Tag Archives: blood

Halloween Fest: Once then Always

Author: avioleta
Pairing/MC: Carlisle/Alec
Genre(s): Canon (post-BD); vampslash; angst
Wordcount: 7400
Prompt/recipient: Prompt #11, Inebriation (for vampireisthenewblack)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: explicit m/m sex and a bit of blood; please consider the pairing before reading. Alec is older yet physically younger than Carlisle. Not technically underage, but could be considered offensive nonetheless.
Summary: “What are you doing here?” The boy grins. “Come now, Carlisle, don’t you know your ghosts always find you on All Hallows’ Eve?”
The characters aren’t mine. The words are. Please heed the warnings and rating. I mean it.

Once then Always

Carlisle stares down into the dark crimson liquid. In the dim light of the room, it almost looks like blood. Almost.

He bites back a laugh. Perhaps it’s time to feed.

He takes a slow sip, allowing the flavors to roll across his tongue. Though the wine is thin and cheap (they serve nothing else in this place), it is still earthy, peppery, and smooth. He enjoys the pleasant burn of the alcohol as it warms his throat, his belly.

Esme would be appalled. But then she never understood his vices.

He drains the glass and signals the bartender for another, wishing (just for once) he could be drunk, that the alcohol would cloud his too-perfect mind, would make him forget, would make him numb. But, of course, the blood in his veins is not his own, and no amount of wine or whiskey will pollute it.

He sighs; the dark wine shimmers in the flickering light, casts a thin shadow on the table.

Some nights, he actually wants them to find him.

It would be a fitting punishment for his crime, really. And then there would be no more running. No more wondering when.

He doesn’t sleep, but he still has nightmares. Sometimes he doesn’t even have to close his eyes.

He sees Aro’s eyes, looking up at him. They are pale and bloodied and always softly accusatory. He’d been shocked at first, but then his thin lips curved into a sickening and knowing smile. ‘Of course, Carlisle, my child’ he whispered (as hands closed around his neck) ‘You must protect your own.’

Other times he sees his family. The little girl, still clutched in Bella’s arms. Esme, eyes wide, a pale hand over her mouth. And Edward. Always Edward, resigned and tired (more tired than he’s ever seen him), hand on his wife’s back as he nods. ‘Of course, you must go. We’ll see you again soon.’ He’d smiled that easy smile then, though they both knew it might be for the last time.

No. He shakes his head, presses his palm to the worn surface of the bar. It had to happen. It was the only way. After all, he never had a choice.

He wants a cigarette but is certain the bartender won’t allow it, even in a place as sordid as this.

He thinks about the miracle that is his child. He hates that she will grow up (too quickly, it seems), and he will not be there to see it. She will know what he did (for her, for her mother, her father), but she will not know him.

Minutes pass. The bartender checks his watch, wipes down the counter with a grimy rag. The bar is relatively empty at this hour.

He hears him approach and sets his glass down carefully. His breath catches. Perhaps, finally… But no. The boy is alone. Carlisle purses his lips, as he takes the seat beside him. He refuses to look, refuses to acknowledge his presence. Instead, he takes another sip of wine.

The small vampire watches him for several minutes. Carlisle can feel his eyes on him, searing and hot on his skin. He exhales a shaky breath but does not turn his head.

“Why do you do this?” the boy asks after several long moments, motioning toward the glass in Carlisle’s hand. Full lips curl in distaste. “It can’t actually be pleasurable, can it?”

Carlisle shrugs, leans forward to rest his elbows on the bar.

“I mean, the blood in your system is not actually your blood,” the boy continues, “so the alcohol can’t affect you.” His voice rings with such conviction that Carlisle nearly laughs. Of course, he would never understand, but he looks at Carlisle, hands folded primly on his lap, and it is clear he expects a response.

“I appreciate the aesthetics,” he offers vaguely, twisting the stem of his glass between pale fingers.

The boy rolls his eyes. “You were never one for practicality, were you Carlisle?”

He shrugs again. “What are you doing here?”

Alec grins, pink lips curving to reveal perfect white teeth. “Come now, don’t you know your ghosts always find you on All Hallows’ Eve?”

Carlisle narrows his eyes; he doesn’t want to play this game. He’s known the child for nearly the entirety of his immortal life, and he still has trouble reading him. Alec’s expression softens slightly. He almost looks contrite. He reaches a hand out as if to touch Carlisle’s arm but thinks better of it and quickly tucks it back between his knees.

“What are you doing here?” Carlisle repeats. His voice is cold and rather harsh, but he doesn’t care. Not really.

The boy bites his lips; for a moment he looks unsure. “I had to see that you were safe.”

His honesty startles Carlisle. He turns to look at him.

The boy glances down; wisps of reddish hair fall into his face. Carlisle resists the urge to brush them off his forehead. He swallows thickly. “Now you have.” He picks up his wineglass again; the black red liquid glints against the curve of his palm. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why did you do it?” Alec asks suddenly; his voice is very small.

Carlisle says nothing. He knows the boy is grieving. He’d known Aro longer (and more intimately, perhaps) than even he had. After all, Aro had sired Alec and his twin.

The boy breathes out slowly, watching him, unnatural eyes dark. His hands, graceful, elegant, and small are clutched so tightly together that his knuckles are white. “You foolish fucking bastard,” his mouth twists savagely, a sneer marring his delicate features.

Carlisle hides his flinch; it always surprises him to hear such obscenities slip easily from Alec’s childish tongue.

His eyes flash dangerously. “It was for him, wasn’t it?”

“It hardly matters now.”

The boy inhales sharply. It’s clear he’s struggling to maintain his composure. “But it doesmatter.” Petulance and something else entirely bleeds into his voice. “They’ll find you.”

Carlisle takes the last sip of wine. “It doesn’t matter. It was the only choice.”

Alec looks as though he might protest but says nothing. Instead stares moodily across the bar. Colorful bottles line the glass shelves along the wall (cerulean blues, jewel toned greens, and golden yellows).

Carlisle sighs. Sometimes he wonders if he did the right thing, if it really were his only choice. But it’s far too late to change anything now.

Aro is dead. He is responsible.

“Did her shields actually work?” he asks after a long moment. “Were you really unable to get through?”

The boy shrugs thin shoulders but does not respond.

“Alec?” he prompts. He needs to know.

“There were cracks…” he trails off, pale fingers picking at the sleeve of his sweater, and he leans forward again, hair obscuring his eyes.

Carlisle waits for him to continue, but he does not.

“If Bella’s shields did not work, why did you encourage Aro to stop the attack?”

The boy looks up at him scathingly, as though the answer should be obvious. “Because it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth you.” The last is said in a hissed whisper, a soft exhale of sound that Carlisle almost doesn’t hear.

Something warm unfurls in the pit of his stomach (like alcohol, like blood).

“Besides,” Alec says then, eyes fixed on his, “the child was innocent. She did not deserve to die.”

Carlisle nods, sliding his thumb along the lip of his wineglass. He can’t help but worry about his family, hope that they are still safe, alive. But he has to think that they are. After all, they are the reason he has condemned himself to this life of exile, of fear.

But he hasn’t spoken to anyone in seven months. He doesn’t even know where they are.

“Why did you leave them?” the boy asks. And though his eyes betray nothing, his tone gives too much away.

Carlisle answers truthfully (doing his best to choke back the sudden rush of grief). “I had to.” He’s said it so many times by now, he almost believes it.

Alec nods, pushes a strand of unruly hair behind his ear. “You protect them. You always have.”

“Marcus and Caius would have targeted them,” Carlisle says, “just for being with me.” He sighs and turns toward the boy beside him. “You know that. Now, though, I have to believe that they will be spared because I am no longer there.”

The boy nods again but says nothing. He rests an elbow on the bar-top but immediately jerks back again, a positively horrified expression on his face. He tentatively touches one fingertip to the counter. “It’s…sticky.” He looks at Carlisle as if it’s somehow his fault.

Frankly, Carlisle is rather impressed that the child has sat here this long. His tastes are absurdly aristocratic. Alec tugs his arms to his chest and looks around, as if he’s only now noticing his surroundings.

The bartender emerges from the back storeroom, a case of beer in his arms. He sets it down on the counter with a grunt and then glances down the bar at Carlisle and Alec. His eyes widen in shock, but then his expression darkens.

He lumbers toward them, wiping thick hands on a dish towel.

Carlisle closes his eyes; he knows what’s coming.

The man’s nostrils flare. “Now I don’t know what you’re playing at, but he can’t be in here.”

