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The lighting ruins the mood a little. It’s harsh, bright, and definitely not anything that would naturally be in this dungeon of a chateau basement. A smaller, red LED blinks from the shadows like an eye. Daniel is going to be, God help him, on video tape. At least he has a costume for this little play. Black shirt and pants, white nitrile gloves, and a white mask that covers most of his face. The eye and nose area look vaguely human while the bottom part juts out, beaklike.
Armand had arranged himself on his side facing the camera and stripped own to his underwear before he passed out. He looks more unstudied, sweeter, more relaxed than he usually does asleep. They had prepared for this at the dining room table, Armand drinking bag after bag of tranquilized deer blood and looking sicker and more determined with each one. He had been gorgeous then. He’s even more gorgeous now. Daniel kicks his shoulder with the heel of his boot to flop him over onto his back.
When Daniel sees the final touch, a message scrawled above Armand’s waistband with marker, two thoughts flash through his mind at the same time. Piece of work and Never change.
“Kill after use,” Daniel reads aloud, in his driest, can-you-believe-this-shit voice. He tries to yank the underwear down, not expecting how hard it will be to get it down Armand’s firm, unmoving thighs. Dead weight. The thought alone startles a noise out of him like he’s been punched, and Daniel involuntarily grabs his own dick. It’s not fair that vampires can’t sweat. He should be able to get this tension out somehow. Instead, he leaves the underwear twisted halfway down Armand’s hips and digs the toe of his boot into Armand’s naked side.
The mask limits Daniel’s vision just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore the fact that he could see a little more, if only, if only– Armand might be out cold on the floor, but he’s still tugging Daniel’s leash. Speaking of which. There’s a mark on the floor, an X drawn in chalk, for just where to put his knee.
He pushes Armand’s face to the side for the camera and shoves his gloved fingers in. His tongue and he insides of his cheeks are dry, another unexpected detail that makes Daniel moan again.
“Wish I had something to shove into this hole,” he starts. Armand’s specifications for costuming and blocking had been exacting, but he’d left the dialog up to Daniel. Pro: Daniel hates being told what to say. Con: Daniel might just hate ad-libbing even more. Another one of Armand’s tests.
“I’d do a, a stick or a pencil or some kind of fucking length of chain.” He settles for working his whole fist in there. There’s no resistance, and even more no reaction. Armand doesn’t squirm or arch up under him or open his jaw wider. “I wonder how much I could fit down there,” he goes on, probing what must Armand’s tonsils, the back of his throat. These fucking gloves, not being able to really feel what he’s touching, are driving Daniel insane. “There’s already no gag reflex. That would be a good experiment. See if I could get something all the way down to the stomach before he throws up on himself.”
Daniel grinds down on Armand’s crotch, his own stiff cock rubbing against the other man’s limp package. The tight briefs keep everything snug against his body, a perfect little mound for Daniel to hump. Rough, gentle, pain, pleasure, no matter what Daniel does to him Armand won’t become aroused, he won’t soften, he won’t gasp or moan or pull Daniel closer to him. It’s so fucking hot.
Daniel pushes at Armand’s chest roughly, squishing the flesh around, not like he would have if he were worried about pleasuring him. He wants to bite, to get some of that plush, lifeless flesh between his teeth and worry at it. But the mask prevents him from getting his face up against anything, so all Daniel can do is pant and salivate like a muzzled dog.
He shoves his fingers into Armand’s dry hole. It’s cold, cold enough that Daniel notices even now – Christ how does he do it? It feels like Armand is already dead. He can’t wait to get inside.
In all Daniel’s fantasies he never thought about how awkward it would be to fuck a corpse. Armand’s legs are, well, dead weight and trying to get his underwear off is so frustrating Daniel nearly gives up and tears them. Instead, he pulls them down around his knees and shoves one of Armand’s legs up and back against his side, an angle that would probably have Armand make a face if he were awake. His balls ache with how badly he fucking needs this. Daniel ruts against the cleft of Armand’s ass trying to find the right angle until he finally shoves in.
There’s no response at all – no tightening, no twitching, no rocking of Armand’s hips or bearing down on Daniel’s cock. One moment he’s pushing against the clench of Armand’s asshole and the next he’s fucking him. Even with Daniel’s supernaturally-improved fitness it feels like work, all chafe and drag instead of the usual slick glide. All Daniel can hear is the slap-slap of skin on skin and his own open-mouthed panting. He feels like something filthy and evil and inhuman violating someone beautiful and defenseless, and that thought alone is enough to make him have to pull out and grab his dick to stop himself from coming.
Armand’s balls and limp cock jiggle cutely as Daniel fucks him. The tranquilizers have him, well, dead to the world – why is that so funny and so hot at the same time? – mouth slack, lips parted, fat soft tongue peeking out from between them. If this were real, if they were both human, his insides would be getting torn up by this. He’d be raw and sore, bleeding, ruined by the time a stranger – Daniel – emptied his balls deep in his guts. The noise Daniel lets out at that thought is more like a sob than anything else. He can feel his balls tightening in anticipation and speeds up, chasing the end that’s coming too soon and not quickly enough. The tape, he has to say something for the tape–
“How long have you been down here, huh? Lying here like a pice of trash. How fucked up do you have to be before your last wish is for some stranger to come stick a cock in you?” Daniel wants to say more, but orgasm catches up with him and he grinds himself as deeply as he can into Armand’s limp, unresponsive body until it feels like there’s nothing left in him.
One more piece of the play left. Still seeing stars behind his eyes, Daniel gropes with his left hand until he finds the handle of the knife. He grabs Armand by the hair like they discussed, pulling his head up and back for the camera, and slashes one side of his jugular. It’s not exactly the end of Sanjuro, but the gush of blood is so shocking and so fucking hot it makes Daniel’s hips twitch like he’s coming a second time. He sobs out a desperate little “Yes,” drags the mask off, and leans down to lick the wound closed.
Vampire strength doesn’t make it any less physically awkward to get a Louis XVI armchair – probably actually from before the French Revolution for all Daniel knows – down the basement stairs, but Daniel manages it. He uses the blood cooler as a foot stool and settles down to get some reading done, but he doesn’t really process anything until Armand finally pushes himself up on one elbow and flops over onto his back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Wretched.” Armand tips his head back, fingering the spot on the right side of his neck where Daniel had slit his throat, and shudders in satisfaction. Daniel offers him a bag of blood, then slides down to the floor to watch him drink one, then another. The night is finally hitting him. He feels a little light headed, a little weak, and completely refreshed. Almost like the moment after stepping out of a sauna back when he was human. He rolls onto his side and starts to kiss the spot where the wound on Armand’s neck had been, licks the dried blood away as Armand’s throat bobs under his tongue. Armand brings one hand up to caress the back of Daniel’s neck and he shudders. Maybe they could just stay here in each other’s arms until tomorrow night, forget clean-up. Instead, Daniel pulls away and says,
“I can feel the smug look on your face already. Am I going to get sick of watching our own home movie?”
“We can make more.” The hand on the back of Daniel’s neck tightens and Armand’s other arm slips around him, possessive. “Next time I want to get to struggle while you drown me.”