A Toy Called Envy - 1. The Rival

The night wind was brutal. Summer was almost here and the weather changed constantly, warm on one day, wet on the next. I had chosen my attire well, especially considering I hadn't known Siccu would lead me up on a rooftop right after the meeting with the newest artists we'd taken under contract. Given, the white dress slacks didn't offer much resistance to the lukewarm storm howling over the roofs of Babylon city, but they at least were unimpressed by the tugs and pulls of the breeze, falling back into position at the first chance they got.

I bared my teeth at Siccu's back, trying to will the platinum blond strands of my hair back into shape by sheer force of mind. The vampire had been way too fascinated with the little house on the other side of the street. We had returned to stare at it every day for about a week, and I was starting to feel annoyed. He knew that, of course, and didn't care. For Siccu, I was an open book with very few pages left unturned. He also knew it wouldn't take much longer for me to start asking questions, even though I wasn't supposed to do such a bourgeois thing.

And what was it that kept Siccu's mind so preoccupied, anyway? The small home looked out of place, wedged between the higher buildings to its sides, had peeling paint, ramshackle plaster work and a barely watertight roof. Even the two people living in it were nothing to write home about. I had to know, he'd had me check them out through our usual contacts. Some mercenary and his rich boyfriend, past drug habits, drama and deaths, but that was it. So what if that boy, Kelaste, was one of the richest people in Babylon city? Rumor had it that he had given away all the CEO positions to managers to be with his sweetie, that he wasn't touching his vast funds. This at least even Siccu found profoundly dumb, that much I had gathered from his mutterings. Granted, the little boyfriend was a looker. A little emo-ish for my taste, but still. Brush him, style him, put him in designer clothes, and he could have joined me on the runway. A dirty, luscious shade next to my perfect, pale light.

I shifted my weight, trying to decide how to speak up. Siccu didn't take his eyes off the building, but he still smiled serenely at my fidgeting, tilting his head. "You have gotten better at being patient, pet," he declared, easily drowning out the winds.

His praise stung. He knew that, of course, it was his way to chastise me, to point out my failing struggle against impatience. I had been his personal assistant for almost five years, his little project, meant to amuse him until he deemed me ready to be changed, to be made immortal. I was so close to convincing him, I could almost taste his blood on my tongue. But he also knew me better than anyone else, better than my mother ever had, better even than my twin brother. Had seen through me and straight into the core of my existence since the day he had stolen me from the local kiss of vampires.

"Shall I feed the parking meter again?" I retorted, trying my hardest to remember how to hold my head in a storm if I wanted to look patiently exasperated. The limousine was parked a block away, out of sight and on a busier street where nobody would dare to jack it. I had made the meter run three times already, a fourth time would be both welcome and annoying. I didn't have a lot of ways to communicate my displeasure with the situation, though. The vampire wouldn't be rushed or strong-armed and he didn't take kindly to whining, which left me with veiled stabs and a whole lot of nothing in terms of pressure. Underhandedness didn't come easy to me, but I'd had a good teacher in Siccu. He made all the things I wanted to become look so easy.

"No."

Siccu shuddered, crouching lower at the edge of the roof and staring down intently. His calm posture was suddenly gone, wiped away by whatever he saw down there. I couldn't stop myself from stepping closer and having a look myself. I was almost next to him when he stepped onto the ledge. "Wait for me at the car," he said and jumped off, silently landing five stories below. He was gone a second later, a graceful, pale white streak between dumpsters and cars, disappearing into a side street.

I fought a frown and looked down at the house. What was all that about? The lights were still on, the black-haired twink was still rummaging through the ground level kitchen, and even my human ears picked up the faint howling of a bad punk rock record playing on loop inside. Fucking hipster vinyl record junkie could at least have tried to get a hold of unscratched disks, but no! And now that he had come up, where was the blond, mohawked pile of trash, anyway?

I walked along the ledge, pushing my hands into the coat pockets to warm them, eying the street in front of the building, keeping my gaze fixed on the direction Siccu had disappeared to. Only when I reached the corner of the roof where I could actually look into the side street, I finally caught sight of him again.

Of both of them. Embracing. Well, not really embracing, the mercenary was actually struggling and trying to fight the vampire off, but Siccu was too old to be moved by human strength. The moment the venom overwhelmed him, the mercenary stopped struggling and held on to Siccu for dear life.

