Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire

by Julie Lynn Hayes

  "Maybe you should check my room for a hidden coffin," Hunter suggested, with more than a hint of a leer, which produced an answering blush in Fisher.

  "Those stories are just not true." Hunter shrugged. "They're just urban legends. Myths and fairy tales. They were probably meant to lend a level of creepiness to the original story. What can I say?"

  Well, that shot that down, quite neatly, didn't it? What else could he remember about vampires and their habits?

  "Are you… have you been…?" Was there a delicate way to put what Fisher was thinking?

  "Feasting on human blood? Yes and no," Hunter replied enigmatically. "I've been getting some from a blood bank, but I can't keep on doing that. It's not very practical." He turned Fisher's hand over, his lips caressing his wrist. Fisher moaned softly at his touch.

  "What are you going to do about it?"

  "I'll figure something out, don't worry."

  "Try and stop me from worrying, I think you know me better than that." Fisher's stubborn streak was coming to the fore. He gazed almost defiantly at his friend. "Tell me what happens when you bite someone and drink their blood. I mean, will it make me into a vampire too or what?" He sounded braver than he felt, asking that question. Contrary to popular belief, he did have an imagination. And it seemed to be running a bit wild.

  "Fisher, I'm not going to bite you, and even if I did, which I won't, it won't turn you. There has to be a mutual blood exchange. Then you have to die with my blood still in you. But that doesn't matter, since… "

  "Shush." Fisher laid his finger across Hunter's lips. "If it's what you need, I'll do it, no argument, Mister Long."

  Hunter kissed the lone finger, chuckled softly. "C'mere you," he said, pulling Fisher onto his lap, so that he straddled him and they were face to face. He wound his arms about Fisher's waist, holding him securely there. "Is this the same guy who doesn't like to give blood because he can't stand the sight of it?" he teased.

  "I resent that." Fisher said. He was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, but when you have your ass planted on someone's lap, dignity is already lost. "I give blood on a regular basis, want to check my record?"

  "Nope, since we go together, that would be silly."

  "Indeed." Fisher sounded somewhat pacified at the admission.

  "And I'm also the one who is there with you when you get your blood taken, and I watch you not watch the proceedings. Every time. Isn't that also true?"

  That was a little harder to deny, as it happened to be the truth. Blood made him queasy, especially his own. So in order to cope, he refused to watch the Red Cross workers do their job, from the moment they swabbed the area with a sterile cotton ball and cold alcohol and inserted the incredibly long needle into his arm until they removed it and replace it with a large cotton ball. The giggling techs who'd come to know him and Hunter from their regular visits, usually pasted a cartoon character Band-Aid on Fisher's forearm, and offered him a sucker, as if he were a child, while they flirted outrageously with Hunter. Typical behavior of any female that came within Hunter's immediate vicinity. But still Fisher continued to donate blood every couple of months, like clockwork, queasy or not.

  "I'm still going to do it, so don't argue with me." Fisher set his mouth into a firm line, one which brooked no argument. Hunter managed to tease it open, using his tongue, licking the outside of his lips, before he slid his tongue inside of Fisher's mouth. It was hard to argue with such an enticement, and Fisher found himself responding, accepting Hunter's tongue and allowing it entrance.

  Fisher found himself incredibly turned on by that kiss. He'd never been so aroused in all his life. The few kisses he had shared with the women he'd dated had been nothing like this, which had a great deal to do with why he had never progressed beyond that stage with any of them. Now he found himself wanting more, even if he didn't really know exactly what that more entailed. He wanted to find out, assuming of course, that Hunter wanted to, or even could. Fisher wasn't sure what limitations vampires might have regarding sexual relations, if any. It wasn't exactly a question which had ever come up before in his studies.

  As they kissed, he could feel Hunter's hands busily working at ridding him of his tie. Before he could reach for it, to set it on the couch, Hunter had tossed it onto the floor. Then came the jacket, which he slid off of Fisher's shoulders and arms, and it followed the same fate as the tie. It was difficult to argue about tidiness when Hunter's tongue was so very much in Fisher's mouth. Fisher could feel his buttons being undone, starting at the top; then the fabric was pushed back and Hunter's fingers were skating across his skin and he felt a distinct tingle coursing through his body.