Alec sighs loudly; Carlisle thinks he does exasperation quite well.

“Oh, dostop worrying,” he says, boyish tongue dripping with condescension. “I doubt I’ll be drinking any of what you have to offer.” With this, he lets his eyes slip appraisingly over the man’s chest before they flicker back to his face.

Carlisle knows the exact instant the man notices (a sharp intake of breath, a step backward). His back hits the cabinet behind him; his heart is beating too fast (a thrum of blood in Carlisle’s ears).

Alec sits perfectly still, red eyes unblinking. Then he smiles. His teeth are far too white and far too straight.

Carlisle watches him closely. Though he doesn’t believe the boy will do anything foolish, he knows all too well what he is capable of.

The man gasps; he’s gone rather pale. “I…I don’t know who yeh think you are, but I’m telling you, if you don’t leave now, I’m gonna have to throw you out.” His voice is choked; his hands clutch the countertop.

Alec laughs, a childishly clear sound that is positively chilling. “I think not,” he says calmly, cocking his head to the side. “In fact—”

Carlisle places a hand on his arm, and the boy stops. He looks down, brow furrowing as if in confusion. “Oh…okay.” He looks at Carlisle again. “Perhaps we should take this elsewhere.”

He stands. Carlisle pulls a twenty-pound note from his pocket, slides it across bar. The bartender hasn’t moved. But when Carlisle places a hand on the small of Alec’s back, guides him toward the door, he hears the man exhale, “fucking pervert…freaks is what you are.

Alec stiffens, starts to turn around, but Carlisle’s fingers tense against his back. “No.” And the boy nods once. Carlisle knows he won’t be able to return, but it hardly matters now, not since the boy’s found him.

Though the man (wisely) says nothing else, Carlisle can practically hear his disgust as they slip outside and into the cool night air. But he doesn’t care. They rent rooms by the hour next door, and he’s quite certain the man has seen worse than whatever he expects Carlisle is taking the boy off to do.

“How did you find me?” he asks as Alec hurries to match his longer strides.

“Oh please,” he rolls his eyes. “If Marcus and Caius knew how predictable you were, you’d be dead already.”

Carlisle shrugs. He’s probably right.

He’s staying in a rundown motel three blocks away. The building is squat and decrepit (nearly as wide as it is tall). It is not a place he would have ever considered going near before. But, of course, things are different now.

Streetlamps cast an orange glow on the slick pavement; Alec shoves his hands in his pockets and follows Carlisle inside.

The foyer is as dingy as the building’s exterior. The once black and white tiled floor is gray with years’ of dirt and dust and grime. A single bulb flickers in the fixture overhead, bathing the small entryway in sickly pale light. The night attendant behind the counter does not look up from his tabloid.

It’s for the best.

Carlisle ushers the boy past, and they ascend the narrow stairs quickly. Alec keeps his arms pulled tight to his thin chest as if terrified that some of the squalor might rub off on his person.

Carlisle chuckles. “It’s not contagious, you know.”

The boy raises an eyebrow skeptically. “I’m not entirely certain about that.” His pink lips curl as the reach the third floor landing.

Carlisle is quite sure he doesn’t want to know what has stained the carpet.

“You certainly know how to pick a lodging,” Alec scoffs, “don’t you?” He sounds as though he’s holding his breath (he might well be). Carlisle wouldn’t blame him.

His room is on the fourth floor. They pause as Carlisle digs in his pocket for the key. Alec glances down the dim hallway (arms still wrapped round his chest). The carpet was once white perhaps, but after years of neglect it’s soiled, threadbare, and stained.

He pushes the door open and flicks on the light. A single lamp illuminates the room. The shade is cracked and faded. He tosses his keys and wallet on the dresser and turns back to the boy. Alec is still hovering just inside the door, assessing the surroundings critically.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after a few moments. His lips press together, and his fingers tug at the sleeves of his jumper. He clearly believes that such appalling conditions should be enough to make Carlisle stop running, to hand himself over to Marcus and Caius, to whatever punishment they devise.

“You already know why I’m here, Alec.”

“But surely you can afford much better.” He traces a semi-circle on the floor with the tip of his shoe. “I was under the impression that your family was quite wealthy.”

Carlisle bites back a laugh. The Volturi, of course, have the means to ascertain exactly how much the Cullens have in their accounts at any given time. That is one reason he chooses not to access his funds. “I’d rather not aid them in their search,” he responds simply. “Money leaves a trail.”

The boy scrunches up his nose as though he’s smelled something foul. (He might have.) “But surely you can maintain a level of discretion without living in some sort of…” his eyes dart around quickly, “of hovel.”

Carlisle doesn’t respond. The boy wouldn’t understand anyway. He stands there, fingers curled in the hem of his sweater, watching him.

“Why did you do it?” Alec finally says, repeating the same question he’s already asked. He reaches out hesitantly to touch a fingertip to the peeling floral printed wallpaper, making no attempt to mask his distaste.

Carlisle wants to laugh. The boy has never been anything but horribly spoiled. He shrugs. He already answered this question. “I had to.” He doesn’t want to have this conversation again. He doesn’t want to talk about Aro. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not with Alec.

“But you didn’t,” the boy says, and his voice catches slightly. He glances down at the greasy carpet and, for a moment, he looks so young. Carlisle almost feels sorry for him.

“I did.”

“No…no,” his voice breaks again, and he closes his eyes, sucks in a ragged breath, tries to compose himself. “He was stopping. You’d won.” His voice is soft, broken. All at once, he sounds as young as he looks, and Carlisle’s chest aches just a little.

“You know as well as I do,” Carlisle says softly, taking one step toward him, “he does not stop…would not stop.”

Alec looks up, his expression is pained, but he says nothing.

Carlisle continues, “he conceded the battle, but he does not give up that easily. He would have come back.” He takes another step, reaches out, drags a finger along the boy’s jaw. “It was never over.”

“I…” Alec stops, eyes fluttering closed. “I hate that he’s gone.”

“I know.”

“You loved him.”

Carlisle nods. “In a way, yes. But there was no other choice.”

The boy does not open his eyes. “I hate that.”

“I know.”

Alec stands perfectly still; Carlisle slides a hand down his arm. “He was mad.”

“I know.”

“They did not deserve to die.”

Alec catches Carlisle’s hand in his; his thumb traces a circle on the back of his wrist. “I know.” He looks up again, red eyes dark and dangerous. “But I hate that you did it for him.”

“For all of them.”

The boy shrugs. “For him…and his wife and his child.”

“They did not deserve to die,” Carlisle repeats.

Alec bites his lip (pink flesh caught between perfect white teeth). “No. But neither do you.”

Carlisle says nothing. He holds the boy’s gaze firmly in his own.

“I don’t want to lose you too,” Alec whispers after several long moments. His chin trembles slightly. Carlisle wants to cup it between his hands.

“You won’t.”

“Marcus and Caius—”

“Will tire of this chase eventually. They will return to Volterra. They will forget about me.”

Alec nods but does not look convinced.

Carlisle takes off his coat and lays it carefully over the back of the room’s only chair. The boy watches him closely. He hasn’t moved.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Alec says after a long moment. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet and licks his lips; he presses his knuckles to his mouth. “Oh God, Carlisle… Why did you do it?” He whispers the words, and then there are hands on his shoulders, pushing and pulling, and teeth at his neck, sharp and painful. “Why did you do it?” he says again, and his voice is cold and harsh but tinged with something heartbreaking and desperate.

“You ruined everything,” Alec half cries, half sobs against his throat. And then his tongue is there, licking a line up Carlisle’s jaw. “How could you?”

Carlisle’s hands tremble as they settle on the boy’s waist, large and heavy and awkward as Alec quakes against him, breath ragged and wet against his skin. “Don’t you know how much I needed him? How much I need you?”

“I know. I know,” he gasps out, fingers smoothing over the boy’s forehead, pushing ridiculous lovely red blond bronze hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

And the boy kisses him, clumsy and needy and more teeth than lips or tongues.

“Oh…oh God…” Carlisle wrenches himself away, breathless and shaking and lost, lost.

“Are you…are you all right?” Alec asks. His hands are tugging at Carlisle’s top button, and then his mouth is pressing hot kisses along his collarbone.

And no, no he’s notall right because this thin slip of a boy never fails to devastate him. “We can’t. We shouldn’t.” But Alec is grinding helplessly against him, and he can feel his cock, hard and young and moving, moving against his thigh.

