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Singer's a real fucking vampire.
That'd been the first coherent thought he'd been able to think after the truth had come out so suddenly.
You'd think a revelation like that'd take a hell a lot of time to get used to, but with the tour still in full swing and way too much money on the line, well…it was easier to pretend that nothing had really changed, once that initial shock had worn off. Once they'd cornered him in the bus when he'd finally crawled out of his coffin the night after he'd jumped out the window right in front of them, bruised and bloodied, skull cracked, only to have healed completely not a full day later.
He hadn't been forthcoming. Getting a concrete answer out of him had been like pulling teeth, and every perfectly fucking valid concern had been dismissed like it was nothing. Like they just had to accept the truth and get the fuck over it or die mad about it, and then, despite what they'd learned…they had.
Maybe it was the unreality of it, despite what they'd seen. Maybe it was the all-too-human way the vampire had simply sighed and pulled out his phone, texting whoever the hell it was that kept his attention and tuning the rest of them out completely until it was time for the next show. Maybe it was how utterly unphased Daniel and Christine and Dee and everyone else who'd already been in the know were about it, or the fact that they'd been in the know the whole time in itself. Like they were proof it was possible to just pretend not to know and continue living life as usual.
But no matter how much he and the rest of the band pretended, Larry couldn't get that moment out of his head: the precise second Lestat had made eye contact with him, fangs out, covered in blood, one eye so dilated it looked black, staring back at him like he was just as shocked to have been seen. It was next to impossible to look at Lestat without seeing that moment in his head again. He dreamed about it almost every night, sometimes replaying the scene exactly as it'd happened, sometimes with small changes like Lestat staying in the building rather than flying off. Other times the dreams got more absurd, like the one where he'd started singing out of nowhere about the perils of keeping a deep, dark secret, then turned into a bat and flew into the drink Larry hadn't even known he'd been holding, turning it into blood. Bloody bat soup: delicious.
He dreamed about Lestat again last night. Started the same as always with that grand entrance, breaking through the doors and draining the strange vampire on the floor. Tearing his fangs out of his neck and gasping, spraying blood everywhere.
But there wasn't anyone else on the floor then. No band, no Christine, no Daniel, no partygoers, no…whoever the hell that other twink vampire was supposed to be. Even the body under Lestat had disappeared, leaving just the two of them. Same shock, same undercurrent of fear, but Lestat didn't leave. He straightened up and wiped his mouth roughly on a dainty pink sleeve, then stretched and ran a hair through his hair, popping his hip out and fucking grinning.
"Surprise!" he shouted, then doubled over laughing.
"What the fuck, man? You're…you're…"
Even in a dream, he couldn't get over the insanity of it.
"What's wrong?" Lestat asked. "Cat got your tongue?"
He flashed his fangs again and hissed. Larry shook his head at him as he chuckled at his own joke, swaying unsteadily on his feet.
"When the hell were you gonna tell me?"
It wasn't the sort of question a conscious Larry would've asked in that moment. Lestat raised a brow at him before sashaying forwards, scoffing when he took an answering step back and tripped over his own feet.
"Oh dear. Someone's had too much to drink."
He wanted to argue, to point out that Lestat was at least ten times more inebriated than him, but the words wouldn't come out. Lestat was crouching over him seconds later, head tilted curiously, eyes roaming from his eyes to his chin and down to his neck. Larry stared back, confused, until he saw the fangs peek out again, and then it was too late: Lestat lunged.
In the real world, Larry shot up in bed and threw the sheets off just milliseconds before he would've felt the fangs. He gasped, chest heaving as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It wasn't until after he'd taken a minute to calm himself, breathing deeply with one hand pinching the bridge of his nose while he reminded himself that Lestat hadn't once even implied he wanted to bite any of them—even in jest—that he noticed the obnoxious tent in his pants and the even more damning wet spot.
"Jesus."
He hadn't thought about it up 'til then. Lestat still ate mostly out of sight and when not, it was usually out of a glass—or out of Dee. He'd been trying not to think about the lives lost to the likes of their singer nightly or what it meant that he just stood by and let it happen without a word. He didn't dwell on it any more than his mind forced him to.
But now that it was in his mind…he wondered what it felt like. The girl he drained on stage looked like she'd enjoyed it. Hell, she'd come back for seconds and more. Dee always seemed like she looked forward to it. Nobody emerging from that dressing room (when they did so still conscious) ever looked disappointed. He was clearly capable of…not caution, not care, but something like restraint. He probably wouldn't die if Lestat decided he wanted a taste.
