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Kinktober 2017

Chapter Text


The evening had begun in a pretty chaotic manner; Hugh was doing his best to drunkenly piss off everyone in the bar, Coree and Beatrice were trying to find a place to stay the night, and Harlan was nursing his fifth tankard in so many minutes.  Harvey was at a loss--everyone else seemed to have some sort of plan for their evening, and here he was standing around.  

Maybe I should look around, try to gather some information, he thought.  He took a quick glance around the bar. There were a few barmaids, a table of men in the middle of some heated discussion, and a burly tiefling against one of the walls who was trying to hand out pamphlets on… Oh, sweet!

The tiefling man was holding onto a stack of papers about the Church of Crushbone, Harvey’s newly joined denomination.  He swallowed.  Now was the time to strike up a conversation about his new sex-oriented religion!

Harvey strode over, only noticing then as their eyes met that the tiefling’s eyes were a gorgeous cobalt blue; they were scattered with flecks of gold, and there were no irises, no pupils.  His kind eyes looked like goldstone glass.  He was a good head above Harvey, and his rosy skin seemed to glow warmer as he approached.  Harvey smiled in greeting and the tiefling’s slim tail flicked with excitement.

“I see you’re a member of the Church of Crushbone?”  Harvey asked, leaning upward subconsciously. He caught a whiff of cinnamon from somewhere on the tiefling’s clothes.  “So am I, though a recent devotee.  My name’s Harvey.”

The tiefling’s grin only seemed to widen, and his raven hair fell over his curved ram’s horns.  “I see! Nice to meet you, my name’s Arnold.”  He held out a hand, which Harvey took hold of. But even after they gave a customary shake, Arnold was still holding on to his hand and giving him a healthy once-over.

Wait a minute, is he flirting with me?? Harvey wondered.  He was new to the Church, and while he had joined in order to gain more knowledge about the benefits and intricacies of carnal pleasure, he hadn’t had the opportunity to indulge yet--he was still a virgin.

“So, um,” Harvey mumbled, mildly flustered.  “Would you like to, uhm…”

Arnold smiled kindly and tugged Harvey’s hand still in his grasp.  

“Yours or mine?”

After that, they devolved to heated words and frenzied touches.  Arnold was a more than capable lover, and he was patient with Harvey when the flow of movement stalled.  They fell asleep in Arnold’s room, curled together on the bed.  




Harvey was on the edge of sleep, where sometimes sounds and smells reach beyond the veil.  Instead of the smell of breakfast cooking or the chirp of birds outside his window, though, Harvey felt something--no, some one --pressed up against his back.  He stiffened momentarily, ready to spring from bed, but a palm pressed against his breastbone.

“Mm, no, sweetheart,” came a vaguely familiar voice.  Harvey took a millisecond to process that this was Arnold, the kind tiefling he met in the bar the night before.  And he’d--oh Gods, he’d bedded him, hadn’t he?  If the bare skin pressed up against the length of him was any indication… The night’s events flooded back, and Harvey felt his blood boil.  He wouldn’t open his eyes.  Maybe, if he just lie there and pretended to go back to sleep, Arnold would ignore his little outburst.  

“Harvey?”  Arnold murmured into his loose, brown hair.  “Are you awake?”

Harvey willed his body to relax, and soon he felt the tantalizing pull of sleep overtake him.

Before he fully succumbed, however, he vaguely felt hands skimming up his chest.  Those hands skated up over a nipple, and Harvey gasped into the pillow.

“Harvey?” Arnold asked again. Now his mouth was pressed to Harvey’s shoulder, trailing kisses like breadcrumbs down his arm.  His lips closed around Harvey’s fingers, and he gave them a heated suck.

“Mm?”  Harvey felt shivers go down his spine at the feel of his mouth.  His body was responding to Arnold’s attention, despite his fatigue.

Arnold’s voice was heated next to Harvey’s ear.  “I’d like very much to fuck you, if you don’t mind.”

Harvey giggled.  “And I’d like that very much.  But I’m too tired to be any help, truly.”  Harvey reached behind him to give Arnold’s broad chest a half-hearted pat before yawning.  “Maybe in the morning?”

Arnold was nothing if not persuasive.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” He nuzzled the back of Harvey’s neck, underneath his veritable mane of hair.  “Are you comfortable like this?”

Harvey adjusted his hips to give Arnold better access and fluffed the pillow underneath his head.  “Now I’m alright. C’mon, then.”

Arnold’s claw-like fingernails dragged over Harvey’s hip and down his thigh to grasp the back of his knee.  He hiked Harvey’s leg up over his own hip, then let Harvey adjust himself before giving his ass a perfunctory squeeze.  

Harvey wanted nothing more than to climb on top of Arnold like he had the night before and ride him until they were both spent on the cheap inn sheets, but he couldn’t muster the will or the energy to do so.  In lieu of a response, Harvey reached behind him to grasp Arnold’s chin.  Arnold immediately understood, and leaned over Harvey to kiss him breathless.  

“Mmph, easy,”  Arnold grunted.  Harvey was about to protest and drag him back in for more sensual kisses, but he felt a hand cup his balls.  Arnold rolled his sack in his hand, then tugged gently at his semi-hard cock.  Harvey felt the blood rush to his face when he moaned wantonly into the pillow.  He decided it would do best between his teeth, and tried to muffle the sounds Arnold was dragging from his throat.

Arnold’s erection was now rubbing up against his back, and Harvey could sense the heat pooling low in his gut.  More than anything else, he wanted Arnold inside him.  However, the stimulation between his legs felt fantastic, and the more Arnold used his wrist to pump and stroke him, the more Harvey’s arms and legs shook.  A particularly swift series of strokes had Harvey burying his face in the pillow.

Arnold’s strokes stopped almost immediately.  “Harvey?”  he leaned further over to pull Harvey’s hair away from his face. “Is something wrong?”

Harvey turned a shade redder at the attention and muttered his response into the pillow.

“What was that?”

“I said I was trying to keep quiet.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Well, earlier when we were going at it, I was too busy kissing you to really make much noise, and now the walls are so thin and--”

Arnold pecked Harvey’s cheek. Harvey could practically hear the smile in Arnold’s voice.  “Hey, I like hearing you.”  Arnold gave Harvey’s ass a quick swat, earning a yelp.  “Let’s me know I’m doing a good job.  As for whoever’s next door, let them hear you.  Unless we get a knock on the door, I’d say you’re alright.”

Harvey laughed softly and felt for Arnold’s face in the dark.  He found he’d grabbed a curved horn instead, but it gave him the leverage he needed to turn his torso and face him.

“Kiss me again?”

“Of course.”  Arnold’s hands were tangled in Harvey’s hair, and Harvey stroked Arnold’s sleek horns while Harvey used his tongue to taste the other man.  It was maddening, having someone so close and having to gasp for air, but he found himself getting more and more confident with every grunt that rumbled in Arnold’s chest.  That was, until Arnold squeezed his ass and his hips bucked into Harvey’s back. Harvey’s answering whimper was bordering on a sob.

Quickly, Arnold scrambled to find the bottle of oil he’d used earlier to loosen Harvey up, and when his fingers closed around it, he nearly sighed in relief.  

“Spread for me, Harvey.”  Arnold pressed an oiled finger to Harvey’s hole, where he stroked and rubbed to ease the tight muscles.  “That’s it, easy…”

Harvey moaned when Arnold’s finger pressed inside, and soon another followed.  By the time the third made it, he was a drooling mess, and Arnold had taken to stroking his hair while he stretched him.  Harvey wondered, vaguely, how long Arnold had belonged to the Church of Crushbone for him to have this kind of knowledge.

“Arnold? Haa… shit, right there, please--”  Arnold knew just where his fingers had reached, and he slid them out in favor of oiling his cock.  

Harvey protested in the form of whimpers and broken gasps, but Arnold shushed him. “Easy, I’m right here.”

Arnold took a moment to look at Harvey’s nearly shaking form in the dark.  His eyes were hooded, and he had a little drool in his coarse beard.  His arms were stretched out underneath the pillow, cradling his head, and his fingers were grasping at the edge of the mattress.  Arnold felt something twist in his chest.   Oh, no.

Before he could think too much about that feeling, he pressed his cock to Harvey’s hole and simultaneously hitched his leg up over his own hip for better leverage.  This way, he knew he would hit that spot that Harvey had begged him to keep getting at before.  

“Ready, darlin’?” He asked, and he kissed Harvey’s sweaty neck.  The scent of salt and earth filled his nose, as did a few errant strands of Harvey’s hair.

“Yeah…” Harvey murmured into his arm, too exhausted by the late hour and the arousal to lift his head.  Arnold imagined he could get used to that adorable .  He began sinking inside, doing his best to go slowly until Harvey was comfortable.  A few shallow, experimental thrusts and Harvey was panting and looking at him from beneath his eyelashes, as if to say that’s all you’ve got?

Never one to be outshone in the bedroom, Arnold picked up the pace and thrust deep into Harvey, who was gasping and grunting in earnest now.  He was stroking his prostate with his cock.  Arnold knew that, with his relative level of inexperience, Harvey wouldn’t last long like this.  

“You close, Harvey?”  Arnold whispered against his ear, and he smiled when Harvey nodded, his mouth hanging open and slack.  Arnold barely had to touch Harvey’s cock and he was coming, squeezing around Arnold.  His whole body spasmed with the intensity of it, and he called Arnold’s name into the darkness.  

