Chapter Text
The first time it happened, Mark almost didn’t know what to make of it.
He first noticed something was off just before they left for work one morning, when he stopped Peter before he left their front door. "You did a sloppy job, c’mere," he ordered, grabbing his boyfriend’s uneven tie between his hands.
He paused. Peter seemed really hot. As a werewolf, he naturally ran hotter than a human on any given day, but right now heat was radiating off of him stronger than usual. To confirm his suspicion, Mark patted his hands to Peter’s chest to better gauge the temperature of his skin under his shirt.
"Excuse you," Peter complained weakly, batting his hands away from any further groping. He glanced down at his still-messy tie and fumbled with it, giving it a few half-hearted seconds of attention before giving up. (For, evidently, the second time this morning.)
"Are you coming down with something?" Mark questioned, taking further note of how baggy and tired Peter’s eyes seemed today. "Can you come down with something?"
"I’ll be fine," was Peter’s unhelpful response as he shoved past him, marching out into the parking lot. Rude.
"Well, fuck me for tryin’ to be a nice, caring partner or whatever," Mark muttered, following dejected behind him towards their cars, dramatically kicking a pebble down the pavement.
Peter stopped, tense shoulders dropping a bit as he turned around like the guilty dog he was. With a sigh, he leaned forward to press his lips to Mark’s. "Sorry. I’ll be fine," he repeated, gentler this time. "Have a nice day at work," he added sweetly. Apparently, this was as romantic as his crabby ass was going to be this morning, so Mark took what he could get.
"Yeah, yeah," Mark said, taking hold of Peter’s tie once more and giving it the final fix it still needed. He didn’t miss the way he sucked in a small breath as Mark’s hands met his body again, just briefly as he smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt before sending him back on the warpath to his car.
He’d drop the issue for now and interrogate him later, Mark decided. Even just for those few short moments, the sun was already starting to eat through his sunscreen. As a vampire standing around in broad daylight, he needed the protection of his own heavily tinted car windows more than answers right now. Damn day shifts.
When Mark got home that evening, he was surprised to find Peter’s car in the lot already. Usually, his days ran later than Mark’s- did he come home early because of his sickness from this morning?
Crossing their apartment threshold with the same caution he would enter a crime scene, Mark found Peter slumped over the dining room table. "Peter?" he called out, making an effort to mask the real unease he felt to find him in this state. Still, his feet carried him over at a revealing pace.
Not dead, Peter grumbled in response. Mark relaxed a bit at the reassurance and gave him a closer inspection. His shirt was all in disarray, partially unbuttoned and clinging to his skin from sweat. Despite what he promised earlier, he did not seem okay.
"What’s up with you? Did you eat chocolate or something?" Mark pressed with a playful lilt, and the more annoyed groan that emitted from Peter eased his fears a bit more. If he still had enough energy to have his buttons pushed, he wasn’t dying just yet.
Peter picked his head up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, mumbling the start of an answer into his hand. Like this, Mark could better see the sweat beading on his partially obscured face. If he thought Peter was uncharacteristically hot this morning, he was boiling now, skin flush with blood pooling directly under the surface.
"What was that?" Mark urged, pushing in a bit to better hear him. Peter attempted to avoid him, leaning away slightly.
"I’m in..." the guy murmured, still incomprehensible.
"What?" Mark repeated, not going to be satisfied until he knew the full truth of what was going on here. If Peter truly was sick and dying and hiding it from him, he was going to kick his little fluffy ass-
"I’m in heat, okay?" Peter graced him with an answer, somehow turning an even darker shade of red at the admission.
Mark blinked. In heat? Like a horny animal? Right when he thought they learned everything about each other’s unique biology...
"Stop looking at me like that," Peter sighed, and Mark picked his jaw off of the floor.
He certainly wasn’t upset by this revelation. In fact, now that he knew all of this sweat and misery was simply the result of some extreme sexual frenzy... Well, what kind of partner would he be if he didn’t offer help in his time of need?
Stepping forward, Mark took Peter’s head in his hands, running cool, soothing fingers through his hair. The man (if you could call him that) immediately leaned into the touch, and continued the momentum forward until his sweaty forehead rested against Mark’s chest. From there, he inhaled deeply, like Mark’s body itself brought him comfort.
"Do you want my help?" he asked politely. Before the question could finish leaving his lips, Peter interrupted with an exasperated "yes," trembling under his hands like he’s been waiting years for this moment. "I need you- I mean, I need..."
