If Guy were honest with himself, if he stopped for a moment to ask himself how he got into this specific situation, there would be a long answer, a detailed list of events in chronological order mixed in a blur of childhood trauma and a thick brushstroke of a sense of justice. About how going to a job interview and being approached by a stranger led him to that, with this supernatural man staring at him from across the room. The presence of a confused and disturbed rambling would be predominant, analyzing the consequences of his own actions and what led him to be the kind of person who committed them. As the true lawyer he never became, he would weigh on a scale whether it was worth it. And the fact that he needed to think about it already told him enough. Too broken and therefore exactly as they wanted him to be.
He was just another guy in a crowd, a hive of thoughts infiltrating his own and slowly driving him to insanity. In the minds of all people lay the purest form of humanity, protected by privacy and security. Guy had access to all of them and, in a distorted way, grew up learning from this. Women possessed a natural instinct to protect one another, and he learned to look twice at interactions between adults and children. Men assumed an ingrained role of self-criticism and low self-esteem, and both of these sides followed Guy into his darkest nights. He was formed from parts of people he never knew.
Guy was just an ordinary guy with telepathy, and nothing in his life ever truly belonged to him, not when he grew up being influenced to follow a path that would leave him exposed to Talamasca when they needed him. His sense of justice, kindness, protection, and all the best human qualities of a hopeless man were used against him by these people when they cared about nothing but themselves. After Helen, Guy had learned his lesson about trust. After Doris, he had realized the truth. Neither of the facts satisfied him. Not when he thought about what he had left behind. In Amsterdam, as he discovered too late. That's what puts him in this situation.
Discovering the supernatural was a liberating surprise. Not being the only different one, not being special, was a morbid relief. He had no choice with his telepathy. This vampire did. But Guy wouldn't dare blame him for making that specific choice. With all that, the important thing, the thing that left him in a daze and on the verge of collapse, was that there wasn't something wrong with him for being able to read people's minds when there were dead people walking around and talking as if they were alive.
Just like him, a coin, a bill completely different from him, but the vampire reading all these loose, confused thoughts, created from an introspective refuge to find logic in his emotions and desires. He didn't find it because it didn't exist. That, now, didn't seem to matter to any of them.
A boy, a telepath, a pawn, a man tied to a chair.
After the first few hours in that same position, the hard wood against the muscles of his buttocks began to send a painful, cramping sensation through his pelvis and hip. His shoulder blades burned from the skin tissue being folded, his shoulders thrown back, hands tied separately to the chair by a rough rope that seemed to tear at his wrists. Perhaps it was just a kind of metaphor created by his mind to justify the pain in each spot. Perhaps it was deserved for everything that happened to Jasper in the last year. That's what the vampire seemed to think, and after a while exposed to such expressed and angry emotions, there even seemed to be logic in this action, in the series of them that had put Guy in that place.
He in the center of the room, jaw throbbing from the constant pressure of the improvised gag in his mouth, was more lost in thought than focused on his position. He would probably die; there was too much to think about.
In every stupid decision he had made and how it had resulted in nothing but useless complications. When he entered Talamasca, there was hope, for the first time, something like this, formulated in his mother's name, in the chance that she might be alive. Every word that came out of his mouth, every movement of his body, and his thoughts had been shaped by a single objective: to find her. He betrayed the only being who had shown him understanding, and that may have saved him from something abusive. It was strange to think about Jasper and what they could have been with the vampire himself in the room. It was strange to consider and know that Guy had felt compassion for him, for his story. And how it only took something that displeased him for him to become violent, dangerous.
A boy will be a boy, but what does that say about a man prone to irrational and aggressive mood swings? What did it say about Guy, when he put himself in this situation now?
And he thinks about being deceived by Doris and understanding her need to protect herself. He thinks, with a painful physical sensation in his chest, about Kevis and how her death was in vain. Things could have been different. He could have turned left instead of right, he could have pretended to be normal as a child, he could have swallowed more pills that night long ago in his college dorm.
