stephanometra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stephanometra) wrote2009-01-27 06:48 pm
stephanometra) wrote2009-01-27 06:48 pm
Entry tags:
untitled vampire!ryan/jon ficlet, nc17
I am very sorry to report that I have no porn-battlings to post tonight. D: Have this instead.
Not part of vampire weemos. Warnings for pot-smokin' and bitey stuff.
***
Having a human servant, Ryan thinks, is pretty awesome in theory. In practice, though, it's kind of awkward, mostly because he doesn't really know what he's supposed to do with Jon once Jon agrees to be Ryan’s human servant. He can't even ask Spencer, because Spencer isn't really into the whole human servant thing anymore. On the one hand, Ryan understands, but on the other—well, Brent wasn't really good human servant material to begin with.
Although Brent did bring them Brendon, which is an undeniable mark in his favor. Ryan doesn't think that Spencer’s being entirely fair in his dismissal of the whole vampire-human servant tradition, especially given that Brendon and Spencer are out hunting together right now.
"Ryan?" Jon asks gently, looking up at Ryan. He's kneeling on the floor at Ryan’s feet, but the amused look on his face is anything but subservient.
"I don't know what I’m supposed to do with you now," Ryan says. He wasn't actually sure that the bonding would even work; he didn't do it right with Brent, and Spencer had to try again, which is how Brent wound up bonded to Spencer in the first place.
Jon looks like he's trying really hard not to laugh. "Um," he says. "Why do we have to do anything different?"
"Because now you're mine," Ryan says. That definitely means that something should be different, he's sure of it.
"Okay," Jon says, and then rises to his feet. He steps into Ryan’s space and tilts his face up for a kiss, and then suggests, "Want me to get stoned so you can get a contact high when you bite me later?"
Ryan frowns. "But we do that almost every night."
"Yeah," Jon says, patiently, "But now I’m yours."
And somehow Ryan can't really argue with that logic.
Ryan watches with half-lidded eyes as Jon packs the bowl of his pipe, smiling in anticipation at the spark of the lighter. He loves the contemplative ritual of it, the easy way Jon’s fingers handle the lighter and the way his cheeks hollow as he inhales. Ryan never did this when he was human—opium, yes; marijuana, no—but he kind of wishes he had.
He can't stop looking at Jon’s mouth as Jon hits the pipe, the sweet curve of his lips around it. Ryan wants to taste, wants to feel the texture of the chapped skin on Jon’s lower lip, and without thinking about it he's reaching out to touch.
His fingers glance off of the curve of Jon’s chin instead, which makes Ryan frown, because that's not what he was aiming for, not at all, but it's—how has he never noticed the texture of Jon’s beard before? Soft and prickly under his fingers, isn't that weird? He wonders how that tastes, or if it would feel the same against his tongue.
Jon exhales quickly in surprise when Ryan darts in between hits to press his mouth against Jon’s chin. "Dude," he says in a rush of sweet-smelling smoke. "Dude, are you high?"
Ryan’s too busy licking Jon’s beard to answer properly. He makes an indistinct sound instead, and then pulls back, startled, at the way the vibration of the sound felt on his lips. He touches his mouth in wonderment, and Jon bursts out laughing.
"Oh my god, you are. Holy shit." He squirms a little, because Ryan has kind of climbed halfway into his lap. "Is this—it's because of the thing, right? It must be."
Ryan blinks slowly. "This is how it feels when you smoke?" The slight echo of intoxication he's been able to achieve from Jon's blood before is nothing on this lazy, suffusing high. His thoughts are moving syrupy-slow inside his head; he imagines that he can feel each one in the tangled tissues of his brain. Whoa.
Jon reaches for Ryan’s hand and tangles their fingers together, which is yet another sensation on top of everything else, and Ryan moans. "Kind of," Jon says. "You’re usually biting me by now, though. Are you hungry?"
The thought of feeding—of tasting the sweet, rich blood that Ryan can almost hear rushing inside Jon’s veins—makes Ryan moan again, eyes fluttering shut in want. "Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, yes, I could eat—" he opens his eyes again and immediately stares at the faint beat of Jon’s pulse in the base of his throat.
"Well," Jon says, and tilts his head to the side invitingly. "I am yours."
