#nezu3kun

Thunder rumbled through the clouds, dragging with it a terrible, bone-chilling wind that swept through the trees. 

Elliot shuddered, clutching his bundle of sticks close to his chest. It figured Sofya would send them out to collect firewood right before it was going to rain. He could smell the petrichor rich in the air, and heard the soft hissing of distant rainfall. It'd be pouring by the time they returned to the inn. It'd soak and ruin the firewood Elliot and Viktor had been gathering the past half hour, ruining all their hard work.

"It's out of spite, i-it's out of spite," Elliot mumbled to himself, opening his coat and stuffing wood inside. He'd at least keep some of it dry. "She's mad b-because we knocked over t-the candle and set fire to the c-curtains and I told her, I told her, I said, we're going--we're going to move the bed, we need a little more space, and she was fine, fine with it..."

Hey, now.

Elliot glanced down at the toad sitting upon a rotten log. It blinked its big, slimy eyes. Don't blame her for your poor candle placement. You and that silly boy need to be more careful, it said, dragging a sticky webbed foot down its face.

Elliot scowled. "I just..." He shook his head. "... No, you're right. You're right. We were b-being careless."

Owning up to your mistakes is the first step, the toad explained, next is apologizing to Sofya.

Elliot frowned, bowing his head. "... I did, but... I g-guess I didn't sound very sincere, did I?"

The toad wiped its face again. You did not, Elliot.

"Hn. Right."

Good boy. Put me in your mouth.

Elliot glanced off to the side. "Well..." He inched closer, arms loose around the wood.

"Hey!"

Elliot gasped, branches flying from his arms. The toad gave a honk and hopped off. Viktor watched it go, snickering. "I w-was having a conversation!" Elliot snapped. He noticed his roommate's arms were very empty, but he was covered in dirt. "Wh-where is the f-firewood, Viktor?"

Viktor sneered. "Better question," he said, pointing.

Silence. Another breeze trickled by.

"I found! Worms!" Viktor exclaimed, loud enough to scare away a nesting pair of crows. Elliot winced. "A fucking kingdom of worms! They sense the rain, so they're comin' up for a sip!"

Elliot knew he should pick up the sticks, yell at Viktor to help him, but... "... Sh-show me," he mumbled, green eyes lighting up.

Viktor snatched Elliot's wrist and practically dragged him through the forest. It was a short hop, skip, and jump away before they stopped. Viktor pointed, wild-eyed, at the mass of worms wriggling in a pile of rich, upturned soil. "I dug up a few," he giggled. "There's more! More than I can even see! I daresay it's a fucking cornucopia."

Elliot grinned, heart skipping a beat. Both men gleefully dropped down by the pile, picking up worms and turning them over in their fingers. 

"Ah, they're so fat!" Elliot snickered, dangling a lashing worm above his head. "Plump!"

Viktor scooped up a handful of dirt, counting at least four visible worms. "We could mash 'em in a paste, fill up a whole jar!" he exclaimed.

They both looked excitedly at one another. "Toast jam!" they shouted in unison. Elliot cackled as Viktor threw the dirt and worms in the air, one landing on top of his glasses. He plucked it off and squeezed it slowly between his fingers. "Ahh... I'm just glad you don't have limbs. More for me!"

Viktor looked back to Elliot; he was laying on his back, pulling and stretching out one dark earthworm. "I wanna try something!" Viktor shouted, smacking his roommate on the shoulder. "C'mon, c'mon, sit up."

Elliot grumbled but sat upright, pocketing the worm. "What?" he asked. He could hear the rain moving closer, whispering his name.

"I saw a couple doing this with their spaghetti," Viktor explained, picking up a random worm. Fortunately it was a good few inches long. "They had a noodle connecting their mouths, and they each took bite after bite after bite until they were kissing. It was really cute, actually." After severing their limbs from their torsos, he sat down to eat the rest of the lovely couple's pasta, imitating the scene using his hand as a second mouth. Blood and red sauce paired very nicely together. "I've been wanting to try it."

Elliot blushed. "... Okay, I... I guess?"

"It's only like, four inches, but good enough." Viktor placed one end of the writhing worm between his lips, biting down. He leaned forward, stretching it out. 

Elliot sheepishly took the other end and slid it into his mouth.

"Wehwee?"

"Yuh."

Viktor kept his eyes open as he started chewing. Elliot was a little more bashful, not wanting to close his. He stared down at the ground instead, a worm slipping between his fingers. He took a small bite, then another.

It only took three bites before their mouths met. Viktor counted at least eight between the two humans, their cheeks as red as their innards as their mouths moved closer.

