#and too busy suffering growing up thru my teenage years

[sweettodo]

Promiscuous.

⟿ Levi Ackerman x freader x Eren Jaeger

Includes : threesome, swearing, smut.

word count : 4,5k.

for 300 followers, i promised i would bless you all with a few stories. this was a tough plot to come up with b/c the age difference, but i always come thru :)). enjoy. thank you for 300 friends, readers, and fans. one more story on the way, hope you like !!

Being in the scouts wasn't necessarily all that bad, especially when you had all the strong, agile men to look at all day long.

You didn't bite your tongue, the gushy, teenage girl flirtatiousness that you bestowed upon not one, not two, but a good sum of the boys you worked and trained with every day. Most of whom were your closest friends, who put up with your promiscuousness. For the most part, they fed into it, reciprocating the behavior. But it couldn't be avoided that you took a special liking towards your Captain; Mr. Ackerman himself.

Call it unnatural, call it unusual, but you had a justification for liking him so much. If he said the right thing in the right context, your knees would be shaky and weak, for instance, when he demanded you to 'shut up' half-jokingly for fooling around with Connie too much. You left training that day with a waterfall between your legs, leaving you stunned for at least a week.

The ideas in your head were endless and slightly disturbing. There was no denying you were captivated by him, and he knew it.

Not to mention he took a fondness to you too...

Well, not how you quite anticipated him too. He just believed you were a capable scout, thus him taking you under his wing with your friends. Leaving aside your whorish comments. He took your ignorant attitude with a grain of salt, not allotting you the time of the day- which only made it more of a challenge to get what you yearned much for.

He would scoff, walk away and roll his eyes, reprimanding you on behaving yourself and acting your age. You were 19, you were acting your age, 'I could be worse,' you mumbled under your breath.

Being the species of girl who was drawn to a particular type of man, power play, that sharp attitude which one with a level head and a drop of common sense would take as a definite red flag, the type of man that would punish you for being horny or bratty- you could only dream- it was also clear you couldn't bluff and say that you didn't favor the infamous Eren Jaeger: the strong-willed, wild, dominant and overbearing youthful man. He could command you to get on your knees, and you would in a flash.

Alas, you would not be seeing the pearly gates with what went through your mind about the long-haired, tall, demanding man. On the plus side-unlike Levi- Eren enjoyed the attention you gave him, he played the game with you.

And he played the game good- you liked it.

On numerous occasions, you would be more than touchy with Eren, the little 'not so serious' back rub, or a hand on his thigh under the table to make him hot and bothered. And once or twice, the rare make-out session in an alleyway while your friends shopped or by the stable of horses one time when you were sixteen. Though the sexual tension grew once you turned eighteen when you two were less apt to get in trouble for your conduct- yet you never took it all the way, liking the idea of having him on his toes every time he saw you.

Anyways, today was different than most days, you all were honored with a few days of relaxing, sleeping in, and extra time to eat and shower with no training, or missions.

Appreciating the peace, you lay in your bed buried under the blankets half asleep, taking in the unusual time of relaxation. While nearing slumber again, you're rudely interrupted. A pounding on your door riddles throughout your body, frightening you half to death, you flinch, sitting up in an instant.

"Food! y/n." oh, it was Connie.

You untangle from the blankets, sauntering to your wardrobe, and pulling out a regular old white shirt with shorts. The heat was not something to take lightly around here, you could collapse and suffer from a heat stroke if you weren't careful, so you rolled up your shorts a little and slipped on shoes, taming your hair and heading out of your messy room towards the mess hall, eyes finding your friends and groggily plunging into the bench besides Eren and your other buddies, "sleep well?" Connie laughs, you scowl at him.

"Yea! I was dreamin' about you too! Too bad you ruined it, I was just getting to the good part."

Connie laughs and shakes his head, shoveling food down into his mouth, "I don't even wanna know what that dream was about." Jean grumbles, ruffling his hair to remove it from his clammy forehead; Jean was a difficult one to crack, he usually blushed and would cut your trifling demeanor right off at the knees, he was more for Mikasa's quiet and ethical personality.

"Shut it Kirstein- I do!" Connie protests, you wink at him.

"I'll tell you when I get you alone, how 'bout that Springer?"

Eren could be heard from your left, snorting, you glance over and see his arm raise and head towards your back, yanking your bra and snapping it back against your skin, you unleash an 'ouch' and attempt to reach back and rub the area, "White shirt with a red bra underneath? Who're you tryna' impress?" You shrug.

