Blood & Pleasure Ch. 1
By Robin - For Alpha Readers ONLY - 12.12.24
Throbbing, pumping, pounding.
A rushing of fluid, excitement and pleasure in a single moment of ecstasy.
Tybren could feel himself falling, upwards out of the dream, the feeling of motion making him sick to his stomach despite the conflagration of sensation coursing through his body.
Fire in my veins.
A cogent thought bursting through the haze of restfulness as he slammed back into wakefulness.
He was suddenly aware of a pressure on his chest and stomach as he struggled to sit up, eyes snapping open into the dark, heart pounding in his chest.
A pair of reflective, night-vision eyes stared down at Ty, like a mountain lion or other large predator crouched atop his body. But this wasn't an animal.
A woman, naked and pale as moonlight, white except for the dribble of blood pattering down her chin, neck, and breasts, dark and slick in the dimness of his room.
She hissed something, some kind of enchantment in an ancient language with which he had no familiarity.
"Fuck!"
She repeated.
I definitely didn't hear her the first time.
Despite the situation, he made a sleep-sodden mental note to not attribute future misheardings so immediately to the occult.
Ty struggled to move, to shift her off himself, but failed to dislodge her grip. He was a big guy, a football player when he was in school, but he couldn't make any headway against her diminutive form. His fogged brain began to panic, fear overwhelming him at the sight of this bloodstained monster, and its ability to seemingly easily overwhelm his thrashing.
"Sh-sh-sh-sh!" She clapped a hand over his mouth before he could scream, before he could even make more than a whimper. Like an older sibling trying to calm a younger one who has just (through no fault of their own) received a wiffle ball to the face.
"You're dreaming! You're
dreaming!
" She repeated over and over, insistently holding him down with an elbow, hand still clamped over his mouth as the other fishing over on the nightstand.
He
was
feeling woozy, but this was definitely not a dream, more of a nightmare if anything else. He tried to communicate that to his assailant, while also flailing his arms weakly up at her.
It was less a valiant defense, more of a fondle, as his hands found her breasts instead of doing any real damage.
Not quite the desired effect.
In the midst of his panic, he took a moment to appreciate the softness of her tits. If this was a dream, it could just stay like this, no need to move along.
"Okay,
now
you're dreaming." Her voice was curt, and was accompanied by something hard smashing into his head from the side.
An infinity of blackness stretched before him, the feeling of the creature's breasts on his hands sticking momentarily in his mind until a restless, blunt force-induced sleep claimed him.
###
Ty's morning was very surprising. The first surprise: Light splashing across his bedspread through an open set of blinds he'd been sure to close before laying down. The second surprise: The massive, throbbing bump on the side of his head, spiraling into a headache with every throb of blood.
As waking up tends to do, he was obliged to sit up, and immediately regretted it, the change in position only worsening his aggressive discomfort. Stars flashed unbidden into his field of view, causing him to clamp his eyes tight, nauseated.
A vision of the nightmare creature (or perhaps fever dream if his current situation were anything to go by) painted the back of his eyelids. The monster dripped blood, a night terror holding him helpless in his place.
Gagging, his eyes shot open, and he swung his legs to the side. Anchoring himself to the floor in an effort to abate the worst symptoms. Breathing heavily, both to calm himself, and to avoid throwing up onto the carpet, he contemplated his situation.
Shit to do today, my first day on the line at the foundry, being sick isn't in the plans.
After a moment more of silent hesitation, steeling himself for the increase in nausea, he found his footing and stood.
Swaying momentarily, Ty felt unexpectedly weak, as though he'd been sprinting and just paused to let himself walk.
One foot in front of the other.
He cast about his room for his work coveralls, finding them tossed across the back of his threadbare desk chair, even though he'd sworn he'd left them hanging from his closet door handle.
Failing to be blessed with the test-taking skills of his sisters, Ty worked in a steel foundry south of Philly, a strong, blue-collar occupation. After six months of technical training, filing, taking calls and filling out requisition forms, today would be the first day of joining a floor crew.
Dad's crew.
He thought, and crossed the small, cluttered room in a single stride, banishing the thoughts of his night terror to the back of his brain.
He wasn't about to risk disappointing his father.
He grasped the fabric of the company-branded, light blue coveralls, and threw up into his desk chair.
