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He arrived much later than usual this time, long after darkness had already engulfed the skies. Luckily, tomorrow the weekend starts, cause after the previous 12-hour shift, he should really be getting some sleep.
He told Trinity that he was spending the weekend at Amy’s again, lest she figure out that he was actually here, staying overnight with his too-old-for-him hot older attendings. Well, he said “too old,” but the age difference was, in reality, actually much closer than what the oblivious would think if they saw him. His mom did always warn him about the things that go bump in the night and fed on their cattle. He had just always assumed it was a legendary beast like the chupacabra, not the Anne Rice best-selling novel protagonists skipping through the Nebraskan countryside.
The lights of Dr. Robby’s—Michael, he had told him to call him—townhouse were still lit up. He could hear the TV from where he was taking off his shoes and hanging his coat in the hall. He still had the key after house-sitting for him all those months back. Michael had told him to keep it in case he needed to visit. Then, after finding out his particular eating habits of skimming expired blood bags from the “to be incinerated” pile, he had insisted on him dropping by regularly.
Which brings him to today.
Though it was later than usual, on account of Trinity interrogating him and insisting he didn’t need to visit Amy “every weekend” and “should take some time for himself,” Michael and Jack were still lounging on the couch. A half-drunk wine bottle rested on the table, and one glass sat in each of their hands. Michael was resting casually with his feet on the salon poof and Jack’s arm draped across his shoulders, the TV light dancing across their faces. It seemed they were watching an old ’80s horror movie. Fitting with the way he was silently stalking through their house. They have been trying to teach him things he missed, but he could never really keep his attention on the movies.
Jack spotted him silently approaching them so as not to interrupt. The old hunter was way too alert, and Dennis way too inept, to actually be snuck up on. From where he was pulling some fruit juice and a slice of cherry pie out of the fridge, he could hear a snore bubbling up from Michael, much to the amusement of both.
Dennis glanced back at the pair, both already in their pajamas. A grin appeared on Jack’s face. “I thought that was supposed to be a scary movie. What’s so funny?” Dennis whispered. Jack beckoned him to come closer. “You know your eyes do that cute cat thing in low lighting?”
Dennis crawled onto the sofa, placing the juice and pie on the salon table next to Jack’s now-empty wine glass. “I’ll have you know that I am a vicious predator,” he replied, all bark and no bite… yet.
“Mmhm, sure. All of the Pitt’s rats tremble in your presence,” Jack smirked.
Dennis maneuvered himself to sit on Jack’s lap, hands coming to rest on his shoulders and slowly moving up into his hair. “Har har.”
He didn’t want to find out how true that statement was, sarcasm or not. He knew now that, as a vampire, he had gotten stronger. His senses sure had. He could feel and hear Jack’s pulse underneath his fingers from just lightly brushing over his neck to his hair. He likely could crush his head with just his hands. And Jack, sweet man that he was, would probably let him, here and now. God, the way he looked at him.
It was already bad enough that the two men let him feed on them every weekend. He couldn’t hurt them more. Couldn’t take more than he should. He didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve the love and openness they had shown him the past few months. The acceptance and willingness to help. It felt wrong to him.
“Hmm, don’t go too deep into those thoughts, sweetheart,” Jack said. The arm that had been cradling Michael a moment ago now twisting around Dennis’s waist to hitch him up higher. Closer to him. Dennis could feel his bulge against his leg, tightening in the constraints of his pants. “What do you want to do?” His voice was husky and low from sleep.
Dennis hesitated, stopping his ministrations of Jack’s hair and looking over at the sleeping Michael. He felt guilty for having to wake him up. It must have shown on his face, because before Dennis could answer, Jack started shaking Michael’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse him.
“Hey, sleepy. This week is your turn. Our pup is here for a visit.”
Michael mumbled something incoherent and slowly sat up, realization setting in on his face a few seconds later. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing?”
Right. The all-so-overencompassing question. The one he never really had a good answer for.
Good? Not really.
He was hungry and tired and just wanted to cuddle under the blanket with them and finish their movie—or, better yet, bathe and then go to bed. But no, that couldn’t happen yet. First, he really needed to get some blood in him. He had reluctantly agreed to them to always say and act when he got hungry and to take better care of himself.
“Come on, up you go,” Jack said, manhandling him by the waist. He lifted him up and transplanted him onto Michael’s lap. Michael rested his arms intertwined behind Dennis’s back, keeping him securely nestled on his thighs, the fleece blanket still in between them. Dennis’s hands rested on his chest. He could feel him breathing in and out, slowly and still sleepy—no stethoscope even needed. He could feel everything from here.