  Hunter disengaged his mouth from Fisher's, bending his head over his bared chest, his tongue licking at Fisher's soft skin, trailing over one of his nipples. Fisher's eyes went wide at the unaccustomed touch. He gasped. A sound which quickly became a moan as Hunter took the nipple between his lips softly, then released it and repeated the action with the other one. Fisher was finding logical thought difficult to maintain, but he found the presence of mind to ask the question which was bothering him. Or at least try to.

  "Hunter… "

  "Hmmmm?"

  "Can you… I mean, is there any reason that you can't…?" The question wasn't coming out quite the way he intended. He was trying to be delicate, for crying out loud.

  Hunter raised his head, and Fisher could see the light of mischief in his eyes. "You want to know if being a vampire keeps me from getting it up?"

  "That's a crude version of my question, but yes." Hunter had a way of seeing through everything he said or did, he always had.

  Hunter took Fisher's hand, and guided it to his bulging crotch. "Does that answer your question?"

  "Pretty much, yeah," Fisher tried to sound casual, although his voice managed to jump a complete octave, in spite of his best efforts to contain it. The feel of Hunter's hardness, the immediacy of having it beneath his palm, was having a definite effect on him.

  "Don't worry, darling," Hunter whispered in a husky contralto that was meant to be amusing but was only serving to raise Fisher's blood pressure, "I won't get you pregnant."

  Just like old times. But with a difference. A difference reflected in the tent in Fisher's own pants. They sniggered together, but the momentary release only served to put a new edge on their hunger. Hunter swatted Fisher's ass lightly. "Get up for a minute."

  "Why? Is something wrong?" Fisher had the sinking feeling he'd ruined something, and his anxiety meter rose accordingly.

  Hunter gave him a reassuring kiss. "Not a thing. I just think we should go into the bedroom," he murmured suggestively, "there's more room there."

  Fisher made a half-hearted attempt to retrieve his discarded clothing, but a few heated kisses and suggestive touches from Hunter made that effort obsolete. They decided on Fisher's bedroom as being the better choice—his bed was a full-sized one, with a pillow top mattress, and the room wasn't littered with anything they might step on.

  They groped and kissed their way down the hall. Along the way, Hunter removed Fisher's shirt and vest, tossing both articles of clothing somewhere in the hallway, before busying himself with Fisher's belt. Their kisses became more feverish now as they approached the bed, half sitting, half-reclining on the edge. Hunter slid the belt through its loops, before giving it a place on the floor. Fisher, for his part, had managed to divest Hunter of his prom jacket and his blue vest, and was working on his shirt, but he found himself distracted by what Hunter was doing. Too many sensations—all good—were bombarding him all at once. A sensory overload of the most pleasant kind.

  "Shoes," Hunter whispered.

  "What?"

  "Take off your shoes," he instructed Fisher, "or the pants won't go."

  Of course. It was just so hard to think of everything at once, when his cock was so hard and distracting him so much, and as every piece of clothing that he removed from Hunter was revealing more and more of that lovely pale flesh. Fis
her Roberts was most decidedly coming undone. But how very sweet it was.

  His helpful friend and major exhibitionist took matters into his own hands. Making a show of it, he pulled his own arms out of his shirt sleeves, taking a moment to deliberately trail his hands across his chest in the most sensual motion Fisher had ever seen. Fisher almost swallowed his tongue. Hunter removed his shirt entirely, and it too became lost to view. Falling backward onto the bed, he pulled up one leg at a time, untied his black dress shoes and chucked them, followed by the black silk socks he was wearing. Fisher found himself mesmerized as Hunter unbuttoned his fly, pulling the zipper down carefully. If Fisher had taken a bet with himself on whether Hunter was wearing boxers or briefs, he would have lost. The answer was none of the above, he was going completely commando. Which meant that his engorged beast had now been released. Fisher swallowed.

