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There’s no discernible explanation for how he ended up here. Wrong place? Nope. Wrong time? Not quite. Wrong side of town? Yeah, but that one’s a given.
Frank’s always on the wrong side of town. It’s hard to avoid when he fucking lives there. A modest cardboard box tucked away in a back alley that he pays almost nothing for, just within his price range as a starving guitarist from Nowhere, New Jersey. Nameless, faceless, and penniless.
His keys rattle against the loose change in his pocket as he digs them out. His lighter comes out on accident, skittering off the stoop of his building and right up against the toes of some dickass’s shoes. The yellow of it cuts against the black of their loafers until slender fingers pick it up and pocket it.
“Hey, fuckass,” Frank calls. “Got some crossed wires? You’ve got something that belongs to me.”
The fuckass in question hums quietly. Frank can’t see his face through the shitty glow of the streetlights, but he can hear the smirk in his voice. The overly cocky way he’s standing, as if he’s challenging Frank to a fight.
Of fucking course. Wrong side of town.
“Hey!” Frank calls again, dropping down off the three measly steps. As he gets closer, he realizes this guy has a good foot of height on him. He’s thin, though. Spindly, and while Frank isn’t exactly broad himself, he thinks he might be able to take him. “What’s your damage?”
“My damage,” he says. His voice is high and thin. Nothing like Frank expected it to be. More like some weirdo catholic teacher in the school he grew up bloodying his knuckles in. Airy like the wind is being knocked out of him, either from disuse or a naturally shitty set of vocal cords. Ghostly, almost. “Nothing in particular. Just feeling a little bored.”
“And what, you thought you’d pick me for entertainment?”
“Well, you looked pretty exciting from afar. Figured I might as well test the waters up close.”
“Fucking mistake.” Frank’s right in front of him now, but he can still barely make out the features of his face outside the pale glint of his teeth. His grin is taunting and it lights a twisted sort of fire under Frank’s skin.
He’s got his fists all balled up by his sides, teeth grinding against each other until his jaw sores up. Whoever the fuck this is doesn’t know shit about him. He doesn’t know where Frank comes from, or why he’s living here. He doesn’t know how many fights Frank’s been in, or how many of them he’s won.
“All this for a lighter?” He asks. His voice still has that light quality to it, but it isn’t thin, anymore. It’s like the more he fucks with Frank, the more he fills out. The more he becomes a real person with real features. He can see his eyes, now. Doesn’t know how he ever missed them in the first place. They’ve got this eerie quality about them, catching in the streetlights and almost glowing. Frank has to take a step back when he really sees them, needs to shake himself to remind himself that eyes don’t glow.
Gerard continues smiling at him. He’s got his hands in his pockets, one clearly balled around the lighter as if he’s cradling it, and Frank remembers the guy spoke to him.
“It’s not about the lighter,” he lies. It absolutely is. It’s the last one Frank’s got left and he’s not about to pay the dollar twenty-five it costs to get a new one. He’s still trying to stretch his cash from the last gig he played, and there’s not much left. He needs to eat and pay his electric bill. Buying a new lighter is a waste of precious pennies.
Not like this guy would know. He’s dressed head to toe in some kind of elaborate three-piece suit. The black of the jacket and slacks cut sharp against the white of the dress shirt he’s wearing. There’s an equally white waistcoat that cinches at his waist. He’s got a collared jacket wrapped around him, red staining the satin lining inside.
Wherever this guy is from, there’s money. Frank doesn’t think he knows one single motherfucker that owns anything like this. And if they do, they certainly aren’t casually wearing it in dark alleys at two in the morning.
“What is it, then?”
“Fucking principle,” Frank says. “You don’t take other people’s shit. But I guess mommy and daddy didn’t bother teaching you that, did they?”
“So,” The guy hums again. It’s an almost satisfied sort of noise that only pours fuel on the fire, “you want it back, then?”
Frank almost growls at that, feels the heat of anger spike at the back of his neck. He’s got about three more seconds before he stops fucking around and lays Fuckass McGee out on the pavement.
“Come and get it.”
Frank’s moving before he even registers himself. He steps forward, pivots his back foot, and sends his right hand out in a nasty hook, knuckles bracing for contact against pale skin.
It never comes.
Instead, Frank feels his torso twist, his spine popping in several spots as he loses his balance and spins gracelessly on the pavement. His fist strikes empty air.
Fuckass is gone, but his high-pitched laughter dances in the air. Frank can see him, just a few feet back. The darkness must have fucked with his depth perception or something. It’s easier to punch a guy in broad daylight, but Frank can count how many fights he’s been in in the dark on one hand.
Jesus Christ, the world feels off-kilter. It’s like his equilibrium was fucked with, making it so he can’t see straight. There’s a haziness in his head that makes it feel like that fucking laugh is bouncing between his ears.
“Careful there. You might lose your balance.”
He’s still fucking smiling. Smug mother fucker. Frank lets himself look at the guy, really look at him. He gauges the distance between them, only a few more feet, and sees what kind of swing it’ll take to get to him. Two steps will put them close together, and he’ll throw a regular punch, not a hook. No more spinning.
The execution is flawless.
The delivery, however, could use some work.
Frank stumbles again, his fist sliding through absolutely nothing. Frank doesn’t feel as dizzy anymore, but something still feels off. Like the world isn’t spinning quite the way it should. Like time isn’t moving right.
This time, the guy is nowhere to be seen.
But his laugh – that fucking laugh – echoes off brick walls.
“Fuck!”
“Don’t shout, darling. You’ll wake your neighbors.”
Something cool ghosts over the back of Frank’s neck. Gooseflesh prickles in the skin there, breaking a cold sweat out in its wake.
He’s right behind Frank.
But how? Fucking how? He was right here. Frank had seen him! He was staring at him right up until he blinked, and then the guy was gone. Right up until his fist was about to connect with his stupid fucking face.
And then gone.
Or, well, behind him. Somehow. He’s moving too fast. Faster than any person Frank has ever known. Almost too fast to be—
Fuck.
Something inside of him runs ice cold. Every part of him freezes, either in terror or shock. He can’t quite tell, and it doesn’t fucking matter. Not human. This guy’s not fucking human.
There’s no fucking way.
Frank doesn’t consider himself a superstitious person. He doesn’t like to think he’s the kind of guy to believe in ghost stories told to little kids to keep them from sneaking out at night.
Doesn’t believe the myths of tall pale men in the moonlight, only coming out once the sun sets. Sustained off of the life force of others. Killing in the night. Despite the multiple bodies that have piled up in the years since Frank has moved to this town. Despite the occasional missing person flyer that gets posted on the bulletins of the bars he plays at.
He’s not running. Why the fuck isn’t he running? Why are his feet anchored to the ground? He’s not standing in a fucking glue trap. It’s like every single survival instinct he’s ever had has gone out the window.
“What’s wrong?” The name says. He’s still so close to Frank, almost pressed up against his back. Frank can’t feel any body heat radiating off him. “I thought you wanted your lighter back?”
He laughs then, and the sound of it cuts through Frank like knives. He sounds so fucking casual. Amused. If the stories are true, he’s playing the world’s deadliest game of cat and mouse. This monster is fucking with him. Playing with his food.
Fuck, his parents really didn’t teach him any manners. Does he even have parents? Or was he spawned out of hell itself, sent here to torture humans in the middle of the night?
Frank steels himself for a minute, weighing his options. He can keep this charade going, make it seem like he hasn’t figured anything out. Keep swinging and maybe even land a hit. But that’s risky. The second this guy decides he’s done playing is the second Frank’s life ends.
He could give up and pretend he’s lost interest in his stupid fucking lighter. Call it quits and dance a little until he’s back in front of his apartment door. Maybe he can make it inside quick enough and find some semblance of safety. But the guy will still be here, and he’ll still know where Frank is.
He could run, but he doubts he’d outrun him. His best bet would be to sprint down the alleyway where it breaks off into a four-way cross. He could try and lose him, outsmart him between dumpsters and parked cars. And even then, there’s no way to know that would even work. He has no idea what he’s up against.
There’s this whisper in his ear telling him that he’s just tired and confused. It’s late, and his fear is getting the best of him. Childhood stories are getting tangled up in his common sense. Whatever he thinks this guy is, he isn’t. He’s just a regular jackass with an extra layer of creepy.
But another part of Frank, something just a twinge louder, is still telling him to fucking run.
“You know what, man,” Frank says before he finishes considering his options. He steps forward and turns around, keeping his expression as neutral as he can. “Keep it.”
“Aw, c’mon. I thought we were having fun.” He sounds genuinely put out, like Frank folding was ruining his plans for the night. Fucking audacity.
“Nah,” Frank says. He’s hoping he sounds casual. “I’m bored.”
“And your principles?”
