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The club in Louisville was exactly an hour and twenty-five minutes away from Tim’s apartment. If Tim had his way about it, he’d go farther, just to avoid the chance of running into anyone he worked with or anyone he’d apprehended, but the club scene in Kentucky was lacking, to say the least. His options were limited.
And in any case, the club he went to was halfway-decent. The dance floor was sticky and the drinks were overpriced, but no one even blinked at the two men leaning up against one of the concrete support columns, grinding against each other in time to the beat of the music. And that, more than anything, was why Tim went there. Sometimes, the itch under his skin got to be a little too much to bear, and there wasn’t anything to do but scratch it. And no matter what night he went to the club, there was always someone around willing to bend him over the bathroom sink and give it to him hard enough that he’d be satisfied for the next few weeks.
That was all he wanted.
He made his way to the bar and spent almost ten minutes trying to get the bartender’s attention, which did nothing but exacerbate the irritation that was already building. The end result of these nights out always settled him, but the process of getting there was… well, it was a process, and it rankled more some nights than others.
He knocked back the first bourbon the bartender poured and immediately gestured for another before she could turn away. It was tempting to throw that one back, too, but he forced himself to make it last, sipping as he cast his gaze around the rest of the club. Usually, he didn’t have to do much more than sit there and look pretty, and someone harboring less than gentlemanly intentions would take that as an invitation and make themselves known to him.
“Buy you a drink?”
Speak of the devil.
Tim turned to look at the man who had spoken, and ended up suppressing a laugh out of sheer force of will. It was Kentucky, so the cowboy hat and boots weren’t necessarily out of place, but in a sea of black eyeliner and leather harnesses, it stood out a little more than it might on the street.
The man underneath all the denim, however—he was nothing to laugh at. He was all the things that made up Tim’s type, rolled neatly into one: tall and pretty and confident, with a mouth that looked like it could get mean, given the proper motivation.
Tim wondered, idly, what that Kentucky drawl would sound like curled around the word slut.
“Sure thing,” he said, after a moment’s deliberation. With his brown hair graying ever so slightly at his temples, the guy didn’t much look like the type to engage in a good old-fashioned hook-up, but he was offering, and despite Tim’s efforts to sip, his glass was empty.
The man gave him a smile, casually devastating in a way that made Tim sit up a little straighter, and then he raised his hand, catching the bartender’s attention far quicker than Tim had managed, even with the mesh shirt. “Waters,” he told him, and held up three fingers.
Waters. Tim huffed out a breath. “Dunno if anyone ever told you, but you tend to catch more flies with bourbon than with water.”
Tim was rewarded with another flash of that pretty smile as the man’s gaze dragged over him. And the thing was, Tim knew what he looked like: the leather pants and mesh shirt and eyeliner ensured that he, at least, fit in with this crowd. He was attractive, but not memorable. Perfect for an hour or a night, but not interesting enough to incite the desire for anything more.
“Next time I’m trying to catch flies,” the man said, “maybe I’ll take that advice.” His gaze shifted away from Tim, and a moment later, someone brushed past him, touching the man’s arm briefly before settling on the stool behind him. If the cowboy’s getup was out of place for the club, this guy’s was out of place for the century—the three-piece suit was so dark a gray it was almost black, at least, though the glint that caught Tim’s eye was a goddamn gold watch, hanging from the pocket of his honest-to-god waistcoat.
The both of them could have walked right out of a movie about the Wild fucking West.
The cowboy dragged his gaze back to Tim, and it was impossible to miss the way his eyes flicked up and down, taking in Tim’s… everything. “You come here often?”
Tim didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “My mama always told me not to talk to strangers.”
“Well, that’s an easy problem to remedy.” The man placed a hand on his chest. “I’m Raylan. And my friend here is Boyd.”
Boyd turned to look at Tim, eyeing him in an instantly dismissive way that Tim was fairly certain was meant to leave him feeling like he wasn’t quite up to snuff. There was a cheery “and fuck you too” halfway to Tim’s lips before he swallowed it back down.
He wasn’t there to fight. He wasn’t. Even though a good fight might scratch that itch just as well as getting fucked.
“Tim,” he said. He paused as the bartender set their waters on the counter, taking one for himself. It was, admittedly, a nice respite from the almost oppressive atmosphere of the club, though he wouldn’t have said as much to save his life. “You looking for a third?”
Raylan grinned, looking delighted. “In a way,”
“You gonna elaborate on that?” Tim jerked his thumb towards the dance floor, shifting in his seat in a meaningful sort of way. “Because I can always–”
“We’re looking for something… specific,” Raylan interrupted, and Tim raised an eyebrow.
“Something more specific than a twink in leather pants?”
Raylan laughed, though not unkindly. “Just a little,” he said, and his tone was almost apologetic. “You are very tempting, though.”
Tempting sounded obscene on Raylan’s tongue, and it might have been the nicest thing Tim had ever been called, but it still made him heat rise to his cheeks. “You’re not even gonna tell me what it is you’re after?” he said, and despite his best efforts it came out almost as a whine. Raylan didn’t seem to mind, though. He hadn’t seen fit to let his gaze wander to anyone else, at least.
“I could show you, if you’re amenable.” Raylan’s tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip in a way that made Tim want to squirm on his stool. And that—Tim knew that was a dangerous offer. He didn’t know anything about the man other than his name and the fact that he dressed like he was straight out of a Louis L’Amour novel. That wasn’t a foundation upon which much trust could be built.
Still, Tim was intrigued. “Knock yourself out.”
Raylan’s mouth curved into a crooked smile. When he reached out, Tim expected to be dragged in for a kiss, or maybe even for Raylan’s fingers to slide around his throat and tug him down to his knees, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, Raylan plucked Tim’s hand off the bar. His nail flicked over the meat of Tim’s thumb, and there was a bright flash of pain before, suddenly, his thumb was in Raylan’s mouth, and a hot, wet tongue was licking over the wound.
And Raylan… Christ, Raylan looked like he was lost in the bliss of it, like the taste of Tim’s blood on his tongue was everything he could ever want. Tim felt like he was watching something he didn’t have any right to, like he was peeking in through someone’s bedroom window.
“Oh,” he said weakly. Raylan smiled around his finger, and now that he was paying attention, Tim could see where his canines were a little more pointed than they should have been, though it was far less obvious than he would have expected. He swallowed. “Right,” he said. “Yeah. Could’a just said you were looking for a fang-banger.”
Behind Raylan, Boyd made a quiet, disgusted noise. Raylan grinned again, and, seemingly reluctantly, he released Tim’s thumb from his mouth. “Boyd’s not partial to that term,” he said, licking his lips in a way that had to be deliberate. Tim raised an eyebrow and pretended his pants weren’t becoming more uncomfortable by the second.
“Is blood-bag better?” he asked dryly, and Raylan laughed, but Boyd didn’t. Unthinking, Tim brought his hand up to his own mouth, putting his tongue where Raylan’s had been a moment earlier, and the humor melted away like it had never been there at all, leaving a hunger on the other man’s face, plain as day.
“You don’t sound opposed to the idea,” Raylan murmured, and Tim shrugged.
“I’m not. Just never had the chance to try it out before.”
