by W. M. Fawkes
That promise was the hottest thing Timothy’d ever heard. He reached for Michael’s jeans and undid his fly.
“Timothy—”
“Need you,” Timothy rasped, straining up for another kiss as his fingers found Michael’s hard length. He flexed into Timothy’s hand. “Bite me.” Timothy looked straight up at him, catching his dark, hungry gaze and holding it. He was afraid of lots of things—dying, going home, all the mistakes he’d made—but he wasn’t afraid of this.
When Michael leaned down, he took a soft breath. Then he bit. The sharp prick of pain faded into a rush of need. Timothy whined, shoving his ruined shirt off his shoulders as Michael drank from him.
He needed their clothes off. He needed Michael so much closer.
Michael’s lips were a damning red when he pulled back, but he licked them with a glistening flick of his tongue. Funny, how Timothy still wanted to kiss him.
He didn’t get a chance. Michael pressed his own fingers against his fangs and held them in front of Timothy’s lips as ruby blood swelled on the tips of his first two. “This is the important part. You have to drink my blood too.”
Timothy opened his mouth, and Michael slipped his fingers past his lips. He’d sucked cock before, and imagined Michael’s sitting on his tongue. He swirled it around his fingertips, tasting the bitter salt tang of blood and sucking.
“You are something else, boy,” Michael said softly, and nonsensical as it was, it was maybe the best compliment Timothy’d ever received.
After slipping his fingers out, Michael pushed Timothy back on the desk. He pulled Timothy’s pants down, and Timothy kicked off his shoes and socks. Michael only turned away to rifle around in a drawer.
“You have lube in here?” Timothy asked.
Michael chuckled. “This is where I keep my laptop.”
Holy hell, big bad vampire Michael watched porn in his fancy at-home office? “You are so not what I expected a vampire to be.”
Michael slicked up his fingers efficiently and turned to run one around Timothy’s rim. “You have a lot to learn, sweetheart.”
He sure as hell did. Michael slid his finger inside, and Timothy gasped. That gentle curling finger teasing him inside made him crazy, but then Michael added a second.
He was going slow, had promised to take care of him, and Timothy was losing the patience for that by the time he added a third.
“Please, Daddy,” he gasped again, pressing his heels into the backs of Michael’s thighs to try and draw him closer. “Fuck me. I need it.”
Michael gauged him with a serious frown, but Timothy knew he’d won when Michael dropped his jeans and stroked his own cock, lubing it up.
“Remember to breathe,” was all the warning he got before Michael started pushing his cock into him, inch by burning inch. The stretch was almost too much. Timothy’s toes curled and he squeezed his eyes shut as his Daddy whispered how good he was doing, promised him how amazing it’d feel soon, that it was all okay.
He only stopped when his hips were flush with Timothy’s ass. Then his hands swept in soothing strokes across his neck and chest, down to press against his stomach. “Breathe, baby,” Michael reminded him.
It was that sweet whisper that compelled Timothy to open his eyes. Michael stood above him, strong and perfect. “It’s so much, Daddy.”
“I know.” Michael leaned down and kissed him, a soft brush of his lips that made Timothy’s chest ache. “But you’re taking me so well, baby.”
He stood up again, letting his hands roam, giving Timothy time to adjust. Overwhelmed by the feel of a cock inside him, Timothy’s own had softened a little. That was a problem quickly fixed when Michael stroked him.
He started slow, just a loose-fingered slide. But then he teased his tip, squeezing, his thumb flicking over the head. Once again rigid and throbbing, Timothy arched off the desk, chasing the feeling. That shifted the pressure inside him, and pleasure rushed through him, making his eyelids flutter.
“That’s my boy,” Michael growled as Timothy’s body rolled, chasing the dual pleasure of Michael’s hand and his cock buried deep in his ass.
Then Michael started thrusting. At first, it was a slow, deep, languorous thing that made Timothy feel empty when he pulled out. Soon, his bones shook when Michael rocked into him. The air punched out of his lungs in pleas for more.
When Timothy reached for him, Michael’s hand slid around his back. Timothy locked his arms around his shoulders. The position trapped them together, stilling Michael’s hand, but the feel of his chest hair against Timothy’s nipples, how safe he felt in Michael’s strong grasp was worth it.
Need swept through him and he bent his neck to mouth at that skin, slick and salty just beneath his ear. Timothy bit it. Michael growled and clutched him close, his fingers making small twitches against Timothy’s cock, trying to give him pleasure, but Timothy no longer needed the added stimulation. Like this, held off the desk, he could flex his legs and, with Michael’s help, ride his glorious cock while he sucked on his Daddy’s neck.
