::waves:: Hi y'all! For those of you who don't know me, my name is DC Juris. I've been a published author of GLBTQ romance since 2009. You can find me on Facebook.
For my part in the Rainbow Advent Calendar, I have a little offering featuring my two vampire characters, Serge and Bryan. Unfortunately, their first story, "Serge's Gift," is no longer available, but you don't really need to know anything other than Serge is an ancient vampire who turned his human friend Bryan, and they're together. This story is a snapshot of their first Christmas together.
To sweeten the holiday pot, I've got an offer for you. Throughout the month of December, do a random act of kindness for someone. It can be anything - a small gesture, a large gesture, either one. Then leave a comment on this post, including your e-mail, and I'll send you a free copy of "Serge's Gift."
"The Only Star"
I wasn't expecting this. When
you're mated to a vampire, things like Christmas seem a little trivial. But
here Serge stands, in the living room of our apartment, grinning from ear to ear in front of a fully decorated,
must-be-over-seven-feet-tall-and-three-around twinkling tree. Beneath the tree is a veritable mound of presents of all shapes and
sizes, wrapped in bright colored paper, complete with large gold bows on top of
each one, all bearing tags with my name.
I cross the room to him,
unable to suppress my own grin. "What's all this?"
"It's Christmas."
He says it so simply, so dryly, belying to jovial look on his face. "Did
you think I would let you miss Christmas?"
I shrug. Christmas is a thing
I don't need anymore, I figure. A thing of my human past, not my vampire
future.
Serge arches an eyebrow and
cocks his head to the side in that way of his. "So now you are a
bloodsucker, tradition means nothing?" His eyebrows knit together, and I
get the impression he's seriously
upset that I haven't reacted the way he wanted me to.
And now I remember what he's
told me of his past, his human family, and the vampire ones that followed, all
of them connected to some historical event or place, all of them sticklers for
rules and traditions. "Of course not." I shake my head.
"Tradition is always important."
That eyebrow arches higher
though, and he stares down his nose at me for a moment. "Hmm." Is all
he says, and I wonder if I've just made a huge mistake.
Serge shrugs. "In any
event." He looks back to the tree. "It has been a long time since I
have had a Christmas tree. A very long time, indeed," he whispers.
Now I get
it. The tree isn't so much for me, but him, yet Serge will never admit such.
He's an old vampire—a powerful one—filthy rich; able to buy anything he'd
ever want. What need does he have of human nonsense like Christmas trees and
presents? Better to hide that desire behind a gesture meant supposedly for me.
He stands there mutely,
gazing at the tree, clenching and unclenching his hands, like he's trying to
keep himself from reaching out and touching it. I look closer at the tree. Most
of these ornaments look very old; some of them must be as old as…Oh. I really, really get it now.
I move toward the tree. There
are several stars, which appear to have been fashioned out of twigs. A child's
project, perhaps? I imagine a smaller version of Serge winding twine around the
wood and beaming with pride at his creation. Near the top of the tree hangs a
ceramic horse, its chipped and faded paint telling its age. I reach out and run
my finger over a delicate glass "old world" Santa. I hear Serge's
sharp intake of breath as my flesh makes contact with the glass. He steps
closer and reaches out just a little, almost nervously. "I'll be careful,"
I assure him.
"Of course you will. I know
that." Serge drops his hand with a self-depreciating snort.
"Were these yours, as a
child?"
He swallows hard and nods.
"Most belonged to my mother, and hers before her."
I point to one of the stars.
"And who made these?"
"I did. I was
seven." He ducks his head, and I swear if a vampire could blush, Serge
would be beet red at the moment.
"They're very
nice."
He shrugs. "They are only
stars. Nothing more."
"They're a lot more. Aren't they?" I step
close to him and lay my hands on his hips. There's an unspoken rule between
us—Serge makes the first move, Serge controls our intimacy—and he bristles a
little at the fact I've taken such initiative. But he doesn't move away,
doesn't push my hands aside. He leans in and teases my lips with his.
"They are only
stars." Serge straightens and raises a hand to touch my hair reverently.
"From a life that no longer exists."
"I'd like to hear about
it." I lean into him, press my forehead to his chin.
The rumble of Serge's chuckle
resonates deep in his chest. "You'd be bored out of your mind, I'm
afraid."
"Nothing about you is
boring, my love." I wrap my arms around his neck and smile sweetly.
"Please?"
He glances past me to the
tree and heaves a sigh. "I suppose I brought this on myself, didn't
I?" The question seems snide but there's a light in his eyes—a glimmer of
excitement despite his words. He wants me to ask, he wants to tell me.
I glance at the enormous
tree. "Well, you are the one who
cut down an ancient redwood and dragged it into our house."
"It's not a
redwood," he corrects dryly. "It's a balsam fir. Abies balsamea, to be technical."
