[Tethers] A Done Deal
Mar. 28th, 2020 12:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: A Done Deal
Universe: Tethers, Pre-Canon
Characters: Easton, Sinoun
Rated: M
Enticements: Sexual Content, Consensual Vampirism, Biting, BDSM themes
Description: Easton has always been too curious for his own good, and when he meets a mysterious individual named Sinoun, he can’t fight the urge the feed.
Loud.
Easton twitches and tries to focus on the warm ale they’d served him, flat and sour in flavor, certainly not worth the three silver he’d paid. His meal, at least, more than makes up for it, the meat pie’s crust flaky and seasoned and still warm.
It’s noisy in this tavern, however, and Easton twitches again. He eats quickly, downs the ale, and considers retreating to the small room he’s rented for the evening. Uproarious laughter erupts from a nearby table. One of the chairs screeches back in a violent action, its occupant leaping to their feet.
Easton eyes them.
“This is bullshit!” the human snarls in a deep, guttural tone as he throws a hand of cards down on the table, scattering them in several directions. “No man is this lucky!”
Across the table from him sits another man, dusky skin, wavy-red brown hair, a smirk on his full lips. He shrugs, hands twisting in an absent gesture.
“Or perhaps, good sir, no man is as unlucky as you.” His smile widens, one eye fluttering in a wink. “You’re welcome to try again, if you have anything left to bet.”
“Slater, calm down. I was watching him the whole time. He can’t have cheated,” says one of the individuals next to Slater, a willowy elf dressed in wizard’s robes. He puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and instantly, a wave of calm visibly ripples through Slater.
Magic can be useful.
Slater growls and shakes off his companion’s touch. “Fuck all of you.” He shoves the chair back under the table and snatches his bag from the back of it. “If I see you outside this tavern, you’d best not be alone.”
“My, my. A threat.” The red-haired man tilts his chin and strokes the stubble marring his chin. “I look forward to it then. Perhaps your luck will change.”
A rumble rises in Slater’s chest before he spins and stomps away, his wizard friend hurrying after him, looking exasperated and resigned. Perhaps this is a common occurrence.
So there’s not to be a fight then? Pity.
Easton finishes off his tankard. He steals another glance at the man left behind at the table, and startles when bright eyes meet his, sharp like a wolf’s. The man smiles at Easton as he shuffles his cards without looking at them, the sound of it barely audible over the noise of the other patrons.
There’s invitation in the gaze, and in the tilt of the man’s head. He gestures to the table before he goes back to shuffling his cards.
Easton nibbles on the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t wanted company tonight. He hadn’t wanted to interact. But he is curious. He wonders if the man is as much of a cheat as this Slater seems to believe, even if he does look like trouble.
He should know better than to interact with trouble.
Still.
Easton eyes his empty tankard and sets it down on the table with a thunk, upside-down. He rises from his chair, gathers his bag and bow, and approaches the table, standing behind the chair Slater had abandoned.
“I can offer you something better than that swill if you’ll entertain me with a hand or two,” the stranger says, his voice much more silken and enticing than the taunt he’d thrown at Slater.
Easton rests a hand on the back of the chair, eyeing the pockmarked table, the other empty chairs, the gilded cup by the stranger’s left hand, cheap gems glittering around the base of it.
“You bring your own mugs to local taverns?” Easton asks as he pulls out the chair and drops into it, tucking his bag between his boots.
The cards flip from one hand to the other. “You pay them enough coin, the servers don’t care what they pour your drink into.” The stranger tilts his head, and this close, his eyes are an odd mix of purple and green. His ears are pointed, his features delicate.
Elf maybe. Easton can’t be sure. There’s something off about the man’s features, like a painting that’s been skewed. He can’t place it. There’s no shimmer of magic around him to suggest a disguise spell, but still.
“Is it better than the swill they have on tap?” Easton asks, his curiosity piqued.
“Always.” The stranger lifts a hand and makes a gesture with two fingers, gathering the attention of a server who brings a mug and sets it in front of Easton.
This liquid is amber in hue, rich and fragrant. He sniffs it tentatively, and his mouth waters at the sweet honey mead burning his nostrils. They hadn’t mentioned it as an offer when he’d made his order earlier. Who is this stranger that they keep such a thing in reserve?
“I approve,” Easton says and shifts in his chair, sliding down to get comfortable, sweeping his braid from one shoulder to the other. “I’ll play a hand then. What’s the game?”
“The Queen’s Folly.” The stranger starts to shuffle the cards again, flicking them over and through his fingers without once glancing at them. “Are you familiar with the rules?”
“Isn’t everyone?” Easton rests his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “What’s the wager?”
“First round is a trial run. To see how well we play together.” A pink tongue flicks viper-quick, wetting the stranger’s lips before he starts to deal the cards, four to himself, four to Easton, and the remaining deck in the center of the table, though he keeps his hand atop it.
The stranger cocks his head. “I don’t play with strangers, however. I am Sinoun. You are?”
“Lucky,” Easton says as he lifts his cards and glances over them, eyebrows raising. He can see why Slater had suspected Sinoun of cheating. This hand had to be dealt on purpose. “Call me Easton. It’s what I answer to these days.”
“Mmm. I like that. Easton it is.” Sinoun flips the top card and lifts his hand away from the deck, leaning back into a lazy sprawl. “Well, as the guest to my table, I allow you the first discard. What’ll it be?”
Easton contemplates his cards, briefly considers his opponent, then withdraws the six of clubs, laying it down on top of the deck. With the face-up ten of spades, Sinoun’s going to need an ace or a two not to break.
Sinoun’s lips curve. He tilts his head. “Oh, you’ve put me in quite the pickle.” He stacks his cards together, taps them on the table, and Easton can’t see their faces. “What to do, what to do?”
“You could play,” Easton says.
“I intend to.” Sinoun licks his lips and reaches for the card stack, drawing one and laying it face-up, next to Easton’s ten.
It’s an eight of hearts.
“You broke,” Easton says.
“Indeed I did.” Sinoun sighs, long and low. “I suppose my luck has escaped me.” He taps his cards on the table. “Shall we continue?”
Easton takes a long sip of the ale, delighting in the sweetness on his tongue, and the heat it pools in his belly. “What’s the bet?”
“One gold.” Sinoun holds up a single finger, metal rings glimmering around it. “To start.”
“Fine.” Easton fishes a coin out of his pouch and tosses it on the table. His last job had given him decent pay. Enough he can waste a few coins on a game of chance.
Sinoun’s lips curve. “Perfect.” He adds a coin to Easton’s before flipping the top card on the stacked deck, laying it atop the eight of hearts.
It’s a Jack of spades.
And wouldn’t you know, but Easton has the perfect cap for it, an eight of clubs in his hand. He arches an eyebrow as he places it on top, leaving him with two cards in hand, while Sinoun still holds a full deal.
“Lady Luck has abandoned me tonight,” Sinoun says as he snatches his shiny mug and downs it in several gulps. “For the cards anyway. At least the company is worth it.” The mug hits the table, and he signals for a refill. “Again?”
Easton adds two more coins to the pile, rather than claiming the two gold that are his due. He’s got a good streak, might as well keep it going. “Let’s up the stakes.”
"I do enjoy flirting with danger," Sinoun says and adds three more gold coins to the pot. He flicks his fingers at Easton as a server appears, pouring more liquid into his cup and topping off Easton's. "To the victor goes the right of first draw, lovely."
Easton narrows his eyes. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? It's true." Sinoun smiles and visibly scans Easton, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. "You are a pretty package, quite out of place in this establishment. Why else do you think I invited you to play?"
Easton ignores him, flipping the card on the top of the deck, revealing a two of Spades. He takes a five of clubs out of his hand and throws it on top, leaving himself with only one remaining card -- and perhaps the entire take.
"Is it to be silence then?" Sinoun asks as he flicks a four of diamonds toward the stack, it skids a bit off-center, but stays in place. "That's unfortunate."
"I'm not here to flirt," Easton says, pressing his lips into a thin line. He can't discard his hand. He has to draw.
"Pity." Sinoun leans forward, planting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, auburn curls falling over his shoulders to frame the open vee of his shirt. "Sure I can't convince you otherwise? I have a room upstairs. The finest this establishment has to offer."
Easton draws a card, and smirks when he's given a six of hearts. He adds it to the line-up and gestures to Sinoun. "Your go."
"Of course it is. Lucky for me, I happen to have this." Sinoun selects a card, holds it up between two fingers, showing off the ace of clubs. "And now the pot is mine."
"You are a cheater," Easton says with a sigh.
"Is it cheating if I withheld a card and risked losing my coin instead of playing it when I could have? Perhaps I prefer to put my faith in a mortal's greed." Sinoun tilts his head, and his smile shows a set of pointed canines, top and bottom. "Or half-mortal at any rate, isn't that right, dhampir?"
Easton hides his surprise, but only barely. He's spent a long time learning how to school his expression, and those lessons serve him well now.
"You have a keen eye to notice." He sweeps up his tankard, drains it in several long gulps, the sweetness pooling in his belly with delightful heat.
Easton has a keen eye, too. He thinks back on his lessons, on his books. What sort of creature has pointed canines like Sinoun’s? He’s not a shifter, that much Easton is sure of. Could he be a werebeast?
