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York Avenue was ruthless. Troops didn’t even have the chance to bare arms before being mowed down by the enemies, and The Doorman was dangerously close to being steamrolled, even with his inhuman precision, abilities, and tactics.
That’s why he finds himself leaning against the wall of a closed off alley, catching his breath and clutching his abdomen. A single droplet of sweat falls down the ginger’s face, past drying blood from his most recent team fight, onto the dirty New York pavement. He hisses as he lifts a white gloved hand from his wound, met with the sight of pooling blood.
“The nerve of some people.” Scowling to himself, The Doorman places his hand back on his abdomen, sending a gentle warmth over the injury as it slowly heals. The gash closes up and the tear in his bell boy uniform disappears, a crimson stain left in its wake. “Hm, that will have to do for now.” A sigh of partial relief, but predominantly frustration at his freshly pressed jacket being sullied.
The cosmic being takes a moment to recollect his thoughts and rest, pushing himself off the alleyway wall with his foot. The sounds of violence being somewhat distant is, for once, a welcomed occurrence.
But it doesn’t last long.
—
Heavy footsteps follow the smell of iron that taints the air, accompanied by rhythmic huffs. Hunger doesn’t cloud his judgement - Drifter adapted to the carnal twang that lives in his core centuries ago. His finger is always on the pulse of his prey, and although the blood in the air this evening was… richer and heavier; this hunt won’t be any different. He won’t let it be -
that
metallic scent was one Drifter has been chasing for centuries. It’s slipped through his crimson claws before, but sand can only last so long in an hourglass.
The Doorman was finally vulnerable.
The scent starts to get stronger on York Avenue, as does the vampire’s excitement. Licking his lips, the scruffy man continues to stalk, taking shortcuts through Juke Rooms and backstreets so as to not get caught up in the battle for the lane. A dark beard catches drool as his steps become quicker. Drifter is close to his prize - he can smell it.
And then he sees him - the eldritch sadist that’s cruelly evaded him since he became a vampire -standing there, in a derelict alley all by himself, unknowing of his fate. The fake mortality he’s chosen to parade around has finally caught up to him.
An expert wolf staring at an arrogant deer in a soulless opening.
“All too easy,” Drifter drawls under his breath, his trademark grin stretching his face. One foot slowly meets the harsh floor of the Cursed Apple at the same time a whistled melody pierces the air.
—
The Doorman draws his gun, only to immediately curse the gentle clank of room keys under his breath. Surely Drifter wasn’t hunting him specifically, but the god wasn’t in the mood or state to take the risk. Any other time and that melody - that *whistle* - wouldn’t alarm him. He would chuckle and open his arms to an ‘old friend’, preparing for a heated exchange he knew he’d always win. Poor Drifter never really has had a way with words, afterall. However, he’s always had a way with timing.
Cosmic breath stills as vampiric footsteps get closer and the whistling gets louder. Surely Drifter wasn’t hunting him specifically, no! The vampire wouldn’t be foolish enough to do that! He simply chose to survey a lane he wasn’t assigned to, going above and beyond for the rival Patron. Surely…
“Found you.”
A rugged shadow towers over The Doorman, ravenous breath and bloodied drool hitting the back of his freckled neck. His face contorts in disgust before he whips around, instinctively kicking Drifter in the stomach and winding him. Taking the chance to create distance between the two of them, he launches himself towards the exit he just turned his back to. He’s aware it could be a fatal error, but he also knows this is his only chance to escape.
The scruffy hunter stumbles back, diaphragm almost certainly bruised but spirit still unrelenting.
“Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” He grins at Doorman’s desperate sprint for safety before rolling his shoulders back and lunging towards him. Drifter makes contact immediately, wrapping a blood stained hand around the ginger’s clothed wrist, pulling him towards his chest.
“Ugh, get off of me!” Disembodied souls scream as their tormentor wrestles with the vampire, but to no avail. The taller man just laughs and pushes him against the alleyway wall, pinning his hand above his head. “You’re getting blood all over my uniform, and your breath reeks.” Doorman tries his best to turn his head away from Drifter - another fatal error.