I shiver against him. "I
love it when you speak Latin."
He laughs in earnest.
"You love it when I speak anything."
Serge steps back and spins me around toward the blood bar in the corner.
"If you intend me to speak of such things, I will need sustenance."
I walk over to the bar, open
the chiller and pull out the first bottle my hand finds. I uncork it, and start
to pour the thick, scarlet liquid into two glasses. Serge appears behind
me—I'm still not used to that speedy movement thing—and wraps his arms around
my waist.
"Sie
sind der einzige Stern, den ich jetzt benötige," he whispers against
my ear, then slides from me and goes to the other side of the room. He flounces
down on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree.
"That's not Latin," I murmur. German, if
I recall my high school studies correctly.
"No." Serge gives no other answer.
I join him on the couch and he reaches for his
glass but I pull it back and raise an eyebrow. "What'd you say?"
He surges forward, grabbing both the glasses from
me before I can react. In the next moment he straddles me, has my wrists pinned
above my head in one of his hands. Serge kisses me thoroughly, curling my toes
with the passion of it.
"I said you are the only star I need now."
The wave of emotion that passes between us is
something electric. I've always been attracted to Serge; have loved him for a
while. But this… I've never felt the vampire bond between us quite so strongly. Suddenly
a history lesson is at the absolute bottom of my wish list. I tilt my hips up,
press against him. Offering. Demanding.
He takes the invitation, nips at my bottom lip with
his teeth as he slides a hand down between us. "It's true, you know."
"What's that?" I gasp as his fingers wrap
around my cock and begin to slowly stroke up and down.
"That you are a star. You shine brightly, my
love. Even now, cursed as you are." Serge licks a stripe up my neck.
"Not…cursed…" I thrust up into his hand.
His flesh is cool, like mine, but when he touches me like this, I'd swear I'm
in the middle of an inferno. He tightens his grip, precum slicking the way.
"Oh, but you are cursed. And so am I." He
nibbles at my throat, just over my jugular, draws a razor sharp fang along my
skin.
The sensation goes all the way to my cock. I don't
care if I'm cursed if it means being here with him like this, with the scent of
him, the feel of him, the weight of him holding me down. I want him in every
way possible. Forever. I buck up against him, wrap my hand around the back of
his neck. "Drink."
He snarls and sinks his fangs in instantly. He's
gentle, oh, so gentle, sucking delicately, slowly, in time with the movement of
his hand on my cock. It's too much. It's not enough.
I pull him down against me hard, wrap my legs
around him and hook my ankles. I can feel the blood leaving me, flowing past
his lips in a steady stream—it's like a thousand little orgasms. It leaves me
dizzy and breathless, desperate for more. The bond between us sings and
expands, ricocheting Serge's own pleasure back to me.
He raises his head, blood trickling from the corner
of his mouth, and captures my lips in a demanding, deep kiss. I surrender to
it, to the plundering of his tongue, to taste of myself, to the knowledge that
this act between us is perfect and precious.
I'm close, so close. I rut up into his hand and
cling to him, lost in a sea of sensation. It's still too much. It's still not
enough. I fear it will go on for eternity. I fear it will end too soon. My body
tenses, reaching, reaching. I want to demand my release. I want to beg him for
it. But I can't form words. All I can do is feel and trust that he knows the
way.
Orgasm hits in a staggering moment of intensity, as
always. When we share blood, we share everything. Serge moans into my mouth as
my release spills over his hand. His body goes rigid and I'm hit with another
wave of pleasure. I ride it out, tumbling and falling free into the abyss of
our bond.
It's minutes or an hours before I come back to
myself. Serge hasn't moved but to press his forehead against my shoulder. I
lift a hand an thread my fingers through his hair. "You shine brightly
too, you know," I whisper.
He chuckles and shifts to look down at me. "I
am but a flicker of yellow against the brilliant white of your backdrop."
It's not true. I want to argue with him, tell him
he's wrong. But something in his tone stops me. I kiss his lips and wrap my arms
around his neck. "Will you tell me of your Christmases?"
"Perhaps later. I have other plans for the
evening."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Do tell?"
He untangles us and stands, holds his hand out to
me. "I plan to wine you and dine you tonight, such as I can."
"And then?" Because with Serge, there is
always an and then.
"And then, my star, I plan to bring you home
and make love to you on the rooftop, under the stars. If you are amenable, of
course."
"I suppose I could be persuaded."
He chuckles and heads for the bedroom to change. I
sit for a moment, simply staring at the tree. I may never know about the
Christmases that came before, but I believe I can make the Christmases to come
ones he hopes never to forget.
Copyright
© 2017 DC Juris
All rights reserved. This is a work
of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual
persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion
of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means,
without permission in writing from the author.
