SUMMARY: They had been going on about this topic for a while, Art continuing to insist that the Tashi Duncan, the gorgeous, rich, and insanely talented tennis player, is a vampire.
CW: Explicit language, angst, blood mention, angry sex, semi-public sex, forced masturbation, locker room/ shower sex, emotional art
CHAPTER THREE: CLOSE THE DOOR, LET ME IN
He could still feel the breeze of that night, the feeling of lust and dread lurking in the air. He remembered everything. How couldn’t he? The memory of it has been etched into his brain, engulfing his dreams and keeping him up in the middle of the night while his hand is fisting his cock. It’s been 6 months since the incident and the further away the memory becomes, the more it hurts.
He hasn’t had any contact with Patrick since that day he barged out of the room. The last time Patrick saw him was when he was a weeping mess after an argument, he wished they’d never had. What he’d give to go back and apologized, just to be able to see him again.
6 months of waking up to silence, such an uncomfortable and foreign experience for Art. He’d been sleeping in the same room as Patrick since they were 12, it was second nature to feel his presence in the room. And yes, he should’ve grown out of that feeling by the time he was 18, but he can’t. The unresolved tension and loss of his best friend so suddenly affected him, now he can’t grow up, he feels trapped in that day.
Since starting at Stanford Art has tried to settle into the new environment, connecting with other people and making new friends while focusing on his tennis. And he knows she’s here. He’s seen her around, seeing her turn a corner but never catching her reflection anywhere, never seeing her in celebratory photos on campus. And he knows exactly why that is.
Tashi Duncan is a vampire.
He knows he’s right; after seeing her sharp teeth dig into Patrick’s neck and suck the life out of him it confirmed all of his suspicions in entirety.
And now he has to live on with this knowledge, never knowing if he will ever confront it. Not knowing if Patrick is even alive. Until now.
On a late Friday night after an exhausting match Art sat on his bed looking through popular matches on his laptop, he never usually watches tennis matches by himself as being surrounded by tennis all day every day does get to him, but something in him felt the need to check out what players there are. He scrolled until his eyes fell upon that all too familiar smirk that laid upon skin so pale it shocked him. Patrick was alive. Maybe not alive considering how dead he looked, but a weight lifted off of Art’s shoulders when finally seeing Patrick after half a year on not being able to look at him.
He clicked on the video and watched through the match. Patrick’s movements were sharper and faster than they used to be. The way he fanned his breath seemed… fake? The sun wore him out more than usual as well. But everything else was so familiar, his harsh grunts when he hit the ball that went straight to Art’s dick.
Art’s hand traveled down his body slowly, feeling along the line of his shorts before pushing his hand underneath to grope himself. A sigh fell from his lips in time with Patrick’s groans. They were always in sync with everything, even far apart they were able to find their rhythm. Art’s eyes were fixated on the movement of Patrick’s arms and legs; the way his thighs jiggled when he ran to the ball, the way his arm flexed to hit it, the hair that stuck to his limbs that travelled up underneath his shorts.
After a few slow strokes Art pulled down his shorts and boxers, letting his dick slip out. The night air breezing through the open window sent shivers down his spine. He missed Patrick so much. He missed hearing his short breaths from the other side of the room when he got off. The muffled groans and the way his voice would pitch up before he came. He missed watching him.
He gripped the base of his cock—red and weeping all from the sight of Patrick playing—and began to slide his hand up his shaft. He circled his tip, collecting precum to smear down. His eyes never left the screen, every time the camera would change, his eyes would immediately be drawn to the pale and hot figure desperately fighting for the ball.
“Mmph Pat… miss you hhhhh….” Art groan, hips bucking up into his touch.
The camera came to a close up shot of Patrick, the sweat dripping from his face seemed almost excessive and yet he wanted to drink it up. And his eyes… they seemed to have a hint of red? He never had red eyes before. His lips formed into his signature smirk. He wanted to kiss them; he wanted to fulfill the moment he left hanging on that day.
He worked his hand faster, unable to muffle the noises coming from his mouth. His mind wandered from the Patrick he saw on the screen to the Patrick in his mind. He thought of Patrick guiding him through the moment, he could practically hear him moaning his name.
