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“When did you last eat?” Tanselle asks him, hands firm on her hips.
Dunk looks down at his shoes, feeling the tips of his ears burn red. He ate, truly! An hour ago, to be exact. But he knows all the same that his measly turkey sandwich and bottle of Gatorade won’t be enough to stave off the lightheadedness he often feels after donating such an ample amount of blood.
It didn’t start off that way, of course.
In the beginning, Dunk donated the standard 1 pint of blood. Then, unexpectedly, his donations became quite the hot commodity among vampire-kind. Something about its taste, he was told.
So while he is barred from donating more frequently than every 8 weeks, he now donates a borderline unhealthy 1.5 pints while being heavily monitored and mother henned by the staff. He also gets paid a hefty, hefty sum for his generous contribution.
As much as Raymun tries to convince him to find other means of income, Dunk finds that he doesn’t mind. A little dizzy spell is nothing. He knows he’s in safe hands, and it’s not as though he’s letting a feral vampire drink straight from his neck. The environment is controlled, and the ladies are always quick to take care of him.
In fact, the owner of the blood bank, Lyonel, even bought Dunk a special reclining chair and there’s always his favorite juice and brand of snacks close by.
Although it may not seem like it, Dunk does actually appreciate Raymun’s concern. He can stop donating any time he pleases. He may feel a bit guilty about it in the beginning, but ultimately, he’s still a faceless donor. The vampires can try to request his blood specifically all they want. They get what the bank has to offer. They’re only a bank, after all, not a restaurant. If Dunk were to stop, eventually they would have to get over not having their favorite bag as an option.
At some point, Dunk imagines, once donating is so far gone from his routine, he wouldn’t feel bad anymore. That’s a future concern though. For now, and until he can find a better paying job — which, why would he anyway when he likes what he does? — this is fine.
Like clockwork he donates his blood and after, he gets to treat himself and Raymun to something special.
“I can’t have you passing out on me. Eat this first,” Tansell demands. She puts a muffin in front of him. “I’ll be back once you’ve eaten it.”
And so Dunk unwraps and eats the muffin since he knows Tanselle isn’t joking.
Today, Dunk thinks he does well. Tanselle attempts to argue it’s only because Dunk doesn’t bother even trying to stand when they’re done. It’s not like she would have let him anyway. She, among some of the other staff who favor him, likes to monitor him before he goes so why try when he won’t be permitted?
Dunk calls his stubbornness training for when Tanselle finally gets into nursing school. She’s having a hard time with it, she's ranted to him before, because she’s a vampire and some humans still have a fear of being treated by them. The conspiracies are quite impressive. They say humans best be careful being treated by a vampire lest the vampire be lax in care so they can harvest the human’s blood.
A bit awkward in approach, Dunk always tries to gentle her away from those mindsets.
She is more thankful for him trying to lighten the mood than when he plays Stubborn Annoying Patient.
Sometimes when Dunk is donating, Lyonel will pop in to say hello. He calls Dunk his favorite donor, which Raymun thinks is odd. Dunk thinks it’s just him being kind.
Perhaps it’s a tiny bit reckless to allow a human donor to give more than the standard amount of blood, however if Lyonel truly were in it for the profits, he wouldn’t have gone so out of his way to compensate Dunk handsomely nor would he care about Dunk’s condition.
If Lyonel, in Dunk’s opinion, saw Dunk as nothing more than a blood bag, he wouldn’t call him friend either.
“Don’t do anything strenuous for the rest of the day,” Tanselle advises. She helps Dunk back into his coat even though she doesn’t have to. “If you still feel lightheaded later tonight—”
“I will take myself to the hospital,” Dunk says, cutting her off.
Her brows furrow. “No. You will call for help and they will take you to the hospital.”
“Don’t use your vampirish powers to compel me,” Dunk jokes.
“That’s never funny,” Tanselle replies, folding her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t.”
“I know. You must admit though you get pretty close with how much you try to order me around,” Dunk replies.
“Only because you’re so blockheaded. You don’t listen.”
“I haven’t had any accidents yet.”
“Yet,” she echoes.
“I appreciate the concern but I feel as right as rain,” Dunk insists. He shows off the granola bar she’s already ordered him to eat on the way home. “I’ll see you in 8 weeks.”
Tanselle sighs. “Would it kill you to make it 12?”
“And miss out on seeing all your pretty faces?” Dunk winks at one of Tanselle’s coworkers — an older lady, human — who is frequently charmed by Dunk’s everything. “No. I couldn’t.”
Tanselle raises a hand as if to bat at his chest, then hits the air instead, not wanting to cause him to stumble. Dunk stumbles anyway, as he turns around, not seeing a new patron walking into the building.
On instinct, his hands shoot out to grab the stranger in an attempt to stabilize them both.
“Sorry about that, I didn’t see you there,” Dunk apologizes sheepishly.
“Of course you didn’t,” a voice sneers.
Dunk’s head tilts downward. A vampire. Dunk would not feel inclined to think it strange to see a vampire at a blood bank except for the fact that Lyonel has very specific days and hours in which humans and vampires — separately — are allowed on the premises.
Of course, the staff is an exception.
Vampires — even hungry ones — are known for their strength so having a few on the premises, should an altercation between vampire and human break out, was important for Lyonel not to overlook.
“Well, now that you see me, are you going to just stare or are you going to unhand me?” the vampire asks.
Dunk yanks his hands away, taking a step back to put more space between them.
The vampire’s nostrils flare, his eyes turning ever so briefly a sharp red.
“Mr. Targaryen, Mr. Baratheon instructed you to meet us at the back door,” a hurried staff member says, stepping between them.
“He did, and I told him that I wasn’t going to stand in an alleyway like a peasant waiting to be let inside.”
Suddenly, Tanselle’s hands press against Dunk’s back, guiding him out the door. “Best you go now,” she urges. “Go home, rest, and make sure you eat and stay hydrated.”
Dunk attempts to turn — to even look over his shoulder — but Tanselle can be insistent when she wants to be. Her vampire strength doesn’t allow him to be nosy, though he does get one last slight glance of the silvery-blonde haired vampire.
Once Dunk’s feet hit the pavement, he can hear the doors lock behind him. With the windows tinted, he’s not that desperate to press his forehead against the glass to look inside.
Whoever Mr. Targaryen is, Dunk surmises, must be quite the important client to be let in on a human-only business day. It’s a good thing he was the last human to leave.
Out of nowhere, Dunk sneezes. Then, for some reason, he feels the urge to walk more briskly than normal to his bus stop. When he gets home, Raymun starts his turn fussing over Dunk.
“Are you sure you’re okay, man?”
Dunk blinks, realizing he had been looking out the window instead of at their TV.
“Uh, yeah. I’m okay.”
“I keep telling you, donating that much blood can’t be good for you.”
“They’re really good to me there, and the extra money certainly doesn’t hurt.”
“Still.”
Dunk finds his mind drifting off to envision violet eyes.
“Maybe you should go to bed early tonight. You’re really out of it.”
He can’t totally disagree. His eyelids do feel heavy.
That night, he has a dreamless sleep. In the morning, he feels mostly like himself again. Something though makes the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. He assumes he’s still recuperating so for lunch, he treats himself to an extra large takeout that he usually only permits himself on paydays.
It’s so good, and he tips extra.
*
A week later, Dunk is bent over a beat up truck when Steely Pate clears his throat loudly behind him.
“You got something stuck in your throat?” Dunk asks, not looking up from his job. Pate yanks Dunk upright by the back of the shirt. “What?”
“We have a customer requesting your services specifically. Won’t take no for an answer.”
“Can he wait? I think I’ve almost gotten to the bottom of what’s wrong with Bessie here and Mr. Stark has been waiting for a lot longer.”
“I’ll finish the Stark’s car. I need you to get that menace out of here. He’s scaring all the other customers,” Pate insists, bringing his voice down to a harsh whisper. “I tried to tell him he best take his Rolls-Royce back to the dealership, but he refuses.”
Dunk’s eyes widen.
Steelys Pate’s Autoshop mostly services the type of cars one sees everywhere on the road, not fancy imports that require the buyer to be in an entirely different tax bracket.
“Go!” Pate says, pushing him.
Dunk takes a short walk from the garage to the modestly sized office and waiting area. Most clients drop off their vehicles unless they come in for something simple like a routine oil change or tire issue. Dunk realizes belatedly that he should’ve taken a better look at the parking lot on his way. He can’t imagine anything too dire would be wrong with a car that fancy. Not that he or Steely Pate couldn't take care of any car, it’s just that sometimes it’s not the best, and Dunk has learned that sometimes the best way to do good business is to know when to refuse business.
“There you are! I’ve been waiting.”
“Oh!” Dunk says, surprised. “Hello, sir.” Dunk swallows. “Mr. Targaryen, was it?”
The vampire’s impatient expression smooths out ever so slightly. “At least you’ve heard of me, unlike your boss.”