"My survival depends on the things I notice." Sinoun sweeps up his hair, throwing it over his shoulder, baring his neck as though taunting Easton. Or inviting him. It’s too soon to say. "Thirsty, are you? I don't think the ale is going to sate it."
"Are you offering?"
Sinoun pulls a platinum out of his purse, adding it to the growing pot. "Win this hand, and we'll see."
Easton works his jaw, considers his purse, and considers the yearning which builds into a fiery coil in his belly. He's not like his mother. He doesn't need to feed daily. But it has been some time, and the longer he waits, the more human he becomes. Not to mention the more hungry. Woodland animals do in a pinch, but can’t compare to that which is freely offered.
What's a few gold in the face of that?
He pulls a platinum out of his pouch and drops it on the pile.
Sinoun chuckles. "Yes, you're quite thirsty." Another platinum joins the pot. "As I was the last victor, I'll start." He flicks the top card from the deck and considers it.
Three of diamonds.
"How convenient," he purrs and slides a queen of hearts on top of it.
Shit.
Easton taps his six of spades on the table. He'll have to draw if he doesn't want to break, but either way, he's probably lost this hand.
He draws a card and sighs, flicking the king of clubs to the stack. "I break," he says, and leaves his remaining card face down on the table. "And I'm done."
"Now, now, don't be so hasty." Sinoun grins as he sweeps the pot toward himself, the coins jingling as they pour into his pouch. "I can yet be persuaded to play."
Easton stands, but pauses before he would have turned away. "You've already got most of my pouch."
"It's not coin I'm interested in." Sinoun rises as well, sweeping his hair into a loose bun on top of his head, curls falling loosely from it. "If you're still thirsty, follow me."
Sinoun winks, something like arcane light dancing in his eyes, before he plunges into the crowd, cutting a swathe with ease. Not a werebeast then. They don’t have arcane talents of such a kind.
Easton works his jaw, debates his hunger and his emptying coin pouch, and calls himself a fool.
He trails after Sinoun, following him to the staircase leading up to the rooms. He continues on through the first landing, the cheaper rooms where Easton has already booked a bed, and to the topmost floor. The noise of the tavern is sufficiently dulled here, and as Sinoun walks, he hums to himself, swinging a key from one finger.
Easton feels a little bit like the spider chasing the fly, which is absurd considering in this metaphor, he’s technically the spider. Sinoun, however, feels like the predator, and Easton has been entranced by the web he spins.
Entranced. Hm.
He could be one of the succubi or incubi. They’re known to lure mortals in for feeding, and Easton is not immune to their wiles. He’s only dhampir, his blood too thin to grant him the resistance to a feeder’s siren call.
Sinoun stops at the last door at the end of the hall, unlocks it, and disappears inside, though he leaves the door ajar. Easton gives a quick glance around, looking for anything that might be considered a trap or evidence this is folly.
He finds nothing.
Into the den it is. Even if Sinoun is a feeder, Easton is confident he can defend himself. He still has his wits about him after all, so Sinoun’s lure must not be powerful.
Easton closes the door behind him, taking in the room at a glance. It’s simple, as most inns are, though the bed is large enough for three and gifted a thicker blanket than the cheaper rooms downstairs. There are two windows, currently shuttered, and a hooded everlight casts shadows around the furniture.
“So glad you accepted my invitation.” Sinoun tosses the key onto a bedside table. It promptly skids off the other side and clatters to the floor.
“I’m curious to a fault,” Easton says. “Are you going to let me drink or not?”
“Patience, lovely. We’re having a conversation here.” Sinoun perches on the bed, leaning back, bracing his weight on his palms. “If you’re going to enjoy my blood then I demand compensation.”
Easton rests his pack near the door, in grabbing range. His skin prickles, and his instincts are on high alert. Sinoun looks as threatening as a wet blanket, but there’s something about the incisiveness in his eyes Easton doesn’t trust.
The verdict is still out on whether or not Sinoun’s a feeder.
“You already have my coin,” Easton points out.
“Please.” Sinoun rolls his eyes and crosses one long leg over the other, thigh-high boots highlighting the length of his legs. “Do I look like a whore to you?”
Easton arches an eyebrow and gives Sinoun a long pointed look, from the polished tips of his heeled boots all the way to his open-front shirt showing off tantalizing swathes of nut-brown skin. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Fair.” Sinoun chuckles and continues, “Pleasure, lovely, pleasure,” he says as if Easton is the dumb one here. “It’s a fair trade, isn’t it?”
Yeah, that’s what he figured Sinoun was after. Easton knows lust when he sees it, real, imagined, and conjured, and there’d been hefty doses of it in Sinoun’s eyes. All signs certainly seem to point to a feeder, though it’s still too soon to assume. Wanting pleasure in trade isn’t limited to energy feeders.
He crosses his arms and lifts his shoulders. “Maybe I’m just not interested in you.”
Sinoun laughs and pushes himself upright, legs hooked over the edge of the bed, knees spread invitingly. “Oh, that’s a lie, and we both know it.” He tilts his head, a stray curl slipping free. “How many times have you imagined putting me in my place? One? Two?” He grins, slow and salacious. “Three?”
“It depends on what you are,” Easton says, and his father would have been appalled at his lack of subtlety. But he hasn’t the patience to sit and reason this out. He wants to know what price he’s paying.
A thin knife materializes from nothing, the blade twinkling in the light of the lantern. “Delicious,” Sinoun purrs, and he presses the tip to his throat, drawing a bead of blood.
Easton blinks, taken aback, because where the blood should be a brilliant crimson, it is instead gold with a hint of sparkle. Again, Easton wonders, what the fuck is this guy? He can’t be a feeder, their blood is acrid and caustic, and Easton would know the difference, even through a glamour.
But this.
Sinoun’s blood is rich and warm and fresh. His mouth waters at the sweet scent, like honey maybe, with an aftertang of something sharp and spicy. It’s been so long since he’s had blood that wasn’t wild animal, and Sinoun isn’t wrong in this.
He does smell delicious.
Possibly poisonous, but also, quite delicious. Easton’s belly rumbles. He’s smelled nothing like Sinoun before, and he’s itching to taste this new treat.
“Pleasure,” Easton echoes, his gaze drawn to that bead of blood as it courses down Sinoun’s throat, only to vanish behind his collar.
“Mmhm. Anyway you want me.” Sinoun tugs on the ties of his tunic, revealing further swathes of nut-brown skin and nipples pebbling in the chill of the room.
Easton’s heart skips a beat, his dick twitching. It’s been even longer since he’s had an opportunity for carnalities. Especially ones he hasn’t had to pay for as courtesans don’t ask questions and don’t care about your past. Sinoun, as annoying as he is, offers up many things on a silver platter, and maybe Easton should be wary. It’s too good to be true.
He’s hungry enough to risk it.
“You would be a lot more appealing with my cock in your mouth,” Easton says, testing the waters, seeing if a little crudeness will scare Sinoun away.
If anything, it inspires Sinoun’s smile to widen, showing off those pointed teeth again, sharper than Easton’s, but he’s not a vampire. Easton would have called that by the smell. One vampire can’t hide from another. It’s impossible.
He’s back to square one, without a single idea of what Sinoun could be, only Easton’s sure he’s not a mortal. He must be a supernatural. But which one?
“Is that what you want?” Sinoun asks as the cut heals, and the fresh scent of his blood vanishes, leaving only the aftertaste at the back of Easton’s tongue.
Easton tilts his head. “It’s a start.”
Sinoun smiles, slow and predatory. “Very well.” He crooks a finger at Easton, his tongue flicking over his lips. “Come here.”
This is a bad idea. The hungry throb of his dick, however, has another opinion.
“Are you going to tell me what you are?” Easton jerks on the ties to his breeches, freeing himself from his smallclothes, his dick already wet at the tip.
“Does it matter?” Sinoun snatches Easton’s hips, dragging him close, until he’s standing between Sinoun’s knees, his dick pointed at Sinoun’s lips.
He shivers when a warm exhale teases the wet tip of him, a bead of precome oozing out. “It does if your blood is going to poison me.”
“It won’t.” Sinoun curves a hand around Easton, giving him a squeeze, and a strangled sound catches itself in Easton’s throat, heat flushing his face. “Are you changing your mind, lovely?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” Sinoun smirks and draws Easton into his mouth, just the head of him, tonguing the slit pointedly.
Easton gnaws on the inside of his cheek, breath hitching. Hot. Wet. Perfect pressure. Fuck if Sinoun doesn’t know how to handle a cock. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he threads them through auburn hair, and Sinoun groans, leaning into it, the vibrations sending a wave of heat through Easton’s groin.
Long fingers grasp Easton’s hips, holding him in place. Sinoun takes him deeper, Easton’s cock inching into his throat, but he can’t thrust. He can’t move. Sinoun’s grip is like iron, putting Easton completely at his mercy.
What the fuck has he gotten himself into?
Easton groans a helpless sound, his cock throbbing desperately, his gaze locked on the slick sheen of Sinoun's lips and himself disappearing into the other man's mouth repeatedly, the head of it caressed by Sinoun's throat.
Pleasure hums through his body, throbs through his length, and he drips more pre-spill down Sinoun's throat, sweat coating his skin, goosepimples dancing across his flesh. His knees tremble, and he tries to thrust but Sinoun holds his hips in place with ease.
Damn.
Sinoun chuckles around Easton's length as if sensing his impatience, the vibrations amping the pleasure higher. He draws back, Easton slipping free of his mouth.