"Captain, of course."

"More like you dressed in the dark this morning." Eren bullies.

"Captain, what?" Connie and Sasha childishly roll and bounce around in their seats, bellowing laughter while you slowly turn around to face your boss, he reiterates one more time before you chuckle and scratch the back of your neck.

"Talking about how good my boss looks today," the words that roll off your tongue make The tense up and sigh in annoyance, beginning to walk away, you pout, tilting your head, "am I wrong?"

"Keep it up, y/n, I'll have you in a cell indefinitely if you continue this adolescent behavior." He doesn't look twice at you, leaving as quickly as he came. Halting your comments right as they came flying out of your mouth, he had to have been enjoying them! Perhaps a little.

Right as the man in charge begins to leave the hall, he stops, peers his head over to meet your eyes.

"-In chains." Your eyes widen, a perverted grin growing onto your face, looking left to right baffled, 'in chains?' gawking to see if any of your friends noticed the innuendo, but it seemed they were well absorbed in their own business.

But someone heard him.

"In chains?"

You look at Eren, he shared the same shock as you, you wriggle your eyebrows and nudge his side, "I'm not the only one who heard it, so maybe I'm not going crazy." You giggle, finishing your meal and gossiping amongst your friends until it was time to go.

To pass time during the day, you all wasted hours cleaning up to your captain's expectations, finally relieving yourselves for the rest of the evening before dinner; walking down the streets of your town, stopping at the shops down the gravel streets. While everyone talks, your head is elsewhere; replaying that remark Levi made about the chains, borderline obsessing over it- rightfully so.

When he said the word 'chains', you instantly recalled the context behind his innuendo, unless you were going insane, but you had made a joke- your first endeavor at flirting with your boss, mentioning to him using the same chains he used on Eren in court a few years back, your friends condemning your extraverted behavior on the spot; when to no avail, Levi did not feed into that well, sending you to isolation shortly after. And then to Erwin's office to explain yourself... in front of him, Commander Hange, and Levi. Nonetheless, it didn't stop you from toying with the man.

You were somewhat... wild.

Enjoying the rest of your stress-free hours, you spend the evening sitting comfortably in the large common area after dinner; all of you except Eren, who didn't appear at dinner either. God knows where he was.

You lounge beside Armin and Jean, your head on Jean's shoulder per-usual.

"Jean, has Mikasa told you how good you look today?" You hum, his face is instantly soaked up in a rosy flush as he throws his hands over his ears to block your weird comments from reaching his ears, "Mikasa?" you quirk an eyebrow.

"Don't be absurd, y/n" she laughs, "Jean, don't listen to her."

"Jean, you look extra good today," you lean over closer to him, "just thought I'd tell ya'."

"Yeah, yeah." He cracks a small smile, you pat his shoulder then fall back into your seat.

"Awh- c'mon Kirstein, you know I-"

"Y/n, Captain needs to see you..." Eren's voice interrupts the chatting, his head peers into the room, you and your friends falling silent.

"You're probably in trouble again." Armin sighs disappointingly. You promptly stand, "good luck." dragging your feet towards your supposed 'escort', Meeting Eren at the door frame of the corridor, his hands stuffed in his pockets with a deadpan look, watching you begin to take lead ahead of him, "how do you know Levi wants to see me?" You question, examining him whilst walking through the hallways, up the stairs, and around the corner, a few feet away from your Captain's headquarters.

"We talked."

With an uncertain look on your face, churning with turmoil, Eren is knocking once, then twice before pushing open the engraved wooden door, 'Captain didn't even ask who it was at the door-' you furrow your eyebrows, his hand on your back, quickly whisking you into the large room, abruptly stopping in front of his desk.

Your feet are glued to the floor while Eren is closing the door. Levi stands there, propped up against his desk with his arms crossed. The room was eerily silent, you were becoming slightly intimidated. Do you stand? Talk? Sit?

The silence was unbearable.

"Do you need me-"

"I'm fed up, with your manner, cadet." Levi interrupts.

"If I may- Captain," He nods for you to proceed, "why is Eren here?" Captain was very much capable of taking care of reprimanding you on his own, you were almost irritated that Eren was lingering behind you, feeling his eyes burning voids in the back of your head, disrespectfully.

"Isn't that what you want?" Eyes doubling in size, you swerve your head to attempt and get a view of Eren, but Levi halts you once more, treading closer to you so you can look at him, "you don't need to look at Eren."

"I- I don't quite understand."