Immediately after he came, Harvey went completely boneless and let himself melt into the bed.  Close himself, Arnold continued to fuck into Harvey until he was pulling out and coming in stripes over Harvey’s back.  Arnold took a moment to collect his breathing before rolling out of bed to dip a towel in the washbasin.

When he returned to bed, he warred with himself about whether to get back under the covers. On one hand, Harvey looked so peaceful and soft once his breaths evened out and he let himself fully surrender to sleep.  On the other, Arnold wanted nothing more than to wipe him down and join him in the bed, the overwhelming scent of sex notwithstanding.  In the end, his desire for warmth won out.  He swiped the rag over Harvey’s back, then gently flipped him over to clean his belly and the covers beneath.  However, before he could let Harvey slip back into comfort, he had to cover the soiled spots on the sheets.  As a devotee of the Church of Crushbone, it was the least he could do for one of his lovers.

He slid his hands underneath Harvey and nuzzled his cheek.  “Harvey?  I’m going to lift you up, just for a second, okay?”

“Mm-hmm…” Harvey hummed into Arnold, immediately wrapping his arms around him like a baby bear.  Arnold smiled to himself and set to re-arranging the covers.  Once finished, he tried to put Harvey back down, but he held on stubbornly.  Arnold chuckled, seeing Harvey’s sleepy pout in shades of gray.  He ended up laying them both down, with Harvey’s legs tangled between his own.   This is going to be hard to leave in the morning, Arnold mused.

He let Harvey’s gentle snores lull him back to sleep, only to await the coming of the dawn.

Chapter Text


The telltale scream of cannibals was nowhere to be found, on that bright morning.  No waking up to their treehouse shaking, or the inhuman noises of the Virginias and the Armsies.  Instead, Russell and Scott woke up on their deerskin bed, feeling fresh and reasonably prepared to take on the new day.

Russell was always the last to wake up; Scott had to practically drag him from the comfort of their bed when the sun rose.  Russell wasn’t bitter about it--well, at least not too much.  

Russell itched his nose, just above his mustache.  “Scott, honey, what’s on the docket for today?”

Scott was already poking at the fireplace to boil their drinking water.  “I was thinking we could go logging again, maybe work on fortifying the walls around the camp.”  Scott’s jet-black hair was luscious, even straight from sleep.  In fact, Russell quite liked him in the morning, before he inevitably got covered in blood, dirt, or a combination of the two.  

Russell bent down and kissed his husband’s cheek.  “Sounds good.  I’m going to go grab some berries for breakfast in the grove, keep an eye out for me?”

Scott nodded.  He was fully engrossed in coaxing a flame from the pile of dried leaves and paper money.  Russell smiled to himself wryly. Who ever thought we’d be burning money?

Ah, well.   Russell snagged his glasses from the crude wooden windowsill and expertly maneuvered his admittedly portly body down the treehouse rope.  

He checked the fortifications routinely as he walked to the locked and barricaded wooden gate: the deadfall traps were sufficiently laid around the edge of camp, as well as a few of what Scott affectionately called “Happy Birthday” traps.  They were made up of a wall of spikes that rose from the ground once triggered, knocking cannibals back, sometimes rendering them unconscious.  As much as Russell’s inner aesthete hated the crude nature of the traps, they were necessary, and even with his engineering background he’d been largely unable to make any kind of advanced explosive.  Russell nabbed a spear from the weapon rack before using his body weight to strongarm the gate open.  

Russell’s ears perked.  “Russell, dear, Skinny on your 9 o’clock!” Scott yelled from the treehouse.  Russell whipped around and swung his spear in a wide arc over his head.  Cresting the hill from the bank of the river was a bloodied, emaciated figure, and it was scurrying his way.  

“Thanks, babe!”  Russell called backward, used to this unique combative dance.  The cannibals were getting craftier, lately, and they were attacking the camp more often during daylight.  Russell snarled at it, as feral and imposing as he could muster.

“C’mere, you bitch,” he muttered, tracking her shifting feet and running in for the kill once she locked eyes with him and began to charge.  

So much for keeping my clothes clean.


“Russell, sweetie, light of my life, could you go get the log sled?”  Scott panted.  He was hefting his axe over his shoulder; he’d just managed to fell and chop a tree into smaller, more manageable logs in the time it took Russell to make his first cut.  Russell couldn’t help but eye him up and down.  Scott smirked when he noticed his husband’s wandering gaze, and he wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve.

“See something you like, hon?” he cajoled. He was standing with his one leg perched on the stump of the tree and his ripped jeans straining against his muscled thighs.  Ever since they’d crash-landed on this cannibal-infested island, they’d been busting ass to try and stay alive.  They were just getting relatively comfortable--well, as comfortable as you could get when you were surrounded by mutant humanoid monsters--but Scott was still really benefiting from the physical labor.  He practically glowed with vitality; this was his element.  

Russell licked his lips.  “I can’t help looking, you would too if you could see yourself.”

Scott scrubbed a hand through his beard and secured his axe in his belt loop.   God, I’m one lucky sonofabitch, Russell thought while his husband practically stalked toward him.  Once he stood directly in front of his husband, standing just under a head taller than him, he boxed him up against the nearest tree.  Russell didn’t have time to steady himself, but Scott helped by placing a solid hand on his shoulder. Always the gentleman. Russell felt Scott’s bushy black beard against his throat.  

“You’re practically fucking me with your eyes, babe,” he whispered, and he slid a hand into the front of Russell’s cargo pants. His husband gasped and made to push him back.

“N-not here, Scott, we could get ambushed out in the middle of the forest--”

Scott scraped his teeth over Russell’s neck, just below his ear.  Right there, on the spot that made his knees shake.  Russell whimpered.  

“The view is clear for miles, Russ, we’ve been logging this site for months. Plus, I think the screams will warn us plenty.” Scott chuckled against Russell’s throat and fondled him inside his pants.  “Or maybe it’ll be you doing the screaming.”

Russell couldn’t even form sentences--Scott’s callused hand was pressing against his stirring cock and teasing his perineum with skilled fingertips.  Russell let his weight lean fully against the tree.  He knew that he was flushed nearly all the way down to his chest, and suddenly his shirt felt too tight, too constricting.  To hell with it, all of his clothes belonged somewhere far away from him.  

Scott knew that look.  “No time for that, babe.”  His hot breath left Russell’s skin damp--Scott was just as aroused as his husband, if not more. Something about seeing Russ want him so openly and unabashedly, he reasoned. He continued to palm Russell’s dick, watching him carefully.  “Tell me how you want it, but think fast.  The sun is going to set soon, and we should have the gate locked behind us before then.”

Russell breathed in the scent of Scott’s musk, mixed with the tang of sweat.  “Ngh…” he panted against Scott’s hair.  “God, Scott, you drive me crazy…”  

Scott, in a moment of sharp clarity, tugged Russell’s hair at the nape to catch his attention.  “If I were feeling more assertive, I’d have you naked and bent over my lap.”  Scott paused to make sure he was listening, and based on the hungry look in his husband’s eyes, he understood every word. “But right now, I want to give you what you want. Just say the word, hon, tell me what’ll satisfy you.”

Russell’s breathing was rough, like he’d walked for miles. He bit his lip and avoided Scott’s piercing brown eyes.  His glasses slid down his nose in their passion, and he brought a shaky hand up to readjust them.  “Could you, um--maybe talk to me, while you’re fucking me?  I love it when you get all vocal and demanding, b-but you don’t have t--”

Scott smiled softly at his husband and waited for him make eye contact.  As soon as he did, Scott brushed a hand over his ruddy cheek.

“Anything for you, Russ, you know that.”

Russell was instantly lifted up by his hips to wrap his legs around Scott’s waist.  He gasped and clung to Scott’s broad shoulders when his groin pressed tight to Scott’s.  

“Now, let me get these out of the way, I want to see what I’ve done to you.” Scott husked and pulled down Russell’s pants and briefs in one swift motion--the survivalist lifestyle had filled Scott out, but Russell had lost some of his padding, a loss Scott mourned almost daily.  He’d always loved Russell’s little belly, his wide hips and his thick ass.  He vowed to cook him anything he wanted once they got off this godforsaken island.

Russell’s dick sprung from his waistband and met the cool night air, and when Scott saw just how hard he was, he sucked in a breath.

“Look at you, practically leaking for me.”  Scott noticed Russell squirm in his periphery.  “Fuck, you know how hot you are, don’t you? Calling me over with those come-hither eyes, my Russell.”

That last phrase had Russell surging forward, capturing Scott’s lips in a possessive kiss. He loved knowing he belonged to someone, was so important to someone that they could claim him.  The first time Scott had introduced Russell to his extended family as “my beautiful husband, Russell,” his heart nearly surged through his chest.  

Scott awkwardly slipped his cock from his pants, then retrieved their precious tube of lube from his back pocket.  As their time on the island grew longer without any hope for rescue, they’d had to ration it as best they could.  There weren’t any easy alternatives on the island, not even with the wreckage of the plane, so Scott and Russell used what they had sparingly.  As it was, they’d used the wild aloe vera growing on the island to top-up their store-bought stash.

Scott adjusted so that Russell was kissing his neck instead of his lips, and he latched on eagerly.  Scott felt his husband’s teeth graze his throat and he almost dropped the lube.

“Fuck, babe, easy…” he murmured and popped the cap, drizzling the liquid on his fingers.  His left arm was busy keeping Russell upright against him.  “I’m gonna open you up for me, okay? Grab my shoulders.”

