Blood Claim

by Laura Baumbach, Angela Fiddler, Jet Mykles

  "And I don't believe you. After you."

  "You're not a trusting soul, are you?” Corbin asked, but fished out the keychain from his too-tight jeans.

  "No,” Luke said. “Leave them when you go."

  Corbin tsked, but unlocked the door, punched in the master code on the alarm, and led the way into the living room.

  Trying very hard to look like he wasn't, Corbin took a look around. “You haven't changed much."

  Luke glanced around the room himself. “I bricked in the skylight,” he said, pointing up. Other than that, the only thing that had changed was which night-blooming flowers he had in the garden. The spider plants had runners across the hardwood floor that he swept around rather than disturbing, and the big leather couches were overstuffed and comfortable. The rug under the coffee table was new, now that he thought about it, but just new to the house. He loved the way it had been passed on from family member to family member, and while he didn't understand the language of the conversations that had been held over it, they had been mostly held with love. The rug warmed the entire room for it.

  "Still rattling around here all alone with just your ghost?"

  Mrs. Reinhart, who had owned the house before Luke, was still around. She'd died here, a month or so before Luke had bought the place, and he still saw her sometimes. She spent time in his garden, working with flowers and herbs that had long since shriveled and died, and when he was really tired he saw her in the kitchen, puttering around in the dead of night when the elderly had trouble sleeping, fixing herself a pot of tea or a piece of toast. She saw him; he knew she did, but she barely acknowledged him with a nod before going back to her business at hand.

  "She's still here."

  "And are you still pining for your master?"

  "Corbin, don't."

  Corbin stepped on the rug, kicking off his shoes. His socks came next, and only barefoot did a hint of softness enter his face. “So, you want to fuck or not?"

  Luke shook his head. “Can you at least pretend you give a rat's ass? Please, Corbin. For me."

  For a moment, Corbin flushed. “My bad. If you want to pretend you don't think I'm a bastard and I don't remember that you think I'm really nothing to you, we can,” he said. “I like the couch. Can we fuck here, please?"

  It was good enough, all things considered. Luke knew he shouldn't have said anything. Corbin wasn't his; he didn't have to be the one trying to change everything about him. It wasn't the first time they'd gotten back together for sex—hell, it wasn't the first time this month—but it was the first time they'd gotten to the taking-off-clothes part without at least one screaming match.

  Corbin pulled off his sweater. He'd lost weight since he was human; the last of his fast food diet had sweated out of him. He'd always been thin, despite everything he ate, but he was hard now, in all senses of the word. His stomach was flat—no six-pack apparent—but Luke had never found that particularly attractive. And his pectorals had finally come, his chest no longer caved in. He hadn't taken off his gloves. He wouldn't, not unless Luke asked him to. He stood, wearing only leather and jeans, waiting for Luke to give him a sign, but Luke just wanted another minute to soak in the view.

  "You are beautiful,” he said.

  "Thank you,” Corbin said. He swallowed, needlessly. “Do you want me to continue?"

  "If you want to."

  Corbin frowned, but only for a second. This was the point where he liked Luke to just take over, make all the decisions or just worship his cock, but Luke just wasn't interested in the old roles. Corbin undid his jeans, sliding them off quickly as though Luke couldn't or wouldn't see his lack of underwear, and then he was completely naked save for the gloves. “There. You happy?” The voice was harder than Corbin probably intended, but he was flushed all over, and his cock was already semi-hard. Like it or not—and Luke knew Corbin didn't like it at all—there was a strong streak in him that enjoyed being watched, regardless of how open that left him.

  "I'm happy,” Luke told him. “You can relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

  Another disgusted sound, but Corbin moved his hands to his thighs, palms out, and stroked the inside of his thighs with his gloves. Luke recognized the sound. It was Corbin's that will cost you extra noise, but at least he didn't say it. Luke knew Corbin loved him, but it was in his own way and at his own pace, and that was something that they could never agree on.

  "Don't go back, then. Stay with me now,” Corbin said. “Please."

  "I'm here. Do you want to take off your gloves?"

  Corbin looked down to his fingers. “Not particularly."