He could ignore what he discovered. A year ago, he had run away, had boarded a boat with Doris, and she had given him more hope than ever about his mother. He had left Jasper behind, the opportunity for a career in New York, and he tries not to think about Helen and all the regrets about her.
He could have left Jasper to rot in Amsterdam. It would have been easier, simpler, to forget someone who would undoubtedly kill him as soon as he found him and move on with his life. But Guy was a man shaped, above all, by justice. And Jasper, even after everything, didn't deserve that. It was the opposite of easy to free him and escape before being noticed by the vampire. He freed him from those shackles, and Jasper, in his almost hallucinating and weak state, left him. Guy left the motel room he had paid for before Jasper woke up. And that was supposed to be all.
Some part of him believed, even on a small level, that the balance had returned to normal. That after leaving Jasper to burn to death, saving him would have compensated for it. They would go their separate ways, and so it would be until the end of Guy's life, while Jasper would be able to continue his endless revenge. While Guy would have to live, until his last day, with the fact that his mother didn't even remember him.
Imagine his surprise when he found her alive. Interned in a psychiatric hospital with no memories of the Talamasca or of having had a child. That hope, that agonizing feeling of not knowing? At least now he had his answer.
At least now he could die at the hands of this vampire without regretting giving up on his mother. She didn't need him. And there was nothing left for Guy.
The sheer humiliation of having all this exposed to Jasper, his body contorted in pain and a throbbing pulse, was boundless. It was an emotion he never thought he would feel when he died. He expected pain, and he was right, his muscles feeling exactly that, perhaps even more so. Perhaps Jasper would take his blood and drain it as Guy thought he would in that garage. He expected fear, and strangely, he didn't feel it. There was anger, and it didn't surprise him.
His bright blue eyes, with tears he refused to let run down his face, glared at the vampire. Jasper seemed comfortable in a cross-legged position on the gray fabric sofa. Guy doesn't know where he is, but that doesn't seem important now.
Nothing seems important now except watching Jasper's expression change whenever Guy's thoughts hit him personally. He seemed stronger and healthier. The pallor of his skin was part of his vampiric nature, but it was less dull than when Guy left him, with a bottle of his own blood for Jasper to feed on. It was the most he could give without passing out, and it must have been enough, because here he was. His eyes like broken blue topaz, his mouth rosier, his hair seemed softer, and there was a firmness in his hands resting on the sofa as Jasper stood up.
Guy blinked at him, trying to focus his vision on the movement of the vampire's wrist, the shift in the position of his feet and shoulders. He still remembered the pain radiating in his cheek from that slap that threw him onto the concrete.
He raises his head, and this causes the trapezius muscles in his neck to tense, sending a wave of pain through his biceps. This makes him writhe, hands trembling, his legs pressing harder against the floor while his thighs burn as if drool does with humiliation, dripping from the corner of his mouth around the wrapped fabric.
When Jasper gets close enough to touch him, Guy shudders the moment he does. The cold skin of his palm presses against his cheek, gentle as he hadn't expected it to be. Nails, almost claws, drag through the creases of his face, and he wants to close his eyes, prepare for imminent death, but that would make him miss Jasper's expression, and he doesn't want that. In a twisted way – and he knows it, he knows how twisted and sick it is – the look of fascination on Jasper's face draws him in as much as it confuses him. He recognizes that the very emotions, the very desire to beg Jasper to do things to him, things no one has ever done, is irrational and troubling in this situation. In any situation.
He can't read Jasper's mind, which doesn't surprise him, but the emotions on his face make him defenseless. His eyes make him vulnerable.
Guy wants to ask. He unconsciously presses his face against Jasper's palm. A strange sensation fills him as he shifts the pressure to avoid cutting him with his claws. It confuses him even more. Why would he care about hurting Guy when he intends to kill him?
