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It’s an endless cycle.
Just watching has Gabriel restless, following Jack with his eyes and trying not to sigh.
Jack leans against the archway that leads from the living room into the hall, then paces across the room. Peers out the blinds on the front windows, lifting a dark wooden slat up, eyes flashing black as he lets them focus. It’s getting dark outside, the sun just starting to sink under the treeline, everything painted in shades of blue. Jack lets the slat fall and paces back across the room, pulling a business card out of his pocket to read again like there might be new information written on it.
As though he hasn’t read it a thousand fucking times already.
The Blood Apron welcome packet had come in the mail the previous week, full of information about different tiers of service— client options, and flexible schedules, along with a separate envelope tucked in behind it all. Expensive stationary, vivid red.
Meet Jesse, your pre-selected, BA certified donor!
There was a photo of the donor Gabriel had selected, along with basic information about him. Name, age, blood type, a handful of mostly useless details slotted into the blanks. Jesse likes horses, good whiskey, and good company!
All in all it fell somewhere between a dating profile, a pet adoption listing, and the descriptions waiters gave humans about wines at fancy restaurants.
Gabriel had looked over it once before trashing everything, but Jack had dug it out again. He dutifully studied the pages and filed them away with the rest of their documents, like it was important enough to store alongside their homeowner’s insurance policy or blood bank withdrawal authorizations. It’s not some critical paperwork they need to hold onto; it’s a glorified nutritional facts pamphlet. A step up from a restaurant menu, Gabriel insisted at the time, Jack ignoring him with a sigh.
He’d saved the balled up business card from the wastebasket, too, smoothing out the wrinkles and tucking it into his wallet for safekeeping. Jack had spent enough time looking at all of it over the past week that Gabriel had it memorized just from reading over his shoulder; donor information, company policies, glossy color trifolds assuring them their employees are all thoroughly vetted, medically and psychologically, client satisfaction is guaranteed!
It had taken Gabriel months to talk Jack into letting him try one of the new ethically sourced blood donor programs that had popped up lately instead of forcing him to choke down a pouch full of bitter synthetic every week.
Gabriel’s lip curls at the thought.
Vampires aren’t meant to live like that, swallowing chemical mouthfuls of watery imitation blood— drinking through a plastic tube, fangs impotent and useless. There’s something inherently wrong about it, and no amount of lecturing from Jack about being nutritionally complete or infinitely sustainable is going to change his mind.
Gabriel could go to a club and feed on a person easily enough, but it wasn’t much better than drinking artificial. It tasted better, sure, but the humans reeked of desperation, always begging to be turned or pawing at Gabriel when he just wanted a quick meal. If he fed from them more than once they got clingy, seeking his affection, his attention.
Gabriel didn’t need some overeager human following him around with stars in their eyes, begging to be bitten or for a few drops of Gabriel’s blood.
Just enough to take the edge off, you don’t know what it’s like, hands trembling as they latched onto his clothes. Addicts, and fanatics. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
Gabriel needed fresh blood directly from the source, willingly given, but he didn’t need yet another headache to go along with it.
Jack hadn’t let him kill anyone in ages; the past few centuries had really been a drag.
With a donation service, Gabriel can switch donors whenever he likes. If a human is getting on his nerves, getting overly familiar, wanting more than just a paycheck in exchange for their blood? Gabriel can send them on their way with the click of a button, and have a brand new donor at his doorstep the very next day. It’s practical. It’s convenient.
It’s expensive, Jack argued, easily twenty or thirty times the price of drinking synthetic.
Gabriel persisted, and eventually Jack caved. He spent days paging through brochures and reading customer reviews on every high end donor service he could find. There are dozens of them now— Jack settled on one eventually, for a variety of reasons Gabriel only half listened to him list off.
It’s human owned and operated. The donors’ food costs and medical expenses are all covered, and they’re given the freedom to refuse clients for any reason. They’re put through extensive safety courses, trained to resist enthrallment. There are security measures in place to ensure donor safety, with several layers of redundancy— background checks on clients, donor check-ins, text codes, GPS tracking. Anonymous employee testimonials on various websites seem to indicate they’re compensated well, and given generous benefits packages.
None of that matters to Gabriel, really. What matters is that Jack approves, with only minimal complaining, so Gabriel downloaded their app on his phone and scrolled through the list of available donors in his area. There are a variety of choices; different blood types, different personalities, different diet plans. It was all the same to him.
Gabriel picked a pretty brunet with a solid jawline and collar bones that made his teeth ache with the need to bite; someone who seemed like he could take a punch without a fuss. He’s got a nose that’s been broken at least once, and a mouth that would look nice bloody. It took Gabriel about three minutes to decide.
