First Bitten Masterpost
Turned
Tristan’s life as he knows it is about to change forever. Grayson makes sure he knows it.
TWs: vampire whumper, human whumpee, body control, blood, blood drinking, kidnapping, vampiric transformation
Soft. Warm. Those were the first things Tristan felt upon waking, a groan leaving him as he groggily opened stormy grey eyes. The room was mercifully dark; he could feel the pounding headache of a hangover already starting up. He took stock of his thoughts, trying to piece together the last things he could remember.
He and Oliver had gone out to a party at one of those crowded local bars. Not their usual haunt, but both knew that they needed to socialize more, and what better place to do it than at a crowded, sweaty rave? He had been such an idiot for suggesting it…
Several drinks later, and Tristan had been pulling at Oliver’s sleeve, mumbling about wanting to leave. His good friend, never one to leave Tristan hanging, agreed and the two had begun the trek home. Tristan could remember a brief period of walking, but that’s when it all went black. Had Oliver carried him the rest of the way? No… he wasn’t strong enough for that. Maybe he had called them a cab…
Suddenly, the doorknob to his room turned, revealing a very unfamiliar hallway and an equally unfamiliar silhouette. He… wasn’t at their apartment. So where the hell was he?! Before Tristan could even ask that question, the lights in his room were flicked on, his headache flaring up and eliciting a wince from the young man. Standing across the room was a stranger, one with bleach-white hair, a pair of rounded glasses, and a very cocky smile. Alarm bells rang in Tristan’s head, his eyes darting around to look for any kind of escape. Unfortunately, the newcomer clocked his frantic looks, crossing the room far too quickly for his liking.
“Well, now,” the stranger began, his voice smug, “you’re a jumpy one, aren’t you?”
Tristan bristles.
“Wh-who are you?! And where the hell am I?!”
The other man chuckles, clearly enjoying his panicking.
“You can call me Grayson, at least for now. That will change soon~ As for where you are, this is my home.”
What did he mean by “that will change soon”? Tristan thought. He quickly shook his head, another notion overtaking all others as his eyes went hard and stormy.
“Where’s my friend? What did you do with him?”
Grayson hummed, unbothered.
“Oh, he’s in another of my guest rooms. They’re all quite comfortable~”
“Somehow I don’t believe you,” Tristan muttered under his breath.
The other man raised an eyebrow.
How the hell could he have heard that?!
Grayson positioned himself so he hovered just above Tristan, looking down at him as if he were an insect. His voice had dropped to a low, menacing hiss when he spoke.
“You’d best worry more about yourself, boy. After all, your… living situation is about to change.”
Tristan bristled, trying to lean away… only to realize that he could no longer move. Not even an inch. It was as if invisible bonds were holding him fast, keeping him in place. Another wave of panic washes over him, the young man’s eyes widening in fear.
“I-I can’t move? Why can’t I move?!”
Grayson just chuckles, the fingers on hus right hand- which Tristan now saw sported black, clawed nails- giving a quick snap.
A moment of panic follows an oddly tingly sensation as, against his will, Tristan leans his head to the side, exposing his neck.
“Your body isn’t your own anymore, Tristan. Better get used to it~”
A ten ton weight sank into his stomach at those words.
“What… what are you…?”
Grayson’s mouth broke into a wicked grin, fangs glinting in the light as he did so.
“A being far more powerful than your mortal mind could ever comprehend.”
Before he could make a retort, Grayson lunged for the young man’s neck, fangs sinking in like sharpened knives.
Tristan shrieked, the sound almost catching in his throat as the vampire began to drink. All he could make were pitiful, choked sounds as the monster drained him rapidly of his lifeblood, the flow never seeming to stop.
This is it, Tristan blearily thought as his vision started to darken around the edges, I’m about to be killed by a vampire. My life is over… Oliver’s life, too… I…
——————————
Darkness.
Cold hands pulling away, sticky.
Another hand opening his stiff, dead jaw.
Warmth.
Warmth.
Life.
Life…?
————————————
“Wake up.”
That voice…
“Wake. Up.”
Tristan’s eyes snapped open.
He was still lying in that same bed, though the sheets had obviously been changed. Grayson stood above him, looking up and down his body.
“What are you…?” Tristan croaked, his voice clearly disused. How long had he been unconscious?
“Just making sure you took to things properly. It looks like you have~”
“Took to… what?”
He didn’t like the sound of that. What had Grayson done to him? Why couldn’t he remember…?
Suddenly, there was a flash of fangs in his mind’s eye. Pain. His life ebbing away until there was darkness, all of that before an oddly invasive warmth.
Grayson smiled.
“Welcome home, Tristan~”
Eyes going wide with horror, Tristan attempts to move again, finding that he can. He looks at his hands, finding nails replaced by claws. This alone had him panicking, rushing to stand and find a mirror, something to look at himself with…! Grayson doesn’t stop him as he struggles over to the bathroom on shaking legs, finding… that he had lost his reflection. The mirror shows a disturbingly empty room.
Tristan stumbles back out of the bathroom, not managing to make it to the bed before hitting the floor on his knees, head bowed. It felt as if his body wanted to shut down in panic, but it was unable to. After all, it was no longer alive.
Steps sound across the floor as Grayson makes his way to stand over the newly turned vampire. Tristan couldn’t see it, but his face held a truly terrifying smile.
“You must be hungry,” said the elder vampire, knowing Tristan would probably feel the hunger any moment now.
To his credit, Tristan growled under his breath, not giving Grayson the satisfaction of knowing that the growing pangs had begun. It was instinct, of course; a newly turned vampire was weak and starving from the ordeal of being brought back from death. It took all of his weakening resolve not to lunge at his sire, Tristan’s sharpened nails digging into his palms.
“Oh, my dear little spawn,” Grayson cooed, “your holding back will do you no good; after all, I can always force you to drink.”
Using one of his claws, he cut a line into the inner part of his wrist, fresh blood already weeping from the wound.
The young vampire tsk-ed, knowing he other was right.
“F-fine,” Tristan replied through clenched teeth, fangs already unsheathed. Was that drool he felt welling up in his mouth? He didn’t wait to find out, as the scent of blood hit his newly enhanced senses. It took less than a second for him to leap for his sire, knocking him to the ground, fangs quickly burying themselves in his wrist. Grayson didn’t fight, instead adjusting his body slightly and smiling almost gently as his new spawn fed. And although Tristan couldn’t stop himself from taking long pulls of the now delectable liquid, a part of him felt disgusted at what he had become. Tears began to mingle with blood as he sobbed between gulps, Grayson gently petting his head like a pitiful puppy. It was only a few minutes later that he was forced off, not bothering to fight despite his hunger not being fully satiated.
“Rest,” his sire simply said, “you’ll need it for what comes next~”
Tristan didn’t reply, instead opting to remain where he was on the floor, curling up in fetal position. Apparently satisfied, Grayson left the room, closing the door and leaving the fledgling vampire to his tortured thoughts.
