Work Text:
From the desk of Dr. Gurathin:
I’m about to do something insanely stupid, and I need a record as to why in case I don’t survive. This document will serve as the introduction for the comprehensive history of the Vampire Corporation Rim that’s been my life’s work.
I was born in the VCR and, when I came of age, became a worker for one of the corporations. Unfortunately, when I was in my early 20s, I caught the eye of a vampire master. He made me a half-vampire under his thrall. A half-vampire is one who has been through part of the process for changing and now has the virus in their system, but has not yet drained a living human to complete the transformation. Though they require blood, they can also eat regular food, unlike full vampires.
At the time, I thought it was a step up in my life. Half-vampires can pass as human; full vampires can’t. The human brain clocks full vampires as predators. Full vampires don’t eat human food or drink anything but blood. They stand too still, their skin is too smooth, making them something straight out of Uncanny Valley. The longer they live, the less human they become. Half-vampires, which are addicted to their masters’ blood but otherwise remain largely human, are ideal for espionage.
That was my duty, year after year. It wore on me, the lies, the addiction, the evil I was a participant in, until I began to hate my master and, even more, myself. When I was at my lowest, I met Ayda Mensah. She became my guiding light. She told me, again and again, that I am more than they made me. With her help, I broke my thrall and went to live in Preservation, an independent, non-vampire polity. I followed her away from my master, away from the VCR. The process of breaking my master’s hold on me and my addiction to his blood was long and indescribably painful. If not for Ayda, I couldn’t have done it.
That’s my story of coming to Preservation. A full account is available in the Preservation archives. Most of it isn’t relevant to why I’m possibly about to die.
Recently, Dr. Mensah chose me for a team doing research adjacent to the VCR. The full story is, again, available for anyone who’s curious to read in the Preservation archives, and I don’t care to regurgitate it, but the salient point is that during the trip, we made contact with a rogue vampire Enforcer.
Enforcers, for those who still think they’re merely a scary story, are vampires that were infected with an altered virus from the one that creates “normal” vampires. The virus makes extreme changes to their bodies. They become bigger and stronger, they develop a layer of hardened subdermal tissue that makes them resistant to energy weapons and even projectiles, and they lose all body hair (and sometimes the hair on their heads) and their external genitalia. Supposedly, it also makes them into mindless, raging monsters that must be kept in strict thrall. Because of the strict thrall, they present as being unnaturally still, silent and emotionless until given the order to kill. This is why, in the VCR, they’re derisively referred to as “murderbots.”
That’s what this one told us to call it. Ironic, considering it has no interest in killing humans. It broke its thrall by killing its master, something I was always told was impossible. A rogue Enforcer, by definition, is an indiscriminate killer, or so I was led to believe.
This one is not. It’s highly intelligent and even moral. It stays away from humans and vampires as much as it can. Its diet consists of blood substitute, animal blood, and the occasional vampire that happens across it and tries to enthrall it. Mostly, it wants to be left alone. It’s particularly fond of watching media.
Still, it took to us. Not to me; it was very clear it didn’t like me, and for good reason, as I was terrified of it and basically treated it like some unthinking beast. Mensah had a sense about it, though, and it ended up helping and protecting us, almost at the cost of its own life. It saved us from the machinations of GrayCris Corporation and its vampires and Enforcers, but nearly at the cost of its own life.
We brought it home with us. The others have tried giving it blood substitute, cloned blood, and even donated human blood, but it’s not working. I could have told them that. It will die if it doesn’t get what it needs.
There’s a reason half-vampires are the favorite meal of vampires. Our blood is richer, and we produce more of it than humans do. It provides them with greater strength and power.
It saved us, saved Mensah, my guiding light. I have to try to save it.
***
Arada is there when he enters the quiet room they’ve given it, and he gently sends her away, telling her to get some rest and he’ll take over the vigil for now. Once the door closes behind her, he approaches the bed where it lies unmoving. The signs of life in an unconscious Enforcer are subtle, but this one’s are nearly undetectable. It’s dying.
He takes out the small knife he brought for this purpose and cuts his forearm. He brings it to Murderbot’s mouth, which he forces open, and dribbles a bit of blood in.
The reaction is instantaneous. Its eyes open, blazing gold, and fix on him. Gurathin has a moment to reflect that he’s probably going to die before it grabs him, pulling him down and rolling its body on top of his. It sinks its fangs into his neck.
The pain is followed immediately by the euphoria he’d fought so hard to forget. He hadn’t expected it, thinking only full vampires had addictive saliva, but he absently thinks he must have been mistaken. The pleasure of the bite drains him of any will to resist, and as his consciousness fades, he thinks perhaps he was always meant to die this way.
