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Sammie is in the kitchen of a modern high-rise loft—three times the size of his own kitchen, the refrigerator alone probably costing a year’s worth of his rent—when the doorbell rings. Instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Still-- his curiosity is piqued.
The party is raucous behind Sammie, a jumble of music, laughter, and warm golden lighting throughout the apartment. On the other side of the crowd Pearline is waiting for him to return with the beer she requested, but the only thing Sammie can find in the massive fridge are white claws and sparkling water.
He gives up on his search, grabbing two claws and tucking them under his arm. Then, since he’s the only person who seems to have heard the bell—Sammie opens the door.
It’s a trio of white people.
The man front and center is an inch or so taller than Sammie, dressed in a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up on under navy carhartt overalls. There’s a handrolled cigarette tucked behind his ear and an honest-to-god banjo strapped to his back. He’s got a handsome, easygoing smile. His eyes light up almost unnaturally when Sammie appears just beyond the doorframe.
“Goddamn.” In the middle of the quiet upscale hallway, this man gives Sammie a once-over and whistles like a hog trainer at the county fair. “Good evenin’, beautiful.”
Sammie, who has been suppressing his accent all night, is genuinely startled.
He’s been in New York for a few years now, freshly graduated with a music degree from a school that isn’t an Ivy League, so it’s not worth mentioning at these type of parties. He’s in what Pearline has dubbed his “hustle era”—trying to land gigs in between working odd jobs and recording his music. He’s been going out a lot, too—accepting invitations to parties and events so he might have a chance to network a bit. It’s exhausting, but Sammie powers through.
So that’s how he ended up on the 32nd floor of a luxury high-rise right on the Brooklyn waterfront. He’s made a few friends in the industry, one of them a socialite named Maya who had taken a liking to Sammie from the moment she saw him perform at a café in Soho. She’s tall and waifish, with copper colored goddess braids and a septum piercing. She wears all black and carries an umbrella in the daylight, a quirky habit that Sammie doesn’t find suspicious at all.
In fact, Sammie is oddly drawn to her. He loves beautiful women. He loves beautiful men. He’s a musician, so sue him.
Either way, when she invited him to her party Sammie RSVP’d yes immediately. And then he asked if his best friend visiting from the countryside could come too and Maya had replied “omg yesssss so fun” and so, here they are.
Maya is a lot nicer than most of the nepo baby types Sammie encounters, and she does seem to know a lot of influential people, so Sammie doesn’t mind being the newest bauble added to her collection. He’s not gonna make it in this city by being choosy, after all.
But on the topic of being choosy—this man is looking at Sammie like he’s already chosen him. For what, Sammie doesn’t know.
Though he kind of wants to find out.
“Good evenin.’” Sammie crosses his arms, leans casually against the doorframe. He lets his own accent slip, just a little bit. “Ya actually play that thing?”
The man grins, seemingly pleased by the question. “‘Course I do, honey. You?”
Sammie offers a halfhearted shrug. “Know a few songs.”
“Yeah? Maybe we can talk a little music later on.” The man’s gaze drags up Sammie’s body, locks onto his eyes. His companions, a grungy-looking couple who are quite obviously zooted out of their minds, might as well not even exist with how the man’s attention is now laser-focused on Sammie. “Maybe play somethin’ together.”
He’s forward. Sammie likes that; he always has. “Maybe we can.” He drawls.
“Good.” The man gives him a beseeching look under hooded blue eyes. “You gon’ let me in?”
And—there it is. The reason Sammie’s got goosebumps under his thrifted designer shirt. An alarm bell goes off in the back of his head, Annie’s warnings from so many years ago immediately coming to mind. There gon’ be vampires in the city, she had said. If they ask to be invited in, you slam that door shut and lock it tight.
Sammie doesn’t slam the door shut. Instead he shifts his weight, considering his options. He doesn’t want to be overly-paranoid about this—but he doesn’t want to be responsible, either, just in case his instincts are correct.
“Not my place to let you into another person’s home." Sammie finally settles on.
The man looks amused rather than offended. “S’fine.” He says, crooked smile out in full force. “I don’t mind staying out here all night, if you the one keepin’ me company.”
Sammie’s face warms. Internally he curses himself. He shouldn’t be this easy.
A vampire will sweet-talk ya. Tell ya what you wanna hear so you let ya guard down. Smoke had lectured. Don’t fall for it. Don’t let some pretty words lead you to ruin.
But… he’s already falling for it, isn’t he? Because why is Sammie thinking that if it weren’t for Pearline waiting for him, he’d be quite interested in spending the night with this man who has somehow managed to charm him in less than thirty seconds?
“Ayy, Remmick!” Someone calls from behind Sammie, startling him from his thoughts. A cheer goes up. “Get in here!” Someone else says.
The white guy—Remmick—grins wider.
“Scuse us.” He says, his body brushing past Sammie’s as he steps inside. His slow-moving companions follow behind, wisely knowing not to get anywhere near Sammie.
Blinking, Sammie can’t do anything but close the door behind the trio and watch as they’re welcomed inside by the other partygoers. Maya pushes through the crowd to hug Remmick, and his two friends settle easily in with the other stoners near an open bay window.
Remmick is far from uninvited, it seems.
But still. Sammie thinks, biting his lip. What’s a vampire doing at a loft party in Brooklyn?
Pearline clocks him immediately.
“You into that white boy.” She says, giving Sammie a side-eye when he returns from the kitchen. She’s re-applying her lip gloss, perched on a soft burgundy cushion. They’ve found a cozy little space in the massive living room, away from the rowdier crowd. “Saw you practically throwin’ yourself at him.”
She’s been in the city since Monday, staying in a nice four-star midtown hotel for the week. The last few days have been lots of fun. Sammie showing his best friend around the city and catching up with one another.
Pearline and her boyfriend are on a “break” for the ten millionth time, so she already had an agenda when she landed at JFK. She’d been asking Sammie to show her some of the nightlife of the city, so Pearline can find “a freaky ol’ city boy to get nasty with,” in her own words. Sammie had been dreading having to budget for a cover charge and watered down drinks this month, so he was glad when Maya sent the invite to her house party instead. Pearline was glad too, seeing as it expanded her search pool from regular fuckboys to rich and privileged fuckboys.
So they got dressed up in Sammie’s cramped little apartment, dancing around to music and crowding each other in the mirror as they put the finishing touches on their outfits. It felt like being back in High School again, during the nights when Sammie’s family thought he was at Pearline’s and Pearline’s family thought she was at Sammie’s. He’s reminded of the mutual enabling they did to get some excitement in sleepy old Clarksdale. Drinking, sneaking out to parties with the athletes at their school, or just fooling around together when there was nothing else to do.
Tonight Pearline is in a little gold skirt and tube top set with matching gold sandals. Her curls are glossy, lipstick matte, sultry eyeshadow. She looks absolutely gorgeous, ready to go on the prowl. Sammie is supposed to be her wingman. But he’s not doing a particularly good job at it, having gotten tripped up by some random banjo player a mere 40 minutes into the night.
“Dunno what the hell is wrong with me.” Sammie sucks his teeth.
