Blacque-Bleu

by Belinda McBride

  “Lukas Blacque. Fancy seeing you here.” His voice purred with sensuality.

  A series of expressions flitted over the mechanic’s face. Irritation chased pleasure, which was followed by chagrin. A slow, deliberate glance at his crotch told Bleu exactly from where the chagrin originated. His fingers itched to reach out and stroke the outline of that fine, very substantial cock. “It’s a bit late for you, isn’t it?”

  Blacque glanced up at the old illuminated clock on the wall. It was only an hour out from closing time.

  “It’s Friday.”

  Loquacious as usual.

  “Saturday morning. Barely time to get a good buzz on.” Bleu grinned and looked away, following the path of a harried barmaid. He’d had her once, long ago. She hadn’t known she was pregnant at the time. He’d taken a taste and then backed off, not wanting to do harm.

  Maybe that was his problem—he was soft. If he were more like his maker, Yves, he’d never have come to this state of desperation. He would never have worried about unborn babies and consent. But he’d never been like Yves and was generally grateful for the difference. Thoughts of his maker made his skin pebble with gooseflesh.

  Blacque sipped his beer. His face had closed down, back to the stony mask he tended to wear. His shirt was partly unbuttoned, and Bleu caught the golden glint of a piercing in his nipple. Gold? That’s right, silver burned boys like him.

  His hunger spiked. Tattoos and metal. He swallowed hard, imagining what the gold would taste like on his tongue. Bleu took a sip of his whiskey and let it dribble down to vaporize in his throat. He couldn’t really stomach much alcohol, but one drink over the course of the evening was manageable. His metabolism didn’t do well with spirits, and he got wasted much too easily. But the glass helped him blend in, and a big tip kept the bartender happy.

  “Thought vamps didn’t eat or drink.” Blacque glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

  “So you know.”

  “Yeah. Sleep all day, up all night.”

  “I wish.” Bleu murmured. “So tell me, can werewolves get drunk?”

  Blacque jerked in surprise.

  “It’s the doggie fragrance. Gives it away every time.”

  “You can scent us?”

  Bleu nodded. “We’re predators. It helps to know the difference between a human and a creature that might rip us to shreds.”

  “Hmm. Guess I can see how that might be important.” He tipped back his beer. “And yeah, werewolves can get drunk. Takes a little more than humans. Thanks for reminding me. This isn’t my first tonight.” He set the glass down on the bar and gestured for another.

  “I take it you had a bad evening.” Bleu lifted his shot glass, barely tasting the alcohol. He gazed at Blacque over the rim of his glass. The second beer seemed to be working to loosen his companion’s tongue.

  “Family. Pack. Shit like that.”

  Clearly the Blacque siblings’ baby-making drama hadn’t been resolved. If his behavior was any indication, it seemed to have got worse.

  “Perhaps you should appreciate the fact that you have such shit in your life. It beats being alone.”

  Blacque gave him a long, considering look. “Speaking of shit, that’s what you look like lately. Are you chasing the dragon?”

  The mechanic’s meaning came slowly to Bleu. The anger came more quickly, rapidly shifting into fury.

  “I don’t need heroin or crack to make me look this lovely.” His smile was hard and glittery. He knew that if he looked up into the fly-spotted mirror, the tips of his fangs would be in full sight. He reached out and stroked a long, slender finger down the length of Blacque’s throat. “So how’s that little family problem of yours coming along? Did you explain to your alpha that your baby-making equipment is slightly confused?”

  The werewolf’s face went still and dangerous. Bleu smiled evilly. He didn’t know which hunger prompted the comment, but he didn’t bother to hide his need. A big hand gripped his wrist painfully and pulled it away from his throat.

  “Don’t touch me,” Blacque growled.

  “If you don’t want to touch, then take your hand off my wrist.” His warning was filled with wicked fury. If the wolf squeezed much harder, the bones in his arm would break.

  “Take it outside, guys.” The harried barmaid looked at them sternly, but he caught the scent of fear on her. Bleu didn’t look away from Blacque, not even for a second. The wolf was ready to explode. Instead of letting him loose, the grip on his wrist tightened. He growled at the wolf.

  “Outside, Blacque.”

