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[Nov. 6th, 2007|10:25 pm] |
Title: Synyster
Pairing: Brian/Zacky, others as the story goes along
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Synyster is a dead cell. He knows no emotion, no love, no fear; rage and hatred are his only friends. He's dead, but still living and breathing, and he hates it. What happens when he meets a stranger who turns his world upside down numerous times?
A/N: I know, I have a ton of other chaptered stories, but I can't get into them right now, and this has been floating around in my head for a while. Don't worry, I don't plan to abandon Take Me or anything. ♥
If it was one thing the vampire Synyster was known for, it was violence; pure, unadulterated, gratuitous violence. In waves he was able to throw off intimidation and self-assured cockiness, as well as a cold that ripped terror from people, and his work with a dagger in those perfectly crafted hands wasn’t so bad either. The way his toned, tanned body moved with each swing of the blade was awe-inspiring, thick, tattooed muscles moving over strong bones, sinew straining right under the skin as the knife sliced through the air.
Too bad his eyes were cold and dead.
There were rumors of him being a sexual beast, that he took women when he wanted, did his worst to them, and left them out to remember how his calloused hands felt on them. People had been told of the way his dark eyes would watch without mercy as the bodies arched ungracefully off the bed as his hand roamed over the flesh, greedily tasting it with his fingertips until he was sated.
The truth was, the vampire hated to touch and be touched. He couldn’t stand the searing heat of someone’s skin against his own, pulling back from any embrace as though he had been burned. He didn’t let that weakness show through very often, though. He was hard, cold, and ruthless. All that was left inside of him was hatred in its purest, most primitive form, and he let that out in violence; it was his outlet.
A cold night was his favorite time to let off steam, and the night was chilled to the bone as he stalked down the streets of L.A. His body moved swiftly, silently, like a feline’s as he cut through the air as though it were nothing. The snow that had fallen that day had melted into grey sludge that was abandoned next to the streets that were a glistening, foreboding ebony.
His shoes hit lightly against the wet ground, covering the space between the now and the future quickly, efficiently. His fangs itched for blood, his very body burned and thirsted, but he wouldn’t give into himself. He wouldn’t until his body was about ready to cave in on him. As much as he loved it on his hands and splattered on his face, he pretty much hated the taste. Like a mix between oil and rust. Who could enjoy that?
He growled a little to himself as he stepped out of the shadows, into the light of downtown. The garish sunspots they called lamps burned his dark retinas, all but made him recoil, hissing a little in the back of his throat; luckily, his sounds of discomfort were lost in the throng of people waiting to get inside the club. Instantly noticing where he’d come, his head split lightly, and a shock of pain went through his spine, resting to settle heavily on his tailbone before dissipating through his lower abdomen muscles like a surge. He despised loud noises. They broke his concentration.
However, he needed to feed; his stomach roiled uncomfortably, and the scent of blood and flesh was inhaled as he brought air into himself, alighting his senses, and his hunger was no longer dormant, but a sudden roaring beast in his chest.
He had to get away from here. Self-punishment was one thing. Torture was something he could endure no more of. His chest began to cave in on him as he slumped against the wall, the scent of flesh coming closer, somewhat heavy footsteps chasing the scent. Oh, God, don’t do that…
He looked over to see bright green eyes looking straight at him, peering out from graceful, thick eyelashes and eyeliner-traced lids, heavy but graceful brows covering them. It was the first thing he saw before he shifted his gaze somewhere mid-torso, seeing the curvature of a lean body beneath a black t-shirt that clung to his body even in the cold. It dropped further down to sturdy legs swathed in black jeans, rolled up at the shins, revealing possibly the most ridiculous pair of Velcro sneakers ever.
His eyes trailed back up to the stranger, met with a pale, heart-shaped face, with soft curves to his face. They weren’t sharp planes like his own, but real curves; this guy wasn’t a vampire…nah, this guy was an angel. To add, he had full cheeks smiling a little in confusion and concern.
…But the kicker was the shape of his lips. Full, somewhat glossy from saliva from a just as pink tongue hidden behind them, the lower lip slightly pouting, bigger than the top as they arched against his face, fitting it perfectly, a large but proportional nose completing the face that looked back at him for a flash before he averted his gaze again and started to walk away; this guy was instantly dangerous.
