[ multichapter ] Blood House IV [ original ]
Title: Blood House 4
Author: frostberryjam
Rated: NC-17 (overall)
Fandom: Original.
Warnings: Gayness, smut, blood, violence.
Summary: It's 2010; there's an oil spill threatening to turn the Gulf of Mexico into the Dead Sea, the President is Obama, Simon Cowell finally left American Idol -- and vampires are an accepted part of society.
Evan Banks wants to spend only one night with a vampire, to satisfy a curiosity even he can't explain. One night with the vampire known as Santos however turns out to be far more complicated than Evan ever thought it'd be. Because if there's only one sure truth when it comes to vampires, it's that they all have secrets.
Author Notes: My thanks go to radish_lily for being my beta. Thanks, bb.
Chapter Four
“I thought you were calling in sick.”
Evan discovered a head of windswept blond hair positioned at shoulder-level. Early Monday morning rush had the MBTA trains packed. He never envied Harrison’s height, particularly not in situations that resembled canned sardines. “My condition improved.”
“Hm.” Harrison had a pretty, fine-boned face, the hazel of his eyes magnified by the wire-rimmed glasses that doomed him to an owlish appearance. The way his hair dried like tufts of ruffled feathers didn’t aid matters. “I’d have stayed home.”
“I had to get out.” And that was God’s honest truth. If he had to spend another day trying to pretend that Santos’s calling card wasn’t burning a hole in his pocket, he’d lose his mind.
Or worse yet, call.
“That’s enigmatic.” Harrison replied but didn’t press. He was the least invasive friend that Evan had. Not because he didn’t bubble over with curiosity. Evan had seen theintern pick and pry at others as if they were mice and he was the predator toying with them until they rolled over and bared their fleshy bellies. The FBI and NSA really needed to be notified that they were missing out on some ingeniously inventive, successful torture tactics.
But Harrison drew the line at wielding those techniques on friends, and Evan was thankful. He was already tense, muscles crunched tight no matter how many times he stretched or how many painkillers he took. Getting away from the house had seemed an inspired idea -- except his tension had only hiked to a new level of discomfort.
So much for my awesome, sexy weekend. That wasn’t the first time the regretful thought had surfaced. But at least it was making an appearance with less frequency. Maybe by tomorrow, he’d only think it a dozen times.
The ride to the business district was strained. Evan was in no mood to chat and Harrison was uncharacteristically distracted.
It was the oddly intent way that Harrison was peering into the crowd that caught Evan’s own attention. Intrigued, he turned his head.
The pinpoint focus seemed to be a woman. She moved behind a gaggle of high school students when he caught sight of her, leaving the impression of curly red hair and pale skin but not much else.
“You scared her off.” Harrison observed.
“Me? I’m hardly threatening.” Evan held up his hands, palms up. “Sorry.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to say ‘because you were checking her out’?” Although Harrison had always adamantly claimed his asexuality and rebuffed flirtation from male and female alike, apparently he had a weakness for red hair? Evan grinned. That was great blackmail material.
Harrison pushed his glasses firmly on his nose and nailed him with a patently patient look. “No. She came in at your stop. I was curious as to why she’s been watching you the whole time.”
A flutter of unease at the recognition that he had felt as if he were being stalked since leaving the apartment left Evan chilled. It was such a foreign sensation that he hadn’t recognized it for what it was. “Who knows.” He dismissed. She was gone, and so had her reasons gone with her.
The drone of the office dulled Evan’s focus for the rest of the day. His designs for the new shopping mall had been rejected yet again, forcing him back to scratch. He was thankful that he hadn’t told anyone about his plan to visit the House; no one knew, therefore, no one buzzed around his desk, wanting to know how it’d gone.
What could he tell them? ‘It was fantastic. Until the phone rang and my hottie vampire had to run out like an anti-vampire evangelist was at his heels’ just sounded like a bad joke.
He skived on lunch, finished the preliminary new design, which was mostly based off another one of his rejected proposals -- at the rate they were going, it didn’t matter how hard he worked, there was simply going to be an automatic rejection until the company churlishly declared that anything would work, and then something would be picked at random.
Wouldn’t be the first time, wouldn’t be the last. At twenty-five, he'd learned to roll with the punches. It was either that or turn into a bitter, raging alcoholic, and that wasn’t in his schedule for at least another decade.
Sunset had begun when he shut down his laptop and left the building. Paranoia made him hail a cab instead of walking the three blocks to the subway. He didn’t want to be paranoid, but paranoia didn’t work that way. It didn’t give a damn whether or not he wanted to be feeling it.
If Harrison hadn’t had to leave in the early afternoon to attend class, he’d have felt better having someone to go partway home with. As it was, he unconsciously scanned the subway station for a flash of red hair, and tensing when he found it, only it was never the woman again.
