Disclaimer: The boys don't belong to me, not even in vamp form.
Summary: Jeeves attempts to teach Bertie how to survive as a vampire.
Warnings: pretty graphic bloodiness and some rough sex
A/N: Thank you to thirstyrobot for the beta and the help with the setting. Love you, darling!
Bertram's thirst was raging nearly out of control when he awoke the next night. Having been through this already myself, I had expected his need. I dressed his shaking form as quickly as possible, ignoring his pleas for tea, water, or whatever I would give him to slake his thirst, and hurried him out into London. We ran faster than any automobile on the street to one of the seedier portions of Piccadilly, where I knew strange sounds and two people huddled together in the shadows of a back alley would generally go unremarked.
We walked those back alleys in the dark, going places neither of us would have dared to trespass at that hour in our previous lives. Normally, we would have feared some ruffian with a knife attempting to take our pocketbooks or worse. Now, I hoped for one, and one found us after only a few minutes. Bertram walked nervously at my side, gazing around himself in subdued awe with his new and enhanced vision, and did not notice that we were being followed. I slowed our pace and pretended to stumble while hiccuping loudly, affecting a drunken condition. The would-be robber took this as his chance, and I soon felt the cold blade of a large knife against my cheek. Before the man could utter a word, I had him by the neck, holding him off the ground easily with one hand. The knife clattered uselessly to the cobblestones. The man struggled in my grip, clawing at my fingers clutched around his windpipe, but his exertions only served to arouse my own appetite.
I stopped myself before the desire to take him for myself overcame me. I turned to Bertram, who was watching me with wide, shocked eyes, his mouth agape. "You thirst, but it is not for water. Can you smell it in him? Can you smell the blood in his veins?"
Bertram's nose twitched and I could tell that he did, indeed, smell it. His teeth had already lengthened. I could see the small points of his fangs digging into his bottom lip as he practically salivated at the meal I was presenting to him. Yet, I could sense his revulsion at what he suspected would happen next. "What are you going to do?" he asked me hoarsely.
"What it is in our nature to do." The man had stopped struggling by then. The lack of air had rendered him almost unconscious. His fear and exertions had caused him to sweat even in the cool night air, and his body stank of it, adding to the odors of piss, spoiled meat, and smoke coming from his filthy clothing. Underneath all that, however, the glorious scent of his blood called to me. I buried my face in the man's dirty neck and breathed in, relishing the delicious aroma. Then, I held the man out to Bertram. "Smell him," I commanded. "Smell how alive he is, how ripe. Can you imagine how he will taste?"
His eyes opened even wider as Bertram backed away. "N-no," he stammered, his hands up as if shielding himself from me. "No, Jeeves, I really don't think--"
I caught him in an instant with my free hand. I gripped his shoulder, then moved my fingers upward until they stroked his nape, comforting him. "You must learn to drink or the thirst will consume you. Do not be afraid. Come." Tilting the man's head to the side, I offered his throat to Bertram. "The artery is just there. You can see it pulsing. Do not overthink this, just let your instincts guide you." When Bertram only stared at the man's throat in horrified fascination, I decided a practical demonstration was needed. "Like this," I told him and sank my fangs into the soft flesh.
I had meant to only take a little, just to demonstrate how it should be done. However, the taste and need overwhelmed me. Allowing Bertram to drink from me the night before had drained me more than I had realized. I found myself sucking hard on the artery, starving and desperate for blood. My fingers gripped the unconscious man so tightly that I heard bones snap, something that hadn't happened since the first few nights after my rebirth. However, I paid them no heed. I held him tighter to my chest, practically gnawing his flesh in my quest to get every last drop from him. My world shrank to the sharp copper taste of his blood, the slowing thud of his heart, and the flashes of dreams and memories coming from my victim's dying mind.
Only when his heart finally stopped beating did I drop him to the street. I gulped and panted, my body shaking, as I tried to regain control. When the red haze of the blood lust passed, I raised my eyes to find Bertram on his knees a few feet away. He was trying to vomit into the gutter, though nothing would come from him. I left the dead man and went to his side.
