No Other Lover

Author's Notes: Contains violence and what could be considered blood-play.

He could smell the blood everywhere. The scent was so strong that it seemed to cling to everything in the large building as he hurried up the stairs, taking two or three at a time before he burst into the room, nearly pulling the door from it's frame and hinges with the force of opening it.

For a moment no words came. The sight in front of him was so horrific that his heart felt like it had dropped to settle somewhere it couldn't possibly be, despite all of the things he'd seen and done in his lifetime. The blood really was everywhere and he didn't know what to do first.

He was torn between yelling at Ford's lackeys who were hovering around the room looking lost, and wanting to throw them all out to mourn Ford alone.

"What the fuck happened?" he growled, voice choked with emotion even as he forced his legs to obey him and hurried over to the bed where Ford lay. It was impossible to ignore how the sheets were slick and almost soaked through with blood, or how it congealed in pools under his lover's scarily still body.

Makoto just stared in shock and anguish. Ford had so many bullets in him that it almost seemed futile to even try and remove them; he'd already lost so much blood...

"Idiots," he said, voice harsher than he meant it to be as he dropped down to kneel beside the bed and push at Ford's bloody clothes, mentally cursing the blond man for always needing to wear a million layers. "You should have taken him to the hospital. I can't put blood in him," he added, ignoring the fact that they probably had no idea what he was going on about in favour of trying to pull out as many bullets as he could reach one at a time and heal the wounds.

"St-stop it," Ford managed to get out, voice so weak and not at all like the icy and reserved gang leader that Makoto had come to know.

Stilling in his attempts to staunch blood flow, Makoto lifted his head to look up at Ford, stomach feeling like lead at how grey the other man's skin looked and how dull his normally beautiful blue eyes were.

"Ford..."

"It's..." Ford coughed, pain turning his features sharp as he choked on his own blood and struggled to clear his lungs enough to speak. "It's t-too late."

"It's not!"

Makoto got to his feet, rage sweeping through him as he slammed a fist down on the nearby bedside table hard enough to dent it and send chips of wood flying off.

"It's not too late," he repeated, but this time his voice was soft and broken sounding, tears finally welling up and dripping down his cheeks. "You can't leave me now. It hasn't been long enough."

Something about the sight of the large and powerful man crying broke something in Ford until tears started wetting his own cheeks, mingling with the blood already splattered there.

The unusual display of emotion from both men had all of the lackeys looking uncomfortable and shifting where they stood, fighting desperately to look anywhere but at their boss and his lover. It was a painfully intimate moment, but they couldn't bring themselves to leave the room if this was going to be their boss' last few breaths.

Makoto was at a loss for what to do. He selfishly wanted to turn Ford, to keep him with him forever no matter the consequences, but at the same time, he knew better than anyone that if he turned Ford without his permission he wouldn't be getting a lover for his lifetime, he ran the risk of spending the rest of his unnatural life knowing the one person he loved more than anything hated him more than anything.

"Ford..." Makoto whispered, taking one of the man's cool hands between his own as he knelt back down, the pain on his face almost as naked and raw as the physical pain that highlighted Ford's own features. "What do you want me to do?"

The room was almost painfully silent for what felt like far too long for Makoto and he kept his eyes on Ford's face, watching with rapt attention to make sure he was still alive even as his sensitive ears picked up the slow and weak thud of the other man's dying heart.

In that time Ford's eyes had closed, the effort to keep them open not worth what little energy he had left. He had hoped that he wouldn't have to make this decision so quickly, that he'd be able to spend years thinking about it objectively.

Instead he could practically feel his life leaving him, staining the sheets beneath him even as he struggled to have enough strength to give Makoto's hands around his a comforting squeeze, something that was hard to do when he could barely force his muscles to listen to him.

"Do.... D-do it," he finally said, struggling to force the words out when it felt like he didn't even have enough energy left to breathe, let alone speak.

Torn between being relieved and unsure, Makoto reached out to smooth back blond hair slick with blood, struggling not to make a face or recoil from the feel of it as he brushed the soaked strands off of the other man's forehead and cheeks. "Are you sure, Ford? This is forever. You know you can't take this back if you change your mind..."

