I'm a Bitch Vampire. Yay.... Chapter:
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?
Four reasons my life sucks a great big bag of dicks: One, my momma's probably digging up the backyard, looking for the mutilated pets her psycho son must have killed. Two, I went all ratchety murdery on Jeff and Sam. Three, I have to grind on problems one and two like an OCD case to even give a shit, which is pretty fucking bizarre and worthy of concern. And four, Jensen is being mean to me, which is all I actually care about—because vampires (not me, vampires) have shit priorities.
So, yeah, Jensen's avoiding me. I know this because his blood is like vampire crack, and I can hear everything now. And I mean, everything. Too much. Between two couples and Chad—who beats it like a thirteen year old with internet access—I do a lot of spontaneous singing. Which, my bad, Chris and Steve, because I sing just a little worse than I bowl, and if I can hear them … but they're not even a little quiet.
Steve, right? Super chill Steve? Could make a whore blush with the filthy shit that comes out of his mouth as he's being fucked through the mattress … or in the shower … or on the pool table.... And here I am, all twisted up over Jensen like Chad is over tentacle porn, and I'm Blueballs McGee in a fucking bathhouse.
But back on point. Jensen hears me coming and runs. Like, legit, turns and runs. The dude straight up bought me like a dog, so you wouldn't think I'd care, right? I shouldn't care. They're probably gonna make movies about the homo who slaughtered his frat brothers. They'll take a little artistic license and have me rape their corpses. My momma will watch it and cry. So, yeah, Jensen playing least in sight? Who cares, right? I do. I care so much I feel like an actual dog. I pretty much want to whine at his door until he lets me in, then I'd lie at his feet, tail thumping, while he scratches my ears. If he'd let me, which he won't. And for some bullshit reason, that's more important than anything else in my undead life. Which is just so pathetic I want to punch myself in the face, but there it is.
Which probably explains why I'm sitting in the dark, all alone, watching Moulin Rouge for the third … fifth time.
“Love is a many splendid thing,” I sing. “Love lifts you up where you belong. All you need is love.”
“Please!” Chris bursts through the door. “Don't start that again!”
I cackle. “You know the words!”
“No shit! You're driving me out of my fucking skull.”
Frowning, I reach for the remote and hit the pause button. “Sorry.”
I flinch. “No more bowling. Please, Chris, no more bowling.”
“First, suck it up about the bowling. Second, that's not where we're going. Come on.”
I lag after him—have I mentioned I'm a dog?—mostly because Chris scares me. Steve goes to work, apparently, which sucks pretty hard. 'Cause, the thing is, without Steve around, Chris is a crazy fucker. This became clear yesterday, while I dodged pool balls being whipped at my head to the helpful advice of, “You're a vampire, asshole! Dodge like a vampire!”
I clearly do not dodge like a vampire. I know this because I was a lumpy, swollen, black and blue mess for one long hour before healing. I think he broke my hand. I'm not holding any grudges, I just want it on record.
Jensen never showed his cowardly face. I am a little sore about that.
Chris walks to the front door, opens the front door, and then walks through the front door. I hate to beat this dog analogy to death, but I stop at the door frame, half expecting an invisible fence to shock the shit out of me if I take another step.
Looking out, though—neat. Even in the dark, I can see amazing details. Everything is in shades of gray, which is a little weird, but the textures and shadows create a visual feast. There are flashes of movement everywhere, and the sounds … I'm dead, but the world has never seemed more alive.
“What are you waiting for?” Chris demands. “We need an invitation to get in, not out.”
I hear Chad approaching, and he asks, “What's the deal?”
Chad only made it through one screening of Moulin Rouge—because he's not a real man. I spare him a glance and a shrug. “Not sure.”
When he follows me outside, Chris snaps, “We don't need an audience, bitch boy.”
“You got one.”
Chris's eyes narrow. “Your funeral.”
And from Chris, I'm not sure how literally to take those words. Honestly, he looks a little more pinched than usual. “Ah, Chad, maybe—”
“Dude, don't worry about it. He knows Jensen will be pissed if he kills me.” Chad snorts. “Got his panties in a bunch, is all.”
A flash and Chris is in his face. I blink. How the fuck did he do that? Why can't I do that? Vampire sight and all, I kinda saw him move, but not really. Chad, though, does not have vampire sight. He staggers back, eyes comically wide before straightening with his usual bravado.
“I just broke Jen's nose. He's being a dickhead.” Flashing his fangs, Chris adds, “Never considered breaking his toys.”