Dunk scratches the back of his neck. “Well, mm — honestly, no. I remember that’s what the ladies called you. At the blood bank, is all.”
“Oh,” the vampire sighs. Dunk thinks it almost sounds like disappointment. “No matter, I suppose. It’s not as if I was expecting you to be cultured.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Dunk asks, brushing the comment aside.
“Your number, give it to me,” the vampire demands.
“E-Excuse me?”
The vampire straightens, taking a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m lowering myself this far,” he says to himself. Then to Dunk, “There is something about your blood. I need it. Whatever Lyonel Baratheon is paying for it, I’ll double it. Triple it, even. The blood bags he uses are quality, but drinking straight from the source is better.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand,” Dunk admits. “You want me to donate my blood. . . straight to you?”
“That’s precisely what I mean.”
“Mr. Targaryen—”
“Ugh. If we’re going to be more acquainted, call me Aerion. Mr. Targaryen is my father.”
“Aerion, sir — please. I appreciate the offer, but I’m happy with just donating blood from time to time. It’s not about the money,” Dunk attempts to decline.
“But it could be,” Aerion insists. “If Lyonel Baratheon can buy you with a nice chair and disgusting snacks, I can offer so much more. And I’d much rather have your blood willingly than any other way. It tastes foul when it isn’t given willingly.” The vampire makes a face.
“Lyonel hasn’t bought me with anything,” Dunk denies. “Sure, he may have told me there was a bit of a demand for my blood among your kind, but I consented to the current arrangement. Without the fancy chair and the snacks, too, which I think are quite tasty, I'll have you know.”
Aerion rolls his eyes. “You—” The vampire cuts himself off when his phone rings. He curses. “This conversation isn’t over, Duncan. I’ll have you know, working for the Targaryens is an honor. You best think of what I’ve offered you. I won’t be as nice if I have to ask again.”
Dunk, perplexed by the situation, stays rooted where he stands, watching the vampire rush back to his car, his phone pressed against his ear.
For a moment he does think about the offer.
He’s heard it be done before.
Vampires, the ones belonging to especially old clans, have been known to employ humans for feeding upon. In modern day, it’s less common. Vegetarian clans — vampires who feed upon animal blood — have increased in their stead.
Humans who allow vampires to feed upon them specifically are often said to be pampered. Absolutely spoiled. Fattened up with rich foods and comfortable things, since they say the happier and healthier the human, the tastier the blood. Which, of course, means the opposite can still occur. Situations where humans are mistreated by their vampire employers and practically kept miserable and sucked dry.
Based upon Aerion Targaryen’s fancy dress and expensive car, Dunk doesn’t think the vampire would settle for anything less than rich and flavorful, but perhaps he’s trying to deceive Dunk. Perhaps, if Dunk takes the deal he’ll wind up locked away in a dungeon somewhere.
Perhaps he’s one of those odd vampires who prefers the taste of sadness and misery.
Tanselle and Raymun would be especially disappointed in him if he were to fall for some scam.
Being kidnapped by a vampire especially would not work since rugby season is about to start. Dunk likes to volunteer as a coach. The children would be very sad to hear that he’s gone missing and he imagines their parents would be disappointed in Dunk as their children’s role model if he were to be so easily fooled.
Once he’s positive he can no longer see Aerion’s car — not in their lot and certainly not on the road — Dunk returns to the garage. The Stark’s car is finished but there’s another waiting that he knows needs tending to.
Curious, Pate bluntly asks Dunk what Aerion wanted from him.
A bit in disbelief that a vampire would think Dunk’s blood is so appetizing that he would be tracked down at his place of work, Dunk actually isn’t sure. And, actually, if he were to think about it a bit more, he’s not sure what could have brought Aerion to the conclusion that Dunk’s blood tastes any good at all.
To answer Pate, Dunk ends up shrugging.
Pate lets the conversation go forgotten, taking both a literal and metaphorical backseat to the rest of the workday whereas Raymun doesn’t believe they should be writing off the vampire so easily.
“He stalked you — trapped you — at your place of work, to ask you to be his personal blood bag.”
“He didn’t trap me,” Dunk denies, slurping up a noodle. At least once a week he and Raymun try to have dinner together. Typically, Dunk is too busy and eats at all kinds of hours.
“You didn’t deny that he stalked you!”
“It’s possible he didn’t.”
“Then how would he have found out where you worked?”
“He mentioned Lyonel. Rich folks tend to know other rich folks, and with them both being vampires, maybe they’re friends. Lyonel could’ve given Aerion my information.”
Raymun throws his hands up in the air. “That actually sounds worse than if he had just stalked you!”
“I did think it was odd that he seemed so confident he had tasted my blood before,” Dunk admits. He twirls more noodles onto his fork. “Maybe if I see him again next time I’ll tell him that he must be mistaken.”
“Oh, yes, that will surely work in getting rid of a vampire who is clearly crazy.” Frustrated, Raymun accidentally pours too much sauce onto his second helping. “Those blood suckers—”
“Isn’t your cousin a vampire?”
“Who, Steffon? Steffon got Turned. He was human. The Fossoways are and always have been human.”
“Except for your cousin.”
“No, even when he was human, I think he was more of an arsehole, which should be an entirely different species.”
Dunk looks down at his plate, attempting to hide his laugh.
“Go ahead, laugh in the open. My cousin is a joke. I’m glad he’s not invited to family reunions anymore.”
Smiling, Dunk shakes his head.
“Seriously, though, Dunk. If that vampire comes sniffing around again, tell him to piss off,” Raymun says. “I always knew you donating blood would lead to something unfortunate.”
“You weren’t saying that when I bought the PS5. It would’ve taken us double the time to afford it had I not given some blood.”
A bit longingly, Raymun glances into the living room at their gaming set up. “You’re more important.”
“Every time we went to the store you were practically salivating over the demo for The Witcher,” Dunk reminds him.
“Maybe so! But if I had to choose between my best friend and Geralt, I’d choose you.”
Dunk turns serious. “I’ll tell the vampire no if I see him again.”
Raymun calms. “That’s all I ask.”
*
Dunk tries to stay true to his word.
The next time the vampire shows up at Pate’s, he doesn’t even wait to speak to anyone at the shop. He sniffs Dunk out like a bloodhound and stands at his side waiting to be addressed.
“Well?”
“What?”
“Have you thought about whether you’re going to accept my offer while I’m asking nicely?”
“Oh, I have,” Dunk says. He pulls a rag out from his back pocket, wiping his hands clean the best he can. “I think you’ve made a mistake. I get that Lyonel told me my blood is quite tasty, but you still must be mistaken. That blood is always sold anonymously. I signed many papers ensuring my information would be confidential. Whatever bags the bank might’ve been sold to you, there’s no guarantee that they were mine.”
The vampire’s nostrils flare. “The bags themselves, yes, were unmarked but I smelled it. That day, you had just given blood, and I smelled it. I had been cursing my father for months. Blood bags were meant to be a punishment for not having better restraint, and then I tasted your blood. Even old it was delicious, and a Targaryen does not settle for less. A dragon does not settle for anything less than the thing he desires.”
“Even if you think you’re positive, I still have to decline.” Dunk shrugs, attempting to side step around the vampire to continue working. “I’ve got much on my schedule. Even if I liked the idea of being your personal donor, I’ve got too much to do. I can’t be splitting my strength between my things and risking being sucked dry.”
Quick, fingers wrap around Dunk’s wrist — or try to rather. Though the size of the vampire’s hand does not matter when the strength is so inhuman.
Aerion pulls, yanking Dunk down so they can meet eye to eye.
“I will only ask you one more time nicely.”
“Actually, I’m not sure you’ve asked me once. Demanded, sure, but asked—”
“Quiet,” the vampire hisses. Dunk feels his teeth rattle with how quickly he clamps his jaw shut. The vampire dare Compel him in public. “I am asking nicely. Quit bothering with Lyonel Baratheon and give me your blood. Only me. I will make sure you will want for nothing. Whatever bills you have, I will pay them. I will make sure you are comfortable and well fed. I want your blood. I need it. I cannot drink anything else now. You’ve ruined me, you stupid oaf.”
Dunk feels a bead of sweat drop down his temple. His lips twitch. No words come out.
Aerion rolls his eyes. “Speak.”
“Listen, I’m sorry. I can’t. My friend and I talked it over. We don’t think it’s a good idea. And besides, like I said, I’ve got a lot on my plate. I need to keep up my strength. I appreciate that you’ll keep me like a fattened pig but that might not be enough. Sometimes I can barely stand after donating blood as it is. I can’t imagine being fed on regularly by a vampire.”
Aerion licks his lips. “Then you will have to feed from me to keep your strength up.”
Dunk lets out an involuntary gasp in shock.
