Food, Vampirism, Biting.Disclaimer
I don't own the characters or ideas behind BtVS or CSI, no money has or will be made from this fic.A/N:
Written for my livejournal "kink_bingo" card: Food. One Shot – Stand alone. 1768wds.
Greg hadn’t been joking when he’d offered them the stake that day when they had the case of the vampire wannabes. To be honest, he was sort of relieved that it didn’t turn out to be the real thing. But then it would be so much easier if they all knew. Knew who and what he was. Oh Greg wasn’t a vampire but he’d lived among them. It was his heritage. Whilst most families passed down property, paintings, jewellery, his passed down being the familial to one of the most powerful Vampire clans, the Order of Aurelius.
The Master was long gone, killed by the slayer, Buffy, and Greg could honestly say that he was pretty pleased to have seen Batface staked. He’d only met him, once when he was nine years old, and he had been seriously creeped out. But the Master’s dusting had left them in upheaval for a good few years and the Vegas ‘castle’ hadn’t been inhabited by the Master of the line since he’d taken over his duties as familial.
So, it was a bit of a shock when he found himself face to face with William the Bloody. He knew of Spike by legend, the vampire had followed in Angelus’ footsteps and flouted the rules of the Order. But in recent times he’d been Master of the Hellmouth, his rule had kept the minions and fledges in line. He was fearless and fearsome and ruled with a playful but iron fist with rules that were completely of his own making. And now he had a soul. Greg didn’t know what the hell to expect.
The blond cocked his head to the side, his scarred eyebrow flicking up as he studied the young man in front of him. He was nervous but not scared. Spike had never had a familial to deal with. Sure he’d been around humans and even some human pets, but familials were a different thing altogether. “Looks like you’ve done a good job keeping up the happy home, pet,” Spike murmured and took a last drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and grinding it under his boot heel.
Greg bristled. “I’m not a pet and I’ll thank you for showing me the respect that I deserve.”
“Oh, feisty,” Spike smirked and leaned in taking a deep breath from close to the young man’s neck. “Got a name then, not-pet?” he teased.
“Greg,” the CSI told him without so much as a flinch.
Spike studied him carefully, he was a little over six foot and, although lithe, his body seemed to carry its fair share of muscle and was nicely toned. He was tanned and his hair was light brown streaked with blond. Around his neck he wore the pendant on a chain that signified his status. Familial, sacred, only the Master of the line had any business touching him.
Greg stood his ground, some how resisting the urge to shiver under that piercing gaze. “Y’know Angelus has rejected the position?” Spike asked, suddenly all business as he moved passed the young man and into the house. He had an invitation after all.
“I know. Can’t say that I’m surprised, funny how he still carries the Aurelius name but rejects the line…the Order.” Greg said with a nod as he shut the door and followed Spike through the hallway and into the large lounge.
“That’s Angel for ya, never really was one for rules and back when he was turned, Batface had wanted them living underground. S’no wonder he turned his back on that with all the world to rampage through. They were some fun times,” he sighed wistfully as he moved around the room picking up and examining ornaments and objects. “So, just you and me here then, mate?”
Greg nodded bouncing slightly where he stood, too much energy to simply be standing still. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “No one really bothers with Vegas much anymore, at least none of the Master Vampires, and the minions are a bit too thick to come looking for ‘home’.”
Spike nodded, “Gotta admit, you’re better looking than the last familial I encountered,” he leered, “Of course, that was over seventy years ago.” He thought he saw the boy’s lips twitch in an almost smile.
“Drusilla is dust. Too many slayers runnin’ round out there for her, and she got so caught up in that damn doll,” he rolled his shoulders and slipped his leather duster off and draped it over the back of the two-seater settee. “So, the poor buggers are stuck with me. Direct descendant of the Master and most senior remaining in the line. Which bloody sucks when you think I ain’t that sodding old. But there you have it.”
And suddenly he was in front of Greg again, leaning in and sniffing at him. “Sodding hell, you’re unclaimed.” Golden flecks bled into the blue of his eyes as he studied the brown-eyed human.
