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“Shit, shit…” Sammie’s leaning against the worn wood wall of the Juke, the sun just sinking under the Earth, the edge of light not quite out of sight but on its way, darkness falling upon all of Clarkesdale; might as well be the whole world. His shoulders are hunched over, one hand on his stomach and the other’s fingertips covered in a slight sheen of blood.
Behind Sammie, Remmick appears out of nowhere, like he’d dropped out of the sky. Seconds before the skin on the back of Sammie’s neck had started to tickle, and he’d felt something, that presence, but he was too distracted, too mortified, to pay any attention to that part of his physicality.
“Somethin’ wrong?”
“Get outta here,” Sammie says through his teeth. Remmick ignores this, comes around him and gives the boy a once over. Sammie tries not to look into his eyes, to keep his head down, but he can’t help himself from getting a glance–he tilts his head up, just a bit, and sees the exact sort of interested amusement he’d expected from the vampire. Inside, it makes Sammie seeth.
“Fuck off, Remmick.” Sammie tries to push past Remmick, holding himself so tight against the wall of the Juke and moving forward, but Remmick is fast, too fast, and it seems like he’s floating along with Sammie, barely even moving his feet to keep up.
A wave of cramps hits Sammie like a punch in the gut. He cringes, bits his lip, turns his face away from Remmick. He doesn’t need to be looking at him to know the damned creature is staring at his fingers, at that glistening blood.
And at his crotch.
“Goddamn, Sammie,” Remmick coos, and Sammie has heard this line so many times now it makes him feel nauseous. To be just near the vampire, it makes him feel nauseous. In the beginning it was fear, stark and hot and raw and detestable, back when things were more unsure, back before he too was convinced that Annie had full control, that the monster couldn’t do anything to them. It hadn’t been a lack of trust in Annie, her abilities, the ancestors or anything like that–it had been a lack of belief in Remmick, that there was anything that could keep him from doing the task he had come to Clarkesdale for.
Now it isn't fear but disgust, irritation, resentment. He wished, most of the time, that the vampire just wasn't there.
“Bet I could smell you all the way from Alabama.”
Sammie tried not to get stuck alone with him. Annie said it was better not to tempt him, and if Smoke saw Remmick anywhere near Sammie he always had a fit over it. But–they’re all inside. Soon enough cars will be filling the meadow lot and music will be spilling out from between the wooden boards of the building. Remmick’s only just awake, too, and Sammie knows that by the dirt still encrusted around his collar, in his hair, a demon only just rising from the grave into the safety of the darkness.
“Don’t you know the meanin’ of ‘go away’?” But even as Sammie cringes with pain, he knows more than anything Remmick doesn’t understand that. That it would take more than a little begging to satisfy the monster enough to make him leave, and even then–what was he, bound to their family now? There would be no leaving for him, there would be nowhere else now, not until they were prepared to kill him. Sammie had been prepared the whole time, ready with a stake next to his pillow, in his guitar case, next to the Juke’s bar, for the moment he was given the opportunity, was able to take the opportunity. The binding wouldn’t stop them from killing the creature, it would only make it easier. Sammie could kill him any time, if his cousins would let him.
“I know the meaning of distress, Sammie, and boy aren’t you feeling it. Don’t even need to bite you to feel all that pain shootin’ through your body. Hurtin’ bad, I see it.” He’s too excited, talking like that. His voice trembling but not from any sort of fear, from being too worked up. Sammie flinches when Remmick places a hand on his shoulder. He’s stopped walking, just around the corner of the back end of the Juke, and he can see the shallow water of the river as it reflects the moonlight. He also hears the low rumble of an engine, not quite here yet but coming, and coming fast. When Sammie tries to pull away, Remmick’s hand tightens, not letting him go. Sammie looks at him, furious and bewildered, still, at his strength. Sure, he couldn’t hurt them, the binding made sure of that. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t toy with them.