Guy asks, his mind more exposed than ever before.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Guy, in the brief time he spent with Jasper last year, saw emotions in him. The pain, the care, and the curiosity in that bathroom; the amusement in the basement; the surprise and even more amusement when they met, how it quickly shifted to foaming rage in the garage. There were always others there, something impossible for Guy to read, as protected as Jasper's own mind.
Now, he recognizes the fascination. Perhaps a strange distortion of satisfaction at finally being able to have his revenge. And he sees nothing else. His own emotions clouding his judgment, thoughts, and actions. It's what he uses as an excuse to gasp around the gag with something far removed from fear as he feels Jasper's other hand in his curls, dragging claws through his scalp and pulling strands to force his face higher. The spark of pain makes his face twitch with sharp stings in his eyes, and he no longer has control over the trail of tears running down to the cloth over his mouth. This, this sight of him, is pleasing to Jasper. Whether it's out of revenge or for some unknown reason to Guy, he still notices the glint in his eyes and the tug on his lips.
— Trying to decide which part of you I want first.
Guy can imagine as much as he wants how sexual those words sound and how it makes his core throb, but the reality as he knows it is still immutable. This situation is still going to run down a path where there is no hope or a happy ending. So he tries to formulate something in his stale brain that makes sense of those words, to recognize the tone of voice, a pattern in the phrasing, something. There is nothing. And he breathes deeply through his nose, his tongue reflexively pushing forward only to drag across the wet fabric, as Jasper approaches.
— I fantasized about you, Guy Anatole. Many times, and every time I touched you, breaking you repeatedly. You always begged. — He swallows the accumulated saliva, and Jasper's thumb brushes over his upper lip. — And I loved every second when I thought about killing you. With my hands, with my mouth. You would die, boy, and I would have my revenge. A perfect ending, isn't it? What I would do with you…
His voice faded into a contemplative silence, Jasper watching him with a now familiar intensity. The familiarity was appreciated, with the mess in Guy's mind mixed with a pang of dread. His heart was racing, an uncoordinated rhythm, and it seemed right given Jasper's words. Given how Guy responded to him, his body. Trembling and sweating cold. There shouldn't be pleasure. There shouldn't be. Still, his mouth opened and his vocal cords vibrated. The hand in his hair descended carefully, not befitting the violence implicit in such vampire fantasies, it tightened around his neck, cutting off the air that still entered his lungs.
— You can't imagine the things I would do to you, Guy, if I allowed myself to lose control. It's smart not to expect thanks for Amsterdam when you put me there.
No. That's not true. Guy never wished for something like that to happen to Jasper, or to anyone. Those agents, people like him, who didn't get a chance, like Doris. Maybe good intentions don't matter to someone like Jasper. Or pure survival instinct.
— It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. You won't have time to do anything about it.
That statement should have done something for Guy, its obvious meaning and death looming over his shoulder, with black dots peering into his vision as the hand tightened around his neck, cutting off his airways and any hope. It should have filled his chest with fear, euphoria, and fighting instinct, but it only made his limbs feel heavy in contrast to the lightness that struck him, eyes collapsing.
— If you beg… — Guy can almost see his cruel smile — maybe.
Guy doesn't think about doing that. He thinks about his mother, the Talamasca, and the fact that there isn't a single living person waiting for him. Nothing. A feeling of void begins to settle in his chest, in his mind, an expected result of asphyxiation, of suffocation. He doesn't remember the weak words forming in even weaker thoughts.
Do what you want.
Jasper.
He doesn't remember what they sounded like or how Jasper reacted to them. Everything went dark, an endless gloom, and a piercing double pain in his neck. Malleable, weak, hopeless, a shell of what he once was.
He doesn't expect to wake up. He doesn't expect the pain he feels, the scream that escapes his mouth when he passes his arm through the sliver of sunlight. His flesh burns and smells of rot. He feels pain as he curls up in the corner of the bed, away from the sun, his arm pressed against his chest for protection. His eyes seem dry, but tears stream down them, and small sobs are heard along with a constant buzzing in his sensitive ears. He doesn't expect to see blood when he looks down, but he soon realizes that those drops are falling from his eyes.
