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At night, the Uroc - Dry Fall riding’s flagship moved as the waves lapped at it.


The Brucolac was on the sofa in the semi-dark cabin room, his vision still clouded, his body scored with burns and scrapes, pus leaking.

He made a disgusted sound in his throat, his breath hitching and his rotting chest panting in and out.

"Get out of here." the Brucolac whispered.

At the cabin entrance, Uther Doul was standing between two vampir guards. He worn his sword on his left hip, his countenance calm and composed.

"I'm here to parley." he said in that beautiful voice.

"Par...ley...?" the Brucolac forced between his teeth. He narrowed his eyes at Doul, the man who tortured him with the sunlight, "...get out, Doul. Or if you'd like to be turned away?"

But Doul was unfazed. "I think you know exactly the situation in the Garwater. It is a difficult time, but we will not lower our wards-"

"Fuck you, Doul." the Brucolac snarled through his teeth.

"-And Dry Fall was also in crisis for almost losing its ruler." Doul gestured vaguely toward the Brucolac. "Given the circumstances, we should try to avoid confrontation with each other, which will only weaken both of us. We want to make a peace with Dry Fall. I am sent by the Lover-"

"By the Lover?" the vampir snorted. "That cat's paw...."

"I am sent by the Lover to parley. Think it over, Brucolac."

"It is you who want to parley, Doul. It is YOU." the Brucolac said meaningfully. "You're afraid that I would attack Garwater, are you? You're afraid that I would occuppy Garwater and rule the Armada, are you? In your philosophy, no riding will be allowed to overtop the others."

Doul said levelly, "You should consider my proposition."

"What are you worrying about?" the Brucolac leaned up on his elbows. "Now I have no ability to attack your riding in my condition."

"I mean your cadres and some of your people. You must order them to stop assaulting our people. And vice-versa. There is no time to wreak hatred."

"Yes, of course. Don't hand out punishment on innocent persons. I can give orders." Suddenly the Brucolac lowered his voice. " But don't think I will forget what you had done to me."

Doul shrugged. "You are talking about revenge, right? You think you can revenge...on me?

The Brucolac lurched to his feet. "You bastard..." he bared his teeth, "you day, I will let you taste all the pain I had suffered."

The Brucolac staggered a few steps, his fists clenching, but Doul had turned to go, a smile dancing at the edge of his lips.

A contemptuous, pitying smile.

The smile was all too familiar to the vampir, which he had endured for hundreds of years in High Cromlech.

"One day, day..." the Brucolac hissed indignantly to the empty doorway.

Chapter Text

Armada was attacked by the Witchocracy ironclads near the Firewater Straits. All the citizens armed themselves to defend their home. The border of Garwater and Dry Fall ridings was under hard attack. Uther Doul and the Brucolac fought side by side as they had done many years before.

Witchocracian retreated after one overnight battle. At last the exhausted people could rest for a bit. Bedraggled and bloodstained, Uther Doul sheathed his sword and reached out toward the Brucolac. "Thanks," he said.

The Brucolac shook Doul's hand. But in the next instant, he yanked fairly hard befor Doul turning away, and pricked the tender flesh of Doul's neck with something sharp.

Doul's eyes widened. "Brucolac, what do you..."

He hadn't even finished speaking before falling to his knees. The Brucolac caught him halfway down. "He's been injured." he said to the Garwater cadres coming. "I'll take care of him."

None of the cadres dared to stop him. He picked Doul up in his strong arms and carried him back to the flagship with shocking speed.

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The icy water was suddenly poured over him with a thud.

Uther Doul jerked as his eyes snapped open. Then he realized he could not move, his hands held tightly above his head, his tiptoes just barely able to touch the ground. In front of him, was the Brucolac, his fingers toying with a knife.

He knew perfectly what this might mean.

"Release me, Brucolac." Doul hissed.

The Brucolac stood in front of him, lifting his chin with the tip of the knife. "What makes you think you could order me, Uther? This time, your life is held in my hands. Whatever I want to do-" with a little motion of the tip, a line of blood was forming on Duol's chin. "-I do."

"You’ll regret it, Brucolac." Doul fixed him with a disbelieving look.