“Oh, come on, man. I'm bored!” Chad whines and fidgets like a five year old. “Let me stay. Pleeeease? I'll make you moonshine. That apple pie, shit? You liked that, remember?”
Chad makes begging eyes while Chris squints. I'm still stuck on Jensen's broken nose. Coward deserves it … I hope it heals okay.
“A double batch, and you keep your damn mouth shut.”
“Quiet as a pedophile at a PTA meeting.”
I frown, giving his words more thought than they deserve, and Chris growls and grabs my arm. After being hauled several feet away, my arm's freed. I don't rub it. Because I'm a vampire now, and I can't even bowl.
Squaring his shoulders, Chris announces, “Combat training.”
Yes! I imagine Jedi training. Musical montages with handstands and throwing knifes. I am Rocky. I have the eye of the tiger.
I'm on my ass in the grass.
As I push to my feet, I grumble, “I didn't know we started.”
“There is no starting, son. Life's not a duel. Someday, you'll think, 'what's that noise?' and there'll be a stake in your heart.” He shoves me again. I fall. “You get me?”
And suddenly, I miss bowling.
“Yeah. I get you.”
Standing again, I just look at him and wait. He squints. If he's waiting for attitude, he's never met himself. Finally—and I swear I didn't hit my head that hard—he smiles.
“First lesson is running.”
Nice! I saw that on Vampire Diaries—ended in vampire kissy face. My thoughts stray to Jensen. He should be teaching me this. But he isn't, so whatever.
“Run to that tree and back.”
I do, and I'm fast, but human fast. Also, I keep doing this skipping, hopping thing, trying to trigger vamp speed. If Chad's snickers are any indication, I just look like a headcase trying to fly. When I get back, I look at my feet instead of Chris's face.
After a long pause, Chris mutters, “We'll come back to running.”
Chad cackles. “From 101 to remedial. Slam!”
Chris says nothing. This is super fun.
“Let's start with jumping.”
I try. Honest to god, I try. But I keep sucking and Chris keeps scowling and Chad keeps laughing. And that sense of humor I talked about? Gone. A smoldering heap of ash beneath Chris's shoe. My chest starts to ache, like I might actually cry. Because I'm about to unleash all my spazz glory and run flailing from the yard like a little girl. And yeah, so sexist. Blow me.
“Okay,” Chris says, voice calm. “I'm gonna kick your ass.”
“Nothing personal, son. Needs to be done.”
Then he charges me. I squeak. That's my big defensive maneuver. A squeak. And as I'm still thinking about the lameness of that squeak, Chris punches me in the stomach. That's a whole different noise. Like a goat getting its balls cut off. Bent at the waist, I see his knee coming at my face. The texture of his blue jeans is fascinating.
Laid out on my back, I spot a duck in the clouds. And, look, a smilie face. Then he's kicking me in the side and I'm flying. As the grass rushes toward my face, I see a beetle. I hit so hard I bounce. Poor beetle.
I roll to my back, thinking about the astonishing number of insects. All these years, I've been stomping around like a giant on a busy street, leaving bodies in my wake. I had no idea.
Chris's hands are at my collar, hauling me to my feet. Fangs flashing, he orders, “Get out of your fucking head!”
I open my mouth, but he head butts me and I end up on the ground, blinking up at him.
He snarls. “Are you shitting me? Fine!”
He's at Chad's side in a flash. One hand fists Chad's shirt and the other grips his belt. With a grunt and heave, Chad soars high into the air, his body barreling toward the treeline. Chad's screaming like someone falling to their death. Chris crosses his arms over his chest.
I'm running in the next instant. My brain's so busy tracking his path, deciding where I need to be, I don't notice getting there. I'm just there. In time to realize he'll be tree paste before he hits the ground. Snarling, feeling my fangs surge free, I coil and leap. My arm hooks around his stomach, his screaming a disorienting siren in my ears, and we start to fall. Getting a better grip on him, I grimace, bracing myself for impact. But then I'm standing, still grimacing, with a shrieking Chad clawing his way out of my arms.
Blinking, I turn to see Chris standing before us.
Chad's pacing in circles, screaming, “Fuck you! Fuck you! You fucking cunt!”
Chris laughs and I turn on him, snarling. He only laughs harder.
“Now jump, Jared. Or we'll be playing catch with Chad all night.”
More stunned than anything, I crouch. I jump.
Three hours later, Chris and I are sitting in the grass, a six pack sitting between us. And, yeah, he's a dick, but it's not exactly a secret, you know? The point is, I can jump and run like a vampire. And I made this huge tree—okay, it wasn't a redwood or anything—my bitch. It was all, “Ha! I'm a tree!” And I was all, bam, ka-pow, take that, tree!