No one says anything. The air is now thick, more difficult to swallow for oxygen, you were entirely thrown off track with the way he was speaking to you, the way he was looking at you made you want to make a run for it, "Cat got your tongue? Y/n?" Chills rake up and down your body when you feel Eren's breath on your neck, sending your head flying behind you to see the blue-eyed devil almost pressed against your back, you look back at Levi frantically.

"Sit."

Without pause, your ass is planted into one of his chairs, "why aren't you being stubborn? Where's that attitude that constantly gets you into trouble?" Feeling as if you're shrinking, the two men are overlooking you, "go on."

"I- well,"

"She has nothing to say for herself, Cap." Eren looks at Levi, "told you she was all talk." He jabs, were you dreaming?

Your heart thumped out of your chest, you never dreamed of Levi taking it this far, especially when he was so professional... "y/n," Levi's finger touches underneath your chin, raising your head to look at the two men, "always teasing me when you do the same to Eren, so slutty, don't you think, cadet?"

Your mouth drops open at his use of words, finally- the game caught up to you, and you were facing the repercussions, "don't be all shy now."

"I'm not-"

"Then if you're not shy, get on your knees and show us how much you’ve wanted us.”

You hesitate to move, but eventually find yourself slowly sliding out of the chair and onto your knees, "not in my office, go in my room." Eren grabs your arm, walking towards his adjoining room, Levi opens the door and permits you to be ushered in by both him and Eren; Eren grabs you by the hair and directs you back onto your knees in front of your captain's bed, "she's so compliant now that she knows we aren't joking anymore," Levi scoffs, standing behind you while Eren is unbuttoning his jeans right in front of your eyes, a combination of anxiousness and warmth growing in the pit of your gut, looking up at him through your eyelashes, licking across your bottom lip hungrily.

"Be a good girl and open for Eren," Levi bunches up your hair from behind, removing it from around your face.

"Yes sir."

Sticking out your tongue, you try to relax your throat once seeing the size of the man, Levi's grip on your hair prevents you from getting a good look at it before his cock is nudging gently into your mouth, down your tongue, and to the back of your throat, fastening your lips around the base of his cock whilst swirling your tongue when he pulls out of your throat, groaning when your tongue works him with ease.

"So good," He hums, grabbing the sides of your face, Levi drops your hair from his hold so Eren can pick up his pace, using his hands to guide you; gagging and choking while he fucks your throat, saliva dripping down your chin, at the verge of tears, you take his length as far as you can manage. Eren grunting and huffing; only throbbing more when he sees the little tears drip down your cheeks. He heaves out of you, your tongue lolled out while strings of spit follow his cock, the men are astonished at the sight of you gasping for air, but they weren't going to tell you that.

"Are you gonna be good for me and our captain, princess?" Eren crouches down to meet your eyes, clever smile on his face, you nod and he stands you up by your armpit.

You had virtually no control over yourself, they were moving you to where they saw fit; right on your hands and knees into the soft plush sheets, "what do you want, y/n?" you listen from behind you, your head is yanked backward, Levi is there, his free hand wrapped around your jugular loosely, his shirt unbuttoned.

"I want you both to fuck me," you gasp out, they both snicker at you.

"Too easy, way too easy, such a fuckin' whore, imagine wanting both of us," Eren taunts, snatching your shorts down to your knees and lifting your shirt to grab onto the thin waistband of your underwear, "you want Jean to fuck you too? Got any other favorites?" Levi shoves you back onto the mattress, your arms catching you while Levi continues to remove your shorts from your knees, tossing them on the floor, rough hands caressing and pulling apart your ass, both men watch your panties slip in the separated cave of your ass, Eren pulling off your shirt and unclasping your bra.

"N-o, only you guys."

"Who do you want more? Me or your other little fucktoy?" Levi sneers, moving to your front, once again lifting you by your chin, keeping you still while Eren rubs his fingers against the soaked cloth. Pulling upwards against your cunt, the pressure making your clit spasm and scream for the touch of his actual fingers, looking desperate and hungry at your captain.

"I- I can't choose."

Your chest rising and falling, Eren is finally relieving you from your panties, fingers instantly meeting your folds and slipping past your entrance with his two fingers, you whine, eyes rolling to the back of your head, knuckles curving downwards to hook into you and find your sweet spots.

