Chapter 5

Instinct kicks in, and the sheriff follows Parrish and the boy down into the pitch black. He reaches for the gun he's not carrying, pulls his own makeshift stake out of his jacket and grips it tight. He can't see a thing, but a choked off grunt of pain drifts out of the dark, and he follows it.

A shape appears, a dark outline with too many limbs. John takes careful steps toward it, focused on the barely-there glow of pale fingers clamped tight around a fragile throat.

"I can choke the life out of him," the vampire hisses. "I can break his neck." The voice rises in pitch to a screech. "He killed my sister."

The sheriff tucks his stake into his back pocket, holds his hands palms forward. "Your sister was killing people. We couldn't let it keep happening."

John's eyes start to adjust to the darkness, bringing Parrish's face into sharp relief. There's no fear in his expression, but he's gasping for breath as the vampire's fingers restrict his air supply. Parrish's nails scratch at the vampire's hand as he tries to get free and fails.

John's fingertips tingle as blood flows from his extremities to his heart. "Was it just her?" he says. "If you've never killed anyone, you can walk away from this. You don't have to hurt him, please."

He watches as Parrish's hands go limp, fall to his sides. His eyelids droop as the vampire tightens his grip, cutting off all oxygen.

The sheriff darts forward, a single thought wiping all others from his mind. He could have ordered Parrish to stay out of it, and he would have been safe.

The vampire drops Parrish, and he crumples. John doesn't have time to check for a pulse. Parrish could be dead or dying, but all John can do is reach for the stake in his back pocket as the vampire blurs and then hits him hard in the chest.

The stake falls out of his hand, and the sound of wood hitting pavement rings through the alley as it bounces and rolls away.

"I didn't want this," the vampire says, cool, fetid breath washing across John's cheek and over his throat. "Never asked for it, not like she did. And my mom just gave it to her."

The sheriff gets his hands on the kid's shoulders, tries to push him away, but he won't budge. "Your mother," he grunts, straining against the immovable body holding him against damp brick. "She's a vampire, too."

"She's dead. Amy didn't like the rules." The boy gets a hand on John's neck, tips his head to the side to expose his throat. "So she killed our mom, and she killed her friends, and she killed all those people."

"You don't have to do this," John says. "You cleaned up after her, didn't you? You hid the bodies. She was a killer, but you're not."

"I never bit anyone before," the vampire says, his mouth open over John's throat. Sharp teeth scratch the skin as the vampire moans. "But I'm hungry, and without her I can't—"

John cries out as fangs break through his skin. He fights, but strong hands bruise his biceps and keep him still. And then, as quickly as the pain flared through him, it's gone, replaced by a lightheaded rush as the vampire sucks at the wound.

It hits him that this is why people line up at Anton's to get bitten. There's a kind of thrill to the surrender he feels right now. If this kid doesn't stop, John's going to die, and he almost doesn't care.

Without realizing that he'd closed them, something makes him open his eyes. He sees Parrish behind the vampire, stake in his hand, eyes wide and staring. There's a question there, and fear, as he seems almost reluctant to run the vampire through.

John can guess why. The vampire is slim, and his body is pressed close as he holds John to the wall. It could go right through if Parrish misjudges. He could kill John by accident, or he could infect him.

"Do it," John mouths, careful not to let so much as a breath out with the shape of the words.

Parrish screws up his face and strikes. John feels the broom handle sink into the vampire's back, both of them rocking with the force Parrish puts behind it.

The vampire bites down, hard and painful, then pulls his fangs free of John's throat in shock. The stake comes out the front of him, and John gasps because he's sure it's broken his own skin.

He'll worry about that later. As he watches the vampire explode into dust, he slumps, slides down the mossy brick wall as his legs go out. Dust rains down over him, and he coughs as he breathes some of it into his lungs.

He's lost blood, he knows that. That's why he's tired, why he wants to close his eyes, why he lets his eyelids fall. And Parrish is right there, hands on him, warm and tugging at the front of his shirt.

John opens his eyes and looks down. "Not really the place for it," he says, as he watches Parrish undo his shirt buttons, one by one.

"No," Parrish says, worry on his face and in his voice. "I felt it go right through, felt it hit you."

The sheriff gropes at his chest. There's pain, but no broken skin, no blood. "I'm fine."

