Eric's room, night

[onceaviking]

The room is just as clean as the last time The Emcee was here.

This time Eric carries the man all the way to the bed and dumps him there. Unceremoniously.
He is very strong.
And fast.

But when he touches The Emcees face, his hand is almost gentle. And cold.
His fangs come down with a click as he runs his other, just as cold, hand up the inside of The Emcee's thigh.

"I can bite you there," he suggests. Suggestively.
The large blood vessels are favored by plenty of vampires. And it is a very symbolic place to bite. And to be bitten.

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[i_am_your_host]

No time to think; no time to react; no witty repartee or terms of endearment. The sense of weightlessness immediately replaced by a breathless fear as he finds himself sprawled in Eric's bed again, the vampire looming over him. He won't blink, he can't blink, as his parted lips go dry and his heart pounds in his ears.

Eric touches his cheek and he shivers. Eric touches his inner thigh and he inhales sharply, his breath coming quick and shallow.

Without hesitation he deftly unbuttons the straps that hold his costume together (fuck it all if it gets tangled, he'll take care of that later) and shoves his trousers down low around his thighs.

There's your answer, Eric.

[onceaviking]

"Eager," Eric smiles, baring his fangs.

And then he bites, striking hard at The Emcee's inner thigh, his large hands sprawled across his hips, keeping him still.

It's a frighteningly intimate way to be bitten. To be drunk from.
The skin thin. The blood warm and fast.

[i_am_your_host]

Yes, very, is what he would say if he had it in him to speak, but he is so thoroughly caught up in his excitement that no words can leave his lips.

At least not until Eric's fangs sink into his flesh, and he swears in rough German, crying out and gasping at the pain and the overwhelming sensation. It's more intense than when his throat was bitten.

There's so much more blood.

But underneath it all, there is still that pleasure, inexplicable in its presence. Why is something that is so excruciating still such a goddamned turn-on?

The fingers of one hand curl in Eric's hair, while the other wraps around his own cock. He begins to stroke himself in time to every jagged breath he takes, every pull of Eric's mouth on his wound.

[onceaviking]

Eric mouths the wound, teasing it with his tongue and teeth to make the blood flow faster.

His grip on The Emcee's hips is close to crushing, but one of his thumbs is moving in small circles just in front of the bone. Almost caressing him. A counterpoint to the harshness of his fingers and the wild brutality of his mouth.

[i_am_your_host]

He exhales loud, desperate groans, writhing in Eric's grip at the unnerving, almost sickening sensation of his teeth and tongue, tossing his head, arching his back as if to get away. But no -- the hand in Eric's hair still holds his head where it is, pressing his face to his leg.

Ravage me.

Eyes shut tight against what he might see, he can feel his own blood spilling over his skin, draining out of him. And still, through all of that, he can also feel (drifting in and out through the violence) the nearly gentle stroking of his hip.

He is hard. His breathing is shallow and erratic. He might come at any moment. But he will fight to stay conscious. He isn't letting go that easily this time, despite the increased pain and the delirium. This is too much to miss.

[onceaviking]

Eric pulls back a little, to lick the wound. Gently.
His pale face is dripping wet, dark with blood. His fangs are obscenely white and bright against his lips.

He snarls and bites down again, breaking fresh skin. Moving one hand from a hip (hard grip, fingers digging in) to The Emcee's stomach. Splayed, cool fingers, right above where he might want them to be.

[i_am_your_host]

There's a lull (as much as a lull can be felt at this point). The Emcee dares to open his eyelids just a crack, and the sight of Eric's face masked with blood draws a gasp and a hard shudder from him, going rigid with fear again -- anticipating the second bite.

He throws his head back with a "Fuck!"

The agony is dizzying. He starts to see stars around the edges of his vision. He grasps at Eric's wrist, pressing his cold hand to his hot, flushed skin, stiffened cock just brushing against its coolness. It's enough to make his eyes roll back into his head, his mouth slacken with a guttural moan.

[onceaviking]

And perhaps it's a coincidence, and perhaps Eric's feeling charitable, but his hand slides down, just a little, just enough to connect with the head of The Emcee's cock, the skin of his wrist cool and sleek.

He drinks, but not as deeply as before. His lips moves against The Emcee's skin.

[i_am_your_host]

In his heightened state of arousal, there are so many things assaulting his senses.

Lips sucking at him. The sound of lips sucking at him, jaw working, swallowing.

Cold hands on him. Possessive, dominating, pinning him in place. Hard.

Cool skin touching his cock that makes his entire body surge with delight in the face of such pain, the two combining in a mix that makes his toes curl and drives him over the edge.

Everything's giving out, every muscle, every nerve, his lungs and throat burn with exertion and there is not a single coherent thought in his head. And he can't hold on for much longer.

[onceaviking]

Eric slowly drags his slick lips away from the weeping wound and rubs his nose and cheek against the unbroken soft skin where The Emcee's thigh meets his body.
Growling softly.

The he laps wetly at the blood spattered skin. Like a big, hungry cat.

[i_am_your_host]

With a sharp gasp, a string of blasphemies in German escapes his lips. Surprise and elation throw themselves into the mix. He didn't expect this at all.

He must be passed out now and dreaming this. Yes. It's the only explanation.