"You're adequate, lovely," he says as he wraps his fingers around Easton and gives him a firm stroke. "But there's better uses for this, I think. Don't you?"
"Are you volunteering?" Easton bucks into Sinoun's grip, imagining what other use Sinoun might have for him. For it. Not a feeder, not a werebeast. He has no idea, and his thoughts are spinning away from logic.
"What do you think we're up here for?" Sinoun thumbs the wet head, and Easton’s spine tingles, until Sinoun abruptly releases him. "Disrobe," he says, and then gives Easton a sly smirk. "Or don't if that's your thing. All I need is access to that." He flicks his fingers in the direction of Easton's groin.
Easton rolls his eyes and takes a step back, loosening his tunic enough to pull it over his head, tossing it in the direction of his pack. He kicks off his boots and reaches for his breeches, only to blink in surprise.
Sinoun lay before him, stripped naked, miles and miles of tanned flesh on display without a scar on him anywhere, though there were rings of arcane sigils tattooed gold into his skin. They encircle his arms and his long, toned legs, both bearing a fine dusting of auburn hair. His half-hard cock nestles in a bed of reddish curls, and Easton’s mouth goes a little dry.
How had he stripped so quickly, especially considering those ridiculously long boots of his?
"Magic, of course," Sinoun says to Easton's unasked question. He tilts his head. "You can keep your pants on if you prefer, though I'd like to have an unencumbered view." He looks Easton up and down. “I like the rings.”
Easton shoves his trousers down his hips, taking his smallclothes with them, kicking both aside. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. We both know what I’m here for.”
“You have no sense of seduction. It’s a pity.”
Hands land on Easton’s belly, warm and smooth, fingernails lightly scratching as they work up, and he fights off a shiver, going still. Sinoun looks at him, predator to prey, head tilted, and his fingers sweep over Easton’s nipples, flicking the barbells piercing them.
“I could have fun with these,” he says.
A bolt of need races through Easton’s body, sending shivers behind it. He growls and threads his fingers through Sinoun’s hair, tilting the other man up for a kiss, a clashing of mouths and tangling tongues, careless of sharp teeth clacking together. He can’t decide what he’s more hungry for -- blood or pleasure, but sometimes, the two mingle together.
Sinoun laughs into the kiss, a throaty sound, and a sharp sting of pleasure jerks through Easton's body as he tugs on the piercings. Easton's cock leaps, dripping pre-come, and he nips at Sinoun's bottom lip, drawing blood, tasting the odd sweet-spice of it.
His insides clench with thirst.
He tilts Sinoun's head back and mouths at his throat, Sinoun’s pulse fluttering against his lips. The honeyed scent of his blood strengthens, lingering traces on his skin where he'd cut himself. Easton flicks his tongue to gather them up, and groans when he finds them.
Sinoun grabs his hips, thumbs digging into the jut of hip bone, fingers pressing in against the meat of Easton's flesh. His grip is like an iron band, hard enough to bruise, and Easton's mind spins dizzily. He drags his fangs along Sinoun's throat, drawing raised lines of skin but not blood. Not yet.
Sinoun hums, and the vibrations tease Easton's lips. "Let's get more comfortable, shall we?" he says, and the world blurs for a second, shifting sideways and upside down, until Easton feels fabric under him, and Sinoun as well, and he's horizontal as opposed to vertical, nudging between Sinoun's thighs, his lips pressed against Sinoun's pulse.
"Better," Sinoun purrs, and he arches up as Easton thrusts helplessly down, their cocks rubbing together with delicious friction, not enough slick to make it easy, but the rough rub more satisfying somehow.
Easton groans and pants against Sinoun's throat.
"If you're going to drink from me, I insist you be inside me first," Sinoun says, and his hands drag up Easton's back, his fingers digging in, nails blunt but surely leaving marks in Easton's flesh. "I know how your kind gets."
Easton forces himself to pull back, away from the temptation of Sinoun's throat, the other man's pulse echoing in his ears. "Been with many of us then?" he asks as he wraps his fingers around Sinoun's dick, giving it a squeeze, admiring the flex of Sinoun's back, the way his eyelids flutter, and pre-come spills over Easton's hand.
"I'm known to dabble." Sinoun's eyes glow, and he grabs Easton's other hand, slapping a small bottle into it. "Pain can be effective, but I'm no masochist."
"Pity." Easton grins, and though his fangs aren't as sharp as Sinoun's, they make a point. "I'd bend you over my knee, if I had the time."
Sinoun ruts up into his hand, setting up a rhythm, thrusting into Easton's fist. "You make too many promises, so make use of that oil before neither of us get what we want."
The pause is enough to calm the immediate urge to feed. Easton takes a breath, licks his lips, and flicks the stopper with his thumb. He drizzles the oil over Sinoun's dick, his balls, turning him slick and shiny. He doesn't stop stroking, and gathers up the oil in two fingers, circling Sinoun with steadying pressure.
Fluttering eyelashes and sharp inhalations are a clear sign he's on the right track. Sinoun's thighs flex, making the tattoos ripple, and Easton wants to bite them. Wants to drag his lips and tongue over the gold lines, and bite into the meat of Sinoun's thigh, draw from the thick vein there.
So many choices.
Sinoun is hot and pliant beneath him. He opens up easily, taking Easton's fingers and then a third as though he hadn't need any preparation at all. Easton doesn't know what Sinoun is, but some kind of magical creature is high on the list.
If Easton doesn’t know better, he’d think Sinoun a fae. He certainly ticks most of the identifying boxes, never mind that fae are all but myth. Easton’s read precious little about them, and Father only knew a few tales.
No. It’s more likely Sinoun is a supernatural of some sort, one perhaps a bit more skilled in the arcane arts, but a supernatural nonetheless. Or perhaps he’s extra-planar, from one of the realms Easton has never visited.
Besides, if Sinoun were a fae, he wouldn’t be dallying with Easton this cheap inn and this small town. He’d have already whisked Easton away to some dark realm, a place of unearthly pleasure and torment and unbreakable chains.
His dick twitches at the thought, and honestly, there must be something wrong with him.
Sinoun smirks then, as if he’s read Easton’s mind, which isn’t outside the realm of possibility. "That can be arranged. If you want it,” he says, and his eyes flash again with that arcane glow.
Easton scowls and banishes the uninvited fantasy. "No thanks." He grabs Sinoun's hips in lube slick fingers, yanking Sinoun into his lap so he can grind his dick against Sinoun's ass. "Got all I need in this plane."
"If you insist." Long legs wrap around Easton's waist, and he swears those gold tattoos are glowing a little.
No, not important.
Easton knows better than to take more than he should. Especially in this case of not knowing what in the hells Sinoun is. Fuck, he shouldn't be taking at all, but it's too late now. To walk away would be worse.
He licks his lips, tastes Sinoun's sweat, and a wave of want makes him shudder, makes him thrust before he thinks twice about it, sinking into welcoming heat. Easton growls and thrusts again, pushing deeper, and Sinoun shivers, tightening his thighs forcing Easton the last precious few inches, until he's fully buried.
Sinoun smirks at him, eyes glinting with triumph. "That's better," he purrs and rolls his hips, squeezing down, and Easton's vision whites with pleasure.
He shudders, the sensation starting in his shoulders, rolling down. His belly clenches, need yawing inside of him. He's leaning forward before he thinks twice about it, curving over Sinoun, eyeing the leaping pulse in Sinoun's throat.
"I'm inside you," he points out as he grabs Sinoun's wrists, pins them to Sinoun's side, knowing full well he's being allowed it. Sinoun is stronger than him. "Time to drink."
He goes, not for Sinoun's throat because he doesn't trust his restraint, but for the meat of his shoulder, for that join of neck and shoulder above the clavicle. Bite deep enough and the ache will linger for days. It'll bruise. It'll be a reminder.
Yes. Perfect.
Easton inhales, nose pressed to Sinoun's skin, teeth grazing it. Smells the salty-sweet of him, and something else, something that must be whatever he is. It's dizzying.
Sinoun rolls up against him, cockhead leaving streaks of pre-come against Easton's abdomen, the scent of his arousal equally intoxicating.
He's getting distracted.
Drink now. Come later.
He drags his canines against Sinoun's skin again, all the warning Easton offers before he sinks his teeth into Sinoun's shoulder, tongue applying a pressure against his flesh as blood immediately seeps out. It's warm, tingling where it touches his tongue, simultaneously sweet and spicy, and when he swallows, it crackles down his throat in a unique sensation.
Easton moans, eyes fluttering shut. He pulls another mouthful, savors the taste of it, the warmth as it floods his belly, and his grip on Sinoun's wrists tightens. Sinoun draws in a hiss, but Easton can't tell if it's pained or pleasure, but given the way he clenches around Easton's dick and squirms in a truncated effort at riding Easton, it might be pleasure.
"Move, damn you," Sinoun hisses as he bucks up, thighs pulling leverage, tightening around Easton's cock.
Easton shivers again, gets another mouthful, swallows. He laps his tongue against the bite, watches the gold blood seep free, heat cascading through his entire body.
Sinoun was right.
He is delicious.
Easton releases Sinoun's wrists, and isn't surprised when Sinoun abruptly rolls them over, planting himself firmly on Easton's dick, blood trickling from Easton's bite. He'd been careful not to rend or tear.