He came with a high, stifled moan, spilling between their bodies. He hadn’t meant to, but his mind shorted out. He must’ve bitten Michael harder. The vampire flinched, held Timothy’s hips still, and slammed into him. With a broken groan, he shot inside Timothy.
For a second, he just stood there holding Timothy close, panting in the small space between their mouths, and smiling. God, his smile was so beautiful, and the thought that something that’d felt so good could make Michael happy too made his heart sing.
Wordless and overwhelmed, he brushed his cheek across Michael’s and squeezed him tight. “Thank you,” he whispered.
But Michael just shook his head. Strangely, he seemed every bit as overwhelmed as Timothy was.
Rather than drop Timothy back on the desk, Michael carried him through the office, past the living room, to drop him on the white sheets in his bedroom. They were the softest thing Timothy had ever felt, and only caught up in the cloud of a comforter did he let go of Michael, who sat back on his heels and stared down at him.
“Fuck me, your little fangs are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Michael reached down and nudged his top lip out of the way to run his thumb over his tooth.
Timothy grinned. “You like them?”
His Daddy collapsed on top of him, his arms sliding under Timothy’s shoulders. “They are perfect.” And when he kissed him, Timothy felt him test the sharp edge with his tongue.
Loose-limbed, Michael rolled off into the space beside him, but he held open his arm for Timothy to snuggle in close.
As he came down from his high and caught his breath, Timothy took stock of what else had changed. There was a buzzing in his veins, lights were brighter, his senses stronger. More than that, he could feel Michael beside him, pleased and sated, as if those feelings were his own.
Michael’s arm curled around his waist as Timothy pressed in tight. His own arm draped across Michael’s chest, and their legs tangled together. He wasn’t sure if his need to be close was because of what they’d just done, his swell of gratitude, or because of the new connection between them. Whatever it was, he liked it.
With anyone else, Timothy might’ve worried about his performance, if he’d done something weird or not sexy, but with Michael, he knew intuitively that he hadn’t. Strange as it was to feel so close to someone he hardly knew, it was nice. There was comfort in knowing that he hadn’t asked too much, even when he’d asked for life and death and lots in between.
And if he felt a prickle of worry, that was swept away by the light stroke of Michael’s fingertips down his arm.
“What do you play?” Michael asked in a low rumble.
“What?” Timothy couldn’t think of a single game that related to what they’d just done.
“You said you had a sports scholarship.”
Through their connection, he felt the warmth of Michael’s amusement, but it wasn’t at his expense. “Oh, yeah. Um, lacrosse?”
&n
bsp; Under his ear, a soft chuckle shook Michael’s chest. Timothy lifted his head to scowl at him. That only got Michael to squeeze him closer. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Michael leaned up to nibble his pouty lip. “I’m only teasing,” he muttered. Something about the low sound, the nearness of his lips, shivered right down Timothy’s spine before Michael fell back onto the pillows. “Why lacrosse?”
“I like big sticks.”
Michael’s hand slid down to squeeze his ass. “I know that. What else?”
Timothy nibbled his lip. “I don’t know. Too small for football. Track’s just running. I need more stimulation than that.”
“Now you’re just teasing me.” With one strong arm, Michael pulled Timothy down for another kiss.
Shit, he hoped vampires could recover quickly. Maybe that was something he should have asked. But, well, stamina wasn’t going to keep him from trying to save his life.
“How long have you been a doctor?” Timothy asked when he needed to catch a breath. He wanted to know more about Michael than he was kind and good and fantastic in bed.
“Since I was human.”
Now that he knew what Michael was, it was hard to imagine he’d ever thought Michael was just the sexiest lumberjack-looking Daddy of a man he’d ever seen. He was magic. His cock certainly was. “And that was?”
“I was a field surgeon for the Union army.”
“During the Civil War?” Timothy blanched. “Fuck, man, you’re older than my gran.”
The laugh that escaped Michael sounded like pure startled delight. “You think so?”
With a push, he rolled them over, trapping Timothy under him with his arms on either side. He took Timothy’s hands and pressed them into the pillow. “I guess I’ll have to show you how full of life a dead man can be.”
And the roll of his hips left no question as to how he intended to prove it to Timothy. Dead or not, he’d never felt more alive.
Michael
There was a dusting of snow on the back deck—their first of the year despite it being January already. Michael didn’t much believe in omens anymore, but he decided to take this as a good one anyway.
For the first time in three months, Timothy had left the house without being accompanied.
Well, no, he’d had Robin with him, who’d postured and glared and called Michael a “daddy cult leader,” but he wasn’t the same kind of protector as Michael or Luke. Robin couldn’t protect himself from Timothy if Michael’s progeny lost control.
But they had spent the last three months training for this. Michael had worked with him, tested him, pushed him to do his very best, and Timothy had excelled in every way.
He was considerably better controlled than Michael or Luke had been three months after being turned.
