Chapter Text
Like most evenings, Will found himself roaming the streets of Baltimore. He had found a victim earlier in the night to feed upon and had quenched his thirst quickly. The city was bigger than his current home in Wolf Trap and he preferred the distance from where he was staying when searching for victims anyway. After indulging himself, he enjoyed meandering the alleyways and seeing the scourge of the city go about their business under what they felt was the protection of the darkness. Little did they know what that darkness was hiding.
He made his way through the alleys and down the back streets with no other purpose than to see what he could find. Drug deals, secret trysts, sanctuaries for the less than fortunate. He witnessed them all with disinterest. It was always the same in every city in every country in every period of time. The same acts from anonymous faces. Some nights he would revel in the debauchery, but tonight he was restless. He wanted something new, something to shake things up. He’d been feeling less than enthusiastic lately and found himself searching the streets far more often, even when he wasn’t feeding, in the hopes of finding something worthwhile. He didn’t care what, so long as it tore a hole in the monotony.
The distinct sound of human impact pulled him from his mindless wanderings and grabbed his attention. He stopped and pinpointed the source of the sound. It seemed to come from several streets over. The noise sounded a few more times accompanied by the quiet scratch of tearing flesh. It was too quiet for a human to hear, but his enhanced senses recognized them instantly. Intrigued, he decided to climb the nearest fire escape and hoist himself silently to the roof of the building, in hopes of having a better vantage point. He crept his way along the roofs, quietly making his way closer to the sounds until it was right below him. Crouching to hide his body behind the ledge, he peered over the side and took in the scene below, unneeded breath rushing past his lips in a sharp inhale.
Thin golden wire zigzagged across the alley, suspending a naked woman’s body. The wire closest to her was worked and molded to form the shape of jagged golden wings that appeared as though they’d eviscerate anyone who dared lay a hand on them. The wire wrapped around the woman’s head in a tight crown, blood pouring down beneath them in a crimson veil. One arm was extended towards the heavens, a relaxed hand reaching for something or someone. The other arm was raised to her chest and in her palm she cradled her wire wrapped heart. The rest of her body was wrapped in the same wire, blood rising from where it touched her skin, but it was wrapped so delicately and carefully that it seemed reverent and elegant. The most striking part, however, was the woman’s expression. She seemed both at peace and longing, head tilted back to gaze into the heavens, waiting to be taken into the next world, her heart presented as though for payment of passage. Her eyes seemed to see nothing and everything all at once, crimson tears caught in her eyelashes, a faint smile touching her blood stained lips.
It was beautiful.
Something stirred in Will, emotions he barely remembered existed. He felt it well up in his chest and behind his face and wondered, bemused, whether he was going to cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done so. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything stronger than a passing satisfaction at a filling feeding, or perhaps faint amusement at the antics of humanity.
This was something different. This was something more
He felt connection. Connection to this dead woman, this corpse, who longed for answers and acceptance, for an answer from the gods, who wanted change and ascension of the most magnificent sort. He felt connection through the blood that slid down her body and painted her. Blood connected them all. It was life giving and enhancing, it flowed through all of them, human and immortal, and it was what raised him from the dirt all those centuries ago.
Will tore his eyes from the masterpiece at the rustling of clothes and noticed the man for the first time. He stood before the scene and seemed to take it in, bask in it. He wore a comical suit made of plastic, protecting the expensive clothes beneath. In his hand, he held the remains of wire and it was then that Will realized that this was the artist, reveling in his work. Will clenched his fists tightly, feeling the blood well up as his nails tore holes in his palms, desperately trying to keep his position and not jump down to the man.
The artist, oblivious to Will’s presence and struggle, took a step forward and caught a drop of blood that tried to fall from the edge of one of the wings. Will watched, transfixed, as he brought the hand to his mouth and flicked his tongue out, tasting. He closed his eyes as blood filled his own mouth, his sharp canines slicing the edges of his tongue to shreds as he attempted to smother his groan. The artist continued to stare at his creation for a few moments longer, his head turning slightly as he observed every piece of it, searching for flaws that didn’t exist. He looked to the face for several long moments and then tilted his head back, as though to stare at whatever the dead woman beheld in her gaze. The movement brought his face, for the first time, into view and Will felt his heart stop.
