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Scott sighs, both irritated and satisfied. Oakhurst is, as Scott knew it eventually would be, caught in the midst of havoc and chaos. The vampires have taken the majority and decided to finish off the remaining humans—kill, enthrall, or turn, Scott doesn’t care much any way you spin it—and take Oakhurst for themselves.
He hears screams and cackles, burning flames and clashing weapons, sobs of anguish and cries of bloodlust. Not far to his left, Drift—she was turned the other day, Scott isn’t sure by who, not that it matters much—wrenches a sword from Legs’ hands, tackles him, and pins him to the ground. It clearly pains her, but Scott can see the thirst wearing on her, can almost hear the way her gut roils with hunger. Legs panics, begs her to stop, tries to plead his case and his potential vampire cure, but fails to prevent her from biting into his neck, only able to helplessly squirm as she drinks desperate gulps of his blood.
Set apart from the immediate clashes and violence, Scott spots Renhardt. Perfect. He’d been hoping to talk to him while he was still human, and Scott can smell the warm iron of—mostly—human blood still coursing through his veins. They lock eyes, and Ren scowls. Scott grins in return, stepping closer.
“Hello there, Ren.” Scott’s tone is conversational, like he’d knocked on the door of Ren’s cabin instead of approaching him in the middle of a bloodbath.
“You—! You monster, you did this!” The malice and rage dripping from his voice is obvious, venomous. He sounds like he wants to rip Scott limb from bloody limb.
He probably does.
“Now, now, Ren. Don’t be so rash, I have an offer for you.”
Martyn’s shout cuts Ren’s no doubt enraged response off before it can even start. The man looks over to the faux-lordling in a panicked flash: Shelby has him pinned to the wall of a nearby house, fangs sunk deep into his neck and strong, clawed hands keeping him harshly in place. He flails, hitting their back and shoulders a few times, but he quickly grows weaker as they keep drinking.
“Shelby, dear?” Scott calls over, voice rising above the chaos. Shelby looks over, still latched to Martyn’s throat. He sees his chance, but only manages a weak kick of protest, so unlike his usual blazing fighting spirit.
“Turn him. He’s a skilled fighter, he’ll be useful for us.”
“Like hell he will!” Ren rushes over, jumping to his friend’s defense. Shelby doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even spare Ren a glance…
Because Scott’s between them in an instant—ah, having his powers back in full feels so good. He tuts disapprovingly, as if scolding a child, and gets a ravenous, angry sound from Ren that almost successfully drowns out Apo’s gagging and retching in the distance.
Ren wants to fight him, clearly wants to kill him. He’s armed with a shield, a diamond axe stained with red blood—strangely familiar, but Scott isn’t sure why—and silver armor, but none of it is holding up well by now. The only real threat is the wooden stake at his hip, but even then, Ren’s playing a losing game, far too weak, under-geared, and frenzied to be able to properly fight Scott. Ren, try as he might, can’t beat Scott on his own, no matter what silly books or blessings he may have.
“Let me make my offer before you do anything so hasty.”
“You’re gonna kill him, don’t’cha know?!” Wow, keeping to his catchphrase even now? Scott can respect the commitment.
“No, no, not kill, he’s more useful kept. As are you, Ren. I’d like to keep you.”
Ren pauses, shocked and confused by Scott’s words.
“… what?” The way his brow scrunches and furrows is so cute, it takes everything in Scott’s power to not scoop up the man right then and there.
“I won’t kill you, nor will I turn or enthrall you. All I ask for is your obedience, and I will give you everything you could ever want. Once it’s rebuilt, you’ll be given a room in my manor, and all the wood and the finest materials your little carpenter’s heart could want.”
Scott can see Ren consider, see him fight with himself: what will win, Ren’s human desire for freedom, or his equally human desire for survival and self-preservation? Will he die by Scott’s hand, or lend himself to it?
“What— What about the others? What of them?” How sweet, so concerned for his peers even when most of them are dead or turned.
“Well, there isn’t much to be done with them now, is there? Those that were turned will join me or go elsewhere and figure out what to do with their eternal life. I can’t do anything about making them human.” Scott shrugs casually—it is the truth, and Ren clearly knows it.