Ryan leans in and licks up the side of Jon’s neck, over and over in long swipes of his tongue, just because he likes the way the warm skin feels under his tongue, likes it even better when Jon makes a low, pleased noise and Ryan can feel that, too. It's almost enough to distract him from the fact that there is delicious blood just beneath the skin, waiting for Ryan to taste it.
Jon cries out when Ryan grazes his fangs over the curve of his throat, looking for the perfect place to bite, and Ryan pulls back a little, because that hasn't hurt Jon before, at least not enough for him to make that kind of sound, not enough for his heart rate to speed up, the blood moving faster and faster.
"Jon?" Ryan asks. He's so very hungry, suddenly, and he doesn't think that Jon’s distressed, but everything is so strange that he feels like he should make sure that Jon’s alright.
"Don’t stop," Jon almost-whimpers. He has one hand pressed hard between his legs, touching himself through his jeans, and huh, that's new, too, but Ryan is hardly going to ignore a demand like that.
Jon cries out again when Ryan bites down, and then he shudders so hard that Ryan’s teeth actually go deeper than Ryan was intending; thick, rich blood floods Ryan’s mouth.
Ryan moans, because nothing has ever, ever tasted this good to him. He doesn't know if it's because of the drugs or the bond or—fuck, whatever it is, he doesn't care. Jon just tastes amazing, and Ryan drinks greedily until the wounds start to close up, too fast, too soon—and that's definitely because of the bond, because Jon has never healed this quickly before.
He pulls back and licks his lips, looking at the trickle of blood from the puncture wounds running down the side of Jon’s neck and staining the collar of his shirt, bright and red and beautiful.
Jon whimpers Ryan’s name, and when Ryan looks up Jon’s biting his own lip hard, gasping as he rolls his hips into the press of his own hand. Ryan can smell precome, sharper and sweeter than usual, and he reaches out to lay his hand over Jon’s lightly, feeling him shudder. "More," Jon begs, and then shakes his head when Ryan fumbles for the button on Jon’s jeans.
"What?" Ryan asks. Jon’s cock is pulsing hard under his fingers; it would only take a moment of touching him to send him over the edge.
Swallowing hard, Jon drops his head back and offers Ryan his throat again, all the lines of his body begging for it. Ryan can't resist, and Jon arches and comes at the first touch of Ryan’s fangs reopening the cuts on his neck.
Not part of vampire weemos. Warnings for pot-smokin' and bitey stuff.
Having a human servant, Ryan thinks, is pretty awesome in theory. In practice, though, it's kind of awkward, mostly because he doesn't really know what he's supposed to do with Jon once Jon agrees to be Ryan’s human servant. He can't even ask Spencer, because Spencer isn't really into the whole human servant thing anymore. On the one hand, Ryan understands, but on the other—well, Brent wasn't really good human servant material to begin with.
Although Brent did bring them Brendon, which is an undeniable mark in his favor. Ryan doesn't think that Spencer’s being entirely fair in his dismissal of the whole vampire-human servant tradition, especially given that Brendon and Spencer are out hunting together right now.
"Ryan?" Jon asks gently, looking up at Ryan. He's kneeling on the floor at Ryan’s feet, but the amused look on his face is anything but subservient.
"I don't know what I’m supposed to do with you now," Ryan says. He wasn't actually sure that the bonding would even work; he didn't do it right with Brent, and Spencer had to try again, which is how Brent wound up bonded to Spencer in the first place.
Jon looks like he's trying really hard not to laugh. "Um," he says. "Why do we have to do anything different?"
"Because now you're mine," Ryan says. That definitely means that something should be different, he's sure of it.
"Okay," Jon says, and then rises to his feet. He steps into Ryan’s space and tilts his face up for a kiss, and then suggests, "Want me to get stoned so you can get a contact high when you bite me later?"
Ryan frowns. "But we do that almost every night."
"Yeah," Jon says, patiently, "But now I’m yours."
And somehow Ryan can't really argue with that logic.
Ryan watches with half-lidded eyes as Jon packs the bowl of his pipe, smiling in anticipation at the spark of the lighter. He loves the contemplative ritual of it, the easy way Jon’s fingers handle the lighter and the way his cheeks hollow as he inhales. Ryan never did this when he was human—opium, yes; marijuana, no—but he kind of wishes he had.
