One Regret to Live Through [2/3]
Part 1 | Master Post
Danny absolutely is not angry with Ian. No way. Not a chance. It isn’t his fault; no one expected anything more or less of him. Putting him up against fresh human blood like that... it was an accident, and no one is judging him. He didn’t even take any blood from the human. He’s mad at himself for wanting to.
If he’s honest though, he might be a little disappointed. Danny doesn’t say so, though.
As it is, Ian doesn’t leave their room for three days. They all tell him that it isn’t his fault. Matt blames himself for letting the human come into the coven like that. (“We could have figured out what to do without the human being here, that was an unnecessary risk that didn’t need to be taken.”)
“I slipped up,” Ian whispers to Danny in the middle of the night, everything quiet and still and dark. The light is off, empty blood bags scattered on the floor. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.” He tucks his face into his neck. He’s supposed to be stronger than that.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He’s insistent, and he finally talks him into leaving the room. As far as Ian can tell, no one is looking at him pityingly. Alex tells him that he knows the feeling. And hypothetically, they all do. They’ve all transitioned from human blood to animal blood, so really, he shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t feel so guilty and ashamed like he did something wrong. But his skin is still itching, and dead blood isn’t making it go away. He needs it, he needs it; he hasn’t felt this weak and this thirsty since he was a fledgling.
He feels like he’s suffocating to death in that house and it’s funny because he’s already dead.
“I can’t,” he says in a really quiet voice, and then lifts his head and looks at Danny. “I’m going for a walk.” He’s still for a moment, and then blinks. Yeah, he needs to go for a walk. Fresh air will clear his head.
“It’s three in the morning,” Danny says, somewhat anxiously.
Ian arches an eyebrow. “...So?”
His mate sighs, puts his hands up in defeat and says. “I can’t stop you. Just... be careful, okay? It’s a full moon, don’t go out of our territory.” Ian knows not to wander out of their boundaries. He heard them howling at the moon earlier; he isn’t reckless (or stupid) enough to go and provoke a werewolf.
“I’ll come back. Don’t worry about me,” Ian says softly, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He’s a blur up to their bedroom and slides his leather jacket onto his shoulders. It’s easier and faster to just jump out of the window; they’re on the second floor, it isn’t that far down to fall. And besides, this way, he doesn’t need to see anyone else before he leaves.
&
He’s planned what he’s going to do before he’s fully aware of what his body has told him to do. Find some prey. Something easy. Someone insignificant. Ian moves like he’s in a haze, a fog of thirstyhungryburningthirsty clouding his thoughts and his fogging his judgement. He walks to a shady part of town, with shadow filled alleyways and bums sleeping in empty doorways. It’s not yet five in the morning; the sky is navy blue and the stars are just beginning to disappear.
The human Ian stops in front of a middle aged man, sitting in a secluded alley. There are plenty of shadows, and Ian doesn’t breathe. He moves silently, and the bum opens his eyes to be face to face with a pair of rust colored ones staring at his. “Here,” Ian says, and pulls three one hundred dollar bills out of his wallet. “You look like you could use these.” His fingers tremble a little as he takes the crisp dollar bills out of the strangers hand.
“You look awful hungry too,” Ian observes, crouching in a kneeling position, balls of his feet balanced on the floor, poised as if about to jump. He doesn’t sway at all.
The homeless man’s lips crack and bleed as he says, “S-starving, sir.” His stomach rumbles as if to prove the point; his luck has changed, he can feel it. He’s just been given three hundred dollars by a stranger, and now he’s ninety percent positive that he’s offering to buy him a meal too.
Ian smiles wide. His fangs curve over, pressing into the flesh on his lips, and the homeless man can see tiny red spots of blood where the sharpened canines cut his lip. “Good, because I am too.” He bares his teeth, a wicked smile. The homeless man is terrified by this stranger for the first and last time, because he does spring forward, hands grabbing his shoulders in a vice like grip as he shoves him into the wall. His head swings back and connects with the brick, and Ian breaks his neck cleanly.
If anything, he is merciful.
He can’t stop himself, can’t control the way he sinks his fangs into the neck of this homeless man over and over again, hot red blood staining his chin and his shirt and his mouth. It soothes his throat, like tea or hot citrus water. He moves from his neck to his wrists, first the left and then the right. When he’s done, the sun is just starting to color the clouds red and pink, and the only thing he can see behind his closed eyelids is Danny’s disappointed face.
When he stands up he realizes that he’s covered in blood. Usually, he’s carefully. This is messy. His whole upperchest is stained, so is his jacket. He hides the body under some trash bags next to a dumpster.
Someone insignificant. No one will worry about him. No one will ask questions.
There is a Shell gas station about a mile from where he’s at. Some sixteen year old homeless kid with a pink mohawk and combat boots yells, “What the fuck do you think you are, a vampire?” Ian glares at him and bares his fangs. The kid runs. He feels powerful. On top again. Like this is where he belongs. Animal blood makes him feel like someone is putting him on morphine: Danny said he would get used to it, the feeling would fade over time. He doubts that it would fade into something like this.
The bathroom is around the back of the building, a dingy place with bad lighting that smells even worse. Ian holds his breath while in there, which makes his lungs itch like they did the first time he tried a cigarette. It’s a little uncomfortable, but he can deal with it. The whole vampires have no reflection thing is a myth. He has no idea where it came from, but as he washes his face and hands in the porcelain sink, he stares at his reflection and thinks, I really fucked up.
He’s like a failing alcoholic. Detox to retox. He was so close to getting clean. So fucking close. Ian licks his lips and then stares hard at the mirror, stares at his reflection with such force like he hopes the mirror will break, just so he doesn’t have to stare at the face of failure.
His blood stained clothes get burned on the way back to the coven. He’ll tell Danny he went hunting, just not what. As far as he knows, he’s been hunting deer, or elk, or even cows. Beggars can’t be choosers. He finds one of the metal bins that the homeless bums use to burn things in the winter, and he drops his jacket, his wallet and his shirt into it. He has a lighter in his pocket (although he’s honestly not really sure why) and he lights a week old newspaper and watches it fall until it lands in a burst of yellow and orange flames, blood and cloth and leather catching the flames.
Ian kind of regrets not taking off the jacket. He liked that one.
Danny is sitting on the bed facing the open window when Ian climbs the tree next to the house and launches himself through. He lands with ease and grace, barely a thud as he sneakers make contact with the bare wooden floor. The clock on the left bedside table blinks 7:39 a.m. at him; next to the digital clock is a bag of AB negative blood.
“Where’s your shirt?” Danny asks, pushing himself up off of the bed. He’s watching Ian carefully, resting his hands on the smooth skin of his chest. It’s cool to touch, no different to any other time.
“I went hunting,” Ian says quietly. “There was blood all over the place, so I burned my shirt and jacket.”
If nothing else, at least he can be honest about that.
&
The worst part (or maybe it’s the best part, Ian doesn’t know.) is that Danny is so unaware. He doesn’t question it, that he caught a deer and drained it. That he has no idea why his eyes are blood red again. That he burned his clothes just because they were covered in blood. He doesn’t question him. Danny has so much faith in him that it tears him apart from the inside out, eating away at his non-beating heart.
He hides in the library, sitting in a comfortable stuffed chair between shelves of books. He’s reading Shutter Island when Alex finds him, at the part near the end where Andrew finds that his wife killed their children. He’s aware of Alex watching him at the end of the row of shelves before the older vampire makes himself known.
“You should tell him, yano.” His fingers trail over the spines of the books as he walks closer to Ian, watching him with mixed emotions. “It’s not that big of a deal. Well, I mean it is. But it’s not. It’s almost impossible to just make a clean switch.”
Ian folds the corner of the page (Jeff will be all over him later, he hates dogeared books with a burning passion) and closes the book, looking up at Alex silently.
“I was actually really impressed with how long you lasted,” Alex admits, pursing his lips. He leans his weight against a space of wall in between two book cases. “You did much better than I did. I lasted a month before I snapped for the first time.” He still doesn’t say anything, just watches the older vampire with guarded eyes. It’s clear that he knows what he did. “Look, all I’m trying to say is that I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It’s just,” Alex sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’ll be easier if you have someone to talk to about it. I told Jack and we both snapped after that but we got there in the end, together. I think... I think it’s a lot like how humans get off of drugs or booze, yano? It’s not something you can do on your own. And it’s not like there’s a rehab where we can go to get off of human blood.” He chuckles humorlessly.
