by Aimer Boyz
“What? Tie people up?”
“No, I mean this, talking, laughing.” Symon curled into Michael, wrapped himself around the man. “This.”
“No snuggling for the undead?”
Symon snorted, unwound himself from Michael, and sat beside him. “What you and I have been doing this past week? We don’t do this. Vampires, I mean. The talking, the laughing, the fucking, we don’t do any of it. Blood is our one true lust. Sex is an added attraction, not the main event.”
“Added attraction? No way. That’s total bullshit. We’ve been fucking like porn stars and you only fed on me once.”
“I know. I know and I can’t figure out why.”
Michael tugged at his bonds. “Hands.”
“Shit. Sorry.” Symon scrambled over the duvet, untied the sashes. “You okay? Any numbness, tingling?” he asked, checking Michael’s wrists for marks.
“I’m good.” Michael shoved a pillow behind his back and sat up against the headboard. “Am I getting this right? You’re freaking out because you’re fucking and not feeding?”
“Yes. It’s like I’m fucking instead of feeding and that’s not normal, not for us. Blood always, always comes first.” Symon flopped onto his back, stared at the ceiling. “If I knew where my sire was, I’d lash him to a flagpole. Sip a glass of the sweetest AB negative and watch the sun incinerate him. Bastard.”
A hand curled around his shoulder, pulled Symon’s eyes off the ceiling, and onto the man at his side. Michael’s touch was meant to be comforting, and it was. The concern on his face, even more so.
“What happened?” Michael asked.
Symon had never told anyone about his sire, never wanted to, until now. “With humans, there’s a difference between sperm donor and father,” he said, pausing for Michael’s nod. “Yeah, well, I got the sperm donor. He turned me and fucked off. I woke to the night and had no fucking clue. I had to learn everything by trial and error. I hurt myself, I hurt people I cared about because I didn’t know shit.”
“What a douche. You pick the flagpole; I’ll bring the ropes.”
Symon had to smile at Michael going all fierce on his behalf. “Ancient history, I don’t even know if he still walks the night.” He pushed himself up, sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Michael. “I’ve been around a long time, I don’t need anyone to tuck me in bed and read me a story, but a resource would be nice. It’s not like I can google why my fangs are gathering dust and my dick is hyperactive.”
“Maybe I’m just that hot or…” Michael grinned.
“Must be the dimple,” they said, an impromptu duet.
“I don’t know what this is with you,” Symon said, tipping his head back against the headboard, thinking out loud. “But it’s not a blood bond.”
“Blood bond?”
“It’s a connection, or contamination, depends who you ask. Happens sometimes between vampires and humans. If a blood bond forms, a vampire can only drink from one specific human, but I had no problem scarfing down dinner tonight at The Angel so, not a blood bond.”
“You fed on someone tonight?”
“Yeah, before I went to find you at Starbucks.”
“Too hungry to wait until I got off work, huh?”
“No. I wasn’t hungry and that’s the problem. Six nights, Michael. Six nights. I can’t survive on jizz alone, even yours. I’m ancient,” Symon said, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. “I can go without blood if I have to, but the need is always there. I’ve never gone this long without the hunger whispering to me. I look at you and I think sex, not blood and that’s…” He came up empty, couldn’t think of a word strong enough to convey how fucking wrong this was. “It’s fangs first, not the other way around.”
“No problem then, because we’re not doing it the other way around.”
Symon stared at Michael, but whatever he was trying to say, it wasn’t written on his face. “What does that mean?”
Michael shrugged. “If we were doing it the other way around, we’d fuck and then you’d feed on me. But you don’t. We just fuck.”
“Christ’s fingernails, it sounds even worse when you say it like that. Vampires don’t just fuck.” Symon dropped his head on his knees. “I’m so screwed.”
“Hey, you okay?” Michael asked, wrapping a hand around Symon’s ankle.
