Page 37 of Bottoms Up
That’s how it had to be.
Marco had drawn a tiny little circle on my arm, to show me where to stick myself. I poured six ounces of wine into a measuring cup, used a little stickpin thing on the tiny little circle, and measured out three ounces of my blood into the cup before I put my finger behind the circle, upstream, so to speak, to stop the blood. I counted to twenty, let go, and just as Marco had said, the blood didn’t keep coming out.
A little Band-Aid, which seemed silly, but Marco had insisted. I pressed it down with my thumb, more tired than I’d let myself admit, and carried the cup to Julian.
He was still bound, still blinking slow from pain, exhaustion or likely both. His lips were dry. His chest rose in shallow stutters.
I knelt beside him on the bondage table and held the measuring cup to his mouth, bracing his head with one hand. He drank from it without question. No hesitation, no resentment. Just trust. Three ounces wasn’t enough to nourish him. He’d still be hungry, but along with the wine, it should be enough liquid to replenish what he’d cried out, and Marco said giving him a little of me would help cement our new power balance.
I wanted to give him more, but Marco said it would be good to keep him hungry this first week, to reinforce ownership and the idea he gets what he’s allowed and nothing more.
So I ran my fingers through Julian’s hair, and trusted Marco knew what he was talking about. Trusted that he and I both wanted the same thing — for Julian to succeed and not fail.
I set the measuring cup aside and brushed a damp curl off Julian’s cheek. His eyes were bloodshot, lips cracked from panting, and his body was slick with sweat, smeared with blood.
He didn’t speak, just looked at me. Open. Wrecked.Mine.
I went to work releasing him, fingers and hands shaking while I unbuckled straps, let his pelvis back down, and released his legs, holding them and lowering them one at a time until they both rested on the table.
He whimpered when I shifted him, a high, animal sound he probably didn’t mean to make.
I pressed my forehead to his. “The hardest parts are over, Julian. Work with me, and we’ll get you released and into the shower.”
He gave a single nod, and I unbuckled his torso, and then decided I wasn’t fucking with the torso sleeve, so I found medical sheers and cut the damned thing off.
I couldn’t carry him. I’d barely been able to let his legs down gently, even one at a time. “Can you walk, or should I call for someone to help?”
“I can walk, Master. I just need permission to get off the table.”
“Permission granted, but take it slow.”
The shower has a built-in bench, and I settled him onto it and used the handheld sprayer to wash his hair, then worked my way down his body, cleaning every inch I could get to.
You don’t have to worry about infections with a vampire, but I still wanted to clean the ruin of his asshole. I made him standand bend over, hands on the bench so I could get him good and clean, but I was as gentle as I could manage.
And then I sat him back down and washed his dick through the cock cage, and his inner thighs, careful not to touch his balls with my fingers. The gentlest setting on the showerhead was enough to rinse them.
He’d had enough pain without me unnecessarily adding more.
I didn’t talk much. Just offered steady hands, gentle touches.
He stood and let me dry him once the water was off, and I walked him back into his room.
I know where his hidden hidey-hole is now, the secret compartment in the wall. It’s a huge deal for a vampire to allow someone access to them when they’re dead to the world, and he’d long since let me see where he disappears before the sun takes him.
He was still trembling when he settled himself into the hidey-hole. I hated that it was so small, but that’s how they’re built — barely enough room to lie flat. Fireproof, lightproof. Sealed against anything that might harm them when they’re vulnerable.
I crouched and looked at him, my hand on his chest.
He had three hours until the sun took him, but I was going to crash soon, and he wasn’t in any shape to do any work for Marco, which meant he had to be locked up. I didn’t have to explain it to him. He knew the deal.
“Use the time before the sun takes you to direct healing where it’s needed.”
His hand found mine. Weak. Cool. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not, but you will be.”
He wasn’t going to have enough blood to heal himself fully for weeks, but Marco said he’d be able to get started healing his asshole, knowing it was the messiest of his injuries.
