by Kallysten
* * * *
It had become a tradition, but even after more than a year Blake still wasn’t used to what it required.
“I feel like I’m going to suffocate,” he complained, pulling at his tie to loosen it a little.
Marc raised a questioning eyebrow at him, although he didn’t actually voice the question, for which Blake was grateful.
“Not like that,” he said, knowing he didn’t need to explain he wasn’t talking about an attack of claustrophobia. He hadn’t had one of those in months. “I just…” With a grunt, he tugged the tie completely off. “Who invented these damn things? I’d like to wring his neck, see how he likes it.”
Marc rolled his eyes, took the tie from Blake’s hand, and threw it around his neck again.
“Don’t worry, whoever it was is long dead.” He tied the knot again, although this time it was loose enough that Blake didn’t feel like he was being strangled. “And you know it’ll be worth it when she tells you how handsome you are. Now leave it alone, Childe. Or I’ll tie your hands next.”
Blake’s cock twitched, and a smile blossomed on his face. “Is that supposed to be a threat?” he asked, his hand already rising to the tie.
Marc covered Blake’s hand with his own. His eyes blazed. “Behave,” he demanded in a heated voice that spoke more of rumpled sheets than reprobation. “Kate’s waiting for us. Let’s go.”
Blake patted his hair, checking that it was in place. At the same time, he scoffed. “Waiting for us? When has she ever been ready before we were?”
But he was only teasing. Kate never took long to get ready, and she was never anything less than perfect.
These nights were the only ones when they asked for two rooms. They would all end up in this one, the biggest of the two, but Kate wanted her own space to get ready for them.
With a last look at each other and twin approving nods, Blake and Marc left the room together. They both wore suits, charcoal gray for Marc and a blue so dark it seemed black for Blake, each with a matching tie. Blake had resisted wearing such formal clothes the first time. He had never worn a suit before that. But once Kate had pointed out that she was wearing a dress and heels for him, he hadn’t been able to refuse her anything. Not even the tie.
Kate’s room was just down the hallway. She opened the door as soon as Marc knocked and smiled at the two of them. She was simply resplendent.
“Will one of you do the clasp please?” she asked, holding out a necklace to them.
Blake was faster than Marc—or maybe Marc simply let him have this small privilege. Blake took the necklace and moved behind her while she faced Marc.
“You look lovely,” Marc said in a low, almost purring voice.
Blake swept her long hair to the side to slide the necklace around her throat, and he could feel the heat of her blush radiating down her neck. He couldn’t resist laying a kiss at the nape of her neck after he had worked the clasp shut.
“Of course she does,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her warm skin. “She always looks lovely.”
“That doesn’t mean we should stop telling her.”
“Point taken.” Blake offered his arm to Kate, and she rested her hand on it. “Shall we go, sweetheart?”
The smile that had bloomed on her lips disappeared, replaced by a pout. She dropped his arm and took Marc’s instead.
“Don’t call me that,” she admonished, but she was already grinning again.
* * * *
Blake and Kate were beautiful together: art in motion, with each thrust like a paintbrush stroke, each slide of flesh on flesh like a new line appearing on a canvas. Marc could have watched them all night. Sometimes, he wanted to do just that, and enjoy the sight of them almost as much as he would have enjoyed joining them.
Almost, but not quite.
They never let him stand to the side, however, or at least not for very long. They always ended up reaching out to him and saying—
“Aren’t you going to join us?” Kate licked her lips as she finished. Her eyes were as dark as a moonless sky, flickers of light shining through like stars. She never stopped moving on top of Blake, her body rising and pushing down onto his cock with a fluid sensuality.
“He’s an old man,” Blake interjected, grinning up at her but throwing a quick glance in Marc’s direction. “Maybe he’s too tired to join us.”
His right hand was gripping Kate’s hip, guiding each of her movements, while the left ran over her sweat-shiny skin, caressing her in long, languorous strokes.
“I’ll show you old,” Marc said, feigning outrage as he joined them onto the bed.
