Chapter Text
Being undead never got any easier.
Gerard knew how to navigate the narrow, winding corridors of the city in silence and shadows. He knew the best places to feed, he knew how to push a victim to the edge without killing them, and if he ever did get too carried away, he knew where to discard them. He could feel when the sun set, and when it was about to rise. After over eight centuries, he’d amassed all the wealth he could dream of. He wanted for nothing, nothing but the warm sensations of the flesh which he could never have for his own.
And so he would prowl the night, fluttering from great city to great city, enveloping himself in the nightlife, from the medieval tavern to the neoclassical salons to Studio 54. Perhaps he’d overstayed his welcome in New York City, verging on 60 years in the metropolis. But it had been so good to him, with its revolving door of residents and exciting new subcultures and 24-hour diners. Most nights he loved to dance, to observe, to be just like everyone else. His body would weft and weave through the crowds of people, not on the hunt for a meal, but for a sensation. But other nights, like tonight, he would observe. Seethe. He wished he could feel this body temperature change when he stepped past the bouncer and entered the bar, he wished he could know the thrill of being young, of knowing those moments were fleeting. Tonight, the dancing wouldn’t be enough.
The Cock was always a solid spot to pick up for Gerard. The Lower East Side leather bar was selective in who it allowed inside, ensuring that once inside, he had a plethora of options to choose from. Whether he sought a cheap thrill or a feeding or just a good drink and a free cigarette, he was always treated well, if not irked by the pompous attitude of the more seasoned leather daddies. Tonight was Biker Night, meaning an older, thicker crowd, and a harsh hum of rock music to watch them under. Gerard nodded at the bouncer, who always let Gerard inside without question, even if he wasn’t following the dress code. I mean, he never did, often sticking to his uniform of black jeans held up by a heavy silver bat belt buckle and black button-down shirt. He wasn’t sure if it was his own power compelling him, or the fact that he was an incredibly generous tipper, but Gerard learned long ago to not question such advantages. But on a night like tonight, a sign on the door reading NO SHIRTS ALLOWED, he especially stuck out. He settled on unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt instead, his silver porcelain chest seemingly glowing as it peeked through the cotton fabric.
The bar was soaked in red light, and Gerard found himself nestled into the corner, nursing his Coke, watching the men in the bar, who all seemed to let their gaze linger for far too long on the cherubic specter. Gerard was awfully good at concealing his age, and on nights like this he looked positively out of place. Most men in bars like this were too drunk to notice the time-worn sorrow buried deep in his hazel eyes, or the way his voice lilted with accents and dialects collected over the centuries. They were really just bags of meat for him, to play with as he chose. And from across the bar, he’d chosen tonight’s target.
The man in question was dancing, albeit awkwardly, with a group of other men. They all looked to be in their early forties, covered head to toe in painted displays of traditional tattoos. While the others seemed to be at home in the bar, their bodies grinding to the guitar riffs instinctually, without any thought behind it at all, the shorter man seemed flightier, more on edge, as if he was looking around to see how he should be behaving. He was dressed more conservatively too, in leather shorts that seemed to be a little too small for him by the way his belly squeezed out of the waistband, perhaps borrowed from the closet of one of the leather-speedo-clad friends. Gerard knew he’d be on his side of the bar eventually– he couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.
Minutes passed, and the man had broken free of his friends to wait at the bar. His dark brown hair clung to his face with sweat, his chest glistening with that same slick. Gerard slinked up next to the tattooed man, taking in his scent. Salt, rain, tobacco, musk, a botanical aftershave, metal, ink…
“Can I buy you that drink?” Gerard purred, almost the second the man had shouted his beer order to the bartender. The man turned, his mouth going dry at the sight of Gerard in front of him. He tended to have that effect on people.
“Oh… Well…” He blushed, his face turning even more red than before. “Only if you let me dance with you.”
Gerard’s lips curled into a smile, and he put his hand on the man’s bicep, his thumb softly tracing over the tattooed lettering. “Of course…” The beer arrived, and Gerard placed it in the man’s hand before leading him away from the bar to the dancefloor. “Who am I dancing with?”
“Frank! My name is Frank!” He shouted into Gerard’s ear, the hum of the guitars and the bass on the speakers flooding their senses. Gerard didn’t respond, only moved his hands to Frank’s hips as they gyrated to the music. The rhythm guided them, bodies twisting around each other in an intricate dance, Gerard’s lips brushing against Frank’s neck, inhaling the metallic sweet scent of blood radiating from his veins, becoming familiar with the sound of his heartbeat. It was always more fun on Biker Night, when the music was heavy and nasty and the men with their solid bodies didn’t mind getting rough on the dancefloor, oozing with an angry sexuality. Every grind was a threat, every bassline was a beckon to come closer, to release your body and surrender. But Gerard always loved the feel of leather.
It was smooth and buttery, it stuck to sweaty bodies like honey, it retained the scent and the heat of sweat, of sex. It was like flesh.
“I don’t mean to be so forward,” Gerard spoke into Frank’s ear as the shorter man grinded against him, “But if you’re looking to score tonight…”
Frank’s eyes widened, he was disrupted from the lull he’d been trapped in with Gerard, his inhibitions returning to him, his movements becoming more jilted, more awkward. He had only reluctantly agreed to come out with his friends tonight, after months shut inside after a particularly brutal breakup. He hadn’t hooked up with someone in the club since his twenties. But God, he was horny, and Gerard was maybe the hottest guy he’d ever seen, even if he looked like he was at least 20 years his junior.