“… what about Martyn? And Avid?” Ren flinches when he hears Martyn groan, deep and pained. Looks like they finally got the slippery bastard.
“Turned, and Avid will most likely be enthralled. None of us want him around for eternity, but he could be of use to us. You’re the last one, Ren.”
The sinking dread obviously weighing heavy over Ren’s shoulders finally breaks. He is the last one, the last with a choice, at the very least.
“… tell me more. About your offer.” His voice shakes, exhausted and clearly beginning to give in. Scott loves it.
“Oh? Well, gladly! You’ll retain your free will and thought, you can still move independently, and I will allow and provide for any and all wants or needs you could ever have. I can even give you, in effect, non-vampiric immortality, if you’d like it. You’d never have to fight to survive, worry about a meal, or lose a loved one ever again. I’d keep you safe.” Scott speaks honestly, and he knows Ren can tell. He’s always been perceptive, he knows when to cut his loses.
… and something tells Scott that Ren likes this, likes the idea of being kept.
“What would you want from me?”
“A pet, I suppose. Someone handsome and capable always by my side, someone to warm my bed, someone with fresh, rich blood to keep me satiated. That’s all I want from you, really. Not too bad of a deal, is it?”
He sees Ren think, considering, cognitive gears moving in overdrive… but the others are closing in, Pyro soon isn’t far behind Scott, and Shelby’s peering over from where she still holds Martyn’s drained, turning body against a wall. Drift sobs against Legs’ chest as he, too, turns. A bat lands off to Scott’s far right, shifting into Owen. He stares at Ren curiously, wondering what Scott’s planning here.
If Ren doesn’t decide quick, he’s done for.
“… I accept.” The defeat hangs like a dead weight over his words, like he’s signed his death warrant.
“Lovely~! Come, come, before any of them get too bloodthirsty.” Scott steps closer, disarms Ren with ease. His axe falls so heavily, the head, already loose from wear and tear, and slips uselessly off its handle. Grass and gravel poke through the holes in Ren’s discarded shield. Silver armor only manages to lightly burn Scott’s hands before they hit the ground, some pieces simply breaking off into chunks.
Ren bows his head, silently offering his fealty. The surge of power it brings feels like it could feed Scott for an eon.
He hasn’t done this—laid a claim on a human—in over a thousand years, but he remembers it easily. Fangs sink into the side of Ren’s neck, and the man gasps with pain, hands flailing to grasp helplessly at Scott’s coat, heart jumping like he fears Scott has changed his mind and simply decided to kill him…
… but Scott doesn’t drink any of Ren’s blood. In fact, Scott allows some of his own power, his vampiric essence, to seep out of him and into Ren. It isn’t nearly enough to turn him, but it is enough to lay a claim on him, one that any vampire would sense with ease and get a very, very clear message:
This one is mine. Leave him be, or face the consequences.
Scott pulls away after a minute at most, and Ren wobbles on his feet. His breath is heavy, ragged, as if he’s just run a marathon without taking a single breath. A pleased, bone-deep sigh etches its way out of Scott’s lungs, an instinctual greed satisfied with his claim. As a small show of tenderness, Scott kisses the healing wound, grinning at Ren’s small whimper of a response.
“I’ll take care of you now, you don’t have to worry about a thing~”
Scott can hear Cleo and Pearl laugh, manic with twisted delight, together as Avid screams, and it’s the perfect background music for his little moment with Ren—the first of many.
A few years pass, and Scott is quite content with where his life is. His manor has been rebuilt and refurbished—with quite a bit of help from Ren’s expert craftsmanship, he’s proud to say—and New Oakhurst, as the others have chosen to call it, is doing quite well.
And the residents? All vampires, turned during or before the last “massacre,” if you’d like to call it that. Avid and Ren are the only remaining humans. Avid was enthralled, caught by Cleo and Pearl in the woods and brought to Scott to ensure it was done right, his paranoid ravings and fearful sniveling finally silenced by the mindlessness of the thrall. Seeing his dull, purple eyes is a bit of a shame, really, but it’s for the best.
