Part of the Job (Patreon)

A formal letter sits on Slade’s ornate desk, the stark piece of paper standing out among the dark furnishings mostly lit in orange lamplight and cold moonglow. On it, the same sort of response he’s become used to receiving from other vampire leaders: a rejection. With poorly-veiled condescension and flowery prose, Slade is once again denied the boon of an alliance to put the werewolves in their place, all because of immortals and their politics.

He reads over the words once again despite knowing they will not change. In his frustration, the paper crinkles under his palm as his fingers begin digging into the wooden desk. They are all fools, he thinks, to refuse him. Slade sometimes believes most vampires are.

As a human-turned-vampire, none of them know humanity as closely as he does. He knows how they think, how they feel, how they’ll act. How else could he manage a hunting ground as profitable as Infernalis? But vampires do not care about new ideas. No, they busy themselves with what already benefits them. They’re too content.

They truly are fools, Slade confirms. All except…

There is a knock at the door.

At the lack of a response, the door opens, just enough for August’s head to poke in. Loud music and hollers float into the office from the crack in the door. It doesn’t take him long to hone in on the disgruntled expression set on Slade’s face. A grin spreads across his lips, delight glittering in those blood red eyes. August steps inside, pushing the door closed behind him. The music and chatter from outside grows muffled once again through the wood.

“What’s the matter, boss? You’ve been moping all night.”

“Not now, August,” Slade sighs out, eyeing his bodyguard as he approaches the desk, footsteps barely making a sound even before stepping onto the lavish rug.

“Oh, come on,” purred August, “what can I do to put a smile back on that handsome face?”

“Now I know you’re joking.”

While August purses his lips, the words themselves don’t appear to be much of a deterrent.

Slade takes the chance to emphasize his position. “If you’re looking for something to entertain you, then this isn’t the place.” Then, as if that isn’t clear enough: “I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s fine.”

That earns August a curious, arched brow. The confusion doesn’t last all that long, however, not after Slade catches onto where his bodyguard’s line of sight is aiming. The letter. The proof of his rejection.

“Go on. Make your jokes.”

“Nah,” he says, casually picking up the wrinkled piece of paper that has soured Slade’s entire evening, “that sounds way too boring. I have something else in mind.”

“Enlighten me.”

An easy laugh comes from August, but Slade isn’t sure why. That is, until he speaks again, mouth obscured when he holds up the letter. “Not exactly how I’d put it, but sure. I’d love to.”

The paper is then torn in half, its pieces unceremoniously dropped and left to float down onto the rug at August’s feet. The two vampires’ eyes meet before the letter hits the floor. Normally, August’s expression is jovial, cheerful, even. And while all Slade sees in that moment is a stoic mask, what really catches him off guard are his eyes; focused and hungry. Almost as if August is hunting him.

With a cherubic smile, the overall expression becomes less severe, but his eyes do not change even as he circles the desk to approach Slade. Once he’s close enough, August holds out his hand.

“Here.”

Again, confusion. Slade looks to the offered appendage and back up to red eyes. “Why?”

Rolling those same eyes, August moves his fingers in a beckoning motion, silently pleading for him to get a move on. Slade chooses to oblige, if only to see where he might be going with this new, strange behavior. Not that much is normal with August to begin with, he reasons. Slade holds out his hand as well.

That is all he needs. August takes a solid hold of Slade’s hand by the wrist, fingers pressed into the skin, and brings it right up to the exposed spot of his collarbone. August then drags Slade’s fingers along his flesh until they catch on his choker. During that entire exchange, their eyes remain locked, unblinking. A few more seconds pass by, the tension growing as both wait for a next move.

Slade is the one to take it. Two of his fingers curl into the choker around August’s neck and tug, bringing him closer. In return, he reaches out, fisting the dark fabric of Slade’s jacket, holding himself a hair’s width away from the vampire lord’s face.

“Your call, boss.”

August says it in a way where it’s as if he knows the outcome, no matter what Slade decides. It frustrates him, and the dark-haired vampire knows this. However, there’s something that frustrates him far more, and it’s latest appearance has been torn to pieces. August did that for him. Slade breaks eye contact, his eyes drifting downward along the other vampire’s body. The strong grip on his arm slackens knowingly.