“Keep it,” he repeats.
Something quiet settles around them. Frank watches his face, looking for anything sinister or plotting. He doesn’t find anything. Nothing substantial, anyway. He still looks displeased. Like Frank’s the one who did something wrong.
Then, he fishes into his pocket and retrieves the lighter. He looks at it for a moment, and then offers it forward. “Here.”
Frank doesn’t take it. He doesn’t move a muscle. He considers stepping backward towards his door, trying to see if he can move only just discreetly enough to not be noticed, but he’s being watched.
Frank is not a subtle man. He can’t exactly sneak.
“Aren’t you going to take it?”
“Why should I?”
“Because it’s yours.” He tosses it to Frank, giving him only fractions of a second to react and catch it. He does, surprisingly. It flounders against his chest and into his open palms. “You’ve got me figured out, then, yeah?”
“I don’t know,” Frank answers. “Depends on what you are.”
“What I am.” He repeats. Frank’s words look like they taste bitter in his mouth. The corner of his lips curl further down, and Frank begins to feel like he’s made a massive misstep in the careful dance they’ve been doing.
He’s going to die tonight, isn’t he?
“Look, this has been fun and all that, but I’m tired. I’d really rather end this here. I don’t need to know anything else, and I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”
“And what do you think’ll happen if you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Frank tries. “I don’t want to find out, though. I just want to go to sleep.”
“You will.”
Well, that answers that, he guesses. He’s not getting out of this. Not alive, anyway.
“Will I wake up?”
“That depends,” he answers. “Do you want to wake up?”
“Of fucking course I want to wake up. What kind of shit-ass question is that?”
Instead of answering, he just giggles in Frank’s face. “What kind of question is do I want to wake up?”
“A perfectly fucking valid one,” Frank answers. His voice doesn’t sound as irritated as he wants it to. He sounds like he’s pleading. Maybe he is. He probably is.
“It’d be a shame to kill you,” he says, by way of answering Frank’s question. “You’re very pretty, you know.”
“Oh, so my dashing good looks are my saving grace in this situation?”
“Maybe,” he smirks. “Don’t question a good thing.”
“I’m not,” Frank says. “More like pointing out the absurdity in it.”
“It’s absurd that you live?” He asks. He’s smiling now. Nothing sinister in the looks of it, but Frank can’t help but recoil. But for any step he takes away, the man simply crowds further into his space.
“No.”He takes a cautious step back. “It’s absurd I only live because you happen to like my face.”
“How, then, shall I kill you?” He’s still smiling. Small teeth poke out from between thin lips. Frank wonders, against his better judgment, how fangs would even fit onto such tiny teeth. “Stab you? Shoot you? Cut you up?”
He’s baiting him, and Frank is nothing but a common trout drawn to the hook.
“You know how.”
“You know what I am,” he says. His voice is soft, sure, but there’s no room for questions. Frank can’t lie even if he wants to. “Say it.”
Frank makes no move to speak. He just continues to stare forward.
“Say it,” he repeats. He’s closer, now, a single hand coming up to brush the bangs away from Frank’s eyes and tilt his head just slightly back, forcing eye contact.
“A vampire.” The word is bitter on his tongue. It tastes like fear and disbelief.
The man in front of him only smiles wider, almost like he’s proud of Frank. Almost like this entire thing has simply been a test. “Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Frank sucks his teeth. He feels like an indignant child caught telling tall tales. He should know better, but there’s still some part of him clinging onto his bravado. “Why bother asking me questions you already know the answer to?”
“It’s more fun this way.”
“Do I get to ask any questions of my own?”
“Sure,” he says.
“If you’re going to kill me, I think I at least deserve to know your name.”
“Who said I was going to kill you?” His expression doesn’t change. Frank doesn’t believe him. This close, he can see rings of gold surrounding his pupils. “My name is Gerard.”
The shock of it takes Frank by surprise, and he snaps his head back with a bark of laughter. “Gerard? What kind of fucking name is Gerard? Aren’t vampires supposed to be named Vladimir? Or Lestat?”
“Okay, one? Fuck you. Two, I didn’t choose my name, you jackass. My mom gave me this name,” Gerard says. His face has shifted from smug to aggrieved, lower lip jutting slightly out and brow furrowed.
“Your mom?” Frank laughs harder. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it. His fucking mom?
“What, do you think I just entered consciousness as a vampire and thought to myself hmmm, Gerard sounds like a badass vampire name. I think I’ll choose that.”
“Well, yeah! What else am I supposed to think?”
“Fuck you! Besides, Gerard is a perfectly fine name.”
Gerard is laughing now, and Frank thinks for the first time that he might actually make it through the night. Something has shifted between them, from dangerous to amiable. The tension bleeds out of the air. The air feels lighter. Breathable.
“Okay, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night— or, at day.”
“What about you, huh? What cool and mysterious name do you have that gives you the right to make fun of mine?”
“Frank.”
“Frank,” Gerard says the word slowly, as if he’s tasting the shape of it in his mouth. He presses his lips together firmly, capturing the sound of it and holding on. “Your name is Frank and you’re making fun of Gerard? What in the 90’s mafia member is wrong with you?”
“Fuck off.”
“You fuck off.”
“Gladly!” Frank shouts. He doesn’t mean to be loud, but he is. There’s something coursing through his veins, adrenaline maybe, that makes him feel bold. Almost like if he can just be bigger than Gerard, or louder than him, he’ll walk away from this whole thing in one piece.
Sure, Gerard said he doesn’t plan on killing him, but how can Frank trust that?
“The stereotypes aren’t true, you know,” Gerard says. Jesus, can this fucker read minds or something? “We don’t kill to live.”
“At least, not as frequently as your kind thinks we do. One body, supplemented by local fauna, can get us by for six months. That’s only two humans a year!” He sounds cheery about it, like this is somehow fantastic news. Like two deaths is nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Maybe to him it isn’t. Maybe he’s been dead so long, he’s completely detached from the reality of what he has to do to survive.
If he can even call it surviving.
Something freezes inside of Frank at the thought. Is Gerard at his six-month mark? Is Frank his body for the night?
“Don’t worry.” He gets closer into Frank’s space. “I just ate.”
He finds his voice, buried somewhere deep in his chest. “Ate?”
“Yes, Frank. Ate.”
He doesn’t want to know. There’s nothing in this world less intriguing than letting him finish that fucking thought, so Frank changes the subject. “What was all that back there, then? With the lighter. I thought you were playing with your food or something.”
Frank really ought to be offended at how much Gerard has laughed at him in the past ten minutes.
“Do you want an honest answer?” Frank nods, because he’s a fucking idiot, apparently. “I was playing with my food. I was bored, and you smell sweet. I figured why not have some fun?”
“I thought you just ate.”
“Dessert,” Gerard clarifies.
“Was,” Frank tries not to let the implication of Gerard’s words linger. “You said it was.”
Gerard makes a distracted sort of noise. He steps in so their bodies are practically pressed together, but not quite. Frank can feel the way he noses along his hairline, can feel the gentle intake of air as he takes in Frank’s scent. “Hm?”
“About playing with your food. You said I was. What are you doing now, then?”
“I already told you, Frank,” Gerard smiles. “You’re far too pretty to kill.”
“But what are you doing?”
“Considering our options,” He answers, matter of factly. “The night is still young.”
Another implication hangs heavy around them, pulling the stars down further into the sky. The night swells around them and Frank is reminded of how late it is. Adrenaline thrums through him with every beat of his heart. It courses through his blood.
He should be looking for an out. Gerard has already said he’s not planning on killing Frank, but those words might be empty. How’s he supposed to trust a stranger in an alleyway? Especially one that lives off the blood of others.
Curiosity killed the cat.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Gerrard echoes. When he pulls back enough for Frank to look into his eyes, there’s something new there. Something that catches off the streetlights. Then, “And there are other ways to play with food.”
Frank should draw back. He should feel another pang of ice-cold fear shoot into his veins. He should be far, far more scared than he is at this moment.
Something about Gerard has disarmed him. He felt caution a moment ago, but now he only feels thrill. The words are starting to feel more like a challenge than a threat.
In a last-ditch effort of self-preservation, Frank asks, “Are you using some supernatural ability on me? To like, manipulate me into going home with you?”
Gerard belly laughs. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You know,” Frank continues. His voice is shaking, though now he’s not sure if from fear or embarrassment. “Are you gonna use some freaky vampire power so you can take me home and kill me?”
Gerard laughs again, harder this time. “What kind of fucked up comic books have you been reading?”
“The normal kind!” Frank cuts. His defensive tone is laughable as it trembles. “Every book or movie vampire has some sort of hypnosis power. How else would they get their victims to go home with them?”