"Well aren't you lucky, you get both of us, even though you don't deserve it," Your captain smirks, getting on his knees, fiddling with the button of his slacks, zipping them down and pushing them past his thighs, "I think she needs to beg for it." He looks at Eren, his erection making itself known from beneath his boxers, fingers quickly scissoring the roots of your hair while he frees himself from his constraints.

"I wanna be your slut- please make me cum." They smile, pleased with your submissiveness.

Cock spilling with precum, he scooches towards your salivating mouth and holds your level to his cock, centimeters away, "so fuckin' wet, can't say I'm surprised you get off to this." Eren's tip rubbing between your folds, collecting the slick that was seeping from your hungry pussy. He pushes into you while Levi is pushing into your mouth, both holes becoming occupied by their pulsating cocks; they longed to fill you up, the torturous teasing you put them through the second you turned eighteen was bound to make them snap- you didn't know what you expected, to be honest, you asked for this.

Eren fucks you slow, savoring the feeling of you clench and suck him in further, pussy stretching from the sheer size of him, veins from the base of his cock hitting and rubbing against the very nerves that were screaming for him to go faster.

Levi fucks deep into your throat, he was about Eren's size, perhaps a little thinner, but he was no match for your throat, choking up the spit from past your throat to lube his cock further. You bring your hand up to assist you, twisting your hand back and forth- up and down while you stimulated his sensitive tip with your tongue, hollowing out your cheeks to suck him back in and repeat.

He was becoming unkempt, his mouth ajar with little moans slipping past his lips, hair dangling in front of the sides of his face while his hips bucked back and forth into the depths of your cave.

"My God, so wet."

You moaned against Levi's cock, Eren speeding up and reaching your cervix, your juices slushing and pussy squeaking while he stretches you out. When his hips connected to your backside, you only want to shrivel up more from the pace he was hitting the hole of your tight cervix. Initially, it hurt, but almost instantly it began to feel pleasurable for both you and Eren, he was reaching great lengths inside of you. He's always wanted to fuck you; almost disappointed in himself that he didn't do this before.

"Taking me so well, I can barely fit," he grunts, "you like my cock y/n? Isn't this what you wanted with your bullshit teasing?" he smacks your ass, crying out, his hips jutting back and forth against you mercilessly, sending jolts into every bone of your body.

He slaps you again, your right ass cheeks burning and tingling from the strength of his slap, "fuckin' slut, better be quiet."

Levi pulls out of your throat, finally able to audible out the loud weeps and cries, he throws his hand over your mouth, "shut up before you get us caught."

"Fuck, Eren!" you wail, ignoring Levis commands, gasps and moans fly around the room, his cock filling you perfectly to the point where you felt like you were made to shape him.

"Open." his hand is forcing your jaw open, sticking your panties into your mouth to silence you. You cry into the fabric, the coil twirling up in your stomach, clenching your walls while he drills into you, his cock rubbing against your g-spot, sending you into a frenzy.

Levi fists his cock for the time being while Eren is chasing his orgasm, knocking into you- inching you towards your orgasm. The back of your head tingling, your pussy twitching, and your stomach tightening, the room spiraling around you while you drop your head into the mattress, eyes screwed shut; Eren tearing an earth-shattering orgasm out of your body.

You see stars and a bright white consumes you, hands reaching to grasp anything, finding Levi's bicep and digging your nails into his skin for support while Eren's cock bathes in your cum, his hands pressing into the small of your back, "'boutta cum, right in this pretty little pussy." He spits, pinning your back to a better arch, you cry into the sheets when Erens thrusts loosen a little, sporadic and stabbing thrusts until he's panting and dumping a large load of his seed into your cunt, letting out moans and swears of approval. Your body convulsing, wanting to collapse.

Erin's lightheaded, dizzy and sweating, little bangs and baby hairs sticking to his soaked face, watching your cum drip down your thighs, the wetness from your pussy which had soaked his stomach, it was a fucking mess.

Everywhere.

He pulls out of you, your cream coating his cock; snatching a shirt and wiping himself clean, hiking up his boxers, "you're not done. On your back, now."

Without warning nor regard, you're pushed forward into Levi's hands by Eren to get you moving quicker; you slide onto your back, Levi takes charge and steps off the bed, hauling you by the thighs until you're at the edge of the bed, Levi pressing his hands under your thighs, holding them up and letting his cock slap against your cum-filled cunt, biting onto his bottom lip, teasing his cock into you.

He leans down, taking out the pair of underwear from your mouth, "keep quiet, understood?"

Quickly nodding and bracing yourself, happy to feel warm again.

"Did Eren fill you good?" he asks calmly, you nod.