Russell did as he was asked.  His light brown skin shone with perspiration in the dying sunlight, and Scott met his eyes hungrily and slipped a finger inside him.

“Ah!” Russell gasped. Scott watched his expression while he fucked him on his fingers, and he reveled in the shaky breaths he was pulling from him.

“Good, you’re being so good, Russ.  Do you want another?”

“Oh, God, Scott, you’re such a fucking tease,” Russell panted.  His thighs squeezed around Scott, their dicks crushed between them.  Scott held back from just grinding him into the tree; he had something better in mind, after all.

Scott bounced back quickly and slid the hand that wasn’t slowly fingering Russell’s ass up to his nipple.  He was always so sensitive.  Russell arched into Scott’s touch and winced when he scraped up against the bark at his back. Even through his shirt, it stung.  Scott chose that moment to slide a second finger in with the first, crooking them to hit the bundle of nerves he knew would drive his husband mad.

“Ngh…” Russell moaned.  He met Scott’s eyes and dropped one of his supporting hands to his husband’s straining cock.  The foreskin had slipped down over the pink head, and Scott looked between Russell and his hand with unsuppressed interest.  Scott stretched Russell and added a third finger, all the while rubbing his prostate steadily.

Russell looked close to combusting.  “Scott, you are the love of my life, but if you don’t stick your cock in me right now I swear I’ll tie you up to the gate and let the cannibals have their way with you.”

Scott looked shocked, then laughed.  “Oh, you love me. Now see if you can tighten your legs, I need both hands for this part.”

Russell rolled his eyes fondly, then gripped tighter with his thighs.  He clung to his husband; they were so close that their chests brushed.  

Russell bore down as soon as he felt Scott up against his entrance; he’d had enough of his teasing.  He was used to the pleasant girth, knew Scott’s dick intimately. When it slid home, he dug his nails into Scott’s back.

“Mm, Russ,” Scott growled.  He propped Russell up higher, pulling his thighs up to his chest.  Some kind of inhuman squeal bubbled up from Russell’s throat. “I love it when you’re all spread open on my cock.  You take it so beautifully.”  Scott kissed Russell’s open mouth at the corner, and he listened to his broken pants and whimpers.  

“Scott, honey--ngh--you need to move,” Russell’s thighs shook in Scott’s hands with the exertion.  

Scott smirked.  “But babe, I thought you loved my mouth?” he purred, and he ground his dick into Russell.  He watched his husband’s eyes glaze over.  “You feel so good, Russell.  You’re so tight--ah,” Scott ground his teeth with Russell’s rhythmic squeezing.

Somewhere deep in his chest, Russell felt a pang of hunger for the man in front of him, stronger than he’d felt in a long time.  It could have been his recent attitude change, or the way he immediately took to the environment on the island. Maybe it was this dominance that Russell craved, and the great sex that came with it.  He knew he could count on his husband to protect him, to help him provide for their safety.  They were living for each other out here, and in a strange way Russell reveled in it.

Scott was panting obscenities in his ear, now.  His hips were stuttering, losing their rhythm, and Russell snapped back to the moment.  

“Russ, baby, you sound so hot, mm… You’re swallowing my cock--fuck, ah--you’re so tight, and I can feel you shaking,” Scott practically babbled.  Russell wasn’t much better, though.  

“Shit please, Scott, harder!” he was keening.  Scott took up a pounding rhythm, and Russell felt heat stirring in his belly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, just like this.”

Scott seemed to shudder.  “I-I’m not sure I can--”

But then Russell was holding tight to him, and he felt a warm wetness between their stomachs.  The pulsing tightness of Russell’s orgasm coaxed Scott’s from him, and he made to pull out, but Russell’s legs clamped ever tighter.

“No, hon, just like this,” he whispered, and Scott saw only the blissed-out look on his husband’s face before he came. Russell stroked his hair and kissed all over his face, just like he knew they both needed.

When it was over and Scott pulled out of Russell’s hole, he looked between them. “Wow, I think I made quite the mess,” he admitted.  

Russell immediately turned bright red; he couldn’t handle Scott’s eyes focused so intently on the evidence of their activities, so he pushed him away.  “L-let me go, Scott!”

Scott did as he was bid and lowered his husband to the ground, bending down so he could massage Russell’s strained legs and hips.  They weren’t the flexible young things they used to be, after all.

“Ready to go home?” Scott asked, and when Russell rose to his feet to shimmy into his pants, Scott gave his ass a gentle swat.

“Ooh, you’re going to get it,” Russell hissed, all the while watching his husband bolt for the log sled.   Why do I even wear pants around here, anyway? We don’t exactly seem to be in the majority.

Scott dragged the sled over to his struggling husband and grinned sheepishly.  “Here’s my proposition: I drag the logs home all by myself, and you get to sit your pretty little ass in the sled while I pull it.”

Russell reasoned that the rewards did, in fact, outweigh his grievances.

Chapter Text


“Tonight, Louis, would you hunt with me? Pretty please?” Lestat was in the process of getting his boots laced up his knees, a task he undertook with human-like precision. I didn’t envy him his vanity; more than anything, I organized my wardrobe (though Lestat would argue the term “wardrobe” was too kind for my humble garments) around my utmost comfort and ability to blend into humans as I required it.  Lestat, now covered in leather from his waist down and sporting an unbuttoned black shirt underneath an ostentatious maroon leather jacket, could care less about blending in with humans--it had always been the attention he craved, from anyone who would indulge him.

I looked up from a book of new criticism of Oscar Wilde. “When I could just wait for you to bring something young and gaudy back for me? Why waste the effort?”

I didn’t let him know that I rather enjoyed the thrill of the chase with him at my side when we hunted in tandem. He was like the dazzling fishing lure, brightly colored and shining, and I was the comforting presence of the warm water, the food attached, whatever brought the little fish in despite the foreboding sense of something isn’t right here, they’re too white, too cold, too beautiful --then the prick of the bite, the too-quick panic, and the inevitable drifting.  We were made to work in this way; he had fashioned us as a pair, made me to complement him.  Where he was the flame and the danger, I was the soothing warmth.

I bristled at this realization every time I came to it.

Lestat was pacing before my chair.  “Come now, Louis, surely there’s some predator in there!  You enjoy the thrill of the kill as much as I, maybe more because you keep it at bay.” He was before me, leaning imperiously and blocking out the light of the lamp.  

I sighed and snapped the hardcover shut. “I’ll humor you, but only if you agree to eating in.” I gave him one of my rare brash looks.  It had the desired effect; he practically clambered into my lap, like a spoiled child.

“Of course, my Louis.” he was grinning ear to ear, the kind that animated his lips and pulled them back for just a hint of fangs. But something was keeping the grin from reaching his iridescent blue eyes.  

I sighed. “I’ll change, of course.”

He rose from my lap and thanked me with a kiss.


The alcohol swirling in my glass was rather off-putting--I raised it to my lips every few minutes to blend, but Lestat left his drink untouched.  

“Louis,” he whispered into my ear. “That one.”

I followed Lestat’s line of vision.  He was gorgeous, skin flushed from dancing, and his heart nearly sang, even in the din of the club.  He had long, well-cared-for chestnut hair and a lithe frame, perfect for weaving in and out of the gyrating bodies.  He wore almost no clothing, choosing instead to parade around in slick, wet-look shorts and a vinyl chest harness.  I curled my lip in distaste--part of the fun with Lestat was making him work for his meals.

“That flashy thing? Everyone will notice him leaving.  Don’t you see the crowd of admirers he’s leaving in his wake?” I curled my fingers around Lestat’s forearm and drew him in closer under the guise of a lover.  “Try a bit harder.”

Lestat would have colored if he’d eaten recently.  As it was, he scoffed and muttered something that sounded like “ discerning palate, my Louis,” before easily breaking my hold and sauntering into the closely pressed bodies.  

I watched him from my table as he dipped and slunk through the crowd to his target.  He was blinding, even from this distance, with his curly, flowing golden hair. I envied the men he brushed against, some whose bodies he caressed as he passed.  Many of them gazed after him, enraptured.  

He caught the boy expertly, surely offering him a night between us.  He was pointing my way, gesturing animatedly.  I saw my name on his lips.

Lestat told me later that I looked remarkably drunk for having not a drop of alcohol missing from my glass.


Then the seduction.  It was easy enough to get him into a cab between us, where we bore down on him in apparent lust. Lestat and I shared a look before nuzzling his neck, leaving kisses in our wake.  This one was so hot from the drink and his exertions on the dancefloor that he ignored the ice that was our flesh touching his skin. Lestat purred sweet nothings into his ear, and I couldn’t look away from his magnetic eyes, never leaving mine.

The boy was easily led to the apartment, where we divested him of his meager clothing and sprawled him out on the bed.  Between the two of us, he seemed overwhelmed, and Lestat being the absolutely rakish vampire he was, tied my tie over his eyes.  He leaned over him, his hair falling in a sheer, flaxen curtain over his devilish face, and made to drink from the boy’s lips.  

He shivered and offered his body more readily to us--even without the depth of a blood swoon, he mewled and begged for the pain.  Lestat had been right to choose him, he would be willing to the last.

