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For the past ten minutes, IV has been watching Vessel pace around the lounge, circling the room like a shark.
The First is always restless before rituals for one reason or another, but he seems more tense than usual. He's got his arms crossed tight over his chest, fingers tearing at the sleeves of his cloak, digging into his biceps. His freshly-applied paint is already starting to run with sweat and he's breathing like he might hyperventilate at any moment.
IV and III are sitting on the loveseat, exchanging worried glances. Obviously, they're worrying about the same thing—something that none of them like to acknowledge. Neither the Third nor Fourth want to be the one to bring it up.
But IV can't bear the tension any longer. He finally caves, and asks, "Babe, are you okay?"
Vessel's head snaps in IV's direction. Although his expression is guarded, his eyes glint with something wild, the six of them blazing gold in all their unglamored glory. IV actually jolts a bit when Vessel's slitted pupils suddenly fixate on him. It's simply instinctual to want to flee upon a predator's detection. (IV's desire to be chased after fleeing is unrelated. That has to do with something else entirely.)
"What do you mean?" Vessel demands. "I'm fine."
"Uh, no way," III chimes in, "You're pacing like you're about to start marking your territory."
Vessel immediately stops, looking sheepish.
IV gets up and carefully approaches the First, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. "Baby, come on, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing, really. I just. . . Don't feel quite right."
IV frowns. He was afraid Vessel would say that. "Vess." The Fourth leans closer, voice hushed, "You're not. . . You aren't turning, are you?"
Vessel seems to bristle. His golden gaze flickers and drifts to the floor. "I don't—"
Then, the door swings open and II comes barging into the room. "That fucking venue rep was just on my ass about—" II stares at them. ". . . What's going on?"
"Vessel is turning!" III blurts out.
II's eyes get wide. He slams the door shut before any passers-by have a chance to eavesdrop. "What? Are you serious?"
"I'm— I'm not—" Vessel shifts back and forth where he's standing like a cornered animal. "I mean, it's barely started, I'm fine."
"You definitely aren't," IV says, "You're already getting all freaked-out and testy like you do."
Vessel makes an exasperated noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl, which doesn't help his case much. "I can control it—"
"Vessel," II says sternly, "People are going to notice. You can't go out there while you're turning."
"I've done it before."
"That doesn't mean you should do it again!"
"But I can. I have to. We can't cancel last minute!"
Frustratingly, Sleep chooses not to give any input, merely listening and observing.
It's a sensitive subject, after all.
Years ago, on the night of a full moon, Vessel was attacked by something that he only refers to as 'the Beast.' Sleep saved Vessel's life, brought him back from the brink of death, but it was too late to truly save him. The Beast had transferred a curse onto Vessel, infected him, nested itself inside Vessel's soul. Even Sleep was powerless to rid His First of such a blight.
Most of the time, the transformations are predictable, easy to prepare for. Vessel will show signs days in advance. Other times, the turning is triggered at random by something none of them quite understand. Since Sleep has no say in the matter, all His vessles can do is hope that the Beast stays dormant while they're away from home.
"Do you really think you're fit to go out there?" II snaps. "Do you think canceling would be worse than you turning on stage?"
"I won't turn on stage, not completely. I never turn before midnight, you know that. We just need to get through the ritual."
"But you're. . ." II trails off with a groan, scrubbing a hand over his face. He glances down at his watch—9:03 PM—and sighs. The idea of cancelation is probably agonizing to the Second, practical as he is. It's no wonder he relents. "For fuck's sake. Fine. Fucking hell."
IV and III share a look but remain silent. This isn't the first time Vessel and II have argued about this, and the final decision never comes easily.
Despite Vessel's adamant claim to be in control, he's practically feral by the time they go on. He's prowling around the stage, showing his teeth, barking into the mic. The worshippers go crazy for it, loving the spectacle, but only because they don't know what's really happening. They don't know about the Beast lurking just below Vessel's skin, ready to erupt from his flesh and devour them all. The other vessels are trying to keep track of their First, but there isn't much they can do.
IV is concentrating on his solo when he senses Vessel stalking toward him. The vocalist crowds up behind him, brushing against his back, so close that Vessel's low, possessive growl vibrates through IV's sternum.
