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Owen knew there would be consequences to Scott catching him watching his and Pyro’s little… ritual the other night. He thought he’d get a stern talking to, a real verbal lashing, or maybe even a physical one. He expected Scott to pull him aside and show him what a real elder vampire was made of. To punish him, and then leave him alone to lick his wounds in peace.
He didn't expect this.
“Relax,” Scott commands, possibly trying to soothe him but failing miserably, “I know you want this,”
Scott has him on his back, on the bed Shubble salvaged deep in the castle ruins, with Pyro. He doesn’t know what he’s playing at, and he’s tempted to get off the bed just to be defiant. He even begins moving to do so, but before he can get anywhere Scott cups a hand over this throbbing bulge, and Owen throws his head back into the pillow with a curse to the stone ceiling above.
“See?” Scott snarks from above, hand massaging Owen’s front, “I know my fledgelings well,”
“Not your fledgeling,” he snaps, forgetting his place for just a moment.
He remembers when Scott’s grip tightens, just on the edge of painful, and he arches off the bed shouting in surprise, bucking against the hand. The burn sends sparks through him, and like everything Scott does, he can’t decide if he likes it or not.
“No?” Scott inquires, “you’re certainly bratty as them. 200 years asleep and you think you’re above the babies.”
“Don’t call them that,” Owen asks, much more tamely this time, and thankfully Scott hums in agreement.
“You are less obedient, I must say. That one at least knows his place,”
He jerks his chin towards Pyro, who’s kneeling at the foot of the bed, naked, hard, and patiently waiting his turn. He watches Owen with hungry, jealous eyes, but obediently stays where his sire placed him when this whole thing began.
Owen has no idea what Scott has in mind pulling this, him and Pyro deep in the crypt while Shubble is out hunting (and won’t witness any of this), but he doesn’t have it in him to fight it. Not if it means he’ll be on Scott’s bad side, not if it means Scott starts wondering where he’s been sneaking off to at night. Not if it means he might find Doctor Legs.
So he tolerates this, and he doesn’t completely hate it when Scott leans down to start mouthing at his neck, not sharp enough to pierce, but enough pressure to get that metaphorical heat building inside him. He wants to run from it, and he wants to lean in closer. He wants to hide away deep in the crypt and never come out. The end result is him doing nothing, just lying there and tolerating it.
Pyro watches with intense eyes, and does nothing else. Owen wants to taunt him, wants to call him a little bitch for listening to his sire, but Scott’s cold tongue and possessive lips on his neck distracts him from the thought, and he lets the temptation scurry away to safer waters where he can’t be tempted into making his already tenuous situation even more difficult for himself.
After ages of sucking (of the love-making kind, not the bloodletting kind) Scott finally remembers the other party he brought along.
“Pyro,” Scott commands, completely ignoring Owen squirming beneath him, a hand still palming Owen’s front tightly, “undress Owen, won’t you?”
He snarls at the fledgeling, but Pyro only listens to one man now, and with his command in mind dutifully begins stripping Owen of his underthings with deft hands until he’s bare to the cold air. Scott keeps him pinned during the process, not with any force but the mouth bruising his neck and the promise of consequences to come should he try to run.
He doesn’t think he wants to. It wouldn’t be worth the grief.
He can’t help the hiss he lets out as Pyro licks a stripe up his quickly hardening cock. Scott laughs into the crook of his neck, lifting off to look down at Pyro, who looks up with faux-innocent eyes.
“Eager, isn’t he?” Scott muses, “eager to please, obedient, just the perfect little…”
Scott sits up to reach a hand down towards his fledgeling, to caress his face. Pyro looks at Scott like he hung the stars in the sky, but makes sure to shoot a smug glance at Owen, satisfied at earning his sire’s approval.
Whatever. He can have it. Owen shifts in discomfort, naked from the waist down and half-hard as Pyro nuzzles into his sire’s palm.
“My good boy,” Scott whispers, before leaning in to kiss him.
Owen wishes he were anywhere but here. He liked it better when he was hiding in the shadows, shamefully taking advantage of Scott and Pyro’s escapades, not trapped like a bug to a board forced to observe but not partake. It feels too intimate, being below them like this. Once more he’s struck with the urge to run and hide, to take care of himself shamefully in the shadows where no one else has to see.
