Chapter Text
Tonight is finally the night that Guillermo has been waiting for all month; the night where he gets to dress in his sultriest outfit and cover himself in fake blood (important to note that it is in fact fake) and blur the lines between scary and sexy- for what is a vampire if not somebody who makes the blood drain from your face and rush down to your dick? Although, he would like to scare the shit out of some people. After all, that is what he’s getting paid for.
If he wanted, he could’ve been a vampire for any of the other 30 nights he’s been doing this, but he wanted to go out with a bang for the finale and really pull out all the stops- which just so happens to include custom-fitted fangs.
Luckily he had done the initial molding and fitting last night after work, which was a fucking hassle that he’s happy to have gotten right on the second try, but he still peers into the vanity mirror to make sure he has the positioning right before popping them into place and hissing at his reflection. One of the few upsides to being a human is being able to check in a mirror if you’re still ridiculously hot. He is.
Guillermo hums the chorus of I Never Told You What I Do for a Living as he rummages through his Jansport- not really finding the appeal of sorting and folding all of his clothes into the available drawers just to unpack them after a month- and grins triumphantly, fangs poking at his lower lip, as he pulls out his outfit for the evening: a low neck renaissance blouse that’s sheer enough to question if it qualifies for a shirt, and tight leather leggings. A classic vampire outfit that he’s planning on putting his own little twist on; classic doc martens that he’s saved up for instead of his usual converse.
Putting the pants on is a bit of a struggle, he has to jump and pull and hope that he won’t be needing to put them back on for at least a few hours, but finally, they’re on and surprisingly pretty comfortable after he does a few more hops and squats to ensure they’re situated correctly. He again looks in the mirror, having to tiptoe to see more than the upper half of his body, and marvels at how the pants pronounce his ass and thighs. Maybe he’ll look up tips on putting them on so that he can incorporate them into his regular wardrobe if he looks this good.
Next is the shirt, which is pretty straightforward; he’s able to pull it over his head like a t-shirt and finds that the neckline only goes down to his chest which would normally be plenty low enough for him, but he’s not going for normal- he’s going for ‘holy shit that guy is hot!’ and so he unbuttons a few buttons and reassesses. Still not low enough. Deciding to hell with it- yet another benefit of being human- he unbuttons it all the way, crossing the corners, and tucks the ends of the blouse into his pants, smoothing over any wrinkles even though there really aren’t any considering he ironed it before leaving that evening.
Already feeling like a million bucks, but knowing he’s about to look and feel even better, he glances over at the vanity, and then over at his boots, debating which one to do first. Shoes feel like the last step to complete the whole process, so he pulls out the vanity bench again, sits down, and sets to work pulling out fake blood and make-up that he’s probably had for too long but works fine all the same.
Black pencil eyeliner is the first thing he grabs, drawing a thin line over his lash line and then smudging it with his finger. Waterline comes next and he looks up as he blindly applies the makeup, hoping that he doesn’t stab himself in the eyeball. All goes well and finally, he drips fake blood over his chin and lips, then splatters it over his shirt and chest, turning the white fabric a crimson red. A matching red lipstick is the last step and he quickly swipes it over his lips. Perfect.
Toccata and Fugue in D minor begins to play as Guillermo’s alarm goes off, phone vibrating the vanity reminding him that he has a meager five minutes before his shift starts. He fumbles to put the lid on the lipstick, getting it on the second try after taking a deep breath to collect himself. With the makeup somewhat put away, he reaches for his boots, thankfully they’re pre-laced so he simply has to slide his foot in (teal cat ankle socks already on of course) and tie a double-knotted bow before he’s all set.
One last cursory glance around the room as he stands in the doorway- there’s still makeup scattered and a few stray drops of fake blood from when he spilled on the vanity, his t-shirt and jeans thrown on the back of the couch, three-quarters drank cup of chamomile tea left on the coffee table that wasn’t even worth the weird taste for the lack of help it did to relax him. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s his last night, he has probably two minutes to get to his station, and no one even comes back here regardless. It’ll be fine, he tells himself for what must be the umpteenth time and flicks off the light switch, locking the door behind him.