  They rose like dancers, and Bleu resisted the urge to jerk his arm away from the wolf. He exerted just the slightest push on the crowd, making them oblivious to the strange scene the two of them made. He glided backward out the door, his steps matching those of Blacque.

  He had one shot at this. Bleu gathered every ounce of strength in his ailing body. He summoned every last shred of glamour he possessed. As soon as the door slammed shut behind Blacque, he pivoted on one foot, swinging the mechanic off balance, and pushed him around to the darkened corner of the building. He threw the other man into the wall, causing the metal siding to buckle under his weight. A twist of the wrist held the bigger man in place, and Bleu pressed himself flush against the long, muscular body of Blacque.

  “This is what you want, isn’t it, wolf?” He saw panic and confusion on the werewolf’s face. Smelled his lust and felt the iron rod of his erection pressing against his own. Blacque gritted his teeth against the pain and pulled his arm, snarling in frustration as Bleu dug powerful fingers into the nerves of his wrist. Hand capture was an old Chinese fighting trick. It hurt like hell, and the big guys were just as vulnerable as the little ones. If he really wanted to, Blacque could break from his grip. It would likely be exquisitely painful, but he could do it.

  Bleu rocked his hips into Blacque’s groin, watching his eyes glaze over as he submitted to the vampire. He held him there, mentally processing the wolf’s behavior. He leaned close to whisper in his ear.

  “This is your secret, isn’t it? Not just that you prefer to do men, but you prefer men to do you. Isn’t it?” He punctuated the question with a thrust of his hips. They were nearly the same height, so he didn’t have to reach to take Blacque’s mouth in a brutal, hard kiss. He bit, he licked, he ground their teeth together, tasting the slightest hint of blood as he did so. He kept up the pressure until Blacque surrendered and opened his mouth to Bleu, moaning as their tongues explored, still rough, hard, and aggressive. All the while their hips rocked together, pushing them deeper into arousal.

  “You want me to do you, don’t you, Blacque? Right here and now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he tore open the front of the old denim shirt, baring a muscular, tattooed expanse of chest and torso. The wolf’s ink work was as black as the night, as savage as his primal, lupine nature. Thorns and vines twisted around his body. The bars spiked through his nipples were golden and heavy. Bleu bent his head and worried at the metal with his teeth.

  “Oh Lukas Blacque. You are such an unexpected surprise.” He let go of Blacque’s other wrist and stroked down the length of his torso, following the trail of the tattoo. His hands ended up resting on lean hips, and the slightest detour led him to the damp spot at the front of Blacque’s jeans. From the fight-or-flight reaction, he’d have to say that Blacque had rarely if ever indulged himself sexually. Not with a male, anyhow. His heart raced under Bleu’s palm. He panted and twisted his head away. But he didn’t try to escape. He was nearly feral in his reaction to Bleu.

  “You ever been blown by another man before?” He grinned wickedly as Blacque’s cock jerked under his hand. Bleu spread his fingers and trailed down the length of that tempting shaft.

  “No.” Blacque’s whisper was harsh. The wolf tilted his head back against the wall of the building, surrendering to Bleu’s attentions.

  “Come home with me, Blacque. Come with me, and we’ll make each other feel good…so damn, fucking good.�
�� He meant it. His own cock was aching and hard, leaking copiously. “I’ll blow you, I’ll fuck you…anything you want, Blacque. Whatever nasty dream you’ve had, I’ll do it. Just come with me.” Was he begging? Surely not…

  “What do you want from me?” Blacque was slowly pulling himself together. He was still shaken, still visibly overwhelmed, but suspicion rose in his eyes.

  “I like you too much to lie to you, Blacque. I need to feed. I nearly scored a willing donor tonight. I lost him when you came in. It will be my pleasure to take you as his replacement.”

  “Blood.” That seemed to clear the werewolf’s mind. “If I say no?”

  Disappointment ran through Bleu like lightning. But still, if sex was on the table, that was a good second choice.

  “Whatever you want. You fuck me, I fuck you. I’ve wanted you for a while now, Blacque.”

