I'm a Bitch Vampire. Yay.... Chapter:
Chapter 1 Pairing:
Jensen/Jared, J2 AURating:
NC-17 (For future chapters. This one is R.) Wordcount:
4,000 ish (WIP)Warning:
Vampirism. Bloodplay. Slavery. Chad Michael Murray. Disclaimer:
The boys are not mine. This did not happen. And if it did, I wasn't invited. Summary:
Vampire movies? Full of shit. That's what Jared learns when he's forcibly turned and caged, set to be sold into vampire slavery. Turns out, the big bad variety of vampires only feed from other vampires. And little bitch vampires like him? They're sold as walking blood bags and pets. Freshly turned and in the home of his owner, Jared struggles to understand his new nature and his new master. Stockholm Syndrome, anyone?
Last I saw, the Alpha Kappa Lambda house was burning to the ground. Gas leak, they said—while lighting the match. And if the cops write off twelve bodies with holes in their necks and no charring in their lungs as fire victims, CSI was some bullshit. The brothers were dicks, though, so whatever.
I'm sorry, is that cold? I'd cry a river, but I don't exactly have time for PTSD just now. The P in that acronym means “post,” you know, and I'm right in the middle of some serious fucking trauma, so it'll have to wait. Maybe when I'm not bent double in a wire cage, like a bad dog, I'll care again. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm a dick now, too. All the other vampires are. Yep, you heard that right. I'm a vampire. Yay....
Speaking of things that were full of shit? Every vampire movie ever. I always thought it'd be kinda cool, you know? Being an eternal badass … kinda cool. I was going to be a good vampire, obviously. Not a pansy like Twilight. I've still got my balls. But I'd rock the Lestat diet and only kill scumbags. Maybe go the Angel route and drink me some pig's blood. Yeah, you caught me, I've given this some thought. I've read the books, watched the tv shows … I may or may not have roleplayed as an epic D&D vampire in high school.
So, yeah, I'm a geek. A spazz. Starting to see why I'm not sobbing over some 'roid brained frat bros? We didn't exactly mesh. But what could I do? I'm a legacy, and I had some dad points to make up—being a flaming homo and all. 'Course, if I knew I'd end up in a cage destined for vampire slavery, I'd have things a little differently. That's right. Eternal badass? Not so much. Eternal bitch, more like it.
You see, it's been explained to me that real vampires—the strong ones—can't drink human blood. They drink the blood of little bitch vampires like me. But bitch vampires are in short supply, so slavers turn people. The newbies turn into feeders or bleeders. The newb feeders are killed, because there isn't enough bitch blood to go around, and the bleeders are sold like pets. So, again, yay.... I'm a bleeder vampire … still alive, but this cage will probably be the high point of my eternal life. And my philosophy paper is going to be seriously late.
The sobs from the chick caged next to me cut off with a gasp. The room goes silent. The only sounds are the heavy metal door scraping open and footsteps. Again. The last time the slavers brought a patron through, they dragged us out of our cages, one at a time, and made us stretch and pose—like some demented gym class. Luckily, no one seemed excited by a towering dude with rippling muscles. 'Cause, yeah, I'm a homo, but I'm also a cliché. What better closet for a good ol' Texas boy than a football field?
So, I duck my head but square my shoulders—trying to look like six feet and four inches of problem. The footsteps approach, only pausing before one or two cages before reaching mine. They pause. Linger.
“Look at me.”
A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, a thousand strategies. In the end, I raise my chin but fight to keep my expression blank. I sure as fuck don't want to end up a glorified blood bag, but the slavers killed twelve people because they weren't' useful, so … there's that.
The man crouches down, and I glance into his face. Our gazes meet and I realize my mistake instantly. He appears big. Not as big as me, maybe, but big enough. He's handsome, and I notice. I feel my eyes widen, can't stop my gaze from flitting to his sinful mouth. Grimacing, I avert my eyes.
“Say something,” the man orders.
Mind swimming, I eventually murmur, “Something.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and I wish I'd said something else. My heart sinks when he stands and says, “This one.”
“Are you sure you wouldn't like to see—”
“Very good, sir.”