"You’re more human than vampire, Easton," Sinoun says as he starts to roll his hips, riding Easton's dick with eager motions, one hand planted on Easton's chest, holding him down with ridiculous ease. "You’re far more gentle than I expected."
His eyes flash, and he rises and falls harder, faster, stealing Easton's breath.
"I wanted to be fucked, not loved," Sinoun hisses. "So I guess I'm going to have to take what I want."
Easton licks his lips, shivering as the taste of Sinoun's blood lingers on his tongue. He thrusts up, meeting Sinoun's motions, and triumph glitters in Sinoun's eyes, the markings on his legs growing brighter.
So. He hadn't imagined it.
"You're not getting anything more than blood from me, lovely," Sinoun says, high spots of color dancing in his cheeks, frustration writ across his brow. "So do what we're both here for and make use of your cock!"
Easton grabs at Sinoun's hips and thrusts up as he pulls down, both of them moaning in tandem.
"Better," Sinoun says, and his nails scratch over Easton's belly, though his palm lays flat and unyielding. "Keep it up, and you can drink your fill."
Easton bares his teeth, shoves his heels into the bed, and thrusts harder, with Sinoun bouncing down to meet him, working a hard, fast pace. Lust shines in Sinoun's eyes. His free hand grips his dick, stroking himself mercilessly, a flush of heat spreading across his chest, and the tattoos pulsing in tune to the rhythm of flesh.
The room reeks of it, arousal and the herbal oil and sweat, and whatever spicy-sweet essence that is Sinoun. It makes Easton's head spin, makes the blood in his veins boil and pulse faster, his heart throbbing a desperate rhythm. Heat gathers in his groin, his muscles tensing, the slap of flesh on flesh obscenely loud.
Sinoun clenches around him, and Easton groans, his hands tightening on Sinoun's hips, sure to leave a mark if Sinoun were a mere mortal. Nails scrape Easton's belly, a bare sting and Sinoun slams down on top of him, pre-come dripping from the end of his dick.
Easton licks his lips. He wants to taste Sinoun's spill as well, see if he's as intriguing as his blood, but then, who knows what magic lurks in Sinoun’s spill. What if he truly is a fae? What if he’s something worse? Maybe it's too late already.
And maybe the sex has got him thinking impossible things. Fae. Pfft. His father must be rolling over in his grave to see Easton entertaining such notions.
His cock throbs nevertheless, the coil of need in his belly threatening to burst. It’s been too long, and with the taste of Sinoun’s blood on his tongue, his control falters.
"Don't you dare," Sinoun hisses through clenched teeth, his hand curving into a claw. "If you come before me, I'll curse you."
Easton would laugh, if he had the breath for it. He shifts, just enough to change the angle of his thrust, and Sinoun jerks as though struck by lightning. He moans, long and low, and the scent of pleasure gets thicker.
"There," Sinoun pants, stroking himself faster and faster. "Right there. Keep -- ngh." He tosses his head back, entire body going still as a sculpture, hips moving in tiny rocks as he spills over his fingers, painting Easton's abdomen in multiple stripes of come.
His ass squeezes down on Easton's cock, and Easton groans, thrusting up helplessly, desperately into the gripping heat, until his own pleasure takes him, and release pulses from his cock. He tries to pull Sinoun down, pull him near enough for a kiss, but Sinoun's immovable, only conceding when he wants and right now, he apparently doesn't want.
Fuck.
Easton gasps, body trembling, sweat slicking his skin, as he jerks in the aftermath. There are so many scents in the room, too many to separate them and compartmentalize them. His mouth waters, the taste of Sinoun lingering on his tongue.
"You said... I could drink," Easton grits out through his panting, loose strands of white hair clinging to the side of his face in what he's sure is an unattractive manner.
Sinoun rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes. Indeed I did." He shifts as Easton lingers within him, half-hard and softening. "You mortals and your hungers."
He curves over Easton, hands planted above his head, looking down like he's royalty, and Easton is a loyal subject. "Have your fill, lovely. Consider it a gift."
"It's my due, not a gift," Easton says, lest he be locked in some supernatural contract without escape. He curls his arms around Sinoun's torso, around the back of his neck, and hauls Sinoun close enough to get his mouth on the bite he'd left earlier.
He shivers as he licks up the dried blood and sinks his teeth into the marks, fresh blood spilling over his tongue, crackling as though he's drinking magic itself. His dick twitches, thinking to attempt a second round, but Easton ignores such carnality, focusing instead on the thirst.
He needs not drain Sinoun dry. He's not a full-blood. A dozen mouthfuls will do, and Easton hums with each swallow, a shiver passing through his body, gooseflesh rising beneath the sweat.
Gods, he won't need to drink for months at this rate. Sinoun's blood makes him tingle from head to foot, inside and out, like it's pure energy. He’s something which reeks of pure magic. A celestial, perhaps, fallen or corrupted, otherwise his blood would burn Easton from the inside out.
Easton drinks, and he drinks, until Sinoun’s blood settles in his belly with a warm tingle, and he feels sated. Easton licks the bite until it heals -- though he doubts Sinoun needs the assistance. His body hums with satisfaction, his dick twitching again.
“Satisfied?” Sinoun asks as he rises up on his knees, Easton slipping free of him.
“Yes.” Easton licks his lips, another shiver crawling over his skin. He feels soft and langourous, almost drunk on Sinoun’s blood. “Are you?”
“Mm. It’ll do.” Sinoun slides off the bed, his skin still flushed, hair clinging to the sides of his face. He looks more put together than he ought, and Easton would be annoyed by it, if he didn’t feel so damned satisfied.
“You still get my coin out of it,” Easton points out, making vague effort to sit up, before the weight of fatigue crashes him back down. His head spins a little, like he’s had too much ale or whiskey, and he wonders if it’s a side-effect of Sinoun’s blood.
Sinoun sits on the edge of the bed, lips curved in a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Yes, I do.” He hums, and his fingers dance over Easton’s forehead. “Small consolation. We aren’t compatible after all, lovely. Such a shame.”
Easton snatches Sinoun’s wrist, which the other man must have allowed, because Easton feels like he’s moving through soup right now. “Don’t mark me.”
“What makes you think I was going to?” Sinoun asks, and he tilts his head, a touch of seriousness entering his face. “Or that you know what I am?”
“I have a pretty good guess. And I don’t want your mark anywhere in me. I don’t want you to come looking for me or claiming me,” Easton says, and he squeezes Sinoun’s wrist, which feels astonishingly delicate under his fingers. Either he’s that much stronger because of Sinoun’s blood, or it’s all a farce. Sinoun’s letting him feel what he wants Easton to feel.
Fucking celestial. Fucking fae. Fucking fallen. Fucking whatever the fuck he is.
Sinoun snorts and peels his wrist out of Easton’s fingers as though it takes no effort. “You’ve no fears of that, lovely. This isn’t an experience I wish to repeat.”
Oh. That stings, like a lance to the core of Easton’s pride. He flinches, and Sinoun smirks the triumph of a landed blow.
Damn.
Easton flops back into the bed, makes a nuisance of himself in the clean-ish blankets and the comfortable mattress. “I’m keeping the room,” he says.
Sinoun flicks his fingers, and suddenly, he’s dressed, smoothing down the fabric of his clothing with an air of disinterest. He’s not, however, clean. Easton can still see the sweat-sheen on his face, the wildness of curls frizzed by exertion, and he still smells of sweat and come and spilled blood.
Easton pulls at the blanket, throws it over his naked body, though he’s not been one for modesty, his pride is still a fragile thing. He’s never had any complaints before.
Ass.
“Our deal is met then,” Sinoun says, and Easton swears there’s a ringing in the air, nothing audible, but tangible nonetheless, like an arcane promise. “We walk away from this with no dangling threads.”
“Yes,” Easton says, and his voice seems to resonate, like the other half of the promise. “Our deal is met.”
Sinoun smiles, and it’s a shame he rarely smiles like that, because it’s much more appealing than the knowing smirk he keeps on tap.
“Good eve to you then, lovely. It was… hmm.” Sinoun taps his bottom lip with one finger. “Well, it just was.”
Easton snorts and rolls on his side, giving Sinoun his back, dismissing him, body still thrumming with the taste of Sinoun’s blood. He doesn’t, once, however abandon his awareness of Sinoun.
Part of him still thinks Sinoun is more fae than half-mortal, as absurd as it sounds, so he’d prefer not to be reckless. No matter what Sinoun is, Eason doesn’t want to get caught unawares. Sleep tugs at him, but Easton doesn’t give in to the pull. Not until he’s sure he’s alone.
“At least tell me what you are, before you go,” Easton says.
The door opens with a quiet click and squeak of hinges in need of oiling. “You didn’t earn that, but since I’ve plucked your name from you, I suppose it’s only fair.” Sinoun’s voice is as slick as oil itself. “I am not of this plane, but as to which I belong, that’s my secret to keep, Riordan.”
Easton’s eyes pop open. He bolts upright, but the door has closed behind Sinoun without a sound, and the lantern’s light has banked, casting the room in shadows. Sinoun’s scent lingers, but nothing else of him remains.
Easton is alone, the echoes of a buried name in his ears.
Damn him.
He punches the goosefeather pillow and flops his head onto it, fatigue seeping into his bone and sinew. He glares hard at the wall, calling himself foolish in every language he knows.