“Yes, yes we…oh fuck…” the boy hisses, hips still rocking. “Do you—”

No. He doesn’t. He can’t, but he’s dry mouthed and aching, and his fingers dig into the perfect curve of the boy’s arse, holding him closer as he continues to grind and grind against him.

“Beautiful,” Carlisle breathes, and he is surprised his mouth has managed to form the word. “You’ve always been beautiful.”

And the boy is still (still) moving, small hands clutching tightly at his arms, untidy head thrown back, pink lips parted softly. “Car— Carlisle…oh, oh God,” and at the feel of warm wetness against his thigh, Carlisle has to bite his lip to keep from coming in his trousers like a teenager, like Alec, shuddering against him.

“Oh…oh,” the boy is still moaning, as he trembles, boneless and weak-kneed in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

And Carlisle can’t stop touching him (though he shouldn’t…he shouldn’t). But his fingers smooth over round, flushed cheeks, trace the pale column of his lovely neck, slide down thinly muscled arms to lace their fingers together.

“What are you doing here?” Carlisle asks the question this time — once he can think, once he can breathe, once he can speak again.

“I told you,” the boy sighs, “I needed to know that you were safe.”

“And that information is readily available to you.” Carlisle’s voice is thick and rough. “You will surely know the moment I am captured. Until then, it would be reasonable to assume I am safe.”

“Yes. But that’s not quite the same now, is it?” Alec is still touching him, fingers curling around his wrist to stroke smooth skin underneath the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ve missed you.”

These last words are barely spoken (a whisper, a faint huff of sound). Carlisle is not sure he’s actually heard them, but something flashes in the boy’s eyes, and Carlisle recognizes it instantly, knows he’s heard correctly.

Alec’s expression changes again. The boy’s moods are mercurial at best. But then again, children are rarely known for consistency. His lovely terrifying eyes darken slightly; it makes Carlisle’s stomach twist and his cock throb (don’t come, don’t come). He doesn’t let go of the boy.

He should pull away. He should not let this happen again (not now, not ever). Still, he can’t help but cling to the small body (like ivy, like vines).

It’s wrong. It’s beyond sinful. (Another reason among a thousand why he’s surely damned.) The boy is a child, despite how long he’s been that way. And Carlisle shouldn’t want what he wants.

He swallows thickly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

But Alec tugs Carlisle’s hand to his waist, and he can feel firm muscles slide under his palm. The boy leans in, and he can feel warm cold breath ghost across his neck. It’s familiar and intoxicating, as Alec’s mouth brushes over his.

Once. Twice.

He pulls back slightly and can feel the boy’s mouth on his cheek, and that simple sensation draws forth a multitude of memories he’s tried hard to suppress. They skip across his mind like stones, some smooth, some jagged cutting and sharp, but all brilliant (like a spark of flint on rock, hot and hard and shining).

His chest is too tight; it shouldn’t be this difficult to breathe.

“Stop,” Alec whispers. “I know what you’re thinking. And we’ve been over it before.”

“I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Yes, we should.” He laces his fingers through Carlisle’s again. “You weren’t even my first. You know this.” Alec never fails to bring this up, and Carlisle is not sure if he means to reassure or simply make him jealous. If it’s the latter, he’s successful.

“I don’t know why you continue to beat yourself up over it, over wanting me,” he continues, thumb stroking along the back of Carlisle’s hand; he closes his eyes. “After all we’ve done. After all this time.” This is whispered, a gust of breath against Carlisle’s neck, and the boy pulls his hand to press against the front of his trousers, damp and sticky, and oh, oh God.

He remembers their first time perfectly (memories mirror sharp, crystal clear) just as his flawless mind recalls every time since. He’d hated himself for wanting him. Hated the boy for wanting him, for letting him touch him taste him tease him fuck him. And he hated even more that he hadn’t been the first to do those decadent delicious depraved things to him.

“I’m glad he’ll never touch you again,” he gasps, capturing the boy’s mouth in a brutal kiss. “No one else should touch you.”

Alec’s breath hitches as the possessiveness in his tone, but still the boy whispers into his mouth, “come now, Carlisle, you know Aro would have never touched me unless I wanted it.”

“I know. And I will always hate him for it.”

The boy’s forehead creases. “Yes, but you have me now.”

Carlisle sucks in a breath and can’t help but want want… He swallows thickly, and Alec tugs his hands to his waist, settle his hands on Carlisle’s hips, thumbs pushing at the waistband of his trousers.

And they’re kissing. (Alec’s mouth is soft and sweet and achingly familiar.) Teeth scrape against lips, and Carlisle’s hand smoothes over the curve of the boy’s arse, tugs him closer. The other curls around the boy’s neck, palm warm against smooth skin; his fingers thread through bronze hair, as Alec lifts his face up for another kiss.

Carlisle is not tall (Edward is taller…), but Alec is (will always be) a head shorter. Still, he seems to fit perfectly against him. His palm smoothes down the boy’s spine, slips under his sweater so fingers can splay across his back. And he always knows, despite wanting to forget, exactly how the boy feels against him – the soft expanse of skin, the narrow jut of hips, the press of a thigh between his.

Their tongues slide together, slow and soft, and Carlisle remembers exactly how he tastes (as if it’s been minutes, not weeks, months, years). Alec’s arms are around his waist, and they stumble together until they’re on the narrow bed. The coverlet is scratchy and no doubt filthy, but he doesn’t care because the boy’s legs are around his waist; his heels dig into his thighs. Red eyes look up at him hotly.

Carlisle cups his face between his hands, mouth moving against his as they kiss and kiss again.

Alec pulls away, sits up long enough to tug his sweater over his head, toss it onto the floor. His hair is mussed. A reddish blond strand sticks to the corner of his mouth. Carlisle brushes it away. The boy’s lips are wet, already red and swollen, and his cheeks are flushed (a lovely pretty pink).

Carlisle exhales shakily, as small fingers undo the last of his buttons, push his shirt off his shoulders.

His tongue slides along Alec’s lips, skims across his teeth, drags over his throat, as he rolls his hips into the boy’s. He can feel him hot and hard (again) against his thigh and shifts his hips, presses down against that hardness, gasps as their cocks slide together again and again.

Alec rolls them over. Carlisle likes how strong he is. A benefit of his particular diet, but it makes him think, perhaps, that he’s not so young.

The boy sits up on his knees; the zip of his trousers strains against the swell of his cock. Carlisle licks his lips, his fingers already pulling at his belt while Alec’s hands slide down his chest, tug his shirt out of his pants.

Palms skate over his abdomen, cause Carlisle to shiver, suck in a breath.

“Alec,” he gasps, rocking his hips underneath the boy’s.

“Missed you,” the not child says, leaning down to lick to the corner of his mouth. “It’s been too long.”

“I hate wanting you like I do,” Carlisle admits, hand brushing over Alec’s cheek. He can’t stop shaking.

His usually so steady hands fumble with the boy’s flies, push apart the plackets of his trousers. Dark wool frames the wet white of his pants.

Carlisle can see the smooth pink red curve of cockhead peeking over the waistband. Alec grabs his hand, pushes his palm down to his arousal. They both groan as he grinds against their fingers. Carlisle slides his thumb down the line of his erection, warm and hard through thin cotton.

Alec arches his back, pushes hips forward into the press of his hand. “Please,” he breathes.

Carlisle slides his trousers and pants down, and Alec kicks them off as Carlisle’s fingers slip over the curve of a narrow thigh. “Yes. Touch me.”

His throat is dry as his hands pluck at buttons, yank at the boy’s shirt. It hangs off his shoulders, the tails fall open over Carlisle’s lap as Alec straddles him. Carlisle shifts his hips and cannot remember how to breathe.

“Touch me,” the boy says again, head falling back, red lips parting. Carlisle slides a hand down his chest, fingers brushing over a hard pink nipple. Alec bites his lip, curves his spine (a half moon-shaped arch). His cock is small and flushed against his stomach. Carlisle leans up, presses a breathless kiss to his forehead, his shoulder (yes, oh yes…).

He swirls his tongue in the shell of the boy’s ear. He’s aching, desperate and the boy’s fingers are there, sliding his zip down, slipping a warm palm in to curl around his prick.

He hisses, arches up, and the boy bends over, presses his mouth to the tip of his cock. Carlisle gasps, as his perfect tongue licks around the head, slides down the shaft, and then curls around him, wet and warm. “God, yes…more” he moans, bucking up, fingers twisting in the boy’s bronze blond hair. And he hates that he wants the boy to suck him, to make him come, and he hates it even more that the boy’s done this to someone else…that he’s not the only one.