He’s been tracking Remmick ever since they parted ways at the door. From their vantage point Sammie can see that he’s made his way over to the other side of the living room where his friends are. Remmick is now slouched in an armchair with a rectangular tray balanced on his knee. Sammie watches as his fingers deftly roll up a joint, distracted by the tattoos on his knuckles. Remmick raises it to his lips and then inexplicably catches Sammie’s eye, winking as he seals it with his tongue. Sammie feels his face grow hot as he hastily averts his gaze.
“You know I’m just teasing.” Pearline says, snapping her compact shut. “He ain’t bad looking.”
“He dressed like a damn fisherman.” That’s one of the things Sammie hates about the men he meets in the city. So many of them cosplaying as farmers and laborers when they wouldn’t last a day out in the fields. Everyone in New York seems to be pretending to be something they’re not, including Sammie. Is Remmick like that?
“So?” Pearline rolls her eyes. “You dressed like a slutty church boy. Which you is, by the way.”
A protest rises to Sammie’s lips, then dies. The shade is accurate. He’s in a sheer white button up shirt, designer thrifted and still worth more that Sammie pays in utilities every month. It’s tucked into tailored indigo shorts that accentuate the curve of his ass. His legs are waxed and bare, moisturized where they’re tucked into white socks and white high tops.
He had spent half an hour brushing his freshly-lined up hair into perfect waves, then spraying himself with expensive cologne from Smoke. The final touches are a silver crucifix chain from his mother and tasteful diamond stud earrings from Stack. Well, tasteful as Stack can go.
Sammie knows he looks good. But he also knows he can wear this type of outfit to church under a cardigan and be confused for an alter boy. He focuses on the first accusation instead.
“Slutty how?” Sammie rolls his eyes at her. “I hooked up with like, two people since I left Clarksdale.”
“Slutty cause you thinking about pink dick instead of helping me find a new man.” Pearline pokes him with the tube of lip gloss before dropping it back in her clutch. “Also, you gave me head in the chancel senior year.” She reminds. “In your choir robes. And I’ll never let you forget it.”
“We were both in our choir robes!” Sammie retorts. They pause, then both fall over each other, cackling at the memory.
“Gonna remind you of it every time you pretend to be innocent. These city folk don’t know it, right?” Pearline’s voice lowers. “You just a wild animal, deep inside.”
“Yeah.” Sammie says, looping an arm around her waist and giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Like my best girl.”
“Stop it!” Pearline makes a face and pushes him away. “I’m tryin’ to get laid! They gon’ think we’re together!”
Sammie is also trying to get laid, though he’s keeping it to himself just in case.
For now, he enjoys the party. He chats with other guests, laughs with Pearline and helps her pick out guys to flirt with, does a little two-step to the music every now and then. All the while he keeps a detailed note of where Remmick is. And Sammie can swear Remmick is doing the same. Their eyes meet more than once, and it makes Sammie’s heart race every time.
After his third drink, Sammie excuses himself from a group discussing the latest serial drama on HBO to use the bathroom. It’s large, luxurious, and thankfully empty, so Sammie slips inside and does his business.
The sink is carved black stone with gold taps. Sammie sighs as he washes his hands, still somewhat thrown by the levels of wealth some folks have in the city. Must be nice.
After drying his hands, Sammie pops a breath mint and then checks his appearance in the mirror. A thought occurs to him, and he pauses at the bathroom door before taking out his phone. The muted bass reverberates in his ears as he searches, “can you get STDs from sex with vampires site:reddit.” The results make him quirk an eyebrow.
With renewed confidence, Sammie exits the bathroom. And it’s at just the right time, because Remmick comes around the corner just as Sammie is making his way back up the hall.
They lock eyes. Next thing Sammie knows he’s allowing his back to hit the wall, allowing Remmick to prop up his arm by Sammie’s head and block his path.
“Never got your name, darlin.”
“Sammie.” Various partygoers pass in the hallway behind them, but Sammie only has eyes for Remmick. “Yours?”
“Remmick. Though a pretty thing like you can call me whatever ya want.”
The easy flattery is enjoyable to Sammie. Smoke’s cautions echo in Sammie’s mind. He does his best to ignore it, trying to make himself look as unbothered and inviting as possible.
“Remmick is nice.” Sammie hums. Remmick grins, wolfish.
“Stopped me in my tracks earlier.” His voice is low. Up close, Remmick doesn’t look too much older than Sammie. Younger than his cousins, at least. He’s got smile lines around his eyes, slightly chapped lips, and his teeth are partially crooked which endears Sammie, who is unimpressed with the gleaming veneers of so many in the city. He doesn’t see any fangs, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. “Wanted to get to know ya better.”
Sammie preens despite his better judgement. “What you wanna know?”
Remmick leans in closer. “You ain’t from around here.”
“Mississippi. Went to school uptown. You?”
“I been all over the world.” Remmick informs. “Stayin in New York for a spell.”
“A wanderin’ musician.” A coy smile plays around Sammie’s lips.
“Somethin’ like it.”
“You make a lot of money, travelin’ around like that?” Sammie asks, out of genuine curiousity. More than once he’s considered packing up again, leaving the city to tour and play backup instead of relying on local gigs to support himself.
“Enough to get by.” Remmick tilts his head, his voice lowering. “Why? You expensive?”
Heat rises on Sammie’s cheeks. He’s not, but he’s trying to pass for it in this city. In New York it’s not enough to just be talented. Everyone’s talented. Sammie needs to stand out, too. He loves his flannels and cutoffs, but they don’t impress a lot of people here.
Sammie tips his chin up, not missing how Remmick’s gaze follows the line of his throat. “What do you think?”
“Me?” Remmick says, his eyes returning to Sammie’s. “I think you dressed real nice, and you smell goddamn amazin’. But…” Remmick inhales deeply. “S’just a costume, ain’t it? Deep down, you just a humble, god-fearing country boy, huh?”
Sammie’s eyes widen.
Remmick leans in, the distance between their bodies disappearing. “Selfless. Hardworking. But… ya want some excitement, too. Ain’t that right?”
Lord is it right. Sammie feels the same goosebumps from earlier rise on his skin.
A hand brushes against his waist. Remmick’s warm breath ghosts across Sammie’s ear. “Ya want something you can sink your teeth into.”
Sammie does. Desperately. He trembles against the wall, feeling a connection stronger than he’s ever felt before. Remmick’s flattery is precise and potent and exactly what Sammie wants. He makes up his mind for the night right then and there.
And then Remmick pulls back like he hadn’t just read Sammie to the barest layer of his soul. Like Sammie isn’t a second away from jumping his bones right here on the floor of the hallway.
Sammie swallows, trying to keep cool. “That’s… awfully astute of you.” He says. “You a mind reader too?”
Remmick looks smug. “Been called that a few times.”
An opening. Sammie takes it without a second thought. He can’t stop himself from lowering his eyes, from reaching forward to play with one of the loathsome straps of Remmick’s overalls. “Then what am I thinkin’ right now?”
Remmick’s eyes flash. Sammie bites his lip, staring up at him, eyes all big and innocent as he envisions every position he’d let Remmick put him in. Remmick’s mouth drops open a bit, the corner of his lip shiny with unbidden spit.