  It wasn't like he hadn't seen Hunter naked before, because he had. That was inevitable over the course of four years of high school Phys Ed, not to mention eight years of living together. But this—this was completely different. This was up close and personal, not hot and sweaty in a locker room. Maybe that was not the right analogy to bring to mind, as it only served to remind him that he'd actually been watching Hunter back then, whether he admitted it to himself or not—and Fisher also realized that he had never wanted to touch anyone as badly as he wanted to touch Hunter Long right here and now.

  Hunter's inquiry of "Pants?" made him remember he wasn't done. But Hunter saved him the necessity of doing anything as he flipped Fisher onto his back and shimmied his trousers down his legs, followed quickly by his underwear. Boxers. Pale blue ones—a rather surprising choice for the conservative Fisher—which were soon communing with the carpet as well.

  At Hunter's request, Fisher scooted up until he lay in the center of the bed, feeling rather exposed. He resisted the fleeting urge to cover himself. It was a bit late for that, and he found that he could resist the desire to do so, if he tried. He wanted Hunter to look at him, and he, in turn, was drinking in the sight of the naked Hunter. And thoroughly enjoying it.

  He bent his legs, also at Hunter's request, and the brunet took up a position between them. There was a light in Hunter's eyes which Fisher had never seen there before, one that seemed to be directed at him. Hunter kissed his left knee, his fingers caressing the flesh of Fisher's calf, eliciting another moan.

  "Hunter, what are we going to do?" Fisher asked. He hoped that his friend had some ideas in that arena, as Fisher was woefully ignorant of the mechanics of gay sex. Sure, he could figure out for himself what part went where. It wasn't his knowledge of anatomy that was lacking, even if his interest in the female form was virtually non-existent. When they were going through Sex Ed back in health class, there had been absolutely no information being offered concerning the how-to's and the wherefore's of gay sex. And he had questions, lots of questions. For example, he wasn't sure how it was determined who was supposed to do what to whom, although he suspected from their relative positions that he was going to be on the receiving end of it. Assuming that was what they were doing. And Fisher wasn't one to make assumptions if he could help it.

  "What do you want to do?"

  "Be with you."

  "You have me, baby." Hunter smiled, and Fisher puddled, his heart swelling, his body flush with heat.

  "I want to learn how to please you," Fisher said. His lower lip was trembling. He tried to still it, afraid he was on the verge of nervous tears. That wouldn't do, no, not at all.

  Hunter kissed his knee again, then turned his leg slightly outward and began to kiss Fisher's thigh, slowly, deliberately, marking a path along his soft flesh. "Just relax," he encouraged him, "I'll teach you anything you wish to learn, but right now, I want to please you. I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time, Fisher."

  "You have?"

  "I have." Those lips, such things they were doing to him. He had never had such an intense hard-on in his entire life, it felt so good it was almost painful.

  "Hunter?"

  "Mmmmmm?"

  "Have you ever been with anyone before?"

  Hunter gave him a careful look, glancing up from where he was kissing his way along Fisher's other thigh. "Please don't be upset if I tell you?" he asked cautiously.

  "I won't," Fisher promised.

  "I have. It was a long time ago, when I was in college. Only two guys, and one woman. No, not at the same time," he forestalled what he could feel was Fisher's next question, running his tongue along that very sweet flesh. He stroked his other leg, attempting to still his trembling. "Does that bother you?"

  Fisher exhaled in relief, relaxing a bit. "No, I was hoping one of us knew what he was doing."

  That brought a large smile to Hunter's lips, which only served to intensify the effect he was having on Fisher. "My sweet, sweet, practical Fisher," he murmured, his fingers caressing the sensitive flesh where his thigh met his groin, inducing another moan. He leaned down and swept his tongue along that crease, feeling Fisher vibrate at his touch.

  "Tell me if something bothers you," he murmured, "I don't want to do anything to upset or hurt you."

  "I will," Fisher promised softly. He reached his hand toward Hunter, caressing his soft dark brown hair. He found it hard to believe that they were really here together like this. It seemed like a dream on a par with the one he'd had this evening, that odd little manifestation of his psyche, almost like a cross between It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol. But this was no dream, this was reality.