"I’ve got you," Mark cooed, urging Peter to stand. It seemed like they had no time to lose. Peter didn’t usually accept help so easily, preferring to reject it at least three more times before finally giving in. He must be really uncomfortable. "You’re not just saying that, right? You want this for real?"
"I-I want it, please, Mark-"
"Okay, okay, fuck. Shut up before you say something you'll regret," Mark teased, and held the man steady as he rose to his feet. At full height, Peter towered a few inches above him, but crumpled so far in on himself in discomfort, he never looked smaller.
One of Peter's arms shot out and gripped Mark's shoulder, holding onto him tight. "Mark," he started, swimmy eyes boring into his, "I... I don't know what to expect. You... you're gonna need stamina. I, fuck, Mark..."
Mark let his fangs down, as he usually does when they were alone together. "You don't gotta tell me twice," he said with a lick of his lips and flash of his teeth. If marathon sex was what Peter needed to feel better, he wasn't exactly upset to accept to the challenge.
"I'm serious, I..." Peter swallowed loudly next to him, gathering up the courage to say something he very obviously did not want to admit. "I've never had someone help me with a mating cycle..."
Mark’s eyebrows rose in genuine shock, and maybe even mild concern. “Mating cy- Wait, never?”
“I was always worried I’d lose control, I… have no idea. Especially in a rut.”
"The fuck's a rut?" Mark tried to keep up, his upstairs brain telling him to get a little more information before proceeding. He was learning a lot right now, but clearly not enough fast enough.
Peter shifted on his feet, avoiding his eyes again. Mark certainly hoped they were beyond reservations like this by now. "C'mon, I'm not gonna make fun of you," he promised. He still toyed with him sometimes, but ultimately, he took learning about Peter's biology seriously. It was important for them to be on the same page.
Peter sighed in defeat. "It's similar, but I go on top. But it makes me more aggressive. It's meant for fighting off competition or something. I just... stay home," he explained, shamefully. There was a lingering loneliness in his eyes, lost in thought as he was probably recalling every past mating season that he spent alone; His instincts screaming for procreation, his body screaming for relief, there wasn't much he could do by himself that would really, truly, satisfy.
“Okay, well, you're not wolfing out now,” Mark snaked a hand around Peter’s middle, feeling him shiver under the touch. “Why not hook-up when you're like this? You're not aggressive now, you're..."
Peter rolled his eyes, slow and exhausted but still deliberate. "Sweaty and pathetic?"
Mark bit his lip to hide a small smirk.
Peter sighed hard and initiated for them to hurry on up to the bedroom. "C'mon. No hook-up would want me like this. It's embarrassing and gross."
"I think it's kind of hot."
"I think to most normal people, I just look sick and disgusting."
"You do look sick and disgusting."
"Yeah, and you're a freak, so of course you like that."
"I'm your freak," Mark said as they arrived safely at their destination, and Peter wasted no time stripping himself of his soaked clothing.
Funny. Early on, Peter would have fought that kind of comment with a toxin-laced "You wish." Eventually, he would have groaned a sarcastic "Unfortunately." Now, he didn't fight it at all... whatever that meant.
Mark got undressed with him. Normally he'd happily draw this out for much longer, but Peter was desperate enough already. "Does it hurt?" he asked, watching Peter attempt to cool off on the bed. He was sprawled out on top of the sheets, looking like he had two more degrees before his body would start melting.
"Just uncomfortable," Peter said after some time in his own mind. "Like every part of me is on fire."
Stripped down, Mark joined him on top of the covers. "What helps?" he continued, voice dropped just above a whisper.
"When you touch me," Peter answered quickly, not beating around the bush. As soon as Mark was within reachable distance, he clawed at him again, pulling him in flush with his body and breathing into his neck. Hard.
"Okay, okay, I've got you," Mark repeated. Happy to oblige, he let his hands firmly roam around Peter's clammy skin. He could feel the rush of his blood under the surface, inhuman heart pumping in overdrive. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to his flesh, feeling Peter's tantalizing pulse, making his fangs tingle and itch in his mouth. Being this close to him, feeling the heat of his body, so alive underneath him, it drove Mark wild.
Peter does, in fact, let him feed from him sometimes. His blood tasted unpleasant, but otherwise posed no health risk to him. A werewolf's blood was, surprisingly, totally viable for vampire survival, but tasted more like rusty metal than the nectar that comes from normal humans.
