For Life

by W. M. Fawkes

  “I texted you my address,” Michael said. “When you’re feeling better than tonight, let me know. You can come over. We’ll talk options. That sound okay?”

  Timothy nodded eagerly. “Perfect.”

  Michael got up then. He let go of Timothy’s hand. But before he could disappear past the curtain, Timothy pushed up. “Michael?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I had to pass out in front of anybody, I’m glad it was you.” He did his best to summon that southern smirk that’d charmed the girls in school.

  For a moment, Michael simply stared at him. Timothy felt like he was being weighed and, this once, no one found him wanting. Michael nodded, resolute. “Me too.”

  No sooner had Michael reached for the split in the curtains than Robin rushed through. He was a blur of gold, wrapped in a large coat that Timothy didn’t recognize. At least he wasn’t running around the hospital in nothing but gold hot pants.

  “You’re awake!” Without missing a step, Robin leapt onto the bed, throwing himself on top of Timothy and holding him tight, oblivious to any of the sensors and cords attached to him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Timothy assured him, rubbing his back. “It’s really okay.”

  When he looked up, Michael and his friend were already gone. And there, alone with Robin for the first time since he’d left his apartment, Timothy felt the wetness of his friend’s tears against his neck.

  “So that Luke, huh?” Timothy started, desperate to change the subject and keep Robin from feeling so lost. “He’s hot, right?”

  Buried against his shoulder, Robin made a little broken sound. “He talks like my grandpa.”

  Timothy snorted before he caught himself. “He’s, uh, he’s not that old.”

  Except, wasn’t he? Michael had said he wouldn’t have to die, so Luke could be ancient.

  Instead of thinking too hard about that, he gave a little tug to the lapel of Robin’s new oversize coat. “This his?”

  Robin leaned back just far enough for Timothy to see his glare. “He was afraid I’d get cold.”

  When he shrugged, Timothy kept his arm wrapped tight around his friend. He didn’t want Robin to go anywhere right then. “That, or he doesn’t think club wear is appropriate for hospitals.”

  Groaning, Robin shoved his ribs and snuggled in close. “When can we go home?”

  Timothy sighed. “I don’t know. They’ll probably want to keep me for observation. If you need to go—”

  At once, Robin started shaking his head. He wasn’t going anywhere, but Timothy shouldn’t have been surprised for a second. Michael was right—his best friend wouldn’t abandon him no matter how bad this got.

  Timothy cleared his throat. “Uh, Michael—”

  “Doctor Sexy?” Robin asked, a wicked grin turning up his lips.

  “Yeah. He said he might be able to help,” Timothy admitted. He didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, including his own, but now that there was a chance, he had to hold onto it.

  Robin’s smile was blinding. “Really?”

  Timothy nodded.

  As self-satisfied as Timothy had ever seen him, Robin dropped his head back down on the pillow and squeezed Timothy’s middle tight.

  “Then I guess going clubbing was a good use of time,” Robin snipped.

  “I’ll never doubt you again, man,” Timothy promised, because even if his best friend didn’t have a magic podcast or all the answers, there was no question that whatever shot Timothy had now, he had Robin and all his glitter and glamour to thank for it.

  Michael

  “This is a mistake, Michael,” Luke said for the fifth time since they’d arrived back at Michael’s house. “You met this kid tonight. You can’t saddle yourself with him forever. What if he doesn’t like your bourbon collection?”

  “He doesn’t like bourbon. We tried it—he wasn’t a fan.”

  Luke held out his hands in front of him, palms up, as though displaying evidence. “See? How can you jump head first into something like this? You have nothing in common.”

  “You don’t know that any more than I know that we do have things in common,” Michael pointed out, voice so steady it surprised even himself.

  It was too fast. There could be no doubt of that. But Timothy didn’t have time for Michael to take him out, discuss life philosophies, and negotiate acceptable drink preferences. In a few months, if Timothy were still alive, he wouldn’t be Timothy anymore.

  “This is a mistake,” Luke said yet again.

