Chancy Is The Night - Part 2/4
Title: Chancy Is The Night (2/4)
Author: E. M. Pink, also e_m_pink
Link: Also on my private, flocked fic journal, ehcu, so read here.
Type: Fiction
Length: Novella - basically about 24,000 words. In this chapter, about 6,000.
Pairings: Neville Longbottom/Male Canon Character
Cliché I’m subverting? Vampire!fic
Warnings: Dub-con, some bloodplay. Implied cross-gen pairing. Some cracky undertones.
Rating: NC-17, as this stuff is graphic.
Summary: Many years after the second war, Neville has weathered several twists and turns in his life and of those in his world. It is on the brink of another that he finds himself in a strange place, with an even stranger companion. And not one that he would ever have chosen…
Notes: Obviously post-war and post-Hogwarts, of course. Implied het. This was done with help from my kind beta, Kristina, my kind friend, Kheha, and my generous flist. Thanks to everyone who had an opinion on this - your enthusiasm carried me through the rough patches! Oh, and thanks to everyone who helped with notes about ferries and so on, your help really, er, helped.
Part II
“…so that’s why I need you to contact your vampire again,” Harry finished, eyeing Neville in an uncharacteristically nervous manner. Neville, who was pacing the confines of Harry Big Shot Fucking DOM Head’s office as quickly as he could, didn’t understand exactly why Harry was letting the tense silence between them stand, but thought it might have something to do with the giant poultice on his neck, courtesy of a surprisingly motherly-ish Snape just thirty minutes before this horrible sham of a meeting.
“So,” Neville finally forced out, “let me get this straight. McLaggen the Elder -”
“Phillip McLaggen,” Harry corrected. Neville glared at him, and kept on as if he’d not heard.
“So McLaggen the Elder is pushing for new restrictions on the vampire community,” he said, slowing his pacing a little. “And the laws he’s advocating -”
“ - would at least partially cause the enslavement and general lowering of status of every vampire in Britain,” Harry finished off, his voice gaining the edge it always had when he spoke about politics.
“Is he mad?” Neville asked. “I mean, just as a side question -”
“If not mad, I’ve a good mind to help him along to insanity,” Harry muttered. “Things would be a lot bloody easier if the bastard could just do us all a favour and die. In a way, I’m inclined to just sit back and watch the vampires take him out, but he does always sit next to Hermione at the Wizengamot convenes, so she’s definitely just as at risk as he is.”
“Any way you could convince her to switch seats?”
“It would look suspicious as all hell,” Harry said morosely, “and anyway, when I tried to tell her to, she refused.” He sighed, frustration evident on his face. “Days like this, one wonders if fear isn’t a much more efficient tool than respect, the way things pan out -”
“Go down that route and I’ll help everyone hunt you down,” Neville said, finally flopping into one of the empty chairs opposite Harry’s desk.
“Figures,” Harry grumbled, but in a lighter tone than before. “Anyway. McLaggen’s being a royal tit, and at the worst time, if the reports of vampire unrest are true. Which I’m inclined to think is bull, since there haven’t been any major attacks or unconsented bitings for a while -”
Neville sat up, wide-eyed, and interrupted immediately. “But that confirms it, Harry! If there’s been no bitings for a while, it means the vampire community is busy planning something else, don’t you see?”
Groaning, Harry put his head in his hands. “I really, really wonder if someone’s directing all this,” he said, voice a little muffled from behind his hands. “It’s too bloody convenient, having McLaggen propose that pack of garbage just as the vampires are campaigning -”
“Campaigning?” Neville interrupted, surprise colouring his tone. “I hadn’t heard that…”
“Oh, some of them were,” Harry said, head still in his hands, “A formal delegation was sent from Dover about the time you first went missing with your vampire -” Neville flinched “ - requesting a re-convene on the matter of the Vampire Laws of 1694. The delegation’s presentation was deferred in favour of the one in which McLaggen proposed the new, far more restrictive laws.” Neville tried not to groan. To describe the delegation’s vampires as angry, at that moment, would probably have been a gross underestimation. “Of course, the re-convene was cancelled.”
“As horrible as it sounds, I agree with you, Harry,” Neville said slowly. “It’s just too convenient.”
