Chapter Text
Takato came out of the darkroom yawning, a reflex action he couldn't shake, and with his soft sleep pants slipping down his hips.
He saw the arousal kindle in Junta's eyes and smothered a grin. It was nice to be wanted so wholeheartedly. Nice to know he had such power. Vampires were all about the power.
He couldn't glamor Junta but that didn't mean he couldn't bewitch him.
Seduction… He'd never known how to go about it. People told him he was hot, desirable, all the adjectives a man could want to hear, but if they were tools at his disposal he didn't have a clue how to use them and less interest.
Now, with Junta, it was unnecessary. A smile, a crooked finger? Even that was more effort than required. He could look at Junta and have him panting and pawing the ground.
All the power. His.
So why did the tables turn when they had sex? At what point did the control slip from his fingers, only to be grabbed by Junta?
Tonight, he'd find out. Pinpoint that precise instant and deal with it better.
One time. He just wanted one time when he stayed in charge from start to finish.
He'd accepted, outwardly grudging, inwardly relieved, that Junta didn't want to get fucked. It worked out. Being fucked was so mind-blowingly good he couldn't complain. Even so! He could, um, direct matters a little more and not lose his self-respect so thoroughly.
Junta needn't think that because he knew all those vulnerable places to caress and lick that Takato was easy prey. That the sounds he drew out of Takato were beyond his ability to bite back, that his wriggles and squirms weren't completely intentional.
"Hello, Takato-san."
"Chunta."
Oh, he'd said that too coldly; Junta blinked, puzzled, hurt. To make amends, he walked over, smiled up at him and gave him a swift peck on the lips. There!
"Takato-san…." Junta breathed his name reverently and gathered him close, returning the peck with a kiss that left Takato's lips warm for a moment, tingling for longer. The kind of kiss that sunk in and lingered.
"I'm hungry, Chunta."
"Of course. My wrist?"
He assessed his need for blood. Manageable. He could wait a little longer without issue. No; he'd feed during their lovemaking. That got tricky sometimes; two competing hungers was a lot to handle, but he was getting better at it. To climax with Junta's cock splitting his ass deliciously and to have Junta's blood trickling down his throat as his come bathed Takato's hole with fleeting warmth …
"Takato-san…" Junta growled it, all his sweetness lost in the heat rising between them. "I feel it. You're calling to me."
Was he? Was he calling? He should be demanding. Resolve, Takato!
He could have picked Junta up without effort but that didn't feel…no. Instead, he took Junta's hand and led him to the couch, pushing Junta down onto it.
Folding his arms, he said imperiously, "Unzip and uh…"
Junta raised his eyebrows, bewilderment melting to a faint amusement but he did what he was told, and a step more, easing his hardening cock out of his cargo pants and idly working it without taking his gaze off Takato as if that was all the stimulus he needed.
Takato shimmied out of the loose pants and stepped forward, straddling Junta's lap and letting their erections kiss.
"You're bold tonight, Takato-san."
Bold? Yes, he was. This was better. Much better. The club had been disquieting in some ways but something in that space, the message that humans existed to serve, had stirred a response in him. He was torn; Junta had taken care of him and worshiped him and done it without humbling himself so it was possible for there to be a meeting of equals but the club had told him, subtly and overtly, that it wasn't natural.
One of them was immortal. One of them was strong. One of them could heal and move fast enough that they were a blur, could hear a whisper across a busy street, see the dark gleam in a crow's eye as it floated high above, could…
And one of them was Junta.
Somehow, with Junta holding him, it was difficult to see himself as an apex predator. Not when Junta brought him to surrender with a single touch.
Without replying, he took the initiative and kissed Junta, not a darting dab, but a lingering smooch, flickering his tongue against Junta's and running his fingers through that thick, soft hair.
Junta raked his nails lightly down Takato's back, scoring the skin enough to kindle that flash of pain/pleasure Takato loved. Breaking the kiss, Junta bent his head, paying attention to Takato's nipples, a part of his body Takato had never considered relevant. They were there. So? They didn't do anything. Junta made them his focus and the wet laps of his tongue, the pinches, the tickles, the sucking, biting kisses fused to make them become a source of ecstasy.
Takato flung his head back, arched, mutely offering himself for more, then as his desire rose, threatening to pull him under, he rallied.
Time to assert himself.
A blow job? No. Too risky. Even Junta would flinch if Takato's fangs came out, and they were about to, he felt it…yeah, there they were. So why not use them?
With a wriggle, he lifted up and sank down onto Junta's cock. That was the plan. The reality was a painful (judging by Junta's yelp) bump and a complete lack of penetration.
"Stay still, Takato-san. Let me—"
"No! I've got this." He reached under and grabbed the thick shaft then awkwardly guided the head to the pucker of his hole. No lube. Damn; he'd meant to ask if Junta preferred it. Too late now.