“I don’t need to lure my victims home with me,” Gerard states. “I’m ten times stronger and a hundred times quicker than any human.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just lets Frank’s imagination run wild. Hell, Frank witnessed it firsthand. He had tried to hit Gerard several times, only for his fist to connect with empty air. He didn’t even see him move. He was just gone.
Now imagine that, but with someone unsuspecting. It would take more than a single second to take them, and not much longer to finish them off.
“This isn’t a trap, Frank.” That is exactly what someone setting a trap would say! “It’s a proposition.”
“For what?”
“Oh, you dense motherfucker,” Gerard laughs, then he kisses him. He’s not gentle about it, but he’s not exactly harsh, either. He’s more firm than anything. The palm of his right hand presses at the center of Frank’s back, keeping him there, while the other cradles his jaw.
There’s something about it that feels both tender and dangerous. Like he’s a caged animal.
I don’t need to lure my victims home.
Frank kisses him back.
He’s not sure why he does, other than the fact that he can’t help it. Gerard’s lips are cold against his, but they’re not rough or chapped. The chill of it is a stark reminder that Gerard is dead, but it’s nothing like kissing a corpse might be. He’s very much alive with movement, and when Frank opens his mouth to allow Gerard’s tongue to slip inside, there’s still the familiar, wet slide of muscle.
It’s just cool to the touch. It brings about a sensation Frank’s never felt before. He’s used to his partners being very much warm, if not hot. Gerard, though, sends shivers down his spine where he traces idle patterns into his shoulder blades.
They pull apart after a moment. Frank catches Gerard’s eyes where they bore down at him. His stare is intense, and their proximity to each other leaves nowhere to hide.
“We should take this upstairs if you want to continue. Best not go any further on the open sidewalk.”
Frank steps out of his cold embrace, nodding. “Wouldn’t want to catch a public indecency charge.” His keys are out in a matter of seconds, and he can feel Gerard’s presence as he moves to the door to his building.
“What happens if I don’t invite you in?” He asks as he unlocks and opens the door. “Is that the equivalent of blue-balling you?”
Gerard laughs another belly laugh before he shoves Frank forward. He stumbles through the doorway and glances over his shoulder to see Gerard following him in, uninvited.
“I guess that rumor’s false, too, then.”
Gerard doesn’t grace him with an answer.
They make their way up the stairs to Frank’s unit in silence. Gerard moves inaudibly behind him, but Frank knows he’s there. He can feel his presence, somehow, blanketing over him.
The apartment is just as quiet as the street was, only here there’s less light. Frank doesn’t bother turning anything on. He just makes his way through the apartment with Gerard trailing him, uninvited but welcome.
“Quaint,” is the only word Gerard offers as they move into the bedroom. It’s messy, clothing strewn on the floor near the hamper and the bed unmade. It doesn’t really matter, but Frank can feel himself becoming embarrassed. It’s been a long time since he’s had any kind of company over, friends or otherwise. There hasn’t been much of a reason to clean.
“Thanks,” he mutters. He kicks a pair of boxers in the general direction of the hamper and misses. They hit the wall with a pat. So much for subtlety.
“Oh, please,” Gerard snickers, “don’t clean up on my behalf.”
“Oh, fuck off. We’re not here for me to impress you with my high-quality housekeeping skills. We’re here so I can get fucked.”
They hadn’t talked about it, but Frank assumed he’d be the one bottoming tonight. Both because there isn’t a single thing about the past twenty minutes that makes Frank think otherwise. Besides, he’s feeling himself tonight. He could definitely go for getting dicked down.
“So that’s how it is, huh? The big bad punk is actually just a little whore, willing to lay back for the first man he comes across?”
The words are said with an airy sort of quality, but they set the tone for how the night is likely going to go. Frank feels a shudder run through his spine, and anticipation curls in his gut.
“Not the first man,” Frank corrects, rolling with it, “just the first one who’s interesting enough to take home.”
“Oh, so I’m interesting, now?”
“Yeah, well, it’s not every day you come across a vampire in the wild.”
“The wild?” Gerard laughs. “What, is this fucking animal planet?”
“I mean,” Frank waggles his eyebrows, completely unperturbed by the high-pitched giggle Gerard is making above him. “It can be. Is this the part where I get mounted by the big bad vampire?”
“Oh my god,” Gerard snorts. “Please, shut the fuck up.”
“Make me.”
“Now that I can do,” He says. The distance between them closes in a matter of seconds. Gerard’s lips are still cold and it still catches Frank off guard. He wonders if he could warm Gerard up with kisses alone. With nothing but fevered touch creating friction on cold skin.
Maybe he could. Maybe if they fuck hard enough, he could make Gerard warm again.
They stand there for a while, kissing in the dark of Frank's room. There's no rush between them, but there is the threat of something more. It’s there, in the way Gerard once again cups his jaw, and how his free hand goes to hold his hip. It’s there, in the way Frank continues to deepen their kiss, in the way he presses their bodies together.
It’s there, in the way Gerard begins to trail cool, open-mouthed kisses down Frank’s neck. Frank can feel the skim of fangs as he leaves wet kisses on the soft flesh. It’s not really too alarming until Gerard speaks again.
“Can I bite you? Don’t worry, it won’t turn you.” He noses his way along Frank’s jaw, close enough to his throat to be dangerous but Frank doesn’t feel any fear. “Vampires can only turn people in very specific circumstances.”
“Which are?”
“You know,” Gerard’s tongue comes out to slide up the curve of his jawline before he lightly traces one fang back down. It’s too light to really cut the skin, but Frank can feel the way it easily could. “The toxins don’t take unless the body is primed. You’d have to undergo a couple rituals to get you there, drink an elixir, the works.”
“That sounds involved,” Frank says. There must be something in the way he says it, because Gerard immediately presses back. Cold air fills the space where he was.
“It is,” He says. He doesn’t say it with any certain tone, but Frank can feel a shift. He thinks about what Gerard said earlier, about having a mother. He doesn’t know if he meant that in the literal human sense, or in more of a Vampire Creator sense.
“What does the venom feel like?”
“It’s not venom,” Gerard says. His voice is soft and non-patronizing as he explains, “It’s more of a serum. It numbs the skin and muscles where my fangs penetrate you. Like Novocain.”
He wants to make a joke about how that’s not a good enough excuse to use the word penetrate.
“Will I feel it?” He asks, instead. “The initial pain? It takes Novocain a while to really kick in.”
“I don’t feel pain the same way as you do, not anymore, so I don’t know how much you’ll actually feel. But any human I’ve ever been with hasn’t complained too much.”
Visuals flood Frank’s brain with the new information. Gerard with other people, sinking his teeth into the tender skin around their necks and shoulders. Gerard with other vampires, having their fangs rip his own skin apart.
“What does it feel like?”
“It’s been so long,” Gerard answers. His voice is soft, earnest in a way one’s is when recalling faint memories. “I don’t remember much besides the way my skin felt– like all of my warmth was being drained with each drop of blood.”
“No, not—“ Frank stops him. The implication of Gerard’s words sends something sharp down into the base of his neck. Something fearful. Sorrowful. He can’t process it right now, isn’t in the right headspace, so he presses on with his original question. “When someone bites you.”
Gerard pauses, “Oh.”
“You don’t have to— I mean, if it’s too personal if you don’t want to tell me.”
“No, that’s quite alright.” Gerard’s lips trace softly up the expanse of Frank’s neck to the shell of his ear. A puff of breath makes him tremble. “It’s sharp at first, that much I know. Most people gasp. But then it’s like nothing you’ll ever feel. Your body doesn’t know what to do with the sensation of being drained, even if it’s just a little bit, so it starts to overcompensate. You get all hot, and then the serum takes hold and everything turns soft. And from there, people are usually begging for more.”
“Will you be gentle?”
He feels so fucking stupid asking, but he can’t help it. He needs to know what he’s getting himself into, and Gerard has been seemingly honest thus far. He’s reaching out in the dark, between himself and a stranger with death on his tongue, and all he needs is comfort. A little bit of reassurance, even if it’s empty.
“Of course,” Gerard whispers. Frank can feel his lips form the words against his neck.
“I want to feel it,” Frank says. The risk he’s taking is huge, but this might also be the only chance he gets to experience something like this. Not every vampire in the world is gentle, or promises such sweet comfort. Most would probably have ripped Frank apart by now, not laid him down to bed.
If he dies tonight, at least he dies softly.
“Brace yourself,” Gerard says, and that’s the only warning he gets.
It doesn’t hurt. At least, not the way he expects it to. Gerard is as gentle as he can be when he’s biting two nail-sized holes into his neck. His lips are soft and his jaw is firm, not hesitating but not ripping through the flesh, either. There’s no burning or all-consuming agony. His teeth simply pierce in a way that can only be described as clean and blunt.
