Bat Appreciation Day
It was the kind of night Casimiro loved. The day before had been hot as Hell, and who better to judge, than Satan himself? He knew this only because he woke like a cicada in the early evening when the air was still butter-thick with moisture, barely beginning to thin as it was spread over too much world like a particularly large piece of toast.
He could always sense that there would be rain, spring rain, the rain Casimiro liked, as warm as tears sliding off parked cars and thankful thirsty plants, through narrow gutters, into the potholes on the stupidly planned American street-corners. Stupidly planned, but not without their charm, on late-spring nights they were rife with not only confetti-egg peddlers but gamblers and trick-turners, the kind of people Casimiro liked.
A week later, which to him was a blink of the eye, the grass would be green and spongy under his feet, and there'd be self conscious women out jogging after dark, or groups of them, tasty and brainless things coming out of, sweat drenched and full of liquor after parties, with those large beads jingling from their delicious little necks.
Casimiro often liked to walk barefoot at night when he went on his rambling Rudyard Kipling walks alone, which could last an hour, a few days, several weeks…months even, depending on his mood. He never left in anger; he just couldn't stay in one place. It wasn't in his nature….Finas understood; he was possibly the only person who ever had.
Away from his stuffy Englishman, he did any manner of things, collected an impressive array of naïve human lovers (like snacks, kept cool in a freezer), started brawls that had impossible odds, annoyed other vampires, and basically caused trouble. Away from Finas he did things that Finas did not approve of and would never allow him to do in his company.
One of the best things about living with Finas was that they didn't try to crowd each-other, and rarely tried to change anything about the other's behavior. Yeah, a lot of the time he bugged the shit out of the other man on principle (because he deserved it for being so fucking neutral), but no one could successfully stay together for hundreds of years without realizing that they needed to have time to themselves. It couldn't be done, and the pair didn't try to do it.
Casimiro however, did make it his goal in death to try to get a reaction out of the other man. It was rare, but when it happened, either in the form of a rare smile or an even rarer outburst of anger, the rewards were sweet. So in the end, no matter how long he stayed away, he always returned.
He never knew, or asked (or cared) whether Finas went on his own little field trips, he was always too distracted with the welcoming he got when they met again.
It was full of sexual tension of course, but it was always just a smidgeon warmer than the Englishman would allow himself to be. The reunions always seemed to be in the late spring, which was the time of year Casimiro liked, if he could bother to pin point that any longer now that all the Earth's cycles ran together with the rapidity of a cyclist's wheels.
Those nights, which would've been sweaty and uncomfortable had they been human (though perhaps not in the East Coast, not to a man who had grown up Mediterranean), were quite pleasant now that they were vampires. In their tenderness, they could even top the carnal make up sex they tended to have after a fight. Casimiro would never admit it, but he loved these nights, almost but not quite as much as he loved the creature he shared them with.
This night in particular, everything was perfect. Well…except the fact that his good eye was purple the size of a god damn tennis ball, but that would soon be remedied. Why did they always aim for the good eye, anyway?
Casimiro was still nursing quite the shiner from a fight on the outside of a supernatural bar, and Finas was taking care of it. His tongue ran a few times over the swelling wound until Casimiro was sure that if he were able to see himself in the mirror, he would've been meant with his usual- ahem- magnificent visage.
"Did you really have to tell that selkie that her dress made her look…overweight"? Said the bearded man disapprovingly in the midst of his last meticulous ministrations. "You could keep information like that to yourself, you know".
"Criticism is the first step on the road to self improvement, Finas." He flinched. "Fuck, could ya ease up a bit"? Casimiro complained "You're gonna get your spit in my other eye and ruin that one too".
Finas snorted "If anything, that would help. That's why I'm doing this, if you recall? I don't get special joy out of licking your filthy face".
He could feel the swelling rapidly going down, so he dragged himself up on his arms, bare and full of energy in the warm cast of the room though it was nowhere near as warm as his monstrous toothy smile. "Want something else to lick instead"?
Finas was unimpressed; he raised an eyebrow and bit the inside of his cheek. Cas took his silence as incentive to whine.
"Come on, are you tryin' to say you haven't missed me"?