I'm still a little overexcited, okay?
Chad stormed off a while ago with a shouted, “You better apologize if you, ever, want to taste my apple pie moonshine again!” Hopefully that'll work itself out.
As I crack open a beer, my mind wanders. Bracing myself, I ask, “So, is there something wrong me, or something?”
“Fuck, man, I don't emo. Steve will be home soon. He's all over the caring and sharing shit.”
I laugh. “No, come on. You tell it like it is, right? Am I crazy? 'Cause I feel like I'm going crazy. And Jensen's totally repulsed by me.”
He grunts. “You're not crazy.”
“No, I am. I'm wanted for mass murder. I've, like, brought shame on my family. I drink blood. But all I can think about is some guy I just met. That's nuts.”
“Look, Jared, it's not my place, okay? Jensen needs to explain this.” Chris rolls his eyes. “He's fucking this up. I tried talking to him.”
“But punched him, instead?”
He laughs. “Yeah.”
“You know what's crazy? As pissed as I am, when I heard that, I was still worried about him.”
“You want some advice, kid?”
“Since when do you ask?”
“Don't let him pull this shit. Make him talk.”
“He runs from me! How am I supposed to make him do anything?”
“Remember why you're here?” Chris asks. “To feed Jensen. Now, he hasn't been feeding on you. He sure as shit hasn't been feeding on Steve. He's starving. Use that.”
“Look, I know you got the feeder superiority speech, right? But really, and I'll never say this again, it's bullshit. Think about it. Bleeders feed from humans. They go out and hunt. They make themselves strong and bring nourishment home to their partners. You might want us, but we need you. That's powerful.” He downs the rest of his beer. “So grow a pair and handle your shit.”
“So … I'm not a bitch vampire?”
He laughs. “You're definitely a bitch vampire.” Handing me another beer, he adds, “But you'll learn.”
I'm not a bitch vampire. I'm not a bitch vampire. I'm not a bitch vampire.
Fuck you, door, you're not even a tree. I open it—because I'm a boss like that. Open Jensen's door and stride right in. Obviously he heard me, but he's still sitting in the middle of his bed. When his eyes rise to meet mine, the panic there makes me sad.
“You're an asshole.”
“No! Let me finish. You're being mean to me, like an asshole, and it's super shitty.”
He raises an eyebrow, waits. “Was that it?”
“For now. You talk.”
“I know, okay? I'm sorry. It's just....”
“What? Jensen, what? I didn't mean to pop fangs over Sam, okay? You think I feel good about that? I don't. I don't want to hurt anyone.” I thrust my chin in the air. “Don't be mad at me.”
He laughs, but it isn't a nice sound. “That's not it.”
“Then what? Feeding off you? You're throwing me some serious mixed messages, here. You're all, whatever you want, I want more. But I drink from you and I've bruised your vampire ego or something. I don't get it!”
“No, you really don't.” He stands and the fear melts from his face, replaced by the strength I expect from him. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“News flash, no shit! I don't know anything! You're supposed to be my vampire Yoda, and you haven't told me shit. Chris taught me how to run today, and don't pretend like you didn't hear us. It should have been you, Jensen. You're fucking this up!”
Instinct urges me forward, but I stay where I am—blocking the door. If he wants to escape, it'll be through a wall or a window. 'Cause, yeah, it's like that.
“Talk to me.” I hear the gravel in my voice and square my shoulders. “Please, Jensen. I want you … to talk to me. And you want me. You can't keep starving yourself, and I don't want you to. But I need to know the truth.”
He groans and looks toward the ceiling. “Look, when you've been alive as long as I have, change doesn't come easy.”
“How old are you?”
He frowns. “About two hundred, but Jared—”
“No, shit? Were you in the Civil War? Did you ride in carriages and stuff like that?”
“I was a frontiersman.”
“Wait. Like fur caps and hunting bear?”
He snorts. “Like the open range and hiding from natives.”
“You were a cowboy? Oh, that's so cool!” My mind summons images of saloons and gun fights. “Are you a quick draw?”
“I am now.”
I end up staring at him, awed and charmed despite myself. He rubs a hand over his face, groaning. Shaking myself, I realize this is pretty much the problem. We're in the middle of an argument and I've stopped to gape at him in wonder. What, exactly, is up with that?
“Why am I so obsessed with you?”
“Jared—” He shakes his head.
“Come on, Jensen. You're gorgeous, we both know it, but I'm not fucking simple. What's happening to me? I have a right to know.”
