Long Black Cadillac

by BA Tortuga

  “God, look at you.” Clay stared, his nose taking in the scent of want and man and the sweetest blood he’d ever had. “Need this.”

  Vance blinked, shuddered. “This is insane.”

  “Well, you know, a lot of folks would say you’re insane to think I exist.” Winking up into those amazing eyes, Clay sucked Vance right in, closing his mouth tight around the head.

  “Fuck!” Vance’s hands scrabbled on his shoulders, legs flailing.

  That’s it. That was the way to put the man off balance, keep him from thinking too much. And the taste. God, the taste was strong and dark and all he could ask for. Those blond curls tickled his lips, made him pull harder. Vance just shook for him, muscles rolling as that cock pushed into his lips. He could do this… well, okay, not forever, because a man had to feed. But he could do it as long as Vance needed him to, and enjoy it too.

  “I.” Vance gasped, staring down at him, wide-eyed. “More.”

  Nodding as much as he could, Clay gave more, his hands rolling those balls, pushing up to pinch at Vance’s nipples. The scars under Vance’s shirt fascinated him, one nipple ridged and wrong, the other whole. So hot. Maybe he was a little skewed, but those scars were so much more interesting than perfection. They made Vance a mystery.

  He pushed the shirt up, Vance groaning as he did. Fuck him raw, that was amazing. The scars were fascinating—hundreds of them, some thick, some thin, making Vance look like he’d been glued back together. Clay wanted to ask about them, but damn, that would kill the mood. So he just sucked harder, trying to pull all of that pain out through Vance’s cock.

  “Good. Fucking good. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.” Vance got one hand wrapped around his nape, tugging him closer. No. No, he wasn’t gonna stop. Hell, he wasn’t even inclined to slow down. Clay went faster, licking, needing, just wanting everything the man had.

  Vance groaned, bucking up, almost losing his seat on the commode as salt splashed on Clay’s tongue. Steadying the man with both hands, Clay drank it all down, his eyes closing at the bitter-hot flavor. Yeah. That was so good. Almost enough to keep him from biting.

  Vance’s heartbeat pulsed in the big vein against his lips, just throbbing away. God. Oh God. Closing his eyes, Clay pushed his teeth in, so gently, so slow, barely penetrating that thin, thin skin. Vance moaned, the sound scraping along his nerves, almost as lush as the blood sliding on his tongue. He didn’t take much. Just a taste. A tiny one. God almighty, that was like nothing he’d ever tasted.

  Vance was boneless, melted, sprawled on the commode.

  Clay surged to his feet and picked Vance up, hauling that utterly relaxed body right into the bedroom. He stretched them out on the bed, his own body tingling all over. “Rest, honey.”

  “Uh-huh.” Vance pressed closer, blinking so slow, until those eyes just closed.

  Clay petted that flat belly, the scarred chest, watching over Vance while he slept. Kiss him or kill him, Clay figured Vance wasn’t ever gonna be boring.

  He couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

  Chapter Eight

  “GET MORE steak, he says. Lawd o’ mercy, Clay done got himself a new puppy to play with.” Remy Arceneaux whistled on his way to the A&P, cash burning a hole in his pocket.

  He did love to shop, and boss was usually… well, he usually wanted Remy to eat dat steak. He wasn’t jealous none. Boss liked to play.

  You did this kinda work long enough, you started to remember who was the gators and who was not.

  Clay was good to him. They’d figure it.

  He wandered into the grocery, moving slow and lazy, knowing that M’seu Bonnier would be staring at him with his one eye. Remy liked to flaunt himself in front of the old guard, make them a wee bit crazy. They sure didn’t know where his money came from these days.

  Hell’s bells, they didn’t know a whole lot of nothin’. He’d met his boss in the swamp, the big ole gator man not even having to work too hard for him. Clay said he was made for sippin’, like fine whiskey.

  He shivered at the idea. Who knew it would feel so good when someone with teeth like that bit a man?

  Granny always said he was born to belong to another, born to take care, and he reckoned she was right. Clay needed him in the daylight, and Remy loved it.

  Mrs. Lawry glared at him, and Remy did wish he had a hat to tip. “Ma’am.”

  “What are you up to, Remy Arceneaux?”