Their lips touched, and for a moment, they were silent and still. Swallowed in unison. Elliot went to take the last bite before Viktor slurped it up; Elliot chased after it, only to slip his tongue inside Viktor's mouth and then they were kissing, really kissing, fingers latching onto clothing, pulling closer. The worm left a pleasant earthy flavor that lingered on their tongues.

"By Mother Night!"

Elliot and Viktor turned their still open, dribbling mouths to the side, staring wide-eyed at Sofya. The woman looked pale, clutching a hand to her chest. She opened her mouth, closed it.

"No," Sofya said, laughing, "no! Just..." She shook her head and glanced behind her.

Viktor spit a bit of dirt in Elliot's face.

Sofya glanced back at the two. "You know what?" she sighed, hands in the air. "Just..." She walked off.

Viktor turned his head to look into Elliot's nervous eyes. It was as if they just now realized what they'd done... 

Kissed! How scandalous! 

They both sat back, blushing and harshly clearly their throats. Viktor chewed his dirt-caked thumbnail as Elliot kneaded his coat.

"Hey..."

Elliot reluctantly looked up at Viktor, gasping when the man's face was inches from his. 

"We never speak of this again," Viktor grumbled, "do you hear?"

Elliot blinked rapidly. He nodded then pushed himself to his feet, hiding behind a birch tree.

"Can't believe she was watching us," Viktor scowled, popping a worm in his mouth, "what a weird pervert."

---

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten digits. Eight fingers, two thumbs. Ten toes. Ten fingernails, ten toenails. One, two, three, four--

"Your heart's beating really fast... I can hear it."

Viktor looked up from picking at his toenails. Very close to ripping off the smallest nail. He glared tiredly at Elliot, the dhampir staring at him from the bed. "So what?" he growled, narrowing hazy eyes. "Go back to sleep, Elliot."

"You're too loud when you're a-awake," Elliot snapped, sitting up, "you're too loud when you're asleep."

"My apologies," Viktor grumbled, rolling his eyes. He looked back at his toes, wiggled them.

"You had a nightmare."

Viktor scratched his neck. "So what?"

"I told you, if i-it gets you to shut up and go back t-to sleep," Elliot said, sliding to a sit beside Viktor, "then you can talk t-to me. About them."

Viktor kept scratching his neck.

A little harder, Viktor.

Viktor hissed and clawed deeper. "Yes, Master."

"Does he always h-have to talk to you? Can't h-he wait until you've rested?"

"He can talk to me whenever, wherever, however he wants," Viktor sniped defensively. He stared at his toes.

Elliot looked at his feet, wearing a pair of old beige socks. He pulled one off to tap his fingers on the nails. "Did he... g-give you a nightmare?" he mumbled.

"He would never!" Viktor barked. Elliot recoiled, crawling under the bed. Viktor snorted and turned away. "... No. People have nightmares. Everyone does."

No response.

"Gonna ignore me? Fine. I don't care."

"Sorry."

"You didn't give me the nightmare." Viktor's eyes widened. "Or did--"

Elliot reached out a hand, taking Viktor's from his neck. He winced but didn't pull away. The dhampir stuck his head out, and slowly drew the fingers to his mouth. Viktor spotted blood under the nails. That's what felt so warm and wet on his throat.

"It's okay," Elliot whispered, "I'll listen. I p-promise."

Viktor winced as Elliot slid the tips of his fingers into his mouth, gently suckling the blood from under the nails. He shivered. "... I don't want to talk about it," he said. He lightly stroked a finger against Elliot's tongue. "... But this... is okay."

The indigestion brewing like acid in Dracula's stomach was once known as Pixie Moondust Shadowheart.

Before Dracula had brought her home and proceeded to mutilate and drink her life-blood, Pixie had been out rioting with her group of skunk-smelling friends, fighting to preserve a local rescue shelter for sick and injured marsupials.

Dracula had high hopes for the "hippie", as she and her friends were called; she exuded compassion, kindness, and ferocity in her beliefs of sharing joy, love, and peace with fellow humans and animals alike. He scrapped his original plan to hunt and devour a biker who was known around town as the "King of Kittens" due to him adopting any stray cat he came across. God, he'd been craving that blood for days, but Dracula had to wait for the opportune time.

But no. Pixie immediately consumed his mind, and so Dracula forgot about the King and decided to pursue this angelic woman. After getting an elderly gentleman to invite him inside the bar, he bought her a drink and regaled her with falsehoods of his own interest in animal welfare. He was a vegan--he'd never eat an animal, he said.

Dracula won her over, especially when she saw his expensive clothing and the many rings gleaming on his fingers. He told her he was looking to invest in the marsupial center, and her eyes lit up.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Pixie followed him home and the moment she entered the foyer, he lunged and sank his teeth into her pretty throat with ravenous hunger.

Her blood... had been absolutely disgusting. He tasted a liar, a thief, a conwoman; hypocrisy after hypocrisy. He took only a few swallows before he had to drop her corpse and vomit into the fire, snuffing it out.

