(no subject)

[onceaviking]

The door to Eric's room is ajar. Invitingly.

It is a clean room with little furniture but it has changed a little. There is less of the Viking about it now, than there has been before. A low table and two chairs, with carved dragons on the back- and armrests. A wolf pelt on the floor.

There is a desk in the corner with a closed laptop. A couple of strategically placed lamps.

And there's the bed Oh, the bed. It is massive. Huge. Right in the center of the room. Covered with red sheets and thin blankets.

Eric's in one of the chairs. He's taken off his leather jacket and his wife beater, but he's kept the jeans on. His feet are bare. Long and pale.

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[i_am_your_host]

The Emcee finds the open door and slowly pushes through, cautious and wary, but at the same time brimming with eagerness and curiosity. And when he does step inside, he inhales a quiet gasp -- at the size of the bed, yes, but also at the very shirtless Eric.

He presses the door shut behind him, and slinks further into the room, his dark eyes roaming in appreciation of its shadows and simple yet decadent decor. His red-lipped smirk deepens.

"I adore what you've done with the place, darling," he remarks, blatantly eying Eric up and down.

As he approaches him, he unties the belt of his leather coat and slips it off, revealing a thin white tuxedo shirt already half-unbuttoned, suspenders on his black trousers hanging loose at his sides. He tosses the coat across the unoccupied chair and keeps walking toward him, undoing the rest of the buttons. His throat is long and slender, and his skin may be pale, but he can still flush with heat (and blood).

[onceaviking]

Eric is mainly interested in that throat. And in the flushing skin. His eyes drift shift as he breathes deeply, scenting the air. Listening to Emcee's heartbeat.

He lets his knees fall to the side, making room for the slender man between his thighs.

[i_am_your_host]

He smiles languidly when Eric parts his thighs as if in a welcoming gesture. As welcoming as a leopard to a gazelle.

The shirt slips off his shoulders and falls to the floor. His figure is boyish, moving with the ambiguous fluidity of an androgyne.

There are bruises on his upper arms, track marks dotting the pale blue veins.

He drops to his knees at Eric's feet, gazing up at him from under hooded eyelids darkly stained, red lips parted. Reaching up, he drags a hand down Eric's torso, his pulse quickening at the touch of cold muscle seemingly chiseled out of marble.

[onceaviking]

And Eric is in turn looking down at him, eyes half lidded.

He smiles and then he lets his fangs drop. They make a small clicking noise when they come down, white and sharp and deadly.

[i_am_your_host]

His eyes widen, pupils dilated.

Fear and lust mix in his veins.

But with surprisingly steady and nimble fingers, he undoes the fly on Eric's jeans (a zipper instead of buttons is only momentarily distracting).

Bending his head, he takes his cock into his mouth in one smooth swallow, and here his fears are almost forgotten again, for this is one of the things that he does best.

[onceaviking]

Hard pressed , Eric will admit that it seems that some men may be more skilled at this particular activity than women. Perhaps from knowing what works.

He groans loudly, letting his head fall back, and drops one large hand at the back of Emcee's neck.

His fangs ache.

[i_am_your_host]

Goosebumps prickle up and down his spine. There is strength even in the way Eric's hand rests on his neck. As if he could snap it like a toothpick.

He works at his cock with his lips and tongue, head bobbing industriously, taking him in so deeply that strands of the Emcee's hair sweep over his abdomen. He cups him in his hand, coaxing him to hardness. Eric's flesh is like nothing he's ever felt before, and as it becomes firmer, he exhales a groan of his own, reverberating in his throat contracted around the shaft.

He will please him, and he will please him well.

[onceaviking]

The groan makes Eric twitch and groan in return, tangling his fingers in Emcee's hair.

He is looking down at his disappearing and reappearing cock, shiny and wet, not looking too far beyond the painted mouth. Mouths look alike.

Another groan and then his hips move. Up. In. Deeper.

[i_am_your_host]

See what you will; the Emcee will be anyone or anything you want him to be.

Eric starts to move his hips, and so he braces himself, his free hand gripping the vampire's solid thigh. His pace does not falter for a moment, so eager is he to have him in his mouth, tasting him, feeling the unearthly power that courses through his body.

[onceaviking]

Eric's fingers move restlessly through the Emcee's hair and then round to cup the back of his head.
Fucking the red mouth in the pale yet flushed face. Moving slowly and smoothly, yet staying mostly seated.

His thighs are just as powerful as the rest of him.

He mutters something in Swedish and closes his eyes.

[i_am_your_host]

Purring throatily, he slides his hand over Eric's chest, fingertips circling a nipple, tracing every ripple of muscle. His touch is almost delicate.

Anything you want him to be.

The Emcee is no mythical being and holds no special powers, but he can disappear into whatever fantasy you have, if your mind is open enough.

He tilts his head just so, and adds a twist of his tongue.

[onceaviking]

And Eric seems to be managing the open minded part well enough.

But his fangs are hurting now and he doesn't want to damage something he cannot fix as he will end up doing soon if the Emcee keeps up with what he is doing right now.

So he stills him, with one immovable hand wrapping around the lower part of his face and a word.

"Enough."

And then, "I want you."

All of you.

[i_am_your_host]

Abruptly startled, his dark eyelashes flutter as he stares at Eric's bared fangs, breath caught in his throat. His fingers are cold and strong, and he dares not make a move until Eric releases him.

"Then take me, mein Herr," he rasps, his lips slick and tingling with numbness.