“--Isss this the way to the bathroo—" They’re sorely interrupted by a drunk woman rounding the corner, slamming into Remmick and then falling to the ground in a jingle of silver bracelets. “—oof!”
“Easy there.” Alarmed, Sammie and Remmick both move to help her up. She reaches for Remmick, drunkenly grasping onto his forearms as he raises her from the ground.
“Thank you soo much!” The woman says, still unsteady on her feet and clinging to Remmick. Her bracelets and rings are pressing into his wrists, trapped beneath her firm grip, and Sammie’s eyes widen as he watches the pale skin start to turn red and blister.
No fuckin’ way.
“Ah-- you’re welcome, miss.” Remmick winces, attempting to pull his hands away. The skin starts to blister and Sammie can hardly believe what he’s seeing. He had suspicions about Remmick, but this—this is proof, right? “You can let go now...”
“Bathroom’s that way.” Sammie offers helpfully, feeling sorry for Remmick.
“Oh!” The girl releases Remmick’s hands, turning her grateful gaze towards Sammie. “OhmyGod, thank youuu. How’d you know I needed to pee?”
“Guessed.” Sammie shrugs.
She ambles off happily to the bathroom. Remmick stealthily sticks his hands in his pockets, regretfully backing off of Sammie just a bit. The moment they shared has evaporated, but Sammie doesn’t want Remmick to think he’s lost interest.
“I could use another drink.” Sammie tells the other man. “Come with me.”
Remmick’s face lights up. “You got it.”
Annie had warned that vampires particularly liked to feed upon people like Sammie, performers and artists who don’t have family in the city. She said the best case scenario is that he’d get his blood drained and end up bedridden for a few days. The worst case scenario—
“Death or undeath. Take your pick.”
She stood next to Sammie, fanning herself as they watched the twins hang up a garland of garlic across his bedroom doorframe.
“You think all this is really necessary?”
Smoke scoffed, leveling a glare at his twin. “You ain’t tell him, Stack?”
Stack, normally so eager to relay a story, smiled sheepishly. “Never came up.”
“Yo’ cousin here,” Annie began, disapproval hanging heavy in her voice. “Once took home a vampire who drained him dry n’ left him for dead.”
Sammie gaped. “You serious?”
“Fool couldn’t even feed himself for two days.” Smoke growled. “Set our projects back by a month.”
His glare intensified. “Then he fucked her again later on!”
“Saw her a couple o’ times after that.” Stack grinned, reminiscing. Annie and Smoke exchanged a disgusted look. “But listen, Sammie. You don’t wanna make the same mistakes I did. Some vampires just wanna play around, but others will really try to hurt ya.”
Sammie had worried his lower lip. “How can I tell the difference?”
“You can’t.” Annie said firmly. “So don’t even try it.”
Sammie doesn’t presume to know more than Annie does, but—
--he thinks he’ll hedge his bets tonight.
In the kitchen they run into Pearline. Sammie is glad to see her, for multiple reasons.
She doesn’t seem to be having a happy hunting. Pout on her face, she’s rummaging through the refrigerator in a huff.
“What the fuck—it’s all just water.” She growls. “Where’s the hard liquor?”
“Comin’ right up.” Remmick opens a cabinet above Pearline’s head, pulls out a half-hidden bottle of Tito’s.
“Oh, thank the lord.” Pearline praises, then does a double take when she realizes it’s Sammie’s admirer who has assisted. Her eyes dart over to Sammie. “You gon’ introduce me?”
“This is Remmick.” Sammie tells her. “He’s a musician. Remmick, this Pearline, my best friend from back home.”
“Pleasure’s mine.” Remmick sticks out his free hand. Pearline grabs the bottle instead.
“You got any single friends?”
“I wouldn’t subject you to anyone who hangs around me.” Remmick laughs. Then he eyes Sammie. “Well… with one exception.”
Sammie offers him a sweet smile in return.
“Hmph.” Pearline spins off the top of the vodka in one well-practiced movement, then fills up a quarter of her cup. She knocks it back quickly then pours herself another.
Remmick looks at Sammie, wide-eyed. “Is she good to drink all that?”
“More than good. Back home she can drink half the town under the table.” Sammie reassures. “City liquor ain’t nothin’ compared to what we got in the country.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” Pearline holds up her cup in a mock toast. Sammie grabs an empty cup and taps it against hers, laughing. If it weren’t for his personal responsibility to network among these folks, he’d be downing some shots right alongside her.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sammie can see Remmick move over to the sink, stealthily running his wrists under cold tap water. Sammie chooses to give him his privacy. He hooks his arm in Pearline’s and drags her around the corner to the foyer, her cup still grasped firmly in her hand.
“I need a favor.”
Pearline raises an eyebrow. “What kinda favor?”
Sammie reaches his arms back behind his neck, finding the clasp to the silver crucifix chain he had tucked under his shirt. He undoes the clasp and passes the necklace to Pearline, giving her puppy dog eyes. “Can you hold onto this for me?”
She eyes the dangling cross, then turns her unimpressed gaze to Sammie.
“Admit you a slutty church boy.”
“I ain’t.” Sammie pouts.
“You gon' take him home?” Pearline asks.
“…”
“Say it.”
“Imasluttychurchboy.” Sammie mumbles under his breath, looking around furtively.
Pearline’s full lips widen into a triumphant grin. She snatches the necklace from his fingers and tucks it into her clutch. “Feels good to be right all the time.”
“One time—"
“Howww are we doing over here?”
All of a sudden, Maya appears seemingly out of nowhere, wrapping a sandalwood and blood orange scented arm around Sammie’s shoulder. “Having fun?”
“Havin’ a great time.” Pearline smiles politely. “You’ve got a beautiful apartment.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet. Thank you.” Maya gushes. “Hey, would you mind if I borrowed Sammie for a moment? I want him to come meet my friends.”
“Not at all.” Pearline responds, a glint in her eye. Sammie follows her gaze and finds that she has zeroed in on a handsome dreadlocked man coming down the hallway.
“Go get him, girl!” Maya laughs, steering Sammie away towards the living room.
She guides him over to one of the emerald velvet sofas, seating him right in the middle of her collection of artists and creators. To his left is a tall man with brightly dyed facial hair and multiple piercings. To his right there’s a best friend duo- preppy and well-dressed-- who greet Sammie with a friendliness that doesn’t match their eyes. Sammie doesn’t let them bother him too much.
Maya provides introductions all around. The names and faces all blend together in Sammie’s mind, though he does his best to greet everyone.
“And this is Sammie Moore. He’s got the most incredible voice you’ve ever heard. I’m so serious.”
“Where do you perform?” Someone asks.
Sammie turns to answer them. “Uh—here n’ there. Don’t really have a steady gig going.”
A girl pipes up. “Are you classically trained? I can put you in touch with a network of—”
“N-no. I’m not. Just grew up singin’ in the church.”
“Oh, the church…” One half of the friend duo wrinkles his nose.
“My father’s a preacher.” Sammie explains, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You poor thing.” Another person pats his hand sympathetically.
Sammie presses his lips together, trying extremely hard not to react. City folk can be rude as hell.