Dracula left shortly after to pursue the King of Kittens, to make up for the terrible date, but through hypnotizing his neighbors, found the man had left town for the next couple days.

Dracula fed from a random stranger walking in the neighborhood--completely, utterly mediocre. He was losing night hours. He returned home, punched down the tree in the front lawn, and sat sulking in his recliner, digging circles into his temple with a claw.

He stared hatefully at the fire--still a bit dirty from blood but a new one had been lit--as a tall glass was placed on the table in front of him. Icy blood with fingers as garnish, curled over the rim like little spider legs--only six, though, so insectoid was more proper.

Renfield put a tiny umbrella in the drink, made out of a toothpick and a patch of skin with a dandelion tattoo.

Dracula glowered at the drink, tapping his cane. His great red eyes rolled up to look at Renfield, his thrall smiling crookedly, hopefully down at him.

His cane stopped, just for a second; Renfield was... clean. Mostly. He'd stripped down to a pair of boxers and a simple long sleeve shirt. His hair was still wet from bathing, and he smelled like lilac soap and charcoal. Numerous tiny cuts and bruises visible along his arms and legs, the bags beneath his eyes a very lovely shade of violet tonight.

However, Renfield's desire and neediness practically reeked. His pale cheeks were tinted pink, and he couldn't quite meet his Master's gaze.

"I'm sorry about tonight, Master," Renfield apologized. "I know this isn't much, but I do hope you'll enjoy it." He gestured to the glass.

Dracula frowned, and resumed tapping his cane. With a great resigned sigh, he took the drink and sipped. The hint of spinal fluid was a nice touch, but he wouldn't tell Renfield that. He drank the glass nearly half empty before slamming it back on the table.

Renfield slowly went down on his knees by his Master's feet. "Is it," he swallowed, idly picking at a pink-purple striped bandaide on his finger, "is it to your liking?"

Dracula glared at him. He almost wanted to smack the man clear across the room. "Can a lawyer really be so stupid?" he spat.

Renfield winced, his smile best described as... soggy. "Sorry... That was a silly question, I know. I shouldn't have asked in the first place."

Dracula took another angry sip from his drink.

"Um. So. I know you'll be retiring to your coffin soon, but..."

Dracula rolled his eyes back down at his familiar. Jesus Christ, the horniness just wafted off him like fruit left to rot out in the sun by a dumpster.

"Is there anything I can do for you that'll at least end the night on a more pleasant note?" Renfield asked. "Anything I can... give to you..."

Dracula closed his hand tightly around the cane. "What could you possibly have to offer me?" he growled. But he knew, he fucking knew.

Renfield scratched his cheek. "Oh, well, I-- By Jove!" He stopped to grab his shirt. "I just now noticed... No wonder it felt awkward. I put my shirt on inside out!" He laughed, a nervous little thing, as he started to pull up his shirt. Very slowly. Displaying his mostly pristine white belly with a soft trail of hair peeking out from his boxers. "Hah... haha... I'm so silly. So... so..."

Dracula cursed very loudly in his head, so fucking loudly he mentally told himself to shut up and keep it down right after. His familiar was... pathetically inept, and yet ridiculously competent. Despite his awkward presentation, his nervous, desperate expression, his failure to act coy or demure... That unblemished, pale skin, that happy trail, those two perky nipples, even the slight bulge against the front of his boxers…

Fuck off!

Will you just shut the fuck up!

Dracula pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, closing his eyes. Fine. Finefinefine! Fuck it. He stood rigidly, leaning his cane against the sofa. Renfield stared up at him from beneath his shadow, blue eyes so adoring, cheeks flushed red.

"Ma--"

Renfield yelped as he was shoved onto his back, Dracula taking him by the hips and diving down to run his tongue up alongside that trail of hair, moving to draw a wet circle around his navel. His stomach fluttered as he giggled breathily, struggling to completely pull off his shirt. Dracula helped by simply ripping it apart.

Renfield hiccupped, chewing his fingers as his Master dragged his teeth up along his belly; he found a nipple and wrapped his lips around it, sucking. Renfield bit down on his nails, hard enough to crack at least one. He couldn't stop snickering, overjoyed and shivering.

"Master, I--" Renfield cried out as a claw flicked his other nipple, lightly cutting it. He choked on air, a bit of drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. He must look pathetic; he felt pathetic, but he also didn't care. His cock tented the front of his boxers, soiling a patch in precum.

Dracula hooked his nails into the waistband of his sullied undergarments, tugging them down and freeing his familiar's dick. Renfield slid his hands over his face, chewing his bottom lip; he nervously peered out between his spread fingers.