He felt a hand go onto his forearm as if to stop him, and in a second that didn’t seem possible, the stranger was pressed facedown to the wall, the touched forearm shoved into his back; from this proximity, Synyster could smell the blood full-force now, and it smelled sumptuous, rich under the light cover of his skin, so pale he could see the veins threading beneath it.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he growled against the shell of the pale man’s ear, and he hadn’t meant it to come out sexual, but apparently it had. A soft mewl came out from between those perfect lips, body arching back into the abuse. To this, he let the stranger up, growling in an absolute, raw disgust. The stranger stopped and looked confusedly over his shoulder, straightening up until he got the first look of the vampire’s features.
Moderate waves of thick, dark hair fell just into even darker eyes that seemed dead, grazing thick eyelashes, toying with them as the wind blew one to the other, feathered by wing-tipped eyebrows, drawn tight in his face. His eyes were echoing like a tomb in his tight, tanned face, flesh pulled taut over a graceful bone structure, lean yet still strong, his jaw line sloping just right, both sides coming into a small patch of hair on his chin, thin, perfectly smirking lips curled upward in a snarl at the moment as their eyes met once more, his built body coiled to strike as his hand had slipped into his leather jacket, calloused fingers wrapped around a dagger.
He caught one word from the stranger, echoing in his mind like a curse: Beautiful.
It was about then the vampire snapped, moving forward to pin the stranger to the wall with his weight, the growling increased. “I am not beautiful, and you’ll know it once I’m done with you,” he breathed lowly into his ear, and he got the same reaction. He again voiced his disgust by moving dark hair from his pale neck, leaning down and penetrating his skin with his already-elongated fangs.
A moan like music came from the pinned stranger as an electric charge shot through Synyster, and it caused him to pull more greedily, forcefully from the vein he had punctured. The sensation must have been erotic, because it pulled another of the godforsaken sounds out of the victim, his body arching back into the hard one behind him.
To this contact, he instantly broke their bond, breathing heavily as he backed himself against the opposite wall of the alley, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the vividly colored blood smearing over his skin, and as always he marveled at how well it mixed with his skin tone. He lingered but a moment before he turned his eyes to the stranger, whose eyes were wide with a mix of fear and arousal that hit him in a blast, the scent overbearing on his newly-heightened senses.
“What do you want from me?” he asked in a hoarse tone, and the stranger looked surprised, his angelic face contorting into a blissful confusion, a slight flush blossoming on his face as his hand moved up to the quickly-healing wounds.
“I was going to ask if you were okay,” he replied, and his voice was like music. There was a slight lilt to it, a faint lisp backing his r’s and his s’s, a smooth transition that wouldn’t really have been caught onto if he wasn’t so highly aroused.
“Well, I’m fine,” he snapped in a harsh tone, his own voice thick and rich, chocolate like his eyes would have been had they not been blackened. “Thanks for your concern.” His tone had turned biting as the cold that surrounded them, and the stranger blanched. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Tell me your name,” the stranger demanded softly, and Synyster’s jaw dropped, his fangs showing as he did this. The other stared, so he quickly shut his mouth, cocking his head to the side a little before snarling, ignoring the question completely.
“Get the fucking hell out of here!” he roared, straightening up and he could feel and smell the fear rise up in him like bile, and he smirked a little, watching him make a move toward the exit of the alley. “Go on. Get out. Go back to whatever the fuck you were doing.”
“What’s your name?” the stranger repeated in a meek, strangled tone, licking over his lips before clearing his throat and standing up somewhat straight. “Mine’s Zacky.”
The vampire sighed, running his fingers through his hair before looking over at the stranger, having a strange, lingering feeling no matter what he did he wouldn’t give up. “Synyster, now get the fuck out of here!” he snapped, and the stranger, Zacky, seemed satisfied, if not confused, so he hightailed it out of the alleyway. Once he was gone, Synyster touched his lips, feeling the slight zing of the flesh against his own. He shook himself mentally and shut his eyes, collapsing back against the wall. “Time to work.”
He muttered this as he shot himself up, his spinal column standing straight inside of him; he could almost feel the bones aligning themselves, and that scared him a bit. He’d never felt this alive before, really. Every nerve tingled as though it were ready to pop out and do a song-and-dance, every joint felt well and good for movement, his muscles moved easily as he stood up, glanced to the alleyway once more, brows furrowing for a second before thinking, fuck it.
He walked out with a slight casual gait that wasn’t his own, shaking himself before he got back into his heavy movements, glancing around and stealing out of downtown and toward another alley more uptown, away from the glitz, the glamour, and especially from that…male. Zacky.
He shook him up well and good; that was for sure. |
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