“Be still.” Fyodor lets out a surprised yelp when Bram slips his long, cold fingers underneath the opening of his robe, fingernails just brushing against his chest before slipping back out like nothing happened.
He watches the Count turn back to his supper like nothing happened, a smidge affronted at his boldness, but more so at how quickly he lost interest. Eager to make a point, he pushes his own plate of food away.
Vermilion eyes flit towards his plate and back again. “Is it not up to your standard, little mouse?”
“The food is fine.” He hums mock-pleasantly, hands folded on top of the other on the table. “I’m just more interested in why you just shoved your hand down my garments without a care.”
“My apologies, from what I understood, you were quite fond of those sorts of advancements.” He mutters with a shrug.
“Well…I am.” He admits without losing any momentum in his stride as he watches the Count continue to eat as if he’s not there. “But I’d quite like an insight on your train of thought.”
An irritated twitch of a brow. “You question me.”
“I humbly request an explanation.” He corrects him easily.
About a month ago, Bram would have banished him back to the dungeon for just his tone before letting him out a few days later to f*ck him into next week, but now he simply lets out an irritated sigh.
“Your skin is quite tender.”
Well, that’s an answer he didn’t expect.
“Thank you for your kind words, oh great one.” He quips, voice dripping with a sarcasm that Bram catches in an instant.
“I feel you are getting too comfortable sleeping in my bed. Do you wish to be tossed back into the concrete cellar you should be calling home?”
“If you wanted that,” He grins, pushing his chair back and sliding onto the Count’s lap. “You wouldn’t have been so suddenly interested in me.”
“A harlot and a rat.” Bram clicks his tongue, fingernails digging into Fyodor’s cheeks as he tilts his head up to expose his neck. “I swear, if you weren’t so…” Hot hair brushes against Fyodor’s neck and his breath hitches audibly. “Addicting… I’d have you killed right here.”
Fyodor remains silent as Bram slips his robe off of his shoulders delicately with his index finger, exposing his shoulders.
“Tell me.” The Count bares his teeth as he delves to stake his claim once more on the thoroughly marked crook of his neck, stopping before he can penetrate skin. “Is there a reason your skin is so…delicate?”
“It’s just the same as anyone else’s.” He mumbles as sharp teeth graze against his neck, his own hands wrapping around broad shoulders to steady himself.
“No…no, it’s never quite this…inviting.”
And the sequence ensues. Fyodor whimpers quietly when Bram sinks his teeth into his neck, breaking skin and pulling away as blood gushes out. Then, like clockwork, there are kitten licks being peppered around the wound, as to not waste any of it and, finally, Bram wraps his lips around the fresh bite mark.
No matter how much the Count taints his skin, though, his reactions have never dulled.
Fyodor feels himself go limp, breath erratic as hands slip underneath his robe once more, this time cupping his thighs.
“I wonder…where else are you so…tender?” He mumbles into the fresh bite, still occupied with making neat work of finishing off the wound before coating it with saliva using his warm and sinfully long tongue.
Fyodor doesn’t need to respond to the tease, though, because he’s already being carried out of the room and straight to the chambers. While he buries his own face in Bram’s shoulder, he hears him tell the guards not to disturb them until the morning.
“Morning? I thought you just needed to feed.” Being the sole source of Bram’s actual sustenance, it’s Fyodor who he drains every night until his already weak body is quivering and faint.
“It appears that I need a little more than the amount I usually take from you.” Bram shuts his door behind them and lays Fyodor on his bed, deep and neatly folded red sheets wrinkling underneath him. “This…happens from time to time. It is merely an inconvenience.”
“For you. I, personally, might die of blood loss.” And he’s not quite ready to take the Count’s place just yet.
“Well, then. Maybe I will rid myself of a certain anaemic plague to my soul tonight.” Bram smiles- a rare occurrence that stirs a fire in the pit of his stomach- and tears off his robe.
“Funny thing about clothes, one typically tends to wear them more than once.” Fyodor sniffs as his (now torn) garments are tossed aside, leaving him bare for Bram to devour.
He gave up on underwear long time ago with how often a simple conversation turned into him being f*cked on top of every possibly surface of the manner. Not that he’s complaining of course- being the Count’s bed maiden has its fair share of advantages.
And yet still he remains surprised as Bram kneels in front of him, parting his knees and looking up at him. “I’ve heard that the feeling of pleasure typically overpowers that of pain, is that correct?”
“In most cases.” Fyodor watches as Bram takes both his hands, kissing his wrists before allowing Fyodor to hold onto his long, silvery hair. “But I have a feeling you might be pushing the envelope a little.”
“I might be.” He agrees easily. “So you will tell me when you’re on the verge of blacking out. Only then, will I stop.”