“Fuck,” comes out in a short breath. His hands clench against the collar of Gerard’s shirt. It’s weird. It hurts but it doesn’t, and then suddenly it feels like nothing at all. Like Novocaine or laughing gas flooding the arteries under Gerard’s mouth. The venom, the numbing agents Gerard told him about, sinks into him and the sensation is enough for his head to fall lazily back onto his shoulders. He hears himself groan above the rush of blood in his ears.
He can, but can’t, feel the way Gerard pulls the blood out of the wounds. The pressure is stunted but relentless, and he feels the way his heart pounds to compensate against the redirection of blood flow. It’s confusing. Disorienting. And somehow, it’s the hottest shit he’s ever experienced.
Gerard pulls back with a wet pop and even wetter breath, panting against Frank. He’s got one hand curled at the base of Frank's neck, the other fisted at the belly of his shirt. The slope of his spine holds rigid as he swallows roughly before grazing his fangs against what should be tender skin, but instead feels like little jolts of electricity.
“Jesus Christ, Frank, what’s your diet made of? Lollipops and Diet Coke? You’re so fucking sweet. You should get your blood sugar checked.”
Frank can only hum an answer. He can’t even really find it in himself to laugh at Gerard’s shitty joke. Everything around him feels like cotton candy, light and fluffy and sweet. The kind of sweetness Gerard must be talking about, filling him up instead of draining him dry.
“Fuck,” is all he manages to get out. It sounds slurred. It probably is, but fuck it. Who cares when it feels this good to be alive? No one. Absolutely no one. Least of fucking all Frank.
“That’s it,” Gerard murmurs seconds before a hot tongue is pressed to his neck and dragged up over the bite mark. “Doesn’t it feel good?”
“So good.”
Hands trail their way across Frank’s body, caressing his arms and back and stomach. The touch is soft and pillowy. They guide him as he involuntarily sinks down onto his knees, his body suddenly too weak to hold himself up.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” Frank nods. His head swims. “Yeah, just trying to get my bearings back.”
“Take all the time you need.”
The hands that helped guide him down now rest in his hair. It’s not the same as when he’s giving head, and fingers are tangled in his roots and holding him still. This is more of a petting, a gentle carding. It’s grounding. It’s exactly what Frank needs.
“Do you want to taste me?” Gerard asks, and
“What?”
“Me. I taste you, do you want to taste me?”
Dumbfounded and unsure of what he’s agreeing to, all Frank can do is nod.
Gerard smiles down at him, something not quite sinister but not quite soft either. He positions himself, standing above where Frank is still kneeling, and brings his arm up to his mouth. Frank watches in rapt horror as Gerard doesn’t bite himself, but instead sinks one fang into his wrist and drags it up the length of his forearm.
The flesh rips, jagged and uneven. It’s like a car crash, a murder, a suicide, and Frank jerks forward uselessly, almost falling onto his hands in the process. It just happens so quickly, and then blood is pouring in thick streams down Gerard’s arm, dripping off his elbow just to stain the sheets.
“Gee—”
“Shh,” Gerard says. Crimson spills from his arm, from his fangs, from his lips. “Don’t worry. I can’t die.” Then he raises his arm to Frank's mouth. “Drink.”
Frank does. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the center of the wound. It’s messy, slick, and he doesn’t quite get purchase right away. His lips slide against the skin and the motion smears hot ichor along his cheek and jaw. It trickles into his mouth, anyway, coating his teeth and tongue.
Once he’s able to get his lips wrapped around the wound, blood rushes in. He doesn’t even need to suck all that much, the flow of it is steady enough to fill his mouth and then some. So much so that saliva mixed with blood spills out of the side. It trails down his chin in quick, thick strings and drips down onto his chest in opaque red spots.
“How does it taste?”
Coppery is the first thing Frank thinks. Like blood. But there’s also something else. Something more beneath the surface when he really thinks about it. It’s tangy, almost sweet.
“Like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.” It’s an honest answer.
“Because you haven’t.” One hand comes up to grip him under his chin, fingers framing his face and pressing on the hinge of his jaw to urge it open. He looms over Frank, presence making itself somehow even more known. A shadow in a dimly lit room. A ghost in the snow.
When he’s satisfied with Frank’s position, open-mouthed and staring up at him, he smiles.
Then he spits directly into Frank’s mouth. The taste of him mixes with the blood still on his teeth and tongue, and it spills just slightly out of the corner of his mouth to join the messy trail on his chest.
Frank’s dick gives a violent twitch at the sensation, and he can feel a bead of precum trickle out of the tip. It’s not like Frank hasn’t been spit on before – it’s not something he makes a constant habit out of, but he’s also not opposed to the occasional degradation that comes from this. This, though, for some reason is so much hotter. It’s so much more, and Frank finds himself feeling more desperate than he ought.
It tastes like Gerard— there’s no other way to describe it— and he finds himself swallowing like a parched wanderer stuck in the desert sun.
“You look so pretty like this,” Gerard hums. “Crimson.”
Frank wants to respond, but the words get caught in his chest. He can’t stop staring up at the man above him. Can’t help the way his mouth continues to hang open, a string of bloody spit still trailing off his lips.
Caught in a trance, Frank feels as though he was built to worship Gerard.
“Tell me what you want,” Gerard says. It’s not a demand, but it feels like one.
“Anything you want.”
Gerard tsks. “I didn’t ask you what I want. I asked what you want.”
“Anything,” Frank repeats. It’s true. He would give anything. And that’s enough to shake some reality back into him.
There’s a part of him that still has some residual fear that Gerard is manipulating him. That he really does have venom in those fangs, or that his eyes have cast some supernatural spell over his mind. All of it makes his head swim.
Gingerly, Frank rests his hands on Gerard’s wrists and helps to lower them down. He pushes up until he’s standing only inches away.
Then, he turns and walks away.
The walk to the door is slow. Intentional. Frank makes sure to feel the floor beneath his feet with every step. He notices the give of the carpet under him; the way his knees groan and ankles crack; the way his heartbeat both quickens and slows at the same time.
Mostly, though, he notices how every movement he makes is his own. And that feeling floods him with relief he can’t put into words.
It’s only his muted survival instincts talking. The ones telling him danger! Danger! He is the predator and you are the prey! He doesn’t feel like he needs to say yes. He wants to.
Gerard’s eyes don’t burn holes in his back. He doesn’t feel the ever-present weight of being watched. He doesn’t feel anything that might keep him weighted here.
The doorknob is cool beneath his hand. Grounding. It’s all he needs to turn around and see Gerard lying back against the bed, eyes closed and a slight downturn to his mouth. His brows knit together thoughtfully, and his chest rises and falls evenly. He’s thinking, and Frank wishes he could read his mind. Wishes that was a real vampire superpower instead of something make-believe.
“You,” he says. His voice is impossibly quiet. “I want you.”
He crosses the room and crawls back onto the bed, over Gerard until his knees are settled on either side of his hips. Absently, he runs a finger over the now swollen punctures on his neck. “I needed to be sure. That this was me— my choice. That I wanted this.”
“And you do?” Gerard asks. His eyes are open now, and his gaze is even and calm. Almost like he’s holding something back, but Frank can’t place it. Frank nods. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, then,” Gerard repeats. There’s a tremor to his voice, tucked carefully behind the sigh of words. “What do you want?”
He’s hard where Frank presses down against him, rolling his hips down and feeling the outline of his cock against the crease of his own thigh. “I want you to open me up and take me apart. Fuck me and then fuck me again until I can’t even talk. And then take whatever you want from me. Drink until you’re so full you can’t stand it.”
“Frank,” Gerard groans. His hands find purchase on his waist and Frank feels the way he twitches up, answering the slow roll of Frank’s hips. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do.” He’s not a child, but petulance begins to drip out of him. He knows what he wants. He knows what he’s asking for, and the idea that Gerard won’t give it to him makes him want to bite back something whiney and desperate. “Just don’t kill me, that’s all. Take whatever you want, just don’t kill me.”
Gerard’s hands tighten and pull them tighter together. “I would never.”
“Then take,” Frank says. He hopes his voice is enough to convince Gerard that yes, he actually fucking wants this.
Gerard grinds up, then, and Frank feels him. Really fucking feels the outline of him, hot and heavy beneath his slacks. He feels huge and the idea of taking him fucking thrills him.
“I love the way you feel,” he says. His hips swivel in time with the way Gerard is grinding up into him. “You’re so fucking hard.”
“For you,” Gerard answers. His voice has lost whatever tremor it held and now has the tell-tale strain of someone holding back. It makes Frank grind down harder, eager to break through whatever restraint there is.
“I want it.” He presses his hands to Gerard’s chest, feeling the press of flesh that should be cold but isn’t. It’s warm and soft and almost alive — Frank’s own blood pumping through his veins.
