Yuletide fic: Los Vivos (Más o Menos)
Title: Los Vivos (Más o Menos)
Fandom: Vampires: Los Muertos
Pairing: Derek/Rodrigo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Two years on, the gangs back together. Derek just hopes it stays that way.
Notes: Written for sailorhathor for yuletide. 2400 words. The title means The Living (More or Less).
It started with a single sound.
Plink.
Plink.
Plink.
A single image.
The drop falls, ripples spreading outward in the pool.
The drop falls, ripples spreading outward in the pool.
He followed it up.
The damp on the craggy cenote walls gathers slow, drawn together by tension and gravity, until a drop rolls downwards. It catches on a jutting lip of rock, hangs suspended for the length of one human breath. Two. And the drop falls, ripples spreading outward in the pool.
And then--
A scream shatters through the air.
No, not a scream. Screams from many voices, screams from the same voice uttered over and over again. They echo up off the damp walls of the cenote, against the porous stone of the ruins above, and find a home in his ears. He wants to shake his head, shake them out again, but there's nowhere to go. He's there, everywhere, and nowhere at all, and the only thing he can do is experience.
A ray of sun pierces the temple roof, passes all the way down into the vibrant blue of the pool below. Shadows move at the edges of the water, black figures writhing, dancing, pain and orgiastic ecstasy bleeding together. The master steps forward. Right to the jagged edge of the pit, a hair away from the deadly light. His beauty is that of a king cobra's: sleek, deadly, mesmerizing. Jet black hair and luminescent eyes only a shade lighter than the water are his crowning hood. He raises his right hand, lazily crooks his index finger.
"We are waiting," he says, the words slurred by the jut of his fangs even though he doesn't speak out loud. "You cannot resist forever."
He reaches behind him, for some unfortunate soul sensed but not seen. There is a ripping sound, moist and juicy like a watermelon being split open. Then the master holds his hand out, offering up a still-beating heart.
The air is thick with the richness of the blood.
The vampire laughs. "Do not be long," he says--and clenches his fist.
*****
Derek jerked upwards, body moving before he was fully awake. He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the dampness that clung to his skin. He flung the thin sheet off his legs and stood, as quietly as he could manage with his legs shivering and his gut churning from the memory of that last squelching sound. Damn nightmare.
He was asleep when it happened; he could write it off as a damn dream if he wanted to.
The pill bottle was nearly full. All it took was a quick twist of his wrist and a swipe of his thumb to get one into his palm. He swallowed it dry, then capped the bottle and placed it back on the bedside table with more care than he felt like taking. He didn't have the luxury of sloppiness. Not when so much depended on having those little capsules always at hand.
He shuffled over to the window, slowed by an exhaustion his body didn't really feel. The sky was just starting to lighten, but it was bright enough to make his sleepy eyes ache. Not enough to need his sunglasses. Not enough to make him look away from the city spread out before him--and the southwestern horizon beyond.
"Nightmare?" Rodrigo's mouth brushed the tip of Derek's ear, only a second passing before he settled his hot hands on Derek's shoulders. Derek leaned back into him, letting that heat soak in until it felt like his own.
"Something like that." Life was beginning to stir on the street below. A garbage truck growled somewhere up the block. A man in a cook's apron stepped out of the side door of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant across from their shitty hotel, already in the process of lighting his cigarette. A baby in a neighboring room announced its hunger with a cranky wail, and a dog barked back in agreement. Nothing out there but normal urban life.
"Hmmm." Rodrigo slid his hands in so that the tips of his thumbs rested against the base of Derek's neck, long fingers curving around to brush his collar bones. "Was it the master again? The old one?"
Derek didn't answer. Instead, he turned. Rodrigo dropped his hands to Derek's waist, pulling him in close against his still-naked body. They'd gotten into the habit of sleeping that way, too safe in each other's arms to bother getting dressed after sex. If a sucker ever decided to pay them a visit in the middle of the night, well, he figured lost modesty wouldn't be that big of an impediment to putting it down.
Rodrigo didn't resist when Derek pulled his head down. He never did, not even the first time. It used to surprise him that Rodrigo never seemed to question himself, to worry about his own desire. He wasn't a priest, but he was still one of the most faith-filled men Derek had ever met. Yet this never seemed to trouble him. Derek hadn't worried about God's quibbles in over twenty years, didn't really believe in his existence except for the way the suckers were fixated on the damn Bersier cross, and even he wondered at times if what they were doing was right.
It was just too good not to question it.
