It's what's for dinner - Fright Night (2011), NC-17, Charley/Jerry/Peter.
Title: It's what's for dinner
Fandom: Fright Night (2011)
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~1400 words.
Characters/Pairings: Charley/Jerry/Peter.
Content notes: (spoilery) ( skip) Vampire-style murder and explicit sex.
Summary: Most vampires bite hard, but Charley remembers. He wonders if he's the only one who does.
Notes: Written for the bloodplay square on my
kink_bingo card. Also on DW and AO3.
I have a whole universe for this in mind: Ed gets turned before telling Charley anything about vampires, Jerry turns all of Charley's family and starts to take over Las Vegas until he turns Peter Vincent, who ends up being better at the whole taking-over-Vegas thing. Even while he's drunk off Midori.
But I doubt I'll ever write it, and barely any of that is relevant to this story. This? Is just evil vampire porn.
It's what's for dinner
The kid looks small against the twinkling lights of the Strip out the window. But he is small, and young. He can't be any older than Charley was when he was first turned.
Jerry drags a hand over Charley's collarbone. "Want to see you drink him, guy."
Charley's fangs slip free. The kid cowers as he walks up, and Charley's knows what he's seeing: dark eyes, pale skin, sharp teeth. It's not much different than what Charley saw when his mom invited Jerry into their house, when he drained Amy dry, when he swallowed his mom's blood. When he cornered Charley, took just enough to make him faint, hid him in his closet until he was ready. Ripe.
Jerry's fingers stay at the nape of Charley's neck when he takes the kid by the shoulders, firm, but gentle. Most vampires bite hard, but Charley remembers. He wonders if he's the only one who does.
"Do it," Jerry whispers.
Charley sinks his fangs in the kid's neck. He's careful, but the kid jerks from terror - the way he smells - and Charley has to wrap his arms tightly, has to drink rough until he's pliant. Like they all become pliant.
The blood rolls over his tongue in a rush, sticky and metallic and warm. Charley feels it drip down the sides of his mouth, and Jerry reaches a fingertip over, brushes one line away. Charley drops the kid to the floor, and Jerry turns him around and crushes their mouths together, licking the blood off Charley's lips and cleaning the inside of his mouth with his tongue. It's far from the first time, but Charley's knees buckle like it is. Jerry holds the small of his back to keep him from falling.
"Good boy," he whispers into Charley's mouth. He draws back, sparing no glance for the boy bleeding on the floor, and peels his tank top off. The firelight reveals every inch of muscle, and Charley stares, transfixed. Until Jerry jerks his fingers, and Charley walks forward, like a puppet on strings.
As usual, Jerry strips him down, and as usual, Charley lets him with eyes closed, moaning at every touch of his fingers, shivering every time Jerry kisses his skin. This close, the fire feels blazing. Jerry's no less intense.
He hands Charley the bottle of lube without a word, and Charley takes it. He squeezes some on his fingers, then slips them inside, stretching and pushing. They do this all the time, but Charley's body forgets, heals and tightens with each drop of blood he drinks. He's so flushed now, so hard, he's almost like he was.
Jerry tugs lightly on his wrist, and when Charley takes his hand out, Jerry unzips his jeans and settles Charley on top of his cock. He takes his time, filling Charley slowly until he can't fill him anymore, and then he leans in close and nibbles on his neck.
He knows how this will go. It doesn't stop him from curling his toes and crying out softly as Jerry works his hips slowly, grinding just enough to hit the spot that makes Charley's eyes roll in the back of his head.
"Please," he whispers as Jerry nips. "Please."
"Hold on."
Charley's eyes flutter open as Peter struts in the room, tossing off his coat and grabbing his hip flask.
"Again, Jerry?" Peter asks in a huff. "I thought I asked you to wait. And oh look, you ate already. Fuck. Ruins my little surprise, doesn't it?"
Charley looks down the hall as Jerry settles back on the pillows. A couple more kids wait nervously by the elevator, shifting their weight on their feet as they take in the display cases.