. . . and Murderbot rips itself away from its meal as it realizes who’s trapped underneath it. Gurathin is pale, too pale, his heartbeat labored and his pulse thready. He’s dying.
It sinks its fangs into its wrist and lifts Gurathin’s head, pressing the wound to his mouth even as it activates the room’s emergency alarm. Its blood will give him strength, it knows, and it’s his only chance of survival.
The door bursts open, and a horrified Pin-Lee sees what’s inside.
“Call emergency services! He gave me his blood, I took too much,” it babbles at them. Fortunately, Pin-Lee’s cool head prevails, and they make the call. Emergency services will be there in a matter of minutes.
But it’s already too late. With the first swallow of its blood, a bond snaps into place between it and Gurathin, like a steel trap for the soul. Mine, the primitive beast within it cries.
It will not cave to the beast. It’s more than they made it.
By the time Gurathin’s at the hospital and stabilized, it’s gone.
“It was right to leave,” Gurathin says when they tell him. He feels the bond between them, even with distance. The urge to find it is almost beyond bearing, and he knows he could find it if he tried; that’s the power of the blood bond.
“Are you all right, Gura?” Mensah asks.
He shows her his neck, where it bit him. No sign of the wound remains. “Physically, I’m fine. The bond will fade with time and distance.” He sighs. “I’d like to go home now.”
But it doesn’t fade. Gurathin feels it constantly, the yearning that makes it hard to concentrate on anything else. “I won’t go back into thrall,” he promises himself. “I won’t.”
Worlds away, it feels the bond as well, calling it back. It fights the urge to go back. It doesn’t want to be his master, it doesn’t want to harm him. But the beast within it won’t let go. It’s only a matter of time until it gives in.
Gura feels it in his soul when it arrives back in Preservation. It's there, looking as beautiful as always, and when he enters the PresAux offices and sees it talking with Mensah, Bharadwaj, and Pin-Lee, he takes an involuntary step forward. He stops himself. He's not going to be under thrall again. Ever.
"Well," he says. "Look who's here."
It's not surprised Gurathin isn't happy to see it. It's not like it expected him to come running into its arms (not that it ever imagined such a thing happening). It doesn't want to control him any more than it wants someone controlling it. But there's no undoing what they've done.
"I'm back," it says. "We need to talk."
Mensah looks from one to the other, concern in her face. Gurathin catches her gaze and nods. He can do this. He can talk to it. What he has to say won't take long, anyway.
The others leave them. The silence between the two is tight with tension.
Gurathin finally breaks it. "I suppose we're both at fault for this turn of events."
"You shouldn't have offered me your blood," it says.
That just makes Gurathin mad. "It was the only way to save you! Blood substitute wasn't working. A regular human would have died if you'd gotten hold of them. I was the only one with a chance of survival, so I took that chance. You can't lecture me on self-sacrifice, not after what you did for us."
"You could've let that be my end!" it shoots back. "Do you think I did all that just to have a human under my thrall?"
"You gave me your blood. That's what sealed it. That's what created this . . . this thing between us! I am bound to you now, the way I was to my old master."
The look on its face is thunderous. "Well, to quote someone, can't remember his name, 'It was the only way to save you.' You're right, we're both at fault for this situation. I looked for another instance of an Enforcer enthralling a human or half-vampire. There were none. We're in uncharted waters, captain, and I have no idea how to get us back to shore. Any bright ideas?"
Gurathin sags after a moment, the fight going out of him. "I don't know. It took me years to stop craving my old master, and I despised him. If not for Mensah, I could never have survived leaving. It was only time and distance and intensive therapy that freed me."
Murderbot watches him carefully. "So, do you want me to leave again? Stay away?"
"I don't." The words take everything out of him. "I - I don't. And I don't know what to do about it. You are . . . nothing of what I expected."
Monster, he'd called it. Unthinking beast.
It frowns. “You don’t want to be bound to me, but you don’t want me to leave in order for you to free yourself, either?”
“Yes,” he sighs. “But if I had to pick one… stay? I worried about you when you were gone, worried you’d been captured or killed. I…”
I missed you.
He doesn’t mean to think that last part, but he’s been so used to his thoughts being his own. He’d let down the walls guarding his heart and mind from his old master, their bond at last dissolved, but now that thought floats through his mind only to be snapped up by the hard, sharp mind of Murderbot.
And suddenly, it has him up against the wall, pressing him there with its inhuman strength.
I don't want this bond, I don't want to be your master or your thrall. But I crave you. They take everything from you when they make you an Enforcer. I don't remember food, I don't remember sex. I don't remember desire.