"I said nothing of the kind" he said coldly, crossing his arms over his delectably broad chest, still irritatingly sealed up in coats, and scarves and a godawful assortment of layers. Wretched things. Not getting cold was no reason to forget to dress seasonally. Casimiro reminded himself silently to bitch about that later.
"I'm just wondering if I should continue to encourage this reckless behavior. Selkies are no laughing matter, and next time you might very well walk away minus an arm, if you walk away at all".
Casimiro smirked, remembering, of course, the Great Circus Excursion when that had almost been the case.
"You don't understand Finas, the ladies love battle scars and the stories that go with them" he said, grazing his tongue indulgently over his teeth. "Gets 'em all wet and wanton".
"Yes, well, I don't share the same sentiment; it would simply serve to prove that you're too idiotic to keep your body parts in order. Casimiro, the One Eyed, One Armed Buffoon. That isn't so attractive as it is sad. I should say I'd be embarrassed to be seen with you".
Casimiro sighed suffering at the scolding, and leaned back. He was aware that he wasn't wearing a shirt and he was also aware that Finas was aware too. All he had to do was stretch and yawn, raising his arms high above his head, shifting the muscles in his back, pretend to start to fall asleep and arch at just the right times and surely soon enough-
When he heard the bed creak and felt Finas's weight on top of him, he knew he had won. As punishment for the bad attitude, he took his time, looking up with that slightly glazed, half lidded expression that he knew the Englishman was hard pressed to resist.
"I didn't say ino/i" he amended , running one heavy pale palm through two toned hair and cupping the side of Casimiro smooth, dark cheek.
The one eyed vampire simply laughed. A month of separation was just the right time, it left his Englishmen metaphorically "wet and wanton" (though if Finas ever heard him use those words, he was sure he would be unconscious for several weeks as a result).
Casimiro raised his hands to his companion's face, cleverly threading through course mahogany facial hair, up past his ears into his shaggy mane. Mr. Badger, he would've called him the ridiculous pet name he had thought up fifty years ago for maximum irritation, but it tended to be a mood killer (and it tended to make Finas smack him) so he bit it back.
His hands slid again, teasing over ears and down so he could grasp at that lovely square jaw with the tips of his fingers, bending his head at the right angle so he could make to kiss, biting Finas's lower lip savagely instead, a burst of sun-flavored blood just barely flooding his palette, he licked up every drop and then Finas did the same to him, with a low rumble. They shared tastes vibrant as wine, of where they had been, who they had been with, what they had been doing. This was another reason he never asked: a picture was worth a thousand words, especially when it was neatly delivered in the form of a memory that didn't belong to you.
Locking lips, he worked his way past buttons with all the ease of a pianist sliding down a piano ladder, though Finas had an intensely stupid number of them, so it took time.
Then he found his prize: that ichest/i. He curled like a cat against its weight and began suckling skin hungrily, nipping and nuzzling at Finas's neck, down between pectorals…. The Englishman for all his grace always faltered then, his bow legs threatening to give out the lower his ministrations would caress…
Finally, after the tension escalated for several minutes, he got impatient with the teasing, and shoved Casimiro back against the bed frame, at which point the vampire abandoned the "innocent act" (though it wasn't as if Finas had believed it in the first place) and began to work without patience on his own trousers, his legs immediately fitting around Finas's waist, squeezing and crouching, grinding through fabric, in ways that further served to irritate and enflame him.
Things were going so well. Until ithis/i happened.
Finas was one of the few people in the world, who refused to budge on the matter of a ring tone. He had such little experience with phones in the first place, that when Casimiro eventually convinced him to actually get one, it ended up being the cheapest, most basic piece of crap you could ever imagine. Nevermind that the fop could spend any amount of coin on his stupid coats and nice shoes, when it came to a phone he had to be a fucking penny pincher, clearly out of his disdain for frivolous technology.
It didn't even receive texts, and Finas chose a ringer that was incredibly loud and trumpeted through the air in hard obnoxious, not to mention repetitive BLEEPS! It could have been worse, it could've been the 80's, but at the moment, Casimiro, in all his history of immense violence, had never wanted to strangle anything more than he did that iBLEEPING/i noise, and the wrench who was causing Finas's phone to vibrate and caterwaul on the bedside table when they were kind-of-fucking-ibusy/i Fucking! Busy ifucking!/i
Finas looked down at him, and Casimiro gave him an icy glare, not at all loosening his grip. iDon't you dare. Don't you fucking dare-/i
"I have to" he said firmly, though he did sound a bit guilty, there was no room for argument on the matter. Finas only gave perhaps three people his cell phone number and told them to use it in case of an emergency, so Casimiro already have an idea of who it was….and they would pay. iOh/i they would pay. He didn't care what the reason was, even if the little fag was bleeding out in some alley way, there was iNO/i good reason to interrupt sex!