Lestat was drinking from his throat now, fangs buried deep and straddling the boy’s hips.  I reached for the boy’s wrist, which was beginning to go limp with blood loss and exertion.  I bit down with abandon and immediately wrapped myself in the steady pounding of the boy’s heart, which mixed with Lestat’s. Both quickly slowed, and Lestat ripped himself from the boy’s throat.  When I continued to drink, treading close to the end, Lestat pulled me away roughly.

“Louis!” he hissed, his hair wild and skin glowing with vitality. “Do you want to make yourself sick?”

I rolled my eyes and wiped my mouth with my sleeve, an act of slovenliness that he absolutely abhorred.

“Well, if someone hadn’t nearly drained him in one go, I could have had my fill.” I made to rise from the bed, presumably to hunt for myself before the sun rose, but in what seemed to be one fluid motion, Lestat had pushed the boy’s dead body to the floor and pulled me on top of him. His coy smile unnerved me.

“Lestat, I would like to feed, so if you’ll let me go I--”

He chuckled and stroked my cheek, his lips alluring and pink with the fresh blood coursing through him. He looked close to human.  In that moment I wondered just what he looked like before Magnus stole him from his humble human life, when he’d been living in the poor district of Paris with Nicolas, the enchanting Lelio and the invulnerable Wolfkiller--

He pulled me in for a kiss, and despite my fighting him with all my strength, he held me fast.  Damn him!

“Mmph--” I grunted against his lips, and he worked my mouth open with his tongue.  My fangs caught on his tongue, which I’m sure he planned for, and I tasted the peculiar flavor of him, mixed with the familiar taste of the now-dead boy.  Lestat held my head in his hands. His gaze was alluring.

“Drink, Louis,” he offered his marble throat to me, and I looked away from him. He may have decades of vampiric power on his side, but I didn’t have to succumb to that will of his.  I was my own, and I could be petty if I wished.

He made a sound of frustration and let go of me.  Thinking I was free to go, I made for the bedroom door, but stopped in my tracks.  I heard the definitive sound of leather being torn.

On the bed, he was leaning against the pillow, and his tight leather pants were in shreds.  His pale, muscled thighs were pink with vigor, and I could see the pulse in his femoral artery.  It sang to me, and his peculiar imploring gaze shocked me.

“Louis, come to me, please?” he was entreating me.  His brows were furrowed in concern, and I wanted to yield to his pleas.  We didn’t share a bond in our thoughts, and I knew from his writings that he desired that bond from me as much as I did from him.  The deepest intimacy between our kind before the act of the kill. This was the closest we could get, drinking from one another. He began to babble.

“You know I don’t need much anymore, take it all, I can go without.  Louis, please--”

I was on him in seconds. He spread his thighs for me, and I surged forward to drag my tongue over the pulsing vein.  “You would offer yourself to me, like a victim? How you’ve fallen, The Vampire Lestat.” I dragged my sharp teeth over the skin, barely nicking it, and he jolted. Blood-tinged sweat formed at his temples; it was taking all of his will to lie still and let me take my time with him.  

He was panting on the sheets, and not from any kind of exertion. “Louis, don’t tease,” he gasped.  I was tracing my fingers up his shaking thighs, up the planes of his abdomen, higher still… I couldn’t help myself.  This opportunity wouldn’t last; he would back to the Brat Prince as soon as we finished, I knew.  This would have to last.

But my thirst was peaking, and his color was slowly fading.  I looked up and saw his eyes from beneath his hair trained directly on me.  The heat could have scorched my skin.

I bit down in the crux of his thigh and his groin, lapping at the freely flowing blood.  It sent pleasure coursing through me, a pleasure magnified when compared to the blood swoon I experienced with my human victims.  I could feel his heartbeat throbbing in my chest, focused at the points of my fangs in his flesh.  He was shaking in ecstasy, the mirror of what I felt with his essence sliding down my throat.  I pulled deeply, and when I sensed the slightest hitch in his pulse, I tore myself away with palpable reluctance. My tongue lapped up the remaining traces, and he began to heal before my eyes.  The gashes vanished in seconds.

“L-Louis…” he whispered through heavy breaths.  He wanted to call me to him, I could see it in his eyes.  The brief glimmer of a connection between us wasn’t enough, and it had vanished as fast as it came.  I wouldn’t deny him this, this once.

I crawled up the bed to him.  The sheer curtains around the four-poster reminded me of my rooms in Pointe du Lac, where he came to me and offered me my immortality.  I still couldn’t divine whether it was a blessing or damnation, his gift.  He reached out to me with the most beatific smile on his lips.  He could be cruel, I had seen his cruelty shape that mouth, harden those eyes, but this was the most contented I’d seen him in recent memory.  We curled around each other in the incandescent light, and we basked in each others’ fleeting warmth for a long, unbroken moment.  He had me laying on his chest like a child, and his eyes roved over my features fondly.  

“You were the most beautiful, damned creature, Louis…” he cooed.  His hair splayed on the pillows gave him the distinct countenance of a Botticelli saint. “I had to have you, to keep you with me forever.”

I chuckled.  “What’s come over you, have I drunk too much? Here,” I offered him my wrist, gashed open with my teeth. “For your sanity’s sake.”

He huffed at me then held my wrist to his lips.  “What a waste,” he grumbled.  His tongue laved away the blood, and my skin closed. He gave me a disapproving look, one I was quite familiar with.  The one that said Louis, what have I done to deserve this?, even though he himself knew the scope of his misdeeds.  I settled back against him--we didn’t have long before the sun rose and I was effectively dead to the world, whether I wanted to be or not.

He suddenly affected a look of disgust.  He made to get up from the bed, and I held him back down. It was, however, like the grasp of an invalid to a disgruntled family member, and he escaped me quite easily.  

“Someone has to get this thing out of our home, Louis, and I don’t see you moving to do anything about it.”  He stalked out of the room with the body of the boy over his shoulder, audacious as usual, and I began the process of closing up for the daytime.  I left the balcony door unlocked, knowing he would soon return, and crawled back into our bed to await the lodestone of immortal sleep.

Chapter Text

That little fucker actually tried it, Negan mused.  He was driving down the road, cutting down walkers in the path of the RV.  Their rotten innards splattered the windshield, and Negan laughed outright.

“Remind you of anyone you know?” he teased, and he looked in the rearview mirror to meet Rick’s eyes.  Oh, his pain was absolutely delicious. He was focused on some point far away, probably in his own head.  Negan brought the RV to a stop, and the walkers immediately surrounded it.  They were pawing at the glass like kids at an ice cream truck.

Negan settled down next to Rick, and he grinned to himself when he saw the man flinch.  "You are mine. The people back there? They are mine. This?” Negan held Rick’s hatchet to his face. “This is mine.”

Rick looked forlorn, empty.  The spark Negan had seen earlier when Rick had threatened to kill him was all but extinguished.   Too bad, Negan thought. I was startin’ to enjoy myself.

Negan waited for some kind of reply, some kind of answer, but none came.  Where was his fight? Where did his anger go?

The comforting weight of a hunting knife at Negan’s hip gave him an idea.  He unsheathed it, and while the noise was quiet, he expected Rick to react to it in the relative quiet of the RV.  No such luck.

“Y’know, Rick, I get that you probably need a moment to process the slaughter we just left, I really do understand.” Negan smirked, and his usual jaunty, boisterous tone lowered to a growl.  “But I really wish you’d pay attention.”

It was then that Negan put the knife to Rick’s throat.  “I could kill you right now, Rick.  If I come outta this vehicle back there without you, my people will finish the job I started.  No questions asked.”

Rick seemed to deliberate for a moment. “So what, if you don’t get a rise out of me, I’m dead?” He sneered.  “What more do you want from me?”

Negan laughed to himself.  “I want you an’ me to be pals, Rick.  No more of this back-and-forth.”  Negan traced the curved tip of the knife up around Rick’s ear, and he saw Rick shiver at the cold metal, then he looked him dead in the eyes.  

“Fat fucking chance.” he snarled. He looked absolutely feral.  

Negan chuckled.  This guy had balls of steel, he’d give him that, but his bite was disproportionate to his bark.  The scene with the hatchet before only proved it--if he wanted Negan dead, he would have thrown that hatchet, gun or no gun.

“So, Rick, here’s what I’m thinkin’,” Negan purred.  Rick didn’t seem to understand the change in tone, but so be it, that would make this all the more fun. Negan pressed the knife to Rick’s adam’s apple, and when it bobbed with his nervous swallow, the blade scraped his skin.  The blood beaded and flowed in a small trickle down his neck to his chest. Negan eyed the stain on his shirt appreciatively.

“Why don’t we take this golden opportunity to get to know each other a little better,” Negan’s bristly beard scratched Rick’s face.  He placed an experimental hand on Rick’s thigh. Nothing went over Rick’s features--no shock, no surprise, no anger.

What is up with this guy? Negan wondered.  He sighed dramatically.

“So I suppose talking isn’t on the docket, eh chief?” He made a show of dragging his hand toward Rick’s crotch, but he still wasn’t taking the bait.  However, his eyes were shifting between Negan’s wandering hand and the door to the RV.   Bingo.

“So I suppose we’ll be needin’ to find another way to have our little heart-to-heart…” Negan ground his palm down on Rick’s dick, and when a pained grunt left his lips, Negan decided to up the ante.  

He held the knife in his hand like he would to peel an apple, and he flicked the blade to Rick’s ear. Rick looked vaguely like he was going to smack him.  


“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rick snarled.  His arms trembled in suppressed rage.  He knew what the threat of the knife meant, and he knew how much was riding on this moment.  He needed to exit the RV alive.

