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The thing that pisses Dan off the most is all the bullshit around vampires. So, to clear up some misconceptions:
- The Garlic Thing is a myth made up in the 1600s by the same people who said being left handed made you a witch. (Every witch Dan met has been ambidextrous.)
- Sunlight hurts, but it doesn’t kill. This also doesn’t affect all vampires, usually only ones who don’t have any exposure during childhood.
- You cannot turn people. Unfortunately, it’s an affliction given at birth. Usually genetic, always bullshit.
If you could turn people, Dan would have turned Phil years ago. When he was younger, he’d feed off of birds or squirrels in his yard— anything to avoid hurting people.
Then Dan had met Phil via the internet, who’d been more than willing to bear his neck and let teeth sink into the muscle of his jugular. Phil burned for it, always sliding fingers into heat straightened hair and tipping his head back against the hands that cradled him so carefully.
Dan would lick the blood up from the punctures, and let Phil kiss the blood from his mouth. It was dirty and disgusting and everything younger Dan would have given credit to depravity of his affliction.
It’d been like every one of Phil’s Buffy fantasies had come to life.
They were young, stumbling through first love and ostracization. Phil had been so eager to accept Dan, while Dan bit at the hand that fed expecting it to come with a catch. It hadn’t, just acceptance (from both him and his family) and wholly love. Phil loves him, teeth and all.
Dan thinks back on it sometimes, the newness. He never yearns for it again, even if being 18 and falling in love for the first time may have been the first time he felt truly alive over half dead. He loves his life now, loves 39 year old Phil with his bleach blonde hair and stupid pretty glasses. This is his life. Theirs.
“You look pale,” Phil says from next to him, tipping his head from Below Deck onto Dan’s shoulder. Dan holds his hand up. He’s not, but he knows what Phil wants.
“Am I?” Dan teases, sliding that hand into Phil’s hair to tilt his head back. “Or are you just horny?”
“Mn, both.” Phil grins around it, sticking his tongue between his teeth. He’s a little shit, and so, so beautiful. Dan has to kiss him.
Phil goes easily, sinking into Dan’s touch like it’s home. And maybe it is. They’re here, and have all the time in the world. Phil cups his jaw, tugs Dan forward into his lap.
Dan has always been a sucker for Phil. He’s always just wanted to please him, and Phil likes to be bitten.
Even when Dan doesn’t need to feed, doesn’t need to draw blood, it’s rare Phil will walk away without teeth marks littering pretty pale skin. Dan never thought he’d want this, never want his disease mirrored onto someone he loves. But Phil wants him. Wants this.
Dan pulls away to ghost kisses down his jaw and neck, stopping to nip at his pulse. Phil whines, high in his throat and barely restrained.
“Dan, upstairs,” Phil pleads, and Dan would be an idiot not to listen.
It’s a bit of a journey to get them both into their bedroom. Dan ends up flat on his back with Phil straddling him. He can’t bite like this, but fuck, if it isn’t good all the same.
This, being here, almost feels like breaking a rule. Their bedroom, with someone as high and holy as Phil, may as well be consecrated ground. Dan hasn’t believed in god in a very long time, but maybe this love can be his newfound religion.
Dan loves being under Phil, loves being out of control. He knows he will be again; knows Phil will control how long he feeds, will lick the taste of copper out of Dan’s mouth, will make a mess between the two of them just for the sake of it. Because they both want it.
Dan lets Phil drag him up, lets Phil settle in his lap, lets him himself be led by rough fingers in his curls. Dan can be good. He can listen. He can slot his teeth into Phil’s jugular and let blood stain his mouth like holy water.
Dan sinks in sharp little canines, but doesn’t swallow. Phil makes no noise, besides a stuttered breath. He laves his tongue around his teeth, lapping at the blood. Feeding isn’t the point. Dan feels spit and hemoglobin run down his mouth, pool in the hollow of his throat. There are hands in his hair, petting him like something precious. Dan’s head feels fuzzy.
“Good boy,” Phil says, like an afterthought. Dan is only here because Phil wants blood, because Phil wants to be used.
There must be blood on the collar of Dan’s shirt. He hadn’t the forethought to remove it. Fuck, he’ll get a new one. Nothing material matters like this.
Phil gently guides his head off his neck, tilts his head. Dan takes the cue to lick up the rest of the blood left behind. He smears it a bit, drinks down just enough to feel warm and feral. This is his purpose.
The fingers in his hair turn rough, almost punishing, then Phil is licking the taste out of his mouth. Dan burns for it.
When Phil has had his fill, he shoves Dan back into the mattress. He licks down to his collar, whines at the taste. Dan bites back his own to match as his partner sucks a bruise just below his jaw. Phil pulls away red mouthed and grinning.
“I want you to blow me,” Phil says, breathless. Dan goes to wipe his mouth, but is stopped when a firm hand on his wrist. “Please, don’t.”
And who is Dan to deny him?
He makes quick work of Phil’s ugly green pants and boxers, throwing them carelessly to the side. Dan will get told off for that later, but all that matters is here and now.
His mouth is still slick when he laps up the pearly white precum beaded at the top, sees a sheen of red left behind. He’s going to cum in his fucking shorts. Dan has a job to do, he takes Phil into his palm, sinks down to his hips and bobs with kitten licks around the shaft.
“You’re so pretty. My perfect vampire baby.” Phil strokes his hair again, tucks a curl behind his ear.
Dan feels content here, surrounded by his boyfriend. All he needs is a cock in his mouth, the buzzing in his ears, and the strange intimacy of being cradled as someone precious.
It doesn’t even occur to him that Phil is getting off on this until there’s bitter cum in his throat. Dan is nothing but obedient. He swallows the taste down, licks him clean. The hand never stops petting him.
Dan barely realizes Phil has sunk to his level, has a hand around his cock until he’s biting on his own fist and spilling into Phil’s. It’s perfect.
Later, when they’ve showered and Dan is no longer bloody and a biohazard (and there’s a plaster over punctures), Phil cradles him against his chest. He traces little shapes into Dan’s back, twirls a curl around his finger, maps out the freckles of Dan’s cheeks.
It’s home, Dan knows. This, being accepted for his affliction and disease (more than the vampirism), is home.
“Love you, vampire baby,” Phil says to the quiet of their bedroom, stroking over Dan’s shoulders.
Dan traces the letters onto Phil’s stomach, and lets himself succumb to sleep. This is safety, and home, and acceptance. Dan is home. Dan has everything he’d dreamed up, and a bit to spare.