by Louisa Bacio
With the door partially open, she could just barely see through the darkness. A red light illuminated the room, and she saw a figure moving over the bed. She stood, motionless, letting her eyes further adjust to the lighting. A tremor started in the pit of her stomach, and flowed up through her body. Right when she realized what she was watching, she actually figured out visually what was taking place.
A bare ass faced her—a naked curved back, rounded buttocks. Someone was kneeling on the bed facing away from her. A hand curved around the bottom, stroking the ass cheeks, kneading the flesh. Another moan escaped into the room, and then she took in the sounds of heavy sucking. The man's hips thrust forward.
“Oh, yeah, baby, take it all in,” Lawrence said, and Lily knew then that she was seeing way more of Lawrence than she had earlier, and, if she had to guess, she'd say that his young lover was sucking him off.
Immediately, wetness seeped between her own legs. She never knew that watching two men together could be so alluring. What would they do, she thought, if she walked into the room right now and joined them? It definitely would be dangerous if she stayed in the flat with them if she was already having thoughts like that on her very first night here. What would happen after a full week? What about a month?
The men rotated on the bed, and now she was looking at the back of Trevor's head, bobbing down onto Lawrence's erect cock. Trevor squeezed one had around the length of the member, pumping it in unison with the rise and fall of his mouth.
Trevor's other hand continued to hold onto Lawrence's ass. She could only imagine that Trevor worked his lover's cheeks apart, and started to finger his hole, pushing into him, as he sucked him off. Too bad they were facing the wrong way, and the lighting wasn't good enough for her actually to see that happening, to see him touching Lawrence in such a personal way. What would that feel like? To give intense pleasure to another? To participate in such an act? How about to be taken like that? She'd had a few partners in her lifetime, sure, but nothing too intimate. They'd never gone down on her. At first they were too young, they'd fumble taking off their clothes, more worried about getting their cocks into her than giving her pleasure.
She grew wetter and wetter the more she watched these two. Her hand slipped into her panties, feeling her slick and swollen sex. A moan escaped her mouth, and she heard the men hush.
“What was that?” Trevor asked.
“Who cares,” Lawrence said in a fevered tone. “Don't stop. I'm so close.”
The vampire slipped his fingers through Trevor's hair, and brought him back down, thrusting his hips and glistening member against the were's lips.
“Is there something that you want, lover-boy?” Trevor teased lightly, and then his mouth was too full to talk any further.
The moans started anew and Lily's excitement grew. She wanted to see Trevor finish off Lawrence, see the ejaculation come flying through the air, and hear the culmination of the wet sucking sounds, but if she didn't leave now, she was bound to find herself crossing the threshold and crawling into bed with them.
Ever so slowly, Lily tiptoed back, stepping lightly so as not to make a sound. She forgot all about her thirst and instead focused on another form of desire. Years worth of sexual energy tightened within a ball in her body, and she yearned for release. She knew, though, that even if she tried to take matters into her own hands, or even played with a toy, it wouldn't make a difference. She'd get right to that moment of climax and then stall, unable to go any further, unable to find relief.
Like whatever curse kept her from actually consummating a relationship, which was just a fancy way for saying fucking a guy and losing her virginity, also kept her from successfully masturbating. No wonder shit was continuously blowing up wherever she went. It might just as well be pent up energy as supernatural powers.
Watching Trevor and Lawrence make love only made Lily more forlorn. She wanted to belong to someone. She wanted to be loved, and she wanted to love another. She knew that she couldn't be part of their relationship, but still that desire was there. She wanted them—both of them. Maybe in her dreams.
Chapter Five
Lily
The next morning at the breakfast table Lily played with the crumbs from the blueberry scone on her plate, doing her best to avoid looking directly at the men across from her. Every time she met the eyes of Law or Trevor, her mind flashed to an image of a muscled bare ass thrusting while Lawrence's cock slid in and out of Trevor's mouth. The mental image made eating and being serious across from them all the more difficult.
“Did you sleep well last night?” Trevor asked, with a genuine interest.
“Mmmm,” Lily intoned, shaking her head yes, while taking another bite of her honey-butter toast. She took a long drink of her Dr. Pepper—her odd choice of caffeine fix in the mornings. She fiddled with the metal tab on the top of the can.
“So what's on your agenda for the day?” Lawrence asked, perhaps trying to draw her into some sort of conversation. Her cheeks burned when he addressed her. The sly smile on his face convinced her that he knew she had been lurking outside their bedroom.
“Wait,” Lily asked. “What are you doing up? Aren't you going to burst into flames or something like that being up during daylight hours?”
“More common mythology. It's not that vampires cannot be awake during the daytime, it's more that we can't be out during the sun. It does terrible things to the complexion,” Lawrence said, holding his hands up to his incredible-looking face. “And since we can't actually go outside in the natural lighting, most of us will choose to sleep during the day.”
“Most of the time, Lawrence will return to bed for the duration of the day,” Trevor explained. “That's one of the reasons why the breakfast room doesn't actually contain any outside windows.”
Lily did a quick three-sixty in her chair, realizing what Trevor said was true. The dining area actually was situated in the middle of the living space, with the bedrooms around the outskirts of the flat.
