by Shawn Lane
As soon as he made the turn, though, he saw the three rather beefy looking white males hanging around a large trash receptacle. They appeared to be digging through the trash. He stopped for a moment, letting his senses assess them. They might be big, muscular guys up to no good but they were ordinary mortals.
Morton continued down the alley toward the place he usually met Graham. So far, there was no sign of his lover.
The men turned to look at him, noticing his approach. They eyed him up and down.
“Well, what have we got here?” the biggest one asked. His two friends snickered.
“Looks queer to me.” One of the two others took steps toward Morton. “You a fag, boy?”
“Why? Are you interested?” Morton asked, as they surrounded him. He wasn’t too worried about it though.
“He even sounds queer.” They laughed.
The second man shrugged. “I’ve heard fags like you like to suck cock. You wanna suck mine?”
“Tempting, but, no.”
One thing vamps could do was move very fast. Which he did now, moving out of their circle and to the other side. He faced them.
“Fuck,” the first guy swore. “How’d he do that?”
“Who knows? Some sort of trick. Give us your money, mister.” The third guy’s hand was in the pocket of his open soiled coat and Morton figured either he had a gun or was pretending to have one. Didn’t matter either way, he’d go for that one first.
“These pants are really tight. I don’t have any room for money.”
The guy came at him, but Morton was ready. His polished black fingernails lengthened into sharp claws. He slashed across the guy’s abdomen, ripping through his shirt. The dirty gray fabric instantly turned crimson.
The man screamed and dropped to his knees. “He’s got a knife,” he groaned, wheezing.
The security guard appeared at the far end of the alley. “Xavier, are you okay?”
“I suggest you take your friend and get out of here. Now,” Morton said. “I’m all right, Ralph. These guys were just leaving.”
The two uninjured men took their friend and hurried down the alley in the direction Morton himself intended to go to meet Graham.
“I’ll be back inside in a few minutes, Ralph,” Morton assured the guard. He didn’t want Ralph waiting for him or, worse, coming down the alley to escort him back inside. He waited until Ralph was out of view again before turning to continue on his way. The men had disappeared now and his senses already picked up the presence of an immortal.
But he wasn’t worried. He knew this immortal well.
“Graham?”
Graham dropped down from the top of the nearest building, landing near him, on his booted feet. His lover wore jeans and a purple buttoned-down shirt. One of Morton’s favorite parts of living many hundreds of years was getting to try all the different fashions of the time. Things were definitely casual these days.
Pushing his shoulder-length blond hair behind his ears, Graham smiled his welcome. Morton found himself up against the wall, with Graham’s lips ready to take possession of his.
“Wait.” He stayed Graham with a hand on his muscular chest. “You’ve been here all this time, haven’t you?”
“Mmm.”
“Why didn’t you help me with Larry, Curly, and Moe?”
Graham’s smile turned wolfish as he leaned in close in spite of Morton’s attempts to keep his distance. “You could handle those three. I knew you could.”
“And if I couldn’t have?”
“I would have stepped in.” Graham covered Morton’s lips in a deep, possessive kiss.
Morton clutched the material of Graham’s shirt and pressed their bodies closer as he gave himself to his lover’s kiss. The kiss ended too soon though and Graham was turning him around to face the wall.
“What about the rumors you mentioned?”
“Fuck now, talk later.”
He loved having a big tough warrior like Graham, but his single-mindedness about certain things could be irritating. When he wanted to fuck, it was now. Everything else waited.
Morton braced himself as Graham lifted his coat, then reached around to unfasten his leather pants and scoot them down to Morton’s knees. Graham’s cool callused hands brushed across Morton’s ass cheeks and Morton’s cock rose to full attention in response.
He’d read a famous book about vampires once and he’d been so disappointed the characters couldn’t have sex. How boring. Thankfully another thing that was not true.
A blunt, lubed finger pushed inside him and he gasped.
“You’re so tight,” Graham growled, slipping a second finger inside. “Even after all this time.”
“I don’t need more prep, just take me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now.” Morton leaned back against him, tilting his head to expose his neck for Graham’s mouth. Graham’s cock entered him, pushing past the tight ring until he was all the way inside. He lowered his lips to Morton’s pulse and his sharp teeth pierced Morton’s pale skin.
“Fuck.” Graham’s hand closed over Morton’s hard cock, stroking the pulsing length. It never took him long to come, not with Graham.
Graham slammed into him hard and fast, knowing their time was limited. But both of them needed it. Needed each other.
The hand jerking him sped up, tightening around his length, demanding his surrender.
“Graham!” Cum shot from his cock, coating the fingers still stroking him.
Graham’s hands dug in as he thrust powerfully into Morton again and again before finding his own release with a roar.
There was nothing particularly romantic about hard, dirty sex in an alleyway, but Graham had been Morton’s lover for many centuries and they’d made love in every place, every way it was possible.
Graham withdrew and pulled up his jeans before helping to right Morton’s clothing. He turned Morton in his arms and kissed him deep and slow.
He sagged against Graham for a moment, but then pulled away. “About these disturbing rumors you wrote of.”