Kate leaned forward when he ran a hand along her spine, her chest pressed to Blake’s as she kissed him fiercely. Marc had to shake himself away from that lovely sight and remind himself they were waiting for him to join them. The lubricant was waiting on the bedside shelf, and he made liberal use of it on both himself and Kate. When he lined up his cock to her puckered ring, her whole body shuddered and she made a tiny sound, muffled against Blake’s lips. With tiny jerks of his hips, Marc pressed inside her. Her heat was searing; her tightness, overwhelming. He could feel Blake’s cock as he pushed deeper inside her, the thinnest wall of flesh separating them, yet emphasizing every contact.
With a gasp, Kate pulled her mouth off Blake and pushed herself up, sitting up again and drawing Marc’s cock in those final couple of inches.
“Always…” She sighed. “Perfect.”
Marc couldn’t have agreed more. He clutched her hips with both hands, entwining his fingers with Blake’s, and placed a soft kiss at the back of her neck before he started to rock inside her. Each of his thrusts lifted her up and away from Blake, while with each pull back she sank back onto his cock. They found their rhythm easily; it had become as familiar to them as the rhythm of Kate’s heartbeat. Sometimes, Marc even had trouble remembering what things had been like before she had entered his and Blake’s lives.
As they climbed together toward pleasure, words rose to the surface of Marc’s mind, three little words he had never pronounced since becoming a vampire. He could have offered them to both Kate and Blake, but as she turned her head toward Marc to ask for a kiss and Blake squeezed his fingers to encourage him, Marc knew he didn’t have to say it. They knew he loved them, like he knew they loved him.
Still, just this time, maybe he would try to say it.
The end
Excerpt from
Fangs & Lullabies
Sunrise was only a couple of hours away when Andrew pulled up the driveway and parked just beyond the house’s front steps. After shutting off the engine, he remained seated for a little while, eyes closed and hands clenched on the wheel. It had been a long night. He wished he were in bed, rather than having to move again when every inch of his body ached, bruises already forming under his clothes.
Heaving a sigh, Andrew finally got out of the car. With a mildly disgusted look, he shut his door. He would need to have the interior detailed—again. Maybe he ought to invest in another car, a cheaper one, a car he could drive on those nights when the police called and demanded assistance in killing yet one more of those strange demons that seemed to pop out of nowhere. A beater he wouldn’t mind seeing stained by that dark, acrid-smelling blood that he always seemed to splatter all over himself when he and Craig killed demons.
Demons were now regularly appearing all over the planet, and everywhere military and police forces found that firearms were useless against them, as were all technologically advanced weapons. Grenades had little effects. Bombs worked, but demons were attracted to populated areas, and by the time they were spotted, a bomb strike was impractical, as were most heavy-equipment attacks. Magic users had been trying to find a solution as well, but most spells had little effect on demons, and when perchance one of them did, demons seemed to develop some kind of immunity to it faster than the spell could be taught to other mages. The only weapons that continued to be effective were blades of all sorts, and since the
demons carried those, too, close-range contact was the norm. Everywhere, fighters were learning to carry swords and axes, but the police in town still relied heavily on Andrew’s agency.
Andrew entered the house through the back door, so he wouldn’t track blood and mud through the lobby. Abandoning his shoes by the door, he examined the sword he carried. He had wiped the blood off right after killing the demon, but the blade could use a fine scrubbing—and some sharpening, too. The metal armor the demons wore dulled the best weapons much too fast. It could wait until morning, though. And in any case, Craig was better at this kind of thing than Andrew was. Besides, what was the point of being the boss if Andrew couldn’t delegate?
Having convinced himself that the sword could wait, Andrew left it in the weapons room and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He started to reach for the banister, but changed his mind when he realized how dirty his hands were, covered in blood and mud like the rest of him.
As always, Andrew turned left first when he reached the top of the staircase, quiet steps down the hallway so he could check on Jacob. The door wasn’t completely closed, and Andrew pushed it open with his elbow. He didn’t dare go in, not when he reeked of blood and Jacob was so sensitive to that smell, but peeking in was all right.
