iii: transylvanian.
It starts with a drug bust. They’ve been staked out on a dingy side street on the rough part of town for most of the evening; Colussy is a nervous eater so the floor of the cruiser is littered with double cheeseburger wrappers from McDonalds. Ian’s fries have gone cold. He doesn’t have much of an appetite at the moment. Mostly, he’s concentrating on the doors of the shitty bar they’re staking out - watching who’s coming and going, how they interact - but most importantly of all he’s looking for Gabe Saporta or one of his, erm, associates. He hopes the skinny one that looks like a girl doesn’t show up. They’ve been looking to nail that guy on a separate charge, so trying to arrest both of them at the same time will get messy.
He’s not even sure why, of all places, they came here to sell their drugs. Like. It’s not like there’s a thriving club scene or anything to support it. The closest thing Ian has ever seen to a rave within ten miles of here is, like, some barn party that got a little out of control. Colussy eyes his cold fries. “Are you gonna eat those?” he asks.
“Knock yourself out,” Ian sighs. In the blink of an eye, his partner has wolfed them down and chased them with a gulp of cola. How can he eat at a time like this? He shifts his gaze to the other side of the street. The same car has been sitting there for over an hour. It shouldn’t really make him suspicious, but there’s just something slightly off about the situation that sets his radar off. It’s an ordinary sedan, probably somebody’s grandma’s car or something. He thinks about that saying that if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck, but his gut instinct tells him otherwise. There are other cars parked on the street; why doesn’t he get that creepy-crawly feeling about any of them?
Out of nowhere, Colussy grabs him and hisses, “Get down.”
He’s not about to argue with Colussy because, for all that the guy looks like the stereotypically slobby cop eating donuts and missing what’s right in front of his face, he’s got instincts that can’t be rivaled. They both dive for the floor. “Okay, you’re the boss.”
“Look who just showed up to the party,” Colussy whispers. Ian peeks over the steering wheel to see the notorious Gabe Saporta headed for the sedan. Ten points to Ian Planet for picking up on that one. And he knows that they’ve probably only got the one chance to arrest Saporta - they’ve got good reason to believe he’s trafficking controlled substances in that vehicle, sure, plus the plates are expired - so without even thinking about it Ian’s hand is already inching the door of the car open and sliding out, keeping his body low to the ground to stay out of sight. He hears the click of Colussy taking the safety off his gun; he hopes that it doesn’t come to that. If Saporta is smart, he’ll come quietly to avoid making headlines.
He must have hearing like a goddamn bat for how fast he moves to open the door of the sedan, but Ian is even faster. “What the fuck, man,” Saporta shouts, followed by some creative Spanish phrases. And of course he puts up a struggle - of fucking course he does, because he’s Gabe Saporta and he can do that - so Ian doesn’t even have time to give him his Miranda rights before slapping the cuffs on him.
“Gabe Saporta,” he grunts, pushing the drug dealer against the car roughly. He narrowly avoids being kicked in the balls, which, ow. “You are under arrest for trafficking controlled substances and - OW.”
Ian steps back for a minute, surprised, because the fucker just bit him. Normally he wouldn’t be too concerned about it, but it burns and then, seconds later, there’s a telltale shick! sound that makes his stomach try to crawl up into his throat. “Oops,” Saporta says, blinking innocently at him. “My bad.” The pain is so bad that Ian almost - almost - loses his grip on the dealer’s wrists. It’s a hot, searing pain that spreads from his shoulder along his arm and into his chest, kind of like the world’s worst case of heartburn.
“COLUSSY,” he screams. Like a flash of lightning, Colussy is running to his aid. “Stay behind him,” he says. “Why didn’t anyone know that Saporta is a fucking vampire? Ugh - Saporta, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, you have the right to an attorney and one phone call, etc. Oh, also, let’s add assaulting an officer of the law to your hotel bill.” He kind of wants to kick the motherfucker, but he knows that is a bad idea. Together, they toss Saporta into the back of the cruiser and lock him in. Ian’s been kind of holding onto his injured shoulder; it’s bleeding a lot and the burning is getting worse.
But Matt Colussy is a fucking champ and he’s already on the radio telling dispatch what has transpired and Holly radios them back telling them that someone from the medical examiner’s office will meet them at the station in twenty minutes. That, Ian thinks, might actually be twenty minutes too late. His arm feels numb from the shoulder down and his chest is burning. “I think I’m going to die,” he groans.
