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hawkshadowwrites · 10 months

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🩸 worshiping the altar of your hips 🩸

Vegaspete; 2k

Tags: thigh biting, blood play, vampire Vegas, human Pete

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Pete has proven to be the most delightful pet. More than anything else, Pete responds to Vegas as if Vegas is a god, not a monster.

Vegas knows what he is. Has always known what he is. He has never been ashamed of this, or felt the need to justify his urges or desires; Vegas is not nice, or kind, or generous. He is cruel and callous and cavalier with the people around him, has lied and stolen and cheated to get what he wants.

He doesn’t know how to be given something, freely, without condition. He doesn’t know how to accept a gift or an offering simply because that person saw the need or desire to do so.

But that’s all that Pete does. All that Pete is.

Since that moment in the dungeon, since Pete came apart with just the feel of Vegas’s fangs in his neck, he has been insatiable. Obsessive. Fervent.

Pete craves Vegas almost as much as Vegas craves Pete; eager and willing to offer his neck for Vegas to sink his teeth into, dipping under a haze of submission to be nothing more than what Vegas wants from him.

Pete… is everything Vegas could possibly have ever imagined, or wanted, or desired. And Pete is all his.

Pete offers his body to Vegas for his own pleasure, sex, or violence, or hunger, all one and the same between them, inextricable from the other. Vegas delights in making Pete come all over himself from just the act of feeding on him, making his body with bruises and bite marks and bloodstains, from his neck all the way down to his stomach.

However, one thing that Vegas has recently discovered, is how sensitive Pete’s thighs are. How responsive he is, how quickly he comes when Vegas gets anywhere near them.

So tonight he is going to have some fun with this.

“Hold still.” Vegas leans over Pete on the bed and tightens the rope wrapped around his wrists, tugging on it to make sure it is secure to the bedpost. His arms are extended out over his head, the rope crisscrossing his shoulders and down his torso to emulate a harness. Vegas leans forward and ghosts his lips along Pete’s, smiling when Pete tries to press himself into the kiss.

“I told you to be still,” Vegas scolds, and Pete just whines.

Vegas trails his lips down Pete’s neck, licking at the half healed cuts from this morning. Pete has enough of Vegas’s blood in him on a consistent basis that none of the marks or abrasions Vegas gives him lasts long at all, but it’s fun enough to see how far he can push it, how much Pete will bleed out before Vegas gives him more blood.

At this point the two of them are continuously linked, Vegas is comprised of Pete’s blood and Pete is comprised up of Vegas’s blood; the only thing left that Vegas can do is cut open Pete’s chest and hold his still beating heart in his hands.

He just might, Pete begs for it enough, after all.

Vegas settles himself down between Pete’s spread legs and traces his finger along the script of his tattoo, moving sideways to where Pete’s cock rests, dark red and weeping at the tip. Vegas looks up and holds Pete’s gaze and then brings his palm down, hard.

Pete spasms, the pain reverberating through him as his orgasm overtakes him, his cock spurting over his thighs and abdomen.

“I think this is the most fun when you’re still sensitive,” Vegas teases before leaning down and licking a long stripe of Pete’s come up off his skin. Pete just moans, body writhing away from the touch but also arching into it, always a duality of desire.

Vegas slides his hand down the soft skin of Pete’s inner thigh, squeezing his fingers into the tender skin and watching the color bloom under the pressure of his fingers. There are several places to draw blood in the thighs and some are detrimental — those Vegas will save for last, just to make things really fun.

He starts small. A gentle kiss on the inside of Pete’s left knee, tongue flicking along the crease and tasting the tang of Pete’s perspiration. He nips, just barely, and grins when Pete’s leg jolts in his grip.

“Easy,” Vegas chides. “Behave.”

Pete makes another noise of assent before relaxing in his grip, eyes wide and hazy as he watches Vegas. Vegas loves it when Pete goes nonverbal like this, not because he enjoys it when Pete doesn’t talk, but more-so for the fact that he is blissed out and flying high and desperate for every morsel of attention Vegas gives him.

He kisses the inside of Pete’s thigh, right alongside the crease of his knee, and takes time to make the smallest bite. He doesn’t even fully draw blood, just enough to break the skin and turn it a blooming pink. He wants to build up to the good stuff.

He moves up, this time nipping the tender skin until he feels the salty tang of blood, barely holding back his own moan at the intoxicating taste of it.

Everything about Pete is addictive, from his smell to his sweat to the taste of his skin, all of this which he willingly offers to Vegas. A lamb in the den of a lion, on the alter of sacrifice. Adoration met with temptation, purpose met with divine deliverance.

Vegas never truly had anything to believe in before this, but Pete is everything kept from him and more. A manifestation and embodiment of the desires of his soul, his own beating heart made into flesh and blood, ripe for the taking. And the tasting.

Vegas hides his smile in the skin of Pete’s thigh and moves further up, creating a small crescent moon with his incisors. Pete’s skin is warm now, the flush dark along the surface, blood working overtime as it spreads to his open wounds.