Vessel always teases IV during this song as part of their routine, but this isn't like the typical teasing. Vessel is usually smiling and laughing, doing a goofy dance around the guitarist or trying to steal a kiss, but now he's growling in IV's ear and— Fuck, and he's grabbing onto IV's thighs, crouching to get his groin level with—
IV almost chokes on his own breath when he feels a thrust against his ass. His fingers are flying across the frets on autopilot since all he can pay attention to is Vessel rutting on him. It only lasts a few moments, but it feels much longer (and harder.) Then, Vessel slinks away, back to center-stage before he misses his cue—thankfully, the Beast and its urges haven't wholly consumed Vessel yet.
III's earlier comment about Vessel "marking his territory" flashes through IV's mind. That's exactly what Vessel does when he's in the midst of turning, rubs himself all over his mates, claims them with his scent—as if it wasn't already obvious who they belong to.
The rest of the show goes by in a blur.
It's half an hour to midnight and Vessel is trembling.
The First and Fourth are sitting side-by-side on the bus, changed out of their ceremonial garb but still smeared in paint. The Second and Third stayed behind at the venue to load up their gear, promising to hitch a ride once they were done.
As soon as Vessel was dressed, II shoved him out the back exit and told him to get the fuck on the bus. II had been preparing to go along, but IV volunteered instead, insisting that the Second needed to stay and keep everything in order. They all know how quickly something can go wrong without II's oversight.
After asking IV a hundred times if he was certain, which IV was, II agreed to let him leave with Vessel. The Fourth has seen plenty of Vessel's turnings by now. He knows what to expect. He can handle it.
Now, Vessel is curled up against IV's side, looking rougher by the minute. Sweat is pouring off of him, soaking the collar of his t-shirt. Almost all of his make-up melted during the ritual and is making a mess of his clothes and the cushions.
"I'm sorry I tried to mount you on stage," He says.
A flustered laugh bursts from IV's mouth. He hadn't thought about it as Vessel mounting him. "Ah. . . Don't worry about it. That probably wasn't even the most indecent thing we've done in front of a crowd."
"I couldn't help myself. I see you standing there under the lights and I just wanna tear you apart."
IV's jaw works but he doesn't say anything, brain switching off for a moment. He snaps out of it when Vessel doubles over with a miserable groan, head hung in his hands.
"I don't feel like myself," The vocalist mumbles.
"Easy, love, easy."
When IV rubs soothingly between Vessel's shoulder blades, he feels something move beneath his palm. The First's insides are rearranging themselves, making room for the inevitable. Vessel's vitals go haywire right before he turns.
It makes IV nauseous to think about—he always hopes that the transformations aren't as painful as they seem.
"What, um. . ." IV clears his throat, "What do you think brought it on this time?"
Vessel shrugs. "Jetlag, new environment. . . Could've been anything."
The hotel car park is mostly vacant when they arrive, thank the gods. As soon as the bus stops moving, IV lurches up from his seat and rushes to the front. Vessel growls in protest as his mate leaves his side, but he doesn't try to follow.
IV rounds the partition into the cab and says, "Hey, man!"
Danny, their driver, jumps in surprise. "Jesus, dude, you scared the shit outta me."
"Sorry. Listen, Vess still isn't feeling good. He's on the couch and I don't think I can move him. Why don't you gimme the keys and go ahead up to your room. I'll stay here with him."
Danny frowns, looking unsure. "I don't know, dude. I'm not really supposed to do that. . ."
"Come on, man, it won't be a big deal. I'll just wait here for II and III to get back and help me. Anything happens, I'll take the blame, yeah? Promise."
"I, uh. . . Yeah, okay," Danny sighs. He pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to IV. "Make sure you keep the door locked."
"No problem," IV calls as Danny hesitantly steps off the bus, "Thank you!"
Bless the Void. IV isn't sure what he would've done if Danny refused to let them stay. He probably would've had to pull something drastic, like wrestle Danny out the door, lock him out, and hold the bus hostage. Having Vessel transform on the bus isn't exactly ideal, but it's better than in a hotel room. At least they have a bit of privacy here, parked by the trees in a half-empty lot.
Once the door is locked and Danny is out of sight, IV rushes back to the lounge. Vessel is still bent over with his head between his knees, trembling and twitching worse than he was before. Beads of sweat are dripping down his neck, tinged black by remnants of paint. He's breathing fast and shallow, growling behind grit teeth—his incisors have grown to a vicious length.