Colussy looks at him and goes, “You are not allowed to die in this fucking cruiser. I don’t want to break in a new partner.” And coming from Colussy, that’s kind of a compliment .
Actually arriving at the station is kind of a blur, although the disreputable chief of police himself appears to personally escort Gabe Saporta to booking. Ian watches two of the juni0r officers tackle Saporta to the ground as soon as the cruiser door is opened, putting a Hannibal Lecter-style mask over his lower face so he can’t bite anyone else. Holly puts him in one of the rooms they usually take rape victims into, the one with the examination table and the thing with the stirrups for the womens’ legs. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable and he gets the feeling he’s going to sympathize with every woman who has ever seen a gynecologist after this experience is over. Well, provided he doesn’t actually die.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Holly tells him, like he might decide to go run a marathon or something while he’s waiting for the person who is hopefully going to come and save his life. She comes back with a towel and a clean shirt for him; he’s afraid to look down because he’s sure that the one he’s wearing is ruined with blood, but he doesn’t want to see it if he doesn’t have to. Colussy already makes fun of him enough for having a weak stomach.
When she comes back, there’s a youngish-looking guy in a lab coat following her. He looks… He would be hot if he didn’t look so much like he had just taken a huge whiff of dog shit or something. Possibly he’s angry about having to come all the way down here at such a late hour, but hey, kind of bleeding to death over here. Ian can’t feel his left arm anymore, really. He waits for Holly to do introductions, but she all but sprints out of the room, oddly enough. Ian flexes the fingers of his right hand experimentally; he can still feel them but his pulse is skyrocketing crazily out of control.
The… doctor? medical examiner? Ian doesn’t know. The guy looks him up and down, asks, “Where’d he get you?” as if it weren’t obvious from the bloodstained shirt.
“Left shoulder,” Ian moans. Christ, he’d take a bullet over a vampire bite any day of the week. It hurts so much he thinks he may actually pass out. He feels strangely heavy and… fuzzy. “What are you going to do to me?” He doesn’t see any stakes or, like, holy water or anything, so he’s confused. Also, he really doesn’t want to turn into a vampire, he thinks.
“Alex Roy,” the hot medical examiner says. Ian knows this because that’s the next thing Alex tells him, that he’s the new night coroner and then to sit still. He’s only a little freaked out when Alex sits on his legs; he’s a lot fucking freaked out when he hears the tiny shick! and looks up and oh, Alex Roy is a vampire, too, so he’s probably going to die. “Calm down, calm down,” Alex says, pushing him back against the chair forcefully. “I’m going to suck the venom out and then you’re going to stay still and hope the damage hasn’t already been done.”
Ian wants to scream. “I… venom… I’m totally going to die, aren’t I? Shit.”
Then Alex tugs on the front of his shirt - the buttons pop open for him with ease - and mutters, “You might not want to watch this part. Freaks people out.” But damned if Ian isn’t going to watch this; he already got bitten by a vampire once tonight with no warning, he’s going to watch the time he can expect, goddammit. So he lies back and tries to relax - and how many gynecologists have said those same words to how many women in chairs just like this one? - and watches Alex Roy sink his fangs into the holes already left by Saporta’s. It hurts, he’s not going to deny it, and then it feels weird when he can feel the venom travelling up through his veins.
It freaks him out more when it starts to feel good. Part of it is the proximity of the bite to, uh, some very sensitive areas, and another part is the fact that the new medical examiner is really attractive. The whole experience is very slurpy and wet and, like, there’s only one natural reaction for him to have when there’s a hot guy sucking on the part of his shoulder just beyond his collarbone. “Don’t stop,” he breathes. “Fuck, don’t stop. You could… you could.”
Alex pulls off, mouth wet and red. “Ian. Don’t. You don’t know what you’re asking.” His pupils are blown wide, fangs white and gleaming against his blood-stained lips. Jesus Christ, he’s so hot. But… Ian still wants it. He wants to. It’s obvious they were both getting something out of it, so why stop there?
“Please,” he whispers. He leans his head back, exposing his neck fully. Isn’t that what vampires like?