  “Shoppin’.” Duh.

  “Why do you need all that steak?”

  “You askin’ did I steal the money to get it all?”

  “I’m saying I want to know what you’re doing.”

  “And I want to know why for you got a cartful of Depends. Christ.”

  Her face went slack with shock, and he moved on.

  Hot Tamales for him. Clay liked the sting when Remy sucked him.

  Mmm. Sting. Just the thought of Clay’s prick splitting his lips made him goofy. He did love that, being down on his knees, making his whole family proud…. He hooted, drawing stares.

  He waggled his eyebrows and blew a kiss at the world at large. He had to wonder who the boss had there, how much red meat they’d need.

  How long the new guy would stay.

  Not that he was possessive none. No, sir. He took what he was given. He could still put a hurt on anyone who got in the boss’s way.

  Clay was his friend. His boss. And he belonged to Clay, all the way.

  Right?

  He whistled a little tune, getting chocolate, bread, and peanut butter. Nothing with garlic, which was a shame. He did love garlic toast.

  He picked up a pork butt for his Uncle Henri. That would feed the family for a week. Clay was good about that. He never did ask what the extra went to. How did that man get all his money? Maybe his type all started out with lots.

  Whatever. It wasn’t none of his. Not at all.

  Nope. His was to get the groceries and love on his boss and drive when it was light out if he had to.

  Also he dragged logs across the boss’s road when folks got too curious. That kept out everything but the snakes and gators. Well, sometimes even the gators stayed on the other side.

  Especially the big lazy ones.

  The little ones just dug under. They were pretty good eating, he had to admit. Remy liked them fried best. Oh, he could get some batter. Yessir. Hooee, he would stuff himself.

  He grabbed three boxes of MoonPies and a six-pack of RC Cola and then toodled up to the checkout. He looked in his cart. Good. He did get steak.

  Lots.

  Good on him.

  Sometimes he forgot what Clay sent him for. He’d drop off the pig at Unc’s, and then he’d have himself a beer.

  He loaded up bags once he checked out, then headed out to the car. The back of his neck prickled as it did when someone was watching, so Remy stopped and looked around very deliberately. “You don’ want to mess with me, whoever y’all is. No sir. I’m on a mission.”

  There was nothing. No sound, no movement. So he loaded the car, but he kept him one eye peeled to the back of his head. Other folks came and went, but whoever was watching him was steady. Constant.

  Huh.

  Good thing he had a sawed-off shotgun under the passenger seat and no patience for nonsense where his boss was concerned.

  No one ever did accost him, so he hopped into the car to take steak for the new guy. If’n he was lucky, Remy would need one soon too.

  Oh, now, he didn’t need no hard-on while he drove.

  He thumped himself good and firm, shaking his head. Time for him to get hisself on the road, earn his keep. He would get his reward somehow, he reckoned. Even if it was just in candy and fried gator.

  GRYPHON ST. Jean watched the security detail for the big man pile out of the stretch limo as if the Colonel fellow was the president, or the king or whatever petty tyrant was ruling the world right now. The son of a bitch so rarely went out in public, and Gryph took every chance he could get to study the man’s hab
its, since he was declaring an all-out war on Gryph’s kind.

  While there were some of his own who he couldn’t care less about, and he preferred his solitude above all else, decimating his brethren seemed rather rude, to be honest. Not to mention that Gryph lived in what the old bastard considered his “territory.” As if fiefdoms still existed, and all who lived within owed the fellow some kind of homage.

  That bullshit had been shot down centuries ago, as far as Gryph was concerned. He didn’t believe in autocracy.

  And this had been his “territory” since before the idea of plumbing had crossed any of these assholes’ minds.

  He watched the Colonel wander into the restaurant, glad-handing like a politician, which, oddly enough, he wasn’t. He was more the reclusive billionaire with enough firepower to start a war and win.

  Oddly dressed, though. Almost like a man from the long war—the blood had run free in those days, and Gryph had feasted on gray and blue coats alike.

  He had no political loyalties. Never had, as far as he could recall. This man, though, he lived for petty hierarchies. Three of the guards took up outside the restaurant, the rest going inside. He wondered what the hell the Colonel was doing. Showing off, but why? What was the payoff, so to speak.