“After your next set. It’s time for you to get back to the club,” Graham said, grabbing Morton’s hand. “It can wait.”
Morton sighed. “You dragged me out here and I still have to wait?”
“I dragged you out here for sex. I’ll tell you the rest after your show.”
They made their way to the back door of the club and Morton tapped on it to get the guard to open it.
When Ralph had, Morton smiled. “See? Right as rain. And I have Graham with me.”
Ralph nodded. “I would have been less concerned if I knew he was with you.”
Morton patted the guard’s arm and headed for his dressing room. As soon as he stepped inside, Henry stopped pacing.
“Oh, my God! There you are. I really was about to have a heart attack.”
“I told you I’d be back in time.”
“Barely.” Henry looked down at Morton’s hands as he reached for the black leather, fingerless gloves Henry handed him. “What’s all over your hand? Is that blood?”
Morton held his hand in front of his face. His fingernails had gone back to their normal appearance but the blood from the man in the alley still smeared their tips. For several seconds, he stared at the blood, fighting the desire to stick his fingers in his mouth and suck the dried blood from them. The only reason he didn’t was because Henry would be appalled. He could feel the itch of his incisors.
“Here,” Graham said, coming up beside him and grabbing his hand. “Let’s go over to the sink and wash that.”
He blinked, his blood focus gone, at least for now, as he allowed Graham to lead him to wash off the blood. Such a waste, Morton thought, as the warm water turned red as it washed it all away.
Chapter 2
Graham watched Morton perform from the shadows of backstage. Morton’s elegant gloved fingers were curved around the microphone as he belted out a tune, dancing and strutting across the stage.
<
br /> The club audience, made up of both women and men, watched him, too. Enthralled by Xavier.
It had been Morton’s manager’s idea to give his lover a stage name. Someone named Morton wouldn’t have screaming fans, Littlefield declared, but Xavier would. Graham still wasn’t pleased by the change, but he agreed because Morton wanted this.
And Morton did have an amazing voice and charisma. Every man and woman watching Morton wanted him. Graham could see it on their faces.
He clenched his fist. He didn’t have to like it though. They could lust after Morton all they wanted, but he belonged to Graham.
Besides watching the lustful crowd with some jealousy, Graham also looked for anyone suspicious. Meaning anyone immortal. He’d be able to sense them. But it was always good to see them first. So far, fortunately, it was just he and Morton.
The sides of Morton’s unruly dark brown hair had been shaved, leaving just long bouncy curls on the top and his nearly black eyes had been lined in gray eyeliner. He looked so fucking sexy, Graham had to hold himself back from dragging the man off the stage to fuck.
Their situation was about to get very complicated though. For many years they’d let down their guard, thinking they could, but the rumors were too specific to ignore. Really, he should have known better than to think after all these hundreds of years, they could live a normal, carefree life. Graham had wanted that for Morton, for them.
Graham was aware of a gnawing hunger within him. It had been a few hours since he’d fed. For the most part, Morton had convinced him not to kill for their food. Just to drain until the blood lust was satisfied. He left the supply of bottled chilled blood for Morton—it was preferable to let his lover feed that way, since his beloved had always had a conscience about being a vampire. Graham had been an axe-wielding warrior in his mortal life and had taken the lives of many men. It gave him no special pleasure, but likewise he felt no special guilt over it.
Xavier would have several more songs before he would be done for the night, so Graham decided it was time to seek his next meal. He turned away from the stage and slipped out the back door before anyone noticed.
He swung up to the roof, making his way above pedestrians below. One of the things he liked about being a vampire, and there weren’t many things he liked, was the ability to scale great heights and float down as though on wings, always landing on his feet, like a cat.
Now, with it being late at night, most of those he saw were street people. Prostitutes, homeless, drug addicts, and drunks.
Easy prey.
Tonight, Graham had the urge to drain a victim’s life, something they’d learned over the centuries became part of the change to vampire. Morton, of course, fought it most of the time. Graham did his best to make his lover happy, but there were times, like tonight, he felt the blood lust burn harsh and needy. Morton didn’t need to know he had killed.
From his perch, he spotted an old man digging through a dirty, soiled wire trashcan placed on the city street. He dropped effortlessly to the ground, moving closer to the man. In their immediate area, there was no one but him and the old man.
The man was sick—dying. He reeked of imminent death. From his tattered and soiled clothes, soaked with old booze and bodily fluids, this poor man had been living on the streets digging for food and other treasures for a long time.
Graham would not bother to absolve himself of the killing by trying to think this man would be better off going to whatever afterlife waited for him. Taking the man’s life was killing and there was no absolution in it.
As he neared his victim, the man seemed to sense he was no longer alone. He raised his head from looking in the trash.
“Who’s there?” he asked, his voice worn and raspy. He coughed, deep and hard, as though his lungs would give out soon.
Graham moved to stand behind him and with one swift movement, he held the man to him and then he sank his fangs into the thick vein in the man’s neck. The old man let out a small gasp of protest, but it was soon quelled as his life force drained. Blood flowed freely into Graham’s mouth and he swallowed pint after pint of the metallic liquid. When he’d had his fill and the man had passed, Graham very gently laid him to the ground.