“Now, what’s this defensiveness for, Doorman? I thought you’d be happy to see me.” A sadistic, Cajun drawl. Piercing red eyes savor the sight: an eldritch god who has been invincible for millenia now takes the form of a ginger bellhop becoming helpless putty in his hands. Blood and pride thrum in Drifter’s ears, fangs ready to tear and destroy the cosmic skin under his gaze - but for once, he’s trying to restrain himself, just for a little while. Besides, after all this time, the vampire deserves to play with his food. Just this once, as a treat.
Teal irises narrow at the hungry man, making a failed attempt to shove him away.
“Did you not hear me, or has your useless pea brain finally shriveled up entirely? You’re ruining my uniform with your filth!” The Doorman snaps back, earning a chuckle from his captor.
“Heard ya loud n’ clear, bell boy. I just don’t give a damn.” Drifter’s free hand takes the ginger’s chin in an ironclad grip and forces their eyes to meet. “I just think it’s funny, after all these years… all these years!” The grip tightens, smushing The Doorman’s cheeks together. “You thought you were so untouchable. You call y’self a god? Really? ‘Cuz I don’t think a god would let me have him up against some dirty ol’ wall, no? Instead you’re… ripe for the pickin’, if you will.”
The Doorman’s pulse quickens, brows furrowing and chest welling with anger. Drifter just laughs again, hearty gravel piercing the mere inches of space between the two. A sturdy knee finds purchase between the god’s legs, threatening to graze his crotch.
The vampire moves Doorman’s head to its original place, maintaining his grip as he leans into the ginger’s neck. His tongue pokes out, tracing mindless shapes on his middle jugular. The cosmic being grimaces at the sensation, rosy cheeks betraying his expression.
“I dare you to feed from me, vermin.” The Doorman grunts out, albeit muffled by the freakishly large hand around his face.
“Oh, you dare me, huh? Don’t threaten me with a good time.” A long claw glistens as it nicks the freckled face beneath it, blood beginning to spill from under the sharp tip. “Whoops, it seems my hand slipped.”
“I mean it.” The god speaks dryly, glaring at Drifter as he licks his lips again; a repulsing sight.
“Why? What’cha gonna do while I’ve got you like this, bell boy?” Drifter grins sadistically, enjoying how little composure the god has while pressed up against the cold brick. One last taunt before he claims his prize.
The vampire leans in and laps hungrily at the cut on The Doorman’s face. Becoming lost in the taste of eldritch blood, he hums contently to himself and begins sucking on the cheek. Obscene squelches from the contact fill the air, Drifter swallowing the warm, crimson liquid greedily. Too distracted to hear the ginger’s noises of protest, he leans into his body, pushing them both impossibly closer against the alley. Animalistic instinct is taking over.
“Oh you are such a dog, Drifter.” The Doorman’s chest heaves as he scolds the man pushing into him. He attempts to pull his face away, just for the vampire to yank it back into place.
“Stay fucking still, you know I need this.” He huffs against the bloodied cheek as body fluids mix together. His tongue feels like sandpaper as he sloppily takes his fill.
After what feels like centuries to The Doorman, Drifter’s face nestles into the crook of his neck, blood stained teeth grazing his skin on the way down. His movements were interrupted by the collars of the bellboy’s uniform and the white button up underneath it, both soaking with his own blood. A deft claw takes care of that, the sound of fabric tearing filling the air before teeth return to the freckled flesh.
“For goodness sake,” The god rolls his eyes at the rip. Why the vampire couldn’t just use his arm or wrist like their past meetings, he didn’t know. But, it was getting harder and harder to deny his tightening trousers as the ministrations continued. He knows Drifter can probably feel it against his knee, taste it in his blood; regardless, he was too proud to make it known.
The bearded vampire sucks and nibbles at Doorman’s neck, summoning the blood through flesh. An inhale of anticipation, a lick of crimson lips, then a breathy question.