Negan ignored the question.  “Well damn, Rick, never took you for the masochist type.”  He whistled, and Rick looked down to find his dick half-hard in his pants.  He looked to the front of the RV, where the walkers were clawing at the windshield. What I’d give to be out there with them right now, he thought bitterly.  

But the tip of the knife was digging into the shell of his ear, and Negan looked sour.  His hand was working its way into his pants, now, and Rick didn’t see any kind of arousal in his eyes.  No, this was meant to hurt his pride and his dignity. This was meant to damage him mentally and emotionally, and Rick had an inkling that physical damage was just an afterthought.  

“You know, Rick,” Negan whispered, and Rick growled at him through his teeth. Negan’s hand on his dick stopped stroking and clamped down like a vice.  Rick took a sharp breath in. “We can have this go one of two ways: I can have my way with you, prove my authority over you is absolute.  Right here in this RV.  No one has to see this.  Or…” Negan chuckled and spoke the next sentence into Rick’s ear, next to the hand wielding the knife.  “Or we can drive back to my crew, and we can put you on display for everyone to see.”

Rick’s eyes blew wide at that.  

“Your people can see their leader like this, probably tied up and cut up.  Now, is that something you want your little family to see, Rick? Or your own kid?”

Rick grit his teeth and shook his head.  Better to suffer this here.  He could take it.

“But here’s what I’m going to need from you.” Negan grabbed Rick’s balls and took a painful squeeze.  “I’m gonna need you to beg for it.”

Rick lashed out, then, and went for Negan’s neck.  His hands, his mouth, anything would do as long as he killed this sick son of a bitch.  

Negan, however, was faster, and he pushed Rick down with his body weight.  The hard pleather seat underneath Rick was creaking with the weight of the both of them.  Never had Rick seen such a scary look in someone’s eyes.  Negan was scowling now, and he moved the hunting knife back to Rick’s throat.  Insurance, most likely, that he wouldn’t try and pull something like that again.  

“You only get one try at something like that, Rick, and I think you just went and wasted your one and only shot.” Negan punched Rick in the gut, hard, and Rick curled in on himself.  He felt the seat dip when Negan rose.  He was walking to the front of the RV.

Rick was breathing hard.  “N-no,” he said.  His voice was small.

Negan went stock still.  “What was that? I’m gonna need you to speak a little louder. These walkers are making one hell of a racket.”

“Don’t take us back.” Rick hoped this would appease him, that he’d get it over with here and now so that he could get back to his people. They need me, dammit!

Negan tsked.  “Now, Rick, that’s not what I asked for.”  He was standing with one hand on the driver’s seat, one hand dropping to his rifle.  He turned back around, hefted it with one arm, then pointed it at Rick. His eyes were dark--unreadable.

“I told you to beg.”

Rick looked down the barrel of the gun.  “I…” his eyes welled up with tears.   Not right now, not this place.  Not with him.   “I want you to… do it to me. Hurt me, do whatever you’ve gotta do to me, but don’t hurt my people.” Rick’s voice lowered until it was near inaudible. His eyes were planted squarely at the ground.  “Don’t let them see me like this.  Please.”

He heard Negan’s laugh.  It was cheerful, bubbly, and too loud in the small space.  He had no right, laughing like that at another man’s pain.  

“That’s a good boy, Rick.” Negan was advancing on him, quick.  He dropped the rifle and went to unzip his fly.  “Wasn’t so hard, was it?  I mean, your acting could use some work, and I would’ve liked a little more enthusiasm, but that was delicious.” Negan punctuated his smug righteousness with a smack to the countertop, and Rick flinched.  “Hoo! Damn, now I’ve gotta figure out what to do with you.”

Rick saw him remove his cock from his pants.  Even flaccid, it was big.   Oh, Jesus.

“How’s about you give me a suck,” Negan suggested.  He pulled Rick up from his position laying on the seat to kneeling, and none too careful about it.  Negan gave his cock a few experimental strokes, and it started to get hard.  He grabbed Rick by the hair, giving it a sharp tug backward.  

He was deadly serious; his eyes were slits.  “And don’t bite, or I’ll cut yours clean fuckin’ off.”

Rick saw his other hand go for his knife, and he held it tight in his fist.  He replaced his hand in Rick’s hair with the other, settling the knife at the back of his neck.  

Just do it and get it over with, Rick thought, and he fought down the urge to gag when faced with Negan’s half-hard dick.  It was obscenely large, and it looked menacing from this angle.  Rick leaned forward and let it touch his lips.  

Negan’s eyes were trained on him.  For a moment, he looked almost apologetic. “I’d give you the privacy and close my eyes, but I have the feeling that would be a bad idea.”  His trademark grin was back in place in seconds.  “This must be hard for you.”

Rick tentatively licked at the head--it was salty and musky.  He saw Negan’s eyebrows draw together in what looked to be frustration, and he took the head into his mouth.  On the way in, his teeth grazed the shaft.  

Negan sucked in a breath through his teeth.  “Jesus, easy with the fangs,” he admonished, and whacked Rick upside the head.  He nearly saw stars.  

Once he got past the taste, Rick bobbed, the way he’d seen Lori do when she’d been around.  Who ever thought he’d be using those memories for something like this.  

Negan was panting and grasping at Rick’s hair with his knife-less hand, but he never broke eye contact.  His cock was hard in Rick’s mouth, and it was leaking precum down his throat.  

Negan stiffened when Rick tried using his tongue.   Anything to make this go faster, Rick thought, and then stopped when Negan’s knife nicked his skin.  He felt the warm blood trickle down his back and soak into his shirt.  

“Well, keep going!” Negan barked, and he used his free hand to yank Rick’s head closer by his hair.  Rick fought the urge to bite down at the intrusion--he knew it would only make this process worse.  Negan’s thick cock hit the back of his throat and he gagged, but Negan only held him fast.

“Ngh,” he grunted, and he fucked Rick’s mouth with enthusiasm.  Rick choked and tried to push on Negan’s thighs, but Negan didn’t relent.  Tears leaked from Rick’s eyes, and he closed them to block out the image of Negan’s happy trail in his vision.  

Negan gave one final moan and held Rick down on his cock, cumming down his throat in hot spurts.  Rick didn’t even try to swallow, and some cum dripped down his lips when Negan pulled off.  He didn’t try to speak, didn’t move to get up from his position kneeling on the floor.  

“Well, then,” Negan began, and he spoke through shallow breaths.  “That wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be.”  He sheathed his knife and tucked his cock back into his pants.  Rick looked past him, at the walkers scraping at the windows.  

“A promise is a promise, Rick,” Negan turned and called over his shoulder.  “Let’s get you back to your people, I’m sure they could use their mighty leader right about now.” Negan chuckled to himself and turned the keys in the ignition.

I’m gonna fucking kill him, Rick thought.   He’s fucking dead.

Chapter Text

Louis ran his hands over my wrists reverently.  “Are you comfortable?” he asked.  There was anxiety in his gentle green eyes.  I smiled in an attempt to settle him; he looked like a child who’s been getting away with something forbidden under the parent’s watchful eye.   No, dear one, you’re not supposed to use the knife.  But now it’s alright, just because I’m watching you.  I’m here.  

I tugged at the chains and steel shackles which bound me to the stone floor and flashed my fangs at him. Even from so close, I couldn’t reach him, nor could I escape the bonds. He simply nodded.  

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?” Louis worried his lip, an old human habit he’d not shed. I flashed a self-assured smirk.

“Very little can overwhelm me, my darling Louis.” I sent an acidic look to the diminutive figure at the head of our bed.

“Not even that despicable creature.”

Armand was dressed head-to-toe in a long, silk robe. If it wasn’t for Louis in the room, I would have sworn he did it to remind me of the Théâtre des Vampires. Maybe he taunted us both with it, I would never know.

“Oh, you flatter me, Lestat,” he chirped in that cherub’s voice.  He walked up behind Louis, pulling his tall, kneeling figure into his arms. They looked a strange pair, the ever-young auburn-haired angel and the morose black-haired gentleman.  They existed in two separate planes for me, and I’d endeavored to keep them apart since rising from my long slumber.   Ah, well.  I suppose this honeymoon period between Louis and I was never meant to last.  Too much has gone long suppressed.

I snapped out of my reverie when I heard Louis’s gentle gasp and the giggle from Armand, who was necking at Louis’s alabaster throat.  I held back the urge to rattle my chains, a specter tired already of being ignored.

Louis met my eyes and did the unfathomable.  He winked, then rose to follow Armand to the bed.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want Louis happy, au contraire.   I just wanted him happy with me. Which I didn’t consider to be such a troublesome request--I would provide for anything and everything my dear Louis desired, and I would die for him if he ever required it of me.  He was my fledgling, and I wanted to be close to him.   I chose him for this life, I studied him and admired him from afar before making my decision, and isn’t finders-keepers the law of the land these days?

But Armand had always had a habit for taking the things I loved away.  First Gabrielle, by speeding up our admittedly inevitable split and telling her all about my worries and my shortcomings.  Second with Louis, the poor dear.  Sure, he saw through Armand quickly enough, be he spent decades with him in the process, didn’t he?

I was sulking in my restraints, barely paying attention to the two of them rolling around on the bed.  However, when I heard Louis whimper from a particularly harsh bite, I yanked my chains in warning.  If those two didn’t think I was more than capable of ripping these out of the ground, they were fooling themselves.  Louis’s dark head whipped up from the pillows, and his eyes were dazed.   Mine, I thought, and he saw the possessiveness in my face.  

