by Christian, M
"I could use a man of your talents in a great many places. but I have no desire to overwork you. So tell me, what of my business interests you the most?
Marcus gave him a shrug. "Anywhere you need me, sir."
He heard the growing frustration in Samil's voice. "Is there any title you prefer?"
Marcus shook his head and dried the dishes. "No sir. I'm simply your cook."
Samil looked at him, long and measuring. Marcus refused to squirm. Instead, he cocked his head under the scrutiny.
"Do I have something stuck somewhere?"
Samil shook his head. Marcus suspected he'd imagined the desire earlier.
"Do you prefer to be armed?"
Marcus didn't show how much the question surprised him. "Not at home. While out on business, certainly."
"You'll be accompanying me from this point on. Tonight is informal. We have a couple of jobs and meetings."
"Very good, sir. Half a minute." Marcus met him at the front door in three minutes wearing tight jeans and a black silk shirt. His wardrobe was quite thorough and some of it even pornographic.
He drove. The night wore away in a succession of meetings, a publishing house, two restaurants and three clubs. Samil did not stay long in any location. Marcus waited in the car and took him home as dawn turned the sky gray.
Once home, he changed Samil into his pajamas so quickly and neatly the other man had no chance to protest.
"Good night, sir. Unless there are any services I can offer?" It was a gamble and at the narrowing of Samil's eyes, Marcus gave a short bow. "I thought not." He turned to go.
"What services, exactly?"
Marcus turned in the doorway. "I am at your complete disposal, sir." He watched Samil debate, saw one hand go to the back of his neck in a gesture of indecision. "But if you are entirely heterosexual, I apologize for bothering you." The lie burned in his mouth. He knew better from Samil's dossier, but it wouldn't do for Samil to know he knew. He turned again for his own bed.
The next noontime, over shirred eggs, Samil looked at him. "Emperors aren't usually outed until they are dead," he said.
Marcus just nodded. "Very good, sir."
Samil rolled his eyes and slammed his coffee cup into the table. "Have you no opinions on anything, man?"
Marcus kept his face neutral. "You pay me to cook and kill and keep you comfortable. You do not pay me to have opinions."
Samil caught his eyes with the dark ones that seemed to be the very definition of infinity, cold, black and endless. "Then at least tell me this. What, exactly do you think of me?"
Marcus saw Samil wanted the truth. He swallowed hard against all his training and spoke his personal opinions. "You are a handsome and complicated man. Dangerous, certainly, and a perfectionist as well. Keeping you pleased is a challenge even for me. You are ruthless when it suits you and surprisingly generous. I find you quite attractive, but since you are not interested, I will not pester."
Samil ran one slow finger down Marcus' face, leaving a trail of fire behind it. "Don't mistake caution for lack of interest."
"Understood, sir."
It was three days before Samil needed his help on a job. He'd left his boss in a quiet suburb. The phone call came and Marcus returned to retrieve Samil.
Samil sank down in the back seat, covered in blood. As they turned off the street, the house went up in an explosion.
"Dear me. Such a dreadful thing when people neglect basic furnace maintenance," Marcus said, blandly.
Samil glared at him. "I hate it when they turn the children." He sighed and was silent until they reached the freeway. Marcus could only imagine the horrors Samil had faced in his eternal life. Vampiric children had to be the least of them.
Once Marcus set the car to cruising speed, Samil sighed. "I don't understand anymore, Marcus. I was a warrior, fighting for God and my people. I slaughtered men, women and children, born and unborn, without a second thought. Now, killing monsters with the faces of children distresses me. Then, I knew my work. Now, I still know my work, but it..." He was silent rest of the way home.
"You trust me with your food. Now trust me to know what you need, sir," Marcus said, parking the car in the garage. "Take a shower in the small bathroom. I'll see to a hot soak."
Samil presented himself, clean, at the door of the master bath. Marcus waited, wearing a towel, beside a steaming jacuzzi. When Samil lowered himself in, Marcus ran soothing hands over his shoulders.
"You have no anchor to this age, Samil," Marcus whispered. "You are adrift, doing your duty but not knowing why any longer. Let me anchor you?" He kissed Samil's neck, just behind and under his ear.