A clot slides down the inside of Sammie’s thigh under his pants, leaving a line of blood streaking down his skin. Without having to see it, Remmick’s eyes lock onto it, as if he can see through the fabric, right to what he wants.
“I’mma yell for Smoke if you don’t get your hand off me.” It’s humiliating, the threat, and when Remmick’s eyes shoot up from between Sammie’s legs to Sammie’s face, his expression tells Sammie that he can sense the bullshit on his tongue.
“Shoot, that’s a good idea,” Remmick muses, but Sammie can see the mocking in his eyes, the whole thing a joke to him. “Elijah wouldn’t want you performing in this state, I’m sure of it. You know how much he hates to see you in pain.”
A joke. The monster got jokes.
But Sammie’s sure of it too, sure Smoke would send him packing if he had any idea. Smoke didn’t like being reminded of his cousin’s particularities. “Fuck,” Sammie says, exasperated. He already knows where this is going. Knew from the beginning, even, before Remmick had shown himself. It was like asking the buzzards not to feast on a corpse, like asking a dog not to eat its own vomit.
Remmick’s hand still on Sammie’s shoulder, he leans in so close that his lips brush against Sammie’s ear, and for the first time Sammie notices that his fingers have morphed into their claw-like form, his readiness to jump into action as insistent as–Sammie glances down–his obvious erection.
“I’ll call Elijah over,” Remmick continues. “Clear this whole thing up, get you home safe and sound. That’s what you want, ain’t it Sammie?”
Of course it isn't. He just hadn’t been prepared–not for the blood. He’d thought he had a few more days, that he could get through the performance, deal with it afterwards. But like a lot of things, it had snuck up on him. Sammie closes his eyes, seething inside with anger, at himself and at Remmick and at the twins and Annie for keeping him around. But, also–
“Is that what you want?” Remmick asks again. He’s so close his dense chest is pressing hard up against Sammie’s arm. His head is tilted into Sammie so that the fringes of his hair tickles against Sammie’s face. And Remmick’s other hand, the one that wasn’t holding Sammie in place, took Sammie’s hand in its claws, rubbing some of the blood off Sammie’s fingertips and putting it to his mouth, flicking his tongue against the edge of a claw.
“Like honey to me,” he says. Sammie can feel his tongue against the curve of his ear. The pain in his stomach intensifies. “You don’t want me to call Elijah. You want me to take care of this for you.”
Truth is, he does. And the shame came from the thought of the act but, also, from the thought of the sinfulness that would bring him to the act. He ought to tell Smoke he can’t sing and take himself home, lay in bed and suffer like he deserved. But Sammie didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to leave the Juke. He wanted to sing and, part of him, a part that he didn’t like to acknowledge but that had been creeping up more often lately, consistently, felt that if the vampire was going to be around, he might as well do something useful with himself.
Stack’s voice. Annie’s too.
“We’ll put him to work,” Stack had said, a laugh on his tongue.
Months before the idea had sounded crazy. What was it that he could do for them? What was it that was worth keeping such a dangerous thing around, binding him to their family for all eternity?
Sammie turns so his back is against the wall of the Juke. In the distance, the sound of engines has gotten louder, much louder, so loud Sammie can be sure that the cars are close, not just one car but multiple, a packed house for the night a sure thing. He’s looking up at Remmick, one hand on Sammie’s shoulder and the other over him, flat against the wall like he’s trying to make a joint. Sammie lifts up his chin, willing all of his wounded pride to stay out of his voice.
Remmick’s eyes sparkle, knowing he’s about to get what he wants.
“Fine,” Sammie hisses. Immediately he notices Remmick’s body relax, like he had been in a stance to jump at any moment. “Be quick, I gotta get inside.”
