CSI: Vampire's Picnic: Chapter One

A/N: Well, as you can see this is an Alternate Universe piece, thus there will probably be some OOC for all characters involved. If you remember Strength of Soul, this is sort of similar, except that Greg has a need for something other than water, a much darker need. Lol, and if you've ever read any of my Net fanfic, you'll realize that for some reason I like doing this to Eric Szmanda's characters. I think he would make a very good vampire... alas... until he plays one on tv or in a movie... all I've got is my fanfiction to keep me happy... lol...

Greg Sanders never claimed to have a lot of money. What little he did have, he spent on his clothes and his hair. It was more important to him that he look good than anything else, and since he had no friends, he didn't need to worry about the state of affairs at his home. He could, therefore, afford to buy the cheapest house on the far edge of town and not have to bother with painting it, or planting flowers in the front lawn. For miles on either side of him he had no neighbors either.

The house sat right on the edge of Lake Mead, hidden by several large trees and a long dirt drive out to the main street. It was an old Victorian style that hadn't seen any paint in years, the wooden siding gray and warped with age. The lawn was large and unkempt with plenty of bare spots surrounding bunches of grass that hadn't been cut since the previous owner had left.

Inside, it looked just as barren as the outside, with only four out of twelve rooms containing any furniture at all. Those that did, were not lavishly decorated. They held only the necessary items for eating, sleeping, and watching tv, bought at used furniture stores. The only thing he'd spent any large amount of money on were the blackout curtains that adorned those four rooms.

Greg left his large empty house wearing tight leather pants, a fishnet shirt, and tall leather boots with silver buckles up the sides to his knees. Black was his color of choice in order to blend in with the night that was now covering Las Vegas, Nevada. It was also his favorite color during the day.

Heading into the city in his sleek looking, yet cheap Jetta, he avoided the major casinos and well-known clubs. Instead, he found a back street dive, going by the name of Dungeon. He nodded to the thick-muscled bouncer standing by the front door and paid his entrance fee.

Inside, the place was dark, except for a few flashing red strobe lights. The walls were stone, made to look like a real dungeon, complete with chains and shackles hanging from them, as if awaiting prisoners set to arrive at any moment. Loud dance music beat to a strange rhythm reverberating off the walls to the crowd filling the dance floor and the bar beyond.

Dungeon was not an S&M club, but it came close. The website tagged it as a club for those who weren't that adventurous, and only wanted a taste of the whip, to those who were just getting into S&M. Greg wasn't into the S&M scene, nor did he need a taste of it, but this would be the perfect place to acquire what he needed for the night.

Upon a quick check he affirmed what he'd read online when he didn't see a single woman in sight. He grinned at the sleek bodies slithering together before him as he stepped further into the room. Most of the club's patrons were wearing leather just as he was. He noticed a lot of metal clinging to tight pants, and leather harnesses revealing skin and nipple piercings.

If only he could have one of these men for an entire week all to himself, it would mean the world. Just one week. Even though he wanted, no craved, more than that. But none of them would last even one night with him. His face fell at the thought before he had the chance to right it into something another man might want to look at for a few hours.

"Hey, you alone tonight?" A slim young man sidled up to him, in nothing but a pair of tight pants, slit all the way up to his thighs. Two nipple piercings graced his chest, and another piercing graced his left earlobe.

Greg eyed him appreciatively.

"That I am. You?"

"Wouldn't be asking otherwise." The man's eyebrows inched up in a suggestive gesture.

"Grab a drink with me?"

"Sure, if that's what you're into." The man smacked him on the ass. "You sure you wouldn't rather find the back room?"

"Ummm..." Greg felt his face getting hot. "Drink, yeah, that would be good."

"Fine then. Lead the way, babe and we can get you liquored up for the big moment in back."

At the bar, Greg was quick to grab a beer in order to have something to hold on to.

"So, um..." he stammered. "What do you do for a living?"

"Dude, incase you didn't notice, I'm all dressed up, meaning I'd rather not talk about it. I don't want to know what you do either."

"You got family or anything then? Friends?"

"What's with the twenty questions? I got a brother in Alabama, but he's as straight as they come, and I wouldn't do a threesome with him even if he was gay, if that's what you're thinking. I don't do threesomes at all to begin with."

The man turned and left, leaving Greg to stare after him. In all honesty, he should have learned by now not to start a conversation that way in a club. But how else was one supposed to woo another man to a house in the middle of nowhere just to be able to get off and get fed? His stomach growled at that last thought and he had to work hard to quell the hunger that had been building for far too long.

Then, he saw a young man sit down beside him at the bar. He looked just as lonely as Greg felt.

"Hey, you need a friend for the night?" Greg pushed his previous date's beer across the bar toward him.

The man looked up at him, so he could see the piercings in both eyebrows. He was dressed in black with heavy metal hanging off his clothing, and around his neck. His eyes were sad at first, but they lit up when they saw Greg looking him over like a piece of meat. And Greg had the feeling no one looked at this kid like anything other than a piece of meat.

"A friend would be welcome," he said. "Most welcome."

Greg's heart rate soared with excitement, beginning to pound away like a jack hammer as his hunger made itself known again.