“Oh!” Maya thankfully jumps in and changes the subject. “That reminds me. I was reading an article in the Times the other day about repossessed church property being turned into apartment buildings. And I for one—”
Sammie tunes her out. He’s grateful he gets to spend his Friday night in a spacious, beautiful loft with fancy food, but he’s not really interested in spending more time around these folks. He’d much rather track down Remmick again and pick up where they left off.
“Sammie.”
Sammie snaps out of his thoughts. In front of his face is a chilled unopened white claw, held out to him by Remmick with a smile. There are red marks around his wrist, but no unhealed skin.
Surprised, Sammie takes the drink, casting a grateful look up at Remmick. The people around the sofa greet Remmick with excitement, but he keeps his eyes on Sammie as he responds to them.
Maya’s golden eyes flick between the two, interested. “Sammie, how do you know Remmick?”
“Just met ‘im tonight.” Sammie cracks open his white claw. “He good people?” He asks, fully giving up on hiding his accent. Remmick gives him a who, me? type of look in return.
“Oh, for surrre.” Maya says, dragging the word out, something coy about her tone. “All about fellowship and love, this guy.”
“Thank you, darlin’.” Remmick beams, taking the glowing character recommendation at face value.
The best friend duo to Sammie’s left jostle each other into Sammie’s space, fighting for the attention of the man standing in front of them. Sammie leans away from them, annoyed.
“Remmick,” One of them whines. “Do the accent for us, please?”
Remmick takes a swig from his own drink, then clears his throat. “Top of the mornin’ to ye lassies.” He says, in the most over-exaggerated Irish brogue Sammie has ever heard.
The duo dissolves into giggles. Sammie doesn’t laugh; he catches Remmick rolling his eyes and bites back a smile instead. He’s trying to figure out how he and Remmick can excuse themselves from the group when Pearline appears once more.
“Scuse me, overalls.” She pushes past Remmick to collapse dramatically into Sammie’s lap. The duo shifts away and Sammie smiles in relief.
“Oh, hey P—"
“Sammie!” She whines, a little looser after some real alcohol and completely uncaring of the way her skirt rides up. Sammie hastily fixes it for her. “None of these guys are doin’ it for me. All they wanna talk about is crypto and draft picks!”
“M’ sorry, girl.” Sammie says sympathetically. “That’s the city for ya.”
She sighs and leans back against his shoulder. “I wanna call Thompson.”
Sammie puts a hand over the phone in her clutch immediately. “No ya don’t. Stop thinkin’ about him.”
“Can’t help it.” Pearline laments, her voice going soft and a little sad. “I want what I want.”
Sammie’s eyes flicker back to Remmick for a brief moment. Then he mentally chastises himself. Stop being a bad wingman!
Fortunately—
--The opening notes of a familiar 2000s R&B song comes on over the speakers. In half a second the melancholy look is wiped from Pearline’s face, replaced by a big smile.
Pearline leaps up, grabbing Sammie’s hand and hauling him up with her.
“Ooh, Sammie! This is my shit, come dance with me!”
Sammie goes willingly, nearly spilling his white claw as she drags him over to the dance floor. Remmick’s gaze follows Sammie as he goes. He sits down in Sammie’s abandoned seat on the couch, to the delight of the giggling duo who shift closer.
Sammie feels something twist in his stomach as he and Pearline find a place among the other dancing guests. Should I have left? Did he just give those two an opportunity to move in on Remmick?
Well—it’s not like he’d ever turn down a dance with his best friend for a man. Whatever happens, happens.
“This beat is automatic, supersonic, hypnotic…” Pearline starts singing in his ear.
At this point in time Pearline completely unconcerned if people think that her and Sammie are together. She grinds on him, and Sammie thinks fuck it and holds her waist, moving in sync with her to the music.
They’ve danced together thousands of times before, completely familiar with each other’s bodies and the way they like to move.
When they switch places and Sammie starts throwing it back on her, another guest whoops and suddenly all eyes are on them. Sammie loses himself in the music, hands on his knees, rolling his hips against Pearline’s as they sing and gesture to the lyrics.
They switch a few more times. Other guests jump in to dance and laugh with them. By the third song Sammie starts feeling curious. Still moving his hips, he turns back toward the area with the velvet green sofas.
He finds Remmick staring at him from across the room, staring relentlessly, his legs spread wide and his knee jiggling as he presses his knuckles to the seam of his lips. Completely ignoring the pair trying to get his attention on the left.
Sammie feels a deep sense of satisfaction well up inside him.
He twirls his hips with extra sauce on the next beat. Pearline cheers and swats his ass playfully.
Slowly, the party begins to wind down. Folks have come and gone, the crowded living room going from full capacity to only a few scattered groups of guests left.
It had become obvious to anyone watching that Sammie and Remmick were leaving with each other. When Sammie wants water Remmick brings him water. When he wants another white claw Remmick brings him that, too. Loyal as anything, Sammie had stuck to Pearline’s side for most of the rest of the night. Though he and Remmick also managed to sneak a few intimate moments—Remmick leaning in close to crack a joke in Sammie’s ear, Sammie staring him down as he swipes his tongue across a low-carb popsicle stolen from the freezer.
“--Mind you, this was after he forgot my birthday for the third time and put a dent in my car while I was away for spring break—”
Pearline had found a group of like-minded girls to relay her relationship troubles to. They’re becoming fast friends, chatting excitedly to one another near the bamboo shelves stacked with potted plants. Sammie has only been half-listening. He hasn’t seen Remmick in ten minutes and he’s starting to panic.
The low strum of a banjo cuts through the chatter, and Sammie perks up. It’s coming from the kitchen, so Sammie wanders over.
Remmick is perched on a stool, banjo in his lap, surrounded by stragglers. Sammie gravitates towards the man, lured by the big smile Remmick shoots at him.
“As I was going to Ballynure, a day I well remember…” Remmick sings, his voice steady and a little gravely. “To see the lads and lassies on the fifth day of December.”
Remmick’s friends chime in, clapping in unison. “With a my ring-doo-a-day, with a my ring-a-doo-a daddy o.” It’s the most Sammie has seen them move all night.
“As I was going along the road, as onward I was walking… I heard a wee lad behind the ditch-a to his wee lass was talking.”
Others in the crowd join in as well. “With a my ring-doo-a-day, with a my ring-a-doo-a daddy o!”
“Says this wee lad to this wee lass…” Remmick’s eyes flicker up to meet Sammie’s. “It’s will you let me kiss ye? For it’s you have got the cordial eye that far exceeds the whiskey…”
Butterflies flutter in Sammie’s stomach. He rests a hand on Remmick’s shoulder; Remmick leans into the touch.
“With a my ring-doo-a-day, with a my ring-a-doo-a daddy o!”
Remmick slaps the drum of the banjo, indicating the final verse. “This cordial that you talk about, there’s very few o’ them gets it… for it’s only them with muslin gowns and crooked combs that catch it.”
“With a my ring-doo-a-day, with a my ring-a-doo-a daddy o!” And finally Sammie finds himself singing along as well, clapping and finishing out the song. The group breaks out into cheers when the song ends.
