Chapter 2 Peter #2
Peter nodded, a smile ghosting over his face.
Puck walked Peter through the house and up the stairs, where another security person greeted them with a nod.
This security guard was a werewolf, and Peter knew her too, although they’d never exchanged more than a nod and the most perfunctory of greetings.
Puck led Peter through a hallway done up with light fixtures that brought out the soft sheen of the expensive wallpaper. Puck entered a code into the number lock, held the door to allow Peter inside, then closed it behind him.
Peter hadn’t been in this particular room before. It was lush, decorated in dark hues of grayish green that contrasted nicely with Puck’s eyes.
The king-sized bed was neatly made, the curtains drawn closed in front of the milky glass windows, and fresh flowers stood in a vase next to canned and bottled non-alcoholic refreshments.
The light scent of the blooms made Peter’s heart flutter.
Peter’s heart never fluttered when he was about to drink. Never.
On a table by the bed, a selection of lubes and condoms sat out in a basket like colorful candied treats, and across from the bed, a large screen was mounted to the wall—something to help with fantasy and arousal if needed.
Puck wordlessly let go of Peter’s hand and started unbuttoning his shirt with his back to Peter.
Peter was just about to tell Puck that there was no need for that given he was not some sloppy, hundred-year-old vampire who had no damn clue what dry cleaning cost, but before he had the chance, Puck turned, and in doing so, let his shirt slide off his shoulders to pool around his feet.
“Like what you see?” Puck asked. It was like he was saying a line in a language he didn’t understand.
Peter did like what he saw. After all, he wasn’t blind, and while Photoshop was all well and good, Peter had a functioning libido, much as it annoyed him at times. Puck, skinny twink that he was, would be a treat to ravish between the sheets.
But that isn’t what I said I wanted. It’s not what I came here for and the reason he took me upstairs. Besides, he was scared. Maybe not of me, but of what I am.
Peter watched Puck as he reached to undo the buttons on his pants with shaking fingers.
“Stop.” Peter tried hard not to bite out the single word. “As I said, I am not here for that. Put your shirt back on, Puck.”
Puck looked confused. “But you—your kind—” He swallowed hard. “You always—I mean, you fuck, then you drink. Sometimes the other way around.”
Well, that was a lot to unpack right there.
A few decades ago, Peter had considered going into psychiatry, which would’ve made him qualified now to do that unpacking, except he hadn’t wanted the bother of dealing with people and their feelings.
So no unpacking. Of any kind. Peter, for the first time since passing the bar, regretted his most recent career choice.
“I cannot speak for whoever gave you that impression, but if I had wanted to fuck you, Puck, I would’ve told you beforehand. You know as well as anyone working here that such things are arranged beforehand, not during. I’m hungry though, and I’d much rather you leave your clothes on while I drink.”
Peter couldn’t quite read Puck’s expression. He did not look eager though. Contrite. Boyish. Very kissable. Damn you, Celeste. You know me too well. I should get you to sign an NDA for me.
Puck bent over to collect his shirt from the floor then pulled it back over his shoulders.
All the while, his eyes never left Peter.
Peter wasn’t sure whether it was out of fear, a contrary reaction to Peter’s rejection, or something else entirely.
It irks me. It irks me that I cannot read him, that I do not know his mind.
Ah. It irks me even more to see him hide his gorgeous physique.
Peter made a mental note to complain to Celeste about her ruthless scheming.
He was happy to remain standing just where he was without moving a muscle while Puck buttoned his shirt back up.
He missed a button though, and Peter found himself fantasizing about how he might slide his fingers past the hem to feel Puck’s skin, but that would be beyond the pale.
“How do you want to do this then?” Puck asked, pulling Peter from his fantasy. “I’ve only ever…I only had this done to me when…”
The aborted gesture that accompanied the implied scenario made Peter nod in understanding. It also made him furious, but that emotion was not one to be let out and allowed to roam. Not here, not now.
Peter gestured. “Sit on the bed.”
Puck hesitated, then walked over and sat on the dark emerald coverlet, one fist clenched, the other hand running up and down his thigh.
Peter closed the distance between them and sat next to Puck.
“Different people react differently,” Peter said. “Some get horny, some just drowsy. Tiredness and exhaustion always follow, and judging by your size, you’ll pass out no more than ten minutes after I’m done.”
Puck’s expression soured. “You do get that this isn’t my first time getting bitten by a fu—by a vampire, right?”
Peter frowned. “I gathered as much, but this is the first time I get to bite you. There is a proper way to do things. When one meets another, they say a greeting, when someone commences another year of life, one wishes them a happy birthday. And when one has consented to a vampire drinking from them, the vampire should explain how the bite will go.”
Puck huffed. “Right.” His eyes widened when he remembered this was work and Peter was a customer. “Sorry.”
“It’s no worry, Puck. If you’ll allow me…”
Peter shifted to get closer, facing Puck and placing his knees on either side of where the young man was sitting. Slowly, he draped his arms around Puck’s shoulders, taking care to keep the touch light.
Puck sucked in a lungful of air and froze, so Peter slowed as well.
“Relax. If I bite you while you are this tense, your neck will bruise, and it’ll hurt for days after. Would you prefer to lie back?”
“No! No.” Puck shook his head so fast it might have given him vertigo.
Instead of simply going on, Peter pulled back and returned to sitting next to Puck on the bed.
“Straddle me then. It’ll be the most comfortable for you, and you’ll get to be on top.”
Puck gaped but quickly picked his jaw back up. Then he shrugged. “You’re so fucking weird.”
The fluttery feeling in Peter’s belly that settled there as Puck did what Peter had suggested was discomfiting.
Is it because he smells nice? It must be.
