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Tapping With Blue Eyes

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A blue eyed vampire. The stories usually said they had red eyes that flashed bright when they fed, hypnotic and alluring. Maybe that's where the confusion had begun that night, from the first time they met eyes across the room.

Dave thought he was terribly lucky having the handsome fellow approach him in the club, offering to buy him a drink, wanting to chat him up. He was about the same size and build, though he was broader at the shoulder and hip, barrel chested. A real bruiser in a fist fight if he knew how to properly throw a punch. He had dark skin and thick, wiry black hair that settled out in boyish tufts. The “I slept on it after showering and it never went away” look that some people would spend hundreds of dollars trying to attain on purpose.

His laugh was cute, Dave discovered. Musical, lilting despite the occasional snort when he really got going on something. Composed. Smooth as a fresh hundred dollar bill. Smelled good, compared to the heat and the sweat of the club itself, the gallons of cologne and perfume, wafts of Axe heavy enough to confuse a place with a middle school boys room.


John smelled like fresh rain and the open air. There seemed to be some kind of an aftershave he was using, just barely there, detectable only at close range. His hair had no gel or anything else in it, soft to the touch. Perfect for tangling his fingers in to steer his face down for a kiss, wanting to share the flavor of the cocktail he'd downed with the brunette while it was fresh.

It was a general rule of Dave's. If he wasn't interested, he wouldn't accept the drink offer. If he was interested, but unsure, he'd get a beer. Same as if he was interested but likely wouldn't make a move till another few meetings had happened. On the rare occasion his brain and his dick agreed that there was merit to someone that needed to be explored ASAP somewhere private, he asked for something hard. Liquid courage to soothe his nerves, let him get his thoughts in order instead of rushing and coming across like some thirsty motherfucker with a side of desperate who'd never managed to get any.

Desperation wasn't for the club, dancing close, mouths connected more than half the time. It was for when the lights went out in his apartment after fumbling the door open while John ground against him from behind as he struggled with the keys. Desperation was best displayed in the struggle to make it more than four feet before the stripping started, debating if the couch or the bed would be better.

It was well at home in a satisfied, throaty moan when the brunette rumbled that the wall would do just fine, the surprise at being lifted off his feet and carried to his own room like some kind of blushing bride only to be dumped out on the bed without warning.

Dave never even had to tell him where the lube was, the condoms. Didn't have to tell him how slow or fast to move, where he liked being touched. There were no secrets, despite no words being exchanged. It was unsettling how perfect everything was, how easily they moved together. John drew a powerful orgasm from Dave using only his mouth and hands before even making use of the condoms, moving him around wherever it felt best for both of them.

How long had it been since Dave had found himself this happy to have his ankles up on someone's shoulders? Far too long, if it was anywhere as long as it had been since he'd ridden anyone like a goddamn horse into the sunset, snapping his hips and rocking every time he rose and dropped downwards along John's length. He was able to take this man to the root, and was even more thrilled than he thought strictly normal about that fact, loving the twitch of it inside him as he pushed closer and closer to orgasm. It wouldn't be the only time either of them came that night by far. Come splattered across John's stomach when Dave rode, keeping what was given for himself considering he refused to rise off him when the time came. Later, it stretched in a white hot line across the blonde's lower back.

That had been right before John bit him, of course.

A simple love bite, Dave thought. A bit of rough play. He wasn't beyond biting, and scratched hard along the stretch of John's back with his nails, pointing his toes sharply down into the bed so that they rubbed against each other. The bedding was fucked at this point anyway. Maybe they made a bleach strong enough with detergent to clean it, or maybe they would just be better off in the trash. Getting down and dirty, maybe a little more primal, seemed just what the doctor ordered.

John didn't seem to mind, pressing their bodies closer, no doubt daydreaming about a shower afterward. Maybe together, even. At least, that's what Dave thought till the bite increased past the point of pleasure and into pain. Was he piercing skin up there? On the verge of complaining, Dave opened his mouth with a low hiss, letting it out in a breathy exhaled whine when the pain suddenly left.

No pain. Not even pressure anymore, just a delicious heat and a light headed feeling that was so similar to being drunk that if he hadn't just spent the last few hours fucking a strangers brains out he would have questioned it more. Wondered why he suddenly felt completely stoned and happy.

No pain.

No worries.

No problems.

Everything had gone black.