He can't stop looking at Jon’s mouth as Jon hits the pipe, the sweet curve of his lips around it. Ryan wants to taste, wants to feel the texture of the chapped skin on Jon’s lower lip, and without thinking about it he's reaching out to touch.
His fingers glance off of the curve of Jon’s chin instead, which makes Ryan frown, because that's not what he was aiming for, not at all, but it's—how has he never noticed the texture of Jon’s beard before? Soft and prickly under his fingers, isn't that weird? He wonders how that tastes, or if it would feel the same against his tongue.
Jon exhales quickly in surprise when Ryan darts in between hits to press his mouth against Jon’s chin. "Dude," he says in a rush of sweet-smelling smoke. "Dude, are you high?"
Ryan’s too busy licking Jon’s beard to answer properly. He makes an indistinct sound instead, and then pulls back, startled, at the way the vibration of the sound felt on his lips. He touches his mouth in wonderment, and Jon bursts out laughing.
"Oh my god, you are. Holy shit." He squirms a little, because Ryan has kind of climbed halfway into his lap. "Is this—it's because of the thing, right? It must be."
Ryan blinks slowly. "This is how it feels when you smoke?" The slight echo of intoxication he's been able to achieve from Jon's blood before is nothing on this lazy, suffusing high. His thoughts are moving syrupy-slow inside his head; he imagines that he can feel each one in the tangled tissues of his brain. Whoa.
Jon reaches for Ryan’s hand and tangles their fingers together, which is yet another sensation on top of everything else, and Ryan moans. "Kind of," Jon says. "You’re usually biting me by now, though. Are you hungry?"
The thought of feeding—of tasting the sweet, rich blood that Ryan can almost hear rushing inside Jon’s veins—makes Ryan moan again, eyes fluttering shut in want. "Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, yes, I could eat—" he opens his eyes again and immediately stares at the faint beat of Jon’s pulse in the base of his throat.
"Well," Jon says, and tilts his head to the side invitingly. "I am yours."
Ryan leans in and licks up the side of Jon’s neck, over and over in long swipes of his tongue, just because he likes the way the warm skin feels under his tongue, likes it even better when Jon makes a low, pleased noise and Ryan can feel that, too. It's almost enough to distract him from the fact that there is delicious blood just beneath the skin, waiting for Ryan to taste it.
Jon cries out when Ryan grazes his fangs over the curve of his throat, looking for the perfect place to bite, and Ryan pulls back a little, because that hasn't hurt Jon before, at least not enough for him to make that kind of sound, not enough for his heart rate to speed up, the blood moving faster and faster.
"Jon?" Ryan asks. He's so very hungry, suddenly, and he doesn't think that Jon’s distressed, but everything is so strange that he feels like he should make sure that Jon’s alright.
"Don’t stop," Jon almost-whimpers. He has one hand pressed hard between his legs, touching himself through his jeans, and huh, that's new, too, but Ryan is hardly going to ignore a demand like that.
Jon cries out again when Ryan bites down, and then he shudders so hard that Ryan’s teeth actually go deeper than Ryan was intending; thick, rich blood floods Ryan’s mouth.
Ryan moans, because nothing has ever, ever tasted this good to him. He doesn't know if it's because of the drugs or the bond or—fuck, whatever it is, he doesn't care. Jon just tastes amazing, and Ryan drinks greedily until the wounds start to close up, too fast, too soon—and that's definitely because of the bond, because Jon has never healed this quickly before.
He pulls back and licks his lips, looking at the trickle of blood from the puncture wounds running down the side of Jon’s neck and staining the collar of his shirt, bright and red and beautiful.
Jon whimpers Ryan’s name, and when Ryan looks up Jon’s biting his own lip hard, gasping as he rolls his hips into the press of his own hand. Ryan can smell precome, sharper and sweeter than usual, and he reaches out to lay his hand over Jon’s lightly, feeling him shudder. "More," Jon begs, and then shakes his head when Ryan fumbles for the button on Jon’s jeans.
"What?" Ryan asks. Jon’s cock is pulsing hard under his fingers; it would only take a moment of touching him to send him over the edge.
Swallowing hard, Jon drops his head back and offers Ryan his throat again, all the lines of his body begging for it. Ryan can't resist, and Jon arches and comes at the first touch of Ryan’s fangs reopening the cuts on his neck.