Pyro specifically has proven a useful and effective right-hand for Scott. What he initially lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm. Even today, they still call him Sire, they still wear the clothes he borrowed from Scott’s crypt, he remains loyally at his Sire’s side. Shelby’s hardly far, either, and she’s blossomed into a wonderful vampire. She prefers to hover around stage two, still so fond of her red hair, but keeps the ferocity of stage three always at hand, just in case. Owen visits, Oakhurst was still his home, but he mostly sticks to himself.
Well, what of Ren? Ren is, as agreed to, Scott’s pet, in effect. Not a thrall, of course, he still has free will and thought—albeit a somewhat influenced free will and thought. He still has alone time separate from Scott, he can talk to people and make friends, he can continue his carpentry, all of that and more. Mostly, though, and especially when Scott has formal meetings, Ren is at his side. Or, more accurately, his feet.
Ren’s days mostly subsist of kneeling, beautiful and relaxed, at Scott’s side. Sometimes he’ll be more alert and sit upright, but usually he dozes off with his cheek or chin on Scott’s knee and one of Scott’s hands idly playing with his well-kept, long hair. It’s a huge display of power, of course, to have a kept human. The resources required to keep them well cared for and satisfied and content are nothing to scoff at. While most older vampire hierarchies have dissolved—or “gone woke,” as Pyro said, whatever the hell that means—every vampire still knows that having pet humans is one of the greatest signs of power.
And Ren is kept. He wears a collar nearly constantly. Scott had it custom-made to celebrate the first anniversary of their agreement: it’s high-quality leather stained a gorgeous dark red color with fine gold hardware, buckles to adjust and secure the collar as well as a loop at the front and the back for a matching leash, which is always on Scott’s person. Ren wasn’t happy with their agreement at first, why wouldn’t he be, but he has grown content with it over the years. After all, Scott does treat him beyond well, it makes sense that he would settle in after a while.
They’re even blood partners, as it seems younger vampires call it, meaning Scott shares small amounts of his vampiric essence—usually in the form of his blood—with Ren in order to grant the man effective immortality without fully turning him into a vampire. In turn, Ren shares his own blood with Scott to keep him fed and satiated. While kept humans of the past were often little more than slaves or conscious thralls, Scott had never found the appeal of that. Why bother keeping a human alive and well only to practically be a thrall? Why not keep them comfortable and loyal, dutiful attendants moulded to your desires and will?
Scott much prefers carding his claws ever so gently through Ren’s long hair and hearing him sigh contentedly against his knee. This is much nicer, and far less stressful for Scott. A happy human is much less likely to run away, or drive a stake through your heart in your sleep.
It’s a nice bonus that Ren, being friendly with most New Oakhurst residents and a thoroughly attractive man, easily catches peoples’ eyes. They all know he’s Scott’s, and if they want to… play with him, let’s say, they need both Ren’s consent and Scott’s permission. People having to ask Scott to allow them a date or a night with Ren brings him a similar sense of power to how he felt lording over Oakhurst 600 years ago.
Yes, this is the life he was made for. This is the life Ren was made for, beautiful, cared for; kept. No more cursed tongue, no more stress or fear, no more fighting to survive, exactly as Scott had promised.
Sex is a wonderful benefit to their relationship. It isn’t apart of their deal, nor is it forced by Scott. In fact, Ren had all but begged Scott to fuck him, and who was Scott to refuse? The sex was good, and it’s only gotten better as the two have fleshed out their dynamic and preferences.
Tonight is gearing up to be another wonderful night together. Ren and Scott have both finished bathing after a long day. Ren had been hard at work running his little carpentry business he’d started up last year—“to pass the time,” he’d told Scott. Meanwhile, the vampire had been just about neck-deep in bureaucratic nonsense, and while he enjoys politics and governance, that doesn’t make it any less—ironically—taxing. The pair return to their bed chambers, dressed only in their night clothes, both knowing they’ll be discarded soon enough.