He was not the boy’s first. No. Aro took care of that. But Alec was his. His first (his only), but the boy doesn’t know, will never know.

The boy is gorgeous as he licks Carlisle’s cock, wet tongue sliding along the underside, swirling around the head before his mouth opens, swallows him again. Carlisle traces the hollows of his cheeks with trembling fingers, and Alec sucks him slowly, lips sliding up and down until he hits the back of his throat (but he doesn’t gag).

Carlisle’s hips jerk up; he can’t help himself, and suddenly he knows he’s about to come.

The boy pulls back, letting his cock slide out of his mouth with a soft pop. “I want you to fuck me,” he breathes, and Carlisle inhales shakily, presses himself up on his palms, and kisses him. He can taste himself on the boy’s lips, musky and thick and aroused.

“Do you have anything?” Alec asks, arching his back, pushing his hips against Carlisle’s.

“In the bag,” he gasps, as the boy bends over, fumbles beneath the bed for the small vial of oil. His fingers shake a bit as he uncaps the bottle. It spills over his fingers, runs down his hand. He reaches down between his legs, smoothes small fingers over his opening. Carlisle hisses at the sight, watches as the boy pushes one fingertip inside.

“God, yes…” he groans, hand curling round his own cock. “Get yourself ready for me.”

“You like this, don’t you?” the boy asks, head thrown back, fingers pressing, pushing, slipping inside his body.


“What do you want, Carlisle?” he whispers, fingers fucking himself slowly. “Tell me what you want.”

Carlisle holds his breath. He slides his hands down slender arms. He loves the play of muscle under too smooth skin. Alec’s lovely body had only just begun to fill out all those many ages ago when he was turned. And Carlisle hates that he loves, wants, needsthis body (forever caught between adolescence and adulthood).

“I want you to ride my cock.” He laces his fingers through the boy’s, slicks his hand with oil. The boy shudders, gasps at his words. (Sometimes Carlisle pretends he’s innocent, pretends he hasn’t had all this before.)

He slides his now slick hand along his aching cock, smoothing his palm over the head, then he grasps the boy’s hips, holds him still, and Alec reaches between them to line himself up. Slowly, slowly, he lowers himself down, and Carlisle inhales shakily, slowly as the boy slides down, inch by inch.

Finally he seats himself, splays his knees wide, and Carlisle can’t help but roll his hips, close his eyes.

“Oh…oh God,” Alec breathes, throwing his hands back, bracing himself behind, and he is so tight and warm and young, that Carlisle has to grit his teeth and try, try not to come.

“Fuck…fuck yes…” he gasps, jerking his hips up as the boy moves on top of him. Carlisle hisses, clings to the boy’s waist to hold him still as he thrusts up and up again.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” the boy moans, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

“Yes, please…” he manages, hands falling away.

The boy bites his lip, twists his fingers in the duvet and rises up, knees pressing tight against Carlisle’s thighs. Carlisle moans as Alec pushes down, lifts up again, again.

“You like that, don’t you?” he gasps, rolling his hips, arching up, sliding down over Carlisle’s cock.

“Yes…yes…make me come.” Carlisle is shaking, stomach muscles clenching, and he can’t help but push up against him. He reaches out to curl his fingers around the boy’s lovely cock, but Alec bats his hand away.

“No…no, don’t.” He moves faster, harder, as he lifts his hips and falls again, prick bouncing wetly against his stomach.

Carlisle’s hand clench (nails bite into his palms), his thighs tremble, and he cries out, “I…fuck Alec, oh God…”

He comes hard, mouth open, hips jerking beneath the boy. Alec groans, tensing around him, making Carlisle gasp again. And then he’s coming too, small cock spurting; thick warm strands smear across Carlisle’s stomach, onto his chest. His legs tremble against Carlisle’s sides, and his head falls back (bronze lovely hair slides over his eyes).

The boy slips down against him, languid and spent. His chest heaves and Carlisle smoothes a hand over his back, feeling the slick soft perfect skin under his palm.

“Perfect,” Carlisle breathes. Always perfect.

They lay together for a while. Carlisle’s fingers trace the boy’s ribs, slide across his thin chest.

“I think I could love you,” Alec says, voice soft and smooth, “if I were to love anyone at all.”

Carlisle sucks in a breath. He thinks, perhaps, his heart clenches a little. His heart, damned and useless, quiet, forgotten, cold. But now (perhaps) he thinks he feels it shudder.

He stands up.

The bedsprings groan as the boy rolls over. He props himself on one arm, cheek resting on the palm of his hand. The sheets twist around his hips. He watches Carlisle steadily as he dresses, pulls on his trousers, untangles his shirt from the pile on the floor.

Carlisle lights a cigarette. The tip glows red orange in the dim light of the room. He inhales deeply; smoke coils between his fingers.

“But I’m certain I will never understand you,” the boy says, standing. He lets the sheet fall to the floor. Carlisle takes another deep drag to hide the sharp intake of breath. He really is beautiful.

“That is, perhaps, even more disgusting than your choice of rooms.”

Carlisle inhales again, enjoying the way the smoke burns his throat, his lungs. For a moment, it almost makes him warm (away from the press of the boy’s skin).

Alec frowns, pink swollen lips curling in disgust. “Surely they would not approve.” His words drip with derision. There is little love lost between Alec and the Cullens.

Carlisle doesn’t care. The boy bends at the waist, tugs his pants back on. Carlisle can’t help but notice the way the fabric slides over narrow hips, clings to the curve of his perfect arse. “I do a lot of things my family would not approve of, when I’m away.” He lets his eyes slip down the boy’s still bare chest before tracing a circle around one pink nipple with a fingertip. Alec can’t repress the shudder.

“It’s positively vile. That and the drinking.” His eyes narrow and he steps back slightly, “like some…human.”

Carlisle laughs, a harsh sound, even to his own ears. He holds the cigarette to his lips again and exhales a thin stream of smoke into the boy’s face. Alec coughs then glares at him. Carlisle finds he quite likes the way his small mouth curls in disgust. He takes another long drag before stubbing the cigarette out on the window ledge. The dingy curtains twist in the crisp breeze.

The night is suddenly too quiet.

Carlisle does the last of his buttons and straightens his collar before calmly fastening his cuffs. He sits down on the narrow bed (sheets now rumpled for the first time, since he’s occupied the room) and laces his shoes. “Perhaps you should dress,” he says.

The boy still stands at the window. His trousers are undone, damp and wrinkled. His shirt hangs off narrow shoulders. Alec shrugs, fingering a purpling mark just above his collarbone.

Carlisle smiles at the indentation of teeth. Faint pink scratches crisscross the pale planes of the boy’s flat stomach and disappear beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“I think they know,” he smiles a bit wistfully, fingers tracing a line along the dusty windowsill. “You have never been able to resist me, after all.”

Carlisle laughs, slips the last of his few personal items into the small duffel bag he carries. “No, I suppose not.”

Alec cocks his head to one side, blond bronze hair sliding into his eyes. “Aro used to laugh, you know…” Something painful twists in Carlisle’s gut at the name, but he keeps his expression carefully blank as the boy continues, “he said you picked himbecause his hair was exactly the same shade as mine.”

He says nothing. Even if it were true, he would never admit it. Not out loud at least.

Alec purses pink lips and regards him thoughtfully. “He’s too old, though. You didn’t find him soon enough.”

Carlisle frowns. He’s never liked this line of questioning. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No,” the boy says, red eyes glinting rather maliciously, “I suppose it doesn’t.” He steps closer to Carlisle. Too close.

Even though he’s just come, he can feel his cock swell again. Alec laughs, smoothes small fingers over the noticeable bulge. Carlisle hisses, and the boy tilts his head up to slide his tongue along his jaw. “You’ll never have himthe way you have me,” he whispers, lips against Carlisle’s throat.

“No,” he agrees, clutching at the boy’s hips, pulling him into one more brutal kiss. “I don’t suppose I will.” Carlisle runs a palm down his chest (smooth and hairless and perfect perfect…).

He glances at his watch. “They’re nearly here.” It’s not a question.

The boy is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I had to. Jane only let me slip away because she knew I’d come to you.” He ducks his head, face half hidden in shadows.

Carlisle nods, “I know.” His thumb circles the jut of a white hipbone. “I’m glad you found me. But I have to…”

“Yes,” the boy cuts him off. “I know.” He looks up again, leans his head back, exposing the perfect pale column of his neck. “He was young.”

