dorian & godric
Christ, how Dorian hated Texas.
It was the best and worst of America. There still was so much space, plenty of towns barely hanging on, hardscrabble little places that were trying to make their move, the drive and determination and chutzpah that Dorian adored of the America in the past. America in the 1920s was great. A feisty nation, determined to prove itself on the world's stage, bright and brilliant and ready to take on the challenge.
But the Texas cities? The cities were horrible. Large, ugly things almost crushed under the weight of their own self-importance and overpasses. Forgotten centers where all residents fled to cookie-cutter nigh identical houses set in towns created solely for the purpose of commuting. People didn't thrive in places like that, with their subdivisions and big box stores and fucking Targets. You lived there, but you didn't thrive. And Dorian Gray was always looking for something new, something bright and breathing and alive.
Granted, a shitty little dive bar wasn't exactly what most people thought of when they thought of 'alive.' But Dorian had been lingering around Dallas long enough that a few things had gained his interest. The coming out of the closet, so to speak, of vampires had been the big one. Idly, he wondered what Toby would have thought of it all—he felt so alone for so long. Would vampire advocacy groups or these cute little pamphlets have changed anything? Or would the Sunday morning cable news services about how all vampires are damned have made things worse? There's no way of knowing. But Dorian wanted to learn more about this himself.
Try as he may to fit in, it's obvious that Dorian is here for something. He flirts with the waitress and casually asks a few questions about vampire activity in the area. He loses a game of pool but presses his competition whenever they bring up 'fangs.' This is the third day in a row he's made some not-so-subtle inquiries about vampires, something's got to give eventually. He's British as hell, the accent is a dead giveaway, so might as well lean into the obviousness and see what happens.
And as he slips out of the back door of the dive bar, stepping outside to light up a cigarette, Dorian's certain that something will happen. What precisely? He doesn't know.
It was the best and worst of America. There still was so much space, plenty of towns barely hanging on, hardscrabble little places that were trying to make their move, the drive and determination and chutzpah that Dorian adored of the America in the past. America in the 1920s was great. A feisty nation, determined to prove itself on the world's stage, bright and brilliant and ready to take on the challenge.
But the Texas cities? The cities were horrible. Large, ugly things almost crushed under the weight of their own self-importance and overpasses. Forgotten centers where all residents fled to cookie-cutter nigh identical houses set in towns created solely for the purpose of commuting. People didn't thrive in places like that, with their subdivisions and big box stores and fucking Targets. You lived there, but you didn't thrive. And Dorian Gray was always looking for something new, something bright and breathing and alive.
Granted, a shitty little dive bar wasn't exactly what most people thought of when they thought of 'alive.' But Dorian had been lingering around Dallas long enough that a few things had gained his interest. The coming out of the closet, so to speak, of vampires had been the big one. Idly, he wondered what Toby would have thought of it all—he felt so alone for so long. Would vampire advocacy groups or these cute little pamphlets have changed anything? Or would the Sunday morning cable news services about how all vampires are damned have made things worse? There's no way of knowing. But Dorian wanted to learn more about this himself.
Try as he may to fit in, it's obvious that Dorian is here for something. He flirts with the waitress and casually asks a few questions about vampire activity in the area. He loses a game of pool but presses his competition whenever they bring up 'fangs.' This is the third day in a row he's made some not-so-subtle inquiries about vampires, something's got to give eventually. He's British as hell, the accent is a dead giveaway, so might as well lean into the obviousness and see what happens.
And as he slips out of the back door of the dive bar, stepping outside to light up a cigarette, Dorian's certain that something will happen. What precisely? He doesn't know.

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"I'm serious. I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."
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So Godric kisses him again, fierce and bruising, pinning him against the wall. He presses himself against Dorian and, for the first time, Dorian will be able to feel his own desperate want.
"You are mine," he snarls through fangs.
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"Prove it," Dorian grins. "If I'm yours, then prove it. Claim me."
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Also Godric likes to see him like that.
It's a very, very guilty realization that he leans into entirely.
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"Better pin me down," he teases, as he (deliberately slowly) starts to make his way upright.
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"You can simply ask for this," he tells him with some amusement. "You do not have to try and provoke me."
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"I am starting to learn what you like, and it is no wonder you are popular," he mutters, sinking teeth into his neck again.
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He hasn't had this sort of banter in so long, and he doesn't realize until that moment how much he needed it. He groans a little and kisses him, a mess of blood on his teeth, and slides two fingers inside of him.
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Dorian lets out a dazed little laugh before, "Fuck me like this. You've got your fingers in and I feel...Christ, it's phenomenal. You're phenomenal. Whatever you want, I'm yours."
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"If I asked you to stop talking, would you be capable of obliging?" he purrs playfully, sliding his cock inside of him.
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He'll especially stop talking as he feels Godric's cock inside him. Dorian groans, relaxing into the floor and surrendering himself to downright pleasure.
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Comfortable. Intense.
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He can feel his prick start to harden and stiffen with pleasure as Dorian just blatantly indulges in the wonderful feeling of being fucked silly.
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"You're the one giving me pleasure."
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He slows down slightly, moving deeper, harder.
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As Godric thrusts into him, Dorian groans with pleasure. "I doubt I'll last longer," he points out, still looking at Godric as he talks.
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