Chapter Text
September 24, 2001
It’s been fifty years since Benny Lafitte stopped hearing the sound of human blood pumping through tight, vulnerable veins. He doesn’t remember when the rhythmic drumming of the intoxicating living elixir coursing through every mortal he met stopped hypnotising him. It was probably gradual, falling in increments until one day he was giving a lecture on the literature of Henry James and D.H. Lawrence to a room full of hopeful, bright-eyed Stanford students and it occurred to him that for the first time he heard nothing.
His living blood addiction licked, donated blood had sufficed for decades. He had his bagged blood, his books, and his Bordeaux and he didn’t need more than that. But when Sam Winchester entered his lecture hall, the blood-song returned, and this time it had a dangerously intoxicating beat.
As soon as the kid sat down at the seminar table – the left corner, a chair separating him from his classmates on both sides– Benny’s mind clamped shut. Even without the seductive sound of his blood bumping, he would have found the kid…tempting. Beautiful, thick brown hair long enough to pull like reins, short enough so that it couldn’t be put up in one of those godawful man buns, the kids are so into these days. His sinful mouth – no, no it wasn’t that. His mouth with his full pink lips was so innocent and pure that it forced Benny to picture all the things he could do to it, all the things he could watch disappear into it. That was the sinful part. And he had the body of a runner– A hunter, if Benny was being honest. But after his nest abandoned him, he opted for more of a solitary existence, flying under the radar. Then, of course, his eyes. Foxlike and sharp looking to be, from a table away, hazel. What really brought out Benny’s predatory nature, however, was his eagerness. The kid was guarded as hell, arms crossed, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone, staying eerily silent as the rest of the class filtered in. But when he looked at Benny, his professor, he was so beautifully eager that all Benny could picture was the boy breaking apart as he fucked into him and sucked from his neck the sweetest blood he’d ever tasted.
“Okay, welcome to Men in Love: The homo-erotic subtext in James and Lawrence. If you are here by accident, now is your chance to leave. The rest of you are stuck with me.” he said, eyeing each one of the fourteen students – two women and twelve men – warmly. He looked back at the boy who was making his normally measured and careful thoughts run amok. “Why don’t we start with you, then,” he said.
“Me?” the guy asked with a clueless smile as he shifted between the two girls .
“You. Your name. Your intended major. Why are you here in this class?”
“Uh, I’m Sam Winchester. I’m an English major, pre-law,” he paused and looked directly at Benny, square in the eyes, boldly, but only for a second before lowering them. “I wanted to take this class because James and Lawrence both kind of lived a lie and I feel like I can relate to that.” He paused and an adorable blush bloomed over his face. He bit his lip and looked down at his notebook, already dated with today’s date. “I uh, I also really liked James’ Turn of the Screw.”
“Ah, and what do you think? The novella leaves the reader wondering whether ghosts are real or just figments of psychosis. What do you think?”
“I think,” Sam began before pausing. His mouth formed to say one thing and then reformed to say something else. “Figments. Not real.”
That was not what the boy wanted to say; it was only what he thought he should say. Benny let him off the hook and went to the girl next to him. It was only after he got done with everybody else that he realized that Sam was the only one he had asked follow up questions to. Sam was the only one whose name he remembered.
Benny did his best to stay on task, give the students the author bios and bibliographies, go over the syllabus and class expectations, but Sam’s bloodflow thrummed in his ears, and thoughts of bending the boy over his desk and biting into his neck intruded. By the end of the lecture he was sure everyone in the class knew how badly he wanted the kid. Everyone but Sam himself who was dutifully taking notes and looking thoughtful like he had so much to say on whatever Benny was talking about. Benny also didn’t miss how one of the girls and a couple of the guys tried to talk to him. His fangs almost made an appearance as a wave of possessiveness came over him. Mine, it said violently. He’s fucking mine.
Sam was the last one to leave. He didn’t seem to want to, actually. After sliding his notebook back in its messenger bag, he stood up and smiled shyly at Benny. “Thank you, professor.”
Benny almost came in his pants.
