A/N: Third part of the storyline that follows the main fic, "Ambivalence" and the follow up "Midnight Monster"

This, I suppose, could be read separately, but reading the whole shebang will give you a full grasp of Dave and Mike's relationship.

Whilst reading over this like a good Beta, my buddy Baite looked at me and said, "Wow. You went there."

To which I replied, "Please. I've barely scratched the surface."

Chester is laughing at me. He's blatantly laughing in my face. Pointing and laughing and falling off of his chair.

One. I can't remember the last time I laughed.

Everyone in the room pales and glances away. Rob runs a hand through his hair. Joe fiddles with his thumbs. Brad just sits there, frozen. Everyone is smart enough to know when to stay out of this.

Everyone except Chester.

And Mike. I watch him roll his eyes and stare at the giggling vocalist.

"What, are you going to turn into a bat and fly away?" he sniggers. My face twists up into a hideous glare.

"Do you have a problem with me?" I demand. This is how I am. I don't take shit from anybody. Except for Mike. I'm forced to take everything from him, just like he's forced to take everything from me.

Chester shakes his head. "No, that's just so fucking funny man, I-"

He only has a nanosecond to open his eyes before I'm basically on top of him. He looks up from his position where he's fallen on the floor, sees me crouched directly over him, mouth turned into a sneer and revealing my teeth.

Two. I have fangs, apparently. They fucking hurt, pushing down from my gums. That's probably why I'm constantly in a bad mood.

"You had better fucking watch yourself," I hiss. "I don't give a fuck about what's funny or not, you don't ever fucking laugh at me like I'm some fucking joke."

Three. I hiss now. I just do. I make a lot of animalistic sounds. Just more proof of how much of my humanity I've lost.

"Dude, calm down," Chester trembles. He's genuinely afraid now. He's shaking terribly and he's turned cold. "It was just a joke."

At this point, I can't even remember why I was pissed off at him in the first place. All I know is that I'm insanely mad and usually the only thing that can cheer me up is a long drink.

Four. I drink blood. That much is obvious. I need it. I won't die if I don't get it every day, but I lust for it. It's my sex, my drug. I lose control if I'm deprived from it for too long.

Five. I have volunteered Mike to be my main source. I like his taste the most. I like the way he resists me. Things are simple, now. I want Mike. Which means I need Mike. Which means I get Mike.

Chester tries to worm away but I pin him down, push my hand against his chest so hard and so quick that all he has time to do is choke out a gasp.

And I'm about to rip him to shreds when I feel a sharp tug from behind me, feel myself jerked off of Chester and see him scramble away from me in the direction of Brad, who grabs him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up onto the couch on the tour bus.

I spin around to see who dared lay a hand on me and am suddenly in Mike's scowling face. I'm fast, I start walking forward into him immediately. He isn't as fast as I am, but he can read me well enough that he's already started backing up. I hear the shuffling of feet and know that everyone is leaving the bus. Even Chester, the idiot who started this all.

"Phoenix, calm down," Mike commands.

Six. Mike is in charge. Mike is always in charge. It sounds strange but it's true. I don't lead him around on a leash because he doesn't need to follow me. He doesn't need to make sure that I'm okay so he can tear me to pieces later on.

"I don't need to calm the fuck down," I snarl.

"Yes," he insists, "you do." He has this frozen frown on his face that pisses me off and turns me on, so I grab him by his chin, place my index finger and thumb on either side of his face and press the tips into his cheeks, turn his head away so he isn't looking directly at me anymore and push myself against him, my mouth against his jawline.

"I don't fucking think so," I hiss, squeezing his face harder. I feel him grind his jaw. He's pissed off. I find this amusing, but don't laugh. "I think I'm just a little hungry, you know?"

I squeeze even harder and break the skin on one side, bright red making a trail down the side of my thumb and sliding down my hand to my wrist. I lap it up carefully.

Seven. I am a pig when it comes to blood. I hate wasting even one drop. If it's the middle of the night and I've just finished taking advantage of Mike, I'll lick up every last smudge from his body, lick off every bit I can reach on my body, then sleep.

