Into the Dark

By inkcharm_666

Dark grey. Just the barest hint of violet and blue. Rolling, coiling around each other too slowly for the human eye to perceive a change. Heavy and opressing. Doom spelled out in colour and misty shapes. Tendrils of liquid gold reaching into this mass, dark but blending into brightness further on. Warm and inviting, a shining ball of light at the center. Hope, ever fading and too far away to grasp. Entwining, but never blending. Grey and gold, dark and light, violet and pale yellow, doom and hope.

Beauty, reflected in chocolate brown eyes.

The longing gaze drifted downwards until it came to rest on a well-used sketchbook. Black and white and too many shades of grey. The words „Into the Dark“ were scribbled into a corner.

A small smile bloomed on the man's face as he gazed upon his latest work of art. Of course. He should have known better than to try and capture this scenery in black and white. But what was he to do, faced with such a vision and having nothing at hand but blank paper and charcoal. It was the best he could do. With a sigh he looked up to once more gaze at the sky.

Heavy storm clouds and night rolled in from one side, slowly swallowing up the setting sun.

The young artist was waiting for another man. This was their meeting place, quite and secluded to allow them safety from society's disapproving gaze. They were not lovers, not yet at least, although he couldn't deny feeling attracted to the older male emotionally and physically. There was just something about him, a mysterious aura, and the artist was helpless to fight it. They were more than friends, but were exactly they stood he was reluctant to define.

With a sigh he looked around. He was early, as usual. Always he hoped to catch the other man before the sun set, just to enjoy that magical time between day and night together instead of apart. But it was never to be. Usually he simply watched the fading sunlight on his own to be joined by the other man later.

They had met in town over a sketch of the crowd. After exchanging a few words it became clear that despite the apparent difference in age they were very much alike. When they were able to trust each other more openly a while later it was revealed to the young artist that he was the first in what felt like a lifetime to make the older man smile. Knowing this touched him more deeply than it should have. They kept meeting, sharing nothing more than words and comfortable silences, occasionally the odd very fleeting hug or another vague touch as well as gentle smiles. Maybe he was too trusting, too open with this man, but this felt like what he had been waiting for all his life. Meeting someone special. Someone who could bring quite to the artist's troubled, restless soul.

It hadn't taken them long to notice just how much this sort of friendship between two men such as them was frowned upon. The artist himself had always been an object of scorn, too free a spirit, too open a heart, and his companion was a complete stranger with unusual habits in their small town. No one understood the bond they shared.

Not even the artist himself. He gave no visible sign of noticing another person's approach. After a moment he smiled warmly, though. „Luka...“

Dark eyes rested on the slender young man. Luka loved watching his human companion. Each movement full of life, each smile full of warmth for him. Still he tried to push into the future what he had known would happen right from the start. Ever since he had first laid eyes upon the beautiful artist Luka had known he would taint him.

„Kei“, he acknowledged as he slid onto the bench next to the human.

They embraced as a way of greeting. Not even a foreigner's handshake could be quite intimate enough to express their bond while still remaining casual enough to allow the pretension of there being nothing more than a feeling of close friendship between them. As always Luka brushed the bangs from Kei's eyes when they parted. His fingertips lingered a little longer than socially acceptable, but they were on their own and neither of them minded the implications of such a gesture.

Kei's hair was dark, as much molten chocolate as his eyes were. It pained Luka to know that keeping the artist close in the only way he knew would mean changing this. His hair would pale, his eyes would be twisted when the monster started to shine through. Luka himself had chosen to conceal his unnaturally pale hair. Still, it was never the same. Looking into the mirror made him think of masks. You could cover up who you were, but you could never change it.

How much would Kei change?

Like a lover's carress the human's gentle voice pulled him in. Luka allowed himself to hang onto every word as Kei talked about his latest sketch. He even smiled as the artist sketched him, just a few outlines here and there. Somehow they were enough to define Luka's face and he wasn't sure whether to be saddened by this or not.

Maybe his hair would turn blonde. Kei looked at Luka with questions in his expresive eyes as the vampire leaned in closer. His fingertips travelled over a warm cheekbone as he gave in to his need to touch the silken skin. The eyes... maybe blue, or warm amber. Despite Kei's youth Luka could already picture where lines would one day appear on his fair skin. Lines of laughter and joy. Luka would take them away forever. They would never happen. Both laughter and joy would be denied to Kei for eternity. This fragile being would be doomed, cursed for all eternity, and no love Luka felt would ever be enough to make it up to him.

Apologies would never be enough. Love could never soothe the pain. Eternity would only deepen the wounds.

Still Luka knew he could never bring himself to not reach out for the purity that was Kei, touch it, taste it, taint it, twist it. Over the centuries the monster inside of him had grown, swelled, and it was time for him to share the burden. From the moment his eyes had locked with Kei's for the first time, they had both been doomed.

Ever so gently Luka cupped one cheek and watched as a faint blush spread on the young man's cheeks. He had never been touched like this, not by another man. The vampire could feel it all on his tongue as Kei's scent invaded his senses. Curiosity. Innocence. Longing. Purity. Acceptance. Need. He would exploit them all. However, deep down he knew that some part of Kei's beautiful soul would always be preserved; some part of the gentleness that had drawn him in. Even the monster could not snuff out a warm heart within just a few centuries.

Their first kiss was a gentle one. Luka gave Kei all the time in the world to adjust to the sensation. There was no need to feel like he was being forced into the role of a maiden, and he wanted the young human to know that from the start. Young though he was, Kei was still a man just like Luka, and the vampire knew it was important to acknowledge that fact. When the artist started responding to the kiss, they shared their lips like equals. This was not about dominance but about love, and to Luka at least no male could ever be inferior to another in love.

As their lips caressed each other, as their tongues made first shy contact and as their feelings for each other started to bloom Luka could see it before his inner eye. He could see how Kei would lose all colour when the change took place. The small human would be barely more than a ghost, white and dead and cold, and it would take time for colour to bleed back in. Never completely, though, never again. The monster's eye colour would be first, something unnatural that would slowly be covered by a more natural tone to hide his true nature. The artist's eyes would never look the same again. His hair would always look washed out, white or blonde or grey, never even close to the warm brown caressing his smooth skin now. His body would pale further, not the whiteness of a man who preferred to stay indoors with his paint and canvas and talent, but that of a man denied the grave's peace.

They parted and the human smiled. The vampire breathed another butterfly kiss on Kei's lips before he bent down to pick the sketchbook up that had slipped from it's owners grasp. Art was Kei's life. He would never paint again once he had been turned. Luka was sure of that much. It was the life thrumming through his veins that made Kei the talented artist that he was. He would lose that when Luka turned him.

Wrapping one arm around slender shoulders Luka pressed the sketchbook back into Kei's hand. Not yet. He wouldn't taint him just yet. He needed to preserve him like this for a while longer; warm and clueless and perfect, full of life and spirit and talent with light in his deep brown eyes.

This light he would lose after the change. Still, Kei would always be the sun in Luka's night; glowing, pale, a beacon of hope and innocence, a fallen angel.

He would shine brightly when Luka chose to lead him into the dark.

~*~

Fin...