“At the Gala, when my cock wanted out instead of my fangs, I thought it was because I was still high on your haemoglobin. Some drinks are stronger than others,” Symon said, with a shrug. “But last night, when you walked in the door and I jumped your bones instead of your jugular? I should have known then. And tonight, I came looking for you, Michael. For you, not your blood. That is all kinds of fucked up.”
“We like each other, is that so bad?”
Yes, it was bad. It was worse than bad, it was fucking dangerous, for Michael.
Symon talked a good game about prey being beneath him, but the truth was he didn’t get involved with humans because he had sworn that what happened with Aleyn would never happen again. He fed and he left. He didn’t let himself get attached because emotion fucked with his control and Symon wouldn’t survive another lover dying in his arms. He’d forged walls between himself and his prey, walls that had stood inviolate for centuries. Until Michael, and his fucking dimple, had walked right through them.
“It’s bad if I starve to death because I’m too busy sucking your dick.”
Michael laughed, his dimple disappearing as his smile got softer and his eyes got darker. “Not going to happen. Symon Bradewey,” he said, holding out a hand to Symon. “Will you please feed on me, while you fuck me?”
Symon slid his hand into Michael’s. “I already chewed on someone tonight, I don’t need to bleed you.”
“Yeah, but do you want to?”
“Yes, Michael Santos, I do.”
Symon wasn’t a helpless fledgling anymore; he could do this. He could keep Michael safe. Michael’s hand in his, Symon let his human façade go. He watched Michael watch the transition from man to monster. He knew what Michael was seeing, his blue eyes bleeding to red and his fangs descending, the tips coming to rest against his bottom lip.
“I can’t even tell you,” Michael said, touching Symon’s face with gentle fingers. “It’s mystical. Wonder and magic, a cat becoming a tiger before my eyes.”
“Thought I was a dog?”
Michael laughed, slid onto his back, and held his arms out to Symon. “Dinner time, Fido.”
Chapter 16
ACRES OF WARM skin against his own, a cock nestled beside his, and a heart beating under his lips. A heart that knew him, welcomed him. Michael felt like home, and for tonight, Symon would pretend that he was. He scrapped his fangs against the pulse beating behind his prey’s ear and Michael shuddered, his arms tightening around Symon. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t think it could get any better, but now that I know what’s coming…ah.”
Symon played with his human, tiny pinpricks, a trailer for the coming attraction and Michael started to babble.
“Yes. Like that. Please. God, Symon that’s so fucking scary. Yes.”
“It doesn’t have to be your neck, you know. We can get creative.” Symon smiled wide enough to show fang and Michael’s body went taut beneath him. “I could feed here,” he said, dragging a knuckle up the inside of Michael’s thigh. “Drink from you for hours, one sip at a time. You could say please as often as you want, but I wouldn’t let you come until the sun shuts me down. Sound good?”
While Symon could feed from Michael’s thigh, the rest was pure fantasy. Sipping on him for hours, edging him until dawn? Total melodramatic bullshit, but Michael’s eyes were dark with need, his heart leaping about in his chest. Symon could work the evil moustache and villain cape if it made Michael combust.
“Say yes, please Symon, drink my blood and torment me until dawn.” Michael recited the words exactly as he’d been instructed to, and Symon’s heart stumbled.
“Forget the ice wine,” Micha
el said, squeezing chunks of Symon’s ass, and grinning up at him. “You could make a fortune in porn.”
“That’s your idea of a compliment?”
“You’re borderline beautiful. Better?”
“No.”
Like everything else about this man, Symon found the way Michael boxed up the submissive and pulled out the smartass fascinating. He was curious as to where the switch was, and if he could learn to trigger it. Not that it mattered which Michael looked back at him from those grey eyes, Symon wanted them both. Michael was a puzzle and Symon had never met a puzzle he didn’t want to solve.
“We don’t have time for that tonight, do we?” Michael slipped a finger between Symon’s lips, rubbed at the gum line beneath his fangs, and it was Symon’s turn to shudder. “No.”
“Before you leave for Italy. Promise.”
“On my honour, I swear,” Symon said, giving Michael his promise in the old way. “To drink your blood, to tease and torment you until dawn.”
