A rare genuine smile graced his lips as ‘Gavin’ turned to face his brother, a glee dancing in his gaze that was almost childlike, and perhaps would even seem innocent without its context. Especially with the bouquet of flowers grasped in one hand (he hadn’t quite been able to resist the touch, and given the lack of a romantic context to them, he doubted either of his brothers particularly begrudged him for it) and the slight skip in his step as they wove through the corridors towards where a certain psychic still slept.
From his neck, a thin barely noticeable chain hung. The jewelry itself was hardly significant, it was the tiny bottle that hung from it that held the true significance. Small, subtle, barely noticeable; and easily the deadliest substance in the entire office. It’d been increasingly difficult not to break character ever since he’d slipped the chain around his neck, the Reaper finally giving them the all clear to raise a little hell...
His lips curved as he stopped just outside the door to Joel’s room, a hand reaching out to tangle in Michael’s shirt, tugging the incubus in to a deep, heady kiss, a breathless laugh tumbling from his lips when he broke it moments later. “Are you ready to declare war, brother mine?”
It often amused him really; the incredible sense of arrogance that most, if not all, humans he’d encountered over the years seemed to possess. He’d consumed a lot of their media and art over the centuries, noted the way they centralized their own importance and, perhaps even more tellingly, the way they vastly exaggerated their expected rate of survival. Countless fictional tales against impossible odds seemed to result in triumph for the weak frail humans, defeat for the ominous and powerful foe. Humans just always seemed to believe that they were safe, as if survival were a right written into their very DNA.
Particularly in certain situations. It seemed that horror flicks had programmed most of the humans he’d recently encountered into believing that daylight was somehow a safe haven from the dangers that otherwise lurked in the dark, as if the light of the sun would bear down upon an evil doers and turn them to dust... He supposed given the nature of vampires, it wasn’t an entirely inaccurate thought, but all the same it amused him. Likewise mist was considered a threat, even though it provided cover for the victim as much as their pursuer, and large groups of people were suggested to increase the safety of an individual, even though any of that group, or in fact all of them, could offer a fate just as bad, or even worse, than their initial pursuer had.
In no part of society did the arrogance of man run deeper though than within the circles of the well off, rich and famous. The security they hired to protect them made them complacent about their own instincts. Perceived threats weren’t a problem they wanted, or expected to have to, deal with. And with the quality of any kind of guarding rapidly declining over the last century or so? The rich were more at risk than ever, even in their cocky arrogant belief that they were untouchable.
Sometimes, he missed the challenge that performing tasks like the one he’s setting out to accomplish now used to bear, back in his earlier years. Where he’d be forced to smile, laugh and attempt to charm battle hardened warriors, and failing that, match said warriors in hand to hand, or blade to blade, combat. After that, he’d slid into the tent they were guarding and press a cup of poisoned wine to his target’s lips... Christ, he really did miss that. But the modern age had stormed in, with its flashy charisma and lack of true substance beneath it, and the world had been transformed because of it. Even he hadn’t really been immune to its changes... After all, when it came to personal matters, he rarely opted for the subtly of poison these days.
Given the circumstances though, he’s considered making an exception in style, for the reaper’s sake. Ultimately, he decided against it, but all the same he treads carefully as he approaches the hotel, ensures that his vessel’s face isn’t caught on any cameras. He doesn’t stop, pause to chat, simply moves with a sharp precision directly towards the lift up to the complex his target is staying in.
If he were to compare his usual style to his brothers’ ones, he’d probably say that of the three of them, his was still the most subtle, even with some of his flashier tendencies these days. The one currently going by ‘Jack’ had a white hot tempered that didn’t exactly lend itself to patient, subtle attacks, and ‘Michael’... well he’d seen him tear apart enough meals, or potential ones, to know better than to think him subtle. Magnificent maybe, but a far cry from subtle.
His style had always focused pretty heavily on his strengths, namely baiting people, reeling them in and making them trust him. He’d always been a people person after all, and it never took long for him to have them feeling a little safer, relaxing within their surroundings and his company, and the face he’s wearing right now certainly doesn’t hurt with that. There’s an earnest nature to this man’s gaze that he probably couldn’t recreate in another body if he tried (and he knew he would, one day).
