#monster!billy

“You ever played that game?” he asked, as she handed him one of Hopper’s dish towels. “Marco Polo? It’ll be like that. You know how to play Marco Polo, right? I’m Polo, you’re Marco. That way, you won’t lose me.”

He was babbling, he knew. But he couldn’t help himself. Fear did funny things to people; in that, he and Mike weren’t so different. Both of them coped with their fears by micromanaging them, saying too much and moving too fast because it was better than just sitting there and letting the fear paralyze you. Yeah, Steve was scared. He was fucking terrified. They all were.

“You’re Polo, I’m Marco,” Eleven said. She sat opposite him on the floor of the cabin, her legs crossed in a lotus position. Over her shoulder, the TV flickered white, dead static.

He didn’t reply, couldn’t quite get the words out; they’d come unmoored somewhere in his throat. He felt like he was gonna be sick. Don’t lose me, he thought. Please don’t fucking lose me down there.

Eleven squeezed his hand, as if she’d heard. I won’t.

Sinking into the void was almost like falling asleep: slow at first, but once it started, it was one steady drop, all at once. Then—oblivion.

“Marco,” Eleven’s voice said.

She held his hand, guiding him through the darkness.

“Polo,” he answered.

His heart was beating double, triple time in his chest; beating so fast that the space between each beat was nearly non-existent. Steve tried opening his eyes to their fullest extent, searching for a gap, a way out, an end to it—and whatever waited for him at that end. He found none. The darkness of the void was heavy; it pressed down on his chest, his back, constricting the air in his lungs. In the total absence of light, Steve began to imagine he could actually see: a repetitive wallpaper of snarling, petal-shaped faces. Nancy, flushed and drunkenly swaying. A plume of cigarette smoke, exhaled from a boy’s laughing mouth. His heart clenched, and he glanced over his shoulder.

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, cold and bleak and infinite. His gorge rose.

Eleven’s voice brought him back. “Marco.”

“Polo,” Steve said.

He felt his way forwards, using her hand as a lifeline, a warm, fluttering light in the dark. The only light. Where his feet touched the ground (what ground? It was all black, his feet touched black), delicate ripples spread outwards, like the placid surface of a large body of water. Steve tried closing his eyes; there was no difference in the lack of light, and that made the fear come back in full, crushing force. He floundered, water splashing all around him, and remembered something Billy had told him once: just lie still. You ever find yourself in trouble in the water, just lie still. Billy had always talked about it, going back to California after graduation. Going home. Steve was almost home, now. One more step. One more …

“There,” Eleven said.

She stretched an arm outwards, pointing. Her hand looked almost like a doll’s: so very small.

“Stay back,” he murmured.

She nodded. “I won’t be far.”

Letting go of her hand was one of the hardest things Steve had ever done.

He was well acquainted with the emotion by now: a child’s irrational terror of the unknown. Of monsters under the bed. You turn the light on, you saw that there was nothing there: only a jumble of shoes, a closet door standing open, a jacket that grew fangs and claws when the lights were off. He told himself that as he left Eleven behind, moving with slow, shuffling steps. Reaching through the void like a blind man reaching for a handhold, his hands grasping, coming up empty. See? Nothing there. Nothing that could hurt him.

“Billy,” he whispered. “Sweetheart.”

Somewhere ahead, a … a lightness. A someone, crouched on the end of a mattress. Steve took another step. The smell of cigarettes grew stronger. He broke into a staggering run, his heart pounding so hard that it felt fit to burst from his chest, the name catching in his throat and turning into a dry, racking sob.

“Billy. Billy.”

Mattress springs creaked as he bent down, groping for Billy’s hand. Steve was desperate for that warmth, the comfort of his strong, solid body against his own. Since Billy had disappeared, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be warm.

“Billy.”

Steve cupped Billy’s face, pushed his hair out of his eyes. It was like touching uncooked chicken: Billy’s skin was unnaturally clammy, slimy. The smell of cigarettes, of smoke and sulfur, clung to him like a caul. His hair was lank and unwashed, his face spattered with black blood.

His eyes, bloodshot and haggard, stared straight through Steve, unrecognizing.

“Billy,” Steve said again. It took all of his willpower not to scream his name, not to beat at Billy’s chest with his fists: let him out let him out let him out. No, he had to go slow. He had to make Billy remember.