His mouth is dry, tongue heavy in his mouth. He isn’t thirsty. “I... He has so much faith in me,” he whispers, looking down at the cover of the book. “It was just. I can do this.”
Alex looks at him sadly. “I’m not going to tell, that’s your job,” Ian would give him a smile but he can’t make himself do it. “But just so you know, it’s harder to stop after the first relapse.”
&
It doesn’t take him long to figure out that he can’t hunt close to home. Out of state would be best. Even if he manages to put it off to once every two or three weeks, that’d still be a dead body showing up every time he leaves. It’d take Danny next to no time to figure it out.
The day that the homeless man he drank from came on the news Ian almost died of a heart attack. He was just flipping through the channels when he saw the body on the news. Danny felt him stiffen and looked at him curiously and then said, “It was probably one of Saporta’s that did it.” They all know what a human body looks like when a vampire’s been at it.
His excuse is that somebody he knew from pre-Danny times is in North Carolina. He tells him that he’ll be gone for two days at the top, kisses him on the lips and then drives away in his Ferarri. Ian isn’t living a lie. He’s just hiding part of the truth.
He drives to North Carolina anyway, stopping on the beach and leaning against the hood of his car as he watches the sun go down. It’s there that he finds his prey, a guy jogging in basketball shorts with a nose ring and platinum blond hair. He turns to look at him as he runs past, makes eye contact and smiles brightly. They make it too easy.
A little flirting, a few sweet words and well placed touches (his biceps, his shoulder, eye contact is good too.) and the guy is staring at him like the sun shines out of his ass. “You wanna go for a ride?” he asks, just a little bit of a hint to something more dripping out through his voice. Whatever the other guy (Kyle, he introduced himself) picks it up as is up to him. He eyes the car, smiles brightly again and agrees.
Ian wouldn’t kill and then drain someone in his car. For one, it would ruin the leather. For two, the scent wouldn’t go away for days, and even then Danny would probably notice if they got into the car due to heightened vampire senses.
The human part of Ian regrets this, doesn’t want to. He feels remorse for this guy who seems to sparkle he’s so bright and smiley. He almost wants to tell him to get out so he can find someone who doesn’t seem to shine like a piece of well polished silver. He doesn’t want to do it. Alex was right. It’s harder after the first time. He put it off as long as he could, it’s been a month since the homeless man. Him and Danny went hunting a week ago, he drank from an elk until he felt dizzy and full and sloshy, but still, his throat burns and his skin thrums with need.
Kyle chatters on and on as he drives, talking about the band that he plays drums for and the art school he’s studying at until Ian stops in a secluded area near a beach and says, “Hey, do you wanna go for a walk?” The fake blond looks vaguely surprised, like he expected something else. Maybe he thought they were going to fuck in his car. Right.
Killing the nineteen year old art student is easier than he expected it to be. He pushes him into an alleyway and the kid goes, “Eager, hm?” with a smirk. Ian smirks back, backing him against the wall. He ducks down, presses his lips to the column of his neck, teeth scraping against his skin. His fangs are already out, have been since some point in the car. He slides his hand up into his hair, and notices in the back of his head that his hair is really soft. His other hand holds onto his shoulder, and the kid just makes a soft, “Oh.” noise
And then Ian breaks his neck.
He’s more careful this time than he was with the homeless man, carefully fitting his mouth over the cervical artery. His fangs break the skin, breaking the flesh. When he’s done he licks the tiny line of blood going down his broken neck. The only thing that would give him away are two tiny identical marks where his fangs broke the skin, placed an inch apart. Otherwise, he did a clean job of it. Ian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, blinks down at the nineteen year old kid he just killed and partially drained.
He’s a kid.
This is why he agreed to do what Danny does, not kill people, be a vegetarian. After over a hundred years of it he was used to it, but stopping for a couple of months and going the other way changed things. Now he looks down at the face of the victim and thinks, He’s someone’s kid. Someone’s gonna miss him. Someone cares about him.
He stabs a knife through the marks his fang left, pushing it through until it hits the spinal cord. He knows that when investigated, they’ll know that it wasn’t the knife that killed him. Post partum wound. He’s done a pretty good job of covering up his tracks though. When Ian leaves, he takes the wallet with him to burn before he gets back to the coven.
&
Gabe comes to visit them on “offical vampire coven leader business” a few days later. Really, it’s just another excuse to drink their booze. Him and Matt talk for maybe fifteen minutes at the most, and when they come out of the office they’re both laughing and holding some sort of a bloody cocktail.
“Daniel!” he says, looking delighted to see him sitting with Ian in the living room, watching Death Proof together. He manages to squish himself in between the two of them (which is actually a pretty impressive feat considering thirty seconds ago Danny was leaned against Ian’s side, pressed right up against each other) and rests his hand on each of their thighs, cocktail forgotten on the table. He leans over, sniffs at Danny’s hair, and then says, “You smell like one of those fur rugs, what the fuck have you been hunting?”
“Bear,” Danny says automatically, and he doesn’t bother leaning away from Gabe because he knows he’ll just be pulled right back in again like a fish on a hook. Ian does start inching away. Gabe is a little too touchy feely for his comfort.
Gabe sighs, looking between them with a cross between a condescending and a sad expression. “I don’t understand how you do it. Animal blood to human blood is like tofu to a steak.” He shakes his head.
Ian raises an eyebrow, says, “Have you even tasted tofu before?”
“No,” the Hispanic vampire shakes his head. “Not my point, the metaphor still stands.”
They roll their eyes in a motion that’s almost completely in sync. Gabe nudges them both with his elbows, first Danny, and then Ian. “But really, it’s like unreal blood. It’s fake! Like in True Blood! You might as well be drinking that shit.”
He looks at Ian, tips his head to the side, and then says, "Don’t you miss it?”
Ian shifts uncomfortably, turning his head to the side so that Gabe can’t see the color of his eyes. Depending on his level of sobriety, he’d probably be able to figure out that he isn’t living on an entirely vegetarian diet. “Well, yeah.” Thanks to some or all of the patron saints Gabe seems to sense his discomfort and lets the subject die.
“Oh!” Danny says, snapping his fingers. He’s seemingly oblivious to Ian’s discomfort. “There was this homeless guy on the news the other day, someone sucked him dry. Was it one of your guys?” he asks, more out of curiosity than anything. After that one stunt on the news the guy dropped off the map again. The authorities aren’t going to look too much into a bum getting killed.
Gabe looks perplexed. “Nah, we wouldn’t hunt out here. It’s outta the way, and besides, Matt was all over Bill that one time he accidentally killed a hooker.” Danny looks unimpressed, like he remembers when it happened. Ian snorts and resists the urge to lift his hand for a high five. “It could’ve been Pete though, he stopped by, oh... two weeks ago? He might’ve headed up this way.”
“No,” Danny says quickly, shaking his head. “Pete hasn’t been here. I would know.”
He doesn’t look at his mate. Ian’s eyebrows furrow slightly. He’s never heard of anyone called Pete; why would Danny react like that to him?
“I think he misses you,” Gabe says with a teasing voice, and Ian notices Danny’s cheeks darken, just a little. Flushing is next to impossible when you’re dead. He shifts uncomfortably, much like Ian had just a moment ago.
“I doubt it,” he says, voice as flat as possible. “I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
Gabe shrugs, looking passive. He actually doesn’t really care, he’s not that interested or concerned about what goes on that doesn’t directly involve him. “I don’t think he knows what to do without you. You were always more like his personal assistant, weren’t you?”
This time when a little bit of color rises to his cheeks, it’s more out of anger than anything. Ian catches the way his eyes flash, and he thinks, Oh, they’re talking about an ex. “Fuck you Saporta, you know that that’s not how it was.”
He laughs. “Oh, I know exactly how it was,” he says, voice so thick with innuendo that Ian could cut it with a knife.