“Because of the hours he keeps, Lawrence tends to work the nightshifts in the bookstore,” Trevor continued, “which also means that he's tired during the daytime.”
“But, we always make sure to spend a little time together at night, during my natural time,” Lawrence continued, reaching out to hold Trevor's hand, “and during the daytime we have breakfast.”
“Makes sense,” Lily said. “I've known some couples to work opposite hours. One during the day, and the other at night. They barely overlap an hour of awake time in the house together. Usually, those relationships don't tend to last very long.”
“And those who have children can be even more sad together,” Trevor said. “We never wanted to be like two roommates living together. If we're going to be together …”
“… then we're going to be together,” Lawrence finished for Trevor.
A sense of déjà vu overcame Lily, as she watched the two men across from her. All the hair on her arms stood straight up. How she longed for a close, loving relationship. Hopefully, this trek out to New Orleans, and the time within the supernatural community would provide the answers she needed to find out who she was, and how she could potentially be happy.
It was like one of those stereotypical self-help lines, but Lily needed to first know herself, and who she was, before she would be able to be happy with someone else.
“I talked a lot last night, and didn't learn a whole lot about you two,” Lily said. “Tell me how a vampire ended up with a werewolf. How did you two meet?”
“Fair enough.” Lawrence turned to his partner. “Do you want to start or shall I?”
“Well,” Trevor said, weighing his words, “Lawrence has always had a problem picking up strays.”
Chapter Six
Lawrence
For years, Lawrence had lived on the outskirts of society. He knew that he could never really get close to others, that he wouldn't be accepted. If he did get close to somebody, like he unfortunately had once long ago, then that p
erson would end up dying and he'd end up alone. Instead, he had superficial people in his life. He circulated, took lovers—female and male—and took the lifeblood that he needed to survive, but he never gave his heart away.
New Orleans—the Big Easy—was the perfect place for a person like him. For a creature of the night, the city never slept. The city had created him, and he thought it only fair to give back. He could go out at midnight, and humanity swelled on the streets. No one thought ill of his behavior. No one questioned why he slept during the day and came out only when the sun set. He lived from sundown to sunrise, but it wasn't until he came to the French Quarter that he really began to live.
Although he guarded his heart, he always possessed a conscience. He strived to help others, especially the less fortunate. Over the years, he opened his home to many a wayward soul, and helped them get back into the groove, and out on their own. Still, it was different than investing himself.
He didn't kill unless he had to. He never took more blood than he needed to survive. And his victims never felt undue violence or fear. Instead, he left them with pleasant memories, fuzzy, like a night that they had partied too much, or a dream that they'd rather forget come morning. It certainly helped that he lived in New Orleans and could prey on unsuspecting tourists rather than dine on the locals.
Several years ago, he'd heard rumors about a band of misfit vampires terrorizing the streets. Ironically, incidents had happened close to Halloween, so the police had mistakenly been looking for a gang of teenagers acting like vampires. If the authorities had only known the truth. There were a few people within human society, pretty much on the edges of humanity themselves, who suspected and maybe even knew. Certainly, the author Anne Rice must have had more than an inkling to have written her vampire chronicles and manifesto staring the illustrious Lestat. She had done more for the prophesied soul of the vampire with those books than Bram Stroker's original Dracula.
Lawrence had overheard countless conversations wondering “if.” Rice made readers believe if they opened their second-story window, a vampire could very really be lurking outside it. If only …
On the night that Lawrence saved Trevor, he'd hated the thought of his kind hurting humans. It was his city, and he'd lived in peace here for a very long time. While he couldn't control the actions of Mother Nature, he certainly could make sure that no vampires pillaged on his turf. Night after night, he'd set out in search of the blood-sucking rejects.
Although over his lifetime he'd known about other supernatural creatures, Lawrence hadn't really come into contact with many. They tended to hang with their own. Then, that night, he'd caught the outlaws. There had been four fairly young vampires. If forced, he would have estimated that none of the four had been older than five years dead. What they'd possessed in numbers and sheer dumbness, he'd more than matched in strength, skill, and maturity. As he entered the alleyway, he followed a trail of blood. Something smelled different about the spilled lifeblood on the dirty concrete. Whoever the ill-begotten vamps had been playing with wasn't human this evening, but that didn't give them any right to torture their victim.
“Hey doggy-doggy, let's see you shift,” a male voice rang out.
“You like to take it doggy-style?” another person said. “I know a pretty-boy like you must like it doggy-style.”
Laughter filled the blackness of the air, and Lawrence readied himself for action. Most of the time, he'd simply help the one being held captive, but in this circumstance, he didn't want the others to heal and then strike again. He needed to stop them, and finish them.
He walked quietly, not to arouse their suspicions. Even though he could be super-quick and stealthy with his vampire-speed, they all had ultra-sensitive hearing.
From their taunts, and the earthy scent of the victim's blood, Lawrence surmised that the captive was a shifter, a werewolf. Yet, beaten and bloody, he'd remained in his human form.
