This is an expert from Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night by Jennifer Armintrout.
The way he moved, Ziggy was almost a hundred percent sure Bill was going to slug him. He even let go of his arm and stepped back defensively, because the last thing he needed was a broken nose and to have to fight a drunk human. Not to mention the fact it would make him seem more monstrous in Bill's eyes.
But he didn't hit him. He grabbed him, a hand on each shoulder, and pulled him up hard against him. Bill's mouth touched his, just a little touch, and it felt like electricity running through his entire body. And then he had no willpower. He should have. He wasn't the one who was drunk and had some weird prejudice against vampires. If this went too far, Bill would regret it, and that would make Ziggy regret it, but he just couldn't make himself care.
Bill's hands slid under Ziggy's shirt, the warmth of human skin a shock to his chilled flesh. "You're freezing," Bill said, his voice half-muffled by the proximity of his lips to Ziggy's, and Ziggy couldn't help but laugh.
"I'm dead," he whispered back, and then wished he hadn't said that. Bill didn't like that he was a vampire, that much was clear. No need to remind him, when he was so close and it felt so good to be pressed against him.
I'm just not going to think anymore, Ziggy decided, smothered under another of Bill's kisses. He ached to be touched, not in a way that only seemed gentle, but in a way that was gentle, with no threat of pain to follow. Or, if it was rough, roughness for its own sake, not because he was a plaything to be dominated or tortured for someone else's amusement.
He wanted to be treated like a person. It had been a while since he had been.
Bill's hands slid under his T-shirt again, lifting the fabric up. ZIggy broke the connection of their mouths and put his hand out to stop him. "What if Carrie or Max comes in here?"
"What if?" Bill retorted drunkenly, and when his mouth descended again, sliding from lips to jaw to neck, Ziggy really couldn't argue with his logic. Hell, if the Pope walked in right now, Ziggy wouldn't care. He leaned back, feeling the bite of the counter in the small of his back, and pulled his T-shirt off. Bill mercifully skipped past the physical inspection, that moment that always left Ziggy to mentally narrate all the flaws the other guy was finding with him like the fact he didn't have washboard abs-- hell, any visible abs-- and he'd never grown more than a few chest hairs. Whether Bill was too drunk to care or he really just didn't care, either way, Ziggy was glad when, once he'd whipped his own shirt over his head, Bill reached for him again, pushing him a little awkwardly to lean against the refrigerator door. The cold, smooth surface hitting his back coincided with the hot skin of Bill's chest meeting his, and Ziggy shuddered at the contrast.
Bill dipped his head to kiss Ziggy's left collarbone, hands locked firmly on his hips through the flannel sleep pants. He gave the fabric a short, experimental tug as he stooped to spread more kisses over his chest, then paused, looking up with such a serious expression that Ziggy was sure rejection was about to follow. Instead, Bill said a little nervously, "You've done this before, right?"
Ziggy smiled down at him, unable to work up even a little sarcasm for a guy as nice as Bill. "Yeah. You're not being a creepy old man, if that's what you're wondering."
"No. it's not that, it's just..." Bill laughed and bent his head, nibbling and sucking a little trail to the waistband of the pants before he finally pulled then down. Ziggy's cock, hard to bursting, leaped at the first touch of Bill's hand and his warm, hesitant breath. "You got a condom on you?"
Oh, shit, Ziggy thought, then remembered with a mental palm to his forehead that he wasn't some human teenager anymore. He cleared his throat and tried not to sound like "that guy" when he said, "No, it's cool. I'm dead. No diseases."
Bill didn't respond. ZIggy saw the muscles of his back tighten up a little, as though he would push away and call the whole thing off, and then, in a moment like an electric shock, Bill slid his mouth over Ziggy's cock and sucked him in, as far as he would go.
The proper response was probably something like "Jesus" or "God yes," but all that came out was a strangled noise. Ziggy's hands curled into fists and one of them pounded backward against the gleaming steel face of the refrigerator as white-hot neurons fired jolts of pleasure through his brain. The hot wet of Bill's mouth, the finger digging into his thighs and the palm cupping his balls, every pleasure-feeling nerve in his body seemed right there, right wherever Bill touched him. And there was no fear or pain, no thought that now he would draw back and sink his fangs into his thigh or more sensitive places. Everything felt good. Beyond good. Fucking incredible.
Too fucking incredible, after a few short minutes. "Hey, stop, stop," Ziggy gasped, planting his hands on top of Bill's sandy-blond hair to push him away. "I'm sorry, I was just really close there for a second."
"That's kind of the point," Bill said, standing to kiss him. To clear his head-- and to get his mind off his hyper aroused dick pressed between then-- Ziggy reached for the fly of Bill's jeans and tugged the button open. He slid a hand inside and found his cock, hard and eager and weeping a drop of silky fluid.
"Commando, huh?" Ziggy mumbled against Bill's neck, sliding his fist up and down. Bill trembled against him, and Ziggy smiled against the shell of his ear, flicking his tongue out to trace it.
