Head hurt. Not this much pain all over since that dead dago forced him to give up tits. Maybe a bug or flu. Room spinning. With enormous effort, he pulled himself up to a sitting position, feet hitting the cold floor as he jumped. The mirror was his enemy that day. Tired, red eyes, dry mouth, marks on his neck. What the living fuuuuuck? Two bite marks. Had to...no. Voice told him, cover them up. Tell no one. But why should he listen to this unknown piece of shit? He had to, that's why. A sleeve of a Poet shirt aided his quest, ripped and modified into camouflage for his neck. He stepped outside the glass walls, leaning against them as he stood in that long line. Hoots expected only a year or so earlier were gone now, too many people feared him and his power. Even Mineo had no comment, too busy haggling over the Beecherball wah-wahing in his pod yet again.
Count finished. Barely able to stand on his feet, he sat at a nearby table. Head felt better against the cool surface, just rest for a minute......
.....pressure on his arm. His eyes flew open, defensive at a hand picking over his bandage. Pancamo and Morales.
"You been asleep almost two hours."
"Yeah, it's a miracle the hacks ain't gotten interested yet."
A slow glance at his watch confirmed. Two hours. He smacked away the dago hand inching near his neck.
"Is that some kinda fashion statement Adebisi?" Pancamo.
"Me and Morales thought you were turnin' fag."
Adebisi tried to avert from their stares, but noted Pancamo's shock. All the years they knew each other, Adebisi never let an insult pass by unavenged. Until today.
"Maybe Pancamo should talk to Querns instead."
"NO! Querns only listens to me, only sees my skin color. I am fine." To prove his point, he stood from his seat, unaided.
Not as easy to make it up those damn stairs, but he did, slowly. Ignoring the many eyes bored in his broad back. Opened the door, flopped in a chair immediately.
"I see brains and manners don't mix. Come in, take a seat."
Hated his own weakness. Strength fled from him as his own blood did. Man in uniform. Hack. Why Adebisi? Memories still hazy, slowly forming.
"As long as you promise to keep the violence down, I've got power to grant. Agreed?"
Terry. His name was Terry. Basic man, but a face in back and front of Adebisi's mind ever since last night. What they did, what Adebisi put in his hands and mouth, he had not done those things in such a long time. No need to, always being the master.
"That sorry-ass chapeau cut off your hearing? Answer me!"
Only hours left. Veins in his neck pulsed in anticipation. Hated this feeling. Loved it too.
"Johnson! Get this cheap hood out of here. How the fuck are you gonna control violence when you can't even reach toddler-level speech?"
The hack hands on his shoulder were tossed away, managed to get to his pod on his own. Tuned out dago and spic, laying on his bunk. Lunch, count, gym would come and go. He didn't care. Needed to build up strength for tonight's visitor, the inhuman who had become his only reason for living.
"I've seen a lot of shit ever since I put on this uniform, but nothing like what's happened to Adebisi."
In the break room (fuck this place needed softer lighting), Terry sipped on his coffee, listening to Murphy.
"A complete overnight change. Incredible."
"Do you think he's going to be a danger?"
Confident shake of the head, only thing Murphy seemed confident about lately.
"Nah, he's more dangerous when he's got a brain in his head."
Black gook clumped in his dry throat. "The coffee sucks."
"Pal, everything in Oz sucks. Life in general sucks. Us poor saps just make do until our number's up."
A paper cup flew across the break room, bouncing against the trash bin. Murphy left with a few more anger lines on his face. And he was the most pleasant hack in Em City. What that said about his working environment, Terry didn't want to know.
Their work station was just as shitty. Brooding, tension in the air over shakeups in staff and prisoner status, a sea of new faces. He kept thinking back to what Lopresti said hours earlier, the only way to keep your job with Querns in charge was to put shoe polish on your face and never question a word out of his mouth. He didn't seem as bad as all that, but if Querns ever gave him trouble, a few teeth marks and all problems would disappear.
For a third night, his travels took him to Adebisi's pod, drinking in his long body. Completely nude this time, waiting for him. Cloth and flesh met as Terry caressed his shoulders, gently pulling on his tongue as they kissed. Big black hands pushed away uniform pants, taking his cock in that wet, sweet mouth. A warrior whose greatest goal in his new life was getting on his knees. Just the thought made him come. The receiver stayed where he was, wiping his mouth. Words slowly rumbled from his chest.
"Make me what you are."