They kissed their way back to the bed, Rodrigo pulling, Derek pushing. Rodrigo sat, staring up at him with parted lips and blown pupils while he pushed the heavy blanket he always carried with him these days off of the bed. Easier to keep it free of their stink and stain if it was on the floor. Derek knelt on the strip of mattress between Rodrigo's legs and forced him back with the momentum of the kiss. They squirmed until they were more-or-less lying lengthwise, as much because it was fun getting there as because it was easier to do this when your head wasn't hanging off the edge of the bed. Derek muscled his way on top, hands roped around Rodrigo's wrists, ankles snaked across Rodrigo's thighs.
"My turn," he grinned.
"If you insist." Rodrigo rocked his hips, but Derek was arched too high above him for the motion to result in much friction. The tip of his cock barely brushed across Derek's balls--which was pretty damn nice, actually. "If I must make that sacrifice, then I must."
"You are such a bad liar," Derek said as he began inching his way downwards. "I don't know how I ever took you for a priest."
"Maybe it was because you were too busy staring at my mouth?"
Derek answered him by putting his own mouth to work. Yeah, he might have been a little distracted by Rodrigo's prettiness when they first met, but it hadn't been that hard to believe him, not with those soulful eyes and earnest courage. A big part of him wished he hadn't; if he hadn't thought Rodrigo was a priest, he might have made a move when he was still completely alive. And then he might know if Rodrigo always tasted this good, or if the way Derek hungered for him now was just another symptom of his disease.
He thought it was more than that, though. Even if Derek wasn't able to taste blood running heavy beneath Rodrigo's skin and lust thick in his sweat, it'd still be good between them. He focused on that thought as he slid up and down on Rodrigo's cock, indulging both of them. Rodrigo was writhing beneath him now, head thrown back, teeth clenched against the cries he was always so careful to hold back when the others were nearby.
"Dios, Derek..." Rodrigo grabbed onto his right shoulder and dug in with his fingers. Derek gave him what he was asking for. He reached between his own legs and picked up the pace of his mouth, wanting to lose it when Rodrigo did.
Rodrigo's fingers clenched again, hard enough to leave bruises on a normal man, and then he came. Came hot and thick and human-good in Derek's mouth. Derek snapped his hips hard into his own hand, and then he was--
The master grins.
"This? This is nothing. Come to me, and you will know true pleasure. You know I am not lying. You can feel it, deep within you. The yearning. The need. The power."
The master curls his lip, tongue perched tauntingly between his fangs. "Bring him to me, and you can make him yours forever."
--coming.
Bile rose in his throat, overwhelming all the pleasure of afterglow. He choked it down, trying to hide the reaction by flopping down beside Rodrigo. He wound up more on top of him than beside. Rodrigo's chest was heaving, his heart beating strong and fast just below his ribcage.
Derek closed his eyes.
His cheek was pressed close against Rodrigo's sweaty skin, his nose and mouth full of Rodrigo's scent and taste, and as Rodrigo's pulse thundered under his ear, Derek wanted. He wanted the things the master had promised. To taste the richness of living meat, to sense everything, to have that incredible strength and power. To share it all with this man who he'd come to trust so much in a few short years.
It took a hell of a lot more effort than it should have to push himself over onto his back. "I think we should head north." He breathed in deep, trying to fill his lungs with dry, ashy motel air, but their combined sex smell was too thick. "Go to Tucson, maybe. Or hey, San Diego. I haven't been surfing in way too long."
"What are you talking about?" Rodrigo turned onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. "You want a vacation, now? I'm not sure that's a good idea. He'll have time to gather more minions, to increase his strength."
Derek shook his head. "No, not a vacation. I'm saying we should let somebody else take care of this guy. We're not up to it. I'm not up to it."
Rodrigo pressed his lips into a flat line. Like he was holding in a frown of disappointment. "That doesn't sound like you, at all."
Derek snorted. "Are you kidding? This sounds exactly like me. I'm the one who's all for avoiding suicide missions, remember?"
"You only get afraid when you think you'll be responsible for getting someone else killed." Rodrigo was all-out frowning now, but it wasn't so much full of disappointment as it was he was trying to figure something out. Trying to figure Derek out. Derek looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze, and that's when Rodrigo decided to roll on top of him. He dipped his head low, so that his lips were right next to Derek's ear. "It's not that hard to guess what's happening. He wants you to bring me to him, doesn't he? For the cross?"
Derek turned his head away. "Whispering won't help. If he knows what's in my head, we're done for, anyway."
"Then talk to me."
Derek sighed. "He's strong, man. I don't know if I can resist him if we go there."
"I know you can." Rodrigo started stroking his fingers over the hollow of Derek's breastbone. Gentle, ever so gentle, but it was right where a stake would go if he ever turned. "I trust you, or else I would not be with you every night."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust me enough to tell me where the cross is."