He smells very nice. Mostly soap. It’s good that he uses soap.
Everyone should use a lot more soap. Everyone should have eyes this green and lips this red.
Did he rouge them? He did nothing to his lashes, I’m quite sure, he was just born with those looks.
Photoshop can’t make lashes look like this.
Hmm. I think it’s good I never went to study psychoanalysis with Sigmund.
If I’d gone into psychiatry, thinking about Puck and Photoshop would be thoroughly unprofessional.
As Peter thanked the gods for making the law seem more appealing, Puck put his arms around Peter’s neck, though he was careful not to lean into Peter, not to let himself be held.
Such a shame.
As it was, Puck would still end up with bruises. The tension hadn’t left him. I’ll be gentle with you. Whatever you’ve been made to feel by one of my kind, this won’t be the same.
“Ready?”
Puck nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Peter left one hand resting on the bed, steadied Puck’s head with the other, and leaned in, inhaling more of Puck’s scent as he brushed Puck’s neck with his lips.
Puck went tense and still the very moment Peter parted his lips. Rather than sink his teeth into Puck’s flesh, Peter whispered, “Try to relax. Breathe. Just focus on your breath.”
That sounded far too much like the weirdly creepy yoga instructor Peter had briefly crossed paths with at the resort in Morrowvale, and Peter felt immediately silly.
But after a moment, Puck did start taking measured breaths in and out. Peter kept his lips slightly parted against Puck’s skin, and once most of the tension had eased out of Puck, Peter allowed himself to lick the human’s skin.
Puck tasted sweet, almost powdery, the salty taste of skin very faint. It was really quite lovely, and Peter imagined what those jade green eyes would look like if they drifted shut in pleasure. There’s that fluttery feeling again. Well, fucked be Celeste and all her scheming.
“Shh, I’ve got you.”
With that, Peter sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of Puck’s throat. His hold on Puck tightened to make sure he didn’t move and accidentally hurt himself.
The blood was sweet, slightly powdery in taste, much like his scent, but in a good way. That told Peter that Puck was healthy, ate well, and drank plenty of water every day.
I’m glad you take care of yourself, sweet Puck. I should take care of you. No. Can I? I probably cannot. Celeste knew that, and yet we’re here.
After a short while, Puck sagged against Peter, and Peter pulled his teeth out of the human’s neck, still keeping his lips around the puncture wounds like a seal. He was a clean drinker, and so he laved the bite marks with his tongue to close them up.
Puck did not seem to mind that part, but he did start grinding against Peter, clearly marking him out as one of the horny kind of blood donors.
Those were a true bother when one just wanted a quick sip, given they could get quite clingy.
Then again, they always pass out so fast. Sensitive.
The horny, clingy ones are also always the sensitive ones.
After the blood, Peter felt sated and less like he wanted to scowl at anyone who crossed his path.
That didn’t make him hangry at all. It simply made him a vampire, and as he sat there, working his tongue over the marks in Puck’s skin as he held him lightly but firmly, he considered where all that fear in Puck had come from. He considered murder.
Meanwhile, Puck, still in the horny state, pulled on Peter’s clothes. His coordination was already suffering though, and he didn’t get anywhere. Peter let him, enjoying the fantasy it inspired.
Once the skin had mended with the magic of Peter’s saliva, he pulled away, though he checked to make sure there was no mark left there—nothing that would have Puck regretting or resenting once morning came.
Puck’s head had sagged against Peter’s shoulder at some point. Peter looked into those almost closed eyes through a fringe of black hair. Puck appeared younger, though there was still something old in those green eyes. Peter frowned.
“What happened to you?” Peter whispered, almost sure that Puck was too far gone to make out the words.
Unwilling to think about it more, Peter stood and pulled Puck up with him. Lifting Puck was no issue for a vampire with Peter’s strength. Nor was putting him to bed, his head supported by a pillow, his shoes pulled off and placed by the door.
Once he was done, Peter looked at Puck, black hair wild against the emerald coverlet, face pale after allowing Peter to feed.
“Puck,” Peter said on a whisper. As fake names went, this one suited him.
Peter shook his head and folded the coverlet over the young man so he’d not feel cold, all alone in that big bed.
Peter was about to head out the door, but Puck moaned, not a conscious sound. Peter leaned over him.
“All is well. Let sweet dreams find you.”
He reached out, hesitated, then brushed a strand of black hair from Puck’s forehead.
This is not good. Or is it? It’s not what I came here for. I should’ve given the succubus a performance report and then asked to drink from her. If only that weren’t crossing a line. Thor’s hammer, this is a fucking pain.
Once at the door, Peter turned to make sure, once again, that Puck was okay.
“This wasn’t what I came here for,” Peter mumbled, then opened the door.
He headed downstairs to the bar. Celeste was there, and instead of complaining to her, Peter negotiated for Puck’s time. All of his time. Not that it was really a negotiation. Bartering for Puck wouldn’t have felt right.
“I knew you’d like him,” Celeste said when they shook hands. “He’ll do you good, sweetie.”
Peter tried scowling at her. She beamed. “You tricked me, Celeste. And don’t call me sweetie. What will people think?”
Celeste giggled. “I wasn’t aware you could be tricked, and don’t worry, I’d never call you a nickname where Puck can hear.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“You didn’t?” Her beard did little to hide her amused expression.
“Call me whatever you want if you must. I’m above such things.”
Celeste poured herself a drink, filling a tumbler with expensive amber liquid. “I can see that. I can ask him to call you sweetie.”
“You will not.”
“Cheers to that, sweetie.” Celeste emptied her glass in one go.
Peter left. He’d always known the right time to make an exit. Staying when the straits got dire was simply too much of a bother.