Rahil cut in, “You have nothing but me and my pleasure.”
Mercer continued regardless, concealing his desire to smile by scowling pointedly at the metal he held. “—when the current alloy is pressed to your skin, youexperience”—maybe that was better thanfeel—“a slight tingling at the site, and some minor dampening of your abilities?”
“More like a very minor throbbing, the slight sense of exhaustion, and a delightful fluttering of butterflies in my stomach—though I think you’re the cause of that last one.” He winked.
Mercer narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Exactly how long ago were you in middle school?”
“No one is too old for crushes.” Rahil shrugged. “I should know, I’m… sixty-four? God, am I sixty-five now? Time is a construct anyways.”
Sixty-five? He didn’t look a day over forty—or act a day over twenty-three, for that matter. “You…” Mercer started, then the facts hit him. “Vampire,” he grumbled.
His brain presented him with the unwarranted thought that considering the slightly extended vampiric lifespan, they’d die around the same time. Unless Mercer’s fae blood also gave him a few extra years—he hadn’t known his own fae parent long enough to know whether or not to expect that—or something other than age took one of them first, an accident or illness for Mercer, or vampire hunters for Rahil. Not that it mattered, since they would only be working together for a few more weeks or perhaps months at the most.
Rahil bared his fangs proudly. He leaned forward, giving them a little predatory snap in the vague direction of Mercer’s throat.
“Oh, you don’t dare.” Mercer stared at him—hard—half hoping he wouldn’t take the bait and half hoping hewould. Not to be bitten himself; he had no interest in that, surely. But if Rahil felt like pushing… Well, Mercer could push back. He would give the obstinate flirt something to moan about, if he could justify pulling the item out of storage.
The vampire didn’t push, but he did pull, twisting as he made a show of examining Mercer’s neck. “You know with muscles like those, you’d be a delight to sink a fang into…”
Mercer stepped forward, his mouth a line, his eyes narrowed. “Would I?” He was goading Rahil now, he knew, and he didn’t know why he was doing it—this wasn’t exactly the time—but he couldn’t help himself, like he couldn’t help the ways his body reacted as Rahil leaned closer, tongue glancing over the tips of his fangs.
Rahil’s throat bobbed. As he stared at Mercer’s neck, he made a sound of desperation. “It would be nice,” he pleaded.
“Foryou, I’m sure it would be.” The little shudder that ran down Mercer’s spine wasn’t exactly fear, but it wasn’t void of that either. He took the tiniest step back.
Rahil’s mouth moved with him, his brow begging as his lips hung open. He whimpered.
Mercer held up a finger, not quite touching him. “Don’t move. I have something that might solve this problem for you.”
“What—” Rahil started, but Mercer pressed his fingertip to Rahil’s lips.
“No questions. This is yes or no only.”
Rahil seemed to contemplate that for exactly 0.03 seconds. “For you? Yes.”
“Good.” Mercer turned back to the bench, digging through a drawer until he found—ah, he had one premade still. Without explanation, Mercer took hold of Rahil’s chin and nudged open his jaw. The round insert of pliable material was the perfect size to slip into Rahil’s mouth, forcing his tongue down as the vampire’s brow tightened with confusion. His eyes were alight still, curiosity clearly outweighing his worry. When Mercer instructed him to bite down, he did so, and released on a second command.
Mercer pulled the mold free: a perfect array of teeth imprints with two long, lean fangs. One of them curved slightly inward. It seemed oddly familiar, but since Mercer had gotten into the business of vampire kink, he’d taken a dozen similar modeling sets before, and they never ceased to remind him of the fangs still sitting in his holy silver box. He hadn’t properly looked at those for so many years that he wasn’t quite sure his memories of it were even accurate. He could probably have modeled the same vampire’s teeth since and not realized it.
The thought sent a shudder through him.
Rahil interrupted it with a clearing of his throat and an awkward laugh. “I thought for a moment you’d decided you’d had enough of my flirting after all.”
“Really,” Mercer said, flatly. He lifted his gaze, giving Rahil a purposeful stare before pulling out a case of his working fang caps. Of the four differently sized sets, none of them fit close enough to the measurements in Rahil’s mold. Rahil’s fangswerefairly unique after all.
Perhaps he could make Rahil’s a custom set later, if he ignored how much effort he’d be putting into something he was only doing for a chuckle. Maybe Rahil could enjoy them with whoever he decided to obsess over next. The mix of reassurance and distress Mercer had at that thought was too bizarre for him to dwell on.
He turned his attention to the elaborate kinky muzzles of metal swirls and lace, picking one that could clip into Rahil’s hair and around his ears.
Rahil’s nonchalant manner slid a little. “You’re not planning togagme, right?”
“I think you might die if you can’t speak, so no.” Mercer turned back to him, holding up the muzzle. “Lift your chin.”
“What—” Rahil started again.
Mercer pressed a thumb beneath his jaw and hooked the muzzle carefully into place. With the tiny gaps between the metal and fabric, it didn’t entirely hide the sight of Rahil’s fangs, but as he twisted his face, the cage concealed by the elegant design butted against Mercer’s arm, keeping Rahil from catching it with his mouth.
“Cruel,” Rahil muttered.