That phrasing got Symon a flash of dimple. “Sex games rate the old school oaths?”
“No, but you do,” Symon said, the words out before he could stop them.
He rolled off Michael, made a production of patting down the sheets, looking for the lube. His hand landed on hard plastic and he grabbed at the small bottle as if it was a lifeline. “On your side.”
Michael shifted onto his side, snagged a pillow, and got comfortable. “Stop freaking out. It was only the small L.”
“What is that, some kind of code?” Symon asked, moving in behind Michael.
Michael looked over his shoulder. “You know, small L, like. Big L, love.”
“I didn’t say I liked you.”
“Yeah, you did.”
Symon could have used a good lawyer right about then because he had no defence. Michael was right and they both knew it. He tucked his knees in behind Michael’s, threw an arm over his waist.
“You cuddle pretty good for a dead guy,” Michael said, pulling Symon’s arm to his chest, and lacing their fingers together.
“You meet a lot of the undead on Grindr?”
“No, but I found this hot twink at the hotel bar.”
“Yeah?” Symon asked, burying a smile between Michael’s shoulder blades. “You into twinks?”
“Always,” Michael said, pressing his ass back against Symon. “And this guy? Almost perfect.”
“Almost?” Symon repeated, pushing a slicked finger into Michael. “Why, what was wrong with him?” he asked, opening his mouth over the nape of Michael’s neck, his fangs a promising pressure on Michael’s skin.
“Ahhh,” Michael moaned, his fingers tightening on Symon’s.
A second finger had Michael pushing back, asking for more. Symon put enough space between them to slick his dick and moved back into position. “What was wrong with your twink, Michael?” he asked, pushing his way inside his prey. All the way in, balls-deep in.
“Eyeliner,” Michael said, gasping the word out between thrusts, slamming his ass back onto Symon’s cock, taking him impossibly deeper. “Wasn’t wearing any.”
Smart-ass, Symon thought, nuzzling into the curve of Michael’s neck. “And that was a deal breaker for you?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t.
“Who wants perfect?” Michael asked, reaching back to grab Symon’s thigh, pulling him closer, merging them into one body.
That Michael had offered to feed him was an incredible gift, but the laughter and the teasing, the affection? That, as the humans say, was priceless. Determined to express his appreciation, Symon sucked on the pulse beating under his lips. He tasted the arousal in his human, and the tension. Michael was nervous and he wasn’t the only one. Symon wanted to get this right, to make this good for Michael.
Hands strolling across Michael’s chest, Symon paid a short visit to each nipple, indulging in a tug and pinch that pulled a delicious whine out of his prey. A brief tour of Michael’s treasure trail and Symon’s hand wrapped around a cock that wasn’t nervous at all. His fangs grazing the pulse in Michael’s neck, Symon let himself fall into the rhythm of their bodies. He couldn’t make this entirely painless for Michael, but if he timed his entry just right, his human would be too distracted to care.
On his next thrust into Michael’s heat, Symon sank his fangs. Michael’s body spasmed, blood spilling onto Symon’s tongue, spring rain. Michael tasted just as good as he had that first night, better. Better because Symon knew the man now. He could hear Michael in the song of his blood.
In the old days, before Google and YouTube, before television and newspapers, vampires plucked the knowledge they needed to blend in among humans directly from the minds of their prey. Symon had travelled the world, sinking his fangs into strangers and skimming their minds. It wasn’t always pleasant, but it was a survival tactic, and Symon was big on survival. Unlike Etienne, who was still squeamish after all these years, Symon had no qualms about eavesdropping while he fed. It was a natural extension of feeding, rather like a human adding salt to his fries, but still, Symon hesitated. He’d told Michael to shut his ESP down. How was it fair for him to wander Michael’s mind and yet forbid him from entering his own? It wasn’t, and Symon wasn’t enough of an asshole to pretend it was.
