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"Let's go out," Chris says one night with a gleam in his eye, and that should be Ricky's clue right there that something about tonight is going to be magical.
Ricky knows falling in love with a vampire was probably not a good idea, but he can't help it. Chris is sweet and kind and funny, not to mention ridiculously hot, and Ricky has always had a weakness for kind eyes and beautiful voices—and gods, does Chris have a beautiful voice. Ricky still swears he felt like he was in a fairy tale the first time he'd heard Chris sing, the day they'd met at some karaoke bar in Seattle. He'd been so enamored that he'd followed Chris all the way back to Scranton, Pennsylvania, and before he knew it he was in love.
He'd discovered that Chris is a vampire somewhere along the journey from Seattle to Scranton and it hadn't put him off—actually, it had only fascinated him, since Ricky is a writer at heart and being with Chris exposes him to a whole new world that most people think is only fantasy. The details about supernatural life that Ricky has picked up over the last couple of years are strange and magical and so utterly fascinating that even the creepier bits haven't deterred Ricky from his pursuit of them, or of Chris.
For his part, Chris seems to think Ricky's information-gathering is adorable, because the vampire keeps proposing spontaneous trips to some place or another that is frequented by denizens of the supernatural shadow world. Ricky's been introduced to several of Chris's vampire friends, spent a long night in a graveyard watching a necromancer raise someone's spirit for a final conversation with a loved one, watched a pack of werewolves run through the park on a clear night, been entranced by the otherworldly beauty of a faerie party in a grotto that does not exist in daylight. Chris delights in showing Ricky his world, and Ricky is simply delighted that Chris trusts him enough to show him these things.
So when Chris abruptly looks over at him from his position on the couch of Ricky's apartment one night, drawing Ricky's gaze out of the half-finished draft of a short story he's been trying to write, and says "Let's go out" with that signature gleam in his eye, Ricky says yes in a heartbeat.
Which is how he finds himself being shepherded down a street in a part of town he's not used to, shivering a little bit in the late autumn breeze. Chris, of course, is unaffected by the cold, and Ricky envies his intolerance to temperature not for the first time.
"Hold on, love," Chris says, the faintest hint of an old accent whispering through on the pet name. "We'll be inside soon enough." He considers for a moment. "Though come to think of it, I'm not really sure how much warmer it will be."
Ricky frowns to himself, trying to puzzle that one out—there are times when Chris is vague on purpose, and other times when he just says something odd that leaves Ricky wondering, and he's not really sure which one it is this time. He gets his answer only a few minutes later, as they approach the brightly lit facade of what appears to be a nightclub. Ricky squints against the neon glare and makes out the name—The Silver Bullet.
He snorts to himself. "Name's a little on the nose, isn't it?" he asks, and Chris just grins at him with a flash of fangs.
"You'll see why in a moment," he promises, and all but drags Ricky up to the door.
Ricky recognizes the bouncer as one of the various people Chris has introduced him to—Justin, who, like Ricky, is a human dating a vampire. Ricky raises an eyebrow. "Since when do you have a gig as a bouncer, J?" he asks as Justin's stern stance relaxes upon seeing them.
Justin shrugs. "Since it pays fairly well." He grins, the look immediately softening him into the sweetheart Ricky knows him to be despite his large frame. "First time I'm seeing you around here, though."
"I thought it was about time," Chris says, and a look passes between them that Ricky can't read. He wonders what that's all about as Justin waves them through.
"Enjoy yourself, Rick," he calls as Chris ushers him inside.
Ricky had thought he knows quite a bit about how the supernatural world operates.
Stepping into The Silver Bullet, however, feels like stepping into another world again.
It's not that Ricky hasn't been to clubs before. He doesn't frequent them by any means, but he's been inside a few, and he knows how they operate. And on the surface, this club is no different than any other—strobing lights, pounding music loud enough to rattle a person's eardrums, a dancefloor crowded with people, a bar crowded with more. But the atmosphere in here is different than any other club Ricky's ever been to, because this room is full of vampires.
An ordinary person might not have been able to tell. But Ricky's spent the better part of the last two years in the company of vampires, and he knows instantly that he's just stepped into a room full of them. It's noticeable in the little things—the relatively cool temperature of the room despite the press of bodies on the dancefloor, that unnatural cold that follows vampires from the grave; the way the dark liquid in people's glasses looks thicker than any alcohol Ricky's ever seen, and leaves red stains behind on the glass; the unearthly grace with which they move, more coordinated than any human.