Still with his hand cupping Billy’s chin, he tilted his jaw back, pretending those sightless eyes were locked on him. Steve started with Billy’s hair, the curls that framed his temples and cheekbones: brushing his fingers through them, curling the ends around his fingertips. Watching them bounce. He wished he had a comb, or a water basin. “You’ve got birds fucking nesting up here, baby,” he said. He pretended that Billy heard him. Laughed, and shoved Steve off his lap in response. “Billy. That’s your name. You need to remember your name.” He tucked Billy’s hair behind his ears, then traced his fingers over his jaw, prickly with stubble. Thinking of all the times he’d fucking complained about it, the grazes it left on his upper lip, his belly, his thighs. Steve watched Billy’s eyes as he touched him, waiting for them to blink, for something in them to change … it wasn’t right, how still he was, how—Steve’s brain refused to say the word dead. That was another coping mechanism, and it was as powerful as any drug: denial.

“Wake up,” he said. He wasn’t going to beg. Not yet. If he started to beg, he might start crying, too. He’d fucking lose it. “Wake up, Billy. Come on. Billy Hargrove, that’s your name. You have to wake up.”

He wiped the blood from Billy’s cheekbone, touched his eyelids. Stroked the skin behind his ears. Kissed the corner of his mouth. Tried not to gag at the taste: dead things and dried blood. Chased the faint, distant taste of cigarettes instead—closed his eyes and pretended to lose himself in it, that Billy was wrapping his arms around his waist, reeling him in for another kiss, and another. Water, Steve thought. It was just like swimming. Billy was still there, floating somewhere on the bottom. Steve knew he was. He just had to keep talking.

“Wake up. Billy, please wake up. Come back to me.”

He kissed Billy’s mouth, lightly at first, then with his tongue. He kissed Billy’s ears, tugging his earring between his teeth; he kissed between his eyes. “That’s it,” he whispered. He trailed kisses down the column of Billy’s throat, sucking the sweat and the blood and the grime off his skin. In sickness or in health. “That’s it, that’s it. What’s your name?”

Billy didn’t answer.

Steve kissed him again. Pulled the hem of his white tank top out of his jeans, so he could get at the places where he knew Billy was most sensitive: the sides of his belly, the skin underneath his wrist. His bellybutton. His collarbones and back to his neck. Please. Places that would make Billy gasp, wet and pleased, make him buck his hips and rake his hands in Steve’s hair. You need to remember your name. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself if you don’t. “Billy. Billy. Billy.”

He couldn’t remember when he’d started to cry. He kissed Billy’s fingers, one by one, kissed his knuckles and his rings, and was almost convinced that he felt them move under his touch. When he let go, Billy’s hand dropped like a stone, whaping against his thigh, a dull, muffled sound. “Damn you,” Steve said. He dragged his nails over Billy’s arms, leaving white, angry marks. “Stop it, Billy. Stop fucking around. You gotta remember your name.”

There were tears in Billy’s eyes as well. They spilled over his cheeks, dripping off his chin and soaking the edge of his tank top. He was crying silently, his lips peeling back from his gums in an awful, frozen smile, his hand moving with startling violence. He slapped Steve across the face.

“Marco?” he heard Eleven screaming, pleading. “Marco, Marco, Marco—”

"Planning to tickle me with that?" He taunts as you shove him further back, until your full weight is propped onto the hand pressed around his neck, your thigh pressed right between his, forcing you to straddle his leg. 

Unbelievably, you feel his hand grip your hips, holding you securely in place as if he wants you as close to him as possible.

"I can do some real damage with this." You warn, voice low and enraged, trailing the knife slowly down the column of his throat, "Don't you know dull knives hurt more?"

His lips part, his chest drops a little as if the breath in his lungs has escaped him.

"The only thing hurting me," he whispers, "Is that you're not naked."

You take the time to press the tip of the dull knife into his skin. It would take a lot more force to puncture his neck, but doing so meant you could shred his throat easily. You wonder if that would even slow him down.

Your mouth curls in disgust, pulling away from him and sliding off his body quickly. You ignore the little wet spot your cunt has left behind on his pants, still being dressed in just his shirt.