"Regret?" the Brucolac pressed the blade at Doul's throat. "Did you regret when you hung me up above the bridge?

"I'm not going to regret it. You taught me that." he made another cut on Doul's collarbone.

The vampir put his lips next to his prisoner's ear and whispered. "I'll do what you'd done to me. I can let you taste death, in a way."

The knife moved lower, cutting through the ties holding the leather armor. Grey armor hit the floor with a smack, with blood-matted pistols and knives, one of them in the Brucola's hand.

The vampir scrutinized his naked upper body, a cold smile on his lips. "I take it you'd never imagine this, fully exposed and completely vulnerable. You're a good soldier, a master of stampfighting, but how are you feeling now?"

With a quick movement of the Brucolac's right hand running down Doul's body, a long slash mark adorned his chest and bottom belly, not deep, but enough to ooze tiniest trickles of blood.

“Ah…,”Doul made a surprised sound self-consciously, but then he bit his lip.

The Brucolac used his finger to wipe the blood off before sucking the blood-covered digit into his mouth.

"Uther Doul's blood. How precious."

The Brucolac brandished the knife at an impossible rate. More and more cuts painted across Doul's chest, abdomen, and upper arms.

"You'll become like the Lovers. How are you feeling? Like it?"

He grabbed Doul firmly by the jaw. "Say it, quick! say you enjoy this, say you are a masochist!"

Doul glared him, a spark of defiance leaping out of his eyes. "You bloody pervert," he said.

The vampir dropped the knife to the floor, grasped a lash, and walked up behind him.

"Since you said it, I will satisfy you."

He whipped him hardly, leaving a red welt on his back. Doul jerked a little but no sound was heard.

The second strike came hastily. Then the third; the fourth; more.

At first, Doul set his teeth tightly, and clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into the palms, but soon the pain grew more and more unbearable. He started to let out tiny, hoarse whimper with every lash.

When the Brucolac finally stopped, Doul slumped against his bonds, unable to hold himself upright。 He gasped loudly for air, the wounds on his back aching。

But the Brucolac wasn’t finished yet. He grabbed a handful of salt
and tossed all onto Doul's body. Doul screamed, throbbing with helpless pain.

Before losing consciousness, with pain-dazed eyes, he saw the Brucolac was walking toward him, holding something in his hands.

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Hung by his arms, Uther Doul lost consciousness, blood and salty water running down his body. The Brucolac lifted his chin with one finger, looking into his face.

It was pale and running with sweat, wet hair clinging to his scalp, eyes closed, lips slightly open. This is the first time the Brucolac ever seen Doul so raw and vulnerable.

The Brucolac was shocked and startled, not by what he had just done but by the lust rising inside of him.

He lusted over Doul.

He knew he was keen on seeing him, accompaning him in a very long time, but attributed it to their admiration. And now he realized that's not all of it. As it was, he was desperate to kiss the man in front of him, to take him, ravish him, make him his and his alone.

Chapter Text

Doul found himself laying in the bed on his stomach when he woke up, the sunlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows.

Now it's day.

He leaned up on his elbows slowly, the scabs on his back aching, and he hissed. He felt thick and sick as he thought back yet to what had happened last night.

He sat up, and examined major wounds. Doul was surprised that his wounds had got treated and covered with ointment.

Did the Brucolac do this? The man who imprisoned him, tortured him? Had he realized his terrible mistake?

No. Impossible. Doul looked down at the shackle around his left ankle. Still, he was being held. The vampir was not here only because it's day.

He stood up, very slowly, staggered towards the table in shackle. He grabbed a glass of water and took a long swig.

Then he moved to the doorway, but was stopped by the shackle at half of the distance. He could only roam in barely three meter radius.

Doul returned to his bed, feeling worn and grim, the welts on his back aching endlessly. He wondered when the Brucolac would show up and if the Lover had felt something wrong.

He was incapable of escaping. He had to wait.

It's night when he wake up again. He saw someone in the room from the corner of his eye, then after a second, he sobered.

The Brucolac stood a little away. Doul had no idea when he came in and how long he had been there.

"Take your cloth off," the Brucolac said.

