can't look in the mirror [open]

[DEVON HAWTHORNE]

if someone had told devon that he would be in hospital for getting into a stupid fight with a gang of other vampires a couple of months ago, devon would have laughed. he would have told them that was silly, since he didn't get in fights with people. he was someone who couldn't apprehend hurting another person in that way. he was a gentle soul, a ray of happiness and sunshine to everyone that knew him. the stuttery cute vampire who would never even think to hurt a fly.

that had obviously changed within the space of a short amount of time, since here he was, laying on a bed waiting for a nurse. devon wasn't even totally sure what had happened. it had all happened so quickly. the group of five vampires had been innocently talking about things when devon had walked past. only they had noticed him, and snickered. one boy had said, "hey, isn't he that vampire thats in love with fucking ezra hart? the one that ezra doesn't want." devon had got over that ezra didn't want him. it wasn't like he could help or do anything about it. but anger had risen within him at the idiots that didn't know one fucking thing! and with that anger he had turned and started a fight with them.

he had truly tried to think of his 'happy place'. he really had tried. trying to think how much damage to fletchers and his friendship it would cause if he became a raging monster everytime someone said one word out of turn. fletcher would be scared to talk to devon if he thought devon was going to go off on him everytime. however, nothing worked as he began to fling them all into the walls and trees around them. of course when he had finished, he hadn't thought that their was a humungous possibility that the vamp's he had just thrown against walls would retaliate.

which brings us to the present time, sat with lacerations and burns scattered across his chest, abdomamon and arms. his tee was officially ruined from the burn holes and sears within the fabric. a lesson to learn. never get on the wrong side of someone who weilds fire. its a seriously bad idea. moving with a small hiss, devon laid back upon the bed he had been shown to, sighing. he was falling apart, and he couldn't stop it. he was never violent like that to people who had simply spoke about him behind his back. devon had never cared before what people said about him. but now, now was different. devon was different.

devon hated the new him. he wanted his old self back. when he was innocent and didn't care about what people said about him. when he played about with fletcher without a care in the world. when he had his care-bear pjs and stutter. well, the stutter was well and truly there. but it was getting better. and as much as devon hated his stutter with a passion, it was who he was. stuttery and sweet and gentle and innocent... now he was just a monster.

[EZRA HART]

outfit.

He'd had virtually nothing to do all day. Jackson had been out doing whatever the hell he usually did when not singing or hanging out, Sam was nowhere to be found, and Daileh was planning her take-over of the world. He supposed he could've found Kjara, but she had been super-testy with him lately. Unfortunately, that was about the extent of his friends that had stayed back at Winterthorne (or, were still alive). There were several people that claimed to love him, but didn't seem to actually like him--or, hang out with him when he was bored. But, then again, when he got bored, he murdered, and he didn't expect that much people around wanted to start killing off students for fun.

And, indeed, that was exactly what he felt like doing: killing someone off. He just needed to figure out who had pissed him off enough in the past few days that he could kill--or, better yet, who would be the most fun to kill? There'd been the guy at the secret the other night who'd given him a hard time about taking two extra minutes to make a fucking drink. Yeah, he seemed okay, but it didn't give him as much thrill as he was looking for. Absent-mindedly, he had turned the tv on and dropped the remote on the couch beside him. The movie played, but he didn't watch; he simply stared at the screen and thought. Who would be good?--and how would he kill them? He guessed he could just acid the face off of whoever his victim was, but that was getting old. He wanted to do something new.

When his eyes refocused, he realized what he was watching. The Dark Knight. He'd seen that once before, with Daileh (as Sam had been way too terrified to go see it with him). It was okay, but he had to admit that Dai could pull off a way better Joker than Heath Ledger. He watched for a few moments, smiling smugly as the joker infiltrated the hospital in a blatantly obvious nurse costume, and a thought hit him. Why not go down to the hospital? He could pretend to be visiting a brother or friend or something believable like that, and then...give a lethal injection? Or, perhaps, just slice their head off. He was feeling particularly sadistic today.

