elbows, beginning to lead him to where he needed to be. “Smile pretty for Sherly, Johnny boy.”
He caught John’s glance back at him, as well as the scent that he’d been steadily breathing in since John was lying drugged in the back of the car with him, both of them suggesting that John was either beginning to believe him, or starting to think that Jim was insane enough to believe it himself. Either way, he was scared. And Jim loved it.
***
“Jim Moriarty is a vampire.”
Sherlock’s hands paused in the middle of checking John for injuries, his sea foam eyes taking a minute to lift to John’s. “What?” he asked, his voice low and quick. He sounded, for once in his life, surprised.
Somehow, they’d both miraculously survived the melodramatic showdown Jim had initiated, the madman disappearing with a phone pressed to his ear while they both held their breath to see if he came back. When he didn’t, Sherlock began checking John over with trembling fingers while John insisted a dozen times that he was fine, because truthfully Jim hadn’t hurt him. No, it was more Jim’s words than anything else that made his legs give out as soon as the bomb vest came off, because how could he think about anything else? How could he forget that it was supposedly a vampire that he’d wrapped his arms around in order to protect Sherlock, that when Jim grinned he was hiding fangs by retracting part of his canines into his gums at will? It was certainly hard to forget it when Jim sniffed him when John held him from behind, the genius honestly seeming more distracted by John pressed so close to him than the threat of bodily harm. And of course, of course, John couldn’t forget Jim’s words.
“You’re going to be mine, Johnny boy. All mine.”
Jesus Christ, those words terrified him. Because he had heard the dark intent in them, seen the look in Jim’s eyes when he pulled away. Jim’s eyes had burned, something darker than possession making them nearly hypnotic and intensely focused on John in an entirely disconcerting way. He never wanted to see that look from Jim again, never wanted the other man to touch him, speak to him, look at him at all. Not that he believed him, because of course, how could he? It was crazy. Jim was crazy, right? He blew up buildings for fun. There was no way he was actually a—he couldn’t even think the word, it felt too ridiculous. And yet it had spilled out of his mouth as soon as he was alone with Sherlock.
“He told me he was a vampire,” John said, his voice remarkably calm, even to his own ears. “He said he met me on Halloween the night before I left with the army, and that he was a vampire, and then he opened his mouth and his canines elongated into fangs and he almost bit me before you arrived.” Sherlock was just looking at him, lips parted just slightly, and John just kept going. “After he reminded me, I remembered that night, but there’s no way. He’s insane, right? He’s a madman. He lies all the time. He’s a genius, too. He could have made something, could have faked it somehow, could have—I don’t know, he could have done something!” His voice had kept rising with each word, the last few just a frustrated shout because he felt like he was going insane and he had to have Sherlock ground him again before he completely lost it. Sherlock was cool and calm and logical. He would talk him out of it.
Instead, Sherlock said, “It’s entirely possible that he told the truth.”
It was John’s turn to stare, his knees feeling far too weak again. No, that wasn’t what Sherlock was supposed to say. He was supposed to tell him that he was being ridiculous, that of course vampires didn’t exist, that Jim had done x, y, and z to achieve the effect of his fangs. He was definitely not supposed to say something as ridiculous and terrifying as Jim might be telling the truth. No. No, Sherlock, please no.
“You’re kidding,” John said after a long stretch of silence, and Sherlock stood from the crouch he’d been in to check how John’s legs were after his near collapse.
“Not in the slightest,” he said. “While there are many explanations for the supposedly supernatural phenomenon surrounding vampires and their rising from the grave, certain events still remain unexplained and certain accounts share the same characteristics despite the differences in region and the persons affected. Beyond that, there have been murders in London—as well as other cities and countries—that resemble a typical vampire attack. It’s entirely possible that they exist, but extremely unlikely.”
John stared at him for a minute. Then his legs gave out again.
He had no idea how Sherlock managed to get him home that night, no idea at all. Not when his entire brain was reeling and he was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that the homicidal genius who’d strapped him into a bomb today could actually be a vampire. That his brilliant, genius flatmate thought it was a possibility too. That said homicidal genius clearly wanted something from him, and wouldn’t stop until he got it. He found his way into his bed somehow, his gun on the nightstand within reach because he didn’t know what else to do and even if it didn’t actually help him it made him feel better. And then he closed his eyes, and didn’t sleep.
***
He wasn’t going to wait another night. There was no way he could, not when the need to have John burned him up entirely, set his nerves alight, ran fire through his veins, and nearly brought him to his knees. Seb kept trying to tell him to wait, that it was a bad idea, that if he accidentally killed John out of his eagerness there’d be no point to all of his work. But that was preposterous, of course he had enough self-control to stop himself short of draining John completely dry. He could handle it, he knew he could. He was a model of self-control, always. Besides, Sebby was always such a pessimist.