There have been times where Vegas has cut Pete open with his teeth, watched as crimson rain fell across the canvas of his skin, waiting until the beat of his heart was a faint little thing before cutting open his own wrist and holding it to Pete’s lips. Sacrilegious in the way he would then stroke his own cock as Pete drinks the blood of his keeper, ingests the divine force working to keep him living.

The way his hunger is unmatched, eyes feral and blazing with the heat of a hundred dying suns, a brand and a missive of expectation of belonging. This is usually enough to push Vegas over the edge, spilling his release in his palm only to remove his wrist from Pete’s mouth, only to have Pete lick up his come.

But for now, Pete is bound to the bed, arousal pulsing through him with each beat of his heart, a fragile breakable human that entrusts his existence to the creature that wants to devour him.

Vegas makes a deeper cut this time, a sharp slice of his teeth that has Pete gasping, the hot rush of blood trickling down the inside of his thigh getting perilously close to the bed before he licks it up, grin causing him to smear it along his cheek. He suckles at this one for a few moments, working a bruise that will turn purple and blue in the matching rays of the dawn light, a kaleidoscope of color in mirroring of nature and nurture. Or at least something to that effect.

He holds Pete down to the bed and kisses up the top of his quad, nipping at each mole to remark his own claim. He moves over to the other side and repeats the process, growing more impatient with himself as he tries to drag this out.

Really, he could have hours of fun with Pete, except that he gets to a point where he aches for it, he burns with the desire to consume, to ignite himself in the flames of revelation, licking up the sides of his enclosure as he dives deeper and deeper into hell. Temptation is one of the greatest sins, after all, but Vegas will suffer a million times for the taste of Pete on his lips.

Pete can’t hold back his moans now, cock hard again, thick and heavy hanging on his hip. He squirms under Vegas’s mouth and Vegas knows that he is just as eager as Vegas is.

Vegas moves up to where his pulse beats the loudest, the place where he carries his life force under such delicate conditions. Humans are fragile; fragile bones and skin and muscle and sinew, breakable from every facet and angle to be given a new purpose.

And this is Pete’s.

Vegas licks the skin right over the femoral artery, savoring the way Pete’s pulse throbs under his tongue. He aches for it, aches to sink his teeth into the tender skin and feel the flow of blood over his chin and lips, drinking until he can’t anymore. Pete twitches his thigh, pushing himself closer to Vegas’s mouth, tugging at the rope with a whine.

Vegas moves away and settles his urge by marking up a handful of new bite marks along the inside of his thighs, until he can feel the aching need from Pete. He settles himself back between Pete’s thighs and hooks his leg up over his shoulder, kissing down the line.

“We’ll only have a few minutes baby,” Vegas warns, placing a gentle kiss over the thrum of Pete’s life point. His other hand reaches between the cleft of Pete’s ass to push two fingers inside, twisting up until he pushes into his prostate. Pete spasms on the bed and makes a punched out sound, cock leaking on his stomach.

He is already stretched open from earlier, when Vegas spent an hour licking up inside of him with no other purpose than to just taste him. Vegas himself is on the edge, his own desire riding the delicate knife tip, needing to both be inside of Pete and to feel the beat of his heart on his tongue.

He curls his fingers again, massaging into Pete’s prostate until his second orgasm hits, causing him to go boneless on the bed above him.

Vegas sinks his teeth into the artery, and rips.

The rush of blood is immediate, covering Vegas’s lips and chin, soaking through the bedsheet underneath them. Vegas closes his eyes and drinks, allowing himself five seconds, ten, twenty, before ripping himself back. Pete is already going hazy, eyes fluttering as his body shuts down. Vegas hooks his other leg over his shoulder and slides him across the bed, the blood coating his skin as much as a lubricant as anything.

Vegas pushes his cock inside of Pete and sinks inside, Pete crying out as he bottoms inside. He knows he is close — being inside of Pete is like coming home — and he has a few minutes before his heart will stop working.

They’ve played this game before, racing the clock for their own carnality, and this time Vegas is determined to win. Just like always.

He bends Pete nearly in half and fucks into him with sharp snaps of his hips, the warmth of Pete’s blood covering his groin and easing the way. He leans in and slides his lips against Pete’s grinning when Pete realizes that Vegas’s mouth is still full of his own blood.

“That’s it baby,” Vegas praises, “just like that.”

He kisses Pete with the intensity of a thousand lifetimes, each second passing a threat against the eternity he plans to spend with Pete. With his heart and soul, spread before him like a gift.

Vegas groans when he comes, filling Pete with hot pulses of his own release, kissing Pete again with fervent delight as the wound on his thigh slowly stops bleeding.

Vampire blood has healing properties, but so does Vampire semen. No one knows, because no one has played around long enough to find out.

It’s not nearly as powerful as blood, so it’s a moderate fix, but Vegas knows with his own seed inside of Pete that he doesn’t have to worry about Pete bleeding out on him, as much of a feast as that would be.

Pete makes a noise and tugs again at the ropes and Vegas sighs, reaching up and slicing through them. Pete flexes his hands and looks at them for the briefest moment before sinking them in Vegas’s hair, dragging him in for another kiss.

Vegas will never get over the intensity in which Pete longs for him, in which after everything Vegas does, he still needs him.

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