Something shifted in Raylan’s expression, the want in his eyes going sharp and focused. “I’m not opposed to showing you the ropes,” he said, and when he flicked his gaze up and down Tim’s body again, slow and appreciative, well… Tim was mostly sold on the idea already, but he had always been weak for men who weren’t shy with their appreciation. “You gonna let us take you home, Tim?”
Fuck it. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing Tim had ever done, but it wasn’t the dumbest, either, and he wanted. If there was even a kernel of truth to the stories he’d heard about a vampire’s bite, he was on board. It had to be better than getting blown in a dirty bathroom stall, at least.
Tim grinned lazily. “Sure,” he said. “Sign me up.”
He went to get to his feet, but Raylan reached out, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Finish your water first,” he said, and Tim was about to bite out an I can take care of myself, cowboy when Raylan added, something knowing glinting in his eyes, “Replenishing blood volume is thirsty work.”
And, fine. Raylan probably had a point. Tim didn’t tell him that, though. Throwing back the half of the bottle that remained left him feeling vaguely waterlogged, but it satisfied Raylan, at least. Raylan stood, and Tim had known he was all legs from the way he sprawled over the bar stool, and he allowed himself a moment to drag his eyes slowly from the toes of Raylan’s boots all the way up to the brim of his hat.
When Raylan raised one eyebrow at him, Tim shrugged. “Just returning the favor,” he said. He slid off his stool, reflexively checking his pocket for his phone, and he was about to turn towards the door when Raylan’s hands settled on his hips.
Tim let out a surprised little grunt when Raylan tugged him close, turning to pin him between his own body and the bar. Distantly, he heard Boyd sigh and mutter Raylan’s name like a curse, but he had a hard time sparing a thought for Boyd when Raylan was the one pressed up against him, a firm wall of immovable muscle.
Raylan flashed Tim a grin and a wink before he ducked his head and put his mouth right up against Tim’s neck. “Give me a damn second, Boyd,” he murmured, and the feeling of his breath against Tim’s skin had goosebumps rising along his arms. “We’re not done talking yet.”
Tim drew in a suddenly shaky breath. “We’re not?”
“Not quite.” Raylan hummed, and his hands came up to settle on Tim’s hips, holding him in place—like there was anywhere else Tim would rather be at the moment. Shifting, Raylan dragged his lips up the curve of Tim’s neck in a way that very efficiently chased all rational thought from Tim’s mind. “You know what we like, now. What about you, Tim?”
Tim swallowed dryly, his throat clicking. “I’m easy,” he said. “Don’t ask me to call you daddy, and don’t put a blindfold on me. Anything else, I’ll find a way to get into it.”
Teeth nipped at his neck, hard enough to sting. Tim jolted, his hands coming up of their own accord to fist in the front of Raylan’s shirt. “Not what I asked,” Raylan said, and there it was, that undercurrent of danger that made Tim want to sink to his knees right there at the bar. “Tell me what you like.”
Tim faltered. He had a line he’d gotten pretty good at giving, a few easy words that tended to get him what he wanted. But he didn’t think Raylan would settle for make me take whatever you’ve got to give—or, maybe, he was worried that something like that would be too revealing for this man. Either way, he swallowed before saying, “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you got a little rough with me.”
There was a warm chuckle against the base of Tim’s throat. “Want me to hold you down?” Raylan drawled, his voice full of promise. Just the thought was enough to have Tim straining at his zipper. “Or maybe you want me to fuck that pretty mouth of yours until you cry.”
“Christ,” Tim croaked.
“Or maybe,” Raylan continued, finally pulling back to meet Tim’s gaze, “you want me to call you a slut while I make you ride me like one.”
Tim nodded, any words he might have stuck in his throat. “Yeah,” he managed before the silence could drag on too long. “Yes, fuck, any of that. All of it, even, if you’re feeling generous.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky.”
Raylan tossed some cash onto the bar, and then his hand settled on Tim’s lower back to guide him out of the club, somehow firm without being pushy or demanding. Boyd followed them, out of Tim’s line of sight, but he could feel him; he could feel both of them, really, like something inside him was telling him that he was in the sights of something far more dangerous than himself.
It wasn’t often that Tim got the chance to feel properly hunted.
The car Raylan led him to was a black Lincoln Continental—clearly vintage and well-maintained, though Tim wasn’t enough of a car guy to pinpoint the year. It was pretty, though, in a way that made Tim feel severely undressed for a brief moment. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that, yeah, Boyd looked like he belonged in that car, while Tim looked like he belonged on his knees outside of it.
Raylan pulled the back door open for him, going so far as to tip his hat as Tim slid inside. When Tim rolled his eyes, Raylan grinned in return, tossing Tim a wink before shutting the door. He made his way around to the driver’s seat as Boyd took the passenger’s, and when Raylan started the car up, Tim felt the purr of the engine in his chest.
“I feel like I should ask where we’re going,” Tim said as they pulled out of the parking lot. “Though you two look like you could at least afford to shell out for a night at a Motel 6.”
Boyd made another one of those vaguely offended noises, which made Tim smile in return. “We’re taking you back to ours,” Raylan said, before Boyd could voice the annoyance he so clearly felt. “We have a place out here for… nights like these.”
Tim snorted. “You really have an apartment out here just for hookups?”
“Feedings,” Boyd said shortly, “can be time-consuming and exhausting for all involved. We’ve learned that it’s best to be prepared for all circumstances.”
Boyd threw him a very unsubtle glare through the rearview mirror, and after a brief moment of consideration, Tim cleared his throat, looking at Raylan. “He gonna be bitchy the whole time?”
Raylan shook his head, though he couldn’t quite hide his smile, even as he put his arm around Boyd’s shoulders. Tim expected the other vampire to pull away or shove him off—for all they were clearly together, Boyd had been radiating mild annoyance the whole night. But as soon as Raylan touched him, something about him settled, relaxing around the line of his jaw and the corners of his eyes.
“Boyd gets jealous when I flirt,” Raylan said. “And he gets annoyed when he’s hungry. That was the third club we tried tonight.”
Tim hesitated, real wariness creeping in for the first time. “How hungry?” he asked, because letting the both of them drink from him was already going to be a stretch. If they started taking more than he was really able to give…
“Boyd drinks from me,” Raylan said, cutting off Tim’s thoughts. He met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “He’s picky like that.”
Boyd made a vague grumbling sound—but with Raylan touching him, Tim noticed, it came out softer. Fonder, almost. “Jealousy is such a banal term for it, Raylan,” Boyd said, reaching up to cover Raylan’s hand on his shoulder with his own. “The passions you elicit in me can’t possibly be encompassed by three mere syllables.”
Tim winced. If he talked like that, it wasn’t any surprise Boyd looked down on terms like fang-banger.
He managed not to offend the vampire’s delicate sensibilities for the rest of the ride, though only because he kept his mouth shut. But any annoyance that Boyd had stirred up within him was forgotten when they finally pulled to a stop. He leaned over, looking out the window at the house they were in front of. It was old money, built before Tim had even been a twinkle in his daddy’s eye, the kind with pillars on the porch and more rooms than anyone in the 21st century could possibly use.
Tim whistled low as he stepped out of the car. “That is a lot of house.” As Raylan’s hand returned to the small of his back, ushering him up the front steps, he added, “Convenient, I guess. Plenty of room in the backyard for the bodies.”