Jack is horrified when he realizes Gabriel put zero thought into his choice beyond the donor’s physical appearance and preference for red meat. He stops complaining when he sees the donor’s profile, eyes flashing black for a moment before fading back to blue; blatant, shameless interest.
Gabriel can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.
Now Gabriel’s donor is due to arrive any minute, and Jack is circling their living room like an animal at the zoo, pacing the edges of his territory and peering out the blinds.
“Jesus, Jack, would you sit the fuck down? You being creepy isn’t gonna make him show up any faster.”
Gabriel is going to physically put him in a chair and hold him there if he doesn’t stop circling like a vulture.
Jack is standing next to the window when there’s a knock at the door a second later, three loud raps against the wood. He shoots Gabriel an amused grin, and Gabriel sighs, drawing himself up to his feet. Jack steps aside to let Gabriel answer it; when he swings the door open Gabriel freezes, head cocked to the side and brows furrowed.
The human on his porch is… unfortunate. It’s definitely the donor he selected, bright eyes and a steel jaw, but he’s a far cry from the sanitized, professional photo in his profile. His jeans have a hole in one knee, held up by a hideous gold belt buckle. A cowboy hat that has seen better days sits on his head, and it looks like he’s got a few days of stubble going on, if not more. He grins, wide and crooked, before throwing Gabriel a wink.
“Hey there, darlin’. My name’s Jesse, and I’m here on behalf of Blood Apron. Are you Gabriel Reyes?”
Gabriel starts to shut the door in his face. Not really on purpose— it’s just his automatic response— but Jack stops him, catching the door with his palm and stepping in front of Gabriel. He reaches out to shake Jesse’s hand, smiling wide. That smile he gives the press, or his fans, or any unsuspecting humans he interacts with; nonthreatening. Something to set them at ease.
To help them forget just how terrifying and dangerous he really is, and it works every time.
Jesse’s eyes have gone round with surprise, his mouth fallen open.
“Hello Jesse, it’s nice to meet you. This is my husband Gabriel, and I’m-”
“Jack fucking Morrison,” Jesse whispers, voice hushed and reverent, and Gabriel rolls his eyes.
Of course a human who works for a blood donor service would recognize Jack.
Not that there are a lot of people who wouldn’t, but Gabriel had hoped. The Human Rights’ movement had a lot of supporters, human and vampire alike, but Jack is one of the most instantly recognizable. Things have died down in the past decade— most countries have adopted the Stockholm Accords, and all the relevant blood trade embargos. Synthetic blood is universally available, and mostly affordable, even for the newly turned. There are programs for impoverished vampires; blood kitchens, and monthly allotments.
There will always be predation, but it tends to be isolated rather than institutionalized nowadays. Something for the VEA to deal with, rather than protestors and lobbyists and advocates.
Jack’s days in the trenches are well behind him, but that doesn’t stop this donor from stammering, shaking Jack’s hand for far longer than necessary with a stupid look on his face.
“Oh, my God, it’s- it’s really you, I didn’t- the- the contract was for-”
“My husband Gabriel, yes, and we do appreciate your discretion with regard to client anonymity,” Jack says, pulling Jesse gently inside and closing the door behind him. “I drink synthetic, but Gabriel is... a little particular, and wanted to try something different. We looked into a lot of different services to find the best option, and decided to go with you guys. How long have you worked as a donor?”
Jack gestures towards the couch, and Jesse sits down obediently, eyes locked on Jack as though Gabriel isn’t even there.
“Oh man, I can’t believe this, wow.” Jesse shakes himself a bit. “Ah, been a donor for about a year and a half now, I think? Worked for a different service before BA scooped me up, offered me a better deal.”
Gabriel sits down on the other side of the couch but Jesse doesn’t notice, rubbing his palms up and down on his jeans. Like they’re sweaty with nerves, and he’s trying to dry them.
Gabriel makes a face.
“A better deal huh? So you like it there? They treat you pretty well?” Jack asks, and Jesse nods enthusiastically, taking his hat off and setting it down on the coffee table. It’s an interrogation disguised as politeness, Jack trying to suss out any mistreatment or coercion or unethical business practices, but Jesse either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care.
“Oh, yeah! Best job I ever had. Last place weren’t so great, with the uhhhh… client vetting process, but BA checks everybody out. Pays for all my food, ‘n medical stuff, gives me mandatory paid vacations. All I gotta do is lay off the junk food, take my meds ‘n vitamins, and meet a few clients every week. It’s a great gig.”
Gabriel sits up straighter, opening his mouth to say something, but Jack beats him to it.
“How many clients do you donate for on average each week? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Jesse waves away his concern, looking at Jack like he hung the moon in the sky.
They’re paying an awful lot of money for this blood donor to make eyes at Jack and pretend Gabriel doesn’t exist, but that’s alright. He can pick a different donor next time, cycle through them until he finds someone more professional.