Ren, wordlessly and knowing, moves to sit and kneel in the middle of the bed, back facing Scott. The vampire approaches him causally, plucking his collar from where it had been left when Ren went to bathe. Sharp claws graze teasingly across Ren’s skin, loosely tracing the shapes of his defined muscles as they brush across the curled hairs across his body. His long, brown-and-silver hair is collected in Scott’s hand and pulled aside, easily sending a delightful little shiver up Ren’s spine. Supple, well-worn leather wraps around Ren’s throat with familiarity, deft fingers shifting its position and fastening the buckle at the back like it’s second nature—Ren sighs, soft and content, the collar a comforting security. Scott coos and strokes his hands through Ren’s hair, still a bit damp and perfectly soft, murmuring debauched praise that makes the other man’s breath hitch, soft lips tracing the shape of his ear, sharp fangs a teasing promise of what’s to come.
They both hear the door quietly open, then close—Pyro watching them is nothing new, more of a fixture of their routine than an anomaly. Scott presses fanged kisses across Ren’s shoulders, peeling off his shirt without a care in the world, and his pants follow soon after.
Ren’s body is a work of art, beautifully muscled from years of work and labor, covered in dense, coarse hairs—Scott’s sure the man has werewolf ancestry, maybe a grandparent or great-grandparent. He trembles and eases so perfectly from Scott’s touches, trying to lean away and chase in equal measure.
One hand pushes between his shoulderblades, and Ren is soon off the bed, still on his knees, cushioned by a plush rug. Scott moves to sit on the bed in front of him, doesn’t bat an eye at Pyro’s eager gaze. He snaps his fingers like it’s second nature, gaining the other vampire’s attention as Scott’s free hand guides Ren to rest his cheek against Scott’s inner thigh.
“Pyro, be a dear and bring me my dagger, you know the one.”
“Yes, Sire.” Scott can hear the giddiness barely touching Pyro’s tone, the younger vampire still always so eager to please him.
The dagger set into his hand is familiar, Scott’s clawed fingers curling around it with ease. It’s ornate, burnished gold twisted into weaving braids of metal, holding a perfectly sharp steel blade and a flawless, polished ruby shimmering with uncountable facets in the hilt. Ren’s head is tilted up before Scott cuts a light wound across his wrist, crimson red blood weeping from it.
Ren doesn’t need to be told what to do, leaning up to gently lap at the vampiric blood before him. It stains his lips better than any rouge, and Scott knows Ren’s beautiful blue eyes are swirling with the faintest of blood reds behind his shut eyelids. His tongue traces the familiar shape of Scott’s forearm reverently, the hairs of his mustache tickling his skin.
The wound heals quickly, but it’s enough to have the desired effects. Scott taps Ren’s jaw, somewhat startling the man from his practical worship; Scott loves how, even years into their agreement, Ren can’t seem to keep himself off of the vampire’s body once he starts touching it. He presses one last kiss to where the wound has mostly stitched back together before pulling back.
The dagger is handed back to Pyro without so much as a glance thrown their way. Scott instead puts his focus to loosening the drawstring of his pants and shedding the now unnecessary garment. Ren sits obediently, shifting on his knees as he waits for instruction or guidance, his blue eyes—tinged red exactly as Scott thought they’d be—looking up at him with a familiar, needy sheen. Scott cups his jaw with a pleased smile.
“What a good puppy, waiting so patiently for me. Go on now, put those pretty lips to use.” Ren shifts forward, guided by the hand on his jaw. He presses a kiss to the top of Scott’s cock—ever the sentimental lover—before covering it in broad licks, slicking him up to make the slide easier for his mouth.
And what a mouth Ren has, perfectly moulded to Scott’s preferences. Scott remembers when the man gagged at having more than the tip in his mouth, and yet here it takes it with ease, bobbing his head to ease his way down. Another tap to his jaw tells him to hurry up, and he does, warm, callused hands moving to rest on Scott’s thighs.
Ren’s mouth is heavenly, warm and wet with a tongue Scott has trained to know every vein and sensitive spot he has. It isn’t long before Ren takes him into his throat, swallowing him down with practiced ease and not a gag in sight. Two taps to his jaw, and he stops, resting with the whole of Scott’s cock engulfed in the sinful paradise that is his wanting throat.