Only once the target felt safe and sound in his company, would he ever begin to betray them. Usually a knife to the back. Cliché, but effective. Method wasn’t as important as response here. The key element was the betrayal itself. After all, the sting of betrayal always made every cut which followed it twice as potent.
A needle to the spine, laced with one of his favorite concoctions, was his preferred method of reveal. A tiny little paralytic agent, that would leave the head mobile, and the rest rendered utterly still. He’d always liked to hear their screams after all.
One thing he’d always clarify though, even as the majority of those he sort out for this particular treatment were ex-lovers of a certain brother of his, it wasn’t necessarily jealousy that drove him. His brothers needed to feed and he could no sooner feed them alone than they could him. Feeding was fine. Feeding was necessary.
What made him act wasn’t the sex with others or the touches and kisses pressed to what was rightfully his... He would leave them alone, provided they didn’t break his prime rule, never fall in love with one of his brothers. Affection and love were different from sex, it wasn’t necessary for either of his brother’s in order for them to feed, and no human he’d ever met deserved to love either of them.
Those who fell in love with what was his, soon came to regret it afterwards.
Even setting that motivation aside though, the temptation to break in this brand new shiny vessel a little more, stain his spotless hands with a little ruby red and bloody his conscience a fraction more, also played a pretty huge role in why he was seeking out the man he was today, the same one staying in the suite he was currently stood outside, knocking politely until he was admitted.
He didn’t quite make a face when he got a proper look at the stranger, but it was a close thing. He wondered what Gavin would make of this. His own observations were that the kind of scruffy and obviously come from wealth... which would certainly explain the penthouse. This man was ‘daddy’ material, if he’d ever seen it, and despite the ugly arrogance that clung to his features, the man could almost be considered pretty. Almost. Perhaps he was a little biased, as far as he was concerned, it hardly mattered.
The man would be dead soon enough either way.
Swiftly, he adopted a friendly, amicable enough chat with his competitor as he played his role as ‘housekeeping’, listening to the man brag a little about this ‘romantic evening’ he had planned, after the incubus had commented on the rose petals. He even had the sheer audacity to call Michael his boyfriend at one point... Gavin had been livid.
A calm demeanor remained though as he moved to place a hand on the man’s shoulder and told him hoped the night went well for the both of them... and then he kissed him. It wasn’t long, or particularly deep. Mostly, it just served a purpose. As the man in question froze up before keeling over with a large thud, just seconds after they kissed, he assumed they’d probably figured out his little trick. Time to drop the act entirely then, there was a different kind of show to put on for his guest now.
“I decided to switch things up a little, stabbing my partner’s partners in the back was becoming a little too cliché, even for my tastes.” He moved to smooth a hand through the man’s hair, smiling slightly as he added, “I wonder, would it be considered cruel to kick you while you’re down.” The statement was immediately followed by a swift kick to the ribs.
Physical force wasn’t a style he often resorted to. Usually he favored the smaller or seemingly weaker host bodies after all, at least in comparison to the ones his brother’s usually picked. It was a lot easier to play the innocent when those around you believed you were essentially harmless. The easier you were to overpower, the more you were underestimated. His vessels didn’t possess the brute force associated with serious physical damage and, honestly, it’d never been a trait he’d particularly missed in them. Precision had always been key to his own fighting style…
That being said, there was something immensely satisfying and personal about the physical connection his boot made with the man’s ribs, the proximity meaning that he could practically feel the moment the bone gave way and cracked beneath the force he applied to it. Even if he’d somehow missed that, the man’s pretty scream would’ve alerted him to the damage done… So, this one was a screamer then? Perhaps that was why his brother had taken such a shine to him.