There’s a tense moment of silence, the smell of delicious chinese food in the air- he’d ordered it for you while you were asleep so that there would be food available for you not long after waking. You’d only been a few bites in when you’d asked about the last time he’d fed, and he’d revealed to you what you’d already known was true, that he’d left Ethan’s body in a dumpster, missing a heart.

“You’re sick.” You whisper, facing away from him. Ethan had been trained alongside you, saved your life just as much as you’d saved his, and Billy had killed him because he’d dared to touch you.

You feel Billy behind you now, not worrying to think about how fast he’d just moved.

You huff when you feel his hands glide over either side of your hips, fingers twitching as he holds you firm.

You try your hardest to hate it, to feel disgusted by his cold hands on you, but all you feel is flutters, in your chest, your stomach, and somewhere lower.

“From the minute I put my hands on you, I knew you were mine.” He says. You squeeze your eyes shut, mentally rejecting the words.

“I know you can feel it, the way I do when I’m not near you,” he continues, drawing closer till his voice is just in your ear, “Like there’s no air in the room, unless you’re here.”

“You’re deranged.” You gasp out, feeling his hands tighten on your hips.

“You call that boy your friend, but you forget that I saw the whole thing. You didn’t want him touching you, and he did anyway. Is that not a good enough reason to tear his heart out of his chest?”

“He touched me. Not you. It was my situation to handle.” You retort.

He’s silent for a long moment.

“You’re right. I let my anger get the best of me.”

“Thank you.”

He pulls you back suddenly, till you’re pressed against his front securely, his nose running gently against your neck, one of his hands rise to tug your shirt collar down, till his face is pressed to the scar of his bite on your shoulder.

“Don’t mishear me. I’m not saying I’m sorry. Believe it or not, but I’ve been in that position, and I guarantee you, that if it’s not you, it’s someone else.”

You feel him kiss your scar, tingles spreading over your body. You’re deep in your own thoughts, thinking about his words.

“You’ve been in that position?” You echo his words, mind fuzzy with his attention.

“Mhm,” He hums, open mouthed kisses roaming your neck, “Wasn’t as strong as you either. It’s why I’ll always stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves.”

You suck in a deep breath.

“But you’re a vampire.”

He spins you around, arms gripping your shoulder, eyebrows pulled together.

 “You’re still thinking like that?” He utters in disbelief.

“Well, you haven’t really given me anything else to work with.”

He huffs, taking your hands in his and pulling you back to the couch.

“Okay, come, let me explain.”

You follow easily, and when you try to sit beside him, he eagerly pulls you into his lap. You huff, rolling your eyes as you try not to grind your wet centre against his thigh. He watches you, as if he can hear every thought.

“Believe it or not, vampires are very much like people. There are good, and there are bad.”

When you open your mouth to voice your opinion, he grabs the back of your head quickly, pulling you into him to lay a scalding kiss against your lips. His body might be cool to the touch, but he makes you sizzle anyway.

Heavens, he kisses like sin, plump lips owning whatever parts of yourself were still unclaimed, now his fully.

“Why don’t you let me finish, and then you can ask your questions.” He suggests, forehead pressed to yours.

A smarter side of you would argue, protesting his need to feed you what was most likely a lie.

You swallow, nodding your head hesitantly, feeling your body heat up with the memory of the things he'd done to you last night.

You look away from him, trying to get your thoughts together.

"We don't have to, I can always just lay you back right here and lick you to my heart's content."

You groan, clenching around nothing, acutely aware that being this close to him is making your head spin.

"Shut up and talk, Billy." You say with a pained hint in your voice.

He raises his eyebrows, his lips pulling into a slow grin. Thankfully he doesn't comment on your contrasting words.

"Okay, so as I was saying, from a moral perspective, vampires aren't that much different compared to humans. Realistically, if we killed someone every time we fed, more people would know about us."

"That's still a parasitic existence."

"The next time you interrupt I'm going to spank you."

You groan, clenching around nothing for a second time.

He explains it to you like you're a child, carefully arguing that the creatures of the night weren't all monsters, that they were a still budding society trying to figure out the logistics of existing.

"You sound like children." You interject.

Billy doesn't hesitate to draw his hand back and slap your thigh, watching you hiss in pain, that then quietly bleeds into pleasure, to your embarrassment.