The silence is startlingly loud, and then a burst of house music comes from the den, followed by, “Vinny, turn that shit off I’m trying to work because surprise to contrary belief this house isn’t actually paid for by itself!” Vinny yells back, “But Matt, it’s Wednesday, it’s Hump Day!”
Gabe is up and out of the room with his cocktail glass in hand, yelling, “You can’t have hump day without Gabe Saporta!”
&
The inside of the club is smokey, strobe lights flashing in different colors. Ian leans against the bar, pint of beer in hand. He’s not actually drinking it, but he’s using it as an excuse to stand there and watch people. He’s looking for prey. Someone to toy with.
He’s been there for the better part of an hour, watching people bump and grind to loud beats that play over the clubs speakers. They’re all so unaware, after one thing and one thing only: sex. It makes it easy to hunt; vampires are more beautiful than humans: stronger and leaner and smoother. Humans covet beautiful things, it makes them easy to prey on. Easy to seduce.
A girl with long blond hair that’s probably eighty percent extensions makes her way over to him. She’s almost wearing no clothes, thigh high stockings and clear stripper heels. Ian licks his lips as she leans into him, and he can smell perfume underneath the smell of at least ten different people’s body sweat. “I’m Taylor,” she says in his ear, breath ghosting across her face. He smells hints of cigarette smoke.
“Ian,” he says back. She leans against the bar right next to him, close enough that his personal space bubble is violated. Her eyes are heavily done up and she leans back against the bar, waving her hand at a bartender and raising her other one to her lips in a drinking motion. He fills a glass with beer and gives it to her with a flirty smile. The girl takes a deep drink, downing half of the pint in other a minute, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
It’s clear that she’s had more than a little to drink. “I think you’re really hot,” Taylor says in his ear, hands curling around his bicep and hair falling forward into her face. “Do you want to dance?”
It’s almost too easy.
He keeps his hand on her lower back as they move through throngs of people to the dance floor. The smell of sweat is stronger over here, bodies touching bodies. Her arms loop around his neck as she presses her hips against his, and this. This doesn’t count as cheating on his mate. This is something else; this is the hunter hunting. Rules are different here.
Her mouth presses against his neck, warm air breathing out against cold skin. It’s hot in there, even to him. Ian can feel her pulse racing, and when their eyes meet her pupils are totally blown. His hands skim down her sides, rest on her hips and then slide around and back, squeezing her ass slowly. “You wanna go somewhere?” he asks, lips curling up as she takes his hand and entwines their fingers. She teeters a little on six inch heels as they walk, through people dancing, and then bouncer lets them out of the club into cool night air.
Taylor stumbles a little, still holding his hand. “Come here,” she says, smiling coyly as she crooks her finger towards herself, walking backwards towards a shadowed alleyway. Ian moves towards her, maybe faster than he should have (faster than a normal human could) but he doesn’t care and she’s too drunk to notice. His hands bracket her hips and she curls a lock of her long blond hair around a finger, leaning against the wall of the club.
Ian can hear the music from the club, pulsing in steady beats that goes unts-unts-unts at the same rate as her heart beat. He can hear it in his ears, beating slow and steady,
dun-dun-dun. It pumps blood around her body, warm and red and live blood and he can taste it already. His fangs slide out of their sheathes, and he grins at her, deadly. Lethal.
The girl smiles. “Those are cool,” she muses, eyes flicking to his fangs and shaking her hair over her shoulder. She tips her head back against the wall, baring her neck at him. “Are you going to bite me?” Ian grins harder.
“Honey, you have no idea.”
When he’s done his head spins a little and he blinks rapidly, still holding up her limp body. He didn’t kill her, wasn’t thirsty enough to feel the need to kill her. Ian drank enough to knock her out. He feels high and drunk, and he’s guessing she was more drunk then she let on due to the amounts of alcohol he could taste in her blood. He thinks that she might have been high too, something like E or coke. He feels fucking good.
He drops her body, leaves it on top of some trash bags. When she wakes up she probably won’t remember, and if she does, the odds of her believing the things that she remembers are slim to none. He’s kind of got this tunnel vision thing going on; he’s never tried drugs while he was a vampire, and even when he wasn’t, the only thing available to him was opium. Also, he’s really fucking turned on. He wants to fuck.
Ian doesn’t remember driving back to the coven. One second he’s in an alleyway next to a club where he just killed some teenage girl (because on closer examination, she is just a teenager, she can’t be more than seventeen. It’s the clothes and the hair and the makeup that gives her the illusion of being older than she is.) and all of a sudden it’s an hour and a half later and he’s sitting in his car in the garage, surrounded by a lot of other really flashy, expensive cars.
The car beeps at him and flashes his lights when he presses the button on the key to lock it; he goes up the steps and through hallways, silently looking for his mate. He finds him in the living room watch Jackass with Jack and Vinny. “Danny,” he says, standing in the doorway, crooking a finger towards himself much like Taylor had just over an hour ago. Danny raises an eyebrow and pushes himself off of the sofa and moves over so he’s standing in front of of his mate.
“And where have you been?”
His question goes ignored. Ian leans forward so his lips are close to his ear. He says really quietly, “I really want to fuck you.” Danny’s eyes widen and Jack and Vinny burst out laughing from across the room on the sofa.
“Take it somewhere else,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
“We don’t want to hear it,” Vinny adds.
Sometimes, Ian forgets about how vampires senses are heightened and therefore can hear things that are supposed to be private. He blinks, and then grins, fingers curling around Danny’s wrist and holding tight. At least they don’t have to pretend that they’re not having sex. Since they know, in theory, they can be as loud as they want. “Come on,” he says, smirking in Jack and Vinny’s direction.
He pulls him up to their room, pushing him against the closed door once inside. He kisses his neck, pulling the neck of his tank top down to nip at his collarbone, what he can reach of his chest. “Wanna fuck you,” he mouths into the skin, and his fangs aren’t completely out, just the tips, enough to scrap razor sharp across his skin and leave tiny cuts that heal almost as soon as they’re made. “Wanna be inside you so badly.”
Danny reaches up, one hand cupping the back of his neck and the other tangling into his hair. He moans softly, head tilting back with a soft thump against the door. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Ian (it’s probably a mixture of some sort of drug, human blood and alcohol) but he doesn’t mind at all. He’s pulled away from the door and Ian pulls his shirt up and over his head, hands skimming up and down his chest as he’s manhandled in the direction of the bed, falling down on it with spread legs.
The hands that touch him should be cold - technically are cold - but the touches traced across his equally cool skin are firey hot, sending tendrils of heat and arousal searing through his body to his fucking core. Ian’s fingers tease at his nipples and make him arch his chest into the touch, mouth working it’s way down his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel. Ian’s hands slide down again, touch at his hips and then to the front of his jeans, undoing the belt and button and zipper faster then he would if he were mortal.
Clothes start flying across the room, landing haphazardly across pieces of furniture and lamps and on the floor. It’s a good thing none of the lights are on because a fire could start and it’s highly probable that neither of them would notice. Ian’s hands slide across the skin on the inside of his thighs, just barely up and under his boxers. He’s so close to touching but so far away.
Their eyes meet briefly, and Danny pulls him up, hands on either side of his jaw as they surge together, lips clashing and teeth clacking. “Want you to bite me,” Danny says into his mouth, all desperate and needneedneed wantwantwant. Ian groans softly, rubbing his tongue across the roof of his mouth. He draws back a little, and they stay still like that for a few moments, Ian balancing himself above him. Their lips brush together, breathing roughly. They kind of just... breathe each other in while they collect themselves again, and then Ian kisses him again, softer this time, kisses his lips and the corner of his mouth and the edge of his jaw.
His fangs come out fully with a shick, scraping across his neck, his collarbones, tiny thin trails of blood bleeding out and then healing seconds after. He kisses down his chest, presses his mouth to the front of Danny’s boxers. His tongue traces the shape of his cock through the black cotton, pulling them down with his teeth. Ian licks at the head, down the thick vein on the underside. He presses his lips to the inside of his thighs, kisses the crease of his hips.