As soon as he had gotten to the hospital, he'd walked into the hallway to some of the patients' rooms. No one gave a second look to him. No one cared that he looked particularly dangerous, or that he was smirking as he looked from room to room, or that the chain that he swung lowly with his right hand had appeared out of thin air. But, of course, it was a hospital, and he supposed these people had better things to do (like, save lives). He felt he was kind of undoing all their hard work--but Sam had always told him to look on the bright side, so, he'd think of it more like a lesson. You couldn't always win as a doctor, right? Then you'd get cocky and a bit lazy, so you'd mess up a bit with your patients--which was never good. In fact, he was doing everyone a favor by killing a few of them off. 'Sides, who needed extra patients, anyway?

His black chucks, which had been stuffed under his jeans, scuffed the off-white floor as he walked lazily by, hands in his pockets and expression fairly bored. None of these patients were amusing in the slightest. Ff. He blew a few strands of red hair out of his face and grunted, swaying his head to the right to check those rooms out. That's when he saw it--room seven-two-seven. The smirk widened for a moment, and then he cleared it off his face. So, Devon's back, he thought, amused as he headed over to the door. The demon paused for a moment to think. Should he go all-out and just fucking scare the boy, or play with him a little bit? Well, duh. He knew the answer to that. Daileh always did scold him for playing with his food.

Ezra opened the door without a word, and stepped inside the room just as quietly as he eyed the boy with his light eyes. "Hey darlin'," he breathed, slowly shutting the door behind him. The demon moved closer. "When'd you get back, huh?" He smirked for a moment, mouth open as he resisted the laughter that bubbled up inside him, and moved to the side of the boy's bed. He paused upon seeing the burns and wounds. "What'd you get yourself into this time, Devvybear?" He took a moment to kneel down on the ground, and then carefully picked up the other boy's wounded hand and held it delicately in his own. He looked at it for a moment, then back to Devon. Slowly, the smile crept onto his face. "I missed you, baby," he purred, lifting the boy's hand and kissing it gently. He was gonna have fun with this one.

[DEVON HAWTHORNE]

up until now, devon had done a pretty amazing job at avoiding a certain person named ezra hart. devon was suprised he hadn't run into the demon before now. before he left, ezra seemed to be everywhere. and thankfully, now he had come back, the demon was no where to be found. devon was praying and hoping that it would stay that way. that he would never ever see the demon again. of course devon knew that was entirely impossible, he had to see him at some point in the future. and anyway, as much as devon hated the demon, he also loved him. deep down inside he wanted to see ezra every moment of every single day. but he had learned to supress those kind of thoughts. they weren't healthy for the vampire. devon had come to the conclusion that if he tried to think and see the demon less, then maybe the feelings he had for ezra would slowly but surely wither away.

or, so he hoped.

the hospital bed was uncomfortable as he laid back and closed his eyes, getting sick of waiting for someone to come clean and tend to his wounds. times like this, devon wished he had the power to self-heal. that would mean no visits to creepy hospitals. devon wasn't a fan that was for sure. the white got to him. it was fucking everywhere. and all the furniture was so uncomfortable. wasn't the point to make the patient comfortable? not to make them feel like they were laying on fucking concrete. though, devon put this down to his super senses. maybe these beds were ok for the average human, but they were not for him. not that he'd complain to any of the staff. it was known well they were not a fan of supernaturals. he didn't want to get chucked out without his wounds being seen to. they hurt!

hearing the door suddenly, devon's eyes opened quickly. hoping to see a doctor or nurse, or maybe even fletcher. who he saw though... butterflies erupted, dread filled him and his eyes opened wider than he ever thought eyes could open. ezra. fuck! this couldn't actually be happening! this had to be a really fucking bad good dream! "hey darlin'" oh that voice. the voice that haunted devons dreams and nightmares all in one. that voice that he loved so dearly and hated at the same time. devon couldn't seem to get himself to speak. he was in too much shock that he was seeing the demon again, after all this time. it felt like he was falling for him all over again. and he hated it. he wanted to hate him fully! ezra was a vile demon who used people for his own sick pleasure... and still the vampire loved him like he could no other.