Moving his head in as much of a nod as he could manage right now, Ford forced his eyes open to meet Makoto's. "S-sure... you... y're my f'ver..."

His words were slurred and his eyes were even duller than before, settling panic cold in Makoto's belly. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. If Ford wanted it then he had to do it now or risk losing him completely.

Dropping to his knees beside the bed, he forwent all finesse and bit down, drinking as little of Ford's blood as he could, panicking just a little more when he heard the other man's heart skip a beat and flutter weakly. He was sure that he was cutting it too close.

Using one sharp claw to tear the skin and open the veins on his wrist, he forced it to Ford's dry and cracked lips even as he hoped that he hadn't put it off too long and lost the only person in his long long life that meant more to him than his own life did.

While the lackeys looked on in confusion, not one of them moved to stop Makoto's actions. At this point in time, if it was something that their boss had agreed to, they were willing to let the strange older man do whatever he wanted if he thought it would save Ford's life. Their boss was more than a boss to them and this gang was more than a gang. As trite as it probably sounded to anyone outside of it, this gang was the closest thing any of them had to a family and they would do anything to keep it.

Still, most of them had to avert their eyes when Makoto forced his blood down Ford's throat, the truth of what their boss' lover really was -- and why he only ever visited at night -- glaring them in the face.

Ford tried to turn his head away from the warm coppery liquid -- that despite not tasting as bad as he had often imagined -- still tasted wrong to him right now, even though he knew deep down that this was closer than most people ever got to their loved ones.

"No, baby, come on," Makoto murmured, using one strong hand to gently hold Ford's head in place and force him to drink. He needed Ford to drink as much as he could in order to do his best to make sure that the change took.

A sharp flash of pain radiated through Ford's entire body after he'd choked down several mouthfuls, and he ripped his mouth away from Makoto's wrist, struggling to curl into a ball and escape the feeling.

Letting out a noise of relief at the new pain on Ford's features, Makoto took his wrist back and licked at the torn skin, cleaning up the blood and healing the skin. As much as he loathed the thought of Ford in pain, this pain meant the change was working, that his blood was fighting to heal the damage done to Ford's body and to make him whole again.

Settling strong hands on the younger man's body, he forced him to lay flat on his back, needing to get the remaining bullets out of him quickly. He could have allowed Ford's healing body to push them out on it's own, but it would hurt, more than they had going in.

Hurrying to locate and rip out the remaining chunks of metal with the fine points of his claws from his lover's torn and still bloody flesh, Makoto swallowed back nausea that he hadn't experienced since his first attempt to eat normal food after being changed. Even after all that he'd done to other people in the name of survival -- and sometimes selfish rage and revenge -- the sight of Ford in such pain turned his stomach.

At the sound of movement, he jerked his head up and hissed instinctively before remembering that the lackeys were still in the room. He felt a little bad when some of the younger boys flinched back at the sight of his bloody mouth and prominent fangs, but that was the least of his worries right now. He'd have time to apologize later, once this was all over.

Makoto tugged the last bullet free before gathering Ford into his arms and holding him close.

"Stay with me, Ford," he said softly, words directed into the normally soft and clean but now blood-sticky and matted hair of his lover. He could feel Ford squirming, trying to escape the mind-breaking pain that was ripping through his body. As much as he hated it, there was nothing Makoto could do about that. Ford's body was trying to remake itself and there was no way for that to be done pain free.

It felt like hours, time inching past at a snail's pace, before Ford finally stilled. His body lax and soft in Makoto's, skin cool to the touch but now blemish free, his torn and bloody clothes now the only sign that he'd been so close to the gates of death.

Lifting his gaze to the still hovering lackeys, Makoto felt his mouth draw into a tight frown at what he now had to ask of them. "Your boss is a vampire now," he said, voice as quiet as always, even when stating the patently obvious. He knew they weren't stupid, but this wasn't something that happened every day, and it was easier to be straightforward rather than pussyfoot around.