Oh, Evan. He thought with a flare of amusement as he boarded the subway. Buddy mine, you are totally losing it.
To prove his anxiety had been pointless in the extreme, he got home without nary a malevolent incident. He closed the door, shrugged off the suit jacket and ordered a pizza, not up to trying to cook. He was a passable chef when he applied himself. Otherwise? It was best to steer clear from his culinary attempts.
Intending to shower, Evan was undressing when he spied the infamous calling card on the coffee table. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it in the trash and yet had no intention of calling.
It didn’t matter that he had become fascinated with vampires. That was a curiosity, harmless. It was all the way on the other end of the spectrum to have contact with one. He wasn’t racist, he plainly had no issue with their diet.
But he had no intention of getting involved with a vampire.
Who said he wants involvement? A little voice scoffed. Maybe he just wants to finish what got started.
The insidious voice was dismissed. That was too tempting a path to go down with any hopes of returning from it.
Even if Santos would be waking up right about then, gloriously nude, because he wasn’t the sort to wear anything to bed, hair disheveled and lips soft from sleep --
“Christ, Banks.” His excitable libido was going to be the death of him. Evan took his shower and jacked off roughly, hoping that would put a damper to the allure of one green-eyed vampire.
Forty minutes later he had pizza with gooey, hot cheese, a cold beer, and a basketball game on TV that he was barely paying attention to.
When the phone rang, he was thankful.
“Hello?” Music blared. Evan strained to hear past it, hearing a distorted feminine voice. Damn. That was some fantastic music in the background. He checked the CallerID. Brenda Joyce. Not a close friend, but one of the people he went to nightclubs with often enough.
He hung up, waited fifteen seconds and then sent a text message.
can’t hear u. what did u say?
I was trying 2 say there’s a vamp here 2nite. He‘s v v v hot.
Evan frowned, aware Brenda expected him to come running like a good fang fan. He just… didn’t feel like it. No matter how ‘hot’ the vampire was, he doubted they would be better looking than Santos. Or have a wickedly funny sense of humor.
The epiphany hit like a truck full of bricks. He liked Santos. Doodle-his-name-in-a-sketchbook-with-hearts-around-it-idiotically kind of like. Evan scrubbed his face, wondering at what point had common sense defenestrated itself.
He texted back. not interested, but thanks.
Brenda replied immediately. He could only imagine the aghast look on her face. why?
“Because I’ve gone stupid over another vampire.” There. He’d never liked denial.
The pizza and beer were set aside. Evan wiped his hand on the sweatpants before picking up the calling card. Impulse was driving his actions and he figured that was okay. Consequences would be dealt with when they came.
He dialed. There was no wait. The phone was answered mid-ring.
“Hello, Evan.” Santos greeted with his whiskey-hot voice, sounding pleased.
Ah, the wonders of CallerID. “Hi.”
And then he couldn’t figure out what to say. ‘I missed you’ was corny and he’d only met the guy for an hour.
Santos took the hint. “I heard from the House you refused a substitute.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Evan shrugged, vaguely recalling being offered that. Obviously, he hadn’t been very interested. “Turns out I’m a one-vampire-a-night kind of guy.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” And Santos did sound glad. Evan’s smile grew. He settled in the crook on the couch and muted the game. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“No. Honesty is best when possible. In the interest of that, am I allowed to hope you’ll let me see you again?”
“I think we both know this phone call is a pretty obvious ‘yes’.”
Rich laughter poured from the phone. “Call me a stickler for details. When can I see you?”
So, what, they were going out on a date? “Depends. What exactly are we doing?”
“Anything you want.”
“… so if I want to have fantastic sex and dinner in bed…?”
“Dinner in bed for you or for me?”
“Both.”
“I’d say I’m really pissed off that I’m not in Boston right now.”
Evan wondered at that. “When do you get back?”
“Late Wednesday night. I don’t think I can get away before then.”
“Mysterious.” Evan quipped, the only hint of curiosity that he allowed to seep through. What did Santos do for a living? Vampires didn’t automatically inherit a large fortune when they were turned. “I’m only semi-kidding about the straight to sex thing.”
Santos groaned, the sound making Evan’s stomach clench. “I know. Believe me, if I could be knocking on your door right now, Pretty Baby, I would be.”
“Good answer.” If they kept going on that vein, the conversation was going to grow pornographic. Evan processed, thinking of how to get about what they both wanted -- without coming off all desperate.
“Friday night. 8 PM. The Mandarin Oriental Hotel?”
“You’re the one 0 for 0. I’ll let you call the shots.”
“I am, aren’t I? You’ll have to make it up to me.”
“Gladly.”
Evan closed his eyes, smiling so widely that it was starting to hurt. “Good night, Santos.”
“Good night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Evan snorted with laughter. He flipped the phone shut and held it in his hand, aware that his face was flaming hot with disbelief that he’d been so upfront about the whole thing.
