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Segue into a New Life.

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Jonny Lee wakes himself, stretching in the seconds before the alarm goes off, curling around Gerry's back, reaching to pop the snooze button, give them another 20 minutes to indulge in something other than the reality of waking and working. Gerry's filming and Jonny Lee's hanging around between being places he needs to be.

"Morning," he whispers, mouth buried against Gerry's shoulder, lips sliding along the curve of collarbone to kiss the exposed throat. Ever since being turned, Jonny Lee's gained a confidence that's silent and self-effacing in public but turns predatory when human eyes are turned away.

"Mm. Morning." Gerry stretches as much as he can with Jonny wrapped around him, then tugs Jonny to the other side of his body so he can look him in the eye. "Did you dream?"

"Yes. It was odd." Jonny squirms in against Gerry's body. They mesh more each day. "Blood on a battlefield I'd never seen."

"Did it look British?" Gerry ducks his head and starts licking up and down Jonny's neck. "Might've stolen it from Peter."

"British. Yeah. Think it was Napoleonic era." Jonny scrunches up, the licks tickling. "Stolen? We share dreams? You never told me that."

"Not share so much as steal impressions while biting." Napoleonic era...probably Sean, then. "You might have grabbed his memories while grabbing his cock."

"Fuck sick, that's cool. So the more I take your blood," Jonny says, sliding his hand down between their bodies, casually stroking Gerry's cock, "the more memories of yours I'll have?"

"They're more like impressions." Gerry squirms into Jonny's touch. "Might meet an old lover of mine and vaguely remember fucking him until he passed out."

"Hey, I resemble that impression." Jonny works his hand farther down, wrapping fingers around the base and stroking up with his thumb. "You gotta be on set in an hour."

Gerry pushes himself forward, trying not to fuck Jonny's hand too obviously.

Jonny knows exactly what Gerry's doing, finds it amusing. He wraps his fingers in a tight fist around Gerry's cock and starts pumping. "I'm getting hungry."

Gerry groans. "Me, too. Hungry as fuck." His fangs slide down and he nips at Jonny's neck.

"Bite me." Jonny stretches his neck back, opens his throat. "Come over my hand."

Gerry loves an invitation. Doesn't need one, but it's always welcome. He bites down hard into Jonny's throat and sucks.

"Oh, fuck." It never ceases to amaze Jonny, just how good this feels, how intense. He squeezes Gerry's cock, strokes harder. "C'mon, all of it." He's still young enough to be drained quickly, too soon if Gerry doesn't pay attention, but Jonny doesn't care. He likes pushing to the edge.

He doesn't plan on draining Jonny, but the blood goes so far and Gerry comes hard as he pulls away.

It's numbing, head to toe, Jonny's body and mind shutting down for a moment while Gerry sucks. He barely registers his hand is sticky, painted white. "Mmm, wonderful way to start the day."

Yes, it is. Gerry leans in and kisses Jonny hard, letting Jonny lick up the last of his blood still coating Gerry's lips. Wonderful way to wake up.

It's his own blood, but it doesn't taste like it. Jonny can cut himself, lick the blood away and taste musk and muted metal. When he tastes it coming off Gerry's lips, it's saturated with an almond-ginger tinge. He licks once more before laying back, head on the pillow. "So, anything special I should do today?"

"You could stalk Patrick." Gerry rolls on top of Jonny and pins his arms above his head. "Entice him with your beauty and get him into bed. Or against a wall."

Jonny blushes. He always does when Gerry compliments him. A holdover from mortality. He squirms, too, wriggling underneath Gerry. "Entice him with my beauty." He sighs. "Oh, yeah, like I'm the raving beauty. I'll hone my seductive skills, pout nicely."

"Could get all dolled up. He seems to type to appreciate a man in a skirt." Gerry gropes Jonny's arse and squeezes hard. "Or a kilt, as the case may be."

"Nah, you're the kilt boy." Jonny yelps. "I'll stick with t-shirts and ripped jeans."

Gerry tsks, then rubs his thigh against Jonny's cock. "You're a vampire, sweet. You need to learn to dress like one." He grins. "I'll lend you my trenchcoat."