Frank’s blood, pumping pseudo-life through Gerard. Frank’s blood, bringing him from cold and taut to soft and beating. Frank’s blood, reanimating the very flesh that died centuries ago.
That thought alone makes him press forward to capture Gerard’s mouth in a messy kiss. Gerard’s hands immediately move to his ass to hold Frank still, his feet bracing on the mattress so he can buck his up harder.
Teeth sink into his lower lip, fangs nicking the tender flesh and drawing blood to the surface. Frank can taste himself, the slick copper coating his tongue before Gerard can get to it.
“If I were a worse man,” Gerard says. His voice catches, and he doesn’t finish the thought, but Frank can fill in the blanks. If Gerard were not who he is, Frank would be a dead man walking.
Gerard pushes his hips up in time with the way Frank is rolling down. The fabric of his slacks is so thin that Frank can feel the ridge of his cock pressing against the back of his thigh. It’s so close to where he wants it that Frank finds himself spreading his legs wider, begging the denim of his jeans to simply disappear so he can feel Gerard’s cock slide against his entrance, the tip catching against him completely unprepared.
He moans into Gerard’s mouth at the thought, hands pawing at the buttons of his shirt, desperate for skin contact.
“Yeah, love?” Gerard says. His voice vibrates in the cavern of Frank's mouth, tongue darting out to trace the way his mouth is hanging open. “Something you want?”
It’s not voluntary, the whine that’s all but ripped from his chest. His hips kick forward again and he feels Gerard’s fingers cinch into his thighs. He’s got the strength to stop Frank’s movements altogether.
He tuts, patronizing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you use your words.”
“Gerard—”
“No,” he cuts in. There’s something in his voice that makes Frank’s hips try to kick again, but also makes his whole body pause. “You told me you wanted this, right? You said to take whatever I wanted?”
Gerard is looking at him now, eyes cutting straight through any haze he’d felt settling over him. Frank nods.
“So, then, this is me taking.” He squeezes his hands harder, pressing Frank tighter against him but preventing any desperately needed friction.
“You’re not going to sit here and grind on my lap like a slut. Good boys use their words.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, that’s the idea.”
The air shifts for a moment, and Frank feels his shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. His head falls forward to rest comfortably into the book of Gerard’s neck, lips curling into a smile against the skin.
Whatever tension he might have felt drains from his shoulders as he presses open-mouthed kisses to the tendons. He lets his teeth scrape gently, then harder, before whispering, “I wish I could bite you.”
“You can,” Gerard says. “Is that what you want? To bite me?”
Frank shrugs, biting the skin behind his ear. He lets out a soft breath, and feels a full-body shudder run down the length of Gerard’s spine. “Yeah, but also no.”
“You’re pretty occupied with your mouth.”
“Yeah,” Frank agrees. “Like having my mouth on you.”
Gerard’s palms move up the tops of Frank’s thighs and under his shirt. He stops just below his nipple, teasing the sensitive skin under his pec. “Yeah? You like using your mouth on me, baby?”
Frank lets his hips, now unrestrained, roll hard against Gerard as he nods. His mouth begins to make its way back down the skin of his neck, to his collarbone where the top few buttons of his shirt are undone.
“Wanna put my mouth to good use.”
“Oh, so that’s what you want, huh?” Gerard coos. His voice is silvery. “Want to wrap that sweet mouth around my thick cock?”
“Yeah,” Frank says, brain short-circuiting as he feels Gerard’s nails scrape down the plain of his chest. “Yeah, I want that. Want that real bad.”
“Yeah? You want to get on your knees for me? Want me to bury my hands in your hair until you can’t breathe?”
Jesus Christ.
Frank nods frantically against Gerard’s neck.
They don’t waste any more time. Gerard all but shoves Frank off his lap and onto the ground. He settles on his knees comfortably between Gerard’s legs, giving him room to shimmy out of his slacks and position himself right at the edge of the bed. He looks hot like this, undressed from the waist down, pupils completely blown out.
“Take your shirt off, baby. Wanna see you.”
Frank does. He can feel the heat from his face radiating down his neck and chest, creating what he knows is a pink glow on his pale skin. The only thing softening the blush is the ink scattered across his collar and chest. He tries not to feel self-conscious under Gerard’s intense gaze, so instead he shifts his focus down to his prize.
Gerard’s cock is hard where it juts out from his crotch. Frank doesn’t give him a chance to touch himself, or even tell Frank to suck him. He surges forward and catches the tip between his lips, tasting the bitter salt of precum where it’s already beaded.
Gerard is heavy and full in his mouth. Frank has to anchor himself, feeling the solid ground beneath his knees so he doesn’t get too overwhelmed too quickly. Gerard doesn’t rush him, he doesn’t even twitch his hips, but Frank can feel the way he’s throbbing on his tongue. It makes him groan just knowing how much power he has down here, messy and fucked up but holding Gerard in the palm of his hand.
He wonders if Gerard could get hard without Frank’s blood in him. That’s how erections work, right? Blood rushing to the dick and filling the vessels. Frank’s the reason Gerard’s hard, both metaphorically and literally.
It’s like dick-ception. Frank’s blood in Gerard’s dick in Frank’s mouth. Like he’s sucking himself off… but not.
Frank relaxes his jaw as much as he can and sinks down until the tip nudges against the back of his throat. It triggers a sputter, but nothing he can’t breathe through.
Above him, Gerard groans again. His eyes are half-lidded and mouth dropped open into a desperate whimper. “That’s it. You’re doing so good. Think you can take a little more?”
He waits to feel the subtle nod of Frank's head before pressing in deeper, past his gag reflex and into the hot clutch of his throat. He only goes another inch or so deeper before pulling back out, but it’s enough to make quick tears spring to the corner of Frank’s eyes.
“So good,” Gerard says. “So good for me.” He presses back in, setting a rhythm that follows the same depth. All Frank can do is curl his tongue along the underside and sink his fingers into the flesh on Gerard’s thigh. It’s not even rough, but he feels like he has to hold for purchase, anyway.
Gerard murmurs little praises above him, nothings of good boy and so tight and that’s it, that’s it right as Frank swallows around him.
That last praise cuts off right at the end and tapers into a sharp gasp. Frank can’t help but feel smug, down there on his knees. Gerard’s thighs shake under his fingertips, so Frank pushes forward until he feels his nose press into the soft hair at the base of Gerard’s cock.
Gerard lets out a jagged moan and holds him there, firm and unapologetic, until Frank feels his throat begin to spasm and tears fall heavy from his eyelashes.
Just when he thinks he might black out, Gerard yanks him back by his hair. Oxygen floods his system as he gasps it down, spit that still connects his lips to Gerard’s cock runs down his chin in messy streaks. He probably looks fucked out of his mind, eyes rimmed red and mouth swollen, but Gerard is looking down at him like he’s something holy.
“You’re so perfect,” he says. His voice is a soft whisper, almost as if he’s forcing the words out of his chest. “You’re so fucking good. On your knees, throat open. It’s like you were made for this. For me.”
“I was,” Frank rasps, and then ducks back down. He takes Gerard fully back into his mouth. Now that his throat is relaxed, he can work him much quicker. He takes him down to the root in three consecutive swallows before holding himself there, again.
Above him, Gerard’s hips twitch seemingly against himself. He looks like he’s desperately holding onto control. Frank wishes he wouldn’t. He wishes Gerard would just let loose, but the next time Frank tries to choke himself he feels Gerard drag him off entirely.
He gasps a few lungfuls of air down and lets himself rest back on his haunches. Gerard allows him to catch his breath.
“Your throat is so tight, baby. Feels amazing. Makes me wonder how great your ass is gonna feel. I can’t wait to get inside you.”
Frank’s cock, neglected between his legs, takes interest in that idea. He’d almost forgotten about himself, caught up in the lightheadedness that comes along with choking himself on someone else. Mixed with the blood loss, he almost feels drunk.
Now that he’s noticed it, though, the ache feels relentless. He undoes his jeans in a desperate attempt to let some of the pressure off, and feels his hips kick forward uselessly, humping the empty air.
“You like that idea don’t you, baby?” Gerard asks. His grip is loose in his hair, but he has enough purchase to force Frank’s head back so he can look down at him.
He tries to speak, but the words are raw in his throat so he nods instead. He does like that idea. He likes it very fucking much.
“Look at you, drooling all over yourself and nodding like you can’t wait for me to fuck you senseless.”
Frank nods again, his skull beginning to feel like a bobblehead on his neck. He looks pathetic, perched on his knees and all but pawing at Gerard’s dick at the mere mention of getting fucked. But god, sucking dick makes him horny as fuck.