Jacob lay on his side, tiny fist curled under his chin, the top of his teddy bear’s head peeking from under the sheet. Andrew’s fingers twitched, itching to pull that sheet a little higher, but his hands were dirty. After he washed up, maybe he’d come back and tuck Jacob in.
Andrew used his elbow to pull the door almost completely closed and started down the hallway. The door to the master suite wasn’t closed either, and while Nicholas was pretending to read, Andrew knew he had been waiting for him. As soon as Andrew entered the sitting room, Nicholas looked up from his book and his eyebrows shot to the ceiling.
“It’s not my blood,” Andrew said with a faint smile, trying to sound reassuring.
Nicholas sniffed twice. “Yes, it is.” He jumped up from the sofa and came closer. His eyes darted all over Andrew, clearly looking for wounds.
Andrew grimaced as he stretched to pull his jacket off, and he shook his head. Nicholas would have argued about anything just for a chance to get the last word. “No, it’s not. You think I wouldn’t know if I was hurt?”
The words rang hollow, however, maybe because Andrew did hurt, every muscle in his body protesting with each movement he made.
Nicholas sniffed again as he started pulling Andrew’s clothes off more roughly than was necessary. Andrew half-heartedly started batting his hands away, but he was too tired to really try to stop Nicholas from undressing him, or from leading him to the bathroom. Andrew needed a shower after all, and if Nicholas wanted to help, Andrew had no issue with that.
After pulling the shower curtain closed and turning on the water, Nicholas stripped, and for once there was no teasing to his movements, no furtive looks to check that Andrew was enjoying the view—which Andrew was, leaning back against the sink. Nicholas undressing wasn’t the prelude it usually was, and instead it seemed to be no more than a necessary step before he could climb into the tub. He checked the water temperature with one hand while he held out the other toward Andrew.
Andrew swallowed back his automatic protest that he didn’t need help to climb in the tub, or to get under the pleasantly warm water, or to clean himself. But Nicholas’ hands on him were gentle, stroking as much as they cleaned, and Andrew simply closed his eyes and gave himself over.
“Aha.” Nicholas’ exclamation carried the echoes of triumph. He pressed a finger to Andrew’s bicep, caressing with no more pressure than a feather. “There. You’re bleeding.”
Andrew hadn’t felt it until now, the pain diluted in the aches of a long, hard fight, but now that Nicholas was pointing it out, Andrew could separate that slight twinge from the rest.
“Okay,” Andrew sighed without bothering to open his eyes. “You were right. Happy?”
“No,” Nicholas muttered, and leaned in to rest his mouth against the cut. He traced it with the tip of his tongue, the touch as intimate as it was delicate. There couldn’t possibly be more blood seeping from the cut, not when it had to be closing already, but Nicholas licked and sucked for a moment, and Andrew’s cock grew thicker and heavier with each passing second.
When Nicholas’ lips finally rose from Andrew’s skin, Nicholas took a half-step back and Andrew just had time to open his eyes to watch him lithely drop to his knees. Before Nicholas even touched him, Andrew groaned simply from the sight. A few weeks earlier, Nicholas had dyed his hair—again—and it was now a light honey color, very close to what it had been when Nicholas had first become Andrew’s Childe. Andrew hadn’t said anything, because he was half-convinced that a word of praise would be the fastest way to ensure Nicholas would dye his hair again, this time in an outrageous color. But Andrew liked this. He liked looking at Nicholas and staring back across decades at what they had once been.
Nicholas leaned forward, resting his hands on Andrew’s thighs, and laid his mouth at the base of Andrew’s cock, just above his balls. His tongue darted down, pressing against the middle of Andrew’s sac, the pressure both exquisite and insufficient. Andrew bit down on his bottom lip and blinked, shaking away the water drops that clung to his eyelashes so that he wouldn’t miss a thing when Nicholas moved his mouth.
Nicholas did so just a second later, sliding up in a sinuous path to the tip of Andrew’s dick. The water cascading over them had washed away a bead of precome, but Nicholas’ tongue caressed Andrew’s slit, the point digging in to find a bit of flavor.