Michael sighed, his hand curling around Symon’s wrist. No pressure to his touch, his prey wasn’t trying to control the hand on his cock. Symon suspected his human needed to hang on to him, needed that contact, but he couldn’t know for sure. Not without—
Michael?
Michael didn’t answer. He couldn’t hear Symon because he’d done what Symon had asked him to do. He’d closed himself off, shut Symon out, and Symon wanted in. He focused the power six hundred years of walking the night had given him, aimed it at the blank wall where Michael should be.
Answer me, prey.
What the fuck, Fido? I thought—
I know. I don’t care.
It was a closeness he had never known, never imagined. Michael was there, inside his head, that fucking dimple draped over every cell in his brain. Symon sucked at the wound he’d cut into Michael’s neck, and they both shuddered. With their minds linked everything was amplified. Each touch, each taste of skin on skin bounced back at them as if reflected from a thousand mirrors.
From inside Michael’s head, Symon knew what his own cock felt like dragging over Michael’s sweet spot. From his ring side seat inside Symon’s brain, Michael felt what Symon felt as he fucked him.
Too intense. Too much.
They reached the peak together, tripped over the edge, and fell.
***
Symon’s eyes snapped open. Fear punched a hole in his gut, crawled up his throat. He didn’t remember extracting his fangs. Pleading with every God he’d ever heard of, Symon turned to the man at his side. If he’d hurt Michael, if he’d—
A soft snuffle of breath, the best sound Symon had heard, ever.
Careful not to wake his prey, he leaned over Michael’s shoulder, touched gentle fingers to his neck. The bite had closed the way it was supposed to, the marks mostly gone but for two barely visible pink spots. Relief sharper than a blade had Symon flopping onto his back. Now that he knew Michael was sleeping and not dead, his thoughts went to…
Volcanic. That’s the only word that came even close to describing what he and Michael had just done. Symon had never felt anything like it. His orgasm had blown him apart because it hadn’t been just his. Sensation overload.
Michael’s snuffle got louder, turned into a snort that woke him up. Symon could practically hear him fitting the pieces together. It didn’t take him as long as it had Symon, but then he didn’t have to worry that he’d screwed up and let his lover bleed to death.
Michael rolled onto his back. Eyes on the ceiling, he said, “That was…”
“Yeah.”
“Everything. Both of us…surreal.”
“Yeah. Surreal.” Michael shot Symon a glance, nudged him with his shoulder. “What’s with you? Don’t tell me you
didn’t get off on that because I know you did.”
Yes, Symon thought, and that was the fucking problem, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything.
Michael turned onto his side, took one look at Symon’s face, and scrambled up and off the bed. “Oh my, God. I don’t believe this. You asked me in, Fido. I was on mute and you asked me in. And what’s the big fucking deal anyway?” he asked, glaring at Symon. “You had no problem letting Etienne into your head. You afraid a common everyday human is going to defile that superior vampire brain? And what, it’s okay for you to read everyone else’s mind, but God forbid anyone step inside yours? That’s not the way it works Nosferatu.”
Michael never saw it coming. One minute he was standing on his own two feet, the next he was sitting astride Symon’s thighs. “Knock it off. I’m pissed at you.”
Symon slid his hands up Michael’s legs, settled them on his hips. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I won’t manhandle you when you’re pissed at me. Can I talk now?”
“Talk,” Michael said, giving the condemned man his last meal.
“You’re right, I asked you in. I wanted to know what you were thinking, but I got so much more than that. I felt every touch I gave you, the way you felt it. I didn’t even know that was possible. It was the most…”
Michael’s dimple came out of hiding. “You saying I rocked your world?”
Symon grinned. “Pretty sure I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, but that’s what you meant. And that’s the way it felt,” Michael said, his smile going soft around the edges.
“A volcano erupting.”
“Two volcanos,” Michael corrected, grinning at Symon. “So, why did you go all incommunicado?”
“I was thinking.”
“Yeah?”
“This ever happen to you before?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I told you, I can’t read anyone else the way I read you. Ever happen to you?” Michael asked, his hands stalling on their road trip across Symon’s chest.