Found this in my folder of old drafts
Kinky vampire/hunter fic yup yup yup
The icy water ran over Ignacio’s head and down his neck and he jerked awake with a snort, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder, the discomfort of his position. He was down to boxers and t-shirt, weapons gone, arms and legs bound to a chair, pulled too tight, making his limbs tingle. He was in the basement of a house, the poured concrete floors and bare lightbulbs offset by the addition of a washer and dryer, the neat row of pink and blue detergent and fabric softener bottles standing out in the gloom.
There was a pale face hovering near his, coming slowly into focus. He listened to its low rapid breathes, felt the ruffle of air in his bangs. “Que pasa, amigo?” His throat felt wrecked, burned raw by bile and his voice cracked when he spoke.
The creature pulled back and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked like a child, a skinny boy in his late teens wearing dark jeans and a black sweatshirt. His liquid chocolate eyes were rimmed in smudgy black makeup, skin as smooth and white as a china doll, crisscrossed with the scrawl of blocky tattoos. Half his head was shaved, the other half a curtain of oily black hair. Ignacio scoffed in disgust. He was looking at somebody’s carefully crafted toy, a pet assembled from young human flesh. His stomach churned at the thought.
“Are you the warm up band then?” Ignacio asked, eyebrows raising. “I’ve never seen a bloodsucker with that much metal in his face. Do the old ones give you hell about it?”
“Ignacio Chavez,” he said the name slow, like he was tasting it, his gaze moving slowly from cold, mud stained feet, up his torso to meet his eyes. “I have waited for this moment for a very long time.”
Ignacio blew the air out of his lungs in a frustrated sigh. “That’s very flattering but I haven’t been in the business that long. Look here, Skrillex, why don’t you just bring your master in here and we can cut to the chase.”
“My master is dead!” The words were hurled so violently at him he felt his muscles flinch in anticipation of their impact. “You!” He swept closer, leaning in languidly, hands moving over the knots at his wrists, toying with the raw edge where rough rope met flesh. The boy’s nails were painted silver and filed to points and he used them now to leave a trail of pink lines up Ignacio’s arms. “You took my love,” he said low, studying his reaction with the dart of his dark eyes. “I lost him and now I have nothing. You made me an orphan and all I ever think about now is making you bleed.”
Ignacio thrashed against the touch, face a mask of disgust. “Get away from me, puta del diablo.”
The kid’s eyes were cold as he regarded him, lips pursed. “I took four years of high school Spanish, you know.” He used his foot to tip the chair back. Ignacio felt the arc of his fall, that sickening weightlessness before his head connected with the floor with a painful crack, the shock radiating down his back.
He let out a grunt and tried to focus on the exposed beams of the ceiling, ignoring the tight feeling in his lungs. “Well translate this you little shit,” he ground out. “Besa mis huevos. I don’t care what you do to me.”
“Tsk now, Ignacio, you should know better than to ask for kisses from me.” He heard footsteps on the concrete as the kid moved closer. Then there was a blur of black in the corner of his eye as a weight settled over his upended lap. The kid stretched like a cat, draping himself over the pinned body beneath him, inky hair swinging loose, tickling his cheek.
Cool fingers traced Ignacio’s jawline, metallic nails biting right below his ear, leaving little stinging indentations that made his eyes flutter rapidly. “Do you suppose hunter blood tastes different?” Ignacio looked away with an involuntary shiver, horrified and helpless against whatever was about to happen. He swallowed tightly, his heart beating hard in his chest, cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. “I bet it does. Do you know what vampire blood tastes like? Have you ever had it before? You’ve certainly had ample opportunity to take a little taste from what I’ve heard.”
He grit his teeth, face going hot in impotent rage. “I am going to kill you, pendejo. I am going to rip that ridiculous hipster head from your skinny little shoulders, if I have to do it with my bare hands, if its the last thing I ever do.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” The kid caught a hand in Ignacio’s hair and yanked hard, forcing his head up, exposing the golden skin of his throat. “You make an interesting point though. I was going to say that our blood tastes like sacrifice, sweet as altars. How much death has sunk into your bones, boy-o? What has that done for your seasoning hmm? Shall I take a little peek?”
“Don’t.” It sounded too much like a plea, almost a sob to his ears and didn’t his pride ache at that? But his skin crawled to have this thing on top of him, the corpse coldness of it, this dead boy with the pretty doll face, like a puppet with a monster inside it.
Ice lips touched his skin and he jerked and swore. He had been attack before, but never like this, never held down and forced to passively accept it. “But I’ve worked so hard to find you. Don’t you want to play?” Ignacio’s breath hitched at the sharp pain, sick with the knowledge that he’d been punctured, the sensation of that cold, hungry mouth pressing into him, drawing the life to it in a lewd suck. The feeling became a deep ache, an insistent throb that ran down to the core of him. The boy’s other hand curled against his cheek, soft and relaxed. He bit hard on the inside of his cheek and tasted copper as he willed himself not to scream. Horrible, degrading, his eyes burned as tears slipped from them and rolled down the sides of his face to pool in the shell of his ear. Was it worse for him because he’d grown to trust his own strength, to believe he was the savior and not the victim?
When the boy drew back, he flipped his hair out of his eyes and sighed. The white collar of Ignacio’s t-shirt was stained red. “Not bad,” the kid said flashing a row of pink stained teeth, tongue exploring the corner of his mouth experimentally. “You’re looking kind of green in the gills, though. I hardly took any, you big baby. Don’t tell me this was your first? Because I feel it’s only fair to inform you that I have every intention of licking your intestines clean by the time we’re done here. Better buckle up.”
Ignacio spat. “So this papi of your’s, the one I allegedly killed. That was up in Seattle right? What was that, three years ago?”
“What?” The kid all but sputtered. “Do you mean Maurice? That idiot?”
“Well that was kind of what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to say.”
The boy slapped him hard, his nails cutting Inacio’s cheek. “My master was Jean-Philippe Dubois and you will speak of him with the proper respect.”
