Fluff and Blood Pt. 01

"Yes," he said, but he took my copy anyway. He leafed through it, scowled, and looked back up. "Got a pen on you?"

I fished one out of my pocket at once.

London used my pen to flip through and roughly circle areas on several pages, then handed both pen and script back to me. "Take that to the director, tell him to fix these lines in my copy. I told him I'm not saying this shit. And you let him know he better drop the fucking slurs, or I'm not coming back to work with him again."

With that, he slammed the door in my face.

Curious, I took another look at the script as I wandered off to find Craig. The areas London had marked were... admittedly pretty shit, total b-movie-grade lines. I silently agreed that I couldn't see an actual vampire saying this crap as if in parody of himself.

London: You have such a luscious neck, my dear! *He licks her neck*

Lizette: You monster! Let me go! *She moans*

And so on and so forth. Everything London circled was like that. And at the bottom of one page, I noticed the word "bloodsucker" marked furiously in one of Lizette's lines.

When I gave London's message to Craig, he snatched the script out of my hands and flicked through the pages with a furrowed brow. "I changed the lines in his and Liz's copies already," he said, annoyed. "Just didn't reprint them all. What fucking slur is he talking about?"

"I mean, probably this 'bloodsucker' part here," I suggested.

He narrowed his eyes at the line, then at me. "THAT'S what he's mad about? That's not a slur."

"Well, maybe it is to a vampire."

"It's what he is! What does he prefer, sommelier?"

"Just cut the line, man," I said patiently. "I know for a fact you wouldn't try to pull this shit with anyone else who had a problem."

If I ever worked with Craig as a PA again, that was likely to lose me some points with him. But I was London's assistant, and he would have to suck it up. It was kinda nice to get it out of my system.

By the time I came back with London's edited copy of the script, he was out of the dressing room, and I had to hold back a snort of laughter. His costume was ridiculous - a deep purple, velvet regency suit with ruffled sleeves and a lacy cravat, replete with rhinestone brooch at his throat. The makeup department didn't have much to do with his face, but his hair was being slicked back and tied with a matching velvet ribbon. Judging by the look on his face, he wasn't as amused as I was.

London was silent as he reexamined the updated script. Finally, he rolled his eyes and tucked it in his pocket. "It's... better," he said in resignation.

He stood up from his seat and brushed past me, disregarding the girl who'd fixed his hair entirely. I followed. "D'you need anything else right now?" I asked.

"I need you to fuck off and stay on standby," he snapped.

Well... Okay, then.

I couldn't tell if this was gonna be an easy job or a pain in the ass.

✖✖✖

Then again, I think I was silently grateful that I was London's assistant and not Lizette's. I didn't envy him for having to fuck her. I'd worked with her before, and had seen enough of her full tits and ginger landing strip to last a lifetime, in addition to her awful attitude. She was a colossal bitch. Lucky for me, she probably didn't remember the skinny Korean dude who she'd berated for bringing her non-organic lube. By the time filming was ready to start, she'd taken herself out on Craig (who deserved it), the PA staff (who didn't care), and London himself (who didn't react, and who she quickly gave up on). Now she was outfitted in a bustier and silk dress, and London had reluctantly shut himself in the shoddy coffin as directed so they could start.

So this is how the scene goes.

Lizette is a village girl apparently exploring the ruins of the castle because of something or other. She's chosen the perfect night for it, because there's fake thunder and lightning crashing outside the equally fake windows, and the night hides everything outside the reach of her lantern. All seems fine until she takes a quick tour around the bedroom, which, she muses, must have belonged to the castle's master, and then - gasp! - London steps dramatically from the coffin, Lestat-like in his movements and the melody of his voice, and corners our hapless maiden against the bed.

The setup for the film was as shit as expected, and so campy that I actually had to remind myself that the long, sharp canines in London's mouth were real. But Lizette and London were actually doing better justice to their roles than I would have expected. London didn't phone in a moment of his performance - every awful word of his ever-so-slightly improved lines was delivered with sincerity, and he moved with a languid deliberation that defied his costume and surroundings. Even fully clothed, he could suggest to any viewer what his body was capable of.

It took a couple takes, but the first scene seemed to go pretty smoothly. The transition from contrived setup to sex was the bite - with Lizette swooning reluctantly in his arms, her cries falling on deaf ears, London bared his teeth against her neck and -

"Cut - CUT!"

It was Lizette, not Craig, who had called this one. As the cameras stopped and the crew reset, she slipped out from under her costar's arms, flapping her hands at her neck in distress.

"Oh, god," she whined. "Oh, god. Did he scratch me? I felt something stick me. Amanda, can you come check? Oh, god, tell me I'm not bleeding..."

London blithely ignored the drama as Lizette scurried off to her agent to have her unmarked throat examined. I thought I saw him run his tongue over his teeth behind sealed lips, eyes glazed.

Was this what London went through for every shoot? What a fucking pain. I was impressed he'd made the bite look so convincing without his fangs even grazing his partner's skin.

Which I knew wasn't going to be the case for me. So I admit I felt my ass clench a bit when he finished talking to Craig between scenes and strode over my way, unbuttoning his coat and slinging it over one arm.

"Hey - uh - so where -"

"Just come here," London muttered as he brushed past. I followed at a jog to keep his pace.