Dennis slowly opened his jacket. That same jacket Dennis always daydreamed about wearing to keep his own cold core warm whenever he sees him at work. Then he moved on to the pajama shirt Michael was wearing underneath. With help from Michael sitting up they managed to get it over his head. Dennis did the same for the outer layers he himself was wearing, leaving him in a thin tank top.
The first time, he had insisted he was a doctor and could be precise enough. But after too many blood spills on his hoodie, leading to staff questioning Michael at work, they ended up with this method instead. He didn’t mind. It made him feel closer.
Michael brushed his sweaty curls from his forehead. “You ready for another anatomy lesson?”
Right. Yes. He guessed that was what they were calling it. Not him sucking the life force out of this nice old man for his own gain, or mutilating him with his teeth.
“What did I say about getting lost in dark places?” Jack said softly, laying a hand on his upper back near Michael’s hands.
“Yeah, okay,” he could only reply, strained.
“You got this. We trust you,” Michael purred.
Dennis rested his forehead against his now-bare skin, making a short prayer to himself. His hands softly squeezed his chest. His right hand sliding over to Michael’s arm—his brachium, his medical training supplied. His hand holding him in place. A biological instinct and reflex, they had figured out. The need to keep his prey still and pliant beneath him.
“Can I?” he asked, voice like gravel.
Jack snickered next to him. Michael just looked at him softly, like he was the sweetest thing.
“Of course,” he whispered softly. Then leaned his head back against the sofa, stretching his neck to give Dennis ample space.
“You’ll want to make your incision just in between the trapezius and omohyoid muscles of the upper left shoulder. Angle your teeth so as to face frontally, so you can reach the suprascapular artery…” Michael coached him. Voice soft and composed. Not unlike how he would whisper close to him when he was holding his hand while they worked on an incision together during an operation.
His teeth now scraped along the skin. He licked where he had scratched. A kiss placed delicately. He took a deep breath and lined his fangs up with where Michael had been explaining.
Only once had they tried using a numbing injection to alleviate the pain. But that had just made the blood taste too bitter. Almost too much to swallow, had he not been so hungry that day.
He could feel Michael tense up slightly underneath him. A logical biological reaction. Turned out he actually had a fear of needles—but only when done on himself. Dennis guessed that this must be a similar sensation. Or so he kept convincing himself.
It’s like a blood donation.
Except blood donations don’t come with soft coos and mind-blowing sex afterward once settled in bed. Or on the sofa, when they had been feeling too pent up to make it there.
“I’m here in case things go south. But no worries. You’ve got this,” Jack reassured him softly one last time, as always.
And just like that, his fangs buried deep into Michael’s skin.
He could hear a soft, high gasp coming from him. The air blowing gently against his ear. His mouth slowly filled with sweet, silky nectar the moment he loosened his bite. Jack had once described it as a soft tug. The taste of increased alcohol blood levels tingled on his tongue. He then re-bit a bit deeper to widen the surface area from which the blood could flow from. His saliva agitated the wound and kept the blood from clotting, Jack had explained too. Dennis could feel his cheeks heating at the memory of how precise and delicate, yet clinical he had sounded while describing their first feeding together.
Guess that means the blood is already working. Bringing life back to his dead body for a short while. Making his hands feel warmer, his skin more vibrant. “Who knew you could blush so much? You are pink all over,” Michael had said adoringly that first time they had sex soon after feeding on him.
Then came the thing he felt most guilty about.
He unlocked his jaw, slowly raised his head, and then bit yet again. Slightly higher up. Repeating the earlier motion. More blood flowed into his mouth, and only now did he dare to suck and take deeper swallows. Like a dam breaking.
Tears stung in his eyes, which Michael was all too quick to wipe away with his free arm.
It was instinct. To bite and keep biting. It was the main thing that had kept him from taking directly from a human all those years. It was why he stuck to blood bags where possible, despite them not being as satisfying.
But Michael had insisted.
“The best way to overcome your fear of failure is to keep trying,” he had said.
So they handled it.
From the corner of his eye, Dennis could see Jack staring intently, focused. Keeping his promise to observe and keep watch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that they had blood-clotting supplies and a wound-closure kit ready, courtesy of Jack’s magical bag full of handy dandy medical supplies. He wondered in between gulps if patients with vampire bites gone wrong were more common during the night shift, or if this was all still from Jack’s old days as a hunter.