But he didn't want that, Larry told himself even as he slipped a hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Lestat hadn't given any indication he'd wanted to bite him, but if he did, would he give a shit if Larry didn't want to be bitten? He wasn't stupid enough to think he could fight back if such a thing were to occur. He saw what Lestat was capable of. He wouldn't sit there and just give in, exactly, but he wouldn't delude himself into thinking he could get out of that, either.
He sighed deeply through his nose as he wrapped a hand around his dick, squeezing tight and letting his imagination steer him back towards the dream he just had.
It would hurt. He didn't care how much everyone seemed to love it, there's no way those big fangs wouldn't hurt going in. Like two needles in the throat, only they got wider the deeper in they went. He'd shout, reach up to either grab Lestat by the hair, hoping the indignity of losing some strands if not the pain would convince him to let go, or to pull him in closer, depending on how good it felt. If it really was that good, it'd be hard not to show it. Hell, if he knew he was gonna die anyways…may as well do like how he was back in reality, stroking himself off at a desperate pace. No one was around in his dream and Lestat wouldn't give a shit. Or maybe he would, and he'd be so disgusted he'd change his mind about eating him for real. But no, that wasn't what Larry wanted. He wanted him to keep going, drain him 'til he saw static, pulling away only when it was too much, show him those bloody fangs and…
The door opened.
Larry shot upright, ripping his hand off of his dick and out of his pants so fast it almost hurt.
"What the fuck? Who—"
His complaint died in his throat briefly as the very object of his fantasies stepped into view, looking a little haggard and dressed more casually than Larry thought he'd ever seen him before in a pair of green and black striped pajama pants. He was shirtless again, as usual, and the scars on his torso and chest especially looked somehow redder than they normally did.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing here? You can't just barge into other people's rooms like you own the place!"
He was so caught off guard by Lestat's surprise entrance that he forgot what he'd just been doing until Lestat's eyes drifted downwards, and then he found himself really hating the fact that real life vampires didn't have to ask permission to enter a room. He grabbed the sheets in a late attempt to cover himself, preparing another complaint, but Lestat spoke over him before he could get it out.
"I have a…hunger," Lestat said, still eyeing his crotch beneath the sheets. "Forgive my intrusion, but I figured you wouldn't mind all that much considering you seem to share that hunger."
"I—what? Fuck are you talking about? I don't share shit with you. Get the hell out of my room!"
Lestat ignored the demand, coming closer to stand at the foot of the bed.
"Dude, are you deaf? I said to get the fuck out!"
"Vampires can read minds, you know. Not that I would need to do so, considering how obvious you've been this entire time."
"Obvious?" Larry scoffed, desperately ignoring the way his heart began to thud in his chest. He had not, in fact, known that vampires could read minds. "Obvious about what? About how much I want to punch you right in that smug mug of yours?"
Lestat smiled wryly. "Oh yes, that too." He lifted a knee and placed it on the bed slowly, then bent forward until he could lean his weight on both hands. "But I think you know that's not what I'm referring to."
Larry pulled his legs up in a futile attempt to put some space between them as Lestat climbed onto the bed fully and crawled towards him, looking more inhuman in that simple, impossibly graceful action somehow than he had when he'd first exposed himself. Larry squeezed his thighs together almost instinctively, trying not to show just how much Lestat's languid and—God, he hated to admit it even to himself—seductive approach was working on him.
Lestat didn't come all the way up the bed. He hesitated just out of reach, still on all fours, back arched something wicked and peering up at Larry through thick lashes still coated in a bit of mascara from last night's show he'd failed to clean up. He didn't speak a word nor come any closer, just tilted his head and fluttered his lashes.
"When you said you had a hunger…" Larry swallowed heavily, letting his legs fall open just a little. "What did you mean, exactly?"
Lestat grinned. His fangs weren't out, but it had the same effect on him it would've if they were: Larry's dick jumped and his mind raced back to the fantasy, to the image of his own blood on Lestat's mouth.
"Mmm, that wasn't quite what I was thinking," Lestat said with a chuckle. "I've already had my fill of blood for the night."
Of course; Larry felt both relieved and disappointed at that, to his own dismay. He didn't know what time it was but figured it was close to daylight—all the stranger for Lestat to be here now.
"Hungry for cock, then," Larry said, aiming for insult.
He'd never actually seen Lestat with a guy like that—most of his dedicated male groupies were on the twinkish side, especially the ones he invited onto the bus or into his dressing room. Pretty boys he towered over, fawning over him just the same as the girls did.