Danny props himself up on his elbows to watch him, and Ian looks up at him for a split second before he lowers his eyes again, eyelashes practically touching his cheeks. He scrapes his fangs against the pale skin of his thigh, and then sinks them in slowly, blood filling his mouth. He moans and pushes his hips up, eyes closing. Danny can feel the pull of his blood right down in his fingers and toes, the tingle and buzz giving him such a rush.
“Ian,” he gasps, toes curling hard into the sheets. He pulls back, the tug and pull stopping. It throbs a little, a small trickle of blood streaking down his inner leg. Ian licks it off, slowly, and then makes his way back up Danny’s body, one hand reaching into the drawer on his side of the bed for lube. “Please, more.”
Two fingers, cool and slick with lube slide into him at once. His hips arch off of the mattress and then press down against the intrusion, Ian’s mouth covering his and swallowing the sounds he’s making. His fangs nick Danny’s tongue, and there’s a sharp sting and he tastes blood. Ian groans, fingers stilling for a moment as he sucks on his tongue. He twists them, adding a third until Danny turns his head away, one hand tugging on his hair. “Enough,” he whimpers, mouth hanging slightly open. “Please, enough.”
He pushes his legs up, and Danny crosses his ankles behind his back, pulling him against him so the tip of his cock is pressed against his entrance. Ian catches his lips in another kiss as he pushes in, deephotwet until he’s pushed in balls deep, hips pressed to his ass. Their fingers tangle together, Danny’s hand resting palm up on the mattress next to his head. He angles his head away, his neck bared, a silent plea for please, again, here. Ian ducks his head, kisses along his neck. He feels the brush of his lips, almost cool against his skin, and then the sharp sting of razor sharp fangs breaking his skin.
Danny moans, throaty and low, feeling the tug of Ian sucking his blood all the way down in his toes. He feels almost delirious with pleasure, stupidly (and impossibly) alive as his blood flows from him to his mate, their mixed blood flowing through his veins. It burns, a slight throb that’s pushed to the back of his mind as Ian drives in, deepsteadyhot. He tongues at the punctures on his neck, sucking so hard that Danny swears that he can feel the pull in his toes, right down where they’re curled on his feet that are scraping the back of his legs.
His mouth is running on it’s own, a steady stream of nonsense words in a voice that’s almost unrecognizable to himself that sounds a lot like, “Fuck, please, don’t stop, don’t ever fucking stop.” He could be talking about the fucking or the blood sucking; he doesn’t know. He means both. It feels so good, so fucking good and intimate and erotic. Ian is hot and solid and the only thing that’s real right now; he doesn’t care how fucking loud he’s being, keening and moaning and mouth running off without him. Ian is fucking him like there is no tomorrow, like the sun won’t come up and the earth won’t keep spinning.
He gropes down, fingers clenching around Ian’s as his other hand presses his palm against his cock. Ian groans, doesn’t even need to move away from his neck and look down to know what he’s doing. He slides his free hand down his arm, feeling where the muscles are tensed and taps his wrist once, pushing his hand underneath Danny’s to curl around his cock.
Ian pulls away from his neck and Danny whimpers at the loss, feels a deep throb as blood trickles down in tendrils. He pushes his tongue into his mouth, and he can taste his own blood, his own fucking blood on Ian’s tongue and in his mouth and it’s just so fucking hot. He pushes his hand back up into his hair, holding him there while he chases the taste of his blood down his mouth, fucking up into his fist. The third bite hurts more (better) than the first two, placed just underneath the other one on his neck. His fangs sink in and he sucks hard, tonguing the wound and catching the blood that still drips from the other. Danny doesn’t know when he comes, just knows that he has Ian’s fangs in his neck and his hand on his dick and his cock in his ass. It hits him like a freight train or a tidal wave and he arches up and cries out, his name and curse words and begs for more and not to stop. He can feel the drawtugpull of his blood in every inch of every cell in his body, and he can feel it when Ian comes too, his cry of Danny’s name muffled by his neck.
It feels like hours before the room stops spinning and he can breathe normally again. His thigh and his neck have almost healed by now, just tiny twinges of pain that he barely even notices. Ian is lying almost motionless next to him, arm falling off the edge of the bed and chest rising and falling as he takes deep breaths. They’re silent, just listening to the other breathe unnecessarily. There’s something comforting about the sound; something that they have that makes them still cling to the threads of humanity that they have left.
He rolls over and kisses his shoulder, leaning up and kissing his jaw. “Wow,” he says against his skin, and then kisses his lips again, tasting traces of his blood. Ian shifts, their legs tangling together at the ankles, his arm wrapping around his mates shoulders. “That was. Wow.”
“I know,” Ian says, and there’s a tiny hint of smugness in his voice, and it makes Danny laugh, soft and hoarse like his throat hurts from all the noises he was just making. They don’t sleep, they don’t ever sleep, so technically, they could keep going all night long. He remembers what Gabe said, weeks ago, about someone called Pete. He blinks, he wants to know, it’s been silently driving him crazy since he heard the name.
Danny is kind of aware of the fact, has been waiting for Ian to bring it up since the name was dropped.
“Who was he?” he asks, and he doesn’t need to put a name, because they understand each other without needing words all the time.
“He was - he was my mate. My sire.” Danny takes a deep breath. “He changed me in ’59, I was twenty six, and I thought he was thirty. I found out after that he was three hundred and thirty. I was. I was supposed to get married to this chick, but I didn’t - well I mean, you know. I don’t swing that way. And Pete was her brothers best friend and we clicked. It was like. I don’t even remember what he told them, about where I went. I guess they think I got cold feet and ran. I kind of did.”
Ian sits there quietly, nose pressed to his hair as he listens to him talking. He makes an encouraging noise when he stops. “Pete was. He had a lot of really violent ups and downs, and once I was past the anger I had at him for changing me, I just stuck around him, since I didn’t know what else to do or where to go. He got really violent, and sometimes he’d lose control and then there would be a couple too many bodies to have to clear up, so we’d run. I was with him for… two decades. At least. I don’t know. I was tired of him though, because even though he was amazing when he was high, it was hard dealing with his low points. A suicidal vampire isn’t a friendly one. I think it was around ’81 when I left him for the first time, and I met Matt and Vinny and Jack and Alex then, and I realized that there was more to us than killing humans. I was with them for a couple of years, and then Pete found me again, and he had a coven this time, Patrick and Andy and Joe. I went back to him then, he promised that he wouldn’t make me do things that I didn’t want to, promised that he had himself under control. He said that he wanted me back, wanted me.”
He doesn’t know why he hasn’t heard this story before. It’s not like he’s told his entire past, but Danny knows the story of before, the way he was sired and who he was when he was human. Ian knew that Danny kind of had rough time before, but he didn’t know about any of this. It almost makes him wonder what else he’s hiding.
“I believed him for a while, yano? Because I missed having someone, since when I was with the others it was always Matt and Vinny, and Jack and Alex, and then there was me, and I was missing something and like. It was like a car having five wheels? Unneccessary. And it took me a while to realize it, but Patrick didn’t like me. And it took me even longer to figure out why. I was so stupid and I missed everything, the talks that Pete would drag Patrick outside to have, the way they touched each other. It’s kind of… the way you touch me. I didn’t notice it, but then we crossed ways with the others again, and this time there were more, this time Zack and Rian and Jeff were with them too, and one of them pointed it out to me. I think that this was around ‘85 or so. And after that I left him, and I think I’ve seen him once every ten or so years since then. The last time I saw him was... Probably around Halloween, 2004.”
Danny takes a deep breath, looks up at Ian and smiles weakly. “I don’t really miss him. Not like that, definitely not anymore. It’s just. He sired me, he’s like. My dad, or whatever. You know.”
He nods. “I know.”
Part 3
A/N: Hey hey so this is part 2. Posting it a little earlier than I initially planned on but it turns out we're leaving a day early to go on vacation so I decided to post it now instead of when I get back. I really really hope that this goes down well, I am so terrified of posting this because vampires are so easy to go wrong with and these vampires are my absolute babies and idk idk. so yep, part three will probably be posted a day or two after I get back, if not the day of. As always, comments are like blowjobs; even if it's a shitty blowjob, it's still a blowjob.