Carlisle runs his tongue along his throat, and the boy gasps. “Not like me, of course. But sweet.” He tangles his fingers in Carlisle’s hair. “I knew you’d like him.”

Carlisle’s mouth is already watering. He has never fed from a human, but he can excuse such a…necessary indulgence.

Alec cries out when his teeth pierce soft skin; his body tenses for an instant, and then he relaxes against him with a sigh. Carlisle shudders at the warm rush of blood over his tongue, in his mouth, as he slits open the vein.

It’s exhilarating and intoxicating and addicting all at once.

The blood is rich and sweet. The boy was right, of course. It is perfect (honey slick, and golden rimmed) as it washes down his throat. Carlisle pulls Alec’s thin body against his; the boy’s lips part, red eyes flutter closed.

Carlisle pulls back, gasping. He’s fully hard again, and Alec slips a hand between them, stroking him slowly. “You do like it,” he says dreamily, eyes opening again. “I knew you would.”

“Of course I do, brat,” he responds softly, affectionately. “How could I not?”

Alec exhales, a gentle puff of air against his throat; his fingers press against Carlisle’s cock through the wool of his trousers. “I knew you would,” Alec repeats, looking up, eyes glassy and bright.

He titles his head to lap at Carlisle’s lips; blood coats his tongue, paints his mouth a cherry red. “It is lovely, isn’t it?” he sighs decadently.

“Yes,” he agrees, hands framing the boy’s face, “as are you.”

“Where will you go?” he whispers against Carlisle’s mouth, voice soft, becomingly slurred.

“Away from London.” He curls his hands around the boy’s slim hips, pulls him impossibly close. “I…”

“Shhh…” Alec presses a finger to his lips, “it’s all right. I don’t really want to know.”

Carlisle nods. “I’ll find you.”

“I know.”

Small fingers curl into Carlisle’s belt loops, and he sighs as Alec slips a thigh between his legs, rubs against him (languidly, catlike). His head lolls slightly, and he smiles lazily.

Carlisle slides his tongue along Alec’s neck, catching the blood that still seeps from two perfectly placed puncture wounds. His skin is soft and creamy smooth (like butter, like milk), and though his round cheeks are flushed (with exertion, with arousal), he is unnaturally pale.

He steps back, willing his breathing to calm, willing his erection away. But it’s futile, of course.

The boy tilts his head, regards Carlisle through half-slitted eyes. “Come now, love. You’re not stopping, are you?” He runs a finger down the side of his neck.

Carlisle’s breath catches. “But you, I…” his tongue stumbles over the words as Alec steps closer again, splays warm palms against Carlisle’s chest.

“I don’t want to take too much.”

“Don’t be absurd.” The boy gives him a withering look. “That israther the point, isn’t it?”

Carlisle hates that he can’t disagree.

The boy smiles sweetly, looping his arms around his waist. Carlisle kisses him, an unhurried slide of lips and tongue. “You have to go soon,” Alec murmurs against his mouth.

“I…I know.” He’s shaking as he sinks his teeth once more into Alec’s young flesh, groaning as warm, sweet thick blood rinses over his tongue (oh, oh God…), and Carlisle knows this is what drunkenness must truly feel like (delicious, unrestrained, divine).

The boy sways against him, eyes fluttering back into his head. Carlisle clutches at his hips, holds him upright, and continues to drink and drink.

Finally, he pulls away, smoothes his tongue over Alec’s neck to seal the wound.

“Don’t,” the boy breathes, voice shaky and slurred. “Leave it.”


“No. It must be convincing.”

He nods, presses his mouth to Alec’s pink lips once more, and he sighs (sleepy and dazed), his small body limp in Carlisle’s arms. His head falls to the side; his eyes drift closed.

“Don’t let me fall.”

“Never.” He lowers the boy to the floor, just as he hears movement on the stairs. Carlisle sweeps his thumb along his jaw, his lips, and Alec moans but does not move. Carlisle knows he’s taken everything he had to give. He is strong (immortal of course), but he will need time to recover. He is helpless now. He will need to be fed.

He presses a last kiss to the corner of the boy’s mouth before moving to the window.

Carlisle slips out just as the door bursts open.

“Alec!” He hears his twin’s high-pitched shriek, as he falls to the street four floors below.

And then he is gone.


Posted by on October 31, 2011 in Halloween Fest


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Halloween Fest: Scent and a Sound

Author: sapphirescribe
Pairing/MC: Riley/?
Genre(s): AU, human, vamp, wolf, slash
Wordcount: ~6000
Prompt/recipient: Inspired by prompt 12
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Blood. Slash. Smut. Though, really, if you have to be “warned” about any of those things, what are you doing here?
Summary: Riley has a stalker.
Disclaimer: I wish I owned this shit.

Scent and a Sound

The notes started out innocuously enough. The first appeared under the windshield wiper of his car after his first Psychology of Crime class.

You’re cute.

He figured it was just someone being nice, or silly, or trying to commit a random act of kindness. He smiled to himself after seeing no one else around and then put it on the windshield of the car next to him, thinking someone else might be able to use a pick-me-up.

With a little extra spring in his step, Riley drove to work. This was one of his longer days – three classes and then a full shift and closing the bar. The money was good, though, and despite the fact that the frat boy clientele could be irritating at times, they were at least excellent eye candy. Riley groaned when he realized that it was Open Mic Night so he’d have to deal with a lot of sub-par entertainment.

By 10pm the bar was packed. Mostly frat boy types, as Riley had expected, though the skanks were out in full force as well. He would never understand women and their ‘fashion’ choices.

By midnight, Riley was exhausted and sick of girls hitting on him and boys getting angry when he didn’t serve them fast enough. Telling girls he was gay rarely even lessened their interest. It mostly made them giggle and ask if they could watch.

“Interesting double standard, isn’t it?” came a voice after the latest group of tittering girls had moved away from the bar. The sound of it was unlike anything Riley had ever heard, even over the racket on stage of someone butchering one of his favorite songs. The voice seemed to penetrate right to his heart, making it start and stutter.

Riley finally turned to see the owner of the voice: a beautiful man, dressed in a form-fitting shirt and casually ripped jeans stood at the end of the bar. He was not Riley’s type at all, but Riley couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He was tall, well over six feet, and muscular. He looked like he could tear Riley in half if he wanted to, but there was a gentleness in his eyes that he trusted immediately.

“Huh?” he finally said when he realized the man was waiting for him to speak.

“They want to watch you with another guy, but if anyone asked to watch them have sex with another woman, they’d rip his balls off. Double standard.”

“Oh, yeah,” Riley agreed.

“So…” the man started, “can I get a beer?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry. What’ll it be?” Riley couldn’t believe he forgot himself so quickly. Every thought in his head had fled the moment he laid eyes on the walking sex at his bar.

“I’m Emmett,” the man said when Riley handed him the beer. Riley wiped the bar grime off his hand and extended it for a handshake.

“Riley,” he said, and took Emmett’s hand. “Shit, is it cold outside? You’re freezing.”


The few hours he spent talking with Emmett kept Riley in high spirits for the rest of the week. He couldn’t remember a time where he had so easily conversed with someone, or when he had last laughed so genuinely.

The arrival of another note on his car windshield (I love your smile)only served to underscore his happiness. They were purely complimentary. Since they were unsigned, he figured he had just picked up a secret admirer who was too shy to talk to him.


A week after their first meeting, Emmett showed up at the bar again. This time he was dressed like he had just left the gym and Riley had a hard time tearing his mind away from the thought of Emmett’s muscles rippling with the effort of lifting weights. He looked luminescent somehow, even in the dim lighting of the bar.

His hand was noticeably cold again, but Riley didn’t think much of it because he was caught up in their handshake which was a little longer and perhaps more tender than it had been the previous week.

The bar was slightly less busy than the previous week and it allowed them to talk with fewer interruptions. Riley again found himself inexplicably drawn to Emmett. He had a gentleness that was surprising for his sheer size, but he also had a hint of a bad-boy vibe underneath it all.

Riley watched him from across the bar as he served another patron. Emmett was watching the band play and chuckling at their ridiculous, parody lyrics.

His whole face brightened when he smiled. Riley was mesmerized when Emmett picked up his beer and took a drink. Riley could have sworn time stopped and Emmett moved in slow motion: his lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle, and Riley could see a hint of tongue where his lips parted. Emmett even swallowed sensually, and the action evoked images of Emmett swallowing around him that Riley couldn’t suppress. He licked a droplet of beer off his lip and swallowed again before putting the bottle down. Riley realized he licked his lips, mimicking Emmett’s movements, only to glance up and see Emmett watching him.