his body tensed as ezra kneeled beside him, taking his hand. what the fuck was ezra playing at? maybe the demon... HA! the thought that ezra was actually glad that he was back was laughable. ezra was probably enjoying watching him squirm. his hand tingled from the kiss before he finally found his tongue. "get off me." devon moved his hand, not realizing he was using his power. pushing ezra back with a powerful throw. devon nursing his hand against his cheek and not looking over at ezra. he didn't want to see how far ezra had fallen back. he didn't want to see the damage he may have done. he knew he would only feel guilty, and he didn't want to feel like that. "y-you didn't miss m-me. stop l-lying t-to me. j-just leave me alone." devon whispered, more to himself than to ezra. he didn't want to see the demon. he didn't want to love him. he wanted to just go back home! or have his heart ripped out? or maybe his memory wiped? they all sounded amazingly good ideas right now.

[EZRA HART]

outfit.

If there was one thing Ezra loved about screwing with people, it was the reactions he got from them.

It made it all worthwhile--the reactions, that is. The feelings that he got when he saw the fear flicker in someone's eyes, or the lust building up inside them. There was nothing he liked better than those perfectly good reactions--the ones that made his body tingle with anticipation and his insides smirk with lust. There were the people like Xio and Ross, who were blatantly terrified of him. The ones who avoided where he hung out for fear they would see him, or the ones whose eyes widened whenever he started walking their way. He adored those people. The only problem with them was that he got a little bored after a while. Sure, it was nice to be feared and all, but he also liked when people tried to fight back. There were those like Blair and Asher who were very much interested in the thought of fighting back--but that was all they ever did. They didn't let their fear, if they had any, to show. That got boring, too. What was the point of talking to them if they didn't give him any sort of satisfaction? It was basically like bitching back and forth, and if he'd wanted that, he would've gone to a prepubescent girl's sleepover party.

The ones he enjoyed the most, however, were the people like Devon. The ones in the exact middle. The ones who snapped back at him and fought back so dearly, and then turned around to be seduced by him. The ones who shot back with clearly rehearsed comebacks, and then crumbled under his ever-longing grip. The ones who groaned the loudest, and begged him the hardest, and spat on his face when he was close enough. The ones who never seemed to learn. The ones who never saw it coming. His fucktoys. His puppets. His little, darling sluts.

He could already see the other boy's body tensing under the pressure, which brought the nasty, cheshire grin back to his face. This was just perfect, wasn't it? A boy trapped in a hospital bed who was actually forced to stay where he was. He watched quietly as the other boy pulled his hand away, and slid his own hand back into his pocket, unable to keep the snicker off his face. Why so tense, Devon? Watching Devon squirm was a bit like watching a newly-caught fish swing wildly from a hook, or a mouse dangling from a cat's sharp and gleaming claws. He loved it.

However, the demon was dragged from his thoughts as Devon threw his hand back and punched him in the chest. In the split-second before the punch landed, he wasn't that worried; Devon looked like a weak enough boy, and there was bound to be only a little bit of damage. However, as the fist connected to his chest, his eyes widened a bit. He'd forgotten that the other boy had super-strength. Almost immediately, he was thrown against the pale blue wall, knocking over one of the creme and brown armchairs that sat against it and the coffee table that was littered with magazines. As he fell to the ground, bits of plaster from the wall crashed on his head, and magazines flipped open and scattered some more.

He resisted the groan that fought to escape his lips and bit down hard on his bottom lip. Scowling, jaw dropped a bit, he looked down to the hand in his pocket. Fuck. Carefully, he extracted his shaking hand. The hand that had been in his pocket--the same one that had held Devon's just moments ago--had been wrapped around his "don't panic" pin. He'd been about to show the boy the pin, delighting in the game of jeering. And now? Now the thick needle on the back of the pin was sticking right through his hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He lifted it a bit, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket to his upper-arm. The blood dribbled down his arm and onto the floor, splattering unpleasantly.

Ezra gritted his teeth as he lifted his good hand--the left one--and extracted the pin from his right slowly. Growling, he threw the bloody pin to the side and out of his sight. His hand shook a little bit, but he paid no mind; instead, he pushed himself up and off the linoleum floor and limped over to Devon. It was about that time that he realized something was wrong with his leg. He looked at it for a moment, then back up to Devon, who was caressing his cheek.