A slow drag of his boot across the man’s expensive looking shirt pushed the man onto his back, ensuring that his terrified gaze was forced to meet the incubus’ own as he leant down a little closer to him, hand cupping the meal’s jaw in a parody of a caress, “My apologies, I’m being ever so rude. I haven’t even introduced myself yet.” He took one of the man’s hands in his, idly playing with the limp appendages, his gaze locked with the meal beneath him, “I’m the reason Michael’s not your boyfriend.” He gave a sharp tug to the man’s pinky finger, swiftly but surely pulling it back into the perfect position for it to just snap. “I’m the reason he’s never even considered it a possibility.” The ring finger was next to go, Gavin might’ve taken a particularly vindictive pleasure in snapping that one, toying with the digit for a moment before he continued. “I’m the one he was picturing, every time he laid with you.”
He couldn’t quite help the laugh that escaped him at the aptly timed ‘fuck you’ just seconds before he snapped the finger that the man could’ve used to flip him off. “I’m the one whose name he’s probably accidentally said in bed with you a few times. Of course you’ve probably long since convinced yourself into delusions over that. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here now.” He smiled cheerily down at the man as the index finger gave way beneath him. “I’m not going to say I’m the one he loves, that’s both hideously cliché and completely false. Neither of us is actually capable of love you see, it's a part of the way we’re made.” He smoothed his thumb across the man’s cheek before adding, “We’re capable of affection sure, myself more than most of us, believe it or not, but love? It’s messy and futile, we try not to waste our time with it. What I will say is this. I’m his favorite.”
He practically tore the thumb from his socket before finally releasing the man’s hand, settling comfortably enough in his lap as he gazed down at him, a smile lingering on his lips as he added, “If you want a name to curse to every devil, angel and deity you can think of, feel free to call me Gavin. I’d tell you my actual name but… well, you’d butcher it hideously. I’d much rather listen to your pretty screams than your attempt to comprehend a name from a dialect that died out eons ago.”
Both hands now cupping the man’s face, he assessed him a little more closely, delighting a little in the glimmers of fear, revulsion, rebellion, determination… this one was a fighter then. He had no doubt that, without the paralytic, there might even have been a decent struggle between them and for a moment he almost regretted using it in the first place. Then again, there was something ever so rewarding about having the meal utterly at his mercy like this. Powerless, defenceless and doomed, in a way that the less rebellious part of the man already knew. The cocktail of emotions he could sense pouring off the man in waves was enticing, heady even… It was almost a pity he hadn’t ensnared this one first, with that much emotion bubbling beneath the surface, he could’ve feasted.
“You’re prettier than the last one if that’s any consolation, not quite so rich though, so it's possible he preferred your predecessor. It's often hard to tell with Michael, beyond the fact that at the end of each night, he always finds his way back to my bed.” He moved to press a kiss to one of the man’s cheeks before continuing, “Definitely pretty though. It’s that face of yours I think, who knows maybe the real Michael could’ve even fallen in love with a face like that.” He pretended to consider those words for a moment longer before lifting a hand to brutally slam into said face, relishing in the satisfying crack of the man’s nose beneath it.
Just because he rarely used brute force in situations like these, didn’t mean he wasn’t good at it. He was a natural, and he had centuries worth of watching his two incredibly gifted older brothers in action to thank for it. Sometimes they’d even hunted together, helping him improve his own style in ways that he was incredibly grateful for, especially now he had a chance to apply their teachings…
“There, much better. Now it's a wonder if anyone would fall in love with that face… of course there’s still your eyes to worry about though, those are quite striking… hmm.” He once again pretended to evaluate his options, the laughter once again coming to his lips when his victim seemed to catch on a few seconds too soon, babbled pleas mixing in with the sound of his amusement as he pulled out one of his favorite knives. It’d been given to him centuries ago, back when valor and honor had been a code of conduct which all men must live by, and everyone had displayed their coat of arms with pride. It was his favorite for a reason. Expertly crafted, the balance was perfect, made with the finest metal, engraved with words that only his own kind would understand. It’d been a gift from his brothers, one of the few items he stashed away at the end of each cycle in a host, ensuring he’d be able to retrieve it the next time he walked within this plain.