Boyd huffed a short, exasperated breath, but Raylan just chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “For the record,” he said, “we haven’t buried a body in the backyard for at least three decades.”
“So I guess there’s no reason for me to tell you that I’m a U.S. Marshal, and my death and/or disappearance will likely be very heavily investigated?”
Raylan paused as he took the keys out of his pocket, but it was Boyd who spoke, his voice low and far, far closer than Tim remembered him being. “You make a habit of going home with people you think are gonna kill you, son?”
The words sent a very pleasant chill up Tim’s spine. That edge of danger, that sharpness, that was what he was looking for. That was what he wanted. He grinned, turning his head to meet Boyd’s gaze over his shoulder. “Only when they promise to call me a slut.”
He heard the lock click, and then it was like the world just… shifted. One moment, he was on the porch flirting brazenly with a vampire who he was pretty sure didn’t like him; the next, he was inside the house, his back pressed up against the wall, with Raylan’s mouth warm against his neck.
Breathlessly, he said, “If you are gonna kill me, could you at least get me off first?”
Raylan laughed against his throat, the sound indulgent and warm, and the feel of it there against his pulse made a shiver go down Tim’s spine. “The mouth on you,” Raylan murmured, and in that soft, almost affectionate tone, it sounded like a compliment. “What are we gonna do with you?”
Tim licked his lips, deliberately grinding his hips forward against the semi he could feel in Raylan’s pants. “I got a few ideas,” he drawled. “Something tells me you like to play with your food.”
Teeth scraped against the column of his neck, too sharp to be human. “Do you want me to play with you?” Raylan asked, his voice barely above a growl. “Careful how you answer now, son. I might give you exactly what you want.”
To Tim’s left, the door shut abruptly, though Raylan didn’t make any move to pull away. “Hell, Raylan,” Boyd muttered under his breath. “Are you going to fuck him against the front door?”
For a moment, Raylan’s hands settled on his hips, and Tim thought the answer to that question was going to be yes. Then Raylan sighed against his neck and leaned back, tugging Tim away from the wall. “I would never,” he told Boyd, in a tone of voice that seemed to imply he very much would have, given half a chance.
Judging from the unamused look Boyd threw Raylan, he’d heard it too.
Still, the tension of the moment had dissipated, and Tim didn’t resist as Raylan tugged him down the hall. The floor was hardwood, dark and glossy, but a rug ran down the length of it, so thick and plush that Tim could feel his boots sinking into it. He had the sudden urge to kick off his boots and sink his toes into the rug, to luxuriate in something so ridiculously unnecessary.
He was still thinking about it when Raylan opened the door to the bedroom.
Tim didn’t know what he was expecting. Coffins was the first thing his mind supplied, though he was almost embarrassed to think it, especially when that wasn’t what was behind the door. The big four-poster bed and the pair of plush armchairs matched the vibe of the rest of the house, but they seemed so… normal.
Or it did, until Boyd settled in one of the chairs facing the bed, and Tim understood.
He swallowed, glancing up at Raylan. “Is he just gonna watch?”
Raylan hummed, catching Tim’s hips in his hands and tugging him forward until they were pressed together again, this time front-to-front. Tim noticed, almost absently, that his hands seemed to fit there, almost like they belonged. “Do you mind?”
“Ain’t exactly skin off my nose, now is it?”
Raylan smiled. “Good boy,” he said, and Tim had just enough time to process the way those words curled in the pit of his stomach before Raylan’s hands slid up under his shirt, palms sliding over his stomach. “Now, what do you know about how this works?”
Tim grinned crookedly. “I know I look young, but I’m not that young. This ain’t my first rodeo.”
Even as Raylan scoffed, he tugged on Tim’s shirt, pulling it up over his head. “I’m gonna assume you know how to get fucked, son, since that’s what you asked me so nicely for back at the bar.” The shirt went flying into one corner of the room, but Tim couldn’t be fucked to care, because Raylan’s hands were back on him, smoothing over his chest. “I meant about being fed on, since it seems you’re bent on being a brat.”
Tim hadn’t asked for that—not that he remembered, at least—but before he could say as much, Raylan’s nail scraped over one of his nipples. It wasn’t hard enough to cut, like he’d done with Tim’s thumb at the club, but it was hard enough to sting, to send a frisson of pleasure right to Tim’s head. It took him far, far too long to realize that Raylan was waiting for him to answer—not pulling away, but not giving Tim anything else, either. He swallowed. “Uh, just what porn and trashy romance novels taught me.”
Raylan huffed a laugh, but his hands dropped to the button on Tim’s pants in reward. “I won’t feed on you till after,” he said. “The bite has… an effect. It’s euphoric, but relaxing, too. It can be a little much your first time.” One hand slid even farther down, cupping Tim through the leather, and it was surprising enough that he sucked in a breath, his hands coming up to steady himself against Raylan’s chest.
“Besides,” Raylan added, “you’ll taste better after I make you come on my cock.”
“You–” Tim began, his voice a shaky, gravelly thing. Then he shook his head, shifting to look around Raylan directly at Boyd. “He knows he’s got me already, right? I’ve been convinced.”
Tim barely caught the corner of Boyd’s mouth curling up in a smile before Raylan grabbed his jaw and dragged his gaze back. “Brat,” he said, his voice soft, teasing with that edge that made Tim’s toes curl in his boots. “Take off the rest of your fucking clothes.”
He punctuated the word with a push to Tim’s chest that didn’t quite send him staggering, but knocked him off-balance all the same. He opened his mouth to protest—he wanted Raylan to touch him, dammit—but then Raylan started working at the buttons on his own shirt and, yeah, all right. Tim could get behind that.
The boots came off with three practiced tugs to the laces, and the pants took a bit more maneuvering, but Tim managed to push them down as well, kicking them behind him before turning his gaze back to Raylan. It hadn’t been the sexiest of strip teases, so he wasn’t expecting much—but Raylan’s hands were frozen on his belt buckle, his shirt already stripped away and his eyes fixed on Tim’s body.
When Raylan didn’t move, Tim took a hesitant step forward, his hand going to join Raylan’s at his belt buckle. “Kinda think this would be more fun if we both took off our fucking clothes,” he said, and whatever trance Raylan had been in, that seemed to knock him out of it. His hands abandoned the buckle, coming up to cup Tim’s face, and suddenly he was being kissed, Raylan’s mouth warm and insistent against his own.
When Raylan broke the kiss, he didn’t pull away. Instead, his mouth traveled downwards, skating across Tim’s jaw before exploring the length of his neck. Despite Raylan’s promise to feed later, Tim half-expected to feel the sting of his teeth, but all Raylan did was brush a kiss over his pulse before moving lower, mouthing at the place Tim’s shoulder met his neck.
“Enjoying yourself?” Tim managed, sounding breathier than he would have liked.
Raylan hummed, dragging his tongue over the ridge of Tim’s collar bone. “How rough do you want it?”
How rough do you want it? What a fucking question. Tim licked his lips before deliberately tilting his head to the side, giving Raylan more room to work with. “You’re already gonna make me bleed,” he said, his breath catching in his throat as Raylan nosed back up his neck. “What’s a few extra bruises?”