It's easy to drink from humans. Orgasmic, even. A lesser vampire may accidentally drink too much, killing their donor in the process. It was best to show restraint, leaving your victim alive and clueless as to what occurred. However, feeding straight from humans was always the biggest risk a vampire could take, it could catch the attention of authorities if something went wrong.
Some vampires chose the life of dwelling in sewers and caves, hunting and luring unsuspecting people for their meals, people that won't be missed much. That life was wrought with violence as rival clans fought for resources and shelter down in the underworld, killing each other for scraps and evading detection from humans. If you wanted to participate in normal society, you had to play by normal society rules. It was safer to have a normal job and try to live a normal life, and turn to more creative means of obtaining food.
Such as buying blood on the black market.
Such as joining a bizarre vampire cult that harvested blood using elaborate contraptions, under the watchful eye of an unconventional serial killer who wanted to revolutionize the meaning of justice.
Such as knowing a certain surgeon who agreed to continue to pass blood under the table after the aforementioned cult was dismantled from within.
Such as your werewolf ally letting you have a little taste, just to see what it was like, once during an evening of mutual curiosity.
They learned a lot that night. Not only did drinking from Peter help sustain Mark's appetite, there was the added benefit of him not needing to rely on his... old supply sources. Werewolves have a lot of extra blood they can donate before they start to feel it, it turns out. They regenerate it fast, too. The only reason why such a symbiotic relationship was so taboo was because, usually, no sane vampire would willingly choose to drink from a werewolf, and no sane werewolf would willingly offer.
If only they knew how good they could have it.
"May I?" Mark asked politely, inhaling hard against Peter's jugular. He wanted to help Peter, he really did, but the prospect of a quick drink was too intoxicating. Peter's breathing picked up too, just as he must have felt the prick of a slight, teasing drag of Mark's fangs against his neck. The sound of his blood coursing through his veins was almost audible to Mark's ears, which haven't heard the dull thrum of his own pulse in a long time. He loved the sound of it. The feel of it.
Peter nodded, still holding him tight, satisfied enough for now just using him as a giant, human-shaped ice-pack. He greedily stole any relief from this heat that he could. Mark didn't mind. In fact, he loved stealing Peter's warmth just as much as Peter appreciated his comforting coolness, if not more.
With the halt of his breath, Peter anticipated what was to come with little trepidation. Permission granted, Mark bit down.
This was the best part-
No, it wasn't the initial piercing of Peter's skin with his teeth, releasing the scent and heat from within that quickly blew out Mark's pupils.
No, it wasn't Peter's wince of pain giving way to small involuntary mewls of bliss. For humans and, apparently, werewolves alike, the bite of a vampire was a pleasurable one. You don't want your food screaming and thrashing and getting away, after all.
It definitely wasn't the taste of him, which was, quite frankly, awful.
It was the trust.
When Peter bore his throat to him, Mark knew he was internally fighting every single self-preservation instinct with tooth and nail. Mark could so easily take easy advantage of his vulnerable state and bleed him until he's hollowed out, one more member of the rival species rid from this earth. Pureblood or turned, it was in their nature to kill each other. The monster genes that infected their DNA bestowed upon them the same sixth sense of those that were born into this life, and screamed out to both of them: this is an enemy.
How was it, then, that they could stomp down those instincts?
Mark wasn't sure what the turning point was. They met on a crime scene; Agent Strahm immediately recognized him as a vampire, correctly assumed he was involved and double-covering it up as the lead detective on his own case, and by all accounts, had every reason to exterminate him.
One thing led to another, and instead of killing each other, they explored each other's bodies instead.
Then they did it again, perhaps a few times.
Now, here they were. They moved in with each other, and they were... whatever they wanted to call this.
There was something to be said about two lonely creatures finding each other in the night, deciding to put aside their differences for the promise of companionship. True companionship. They didn't have to hide who they were with each other. Well, some other people "knew." Peter had Lindsey, who he confided in with the truth long ago, and Mark kind of had Amanda, another vampire he met in the cult, who tolerated him at best. But they... Well, they were something different.
Mark drank. The taste in his mouth was bitter, but he still sucked it down with a fervor. The fact that it was Peter's blood was what made him love it, what made him crave it. It was like a cigarette addiction. He could feel the temperature of it as it traveled down his esophagus and pooled in his stomach, heating him from the inside out. The feeling of Peter's warmth inside of him easily made up for the flavor.
He moaned into Peter's neck as he sucked hard, and Peter whined back, desperate for more of his relieving touch. Mark complied by feeling him up as far as his hands could reach, cold fingers raking across his hot, sweat-dimpled skin. Peter writhed and pushed against him, as if trying to touch as much of his naked body to Mark's as possible.