  Michael shrugged and poured himself a drink from his home bar. A good drink.

  Like the vampire who had made Luke and Michael, he had a moment to make a choice.

  Maybe it wouldn’t work out with Timothy. He didn’t know who the young man was yet. But he was twenty-one. Timothy didn’t know who Timothy was yet, and damn it all, if he wanted a chance to figure it out, Michael was going to give it to him.

  The captain had spent his early years as a vampire reminding Michael that even now, even with his strength and powers, he couldn’t save everyone. But this time. This person. This was different. He could save Timothy.

  Before he went to bed for the morning, he got his first text from the young man. They exchanged a scant handful of messages, arranging to meet that very evening at Michael’s house.

  Hell, the guy was trusting.

  But they’d known each other for less than a day, and if Timothy agreed, they were about to be eternally linked. Coming to Michael’s house alone was nothing compared to the next step.

  That evening, he thought about ordering food, but offering Timothy a last meal felt morbid—and also melodramatic, since he would still be able to eat just fine as a vampire.

  Timothy stood on the step without ringing the doorbell for a full five minutes. Muttering to himself about probably hallucinating the whole thing, then refuting that with something about an aunt who ran a magic store, and then chasing his tail back around again.

  Just as Michael was about to give up and answer the door to cut off the fruitless discussion, Timothy apparently came to a decision and rang the bell, despite the fact that he was still in the middle of an argument about how vampires couldn’t be real because they didn’t make sense, physiologically.

  Michael opened the door, and there he was, wearing a suit. Heavens above, it had to be his church clothes. He’d worn his Sunday best to go get bitten by a creature of the night.

  Fuck, he was so adorable.

  Michael almost felt bad that he was just wearing his usual jeans and flannel as he stood aside and motioned Timothy in. He entered, adjusting his tie as though it were choking him.

  “Shall we discuss this in my office?” he asked, and Timothy’s only answer was a nervous nod. He dropped his head to stare at the carpet, and Michael was taken with the urge to guide him with a hand on his back and reassure him he was doing so very well.

  That was Luke’s worry, though, wasn’t it? If this adorable deferential attitude turned out to be temporary nerves and not his personality, Michael didn’t get to change his mind later. In his heart, Michael wanted someone who took direction. Who needed to be cared for. He wasn’t exactly part of the Seattle kink community, but sometimes he thought he ought to be.

  Just, well, vampirism added a whole extra layer to the consent issue.

  “I want you to know that no matter what you decide tonight, Timothy, I’m going to do what I can to help you.”

  Timothy ducked his head and bit his lip. “They said it was inoperable.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s true. There is palliative care, though. I know someone who’s very good. We can try to make these months as painless as possible.” He motioned to the seats across from his desk, and Timothy unquestioningly went to sit in the one closest to it.

  “I appreciate that, but I—I don’t really see the point. I mean, you can give me a real chance. You said you would. Why wouldn’t I want that?” His voice was so earnest that it almost broke Michael
’s heart. He was getting as jaded as Luke; he couldn’t remember ever being so absolutely innocent.

  “There are downsides, and a lot of people would say they outweigh the good.”

  Timothy waved a hand. “I get it. Blood drinking. Kind of gross, but—” He froze. “I, um, I don’t have to kill people, do I? That doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”

  “Not have to, no,” Michael confirmed. “It is a possibility, though. For the first few years especially, the hunger is hard to control. You would probably have to leave college for a while.”

  “I’ve already dropped out. It’s not like they’re going to hold a sports scholarship for someone who’s dying.” Something changed in the boy then, and he leaned forward to truly look Michael in the eye. “But you wouldn’t just leave me on my own to figure it out, right? I don’t want to hurt anyone. What if I hurt Robin?”

  That, at least, was a fear easily put to rest. “I would never do that, and I would never allow you to hurt your friend. But I could be a problem for you. You’d be tied to me for as long as we live. Especially in the first few years, you’d need me.”

