Posted: April 2004
Title: Before the Mirror
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Elijah Wood/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
WARNING: AU. Vampires. Blood sucking. Just plain weird.
Beta: none
Disclaimer: Obviously, this is a work of fiction. It never happened.
Summary/Notes: Elijah is a newborn child of darkness. He meets his new master and is claimed.

*****

Before the mirror in a darkened store, midnight. In deference to his status, they'd allowed him to slip in late through the back door. He has dismissed the attendants. A dark suit he wears, the color indistinguishable. Double breasted, double vented, matching trousers and a silk tie that costs more than most of his peers make in a week. Five more such ensembles strew the floor around him.

Elijah is unsatisfied.

‘I look like a dead guy.'

A closer look at his reflection. Skin has paled to blue-white. Unhealthy. Hair, nearly black now… shades of careless stubble on the point of his chin. Lips have grown noticeably redder, fuller, plush. Cheekbones, hollowed. Elijah raises a one-sided snarl and peers at his sharp incisor. It is perceptively longer.

‘Wicked.'

When will they be ready…?

‘I'm hungry.'

Soon he will change no more, except maybe to grow thin and lithe.

‘Wish I had time to grow my hair.'

His eyelids flutter down, and he looks out from under them. Lowers his chin. Experimentally gives himself the Taken-by-the-Ring look. Likes it. No need for make-up. Has his own built-in eyeliner now.

The thing about mirrors is a myth, Elijah realizes with a start. He turns to the side, examines his profile at length. The arch of his back: his best feature. Snorts. Not all have shared that opinion. Some have said: his shoulders, perfect as a Botticelli. He wishes they were wider.

‘I need an earring.'

A gold hoop, small to start, eventually interchangeable with something more substantial. Maybe someone is still down in Accessories… ‘They pierce here, don't they?'

Elijah considers getting his foreskin pierced. Remembers he has none. Dammit. After all those fucking Brits and Kiwis, he feels lacking.

Lucky him. There is someone left. A girl. Long dark, straight hair, a Polynesian face and Latin lips. About his age, about his height. Curvy. Hm. While he has little interest in women, she might make a nice plaything. Or a nice meal. She uses the gun on his left lobe, and he lets her lick off the blood. A fan, apparently. Bold. Her hand rubs his half-hard cock, but he cannot bring himself to be more than lightly aroused. Soon, he returns.

Alone, before the mirror, in the darkened department. More lights extinguished. Experimentally, he wills his curls to lengthen. Soon, he looks like Frodo again. If far more jaded than ever. The hole in his ear has healed. It itches. Something else itches. Elijah unzips his pants. Scratches. Stops. Is somewhat surprised, but not really, to find himself intact. Smirk. Yes, a ring through that. Soon.

He senses the presence of another being close by, one of his own. He does not know enough to be certain if he should be frightened. At least he will be decent. At least, this time. Tucks himself away. Stands under the single muted spotlight, before the mirror.

From his left, a man strides in. A blond man. Mature, one whose looks belie his age. But not a man. He exudes power. His eyes glow in the dark. Like a raccoon's eyes, maybe, for the glow is green. He is dressed in faded jeans, so tight every contour of his impressive physique displayed. The shirt, grey silk, long sleeved. Top three buttons undone to expose a smooth chest. He is barefoot.

‘This is your mentor.'

Unbidden.

‘Was it he?'

Answers from nowhere.

"No. That one is dead. I have drained him. For you." Last two words careless, and loaded.

Elijah looks at this seeming human. Someone he used to know, years ago. His master now. His owner, till he be strong enough to break away. Instinct says this much.

The man who is not a man, who is more than a man, is but a few feet from Elijah. Reflected darkly. Multi-faceted. Preternaturally still, waiting. Hair burnished gold, combed straight back, not quite long enough to tie. A ring in his ear, Elijah notices. Hm. Finely chiseled lips lift. Long fangs gleam. The sight of them arouses nascent bloodlust in the younger man. Hunger. Heat.

He will be claimed. Here. Now. The other undead moves too quickly for his unwary guard. Clothes are torn away. Elijah is scared, for the other's strength is beyond the bounds of logic. He cannot move, and he is made naked. Unprotected. The other's hard cock burrows between his cheeks.

Elijah looks up at himself, his terrified eyes, for if his clothing was ripped asunder like cobwebs, what will happen to him? A minute ago he'd been erect and uncomfortable in his Versace pants. Looks down. His penis hangs small and sadly limp in unhappy anticipation of pain. He starts to cry. Rape, he never wanted. His tears are blood.

‘Stop.' He does, but cannot control his trembling.

The tip of one finger, longer-nailed than most human males would wear, draws a line down his belly. A red shallow gash follows. More blood wells up. Unable to control himself, unhinged by the burning green devil-eyes, Elijah pisses himself. Naked as he is, it sprays into a puddle at their feet.

Surprise makes the unhuman glow more palatable. Nostrils twitch. The stench of human fear.

"Hope you enjoyed that. ‘Ll be the last time you ever piss."

The master divests of his own clothes, this time. From now on, that will be Elijah's job. He knows this.

He has something else to say. Low, in a growl. "Sean. My name is Sean. Scream it." The blond head bends over his shoulder and…

Fangs puncture Elijah's tender neck. His jugular. He does scream. Wordlessly. His lifeblood is being sucked out. Other than the stab wounds, there is no pain, only a pleasurable buzz. As he drinks, Sean's strong, long-fingered hand explores his mark's body: his useless arms, small hands, flat brown nipples, and trembling flanks. All roads lead to his cock. His newborn foreskin pulled back. Surprising jolts to the head with every silky movement. The shaft, expanding, demanding, sliding under its extra nerve-loaded skin. It is coddled, encircled, measured, finally stroked. Relief. His last vestige of manhood. Full. So hard. Sensitized. The hand is maddeningly skilled. The grip, just so. Twist. Pull. Push back down. Fangs embedded, rhythmically sucking, tongue licking. Saliva and blood crawl in runnels down his pale torso.