- - - - - - - - -

When Dave woke up, he was in bed still, but clean. The sheets and blankets were stripped off and a spare blanket covered the mattress and his bare torso. A slightly damp towel rested on the ground where his feet hung over the bottom edge. His hair had even been washed, he noticed after a perfunctory check, though he still had stubble. Good. .. Sort of good. He was absolutely spotlessly clean, how the fuck had that happened?


Had to be John.

Had to be John who was also making use of his kitchen right now, humming along with some song Dave couldn't make out. Radio? Commercial? Some kind of long lost anthem from a show he'd forgotten? There was sizzling, the smell of onions, of cooking meat, of eggs. Ginger.

When the fuck did he have ginger in his house? Or fresh onions for that matter? He'd forgotten to hit up the produce counter for far too long, and whatever science experiment had been coming to life in the plastic saver was likely no longer an onion. It was also likely angry at being held prisoner for so long, knowing his fucking luck, and was planning on escaping the fridge some lonely night. The glorious smells were not of his owning.

Had the guy gone shopping? Found a key? Let himself back in? Started cooking for what was, for all original intents and purposes, a one night stand?

Dave was... still a little fuck drunk, admittedly. He felt tired and supremely comfortable, though a bit dizzy as he stood up to rummage in a drawer for some sweatpants. Too tender for briefs today, no thanks. A loose, baggy shirt went on next and reminded him about the bite. Was it a bite? A hickey, maybe? He needed to check in a mirror.


AFTER looking into the source of that excellent smell at least.

As his nose and ears had said, John was singing and cooking, flipping the pan he held firmly in his left hand with well aimed practice. He was using chopsticks to cook with, a set that seemed well worn. Were they old? His own? Or did they get sold with that well used sheen of color on them these days for that 'authentic' feeling? It took a minute for John to notice he was being watched quite intently from the doorway.

“Ah..? Oh. Oh! Sorry. Morning. Er, well. Afternoon actually now. Should I have woken you up earlier? I stepped out to get some food and thought that maybe you'd like some too. Seemed safest, you know?” he said. Even in the proper light of day, he was hypnotically gorgeous to look at. All blue eyes and softly tousled dark hair, long, lithe fingers. His fingers weren't the only long, lithe thing about him that was for damn sure.. but it was already one of Dave's favorite things.

Maybe this wasn't supposed to be a one night thing after all. Stiffly, not wanting to cause pain from some overworked muscle or another, Dave slipped into a seat at his kitchen table and continued to stare. It was like watching a chef work, nonchalant, barely paying attention.

There was a perfectly folded omelet, chicken and vegetables with ginger and a light sauce of some kind. There were greens and onions and some kind of nut as well. Cashews? Walnuts? It smelled like ten kinds of heaven and brought the light headed feeling back in a wave as his stomach snarled at him.

“Ahh, see? Waited too long! Here, eat up before it gets worse,” he said, dishing the plates out for both of them. Dave sat dumbfounded in front of the food till John stuck a fork in his hand and curled his fingers into the proper alignment like a doll that had simply been waiting. “Do you want ketchup or anything? I don't know if you have any condiments, I just brought what I'd need to cook with. Maybe I should have checked.”

It took him a good two minutes of continuing to stare between the man and the meal before Dave tucked in like he'd never tasted food before. Why was he so hungry? He'd eaten before the bar, right? Well. Then again, a long night of vigorous sex would do that to a man. Right? ...right?

John mostly just seemed pleased that his food had passed muster, eating slowly. Savoring every bite, every flavor. Now and then he commented something else to make conversation now that he wasn't singing anymore. How the flush was coming back to Dave's cheeks, how fast he'd inhaled the fried greens and cashews, how surprisingly cute a grown man could be when he cuddled up in a blanket.

There was tinder at last, and Dave's brain finally caught on it even as he licked the salty, sweet sauce from the chicken off his lips.

“About that. The bed..”

“All the dirty bedding is off to the side, I wasn't sure how you wash yours.”

“Yeah. I was clean too.”

“Mhmm. Showered you off really thoroughly. Nothing worse than a good night ruined by a sticky, slimy, cold morning. Right?”

“..Yeah. Last night was kind of..”

“Amazing? Fantastic? You were fabulous too, of course,” he said with a conspiratorial waggle of his eyebrows. It was enough to make Dave's dick ache, focusing his eyes back down towards his steadily emptying plate for a moment, till the facade was broken by the laugh. Childlike, it had a tinkling like bells till the snort caught up. What a dweeb. “Kidding, kidding. It was great, I haven't had a night like that in a long time.”