“Another one, Remmick!” Someone yells out. But a separate voice, clear as water, cuts through the celebration.
“Sammie.” Maya calls. She’s standing near the end of the crowd, glass of sparkling water in hand, watching him with a glint in her eye. “Sing us something.”
The other guests fall into a respectful silence, all of their eyes on Sammie. Sammie doesn’t mind being put on the spot. In fact, he had expected it to happen earlier in the night.
Sammie closes his eyes, goes through his mental catalog for a song tailored to this crowd. One comes to mind that seems the most appropriate.
He clears his throat.
“Well I heard there was a secret chord…” Sammie re-opens his eyes and starts to sing, passionate and soulful. “..that David played and it pleased the lord…”
Remmick starts up the accompaniment immediately, fingers plucking the banjo strings with palpable reverence.
“…but you don’t really care for music, do ya?”
Pearline and the girls she had met appear in his periphery. Sammie sees the prideful look on her face and feels his heart swell.
“And it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth…the minor fall, the major lift… the baffled king composing hallelujah.”
“Maybe there’s a God above, but all I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya…” Sammie feels emotion well up within him. “It’s not a cry that you hear at night. It’s not someone who’s seen the light. It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah…”
“…Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah…” Sammie pours his heart into the ending of the song, closing his eyes and belting it out with his hands on his chest. He lets the finale note linger in the air, shaking his head as he feels tears bead at the corner of his eyes.
The apartment is completely silent when he finishes singing. Sammie re-opens his eyes, wiping away moisture from his cheek.
The room erupts into applause so loud that it makes the light fixtures sway. Guests are clapping and cheering, Pearline whooping and jumping up and down. Maya has tears streaming down her face. The friend duo who had been attached to Remmick look similarly awestruck.
Sammie smiles and takes a bow. The applause doesn’t stop. He’s played gigs in the city before, has experienced standing ovations in the church, but something about tonight, something about this moment is making him feel higher than he’s ever felt before.
Grinning, he looks to Remmick. And Remmick is looking back at Sammie as if he’s staring at something so magnificent he can’t comprehend it. His eyes are wide and his jaw is slightly agape.
“Never heard anything so beautiful in my life.” Remmick croaks.
Sammie feels warm all over. “Not so bad yourself.”
Remmick reaches for Sammie’s hand; Sammie lets Remmick tangle their fingers together, his heart beating wildly.
“Ain’t done playin’ with you yet.” Remmick says softly. “You done with me?”
“Nah.” Sammie breathes. And then—
--he does the one thing he promised Annie and Smoke he would never, ever do.
“You wanna come back to my place?”
Remmick smiles, wide, handsome, maybe unnerving to anyone but Sammie. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Pearline and Maya hug goodbye at the doorway.
“Don’t be a stranger!” Maya tells her, genuine affection in her eyes. “Next time you’re up from Mississippi you can stay here with me.”
“Girl, don’t say that. I might move in.” Pearline jokes.
Maya laughs, tossing her hair. “There’s plenty of room, gorgeous!”
Pearline looks a little flustered at that. She tucks her face in the collar of her denim jacket, hurrying over to the elevator.
It’s just after two AM. Guests are still slowly trickling out. Remmick had gone on ahead to call the elevator, his friends having already disappeared after the performance.
Sammie steps in and hugs Maya goodbye as well. “Thanks for havin’ us.”
“No, thank you.” She squeezes him tightly. “You closed out the night so wonderfully. That voice of yours is something else, Sammie. I have a feeling that soon the whole world will get to hear it.”
“Well,” Sammie pats her back, smiling bashfully. “Here’s hoping.”
“We’ll talk soon, okay?” Maya squeezes Sammie again before releasing him. Her voice lowers. “And, just so you know—Remmick is good. Safe. You don’t have to worry about him.”
“Oh. Uh—thank you.” Sammie blinks, confused. What does she mean by safe?
“You’re welcome.” Maya smiles wide. “Have fun.”
And just as she shuts the door, Sammie swears he sees a glimpse of a fang at the corner of her glossy smile.
Huh.
Sammie scratches his head as Pearline hollers that the elevator is here. Maybe he’s not nearly as paranoid as he ought to be.
Outside of the luxury building lobby, the air is hot and muggy. He stands at the curb with Pearline, rocking on his heels to check for the approaching Uber. A cool breeze wraps around the two friends as they wait. Remmick lingers against a lamppost nearby, smoking a cigarette.
“Sorry I wasn’t the best wingman.” Sammie tells her sheepishly.
“You did fine.” Pearline says, playfully jabbing him in the ribs. “Only thing that’s annoying me is the fact that you’re gonna bail on brunch tomorrow.”
The cab pulls up to the curb in front of them. “I’m not gonna bail on brunch.” Sammie objects, wrapping her up in a hug. As soon as the words leave his mouth he knows he’s lying.
“Mm-hmm.” Pearline responds, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. “G’night, slutty Sammie.”
“G’night pretty Pearl.” Sammie kisses her back. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He waits until Pearline settles into the backseat before closing the door for her. The taxi speeds off, driving his best girl off into the warm city night.
Sammie turns toward Remmick.
In the lamplight he looks shadowed and somewhat unnerving, still staring as he pushes off of the pole and approaches. It’s just the two of them on the street. Sammie is at the man’s mercy.
“You ready?” Remmick asks softly.
“Yeah.” Under Remmick’s gaze Sammie feels vulnerable and exposed. Like Remmick sees who he truly is and can’t get enough of it. “Sure you up for this? It’s a long trip.”
Remmick reaches for Sammie’s hand. “No one else I wanna travel with but you.” The red marks on his wrists are completely healed. With a smile, Sammie allows Remmick to lace their fingers together.
They get to know each other on the walk to the train station, their joined hands swinging between them. Sammie tells Remmick about Clarksdale, about the guitar his cousins gave him, about summer nights with the whole family dancing and singing and breaking bread together. When Sammie asks about Remmick’s background, the man sticks to his traveling musician story before changing the subject back to Sammie. Sammie decides not to pry.
The train platform is mostly deserted when they arrive, save for a lone person glued to their phone on the downtown side. Sammie is just about to ask Remmick where he stays, but he isn’t given the chance.
Remmick puts his hands on Sammie’s hips, guiding him back against the graffitied tiled wall. He wraps his hand around the curve of Sammie’s neck, right where his silver crucifix would’ve been if Sammie hadn’t given it to Pearline. And then Remmick kisses him, soft and slow.
It feels like magic. Sammie closes his eyes, hands rising to grab those stupid carhartt overalls and kiss Remmick back with everything he has.
They don’t stop kissing him until the train arrives, only taking breaks to catch their breath and to make sure no one else was getting too close. Sammie’s head spins every time they part, and he chases after each kiss desperately, growing more addicted with every one.
The train finally pulls into the station with a blast of hot air. Remmick grabs Sammie’s hand and they both step on, crowding into a two-seater in the corner. During the ride they argue about their favorite music venues and where to get the best fried catfish in the city. Their fingers stay linked together the entire time.
They exit the train at Sammie’s stop, and Sammie is struck with a bit of apprehension about openly holding hands with another man in his neighborhood. He’s never had a problem, but it’s always smarter to be safe.