"Ger, you have a good three inches on me. It's gonna be too long." Jonny moans. "Oh, fuck, do that again." He shakes his head. "And why can't a vampire dress in Clash shirts and jeans?"

"It's anachronistic." Gerry rubs harder against Jonny's cock, grinding down until he's damn sure it hurts more than it feels good. "At least wear AC/DC."

"Fuck it, no AC/DC." Jonny bucks up, working to increase the friction. He's going to come like this. Always does. "Might give you Blink 182. C'mon, Ger, harder. Not quite there."

"No," it comes out very forceful, and Gerry rubs so hard against Jonny that he can feel the burn in his toes. "Not allowed to like crap bands. Not bloody allowed."

"Fucking bastard." Jonny spits out the words, along with another couple curses, and he reaches up, clutching at Gerry's shoulders, coming hard in the tightness of Gerry's body wedged against his. "Okay, I give," he pants out, whole body warm with the release, "I'll borrow the trench."

Gerry smirks as Jonny comes against him. "Good pet." He kisses Jonny's nose, then rolls over onto the bed. "See? It's just easier if you agree with me."

"Fuck you." Jonny stretches out, unkinking from having Gerry's weight on him. "Should I wear nothing but black, too? Or would that just freak Patrick too much?"

"I think it'd turn him on. He seems the type to appreciate leather pants." Gerry slides his fingers down his chest and starts rubbing his own nipples. He could get it up again, if he wanted, and he's in the mood for more sex. "Tight leather pants that cling to your hips and arse and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination."

"Oh, yeah. I think I have a pair of Curt's with me. That'd work." Jonny stares at Gerry's fingers. "You want more." Doesn't have to be a question. Jonny's come to read Gerry rather well, even without the blood sharing. "How?"

"It's a simple chain reaction." Gerry's smirk widens. "When aroused by thoughts of pretty boys in leather pants, blood rushes towards my cock. Not that hard to understand."

"No. I know that. How you want it?" Jonny makes a silly face, pushes up on his elbows. "Fuck, suck, beat me till I match the leather?"

"Yes, no, yes. Can't imagine how we'd do all three at once." Gerry looks instinctively behind himself, just making sure that one of the horsemen haven't snuck in. Marton always seems to appear whenever anyone mentions beating black and blue.

"Go right ahead." Gerry tracks Jonny's moments with his eyes and gives a lazy smile. "Something you wouldn't mind having split you in twain."

Jonny rolls off the side of the bed, stands and stretches before walking to the closet. "Split me in twain," he says, turning to Gerry, smirking. "Exactly which part of me are twaining?" He fingers the collection of belts, settling on a thick one with a heavy silver buckle. "A healable one, I hope."

"You hope." Gerry likes the look of that one. "You'll heal," he goes on. "But not very fast."

"Oh, great." Jonny turns back to the bed, tossing the belt so it lands in front of Gerry. "Sending damaged goods to seduce the mortal. That should be interesting," he says, walking over. "Where you want me?"

"Not damaged. Enhanced." Gerry gestures to the wall. "Assume the position."

Jonny turns and leans against the wall, bracing his feet apart, shoulder width, and putting his hands up, palms flat. He rolls his neck, relaxes, gets ready for the pain. "Okay, Ger. All ready for you."

"So I see." Gerry rolls off the bed and grabs the belt. "Any special requests?"

"Hmmm," Jonny says, hanging his head against the wall between his arms, "a diamond weave pattern would look nice, I think."

"I think you're getting a little meticulous." Gerry moves quickly and pins Jonny hard to the wall by the neck with his forearm. "I think someone needs a month in the north tower."

Jonny shivers. North tower. Just the mention of it makes him hard again, cock pressed into the wall. "When we finish filming," he says, voice rasped by Gerry's pressure on the back of his neck, "you can take me home and put me there. A whole month. I won't complain."

"Of course you won't. You'll be gagged." Gerry presses harder, knowing he's crushing something and not giving a damn. Jonny'll heal. "Gagged, broken, bleeding, crawling."