He was close, and the voice sounded close too. Now practically fucking into his hand, Art threw his head back to groan when he saw her.
Tashi stood at his open window catching him off guard.
“Jesus Christ!” Art jumped, laptop falling off the bed and hands covering himself.
Tashi pulled herself up through his window, sitting on the frame and letting her legs dangle inside. “You know I think it’s a bad idea to have your window open.”
“What are you doing here?” Art sat up, pulling his boxers up to make himself decent.
“I wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry if I interrupted anything.” A slight smirk lifted onto her lips. “I know you want to talk to me, I’ve seen you moping around like a lost puppy.” Tashi stood up from the window, towering over Art. The moonlight hit her face just right to shine the red from her eyes. “What do you know about me?”
Art looked up at her, heart pounding in his chest from the thrill of it all. He knew the answer, but he couldn’t get himself to conjure up the words in front of her. She knelt down to his level; lips close to his ear. “Go on, say it. You said it to Patrick, why can’t you say it to me?” she whispered.
“Tashi…” He whined. His cock strained in his boxers as the sound of Patrick’s grunts from the laptop that laid on the floor mixing with Tashi’s soft voice made his boxers soak with his precum.
She sat down on the empty space next to Art, brushing his golden locks away from the side of his face. “Do you want me to help you out?” Art hesitantly nodded. She placed her hand on his wrist, guiding it towards his crotch as she grazed her teeth along the junction of his neck, making sure to poke her fangs firmly against his soft skin. He lolled his head back allowing more room for her cold breath as he snaked his hand back under his boxers.
“Are you scared of me Art?” She moved her head to look him in the eyes.
“Then why are you hiding under your clothes still?” Her voice was firm. Following her direction, he eased his cock back out, feeling exposed with her eyes drilling into him. “God you’re so wet Art. Can you go slow for me?” His hand slowly stroked his length, his eyes never leaving hers. “Good boy.” She smiled. Art’s breath shuttered at the praise. His eyes fell down to her mouth, visible fangs poking out, on display for him to acknowledge.
“Do you like them? Do you know what they are Art?” She pushed him to say the words, she knew she could get him to give in.
“F-fangs.” He gripped the base of his cock, feeling his orgasm building too fast.
“Ah-ah don’t stop.” She demanded. The whine Art let out was almost enough to make Tashi give in herself. As Art continued, she tilted her head down to his jaw to kiss it when he asked, “Where is he?” which brought her back to his eyelevel. “I think you know where he is.” Tashi leant over the bed to pick up the laptop that was still playing Patrick’s match.
“He’s improved so much don’t you think?” She sat the laptop on her thighs, screen facing Art so he could see Patrick’s perfect form again. “I’ve been teaching him, maybe I could teach you.”
“You made him like you.” His eyes were planted on the screen.
“And what am I Art?” She bit the lobe of his ear.
“A vampire…” Her chuckle sounded all through Art’s body.
“Mhm… You enjoyed that night, didn’t you? Watching from the bushes, jerking yourself off to me fucking him and turning him into a vampire like a pervert.” He moaned, picking up the pace. His face flushed red at the thought, he knew he had been caught, but being confronted by it made his stomach flip.
The sounds of Patrick groaning continued from the laptop, “He sounds just like that when he’s getting fucked. You know, I think he wants to stay with me.” Tashi teased. She tried to fuel his anger; she wanted him to break. “He likes it, he likes when I tell him how pathetic he is, and how much better he could be when I’ve got his dick in my hand.” Art shivered at the thought.
“Do you think about that Art? His thick veiny cock, all red and leaking?” He does. He thinks of it every night, how heavy it would be in his mouth, he can see the outline of it through his shorts when he moves to hit the ball.
“I don’t let him wear his boxers anymore.” She whispered, like she could read his mind. Art hips jutted up, his balls tightened as he could feel his orgasm almost overtake him.
“He’s all mine now…” She licked the shell of his ear and that brought him over the edge. He came fast, white spurts of come falling on his shirt as he rode out his high and whining with his head thrown back.
“God, you made a mess Art. You’re just like him.” She stood up from the bed, leaving him in his mess. She made her way back to the window to leave before stating, “Never tell anybody about this.” And left into the night.