Doul didn't move. He couldn't understand what the vampir was trying to do. He was clad only in his smudgy trousers and boots now.

"Do you want me to do this?" the Brucolac said again, "take it all off."

Doul stood up, nibbling his lip. He popped off the button, slowly pushing down his trousers and shorts, and pulling off his boots. Because of the shackle, left leg of the trousers wrapped around his ankle. The Brucolac cut away the fabric and kicked them aside.

Doul kept his eyes on the floor all the time. He didn't wince or cover his private part. He didn't want to appear wan and weak.

"Sit," said the Brucolac, pointing at the chair in front of the table.

Doul looked at his face, too impassive to tell what he thought. He sat on the chair, feeling the Brucolac approaching. He tensed and held his breath and waited the torture that followed. Lash, or something else.

When finally the vampir's cold hand touched his back, he couldn't help the tremble. But instead of hurting him, that hand rubbed his skin slowly and softly, spreading the ointment on his wounds.

Once finished, the vampir treated the cuts on the chest. At last the Brucolac handed him a clean cloth. "Dress," he ordered.

It's a black linen shirt, long and loose, the shirttails covering his lower belly and thighs. But only a shirt, there were no underwear, trousers, or coat.

When Doul's eyes searched his face in questioning glances, the door suddenly opened and an underling set a big tray on the table before leaving, without looking at him even once, as if he didn't exist.

Seeing the Brucolac ready to leave, Doul knew he need to say something.

"Brucolac," he stopped him, "you can't keep on doing this to me. Someone will realize what are you up to."

The Brucolac turned to him. "In fact, the Lover just got here tonight. I'm sure he has a clear idea of what's happening. I will not allow our people to offend Garwater as long as you stay here. He accepted it."

A cold smile began to germinate at the corners of his lips. "Uther Doul, you are part of the deal, you are my prisoner. No one will come to save you."

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, the Brucolac doesn't show up very often. The underling sent food and change of clothes every night, then took the dirty tray and used shirt away. The Brucolac'd been here once, for treating his wounds.

All Doul could do was eat and sleep and pace. His wounds were healed now. Perhaps because of the ointment, the scars were not deep.

Almost two weeks later, the Brucolac reappeared. He asked Doul take clothes off and examine his scars as ordered, but this time he let Doul stay undressed.

“On your knees,” the Brucolac said, pressing him hard down.

Finally, thought Doul as he knelt on the floor. He treated him only to continue torturing him. What now? Fire? Waterboarding? Or...

The Vampir moved forward, pressing his crotch against Doul's lips. "Remove my trousers, with your mouth." he said nonchalantly.

Doul paused. So humiliation this time? He opened his mouth and catched one button between his teeth. With the aid of his tongue, it took him a moment to open the first button. Then the second.

The third was the most difficult one, too low and too close to the inner thighs that Doul had to nuzzle the trousers. He tried again and again, the cloth becoming damp with his saliva, and then he was shocked to find the Brucolac's cock swelling. He was almost lapping his scrotum, separated only by thin layers of cloth.

At last all the buttons loosened, the trousers hung on the Brucolac's hips, revealing his already tented shorts. Doul turned his head a little, wanting to avoid more touches, but the Brucolac reached out and cupped the back of his head.

"Go on. With your mouth. "

Doul was silent for several seconds, then opened his mouth, bit down on waistband of the trousers, bent over to pull it from the Brucolac's hips.

After that he pulled the shorts off with his mouth, his face almost touching the Brucolac's erection.

The vampir's prick sprang free, bobbing before Doul's face.

"Open your mouth," Said the Brucolac.

Doul didn't move. He knew exactly what was the Brucolac doing and he hated it.

"Open your mouth," the vampir said again.

Doul looked directly into his unknowable yellow eyes with unmasked loathing.

The Brucolac grabbed Doul hardly by the jaw. "Well, don't forget, you are a bargaining counter and I can still change my mind. " he sneered. "Just do as you're told."

"You bloody pervert Brucolac." Doul said.

"Again, Uther. You told me that I'm a pervert again. What a pity - you would get to tell a third time, a fouth time...OPEN YOUR MOUTH." he growled.