He should have walked away when he had the chance.
***
Universe: Tethers, Pre-Canon
Characters: Easton, Sinoun
Rated: M
Enticements: Sexual Content, Consensual Vampirism, Biting, BDSM themes
Description: Easton has always been too curious for his own good, and when he meets a mysterious individual named Sinoun, he can’t fight the urge the feed.
Loud.
Easton twitches and tries to focus on the warm ale they’d served him, flat and sour in flavor, certainly not worth the three silver he’d paid. His meal, at least, more than makes up for it, the meat pie’s crust flaky and seasoned and still warm.
It’s noisy in this tavern, however, and Easton twitches again. He eats quickly, downs the ale, and considers retreating to the small room he’s rented for the evening. Uproarious laughter erupts from a nearby table. One of the chairs screeches back in a violent action, its occupant leaping to their feet.
Easton eyes them.
“This is bullshit!” the human snarls in a deep, guttural tone as he throws a hand of cards down on the table, scattering them in several directions. “No man is this lucky!”
Across the table from him sits another man, dusky skin, wavy-red brown hair, a smirk on his full lips. He shrugs, hands twisting in an absent gesture.
“Or perhaps, good sir, no man is as unlucky as you.” His smile widens, one eye fluttering in a wink. “You’re welcome to try again, if you have anything left to bet.”
“Slater, calm down. I was watching him the whole time. He can’t have cheated,” says one of the individuals next to Slater, a willowy elf dressed in wizard’s robes. He puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and instantly, a wave of calm visibly ripples through Slater.
Magic can be useful.
Slater growls and shakes off his companion’s touch. “Fuck all of you.” He shoves the chair back under the table and snatches his bag from the back of it. “If I see you outside this tavern, you’d best not be alone.”
“My, my. A threat.” The red-haired man tilts his chin and strokes the stubble marring his chin. “I look forward to it then. Perhaps your luck will change.”
A rumble rises in Slater’s chest before he spins and stomps away, his wizard friend hurrying after him, looking exasperated and resigned. Perhaps this is a common occurrence.
So there’s not to be a fight then? Pity.
Easton finishes off his tankard. He steals another glance at the man left behind at the table, and startles when bright eyes meet his, sharp like a wolf’s. The man smiles at Easton as he shuffles his cards without looking at them, the sound of it barely audible over the noise of the other patrons.
There’s invitation in the gaze, and in the tilt of the man’s head. He gestures to the table before he goes back to shuffling his cards.
Easton nibbles on the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t wanted company tonight. He hadn’t wanted to interact. But he is curious. He wonders if the man is as much of a cheat as this Slater seems to believe, even if he does look like trouble.
He should know better than to interact with trouble.
Still.
Easton eyes his empty tankard and sets it down on the table with a thunk, upside-down. He rises from his chair, gathers his bag and bow, and approaches the table, standing behind the chair Slater had abandoned.
“I can offer you something better than that swill if you’ll entertain me with a hand or two,” the stranger says, his voice much more silken and enticing than the taunt he’d thrown at Slater.
Easton rests a hand on the back of the chair, eyeing the pockmarked table, the other empty chairs, the gilded cup by the stranger’s left hand, cheap gems glittering around the base of it.
“You bring your own mugs to local taverns?” Easton asks as he pulls out the chair and drops into it, tucking his bag between his boots.
The cards flip from one hand to the other. “You pay them enough coin, the servers don’t care what they pour your drink into.” The stranger tilts his head, and this close, his eyes are an odd mix of purple and green. His ears are pointed, his features delicate.
Elf maybe. Easton can’t be sure. There’s something off about the man’s features, like a painting that’s been skewed. He can’t place it. There’s no shimmer of magic around him to suggest a disguise spell, but still.
“Is it better than the swill they have on tap?” Easton asks, his curiosity piqued.
“Always.” The stranger lifts a hand and makes a gesture with two fingers, gathering the attention of a server who brings a mug and sets it in front of Easton.
This liquid is amber in hue, rich and fragrant. He sniffs it tentatively, and his mouth waters at the sweet honey mead burning his nostrils. They hadn’t mentioned it as an offer when he’d made his order earlier. Who is this stranger that they keep such a thing in reserve?
“I approve,” Easton says and shifts in his chair, sliding down to get comfortable, sweeping his braid from one shoulder to the other. “I’ll play a hand then. What’s the game?”
“The Queen’s Folly.” The stranger starts to shuffle the cards again, flicking them over and through his fingers without once glancing at them. “Are you familiar with the rules?”
“Isn’t everyone?” Easton rests his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “What’s the wager?”
“First round is a trial run. To see how well we play together.” A pink tongue flicks viper-quick, wetting the stranger’s lips before he starts to deal the cards, four to himself, four to Easton, and the remaining deck in the center of the table, though he keeps his hand atop it.
The stranger cocks his head. “I don’t play with strangers, however. I am Sinoun. You are?”
“Lucky,” Easton says as he lifts his cards and glances over them, eyebrows raising. He can see why Slater had suspected Sinoun of cheating. This hand had to be dealt on purpose. “Call me Easton. It’s what I answer to these days.”
“Mmm. I like that. Easton it is.” Sinoun flips the top card and lifts his hand away from the deck, leaning back into a lazy sprawl. “Well, as the guest to my table, I allow you the first discard. What’ll it be?”
Easton contemplates his cards, briefly considers his opponent, then withdraws the six of clubs, laying it down on top of the deck. With the face-up ten of spades, Sinoun’s going to need an ace or a two not to break.
Sinoun’s lips curve. He tilts his head. “Oh, you’ve put me in quite the pickle.” He stacks his cards together, taps them on the table, and Easton can’t see their faces. “What to do, what to do?”
“You could play,” Easton says.
“I intend to.” Sinoun licks his lips and reaches for the card stack, drawing one and laying it face-up, next to Easton’s ten.
It’s an eight of hearts.
“You broke,” Easton says.
“Indeed I did.” Sinoun sighs, long and low. “I suppose my luck has escaped me.” He taps his cards on the table. “Shall we continue?”
Easton takes a long sip of the ale, delighting in the sweetness on his tongue, and the heat it pools in his belly. “What’s the bet?”
“One gold.” Sinoun holds up a single finger, metal rings glimmering around it. “To start.”
“Fine.” Easton fishes a coin out of his pouch and tosses it on the table. His last job had given him decent pay. Enough he can waste a few coins on a game of chance.
Sinoun’s lips curve. “Perfect.” He adds a coin to Easton’s before flipping the top card on the stacked deck, laying it atop the eight of hearts.
It’s a Jack of spades.
And wouldn’t you know, but Easton has the perfect cap for it, an eight of clubs in his hand. He arches an eyebrow as he places it on top, leaving him with two cards in hand, while Sinoun still holds a full deal.
“Lady Luck has abandoned me tonight,” Sinoun says as he snatches his shiny mug and downs it in several gulps. “For the cards anyway. At least the company is worth it.” The mug hits the table, and he signals for a refill. “Again?”
Easton adds two more coins to the pile, rather than claiming the two gold that are his due. He’s got a good streak, might as well keep it going. “Let’s up the stakes.”
"I do enjoy flirting with danger," Sinoun says and adds three more gold coins to the pot. He flicks his fingers at Easton as a server appears, pouring more liquid into his cup and topping off Easton's. "To the victor goes the right of first draw, lovely."
Easton narrows his eyes. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? It's true." Sinoun smiles and visibly scans Easton, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. "You are a pretty package, quite out of place in this establishment. Why else do you think I invited you to play?"
Easton ignores him, flipping the card on the top of the deck, revealing a two of Spades. He takes a five of clubs out of his hand and throws it on top, leaving himself with only one remaining card -- and perhaps the entire take.
"Is it to be silence then?" Sinoun asks as he flicks a four of diamonds toward the stack, it skids a bit off-center, but stays in place. "That's unfortunate."
"I'm not here to flirt," Easton says, pressing his lips into a thin line. He can't discard his hand. He has to draw.
"Pity." Sinoun leans forward, planting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, auburn curls falling over his shoulders to frame the open vee of his shirt. "Sure I can't convince you otherwise? I have a room upstairs. The finest this establishment has to offer."
Easton draws a card, and smirks when he's given a six of hearts. He adds it to the line-up and gestures to Sinoun. "Your go."
"Of course it is. Lucky for me, I happen to have this." Sinoun selects a card, holds it up between two fingers, showing off the ace of clubs. "And now the pot is mine."
"You are a cheater," Easton says with a sigh.
"Is it cheating if I withheld a card and risked losing my coin instead of playing it when I could have? Perhaps I prefer to put my faith in a mortal's greed." Sinoun tilts his head, and his smile shows a set of pointed canines, top and bottom. "Or half-mortal at any rate, isn't that right, dhampir?"
Easton hides his surprise, but only barely. He's spent a long time learning how to school his expression, and those lessons serve him well now.
"You have a keen eye to notice." He sweeps up his tankard, drains it in several long gulps, the sweetness pooling in his belly with delightful heat.
Easton has a keen eye, too. He thinks back on his lessons, on his books. What sort of creature has pointed canines like Sinoun’s? He’s not a shifter, that much Easton is sure of. Could he be a werebeast?
"My survival depends on the things I notice." Sinoun sweeps up his hair, throwing it over his shoulder, baring his neck as though taunting Easton. Or inviting him. It’s too soon to say. "Thirsty, are you? I don't think the ale is going to sate it."
