[Robin] Transacted Transfusion

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Mackenzie’s back straightened as she felt his hand hover at the base of her spine. Shoulders back and head high, she led by being subtly shown the way. She was unmoved by the buzzing crowd they walked through, able to hold her own like she’d once believed herself incapable of ever doing again. She faltered briefly in her advance when the bouncer came into view, and glanced over her shoulder just time to catch her escort signalling for their passage to be unobstructed.

It was all very—established. The blood thief wondered exactly how long the Necropolis had been offering this service, but the setup of the area suggested long enough. Stepping aside as Robin both introduced himself and pulled back the curtain to the booth, Mackenzie smiled at her boorishness.

“Mackenzie,” she offered in turn. Sliding into the booth, she cast a curious glance at their surrounds as the curtain closed. There was no denying they were still in the club, but somehow it felt as though they simultaneously weren’t. It was all so very lush, a fine upgrade from the sewers or Mark’s hollowed apartment. It made her nervous, and she had no doubt that anxiety made her more rigid than usual.

“I have no preference,” she replied, turning towards him as she tucked a leg beneath her in an attempt to get more casual. It was as much the inability to keep the truth to herself as a need to avoid potential inconvenience that she added with an unconscious flush of her cheeks, “The relationship I had with my previous donor was explicit in nature. Perhaps the wrist might avoid embarrassment.”

Not that he was unattractive in the slightest, now that she could pay closer attention to him. There was a boyish charm about him that was not altogether displeasing in spite of her basal preferences. Diverting her gaze to the curtains, she began to shrug her jacket off, finding no need for it here. When her arms were bared, just the white singlet loosely clinging to her torso, she returned her attention to him, more than happy to follow the lead. If there was something she didn’t like, she would speak up; everything about her suggested she would too.

[Robin Little]

Robin was accustomed to plenty of different kinds of customers. Some were forward, some were shy. This one was very business-like, almost clipped. But underneath the clipped demeanour was something else – a flush of cheeks giving it away.

There were plenty of things that Robin got up to while he was at work that Maddison would never know about. Though he wouldn’t put it past her to stalk him to work and watch his every movement, just to make sure he was doing nothing wrong, she hadn’t done so thus far. And he never gave her any reason to. This was his job. He had to make his customers happy, and if he had to get a little intimate to keep them happy, then so be it. It was akin, no doubt, to strippers or call girls and boys. They made their relationships work. And Robin was still bumbling along in his. Relationships had never really been his forte.

Regardless, as he closed the curtain and slid into the booth beside Mackenzie, Maddison didn’t enter his mind. He was in a business mindset. He was at work. So far so good – nothing had gone wrong. Nothing should go wrong now. He’d done this dozens of times.

”I’m not here to sleep with anyone,” he said on the tail end of his subtle laughter. He, too, peeled his jacket from his shoulders. It made things easier, especially if he needed to undo his collar, or his reveal his wrist. ”But you’re paying good money, and I’m here to meet your needs. If you don’t want to be embarrassed, then feel free to take from the wrist. If you’re accustomed to the throat, though, then feel free. You’ll hear no objections from me,” he said, fingers deftly working at the next button down at his neck, and at each of the buttons at the cuffs of his wrists. When he was done he sat comfortably, one arm over the back of the booth’s chair, the other resting beside him – doing his best to look like a buffet for the taking.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Mackenzie laughed uncomfortably, but stilled her tongue when the urge to explain bubbled from within. The moment she began to explain herself would be her undoing. There was no need to disclose the reasons why she’d fallen into bed with Mark. After being starved of physical contact since illness had taken root in her bones, there had been more than a hunger for survival that’d driven her.

“I may get—”

There was no way in hell she would reveal to Robin that his blood—and all vampire blood like it—was what kept her alive. Instinct fuelled a ferocity in her that was not malevolent in nature, but which could easily complicate things if she lost herself to it.

Her canines shifted backwards to give way to fangs as she moved in closer. Lithe fingers begun to roll his sleeve back, and she took all manner of liberties in tucking the cuff neatly into itself until the entirety of his forearm was revealed. There was something incredibly erotic about the silhouette of a man’s exposed forearm; it highlighted the delicate curve of the wrist, which in itself was so beautifully juxtaposed with the structured girth of masculine hands.

“Let’s say you might find a gentle reminder of boundaries necessary once I start,” she explained as coolly as possible. There was little doubt in her mind that he would understand what she meant, but she made no move to bite into his flesh until acknowledged what he was getting himself into. Instead, she leaned her elbows onto the table, and gently wrapped her hands under his elbow and hand. Glancing towards out the corner of her eye, she angled his wrist just as instinct beckoned her to.

