maderr | I'm blaming this one on Kitty. 'Cause somehow it's entirely her fault, I just know it.

Preston stifled a yawn as he leaned against the back of the elevator, staring blearily at the numbers across the top. When 32 lit up, he forced himself to stand and move, half walking, half stumbling out of the elevator and into the hallway outside the penthouse suite of Alessandro Gentile.

He rang the buzzer and gave in to the next yawn as the door opened. Nodding absently to the vamp who opened the door, he strode through a living room that cost more than his entire house, down the hallway to the master bedroom all the way at the end.

Given the hour, he didn't think he was obligated to knock. Pushing the bedroom door open, he padded inside, eyes immediately going to the plush sitting chair by the floor to ceiling windows on the north side of the room. "It's three in the morning, 'Sandro."

"Yes, I can see it is," Alessandro said with a smirk, eyes dragging slowly down and even more slowly back up Preston's body. "Did you walk through the city dressed like that? I'm amazed you weren't…delayed."

Preston glared, pointedly ignoring his unsubtle looking. He was not in the mood to put up with this. He wanted to go back to bed, not put up with yet another damned hissy fit between Alessandro and Tremont.

Honestly. It was his personal opinion that they should either kill or fuck each other. Sadly, they tended to vehemently ignore this advice. The latter suggestion tended also to get him in deep shit. He still thought it valid.

"I'm supposed to make certain you're not breaking laws," he said irritably. "I'm not your babysitter."

"A pity," Alessandro said with a smirk and another unsubtle look.

"Knock it off," Preston replied. "I'm really not in the mood for your games. It's three in the fucking morning, in case I didn't already make that clear. What the fuck couldn't wait until a decent hour?"

Alessandro smirked. "Oh, he stole another human. I thought you'd prefer I call you this time rather than your brother, though he's awfully cute when he's all pissy. How are he and his little dhampir?"

Preston groaned and moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it and burying his face in his hands. "This is why you woke me up? I was warm and comfortable and asleep, Sandro."

"Poor hunter," Alessandro said, standing up and crossing the room and Preston suddenly realized sitting down on his bed had not been the brightest idea ever. He stood hastily up, moving away and giving Alessandro a warning glare. "I told you I wasn't in the mood for your games."

Alessandro stroked his cheek. "Whoever said it was a game?"

"Oh, please," Preston said jerking away. "I'm really not in the mood for vampire shenanigans." He pushed Alessandro away and stole the vacated chair. "If you would stop flaunting your little snacks in his face just to piss him off, he wouldn't feel obliged to steal them to piss you off. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with the two of you?"

He closed his eyes and rest his head against the back of the chair, wishing he was still dead asleep in bed.

Instead, he was sitting in the bedroom of a top vampire. In his pajamas. Listening to a vampire roughly four hundred years old whine like a fifteen year old.

The soft brush of feet on carpet alerted him, then he suddenly felt warm fingers on his face, stroking slowly down to his neck.

Sometimes he envied his brothers. Billie and Locke spent their days killing vamps that were better off dead – or averages that broke too many laws. Preston had chosen to go the way of his uncle, dealing with the tricky tops. Life wasn't so black and white here. Laws were broken constantly, lines crossed with impunity.

His chin was lightly grasped, face tilted up, and he slowly opened his eyes as Alessandro kissed his cheeks softly. "Sandro," he said in warning.

A warning blithely ignored as Alessandro kissed him softly, slowly.

It was times like this he really envied his brothers. Vampires were monsters to them.

Preston only ever saw about a million different headaches. Tops were nothing like the broken and average vamps his brothers killed. Tops were something else altogether.

He turned his head away, breaking the lingering kiss. "If you want a human, vampire, go rescue your damned toy from Tremont. I won't say it again – I'm not in the mood for your games."

That's all they were, no matter what the vamps said. Games. Predators only played with their food when they had every intention of killing it. It drove him crazy, constantly being a source of amusement for the vamps he kept an eye on.

He stood up again, fighting another yawn. "I'll go get your damned toy back, Sandro. Stay here and out of trouble." Not giving Alessandro a chance to reply, he strode from the room, back the way he'd come, rubbing his eyes as he pondered whether or not it was worth it to go back to his apartment to get dressed.

His lips tingled; they always did when Alessandro stole a kiss. Damn it.

Veering left outside, he strode back to his apartment to fetch proper clothes.