A gasp of relief comes from down the line, and I squeeze my eyes closed in failure. Then the lock on my cage jangles and clicks open. Despite my fear, the sound is a relief. I squirm, turn myself around, and crawl out. As I stand, my aching knees pop. I bend to massage them, huffing out a breath at my complete lack of badassery. Being a vampire sucks.
Two hours later, I'm sitting in some swanky limo with darkened windows. My owner is sitting across from me, staring like he's been doing for the last hour. He hasn't spoken, but he won't stop staring. My knee's bouncing and my skin feels about three sizes two small. Awkward. Crazy awkward.
A hundred questions are circling my mind. I didn't exactly get the vampire handbook, you know? Plus, I'm curious about the staring man. He hasn't tried to eat me yet, which seems like a good sign, but he's not friendly, either. What he is, is hot. Long eyelashes frame his pretty green eyes. He's got a lush mouth, freckles that—forgetting the circumstances—are damn near adorable, and a toned body. The type of guy I'd admire from afar in a club. The type of guy way too hot for a spazz like me.
Unfortunately, this is a hostage situation, not a date.
Another ten minutes tick by in agony. With a little flail, I groan and say, “So....”
Rather than respond, he quirks an eyebrow and waits.
“Am I going to be alive long, or....”
“No.” As my stomach turns over, he adds, “You're already dead.”
I squint at him, trying to decide if he's made a bad joke or a threat. His face remains maddeningly impassive. Another tense silence falls as he continues to stare.
Finally, finally, he says, “How long you remain undead is up to you.”
He only stares.
“Okay.” I fidget under his attention, somehow more nervous than I was a minute earlier. “So, like, if I play, play along I won't get hacked to pieces in the bathtub?”
His mouth opens in a silent laugh before he schools his expression. Like an actor. Or a frat bro trying to look intimidating. I feel my own mouth part in hope and awe.
“You saw that?” I ask.
He scowls and, voice menacing, says, “I like gallows humor.”
“Oh.” After another bout of staring, I dare, “Should I call you Master, or....”
Another dry quirk of his eyebrow. “Do you want to call me Master?”
“Do you want me to want to call you Master?”
Our gazes catch, and despite his stoic expression, I sense his amusement. Finally, he says, “Jensen's fine.”
“Jensen. Nice. I'm Jared.”
Starting to extend my hand, I remember myself and jerk it back. He does smirk then, and his gaze meets mine, hooded and a little hungry. I look at the ceiling, the floor, out the blackened window—anywhere but at him. He snorts.
“Relax. Blood's a nasty stain and I just detailed the upholstery.”
Super comforting. I groan, but force myself to say, “You take care of your toys, at least.”
“Yes, Jared.” His growl of a response forces my gaze to his. “As long as they please me, I take care of my toys.”
I nod, but can't respond. He isn't planning to kill me quickly, but I'll have to work for my survival. I'll have to serve him. My future spreads before me in images of blood and cages—pain. I think of my family. If I'm good enough, might I see them again? Or are they gone forever. Do they think I died in that fire? Is my momma crying right now?
“Can I sleep?” I ask.
“I doubt it, but you can shut your eyes and pretend.”
So that's what I do.
I startle awake to rhythmic pounding on the windows. It's incredibly loud, like everything else now. Jensen's gone. The door yanks open and a blond guy pops his head inside.
“Sleeping? You're fresh as shit, huh? Poor fucker.” He laughs, points, and says, “Let's go.”
As I climb out of the small limo, I look the guy over. He's lanky with gelled hair, squinty eyes, and a douchebag goatee. Imagining him in the same space as Jensen seems absurd. I open my mouth to say something—I'm not sure what—when I see the house behind him. House, mansion, whatever. It's huge. I'm standing in one of those circular driveways with a fountain at the center.
Beyond the fountain, though, I see woods. A lot of woods. Enough to run and hide in. I hesitate, listening to the thrum of the blond's blood. He's human. He'd never catch me, and Jensen's nowhere in sight.
Out of the corner of his mouth, the blond says, “It's a trap” and laughs. He laughs a little longer, obviously very amused with himself, then adds, “Or go for it, man. Jensen'll be pissed, but Chris will love you. He's been bitching about how bored he is for a week. Fucker's fast, though. Probably give you a head start just for kicks.”