  “I can’t. I—”

  Bleu pressed a hand over his mouth. “No one will know, Blacque. Our secret.” It’d have to be. He really didn’t cherish the idea of being hunted by the pack alpha for taking advantage of his son. He pulled his hand away from Blacque’s mouth and trailed his fingers over those stern lips. On impulse, he hooked a finger over the wolf’s lower lip. He nearly came when Blacque nipped the tip of his finger and drew it deeper into his mouth. He pulled his hand free, reached up, and cradled Blacque’s head in both his hands. “It’ll be good, Blacque.”

  “Werewolves aren’t food.”

  Bleu’s belly twisted in desperation. He came close for another deep kiss, groaning when Blacque clumsily clasped his hips and pulled them tightly to his. The wolf’s inexperience was poignantly obvious.

  “Do it now.”

  Bleu pulled back just enough to look into those obsidian dark eyes.

  “The blood. Do it now.”

  The invitation sang through his veins like the “Hallelujah Chorus.” His heart raced; sweat broke out all over his cold, weakened body. He wrapped one arm behind Blacque’s neck and dropped his other hand to his ass, digging his fingers into the tight muscle there. Bleu nuzzled his bristly jaw, down the muscular length of his throat, searching for the perfect spot. He trailed his tongue down salty skin, taking a slight nip as warning. He poured every ounce of seduction he possessed into the bite.

  He struck, and Blacque moaned, his hips surging forward, his cock grinding against Bleu’s shaft. Bleu released, pulling sweet, salty blood into his mouth, pulling in time to the increasing tempo of their thrusts. They grunted and wrestled, hands roaming, muscles flexing. As blood hunger was sated, his climax rose, drawing his balls tight to his body and sending spasms up his spine. It was desperate, it was crude, and it was divine. He threw his head back as he came. His muffled cries mingled with Blacque’s as they finished together, bodies straining, their weight held only by the galvanized metal of the wall behind the werewolf’s back.

  Bleu panted, exhaustion fading as the blood hit his system like a drug, intoxicating and invigorating. Blacque lay back, shuddering, his body racked by the aftershocks of his orgasm. His angular, harsh face was oddly beautiful in the moonlight. Bleu leaned in and rested his forehead against the wolf’s.

  “That’s the beginning, Blacque. Come back to the shop with me. We’ve got hours still.”

  Blacque closed his eyes. His face was no longer stony and cold. Now it showed traces of passion. Fear. Hope. Years of pent-up need were plainly written there. This liaison was dangerous for them both, yet resolve began to crystallize in the wolf’s face.

  Bleu pulled his head back slightly. Blacque still had his arms looped around his waist. One big hand idly stroked Bleu’s lower back. “I remember the first time I saw you.”

  “We met the day you opened for business. You were doing the interior work for a fleet of limos.” Blacque spoke without opening his eyes.

  Bleu shook his head. “No. I saw you long before that. You were working late. I’d come to look over the building, and you were still there. You were so beautiful, I just sat in the trees across the road and watched you.” He’d come back at dawn, waiting for the wolf to arrive for work, and was back again at sunset. He’d spent hours spying on his neighbor.

  Even in the darkness, he knew the big man was blushing—the heat radiated from his body. He was ready. After so many years, he was finally ready. It was nearly too late for Oliver Bleu.

  “Will you come with me, Lukas?” His voice was rough with need and desperation.

  Blacque nodded. When he opened his eyes, the expression there made Bleu catch his breath. Loneliness—deep, wrenching loneliness. He reached out and gently cupped the mechanic’s face in his hand. He couldn’t help wondering if that expression was reflected in his face as well.

  If there were a Nobel Prize for stupidity, Lukas Blacque would undoubtedly be this year’s recipient. Having sex with the vampire was dangerous on so many levels. And he’d fed him. Nevertheless, he stood just inside the doorway of Bleu’s upholstery shop, watching the vampire unlock a closet door. He followed Bleu into the closet and couldn’t help but smile at the irony of the image.

  The storage closet was large, its shelves lined with rolls of leather and vinyl and various tools that he assumed were part of the vampire’s trade. Bleu rolled a panel aside, revealing another room—a hidden room.

  He didn’t know why it surprised him. Bleu had to live somewhere safe from the sun, but Blacque hadn’t expected it to be right there in the shop. He cursed inwardly. With his sensitive ears, the vampire probably overheard his conversations. This room was just on the other side of the wall of Blacque’s office. But vampires died during the day, didn’t they? So how had he managed to know about his alpha’s ultimatum?

