Sex with Brendon would make even the most stoic of men break out into a grin. That was the thing about Brendon. He made everything feel warm, personable, happy. He even made Ryan melt for him.

Brendon made everything better.

Normally.

But right now, as he moans softly beneath Ryan, laying still and not even contributing, he just looks blank. Empty.

And Ryan knows that it's his fault. God, how did it end up like this?

***

FOUR MONTHS PRIOR...

They don't tell you that everlasting life is a fucking chore. 

Sure, when you're weak and feeble and... human, bleeding out in an alleyway, and a handsome man tells you that you can live forever, be like him, it seems really fucking cool. It seems like a great opportunity! Everlasting life?! Good looks?! Supernatural power?! Awesome. 

But that was eighty years ago. And, well, after about twenty years, the absolute rush of being powerful and immortal wears off. And then your conscience catches up to you, and you stop killing people because you feel bad, and you leave your clan that was more like a cult, and you buy a bunch of houses around the world because shit, you've got that kind of money, and then you pick up a lot of fucking useless hobbies because, well, you've also got time. Ryan can play sixteen different instruments, he can speak German fluently, and he also is an excellent gamer. 

Him and Jon sometimes will play for days on end, not even noticing the sun rising and falling. Jon thinks it's an addiction. Whenever he says that, Ryan simply rolls his eyes, although it very well could be true. Can vampires become addicted?

Jesus Christ. 

He's a vampire addicted to gaming. 

That's kind of, really, totally lame.

Sometimes, Ryan wonders if he did die in that alley, and this is Hell. Is this his eternal punishment? If so, what did he do to deserve it?

Ryan's been in the same dead-end town for almost 100 years, considering he's been a vampire for 80, and was 19 when he died. People come. They go. Ryan stays, along with Jon. His old clan is still around too, hiding in the shadows, and he knows other vampires populate the town too, outsiders. The ones who refuse to join William. Ryan doesn't blame them. He hated the years he spent with William, and God, he hates William for turning him. Still, when they run into each other, they force smiles and recount old stories. There's no use starting fights. It would only lead to battle, and inevitably death. Still, tensions are running high between them, that much is obvious. 

Something is going to happen soon. Ryan doesn't know how, but he can feel it, like how animals hide before a storm. He isn't that different from an animal, really. They both have fangs. They both have questionable hygiene, (he hasn't gotten laid in a while, okay?!) and they both have very good instincts.

Ryan sighs, standing and biting his nails. The clock reads 10 PM. Is that too early to go and hunt? 
"Is 10 too early to go out?" He asks Jon, glancing over to his best friend, who is humming the Mario Brothers theme and reading a book. Ryan sighs, raising his voice, even though he knows Jon heard, "Is 10 too early to go out?"

Jon looks up, grinning. "Sorry, didn't hear you." He teases, and Ryan sighs, flipping him off. "10 is fine. Any later, and you're just going to get junkies. Not very yummy."

Ryan grunts in agreement, nodding as a sign of farewell before walking off. They aren't big on hellos or goodbyes. Why would you be, when you have no intentions of going anywhere? 

Ryan and Jon are stuck, like it or not. 

And Ryan definitely doesn't like it. 

***

New York City smells like piss. Piss, and pot. 

New York City? More like New York Shitty.

Ba-dum-tss. 

Ryan used to find the scent of marijuana appetizing, but now it just reminds him of his teenaged years. Marijuana is a hindrance, something that makes blood bitter and nearly undrinkable. 
Ryan hates the city. It's big and noisy and dirty. But the town that they occupy is small, extremely so, and it wouldn't do for the townsfolk to realize that the occupants are regularly being drank from, not at all, so they travel around. New York isn't far at all, not really anyway. It's a hop, skip, and a jump away for Ryan and Jon, at least, who, like the rest of their kind, are blessed with supernatural speed. 

However, the advantage of going into the city is that Ryan has a wide pick of prey. Smiling, Ryan walks down the street, eyes flickering over people walking down the sidewalk. The world is his oyster. He's always considered that an icky kind of saying. Even as a human he despised seafood. Why not simply 'the world is his'? The world is his pearl? His diamond? There's probably some reason for it, but Ryan is stubbornly stuck in his ignorance. Fuck 'you learn something new every day'. He'll learn when he needs to when he does. 

His stomach aches painfully, practically shrieking for nourishment, and Ryan knows that he needs to feed.

Otherwise, it'll get ugly.