Not now! How about a nice 'I need you' or even 'why is your spunk forming ice cubes in my mouth'? Bluntness, Adebisi's most entrancing and annoying trait.
"I can't do that Adebisi."
He understood, but refused to accept. "My days are no longer mine. My thoughts are yours. The stench of weakness puts a target on my back, any one of these mongrels will pull the fucking trigger. Make me a king again."
Please? How many times did a man/god like Simon Adebisi say that word in his lifetime? For a moment, his earnestness almost made Terry give in. But the cons outweighed any pros. Had to refuse. He wasn't going to say the reasons why the idea stunk (giving an uncaring killing machine supernatural powers; knowing the Adebisiator would defang him as soon as they were equals, little things like that) out loud. Instead, he stared deeply into adjacent brown eyes, saying no without a verbal word.
Jungle king needed a distraction, provided by Terry rubbing his hand over the love bites he made. Highly sensitive under a creator's touch. Downright erotic with a tongue. Biting two nights running was bad luck for him, but no harm in tasting. Back and forth his tongue ran, dipping into small holes, rubbing the ripped form available to him as Adebisi varied between panting and demanding more. Managed to set Adebisi off without even touching his dick. The feel of juices on his hands still threw him no matter how many times he and his Adebisi were together. Gotta remember to wash the hands. Kissing a dark forehead on his way out, he vanished.
That Zulu medicine man must have a kid or something. Cause the Adebisi Ryan knew never acted this way, except those few weeks with Jarra. He'd gone from take no prisoners to take a lobotomy. Or too many Valium. Fuck. Cyril. Wouldn't wish what's going on in Cyril's drugged-up mind on his worst enemy.
*I take that back*. Didn't even bother to look behind him, no one else around here bleated that way.
"Check and checkmate Nikolai. I'm a nice guy for even letting you have time to write out a will."
"Good point. Who should I leave my charger to?"
Charger. Forgot about that, so many splintering threads lately. Made him wish he had a few helpers, Santa Claus of Em City. Little micks with wifebeaters, doing the Riverdance and checking their to-fuck-with list once, plunging the shank twice.
"No one knows the rules of chess better than a Russian. Never forget the most important rule, keep an eye on all pieces at all times."
Put his feet in the adjoining chair, not in the mood for this type of company.
"Nikolai, I've seen enough of your pieces to last me the rest of my forty-plus years in this shithole."
With a flourish typical of the man Ryan knew far too well, Nikolai yanked on the chair back, taking a seat even as Ryan's legs hit the floor.
"Here is the plan. I keep the charger. You keep the phone. When I need to make calls, I ask. When you need a charge, you ask. Simple."
A fair give and take. 'Til Ryan sent him home in a personalized body bag. Sure. "Simple." Even dredged up a smile, matched Nik's, both about as believable as Querns' home-perm hairdo.
"What were you looking at when I arrived?"
Oh, we're supposed to be pals now. "Adebisi. He's lost it, I mean really lost it this time."
Nik looked him over, not even trying to hide his eyefucking since their subject was so far gone.
"Disoriented, neck covered, eyes glassy and distant. Perhaps a victim of vampirism."
At least the Commie was good for laughs. "Vampirism? Like bloodsucking and Boris Karloff?"
"Not as farfetched as you may think."
Slick hand grabbed his, tracing a finger over a vein. Slow motions.
"Here, a vampire will have complete control over their slave, simply with a bite to the wrist."
"Hoyt's wrist was bandaged up a few days ago."
Grip on his wrist tightened, about to yank away when Nikolai yanked instead, putting Ryan's hand on his scruffy neck.
"You bite here, and the control is same, but nibble too many times and your slave will die. Or become another of the walking dead. Of course I am no expert."
Ryan pulled away and planted his ass back in the chair, hoping no one got any ideas about their little touchy-feely session.
"Really? I thought all you Transylvanian motherfuckers knew everything about vampires."
Annoyed face, beard crinkling up, good. "No. I am Russian. We did not write the book on this subject."
"I guess you were too busy writing about copping a cheap feel."
"We are a very affectionate people."
"Touch me again, and you aren't gonna be a breathing people."
Verbal face-off over for today, neither man made a move to get up. Waiting for the biggest pussy to leave. In this never-ending 'who's fucking who' game, they both noted Adebisi falling out of his chair, jumping back up and warning any help away with a snarl. Maybe Jackoff Smirnoff had a point. Enslavement by the living dead. Vampires in Oz.
Continued in Bloodlust 4