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Damian had never considered himself the type to fixate on something. Humans were a means to an end. They came, they went, and Damian picked them off without a thought. He took what he needed – usually more than, actually – and left them for dead, or for a long recovery in a hospital ward or back alley.
Him, though…
Damian hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him. From the moment he’d caught sight of the human male working the crowd, he hadn’t been able to look away. He wasn’t, truthfully, all that special. He was average height and build, with dark hair and blue eyes. He was just…human. He reeked of humanity, actually. Damian had come across people like that before; people so in…in love with life that they just stank of it. Usually he found it nauseating – humans didn’t have long to live, they had nothing to love about it. This time though…
Richard “call-me-Dick” Grayson was his name.
Damian had overheard the man introduce himself to a few of the other patrons, an unusual amount of cheer in his voice that only seemed to grow each time he spoke with someone new.
A people person.
How exhausting.
Still, Damian hadn’t been able to draw his eyes away for long. There was just something about the…the averageness of the man that seemed out of place in such an exquisite room. Damian was intrigued, probably more than he should have been.
He could imagine how conversation would go, after a few prolonged observations. Grayson would ask his name, drop some ego-fluffing compliment, and chat about inconsequentials until he spotted someone across the room he hadn’t greeted yet. He was a constantly-moving thing, Grayson. Damian didn’t think he’d seen the man slow for more than a few moments, and then he would still drum his fingers against his thigh or tap his foot or shift his weight between his arches, and so on.
By the time the band switched from light string pieces to the more intricate orchestral arrangements, typically signaling the start of couples taking to the floor, Damian had made his decision. If Grayson could hold his attention for that long, Damian would simply have to entertain his urges. He’d talk to the man for a while, get him alone, and take what he wanted – because, really, needed wasn’t accurate. Damian could feed and leave them alive if he wanted to, but he didn’t see the point. He was the predator, and predators didn’t show mercy to their kills.
Damian skirted the edge of the room, on the lookout for the now-target. The group of ladies he’d been talking to were currently Grayson-free, huddled together with drinks in their hands and laughter on their lips. Damian frowned, turning his gaze to the center of the ballroom. The probability that he was mingled with the dancers was high; he was obviously charismatic, so Damian doubted he’d have trouble finding himself a dance partner.
When his quick scan received no results, his frown deepened. Had Grayson slipped out without him noticing? His senses couldn’t be that dull. Intermingling with so many humans in one place curtained muddled them, but he was still vastly superior in all senses of the word-
“That’s an intimidating expression you’ve got there.”
To his own credit, Damian didn’t freeze at the unexpected chime. Instead, he simply looked to his right. The doors separating the ballroom from the rest of the hall were both held open by unmoving wait staff, but it wasn’t either of them who’d spoken. No; Richard “call-me-Dick” Grayson was loitering in the hall, twirling an unlit quellazaire between his fingers. Damian hadn’t pegged him as a smoker, or scented him as one, but the typically-feminine piece suited him more than a pipe or cigar, aesthetically anyway.
Grayson offered a polite smile, “You don’t happen to have a light?”
Damian slipped his hands in his pockets, stepping out of the ballroom and into the hall. He didn’t tend to carry anything that could produce a flame on his person, for obvious reasons. One slip, as his brother used to tell him, and you light up like a fucking Christmas tree. “I don’t smoke.”
Grayson made a low noise in his throat, disappointed. “That’s unfortunate. There’s something to be said about a smoking man.”
“That he’s shaving years off his already short life?” Damian lifted a brow.
Surprisingly, his morbid quip caused Grayson to laugh. The sound was loud, and cutting, but not necessarily bad. “I was going to say it makes him attractive, but I guess that’s a fair point. Not exactly public knowledge, though, is it?”
Damian shifted, glancing at the noise behind him before turning his full attention on the man. “There’s a speakeasy on the sublevel, though it isn’t typically open on nights the dance hall is open. They keep matchboxes people leave behind.”
“There’s a sublevel?” Grayson canted his head, resting the end of his holder under his chin.
Damian sighed, and made sure it sounded long-suffering, as if he didn’t have time to deal with someone who didn’t even know the layout of the most popular building in the city. “Of course.”
Grayson smiled, this time patiently. “You wouldn’t mind giving me a bit of direction, would you?”
Damian rolled his eyes, “I’ll show you.”