He’d been caught.

He felt his face heat with a terrible blush, but didn’t break eye contact. Emmett knew he was gay but hadn’t made any reference to his own sexuality. But this was practically an invitation and Riley wasn’t going to be the first to look away if he could help it.

Unfortunately, at that moment a group came in and crowded the bar demanding to be served. By the time they were all satisfied and Riley could break away, Emmett was gone.


Another week passed, this time with three notes. The only thing that kept Riley from freaking out entirely was that they only showed up on days he was on campus, and they were still pretty tame. The last one did make him a little nervous since it complimented his outfit that very day and was far more sexual than the others:

You look absolutely fuckable in those jeans.

As he did any day a note showed up, he scanned the parking lot to see if he saw anything suspicious. But just like every time before, nothing caught his eye.

He pushed the note to the back of his mind with thoughts of Emmett. If they were establishing a pattern, and God, how he hoped they were, Emmett would be at the bar that night. Riley resolved to ask Emmett for his number. There was nothing he hated more than not knowing, and not knowing whether Emmett would show up was burning him up with anticipation.


Riley practically skipped home that night, Emmett’s number burning a hole in his pocket.

It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he saw the note pinned under his windshield wipers, flapping in the wind.


The next day, Riley was thrilled to learn that Emmett wasn’t into playing games like so many men he had met. They exchanged texts throughout the day and when they hung up the phone past one a.m., Riley knew he was falling.

Emmett seemed to be everything he had been looking for. Funny as hell, but never at the expense of others, smart, well-read, not to mention gorgeous. But more than that, he made Riley feel safe, even when they were apart. And in the quiet darkness of his room – alone– that night, Riley might have admitted to himself that Emmett made him feel special. Loved.


A few days later, Emmett met Riley at the bar again. They had yet to go on a proper date, but they were talking and texting every day. Emmett even came to the bar every time Riley worked. It wasn’t an ideal situation but Riley wasn’t quite ready to push for more.

That night, though, Emmett was acting strange. Out of the corner of his eye, Riley thought he saw Emmett sniffing the air around him. A surreptitious sniff under his arm when he reached under the bar assured him that his earlier shower had served its purpose, but he was still self-conscious.

“My little sister loves Halloween. She’s going as a mailbox this year. It’s silly, but totally adorable.” Riley knew he was rambling but he couldn’t help it. The awkward silences were killing him. “My mom cut a head and arm holes in a big box and then a slot through the front for mail. They’re putting a pillow case on the inside so people can put the candy through the slot and it goes right into her bag. She comes up with the weirdest–”

“What is that?” Emmett interrupted.

“It’s nothing,” said Riley, grabbing the parchment stuck under his wipers in its now-usual spot and crumpling it up without reading it.

“It doesn’t look like nothing. Let me see.”

Against his better judgment, Riley handed the note over.

“Don’t let any drunk frat boys touch you tonight.” Emmett read aloud.

Riley toed the ground, unable to make eye contact. This one was in line with the increased creepiness of the latest notes, but he hadn’t told anyone about the notes so far and certainly hadn’t planned on telling Emmett.

“That’s weird.”


He chanced a look up. The look on Emmett’s face was indescribable. He looked concerned, yes, but there lurked a hint of that darkness Riley had seen early on as well.



“This isn’t the first of these that you’ve gotten, is it?”

“Not exactly.”

“How many?”

“Seven,” he whispered.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Emmett shouted.

Emmett’s anger was surprising. But Riley was more surprised about his own anger in response.

“What was I supposed to have told you? ‘I’m getting notes from someone?’ Big deal! They’re just notes, they’re completely harmless. And what could you possibly have done?”

“It’s not completely harmless. Do you even know who these are from? What kind of–” Emmett closed his eyes and crushed the note in his fist. He took a deep breath and when he spoke again it was with an eerie calm. “It’s not harmless. You don’t know who is sending you these things. How does he even know where you work?”


Riley couldn’t stop thinking about the notes that night. There had been seven over the course of fourteen days. Except for the days he didn’t go to campus, that meant there was one almost every day. That seemed like a lot of dedication for a secret admirer, and a lot of opportunities for that person to get caught. The fact that Riley had never seen anyone near his car meant the person probably knew when he would be around, and therefore knew his class schedule.

That information was private. Not just anyone should be able to get that information from the Registrar’s office, so unless they got his schedule by illicit means, that meant they were watching him.

Riley practically slammed on the breaks when he got to his parking lot. His heart was pounding and his breath came in great gasps.

Someone was watching him.

How had he not realized it before? This wasn’t just a silly game anymore, no matter what the note-giver’s intent. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles white. He didn’t think he should go to the police. What would they even do?


Riley stayed in on Halloween. Handing out candy to the few kids who trick-or-treated through the neighborhood was always preferable to going out to a party where everyone got drunk and stupid. For about an hour there was a steady stream of kids at his door, sometimes with their parents. But by eight o’clock that night, it was dark and quiet.

“I’ll be at my folks’ house in Forks tonight, but call me if…” he hesitated, “if you want.”

“Thanks, Em. I will. But I’ll be fine.”

Riley knew what Emmett wasn’t saying, though: “Call me if anything weird happens and your stalker shows up,” was what he really meant.

Riley had been especially freaked out by the latest note – You smell perfect. – which showed up on his car while he was shopping for last-minute Halloween treats that morning.

But Emmett’s reaction had nothing on Riley’s. He was furious.

“I don’t like it Ri. He’s getting too close to you. That foul do- if he lays so much as a finger on you, I’ll tear him limb from limb.”

“Em, it’s fine. I’m not worried.”

Emmett shot him a disbelieving look.

“Okay, fine. I’m a little freaked out. But this guy doesn’t know where I live or anything. I’ll be fine.”

“I still don’t like it. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Emmett’s usually booming voice grew quiet. “I just found you.”

The words filled Riley with such warmth, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. It was easy to forget his fear and Emmett’s ferocity when Emmett leaned down to kiss him.

Their lips met in a soft kiss, sweetness hiding the anger and fear Riley knew were boiling just under the larger man’s skin.

He found it odd that he should be comforting his much larger and stronger … Emmett, but he liked it. Emmett’s lips were firm but soft, and they tasted salty and faintly of rust when Riley flicked his tongue out to taste him.

The kiss ended far too quickly for Riley’s taste, but he couldn’t complain. It left the taste of Emmett on his lips for hours to come, even after Em had left to visit his family.


Rain lashed the windows. The wind howled. The city hadn’t seen a storm like it in ages. It was darker than normal for that time of night. Tree branches scraped the side of the building like nails on a chalk board.

A pounding on the front door made Riley jump. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he couldn’t suppress a shiver. He blamed the storm and the movie for his nerves, but still he felt something in the air that wasn’t quite right.

Emmett had told Riley to call him any time, but Riley felt silly doing so now. Nothing was really wrong and he didn’t want to make Emmett think he couldn’t handle himself. He had never been afraid to answer his door before.

But when he got to the door, he realized there was nothing to answer, and no power on this earth could have made him open the door at that moment.

A very familiar piece of parchment sat on the floor, half squeezed under his front door.

With trembling hands, he unfolded the note.

Don’t trust him.

He’s not what he says he is.

You’re not safe with him.

I can protect you.

Riley paused for only a fraction of a second before sprinting to his phone and calling Emmett. His so-called “Secret Admirer” knew where he lived. What was more, he was likely still out there lurking.

“I’m on my way, Ri,” Emmett answered the phone without preamble.

“How did you–”

“Alice sa– I mean, she had a bad feeling. I didn’t like not being there with you. What happened?”

“He slipped a note under my door.”

“What?” Emmett bellowed.

Had Riley not been so distracted by the note still clutched in his hand and the relief that Emmett was on his way, he would have been confused and distracted by the sound of rushing wind and faster-than-human footfalls on the other end of the line.

“I’m on my way. I should be there in about thirty. What did it say?”

It was only then, when Riley read the note aloud to Emmett that he understood the implication. His stalker – Riley no longer thought of him as an admirer – was warning him about Em.

Don’t trust Emmett.

Emmett isn’t what he says he is.

You’re not safe with Emmett.

And in the next moment, he knew that his stalker was at least right about one thing. Something was different about Emmett. His cold skin, his immovable lips, his eyes, his unbelievable strength.