“You ready for this?”
“Oh, you remembered that I have a choice. How lovely of you to ask- Ahh!”
The sarcastic response is transformed into a yelp as cosmic skin gives way to sharp teeth. The dam is finally broken and Drifter takes full advantage, moaning and slurping like a man dying of dehydration at the foot of a fountain. Crimson liquid mixes with saliva in his beard and on his lips, the concoction being smeared across the bite mark by insatiable suckling.
The once uptight bellhop slumps against the wall, eyes blurring in and out of focus as a delicate, gloved hand presses Drifter's skull into him. His gloves were already stained beyond repair, so there was no point in avoiding touch, The Doorman thought to himself. A particularly rough swallow from the vampire earns the arch of the ginger’s back, the movement causing his growing erection to graze Drifter’s torn pant leg.
Drifter chuckles at the intrusion through slurps and pants as he shifts his body slightly, red arms wrapping around the ginger’s body before pulling him onto his thigh. A sigh of relief falls from the ginger’s lips, the sound accompanied by instinctive bucking of tired hips.
“Thereeee ya go.” The vampire smiles against his mark on the god, claws digging into the clothed meat of Doorman’s ass to hold him up.
The hand on the back of Drifter’s head takes a fistful of black hair in response, the ginger’s senses too clouded for him to care about any dried blood and grease. He uses this grip to pull the vampire’s face away from his neck, inviting him into a desperate kiss with hooded eyes. Their lips smack together, saliva from the two as well as cosmic blood mixing together in their mouths. Both men moan into each other’s touch, tongues nudging against each other to deepen the kiss. Drifter pushes their bodies against the alley wall, regaining full control, as he shoves his tongue down Doorman’s throat. They stay like this for what feels like an eternity, the only thing on their minds being to consume each other.
With a moan and a sudden burst of energy, the pace of the god’s humping increases. The movements are erratic and hungry, his mouth following in suit. He grips the black locks even tighter as he pulls away from the vampire for air.
“Oh come on, and here I was thinking you were enjoyin’ ya’self.” Drifter teases, ruby eyes practically glowing post-meal.
“Please, just shut up.” The Doorman pants before focusing on stilling his hips, not wanting to cum just yet. Drifter was mainly here to feed, not fuck. The two men agreed that anything else would be off the table until the ritual was over.
Unless…
Gloved palms take purchase on Drifter’s ragged chest, complete disregard for the fresh blood soaking into his dirty and moth-bitten shirt. They push the vampire towards the opposite end of the alley, eliciting a shocked inhale from him as he steadies his footing. The Doorman takes the chance to stretch and stand up straight before briefly massaging his wrists. Drifter stands there expectantly, drool spilling from his mouth as he pants. The cosmic being looks at him with an expression of vague disgust as he continues nursing the wounds caused by being pinned against the wall.
Drifter looks at The Doorman with a slightly tilted head; the same confused expression a dog gives its owner. The ginger seems to be ignoring him, instead assessing the damage to his uniform while tutting.
“The fuck are you doin’?” His question hangs in the air for a painstaking moment. The god just clicks his tongue in disapproval. Drifter grins again, voice oozing mockery, “Aw, are you upset ‘bout your precious *uniform* gettin’ wrecked? Surely your boss has given ya’ plenty o’ em–”
"You are such an incessant gnat, Drifter. Look at what you’ve done."
“...I am lookin’. Am I not ‘sposed to admire my work?” Lustful pride briefly replaces the scruffy man’s bemusement.
“Your work,” Doorman scoffs, “You stained me with your slobber.” His voice is flat and pupils dark.
He takes a step closer to Drifter, who instinctively steps back.
“You’ve made an absolute mess of both of us, of me. I think that it’s only fair if you clean up after yourself.”
The roles are reversing, and the vampire can’t decide if he likes it. He looks his partner up and down with alerted eyes, continuing to maintain the distance with each painstaking step the god takes-
Dust floats lazily in the air as Drifter’s back hits the wall behind him. Shit.