Why him? Benny wondered as he made his way back to his condo. Why after fifty years of silence is he suddenly hearing a mortal’s blood? Granted, this particular mortal was exceptionally beautiful. But over the years he’d seen men and women who were just as stunning and he had not been privy to the music their blood made as it coursed through their beautiful bodies. Why Sam?
When Sam got back to his dorm he was relieved to find it empty. Nine times out of ten, he’d come home and his roommate Brady would be there playing his Nintendo with two or three other boys. Or him and his friends would be talking bullshit about how many girls they’ve been with. And Sam was in no mood to deal with that. He climbed up on the top bunk and laid flat on his back. The plastic stars that would glow in the dark were now just a shade darker than the white ceiling and Sam could almost reach up and touch them. Instead, though, he just stared into them and thought about Professor Lafitte.
His training told him something was off about the guy. There was something dark about him. But his body told him something completely different. His body told him that they were the same. Two dark freaks. His body told him he should touch and be touched by this man, who in addition to being his professor, was also a good twenty years older than he was. But, holy fuck, did his body want him. Sam let his hand slide down his hoodie and under the waistband of his jeans. Professor Lafitte’s mouth on his neck. Professor Lafitte’s hands in places he had only let girls touch. Well, one girl, one time. A bad party thrown by a girl with best-friend parents. Spiked punch. He was thirteen, she was eighteen. He remembered bits and pieces. He came to in a bathtub, pants down around his ankles, lipstick on his flaccid dick. And Dean yelling bloody murder. Dean had pulled his pants up, and fireman-carried him out of the house waving Dad’s gun and shouting curses. Dean took him back to the motel, helped him wash himself, put him into pajamas and let him have the whole bed to himself. They didn’t talk about it ever. Dean left him alone about girls and dating after that. And Sam just wasn’t interested. And he was never interested in boys or older men either. But Professor Lafitte? Yeah there was just something magnetic about him.
He’d just worked himself up when the door unlocked. He let himself go with a moan and a grunt and turned on his side. He pretended to be asleep so he could avoid Brady, but he still thought about his professor. His professor kissing him after class. His professor putting him on his knees and forcing him to take all of him down like a good boy. His professor’s mouth covering the place where the lipstick had been, correcting something somehow. Sam stifled a moan by biting his comforter, but the movement caught Brady’s attention.
“Party tonight Delta Gamma Pi, you in? Or are you going to stay in and read for the fifth night in a row?”
“Gonna read,” he said.
“Okay, geekboy,” Brady said.
Sam rolled onto his back and sighed quietly. Dean called him that. Dean, who practically locked the door on him after Dad told him to never come back.
“Can I tell you something, Sam? I mean bro-to-bro?” Brady asked.
Sam sat up and nodded.
“You’re such a fucking waste.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re hot, okay, I’m man enough to say that. If you and I went to the bars or–”
“I’m not twenty-one yet,” Sam said. And he didn’t know why he said it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten drunk off dad’s PBRs or Bobby’s whiskey before.
“Or parties whatever, the point is, if we went out, we would be drowning in pussy. You’d pull in the hottest girls and I’d get the run-off. But no, no, you have to stay in and read by yourself. It’s honestly selfish, if you want to know the truth.”
“Selfish?” Sam laughed.
“Yeah, you’ve won the good-looks lottery and you refuse to share any of the benefits. Selfish.”
Sam smiled at Brady really for the first time. It wasn’t a nice smile but it wasn’t totally mean either. Brady had sandy blonde hair and was shorter and stockier than Sam, but not by much. If he were a cartoon his smile would get one of those pinging stars. And his eyes were very blue. Brady looked good, Sam thought. And that made this whole conversation crazy.
“As if you’re not movie-star attractive.”
Brady blushed unexpectedly and looked away. “I’m just saying you should come out with me and my boys. You’d increase our chances and you might even have fun.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll go.”
Sam knew as soon as he walked into the frat house that this was a big mistake. He had let Brady dress him in a battered pair of blue jeans and an old CBGB’s shirt. He let a girlfriend of Brady’s— just a friend who was a girl– work his hair into what she called a ‘sexy bedhead’ style. He even let her put eyeliner on him. The effect of it all was terrifying. Girls stopped mid-sentence, mid-sip, and some even in mid-dance and they looked at him like they wanted to devour him. Sam, who had killed his first wendigo at nine years old, who had taken down four werewolves in one go, cowered under their lust-crazy gazes. He thought for a second he’d been hexed or something, like something supernatural had made him irresistible to women. He tucked himself inside Brady’s friend group and kept his head down.