Danny absolutely is not angry with Ian. No way. Not a chance. It isn’t his fault; no one expected anything more or less of him. Putting him up against fresh human blood like that... it was an accident, and no one is judging him. He didn’t even take any blood from the human. He’s mad at himself for wanting to.
If he’s honest though, he might be a little disappointed. Danny doesn’t say so, though.
As it is, Ian doesn’t leave their room for three days. They all tell him that it isn’t his fault. Matt blames himself for letting the human come into the coven like that. (“We could have figured out what to do without the human being here, that was an unnecessary risk that didn’t need to be taken.”)
“I slipped up,” Ian whispers to Danny in the middle of the night, everything quiet and still and dark. The light is off, empty blood bags scattered on the floor. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.” He tucks his face into his neck. He’s supposed to be stronger than that.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He’s insistent, and he finally talks him into leaving the room. As far as Ian can tell, no one is looking at him pityingly. Alex tells him that he knows the feeling. And hypothetically, they all do. They’ve all transitioned from human blood to animal blood, so really, he shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t feel so guilty and ashamed like he did something wrong. But his skin is still itching, and dead blood isn’t making it go away. He needs it, he needs it; he hasn’t felt this weak and this thirsty since he was a fledgling.
He feels like he’s suffocating to death in that house and it’s funny because he’s already dead.
“I can’t,” he says in a really quiet voice, and then lifts his head and looks at Danny. “I’m going for a walk.” He’s still for a moment, and then blinks. Yeah, he needs to go for a walk. Fresh air will clear his head.
“It’s three in the morning,” Danny says, somewhat anxiously.
Ian arches an eyebrow. “...So?”
His mate sighs, puts his hands up in defeat and says. “I can’t stop you. Just... be careful, okay? It’s a full moon, don’t go out of our territory.” Ian knows not to wander out of their boundaries. He heard them howling at the moon earlier; he isn’t reckless (or stupid) enough to go and provoke a werewolf.
“I’ll come back. Don’t worry about me,” Ian says softly, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He’s a blur up to their bedroom and slides his leather jacket onto his shoulders. It’s easier and faster to just jump out of the window; they’re on the second floor, it isn’t that far down to fall. And besides, this way, he doesn’t need to see anyone else before he leaves.
&
He’s planned what he’s going to do before he’s fully aware of what his body has told him to do. Find some prey. Something easy. Someone insignificant. Ian moves like he’s in a haze, a fog of thirstyhungryburningthirsty clouding his thoughts and his fogging his judgement. He walks to a shady part of town, with shadow filled alleyways and bums sleeping in empty doorways. It’s not yet five in the morning; the sky is navy blue and the stars are just beginning to disappear.
The human Ian stops in front of a middle aged man, sitting in a secluded alley. There are plenty of shadows, and Ian doesn’t breathe. He moves silently, and the bum opens his eyes to be face to face with a pair of rust colored ones staring at his. “Here,” Ian says, and pulls three one hundred dollar bills out of his wallet. “You look like you could use these.” His fingers tremble a little as he takes the crisp dollar bills out of the strangers hand.
“You look awful hungry too,” Ian observes, crouching in a kneeling position, balls of his feet balanced on the floor, poised as if about to jump. He doesn’t sway at all.
The homeless man’s lips crack and bleed as he says, “S-starving, sir.” His stomach rumbles as if to prove the point; his luck has changed, he can feel it. He’s just been given three hundred dollars by a stranger, and now he’s ninety percent positive that he’s offering to buy him a meal too.
Ian smiles wide. His fangs curve over, pressing into the flesh on his lips, and the homeless man can see tiny red spots of blood where the sharpened canines cut his lip. “Good, because I am too.” He bares his teeth, a wicked smile. The homeless man is terrified by this stranger for the first and last time, because he does spring forward, hands grabbing his shoulders in a vice like grip as he shoves him into the wall. His head swings back and connects with the brick, and Ian breaks his neck cleanly.
If anything, he is merciful.
He can’t stop himself, can’t control the way he sinks his fangs into the neck of this homeless man over and over again, hot red blood staining his chin and his shirt and his mouth. It soothes his throat, like tea or hot citrus water. He moves from his neck to his wrists, first the left and then the right. When he’s done, the sun is just starting to color the clouds red and pink, and the only thing he can see behind his closed eyelids is Danny’s disappointed face.
When he stands up he realizes that he’s covered in blood. Usually, he’s carefully. This is messy. His whole upperchest is stained, so is his jacket. He hides the body under some trash bags next to a dumpster.
Someone insignificant. No one will worry about him. No one will ask questions.
There is a Shell gas station about a mile from where he’s at. Some sixteen year old homeless kid with a pink mohawk and combat boots yells, “What the fuck do you think you are, a vampire?” Ian glares at him and bares his fangs. The kid runs. He feels powerful. On top again. Like this is where he belongs. Animal blood makes him feel like someone is putting him on morphine: Danny said he would get used to it, the feeling would fade over time. He doubts that it would fade into something like this.
The bathroom is around the back of the building, a dingy place with bad lighting that smells even worse. Ian holds his breath while in there, which makes his lungs itch like they did the first time he tried a cigarette. It’s a little uncomfortable, but he can deal with it. The whole vampires have no reflection thing is a myth. He has no idea where it came from, but as he washes his face and hands in the porcelain sink, he stares at his reflection and thinks, I really fucked up.
He’s like a failing alcoholic. Detox to retox. He was so close to getting clean. So fucking close. Ian licks his lips and then stares hard at the mirror, stares at his reflection with such force like he hopes the mirror will break, just so he doesn’t have to stare at the face of failure.
His blood stained clothes get burned on the way back to the coven. He’ll tell Danny he went hunting, just not what. As far as he knows, he’s been hunting deer, or elk, or even cows. Beggars can’t be choosers. He finds one of the metal bins that the homeless bums use to burn things in the winter, and he drops his jacket, his wallet and his shirt into it. He has a lighter in his pocket (although he’s honestly not really sure why) and he lights a week old newspaper and watches it fall until it lands in a burst of yellow and orange flames, blood and cloth and leather catching the flames.
Ian kind of regrets not taking off the jacket. He liked that one.
Danny is sitting on the bed facing the open window when Ian climbs the tree next to the house and launches himself through. He lands with ease and grace, barely a thud as he sneakers make contact with the bare wooden floor. The clock on the left bedside table blinks 7:39 a.m. at him; next to the digital clock is a bag of AB negative blood.
“Where’s your shirt?” Danny asks, pushing himself up off of the bed. He’s watching Ian carefully, resting his hands on the smooth skin of his chest. It’s cool to touch, no different to any other time.
“I went hunting,” Ian says quietly. “There was blood all over the place, so I burned my shirt and jacket.”
If nothing else, at least he can be honest about that.
&
The worst part (or maybe it’s the best part, Ian doesn’t know.) is that Danny is so unaware. He doesn’t question it, that he caught a deer and drained it. That he has no idea why his eyes are blood red again. That he burned his clothes just because they were covered in blood. He doesn’t question him. Danny has so much faith in him that it tears him apart from the inside out, eating away at his non-beating heart.
He hides in the library, sitting in a comfortable stuffed chair between shelves of books. He’s reading Shutter Island when Alex finds him, at the part near the end where Andrew finds that his wife killed their children. He’s aware of Alex watching him at the end of the row of shelves before the older vampire makes himself known.
“You should tell him, yano.” His fingers trail over the spines of the books as he walks closer to Ian, watching him with mixed emotions. “It’s not that big of a deal. Well, I mean it is. But it’s not. It’s almost impossible to just make a clean switch.”
Ian folds the corner of the page (Jeff will be all over him later, he hates dogeared books with a burning passion) and closes the book, looking up at Alex silently.
“I was actually really impressed with how long you lasted,” Alex admits, pursing his lips. He leans his weight against a space of wall in between two book cases. “You did much better than I did. I lasted a month before I snapped for the first time.” He still doesn’t say anything, just watches the older vampire with guarded eyes. It’s clear that he knows what he did. “Look, all I’m trying to say is that I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It’s just,” Alex sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’ll be easier if you have someone to talk to about it. I told Jack and we both snapped after that but we got there in the end, together. I think... I think it’s a lot like how humans get off of drugs or booze, yano? It’s not something you can do on your own. And it’s not like there’s a rehab where we can go to get off of human blood.” He chuckles humorlessly.