And it had been time. The new semester was starting at school, and Timothy hadn’t wanted to take another off. He was determined to catch up and “graduate on time,” despite Michael pointing out again and again how subjective time was, particularly now that he had eternity.
The mad dash to do every possible thing would wear away eventually. Humanity was trained, at every turn, that if one wanted to make a mark on the world, it needed to be done quickly.
Every generation had its own version of YOLO.
Michael had worked so hard his first decade as a vampire, convinced that the inability to work outside during the day was going to keep him from accomplishing anything.
Eventually, he’d had a breakdown when he had realized that time was no longer the finite thing he’d once believed.
Sure, vampires died. Violence existed. Accidents happened. Wars and murders were common among all who had been born human, even the ones granted immortality.
That didn’t change the fact that as a vampire, life had no specific expiration date. When Michael had really, truly realized that, he’d spent almost a decade stuck in a deep ennui.
Maybe the same would happen to Timothy, but if it did, Michael would be there to take care of him. To remind him that no, he didn’t have a deadline for his accomplishments, but that only meant he could do even more, just without the rush.
Michael himself had spent years becoming one of the best neurosurgeons in the world. It was a universe apart from sawing off the legs of conscious, screaming men, and Michael was thankful for it every day.
The front door opened and he turned, smiling. He could already feel Timothy’s ebullient mood; it came off him in waves, crashing over Michael’s consciousness and changing his own introspection into pleasure.
“Good night at school?”
Timothy grinned for a moment, then launched himself across the room and into Michael’s arms. “The best. Robin thinks we worship Cthulhu, though. Or, like, something.”
Michael quirked a brow at him but didn’t ask. He knew he wouldn’t have to.
“He said it must be an evil god because I can’t leave the house in the daytime.” He made a face, like that was the logic he found lacking, and not the entire notion of Michael running a three-person cult.
Michael leaned down and kissed him on the tip of the nose. “Did you tell him night and evil aren’t the same?”
“Actually, I told him Cthulhu isn’t evil. You can’t call everything you find frightening evil. That’s ignorant, and he’s too smart for that.”
At that, Michael couldn’t hold back his laughter. “So when will you be changing your major to philosophy?”
Timothy, with a playful smile, poked him in the stomach. “You laugh, but it might be fun.”
Fun. He was looking at his degree as fun, not a mad race to the finish so that he could start a career to make money they hardly needed.
That was much better adjusted than Michael had been at his point in unlife. Admittedly, that mad dash for relevance had made Michael quite a lot of money, and eventually landed him in the position to take care of all their needs with ease, but it wasn’t necessary anymore.
Maybe Timothy would manage better than he had.
Michael couldn’t wait to find out.
We hope you enjoyed this short story, originally published in Heart2Heart: Volume 4. It’s been slightly expanded with an additional scene.
If you’re on the lookout for Robin and Luke’s story, fear not! It’s on its way.
In Death will be available Fall 2020.
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Burns & Fawkes’s Books & Foxes
Also by Sam Burns & W.M. Fawkes
In Death (Companion to For Life, Coming Soon)
Fire & Valor
The King’s Dragon
The Prince’s Dragon
The Assassin’s Dragon
Poisonwood & Lyric Novellas
Poisonwood
Lords of the Underworld
Prince of Death
Prisoner of Shadows
Patron of Mercy
Sons of Olympus
Wildfire
Lords of the Underworld Short Stories
Heart of the Sea by W.M. Fawkes
About Sam Burns
Sam is an author of LGBTQIA+ fiction, mostly light-hearted fantasy romances. Most of her books include a little violence, a fair amount of swearing, and maybe a sex scene or two. Oh, and let’s not forget a fox. He’d be offended at being forgotten.
She is a full-time writer who lives in the Midwest with her husband and cat. Someday, she plans to be a full-time writer who lives near the ocean with her husband and cat.
For more information:
www.burnswrites.com
[email protected]
Also by Sam Burns
The Fantastic Fluke
The Wolves of Kismet
Wolf Lost
Wolf Found
Wolf Reborn
The Rowan Harbor Cycle
Blackbird in the Reeds
Wolf and the Holly
Fox and Birch
Hawk in the Rowan
Stag and the Ash
Adder and Willow
In Any Light
Eagle in the Hawthorn
Salmon and the Hazel
Wren and Oak
Wilde Love
Straight from the Heart
Sins of the Father
Strike up the Band
Saint and the Sinner
A Very Wilde Christmas
About W.M. Fawkes
W.M. Fawkes is an author of LGBTQ+ urban fantasy and paranormal romance. She lives with her partner in a house owned by three halloween-hued felines that dabble regularly in shadow walking.
For more information:
www.fawkeswrites.com
[email protected]