The sight made me smile at first. Siccu was feeding from the unlucky punk, drawing the charade to a satisfying end. I had hoped it would end like this, clean, tidy, and sating Siccu's unhealthy obsession with a last, explosive high for his victim. I knew Siccu's bite, although he only drank sparingly from me. It was orgasmic and utterly addictive, a high unlike any other, soul-shattering and bone-deep. The merc would die with a smile on his face.

I was ready to turn around and head for the stairs when Siccu dropped the human, just like that punk had dropped his cigarette when he had been attacked.

He bit his own wrist.

My heart jumped against my ribs. No. No, no!

Siccu crouched next to the lifeless body, pressing his bloody wrist against his mouth. My fingers curled around the concrete edge of the roof, biting into the stone as I swooned. No, you promised!

At first, nothing happened, but Siccu was a patient creature. I couldn't turn my eyes away, transfixed by the horror unraveling before my eyes. The muscled merc twitched once, twice, then contorted in seizures. My breath hitched and I fought not to fall. My head spun as my chest cramped. For a moment I forgot pose, perfection, impression, myself, in this flood of envious rage and pain. Then I stumbed back from the ledge and shambled towards the door leading down, sweating like a pig. You promised I would be next!

My body moved on its own, patiently leading me down the stairs and out of the back door, guiding me towards the car as my mind raced and my heart ached. What had I done wrong? Where had I lost my way? Why was Siccu punishing me?

Or maybe he was playing a game. Maybe all of this was another test, a ways to test my loyalty, my patience. Yes, that had to be it! Siccu loved his games, the more drawn-out, the better. The more convoluted, the better. This had to be about me in some way, or he would have hidden his doing from my eyes, knowing full well how, well, envious I was, how jealous of anyone who caught Siccu's interest.

He was already waiting when I reached the limousine, unabashedly ignoring the drops of blood on his white dress shirt and licking the corners of his mouth like a sated cat. His eyes bore into me, flickering and cold, taking in my carefully constructed mask and the chinks in it. "I left him there," he purred, enjoying the twitch of my cheeks, his ability to dishevel me with a handful of words. "Don't be sad, pet."

I smiled and unlocked the car, opening the back door for him. He got in with a lazy, self-satisfied smirk, silent and heavy with blood. The need to grimace prickled through my face, tugging at my mouth in that ugly, utterly human way I despised. Yes, this was a test, I was sure of that now. I could do this. I wouldn't fail, not this close to winning everything.

#

The drive back home was horror in its purest form. My hands started slipping off the sweaty leather steering wheel about halfway through, so I grabbed it tight and tighter until my knuckles turned an ugly shade of white. The sight made Siccu snicker and look away as if bored, and everything went downhill from there. I was drenched in sweat by the time I parked the car in our tower's parking deck. My timing was so badly off, I almost got Siccu's coat caught in the door when I closed it behind him. I even messed up the fingerprint scan to Siccu's penthouse quarters, and because I hadn't shamed myself enough, I frowned at the two young men waiting there like a jealous, second-class housewife before I got a hold of myself.

It was so disastrous, Siccu didn't even bother to insult me with praise. He simply quirked an eyebrow at my fumbling, let the two twinks pass him through the door to his bedroom, and closed it without so much as a peep towards me.

I was left standing in the anteroom, framed by the most luscious gold carpets, cast-iron chandeliers and half a dozen paintings rare enough to make any historian weep, looking stupid and pouty like a little kid. My hands did their involuntary, nervous checking routine, fumbling over my clothes, tugging lapels and buttons to where they were supposed to be, but my eyes never left Siccu's bedroom door.

Two men, alone with him. In there.

A rush of warmth went through my taut body and settled in my crotch, reminding me of body parts I kept hidden most of my life. I wanted to be in there with them so bad, I could taste the need on the back of my tongue like the salty drops of precum they'd be sampling. God, how I wanted to take their place, finally be allowed to touch my master, to have him in my grasp, in my mouth, anywhere really. My hands wanted to open those doors, to have me storm inside and take my rightful place between their limbs, but I knew the unwritten rules. Knew how fine a line I was treading with my master. Not that my hands cared much about that. They itched.