Remmick is on his knees in front of Sammie before he even finishes his sentence, silly wide grin on his face, his hands pulling at Sammie’s belt, his buttons, pulling his pants down his legs. They’re not so far away from the Juke’s door, only a single turn by someone who also wanted to take a piss, and Sammie couldn’t help but imagine what hell he’d pay if someone stumbled upon them like this, white freak with his head between Sammie’s legs. Remmick’s face had become known around the Juke, but he was never let inside. People questioned it, of course, having a white man doing their security. But they didn’t question too much, at least not in front of any of the Moores.
As Remmick pulls Sammie’s pants down to his ankles, Sammie hears the door open around the corner, and hears Stack’s voice calling out to a few of the cars that were now starting to line up in the lot. Heat starts to rise into Sammie’s cheeks but his cunt beats it, Remmick’s clawed fingers pulling his lips apart and making every bit of blood in Sammie’s body rush to his crotch.
But Remmick keeps talking.
“You know, I oughta be offended,” he says. Holding Sammie open with his fingers he leans his face closer and takes a deep sniff closing his eyes and holding it in. Sammie’s face twists in disgust. He feels blood running down his thighs. “Tryin’ to keep all this from me. Shoot, I woulda been howling like a dog out here if you’d gone up on stage like this and I couldn’t get to you. We should pull these off, huh?” He starts to tug Sammie’s pants across his feet, but Sammie protests.
“What? No, no–not all the way off!”
Remmick looks up at him, his face incredulous. “Now how am I supposed to get to the good stuff with your pants on like this, Sammie? That doesn’t make no damn sense.”
Around the corner, Sammie hears Stack’s laugh. “Fuck, fine. You’re takin’ too long.”
“You keep fightin’ me.”
Sammie kicks his foot to free his pants, but makes sure to catch Remmick's side as his foot lands back on the ground. But Remmick doesn’t even flinch.
“Very cute, Sammie. Gimme that leg.” He throws one of Sammie’s legs over his shoulder, and a moment later his tongue is so deep up Sammie’s pussy Sammie thinks he might faint.
There’s noise, coming from the voices of those arriving only feet away, the sound of the cars, and even some music now floating out from the inside of the club, but Sammie still felt like he’d be so loud everyone could hear him, that everyone would know, so he places a hand over his mouth, gripping himself to try and keep quiet. Remmick, his face deep between Sammie’s legs, doesn’t even notice, nor does he try and stop himself from being overheard, the loud, hungry, desperate sounds as he laps at Sammie’s cunt, as he sucks the blood from inside him, as he runs his tongue over Sammie’s bloodied, engorged clit, and moans all while he does it. With his free hand, Sammie smacks Remmick on the shoulder, but he doesn’t stop, not even for a moment. Sammie can feel thick globs of drool mixing with the blood on his skin. He can feel every nerve ending in his body lit up with the feeling of Remmick’s tongue on him. Remmick’s free hand grips Sammie’s thigh, too, keeping him in place, as if Sammie could go anywhere else.
Only for a second does Remmick pull away, the bottom half of his mouth covered in blood, Sammie’s blood, a clot at the edge of Remmick’s mouth. Sammie hates how, despite his disgust, it’s slightly endearing.
Sammie is breathless as he says, “You got somethin’ on your face.”
Remmick’s grin widens. He leans in to kiss Sammie’s stomach, pushing his shirt up so as not to get blood on the cloth. “You know Sammie, you don’t gotta be bleedin’ for me to help you out. I hear it helps ward off stress, and I believe it.”
Sammie’s laugh comes out as a bark, dry and exhausted. “You can’t fuckin’ help yourself. Greedy ass.”
Remmick leans back into Sammie’s pussy, letting his tongue flick against Sammie’s clit and then sucking on it, nice and slow, his eyes still turned upwards towards Sammie’s face.
He feels like he’s going to cum, is sure he’s going to cum. He looks down between his legs, past Remmick’s head, and sees the way the blood has dried around his thighs. It’s dark now, totally dark around them, and Sammie isn’t quite sure how much time has passed, only a few minutes or a thousand years, but he’s sure as the wealth of voices grows, it won’t be long until someone stumbles around the corner, finds them.
