by Kane Jewell Ruse McCall Anthony McKay Sax Slayer Michael Burke Logan
Yeah, that sounds way better. So, ignore the people who tell you she’s just an ordinary person with an extraordinary imagination. They’re just jealous because she gets to play with James Bond and vacation in exotic locations.
Honestly!
When she’s not busy saving the world or writing the next great novel, she likes to kayak, hike, ride motorcycles, swim, skate, practice karate, play her guitar, sing, and of course, read. Where does she find the time!
You can find Anne online at:
Website: http://www.AnneKane.com
Blog: http://writersgonewild.blogspot.com/
Twitter: www.twitter.com/annekane
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/anne.kane.author
Changeling Press: www.changelingpress.com/author.php?uid=116
Blitzened
Elizabeth Jewell
Nick hasn’t seen Ian in a while -- Ian’s been studying. But when Christmas Eve rolls around, the vampire bouncer gets a yen to kindle some holiday spirit in his human boyfriend’s heart.
Chapter One
Even as a kid, Nick Marshall hadn’t had much use for Christmas. While his friends all seemed cheery, happy and full of holiday spirit, he spent most of the weeks before the holiday listening to his parents argue about money, then about whether Nick should have been born in the first place. Then, if he was lucky, he maybe got a sweater or a pair of socks next to the fireplace where the Christmas tree wasn’t.
Frankly, it had been a pain in the ass.
These days, he spent Christmas Eve behind the bar, drying Highball glasses and listening to the customers whine. It was amazing how many vampires, blessed with immortality, could do nothing but bitch about how their current holiday celebrations were completely fucked because they could no longer step inside a religious establishment of any kind. Of course, they could if they really wanted to. Nick had gone to a Christmas Eve service once and, aside from a raging headache for three days after, had survived the experience.
He could kind of understand it from the young man sitting at the bar right now. Wearing too-low jeans and a too-tight T-shirt, he’d only been Turned a few months ago. It was, as he’d said nineteen times already, his first Christmas dead. That one was always the hardest.
“We’re having a party here,” Nick offered, mostly in an attempt to shut the kid down. “Should be fun. I hear some bite junkies are coming by to provide refreshments.” He wasn’t planning to attend, himself. He still didn’t entirely believe the generally held assumption that vampires couldn’t get any horrible diseases from bite junkies. Not that he had any evidence, anecdotal or otherwise, to support his theory. Bite junkies just squicked him out.
The kid blinked, his expression owlish under his eyeliner. Didn’t he know emo was out of fashion? Or was it? Nick had lost track about the time bell-bottoms had gone out of style.
“It’s not the same,” the kid said. “There’s nothing like sitting in church singing Christmas carols.”
“You went to church a lot before you were Turned?” He could at least try to be sympathetic, Nick thought. He could definitely understand missing long-standing human habits, especially if you were newly-Turned.
Another blink. “No, not really.”
Okay, that was it. He’d done his level best. Nick didn’t wear the sympathetic bartender persona very well on the best of days, and today it was just asking too much. “Well, then, what the fuck difference does it make?”
For a horrible, seemingly eternal moment, Nick thought the kid was going to burst into tears. “Oh, my God, you suck!” he said, and flounced off to mope at a table. Jeez. Kid needed to get laid for Christmas.
“You are aware, of course, that you really do suck.” The voice came from behind Nick; he turned to see Trey leaning across the bar behind him, playing with an empty shot glass. The tall, slim vampire was wearing a green velvet jacket over black skinny jeans and a bright red T-shirt. His auburn hair fell in full, lovely lady locks onto his shoulders, and his brown eyes regarded Nick with something between derision and humor. He was about as pretty as a man could get without being a girl. He was also a complete asshole.
“Why are you here?” Nick asked blandly. He was pushing his luck -- Trey was the head of the local cadre and technically could have Nick banished, shunned, beheaded or put out in the sun if he wanted to. He generally wasn’t quite that much of a dick, though. Generally he was just annoying as ever-loving fuck. Generally.