I turned away and kept walking, carefully shucked my cashmere coat and made my way towards the living room and its many doors. I didn't bother carrying my coat back to my room just yet, but instead slipped into the security room in the center of the penthouse, closing the door like a thief at midnight. I hung the garment on one of the hooks, then switched on the monitors and frantically tapped through the different cameras until I found the one offering a view of Siccu's bedroom.

My model years had left me with enough of a taste in clothing, manners and showmanship to speak to Siccu's aesthetic preferences, but I wasn't meant for more than pleasing the eye. My vampiric master didn't have much of a soul left, not much ethics, morale or humanity I--or anyone else--could plea to. Sure, my tragic perfection was what had initially made him notice me, but back then, I had been nothing but a distraction, a light snack, a curious new gadget he'd wanted to try out, just like he was trying out those two angelic boys right now. I had worked hard, tirelessly, to become more than a light snack, to gain access to his work desk, to live in his penthouse, to watch his every move, to study him, to become like him. To consume him until there was nothing left except for me. My perfection. His locking me out of his bedroom, this one last room I didn't have access to--

Rage prickled along the back of my neck and settled in my ribs. I wouldn't let it crawl any higher, but it sat there like a metal tourniquet and refused to disappear.

The screen didn't offer much of a view, small and grainy as it was, but I had sound to go with the bad feed. One of the young men, the black-haired one, was undressing near the foot of the bed, dropping his garments on a heap containing the other one's clothing. His disregard for the items, his blasé attitude towards his possessions, cheap as they were, irked me. The other one, the redhead, was entwined with my master and kissing him like it was his last night on earth. Which it could very well be if he kept going like that. Sloppy and bourgeois. Blech.

I scooted closer to the screen, frowning at the bite wounds on the redhead's neck and arms. The teethmarks were swollen and dark, no more than a day old and probably painful, but the way that twink acted, he felt no pain. The other twink crept closer as soon as the last sock had fallen, pressing his lithe body against Siccu's back and whispering nonsensical pleasantries into the vampire's ear. His hand drifted downward to tug at Siccu's pantsbutton. His body was dimpled with bite marks, too, the bruises tucked away between his legs, seaming the insides of his thighs like strings of pearls.

Venom junkies. I sneered at the screen, grinding my teeth to keep myself from losing pose or composure. Those poor creatures probably had been handed around like mediocre wine bottles for months, bitten and used so often, their bodies had acclimated to the devastating impacts of the vampires' saliva and the venom it contained. The high was like nothing else, enough to submit to death willingly, happily, and then ask for more. I knew. I had been there.

But this was not a generic vampire. Siccu wouldn't simply give them what they wanted, drink his fill and throw them out. Sustenance had lost its flair a long time ago, and now all he wanted was to play with his food until nothing but empty shells were left.

The microphones didn't pick up their whispering, but words didn't matter. Siccu arranged them with careful touches, herded them to the bed like a pair of eager puppies and tucked them together in the center of the mattress, turning them towards each other and placing their hands where he wanted them. Their movements fell in line with his touches without so much as a stumble or hesitation. It would have looked awkward had I done that, but he made it look effortless, true artist that he was.

I swallowed, shuffling to find a position that would accommodate my thickening cock. They were a masterpiece of limbs and lines and lust, thought out in but a second and done with an elegance I envied more than anything else. The boys knelt, kissing as they lazily touched each other, throwing short, nervous glances at the vampire standing before them. So close, yet so far... I understood their trepidation all too well, knew their thoughts like my own. Was Siccu too young to make sex with him morally bearable? Did his mind understand real sex? What would he want from them in exchange for his bite?

I had asked myself those questions at first. He was small, yes, and he liked to dress and act teen-young when he was in one of his moods, but it was just a facade, another game. Siccu's body had been almost twenty when he had been changed, stumped by lack of nutrition, sunlight and space to forever look like a tiny version of a beautiful courtesan. Not that he had told me about his past, but a bit of web search and a few well-placed questions had helped me find out what I had needed to know.

His body was small and lithe. His mind, his presence, dwarfed a giant. Like a shark in dark, dark waters.