He's still chuckling and I'm hit with the sudden desire to bite him. My attention focuses on the blood pumping beneath the skin of his neck. Seemingly reading my mind, he waggles a finger before my eyes.
“Nah, man, I'm not on the menu anymore.” Suddenly serious, he looks me in the eye and warns, “Do yourself a favor and only feed when Jensen says, yeah? And play it cool. His last bleeder started fucking his blood source, my pal Mike.” He grimaces. “Did not end well.”
“Ah, okay?” But something tweaks me as off. When I realize what it is, I ask, “Wait, so Jensen only has one, ah, bleeder? There isn't like a harem, or something?”
“Yeah, dude, we keep the harem in the basement, between the torture chamber and the mass grave.” He rolls his eyes. “Get a grip.”
Bristling, I snap, “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
After a long moment of squinting, he slaps me on the shoulder and says, “Sorry, dude. You're all right. I'm Chad, by the way. Come on.”
I follow him through the front door and through the house. And while I can't stop gaping, he can't stop talking.
“So, you can pretty much go wherever. The windows are bloodsucker friendly. And pretty soon you'll stop sleeping, so you'll have some serious time on your hands. Like I said, Chris gets bored as shit.”
“An old friend of Jenny's.” He grabs my arm and shakes his head hard. “Don't call him Jenny. Anyway, Chris, he's, yeah, just … he's been threatening to kill me since he showed up, but he's not serious. Shaved my head once, though. And once I woke up on the roof. But mostly he's whatever.”
“Okay … is he going to be like, are they going to share me?”
“Nah, man. Chris feeds from Steve.”
I nod, but have to ask, “But Jensen doesn't? Isn't there enough blood to share, or what?”
“Chris doesn't share well. I drank his whiskey once and the fucker wouldn't let me sleep for three days. Anyway, he and Steve are like gay vampire married or some shit.”
“Lame, right? When I get my fangs, I'm going to spend eternity chasing strange.” Affecting an accent, he says, “Like, they keep getting older, but I stay the same age.”
I can only nod as he laughs and throws open a door off a long hallway. Inside is a bedroom in navy and silver, the bed a mammoth thing with a sheer bed curtains. I follow Chad inside, but part of me is waiting for the punchline. It's a giant step up from the cage I was expecting.
“This is you. Grab a shower.” He motions to a closed door. “Ah, you're not gonna be a pansy and kill yourself or anything, right?”
Voice breaking, I ask, “Should I?”
My question only earns me a punch to the shoulder and a jeering, “Don't be a pussy.”
I stay in the shower a long time. I've been cold since this started. In the cages, one of the girls said it goes away. Like the need to sleep, I guess. All I know is, the scolding water against my skin feels heavenly. Heavenly … I never thought I'd thank the bigots at our church for all but chased me away with pitchforks, but I'm grateful now. I don't have the energy for a crisis over Hell. Not when I might be living it. Or not. Shit, what do I know?
I know Jensen didn't hurt me. That Chris and Steve are in love, that vampires love. That Chad is half-passed annoying and no one's killed him yet. That I'm in a bedroom instead of a cage. Things could be worse.
Stockholm Syndrome, anyone?
Climbing out of the shower, I shiver as I towel dry and move into my room. There's a change of clothes—not new—on the bed and I don them happily. They more or less fit, which is more worrying than anything. If these vampires are from the age-equals-strength cannon, I'm fucked anyway, but size was my last hope for an advantage. Coming across a vampire the size of me isn't on my shortlist of things to do today.
Though … I guess I'm a vampire the size of me. Or I will be, when I get the hang of things. Somewhat heartened by the thought, I wander to the mirror. Reflection? Check. Bullshit movies.
I look basically the same. A little pale. I growl, but see only human teeth. Focusing harder, I grow again. Nothing.
I slap myself in the face. Growl. Nothing. I slap myself again. Nothing. Balling up my fist, I try to deliver a punch, which, yeah, is harder than you'd think. I pull it a couple times before landing a solid whack. Growl. I see a red-faced idiot.
