Blood Lust - Niniamhou - NoPixel [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Ziggy sat at the kitchen table, his fingers drumming a silent tune on the worn-out wood. The room was suffused with the golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls. He watched as dust motes pirouetted in the air, illuminated by the last of the day's light. It was a scene of quiet domesticity, a scene that had played out countless times in their little house nestled in the northern town of Paleto. But lately, the rhythm of their lives had changed, and not for the better.

Flop had always been the early bird of the two, a lover of dawn's sweet embrace. He would bound out of bed, full of energy and cheer, eager to start the day with a hearty breakfast and a cup of strong, black coffee. But now, Ziggy found himself often waking to an empty bed, the covers on Flop's side rumpled and cold. Concern gnawed at him like a persistent ache. It had been weeks since the incident with the mountain lion as well as him quitting, and Flop's behaviour grew more erratic with each passing day. Their conversations had grown strained, like a guitar string pulled too tight. Ziggy tried to broach the subject gently, his voice a whisper in the dark of their bedroom. "Babe, are you okay?" he asked one night, his hand resting on Flop's shoulder. Flop's eyes snapped open, a wildness in them that made Ziggy's heart stutter. "Yeah," Flop murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Just having some weird dreams, that's all." But the lie hung between them, thick and cloying, like the scent of something rotting.

The nights grew longer, and the sounds of the town grew distant. The hum of the fridge and the tick of the clock on the wall seemed to echo through the house, a stark contrast to the vibrant symphony of laughter and chatter that once filled their home. Ziggy would lay awake, listening for the soft tread of Flop's footsteps on the stairs, the rustle of fabric as he padded through the hallway. It was always the same: Flop would slip out of bed, the mattress groaning in protest, and Ziggy would feel the sudden emptiness beside him. He'd wait, counting the moments until he heard the back door open and close with a soft snick.

On one such evening, as the last vestiges of light retreated from the sky, Ziggy resolved to confront Flop. He waited, his heart a tight fist in his chest, until he heard the familiar pattern of Flop's descent. One step, pause. Two steps, pause. The stairs creaked in a tune that had once been comforting but now sang of secrets and unspoken fears. Ziggy steeled himself as Flop came from around the corner. His eyes, once bright with life, now gleamed with a dark intensity that sent a shiver down Ziggy's spine.

"Hey, where are you off to?" Ziggy asked, trying to keep his voice casual. Flop paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Just going to do a few night races," he replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost rehearsed. Ziggy's brow furrowed. "With who?" he pressed, his voice a whisper of accusation. "with Kizu and some others," Flop said, his eyes sliding away. Ziggy knew it was a lie; Flop had barely taken his D10 out of the garage since he bought it.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick like the fog that rolled in from the mountains. Ziggy felt his jaw clench as he studied Flop's profile, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the furtive glint in his eyes. Something was off, something more than just the sudden nocturnal habits. "You know you can talk to me, right?" Ziggy's voice was soft, but it was as if he'd shouted in the quiet house. Flop turned to face him, the shadows playing across his features. "I'm fine, really," he said, his smile forced. "Just need to clear my head."

But Ziggy wasn't convinced. He could feel the unspoken words hovering in the air, a heavy weight that threatened to crush the love they'd built. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively. "Is there... is there someone else?" The question hung in the air, a silent scream of insecurity and fear. Flop's hand tightened around the doorknob, his knuckles turning white. For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes flicking to Ziggy's, then away again. "What? No," he said, the word a knife that sliced through the quiet. "Don't be ridiculous."

The denial was swift, but the way Flop's eyes didn't quite meet Ziggy's gaze spoke volumes. Ziggy's stomach plummeted. He knew Flop too well, knew when his husband was hiding something. But before he could voice his doubt, Flop cut him off with a sharp laugh that held no mirth. "I'm just dealing with some stuff, okay?" he said, his voice tight. "Give me some space." With that, he opened the door and stepped out into the night, leaving Ziggy standing in the warm, yellow light of the kitchen, feeling more alone than ever.

Ziggy retreated to their bedroom, his mind racing. He knew he couldn't ignore the signs much longer. Flop was hiding something, and it was eating away at their relationship like a cancerous growth. Reaching into the nightstand drawer, he pulled out his phone and opened an app that had been installed for a purpose he'd never thought he'd need. A map glowed to life, revealing a blinking dot that represented Flop's location. He'd slipped a tracking chip into the seam of Flop's favorite jacket weeks ago, a quiet insurance policy against his own fears. The app's screen showed Flop's movements in a neat, red line that snaked through the quiet streets of Paleto. Ziggy's eyes narrowed as he zoomed in, following the path Flop had taken over the past few nights. There was a pattern, a destination that his husband visited with alarming regularity. It was a place Ziggy had never been, a place that sent a cold shiver down his spine just looking at it on the map. It was time to find out what was happening. He couldn't shake the feeling that Flop was in danger, that the man he loved was slipping away from him into the shadows of the night.