It can be done, a human drinking from a vampire. In small doses it’s safe — healing, even — and doesn’t put the human at risk for being Turned. Humans don’t typically find it to be tasty. It also is rarely done outside of intimate partnerships or very long standing arrangements.
“I told you, I will have your blood and I prefer to have it willingly. If that means allowing you to drink from me, so be it,” Aerion grits out.
“Still,” Dunk attempts to circle back to his earlier argument, “are we really even sure that it’s my blood you want? Maybe I just smelled close to the blood you want.”
“Fine.” Aerion releases him. Dunk almost lets out a sigh of relief too soon. “Then let me drink from you now. If I’m wrong,” he looks away, sticking his nose up in the air, “then I will admit that I’m wrong. But if I’m not, then you must accept.”
“I don’t know if that’s a fair deal.”
“Oh, so then you admit that I’m correct and it is your blood that I’m after?”
Dunk feels himself practically worry a hole into his rag.
“When do you finish work?” Aerion asks. Stepping closer once more, the vampire gently fixes Dunk’s shirt which had ridden up his stomach. He looks down, then up through his lashes. His violet eyes have a mesmerizing swirl of red. “Let me show you how good of an arrangement I can make this for you.”
A part of Dunk wants to say yes. It’s hard not to. The longer he takes, the more he can’t fully remember what it was that Aerion even offered him. All he knows is that the offer is extremely tempting. A once in a lifetime opportunity, almost. At this point he’s not sure how he ever thought about telling Aerion no.
“You’ll be as pampered as a prince,” Aerion promises. He smiles, reaching up to hold Dunk’s throat. His thumb caresses softly over his pulse point.
Dunk blinks. A yes feels heavy on his tongue. He could get off work now, go back to Aerion’s home, and let him feed. He must be so hungry to try so hard to get Dunk’s attention.
Dunk blinks again.
“You make a compelling argument. I still have to decline,” Dunk says with a somber shake of the head. He pulls Aerion’s hand away, pleasantly surprised when the vampire allows him to do so.
Aerion sputters out an incoherent response.
“Is there anything wrong with that fancy car I can help you with while you’re here?” Dunk asks. He steps around Aerion, peering around for the vehicle in their lot which surely sticks out like a sore thumb. “I’d hate that you came all this way for nothing.”
“You think this is over.” A statement, not a question.
“I would say so, yes.” Dunk gives the vampire a placating smile.
Aerion huffs. “I can assure you it isn’t.” Stepping into Dunk’s space, he takes a deep breath. “I must talk to my father. Things have changed.”
Dunk leans back.
Aerion means he’ll be calling Maekar Targaryen. Raymun practically created a whole PowerPoint presentation on the Targaryen family tree and all the reasons Dunk should wholeheartedly stay away.
Dunk isn’t quite sure what use it is to him that Aerion is making this announcement. He’s just smart enough to not question it. The vampire is odd enough as it is, making a scene at Dunk’s job that he’s quite ready to be over.
With a newfound determination Dunk doesn’t understand, Aerion leaves.
It’s easy to push the encounter out of his mind. Things got a bit foggy there anyway. He’s not sure he would even be able to tell Raymun or Pate what had happened.
One moment, he was refusing Aerion’s advances. The next, things got fuzzy and he found himself feeling like he wanted to accept. He didn’t, which he thinks Raymun would be happy to hear. But he wanted to, which Raymun would not be as thrilled with.
It being barely a month since his first encounter with Aerion, Dunk thinks it might be best that he stays away from the blood bank for a while. He may follow Tanselle’s recommendation to hold off for 12 weeks.
Again, for fear of disappointing and leaving the vampires he’s been feeding hanging, Dunk doesn’t want to cut donating out of his routine cold turkey. There’s a goodness in donating blood to vampires. It’s better than letting them run rampant and hungry on the street, and it's less taboo and easier for vampires to drink bagged blood than try to find one of those underground blood bars.
Not to mention, the extra income is nice. He and Raymun are far from struggling, but it wasn’t always that way for Dunk. For a good while, especially after his uncle Arlan had died, there were some struggles. Things got better after meeting Raymun. Everything is easier when splitting payments between two people.
Together they live a comfortable life with the occasional luxury, which is all Dunk feels they need.
He’ll have to think about it more.
For now, he’ll hold off. Twelve weeks. He can do that.
Dunk wasn’t lying to Aerion. His schedule is about to be packed. Twelve weeks might really be better for him. And maybe everyone else involved as well.
*
On Dunk’s day off, he finds himself sleeping in past noon. He and Raymun made the poor decision to play games until the wee hours in the morning. Once Rowan finished work, she only encouraged them further with a bit of alcohol and much to talk their ears off with as they played.
He groans into his pillow, not wanting to wake. He knows he best hit the gym. Work keeps him fit enough, but if he’s soon to be running after children on a rugby field, he must whip himself back into better shape.
Then the ringing registers. Not in his ears like he originally assumed. Experiencing a hangover after a night with Rowan is common. This time it’s merely his phone ringing loudly, stuffed underneath his pillow.
Drunk extracts the phone, looking at it with bleary eyes. It’s an unknown number.
He answers it before it can be sent to voice mail.
“‘ello?”
“Is this Duncan Pennytree?”
“Aye, it is. Who’s speaking?”
“My name is Maekar Targaryen. I’d like to apologize on my son’s behalf. Had I known Aerion was going to such lengths to bother you, I would have made greater efforts to stop him.”
Dunk flops onto his back after having been laying on his side. “Oh, that’s quite alright. I think we had a misunderstanding anyway. I think he had me mistaken for someone else.”
Maekar makes a noise which Dunk can’t be sure is an agreement or not. “Well, I suppose that brings me to the other reason I have called. I must apologize for myself as well.”
“That’s not necessary, really. He may be your son but it’s not as if you can control everything he does.”
“If only you were a vampire, you’d understand how true that statement really is.” Maekar sighs. Dunk wishes that they were speaking face to face. “I must apologize for myself because it seems as though my son believes you two are Mates. There’s no convincing him otherwise.”
Hastily, Dunk sits up. “Mates?”
“Yes, Mates,” Maekar affirms. “It will be next to impossible to stop my son now. I could assist in relocating you, but I fear that would only delay the inevitable. My son has your scent now. It would only be a matter of time before he found you again.”
“What makes him think that we’re Mates?”
“You see, when he Compelled you with his Voice you could not resist because certain Commands are effective based on hierarchy. When he tried to Persuade you into accepting his offer, you resisted. That is unheard of between a vampire and a human. Unless you happened to be Mates.” Maekar sighs. “That isn’t the only possibility, but that doesn’t matter. It is the one that Aerion sees as most probable. Against my wishes, he intends to court you.”
“We can’t be Mates,” Dunk insists.
“I said the same. It is possible my son will give up, but I’m afraid that he will be the one setting the terms.”
“What should I do?”
“My son has put you in a precarious situation. The Targaryens do not Mate with humans. While we are no strangers to scrutiny, I would prefer if you did not end up on the news for being bled dry either. Accept him, if you must, even though I would prefer not. If it turns out you are not my son’s Mate, the Bond cannot be broken. So we can only hope that Aerion comes to his senses before then.”
“So I must resist,” Dunk replies.
“You could. My son may kill you for your imprudence. He is not used to being denied, even in the many centuries he has lived.”
“I don’t want to give him a false impression by accepting his advances.”
“No, I wouldn’t want that either,” Maekar reluctantly agrees. “And yet that may be your best chance at survival. So long as you are smart enough not to allow him to Turn you, we may have to hope that my son realizes his error in judgement.”
“I don’t want to be turned,” Dunk confesses. He scratches at his neck subconsciously.
“Then we are on the same page, it seems.” Maekar tsks. “I knew I should have sent him far away, but I allowed my brother to convince me to keep him close to the clan. If you must, call me. Otherwise, best of luck in dealing with my son.”
Dunk lets his phone fall to the bed as he hears the drawn out dial tone.
Surely, he must still be dreaming.
Aerion may not want to hear it, but he must be mistaken. Dunk can’t be a vampire’s Mate. Dunk can hardly land a date with a human. He can’t imagine being tied to a vampire for the rest of his life. Not to forget having to refuse being Turned!
Vampires are only near immortal. Being a hardy species to kill, their lifespans are slow and their youthfulness depends on how well they feed. A careful, well disciplined vampire can live up to a millennia — especially as the hunters and vampires have devised stricter codes so the two species can live in harmony.
Dunk doesn’t want to live next to forever!
Anxious, he worries his thumbnail between his teeth. This is far from a situation he ever imagined himself getting himself into.
Raymun knocks on his door.
Dunk pulls himself out of bed.
“You have a package,” Raymun reports. He makes a face. “You’ve got a bunch of ‘em, actually.”
Curious, Dunk steps out of his bedroom into the living room. True enough, there’s four giant boxes sitting there: three fitting onto the couch and another on the coffee table. Dunk continues to examine the room, noticing three additional boxes on the kitchen table.
