An assistant bartender is drawn in by a vampire.
1k, M/M, rated M. Some sexy hypnosis for the purposes of public blood drinking — no sex. An entry for Day #3 of #MonstrousMay.
He’s a vampire, the sort that you can see is a vampire from a glance. Leon watches him from behind the bar as he comes in, grateful for the fact that he’s half-shadowed by one of the pillars and the screen that blocks patrons’ view of the kitchen. The bar isn’t super busy, but there are people regularly filtering in and filtering out, and there’s smoke thick on the air.
The vampire knocks two white knuckles against the bar to get Han’s attention, and Han goes to serve him immediately, leaning in to listen. The vampire’s voice doesn’t carry at all over the hubbub and chatter in the pub, let alone over the sound of the dishwasher as Leon stacks the glasses inside and loads it, setting it to run.
Han opens a dusty bottle from the back of a cabinet and makes a show of displaying its label the same way he might a bottle of wine: when he pours some of its contents into a sherry glass kept still and steady between two of the vampire’s fingers, the liquid is vibrantly green.
The vampire’s hair is a dark, rich brown, the curls to it luscious and catching the shine of the yellow-tinted bar lamps so that they take on a golden sheen; his fingernails are long and sharp, delicately attended to; his skin is starkly white, and there’s a grey undertone to his skin that gives his skin the appearance of stone.
Grey shadows his eyes, and he has bags underneath them that are grey-purple; his lips are a similar colour, a dark plummy colour that looks dusty, mixed with the grey. He holds the sherry glass delicately by its neck as he brings it up to his lips and tips it forward.
Leon watches, unable to tear his gaze away, as his throat moves — its stark white colour reminds him of a length of fresh chalk, the sort that never used to last at school that would often be broken as soon as it was pulled out of the box.
Han watches the vampire, who finishes the bit of drink in the glass, his tongue seeming to move behind his lips as he tastes its remnants on the back of his teeth, and then gives an inclination of his head. When he closes his eyes, the backs of his eyelids are the same dark, purple shade of grey as his lips.
He takes the bottle by the neck and walks away with it, sinking into a single seat at one of the round tables for one. Leon tries to focus on something else, goes and clears out the line for one of the kegs, keeps on top of the washing up, serves at the bar when a few people come in at once.
Regularly, he’s distracted by the vampire, keeps looking over at him — for some time, he reads a cloth-bound book as he works his way through the contents of his bottle. He makes idle small talk with people who greet hi first, but he doesn’t invite anyone to sit with him or talk to them.
When he lights a cigarette, Leon loses all hope of concentrating on anything else — he’s utterly hypnotised by the delicate way the vampire holds the lit length between his fingers, the way his perfect purple lips touch against its butt and wrap around it. When his cheeks hollow with the sucking motion, inhaling, Leon feels a heat rush downwards at the dark shadows that show in them.
He keeps looking over at him when he’s meant to be serving drinks or bussing tables, can’t stop his head from turning and taking in every angle of him, of his mouth, his cheeks, his dark eyes, his hair, the column of his neck, the rich black of his clothes.
Leon looks over at him at one point, just in time to see the vampire snap his fingers. It goes through him like a static shock, making him jump, and he stays frozen in his place, his hands grasping loosely at the tray on the table.
The vampire is looking right at him with dark brown eyes — like his hair, they’re lit up gold by the light.
Leon’s breath hitches in his throat.
“Come,” orders the vampire, and Leon is moving before he even knows what he’s doing, his feet stepping across the floor almost without his permission. The vampire’s voice has no problem carrying now, but nonetheless it comes in a whisper.
The vampire sets his knees to one side, out from under the table, and he gestures — once more, Leon, utterly bound up in his spell, sits down on his thighs. His skin is burning, his cheeks blushing bright red, and he can feel other people looking over at him, feel people in the bar staring, but he can’t look back at them because his gaze is fixated on the vampire’s face. With just his index finger, the vampire makes a little gesture, and Leon feels his head pulled one way as though it were on a wire, obediently turning it away and baring his neck.
He makes a small noise of pain as the vampire flicks his nail down the side of Leon’s throat, cutting him, but the pain is immediately soothed — the vampire closes his lips around the cut and sucks, and Leon whimpers.
His body is hot all over, more heat sinking between his legs, his cock suddenly so hard he can feel it straining in his jeans as the vampire steadies him with one hand on his waist and the other at the base of his neck. His thumb is resting at the hollow of Leon’s throat, the nail threatening to dig in, and Leon’s head is spinning at the obscene pleasure of it.
“Good boy,” says the vampire in his quiet whisper, although he can’t possibly be actually saying it when his lips are closed tight around the cut, the tip of his tongue lapping at it in a way that makes his body surge. “Do as you’re told.”
The vampire’s hand grips a little tighter at the side of his waist, and Leon moans aloud, his head tipping back as the vampire sucks at him greedily, using him, drinking from him with far more hunger than he had from the bottle of absinthe.
Leon closes his eyes and gives himself over to it.
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