He shakes his head again. Arching a challenging brow—yeah, I have them, too—I lean against the door and cross my arms. I hope my expression conveys my willingness to make camp, because I'm not going anywhere.
“Damn it, fine!” He starts to pace. “So, the things is … the thing is I haven't fed in two weeks, so I'm a starving, jittery mess. I would be handling this a lot better under different circumstances, okay? Because this, this isn't me. I want to kick this,” he gestures up and down the length of his body, “in the balls.”
I nod, ironically pleased by his nerves. “Noted.”
“Jared, we're bonded.”
“Actually, you're bonded. I'm starving myself like a coward. Because once I taste your blood, it's all over for me.”
“Really? Bonded?” I ask. “That's a thing?”
“I'm not making it up!” He stops pacing and stares at me. “Chris and Steve are bonded. It happens. Never to me, obvious. It's a lifetime deal. And I just, some vampires spend their lives dreaming about it, you know? I'm not one of them.”
Sorrow blooms in my chest, but I nod. “What's it mean, exactly?”
“Let's see, fixation, jealousy, devotion, insatiable lust. Rages, then meltdowns from fighting. Caring more about your partner's safety than your own.” He snorts. “Because it's the same thing, Jared. Bonded pairs can't live without each other. Literally.”
“So, if you die?”
“Well, shit.” I force a smile. “Guess it's a good thing you're such a badass.”
“Sure, but if you die, I'm fucked.”
The sorrow turns sharp, and I lean harder against the door. “Ah. Sucks for you. Getting stuck with a spazz like me.”
“No, Jensen. I get it. I get it, now. You don't want to be bonded to someone like me. I totally get it.”
“Stop. This isn't about you.”
“Then who's it about?” I yell. “It's about you, and it's about me, and I'm already gone on you. So, yeah, it's about me.”
With a whimper, I clutch at my chest. It hurts. So bad I wish I was outside again, getting the shit kicked out of me by Chris. Turning, I grasp for the doorknob, desperate for escape. But Jensen's there, his arms caging me in, his body hovering behind me.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
“It's not an accident, Jared. Not a mistake.” His forehead presses against my shoulder and my head tips back without my permission. “You're perfect, I know you are. That's not what I'm afraid of.”
“I don't know how to be. To just be. What I am, I wasn't always the person I want to be. I've built this person. Held him together with routine and force of will. Doing this, letting you in, it's a force of nature. An earthquake. Look what happened to you. Jared, you were already bonded when you came at me. Probably came at me because of it. What happens when I lose control?”
Despite the “no, no, no” coming from his mouth, his body's moved closer and closer. I feel the press of him against my back. Feel his breath on my neck.
“Jensen, I took a swing at you and it put me on my ass.”
“Exactly. You were instinct and passion, and it was a revelation, but I don't do passion. I do order and control. It works for me, has for a long time. But ever since I met you, ever since you got in that car and I expected terror and hate, you've been surprising me. You've been changing me. And maybe it's what I need, but I....” His body trembles and he pushes closer. “I want it, but I don't know what it is. I don't know how to be if I'm something else, and what I am isn't that bad. Can you understand that?”
Strangely, I find myself nodding. “It's like coming out. Everyone says it's what you should want, but for the longest time, I didn't want to tell my parents. Not because I thought they'd kick me out or spit in my face. Because starting something new meant ending what I had. The world I'd built for myself would die, and I couldn't imagine what would replace it. I didn't want things to change.”
I turn, put my back against the door, and he's there. He doesn't draw back, let's me reach for him. My hand slides along the crook of his neck and he shudders, his eyes sliding closed.
“I'm not letting you run from this. I don't think you could, not even if you wanted to.” My thumb glides across his jaw. “Because you know, deep down, that our life is going to be a hundred times better. I'm already living it. Don't leave me here all alone.”
Never breaking eye contact, I push my hand a little higher and my wrist is at his mouth. I say, “Please.”
I see it. When he decides, I see the relief on his face. His lips part, slowly—tortuously slow. My chest heaves and I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel the scrap of his teeth. Gasp as his hand grips my forearm, holding me close. Then his fangs slide beneath my skin and the pain is swallowed by euphoria. The bond sings, screams its satisfaction, and I hear a whimper. Only realize it's mine after the fact.
Jensen surges against me, his moan ending on a growl. With my arm pressed between our bodies, he feeds. Besides knowing the bond is formed, besides the feel of his hard body writhing against mine, I'm floored by the bone-deep satisfaction of nourishing him. Mine. Mine.
Threading my hands through his hair, I hold him in place—where he belongs.Next Chapter