The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 1

Posted: October 2003
Title: The Taste of a Warrior
Author: Dhvana
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Type: RPS
Pairing(s): Orlando Bloom/Colin Farrell
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Pure fiction.
Author's Note: Seems I felt the need to feed my dark side tonight, and I've been meaning to play with vamps a bit for a while. Hope you enjoy! As always, feedback would be most welcome!
Summary: A vampire goes hunting.

*****

I watch with smiling eyes as my prey makes his way down the street, his gaze focused determinedly ahead of him. He raises the collar of his jacket to protect his neck from the bitter wind, shoving one hand deep in his pocket. His fingers flick the cigarette in his other hand, signing to me that he his nervous. He has been flicking it every ten seconds, leaving hardly enough time for ash to gather on the end before it's gone again.

He knows I am here.

He knows I am watching him.

He knows he is hunted.

This is the moment I love most, when the expectation, the tension between us has grown to the point that there is an almost visible line of energy connecting us. The confrontation is inevitable now. He knows it, and I can already tell that he will fight.

I love it when they fight.

Their final battle for life always adds that extra spice to their blood that makes it a rare delicacy. Those who just give in, who accept their deaths without trying, are worth a drink, and nothing more. I do not value them, I just use them. Those who are warriors are a true source of nourishment to me, and it is only their lives that I cherish.

This one, I will cherish.

Leaping from the roof of the building down to the street, I land with only the whisper of a sound and begin walking towards him. I wrap the shadows around me as I follow my prey down the street, wanting to keep the chase from ending too soon.

He finishes the cigarette in his hand and drops it on the ground in order to free his hands so he can light another one. I hope he enjoys it, though I doubt he will. He seems to be beyond enjoying the dubious benefits of cigarettes. It's clearly more of a habit and less of a desire for him.

Pity.

I always enjoy a cigarette, but then, my joy comes from the smoke more than anything else. I love the feel of it as it fills my lungs. Almost gives the impression that there is actually air in there. And I love the way it looks, the cloud that passes between my lips as I force the it from my mouth. Cigarettes are a toy for me, and watching his pleasure-less smoking of them only makes me want to play.

Actually, this gives me an idea.

Brushing the shadows away, I allow the sound of my feet on the cement to echo down the street.

His shoulders tense, his pace quickening, and I chuckle softly under my breath. He only felt me before and could ignore me, pretend I didn't exist, pretend I was just a feeling slithering up his spine.

Now he knows I'm real.

"Hey!" I shout, breaking into a jog.

He jumps at the sound of my voice, but doesn't stop.

"Hey!" I shout again, running to catch up to him. I place a hand on his shoulder and he whirls around, his arm slamming against mine.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" he yells, looking at me for the first time. His eyes widen and he glances around to make sure we're the only two here, then looks at me again.

"Sorry mate," I smile, holding up a cigarette. "I just wanted to know if I could get a light."

He checks out our surroundings, reassuring himself that we're alone, then offers a shaky grin. "No problem," he says, reaching for his lighter.

I place the cigarette between my lips and lean forward. He arches an eyebrow, but flicks the flame into life and holds it up to me. I inhale until the tip glows orange, then stand back.

"Thanks," I say.

"No problem. Sorry I yelled at you. I'm a little on edge tonight."

"If I had a stranger chasing after me in a dark street, I'd probably be a little on edge myself."

He chuckles, shaking his head, and a pang of hunger hits my veins so hard, it takes all my willpower to keep from grabbing him and taking him right there.

I want him. I want him now. But now is not the time.

Instead, I watch, and I wait.

He is beautiful, with his crooked smile and his knowing, cynical eyes. He loves everything, but he doesn't trust any of it.

I like him already. He will be a meal to remember.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It is a little creepy."

"Listen, I was about to go grab something to drink. Care to join me?"

He gives me another look, this time appraising the sight before him with appreciative eyes. I certainly can't blame him--in fact, I wonder what took him so long. I happen to be quite proud of my appearance, and I was growing insulted that he hadn't bothered to notice me yet. I work hard to maintain a look of angel and incubus, of innocence and seduction, which makes me impossible to resist, and my prey so much easier to control. I was beginning to think that he is entirely asexual, and I'm glad that's not the case.

"A drink would be good right about now."

"Brilliant," I say, flashing him one of my patented ‘you're my newest best friend' smiles. "But. . . um. . . do you think you can recommend a place? I'm not exactly from around here."

"You're fucking kidding me," he grins. "And here I was thinking you were a native."

I laugh, clapping him on the back. What can I say? The plummy Brit accent gives me away every time, particularly when I'm in Dublin.

"Nice to know I blend in," I say, keeping the hand on his back.

"Very smooth," he says with a nod, giving me a sidelong glance.

"Unwelcome?"

"Didn't say that. Come on, let's go grab that pint."

He takes me to a small pub, nodding to the man behind the counter, who waves and immediately starts pouring us a couple of drinks.

Hmm. . . he's taken me to a place where he is known and he can feel safe. He's still not entirely sure of me. I have to approve--I knew he'd be a fighter.

We grab the pints and find a table in the back, then go through the usual getting-to-know-you crap, though I must admit, I'm not giving our conversation my full attention. I don't need to. I've repeated my story so many times, honed my flirtation skills to such an art, that I work entirely on automatic. And, quite honestly, his story doesn't matter to me. Anything important will remain in the blood, but most likely, all I'll remember is his taste.

The evening passes as a delightful blur. We go through several pints, and several cigarettes, until we are both buzzing with anticipation. My cock throbs and my teeth ache with every smile. If I have to endure another thirty minutes of this, I won't be able to resist bending him over the table and draining him right there.