“Did you order something?”
“No,” Dunk replies. Confused, he begins to examine them up close. Sure enough, the packages are addressed to him.
Raymun and Rowan help him open them all. The boxes in the living room are different from the ones sitting on the kitchen table.
“Snacks?” Raymun asks.
“There’s a note!” Rowan announces triumphantly. She waves it at him, then retracts so she can do the honor of reading it out loud. “I find these to be ever so disgusting but if my Mate enjoys them, then he shall have them. Signed, Yours.” Rowan looks at Dunk, puzzled.
Raymun throws a Rice Krispie treat at Dunk’s head. “You went and Mated the vampire?”
“I didn’t! He only thinks we’re Mates!” Dunk denies, ducking when a bag of pretzels attempts to assault him.
“And what would’ve given your vampire that impression?” Rowan asks. She pops open a bag of trail mix and begins to snack on it.
“He likes my blood, is all. Thinks we’re meant to be because of it, I suppose.” Dunk slides one of the boxes to the floor and sits on the coffee table. It groans underneath his weight. “I guess there’s also the fact that I resisted being Persuaded by him.”
“You resisted being hypnotized by a vampire?” Rowan perks up, leaning closer.
“He almost had me. Then he didn’t. I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve ever had that kind of encounter with a vampire.”
Raymun rubs his forehead. “Pray to the gods that it’s your last.”
“Well, about that,” Dunk hedges, “his father called me. Apparently Aerion means to court me.”
“Oh, great! We’re calling the vampire by his name now.”
“Aerion Targaryen?”
“You know him?”
“His brother was on my favorite reality show last year. They’re only the most famous vampire family in all of King’s Landing,” Rowan fawns.
Raymun looks between his girlfriend and best friend at a loss for words.
“Maybe that’s why he seemed so familiar when we first met,” Dunk says thoughtfully.
After their meeting, Dunk had been unable to get the vivid image of Aerion out of his head for days. He had chalked it up to Aerion's appearance being so uniquely stunning that he simply couldn’t forget. It turns out that he’s a celebrity surely Dunk has seen passively before, be it on TV or in magazines.
“Aerion, I’ve heard, is a helion but those eyes.” Rowan fans herself.
“That’s the vampire trying to put a spell on you,” Raymun interjects.
“Yes, well, he’s quite good at it. It’s partly why their clan has lived so long.” Suddenly, Rowan leans in, as if sharing a secret. “They say, millenia ago, the Targaryen’s were so powerful that they controlled dragons.”
“Dragons don’t exist,” Raymun says.
Rowan waves her boyfriend’s comment away. “And humans once said that about vampires I’m sure.” Raymun huffs as he throws himself onto the couch as well. “Would you rather dragons be flying about or vampires?”
“I’d prefer to choose neither.”
Dunk dips his hand into one of the boxes, stirring around the contents. All of his favorite snacks Lyonel started keeping stocked for him are in every last one of them. Even his hard to find snacks that Lyonel special orders for him are inside.
“Don’t tell me you truly mean to allow this vampire to court you.”
Dunk freezes. “Of course not,” is his immediate response. Aerion has been nothing but short and demanding since they met. Even if they really are Mates, Dunk knows he deserves better than to be ordered around. He doesn’t want to be used for his blood nor does he want to think about being drawn into the life of a vampire.
He quite likes being mortal and human. Dunk shivers at the thought of deciding blood is a delicacy.
“That crazy jerk is going to think you accepted his courtship since you accepted his packages,” Raymun points out.
Dunk frowns. “You let in the delivery.”
“How was I supposed to know that the weird vampire decided you were Mates?”
Maekar did say that it was probably wisest to accept Aerion’s advances and hope that he changes his mind.
Dunk pulls out a box of crackers. Accept the courting he shall, at least, until he can think of how he can dissuade Aerion otherwise.
*
Thankfully, Aerion doesn’t return to bother Dunk at work. In spirit, he manages by sending all sorts of lunches, but it’s the apartment mostly where his presence seems to linger. Dunk begins to receive all sorts of packages with food and comfort items. One day, Dunk returns to the apartment to see that their things have been rearranged. He has half a mind to call Maekar to pass on to Aerion that breaking into his home simply is un-Matelike of him, but decides against it.
Whatever issue Maekar and Aerion are having, Dunk wants no part in making it worse.
Online, Dunk can see that Aerion has a small internet presence. He considers reaching out to the vampire there instead. Even that he doesn’t do.
He has two profiles. One that he’s pretty sure the website thinks is spam by now with how little he uses it, and another that’s faceless, but he keeps open so Rowan and Raymun can send him all sorts of memes and other things.
If Aerion has no qualms breaking into his home, Dunk doesn’t want to give the vampire other avenues on how to keep tabs on him.
While curled up on the couch with a brand new plush blanket, Dunk looks out the window half expecting the vampire to be waiting outside with binoculars. He thinks it ridiculous, yet closes the curtains anyway just to be sure.
The gym and all of his old running trails make him feel similar, like he’s being watched over.
The receptionist at the gym no longer gives him a warm welcome and the birds and squirrels are quieter on his runs.
To prepare for rugby season, despite not being a player, Dunk bulks up some, truly enjoying the extra meals and treats the vampire insists on sending him wordlessly.
On the first day of practice, Dunk is nearly buzzing in anticipation. Last year, they had struggled to get a team together but this year Dunk heard that so many children signed up that they nearly had to host try outs. He realizes why when he gets to the field.
“Hello, Duncan,” flirtatious, the vampire steps into Dunk’s space.
“Aerion.”
“I do love the way my name sounds when my Mate says it.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I saw that your league was vampire-inclusive so I brought along my brat of a little brother to play.”
Dunk looks down at the vampire child. He isn’t fooled by his small stature and looks. “How old are you?”
“One hundred and ten,” the vampire replies. If Dunk thought the boy were human, he would have guessed ten at most.
“You know anything about rugby?” Dunk asks.
The vampire child shrugs.
“I’ve never met a bald vampire before,” Dunk says before he can stop himself.
“My hair can grow back if I want it to.”
“You don’t want it to?”
“I like that it makes me look different than my brothers.” The vampire glances at Aerion. “I look less like a Targaryen without hair.”
“I see,” Dunk says. “What’s your name, son?”
The vampire chuckles. Save for the kids warming up on the field, Dunk is the youngest out of all of them. “Egg.”
“Egg?” he repeats, incredulous.
“It’s a nickname my older brother gave me,” Egg explains. “Not this one. Daeron.”
“Run along now,” Aerion encourages, pushing Egg away. “Remember, the humans only have a small fraction of your strength.”
“I’ll be in the sun anyway! I’ll be fine!”
Dunk looks at Egg then back at Aerion. “What are you up to?”
“You have been accepting my gifts,” Aerion says instead.
“Aye, I have. You can stop sending so many things. The whole apartment is about to be full,” Dunk chides.
Aerion, Dunk thinks, pouts. “Only because your roommate takes up so much space. I would be able to provide you with so much more.”
“I like where I live.”
“When we’re officially Mated, you’ll move into the estate with me.”
Dunk holds back an instant denial.
“When practice is over, I will send Aegon home with our driver.” Aerion looks at Dunk prettily, that same red swirling in his eyes. “I was hoping you and I could spend some private time together.”
Dunk tilts his head. Pretty. Dunk could spend the rest of the day admiring Aerion’s beauty.
“Only if that is the only thing we do,” Dunk concedes.
Aerion pulls back in surprise. His expression smooths out into something akin to excitement. “I had been hoping you’d let me have a small taste. It’s been so long.”
Dunk is gentle, increasing the space between them. “We’ll see.”
Pointedly, he doesn’t look back as he walks away, out onto the field.
The children are full of energy with much to be taught. Once upon a time, Dunk thought he had a more serious future in the sport but it became expensive and so he quit. Now he gets to encourage the passion of youths, which is just as rewarding.
Each team has been allowed up to 2 players of vampire-kind to be on the field at a time. If a team somehow manages to have none, then none play. Dunk almost feels bad that Egg is the only one, though the boy was correct. Without his obvious signature Targaryen appearance, he simply looks like a normal child. Though his strength and stamina appear to be more obviously advanced, his lack of knowledge seems to help bridge the gap, nullifying whatever advantage he may have had.
An hour and a half later, all the children are sweaty except for the vampire.
Dunk commends them all for their hard work, handing out compliments and friendly waves towards the parents.
He stalls best he can knowing Aerion is waiting for him. Quickly, he sends off a frantic text to Raymun. Chances are, his friend is home already. Should Dunk not make it home, at least someone will know.
“Oddly, I find that I don’t mind this,” Aerion comments. He looks up and down Dunk’s body. Dunk is positive he sees a hint of fang.
“Sorry, I can’t help the sweat.” Dunk brings the bottom of his t-shirt to dry his forehead. He realizes after he shouldn’t have done that. Aerion is already looking at every inch of his skin like it’s a snack. He shouldn’t give him any more ammunition.