"Caution," Samil said, starting to get out of the tub.
"The time for caution is past." Marcus pressed him back into the water. "The time for action is not quite yet." He worked the worst of the knots out of the muscles in Samil's neck.
"You do have ideas, when it suits you." Samil relaxed under his touch, luxuriating in the water. The Undying stretched again, sighing, his long golden limbs rippling with muscle. Marcus stole a look at Samil's cock, quiet in its nest of dark curls.
"Indeed." He kissed Samil's neck again. "The time for action has come. Samil, are you ready?" He rose and held a towel for Samil. "Come, let me care for you."
After drying off, Samil stretched on the bed and Marcus sat beside him.
Marcus stroked Samil's shoulders, kissed the nape of his neck and began a rub-down that Samil's still-knotted shoulders and back desperately needed. Samil relaxed more under his hands. Marcus waited until Samil lay quiet and loose on the bed. Then he snapped his belt across Samil's upturned ass.
"Marcus!" Samil snapped.
"Shush." Marcus landed another blow across Samil's shoulder blades and a third at his waist. "Your skin tells me what you need." He striped Samil's ass, varying the strength, then worked his way from neck to ankles. Samil took the blows in silence.
"Roll over," Marcus said. He was unsurprised to see Samil was quite hard. He concentrated on Samil's nipples and belly. He heard something like a sigh escape Samil's mouth and saw his cock jerk with every blow. He laid one stripe on the heavy, darkly-furred balls and noticed Samil's cock started to leak.
Marcus caught Samil's cock in the loop of his belt and snapped it. Samil groaned. "You're going to come from this, Samil, my darling one." He snapped it again. Samil bucked up off the bed with a yell. "Yes, feel it." Four more snaps of the belt made Samil spend all over the leather. Marcus bent down and licked him clean, taking care to soothe the abused cock.
"You do know," Samil whispered, when Marcus joined him in the bed.
"I told you I was thoroughly trained." Marcus shut off the light, making sure Samil saw the cryptic little half smile.
* * * *
The next week, Samil phoned him again from a drop-off job, requesting clothes. Marcus complied and knocked at the door of the split-level
Standing in the lurid light, shirtless and covered in blood, Samil wore an evil grin that made him resemble one of the monsters he hunted. The living room was an abattoir, blood on all the pale walls and ceiling, the carpet a smeared scarlet patch. The cream curtains ran with rivulets of gore. A male and a female vampire lay dead on the floor, their corpses already starting to wither.
Marcus had never actually seen one of Samil's battle scenes. He merely raised one eyebrow and stepped into the house under Samil's arm.
"I thought you'd join me for dinner," Samil gestured through a dripping arch-way.
In the kitchen, the table was set with a meal for two. One plate was clearly kosher. The other... Marcus' other eyebrow joined the first in trying to climb to his hairline.
"Is the steak actual beef?" he asked.
"Yes. Only the garnish is not."
Marcus seated himself carefully on the least gory of the chairs and ignored the withering vampire under the table. The vampires must have put up a hideous fight. He lifted the four mushroom-shaped cock-heads that sat on top of hi
s steak and set them to the side of the plate.
Samil prowled the dining room, popping morsels from his plate into his mouth with his fingers, too keyed up to sit.
Marcus ate the steak and pushed back. Samil leaned over him, pinning him in the chair. Marcus smelled adrenaline-laced sweat, blood and pure Samil. "Marcus..." The word came out in a low growl that made every erogenous zone in Marcus' body wake up and purr. Samil ran bloody hands over his arms, leaving streaks on his white shirtsleeves.
Marcus tipped his face until his mouth was inches from Samil's. "I do hope I won't have to mop up."
"Only me," Samil breathed over his mouth.
"Washcloth, loofa or..." Marcus flicked his tongue over Samil's lips, "tongue?"
Samil just chuckled.
Marcus pulled him closer and gave Samil the best kiss he'd ever given any man. Slow and deep, he took his time, shutting out the red reality of the house and losing himself in the wet silk of Samil's mouth and warmth of his body. After the first moments, Samil seized him, filling the kiss with desperate passion, his need almost burning Marcus' lips.