Belly full, Mark pulled back with one last swipe of his tongue over the puncture wounds he left on Peter's neck. "So needy," he commented, unable to help himself from teasing just a little bit.
"Shut up. Fuck me," Peter demanded, like he couldn't take one more second of this.
"Impatient," Mark commented lightheartedly as he lifted up and off of Peter, starting to lean over to the bedside table-
Strong arms snatched him back into place. "Don't need it," he said, one of those arms releasing only to grab one of Mark's hands. Stunned, he let him guide it to his ass, and Mark dipped a curious finger to his hole. To his surprise, it was slick already with a substance similar enough to lube that Mark thought for a second that he prepped himself already. But, he didn't.
"The fuck is this...?"
"Normal. Now, please..."
The lack of further preparation and foreplay was off-putting, but having Peter under him, shaking and moaning over practically nothing, grabbing and touching him everywhere, did plenty to get Mark hard enough.
So, with no more reason to stall, Mark maneuvered around so his cock lined up with Peter's hole, and pushed in. He was wet to the core, but Mark still took care to not shove in too fast. They locked eyes as he bottomed out, and he began moving. Slowly at first, then quickly ramping up.
"Ah," Peter's new gasp came out more like a shuddered, relieved sigh, like all of his life's problems were going to be solved just like this.
"That feel good?" Mark asked, steadily getting into a rhythm.
Peter didn't answer so much as he did that thing he claims he doesn't do, rubbing his face against Mark, headbutting him everywhere he could easily reach. Mark asked him about it one day, and Peter pleaded the fifth. Through a little deductive reasoning and pattern recognition, Mark eventually pieced it together:
Both of them had heightened senses of smell, but for Peter? It was on another level. One day early on, he not-so-kindly suggested that Mark ditch his cologne collection. It was, at the time, his roundabout way of communicating that he had a sensitive little wolf nose.
What came next as their relationship turned physical? The weird rubbing. Peter was scenting him. (Funnily enough, most often after a shower.) He subconsciously claimed him as his own by making him smell like him, and frequently relished in their now-homogenized aromas. That needed no further explanation for Mark. Most of the strange little things werewolves do, as he was gradually learning, had something to do with pack bonding.
When called out, he denied, denied, denied.
That's okay. Mark didn't need an admission; he knew the truth. He even thought it was kind of sweet, not that he would admit it to his face. (Yet.) So, he let Peter rub against him as much as he needed to feel better. He was considerate like that.
As Mark fucked him, Peter did seem to gradually relax. He still clawed at his back, but more out of a desire for closeness than anything else.
Suddenly, the body under him shook and shuddered, and Peter grasped at him with a new fervor. Between their stomachs, Mark felt a new, warm stickiness spreading between them. He slowed his roll a bit, starting to pull back to take a look at the new mess. "Off like a shot, Pe-?"
"Don't you dare stop," Peter growled, pulling him back down onto him before he could even catch a glance. Apparently, they were just getting started.
Message received. Mark responded by bracing himself, strong arms on either side of Peter, so he could snap his hips against him with even more force. "Fuck," Peter whined gratefully, tilting his head forward to breathe hard into Mark's neck.
Peter has his own set of chompers, too. Just like Mark, his teeth mostly remained in a neutral, socially-acceptable state when wandering around the human world. However, if he willed it, Peter could transform those pearly whites into total bone-crushers. He did it more in the beginning, more as an intimidation tactic than anything. To Peter's chagrin, Mark delighted in those moments when the beast threatened to come out. Such as now, canines flashing as he snarled to himself, eyes screwed shut, fighting back the urge to give Mark a few love bites of his own.
"Do it, I know you want to," Mark encouraged. The first time he did it, it was an accident. In a moment of passion, Peter clamped down on his shoulder and then apologized profusely, deeply terrified of hurting him. It didn't tickle, but vampires were not so easily damaged. And, perhaps, Mark enjoyed a little pain with his pleasure.
After minor hesitation, Peter leaned forward and clenched his teeth around the base of his neck, salivating down his collarbone. Mark sucked in some air, adjusting to the sensation. Similarly again, Peter could so easily tear his throat out in this position. A stake to the heart was a guarantee kill, but leaving him in too many pieces to self-repair would technically do the trick as well. Luckily for him, when Peter bit down, it wasn't out of bloodlust, just regular lust.