And that absolute devil, he led Armand by the neck to the edge of the bed and angled them in order to give me the best view.  I could see Louis’s creamy chest underneath Armand’s marble skin, and his teal velvet blazer and shirt bunching underneath his shoulders.  Armand made deliberate eye contact with me and ran his fingers through Louis’s long, dark hair.  One of my many weaknesses, his hair.  It was as soft as it was in life, maybe even softer, and it was pin-straight regardless of humidity or heat.  Armand gave it a sharp tug backward, and Louis’s eyebrows drew together.  He wasn’t exactly enjoying having it pulled--I could read the expression on his face, clouded by lust as it was.

I gave a warning snarl, and Armand laughed.  He waved off my concern with a hand.  “Oh, Lestat, you think we’ve never done this before? I had years with him, all to myself. He’s such a good boy, very pliant and undemanding.”

Louis’s lip twitched into a frown, and I chuckled. My darling Louis was tiring of the pissing contest between us, and he wanted the original focus of the night back on himself, where it belonged.

“You’d better get a bit more invested, Armand,” I sneered. “Or I can get in there and fuck him myself, show you what he likes, what makes him beg, before he loses interest.

Louis met my eyes and his expression was blank, unimpressed. Enough, Lestat. Keep quiet and watch.

I was cowed at his gaze, but secretly pleased.  He wasn’t exactly beside himself with lust, was he?

But then Armand moved, whip-quick, and pinned him by his wrists.  He sunk his fangs into Louis’s chest. Right above his slowly beating heart, and sucked.  Louis writhed in pleasure, attempting to free his hands to touch Armand, pull him closer, sink his fangs into him at any point where he could access a vein.  The desire produced by the blood swoon, by being drunk from, was amplified between vampires, even more so when the drinking was reciprocal.  But Armand kept Louis at bay with his centuries of strength, and Louis simply moaned in frustration.

My cock was hardening in my pants, and as much as I wanted to enjoy the scene before me, I couldn’t reach. Armand’s eyes were boring into my skin with his signature cockiness.   You see what I have? he spoke into my mind. Look at him splayed underneath me. He’s more than willing to offer himself; his blood sings for me. Louis was gasping with his orgasm--he’d come in his pants from just the feeding.

You self-assured prick, I’ll give him what he really desires. I pulled at my shackles and was surprised to find them bolted more securely than I’d initially thought. Leave it to Armand to Lestat-proof the rooms at the Night Island for situations such as these.  I would have to speak to Louis later about his conversations with Armand and their contents.

My rage at Armand was interrupted by Louis’s moans.  They were decreasing in volume, growing weaker with the blood Armand took from him. My instincts screamed at me to stop him, now, but no matter how hard I pulled at my restraints, they held me fast.  Not even a groan of metal.

“Armand!” I barked. “Enough!” Louis wasn’t making any noise now, and I could hear his heart slowing to a snail’s pace in his chest. Surely he wouldn’t hurt him.

“Armand…” Louis breathed, and he opened his hazy eyes to find him in the candlelit darkness.  They spoke with their eyes, more than likely with their minds--a place I could never access, despite my wishes to the contrary.  Armand released his wrists and sat him up on the bed, catching him quickly when he began to drop. Louis was pale to the color of bleached bone, and his skin looked thin as paper.  Armand was absolutely vivid with his essence, and I seethed.  What was the point of this?

Louis and Armand shared a look, and Armand’s lip curled.  Regardless, he lifted Louis to his feet and walked him toward me.  

I was surprised.  What did they mean to do?  Sit right before me and let Louis take his vitality back, just to torment me? It would be painfully like Louis to do such a thing, and I could only imagine that Armand loved the idea just as much.  I endeavored to appear stoic; neither one would get a rise from me, not if I could stop it.

But instead Armand carefully brought my Louis to me, and even went so far as to wrap Louis’s arms around my neck.  I met his eyes, and their usual emerald had turned to the color of lichen on stone.  He bent to my throat and, before I could vocalize my surprise, bit down.

“Yes, mon cher,” I murmured.  The point at my throat where he was latched on throbbed not unpleasantly, and my cock strained against my pants. “ Doucement, je t’en supplie... Take what you need,” I looked up to Armand, who was eyeing us distastefully, and bit my lip in a smug fashion.  He didn’t seem the least bit impressed.  

The blood dripped from my mouth, and I rattled my chains. “L-Louis, mon coeur, here…”   I nudged his cheek with my lips, and the scent of blood made him release my jugular.  His lips surged to meet mine, and he worked his tongue into my mouth deftly.  Louis kissed me expertly, leaving me breathless and weak not only from blood loss, then pulled away to look me up and down.

“Do you need anything from me?” His eyes followed the path to my groin, where my erection hadn’t gone down.  He whipped his hair behind him and tied it in a ponytail, then leaned down to unzip my skinny biker pants. God, how I ached for him.  

I remembered then my own plight. “You’re not going to free me, amour?” Armand’s spiteful laugh rang in my head, but his face was a mask.

Louis looked up from his position over my cock.  “Why should I?” His oblivious act grated on me.

“I’ve let you have your fun, haven’t I?” I groused.  I realized too late that Louis’s eyes had gone cold.  

“You’ve let me?” he repeated, and I went to defend myself, but his hand clamped around my jaw, stopping me.  \

“You’ve done no such thing, Lestat.   I may do as I please, and you would do well to remember whose mercy you’re at right now.”

He rose to his feet, dusting off his pants. “Armand?”

The little villain perked up instantly, but hid his eagerness from Louis. Sly devil, I sent to him. He strode to Louis’s side and offered his arm silently.  

“We’re going to do as we please, Lestat, and you’re going to re-evaluate your lack of tact.”

I snarled into the cold room once the heavy door closed and cursed the day I’d made him.  His laughter could be heard down the hall.

Chapter Text

Grey Warden Gheran Aeducan was more than comfortable in men’s clothes--that wasn’t the issue here.  In fact, most of her armor was very masculine-looking, with flat chest pieces and large, plated shoulders.  Her short, messy hair was easy to mistake, as well--she didn’t much care for the show and finery of her old status, and as soon as she’d joined the Wardens, she’d had Alistair lop it all off.  He’d mourned her thick, glossy waves, but she much preferred her hair this way.  Less mess.

But here came this sly, alluring assassin, literally falling in the path of her sword, and she’d hesitated.  He was the cause of all of this.

Oh, he promised to be an asset to her team, that much she allowed.  At this point, she could use all the help she could get cutting down these darkspawn, so if he wanted to offer his blade she was more than happy to take him on.  But he regularly offered more than his blade, and he pursued her relentlessly.

At first she’d kept him at bay with her gruff demeanor and commandeering personality, but in barely any time at all he was back to his tricks.  He was approaching her like a challenge, a  puzzle to be solved.

One evening at the camp, he’d followed her to the pond for her bath and taken her clothes, making her parade her tiny tits and hairy muff around for the entire camp trying to get them back.  Alistair hadn’t looked her in the face for a week, and now Leliana was always making smart comments about her grooming habits.  

After seeing her emerge from this incident more unbothered than ever, he gave her her space.  At first, the breathing room was welcome, but she soon missed his running commentary and his brash flirtatiousness.  He noticed her pining before she did herself.  

He’d followed her while she made her rounds of the camp one night, and tutted from behind her.

“Tsk tsk, you look so tired, my dear. It is all this constant walking and fighting. I think I know what you need.”

He was dressed in only a long, linen tunic that reached just above his knees and laced halfway down his navel.  It was undone in the balmy night air, and she wondered vaguely if he trotted around camp with no smalls on. Her lips quirked wryly.

“A stiff drink and some blessed peace and quiet?”

He laughed at that. “That would be ideal, but no.” he sidled up to her and settled a sun-kissed arm around her shoulders. “My thought it this: we retire to your tent and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

Gheran rolled her eyes. “Not this again,” she lamented, and turned away to stoke the campfire.  

“Come now, my Warden, surely you’ve earned a reprieve from this constant toil? Call Morrigan to her watch a bit early, she would not begrudge you the rest.”

Gheran sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not? Please, enlighten me. Why does our entire operation rely on you only sleeping when your body fails you in the wee hours of the morning?” He moved in front of her and held her by her shoulders. “Please, let me assist you in this.  I see you hurting, and I can offer this much: you will not have to lift a finger tonight, and I will make sure a measure of your tension is relieved.”

She hadn’t been able to resist those honeyed words, and soon after, he was enjoying her company regularly.  She insisted that they keep these visits chaste, but it didn’t last long.  By the third night, she pulled him atop her and kissed him breathless. He claimed it was inevitable, but she could see the surprise on his face when she’d grabbed him by the neck.

And here she was now, asking Oghren if she could borrow some of his clothing.  

“Well, lass, I hate to ask what ‘yer doin’ with ‘em, but here.” He dug in his bag for a moment and produced a pair of riding leathers and a rough, worn tunic. There were Aeducan family crests sewn into the shoulders, and she eyed him distrustfully.

“What, now you wanna know where I found ‘em? I’d rather skin a nug than tell ya.  Now go, I’m not expectin’ ‘em back.”

Gheran nodded warily, then retreated to her tent with the bundle. Zevran was off with Leliana, practicing defensive maneuvers or something.  She had plenty of time.