Remmick seems to unconsciously understand him. He kisses Sammie’s cheek but disentangles their fingers before they step out onto the street.
“Mind reader.” Sammie teases.
Remmick knocks his shoulder against Sammie’s. “Maybe I just got a gift, same as you.”
“A gift or a curse?” Sammie can’t help but respond.
Remmick hums. “Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m askin’ you.”
“Well o‘course I’m gonna say I’m gifted.” Remmick flashes him a grin. “Blessed beyond my wildest dreams, meeting you tonight.”
All Sammie can do is blush and bite his lip, unused to so much unfettered praise. Inspired, Remmick sings him a spontaneous soulful ballad.
“Met a boy named Sammie, pretty as can be.” Remmick croons. “Though I’m but a lowly sinner, I hope he’s fond of me…”
It’s so fucking corny. It makes Sammie’s face warm all the same, makes his heart pound in his chest. He needs to get this man home now.
They turn the corner onto Sammie’s block, thankfully deserted. Sammie really doesn’t like how quickly he’s becoming enamored with Remmick. He has only known this suspected vampire for a few hours, and yet Sammie has already come to understand Stack on a spiritual level.
Oh, well. There’s still time for him to blow it. Maybe the sex will be bad, and Sammie will have a valid reason to never contact him again.
Remmick stops that thought in its tracks, takes advantage of the empty street and pulls Sammie close to steal a kiss from his soft lips. Deep and meaningful, though it lasts only a few moments before Remmick drops his arm and pulls away. Sammie thinks he could swoon and fall out right there. He’s so glad Pearline isn’t around so she can’t tease him.
Remmick is relaxed as they walk Sammie’s block, whistling with his hands in his pockets as if he had done it hundreds of times before. As if there was something completely unassuming about a white man in overalls sporting a banjo strolling down a block in the Bronx.
Well, maybe it is up here. And maybe Remmick knows these streets better than Sammie does. He certainly seems familiar with the area, commenting on storefronts and buildings that used to be something else. Sammie picks up on the fact that Remmick’s familiarity with how the neighborhood used to look some 20 years ago pokes holes in his backstory, but decides not to think too hard about it.
Sammie resides on the top floor of a walk-up, far from the sleek luxury of the apartment where they met. Remmick takes the flights of stairs in stride. It’s only when Sammie is putting the key in the lock that he remembers all of the wards and holy items that his family put up when he moved in.
“Wait a minute.” Sammie says hastily. Remmick tilts his head, questioning. “Let me tidy up some first.”
He slips inside and shuts the door behind him. Toeing off his sneakers, he yanks down the garland of garlic that was pinned over the doorframe. He does the same to the ones over his bedroom, bathroom and kitchen door, then skids around the apartment knocking several bottles of holy water into drawers. Finally he grabs the silver cross on the bookshelf and shoves it behind the TV instead.
But Sammie leaves the wooden stake behind his mattress, just in case.
He returns to the door and opens it, trying not to look like he’s out of breath. “Aight. Come on in.”
Smiling, Remmick steps inside. His face changes briefly, nose wrinkling a bit at what must be the lingering scent of garlic. It’s an unconscious reaction if his following guilty look is any indication. “Nice place you got here.” Remmick says politely, removing his boots by the door.
“It ain’t much.” Sammie ducks his head.
“It’s perfect.”
Remmick put his hands on Sammie’s waist, kissing the back of his neck while Sammie tries to lead them to the bedroom.
Once they finally make it down the hallway and stumble inside, Remmick spins Sammie around and kisses him again against the bedroom door.
This time the kiss is messy and unrestrained, their hands traveling over one another with increasing confidence. Remmick bites down sharp on Sammie’s lower lip, drinking Sammie’s answering moan into his mouth.
Remmick breaks the kiss, panting. His eyes reflect an unseen red light in the darkness of Sammie’s bedroom. He looms over Sammie, some kind of ancient hunger in the depths of his gaze, and Sammie feels a flash of unease for the very first time.
This is the part, right? The part where the vampire has him alone and finally reveals his sinister intentions. The part where it’s too late to back out. Sammie’s heart pounds in his chest, fear and desire pulsing through his veins.
And then—
Then, something to the right catches Remmick’s eye. His gaze flickers over to the nearby shelf on the wall.
All of a sudden, the intimidating presence in front of Sammie is gone.
Sammie blinks, then turns his head.
Remmick is trailing a finger across Sammie’s CD collection, lip between his teeth like he’s genuinely interested. Then his eyes light up as he finds the ones with hand-scrawled labels.
“These your demos?” Remmick asks.
“Yeah?” Sammie is still a bit bewildered against his bedroom door. Shouldn’t he be ravaged within an inch of his life by now? Shirt torn to shreds, fangs in his neck, body wracked with indescribable pleasure?
“Cool.” Remmick grins. “Can I put one of ‘em on?”
What the hell is going on here?
Sammie goes to stand next to Remmick, starting to feel a bit foolish. Had he just been deluding himself the entire time? Well, delusion or not, Remmick is still here and Sammie still wants him badly. He hooks his arm through Remmick’s, blinking up at him curiously.
“You tryna fuck me to my songs?” Sammie asks.
“You don’t want to?”
Sammie had never even considered it. Ears burning, he turns to his tape collection. Remmick moves behind him, chin hooked over Sammie’s shoulder as he search for the right type of tape.
He eventually puts on some soulful, slower demos he’s recorded. Remmick closes his eyes, face going lax as he hears the first few notes Sammie sings over the mournful guitar. He wraps his arms around Sammie’s waist, swaying with him from behind. It’s peaceful. Sammie relaxes. And then he decides, enough waiting.
He turns in Remmick’s arms, kissing him hard. Remmick responds enthusiastically. It’s more tongue than anything else, no fangs scraping against his mouth, threatening to bloody him up. That’s okay. It’s fine. Sammie breaks the kiss and tugs on the strap of Remmick’s overalls.
“Take these off.” Sammie orders. “And get on the bed.”
“For the record—” Remmick unclasps and shimmies out of those overalls remarkably fast. He pulls off his t-shirt next, casting it aside before sitting down on the side of the bed as Sammie commanded. “I bought ‘em before they became trendy.”
In decent shape and decorated with tattoos, Remmick looks terribly appetizing in only a pair of dark socks and boxers stretched across his straining erection. “Uh-huh.” Sammie says, licking his lips.
Then he gets on his knees without wasting any more time.
“Oh, sweetheart…” Remmick breathes, eyebrows knit together like he’s looking at something sinful and holy. “Y’don’t have ta—"
Slowly, Sammie takes Remmick’s cock out of his boxers. It’s bigger than expected, filling up even further as he strokes it up and down. Sammie glances up, catching Remmick’s hooded gaze. The other man’s mouth and parts of his chin are wet with spit. He’s drooling. And Sammie thinks he might be drooling, too.
“Been thinkin’ bout it all night.” Sammie murmurs, licking his lips. He likes how the sound of his voice makes a visible shudder run through Remmick. “You gonna give me what I want?”
