Chapter 1

I don’t normally stare.

My needs are met regularly by a human named Tom, a 30-year-old bank teller with a taste for bloodletting. We fuck on occasion. I drink from his neck, his wrist, his inner thigh, indulging myself in the taste of fresh blood, so much better than the bottled variety. I have no reason to find my eyes drawn to someone else.

But the new boy isn’t just someone. I’ve heard his name is Micah, and he’s been a regular at this blood lounge for the past few weeks. Rumor has it he just turned 21, and he’s got a vampire fetish. Plenty of young humans frequent this lounge; I normally ignore them. But Micah is unusually charismatic. He has a ringing laugh and a gentle voice I catch snippets of from across the room. He has all the vampires fawning over him, but he sneaks looks at me. And that’s why I stare from the bar. Normally these bright young things have no interest in a brooding loner, which I’m embarrassed to admit I am.

I’m here tonight waiting for Tom, and I’m almost disappointed when the man shows. Tom greets me with a kiss on the cheek, and I watch as Micah sees the greeting and frowns slightly.

“Hey, Julian. Wanna find a room?” Tom knows I don’t drink blood in public. I nod wordlessly, following Tom as he approaches a bouncer and gets a key to one of the private rooms. We walk down a red-lit hallway past a handful of doors until we reach the one that matches the number on the key, and Tom unlocks the door, gesturing me inside.

“Everything okay, man? You’re even quieter than usual,” Tom tells me as he locks the door behind us.

“Everything’s okay,” I respond. “I don’t want to fuck tonight.”

“All good. Take what you need.” Tom removes his jacket and shirt without fanfare, hanging them from the coat hangers on the back of the door. His body is hairy and masculine, and I normally love to put my hands on him, but I’m distracted. Not distracted enough, however, to ignore the way he bares his neck for me.

I move toward him at full speed, barely more than a blur, and sink my teeth into his neck. My fangs descend, puncturing his skin, and he gasps. Without hesitation, I pump my venom into his bloodstream, making him docile as he rides the high. I drink, his blood filling me with a powerful warmth. And then I pull away before I take too much. It’s a delicate balance between the thirst and the need to keep my human donor safe. Not because I feel obligated to Tom specifically, but because good vampire etiquette says to drink only as much as a human can handle.

Tom sighs happily as I lick at his wound, savoring the last few drops. Then, I lift my wrist to my mouth and bite down, fangs bared, puncturing the skin. I bring my wrist to Tom’s lips, and he dutifully sucks up my blood. The puncture marks on his neck knit themselves together, closing up as my magical blood enters his body. That took all of five minutes, and I’m ready to leave.

“You sure you don’t want to talk?” Tom asks, looking at me intently. I shake my head, and he sighs. “Alright, strong and silent type. You know where to find me,” he says, not unkindly.

“Thank you, Tom.” I hold the door open and close it behind him as he leaves. I collapse onto the squeaky bed in the center of the room, just needing to take a few breaths. But just as I’m about to get up and leave, I hear a knock. Cautiously, I get up and walk to the door, then slowly open it.

It’s Micah.

He looks incredible up close. Freckles kiss his olive skin, and dark brown curls fall around his face. But what strikes me most is how he smells. He’s not wearing anything artificial, no chemical fragrance whatsoever, so I can fully appreciate the warm scent of his skin, and the iron of his blood beneath the surface.

“Hi,” he says. “Can I come in?”

I stare at him for a moment.

“Sure. But I’ve already eaten.”

“That’s fine,” he says as I let him into the room. “I just wanted to talk.” 

I stand in front of him, looking him up and down without bothering to hide it. His body is intriguing. I figured from a distance that he was skinny, but he’s actually quite shapely in his skin-tight jeans. He wears a denim jacket, and I notice the trans flag pin on one of the front pockets. 

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I’ve seen you watching me,” he says boldly. I raise an eyebrow.