Parrish lets out an audible sigh of relief. "We should get out of here. There might be more of them."

John shakes his head. "She only had two kids."

Parrish still helps John to his feet. "What?"

"The girl." John's head spins when he gets up, but he breathes through it. He lets Parrish hold him until the dizziness passes, then he pats Parrish on the chest before he steps away. "The girl's name was Amy. The woman, the vampire who disappeared? Amy was the name of her daughter. She turned her kids, and Amy killed her. Killed the others. I dunno, maybe they knew."

"That's awful," Parrish says. His shoulder brushes John's as they walk, slowly, out of the alley. "Why would you do that to your children?"

John blinks, the flickering street light seeming very bright as they emerge from the shadows. "If I stayed like this while my kid got old and eventually died, I think I'd go insane. I can't imagine anything worse."

Parrish nods, then he turns his head, exposing his throat. There are marks on his skin, dark bruises that hint at the shape of the vampire's hand as he choked the breath out of him.

"That's going to take some explaining at the station." John puts his hand on Parrish's shoulder and drags his thumb over the worst of it. There's the vampire bite there too, smears of blood surrounding the punctures.

Parrish lifts his head, smiles. "Just tell them we've got matching hickies."

John snorts and puts his hand between Parrish's shoulder blades, gives him a gentle push in the direction of his truck.

---

It's coming up two in the morning when they finish stacking the last of the files in cartons to return to the station. "I'll go see Anton tomorrow night," John says as he lies the last file on top and puts the lid back. "I'm beat."

Parrish drops his own box to one side of the front door, then crouches where John kneels on the floor. "I'll come with you." There's a furrow in his brow. "Normally I'd write a report after something like this, but this isn't normal, is it? I should be there when you close it."

John's eyes linger over the bruising on Parrish's throat. He remembers the sharp twist in his stomach when he watched Parrish go down. "You shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"I was just doing my job."

"Vampires aren't your job, Parrish." John sighs. "I almost got you killed."

"I'm fine." Parrish reaches out, drags his fingertips over the small tear in the front of John's shirt. Blood stains the broken fibers, but it's not the sheriff's. "So are you." He looks up, and there's profound relief in his eyes.

"I would have let him do that to Claudia," John says, and the words, the thought, it comes out of left field, rises up with the knot that's been sitting down low in his stomach. "I would have condemned her to watch us get old and die while she stayed the same." With that admission, comes a profound release of the anger that the option wasn't available to him at the time, and the relief that it wasn't, that he would have been making a huge mistake.

John chokes as his lungs tighten, and his shoulders shake as he tries to stifle his sob. Hot tears squeeze out from beneath eyes shut tight. "Sorry."

"It's okay." A warm hand touches his cheek, and soft, warm lips come down on his own. He lets it out, all that fear and frustration, moans into Jordan's mouth. He twists his hand into the front of Jordan's t-shirt, pulls him close, surrenders to lips and tongue and teeth and heat. He gives in to the need to be close to someone else, another warm body, even if just for a few moments.

"You should stay," Jordan says when they break apart for air. His chest rises and falls with labored breath, but his eyes are clear and sure. "I want you to stay."

John wants to. More than anything else after the night they've had, he wants to fall asleep knowing that Parrish is within arms reach. He needs to know that he's safe. "Jordan," he says, and his throat locks up around the word. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." A blush colors Parrish's cheekbones and he drops his eyes. "We don't have to—" The pink on his cheeks brightens, and when he lifts his gaze he's almost grinning. "We can just sleep. It's been a long night."

Parrish's hair is still damp. John could have gone straight home, blood and vamp dust and all, but he took the first shower. He should have gone home and fallen into his own bed, but his car was still in town, and if he's honest with himself, he didn't want to leave.

John snags the towel from the back of a chair, drags an edge along Jordan's hairline to catch the last few drops of moisture. "I think that's a good idea," he says.

---

The sheets are clean and crisp, stretched tight over the bed made with military precision. There's a street light outside the window, casting a faint glow through the curtains and into the room. The distant rumble of pre-dawn traffic mingles with the sound of Jordan's labored breath and his body moves with every inhale, every exhale, chest rising and falling under John's hand.

"Relax," John says, urging him to sleep for the third time since they slipped under the covers. If he would only sleep, maybe John would be able to clear his mind enough to do the same.