For a moment, they both stand looking at each other.
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes.” Aerion drops a set of keys into Dunk’s hand. “You can drive.”
“You want me to drive your car? I can’t,” Dunk says. He tries to hand the keys back.
“And I don’t think I can drive at all. Not with you distracting me so.” Aerion turns, walking off by himself. “I trust that you know how to drive. So long as you mostly get us to our destination in one piece, I can have any damages looked at later.”
In three quick steps, Dunk has caught up to Aerion’s shorter strides.
“Aerion,” Dunk tries more firmly.
Aerion stops once he arrives at the passenger side. “Are you hungry? Surely you must be. We should stop for dinner as well.”
“I’m alright,” Dunk replies as his stomach betrays him.
“What are you in the mood for? I could go for a big, juicy, rare steak.” Aerion settles into the car first, getting comfortable while Dunk forces himself to get into the driver’s seat.
“You don’t have to eat on my account,” Dunk says to be polite.
Vampires can eat human food if they’d like. The nutritional benefits are the only difference.
“I can get something special just for you,” Aerion offers. He turns in his seat, his hand coming up to cup the back of Dunk’s sweaty neck. Dunk almost shies away from the touch but the way Aerion drags his nails along his skin admittedly feels good.
“A steak sounds good,” Dunk admits.
“I’ll have it delivered,” Aerion promises. Out of Dunk’s periphery, he sees Aerion lean closer.
“Oi,” Dunk corrects. He uses his shoulder to bump Aerion away from him. “I see you watching my neck.”
Aerion puts his hands innocently in his lap. “I will wine and dine you properly before feeding. I wasn’t born last century.” He looks out the window, insulted. “I know how to court properly.”
“Of course not,” Dunk says placatingly.
Obviously, Aerion looks Dunk up and down. “You look like a man who can eat a lot. How would you like your steak cooked?”
Dunk knows better than to refuse. “I like it medium rare.”
“A little bloody. A man after my own heart,” Aerion says dreamily. “I’ll order you sides as well. Can’t have you feeling hungry for more.”
“That’s too much,” Dunk replies. “I couldn’t possibly eat all that.”
“You’re a terrible liar. Your stomach sounds like it’s about to eat itself. I think you most certainly can eat everything I order.” Thoughtfully, Aerion doesn’t even look up from his phone when he adds, “You’ll have juice as well. I heard it’s good for humans and their need for electrolytes.”
The drive is strange. Dunk isn’t used to controlling such a new vehicle. He tries not to get so comfortable with it. The sleek display, the crisp AC, the ergonomic seat.
To his credit, Aerion behaves himself as well.
He does, many times, attempt to touch Dunk’s skin as if surveying the tastiest location to snack from. Dunk keeps an eye out for the vampire’s fangs, grateful to see the latter closed lipped.
Dunk breathes a bit easier knowing the drive is almost over.
“What is on your mind? You keep looking over here like I’ll attack you,” Aerion comments.
Dunk wonders if there’s really time.
“Fine. Don’t tell me,” Aerion snips. “I’ll show you and my father I can be a good Mate.”
Briefly, Dunk reconsiders the potential harm that could come from inquiring a bit about vampire courting practices. In the end, he remains silent. Research can be his next task when he has the time. He hopes, only if he were to accidentally do something wrong, that Aerion will give him some grace.
Dunk is yet to be 30 and Aerion is certainly the first vampire who’s deemed him worth their time. At least, romantically. He supposes the blood bank was getting a fair deal of mail addressed to him. The first few times it was sort of endearing. Then it became concerning and Tanselle set about warning them all that further inquiries would lead to being banned.
The threat was quite effective.
Dunk was very impressed.
Eventually, parked outside Dunk’s building he blurts a very belated, “I’m sure you can be.”
Aerion raises a brow.
“Be a good Mate, I mean. I’m sure you can be. Or will be, I don’t know,” Dunk stutters. “I should’ve said it earlier. If your father has tried to convince you otherwise. I’m sure if you wanted to be, you could be a good Mate.”
The vampire blushes. Dunk didn’t know they could do that.
Shy, Aerion picks the tiniest speck of lint off his pants. “I understand you and my father exchanged some words. Did he tell you exactly why having to feed from a lowly blood bank was my punishment?”
“He did not.”
Dunk believes they both had made hints toward something sinister and between Raymun and Rowan they dug up quite a bit of dirt. Dunk hadn’t wanted to listen to them. He would hear the accusations straight from the source or not at all.
“I couldn’t control my urges when feeding,” Aerion admits, ashamed. “A vampire as old as I shouldn’t act like a fledgling when feeding. But the blood—” his expression turns sour, “—was simply disgusting. So I would refuse until I absolutely had to. My father had to make some people disappear because of my transgressions. He wanted to send me away — banish me — so he wouldn’t have to deal with my foolishness, but my uncle convinced him otherwise. So the blood banks became my punishment for food. I was to be monitored and not permitted to feed any other way.”
Dunk keeps his hands firmly on the steering wheel, unsure of what to say or how to comfort the vampire. By the way Aerion sighs, Dunk surmises staying still would be the wisest. Whatever Dunk may say or do would only be received as a form of pity, even if it were kind.
“I knew you were special when I tasted your blood and I wanted more, not because of my thirst but because of the — the indescribable way I felt. And then you resisted me when I tried to tempt you,” Aerion continues. Carefully, he props an elbow on the center console, leaning his chin against his hand. With his other hand, he takes a delicate finger and drags it along the inside of Dunk’s thigh where he knows a vein pulses underneath his shorts. “I knew then that I had found my Mate.”
“Can a vampire’s Mate really be human?” Dunk asks softly.
“I used to not think so.” Aerion looks at Dunk imploringly. “Now I believe I may have been wrong.”
“That’s awfully big of you,” Dunk says, impressed.
“It is, isn’t it,” Aerion replies.
Dunk switches the ignition off. He hopes that his next offer won’t lead to a big mistake. “Will you be joining me for dinner upstairs?”
Aerion practically salivates. “I thought you weren’t going to ask.”
Dunk gets out of the car to avoid answering.
Dinner is waiting on the kitchen counter in its delivery bag when Dunk steps inside the apartment. Raymun, Dunk can tell, is home but shut away in his room.
“I should probably shower if that’s alright,” Dunk says, shutting the door behind them both. “I’m sorry. I must’ve gotten my smell all over your car.”
Aerion midway through judging how warm the food is pauses. “Only you think you smell bad.”
Dunk feels himself heat up. “I’ll be quick.”
With shampoo in his hair, Dunk realizes he should have offered Aerion a drink or offered to put on a show while he waited. He showers more quickly after it dawns on him that he’s been a bad host so far.
Aerion is comfortable on the couch when he rushes out of the bedroom, a wet towel around his waist, his chest still damp from the shower.
Casual, Aerion is leafing through a book Dunk must have read over a hundred times before. Dunk could almost find himself fooled that Aerion belongs there. He looks like it, comfortable and settled. What ruins the illusion is the probable fact that Aerion’s clothes must cost more than Raymun and Dunk’s secondhand couch.
“I hope I didn’t take too long,” Dunk says, keeping his voice at an even tone. When they had walked in, Raymun’s TV had been playing. Now it’s silent save for the conversation he must be having with Rowan on the phone.
It’s a fight that Raymun would lose, but Raymun would risk his health to defend Dunk from an evil, rich vampire if he had to.
“You weren’t gone long at all,” Aerion disagrees.
As Dunk glances behind him to make sure Raymun is still tucked away in his room, he misses Aerion getting up off the couch to flit into the kitchen. His meal has been plated nicely.
“You should get dressed before you eat,” Aerion suggests. Dunk listens.
Dunk feels awkward being the only one eating, but Aerion doesn’t seem to have an issue with it. If anything, Aerion is back to studying Dunk’s neck and the way his throat works as he chews and swallows. He remembers he should offer Aerion something to drink — they don’t have much, but they have water and an odd assortment of alcohol — but Aerion’s hands are already wrapped around a cup. Dunk doesn’t think he’s taken a sip at all.
By the time Dunk is full, there are still a few scraps of steak and a few veggies and potatoes sitting on his plate. Dunk starts to take the plate to the sink when Aerion holds Dunk by the wrist. Dunk sinks back into his chair and Aerion stands, making the vampire the taller one for once.
“Finish the last few bites,” Aerion commands. He takes Dunk’s fork, lathers a piece of steak in gravy and potatoes, and holds it up to Dunk’s lips.
Obediently, Dunk opens his mouth in acceptance.
Aerion feeds Dunk until all the steak is gone, then takes the plate away.
The vampire looks at the direction of Dunk’s room like that’s where he’d rather be, but settles for moving back to the couch as Dunk digests his meal.
“That was good. Thank you,” Dunk says, earnest.