Old houses tended to creak. Settle, shift, whatever you wanted to call it- Laszlo unfortunately often settled on “clapping skin” which didn’t make any sense for a house, but things often didn’t with him- this was definitely the case for the gothic residence that was being used as the setting for the haunted house. Built in 1862, although there’s no deed that Guillermo can find so he just has to take the librarian’s word for it. Considering it’s supposedly two hundred years old, Guillermo’s really not surprised by how loud it is. That doesn’t mean it didn’t creep him the fuck out.
Descending down the stairs- he made it explicit before he even started working there that all of it was to be on the first floor, and with Sean’s help, they were even able to build a ramp to put over the stairs for the entrance. Guillermo wanted it to be accessible for everyone, even if that meant watching eleven carpentry videos on YouTube on his days off- which groan with every step, he meets up with Nadja in front of the front door. Through the stained glass, he can already see a long line, which is great! Tonight is supposed to be their show stopper, the night that has everyone waiting with bated breath for next year.
“Is Laszlo already in his position?” Guillermo asks, slightly confused because every other time he would wait with Nadja to wish her and Guillermo good luck before the performance.
Nadja tsks, and smooths down her skirt despite it being perfectly pristine. Nervous habit. “Said he couldn’t wait to ‘scare the peni off of some fools,’” She imitates her husband, a truly awful British accent that’s honestly not too far from how he sounds.
“You should get a voice acting gig in the off-season,”
“Should I?” Nadja peers down at him in doubt, the stiletto heels she wears as a greeter only accentuating their height difference.
“No,” Guillermo says, briefly tip-toeing to give her a quick peck on the cheek and leaving behind a dark red lipstick mark that matches her gothic makeup surprisingly well.
She returns the gesture, although her matte lipstick doesn’t feel like it leaves a mark which is most likely for the better- vampires probably look less scary when they’re covered in kisses. “If you see my sweet syrup pie be sure to kiss him as well so that we can match!”
“Will do,” he says, even though he doubts that he’ll see him before closing. “Good luck, Nadja!”
“Good luck, Guillermo!”
The click-clack of Guillermo’s boots on hardwood echoes throughout the narrow hallway as he leaves Nadja and draws closer to his destination for the night. After walking for a few minutes he draws to an end, his only option is to go through one of two rooms. The one on the left is closed by a door, the only room on the first floor to do so but is accompanied by a button on the wall that allows the door to swing open when pressed. On the door reads a sign: ‘WARNING - INTENSE FLASHING LIGHTS’ and in slightly smaller text under that, ‘ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK, ROOM LOOPS THROUGH TO THE NEXT’. An extra attraction for those unaffected by strobing, but not one that would take away from the tour for someone unable to go through it.
Entering the dimly lit room on the right, Guillermo takes out his phone to use as a flashlight- the first night he hadn’t had the foresight and tripped on a plastic humerus; the scrapes on his knees had only taken a week to heal but he still hasn’t had the time to sew up those pants, a far worse feat- eyeing any potential tripping hazards and manages to keep himself upright as he finds his coffin on the far side of the room. Luckily it’s low to the ground and he has no trouble situating himself inside, the perfect height so that he doesn’t have to crouch or have gaping space above his head, the width settled perfectly on either side of him and for a macabre moment, it seems like it was almost made for him.
Soon enough, he hears distant screams and footsteps approaching the room. Out of nowhere, the electric fireplace switches on, roaring with plenty of light to show the various coffins situated in the room, but not enough to see that some of them are filled- a guessing game of empty, prop cadaver, or real-life person?
Guillermo knows it’s time when choral music begins to play, small children chanting against harsh organs that flickers on and off from the staticky speakers.
Someone gasps and sneakers squeak as the owner comes to a sudden stop at the sight before them before slowly entering the room. Chains rattle- the Guide if Guillermo remembers correctly- urging people to move on.