Jordan takes a deep breath, lets it out slow as he nods again. He tucks his chin into his chest and leans closer, presses his face into the space between the pillow and John's shoulder. "Can't sleep," he mumbles. He stills for a moment, then lifts his head, looks up with wide, unblinking eyes.

They look black and liquid in the semi-dark. His lips are parted, inviting, and as John stares, Jordan licks the lower, tongue sliding out slow to wet it.

"Dammit," John mutters, twisting his fingers into the front of Jordan's t-shirt as he leans in.

He must have been kidding himself to think that he could fall asleep here. The way he wants right now is almost new, certainly fresh, and invigorating. Part of it is relief, that they're alive, that they both came out of the events of tonight relatively unharmed. There's a need to celebrate that fact, to prove to himself that they're both still breathing.

Every kiss makes his heart beat faster, makes his blood pump harder. He can hear it rushing in his ears right now, as he licks hungrily into Jordan's mouth, savoring the taste of coffee and toothpaste. He swallows every soft, barely audible moan Jordan lets out, and he arches into Jordan's hands as they shift over his body.

John wraps a hand around the back of Jordan's neck, holds his head, never breaks the kiss as he rolls them both and settles between Jordan's thighs. The other hand slides down Jordan's side, fingers skirting the waistband of his briefs, then he grips Jordan's muscled thigh and pulls it up to bracket his hip.

Jordan gasps and jerks his head back. "Fuck." He lifts the other knee on his own, holds on with both arms around John's shoulders, rocks his hips. "Oh my god, John." He sighs and moves his hips again, a slow roll as he rubs his cock the length of John's. "Is this okay?"

John lets out a sound of disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" He finds Jordan's lips, kisses him, quick and clumsy. "You're the one pinned to the bed by an old man, shouldn't I be asking that?"

Jordan shakes his head. "I am completely okay with this." He leans up for another kiss, then hooks his ankles behind John's knees and moves again. "I want it. I want you. God. So much."

John lets out a moan of his own and drops his head into Jordan's throat, licking carefully over the bruising visible even in the almost-darkness, sucking kisses into the unmarred skin beneath Jordan's ear. He holds Jordan's hip, fingers splaying out over the firm flesh of his ass, and he rocks against him, slow and rhythmic.

Every time Jordan's breath hitches, every time his moans get a little higher in pitch, John's cock gets a little harder. He starts to think about how warm and good Jordan would feel inside, but he can't bring himself to stop what he's doing. He keeps moving between Jordan's spread thighs, until his soft cries get frantic and desperate and blunt fingernails dig into the flesh of his back.

"I'm gonna come," Jordan whimpers, legs clamping down on John's hips as if to keep him still. "You have to stop."

John gives his head a little shake. "Want to hear you," he says, his voice low and thick. He's not near coming yet, but this is too good. Jordan feels good underneath him, he sounds and smells and tastes so good. "Let me make you come." He holds Jordan by the hips and grinds against him, long and slow.

Jordan's moan is low and drawn out and tortured, and his hands grip John's shoulders like he's holding on for dear life. His lips move against John's cheek as he pants and gasps. "Want you to fuck me," he whispers. "Want to come with you inside me."

"Oh, shit." John jerks his hips, kisses Jordan hard. "I'm gonna do that," he says against Jordan's slack, gasping mouth. "But come for me. Right now. Please."

Jordan whimpers and arches his back. When he falls back to the mattress, he lifts his legs higher, wraps them around John's hips, and he moves. He writhes, his whole body undulating while his face relaxes in pleasure. Then he stiffens in John's arms, thighs tightening around John's hips, and he lets out a strangled whimper as he starts to come.

The muscles in Jordan's stomach tense and release, over and over. Dampness wicks onto John's underwear as he presses close to where come soaks Jordan's briefs, wet and warm.

He pulls away when Jordan shudders and goes limp, legs falling back to the mattress. He's flushed and gasping, and when John lies his hand on Jordan's chest, his heart is beating fast and hard.

Jordan opens his eyes. He reaches out, pulls John down into a slow, lazy kiss. "You made me come in my shorts, you bastard." Then he grins, eyes closing again. "Condoms are in the drawer. Hurry up." His grin gets wider. "Before I fall asleep on you."