“On your knees.”

Despite a known rebellious streak, there are in fact times where August does not need to be told twice. This is one of them. With Slade’s fingers still crooked into the leather of his choker, August sinks down to his knees, both hands on the chair’s armrests for balance. As soon as he settles, a pale thumb presses at August’s lips.

“Open up.”

He does so, fangs fully on display for his boss. Slade moves in and presses down on his tongue, its tip leaving a wet trail along the length. A mild shiver hits his shoulders and exits him in a trembling breath. In response, August’s eyes begin to dance with mirth. He closes his mouth around the thumb and gives a languid suck, then opening again to give another lick before repeating the process. A curse threatens to spill from Slade.

But it isn’t that which earns the faint “fuck” that Slade utters a couple of seconds later.

August, ever cunning, ever devious, bites down enough to make it sting. Slade curls the rest of his fingers underneath August’s chin and forces his mouth open again, his golden glare clashing with red glimmers of poorly-veiled amusement.

“No teeth, August.”

A glint of defiance passes through his eyes, but before long, August wraps his lips around Slade’s thumb again, its calloused pad against his tongue. He’s feeling obedient for the moment. That, or he is after something and is willing to play along to get it.  Slade finds himself thinking about it less and less as August starts to work at his belt. A whine comes from the bodyguard as he pulls at the expensive leather, almost making Slade’s head spin.

Despite things only starting, Slade can’t ignore how the sound echoes against the walls of his office; or how August is kneeling between his legs, underneath the desk, much like some workplace trist while Infernalis’ bassy music thrums in his chest. The mental image alone makes his body grow hot. As if to drag his attention back to him, August palms Slade’s thigh, much too close to his stiffening erection to be coincidence, but far enough that Slade gets no relief.

“What’re you thinkin’ about, boss?” August’s question comes a bit slurred with Slade’s thumb still pressing against his bottom lip. The hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips says that he knows the answer, but Slade is too familiar with these games. August wants to hear a confession. As if to coax it out of him, August’s hand inches closer. The fabric shifts enough to provide a sliver of friction and a harsh breath escapes Slade’s nose.

August finally smiles, and chooses to show mercy. “Can I take a guess?”

Another game, Slade groans internally, resisting the urge to also make a real sound as August’s fingers creep ever closer…

“Yes.”

Slade swears he sees a shiver rip through his bodyguard’s lithe frame. What is clear, however, is the flush in August’s cheeks along with the inhale of breath right before he begins speaking, almost as if he’s ready to pounce. “How would this look if someone were to walk in right now, I wonder?”

Is he that transparent?

August continues. “That’s no state for a boss to be caught in…” He trails off for a moment, nuzzling into Slade’s palm before continuing. His voice is a bit muffled and laced with a cloying sweetness. “Even though he could really use the stress relief. Isn’t that right, Slade?”

There is not much of an argument from Slade. His agitation is clear, and everyone who has encountered him that day is aware. August is the only one who is choosing to do something about it, even if it  is in his own, debaucherous way. Slade couldn't care less. August’s mouth is warm, inviting, and given freely. He’s offering what Slade wants. If nothing else, Slade feels a rush at seeing August on his knees before him, from hearing him say his name. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as the sound of a zipper being undone hits his ears.

August pulls him out of his pants and Slade’s eyes flutter at the direct contact. He moves his hand away only to spit in it before returning, giving slow but deliberate strokes. Slade audibly sighs with pure relief as he begins to grip the chair. The bass from the club’s music infects his head like a drum, and for a second, Slade actually considers that it may be his heartbeat.

A single, golden eye opens right in time to see August begin lapping at the head, and soon after, he takes it into his mouth completely. Before he can hope to stop it, a moan rips through Slade’s throat. He should care. If anyone hears, they will want to check in. Yet, he allows himself another, softer moan as August takes more of his cock. A pallid hand weaves through his dark locks.

“Fuck, August…”

To think that the self-confident, powerful, and reckless Slade can be in such a state after some heavy petting and a few licks. August can’t help but find it equal parts funny and alluring. No one sees this side but him. Slade faces attacks often, and as his bodyguard August faces his share of dangers as well, so the vampire leader doesn’t allow many to get close. To allow this is unheard of. Unless you’re his most trusted protector, that is.