[Robin Little]

There was a reason Robin did what he did. Addiction was no small kettle of fish, and all his addictions had been wiped away once that vampiric blood had overtaken his system, like a tornado crushing everything in its path. Every high was taken away from him, and this was all he had left. And even in this, the high was only a ghost of a thing. When being bitten by vampires he’d enjoyed the high of the poison in their fangs, the poison that threatened to addle his mind and steal his memory. It left him feeling numb and free, the hangover always worth it. Now, there was no hangover. There was no poison in the fangs of blood thieves and his own vampiric strength fought against any poison that a vampire might inject him with. Mackenzie’s warning about boundaries only elicited an arched brow and a vague shake of the head.

”To the contrary, I think you’ll find I have more understanding than you assume,” he said. He’d never been in the position of a blood thief, but he assumed that what she sought was a high – and once started, there was no telling where she might go. In all honesty, it intrigued Robin. He thought about Maddison, about what she would do or say or think if she were standing there watching him. But he reminded himself that this was his job. She knew this was his job. It was okay.

He’d watched the way his sleeve had been rolled and tucked as if Mackenzie were unwrapping a particularly tasty treat; the way his arm was twisted, ready to be bitten into like a juicy burrito. That thrum of excitement sparked somewhere in Robin’s dead chest and he nodded.

”Please, continue,” he said with a convivial smile.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Understanding wasn’t what Mackenzie sought, but his statement piqued her curiosity. What was this vampire’s story? For a moment longer than was strictly necessary, she watched him interestedly from the corner of her heavily made-up eyes. How much of himself was he willing to share with a perfect stranger?

Upon consenting to the deed with no further commentary, Robin quieted her thoughts.
Perhaps she would find out, or perhaps she would not.

Her attention shifted back to the length of his forearm—all sinew and muscle. She dragged her tongue along the upper row of pristine white teeth, pressing a little harder into the fangs as she leaned forward. Dark strands cascaded from behind her ears to partially cover her profile, ghosting over the crook of his elbow. Without preamble or hesitation, Mackenzie sunk her fangs into the inner ridge of his tendon, breaking the skin until the radial artery caved under the force of her bite.

She closed her eyes as her fangs smoothly retracted.
The hand cradling his wrist tightened in anticipation, lithe fingers gripping uncoordinatedly around the joint.

Blood sluggishly surfaced through the puncture wounds and was met by an eager tongue. Salt and bitterness were the undertones to an otherwise pleasantly metallic taste which slowly engulfed her tastebuds. Sealing her lips onto his cool skin, she began to drink in earnest, the pull of her mouth stealing from his arteries what—in this moment—she wanted most.

If the blood thief shifted along the seat onto her knees and set more of her weight onto the table, it was unconsciously done. There was no doubt that if her mouth had sought to tap the source at his throat, that she’d have easily shifted into his lap instead. Her nails dug into the crook of his elbow, squeezing as if the pressure might accelerate the rate at which the blood poured from his bloodstream into her mouth.

[Robin Little]

The time for talking was up. They weren’t here to talk. That wasn’t Robin’s job. He wasn’t one of the bartenders who sometimes doubled as psychiatrists for the down and drunk in the quiet hours of the morning. He was here to provide a service and it didn’t require a conversation, beyond the practicalities and the formalities. It required exchanging blood for money.

Mackenzie manoeuvred until she was comfortable and when those miniature fangs pierced the skin and punctured the artery Robin relaxed. Once upon a time he’d tensed. Once upon a time he’d worried that the next vampire to come along would drain him dry and he’d be left for dead. And, well, he hadn’t been entirely wrong. Lorelai had done just that, but she’d given him new life to make up for it. Now, he was a vampire. Even if someone did happen to drain him dry, he wouldn’t die. A few extra meals and he’d be right as rain. The anxiety was no longer there, but the sensation remained a pleasurable one – despite the lack of adrenaline.

His wrist was limp and his fingers naturally curled, and his head fell back against the back of the booth. One long breath released from his lungs until his body was stilled, unmoving, eyes closed. He was but a mere vessel, a drinking cup from which Mackenzie would take her fill. No matter that she latched on like an orphan starved of food or a stranded woman without water. She could bite him ten times in ten different places and they would all heal. It was in the job description. He was there to do with as Mackenzie wished.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Blood had never been uncomfortable a conversation topic in the Bennett household, not until hers turned against her. In her arteries Mackenzie housed her demise. With vampire blood, she quelled the threat.

The ferrous substance that filled her mouth wasn’t particularly pleasant.
Yet, the challenge of extracting it distracted her from the meagre details.

It was cold and thick. Her saliva lacked the chemicals that kept his healing ability at bay, and she found herself cut off sooner than she’d have liked. While there was no biological need for this — no thirst to quench or hunger to subdue, somehow she knew that she’d not had enough.