He had heard people, human and otherwise, go on at length about love at first sight and mates and soulmates and other such drivel, but never had he given it much thought. It was obviously just a mixture of attraction and wishful thinking. Lonely, naive souls desperate to find their “other half”. It was all nonsense.
Whatever this was, however, was not nonsense.
He had an old face. Not aged, but one that seemed ancient, eternal, as though carved from stone. If he had been, he was sure the statue would have been worshipped as a god, a long lost brother of Hades, perhaps. Darkness poured through him, pooling in his shining eyes, the color of dried blood, visible to only Will’s enhanced gaze in the night. It was cloudy, as though the goddess Selene herself wished to hide her face from the searching eyes of the woman and her maker. The alluring man’s features were carved harshly, his eyes deep set, mouth in a permanent pout. Streaks of silver shot through his light hair, styled perfectly against his head. He yearned to see what it looked like when those stone features came to life and that meticulous hair came free and flew around his head wildly. This man was made for people to worship at his feet. Will wanted to do nothing more.
He had felt disconnected from everyone and everything for so long, he often forgot he was ever a person. He forgot that he had once had feelings, deep and powerful ones. That he had once felt passion. What this man had done, what his very presence instilled in him, did more to make him feel alive than anything in the last century. He felt a pull to him, stronger than the blood around him, stronger than the most burning thirst he’d ever felt. He wanted to know this man. He wanted to be known in return.
After what felt like an eternity even to him, the man looked away and gathered his belongings that Will only just noticed, transfixed as he had been. He had a duffel bag and an unusually wide case that had a vaguely familiar shape. Will only spared them a glance and instead focused on the artist’s graceful movements as he gathered them and confidently exited the alleyway. Will watched him go, torn between following and taking in more of the artwork.
Making his decision, Will darted to the edge of the building and noted the direction the man walked, then turned and grabbed a pipe that ran the length of the building and quickly eased himself down to the alley below.
Looking down on the creation was striking, but witnessing it before him, the woman elevated several feet from the ground? It was life changing. No one could look upon this masterpiece and see it as anything but magnificent. As the clouds moved, wisps of moonlight caught on the wire and gleamed, faint breezes fluttering her dark hair and occasionally catching the shine. Will inhaled deeply, searching through the scent of blood and death and was able to catch something else, something earthy and musky and rich. Despite the urban landscape, it brought to mind the image of pine trees. He also caught a slightly spicy scent, like thyme. It blended together with the mouth wateringly fresh scent of wild orange. It set his body alight.
Will crouched and dipped his fingers in the puddle of blood beneath the body and brought them to his lips. He thought of the mysterious man as he sucked them into his mouth, moaning huskily as he imagined they were the fingers of the artist. He wasn’t able to see them well through the gloves. Would they be calloused from his work or smooth and soft? Would he caress Will’s tongue, gently exploring his mouth, or would he shove them in roughly, nails scratching at his palate and seeing how far he could take them? He sincerely hoped for the latter and took his fingers deeper, eyes closing briefly in pleasure, before yanking them away and wiping them off on his dark jeans, trying to get a hold of himself. He was usually much more in control, few things able to break his iron grip on his actions. He hadn’t even spoken to the man and he was already taken. That fact both concerned and excited him.
He carefully stepped under the wires and peered at the back of the creation and once again had to stifle a groan, uncharacteristically stumbling in awe. While the front of the woman appeared nearly unharmed apart from the cuts from the wires, the back of her was bared open, the base of the golden wings coiled tightly around her spine and her ribs, several of which appeared to be missing. At a closer look, Will realized the woman’s lungs were also missing and thought back to the case the man carried. Its familiar shape. A cooler, he realized with a surprised jolt. His mouth went dry and he reached down a hand and palmed his aching erection in his jeans. He was so close already, the smell of blood and death and metal and him dominating his senses. He took a gasping breath and then steeled himself, suddenly filled with determination.
He had to find him.