  He'd held his secret love for Hunter inside of him even before he knew it for what it was. Societal conditioning had caused him to suppress how he felt, afraid to be perceived as something less than the other people around him, simply because he was different. But his heart had refused to allow him to succumb to such stupidity. Prejudice was prejudice no matter what form it took. And love was still love. He realized now that Hunter was the one and always had been, and there was nowhere else on earth that he would rather be than right here with this man who he loved so very much.

  Continuing to caress his thighs gently, Hunter turned his attention to Fisher's erection. His cock was maybe seven inches long, pink and circumcised, and it had a good girth to it, which Hunter discovered as he circumnavigated it with his fingers, wrapping them about his length. "You feel so good," he murmured, "you have no idea how long I've dreamt of this, of you…" He leaned in and softly kissed the tip of Fisher's cock.

  Fisher thought he was about to explode. His sexual experience thus far was limited to some awkward attempts at masturbation, but he hadn't really gotten into it. And sleeping in the room next to his mother's as a teen didn't help. Once he and Hunter bought their house he had the opportunity, but he was always afraid that Hunter would overhear him and Fisher would be embarrassed. Especially if Hunter discovered that Fisher, on the rare occasions when he actually completed the act, did so with Hunter's image in his mind's eye. As a result, he had entirely no self-control, and he was unabashedly leaking fluid from the head of his cock.

  Hunter took advantage of this natural lubrication as he stroked Fisher's hardness, continuing to lap hungrily at the head, slipping his tongue into the slit. "You taste delicious," he murmured into Fisher's flesh.

  Fisher thought he had never felt anything as wonderful as Hunter's light, careful stroking of his erection. He didn't want to embarrass himself by orgasming too soon. And he also wanted to please Hunter, if he only knew how.

  "Are you ready…" he began, tentatively, "to, you know… I mean, do you want to… you know… me?" He wasn't sure what was the proper term to use, under the circumstances, so settled at last for, "Do you want to make love to me?" as better than its more vulgar counterpart.

  "Not tonight," Hunter responded.

  Fisher's heart fell. Had he done something wrong? Was he not responsive enough? Was there something he should be doing that he wasn't?

  Hunter reassured him, hastening to kiss him softly. "Shhh,
shhh, don't look like that. It's too much for you all in one night. Later, when I have a chance to properly loosen you, so it won't hurt. When I have better lube. Or any. I haven't bought any lube in years, I have to confess. I was so not prepared to have you here like this, I mean I always hoped, and dreamed…"

  Fisher was touched at the raw emotion he heard in his lover's voice, it went straight to his heart. "We can wait," he reassured him, "but don't you want… something… I mean…"

  "Don't worry, sweet love, we're not done, far from it. I'm going to show you how good it feels to be inside of someone."

  "Who?" Fisher asked, without thinking, immediately blushing.

  "Me, silly," Hunter chuckled, continuing to lube Fisher's cock, with slick strokes. "Now listen, I'm going to take this slowly, for both our sakes. It's been a very long time for me, and it'll take me a minute for my body to adjust. But I promise you that you are so going to like this. All right?"

  "All right," Fisher breathed, his body tensing in anticipation.

  "Sweetheart, relax, please," Hunter begged him, using his free hand to caress Fisher with love and patience. "This will be good, I swear. Would I lie to you?"

  Fisher shook his head. He trusted Hunter implicitly. But he had another concern that he needed to address first.

  "Hunter?"

  "Hmmmmm?" Hunter's lips encompassed the head of Fisher's cock, sucking at it lightly, causing him to lose his train of thought momentarily.

  "While we're… doing this… will you bite me? Isn't that how it works? During sex?"

  He watched Hunter's face anxiously. If this was real—and by now he believed that it was—then he knew that Hunter needed him in that particular way, and he wanted to give him what he needed.

  Hunter lifted his face, arching his eyebrows, giving Fisher an appraising look. "You're serious, aren't you?"