[onceaviking]

And then Eric is standing, grabbing him with both hands and lifting him up as if he weighs nothing.

And then they're on the bed, having moved across the room in no time at all, the Emcee on his back and Eric crouched above him, fangs bared, pushing him down into the mattress. He is still wearing the black jeans, and his cock, white and hard, is protruding proudly.

Eric dips his head and licks a path up the side of his neck.

[i_am_your_host]

The transition from the floor to the bed leaves him breathless, and he hardly has a chance to come to his sesnses when he finds himself sprawled across the sheets and Eric on top of him. He is frightening and beautiful at the same time.

There is no stopping this, no turning back.

He bares his throat to him, the wetness of his tongue on his pulsating jugular making him writhe underneath his body. One hand grips the blond locks at the back of his head; the other reaches between them to release his own cock from his trousers as it strains against the inseam.

[onceaviking]

Eric hisses and then he strikes, penetrating the skin as he grinds down with his hips. Hard.

It is a strange sensation being bitten. Painful at first as the skin is broken and then an intimate and terrible sensation as soft lips and a sleek tongue makes the blood flow.

Eric suckles the wound, moaning again. A hungrier, more needy moan now that his mouth is doing what it does best.

His wet, cool cock bumps against the Emcee's hand as his hips move.

He tears his mouth away from the wound briefly to kiss the painted lips. They are almost like a woman's.

[i_am_your_host]

He cries out in pain (an all-too human sound, even to his own ears), and he squeezes his eyes shut. The hot, wet sensation of blood on his skin, being sucked from his veins, makes him shudder violently, as another cry gets stopped up in his throat. He can only gasp, a small animal in the clutches of a predator.

Yet he does not struggle or even try to push him off. He knows he can't. And he doesn't want to. Instead his fist clings tighter in Eric's hair, keeping his head close, and his other hand slides around Eric's hip to press flat at the small of his back.

Suddenly wet lips are pressed to his mouth, and he tastes the salt and metallic tang of his own blood. He swallows with a purring, whining whimper, throwing his head back, thrusting his hips up against Eric's.

[onceaviking]

Eric reaches down blindly, tilting the other man's hips with one large hand, pushing at the clothes still there, as his mouth moves back to the bleeding wounds.

Eagerly.

His free hand settles on the other side of the Emcee's face, stroking him, an odd contrast to the fangs and the hard fingers holding his hips in place. Just right.

He moves his own hips. Pressing bluntly against him as his mouth move restlessly and finds fresh skin to penetrate.

Yes.




[ooc: bedtime for me]

[i_am_your_host]

Somehow the cool fingers on his cheek are a reassurance. It's a welcome gesture, as it lends him a moment to catch his breath -- even as Eric begins to press his cock between his thighs and his mouth searches hungrily over his skin once again.

(Oh, he is very good at what he does.)

The Emcee shoves Eric's jeans further down around his hips to grab his bare ass. He parts his knees wantonly, keeping his hips where Eric wants them, ready for him.

[onceaviking]

Eric reaches down, letting go of the Emcee's face and, ah, yes, there.

Sheathing himself without further preamble, as deeply as he can manage without potentially damaging force. And turning most of his attention back to flowing blood filling his mouth.

His hand returns to the Emcee's face, where it also serves to remind him to stop feeding while there is still a pulse.

[i_am_your_host]

He lets out a exultant shout, a delirious noise somewhere between a growl and a laugh as Eric plunges into him, cold and rock hard, filling him completely. His own cock is trapped between their bodies, and as he begins to undulate his hips, it chafes against his cool skin.

It's a contrast to the hot stickiness at his neck. The pain has mingled with the pleasure and he can no longer tell which is which.

A litany of blasphemies uttered in rough, rasping German escapes his lips.

[onceaviking]

Eric moves his mouth to the Emcee's collarbone, nibbling it with his regular teeth.

He rather suspects he won't be able to drink his fill. Not from a skinny guy like this.

His mouth is dripping wet now, dark with blood. It leaves a trail when he moves it along the Emcee's skin and he retraces that path with his tongue, making sure he gets every last drop.

[i_am_your_host]

The ecstasy builds to dizzying heights and he isn't certain how much more he can take. But he clings to consciousness as stubbornly as he can, the edges of his mind fuzzy, his head swimming, his body drained.

With one last surge, he comes hard -- it's like a stab of white hot pain before his body gives in--

--and he passes out.

The fingers that had been digging into Eric's back go slack, and the hand gripping his hair falls limp. His head lolls to the side, his pulse faint.

[onceaviking]

Eric stops moving - and then he sighs.
Great..

Of course, he's not dead, so this is not a crisis. Merely an inconvenience. And a meal interrupted.

He pulls out and moves away, letting the Emcee's legs drop down on the mattress without ceremony.

Then he bites his own tongue and licks the wounds that are still weeping, letting them close.

He debates whether he ought to feed him a little blood or not. It seems to be less potent here, so it shouldn't cause any trouble, but he still doesn't feel quite comfortable doing so.

He pats the Emcee's cheek. None too gently.

[i_am_your_host]

It isn't more than a minute before he comes to. His eyelids flutter open, and he blinks away the murky haze, grunting and turning his head away from the light smacks against his cheek.

"Was ist-"

And he falls back into himself, almost as if he'd had an out-of-body experience.

Realizing what had happened, he sits up -- perhaps a little too quickly, because the room immediately begins to spin. He clutches his head, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Well. That was delightful." He manages a faltering smirk.