He's about to prey on a tiny blonde girl walking alone, when suddenly, he hears a laugh, musical and lovely, accompanied by a rich, dark smell. Ryan doesn't know how describe the scents and tastes of blood. It's different from the flavors and scents of normal foods. When you're a vampire, your tastebuds evolve to only taste blood, but they make the liquid addictive, delicious, fantastic, any sort of adjective you can imagine.

It's so much better than any sort of food.

Some types of blood are light and tangy, some sweet and flavorful, others musty and strong. Jon prefers the stronger tastes. Ryan? Well, let's just say that this scent is right up his alley. It calls to him, and Ryan knows that he must have whoever this is. Swallowing, he clenches his fists and turns, trying to control himself. He can feel those damned animal instincts kicking in, and he has to remember that he's in public.

The owner of the scent is beginning to walk away, and Ryan can't have that, so he begins to speed-walk in the direction of the scent. As he catches up, he hears snatches of a conversation, and he focuses on the man's voice. It's soft and melodic, and Ryan internally cheers as he realizes that the man is alone, and just talking on the phone.

It just makes this that much easier.

Ryan inhales, before walking quickly up to the man, tugging firmly at his sleeve. He feels wild now, more cocky, and he's ready to pounce on the owner of this surprisingly voluptuous ass, if need be. The man stiffens and jumps, turning slowly and facing Ryan, eyes huge,  hesitant, and slightly fearful. Ryan resists the urge to smirk as the man looks him up and down, clearly sizing him up, anticipating a fight. How cute.

He thinks that he stands a chance. 
"One second, Spence. I'll call you back..." He murmurs, looking like a deer in the headlights as he hangs up with "Spence'. His eyes are locked with Ryan's, filled with terror. Predator versus Prey. Instinctually, this man, this boy knows that he's being hunted.

And yet, he won't look away. 

How... How very cute. How very stupid. 

The man swallows, jutting out his chin. "Can I help you?" He asks, and Ryan smiles earnestly. "Actually, you can." He says, and the man blinks. "H-How?" He asks, looking unsure, and then Ryan intensifies his gaze. He can tell exactly when this man (again, more of a boy, really) loses himself, and simply falls into Ryan's will. "Follow me." Ryan says simply, and the man blankly nods, his hand slipping into Ryan's without hesitation. Ryan blinks. Did he subconsciously command him to do that?

"What's your name?" Ryan asks as he leads the man into an alley, looking him up and down. He's simultaneously frail and sturdy: can't be over 5'9, with a delicately beautiful face, but his body is equally curvy and sturdy. He looks like a perfect little plaything, but Ryan keeps his hands to himself. He's a lot of things, but he's not a rapist. 

"First or last?" The man questions, and Ryan rolls his eyes. "First. Or both. Doesn't matter." He says, shrugging. For a second, the boy looks a bit saddened by Ryan's dismissive remarks, (strange, usually when a human starts to come out of it, they just look fearful) but then Ryan deepens the trance, and his face just goes blank. "Brendon. Urie. Brendon Urie." He says, voice soft and monotoned, rivaling Ryan's own flat voice. 

Ryan nods, satisfied. "Well. Brendon." He says slowly, sinuously, gently stroking Brendon's cheek. The man shudders gently and leans into the caress. "You're going to make me very happy." He says, smiling. Brendon's eyebrows furrow, and he opens his mouth, probably to question the slightly sinister meaning behind that statement, but Ryan presses a finger to his full lips, and the boy obediently falls silent. 

He's a pretty little thing, Ryan thinks, looking him up and down, and Brendon blinks at him, long eyelashes fluttering oh-so-innocently. "Do I please you?" He asks, and Ryan stares. It's normal for humans to want to obey vampires, when they're tranced. They have no say in the matter. 

But asking if Ryan is pleased? 

That's new territory. 

Ryan swallows, gazing at Brendon's face. His lips look bee-stung, perfectly pink and pouty. Ryan longs to nip on the bottom one, to draw blood and lick it off, to make this pretty, docile boy shudder. The look on Brendon's face says he wouldn't object to that treatment. Ryan silently wonders how tranced this boy really is.

"How old are you?" Ryan asks, and Brendon blinks, eyes still glazed over, but face slightly animated.

So he's deep enough to comprehend, but still under the spell. 

Interesting.

"Twenty-Two." Brendon says throatily, and Ryan nods. His body is younger, only nineteen. But of course, Ryan's over a hundred now. That makes Brendon technically younger, but Ryan still counts him as younger mentally. 

Not a man, but a boy.