Elijah watches himself be overwhelmed by the artistry of his mentor. Eyes huge; they glow lewdly. Purplish. Blue, his human color; and red, his new evil twin self. He is held upright. Blood and spit have slickened him. The movement at his groin is frenzied. Sliding; sliding. It's unbearable for long.

Just at the brink, fangs withdraw. Elijah must support his own weight. He flails out with rubbery arms; hands land flat on the mirror. The eyes above and behind him, reflected, coolly observe. Only waiting. A second hand. Between his spread legs, tugging at his balls. Gathers up moisture, moves back, penetrates. Though forceful, it does not cause real pain. Sweet spot. Oh! Elijah howls. Tries like hell to thrust his cum through his internal workings immediately. He is stilled by force of will.

"No, boy. Feel it. Become it."

Something is changing, at a metaphysical level. Elijah is strong, or will be. He has grown. He is all those things wanted for himself, now nearly as tall as the other with a correspondingly well-defined body. He knows his fangs are nearly fully functional. He just needs to…

"Cum."

The mental impediment is gone. So he does. His juices boil until testes sweetly ache. The fingers inside rub unabated. He sees stars. Stripes. The Union Jack and the Holy Grail. He sees himself at the moment of orgasm. Elijah screams as cream explodes from him, coating the master's hand. Spurting in gouts, so much it's almost like pissing again. It nearly hurts. It doesn't hurt enough.

Uneven splotches streak the mirror. They are white. Elijah wonders if some day soon he will cum in blood. Enough of his own has been lost this night. He is weakening. Difficult to breathe now.

Sean bends him tenderly. Toes his legs to a wider stance. Applies Elijah's own cum to the boy's crack and works it into his hole. Once again, the iron-hard erection presses against him. This time, he is ready to accept it. Forehead against the cold pane of glass as it impales him. All the way in. It tears, burns. Master waits. Elijah adjusts. It is good, oh, so good; hits that place deep inside.

"You forgot something amidst all your screams," Master Sean whispers into Elijah's ear, as he pulls back, a long, long slide. "What's my name?"

Slam! Elijah is full. Stretched. He is invaded, plundered.

‘Sean!'

"Yesssss."

He cannot stop rocking back against the firm, sinuous body behind him. Now he does arch his back. Pushes against the mirror with his hands. The two of them slap together. Elijah's cock rises again. He cannot help it. The pounding in his ass, heavy balls bouncing off it, the searing flame of his prostate as it is massaged with a blood-invested appendage will undo him. He is going to cum a second time, against his will.

A wave of faintness washes over him. He nearly falls. Somehow, impossibly, the master picks him up bodily, turns him. Still impaled, he is astride, would be on his back if he was not upright. The green, unholy eyes alight on him. Meet with infrared-purple. Streaks of blood-sweat mar an otherwise rugged, handsome visage. ‘Lijah knows he is smeared too. He is pressed fully to the glass, sandwiched between it and his assailer.

Teeth bite in deep a second time. They pinch and grip, used as leverage. Sean barrels into Elijah over and over. Large, demanding hands move the boy to his discretion, all of it rough and savage. The blood of Elijah runs in his veins; the slick heat of Elijah encloses him. Sean is barely holding on, but he has to.

Angle helps them both. All is sparkling, flash-fire gluttony. Sweet spot abraded perfectly. ‘Lij realizes he's been keening Sean's name for some time. Moans between repetitions. Waning heart pounds in his temples. Elijah lets his body go limp. All remaining blood pools in his cock. Must save it. Must cum. Please. Sean churns in harsh abbreviated circles. Legs and buttocks clench and ripple with the effort. The slide and rasp inside Elijah drags them so close. So close.

A final violent thrust. Sean loses it. Growls like an animal. Floods Elijah's insides with warmth. Elijah feels the pulsating of Sean's cumming; his organ twitches with each burst. The older man's arms gather him close. He grinds farther inside, still cumming, jet after jet. Elijah cannot help but respond to his mentor's eruption.

They both know what he must do.

‘Bite.'

Dark head lowers. Newly utile fangs pierce Sean's skin, even as he does the same to Elijah. The blood is shared, to strengthen and restore. As he is filled, the power of life singing in his veins, ‘Lijah spews forth his seed between their bellies. Sticky. Pungent. It smears their two pale smooth chests where he shot upwards, and oozes down to the floor.

Sean lifts his boy slightly. They disengage. Neither wobble now, fulfilled and nourished. Elijah's transformation is complete. A most attractive apprentice he will be.

For a moment, Sean concentrates. Closes his eyes. All the fluids they are covered in dissipate into thin air. The floor receives the same treatment. Sean's original clothes appear back on his body. Other than abandoned garments in a large radius, some in shreds, all is clean.

‘I need to learn that.'

"Pay attention next time."

It is necessary to look for an outfit on a different rack. Glancing at his reflection next to Sean's, Elijah estimates he must be 5'9". Nice. Just right. The last thing he does before they leave is drop a pile of hundreds next the till. That should cover it. His new suit will be the darkest of purples, with an underlying sheen. Fitting, don't you think?

*****

THE END

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