As soon as Lawrence touched one of them, they would all be alerted to his presence. And from the looks of the young male hanging limply in one of their arms, he wouldn't be much help fighting the other three. But, he had to take them before they drained the werewolf of his blood; otherwise, it would be too late.
The thump of fists hitting against flesh raised his awareness. The were cried out in pain, and Lawrence heard him draw in a ragged breath. Something inside the shifter sounded broken. It was time.
Lawrence struck out at the vampire closest to him, with his back facing Lawrence. A quick twist of the neck and Lawrence heard a telltale crack and the vamp fell at his feet.
The one doing the punching turned to face Lawrence, surprise showing on his face.
“Come to play with us, old timer?” the young one asked, not even phased by the death of his comrade. “You need to go out and find your own meal.”
He'd soon learn to respect his elders.
To Lawrence's left, another vampire moved into a squat position, as if he was gearing up to pounce. As the aggressor sprang forward, Lawrence quickly pulled a stake out from his jacket pocket and rammed it through the man's chest with a sickening thud. The young vamp looked down in shock, and opened his mouth—blood poured out over Lawrence's hand, and splashed over his sweater. He had hoped to not get dirty this evening. He should have known better than to wear a light color.
The man holding the werewolf dropped him, and his limp body fell to the alley. Lawrence paused a beat to listen, making sure that the werewolf's heart still pulsed inside his body, and then did a sidekick on the man attacking him.
* * * *
Trevor lay on the street, definitely bloody but uncertain about being broken. Gravel cut into his elbow where he had fallen more than once. The knee of his jeans was ripped through, and if he looked, he knew that the skin beneath would not have fared much better. He took stock internally though—before he got up, could he move everything? Should he even try to stand?
“Are you all right?” Another man stood above him, his hand outstretched. “Let me help you up?”
In that brief instant, Trevor could tell that this man wasn't human. Like the others who had had their fun with him, he was a vampire. Those four proved everything that he'd ever been warned about vampires to be true: they were dangerous assholes.
He'd interrupted them from assaulting a woman, who'd smartly taken off when they were distracted, and instead they turned their anger on him. Not one had even bitten him; they hadn't treated him as prey, just blood sport. The way things were going, they would have killed him, too, if this other one hadn't stepped in. Question was: what did he want?
“I'll live,” Trevor replied, “thanks to you.”
He ignored the man's outstretched hand, and instead leaned his weight on his left arm and pushed himself up, groaning at the effort. Muttering a curse under his breath, the man stepped forward and steadied Trevor under his elbow.
“Need to learn to take an honest offer of help when it's given to you,” the man said aloud.
On his feet, Trevor the earth swayed beneath his feet as he gained his balance—”loosey-goosey” as his Grandma Betty used to say. If he didn't have the supportive guide on his arm, odds were he'd end up right back where he had started, on his ass on the asphalt.
“Thanks again,” he said, hoping that it would be enough to give the guy a hint that he could move on. There wasn't any reason for him to be hanging out with Trevor in the alley. From the looks of him—dressed in black slacks, a cashmere gray sweater and black leather jacket—What? Just because Trevor had spent most of his life on the streets and fighting to live didn't mean he didn't know anything about quality. Anyway, it looked like the dude was going places. He had someplace to be, and probably people to see, unlike him.
Trevor usually ended up where the tide took him. Not literally, but in New Orleans, that “tide” more often than not turned out to be an alcoholic swell or a wild crowd pouring down the streets of humanity. Look at him. He'd just gotten his ass kicked to the curb and back, and suddenly h
e was becoming Mr. Philosophical.
He shook his head, and immediately regretted the movement. The streetlights at the end of the alley swayed and dimmed, and he felt like he was about to lose his last meal, which on his low-calorie (meaning low-budget) diet wouldn't be a good thing.
Automatically, he threw his arm out, reaching for the steadiness of the other to stop his fall.
“Whoa, buddy,” the guy said, getting a bit closer and grabbing him around the waist. The other man's innate strength, like stone, rock hard, sturdy and dependable penetrated through Trevor's dizziness.
“Maybe getting up so quickly wasn't the best idea,” Trevor admitted.
The man let out a sigh, as if resigned to something, and then spoke. “Why don't you come home with me,” he said, “and I'll help get you cleaned up. You can rest, maybe get something to drink and eat.”
Trevor noticed that nowhere in that offer was a trip to the hospital. Not that he wanted to go. With his questionable heritage, there was no way he wanted them to examine him, take a little blood. Nope. He'd always been a fast healer; hopefully, the same would be true this time.
Sirens cut through the silence of the night, and from the sound of it, they were coming their way. Trevor instantly thought of the woman he had saved. Odds were that once she reached safety, she'd called the police to check out the scene of the crime, and maybe—he thought grimly—send help to the man who had stopped her attackers. Ironic that all he had meant to do was help someone else, and here he was the one who ended up needing help. Little did she know that there would be no one left to arrest, and the last thing he wanted to explain was four dead, and, as he glanced around the alley, now gone bodies. Where did they go?
“Looks like the decision has been made for us,” the man said, picking up on Trevor's body language. “Let's get out of here.”
It wasn't every night that he went home with a man he'd just met, especially one whose name he didn't even know.