Something kinda-sorta new. New for me. :D Enjoy!

Saturday night, 11:12 PM

There would have been reassurance and warmth in his being if he wasn't so preoccupied with how rotten she tasted. Normally, whore flesh and blood was nothing, just a little snack to drink in and get over with, to satisfy the cravings for another few days. Something of which he was used to at this point in his glam-rock life. But this particular woman— with her luscious bleached curls, double-D breasts and salon-tan glow— just did not please him in the slightest. The burn of hunger had been nabbing at his nerves for the past four days, and he assumed as always that she'd be suitable enough to get by. That she'd take just enough of that edge off of him to get him by until he could find a more substantial and healthy meal.

How wrong he'd been.

He grimaced, placing the nail of his thumb to her throat, sliding it delicately along over skin, and over the holes. Barely any blood left to trickle out. He smiled slightly, and slowly dropped her to the floor; her pale, lifeless body landed with a dull thump that, even with his hearing, was barely audible over the music. He reclined against the back of the sofa, his head pounding with her alcoholic blood. He sighed, glancing down at her again. No one would find her for several hours, or maybe even days— the staff of the club didn't clean after such events as this, and anyone who would find her would just assume that she drank herself to death or got into a rough spot with a pimp. She'd be tossed into a dumpster or a lowly grave at best. That is, if no one had a fetish for necrophilia.

A breath escaped his lips as his eyes slid shut from the world around him. The headache from lack of necessities was dwindling, but all the same, the deathly taste of her blood made his stomach churn. He'd need something fresher, something cleaner… Something to ease the discomfort that he would be feeling soon. Why did he have to blindly attack to subside his outrageous hunger? He could have held onto patience and found a more suitable taste to dip his fingers into. Instead, he found rubber meat and moldy wine. He chuckled despite the burning in the back of his throat. Wine was one way to put it.

The atmosphere was thick with sweat and alcohol, a haze of marijuana drifting into the air, poisoning those within the building. Even as the drug slid between his teeth and nostrils, his senses were not affected. He could bathe in smoldering leaves and would never once find himself floating. He only floated on blood, and such sweet blood had not found its way to his tongue in years. Such the realization made him sourly depressed. He'd only been feeding to get by, where once he'd fed to enjoy the delight. How long ago had that been, exactly? Two years, two and a half? Three and a half? No… It wasn't that long ago, surely…

He opened his eyes as a figure blocked the little light from his lids. A curvaceous woman stood over him— had she not seen the body? His eyes wavered from the details in her flesh to the flow of her black hair, contrasting her ivory skin. A black corset clung to her frame, puffing out her breasts as if they were squished balloons. Her hips were wide and sexy, her legs long and lean, covered by a black mini skirt. Knowledge was alight in her eyes that confirmed his thoughts. She had seen, though she didn't care. She thought the girl was passed out. It was too dark to see the paleness of the black woman's face though, or the clean-cut holes covered by a slash in the side of her neck and on her blood-stained breasts. His fingers twitched, his eyes itching for a moment. If this white woman happened to pay close enough attention, he didn't want her to see his crimson eyes.

"Well, hey there sexy… I saw you all alone up here, and I thought you could use some company. Didn't realize you'd already had fun though— but don't worry, I can make up for what she lacked and more." She said in a cool voice of honey. He smiled as she slid over him, her knees tucked against his hips, he ass, plump and soft, resting on his lap. His lips curved into a smirk as he stared up into her lined eyes. The black was smudged too thick, the foundation was the wrong shade, the shadow was too bright, the lipstick too glittery. Her hair was too long for the gel she used to try to give it body, the darkness of it made her look dead. He fought a grimace as her pale fingers trailed down his face, warm to his skin and feathery. But the grooves of her flesh, despite the lotion she'd obviously used, were rigid with age. She was older than she appeared. The exhaustion pulled at the edges of her eyes, years of frowns and sadness curling her lips.

Only her body looked young. Her breasts were the right size, the right lift to her arched back. Her legs were firm with muscle, toned and glowing— she was a sprinter. A sprinter who'd taken a year off from competition but ran on a daily basis. This tore the grimace from his subconscious. She was better than the whore lying face up on the padded floor. He could tell by the vitality in her body, the pulsing flow of her blood in her veins as his thumb traced circles into her thigh that she was better. She trembled as he touched her, no doubt from the iciness of his skin. But she appeared to be enjoying it far too much to be afraid by it. But there may have bee a slight trace of fear… There always was… No, he could feel how her heart raced that she enjoyed this.

