White Truffle Butter Blood

He couldn't have been a day over nineteen, but it was hard to tell after a while. They were all the same like that. The man watched him carefully all night to make sure he was alone. Unfathomable as it was, he definitely hadn't come with friends. Or a girlfriend. He was perfect.

Estevez was the kind of man that had a palpable charisma. He stood so tall and broad in his perfectly-tailored slacks and leather-soled wingtips, his presence demanded to be acknowledged. At the same time, everything from the waist up was almost sloppy, if it weren't so calculated. Sleeves rolled up like they were straight out of a J. Crew catalogue, top buttons of his hundred-dollar dress shirt left undone to expose just enough of his dark skin and the silver medallion and Star of David that he always tucked into his clothes. It made him approachable. Clocking in at around three-hundred years old, he had a prestigious position in undead society and an image to cultivate.

Lord knows the daft little co-eds he dealt with every day in his office appreciated it, but they never were his speed. This boy, on the other hand? Absolutely delectable.

He stood, straightened his belt and smoothed the front of his trousers, let the last wisp of smoke trail from his nose, loving what the rose and honey blend did mixed with his own sweat and the Tom Ford dabbed on his collarbone and neck. He no longer needed to rehearse during the several seconds it took to sweep across the room and reach the squashy couch occupied by his prey.

"Hey," he said. "This seat taken?"

The boy said nothing, just swept the air with his hand. He had a mouthful of smoke.

Estevez eased down a comfortable distance next to him. When he exhaled, the scent of melon and cherry was almost overwhelming.

"I know you," the boy said, licking his bottom lip. "Your office is in Old Main, isn't it?"

"It is. Which department are you in?"

"I'm a junior in Anthropology."

"I don't think I recognize you from any of my classes," he said. Estevez wracked his brain trying to remember if he had seen this kid before. You don't eat where you sleep.

"No," the boy said, taking another long drag off the hose.

"I've wanted to take it, but every time I have room in my schedule, it's full. I can only take night classes."

With every word, smoke leaked from his mouth. Estevez wanted to dream in the shape of that mouth.

"That's unfortunate. I've heard it's good, but I'm a little partial." His lame dad-joke and warm chuckle have fooled many others, it'd work on this kid too. The kid smiled back. He extended the hand that wasn't wrapped around the hose.

"I'm Jason."

Estevez took it firmly.

"Dr. Estevez, but we're not on campus. Javier."

He held on just a little too long to be proper, feeling the cold, slim fingers around his big hand. Now for the closer.

Estevez locked his intense brown eyes on the boy's, sure that the young man would avert his gaze.

Big green trusting eyes looked back, right into his own. He was susceptible.

Flip the switch.

A body under the powers of corruption is a beautiful thing. The eyes dilate, the body loosens, it's almost like a drug. It was too easy this time—all Estevez had to do was plant the seed in the boy's mind. There was already a latent desire to build on.

Jason sucked long and deep on the hose, relaxing into the cushions and exhaling a massive grey cloud between them. Estevez waved his hand in it, concentrated his will and the smoke particles scattered and reformed into the shape of a serpentine dragon. Jason smiled and reached for it, but it dissipated between his fingers.

"Wow," he sighed. "You're something special, huh? Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Around," Estevez gently pried the hose from Jason's fingers and put it to his own lips. It was probably presumptuous, but he couldn't resist pushing this little bit, tipping the balance of intimacy in his favour. Jason's reactions were considerably slowed, but it didn't stop him from playfully batting at Estevez's unoccupied hand.

"Mine," he said.

"Is it still yours if I'm paying?"

Flash that crooked smile and cocked eyebrow.

"I guess I can share."

By closing time, Jason was out of his hoodie and leaning all the way into Estevez's shoulder. The bar was off the main street and relatively quiet, mostly populated by homesick foreign students, so there was little risk of getting caught. Estevez was an excellent predator and he knew it. This was the best part of the hunt right here—getting drunk on the smoke and too-sweet coffee and the crisp Perry Ellis Red or Fierce or whatever they were wearing these days. Mixed with sweat and the clean freshness of Mom's laundry soap, it was different flavours of the same liquor. It was the sensory buffet before the real feast began. The stifling heat of the anticipation was unbearable. It was now or never.

The baristo came to trade their dead glasses and hookah for the bill. Estevez fished out his wallet and deposited a black card in the little folder, not caring to look.

"So," he sat up and straightened his shirt, bringing Jason up with him. "They're closing up. Plans?"

Jason stretched, thin V-neck rising to reveal a thin strip of skin just above his jeans. "Not sure. I was mostly coming here to relax for a while. Midterms were rough."

The baristo returned the book. Estevez took his card back and stood, replacing his wallet.

"Well, the way I see it, there are a few options."

Jason stayed on the couch but kept his eyes on Estevez.

"You can go back home and do what? Watch Netflix and have a few beers, fall asleep on the couch, wash, rinse, repeat. Or, you could come with me."

"Are you seriously picking me up?"

Jason was either amused or affronted but Estevez couldn't tell which.