Doul glared at him, then he opened slowly. The Brucolac's hard cock was shoved into his mouth, lightly scraping against his teeth. He wanted to sink his teeth into it, but the Brucolac clenched his jaw, in place.

He was shocked at the entire length and girth of the vampir's cock, which stuffed his mouth so hard that he couldn't scream, couldn't breathe or swallow, his saliva dropping off his chin. The head bumped against his throat with every push, making him on the verge of vomiting reflexively.

The Brucolac retrieved his cock after a few rough thrusts, covered with saliva and precum. And Doul breathed hoarsely as a drowning man, slimy fluid flickering down his face and chest.

After several seconds, the Brucolac clenched his jaw again, initiating another round of torture.

In the fouth round, the Brucolac thrust faster and deeper. The reflexive contraction of Doul's throat fueled him further. He started pounding into him as hard as he pleased, his balls slapping on Doul's lips. Then suddenly, the Brucolac gasped, his whole body stiffening as he came, ejaculating into Doul's mouth.

Doul whimpered, hands pushing at the Brucolac's thighs to avoid swallowing the cum. But it's no use. His mouth was filled with hot liquid sliding down his throat.

The Brucolac withdrew his flaccid cock until Doul swallowed every pulse of semen. As soon as he let go, Doul bent down and stuffed his fingers in his mouth, trying to scrape the semen off. The Brucolac swung at Doul's groin hardly enough to knock him off his feet.

"How dare you!" the vampir hissed.

Dou curled, semen and saliva dripping off his chin. He didn't move, awaiting the inevitable punishment.

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds.

There was no sound, other than Doul's low breathy voice.

Then, there was the sound of scuffling feet, and a slamming door.

Only Doul was left alone, crouching on the floor.

Chapter Text

In the small hours of the third morning, the Brucolac eased open the door to Doul's cell. The darkness of the room had no effect on vampirs. He stepped forward, moved around the chair and stood next to the bed.

Doul was still in a deep sleep. His breath was steady and tranquil, chest rising and falling in a gentle cadence. This man seemed so open and vulnerable without his armor and ability to intimidate — all because of him.

Armada had passed into warmer water, but it was a cold night. Doul curled under the blanket, just his head and right arm visible. There were three little buds of metal in the heel of his right hand, the nodes connected the possible sword with the clockwork engine.

The Brucolac reached out to stroke the metal buds. He wondered how Doul embedded them in, a man who believed in nobody but himself, it must have been bloody and aching. An image flashed into his mind: Doul scored deep gashes in his own wrist. What a cruel man.

He couldn't help glancing at Doul, and saw a pair of dark eyes staring back.

The Brucolac caught Doul's wrist in a firm grip. "You're awake," he said, and switched on the gaslight with his other hand. In the bright light, the Brucolac could see disgust, contempt and dread written all over Doul's face.

“You are afraid." the Brucolac said. "You're afraid of being lashed, or afraid I might use your mouth? "

He could feel him shaking. "Or hatred?" he went on, "You should hate the Lovers, the Shaddler elders and the Curhouse council just like you hate me. They all know how much you mean to Armada, but none of them, none of them dared to ask me to free you."

The Brucolac tightened his grip on the struggling wrist. "They engaged in defending themselves, making profits, and some were keen to betray you. Guess how many of them were jealous of you, eh?"

He tossed back the blanket with his other hand, revealing Doul's body. Doul was in the thin shirtsleeves, his chest and legs exposed.

"They were jealous of your power, your knowledge, your sword, your charm, you …"

"Don't try to make mischief, Brucolac." Doul said at last in that beautiful, arrogant voice.

"Make mischief? It's the truth. They would celebrate your miserable situation, wouldn't they? Once they know you were whipped, forced to give me a blowjob, and … raped."

Doul's eyes snapped open in shock. Before he could react, the Brucolac had bound his wrists and chained to the bedpost.

"Don’t do this." he said with equanimity, but a slight shiver of apprehension betrayed him.

"Too late, Uther," the Brucolac looked down at him. "You had not left me alive when you hung me up above the deck. You had not, Uther Doul, I would not either."

He yanked Doul's shirt open, exposing that body covered in pink welts.

"You're mine. Mine."

And he reached out his right hand to Doul's abdominal region.