Greg watched in almost slow motion as a hand came up and cupped his cheek, sliding round to the back of his head and drawing him forward. Gentle lips brushed against his in a tender kiss. The touch of cool lips against his really did make him shudder. When the kiss broke, he smiled teasingly. “New claim takes easier,” he told him, his voice a little thicker with lust and his pupils slightly dilated. Oh sure, he’d heard all about Spike, but no one had ever told him that he was so frigging hot.
His fingers went to the hem of his faded t-shirt, and he peeled it off over his head and then met Spike’s eyes again. He tilted his head to the side in clear invitation and submission.
It took all Spike’s control not to just dive in. He didn’t feed from human’s any more, but this was different, this was important. His hand went back to where it cradled the back of Greg’s head, fingers threading through the soft hair. He leaned in to lick gently at the curve of the exposed neck and shoulder. He felt the boy shiver again and let his features shift. His other hand went around the warm body and pulled him in tight against him. He could feel the other man’s arousal, could smell it starting to bleed from his pours.
He grazed a fang over the skin and was rewarded with a soft moan. He let his unneeded breath tickle over the dampness and ground his hips against his human. “Mine,” the demon supplied. And he slowly sank his fangs into the flesh. He felt the canines puncture skin and sink in, tasted the burst of blood over his tongue, powerful and as ancient as their own line. Spike himself groaned from somewhere deep inside as he humped their hips together, rubbing and arousing them both even though they were both fully clothed.
To think that he could feed from this power whenever he chose too. He had to remember to look after his human too. Not a pet, he reminded himself. But even though he was a familial he would make such a beautiful pet too. He could dream. It had been so long since he’d fed directly from a human and from non-rejected blood that he’d forgotten how damn good it felt. If bagged blood was sustenance this was food, glorious fucking food. It was a taste explosion, instantly rejuvenating him with only a few small pulls.
Their bodies pressed and rubbed, he held Greg steady while the young man’s hands wandered, one on his ass the other running up his back and pushing under his shirt looking for skin on skin contact. This wasn’t just a happy meal this was a freakin’ sex buffet. They were hot for each other and it wasn’t just about the feeding. Greg ground against him, the hand on his butt moved and pushed down the back of his jeans spreading warmth across his well-toned ass cheek as he gripped and groped almost desperately. The boy was whimpering in pleasure and need. No doubt he was surprised at how good it felt.
Spike wasn’t all out feeding, he was savouring the taste, taking only a little in his mouth and just letting Greg enjoy the feel of fangs in his flesh with the occasional draw. He started to rock his hips in a noticeable rhythm, thrusting back and forth in what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a tattoo of sexual need. If they were naked he would be inside the delicious human, and next time he would be.
Greg was delirious with pleasure; he’d never thought it could be like this. Sure, he’d heard stories and knew it would feel good but this went way beyond his wildest expectations. He needed to cum so badly; if only Spike would thrust just right against him he would be off over the edge. He barely recognised the sounds falling from his mouth as their bodies moved against each other and he felt so hot he was worried about flames.
The hand at Spike’s back moved round and squeezed between the two of them. The rhythm paused and he flicked the buttons on their jeans to release their trapped cocks. His too small hand tried to wrap around both of them and the rhythm started up again as they both thrust into his palm. The slow draw on his neck was more intense than if Spike was all out sucking at gushing blood. He’d bet that the vampire wouldn’t have taken much more than a pint by the time he was done.
The thought of how much was being taken was obliterated as he cried out in pleasure and started to shoot his cum between the two of them. The sensation was too much for the vampire and he started to shoot too. Their spunk mixing together and spilling over his hand as their rutting slowed and Greg tried to breathe around the constriction in his chest.
As they were coming down from their orgasms, Spike slowly withdrew his fangs and licked the wound clean before deliberately pricking his tongue with a fang and letting it mix with Greg’s blood. He sealed the wound and pulled back with a smirk on his face at the incredibly dazed look on the young familial’s face. He let the human see his vampiric features, let him get to know his other face.
“Now that’s what I call a dinner date,” Spike said with a smile and a lick of his lips as he morphed back to his human visage.