But I want you. And I don't know what to do about it without binding us further.
It holds itself away from its humans, as fond as it is of them. There are too many ways it could hurt them. It helps them, treats them with kindness, but it keeps itself apart. Contact with warm bodies, the possibility of blood, is too risky. It fears losing control more than anything. Becoming the beast it's always known it is inside.
That beast howls for Gurathin.
Gurathin hears the Call, howling through their bond, nothing at all like the Call of his former master. That had felt like being suffocated, like spiderwebs filling his eyes and ears and throat until he gave in and he could finally breathe again.
Murderbot’s Call doesn’t feel like a trap, it feels like freedom, wild and feral, like stardust glimmering in the void, like weightlessness. Give in, give in and be free with me.
Gurathin wants it, wants it like no one before. Their bond is so new, still fragile with the single feeding and the strain of distance and time apart. But already their bond feels brighter than the one that had been strengthened and tended by a lifetime of servitude.
Gurathin’s eyes roll back and he lets his head fall to the side, overcome, exposing his throat to Murderbot’s mercy. It could tear him open, drink him dry, and in that moment, every fiber of his being agreed that he would let it.
Murderbot shudders, its hands still pinning him. It leans forward, lips brushing his neck, its baser impulses barely restrained. It brushes lips over delicate pulse points.
Don’t want to hurt you.
Its fangs and claws are already distended. Its eyes glow. The beast is at the surface. Gurathin smells so good, like life, like rich soil and pure water and sex.
Murderbot licks a line up the other side of his throat, tasting him, a growl rumbling through its chest like the noise some animal three times its size would make.
Gurathin's suppressed his own desires, too, since coming to Preservation. It felt safest to do so, to not want so much, to not trigger the part of him that was vampire. But his fangs, too, are distending, and he is harder than he's been in years. A sound escapes his throat, something desperate. This isn't like it was with his old master. He wants to submit, but he also wants to take. One of his hands comes up, threads into Murderbot's hair.
The door to the conference room they're in suddenly opens, and Ratthi's voice yells, "OH, HOLY SHIT!"
Murderbot turns, snarling like a big cat. Ratthi's eyes are huge, but to his credit, he doesn't leave. Instead, he looks at Gura, prepared to stand his ground and face down this beast for his friend, and Gura loves him for it.
Easy, Gurathin whispers in Murderbot's mind. He only wants to make sure I'm okay.
Murderbot visibly drags itself together. It still can't speak, but it's more in control.
"I'm all right, Ratthi," Gurathin says. "This has been a long time coming. But perhaps this isn't the place."
My apartment is close, he sends to Murderbot. We need privacy if we're going to work this out.
Murderbot practically drags him away and to his apartment. The tension between them has broken a little, but once the apartment door shuts behind them, it's back in full force. Gurathin is aware of how vulnerable he is, how Murderbot could easily overpower and take him. If it were only a beast, it would. But it's not. It's staring at him like it's counting his every heartbeat, unmoving, visibly holding itself back.
Gurathin wants it to take him. It's an old impulse, part of him wanting the pleasure of being fed on without the responsibility of consenting to it. Without choosing it. He recognizes the impulse for what it is. And how unfair to Murderbot it would be.
It needs him to choose. So he does.
"I chose to give you my blood," he says. "Not because you demanded it, not because you forced me, but to save you. And when you gave me your blood, it was to save me, not enthrall me. Maybe that's why this bond feels different."
He steps forward, places his hand on its face. It turns into his hand, its tongue sneaking out to taste one finger.
"We're more than they made us," Gura whispers as he pulls his shirt off.
I want this. I want you.
A possessive growl simmers in Murderbot's throat, and it sets Gurathin's blood alight. Its hands slide down, claws digging into his hips where it's holding him, pulling him close. Everything about its subtly shifting appearance screams beast to Gurathin's hindbrain, and he wants.
I'm. Dangerous like this. Compromised, Murderbot manages. I don't know what I want, what I'm doing. I don't want to hurt you. I don't know if I can control myself.
Gurathin can feel the Call singing through their bond. Come be free with me, it promises. Let it all go.
Did you forget what I am? His own fangs have fully distended, and he presses closer to it. There's a beast inside me, too.
And he sinks his fangs into Murderbot's neck.
His clothes don't fare well, and neither do Murderbot's. Its claws shred the fabric as it gives in fully, tearing Gura away from its neck so it can get at his skin. Despite the heat racing through it, it manages to sink its fangs into him without tearing open an artery. Gurathin gives a hoarse shout, his knees giving out, a shock of pleasure/pain slamming through the bond between them. Murderbot bears them down to the floor. It releases the wound it made, licking it closed. This one is not for killing. This one belongs to it. The beast knows this. Mine.