I hate it when I can't get to a spot. I try to keep my Goddamned elbows and my back free of blood, but sometimes, when I'm fucking him, Mike will place his fingertips at the very top of my neck and rake them all the way down to my waist. I think he does it to piss me off. Not only does he gets some of his blood on me, but he also forces me to smell my own damned blood.

Eight. I hate my own blood. I hate the taste. I hate the smell. It smells like death. I prefer my meal raw and living.

"Do you have to curse all the time?" Mike demands, sounding irritated.

"Fuck up," I reply, burying my face in his neck. He groans and pushes his hand flat against my chest, pushes, but I don't budge. He's too weak.

Nine. I am much stronger than I used to be. Faster, too. I still work out, but usually a good drink will give me all the energy I need to hunt down my next victim. Usually, it's Mike again.

"Dave, I'm serious, get off," he demands. "I'm pissed at you."

Like I care.

"Why?" I ask anyway, my teeth closing gently on the skin of his neck, pulling at it and releasing it quickly. This is my foreplay. "Because I almost beat up poor Chazzy?"

I probably wouldn't have beaten him up. I probably would have ripped out his throat in front of all the other guys. Give them some nightmares. Probably would have ended our career, though. Which sucks. Fans are pretty useful when Mike's not around.

Ten. I am a Grade-A terrorist. I don't care who you are, I don't care how old you are. If I get a hold of you and my bloodlust is strong enough, I will suck you dry.

Eleven. I have never killed someone. I want to. I actually want to eat someone's heart. It's on my wishlist.

Twelve. Gore turns me on. I love seeing gruesome things because I want to do them. I watched Chester in his blockbuster horror film for moral support and ended up having to drag Mike out of the theater and into the parking lot to fuck him in the car. He only followed me out because I would have done him in the theatre had he let me.

One day I'll visit a slaughterhouse. It sounds sick, but I'm a sick monstrosity, aren't I?

"I'm not mad at you for scaring the shit out of Chester," he inhales sharply. I press my tongue against my usual entrance point, a never-healing bite mark that sends waves of excitement through his body whenever it's touched. He likes this, he always does. He never stopped me when I started biting him because that was when the fun began.

Thirteen. Every time I bite Mike, we fuck. Hard. I make him hurt. Don't get me wrong - I might love him. But when I'm swallowing his blood all I want is to hear him scream. Remember the gore thing I said earlier? Yeah, you get it. I might not be able to tear Mike's head off but I sure as hell can make him feel like I have.

"You're not mad at all," I whisper, scrape my teeth against the wound and hear him groan. I love the sounds he makes when he's horny. Even when he doesn't want to be horny.

"Yes, I am," he growls, and I feel the vibrations in his throat. "I'm pissed at you for acting like a fucking animal."

I huff loudly. "Maybe I am an animal."

"No," he snaps, pushes my head away while I'm off my guard. "You're still a person, Dave. With a conscious. And feelings."

Fourteen. I don't give a fuck about people. I don't care if they've been hurt. I only care when it affects me. I'm Phoenix the badass, the cold-hearted monster with no feelings, the one who wants to live alone because the only thing that matters is me. I am an unapproachable asshole and I'll fuck you up without thinking twice. I feed off of the life of others, I live for the kill and when I can't kill I maim. I don't love anyone, and no one loves me. I'm never happy because happiness gets in the way of everything I stand for. I am the most horrible, nightmarish vision come to life, and I plan to stay that way.

"I don't feel anything," I mumble as I push my mouth back against Mike's neck. "I only feel through you. And right now I wanna feel good."

"You never feel good," Mike says silently.

"I don't remember what pleasure feels like," I growl. "You'll help me remember, won't you?"

I spread my jaws and sink my teeth into his flesh, and just as he starts bleeding, I hear Mike whisper, "I'll help. But I don't have a choice."

Fifteen. I am a starved little boy that lives in the belly of the wolf. And I don't think I know how to get out.

-e.n.d-