“I know,” Harry said, sitting up with an angry expression on his face. “It reminds me of how Lucius Malfoy tried to muddy the waters a year after the war, during Draco’s trial - remember?”
“Do I ever,” Neville said simply, choosing not to even try to cast his mind back to the tenseness of that strange period of time. Everyone had been so drained even a year after Harry had very quietly done Voldemort in that the many times deferred trial had seemed a superhuman task to get through by then. Neville had been one of the Order members assigned to keeping watch on Draco, who had been rightly paranoid that his father would try to sabotage his already rather convoluted trial with the Ministry. The confusing chaos that Lucius had managed to whip up in the three months leading up to Draco’s verdict had made their lives a living hell, heaping suspicion on almost every living wizard that had switched to the Order’s side at some point in the war.
Neville sighed. Even now, Draco’s name wasn’t worth quite as much as Neville’s, despite how much he’d contributed to their cause over the years. The idea that Lucius might be behind all this was both frightening and plausible - the chaos of an assassination of a Wizengamot member would throw the Wizarding World into doubt as well as cast aspersion on Scrimgeour’s fitness as Minister of Magic. And despite how much or, rather, how little Neville thought of Scrimgeour, he’d take him as Minister over Lucius or one of Lucius’ associates any day. The post of Minister had been Lucius’ dream for quite a long time - no reason why he wouldn’t try to use even something as dangerous as a revolution among the British vampire community to get what he wanted.
“Still in touch with Draco, by any chance?” Harry asked ruefully, some of the tension seeming to go out of his frame.
“Sort of,” Neville replied, because ‘sort of’ was what really covered it. He’d revisited it briefly with Draco about a summer or two ago in Madeira, and vaguely remembered the irritating git talking about going to France - “As far as I know, he’s in France somewhere,” he added, trying to be helpful.
“Good,” Harry said firmly, and Neville suddenly knew his propensity for being helpful had just landed him in a whole other cauldron of trouble - “Would you mind flushing him out? You could tell everyone you were going on discretionary leave, and just sort of head for France on the sly…”
“It better be paid leave, Harry,” Neville said darkly. “And no, I don’t care if I only classify as a consultant - paid leave, at least as much as I earn for a good job, all right? And I’ll be going the Muggle way, too, to minimise suspicion, so I’ll thank you not to track me.” Looking at Harry’s suddenly quite sunny expression, Neville felt an insane urge to take the last sentence back.
“Splendid - you can stop by Dover on the way easily, then,” Harry said, and Neville suppressed a groan. He should have known - “If your vampire’s nowhere to be found, you can just twiddle on along to Calais and start searching for Draco from there.” A short pause ensued, in which Harry looked at Neville with an ardently hopeful expression. “Can’t you, Neville?”
“I suppose I can,” was the grudging reply. Rising irritably to his feet, Neville didn’t have to look at Harry to know that that horribly pleased crafty expression would be on his face. DOM Head, indeed - when Harry took it in his head to be so, he could rival Dumbledore for sheer nerve in his methods of manipulation. Perhaps that was why he was so good at it - his methods always seemed so simple and so blunt that one gave in, thinking that they could see what he was after, before realising that not only was he after that, he was after their thinking that the horrible extra task had been their idea. “I hate you, you know? Please retire before I come back.”
“I’ll try, Neville,” Harry replied, his crafty smile gradually becoming only friendly as his eyes followed Neville out the door.
* * *
It was by the time Neville had returned to his rather listless flat on Diagon Alley before he realised he hadn’t mentioned Snape’s opinion of what might happen (or might have already happened) to him because of the vampire’s massive bite in his neck, and by then, he’d wasted a considerable amount of time picking up supplies for his little impromptu holiday. The several packs of ammunition for his rapid-fire crossbow impeded him in his frantic search for quill, ink and parchment, and by the time Neville thought to just Floo back to Harry’s office, the small slip of paper showing the day’s password to his friend’s direct grate was a dull grey, signifying that it had expired or been changed since his visit.
Cursing himself for not thinking this through properly, Neville sat down to scribble down a somewhat hasty note to Harry about Severus’ findings on the bite, making sure to caution Harry against sending Severus an owl on the matter so as not to disturb him. As long as it had been since the War and their mutually hateful teacher-student relationship, Harry and Severus were still irrational enough about each other as to stoop to doing things only to annoy the other person, so next after the letter to Harry was a quick one to Severus in a similar style, asking him not to worry Harry with the details of his bite.