Remmick swallows heavily. “Yeah, yeah I will, of course darlin’…”
Good. Because what Sammie wants is that stupid pink (red, now—red and hard and dripping) cock in his mouth. Needs it, even.
I’m a slutty church boy, Sammie thinks with resignation, rubbing his cheek against Remmick’s length. And then he parts his lips and drags his tongue up the underside of Remmick’s cock, tasting him tantalizingly slow. Remmick moans softly above him.
“Keep goin’. Don’t hold back, sweetheart.”
Don’t hold back? Remmick shouldn’t have said that. Sammie takes him into his mouth, swallowing over half of Remmick’s cock in one go. Remmick bucks and curses above him.
Sammie begins to suck Remmick off in earnest, closing his eyes and moaning as that thick cock drags along his taste buds. It’s thick and pulsing enough that Sammie is able to ignore the cooler temperature. Sammie loses himself in the act, loving the feeling of Remmick inside of his mouth, his tip pushing closer and closer to the back of Sammie’s throat.
“Fuck. Fuck. Baby, you’re so fuckin’ good to me…” Remmick pants above him, rocking his hips into the tight heat of Sammie’s mouth.
When his cockhead brushes against Sammie’s tonsils it makes Sammie press his legs together, overcome with a lust like he’s never felt before. Sammie moans again. He strokes the base of Remmick’s cock as he sucks him off, his free hand grazing up Remmick’s torso. Remmick traps Sammie’s hand with his own across his stomach. His other hand hovers near Sammie’s hair, then cups his cheek instead.
“I’m gonna cum.” Remmick chokes out.
That was quick. Sammie thinks smugly. He tightens his grip and jerks him off rapidly. Slurping around the head and pulling off only to say, “Want it in my mouth.”
The second that low tone leaves his swollen lips Remmick’s body is locking up and coming hard. His hand grips Sammie’s shoulder, fingers digging into his collarbone as he empties his load down Sammie’s throat.
Sammie eagerly swallows every single drop. He licks his lips then opens his mouth to show Remmick, dragging a hand down his glossy bottom lip and wet chin. They’re matching.
“Jesus Christ.” Remmick croaks breathlessly above him, his irish accent making an unexpected appearance without any of the exaggeration from earlier. “You gon’ drink everything I give ye?”
Sammie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste of Remmick still lingers on his tongue, and he savors it. “What else you gonna give me?”
“Gotta be patient for that.”
“I’m patient, baby.” Sammie murmurs, leaning up for a kiss. Remmick kisses him back—gently at first, but then demanding and passionate, pawing at Sammie’s clothes.
“Not as patient as me.” Remmick slaps Sammie’s ass. “Shoulda been naked. Strip for me.”
Sammie rises to his feet. He undoes his shirt slowly, sliding the marbled buttons through the holes carefully. Remmick watches his every move, his breath hitching when the shirt is finally off, folded neatly over Sammie’s desk chair. Remmick makes a choked noise, zeroing in on the glittering belly button ring piercing Sammie’s navel.
Sammie pops the button of his shorts next, sliding them down smooth brown thighs under Remmick’s hungry gaze. Finally, Sammie’s underwear drops to the floor. Remmick licks his lips. He strokes himself slowly as he watches Sammie undress. It makes Sammie hot to his core, watching Remmick’s cock fill up again, watching those dark eyes glitter in the moonlight at him.
“You perfect.” Remmick croaks.
Sammie wants to say I know. That’s what an expensive talented aspiring star living in New York would say, right? But instead he blushes fiercely and ducks his head. “Thank you.”
“C’mere.” Remmick’s voice deepens into something guttural, spreading his legs on the bed. “Now.”
Sammie climbs into his lap with unbridled excitement. He grabs Remmick’s face just as the older man curls his hand around his neck; they kiss deep and passionate. Drool leaks out of the pressed seam of their lips, thick and overwhelming.
“You too hungry, boy.” Sammie says breathily, pulling away. “You want me that badly?”
“Sammie.” Remmick moans as Sammie shifts in his lap, grinds down on his erection. “You don’t even know.”
“Show me.” Sammie begs. He reaches for the drawer of his side table, rummaging around even more containers of holy water and a few rosaries until he finds the slightly larger bottle he was looking for. Sammie pulls it out and holds it up in the moonlight, checking the label just to make sure.
Remmick snatches the bottle from him.
“Lemme do it.” Remmick says, his eyes half-lidded. “Wanna touch you inside. Stretch you out for me.”
Sammie nods in breathless agreement. When Remmick pours the lube on his fingers it dribbles over the digits viciously, causing no reaction. Sammie lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as he slumps against Remmick’s chest and hikes his ass up for him.
They kiss some more. Remmick takes his time, fingers Sammie open, slow and carefully, like he didn’t mind if it took until sunrise to prepare Sammie. Sammie writhes in his lap, impatient. There’s no way in hell Sammie’s gonna wait that long.
“I’m ready.” He purrs into Remmick’s ear, causing the other man’s hips to jump up embarrassingly.
“Sammie…” Remmick groans. He takes his fingers out and spreads Sammie open wide in the cool air of the bedroom. Chest to chest, Sammie lets out a shuddering moan as Remmick’s cockhead glances against his lubed and relaxed hole.
“Put me inside.” Remmick murmurs against his ear. “Where I belong, gorgeous.”
Sammie can’t bring himself to disagree. Flushed, Sammie grabs Remmick’s cock and angles it, biting his lip as the tip kisses his entrance. With a deep breath he sinks down on that erect red cock, swallowing it within his body inch by inch.
“Fuckkkk.” Remmick groans. He runs his hands up and down Sammie’s waist, stroking his soft skin until Sammie’s ass is flush against the top of Remmick’s thighs. His grip settles around the back of Sammie’s knees, holding them in place on the bedspread as Sammie moves his hips a bit, testing him out, his eyelids fluttering. “You feel that, angel? S’all for you.”
“Mine.” Sammie whispers back, unable to help himself. Remmick feels so big, so fucking good inside of him. Pressed up against his best parts just right.
“Let go, baby. Fuck yourself on me.”
Sammie obeys. He rides Remmick like he’s only ever been all for Sammie. Touches his own body, plays with his nipples before Remmick knocks his hand away and pinches them hard, making Sammie yelp. His songs play in the background—Sammie’s guitar, his solos, his lyrics. His heart and soul poured into his passion. It feels otherworldly. And Remmick is gazing up at Sammie like he’s high on him, like he’s losing his mind inside him. Sammie feels high too. Feels like he’s never knew what real sex was before this moment.
“Remmick.” Sammie whines. Remmick’s eyes are blown wide with lust as Sammie bounces on him. “Is it good? Mmn… you was thinkin about this, huh?”
“Fuck yeah I was,” Remmick answers, voice strained as he moves his touch up Sammie’s legs as he rides. “Saw you dancing out there with your friend.” His broad, veiny hands strike a pale contrast against the golden glow of Sammie’s plush thighs as he grips them. “Looked so fuckin’ sexy. Could hardly stand it.”
“Yeah? How was I dancin’?” Sammie pants, rolling his hips slower, more seductive. His eyes are hazy, a sultry expression on his face. The diamonds in his ears and belly button glitter brightly in the moonlight, gems to accentuate the full treasure. “Like this?”