Art was panting, many emotions ran through him after what he had experienced. Tashi Duncan had come into his room, admitting that she was a vampire, and that he really would never see his Patrick again. Why? Why is this happening to him?
He looked over at his laptop to see the match had ended, the thumbnail of Patrick’s face planted on the screen almost staring through his soul. He closed it and sat up to clean himself off with tissues. The night felt empty now that Tashi left, he had so many questions that he wanted to ask her. He wanted to know more about vampires, how she came here, why she turned Patrick into one? As he got up to shower and wash away all the evidence his mind kept replaying that night, but not in the usual lustful way, but in a mournful way. He heard Patrick’s yelp when she bit into him, the life draining from his body and how he ran off after that because he couldn’t bring himself to keep watching.
His head landed on the shower wall, looking down at the water washing down the drain, along with blood mixing in with it- …blood? Art shook his head, taken aback by his vision but quickly came back to reality. He really needed to sleep this off and leave everything in the past. He knew he wasn’t getting Patrick back, and he wouldn’t know how to talk to Tashi again.
After drying off he laid back down on his bed, the crevice of where Tashi sat was still there. He brushed his hand over the sheets. There was no warmth, but her scent was still there, sweet but bitter. He let his eyes fall shut and sleep take over him, falling into a dream of Patrick and Tashi far away. Every time he looked at Patrick, his heart filled with rage. He hated him. He fucking hated him for leaving. Teasing him with a happy life while Art was left behind to nothing.
He awoke the next morning in a pool of anger. His breath shuttered as he wiped his face, feeling the cool drops of tears dripping down his cheeks. He had never been so emotionally affected by a dream, but something about this one in particular really stung him deeply.
With his heart pounding in anger, he got himself out of bed and dressed for the day. He had some practice to do with a couple of his classmates and thought that would be the best thing to get his mind off of everything. He loved tennis. He loved it more with Patrick though, how in sync they were, how they understood each other’s bodies and language. No, he needs to move past that. With his tennis bag over his shoulder and his sneakers tied up, he put on his red cap and made his way out the door and down to the tennis court.
He played a couple of sets with his classmates, focusing on his serve when he was interrupted by an all-too familiar voice.
“C’mon Donaldson, big serve!”
It stung his ears. He didn’t turn around to face him, instead he stood there feeling the anger wash back over him while continuing to serve the ball. He hit it across the court in a sharp swing, almost deadly.
“That’s right baby show that mother fucker who’s boss!”
He still didn’t react to him; he could hear his feet patting closer behind.
“C’mon Art, aren’t you excited to see me?” Another sharp swing at the ball.
“Art it’s me.” He was so close to him, Art couldn’t feel his body heat, but he could feel his cold presence against his back. He turned around to face him, blue eyes meeting those red ones.
“Get the fuck away from me.” He whispered. Patrick’s face contorted in confusion.
“What?” He laughed like it was some sort of joke. But he spat those words again.
“Get the fuck way from me Patrick.” He hit the ball with more fury. Patrick backed away, not having seen this side of Art before. He had never been this mad at him, perhaps he’s still hung up on the argument from that day? Patrick thought. He gave him space, letting him finish his class.
By the end of it, Art looked around while packing away his equipment, seeing that Patrick had left, and headed towards the locker room to shower. He turned the corner and set his bag down on the wooden bench, taking off his shirt when he heard it again.
“Art.” Patrick stood at the entrance of the locker room. Art set his sweaty shirt on the bench and looked at Patrick. His pasty skin gleamed against the locker room lights. His hair was darker, and the curls were more prominent. “Can we talk?”
Art didn’t respond, instead he headed towards the shower and turned it on, pulling his tennis shorts off and walking under the water. Patrick stared at his back, sweat mixing with water that dripped over the muscles and down the curve of his ass.
“Please. I’m sorry I left you; I really didn’t mean for it to happen; it was all so fast.” Patrick pleaded. Still no response. “Art talk to me, you can’t ignore me.” He walked over to the shower, standing in the way of the open curtain and trapping Art in. He finally turned around and acknowledged him. “What do you want me to say Patrick? Thank you for coming back after abandoning me! I’m so happy for your career that wouldn’t’ve happened if it weren’t for Tashi turning you into a fucking monster?” Art spat. Patrick frowned, he felt like he had been staked in the heart. “You think I’m a monster?” He could hear the pain in Patrick’s voice. Art stood, realizing the meaning of his words.
