One More Chance

"DANTE!"  A pain filled scream broke into the cool night air, muffled by the thick barrier between.
Damian writhed in agony, ragged gasps escaping his chest as he clawed blindly at his throat. His eyes rolled back, showing the bloodshot whites. The darkness of the tight enclosure moved in, suffocating him, striking terror into the few areas of his body untainted by the searing pain.
"Dante," the sixteen year old choked out haltingly, his numb throat finally unable to utter any more than a bare whisper.
Never in his life had he imagined this intense pain. His body was aflame, his muscles contracting in a manner that felt as if they would implode. Blood pounded in his head, deafening him despite the stillness around him. His heart raced erratically in his ribcage, faster than a racehorse, pumping the poison through his body.
His body had finally tired, and the burning agony in his veins had, at long last, subsided into mere needles piercing his insides. The diminished pain, having been excruciating for what felt like an eternity, was a welcome change. Other than the occasional spasms, Damian's body lay still as a corpse, pale as the silver moonlight, beads of warm sweat slowly rolling down icy skin.
The once pounding heart in the teenager's ribcage slowed into a sluggish lub-dub. Damian lay on his side, his shoulder brushing against the top of the cramped area, his sensitive hearing picking up sounds of the feeble heartbeats.
Lub-dub… lub-dub… lub… dub… lub.
He felt tired. So tired. His soft breath faded, and within the coffin, there was silence. Yet, this silence felt flawed. There was something wrong, as if the tranquility acted as a mere cover for the chaos underneath.
Damian's eyes shot open. Had another person been sharing his coffin, their hearts would have begun a frantic gallop, their eyes wide with hysteria. Those beautiful eyes, once a stormy grey, had become a deep crimson, glowing with desire and thirst.
The blonde's entire mentality had changed. He had become calm, rational. To the boy, it felt as if he was invincible, and nothing could faze him. He had become a powerful being, superior to all but his fellow immortals. Most of all, somewhere at the back of his mind existed the never-ending craving for the ruby liquid that ran through human veins.
His eyes blazed with his newfound power, and an arm shot up, through the roof of the coffin, extending into the dirt. Splinters dug into his porcelain skin, but he did not care. He no longer felt the mild pain. The rest of his body followed his arm, which led the way upward, and exploded out of the dirt ground of the cemetery. With a growl, he heaved himself up, spraying the filth everywhere.
"Damian," a smooth male voice greeted.
"Dante," Damian snarled, tensing, baring his gleaming fangs.
The other man, seemingly in his early twenties, nodded with satisfaction. "I thought you would make a good vampire."
Damian stood motionless, staring wordlessly at the man he once called his love. They had been together for two years, and he had quite often wondered at the other man's night excursions, yet had not questioned his actions. He had never suspected the truth that Dante had kept secret. Then, on the night that Damian finally inquired his boyfriend, he discovered the truth in a most painful manner. Dante had bitten him.
Walking forward until their bodies nearly touched, Damian touched his lips softly to those of his partner and sire. He moved downwards, tracing his lips, jaws, throat. His tongue flicked out once.
Before Dante could react to this sure sign, Damian's lethal fangs had dug into his flesh, tearing through the vein, and the thick, sweet vampire blood flowed out in metallic rivulets. Damian pulled away, scarlet juices running down his chin. He watched with a smirk on his face as his partner dropped to his knees, eyes glazing over in near-death.
"My rebirth was not as you expected, now was it, Dante?" Damian mocked.
"No…" Dante rasped. "But neither was your death."
Damian cocked his eyebrow, half in surprise, half in amusement. Then it hit him. Violent agony, not far from that which he felt during his changing. He looked down in disbelief. His chest was a gaping hole, blood gushing out. His immobile heart rested in his love's stilled hand.