Lighting another cigarette, he glances at me over the flame, and nods to the door. "Want to get out of here?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

He takes me to a small cottage and we are ripping off each other's clothes before the door clicks shut. He has an extraordinary mouth. Even I, who have kissed thousands--millions--feel my control slip, giving myself over to his tongue, his teeth, his lips.

He tastes delicious, and I haven't even had a proper drink yet.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he says as he pushes me down onto the bed.

"You should look in a mirror sometime," I say, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him on top of me.

He devours me with his mouth again, then moves down my neck, almost instinctively sucking on the tender vein.

"Oh, god," I moan, burying my fingers in his hair. "Don't stop!"

Chuckling, he continues on down to my chest. He pulls at my left nipple with his teeth, gnawing lightly at it till it's sore and throbbing. Just when I think I cannot treasure his mouth more, he begins lapping at my chest, his tongue warm and wet and oh so perfect.

"More. . ." I gasp, and he happily obliges.

Lowering himself below my waist, he blows lightly on my cock, teasing it, supposedly cooling it, but his breath only makes me harder. Still, I can't let this go on. Soon enough, he'll start to wonder at why I am so hard, and yet so dry, and I cannot let that happen.

Reaching down, I raise his head till our lips meet. "Not what I meant," I say into his mouth.

His eyes widen slightly, and I admit, I'm a little surprised by this myself. I am the hunter, after all, but he is a unique form of prey, and I have never been one to let the truly worth prey go unappreciated.

He stretches his arm towards the table by his bed and grabs a bottle of oil.

Oil?

"I like the way it feels," he says in response to my questioning look, and I wrap a hand around his neck, kissing him hard.

He's not only unique, he is a dream come true.

The scent of warm spices, of cinnamon and cloves, fills the air. Even as I continue plundering his mouth, he slips his hand between my legs. I growl deep in my throat as his finger enters me--it has been so long since I have experienced this, I've forgotten how uncomfortable it can feel, and how good.

As he slips a second finger inside, I push against him, encouraging him to go faster. I know he is trying to be considerate, trying to make the strange pressure easier for me to bear, but I do not have the patience for this. There is another need growing inside of me, and I want to give him this last chance at pleasure before I can be sated.

"Are you sure?" he asks softly, and I nod.

"Yes, please. Need you now."

"Well, since you said please. . ." he grins and readies himself at my entrance. "Say the word, and I'll stop."

"You won't be stopping."

He continues to hold my eyes as he thrusts into me and a small cry escapes my lips, not from pain, but from pleasure. The smile on his face grows when he sees that I meant it when I said he wouldn't be stopping. Losing all inhibitions, he pounds into me, the spicy scent of the oil increasing with every thrust.

Only, it isn't just the oil.

He, too, smells of cloves and cinnamon, mixed with heat and iron. As his heart beats faster, his body grows warmer, and the spices grow. The scent of him washes from his pores and I am drowning in him, in my hunger for him.

Finish it! "Finish it!" I cry. Come, you beautiful creature! Drain yourself into me so I can finally drain you!

I clench my body around him as tight as I can, feeling every wonderful inch as he reaches inside of me. His pounding starts to grow erratic and suddenly, he is shouting, spilling into me. I can feel every drop as it rushes through me and I am filled with not just heat, but fire. I haven't been this warm in centuries. Oh, how I love him for this!

Gasping for air, he collapses at my side and for a moment I, too, cannot move. I can still feel him inside of me, his warmth surrounding me. I am transported to a place where I know only bliss.

But then the aching in my veins reminds me why I am here.

Rising up on my arm, I lean over and kiss him.

"Thank you," I whisper, my mouth moving slowly across his jaw and down his neck to the waiting artery.

Opening my mouth, my pointed teeth break the skin and I sink inside.

He breathes in sharply at the sudden pricks of pain, unable to comprehend what is happening at first, unable to understand why his life's blood is emptying into my mouth. I am thankful for those few moments of peace.

His taste is just what I imagined, smoke and spice and heat combined. My eyes roll back into my head as his blood flows down my throat and into my stomach before spreading throughout my body. My cock throbs in time with his pulse, quickening as his heart picks up pace with the realization that I am draining him.

Hands grab at my hair to try and pull me from my neck, but I calmly lift them from my head and pin them to the bed. I don't even bother to look up, for he does not have the strength to harm me. He tries to twist out from underneath me, but I straddle him with my body and hold him in place.

I am unable to resist from rubbing my cock against him, as my hands are too occupied to offer me any sort of relief. I can feel the pressure building as the soft hairs of his body tickle and caress me. I begin to move faster, and faster, drawing from his artery with even more intensity, and just as his heart is about to break, I throw back my head with a cry of orgasmic release. Though no fluids escape my body, waves of ecstasy flow through me, my veins screaming with delight.

I carefully lower myself to his side, my tongue running over my teeth, catching the last few drops of him that remain in my mouth as my body slowly calms. I glance over at my prey to see his eyes fluttering with the last few traces of life. His skin is gray, his breathing shallow, but he is still there.

If he is found in time, he might even live.

But I doubt it.

Rising to my feet, I gather my clothes from around the cottage and put them on. I return to the bedroom and lay him out more comfortably on the bed, then cocoon him in as many blankets as I can find. Leaning over, I bite my tongue with the points of my teeth to draw blood, then lick at the wounds on his neck until they are healed.

"Thank you," I say again, brushing the hair from his clammy forehead, and he forces his eyes to focus as he glares at me.

"I will find you, and I will destroy you."

I can barely hear him, but I don't need to. His words are the final words of all the warriors I've taken. Like I said, he's a fighter. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on him.

I smile and press our lips together, tasting him one last time, then leave.

*****

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