He squirms again, getting even harder at the wet sounds of the two making out above him. Just as he begins to make headway getting out from under them, Scott reaches down and puts one flat palm on Owen’s chest, keeping him still.
He parts from Pyro with a smirk. “I believe I told you to undress him.”
“Yes, sire,” Pyro obediently replies, before turning to Owen with those smug eyes again.
He reaches for Owen’s shirt, and he bares his teeth in a hiss, “don’t you fucking dare,”
Pyro hesitates in his reach, and Scott tuts in disappointment, “Now, now, let’s not start being difficult now, just when the fun’s beginning,”
He hisses again, just to be obstinate, and this time Scott doesn’t hesitate. Before he can blink, Scott is at his neck in a flash, and this time his fangs pierce him with ease.
“No-!” he gasps, but it's too late. Already he can feel the elder vampire’s potent venom entering him, spreading through his system, warming his cold dead insides with a fire he doesn’t want. It awakens something inside him, something primal and hungry, something that makes him believe Scott wasn’t lying when he said this is what covens do.
The bastard doesn’t even drink from him. Just unlatches from his neck with a pop and a smirk, “that will help, hm?”
It does, is the thing. He’s properly hard now, flush against his belly, and though Scott’s hands on him make him want to peel his skin off, he doesn’t resist further as Pyro disrobes him of his shirt until he’s as naked as the fledgeling.
“Hiss at him again, and I’ll make you beg for it,” Scott promises, and though he doesn’t elaborate on what it is, he has an imagination. He can guess.
Pyro is still between Owen’s legs, but like a good little fledgeling he’s sat back on his heels, awaiting his sire’s instructions. His eyes seem stuck on Scott, watching Scott and his every movement, so, so eager to please. Owen hates him. Owen hates what he gets to be. Hates that he can’t be that.
“Now where were we?” Scott idly asks, petting Owen’s hair. He resists the urge to snap at the hand. “Pyro, do you have the tincture?”
“Yes, sire,” and then Pyro is reaching off the bed for a tiny bottle of oil, and Owen can’t help baring his teeth again. At least he manages to hold the instinctive hiss behind his teeth this time.
Scott keeps petting his hair, “relax,” he admonishes, “I know you want to be a good little fledgeling, why else would you be studying Pyro from the shadows? I’m just helping you reach your full potential.”
That’s not why he- he doesn’t know why he did that. Not because he’s envious of Pyro’s obsession with Scott, that’s for sure.
“Sire?” Pyro, of course, pulls the attention back to himself. He too is hard as a rock, cock flushed red, but he obediently waits. Little bitch.
“Almost, pet,” Scott replies, but he’s looking down at Owen as he says, “on your chest, or back?”
“What?” he asks breathlessly, and Scott rolls his eyes at him.
“I thought I was clear. On your chest?” He pats him in emphasis, in mockery and derision, “or your back?”
“I don’t-” he wants to hiss and buck but he doesn’t want Scott to bite him again. He doesn’t know what to say.
“You don’t care?” Scott grins, flashing his fangs in promising threat, “Pyro, how would you like him then?”
He realizes, slow on the uptake, what’s going on, “Now hold on-”
“On his chest, sire,” Pyro replies gleefully, “easier access,”
“And for being such a good fledgling-” Scott, with the strength of a well-fed ancient vampire, flips Owen over so he’s face down on the mattress, “your wish is my command.”
Pyro purrs, and Owen burns in humiliation, but he doesn’t fight back. At least like this he doesn’t have to see their smug faces looking down on him. Pyro’s hands find his hips to hitch his backside up, exposing him even further, and he hides his face deeper in the mattress.
He can’t help the gasp when Pyro’s cold fingers start circling his rim, slick with oil, and when one finally pushes gently in, Owen catches himself whining.
“Like a good little fledgeling,” Scott praises, and his cheeks burn with humiliation. The whole experience feels strange, Scott above him, Pyro behind him, Pyro currently inside of him. He isn’t used to this. He’s never before done… any of this.