"D-don't touch me!" he cried between heaves when I placed a hand on his back.
Respecting his wishes, I knelt near him but did not touch him as I waited for him to finish. Eventually, he wiped his dry mouth and looked up at me with red-tinged tears in his exquisite blue eyes. "How could you do that, Jeeves?" he whispered. "That man...." He gestured to the body without looking at it. "He must have had a family. Aunts, uncles, cousins... perhaps even a wife and little sprogs of his own. And you... killed him! Tore him open like some... some...." He pitched forward as his body once again tried to empty its already empty stomach.
I stroked his hair and spoke soothingly to him. "That man would have killed me for the change in my pocket, if given half a chance. He had killed others before. I could see it in his memories as I drank from him. I do not weep for him, nor should you."
"You're a monster!" he spat at me.
"Yes, I am." There was no denying what was so blatantly obvious.
"And so am I," he continued, "because.... Jeeves, I wanted... wanted to be the one doing... that to him. I wanted.... Oh, Jeeves, I wanted!"
"I know. It's all right, Bertie."
"But I couldn't, can't do something like that. Biffing a bird in the eye or taking a swing with a cosh is one thing, but, Jeeves, this is murder. You murdered him, and his blood is still on your lips, sti..."
The word died on his tongue because his mind finally registered that there was, indeed, blood staining my mouth and dripping down my face. I could feel it slowly drying on my chin. He stared at it, his eyes intent, and unconsciously licked his lips, revealing the long, sharp fangs. An idea came to me. "Kiss me."
His eyes barely flicked up to meet mine before they were devouring the mess on my face again. "What, old thing?" he said distractedly.
I ran one hand through his curls and used it to pull him to me. Our mouths met, and Bertram was instantly attempting to lick and suck every drop of spilled blood from my face. I moaned as he mouthed the point of my chin, licking the last of the red stain away. When I was clean, he attacked my lips, the sharp tips of his fangs piercing the thin skin. He growled and latched onto the small wounds, drawing even more blood from me. I ripped away my jacket, tie, waistcoat, shirt and vest, baring my torso to the cool night air. When Bertram attempted to bite my lips again in his quest for blood, I directed him downward, toward my throat. He needed no encouragement to sink his fangs into my jugular.
Throwing my head back in pleasure, I held Bertie close to me. My veins burned like fire as he drank. I felt the same passion rise in me that I had felt the first time I took him. My prick hardened, and I wanted desperately to fuck Bertram right there in the dirty street. Reaching between our bodies, I felt that Bertram was also aroused. I squeezed his cock through his trousers and felt him draw harder on my neck. I could feel his desire as if it were my own. Want you, Jeeves, he was thinking. Need you, need to have you now. Then I saw a series of unrelated images that I was sure he was unaware he was sending out to me -- the two of us sitting at his piano, me in an apron and shirtsleeves whilst cooking his dinner, him masturbating surreptitiously in his bed late at night, the two of us in the car in the country. Each one was accompanied by the feeling of frustrated desire.
I am yours, I told him silently as I lowered us both to the cold stones of the street. Do as you wish, my love. In only seconds, Bertram had me naked beneath him, my trousers laying a meter away in tatters. He ripped open his own flies and shoved my thighs apart, all without dislodging his teeth from my neck. I raised my legs to encircle his waist and used one hand to guide him to my anus.
There was only a faint twinge as he invaded me. I could feel the fragile skin tear, but paid it no attention. Instead, I concentrated on the frantic thrusting of his cock inside me and on the ecstasy of sharing myself so completely with the man I had loved for years and would continue to love forever.