Dunk actually can’t remember the last time he splurged so good on a steak so large. And the cut of the meat was fancier than anything he’s attempted to order as well.
“I’m glad,” Aerion responds.
Although Dunk was positive he ate neatly — and used a napkin! — the vampire reaches out to drag his thumb along Dunk’s bottom lip, cleaning him.
Aerion doesn’t ask for permission, he just does what he wants, siddling up to Dunk on the couch until they’re pressed together shoulder to shoulder. Aerion licks his lips as he eyes up Dunk’s throat again. This time, Dunk can’t ignore it. He slips further away on the couch, holding a hand out between them as if that could really keep a vampire back.
“Aerion.”
“Mm?”
“You look like you want to eat me.”
“Of course I do.”
“Aerion,” Dunk says again, tired.
“What?” the vampire asks, indigent. “That’s a good sign. Once a vampire finds their Mate, their Mate is the most delicious thing to them.”
Dunk frowns.
“Your blood will taste best given freely. I won’t take any without asking.” Aerion leans back himself as well with a huff.
Dunk figures it’s probably his turn to study the vampire.
He looks as pretty and pale as ever, though Dunk finally notes the dark circles under his eyes.
“You’re hungry.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“If you’re hungry, why haven’t you eaten?”
Aerion sighs. “I told you. No other blood will do except for the blood of my Mate.”
“Which you think is me.”
“I know it’s you, you oaf. I wish it wasn’t,” Aerion says bitterly. Dunk tries not to take offense. “My Mate should be a vampire, not a—” he glances at Dunk, “human.”
Dunk pauses. “How would that even work? Doesn’t seem like you or your Mate would be well fed if all you did was feed off each other.”
Aerion rolls his eyes as if to say ugh, humans. “Vampire Mates still feed off humans. It’s just — it’s different. It’s shared. You wouldn’t understand.”
Worse case scenario, Dunk thinks, if he does almost end up becoming victim of a vampire attack, at least Raymun might be close enough to call for help.
“Alright then, drink from me.”
Aerion’s attention snaps back to Dunk.
“I still think you might be mistaken. And you’re right. A vampire’s Mate should be a vampire and I like being human. I might just seem so tasty because you’re hungry, is all.” Dunk offers a small smile. He almost offers his neck, like they do in the movies, but he pauses.
“I’m not mistaken,” Aerion insists through dropped fangs. “You taste like Mate. My Mate.”
“Does Mate have a specific taste? I thought everyone’s blood was a little different.”
“Everyone can taste your warmth but only I can taste the desire to live in your skin. Only I can taste the way it makes my body sing.” Aerion’s eyes burn red with no hints of pretty violet left behind. “Your human brain cannot understand the primal urges that come when finding your Mate.”
Dunk rubs away the goosebumps on his skin. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to crawl inside someone’s skin before.”
“If you were simply a tasty meal, I wouldn’t be driven by the desire to keep you all to myself. I wouldn’t be consumed by the thought of you. You wouldn’t be able to Compel—”
“Woah! I can’t Compel you. I’ve never done that.” Dunk jumps up, shaking his head.
“Not in the traditional sense. But you say things. Like Aerion, stop coming to my work. Aerion, don’t send giant boxes of disgusting, processed food to my apartment. Aerion, I feel like you’re watching me when I’m trying to shower, don’t do that.”
“I’ve never said those things to you.”
“But you have. You may not have been sure that I was listening, but I heard you.”
“So you have been skulking outside my apartment!” Dunk accuses. He spares a look at Raymun’s door. Probably having sensed Dunk invited over company, the TV has turned back on again.
“Of course! I had to. If I could find out the delicious blood was yours by coincidence, who knows if there’s a delusional vampire out there that would figure out the same and become obsessed,” Aerion argues. “I couldn’t leave my unclaimed Mate unguarded.”
“Aerion.”
“Duncan.”
Dunk squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to calm himself.
“Duncan,” Aerion tries again. The vampire has come closer. Close enough to wrap his arms around Dunk’s middle. “I couldn’t risk leaving my fragile oaf of a human Mate to be preyed upon by other vampires.”
“Lyonel and Tanselle wouldn’t have let another vampire get a hold of me like that,” Dunk replies.
Aerion squeezes Dunk tighter at the mention of other vampires. “Oh, so they were escorting you home? Making sure no one was waiting outside? You think it hadn’t crossed any other vampire’s mind to figure out your simple schedule and wait. If there’s one thing vampires have, it’s time. Be it a vampire as old as me or a fledgling, they would have found you and bled you dry. They would have savaged you for one good meal and barely appreciated it.”
Dunk feels himself soften. “You sound a bit like Raymun.”
Aerion bares his teeth.
“You all worry about me so, but I can handle myself,” Dunk says. “Don’t fret over me.”
In real time, Dunk watches as Aerion’s eye subtly twitches for a moment. He squeezes Dunk briefly once more.
“That’s a good Mate,” Dunk coos against his better judgement. He chuckles. “I like you when you listen.”
Aerion’s eyes narrow.
“Your father told me being able to Compel another was based on hierarchy. Does this mean we’re equals?”
“You really do know nothing,” Aerion sighs. “You didn’t quite Compel me. But when Mates connect and a Bond starts to form, it — I feel an irresistible urge to please you and if that means listening to your silly commands, then that is what I’m compelled to do.”
“Humans feel that way sometimes too.”
“Wonderful,” Aerion says sarcastically.
“No, really. We don’t have so many specific words for things like vampires do, but if there’s a lad or lady I want to impress, of course I’m going to do all the things to make sure they’re happy.”
Aerion’s mood continues to sour.
Dunk considers that maybe — if they are Mates — he hasn’t been a particularly good one. He’s a bit daft considering he’s not familiar with vampire customs.
“C’mon.”
“What.”
“Come sit with me,” Dunk urges. He tries to take Aerion by the hands to guide him but the vampire pulls back.
“Why? So you can tell me that I don’t know my instincts? That I’m wrong about us being Mates?”
“We can be done with that tonight,” Dunk promises. He pats the cushion next to him. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
Aerion twitches, like it’s taking all his strength not to launch onto the couch next to him.
“You mean it.”
“Of course.”
“If you jest, I may have to bleed you dry after all.”
“I’m not. I’m quite serious,” Dunk insists. “Come.” Boldly, he arches his neck. Surprisingly, Aerion looks scandalized.
“Give me your wrist. Until we are Bonded I won’t be drinking from your neck like a whore,” Aerion snaps.
“All the vampires in the movies do it,” Dunk mutters in his defense.
Instead of sitting next to him, Aerion climbs onto Dunk’s lap. “Those movies are nothing but porn for vampires. While I’m still courting you, I won’t be doing anything so scandalous.”
“How long do vampires court?” Dunk asks.
Aerion takes Dunk’s wrist and arm in hand, massaging the skin. “Depends,” Aerion answers vaguely. He leads Dunk to cup Aerion’s cheek as Aerion feels around for the best spot to bite. “I won’t be Bonded to a fool who doesn’t know my kind’s customs.”
“I do have much to learn,” Dunk admits.
Aerion replies in the form of a bite. Aerion holds Dunk’s hand carefully as he begins to feed. Dunk feels his body feel heavy, so heavy and good. He tries to keep his neck upright but he ends up falling into the couch. With Aerion — pretty and possessive Aerion — perched on his lap, he feels his lower body stir with interest.
The vampire could have drank from him for a minute or an hour, Dunk would not know the difference. The way his head floats is much different than the disoriented way he feels after donating too much blood. When Aerion takes him from, it feels euphoric, like the moments right before orgasm.
Aerion licks the raw patch of skin clean with his tongue after, still squeezing and massaging Dunk’s arm back to life.
Coming back to himself somewhat, Dunk can’t bring himself to lift his head but he can grip Aerion’s hip tight. The vampire presses his weight down onto Dunk’s lap, hips swiveling. Dunk thinks the seat of the vampire’s pants might even be damp.
“I only took a little,” Aerion promises. “I was good. I didn’t take too much. I only took enough.”
Aerion pants into the crook of Dunk’s neck, jerking his hips.
“You taste so good, my Mate.”
Aerion licks a stripe up Dunk’s neck. Dunk feels fangs hover, then retreat.
“I’m being good. You taste so good.”
Dunk hums a garbled response. The more he blinks, the less heavy he feels, but it’s still so hard to come back into focus.
“You’ll get used to the way it feels. This must have been your first time. I was your first time. The first vampire — the only vampire to ever feed directly from you,” Aerion continues, giddy.
“Aerion.” Dunk manages to tilt his head. His chin bumps into Aerion.
“There you are, my Mate.” Aerion smiles. Dunk thinks he still has blood on his teeth, on his lips, too.
“I feel,” Dunk tries to say. “I feel—” Heavy. Like there’s cotton in my mouth. Tingly. Like I’m hard.