"Yes- Levi."

Levi halts mid-thrust, peeved look on his face, "yes what, y/n?" you swallow hard, throat dry from the cloth.

"Y-yes Captain, he did." You mewl, he nods once before finishing his thrust.

"This pussy is so tight, even after he stretched you out like this?" he huffs, head dipped down- eyes filed to your pussy sucking in his cock so well; hair flopping back and forth, "I told you I was gonna do something about that mouth of yours, didn't I?"

"Y-you did, sir." You wail.

Levi didn't hold back, each of his sharp thrusts made you more tender inside, little cries fall from your swollen lips while Eren sits beside your head, big arm reaching over your face and kneading your boob, he watches them bounce slightly as Levi ruts into you. Rolling your hard erected nipple in between his fingers, "look at that face, are you gonna cum again?" you look up at Eren, who wears a smug look on his face, "are you gonna cum on Captain's cock, y/n?" you whine, trying to remain quieter under your Captain's directions.

"Gonna-" Eren's hand moves once more- over towards your clit.

This was the first time tonight you had felt this overstimulation, hissing in air and biting onto the skin of your lip, hand grasping Eren's wrist as he swirls little- yet strong circles into your clit, your mouth slacks open, “please! Feels so-" another burst of spasms erupting, thighs shaking and clenching around Levi's waist, "f-fuck me- Fuck me harder Captain, please!" You cry, walls convulsing, cum seeping out of you, down your ass and the base of his cock while he fucks you silly, Eren bringing you that much closer to a euphoric feeling again as he rubs your spasming clit.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you like the whore you are, right?" Levi pants, cockhead rubbing against your sensitive and exhausted g-spot.

"Who can fuck you better?" Unable to audible, Eren moves faster around your num.

"Don't disobey our Captain, pretty girl- use your words." Screwing your eyes shut, the two men await your answer.

"I-I don't know- Ah!" Your back arches, core tightening for the second time tonight- body shaking as the following orgasm sends you over the moon, Eren's hand smacked over your mouth, you wail into his hand, Levi pins your legs open, leaning down to fuck into you harder, thrashing into your guts, pussy gushing around him until he is groaning and throwing his head back while he slams into you, his stomach nearly slapping against Eren's fingers, his dick twitching. His cheeks rosy and his muscles flexed.

"Fuck, so good- so tight- keep squeezing-" he breathes.

You're dazed from the rocking of his hips, he slows, catching his breath while he releases, coating your bruised walls with his cum. Your body left empty and quivering as Levi is slipping out of your cunt, Eren handing him the same shirt he used to wipe himself off with; your captain retrieving it and cleaning the amount of cum that was left on his softening dick, moving to you and carefully wiping the inside of your thighs and beaten cunt.

Catching your breath, Levi is picking his boxers up from the floor and pulling them up along with his pants, “don’t stay there forever, my sheets need to be switched.” He states, Eren reaches for your hand and helps you sit up, putting his shirt over your head and you slip through the arms, feet meeting the cold wooden floor, you attempt to stand, your knees buckling, Eren grabs you by the tricep before you land on the floor and sits you back on the bed.

“I think it would look suspicious if I carried you out of here, can you walk?”

You nod, “yeah.”

Standing again, you're able to succeed, reaching for your underwear, Eren already had it swinging around his index finger, “I’ll hold onto these.”

With no willpower to object, you just pull up your shorts and pick up your shoes.

“Walk her back, Jaeger, don't do anything stupid.”

You and Eren both leave your Captain’s office quietly, the hall empty and empty, you and he slowly walk back, you laughed at the thought about how it would be a tough one to explain why Eren was shirtless and you were- quite obviously- wearing his shirt while he holds your stained shirt in his hand.

With great luck, you and he make it without running into anyone, reaching your door, you and him enter and you shut the door behind him.

“Here’s your shirt.”

He watches you as you throw off his shirt, tossing it to him and opening a drawer, and grabbing one of your own.

Before you realize it.

“Uhm, Eren, I forgot my bra.” Glancing down at your bare chest, Eren shrugs it off and laughs.

“Captain wanted to keep something too, princess.”

#levi smut #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi and eren #levi x reader #eren jeager smut #eren x reader #eren x reader x levi #eren aot #attack on titan smut #smut #eren jaeger #eren yeager #lemon #attack on titan

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

#martin x reader #slasher x reader #martin 1977 #slasher imagines #ripper fics #sorry for how late this is #enjoy!