“Yeah, me either. Got my itched scratched damn fine,” he hummed, finishing the food. The throbbing of his head had stopped now, and was replaced by the pleasant sensation he'd felt last night. Right before everything went dark..

“Hey, John. Lemme ask a question,” Dave said, resting his weight on his elbows as he watched John closely, keeping track of where his eyes were looking as he chewed. For now, they were directly on his face. Perfect. Paying close attention. “What was with all that biting last night?”

“... Huh?”

“Y'know. The biting?” Dave said, miming biting with his fingers and looming over the tabletop, the big bad wolf after some invisible little red riding hood. “You know. You bit me, I scratched the shit out of your back? Was like somethin' on Animal Planet. Wild.”

John continued to stare at him with furrowed brows, searching for something in his words.

“... I.”

“I admit I was kinda weirded out at first. It hurt like a mad bastard and I was gettin' close to whalin' you upside the head before it started to feel -fantastic-. Like.. Fuck, man I don't even remember what happened afterward.” He grinned, trying to look disarming. “Like. If you hadn't stuck around and suddenly pulled an Iron Chef Nice Ass on me this mornin' I'd be wondering if you stuck me with something aside from your dick.”

Again, John just continued to stare, the color steadily draining from his face.

“I.. I... But. Didn't you know already?” he asked, voice actually breaking. The smile was suddenly fading from Dave's face. Know what? Did he manage to catch something deadly the one fuckin' time he decided to go bareback after a few rounds? What the fuck didn't he know?

“Know what, John. Might wanna talk fast, man, kinda makin' me assume the worst.”

“... Don't you know what I am?” John finally said loudly, hands flatly slapping the tabletop. “I thought you knew! I thought you were... you were volunteering!”

“Yo, yo, back up a second. Volunteering for -what-? I don't donate my time unless someone's literally on fire, and that's usually just to piss it out.” This was starting to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Pity, considering how good the food was. No. No, it tasted like copper, the same faint metallic taste he'd gotten whenever he got dizzy.

“Damn it, my dad warned me about this,” John moaned, all but ignoring his previous bed mate to lay dramatically across the table. He was a grown man pitching the fit of a tweenager. All that was missing was the kick of the legs and a dumb t-shirt from some band nobody had heard of, or something on discount from Hot Topic that everyone was already sick of looking at. “He warned me about being careful! To not just pick a tap at random!”

“What in the actual flaming fuck is a 'tap'? Did your dad legit give you one night stand advice?” Dave asked, amazed. What next, what percent to tip a hooker? How many bills was appropriate for a stripper before small bills got embarrassing?

“No!” he wailed. Ah, there was the leg kicking, twice as dumb looking at the smaller table. Dave wasn't sure if he should remain anxious, annoyed, or comfort the man who was having a bit of a breakdown over brunch.

“Then what, man, clear this up for me. We're obviously not on the same level and trust me: I'm dyin' to know what the fuck has got your nipples in a frenzy.”

“My WHAT.”

“Calm your tits. Just. Grab hold of the raisinettes and breathe. Talk to me. What is a 'tap'.”

John looked to be on the verge of tears, frustrated at himself to sickness as he gave a pained moan.

“Food source. Tap is a food source.”

“Food source.”


“.... Food source?”

“S'why you were dizzy,” he hiccupped, nose running. Dave finally got embarrassed enough that he got the dishrag from near the sink and handed it over for John to blow his nose on. “I should've guessed when you passed out that you weren't,” he muttered. “Taps know already.. They eat better'n you do.”

“Excuse the fuck outta you, I eat just fine.”

“Not enough iron, it tasted like you lived off junk and occasionally tried to eat right,” John groaned into the rag. “Still sweet.. Still perfect.. But definitely a normal guy.”

“Okay, so. Food source for what.” At John's blank look, glasses steamed over the rags top edges, Dave raised his hands slightly in defense. “Hey, hey. Can't blame the confusion here, John. Sorry, but you're talking like a fuckin' vampire and the only noticeable teeth you've got all all bucky up front. S'cute, but not really screamin' blood sucker.”

“Leaving them hanging out all the time would be obscene,” he muttered, calming down and cleaning himself up. He removed his glasses, giving Dave more uninterrupted glances at those blue eyes. He wanted to just keep looking at them forever, and everything would be fine.. “Besides. They're not physical all the time.. It's hard to explain. When someone's found a tap, they stick with them and keep them healthy and happy and everything works out well enough.”

“....So, what, your dad has one? Your mom or somethin'?”

He shook his head.