Apparently Trey had been infected by the Christmas spirit, because he only tilted his head and smiled. There. Christmas spirit. There was a horrible disease you could get from bite junkies. “Just inspecting the establishment,” Trey said. “Endeavoring to ensure everyone is following the rules.”
“Is making dumb emo kids cry against the rules?”
Trey chuckled. “Perhaps. I do get weary of the noobs, though, I have to say.”
Wow. Trey really was in a good mood. Nick wondered in passing why he’d actually stopped by. Probably just to make an appearance, keep everybody on their toes. Trey was like that. Things had been so much better when Roarke had been around. More laid-back. Or so Nick had been told.
“So,” Trey said, taking a lazy step closer. “Why aren’t you home cuddling with your boyfriend under the tree?”
It was Nick’s turn to blink. He didn’t really have a good answer to that question. “He’s busy. Finals or something.”
Trey made an obnoxious clicking noise. “On Christmas Eve? I think not.” Trey leaned over the bar. He was far too close. Nick could smell his cologne. Fucker always smelled like the nineteenth century. Maybe the eighteenth -- Nick wasn’t sure. “Has there been some dire misunderstanding? Trouble, as it were, in paradise? I could still claim him, you know. He was quite delectable, as I recall. All that curly hair…”
Nick made a solid effort to collect himself; telling Trey to fuck off would undoubtedly be bad for his health. “Nothing like that.”
“Well, then. Take the rest of this hallowed Eve off. Visit your sweetling and make passionate love under the arching evergreen branches of your seasonal tree. I insist.”
“Right,” said Nick.
“I truly do,” said Trey.
“Fine,” said Nick. “Fine. I will.”
God only knew what Ian would think about it, though. But, thinking about all that curly hair, Nick decided he was willing to find out.
* * *
Ian Wells was, in fact, not studying. Rather, he was sprawled out on his couch staring at the ceiling, still recovering from the torturous regimen of finals. He had done little else for the past few days, aside from getting up occasionally to eat or take a piss.
What the hell had possessed him to pursue a Bachelor’s degree in computer science still eluded him. He’d never even been that good a student, sliding by with As and Bs by the skin of his teeth and somehow managing to convince his teachers he was some kind of fucking prodigy. The first year of college had been bad enough, but he was starting to feel like year two was going to kill him. For weeks he’d dreamed of nothing but algorithms and code routines that curled back on themselves and ate their own tails. He was sure there was something Freudian involved. Or maybe Jungian. He hadn’t paid much attention in his psych courses.
That wasn’t all of it, though. He was lonely. His parents had begged him to come home for Christmas, but his sister Meredith had taken up with some freak right-wing wannabe comptroller or something, and Ian had already gotten email about the Queering of America and how his future husband -- whoever that might be -- shouldn’t be entitled to health insurance. Apparently Meredith hadn’t bothered to tell what’s-his-ass that her darling younger brother liked cock. Ian felt more than a little betrayed by this realization, and didn’t much feel like dealing with the situation, even for the sake of his mother’s homemade cranberry relish.
On the other hand, there might have been some entertainment value in standing up at the dinner table to pronounce, “I like to suck dick,” while Meredith’s
new friend slurped down his pumpkin pie. With whipped cream.
That still wasn’t all of it. Truth to tell, he missed Nick. Their last phone conversation had been a bit abrupt, and Ian took the blame. He’d been trying to study, and Nick’s call had derailed his thought processes. Since then, he’d been kind of afraid to call the vampire back.
Vampire. Yes, Ian’s current boyfriend -- if he still was Ian’s boyfriend, after that last phone call -- was a vampire. He wondered what Meredith’s friend would make of that.
He had actually managed to muster a little smile at the world in general when someone knocked on his door. He blinked. Was this a visitor? People still came to visit him? The sudden, irrational hope that it was Nick hit him hard to the gut, and he rolled off the couch to go open the door.
It was Nick. He stood on the Welcome mat, offering a hesitant smile. In one hand he held a bottle of Bacardi Gold, in the other a carton of eggnog.
“Merry Christmas?” he said.
* * *
Ian had never actually had eggnog with rum in it. How he had avoided this longstanding holiday tradition escaped him at the moment. It was, he decided after the first couple of sips, a little slimier than he liked his booze. On the other hand, it was booze.