And that, it seemed, was answer enough.
This time, when Raylan kissed him, it was hard enough to bruise, hard enough that Tim felt his lip split open on one sharp fang, the taste of blood blooming bright between them. He felt that itch under his skin ignite, teased into a desperate sort of need that the kiss only made worse. “That all you got?” he panted breathlessly against Raylan’s mouth, smearing his lips with blood. “And here I thought you were at least gonna throw me around a little bit.”
With the same effortless speed that Raylan had used to drag him inside the house, he got Tim pinned up against the wall, the length of his body pressed against Tim’s back. He rolled his hips once, and Tim could feel how hard he was in his jeans, could feel that, apparently, there was nothing small about Raylan, anywhere.
He ground back deliberately, trying to goad Raylan into doing something, but all he earned himself was a growl and fingers fisting in his hair, pulling his head back with enough force that it made his knees weak. “I was gonna be nice,” Raylan murmured in his ear, his voice low and rough. “I was gonna get you wet and give you a few fingers, at least. But if you’re that eager to walk with a limp tomorrow, doll, I can make that happen for you.”
The clink of Raylan’s belt buckle was unmistakable, and so was the length of him a moment later, hard and hot against the small of Tim’s back. Raylan hadn’t even bothered to push his pants down—Tim could still feel the rough denim of his jeans, the cut of the opened zipper digging into his ass.
With the grip he had in Tim’s hair, Raylan turned his head to the side. His hand was right there in front of Tim’s face when he opened his eyes, palm open expectantly.
“Spit.”
Obediently, Tim spit. A moment later, he heard Raylan spit as well, and then the wet, obscene sound of him taking himself in hand, stroking himself with the slickness they’d both provided. Tim shuddered, his fingers curling uselessly against the wall. Even now, with the promise of getting exactly what he wanted a breath away, he couldn’t resist arching his back, pressing his ass back against Raylan in a silent, insistent demand. He was aching, desperate, and at the moment, he didn’t particularly care how obvious that was.
Raylan’s hand slipped from his hair, leaving his scalp stinging, but almost immediately it curled back around his throat instead, a pressure that, at the moment, felt more steadying than threatening. At the same time his cock slipped between Tim’s cheeks to nudge at his entrance, barely slick and feeling much, much larger than it had in Raylan’s pants.
The first press had Tim digging his fingernails into the paint, his mouth falling open into a silent o. It hurt. There was no way around that, not with only spit to ease the way and the five minutes of careless prep Tim had given himself before he left for the club to loosen him, but the pain licked up his spine and burned away everything else. The itch receded like it had never been there at all. The world narrowed down to him and Raylan and the inexorable stretch, and Tim basked in the feeling like it was made just for him.
Raylan could have made it hurt in a real way, could have snapped his hips forward and Tim could have done little except take it—but he pushed forward slowly, steadily, giving Tim nothing but precious seconds to adjust. By the time he bottomed out, far, far longer after Tim expected him to, Tim was panting, open-mouthed, half of him trying to twitch forward through the wall while the other half urged him to press back, to get more, to make Raylan move.
When Tim moaned, broken and rough, he felt Raylan’s laugh as a puff of air against the back of his neck. “You really are a slut for it, aren’t you?” Raylan asked, and Tim couldn’t do anything but whimper in response.
He didn’t realize there were soft, keening little sounds falling from his mouth until Raylan’s lips brushed against his cheek, the gentleness in sharp contrast to the grip he had on Tim’s throat, to the way he was all but splitting Tim open. “Breathe, honey,” he murmured, and Tim obeyed thoughtlessly, sucking in a breath that burned his lungs and made his head spin. He shuddered, unable to focus on anything except the ache in his ass and Raylan’s voice, the feeling of fullness and the anchoring hand on his neck.
Raylan hummed in approval, and that was enough to have Tim’s cock jerking, smearing precome against the wall. “This what you wanted?” he asked, and Tim was aware enough to notice the drop in his voice, the way it, along with the rest of his body, seemed to thrum with tension, like the effort to hold himself back was almost more than he could manage.
Tim swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and when he couldn’t force the words out he nodded once, tightly. “Hurts,” he managed after a moment, his voice coming out as more of a whine than anything else. “‘s good. Fucking please move.”
Raylan’s first proper thrust made stars burst in Tim’s vision, the force of it driving him up onto his toes. He didn’t even try to stop the pathetic whimper that spilled from his lips, or the way his whole body shook as the head of Raylan’s cock dragged against his prostate. “Fuck,” he gasped into the wall, feeling his ass burn as he clenched almost instinctively.
Raylan’s fingers squeezed a little tighter around his throat, as if in warning. “Relax,” he murmured, stilling with his cock only half-buried inside him. Tim forced himself to obey, to relax the muscles that had tightened, and Raylan rewarded him by fucking into him hard, pulling a ragged cry from Tim’s throat.
Raylan was right. He’d be walking with a limp in the morning, if he was able to walk at all.
All he could do was hold on while Raylan fucked him with long, aching rolls of his hips. The burn never faded, not entirely, but it built the same way the pleasure did, coiling tightly low in Tim’s abdomen. His cock was trapped between his own body and the wall, and the friction he got every time Raylan drove into him was just on the right side of painful.
When he reached down, curling his fingers around his own cock, his only thought was of getting to come, of releasing that tension that was building at the base of his spine. But he’d barely managed a single stroke before Raylan grabbed his wrist, dragging his hand away.
“Did I tell you that you could touch yourself?”
Tim groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as Raylan’s next thrust came a little harder, a little rougher—almost like a punishment, as if the pain was any real deterrent. “No, sir,” he breathed, reveling in the way Raylan’s breath seemed to hitch in response.
To his emphatic disappointment, he felt Raylan pull back, the drag of his cock sweet and right and perfect until it was gone, leaving him feeling empty. Hollow. Before he could make a sound in protest, though, Raylan pulled him back against his body by the grip he had on his throat, and Tim felt the scrape of teeth against the side of his neck.
“If you’re not going to behave…”
Raylan spun him, shoved him, and there was no resisting the force of it. Tim flopped back against the bed, hard, and Raylan moved quickly, following him down faster than Tim had ever seen a human move. Within half a breath, Raylan was settled between his thighs and his fingers were curled around Tim’s wrists, holding them above his head and keeping him very effectively pinned to the bed.
And then he smiled, fangs flashing, and the wave of fear-tinged pleasure was almost enough to tip Tim over the edge. Almost imperceptibly, those fingers tightened around his wrists, not quite hard enough to bruise, but hard enough for Tim to know there was no escaping the hold. Raylan hummed in approval, his gaze going appreciative as he skimmed his eyes down over Tim’s chest.
“Much better.”
Tim keened when Raylan pressed back into him, all of him feeling oversensitive and aching. As Raylan bottomed out, he leaned down, his lips hovering just out of reach of Tim’s mouth. “You always sound this pretty when someone fucks you?”
Tim’s breath caught in his throat as Raylan gave a sharp thrust, nailing that sensitive bundle of nerves—and when Raylan finally closed the gap between them and kissed him, Tim met him eagerly, letting Raylan swallow the whines and whimpers that fell from his lips. He was close again even before they had to break the kiss to breathe, his hips bucking up of their own accord to rut against Raylan’s stomach.