Sudden pounding fills the air and claws against wood, scratching like no human should be able to do. “Help me!” a voice begs, muffled by a heavy lid. “Please! I’m not dead, I’m not dead, please let me out!” They grow more and more frantic with the desperation that only someone who knows they’re left for dead has, or someone who works for the best haunted house in Staten Island. It sends a chill down Guillermo’s spine, even though he and Sean had checked several times that the lids were easily able to be kicked off if needed.
A man approaches Guillermo, and it’s hard to see in the lack of lighting but it appears that he’s wearing a plush red cloak, embroidered with some kind of intricate design that is definitely too hard to make out in the dark. He hasn’t glanced over and probably doesn’t even suspect that he’s waiting for him. One, two, three seconds pass until the man walks in front of the foot of the coffin and Guillermo lurches forward, letting out an ear-piercing scream that’s rivaled only by the man jumping and echoing a hoarse yell.
“Fucking guy!” He yells, and Guillermo’s supposed to be in character so he doesn’t laugh at his startled expression, even though it’s so tempting. The man draws his cloak tighter over his shoulders before peering into the coffin, his eyes lighting up in delight. So much for scaring the shit out of him. “Gerard?” He asks, in a vaguely eastern European accent. “Is that really you?” Guillermo is confused, the only Gerard he knows is Gerard Way, and he can’t even ask what the hell he’s talking about before the crowd pushes him forward and out of the room.
In total, the tour is roughly twelve minutes long, and that’s how much time Guillermo has to think about what happened before the next round starts. There are lots of people named Gerard, and Guillermo supposes it’s not too far off from his name, yes it fucking is, his mind supplies unhelpfully. He’s probably reading too much into it but just to put his mind at ease he texts Nadja: there was this guy dressed far too nicely on the tour just now, he called me Gerard and tried engaging me in conversation. That’s weird, right?
Immediately after hitting send Nadja starts typing, the three dots appearing, disappearing, and then appearing once again. Eh, he must’ve mistaken you for someone else. After all, you’re not the only hot piece of ass working here.
Responding with a laughing emoji and feeling slightly less weirded out, Guillermo goes on Tumblr and scrolls, not really taking any posts in but using it as both a distraction and something to pass the time. Once again, people approach indicating that it’s time and Guillermo hastily shoves his phone into his pocket. Of course, it goes off right as he puts it away, the buzz vibrating the entire coffin and Guillermo startles, but thankfully he doesn’t make a noise. Just his luck that he got a text right after his break ended and since he can’t check his notifications he hopes it was nothing important.
He zones off, not paying attention until the man returns, placing a large hand on his shoulder and saying “You know it’s nighttime, right? You don’t have to be in your coffin, Ray. Or was it Mikey?” He trails off, lost in thought and not fucking moving forward as he should.
Guillermo has the grace not to kick him even though it’d be completely warranted- you had to sign a contract before entering that you wouldn’t touch the actors. Did he really not remember that? “Don’t touch me,” he says, much more civil than he feels, wrenching his shoulder back as far as he can in his confines to throw the guy off. It works, and he narrows his eyes in annoyance, whisking his cloak around him before leaving. After he exits it's weirdly quiet, and Guillermo realizes he didn’t even get to scare anyone in his distraction. The next round is the last, so he’ll have to go all out to make up for it.
The third time around, Guillermo expects him. Glancing over the edge of the coffin, he sees that he’s about fifteen feet away and he puts his plan into action. Willing tears to gather in his eyes- which is surprisingly easy when you imagine chopping onions in great detail- he begins sobbing, greatly exaggerating his wails, and throws his head from side to side, kicking the coffin so that it rattles. “It hurts! He said it wouldn’t hurt but it’s agonizing!”
