I'm not really good with the mystical stuff. I'm really here for the sex!
Last part here
But if Samuel was going to face off against Absalom, he needed more strength. Hidden by a five-pound bag of mini carrots, a fresh cold pack of blood rested on the bottom shelf of the fridge. And even more convenient than the blood storage at work, he had a microwave that in thirty-seven seconds would serve it body temperature.
The microwave dinged, and he allowed his fangs to descend. Tearing into the bag, he emptied it in a couple of swallows.
“Sam? Are you coming back to bed?”
Samuel started. How long had he been standing naked in his kitchen, staring down at the empty blood bag in the trash?
He pushed away from the wall, head as fuzzy as if the bag had been full of opium. Blake. Blake in bed waiting for him. Why did that seem wrong? Some dream of demons and monsters and Blake’s corpse, cold and still.
Samuel shook his head to clear it, his lip catching on a fang. Why were they still down? He licked the blood from his lips and teeth and went into their bedroom.
Blake was sprawled on their bed, one dark-furred leg bent, shadowing his cock and balls. The sight made desire curl through Samuel’s stomach and he flung himself on his lover.
Blake met his kiss and then pulled away. “Again? Didn’t you get enough?” His low voice rumbled with that teasing whisper.
Samuel’s cock insisted that there was no such thing as enough. The fresh blood coursed down, pumping him hard. His balls ached as if satisfaction had long been denied. “No,” he answered.
Blake tipped up his neck, offering that blood-rich skin to Samuel’s tongue and his fangs started to drop again. He cupped Blake’s ass in his hands, fingers sliding into the crease.
“Hmm?” He could almost taste Blake, the sweet fresh smell overpowering the flat metallic taste of the old blood on his tongue. He’d be deep inside him when he sank his teeth into a vein, wrist or throat, the warmth sliding along his throat while Blake’s hot muscles clamped around his cock.
“C’mon. You were going to tell me about that sword. The one in the living room. Remember?”
Remembering seemed to be the last thing Samuel wanted to do. Not when there was all this hot male flesh under his hands. His fingers found Blake’s hole, still loose and wet from their last fuck. For an instant, he remembered that dream with perfect clarity. Blake smelling of death instead of life. Silent. Motionless. Why did that dream suddenly feel more real than this moment?
“Samuel? The sword.”
The sword. Fuck the sword. Samuel held Blake open with his thumbs, rubbing the head of his own cock against the slick skin of his crease.
“Sam? Sam?” The hard rap of skin on glass, echoing through the room.
He looked over his shoulder. Dawn was starting to light the sky, and in that dim light he could make out Ken, face pressed against the window while he pounded on it with both hands.
Blake and the bed were gone. He was in the living room and something dark was rushing from the lighted horizon. Rushing straight for Ken.