When Samil released his mouth, Marcus stood. He smiled and continued kissing him, learning the planes of his face, the curves of his neck and even the taste of his blood-streaked chest. He lingered on the responsive nipples, ferreting them out from the dark curls around them and flicking with his tongue until they crinkled.
Samil moaned softly. He clutched at Marcus' sides, finally grabbing his ass with no gentleness at all.
Marcus looked up and then nipped the left nipple. "Take it if you want it. I am here to take care of you, after all."
Samil hauled him out of the kitchen by his shirt front and slammed him against one splashed wall in the hallway to kiss him again. His big hands fumbled at Marcus' belt and pants, shoving them to the floor half-way along the hall.
The master bedroom was as gruesome as the rest of the house. Four more vampires lay here, all decapitated. Samil had stacked the heads in a pyramid on the dresser. Marcus stripped off the rest of his clothes. Samil shoved him onto the soaked bed, bending him over at the waist.
Two barely fingers–Marcus hoped it was spit and not blood–pushed into his body, going deep on the first fast thrust. He gasped under the treatment, but did not miss Samil's little noise that was almost a whimper. A third stretched him. He relaxed under it, waiting.
Samil replaced his fingers with his cock, moaning as he entered. He stilled for a moment once he was fully sheathed. Samil's soft breath on his back and the feel of the warm skin soothed Marcus. It had been a long time.
There was nothing soft about the hard and desperate pounding that followed. Samil slammed him, forcing him forward to his elbows. Finally, Samil came with a muffled howl, having lasted much longer than Marcus expected. He gave no sign of his discomfort or his distaste at the blood and sweat dripping off Samil's body onto his own.
Marcus remained quiet, letting Samil rest as long as he needed to. The big man withdrew and stood up. Marcus turned to face him, still hard.
Samil stared and his face crumbled into disappointment. "You showed such blood-lust, I had assumed you would enjoy this."
Marcus kissed him, passion still high, to reassure him. "I did. I seldom climax from penetration."
Samil went to his knees, a graceful, slow-motion movement that made Marcus' cock jump. He joined Samil on his own knees. He would not be able to stand through a whole blow-job, not with that lush mouth wrapped around him.
Samil wrapped one large hand around his cock and stroked. The firm, sure strokes anchored Marcus even as they sent him flying. He caught his breath.
Samil didn't stop and Marcus found himself peaking in very short order, trembling in Samil's arms. Samil held him, nearly cuddling him. Marcus looked up and felt his guard melt for an instant in the face of the yearning look Samil wore. He would love to be nothing more than a man in love with another man, but that was not for either of them. His calm mask slipped back into place.
"We should be going, sir. Your clothing is in a bag near the door."
Samil nodded and rose. As he headed to the bathroom, he said over his shoulder, "I have clean-up supplies in the trunk. Bring them in?"
Marcus gathered his clothes and dressed. "Yes, sir." He brought in the kerosene and the bleach. Before Samil was done showering, he had scattered the kerosene through most of the rooms and bleached the table.
As they drove away from the inferno, Marcus smiled at Samil in the rear-view. "I'll move into your bedroom then, shall I?"
* * * *
They prowled the disreputable clubs and warehouses, following hints and leads. Many times, the ungodlies found them first. Marcus knew he would never get used to seeing the beasts, some of which had once been human, as they snarled and clawed in their death agonies. He'd mastered the pistol-grip crossbow very quickly, but a small sliver-edged halberd was his favorite.
As the summer passed, the hunts took longer along with the hours of darkness. The city seemed to have an infestation of vampires, like cockroaches coming out at night. Marcus dreaded winter.
The warehouse reeked of blood and death, the industrial moan of Bauhaus chanting "Undead undead undead" over the club speakers setting Marcus' teeth on edge. New vampires, especially young ones, would sometimes set up a club like this, welcoming humans in as refreshments. Tonight, Halloween of all nights, he and Samil had attended.
Now, they were nearly through with the evening's work and Marcus was thoroughly pissed off. His favorite black silk shirt was drenched in slimy undead blood, his chaps were stained and his beltloops shredded. His eyeliner and warpaint had streaked from back-splash and he dreaded trying to wash both blood and product from his hair.
