Title: Fringe Benefits
Author: Meridian
Rating: Strong R in parts (for language, sexually explicit situations)
Author's Notes: This is more or less a prequel for my story "End Game" as well as for the movieBlade: Trinity. The events in this story take place before the movie and help explain the sort of working-romantic relationship between Abigail Whistler and Hannibal King.

Warning: There is an explicit sex scene in this story. Though not graphic, those who might be offended by descriptions of foreplay and sexual intercourse are advised not to read this story. There will be another warning for the chapter in which the most explicit scene occurs.


Abigail Whistler had not decided the when, and the where was still very much up in the air, given how little privacy the average Nightstalker enjoyed, but she was certain of one thing: she was going to have sex with Hannibal King.

Her options were limited, her choices were poor. Unless she found time and a convenient excuse for what she did for a living, or wanted to spend her life in one-night-stands, dating outside the hideout crew was out of the question. Dex was ten years older, and he treated her like he treated Zoe. Hedges would have, at any time of the day or night, leapt at the opportunity, but she couldn't summon any sense of attraction for him, as much as she liked him as a friend. Sommerfield was the wrong gender.

That left King, probably the worst, poorest choice of the lot. He possessed none of Dex's quiet cool and suave sense of style; King thought his bull's-eye hunting shirt was the pinnacle of good taste. He lacked Hedges' adorable tendency to babble and get over excited easily. And he certainly couldn't touch Sommerfield's intelligence. No style, no sweetness, no smarts, King brought only attitude and his unique band of humor.

And, she admitted, in the spirit of being honest with herself, a body to die for.

That more than compensated for the rest, or would have to. Masturbation had its limits, and Abby had reached them. A few nights ago, she fantasized about their newest recruit, and it had been one of her better self-pleasuring sessions. It was easier to pretend you weren't alone when you imagined being touched by someone attractive and accessible-at least it wasn'timpossible that they were doing the work instead.

The unfortunate side-effect of that episode was a new awakening to the sexual appeal of her partner, which had yet to abate. Combined with a slight desperation to get well and properly laid, her attraction to Hannibal King was explosive. All that was left was the when-soon, if her body could stand waiting even that much longer-and the where.

This last was more problematic still than the constant battle to maintain a hold on her body's reaction to King. Not in the base because there wasn't really anywhere to do it that everyone else wouldn't immediately know what they were about. But where else? At a hunt site? Too dangerous, not to mention disgusting, ridiculous, and not a little disturbing. The idea of fucking King two feet from a dusted vamp or bleeding familiar put her right off the mood, so she thought about it as often as possible when the urge surfaced at inopportune moments. If it got bad enough, she'd pull a hotel room out of a hat and claim it was a stakeout.

Of course, that would mean convincing the others of a need for a stakeout, building a case for one, and, probably, doing actual work that would otherwise consume the time for consummation. Not for the first time, she wondered how her father had ever found the time to conceive her. It was harder to imagine a situation more likely to prevent one from getting laid than life among the Nightstalkers, though hanging with Blade must be close. For her father, it was a question of his partner not understanding the need; with her, it was more a problem of satisfying the desire with the minimum amount of exposure.

I don't want this life for you, Abby, her father had said when she first started. He hadn't been talking about sex, but those words were incredibly prescient on a number of matters. Still, a tough life didn't have to a celibate one, too. What would happen afterward, she could not predict. It would be difficult, but King would have to accept what he got, and that his time would be through, and they could each move on. It wouldn't be personal, and, in time, the awkwardness would fade. They could maybe even laugh together about it. That was the other thing King had in his favor; if nothing else, he could laugh at himself. Sometimes, she envied him that.


Hannibal King first became aware that the out-of-his-league Abigail Whistler was perhaps sidling into his range some time around their third hunt together. Per their usual, he ended up taking more blows than she, dusting fewer vamps, and generally winding up the sorer for the outing. Coming in second to a girl should have been a serious kick in the balls, but not when it was a woman like Abby. Those well-tuned instincts he never listened to, the ones that told him which was the most troublesome woman in a room and told him to stay away, were screaming about Whistler. She kicked ass better than he did, more reliably, with less damage. When they sparred, he never pulled punches because she was quicker and he would lose in about ten seconds if he didn't use his strength advantage over her. He tired slower, she dodged better. A better combination for some dynamite sex had yet, in his opinion, to ever grace this earth.

She was, in short, a walking, not-often-talking wonder of a woman. She also thought he was scum or as close to it as she could tolerate having as a near-constant companion and partner. It was a deadly combination, and he fell for it every time.

Most men preferred a challenge; he preferred trouble. Having sex with Abby would be, guaranteed, about as troublesome as he could possibly hope for. The only thing that might have been messier would have been sex with Sommerfield, which he hadn't ruled out either. She had a sense of humor, at least. That was pretty sexy, but the two of them had a sort of understanding. They as a couple made a kind of sense, and his life was nothing if not a study of nonsense. Him and Sommerfield made one happy family, seeing as Zoe was the only one who truly appreciated his jokes out of the entire crew.

Him and Abby, though, that was disaster in the making, and he could not wait. And, unless his senses were deceiving him, she was coming around to the idea. Probably not from the angle he was, and she would definitely ditch him right after, pretend it had never happened, but that was kind of sexy, too, and it made the itch worse, not better. A beautiful woman, with a body that did not quit, especially when being used as the weapon it was, was going to use him for sex and leave him behind. And he could not wait.

But he had to. Part of his finely tuned repertoire for picking up girls always consisted of playing dumb, letting them come as much to him as he was drawn to them. If the woman believed she was controlling him, was the dominant, things often got farther, lasted longer, and were more enjoyable. He had no problem with that. It made them believe he was the trapped one, rather than the other way around.

So, Abby had to come to him. She had to broach the subject seriously, as opposed to his near-constant, semi-sincere chatter about it. That was another trick of the trade-express attraction as a joke, as candidly as possible, and the woman always assumed it wasn't for real. It put her at ease, and a comfortable woman was open to suggestion. He didn't know what had finally planted the suggestion in Abby's mind, but he wasn't going to lose this chance.

The only question was where?