  “Need you?” Timothy asked, and bit his lip. The way he looked up at Michael through lowered lashes was too damned perfect to be real. And yet, it didn’t feel like an act.

  Michael had to work not to reach down and adjust himself. He didn’t want the young man thinking his future was in any way contingent on having sex with Michael. Instead, he nodded and met Timothy’s gaze. “Need me. In some ways, you’ll be like a literal child. You’ll need my guidance, to relearn how to do things you take for granted right now.”

  “Like eat,” Timothy suggested.

  Michael nodded. “Like eat. And there’ll be a visceral attachment. It would take a massive act of willpower for either of us to hurt the other—”

  Timothy looked as though he wanted to deny the possibility, so Michael put a hand up to forestall him.

  “You don’t know me. I could be a controlling ass. The one who made my maker was a monster. The captain spent a century trying to escape him.”

  Timothy dropped his gaze to the carpet, and Michael breathed a small sigh of relief. He was willing to take a moment to consider, at least.

  “It would be very easy for me to accidentally manipulate you. You’ll naturally want what I want for a while. Did you ever assume your parents were right just because they were your parents? It’s a little like that.”

  “Do you think you’re a monster?” Timothy asked bluntly.

  That was definitely not the question Michael had been expecting. He figured it deserved just as blunt an answer, and no hesitation. “No.”

  “Do you think I’m a monster?”

  They had moved from the unexpected to the bizarre, apparently. “What?”

  “I’m gay. My parents think I’m a monster because I’m gay.”

  Michael had to work hard to keep from turning up his nose. He suspected he failed anyway. Homophobes were ridiculous. “People are monsters when they choose to be. Like parents who disown their children for being gay. You’re gay because you were born that way. Like me. You don’t kill people. You’re not a bully—”

  “How do you know that?” When Michael just raised an eyebrow at him, Timothy blushed and shrugged. “I’m just saying. Maybe I’m a really good actor.”

  “No one’s that good.”

  Timothy sat back in the chair, glancing up at Michael as though he expected rebuke for the slump. When none came, he relaxed. For a while, he seemed to consider, biting his lip. “You won’t deliberately manipulate me into things I don’t want?”

  “I will not. Which, of course, could be a lie.”

  “No one’s that good,” Timothy said with a shy smile.

  “Touché.”

  Timothy looked back toward the carpet, gaze intent despite where it was directed. There was a burning question obvious in his eyes, but he seemed nervous to ask it.

  “You can ask me anything, Timothy. How old I am, how I was turned, my sexual history. Anything you want to know. If I turn you, there’ll be no secrets between us. A benefit and a drawback, maybe, but there’ll be no hiding anything.” Michael stood and rounded his desk to sit on the front edge, almost inside the young man’s personal space.

  Timothy’s eyes tracked up a few feet, lingering on the spot where Michael’s half-hard cock was outlined under his pants. “Will you fuck me?” he finally asked without looking away, voice a paper-thin whisper. His cheeks flamed, flush going all the way to the tips of his ears, and he swallowed with an audible click, but still, he didn’t back down.

  “Yes,” Michael agreed. “I will most definitely fuck you if you want me to. I’ll be inclined to give you most anything you want.”

  “But you—” Timothy finally broke eye contact with Michael’s dick and met his gaze. “You want to. You want to bite me. And—and you want to fuck me.”

  Michael leaned down into Timothy’s space, until their lips were a scant few inches apart. “Timothy, I can think of nothing I would prefer to do more right now. You’ll be the most spoiled child anyone has ever met.”

  Timothy’s breath caught, and his lips dropped open. “Child?”

  “Young vampire.”

  “But I would be, kind of. Kind of your, um, son. As a vampire.”

  Michael glanced down at Timothy’s groin, erection making his loose suit pants bulge obscenely. Rejected by his parents for his sexuality. So young and impressionable. If there was a hell, Michael would surely end up there one day, but he supposed at least it wouldn’t be today.