"I can wait," John says, even though he thinks maybe he can't.

Jordan opens his eyes, rolls them, the grin still plastered across his face. Then he grimaces, and reaches down to wriggle out of his briefs.

John watches in fascination as he peels them off, revealing a softening, but still plump and pretty cock. Semen glistens on the head, and John barely thinks about it before he shifts down the bed to get close. He takes Jordan's briefs out of his hand, uses a clean corner to wipe away the worst of the mess from the skin and hair around his dick, then drops them off the edge of the bed. He wraps his hand around the base of Jordan's softening cock, and he swipes his tongue across the head.

It's been a long time, but the salty bitterness is pleasantly familiar. He pulls Jordan's cock into his mouth, lets it sit on his tongue as Jordan gives a little shiver and stretches to pull off his t-shirt.

Jordan threads his fingers into John's hair as he starts to get hard again. He soon fills John's mouth, and the gentle pressure from his hand guides John to start to move. Jordan twists again, there's the sound of a drawer opening, and he pushes a plastic bottle into John's hand as he lifts his knees up, spreading his thighs.

John lifts his eyes. Jordan looks down at him, eyes wide, lips parted. His hand slides from John's hair to the collar of his shirt, and he pulls. "Please," he breathes. "God, John. Please."

John swallows hard. He sits up on his knees, scooting forward to rest between Jordan's spread thighs. He peels his shirt off over his head and shucks off his boxers. He's got a beautiful young man laid out before him, all long, lean, defined muscle. He spares a brief thought for the differences between them, but it's fleeting. Jordan wants him, his eyes are on John's cock, and he moans and presses his teeth into his lower lip as his knees part just a little more.

It's like an unconscious movement when he does it, his hips shifting at the same time to bring him just a little closer. "Please."

John puts a hand on Jordan's knee, drops his head to mouth at smooth skin over twitching muscle on the inside of his thigh. Then he snaps the cap on the lube and smears a little on his fingers.

When John touches Jordan, a featherlight slide of fingertips over his hole, Jordan's eyes fall shut and he sighs. John puts a little pressure behind the touch, and his fingertip slides into tight heat.

Jordan reaches up, wraps a hand around the back of John's neck, and he rolls his hips, taking John's finger all the way to the knuckle. He tips his head up, pulls John down and kisses him, wet and clumsy. "More."

John's ability to think is gone by the time he gets three fingers deep inside Jordan's body. The hot wet slide wipes his mind clean of anything but the need to get his cock in there. He pants against Jordan's mouth, not even able to kiss him anymore, all he can do is swallow Jordan's soft grunts and desperate moans. "I need—" he gasps as his hips rock against the inside of Jordan's thigh. "I want to—"

Jordan lets out a desperate groan and grasps John's wrist. He shudders as he pulls John's hand free, then rolls toward the cabinet. He upends a box into the drawer, grabs a condom as it falls, and tears at the foil with his teeth. "Been thinking about this for so long." He rolls the condom onto John's dick, smears it with lube. "I'll be writing reports, and you'll walk past, and all of a sudden I'm as hard as anything and all I can think about is how badly I need you to touch me."

"Jesus." John knows he's not going to be able to think of anything else from now on. He pushes Jordan down onto his back as he imagines pulling him into his office, locking the door, fucking him on the desk. He puts his hands beneath Jordan's knees and pushes them into his chest. His eyes slide down the backs of Jordan's thighs and lock onto his slick, open hole, rubs the head of his cock over the entrance to Jordan's body, and then he pushes in.

So tight. So hot. "Goddammit." John can barely think, can barely hold back the urge to thrust hard and deep. He groans with the restraint it takes to stay upright.

Jordan moans, his head jerking back onto the pillow as he arches off the mattress. There's a hand splayed out on John's chest, holding him in position. Slowly he relaxes, the hand slides down and slips around John's waist, pulls him in. "That's it," he breathes as John sinks in deep. "God, yeah."

John stares down into eyes that are bright and fevered. It's lighter than it was before, close to dawn, and he can see the color. "God, you're beautiful," he breathes, then pulls back and sinks deep all over again. He pulls Jordan's legs around his hips, and wrapped up in him, cock deep inside his body, John feels safe and warm and right. There's something like pain coiling in his belly, a tight twist of emotion and he's pretty sure this is too quick. "What have you done to me, kid?" He leans forward and swallows the questioning whimper as Jordan lets it out, kisses him hard as he rocks into him, over and over again.