Y-you didn't miss m-me. Stop l-lying t-to me. J-just leave me alone.

Careful of his leg, he climbed onto the bed next to Devon and threw his right arm over the boy's waist, watching as the blood splattered and ruined the nice, clean, white sheets. For a moment he watched the shining liquid, dazed, and then placed his chin in the crook between Devon's neck and shoulder. "Don't be that way," he whispered softly, kissing the boy's cheek. "I can relieve all that tension, baby."

He wasn't about to give up so easily.

[DEVON HAWTHORNE]

devon could tell that ezra was enjoying every moment of this. making his squirm and fight with himself. devon had to keep himself under control. because if he didn't he would either give in and jump ezra or kill the bastard slowly and painfully. number one didn't sound a very good idea, because then he would just be back to fucking square one. and devon knew he would never be able to kill ezra. hell he could barely hurt him without feeling a heart wrenching guilt and a need to make the demon feel better.

which was one of the reasons, devon didn't dare look over at ezra after he had pushed him. he knew he had super strength. he knew he could inflict quite a lot of damage. he may have looked weak, but the vampire blood running through his veins changed the reality of his strength. not only did he not want to see the damage, he didn't want to see ezra's reaction either. no doubt he would be shocked for a moment, and then the smug bastard would probably smirk because he'd managed to get a reaction. ezra loved reactions, that much was obvious. after all, that was the only reason ezra was here, right?

devon knew, no matter how much it hurt him, that ezra didn't care about him. ezra liked to hurt him, to make him uncomfortable because it was fun for him. he was sadistic, and devon was beginning to wonder if he was a masochist. because he tortured himself with this. he knew he could throw ezra out of the door and use his powers to keep ezra out. but in truth, he didn't want ezra gone. because it made his chest ache when he wasn't near the demon, as stupid and cliche as it sounded.

hearing crashes, devon closed his eyes. knowing that must have been ezra banging over things and going into the wall. he tried to shut off his sensitive hearing, not that it was possible, so that he didn't have to hear the change in breathing patterns, and small hisses and groans. and even if he could have, it wasn't the sounds that bothered devon the most. oh no. it was the smell of fresh blood. ezra's blood. fuck this wasn't good. the blood smelt so good and he could smell it coming closer, which meant ezra wasn't giving up, and coming over with a fucking bleeding hand. WAS EZRA STUPID?! he was a vampire for fucks sake!

devon tightened his eyes up, gritting his teeth and pulling his hands into tight balls. he had to control himself. because the way ezra's blood smelt, if he started fucking drinking he wouldn't be able to stop. it smelt better better than fletchers... and fletcher's blood was like a drug to him. feeling ezra near, devon's breath sped up a little. ezra probably believed it to be because devon was scared. but no, it was because he wanted to sink his fangs straight into the demon's neck and drink him dry.

peeking an eye open, devon breathed deeply. not daring to look at where he knew the blood had soaked. "e-e-ezra... w-wrap your h-hand... please..." devon managed to get out through his teeth. he couldn't drink from ezra. he wouldn't drink from ezra. he could feel his fangs fucking aching for the demon. stupid fucking ezra.

"h-how can you r-relieve my t-t-tension? you're the f-ffucking cause of i-it!" devon spoke quietly, rolling his eyes. biting the inside of his cheek and opening his eyes fully to look at ezra. staring into the demons eyes, those eyes that captivated devon every time. his eyes flickering to the demon's mouth and neck, stopping himself from those bloody thoughts by looking back to ezra's eyes. gosh he loved this boy.

[EZRA HART]

outfit.

Ezra was the kind of person that felt the need to make others suffer when he was feeling down. Recently, Sam had taken to simply not showing up. He hadn't returned any of his calls, and he couldn't find him at school--fuck, there were so many kids, he could barely push through them to get to his classes (well, that was a blatant lie; he just teleported into the room, but whatever). The point was that Sam was kind of ignoring him, which was new to him. Everyone he had ever known didn't just ignore him. Whether they were chasing after him, hopelessly in "love", about to slit his throat, or cursing him out for being such a horrible boyfriend, the attention was always on him--just the way he liked it. But Sam didn't seem to be that type of guy. Sam had the ability to turn off whatever charm Ezra had and simply ignore him. It both intrigued him and killed him at the same time, and lord, he wished he knew how that boy worked.

