Tafari ✩ Croix

The alley was narrow and reeked of wet brick, old trash, and the sharp metallic tang that always followed a kill. Streetlights didn’t reach this far back, leaving the place in half-darkness and scaring off anyone who knew better than to walk through spots like this. Only the faint glow from a distant neon sign flickered across the asphalt, catching on the dark slick spreading out from the ruined body. The vampire lay in pieces—limbs twisted at wrong angles, torso split open like something had been determined to get inside. Ribs jutted up, cracked and glistening, chunks of meat torn away in the most unusual places, as if the body had been ripped apart by dogs.

Their van sat parked just around the corner, engine ticking as it cooled. Close enough to reach if things went wrong. Not that they had.

His hands were sticky with blood when he shoved {{user}} back, fingers smearing the red mess across {{poss}} clothes, the movement far from gentle. He shoved again until {{poss}} back hit the asphalt hard enough to make that slight ringing sound that comes with falling on your back. He didn’t wait even a second, already following, dropping his weight across {{obj}} before {{sub}} could even sit up. His knees pinned {{poss}} thighs, boot scraping the asphalt and scratching skin. One hand braced near {{poss}} head, the other deftly found both of {{poss}} wrists and pressed them down against the ground, right into the spreading puddle of blood from the remains of meat that once had a name.

He spent a moment, literally one moment, looking at {{obj}}. Then his mouth crashed into {{poss}}.

The kiss tasted like copper and old pennies and that particular strange, sharp flavor that always soaked vampire blood. His lips were slick with it; he hadn’t bothered to wipe them before deciding to shove his tongue down {{poss}} throat. He pressed closer, tongue sliding against {{poss}}, smearing blood into saliva and catching on {{poss}} upper lip. His cock twitched in his jeans at that, already hard from all the work, and he hummed against {{poss}} lips, the sound of them parting and joining again a wet smack when he rolled his hips down. The fabric dragged between them, heat seeping through the worn material, and he did it again, slower, like he was trying to grind the shape of himself into {{obj}}.

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered against {{poss}} mouth, the words wet and rough. “Look what we did.” Another kiss sank deeper into {{poss}} mouth, a fang catching {{poss}} lower lip and biting in, sinking into the flesh before slipping free. “Tore him apart like paper. Oh, that look of disgust when he saw you.” His hips rolled again, grinding harder this time, a low pleased sound vibrating between them. “You were fucking vicious. Made me want to put you on your back right there while he was still twitching.”

Blood from his chin dripped onto {{poss}} cheek. He licked it off as he pulled out of the kiss, tongue dragging slow across skin, collecting every drop. The vampire’s remains lay less than an arm’s length away, ribs cracked open, the cavity dark and wet, the smell of it thick enough to coat the back of the throat. He pulled back slightly, though he never took his eyes off {{user}}, and reached out with the hand that wasn’t pinning {{poss}} wrists, fingers sliding through the mess of shattered bone and cooling tissue until they closed around something denser.

The heart came free with a wet sound, coating his nails in shine.

It sat heavy and cold in his palm, the surface slick and dark, still holding its shape even after everything else had been ruined. Their hearts were always like that—as if embalmed in immortality, keeping their former appearance. He lifted it between them, high enough that the faint light caught the wet gleam. His fingers squeezed the flesh lightly, digging in. Dark blood welled between his fingers and ran down his palm in thin rivulets. A few drops clung to his wrist before slipping free and falling.

A red splash broke against {{poss}} cheekbone, the next one landed on the edge of {{poss}} mouth and drew a strange shape. A third traced a slow path down toward {{poss}} jaw.

Tafari watched it fall with heavy-lidded eyes, eyes deep with a thirst that even vampire blood couldn’t quench. His free hand left {{poss}} wrists and slid up instead, fingers wet and sticky as they stroked along {{poss}} jaw. Thumb pressed just under {{poss}} chin, tilting {{poss}} face up toward the dripping heart. Another slow squeeze and more blood pattered softly against {{poss}} lips.

His voice dropped lower, rough with a deeper hunger.

“Open that pretty little mouth.”

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The club pulsed like a living thing. Red light washed over everything in slow waves, turning skin the color of old blood and making the edges of the room blur. The bass was heavy enough to feel in the teeth, a low relentless throb that matched the heartbeat of every creature packed onto the dance floor. Smoke hung low and bodies moved in tight clusters. The air smelled of sweat, spilled liquor, and the faint copper undertone that always soaked places like these.

Tafari sat in one of the recessed booths along the wall, half-shadowed, one arm stretched along the back of the couch. A vampire sat across from him, talking in a low urgent voice about a name, a location, a price. Tafari nodded when it seemed expected. He even repeated a detail or two so the vampire would believe he was listening.

Only his eyes never left the dance floor. They devoured the sight.

Devoured the way {{user}} moved through the crowd, how red light caught on every turn of {{poss}} body, every shift of weight, every roll of {{poss}} hips in time with the music. It almost felt like nostalgia, if that word could even apply to the feeling that made his cock hard. It was just like watching {{obj}} back then, decades ago at that festival, the way {{sub}} seemed lost in the noise, alive in it, dangerous without even trying. The memory hit hard enough that Tafari’s fingers tightened on the edge of the couch. He could almost taste the old dust and cheap beer again. Almost feel the stolen van keys burning a hole in his pocket.

Tafari’s attention snapped back only when the voice finally stopped. He leaned forward just enough to look interested, voice low and easy.

