#monsterkinkmeme

You checked your phone again. 11:10 already. He was late. Had he been held up? Or could he have overslept? That thought wrung a quiet chuckle from you — a sound not at all reassuring to hear in the dark silence of the park.

The “he” in question was a vampire named Roland that you’d met on the internet. You were meeting up so he could suck your blood.

For whatever reason, college towns tended to attract vampires. It probably had something to do with the vibrant nightlife, and the bars that never closed, and parties that only ended when the sun rose. Or perhaps it was the rich history of such places, in the old stone buildings and the musty library books. Or maybe it was just the students themselves: curious and open-minded, over-educated and sheltered and a little bit reckless.

In the modern age, most vampires obtained their food in the modern way: in bags, from blood banks or speciality clinics. But there were those who still swore by more natural methods. Many believed that feeding from the source provided physical and mental health benefits. For others, the desire to stalk, and chase, and bite, was simply too strong to resist indulging. Luckily for all, it was not as difficult to find a willing human victim as one might expect.

You discovered a message board that was dedicated to this macabre economy. Vampires would make posts looking for “prey” — humans willing or eager to be bitten. An arrangement would be made for a night of thrilling and dangerous roleplay, where the vampire played the part of the seductive predator, and the human, the helpless victim.

For most of the humans who posted on this forum, being prey was a kink. They enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and the pain of the bite. It was foreplay to them, and the evening inevitably led to sex after their partner’s more pressing appetites were sated.

You became a little obsessed with this message board. You didn’t think you’d mind being bitten; there was something kind of sexy about it. But you weren’t really trying to get laid. What you really wanted was some quality aftercare, a perk that was frequently offered, requested, and discussed on this forum.

College had become something of a lonely experience for you. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, and you weren’t sure where you’d gone wrong. In your freshman year you’d made an effort to be social, starting a number of casual friendships, but none of them really stuck. You were still close to your high school friends, and you talked to them online all the time, but somehow the number of people with whom you had any physical interaction had dwindled down to zero.

It made you lonely in a deep, nagging way. You wanted a hug. You wanted to hold someone’s hand. You daydreamed constantly about these things, setting up elaborate scenarios in your mind that led to someone safe and warm holding you for hours at a time. You felt like these fantasies were reaching a boiling point in your mind. And one night, after drinking several beers by yourself, you made your own post on that message board. You would let someone bite you (hunt optional), in exchange for an evening of snuggling (sex optional).

And that was how you met Roland. He wasn’t the only vampire who replied to your post, but he was the only one who lived within easy walking distance. You agreed to meet at one of the campus cafes and discuss possibilities over coffee.

You recognized him immediately, although you were pretty sure he didn’t recognize you. He was in one of your classes. You frequently spied him from across the lecture hall, tall and good-looking and unapproachable. You’d always thought there was something a little otherworldly about him, but he mostly just looked like another student. You’d had no idea that he wasn’t even human.

And it turned out he wasn’t as intimidating as he looked. He actually seemed pretty nice, even a little bit shy. He’d never fed straight from the skin before — drinking nothing but bagged blood since he was turned — and he wanted to try it at least once. He wasn’t trying to get laid either. Like you, he was much more interested in the aftercare, hoping for something like a cooldown hug once the deed was done. That suited you just fine.

The plan was this: You would meet in Bartleby Park at 11 PM. The exact location didn’t matter, he said; he would come find you. This statement gave you an unexpected thrill. Perhaps the hunting part would be more fun than you’d thought. You would run, and he would chase you. If you screamed, all the better — although this did make a safeword necessary. You chose “cardboard,” the first word that came to your mind, which made him laugh. When he finally caught you, he would bite you on the neck and drink your blood. Then he would take you up to his apartment for first aid and spooning. Simple as that.

Only he wasn’t here yet. It was 11:20 now, and you were still alone. Maybe he was having trouble finding you. Or… was he backing out? That thought stung. You suddenly realized just how much you’d been looking forward to this, and the idea of going home tired and alone made you feel more depressed than ever.

A branch snapped in the trees nearby, and your head whipped toward the sound. Your eyes scanned back and forth across the screen of dark leaves, trying and failing to uncover the culprit.

“Roland?” you whispered. You hadn’t meant to whisper, but suddenly you were having trouble finding your voice. Your phone buzzed in your hand, making you jump. It was a text message from your friend:

“How did it go?”

“He’s late, I’m still waiting,” you typed in response.

“Ok… Text me again in an hour or I’m calling the cops.”

Your friends had basically all agreed that this seemed like a bad idea. You were starting to wonder if they were right. You didn’t know Roland at all… even if you knew where he lived and where he went to school. Even if he was cute and he seemed nice.

And even if Roland was fine, Roland wasn’t here. It was late, and the park was deserted. Who knew what other weirdos were prowling around out here.

You were starting to feel genuinely anxious. Beneath the trees, the park was dark, the shadows unaffected by the dim light of the street lamps. What was the safeword again? Cardboard? That was it, right?

There was a rapid noise in the grass behind you — tff tff tff — like something rushing towards you in long leaps. That was the last straw. You launched into a flat-out run, heart hammering, breath coming in gasps.

A pair of cold, hard arms wrapped around you from behind, jerking you to a stop. You screamed at the top of your lungs, and then, almost in the same breath, shouted, “Cardboard cardboard cardboard,” all in a rush; sure that the word would mean nothing to this person; that you were about to be hurt or worse.

But cardboard was the magic word. The arms disappeared from around your chest, and in a flash he was standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, “are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

And of course it was only Roland, the very person you had agreed to do this with. He was staring into your face, expression distressed, hands gripping your shoulders.

“I’m okay,” you wheezed. “It was just… scarier than I expected.”

He was slowly shaking his head back and forth. He looked appalled. “Fuck, I am so sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he was apologizing like that, until you suddenly became aware of the wetness on your cheeks, and the ragged sound of your breathing. Were you crying? God, how fucking embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing tears from your eyes with the backs of your hands. “Jesus.”

“No no,” said Roland, “don’t apologize. I think I overdid it. ...And I was pretty late, that definitely didn’t help.”

He was looking around now, frowning into the dark woods, and rubbing your shoulders absently. You were hyper-aware of his hands. They were like ice but every pass of them over your shoulders sent a rush of warmth through you. You felt extremely relieved that he was here, even though he was the reason you’d been so scared in the first place. You wished he would hug you — the desire for this was almost overwhelming — but you felt too dazed and embarrassed to ask.