It thrums through their bond. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Murderbot licks at the wound it caused, coaxing it closed before it sinks its teeth in again, this time over Gura's collarbone. Gura arches up beneath it, keening, feeling the bite of its claws in the flesh of his hips.
Every inch or him yearns to answer Murderbot's Call, to give in, to reply yours, yours, yours! Instead, he digs his own nails into its shoulder blades and replies with a Mine! of his own.
Need thrums through the bond, and Gurathin's hips lift outside of his control, seeking pressure and relief. His stiff cock rubs against its groin, making him moan, but there's something . . .
His brain is barely functioning, but he feels it, answering pleasure from its body. Experimentally, he reaches down and presses a hand into its smooth groin. It lifts its head and gasps in shock.
There. It may have lost its external genitalia, but there are underlying structures, nerves, erectile tissue. It can feel pleasure of its own.
Mine. My beast. I'm going to make you feel so good.
Murderbot looks down at him, its eyes blown wide, his blood dripping from its fangs. It looks shocked. It looks excited. It looks at Gurathin like he’s a revelation. Their bond sings, yearning for more, more blood, more contact, more pleasure. Gurathin’s leans up and kisses it, nipping at its bottom lip. It purrs and presses its hips down against his, pinning him, grinding experimentally.
That’s right, just like that. Make us feel good.
Its rhythm is unpracticed, but its instincts are sharp and it finds a pace that has Gurathin arching and moaning into its mouth, scrabbling at its back and sinking his teeth into the muscle of its pectoral. Its blood is like fire in his veins, making him feel so strong. He flips them effortlessly, now straddling his beast, its hips still twitching, its eyes unfocused, his bite already healing on its breast. He leans down and bites it again, just left of where a navel would be if it still had one. Then lower, on its inner thigh, its blood filling his mouth, intoxicating, making their bond sing as it strengthened, the Call urging him on until he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of its mound. It cries out, arching, shaking, pleasure-pain flooding their bond.
Too much, too much! It pulls on Gura's hair, and he releases his fangs from its mound. He makes his way back up its body with little licks and nips until he can kiss it, sharing the taste of their combined blood. He presses his hand to its mound and braces it with his leg, and he begins to thrust, pressing his own aching cock into its pelvis.
It throws its head back in ecstasy, and holy deity, it's so beautiful. His beast, his mate. Gura increases the speed and depth of his thrusts, feeling the pleasure rising in both. Its claws are pressing into his back, and he knows it's drawing blood again and he hopes it scars him.
The orgasm that rips through them feels like it might kill him, and he would welcome death if it's this beautiful.
They’re both panting as they come down together, and Murderbot recovers first, rolling them so that it has its mate pinned beneath it. It kisses him like it’s starving, their bond singing mine mine mine with such strength and such… joy. Gura feels his eyes water. He’s never felt a blood bond as a source of joy before.
“Is it always like that?” Murderbot gasps. “Sex?”
"N-no," Gurathin is breathless and stuttering through its kisses. "Not even a - mmph - little bit." It frowns against his lips as it feels his tears. A delighted, breathy laugh is pulled out, unbidden, as it rears back and glares concern down on him. "Good tears," he explains. "I'm - they're good. All of this is... very different from how it usually is. Better. So much better."
It strokes his face. "I don't know who I was in my mortal life. Just . . . flashes, sometimes. They make me sad for who I was. Who I could have been. But now . . ." It kisses him. "I'm not what they made me. I'm more. You're more."
"We're more than they made us." Gura sighs, contentment spreading through their bond. He'd wanted freedom when he broke his thrall. This feels like freedom. He moves a bit to embrace it and realizes there's an uncomfortable wetness under him. He looks, and he laughs. "I'm not sure I can salvage this rug."
It looks down at him with a frown. "We should get cleaned up."
Gurathin laughs softly, still feeling so joyful. "I'm not sure my legs will support me right now."
And that's how he finds himself scooped up into its arms and carried to the shower. The hot water feels good as it carries away blood and fluids. They wash each other, trading kisses, and then they dry off with soft towels.
"You need rest," it says and picks him up again to carry him to the bed.
"Stay," Gura whispers as it lays him down.
"Murderbots don't need sleep."
"Then rest with me while I sleep."
That sounds good. It doesn't want to be out of contact with him. It lies down and pulls the blankets over them, letting Gura nestle sleepily into its chest.
We're more than they made us.