When he slips a hand between them, Jordan's stomach muscles are clenched tight. His cock is hard, leaking onto his belly. John wraps his hand around it, jerks it a couple of times. "Come on," he says. "Show me. I wanna feel it." His spine fuses as he arches back, so damn close himself.

Jordan's arm tightens around John's neck, he pants out small, high pitched gasps, and then he stiffens, his body going rigid mid-writhe. Come spills over John's fist and he cries out as Jordan's body clamps down on him in hard, rolling spasms.

John's heard about your life flashing before your eyes when you know you're about to die. It's like that, except it's all Parrish. Scenes spark in his mind, the first moment John laid eyes on Jordan and he wondered how long it would be before Beacon Hills killed this one, too. The fear that gripped him even then, because Jordan looked far too young. He remembers asking him why he came here, marveling at the lack of fear and thinking it was foolhardy, because John knew better.

He remembers sitting slumped on the floor, poison running through his veins, his heart breaking because he'd done it, he'd gotten Parrish killed.

It all flicks past so quick, and then there's Parrish, cheeks red, lips wet, fingers clutching the back of a chair so hard his knuckles are white.

John opens his eyes, looks down. It's the same pink flush on Jordan's cheeks, the same wet, kiss-swollen lips, the same eyes, bright and open and vulnerable. And John sees him go down again, sees him slip from the vampire's hands, cast aside like he was dead already.

And as he comes, he chokes on all that feeling, the fear and the affection and the desperate need to never, ever, let go.

---

He's warm, exhausted, right in that perfect moment of sated almost-sleep when the body beside him shifts.

"I have a confession to make," Jordan says.

John grunts and opens one eye.

It's past dawn, and the glow of early morning sun through the curtains illuminates the side of Jordan's face. He licks his lips and closes his eyes. His fingertips stroke small, slow circles on the bare skin of John's chest. "I wanted this from the moment we met." He smiles, licks his lips. "You hardly said a word, couldn't have seemed less interested in me, professionally or otherwise. But I liked you. I knew I liked you more than I should have, but I couldn't make myself stop thinking about you."

"I was plenty interested," John mumbles into the pillow. He drags himself up onto one elbow. "Soon as you left the room I opened your file—"

Jordan laughs, smiling wide, eyes sparkling. "You just wanted to know how old I was."

John shrugs. "True. Come on. You don't look much older than my son." He cringes. "Jesus. Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"

Jordan grins and drops his eyes. John's phone starts to ring.

He finds it on the bedside table. "Stiles," he says into the phone, a little breathless.

"Where the hell are you?" his son demands. "I called the station, the frickin hospital—"

"Calm down," John says. "I'm fine. I'll be home later." His eyes move over Jordan's naked body, almost visible beneath the sheet. "By lunchtime. Promise."

"Where are you?" The tone of Stiles' voice shifts from panic to curiosity. "Why didn't you come home?"

"I didn't have my car."

"It's not here. I checked."

John smiles. "I left it outside a vampire bar in town."

"What the hell, dad? Vampires? What were you doing at a vampire bar?"

"I was on a date?"

Long moments of silence pass. "Oh my god. Did you get laid?"

John catches a few muttered words, 'therapy' and 'disturbing' and 'crisis'. He rolls his eyes. "Goodbye, Stiles."

"Dad, vampires? We need to talk—"

"I'll see you later." John ends the call, cutting Stiles off mid-sentence, puts the phone back down on the bedside table. Then he turns back to Jordan and slides back down onto the bed beside him.

Jordan bites his lip. "Is he not gonna like this?"

"He'll be fine. I think he's more interested in the vampires." He cups Jordan's cheek in his hand, drags a thumb over his lips. "I should have let him know I wasn't going to be home last night. I got distracted."

Jordan nods. "Vampires."

"It wasn't the vampires." John leans in to capture Jordan's lips in a kiss, slides a hand beneath the sheet and over bare skin.

That's another thing done, yay! This ending feels far from perfect, but there comes a point where you just have to call it good enough. I hope you enjoyed it, regardless :) (and kudos are like cookies *nudge* ♥)