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Not all that much had changed after Peter became a vampire. There were some little things—strict no camera rules for the audience of Fright Night, no more filmed documentaries, no public appearances. People just assumed the untimely and mysterious death of his girlfriend had made him a bit… reclusive. Crosses also silently disappeared from his show and from his collection of fake tattoos, but no one paid that much mind.
He still had his penthouse (with a few minor adjustments to the windows and the timetable of the staff). He still maintained his rigorous performance schedule. He played the part he always had. Only it was a touch more ironic, the illusion of slaying demons when one was the demon, and the real illusion was that he appeared human.
He still collected antiquities, he still researched vampires, learning all he could and filling his arsenal. Because although parts of him warred against it, he still planned to kill Jerry one day.
What had changed was Charley. Charley was his constant. Sometimes it still felt like it was the two of them against the world. Even though they’d lost the battle in the basement that day. Even though they’d both been turned. Charley remained loyal to him. Had come back with him here and left Amy, Jerry, and the others to the dirt. Charley was his best friend, his hunting partner, his lover, and Peter felt like sometimes they kept each other sane. As sane as vampires could be, anyway.
It was Charley now who interrupted his reverie, padding softly into the bedroom, not long after sunset. “Jerry’s here,” Charley informed him.
Peter knew this, of course. Jerry had full access to the penthouse, and Peter had felt it the moment the older vampire had crossed his threshold. He hated this connection, but it was… convenient sometimes. Jerry would never surprise him again.
“So?” Peter answered, but he got out of bed anyway, and followed Charley into the living room. Spotting Jerry lounging in a chair, Peter pointedly said, “Am I supposed to give a fuck?”
“Kind of,” Charley said, going to sit on the arm of the chair, “Yeah.” Charley was always drawn to Jerry whenever in the same room.
The blood had worked a little differently in Charley. Whereas Peter had been turned by minions, Charley had been made by Jerry and Jerry alone, the blood coming down from their maker directly. Peter had Jerry’s blood in him, but it was… filtered. Charley had it straight from the source, which made a stronger bond (and yeah, monsters though they were, their emotions were still very much intact, if altered). Charley’s hate had been muted. He was loyal to Peter above everything, but Charley still submitted to Jerry, loved Jerry in his way, and ever played the peacekeeper between the two of them.
“Deference to your maker? That is kind of how it works, sport,” Jerry said, addressing Peter, while rubbing a hand affectionately through Charley’s hair.
Jerry’s infantalization of him, that small reminder that Jerry had known him as a child, never failed to enrage Peter.
“If you haven’t noticed, Jerry, I haven’t taken to this whole vampire thing exactly the way I’m meant to,” Peter spat. “Stay with the family, you say. I say fuck off. Sleep in the earth, you say. I say why the fuck would I want to do that? I have a great bed and a greater shower here. I’m supposed to want to keep snackers, kill slowly? Maybe I have thought once or twice about using the panic room for that, but I never would. Because I’m not you.”
“What?” Jerry snorted dismissively, “Haven’t lost your soul yet?”
Peter probably didn’t have a soul to lose. He had little or no conscience about killing. He was an animal, feeding on his prey. There was no right or wrong with that, just survival, and Peter was nothing if not a survivor. He wouldn’t deny the pleasure, though. Killing, feeding… when he was really starving, it could be almost better than sex sometimes. But he wouldn’t play with his food either, would never torture victims or draw out kills. It wasn’t his style.
But Peter just narrowed his eyes and let Jerry’s remark slide without comment. “Why are you here?”
It’d be the same speech he’d heard a dozen times, about giving up his old life. You can’t have it both ways, Peter. You’re a vampire or you’re human. Or Jerry would say to cut ties or that he’s endangering the tribe by maintaining a public profile. Peter didn’t feel like listening. He turned his back and walked away while Jerry was mid-sentence, something about the world not being ready for them yet, about moving to another city.
“…don’t really care, but the Nevada Tourist Board may start to notice pretty soo—”
Peter went and fixed himself a drink. He still loved his beloved Midori, even if it took twice as much to get him drunk (and it had taken a lot before). He heard Jerry sigh dramatically and looked up briefly to see Jerry pull Charley into his lap for a snog. Well that didn’t take long. ‘Vampire business,’ was usually a cover anyway. Jerry came here to get off. It wasn’t the first time, it probably wouldn’t be the last. Peter and Charley were somewhat exotic for Jerry. His vampires, but not directly under his control. The three of them had fucked around plenty of times, but always with Charley between them. A… buffer. Peter had barely ever touched Jerry. No kissing, no fucking, and definitely no sharing of blood (that was… intimate)—at least not with Jerry.
It didn’t mean that watching Jerry and Charley together didn’t furiously turn him on. Peter wasn’t that dead. He tried not to look. Concentrated on his drink, and when that failed to be distracting, hauled out the laptop that was under the bar, flipped it open and began mindlessly clicking around eBay. But he could hear them. Sloppy kisses and clothes rustling and Charley’s sexy small groans in the back of his throat. He should just leave, but he wouldn’t give Jerry the satisfaction of knowing he was (hot and) bothered.
After a few minutes, he chanced looking up and that was the end of his resistance. They were both naked, Jerry still in the chair, hand fisted tightly in Charley curls while Charley, on his knees, went to work. When Jerry’s eyes snapped open, meeting Peter’s across the room with a dark, lusty, all-too-human-looking stare, Peter was already moving, already taking off his confining clothes.