His eyes met yours once again, and his hands slipped from your shoulders, finding their way into his pockets instead — the exact opposite of what you wanted.

“Uh…” he said. “Do you wanna just skip this part and go straight back to my place?”

A wobbly laugh escaped you, and you nodded weakly. “Are you still gonna suck my blood?” you asked.

“Do you still want me to?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled at that. It was a small, almost shy smile, but enough to give you a good look at his fangs. They looked shockingly white and sharp in the dark.

He started to walk in the direction of his apartment, then paused; and looking back, expression uncertain, he held his hand out towards you. You hesitated for just one second. Then you placed your hand in his, and his cold fingers closed tightly around yours.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Your heart was racing again. When was the last time you’d held someone’s hand? You never wanted him to let go.

Neither of you spoke. You wondered if he was feeling as nervous as you were. You’d thought that the scary part was over, but what about what came next? How badly would it hurt when he bit you? He’d never bitten anyone before, he said. How would he react to his first taste?

When you tried to picture it, all you could imagine were his lips pressed against your skin; and his hand cupping the back of your neck, holding you still. They were not unpleasant images. You felt your face heat up, and you were suddenly grateful for the darkness and the cold night air.

It was a fairly short walk. His apartment was a big single-room studio: TV and sofa in one corner, bed and bookcase in another. Rounded doorways branched off into a kitchen and a bathroom. There was a large white-curtained window in the west wall, and moonlight poured in through the glass, illuminating the plush carpet. It was cozy and uncluttered. Roland watched you look around, then looked around himself.

“Maybe in the kitchen?” he asked. He caught your eye, then glanced quickly away. “So we don’t get blood on the carpet.”

How practical. You followed him into the kitchen, forcing yourself to take even breaths as you went. Vampires were supposed to have excellent hearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating?

“Want some water?” he asked, opening a cupboard as he spoke. You peered over his shoulder, tickled to see that the only dishes he seemed to own were drinking glasses; no bowls or plates in sight. What would he need a plate for, after all?

He moved around you to fill the glass with water from the sink. He seemed to be avoiding eye-contact, and you wondered again if he was nervous. Somehow the thought made you feel more at ease. Boldly, you opened his refrigerator to examine the contents. Blood bags, and nothing else. Lots of them. Stacks upon stacks, in neat little rows. You couldn’t quite believe it, even though it was exactly what you’d expected to find.

You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but you were afraid it wasn’t good. You turned toward Roland and found him watching you, expression careful; glass of water forgotten in one hand.

“Yeah…” he said.

“Nothing for me?” you asked, grinning, attempting to break the sudden tension.

He grinned back sheepishly. Then he pulled a little juice box out of the pocket of his jacket. It was the kind of thing they gave you after donating blood. You both began to laugh, and a warm, giddy feeling spread through you.

Roland moved closer and patted one of the countertops. “Hop up here?” he asked. You obliged, although it was more of a scramble than a hop. Roland began pulling more small items from the pockets of his jacket, and setting them on the counter next to you: single-use alcohol wipes; a few band-aids; a little roll of gauze, and a roll of medical tape. It became clear to you that he really had intended to bite you in the park, and he had come prepared.

He was standing very close now, almost pressed against your bent knees. You longed to close the distance. You didn’t move. Roland’s movements also grew slower, more hesitant. Stalling.

“Are you nervous?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Why?”

He looked you right in the eye, finally. His expression was serious.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” you replied, although you weren’t sure whether you actually believed that.

He frowned, and his eyes travelled down to your neck. He was biting his lip, and his fangs stood out starkly against his skin.

He handed you the glass of water. You drank it. Then you took his hand and gently pulled him closer, spreading your knees wider so he could stand between them. He swallowed visibly.

“I’m nervous too,” you told him.

“I know,” he said, in a hoarse almost-whisper. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Safeword?”

“You can just tell me.”

You were both almost-whispering now, leaning in closer and closer. It felt an awful lot like you were about to share your first kiss.

With one hand, he pulled the collar of your shirt away from your neck, while his other hand slid up to cup the back of your neck. Your heart was hammering with excitement and fear, and his cold fingers felt good against your flushed skin. He lowered his face against your neck, and almost before you knew it his fangs were piercing the skin, creating thin twin wounds that ached immediately. You gasped and grasped handfuls of the fabric of his jacket. Honestly his teeth didn’t hurt much more than a needle, but somehow the reality of it stunned you. He was really going to drink your blood. In that moment, for the first time, you really believed that Roland was something other than human.

His lips closed over the wound. His mouth was wet and unexpectedly hot, and his tongue moved rhythmically against your aching skin as he sucked and swallowed your blood. He made a low sound deep in his throat — the type of contented groan that a good bite of food might inspire. You had to hold your breath to keep from responding in kind.

This was erotic. You couldn’t help thinking of it that way. Your grip on his jacket tightened, and you forced yourself not to squeeze your knees more tightly around his waist. You wondered if he felt it too. Was this exciting him at all? Or was this just a meal to him?

You couldn’t have said how long this went on — it was probably minutes, though it felt longer — but eventually he stopped drinking and pulled away. Somehow a piece of gauze was already in his hand; he pressed it to your neck, holding it firmly against the bite. You stared at each other, both breathing unevenly. His cheeks, so colorless before, were now flushed.

He cleared his throat and licked blood off his lips.

“Are you okay,” he asked, voice rough.

“I’m ok,” you said, although you actually felt a little dizzy. You felt around for the juice box. “Was that enough?”

He nodded his head and grabbed the juice box, pressing it into your reaching hand. He seemed a little dazed. He tore open one of the alcohol wipes, and while you drank your juice he disinfected the bite marks. You hissed at the stinging pain, and he grimaced in sympathy. Then he taped a fresh strip of gauze over the bite.

“It didn’t hurt that bad,” you reported between sips.

“Good,” he said. But he was starting to look unhappy again, frowning as he watched you sip your juice. Your heart sank a little in your chest. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed this as much as you had.

“Are you ok?” you asked him.

He didn’t respond at first. And then he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him. You bit back a huff of surprise. He was no longer cold — drinking your blood had warmed his whole body.

“What is it?” you whispered.

He heaved an enormous sigh next to your ear. “You just looked so scared in the park,” he said. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your chest. “I feel really bad.”