"He's going to wake up soon and he's going to be hungry. If he doesn't feed right away his body will try and take from itself and he will go mad. He will turn into a mindless, soulless monster, and he will not be the man you know and love."

The boys shifted, looking at each other and having a good idea where this was going. "You need volunteers?" one older lackey asked, voice a little shaky but still strong. This was his boss, his leader. And before that, he'd been one of the boys just like them, which meant there was no way they were going to let him lose himself after everything they'd been through together.

Makoto nodded; glad he didn't have to explicitly spell it out. He never ceased to be amazed by how close all of Ford's boys were, not only to each other, but to Ford himself. It was one of the reasons that they owned and ran most of the underground in London. No other gang came close to their power or influence and it was because of this gang that the more unsavoury gangs -- gangs that brought with them things like prostitution and drugs -- never got a foothold in the city.

Their influence and remaining morals allowed the cops to turn a blind eye to the gambling that the gang did behind the closed doors of bars and clubs because it was the lesser of many many evils.

"We'll do it."

Makoto's attention returned from his thoughts and to the lackeys in front of him. All of them had stepped forward and he felt his lips twitch just a little bit in humour even as he pressed a soft kiss to Ford's bloody temple and spoke softly, whether the other man could hear him or not. "Look at your boys, Ford. You raised them so well..."

Shifting to lay Ford back down on the bed, and doing his best to ignore the cooling and congealing blood that covered the sheets, Ford, and now his hands, Makoto got to his feet and made his way over to the assembled lackeys, motions fluid and graceful, wiping Ford's blood from his lips as he moved.

"I only need three or four of you. Preferably the larger boys, that way he can take less from each of you," he said as he singled out four of them, directing the rest of the boys to leave the room and go clean up the house and car before Ford woke up.

Knowing his lover like he did, Makoto knew that dying or not, if Ford woke up and the hallways and upholstery of one of his cars were covered in blood -- whether it was his own or not -- his painfully neat lover would probably have a stroke and die all over again.

Before he could brief the boys on what was about to take place, he heard the sounds of Ford shifting on the blood slick sheets and turned back to face his waking lover. A low noise of relief escaped him at the sight of Ford sitting up and stretching in an almost feline manner. Turning someone was always risky; some people's bodies just couldn't handle it.

Looking now at Ford, Makoto was grateful that the altering of his physiology hadn't changed too much in the other man's appearance, merely lightening his hair and eyes and gracing him with the sharp fangs and delicate claws that were typical of his—no, their kind.

"Hungry..." Ford purred, focusing his blue eyes on the men standing behind Makoto instead of Makoto himself.

"I know, baby. Come over here," Makoto replied, knowing Ford would need guidance in how to feed the first time. If he latched incorrectly he ran the risk of injuring his victim, causing them to bleed out.

Slinking off of the bed, Ford made his way over to Makoto's side, drifting past him to sniff at the lackeys in front of him. "Hungry..." he repeated, voice almost a sing song now as he fought to hold himself back from pouncing the delicious smelling boys and tearing into them with his teeth in order to release the blood he could practically hear rushing under their skin.

Taking the other man's hand, as much to keep him contained as to direct him, Makoto led him to the first lackey. "Bite down gently, and go in at a straight angle. You don't want to damage the veins or you'll risk him bleeding out."

He directed Ford's hand to find the line of the vein on the lackey's neck before helping him lean in and bite down after licking the bare skin. "Your saliva will heal almost every wound, so make sure to lick at your feeding site after you're finished or your victim will also bleed out. Never take enough to kill. It's better to feed off of two or three victims than to kill someone and risk outing yourself."

Ford was barely listening to Makoto's words. As soon as he'd sunk sharp teeth into the lackey's skin, the deliciousness of the man's blood burst over his tongue like a fresh slice of cool watermelon in the heat of summer. He wanted nothing more than to just keep drinking until he was bloated from the feeling, but he forced himself to pull back after a short while, licking the small holes as he had been told to and watching with fascinated blue eyes as they disappeared from sight almost like magic.