"For most of human history, the number of vampires have only been in the hundreds. Now, we might have hit only a couple of thousand. The number of people that humans have killed vastly outweighs the number of vampires that exist and you still want to accuse us? Can't you see that the way you've been taught to think about us is flawed?"

You huff.

"Why is it so important that I believe what you say?" You ask, and it earns you another loud smack to the curve of your ass. You shut your eyes for a moment to fight the urge to rut your hips on his thigh.

"I'm trying to show you who the real monsters are. The ones that hide in the shadows and pull the strings, the ones that sell their own kind to the highest bidder of ours. These are people you should be hunting, little girl, not the fledglings that want to dance in clubs and feed from unsuspecting humans."

You open your eyes, blinking at him.

"You're saying there's something bigger at play?"

His hand comes down on your other asscheek. He grins when you glare at him.

"Yes. Your organisation trained you to kill the first vampire you see, making us all out to be monsters, but it's just not that simple. I can show the real monsters if you want, and let you-"

He cuts off, and after a second, he grins at you.

You look at him quizzically.

"You're so wet, I can feel it soaking through my jeans."

A low groan of annoyance leaves you, and you raise your hips, in an attempt to get off of him.

He’s not having it, gripping your hips firmly and pulling you back onto his thigh. When you struggle, his arms wrap around you, bringing you even closer, one hand settling low on your back, and then tugging your shirt up to grip your ass tightly. He holds you in place till you find that you are unable to even move an inch.

You study him intently as heat flushes through your system, eyes tracing the scars that line his face.

His eyes are dark, decisive, your eyes flit down to his lips, the sweet curve of them making your tongue feel heavy in your mouth. The shape of his beard urging you to rub yourself against him, the memory of his mouth between your thighs coming to mind.

You let out a slow breath.

“As I was saying, I can show you the real monsters,” He says softly, the air growing charged between you, “And let you decide what you want for yourself.”

You could barely remember why you were even fighting him, the magnetism of his form was too strong for you to resist.

“I’ll think about it.” You whisper, tilting your head to the side, and leaning into him slowly.

At the very last moment before your lips touch, you pause.

“Wait.” You whisper, pulling back.

You feel his hands tighten around you.

“What?” He bites out, lips parted so you can see just the smallest hint of his fangs.

You try to ignore his snippy attitude, and resist rolling your eyes lest it get you into more trouble.

“The thing you said… about choosing mates? What’s that about?”

You watch his lips part, to take a slow breath in.

“It’s something vampires do. Sort of, like an imprint- a voluntary imprint.”

You blink at him, horror washing through your body.

“You- imprinted on me… willingly?” You try to draw away from him, and he resists your movement, hand tightening on your bare ass subtly.

It brings you back to where you are, half naked on his lap.

“Yes.” He grits out, “When I first tasted you, I claimed you as mine.” 

You fight him harder now, pushing against his chest.

“Claimed me? Don’t I get a choice?”

Billy huffs.

“You came up to me in that club- or don’t you remember?” He says, and you can see the clear anger in his features.

“You didn’t even know me!” You protest, finally getting enough leverage to wiggle out of his lap and to a stand on shaky legs.

He grits his teeth, tilting his head and watching you move away from him.

“The imprint might be voluntary, but it doesn’t work unless we’re compatible.”

“You’re sick.” You respond quickly, not even thinking.

He closes his eyes slowly, rolls his neck. You worry for a moment that his need for you has just expired. 

Would he kill you? If he didn’t get what he wanted from you?

You swallow, eyeing him steadily.

He stands, walking past you without a second glance.

“Eat. I’ll take you hunting tonight.”

“Wh- what if I want to leave?” You ask softly.

He stops at the doorway, looks down before turning his head to the side. You study the scar on his cheek.

“They’ll kill you if they catch you, just to get to me. And if they hurt you, I’ll scatter their body parts across the state.”

You gulp at the imagery.

.

It was more irritating to you that he was giving you space.

He’d gone from keeping you in his arms, to not touching you at all and it made you seethe with all the hatred you had for him.

You hadn’t left- because you knew your organisation, and you knew Billy was right. They’d try to kill you the second they found you, if only to prove a point. Especially now that you knew for sure that Ethan was dead.

You pause while applying your mascara, sucking in a deep breath. Someone had dropped off a small duffel bag of supplies for you at the door, and Billy had slid it into your hands, telling you to get ready, you’d be going out in an hour.