IV clambers to the mini-fridge to grab a bottle of water, quickly running it over to Vessel. "Here, Vess, you should drink s—"
Vessel snatches the bottle, rips it open, and downs the entire thing in a matter of seconds. "Thanks," He says, and tosses the crushed plastic aside, "Fuck, I'm so fucking hot."
"Okay, just let me—"
IV stares in bewilderment as Vessel hooks his fingers into the collar of his own shirt and tears it right off. His nails have elongated into razor-sharp claws. Now that his torso is exposed, IV can see how Vessel's muscles are shifting beneath his skin, pulsing and quivering unnaturally.
Fucking hell. IV is trying not to panic, but he can't ever stand to see his love in pain like this. He dares to glance down at his phone. 11:58 AM. Fuck, fuck, shit. Stay calm. He needs to stay calm.
Usually when Vessel changes, he'll run off into the woods or barricade himself somewhere the others can't see what's happening to him. But of course, they've all seen him change. They've seen what the Beast does to Vessel, and they've seen the carnage that results.
The first time IV saw Vessel turn, it was an occasion like this: no warnings, not even any build-up. They'd all been lounging on the sofa, watching TV, when the clock struck midnight and Vessel sat up completely rigid.
Chaos ensued.
While III was attempting to contend with the Beast, II ushered IV upstairs and into his bedroom. There, the Second assured him that he didn't have to be afraid.
"He's still our Vessel," II said.
The next morning, IV found the living room in disarray. The coffee table was smashed. The shelf above the fireplace had been knocked off the wall, its previous contents haphazardly placed on the mantle.
Vessel didn't show up for breakfast. III did, although he was clearly limping when he entered the kitchen, then sat down with a hiss of discomfort.
IV had heard III screaming the night before, but. . . The bassist hadn't necessarily sounded scared or in pain. Still, IV was worried.
When III joked about "keeping the Beast busy" while smirking and wagging his brows, IV choked on his cereal and coughed for five minutes straight.
That was during the first month that IV was part of Sleep's Collective.
And now, he's stuck in a tour bus, watching helplessly as Vessel starts thrashing and convulsing and transforms into a fucking werewolf.
It never gets any easier to witness how Vessel's body breaks itself apart, how his bones bend and fracture, how his joints hyperextend until they snap and tear.
The sound of it is nightmarish, the horrible cracking and crunching of cartilage and the squealing of disturbed viscera. Gradually, Vessel's own screaming morphs into howling. It's ironic how musically Vessel shrieks in pain, as if he were belting out the chorus of a blood-curdling ballad.
Vessel gets impossibly taller, his legs get longer and bow backwards like a canine's. He grows until he has to hunch to keep his head from hitting the roof. His ashen-gray skin smolders until it's charred black as coal.
A pelt of coarse, dark fur engulfs his hide—arms, back, shoulders—while his underbelly sprouts only a fine layer of fuzz. The First doesn't cultivate much hair in general.
As Vessel stands three meters tall, panting and grunting from the exertion of being broken and put back together, he lifts his protruding muzzle in the air and inhales deeply. Six, amber eyes immediately lock onto IV. Blackened lips curl in a snarl.
It's almost embarrassing how instantaneously IV gets hard. Arousal and fear have always gone hand-in-hand for him. Maybe, in some convoluted way, that's what led him to this situation in the first place.
He barely has time to react before he's suddenly sprawled out on the floor with Vessel's jaws clamped around his neck. Fangs press dangerously into the guitarist's jugular, sharp pinpricks that make his pulse begin to hammer. Any more pressure and IV's throat would be crushed between those jaws, but Vessel just holds him. The gesture is simply a means to keep IV pinned (and a threat to keep him still.)
Vessel's body feels as heavy as solid granite, but it's the subtle weight nestled in the junction of IV's hip that feels particularly hefty. He knows that's Vessel's erect cock prodding at him, insistent.
A long, flat tongue licks up the side of IV's neck, no doubt tasting the pungent mixture of fear and desire seeping from his pores. The spicy-sweet musk works like an aphrodisiac for Vessel, who makes a sound akin to a rumbling purr.
Then, Vessel pulls back and rakes his claws down IV's denim-clad thighs, effectively shredding his jeans to ribbons. Fucking hell, I just bought those, IV laments as his pants and briefs are torn away.
The Fourth is left bare from the waist down (excluding his socks), with Vessel snuffling into the bronze curls south of his navel. IV yelps as Vessel's tongue drags over the length of his cock, sliding deliciously up the underside to lap at the ridge.