  "You don't have to if you don't want to."

  Corbin only nodded. His hair was short—something new for him since they'd broken up—but still he swept imaginary hair off his neck, offering his throat to Luke. “I drank more for you,” he said. “I always drink more for you. Would you drink from me?"

  That was something Luke could do. He went to Corbin and kissed the tight line of muscle over his collarbone. “Do you want me to bite here?” he asked and kissed the base of his neck where the vein surfaced.

  Corbin only nodded. Luke bit down into the warm skin and felt the first bit of blood in his mouth. He shouldn't have gone so long between his feedings. The hunger forced the feeding into something more primal, and he couldn't stop himself from growling. Corbin put his head down, hands open and behind his back, and didn't try to escape. Cory let him feed past the point where Luke knew he should stop. But the blood was sweet and hot, and he was hungry and cold. When he finally broke away, Corbin had to brace himself on the couch just under his ass.

  Luke pulled off his clothes, letting them stay where they landed, and waited while Corbin recovered enough to drop down to his knees. He crawled to where his jeans were, in front of the couch, and pulled out a thin tube. He used the couch to support his weight on his elbow so that he could smear some of the lube onto his fingers.

  Luke stroked the small of Corbin's back gently. Corbin only flinched after he pushed the second finger inside himself, and even then only for a second. “We don't have to do this,” Luke said. “I can suck you, if you want."

  "No,” Corbin said, voice short. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and holding it inside him seemed to help. Luke didn't know why, and he supposed if he did, there wouldn't be the wall there was between them.

  "Okay,” Corbin said, still short. He let the rest of the breath out, then took another. “I mean, I'm ready. If you are, Luke."

  If Luke had used a pair of pliers to pull the words out, they wouldn't have arrived any more mangled or broken. Corbin was waiting for him on his hands and knees, head inches away from the cushions, but it was wrong. Luke knew Corbin would hate it. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the couch and pulled Corbin up to him. Corbin's face relaxed. “Thanks,” he said.

  "How long has it been this bad?” Luke asked.

  "I'm not looking for you to be my shrink right now,” Corbin said and climbed up onto the couch. He turned around, not facing Luke. If Luke had said something, he knew Corbin would have turned around, but in that moment, he honestly didn't want to see how broken Corbin still was. “Accept this for what it is,” Corbin said, and it was so close to what Luke had just been thinking, a stab of guilt caught him.

  "Just a snack before a booty call,” Luke said, knowing he should just push Corbin away. It should have been easy, with Corbin not even facing him, but his shoulders were bowed, and Luke just couldn't do it. Corbin wouldn't argue. Luke could see him getting dressed, despite how close the sunrise was, and walking out into the growing light. Luke took Corbin's hips, unable to ask him to stay, but wanting him to know that Luke wanted him to stay.

  "You got it,” Corbin said, but if it was to what Luke said or what he didn't say, Luke would never know. Corbin sank down over Luke's cock. For a moment there was too much resistance. It hurt, but just for a second before Corbin opened up for him. “Let me. Please, Luke."

  That didn't come out as
hard. Luke removed his hands, locking them behind his head. Corbin braced himself on Luke's knee, with upper body strength that Luke could only envy. Their bodies didn't forget their rhythm. Corbin started slow, knowing Luke preferred it that way. Luke closed his eyes, giving in to the growing tension.

  "Admit it. You missed me,” Corbin said. He came to rest in Luke's lap. Luke wanted to grab his shoulders, pulling him even further down, but he didn't.

  There was no reason to answer, so Luke didn't. “You can hold my hips,” Corbin said. “Just don't—"

  Just don't try to control him, Luke thought. He didn't have to; Luke had learned his lesson. Only once Luke's hand was in place did Corbin really start to move. He fucked himself, using Luke more as a tool rather than as a partner, and with his head bowed Luke had nothing to look at but Corbin's well-muscled back. Luke could have stood up and forced him over the couch, but wouldn't. It had taken them over a year before they'd actually achieved penetration with anything bigger than a finger. Luke remembered teasing Corbin that it must have meant that he'd been a pretty lousy hustler, but Cory, who had been licking his own finger, had stopped for just a second. “Or a very good one,” he'd said, simply, and gone back to sucking his finger.