He’s checking his watch when you emerge from the bathroom, dressed in jeans that fit you surprisingly well and a baby pink crop top.

His eyes scour your frame, face stoic as he makes his assessment.

“Ready?” He asks.

You only nod.

.

The heat of the club was familiar to you, an abundance of bodies so close together in one small space, moving under the soft neon lights.

You’re following his large frame, trying to keep an eye on the olive shirt wrapped around his shoulders, fighting each dirty thought about him that crosses your mind.

He’d looked good, to your annoyance, and you were wondering how long it would take for him to touch you again.

The answer was not very long at all, because when the crowd gets too dense, he reaches behind, extending a hand for you to take.

His hand is rough in yours, cool to the touch, undead and owning it and you feel your heartbeat kick up at the casual way his hand grips yours.

You didn’t like him, definitely not.

You weren’t too distracted by him to notice some of the other vampires in the club. You catch them in your peripheral vision, eyeing you both up, no doubt your scent packing a metaphorical punch to anyone with an advanced sense of smell.

"Easy baby," Billy whispers into your ear, fully knowing that anyone could be listening in on your conversation, his hand smoothing over your shoulder and down to the small of your back.

"We'll have our fun soon enough." He continues, his voice in your ear sending sharp waves of want down your spine.

If he notices your response to him, he doesn't show it, simply guiding you to an open seat at a secluded booth in the club.

He'd briefed you in the car on the way here, explaining that the objective was to be invited into the back rooms where the questionable conversations happened. All he’d been hoping for, was an idea of where the location for the next big meeting might be.

“The real shady conversations don’t happen in nightclubs, they happen in the back rooms of libraries or secluded five star restaurants that cater to our specific… diet.” Billy had explained.

That had made your stomach twist into knots at the idea that there really was something worse at play, made you want to do anything possible to put a dent in it.

He sits at the booth, and like you’d discussed in the car, you sit quietly beside him, body stirring with thoughts of what he’d said he’d do next.

“I’ll put you on my lap, I need them to think you’re my pretty pet. They’ll do anything to try to convince me to share you.” 

When he pats his thigh, you do what you know he wants you to. You move slowly, crawling into his lap, straddling his hips.

It brings you face to face with him, and there’s something of a silent conversation going on between you.

Though his hands are on you, gripping your body tightly, and very inappropriately for anyone to see, there’s a distance to the expression on his face that stings.

You study his scars, his eyes closing when your noses brush.

You think about the imprint he’d confessed to. You wonder what it really meant, that maybe you weren’t at his mercy as much as you’d initially thought.

After a moment, you roll your hips against his, body igniting when you manage to feel hints of his thick erection through your layers of clothing. 

He pins you with his red eyes.

It sends ripples of pleasure through you.

You didn’t know what you wanted, not even sure if it was him, with his sharp jawline and thick hair, and the scars that sit on his face, someone’s attempt at making him less beautiful gone awry.

All you knew, that in this moment, you were searching for a higher purpose, a reason for being in your current position that wasn’t just because of him. Because what kind of person would that make you? If you genuinely enjoyed being with him after the things he’s done?

After a long moment of looking into each other’s eyes, he takes a deep breath, gripping the back of your neck to bring you closer so that his lips brush your ear.

“I can smell how wet you are. Is that all for me?”

He’d know if you were lying anyway.

“Yes,” you whisper, “I need you.”

He hums, the sound goes down, all the way to your aching clit.

“If only you’d worn a skirt,” Billy continues, “I could have had my cock inside you from the minute we sat down.”

You don’t suppress your reaction, sighing in need, clenching hard around nothing.

Although this was just a performance, you realise it’s not so hard to actually act.

You pull back a little, so you can look down at his mouth. You clench again at the memory of sitting on his face.

His fingers tighten on the back of your neck, warning you that someone is approaching, your debauched act finally prompting someone to come near.

“Pardon me,” The feminine voice says- a vampire you realise- and you resist looking over at her, “but I couldn’t help but overhear your problem, and would like to extend an invitation to our basement lounge to you.”

Billy pauses, seeming to ponder her words, you attempt to ‘encourage’ him by leaning in to place kisses on the smooth column of his neck.

You feel his hand tighten on the back of your own neck imperceptibly. 

“Private rooms?” He asks.