The next few minutes were a blur of action as he cursed loudly, prompting his passing little sister, Malla, to stick her head quizzically in through a door Ty had sworn he'd left locked.
She met the stench of vomit, and retched herself, recoiling out the door and hurrying to the bathroom.
"Gross!" She called back over her shoulder.
This in turn prompted their father, Abraham, to stick
his
head in, wrinkling his nose as he observed the scene before him.
"I'll be good in a minute-" Ty began, but was interrupted by his father raising a calloused hand.
"No, nope, absolutely not, this is why we have sick days." Ty groaned and took an uneasy step back, sinking back down onto the foot of his bed.
"I've got this, just let me-" He insisted, but was again forestalled, this time by a grimace.
"I don't think anyone wants you blowing your lunch on the factory floor." He glanced over at the chair. "Or in the office..."
Mal inched past her father with a spray bottle, a roll of paper towels, and one of their old N95 masks from COVID securely fastened over her face, straps disappearing into the blackness of her hair. She made to toss them at her brother, but Abraham steered her by the shoulders towards the desk instead.
"Oh great, thanks for volunteering to help your brother-
who you love
-get cleaned up." He growled, narrowing his eyes as if to invite contradiction. Mal paused for a second, seemingly thinking things over, then glanced over at Ty. He sank back onto his bed, still in his boxers, and visibly unwell.
"You owe me one- hell, you owe me
three
." She muttered in a muffled voice before turning her attention to the chair.
Abraham checked his watch. He was already in his coveralls, and clearly antsy to get to work.
"Ty, sleep. Mal, high school." He gave orders confidently, assured that his children would obey without question.
"Dad, work." Ty heard Mal whisper into her mask as she sprayed the fabric seat. He would have laughed if he didn't think it would make him vomit again. He closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning around him.
Ty felt the back of his father's hand against his forehead.
"Hmm, just a little warm." The older man grunted, as if convincing himself it was okay to leave his son in such a position. "I'll put in your time off, get some rest."
Ty grunted something noncommittal in response, feeling substandard, disappointed and above all else, nauseated. He bit his lip, hard, to distract himself.
For his efforts, he received a surprisingly gentle tousling of his straw-blond hair.
"Nothing to worry about, happens more often than you think, we'll just push you back a few days." Abraham paused in the doorway. "Bek got back in for break last night, I'll have her check in on you." He rapped a knuckle against the doorframe, paused for one more moment, then departed.
After a moment, letting his footsteps march down the hall, then to the staircase, Mal stood, glaring over her mask at Ty.
"I accept most major credit cards, as well as cash and various precious gems." She shifted his deskside trash can beside the bed, and pointed down to it with one hand, the other holding a ball of wadded up towels. "If you need to puke again, do it in there, so you don't waste any more of my time." Ty gave a weak nod, and cracked a sickly grin.
"Which major credit cards do you not accept?" Mal cocked her head at him. "You said: '
most
major credit cards'." He emphasized.
"American Express, the fees eat into my bottom line." Mal replied, peering back at the desk chair, and gave it a final spray of whatever cleaning solution she'd brought. "Let that dry out, then maybe go over it once again, or just buy a new one."
She peered down at him, momentarily enjoying the feeling of being above him, an inverse of their general height disparity.
"Don't like, die." She muttered acrimoniously before swiftly departing, holding the cleaning products and soiled paper towels as far away from her body as possible.
Ty closed his eyes, allowing his concerns to slowly melt back into the recesses of his mind. He had at least a full day to sleep it off.
Again, the soft blackness of sleep consumed him.
###
Ty was roused in the early afternoon by a dragging, shuffling sound, interspersed with soft, muffled cursing. He blinked, once, twice, clearing his vision enough to spot his older sister, Rebekah.
She was in the middle of dragging Malla's wheeled office chair through the slightly-too-small door when he sat up, clearing his throat. Bek froze, slowly turning, still half-bent, to look at him.
"Heyyy Ty, sorry to wake you." She straightened up, her midnight-dark locks locked into a messy bun, skin a pale contrast to her hair. "I was just going to make sure you were surviving, and your chair is all-" She made a face of disgust.
"You have to tilt it, diagonally that way." Ty made a tilting motion with his hand. He felt much clearer, less nauseated and bleary than he had in the morning.