"What is this place?" Ricky murmurs in awe, knowing Chris can hear him even over the pounding music.
"Vampire club," Chris says proudly, and Ricky glances over to see him grinning with his fangs on full display. "Only open a few nights a month. Caters exclusively to vampires and our favorite humans—there is actual alcohol behind the bar if you want some."
"Please," Ricky says, and allows Chris to lead him through the throng of vampires. Ricky notices as they go that there are a handful of humans here, mixed in with the vampires, dancing and smiling and appearing as relaxed as can be.
Fascinating, Ricky thinks, making a mental note to write down what he can remember of this place. Out loud, he asks Chris, "Why is it only open a few nights a month?"
"We've got a, uh...tradition," Chris says, and Ricky gets the odd sense that he's choosing his words carefully. "One that can't be invoked more than a couple of times a month. It can get dangerous, though most of the time everyone involved is fine." He smiles at Ricky reassuringly. "It's a wild ride. You're in for a treat, Rick."
Ricky smiles back, happy to take Chris's word for it.
They reach the bar and manage to squeeze in between a pair of women lazily making out and a human man who looks rather more drunk than anyone else Ricky's seen tonight. Chris taps the bar, and the bartender looks up, grinning when he sees Chris.
"Hey, man," the bartender greets, and Ricky studies his face, trying to place him. He looks vaguely familiar...
"Hey, Anthony," says Chris, and now it clicks. The bartender is Anthony Martinez, another vampire friend of Chris's and a fellow musician. "You remember my boyfriend, Ricky?"
Anthony glances him over, then brightens. "Oh, yeah. Hey."
"Hey," Ricky says back. "I didn't know you bartend."
"Only when I have to," Anthony says, but he's smiling. "So, what can I get you?"
"What've you even got on tap tonight?" Chris asks. "Bigger crowd than usual, you've gotta have some of the good stuff."
"Do I ever," Anthony says, and pulls out a bottle of what is undoubtedly blood. Chris sniffs inquisitively and his eyes brighten. "AB negative," Anthony says proudly. "Good condition, too, considering how old the bottle is."
"You really pulled out all the stops," Chris says as Anthony grabs a glass and pours without being asked.
"There's more where that came from," the bartender promises, "though not a ton, so go easy."
"Don't need to tell me twice," Chris says, and turns to Ricky, who is not exactly disgusted by the blatant exchange—again, he's been around vampires long enough to not be freaked out by the drinking blood thing—but he is mildly uncomfortable, as this is a part of Chris's world he cannot belong to. "Oh, Rick, sorry—I'm used to coming to these things alone." He presses a kiss to the side of Ricky's head and nudges him, nodding at Anthony as he does so. "What else do you have back there, Anthony?"
"Let's see...several varieties of whiskey, vodka, a couple of nice rums, tequila, plenty of beer..." Anthony trails off purposefully.
"Uh, just a scotch is fine," Ricky says, and is more relieved than he cares to admit when Anthony slides over a glass full of blessedly normal-looking amber liquid.
"See you later," Chris says, and exchanges another one of those oddly significant looks with Anthony before they turn to head back through the crowd to find a table.
"What was that whole exchange with the blood about?" Ricky asks as Chris deftly leads the way through the crowd of dancing vampires.
"Oh, you mean my drink?" Chris pulls Ricky towards an unoccupied table in a corner and sits down, once again sniffing appreciatively at his glass. "It's AB negative, the rarest blood type in the world. It's very hard to find, but Anthony's known for being able to acquire rare blood types like this—it's part of why he's our go-to bartender for these. I've told you different blood types have particular flavors to them, right?"
Ricky nods; this was one of the first random vampire facts he learned from Chris. Different blood types apparently taste different; Ricky doesn't quite understand why, but he supposes it's just a vampire thing.
Chris continues. "Right, anyway, AB negative is so rare that its 'flavor' is very strong and quite noticeably different, so it's a luxury when someone's able to get ahold of a large enough quantity to feed a clubful of vampires, like Anthony has. That answer your question?"
"Yeah, about as well as any of your answers," Ricky says, and he's teasing, and Chris smiles at him and takes a sip of the very rare blood in his glass and sighs so contentedly that Ricky can't help but stare in wonder at his reaction. Strange as it is, Ricky doesn't think he's ever going to get tired of seeing Chris drink blood—there's this sort of involuntary reaction of pleasure Chris has when he feeds that transforms him from the guy Ricky knows to the truly otherworldly creature he is, even if only for a few seconds, and there is something mesmerizing to him about watching that transformation come over Chris.