Rodrigo smiled. "Aah, well. You know I keep my secrets only to help us."
He did. Didn't mean Derek liked it, especially when Rodrigo's secrets usually meant he wound up putting himself in danger. But he couldn't doubt Rodrigo's trust. Not when the man was willing to walk into the master's den with him.
"Trust me to take care of myself, okay?" Rodrigo tapped Derek's breastbone once, hard, a clear message between them. I will do what I must. It helped, a bit. "And if you really think we should go north, then I will not argue anymore. But I think that you'll never trust yourself, not until he's dead."
Derek took another deep breath. He didn't like it. Didn't like it at all, but Rodrigo was right. They wouldn't be safe until this guy was early morning toast, extra-crispy inside and out. And he definitely wanted that smug sucker out of his head. "Okay. We'll go south. Sancho's mama needs money bad, after all."
Rodrigo laughed. "He will be very happy that you haven't deprived him of the opportunity."
"Yeah, he probably would have killed me himself if I'd said no. Stubborn kid." Good hunter, though. Zoey, too. They'd both be in danger because of him. And because of Rodrigo and his damn secrets, too. Derek sighed, then smacked Rodrigo in the middle of his forehead. "I don't know what crazy-ass plan you've got up there, but it better not get you killed."
Rodrigo widened his eyes with faux innocence. It was entirely too attractive a look on him. Made Derek feel ten kinds of dirty. "Plan? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yeah, I bet you don't."
"The only thing I am planning right now is how to beat your freezing ass to the shower." And then he shoved, fast enough that Derek was halfway off the bed before he put two and two together. The floor was hard, coated by a fine grit that dug into his skin, but it was Rodrigo's laughter that got him on his feet again.
"Oh, no you didn't!" he yelled. Rodrigo only laughed harder as he started up the shower. Derek didn't bother to follow him in. Just leaned against the doorframe and made a show of watching Rodrigo wet himself down under the spray. His eyes were full of amusement, and a smugness that wasn't just about beating him to the bathroom. Derek had seen that look before. Could remember it from the mission, when those soft eyes had pleaded do it my way, and then melted into something warm and smug and happy when Derek did.
Rodrigo turned into the spray, hands spreading soap over the breadth of his shoulders. Derek closed his eyes, hoping he wasn't wrong this time.
For the first time in over twenty years, he prayed.
Fandom: Vampires: Los Muertos
Pairing: Derek/Rodrigo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Two years on, the gangs back together. Derek just hopes it stays that way.
Notes: Written for sailorhathor for yuletide. 2400 words. The title means The Living (More or Less).
It started with a single sound.
Plink.
Plink.
Plink.
A single image.
The drop falls, ripples spreading outward in the pool.
The drop falls, ripples spreading outward in the pool.
He followed it up.
The damp on the craggy cenote walls gathers slow, drawn together by tension and gravity, until a drop rolls downwards. It catches on a jutting lip of rock, hangs suspended for the length of one human breath. Two. And the drop falls, ripples spreading outward in the pool.
And then--
A scream shatters through the air.
No, not a scream. Screams from many voices, screams from the same voice uttered over and over again. They echo up off the damp walls of the cenote, against the porous stone of the ruins above, and find a home in his ears. He wants to shake his head, shake them out again, but there's nowhere to go. He's there, everywhere, and nowhere at all, and the only thing he can do is experience.
A ray of sun pierces the temple roof, passes all the way down into the vibrant blue of the pool below. Shadows move at the edges of the water, black figures writhing, dancing, pain and orgiastic ecstasy bleeding together. The master steps forward. Right to the jagged edge of the pit, a hair away from the deadly light. His beauty is that of a king cobra's: sleek, deadly, mesmerizing. Jet black hair and luminescent eyes only a shade lighter than the water are his crowning hood. He raises his right hand, lazily crooks his index finger.
"We are waiting," he says, the words slurred by the jut of his fangs even though he doesn't speak out loud. "You cannot resist forever."
He reaches behind him, for some unfortunate soul sensed but not seen. There is a ripping sound, moist and juicy like a watermelon being split open. Then the master holds his hand out, offering up a still-beating heart.
The air is thick with the richness of the blood.
The vampire laughs. "Do not be long," he says--and clenches his fist.
*****
Derek jerked upwards, body moving before he was fully awake. He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the dampness that clung to his skin. He flung the thin sheet off his legs and stood, as quietly as he could manage with his legs shivering and his gut churning from the memory of that last squelching sound. Damn nightmare.
He was asleep when it happened; he could write it off as a damn dream if he wanted to.
