Vampire Romance, Gay
Date Published: July 18, 2025
Dante’s World. A dystopian off planet colony where life is hard
and the supernatural exists side by side with everyday drama -- or not so
everyday. Joy and pleasure must be paid for at a high price, and to feed from
a human means death -- or worse.
But sometimes the line is crossed, and vampires fall in love with mortal men
-- or men lose their hearts to the nightwalkers. Anything can happen, and
often does…
Publisher’s Note: Black Leather Night and Other Tales includes the
previously published novellas Black Leather Night, Into the Shadows, The
Hunter, Tale of the Night, Memory, Don’t Look Now, Sixty-Nine Reasons,
and Missing Pieces.
The following excerpt contains material suitable only for readers 18 and over.
EXCERPT
Gods damn it.
It was, so far as the vampire Robhain could tell, very early in the evening,
barely past dusk, yet his human employees, Del and Byrne, had already arrived
for business. Del, yawning widely enough to show off all his white teeth,
clutched a cup of the expensive cafe imported from Terra, likely bought from a
street vendor. Still laughing a little at some joke the boy must have made,
Byrne shrugged off his street jacket to hang it on the post by his desk.
Watching the pair, Robhain knew he should only be proud of them. They were,
after all, expecting an important shipment of magical artifacts at any time
that night, and they needed to be ready with both warding spells and records
of what they'd netted. But watching them from his office, behind a tinted
window -- protection against occasional bursts of light as day approached --
Robhain's teeth began to grind.
Let the gods have mercy. Byrne! He wore his favorite pair of ass-hugging
leather pants for the second night in a row. Hurrying to arrive early enough,
he must have taken his motorcycle to the stores and left it parked up top,
above the basement showroom.
Watching him, Robhain's expression soured. Byrne. Fresh off the street and
every inch a contradiction with his prim, rimless glasses and helmet-mussed
hair, starched linen shirt and painted-on pants… didn't he realize how
tight they were? Molding as they did to his legs and the too-damn-perfect
curve of his shapely ass? Leaving nothing to the imagination?
Especially when, as a vampire, Robhain could smell what he'd been doing,
wearing them.
Who was she? he seethed. Some bit of blonde fluff from one of the
flesh-parlors, all dazzling smile and tight ass or generous tits? Even across
the room, he could smell that Byrne reeked of come.
Robhain's mouth worked, and he swallowed. By rights, that come should belong
to him. Should flow into his mouth alone. But what was he but a coward? Unable
to approach his very human mage-employee, or to make but the meekest
suggestions that were blithely misunderstood as innocent… Fool. As if a
vampire could ever be innocent.
His molars were beginning to creak ominously and his small, pointed fangs cut
into his lips. Reluctantly he loosened his jaw. Facts were facts. Humans did
not mingle willingly with the vampire-kind. It stood as miracle enough that
Byrne worked with him in the business. Likely it caused him no little loss of
caste in human society.
Not for the first time, he wondered why Byrne chose to work for him. The man's
talent could have secured him a place in the Suzerain's palace. Instead he
chose to work as mage and record-keeper in a secondhand artifact store, where
lesser magicians and warriors came to buy enchanted goods.
Robhain would never, on that level, cease to be grateful for Byrne's
assistance. Able to detect the slightest nuance of malicious spell-craft on a
weapon or artifact, he was damned good at what he did. Robhain could not do
without him -- most such charms were made to harm those of his bloodthirsty
ilk, and did not care whether he drank blood fetched from the slaughterhouses
or from the hot human vein. With his magics, Byrne had saved his hide a
hundred times over.
Watching him, Robhain laid a hand on the glass, as if he could touch the man
as he flipped through papers on his overloaded cubby desk. Not that he had
never felt the warmth of that skin before, of course -- their hands had
brushed, their hips had bumped -- just enough contact to entice him, to send
him to daylight slumber with his cock so hard and ready that barely a touch
brought him to a scorching completion.
And then, other times, they had actually embraced in relief when a spell
turned out a success. Hip to hip, pounding one another's backs. Each time,
holding that slender body to his, Robhain had burned for more. To take that
slim face between his hands, tilt it just so to one side, and press their lips
together…
Well. Byrne was the sort of temptation that could cause a centuries-old
creature to shame himself by soiling his own trousers with a climax as soon as
he reached the safety of his office.
Not for the first time, he tried to puzzle out why. Byrne was nothing special.