That done, Neville began to pack as quickly and neatly as possible, taking care to shrink down packs of stakes enough to stuff in the pocket of every pair of jeans he intended to take. In his experience, the only thing worse than not having stakes on hand to fill one’s crossbow was not having the ammunition in a convenient place at the right time. He’d learned that the hard way, with five vampires breathing down his neck on an unfairly cloudy day on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and had stuffed all his pockets with stakes ever since.
Standing, Neville looked over all his packed things, trying hard to think of anything he might have missed. When nothing occurred to him, he dug out more writing supplies - Gran was always a nightmare whenever he didn’t inform her of his travels - and settled in to put down a nice, falsely reassuring set of paragraphs that she’d understand to mean ‘if I don’t come back, sue the Ministry’. It took a surprisingly short time, as did appending a paragraph to Severus’ letter to tell him where he would likely be for the next couple of weeks. As soon as Neville finished the usual silly debate he had with himself over how to sign off letters to Severus in general, he was, in all appearance, on his way.
* * *
By the time Neville finally got to Dover, he had realised two things. Firstly, that every British vampire was either avoiding him, or was closeted away and unable to stop him with polite conversation and the greedy look vampires got in their eyes when they thought they’d cornered someone naïve, however temporarily. Neville grinned ruefully - that was one of the setbacks of becoming a professional vampire adjudicator, really. The Adsociatonis de Judem de Strigae (or, as Neville preferred to call it, the Ajays) picked candidates primarily with vampire lusts in mind - soft skin, clean-cut looks, nervous movements, shy smile, aura of innocence - because of the simple, yet extremely effective rationalisation that vampires would rather listen to adjudicators that they found attractive. Whether much listening went on in the day-to-day activities of a normal Ajay member was not the point - the stipulation of attractiveness to vampires was non-negotiable.
Neville, even in his rather depressed, angry state post-war, had fulfilled that point to the letter. It had partly been due to the fact that he had strangely appealing men and women chatting him up at strange hours in the morning after the final breakup with Severus that Neville had thought to apply to the angelic, yet frighteningly knowledgeable Su Li (another wartime ally and friend) for advice on staying out of trouble. Neville wondered, sometimes, if he’d have come down this path if he’d just asked Hermione what on earth was wrong with him after the fifteenth devastatingly out-of-his-league partner had begged desperately to bite him during sex (and been soundly refused forty times. Gran had always been very clear when he was young about not letting people he didn’t know well bite him and it had stuck with him), but on the whole, he’d been happy with his choice.
Perhaps until now.
Because, the second thing Neville had realised on bunking in a tightly secured wizarding inn on the outskirts of Dover (magical blood tests at the door. Dover had copious amounts of vampires flitting to and from France all year round) was that he was being followed. It wasn’t so much that he’d been seeing someone repeatedly in strange places or even that he’d spotted the tell-tale signs of Disillusionment Charms or even Invisibility Cloaks (hard to get after the War, those. A lot of top weavers had sided with Voldemort in return for freer access to demiguise hair) - no, it was worse than that.
It was a Feeling.
Neville emptied his pockets in the sparse room he’d rented, making sure to leave the shrunken stakes and crossbow in the right one as he prepared to make an appearance at dinner. He hated Feelings in general, despite how useful wizarding intuition (as Hermione called it) usually was. He’d not gone more than a week without horrible creeping feelings of failure and general foreboding washing over him at every opportunity during the war, but disliked them on principle because they usually couldn’t be proved, and sometimes weren’t much help in preparing oneself for whatever horrid event was to come. And because they were downright unsettling, sometimes, even if they let you realise that the nice-looking lad or laddette in tight clothes likely wanted to feast on your blood as well as do naughty things to your cock.
His Feeling increased in intensity as he found a stool at the bar and nervously chatted up the barman. Neville smiled and said yes to fish and chips and no to the drink the barman, eyeing him up and down, predatorily offered for free, and tried to relax when people tried to talk to him or chat him up, or just brushed by him carelessly.