The bone snaps and Jonny winces. "Fuck sick, Ger," he growls. "That hurt. Major." He's not complaining, not exactly. He knows he'll heal, but damn, it's gonna be sore. "And I'm not seeing the disincentive here. Broken, bleeding. It's a holiday, Ger."

"I know. Slut." Gerry pulls his arm back, waiting to see if Jonny'll crumple to the floor. If he does, Gerry has a contingency plan for how to beat him. He'd learned a lot from Marton.

Jonny doesn't crumple, much as he'd like to. The pain's shooting through his shoulder. He suspects it's the collarbone that's cracked. "Slut's still standing," he says.

"So I noticed." Gerry doubles the belt over and then starts wrapping the end of it around his hand. "Not for long."

"Take me down, luv," Jonny murmurs, turning his face back to the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool plaster.

"Trust me." That's the best thing about having turned Jonny. It really doesn't matter where he hurts him. Jonny'll heal. Gerry starts with his shoulders, warming them up. This is going to be long and good.

Always. Trust you. Jonny winces at the first blows, shards of mortality clinging to the synapses in his brain, firing on the hints of pain he knows he can take. Nice thing about being a vampire, being able to give in to all that glorious pain.

The warmup is hard enough that it would bruise a mortal. After a few minutes of strong strokes, the marks start to rise. So he moves lower, scattering strokes along Jonny's lower back before bringing his arm back and giving Jonny's arse a hit that he won't soon forget.

The blows build, the pain warming Jonny's body, igniting his nerve endings, but it's the last blow, the one across his arse that has Jonny clawing at the wall, scrambling to stay upright. "Fuck, Ger," he snarls. He can smell the blood being drawn to the surface, and that only serves to heighten the need for more.

"Patience." Gerry's breathing heavily already, so hard it's beginning to hurt, but he knows the fine art of torture from both sides of the equation. He knows how much more Jonny can take before breaking. And he's going to drive Jonny to the edge.

"Patience isn't a virtue," Jonny murmurs, "no matter what they say." He slams his forehead into the plaster, denting it as much as his brain, not caring about either. He knows he can take more; that's not the point. It's just a way of coping with the burn, the way the leather's searing into his back.

Patience most certainly is a virtue. If Jonny thinks otherwise, Gerry'll have to toss him to Daragh for three years, the way Sean tossed him. Or maybe he'd just do it himself. "Shut up," he says instead. "I don't want to hear you unless you're screaming."

Jonny starts to murmur a yes, sir but shuts up instead, closes his eyes and listens for the snap of Gerry's belt, waits for the next strike. He'll scream, soon as there's too much pain.

That's an obedient lad. Gerry flicks the belt against Jonny's thighs, then the backs of his knees. He wants Jonny to crumple into a pile. It's not negotiable.

It's not a quick, decisive crumple, no one blow taking him down, but more a slow descent, gradually losing purchase on the wall, and after another several minutes he gives in to the inevitable and sinks to the floor.

The beating follows Jonny down, blows landing on his shoulders and neck before Gerry pulls back.

Jonny's stopped moving, not because he can't but because he's taking in the last of the blows, letting them work through his body, shatter what remaining nerve endings he has functioning. He's bleeding and he's betting there are at least a couple cracked ribs in addition to the broken collarbone. And he's not sure when he last felt this good.

Gerry drops the belt, then stands there for a moment assessing Jonny and getting his breathing under control. A beating like this is hard work and even though Gerry knows how to ignore his cock, he still has an overwhelming urge to pin Jonny to the floor and fuck him where he lies.

It takes a minute, maybe two, but Jonny does move, enough to indicate he's still functioning, roll his back against the wall. "Damned good foreplay, Ger," he mutters, spitting up a spatter of blood from where he'd bitten the inside of his mouth.

"I'm not finished." Too bad this isn't the castle. He'd kill to be able to string Jonny up with chains from the thirty-foot ceiling, his toes always just inches above the ground. "Get on your hands and knees."

"Didn't think you were," Jonny mutters, pushing himself up. "Oh, fuck, that hurts." The pain ricochets from his shoulder down his back as he presses his hands against the floor. "What's heal time on broken bones?"