"We aren't finished yet," Jerry says, voice low.
Peter sighs. "Fine. I'll save those two for later."
He waves a hand, and one of the guards in the elevator escorts the kids out. Maybe they could escape. Maybe they could help others leave. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Jerry jerks his hips hard, and Charley whimpers.
"Come now, you're just being mean, you are." Now Peter's the one running his hands through Charley's hair, kissing the corner of Charley's mouth and licking the blood that Jerry missed. "Not even giving him a hand. Honestly, you've got no manners."
He licks his hand and wraps it around Charley's cock. Charley bucks helplessly, but Jerry's hands on his hips keep him from moving as much as he wants.
"Come for me," Peter asks, his voice losing the casually bored tone as he tightens the fingers in Charley's hair. "Come before this selfish asshole. Show him who the real boss is here."
And Charley does, striping Jerry's stomach with thin white lines. When he clenches, it's Jerry's turn to shudder, planting his feet and thrusting up until he comes inside Charley.
Peter eases Charley off Jerry and points down. "Lick it up."
Charley bends, hesitant. He looks up at Jerry through his eyelashes as he extends his tongue, laps up his come. But he doesn't swallow. He isn't sure what Peter wants him to do with it.
Sure enough, Peter tilts his chin upward and kisses him, taking the taste of Jerry out with a sigh. Out of the corner of Charley's eye, he sees Jerry watching, running a hand up and down his chest lazily.
"Now it's my turn," Peter says, unlacing his leather pants. "Fuck, that feels good. Leather just has no give for hard-ons."
He's definitely hard. Charley runs his tongue over his teeth - the last time he didn't check to make sure his fangs retracted, he spent a week in the panic room without blood - and nods. Peter holds his head still, running his thumb over Charley's cheek, and Charley lets his jaw drop.
Peter isn't Jerry. Jerry goes slow and soft only when he teases, when he wants to make Charley ask for it. Peter takes what he wants, but he also never takes more than Charley can give, what Charley wants to give. Charley might be Jerry's in name, but everyone knows who he really belongs to. Who he really wants to belong to.
And so Peter fucks Charley's mouth at a steady pace: fast enough so Charley's jaw won't hurt, but slow enough that he won't choke. Jerry comes up behind him and hugs him, licking the side of his neck until he bites down, drinking the fresh blood Charley just put in his veins, sliding his hand over Charley's cock until it starts to grow hard again.
"Selfish prick," Peter says through grit teeth. He takes the hand from Charley's hair and fists it in Jerry's, twisting hard. He's never gentle with Jerry. Jerry never wants him to be.
He pulls out when he comes, marking Charley's face as he grunts. Jerry pulls back and wipes blood from his mouth with a grin, then licks up the come off Charley's skin. When he brushes his mouth against Charley's cock, he comes again, slumping as his orgasm finishes. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. As always, he isn't sure if he does.
"Nice way to end the evening," Peter mutters, stripping the rest of his clothes completely. The clock beeps, and the windows darken until they look like the black walls around. "But we're having words later, Jerry."
"Of course," Jerry says, waving a hand.
He lowers Charley to the bed and snuggles behind him, kissing the sweat off. Peter climbs in and lies in front of Charley, pulling in tightly until there's no space between the three.
"Here," he says, holding his wrist forward. "I gorged, and you're looking a little peaked."
Charley runs his nose over his skin and breathes it in. How many fill his veins? How many hearts stopped so he can look pink and alive?
He nips, then bites.
Drinking from a vampire isn't the giddy rush that drinking from a human is. Not from Jerry and Peter, anyway. Jerry's dark and rich, the best brandy in the world in the form of red liquid on his tongue. Peter's much fresher, probably closer to how Charley himself tastes, but there's usually a hint of alcohol. As Charley licks over the wounds, dragging his tongue in circles to lap the last few drops before the holes close, he doesn't taste any of it.
That means a lot of dead.
He draws onto the pillows with a sigh.
"You all right, kid?" Peter asks.