  The temptation to walk in and sit down and ask was huge. Vast.

  Dear puffed-up asshole. Why are you disturbing things? No love. Me.

  He grinned. Really, people thought he was so… old-fashioned. Gryphon, however, loved to keep up with slang and technology to a point.

  He tapped the edge of one fang with his tongue. A rather fine point.

  No sense waiting for the Colonel to come back out. Time to hunt, while all the goons were occupied instead of making rounds of the surrounding area. He was somewhat peckish himself….

  There had to be someone available. He wasn’t proud. He was willing to pay for his meals.

  Perhaps not the beautiful boys he used to find. He was… well, not more rural than he used to be, but the rural areas had a shorter supply. Rather sad.

  He could remember long, wine-soaked sips from beautiful lads. He craved those.

  Maybe it was time for him to take on a servant again. It had been years. Decades…. None of the locals appealed, but if he went farther afield…. Maybe. For now he would settle for a rent boy.

  There was a house he frequented, the madam smiling at him, encouraging him up the stairs, where a young blond man awaited, legs spread, the windows boarded up in case he overstayed his welcome.

  Gryphon slid inside the room, closing the door behind him. The place dripped with cloth, with spangles and sparkles, and his supper was bare and gilt, oiled and wanton. No, this wasn’t just his, but he would take it and be glad he wasn’t one of the poor souls the Colonel had eradicated. This pretty lad had a strong heartbeat, a clean smell, and the same hot, delicious blood of any human.

  That would just have to be enough for now.

  Chapter Nine

  HE HADN’T slept so long since he’d gone undercover as Vinnie, and even then, he’d slept so deep that he didn’t dream. Vance woke this time, wrapped around Clay, cheek on one of the broad shoulders, more relaxed and awake than he’d been in years. It was fucking unnerving.

  Not to mention deeply wrong. He had a shitload invested in being edgy, damn it. On being on a hair-trigger so no one ever got the drop on him.

  He looked up into dark, laughing eyes, blinked.

  “Hey, you. You’re thinking so loud it’s echoing.” Clay nuzzled noses with him, the movement so natural and easy that it left him blinking some more.

  Echoing? What did that mean? He caught himself chasing Clay’s lips. What was he doing?

  “Mmmm.” He was kissing. That was what he was doing. Slow, melty kind of kisses, ones that had his toes curling right up. This was absolutely fucking insane. Hot. Sexy. Addictive as shit. He pushed closer, tongue sliding along Clay’s, just tasting and touching like they were lovers. Big hands cupped his ass, turning him a little so their bodies could rub together too. The man was hotter than a two-dollar pistol, right off the mark.

  Didn’t seem to mind his scars, either, which was weird, given that they were fucking nasty and shit. No, sir. In fact, Clay seemed fascinated by his scars, chasing them all over, stroking them in random patterns. Made him all shivery. He caught himself moaning, making the most embarrassing sounds, acting like a fucking virgin or something. Maybe Clay drugged him.

  “You taste too damned good, honey. Want to eat you up.”

  Okay. Whoa. No eating.

  “No biting.” He dragged one hand down Clay’s spine, hauling them closer.

  “You keep saying that, honey, and I keep doing it anyway.” Clay pulled back to grin at him. ’Course, that pushed their lower bodies together.

  “Don’t you grin at me.” Oh. Oh, that felt good. Vance couldn’t help but wonder what Clay’s cock would taste like….

  “Why not? I feel damned good. So do you.” Hips rolling, Clay pushed against him, grunting when their cocks rubbed together.

  “I….” Yeah. Yeah, he did. He felt fucking amazing. It was obscene. Bloodsuckers were supposed to be bad guys.

  “What’s wrong with it, honey?” Clay’s head tilted to one side. “Aside from the fact that you started out wanting to kill me.”

  “Well, that’s a problem, yeah?” He was going to have a lot of explaining to do, because he…. Well, fuck. He couldn’t just fucking kill Clay. He didn’t want to. It wasn’t right. And Clay was adamant about not moving on….

  “Uh-huh. So, what happens if you don’t?” Looking curious, Clay settled more heavily against him, one hand on the small of his back.