  "Slap me,” Corbin said, voice distant. “Both hands. Please, Luke."

  Luke rubbed Corbin's skin. It was easier with Corbin not to be able to see his face. Luke slapped him, flat hand open. The hand print pinked instantly and its heat radiated. Corbin thrust back, groaning in pain, but he was harder for the blow. “Again,” he moaned.

  Luke slapped him again, catching him only with his fingertips. It was a stinging blow, harder than Luke intended, but it only pulled another moan from Corbin. “Don't stop,” he said, throwing his head back. “Just don't stop. Please."

  "I won't,” Luke promised. And he wouldn't. Corbin's cheeks turned a deep ruby red. He was close. His shoulders shuddered, and the moans he made were softer, now full of need. Luke grabbed onto his hips, something he would never be allowed to do unless Corbin was completely in his headspace.

  Corbin reached behind him, and the leather on his fingers was as warm as his skin. He sought out Luke's hands, entwining their fingers. He leaned back into Luke's chest. The tension in his body was electric, and he stopped fucking himself on Luke's cock to better ... writhe—if that was the word for it—against Luke's body. He let go, trying to get Luke to dig his nails into the bare skin of Corbin's thighs, to mark him, but Luke kept his fingers straight.

  "You bastard.” Corbin was already coming. His entire body shuddered, and he tightened his muscles on Luke. For a moment it was too much, but Luke grabbed Corbin's hips and pulled him all the way down. Luke pushed him away, then pulled himself back, and that was enough. He came too, biting down into Corbin's shoulder, and Corbin only shuddered again. The blood tasted of Corbin's need. Luke's orgasm crested too quickly, overwhelming for just the split second, and when it receded, it left him empty and broken. Corbin remained still for another minute, his entire body just waiting for Luke to push him off. But instead, Luke just kissed the spot he'd bitten, cleaning it off until the wound closed itself.

  Afterward they went downstairs. If Luke had offered the invitation, it would have probably sparked an argument, so he didn't ask. It was full daylight outside, and they both felt it in their bones. Luke's body always felt heavier during the day. It was more difficult for him to move or even articulate coherent sentences. Corbin didn't feel it as strongly, but they still went silently and stiffly down to the store room. Luke had converted it to his master bedroom, but he still thought of it as a store room. The concrete on the floor had been made of churned and hardened earth, and it was more welcoming to him during the day than the finest carpet could have been. It kept the room cool and protected them while the sun raged on above them.

  They fell into their own sides of the bed and didn't touch as they fell asleep. Luke woke up once during the day while the sun was hot enough to reach even the basement. The radiation flooded his body, making him feel like he was in the throes of a hangover.

  Corbin's naked arm was over the covers. He'd taken off his glove, something that Luke had never seen him do before, and his left hand was exposed. Corbin—Cory, his brain provided because Luke had always hated the name Cory had chosen—didn't stir, not even when Luke ran his hand down Cory's arm. It was absolutely dark in the room; Luke's eyes didn't even have a speck of light to see with, but he felt where Cory's slightly chilly skin was, and the burn on Cory's hand ached for both of them.

  The rivets from the iron were colder white circles in the already cool scar tissue. Cory had done it to himself back when he was a human teenager. There had been no great tragedy in Cory's life, just a con artist father who cared if he was there or not only as long as he was useful. As soon as Cory was old enough, the old man would drag him along on his short cons. Most of his marks didn't believe such a caring father could be up to no good, and he'd taken full advantage of that. Poor Cory learned quickly that his father loved him only on the little trips that they took, and his disgust at the stupidity of people was born. The jobs hadn't lasted, of course, and eventually his father was arrested and sent to jail. Cory had been sent to live with his aunt. The woman had taken the court's maintenance money and then didn't maintain anything. Cory spent the next few years in and out of juvie. But he conned his social worker the same way his father conned his marks, and the stays were never too long.