Gheran tugged on the leather contraption she’d bought at the Market in Denerim.  Gorim sold more than “fine Dwarven crafts,” these days, and she’d requested these objects with his promised discretion.

“Never knew you had it in you,” he laughed and made a coded note to his supplier to send by night to the docks. “Must be a special lady.” His eyes grew sad at the implication; regardless of their old life and their old feelings, they’d never be able to experience each other like that again. But now she thanked the Stone for his help.  

She yanked the riding pants over her hips, surprised at the fit.  The sides had lacing to pull them tighter to her hips and legs, and the shirt was just loose enough to obscure her breasts. Now, the piece de resistance. Out of a pocket deep in her rucksack, she acquired a realistic-looking phallus, crafted from enchanted, living stone. It was a lovely ruby color, and it pulsed with energy and heat when it touched her skin.   He’ll love this, she mused, and carefully fit it into the straps of her harness.  The stone melded to her touch and the phallus shrunk into itself, folding and shrinking to approximate the look of the real thing. It was truly a masterwork, and she intended to get the craftsman’s and the enchantress’s names if she ever ventured to Orzammar or found the enclave of mages who’d given the object its magical properties.

Now, to wait.  She sprawled on the furs, enjoying the pleasant warmth and energy radiating from her false cock.  It pressed right up against her pubic mound, and the balls pressed right against her clit.  She was getting wet in her leathers, and she was relieved that she wasn’t expected to give them back to Oghren.  She’d purchase him a new set of clothes, and they would be much finer than these.

“My Warden?” Zevran called into the tent.  She saw his shadow lit up against the firelight.  “Have you reti--” He stopped with the flap of the tent open, blinking in at her, then quickly tied the entrance.

“A rather titillating change, my dear, but I must ask…” His eyes dragged over her body, stopping at the spot between her legs, then continuing upward. “How did you achieve it?”

Gheran chuckled and endeavored to press her voice into a lower register.  She wanted this illusion to hold just as much as he did. “What, you haven’t noticed my cock before?”

Zevran licked his lips. “I regret to say that I haven’t, though I’d very much like to become better acquainted.” He dropped to his knees and crawled over the furs to where she lay, then settled between her legs.  He was having trouble looking away from the bulge in her pants, and when he did, his face was ruddied with lust.

“M-may I?”

She smiled cockily and cradled his jaw in her hand. “If you can handle it.”

Zevran worked the laces and cautiously revealed the glittering, red cock.  The stone was smooth, but within the phallus, pale veins of rock and minerals shimmered and caught the light.  Even flaccid, it was stunning, and Gheran shivered when he brushed it reverently with his fingertips.

“It is warm…” he whispered, and then he cupped it in his hand. “And it feels as if it is throbbing… What kind of magic is this?”

Gheran was stunned to find that his hand on the enchanted cock was actually stirring arousal, deep in her belly, and not just from the viewing of it.  The magic thrummed with her core, and she could almost feel the press of his hand with it.

“Ngh…” she groaned, then focused on his words.  “I b-bought it from a merchant in Denerim,”

He stopped, sensing her reaction to his touches.  “Can you… Feel it?”

“It feels like it,” Gheran wriggled out of her pants, inviting Zev closer.  “It must be the enchantment, it feels like it’s attuned itself to me.”

Zevran had a look of wonder in his eyes.  “Amazing,” he gasped, then met her eyes again.  “I won’t sprout a second head if I put it in my mouth, will I?”

She laughed.  “No, of course not. It’s meant for things like this.”

“And what, you have seen one before?”

“No, not exactly. I’ve seen stoneworkers in Orzammar who’ve worked with Fade-touched stone before, and it acts the same way as this.  It becomes accustomed to movement, and it takes on the shape and the will of the craftsman.  Often it becomes architecture, or sculpture, but I had my suspicions that it would be able to create something like this.  With enough coin, that is.”

Zevran laughed outright at that, then settled in next to her, on his side.  “What a devious creature,” he husked, and he brought his hand back down below her hips.  “What ever gave you such an idea?”

Gheran purposefully looked up to the ceiling of the tent while his deft hands massaged the living stone between her legs..  “Well, I knew you had male partners before, and I just thought you’d missed the, erm…” She colored a deep scarlet.

“...p-penetration.” Zevran’s hand awakened the stone, and it slowly began to grow erect, just as any other cock.  Gheran felt the waves of vibration against her clit, and she whimpered.

“Well, my dear, this is truly a surprise, though I never would have expected you to commit so… fully.” He wrinkled his nose.  “These are Oghren’s, aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, if you dislike it so much, get them off me,” Gheran insisted.  Zevran immediately moved to tug the leathers from her legs.

“With pleasure.” He had her tunic off in record time, so that the only thing that remained on her naked body was the leather harness and the accompanying gemstone cock. Zevran was sitting back on his haunches, assessing the situation with a hand to his chin.  

“Now, I wonder…” he teased, and winked at her.  The pleasant weight of the cock against her pubic bone was growing frustrating with the lack of friction, and she bucked the now nearly erect cock upward with her hips to increase the pressure.  

“Ah, ah, my Warden…” he held her down by the hips and gave her a disapproving frown. “If you wish to act the part of a man, you must also practice his restraint.”

Gheran scowled.  “What, like what you practiced the night before?” she rolled to avoid his quick slap to her thigh and grumbled.  “C’mon, Zev, I’ve been waiting for you for what feels like hours.  Give me a little something.”

Zevran seemed to contemplate her request. “So… It’s penetration you want, yes?” At her enthusiastic nod, he smirked. “Well, I’ll need to be stretched… What will you be doing while I prepare myself?”

Gheran gazed at him like she’d never seen a more desirable creature in all of Thedas.  “How about you put that devious little mouth to use?” Zevran laughed and sprung to settle between her legs. “Eager, I see.”

Zevran lapped at the underside of the ruby cock, making Gheran shiver with the pulses aimed at her core. He smirked.  “I’m more than happy to showcase my talents, especially with such a willing audience.”

Gheran watched him reach behind himself, underneath his leather skirts, and finger himself.  She couldn’t see it, of course, but she heard his pleased humming around her cock.  He sucked on the head, then bent down to take it all the way into his throat.  She was surprised by the amount of pleasure thrumming through her genitals and radiating out to her thighs, so much so that they shook with the stimulation.

He paused in sucking on her cock when it stood proud and fully erect.  It shimmered with his saliva and practically buzzed, right against her clit.  Her gasps and heavy breaths were filling the tent.  

“Zev, honey, how’s it coming?” she breathed, and she felt slick wetness against the insides of her thighs.  This was proving harder and harder to handle, but she was thoroughly enjoying herself, nonetheless.

Zevran’s warm, brown skin was tinted pink with the exertion of stretching his entrance.  “Nearly, amora,” he panted, and smiled lasciviously in spite of his dishevelled appearance.  “Help me remove my armor?”

Gheran eagerly lurched forward from her position lying on her back to unbuckle his many straps.  He was out of his pauldrons and elbow plate quickly, but the leather armor was more of a hassle. “Zev, why in hell didn’t you do this before?” she grumbled.

“What, and fight Leliana in the nude?” he laughed breathily.  “Maybe if I were being paid, or if you were--mm, watching, my dear.”

Gheran rolled her eyes and undid the many fastenings and lacings that kept his chest hidden from her, leaving kisses on the skin she uncovered.  Then she moved for his skirts, which were almost comically tented with his hard cock.  She gave it a playful stroke and watched him lose his balance, holding himself on one arm as he was. She caught him when he collided with her chest.

He was a veritable mess, half-clothed and sweating. She got his skirts the rest of the way off, then his boots.  She pulled him atop her, then gripped his thick, scarred hips.  His curving brown tattoos followed the lines of his body perfectly, and a swirl even wrapped around the base of his cock, which was dribbling precum onto her belly.  

“Dear Andraste, you should be locked up somewhere, where no one can see you.” Gheran whispered with her mouth on his throat.  He liked being bitten and suckled on, especially when it left marks he could parade around camp the next day.  Smug bastard. Though she enjoyed their expressions of shock and disgust, just as well.

Zevran was held up above her using only his thighs, and they were close to failing him.  “ Amora, please--”

Gheran didn’t like to hear him beg, not when relief was so easy to give to him; she placed her cock at his entrance and looked him in the eyes.  

By the Maker, look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, frustration and yearning.  Zevran was trying to hold himself back from simply impaling himself down on it, filling him up in one swift motion.  The unyielding stone would make it easy to reach his prostate and have him babbling and moaning in minutes. His pretty, ashen blonde hair was falling out of its usual plaited style, and his eyes were hooded with desire. Gheran wanted him, wanted to fuck him raw with the weighted cock between her legs.  

“Fuck,” she groaned. She dug under the furs for their bottle of oil, and she poured a good amount on the enchanted erection.  She watched the liquid spill over the head and slither down the sides, then used her hand to pump it up and down the shaft evenly.  She gripped the sheets when the rhythmic throbbing increased in intensity.  

“A-ah… Now, Zev, ride me.” Her voice was cracking, sounding more and more desperate with the passing seconds.

He gave her no time to beg further, and he guided the cock into his ass. “Ah, Andraste’s tits, Gheran…” His chest was a mottled red.  “Fuck me, please…”

Her heart clenched; he was begging and whimpering just for her, his usual overconfident act blown open.  His golden eyes were beseeching--he wasn’t going to take his pleasure from her, he was too overwhelmed to.  She caressed his cheek, marveling at the man astride her.