"I want to fuck you," Bill groaned, thrusting against his hand. "Can I?"
His hand stilling on the thick, hot flesh under his palm, Ziggy considered. It didn't take much to sway his decision, just the steady pulse beneath his fingers. "Yeah." His breath caught in his throat as Bill traced his lower lip with his thumb. "Oh, definitely."
"Turn around," Bill said, his voice low and rough as the gin they'd drunk. Ziggy complied, kicking the pajamas aside. He braced his hands on the counter, his sudden vulnerability a little frightening. Bill's hands came to rest on his shoulders, then stroked down over the plane of his back, returning to repeat the motion again and again, pulling shivers from his spine.
He'd felt secure before now, but it went against every fiber in his body that he would turn his back-- his naked back, at that-- to a stranger. Jacob had done it to him before, to test him. He'd stripped him, made him kneel, made him wait. And then, when he'd just begun to let down his guard, the last had fallen over his back.
The memory made his knees buckle, and he hoped Bil thought it was a reaction to what he was doing, not an emotional scar. That was the last thing Ziggy needed, to miss out on some really hot sex in order to explain his mental dysfunction.
To take his mind off things, he reached for one of Bill's hand, pulled it to his mouth and sucked the thumb in. Bill groaned and pressed against him, full body contact, and Ziggy wondered when exactly he'd gotten rid of his jeans. He pressed back against him, just to be antagonistic, and Bill pulled his hand back, tracing the fingers down Ziggy's spine, to the small of his back, the line of his tailbone and farther.
"You get right to the point, huh?" Ziggy gasped as Bill's thumb, still wet with saliva, pressed inside. Had anything ever felt this good with someone else? A pang seized him at the thought that, when all was said and done, he would still be the monster and Bill would still be afraid of him. And then it would be over. And this would be the big mistake that hung between them for the rest of the time they had to be around each other, until one of them found a tactful way to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Bill's lips were against his neck, his cock nudging him from behind, and he whispered, "We might have a little problem."
Ziggy tensed. This was the moment he could be the sober, responsible party. This was the moment he could easily save them both from the consequences of an ill-advised hookup.
Leaning forward, bringing his whole body into clumsy contact with Ziggy's, Bill reached for something on the counter. He sounded much more cheerful, proud of himself, even, when he said, "Wait...never mind, we're back in business."
Ziggy half turned. "Back in--" His words were cut off by the shock of something cool and wet spilling onto the small of his back. After a split second of confusion he recognized the scent with a perverse thrill. "Is that... is that olive oil?"
"What, you wanted to do this the real rough, manly way?" Bill asked with a quiet laugh. Ziggy laughed with him, until Bill's fingers, slippery with oil, slid down to press inside him. First two, then a third that took all the breath from him and buckled his knees with a jolt of pleasure that shot straight to his groin.
Pleasure that mixed with nervousness as Bill's hand withdrew, replaced with the wide, firm tip of him.
"Is this okay?" he asked in a strained voice, and Ziggy had to admire his restraint. He took a deep breath and nodded, held that breath as the pressure increased, then gave over to stinging release when the head of Bill's cock was finally inside of him.
There was pain. A dull burn that reminded him that Bill wasn't a small guy, and all the benefits of that were soon to come. Bill asked if he was still okay with it, still wanted to take all of him, and Ziggy could only mumble something incoherent and impatient in response. Something half-begging, half-demanding, that made Bill chuckle hoarsely and push forward, and Ziggy squirmed back until he was more filled then he'd ever been before.
Then Bill began to move, and Ziggy wasn't sure when he'd stopped supporting himself and started to just rely on Bill's weight pinning him to the cabinets to keep him from falling. He reached down to touch himself and Bill's oil-slick hand snaked around to get there first, grasping the base of Ziggy's cock, jerking him off with firm tugs timed so that Ziggy didn't know what he wanted more-- to thrust into his fist or push back and hinder Bill's withdrawal. He turned his head, mouth open, breathless, and Bill kissed him, his tongue moving in time with his hips.
When he broke away, it was to apologize. "I'm sorry, I can't..." and a deep, throaty groan rolled over whatever else he was going to say as his body stiffened. His hand tightened, almost too hard, but he didn't stop stroking as he came. Ziggy almost shouted at the feeling of Bill inside of him, the way his cock twitched as the warmth of his come spilled from him. And then he was coming, too, making a strangled half sob as his dick jerked in Bill's hand.
Even if he was supposed to be the stronger creature, Ziggy's legs were weak, so weak he had to lean on Bill after he'd withdrawn, and they both slid to the floor to get their breath.
Bill leaned against the base of the cabinets, his eyes closed. A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple and Ziggy had the weirdest urge to lick it away. In the name of not looking like a psycho, he restrained himself.
"Jesus," Bill said when his breathing returned to normal. "That was..."
"Regrettable?" Ziggy supplied for him, wincing as he shifted on the cold linoleum.
Bill actually looked wounded. "I was going to say great. Obviously we didn't just have the same experience."