You didn’t feel bad. One of his large hands was pressed against your back, warm and reassuring, and the other was cupped around the back of your head. Your chest was pressed flush against his, and he was warm and solid and worried about you. You gave up trying to resist the urge to touch him. You put your arms around him, and squeezed your knees tighter against his waist, pulling him even closer to you. You let your head fall forward to rest against his neck, but as soon as you closed your eyes, the room began to whirl around you.

“Um,” you gasped. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh,” he said, a little catch of surprise in his voice. He pulled away. “Um. Let me, uh...”

Carefully, he slipped his hand under your knees, and gathered you up into his arms. You threw your own arms around his neck, shamelessly clinging to him as he carried you out of the kitchen with no apparent effort. He paused in the doorway and looked down at you.

“The bed or the couch?” he asked.

“The bed,” you said against his chest, hoping that this was not too bold. He didn’t seem to think so. He carried you across the room, careful not to jostle you, and gently laid you down on top of the comforter.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

You nodded your head. You were quite cold, actually; another effect of the blood loss.

Roland stood and went over to a small closet, where he retrieved a stack of thick, warm-colored blankets. He shook them out and draped them over you in layers, and their warm weight made you feel better almost immediately.

“Thank you,” you said.

“No problem,” he replied. He stood by the side of the bed, unmoving. He seemed to be struggling for words. “Um… Do you still want to…”

“Yes,” you said emphatically, and you peeled back the blankets to make space for him.

He looked self-conscious, but he didn’t hesitate. He crawled under the blankets, and carefully pulled you into his arms, settling your head against his shoulder. His body was still warm with your blood, and you pressed into him eagerly.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” you said. You placed your hand flat on his chest, then sighed happily, which made him laugh. He laid his hand over yours, curling his fingers around it.

That was almost too much. Your chest felt fit to burst with it. You kept waiting to wake up, sure that you must have dreamt this whole thing. You still couldn’t believe he’d drunk your blood. His teeth had been inside of you. And as much as that weirded you out, it kind of turned you on too.

You suddenly remembered that you were supposed to text your friends back. You shifted around, and Roland loosed his hold on you to let you pull your phone out of your pocket.

“I’m letting my friends know you didn’t murder me,” you explained as you typed. You’d meant it as a joke, but you regretted the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, turning in his arms to face him, and wincing at the pain in your neck. “I didn’t really think you would…”

He shook his head before you could say anything else. “It’s ok. Biting someone…” He ran a hand through his hair as he thought. “Well, it’s an inherently violent act. Some people get carried away. Your friends weren’t wrong to be worried.”

“I feel safe with you though,” you said.

“Oh. Good.” He ducked his head, and his cheeks turned the pinkest they’d been all night. Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest. He was really adorable… You hadn’t expect that, watching him from afar. You pulled closer to him, putting your arms around him and laying your head against his chest. He tucked the blankets more snugly around your shoulders.

“This is really nice,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“How did you like biting me?” You forced the words out before you could lose your nerve. You hoped you weren’t making it awkward, but you had to know.

Roland didn’t answer at first. Then he let out a breath, and slid one of his hands over his face. “Not gonna lie,” he said. “It was way better than drinking bagged blood.”

“Oh, good!” you said, laughing. “I’m glad. I was worried you didn’t like it.”

“I definitely liked it…” he said, still covering his face. “You taste amazing.”

You felt your face turn bright red. There was a double-entendre in there somewhere, although you guessed it was unintentional. I’d like to taste you next, you thought wildly, and once again, you found yourself wondering if you were the only one whose mind had wandered into the gutter tonight.

He seemed to sense your sudden discomfort, if not its source, because he uncovered his face and said, “I’m sorry, that was a super weird thing to say.”

You shook your head against his chest. “I liked it too,” you admitted. “When you bit me.” Then, still more softly: “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again sometime.”

You heard him swallow. “I’d like that.”

You lapsed into a warm silence, untroubled and comfortable, and you basked in his presence like a cat in sunlight. You were aware of every part of him that was pressed against you: his chest rising and falling beneath you, and his hands pressed against your back, and his legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, chaste but intimate, and ripe with potential.

You definitely wanted to kiss him. You opened your mouth to float the idea, but you were overcome by an enormous yawn. You suddenly realized you had no idea what time it was. It felt really late, but maybe you were just tired out from all the excitement.

“Was I falling asleep?” you asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

“I should probably get home,” you said, but then made no move to get up. You heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t wanna go yet though,” you complained, “I’m so cozy.”

“Do you wanna stay here?”

You lifted your head to look him in the eye. “Stay the night?”

“We don’t have to do anything weird,” he said, turning pink again. You stared at each other for a moment. Then he gently pushed your head back down to his chest, so that you weren’t looking at him when he said, “I don’t wanna let you go yet.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. As if you weren’t already convinced. “I won’t throw off your day? I mean your night?”

You felt him shrug. “I was just gonna do homework.”

That drew a surprised laugh out of you. You’d almost forgotten that Roland wasn’t just your weird vampire hookup. He was your classmate too.

“Do you know that we’re in the same class?” you asked, playfully accusing.

“Yeah,” he admitted, with a bit of a laugh in his voice. “I recognized you when we got coffee.”

That surprised you. “I thought I was the only one,” you said.

“I noticed you sitting in back sometimes.” His hand was still resting against the side of your head, and his fingers moved absently through strands of your hair. “I thought you looked cool.”

“Good,” you said, which made him laugh. You grinned against his chest. “I want to stay. Can I?”

Lacey’s jaw fell baring sharpened teeth, her eyes sparking at the weight of the binding deal. Though, you wasted no time on the burden of the oral contract, nor on what you could claim from it, already passing over your sugar-stained apron. An exchange of forced smiles worsened the knot forming in your stomach.

"He's in the corner booth."

Chest tight, you nodded, whispering, "what-?"

"Goblin."

It wasn't like you were seeing anyone. You hadn't for a while, and the nerves forced a lump to your throat. The only real reason you were against this was a panic beginning to cloud your thoughts. He must have come with a broken heart, and you weren't so sure how much help you would be, rusty as you were.

Lacey's gentle nod was a push out of the kitchen. The sight already overwhelmed you; booths filled mainly with couples, though some sat as more, partners hurt by another in a polyamorous relationship leaving. Today wasn't the first time you had seen someone crying on a volunteer’s shoulder, though admittedly the first time you had seen both a tiefling and harpy cry here.

The goblin in question wasn't visible above the booth until you squeezed by an octomer - one you had seen surprisingly frequently, well-versed in walking on tentacles curled together in an effort to find a mate - before hesitating just before the table to steady yourself.