The man hurries to his side, just as Guillermo thought he would, and Guillermo grabs his collar, pulling him close to him. This close, he’s able to see the man’s tan skin that almost looks gray in the lighting, his pushed-back dark hair and even darker eyes staring back at him in bewilderment. The design on his cloak that he was unable to discern earlier is made up of tiny embroidered golden daggers that Guillermo thinks might look a bit like houndstooth from far away, at least in decent lighting. “I have a feeling I already know, but I’ll ask anyway. Were you going to call me Frank right now?”
He shakes his head fast and then seems to think better of it and nods instead. “Is that not your name?”
Does he seriously look like a Frank? “No! I’m Guillermo.”
“Guillermo,” He says, stretching it out like it has eight syllables and ending it so softly like he’s placing great care to be gentle with it. It’s strange to think it since he was annoyed at the guy not even thirty seconds ago, but it’s like his name was made to be on his tongue as if it were a prayer. “Nice to meet you,” He grins, canines significantly longer than the rest of his teeth Guillermo can’t help but notice as he throws himself back and into the crowd.
“I didn’t get your name!” Guillermo yells after him but it’s too late- the man is already gone.
~~
After his shift is over Guillermo makes his way to the backyard- the meeting place for the past thirty nights to discuss how everything went and if they needed to do anything different for the next night. Tonight is the last night, so he figures they’ll reflect over a drink or two and prepare for the inevitable day of cleaning that’s to come. He opens the side door with a click, gravel crunching under his boots as he rounds the corner and blinks in surprise at the scene before him. He rubs his eyes, black eyeliner coming away on his hand but nothing has changed. Not a dream then?
On the patio swing sits Nadja and that fucking guy from the tour with Laszlo’s head in his lap, his legs swung over Nadja’s like they’re all good friends. What the fuck? Guillermo stands in front of them, feeling very out of place as he tries to comprehend just what is going on.
“Gizmo, ol’ chap!” Laszlo exclaims like he just saw him, previously too caught up in getting his hair played with by the guy who wouldn’t leave Guillermo alone all night. Did Nadja and Lazslo have a third that he didn’t know about? “Meet Nandor, he and I used to get along very well, if you know what I mean,” He says with a wink.
“Oh, he knows, darling! I texted him earlier,”
Ah, so that’s what the text was he realized. How had he still not checked his phone?
“Yes,” Nandor starts, and Guillermo thinks that it’s a very fitting name for him. “I was on my way to visit Laszlo when I saw you and remembered all the fun times we had together forty years ago!”
That’s… a lot to unpack. “First of all, I’ve never met you as evidenced by you thinking I was the entirety of My Chemical Romance. Secondly, I’m not even forty years old!”
Nandor frowns at this. “I suppose you are right,” he admits. “But to be fair you look like a very attractive man that I had intercourse with last time I was here! If you wanted we could still do that.”
Was he being hit on? It’s the strangest fucking way he can imagine it happening, but he finds he’s not against it.
“It’s either you or me, old chap,” Laszlo adds and Guillermo suddenly remembers it’s not just the two of them out there.
Nadja squeals in excitement, and exclaims “I get to watch if you fuck Laszlo!”
Nope. Absolutely not. Guillermo grabs Nandor by the sleeve off the swing, not really caring that Nadja has to catch Laszlo to prevent him from falling off. “You’re coming with me, Nandor.”
~~
Light captures Nandor’s right fang as he grins during a pause in his story, casting a reflection that practically invites Guillermo to admire, and who is he to refuse? For all it’s worth, he could simply be too far to tell for certain, and certainly, he could use it as an excuse to close the (admittedly small) gap between them, because it’s definitely a normal thing to tell the weird hot guy you’ve invited into your dressing room that there’s no visible glue or crease between his fangs and real teeth, or that they’re perfectly color matched- most people got the shockingly white fangs, garish against their natural color-, or that they look dangerously sharp. Nandor wasn’t very subtle about this being a hookup, even though they’ve been here for twenty fucking minutes without him making a move, and Guillermo considers asking if he thinks the glue that he used to apply the plastic fangs would be strong enough to stay in place if he bit him.