Someone who doesn’t look like they want to crawl in Jack’s lap and stay put.
“No, no, it’s fine. I usually see three or four people a week, unless it’s a younger vampire I’m feeding, or I get booked for an event. Vampire parties, I’m sure you know how they go. Tends to take a little more out of me, so I’ll have the rest of the week off to recover in that case. Young vamps either rotate out donors, or reserve one exclusively, so the donor doesn’t get too worn down.”
Jack’s nodding, mentally taking notes. Jesse’s leaning towards Jack without realizing, subtly trying to get into his space.
A moth to the flame like always. Jack draws people in without trying.
“And donating for events or vampires with higher volume needs is voluntary, I’m assuming?”
Jesse smiles, and nods back.
“For sure, yeah. They let you pick and choose how many clients you want to see, and what type. I have a couple of regulars who host events from time to time, but I’m not… on public offer, at those. It’s more like ehhh… VIP service. I don’t do big parties no more. They pay really well, but I don’t really need the extra cash, so.” Jesse shrugs. “I haven’t gotten any new clients in good long while, actually, but one of my regulars moved out of the area, so here we are.”
Jesse turns towards Gabriel, like he’s surprised to find him there, and realizes he’s been ignoring his actual client all this time in favor of talking shop with Jack. His cheeks heat a little. Gabriel licks over his teeth.
It’s been a long time since he fed at all, let alone from a living, breathing human. Weeks since he begrudgingly drank a bag of synthetic, well over a year since his last visit to a vamp club.
Gabriel writes it off as hunger, how delicious Jesse looks— hair in his eyes, blushing and embarrassed.
“So, Gabriel. First time clients tend to use the arm, but it’s all up to you. You can feed anywhere you like, sweetheart,” Jesse says, tilting his head subtly to the side to expose his throat.
Gabriel feels his eyes flash black, teeth viciously sharp in his mouth.
He can also feel Jack’s gaze on him, intensely disapproving. He blinks until his irises are brown again, until the white of his sclera is visible, and shakes his head.
“Arm is fine,” he replies gruffly. He clears his throat and swallows.
Jesse scoots closer on the couch so their thighs are pressed together, Gabriel’s right against his left. He reaches across himself, holding his right arm out in offering; Gabriel lifts his hands, fingers closing gently around Jesse’s wrist and pulling it up towards his mouth. He cuts his eyes over at Jesse, who just nods encouragingly.
“Go ahead, sugar. All yours.”
Gabriel tucks his nose into the bend of Jesse’s elbow, breathing in the scent of him. Citrusy soap. The lingering smell of smoke. Traces of sweat.
He opens his mouth and sinks his teeth in deep.
Then those first drops of blood spill over his tongue, and Gabriel shudders. His eyes go black and roll up in his head as his lids flutter shut, an obscene noise pouring out of his throat.
He isn’t even aware of it. Gabriel clutches Jesse’s arm tight against his mouth, easing his teeth out of the wounds he’s made, trembling again when Jesse’s blood rushes thick and heavy between his lips. His chest heaves, and his fangs throb in his jaw. Gabriel wants to bite down again, wants to dig his teeth in and hold Jesse in place.
Gabriel has tasted the blood of countless humans, from fifteenth century sheep herders to wealthy French aristocrats to coked out junkies in back alleys downtown. Virgin sacrifices, cult offerings. Humans raised for generation upon generation as little more than cattle, bred strictly for taste. Hundreds of years. Centuries of feeding, both willingly given and taken by force.
No one has ever tasted like this.
Like bliss. Like ecstasy. Jesse is enjoying himself— that’s something Gabriel can taste, too, just how much Jesse likes it— but that isn’t what’s making Gabriel shake all over. What’s making him whine into Jesse’s skin, nails gone black and curved to better keep him still.
Jesse tastes like that first moment the blood took hold in Gabriel, and he could see galaxies spinning out endlessly in the night sky above him. Could feel the strength running through him, making him fast and agile and invincible.
Jesse tastes like power, and sunshine, and Gabriel never wants to drink anything else. Gabriel wants it to last forever.
Gabriel wants to drain him dry.
It feels like an eternity, Jesse’s blood honey thick in his mouth, but he catches himself eventually. Blinks through the haze he’s fallen into, an edge of panic creeping up unbidden. He hasn’t been paying attention to how much he’s taken from Jesse, or even trying to control his thrall.
Jesse is probably delirious, drugged and fucked out on the pheromones in Gabriel’s venom, pupils dilated as he fights to stay upright. Gabriel can dial it back when he’s feeding, keep it from being overpowering— all vampires can, other than the very young. It’s one of the primary stipulations in the donor agreement. Enthralling is strictly prohibited, and grounds for immediate severing of the contract.