Pulling away from the tender skin at his wrist, Mackenzie glanced past the fallen strands of hair veiling her face. Robin looked particularly at ease, rested as he was against upholstery. Her gaze lowered to his exposed neck. Without any thought, she shifted her weight - instinct her puppeteer.

Her knee pressed into his as she manoeuvred her long legs atop his, all but imposing herself into his personal space. Her hands found his shoulders, fingers gripping at the line of muscle as she leveraged herself closer still.

Her gaze never lifted from his neck.
Her tongue darted to wipe the corner of her mouth, fangs unsheathing.

The brunette pulled down his collar, not to keep the shirt from staining, but because it was in her way. Mackenzie was, as she'd forewarned, entranced. Boundaries and courtesies were a matter of the neocortex; her limbic system was in charge.

[Robin Little]

As soon as air hit the slightly dampened skin of Robin’s wrist, he opened his eyes. The sting eased, the wound already healing. His head lifted and, with a subtle arch of his brow he watched Mackenzie, waiting to see if that was it. If she had had enough. It seemed too soon, too much of an anti-climax. But he was not the one to dictate how these transactions occurred. If she had had enough and was still willing to pay the full price, then so be it. He would move on to his next customer.

Personal space had never been an issue for Robin – he wagered that he didn’t have any, was born without it. Or he had as much care for his personal space as he did about most anything else in his life – which was very little. It wasn’t an act of coldness or apathy. It was simply laziness. And thus he did nothing to dissuade his customer from invading said personal space, or lack thereof. His hands naturally settled upon her thighs, fingers curled behind her knees – he could have let them fall to the couch, could have kept his hands free from his eager guest, but he took her cue and ran with it. She was paying good money, and in Robin’s estimation it was as much for the experience as it was for the sustenance. Again, he reminded himself – this was his job.

Whatever was exposed of his neck was only increased as his head lolled to the side, as much invitation as she should need. Robin was not shy, nor had he ever been – and this, this was more like the transactions of nights past. When he was human. When it meant more, when he felt more. This, he would not pass up.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Mackenzie burrowed forward. Her hands slid across the line of his shoulders for purchase, hooking at his nape. The bulk of her weight settled across his limbs and the booth beneath. Appearances and comfort were secondary to getting her fill.

Sharpened canines broke the smooth line of his throat. As the skin gave, she exhaled, nose pressing into him the deeper her fangs sunk.

The taste of him fading from her tongue, she bore as far as she could get to reach his bloodstream. Huffing when she attained the physical limit of her reach, her bite widened against his skin. Retracting fangs allowed for the cool substance to swell from his aorta into her mouth. Once again, she threw herself into the act of taking.

Her fingernails bit crescents into the skewed collar of his shirt and rough skin of his nape. Dark pupils expanded as she stared into the void, eyelids heavy as her attention remained drawn to the focal point at his throat.

Her heart rate quickened as her breathing turned erratic. The act of swallowing without pause made her head spin, the lack of oxygen soon forcing her to break away. She did so ever so briefly, dipping back for thirds with every intention of leaving her mark.

For a third time, Mackenzie sunk her fangs into him, only centimetres away from the bite she'd taken seconds prior. His blood smeared across her chin, wasted. This time she made no secret of her pleasure, sounding into his skin as her body pressed against his. It could have easily been Mark she was feeding on, and there was a part of her that perhaps thought she was. Either that, or her yearning to see him again was guiding her actions.

[Robin Little]

Most who came into Robin’s ‘office’ were shy. They bit once, they took what they needed, they paid him, and they left. It was rare that they were so eager or so hungry – and he wondered if too much could be too much. Still, he was sluggish to respond.

It mattered not that his neck was being punctured like a voodoo doll. Each new bite was euphoria to the Blood Doll, whose hips readjusted to accommodate the female who straddled him. It took all his willpower not to let his hands roam, though his fingers did dig deeper into the flesh of Mackenzie’s thighs. Each new bite, each deeper draw of blood aroused within Robin a similar kind of thirst. How easy it might have been to take advantage of Mackenzie’s bare neck, to take back what she was claiming from him.

That, however, would go against the terms of his job.

Again, he had to wonder where the line would be crossed. He recalled his first encounter with Maddison, neither of them savvy to the effects vampire blood could immediately have upon a human. Now, he knew that Blood Thieves were different, they were hardened to the effects so that they would only experience the power, rather than have it turn them. But could she go too far?

Finally, Robin’s hand’s shifted. Instead of gripping thighs, he gripped upper arms. Gently, he pushed, urging her to retract – transaction end.

"Enough," he croaked. As it was, this would have to be his final client of the night --
he would have to use his earnings to go find a blood doll of his own.