Several hours later, in jeans and t-shirt, he let himself into Tremont's apartment.

He rolled his eyes as the first thing to greet his eyes was Tremont snacking on a pretty little redhead. Tremont didn't like redheads, except when he stole them from Alessandro. "Tremont, grow up."

"No," Tremont said, licking a bit of blood from his lips as he pushed the redhead away. "I'll stop being difficult when he stops being a prick."

Preston rolled his eyes. "I so cannot wait for the day the two of you finally kill each other."

"I do not see that happening," Tremont said idly, lying back on the long, wrap around leather couch that took up most of his living room. "Did he wake you up in the middle of the night, hunter? I would apologize, but you look even prettier rumpled than you do nice and tidy."

"I will shoot you," Preston said. "He woke me up at three in the morning because you decided to be an asshole. You're both assholes. No, you're both children. What is the fucking point of all this and why must you constantly drag me into it?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, it's no wonder Uncle Vincent turned into a bloody alcoholic."

"Alcohol," Tremont said with a grimace. "Disgusting." He smirked, and gave Preston the same slow perusal that Alessandro had several hours earlier. "Except, of course, for a good red wine."

Preston did not bother to respond to that. Like any good hunter, he made certain he smelled good to a vampire. No vampire, broken, top, or whatever, liked to waste a good meal – even if said meal was a hunter. It made them think twice, if only on a subconscious level, and that moment of hesitation could make all the difference in the world.

Even if, in Preston's case, all it really got him most of the time was sexual harassment.

He moved to the couch, standing over Tremont, glaring at him. "Are you done for now?" he asked. "Can I take the toy back to Alessandro?"

"Maybe," Tremont said lazily, slowly opening his eyes. They were the color of brown sugar, warm and soft while Tremont was fed and sated. Preston had seen them hard and cold, and likely would again. For now, though, Tremont might be pliable. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white oxford, the top three buttons undone.

Quick as lightening, and Preston chalked it up to sleep deprivation that he hadn't anticipated it, Tremont yanked him down. Preston he landed with a grunt on top of Tremont, glaring angrily. "Let me up, bloodsucker. Now."

"Oh, now, calling me names won't get you anywhere." Tremont lapped lazily at his lips, and Preston struggled to remain unaffected. He had to remain unaffected. But where Alessandro's stolen kisses always tingled, Tremont's burned. "You should take a nap, hunter. Driving as tired as you are…we wouldn't want an accident to ruin your pretty face."

Preston got his hands free and managed to pinch Tremont hard – just enough to annoy him a bit. "I liked you better when you were injured," he said. "Maybe I should get Key to shoot you again."

"Oh, shut up," Tremont said, and pushed him off so that Preston landed in an awkward heap on the floor. "Take the damned toy, then. Alessandro has terrible taste in snacks. Too much junk food, that one. His blood tastes too fatty and sweet." He propped himself on his elbow, staring down at Preston with a smirk. "Unlike you. What I wouldn't give for a taste of you, hunter."

"Yeah, yeah," Preston muttered, picking himself up slowly. "I'd take it as a compliment, except not." He strode to the armchair where the redhead was sitting, still and almost asleep. Thoroughly doped by the vamps, then. Preston was glad he was immune to that – one of the traits of a hunter. If you couldn’t look a top vamp in the eyes, there was no sense in being a hunter. He gently tugged the young man to his feet.

Most hunters, having to deal with this sort of thing, would shoot and never bother to ask questions. Preston had gotten used to it. Vamps needed to eat, and he could hardly bitch when in the end no real harm was done. Not like the vamps Locke regularly gunned down.

It would be a day or two until the redhead came out of his doped up state, and whenever Alessandro finally tired of him, he would not remember anything of his time as a vampire snack.

"I swear to god if the two of you do anything for the next seventy two hours, I will string you up by your balls and report your asses. Understood?"

Tremont motioned lazily from where he was clearly settling down into a doze. "Yes, hunter. Tell that prick to stop annoying me, and I will stop taking his treats."

"It seems me the two of you could bother to sit down and discuss things," Preston said sourly. "Do you even know why you hate each other?"

"Oh, I hardly remember the original reason," Tremont said with laugh. "These days, it's entirely on principle. He's easy to hate, I assure you. Run along, hunter, before Alessandro gets too impatient and deprives you of more sleep."

Muttering sourly about his thoughts on top vamps, Preston half led, half dragged the doped redhead to the elevator.