Page 7 of First Blood
Laurie answered the door after my second knock, right as I started considering kicking the door in.
He’d changed out of his street clothes and into a big blue sweatshirt with a pocket in the front, with what looked like black flannel pajama pants underneath. He could’ve been a teenager at home on a school night watching some TV before bed.
Except for the bruises around his neck and the wariness in his dark blue eyes. At least I wasn’t responsible for the bruises.
His eyes flicked down to the bags in my hand. “You didn’t need to bring anything. I have condoms and lube here.”
I stepped forward, forcing him to step back and let me in if he didn’t want me to run right into him.
“I’m not here to fuck you.” I walked past, trying not to sniff him too obviously, and set the bags on the little square of cracked laminate countertop that was pretending to be his kitchen. There was no microwave, but there was a single hot plate, and I opened the one cabinet, hoping for a pan.
Yep, one little pot, just the right size for a single can of soup. And a can opener in the drawer above. A couple of bent spoons. Even I had more and better kitchenware than this, and I didn’t eat.
“What are you doing?” I almost laughed at how bewildered he sounded, except that I didn’t think I’d be laughing for a while.
“Tomato or chicken and rice?”
A pause. “What?”
I turned and held up the cans. He was still standing by the door, gaping at me. “Simple question.”
“Tomato. I think chewing and swallowing solid food might hurt. Are you seriously here to make me soup?”
Yes and no, and I was trying fucking hard to make it morenothanyes. If I’d actually come here just to make him soup, then whatever was wrong with me was a lot more wrong than I’d thought.
“I’m here to make sure you aren’t too anemic for me to feed on you.” It came out sounding a lot harsher than I’d intended, and Laurie’s hand flew up to his neck, like he needed to fend me off right that second. “Not tonight,” I added. “I’m not biting you with your neck like that.” Laurie still didn’t say anything. “And not at all if you say no.”
His hand fell away, and he nodded slowly. “You saved my life. I’m not going to say no.” A rush of relief nearly made my knees weak, and I turned back to the hot plate and picked up the can opener so I could hide my expression. “Why did you save my life? And — why were you — if you wanted blood, why didn’t you come and talk to me?”
I shrugged and pulled the top off the can. “Good luck that I happened to show up right when that fucker picked you up. I thought I recognized him. Someone who shouldn’t have been in Lancaster.”
“Shouldn’t you have interrogated him, then? Instead of beating him to death without asking any questions?”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a long second. Of all the hookers in Lancaster, I had to get obsessed with one smart enough and ballsy enough to figure out the holes in my story and then call me on them. Fuck my life.
“He wouldn’t have answered any questions anyway. Sit down before you fall down.”
Maybe it was my tone, or maybe Laurie simply didn’t care that much, but he stopped talking and dropped down on the edge of his bed, the only place to sit in this tiny little shithole of an excuse for an apartment.
With the soup in the pot and the hot plate on, I got out one of the spoons and tossed the can into a plastic bucket next to the kitchenette that looked like it already had some trash in it. Not much more stalling to be done. I turned around.
Laurie was watching me, his teeth worrying at his lower lip again, pearly white against velvety rose. If my cock got hard, it would show, even though my pants weren’t as tight as Laurie’s. If my fangs dropped, they’d show too. I was nearly two hundred years old. I was better than this.
“You can bite me somewhere other than my neck, right? I mean, it doesn’t have to be my neck. You can feed on me tonight if you want. I — shit, I owe you. Anything you want.”
Anything I wanted. He had no fucking idea, and now my cock was half-hard.You don’t fuck where you eat, Victor. I could feed from the vein in his inner thigh. He’d have to spread his legs as wide as they’d go to accommodate the bulk of my shoulders, and I’d hold his knees, my fingers digging into soft creamy skin…it would hurt him. Biting there always hurt, more than the euphoria of the feeding process could compensate for.
It'd hurt him. Fuck. Not an option. My heart pounded, and I was so fucking glad he didn’t have my senses and wouldn’t be able to tell from over there. And hopefully he wouldn’t look down, because any pants were going to be showing my semi at this point.
Spreading his legs and putting your mouth on him wouldn’t hurt him if you weren’t biting. Kisses don’t hurt. Licking doesn’t hurt.
I cleared my throat and turned back to the pan so quickly I nearly got whiplash. “Soup’s ready. You eat. I’ll — eat another time. Not tonight.” Fuck, I had to get out of there before that became a lie. “There’s water. Snacks. Don’t go out for the next three nights. I’ll come here on the third, once you’ve healed up a little.”
“I need to work,” Laurie said quietly. “I can’t take three nights off.”
I bit back a demand to know why. He wasn’t on drugs, I knew that from tasting and smelling him. And this apartment couldn’t cost more than my shoes. But it wasn’t my business, and it didn’t matter, and everyone in Lancaster could fuck him raw for all I fucking cared.
My wallet was in my hand before I realized I’d reached into my pocket. Plenty of cash there. How much did he earn in a night? A couple hundred, maybe?