“It gets easier,” Aerion says. “When you get used to it, I can give you some of my blood. You’ll bounce back twice as fast.”
Aerion grinds heavier once more, then trembles on Dunk’s lap. Eyes red, lips red, skin flushed pink.
“My Mate is so good. He denies me so much, doesn’t understand a thing, yet he’s still so good to me,” Aerion rambles on. “Let me take you to bed. You should rest now. You feel tired, don’t you?”
Aerion rises, pulling Dunk to his feet by the hands. Dunk isn’t sure how he manages it. He puts one foot in front of the other like he always does, more on autopilot than he’s ever been before.
Dunk could swear Aerion tucks him into bed, still talking, musing over things half meant for Dunk, half for himself said out loud. He tries to stay awake, tries to come back into his body before falling asleep, but with Aerion curled around him, the sleep ends up winning out.
Come morning, it’s just Dunk in bed.
His limbs feel normal and his brain is back to the same state it’s always been. He could swear it had all been a dream but there are two parallel pinprick sized scabs on his wrist that say otherwise. Not to mention, the skin around the bite points are bruised, splotchy and red.
On his bedside table is his phone. Dunk reaches for it. He woke up ten minutes before his alarm. Beneath the time, a text message from Aerion. He didn’t recall giving the vampire his number, but at this point, that’s the most miniscule detail he should worry about.
Barely 24 hours ago he was still in heavy denial that a vampire could be his Mate, or perhaps the other way around. Now, he isn’t so sure.
It’s quite unfortunate. As good — and strange — as it felt to be drunk directly from, Dunk still isn’t too keen on the idea of living life as a vampire. He likes being human. Soft, squishy, and very, very mortal. He doesn’t think he enjoys the idea of becoming a vampire if it means he’ll have to watch all of his human friends die before him. Even if, as a vampire, he’d die eventually, he’d much rather be a normal 80-something than 300.
Hells, Dunk doesn’t even like the sappy movies with that subject matter.
Figuring he’s awake, Dunk drags himself out of bed. He’s in the midst of brushing his teeth when there’s a knock at the door. At 7AM, he couldn’t possibly imagine who that might be. When he looks through a peephole, he spies a man dressed oddly as a chef.
He opens the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Good morning, Mr. Pennytree, I’m here to prepare your breakfast.”
“My what?”
“Your breakfast. Mr. Targaryen ordered I be here precisely at 7AM to serve you.”
“Did he now?”
“Yes.”
Dunk steps aside, allowing the man into the apartment. He and Aerion will have to have words. He knew Aerion’s cheeky Take care of yourself, or I will! had a deeper meaning to it.
The chef whips up a full spread of bacon, sausage, eggs, waffles, and freshly cut fruit all in the span of Dunk completing his morning routine of getting dressed and groomed for the day.
Raymun shuffles out of his bedroom, hair a mess and PJ’s sloppy, right as the chef is cleaning up and Dunk is about to run out the door.
“What is this?”
“Aerion.”
“Of course,” Raymun says.
“Be nice.”
“To the vampire.”
“We’re — he thinks we’re mates.”
“Would you also like a plate, sir?”
Raymun straightens his posture, peering at the aftermath of Dunk’s meal. “Well, I suppose if there are extras, I’d hate for it to go to waste.”
Dunk chuckles, hiding it when he ducks his head to tie his shoes. “I’ll be leaving first,” he announces.
“Same time tomorrow, sir?” the chef asks.
Dunk stops, his hand on the door knob. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes, should I come back at the same time tomorrow?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Dunk clears his throat, looking at Raymun piling up food on his plate. “I’ll speak to Aerion.”
The chef nods. “Oh, and sir?” Dunk looks back once more. “Was the steak last night to your liking?”
“The steak?” Dunk asks.
“You made that? I thought that was DoorDash,” Raymun interjects.
“I did,” the chef confirms. “That was the first steak I’ve ever made for human consumption. I was hoping it was correctly cooked to a human’s liking.”
“It was perfect, actually,” Dunk admits.
“Wonderful,” the chef says, pleased. He turns back to his pan, putting another waffle in front of Raymun. “Would you like more powdered sugar, sir? I also have some chocolate I can drizzle on top.”
Raymun shoots a glare at Dunk. They’ll have to talk about the Aerion situation later. Dunk should be trying to get himself out of things, not deeper into them.
For now, he would be a hungry fool to deny freshly cooked food.
“Please. Chocolate drizzle sounds delightful.”
Dunk half expects a driver with a fancy hat to escort him in a limo to work. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Dunk takes his normal bus to work and he claims his normal spot in the very back. He and the bus driver and all the usual passengers exchange polite, brief pleasantries.
Frantic but flattered, Dunk sends Aerion a hasty message chiding him for sending someone to the apartment.
Dunk watches as Aerion reads it, but doesn’t respond.
*
“My brother Aemon is a professor. He teaches Vampiric History and Customs. I have signed you up and paid your fees. The first class is next month.”
Aerion proffers Dunk a stapled packet of papers. Naturally, Dunk takes it. He’s not sure how he feels about it though.
“Pass or fail, whichever you’d like. But try not to embarrass me if you somehow learn nothing. I will not bother quizzing you. You will either come to a better understanding or you won’t.”
“You do deserve a Mate who understands you,” Dunk agrees.
“Are you saying you wish to or are you making a fool of me again?” Aerion looks at Dunk sadly. “I will not continue to be scorned by my Mate.”
Dunk chews on his bottom lip so hard it hurts. “I’ll take your brother's classes. But if he assigns homework, truly, I don’t know how I’ll have time for it.”
“Well,” Aerion sniffs, “it’s not as though you’re taking enough classes to earn a degree so should you fail, I suppose it doesn’t matter. As long as you learn something.”
“Everyone’s always told me I was stupid,” Dunk confesses, looking at the printed syllabus with disdain. Another instance where he should’ve said no.
Aerion’s eyes narrow briefly. “And?”
“Hm?” Dunk flips the top page.
“What?”
“What?” Dunk parrots.
Aerion opens his mouth to reply, then doesn’t. “You really are a big daft oaf.”
“Aye, so I’ve been told that too,” Dunk laments.
He doesn’t try to read beyond the third page. He’ll have to skim through it later, if he can manage free time between fixing cars and rugby practice later.
Sure, he’ll have some breathing room while he’s taking lunch or riding the bus but he often finds himself too tired and out of focus to do much else than recuperate his strength.
“Well you are my big daft oaf of a Mate now. Only I can call you such,” Aerion says sternly.
“That’s kind of you,” Dunk replies, making it sound much like a question.
Aerion grabs Dunk’s wrist, brushing his thumb over the healing bite mark. “It is kind. I’m not kind to many. That is another thing I reserve only for my Mate.”
Dunk, actually, feels flattered. He also finds he doesn’t care that Raymun would be disappointed to see him being successfully seduced by a vampire.
In preparation for class, Aerion takes Dunk shopping. Dunk usually can make do between his cheap tablet and phone, but Aerion insists he needs a laptop. Then he needs paper, pens, and a backpack that isn’t actually falling apart at the seams. Dunk would be content with whatever but Aerion doesn’t so much blink at any of the prices.
The Targaryens come from old money, not to mention all their modern business endeavors, politics, and the reality show that ran for a decade before Daeron got so wasted on camera that the program was pulled off air by the head of the clan.
Reruns earn the family bits of royalties but that episode certainly hasn’t seen the light of day in ages.
So, safe to say, Aerion doesn’t think about money the way Dunk thinks about money.
“I noticed you needed new socks as well,” Aerion says, as he drags Dunk to the mall. He looks at what Dunk is wearing. “Shorts too.”
“What’s wrong with my shorts?” he asks, indignant.
Admittedly, some of his socks may be worn down and there’s definitely one with a hole that he can’t bring himself to get rid of because its partner is in perfectly fine shape and to throw out one would throw off his entire sock count.
“Those 3 inch inseam shorts are obscene. I can’t have wandering eyes thinking they can take a bite out of you,” Aerion says. Even he can’t bring himself to look. “And around children as well. I’m surprised those mothers haven’t tried to sink their teeth into you yet — even the human ones.”
Self-conscious, Dunk pulls the shorts down slightly, which only serves to reveal the waistband of his boxers. He tugs his threadbare t-shirt down next.
“I should just get you a whole new wardrobe.”
“That’s not necessary,” Dunk weakly argues.
“You’d rather buy a water bottle for elephants than proper clothing,” Aerion complains.
Dunk has no defense for that. Sure his 64 ounce water bottle seems excessive, but he can’t always get it refilled. At least he’s hydrated, unlike a roommate of his.
Aerion complains the entire time, criticizing Dunk’s fashion choices yet seems to enjoy himself all the same, parading Dunk around, dressing him in clothes of his choosing. By the time they’re done, Aerion is pleased with himself and the damage they’ve done. Meanwhile, Dunk is simply exhausted. Even his arms are tired from carrying around the excessive amount of bags they’ve acquired.