“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Raylan murmured, and the words tugged on something low in Tim’s stomach. They would have made his ears burn with shame too, except for the way Raylan’s free hand immediately curled around his cock, giving him an almost painfully tight stroke that stole every other thought from his mind.
Raylan’s thumb swiped over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. His next thrust made Tim’s mouth fall open around a gasp, the pleasure coiling low and insistent now, less of a burn and more of an inferno. He didn’t realize he was begging, broken little pleases falling from his lips until Raylan leaned down and murmured, “It’s all right, doll, you can come for me now.”
The words tore the orgasm from him, lightning curling up his spine and tingling through his limbs. The sensations shuddered through him with an almost painful force as he shot pulse over pulse over his own stomach, the pleasure dragged out past its natural end by Raylan’s hand stroking him relentlessly and Raylan’s cock rocking inside him.
He was almost too far gone to notice Raylan coming inside him half a breath later, the man’s whole body going taut as a wire above him. Tim felt a shiver of secondary pleasure at the feeling of it, a spark in the aftermath of the blaze he had just experienced.
He was still panting when Raylan’s teeth sank into his neck.
Tim had expected the pleasure. Everyone knew a vampire’s bite felt good, and Raylan had even had the decency to warn him about it. Euphoria was the word he had used. But every expectation paled in comparison to the experience itself. Pleasure didn’t begin to encompass it; his whole body thrummed with energy, and at the same time, he felt more relaxed than he ever had before. Muscles that had been tight since he got back from his second tour unwound with a sweet, sweet ache. His vision went fuzzy and his body felt warm, and the closest thing his mind could conjure up in comparison was the handful of times he had gotten well and truly baked—only more, on every level.
It made the orgasm he’d just had—mind-blowing and overwhelming in its own right—fade into the background.
“Holy shit,” he slurred. “Holy…” A giggle erupted from his throat, entirely uncontrollable, and somehow the fact that it came out breathless and stuttered made it even funnier. “Shit, Raylan, you think you might’ve undersold this much?”
Raylan didn’t respond, and Tim didn’t give a fuck. He was flying. Pleasure sparked up his spine every time Raylan shifted inside him, his cock still hard enough to brush purposefully over Tim’s prostate. And Raylan’s teeth in his neck were a pleasure all by themselves, the gentle suction of his mouth as he drew Tim’s blood to the surface an easy feeling to lean into.
Tim’s head lolled bonelessly to the side, and he couldn’t even summon an ounce of surprise when his eyes found Boyd, even though he’d all but forgotten he was in the room. The other vampire was still in his chair, but he was leaning forward, now, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. Eager, Tim thought, and it sent another shiver of pleasure through him to think that Boyd might have enjoyed the show they put on for him.
His eyes fluttered shut, lips parting around a quiet little sigh. Belatedly, he realized his hands were free, now; Raylan was no longer keeping him pinned to the bed by his wrists. Slowly, he brought one hand down, not realizing he’d meant to slip his fingers into Raylan’s hair until it was already done and he was all but cradling the back of his head, holding Raylan there against his throat.
Raylan made a soft little noise of contentment, and, a moment later, his own hand curled over the other side of Tim’s neck, as if to hold him in place as well. Time passed like that. Tim wasn’t sure how much. Buoyed by the pleasure of the bite and the lingering relaxation from his orgasm, he drifted, aware only of how Raylan’s mouth moved against his neck.
When Raylan finally began to pull away, his teeth slowly easing out of Tim’s neck, Tim couldn’t quite swallow down the instinctive grumble of complaint that rose to his lips. He wanted to keep that feeling of contentment, of peace. It was good. He wanted to stay in that pleasant haze, where the rest of the world was fuzzy and Raylan’s mouth on his skin was the only thing that mattered.
Raylan made a soft sound of understanding, right there against his pulse. “I know,” he murmured. “I know. But I can’t take anymore, sweetheart, or I’ll hurt you.”
The thought crossed Tim’s mind that Raylan had been eager enough to hurt him a few minutes ago, but before he could find the coordination to voice it, Raylan’s tongue laved over the wounds on his neck, and coherent thought abandoned Tim once again. It wasn’t anywhere near the pleasure that Raylan’s teeth had induced, but it was still good, and Tim found himself turning his head to give him more room.
When Raylan finally pulled back the rest of the way, the haze began to recede, leaving Tim feeling loose and lax but a little more aware. “You all right?” Raylan asked, and Tim was present enough to nod and heave himself up onto one elbow as Raylan slid off the bed.
A hand tilted his chin up, and then Raylan leaned down, brushing a chaste kiss over Tim’s mouth. When he straightened, Tim could see blood there at the corners of his mouth—Tim’s own blood, he realized with a jolt, and had to swallow back the sudden urge to lick the streak of red right off Raylan’s skin.
“I’m gonna go shower,” Raylan murmured. “Boyd’ll be here with you.”
And then he was gone, and Tim was alone with Boyd.
He expected awkwardness, maybe a pointed lack of eye contact, maybe even a cool comment meant to spur Tim into collecting himself and his clothes and getting out. But after a moment, Boyd came to sit on the edge of the bed and pressed a chilled bottle of orange juice into Tim’s grasp. “Drink,” he said, his voice calm, even though the order was unmistakable.
Tim drank.
The juice felt blessedly cool on his throat, and he finished half the bottle before coming up for air. “Thanks,” he panted, and Boyd inclined his head in acknowledgment. When he reached out, Tim had to fight against the urge to stiffen, but all Boyd did was take one of Tim’s wrists in his hand, pressing two fingers against his pulse. It took Tim a moment to voice his uncertainty, and his, “Everything all right?” came out quiet, almost whispered.
Boyd glanced up, though his gaze flicked back to Tim’s wrist almost immediately. No—not his wrist, Tim realized belatedly. To the tattoo on his forearm.
“I was a sniper with the Rangers,” Tim said, unsure why he was offering up an explanation when it hadn’t been asked for. “Got the tattoo as soon as I qualified.”
Carefully—almost delicately—Boyd’s fingers shifted away from his pulse, his thumb brushing gently over the sniper rifle and motto inked into Tim’s skin. “You served,” he said quietly, “and now you work as a marshal?”
Tim nodded, not quite able to drag his gaze away from where Boyd was touching him. “Two tours in Afghanistan,” he said. “Two years at the office in Lexington.”
Boyd’s thumb stroked over the tattoo again, and Tim realized that delicate and careful weren’t the right words at all—Boyd’s touch was reverent, and Tim’s throat felt tight with something he had a hard time naming. “Raylan was a marshal when I met him,” Boyd said, “in the year of our Lord 1806.” And before Tim could even begin to process that little tidbit of information, Boyd continued. “And I fought in the ranks of the Continental Army in the Battle of Trenton in 1776.”
Tim swallowed thickly. “Did you turn him?”
He didn’t even entirely mean to ask the question, though it came out anyway. Boyd didn’t seem to mind the impertinence, though, at least going by the soft smile that curved his mouth. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I turned him, not terribly long after we met.”
There was a story there, hidden in the soft regret that stained Boyd’s tone, but Tim knew better than to ask about that, at least. He dropped his gaze, only to wince when he realized his stomach was still streaked with his own come. He cleared his throat, but before he could even think to reach for the corner of the sheet, a shirt landed on his lap.