All of a sudden, IV is being folded in half. Clawed hands grasp his thighs and push his knees toward his chest, legs spread and socked feet up in the air. Although he's expecting it, he still gasps and shudders when Vessel leans down and licks a broad stripe right over his hole.
"Fuck, Vess!" He whines, throwing his head back against the carpet as Vessel laps at him, a warm, wet nose nudging his balls. The First's tongue is so hot and slick and wide, the perfect shape to lave at every sensitive crevice.
Vessel promptly makes a mess of his mate, not letting up in the slightest until IV is dripping and drenched in drool. Vessel feasts on his Fourth like a starving wolf would gorge on the meat of a fresh kill.
Abruptly, Vessel's tongue retracts, and IV feels a familiar blunt heat take its place. Breath hitching, he jerks his head up and gets a glimpse of Vessel's cock positioned at his entrance, ready to carve into him. Overall, it doesn't look much different than it usually does, just. . . Bigger—weighed down by its own girth where it hangs between Vessel's furred, muscular thighs. Gods.
It's a good thing IV had the foresight to hastily finger himself in the bathroom after the show. Just in case. It'll still be a tight fit, Vessel is bound to utterly wreck his smaller mate, but the outcome will be better than having no prep at all.
IV can't pretend that he isn't excited by the promise of pain. It's not something he gets to experience often, since the others always insistent on thorough prep. (He's usually too shy to ask his partners to hurt him like he craves, even though they've definitely caught on by now.) The only person who ever indulges IV's fantasies is Vessel, whether he's human or otherwise.
When Vessel initially fucked him in this form, they had planned for it prior, days before a full moon. II and III were there too, in the shrine room, where there was enough space for Vessel to transform somewhat comfortably—in other words, the exact opposite of a tour bus in a random car park.
That night, the First and Fourth were mated for eternity. As much as Sleep despises the Beast's curse, at least He approves of how His vessels utilize it to strengthen their bond.
IV is lifted from his haze of memories by Vessel's cock beginning to breach him. Immediately, IV feels a spark of pain as the first few inches enter, but Vessel is able to slide in halfway without a tremendous amount of effort. He withdraws slowly, then gives a shallow thrust, repeating the motions until he's almost entirely sheathed in IV.
The whole time Vessel is working him open, IV moans loud and unabashed, rocking himself back to aid the process. Finally, Vessel bottoms out, and IV is stuffed so full of his mate, distended to his limit, and it's fucking divine.
Once IV has loosened enough to take it all, Vessel starts snapping his hips to fuck him in earnest. He pushes the guitarist's legs up higher, bending him until his knees reach his shoulders—it's a position IV vaguely recalls as a mating press. Bloody hell, he definitely should've stretched his hamstrings earlier, but the burning just makes him moan louder.
"Vess! Fuck, fuck, Vessel, gods, p-please!"
Vessel's thrusts are unrelenting, fast and brutal, pistoning his cock into IV at an inhuman pace. All IV can do is thread his fingers in the Beast's dark mane and endure. He can't hear himself over Vessel snarling in his ears, but he can imagine how pathetic the noises gushing from his mouth must be. The wet clap of skin-on-skin as Vessel fucks him is absolutely filthy. Anyone standing in immediate vicinity of the bus would surely be able to hear the sound of IV being ravaged.
"V-Vess, Vess—ah, ahn—fuck, ple-ease," IV babbles, "Breed me! Please, breed me!"
Vessel never fails to plummet into orgasm when IV begs like that—this time is no exception. He tosses his head back, pointed ears going flat, and howls as he comes. His grip tightens on IV's thighs, claws breaking the skin and making the Fourth bleed red rivulets. That hot, sharp pain paired with the sensation of Vessel pulsing inside him tips IV over the edge as well, and he comes moments later. The position causes him to spill all over himself, come streaking up to his chin and clinging to his shirt. Damn it, that's his whole outfit ruined.
IV is so blissed-out that he hardly registers being flipped over until he's on his hands and knees. He's empty for only a few seconds before Vessel grabs him around the waist, claws indenting his plush belly, and ruts back into him—mounting him. IV collapses forward on his elbows and screams into the rug, his fingers clawing at the fibers.
He wheezes out a pitiful moan when he notices that Vessel's knot is swelling, bumping against him with each thrust.
"Fuck, yes, gods, give it to me, Vess," IV nearly sobs, voice strained, "Please, gimme your knot! F-Fuck your knot in-into me!"
