#PTVBB AU

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

VampAU Snippet 2 - between two lungs, the breath that passed from you to me

Another snippet of the VampAU which is slowly working on once again inspired by the lovely art of @chlmngo. This time GriThoBeans on holiday in Tuscany in 1925 enjoying each other's company...

~ Tuscany 1925

Both their hands are on Joel's neck;  interlocking with little affections and predatory claim to the expanse, simulatenously ravenous and tender. The twofold hold has his brain drowning before Grian’s nails drag along the tender of his bicep - slow and almost melodic in how his hand touches him, like he’s some delicate song written for a lover. 

Etho thrusts into him like he’s got some vendetta, like Joel loves, punching out the whimpering noise boiling the back of his throat. Bottoming out in him, Etho’s hand tenses on the back of his neck, ripping a horrendous shiver - violent and desperate - across his back and shoulders. 

Etho doesn’t even give Joel a moment to get used to it before ripping it all away and cruelly filling him again in an instance. Grian keeps him grounded, keeps him presence as Etho threatens to pull him beneath in a tidal wave of pleasure with each thrust. That intoxicating sound of Etho’s hips meeting his hips, intoxicatingly clawing against his back side, falls beneath the growling sounds of pleasure above him and the soft, slightly breathless call of Grian that fills his horizon. 

Grian tentatively drinks up his pleasure, all the little shivers and whine that spill out as his fingers leave lines of lace against his skin - little affections that tie him in knots, tether him to Schrödinger’s blonde holding him like he’s a prized piece of china while Etho rampages around the shop like a bull. 

He can’t tell if it’s Etho rearranging his insides with a maliciously giddy desire, or Grian’s gentle hold on his shoulder as he rubs little circles into his skin while watching with an amorously affectionate twinkle. It’s too much in the best way, and tears spill down Joel’s cheeks. 

Sobbing moans of overwhelming pleasure and desperate cries clawing themself out of his throat, filling the space around them as he can’t hold back leaking pre between his thighs. 

It’s nothing like earlier in the night - the soft roll of his hips atop Etho, like the waves rolling behind them, moonlight bathing his blood soaked chest as Etho’s hands appraise and marvel at every inch of him, like some marble statue, dredged from the sea - demanding worship with it’s sheer beauty. 

A sound halfway between a whine and moan spills into the dawn through the open window as Joel clings to the sheets, trembling in the hands of his loves. 

A thin sliver of daylight cuts across the door like a blade of horrendous gold, a searing scar in their darkness. Grian had forgotten to pull the top blind - but in his defence, if your two travel-buddies and homosexual unlife partners stumble in half dressed smelling of limoncello and a good time, and instantly beset upon you in a cacophony of giggling and kisses and awkward fumbling to get out your belt of, well… you too may forget about a window.

The fuzziness of the drunk party goer he and Etho had drained - her blood still on their lips and the scent of lemon clinging to their minds - is fading, subsumed and replaced by a familiar sort, the kind that makes Joel feel like he’s suffocating. 

“Doing so well for us darling,” Grian’s words are like a choir, cutting through the roaring flames of Etho, like some sort of divine message. Joel can feel his breath hitch in that instance, when Grian’s words ring through his head like church bells, his thumb firm, unknotting all the tension on his shoulder. “Isn’t he Etho?”

Etho nods, but Joel can’t see that and Grian gives him a look to remind him of that fact. 

“Of course he is, taking me so well babe.” 

The softness of their words, of Grian’s touch, of his gaze, really just makes the rough drag of Etho’s cock and the claws on his ass that much more intense.   

“G-geez, you g- are obsessed wi-ith me!-Fuck!” It comes out as more of a whimper at first, but as soon as Joel steadies his voice Etho’s cock punches all the air out of his lung with a particularly rough thrust. Grian breath hot on his cheek, his words like some sanctified prayer, a whisper on the wind that cuts through all the chorus of pleasure. 

“Hard not to be beans. Hard not to be.” 

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

VampAU Snippet - Little Prays, Take Me There

Inspired by the magma art of the wonderful @chlmngo from the Priest [dilf] Tango & Vamp Bad Boys AU I have been cooking with @crownpastelyellow

c/w vampire biting [gasp], blood, age gap,

Their bites are nothing like Jimmy’s. 

Joel’s rough: like a tiger’s maw mauling one side of his neck - lacking the soft melting sensation that Jimmy had when he took his neck. Sinking in like he was going to gore him, purring as his blood rushed around the porcelain stakes, cheeks rosy, clearly quite pleased with the whimpering spilling forth. 

Tango bleeds freely and Joel is ravenous. Lapping up the mess with his tongue like sandpaper: wet and coarse and so warm it threatens to scorch a line of glass against his sandy skin.

Grian’s softer: but then again a serrated hacksaw is gentle compared to Joel. Grian’s hungry, ravenous, and there’s a sort of carnally mischievous glee Tango feels in the way he sinks into the soft meat of his neck and dredges out a pathetically choked sound of pleasure, but he doesn’t gore the way Joel does. 

There's a more measured - not restrained - approach: soft little nips and marks until he finds the perfect spot to sink in. And it burns, perhaps worse than Joel: Grian’s fangs slide into him like super-heated knives, twisting out unholy sounds from him, staying submerged in him long enough for the pleasure to begin to sour into something painful, bothersome, pesky. 

In truth, they are seemingly only interested in him in passing: a sweet taste on their tongues as they undress each other with their eyes, fluttering hearts enamoured with how the other devours Tango. Their hands dance around each other on his chest, like they were waltzing and Tango was simply being pulled along. He can feel their infatuation with one another, their love flowing through him: like chains wrapping tight around his neck.

Tango can feel himself slipping between them, the thrumming beat of his heart - once a desperate scream - present still but nought but an echo.

What is he meant to do with his hands..?

Grian and Joel crash down against him like waves. They drag him out to sea, threatening to tear him down the middle if not for Jimmy.

Ah Jimmy. 

Jimmy who keeps his hands tucked into the little groove and canyons of his waist, who peppers soft kisses across his abdomen as his vampire companions drink deep, who never took his eyes off him while the others ignored his entirety beyond the little stretch of flesh they had colonised with their love bites.

As new wellsprings of blood bubble to the surface, meandering down his neck, Jimmy’s eyes stay solely on his, pressing little twisting warmth against him, the kind that burrow deep - the kind that feel like nails, pinning him to the cross - the warmth of reverence: of love.