He expected Lestat to get annoyed. To deny what he called an absurd claim, to roll his eyes and demand Larry quit wasting his time and flip over, but no.
"Mmm, not just any cock," he said, rolling his shoulders. "I'll admit I don't have too much faith, but I'm curious what you can do with it. You've spent the past couple years thinking about bending me over, I figured you'd be capable of delivering a satisfactory performance at the least, if finally given the opportunity."
Too stunned to reply, Larry could do no more than gape at him.
Lestat raised a brow at him. "So, here's your opportunity: take it or leave it. If not, I'll find someone else to—"
Lestat cut himself off with a quiet oof as his back hit the bed, Larry having sprung into sudden motion to shove him back and crawl over top of him.
"I'll take that as an affirmative, then," Lestat said, wiggling his hips a little as Larry hooked his thumbs on his waistband and pulled his pants down.
Larry was surprised briefly: at first by the fact that Lestat was, in fact, impressively large—though the vodka bottle thing was still a disgusting overexaggeration—and then to see that he was completely soft.
"Don't mind that," Lestat said, and for the briefest of moments Larry thought he heard something vulnerable in his voice. "We won't be needing it tonight."
Larry tried not to be too obviously offended as he dove for it, taking Lestat's soft dick in hand before pressing his lips to the tip of it. He was seriously out of practice when it came to sucking dick that was actually hard, and though he felt ridiculous playing with and slobbering all over Lestat's soft dick, he felt relief when it began to show some interest in his attention.
Lestat was still only half hard when he began to squirm impatiently. "Alright, that's enough."
Larry took no small amount of pride in the way he sounded a little breathless. Rather than pulling away, he took the head in his mouth fully and sucked hard, swirling his tongue around the base of it. Lestat's hand was on the back of his head suddenly, surprising him again, but he recovered quickly and took more of him inside, careful not to get overzealous and risk embarassing himself.
He only managed a few inches but he worked those inches like a pro if the way Lestat hissed and tangled his fingers in his hair was any indication. As much as he would like to keep going, though, Larry pulled off of him entirely when Lestat bucked his hips, wary of choking.
Lestat huffed irritatedly. "First I tell you not to mind it, then you give up just as I'm starting to enjoy myself."
"You're the one said you wanted me to fuck you, princess. Doubt you'd be ready for that after you made a mess of yourself."
Lestat huffed again, but Larry caught the pleased half-smile princess put on his face before he hid it away.
"Go on and turn around. I'll find—"
"Unnecessary," Lestat interrupted.
Larry realized what he meant when he turned over and got up on his knees, presenting him with a hell of a view as he lowered his chest and showed off the serpentine arc of his spine, the plush curve of his ass. He couldn't resist reaching forward to grip his cheeks, spreading them apart with his thumbs and exposing his gleaming wet hole to the open air.
The idea of Lestat having prepared himself before coming over…he'd be lying if he said it didn't do things to him. Sick things.
"Don't get too full of yourself," Lestat said. "You aren't special. It didn't have to be you. I only stopped here first because—ah!"
Larry ignored the insult to shove three fingers deep into him, marveling at the way his hole constricted around them immediately before flaring. God, he was tight. Way tighter than a slut like him had any right to be.
"Mmm, come on already. I'm losing patience."
Definitely sounded like it. Still, Larry ignored him to pull his fingers half out before shoving them in again roughly, fucking him on his fingers while he huffed and puffed.
Lestat swore in French: a long string of words, actually. Larry figured he might be risking his life if he delayed any longer by the way Lestat twisted his upper body around to snarl at him. So he pulled his fingers out and hurried to shed his own pants and underwear, giving himself a quick stroke before grabbing Lestat's hip with one hand and guiding himself in with the other.
"Oh—fucking hell."
"Move," Lestat growled, giving him no chance to adjust.
So he moved. He grabbed Lestat's other hip and pulled him back as he thrusted forward, his hips meeting Lestat's ass hard enough he wouldn't be surprised if he bruised later.
Could vampires bruise? From normal injuries? Lestat had been pretty banged up after that fight in the hallway but that was vampire-inflicted. Could he, a human, leave any kind of mark on him like that?
"Perhaps if you'd get serious and pick up the pace," Lestat answered, struggling a little to get the words out clearly despite his tone. "I might carry your mark until I wake."
If he wasn't so…occupied, Larry would've told him to stay the fuck out of his head.