There wasn’t much opportunity when he was human. His illness kept any potential partners at bay, and he and Louis never got the chance. He’s used his own hand, of course, and there was the time with Legs the other night, but that never involved something as involved as this. Pyro’s fingers inside him, moving back and forth, stretching him. It feels strange. It doesn’t feel good. At least, not until Pyro’s finger finds a spot inside him that has him shouting in surprise, and jerking in place as white hot pleasure shoots through him.
“There we go,” Scott pets his hair, and Owen can hear his smirk, “now doesn’t that feel nice, fledgeling?”
He hates it but it does, fire scorching through him from where Pyro’s nimble fingers massage his insides, leaving him gasping for air he doesn’t need, and letting out little whimpers at the pleasure overwhelming him.
It only gets worse as Pyro’s one finger turns to two, and then three, and the stretch burns in painful pleasure that leaves him mewling against his will. He keeps giving little jerks back and forth, trying to escape Pyro inside him, or chase after his fingers, he doesn’t know.
“That should be enough,” Scott says mildly, still sitting by Owen’s hair, petting his hair. “Time for you to take what you deserve, Pyro,”
He gapes as Pyro removes his fingers, panting as they rearrange themselves around him, until Pyro is up on his knees and Owen’s face is in Scott’s clothed lap.
He’s still petting him.
“May I, sire?” Pyro pants, “may I enter him, please?”
Scott hums, “well normally only the owner of the property can grant permission, however…”
Owen growls into Scott’s lap as he realizes where he’s going with this.
He can hear Scott’s grin as he continues, “I do own him, don’t I Owen?”
He can’t bring himself to reply, humiliation burning through him as Scott grants Pyro the permission he wouldn’t have granted had he had a say, permission he doesn’t need to fuck him, but of course Scott is one for ceremony. Tradition.
“Go on,” Scott grants with a purr, “take what you need,”
It burns as he pushes in. Behind him Pyro moans in pleasure and Owen finds himself echoing it unwillingly. The intimacy of the act leaves him reeling, Scott at his front, holding and petting him, Pyro behind and inside him, is more contact than he thinks he’s ever had with another living being.
Well. No longer living he supposes.
Tears spring into his eyes as Pyro starts thrusting, back and forth, in and out chasing his own pleasure. Every once and a while he manages to nail that pleasurable point inside him, and his whole insides clench in overwhelming white every time, leaving his jaws open wide as he mewls and whines.
It should come as no surprise that Scott decides to take advantage.
He hardly registers it as Scott begins undoing his front, but it's impossible to ignore when his rapidly hardening cock is in his face.
“You know what to do, I know you do,” Scott grins, “you’ve seen Pyro perform, do you think you can do better?”
He doesn’t care. He has no intention of trying to surpass Pyro in Scott’s eyes. Still he finds himself opening his mouth obediently, eyes glued upwards just like Pyro’s were all those nights ago.
Scott looks so satisfied as he enters Owen’s mouth, grinning wide with fangs poking just a little bit out. His eyes close in bliss, gentle fingers running through Owen’s hair as he closes his lips around him.
It tastes salty, like sweat they don’t excrete anymore. Between Pyro behind him and Scott in front he keeps rocking back and forth between them with the force of their thrusts. Into Scott, into Pyro, back and forth. Tossed around by them like a doll to be used. Used and discarded.
Pyro manages to hit that pleasure point inside him, and against his will his jaw clenches.
It's a good thing Scott can think ahead, because rather than chomping his fangs on Scott’s cock instead they’re held apart by Scott’s quick thumb. His delicious blood still floods Owen’s mouth all the same.
“Little shit,” Scott curses, ripping his thumb from Owen’s mouth, dripping crimson onto the sheet. Pyro has stopped moving, though he pants with the effort it takes to stay still. Notably, Scott too leaves his cock inside Owen’s mouth.
“Stupid little fledgeling,” Scott curses again, sticking his thumb in his mouth. His other hand tightens it’s grip in Owen’s hair to the point of pain, and he finds himself straining to keep Scott’s cock in his mouth and try to escape the hand. It doesn’t quite work, and his scalp burns. “Bite me again, and I’ll rip out your fangs,” he spits, venom and anger so uncharacteristic for the composed elder, and he doubts it's an empty threat.