A notorious deity corners a pathetic copycat of a ghoul.
In an attempt to regain control and exude nonchalance, the bearded man scoffs in reply.
“Me? Clean up after myself? Or what?” A small laugh erupts from his chest.
The Doorman already knows what his plan is, but he pouts and looks to the side regardless; feigning being lost in thought. Drifter follows the gaze then stares at the ginger again. Thick eyebrows furrow as he gently huffs. After a moment, the cosmic being looks at the vampire with an unsettling smirk.
"Hm, that is the question - what ever shall I do with vermin that's desperate enough to feed, he'll act like a common whore?" Doorman takes another step towards Drifter, eyes wondering over the cornered man’s grime-ridden attire.
"What, you all out o' ideas after getting me right where you want me? Surely that ain't like a terrifying god.” A condescending lick of his lips, savouring the taste of the ginger's eldritch blood.
“I’ve heard enough from you.” The cosmic being gestures dismissively at the vampire.
As he does, a small oak door appears with a blue and yellow glow. It opens itself to reveal a pair of disembodied translucent hands, holding a black leather muzzle. Before Drifter can even react to the sight, the hands start to fasten the muzzle to his face.
The vampire immediately starts to growl and thrash in an attempt to remove the restraint, though the hands ignore his efforts. The Doorman stands and watches, teal eyes beaming with glee and lips contorting into a sadistic smirk. Drifter glares and snarls at him, fangs peering through the strips of leather.
Back pressed against the wall, mouth restrained, The Doorman of all people leering at him during it all; this was an absolute nightmare for the vampire. It was humiliating. He curses to the air at the circumstance, rage flowing through his veins at the realisation that now he is the vulnerable one - a feeling he hasn’t known for centuries. And to make matters even worse, he can feel his cock stiffening. Rows of sharp teeth grind against each other as he wrestles with the arousal and fury that meet in the pit of his stomach.
The Doorman just laughs.
“Does that answer satisfy you? Because it is certainly satisfying me.”
“‘M gonna fuckin’ kill you!” Drifter spits out, claws reaching for the back of his head, desperately searching for the muzzle’s clasp. The ginger waves his hand again, and the vampire’s wrists are bound behind his back by spectral digits in an instant.
“How lovely.” The cosmic being comments as he steps towards the restrained ghoul. After failing to free his arms, Drifter looks at Doorman with bared fangs, the ever lacking proximity between the two forcing him to lean evermore into the brick behind him.
"Aww, what's wrong? I thought you had more fight in you than this," The god coos sarcastically, tilting his head. "Are you feeling angry? Threatened? Are you... scared? " Another callous laugh pierces the air. The disembodied voices of tortured souls return as he continues.
"Drifter; a notorious beast, a centuries upon centuries old vampire, a so-called boogieman, the man who only needs bloodlust to rule the streets of... Well. that's it, isn't it? Where do you rule? Where are you king? Because it certainly isn't here in New York or at The Baroness. Here, you are less than filth, less than vermin, scurrying towards any piece of meat thrown your way. If you don't throw yourself at it first, that is." His words are daggers, brute forcing their way straight through a hairy and heaving chest into Drifter's soul. The vampire snarls again as The Doorman's hand traces the blood stained shirt, feather light touches inching towards his crotch at a painfully slow pace. The Doorman’s ‘human’ voice returns. "Hm. Perhaps I was too harsh when speaking to you earlier, mutt. At least common whores have some semblance of decorum.”
The rosy hue peppering Drifter’s face betrays his clenched jaw, resisting the urge to let out an ashamed moan. The cosmic being watches the worn and bearded face carefully before lifting his tattered shirt, letting his eyes wander downwards: scarred neck, broad shoulders, and thick arms that perfectly frame his fuzzy & plump midriff. His teal pupils fixate on the vampire’s happy trail, a dark stripe of fluff that widens just inches above the tent his ragged trousers are struggling to contain.
Drifter’s lower stomach twitches when the ginger strokes it with his digits. His inhales and exhales are sharp under the muzzle, anticipation turning into ache.
