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A little something something for the Bloodloving people
A snippet I've written for our fave doctor and the mayor, it's not smut but suggestive enough to be post here I think.
Legundo had long since disappeared into his work. The study was quiet save for the soft scratch of pen against paper, his brow furrowed, sleeves rolled up, entirely consumed by whatever problem had rooted him to that chair for hours.
So consumed, in fact, that he didn’t notice the door open.
Didn’t notice Louis slip inside.
Didn’t notice him watching, leaning lazily against the doorframe at first, eyes dark with quiet amusement, taking in the sight of his human boyfriend so thoroughly distracted.
Louis exhaled softly through his nose.
Unacceptable.
Without a word, he crossed the room.
Legundo only realized something was wrong when a sudden, familiar weight settled into his lap.
“What—?”
He startled, shoulders tensing, pen nearly slipping from his fingers.
Louis, already comfortable, adjusted himself like he belonged there, which, to be fair, he did. One arm looped loosely around Legundo’s shoulders, the other braced against the desk as he looked down at him with a slow, knowing smile.
“Well,” he said lightly, “don’t mind if I do.”
“Louis—” Legundo blinked, trying to reorient himself, though his hands had already come to rest at Louis’s waist out of pure instinct. “What are you doing?”
Louis tilted his head, as if the answer were obvious. “Getting your attention.”
“I was busy.”
“Yes,” Louis hummed, dragging the word out as his fingers idly brushed over Legundo’s chest. “I noticed.” The touch was slow. Distracting. Intentional.
Legundo inhaled, steadying himself. “I’m in the middle of something important.”
“Mm.” Louis shifted closer, turning in his lap until they were face to face, knees bracketing his hips. One hand slid up to rest against his shoulder, thumb grazing absentmindedly along the seam of his shirt. “You’ve been in the middle of something important all day.”
“That’s because I—”
His words faltered slightly as Louis leaned in.
Close enough that their breaths mingled.
Close enough that Legundo had to stop himself from leaning the rest of the way.
“—have work,” he finished, weaker now.
Louis’s smile deepened, softer this time, but no less dangerous. “And I,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “have been very patient.”
Legundo swallowed. That tone never meant anything good for his productivity.
“Louis…”
“Don’t you think,” Louis continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, “you deserve a break?”
His fingers pressed just slightly into Legundo’s shoulder as he shifted again, settling more firmly against him, their bodies aligned in a way that made concentration… difficult.
“I can help,” he added, almost thoughtfully.
Legundo let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something more strained. “I’m not sure your definition of help is very—”
Whatever argument he had prepared dissolved the moment Louis dipped his head. The first touch to his neck was barely there, a ghost of a kiss, warm and deliberate. Legundo went still.
“—productive,” he tried to finish, though the word came out unevenly.
Louis didn’t stop. Another kiss, slower this time, lingering just a fraction longer. Then the faintest brush of teeth, followed by the soft glide of his lips against sensitive skin.
Legundo’s grip on him tightened before he even realized it.
“Louis,” he said again, but it lacked any real warning now, more breath than protest.
“Hmm?” Louis murmured against his neck, entirely unbothered.
“You can’t just come in here and—”
His sentence broke off sharply as Louis shifted just enough to find a better angle, his mouth pressing more firmly now, unhurried, deliberate in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Legundo’s head tipped back slightly, betraying him. A quiet sound escaped him before he could stop it. Louis smiled; he could feel it.
“And yet,” he whispered, lips brushing his skin again, “I just did.”
You get used to taking what you can get. You get used to it when you're Pyro. When your body belonging to you is a distant memory, when people take what they want from you: violation after violation till you learn to internalise it: accept it because it will just happen. Called disgusting and filthy enough times it must be true, why bother acting otherwise, why bother making an effort to undermine fact. It's the only attention he gets: being spat on, fingers in his mouth, slapped about, having his clothing torn, punched and kicked in the stomach, and used as a worm place to bury someone else's stresses and worries. The only attention he's worthy of. There was a time he put up a fight feeble as it was, but by the time he came to Oakhurst, Pyro knew it was faster to tolerate it and take what attention he can from it. It would be over quicker. Just lay there and take his beating, let whoever use him till they were happy, and it would be over soon enough.
Doesn't matter if it's Czeslaw, or if it's Scott, the universal truth of his life remained the same: he was a filthy thing made to be used and he should be happy he even got that.
It's why, leaning back on the fuel tank of a motorbike, pants abandoned in the dirt of the woodland track they rode up on, shirt riding up past his chest, lights of the summer camp shuttering in the distance, that Abolish's bluntly flat question haunts him so.
"So, what do you actually like?"