He knew from past experience, the cops would just assume the old homeless man had finally expired of living off the streets. It was common enough for it to actually happen that way and no one expected a vampire to actually exist.
Once he had returned himself to the rooftops above, he made his way quickly back to the club, anxious to be back for Xavier’s last song.
* * * *
“You were amazing as usual,” Graham said, pulling Morton into his arms in the dressing room. He ran his fingers through the dark curls at the top of his lover’s head. Soon, they would go home and Graham could take his time fucking Morton again and again.
“You didn’t even stay for the whole performance,” Morton said with a laugh. He pecked Graham’s lips and then gently pushed away from the embrace. He began to remove Xavier’s clothes. “Where did you go?”
They were alone, at least for the moment, so Graham said, “To feed. I was hungry.”
Morton sighed. “I hope you were careful.”
“Always.” He helped Morton out of the trench coat and tossed it on a nearby chair.
“I need a shower.”
“We can take one together when we get home.” Graham pulled off the black T-shirt, then handed Morton a green one to replace it.
“Anxious to get out of here?” Morton sat and shimmied out of the tight leather pants. “I’m all sweaty.”
“I know, love. But it can wait until we are gone from here.” Graham handed him his regular, ordinary blue jeans. He was anxious to leave, to get Morton alone.
“Well, tell me about the rumors while I clean my face,” Morton urged. He sat before his makeup mirror, dabbing a makeup remover cloth on his skin.
Graham glanced at the closed door. “Where is Littlefield?”
Morton shrugged. “Last I saw Henry he was on the phone. Lock the door if you are worried.”
He walked over and slid the lock, then took the few steps to the fridge to remove one of Morton’s blue bottles. He took notice that only two remained after this. He’d have to refill them for his lover.
“Here.” He handed the bottle to Morton.
“I had some after the last set.”
“You need more. Drink.” He knew Morton had a tendency to skip meals if Graham didn’t make him feed.
With a dramatic sigh, Morton took a sip. “Tell me.”
“Sources have said Seymour is alive,” Graham said softly. He studied Morton carefully, waiting for his reaction.
Morton’s long lashes swept over his intense dark eyes.
“Morton?”
His lover’s bottom lip quivered slightly, but he still said nothing. He took another sip from the bottle of blood.
Graham couldn’t stand it any longer. He knelt in front of his lover and seized the hand that didn’t hold the bottle. “It could be false.”
Morton nodded but still didn’t look at Graham. “He was supposed to be dead.”
“I know.”
“Completely destroyed.”
“I know, love. Maybe the rumors aren’t true.”
The lashes rose and the dark eyes pierced him with a haunted, lost look that tore at Graham. “If he lives, why hasn’t he come after us? The witnesses said he’d been destroyed one hundred years ago, Graham. Where has he been?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was merely injured and weakened. But whatever the case, if he is alive, love, he will come after you. We both know it.”
“I thought it was over. That we were free of him at last. I can’t believe this.”
Graham brought Morton’s hand to his lips. “I swear I’ll keep you safe. No matter what it takes.”
“We should go home.”
“Yes. It’s safe there for now. We’ll talk more about this.” Graham stood and helped Morton up, th
en embraced him, kissing the top of his dark curls.
“What about Xavier?”
“We’ll figure it out. There’s no need to panic yet. Let’s just get home as quickly as we can.”
* * * *
For the last few years, they’d lived in a two-story home at the end of a cul-de-sac, one of only four houses on the street, and theirs had been fully fenced in with a gate that could only be opened with a security code.
They had changed the house to suit their needs. Most of the bottom floor was windowless. They had kept the upstairs windows but those were heavily draped most of the time. Besides the gate, the house itself was heavily alarmed.
Graham punched in the code and drove his black Cadillac through the open gate, which closed quickly as he entered the garage. As soon as they were inside the house, Graham made sure the alarms were active on all the doors once more.
He sensed nothing so he knew they were alone in their house. They’d probably have to move again. Graham hated the idea of uprooting Morton, who liked where they lived. So did he for that matter. But he’d meant what he said when he vowed to keep Morton safe from Seymour. They’d been fighting with Morton’s maker for hundreds of years. The old vampire was insistent that Morton belonged with him.
Over Graham’s immortal soul.
“Graham?”
“Come, let us rest.” He took Morton’s hand and led him to their windowless bedroom on the first floor. He locked the door carefully, setting the immortal alarm he had crafted several years ago. In the floor was a trapdoor that, if necessary, they could open and use to escape into a tunnel that ended across town. Also something Graham had had done when they bought the house.
Without bothering to turn on the light—they didn’t need it to see with their preternatural sight—he undressed Morton, who remained mostly silent, his expression vaguely shell-shocked. Graham couldn’t blame him. Seymour had been tormenting Morton since he’d first made Morton a vampire. The last time, before they’d finally believed Seymour had been destroyed, Morton had been nearly killed himself. Graham would not let that happen again.
“Lie down, love.” Graham gently pushed his now naked lover toward their bed.