Lacey was right; he looked miserable, and bitter. From first impression alone, the atmosphere he exuded was one you were reluctant to disturb, and served only to lock your body tighter. Even still, he had made an effort; smart clothes, a black shirt crisp against his dark green skin, trimmed gold at the collar like his thin septum ring. Another two gold rings sat at his thin lips, gnawed at now by sharp teeth.

He might have looked miserable, but when he looked up, the softening of his face softened yours, too, and he looked cute, with his bright eyes rounded and long ears twitching; before he scowled, and turned back to staring at his hands.

"May I?" The goblin tipped his chin, though didn't say a word, so you sat slowly and introduced yourself. In silence, too, waiting for the goblin to say anything.

Only after a minute of silence did he grunt, "Vardelk."

"So," you hummed, and his face fell. Questions raced through your mind, but each seemed too cliché, too date-like too soon. Some came to Huddle Haven for comfort, for a distraction or a date, but if you had to guess, his deadpan stare wasn't one of wanting a date. "Have you been waiting long?"

Vardelk only shrugged one light shoulder, but his eyes narrowed. They ran over you in a way that had you squirming and struggling for words.

"Are you hungry? Their sundaes are good. Cakes, too, but I prefer the brownies. Hot chocolate over coffee," you mumbled, itching to draw a response, anything from the pensive goblin, but nothing worked. With nothing coming to mind - and in a last ditch effort before you began to ramble all the more, you asked, "what brought you here today?"

Vardelk's nails tapped at the faded cloth. "You work here, don't you?"

For such a sudden change in conversation, albeit a one-sided one, you stared at him for a second before your thoughts caught up. In the moment that passed, he scoffed, and his sharp eyes pierced you. They struck you like Lacey’s had, narrowed and biting.

"They had to pay someone to sit with me, huh? Forget it. Fuck this."

Guilt twisted at you when he began to shift out of the booth, but you made no move to stop him, only speaking quietly. "We ran out of volunteers. They didn't anticipate it being so busy. I'm sorry. I usually only work in the kitchens."

His dark eyes rolled and his voice hardened. "You didn't anticipate monsters having their hearts broken? Typical. Never the humans."

The initial shock of him realising that you were, in fact, human, wore off fast. Unhindered pain replaced all guilt and lodged at the back of your throat, but your words held steady and hopefully, hit as hard as his stare. "I first came here like you months ago, not for a job, but because I'd had my heart broken. By a drider, by the way," you added, and Vardelk had the nerve to shrug. "I sat with-" breath rushed from you at the memory of the day warmed in the hug of a volunteer. "He was a minotaur, and he sat with me as I cried. We went out again on a real date. For a while, actually. Until I finally put out, as he so eloquently said, because apparently broken-hearted people make for the best fucks. So no, it isn't only monsters, and our time is up, I think."

The sting blurring your vision wasn't worth the glimmer of regret on the goblin's features. He didn't deserve to know the hell you'd been through, and you were almost from the small booth when a soft touch caught your hand.

Needless to say, you snatched back from his touch, unashamed of the tears now brimming when you finally met his dark stare again. Thick ears you had earlier thought of as cute twitched back when his shoulders hunched over.

"I'm sorry."

It was your turn to don the mask of an empty expression, voice blank. "Thanks."

“We were together a year,” Vardelk whispered. Blunt nails tapped at the cloth as he cleared his throat. “Someone else was in our bed. Goblins can’t be enough for anyone, apparently. That we wouldn’t ever be enough. I’m quoting,” he said then, finally looking up.

His eyes were misty, too. "You left?"

Vardelk's smile was pained. "The offer of an open relationship didn’t appeal after being cheated on."

"Human?" His small chest puffed out and he sunk back with a weak nod. "I'm sorry, too."

Little could be said beyond your whispered apologies. There was little you wanted to say. Silence in your booth was nothing in the warmth of Huddle Haven, soft laughs echoing among deeper conversations at other tables. This weekend would be the hardest, not only with the rush of heartbroken patrons, but the reminder of your own pain, thanks to your “date.”

"Do you… do you want a brownie?"

"Me?"

Vardelk's smile was small, but it was there. "Hot chocolate, maybe?"

With an equally tentative smile, you said, "your treat for being an ass."

Then to your surprise - and relief, the goblin grinned, small legs tucking beneath him on the cushioned booth when he reached for a menu. Your rambling hadn’t fallen ignored, as Vardelk ordered a salted caramel sundae from Lacey, then, smiling, two hot chocolates and a brownie for you.

"Let me clarify first," you said. Vardelk’s ears drooped with his body shrinking back, and you spoke softer when his hands fell beneath the table to wring in his lap. "This doesn't have to be a date. Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to be distracted?"

With the desserts laid down, Vardelk brightened. "Distract me."

So you did. Obviously, a little unfortunately, Vardelk was aware of where you worked and how you were paid to accompany him. Under your careful shift in conversation, you learned he worked only across the road in a small flower shop, one he loathed more than anything at this time of year; as much as you hated the crowding in your café.

“I’d never been interested in coming here before... before yesterday, but,” Vardelk sipped at the hot chocolate, frowning at it. “People rush here. I see it all the time, coming to buy flowers then crossing the road. I don’t like blind dates. Never have,” he bit out. "They only start in disappointment and end in wasted time."

“I’m not disappointed.”

Vardelk rolled his eyes, but you only laughed, even after inadvertently calling this a date.

Until today, dating, the mere thought of it, sickened you, and with good reason, too. Even this had come at the coercion and bargaining of a fae, which said enough about your aversion to dating.

But something about Vardelk made your cheeks warm. The longer you sat with him, the easier conversation flowed. He was prickly and pessimistic, but you laughed, and his smiles grew until enough time passed for you to return the favour - you had been a little bit of an ass, too - and you shared churros together. Over the second dessert, small mannerisms began to warm you to him, your stomach fluttering with each eye roll. His earrings would clink when his head tilted, or when they trembled and tucked back at his embarrassment, or how when he was listening, really listening, he would draw his lips rings between sharp teeth and hum quietly. It was endearing to see his legs swinging gently beneath the table, too.

Huddle Haven closed at seven. Not late, but it wasn’t a bar, only a café, and any later welcoming the heartbroken would have the café open infinitely. Lacey came when Vardelk was absent from the table with the reminder that you were still on shift, and would be staying behind as usual to clean with everyone; "so don't get any ideas about leaving just yet," she'd said, her feathered eyebrows raised, but with the way she nudged you, there would be more probing for gossip about your forced date than any cleaning.