Naked as well by the time he reached them, he kneeled behind Charley, laying kisses across his back, delighting in the happy sounds of pleasure Charley made around Jerry’s cock. He tried to avoid looking at Jerry, instead focusing on the temptation of Charley’s pale skin in front of him, letting his hands roam, letting the desire burn through him, hotter than blood. He pulled Charley’s hips up so he’d have better access to Charley’s cock and stroked slowly, a counterpoint to the rhythm of his mouth on Jerry.
“Peter,” Jerry said thickly, breaking Peter’s concentration and forcing him to look up from what he as doing to Charley. Jerry was digging around in the clothing tucked into the crevices of the chair. He tossed Peter something which Peter caught reflexively. A small bottle. “Here, give Charley what he needs.”
“And you know what that is, do you?” Peter snapped. Charley was his, and damned if Jerry didn’t take every opportunity to undermine that. Hadn’t Jerry taken enough from him? But Peter took the suggestion, anyway, slowly coating himself in the proffered lube.
“I know enough,” Jerry answered before his eyes slipped closed again as, in his excitement, Charley’s movements sped up.
Peter made a sound of disgust, of impatience, with his maker. He just wanted to fuck, to lose himself in sex, to not have to think for a few minutes. He reached down to ready Charley, but before he could slip his fingers inside, he suddenly changed his mind. This wasn’t what he needed.
“Stop,” Peter said quietly, but Charley heard the command.
Charley pulled his mouth away and turned to look behind him. “What?”
“Move.”
Charley peered at him curiously, and he could feel Jerry’s eyes questioning him too. When no one moved, Peter pulled Charley back, shoving him out of the way. In the same movement, he pulled Jerry off the low chair by his knees, dragging him onto the floor. Jerry’s eyes widened, just for a moment, and Peter reveled in surprising him.
“Peter, what are you doing?” Jerry said very calmly, sounding only mildly curious, even as Peter spread Jerry’s legs and positioned himself to push inside.
“What does it feel like?” Peter said through clenched teeth.
“Peter—” Charley warned quietly from next to them, but they both ignored him.
“Did I say you could?” Jerry asked in the same maddening tone.
Peter looked at Jerry’s face. He wanted to ruin that calm, that nonchalance. Or damn it, he wanted to feel that, to not give a fuck with such fucking grace. “Stop me if you don’t want it.”
“Nope,” Jerry said simply, and Peter thrust inside him in one quick movement.
Peter’s mind was a whirl, reveling in the exquisite tightness, in the thrill of what was new and had been (albeit self-imposed) off-limits, but still seething with fury. Because even though he was taking Jerry, he couldn’t take anything from Jerry. On his back, being fucked, and Jerry was still very much in charge.
Peter’s thrusts were rough and quick, not caring about making this good for Jerry. He wouldn’t hurt him, though (because he rather thought Jerry would delight in making Peter do that). He wouldn’t go overboard, wouldn’t even let his claws come out or his fangs descend as instinct and lust and anger were driving him to. He’d stay in control; stay as human as he could.
A sound from next to them reminded Peter of Charley’s presence and he looked over in time to see Charley coming, stroking himself to the tableau they made. Jerry saw too and the three of them groaned together and Peter shifted, drew closer, pushed harder, Jerry’s cock hot and incredibly hard between their bodies. And Peter didn’t fight it when Jerry pulled him down for a kiss. It struck him how that was a little bit fucked up, their first kiss, like this. But soon he was distracted by Jerry’s tongue in his mouth and how amazing his own body felt, head to toe and skin and cock and tongue and teeth. And he was so close, he forgot about punishing Jerry, forgot about rage and self-loathing for a few seconds; right now there was just this, just the need to move and to feel and to come.
Until Jerry pushed him back from the kiss. “This doesn’t change anything, Peter,” Jerry said with the dark, passive malice that was his trademark. Peter saw Jerry’s eyes blacken and his fangs descend.
Fuck, Peter thought just before his whole body went rigid and he came, just as Jerry cupped the back of his head and sank fangs into his neck.
Peter went limp then in Jerry’s arms, letting it happen, a numbness creeping through the haze of his body’s waning pleasure that had nothing to do with blood loss. Another pair of lips was on him soon, another set of fangs, as Charley joined Jerry in drinking from him.
When Peter had had enough, he disentangled from them both and dragged himself up to sit against the chair, panting a little, because his body still thought it needed to do that when exhausted. They were both looking at him curiously, and he noted with a detached sort of satisfaction that at some point, Jerry had come too.
Then Peter looked at nothing, a point on the wall maybe, a weapon, and ran his hand through his hair.
“That good for you, Peter?” Jerry drawled.
“Shut up, Jerry,” Charley said defensively and Peter's heart filled with something like pride. As much as Charley was bound to Jerry, he understood Peter, and understood everything that had just happened, and would ultimately, always be on Peter’s side.
Jerry just laughed and got up, searching for his clothes.
Peter held out a hand and Charley came to him. Peter tasted his own blood as they kissed languidly and he tried to drown out the presence of the third vampire in the room. But he couldn’t, quite.
“When you two are done making love or whatever it is you do…” Jerry was saying, “…go out and hunt. You both need it. And then come to the house. We still have things to discuss.”
Peter didn’t think they would do that last one. They’d fuck. They’d hunt and they’d kill. And then maybe he and Charley would leave Vegas. But they’d do it together. And they’d do it alone.
FIN