After drinking from the remaining three lackeys they sent all four of them on their way with strict instructions to eat and rest in order to regain their strength.

The instant they were alone in the room though, Ford returned to the bed, ignoring Makoto's eyes on him as he stripped the bloody sheets from the mattress. Staring down for a moment at the red-stained fabric, he flipped it over to hide the mark before opening the door to the hall and tossing the sheets out into it, barking at a lingering lackey to throw them out.

Makoto knew what he was doing the instant he stripped out of his equally bloody clothes and tossed them out after the sheets. Approaching Ford, he reached out and took his hand, tugging him close and folding him into his arms. "You're okay. You're fine."

Ford shuddered for a moment at Makoto's words before the dam inside of him broke and tears welled up, dampening Makoto's shoulder where he was hiding his face. It felt like forever before his tears stopped and he could finally pull back and meet Makoto's gaze to speak. "I was dying..."

Makoto wasn't sure what to say to that. "You were," he finally said, voice sombre. It made that knot in his gut tighten and writhe all over again like something painful and alive. He didn't like thinking about Ford being that close to death. He'd never been so attached to someone in all his human years or his supernatural ones.

The feeling made him more than a little uncomfortable and he pushed it away, pushing Ford back just a little to kiss him gently. "Go have a shower, baby. You're... you're all messy." The words stuck in his throat, not wanting to say that he was covered in what looked like pints of his own blood. It was still an image that Makoto was trying to keep out of his head, the terror and horror he'd felt at coming into the room and seeing the younger man looking like that.

"How do you get used to them?" Ford asked all of a sudden, words coming out of nowhere and making no sense at all until Makoto looked down and saw that Ford was looking at the delicate points of his claws and where they were poking holes in his shirt.

Not caring about the now-holey shirt he was wearing, Makoto couldn't stop the small grin that curved his lips when he saw how fine and cat-like Ford's claws were in comparison to his own. "You get used to them," he laughed, even as he reached down to take one of Ford's hands in his own. "Just be careful with fabrics until then. When you wake up tomorrow you'll be stronger too, I found that that took more time to adjust to. So watch how hard you open and close doors and drawers and things, and how tight you're gripping things. I broke a lot of things for the first little while."

Ford laughed at that and Makoto finally relaxed, glad to move the mood to lighter things and away from how close his lover had been to dying. When Ford's laughter melted away and turned into a frown, a matching one spread over Makoto's face as he wondered what was wrong.

"You can't feed off me anymore, can you?" Ford asked before Makoto could ask him what was wrong.

"No." Makoto shook his head, an almost melancholy look in his eyes that matched Ford's. "We'll both need to hunt now. Being older I can go longer between feeds, but you'll most likely have to feed every night for the first little while at least. Your body is still changing inside and it'll burn through the energy that the blood gives you."

Remaining silent for a moment or two, Ford contemplated how he felt about Makoto feeding off of someone other than him. It made something in his belly squirm with white hot jealousy, but at the end of the day he wasn't going to risk his lover's life and not let him feed over something so petty as jealousy.

"Let's go shower," he said after a bit, holding out one hand to Makoto and smiling up at him, even if the expression didn't completely reach brilliant blue eyes. There was still a lot he had to adjust to and it would be a while before he was himself again -- in a figurative sense of course.

"Alright... let's," Makoto replied, lifting Ford's hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his palm, goatee tickling the skin there before he pulled Ford into the bathroom, eager to help him forget for just a little while.

"Creeper," Ford muttered, voice thick with sleep as he stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, toes pointed as he exhaled softly before collapsing back onto the mattress in a long line of relaxed but powerful muscles. "Why do you enjoy watching me sleep?" he asked, lazily opening bright blue eyes to look up at his older lover who was propped up on one forearm and watching him with an amused and intent expression on his strong features.

"Because," Makoto replied, reaching down to brush Ford's slightly longer than respectable blond hair out of his eyes. "You're beautiful. And it's the one time you actually stay still long enough for me to just look at you," he added with a small smile.