It’s been so long since he even had a halfway decent lay. Chicks and dudes who were impressed by his ability to play guitar, who eagerly agreed to sloppy quickies in bar bathrooms, hardly count for anything. He needs this. His body is practically begging for something inside, and with how thick Gerard was in his mouth, he knows he won’t be left wanting for much.
“Get up,” Gerard commands, and Frank does. He scrambles to his feet only to be pushed face-first onto the mattress. His jeans and boxers get yanked off in one smooth motion, and he’s left bent over his own bed, half on and half off. His knees are bent and he’s forced to stand on the balls of his feet. When he breathes in, he catches a mouthful of loose bedsheet. “Stay still.”
Frank does. He doesn’t move a muscle, even when his thighs begin to cramp from the position. Behind him, there’s no noise. Not even so much as a lube bottle opening or the sound of footsteps. Gerard is a quiet motherfucker, but not this quiet.
He feels exposed like this. Naked and vulnerable. There’s a pique of adrenaline in his blood, his body suddenly remembering that there is a deadly creature behind him– that he could be killed at a moment’s notice. His nervous system doesn’t like that, and an uncomfortable cold sweat breaks out on the back of his neck, followed by gooseflesh and the unrelenting need to run.
And then, like magic, Frank feels two soft hands slide gently from his shoulder blades to the curve of his ass. The touch is warm and comforting, and whatever feeling was beginning to thrum in his veins is quickly replaced by a kind of reassurance that his imminent death isn’t around the corner.
He’s at least going to get fucked, first.
Gerard takes a handful of each cheek and spreads him apart. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, as if Frank’s not even there. “So perfect for me. Can’t wait to see the way that tight hole swallows my cock.”
Frank shudders, and then yelps like a dog whose foot got stepped on. Not just because it hurt, but because it caught him by surprise.
Because that’s when he feels Gerard’s fangs sink into the tender flesh of his asscheek.
Gerard takes one short drag and then pulls off. He cackles with a wet sort of sound, Frank’s blood still heavy in his mouth. “The noise!” He howls. “The noise! You sounded like a dying cat!”
“Fucking hell,” Frank groans. His head is swimming both from the arousal and the bite, and he’s starting to feel a nasty cramp forming in his calf, and Gerard is behind him laughing like a goddamn lunatic. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”
“Sorry,” Gerard says, still short of breath and laughing. Frank wants to be cranky about it, but the sound fills him with something just short of mirth. “I couldn’t help it. Your ass was just right there. It looked so tasty, I just had to have a bite.”
The sheer force by which Frank rolls his eyes should have put them into the back of his skull. “If you’re not careful, my dick’s going to flag.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Gerard says, and then suddenly there’s a soft, wet feeling on his asshole. It’s such a stark contrast from the sharp bite that Frank’s system goes into quick shock.
Then, the pleasure comes.
It washes through him in waves. With each pass of his tongue, a shudder runs through him. Frank feels himself push back, creating more friction.
Gerard eats him out like a man starved. He laps at him with broad strokes of his tongue, tracing at his rim before stiffening his tongue and dipping it inside. He’s thankful for Gerard taking this approach. Frank feels himself relax at the intrusion much easier than he would if it were a finger.
Gerard becomes a steady presence at the backs of Frank’s thighs, all but holding him up by pressing him into the bed. It takes some of the tension off his muscles and allows him to really enjoy each new sensation as Gerard’s tongue alternates between circling his rim and fucking into him.
His tongue is warm and soft where Frank is hot and needy. Gerard eases him into it until he’s writhing on the bed sheets. Until what would have been too much is now not enough. He wants to beg. He wants to demand. He wants to lose his fucking mind and sit on Gerard’s dick without being stretched.
He’s so drunk on the feeling of being eaten out that he doesn’t even care if that would cause serious damage. He wants it, goddammit.
As if answering his prayers, Gerard brings one blunted finger up to his rim and presses in alongside his tongue. Gerard has done enough in the way of spit. Frank can feel it running down the backs of his thighs. Combined with the way he’s been loosened up, the slide is easy.
“You sound pretty,” Gerard says from where he’s leaned back to catch his breath. Frank hadn’t realized that he’d moaned, but apparently he had. Gerard’s finger presses into the knuckle and stays there for a moment, before setting a steady pace.
He does a good job at getting Frank used to the feeling before another one presses in. Here, he can start to feel a stretch. He can relax into it relatively quickly, but that doesn’t mean the feeling of being filled like this isn’t slightly overwhelming.
Gerard switches from fingering him to scissoring his fingers apart, trying to create more space. He doesn’t crook his fingers. He doesn’t search. He doesn’t do much of anything that Frank might expect, except slip a third digit in after a considerable amount of fingering.
There’s part of him relishing in the way he feels full, and another part frustrated at the way Gerard is decidedly ignoring his fucking prostate.
“I swear to fucking god,” Frank groans.
“Those better be words of praise,” Gerard answers. His voice sounds lazy and haphazard. Like fingerblasting Frank is something he does to kill time on weekends.
He tries to bite his tongue. Really, he tries. But the snark slips out, anyway. “Oh, yeah, I’m absolutely praising you for your shit aim.”
Gerard withdraws his hand so suddenly Frank feels himself cramp slightly with how hard he clenches down.
“Oh, so you’re not grateful, then?” Gerard says. His voice has a sharper quality to it, now. “You don’t like what I’m giving you?”
“I do,” Frank says. His own voice is breathless. “I just want more.”
Gerard tsks. “Selfish slut. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you. You want more? I’ll give you more.”
Two hands fit themselves into the dips of Frank's hips and lift him up off his feet. Then, he’s shoved further up the bed until he can be positioned on his knees. He gets approximately fifteen seconds – just enough time for Gerard to slick his cock with lube – before he’s being filled in one steady push.
It’s almost too much. He’s not prepped enough, but at the same time, he is. His walls yield against the intrusion with resistance, and Frank can feel the stinging ache all the way up his spine.
There’s only a moment of respite when Gerard bottoms out. Frank hardly catches his breath, and then Gerard is pulling out and thrusting back in. He’s not going as hard as he could, but the constant push of his hips has Frank both clenching his eyes shut and drooling all over the blanket.
This time, all Gerard does is hit his prostate. The pain-pleasure-pain- pleasure barrier gets thinner and thinner until Frank is all but drunk on it. Normally it takes him longer to turn into this kind of mess.
“Is this what you wanted, Frank? You wanted to be fucked? I hope you like it.” Gerard picks up the pace marginally, but enough for Frank to notice. He gasps in what little air he can and lets out a ragged moan. The pain is starting to fade with each slap of their hips. “You better thank me. I was having such a nice time stretching that pretty little hole of yours out, and you rudely interrupted me. I’m doing you a favor, you know. Changing my own plans to give you what you want.”
Frank forces out a choked-off thank you. He throws a quick look over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Gerard. His eyes are focused on where they’re joined. He wonders what they look like. He wants to see the way Gerard’s cock disappears inside of him, and then drags back out. He wants to see the way his hole clenches down, practically begging to be filled over and over again.
“Pathetic. You can’t even thank me properly,” Gerard says. He pulls out quickly, and once again Frank feels that empty sensation clenching in his lower abdomen. He decides he doesn’t like that, and fixes to tell Gerard as much.
He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is an undignified squeak. Gerard, now on his back, drags Frank into his lap. It takes his body a second to catch up, so there’s a moment there where all he’s doing is flopping around like a fish. But as soon as he gets his bearings, Gerard is lifting him up and forcing him back down onto his cock.
This draws a punched sort of sound out of him.
“If you can’t even be grateful, the least you can do is work for it.”
Frank knows what’s being expected of him, and he delivers with gusto. His hips roll in a practiced rhythm. He knows how to keep time, and he knows how to ride cock. The two together make a lethal combination that has Gerard leaving bruises the size of fingerprints on his hips.
“D’you like that,” Frank says, coy. He can feel his inner brat coming back to life. “Do you like how I’m riding you?”
Gerard groans, hips kicking up to equal Frank’s pace. The angle is trained and Frank’s prostate goes from feeling stimulated to abused in a matter of minutes.
“You love it. Just needed to give me a second to show you what I can really do.”
“Careful,” Gerard warns. “Don’t get too cocky.”
“Kind of hard to avoid with your cock inside me like this. You’re huge. Fill me up so good. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone this big inside of me.”
Gerard fucks up a little quicker, and Frank matches him. “Keep talking.”
With pleasure.
Frank leans back on his calves, tits to heaven and head thrown back as he lets himself really moan. Fuck his neighbors, he couldn’t give two shits if he wakes them up. Half the time they’re up drinking until 4am, so it’s about time he got revenge.
“Gerard, fuck, this feels so good. So perfect. You really know how to fuck a guy. How long have you been doing this? Centuries? It shows. I’m not going to last long like this. Harder– yes. Just like that, fuck.”