The goblin stood tucked into the wall beside you, bundled beneath a thick coat and a scarf almost his height. He was the last to leave, and reluctantly so, scuffing his heels and fiddling with the frayed ends of his sleeves, enough that you had to turn to hide your smile when he fumbled buttoning the coat, too.

"I know I was a prick," he began, and there was no avoiding the warmth to his eyes when he looked up. He stood a couple of feet smaller than you, the difference in height more obvious when he looked down again. "But I want it to be a date. To have another date."

The inclination to continue this into the evening shocked you, the want to agree on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t. As much as you longed to, you whispered, "I'm not looking to be a rebound."

Vardelk flinched. He began to deny it, words stuttered and softening into whispers, before biting down on his lip with a sharp nod. This was your first date in a long while, and after a reluctance to pursue any relationship for as long a time. He had been in a year long one, too, and if he only used you to move on once you had grown attached, your heart couldn’t take it.

But...

Beyond the resurfaced pain, the initial spat and his outwardly cruel demeanor, the afternoon together had been pleasant. For the first time in a long time, you wanted to go out again, to spend time with someone knowing you could be more than just friends, and you wanted that to be with him.

And he was cute.

"Come back in a month," you said. Vardelk's teeth caught at his lip ring when he choked, a nod shaking his gold earrings. "I'll say yes in a month."

The goblin came back the next day, a small smile enough for you weaken into accepting the bunch of flowers, and he returned each week with a brighter bunch. Keeping your word was a struggle, and on the second week you may have bowed to kiss him that night, just once, and Vardelk tucked a flower against your ear when you crouched, promising you would be worth the wait.

Abby shook her head yes as she sipped her cup of water. “Yeah, just last week. Saalgaax and I had been planning a long weekend there for a while now.” She looked up, lost in thought. “I could have sworn I told you after I sent in my time off form,” she started in her slow, languid tone. “But then again, maybe I forgot to.” She was almost positive that everyone in her office knew that she and Saalgaax were dating. Then again, it was a big office - the Agency of Intergalactic Relations needed the space. From negotiating peace treaties between species to coordinating PR events, the Agency oversaw everything related to every way that humans and extraterrestrials could interact with each other. With her serving as one of the Agency’s Investigators, and Saalgaax on the Intergalactic Defense Force, there was no way the Agency couldn’t be aware of their relationship.

Lowry sighed. “Maybe I can make myself a little clearer for you,” she said. “Saalgaax the Deathbringer - the six foot, purple, multi-armed, musclebound alien who destroyed the black hole that was threatening the Great Magellanic Cloud - took you, a person to Pluto, a planet that is not Earth, in her large alien spaceship. That’s not a vacation, that’s an abduction from straight out of the movies.”

Abby shot a glance at Lowry. Some had called it odd that the Regulations office manager was always hanging around the Investigation department instead of her own, or how she had other people do tasks for her instead of her direct reports, or the way she expressed interest in knowing as much as she could regarding staff’s private lives, but Abby figured that everyone had their own special way of relating to others, just like everyone else. Regardless, her confusion registered to Abby as a bit odd, considering their line of work. “If a willing person gets into a vehicle with another, it’s not an abduc-”

Lowry jabbed an accusatory finger into Abby’s face. “That’s not the point here. You said you were going on vacation with your girlfriend. You said nothing about being abducted by an alien and heading to a foreign planet.”

She leaned against the water cooler and groaned. “And there’s the rub. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Pluto’s beaches were beautiful, and Saalgaax and I had the best time there, it’s just that-” Abby paused, searching for the right words. “I was just so worried that I wasn’t giving her anything in return, you know? I mean, I only make so much money as an Investigator. Right now, I could never afford to buy her tickets to far off destinations, or jewelry made from Carloxian singing rock like she does for me.” Abby laughed nervously and pushed a curl behind her ear. “It made me feel like I was being a bit of a...a mooch.”

“You were worried,” Lowry said dryly. “About being a mooch.”

Abby nodded sadly. “Every good relationship needs equal give and take, you know? I told Saal that sometime after we got back last week.” A smile crept up her face. “And she was so sweet about it. She was all like, ‘Baby, you’re not freeloading, I’m doing this because I want to spend time with you at sickass places. That’s why I earn all that money destroying the black holes that threaten the galaxy - so I can spend my off time stretching out on a beautiful purple sand beach with the hottest girl this side of the Oort Cloud.’ And then,” she continued. “I got a little choked up and was all like, “Saalii, that is literally the sweetest thing that anyone has ever said to me, like the nicest thing, and that I’d be just as happy with her on a picnic blanket down at Forrester Park as I would be on a beach in Pluto, or anywhere else, really.’” She beamed at her coworker. “Is it not the nicest thing you’ve ever heard?”

Lowry rolled her eyes. “For someone in Investigation,” she said pityingly. “I’m surprised that you didn’t catch onto Saalgaax’s motives earlier. Maybe you’re suited to a better department?” She continued without waiting for Abby’s reply. “Taking you to other planets, buying you expensive gifts - that sounds an awful lot like she’s fattening you up for the slaughter, or-or bribing her way into your heart to learn Earth’s secrets so she can attack our planet.”

“That doesn’t really sound like her style, to be fair. She’s part of the IDF’s Black Hole Corps, so she’s more likely to blow up one of those than one of us.”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and began dialing, muttering under her breath the whole while. “Oh, she only blows up black holes, that gives me such confidence. You call this little charade whatever you want, but I’ll call it for what it really is.” She pressed her phone to her ear, lips squeezed thin with intent. “Hello, police? I’d like to report a kidnapping.”

Abby sighed wistfully, beaming at the memory. “You know, I knew Saal would say something like that, but hearing it from her, it just made sense, you know? I mean, yeah, she spends a lot of money on me, but everyone shows their love in different ways, and that’s hers.” She turned to look at Lowry. “We even talked a little bit about it, and she was all like ‘Baby, I can totally meet you in the middle. The Roberta Museum has a foreign film night on the lawn that you’d really like,’ and I got so excited because she remembered that I love foreign films.”

“Yeah, it was last Saturday, the 14th, around-” Lowry looked at Abby. “About what time did you leave last week?”

“Um...four o’ clock?”