“What brand are your fangs?” Guillermo starts, interrupting the tale of a horse to hopefully jumpstart the night without coming on too strong. Niceties first, then maybe they can move on to more fun things. “I’ve never gotten Scarecrow to look so realistic.”
“Scarecrow? No, these are vampire fangs,”
Guillermo blinks and takes a second to decide how to respond. “Obviously scarecrows don’t have fangs, it’s just the brand that I favor. If you don’t know the brand then where’d you buy them?”
Nandor scoffs like the question is utterly ridiculous, and Guillermo wonders if he’s aware that he runs his tongue under the point before answering. Are they sharp enough to cut? “I did not buy these, they are simply my teeth. I would think that you of all people” he gestures dramatically at Guillermo as if there might be confusion on who the you is, “would know that vampires have fangs.”
Passive aggressive much? “Vampire, huh? I don’t believe you.” It’s challenging to resist giggling when Nandor turns towards him so suddenly, mouth agape like it’s the first time someone has called him out on his bullshit. “If you really are a vampire then prove it.” Guillermo pushes his collar to the side, superfluous since his entire chest and most of his stomach are exposed, and trails his fingertips over his neck, stopping just below his collarbone. “Bite me.”
Gears seem to turn in Nandor’s mind as he scrutinizes Guillermo, like any moment he’ll call it off and say it was a trick as if Guillermo would ever joke about that. “No,” he says after a moment. “You humans always say ‘oh Mr. Nandor the Relentless, please bite me and drain me of my life force!’” the Relentless? “And then I do only to get an ‘ouch, you drained me of all of my life force!’ in return. It’s infuriating!” Nandor, supposedly the Relentless, throws his hands up in exasperation only to promptly fold them over his chest, and pouts.
Once again, Guillermo is at a loss. Does he comfort him? ‘Sorry that no one takes you seriously. If you’re not going to fuck me then please leave my room.’ He’d never been the best at offering his sympathies, especially after being in a coffin for three hours. Antagonizing is his next option. Probably not the smartest choice, but maybe he’ll have a hell of a story to tell Nadja and Laszlo as they pack up in the morning. “Well, if you’re not really a vampire-”
Guillermo doesn’t get to finish his sentence, doesn’t even see the guy move as he’s suddenly knocked back into the couch, one hand on his shoulder, the other tracing the same design on his neck that he had traced only moments prior on his own to entice Nandor. There’s a knee between his leather-clad thighs and already he’s straining in the stupidly tight pants he chose to wear that night and he’s too tempted to rock his hips against Nandor, whether to relieve the pressure or gain more, he’s not really sure. He’s effectively trapped, and it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Are you scared?” Nandor whispers, and it’s a silly question, but his cool breath against Guillermo’s bare throat sends shivers down his spine and he can’t help but tip his head to the side to grant him more access.
“Should I be?”
Instead of answering with words, Nandor places a soft, practically chaste kiss on Guillermo’s skin that doesn’t match with how he’s being pinned, and he opens his mouth to question it when Nandor nips hard, making Guillermo keen even though he’s almost positive that it was only blunt teeth.
“Shh, you’re okay.” Nandor’s lips leave Guillermo’s neck just enough for him to talk. The reassurance is probably mocking, but his voice is so soft and it makes Guillermo feel fuzzy. He doesn’t know if there’s more blood in his face or dick, but either way, he’s pleasantly warm, if not a little shaky from the teasing. “You wanted me to bite you, remember?”
Yes, he fucking remembers, but if he tries to say that then it will probably come out more whiny and less snarky. Besides, there’d be no real conviction with the way he’s made no move to resist, with how he’s practically putty under Nandor. “I want you to bite me for real,” he murmurs. “With your fangs.”
“Are you sure you can handle it?”
A slight nod of his head and Nandor is back on him, peppering light kisses all over his neck that has Guillermo pressing up into his mouth for more. Finally, Nandor stops at his previous destination where he had bitten him, where Guillermo is almost certain that there’s already a bruise and starts on a new one, sucking long and hard like he’s trying to pull out a vein and amplifying the soreness that was trying to recede.