Raylan’s shirt.
He looked up, and Boyd shrugged one shoulder. “He shouldn’t have left it on the floor,” he said, and Tim choked out a laugh despite himself.
He cleaned himself up quickly, barely hesitating before tossing the dirtied shirt off the foot of the bed. It made Boyd sigh, but Tim was starting to get a feel for the guy, starting to understand the difference between the real annoyance he felt and the kind he put one for someone else’s benefit.
When he looked back up, Boyd nudged the bottle in his hand pointedly. “Drink,” he said again. “Raylan only took a pint or so of blood, but that can be enough to cause dizziness. The juice will help.”
Obediently, Tim took another swallow. And when Boyd reached up, his fingers applying gentle pressure to Tim’s jaw, he allowed his head to be turned so Boyd could examine the wounds on his neck. “He didn’t take a chunk out of me, did he?”
Boyd’s expression was unamused when he let Tim turn his head back, though it wasn’t nearly as stern as it had been back at the club. His hand lingered, though, his fingers pressed lightly to the cut of Tim’s jaw.
“Raylan was right,” he murmured. “You do have quite the mouth on you.”
Tim grinned, loose and crooked. “I’ve been told it’s one of my best assets.”
Something in Boyd’s gaze went sharp. “Somehow,” he said, this thumb stroking slowly over Tim’s cheek, not unlike the way he’d touched Tim’s tattoo. “Somehow, I’m sure your mouth isn’t the most valuable thing about you. Not by far.”
And in the same way that Raylan calling him tempting had brought a flush to his cheeks, Boyd’s words made him want to squirm. He floundered in a way that was unfamiliar, looking for something to say in return, and the silence had just begun to stretch when Boyd’s gaze darted away towards the bedroom door. Tim followed it instinctively, and was immediately glad he had.
Raylan stood there in the doorway, staring right back at them, a towel slung obscenely low on his hips. His hair was damp, and his skin was still slightly flushed from the heat of the shower. Tim’s gaze snagged and stayed on the trail of dark hair that started at Raylan’s belly button and, cruelly, disappeared past the edge of the towel. “Hey,” Raylan said, after a pause that was, to Tim’s ears, just a beat too long. He looked at Boyd, his expression somewhere between curiosity and concern. “He all right?”
Boyd’s hand dropped away from Tim’s face like it had burned him. “He’s fine,” he said, standing abruptly as Raylan approached the bed. “I was just about to send him–”
“It’s okay,” Raylan interrupted. A smile curved at the corners of his mouth as he reached up, taking Boyd’s face in his hands. “It’s okay.”
When Raylan leaned in and kissed him, Tim felt like he should avert his eyes, like he was intruding on a moment he didn’t understand and didn’t have any right to. But he didn’t look away. Watching Raylan kiss wasn’t nearly as good as being kissed by him, but as Raylan licked into Boyd’s mouth, deepening the kiss, Tim came to the conclusion that it was a close, close second.
After a moment, Raylan leaned back just far enough to murmur something against Boyd’s mouth, but it was quiet enough that Tim didn’t catch it. He did catch the way Boyd’s gaze flicked right back to him, though, something inscrutable in his expression.
“Fine,” Boyd said, and the annoyance in his voice was definitely put-upon. With one hand, he pushed Raylan back towards the bed, and Raylan went as easily as Tim had gone, sitting down with a bit of a bounce and grinning up at Boyd as the motion made his towel fall open.
Faster than Tim could make sense of, Boyd moved to kneel behind Raylan, one hand curling in his hair to pull his head back so his neck formed a pretty, elegant arch. The sound Raylan made was sinful, a chuckle that came out sounding more like a groan than anything else. “Hungry?” he asked, and Tim had to wonder whether the strain in his voice was from the arch of his neck or arousal.
Boyd hummed, and when he leaned down, Tim saw his tongue dart out to lick over Raylan’s pulse. “Starvin’, darlin’.”
Raylan’s knees fell open a little wider, and his towel gave up the ghost entirely, falling away to the bed. He was only half-hard, but Tim still drank in the sight, looking his fill now that he had the opportunity to. And if his mouth watered a little, if his jaw ached in anticipation, well, that was his business.
“Drink your juice and be still,” Boyd said, the words clearly directed at Tim despite his face being all but hidden in Raylan’s neck. Tim grinned, deliberately and noisily setting the bottle on the bedside table.
“Come on,” he drawled. He dropped to his knees, hard enough that he knew they would ache in the morning—but at the moment, he couldn’t be fucked to care. “You never let someone suck him off while you feed?”
Boyd released Raylan’s hair with a growl that went straight to Tim’s dick. He could see Raylan’s chest heaving with breaths he didn’t need, his eyes dark as the pupil all but eclipsed the iris entirely, but it was Boyd’s gaze that Tim couldn’t look away from, because it was his approval he was waiting for. And Christ if he wasn’t desperate for it.
And he had never been above begging.
“Please?” He held eye contact with Boyd as he leaned forward, dragging his mouth up Raylan’s inner thigh. Raylan spread his knees a little wider, letting Tim know he was very much on board with that proposition, even if Boyd still needed convincing. “I’ll be quiet. Won’t even know I’m here.”
“I hardly think that’s possible,” Boyd said, and it almost sounded like a compliment. His fingers trailed over the back of Raylan’s neck, so much possessiveness in the idle gesture that Tim wondered if it was on purpose, if it was Boyd marking his territory for Tim’s benefit. “Raylan?”
Raylan tilted his head, looking back up at Boyd. There was a moment of silence, and Tim had the sneaking suspicion that they were talking to each other, quick and silent, though he wasn’t sure if it was telepathy or just in that way two people who had been together for a long time could communicate without words.
Then Boyd glanced down at him and nodded once, and the relief Tim felt was almost too sweet for words.
He shuffled forward, taking a moment to nuzzle into the crease of Raylan’s thigh. A tease, because Raylan had done more than his fair share of teasing throughout the night, and if Tim had half a chance to give it back, he would. And he was set on doing just that, on teasing, until Raylan’s fingers curled around the back of his neck.
He didn’t tug, didn’t try to direct Tim anywhere in particular. But those fingers flexed, and Tim remembered how they had felt around his throat, how Raylan had whispered, “Relax,” in his ear, almost like it was a threat.
He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and changed courses.
Turning his head, he dragged his mouth up the length of Raylan’s cock. He smelled clean, like soap and skin, and Tim gave in to the desire to taste almost immediately, his tongue darting out to swipe over the slit. Raylan didn’t taste like anything special, but Tim had developed an all but Pavlovian reaction to the taste of precome on his tongue a long, long time ago, and a moan built in his throat as his cock began to harden between his legs.
Raylan made a sound, a punched-out little groan that drew Tim’s gaze upwards. And Christ, if the two of them weren’t a sight from this angle, Boyd perched over Raylan’s shoulder and the both of them looking down at him with dark eyes. It felt predatory, dangerous, and Tim wanted to bask in it.
Boyd shifted, one hand sliding around Raylan’s throat to gently tip his head back. “He won’t be gentle with you,” he said, as Raylan’s fingers blindly slipped into Tim’s hair, almost immediately curling into a fist. Tim’s lips parted around a silent sound, his cock jerking as the pain sent a bolt of arousal straight down his spine.