"So…" She started, slightly breathless. "What'll it be tonight, baby?" She had a smile that would have won millions of men over. She was experienced; with a smile like that, how could she not be? A fire lit in his eyes as he reached up to the first of twenty, small clasps on the corset. His fingers pinched the fabric together, and the hook came free. She smirked down at him, rolling her hips into his, and he faked a perfect moan. The sexual drive only came when he tasted them, and he hadn't sampled her yet to satisfy what her ears craved. But he was a performer, an entertainer. He had mastered the art of faking it.

He had unclasped three before his icy fingers looped into the opening, and he pulled, popping the hooks and ruining the corset. She shuddered, startled at the force, but he leaned forward, catching one of her exposed nipples between his lips. No teeth. Not yet. That would come later, when he was tired of her. His tongue trailed over the sensitive, perked skin, and she bucked herself closer to him, her fingers raking through his hair. His palms were placed gently upon her thighs, his hips rolling up into hers. Her heart was pounding against his face through her skin, and he was half tempted just to have her now and find more suitable enjoyment. Enjoyment that didn't have breasts.

"You seem… Like a man— who likes it rough…" She whispered between breaths, pulling on his dark hair. He groaned, his scalp screaming at the tension. She chuckled low, her breath hot on his face. True, he did like it rough. Not necessarily for himself; he was more of a sadist, to be honest. But if someone knew how to hurt him just right, he wasn't one to object to masochism. He bit down gently, keeping from sinking his teeth into her flesh. Hard enough to make her tremble. She pulled away from his lips, tilting her head down and pressing her mouth against his.

He'd felt many women before, felt their bodies shivering beneath his, felt their tongues in his mouth, their lips on his skin. He'd felt them die as he sucked away their life. He'd felt their struggling arms pressing into his chest, their nails scratching at his flawless face as they screamed from pain. He'd felt them finally give in as they slumped away, tired of fighting to live and resist. He'd feel this woman do just that as well, like all others before her. She'd cry out as he touched her, and then she would scream as he killed her.

Her hands fumbled at his hips, searching for the buttons of his pants. He resisted the urge to laugh, knowing a secret she did not. Her death was coming upon her at a rate she would have been frightened of. Mere moments… Minutes if she was absolutely lucky. Though with the urgency she showed, he doubted heavily upon it. He smiled into her lips as she managed to pry the buttons away from their fastenings, and she ripped the zipper down. He lifted his hips as he kissed her throat, and she pulled his pants down around his knees.

He wasn't one to bother with boxers, or any kind of underwear, for that matter. He could hear her voice just over the music, and she giggled in delight. He watched her as her hands lifted the hem of her skirt upward, to her hips. She wore nothing beneath as well. Not that this really made a difference to him— she was just here for his entertainment, after all, right? He smiled slightly up at her as she sank down against him, the walls of her central being enveloping him in heat. He moaned— faked for her well being. He flexed the muscle, making it twitch inside of her. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy as he grabbed her hips and rocked her against him.

She may have been experienced in her actions, and had he been any other man, he would have enjoyed himself. But it was neither her sex nor her breasts that excited him. It was the pounding of her heart that he could hear louder than the music, the flow of her blood pulsing through her veins. His irises melted into sweet maroon as he let his hunger devour him. Sweet blood blocked by pale flesh was pumping beneath his hands as he pulled the woman closer to him, pressing his teeth to her nipple again. He bit down, slicing deep into her skin. She cried out, ripping out a few strands of his hair as she shuddered in his mouth. His tongue glided over the incisions, and her cries muffled down into moans. She didn't know she was bleeding her life into his mouth. She just thought that he bit really, really hard. And in truth he did… Oh God, he did…

He sucked her silky wine from her breast, drinking mouthfuls at a time. He pulled his lips away, placing his palm over the holes to hold the bleeding as he kissed her throat and lips. Her tongue slid over his, and her eyes snapped open, fearful. She tasted the metallic crimson, and as he smiled, those eyes widened further. His eyes were swirling with deep red, her blood dripping from his lower lip. She opened her mouth to scream; his free hand slapped over her lips and he ravaged her throat with a swift bite, her blood pooling into his waiting mouth. He moaned, his hips rising into her being as a twinge of excitement rushed through him. Sexual desire only came with the sweet, metallic taste.

He repositioned her struggling body so she was flat on her back upon the sofa, his chilled being above her. He was still buried deep inside, rocking against her as he drained her of life. She shoved up against his shoulders, trying to scream, trying to bite him. He swallowed more and more, fuller and faster. Her protests were turning weak, her muffled cries growing soft. The light in her eyes dimming into darkness. The mouthfuls were running low, and when he had sucked every last, sweet drop from her body, he sighed. He never came.