“What does he mean, Emmett?”

“Jesus, Riley, please. You can trust me and I swear to God that you are safe with me. Please don’t doubt that. I swear I’ll explain everything when I see you. Just believe that.”

And he did. Emmett had never given him so much as a hint of a reason not to trust him, or to doubt or fear for his safety. Whatever Emmett was, he wasn’t a danger to Riley.

“I do,” Riley whispered.

“Oh, Thank God,” Emmett breathed. “Go double check your locks, Ri. And don’t let anyone in but me. Stay on the phone with me until I get there.”

“Yeah. Good idea.”

Barely a step before Riley reached the door there was a knock.

“Who is it?” Emmett asked in his ear.

Riley took a deep breath before looking out his peep hole, and then let it out in a long, relieved breath.

“Fuck. It’s just Paul, he’s in my Psych class. Hang on.”

Riley took the phone away from his ear to use both hands to undo the locks and open the door.

“Is that him?” Paul asked, indicating the phone in Riley’s hand.


“The one you’ve been ignoring me for.”

“What are you talking about, Paul?”

“He’s not safe for you, not good for you. Have you figured out what he is yet?”

Riley brought the phone back to his ear.

“Riley,” Emmett pleaded, “Riley, don’t listen to him. Please trust me.”

“You heard him?” Riley asked.

“You haven’t figured it out then? Let me help you. He’s a vampire,” Paul said with a growl. “He’s a disgusting, murdering, blood-sucking vampire. Only I can protect you from him.”

“I don’t need protection from him,” Riley responded. He hated the fear in his voice, but he didn’t know what to think.

“That’s right, Ri. I’ll keep you safe, I promise. Just hold on,” Em said in his ear.

With lightning quick speed, Paul snatched the phone from Riley’s hand.

“You won’t get here in time,” he snarled into the phone. Paul stared directly into Riley’s eyes as he spoke to Emmett. “You can’t have him. I’m going to take him away where you’ll never be able to find him and harm him. He’ll be safe with me.”

Before either of them could react, Paul flipped the phone backwards and broke it in half.

He looked up at Riley with an unquestionably predatory look in his eye.

“I don’t like how you’ve been ignoring me, Riley. But that’s okay. There’s plenty of time for you to make it up to me.”

He stepped closer to Riley with each breath, and Riley backed away with every step until he found his back to the corner of his kitchen cabinets.

Paul stalked slowly closer until his chest was but a hair’s breadth from Riley’s. He took a deep breath and Riley watched in disgust as Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“You smell fucking fantastic, except I can smell that leech all over you. I can replace his scent with my own easily enough.”

“Why are you doing this, Paul? I don’t understand.”

“You’re mine, what’s why.” Paul grabbed Riley’s upper arms and shook him. “I won’t share you with him. Don’t ask me to.”

Like Riley would suggest that. But he knew he had to keep Paul talking. The longer he talked, the closer Emmett came.

“Of course not. I would never ask you to share me with Emmett.” Because you’re a fucking psycho and I only want him.

“Good. Let’s go before the leech gets here.”

Grabbing Riley’s wrist, Paul dragged him towards the door. He was ridiculously strong. Perhaps as strong as Emmett.

“Wait,” Riley shouted, panicked. He couldn’t let Paul drag him out that door.

“There’s no time to wait,” Paul shouted.

“Please, I still don’t understand,” Riley fought back blind panic and the lump that was forming in his throat. “Please help me understand. Why me? Why like this?”

Paul looked almost confused for a minute, as if the answer was obvious and he shouldn’t have to explain. His expression softened inexplicably. He raised a hand and stroked Riley’s cheek tenderly.

“You’re my imprint. You’re my mate. We were made for each other. I was going to let you know properly, then the blood-sucker leeched onto you and I had to change my plans. I’ll have all the time in the world to fix what he’s done to you, but you have to come with me.”

Something of Riley’s fear must have shown on his face, because Paul pulled him in for a tight hug. “Shhh, it’ll be okay, baby,” Paul whispered. “I’ll make everything okay.”

He pulled back then and took Riley’s face in his hands. He stared into Riley’s eyes and whispered words that Riley was sure were supposed to be comforting. “I’ll take you away from here and never let him hurt you, okay? I love you, baby.”

When Paul’s lips met his, Riley thought he might vomit. Paul opened his mouth slightly and lapped at Riley’s bottom lip, which was tightly pressed against his upper. Paul moaned in pleasure, getting lost in the one-sided kiss, then grabbed Riley’s hips and pulled Riley close. Riley acted on instinct when he felt the hard pressure of Paul’s erection pressing against him. In a flash he grabbed Paul’s shoulders and hoisted his knee as hard as possible into Paul’s groin.

Paul backed away with a look of shock and pain on his face and doubled over, falling against the front door and sliding onto the floor, clutching his crotch and moaning.

Riley ran. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do, he just wanted to get away from the man at his door. There was no back door to his apartment, though, so he aimed for his bedroom window which let out to the alley behind his building.

He had the window open and one leg out when he was wrenched back into his bedroom and thrown onto his bed. Paul was standing over him, face painted with rage.

“What the fuck was that, Riley? Why would you hurt me like that? He’s poisoned you against me, hasn’t he. It’s all his fault. Once I get you to safety, I’ll take care of him. I’ll fucking kill him for making you do this to me.”

“No, please,” Riley begged. “He has nothing to do with this. I was scared. You scared me Paul, that’s all.” Riley shuffled backwards on the bed, distancing himself as much as possible from the man in his bedroom.

The air around Paul seemed to shake and shiver. It was as if his anger was making the molecules surrounding him quake in fear. His whole body trembled with barely-contained rage.

“I can’t trust you not to run from me,” Paul said as he reached into his pocket and pulled something out that glinted in the moonlight. In the next second he lunged forward and grabbed one of Riley’s wrists. Only when the cold steel clicked shut around his wrist did Riley realize what it was.


When Paul reached for his other hand, Riley started thrashing. He kicked and shouted and punched at Paul as hard as he could. He knew if Paul got the other cuff on his wrist that all hope was lost. He landed a knee in Paul’s stomach that knocked the wind out of him and Riley started to scramble away.

An almighty crash from somewhere in the apartment startled Riley. In the split second that he paused, Paul grabbed his arms and slipped the cuff around the wooden slats in Riley’s headboard, effectively chaining him to his bed.

Along with the next flash of lightning, Emmett appeared. Riley’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He looked wild and feral, his hair windswept, his eyes black as night.

“Get the fuck away from him, Paul,” he snarled.

“You’re just asking for trouble, aren’t you, leech? Don’t we look good together?” he taunted, lifting up Riley’s head by his hair and bringing it close to his own.

“Please,” Riley whimpered, begging for Emmett to do something, help him somehow.

“Shh, baby. Don’t you worry,” Paul coddled him, thinking Riley was addressing him. “I’ll take care of him for you,” and then his mouth was on Riley’s once again, but Riley was too surprised to close his mouth this time. Paul’s tongue plunged inside, taking, tasting, invading.

Without a thought, Riley kicked his legs out and bit down on Paul’s tongue at the same time, just before he was wrenched away and sent flying across the room.

Emmett was on him in a second. “You don’t touch him,” he spat. Paul growled in response – a deep, reverberating growl that seemed to shake the apartment.

“Riley, get down,” Emmett shouted.

Still cuffed to the bed, Riley was only able to curl into the fetal position and squeeze his eyes shut in response.

Snarling, ripping, growling sounds rent the air. Riley was terrified of what he would see if he opened his eyes, so he folded in tighter upon himself. His whole body pulled tight to the headboard where he was shackled.

Riley’s eyes shot open when he heard Emmett shout in pain. A massive, silver-furred creature the size of a bear had its teeth clamped around Emmett’s forearm. With his other arm, Emmett swung at the beast, hitting it with an uppercut straight to the throat.

The creature wheezed and whimpered, letting go of Emmett.

Emmett seemed not to notice the gashes in his arm as he grabbed the beast – Paul, Riley realized – by the neck and threw it bodily from the room.

Riley was simultaneously relieved and terrified that he could no longer see what was going on. All he heard was snarling and snapping, crashes of breaking furniture and animalistic grunts and growls. He couldn’t tell who was winning and the thought that it might be Paul had him yanking on the handcuffs that were cutting into his wrists.