Climbing back up to the roof, Will was able to find his artist fairly quickly, the man having only made it a few blocks from the scene. He watched him climb into a black bentley, a bold choice in his opinion, though the area appeared a bit more affluent than usual so it didn’t stand out too badly. He raced along the rooftops, leaping from building to building with barely a thought in his mind apart from staying with his artist. Together they made their way in a dizzying journey around the city, presumably an attempt to ward off suspicion and anyone who might be following. Fortunately, it did little to shake off a determined vampire.
Eventually they arrived in the wealthiest part of the city and parked in front of a large three story stone building with columns in front of the entryway and large windows. Will stood in the bushes across the street and watched his artist leave his car, no longer wearing his plastic suit (when did he have time to change it?), and walk into what he assumed was his home. He gave it a few minutes, bouncing his leg impatiently, before he rose from his hiding place and walked to the looming house, cut around the side, avoided the patio doors that appeared to lead to a dining room, and scaled a tree in the yard which offered him the perfect view of a second story window. He settled into the tree, making sure he was suitably hidden amongst its branches and foliage, and remained there, waiting for any sign of movement or life from the home.
As he waited, he thought about his artist.
Was this his first masterpiece? Had he created before? Will had no interest in human news and didn’t have any friends to speak of, so he wouldn’t have known if there was someone doing things like this. If he had worked before, Will would be almost sorry for his lack of attention. His artist deserved to be witnessed by every eye on this Earth.
The pull he felt to the man intrigued him and he wondered whether it was because of his creation or if it was something else entirely. Would his artist be boring and clash with his personality? He couldn’t imagine so. Someone who was able to create something like he had done tonight had to be intelligent and well versed in the arts, someone who knew true beauty when he saw it, someone who had an eye for composition. He wondered if he made more traditional art, painting or sketching, perhaps sculpting? He was certain everything his artist touched became a masterpiece.
He also wondered who the woman was. What had she done to deserve such a fate? Was she someone lovely and beautiful to his artist and he wished to preserve that beauty for the world to see, or was she someone he loathed and wanted to shape into something better, something the world would benefit from while also wiping it of her undesirable life? He felt a surge of jealousy. That woman, whoever she was, certainly didn’t deserve the touch of his artist’s hands, to be molded to his fantastic whim, to be tasted for his pleasure. She surely wouldn’t appreciate the beauty of his actions. Not the way Will would.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine it. His artist running his hands and eyes over his body, trying to decide the best way to elevate him. Will ran his own hands over his chest in an echo of his phantom touch. He imagined the man finding the perfect spot, deciding on his abdomen, slicing into it with grace and a steady hand. He groaned, turning his face into the bark of the tree, letting it scratch against his face. He palmed himself through his jeans as he imagined the blood gushing from his belly. In the fantasy, he used the remainder of his fading strength to grip his artist’s silver streaked hair and pull, bringing his face to the wound. In the tree, he frantically opened his pants and pulled himself free, stroking his aching cock desperately as he imagined a tongue dipping into the wound, poking inside. With a few firm strokes and a bite through his tongue, he came across the branch. He took a few steadying breaths and then leaned down and, after swallowing the blood from his now healed tongue, licked the salty white from the branch of the tree. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree, he tucked himself back into his pants. He was surprised at himself and wondered how far this infatuation would take him.
Just then he saw movement through the window and focused all of his attention on it. Through the gap in the curtains he could see his artist pull his tie off and begin unbuttoning his shirt, his suit jacket and waistcoat already having been removed. The man moved out of view before he could see more than a sliver of skin, wiry hair peeking through. Will’s fingers twitched, wanting to run his fingers through it. He was gone from view for awhile; when he returned, his hair was damp and hung loose in front of his face. He wore a towel around his waist and nothing else. Will only got a glance of him, but the image was burned into his mind.
It was that same image that he took home with him the next morning, after standing guard the rest of the night. It was that image that he saw behind his eyes when he laid down in his bed after taking care of his dogs. It was that image that followed him as he went about his day, keeping up the pretense of being a functioning member of society.
It was the image of the wire angel and his artist’s moonlit face, however, that filled his mind as he made his way back to Baltimore the next night, to that stone house, to that tree branch.