“Let’s get you a drink,” Brady said.
“Yeah, okay,” Sam said, because he definitely needed a drink. Brady led him to a keg and began pumping beer into a red Solo cup. As soon as Sam got his hand around it he chugged it and held the empty cup out for more. Brady laughed but obliged. Sometime– and quite a few beers later– Patrick, one of Brady’s friends, begged Sam to go talk to a group of girls with him. Sam was at this point tipsy enough to be agreeable. Patrick pinched his shirt and led him away from the knot of drinking guys to a gaggle of giggling girls.
“Not the blonde, okay? I want that one. Any of the others,” Patrick whispered loudly so Sam could hear him above the punk rock music.
So Sam smiled at the girls and then showed off his dimples to the redhead in a tight red plaid dress.
“I’m Sam,” he said, holding out his hand. He felt pretty good but he knew that was mostly the alcohol.
“Anna,” she said, shaking his hand with a sweet laugh. Maybe he could like girls, too, after all. If he got drunk enough, maybe.
“Are you guys having fun?” Sam asked as Patrick put his arm around his shoulder.
“We were just thinking you ladies sure knew how to have fun.”
As soon as Patrick said this, Sam got an unwanted flash of being pushed against the bathroom door by that older girl years ago. She had been drunk too and she was all over him. He remembered something he’d totally forgotten. He remembered her pushing her breast into his mouth and telling him to suck like he sucked his momma. His mom had died twelve and a half years before, because of him. That’s all he knew. At six months he caused his mother’s death and his father never forgave him for it. Sometimes he wondered if Dean hadn’t either. She pulled his face in shouting at him to suck her. And he didn’t understand.
Sam put his hands on the redhead’s bare shoulders and moved closer until his body was smashed against hers. They began making out easily, furiously on Sam’s part.
“Maybe we should go somewhere private,” she said as he began kissing the tops of her breasts, exposed by the cut of the dress.
Her girlfriends laughed as Sam let himself be led away. She found an empty bedroom and walked him to the bed. As soon as she laid down on her back, he was on top of her pulling out her breasts and sucking them looking up at her as she played with his hair and moaned. He felt something wet spill over her breasts and realized quickly that it was whiskey. She was pouring Whiskey over her breasts and he was lapping and licking it up like her breast was a drinking fountain. She laughed. And when he finally came up for air they took turns swigging directly from the bottle she had apparently procured out of nowhere.
She pulled up her dress and pushed down her panties and led his lips between her legs. He licked and sucked and held her gaze as she moaned with pleasure. It felt good to make her moan like that. It felt good to finally be doing it right, being with a girl the right way. Not like when he was thirteen and couldn’t even figure out what she wanted from him until she took it herself. He couldn’t say what she smelled like or tasted like. Whether it was because he was now so drunk or for some other reason, he was just completely on autopilot. She began to come loudly and he drank all of her juices as she bucked and moaned, and pulled at his hair.
He kept doing that until she had to pull him off her.
“Thirsty boy,” she whispered huskily and then laughed. She handed him the half-finished bottle of whiskey and gently pushed him onto his back. She began unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his cock and he began to down the rest of the alcohol.
As soon as she put her lips around him, he was harder than he’d ever been. The warm net of tingles tangled in his stomach and he moaned. He drank and closed his eyes and felt all the sensation as his her mouth moved up and down his cock like a sheath teasing its sword. He imagined Professor Lafitte sucking him off like that, making him delirious with need.
“Professor,” Sam moaned
The girl, Anna, smirked at him, but went back to work without asking questions.
“I need to come, I need to come,” Sam whined, squirming under her.
Anna kissed the head of his cock and said softly, “Then come for me, baby.” He heard it in the professor’s voice and came in ropes all over his shirt. He closed his eyes and felt her kissing his neck.
“Bite me,” he whispered. “Please bite me.”