“The fuck you doing?” Chad asks.
Scratching the back of my head, I admit, “Ah, fangs?”
“Fuck me. You get to be a vampire, but I don't? God must be a woman.” Chad shakes his head. “Leave the fangs to Jensen and work on your hearing, bitch. I was humming in the hallway and your newb ass didn't hear me.”
Irritated, I snarl at him. Then quickly check the mirror. At my crestfallen expression, Chad cackles until he's got a hand clutching his chest and tears in his eyes.
“Fuck you, Chad.”
“In your dreams, sweetheart.” He blows me a kiss and cackles harder as I scowl. “Come on.”
I keep scowling as I follow him around the house, Chad giving me the tour. There's a home theater, a billiard room, and—I fuck you not—a bowling alley. All attempting to cure the “bored as shit” aspect of vampirism, I guess.
I'm just starting to forget we're fighting when Chad stops in front of a door and says, “This is Jensen.”
I only nod, wait for him to move on, then finally say, “Okay.”
“Go in, dumbass.”
“Now?” As his face screws up and his mouth opens to spew another insult, I hold my hands up and snap, “Right, now. I got it.”
He grins, then leans close to my ear and whispers, “Remember, blood, yum. Blood donor, icky icky poo poo.”
“Icky icky poo poo?” I echo.
“You got it!” He swings open the door and slaps me on the back, half pushing me through before sauntering off.
Regaining my balance, I look up to see Jensen standing with a big guy. Just about as tall as I am, but built like a brick wall. Judging by the extra room in the shirt I'm wearing, I've found my clothes donor. Luckily, I can hear the thrum of his blood from where I stand.
Both of the men are staring at me, so I offer an awkward, spastic little wave. Eyes sliding shut in humiliation, I mutter, “Hi.”
“Hi, Jared? It's nice to meet you. I'm Jeff.”
Jeff walks over, sure and easy, and shakes my hand. His smile is wide and open, and he is handsome—despite being a good bit older. Looks like a bear, or a Bad Professor fantasy come to life. Conscious of Chad's advice—and if listening to Chad isn't a sign of desperation, I don't know what is—I smile casually, but turn my gaze to Jensen. When all I get for my trouble is a mocking smirk, I think maybe my hearing should be better. Jensen, obviously, can hear through doors.
“You smell better,” Jensen says.
Which, yeah, probably not a compliment. Maybe Jensen should try shitting in a cage for a week and see how he likes it. Nodding slowly, I mutter, “Thanks.”
Jensen frowns, but only asks, “What was your feeding schedule like?”
Flinching, I think back to the frat house. How they drained blood from us before we turned. How they made me drink some and took the rest. How every time they handed out dixie cups of the cold, red sludge while I was caged, I knew we were drinking each other's blood. The dead blood of our dead friends. Luckily, it hadn't happened often.
“Two days ago. Then four before that. And when I turned.” I shrug. “A small cup each time.”
Jensen's lips purse. “No wonder you're still sleeping. You've barely transitioned and they're starving you.”
“They're mass murderers and human traffickers. I didn't get a mint on my pillow, either.” I hear the words only after they leave my mouth and grimace. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.”
“Relax, kid,” Jeff says, laughing. “He's going to bite, either way. You don't have to walk on egg shells.”
I look to Jensen. He doesn't smile. I whisper another “sorry.”
Jensen is playing his staring game again, so I play my fidgeting game. Jeff chuckles. Everyone's having a fabulous time at the vampire house except me, it seems. And maybe Jensen. He's pretty moody for an eternal badass. Not as moody as Angel, though—the pussy. Stop with the brooding already, am I right?
“Jeff will be your donor for the foreseeable future,” Jensen says. “You will feed only from him and only in my presence, at least until you can be trusted. Jeff, why don't you take a seat.”
As he sits and Jensen pulls out a knife, I look around for a cup or something. Am I supposed to just gnaw on his neck? Hesitant to annoy Jensen again, I still can't help but ask, “Can't I drink from a cup?”
Jensen grimaces like I asked to drink puppy blood. He snaps, “No.”