With trembling hands, Ziggy grabbed his brown jacket from the hook by the door. The fabric was rough against his fingertips, a stark reminder of the harsh reality he was about to face. In the pocket, he found the small, cold metal of a lockpick set. The weight of it in his hand felt like a grim necessity. He checked the time. 2 AM. The town was asleep, the streets deserted except for the occasional distant howl of a stray dog.

At the local gas station, he spotted a car with the keys dangling in the ignition. The decision was swift and desperate. He approached the vehicle, a nondescript sedan that looked as tired as he felt. The car's paint was chipped and the tires were bald, but it would serve his purpose. He slid into the driver's seat, the leather sticky with someone else's sweat, and started the engine. The purr of the motor was comforting in its familiarity. He took a deep breath, the scent of gasoline and stale candy a strange comfort as he pulled out of the lot.

The GPS guided him through the sleeping town, the robotic voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Each turn brought him closer to Flop's location, and with it, a growing sense of dread. The neighborhood grew more desolate, the streetlights flickering as if in time with his racing heart. The houses here were old, their once-picturesque facades now crumbling under the weight of neglect. The red dot on his phone grew larger, pulsing with a rhythm that matched the throb in his temple. Finally, the app directed him to an unassuming building, nestled between a dilapidated bookstore and a tattoo parlor that had seen better days. The neon sign above the door flickered erratically, casting a sickly glow over the sidewalk. 'The Crimson Den', it read in jagged letters that seemed to ooze down the wall. It was a place Ziggy had never heard of, a club that catered to the shadier residents of Paleto. He parked the stolen car a few blocks away, staking out the building to see any sign of his husband

The bass thumped in his chest, a dark heartbeat that grew louder with each step. He leaned against a lamppost, his eyes scanning the line of patrons waiting to enter. The smell of cheap alcohol and desperation mingled with the dampness of the night air. He waited, his nerves a live wire, his breath fogging in the cold. Time stretched out before him, each second a lifetime of doubt and worry. Then, he saw him. Flop stumbled out of the club, his arm slung around a man who was equally unsteady. They looked like two rag dolls held together by a thread of inebriation. Flop's eyes were glazed, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The sight was so jarring that Ziggy felt his heart twist in his chest. This wasn't his Flop, not the man he'd promised to cherish and protect.

The stranger leaned heavily on Flop, their laughter echoing through the deserted streets like a taunt. Ziggy's jaw clenched as he watched Flop help the man into a taxi, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed in the silence. He didn't dare get closer, afraid that the slightest noise would give him away. Instead, he memorized the license plate and the taxi's number, his mind racing with a thousand questions. The taxi pulled away, the taillights growing smaller until they were nothing but twin red embers disappearing into the dark. Ziggy waited, giving them enough space to believe they hadn't been followed. He gripped the steering wheel of the stolen Sedan tightly, his knuckles white. His heart hammered against his ribs as he followed the taillights, keeping a safe distance, weaving through the bustling streets of Los Santos. The chase was on, a silent dance of shadows and suspicion.

The taxi turned into a narrow alley, and Ziggy's gut clenched. He knew this part of town; it was the kind of place you didn't go unless you had a death wish or something to hide. The Pink Cage Apartments loomed ahead, a sprawling complex of peeling paint and cracked concrete. The taxi's brake lights flared as it pulled into the lot, the engine dying with a mournful gasp. Flop's silhouette emerged, his arm still entwined with the stranger's. They staggered like two drunken sailors, laughter spilling out into the night as they made their way to the apartment block. Ziggy parked the car, his eyes never leaving the couple. He watched as the stranger fumbled in his pocket for the keys, Flop's hand sliding down to rest on his waist. The intimacy of the gesture was like a knife to the heart. The apartment door swung open, and they disappeared inside, leaving a gaping maw of darkness that seemed to swallow them whole.

The anger was a living thing inside of him now, a beast that grew stronger with every beat of his heart. His thoughts were a tornado of accusations and doubt. Was it something he'd said? Something he hadn't done? Or was it the mountain lion attack, a trauma that had changed Flop in ways he couldn't fathom? The fog in his brain grew denser, his vision blurring with unshed tears. He slammed the car door shut, the echo bouncing off the surrounding buildings like a gunshot.

Storm clouds gathered in the sky, mirroring the tempest in his soul as he marched towards the Pink Cage Apartments. His boots hit the asphalt with a rhythm that matched the thunder in his chest. Each step brought him closer to the truth, to the confrontation he never wanted but now craved like a man dying of thirst. The night air was cold, but it was nothing compared to the ice that had settled in his veins.