She laughed but bit him gently, more like a nibble on the crook of his neck. He moaned but it was not enough.
“Let me know when you’re ready for Act Two,” she said, snuggling against him and sliding her hand over his spent cock.
But the next thing he knew someone had broken down the door and grabbed him by the shirt. This big beefy footballer type was swinging Sam around so hard his pants and boxers flew off his ankles. Anna screamed. “Jeff, Jeff stop you’re hurting him.”
“This who you dumped me for A? This fucking pretty boy twink?”
Sam had grabbed the guy’s wrist and his hunter instincts took over just as two other guys – Jeff’s bigger, beefier friends joined in. Sam kicked him to get away and then used jujitsu moves to lay him flat. The other guys punched him in the face, and kicked him in the ribs but he stayed upright, moving face until he could right hook them and follow that up with a roundhouse kick. Soon, they were laid out, too and Sam was standing there, drunk, panting and ready to fight as a crowd of people stared. Anna stood on the bed mouth agape and eyes wide in utter astonishment. Finally, he came back to himself, realizing he was standing there in only a T-shirt that barely went down to his thighs. He quickly and clumsily grabbed his clothes and pulled them on. He shoved his feet into his Doc Martens and pushed his way out of the room as the guys he laid out began to come to. In the throngs of dancing and drinking students he found Brady.
“Gonna go home now, thanks for the, thanks for the party, so fun,” he slurred patting him on the back.
Brady took his hand. “Let me call you a taxi at least, you’re not in the best shape to–”
“I’m fine. I know how to do this,” Sam said. He walked away, and eventually found the front door.
The cold air slapped him in the face and he started walking in the direction he believed the dorm was in. A few blocks into his walk he collapsed by a fence where a dog barked and pawed at him through the chainlinks.
Benny woke up from the night-terror sweating. He had had night-terrors before but nothing intense as this since Andrea. Any time she was in any kind of danger he’d be plagued with nightmares. They weren’t psychic because they weren’t future events. They were events happening right as he dreamt them. And that meant one thing: Sam – his Sam, his boy. His. – needed help.
Benny dressed and raced to Euclid Street where the boy had collapsed in his too-real dream. It had started off so nice, the dream. The boy looked so fucking hot and everyone both girls and guys couldn’t take their eyes off him. Benny detected these threats in a way the boy did not. He drank, remembered something horrible, drank some more and let the girl lead him away from his friends. Even in his dream state Benny felt protectiveness flare up, but the girl herself only wanted to give and receive pleasure. When he watched the debauched boy moan Benny’s name– well his title, anyway – and beg her to bite him, Benny felt himself get hard. But then the trio of boys twice Sam’s size came in and it stopped being so fun. Sam fought off three frat boys with the moves unmistakably belonging to a hunter. His boy– because even if he was a hunter, Sam was still his, Benny decided– do so good, knocking them all out like that. But the bullies got him in the face a few times.
He found Sam alone in the fetal position as a snarling pit bull scratched up his forehead through a fence. The beat of his blood was all-consuming as he bent down to lift Sam up gently.
Sam moaned and squinted his eyes a few times before letting just a sliver of light come through. “Professor,” he said tiredly.
“You’re okay,” he said. But he wasn’t and neither was Benny, not with Sam’s bright, red blood slipping from open cuts, calling to his own fiery lips.
“Parties are no good for me, are they?” Sam slurred.
“No, they’re not.” God, the boy’s blood was right there– his for the taking. It practically danced against his forehead, his cheek and his bottom lip under the spray of moonlight.
“I can get back to the dorms, okay.”
“No, kid, no, you were walking in the opposite direction.”
“Did a bad thing, professor. You gonna turn me in?”
“Depends on what you did.”
“I’m eighteen. Not old enough to. Not old enough to…”
“Shh, you’re not in trouble. I won’t say anything.”
Sam looked up at Benny as he cradled him. He opened his eyes a little wider. “So embarrassing how horny you make me.”
Sam closed his eyes and that was it. There was nothing else Benny could do, but bring his lips to his forehead right against the center of a deep scratch and lick and suck the sweetest, darkest, strangest blood he had ever taken from a mortal.