An ordinary man -- but ah, with such an extraordinary face, his eyes blue as
the sky Robhain had not seen for so long, blue as the ocean, blue as lapis
lazuli. His smile -- rarely seen, for he was seriously-natured -- warming as
the long-forgotten sunlight on Robhain's skin. To luxuriate in those eyes and
smile were more than he dared dream on.
And ah, such an impossible dream. For a vampire to force himself on an
unwilling human meant death from those who handed down laws saying what a
vampire could or could not do. They must not drink from the vein. They must
not antagonize the humans. And not to be forgotten, they must not molest the
humans in any way. Their tolerance was zero and justice swiftly delivered.
While he knew Byrne to be faithful and fond of his employer, he was also a
proud and powerful man. No doubt he would never suffer unwanted advances
without immediate retribution.
Yet he taunted Robhain constantly, unconsciously, with his very presence, and
in particular on days when he wore those thrice be-damned leather pants.
Crossing the room, Byrne glanced at him behind his window and threw up his
hand, smiling in greeting. Robhain nodded in return and discreetly, behind his
back, snapped a stylus in half.
That man would be the second death of him.
It was too early for customers as yet -- they rarely came until full dark --
so Robhain chose to remain in his office, going over letters and transmissions
informing him of possible new sources of booty. Mercifully Byrne sank out of
sight behind the piles of paper on his desk, rummaging around with his beloved
books. Still, he could hear that warm, human-accented voice calling snips of
information out to Del, diligently dusting and polishing braziers and daggers.
Del. A handsome lad, with ebony hair far too long and eyes far too bright
green. Robhain was certain he had some Fey blood in him. Perhaps third or
fourth generation. He passed as human, at any rate, but would certainly stand
on their outskirts. Reason enough for him to be glad of a job with Robhain. He
did well enough at it, though he was flightily-natured.
More than once, he had considered bedding the boy instead of fruitlessly
aching for Byrne. He would likely be willing, and given his heritage, there
would be no repercussions. But though he tried, he could barely raise his
staff to half-mast over the thought of Del's nimble flanks and flashing grin.
Not when there was Byrne.
Neither paid him any attention as they went about their business, thank the
gods that holy men claimed had long since turned their backs on Robhain.
Determined, he returned to the business at hand, ignoring the men as they
ignored him. Ignoring Byrne, and those leather pants. Leather. The stylus
slipped from Robhain's hand and bounced heedlessly on the floor as he stared
out, hoping to catch a glimpse. Really, the man showed shocking ignorance or
tremendous nerve to wear them a second day. Once was bad enough. Robhain could
control himself and his shock over the pants one day at a time. But two days
running of the slick, soft leather, black as night, clinging to Byrne's
shapely ass…
Leather called to him. It sang a bewitching melody that brought out his inner
beast. Life had been given for that fabric, and when Byrne wore it, the sound
became a siren's song.
His cock jumped and twitched within his own linen trousers, wanting to play.
Behave, he told it sternly.
Unfortunately it was not in the mood to listen.
Come what might, it would be better for him that day if he remained inside his
office. Yes, hiding, and what of it? Hiding behind his good, solid desk. With
a book on his lap. A heavy book. To be on the safe side. Yes.
But as he settled the book into place, Byrne stood and stretched, leather
clinging to his thighs. Robhain's stubborn prick, with a mind of its own,
swelled half-hard. Perhaps sheer willpower could…
Of course. And he could also fly.
He propped the book in front of the impromptu tent in his trousers to conceal
it, and with a great effort, he composed his expression. If Byrne were to come
in, he wouldn't be able to smell Robhain's arousal, but surely he'd notice the
ravenous look on his face.
Calm. He had to calm down. This was lust. Not unlike the blood lust he
sometimes felt when he forgot to feed. This was leather lust. Nothing more.
But as he began to read the tiny script of the heavy book, his mind -- evil
thing -- drifted away, sketching out dream after delicious dream. Taking Byrne
up against that bookcase in the showroom. Pinning his wrists above his head.
Nuzzling deep into his neck. Rubbing his dripping cock between the cleft of
Byrne's ass. Or Byrne, bent over the desk, Robhain dragging that leather down
over his ass. His hands scrabbling for purchase as Robhain stroked, cupped,
and pinched. Sliding his hand deeper and brushing against a cock hard
as…
… his own.
Robhain groaned, shutting the book. So much for that plan.
About the Author
Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat
hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter
weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong
love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to
watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.
Author Contact Links
Will on Facebook
Will on Instagram
Will on Goodreads
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
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