Disclaimer- Rated R for sexual situations.

This story and all the characters within it are the exclusive property of GhostHelwig or darthelwig. Do not use in any way without my permission and hers, or she’ll spank you. You don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to you.

Yellow

by GhostHelwig

They said it was like an orgasm, only better.

In his three thousand years of life, it was the one thing black-haired, slant-eyed Zeffrey had been forbidden to do, and perhaps because of that it had become an obsession of his. As year after year of the same dreary monotony dragged on, it became his only obsession, his single thought, his solitary desire.

They warned him against chasing down his dream, but what did they know? They said it was bad for him, but how could they know what it would do? Their whole kind was forbidden to do it, and had been since longer than even the oldest of them could remember.

With all those thoughts roiling around in his head, it was only a matter of time before he decided to go ahead and take what he wanted. He began to make plans, shunning the company of his kin lest they realize what he meant to do.

When all his plans were made, he went on the hunt. He was new to this, hunting; usually, he fed off those of his own people, as they fed off him. It was a system that worked, and worked well, requiring that everyone maintain their relationships, for one required another's blood to live. Those who had no one to count on - not to mention feed on - were usually driven mad by the isolation and hunger and began attacking whoever they could find; they were always quickly caught and rehabilitated, though the unfortunate were sometimes too far gone and simply had to be dispatched.

But none of these, he believed, had ever been desperate enough or lost a sufficient enough amount of their senses to cause them to do what he was about to do.

Though that thought should've been an omen or a warning, all it did was give him a little thrill of pleasure.

Finally, he found his prey. A normal young man, twenty-two to his three thousand, with beautiful pale hair and shining eyes. Green eyes, Zeffrey thought, or perhaps a very odd blue. He drifted closer.

The young man was leaning casually against a dirty wall, his eyes half-closed, his hands in his pockets. Zeffrey thought maybe the young man was waiting for someone in the dismal-looking bar at his back. Now was the time then.

He carefully approached, playing it cool, overtly taking his time but truly hurrying. He needed to get the young man into the shadows with him without alerting anyone...

The young man's eyes opened fully, met his. Definitely green, Zeffrey thought, stunned for a moment. Definitely green...

"Hey," the green-eyed young man said, and Zeffrey shivered. Anticipation was a thrill in and of itself...

But now was the time.

"Hey," Zeffrey replied, letting his eyes roam appreciatively over the young man's body. Anticipation...

He looked up, and nearly smiled; the young man was admiring his body, too. But enough for the preliminaries - now was the time for the dance.

He stared into the young man's eyes for a full minute, then walked into the shadowy alley by the bar. The young man followed, just as Zeffrey knew he would. He couldn't help himself. The young man's eyes were pretty, but Zeffrey's had power.

He pushed the young man up against the wall and kissed him, and for a few minutes he simply enjoyed the interplay of their mouths and tongues. Their bodies pressed together, and Zeffrey thought about how nice it would be to simply lose himself in the many pleasures of the flesh offered by this startlingly beautiful young man.

But it was another pleasure of the flesh he'd come here wanting, and he was bound and determined to get it.

He kissed a wayward path down the side of the young man's neck, hungry anticipation building in his gut. Soon, his mind told him. Soon, soon, soon -

Now.

He bit down, hard, his teeth, so deceptively sharp, sliding into the soft, sweaty flesh like it was water. Blood poured into his mouth, a copper flood that was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. Instantly he had the most incredible erection; it was all he could do to keep from contorting against the young man's hips.

As he suckled, his own spit slid into the wound, its chemicals paralyzing the young man's tongue as well as all his senses, making this the most silent of feedings. For the young man, Zeffrey knew, it was also utterly painless.

He continued sucking, drawing the blood into his mouth, gulping it down his throat in helpless little spasms. He knew he would have to stop soon to avoid taking all the blood, but he couldn't - it was just too good...

He fell against the young man, sucking greedily, hungrily, carelessly, ceaselessly. His penis felt like a live thing, writhing and pulsating and pounding until he felt like it would shatter.

It didn't. Instead, as a punctured vein pumped blood directly into his mouth, he came, once, twice, three times. His body shuddered and heaved and vibrated, and he could feel his mind spiraling off into the cosmos with the pleasure.

When it came back, he realized that the young man in his arms had no more blood to give him.

He had just enough time to begin to regret when he felt it. A tug deep in his body, in his stomach, in his bones. The edges of panic began to creep up on him. This was new.

The blood he'd swallowed began to swirl in his stomach, and he suddenly knew, without a doubt, that he was going to vomit. But before he could even begin to disengage his teeth from the young man's neck, it began.

He could feel the blood traveling back up his throat and into the body he held. Skin gone cold slowly began to warm; dry veins grew slick and then wet; a dead heart started up again. Soon breath again stirred Zeffrey's hair.

His stomach was soon empty, and Zeffrey assumed the regurgitation would stop, for he had nothing left to give.

But it went on.

His spit flowed freely into the young man's veins, adding sweetness to the bitter warmth. He tried yet again to pull away, but his effort failed; he could barely even move.

And the worst part was, he was hard again. Unbearably so. His hips were jerking against his will, and he knew he was going to come.

Blood, his own blood, started flowing into the young man's veins from his mouth, and when it did Zeffrey came. Once, twice, three times, each time harder and longer and more fulfilling than the last.

And yet, instead of feeling more cum drenching his clothes, he felt it retreating into his body, traveling upwards to join the blood quickly flowing out of his mouth. He marveled at the taste of his own cum sliding over his tongue, at the way it felt so natural to be shooting his own juices from between his lips.

And then he felt it.

The dryness.

It started in his toes. He could feel them shrivel, then dissolve into dust, into nothing. But he still could not stop. Even now it felt so good he wasn't sure that if given a choice he would stop.

But it did not matter, because he did not get a choice.

The dryness spread rapidly. Soon it engulfed his legs, his torso. All that supported him was his still-giving mouth and his embedded teeth, but he didn't feel heavy; actually, it was the most weightless feeling in the world.

He was terrified. He couldn't help it. But he was also strangely delighted - the pleasure had him now, and it would not let go...

The dryness reached his lips. But then the top of his head began shriveling, dissolving, dust falling around his ears. Soon his eyes dried up and flaked away, but instead of being left with darkness all he could see was the color of the young man's eyes.

They weren't green, he realized, or even blue. They were a very brilliant shade of yellow.

The same yellow as his own.

Soon all that was left of Zeffrey were his lips. And as they began to shrivel he had time for one final thought.

He knew who the real vampires were now.