"Don't touch me!" Doul screamed, his hands pulling at the ropes, his body curling up with the metallic clink of the chains around his ankle.

The Brucolac griped Duol's calves, pushes his thighs apart, and pressed him into the bed.

"Stop fighting me. Maybe I could try to treat you slowly and delicately. Or, I could torture you into begging me to kill you and rape you. Are you wise enough to understand the difference?"

Doul glared at him, eyes flaring and chest heaving with anger, as if he would slice the vampir in pieces whenever he could. But finally he closed his eyes and sighed exhaustedly.

"Logical choice." the Brucolac said knowingly.

He let his hands reach down, gripping Doul by the back of his knees, pushing them up to his chest to expose the most private parts.

He stared at the sight before him, a small smile playing on his face: curly hair, not bushy, surrounded his lovely cock, which was soft, warm, silky-smooth and a little satiny pink.

He almost smirked when he thought about the legend of Uther Doul's size in Armada. What's most surprising was not its size, but its texture. Like a boy, he thought.

Then the tight pucker of his anus, surprisingly, pink and slender. The Brucolac couldn't help touching it with his finger.

Doul yelped. Apparently, he had no experience of dealing with situations like this.

It stirred a intense, irrational lust inside the vampir. He explored every soft silky inch, his hands learning and conquering the pubescent furrow between Doul's legs, stroking the column of flesh from base to crown. Doul shivered slightly, letting out strangled whimpers.

The Brucolac picked up the small jars of salve on the table, dipped his fingertips into it, then penetrate Doul's body. Doul stiffened and his muscle grasped at the two fingers quite involuntarily.

"Relax, Uther. I don’t want this to hurt." he caressed the inside of his thighs.

But this seemed useless. The muscles still clenched very tightly around the digits. The Brucolac tried to thrust in measured, slow movements that allowed him to coat the inner skin thoroughly with lube. It took a while for him to loosen the surrounding ring of muscle. Then he withdrew his fingers to apply more lube to it and re-inserted.

Slowly, the Brucolac twisted his fingers about, raptly watching every look on Doul’s face. He was pressing and stretching the trembling walls after his fingers full seated. Suddenly, Doul twitched, groaning and sucking deep breaths in through his nose.

He added another finger, thrusting slowly and lazily to give him some time to adjust. It started to get easier, and he sped his pace somewhat. Doul began gasping as the fingers found his prostate and massaged it relentlessly. He shivered uncontrollably, threw his head back. "Ehh… " He moaned.

The Brucolac stimulated the most sensitive part repeatedly until Doul thrashed beneath him and his opening clenched around the fingers.

He unfastened his trousers, gripping his rock-hard manhood and pulling it out, slicking it with an acceptable amount of lube, then he hold Doul by the back of his knees, lowered himself over the other man as his crown penetrated him.

"Stop, please..." Doul sobbed, his voice shaky and rough.

"Shh, Shh. It's all right. Relax." The Brucolac panted. He longed to bury his solid length balls deep, to thrust violently, but he didn't really want to hurt Doul. He bent slightly, caressing Doul’s cheek and chest gently.

After a moment, the Brucolac felt the tension ease, he began pressing further in. He pushed in to a full inch then pulled out, and swayed back in after applying more lubricant. Inch by inch, it was fully within Doul's body.

He did not move, but brought his hand down, stroking the ring of muscle: stretched and filled by his cock.

Then, slowly and teasingly, he began to thrust. He angled himself just right, hitting Doul's prostate with every movement, making him moan over and over. Doul himself hadn't even realized how erotic his voice was.

The Brucolac picked up the pace. He thrust with a determined intensity, smacking his hips against Doul's rump forcefully. And Doul was trembling like breakers, whispering meaningless words.

The Brucolac embraced him, kissing his sweaty chest and pink nubs. Uther Doul belonged to no one else but him. Only he could fuck him unconscious.

Gradually the Brucolac lost control of his movements, flogging Doul with the full force of his desire. Suddenly, the vampir's whole body went rigid as climax arrowed through him, his cock shooting spasms of pleasure through the other man's body.

Several minutes later, the Brucolac leaned up and withdrew fully, come and blood leaking from Doul's opening. He just hurt him.