“You can’t ask me for that. Anyway, you shouldn’t… I’m, I only feed on one human. Don’t you dare ask me again,” Alex says stubbornly. Ian grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in; he’s not resisting, so… so, they should do it. Alex should - Alex should bite him or turn him or whatever, Ian would let him, he’d. God. He would let Alex Roy do whatever he wanted to his body. Alex looks at him with those eyes once more, squeezes his cock through his pants and then sighs heavily.
Ian protests when he climbs down from the chair and turns away, straightening his lab coat. “Please,” he says again. “Don’t, like. No one would have to know. I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not if you didn’t want me to.” And the honest truth is, it’s been so long since he’s gotten laid that he’s almost afraid that he’s forgotten how to do it. Aren’t vampires not supposed to have morals or something?
“You’re lucky,” Alex says dryly, “that the venom hadn’t reached your heart yet.”
He blinks. What? “I… I, what?” Oh, smooth. Minus a million points to Ian Planet for making an ass of himself in front of the hot new medical examiner. Goddammit. Goddammit, he thinks. This is too much to process, vampires and venom and drug deals happening in shit-town America. Whatever happened to, like, bank robberies and car chases?
Alex Roy tells him, point-blank, “You’re a half-vampire now. If the venom had reached your heart, it would have stopped, and you either would have died or become a fledgling vampire. So, you got lucky. You get to skip the cravings for blood and, uh, other unpleasant side effects. Just don’t expect to be able to hold Saporta. There are vampires in high places looking out for his sorry ass. Also, FYI, he’s also been dealing in vampire blood, which falls under Class A controlled substances. Check the trunk of his car.” Then the young medical examiner seems almost to glide out of the room, leaving just as quietly as he had come in.
He’s a half-vampire. Fuck. Before he thinks to thank Alex, he’s already gone. And Ian, he’s still got a hard-on that could take someone’s eye out, so knowing that no one can see into the room, he undoes his pants carefully and inches them down until they’re around his thighs. He jerks off hard and fast, thoughts a jumble of Alex Roy’s mouth and his teeth and maybe, maybe, other places he would’ve liked that mouth to be. Oh fuck, he hopes that this crush goes away or it’s going to make the next time they see each other on the job extremely awkward. After he’s spent, he uses the towel to clean himself off. He doesn’t care that it’s the same one he used to clean up his shoulder when he came in. It feels like all the bones have been sucked out of his body.
Minus ten million points to Ian Planet for being stupid enough to get turned into a half-vampire. Fuck.
He’s not even sure why, of all places, they came here to sell their drugs. Like. It’s not like there’s a thriving club scene or anything to support it. The closest thing Ian has ever seen to a rave within ten miles of here is, like, some barn party that got a little out of control. Colussy eyes his cold fries. “Are you gonna eat those?” he asks.
“Knock yourself out,” Ian sighs. In the blink of an eye, his partner has wolfed them down and chased them with a gulp of cola. How can he eat at a time like this? He shifts his gaze to the other side of the street. The same car has been sitting there for over an hour. It shouldn’t really make him suspicious, but there’s just something slightly off about the situation that sets his radar off. It’s an ordinary sedan, probably somebody’s grandma’s car or something. He thinks about that saying that if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck, but his gut instinct tells him otherwise. There are other cars parked on the street; why doesn’t he get that creepy-crawly feeling about any of them?
Out of nowhere, Colussy grabs him and hisses, “Get down.”
He’s not about to argue with Colussy because, for all that the guy looks like the stereotypically slobby cop eating donuts and missing what’s right in front of his face, he’s got instincts that can’t be rivaled. They both dive for the floor. “Okay, you’re the boss.”
“Look who just showed up to the party,” Colussy whispers. Ian peeks over the steering wheel to see the notorious Gabe Saporta headed for the sedan. Ten points to Ian Planet for picking up on that one. And he knows that they’ve probably only got the one chance to arrest Saporta - they’ve got good reason to believe he’s trafficking controlled substances in that vehicle, sure, plus the plates are expired - so without even thinking about it Ian’s hand is already inching the door of the car open and sliding out, keeping his body low to the ground to stay out of sight. He hears the click of Colussy taking the safety off his gun; he hopes that it doesn’t come to that. If Saporta is smart, he’ll come quietly to avoid making headlines.