You both already know the answer before she says it.

“Not completely, but more private than this.” She says, no doubt pointing out the wide open area of the dancefloor where anyone could see the both of you.

“I’m not sure if I’m interested.” Billy responds, making sure he doesn’t look too eager to follow her.

You keep kissing his neck, running your tongue up to his earlobe before continuing your kisses, feeling the vibration as the woman slides in beside Billy.

You pause for a second, looking over at the woman, makeup done perfectly, brunette hair falling gracefully as she moves, before Billy turns your head away, a silent urge that as his pet, his conversation was none of your business.

He’d warned you about it before, that people would speak about you like you weren’t there and playing along was necessary. You could do that, you’d played hundreds of roles before when hunting, this was just another character.

The character you were playing right now, was an empty, aching little hole. Someone eager and willing to go along with anything her partner says as long as it made him happy and got her ache satiated at the end of the night. You’d pulled inspiration from your own life for this role.

“She smells so sweet.” The woman says, to Billy in a soft voice, “Surely you don’t want to enjoy her here out in the open where you can get interrupted.”

“And I’m sure that following you is going to have a price of its own.” Billy murmurs, and you squirm on his lap a little to give off an air of impatience.

Despite your aversion to him, you’re forced to admit to yourself that you enjoy sitting in his lap. This role of needy girl coming naturally to you, because you wanted, and you wanted and you wanted him to give.

“Honestly, I’d love a little taste.” The woman confesses.

“Hear that, pet?” Billy hums, fingers sliding into your hair to pull your head back so that your eyes meet his, “This one wants a taste. What do you think?”

You think she’d look nice with a stake buried in her chest.

You flutter your eyes, giving him the look of eager obedience.

“Whatever you want, sir.” You mumble.

Billy’s dark eyes give nothing away.

“Perhaps I can share a mouthful with you, but on my terms.” He says, and you smile as he continues to look into your eyes.

He’d also warned you that he might have to bite you at some point. He promised he wouldn’t let anyone else.

You trusted him. You could see it in his eyes, that maybe the idea of letting someone else touch you had been out of the question from the very start.

“We have a deal.” The woman says, standing easily, and waiting for Billy to follow.

You’re wobbly on your legs, too drunk on your own lust for him, the way he holds your hand, silently pulling you along.

You almost forget the real reason you were here, lost in wondering how he would take care of you later tonight if you’d let him.

On the way down, the woman introduces herself as Petra, Billy gives his name, and no one even mentions you. It makes you a little irritated, that you were being treated as that much of an object, but it didn’t really surprise you. They were vampires after all.

You don’t ask where you’re going, following easily, memorising every hallway and door, making a mental map in your head.

She guides you down a flight of stairs, so narrow that Billy’s shoulders brush the sides of either wall. At the bottom, is a short hallway that stops at an iron door. 

Three sharp knocks, and the door cracks open.

You can feel the pulse of the music, emphasised by the lighting in the room, it’s like a dull thrumming, echoing the need inside of you, much slower and more erotic than whatever is playing in the club upstairs. 

Inside is like a large cavern, the walls give off an impression of being somewhere underground, with rough rock walls and lighting fixtures jutting out.

The room is filled with secluded booths, sheer drapes to hide the bodies within, the low light accentuating the writhing figures of people dancing inside, no doubt putting on a show for their partners.

“Nice place.” Billy says, he doesn’t scan the area like you do, using senses beyond your comprehension to make his observations. He gives six squeezes to your hand- one per vampire in the room. 

Six, if you had to fight your way out, things would be a little complicated.

Billy slides into the booth easily, his fingers still laced with yours, guiding you. When he sits, you settle beside him. Almost instantly, his hands are on your hips, pulling you onto his lap, making you straddle him.

You look down, feeling a little vulnerable in this position, arousal settling warmly in the spot between your legs.

“She smells divine,” Petra hums, interrupting your debauched thoughts, sitting in the booth at a respectful distance away, “You promised me a taste.” She reminds him.

“Of course.” Billy says, but when she inches toward you, he raises his hand to stop her from moving any closer.

His hand smooths over the top of your head, your eyelids fluttering at his attempt to calm you, he grips your chin gently, tilting your head to the side.

You close your eyes, your neck tingles, your mind preparing itself for the pain of it.