He looked at Doul and was shocked to find tears dripping down his cheeks, then he realized Doul hadn't get aroused all the time.

He raped him. In that instant, the Brucolac wondered if he himself had been mad.

Arranging his clothing, he rose, wiped the slimy liquid from Doul’s thighs with a towel, and spread the ointment on his torn skin.

The Brucolac pressed a soft kiss against Doul's shut eyelid before he left the room.

And Doul, lying still and limply, bitted his lips hard enough to draw blood.

Chapter Text


To Doul's relief, the Brucolac didn't appear the next day. He never wanted to see the vampir who just hurt him.

But he knew he was watching him. That night, the underling brought food and books as the Brucolac requested obviously.

He scanned the list of titles and noticed that most of them were about the Ghosthead Empire.

What did the Brucolac mean? Was he flattering me? Doul thought.

He sat on the bed after dinner, flipped open a history project for the Ghosthead Empire, then set the book back down fifteen minutes later.

How trite. There was nothing he didn't already know. No one else was knowledgeable about the ancient civilization than himself. That's why he could master the Possible Sword.

He opened another book, a fantasy fiction based on the history of the Ghosthead Empire. It might be fun.

He read a dozen chapters until he fell asleep. Late in the night he woke up, noting that the gaslight was out and the book was on the table.

Someone had been here.

The Brucolac? It sent cold shivers down Doul' back to think that the vampir came in and raped him the previous evening while he was asleep.

But this time he did nothing.

Doul realized that he had not anticipated the Brucolac.

The next evening, the Brucolac appeared early and threw some clothes to his bed. "Put these on. We're going out now."

Going out? Doul looked at him, startled. And the Brucolac waited, silent.

Doul looked at the clothes: white dress shirt, shorts, brown cotton trousers, black boots, and long suede coat.

He pulled off his oversized shirt, then piece by piece, got dressed. To his own surprise, he didn't feel a deep sense of shame on being naked in front of the vampir.

After he got dressed, the Brucolac went up to him and bound Doul’s wrists together.

"Just in case." he said, "But I’m sure you won’t run off. Your sword's kept in a location only I know where it is. If you disobey me, it will be jettisoned into the sea."

Doul's expression shifted between disgust and fury.

Grinning wickedly, the Brucolac grabbed Doul by the arms and led him toward the door. Outside, the underling who had been bringing food was standing and watching them go.

Doul couldn't imagine where the Brucolac was taking him, or what was he going to do. He could now do nothing but follow.

They turned several corners and ascended the stair to the Uroc's main deck.

The salt and moist wind brushed across Doul's face. He had missed this so much. And the recurring muttering of the waves. And the gently bobbing lights.

The Brucolac kept leading him across the poop deck. When they stepped onto the rope bridge that descended from the Uroc to the ship beside it, the Brucolac pulled Doul's hood over his head, blocking his face from view.

But it wasn't necessary. They were nearing the haunted quarter. Those who happened to be nearby hurried away as they recognized the vampir.

They came aboard a clipper, where the haunted quarter met Dry Fall. Uther Doul and the Brucolac stood at the back of the ship, the outer edge of Armada. Beyond that was the endless sea.

The Brucolac eased the hood off Doul's head and pointed at the distant ocean. "Look."

One mile away, the light of torches and gas jets illuminated the curve of a jutting cliff, on which were several enormous buildings, deserted and abandoned, bats flying in and out through the numerous cracks and holes in the walls.

Doul knew that the island was one of the Armada coal bases at the eastern rim of the Swollen Ocean. Coal bed here was buried shallowly and easy to mine. There was a dozen mining dredgers and transport ships working near the shore.

Who knew what race had lived on the island, and how they built these enormous stone bricks before disappearing. Nonetheless, it's these weatherbeaten bricks that made the cliffs look like a sort of High Cromlech.

It's a shared confidence between them.

Doul leaned over the railing and watched the mountainous silhouettes. Even though he had traveled around the world, and even though he had thought of Armada as his own home, these ruins always recalled him of High Cromlech and his youth.

Even the air laden with fumes and soot reeked of more freedom than the salty air in the confined cabin.