His mouth is dry, tongue heavy in his mouth. He isn’t thirsty. “I... He has so much faith in me,” he whispers, looking down at the cover of the book. “It was just. I can do this.”
Alex looks at him sadly. “I’m not going to tell, that’s your job,” Ian would give him a smile but he can’t make himself do it. “But just so you know, it’s harder to stop after the first relapse.”
&
It doesn’t take him long to figure out that he can’t hunt close to home. Out of state would be best. Even if he manages to put it off to once every two or three weeks, that’d still be a dead body showing up every time he leaves. It’d take Danny next to no time to figure it out.
The day that the homeless man he drank from came on the news Ian almost died of a heart attack. He was just flipping through the channels when he saw the body on the news. Danny felt him stiffen and looked at him curiously and then said, “It was probably one of Saporta’s that did it.” They all know what a human body looks like when a vampire’s been at it.
His excuse is that somebody he knew from pre-Danny times is in North Carolina. He tells him that he’ll be gone for two days at the top, kisses him on the lips and then drives away in his Ferarri. Ian isn’t living a lie. He’s just hiding part of the truth.
He drives to North Carolina anyway, stopping on the beach and leaning against the hood of his car as he watches the sun go down. It’s there that he finds his prey, a guy jogging in basketball shorts with a nose ring and platinum blond hair. He turns to look at him as he runs past, makes eye contact and smiles brightly. They make it too easy.
A little flirting, a few sweet words and well placed touches (his biceps, his shoulder, eye contact is good too.) and the guy is staring at him like the sun shines out of his ass. “You wanna go for a ride?” he asks, just a little bit of a hint to something more dripping out through his voice. Whatever the other guy (Kyle, he introduced himself) picks it up as is up to him. He eyes the car, smiles brightly again and agrees.
Ian wouldn’t kill and then drain someone in his car. For one, it would ruin the leather. For two, the scent wouldn’t go away for days, and even then Danny would probably notice if they got into the car due to heightened vampire senses.
The human part of Ian regrets this, doesn’t want to. He feels remorse for this guy who seems to sparkle he’s so bright and smiley. He almost wants to tell him to get out so he can find someone who doesn’t seem to shine like a piece of well polished silver. He doesn’t want to do it. Alex was right. It’s harder after the first time. He put it off as long as he could, it’s been a month since the homeless man. Him and Danny went hunting a week ago, he drank from an elk until he felt dizzy and full and sloshy, but still, his throat burns and his skin thrums with need.
Kyle chatters on and on as he drives, talking about the band that he plays drums for and the art school he’s studying at until Ian stops in a secluded area near a beach and says, “Hey, do you wanna go for a walk?” The fake blond looks vaguely surprised, like he expected something else. Maybe he thought they were going to fuck in his car. Right.
Killing the nineteen year old art student is easier than he expected it to be. He pushes him into an alleyway and the kid goes, “Eager, hm?” with a smirk. Ian smirks back, backing him against the wall. He ducks down, presses his lips to the column of his neck, teeth scraping against his skin. His fangs are already out, have been since some point in the car. He slides his hand up into his hair, and notices in the back of his head that his hair is really soft. His other hand holds onto his shoulder, and the kid just makes a soft, “Oh.” noise
And then Ian breaks his neck.
He’s more careful this time than he was with the homeless man, carefully fitting his mouth over the cervical artery. His fangs break the skin, breaking the flesh. When he’s done he licks the tiny line of blood going down his broken neck. The only thing that would give him away are two tiny identical marks where his fangs broke the skin, placed an inch apart. Otherwise, he did a clean job of it. Ian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, blinks down at the nineteen year old kid he just killed and partially drained.
He’s a kid.
This is why he agreed to do what Danny does, not kill people, be a vegetarian. After over a hundred years of it he was used to it, but stopping for a couple of months and going the other way changed things. Now he looks down at the face of the victim and thinks, He’s someone’s kid. Someone’s gonna miss him. Someone cares about him.
He stabs a knife through the marks his fang left, pushing it through until it hits the spinal cord. He knows that when investigated, they’ll know that it wasn’t the knife that killed him. Post partum wound. He’s done a pretty good job of covering up his tracks though. When Ian leaves, he takes the wallet with him to burn before he gets back to the coven.
&
Gabe comes to visit them on “offical vampire coven leader business” a few days later. Really, it’s just another excuse to drink their booze. Him and Matt talk for maybe fifteen minutes at the most, and when they come out of the office they’re both laughing and holding some sort of a bloody cocktail.
“Daniel!” he says, looking delighted to see him sitting with Ian in the living room, watching Death Proof together. He manages to squish himself in between the two of them (which is actually a pretty impressive feat considering thirty seconds ago Danny was leaned against Ian’s side, pressed right up against each other) and rests his hand on each of their thighs, cocktail forgotten on the table. He leans over, sniffs at Danny’s hair, and then says, “You smell like one of those fur rugs, what the fuck have you been hunting?”
“Bear,” Danny says automatically, and he doesn’t bother leaning away from Gabe because he knows he’ll just be pulled right back in again like a fish on a hook. Ian does start inching away. Gabe is a little too touchy feely for his comfort.
Gabe sighs, looking between them with a cross between a condescending and a sad expression. “I don’t understand how you do it. Animal blood to human blood is like tofu to a steak.” He shakes his head.
Ian raises an eyebrow, says, “Have you even tasted tofu before?”
“No,” the Hispanic vampire shakes his head. “Not my point, the metaphor still stands.”
They roll their eyes in a motion that’s almost completely in sync. Gabe nudges them both with his elbows, first Danny, and then Ian. “But really, it’s like unreal blood. It’s fake! Like in True Blood! You might as well be drinking that shit.”
He looks at Ian, tips his head to the side, and then says, "Don’t you miss it?”
Ian shifts uncomfortably, turning his head to the side so that Gabe can’t see the color of his eyes. Depending on his level of sobriety, he’d probably be able to figure out that he isn’t living on an entirely vegetarian diet. “Well, yeah.” Thanks to some or all of the patron saints Gabe seems to sense his discomfort and lets the subject die.
“Oh!” Danny says, snapping his fingers. He’s seemingly oblivious to Ian’s discomfort. “There was this homeless guy on the news the other day, someone sucked him dry. Was it one of your guys?” he asks, more out of curiosity than anything. After that one stunt on the news the guy dropped off the map again. The authorities aren’t going to look too much into a bum getting killed.
Gabe looks perplexed. “Nah, we wouldn’t hunt out here. It’s outta the way, and besides, Matt was all over Bill that one time he accidentally killed a hooker.” Danny looks unimpressed, like he remembers when it happened. Ian snorts and resists the urge to lift his hand for a high five. “It could’ve been Pete though, he stopped by, oh... two weeks ago? He might’ve headed up this way.”
“No,” Danny says quickly, shaking his head. “Pete hasn’t been here. I would know.”
He doesn’t look at his mate. Ian’s eyebrows furrow slightly. He’s never heard of anyone called Pete; why would Danny react like that to him?
“I think he misses you,” Gabe says with a teasing voice, and Ian notices Danny’s cheeks darken, just a little. Flushing is next to impossible when you’re dead. He shifts uncomfortably, much like Ian had just a moment ago.
“I doubt it,” he says, voice as flat as possible. “I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
Gabe shrugs, looking passive. He actually doesn’t really care, he’s not that interested or concerned about what goes on that doesn’t directly involve him. “I don’t think he knows what to do without you. You were always more like his personal assistant, weren’t you?”
This time when a little bit of color rises to his cheeks, it’s more out of anger than anything. Ian catches the way his eyes flash, and he thinks, Oh, they’re talking about an ex. “Fuck you Saporta, you know that that’s not how it was.”
He laughs. “Oh, I know exactly how it was,” he says, voice so thick with innuendo that Ian could cut it with a knife.