Chris blinks open eyes tinged scarlet and smiles at him. "You're staring."
"You're hot," Ricky says.
Chris laughs. "You are the strangest man I've ever met."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is." Chris pulls Ricky around to his side of the booth and kisses him, and Ricky ignores the metallic taste of blood on his lips.
"Oi, lovebirds," calls a familiar voice, and Ricky pulls away from Chris to see Ryan and Vinny approaching—more friends of Chris's. Ryan's the speaker, and they both slide themselves into Chris and Ricky's booth without asking. "Save that for when you're alone, why don't you."
"Come on," Chris complains. "Like you and Justin don't do that all the time."
"He's got you there," says Vinny, and Ricky laughs.
Time passes in a pleasant sort of haze; Ricky's not a lightweight, but he doesn't drink all that much either, and the combination of the alcohol and the company of his friends and the otherworldly atmosphere of the club is enough to make him feel pleasantly warm and comfortable—not tipsy, exactly, but not entirely sober either.
He's still aware enough to notice when the atmosphere shifts, anyway.
It's subtle, but there's a change in the vampires around him, including Ricky's friends. Chris stands, pulling Ricky with him by their intertwined hands; he finished his glass of AB negative a while ago, and Ricky's long since done with his whiskey, so he has no qualms about following his boyfriend wherever he's decided they're going now.
"Come on," Chris says, and there's a low thrill of excitement in his voice. His eyes are more red now than brown, a result of the blood; Ricky feels a strange chill of anticipation run through him at the sight. "You're coming up to the front with me."
"Good luck," Vinny calls after them as Ricky lets himself be led along, back through the crowd and to a small stage at the back of the club. Ricky wonders what's going on—he knows Chris is a singer, but this event doesn't exactly strike Ricky as the type for karaoke.
"What are we doing?" Ricky asks.
"You'll see," Chris replies, and then pauses for a moment. "Hey, Rick, I still have your consent to bite you, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Ricky says automatically, because he does—has had it from the moment Ricky discovered he's a vampire, really. Chris doesn't feed on him often, but the permission to do so is always there.
There's something momentarily unreadable in Chris's expression. "Just checking."
And he continues on, stationing Ricky at the side of the stage when they reach it and giving him a kiss before striding to the center.
An anticipatory cheer rumbles through the assembled vampires as, to Ricky's surprise, Anthony separates himself from the bar and joins Chris onstage. Ricky gets the sense that whatever Chris brought him here to see is about to happen; another shiver of anticipation runs through him as Chris takes the microphone and greets the crowd.
"Hello, my friends," Chris says, "and welcome to another Blood Rave!"
Another cheer. "Let's get right into it, shall we?" Chris says, and at another vocal assent from the group he holds up a hand. Instantly, the lights go out, except for a faint string of running lights on the edge of the stage. Ricky doesn't jump, though the sudden darkness is more than a little surprising; he trusts Chris, trusts that whatever's going on must be part of the show he's about to put on.
A low beat begins emanating from the speakers, and spotlights sweep over the crowd, briefly illuminating the sea of vampires in flashes of fangs and crimson eyes. Then a voice that is not Chris's says the words "Blood. Rave" to the beat, and the music kicks in, and the strobing lights are back as the crowd of undead seems to come alive to the music.
And then Chris's voice, and a spotlight that flickers on, silhouetting him against the crowd. Ricky loves his singing voice, and yet he's never quite heard anything like this. His voice comes out in a low croon, mesmerizing as the faerie songs in the grotto, moving with the rhythm of the music ringing through the club. Ricky finds himself swaying in place, drawn to Chris's voice like a moth to flame; and then Anthony joins in from the shadows enveloping the rest of the stage, and Ricky's never heard him sing before but he's got a good voice, too. They sound remarkably similar, though Ricky can hear the difference.
The spotlight dies and the strobes of white and blue and purple flashing lights are the only things that illuminate the room in flickers and snatches as Chris and Anthony launch into what is clearly the chorus. Ricky is dancing almost without realizing he's doing so, enthralled by the music, enthralled by Chris. What snatches of his boyfriend he can see through the strobes are just as thrilling as the sound of his voice; Chris has taken on that ethereal quality he gets when he's feeding, and it's transcendent. Ricky feels like he's truly entered another dimension, like the everyday world beyond the doors of this club exists only in a dream, like the only things that are real are himself and Chris and the music and the stage floor beneath his feet.