As his hole continued to be relentlessly pounded, more rumbles emanated from deep within Peter's chest. Like many of his amusing quirks, Mark didn't initially understand the intent, assuming it meant something malicious. Now he knew it was simply the werewolf equivalent of purring, as much as Peter hated that description and begged him not to use it.
Satisfied with the bites given, Peter followed them up with gentle licks and kisses, almost apologetic in nature.
He had nothing to be sorry for.
Craving more of his whimpers, Mark squeezed a hand between their bodies to touch Peter's leaking cock. Come smeared obscenely across their stomachs where they were pressed together, and even more dribbled thick down Mark's fingers, pumping Peter’s cock in time with his thrusts. Successfully drawing more orgasm-laced sobs from the man, it was music to his ears.
"Fuck," Peter whined, voice deep and wrecked from pleasure and pseudo-purring. "Mark, ah," he cried out, trying to get his attention through the overstimulation.
"What do you need, darling?" Mark asked, saccharine tone mismatching with how ruthlessly he continued to fuck into him.
"Kiss me," he demanded, ever the romantic.
Mark smiled. Another easily-fulfillable request. He slowed his roll a bit, rocking his cock into Peter at a gentler pace, but just as deep. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Peter's, who returned the kiss with a matched sensuality.
Peter's happy-growls grew stronger, more audible on each ragged exhale he took. They breathed rigorously against each other, eager and desperate. Peter's warm blood in Mark's stomach, Mark's hard cock in Peter's ass, mouth moving against mouth; it was impossible to get any physically closer than this, but they ground against each other like the end goal was to become one single creature.
As foreign as a concept as heats were to Mark, he did notice Peter's temperature and demeanor slowly stabilize as he fucked him. What a world they lived in, where sex worked like a miracle cure for this bizarre ailment. After some thought, it was no wonder Peter was so hesitant to subject a human partner to his inhuman problem. It would, admittedly, be a little difficult to explain to an outsider.
Mark held out as long as he could, but after wringing at least two known orgasms out of the needy werewolf, his stamina just about hit his limit. "Peter, I..."
"Come in me," Peter ordered. From his tone, Mark just went ahead and assumed it was a necessary part of the process.
"Fuck," Mark groaned, coming hard, deep inside of Peter. His own breath was labored as he rocked into him through his orgasm, come mixing with the strange self-lubrication that leaked out of Peter's hole.
Peter craned his neck up, gently touching foreheads with Mark, sharing the air they breathed arduously between them. There was a noticeable increase of release slathered between them that wasn't there a moment ago.
Still panting heavily, Mark spoke up as they enjoyed their mutual afterglow. "Is... Was that good?"
"For now," Peter answered with the tiniest smile, equally out of breath.
“So, what’s the point?” Mark asked later that night, the two monsters tangled together on the bed after a very thorough shower and quick change of the sheets. They'd inevitably be at it for round two when Peter's heat flares up again, but for now, they enjoyed this brief intermission of cleanliness. "Of the mating cycle?"
“Its always some primal bullshit, I don't fuckin' know. Something to do with how the Lycans of the Old World used to breed with each other to continue the species. But, I’m not pureblood, I was turned," Peter's eyebrows pulled together as he mustered up enough brainpower to explain his culture, for lack of a better term, as he often does.
Mark stared at him incredulously. “You don’t know?”
“They don’t exactly teach you this stuff in werewolf school. Ninety-nine percent of the information out there is fantasy, and it's not like I can tell which is which.”
“Well, what, couldn’t you just ask someone? Like, one of those old guys?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “We don't all know each other, Mark.”
Mark shut up, realizing how dumb his question was. Of course. There wasn't a vampire phone book, either. He's heard whispers of some ancient covens that have been around for centuries, but that was impossibly far-removed from what was going on in America. "Okay, I digress," he said, and Peter let out a small huff of air as he realized Mark wasn't done with the whole heat topic. "Ruts make sense to carry the lineage, I get that. But why go into heat? You...?"
Peter read between the lines and sighed. "I've read one shaky source that says the uh, everyone experiencing both ruts and heats, may have been for bond-strengthening between mates."
"Am I your mate, Peter?" Mark asked playfully, not expecting a real answer. Just like before, Peter didn't immediately respond with snarky sarcasm, and, well, something about that may have tugged at Mark's long-frozen heart. "Oh my god, I am your mate."
"Shut up," Peter said, still not denying the accusation.
"It's true! You consider me your mate."
"I should stop telling you things."
"So, my dear mate," Mark said, toying with a lock of Peter's hair. "When is rut season?"