Cat's M/M Fiction - Dance With A Vampire

Dance with a Vampire

A Short Sweet  Gay Romance Story with a hint of kink
This little story was inspired by George Michael's version of 'The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face' a beautiful song written by Ewan MacColl back in 1957 and which has been covered by many artists since then. It uses the song title as a door into the story.

Stunning Cover Art created by Jade

Copyright © Fabian Black 2013

All Rights Reserved

Dance with a Vampire

‘The first time ever I saw your face…’

I wanted to thump it because you were blocking the entrance door to the Ebony Rose Club. My first time date, Dave, a tall vampire Goth complete with fangs (I was fervently hoping they’d be sunk into my neck at some point during the evening) had just gained admittance to the Halloween Ball being held there.

You claimed I looked underage and club policy was strict, admission to over twenty-ones only. I argued I was less than a day away from reaching that pinnacle and had the birth certificate about my person to prove it. Come midnight I would be of age and what was a few hours? You shook your head, saying, a rule was a rule and not to be flouted. ‘What kind of anally retentive twat are you?’ I asked cordially. You calmly replied you were the kind that anally retained rules.

I appealed to Dave hoping he’d demonstrate some real vampire traits and drain away all your lifeblood so I could step delicately over your body and go to the ball after all. He didn’t. He simply shrugged, gave me a quick kiss and said ‘see you around, babe’ and promptly attached himself to a romantic lady Goth with flowing hair and a pallor suggestive of already having given one pint of blood too much. I made a mental note never to date a bisexual again. It doubled the chances of being dumped.

In the spirit of petty revenge I chose to hang around outside the club until midnight struck and I attained the mystical age that would gain me entrance, and the possibility of reclaiming the one I lusted after from his pale corpse bride.

You carried on vetting the punters, allowing some in and turning away others. I kept up a running and insulting personal commentary, but you ignored me with magnificent aplomb. It made me all the more determined to get under your skin, preferably the skin covering the area where your heart was housed, if you had one, so I could carve it out for losing me my chance to dance with a sexy vampire.

The witching hour struck and I triumphantly demanded rite of passage. I was of age and met all dress code requirements. Pushing up the sleeve of your pristine white shirt you glanced at your watch, pulled out the button and turned the hands back, saying daylight saving had just come into effect. I still had an hour to wait and why didn’t I wait quietly like a good little Goth boy.

Bastard was the word that sprang readily to mind and mouth in many and quite splendid variation. I also stamped in fury, not caring I was almost twenty-one and really too old for such public displays of childish temper. Your foot got in the way and I quickly stamped again before you could remove it from the vicinity of the black leather commando boots I was wearing that evening.

Taking hold of my wrists you pulled me to one side, softly saying that if you weren’t so busy you’d take me somewhere quiet to demonstrate how you dealt with foul mouthed little boys who had stayed up past their bedtime and were having tantrums as a result.

I have never blushed more deeply, been angrier, or more aroused in my life. I was suddenly confused. Giving you a look I hoped would kill you I stuck my nose in the air and walked away. I’d love to say I walked off with my dignity intact, but alas the only thing intact was my erection.

In my umbrage, and concern with my treacherous groin, I failed to notice I had been targeted as I stalked away from the Ebony Rose. It was you who saw the two figures detach themselves from the shadows. After handing over keeper of the magic door duties to another you followed those who were following me, intervening before a harsh punch in the mouth could progress into a full-fledged beating.

I won’t say I fell in love with you as of that moment because it wouldn’t be true. I didn’t view you as some kind of god who had graciously bestowed stars upon the sky. Your easy self-assurance infuriated me. I suspected you thought you were God’s gift to the gay universe. However, I will admit that when you helped me to my feet, after seeing off the two renegades who had attacked me I did see a tiny touch of something in your fine ebony eyes. I’m not saying it was the sun, moon, stars or anything grandiose like that, but there was something, a reflection, a flicker of elemental recognition which thrilled me against my will.

I mumbled my gratitude through a cut and swollen mouth, but declined your offer of first aid. I tried to walk away; fearful in case the tears I was fighting materialised properly and somehow emasculated me in your eyes.