“Jared, three things.” He ticks them off on his fingers as he speaks. “One, stale blood is disgusting. Two, you'll need to drink from the vein eventually, and if you haven't mastered the skill, you'll rip someone's head off. Three, you're a vampire—suck it up.”
My pout earns a genuine grin from him and the sullen expression falls from my face.
“It's okay, Jared,” Jeff says. “I know what I signed up for.”
As I nod, Jensen lifts the knife and presses it against Jeff's neck. He turns to look at me, our gazes catching, as the scent of blood fills the air. I part my lips, expecting the thrust of my fangs. Nothing! Damn it.
“Am I fucked up or something?” I demand.
“Shh. You haven't needed your fangs to feed, that's all. You'll learn.” Jensen drags his finger through the blood and brings it to hover before my lips. I seek out his gaze, unsure. “Open your mouth for me.”
I lick my lips before parting them. Jensen's finger presses closer, slips inside. My eyes close at the first hint of blood. His fingertip rubs against my gums and my lips tighten around the digit subconsciously. I lathe my tongue against him, searching for the taste teasing my senses. When he pulls free, the finger drags over my bottom lip, sparking something low in my belly. My eyes snap open and he's there, staring, even as two fingers, dripping blood, beg entrance.
I open for him and they slip over my tongue. Without thinking, I grope for his arm and fist the fabric of his shirt. I suck, hard, and my fangs surge free. They nick the sides of his fingers and his taste explodes in my mouth. I hear the hitch in his breath, but only tighten my grip on him and pull him closer. Sucking him and bathing him with my twining tongue, I chase the taste until I've licked him clean and his blood no longer flows. When he tries to pull away, I still whimper an objection.
“Shh. Here.” His other hand grips the nape of my neck, urges me downward. I bend, allow him to position me, and when his fingers pull from my mouth with a wet pop, he forces my mouth against Jeff's bloody neck. “Drink, Jared. Drink.”
My tongue swipes against skin, once, twice, and then my jaws widens. His hand tightens and I sink my fangs deep. Pulling back, I moan at the gush of blood bathing my tongue and all put slithering down my throat before I can swallow. Jensen's hand glides from my neck to my hair, caressing and petting.
Vision whitening, hand groping to grip Jensen's shoulder rather than his shirt, the blood slows. I sink my fangs in a second time, not meaning to, whining at the back of my throat at Jeff's gasp of pain.
“Yes,” Jensen whispers. “You're doing so good. Just a little more, Jared.”
I suck until I feel both brimming with energy and as if I might collapse into a panting heap on the floor. Jensen's fingers skim over my face, around my stretched lips, and I'm hard instantly. I pull him closer, but his hand returns to the nape of my neck. He squeezes, hard.
“Stop sucking, Jared. Lick.” When I draw back and lathe my tongue over the wound, again and again, he whispers, “So good.”
When the blood slows to a trickle, he pulls me upright. Eyes glazed, body demanding, I watch him take my hand and lift it to my mouth. A pinch of pain, and he shows me the droplet of blood welling on my fingertip before he drags it across the fang marks on Jeff's neck. An instant later, the wounds close.
“You see, he's fine.”
Jensen's gaze meets mine. The hunger there is like a kick to the stomach. My fingers dig into his shoulder even as I realize I'm still clutching at him. He only smiles and raises his hand to my mouth. My lips part automatically, as if we've played this game a hundred times rather than once. His fingertip swipes across my lip, coming back bloody. Still promising me the world with his hooded eyes, he rubs the blood over his own lips. His tongue slips out to lick it clean, and then he's sucking that plump bottom lip into his mouth and releasing it with a small hum of pleasure.
“You were amazing.”
Lust licks hard at my over-sensitized nerves, chasing sanity from my mind. Overwhelmed, I step back, dragging him with me until I remember the death grip I have on his shoulder. Forcing myself to release him, I wring my hands before me, half-heartedly hiding my erection but only drawing more attention to it.
“Can I go take a shower?” I blurt.
Jensen tilts his head to the side, but nods.
“You did great, kid,” Jeff says, looking all casual and easy going.
I make a strangled babbling sound, turn on my heels, and run.Next Chapter