The fear of it only makes his cock jump in excitement. Feeling brave, he closes his lips back around Scott, and watching him closely he gives a gentle suck.
Look at me he wants to say. I can be good. I can be good.
Scott’s eyes once more close in pleasure, and his head faces the stone ceiling to hide his expression. Behind him, Pyro starts tentatively thrusting again.
Soon they’re back at full throttle, and this time Owen keeps his fangs sheathed. Scott uses his mouth with one hand in his hair, gentler now that he’s getting what he wants, and Pyro uses his body. Together, with the venom flowing through his veins, Owen feels like he’s flying.
He is good. He is good.
He can’t control the tears flowing from his eyes, not when they come from the ache in his heart that no longer beats. He feels good, he feels hot, he feels used and disgusting. He never wants this to end, and he wants to peel all his skin off. He wants to embrace his sire. He wants to curl up in a ball and die all over again.
In the end, he imagines it’s Louis at his front, and Legs at his back, and all is well. He pretends Scott’s possessive, gripping, burning hands are Louis' gentle ones, the only ones to show him kindness for kindness's sake. He pretends the man ramming into him from behind is Legs, taking what he wants because he thinks Owen is beautiful despite his scars. Because he thinks there’s something inside him worth saving.
The fantasy has him moaning around Scott’s, Louis’, cock. The heat inside him is finally, truly, pleasurable, and not even Pyro’s pathetic whines as he approaches completion can take away from his own white hot satisfaction.
The three of them find a sort of rhythm, a tandem in which Pyro pushes, Scott pulls, and Owen gets tossed between them. Used and abused, he sinks into his mind to escape what’s happening, pushes himself deeper into his fantasy of kind hands and loving mouths.
All good things must eventually come to an end. Scott’s fingers tighten their grasp on his hair, his rhythm stutters and falters, and it's a mercy he pulls out to release on Owen’s face rather than down his throat.
“Oh, you look gorgeous, like that,” Scott taunts, “just like I knew you would,”
Pyro thrusts forward in a particularly punishing manner, his grip on Owen’s hips bruising-tight, and he knows the stupid fledgeling is jealous. He shouldn’t be. Scott’s attention is an awful thing, one he would run from if he could. If he could.
Pyro, the brat, finishes inside him just to be contrary. He can feel the cold, sticky, seed seeping inside him, and he knows he’ll have to clean it out later. He refuses to let even a drop of him stay inside. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t deserve it.
There’s tears streaming down his face onto the mattress below, and he’s still frustratingly hard. He feels emptier and colder than ever before when Pyro pulls out, and his hips collapse onto the bed without Pyro’s grip holding him up. He clenches his fist in the sheet, and releases a petulant whine.
“Aw,” Scott coos at him, like he’s a fledgeling, “Owen still hasn’t gotten off. That’s not very kind of us, is it?”
He wants to tell him to piss off, but he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of snapping at him again. He won’t beg for it, he refuses the indignity, but he’s hot and bothered about it. He wants the release. He wants to be done.
“For being such a good fledgeling,” Scott whispers, leaning over Owen, “we’ll finish you off, won’t we, Pyro?”
He’s much gentler this time as he flips Owen onto his back, but still Owen hides his face to the side best he can. He doesn’t want them to see his grimace, or his tears. He isn’t sure if they’d mock him, or if they’d even care. He can’t imagine which would be worse.
Scott moves away, letting Owen’s head gently fall into the pillow below, and takes Pyro’s face into his hand. It doesn’t pass by Owen that the elder is fully clothed, cock already tucked away, while the two fledgelings are completely bare.
He brings Pyro into a gentle kiss, one the fledgeling melts into, but Scott’s eyes stay open, watching. Evaluating. Measuring.
As they part, Scott whispers into Pyro’s lips, “Help Owen feel good, won’t you?”
“Yes, sire,” Pyro replies breathlessly. Adoringly. Annoyingly.
Scott guides Pyro down to Owen’s lap with a hand behind his head, all the way until he’s face level with Owen’s cock. The breath he releases (that he doesn’t need to release, the little shit) is ice cold on him. He shivers, and almost squirms away from the sensation.