Frank lets himself trail off as soon as Gerard wraps his hand around his dick, stroking in time with his thrusts. His orgasm doesn’t quite sneak up on him, because he knew it was coming. But it still hit hard and quick. One second he’s fucking himself down on Gerard’s cock, the next he’s cumming and choking on his own spit.
“That’s it baby, ride it out,” Gerard says, hand working Frank over as he spills onto them both. Cum smears over the tip of his cock, making the slide impossibly smooth. It feels like his orgasm is endless and Gerard milks every last drop from him, squeezing the tip until the last bead gathers and spills over.
And then he doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t stop.
“What—“ Frank chokes as Gerard continues to buck up into him. His pace is relentless, his thumb still pressing against the underside of his cock and sending oversensitive ripples down his thighs.
“You said,” Gerard smiles, voice even and hauntingly soft, “to fuck you again.”
Breath catches in the back of his throat, choking him on his own pleasure. Gerard’s left hand is holding his hips still as he rams up. His grip is too strong for Frank’s spent body. He couldn’t get away even if he wanted to.
But he doesn’t want to. He can’t even fathom a reality where he’d want to get away from this.
“You’re mine right now, you know that?” Gerard’s hand— his merciful, holy hand— lets Frank’s cock go and rejoins its twin on his hips, forcing Frank to meet his almost violent thrusts. It’s too much and it makes Frank choke on his own scream. “My body, my flesh, my blood.”
“Gee—” Frank tries, but it just gets caught up in a full-body shudder. He wants to tell him to slow down, that he’s not sure if he can handle it, but then Gerard sits up and buries his fangs directly into the muscle of Frank’s chest. “Fuck!”
Frank feels the pull of blood from his veins again, muted and needled.
It shouldn’t feel good— the warm, slick slide— but it does. Gerard drags his lips down the expanse of his chest, smearing as much of the runoff as he can, before licking a stripe through the mess.
He’s drunk with the feeling of fangs in his neck, of blood trickling down his chest in dangerously steady streams, of a hot tongue chasing the trails and leaving fire in its wake. It feels so good, unlike anything he’s felt before. Unlike anything he’ll ever feel again.
“So sweet,” Gerard says, “so delicious.”
“M’probably just fermenting,” Frank says.
“Like wine,” Gerard answers. “The sweetest wine.”
Frank feels himself tip to the side before being lowered face-first into the mattress. Gerard’s lips, wet with his own blood, press kisses to the ink-stained flesh of his shoulders and spine. His teeth graze like paper cuts over the line-work but they never sink in. Not fully.
One hand weighs firmly between his shoulder blades, holding him down. Frank feels himself press into the mattress, sinking further and further down.
“I can’t get enough of you. You’re like a drug, an aphrodisiac. Irresistible. How am I supposed to keep my hands off you when you’re laid out like this? How could I keep my fangs out of you.”
He does bite, this time at the junction of Frank’s neck and shoulder. As the blood rushes out of the new wound, it’s like something heavy weighs down in his muscles. Gerard doesn’t pull too much out this time, just enough to swallow thickly and then pull off while the rest of the blood pools down onto the sheets. The hand that swipes through the mess feels like velvet.
The slide of Gerard back inside of him is sharp and aching. It feels like he’s being split in half and his body automatically clenches down against the sensation, trying to drive it out. Gerard only groans above him and presses on deeper. They stay like that for a moment, Gerard giving Frank the grace of adjustment before he shifts back out, then in again, at a modest pace.
It’s hot, too. Something’s inherently warm about the way Gerard’s cock shoves inside of him. The slide is somehow more viscous.
Frank’s not even hard anymore. He’s just pinned face down and getting fucked increasingly harder by someone he’s not even sure can achieve orgasm. Can vampires cum? Do they even have jizz?
I’m gonna get fucked forever, he thinks deliriously, if he can’t ever cum he’s just gonna use me like a toy until he decides he’s bored. The idea isn’t completely unpleasant, but Frank has no idea how he’d be able to stand it. His body would give out before he would, the sensitive shocks of soreness already settling into his thighs.
But he’d try, though. For Gerard, he’d try to go as long as possible. To get there over and over again until he was spent dry. To let him use his body and derive divinity.
Wherever that train of thought was headed gets cut off when Gerard grabs a fistful of his hair and drags him up onto his hands and knees. “Are you alright, sugar?”
Frank can’t find his voice. He wouldn’t even be able to hold himself up if it wasn’t for the way Gerard was holding him, one hand at his hip and the other still fisted at the base of his skull.
Gerard pushes in hard and then holds Frank flush against his hips. “Frank, I asked you a question.”
Thoughts echo around the space between Frank’s ears. They rattle, unclear and hazy between the blood loss and pleasure. Gerard’s words mingle into the mess. Unclear. “What?”
“Hey,” Gerard says, “Baby.” They shift, then, and Frank feels himself lowered slowly onto the bedding. It’s soft beneath his skin, pillowy where shockwaves ripple out against every nerve ending. Gerard doesn’t move inside of him, but he does soothe a hand between his shoulder blades. Gentle, this time. Not pushing, not pressing. It helps ground him a little. His voice is low. “I need you to answer me.”
“What was the question?”
Lips burn softly against the flesh of his shoulder, against the twin holds that were carved there moments ago. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Frank says. His voice sounds raw in his ear, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Between his thighs, his cock hangs soft and spent. He could fall asleep here if he wanted to. Drift off into the nether with Gerard tangled between his ribs.
He doesn’t want that, though. Not yet. Not when he can still feel the muted throb of a cock inside of him.
“Frank,” he says again. “Is this too much?” There’s a twinge of something in his voice. Concern. Apprehension, maybe. It’s a tone he hasn’t heard from Gerard, yet, and Frank can feel warmth settling into the base of his spine.
There’s a sense of safety about being with Gerard, and the thought of that makes him laugh. The man above him who has him pinned and vulnerable, who could easily rip his throat out with nothing more than the tilt of his chin, he feels safe with. Maybe he feels safer with him than he has any other random weekend hookup. There’s something about the way his hand is pressed to the center of his spine, or the way his breath ghosts across the skin of his shoulder.
He wouldn’t hurt Frank.
Frank lets out a shallow breath and squeezes his thighs together, clenching down just slightly on Gerard’s cock. “Keep going.”
“Fuck.”
Desperation drops from Gerard’s tongue, droplets of it saturating the air around them. Mingling with the moisture on their skin. Melting into him and driving Frank to push his hips back against the tender flesh of Gerard’s pelvis. “Please.”
Gerard doesn’t say anything else, he just kicks the pace back up into something just short of punishing. It forces Frank back onto his face, arms immediately giving out as something so good it hurts radiates down his spine, down his spent cock. He feels it twitch, skin so tender it’s almost numb, as Gerard hits his prostate dead on.
Fingernails bite into his hip bones so hard they’ll not only bruise, but they might bleed, too. Droplets running down the inky pale of his thighs for Gerard to catch with his tongue. More tonic from which to quench his thirst.
To make him corporeal again. To sustain the new life in his veins.
To make it so Frank will never have been without the burning ache flowering at the base of his spine.
“That’s it, baby. Can you feel it? Can you feel how fucking good you make me feel?” Something like a noise bubbles out of Frank’s mouth, but it’s nothing close to words. It’s as close to confirmation as Gerard’s going to get, though. And he seems to realize that, because he doesn’t stop and try to force Frank to use his words again. He just keeps going, driving into him over and over again. “Fuck, you’re so good. So good for me. How can one man be this perfect? Letting me fuck you as long and as hard as I want, even after you’ve already cum. You’re too perfect—I’m never letting you go. You’re mine.”
Frank feels the fangs again, but this time they’re not sinking in but scraping down his back. Teasing the flesh with what they’re capable of doing to him. It hurts, his skin over-sensitive and raw from the endorphins hemorrhaging out of him.
It’s only a matter of time before the next bite comes, but there’s no way he can brace himself for it. His muscles are screaming at him, his nerve endings so raw he’s long since crossed the pain-pleasure barrier and can feel his cock thinking about twitching back to life.
“I can feel you,” Gerard says. He gets a fistful of Frank’s hair and tugs him into a kneeling position. “I can feel how much you love this. You keep clenching around my cock, and shuddering when I hit you there.”
The next bite comes on the other side of his neck. Frank can feel himself go completely lightheaded with the amount of blood he’s lost. He wonders, faintly, if it’s enough to be fatal.
Something swims in front of him. It’s not quite his vision, but it also is, blurring along the seams of his peripherals and filling his head with sugar. It’s like his own consciousness is being pulled from his veins just to slide down Gerard’s throat.