It was the fifth brush - or rather, bump - that Neville almost jerked out of his seat at, because -
Cold blue eyes looked down at him. “So sorry,” he heard, and it was all Neville could do not to draw his arms and fire right then, because the vampire, his vampire - “Would you mind if I sat next to you?” - was there. Looking desperately at the once-full seat on his right, Neville could only shake his head and watch as that lithe figure eased gracefully into the seat, cool hands brushing his thigh in a way that burned. The barman showed up and broke the charged silence between them, eying up Ted and Neville with a distinctively jealous look in his eye as he was told that no, Ted wasn’t really thirsty for more than a shot or two of plain vodka, but would like a substantial order of what Neville was having.
“I’ve always loved fried food,” Ted said lowly, leaning forward in a way that made Neville’s heart seize in an altogether strange way, tendrils of long dark hair slipping out of his half ponytail. Neville mm-hmmed and continued to try to eat his meal as Ted audibly licked and smacked his lips (too audibly, too visibly, for Christ’s sake) as his own plate and unadorned glass arrived. “I can’t remember if you did, though,” Ted said, leaning over his food with an oddly hungry glance in Neville’s direction. “You never seemed to be there on fried Fridays, at Hogwarts…”
Neville dropped his fork, coughing. Ted’s hands seemed to be on him immediately, thudding at his back and murmuring comfort in a slightly throaty way Neville weakly thought should not be allowed in public, even as his mind ran through all the possibilities of who this bastard might be, if he knew him from Hogwarts -
“I’ll save you a bit of worrying,” Ted said, when Neville was finally trying to shakily eat again, “The name’s Ted Nott.”
Neville froze, trying to think, trying to search out the lie that had to be behind that statement. But his mind was telling him, in a hushed, rather Hermione-like voice, that Nott the Younger hadn’t really been seen to take part in the war in any form, and had actually not been seen or spotted after it ended. He had been one of the many declared missing and thought dead; one of the many Neville raised his glass to at the ceremonies every April.
It was horribly destabilising, and even worse because it all sounded quite true. Who would have known, anyway, in those dark times, whether Theodore had been turned or just dead? Vampires lived in the shadowy recesses of the wizarding world, for the most part, and usually kept their secrets well to themselves if they lived in a wizarding community. For them, living secretly among Muggles was technically out of the question but easy to accomplish if one was discreet. Theodore fit the bill - he’d been so bloody discreet at Hogwarts that it had taken Neville until third year to even know who he was, and until fifth year to vaguely decide that Theodore wasn’t close friends with anyone but Daphne Greengrass. Who was dead since the war. Who might have known, and told no one.
Whatever the explanation, Neville didn’t want to hear any more - all he wanted to know was how to get out of being strapped to something for five hours again. So, having regained some or all of his calm, he began with a simple question, as was his wont.
“How the bloody hell did you get in here?”
Ted smiled. It did distressing things to Neville’s cock, and had him comparing that smooth, almost flawless face to his abstract memory of Theo Nott’s pimples and perpetual detached, sullen look. “I know some people.” Neville tried not to snort - such a bloody conventional smokescreen of an answer would have been laughable coming from any other vampire but one that had successfully caught, unlawfully detained and even more unlawfully bitten him twice and lived to tell the tale.
“Whatever,” Neville said, deciding he could be blunt - he assumed more kidnap and confinement was on the menu tonight, so he could bloody well afford to be - “How’d you find me?”
Ted sighed, leaning over. Neville went still as those familiar, cold fingers stroked the glamoured bandage on his neck almost lovingly, before drifting temporarily up into his hair. “There’s no need to question me, you know,” Ted said lowly, eyeing Neville up and down. “We could just -”
“No,” Neville said firmly, brushing away the vampire’s steady hand with a slightly shaky one. “What do you want from me? Didn’t you get enough of your jollies from the last time, or -”
“I should have thought that would be obvious, by now,” Ted said simply, retracting his hand and setting to his meal again with a will. “You have a contact I need contact with, so -”
Neville laughed shakily, lowly. “You know there’s no way in hell that that’s happening, right?”
“Of course,” was the calm answer. “Hence the reason I bit you, the reason why I’m here. If I know anything about you and your…contact, you’re heading for France on his suggestion to catch up on old schoolmates.” Ted paused. Neville could feel his cold eyes drilling into the side of his neck, but forced himself to keep trying to eat. “Am I right?”