"It depends if I make it worse." Gerry puts his foot on Jonny's shoulder and presses down. "Which I will."

Jonny doesn't even try to hold back, not that he could if he wanted to. His screams echo, filling the room, the sharp pain sharding his shoulder, and he huddles against the floor, trying to breathe, something he doesn't even need to do, just anything to counter the torturous ripples. There's little conscious thought in his mind, his vision gone white with trying to focus.

Gerry forces Jonny lower, then kicks his back. This is the best kind of foreplay, orgasmic all on its own. "Louder, slut," he orders. "I don't think they heard you in Thailand."

"Fuck you," Jonny shouts, bucking up as much as he can, trying to throw Gerry off-balance. Foreplay is nice, all well and good, but he's hurting too much, too quickly, and he needs a minute to get himself together.

"Uh huh." Gerry prods Jonny with his foot. "Looks alive." He tosses the belt away. "Can I trust you not to move while I get the handcuffs?"

Jonny looks up, glares. "You can trust me not to be able to move." Other than that, he's not complaining. It's a few minutes of rest. "Can I have some water? A little blood?"

"Sure." Gerry squats down and offers Jonny his wrist. "But only a little," he warns. He doesn't want to get lightheaded while hurting Jonny. That wouldn't be fun.

"Thanks." Jonny shifts, wincing again, and holds Gerry's wrist up to his mouth. He bites, only hard enough to bring the blood out, and sucks quickly, fighting the urge to take more than he should, the temptation to drain as much of Gerry's blood as he can before he gets slapped back down.

Gerry doesn't give that temptation a chance to grow. The bite doesn't hurt too much, but pulling away does. "Stop," he orders, then licks the wound clean.

It's enough to slacken the need Jonny's feeling, the hunger boiling under the surface. Not nearly enough to quicken the healing. But he guesses that doesn't matter much. He'll be unconscious before long and sleep will start the process.

Gerry doesn't want the healing process to start until after the torture's over. While it's always fun to shock the body, they do have things to do. He grabs the handcuffs from the banister and frowns at the array of discarded implements on the walls and floor. Maybe later. This time is for simple and primal, not thumbscrews.

He goes back upstairs, finds Jonny still on the floor, then rolls him over. He slaps the cuffs on him, then locks them.

Jonny's closed his eyes after Ger leaves, and it's only when the cuffs are locking around his wrists that he lets himself become aware again. Gerry's fingers rubbing over Jonny's skin. Every touch is setting him on fire anew, no matter how rough or soft. That's another side effect of being a vampire. Sensation's magnified to infinity, the cacophony neverending. He doesn't move, except as Gerry moves him, as much from surrender as just the inability to make cognitive decisions.

Gerry loves the way Jonny looks cuffed. Like a meal ready to be eaten. He smacks his lips together, then starts tugging Jonny towards the bed. There are many ways to hurt a boy. All of them make messes, and he likes this carpet.

That definitely doesn't help the broken bones and there aren't enough endorphins in the universe to squelch the ache in Jonny's shoulder and neck. "Fuck, Ger, could've just asked me to move instead of jerking the rest of me out of socket."

"Ask? I don't ask." He tugs Jonny harder. "Do I?"

Jonny laughs, then winces, that hurting more than anything else. "Oh, fuck. No, you don't." He's having more trouble focusing, quickly losing the ability to concentrate. "Ger, just do it. Okay?"

Gerry tsks. "Demanding. Not sure I like that." He pulls Jonny up by his neck and tosses him onto the bed. "Still demanding?"

Jonny lands with a dull thud against the mattress, the softness cushioning more pain. Don't bait him, Jonny. Just let it be. "Fuck you" comes out of his mouth. It's foolish bravado, fueled by blood leaking from too many cuts, obviously being siphoned from his brain. "You gotta have me in the tower to take me apart?"

"No," Gerry says calmly. He climbs up onto the bed and straddles Jonny's legs, sitting back against them. "But you can't beat the feng shui up there."

That elicits a laugh, unusual reaction in the midst of being mutilated. "Feng shui. Maybe I should run out, get some candles." Gerry's weight on his legs is a bit much, definite emphasis he's not going anywhere. "Or not."