Friday.
Author: frostberryjam
Rated: NC-17 (overall)
Fandom: Original.
Warnings: Gayness, smut, blood, violence.
Summary: It's 2010; there's an oil spill threatening to turn the Gulf of Mexico into the Dead Sea, the President is Obama, Simon Cowell finally left American Idol -- and vampires are an accepted part of society.
Evan Banks wants to spend only one night with a vampire, to satisfy a curiosity even he can't explain. One night with the vampire known as Santos however turns out to be far more complicated than Evan ever thought it'd be. Because if there's only one sure truth when it comes to vampires, it's that they all have secrets.
Author Notes: My thanks go to radish_lily for being my beta. Thanks, bb.
Chapter Four
“I thought you were calling in sick.”
Evan discovered a head of windswept blond hair positioned at shoulder-level. Early Monday morning rush had the MBTA trains packed. He never envied Harrison’s height, particularly not in situations that resembled canned sardines. “My condition improved.”
“Hm.” Harrison had a pretty, fine-boned face, the hazel of his eyes magnified by the wire-rimmed glasses that doomed him to an owlish appearance. The way his hair dried like tufts of ruffled feathers didn’t aid matters. “I’d have stayed home.”
“I had to get out.” And that was God’s honest truth. If he had to spend another day trying to pretend that Santos’s calling card wasn’t burning a hole in his pocket, he’d lose his mind.
Or worse yet, call.
“That’s enigmatic.” Harrison replied but didn’t press. He was the least invasive friend that Evan had. Not because he didn’t bubble over with curiosity. Evan had seen theintern pick and pry at others as if they were mice and he was the predator toying with them until they rolled over and bared their fleshy bellies. The FBI and NSA really needed to be notified that they were missing out on some ingeniously inventive, successful torture tactics.
But Harrison drew the line at wielding those techniques on friends, and Evan was thankful. He was already tense, muscles crunched tight no matter how many times he stretched or how many painkillers he took. Getting away from the house had seemed an inspired idea -- except his tension had only hiked to a new level of discomfort.
So much for my awesome, sexy weekend. That wasn’t the first time the regretful thought had surfaced. But at least it was making an appearance with less frequency. Maybe by tomorrow, he’d only think it a dozen times.
The ride to the business district was strained. Evan was in no mood to chat and Harrison was uncharacteristically distracted.
It was the oddly intent way that Harrison was peering into the crowd that caught Evan’s own attention. Intrigued, he turned his head.
The pinpoint focus seemed to be a woman. She moved behind a gaggle of high school students when he caught sight of her, leaving the impression of curly red hair and pale skin but not much else.
“You scared her off.” Harrison observed.
“Me? I’m hardly threatening.” Evan held up his hands, palms up. “Sorry.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to say ‘because you were checking her out’?” Although Harrison had always adamantly claimed his asexuality and rebuffed flirtation from male and female alike, apparently he had a weakness for red hair? Evan grinned. That was great blackmail material.
Harrison pushed his glasses firmly on his nose and nailed him with a patently patient look. “No. She came in at your stop. I was curious as to why she’s been watching you the whole time.”
A flutter of unease at the recognition that he had felt as if he were being stalked since leaving the apartment left Evan chilled. It was such a foreign sensation that he hadn’t recognized it for what it was. “Who knows.” He dismissed. She was gone, and so had her reasons gone with her.
The drone of the office dulled Evan’s focus for the rest of the day. His designs for the new shopping mall had been rejected yet again, forcing him back to scratch. He was thankful that he hadn’t told anyone about his plan to visit the House; no one knew, therefore, no one buzzed around his desk, wanting to know how it’d gone.
What could he tell them? ‘It was fantastic. Until the phone rang and my hottie vampire had to run out like an anti-vampire evangelist was at his heels’ just sounded like a bad joke.
He skived on lunch, finished the preliminary new design, which was mostly based off another one of his rejected proposals -- at the rate they were going, it didn’t matter how hard he worked, there was simply going to be an automatic rejection until the company churlishly declared that anything would work, and then something would be picked at random.
Wouldn’t be the first time, wouldn’t be the last. At twenty-five, he'd learned to roll with the punches. It was either that or turn into a bitter, raging alcoholic, and that wasn’t in his schedule for at least another decade.
Sunset had begun when he shut down his laptop and left the building. Paranoia made him hail a cab instead of walking the three blocks to the subway. He didn’t want to be paranoid, but paranoia didn’t work that way. It didn’t give a damn whether or not he wanted to be feeling it.
If Harrison hadn’t had to leave in the early afternoon to attend class, he’d have felt better having someone to go partway home with. As it was, he unconsciously scanned the subway station for a flash of red hair, and tensing when he found it, only it was never the woman again.
Oh, Evan. He thought with a flare of amusement as he boarded the subway. Buddy mine, you are totally losing it.