Pyro, with his dark monstrous eyes and face horrific and scared by holy water and claws of his becoming, blinks at Abolish sitting on the bike seat, feet on the ground keeping the bike steady, hands lingering on the dark motorcycle trousers by Pyro's shoes - his legs spread inviting Abolish to take what he wants and pressing into his thigh to balance himself against the bike.
"What did you say?" In the night, Pyro's eyes are haunting - so he's been told: terrible crimson orbs swallowed up by dark sclera straight out of the abyss - and yet Abolish never breaks eye contact. He's annoying like that, looking at him while talking to him, not through him or past him, he looks at Pyro and none one else. It makes his skin shiver.
"You, the vampire leaning on back on my bike with your cock and behind out, you: what do you like?" Again, Abolish might as well be speaking a different language the way Pyro's face is bereft of clarity. Abolish's dark borderline soulless eyes narrow imperceptibly as Pyro stills like the world is just a ringing in his ears and it has all been swallowed by the dark.
Why would he ask him that? Why would he even care - just get it over with.
"I can stop if you want?"
"No!" The panic that rushes through him hasn't been felt since he was flailing through the lake by the obelisk, torn into and gutted before being dragged under it's current and disappearing in the red mist of his own death. He very well almost bites through his lips his mouth snaps the words out. And then he realises his misstep, his rudeness, he has forgotten his place and the hysteria filling his cold dead heart is like another stake driven through it-
"Okay. Alright. But I'm not doing anything till you give me the go ahead." Abolish states, voice cool and calm and Pyro appreciates it more than he can express. The characteristic unflappable nature of his, unchanged, even now, accommodating him, even now. Being listen to is strange, doesn't feel right - but it feels nice.
His hands come to his face and rub, a deep breath rattling his ribs, and when he brushes his hands into his ashen mop he half expects Abolish to be gone - like batman: he's done it before - but no, he's still there. Still waiting patiently for him to approach at his own pace. Great now he feels like a wounded deer being gently encouraged towards a human for help… but is that so bad?
Pyro breaths deep and he turns to look at the distant camp where he and Abolish - mostly Abolish - had killed a bad 80's slasher of a vampire an hour prior: this was meant to be celebration sex, but it was something more. Something dangerous formative that threatens to disrupt the foundations of his self.
"Can you touch me with your gloves on… I like the feel," Pyro admits, sheepish, bracing himself for the mockery or the disregard or a slap or -
"And where can I touch you?" Abolish follows up, an effortlessly controlled serenity on his face as he makes sure his leather riding gloves have no chance of slipping off. They never would, but Pyro finds the act a comfort.
"Where ever you want-"
"Pyro."
His hands return to his face, each choice and declaration of autonomy it's own little agony.
"You can touch my thighs and cock and arms and chest and my face if you really want to but who would ever want to-" the gentle caress of expensive black leather runs along the scruff of his jaw with military precision and a tenderness that breaks him more than any torture could. The leather feels nice, down right has him purring from the gentle roughness of it's grain and warmth, but when Abolish's thumb drifts up towards his lip, Pyro snatches his wrist.
Abolish startles, not enough to do anything, but Pyro can see the way his eyes focus. He feels horrible. It's more on instinct that anything, but the feeling of fingers threatening to press into his mouth makes his calcified stomach threaten to inverse.
"Not mouth… sorry I should have, I didn't know I just-" the words stumble over themself as they leave Pyro's mouth and again Abolish remains stalwart, sat secure on the seat, a cliff of utter acceptance the turbulent waves of Pyro crash against. "Sorry."
"It's okay. Thank you for telling me." And Abolish stays clear of his mouth, just runs his hand along the vampire's jaws and lets him bask in the gentle affection.
He had a dream about Scott doing this once, of holding him tenderly while saying how proud of him he was, the perfect fledgling, soaking in the admiration of his sire… but it was just that, a dream.
Abolish's hand move with a militarily precise sensualness - at times it's a little awkward: as if Abolish has a errant thought that he is petting a dog and Pyro finds a charm and warmth in that - travelling along his jaw and cheeks and instead of revolting at the stain of holy water or the scars of Owen and Scott, his fingers dance around the borders. And when Pyro says he is okay with them being touched, it is devastatingly soft to have the ugliness of his life admired as if they were jewels.
And with each drag of Abolish's hand, each tender touch, Pyro feels his breath weighing down his chest, his pallid cheeks warming effervescently, and a strangle tingle across his breast and dancing up his back. First he thinks it is the wind, a chill, but that hasn't bothered him in many moons.
This is something else.
"Can you…"
"I can if you ask."
"Can you touch my…" Pyro pouts, a sudden almost boyish embarrassment colouring his face, "can you touch my cock, please." Instantly he wants to dig himself back into the grave he pulled himself from.