  The room held a bed and a flimsy freestanding closet and not much else. No mementos, no decor. A couple of books lay on the floor by a lamp. A netbook was plugged in to the wall. He had none of the normal detritus that came with life.

  The bed was large and long and covered in a navy blue cotton comforter. The scents of glue and leather lingered in the air, probably from Bleu’s clothing. He reached back and slid the door shut behind him. He looked up to find Bleu studying him carefully.

  “You’ve never been with a man before.”

  “Told you that back at the bar.” Though the admission cost him some pride, he couldn’t go back on it. Honesty suddenly seemed to be very important to his soul.

  The vampire smiled, sending a shiver down the length of Blacque’s body. He’d come with a blinding, crashing climax not a half hour ago, and he was again hard—painfully hard. Sometimes he got himself off before falling asleep at night, sometimes in the morning when he woke up hard and needy, but he’d never felt anything like his pain-tinged orgasm with Bleu. He’d spilled inside his pants; even now he felt the cool stickiness of his cum. It was the sort of experience a man would sell his soul for.

  “Women?”

  He gave a curt shake of his head. There’d been some fumbling in the dark, hasty handjobs in darkened theaters or under the bleachers, but nothing beyond that. He’d tried, but his heart had never been in it.

  “A virgin.”

  To his relief, Bleu didn’t look amused or smug. He spoke quietly, allowing Blacque some sort of dignity.

  “I know that werewolves are sexually opportunistic. How old are you, Blacque?”

  “I’m thirty-four.” He released a huge, gusty breath. Blacque felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his chest. He’d had no idea that sharing his secret would bring such relief.

  “When I was a young man, it wasn’t unusual to remain virginal until marriage. And to admit homosexuality could be dangerous, even in my country, where we were more liberal about such things.”

  As he spoke, that subtle accent increased just a bit. Blacque looked at him, studied the finely drawn lines of his face. He looked better than he had earlier. Still not robust by any means, but better. His color was up; the gaunt hollows under his eyes and cheeks had filled out a bit. His carelessly tousled hair didn’t look quite s
o lank. Once upon a time, Bleu must have been a stunning man. Now his sensually formed lips were chapped, and the skin next to his mouth appeared rough with old scars. What could have happened to steal the vitality of a vampire?

  “I suppose fucking men is forgivable in your pack as long as it’s related to dominance and you’re doing women as well. And it wouldn’t do to actually fall in love with another man.”

  That was it in a nutshell. Blacque dropped his gaze to the rug that covered the hard concrete floor. Werewolves couldn’t be gay. They simply couldn’t. It was completely counter to their nature. Yet here he was, totally oblivious to females, even during their heat cycles. If he’d been human or vampire or even fae, there’d be no shame attached to his homosexuality. But Lukas Blacque was a werewolf, and his species existed to reproduce. He was a freak of nature. He didn’t belong.

  “Take your shirt off, Blacque. I want to see that body of yours again.”

  Odd that a quietly voiced command would send a thrill through the pit of his stomach. All he had to do was shrug, and the tattered shirt fell to the floor. He watched Bleu look him over speculatively. His eyes were hooded and mysterious. His tongue flicked out, moistening his lips. Blacque folded his arms over his chest and waited.

  “It makes it easier for you if I tell you what to do.” He said it as a statement, but Blacque nodded anyway. He’d never have been able to put that concept into words before. It wasn’t true of the outside world, but here…now…he wanted to be commanded.

  Bleu sat on the edge of the bed. “Come over here, Blacque. Get on your knees.”

  Fuck! It was all he could do not to rush, to skid into place. His darkest, most shameful fantasies were being played out here in this small, hidden room. Blacque’s throat was tight and painful.

  “Now.” Bleu’s voice was low and sensual. Stern.

  He took a step, and then another, until he found himself kneeling between Bleu’s spread legs. He’d unbuckled his belt, and his jeans were unbuttoned down the front. Blacque studied the front of the vampire’s pants. His erection was off to the side, thick and alluring, still hidden behind the fabric of his jeans.