  Cory had just turned eighteen and the money stopped coming that his aunt had put him on a bus with a one-way ticket. He'd come to Calgary with a freshly ruined hand, and the normal jostling of the bus had just about killed him after some older men had rolled him in the washroom for his pain meds. That much Luke knew.

  He extrapolated the rest. Cory didn't talk about it, but there were nights when he would listen to Luke speak and would provide one-word answers that built the story up in bits and pieces. It had to have been a vampire. Cory hadn't shown any surprise when Luke came out to him, as it were. The old scars on his neck were a dead giveaway, regardless.

  The vampire, whoever it had been, had wanted Cory. Luke had only been compelled once, and he remembered how horrified he had been to have absolutely no control. For a teenager like Cory, it would have been hell.

  And the hold had been a strong one. It must have been someone quite powerful. Cory hadn't just touched the iron. Oh, no. He'd held it to his flesh, and even as he felt the burn spreading into his hand, the need to obey had still been there. He'd passed out, and only then had the spell been broken.

  It had wounded him in more ways than physically. His aunt had taken him to the hospital, where they not only treated the wound itself; they had him committed for an obvious self-inflicted injury. Cory had never forgiven for her signing the papers that had locked him up however temporarily when that thing had hunted him. When they released him, she had put him on a bus with an extra roll of bandages, a bottle of rattling pills that hadn't made it past the first stop off the bus, and a battered, duct-taped suitcase which hadn't lasted past the second.

  Luke had never seen a wound that had come over on a vampire after they woke up in their new life, but this mark had.

  But they'd been making it work. Cory still accused him of wanting his master to return, but the longer they were together, the less true that was. And even when they did fight, the make-up sex blew Luke's mind and cock. But then they'd come out of a pub in September. The autumn heatwave had finally broken, making Luke wish he'd brought his jacket in with him. He was about to jokingly offer to bring the car around for Cory, who always took the chill worse than he did, but Cory, for an instant, didn't appear to hear him. He'd turned away, facing north, and for a second, Luke saw real fear in Cory's face.

  Then the argument started. It led to a fight, then almost a full brawl, and as much as Luke wanted to disengage, there was no way to avoid the expert way Cory mashed each and every one of his buttons.

  "I wish you had gone with anyone besides me
,” he told Cory, who only pulled his hand back under the covers and turned his back to Luke.

  The message was loud and clear. Luke sighed and went back to sleep himself.

  He woke up alone in bed, but Cory was nearby. Luke dressed in the dark and left the room. The tantalizing smell of coffee filled the first floor; he'd forgotten Cory was such an early riser. He remembered in time that Cory made it stronger than he liked, yet another thing they argued about, but this time he just added tap water before taking his mug outside with him.

  Cory was by the pond, watching the fish. They weren't koi; Luke found those just a little pretentious. They were just goldfish, grown huge in the freedom Luke had allowed them.

  "Where's Joe?” Cory asked, instead of a hello. He was dressed in his jeans and a flannel shirt of Luke's. It had been packed away with the rest of Luke's winter-weight clothes, so Cory must have gone hunting for it.

  "He went to the fish pond in the sky, Cory,” Luke said. “Sorry."

  Cory had picked out Joe and Billy himself years ago. Billy was still in the pond. He was the largest, most cantankerous of all nine, and as Luke spoke, Billy himself surfaced with a flash of orange and then swam out of sight, to even their inhuman eyes.

  "Oh.” Cory looked away. There weren't a lot of flowers that were night blooming and could survive the climate so far north, but Luke had systematically hunted them down and brought them in. “For fuck sake, Luke,” Cory said and shook his head. “What the hell are you doing here?"

  "What do you mean?” Luke felt like Cory had just rolled up a newspaper and rapped him on the nose with it.

  "What do I mean?” Cory asked and motioned all around him, at the flowers, the garden swing, the patio table. “You're trying to re-create life here. You're not ... this isn't ... This isn't why we are here! You're hiding out."

  Luke clicked the mental stopwatch in his head. And they were off. “This is what I am,” he said between clenched teeth. “Forgive me if I'm not hiding out in an abandoned garage in an alley somewhere."