“I’ll be in the employee bathroom. It’s next to the smoking section, don’t worry about the staff giving you a hard time. They know me here.” And he slithered away again, leaving Frank in a sweaty daze.
The light in the bathroom was a harsh orange-yellow, the kind of light that exposed every pore in your face and made you realize just how drunk you were as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Not that Gerard would know anything about that.
Frank entered the bathroom slowly, nervously, like he knew he wasn’t really supposed to be there. He was greeted not by Gerard, but by his own reflection. He was soaking wet with sweat, and he was uncomfortable, the leather had started to chafe between his thighs. And why did someone as gorgeous as Gerard–
His thoughts were cut short by the sharp collision of his lips with Gerard’s cold mouth, his body shoved against the door, Gerard’s hands ravenous on his body, his shorts, inhuman in the speed at which they moved, and the chill of his fingers… His saliva entering his mouth had the same sweet snowy mouthfeel as a fruit-flavored popsicle on a hot day. It was intoxicating.
“You looked so sexy out there, in your little leather shorts Frank…” Gerard hummed, his nails dragging against the pillowy flesh of Frank’s stomach. “Can I take them off, can I see what you have underneath?” His fingertips danced along Frank’s waistband.
“Fuck… Yes.” Frank nodded, exasperated and breathless, his cock growing and tightening his leather shorts, and he didn’t even really care that he had no idea what this minx’s name was.
Gerard dropped to his knees, unbuttoning Frank’s shorts with ease, revealing that Frank had come to the club commando, his thick cock springing from beneath the zipper. Gerard tugged slightly on his shorts, leaving them hanging around Frank’s tattooed thighs. His dick may have been the only thing not tattooed on his body, its pink flesh bursting with blood as his erection grew to full hardness, girthy and veiny, making up for its shorter length at 6 inches. Gerard licked his lips and then wrapped his tongue slowly around the tip of Frank’s head, eliciting a hiss from him, his body tensing up at the sensation of Gerard’s cold mouth now around this most sensitive part of his body.
For Gerard, blowjobs were a religious experience. Centuries of vampiric practice had given him so much power– he could have anything he wanted, anyone he wanted. He could command reduce humans to babbling, mindless servants with the snap of a finger. So to give himself to someone else, to submit to their flesh, while restraining his own desire for blood, for carnage… It was the ultimate sensation for him.
His head bobbed back and forth, his tongue tracing over the head of Frank’s cock in fluid motions, slurping on the spit accumulating along his shaft.
“Fuck…Oh my God, Jesus fucking Christ…” Frank moaned, his fingers wrapped in Gerard’s thick, black hair, slowly rocking his head in time with his head’s movements. Gerard smiled and pulled away for a brief moment, admiring Frank’s cock, wet with spit, and the way it throbbed and pulsed with his blood. To feel the blood in his veins under his tongue was more than enough for him, but thank God he’d already eaten tonight, or he may have ruined the moment with a scene of viscera and gore.
“Fuck my face, baby,” Gerard breathed, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue for Frank’s total use. Frank nodded, his lust completely clouding all other thoughts, forcing Gerard’s throat down on his cock gently, moaning in ecstasy as the passage tightened around his shaft, feeling Gerard’s sharp exhale against the base of his cock.
At first, Frank fucked into his mouth slowly, gently, like he was afraid of breaking Gerard’s fragile frame under his weight. But Gerard took it so well, so obediently, and he had started to crave more, moving his head against Frank’s hands, as if to beckon him to move faster. And so he did, thrusting into Gerard’s mouth, sticky, hot spit spewing from the corners of his mouth, his eyes watering as he tried to breathe through the fucking.
“I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum…” Frank groaned, trying to shove his cock further down Gerard’s throat, as if there was anywhere else for it to go. He loosened his grip as if his hands were not his own, Gerard pulling his mouth away, and finally wrapping his hand around Frank’s shaft.
“You’re going to cum in those shorts for me,” He spoke low, soft, as if he was preserving his voice, “And then you’re going to dance for the rest of the night in them.” He vigorously jerked Frank off, his other hand pulling at either leg of his shorts so they’d be ready to be pulled up as soon as he was done cumming. “Will you do that for me?”
Frank whimpered a soft, “Anything…” his hips buckling under Gerard’s grip. He fucked into Gerard’s fist, and his body contracted and shivered as he came into Gerard’s hand and onto the hem of his shorts. Gerard chuckled as he watched Frank shake from his orgasm, and he wiped the semen from his palm into the crotch of Frank’s shorts.
“What… What’s your name?” Frank breathed once he regained some composure, watching Gerard who was washing his hands in the sink, graceful as if he hadn’t just used his mouth as a fuckhole. He was mesmerized.
“I’m Gerard.” He turned and smiled, planting a soft kiss on Frank’s cheek as he turned the door handle to leave the bathroom. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
And before Frank could respond, before he could thank him, before he could get his fucking phone number, Gerard had slipped away into the bodies, into the sweat, into the night.