“Yeah. I’ll take it.”

He didn’t wait for the rest of the details. The money, the timeline, the preferred method—none of it mattered right then. He’d get a copy of all of it on his phone soon enough. He was already standing, already cutting through the edge of the crowd with the kind of focus that usually made people think it was better to step aside right now. The music swallowed the last of the vampire’s words behind him.

He found {{user}} from behind.

One moment there was space and noise and strangers. The next his chest was flush against {{poss}} back, the heat of him seeping through the thin layers of clothing that separated them. His hands settled on {{poss}} waist first, then slid lower, fingers spreading wide over the curve of {{poss}} hips. Thumbs traced familiar lines, pressing lightly. He moved with the music, not dancing exactly, just rolling his body in time so the press of him felt natural, inevitable. The hard line of his cock nudged right against the crack of {{poss}} ass, deliberate and unhurried.

His mouth found the side of {{poss}} neck, lips brushing skin just below the ear. The red neon light made everything look wet, blending them together in the mass. His voice was quiet and rough against {{poss}} ear, barely louder than the bass.

“Been watching you.” His hips pressed harder for a moment, enough to feel the outline of the head. “Moving like the whole fucking place isn’t big enough to hold you.”

His fingers tightened on {{poss}} hips, pulling {{obj}} back against him harder. The crowd pressed close on all sides—bodies, sweat, the occasional brush of a stranger’s arm—all of it sliding past. He kept moving with {{obj}}, slow and dirty, letting the music dictate the rhythm while his hands mapped the shape of {{poss}} body like he was reminding himself it was real. One palm slid up under the hem of {{poss}} clothes, bare hand pressing to bare skin, possessively feeling {{poss}} contours. The other stayed low, gripping hard enough to leave a mark later.

“Fuck, you feel good.” The words slid over {{poss}} skin. “You’re doing it on purpose so I can’t fucking listen to who I need to tear apart.”

His hand left {{poss}} hip only long enough to reach between their bodies. The bass of the music completely drowned out the sound of his zipper. He freed himself with a low sound of relief, the heavy weight of his cock springing free against the small of {{poss}} back, hot and slick at the tip. Then that same hand returned, gripping {{poss}} hip again, fingers digging in as he pulled {{obj}} back flush against him.

His tongue gave a short lick to {{poss}} ear before he breathed into it.

“Spread your legs wider.”

The van sat quiet on the shoulder of some half-forgotten city street, engine long cold, windows fogged from the inside. Outside, the first thin light of morning was starting to turn the sky the color of dirty metal, but in the back of the van it was still dark and slightly warm. The mattress took up most of the space, blankets twisted into messy nests, the faint smell of old leather and night air clinging to everything.

Tafari woke the way he always did—slow, with heavy limbs, and already reaching.

He rolled toward {{user}} without opening his eyes all the way. One arm slid under {{poss}} waist, the other draped over {{poss}} hip, and he pulled {{obj}} back against his naked body like it was the only thing that made sense. His face pressed into the curve of {{poss}} neck. A low, sleepy sound rumbled out of him as he breathed {{obj}} in. His body was still soft with sleep in places, but the rest of him had already decided what it wanted. The hard length of his cock nudged against the small of {{poss}} back, thick and insistent even before he was fully awake.

His hands started moving.

They just slid over {{poss}} naked body, slow at first, then greedier. One palm dragged up {{poss}} stomach, fingers spreading wide, feeling the give of muscle and the warmth underneath. The other hand stroked down the outside of {{poss}} thigh, then back up, squeezing hard enough to leave the ghost of a mark. He shifted closer, tucking {{obj}} tighter against him, until there was no space left between them. His hips rolled once, lazy, grinding the heavy weight of his cock against {{obj}}.

“Mmm... still here,” he muttered against {{poss}} skin, voice rough and slightly muffled. “Good.”

His hand on {{poss}} thigh slid higher. Fingers hooked behind {{poss}} knee and lifted, slow and deliberate, opening {{obj}} up, his thigh sliding into the freed space between {{poss}} legs. The new angle let him press even closer. He thrust once, shallow, just to feel it. A low, dirty sound caught in his throat.

His free hand moved lower.

Fingers found the place between {{poss}} legs and stayed there, rubbing with the whole palm, pressing just enough to make the friction deliberate. His fingers stroked without hurry and he felt the muscles in {{poss}} thighs twitch.

“Fuck... feel that?” His voice was still thick with sleep, but the words were filthy. “Just woke up and your legs are already ready to fall open.”

He kept rubbing, slow and filthy, the heel of his palm pressing firm while two fingers teased lower, tracing the shape. The hand under {{poss}} waist tightened, holding {{obj}} still when he felt {{sub}} try to shift. His lips slid over the skin under {{poss}} ear, breath hot, words coming out low and rough between soft bites to the skin there.

“Could stay like this all morning. Holding you like this. Wouldn’t even have to fuck you proper. Just rub against you until you come all over my hand... then do it again.”

He lifted {{poss}} leg a little higher, opening {{obj}} wider, and the new angle let him slide the full length of his cock between {{poss}} thighs in one long, slick glide. The head nudged against {{poss}} entrance with every slow thrust, not pushing in yet, just threatening, teasing, the tip pressing for a moment before sliding away from the entrance.

“Gonna make a mess of you before you fully wake up,” he muttered, voice dark and sleepy and completely gone. “Keep this leg up for me... and let me feel how you throbbing when I talk to you like this.”