"Or not," Gerry agrees. He drags his nails up Jonny's leg and flicks his fingers against Jonny's balls. "But, please, don't let that stop you from screaming."

"Fuckhellshite." Jonny lets out the expletives as the nails start to dig into his thighs, and then he screams when they strike his balls. Screams really loud and squirms.

Beautiful screams. Gerry chuckles. "Music to my ears." He digs his nails into the base of Jonny's cock.

The screams are louder by the second, Jonny's body crying out with the pain. It's brilliant, though, how Gerry pulls the basest of emotions from him, forces him to go beyond them.

Jonny's so easy to play. Just wind him up and let him go. Gerry rubs his cock against Jonny's thigh and groans loudly. Teasingly. "More, slut?'

The answer should be no, an emphatic no, but Jonny's never had much luck with that word. It always seems to be caught coming off his tongue. "Hell, yes" is what comes out instead. Stupid as a human, even dumber as vampire, never knowing his own limits.

Gerry smirks. "Yes, slut?" He pinches Jonny's foreskin. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes!" Jonny's screaming as loud as he can, the pinch bordering on mind-numbing.

He has to laugh at that. "Baby's very eager," he teases, then bends down. He licks up Jonny's cock and then starts to suck.

Jonny's moaning, fingers clawing into the bedcovers. "Baby's hungry. Wants more." He bucks up, shoving his cock back into Gerry's throat, a calculated risk he's too far gone to care about.

The risk pays off. Gerry digs his fingernails into Jonny's thigh and deepthroats him. It's a practiced skill. Jonny can fight all he wants, but Gerry isn't going to choke.

Knowing Gerry won't choke makes it much easier for Jonny to fight, to rock up and shove his cock into his lover's throat, again and again. "Hell, Ger, fuckin' good."

Gerry groans as Jonny's cock shifts in his mouth, but he holds on tight. He'll let Jonny have control. Doesn't matter. He's the one happily sucking away.

"Ger, fangs, please." Jonny's panting out unneeded breaths, bucking up and thrusting now. "C'mon, make me bleed."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Gerry pulls back enough so that his fangs don't slice the damn thing in half, then digs his fangs into the side of Jonny's cock and sucks.

The blood gushes, flowing out way too fast for Jonny's body to replenish, and he drops into an almost trance-state before he's coming.

Gerry swallows hard, then pulls back, licking over the cuts. Jonny tastes brilliant.

Jonny's laughing, a borderline hysteric induced by sudden loss of blood. "Fuckin' brill," he sputters out.

Gerry laughs with him, stroking his fingers down Jonny's stomach. "Bloody amazing."

"Yeah. Could I have a sip from your wrist? Just a wee one."

"You can have more than that." Gerry crawls up the bed and pins Jonny down. "You can take from my neck."

"Awright." Jonny doesn't move, except to crane his neck and kiss Gerry's neck. "From right here?"

"Mmhmm." Gerry shifts on top of Jonny, then goes deadweight.

Jonny sinks his fangs into the flesh, slices into the artery and sucks hard, letting the sweet metallic liquid wash his tongue, coat his throat, replenish him. He sucks harder, feeding until Gerry stops him. It's never enough, he thinks, isn't sure it ever will be. He wants more each day, more of Gerry and more of the humans around him.

It always feels so good when Jonny feeds from him, but he has to force him off eventually. Can't let Jonny take too much. The light-headed feeling is coming on strong, and Gerry gently pushes Jonny away.

Jonny's slow to pull back, licking the wound till it's clean of blood. He hasn't learned control, doesn't want to. "That was good," he mutters, wiping his mouth of the last of the blood, sucking it off his thumb. "Love it more each day."

Gerry whimpers, then rubs himself against Jonny. "So do I," he whispers. "You're getting so good at this."

"Good at what? Feeding on you?"

"Mmhmm." Gerry sighs happily. "Feels good when you do it."

"I like doing it, sucking on you, letting you possess me." Jonny's rubbing his hands over Gerry's body, calming himself. "Tastes so much different from humans. Richer. Delicious."

"Family blood's better than human's every time." Gerry licks his lips. "And you're family now."