It took him a long time to realize that the Brucolac was holding him. Doul stirred, but the vampir didn't release.

"To keep you from falling. Rails rust badly. " he said.

"Since when do you care about me?" Doul didn't turn up his volume. "If I drown here, would you be satisfied?"

He felt the vampir's arms tighten around his waist.

"You're wrong, Uther." The Brucolac said. "I don't want you to die. That's the last thing I expect to see …"

"Then what do you think you're doing? Torturing me? Taking pleasure? Using me for sex? Why don't you just kill me …"

Before he could finish, the Brucolac covered his mouth with his own, forked tongue licking Doul's palate.

Doul struggled to get away, but failed. The Brucolac pressed him against the port railings, rusted metal creaking.

"If I really did hate you, why did I kiss you?" the vampir said. "And why did I bring you here?"

"Because you're a pervert. Everything you had ever done was to torture me …"

"You wouldn't understand, would you?" The Brucolac interrupted. "You are human being, but you're more inhuman than vampir. You don't even know what love is, or the complexity of it."

Doul sneered, shook his head. "Whipping and rape are not love. Never."

The Brucolac grabbed Doul by his collar, looking ready to spit fire.

Just then, the rusted metal railings could no longer support their weight and snapped with a crackling. Doul fell backwards, thirty feet down, the dark water swinging. The Brucolac moved with astonishing speed, holding the remnant of railings with one arm, grabbing Doul around his waist with the other, yanking him back on to the deck.

He pinned shocked Doul against the rusty wall of the bulkhead, stroking his cheek with his right hand cut by the broken railings. "I can't let you die. I will not allow you to die. You are mine."

Face stained by the dark blood, Doul closed his eyes, sighing. "This means nothing to me."

"I don't expect you to understand."

The Brucolac took his bound hands, leading him to the Uroc. Back in the cell, he untied the ropes and wrapped the shackle around his ankle. He lifted the recovered hand before Doul's face.

"See? I would never be hurt, either physically or mentally.. But you..." he placed a hand on Duol's neck and caressed his throat, " are so frail."

I can wait, he thought. I can live with that. And you are just my prisoner.

Chapter Text


Doul was allowed to keep the clothes, so he could finally discard the thin linen. He worn the white shirt and brown trousers, barefoot most of the time. The suede long coat was neatly folded on the table.

The Brucolac hadn't appeared in the following two days. Only the underling periodically brought food and cleaned the cell. Doul never spoken to him, not to mention asking about his name.

On the evening of the third day the Brucolac reappeared. He ordered Doul to remove his clothing and kneel on the bed with his chest against the sheets, arse sticking up in the air, and hands bound behind his back. Then the vampir fucked him from behind, hard and rough. It hurt. Doul bit his lips, only hoping it would end soon.

As he'd expected, the Brucolac came after a few long, ruthless thrusts, gasping and body pressing hard against his back. His cock jerked and filled Doul. Several minutes later, the Brucolac pulled out.

Doul had thought it's over, and the Brucolac would step out the door and leave him alone. He was wrong. The vampir didn't leave, he curled his arm around Doul's waist, pulling him into his lap, then he wrapped an arm around Doul's waist and gripped his cock with his slippery right hand.

"Not aroused, eh? Do you have some kind of sex-phobia?" the Brucolac rubbed the silky flesh, sneering.

"None of your business!" Doul grated through clenched teeth.

"Ah, why not do a check-up?" said the Brucolac, pushing two fingers into Doul's abused hole without warning, and rubing up against his prostate. The man shuddered uncontrollably.

The Brucolac laughed low in his throat. He grasped Doul's cock, stroking from base to crown and back down, until his fingers rubbed his scrotum. After several more strokes, Doul was aroused.

“Well, you're not as nonchalant as you let on." the Brucolac whispered into Doul's ear. "You are either a hypocrite or a whore pretending to be a saint. But I think - " again he brushed his fingers against Doul's prostate, laughing as the man arched his back. " - I think, you are both."

The Brucolac stroked faster. He sneered as Doul was erect, his velvety prick throbbing and weeping, the rosy head shining with pre-come. "You know nothing about your inescapable charm," said the Brucolac. "Pity. Look at you! How beautiful you are." Doul gasped when the Brucolac flicked a finger against the sensitive tip.