"Are you offering?"
Sinoun pulls a platinum out of his purse, adding it to the growing pot. "Win this hand, and we'll see."
Easton works his jaw, considers his purse, and considers the yearning which builds into a fiery coil in his belly. He's not like his mother. He doesn't need to feed daily. But it has been some time, and the longer he waits, the more human he becomes. Not to mention the more hungry. Woodland animals do in a pinch, but can’t compare to that which is freely offered.
What's a few gold in the face of that?
He pulls a platinum out of his pouch and drops it on the pile.
Sinoun chuckles. "Yes, you're quite thirsty." Another platinum joins the pot. "As I was the last victor, I'll start." He flicks the top card from the deck and considers it.
Three of diamonds.
"How convenient," he purrs and slides a queen of hearts on top of it.
Shit.
Easton taps his six of spades on the table. He'll have to draw if he doesn't want to break, but either way, he's probably lost this hand.
He draws a card and sighs, flicking the king of clubs to the stack. "I break," he says, and leaves his remaining card face down on the table. "And I'm done."
"Now, now, don't be so hasty." Sinoun grins as he sweeps the pot toward himself, the coins jingling as they pour into his pouch. "I can yet be persuaded to play."
Easton stands, but pauses before he would have turned away. "You've already got most of my pouch."
"It's not coin I'm interested in." Sinoun rises as well, sweeping his hair into a loose bun on top of his head, curls falling loosely from it. "If you're still thirsty, follow me."
Sinoun winks, something like arcane light dancing in his eyes, before he plunges into the crowd, cutting a swathe with ease. Not a werebeast then. They don’t have arcane talents of such a kind.
Easton works his jaw, debates his hunger and his emptying coin pouch, and calls himself a fool.
He trails after Sinoun, following him to the staircase leading up to the rooms. He continues on through the first landing, the cheaper rooms where Easton has already booked a bed, and to the topmost floor. The noise of the tavern is sufficiently dulled here, and as Sinoun walks, he hums to himself, swinging a key from one finger.
Easton feels a little bit like the spider chasing the fly, which is absurd considering in this metaphor, he’s technically the spider. Sinoun, however, feels like the predator, and Easton has been entranced by the web he spins.
Entranced. Hm.
He could be one of the succubi or incubi. They’re known to lure mortals in for feeding, and Easton is not immune to their wiles. He’s only dhampir, his blood too thin to grant him the resistance to a feeder’s siren call.
Sinoun stops at the last door at the end of the hall, unlocks it, and disappears inside, though he leaves the door ajar. Easton gives a quick glance around, looking for anything that might be considered a trap or evidence this is folly.
He finds nothing.
Into the den it is. Even if Sinoun is a feeder, Easton is confident he can defend himself. He still has his wits about him after all, so Sinoun’s lure must not be powerful.
Easton closes the door behind him, taking in the room at a glance. It’s simple, as most inns are, though the bed is large enough for three and gifted a thicker blanket than the cheaper rooms downstairs. There are two windows, currently shuttered, and a hooded everlight casts shadows around the furniture.
“So glad you accepted my invitation.” Sinoun tosses the key onto a bedside table. It promptly skids off the other side and clatters to the floor.
“I’m curious to a fault,” Easton says. “Are you going to let me drink or not?”
“Patience, lovely. We’re having a conversation here.” Sinoun perches on the bed, leaning back, bracing his weight on his palms. “If you’re going to enjoy my blood then I demand compensation.”
Easton rests his pack near the door, in grabbing range. His skin prickles, and his instincts are on high alert. Sinoun looks as threatening as a wet blanket, but there’s something about the incisiveness in his eyes Easton doesn’t trust.
The verdict is still out on whether or not Sinoun’s a feeder.
“You already have my coin,” Easton points out.
“Please.” Sinoun rolls his eyes and crosses one long leg over the other, thigh-high boots highlighting the length of his legs. “Do I look like a whore to you?”
Easton arches an eyebrow and gives Sinoun a long pointed look, from the polished tips of his heeled boots all the way to his open-front shirt showing off tantalizing swathes of nut-brown skin. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Fair.” Sinoun chuckles and continues, “Pleasure, lovely, pleasure,” he says as if Easton is the dumb one here. “It’s a fair trade, isn’t it?”
Yeah, that’s what he figured Sinoun was after. Easton knows lust when he sees it, real, imagined, and conjured, and there’d been hefty doses of it in Sinoun’s eyes. All signs certainly seem to point to a feeder, though it’s still too soon to assume. Wanting pleasure in trade isn’t limited to energy feeders.
He crosses his arms and lifts his shoulders. “Maybe I’m just not interested in you.”
Sinoun laughs and pushes himself upright, legs hooked over the edge of the bed, knees spread invitingly. “Oh, that’s a lie, and we both know it.” He tilts his head, a stray curl slipping free. “How many times have you imagined putting me in my place? One? Two?” He grins, slow and salacious. “Three?”
“It depends on what you are,” Easton says, and his father would have been appalled at his lack of subtlety. But he hasn’t the patience to sit and reason this out. He wants to know what price he’s paying.
A thin knife materializes from nothing, the blade twinkling in the light of the lantern. “Delicious,” Sinoun purrs, and he presses the tip to his throat, drawing a bead of blood.
Easton blinks, taken aback, because where the blood should be a brilliant crimson, it is instead gold with a hint of sparkle. Again, Easton wonders, what the fuck is this guy? He can’t be a feeder, their blood is acrid and caustic, and Easton would know the difference, even through a glamour.
But this.
Sinoun’s blood is rich and warm and fresh. His mouth waters at the sweet scent, like honey maybe, with an aftertang of something sharp and spicy. It’s been so long since he’s had blood that wasn’t wild animal, and Sinoun isn’t wrong in this.
He does smell delicious.
Possibly poisonous, but also, quite delicious. Easton’s belly rumbles. He’s smelled nothing like Sinoun before, and he’s itching to taste this new treat.
“Pleasure,” Easton echoes, his gaze drawn to that bead of blood as it courses down Sinoun’s throat, only to vanish behind his collar.
“Mmhm. Anyway you want me.” Sinoun tugs on the ties of his tunic, revealing further swathes of nut-brown skin and nipples pebbling in the chill of the room.
Easton’s heart skips a beat, his dick twitching. It’s been even longer since he’s had an opportunity for carnalities. Especially ones he hasn’t had to pay for as courtesans don’t ask questions and don’t care about your past. Sinoun, as annoying as he is, offers up many things on a silver platter, and maybe Easton should be wary. It’s too good to be true.
He’s hungry enough to risk it.
“You would be a lot more appealing with my cock in your mouth,” Easton says, testing the waters, seeing if a little crudeness will scare Sinoun away.
If anything, it inspires Sinoun’s smile to widen, showing off those pointed teeth again, sharper than Easton’s, but he’s not a vampire. Easton would have called that by the smell. One vampire can’t hide from another. It’s impossible.
He’s back to square one, without a single idea of what Sinoun could be, only Easton’s sure he’s not a mortal. He must be a supernatural. But which one?
“Is that what you want?” Sinoun asks as the cut heals, and the fresh scent of his blood vanishes, leaving only the aftertaste at the back of Easton’s tongue.
Easton tilts his head. “It’s a start.”
Sinoun smiles, slow and predatory. “Very well.” He crooks a finger at Easton, his tongue flicking over his lips. “Come here.”
This is a bad idea. The hungry throb of his dick, however, has another opinion.
“Are you going to tell me what you are?” Easton jerks on the ties to his breeches, freeing himself from his smallclothes, his dick already wet at the tip.
“Does it matter?” Sinoun snatches Easton’s hips, dragging him close, until he’s standing between Sinoun’s knees, his dick pointed at Sinoun’s lips.
He shivers when a warm exhale teases the wet tip of him, a bead of precome oozing out. “It does if your blood is going to poison me.”
“It won’t.” Sinoun curves a hand around Easton, giving him a squeeze, and a strangled sound catches itself in Easton’s throat, heat flushing his face. “Are you changing your mind, lovely?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” Sinoun smirks and draws Easton into his mouth, just the head of him, tonguing the slit pointedly.
Easton gnaws on the inside of his cheek, breath hitching. Hot. Wet. Perfect pressure. Fuck if Sinoun doesn’t know how to handle a cock. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he threads them through auburn hair, and Sinoun groans, leaning into it, the vibrations sending a wave of heat through Easton’s groin.
Long fingers grasp Easton’s hips, holding him in place. Sinoun takes him deeper, Easton’s cock inching into his throat, but he can’t thrust. He can’t move. Sinoun’s grip is like iron, putting Easton completely at his mercy.
What the fuck has he gotten himself into?
Easton groans a helpless sound, his cock throbbing desperately, his gaze locked on the slick sheen of Sinoun's lips and himself disappearing into the other man's mouth repeatedly, the head of it caressed by Sinoun's throat.
Pleasure hums through his body, throbs through his length, and he drips more pre-spill down Sinoun's throat, sweat coating his skin, goosepimples dancing across his flesh. His knees tremble, and he tries to thrust but Sinoun holds his hips in place with ease.
Damn.
Sinoun chuckles around Easton's length as if sensing his impatience, the vibrations amping the pleasure higher. He draws back, Easton slipping free of his mouth.