Forcing his eyes open and tilting his head to the side, he actually sees Eric's blond head nestled into the crook of his crotch and feels his tongue--

And he very nearly passes out for real.

Except he doesn't, because he grasps the back of Eric's neck as if to hold on just a little bit longer...

[onceaviking]

Eric objects to hands holding him in place on principle.

He growls and bites down again, right where his nose was a moment ago. Where The Emcee's skin is silken and soft and so very, very thin.

Hard. His teeth tears through the skin and his mouth sucks hard, as if trying to pull every last bit of life out of the man on the bed.

[i_am_your_host]

And that snaps him out of it, back to the beginning, back to the very first bite, back to the numbing fear that this could be bad.

"Stop!"

[onceaviking]

Eric snarls, fangs bared, lips pulled back.

And then he retracts his fangs with visible effort and an audible click.

"What?"
He sounds irritable.

[i_am_your_host]

He tries to sit up.

"What the fuck are you d-..."

He trails off breathlessly, the exertion and blood loss making his head spin wildly, and he slumps back down on the mattress.

[onceaviking]

Eric rests his head against the matters and sighs.

Why? Why must everything end up being complicated?
He growls a little and climbs across The Emcee, ending up next to him.

He lets his fangs down again and holds up his own wrist. "I am going to bite my wrist," he says, slowly. "You will drink. Only a little."
It's not really a suggestion.

[i_am_your_host]

The Emcee eyes him narrowly.

Oh, he would give him such a sound talking-to if he could just--

"Fine," he rasps, breathing hard.

[onceaviking]

Eric bites down on his own wrist. There's a wet crunch - and then he holds his wrist against The Emcee's lips.

It seeps slowly, so dark it is almost black against his pale skin.

Once it reaches his mouth, there'll be a stronger taste of iron, as if the blood is somehow distilled. The very essence of life, so strong that it overcomes death.
A hint of decay, manifesting as a sweetness, and something wild and primal, the component that bring about the erratic, sexualized behavior of V-users.

It is not as powerful here as at home. He has seen that with Jay. AndHannibal Lecter. So he is willing to let him drink a mouthful or two.

[i_am_your_host]

He knew he would need this tonight, but now that the moment is here...well. He has no other choice.

The taste and scent flips his stomach, the texture on his tongue sending a shudder through his body. He swallows.

And waits.

Suddenly a rush of air seems to fill his lungs and clear his head, his limbs lose their dull, leaden feel, and he's left blinking with surprise, as if able to see things so much better. His skin might be tingling.

It's a glorious high.

[onceaviking]

"Are you better. Mausi ?" Eric asks.
"Or are you still scared ?"

His lips are still red with blood and his eyes are very blue, a sharp contrast to the dark wetness on his lips.

He puts a finger to The Emcee's cheek.

[i_am_your_host]

There's a moment where he simply has to lie there and bask. In the rush coursing through his body, at the sound of Eric's voice in his ear and the touch of his cool finger...

He abruptly jerks away, giving him an angry, horrified look.

"What the fuck was that all about? One minute you're sucking on my thigh, the next minute you're biting my fucking balls off! If we're going to keep doing this, darling, I think we need to set up a few boundaries, and believe me, I hate boundaries as much as the next whore, but I'm seriously reconsidering-- oh, Scheiße."

He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his forehead.

That was a bit too much for the first rant.

[onceaviking]

"You should consider yourself lucky that I am in a good mood, Mausi," Eric says. Conversationally.

"I don't take being ordered around kindly."

He puts a hand on The Emcee's shoulder, steadying him.
"And here I thought men would be less work than women. Less hysterical too. How wrong I was," he mutters. "And nothing was being bitten off. Really now."

He might have to offer to slap him. He is clearly hysterical.

[i_am_your_host]

"I am not hysterical," he hisses through clenched teeth, tucking his legs up and leaning away from him out of spite, still massaging his temple.

"And what do you mean- who is ordering you around? Did I order you around? Do tell me what I did that you apparently misconstrued as me ordering you around."

(Hitherto unknown side-effect of vampire blood: excessive bitchiness. Well. At least in the Emcee it is.)

[onceaviking]

"Your hand on my neck," Eric replies. Calmly.
And the 'stop'. But he is willing to let that slide, considering that Mausi was panic-stricken just there.

"And you are. Honestly, if you insist on turning into a woman, why can't you grow tits as well? Small perky ones would suit you nicely and it would give me something to play with while you screech."

Because he won't be paying attention to the words.

[i_am_your_host]

He glares at him.

"Oh, fuck you, darling, it's called grabbing. People do it with their hands, you know. And if you didn't want me to grab you like that, you say, 'Don't grab me like that,' not bite my balls off- oh, pardon me, almost bite my balls off!"

He gathers up his coat around him and scoots off the bed, ignoring the slight wooziness as he gets to his feet. It's nothing like the first time since he expects it now, and he also has the added benefit of vampire blood in his system to counteract it.

"And you think I'm turning into a woman? Well, just look at me: it's already my goddamned time of the month!"

Turning on his heel, he stomps off in the direction of the bathroom.

"I need a fucking shower," he announces. "And you can't shower with me!"

Door slam.

Exeunt the Master of Ceremonies.