Getting into John’s room was almost frighteningly easy. Scale the building, use a knife to wiggle open the lock, slip through. He landed nearly silently on the floor, another one of his natural, predatory qualities. Apparently it wasn’t enough, because he found a gun being pointed at him, John sitting up in bed and breathing heavily. Oh, that scent was exquisite. Fear and adrenaline and a touch of panic. And then there was that nearly hidden part, the undercurrent that made Jim perk up despite the weapon trained on him; excitement. John was excited by his presence. Ooh, that was interesting. Was it Jim himself, or something to do with the situation? A kink, perhaps, deeply hidden underneath John’s oh so vanilla demeanor? Danger, his mind whispered. There had been a hint of it earlier, too, when he’d had John at his mercy, strapped into a bomb vest and ready for use as a hostage, a sweet spike to his adrenaline levels. Now wasn’t that fascinating. His John was so very complex, so very suited to him, truly. Excited by danger. Yes, that worked perfectly.
“Get out.”
One of the many advantages that Jim had as a vampire was his excellent night vision, his eyes automatically adjusting to even the darkest of rooms. It allowed him now to see John, really see him, and the dark intent in his eyes. He knew John was serious, that he wouldn’t hold that gun if he didn’t intend to use it, and that John’s hands were absolutely steady on it because this was not the first dangerous situation he’d been in and it wouldn’t be the last. Perhaps that was why he wasn’t as afraid of Jim as the others usually were; he’d faced men who were monsters, wasn’t that worse than a monster who used to be a man?
“I just want to chat, Johnny boy,” Jim said, his voice low and dangerously silky. Oh, he could take John by force, that was certain. But why would he do that when luring him in would be so much better? A few appeals to John’s love of danger, a bit of help from his natural abilities, and a little of his own charms, and he would have him reeled in. Though, if he was being honest, he loved John being a challenge just as much as it frustrated him. He wanted him so desperately that it caused a physical ache in his lower abdomen, but getting him without a fight wouldn’t be any fun. It would cheapen the satisfaction inherent in getting him, because it would feel too easy, too…boring, really. And he knew it wasn’t in John to give up without a fight. So it would come down to a fight, and the thought set Jim’s nerves alight in the most beautiful way.
“No, you don’t, and if you don’t leave I will shoot you,” John said, and Jim marveled at the steadiness of his voice, John completely even-keeled even in an emergency. Especially in an emergency. Such a perfect little soldier, wasn’t he? Quite suddenly, Jim switched back into the old, bitter frustration from having lost John that first night, thinking he’d lost him forever. Thank god he got shot. “I don’t care who or what you are, a bullet is a bullet and I’m not going to let you do whatever it is you really came here to do.”
Jim didn’t answer for a minute, merely watching John, the other man looking dead serious and more than ready to pull the trigger. That stalwart expression changed into confusion when Jim started giggling. “Oh, Johnny my dear,” he said somewhat breathlessly between giggles, “it’s so adorable that you think you have a chance. I’ve been around for, oh, only a few hundred years or so now, and no one’s killed me yet. I told Sherly; no one ever gets to me.”
Jim could hear the increase in John’s pulse at this, sense the shift of his blood as it drained from his face. God, he could do this for hours. Just sit and listen to and look at and smell and sense John. Another day. Right now, the urge to touch him was overwhelming. Slowly, smoothly, he unwound himself from his crouch, going to his hands and knees because standing would frighten Johnny dearest too much. Better to keep the low position, make him feel that he still had power in this scenario. It would make it that much sweeter when Jim took it away from him.
“Stop,” John said as soon as Jim had moved the first hand. The gun was still pointed directly between Jim’s eyes, a headshot that was sure to kill. Well, sure to kill a human. Jim had survived worse.
“Admit it, Johnny boy,” he breathed, dark eyes looking up at John, every ounce of his not inconsiderable focus on him. “You like this. The danger. You don’t really want me to stop, you want me to come closer. You’re not going to shoot me, because that would ruin the fun. If I was threatening anyone else, of course you’d pull the trigger. But it’s just little old you, and you don’t care about getting yourself hurt. So you’ll choose the danger and the excitement over your own safety.” His voice dropped into a slightly lower register, something between a seductive purr and a velvety threat, his other hand moving forward and bringing a knee with it. “I’m not going to kill you, love. Oh no, I want to keep you alive for as long as I can, because you’re special, my dear, so very special. You have no idea.”
