Everybody knows about vampires. Most people in cities have seen them too- in groups at night, desperately trying to get home before dawn, leaving their homes the moment after dusk in such a smooth movement they seem to float.
And everyone’s been warned to stay away from them.
I’ve heard the stories too- been warned that they’re always wrestling with a desire to feed, that nothing else can get rid of that urge, that being around a vampire is like being around a ticking time bomb, that wanting the company of one of them is a terrible decision that can only end one way.
But fuck, if I’m not willing to make the terrible decision of my life for the man in front of me.
We get vampires at the bar occasionally. They’re polite normally, toying with coconut water in glasses that seem fragile in their hands. More importantly, they tip well. But they’re not often returning customers- they leave as quickly as they come, and you never expect to see them again.
Not this man though. It’s the third, maybe fourth time he’s come to the bar, and every time he’s spent the time watching me. He looks at me pouring drinks behind the bar like somebody looks at a fountain- like it’s something beautiful enough to just be worth looking at for the sake of looking.
When he asks my name I have a moment of hesitation, a moment in which I realise how much of a bad decision I’m making, how easy it’d be to turn back now, and how hard it will be. But I tell him and then he says my name, and the way he twists the sound around his mouth- like he’s savouring it with his tongue- makes me shiver, and I know there’s no way back now. I tell him I’ll see him once my shift has ended.
When I leave the bar, it’s so late that there’s not even any drunk people around. The man- no, the vampire is waiting for me, smiles as I approach, and pulls open the door of a taxi whose driver looks incredibly uncomfortable. The journey is mercifully short, but I’m on edge the whole time. Just being in such a small space next to him, where I can turn to him and run my gaze over his dark curls, the slight trail of facial hair along his jawline, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek. Has he always looked like this? Has he always looked so perfect, smelled so much like incense and musk and tobacco? We’re too close together for me to see anything other than his jawline and mouth as he places a hand on my knee and slowly slides it up my thigh, plush lips pulled into a cruel smile as my breathing becomes heavy.
He near drags me out of the taxi when we make it to his, our skin never touching without cloth between us, and I’ve never been so desperate to be touched than I am now. His sofa is a dark leather, and it looks even better with him sprawled over it, and he somehow manages to look graceful while doing it, like every movement is deliberate, ever element of his pose planned for.
He kisses me like a starving man, and if I was smarter or less desperate to be touched, I’d probably be concerned. But I don’t care. I straddle his lap and kiss him with all the ferocity I can muster- I want as much of him as he’s willing to give, and maybe a bit more.
My shirt is thrown somewhere across the room, but somehow his skin doesn’t touch mine apart from where our lips touch. I writhe in his lap, shift my weight from side to side, trying to create enough friction
“Please”, I say eventually. “Please. Just touch me.”
He’s cold when he touches me. When he brushes his fingertips against my shoulders, then torso, then hips, it’s like brief touches of cold water, dripping and trickling down my whole body. I can’t help but jerk against his movement- tiny contractions that frustrate me even more- and my lips part to let out a whine that I didn’t know to expect. Somehow, touching me is better and worse than not touching me all at once- it’s not enough to give me any release but just enough to make me want both of them even more, make me want to beg him until I’m in tears, or maybe until I’m actually in tears.
He throws back his head and laughs, and there’s something ancient in the deep rumbling tone of his voice, something about his teeth that make me uneasy. They’re stark white- like the sun bleached bones of some small animal- and perfectly, beautifully, straight, apart from where his canines end in sharp points. I’ve never seen a vampire up close before, never been able to see all the little details that give away that they’re not human.
I rub the collar of his shirt between my fingers, and soon it joins mine on the floor. There’s fingers on belts, the obscenely loud sound of two zippers being undone, and our jeans and boxers being thrown onto the floor. He kisses me again, cold and wet and sloppy, and then our packing harnesses are unceremoniously left on the sofa as he pulls me up, drags me towards the window, and pushes me to the floor. The floor is hard and cold against my skin, but not as cold as he is. His cock is hard and his cunt soaking, and he purrs, mouth and tongue wet as he kisses me. He cups the back of my head, pulls me into him, and his lips are open. I want to lean all my weight into him, to let him take everything he wants from me, to let him consume me.
“I want to suck your dick”, is what I actually say, and my voice is quiet and trembling, and he drips.
His fingers linger around my mouth as he gently pushes my head down to the floor, and I let my tongue dart out, gently lick before I curl my tongue around his middle and index finger. I let my eyes close and pull him into my mouth, lips curving into a soft O around him, and if he needed to breathe, he’d have taken a sharp breath before moving to straddle my shoulders with his thighs.
I start with little kisses, soft licks along his labia until I reach his cock, swirling my tongue around it while I take him into my mouth. But he pushes down on me, presses his cock into my mouth, cunt dripping on my chin, it feels like I’m drowning in him, like I could lose myself in fucking him. Everything is too much- his smell, his taste. One of my hands is on his ass, and my other is wrapped around his thigh, and every movement he makes presses him, ice cold, against my burning warm skin.
I move my hand from his ass to his cunt, slide two fingers inside him, and curl.
Even as his thighs shake, and he tightens them around my shoulders, the rest of him stays perfectly still. Perfectly poised, all grace and dignity and poise, and I know that if and when I cum, it’ll be a mess compared to this.
He’s up on his knees again within a few minutes. My hands are around his shoulders, and he curls one arm around my thigh, teasing my labia with the fingers I took into my mouth earlier, his other hand buried in my hair, pulling me into a kiss.
“I’m going to fuck you.” he says, voice wine dark, like it’s a promise he cannot even consider breaking.
“Please.” I say.
I’m so wet that the two fingers push effortlessly into my cunt, and he thrusts into me. It’s slow at first, but as he tightens his grip in my hair, he fucks me harder, stroking my dick with his thumb with just the right amount of pressure.
“Look over my shoulder”, he says, and I do.
On the wall is a mirror, and the reflection just shows me, my cunt spread wide open with invisible fingers, my legs shaking as he strokes my cock with his thumb. He kisses my cheek, then my jaw, and then down to my neck, and I’m suddenly very away of how slick and wet my chin and mouth still feel. He’s fucking me hard now, two fingers now three sliding in and out of me, while he strokes my cock rough and fast.
He stops thrusting, curls his fingers in me, and my head tips back. Before I can think about it, I’m coming, and I watch myself come in the mirror, cunt clenching around impossibly cold fingers that I cannot see. I choke out breaths heavier each time, lips are parted in a scream I desperately want to let out, but can’t.
I’m a shaking, sweaty, post-fuck mess, leaning all my weight into him, and everything is too much to process right now.
When the lips against my collarbone smile against my skin, pull away for an instant, and return to bite me, I barely register it.
This piece of smut is pure fantasy, and any resemblance to real situations or people is unintentional and coincidental.