Blue-eyes is watching me the whole time, and the vampire pays no attention to me when he slips his fingers under the waistband of the human’s jeans. The hand down my pants curls around my cock and gives it an experimental tug.
“I’ve wanted to touch you for months,” he whispers into my ear.
I nod, and he takes that as approval to continue because he strokes me from root to tip right there in the middle of the dance floor. Blue-eyes is still looking at me, but I think he can tell what’s going on in my pants is the same as in his and he pumps his hips forward against the vampire’s hand. Of all the kinks and all the fetishes I’ve engaged in over my lifetime, I’ve never done this weird simultaneous jerk-off thing that’s happening right now.
“You’re hard as rock.” Another hoarse whisper in my ear.
I know I am. Cold as one, too, but no one ever comments about that.
“You don’t need to talk to make me come,” I tell my partner, suddenly not interested in hearing his voice. It’s like his words are tainting the memory I’m trying to live in.
You smell really good and I’d like to come with you.
“Yes, sir,” Camo Jacket answers, and I lift my finger to his mouth and shake my head. He licks his lips, the heat of his tongue dragging over the pad of my finger, then he quickens his efforts, jerking me off like we aren’t in the middle of a crowd.
Blue-eyes over there on the stairs is writhing around like a jellyfish. It looks like the only reason he’s on two feet still is because he has an arm around his throat to hold him up. His eyes are still wide, and I wonder if they justarethat way, and why in the fuck is he still looking atmelike that?
His pulse quickens and his muscles tighten. I can see it clear as day, the way his trapezius muscles tense just beneath the collar of his shirt. He swallows, and those beautiful pink lips part.
“Oh,” he whispers. I hear it like it was whispered on a hot breath against my own ear, and then he comes. He comes for this other vampire, this stranger who isn’t me, and my nostrils fill with the scent of his release and I come myself, shooting off into my own stranger’s waiting grasp.
Blue-eyes goes a little limp and the vampire he’s with raises his sticky hand to his mouth. I watch his tongue dart out and lick his own release from the webbing of his partner’s fingers, and I surge with jealousy. I open my mouth and suck in a breath, the smell and taste of his cum coating my tongue like I’d drank it myself. My entire body shakes with want.
“Goddamn,” a voice in my ears says, and I remember I’m not alone, that I’m not with blue-eyes after all. I pull this guy’s hand out of my pants and swipe my hand across the front of his face with a sigh.
I take my attention away from the stairs only long enough to make sure this man in the camo jacket doesn’t remember jerking me off just now. He’s dancing and making eyes at me like his hand isn’t covered in cum, so I think it worked. I give him a curt smile; then I put some space between us.
Come with me, I think, and then I turn my back on the stairs and push my way through the crowd until I’ve gotten to the back door. I force it open and the night air is a welcome feeling against my skin. I’m not clammy or anything because I don’t sweat, but there’s always been something about being in the open air that feels…better.
And then he’s here.
“Cloves,” I whisper and turn, coming face to face with the man whose eyes made me come.
He pulls a pack out of his pocket and offers me one. I decline. He leans against the brick wall, fishes a lighter out of his pocket, and lights one up, sucking deeply and exhaling the smoke in a dramatic cloud around us.
“Thanks,” he says before taking another drag.
“For?”
“Letting me come with you.” His eyes sparkle under the streetlamp and I’m surprised I missed the double entendre when I said it, but I get it now. I fight a smirk and look down, studying the toes of our shoes. He’s wearing sneakers. Monochrome black Chucks against the shined leather of my Doc Martens.
“Ah.”
He takes another drag and exhales, and all I can smell is him.
“What’s your name?” he asks, tapping some ash onto the ground.
“Ezra.”
“I’m Declan.”
I laugh so hard I nearly snort. Of course his name is Declan. “That’s an old name,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. His name is older than me, older than my father and even his father.
“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes and finishes off his clove, stubbing it out with the heel of his shoe. “Man of prayer and goodness. It’s a family name.”
“You’re Irish?”
“I was born here.”