Junta stretched out his hand, flipped a cushion out of the way and revealed a bottle of slick. "I put it there just in case."
Boy Scout!
Junta smoothed a generous dollop over his hard-on and tossed the capped bottle aside. "That should help."
Mood. Ruined.
Takato gave him a tight smile that the fangs made fearsome (he hoped) and tried the sit, sink down, own Junta's cock manoeuvre a second time.
It worked better. Impossible to slam down, but after rising and falling, gaining more each time, he got there.
Then he waited. This position wasn't one they'd never used, but it was usually Junta rolling him over, still impaled, and using his hands to lift Takato up and down. Junta, in fact, doing all the work.
Not tonight and not solely because that was how he'd planned it. Junta sat there, a bump on a log, smiling at him lovingly but doing nothing to help.
Humans were so fucking idle.
He bobbed up and down a few times, then remembered he was hungry.
Junta's neck…so inviting and in this position accessible.
Takato had shied away from feeding from there. It was traditional and he wanted to see Junta's neck fang-marked, but…that was how he'd been turned and the memories of the pain as his flesh tore under a vampire's razor-sharp fangs… He never wanted Junta to feel that onslaught of agony and terror.
Did he have the control to make it pleasurable? He knew being fed on, if done right, left a human shuddering with euphoria, flying high, addicted to the rush, but so far, though Junta obviously didn't mind, he hadn't reacted like that. He was doing something wrong.
That maddened him. Saijou Takato did nothing wrong! Take this awkward up and down. He was riding Junta's cock. Fine; he knew how to ride. He'd had an entire scene on horseback once for a commercial about, oh, yeah, shampoo. Posting, that was it. You matched your rise and fall to the rhythm of the trotting horse.
Junta wasn't moving though; there was nothing to match to.
Frustration rose and his fangs ached with it along with his balls.
Instinct took over and he snarled and rose, sliding down that thick, hot length and nuzzling Junta's neck as a warning. Junta moaned, the kind of sound Takato knew he made during lovemaking, hoarse, desperate, begging.
"Takato-san….I can't hold back. I tried but I can't—"
What? No! Or…maybe…
Share the load.
Takato gently, with infinite care, pierced Junta's neck, seeking out the ideal place for his fangs to break skin, where all that juicy, rich blood lay so close to the surface. Dimly, as the salt-copper taste broke over him, he felt Junta clamp his hands on his ass and hips, moving him, fucking up into him in brutal, perfect choppy thrusts, but he let that physicality be the background to the gush of blood.
How could he share this with Junta? How could he… Something changed. He felt his fangs extend a fraction more and something spurted from them, mingling with Junta's blood, flowing into Junta's body through the holes in his flesh.
It changed the taste of the blood, more layers, complexity, a darker thread of satisfaction connecting them, a twisting, living flame.
Takato swallowed and came, the two actions simultaneous so his fangs locked in flesh as his body froze, then shuddered through a climax that ripped him apart.
He knew Junta was coming too, heard his voice in his mind as well as his ears, heard his name, over and over as Junta called to him, claimed him.
He eased his fangs out and stared at the holes, watching them close without his blood, leaving the skin marked with scarlet dots, nothing more.
That was…not what he'd expected.
He roused from his haze, cradled on Junta's lap, come oozing from his hole, his back stinging from the claw marks Junta had inflicted. Junta's chest was heaving as he caught his breath, sweat starring his chest.
"Takato-san…"
"I know."
"Yeah." Junta gingerly explored his neck with his fingertips. "Doesn't hurt. Throbs a little, but it healed…"
"Mmm." Takato didn't want to talk about it. Not yet. He snuggled close, taking in the earthy ripe smells of Junta after sex. As a human, he thought they would have had him wrinkling his nose in fastidious distaste; as a vampire he relished them.
"Takato-san, I love you. I never want to leave you."
Drowsily, Takato murmured, "Well, of course not. Why would you?"
"Remember that," Junta told him and tilted Takato's face up, not for a kiss but to stare into his eyes. "Remember I will never leave you, Takato-san."
Was he being glamored? Didn't feel like it. Sleepy from the sex and the blood, Takato yawned and nestled in again.
Felt nice.
Had his plan worked? He wasn't sure, but a little smugly, he decided Junta had learned who was in control. He made the mistake of saying so.
Junta scratched his chin. "That was what you were doing? Teaching me that you're in charge when we fuck?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I was." Tracing his name on Junta's chest, broad enough for an entire essay, Takato smiled. "Did it sink in?"
There was a pause as if Junta was giving it serious thought. "Oh, yes, Takato-san. Why don't I show you what an attentive student I am?"
"Huh?"
"I'll make love to you and show you exactly who's in charge."
"Me? It's me, right? So why do we have to— Chunta, why are we—What are you—"
It wasn't him.
Lesson learned.
Three times.