There’s no fear, just acceptance. You’re almost eager, from the last time he promised he’d bite you. 

He takes a deep breath at the crook of your neck, hands wandering to your backside to keep you still.

You try to relax your body as much as possible, knowing that resistance made it hurt more.

His tongue glides over your neck, and then his fangs press against your skin.

Billy somehow manages to find a way to be gentle about it, he presses in fast, keeping steady as his fangs penetrate your neck.

Delight floods your system for a moment, sparking through your body from where his mouth is latched to your neck. You can’t help the small hum of surprise that leaves your throat. Surely, bites weren’t supposed to feel this good?

It pinches next, and then it stings. You close your eyes and breathe through it, experiencing the pain, letting it move through every cell of your body.

Then, the throbbing begins.

Your neck pulses, as if your body’s suddenly noticed that it’s been breached, and is trying to process the intrusion.

You whimper in pain when he raises his head, freeing his teeth from your skin, the most painful part in your opinion.

His mouth remains latched to your neck, you feel him take one big mouthful of your blood, and swallows. His grip tightens on your ass and you can only imagine what you taste like to him. He only pulls away after he takes a second mouthful.

You watch, peeking through your closed eyelids, as he beckons Petra closer, his fingers under her chin as he seals his mouth to hers.

Something ugly rears its head inside of you. An anger that wasn’t there before, burning as you watch their lips lock, as he shares your blood with her. 

She moans into his mouth, pressing forward, and you watch, with blood trickling from your open wound, as she glides her tongue into his mouth.

All you can feel is hate. When he finally pulls away after what felt like hours of watching them kiss, she chases his mouth, but he braces one arm on her shoulder to stop her.

You couldn’t figure out why you were so upset, it wasn’t like… like you wanted him. Right?

“I need more.” She says, leaning in, now red eyes flitting to you, and to the blood dripping slowly from your neck.

Billy keeps her at bay, glancing at you for a moment.

“Pet,” he says easily, moving his hand off your ass and fishing in his pocket for a hankerchief to present to you, “Why don’t you put some pressure on that for me.” He inclines his head at your wound.

You nod, taking the soft white material, and pressing down to stop the bleeding.

“Please,” Petra begs again, “She’s delicious, you need to bring her to an auction we’re having next week. You have no idea how much she’s worth.”

His eyes are dark when he glances at you, seemingly deep in thought.

“I really could use some more blood, I can’t feed from her all the time.”

She jumps at Billy’s admittance.

“Exactly, you could get ten bodies with the amount of cash you’d get for her.”

When she leans in further, Billy’s hand drifts to wrap itself around her throat.

You can see that she’s too taken with your blood to focus properly, her eyes are glued to your neck despite the hold Billy has her in.

“Where is this auction?” Billy hums, with a tilt of his head. When she doesn’t immediately respond, trying to fight to keep the secret for as long as possible, you entice her by pulling the piece of fabric off your wound.

You’ve long since stopped bleeding, but the cloth has enough of your blood on it to loosen her lips easily.

She speaks the time and place in a very soft breath, that not even you can hear, all you can see from the corner of your eyes are her lips moving, and after a moment, Billy nods in understanding. 

“I’ll think about it. Now leave. You promised me privacy and you’ve already had your taste.” He pushes her away, releasing the grip on her throat. 

She catches herself as she falls back, and with a sour look, she backs off, leaving you alone with each other.

Did you have to kiss her? You immediately want to ask, but with the knowledge that anyone can hear your conversation, you can only roll your eyes at him, and lean away.

You know that technically, you’re supposed to be locked into an intimate embrace with him, but you can’t bear the thought of kissing him after watching him kiss someone else.

You needed to find a way to make this believable on your own terms, and you also didn’t want to actually fuck him either. You’d had enough of being vulnerable for the night.

Without thinking too much about it, you reach for the button on his jeans. 

His hands reach to stop you, a silent exchange passing between you. He raises his eyebrows in a 'What are you doing?' type of way.

You both knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that you couldn’t very well just leave after getting the information you wanted, it would look too suspicious. Something had to be done, and this is what you’d decided on.

You bite down on your bottom lip, deep in thought, watching his eyes drift down to your mouth, and when you reach to undo his pants again, he doesn’t stop you.

You shuffle back, tugging at his jeans and working his boxers down until his cock is exposed to you.