“Never much liked eggnog,” Nick commented after slugging the first glass full. He’d used juice glasses, presumably to limit their overall consumption. Ian didn’t think it was going to work. “Not even when I could taste it right.”
“You can’t taste it?” The concept was inconceivable to Ian. He liked tasting things. Even eggnog.
Nick shrugged. “I can sort of taste it. Mostly it kind of tastes like come.”
Ian’s laugh came out as a snort, and for a horrified second he thought he’d managed to blow eggnog out his nose. “That’s a bad thing?”
Refilling his glass -- about twice as much rum as the last time, Ian noticed -- Nick gave him a sidewise grin. “Not necessarily.”
They were quiet for a few seconds while Ian finished off his own glass and held it out for Nick to refill. He was already feeling a little woozy. What with studying, finals and the general fact that his life sucked, Ian hadn’t drunk much lately. Come to think of it, considering how much his life sucked, he probably should have been drinking more. It might have made everything a little more bearable. Or at least made him not care.
He slid into a chair at the kitchen table. Nick followed suit, drinking his second glass of come-and-rum more slowly.
“You okay?” Nick asked finally, which was not what Ian had expected him to say.
“Kinda.” The answer was honest, at least, but Ian hadn’t expected himself to respond that way any more than he’d expected Nick to ask in the first place. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Sorry I haven’t been by. I… thought you were busy.”
“I was busy. I was busy up to the fucking eyeballs. I was drowning in busy.” He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. “I would have made time for you, though.”
“Wow. You sound bitter.” Nick sounded hurt.
“I’m not.” Blinking blearily at Nick, suddenly realizing how very fucking exhausted he was, Ian noticed the other man looked hurt, too. “Seriously. Not about you. About school, maybe. About quadratic equations. Not about you.”
“I thought you still had finals. And it’s Christmas Eve. I’m a stupid dick.”
Ian couldn’t help but chuckle. Nick looked like a chagrined puppy who’d just peed on the rug. “Finals are over. I’m still recovering.”
“Tough stretch?”
“Yes.”
Silence fell again. Nick tipped a bit more rum into his own glass, then into Ian’s. There was just enough eggnog left in the juice glasses to make the Bacardi cloudy. “Sorry,” Nick said, and Ian shrugged, not sure what to say. Then, on an impulse, he leaned across the table and kissed Nick full on the mouth.
“I missed you.”
The injured look on Nick’s face became softer, and he smiled a little. “Missed you, too.”
Ian grinned. “Wanna make out?”
Nick’s laugh was all the answer he needed.
Chapter Two
Ian’s couch was a piece of crap. He knew this, and during the course of finagling room for the two of them on the ratty cushions it occurred to him that the bed might have been a better choice. But the bedroom floor was covered with books, papers and probably old take out containers, and the sheets smelled like come because, frankly, Ian spent way too much time masturbating. So the couch, piece of crap that it was, would have to do for now.
“This couch is a piece of crap,” Nick said, wincing. “Shit, I think I just impaled myself on a spring.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” said Ian, shoving his hands down the back of Nick’s jeans. Nick’s ass was firm and round, and Ian liked the way it felt when he cupped it.
“I thought we were just going to make out.” But they’d drunk a great deal more since Ian had made the suggestion -- rum and eggnog, rum without eggnog, whisky without rum or eggnog, maybe a beer or two. Oh, and a Zima he’d found in the back of the fridge. Ian had been looking at Nick’s drunk face long enough that just making out wasn’t going to cut it. He needed Nick’s dick in his ass, preferably about fifteen minutes ago.
“Well, get busy with the getting busy.” He clenched Nick’s ass, squeezing hard, one finger catching the edge of Nick’s asshole, and Nick’s eyes glazed over for a moment.
“Dude, I have a couch spring in my knee.”
They shifted a little, until the glazy pain from the couch spring impalement faded from Nick’s eyes. His weight pressed Ian down into the cushions, heavy, oppressive and, paradoxically, comfortable. Ian slid his cheek along Nick’s, feeling the raspy scrape of stubble against stubble.