It was true that he wasn't giving his all. Being with other people like this, fucking another human man, without some sort of discussion beforehand, he'd always show a degree of restraint even if he knew the other party wanted a hard fuck from the getgo. Different boundaries and all that. But Lestat wasn't human: he could take a hell of a beating and be fine moments later, like nothing had happened. He could get his skull broken and have it healed up completely the next night.
What was a little rough fucking to all that?
Larry squeezed tighter, really digging his fingers into the meat of Lestat's hips. He increased the speed of his thrusts until there was barely any time between each loud slap of skin meeting skin. He threw his head back, chest heaving with the effort it took to breathe, and forgot about everything but his own impending release.
That is, until Lestat ripped himself away without warning.
Unable to comprehend the abrupt lack of pressure around his dick nor the empty air his fingers clutched at, Larry opened the eyes he hadn't even known he'd closed just in time to get shoved back against the headboard.
"Dude, what—"
He had about two seconds to catch his breath before Lestat grabbed his dick and bore down onto it, squeezing the life out of him as he settled onto his lap.
"Fuck, man. You're so…"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. Couldn't even remember what he'd been about to say at all as Lestat raised his hips and slammed back down so hard the whole bed shook. He repeated himself twice more, staring down at Larry with eyes so dark he could barely see the thinnest ring of blue around the edge, and then he got serious: fucking himself on Larry's dick so hard that riding him would've implied he was being at least ten times gentler than he was, and not slamming the headboard against the wall so hard that whoever was on the other side was guaranteed to be awake and complaining soon.
There was nothing he could do but groan and ball his fists into the sheets, praying silently to whatever God existed that Lestat wouldn't break his dick the way it really felt like he might. Fucking hell, he was using so much force it almost didn't feel good at all. Felt more like he was just a vampire's inanimate sex toy. An idea that was way sexier than it ever would've been if he didn't have said vampire on top of him at the time of thinking it.
"Shit. Close. So fucking close."
Lestat growled, one hand shooting out to grab him by the throat. "Not yet. Don't you dare."
"Fuck, man, I can only handle so much!"
God, that was also hotter than it had any right to be: Lestat's hand squeezing his throat, not enough to really choke him but enough that he felt the threat of his sharp nails, then the burn as one or two of them actually pierced him a bit.
"Not yet," Lestat repeated, then moaned loudly as he slowed his movements, rolling his hips in a way that would have Larry shooting his load already if he weren't genuinely afraid of the repercussions.
He caught sight of the slightest glimpse of Lestat's fangs as he moaned—still short, not anywhere near as long as they were back at Dracula's Daughter—and then his mind whisked him back to the dream world, to the false memory of Lestat's fangs buried in his throat. Lestat looked down at him on his next bounce, meeting his eyes first, but then his eyes trailed off, down to this throat.
Larry closed his eyes, tilting his head as he accepted his fate with open arms.
He groaned as the tips pierced him, moaned as they slid in further, and shouted at the top of his lungs as ecstasy flooded his veins when Lestat began to suck. He came immediately, buried deep inside Lestat as he'd stopped moving once he'd decided to bite. Even as he came down from it, the pleasure didn't let up. His toes curled with it, thighs shaking, while Lestat swallowed and sucked and swallowed and sucked. He felt the hot splash of Lestat's own release as he came too, untouched, and clenched hard around Larry's dick.
Two, three more gulps and then finally he pulled away. Larry's eyes shot open, desperate not to miss the unreal image of Lestat's bloodied mouth, fangs fully extended and dripping, and then he surprised the both of them by surging forward and covering that mouth with his own.
Lestat didn't react much; just let him lap up his own coppery blood from his mouth, fangs already retracted to Larry's great disappointment when he tried to lick at them. The taste overpowered the fantasy fulfillment before long and he pulled away, wiping off the rest of the blood remaining on his mouth as Lestat lifted himself up and away before falling back, resting his weight on his elbows. Eyes half-lidded, lips red and heaving chest shiny with red-tinged sweat, he looked so thoroughly fucked out Larry was already jonesing for a round two.
But Lestat clearly had no plans for that: he shook himself out of it and stretched one arm above his head, sighing quietly, and grabbed his pants before climbing off the bed.
"I suppose that was satisfactory," he said as he pulled them up, like the sex they just had wasn't literally lifechanging.
"Yeah? Well, you ever get hungry again…"
Larry leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head in an attempt to look a thousand times cooler than he felt. He didn't feel the need to clarify which hunger he meant.
Lestat turned back to look at him, eyes going to the bite mark in his throat first, then trailing away before settling on his softened dick.
"Hmm."
With the quickest flash of a smile at the corner of his red lips, Lestat turned and exited the room.