To prove his anxiety had been pointless in the extreme, he got home without nary a malevolent incident. He closed the door, shrugged off the suit jacket and ordered a pizza, not up to trying to cook. He was a passable chef when he applied himself. Otherwise? It was best to steer clear from his culinary attempts.
Intending to shower, Evan was undressing when he spied the infamous calling card on the coffee table. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it in the trash and yet had no intention of calling.
It didn’t matter that he had become fascinated with vampires. That was a curiosity, harmless. It was all the way on the other end of the spectrum to have contact with one. He wasn’t racist, he plainly had no issue with their diet.
But he had no intention of getting involved with a vampire.
Who said he wants involvement? A little voice scoffed. Maybe he just wants to finish what got started.
The insidious voice was dismissed. That was too tempting a path to go down with any hopes of returning from it.
Even if Santos would be waking up right about then, gloriously nude, because he wasn’t the sort to wear anything to bed, hair disheveled and lips soft from sleep --
“Christ, Banks.” His excitable libido was going to be the death of him. Evan took his shower and jacked off roughly, hoping that would put a damper to the allure of one green-eyed vampire.
Forty minutes later he had pizza with gooey, hot cheese, a cold beer, and a basketball game on TV that he was barely paying attention to.
When the phone rang, he was thankful.
“Hello?” Music blared. Evan strained to hear past it, hearing a distorted feminine voice. Damn. That was some fantastic music in the background. He checked the CallerID. Brenda Joyce. Not a close friend, but one of the people he went to nightclubs with often enough.
He hung up, waited fifteen seconds and then sent a text message.
can’t hear u. what did u say?
I was trying 2 say there’s a vamp here 2nite. He‘s v v v hot.
Evan frowned, aware Brenda expected him to come running like a good fang fan. He just… didn’t feel like it. No matter how ‘hot’ the vampire was, he doubted they would be better looking than Santos. Or have a wickedly funny sense of humor.
The epiphany hit like a truck full of bricks. He liked Santos. Doodle-his-name-in-a-sketchbook-with-hearts-around-it-idiotically kind of like. Evan scrubbed his face, wondering at what point had common sense defenestrated itself.
He texted back. not interested, but thanks.
Brenda replied immediately. He could only imagine the aghast look on her face. why?
“Because I’ve gone stupid over another vampire.” There. He’d never liked denial.
The pizza and beer were set aside. Evan wiped his hand on the sweatpants before picking up the calling card. Impulse was driving his actions and he figured that was okay. Consequences would be dealt with when they came.
He dialed. There was no wait. The phone was answered mid-ring.
“Hello, Evan.” Santos greeted with his whiskey-hot voice, sounding pleased.
Ah, the wonders of CallerID. “Hi.”
And then he couldn’t figure out what to say. ‘I missed you’ was corny and he’d only met the guy for an hour.
Santos took the hint. “I heard from the House you refused a substitute.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Evan shrugged, vaguely recalling being offered that. Obviously, he hadn’t been very interested. “Turns out I’m a one-vampire-a-night kind of guy.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” And Santos did sound glad. Evan’s smile grew. He settled in the crook on the couch and muted the game. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“No. Honesty is best when possible. In the interest of that, am I allowed to hope you’ll let me see you again?”
“I think we both know this phone call is a pretty obvious ‘yes’.”
Rich laughter poured from the phone. “Call me a stickler for details. When can I see you?”
So, what, they were going out on a date? “Depends. What exactly are we doing?”
“Anything you want.”
“… so if I want to have fantastic sex and dinner in bed…?”
“Dinner in bed for you or for me?”
“Both.”
“I’d say I’m really pissed off that I’m not in Boston right now.”
Evan wondered at that. “When do you get back?”
“Late Wednesday night. I don’t think I can get away before then.”
“Mysterious.” Evan quipped, the only hint of curiosity that he allowed to seep through. What did Santos do for a living? Vampires didn’t automatically inherit a large fortune when they were turned. “I’m only semi-kidding about the straight to sex thing.”
Santos groaned, the sound making Evan’s stomach clench. “I know. Believe me, if I could be knocking on your door right now, Pretty Baby, I would be.”
“Good answer.” If they kept going on that vein, the conversation was going to grow pornographic. Evan processed, thinking of how to get about what they both wanted -- without coming off all desperate.
“Friday night. 8 PM. The Mandarin Oriental Hotel?”
“You’re the one 0 for 0. I’ll let you call the shots.”
“I am, aren’t I? You’ll have to make it up to me.”
“Gladly.”
Evan closed his eyes, smiling so widely that it was starting to hurt. “Good night, Santos.”
“Good night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Evan snorted with laughter. He flipped the phone shut and held it in his hand, aware that his face was flaming hot with disbelief that he’d been so upfront about the whole thing.
Friday.