  He lowered his voice to the most velvety smooth, promising tone he could manage with all his blood rushing to his cock. “If you’re asking if you’ll be my own baby boy, Timothy, the answer is—if that’s what you want, then most definitely.”

  Timothy took another shaky breath, looking up at Michael through his lashes again. “I’m ready. Please, bite me. Daddy.”

  Timothy

  Strong fingers slipped under his tie and fisted in the slick material. Michael pulled Timothy to his feet, and before he could stumble, his hand was at the small of his back, pulling him in. Pressed against the length of Michael’s marble-hard body, he could feel every ridge and muscle of his chest, the steel length of his cock pressing hard against his lower belly. Oh god.

  Timothy responded to the soft sound of his tie sliding under his collar with a whimper. Michael held it up. A cue ball lodged in Timothy’s throat when he dropped it on the carpet.

  Even pressed with their hips melded together, Michael loomed over him. Timothy stared at his teeth, sharp and white and gleaming past his parted lips. They’d break his skin, turn him into something else, and somehow, the idea only sent Timothy’s pulse racing.

  Suddenly, Michael spun them around. The move was too fast for a human, but Timothy never had the chance to lose his footing. Michael lifted him onto the edge of his desk.

  It was a beautiful antique, at odds with the clean, modern lines of the rest of the house—enormous glass walls that looked out on the woods. He could just imagine Michael going out there to cut down a whole ass tree to throw the logs in the fireplace they’d passed in the living room. Timothy could have a place here. Michael would take care of him.

  His rough fingers slipped between the buttons of Timothy’s shirt. He ripped it open, buttons flying. Then his hands were on Timothy’s bare skin, his calluses sliding over Timothy’s smooth chest, across his nipples, down his sides. He curled his fingers around Timothy’s hips, holding him still while his thumbs traced the muscled “V” that led down to his cock, straining under pants he hadn’t worn since he’d stopped going to church.

  “Fuck, I want to make you mine,” Michael growled, tipping forward, his forehead resting against Timothy’s. “Say it again.”

  “Please, Daddy.”

  Michael groaned, the sound sending a tremor through Timothy as he reached for him. He curled his arms around his shoulders as Michael leaned in to kiss the corne
r of his lips, his cheek, his jaw. He turned his head, Michael’s beard chafing against his skin deliciously.

  Michael’s hand slipped between them to palm Timothy’s bulge. At the same moment, he felt the first scrape of Michael’s fangs over his neck. He couldn’t help the slight catch in his breath.

  “Are you okay?” Michael asked, leaning back. His pupils were wide, and his irises shone, making his normally dark brown eyes sparkle like rubies. Still, Timothy thought if he wanted to stop, Michael wouldn’t question him. Who’d have thought a vampire cared about consent?

  Biting his lip, Timothy looked down. His hands slid down Michael’s chest, broad and strong and perfect under his red flannel. He was about to give himself over completely to a man he hardly knew, and Timothy couldn’t think of a thing in the world he wanted more.

  Nervous, his lashes fluttered, but he nodded. “I’ve never done this—”

  “Been bitten by a vampire?” Michael reached out. With thumb and forefinger, he took Timothy’s chin and coaxed him to look up. Amusement glittered in his red eyes.

  Every single part of Timothy was overheated. “No, the . . . the other thing.”

  “Oh.”

  For a moment, Michael simply stared at him. Timothy couldn’t track the emotions in his eyes. There was want, he was sure, and a measure of hesitation he couldn’t allow.

  “Please don’t stop,” Timothy rasped, reaching for Michael’s waist. He wrapped his legs around his hips, like he could pull him in and hold him there. “I just—I wanted you to know. In case I do anything wrong, or—”

  “Sweet baby boy,” Michael said. He cupped Timothy’s neck and tilted him back, just far enough that he had to rely on the vampire to keep him from falling. Then he kissed him, his tongue sweeping into Timothy’s mouth and leaving no doubt that Michael claimed him. “You can’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “I want you to do what feels good. I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll take care of you.”

  Fuck, he didn’t even make it sound like that was contingent on anything.