August begins to move, bobbing his head in time with his strokes to the rest of Slade’s length, each repetition earning him some sort of cute sound. He’s been needing attention for some time, he thinks, and runs his tongue along the underside in the way he knows works. It gains him a shudder as Slade pulls at his hair for a moment in response.

A sudden buck of Slade’s hips nearly makes him gag, but he manages. His free hand settles on a thigh to hold down his boss somewhat. The toned flesh he feels still hidden by fabric makes August all the more excited. He recalls the promise not to bite, and he won’t, but each flex of muscle stirs something deep in the pits of his stomach. It makes him hungry.

Slade’s growing need only makes it more appetizing. August breathes out a sigh from his nose and begins to speed up. If only Slade were more human.

There are times when Slade questions whether August genuinely cares for him or not. A cold stare here and there, the rare snide comment, the way in which he calls him “boss”, an air of mockery in that one syllable; it makes him wonder. Then, there are times such as this one, where he looks at Slade with clear, rapt fascination as one would a muse. August hardly blinks even with the tears gathering in his eyes—all so he can see Slade. He has to care. He must.

A hum from August vibrates around his cock right then, as if affirming those thoughts. Yes, it has to be true. August has always seen his potential. Slade’s fingers dig into his bodyguard’s scalp, a hardfought, muffled keen cracking through the vampire leader’s lips. He isn’t going to last long.

Despite August’s greatest tool—his tongue—being occupied, he still manages to worm his way in with only a warm gaze. One can even call it adoring. The more he watches Slade crawl towards the brink, the more vulnerable and human the famed boss becomes makes his mouth water. That, and one other, distracting thing that will be well worth the consequence of a sore jaw.

It is no secret that August loves humans. From their accomplishments to their flaws, he sees it all as a result of them ever-changing. A human-turned-vampire is rare. Finding one who still clings to their humanity is even rarer still.

Slade is special. Slade is new, shiny, and fun.

Slade is becoming more and more of a vampire every day.

So, if August needs to run miles to the most overpriced bakery for a cake or get on his knees and suck off his boss to see that humanity, he’ll do it. Gladly. The reward is too sweet to pass up.

And what a reward it is, he thinks, as Slade sinks his fangs into his own hand to silence his repeated moaning, hips thrusting in a stuttering and uneven rhythm, no longer able to hold back from fucking August’s mouth. Slade’s eye rolls back and August knows then that he is gone. All that’s left is the need to reach the peak. So desperate, so human, his mind says as he resists the instinct to rut against one of Slade’s outstretched legs like a wolf in heat.

Because to August, who allows Slade to shamelessly continue fucking his throat, his boss is at his cutest when he’s like this. If he could stay this way all the time, August knows he’d be taken in, that he would be tempted to let Slade have his way. The idea is a fun one even if August knows it’s tainted with a cloud of lust.

He wants to fuck—to be fucked—but not by Slade. He wishes to bite, to swallow and  taste, to consume only the best parts. The human parts.

And if there is one thing Slade should know about August, it is that he eats like a man starved.

The back of Slade’s head audibly slams into the headrest of his chair as he cums. His body stiffens, hips stuck, fingers in a vice grip. Gasping breaths and moans fill the office while he keeps August’s head in place, emptying himself completely. Slade’s body goes slack after a few seconds,  hands falling limply onto the arms of his chair. His eye falls upon August.

A faint groan is earned from Slade as August releases his softening cock with a pop. After, he remains still, watching the one-eyed vampire with uncharacteristic patience. August knows exactly what to do.

“Open up.” Slade pants out, reaching forward with one hand and lifting August’s chin.

He obeys, mouth falling open, tongue lolling out and still coated in his cum. The sight causes Slade to curse under his breath and his blood flow back south. It makes him dizzy. He can’t relax yet, though. He has one more thing to do, first.

Leaning forward, he spits directly into August’s open mouth. Even then, the bodyguard does not move, not until Slade says: “Swallow.”

Once again, he obeys, shutting his mouth and swallowing its contents. Slade watches with rapt attention at how August’s neck bobs at the action. Afterward, and with no hidden amount of cheekiness, August sticks out his tongue again, showing that he’s done his part.