“Going to help me, then?” Neville said, skewering the last bit of fish on his plate with unnecessary vigour.
“Again, that’s obvious,” Ted replied, voice shot through with that horribly arousing intensity that Neville was increasingly wishing he didn’t possess.
Neville threw down his fork, unable to force any more food down his throat. “We’ll need a contract determining -” But Ted was laughing softly, was putting a shiver-inducing arm around Neville’s waist and leaning close -
“Do you have any sense, Longbottom?” he whispered, lips distressingly close to Neville’s tingling ear. “I bit you. Marked you. That’s our contract.” Ted nibbled lightly on Neville’s ear then, temporarily depriving him of the power to speak. “The reason no vampire’s looked at you since then, I should think. You can’t be turned, unless I turn you.” His voice lowered. “You’re mine.” After a final, almost painful suck on Neville’s earlobe, Ted released him easily, returning his attention to his plate.
Neville tried to ignore the hard-on in his jeans, despite the fact that they were starting to partially cut off his circulation. “I - I see,” was the best he could come up with, then, but Ted didn’t seem to mind. “I - I believe I’ll…retire now, thanks.” Neville gulped, struggling to his feet. “Good to see you.”
The only response he received was a cool, knowing smile.
* * *
Despite the fact of the sickening knowledge that Ted would likely be following him to his room, it was quite a shock when the firm knock on Neville’s door gave way to the tallish, familiar figure. Ted smiled at him - leered at him, more like - and strode in without waiting to be invited to do so. Neville closed the door with shaking hands and hoped against hope that Harry’s wards weren’t closed against Patronuses tonight - it was the only thing he could think of doing on such short notice, and indeed, his silvery horse had only just thundered silently away through the wall on his left moments before the dreaded knock came.
“Rather sparse,” Ted muttered, flinging the sweeping, slightly patched cloak Neville didn’t remember seeing at the bar onto Neville’s as yet pristine double (he groaned inwardly. That wouldn’t help things) bed. “I suppose it’ll do for the night, though,” Ted went on, stretching with mesmerising, sinuous little movements.
“Quite,” Neville muttered in return, grudgingly shifting his pack off the bed and onto the floor as Ted sat down and began to - oh god, could this get any worse? - unlace his boots. “You’re not -”
“I’m not about to sleep in clothes, thanks,” Ted said, cutting him off with a challenging look. “I like the feel of cotton against my bare skin, strangely enough - they’ve got wonderful sheets here, did you know?”
Neville spluttered. “Do you not have your own room or something?”
Ted smirked, peeling off one thigh-high boot after another in a horribly interesting way. “The people I know didn’t see fit to give me one. I didn’t ask for one, anyway…” And then he began to wriggle (sexily) out of his jumper, and Neville had to turn away, or loose all powers of speech. “Why aren’t you undressing, Neville?”
Neville gulped. Powers of speech? Lost, irrevocably, at that - at that tone, that low tone, the way Ted’s tongue seemed to caress his simple name -
“Strip,” Ted ordered, lowly, and Neville couldn’t bring himself to disobey any more than he could leave the room. His fingers shook as he bent down to tug off his boots, and they shook even more as Ted murmured in clear appreciation. It was all Neville could do, for a moment, to wrestle out of his shirt and jumper in a coherent manner as that voice gained even more intensity, sighing in pleasure behind him. “Yes, that’s it. Take everything off…”
Gulping, Neville began to struggle out of his jeans, his exposed feet and chest prickling with gooseflesh, every sigh from Ted feeling like it was caressing him already, pinching at his already hard nipples - “Oh, god yes - just slide those down, all the way down. Take your time, Neville, we’ve lots and lots of time -”
Neville bit back a whimper as he freed his aching, throbbing cock, as his boxers slid easily down his prickling thighs, as he stepped out of them, feeling like every inch of him was on display despite the fact that he had his back turned to Ted. Then Ted’s cool hands gripped his shoulders and turned him firmly round, and his feeling was a reality -
“Yeah,” Ted murmured darkly, his pupils dilating, his fangs visible just between his soft, pale lips, and then Neville was being pushed onto the bed with a slow determination that made him twitch and finally whimper out loud as the vampire’s frame covered his. Neville moaned, writhing uncontrollably as cock met cock, as skin slid against skin, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer amount of slightly warm skin sliding roughly against his, by the soft crackling of the smooth sheets below as Ted insinuated a firm thigh between his and began to tease and kiss at his exposed bite.