“You must be trying to kill me.” He chuckles, watching the Count slink back to kiss his knee.
“No, little mouse. This is me savouring you.” He corrects him gently, his eyes gleaming as Fyodor’s cheeks glow red with arousal. “Now be still.”
The next few kisses are to coax him into relaxing, gentle as they trailing closer to his rapidly hardening member. The pads of Fyodor’s fingers dig into Bram’s scalp gently, eager for something more.
The Count does not oblige so easily, instead licking long, wet stripes along his inner thighs, coating his skin in the vampire’s thick saliva. And then it hits him- he’s being prepared. Bram watches his expression shift into one of understanding between sloppy kisses all over his thighs, a grin spreading over his features.
And then, the kisses move to his neglected co*ck.
Fyodor lets out a surprised noise between a gasp and a moan when Bram swipes his tongue over the head of it, pressing a few kisses to the tip before rubbing his thumb over a protruding vein. He whines in response, urging him for more.
The Count is nothing but complying at that, taking his co*ck deeper into his mouth with a few swipes of his tongue.
He lets Fyodor have his fun, allowing him to lay down so that his back arches with every touch at the most sensitive spots of his pretty little co*ck. It’s no challenge, taking him in whole, the length of it hitting the back of Bram’s throat.
Experimentally, he swallows around it.
“Ohh f-f*ck-” Fyodor’s whole body responds to the motion, his thighs wrapping around Bram’s head so that he’s thrusting into his mouth languidly, small whines leaving the human’s mouth with every sharp gasp. “P-please- again-”
“You’ve had your fun, little mouse.” Bram decides, pulling himself off his co*ck. Fyodor protests, his erratic moans turning into ones of frustration until a large, rough hand wraps itself around him to keep him stimulated. He clicks his tongue irritably, despite his fond smile. “So needy.”
Without wasting any more time, Bram turns his head, wrist still manoeuvring to Fyodor’s maximum pleasure as his tongue begins nursing one of his thighs.
Fyodor gasps when he raises his thigh, hunting for the softest part of it before he finds and sinks his teeth harshly into the area just beside his co*ck. Bram groans as sweet, addicting blood gushes into his mouth, the taste of it clouding his senses.
Underneath his hand, Fyodor’s skin is quaking, probably with a scream of both pleasure and pain, but he does not fight his grip too much, which encourages him to keep going- to keep feasting on him.
His tongue laps at the blood sloppily, staining his cheeks and soothing the wound with his saliva. When he moves back to Fyodor’s co*ck, keeping in mind to make sure the human stays more pleased than in pain, the blood mingles with his cum and that’s what makes him realise that Fyodor has hit his first release.
He keeps the pace of the bob of his head punishing, gripping Fyodor’s shaking thighs and allowing the blood painting his lips to stain his co*ck.
He repeats the same pattern of replacing his mouth with his hand as he moves to his other, unblemished thigh, this time kissing the soft skin as a warning before staking his claim.
This time, he hears Fyodor screams. He hears him beg for his god, for Bram, for mercy as he chokes on his own tears.
But Bram does not falter, attacking each thigh in turn until they’re covered in the marks of his teeth, only stopping when he feels a sharp tug at his scalp.
“I- I can’t…” Fyodor moans out, eyelids beginning to droop.
“Are you almost finished, mouseling?” Bram coos, massaging his hip bones. Fyodor nods tearily.
“Very well. I’ve had my fill of you for now.” Bram finally rises to his feet and flips Fyodor over with a hand. At the startled moans, he leans over to kiss the shell of his ear. “You’ve been good. This is your reward.”
In a swift movement, he untucks his aching co*ck from his pants and presses it to Fyodor’s entrance and raises one of his thighs. The human buries his face in the sheets, muffling his own whines as Bram pushes all the way in.
His thrusts are deliberate and swift, punching the air out of Fyodor’s lungs and leaving him writhing underneath him in pleasure.
Divine. Absolutely divine.
Fyodor makes a clawing motion towards him between his own desperate noises, causing Bram to chuckle and obediently meet Fyodor’s lips for a swift kiss over his shoulder.
“Breath for me, vixen.” He instructs him, pressing a hand to his chest between thrusts to guide his breaths. Fyodor nods, deliberately loudening them to show his obedience.
He only quiets down when Bram thrusts into him a final time and pumps his ass full of his cum just as Fyodor hits his release for the nth time.
Few words are exchanged before his vision blurs and Fyodor is unconscious, leaving Bram to clean up the mess.
He sighs with the roll of his eyes, then presses a few soft kisses up and down the column of his neck. Some things are just a little too hard to resist.