The pill bottle was nearly full. All it took was a quick twist of his wrist and a swipe of his thumb to get one into his palm. He swallowed it dry, then capped the bottle and placed it back on the bedside table with more care than he felt like taking. He didn't have the luxury of sloppiness. Not when so much depended on having those little capsules always at hand.
He shuffled over to the window, slowed by an exhaustion his body didn't really feel. The sky was just starting to lighten, but it was bright enough to make his sleepy eyes ache. Not enough to need his sunglasses. Not enough to make him look away from the city spread out before him--and the southwestern horizon beyond.
"Nightmare?" Rodrigo's mouth brushed the tip of Derek's ear, only a second passing before he settled his hot hands on Derek's shoulders. Derek leaned back into him, letting that heat soak in until it felt like his own.
"Something like that." Life was beginning to stir on the street below. A garbage truck growled somewhere up the block. A man in a cook's apron stepped out of the side door of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant across from their shitty hotel, already in the process of lighting his cigarette. A baby in a neighboring room announced its hunger with a cranky wail, and a dog barked back in agreement. Nothing out there but normal urban life.
"Hmmm." Rodrigo slid his hands in so that the tips of his thumbs rested against the base of Derek's neck, long fingers curving around to brush his collar bones. "Was it the master again? The old one?"
Derek didn't answer. Instead, he turned. Rodrigo dropped his hands to Derek's waist, pulling him in close against his still-naked body. They'd gotten into the habit of sleeping that way, too safe in each other's arms to bother getting dressed after sex. If a sucker ever decided to pay them a visit in the middle of the night, well, he figured lost modesty wouldn't be that big of an impediment to putting it down.
Rodrigo didn't resist when Derek pulled his head down. He never did, not even the first time. It used to surprise him that Rodrigo never seemed to question himself, to worry about his own desire. He wasn't a priest, but he was still one of the most faith-filled men Derek had ever met. Yet this never seemed to trouble him. Derek hadn't worried about God's quibbles in over twenty years, didn't really believe in his existence except for the way the suckers were fixated on the damn Bersier cross, and even he wondered at times if what they were doing was right.
It was just too good not to question it.
They kissed their way back to the bed, Rodrigo pulling, Derek pushing. Rodrigo sat, staring up at him with parted lips and blown pupils while he pushed the heavy blanket he always carried with him these days off of the bed. Easier to keep it free of their stink and stain if it was on the floor. Derek knelt on the strip of mattress between Rodrigo's legs and forced him back with the momentum of the kiss. They squirmed until they were more-or-less lying lengthwise, as much because it was fun getting there as because it was easier to do this when your head wasn't hanging off the edge of the bed. Derek muscled his way on top, hands roped around Rodrigo's wrists, ankles snaked across Rodrigo's thighs.
"My turn," he grinned.
"If you insist." Rodrigo rocked his hips, but Derek was arched too high above him for the motion to result in much friction. The tip of his cock barely brushed across Derek's balls--which was pretty damn nice, actually. "If I must make that sacrifice, then I must."
"You are such a bad liar," Derek said as he began inching his way downwards. "I don't know how I ever took you for a priest."
"Maybe it was because you were too busy staring at my mouth?"
Derek answered him by putting his own mouth to work. Yeah, he might have been a little distracted by Rodrigo's prettiness when they first met, but it hadn't been that hard to believe him, not with those soulful eyes and earnest courage. A big part of him wished he hadn't; if he hadn't thought Rodrigo was a priest, he might have made a move when he was still completely alive. And then he might know if Rodrigo always tasted this good, or if the way Derek hungered for him now was just another symptom of his disease.
He thought it was more than that, though. Even if Derek wasn't able to taste blood running heavy beneath Rodrigo's skin and lust thick in his sweat, it'd still be good between them. He focused on that thought as he slid up and down on Rodrigo's cock, indulging both of them. Rodrigo was writhing beneath him now, head thrown back, teeth clenched against the cries he was always so careful to hold back when the others were nearby.
"Dios, Derek..." Rodrigo grabbed onto his right shoulder and dug in with his fingers. Derek gave him what he was asking for. He reached between his own legs and picked up the pace of his mouth, wanting to lose it when Rodrigo did.
Rodrigo's fingers clenched again, hard enough to leave bruises on a normal man, and then he came. Came hot and thick and human-good in Derek's mouth. Derek snapped his hips hard into his own hand, and then he was--
The master grins.
"This? This is nothing. Come to me, and you will know true pleasure. You know I am not lying. You can feel it, deep within you. The yearning. The need. The power."
The master curls his lip, tongue perched tauntingly between his fangs. "Bring him to me, and you can make him yours forever."
--coming.