  “I haven’t the foggiest fucking idea.” He supposed the Colonel could try to kill him. That would be interesting.

  “Oh. Well, that’s okay, then.”

  Wait. How did that make sense?

  There had to be drugs involved.

  There just had to be.

  “Shower?”

  “Sure.” Clay rolled off the bed and stretched, showing off an impressive set of muscles, head to toe.

  He stood up, feet screaming as they hit the ground. Man. Next time, he was stealing a pair of those clunky biker boots before running through the swamp.

  “You hurtin’? I could carry you again.”

  Yeah. Effortlessly. That was weirder than some of the other weird. “No biting. No carrying.” He was a stud, damn it.

  A. Stud.

  “Well, you’re just gonna suffer, then.”

  No. No, it was no hardship to watch Clay walk to the bathroom, ass swaying. That man had dimples that should be outlawed.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He was fine, damn it. Fucking fine.

  “Come on, honey. I’ll wash your back.” Clay stopped just inside the bathroom, holding out a hand to him. “And everything else too.”

  It was like a fucking compulsion, something deep in him that wanted to follow, to reach out and slide his fingers against Clay’s, and wasn’t that deeply fucked-up? Clay grasped his hand, thumb rubbing against his skin, making goose bumps rise. His nipples hardened, his cock rose, and damned if he didn’t moan a little.

  “There’s something deeply fucked here.” The Colonel’d warned him about getting all charmed and shit, but he’d felt that before. This felt different. Deeper. Weird as fuck.

  “Yeah. I know it. But I’m not one to fight Mother Nature.” That hard chest met his, and Clay kissed the fire out of him, just making him melty.

  Clay lifted him up, just enough that he didn’t have pressure on his feet. Oh. Damn. He….

  Yeah.

  Fuck.

  “Mmmm. You’re fucking addictive. Jesus, I want you.”

  Yeah. Oh yeah, he could feel that. Hard, long, ready for him.

  “Water. It’s been days.” He needed to get wet, to get clean.

  “Right. Right. Sorry.” Clay really did look like he was sorry for getting out of control too. The water came on under Clay’s
hand, the steam rising immediately.

  “Oh….” The moan tore out of him, and he arched back, eyes closing. Fuck him raw. That was perfect.

  “Good, huh? Look at you.” Lifting him even higher, Clay started stroking water into his skin, rubbing the dirt right off.

  “Yup. Fucked-up, scarred, wet ex-cop.” Oh man. That felt good. He’d been fucking crusty, and not in that good…. Oh, fuck that. There wasn’t a good crusty.

  Chuckling, Clay nuzzled his neck, loving on him, lips sliding along the pulsing vein.

  “No….” He swallowed, cock just throbbing, bobbing against Clay’s skin. “No biting.”

  “Nope. Never. I would never do that.” Every time he said no biting, Clay said okay. But it always came down to the teeth. In his skin. Making way for bloodsucking.

  “I….” He started to say he didn’t believe it, but the water hit him just right, easing a tense spot, and he just moaned again, arching into the spray.

  Okay, it had to be Spanish fly. The bloodsucker was dosing him when he slept.

  That was the only answer. Hell, for the longest time after being caught as Vinnie, he couldn’t even get it up.

  “Not.”

  What? He blinked, and Clay smiled. Just baring his teeth. Somehow he’d lost control of this whole thing. Really.

  When the big-toothed look had stopped being “oh my God he’s gonna eat me” and started being “dude I have a woody,” he was in trouble.

  “Man, I can smell you.” One hand stayed under his butt. The other one slid between their wet bellies to grab his cock.

  “I should smell better.” Less like dirt and sex and more like soap.

  “You smelled fine before. But now all I can smell is this….” Hand working him, Clay ran that thumb up and down his length. His belly clenched, one leg pulling up with the pleasure of it. Goddamn.

  “Kiss me, honey. Want you to kiss me for a change.” Listen to that raspy voice, demanding that contact. Yeah. Vance groaned, going up and pressing his lips to Clay’s before he even thought about how that was a stupid fucking idea. Oh. Oh hell, he could so handle those kisses. Clay moaned for him, licking his lips, tongue pushing in and tasting. God, what an oral fixation. Shit, yes, that contact was gonna bring him to his knees.