“Will you just fuckin’ do somethin’ already.” He eventually blurts out, eyes darting from The Doorman’s hand to his face.
“...Or what?” The god flashes him a shit-eating grin as he uses his own taunt on him. The vampire’s cheeks redden in response. “Besides, you can’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.” Gloved fingers wander lower. “We both know betraying your lust doesn’t suit you. Though I must admit, this poor excuse of an attempt is very adorable.”
Doorman presses his palm flat against Drifter’s cock and the vampire’s mask immediately slips. He hunches forward with a broken whine, his forehead resting on the black and gold epaulette that decorates the cosmic being’s burgundy jacket. The god’s chuckle can barely be heard over his partner’s moans and pants, hot air wafting over The Doorman’s clothed pec. The ginger rubs his palm across the heavy erection.
“O-oh fuck,” Drifter groans, the low rumble from his chest making his whole body shake. He presses his forehead harder into the clothed shoulder, too caught up in the stimulation to care about how his drool is drenching it. The ginger moves his hand at a steady pace, scoffing to himself at the fountain of saliva that’s pressing onto him. The vampire’s desire for control is long gone, now replaced with an overwhelming need to cum. Wide hips grind into the god’s hand as they search for more friction.
“So impatient and needy.” The Doorman’s callous grin floats on the inch of air between the two men. “I should teach you some self control.” His snarky observation is followed by the closing of his hand, switching from stroking the vampire's shaft to squeezing it.
Seconds after, the binds on Drifter’s wrists are broken, claws immediately caging the cosmic being. He holds his partner impossibly close to his furry chest and tries to rut into his hand, drooling, snarling and grunting as he indirectly begs for mercy. The Doorman offers a sarcastic pout in its place.
“Not that I think your mutt-brain would be quick to compute it, but I have all the time in the world. As they say, a doorman’s job is never done.”
“Too still… N-need to-”
“Shhh. You’ll get your release when I say so. Like we agreed, hm?”
The vampire groans at those words, practically on the verge of tears. Claws dig into the ginger’s lean frame the longer his desire is denied. He makes another attempt at creating movement, whining and knees buckling when The Doorman’s grip cruelly tightens. The god just scoffs, unrelenting as the mess in his grasp rides the wave of frustration.
“You should be grateful I’m even touching you at all, to be honest. You’ve been such a naughty boy this evening. …But, I suppose I do pity you, dog. So if you say thank you, I’ll consider moving my hand again.”
“Like hell am I gonna do that. I ain’t got shit to thank you for.” Growling, Drifter lifts his head to make eye contact with The Doorman. The vampire’s gut twists; he was the one who approached the god, he let the smug eldritch take all the pleasure he wanted from him earlier on rather than ripping out his gullet for even trying. That’s something to say thank you over.
The ginger lifts an eyebrow, smirking as he assesses the bearded man’s body. He lets the air thicken, expecting more bratty vitriol to be hurled his way. But instead, Drifter is heaving wordlessly, trying to stare daggers into him. Too pent up to attack and too disobedient to be rewarded. The cosmic being’s smile widens at this. The creature that had the audacity to hunt him now has the audacity to be petulant; it was quite amusing.
But not amusing enough to be forgivable.
So, after painstaking moments of stillness and anticipation, The Doorman lets go. He pulls his hand away from Drifter’s body wordlessly, turning slowly on his heel as he does. The rugged man’s hips jut forward instinctively, causing him to lose his footing and fall to his knees.
“Oh, you bastard.” The vampire’s voice is low as he snarls up at the bellhop, cock throbbing in his trousers at the lack of warmth.
The bellboy’s lips curl into a snicker at the sight. “You are so pathetic.”
He starts to walk away, mindlessly assessing the cuffs of his uniform once again.
Drifter’s eyes follow him, but he makes no effort to get up. His frustration keeps him planted on the alleyway floor; a pathetic display of physical exhaustion. The most movement he can muster is to snarl through his muzzle a final time.