He must have hearing like a goddamn bat for how fast he moves to open the door of the sedan, but Ian is even faster. “What the fuck, man,” Saporta shouts, followed by some creative Spanish phrases. And of course he puts up a struggle - of fucking course he does, because he’s Gabe Saporta and he can do that - so Ian doesn’t even have time to give him his Miranda rights before slapping the cuffs on him.
“Gabe Saporta,” he grunts, pushing the drug dealer against the car roughly. He narrowly avoids being kicked in the balls, which, ow. “You are under arrest for trafficking controlled substances and - OW.”
Ian steps back for a minute, surprised, because the fucker just bit him. Normally he wouldn’t be too concerned about it, but it burns and then, seconds later, there’s a telltale shick! sound that makes his stomach try to crawl up into his throat. “Oops,” Saporta says, blinking innocently at him. “My bad.” The pain is so bad that Ian almost - almost - loses his grip on the dealer’s wrists. It’s a hot, searing pain that spreads from his shoulder along his arm and into his chest, kind of like the world’s worst case of heartburn.
“COLUSSY,” he screams. Like a flash of lightning, Colussy is running to his aid. “Stay behind him,” he says. “Why didn’t anyone know that Saporta is a fucking vampire? Ugh - Saporta, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, you have the right to an attorney and one phone call, etc. Oh, also, let’s add assaulting an officer of the law to your hotel bill.” He kind of wants to kick the motherfucker, but he knows that is a bad idea. Together, they toss Saporta into the back of the cruiser and lock him in. Ian’s been kind of holding onto his injured shoulder; it’s bleeding a lot and the burning is getting worse.
But Matt Colussy is a fucking champ and he’s already on the radio telling dispatch what has transpired and Holly radios them back telling them that someone from the medical examiner’s office will meet them at the station in twenty minutes. That, Ian thinks, might actually be twenty minutes too late. His arm feels numb from the shoulder down and his chest is burning. “I think I’m going to die,” he groans.
Colussy looks at him and goes, “You are not allowed to die in this fucking cruiser. I don’t want to break in a new partner.” And coming from Colussy, that’s kind of a compliment .
Actually arriving at the station is kind of a blur, although the disreputable chief of police himself appears to personally escort Gabe Saporta to booking. Ian watches two of the juni0r officers tackle Saporta to the ground as soon as the cruiser door is opened, putting a Hannibal Lecter-style mask over his lower face so he can’t bite anyone else. Holly puts him in one of the rooms they usually take rape victims into, the one with the examination table and the thing with the stirrups for the womens’ legs. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable and he gets the feeling he’s going to sympathize with every woman who has ever seen a gynecologist after this experience is over. Well, provided he doesn’t actually die.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Holly tells him, like he might decide to go run a marathon or something while he’s waiting for the person who is hopefully going to come and save his life. She comes back with a towel and a clean shirt for him; he’s afraid to look down because he’s sure that the one he’s wearing is ruined with blood, but he doesn’t want to see it if he doesn’t have to. Colussy already makes fun of him enough for having a weak stomach.
When she comes back, there’s a youngish-looking guy in a lab coat following her. He looks… He would be hot if he didn’t look so much like he had just taken a huge whiff of dog shit or something. Possibly he’s angry about having to come all the way down here at such a late hour, but hey, kind of bleeding to death over here. Ian can’t feel his left arm anymore, really. He waits for Holly to do introductions, but she all but sprints out of the room, oddly enough. Ian flexes the fingers of his right hand experimentally; he can still feel them but his pulse is skyrocketing crazily out of control.
The… doctor? medical examiner? Ian doesn’t know. The guy looks him up and down, asks, “Where’d he get you?” as if it weren’t obvious from the bloodstained shirt.
“Left shoulder,” Ian moans. Christ, he’d take a bullet over a vampire bite any day of the week. It hurts so much he thinks he may actually pass out. He feels strangely heavy and… fuzzy. “What are you going to do to me?” He doesn’t see any stakes or, like, holy water or anything, so he’s confused. Also, he really doesn’t want to turn into a vampire, he thinks.