Gabriel pulls back with an apology on his lips but has to pause and lick up the blood that’s dripping down Jesse’s arm, first. Laps over the bite marks he’s left behind, unable to stop himself. It’s only now that Gabriel notices the other marks on Jesse, faded with time but clearly visible. A few sets of bites on his throat, one of them a little torn. A fresher mark on his other forearm. One just under his jaw.
The idea that other vampires are feeding from him is suddenly, brutally unacceptable, but Gabriel shakes the thought away. It’s not the primary concern right now.
The primary concern is him being dropped from the donor service when he’s only has the barest of tastes. He licks the last traces of Jesse’s blood off his teeth and sits up, lids heavy, eyes still dark with want.
“Ssssorry,” he slurs, Jesse’s arm gripped tight in his hands. “Sorry, I…” Gabriel trails off, looking up to find Jesse smiling back at him. It’s soft. Indulgent, as though Gabriel is endearing somehow.
His eyes are bright and coherent. He’s… utterly lucid, not a trace of the thrall in him. As though Gabriel hadn’t flooded him with venom.
As though Gabriel’s influence is something he can just shake off with ease.
“You alright, babydoll?” Jesse asks, reaching out like he wants to cup Gabriel’s cheek but stopping himself. Gabriel frowns at him. Forces himself to release Jesse’s wrist, and draw his hands back into his own lap.
“Mmmyeah, I. I’m fine, I… fuck.”
Jesse just grins, patting him on the shoulder as he gets to his feet.
“Yeah, that happens sometimes. Dunno why, exactly. Blood’s got a bit of a kick to it, apparently. If it’s not to your liking they can switch you up, get you somebody new. Most people like it, though,” Jesse adds with a wink as he heads towards the door. “Guess I’ll be gettin’ outta your hair. Company’ll give you a call, asking you to rate your service, making sure you’re happy with everything. Was a pleasure doing business with ya, you fellas have a pleasant evening, yeah?”
It’s clear Jesse is used to doing things clinically. Get the job done, and get out, which Gabriel can appreciate. Usually.
Jack stands as well, waving his hands as though to stop him from leaving. Gabriel can tell he’s upset, but it’s hard to figure out why with Jesse’s blood coiling warm and heady in his veins.
“Wait! Are you okay? Dizzy, lightheaded? You want… something to eat, or drink?” Gabriel frowns even further. They don’t have any human food in the house, or anything to drink besides blood. Jack seems to realize this all at once, a frantic look crossing his face. “I have… water, let me get you a glass of water, at least. Please.”
He disappears into the kitchen, Jesse hovering awkwardly in the open doorway, half outside already.
“You don’t gotta do that, Mr. Morrison, really, it’s—”
“No, I insist!” Jack calls from the other room, returning with a glass half full of lukewarm tap water and holding it out in offering. Jesse takes it with a smile, dutifully drinking it all before handing the glass back.
“Thank you, sunshine,” he says, that same indulgent smile spreading over his face. “Most people don’t offer, it’s mighty kind of ya.” Jack looks horrified at the thought that no one is giving this man food or water after he lets them drink his blood, but Jesse just tips his hat. “Maybe I’ll see you next week, eh? Have a nice evening!”
Jesse vanishes down the steps. Jack gives him a wave, and then closes the door, looking at Gabriel questioningly.
“Are you okay? You look stoned, Gabriel.”
Gabriel glares, and wipes at his mouth.
“I’m fine, I just. Was hungrier than I thought, I guess.”
Jack looks like he’s ready to disagree, but then Gabriel’s phone rings. Jack picks it up off the table and answers; it’s Blood Apron’s customer satisfaction department, calling to ensure he had a good first experience with them.
Jack cuts the representative off mid-speech to ask where he can find a list of a specific donor’s preferred snack foods, and any allergies they might have. Gabriel can hear them assuring Jack that all their donor’s nutritional needs are met and start into a sales pitch about customizable meal plans before Jack interrupts again.
No, what kind of snack foods and beverages does he like? Are you telling me none of your clients are offering any kind of post-feeding calorie intake?
It’s a long while before Jack winds down. Gabriel definitely doesn’t envy whatever poor fucker is on the other end of the phone, having to address his concerns one by one.
Nobody wants to make Jack ‘Human Rights Champion’ Morrison upset, least of a ritzy blood donation service. By the time Gabriel gets his phone back the guy on the other end sounds frazzled to say the least. Gabriel answers his questions, polite but brief. Yes, he’s satisfied. Yes, he would recommend Blood Apron to a friend or colleague. Yes, he would like to book another visit.
Gabriel listens to their options, and frowns.
“Why can’t I book a specific donor for more than six months in advance?”
Gabriel can hear Jack laughing from across the house.