The spotlight recenters on Anthony as he takes over the next verse, and Ricky's eyes scan the shadows for Chris; there's not much room on this stage, and yet he seems impossibly far away, the darkness consuming. The effect of the strobes repeats itself as the chorus begins again, and Ricky glances out over the crowd, then back at Chris; the room feels alive now in a way it didn't before, as if this is what everyone is here for—and, realistically, Ricky thinks, it probably is.
He can understand why.
Chris takes center stage again as the music diminishes, a steady drumbeat keeping time. Ricky is pulled with him as a hand grabs his wrist, and he's right by Chris's side, close enough to feel the vibration of the words in his chest as he sings. "Close your eyes, step away from the light / You know you won't forget your first kill / So LET THE BLOOD SPILL!"
The last is torn from him in some combination of growl and scream that sends shivers down Ricky's spine—and the dancefloor in front of him transforms.
The pulsing strobe lights turn red, and in the glimpses of the floor Ricky can see the scene is a bloodbath. As if Chris's line was a cue, every vampire with a human companion has fangs sunk into wrists, necks, anywhere they can find a vein. Blood flows out of open wounds as at least one of the humans is cut with a knife, vampires swooping in to feed from the cut, any blood that misses hungry mouths splashing to the floor. Crimson eyes are alright with fervor, fangs flash, and the sharp, metallic scent of blood fills the room.
Chris repeats the line, and then Ricky feels himself being pulled close and before he can draw breath to ask what's going on Chris's fangs are deep in his throat and he's feeding as Anthony takes over vocals.
Ricky has never quite gotten used to the feeling of being fed on. The closest he can come is a high; he feels like he's simultaneously floating and rooted to the ground, supported more by Chris's arms than by his own body. It's not an unpleasant feeling, just an odd one, and yet even now Ricky is not afraid. He trusts Chris, maybe more than he should, but he knows he's safe enough as long as it's only Chris that drinks from him tonight. And besides, he thinks as his eyes light on the bloodbath below, this has to be the reason they're here tonight—this had to have been Chris's plan all along.
Chris will not hurt him, Ricky knows. And so he lets himself give in to the sensation of Chris's fangs in his neck, greedily drawing the blood out of his body and spreading the peculiar sense of flying and falling all at once through Ricky. It's more intoxicating than the whiskey, than Chris's voice, than the pulse of the music beating in time with Ricky's oh-so-human heart.
Chris detaches his fangs for a moment to lend his voice to the final rendition of the chorus, and Ricky blinks at him blearily. His mouth is covered in blood and his scarlet eyes are alight with hunger and desire and the bloodlust that comes with a vampire's feeding. Chris doesn't let him go, which is probably a good thing because Ricky doesn't know if he can stand on his own right now, and Ricky turns dazed eyes on the crowd of vampires below. The feeding frenzy continues; Ricky thinks he catches sight of Ryan with his fangs in Justin's wrist somewhere before the pulsing lights flicker away. Blood continues to flow; everything he sees seems covered in it, though that could be the lights.
The song concludes and almost immediately is replaced by another; Anthony remains onstage, singing, even as Chris sweeps Ricky into the crowd and whisper-growls in Ricky's ear, "Told you it'd be a wild ride."
Ricky shivers and makes no response as Chris guides his wrist up; a quick flash of pain that dissipates almost instantly alerts him to the presence of two new puncture wounds in his wrist, though Chris only drinks briefly from there before his fangs return to their place in Ricky's throat. Ricky clings to his boyfriend as the crowd writhes and seethes and bleeds around them. Anthony's words don't register, but the sound of his voice does; he's still singing, carrying on while Chris feeds and the rave continues to run red with human blood.
Ricky feels himself getting a little lightheaded and dismisses it as a combination of the intoxicating feelings overwhelming his senses. He knows he's safe with Chris. Tonight has certainly been an experience, one Ricky's going to have to look back on and sort out later, but for now he knows he's safe as long as it's Chris's fangs in his throat, Chris he's leaning on for support, Chris who will catch him if he should fall.
So Ricky closes his eyes and holds on to Chris and lets the blood spill from the puncture wounds in his wrist, coating the floor in red.