Seven, eight, nine seconds go by and Nandor hasn’t fucking moved, and Guillermo’s only complaint is that it’s starting to go from pleasant to painful although his body doesn’t seem to care- his erection hasn’t flagged at all and the heat in his stomach makes him feel like he’s seconds away from combusting. He had always thought the notion of cumming untouched was ridiculous, but now it doesn’t seem too farfetched. Is he going to cream his pants from a bit of necking?
“Nandor,” he pleads, reaching out to twine his fingers in long hair and pulling toward himself until too blunt teeth press into his throat, against the throbbing bruise that’s about to become worse if he’s true to his word.
After an eternity, or maybe only three seconds, Nandor moves his hand from his shoulder and curls his fingers around the back of Guillermo’s neck in an iron grip, trapping him in an entirely different way. Before, Guillermo could move his head, could squirm a bit if he was so inclined but now he can only gasp as definitely not plastic fangs sink into his neck, a gasp that turns into a moan when Nandor bottoms out. It’s different than the first bite. That one felt foreign like his body knew that only pain could come from it as if he was a deer when the wolf began his meal. But this? This was natural- Nandor was supposed to be inside him like he was the last puzzle piece that Guillermo hadn’t even known was missing.
Nandor’s fangs retract far more harshly than when they went in, and Guillermo hisses, digging his nails into Nandor’s scalp to brace himself and relaxes only when Nandor laps at the wound, soothing it with his smooth tongue. He alternates between licking and sucking, with an occasional grazing of his fangs over the delicate skin that has Guillermo shivering. Nandor’s slowly unraveling him, taking him apart piece by piece and he doesn’t want him to ever stop.
All too soon, a familiar spark works its way up the base of Guillermo’s spine like an electrical current. Desperate to chase it, he rolls his hips against Nandor’s knee, no real rhythm, just short thrusts that get faster and faster as Nandor sucks harder. The room is spinning, the couch that they’re on feels so far away, Nandor’s grasp on him the only conviction that he hasn’t floated off. He’s dangerously close to fainting, if there’s any blood remaining in his body then it must be in his dick and the pressure just keeps building and building- amazing and overwhelming yet not enough all at the same time.
Nandor detaches his mouth with an obscene squelch! moving his grip on Guillermo’s neck to cup him through the leather pants and Guillermo swears that he sees him grin, teeth red with his own blood before his eyes roll back, orgasm ripping through him at last.
Eventually, Guillermo opens his eyes, still panting heavily from what was undoubtedly the best orgasm of his life, even if it was in his fucking pants. At some point Nandor must have gotten up because he has a stack of napkins that he wordlessly hands over to Guillermo, sitting so upright and perfect next to Guillermo’s wrung-out slouch.
“Thanks,” Guillermo accepts and begins wiping the front of his pants. Within seconds it’s clear to see that it’s doing nothing to help so he gives up, crinkling up the napkin and throwing it into the trashcan near the door. “Do all your victims get off from being killed?”
“Obviously I didn’t kill you!” He looks off into space, seemingly thinking. “You’re the first.” Nandor grins, proud of himself for making a mess of Guillermo. “I’ve been told I’m good with my mouth but I didn’t know I was that good. Usually, it’s my magical cock that does all the work.”
Magical? “You’ll have to prove that to me as well,” Guillermo mutters, glancing over at Nandor’s bulge. Sure it was big, but was it magical? More importantly, is he hard because of feeding from Guillermo, his blood allowing him to get it up?
“I am thinking that you are too pale for me to fuck you right now.”
Guillermo would never admit it, but he’s got a point- even sitting up properly makes him a bit woozy, the ground unsteady under his feet. That doesn’t mean he wants it any less though. “What if I eat something first, then will you fuck me?”
“Maybe, if you ask nicely,” Nandor says with a small smile, dragging a pointed nail under Guillermo’s chin only to quickly withdraw it and drop his hand to his thigh- Guillermo’s invitation to get a move on.