All his limbs are weak as he drags himself across the floor, avoiding where the sun touches it, to a large mirror leaning against a desk. His feet tremble as the full weight of his body rests on them before Guy grips the wooden desk with trembling hands to keep himself half-bent over, his knees buckling. He doesn't notice how long his fingernails seem.
It's impossible, however, not to notice the blood streaming from his eyes. Like tears. It would be beautiful if it weren't tragic. Perhaps it's beautiful because it's tragic. But it makes Guy scream again, his elbows drop and his head almost hits the mirror. He tries to recover as the sudden wave of pain paralyzes him through his bones. It was impossible, however, not to notice his eyes, their appearance. Like howlite stone. A deep white marked by cracks, patterns, black lines.
Guy doesn't hear the door open, but the footsteps feel like earthquakes against the sensitivity of his being, and he tries to lift his head to see the reflection on the mirror, but his limbs don't cooperate, his muscles and tendons don't work, and the order doesn't reach his brain.
His hair is gripped tightly and pulled more gently. He is forced to look at himself in the mirror, even though it appears blurred in red. Behind him, Jasper examines him.
Slowly, a smile spreads across his face. Sadistic, exposing his fangs still stained with blood, and his other hand rises. Jasper touches him with such care, as if Guy, broken and dead, were his most valuable piece, the most fragile porcelain, the roughest diamond. He lifts his chin, pressing his palm underneath, and his fingers crush the skin on his cheek, slipping as they touch the blood.
— Look at you.
There's no way Guy can disobey him now, without control over himself. Pain mingles with pleasure, and he doesn't recognize it; it shouldn't exist given the situation, the context, but it's there, and Jasper feels it, its scent, its shape in Guy's new eyes. His nostrils dilate, and he runs his fingers through the blood, collecting it, further staining the eternally cold skin. Tears continue as he watches Jasper lick his own fingers; the eye contact seems like a blessing disguised as punishment, or vice versa, but it shouldn't be what it seems, not when all Jasper does is manipulate him. His tongue becomes pinker with the blood spreading under his papillae, and Guy's stomach throbs watching Jasper's mouth close under his fingers and descend, before returning, almost all clean, but with the red accumulated around the nails, underneath them.
— I fantasized about you, Guy.
Jasper readjusts his grip on his hair, his head still tilted back, so he can see them both in the mirror, his neck extending to the side. There, Guy can see two openings, a deep purple scar that seems to be healing with yellowish tones.
He stifles a sound. He doesn't know if his vocal cords have started working again to let out a sob or a groan. He doesn't know which option would be worse.
— Just like you did with me.
He feels the saliva on his skin as Jasper touches him again with that hand, tracing the wound from his bite almost with veneration. Almost adoration. It burns, and the throbbing between his legs makes his eyes widen, his mouth opening with gasping breaths.
— I destroyed you like you destroyed me. — Guy meets Jasper's eyes in the mirror, his imposing presence. — Now you're mine.
He feels his body being pulled upward, an arm around his hip and soft fingers brushing the sweaty hair from his face, revealing it to the mirror, where he and Jasper form a reflection that leaves him speechless.
— Forever and ever. — Jasper presses his lips behind his ear and Guy digs his claws into the wood, eyebrows arching with trembling lips. — Like in a fairy tale.
When darkness suddenly engulfs him, it's abrupt. He's falling before he realizes he's fainting.
Guy thinks he hears something before he passes out. The next time he wakes up, he won't be able to tell if it's real or not.
WHATEVER I’m not even thinking about devils minion in s3... 3rd is inspired by the last part of a haunting just for company by valkyrisms which is perhaps the devils minion fic ever..
janainaart
areudirty
origamiaround
gummygunk
prguitarman
germansingergirl
blakekathryn
snowghoul
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