He was getting closer, slowly but surely moving on his hands and knees towards John, who seemed transfixed, hypnotized by those dark eyes he couldn’t seem to look away from. Curling lazily under the surface of John’s blood was a smoky desire; light, almost nonexistent, and easily blown away by the wrong move. But, yes, Jim was getting to him, something in the army doctor reacting to Jim in the way he wanted it to. Maybe it was Jim’s natural allure, maybe it was his supernatural abilities, maybe it was some faint wisp of memory from that night when John had quite willingly and eagerly pressed himself against Jim, let the other man touch him, let him possess him, if just for a short time and not completely. This time, it would be completely. He was certain of that.
“I don’t even want to hurt you,” he continued, his movements still timed with his words, slow, insidious, and winding. “I just want you, Johnny boy. I’ve been searching for you for hundreds of years, not just the twenty between now and our first meeting. I’ve never met anyone like you, and I know you’ve never met anyone like me. So why fight me, love?” His voice turned a touch regretful, a hint of a pout on his lower lip. “You think I’m going to hurt you, torture you, destroy you for fun. Sherlock, maybe, but not you, Johnny boy, never you. Daddy just wants to take care of you. I’d give you everything you wanted and more, if you’d just do a teensy little thing for me.” He’d reached the edge of the bed, and John hadn’t moved at all. He looked up at him through dark lashes, smiling with white teeth and sharp fangs, ever a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Be mine.”
John didn’t answer for a minute, his breathing heavy, and Jim savored the silence, filling it with the rhythm of John’s heartbeat and the notes of his scent, separating and categorizing each one he found. It was sweet, but not overly so, rich and full and heady. He could differentiate the surface scents, a touch of honey here, a bit of sun-soaked earth there, all of which covered the underlying primal scent that smelled like sex and lust and adrenaline and fear and power all at the same time. There was something in John’s scent that just called to him, increased his already primal urges to hunt, to mate, to feed. He needed him. He needed John Watson like he’d never needed anyone before. And he needed him for eternity.
John’s voice broke the silence, slow and slightly unsteady. “If I agree to this, does it mean it will all stop? The killing, the bombings, the threats on Sherlock’s life?”
Jim considered for a minute, testing his own limits to see how far he would go to have John. “I won’t dissolve the empire,” he said after finding where the line was drawn. “And I can’t guarantee I won’t kill. But everyone you know will be safe.”
“And what about innocents?” John asked, always the moral compass. So sweet. So delicious.
“I’ll do my best.”
John’s hands tightened on the gun almost imperceptibly. “Not good enough,” he said, and Jim held up his hands, saying with a roll of his eyes, “Alright, I won’t kill any on purpose. And,” he added at John’s pointed look, “I’ll limit the rest as much as I can. But don’t pretend you’re entirely unwilling in this, John.” His eyes were back to their dark focus, burning into John’s beautiful blue. “I know you’re excited by it too, intrigued by the thought of belonging to a vampire. You like the danger, I can smell it all over you.”
John didn’t either confirm or deny it, but Jim didn’t need him to. John’s scent told him all he needed to know, all he would ever need to know. “So how do we do this, then?” John asked after a quiet minute. “I’m assuming we don’t shake on it?”
Jim smiled, a slow, curling grin with devilish intent. “Oh no, my dear. We seal it with a kiss. Of sorts,” he qualified, and was up and sitting on the bed in a second, his hand over the one of the hands John had on the gun. John flinched but managed not to fire, letting Jim’s hand guide the gun back to the nightstand, where finally, finally, he let it go. Jim snaked his arm around John’s waist, gently leading the other man to lie back on the bed with his head against the pillow. John wouldn’t be able to support himself in a minute. The scents of fear and desire spiked in time in John’s blood and Jim had to stop himself from moaning aloud. John was absolutely exquisite. His free hand went to John’s hair, fingertips just brushing against blonde strands, and he offered John a seductive, victorious smile.
“Mother may I?” he asked.
John tried to snort, but it came out more nervous than anything. “As if you’d really wait for an invitation.” His hand had somehow wandered up to the side of Jim’s head, nervously playing with a bit of his hair as if they were teenagers about to awkwardly make out for the first time. Jim had to admit he rather liked it. “Just…don’t kill me, okay?”
There was a nervous humor in his voice, and Jim’s smile widened as he leaned down, his fangs brushing gently against the skin of John’s neck. “Oh, Johnny boy,” he breathed. “I’ll eat you up, I love you so.” And then he sank his fangs in, and drank.