His laugh came out a little breathy. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Boyd smiled, his fangs glinting in the low light, and the sight of them tipped Tim over the edge from getting there to turned on as fuck in the span of a breath. Then he looked away, nosing up the length of Raylan’s neck for a moment before sinking his teeth in there.
Raylan’s whole body tensed, his fingers tightening to the point of thrilling pain in Tim’s hair. It was something beautiful to watch, the way his back arched, the way his other hand slid upward to tangle in Boyd’s hair, like the matching grip he had on the two of them was the only thing keeping him anchored to this plane.
Tim’s fingers curled around Raylan’s hips as he leaned down, taking him fully into his mouth. Above him, Raylan gasped, his hips twitching up in a tiny, aborted movement—carefully restrained, despite Boyd’s warning. And Tim wanted a lot of things, but carefully restrained wasn’t one of them.
With his fingernails digging into Raylan’s hips, Tim scraped his teeth ever so gently along the length of Raylan’s cock. As he sank down farther, moaning, he felt the grip in his hair shift ever so slightly, Raylan’s fingers curled around the back of his head. Yes. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking just hard enough to be a tease, to encourage Raylan to do what he was teasing.
Nails pricked against his scalp in warning, and then Raylan thrust into his mouth.
Despite wanting it, needing it, Tim choked, tears springing to his eyes. Raylan was thick, and he wasn’t lacking much in the length department, either; even if his first thrust hadn’t gone past the clutch of Tim’s throat, the threat of it was enough to have Tim instinctively gasping for air.
Vision blurring, he flicked his gaze back up, his body going hot all over when he found Boyd’s gaze pinned on him. There was something about having Boyd’s attention, even when he had his teeth in Raylan’s neck, that was just thrilling. Addicting. Forget the pleasure of Raylan biting him—Tim wanted to keep Boyd’s eyes on him.
The next thrust of Raylan’s hips made him choke again, the head of his cock just barely dipping into Tim’s throat. Tim tried to swallow, and Raylan groaned in response. That was addicting, too, the little sounds Raylan was making, like having Boyd and Tim’s mouths on him at the same time was too much, too good.
Be good for him, now.
Tim blinked away the tears clouding his vision, confused. Boyd still had his teeth buried in the side of Raylan’s neck. He couldn’t have spoken. And yet… and yet Tim still heard him. Clearly.
Raylan’s cock slid back into his throat, making Tim’s focus shift away from Boyd. He had just enough time to suck in a breath before Raylan’s next thrust, his throat clicking and his jaw beginning to ache just like he’d anticipated. Like Boyd’s gaze on him, it made him feel warm all over, pleased, a physical reminder that he was doing well.
Raylan’s fingers flexed in his hair, his next thrust stuttering as Tim’s nose brushed against his pelvis. His moan was muffled, but judging from the way Raylan’s hips bucked up, twice in quick succession, he felt it just fine. Tim could taste the precome he was spilling every time Raylan pulled back, could feel his cock flex and jerk every time Tim tried to swallow around him. He was close, brought there more, Tim was sure, by Boyd’s teeth in his neck than anything else, but still.
You will let him come in your mouth.
Finally, Tim recognized the words for what they were. Not a command—he’d heard about those, how they made obedience compulsory, but no, this was just… Boyd, speaking to him in his mind, the same way he’d spoken to Raylan earlier, getting his intent across without moving his lips.
Tim forced his gaze back up, tears falling freely down his cheeks as he met Boyd’s gaze again. He couldn’t nod, could barely breathe with how fast and sloppy Raylan’s thrusts had become, but Boyd didn’t need a gesture. He just needed Tim to be good. To obey. To let Raylan come in his mouth.
Through the haze of his tears, he could see when Boyd pulled away, laving over the bloody marks on Raylan’s neck with his tongue. And he could see when Boyd whispered something in Raylan’s ear, though he couldn’t hear the actual words that were said.
It didn’t matter. The effect they had on Raylan was clear. His thighs tensed under Tim’s palms, and he managed one more shaky thrust before he was spilling hot and bitter over Tim’s tongue. Tim managed to bob his head through it, milking Raylan through his orgasm while watching his chest heave and his throat bob, twin rivulets of red slowly running down the side of his neck.
Don't swallow.
The words hit him hard, and that, Tim realized distantly, was a command. There was no question whether he'd obey or not—he didn’t think he could swallow Raylan's come if his life depended on it. Boyd didn’t leave him hanging for long, though. Within a breath or two, he joined Tim on the floor, took Tim's chin in his hand, and murmured, “Show me.”
Obediently, Tim opened his mouth, and Boyd's answering smile was bloody and beautiful. His thumb dragged over Tim’s bottom lip, smearing Raylan’s come, and Tim was reminded of the way Boyd had trailed his fingers down the nape of Raylan’s neck. Possessive.
It was liable to make him feel some sort of way if he let himself think about it too long.
“Good boy,” Boyd murmured, sending a flash of arousal up Tim’s spine. He had barely realized what was going to happen before Boyd was kissing him, licking into his mouth like he owned it. Tim couldn’t help but groan at the taste of Raylan's blood, deep and rich and fuck, if this was what it tasted like to him, he couldn’t imagine how good it was to Boyd.
Above them, he heard Raylan make a soft, wounded little noise, and he had just enough time to wonder if maybe that possessiveness ran both ways before Raylan said, “Christ, Boyd,” and the pleasure in his voice was too blatant to mistake for anything else.
Boyd’s hand slid down to Tim’s chest and pushed him back—not roughly, like Raylan had pushed him onto the bed, but firmly all the same, giving Tim very little choice except to lie back on the floor. Boyd followed him down, and when he put his mouth next to Tim’s ear, the proximity was enough to elicit a shudder.
“You smell like him,” Boyd murmured, softly enough that Tim wasn’t sure if Raylan could hear. Before Tim could respond, Boyd turned his head, brushing his lips over the tear-tracks on Tim’s cheeks. Then, a moment later, Tim felt his tongue drag over the spot he’d just kissed, tasting the tears on Tim’s skin.
When Boyd kissed him again, he couldn't tell the difference between the saltiness of Raylan’s release and that of his own tears, but it didn't matter. The thought alone was enough to light him up inside, to make his cock jerk wetly against his bare stomach.
Boyd’s hand, when it wrapped around his cock, was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Tim whimpered against his mouth. He was sensitive, but he had been hard the whole time Raylan was fucking his mouth—he wanted to get off, desperately, even if it felt so good it almost hurt.
He shuddered when Boyd’s thumb flicked over his slit, and he couldn’t help the truly pathetic whine that left his mouth when Boyd’s mouth slid away, shifting to press into the crook of his neck. The sensation of his lips sliding along the wounds left by Raylan’s teeth was enough to have Tim bucking up into his touch, chasing the orgasm that was quickly building low in his stomach.
His back arched when Boyd pressed two fingers into him, and he didn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about the wet sound they made, Raylan’s come making the slide easy. It was a sharp kind of pleasure that curled low in his stomach and tugged, making his cock jerk in Boyd’s hand.