Pyro groans, quiet and clearly barely slipping past his restraint, somewhere in Scott’s peripheral. The senior vampire doesn’t spare his fledgeling a glance, instead causally busying himself with a hand in Ren’s hair, yanking the man’s head back and sighing pleasantly at the moan it results in. He bobs Ren’s head up and down without a care in the world, his claws and harsh grip unforgiving despite his slow pace—Scott knows Ren loves it, can see the arousal clouding his vision; can smell it in his blood; can feel it in the moans vibrating through his dick.
Scott doesn’t miss how Pyro’s breath grows heavy and wanting. He could really do to take after Scott in terms of subtly and acting, but, equally so, Scott gets off on knowing how easily Pyro’s wound up by watching Scott fuck Ren.
He catches Ren in a moan when he pulls the man fully off of his cock, savoring the beautiful sound. Ren’s lips are shiny with drool and pre-cum, his glasses somewhat askew, and eyes wet with unshed tears. His breathing his heavy as he catches his breath, but he isn’t spared much time before Scott’s fingers hook under his collar and yank, up, up, up, Scott shifting back onto the bed to pull Ren up with him.
The carpenter is laid out below him, naked and flushed so beautifully under the thick hairs covering his body—rich browns cut through by aging silver, just like his hair. Scott pulls his own shirt off impatiently, tossing it aside and leaving them both fully naked, before putting his hands on Ren’s thighs, pushing them apart. He hums, pleased and intrigued, at the sight before him.
There, of course, lays Ren’s hard, throbbing cock, desperate for attention, but below it is something more surprising: the base of a familiar glass toy of theirs nestled deep in his ass. The flat of Scott’s palm pushes, cruel and teasing, on the base to make the man whine, then his fingers curl around it and press with more intention, drawing a tight gasp and making his dick kick at the attention.
“Someone got too excited in the bath, did he?” Scott’s tone is thick with amusement, but Ren knows the tinges of cruelty brandishing the edges too well to miss them, even in his pleasure-addled state.
“Y-Yes, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir,” he moans again when Scott pulls the toy out a few inches, then pushes it back in, “I wanted— wanted to be ready for you.”
“Awe, how cute~ I didn’t even have to tell you to be such a whore for me, you just are one.” Scott presses a kiss to Ren’s chest with a smug grin, pleased even as he degrades the man.
With another snap of impatient fingers, Pyro retrieves a glass bottle of oil and, just as with the dagger, places it in their Sire’s hand. Scott pulls the dildo out, sets it aside for Pyro to deal with, and applies a fair amount of oil to his hand before setting it aside for now, retracting his claws before quickly pushing three fingers into Ren. He gasps with the stretch, but keeps his legs loose and spread and relaxes instinctively—Scott prides himself on how well-trained Ren is, perfect for his every whim or desire. The stretching is less a precaution and more of a preamble, pressing mean and harsh into Ren’s prostate and pulling at his rim when they pull out, pretty whines accompanying his torments.
After that, he uses his clean hand to pat the outside of Ren’s thigh, and the man—like a good dog—rolls and shifts himself to be up on his hands and knees, though soon shifts onto his elbows to ease the strain; he may be Scott’s blood partner, but he’s still physically middle aged. All the while, Scott slicks himself up with a mix of more oil and Ren’s saliva, then gestures for Pyro to do away with that, too—and Pyro does, obedient and eager to please as ever.
Scott’s claws dig meanly into Ren’s hips, just barely not enough to draw blood, as he moves to line himself up. Ren chokes on some sort of sound as Scott pushes in with a snap of his hips, the man’s characteristic sadism and cruelty finally surfacing. They both know Ren’s in no position to complain, though, already loosing loud, desperate moans as Scott takes up a quick, relentless pace.
Scott leans down to press biting kissing along Ren’s back, droplets of his rich, flavorful blood lighting up Scott’s tastebuds with every one. Ren’s moans and the sounds of their skin meeting over and over echo in Scott’s ears as he tastes his lover’s blood.
It isn’t long before Ren’s arms give out on him, and while the arch of his back is gorgeous, Scott is far from doing being mean to him. He moves a hand from Ren’s hip to his collar, biting harshly into the meat of his shoulderblade as he pulls him back up, earning a high whine and breathless moans.