"You're not my student. You didn't come here with anybody. What's stopping you?"

Jason's brow knitted. Estevez exhaled and flexed his mind just a tad.

Nudge.

"Well, I mean... I never do this," he said, sliding his hoodie back on and collecting his phone from the table.

"That's my boy," Estevez clapped him on the shoulder. He extended his hand to help him to his feet. They left, crossing the parking lot to Estevez's grey Cadillac.

Estevez's house is in an area clustered together with other university faculty. It's a nice neighborhood and only a five-minute drive from the University of Arkansas campus. On the outside, you'd never think that the Creole cottage with the beautiful garden out front belonged to a man that had an occult workshop in the garage, complete with human limbs in the deep freeze next to the preserved summer produce. It's only a ten-minute drive from the hookah bar to his driveway in the dense Saturday night traffic. Jason hadn't seen a place so nice

since he'd left his parents' house in Greenland. He tended to avoid houses at all as of late.

Jason followed on his heels up the steps and inside, cautiously surveying his surroundings in the open living room. Estevez turned a knob to light the fireplace. For October, it was already cold and rainy enough for it to be nice. He disappeared into a room adjoining the living room for a moment, leaving Jason to wander around and look. This place was absolutely covered in bookshelves, filled with many titles, both new and old. Some of the shelves held strange objects, some held familiar ones, like a large silver menorah and another had a bronze stand-up crucifix and censer. He'd never been in a professor's home before and getting a taste of the forbidden was wickedly fun. Estevez returned and went back to the kitchen, divested of his shoes and belt. He returned with a bottle of Dom Perignon Rose' and two flutes.

"It strikes me that you don't get a taste of nice things very often," he said, uncorking the beautiful black and pink bottle. "Like most of your peers."

Jason unzipped his hoodie and yanked it off, leaving it on an armchair and took his seat next to his host. He blushed against his will, unsure if he was in over his head yet.

He took the flute from Estevez, uncertain what to do with it.

"I'm used to champagne being for special occasions," he said.

"Tonight is special. I graded my last midterm before I went out. Vivir intensamente."

Estevez finished pouring for himself and raised the glass to Jason's, producing a perfect, clear clink. The young man seemed reluctant to drink. Didn't he know what was in front of him?

Nudge.

"This isn't like any champagne I've ever seen before," he said.

"It's rose'. This one in particular is from 2003. It's fruity and spicy. Very different. I have an affinity for things that are different."

The men drank, regarding each other. They would repeat this twice more, making idle conversation, delaying the inevitable. It may have been the alcohol, but everyone looks better, more radiant in firelight. Estevez was made to look like a god on earth under those conditions. Death didn't rob him of colour and vigor like it had many people.

The bubbly took just enough of the edge off of Jason's anxiety that he could act as he'd wanted to since his host first sat down with him in the hookah bar. His movements were clumsy, but the enthusiasm overrode the finesse when he finally dared to reach across the space between them and touch Estevez's chest, causing him to turn mid-speech. Jason kissed him, taking him completely by surprise. He went with it, though.

Empty flutes made it to the floor. Estevez stretched across the couch, giving Jason room to crawl on top of him and settle on his knees between his legs. His pants were getting uncomfortably tight, but relief would be soon enough. The boy kissed down his neck as he flicked open his shirt, button by button. Perhaps Estevez miscalculated. Either he'd done this before or he was a natural. Frankly, he didn't care. That soft mouth drifted down his chest, cool fingertips pushing aside his medal and star. He'd hoped that the fireplace would have warmed the boy's touch more, but it was still well worth it. Estevez stopped him when he reached his waistband.

"Let's take this in the other room," he said. Jason sat back up and began removing his shoes.

"It's this way when you're ready."

Estevez had plenty of time to prepare in the couple of minutes between his arrival and Jason's. It's easy to light about fifty candles when all you have to do is concentrate. He felt better doing the wax melter by hand. It was still pretty new to him. The room filled with the scent of leather, vanilla, and spice. He quickly shoved the stack of papers and red pens in the nightstand drawer. It wouldn't do to be reminded of work right now. Check the tag on the sheets—good, these were the cheap ones. He inhaled deep and unbuttoned his trousers, pleased to at least have some pressure gone.

He flexed his mind again and turned the dimmer switch in the master bath down low, and with a soft whoosh lit the candles around the bath. It'd be nice to have a soak after this.

Jason tapped the entryway before entering. His steps were virtually silent on the oak floor. Estevez turned to face him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He gestured for him to come closer and he obeyed. It was taking every ounce of self-control Estevez possessed to not let his beast win, ripping and tearing through the boy's clothes and skin. When he was seated, he was equal height with Jason. Their eyes locked again, Estevez's heavy-lidded gaze wanting so badly to drift down. Jason didn't look away. He leaned forward and kissed the older man, pressing as close as he could get. Estevez lost control for half a second, threading one hand through Jason's dirty-blonde hair and pulling, the other shoving him between his legs. It didn't rattle him, though, if anything, it served as fuel. Estevez's canines dropped for a split second at the unexpected heat, nearly nicking the boy's lip. He let go immediately, not wanting to blow that particular secret just yet. No, he had to get that blood absolutely boiling before he could bite. Working his prey into banal senselessness, biting in those crucial seconds right before orgasm...there was nothing on earth like it.