“And I’ve seen you watching me, too.”

“What’s your name?” he asks, undeterred.

“Julian,” I admit after a moment. “I know your name. You’re famous around here lately.” 

“You’re exaggerating,” he says with a laugh. “I’m just the fresh new face and vampires are gossips. That much is obvious.”

“You’re not wrong,” I give him. He grins at me.

“But you’re not like the guys who’ve fed from me so far. You’re always by yourself. I’ve been waiting for you to come say hi. Are you shy?”

“Shy? No. Maybe reserved,” I admit, not sure why I’m humoring him.

“I don’t mind that,” he says. “I’m fine making the first move.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Making the first move?”

He smiles and takes a step toward me.

“Obviously.”

“I told you, I’ve already eaten,” I remind him. He smiles and shakes his head. I can feel his body heat as he takes another step toward me, the warmth radiating against my skin.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t kiss,” he says, and he’s so close, so warm. His natural scent fills my senses.

“I don’t kiss strangers,” I tell him, but of course I’m looking at his lips now. They’re especially plush.

“Then maybe we should stop being strangers. Buy me dinner?”

He’s looking up at me with a cute half-smile, appearing fully aware of my attention on his mouth. I breathe in and absorb his scent, searching for a reason to say no.

“Maybe another time,” I tell him.

“You’re turning me down?” he pouts. He looks genuinely disappointed, which twists something in my gut. A guy that pretty shouldn’t look so put out.

“Turning you down for now,” I decide as I say it. “I’ll need blood in a few days. I don’t date, so don’t get your hopes up. But I wouldn’t mind drinking from you.”

His face brightens, and he’s gorgeous. There’s no denying it. I want to run my fingers through his dark curls.

“Sounds good. I’ll be around.” He smiles at me. “Goodnight, Julian. See you in a few days.”

“See you,” I echo, watching his ass as he leaves. Once again I’m left alone in this shitty private room, wondering when the fuck I got so weak as to be tempted by a guy his age just because he’s cute.

*

I don’t have friends.

Tom calls me “emotionally unavailable.” Can’t argue with that, given I haven’t had a real emotional connection with anyone in decades, or maybe longer. So the next few days are occupied by my work. Painting has been my life’s purpose since before I became a vampire. I’m classically trained, worked under a master several centuries ago. But my work has become more surreal, flirting with abstraction. Painting is the primary way I express myself, but even then, I don’t want to give too much away.

I lift my brush, then lower it. The artistic spirit isn’t moving through me today. It happens, especially when I get too much in my head. I can’t work when I’m like this. I wonder if I need a good fuck, if I was foolish to turn Micah down.

My phone rings, loud in the silence of my penthouse apartment, and it makes me jump, my heart racing. I look at the screen; it’s my agent.

“Felicia,” I say as I answer. It comes out more like a grunt.

“Julian,” she responds wryly. “How are you?”

“Fine. What’s up?”

“Doing anything next month? A gallery in New York reached out to me about hosting a show of your work. Very high profile. The opening would be on the 15th, and they’d want you there, of course.”

“Works for me. I’ve got a few new pieces I haven’t exhibited yet that could use a home. They’re cluttering my apartment.”

“I’ve seen your apartment. The last word I’d use to describe it is ‘cluttered.’”

“Alright, alright. Send me the details and I’ll be there.”

A minute later, my phone dings with the full event information. I open the calendar app, and my eyes glance across my schedule for this month. Next week, Saturday night, is the ball. I sigh and enter the gallery show date into my phone.

Going to balls is one of the many chores of being a vampire. Everything focuses around keeping Vasilia happy. As lord of the realm, they have very strict expectations of the vampires in their court (i.e., every vampire in the city). I have never once had a good time at a ball, but Vasilia doesn’t care. They expect me there like they do everyone else, to show my fealty.

The gallery trip should be a welcome escape from this city.