Scott, however, still hasn’t removed his hand from the back of Pyro’s head, and pushes him down until his lips envelop Owen’s cock.
He throws his head back at the sensation, the pleasure he’s been dying for, the pleasure he so desperately doesn’t want, consumes him fully. He arches off the bed with a shout, and only Pyro’s mouth in Scott’s grip keeps him pinned. He can’t help the pitiful mewls escaping him as Pyro sucks, as he goes deeper and deeper until-
Until his nose is pressed against Owen’s front, just as he was with Scott was all those nights ago. He can’t help himself looking down at the fledgeling, who surprises him.
He looks up at Owen with hate. Jealousy, anger, and pain all war in his eyes as Scott uses him to pleasure Owen, and it makes him feel powerful. It makes him feel strong and in control. No wonder Scott does this, it feels fantastic.
He gives a little thrust of his hips, chasing Pyro’s mouth, and though he doesn’t need air Pyro chokes on the unexpected intrusion all the same. In retaliation, Pyro lets his fangs slip out just enough to scrape his cock, and he gives a startled shout at the burn.
Up above, Scott gives a little surprised laugh, “Now, now, you two. Let’s get along, shall we?”
He can see Scott’s grip tighten in Pyro’s hair, and in return his eyes close to a half-lid. Probably getting off on the pain, the freak, but Owen doesn’t mind so much when he starts moving that delicious mouth again, gentle as a kitten.
“Yes,” he hisses involuntarily, “yes,”
“Yes,” Scott echoes sincerely, “yes, Owen. This is what it means to be my fledgeling. You like it, don’t you? You like being obedient?”
“Yes,” Owen echoes, replies? He doesn’t know. His mind feels clouded with the pleasure, every nerve focused on Pyro’s bobbing mouth, the wetness enveloping him, his fast approaching orgasm.
“Yes,” Scott agrees with a grin, “I knew you had obedience in you, somewhere deep. You just needed to be shown it.”
Scott leans down, a hand still on Pyro’s head, and whispers into Owen’s ear, “Now cum, my good boy,”
And well, with words like that, how can he resist?
He repays the favor to Pyro, cumming down his throat with a groan and no regret. With Scott’s hand keeping him in place, Pyro has no choice but to take it and swallow it down. He does so with fire in his eyes.
“Good boy,” Owen tells him breathlessly, and Scott once again laughs above him.
“I knew you two could get along, just needed a little help,” he observes as he finally stands, moving away from the two naked boys below him. “We’re a coven now, and this is what covens do, understood?”
Pyro pops off Owen’s cock quick as he can to give his sire an eager nod. Owen, too, finds himself nodding. He isn’t sure if he agrees or if he just wants Scott to leave him alone.
Whatever the reason, Scott is happy, and leaves. As soon as he’s gone, Pyro gives Owen a petulant hiss.
“Oh, give it a rest,” Owen groans, sitting up. “We’re both naked and sore, can’t you stop being a shit for just two minutes.”
“He’s my sire,” Pyro hisses again for good measure, “not yours.”
“You can have him,” Owen spits, getting off the bed to retrieve his clothes from where Pyro tossed them earlier. “Sooner or later you’ll realize he isn’t so great as he seems, just another asshole elder vampire, and when that day comes-” he finds his briefs and slips them on to recover some of his dignity. He turns to Pyro and, using his vampire speed, gets right in his face, “-when that day comes I will be there. I promise you.”
Pyro turns up his nose, “Scott is perfect. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”
Owen feels Louis’ kind hands as he unbandaged Owen for the first time, as he didn’t cringe away from his boils and sores, as he kissed his hands without a flinch of fear. He feels Louis’ elegant fingers in his hair as he brushed the oily mess for Owen when he was laid up in bed. He feels Louis’ kind stare, and he knows in his heart Pyro is wrong.
He feels almost sad for him, that he thinks this is what perfection is. He wonders what in Pyro’s life has molded him so well to submit to Scott’s manipulations.
Whatever the reason, it isn’t his concern. He finishes redressing in silence, and leaves Pyro alone in the cold, dark, empty crypt.