Jason stepped back from the bed and whipped off his shirt, leaving it on the floor. His scent rippled through the air between then, making it that much harder to keep control. Estevez had time for two deep breaths before he was on him again, sliding his shirt from his arms. His hands were so small, it was almost unsettling how efficient he was. Surely he was too young to be a pro yet. In New York, he'd have expected it, but not here. He let his head roll back and enjoy it, though. He'd spent the week cranky and tired and thinking far too hard. All he wanted tonight was good old hedonism. Small hands threw down his zipper, fabric slid down his thighs, pooling on the floor, still warm. He was completely exposed; it was better this way if he ended up having to feed someplace less than ideal, such as a bathroom or an alley. It was faster.

One more time he held and pulled Jason's pretty hair, not caring if it hurt.

"God, sweetheart," he sighed. "I wish I could dream in the shape of your mouth."

No answer from below, but that didn't mean it wasn't heard.

Jason brought him to the edge twice, letting go the second time and sitting back on his haunches.

"There's something, but I don't know if you'd want to," he said, wiping his bottom lip.

"Anything. Anything."

"See, it's just weird, though. Not a lot of people would be okay with it. I feel safe with you though."

That was painful.

Jason stood and pulled a silver pocketknife out. Estevez very nearly laughed.

"Oh baby, I want to keep you," he chuckled, deep and low. "Show me what you're thinking."

Jason turned up his wrist and cut a red line from his wrist several inches down, not across. He hissed through his teeth. It leaked profusely, dripping a little on the floor. It was all Estevez could do to not jump down and lick the floorboards clean.

"I don't have anything, I swear. I like the pain. It's so hard to find people into it," he said.

"Bring that over here and I'll fix it," Estevez sighed. Jason lay flat back on the sheets next to him, streaming red all over them. Estevez chuckled to himself, thanking whatever god dealt with young tramps. He leaned over and touched his tongue to the cut, too hungry to care that it was too early and that this didn't exactly go as planned.

Jason's taste was browned butter, sugar, spice, undertones of vanilla and strangely, something like medium-rare prime rib. Positively gluttonous and luxurious. Estevez supported himself on one elbow, his other hand busy in Jason's pants. The longer he drank, the more he couldn't figure out whether he was falling in love or just had too much to drink. His release could wait—all he wanted was more everything now.

"Not too much," Jason whispered, straining. His breathing was more ragged, chest and cheeks flushed. Estevez kept going, but it didn't take long—his hips came all the way up off the mattress, curling him over almost double. God, what a glorious mess.

Estevez rolled off, licking his fingers. Between the blood all over the sheets and this, they'd definitely have to be burned. It was so worth it. His head swam with arousal and the little victory that comes with wrecking your partner first. Before he had any time to play back the moment in his mind, Jason was on top of him with the knife at his throat.

"The fuck?" He struggled, but Jason was way stronger than he looked.

And then it all clicked.

"Enjoy that blood bond, daddy," he said.

"Here's how this is going to go: I'm going to get up and put my clothes back on. You're going to stay right there and let me leave. I'll hit you up on Facebook when I want to do this again. And believe me, I will want to. I gotta say, I never pegged you for being into anything like me. I'm going to love having a pet elder," he eased off, grabbing his shirt from the floor. His cut had already healed and Estevez let loose a litany of curses at himself for falling for something as fucking stupid as this.

He knew better, goddammnit.

Jason got dressed and made his way to the front door. Estevez followed him, too stunned to be pissed yet.

"What the fuck are you?"

Jason smiled wide, the first real one so far.

"Clanless. Duh. I'm not bound by your dumb laws and accords."

He waved and went right out the front door like he owned the place.

Estevez sat down on the couch, not even bothering to get dressed. His erection throbbed red and ached, but he couldn't be bothered to pay it any attention. God fucking dammit, he thought. I must be getting slow. It would have been the worst possible kind of humiliation if anyone knew that he, hundreds of years old with a shining reputation in a strong bloodline, had been duped into fucking and being bound to someone so thin-blooded they didn't even register as undead. He hung his head in his hands and tried to think rationally.

He'd have to deal with this at some point. He'd have liked nothing more than to strangle the little shit with his bare hands...but at the same time, nothing tastes like that anywhere in the world. It was like wine from the private stock in the Vatican paired with white truffle butter-infused Japanese Wagyu beef. God, the further he got from the moment he first tasted it, the more intense the scent and taste of the memory. He couldn't wreck something that delicious. His stomach lurched and growled and the throb between his legs was getting annoying. He stood, returning to the bedroom. He flexed, extinguishing the lights in the bedroom and the bathroom. All he could think about was that taste and the insistent pain. It was enough to get him off, but he hated himself for it after.

Fuck the clanless, he thought, drifting off as the early morning sun crept over the horizon.