“N-no, it’s just. You can’t leave me and then just decide to come back into my life like nothing ever happened.” He took a step forward, water just spraying on his back. “I’m trying to apologize to you Art, it’s not my fault!”
“It is actually. It’s all your fault; you’re the reason you’re with Tashi.” Patrick looked deep into his thoughts. “Are you still hung up about the match? Jesus Christ you’re pathetic. I’m sorry you’re a shitty player and that Tashi actually likes me. And you probably think she didn’t tell me about last night.” A blush creeped up Art’s neck. Patrick took one step forward, lips leveled with Art’s, and eyes switching between them and his eyes. “You think she didn’t tell me how pathetic you actually are? How she made you jerk off to the thought of me? I think you do miss me Art.” His tongue darted out through his fangs. Art wanted to rip his tongue out of his stupid mouth, but he also wanted to feel it against his own.
He felt so bare, standing stark naked in front of a fully clothed Patrick who was sizing him up. Art fell forward, smashing his lips against Patrick’s cold ones. It felt relieving, feeling the smooth wetness of his lips, tongue swiping across and fighting his own for dominance. Patrick snaked a hand into Art’s wet hair and tugged it, pulling him back into the water and letting his back hit the tiled wall. He lifted his leg, feeling Art’s cock quickly fill out and letting him grin against his thigh. The feeling of the warm water seeping into his jeans felt uncomfortable, but that was overpowered by Art’s rutting and small yet aggressive moans. He sounded like he wanted to eat him. Art’s hands found their way up under Patrick’s shirt, feeling the tense muscles contracted like his touch was painful. He pulled his shirt off, breaking away from the kiss and looked him in the eyes, pupils blown and surrounded by red. “I fucking hate you for leaving.” Art admitted. His hands came down to pull off the wet jeans and groping him through his boxers.
His imagination stood its ground. He could feel the weight of his length beneath the fabric, long and thick as it twitched against his palm. Patrick groaned at the contact, “You’re so fucking stupid. Calling me a fucking monster when you’re acting like a whore for me.” He kicked all of his clothes off and dove back into Art’s lips, hungrier than ever for him. He could feel Art’s hot breath against his lips as he panted, and the air escaping his nostrils. He missed life and the feeling of human warmth. Patrick wanted to consume Art right then and there, he wanted his own red eyes to stare hard into his blue ones till they mixed into the perfect lilac.
He brought his fingers up to Art’s mouth and let him lick them, sucking them in like Art was the vampire. He groaned around his digits, his warm tongue circling them as his eyes fell shut and his hips grinded against Patrick’s wet thigh again. Art looked angelic to him, like a fallen angel. He couldn’t believe that he left this behind. “I missed you too.” He retracted his fingers from his mouth, capturing them again. The kiss was slow and more delicate, trying to soak up all the years they had missed, repressing themselves from their love. Patrick let his hand travel down to Art’s ass, cupping his perfect cheeks and pulling them to circle his spit-covered fingers around his hole. Arts breath hitched at the feeling, then he moaned at the intrusion. He was warm inside, fingers pumping in and out slowly.
“You always think about me when you’re touching yourself?” Patrick felt powerful, Art completely pliant under him, until he spat back at him. “You always jerk off to the thought of me, even—ngh—even before you left.” Instead of backing down, Patrick took this as a challenge. “Mhm, always thought about filling your perfect ass up with my come, watching you squirm under me like you are now.”
Art threw his head back, exposing his neck. Patrick’s eyes fell upon the smooth skin open for him. He brought his head down and licked a stripe up the side, hitting a sensitive spot and making Art squeal. He ground down on Patrick’s fingers inside him, making Patrick curl them up and hitting the soft spot inside of him. “Goddddd Pat… fuck need you.”
Patrick smiled at his desperation. He slid his fingers out, Art missing the fullness and Patrick missing the warmth, and sharply spun him around to face the wall. His hand came down with a firm smack against his cheek, watching the way the water bounced off his skin. He spat into his hand and slicked his dick up with it, along with the water from the shower.