Bertram continued to drink even as he fucked me with a wild abandon I never would have previously expected from him. The pounding of his hips ground my own into the street time and time again, until I was sure I would hear my own bones snap. I pushed back into his thrusts, wanting his cock ever deeper, as the pleasure and heat spiraled out of control. My vision began to fail and my limbs began to feel heavy. I knew Bertram had drunk too much from me, but I was loathe to push him away as the ecstasy built and built, climbing ever higher with no crest in sight. With one weak arm, I flailed until I found his hand, clenched tight to my hip. I pulled it away and brought his wrist to my mouth, intending to take back some of the blood he had drained.
When I bit into him, it was if an electrical circuit had been closed. It was an explosion of sensation. It was the orgasm we had been straining toward. It was ten orgasms and an earthquake besides. We drank from each other, bathed in white light and pleasure so intense it was as if every cell of our bodies was electrified at once. It was more than pleasure. More than orgasm, joy, bliss, or Heaven. There is no word on earth to describe the exquisite torture of that much sensation.
I spit out his wrist when I could no longer stand the intensity and pushed his head from my throat. He fell away from me limply, his softening prick sliding from my body easily. Way lay side by side on the cold stones, panting for breath. Eventually, he asked hoarsely, "What in bloody hell was that, Jeeves?"
"I do not know. I have never experienced anything like it."
"It was so.... What's the word I want, Jeeves?"
"That's the baby. Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, Bertie. You most definitely did not hurt me."
We continued breathe heavily as our bodies recovered. "Did you feel like that last night when you made love to me?" he asked after a few minutes.
"While last night was immeasurably pleasurable, no. It was nothing like that. It was only when we drank from each other that...." I trailed off, at a loss for words for probably the first time in my existence.
"We must do it again, obviously."
I looked over at Bertram and found him smiling. I could do nothing but smile in return and stroke his beautiful bloodstained face. "Of course."
We rose, and I helped Bertram to dress, stroking as much of his now warm skin as I could in the process. He could not seem to keep his own hands from me, either, petting me as I worked. He was especially fascinated by the smooth flesh of my neck, where the puncture marks left by his fangs had already healed. "I love you, you know, Jeeves," he said as I smoothed his wild hair.
"And I love you," I replied fervently, then kissed him. His mouth tasted of blood, and I felt my prick twitch with interest.
"Let's go home," he said against my lips, "and I'll find more places on your body to suck. What do you say, Jeeves?"
I retrieved my own clothes only to find the trousers completely ruined. Bertram apologized, but I shushed him with another quick kiss. "Go home, Bertie. I will meet you there shortly," I told him as I slid into my shirt, leaving the buttons unfastened.
"But where are you going, old thing? You're nearly naked! Come back with me."
"No, I must feed again. I can feel the thirst rising again already."
Bertram stepped back, his pink cheeks paling. His eyes flicked over to the dead body not two meters away as if he had completely forgotten its existence. "M-must you?"
"Yes. If I am to share the blood with you, I must drink twice as much."
His hands were trembling when he reached out to touch my naked chest. "No, Jeeves, come home with me. I won't drink from you anymore, I promise. Just come with me."
If only I could have done so. "Go home, Bertram. Do not think about it. Only think about the joy you'll feel when I come back and make love to you again." This is necessary, I silently impressed upon him. Do not fight me on this.
He took a deep breath. "Right-ho. See you at home," he said shakily and turned to leave. He gave the body a wide berth and didn't look at it again.
I knew it would not take me long to find another victim, even in my state of undress. Two victims in one night. I would rack up quite a score at this rate after a few thousand years. It did not matter, however. I was already damned as a monster and a murderer. I would gladly shoulder Bertram's burden, too, and be twice as damned if it meant that my beloved sweet master would never have to kill.
"Oi! You there! What's all this then?" A policeman was staring at me and the body from the end of the alley. It was his bad luck to find me at that moment.
I ran at the officer faster than he could perceive and lifted him off his feet as I pushed off the ground and took to the air. As I flew, I fed quickly. When I was finished, I dropped the body into the Thames, then turned in midair. I soared toward Berkeley Square, thinking of Bertram waiting for me in my bed and of all the marvelous things I had yet to share with my love.