He's almost at full mast, and his indecent exposure and the implications of that succeeds in bringing him to full hardness. 

You feel something twist inside of you, a pleasure racing through your body at just the sight of him.

You wanted to do this, for yourself as much as for him.

Shuffling back, you keep your eyes on his, slipping easily onto your knees between his parted legs.

When your knees hit the ground, you watch his eyes flash red momentarily.

There’s nothing to be said between you. You can’t convey to him that you’re only doing this because any of the alternatives mean opening up to him, and that’s the last thing you feel like doing right now.

Right now, all you want to do is take from him.

So instead, you lean forward, and wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

His cock is so fucking good you have to fight the moans that rise so easily within you.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning forward even more, tongue roaming over his tip.

You hear a sharp intake of breath, and you reward the sound by taking him deeper.

It feels so right to have him in your mouth, heavy against your tongue, the head of his cock is smooth, and you're intrigued by the sensation.

You reach for his hand, the one that's got a death grip on the soft cushion beside your head. He releases the couch on your insistence, and you encourage his hand to grip the back of your head.

He grunts out what you think is an expletive, and you pause, raising your head to look at him.

His eyes are dark, the scars on his face look downright devilish in the low light, and you want him to use you for his pleasure, so that you don’t have to feel bad about wanting.

You can tell he’s hesitant, for the very first time you see him pause in his pursuit of you, dark eyes unsure, that is, until you begin to lick gently at his tip.

Teasing him with small touches of your tongue, you watch the darkness grow and grow in his eyes, until he finally takes control- gripping the back of your head harshly.

Your mouth falls open at the sensation, obedient to whatever he wills. You move easily as he pulls your mouth back onto his cock.

He takes it slow at first, guiding the movement of your head up and down on his cock, pushing you down a little deeper each time.

You suck a little- because for all the control he has- you’re in charge here.

“That’s a good girl.” He hums lowly, guiding your head. You hum in response.

It feels good to give him this, feel him filling your mouth so rhythmically, your cunt weeping for the attention he gives your mouth.

You push farther than his hands guide, taking him to the back of your throat. Your body isn’t prepared for the intrusion, and resists, forcing you to pull away with a gasp. 

Tears in your eyes, you look up at him in apology.

His lips are parted, licking at his bottom lip, he grips your hair harshly, and pulls your head up.

You grunt, scalp tingling for a moment as he pulls your body taut between his legs, leaning down until his lips are pressed to your ear.

“You have no fucking idea what I want to do to you, little girl.” He whispers in your ear.

You swallow, cunt squeezing around nothing.

You wanted to hate him. 

You wanted him to use you however he wanted.

You don’t say anything, and when he pulls back to look at you, you make sure he can see the fire in your eyes.

All he does is smirk, and pull your head back down to his cock.

This time, he’s rougher with his motions, guiding your head faster, till your jaw begins to ache but you refuse to give up, wanting to taste his cum, the way he tasted your blood, to have a part of him, just like he had a part of you.

His hands tighten in your hair, a warning, you suck rhythmically, using your tongue to stroke the underside of his cock.

You hear his breath catch, before he’s pushing you down on his cock. You squeeze your eyes shut as he fills your mouth with salty cum, his cock pulsing against your tongue, and you do your best to take everything he has to give.

You don’t swallow immediately, pulling your head off of his cock, you look up at him, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out to show him the evidence of his release.

His eyes flash red as he watches you swallow his cum, appreciating the salty taste of him, before opening your mouth again to show him that it’s all gone.

You breathe deeply, gazing at each other for a long moment. His hand slips from the back of your head, cups your cheek gently.

“I can smell how wet you are. Let’s go home. The things I want to do to you I can’t do here.” Billy says softly, and you nod, getting out of his way so that he can stand and tuck his cock back into his pants.

When he’s done, he extends a hand to you, which you take easily, rising to a stand.

When he leans in to kiss you, you turn your head to the side to avoid his lips, still upset at seeing him kiss another.

He pulls away, a stony expression on his face as he guides you out of the secluded booth.

You grab the handkerchief with your blood on it, tucking it into your back pocket, making sure there’s no evidence of your blood left behind.

Billy nods at Petra on his way out of the room, and you keep your eyes fixed to the floor like the pet you’re supposed to be.

.

.