Casimiro cursed loudly as Finas pulled himself off of the Italian, and walked very awkwardly, or as awkwardly as Finas could ever be to the bedside table, and after a long sigh, silenced its frantic blaring.
"Hello Conrad. Yes…well at the moment we're…"
Casimiro fisted the bedsheets, staring down at the tent between his legs unbelievingly, which was already beginning to recede just thinking about that sniveling little Snaggletooth. God fucking iDAMN IT. An entire month!/i Not to mention the time spent last year as bats that they were STILL trying to make up.
"Important you say…I see…iwell/i".
As Finas continued to talk, Casimiro tuned him out, thinking of all the different ways you could tear a hipster vampire apart. You could rip him in half…or start with the limbs, popping them off one by one…
Finally, Finas closed his phone, and Casimiro straightened up hopefully, having no doubt that they had all the time in the world to get their mood back if they could just-
"I'm sorry Casimiro, but Conrad's other fang is growing in and he's in quite a lot of pain".
iNot as much pain as he WILL be in/i thought the Italian vengefully.i I'll kick him in the BALLS next time I see him. See if he'll think fast then!/i
"So what you're saying is…"
"I have to go help him" replied the Englishman simply.
"Finas" Casimiro said, with an edge in his voice. "Just because we didn't let him die doesn't mean we're suddenly his …parents or something. You have no reason to.."
"Casimiro, you're the one that called him our fledgling"
"I was just being a idick/i when I said that! I didn't mean it! I do it all the time! I'd have thought you'd be used to it by now". Said the Italian with slowly dawning horror, reaching up to tug at Finas's sleeve. "You are not Bambi's dad and you don't have to fucking go"!
"I will make it up to you" said the Englishman with an air of finality. "I promise".
iPromises promises/i…thought Casimiro as he watched Finas shift into bat form and promptly fly through the window. There went his sex. There went his reunion…there went his beautiful spring night, flying through the window.
iI promise you will pay Conrad Achenleck/i…He thought, snarling to no one and turning on the TV. Craig Ferguson was on...and Casimiro briefly considered jacking off while thinking about fucking a Scotsman, but couldn't muster up the energy and ended up dozing halfway into the show.
Finas apparently couldn't muster up any energy either, because by the time he finally got back, it was almost dawn. Casimiro cracked open his eye as the tiny blue bat landed on the bedside table and, slowly curled on top his chest, folding his wings awkwardly at his side. Bats were technically supposed to sleep upside down, but at the moment that would've required too much effort.
"So how's our pet faggot's new little toothie"? Casimiro said, sleepy but still very angry.
"It came in just fine, he now has the urge to chew his own furniture and I think that's what scared him more than anything". Finas replied, too sleepy to care that Casimiro was being very sarcastic.
The Italian snorted, reaching over and petting Finbat absent mindedly. "I hope he enjoys it because he won't have it for very long. I'm going to knock it out of his mouth".
"Please don't" Finas yawned "We went through all that trouble to keep him alive and it'd be a shame to destroy any late blossoming competence".
"Tell me why we bothered to do that again"?
"It's too late to get into it "the bat murmured "-early…let's sleep".
"Will I get a cookie after all of this"? Casimiro finally relented, in a defeated tone, tugging his fingers through soft brown head fur for the first time in an entire month. Nothing said "no sex tonight" like shifting into batform, but Finbat was cute at the very least, and cute, with Finas, went a long way.
"Yes" said the Englishman, licking his hand lightly "You can't eat it, but you will get one none the less".
"And shower sex"?
"…"
"Please"?
"…Fine"
"I get to be on top".
Finas sighed "We'll talk about it in the evening".
"That means yes."
"iGood morning/i, Casimiro".
"Mornin' Mr. Badger". Casimiro, who always had to have the last word, yawned and rested his head back on his pillow "Happy Bat Appreciation Day".