"Of course, it would be my pleasure," Abolish responds with a collected coolness, perfectly masquerading the abject horror that the way Pyro was beneath him let him know this was the first time he had actually been asked to be touched.
"Just gentle, I-" something catches on Pyro's tongue and his voice comes meeker than he might like, "I don't like it when it's super rough."
"Understood." A hand remains on Pyro's face, a gentle caress he can lean into at his leisure, while his other hand winds down to his crotch. But first he reaches into his pocket and flicks the lid of a petite lube. Pyro blinks at him.
"Always prepared. And don't want it to hurt," Abolish states as a gentle sheen of lube covers his gloved hand.
The anticipation and anxiety is burning white hot in his chest and Pyro mumbles to himself that it is okay, he asked for this, over and over again until the reassurance is echoing in his mind. And then Abolish's hand closes gently around his cock. A gruff noise of surprise slips out as Pyro slumps back on the bike.
It is strange - someone else touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock gently because you asked them - quite strange in a way he isn't sure how to process it. It's familiar, he's touched himself plenty, but it's also not him and when the initial rush of panic seizes him that he has no control, he meets Abolish's dark eyes and remembers that he does.
After a brief moment, acclimating to the savoury feel of the leather around his cock, Pyro gives Abolish a curt nod and he starts to gently stroke the vampire. Slowly, the delicate roughness of the leather clad hand slides down his cock, pulling back his foreskin to expose the pallid rosy head already - embarrassingly - drizzling pre and Pyro immediately grimaces behind his palms. But the mockery doesn't come.
"Hmm. You really like being touched don't you." Abolish says with a soft charm, more of a observation than question.
"I guess so."
Abolish's finger meet his base and gently rise back up his cock, appreciating the curve and every facet of him in the most delicate manner. It is better than he deserves, Pyro can't help but think it every time Abolish makes a whiny groan or sound of genuine pleasure spill out of him with his hands. A gentle stroke, and a finger that presses to the back side of his head as it rises makes him moan in a way he never has and this thighs shake like he's caught a fever. All from a gentle touch.
Who knew gentleness could feel so good...
His cock is so shiny with lube now and it looks good, it feels good - it feels really good to be touched gently, to be slowly worked over while he is caressed like he isn't filthy, like he isn't a monster, like he is loved. Maybe he is.
Maybe he could…
As his chest settles from a devastatingly lovesome moan, head back on the handles of the motorbike sinking into the gentle oblivion of Abolish's touch, Pyro looks at the damphir with a nervous sort of excitement.
"Could you kiss me, if you want," he asks, breathless in a way that doesn't make his throat hurt and doesn't make him grimace at his own pathetic ness.
"I would want to. Nice and gentle?"
"Please…" and Abolish leans up across his bike, his hands still occupied with the soothing rhythm of stroking Pyro, and hovers just above the vampire's lips. The agency is on his. If he wants this kiss, he has to meet him.
And Pyro wants it.
He leans up and tenderly presses his lips to the half-vampires.
There's no hunger, no hurt, no forcing in to dominate his mouth with their own, Abolish just leans into him and brings his lips to meet Pyro's in kind. An uncharismatic warmth graces the undead as their lips press against one another in a tender embrace, and his chest sings like song bird bones dancing. Like fire consumes his ribs and crackles up through him, like he's worthy of love and basking in that knowledge.
A little moan breaks his lips from Abolish and the man laughs, downright giggles at him in a way that has Pyro's eye wide and dewy like he's seeing a sunrise again and not burning up in it.
"Is this okay?"
And every time that question is asked, Pyro feels something old ache, something like a malignancy stained on his very soul, but perhaps in time it will fade every time he says -
Pearl: puppy-play (being a werewolf may have awoken something in her)
Pyro: Service, praise and degradation, punishment, hair pulling, choking, being marked, dry humping, swallowing cum (but he’s not very good at it), deepthroating, pain/pleasure
Sausage: public or semi-public sex, threesomes, strip teasing
Scott: punishment, edging, power play, titles (like sire or even master), wax/candle play, mouth fucking and gagging, multiple rounds
Shelby: 110% monsterfucker, bondage,
if this was present day Sausage and Shelby would definitely enjoy recording things and Shelby would indulge in her fair share of pegging
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to show up to this party. Maybe the creeping stress of exams, or the sheer exhaustion of memorizing human anatomy until his eyes blurred. But if he was honest with himself, the real reason was about five foot nine, dressed in black, and had smiled at him that morning with fangs that were just a little too sharp to be bought from Party City.
Owen.
He’d said it like it was nothing.
“There’s this Halloween thing tonight. You should come, Legs. You’re too pale to stay in and study on Halloween.”
Legundo had rolled his eyes, but somehow, he’d found himself here, surrounded by flashing lights, fake cobwebs, and the distinct smell of pumpkin-spice vodka.