It had been easy at first. A dance with a pretty girl or pretty boy that ended with a quick and quiet staking. Then the body propped quietly in the corner with a drink and a rebuke that the dancer hadn't needed another. But that had only eliminated a dozen or so before someone realized the dead ones weren't just drunk and raised the alarm. Then he and Samil had fled to the stairs, peppering the room with crossbow bolts, eliminating the rest.
At his feet, one vampire twitched. Marcus rammed his halberd into the thing's face with far too much satisfaction. Samil shoved the staked DJ aside and turned off the sound system. Marcus breathed more easily and continued patrolling.
He never saw what hit him.
One instant, he was stabbing a mostly-dead bloodsucker in the face. The next, a metal piece–the tip of a sword–protruded from his own chest. He couldn't catch his breath to cry out.
He heard Samil scream with rage as he went to his knees. Cold pain, a warm wash of blood and darkness swallowed him. The sound of Samil shouting "Eli, Eli!" as a battle-cry followed him down into death.
Marcus startled awake, expecting to see the sun-drenched walls of his own room and feel the soft sheets of his bed after a nightmare. He did not expect to see the vampire club and have his nose assailed with its stench. The only sound in the room was a steady shoop noise that he recognized as Samil spraying accelerant.
"I'm not dead." The words were a whisper.
Marcus sighed at his own banality and tried getting to his feet. He was too weak. "Samil? Help, please. I can't get proper leverage to stand." These words came out only a little louder, but Samil froze at the sound of his name.
Marcus watched as he turned. A litany of Hebrew, Aramaic and Latin profanities streamed from Samil's lips as he dropped the kerosene sprayer.
"Help? Please?" Marcus managed to get up on one elbow.
"Marcus," Samil came to his side and helped him stand. "I'm so sorry. I didn't...I never even thought. You're supposed to be mortal."
Banality seemed to be the order of the night.
Marcus leaned on his lover. "I'm rather startled myself. The last thing I thought as I died was 'Damn, now I'll never tell him.' Then I'm awake and you're right here." He clung more than he needed to, taking comfort from Samil's strength while his own wa
s at low ebb.
"Tell me what?"
Marcus looked up into the handsome face he woke to every afternoon and kissed every dawn. He kissed Samil now, hard. "I love you."
Samil started again.
Marcus chuckled. "I'm sorry, I do keep piling on the shocks. I felt it needed to be said, even if I never say it again," he explained.
Samil steered them to the stairs and sat them both down. "I have to... we need..." His employer's lack of words took Marcus by surprise. Finally, Samil calmed himself with a deep breath. "I have to make a call and finish the clean-up."
Marcus nodded. "Yes. I fear I'll be no help on the clean-up now." As Samil rose, Marcus caught his hand. "I'm sorry, that was neither the time nor place to say that."
"It's all right." Samil stroked his face with one bloody finger. "You rest, ahuvi."
It was Marcus' turn to startle as the Hebrew endearment meaning "My love" rolled off Samil's tongue. He sat, regaining his strength and pondering all the new developments, as Samil finished the clean-up.
They left, tossing a few lit matches down the stairwell and lingering just long enough to make sure the fire caught. Samil drove, one hand on the wheel, his cellphone in the other. Marcus held his breath when Samil lost his temper and began shouting into the phone in Greek. The Council was getting an earful.
"Watch the–" Marcus started as Samil barely missed sideswiping a semi. Samil punched off the phone, muttering angrily, and locked both hands on the wheel. They made it home and Marcus uncurled his own white knuckles from the door-handle.
They shed their clothes in the garage and showered in the utility shower Samil kept for really messy jobs. They went in to the house wearing towels. Samil poured them both stiff drinks.
"Do you want the short story or the long?"
Marcus took the drink and sat down, staring at the faint red line on his chest. "The short. I'll ask for bits of the long as needed."
Samil nodded. Marcus suspected he'd given this talk more than once. "You're Undying. You cannot die now. You can take a fatal wound, but your body will heal it almost instantly."