"No, please, no - Ah!" Doul cried out as the vampir tightened his fingers around the head of his cock. "Please don't ... please ... "

The vampir picked up the pace, repeatedly massaging and tickling the man's shaft and the sweet spot. Doul's chest started rising and falling wildly, his hands twisted desperately in the ropes, his breath were short and raw and anguished.

The Brucolac wrapped his arms firmly around Doul's torso, his eyes focused on the man's expression carefully as his steady fingers changed their angle and pace.

A few minutes later, Doul suddenly cried out, arching his body up, all of his muscles trembling. With a strangulated gasp a gush of fluid painted his abdomen and sheets in thick white stripes.

The vampir continued to massage the softening length, until Doul's oversensitive body started jerking uncontrollably. He released him, watched the man collapsed on the bed.

Shivering, panting, and sweating, he was just a exposed and helpless man, not the apathetic and callous Uther Doul. His eyes unfocused and dazed, and his lips red and swollen.

And the Brucolac was obsessed with this, the most beautiful thing of mankind, which he had lost centuries ago, forever.

Chapter Text

It was late evening when the Brucolac entered the cell and was surprised by the light. Doul usually slept at this time, but tonight unreasonably, he left the light on.

Doul himself crouched in the corner of the bed. He was quite unmoving when the brucolac approached, as though he was actually asleep.

The Brucolac pulled him up right. Doul, however, didn't resist. He was as limp as a rag against him, head lying on the vampir's shoulder.

"Good boy," commented the Brucolac teasingly.

He tore off his white shirt, hands sliding up to the small of Doul's back.

Until this moment, he'd just noticed how warm the man was. The normal temperature of the human body was much higher than that of vamipr. They were always warm for him.

But Doul was awfully too warm. The Brucolac cupped Doul's cheek in his palm, making him look up at him.

Uther Doul, the man who had struggled to keep his composure and dignity, slumped weakly against the wampir, unable to hold himself upright. He was paler than usual and his breaths was quick and short.

"Uther?" The Brucolac asked in concern. There’s no response.

He felt his forehead.

Hot to the touch.

"Uther?" Frowning, the Brucolac noticed the untouched dinner plate.

Doul had a fever, obviously. But when, and how? He was all right last night...Oh. The vampir's gut tightened an instant.

So it's all because of him. He kidnapped him, torture him, rape him. He had done these until the man broke down.

It didn't give the vampir any pleasure, and this was never what he wanted. He wanted his soul, his surrender. Not destroying his human body.

The Brucolac divested Doul of his creased, damp shirt when Doul's pushing ineffectually against the viampir's chest. “No... please no... leave me alone...”

"What do you think I'm doing? Raping a patient?" he said testily.

The Brucolac unclasped the chain around Doul's ankle and wrapped the man in the sheet and the suede coat. Then lifting the patient, he kicked open the door and stepped into the corridor, where the vampir and human guards were stationed. They knew precisely who was the man curled up in their leader's arms and what had happend in this cell, but none of them displayed any sign of surprise. They didn't even blink, as if the corridor was empty.

Walking through the dim-lit corridor, up the switchback stairs, the Brucolac strode onto the upper deck of the Uroc, where the air grew crisper and the rooms were more comfortable.

It was a luxurious room the vampir'd chosen - hardwood floors, plush carpets, a huge canopied bed. He tossed Doul onto the bed before turning and walking away.

A few minutes later, he went back inside. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the Brucolac stripped Doul out of the sheet and clothes, then pulled the duvet up over the man.

Uther Doul made no reaction the whole time. He was awake, and sensed the Brucolac's presence, nothing more. The fever had deprived him of his abilities to move and speak. Meandering in and out of twilight consciousness, Doul felt something cool and soft press against his cheeks, ease the pain. With a small sigh, he leaned into it.

The vampir was stunned by the man's involuntary movement. Something fluttered inside him.

He loved the man. This realization depressed the Brucolac. That's why he tortured him, humiliate him - all because he had already understood a long time ago that he couldn't have his feelings returned, and only in these ways could he have him.