“No.. He's got one at work I think. Someone who works with him. Might have been my mother before that. I'm not entirely sure.”

Dave pondered slightly, mulling things over. This was kind of a shot out of left field, but when he was weighing the pros to the cons..

“So. What made you think I was in the know about the whole vamp thing?”

“You came right to me.. A good tap just kind of has an instinct apparently. They can sense when we're near, and if there's no commitment prior they can go for it.”

“And I went hook, line, and sinker.”

“If sinker is another term for mind blowing sex, then yeah.”

That was right. The biggest thing on Dave's mind was how well his itch had been scratched. How satisfied and comfortable he was waking up. So, too, he'd felt safe. A total stranger had bathed him, left his home and returned with food to cook a fantastic meal for him.. and there was no cold breath of panic or rage that there should have been.

This entire situation was feeling strangely domestic. Normal. He could make a habit of this.

“So. Say this whole tap thing was actually a thing,” he ventured, moving to the counter again to hop up onto an empty portion of it, watching John at the table quietly as he calmed back to normal and regained some sense of composure. “How often are we talkin' here. Nightly fill up like a gas tank? Weekly? Monthly? Would it make me weak or sick?”

John looked appalled at the very idea and shook his head vehemently before putting his glasses back on.

“Of course not! It'd be every now and then. If willing.. I can go without if needs be, it just makes me feel sick. If I had a tap I'd treat them with the same respect anyone would in a normal relationship.”

“What, like. Dating? Vamps and taps date?”

“Well.. Why wouldn't they?” he asked, slowly, as if speaking to a very stupid child. At least he wasn't talking louder or enunciating everything to excess. It was already kind of embarrassing. “It's a really intimate thing. Usually they date because.. well.. Aside from most of the care coming up to the same as a normal relationship, it makes it functionally easier and safer for everyone. And..”


John's face reddened slightly. He looked so much less suave without the flashing of multicolored lights, without the straining fabric of his pants cutting off supply of blood to judgment.

“It tastes better during or after sex,” he muttered.


There was silence then, awkward. John didn't know what to do with the soiled dish rag for now, so he sat it aside and stared at it. Stared at the cabinets. Furtively, he finally looked to Dave.

“You're not kicking me out yet.”

“Should I be?”

“Well.. I... I kinda sprang this on you suddenly, I assumed..”

“And to assume makes an ass outta 'u' and 'me', I know. But I'm not kickin' you out. Not yet.. Let's talk a bit more about this.”

John shifted slightly in his seat before, finally lured by Dave's pointed looks, rose and walked over to the counter where he was settled. He pressed close, and after the blonde shifted his knees apart to make more room, loomed flat against his front. Even after such a long night, being so close just felt.. right. Expected. Comforting. There was no hardness to press against, but the slight give of flesh was perfect enough.

“These bites. Do I get anything outta them? Aside from, like, five star food and apparently a protective boyfriend?”

“If you're asking if you'll turn to, it doesn't work that way. I'm not even entirely sure how that works. I never asked Dad and he never told me.”

Fair enough. Dave wasn't interested in being a leech personally. He shuffled his feet, knees squeezing at hips that were already familiar. Just the right size for him to hold on to. Both of Dave's hands raised to wrap up around John's middle, feeling at his backbone.

“How long will it last?”

“Long as you want it to.. If you ever want to stop, I'd-”

“Move on and find another tap?”

“... Depends.”

Dave quirked a brow, tipping his head back the further John leaned forwards and down. Their lips met in the middle, warm and soft, still tasting of breakfast.

“Depends on what..?”

“Depends on if you chase me off or not. Food isn't everything.”

“Will there be more nights like last night?” Dave asked, straining upwards a little more to try for another kiss, moaning softly when he was rewarded. This kiss had another tone to it: the same primal hunger as the night before when their bodies were spent.

“Tons and tons and tons.”

John was already scooping his hands beneath Dave's thighs to lift him upwards, wanting to take him into the bathroom, have a hot bath together that they'd actually both remember by the time Dave sighed at him.

“I don't think I'll be chasin' you off any time soon. … Unless you turn into a fuckin' bat or something, because seriously fuck that noise. Those things are cute as shit, but if they're flying at ya in an enclosed space it's just got Fuzzy Projectile of Death written all over it, none of that cute ass brushie brushie nonsens-”

Another kiss cut off his rant as John adjusted his grip higher, kneading at Dave's buttocks firmly as he rested his weight against his own front as a counter balance, trying to edge back towards the bathroom with him.

“.... Point made. Carry on, then.”