Riley managed to turn himself around with his feet against the headboard on the slats surrounding the one to which he was chained. As he pulled and pushed and struggled, he felt the cold steel slicing through delicate skin and saw the blood start to trickle down his forearm. It dripped in fat, red droplets onto his pillows, but still Riley pulled. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t free himself.

By the time he realized he no longer heard crashing and fighting, he was past the point of fear and frustration. His face was soaked with tears and all he wanted was for Emmett to come back. He didn’t see how that was possible, though. There was no way Emmett could have defeated that huge dog. And so Riley was defeated as well.

That thought drained him of all energy.

He stopped pulling at the cuffs and curled himself into the smallest ball possible and just tried not to sob.

A sound at his bedroom door broke into his despair.


He looked up.

“Oh God. Emmett.” The words came out as a coked sob. This time the tears that cascaded down Riley’s face were of pure relief.

Emmett was at the side of his bed in a flash. He reached his hands out as if to touch Riley, but stopped himself. He was shaking, his whole body tense. Riley could feel the tension radiating from his every pore.

In the next second, Emmett was on the bed and hovering over Riley, restraint all but forgotten. Riley barely felt it happen, but Emmett had uncoiled him and was straddling his hips. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Tiny, barely-there touches of reassurance on his face, neck, chest, arms, and face again.

Emmett grabbed Riley around the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. He whispered something into Riley’s neck too low for Riley to hear, and then, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Me too, Em,” was all he could say. But his brain was screaming. I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he hurt you. I know it’s too soon, but I need you.

Then Emmett’s mouth was on his and Riley had never experienced a kiss so full of emotion. Emmett’s hands still roamed Riley’s body but when he tried to do the same, the handcuffs just rattled against the headboard.

Emmett broke their kiss just before Riley grew too short of breath. He was still shaking. Still stretched too thin and tight as a wire. Once again Riley found himself in the position of comforting the much larger, far more indestructible man.

“It’s okay, Em. I’m okay,” he whispered.

When Emmett finally looked him in the eye, Riley was startled by the naked emotion he saw there.

“I need you.”

“Me too. Always.”

Riley gasped when Emmett brought his hips down to actually touch his own. Emmett was hard as steel. Riley’s whole body shuddered with pleasurable anticipation and he rolled his hips up into Emmett’s, quickly growing hard himself.

Slightly more controlled, Emmett placed his hands on Riley’s hips and slowly moved them up Riley’s abdomen, pushing his shirt up in the process. When Emmett pulled away and tore the shirt from Riley’s body, Riley found he missed – craved– the sensation of Emmett’s cold hands on his skin.

Paul’s touch had been all wrong – too hot, clammy, fever-inducing. Emmett’s was soothing, refreshing, wonderful.

“Touch me, Em,” Riley moaned.

Emmett’s hand came back to Riley’s neck. He held Riley’s face in his cool hands and kissed him again. His hands and mouth began a journey of exploration and continued reassurance down Riley’s body. He kissed and licked at Riley’s neck, his lips lingering on Riley’s pulse point. Then his mouth moved to the pale clavicle and shoulders underneath him. Riley hummed in pleasure as Emmett took each nipple into his mouth in turn, and found himself undulating his hips with every movement.

Emmett’s hands roamed Riley’s chest as he kissed down his flat stomach and the light trail of hair leading south. His fingers fumbled for a moment at Riley’s belt, but soon enough it was off and Emmett just tore Riley’s pants and boxers clean off.


Emmett inhaled deep, breathing in Riley’s very essence. He started with long, slow licks from the base of his shaft that led to sloppy kisses around the sensitive head. Emmett bathed Riley’s balls with his tongue and then swallowed around the head of his dick as he sucked it deep into the back of his throat.

Riley swore and panted, unable to control his body or the sensations that Emmett was pulling from him.

Twice he almost came before Emmett pulled back.

Emmett cupped his balls in one hand and swallowed around his cock again as his other hand slid its way up Riley’s body.

When Emmett’s hand reached Riley’s face, he took two of Emmett’s fingers into his mouth and subjected them to the same treatment his dick was experiencing.

He swirled his tongue around Emmett’s fingers and Emmett did the same to his cock. He took Emmett’s fingers and deep into his mouth as possible, and again Emmett mimicked the motion on Riley. When Riley’s teeth graced the underside of Emmett’s fingers on one enthusiastic suck, Riley could have sworn he felt the ghost of razor sharp teeth graze his sensitive flesh.

It raised goosebumps all over his body and he came with a shout before either of them had any warning. His body shuddered and starbursts of light flashed behind his eyelids. Emmett’s mouth never left his cock.

A moment later Riley could taste himself in Emmett’s mouth as Em kissed him. The mixture of his salty with Emmett’s sweet was intoxicating.

When he felt Emmett’s saliva-soaked fingers pressing against his ass, Riley moaned. When both of Emmett’s fingers entered him, he cried out in sweet relief.

“He wasn’t lying, you know.”

Riley paused at the strange non-sequitor.

“Paul. He wasn’t lying about me. What I am…”

Emmett’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I don’t care,” Riley answered. It was the truth. “I know you won’t hurt me. I don’t care if you’re a vampire.” The word felt foreign on Riley’s tongue, but that didn’t negate the truth of the statement.

Emmett murmured something once again too low for Riley to hear, but then his lips were on Riley’s again and his fingers were moving inside of him once more.

“I need you,” he said into Riley’s mouth.

“Please,” Riley begged.

Then Riley felt the pressure of Emmett’s cock at his entrance. Had he been slightly more coherent, he would’ve wondered when Emmett removed his clothing. As it was, he was consumed with the thought of Emmett being inside of him.

He cried out when the head of Emmett’s cock was finally inside him. The usual burn was numbed by Emmett’s natural temperature, so all he felt was unadulterated pleasure.

“Wait,” Riley shouted just as Emmett started to thrust. “I need to touch you, Em.” Riley rattled the cuffs still chaining him to the headboard. “Help me.”

For a moment Emmett looked torn. His eyes were pitch black and they followed a fresh droplet of blood as it trailed from Riley’s wrist down to his elbow.

He looked at Riley again and Riley saw the fear in his eyes.

“Take it,” he whispered. “You won’t hurt me.”

Slowly Emmett reached up to the cuffs and effortlessly broke them apart. Riley flinched at the tightness in his shoulders as he brought his hands down in front of him.

Emmett hovered above him, holding on to the headboard and taking shallow breaths. Riley rested one hand on Emmett’s immaculate chest and reached up to Emmet’s face with the other. He flinched when Riley touched him and then grabbed Riley’s arm tightly with both hands.

Emmett turned his face until Riley’s still-bleeding wrist was at his mouth. Just as Emmett’s tongue licked at the wound, he began thrusting again.

Emmett practically wrapped his mouth around Riley’s wrist and licked and sucked at the wound. He turned Riley’s arm this way and that, licking and kissing the torn flesh of Riley’s tender wrists.

Riley couldn’t think and could barely move. He was so awash with pleasure at the feeling of Emmett’s icy tongue healing his wounds and Emmett’s icy cock still moving inside him.

Soon Emmett switched to Riley’s other wrist. Riley used his good hand to pull Emmett closer.

“You’re too far away,” he panted. “Never stop touching me.”

Riley watched up close this time as Emmett’s tongue crept out and tended to his wounded skin. He watched as Emmett’s lips closed around sections of his wrist and felt the skin knit together. When there was only a tiny section of his wrist left open, Emmett looked Riley in the eye.

Riley nodded.

Emmett’s eyes closed and his mouth descended to Riley’s wrist once more. Riley watched as Emmett drank from him. Emmett’s throat constricted with the motion and Riley felt his chest rumble in an unmistakable purr.

When the realization of what he was doing – letting a vampire drink his blood, letting a vampire fuck him – washed over Riley, he was momentarily overcome.

But then Emmett closed the wound on his wrist and looked into Riley’s eyes, and it was still just Emmett. And Riley knew he was safe.

Emmett brought his lips back to Riley’s and they shared another kiss, this one more deep and meaningful than any before.

Emmett changed the angle of his hips and within a few thrusts, Riley was crying out in pleasure.

The tightening of Riley’s body around his own was enough to set Emmett off. The sensation of Emmett’s cold release inside Riley made him shiver, but he knew he would never want anything different again.


“What was he, Em?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ri. He’s gone now. I’ll answer all your questions in the morning. You’re safe. Just sleep.”

“You’ll stay?” Riley asked, gripping Emmett even tighter and snuggling closer.

“Always,” Emmett whispered.


Posted by on October 31, 2011 in Halloween Fest


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