As Dennis leaned a bit closer to Michael, chest touching chest. Pinning him into the sofa—another instinct, probably—Michael let out a soft “ah.”
Must have bitten too hard and reached his scapula.
“You’re okay,” Michael reassured him, noticing his hesitation. “You need to drink.”
He could feel him, underneath him. So close. His pants brushing past his ear, warming his cheek. The soft, steady pulse under his lips in echo with the blood oozing into his mouth. The shiver that had run up Michael’s arm where Dennis was holding him. The slight twitch every few seconds of his hips underneath his own where he was still straddling the man.
Likewise, he was extremely alert to all the noises Jack made. His heartbeat also increasing every so often at the sounds Michael and he made. His accelerated blood rushing through his veins.
Dennis tried to focus. Just one was enough. He had to try to get by with just this. He couldn’t get too greedy.
But oh, did Jack’s large hand, now kneading the inside of his thigh, make him want to be greedy.
After he didn’t know how long, probably just a few minutes like the times before, Jack softly patted his back, twisting his fingers into his tank top, ready to pull him back at a moment’s notice.
“Okay, that should be enough,” he whispered sternly.
“That was likely only a unit,” Michael argued back, voice a bit woozy.
“Nope. Good enough. Can’t have you fainting at work,” Jack said.
Dennis slowly released his bite in the meanwhile. His tongue lapping up the blood he had spilled. It had cooled, but it was still good.
“He needs it more,” Michael’s voice rang between them.
“He can have mine if he’s still hungry. We’re sharing, remember?” Jack insisted.
Michael just rolled his eyes. He smiled lazily at Dennis, hand still stroking his curls.
“I’m good,” Dennis chirped, lips wet and eyes bright. A healthy blush now spreading across his body. A slight fuzz in the back of his mind. The alcohol from the wine the two had been drinking.
Jack snorted. “Yeah, sweetheart? You enjoyed yourself?”
Dennis’s cheeks heated up. “Yeah,” he replied quickly, eyes darting back to Michael’s neck and shoulder area. Scanning it for all the damage he had done. His right arm now finally loosening up. His fingers hovered slightly over the double incision wounds, careful not to actually touch the skin and risk infecting them.
“Come on, old-timer. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Jack joked.
Michael just sputtered and raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you hearing this?” he asked Dennis, a smile appearing on his face.
While Jack leaned down and readied the antibacterial swabs Dennis presented Michael with the glass of fruit juice—the mango and apple mix he liked so much—and the slice of cherry pie.
Halfway through a bite of the pie, Michael’s hand reached up to Dennis’s face to swipe a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth. His thumb finding its way inside his mouth, resting on his tongue. Lightly pressing deeper. “Don’t waste it,” he said, staring him so intently in the eyes.
Dennis could only give a moan in response. “Mm-m.”
Michael’s thumb started brushing along his upper teeth. First in the back, running along his molars, then slowly coming back to the front. It took a bit of effort for Dennis to will his fangs back inward so he could keep running his fingers over them.
“Good boy,” Michael praised him.
Dennis felt a buzz of energy going through him, like he was getting tipsy after two beers. Like he had the whole night at his disposal despite the 12-hour shift he had worked today, the two hours he had spent on public transport, the hour or so spent discussing with Trinity, and now sitting here.
“Focus on your pie. You need the sugar if we want to keep up with his energy all night,” Jack said. A short wink to Dennis while swabbing the bite wound on Michael’s shoulder.
Michael let out a pained hiss, his hand retracting from Dennis’s mouth.
Dennis chased the feeling and planted a kiss on Michael’s lips. A way to kiss the pain better. Michael pushed him backward, deepening the kiss—but, to Dennis’s dismay, more so he could reach forward and grab the remote to finally turn off the TV that had been running behind his back all evening.
Dennis was feeling good. He wanted more.
The hand that had been softly brushing through his hair now pulled harsher on his strands. Tearing his head away from those soft lips.
“Ah ah ah. Jack is right. If you want me to give you what you deserve, I will need to eat my pie first,” Michael said huskily, a promise in his voice.
Jack’s other hand, the one not being used to help bandage Michael, slowly went down Dennis’s back. His fingers playing with his boxer’s waistband of his boxers, occasionally slipping in to tease lower.
Sure. He could wait. But not for long. He was, after all, an insatiable predator.