"You're adequate, lovely," he says as he wraps his fingers around Easton and gives him a firm stroke. "But there's better uses for this, I think. Don't you?"
"Are you volunteering?" Easton bucks into Sinoun's grip, imagining what other use Sinoun might have for him. For it. Not a feeder, not a werebeast. He has no idea, and his thoughts are spinning away from logic.
"What do you think we're up here for?" Sinoun thumbs the wet head, and Easton’s spine tingles, until Sinoun abruptly releases him. "Disrobe," he says, and then gives Easton a sly smirk. "Or don't if that's your thing. All I need is access to that." He flicks his fingers in the direction of Easton's groin.
Easton rolls his eyes and takes a step back, loosening his tunic enough to pull it over his head, tossing it in the direction of his pack. He kicks off his boots and reaches for his breeches, only to blink in surprise.
Sinoun lay before him, stripped naked, miles and miles of tanned flesh on display without a scar on him anywhere, though there were rings of arcane sigils tattooed gold into his skin. They encircle his arms and his long, toned legs, both bearing a fine dusting of auburn hair. His half-hard cock nestles in a bed of reddish curls, and Easton’s mouth goes a little dry.
How had he stripped so quickly, especially considering those ridiculously long boots of his?
"Magic, of course," Sinoun says to Easton's unasked question. He tilts his head. "You can keep your pants on if you prefer, though I'd like to have an unencumbered view." He looks Easton up and down. “I like the rings.”
Easton shoves his trousers down his hips, taking his smallclothes with them, kicking both aside. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. We both know what I’m here for.”
“You have no sense of seduction. It’s a pity.”
Hands land on Easton’s belly, warm and smooth, fingernails lightly scratching as they work up, and he fights off a shiver, going still. Sinoun looks at him, predator to prey, head tilted, and his fingers sweep over Easton’s nipples, flicking the barbells piercing them.
“I could have fun with these,” he says.
A bolt of need races through Easton’s body, sending shivers behind it. He growls and threads his fingers through Sinoun’s hair, tilting the other man up for a kiss, a clashing of mouths and tangling tongues, careless of sharp teeth clacking together. He can’t decide what he’s more hungry for -- blood or pleasure, but sometimes, the two mingle together.
Sinoun laughs into the kiss, a throaty sound, and a sharp sting of pleasure jerks through Easton's body as he tugs on the piercings. Easton's cock leaps, dripping pre-come, and he nips at Sinoun's bottom lip, drawing blood, tasting the odd sweet-spice of it.
His insides clench with thirst.
He tilts Sinoun's head back and mouths at his throat, Sinoun’s pulse fluttering against his lips. The honeyed scent of his blood strengthens, lingering traces on his skin where he'd cut himself. Easton flicks his tongue to gather them up, and groans when he finds them.
Sinoun grabs his hips, thumbs digging into the jut of hip bone, fingers pressing in against the meat of Easton's flesh. His grip is like an iron band, hard enough to bruise, and Easton's mind spins dizzily. He drags his fangs along Sinoun's throat, drawing raised lines of skin but not blood. Not yet.
Sinoun hums, and the vibrations tease Easton's lips. "Let's get more comfortable, shall we?" he says, and the world blurs for a second, shifting sideways and upside down, until Easton feels fabric under him, and Sinoun as well, and he's horizontal as opposed to vertical, nudging between Sinoun's thighs, his lips pressed against Sinoun's pulse.
"Better," Sinoun purrs, and he arches up as Easton thrusts helplessly down, their cocks rubbing together with delicious friction, not enough slick to make it easy, but the rough rub more satisfying somehow.
Easton groans and pants against Sinoun's throat.
"If you're going to drink from me, I insist you be inside me first," Sinoun says, and his hands drag up Easton's back, his fingers digging in, nails blunt but surely leaving marks in Easton's flesh. "I know how your kind gets."
Easton forces himself to pull back, away from the temptation of Sinoun's throat, the other man's pulse echoing in his ears. "Been with many of us then?" he asks as he wraps his fingers around Sinoun's dick, giving it a squeeze, admiring the flex of Sinoun's back, the way his eyelids flutter, and pre-come spills over Easton's hand.
"I'm known to dabble." Sinoun's eyes glow, and he grabs Easton's other hand, slapping a small bottle into it. "Pain can be effective, but I'm no masochist."
"Pity." Easton grins, and though his fangs aren't as sharp as Sinoun's, they make a point. "I'd bend you over my knee, if I had the time."
Sinoun ruts up into his hand, setting up a rhythm, thrusting into Easton's fist. "You make too many promises, so make use of that oil before neither of us get what we want."
The pause is enough to calm the immediate urge to feed. Easton takes a breath, licks his lips, and flicks the stopper with his thumb. He drizzles the oil over Sinoun's dick, his balls, turning him slick and shiny. He doesn't stop stroking, and gathers up the oil in two fingers, circling Sinoun with steadying pressure.
Fluttering eyelashes and sharp inhalations are a clear sign he's on the right track. Sinoun's thighs flex, making the tattoos ripple, and Easton wants to bite them. Wants to drag his lips and tongue over the gold lines, and bite into the meat of Sinoun's thigh, draw from the thick vein there.
So many choices.
Sinoun is hot and pliant beneath him. He opens up easily, taking Easton's fingers and then a third as though he hadn't need any preparation at all. Easton doesn't know what Sinoun is, but some kind of magical creature is high on the list.
If Easton doesn’t know better, he’d think Sinoun a fae. He certainly ticks most of the identifying boxes, never mind that fae are all but myth. Easton’s read precious little about them, and Father only knew a few tales.
No. It’s more likely Sinoun is a supernatural of some sort, one perhaps a bit more skilled in the arcane arts, but a supernatural nonetheless. Or perhaps he’s extra-planar, from one of the realms Easton has never visited.
Besides, if Sinoun were a fae, he wouldn’t be dallying with Easton this cheap inn and this small town. He’d have already whisked Easton away to some dark realm, a place of unearthly pleasure and torment and unbreakable chains.
His dick twitches at the thought, and honestly, there must be something wrong with him.
Sinoun smirks then, as if he’s read Easton’s mind, which isn’t outside the realm of possibility. "That can be arranged. If you want it,” he says, and his eyes flash again with that arcane glow.
Easton scowls and banishes the uninvited fantasy. "No thanks." He grabs Sinoun's hips in lube slick fingers, yanking Sinoun into his lap so he can grind his dick against Sinoun's ass. "Got all I need in this plane."
"If you insist." Long legs wrap around Easton's waist, and he swears those gold tattoos are glowing a little.
No, not important.
Easton knows better than to take more than he should. Especially in this case of not knowing what in the hells Sinoun is. Fuck, he shouldn't be taking at all, but it's too late now. To walk away would be worse.
He licks his lips, tastes Sinoun's sweat, and a wave of want makes him shudder, makes him thrust before he thinks twice about it, sinking into welcoming heat. Easton growls and thrusts again, pushing deeper, and Sinoun shivers, tightening his thighs forcing Easton the last precious few inches, until he's fully buried.
Sinoun smirks at him, eyes glinting with triumph. "That's better," he purrs and rolls his hips, squeezing down, and Easton's vision whites with pleasure.
He shudders, the sensation starting in his shoulders, rolling down. His belly clenches, need yawing inside of him. He's leaning forward before he thinks twice about it, curving over Sinoun, eyeing the leaping pulse in Sinoun's throat.
"I'm inside you," he points out as he grabs Sinoun's wrists, pins them to Sinoun's side, knowing full well he's being allowed it. Sinoun is stronger than him. "Time to drink."
He goes, not for Sinoun's throat because he doesn't trust his restraint, but for the meat of his shoulder, for that join of neck and shoulder above the clavicle. Bite deep enough and the ache will linger for days. It'll bruise. It'll be a reminder.
Yes. Perfect.
Easton inhales, nose pressed to Sinoun's skin, teeth grazing it. Smells the salty-sweet of him, and something else, something that must be whatever he is. It's dizzying.
Sinoun rolls up against him, cockhead leaving streaks of pre-come against Easton's abdomen, the scent of his arousal equally intoxicating.
He's getting distracted.
Drink now. Come later.
He drags his canines against Sinoun's skin again, all the warning Easton offers before he sinks his teeth into Sinoun's shoulder, tongue applying a pressure against his flesh as blood immediately seeps out. It's warm, tingling where it touches his tongue, simultaneously sweet and spicy, and when he swallows, it crackles down his throat in a unique sensation.
Easton moans, eyes fluttering shut. He pulls another mouthful, savors the taste of it, the warmth as it floods his belly, and his grip on Sinoun's wrists tightens. Sinoun draws in a hiss, but Easton can't tell if it's pained or pleasure, but given the way he clenches around Easton's dick and squirms in a truncated effort at riding Easton, it might be pleasure.
"Move, damn you," Sinoun hisses as he bucks up, thighs pulling leverage, tightening around Easton's cock.
Easton shivers again, gets another mouthful, swallows. He laps his tongue against the bite, watches the gold blood seep free, heat cascading through his entire body.
Sinoun was right.
He is delicious.
Easton releases Sinoun's wrists, and isn't surprised when Sinoun abruptly rolls them over, planting himself firmly on Easton's dick, blood trickling from Easton's bite. He'd been careful not to rend or tear.