“What -” Neville asked, moaned, but Ted’s lips were over his, swallowing his garbled question in desire and wet warmth, and Neville couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe he was letting this happen even as inexorable fingers found their way to his aching cock and under and between the clenching cheeks of his arse. Neville moaned and begged as that slick finger found its determined way inside, and was coming almost before it could find that spot, spasming around and within fingers and feeling harsh breath against his neck as he was turned violently over and licked and lubed and pried open with painful pleasure. The moments seemed to flash by awfully fast from then, thudding through Neville in moans and painful thrusts and handfuls of soft, dampened sheets and aching knees and aching cock as Ted’s fingers dug horribly into him, as Ted’s fangs bit into his earlobe again and again and again until all he could feel was a throbbing, sweeping yes yes yes!
Whimpering again as his slightly bleeding ear was licked, Neville sank into those strong, merciful arms as they finally lowered him fully onto the thoroughly rumpled bed. Despite the nagging feeling that he’d just done something very, very, very unwise, Neville could barely muster the indignation to do more than try (and fail) to crawl away from Ted’s naked body.
“Where are you going?” Neville, breathing hard, shook his head. There wasn’t any point, was there? Especially not while he was still just a little hard and tender and while those hands were rubbing and pinching his nipples so agreeably - “I said we had all night, didn’t I?”
Neville sighed. “So you did.” Struggling against the arm that detained him as the other hand began to fist his cock would only weaken him further, anyway. He could accept this - for now.
* * *
The next morning, Neville woke up tangled in a nearly painful grip and pinned to the bed, and for a moment, had cause to wonder exactly where he was, and whose fiendishly strong arms were wrapped around his waist. Then he twisted in the detaining arms and got half-suffocated for the glimpse of a horribly familiar face, and had no choice but to depressingly resign himself to awaiting his eerily silent partner.
Partner, yeah. Or lover. Or fucker. Neville shut his eyes in embarrassment, his face heating awfully as he remembered just how many times Ted had brought him off, last night. He closed his eyes, wondering if his earlobes would be beyond repair - he remembered being bitten there at least fifty times, he was sure - or if the wound on his neck had been reopened. Those areas were throbbing slightly, filling him with dread as his sleepy imagination thought up a wild scheme in which he’d trade his ears and some of the skin on his neck to be set free, and have to replace them with those horrible red rubber Skin Fillings, and end up being called Red-Ears by all and sundry.
His panicked vision came to an end abruptly as Ted suddenly began moving slowly, relaxing the tight grip on his waist. Neville opened his eyes warily as the vampire’s arm disappeared from around his waist, correctly interpreting that he was probably getting out of bed. Stifling the urge to look (stupid mesmerising dominant molesting bastard), Neville also began to do the same thing. Or, at least until a familiar hand caught hold of his and dragged him back down onto the mussed bed he’d very regrettably shared with Ted last night.
“Morning,” Ted said, smiling predatorily as he dragged Neville into an entirely too tempting embrace. “Well, then - who’s awake nice and early, eh?” Neville blushed and stammered and tried vainly to get away, but that didn’t stop Ted from palming his already hard cock and calling him dirty names as he wanked him off. Neville wobbled on unsteady knees on the somewhat firm mattress and wondered inwardly how on earth one managed to put one’s fingers everywhere in such a manner, and soon surrendered to the now-familiar painfully pleasurable release Ted was working so hard - so hard, Neville thought faintly to himself - to bring about.
“Your turn, now,” Ted said, nipping fiercely at one of Neville’s throbbing ears. “Go on - do it hard…”
And, to his shame and disgust and wild arousal, Neville found himself returning the favour, slicking his hand wet with his own saliva and clutching confusedly at a dreamily firm buttock as Ted gasped into his hands. By the time Ted groaned and came, Neville was already quite hard again, enough that Ted grinding hard into his hand and spurting shockingly hot come everywhere made him ache terribly, and moan like a fool when Ted idly fondled his tight balls, minutes later.