“Alex Roy,” the hot medical examiner says. Ian knows this because that’s the next thing Alex tells him, that he’s the new night coroner and then to sit still. He’s only a little freaked out when Alex sits on his legs; he’s a lot fucking freaked out when he hears the tiny shick! and looks up and oh, Alex Roy is a vampire, too, so he’s probably going to die. “Calm down, calm down,” Alex says, pushing him back against the chair forcefully. “I’m going to suck the venom out and then you’re going to stay still and hope the damage hasn’t already been done.”
Ian wants to scream. “I… venom… I’m totally going to die, aren’t I? Shit.”
Then Alex tugs on the front of his shirt - the buttons pop open for him with ease - and mutters, “You might not want to watch this part. Freaks people out.” But damned if Ian isn’t going to watch this; he already got bitten by a vampire once tonight with no warning, he’s going to watch the time he can expect, goddammit. So he lies back and tries to relax - and how many gynecologists have said those same words to how many women in chairs just like this one? - and watches Alex Roy sink his fangs into the holes already left by Saporta’s. It hurts, he’s not going to deny it, and then it feels weird when he can feel the venom travelling up through his veins.
It freaks him out more when it starts to feel good. Part of it is the proximity of the bite to, uh, some very sensitive areas, and another part is the fact that the new medical examiner is really attractive. The whole experience is very slurpy and wet and, like, there’s only one natural reaction for him to have when there’s a hot guy sucking on the part of his shoulder just beyond his collarbone. “Don’t stop,” he breathes. “Fuck, don’t stop. You could… you could.”
Alex pulls off, mouth wet and red. “Ian. Don’t. You don’t know what you’re asking.” His pupils are blown wide, fangs white and gleaming against his blood-stained lips. Jesus Christ, he’s so hot. But… Ian still wants it. He wants to. It’s obvious they were both getting something out of it, so why stop there?
“Please,” he whispers. He leans his head back, exposing his neck fully. Isn’t that what vampires like?
“You can’t ask me for that. Anyway, you shouldn’t… I’m, I only feed on one human. Don’t you dare ask me again,” Alex says stubbornly. Ian grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in; he’s not resisting, so… so, they should do it. Alex should - Alex should bite him or turn him or whatever, Ian would let him, he’d. God. He would let Alex Roy do whatever he wanted to his body. Alex looks at him with those eyes once more, squeezes his cock through his pants and then sighs heavily.
Ian protests when he climbs down from the chair and turns away, straightening his lab coat. “Please,” he says again. “Don’t, like. No one would have to know. I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not if you didn’t want me to.” And the honest truth is, it’s been so long since he’s gotten laid that he’s almost afraid that he’s forgotten how to do it. Aren’t vampires not supposed to have morals or something?
“You’re lucky,” Alex says dryly, “that the venom hadn’t reached your heart yet.”
He blinks. What? “I… I, what?” Oh, smooth. Minus a million points to Ian Planet for making an ass of himself in front of the hot new medical examiner. Goddammit. Goddammit, he thinks. This is too much to process, vampires and venom and drug deals happening in shit-town America. Whatever happened to, like, bank robberies and car chases?
Alex Roy tells him, point-blank, “You’re a half-vampire now. If the venom had reached your heart, it would have stopped, and you either would have died or become a fledgling vampire. So, you got lucky. You get to skip the cravings for blood and, uh, other unpleasant side effects. Just don’t expect to be able to hold Saporta. There are vampires in high places looking out for his sorry ass. Also, FYI, he’s also been dealing in vampire blood, which falls under Class A controlled substances. Check the trunk of his car.” Then the young medical examiner seems almost to glide out of the room, leaving just as quietly as he had come in.
He’s a half-vampire. Fuck. Before he thinks to thank Alex, he’s already gone. And Ian, he’s still got a hard-on that could take someone’s eye out, so knowing that no one can see into the room, he undoes his pants carefully and inches them down until they’re around his thighs. He jerks off hard and fast, thoughts a jumble of Alex Roy’s mouth and his teeth and maybe, maybe, other places he would’ve liked that mouth to be. Oh fuck, he hopes that this crush goes away or it’s going to make the next time they see each other on the job extremely awkward. After he’s spent, he uses the towel to clean himself off. He doesn’t care that it’s the same one he used to clean up his shoulder when he came in. It feels like all the bones have been sucked out of his body.
Minus ten million points to Ian Planet for being stupid enough to get turned into a half-vampire. Fuck.