“Four o’ clock, with a human woman by the name of Abigail Barthelemy being taken by a Saalgaax the Deathbri- why are you laughing?” A pause. “What do you mean, ‘everyone knows?’ Don’t you dare hang up on-”

The distant buzz of a dial tone echoed out from Lowry’s phone. With a snarl, she hung up and stomped away, muttering poisonously. Abby barely noticed - her own phone buzzed and sang out. She’d recognize the tone anywhere - she and Saalgaax had spent a night flipping through ringtones, singling out the ones that they liked and making fun of the truly terrible ones. The one that outranked its siblings - both in catchiness and cheesiness - was the ones that they set for each other’s notifications.

>>hey

>>thought about what u said last week about a picnic at forrester park.

Another text, this time accompanied by a photo of wine bottles on a grocery shelf.

>>how about u n me n a bottle of wine this sunday?

Abby couldn’t text back fast enough.

>> That sounds wonderful! I have just the right kind of cheese and crackers to go with it, too.

>> We can leave around three there, get there at four?

>>sounds perfect

>>its a date <3

~~~

Me: wow I have a lot of obligations to take care of huh

you had been dating a very shy werewolf for weeks but he always hesitant to be intimate with you. when you finally ask him why blushes and whispers in your ear:

“I want you to wear the leash.”

This was a bit of a surprise, though you were definitely down with the idea. He just didn’t seem the type to want to be…dominate. you suppose there is something to that saying, “It's the quiet ones you have you watch out for.”

After a lot of reassurance that you would very much enjoy this little fantasy, you two discussed the idea in a bit more detail. Turns out Pet Play was, ironically, something you were both into. So you set off on the internet to buy all the “necessary” equipment. You wanted this night to be special for your dear wolf. He was so brave coming out with this to you.

Your packages arrived a week later. After a call inviting him for dinner, you began preparing. Everything would be perfect.

He was surprised, to say the least, when he opened the door to your apartment and found you on your knees waiting for him. His jaw dropped as he took you in.

You had a on a pair of wolf ears that matched his, firmly clipped into your hair. A black collar, with leash attached, around your neck. And a beautiful set of lace lingerie that contrasted your skin tone perfectly. As his eyes traveled farther down, he noticed the finishing piece. A tail, that he had a feeling was attached to a plug, instead of your lingerie.

Once he shut the door, he just stared for several long moments. Deciding to break the silence, you grabbed the leash and held it out to him. “Welcome Home Master”

This seems to have caused something to click into place. His posture straightened and his grin turned devilsh. He took the leash out of your hand, “Hello my Pet, What a good girl you are. Waiting for me at the door”

You wiggled a bit at the praise, happy that he is enjoying the surprise.

He leans down and kisses your forehead, “Let's go into the living room Pet, I’m tired after such a long day.” Tugging the leash gently, he leads you to couch, where collapses on it, legs spread wide. He seems pleased when you automatically crawled into the space provided on the floor. You gently rest your hands on his knees, looking up at him with wide eyes, waiting for his instruction.

“Do you want to help Master relax, Pet?”

You nod, tilting your head to lay on his knee. He grins at the action, reaching out and scratching behind one of your new ears.

“Such a good girl”. He unbuckles his pants, pushing them down enough to free his cock. He rubs it up and down a few times, spreading the pre-cum down the length.

You watch his movements, licking your lips, before looking up to him. You can’t help the whine you let out. Begging him to let you please him. The look on his face is more feral than you have seen before. Teeth sharper, and eyes much more focused on your every move. For the first time in your relationship, you feel like prey. You love it.

He holds his cock up for you, “Ok pet, but no hands. Pups don’t need hands for this”.

Finally given permission, you lean up and slowly lick from the base of his cock, to the tip. You hum, pleased at the taste of pre-cum he head spread down it moments before. You briefly wonder what his cock looks like when he’s shifted. You lick your tongue around the head. The thought quickly passes from your mind as he reaches out with his free hand to lace his fingers through your hair. Urging you to take him in your mouth.

You do as he wishes, albeit slowly. Simply suckling on the head, savoring both the moment and his taste. He seems to be of the same mind, for several long moments, he simply lets his head rest back and he enjoys it.

He eventually does push down on your head, “C’mon pet, I need more of your sweet mouth”

His words cause you to grind your legs together as you do what he wishes. Who knew your shy wolf has such a mouth on him. You take him as far as you can comfortably go, using his gasps and growls as a guide.

“Nghhh. Such a good girl for your Master…. Just like that”

You look up to met his eyes. His pupils completely blown. He notices your shifting.

“Oh, is baby needing some friction too?”

Your answering moan, soon turns into you choking. He had moved his leg enough to slip his foot  in between your thighs. Pushing up against your cunt.

“Here, you can grind your sweet little pussy against my shoe. I bet you’re aching huh?” He must have been pleased with the look of pure want on your face. “Go ahead. You’ve been such a good girl for me”

Your eyes roll back as you do as your told. It feels amazing. You can just imagine how debauched you must look. His sweet pup humping his foot while she sucks on his cock. You grind down hard, dragging your slit against him.

“Oh fucking..” He gasps throwing his head back momentarily, before looking back down.  “Look at you. Getting my shoe all slick and shiny. Does sucking Master…. Turn you on that much?”

 His words spurring you both right towards the edge. He doesn’t let himself ride that edge long before he uses the leash to pull your head up off his cock. He doesn’t stop you grinding however. Instead he lifts his foot up more allowing your to grind down harder. You can only whine up at him.

“You were so good pet. I just don’t want to come yet. I want you to though. C’mon pet. Hump my foot pretty puppy. Come all over it.”

And you did. Hard. Between his words, the great friction, and the plug in your ass, there was little else you could do.

He coos to you as you come down. Running his fingers gently through your hair, and along your ears. Telling you what a good girl you are, and how proud he is. When you come back to your senses he grins down at you. He asks if you wish to continue, with your consent, he picks you up and carries you to your room. You often forget how strong your shy boy is...though he is anything but shy now.

“Some other time, I want you to ride my cock on that couch”, He plops you on the bed, putting you on all fours facing away from him. “But right now, I really need to get a good view of you bent over for me.”

When you hear him shedding his clothes, you take a moment to get comfortable in your position. He growls, sounding much wilder than they did before. At that you wiggle your butt, showing off your beautiful tail.. and crotchless panties.