“Please,” he said through gritted teeth, not above begging if it would get him what he wanted. Boyd’s fingers curled once, brushing against his swollen, oversensitive prostate with one glorious burst of pleasure—and then it all but disappeared, Boyd’s fingers fucking into him with purpose but avoiding that bundle of nerves. Tim groaned, his head knocking back against the floor in frustration.
“Come on now, Boyd, don’t tease the boy.”
That was Raylan’s voice, and Tim had never been so grateful to hear something in his life—even though Boyd, for a moment, seemed like he was going to ignore Raylan entirely. His teeth scraped along the column of Tim’s neck, almost like he was going to bite, and Tim didn’t know if the thrill that went through him was from fear or anticipation. Or, possibly, both.
Boyd’s hand tightened around him, almost to the point of pain, and then, abruptly, his fingers curled again, hard enough that Tim saw stars. He came with a shout when Boyd’s thumb pressed just behind his balls, firmly enough that the sudden surge of sensation took his breath away. The orgasm was weaker than the first, but it still left him shaking, squirming when Boyd continued to stroke him through the aftershocks and beyond. His teeth teased along Tim’s throat one more time, and then he leaned back, slipping his fingers out of Tim with an obscenely wet sound.
The sight of Boyd slipping those same fingers into his mouth and licking the remnants of Raylan’s come from them was almost enough to get Tim going again.
When Boyd stood, he immediately turned and drew Raylan in for a kiss, a deep, claiming one that made Tim’s cock make a valiant attempt to harden again. The two of them lingered there in each other’s space, eyes only for each other, and Tim started to wonder if he’d overstayed his welcome. He was fairly certain Boyd had tried to get him to leave a while ago, before Tim went to his knees and talked his way into a little more, a little longer, but he didn’t have that offer in his back pocket anymore.
Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet, bracing one hand against the bed when the world spun a little. His shirt, he saw, was halfway across the room where Raylan had carelessly tossed it, but his pants were closer. His pants, which had taken half a bottle of baby powder and thirty minutes to get into before he’d gone to the club.
He swallowed back a groan. “Any chance I can borrow a pair of pants?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed pointedly on the ground. For a moment, there was just silence—and then it was Boyd’s hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to sit on the bed, and Raylan’s arm curling around his waist and pulling him back towards the headboard.
“I’m flattered,” he said as he was drawn back against a solid plane of heat and muscle. “But I’m gonna need something stronger than booze if you want me to go again.”
When they settled, Tim was seated in the V of Raylan’s thighs, leaning back against his chest. And, admittedly, it was… comfortable. More comfortable than it had any right to be, Tim thought.
“Don’t worry about pants,” Raylan said, his mouth back against Tim’s neck. The sensation still sent a shiver down Tim’s spine, but it didn’t feel all that sensual anymore. Even the drag of Raylan’s tongue, when it came a moment later, didn’t seem like it was promising anything.
A few hours earlier, Tim might have balked at the idea of being used for a vampire’s self-soothing. In the moment, though, it was so, so easy to relax back into.
“I don’t think my Uber rating would be able to recover if I tried to get into someone’s car without pants on,” Tim said. The words were harder to get out than he expected them to be. His mind was slowing down, relaxing, ready to call it a night. Getting back up was going to suck, no fucking pun intended.
“Shh.” Raylan held out his hand, and Boyd passed him a blue Gatorade. “Here,” he said. “Drink.”
Tim thought about arguing, about biting out a comment about the two of them and their fixation on keeping him hydrated, but his body chose that moment to inform him that he was just about dying of thirst. He drank deeply, almost choking on his second or third pull when he felt something soft brush over his stomach. When he glanced down, he saw Boyd using Raylan’s towel to wipe the come off his stomach.
“You don’t have to–”
Boyd flicked his gaze up, and something in his eyes made the words shrivel up and die in Tim’s throat. He took another sip instead, feeling Raylan hum behind him.
“I told you that we’d take care of you, didn’t I?”
Tim hesitated. “Guys say a lot of things before they get in your pants. I don’t expect–”
“It’s very clear what you expect,” Boyd interrupted, though the sharp annoyance Tim had come to expect from his voice was gone. Almost softly, he added, “Let us look after you.”
And—hell, Tim supposed he could let them fuss over him for a little while, if that’s what they really wanted to do. Still, he grumbled as he settled back against Raylan’s chest, taking another sip from the bottle. “I am fine,” he said, because he felt like that point needed to be made. “I’ve lost blood in the field plenty of times. It doesn’t bother me much.”
Raylan’s chin hooked over his shoulder, the arm he had wrapped around Tim’s middle shifting until he could stroke his thumb over the divot between two of Tim’s ribs. But it was Boyd who spoke, swiping the towel over Tim’s stomach once more before tossing it aside.
“I’m sure it doesn’t,” he said, and Tim stiffened, but the words weren’t patronizing at all. “But it doesn’t seem unreasonable to aim a little higher on the ‘pleasurable’ scale than being shot, does it?”
Tim snorted despite himself. “Whatever floats your boat.” He drained the rest of the Gatorade, and Boyd took the empty bottle from him before he could cast around for a place to set it.
“Sleep, now,” Boyd said as he rose, and Tim stiffened.
“I uh.” He licked his lips, trying to figure out the best way to extract himself from the situation. “You don’t want me to sleep here. Trust me.”
Boyd arched his eyebrow, and, almost like an echo in the back of his mind, Tim heard you’re not telling me what it is I want, are you, boy?
And, because he was the way he was, Tim’s dick twitched against his thigh.
“Look,” he said, coughing to clear the gravel from his voice. “I get night terrors. Bad ones. The time I spent overseas, it fucked with me, and I’ve heard from a few reputable sources that it ain’t all that fun to deal with from the other side.”
Raylan hummed against the back of his neck, and Tim felt a shiver of want go down his spine, warring with his annoyance at having to talk. “Perks of fucking a vampire,” Raylan drawled, and then his tongue darted out, licking over the knobs of Tim’s spine. “You’ll sleep just fine. Boyd’ll make sure of it.”
When Tim’s gaze darted to him, Boyd nodded once. And Tim… Tim thought he should probably be afraid of the idea of having Boyd fucking around in his head while he slept, but the thought of making it through a night without waking up, shaking and sweaty, with a scream lodged in his throat? That was more appealing than just about anything else he could imagine.
The scrape of teeth followed the sensation of Raylan’s tongue, and Tim shivered again. “And I thought I had an oral fixation,” he muttered—and then, before Raylan could pull away, he added, “You can. It’s fine. Just leave a little for me, yeah?”
Raylan growled, and, oh, yeah, Tim was going to want to explore that when he was physically capable of getting hard again. “Just a taste,” he murmured. “Promise.”
As his teeth sank into Tim’s nape, Tim dragged his eyes up to Boyd’s. “You can really make sure I don’t have nightmares?”
Boyd reached up, cupping Tim’s cheek in a way that felt far too tender, far too intimate. But it also felt right, in a way Tim wasn’t ready to examine. In any case, it was soothing, and even with the pleasure that came from Raylan’s teeth in his skin, Tim felt his eyes closing, his body relaxing as sleep began to sound more and more appealing.
“You are safe here,” Boyd murmured. “Sleep, now.”
So Tim did.