"You’re more human than vampire, Easton," Sinoun says as he starts to roll his hips, riding Easton's dick with eager motions, one hand planted on Easton's chest, holding him down with ridiculous ease. "You’re far more gentle than I expected."
His eyes flash, and he rises and falls harder, faster, stealing Easton's breath.
"I wanted to be fucked, not loved," Sinoun hisses. "So I guess I'm going to have to take what I want."
Easton licks his lips, shivering as the taste of Sinoun's blood lingers on his tongue. He thrusts up, meeting Sinoun's motions, and triumph glitters in Sinoun's eyes, the markings on his legs growing brighter.
So. He hadn't imagined it.
"You're not getting anything more than blood from me, lovely," Sinoun says, high spots of color dancing in his cheeks, frustration writ across his brow. "So do what we're both here for and make use of your cock!"
Easton grabs at Sinoun's hips and thrusts up as he pulls down, both of them moaning in tandem.
"Better," Sinoun says, and his nails scratch over Easton's belly, though his palm lays flat and unyielding. "Keep it up, and you can drink your fill."
Easton bares his teeth, shoves his heels into the bed, and thrusts harder, with Sinoun bouncing down to meet him, working a hard, fast pace. Lust shines in Sinoun's eyes. His free hand grips his dick, stroking himself mercilessly, a flush of heat spreading across his chest, and the tattoos pulsing in tune to the rhythm of flesh.
The room reeks of it, arousal and the herbal oil and sweat, and whatever spicy-sweet essence that is Sinoun. It makes Easton's head spin, makes the blood in his veins boil and pulse faster, his heart throbbing a desperate rhythm. Heat gathers in his groin, his muscles tensing, the slap of flesh on flesh obscenely loud.
Sinoun clenches around him, and Easton groans, his hands tightening on Sinoun's hips, sure to leave a mark if Sinoun were a mere mortal. Nails scrape Easton's belly, a bare sting and Sinoun slams down on top of him, pre-come dripping from the end of his dick.
Easton licks his lips. He wants to taste Sinoun's spill as well, see if he's as intriguing as his blood, but then, who knows what magic lurks in Sinoun’s spill. What if he truly is a fae? What if he’s something worse? Maybe it's too late already.
And maybe the sex has got him thinking impossible things. Fae. Pfft. His father must be rolling over in his grave to see Easton entertaining such notions.
His cock throbs nevertheless, the coil of need in his belly threatening to burst. It’s been too long, and with the taste of Sinoun’s blood on his tongue, his control falters.
"Don't you dare," Sinoun hisses through clenched teeth, his hand curving into a claw. "If you come before me, I'll curse you."
Easton would laugh, if he had the breath for it. He shifts, just enough to change the angle of his thrust, and Sinoun jerks as though struck by lightning. He moans, long and low, and the scent of pleasure gets thicker.
"There," Sinoun pants, stroking himself faster and faster. "Right there. Keep -- ngh." He tosses his head back, entire body going still as a sculpture, hips moving in tiny rocks as he spills over his fingers, painting Easton's abdomen in multiple stripes of come.
His ass squeezes down on Easton's cock, and Easton groans, thrusting up helplessly, desperately into the gripping heat, until his own pleasure takes him, and release pulses from his cock. He tries to pull Sinoun down, pull him near enough for a kiss, but Sinoun's immovable, only conceding when he wants and right now, he apparently doesn't want.
Fuck.
Easton gasps, body trembling, sweat slicking his skin, as he jerks in the aftermath. There are so many scents in the room, too many to separate them and compartmentalize them. His mouth waters, the taste of Sinoun lingering on his tongue.
"You said... I could drink," Easton grits out through his panting, loose strands of white hair clinging to the side of his face in what he's sure is an unattractive manner.
Sinoun rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes. Indeed I did." He shifts as Easton lingers within him, half-hard and softening. "You mortals and your hungers."
He curves over Easton, hands planted above his head, looking down like he's royalty, and Easton is a loyal subject. "Have your fill, lovely. Consider it a gift."
"It's my due, not a gift," Easton says, lest he be locked in some supernatural contract without escape. He curls his arms around Sinoun's torso, around the back of his neck, and hauls Sinoun close enough to get his mouth on the bite he'd left earlier.
He shivers as he licks up the dried blood and sinks his teeth into the marks, fresh blood spilling over his tongue, crackling as though he's drinking magic itself. His dick twitches, thinking to attempt a second round, but Easton ignores such carnality, focusing instead on the thirst.
He needs not drain Sinoun dry. He's not a full-blood. A dozen mouthfuls will do, and Easton hums with each swallow, a shiver passing through his body, gooseflesh rising beneath the sweat.
Gods, he won't need to drink for months at this rate. Sinoun's blood makes him tingle from head to foot, inside and out, like it's pure energy. He’s something which reeks of pure magic. A celestial, perhaps, fallen or corrupted, otherwise his blood would burn Easton from the inside out.
Easton drinks, and he drinks, until Sinoun’s blood settles in his belly with a warm tingle, and he feels sated. Easton licks the bite until it heals -- though he doubts Sinoun needs the assistance. His body hums with satisfaction, his dick twitching again.
“Satisfied?” Sinoun asks as he rises up on his knees, Easton slipping free of him.
“Yes.” Easton licks his lips, another shiver crawling over his skin. He feels soft and langourous, almost drunk on Sinoun’s blood. “Are you?”
“Mm. It’ll do.” Sinoun slides off the bed, his skin still flushed, hair clinging to the sides of his face. He looks more put together than he ought, and Easton would be annoyed by it, if he didn’t feel so damned satisfied.
“You still get my coin out of it,” Easton points out, making vague effort to sit up, before the weight of fatigue crashes him back down. His head spins a little, like he’s had too much ale or whiskey, and he wonders if it’s a side-effect of Sinoun’s blood.
Sinoun sits on the edge of the bed, lips curved in a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Yes, I do.” He hums, and his fingers dance over Easton’s forehead. “Small consolation. We aren’t compatible after all, lovely. Such a shame.”
Easton snatches Sinoun’s wrist, which the other man must have allowed, because Easton feels like he’s moving through soup right now. “Don’t mark me.”
“What makes you think I was going to?” Sinoun asks, and he tilts his head, a touch of seriousness entering his face. “Or that you know what I am?”
“I have a pretty good guess. And I don’t want your mark anywhere in me. I don’t want you to come looking for me or claiming me,” Easton says, and he squeezes Sinoun’s wrist, which feels astonishingly delicate under his fingers. Either he’s that much stronger because of Sinoun’s blood, or it’s all a farce. Sinoun’s letting him feel what he wants Easton to feel.
Fucking celestial. Fucking fae. Fucking fallen. Fucking whatever the fuck he is.
Sinoun snorts and peels his wrist out of Easton’s fingers as though it takes no effort. “You’ve no fears of that, lovely. This isn’t an experience I wish to repeat.”
Oh. That stings, like a lance to the core of Easton’s pride. He flinches, and Sinoun smirks the triumph of a landed blow.
Damn.
Easton flops back into the bed, makes a nuisance of himself in the clean-ish blankets and the comfortable mattress. “I’m keeping the room,” he says.
Sinoun flicks his fingers, and suddenly, he’s dressed, smoothing down the fabric of his clothing with an air of disinterest. He’s not, however, clean. Easton can still see the sweat-sheen on his face, the wildness of curls frizzed by exertion, and he still smells of sweat and come and spilled blood.
Easton pulls at the blanket, throws it over his naked body, though he’s not been one for modesty, his pride is still a fragile thing. He’s never had any complaints before.
Ass.
“Our deal is met then,” Sinoun says, and Easton swears there’s a ringing in the air, nothing audible, but tangible nonetheless, like an arcane promise. “We walk away from this with no dangling threads.”
“Yes,” Easton says, and his voice seems to resonate, like the other half of the promise. “Our deal is met.”
Sinoun smiles, and it’s a shame he rarely smiles like that, because it’s much more appealing than the knowing smirk he keeps on tap.
“Good eve to you then, lovely. It was… hmm.” Sinoun taps his bottom lip with one finger. “Well, it just was.”
Easton snorts and rolls on his side, giving Sinoun his back, dismissing him, body still thrumming with the taste of Sinoun’s blood. He doesn’t, once, however abandon his awareness of Sinoun.
Part of him still thinks Sinoun is more fae than half-mortal, as absurd as it sounds, so he’d prefer not to be reckless. No matter what Sinoun is, Eason doesn’t want to get caught unawares. Sleep tugs at him, but Easton doesn’t give in to the pull. Not until he’s sure he’s alone.
“At least tell me what you are, before you go,” Easton says.
The door opens with a quiet click and squeak of hinges in need of oiling. “You didn’t earn that, but since I’ve plucked your name from you, I suppose it’s only fair.” Sinoun’s voice is as slick as oil itself. “I am not of this plane, but as to which I belong, that’s my secret to keep, Riordan.”
Easton’s eyes pop open. He bolts upright, but the door has closed behind Sinoun without a sound, and the lantern’s light has banked, casting the room in shadows. Sinoun’s scent lingers, but nothing else of him remains.
Easton is alone, the echoes of a buried name in his ears.
Damn him.
He punches the goosefeather pillow and flops his head onto it, fatigue seeping into his bone and sinew. He glares hard at the wall, calling himself foolish in every language he knows.
He should have walked away when he had the chance.