Siccu leaned forward, grabbing their arms and guiding their hands to stroke each other's cocks. The red haired one couldn't seem to get hard, his cock flagging ever so often and matching his strained face. The black haired boy didn't mind the touch as much, but he also didn't seem to have interest in his companion. His eyes were all for my master, asking, pleading, beckoning. His need to be bitten was an almost physical thing, and I wasn't even in the same room. To Siccu, the scent of his silent pleas was probably all-encompassing.

The limpness was a problem, though, a misplaced tone in a masterful sonata, a hinky brush stroke in a painting. Another vampire would have let it slide and resumed his games, but Siccu had never ignored the little things, always strove for perfection, thrived on it. He turned all of his attention to the flagging cock and its owner.

"You don't like men," he stated, combing cold, long fingers through the redhead's hair. The tiny microphones didn't do his mellow, unique voice justice, stealing some of the purring contralto and replacing it with scratchy unpleasantness.

The boy's lithe frame shook with a small tremor, but his eyes never wavered from Siccu's face. I didn't like the tension in his shoulders, but if I could see it on the cameras, Siccu was already all too aware of it. "I do like men, I'm just nervous," he replied, licking his lips in what he probably assumed was appropriately lecherous. But still, his eyes shifted towards the side, to the door, the pictures, away from Siccu's face.

I felt for the intercom button on the keyboard, but my eyes stayed glued to the scene as I called the in-house security team. I made sure my coat was where it had been and my suit jacket was crinkle-free, then turned my eyes back to the screen. It would take security about two minutes to get up here, which meant I had one minute and fifty seconds left to watch.

My master kept petting the rigid creature, relaxed and calm as ever, but I knew the twitch in his lips all too well. My eyes drifted back to the redhead, hoping against hope that I'd be wrong this time,--

The boy landed a solid, well placed punch against Siccu's sternum, hard enough to catapult him backwards and against a wall. Wow. Talk about ghoul strength. It was very impressive, if stupid, but he wasn't done. The dark-haired one rolled off the bed with a frightened scream, worming his way beneath its frame. The redhead dove for the heap of clothing, rummaging around with panicked, hiccuping gasps. Some wannabe-assassin he was.

Behind him, Siccu got back to his feet like a puppet on strings, brushing off crumbs of plaster as he drifted closer. "My, my, I would have thought you'd wait for a better moment," he sighed, jumping back as the assassin whirled around on his knees and slashed at him. The blade sliced thin air. He had a small flip knife, probably porcelain or plastic instead of metal to get it through the security gate downstairs. At least he wasn't a total idiot.

The blade tip trembled and wavered as his owner pointed it at Siccu. My master stood just out of reach, tilting his head with a curious expression. "Who sent you?"

The redhead's face wasn't pretty anymore. "Doesn't matter. I have to do this."

Siccu patiently waited for his murderer to sort his limbs and get up, flicking his fingertips against the dust stains on his side and shoulder as he spoke on. "I wonder who went through this much trouble to frame the Kiss of Orchids, but still neglected to choose a more talented murderer. Or rather, an even remotely competent one."

A shower of different expressions tore at the young man's face, twisting and warping his features until I couldn't remember why I ever had thought of him as even remotely pretty. At last, his face settled on something close to animalistic panic. He set off, his little knife stabbing and slicing as he jumped Siccu.

Oh, how I wanted to stay and watch them dance, gorge myself on the fluid movements of the undead, the pretty, carefree twists and turns my master applied to dodge the little weapon! Alas, my time was up.

I got up and strode out of the monitoring room, trotting to make up for lost seconds, twisting my hips and angling myself to show off my tailored suit even in my half-jog. It was all about posture, and it didn't matter if anyone was there to see or not.

The penthouse doors crashed open just as I reached my position, vomiting armored men in bullet-proof vests. I smiled a Mona Lisa smile and pointed the seven security guards towards the bedroom. They rushed the door, trying to push it open like puppies waiting to be let outside. Something in the bedroom broke with a loud thump, then a throaty, monotonous growl reverberated through the penthouse. I took a half-step back and licked my teeth. Should have kept watching, damn it.

One of the guards wrested the door open a few inches when a fleshy cannonball slammed into it.

It ripped the door out of its hinges. Then the door smashed the guard into the security glass at the other side of the golden hallway, a good fifteen feet of horizontal travel. And of course the glass broke, taking the guard, the door, and what was left of the redhead into the wild outdoors, and into a very deep, very long fall to the death.