*

The next sundown, I awaken hungry. I groan from beneath the sheets, then pull myself out of bed. My routine is brief; I don’t have to shave, because my hair never grows. My breath never gets stale. Other than showering to get off the grime from the city, there isn’t much for me to do. Once I’m clean and dressed, I reach for my phone to text Tom, but as I pull up our chat history, I find myself pausing. I told Micah I would feed from him next time. It dimly registers to me, as I put my phone in my pocket and grab my jacket from the coat rack, that the thought is exciting.

I take off for the Jackal’s Head, the blood lounge I usually frequent because of its proximity to my apartment, and the place I’ve been seeing Micah. We never decided on a date or time, but I suspect he’ll be around. He’s been a fixture for about three weeks now; every time I go to the Jackal’s Head, he’s there. 

And there he is. I immediately notice him as the bouncer lets me in and I glance across the floor. He’s mid laugh, looking delighted at some joke. His curls flop into his eyes, and he brushes them away. I wonder for a moment if I’m going to go in there and interrupt them to retrieve Micah, but he comes to my rescue and looks up when the door slams closed behind me. Excusing himself, Micah makes his way across the lounge, and before I know what to do with myself, he’s standing in front of me. I can still see the residual smile from his laughter lifting at the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at me.

“Hey,” I parrot back at him. “Want a drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he says with a slightly smug smile. He knows I was looking at his mouth again.

I order two scotches from the bartender, and we sit down next to each other at the bar as she pours the drinks. Her name is Hannah, she’s a butch redhead, and she knows I’m bad at small talk and never get drinks for anyone. Her eyebrows raise as she pours the drinks for us, but Micah doesn’t seem to notice, so I ignore her curiosity.

“Glad you showed,” he says.

“Well. I was hungry,” I admit, realizing too late how blunt that sounded. “And I, uh. We had agreed to meet.”

“I’ve never seen you get drinks with anyone before,” he says as he takes a cautious sip of his scotch, which he doesn’t seem to love.

“I don’t mingle much. I come here for blood.”

“The brooding type,” he says, looking at me intently.

“What?”

“You’re the brooding type. You’re guarded. Most of the other vampires here threw themselves at me, but you kept your distance. It made me curious.”

“What about you?” I deflect, clumsily. “Is it true you started showing up here as soon as you turned twenty-one?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t understand it. The first thing you want to do when you turn twenty-one is be a vampire’s dinner?” 

He huffs a laugh in response. “I’ve always wanted to be a vampire’s dinner. I’ve been obsessed with vampires since forever.”

“Well, I guess it takes all types,” I acknowledge. “For most humans here, it’s a kink. Some do it for money and favors. Some thrive on the attention.”

“I don’t mind the attention, and I can’t say it’s not a kink. But it’s more than that for me,” he says, dipping his head slightly, almost shy. He looks up at me through his lashes. I take in his deep-brown eyes, his slender neck. God, I want to put my fangs in him. I can’t deny it.

“Do you want to grab a room?” I ask him.

“Yes, please,” he says immediately, getting up from his bar stool. I follow him to the back, and we’re directed to an available private room by the bouncer. Micah holds the door open for me and closes it behind me as I hang up my jacket.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he says.

“I’ll try to make it good for you.”

“I’m sure you will.” He pulls his jacket off, then his shirt, throwing them on the bed. He has pretty fresh top surgery scars, and I notice he opted for no nipple grafts.

“You know we’re not fucking, right?”

“Don’t wanna get blood on my shirt,” he says with a smile.

“And you want to show off.”

“Maybe.” His smile turns into a huge grin. “Do you like?”

“Stop fishing for compliments and get over here.” He takes my advice, stepping forward. Even though I gave him shit, I do take a moment to admire his body. He’s got a trail of fur down to his—oh—pierced belly button. I laugh at myself as I realize I’m salivating.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing. Are you ready?”