He’s got nothing left in him. No strength in his arms. No wherewithal in his head. Just the feeling of Gerard’s borderline inhuman strength holding him up so Frank can kneel while he fucks into him. Every single one of his nerve endings is on fire and it makes his own cock twitch back to life, but only barely. Every other sensation in his body only serves to make him shake apart from the sheer overstimulation of it all.
If Gerard keeps going he might actually wring a second orgasm out of him. It’ll probably be dry and painful as all hell, but Frank finds himself wanting for it anyway.
“You’re so fucking good for me, baby,” Gerard says. Frank was unaware of how close his lips were to his own ear, but he can feel it now. The way Gerard’s breath pants onto the shell, the way his teeth scrape against his ear lobe. The way his voice sounds vibrating down the side of his neck. It sends a full-body shiver down Frank's spine. “You’re so tight and hot. So pliant, just letting me do whatever I want to you. Do you like this? You like being my little cock sleeve?”
“Yes,” Frank chokes out. “God, I love it.”
“You love it?” Gerard’s voice is bordering on teasing now, forced out through gritted teeth as he lets go of Frank's upper body. He all but collapses back into the sheets, face completely muffled and arms splayed out sloppily. “How much?”
He tries to say so much but it comes out gurgled.
“Hm?” Gerard mocks. He pauses his thrusts to grind roughly into Frank, his own voice cutting off in a strangled moan. He’s getting close. “I can’t hear you.”
Frank lolls his head to the side and hauls in a deep breath. Gerard is still grinding right into his prostate, brutally pressing into him. He never stops moving.
Frank's voice is choked and cut off, words not making too much sense. A jumble of good and more and fuck and yes and all Gerard can do is laugh again. Taunting him with so much love in his voice.
“Yeah, baby boy? You’re a glutton for pain, aren’t you? Just a whore spread out for me to take as much as I want from.”
Gerard shifts them seamlessly so he’s got one arm wrapped around Frank’s chest instead of two, and he slowly slides his now free hand down the inked plains of Frank’s body until it wraps around his cock, somehow hard and leaking and so fucking sensitive.
“I’m going to make you cum again,” he says. It’s not a threat. It’s not even a promise. It’s more like a fact. He’s going to make Frank cum. There’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it. “I’m going to fuck you until you cum, and then I’m going to cum inside of you.”
Frank groans, letting his head loll back against the curve of Gerard’s shoulder. He feels his body respond, pathetic beads of precum gathering at the tip of his cock for Gerard to spread around with his fist. It slickens the slide and makes it awful – makes it’s so fucking beautiful.
“Maybe I’ll keep going, too. Fuck my seed into you. Fuck it so deep you’ll feel it for days. I could keep going for as long as I want. Perks of being me, you know. Short refractory period.”
“Please,” Frank begs. He’s not sure if he’s begging for Gerard to follow through on all his filthy fucking words, or if he’s begging for mercy. For him to please stop, please let his body breathe. The hand on his cock speeds up, and with Gerard relentlessly grinding against his prostate, Frank feels another orgasm crest and force its way out of him.
White mixes with the blackened edges of his vision. It’s so good it’s painful, but it’s not dry. Thin ropes of cum spurt across Gerard’s fist and make the slide slicker. He feels his fist tighten, feels Gerard wring every last drop he can out of Frank. Milks him for all he’s fucking worth into a disgusting puddle on the bedsheets.
Gerard drops him, then. Let him fall into his own mess before pressing his hand into that familiar spot between his shoulder blades. He fucks Frank. Really, really fucks him. It’s quick and brutal but this time Frank knows it won’t last forever. There’s no teasing or subtlety about the way Gerard’s fingers are digging into his skin, or in the way he’s moaning brokenly above him.
Gerard cums, hot and heavy and so fucking alive inside of him. His cock is buried as deep as it possibly can be, and Frank can feel the way he grinds through the orgasm. He can feel each pulse, almost unendingly, and thinks wildly for a second that if it was possible, there’s no way he wouldn’t get fucking pregnant just from the sheer amount of cum Gerard gives him.
It’s a consecration of this bed; of these sheets; of Frank’s own body as Gerard finishes inside of him.
The feeling alone is almost enough to get him hard again. Almost. Frank’s too tired and fucked out to even think about a third round, let alone feel anything other than the twitching of Gerard’s cock inside of him as he rides out the aftershocks.
Then, finally, Gerard pulls out. He does it slowly so Frank can feel the drag of his cock as he leaves him empty.
He feels insane for missing the feeling. Even as his body screams relief, there’s a part of him that feels like he might feel empty forever. Like Gerard carved out a spot inside of him.
“Juice,” Frank hears him mumble. “We need juice.” Then, he’s gone from the room. He moves quietly, so much so that Frank can’t even hear the sound of footsteps as he leaves or returns.
Gerard turns him over so gently, Frank almost thinks he’s floating. He sits him up and presses a cold glass to his lips, and then he’s got something shockingly sweet in his mouth. It washes away the cotton mouth he got from gasping raggedly like a whore in church for the better part of an hour.
“Drink,” Gerard commands. Frank does. It feels intimate and familiar.
He downs the entire glass, which gets refilled in an instant. Then, he’s being laid back down and wiped with a damp washcloth. It’s warm and easily cleans the cooling cum off of his stomach and chest. A fresh one wipes at his mouth and forehead, catching sweat and drool.
“I’d shower you, but I don’t think you can handle that right now, so this will have to do.”
Frank only hums in assent. He’s sure he could talk if he really tried, but he doesn’t really want to. He’s content like this, with Gerard wiping him down and leaving comforting touches all along his body.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Is there anything you need?”
Frank doesn’t think before he speaks. “Kisses?” comes out all on its own. He has half a mind to be embarrassed, but then Gerard is leaning over him and leaving soft presses of his lips to whatever plain of skin they can reach. There’s no urgency or implication, no cut of fangs. Just kisses.
He even kisses Frank right on the mouth. Chaste and soft, the feel of which shakes any lingering tension from his bones.
He falls asleep like that, with Gerard’s featherlight kisses chasing each swipe of the washcloth.
When he wakes up, he’s not alone like he expects. The blinds are shut tight, preventing any of the late morning sun from coming into the room, and Gerard is tucked up under the blanket as if to provide another layer of protection.
The clock on the wall reads 11:03AM.
“Hey,” he tries. It’s soft, and Gerard doesn’t move. He decides to let him sleep. 11:03AM must be his midnight, or some shit.
It’s not too hard for him to remove himself from the bed. He still feels weak, his limbs heavier than they ought to be, and he’s a little lightheaded. Food first, before anything else.
His fridge holds a mostly empty container of apple juice and leftover Chinese. Everything else requires him to stand at the stove for an extended period of time.
Chinese it is.
He drinks the apple juice straight from the container while the microwave whirrs. He eats in silence. His shift at the bar doesn’t start until after eight, so his entire day consists of watching bad TV on the couch, showering, and checking on Gerard.
Every time he peaks his head into the room, he expects him to be gone. Either having left through the window, or having just been a figment of his imagination. The world’s most intense wet dream.
It isn’t until the sun has completely sunk under the horizon that Gerard appears. His eyes are bleary and his hair mussed. He looks entirely human like this. Frank isn’t sure what he expected, but this isn’t it.
“I didn’t mean to overstay my welcome,” he says, by way of a good morning. “I wanted to make sure you were truly alright, and by the time I was sure the sun was coming up. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. A little sore, but good.” Frank answers. “The sun thing is true, then?”
“Sort of,” Gerard says. He doesn’t offer any other explanation.
“I don’t mind that you stayed,” Frank says instead of prying. “You can stay longer if you’d like.”
“I can’t,” Gerard says. He doesn’t sound cruel about it, just factual. “I have– things.”
Things.
Frank decides he doesn’t want to know.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I had fun last night. You're a fun time.”
A good fuck, he means.
“Yeah. You, too.”
A soft sort of silence settles around them. Frank can’t find it within himself to be uncomfortable, so he just settles back against the couch and watches Gerard. He’s waiting for him to walk out the door. A quick goodbye to fade away into.
“Can I come by again?” Gerard asks instead.
“To fuck? Maybe in like a month,” Frank laughs. “I don’t think I can do that again for a while.”
“Yeah, sure,” Gerard says. “But also, I don’t know, just to hang? I like fucking you, but I think I might also like hanging out with you.”
“Do vampires do that? Hang out with humans?”
“Vampires can do whatever they want. Free country and all that.”
Frank considers it, and nods. He’d never say it out loud, but he would have been disappointed if Gerard vanished into the night without so much as leaving a number behind. Not that vampires have cell phones.
“Rad.”
Gerard smiles. It seems genuine. Again, Frank is struck by how human he looks. “So I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah. You will.”
He wouldn’t mind that. He wouldn’t mind seeing Gerard around forever, if he could.