Charley is no kid anymore. But as his eyes droop closed, he nods.
Fandom: Fright Night (2011)
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~1400 words.
Characters/Pairings: Charley/Jerry/Peter.
Content notes: (spoilery) ( skip) Vampire-style murder and explicit sex.
Summary: Most vampires bite hard, but Charley remembers. He wonders if he's the only one who does.
Notes: Written for the bloodplay square on my
kink_bingo card. Also on DW and AO3.
I have a whole universe for this in mind: Ed gets turned before telling Charley anything about vampires, Jerry turns all of Charley's family and starts to take over Las Vegas until he turns Peter Vincent, who ends up being better at the whole taking-over-Vegas thing. Even while he's drunk off Midori.
But I doubt I'll ever write it, and barely any of that is relevant to this story. This? Is just evil vampire porn.
It's what's for dinner
The kid looks small against the twinkling lights of the Strip out the window. But he is small, and young. He can't be any older than Charley was when he was first turned.
Jerry drags a hand over Charley's collarbone. "Want to see you drink him, guy."
Charley's fangs slip free. The kid cowers as he walks up, and Charley's knows what he's seeing: dark eyes, pale skin, sharp teeth. It's not much different than what Charley saw when his mom invited Jerry into their house, when he drained Amy dry, when he swallowed his mom's blood. When he cornered Charley, took just enough to make him faint, hid him in his closet until he was ready. Ripe.
Jerry's fingers stay at the nape of Charley's neck when he takes the kid by the shoulders, firm, but gentle. Most vampires bite hard, but Charley remembers. He wonders if he's the only one who does.
"Do it," Jerry whispers.
Charley sinks his fangs in the kid's neck. He's careful, but the kid jerks from terror - the way he smells - and Charley has to wrap his arms tightly, has to drink rough until he's pliant. Like they all become pliant.
The blood rolls over his tongue in a rush, sticky and metallic and warm. Charley feels it drip down the sides of his mouth, and Jerry reaches a fingertip over, brushes one line away. Charley drops the kid to the floor, and Jerry turns him around and crushes their mouths together, licking the blood off Charley's lips and cleaning the inside of his mouth with his tongue. It's far from the first time, but Charley's knees buckle like it is. Jerry holds the small of his back to keep him from falling.
"Good boy," he whispers into Charley's mouth. He draws back, sparing no glance for the boy bleeding on the floor, and peels his tank top off. The firelight reveals every inch of muscle, and Charley stares, transfixed. Until Jerry jerks his fingers, and Charley walks forward, like a puppet on strings.
As usual, Jerry strips him down, and as usual, Charley lets him with eyes closed, moaning at every touch of his fingers, shivering every time Jerry kisses his skin. This close, the fire feels blazing. Jerry's no less intense.
He hands Charley the bottle of lube without a word, and Charley takes it. He squeezes some on his fingers, then slips them inside, stretching and pushing. They do this all the time, but Charley's body forgets, heals and tightens with each drop of blood he drinks. He's so flushed now, so hard, he's almost like he was.
Jerry tugs lightly on his wrist, and when Charley takes his hand out, Jerry unzips his jeans and settles Charley on top of his cock. He takes his time, filling Charley slowly until he can't fill him anymore, and then he leans in close and nibbles on his neck.
He knows how this will go. It doesn't stop him from curling his toes and crying out softly as Jerry works his hips slowly, grinding just enough to hit the spot that makes Charley's eyes roll in the back of his head.
"Please," he whispers as Jerry nips. "Please."
"Hold on."
Charley's eyes flutter open as Peter struts in the room, tossing off his coat and grabbing his hip flask.
"Again, Jerry?" Peter asks in a huff. "I thought I asked you to wait. And oh look, you ate already. Fuck. Ruins my little surprise, doesn't it?"
Charley looks down the hall as Jerry settles back on the pillows. A couple more kids wait nervously by the elevator, shifting their weight on their feet as they take in the display cases.
"We aren't finished yet," Jerry says, voice low.