“Zev, relax, my dear,” she cooed.  His cheeks colored with what could only be embarrassment at his state, and his dick was leaking steadily.  She decided to thrust upward, sending her cock deeper into him, and he keened.

Gheran immediately covered his mouth with her own, and she had to pull him by his hair to get him close enough to ravage.  They moaned against each other’s lips, and Zevran bounced with every solid thrust upward. The deep red cock disappeared into him as she ground into him, and every time it slid inside his walls, pleasure built in her vulva.  Her clit was engorged and sensitive, and the friction between it and her cock was driving her mad. Zevran was stunning--every muscle twitching with the steady thrum of magical energy, his hair a mess, and his cock standing straight up, far too alluring to be ignored.

Gheran wrapped her fingers around his member and watched her lover fall apart. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, and he moaned Antivan profanities into the air of the tent, interspersed with “ amora, please, amora,” like a refrain.

She stroked him in time with her thrusts, making sure to bottom out and follow the line of his body to where he wanted it most.  

“Ngh… H-harder, I am so close…” he begged, and Gheran planted her feet squarely on the ground to fuck him harder, faster.

“Ah, yes, my Warden, fuck--!”

And then he was coming in spurts over her breasts, vocalizing his pleasure in his now broken, raspy voice.  She guided him through his orgasm, pumping her hips into him even as he came, so that she could chase the throbbing of the cock to her own orgasm.  She held a hand to her mouth and bit down, and she came with the stuttering and bucking of her hips.  Her clit couldn’t stand to be touched, but the cock continued to throb against it with her orgasm and she threw her head back.  By now, Zevran was at least partially recovered from his own orgasm, and he watched her with awe in his eyes, coming for a second time.  

He curled around her on the furs, proceeded to suckle her nipples and stroked her absolutely soaked labia.  “ Si, amora, ride it....” Zevran dipped a finger inside of her and nearly choked at the slickness there.  Regardless, he watched her intently and brought it to his lips to taste while she trembled and quickly removed her harness with fumbling fingers.

She mindlessly pressed her body against his, despite the stickiness of his come on his spent cock and her chest.  He hummed contentedly and petted her short, brown hair.  

“I think I shall have to try fucking you with that thing,” he mused, and she met his mischievous eyes with a look of her own.  

“Why, you think it’s better than yours?” She cupped his flaccid cock and stroked it gently, giggling when it responded to her touches and weakly tried to harden.  

He winced and pushed her hand away.  “It is very sensitive, easy… And no, I simply wish to see if it will respond to my arousal in the same way it did to yours.  You were having quite the time, my Warden.” He winked and stroked her cheek.



“How, erm… was it?” she mumbled, and then pouted when he laughed.

“My dear, sometimes I think you are terribly dense.  I spent all over your chest, didn’t I?” He fondled her sticky breasts for emphasis.  She wouldn’t tell him that if he kept up with this, she’d be prepared for another round.

“Well, yes, but was it any different than normal? I mean, would you do it again?”

Zevran smiled fondly.  “Of course, Gheran. I would very much like to, at a later date.  For now, my ass is sore in the most pleasant way and I shudder to think of what more fucking would do to it. If you don’t mind terribly, I’d like to retrieve some warm water and clean us off before we sleep.”

Gheran nodded wordlessly and let him kiss her before he exited the tent.  She had half a mind to stop him, naked as he was and covered in spend, but she enjoyed the results of his streaking far too much.

“My goodness, it seems they’ve finally stopped! Ah, Zevran. And I thought I’d seen enough of your unmentionables,” cam Morrigan’s voice from the fire. “Such flagrant behavior.”

Gheran heard Alistair splutter and try to force words out, but then his heavy footfalls thudded away to his own tent.  

Shale laughed their grating, Fade-touched laugh.  “Ah, so you weren’t trying to best each other in there! Humans are such strange creatures.”

Gheran listened to their banter for a moment. I never could have imagined this life, before I was banished from Orzammar.  I thought it was the end of the world, then.  But now, I find that I’m working a lot harder to enjoy myself before the end of the world.

Chapter Text

Robert was staring.  He knew it, he couldn’t help it, and he was honestly past the point of caring.

“Joseph…” he began. This shit should be illegal. “Is that a, uh… Fuck, help me out here, I never paid attention to that shit when I was with Val’s mom.”

Joseph laughed and did a dramatic turn, complete with dazzling wink. “What, this little thing?” He held a margarita in one hand, an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.

God, he knows just what to do to get to me, doesn’t he?

“It’s a negligee.” Joseph put their drinks on the table next to the bed and straddled Robert’s thighs. “Do you like it?”

Robert noticed then that Joseph wasn’t wearing any underwear. Damn my bad eyes.   He nodded wordlessly.

“Babe, do you mind?” Joseph was sprawling in his lap, and Robert wanted to scream.  

“Not at all.” Robert Small was many things, but a looker-of-gift-horses-in-the-mouth he was not.  He ran his callused hands over the thin, cream-colored lace. “Any occasion or do you just live to please?”

Joseph was laughing and sipping his marg, an arm hooked carefully around Robert’s neck to play with his graying hair.  “I thought you might like something a little different, and I just so happened to be shopping when you messaged me about meeting up this weekend…” He brought his mouth to Robert’s ear and pulled at the lobe with his teeth.

Robert wasn’t even drunk and this sounded like a great idea. Maybe I can convince him to let me take that bottle home, wouldn’t want whiskey dick with him all dolled up like this, anyway.

Robert let Joseph have his fun sucking and biting at his neck--he lived alone, and no one would bother him about the marks. If someone just so happened to stop in, he’d blame it on a quickie at the bar. No one expected much from him, anyway.

“Hey, you sexy thing,” Robert growled.  God, his dick was hard.  He felt like a fucking teenager. “I can’t really see too much of you from this angle, mind giving me a better view?”

Joseph was breathless with want, and Robert echoed the sentiment in his eyes.   Use those fuck-me eyes, Small, and you’ll have him on his knees.

He was surprised, however, when Joseph did just that.  

“So, I’ve been doing a little practicing…”

Robert groaned. Sweet Jesus…

“... and I think I can deepthroat you.” Joseph was pulling at Robert’s belt, unbuckling it and working on the fly of his worn jeans. “I’m honestly pretty wiped out from the PTA meeting earlier, and I’d feel terrible if I didn’t at least take care of you.”

Robert could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I could be down to clown…”

Joseph stopped working at his pants and looked up at him, exasperated.  “Really, Robert?”

He responded by pushing Joseph’s head back down to his groin. “C’mon, I’ll stop talking, just keep going.”

Joseph slid his pants down and his cock bobbed free. “Going commando, Small? Doesn’t it hurt, what with how often you get kicked in the nuts?”

Robert had had about enough. “I can go, you know.”

Joseph’s grin was smug and radiant. “Not without me at the helm, you can’t.”

Robert’s voice faltered.  “I can, uh, swim. Yeah.”

The blond waved a hand flippantly.  “If you want to get dragged under by the current, go for it.  It’s not the worst way to go.”

“Aren’t you a priest or some shit, Christiansen? That was some kind of commandment you just broke, ‘don’t wish others dead’ or something.”

“First, I’m a youth minister.  I’m not even Catholic. Second, it’s ‘thou shalt not kill,’ and me failing to save you from a deadly undertow is hardly killing you.”

“Well, what about being a good Samaritan? Doesn’t that count for something?”

Joseph rolled his eyes and pumped Robert’s cock steadily, working it up to full hardness. “Just sit back and let’s get this over with.”

Robert wasn’t in the mood to argue.  In fact, he wasn’t very vocal during sex at all, and he was happy to let Joseph take over.

Joseph’s lacy robe was falling open--the ribbon tying it together was loose.  Robert was tempted to lean down just a bit and tweak one of his sensitive, pink nipples, but Joseph was giving him a look that said look, don’t touch.

When the heat and wetness of Joseph’s mouth engulfed his cock, Robert gripped the chair underneath him. Such a pretty mouth… he thought. And damn, if his congregation knew he did more with it than preach…

Joseph’s eyes were trained on his the entire time, and his gaze never faltered.  He just bobbed on Robert’s dick, taking it deeper and deeper, sucking occasionally.

Robert grunted and felt his thighs tense.  This was going somewhere very quickly, and he knew he wasn’t a kid anymore, but damn, was he turned on.

Joseph winked up at him just a second before sliding Robert’s cock into the back of his throat, all the way to the hilt.  Robert moaned, open-mouthed. Joseph was working his tongue over whatever he could reach while he bobbed his head over Robert’s dick, and the pressure was quickly building in Robert’s groin. Joseph noticed his hands shaking, clamped to the chair like a lifeline, and Joseph moved them to the back of his head.  

“Fuck, Christ--”   Robert gasped and used the leverage to fuck Joseph’s mouth.  He was gagging and moaning and drooling, but he looked… Pleased?

How in the fuck-- Robert wondered, but then he was coming and Joseph was yanking his head back to catch his cum on his face and his mouth and that fucking negligee and--

Robert watched Joseph take it all, then come to his feet and shrug off the ruined lingerie.  He took his time in the yacht bathroom, presumably cleaning his face off and brushing his teeth.  Regardless, he came back in the room to find Robert asleep in the chair.

Damn. If that isn’t the most “dad” look… Joseph snickered.  He picked up the lacy negligee and held it at arms’ length.

Guess Mary isn’t getting this one back...