He’d also used it to kill approximately 34,657 of his brother’s ex-meals. Every single one of them had fallen at the hands of this very blade, from the moment he’d first been gifted it… It wasn’t jealousy though, just his brother’s incredibly bad habit of picking food sources susceptible to falling in love with him. Occasionally, he wondered if the selections were deliberate.
After all, he’d never made any secret of how much he enjoyed it whenever Gavin found a reason to pull out his knife and start carving… both of his brothers had always encouraged it. He supposed it was because, of the three of them, his elaborate or particularly gruesome kills were the least frequent. A part of the reason was he liked to take pride in his work, a part of his reason was that the opportunity to tease his brothers with it between kills was simply too great to pass up.
When you lived as long as they did, the games they played with each other like that were what made the small eternities they seemed to inhabit interesting.
His focus returned to the still begging man, thumb moving to swipe away a stray tear that’d hung on the edge of the man’s lashes, “I wonder what it feels like, to know I’ll be the last thing those striking eyes of yours ever see.” He didn’t wait for a response though before he drove the blade into the man’s left eyes, slowly agonizingly carving it out before he shifted his focus to give the other the same treatment. “There, now you’re perfectly hideous.” He leant to press a soft kiss to the man’s hair, pulling back a bit to divest him of his shirt, twirling the knife in his grip a little as he surveyed the blank canvas he’d just unearthed.
‘Kill me.’ He smirked, running a slightly bloodied hand through the man’s hair in what could almost be considered a soothing gesture, “Oh I will soon enough, but not quite yet. I have a few other things in mind for you first.” Readjusting the grip on his knife, he quietly dipped it in the liquid from a small vial he’d brought with him, allowing the substance to wash over the tip of it, before he brought it over to draw the first line along the man’s chest.
An immediate scream cut through the air, the moment the blade made contact.
“It burns doesn’t it? Created this one myself a few centuries ago. Pretty little poison, not enough to kill but… it lingers in the system, long after injected or consumed. No known cure, well, not precisely true. I know it but I’m not exactly the sharing kind. You might’ve noticed that by now.” Another drag of the blade, another scream like music to his ears, “I really don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, you wanted to be Michael’s didn’t you? I’m simply granting that wish.” A third, more elaborate stroke of the knife, “I’m even carving his true name, you should feel honored.” If this man had truly wished to belong to his brother, after all, it seemed only fitting that he receive a brand to prove it, receive it in a way so poignant that if there was in fact an afterlife, the memories of this moment would undoubtedly haunt him into it.
The next half hour or so he spent slowly but surely perfecting his work, to the point that the man’s screams had trailed off into tears and pathetic little whimpers. The fight he’d glimpsed earlier in the man’s former eyes had long since fled. He’d clearly accepted his fate… which made him considerably less entertaining really. Still, at least the brand looked pretty as he ran a hand over the finished work, delighting in the way the meal’s whimpers grew a little more intent for a fraction of a second before once more falling away to background noise.
“Shhh. Hush now, we’re almost done here.” He brushed another kiss to the man’s lips, noting the way his expressions seemed to dull a little, the second dose of poison finally stealing away his ability to scream, not that he imagined the man was actually capable of doing so at this point.
Cleaning his blade on the man’s discarded shirt, he slid it back into his belt, removing a slightly larger one he’d borrowed from his brother a couple of centuries ago and had just happened to ‘forget’ to give back ever since, “You can rest soon, go somewhere else, somewhere safe. You’ll be happy there. Just a little longer.” One final kiss to the man’s forehead before he pressed the blade over the man’s heart, hesitating just a moment longer before it pierced the man’s skin.
In those final fleeting moments, he could’ve sworn he sensed something akin to gratitude seeping into him, not quite substantial enough affection for anything more than a light snack but… it truly was a wonder, what a little Stockholm syndrome could do in a few hours. He waited, making a few final cuts before claiming his prize with one hand, the other taking the man’s undamaged one in his own, a parody of a concerned loved one, standing by someone they cared for in their final moments.
In reality, he was simply taking a moment to relish in the utter absence of the man’s pulse.