Peter sighs. "Fine. I'll save those two for later."
He waves a hand, and one of the guards in the elevator escorts the kids out. Maybe they could escape. Maybe they could help others leave. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Jerry jerks his hips hard, and Charley whimpers.
"Come now, you're just being mean, you are." Now Peter's the one running his hands through Charley's hair, kissing the corner of Charley's mouth and licking the blood that Jerry missed. "Not even giving him a hand. Honestly, you've got no manners."
He licks his hand and wraps it around Charley's cock. Charley bucks helplessly, but Jerry's hands on his hips keep him from moving as much as he wants.
"Come for me," Peter asks, his voice losing the casually bored tone as he tightens the fingers in Charley's hair. "Come before this selfish asshole. Show him who the real boss is here."
And Charley does, striping Jerry's stomach with thin white lines. When he clenches, it's Jerry's turn to shudder, planting his feet and thrusting up until he comes inside Charley.
Peter eases Charley off Jerry and points down. "Lick it up."
Charley bends, hesitant. He looks up at Jerry through his eyelashes as he extends his tongue, laps up his come. But he doesn't swallow. He isn't sure what Peter wants him to do with it.
Sure enough, Peter tilts his chin upward and kisses him, taking the taste of Jerry out with a sigh. Out of the corner of Charley's eye, he sees Jerry watching, running a hand up and down his chest lazily.
"Now it's my turn," Peter says, unlacing his leather pants. "Fuck, that feels good. Leather just has no give for hard-ons."
He's definitely hard. Charley runs his tongue over his teeth - the last time he didn't check to make sure his fangs retracted, he spent a week in the panic room without blood - and nods. Peter holds his head still, running his thumb over Charley's cheek, and Charley lets his jaw drop.
Peter isn't Jerry. Jerry goes slow and soft only when he teases, when he wants to make Charley ask for it. Peter takes what he wants, but he also never takes more than Charley can give, what Charley wants to give. Charley might be Jerry's in name, but everyone knows who he really belongs to. Who he really wants to belong to.
And so Peter fucks Charley's mouth at a steady pace: fast enough so Charley's jaw won't hurt, but slow enough that he won't choke. Jerry comes up behind him and hugs him, licking the side of his neck until he bites down, drinking the fresh blood Charley just put in his veins, sliding his hand over Charley's cock until it starts to grow hard again.
"Selfish prick," Peter says through grit teeth. He takes the hand from Charley's hair and fists it in Jerry's, twisting hard. He's never gentle with Jerry. Jerry never wants him to be.
He pulls out when he comes, marking Charley's face as he grunts. Jerry pulls back and wipes blood from his mouth with a grin, then licks up the come off Charley's skin. When he brushes his mouth against Charley's cock, he comes again, slumping as his orgasm finishes. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. As always, he isn't sure if he does.
"Nice way to end the evening," Peter mutters, stripping the rest of his clothes completely. The clock beeps, and the windows darken until they look like the black walls around. "But we're having words later, Jerry."
"Of course," Jerry says, waving a hand.
He lowers Charley to the bed and snuggles behind him, kissing the sweat off. Peter climbs in and lies in front of Charley, pulling in tightly until there's no space between the three.
"Here," he says, holding his wrist forward. "I gorged, and you're looking a little peaked."
Charley runs his nose over his skin and breathes it in. How many fill his veins? How many hearts stopped so he can look pink and alive?
He nips, then bites.
Drinking from a vampire isn't the giddy rush that drinking from a human is. Not from Jerry and Peter, anyway. Jerry's dark and rich, the best brandy in the world in the form of red liquid on his tongue. Peter's much fresher, probably closer to how Charley himself tastes, but there's usually a hint of alcohol. As Charley licks over the wounds, dragging his tongue in circles to lap the last few drops before the holes close, he doesn't taste any of it.
That means a lot of dead.
He draws onto the pillows with a sigh.
"You all right, kid?" Peter asks.
Charley is no kid anymore. But as his eyes droop closed, he nods.