“Extremely,” he says, standing in front of me. I put my left hand on his hip and cup his jaw with my right hand, then gently push his head to the side as I lean down. My lips trail across his neck, teasing myself more than I mean to tease him, but he gasps. I breathe in through my nose, savoring the smell of him, and then I bite. My fangs sink into his tender flesh, and this keening sound escapes from his mouth. The taste of his blood hits me hard, fresh and bright and tangy. I barely remember to release my venom, I’m so caught up in his unique flavor. When I do, it’s only a few moments before he moans. The sound, low and sonorous, is so incredibly sensual I feel it in my cock. I want to devour him. 

I drink and drink, thinking of nothing but his blood. I’m dimly aware that his hands are gripping my shoulders, and his leg somehow ended up between my thighs, pushing up against my cock, which is now fully hard. I groan against his skin, grabbing him by the hips. Every part of my being wants to thrust against him, use his body to find relief, but as soon as the thought occurs to me, I pull back, alarmed.

“What is it?” he asks, somewhat groggily.

“Sorry. I didn’t intend to, uh, become aroused.” I can barely look him in the eye. I’d made such a big deal about us not fucking, and just now I was about to hump his leg. Not cool.

“I liked it, though,” he says softly. “That was the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.” Blood is dripping down his neck to his shoulder. I want to lick it away. Instead, I dutifully puncture my wrist and feed him my blood to heal his wound. He laps at my wrist eagerly, like he enjoys the taste. When he lets go, I grab a wash cloth from the metal shelving unit in the corner, and then run it under the sink for a few seconds, making sure the water is warm first.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me?” he asks as I run the warm wash cloth down his neck. I hesitate for a moment before answering.

“I do want to fuck you.” I wipe off the last of the blood from his olive skin, then turn around and throw the wash cloth in the hamper.

“So, why don’t we fuck, then?” he asks to my back. I’m grateful he didn’t ask it to my face; I need the moment to collect myself.

“Because for me, sex is complicated.”

“I get the feeling I’m not going to get more detail than that,” he says, not ungently, as I turn back to him.

“You’re right. I hope you understand, I’m a very old and very private person. I don’t let my guard down easily.”

“Maybe we should get to know each other better, then.” He pulls his shirt on, which the base part of my mind thinks is a shame.

“You still angling for dinner?”

“I was wondering if you have a date to the ball yet.” 

That catches me off guard, but then again, he told me himself that vampires were gossips. And as popular as he is at the Jackal’s Head, he’s probably received multiple invitations already.

“You don’t have a date yet?”

“I’ve been waiting for someone specific.” He raises his eyebrows at me. I don’t have a date, of course. That’s not the kind of arrangement Tom and I have, and there isn’t exactly anyone else. I normally sulk by myself at these balls. For a moment, I imagine having someone to talk to, rather than being alone.

“Alright. Would you like to be my date?”

“Yes!” His smile is wide and genuine. I never see him smile like that with the other vampires in the lounge. This smile is for me, something special to be properly appreciated, even coveted. He adds on, with an innocent look on his face, “and what do you think about a goodbye kiss?”

I manage to keep my resolve. “Maybe if the date goes well.” He deflates slightly but pulls out his cell phone, undeterred.

“Can’t wait. What’s your number? You can pick me up, right?”

“I can pick you up,” I tell him and then recite my number. He types for a moment, and then my phone dings. I pull it out and see he’s texted me his address. Not too far away.

“I better get going,” I tell him as I put my phone back in my pocket, then move to grab my jacket off the coat rack. “See you on Saturday. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“See you on Saturday,” he says, and then he trails his hand over my shoulder as he leaves the room. I watch, transfixed, knowing fully well how absolutely screwed I am.

>Next chapter

I’m Akiva (he/him), a PNW-based transmasc writer of adult short fiction. I love writing about trans male sexuality and queer masculinity. Other passions include watching live nature cams and reading gay books.

Designed with WordPress