The prompt that I used for Avery’s flash fiction is “What kind of blood do you have, I think you’re my type.” I hope that you enjoy the below story. It is the first chapter in what will be either a short story or novella. Happy reading!
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Bad Blood by Avery Dawes
Judd rolled over, kicking at the twisted bed sheets as his head pounded to the beat of the school’s drum line.
A groan escaped his cotton-filled mouth while he rubbed at his eyes, trying to recall what he’d done last night that left him feeling like he’d endured one too many spin cycles in the washer.
Think, Judd, think. Blow the lint out of whatever brain cells you have left.
Slowly, details of last night’s escapade came to him. Yesterday was Friday, the last day of the spring semester. Once he and his friends had completed their final exams, they headed out to Starry Nightz, the local gay club – a club that was conveniently in walking distance to Judd’s tiny studio apartment.
As he stretched – finally free of the sheets – a wave of pain of hit him. A wave that originated from his ass. Despite feeling like shit, a satisfied smile formed on his chapped lips.
That’s right, Judd. Copious amounts of hot, sweaty sex with an amazing top, who had all kinds of stamina and . . .
Judd nearly face-planted into the stained carpet when he tried to sprint to the bathroom. That hottie – Victor – had been a vampire. Forcing his bloodshot eyes to focus on his image in the mirror, Judd poked and prodded at his eye teeth. A wave of relief hit him when he realized they were still normal – not extra-long and pointy.
Vampires had recently announced their existence to the public, but they’d been pretty vague on the particulars . . . other than the fact that they do exist on human blood. They did stress over and over that they don’t have to drain a human dry to survive. The initial panic at their announcement had been replaced with curiosity and to some, fascination.
Judd wasn’t a vampire groupie, but damn, that sex was the best he’d ever had. When Victor had sunk those fangs into Judd’s groin – the high he felt was indescribable. And once Victor’s knuckle had brushed his hole, he’d shot all over himself in one hell of a powerful orgasm.
Back to the here and now, Judd. Don’t torture yourself recounting the night’s passion when your dick won’t be rising anytime soon. He slipped on a pair of boxer shorts to spare his dick any further humiliation, splashed some water on his face, and headed for the kitchen to make coffee. Chuckling as he walked, he recalled that the night’s encounter had started with the cheesiest pick-up line ever.
Victor’s fifty-year-old scotch-smooth voice had breathed into his ear, asking, “What kind of blood do you have, I think you’re my type.”
Normally, Judd wouldn’t have fallen for such a pathetic line, but after three – or was it four? – umbrella drinks on an empty stomach, he was game for whatever the dark-eyed, spiky-haired hottie had in mind.
Yeah. You certainly let him have his way with you. Judd absently rubbed his ass as he waited for the coffeemaker. They hadn’t discussed hooking up again, but Judd would be willing to bottom for the guy again . . . once his ass recovered from last night’s pounding, of course.
Message for you, sir sounded from somewhere in the living room. Judd sorted through the pieces of his clubbing outfit, which was strewn over the couch and floor. Finally – success.
The phone’s battery light flashed red. Judd hurried to check the text before the phone died since he had no clue where the charger was.
The message was from Noah, the member of their group who stuck to Coke all night. Not rum and Coke, just Coke. Hey just wanted 2 make sure ur ok.
A second message quickly followed that one. How was sex with the vamp? Ud better spill. I want details.
Judd merely shook his head and then grimaced when it felt like his brain ping-ponged off the sides of his skull. Bad idea, dumbass. You’re hung over, remember? Noah was a great friend, but he was scared of his own shadow. The guy would never pick-up a dude in a bar. He would need the guy’s medical history, criminal record, and blood work before engaging in French kissing.
He was just about to toss the phone back on the couch and retrieve his coffee when Abba’s Dancing Queen blared from the speaker. First Noah and now Aaron. Wonder what he wants?
Judd cleared his throat and answered, “Hey man” as he walked back into the kitchen.
“What was the name of that vamp you hooked up with?” Aaron sounded out of breath, almost panicked.
“Well good morning to you, too.” Smiling, Judd continued, “Victor, why?”
When Aaron didn’t answer right away, Judd asked, his voice serious, “Why, Aaron? What’s going on?”
Aaron spilled, his words nearly running together. “It’s all over the news. The Paranormal Police Force just arrested Victor. He’s charged with killing several sorority girls – all of them sucked dry.”
Judd’s jaw dropped as the rest of him stood frozen in shock. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered on the linoleum floor. What kind of monster did I invite into my home last night?
No way could Aaron be right. He had to be mistaken. There had to be more than one vampire named Victor. Surely “his” Victor had better control of his thirst and wouldn’t have killed those girls. He had no problem staying in control last night when sampling my blood. In fact, he had described it as having a rich velvety taste that lingered pleasantly on his palate.
Only one way to find out. Judd quickly pushed several papers aside and uncovered his tablet. Navigating to his favorite news site revealed a photo of “his” Victor below the headline: “Vampire Arrested; Charged with 8 Counts of Homicide.”
Shit, shit, shit! So it was true. Judd, what the hell did you get yourself into?
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