“You don’t have to do that –”
“I won’t have you getting lost on my account,” Damian interrupted smoothly. He moved forward, brushing past Grayson without touching him. He didn’t look back to see if Grayson would follow. That looked desperate, and Damian was anything but.
He led the man through the halls, easily avoiding the other patrons of the building. Eventually, he came to a halt outside an elevator, pressing the arrow for descent. Given the device was still rather new, and met a lot of suspicion with the traditionalists of the city, people tended to default to the grand staircase at the front of the building, leaving the area and elevator thankfully empty. Damian would be able to finish his business before they even reached the sublevel, which was good, because there was no hidden speakeasy to speak of in the first place.
“Thank you, by the way.” Grayson said. “I’m Richard, but most people just call me Dick.”
Damian had heard the phrase enough that night to quote in in his head, but he held the doors once they opened, waiting for Dick to enter.
He stepped on behind, pressing the lowest available button, not particularly caring where the elevator would actually end up taking them.
“You know, in polite society, most people would give their name too.” There was a definite tease in Dick’s tone.
He supposed it wouldn’t hurt. Dick wouldn’t be alive much longer, anyway. “Damian.”
Dick hummed as the doors slid closed, falling into what so far seemed like uncharacteristic silence. Neither of them spoke as the elevator clunked to live, beginning the slow descent.
Damian leaned against the panel of buttons, folding his arms across his chest while the man.
Dick caught him rather quickly, and shot another smile. “Yes?”
“You were rather obnoxious up there.”
“So you were watching me,” Dick chuckled. “I thought I saw you a few times. Did I catch your attention?” He teased.
Damian blinked, shifting, “So what if you did?”
It was Dick’s turn to blink, and Damian took the chance to take a step forward, crowing into Dick’s space.
“What if you caught my attention?” He repeated, lowering his eyelids enough to see the tips of his eyelashes as he focused on Dick’s face.
Dick didn’t back up, to his credit. “I think I’d be flattered,” He said, quieter.
Damian took that as more than enough invitation to move further into his space. Dick’s height made it easy for Damian to trail his mouth up Dick’s jawline, smirking at the little sigh Dick let out.
“I’d be flattered,” He repeated as Damian’s lips settled over the pulse-point of his throat. “If you weren’t about to kill me, that is.”
Damian didn’t have enough time to process the words before something sharp was driven between his ribs. He jolted from the impact, stumbling away from Dick, hand flying to his ribcage. He felt the cool metal hilt of a small blade flush against his skin, and bared his fangs, hissing. Dick stepped around him, pressing the button to stop the elevator. “For a vampire, you’re not exactly subtle.”
Under most circumstances, Damian would rip the knife out and be done with it. Now, a strange numbness was enveloping the area around the blade. Whatever it was, it was acting fast. His knees felt weak, and he had to keep his palm on the wall as he slid to the ground, landing on his woundless side.
“Wolfsbane,” Grayson said helpfully. “We heard it was fatal to your kind, ironically enough. Figured out how to lessen the toxicity, so now it’s just your typical tranquilizer.”
Damian glared, pulling the knife out despite what little effect it would probably have at this point. “You’re not human,” He hissed. A human couldn’t have bested him this easily…
“I am, actually.” Dick shrugged. “I’m just a bit more knowledgeable than most.” He flipped Damian to his back, stepping over him and kneeling, settling his weight on Damian’s hips. “You can think of me as a collector, if you’d like. That’s more familiar to you, I’d think.”
It was, unfortunately. Damian had been hearing whispers of someone who went around kidnapping upper-class vampires, though no one knew what happened to them once they were taken. He hadn’t heard it was a human doing it, though. He’d heard it was a…
“Witch,” Damian muttered.
“A little bit,” Dick allowed. “We’re humans, too, though. We age and die, and we have a heartbeat. That makes us human.”
“Kill me now,” Damian snapped, “or I’ll tear you apart as soon as I’m able.”
“Oh, I know.” Dick smiled, patting his chest. “You won’t be able, though. Not for a while. Don’t worry, though. I don’t think I’m going to ship you off. I’ve been watching you too, see, and you caught my…attention.”
“I’m flattered,” Damian spat, black darkening his vision.
“Good night, Damian.” Dick smiled. “We’ll get more acquainted when you wake up.”
Damian didn’t get a chance to disagree. Dick leaned down, giving him a saccharine kiss, and then the black took him.