And finally, blessed silence and, in hand, a heart; still warm and practically beating, the perfect gift to the man he’d stolen it for, who’d stolen his, or the closest equivalent he had to that, centuries ago now. It seemed only fitting, and oddly symbolic, that he bring the heart his brother inadvertently won, home with him.
If there was one thing he’d learned from previous experiences he’d had, long before the reaper had approached him, it was that it was important to keep track of your assets. Miles was important, for reasons the poor terrified man had no real comprehension of just yet... but that worked just fine for him. Fear meant easy entertainment whenever he decided to check in on him, and after these past few weeks, he figured he’d earned himself a little fun.
“Hello Miles.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, allowing his vessel’s accent to slip into something a little less familiarly ‘Gavin’, but not so much that most people who weren’t the paranoid man in front of him would be likely to notice.
‘Gavin’ smiled to himself as he effortlessly guided the knife Ryan (or perhaps someone else, but Ryan seemed the most likely suspect) had left embedded in the wall at some point around in lazy circles in the air, occasionally shifting its trajectory to make a stabbing motion towards nothing in particular. The precision he could achieve with a simple flick of his wrist now pleased him immensely, all those late night training sessions, while Gavin’s awareness had nestled itself away in his subconscious, clearly having paid off.
It was with ease that he began, himself, to hover just a touch above the ground. Enough to be noticeable, but still nothing too showy. Not that it mattered quite so much now his ever present audience of one was out of commission, but he still imagined his boss wouldn’t be all too pleased if he stole away his limelight too overtly before he’d fully had the chance to make his move.
So little parlor tricks for now it was. He hardly minded, simply testing the potential for destruction within this new body was decidedly more enjoyable than what he’d been doing before the Reaper had required his services... Especially in those brief fleeting moments where Gavin would almost stir, almost realize what power he’d lost, before he’d soothe him into another fabricated reality, keep him docile and compliant, and retain the control his vessel had so carelessly cast away...
The sound of footsteps stirred him from his thoughts. However, instead of ceasing his display, he decided to show off a little, concentrating a little harder so that the rest of the objects in the room hovered just a fraction off the ground with him.
He was sure the Reaper would forgive him for indulging himself just a little. After all, one pair of eyes claiming to see the impossible would hardly give the game away.
Honestly, it was refreshing to have a host so deliciously... pure.
Gavin wasn’t a saint by any means, and he doubted the vessel he had would claim to be, provided he felt particularly chatty right now, but still there was an innocence here, something delightfully untainted, that just made it so much fun to play with, and corrupt.
No one had even noticed when sweet innocent little Gavin happened to get a little more tactile than usual, they hadn’t spotted how he more actively sought out that contact, those emotional bonds, because he was already inclined that way anyway. They’d assumed it was Gavin being, well, Gavin. He’d practically feasted because of it...
Especially once he’d gotten his claws into pretty little Dan.
Then there were Gavin’s powers. Limitless and intriguing, it’d taken him a little while to map out precisely how they worked, especially since he’d had limited hours to do so undetected during these earlier weeks... the flat incident had been unfortunate, but his vessel’s poor control over his gifts had provided him a convenient cover to slip behind, unnoticed still, and embraced even more by those around him. The need to protect poor innocent little Gavvy won out over the need to ask questions, to accuse...
It was a luxury he wasn’t used to and he relished in it.
But the best part wasn’t his lack of detection thus far, nor the powers Gavin so pitifully attempted to wield. No, it was the innocence that still lingered in his vessel’s core, his very being... He’d never taken a life. Not once.
There wasn’t a single drop of blood on his hands, no lives on his conscience. And so, in the most important way of all, Gavin Free was pure... He’d always liked the pure ones. They trusted far easier, allowed him far deeper into their minds, their souls, slipped into blissful oblivion without even putting up a fight. Obvious, and so much more malleable because of it.
So that sweet innocent little Gavin Free could be corrupted without being any the wiser, until his vessel’s hands were ruby red with the blood of a list of names too long to remember.
Pure ones were his favorite because they were oh so easy to destroy.