“I suppose I should return you home,” Aerion says moodily.
“You should come inside with me. We could watch a movie,” Dunk suggests. Aerion purses his lips slightly. “I’ll let you pick.”
Aerion smiles, small.
He complains, too, about the lack of subscriptions that exist between Dunk and Raymun. They have two and pay one each, which does, sadly, decrease the amount of potential things they can watch. Aerion is partial to horror films which Dunk typically stays away from, but he lets Aerion put on one that doesn’t seem too gory as he cuts tags off of his array of new items.
Aerion almost has the family chef come over to cook them dinner, but Dunk insists that the wonders of DoorDash are almost as good.
Aerion picks at Dunk’s meal while Dunk eats the bulk of the pasta and chicken. The vampire eyes up Dunk’s neck like he’s eager to feast, then doesn’t ask and Dunk doesn’t offer his blood again.
By the end of the night Dunk is fighting off the urge to sleep.
As the second film starts playing, the lights are turned off. Dunk barely makes it to the title card.
*
“So, you and the vampire are still a thing, huh,” Raymun part asks for confirmation, part observes.
Aerion has practically been glued to Dunk. Even now.
“I am courting him,” Aerion corrects.
Dunk shrugs. Aerion has been courting him.
“And you want to be courted?” Raymun asks.
“I suppose I never thought being courted was an option I had,” Dunk answers. “Most humans just call it dating.”
“You can say we’re dating for the sake of your simple human friends, if you must,” Aerion chimes in.
Dunk would wager about a month has passed since his first encounter with Aerion. Maybe a month and a half since Aerion got it in his head that they’re Mates. In that time, Dunk could count on one hand the small number of times they must have kissed like normal dating humans would have. And, still, Aerion has not taken any of Dunk’s blood again.
The more time passes since Aerion’s last feeding, the more Dunk wonders how Aerion is getting by.
Pointedly, Dunk ignores the weird sensation in his chest when he imagines Aerion bent over another person, lips bloody, stomach full.
“You’d blink twice in a row if you were in any danger, right?” Raymun checks.
Dunk puts a hand on top of Aerion’s, preventing him from moving. “I’ve got no reason to do that.”
“I didn’t realize your friend was racist,” Aerion comments.
“I’m not!”
“He’s not.” Dunk shakes his head. “He’s just prickly because his cousin got Turned and his cousin is an arse.”
“Who is his cousin?”
“You could ask me, I’m right here.”
“Steffon Fossoway.”
“I could have him banished,” Aerion offers.
Dunk laughs. “Banished?”
“My grandfather can permit or disallow vampires from living in this territory.” Aerion turns to Raymun. “Would you like him banished?”
“Uh . . . I mean, I guess he isn’t that bad,” Raymun admits.
Aerion frowns. “That’s disappointing. Banishments are quite exciting affairs, especially since we had to stop stoning.”
“Stoning?” Raymun looks at Dunk with concern.
“Yes, the elders deemed it to be an outdated form of punishment. I suppose they weren’t wrong, but sometimes what else is a vampire to do for excitement when you’ve lived so many years.”
“Dunk—”
A knock at the door interrupts.
“If me and Rowan didn’t have a date, we’d be having words,” Raymun stresses. He grabs a jacket off the back of one of the chairs and moves hastily to the door.
“He means well,” Dunk says to Aerion, for Raymun’s benefit.
Aerion bares a fang, but stays firmly seated on the couch beside Dunk.
“You have that look again,” Dunk observes. He cups Aerion’s cheek to have the vampire look at him directly.
“And what look is that,” Aerion deadpans.
“The kind I think you get when you’re thirsty,” Dunk guesses.
“You think you know what that looks like,” Aerion says, avoiding eye contact. Like being a thirsty vampire is a weakness.
Maybe it is.
“I watch you just like you watch me,” Dunk says.
“Even if you’re right, do you mean to do something about it or merely state what you think is obvious?” Aerion challenges.
“If you’re hungry, I’m full. Why don’t you take from me?” Dunk suggests.
“Do you realize what you’re offering me?” Aerion asks, oddly hesitant when Dunk thought he’d be eager.
“A meal, I suppose,” Dunk says with a shrug.
Aerion’s lip curls as he forces his body to face away from Dunk. “It is also you acknowledging my intent to Bond with you. Only Mates so intentionally offer up their blood.”
“Really? I hadn’t known.”
“Of course.” Aerion folds his arms. “It’s why you will take my brother’s classes soon.”
“So . . . you don’t want to feed from me?” Dunk asks for clarification.
Aerion spins back around. “Of course I do, oaf! It is all I want, but I will not do so if you do not understand the meaning behind the offer. It is why I have not asked like a beggar or demanded.”
“Aerion,” Dunk says gently, “okay, I understand. Do you still wish to take a drink?”
The vampire licks his lips ever so slightly. “I don’t only pamper you to get your blood, even if it is part of the reason why I’m driven so.”
“You like me?” Dunk asks, surprised.
“Somehow, so. I do find your—” Aerion waves a hand between them, “being to be endearing.”
Dunk preens. “I think I’m quite coming around to you as well.”
“I imagined the way you’d say that would have been sweeter.” Aerion attempts to turn away once more. Dunk doesn’t let him.
“My sincerest apologies,” Dunk says. “If you accept my apology, will you drink?”
Aerion curls into Dunk’s side. “My father warned me to try to Bond with a human would be difficult. I hadn’t realized I needed to account for your incompetence as well.”
“Once I’m done with your brother’s classes I’ll be less so,” Dunk says comfortingly.
“So we must hope,” Aerion sighs.
“If that’s settled, you’ll feed?” Dunk asks again.
“Yes, I will.” Aerion bites his lips, looking at a spot on Dunk’s neck. “But not here. Your bedroom will be more comfortable when I’m done with you.”
Dunk recalls the way he could barely move and agrees.
Aerion commands Dunk to lie down under blankets and surrounded by pillows. He even turns off the light and the TV on for its soft glow.
“I will need to take more this time,” Aerion warns. “I’ll still be careful. If you start to feel ill, I’ll feel it and stop sooner.”
“I trust you,” Dunk reassures. He wiggles beneath the tight blankets, thinking Aerion went a bit overboard.
Again, Aerion cradles Dunk’s arm carefully, massaging firmly. Dunk caresses Aerion’s cheek on instinct and is rewarded with wet kisses along the length of his wrist. Once Aerion deems Dunk ready, he sinks his fangs in. It’s less shocking than it was before, now that Dunk knows how it feels. He tries to relax into the mound of pillows for the rest to come.
Aerion drinks more just like he said. His greedy fingers grip onto Dunk tighter, his hips moving in a dirty swivel. When Aerion squeezes, Dunk wonders if it pumps the blood out faster for him to drink. Then the fuzziness and fog hits again.
Dunk groans, his hand trying to hold onto Aerion’s thigh. The vampire slides forward, his warm core right on top of Dunk's cock. Dunk vaguely feels Aerion’s lips smile pressed against his skin.
“My Mate did so good,” Aerion coos. He laps a small drop of blood away with his tongue. “My Mate tastes so good. You feel good, don’t you, Duncan? I know you do. I can taste it.”
Aerion lets Dunk’s arm down gently when the bleeding stops. Dunk’s head lolls on the pillows.
“I took just enough.” With newfound vigor, Aerion places both hands on the wall beside Dunk’s head and rides his lap harder. “I’ll make my Mate feel good too.”
Dunk blinks heavily, trying to clear the heaviness from his mouth. Aerion kisses him, dipping tongue between his lips. Dunk thinks he can taste a bit of blood. His own blood.
“Next time I’ll make you feel really good,” Aerion says against Dunk’s lips. “You’ll feel like a king, my Mate, my knight, my big oaf, mine.”
Dunk grunts, his thighs quaking when he comes. Aerion follows suit soon after, huffing against his shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.
This time, Dunk comes back to himself more easily, though he thinks he could have floated in that lovely, weird space for longer if he had wanted to. Dunk is confident in his coherency when he can fully flex his fingers, gripping Aerion more firmly.
“Did you like that?” Aerion asks, gripping Dunk beneath the chin.
Dopily, Dunk grins. “I did. My Mate treats me well.”
Aerion kisses Dunk fiercely.
The next morning when Dunk intends to call the blood bank to inform them he won’t be returning for his usual drop by, he can’t find the number. He manages to locate it in a folder for deleted items. Hearing Aerion approaching — he really has a sixth sense for Dunk attempting to share his time with others — Dunk locks his phone.
The vampire wraps his arms around Dunk’s middle.
“Don’t let your breakfast get cold,” Aerion says.
Dunk activates his phone’s screen. Aerion demanded it be changed to a picture of the two of them like how human Mates often do. “Alright, I’m coming.” He locks the phone again. He can always call Lyonel later.