So, because Sam and basically everyone else were now giving him a hard time, he had to find a way to relieve his stress and rage. He'd tried the classic pinball, which only pissed him off further when he lost--that had gone straight into the trash after he'd thrown acid on it. He'd tried soaking in warm water and listening to music. Didn't work, considering he'd been playing screamo. He'd gone to clubs, drunk his heart out, and flirted with every girl in the fucking place--and every time he woke up with a killer hangover and a bunch of numbers scrawled on his hand, which took about an hour or so to wash off completely. None of the shit that people had recommended for him was working, and he wasn't about to go to a fucking clinic and talk about his feelings.

The next best thing was, of course, to kill shit.

At this point, he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to kill Devon. Sure, he wanted to kill someone, but he enjoyed the way that Devon looked at him--like he wanted him and hated him at the same time--and he enjoyed the fact that there was yet another person who wanted him so badly. Besides, he couldn't just going around killing all the kids in his fan club. Who would be there to cheer him up when he was pissed off (other than the regular sluts that hung out at the secret)? And hey, the kids in his so-called "fan club" hadn't done anything other than love every inch of him, and what was so wrong with that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact, he was considering having one of them re-write the Book of Ezra from the bible to include more things about worshipping the ground he walked on, and buying him shit, and making him really good smoothies.

Wrap his hand? Hell no. That would ruin the fun. He smirked, watching as Devon's obvious tension took over his body. Poor baby, he thought, pursing his lips for a moment before watching the boy quietly again. Huh. He didn't seem to be taking this whole bleeding-on-the-vampire thing too well, did he? It was kinda cute, though--the way he had to grit his teeth to stop from biting the demon. Was he that delicious?--hah, what a question. Of course he was. People wouldn't like him otherwise. His fan club sure as fuck didn't exist because of his delightful and charming personality.

"Aww." Ezra pushed himself up so that he sat next to Devon. "Poor baby." So, he was the cause of his tension, eh? Then he would have to see exactly how far he could push said tension. He lifted his good hand and pressed it to the bloody one, making sure he got an ample amount of the thick, red liquid before looming over the vampire again. Snickering, he traced the boy's lips with his bloody finger, making sure to cover every last inch of it. There was no way that Devon was escaping, and he wasn't sure how getting his blood drained was going to help him mess with the boy, but he'd figure it out in due time. It was too much fun at the moment to pass up.

"How 'bout a kiss, babe?" He winked, and then leaned in and brushed his lips against Devon's bloody ones. So, that's what I taste like, he mused in thought. Huh. It is kinda minty.

[DEVON HAWTHORNE]

the smell of blood to devon was like the most delicious delight, and it was like a heroin addict trying not to shoot up when everything was in front of them. that was one of the main reasons devon didn't like being a vampire. winterthorne was full of a nice blood supply and beating hearts. and it was very hard not to suck every one of them dry. though devon tended to stay away from nymphs. there blood tended to make him rather ill. alas, there was still plenty of other creatures and species and people to feast on and shove his sharp fangs into their jugulars. and when someone was offering their blood on a platter to devon, it was almost impossible to resist. it was ever more hard when the person was bleeding right near him, so the scent could wash over his senses like a drug.

which was the very problem right now. ezra was bleeding, how much devon didn't know. he didn't dare look. he knew if he did he wouldn't be able to stop himself from lapping it up like a kitten, and then probably he'd need to bite down to savour the taste. then he'd drink, and try to stop, and would fail and would drain ezra completely of every drop of blood. and then ezra would die. and then everyone would hate him because he was a killer, and then devon would need to kill himself because everyone hated him and the guilt of killing the demon he loved... and generally because he'd killed someone. and none of that sounded fun. at all.

but this was ezra! when did ezra ever make anything easy? when did ezra ever know the boundries not to cross? because this was one of those boundries he shouldn't fucking cross.

