Chapter 12 Quin #2
“What?” Quin asked, coaxing.
“I—” Kit stuck a finger into his mouth, chewing on the nail before looking at his own hand in frustration and shoving it under his thigh instead. “What else did the Internet get wrong about werewolves?”
Quin had some idea of where this might go, but he wanted to string Kit along a bit. “Well, we can’t change at will. We also don’t bite people to turn them. We’re all born this way.”
Kit peered up at Quin through his pale lashes. “How Lady Gaga of you,” he said dryly.
Quin snorted. “I’ve always been more of a Madonna fanboy myself. I enjoy retro stuff,” he added.
Kit looked suitably annoyed. “Madonna is not retro.”
“To us young ones…”
“I’m not going to have this argument.”
“That’s because I’m right,” Quin said with a grin.
“You’re something, all right. So, what other werewolf myths are there?”
“Silver doesn’t hurt us in human form, but when we’re wolves, it can do some damage.”
Kit hummed. “To ingest?”
Quin bobbled his head. “Touching it burns, and if it gets into our bloodstream, then it can poison us. Anything less deadly you want to hear about?”
Kit was silent for a few long moments, and Quin waited patiently, thinking that he knew already what Kit might want to know next. “Your… anatomy,” Kit said carefully.
“Oh?”
Kit gave a put-upon sigh. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
Quin just smiled in response.
“Fine,” Kit said, throwing his hands up. “Are the stories about werewolf dicks accurate?”
“Kit, if you wanted to know anything about my penis, all you had to do was ask.”
“I can’t just ask you about your knob, Quin.”
“Of course you can. What’s a little hog talk between folk like us?” Quin could barely get his words out through his laughter, and Kit kept a straight face for all of two seconds before bursting into a fit of giggles.
“Oh my god,” Kit screeched, waking Mabel up. She turned over onto her front with a little woof before closing her eyes again. “Sorry, Mabel,” Kit said, continuing more quietly, “but, Quin, that sounded like a not-safe-for-work segment on morning television.”
Quin put on his best impression of a generic talk show host’s voice. “Next up on Cock Talk, do you curve a little bit to the right, or a little bit to the left?”
Quin was alarmed to see that there was blood under Kit’s eyes, but then realised that he was crying from laughter, so continued. Kit needed more laughter in his life.
“Balls—how low is too low? Dick pics—how to utilise soft lighting to show off your assets. What’s the worst euphemism for your penis: velvet-wrapped steel? Turgid length? Rigid member? Heavenly pillar? Love wand?”
Kit shook his head, blond curls bouncing. “All of this, and you still haven’t told me what I wanted to know.”
“Ask me directly, Kit, and I’ll tell you.”
Kit looked Quin in the eye. “Knotting. Is it a thing?”
“No.” Quin hoped Kit hadn’t been expecting Quin to deliver on something he couldn’t. “I can’t grow fangs or claws when in human form. Same rules apply to my dick. Lycanthropy is a curse, remember? Having an enhanced penis doesn’t sound like much of a negative to me.”
Kit pursed his lips in thought. “No, I suppose not.”
“I can tell you one thing that’s true, though,” Quin said. “We enjoy biting.”
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking me to feed on you again?”
“It is.” Quin gestured to his lap. “Park yourself here and have a taste of—what was it? Black pepper with a hint of cloves?”
Kit rolled his eyes, but he stood up and came over to Quin. “I wish I hadn’t told you that.”
“No, you don’t,” Quin said. He reached out, his hands spanning large over Kit’s waist where he held him. “How about this time you take it from my neck?” He angled his head, showing off his jugular. He’d trimmed his beard earlier and tidied up any stray hairs, preparing for this eventuality.
Kit made a noise of excitement. “Yeah?”
“Go for it. I want you to.”
Kit seemed hesitant to make the move onto his lap, so Quin widened his legs and pulled him between his knees instead. Kit went pliant under his touch. It was a heady feeling to have Kit go where Quin wanted him to.
It took little for Kit to bend down and scrape his fangs over Quin’s exposed skin.
Quin shut his eyes and lost himself in the sensation of Kit biting him, sharp and gentle all at once.
He kept his hands on Kit’s waist, thumbs rubbing circles in the divots above his hips through the soft cashmere of his jumper.
Quin’s head swam with images of them together as Kit fed from him.
Pieces of a potential future that he hoped this was the first step to building.
Perhaps it was unconventional to have the cornerstone of a relationship be one of you drinking the other’s blood, but most wouldn’t consider what Quin liked mainstream.
He was content to be Kit’s walking, talking blood bag, and would love nothing more than for Kit to forgo feeding from anyone else but him for the rest of his life.
Quin groaned when Kit pulled away, his lips rosy-red with blood. “You’re excited again,” Kit said, fangs sticking out over his lower lip.
Kit wasn’t wrong: Quin was hard and straining in his jeans. Which was impressive, given how much blood had left his body. “It’ll pass,” Quin said, though he didn’t let go of Kit’s waist, keeping him close.
“What if…” Kit started, then trailed off, shaking his head at himself.
“What is it?” Quin asked, keeping his voice soft.
Kit’s gaze flicked down and back up. “Do you want me to do something about it?”
“No. I mean, I would love it, but not right now. You didn’t agree to go on a date with me yet. That needs to come first.”
“In your current state, I think you’re likely to be what’s coming first,” Kit said.
Quin waggled a finger at Kit, tsking. “That’s a diversion, and we both know it. Come on a date with me.”
Kit pursed his lips. “Why?”
“Because I want to take you out.”
“I suppose I can find some time in my diary for you. On one condition, though.”
“Sure,” Quin said. He’d do anything that Kit asked.
“Kiss me again,” Kit demanded.
Quin obliged, reeling Kit closer to him and pressing their lips together. He couldn’t quite parse the distinct taste of black pepper and cloves on Kit’s tongue, but he could taste his own blood. Kit, despite his earlier avoidance, ended up where Quin had wanted him all along—sprawled in his lap.
They barely broke apart but to let Quin breathe.
It was like being a teenager all over again, when making out was the aim and nothing more.
Quin couldn’t ignore his throbbing cock, but it came secondary to the feel of Kit’s lips and tongue.
When Kit made a needy little noise, Quin had to stop them.
He didn’t want to go any further until they’d gone on a date. Kit deserved that much.
“After the full moon,” Quin said, drawing back and meeting Kit’s eyes. “I’m taking you on a date, and then we can do more. If you’re up for it.”
Kit nodded. He was flushed, his cheeks an irresistible pale pink. “Okay.” He tilted his head slightly, curly hair flopping to the side. “One thing to know about…uh, doing more.”
“Oh?”
“Vampires need to feed before we can”—Kit looked down at his crotch and then back up—“react. Down there.”
Given that Quin could feel the evidence of Kit’s arousal bumping against his own where they were pressed close together, he knew what he meant. “Makes sense. I’ll gladly offer my neck whenever there’s a need.”
“As long as you can still get it up too.”
Mabel whined, drawing the attention of both of them. She gazed at them pitifully.
“Aw,” Kit said. “She’s feeling left out.”
“Just as long as you don’t give her the same attention you paid to me,” Quin said.
“Quin!” Kit did a good impression of someone who was offended, but Quin saw beneath the facade. As Kit knelt down by the fire to give Mabel some dog-appropriate loving, Quin reclined on the sofa, watching them both.
He couldn’t imagine that he could want anything else in that moment other than their small slice of domesticity.