Served that little twink wannabe-murderer right.

#

The security team flooded the bedroom, flowing around Siccu like a river around a rock. Despite the healthy breeze--or storm--howling through the broken window, I kept my vigil, doing my best to stand straight, motionless, with an unperturbed expression. I had rehearsed it in the mirror, but it still slipped on special occasions. Like seeing Siccu shirtless, for example. Shirtless and on his way over to me.

Don't swallow, don't swallow, don't--

I swallowed. Siccu stopped just out of arm's reach, cocked his head and smiled softly. "I lost my temper," he said. Shifted. Watched me track his lips as he swayed from one side to the other. Fragments of an inch, but mocking nonetheless.

I turned my eyes away by sheer force of will, swallowed again--damn it!--and forced myself to freeze as I was. "The cleaning crew will be here momentarily."

He nodded gracefully and moved past me. A little flick of his wrist called me to his heel like an overgrown lap dog. He led the way into the living room and I followed, staring murderously at the scrapes on his back, the remains of plaster dust, the tiny flecks of paint adorning his spine. My hands itched harder, so I shoved them into my pants pockets.

Siccu dropped onto the sofa with a sigh, stretching his half naked body until his abs shivered. Like this, nobody would ever mistake him for a teenager. A few clumps of plaster trickled out of his disheveled hair and onto the couch cushions, and I shoved my hands forward as if to catch them. Froze mid-step. Felt my cheek twitch.

He flopped over, slid down the cushions to offer me a view of the red streaks of blood he left on the backrest, and laughed softly.

"Don't be sad, I will buy you a new one."

"I would never presume--" I stopped myself at the precipice of ruining everything. White noise filled my head as I realized how far off my path he had driven me with nothing but a slight shift and a few words. Cold sweat trickled down my back as I feverishly thought of a way to fix my slip-up. Back to the basics. Pose. Composure. Aloofness. I sucked air through my teeth and forced my hands back into the pants pockets, righted myself and breathed out. No use in trying to hide my distraction now, it would just offend him. And since the blood stains on the perfect, white Italian designer couch offended me, I switched topics. And pace.

"Shall I backtrack the jun-- the donors to find out who put them up to this stupidity?" I asked, licking the corner of my mouth lazily, blatantly. Siccu tracked my tongue like a cat would track a toy, left and right, left and right.

"You shall, but I have an additional task of much greater importance for you." He flicked a clump of plaster off the couch onto the charcoal gray carpet and I tensed. What had I done to deserve this punishment?

When I stayed silent, if tense, he blinked at me and I allowed myself a breath of relief. Just to see if I really had gotten a grip on myself, he wiggled around a bit, smeared more blood and dust onto the sofa, and huffed contentedly. "This task is for you, and you only. You will not speak of it to anyone, you will not discuss it or argue with me, you will simply say 'yes sir' and do as I ordered." Velvety steel, cold, empty eyes. "Now, are you ready to hear it, or do you need a moment to yourself?"

Composure. Composure. Composure. I let my lips curl upward in a slight arc I had perfected years ago, but my eyes wouldn't listen. I glowered, faintly smiling at the world, and nodded. "I am at your disposal."

Siccu switched on a horrifying, saintly, sunny smile that showed his fangs to the root.

"I want you to observe my new child. Every move. Every hiccup. Every moment. They fuck, you watch. They eat, you watch. They go out to hunt, you watch. You will do nothing else, take on nothing else, but this. And you will report to me daily and in detail." He paused, tilted his brow up. "You will not scamper off to change every hour, and you will not, I repeat, you will not dance around in front of their noses like a wannabe-FBI agent on a rampage."

My expression held against the storm breaking loose in my head, but only just. Every last drop of blood left my face and pooled somewhere around my stomach. A spinning head got company in form of the urge to vomit. Was this a test? Couldn't be. A punishment? Too harsh. Did he know what he asked of me?

I scanned his relaxed pose, his angelic smile, his shimmering eyes, and swallowed. He was waiting for an answer, counting the seconds it took me to get a grip on myself. This whole evening was a clusterfuck and I was only making it worse. No use in berating myself any longer. I said the only thing I could say.

"Understood. I will be on my way, then."