“If we keep going like this, we’ll never leave,” Ted whispered roughly, into Neville’s painfully sensitive ear. It was almost enough. Neville squeezed his eyes shut, wondering what on earth would become of him after all this debauchery, and so was entirely unprepared for being bitten again in the neck. He yelped, coming so hard that he saw stars, and moaned and scrabbled weakly for purchase as Ted sucked determinedly. By the time his aching neck was finally released, the area felt like it was on fire, and he felt about as limp as could be. Ted shivered next to him, breathing harshly, and for an awful moment Neville was afraid that he was going to do it again, that that twitching grip would suddenly tighten, and - “You’re too tempting for your own good, Longbottom.” Neville stayed as still as could be as Ted practically flung himself off the bed, his voice hoarse with a hunger that sent thrills of terror through Neville’s still-weakened body.
The sound of heavy footsteps and the rustling of clothes made Neville look up, desiring to assess if it was quite safe to get up, but Ted’s cold eyes pinned him with a hard, warning look. “If you love your mortal life, stay still,” he said firmly, eyes flicking hungrily to Neville’s neck. “This is hard enough without your pretty arse nanceing about the place, all right?”
Neville forced himself to close his eyes, knowing that he’d be better able to keep as still as was probably needed. He kept them closed despite the soft, almost imperceptible breathing he heard drawing closer.
“Unless you don’t love your mortal life, Neville,” Ted said softly, a horribly strong, sweet note present in his voice. “Do you?” Neville desperately fought the urge to swallow convulsively, knowing it’d only direct the vampire’s attention to his probably still-bleeding neck. God, what was he supposed to answer to something like that?
Ted cleared his throat. “Don’t answer that.” And the moment was suddenly over - Neville could hear him moving away, could hear the heavy sound of his boots and the sound of the door opening. “We leave in fifteen minutes, Longbottom. Probably isn’t very safe here anymore for me, let alone for you - meet me in the alley next door, understand?” The door closed, sounding hopelessly normal, and Neville tried not to cry with fear as he remembered just how silent vampires could be if they really wanted to, tried not to feel as if Ted was still there, watching, waiting -
He opened his eyes by main force, and could have hugged and blessed Lucius Malfoy with all his heart just to see that his partner - or, more realistically, captor, was no longer there.
* * *
The dangerous hunger in Ted’s eyes seeming quite absent now, Neville felt only a little afraid when he was pulled close and kissed thoroughly in the empty alley just after stumbling in. He struggled at first, but gradually melted foolishly into those steely arms as Ted’s unbearably clever tongue plundered his mouth again and again. By the time Ted let him go, Neville was shaking.
It scared the fuck out of him. It only ever seemed to take a moment for Ted to get Neville hard and needy enough to stare blankly at his pale mouth and almost forget that the man he so lusted after had nearly turned him into a vampire fifteen minutes ago, and that worried him horribly. Neville stared into slightly hooded blue eyes as he was drawn into another fiery kiss, and hoped against hope that he would come out of this situation okay.
Somehow contriving to back away a bit from the second kiss seemed to clear his head a bit. For a moment, Neville wondered wildly if Ted was offended as cool eyes surveyed him. But then - “Come on,” Ted whispered, reaching up to run a bold finger across the bottom of Neville’s lip, his manner at once gently urging and faintly commanding. Relief surged through Neville as the vampire turned away smoothly, but it didn’t last long. It couldn’t, not with his neck throbbing insistently and reminding him sharply of what might have happened to him this morning, if Ted hadn’t gotten a hold of himself, if Neville had made a wrong move, if, if…
Stop thinking - just move. Gritting his teeth, Neville lurched after Ted, trying to blank his mind and just - just move, as he’d learnt to do in difficult situations. Neville stumbled along behind Ted as he strode out of the alley with that swift, easy stride vampires were so easily able to call up at will. Taking deep breaths, Neville tried to master his fear, tried not to flinch each time Ted turned round to check on him or slowed down for no discernable reason. It didn’t help that most of the time, it was so Ted could ogle his crotch or stroke his arms in a dizzyingly inappropriate manner, and certainly didn’t help that Ted’s eyes seemed permanently fixed on the part of his neck where they both knew his carefully concealed injury lay.