The silence is startlingly loud, and then a burst of house music comes from the den, followed by, “Vinny, turn that shit off I’m trying to work because surprise to contrary belief this house isn’t actually paid for by itself!” Vinny yells back, “But Matt, it’s Wednesday, it’s Hump Day!”
Gabe is up and out of the room with his cocktail glass in hand, yelling, “You can’t have hump day without Gabe Saporta!”
&
The inside of the club is smokey, strobe lights flashing in different colors. Ian leans against the bar, pint of beer in hand. He’s not actually drinking it, but he’s using it as an excuse to stand there and watch people. He’s looking for prey. Someone to toy with.
He’s been there for the better part of an hour, watching people bump and grind to loud beats that play over the clubs speakers. They’re all so unaware, after one thing and one thing only: sex. It makes it easy to hunt; vampires are more beautiful than humans: stronger and leaner and smoother. Humans covet beautiful things, it makes them easy to prey on. Easy to seduce.
A girl with long blond hair that’s probably eighty percent extensions makes her way over to him. She’s almost wearing no clothes, thigh high stockings and clear stripper heels. Ian licks his lips as she leans into him, and he can smell perfume underneath the smell of at least ten different people’s body sweat. “I’m Taylor,” she says in his ear, breath ghosting across her face. He smells hints of cigarette smoke.
“Ian,” he says back. She leans against the bar right next to him, close enough that his personal space bubble is violated. Her eyes are heavily done up and she leans back against the bar, waving her hand at a bartender and raising her other one to her lips in a drinking motion. He fills a glass with beer and gives it to her with a flirty smile. The girl takes a deep drink, downing half of the pint in other a minute, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
It’s clear that she’s had more than a little to drink. “I think you’re really hot,” Taylor says in his ear, hands curling around his bicep and hair falling forward into her face. “Do you want to dance?”
It’s almost too easy.
He keeps his hand on her lower back as they move through throngs of people to the dance floor. The smell of sweat is stronger over here, bodies touching bodies. Her arms loop around his neck as she presses her hips against his, and this. This doesn’t count as cheating on his mate. This is something else; this is the hunter hunting. Rules are different here.
Her mouth presses against his neck, warm air breathing out against cold skin. It’s hot in there, even to him. Ian can feel her pulse racing, and when their eyes meet her pupils are totally blown. His hands skim down her sides, rest on her hips and then slide around and back, squeezing her ass slowly. “You wanna go somewhere?” he asks, lips curling up as she takes his hand and entwines their fingers. She teeters a little on six inch heels as they walk, through people dancing, and then bouncer lets them out of the club into cool night air.
Taylor stumbles a little, still holding his hand. “Come here,” she says, smiling coyly as she crooks her finger towards herself, walking backwards towards a shadowed alleyway. Ian moves towards her, maybe faster than he should have (faster than a normal human could) but he doesn’t care and she’s too drunk to notice. His hands bracket her hips and she curls a lock of her long blond hair around a finger, leaning against the wall of the club.
Ian can hear the music from the club, pulsing in steady beats that goes unts-unts-unts at the same rate as her heart beat. He can hear it in his ears, beating slow and steady,
dun-dun-dun. It pumps blood around her body, warm and red and live blood and he can taste it already. His fangs slide out of their sheathes, and he grins at her, deadly. Lethal.
The girl smiles. “Those are cool,” she muses, eyes flicking to his fangs and shaking her hair over her shoulder. She tips her head back against the wall, baring her neck at him. “Are you going to bite me?” Ian grins harder.
“Honey, you have no idea.”
When he’s done his head spins a little and he blinks rapidly, still holding up her limp body. He didn’t kill her, wasn’t thirsty enough to feel the need to kill her. Ian drank enough to knock her out. He feels high and drunk, and he’s guessing she was more drunk then she let on due to the amounts of alcohol he could taste in her blood. He thinks that she might have been high too, something like E or coke. He feels fucking good.
He drops her body, leaves it on top of some trash bags. When she wakes up she probably won’t remember, and if she does, the odds of her believing the things that she remembers are slim to none. He’s kind of got this tunnel vision thing going on; he’s never tried drugs while he was a vampire, and even when he wasn’t, the only thing available to him was opium. Also, he’s really fucking turned on. He wants to fuck.
Ian doesn’t remember driving back to the coven. One second he’s in an alleyway next to a club where he just killed some teenage girl (because on closer examination, she is just a teenager, she can’t be more than seventeen. It’s the clothes and the hair and the makeup that gives her the illusion of being older than she is.) and all of a sudden it’s an hour and a half later and he’s sitting in his car in the garage, surrounded by a lot of other really flashy, expensive cars.
The car beeps at him and flashes his lights when he presses the button on the key to lock it; he goes up the steps and through hallways, silently looking for his mate. He finds him in the living room watch Jackass with Jack and Vinny. “Danny,” he says, standing in the doorway, crooking a finger towards himself much like Taylor had just over an hour ago. Danny raises an eyebrow and pushes himself off of the sofa and moves over so he’s standing in front of of his mate.
“And where have you been?”
His question goes ignored. Ian leans forward so his lips are close to his ear. He says really quietly, “I really want to fuck you.” Danny’s eyes widen and Jack and Vinny burst out laughing from across the room on the sofa.
“Take it somewhere else,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
“We don’t want to hear it,” Vinny adds.
Sometimes, Ian forgets about how vampires senses are heightened and therefore can hear things that are supposed to be private. He blinks, and then grins, fingers curling around Danny’s wrist and holding tight. At least they don’t have to pretend that they’re not having sex. Since they know, in theory, they can be as loud as they want. “Come on,” he says, smirking in Jack and Vinny’s direction.
He pulls him up to their room, pushing him against the closed door once inside. He kisses his neck, pulling the neck of his tank top down to nip at his collarbone, what he can reach of his chest. “Wanna fuck you,” he mouths into the skin, and his fangs aren’t completely out, just the tips, enough to scrap razor sharp across his skin and leave tiny cuts that heal almost as soon as they’re made. “Wanna be inside you so badly.”
Danny reaches up, one hand cupping the back of his neck and the other tangling into his hair. He moans softly, head tilting back with a soft thump against the door. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Ian (it’s probably a mixture of some sort of drug, human blood and alcohol) but he doesn’t mind at all. He’s pulled away from the door and Ian pulls his shirt up and over his head, hands skimming up and down his chest as he’s manhandled in the direction of the bed, falling down on it with spread legs.
The hands that touch him should be cold - technically are cold - but the touches traced across his equally cool skin are firey hot, sending tendrils of heat and arousal searing through his body to his fucking core. Ian’s fingers tease at his nipples and make him arch his chest into the touch, mouth working it’s way down his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel. Ian’s hands slide down again, touch at his hips and then to the front of his jeans, undoing the belt and button and zipper faster then he would if he were mortal.
Clothes start flying across the room, landing haphazardly across pieces of furniture and lamps and on the floor. It’s a good thing none of the lights are on because a fire could start and it’s highly probable that neither of them would notice. Ian’s hands slide across the skin on the inside of his thighs, just barely up and under his boxers. He’s so close to touching but so far away.
Their eyes meet briefly, and Danny pulls him up, hands on either side of his jaw as they surge together, lips clashing and teeth clacking. “Want you to bite me,” Danny says into his mouth, all desperate and needneedneed wantwantwant. Ian groans softly, rubbing his tongue across the roof of his mouth. He draws back a little, and they stay still like that for a few moments, Ian balancing himself above him. Their lips brush together, breathing roughly. They kind of just... breathe each other in while they collect themselves again, and then Ian kisses him again, softer this time, kisses his lips and the corner of his mouth and the edge of his jaw.
His fangs come out fully with a shick, scraping across his neck, his collarbones, tiny thin trails of blood bleeding out and then healing seconds after. He kisses down his chest, presses his mouth to the front of Danny’s boxers. His tongue traces the shape of his cock through the black cotton, pulling them down with his teeth. Ian licks at the head, down the thick vein on the underside. He presses his lips to the inside of his thighs, kisses the crease of his hips.