Ryan wants to pin this boy against the wall of this shitty alley, and fucking ravish him, run his tongue along the flawless, smooth skin and taste the salt and sweat. God, he wants to find out what makes this beautiful boy tick. He's honestly spellbinding, and if it weren't for the intoxicating smell of blood radiating off of him and the healthy flush of his skin, Ryan wouldn't be surprised to find out that this boy is a vampire himself. He's definitely lovely enough to be one, and has the same velvet tones as one of Ryan's kind.

"Brendon." Ryan starts hesitantly, and the boy meets his eyes obediently, giving him a bashful look that makes Ryan's (no longer beating) heart flutter. "Would you... perhaps... want to...?" Have sex?

He can't consent. He's hypnotized, you fucking moron.

Ryan falls silent. Brendon tilts his head to the side, resembling a confused and adorable little puppy, and Ryan sighs, simply gazing into Brendon's eyes once more, until the curiosity in Brendon's eyes is once again replaced with an empty, docile gaze. He really needs to work on trancing people, making the dazes stronger, so prey can't break free so easily.

"Tilt your jaw upward." Ryan breathes, and Brendon smiles dreamily, immediately responding. Ryan steps forward, eyes trailing over the creamy expanse of skin that is Brendon's neck, sharp eyes easily locating a purplish vein. He feels bad about breaking the skin, even though he knows that Brendon will feel nothing but pleasure from the bite.

According to some of Ryan's victims, the bite is just as pleasurable for them as the blood is for him. 

Still, he can't help but swallow, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to the skin. He feels the blood inside of Brendon rushing through his veins, powering his tiny body and sustaining the fragile human life within. Most of Ryan's kind finds humans weak, pretending that they were always vampires, always inhumane. Ryan sees them more as strong. They're so easily breakable, and yet they go on anyway, risking death each and every day.

There's something admirable about that. 

Slowly, Ryan bites down, a gentle nip at first that turns into a harsh bite as the thirst burning dully inside of him takes over.

It's not the best blood Ryan's ever had, but goddamn, it sure is fantastic, and Ryan finds himself greedily suckling, pulling Brendon's warm body closer. The boy, for his part, is pliant, occasionally uttering soft mewls and moans, hands twitching feebly. When the warmth of Brendon's body starts to ebb into cold, Ryan pulls away, inhaling his scent once more. 

Utterly intoxicating.

Brendon's eyes are more glazed now, and Ryan quickly realizes that he drank too much. The boy is slumping forward slightly, and Ryan sighs, simply helping Brendon sink to the ground and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. "You did well, lovely." He murmurs softly, and Brendon looks up, giving him a tiny smile. "Pleased to p-please." He stammers meekly, but almost tauntingly, in a way, and Ryan blinks, swallowing. "Hush. Save your energy." He says, and Brendon nods groggily, looking down. 

Now what?

Perhaps the reason that Ryan and Jon never say goodbye is because Ryan is too awkward, can't ever end things or form words properly, can't look back without feeling some form of shame and regret. When he left William's clan, he never truly said goodbye, just packed his things and left. 

Ryan Ross doesn't look back. He just leaves. 

Brendon gazes up at him glassily, a dazed smile on his beautiful face, and Ryan simply doesn't know how to say goodbye, doesn't know how to thank this strange, strange creature named Brendon Urie. So, he doesn't, instead crouching down and patting Brendon's cheek, gently instructing him to sleep. Once the boy's brown eyes flutter shut, Ryan feels a deep sense of regret. He isn't sure why.

They're pretty eyes really, the color of bitter dark chocolate, the kind his mother used to bring back home from the market to bake with. Ryan still remembers the taste, strong and unforgettable, decades later. 

Ryan knows that he'll remember those eyes, too, perhaps even decades later.
Sighing, he turns, heading home to an empty bed in an empty house in an empty town.
And Ryan? Well, Ryan feels pretty fucking empty, too. 

***

Ryan doesn't go back for seconds. It's sloppy, risky, and never as good as the first time. Why risk exposing his secret, exposing Vampirekind's secret, for something you've already tried before?

Vampirekind isn't a word, Ryan thinks, but it should be.

So when Ryan is in the city, weeks later, walking down the same damn street he met Brendon Urie on, and he smells the boy again, the beautiful fucking boy, Ryan doesn't turn, doesn't outwardly react. 

That is, until he feels warm fingers curl around his wrist, and his eyes meet a very familiar, very pretty face, outfitted with bitter chocolate eyes and beestung lips. 

"You." Brendon breathes, eyes wide and excited, cheeks flushed. "I've been looking for you!"

And that's when Ryan knows that he's in a world of trouble.