“You feel so good,” he murmured. “I really did miss you.” Shit, he thought then. Way to sound like a girl.
Nick didn’t seem to mind. His mouth latched onto the side of Ian’s neck, sucking hard. For a moment, Ian forgot Nick was a vampire, then he tensed a little. Nick released the suction.
“Not gonna bite you.”
“Okay. Good.” He paused. “Maybe later?”
The “maybe later” produced a notable reaction in his vampire partner -- Ian felt Nick’s erection practically double in size where it was poking him in the upper thigh. But Nick made no comment. Nick had bitten Ian once, under far less than ideal circumstances, and Ian couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed it, in a weird, freaking out, oh-my-God-I’ve-just-been-bitten-by-a-vampire kind of way. He wondered if, under slightly more ideal circumstances, he might just get off on it big time. Part of him really, really wanted to find out.
“I trust you,” he said, and felt something relax in Nick that Ian hadn’t even realized had been tense. He also realized, as he said the words, that it was the truth.
Gently then, Nick licked Ian’s neck, kissed down onto his collarbones. Ian let his back arch, then he felt the damn couch spring jabbing him in the ass and relaxed a little. He had no objections to certain things being in his ass, but a couch spring was not one of them.
His hands slipped from inside Nick’s jeans and slid up the other man’s back, feeling the ridges of his ribs, the sleek indentation of his spine. He had a smatter of hair on his shoulders, and Ian scratched the spots lightly. He liked the way the rough texture felt under his fingertips.
Nick’s mouth had reached a happy medium between hungry and careful, lipping and sucking at Ian’s chest, at Ian’s own embarrassingly sparse supply of chest hair, under the curve of a pectoral muscle, then latching onto one nipple. Ian choked out a gasp, not sure why he hadn’t expected that particular ploy. Nipple-sucking -- yeah, that was a no-brainer. Then Nick’s teeth tightened, just for a moment, on the rising nub, and Ian said, “God,” in a tone of voice that he hoped didn’t make it sound like Nick had hurt him.
Apparently it hadn’t, because Nick bit him again, just hard enough to hurt, just not-hard enough to make every nerve impulse in Ian’s bod
y shoot down into his cock. His hips bucked, and he felt his erection bang almost painfully into Nick’s hipbone. “Shit.”
Nick wriggled -- there really was no better way to describe the movement -- driving Ian harder down into the shitty cushions. Ian started to protest, then realized Nick was unfastening his jeans. That was in no way a bad idea, so Ian just wriggled a little, himself, getting out of the vampire’s way. He tried to wedge his own hand between their hips, but couldn’t quite manage it. Nick’s pelvis was pulsing against his, bone grinding against bone, and Ian was afraid he might lose a finger if he wasn’t careful.
There was no need for him to have worried about his own state of not-undress. As soon as he unfastened his own jeans, Nick scrabbled at the button on Ian’s. A few more seconds of undignified wriggling, and they were naked cock against naked cock, the cool planes of Nick’s loins sliding along Ian’s warmer body.
“Good God,” Nick muttered. “Why the fuck didn’t I come over here earlier?”
“‘Cause you’re an idiot?” Ian suggested.
Nick leaned in and bit Ian’s lower lip. “‘Cause I was being considerate of your time.”
“Ow,” said Ian, though it hadn’t hurt particularly. He grabbed the back of Nick’s neck and pulled his head down, powering his tongue into the vampire’s mouth. The sharp bite of rum and whisky still lingered there. While he distracted Nick with the kiss, he kicked his jeans the rest of the way off and wrapped his thighs around Nick’s hips.
“Gmmph,” said Nick, because Ian’s tongue was still in his mouth. Ian understood the sentiment, though, as Nick’s heavy, hard cock speared into the crease of his groin. Ian tipped his head back just enough to free his mouth from Nick’s.
“You need to fuck me. Like, now.”
“Hmmm hmmmph,” said Nick, which Ian couldn’t quite interpret. He had no excuse this time, since Ian had thoughtfully taken his tongue out of the way to allow free speech. Then Nick said, “Lube,” which made a little more sense.