“That was… needed,” he admits.

“I could tell. You know, you’re way less fun when you’re all pent up.” August grins as he leans in a bit, both hands sliding along Slade’s clothed thighs. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

Slade sends him a flat look. “The reason is because you always want to fuck during work hours, and it isn’t professional.”

August scoffs, feigning offense. “Well, that’s when you need it the most.” He rests his cheek against one of Slade’s knees, practically pouting. “I’m only looking out for you, boss.”

“What do you want, August?”

A smile splits his face. “Can I have a little taste? Only one.”

“Haven’t you had enough? I need a few more minutes, at least.”

“Not that. I want a real taste.”

Blood. He means blood, Slade realizes. August watches him expectantly, eyes at the perfect angle to catch the moonlight. It makes him look soft. “Fine. One bite.”

August darts back up with excitement.

“Could you pick somewhere that won’t be annoying? Not the thigh again. It made walking a hassle for hours. Not the neck, either. Too visible.”

“Aw, are you ashamed of me? Don’t want your rich human lackeys to find out?”

“Hardly. It’s all about status.” Then, as the thought strikes him: “Why don’t you ever let me bite you, then?”

“Don’t be like that. No one gets to bite me, boss. It’s one of my rules.”

Slade doesn’t understand, but when a vampire is as old as others say August is, then there are many things that are left secret. “The wrist.”

“Yum. I can work with that.”

Like with anything else, the bite does not hurt other vampires. Drinking from others does no harm, and it isn’t exactly taboo. There simply isn’t a point to it. Vampires get no nutrients from feeding on one another, and in most cases, the bite heals in a matter of hours, if not by the end of the same day. But none of that matters to August. It is all about the feast, the act of eating and taking whatever someone offers.

So he licks his lips as he takes hold of one of Slade’s arms with both of his. August angles it exactly as he wants before pulling back the sleeve. He presses his nose to the exposed skin. If Slade didn’t know any better, he would call the scene a romantic one. Reverent, even. But he does know better, and sees this for what it is: Hunger. A need. It’s a look that suits his closest ally.

August sinks his teeth into Slade’s flesh not even ten seconds later, a shudder rippling through him as he clutches onto the arm. He doesn’t drink for long, only for a beat or two, but he refuses to let a drop go to waste. August savors him, that much is clear, and when he finally parts, there’s a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Slade does not comment on it.

The bite is left where no one can see, but Slade will know. Each brush of them against the inside of his sleeve will bring back flashes of crimson eyes and plush lips wrapped around him. He feels himself twitch at the thought. If August notices, he does not say so, but a lingering stare makes Slade’s spine tingle nonetheless. His human instincts tell him to be cautious when close to a vampire’s fangs—especially after being fed from—but the afterglow of August’s service is much too delicious.

August runs his tongue over the bite, finishing the gesture by resting his lips against Slade’s skin in a ghost of a kiss. A soft exhale washes over the same spot.

“Feeling better now?”

Slade silently nods, openly staring at that point.

The crimson-eyed vampire chuckles, wiping away some remaining mix of evidence from the corner of his mouth. “Then it looks like my job is done.”

As August stands, Slade grabs onto his arm without thinking. He shakes it off with ease and shoots Slade a quizzical stare. “What is it?”

“Are you leaving already?”

He laughs, readjusting his clothes. “I’m marching out to the dance floor for some snacks,” he explains, already on his way out, “so don’t call me for a while, okay? Thanks~”

“Try not to make another mess in the lounge.”

“Fine, fine,” he whines out, “we’ll use the VIP room instead!”

“No, August—”

As quickly and easily as August appears, he is gone, the doors once again shut and the atmosphere of Infernalis sealed behind them. Slade’s office is nothing but silence now that his breathing’s evened out again and his fellow vampire isn’t there to fill it with nonsense. A sigh, albeit one lacking much tension, leaves him as he tucks himself back into his pants. The bite mark August left behind catches his attention; two even dots that stand out against his pale skin.

Flashing images of bright fangs, coated tongues, and deep red eyes hit him. Slade stands from his seat, simultaneously making sure that the bite is covered by his shirt sleeve. Suddenly, he feels as if he needs to take a long walk and bask in the cold night's breeze for a while.