Danny props himself up on his elbows to watch him, and Ian looks up at him for a split second before he lowers his eyes again, eyelashes practically touching his cheeks. He scrapes his fangs against the pale skin of his thigh, and then sinks them in slowly, blood filling his mouth. He moans and pushes his hips up, eyes closing. Danny can feel the pull of his blood right down in his fingers and toes, the tingle and buzz giving him such a rush.
“Ian,” he gasps, toes curling hard into the sheets. He pulls back, the tug and pull stopping. It throbs a little, a small trickle of blood streaking down his inner leg. Ian licks it off, slowly, and then makes his way back up Danny’s body, one hand reaching into the drawer on his side of the bed for lube. “Please, more.”
Two fingers, cool and slick with lube slide into him at once. His hips arch off of the mattress and then press down against the intrusion, Ian’s mouth covering his and swallowing the sounds he’s making. His fangs nick Danny’s tongue, and there’s a sharp sting and he tastes blood. Ian groans, fingers stilling for a moment as he sucks on his tongue. He twists them, adding a third until Danny turns his head away, one hand tugging on his hair. “Enough,” he whimpers, mouth hanging slightly open. “Please, enough.”
He pushes his legs up, and Danny crosses his ankles behind his back, pulling him against him so the tip of his cock is pressed against his entrance. Ian catches his lips in another kiss as he pushes in, deephotwet until he’s pushed in balls deep, hips pressed to his ass. Their fingers tangle together, Danny’s hand resting palm up on the mattress next to his head. He angles his head away, his neck bared, a silent plea for please, again, here. Ian ducks his head, kisses along his neck. He feels the brush of his lips, almost cool against his skin, and then the sharp sting of razor sharp fangs breaking his skin.
Danny moans, throaty and low, feeling the tug of Ian sucking his blood all the way down in his toes. He feels almost delirious with pleasure, stupidly (and impossibly) alive as his blood flows from him to his mate, their mixed blood flowing through his veins. It burns, a slight throb that’s pushed to the back of his mind as Ian drives in, deepsteadyhot. He tongues at the punctures on his neck, sucking so hard that Danny swears that he can feel the pull in his toes, right down where they’re curled on his feet that are scraping the back of his legs.
His mouth is running on it’s own, a steady stream of nonsense words in a voice that’s almost unrecognizable to himself that sounds a lot like, “Fuck, please, don’t stop, don’t ever fucking stop.” He could be talking about the fucking or the blood sucking; he doesn’t know. He means both. It feels so good, so fucking good and intimate and erotic. Ian is hot and solid and the only thing that’s real right now; he doesn’t care how fucking loud he’s being, keening and moaning and mouth running off without him. Ian is fucking him like there is no tomorrow, like the sun won’t come up and the earth won’t keep spinning.
He gropes down, fingers clenching around Ian’s as his other hand presses his palm against his cock. Ian groans, doesn’t even need to move away from his neck and look down to know what he’s doing. He slides his free hand down his arm, feeling where the muscles are tensed and taps his wrist once, pushing his hand underneath Danny’s to curl around his cock.
Ian pulls away from his neck and Danny whimpers at the loss, feels a deep throb as blood trickles down in tendrils. He pushes his tongue into his mouth, and he can taste his own blood, his own fucking blood on Ian’s tongue and in his mouth and it’s just so fucking hot. He pushes his hand back up into his hair, holding him there while he chases the taste of his blood down his mouth, fucking up into his fist. The third bite hurts more (better) than the first two, placed just underneath the other one on his neck. His fangs sink in and he sucks hard, tonguing the wound and catching the blood that still drips from the other. Danny doesn’t know when he comes, just knows that he has Ian’s fangs in his neck and his hand on his dick and his cock in his ass. It hits him like a freight train or a tidal wave and he arches up and cries out, his name and curse words and begs for more and not to stop. He can feel the drawtugpull of his blood in every inch of every cell in his body, and he can feel it when Ian comes too, his cry of Danny’s name muffled by his neck.
It feels like hours before the room stops spinning and he can breathe normally again. His thigh and his neck have almost healed by now, just tiny twinges of pain that he barely even notices. Ian is lying almost motionless next to him, arm falling off the edge of the bed and chest rising and falling as he takes deep breaths. They’re silent, just listening to the other breathe unnecessarily. There’s something comforting about the sound; something that they have that makes them still cling to the threads of humanity that they have left.
He rolls over and kisses his shoulder, leaning up and kissing his jaw. “Wow,” he says against his skin, and then kisses his lips again, tasting traces of his blood. Ian shifts, their legs tangling together at the ankles, his arm wrapping around his mates shoulders. “That was. Wow.”
“I know,” Ian says, and there’s a tiny hint of smugness in his voice, and it makes Danny laugh, soft and hoarse like his throat hurts from all the noises he was just making. They don’t sleep, they don’t ever sleep, so technically, they could keep going all night long. He remembers what Gabe said, weeks ago, about someone called Pete. He blinks, he wants to know, it’s been silently driving him crazy since he heard the name.
Danny is kind of aware of the fact, has been waiting for Ian to bring it up since the name was dropped.
“Who was he?” he asks, and he doesn’t need to put a name, because they understand each other without needing words all the time.
“He was - he was my mate. My sire.” Danny takes a deep breath. “He changed me in ’59, I was twenty six, and I thought he was thirty. I found out after that he was three hundred and thirty. I was. I was supposed to get married to this chick, but I didn’t - well I mean, you know. I don’t swing that way. And Pete was her brothers best friend and we clicked. It was like. I don’t even remember what he told them, about where I went. I guess they think I got cold feet and ran. I kind of did.”
Ian sits there quietly, nose pressed to his hair as he listens to him talking. He makes an encouraging noise when he stops. “Pete was. He had a lot of really violent ups and downs, and once I was past the anger I had at him for changing me, I just stuck around him, since I didn’t know what else to do or where to go. He got really violent, and sometimes he’d lose control and then there would be a couple too many bodies to have to clear up, so we’d run. I was with him for… two decades. At least. I don’t know. I was tired of him though, because even though he was amazing when he was high, it was hard dealing with his low points. A suicidal vampire isn’t a friendly one. I think it was around ’81 when I left him for the first time, and I met Matt and Vinny and Jack and Alex then, and I realized that there was more to us than killing humans. I was with them for a couple of years, and then Pete found me again, and he had a coven this time, Patrick and Andy and Joe. I went back to him then, he promised that he wouldn’t make me do things that I didn’t want to, promised that he had himself under control. He said that he wanted me back, wanted me.”
He doesn’t know why he hasn’t heard this story before. It’s not like he’s told his entire past, but Danny knows the story of before, the way he was sired and who he was when he was human. Ian knew that Danny kind of had rough time before, but he didn’t know about any of this. It almost makes him wonder what else he’s hiding.
“I believed him for a while, yano? Because I missed having someone, since when I was with the others it was always Matt and Vinny, and Jack and Alex, and then there was me, and I was missing something and like. It was like a car having five wheels? Unneccessary. And it took me a while to realize it, but Patrick didn’t like me. And it took me even longer to figure out why. I was so stupid and I missed everything, the talks that Pete would drag Patrick outside to have, the way they touched each other. It’s kind of… the way you touch me. I didn’t notice it, but then we crossed ways with the others again, and this time there were more, this time Zack and Rian and Jeff were with them too, and one of them pointed it out to me. I think that this was around ‘85 or so. And after that I left him, and I think I’ve seen him once every ten or so years since then. The last time I saw him was... Probably around Halloween, 2004.”
Danny takes a deep breath, looks up at Ian and smiles weakly. “I don’t really miss him. Not like that, definitely not anymore. It’s just. He sired me, he’s like. My dad, or whatever. You know.”
He nods. “I know.”
Part 3
A/N: Hey hey so this is part 2. Posting it a little earlier than I initially planned on but it turns out we're leaving a day early to go on vacation so I decided to post it now instead of when I get back. I really really hope that this goes down well, I am so terrified of posting this because vampires are so easy to go wrong with and these vampires are my absolute babies and idk idk. so yep, part three will probably be posted a day or two after I get back, if not the day of. As always, comments are like blowjobs; even if it's a shitty blowjob, it's still a blowjob.