He pulled himself out, and stood, fixing his pants. It seemed that the women were getting more and more boring these days. Sure, he'd told the media that he had no problem experimenting, but he expected more out of them than what they had shown. He readjusted his jacket, before turning on his heel, leaving the massacre behind him as he trotted down the metal stairs of the club. The loft was his place to stay within shadows and wait for those unwilling souls to come to him. His boots slammed against the steps, though no one heard him coming down. Light flashed into his face, like a spotlight, though no one turned to see him. They were focused on their dance, their drugs, and the music pounding into the floor as if it had a physical shape and was fucking every dancer senseless.

He strode through the crowd, slipping between dozens of sweaty bodies and flailing figures. The music thumped wildly in his ears as he pushed open a side exit, stepping out into the cool night. The door slammed shut, and the beats were muffled behind the walls. He smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets as a wind kissed his hair and caressed his face. He smiled; it was nights like these that he enjoyed the most. Cold but comforting, and for the type of person he was, it was a nice get-away compared to the glam life that he faced on a daily basis.

He smiled to himself again, kicking a rock along the wet pavement of a Los Angeles backstreet. In the distance, he could see high rises, flats, business buildings, printing presses, hotels… Such were the beauties of L.A. He stepped out of the dark back, and onto a brightly lit and crowded side walk. He followed the flow, aimlessly walking in and out of couples, passerby and rabid fans that did double-takes. But he didn't turn and accept autographs or pictures unless they stopped him, and by the time most of them realized they had passed Adam Lambert, he was already gone.

Oh, the delicate whims of being a vampire.

The crowd was thinning as he neared a new, more local night club. Standing outside and turned away, was a man that he could recognize a million miles away. He silently stepped closer, and placed a pale palm on the man's shoulder. He jumped, and whipped in a circle, his eyes wide. Adam couldn't resist the temptation to laugh at Monte's expression, and the guitarist hissed in disbelief before flicking his cigarette into a puddle of water. The cherry sizzled, before dying out. Monte swore under his breath, before motioning for Adam to follow him inside. He ducked into inky darkness, a different kind of music pounding into his ears than from the first club. This was sultry, surreal, more rock based than all out techno. A heavy, delicious bass was being plucked with gentle, passionate ease, and Adam paused just in the doorway, listening.

There was something about the rhythmic playing of that bass, just under the guitars and drums, the cool vocals. That bass made trembles roll down his spine. He followed his guitarist into the club, turning his head to scan over the mountains of bodies and faces. Lights were flicking and flashing over the crowd, bright reds and blues primarily focused upon the stage. His feet carried him after Monte, but his eyes were locked on that glowing stage. The guitarist pressed a cool drink into his hand, before murmuring in his ear, and disappearing into the crowd. Adam raised the drink to his lips, feeling the sting of vodka on his tongue. He grimaced into the glass, but drank it anyway.

The stage was a miraculous sight. Even Adam couldn't deny that. The sounds were beautiful, just shy of his taste, but entertaining none the less. The woman at the mic stand had a powerful voice, but her presence was shy. She didn't seem to be enjoying the song, but she tried for the sanctity of the group. The guitarist was laid back, strumming chords like no one else's business. Adam couldn't really see the drummer, but he could hear rhythm, and that was all that mattered. But the center of his attention was on the bassist. Young in the face, two-tone hair, strong, angular features… But there was more to him than that… He downed the drink and set the empty glass on a passing waiter's tray, his eyes never leaving him. He slipped forward, slicing into the crowd before taking a seat on a stool beside a table, tucked into a corner of the club.

There was a sort of rapture in the boy's playing-- delicate, creamy fingers plucking at bass strings as if they belonged to his heart. He stared, the strobe lights flashing in his eyes, placing his fingers around his face as his eye brow rose in a perfect, black arch. The lights flashed, the music thumped into the floor, but he couldn't keep his eyes from that boy's face. Such a beautiful face… Crystal sweat glistened against his brow, the windows to his soul closed away in concentration as his fingers danced up and down... up and down that beautiful neck... His stomach turned, and his spine trembled. A bass solo, the veins protruding from his pale arms. He shuddered, his free hand curling into a pained fist. The hunger… the hunger…

Why was it burning him so? What was so special about the man on stage, plucking the heart strings of a bass?

Hope you liked it! :D