Vessel stifles a whimper by ducking down to clamp his teeth onto the thick muscle at the crook of IV's neck. IV wails as fangs sink into his flesh with just enough force to draw blood. He's still too spent to get hard again, but his body sure tries its best.
With a strong buck of hips, the swell of Vessel's knot pops past IV's rim and fastens in place. If his throat weren't totally raw, IV would be screaming in ecstasy, just like III had screamed on the first night that IV saw Vessel turn. It's so much, of everything, but pleasure overshadows the rest tenfold.
IV's eyes roll, inky spots blooming in his peripheral until his vision is completely veiled in black. He might've come again, but he's not sure. He's too far away from himself.
When he passes out, the Ancient One is glad to see him.
Tidings, my Fourth. It seems you've vanquished the Beast yet again. Well done.
IV groans in his sleep.
IV wakes up to the sound of the door being unlocked. He panics for a split second until he remembers that II has a spare key. He relaxes again, too exhausted to move anyway.
Vessel is huddled protectively around IV, draped over his back like a thick, fur blanket. He growls when he hears footsteps approaching the lounge.
"Vessel?" II calls. "IV?"
The partition screen slides open.
"Are you guys—? Oh."
Vessel snarls. He stirs and lifts himself off of IV, making the guitarist whine as the Beast's half-hard cock slips out.
"Oh, shit," III says.
IV falls into unconsciousness again.
Rest, my Fourth, Sleep soothes. The others will sate the Beast while you recover.
The next time IV wakes up, for real this time, there's sunshine spilling in through the skylight. He's laying on a couch in only his soiled t-shirt and one sock, covered in dried come and sweat and blood. It's not the worse way he's ever woken up on a tour bus, but it's not the best.
IV cracks open his eyes and blinks against the morning light. He sees III faced-down on the adjacent couch with his slender legs dangling off the edge. The bassist's ass is all scratched up.
II and Vessel are spooning on the floor, Vessel's arms wrapped tight around II, cradling the smaller man to his chest. II has a prominent bitemark on his shoulder that's crusted in a bit of blood.
IV closes his eyes, about to drift back to sleep when he hears muffled voices outside the bus. He bolts upright, groaning in pain when his sore and scratched thighs rub against the leather cushions. For obvious reasons, his ass hurts like hell.
Ignoring the pain in his legs, IV hurries to peer out the window, and sees a trio of concerned crew members at the door. Danny is saying something to Sam and Shaun while gesturing to the bus.
"Guys, wake up!" IV hisses at his partners. "The crew is outside!"
III immediately starts flailing and flops onto the floor with a startled curse. II gasps awake and struggles to untangle himself from Vessel, scrambling to his feet and diving for any intact clothes strewn about.
Vessel just chuffs in annoyance and rolls onto his side. He gets moody after transformations.
Someone bangs on the door. "Hey, are you guys still in there? Are you okay?"
"Don't— Don't come in here!" III jumps up and yells. "I'm naked! And Vessel is projectile vomiting everywhere!"
"Oh, my gods," II mutters as he tugs on a shirt.
"Jesus," Shaun says. "Are you guys alright? Do you need an ambulance or something?"
"No!" II shouts. "No, we're fine, we're handling it! Please, can we just get some privacy?"
A few beats of silence pass.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam calls, unbothered, "Check-out is at 3:00."
Thank Sleep for the crew's willingness to go along with these antics. Everyone eventually finds out that it's for the best to just accept the vessels' quirky behavior. Most are familiar with the band's affinity for "intimate rituals," and gladly grant them their privacy. Rapid acceptance makes everything a lot easier.
Once, after learning that the band doesn't perform during full moons due to restrictions of faith, a new tech had snarked, "Religious reasons, huh? What, are you like a werewolf cult or something?"
III had laughed way too loudly, and IV just cringed. Vessel instantly went pale, looking mortified. II remained stone-faced, but there was quiet fury burning in his eyes.
No one ever joked about werewolves around them again.
After cleaning up the bus, the vessels spend the rest of the day in their hotel room. Vessel and III and entwined in one bed, while II and IV are cuddling in the other.
IV has his head laying on II, able to feel as the drummer's chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. IV glances up at him and sees that II is looking at his phone, frowning.
"What's wrong, babe?"
"There's a full moon next week," II says.
IV groans and buries himself beneath the comforter.
*