8Chapter 4: ...Goes Around
He'd just stepped into the elevator when Ivan was right behind him. Ulric tried to ignore him as he pushed the button for the first floor, not even bothering to ask Ivan what his destination was.
"Thanks, I was just going to the lobby myself," he said in that charming little accent of his. Ulric mumbled an affirmative, but couldn't help looking at him. He was flawlessly yet fiercely handsome, his skin nearly white, and possessed the body of Adonis. He stood at least three inches tall that Ulric and had to be in his thirties, making him a little imposing. Hair the color of wheat fell in a short, Caesar-like cut around his face, perfectly framing those glowing orange eyes.
Jesus, stop staring! This is the man who may be fucking your girlfriend. But Ulric couldn't tear his eyes away, but awkwardly attempted to when Ivan noticed his staring.
"So, you're German, right?" Ivan asked, politely beginning small talk.
"Yeah," Ulric mumbled, keeping his eyes on the glowing, decreasing numbers above the steel doors.
"What comes after von?" he probed, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Diederich," Ulric answered flatly. "I don't use it because no one else could ever pronounce it."
"That means "skeleton key," no?"
Ulric was vaguely impressed. "Yeah, you speak German?"
"My father was German, so he made sure I knew the language," Ivan informed him. "Did you ever live in Germany?"
"Until I was about eight. My parents moved to the states due to a job opportunity for my dad," Ulric told him. Fuck, man! Why are you telling your life story to this guy?
"Beautiful country," Ivan stated. Ulric agreed.
When the elevator finally stopped, the two men stepped out into the lobby. Before Ulric could proceed, Ivan asked, "Where are you headed?"
"Margaritaville. You?" Ulric was wary. Why would he care?
Ivan chuckled. "The same, I suppose. Care if I join you?"
"Sure," he said, after a short mental debate. He was fairly well built, twenty-five year old. He could handle himself if Ivan tried anything tricky.
He allowed the older man to lead him to a bar just down the street. Outside it was a plain, red brick building. Inside the atmosphere was warm and inviting. Stairs towards the back led down to a dance floor, which was hardly bustling this early. They moved towards the bar, taking seats on the worn, red leather stools. Ulric immediately ordered a glass of vodka on the rocks, Ivan requesting the same.
"Usually, it's beer that's ordered first," Ivan said, taking a drink from his glass.
"I prefer to cut out the middle man," Ulric replied, downing his in one gulp and already demanding another.
They sat there enjoying small talk and downing more and more liquor. By the sixth, Ulric was buzzed, which was highly unusual. He'd built up a high tolerance to alcohol in his eight years of drinking. He typically didn't begin to feel it until the ninth, and wasn't drunk until around fifteenth. He excused himself to the restroom, which was just down a hall by the bar. The bathroom itself was a rather large one, made for just individuals. He went over to the sink, turning the water to ice cold and splashing his face with it. Without looking up, he took a paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing at his face and not even feeling a little more sober.
He jumped when he saw Ivan behind him. "A little privacy please?"
"You were asking for company when you left the door unlocked," Ivan said, his voice like velvet. He advanced, moving so close there was barely breathing room between them.
"Get the fuck away from me," Ulric hissed, his head feeling even more groggy.
"You didn't say please." In the next instant, Ivan was gripping Ulric's hair painfully, jerking his head to one side. "Beautiful," Ivan breathed. Ulric tried to push at him, but it was the equivalent of trying to move a brick wall. A painful sting in his neck ended his fighting, and he fell limp in Ivan's arms. His heart was pounding in his head, the air quickly becoming hot and thick. He was gasping for breath, begging weakly for Ivan to stop whatever he was doing.
Suddenly, he did, only to flip Ulric around so that his back was to the other man, pressed up against the sink. Too weak to care, he let his head hang to expose the other side of his throat, eyes closed. There was a something sharp shredded his shirt, tearing it from collar to shoulder. He felt a fingertip trace along the exposed skin, sending chills through him, oddly enough, the good kind.
"You're just as submissive as her," Ivan whispered in a husky voice. And then another sting, Ulric unable to do anything to stop it. He felt something warm running over his skin, down the front of his shirt. He dared to open his eyes, looking in the mirror's reflection. Even he had trouble believing what he was seeing.
Ivan's mouth was attached to the source of pain, sucking. Dark red blood stained his white shirt, both wounds leaking the life giving substance. Ulric wanted to yell for help, but all that escaped was a choked gurgle. Ivan suddenly jerked his head up, lapping up what was spilling from the site of four deep puncture wounds. His eyes were alight with lust and hunger, and now on display were four lengthy fangs. He ran his tongue across his lips, chuckling.
"Red is definitely your color," he commented, smirking. Ulric tried to say something, but he was so tired, scared, and strangely turned on that nothing came out of his open mouth. Ivan turned his body again so that they were face to face, and pressed his lips to Ulric's in a deep kiss. He could feel his fangs and tongue poking around in his mouth, and he couldn't help but kiss back. Sooner than Ulric would have liked, Ivan pulled away. He would've collapsed had Ivan not been holding him. Cool fingers brushed hair away from the rocker's sweat soaked forehead.
"I think we're going to be very good friends," Ivan said, kissing Ulric one last time before he lost consciousness.