Dracula abruptly sat back, shrugging off his coat. "Must you always act like a blushing virgin on his wedding night every time you have an erection around me?" he grumbled, hurriedly loosening his belt.

Renfield's face was as red as a virgin on his wedding night. "I'm s-sorry," he apologized, grimacing. "I--"

"Now," Dracula said, pressing two cold fingers against his familiar's lips, "where did I imply that was a bad thing?"

Renfield blinked. "We--" As soon as he opened his mouth, the fingers dove inside, rings painfully clinking against his teeth. Renfield gagged, nearly vomited, but as always, was quick to recover and keep up. He held his Master's wrist as he sucked and lathered those fingers and beautiful gemstones in spit.

Not even a minute later and Dracula yanked them back out, Renfield whining, tongue peeking out from between his lips.

"That's enough," Dracula said, reluctantly plucking off his soaked rings, dropping them. Without another word or warning, he thrust both his slick fingers inside his familiar's ass, deep to the knuckle. Delightfully hot muscles clenched around him, and tears immediately sprung from Renfield's eyes as he keened.

But they'd been playing this game for well over a few decades, and Renfield was able to settle himself quickly, relaxing. He spread his legs, cock twitching against his thigh; threw his head back and giggled into his trembling fingers. Wild eyes rolled under his lids as he bounced back against the fingers scissoring him apart.

"Ah... hahahee," Renfield laughed softly, rocking back and forth against the rug. "Ma-Master is a-always so... gracious a-and... considerate..."

Dracula poured over Renfield, sniffing. "... How many bugs did you eat tonight?"

Renfield giggle-snorted and held up six fingers.

Well, that explained the giddiness. The man was high on bugs--well, more so the power they provided. "You overindulge," Dracula hissed, striking his familiar's prostate with a claw, "way too much, servant."

Renfield arched off the floor with a gasp. "I'm s-sorry!" he whimpered. "Th-they were dying, the c-centipedes! I couldn't h-help them and I didn't w-want to waste!"

"Oh, Robert," Dracula crooned mockingly, "you need to take better care of your possessions." He grabbed Renfield by his throat, squeezed; the man tensed up, eyes bulging. He went limp as he was pulled up to a sit, now face to face with the vampire. "Just like I am right now."

Renfield hiccupped.

Dracula grabbed a handful of his familiar's ass, lifting him up--mostly by the throat. Renfield followed, hands feebly gripping his Master's lovely silk vest. And by the throat, he impaled Renfield on his cock, sheathing most of himself almost immediately.

Renfield gagged, a jolt shooting up his spine. He threw his arms around Dracula, feet kicking at the floor as his knees knocked up against the vampire's sides. Renfield giggled and cooed into Dracula's shoulder, careful not to let any drool wet his clothing. "Aheehee," he panted, "I c-could stay like this for... forever."

Dracula growled, nails dragging welts along his familiar's back as he pounded into his ass. Renfield kindly rolled his hips, meeting each thrust with an enthused bounce. It still always felt a little strange, Renfield kissing his neck, licking his throat; nibbling flesh, tongue seeking a nonexistent pulse.

Dracula took a fistful of Renfield's hair, yanked his head back, Renfield's suckling lips coming off his skin was an audible pop.

Renfield looked at him, alarmed, blushing, but then the vampire was kissing him messily, only semi-minding his teeth. His familiar wouldn't care; didn't give a shit, in fact, as he risked sliding his tongue between that treacherous maw. One bite, one little chomp, the tongue would be gone--he'd done it before, at least enough he could count on his fingers, but tonight he'd be merciful.

Renfield had prepared a really good cocktail.

Dracula slid his palm down Renfield's stomach, bathed in the way the muscles contracted in fear, before taking his familiar's cock in hand and tugging. Renfield might have squeaked or laughed, hard to tell, but the noise felt very nice in Dracula's mouth, against his lips.

It wasn't long before Renfield pulled back, shoving his hands over his dick. "I'm g-gonna come!" he exclaimed breathlessly, eyes wide and panicked. "I don't w-want to dirty your--"

Dracula slapped his hands away and kissed him again, fully intent on bruising his lips and drinking from the nicks he'd made.

Renfield whimpered apologetically; he grabbed onto his Master's shirt, the muffled noises getting higher and higher before he stiffened completely. One, two, three seconds, and he came with a cry into Dracula's mouth, eyes rolling back as blood and saliva slithered from the corners of his lips.

Dracula chuckled at the warm seed now staining his vest and dress shirt. But that was fine. The good thing about eating six bugs meant Renfield could last a few more rounds. He'd eventually pass out as his Master held him limp in his arms, fucking his ass until it was numb and bruised.

But until then, Renfield happily draped himself around Dracula, holding him close and dear. "I love you, Master," he sighed, hiccupping, nosing his Master's impeccable hair.