“Oh fuck. Such a wonderfully naughty pet. There isn’t anything between me and your pretty pussy”

Suddenly a rather long tongue licks a slow stripe up your soaked slit. You gasp and peak between your legs to see that he had shifted. Much larger than he was before, and very eagerly lapping at your cunt. Your arms give up on you at the sight, causing him the huff out a laugh against you senstive slit.

He stands to his full height behind you, grabbing your hips and rocking his cock against your folds.

“Think you can still take me pet?”

Your only answer is a loud moan. He doesn’t seem pleased with this answer though. He grabs your tail plug and gently tugs and pushes it.

“I need to hear your words pet”

“FUCK. YES YES YES PLEASE”

He slams home, and you have just enough brain cells left to be glad that you had prepped yourself before. You had hoped for this exact thing to happen. He was definitely bigger now than he was in your mouth earlier.

His massive form leans over you, one hand on either side of your head. Fuzzy chest pushed up against your back. With his eager thrusting, pounding away at you with inhuman speed, it doesn’t take either on of you long to get to the edge again. His knot starts to swell, catching on your entrance. He quickly reaches down between your legs to rub at your clit. This pushes you over the edge, him falling quickly behind. Locking you both together with a roar.

Thankfully he catches himself before he completely squashes you. He gently lifts you enough to turn you both on your sides. He nuzzles his snout into your hair as you both catch your breath. Neither of you saying anything for several long moments.

His knot deflating brings your shy wolf back as he frets over you, worried he hurt you. After assuring him you were fine, you watch as he sets about cleaning you, and getting you water. He eventually cuddles back with you, asking if you enjoyed yourself.

He wouldn’t have called himself “starving” tonight, but he was hungrier than he thought was responsible. He planned out a hunting trip in his head while he packed necessities into a small leather bag. He always travelled far to feed, and never dipped into the surrounding hamlets. He found that the locals tolerated him as long as he kept his distance, even if they found him strange or had their suspicions about his true nature. He was careful not to upset this uneasy peace. A mob of frightened humans could be just as deadly as a vampire.

A loud knock sounded at the front door. Ellis paused in the act of packing, then heaved an enormous sigh. He thought briefly about slipping out the window and avoiding this encounter altogether, but he told himself that it wouldn’t be very sportsmanlike.

The person at the door was almost certainly Nicholas Golding, a vampire hunter of mild renown who’d been pursuing Ellis for months. They’d met abroad, on one of Ellis’s hunting trips, and since then they’d developed something of a rivalry.

“St. Claaaaiiiirrrr!” It was Nicholas, growing impatient at the door. “I have you this time, you devil!”

Ellis rolled his eyes, wondering if he could convince Nicholas to postpone the match until next week. Not likely.

He opened the front door to find a sword pointed in his face, the tip wobbling in clumsy little circles as if trying to find the perfect spot to stab.

“You’re mine now, St. Clair.” Nicholas swayed in place as he spoke, fighting to keep his footing. It was to his credit that his sword arm stayed as steady as it was.

“Golding,” said Ellis, as he pushed the sword aside with his hand, “you’re drunk. Go home.”

Nicholas laughed loudly. “You know even half-dead I’m more than a match for you.”

Ellis privately conceded the point. Nicholas was an arrogant prick, but he fought like a demon. He was incredibly skilled with a sword, resourceful, creative, and insufferable in his tenacity. Even drunk, he was a much more challenging opponent than any of the stooges the Church sent after him.

But Ellis had never seen Nicholas this drunk. The man positively reeked of ale, speech slurred, gaze unfocused, cheeks flushed an appealing shade of red. It was a wonder he’d made it up to the castle without falling off a cliff.

“Anyway,” said Nicholas, lowering his sword. He attempted to sheath it, but couldn’t manage to align the tip with the opening. He let the sword fall to the steps with a clatter instead, then looked back up at Ellis with a dashing, lopsided smile. “The innkeeper kicked me out. Let me stay the night, will you?”

“Are you out of your mind?” asked Ellis, scowling. He was far too hungry for a guest; particularly one who’d just held him at swordpoint. He was sure he had every right to slam the door in this man’s face.

But what would Nicholas do instead? Sleep drunk in a ditch? He’d be robbed blind by bandits if the wolves didn’t get to him first. Something in Ellis recoiled from the thought.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Nicholas slurred. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Why not take the bed?” asked Ellis, sarcastic, but somehow he found himself stepping aside to make way. “It’s unoccupied at night, of course.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Nicholas’s face as Ellis invited him in. Then he reassumed his cheerful smirk and staggered over the threshold. “I knew I could count on you, St. Clair, you’re a gentleman and a scholar.”

“Yes, well, your timing has always been terrible,” said Ellis. “No sense turning you away now.”

Nicholas grinned and opened his mouth to fire off a retort, lost his footing, and went crashing down face-first onto the flagstone floor.

“Damn!” he said, snickering to himself. He struggled and failed to push himself up. Ellis sighed.

“Idiot,” he muttered, while he bent down to help. He grabbed an arm and heaved Nicholas to his feet, then gasped as he held him upright, knees buckling. It wasn’t the weight — Ellis had superhuman strength, after all. It was the smell. It was the man’s blood, rushing thick and hot beneath his skin. It was mouthwatering.

Oh I’m in hell, thought Ellis. Nicholas Golding was the last person on earth he wanted to drink from. But now the man’s whole warm weight was pressed against him and Ellis was suddenly ravenous. His mouth was inches from Nicholas’s neck.

He pinched his lips shut and held his breath as he half-carried the drunken fool to the bedroom and dumped him on the bed as gently as he could manage. Then he grabbed his leather bag and slipped away. Now that the hunter was taken care of, he could go about his own hunting in peace.

But he hesitated halfway out the door, plagued by niggling worries. Nicholas had barely been able to stand. How much had he had to drink? Was it safe to leave him like this? He didn’t want to come home to a week-old corpse.

Ellis wasn’t a monster, no matter what the neighbors thought. But he was a vampire. He was strong, and fast, and that was putting it mildly. He almost always emerged the victor from their little duels. And of course it had occurred to him to just kill Nicholas and be done with him once and for all. But that simply wasn’t how Ellis did things. And so, after every defeat, he left Nick Golding alive. That fact alone seemed to gall the man more than anything else; his pride had clearly suffered the worst wounds.