Discreetly wiping the tears with a crisp white handkerchief and refusing to take no for an answer you led me back to the club and your private office. While gently tending my injury you expressed regret for not being quick enough to prevent the punch from landing. There were traces of my blood on your fingers and I watched mesmerised as you raised them to your mouth and sucked them clean, seeming to relish the taste.

The understudy doorkeeper materialised and requested your help in turning away a group of belligerent teenagers. They were objecting to being told they didn’t look eighteen and were therefore not going to be granted admission to the club. Eighteen and not twenty-one was obviously the age limit. When you returned from the task I glared at you and demanded an explanation immediately if not sooner.

You calmly stated you had deemed my date unsuitable. Bisexual faux vampire types were notoriously unreliable, emotionally draining and generally unsatisfactory. You claimed to have saved me from heartache and furthermore I was now free to go out with you, as was apparently my destiny.

Your highhanded arrogance was astounding. I was not going to let it pass. My brain ordered my mouth to remonstrate with you. My mouth however was obviously in shock from the assault upon it and bypassed my brain's instructions. Instead of remonstrating, it curiously enquired as to how in fact you did deal with little boys who were having a tantrum?

Reaching out an elegant hand you caressed my jaw and said you had no doubt I would find out in due course, and why didn’t we just leave it there for now. Again I felt a shock of something, an angry, rejecting, accepting, delicious arousal of a kind I had never experienced. It was the way you looked at me, the way you held your body, the tone of your voice, your entire masculine dominant persona.

You offered tea. I said I preferred coffee, but you claimed tea was better for shock. I declined. A radio was playing in the office and as I carefully sipped at my tea George Michael sang an impassioned version of ‘The First Time Ever I saw Your Face.’ I somehow sensed that forever afterwards this would be our song. In my mind’s eye I saw a vision of myself held close in your arms as we slowly danced in time to the melody.

You wouldn’t allow me to get a taxi home. You said you would drive me when your duties were done. In the meantime you bade me lie down on the office couch and rest. I did so, but only after you took away my cell phone and cancelled the taxi I was in process of calling. You threatened tp spank me if I didn't do as I was told. I believed you. Licking your finger you then stroked it across my lips, your spit stinging the cut there, almost like you were marking me. Once again I experienced arousal and a sense that my fate had somehow been sealed. A strange peace came upon me and I slept safe in the knowledge you were there watching over me.

I confess to almost passing out with excitement the first time our lips met and we kissed. Our tongues entwined and I moaned with pleasure, relishing the taste of your sweet saliva. The earth, as in the song lyric, undoubtedly moved, though the only captive heart was mine. You were its captor. At that moment the sun truly did rise in your eyes and I believed with conviction that the silver moon and sparkling stars were indeed treasures you had personally gifted to the dark and endless sky.

Even before the taste of that first heavenly kiss had faded from my lips you had command of me, command of my heart, my trust, my loyalty and then my body, as we lay together. My heart soared, beating a rhythm of joy as you moved in me. I knew our love would last until the end of time.

With you as my mentor and eventually my Master I learned the strength and power of willing submission. You helped me transcend limits, push boundaries and conquer the dark territories of my inner self and emerge triumphant. You awakened unimagined sensuality in me, something that went far beyond physical sex, which I learned was simply a component of something much more profound and spiritual.

For our five-year anniversary today, Halloween, you presented me with a Victorian riding crop fashioned from ebony leather. It has a silver handle engraved with our entwined initials. It is a beautiful object, which I know will become even more exquisite when in your hands. I will kneel naked and bound at your feet and every stroke of the whip will be as bittersweet as a kiss from the lips of a vampire.

Domination and submission are complimentary parts of one entity. One cannot exist without the other, they are lifeblood to each other and when united nothing can part them.

Sometimes, my dearest love, I sincerely believe I did dance with a vampire that night after all and in doing so I surrendered my soul. My spirit I retain. You like to push against it, to feel it push back and ultimately yield and that is my gift to you.

I know our love will continue to fill the earth with joy and I know it will last until the end of time…and beyond.

The End

Cat/Fabian Black


Copyright Fabian Black 2013 - no part of this work may be copied or re-posted elsewhere without the prior written consent of the author and publisher.