devon watched, his trembling hands grasping the white sheets, as ezra pushed himself closer. was ezra trying to get himself killed? because devon knew that ezra knew that devon could drain him. completely if he lost control. devon growled slightly. it sounded very much like ezra was patronizing him, and that was the way he took it. he wasn't ezra's baby. and he never would be. gosh, ezra was just fucking looking for trouble now. and devon thought maybe he should just let go, and drain him and put himself and others out of their misery... he'd never do it.

simple watching however turned to horror quickly, as he saw ezra lathering blood up upon his finger. devon saw straight through what he was doing. "n-n-no.... d-" was all devon could stutter out before a snicker came from ezra and his lips were traced with ezra's blood. he knew there was no way to escape this now, his tongue darting out across his lips to taste. and it tasted better than it smelt. a small moan amitted from devon's throat, though he tried hard to stop it. but he couldn't help it. ezra's blood was... indescribable. like a drug. and devon could almost feel a high from the small amount that was on his lips.

"how 'bout a kiss, babe?"

devon's eyes widened and yet another small moan erupted from his throat as he felt ezra's lips against his own. ezra had only brushed them, but it seemed to set every single nerve in devon's body alive with a fire he couldn't explain. pressing his lips a touch harder against ezra's he moved closer to the boy he loved. knowing in his mind that this was a really bad idea. his heart wouldn't let him stop. he needed this. and as much as he hated to admit...

he needed ezra.

[EZRA HART]

outfit.

He knew what love felt like, sure. He'd had that feeling in the pit of his stomach where butterflies flew up and choked him. He knew the feeling of missing someone he loved, which made him want to rip his guts out and throw them at the nearest bystander. He knew the feeling of someone not returning his love, which made him want to kick things and kill random people that he had never cared for before. He knew that love had made him the happiest and scariest fucking person on Earth. He knew that was probably how Devon felt about him, and how Jackson felt about him, and how hundreds of people before them had felt.

Except, the feeling had faded a little, now that he hadn't seen Sam as much. Sure, the pain had been there for a while, but it had subdued with the need to make people hurt as much as he was. Unfortunately for basically everyone around him, that need had always been there, and was pretty much intensified when things like this happened--when he and Sam broke up, or when Jackson tried to kill himself, or when Sam left for periods of time. It killed him, and, therefore (in his logic), he had the right to kill others. It was only fair, right? Everything that happened in the universe had a reaction. If Sam was killing him, he was going to kill someone else. That was how the world worked to him and, whether or not the world liked it, that was how it was going to be. Besides, who was going to stop him? Not the fucking cops. They'd already wasted a good number of months trying to figure out who was killing everyone. Not the teachers, who had made them switch schools because they couldn't get that the killer was a student, and certainly not the students, who wouldn't dare rat him out.

Right?

The first moan made his skin tingle, and he didn't think anything of it. He supposed it was because of the blood. Aside from the fact that they needed it to survive, vampires seemed really into the fact that blood tasted good. He wondered if it was merely a "shit, get me some more of that good stuff!" type of thing, or if it was a sexual experience. There was no telling with Devon; it seemed like every time he got within fifty feet of the boy, it was a sexual experience for him. Not like he could blame him, though. He was pretty much convinced that he was sex on a stick, and that everyone within fifty feet of him, regardless of a stutter or cute complex, would orgasm at the sight of him. Then again, he also thought that it was okay to kill while his boyfriend was away, so.

The second moan was a bit more sensual, and his arm twitched as he was pulled closer. He couldn't give Devon that much pleasure, no; even though he knew it would bite the vampire in the ass, it would be satisfying at present time, and he couldn't do that, could he? No. Especially not if Sammii found out that he cheated on him again. Then they'd really be done, and Winterthorne would really be screwed. Gently, he pulled away from the boy's lips and sat on him, legs straddling the boy's chest. "You turned into quite the slut, huh?" Out of all the people at Winterthorne, Devon had probably been the last choice for who was going to grow up and be a whore. Top of that list, of course, was Blair. Next in line was probably Xio. She had that "innocent gone wrong" thing about her.


[ ooc; sorry for lateness. \: and suckage. ♥ ]