But over time, Ellis had sensed a corresponding reluctance that puzzled him. This came to a head one evening when their skirmish was interrupted by another hunter — one from the Church — inserting himself into the fight. The poor man hadn’t been anywhere near their league, but the distraction had given Nicholas an advantage. He managed to pin Ellis. He had his blade pressed against his throat. Ellis saw the flash of triumph in his eyes, before — nothing. Nicholas withdrew the blade. He let Ellis escape.

That was when Ellis realized that, somehow, their relationship had changed. Nicholas didn’t want Ellis dead. He wanted to defeat him, fair and square. They were fighting for sport.

Did that make them friends? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt an annoying but undeniable concern for the man passed out drunk in his bed. And so, against his better judgment, he turned around and trudged back to the bedroom.

He stopped dead in the doorway. Nicholas was sitting up on the edge of the bed, gingerly fingering his nose, and blood was streaming from one of his nostrils.

“Think I broke my nose when I fell…” he muttered.

“Clean yourself up, you fool!” Ellis hissed, recoiling from the sight. Nicholas looked up with wide eyes, startled and bewildered.

“Oh— damn,” he said, as realization seemed to strike. He pulled an appallingly dirty handkerchief from his pocket and made a clumsy attempt to mop up the blood. It was hardly effective, but Ellis appreciated the effort.

“Better?” Nicholas asked, having the nerve to look cheerful, but his face fell when he saw the condition that Ellis was in. “Are you alright?” he asked, almost whispering.

Ellis was not alright. He wanted, ferociously, to drink Nicholas’s blood. He gripped the door frame with white-knuckled hands, struggling to compose himself, afraid to imagine what kind of expression was on his face.

Alarmed, Nicholas tried to rise, stumbled, fell to his knees, then picked himself back up unsteadily.

“Don’t come any closer,” Ellis warned.

Nicholas seemed ready to ignore the warning, but then he paused.

“Wait…” he asked, squinting across the room. “Are you drunk too?”

“Of course not,” Ellis snapped. He looked away, and without thinking, he said, “I’m starving.”

Nicholas froze, and a silence hung heavy between them. He sat back down on the bed. Ellis shut his eyes, trying to find some untapped well of resolve before he made a terrible mistake.

“You could drink from me,” Nicholas said.

The vampire’s eyes snapped open. He was sure that Nicholas was making a tasteless joke, but when he looked he saw nothing playful in the man’s face.

“Do you want to drink from me?” he asked again, as if Ellis hadn’t heard.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” said Ellis hoarsely.

“Course I do. I’ve spoken with some of your victims. They don’t make it sound so bad.” He flashed one of his roguish smiles, and Ellis scowled in response. What was he thinking? Did he see this as another sort of absurd challenge? Let the vampire have his way with you and live to tell the tale?

He would never tell the tale if he knew what was good for him. For a vampire hunter, to be bitten was a terrible disgrace.

Nicholas’s nosebleed had slowed considerably by then, and the smell of fresh blood was replaced by the tang of the dry crust — not nearly as appetizing. Ellis breathed a bit easier.

“Don’t be a fool, Golding,” he said, “I’m not going to drink from you of all—”

He stopped short when he saw that Nicholas was unbuttoning his shirt.

“S’ppose the neck’s alright?” Nicholas asked, reaching for another button.

Ellis raced across the room and grabbed Nicholas by the collar, pulling his shirt shut.

“Would you stop that?” Ellis hissed. “Have you forgotten you’re drunk? You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Nicholas was still for a moment, staring down at the vampire’s hands. Then, gently, he wrapped his calloused fingers around Ellis’s wrists, and looked up into his face. “Ellis,” he said. His gaze was bleary and unfocused, but somehow full of an earnest concern. “I’m worried about you.”

Ellis’s long-dead heart thumped unevenly in his chest. He snatched his hands away. Nicholas took the opportunity to pull his shirt back open, exposing his neck and chest.

“Just do it, St. Clair,” he said. He glanced away, looking unexpectedly self-conscious. “It’s the least I can do. Since you’re letting me stay.”

“That’s not—” Ellis faltered, struggling to formulate another objection. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flushed skin of Nicholas’s chest. His fangs ached in anticipation of the bite. His resolve was wavering.

He reached out a trembling hand. Nicholas certainly did owe him this, he reasoned, after all the months of trouble he’d caused. What was one little bite among friends?

No! What was he thinking? The man was drunk; he didn’t know what he was saying. Ellis had a brief vision of Nicholas waking up in the morning, acutely hungover, and horrified by what had occurred the night before. In fact, if Nicholas remembered any of this in the morning, things between them might change forever, and that thought hurt Ellis in a way he did not expect or know how to account for.

“It’s alright,” Nicholas said, voice low. “I don’t mind.” He placed his hands on Ellis’s hips and pulled him slowly closer. Ellis’s breath caught in his throat.

“I can’t let you do this,” he whispered. “You’ll have a scar. I’ll put your entire reputation at stake.”

Nicholas let his head fall forward, shoulders shaking. At first Ellis thought he’d given up, but then he heard the quiet laughter.

“At stake…” said Nicholas, snickering drunkenly.

“Oh you moron…” muttered Ellis. He should have used the distraction to pull away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t make himself.

Nicholas recovered with an effort, then looked back up at Ellis.

“I’m not worried about the scar,” he insisted; and there was something sly in his voice as he said, “Just bite me somewhere no one will see.”

A flash of intuition struck Ellis. He couldn’t quite believe it, but he threw caution to the wind and asked anyway.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

Nicholas’s mouth slowly spread into a wicked grin. “I’m—” he said, but his expression suddenly soured. He shoved Ellis back, leaned over, and vomited messily onto the rug.

“Oh, perfect timing as usual,” said Ellis drily, raising his voice to be heard above the noise.

“I’ll clean it up,” Nicholas groaned, head hanging. He sounded miserable, and Ellis felt a twinge of guilt over his sarcasm.

“I’ll clean it up. Get in bed.”

“But—”

“Now, Nicholas,” Ellis barked, and Nicholas hastily obeyed, clumsily tucking himself under the covers.

“Forgot how scary you can be when you want,” he said, chuckling to himself as his eyes fell closed.

Ellis snorted as he left the room to fetch some water. He prayed that he’d kept his expression composed, but if his heart had still worked, it would have been hammering. His mind was reeling, trying to process what had just happened.

At least one thing was certain: There was no way he was going to bite Nicholas now. He was far too dehydrated to lose any blood. It was a relief to finally reach a decision, though his hunger still stung him like the pain of a wound. He would just have to bear it for now.

And what about in the morning? Would Nicholas renew his offer, or would he take back the things he’d said? Would he even remember? Ellis would certainly remember. He felt a hundred years younger, torn between apprehension and a boyish sort of excitement.