“You gotta stay up, puppy~ don’t fall again, or I’ll make this much more painful for you.” Scott’s cruel words are spoken into Ren’s ear, a far cry from the softness he’d shown him earlier.
“Yes— Yes, Sir, sor—“ Ren gasps from a harsh thrust straight to his prostate, but recuperates quite smoothly, “Sorry, Sir!”
“Good puppy, very good,” Scott helps pull Ren back onto his shaking elbows, but the man does put a good effort into staying upright.
When Scott leans back, admiring the flexing of Ren’s muscles and the blood slowly weeping from his wounds, he hears the sound of shifting fabric off to the side. He catches Pyro with their pants partly pulled down and his hand around his dick, stroking themself at a nearly feverish pace—now that won’t do.
“Who said you could touch yourself, Pyro?” The Charm forces Pyro to stop moving, whether they like it or not.
“I’m— I’m sorry, Sire, I just— I—“
“Tsk-tsk-tsk, you know the rules, Pyro, you can’t cum until I let you.” He whines with the force of the Charm, but nods through it. Scott is quick to turn his attention back to Ren, the man still moaning and trembling as Scott fucks him.
He knows they’re both getting close, but Scott doesn’t want to give Pyro the relief of a short punishment, and slows his pace. Ren makes a confused noise, but is quieted by Scott leaning down to kiss him, grinding slow and deep all the while. The kiss is sloppier than Scott would otherwise like, but he doesn’t mind getting to leave a few nicks and cuts along Ren’s tongue and lips, so it evens out.
He pulls on Ren’s collar some more, feels the man squeeze around him and hears him moan through—and from—the restriction. Scott’s giggle is mean, even as he presses more kisses along the edge of Ren’s collar.
More of those pretty whines echo through the room as Scott’s claws scratch Ren’s skin, leaving angry marks over his back and thighs. They twist into open moans as Scott leans back and resumes his quick, grueling pace, his growing impatience and need to cum overriding his want to torture Pyro with a delayed orgasm.
One last snap of his fingers is their signal for the Charm to drop, and Pyro just about doubles over with the force of his orgasm. Scott snickers, the satisfaction sending him over the edge with a groan, and Ren follows soon after, the feeling of Scott’s cum and another pull on his collar making him cum untouched and with the most beautiful moan.
The silence that follows is accompanied only by heavy breathing. The first to move is, unsurprisingly, Scott, rolling him and Ren to lay on their sides, dick still inside his lover. He nuzzles his cheek against the red leather and warm skin of Ren’s neck, and the man leans back into him with familiar ease.
Scott hears Pyro shuffle around, putting this away and going to grab towels to clean up, but keeps his eyes closed to bask in the afterglow. Ren doesn’t complain about some cuddles from his vampiric partner, simply soaking in the affections.
Eventually, Scott opens his eyes, pulls out, and sits up to retrieve a washcloth from Pyro. He gestures for them to lean down, which they do, and he grants him a small reward: a kiss to the lips. Pyro melts in an instant, leaning in eagerly, but the kiss only lasts a few seconds before they’re shooed off. It doesn’t matter though, Pyro’s visibly giddy as they prance off to the bathroom and Scott turns back to Ren, cleaning him up.
Scott may be a cruel lover, but he doesn’t skimp out on aftercare—honestly, he loves getting to make his partner squirm with overstimulation as he cleans them up; loves to press into still-blooming bruises; loves to lick up any remnants of their blood. Ren supplies all of that in droves, making the loveliest little noises from the slightest brush of the damp cloth against his skin, accepts Scott’s rewarding kisses just as eagerly as Pyro had.
The cloth is discarded once Ren is sufficiently clean, and Scott soon has him under the luxurious blankets of his bed; traditionally, vampires sleep in coffins, and Scott does have one, but Ren made this bed and gifted it to Scott for their second anniversary, and sue him, Scott’s sentimental sometimes and knows how to appreciate good craftsmanship.
The room goes dark—Pyro pulled the canopies closed, just as Scott likes—and a quick, giddy kiss is pressed to Scott’s cheek just before Pyro leaves. Scott will allow it, he’s far too comfortable and tired to care anyways, and he and Ren are soon asleep in the bed Ren made them.