“Okay, okay,” he’s saying, the feeling washing over him, the warmth spreading to the rest of his body, his legs starting to shake. He’s inclined to push Remmick away, but hand on Remmick’s shoulder, it’s not going to happen, and Sammie lets out a moan so loud even Remmick looks up at him.
Their eyes meet, and Remmick’s tongue finds its way back inside him, circling him, milking the blood out, digging deeper and deeper, his claws holding onto Sammie’s his tight, one of Sammie’s legs over his shoulder, only for the flood to squirt all over his face, his mouth, his nose, his eyes. But Remmick doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t even seem to notice. His tongue out of Sammie and flat against Sammie’s skin, he’s licking him carefully, cleaning up the mess on his thighs.
“You’re still so full of it,” Remmick says, starry eyed. With his foot, Sammie begins to push the vampire away, clarity coming back to him and reminding him where he is, what he’s supposed to be doing. On the other side of the building, instead of Stack’s voice Sammie hears Smoke’s. Hears Smoke say his name, like he’s looking for him. And then, fear running through Sammie’s body like lightning, he hears Smoke call out for Remmick.
Like a dog hearing his master’s voice, Remmick’s body straightens, tenses, his eyes roaming the darkness for the origins of the voice. Sammie takes that chance to fully push him away, to stumble over, pulling his pants up and bending over to wipe the blood that had gotten on his hands on the dirt. Remmick, still bloodied, scrambles to his feet as well, and when Sammie says, “Your face!” Remmick looks at him confused.
“Aw, Elijah won’t care,” Remmick says, looking way out into the darkness.
“I care!” Sammie says, indignant. When he glances down, he can still see Remmick is hard as a rock in his pants, the erection straining. What good feeling had momentarily filled Sammie’s body for the creature drained slowly.
What a fucking idiot.
“Remmick!” Smoke’s voice again. Sammie is tucking in his shirt, latching his belt, and feeling–
Ugh. Just like Remmick had said. Still full of it.
He hears the crunching sound of feet turning the corner, and tries to make his face up not to look so guilty. But Remmick–Remmick lets it all hang out. Can’t be bothered to wipe his face, can’t be bothered to do anything about the rod sticking out of his pants. Just stands there, waiting for Smoke to find them. An irritation rises up in Sammie, but it’s killed instantly by the look on Smoke’s face when he turns the corner.
Smoke stops, the darkness hiding some of their guilt, but not enough of it. Immediately Remmick starts talking, and Sammie wishes that the binding spell that Annie put over him went as far as keeping him quiet, too.
“Sorry, Elijah,” Remmick says, and Sammie wants to roll his eyes. He tries to get away, to pretend like they were just there together by chance, that he’s just trying to get back inside, but when he starts to move past Smoke, Smoke stops him, placing his hand tight on the same shoulder that Remmick had.
“What y’all doin’?” He’s asking, but the look on his face–looking at Remmick, what a mess he is–says he has some idea.
“Oh, I was just–”
“I was takin’ a piss,” Sammie says, half lying. “This freak followed me. You gotta do something about this, Smoke. I can’t stand him leering at me all the time.”
Smoke takes a long look at Sammie, and Sammie wonders how obvious it is, whether his heavy breathing and thrown together look gave him away so easily, as easily as Remmick. He hears Remmick click his tongue.
“Well, that’s not–”
“Stack’s lookin’ for you,” Smoke says, cutting Remmick off. He’s still staring at Sammie, his eyes dark, knowing, and full of mirth. The heat that had once risen to Sammie’s face and then back down to his crotch infects his cheeks again. He feels like a fool, a real one. Smoke lets his shoulder go, pushing him forward towards the door as he says it.
Sammie wonders....
“Right,” Sammie agrees, starting to scurry away. As he passes, Smoke turns his gaze towards Remmick, who looks happy as can be.
From behind Sammie, he hears Smoke say, “And clean yourself up, too.”