Soon enough, they reached a Common Apparition Point fairly nearby - one Neville frequented fairly often, that was housed in the dingier part of town - and, after clearing the patchy ‘security’ at the doors of the decrepit former hotel, waited in line to use the boosting platform. Ted hovered distinctly, and, after seeing the narrowed look on his face, Neville knew to shake his head and pleasantly reply that they would be Dual-Apparating together to the Apparition Point near the ferry station to the question of the overly solicitous cashier’s query. When she inquired as to whether they’d like to buy tickets to Calais right then, Ted took over, flashing a disturbingly normal smile in her direction and producing the money from goodness knew where.
As Ted charmingly inquired about how things were at the station and if she had any news from Calais, Neville found himself fighting salacious thoughts of where exactly Ted might have concealed those Galleons. After finding himself staring at Ted’s arse, outlined as it was by the draping of his cloak, Neville gave up trying to listen to the conversation, and occupied himself with scrutinising people making use of the platform nearby. One or two of them gave him appraising looks as they walked by - possibly vampires - but most just looked hurried, frightened and rather furtive, and would look no one in the eye, clearly itching to leave the area. Looking behind them on a whim at the long line of queuing people, Neville began to try to pick out the number of vampires by the way they were looking at a certain hotly arguing pair of rather obvious young lovers over near a large, grimy window.
The sheer amount he spotted raised gooseflesh on Neville’s arms as Ted began to steer him away. Good god, but Harry had been right to bully him into stopping here - it was starting to look like most of the vampiric community here was crossing over to Calais. For what, Neville didn’t know, but he had a very strong feeling that it would be part and parcel of the fallout of the disastrous Wizengamot convene.
Then Ted, having guided him onto the faintly humming platform, slid his arm tightly about him, and suddenly Neville could think of nothing but the fact that those hands were squeezing gently at his buttocks. Ted’s fingers bit into him as he chanted, repeating the password that the cashier had probably given him, and suddenly that familiar crushing feeling hit Neville again, presaging their Apparation.
Only it was a hundred times worse. Ted’s fingers seemed to feel like a vise, and the pain in Neville’s faintly throbbing neck became agonising. If Neville could have screamed, he would have been hoarse in minutes. As it was, the crushing feeling faded abruptly, leaving his skin tingling horribly, accentuating the pain in his neck, and Neville’s legs gave way as they arrived at the Apparation Point. Ted caught him easily, practically dragging him off the platform as he struggled for breath.
“You,” Neville coughed, because it was the only thing he felt able to say. Right now, he didn’t know if his lips could even form the word ‘bastard’ -
“Would you have Apparated with me if I told you what it was like?” Ted snapped, the irritatingly comforting solidity of his arms a direct contrast to the contempt in his voice. “It only does that the first time, as far as I know.” Neville glared up at him, wishing very hard that he had the strength to prick open his neck with even a miniature stake, and Ted gave him a cold smile. “What - how long do you think I’ve been a vampire? Certainly not long to own anyone -”
“You do not,” Neville managed to get out, as Ted heaved him past the slightly concerned-looking cashier with a polite, nauseatingly normal smile. “You bit me,” Neville tried again, coughing, closing his eyes against the pain, “but that doesn’t - that doesn’t -”
“Shut up,” was the cool answer, and Neville finally did. It hurt to talk, anyway.
Ted lugged him over to an empty bench somewhere out on the street and lowered him into it slowly. Almost gently. Neville kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see what the manipulative bastard wanted this time, and it was well that he had, because Ted’s hands were suddenly stroking at his neck again with familiar intent and peeling off the protective, hastily constructed bandage. Before Neville could even summon the horror that something was going to happen again, a warm mouth was sucking gently at the wound in his neck, a slightly warmer tongue dragging back and forth against the throbbing flesh. Neville stifled a groan, feeling humiliated - even now, even while he was weak and dizzy from that god-awful Apparation, his cock was somehow taking orders from a vampire’s tongue. It made him feel even worse that the pain in his neck was diminishing, lick for lick, and that by the time Ted began kissing gently at his wound instead of licking it, it was hardly hurting any more.
“Better?” Ted breathed, against his neck, and Neville couldn’t hold back his moan. Ted chuckled, bringing up fingers to stroke his cheek. “You make the prettiest sounds, Neville. We can’t stay here, though.” And in an instant, Neville was being hauled to his feet and guided in the direction of the station, which was nearby.