Endgame
Written for August Fic Challenge 2023, Prompt: Sanguine. Established Relationship. Not sure if this is 1985 Fright Night or 2011 Fright Night or some comingled version of the two. Could technically follow my other FN fic, The Most Dangerous Game, but that is certainly not required reading. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
Charley does not try to escape anymore. Not unless Jerry wants him to and that's not the kind of game they're playing tonight. He's resigned himself to his fate, an eternity spent in thrall to the whims of an ancient vampire who doesn't want him dead, just wants him. And Charley doesn't know if he's fallen into some weird Stockholm Syndrome stereotype nonsense or if he's just perpetually mindless from the blood loss or if maybe some part of him maybe just kind of likes it all.
He groans into Jerry's familiar touch, at the teasing feel of fanged teeth dragging over his neck, trailing down his chest and stomach. He shivers when Jerry's sharp nails press into his skin, breaking the skin and letting the blood flow freely from the small wounds. Jerry moves swiftly, not a single drop of blood is lost before his lips seal over each one, sucking at them until they heal up and leave an array of faint new scars amongst the hundreds that already litter his body.
Jerry spends a particularly long time focusing his attention on the skin just above the jut of his hip bone, drawing eager moans from Charley as easily as he draws more blood.
"Mm. You taste so good, Charley," Jerry tells him, mouth wandering closer to Charley's desperate cock.
Charley fists his hands in the bed sheets and tries not to beg.
For once, Jerry doesn't make him.
He's drunk on the high Jerry leaves him in, whatever chemical in his saliva that makes his victims easy and pliant thrums like heaven in his veins and he's practically sobbing by the time he comes down Jerry's throat a few minutes later.
"You taste so good," Jerry says again with a wicked smirk, moving up to claim Charley's lips once more. His fangs pierce the skin there, and blood bubbles up once more before it is quickly laved away by Jerry's tongue and Charley gets another hit of bliss as he rides out his release.
"Bite me," Charley says when he can find the words. His voice is wrecked and desperate as he tilts his head to one side in what is a clear invitation. It's the biggest high, when Jerry bites him there. He'll drink his fill, draw it out as long as he can, only pulling himself away when he's taken nearly too much and Charley will let him. Again and again. He'll be weak and floaty for days, after, but he doesn't care. He's in too deep to stop any of this and he's not even sure he wants it to stop anymore. Jerry will bite him and then he'll fuck him and take care of him after it's all done. "Drink," he begs.
But something is different tonight.
Jerry frowns down at him, some unreadable look on his face and Charley catches some new flash of emotion in his ancient eyes. He pulls back, still straddled over Charley's hips, and seems to come to a decision. "No," he says. He presses a sharp nail against the pad of another finger until he breaks the skin, and presses that against Charley's lips instead. "Tonight, you drink."
Charley freezes, mouth sealed shut as he realizes just what Jerry is offering. He doesn't know if he wants that, either. He knows what ingesting Jerry's blood will mean for him, what it will do to him. He panics, and Jerry pulls away as soon as he notices the frantic spike in Charley's heart rate, doesn't stop Charley from wiping away the smears of dark vampire blood as he sits up.
"Join me, Charley," Jerry asks – and for once, he is genuinely asking. Not demanding. Not bespelling. He presses a surprisingly gentle kiss against Charley's neck at the place he usually bites. No, this is an offer.
Months ago, at the start of this, he'd made a different one. When Charley had been poking around things he didn't understand, unaware that there really were monsters out there lurking in the darkness, he'd given Charley the chance to stop. To let it go. And he hadn't. He'd kept poking around until he got himself in trouble he couldn't himself get out of.
And now he's here, in bed with a monster.
Except perhaps somewhere along the way he's stopped seeing Jerry as a monster.
"Really? You want me?" It is perhaps a stupid question, given their current activities, but Charley is fairly certain there are stark differences between being a mostly-willing blood donor and being what Jerry is proposing now.
"I'd have you at my side, always," Jerry confesses.
Charley nods.
This time, Jerry bites down on his own lip before he pulls Charley up to meet him in a desperate kiss as he gives his blood over. Charley finds it tastes nothing like his own blood – there is no sharp, metallic tang to it. It takes almost sickly sweet as it splashes against his tongue, and he finds himself captivated by the strange taste. He sucks at the rapidly healing wound on Jerry's lip in search of more.
"Hold on," Jerry laughs at his desperation, pulling back to pierce his finger again. Charley promptly sucks that into his mouth, instead, and Jerry's eyes go dark and devilish at the sight of it. He revels in the companion he's finally found for himself here after so many centuries of loneliness - Charley is everything he could ever want.
"You taste good, too," Charley mumbles, a bit deliriously.
Jerry kisses him again, perfectly willing to spend the rest of the night slitting his own skin open over and over so that Charley can drink from him as he wishes. This night and countless others. And, when Charley has finally had enough, he'll bite, too, one last time, so he might steal a few last precious drops of Charley's untainted blood before his own infects it, the last taste he'll ever have. And then they'll sleep, the two of them wrapped up in each other's arms until dawn breaks outside of their sanguine sanctuary.