This part, I realized, I had not prepared for. But it couldn't be that complicated, right? I'd read a little, knew enough. I knew that vampires typically numbed the bite in some way, and there was no danger of blood loss because they did something called "bloodsharing" that could mend you pretty quick. How much blood did London need to get hard, anyway? How fast was it?

London apparently wasn't about to have me fluff him right next to the set, which I was silently grateful for. He stalked off to a seating area in the corner that the crew usually used for breaks, thankfully empty for the time being, and dropped himself onto a waiting couch with a sigh.

I fidgeted, unsure of what I was supposed to do. Sit next to him? I didn't see that going over well. "So - should I... Do you want me to take off my shirt, or -"

"Arm," he said, thrusting out his own.

I quickly considered the easiest positions for this to be done before I let myself obey. The best option seemed to be for me to stand by his side, put one hand on the back of the couch, and hold my other arm out in front of him. "Like th-"

London seized my forearm without preamble and pulled it to his mouth. A shudder ran through my core, squeezing my stomach, my muscles tensing everywhere in preparation - which he seemed to have felt. Indigo eyes glared up at me impatiently. "Relax it."

I tried. Instinct seemed to be fighting my efforts to unwind my body for him. It took a couple deep breaths before I could feel the tendons in my arm go slack. "Is... this going to hurt at all?" I asked slowly.

"It might," he replied icily. "Hold still."

It wasn't exactly like I was scared of the bite. My conscious mind knew I wasn't in danger. But London's demeanor, the ferocity in his furrowed brow, his dark eyes... For the first time in my tiny human life, I felt myself succumbing to a more feral part of me - a part that felt like prey. Like a rabbit in a wolf's slavering jaws. But even as London gripped me harder, reason was able to push through the haze of primal thought and rid me of any fight, long enough for him to press his mouth against the soft skin of my forearm.

I don't know why I had expected it to be like anything he did on camera. It was methodical and quick. London opened his mouth wide, pinned his fangs gently in place, and then - so fast I couldn't feel it at first - he bit down. The blood welled up around his teeth for only an instant before he sealed his lips around the wound, and it wasn't until I felt the first pull of my blood that the pain finally shot up my arm... But it faded into a faint tingle before I could even react to it, until all that was left was the strange chill inside as London drank from me.

And then it was over. There was a final draw in my veins as London released his mouth, licking his teeth, but his grip on my arm remained just a moment longer. Before he let me go, he bit his own fingertip, squeezed it against his thumb, and pressed it into my hand.

When I was free, there was blood in the well of my palm.

"Swallow that," London said, grimacing.

I was about to ask for clarification, but he didn't seem about to give it. So this was 'bloodsharing', huh. Oh, man... yeah, my head was actually starting to spin a little. I licked the blood off my hand with some slight trepidation, and felt warmth spread through me from my stomach almost the moment I swallowed. He tasted of copper and something strangely herbal.

Beside me, London had risen and was pulling his stupid velvet coat back on, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. I turned my arm over, examining the skin there that seemed to already have knitted. "Wow," I said. "Wow, that's... Is that all you need? Just like -"

"You're anemic," he said bitterly.

I blinked. "Like... low iron?"

"Yes. Fix it. It's disgusting."

I didn't know whether I should be offended or not. As London stalked away, something suddenly occurred to me as I remembered - amusingly late - why he'd bitten me in the first place. "Hey - London, wait!"

He said nothing, but stopped long enough for me to catch up while he was adjusting his cuffs. Heat crept up my neck as I drew level with him.

"Did... Did you need me to, like... help?"

At this, he stared at me, further enflaming my face. "Beyond what my agent is paying you for?" he asked sardonically.

"Well, I... assumed this might count under that description," I said.

London rounded on me without warning and pushed his face close to mine - I tensed up to keep myself from backing off, but once he was close enough for me to inhale him, I regretted it. Something completely overtook me. It was like an unbearable pressure surging down my spine, spreading through my ribs, forcing an unsolicited groan from where it pooled in my hips... And London seemed wholly unperturbed by what his proximity was doing to me without touch, without breath.

"If you're that eager to get your hands on my cock," he hissed, "then you're on the wrong end of the set."

Leaving me with this, London turned on his heel and stalked away for me to shudder through the aftershocks of his overbearing presence. I ended up having to go lean my back up against a wall until it finally melted from my insides.

Fuck. I think I'd read somewhere about something like that... This weird vampire ability to make humans instantly turned on and compliant, willing. Drugging. The vampire society considered drugging illegal, to the same effect of putting roofies in someone's drink. Though I was sure roofies didn't work nearly so fast as that.

Still, it was probably only illegal if someone were using it for coercion... The only thing London seemed to want from me was distance. Had he even been trying to do that? I wondered if it just happened naturally with him. Then again, if it did, he probably wouldn't have nearly as much of a hard time getting his costars to let him bite.

Once I'd calmed down enough to return to the set, I saw that the scene was picking up right where it had left off. The effects team had created a large bite mark on Lizette's neck and filled London's mouth with fake blood, so that when he pulled away after the awkward jump cut, the red liquid dripped down his chin and stained his collar in a way that was admittedly pretty... but made further unrealistic to me by what I'd just experienced.

London hadn't let a drop of me spill.