Bile rose in his throat, overwhelming all the pleasure of afterglow. He choked it down, trying to hide the reaction by flopping down beside Rodrigo. He wound up more on top of him than beside. Rodrigo's chest was heaving, his heart beating strong and fast just below his ribcage.
Derek closed his eyes.
His cheek was pressed close against Rodrigo's sweaty skin, his nose and mouth full of Rodrigo's scent and taste, and as Rodrigo's pulse thundered under his ear, Derek wanted. He wanted the things the master had promised. To taste the richness of living meat, to sense everything, to have that incredible strength and power. To share it all with this man who he'd come to trust so much in a few short years.
It took a hell of a lot more effort than it should have to push himself over onto his back. "I think we should head north." He breathed in deep, trying to fill his lungs with dry, ashy motel air, but their combined sex smell was too thick. "Go to Tucson, maybe. Or hey, San Diego. I haven't been surfing in way too long."
"What are you talking about?" Rodrigo turned onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. "You want a vacation, now? I'm not sure that's a good idea. He'll have time to gather more minions, to increase his strength."
Derek shook his head. "No, not a vacation. I'm saying we should let somebody else take care of this guy. We're not up to it. I'm not up to it."
Rodrigo pressed his lips into a flat line. Like he was holding in a frown of disappointment. "That doesn't sound like you, at all."
Derek snorted. "Are you kidding? This sounds exactly like me. I'm the one who's all for avoiding suicide missions, remember?"
"You only get afraid when you think you'll be responsible for getting someone else killed." Rodrigo was all-out frowning now, but it wasn't so much full of disappointment as it was he was trying to figure something out. Trying to figure Derek out. Derek looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze, and that's when Rodrigo decided to roll on top of him. He dipped his head low, so that his lips were right next to Derek's ear. "It's not that hard to guess what's happening. He wants you to bring me to him, doesn't he? For the cross?"
Derek turned his head away. "Whispering won't help. If he knows what's in my head, we're done for, anyway."
"Then talk to me."
Derek sighed. "He's strong, man. I don't know if I can resist him if we go there."
"I know you can." Rodrigo started stroking his fingers over the hollow of Derek's breastbone. Gentle, ever so gentle, but it was right where a stake would go if he ever turned. "I trust you, or else I would not be with you every night."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust me enough to tell me where the cross is."
Rodrigo smiled. "Aah, well. You know I keep my secrets only to help us."
He did. Didn't mean Derek liked it, especially when Rodrigo's secrets usually meant he wound up putting himself in danger. But he couldn't doubt Rodrigo's trust. Not when the man was willing to walk into the master's den with him.
"Trust me to take care of myself, okay?" Rodrigo tapped Derek's breastbone once, hard, a clear message between them. I will do what I must. It helped, a bit. "And if you really think we should go north, then I will not argue anymore. But I think that you'll never trust yourself, not until he's dead."
Derek took another deep breath. He didn't like it. Didn't like it at all, but Rodrigo was right. They wouldn't be safe until this guy was early morning toast, extra-crispy inside and out. And he definitely wanted that smug sucker out of his head. "Okay. We'll go south. Sancho's mama needs money bad, after all."
Rodrigo laughed. "He will be very happy that you haven't deprived him of the opportunity."
"Yeah, he probably would have killed me himself if I'd said no. Stubborn kid." Good hunter, though. Zoey, too. They'd both be in danger because of him. And because of Rodrigo and his damn secrets, too. Derek sighed, then smacked Rodrigo in the middle of his forehead. "I don't know what crazy-ass plan you've got up there, but it better not get you killed."
Rodrigo widened his eyes with faux innocence. It was entirely too attractive a look on him. Made Derek feel ten kinds of dirty. "Plan? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yeah, I bet you don't."
"The only thing I am planning right now is how to beat your freezing ass to the shower." And then he shoved, fast enough that Derek was halfway off the bed before he put two and two together. The floor was hard, coated by a fine grit that dug into his skin, but it was Rodrigo's laughter that got him on his feet again.
"Oh, no you didn't!" he yelled. Rodrigo only laughed harder as he started up the shower. Derek didn't bother to follow him in. Just leaned against the doorframe and made a show of watching Rodrigo wet himself down under the spray. His eyes were full of amusement, and a smugness that wasn't just about beating him to the bathroom. Derek had seen that look before. Could remember it from the mission, when those soft eyes had pleaded do it my way, and then melted into something warm and smug and happy when Derek did.
Rodrigo turned into the spray, hands spreading soap over the breadth of his shoulders. Derek closed his eyes, hoping he wasn't wrong this time.
For the first time in over twenty years, he prayed.