"Name's Ron. I just moved here."

"Well, Ron, I'd be happy to befriend you for the night," Greg said, neglecting to mention that he was new in town as well.

He moved forward and put a hand on the other man's thigh.

"I have this insatiable need," he growled low in his throat. "And I think you're the right person to fulfill that need."

Ron swallowed hard. "Yes... yes, I think I know what you mean."

When he saw the excitement building between Ron's thighs, he got to his feet, grabbed his hand, and yanked him out of the club, without even giving him his own name.

"There's a back room!" his new friend hollered over the loud thump of the music.

Greg stopped and brought Ron close enough to whisper in his ear, "Yeah, but I've got an even bigger and better back room at my place. Lots of toys," he hinted. "And I much prefer privacy when I'm with a friend."

He watched Ron's eyes widen before he continued to pull him toward the door and out to his car.

The drive to Lake Mead was quiet. So quiet, he could hear the other man's rough breathing as he gripped the arm rest.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, I'm new to the S&M scene. I'm not really sure this is what I want... or need. I think it is."

Greg's stomach growled at him. "Of course I'm sure. And hey, they say I'm versatile, so we can easily test your limits and things," he spoke easily, so as to keep the man calm and willing.

"Versatile? Limits? What does that mean?"

"Versatile means I can either top or bottom. I make a good sub, but I can also make a very good dom when I'm in the mood. As for your limits, I'm guessing you wouldn't make a good dom. No offence, but you're a bit too timid for that. So we'll see what limits you have for a sub. I bet you'd make a very good sub for someone, long as you're willing to be bossed around and told what to do."

The young man nodded as if he was thinking about it. The way he hadn't balked yet, Greg had a feeling he'd been thinking about this for awhile, he just didn't know anything about it except the idea of it.

"What... what kind of toys do you have?"

Greg listed them off rapidly as they drove up the long drive toward his house, "bench, chains, whip, crop, paddle, sling, gags, blindfolds, dildos, you name it, I probably have it."

Thanks to the darkness, the man couldn't see how dilapidated the house actually looked when they got out of the car and headed inside. He was afraid if he had, he would have run away screaming in terror, the way he was so timid. The mention of the toys he didn't actually own, already had Ron trembling a little, if that wasn't the cold breeze hitting his delicate skin.

"Where are your toys?" the man asked when Greg turned on a small lamp in the entryway to the livingroom.

"In the basement... my own personal dungeon," Greg whispered, turning to him and pushing him up against the wall.

He leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, hot, heavy, and rough, his hands sliding over and under his t-shirt, then over smooth skin. Butterflies filled his stomach, swirling around and around and around as his tongue slipped to his neck. He licked the throbbing vein below his ear over and over again, his hunger almost overwhelming him before his sexual needs and desires kicked in to take control. The man was like putty in his hands.

"Need you. Now."

Greg breathed heavily as he unbuckled the man's belt and pushed his pants to the ground before grabbing his arm and forcing him onto the nearby couch.

"But I thought... toys?" his voice squeaked, out of surprise at the sudden rush, and his own need weeping between them.

"Later," Greg breathed.

In the semi darkness, the rest of their clothes were shed and two bodies melded together for a brief time, filling the room with the sounds, not of passionate love-making, but of a quick and desperate lay.

They came with a cry and a grunt, several minutes apart from each other, the timid man too powerless to protest when Greg continued his harsh, demanding movements inside him until he was finished.

When it was over, Ron collapsed on the couch beneath Greg, exhausted and sweaty, his heart still pounding to the hungry rhythm Greg could hear without even trying.

His sexual needs satisfied, Greg's hunger returned full force.

"I'm sorry," he said while catching his breath.

Unconsciously, he began to lick the salty sweat from Ron's neck, from the pulsing spot he'd found earlier.

"For what?" the sleepy man mumbled.

"Please know I don't do this by choice."

Greg bit him in the neck, relishing in the instant flow of sweet blood into his dry mouth. The man cried out in shock before he began to struggle, to get away from Greg. But Greg's hunger forced him to suck harder, and use all of his strength to hold him into the cushions.

Ron's eyes went wide with fear as his cries lessened to choking sobs. But Greg continued to drink, oblivious to everything but his unending thirst and hunger. The choking sobs changed to gurgles as his body weakened further and eventually gave way to Greg's mouth.

When he had taken his fill, he lay beside the still body, fully relaxed and sated. He didn't move for a long time, reveling in how good he felt just then.

But he couldn't stay relaxed for long, as much as he wanted to. Unlike some vampires who lived on grand estates and had slaves to drink from and slaves to carry bodies away, he had none. He begrudgingly got up and surveyed his work. Noting a small drop of blood on a pure white shoulder, he carefully licked it away before picking up the body and carrying it outside.

He lay the man on the bank of the lake and kneeled over him, bringing his hands together in prayer form.

"Dear Lord, please forgive me for what I have done and help him to rest in peace," he murmured.

Then, without further ado, he pushed the naked body into the water and walked back to the house to crawl into bed.

He sighed himself into sleep, deep under the warm, comforting covers. He had a big day ahead of him... starting a new job... meeting new people... sleep was important...