Andrew groaned, the sound swallowed by the rush of water. “Come on,” he said breathily, one hand raking through Nicholas’ hair to cup the back of his head. “No teasing. Just… Ah yes…” Andrew sighed as Nicholas’ mouth engulfed him. “Just like that, my boy.”
Nicholas’ blowjobs were like his moods, like his hair: always changing. The last time he had taken Andrew’s cock in his mouth, just a couple of days earlier, it had been a lazy affair, full of tiny licks and slow breaths blown along wet trails that had covered Andrew’s balls and cock.
This time was different. This time, Nicholas took Andrew in to the root almost at once, then swallowed hard. And again. Nicholas kept working his mouth and throat around Andrew’s cock, pushing him toward his release without finesse or mercy—not that Andrew wanted either of those things.
Andrew struggled to keep his eyes open, but his mind didn’t register anything more than touch: the hot water cascading over him, Nicholas’ hands on his thighs, Nicholas’ mouth on his cock, Nicholas’ hair under his fingertips. The dull pain that had pulsed through him slowly faded away, replaced by need, building like pressure in his balls.
“Touch yourself,” Andrew grunted when his knees started buckling. He locked them and rested his free hand against the wall for support. “Come on, Nick. Touch that pretty cock of yours for me.”
Nicholas’ right hand left Andrew’s leg, and while Andrew couldn’t see it slide down, he felt Nicholas’ movements reverberating through both their bodies. Nicholas continued to suck as hard as he jerked himself off, and after only moments it became too much. Andrew’s fingers tightened on Nicholas’ hair, holding him in place as Andrew’s hips jerked forward, pleasure shooting through him and into Nicholas’ mouth. Andrew moaned aloud, then hissed when Nicholas sucked harder still, pulling out every last bit of come from him.
When the sensation became too intense on his too sensitive flesh, Andrew stumbled just one step backward and leaned back against the wall. Nicholas was still kneeling, his hand working his cock furiously. He looked up through golden eyes, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes, his mouth open and a drop of come staining the corner of his lips. His tongue flicked out to lick it up, and Andrew moaned again at what a beautiful image his Childe made. The next second, Nicholas came, long strands of come spurting over his fist as he pulled on his cock a few more times. Andrew’s dick t
witched painfully at the sight, eternally—if this time hopelessly—needy.
Andrew offered his hand to Nicholas and drew him up, pulling him close. Their chests heaved together for a moment, then stilled together again. Nicholas turned off the water and drew the curtain open, stepping out first and offering his hand to help Andrew climb out.
By morning, most of Andrew’s bruises would be gone, and moving wouldn’t hurt so much anymore. At that moment, however, Andrew was glad for Nicholas’ hands rubbing him down with a nice, fluffy towel, and also glad when Nicholas, without wisecracks or snarky comments, slipped an arm around Andrew’s waist and helped him into bed.
“Hungry?” Nicholas asked as he sat next to Andrew.
Eyes already closing, Andrew rumbled. “A bit. Can you get me…” Before he could finish, soft skin was brushing his mouth.
Andrew opened an eye to find Nicholas’ wrist in front of him. In the light falling on them from the bathroom, Nicholas’ skin was as pale as ivory. Andrew licked his lips and closed his hand gently over Nicholas’ wrist. Pressing his mouth there for the ghost of a kiss, Andrew then pulled until Nicholas was all but draped over him.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Nicholas said, but the protest was feeble.
Andrew raised his head to nuzzle Nicholas’ neck, breathing in deep. So soon after their shared shower, Andrew could mostly smell soap, but beneath it, always present, was the core of Nicholas’ scent, what he smelled like when no fear, no amusement, no lust tinged that scent. Andrew had always loved Nicholas’ smell. Andrew had also always loved to sink his fangs into Nicholas’ skin and the taste of his blood—Andrew regretted that he had only tasted it hot once, the night he had sired Nicholas—and the quiet sounds Nicholas made when he was bitten and the way Nicholas’ body squirmed against Andrew’s, as though trying to get just a little closer to him.