“Do you hate what I’ve turned into?” Patrick whispered into his ear. “Or does it turn you on more than ever?” Art’s mouth hung open as he felt Patrick tease his tip against his entrance.
“I- I fucking hate you.” He moaned as Patrick pressed inside, the burn of his cock inside him felt so right. “Fuck you’re tight Donaldson; you were made just for me.” He pushed in till he bottomed out, cockwarming as he mouthed at Art’s neck. “Do it, turn me into one of you.” Art challenged him. Patrick slid out and punched back inside him, setting a rhythm as he pumped his cock out of his tight ass. Patrick’s hands trailed up the front of Art, hands gripping his chest. Art’s hands came up to meet his as he fucked himself back on Patrick.
“Take my blood Patrick.” He wanted to sink his fangs into the junction, but something within him couldn’t do it. The feeling of a living being engulfed him. Not only did he love the warmth of a human being, and the feeling of a heart throbbing inside of a chest, or the warm breath that fanned against his face, but he felt like it wasn’t an act of love to do something like that to Art. Killing someone he loved wasn’t an act of love in any way.
“Fuck, do it, please.” Art’s movements became more sporadic. He brought one of Patrick’s hands down to his untouched cock, feeling the warm throb of it as he leaked precum against the wall.
“Mmph, no. I can’t” He grabbed his cock and stroked him in time with his thrusts. Art felt so full of Patrick, hitting his sensitive prostate as he thumbed over his tip. He was consumed by pleasure.
“Please.” Art brought his hand up into Patrick’s curls and pushed his head down to his neck. “Take me.” Both of their orgasms were building up fast. Patrick’s mouth opened at the feeling of Art pulsing around him. Both of them were filled with anger and pleasure as they tried to dominate each other’s power. Patrick sinks his teeth into his neck, but not enough to draw any blood. The prettiest noise escapes Art’s lips as he feels the sharp pain. Patrick ruts in and hits the spot just right, making Art come all over the wall. His legs shake in pleasure, feeling Patrick following behind and spilling inside of him.
As Art comes down from his high all he can hear whispered into his ear is “I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” As Patrick grinds into him, letting the last of his high ride out. He slips his dick out, seeing white drops fall from Art’s red and abused hole. Art brought his hand up to his neck, he could feel the teeth marks there, but when he saw his hand and no visible blood, he looked up at Patrick—anger seething through him—and slapped him across the face.
Patrick was shocked. Never in his lifetime did he ever expect Art to slap anybody.
“Get the fuck out.” Art huffed out.
“Art. I- I can’t do it. You can’t make me do something like that to you.”
“Get out!” He pushed Patrick out of the shower, making him fall backwards onto the cold ground. “Why can’t you take me?!” He shouted.
“You called me a fucking monster and now you want me to turn you into one? I don’t get you Art!” He stood up from the ground.
“Just go back to her! Go be happy with her!” Art grabbed Patrick’s wet clothes and threw them at him. Patrick could see the tears prickle back into Art’s eyes. He felt déjà vu of the last time he had saw him and didn’t want it to repeat. But what choice did he have? He was physically pushing him out this time. He slid back into his clothes as he saw Art dry off from the other side of the room, weeping into his towel. Instead of leaving like last time, he timidly walked over to him and wrapped his arms around him. Art let out a sob that had seemed to be trapped inside him for months.
“I’m sorry Art.” Patrick said, he rested his face against Art’s blonde curls. The scent of Art consumed his nose. Art looked up, his eyes glossed over with tears and the most pathetic look somebody could have. Patrick cupped his cheek and brushed a tear away.
“I have to go.” He whispered, pushing Art out of his arms and stalked out of the locker rooms. Art stood there, bare and weak. He felt purposeless in his life. He had the ticket to a life he truly needed in his grasp but let it slip away all because of his temper.
He sat down on the bench with a towel wrapped around his waist and let his thoughts run wild. Why does he always ruin everything? Why can’t he just be with them? He wanted to chase after Patrick and beg him to stay, beg him to bring Tashi into his life, but he would be long gone by now.
And now he has to sit and revel in an afterlife he is missing, with a love he may never have again.