“God, yeah. Fuck. Just like that." Remmick says hoarsely, sliding a possessive hand up Sammie’s belly. “Riding me so good, mmn—"
On the next stroke Remmick’s cock hits Sammie’s prostate, making him moan and clench around him. His mouth opens, pretty full lips glossy and parted with pleasure.
Remmick bucks up and hits his spot again, making Sammie cry out and shudder. His hips roll as he leans back, hands on Remmick’s calves. Remmick takes a firm hold of his hips, thrusting up into Sammie powerfully. Sammie screams. He relinquishes control, collapses against Remmick’s chest and lets him fuck him deeply, wildly. The fluid sound of their lovemaking echoing through the room.
“Remmick, fuck….” Sammie’s eyes roll back in his head. His cries grow louder, voice unrestrained. “Like that, mnn... just like that…”
“Singin’ for me like you already mine.” Remmick groans deeply, fucking up into him with unrestrained passion. Sammie arches as Remmick hammers into his sweet spot, instinctively rising back on his knees. Remmick grabs his waist and pulls him back down, wrapping a broad arm around Sammie’s midsection and kissing him hard. He breaks the kiss only to moan, “Hit those high notes for me, yeah, fuck. Sounds so good, feel so fuckin’ good.”
And soon enough-- Sammie doesn’t know how he ended up like this but he’s on his back halfway off the bed, holding onto Remmick for dear life. How long have they been fucking? Minutes or hours? Sammie can even tell anymore. Remmick grips Sammie’s jaw, dragging his wet tongue up Sammie’s neck.
“Say it again, baby. Lemme hear my name again.” Remmick is licking the side of his face, panting into his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and rolling his tongue over the earring. ”C’mon, sugar, who you picked to bring home tonight? Who’s fuckin’ you so good?”
“Remmick!” Sammie sobs. “You fuckin’ me so good, filling me up …”
“Tell me you close.” Remmick begs, desperately.
“I’m close, baby…”
“Yeah? You gonna cum on me, sugar?”
“Mm-hm,” Sammie moans, tangling his hand in Remmick’s hair. Remmick wraps his hand around Sammie’s cock, jerking him off roughly, using the sweat and lube coating their bodies to ease the rough glide.
Groaning, Remmick hits Sammie’s spot and squeezes his cock and that’s it for him. Sammie yelps, his vision whiting out as he cums violently beneath Remmick’s body. His release spurting all over Remmick’s chest and abs.
“Oh good job, honey.” Remmick pants. He wraps both his arms around Sammie’s waist, pounding into him with abandon. Sammie swears he feels claws against his skin and thinks he might cum forever. “Good, good job. Can I cum now too?”
“Y-yeah. Come for me.”
“Can I do it inside?” Remmick pleads. “Say yes, baby…”
“Yeah, do it.” Sammie moans, utterly broken. “Cum inside me…”
Remmick needs no further invitation. He emits a guttural noise from his chest as his orgasm overtakes him, pumping Sammie full of warm seed. He peppers hungry kisses all over Sammie’s face, his hips slowing to a slow pump inside Sammie.
Oh my God.
Sammie lies on his back, motionless and wide-eyed. Remmick is kind enough to pull Sammie further back onto the bed before collapsing atop him. Sammie can barely string a thought together. He’s moving on desire alone, and the only thing he wants are more of Remmick’s wet drooly kisses. So he lunges up towards his mouth, swiping his tongue against Remmick’s desperately. Remmick kisses back with unrestrained mutual obsession.
“Darlin’.” Remmick murmurs, dazed when they part. “Think I’m in love with ya. Y’know I can’t let you go now, right?”
“Good.” Sammie yawns, then smiles sleepily. “S’why I brought you back here.”
He’s finally feeling the exhaustion. Sammie had partied all night long, drank and danced and even found himself a charming vampire to fuck his brains out. It’s been a long, productive day.
Sammie accepts another long, filthy kiss from Remmick, eyes half lidded as a line of spit drags out between them then snaps. “To trap you.”
“Yeah?” Remmick asks, looking mighty pleased as he hugs Sammie tighter. “You trapped me, sugar. You gon’ keep me?”
“Think I will.” Sammie responds, snuggling into Remmick’s chest. “You not goin’ anywhere.”
In the late morning, Sammie wakes up to a broad arm tossed over his waist and an earth-shatteringly loud snore in his ear. The birds chirp outside, and sunlight streams in through the window.
Sammie sits up slowly, the sheets pooling around his waist. He feels along his neck, searching for puncture wounds. He finds none.
Sammie hasn’t been drained dry and left for dead. He was fucked soundly and put to sleep. That’s it.
A warm feeling blooms in Sammie’s chest as he looks over at Remmick, drooling onto his pillow. He’s so glad he chose Remmick. He’s so glad Remmick stayed.
Briefly, Sammie wonders if it had all been in his head. The blisters on Remmick’s wrists, the fangs in Maya’s mouth… maybe Sammie just imagined it all. Or maybe he was just inebriated. He did drink an extraordinary amount of white claws, after all.
And then—a soft hissing noise catches Sammie’s attention.
The sun has moved high enough to stream in past the curtains, and a beam of light hits Remmick’s shoulder, making his freckled skin start to steam and burn. Sammie stares wide-eyed at the unholy sight. Remmick, oblivious, lets out another diabolical snore.
Lord have mercy. Sammie thinks, his heart pounding.
His phone is buzzing on the dresser. Sammie snatches it up without looking away from Remmick’s shoulder.
First, a text from Pearline:
i’m bailing on you before you can bail on me. call me later xo
Sammie heart reacts to the words. Then he taps next on Smoke’s name, reads the messages that have just come in:
Annie had one of her dreams last night
Asked me to check on you
You good?
Sammie’s not good. He’s in limerence, he swears it. Or maybe even worse.
Sammie’s fingers fly across the keyboard.
i’m fine
i’ll call annie later
love yall
Smoke texts back in half a second. Love you too.
Sammie sets his phone down and then crawls out from beneath the sheets. He reaches up and tugs at the curtains, sealing the sun away from the room. The steam rising from Remmick’s reddened skin dissipates immediately, and his shoulder starts to heal in real time.
Sammie is fascinated by Remmick’s body. He’s fascinated by this ancient and magical creature, who could have been doing anything he wanted last night but chose to spend his evening fetching Sammie white claws instead.
Sammie wants to wake him up and start an argument about where to get the best jambalaya above 96th. He wants to hear Remmick singing silly love songs about him again. He wants to spend the entire day with Remmick and many more, even if they can’t leave his apartment. And when he gets a moment alone--
After Sammie calls Annie and reassures her that he’s fine, he’ll call Stack. Make him promise not to tell Smoke before asking about that vampire girl. Ask if maybe there’s more to the story than Stack was willing to let on in front of Smoke and Annie.
It’s a solid plan. Satisfied beyond his wildest dreams, Sammie lifts Remmick’s arm, and curls up underneath him. Remmick snores and wraps him up tight. Sammie falls back asleep, the sun shining high in the sky.