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The boys burst through the door of the factory elevator with rancorous laughter bouncing off the walls. Unnecessary outer clothing layers already torn off as hands grasp each other in their ascent. Partaking of blood always awakens something more. Sometimes David joins his boys in their post-feeding fun.
Today he leaves them to their own devices as he seeks out a bedroom. The factory has several such functional nests for them. Not generally for sleep. They have their fun hanging from their chains. But naked acrobatics from the rafters only carry a certain amount of charm after crashing to the ground enough times. It does not dissuade his boys much though. Behind him, their clothes rain down to the ground amid groans and the scent of blood.
The crux of the problem is David did not get the blood he wanted. Yes, it was satisfying to finally get his teeth in that little gnat named Pete. Always hovering around Max like he could be the son David's father always wanted. An annoying, pointless thought.
No, the real frustration lies in he had his sights set on a far more savory meal. His hand fists at the handkerchief in his pocket. Ever since the first fragrance of Michael's blood hit him like a slap his cock has chafed against his pants. The boy is beautiful, certainly. But more importantly, he oozes the kind of pain David wants to sink his teeth into. Then patch back up into something better.
Once he finds the room with its askew sheets on a surprisingly springy bed, David already has the handkerchief pressed to his face as he gets atop the covers. Breathing deeply of that scent again. The one he keeps thinking of attached to a puppy-like eagerness and all-too soft curls. An intoxicating mix of robust life and warm days.
It is easy, imagining Michael naked and wanting beneath him. He would enjoy taking the boy apart. Slowly, he lets his fingers wander across his own body. Picturing Michael's hand ghosting over it.
He would start with pulling up that wandering hand. His lips on calloused bite-sized fingertips. Teeth pinching at skin just enough to leave a red line. No break in skin yet. He'd run his fangs down the thin skin of Michael's wrist. Feeling the boy shudder. Then, carefully, a kiss in the crook of an elbow. He can near feel it, Michael jerking up at him when his teeth breach skin. Warm and fresh, more than the pale echo of the fabric pressed to his nose. In the bed, he shifts his hand lower, unzipping his pants and kicking them off.
As he grasps himself, his mind takes him to rubbing his cock against Michael's. Once again, so warm and flush. The sweetest writhing. Maybe, Michael would call out his name as David's lips take him past arm, up shoulder, and over collarbone. As he moves their bodies together, the friction nearly as delectable as an open vein.
And there is the tinge of fear in the Michael of his dreams. A Michael who still tilts his neck like an offer. Or a challenge. He smiles as he sees himself merely grazing his teeth over ever so appealing swoop of clavicle. Or perhaps he awards them both with another nibble as the boy shivers. Sweeter closer to the pumping vessel of Michael's life.
Then he thinks again of that freshly torn earlobe. How he would drag his nail across broken skin. Sharp tips opening the tiniest tear into a wide strip. Enough for red droplets to pool off those soft little lobes into David's mouth as he sucks the delicate skin, flavor as soft as lamb's wool. He jerks into his hand at the thought.
He would sample the boy all over if he could. There are slight variations, like cuts of meat. He inhales the handkerchief again. Letting that aroma take him down Michael's chest. His tongue tracing along nipple peaked in interest. A gasp like when he pushed in the earring. He could take another sip. He holds himself back from biting into the meat of Michael's chest and sucking the squirming boy dry. No, there is so much more to explore.
The bruise, he could smell it. He does not need to read Michael's mind to detect the acrid clot of it. He saw the way the boy so carefully hovers his hand over it. Dread, shame, and bitterest honey radiating from healing flesh. He thinks Michael would hesitate in his nudity. A hand not pressed over his body in modesty. No, his priority the lurid bruising over his ribs. Lingering scars unseen and that livid mark on his side yet to fade.
Pressing Michael down and tearing him open would be the easiest thing. No, harder yet would be gently pressing a kiss to the constellation of purpling skin. He would look at Michael, ask him, if he could taste him.
A sudden inhale the answer, and Michael's head would nod. David gives himself another slow jerk as his teeth itch and he can almost scent it. If animosity had a taste this would be it, sharp and sour. He'd puncture the skin once. Twice. Each tiny prick of his teeth accompanied by that breathless gasp just like when he pressed his earring through Michael's ear. He knew then how good Michael could be.
His eyelids flutter as he thinks of fangs grazing the jut of one hip. A curse suspended on Michael's soft lips.
Between Michael's legs he'd presses his tongue up the thick vein running up the underside of Michael's cock. Taking care with his fangs, as much he wants to make a true mouthful of Michael. As simple as it would be to bite down and let his mouth fill as the screams come. But no, he will go easy, with so much meat on display he does want to miss out on all the flavors hidden away. Michael's hands in his hair he can imagine, and when he thinks of Michael's cock hitting the back of his throat he strokes himself with renewed fervor.
He smiles to himself at the thought of popping off, of Michael's head tossed back and fingers still griped in David's hair. But there is more to try. Michael's thigh tender, softly savory. Not as rich as the rest but makes up for it by virtue of the way it makes Michael gasp and pull at David's hair again.
If he leaned back. He could trace the pathway of his teeth from fingertips to thigh. Reddened marks all his in his undoing of the flush boy beneath him. Still with so much life to savor. No better vision exists then the thought of rupturing Michael's skin and smearing his blood all across his body. Then licking it clean.
Before that though, Michael's yelp of surprise on the heels of a gasp as David pushes his hips up. Fingers squeezing the fullness of Michael's ass before he runs his tongue in another looping line. Over tense balls to waiting hole. The twitch of surprise all around as he laps at the tight ring of muscles.
He knows there will be a shocked protest. Just as he knows Michael will call out, his voice lowered in need as David gently works his way in. His other hand on Michael's cock, slow and sure.
His own hand in the present, taking strokes to the imagined movements of his tongue. He salivates to think of it. Of pulling off and telling Michael he needs to invite him inside should he wish to continue.
There will be a curse, high blush of red, but Michael will grind his teeth and maybe even append a please to his request.
And how could he possibly turn that down. His cock presses to his hand, squeezing tightly as though he is pushing into Michael. He would surge over Michael. He rolls his hips into his fist as he does the same to the Michael of his mind. Followed by a collision of lips. Blood he would lap up eagerly even as he is as deep as he can go and Michael is gasping. The blood in him riotous. David would stop resisting, his teeth breaking the skin of Michael's neck at last.
Then he would return to Michael's ear. Where it all started. His tongue running over his own earring gifted to the boy. The barest hint of dried blood.
The handkerchief over his face is becoming damp with his breathing. The scent of blood blooming. He could lick it clean. But this is all he has for now. He must savor it.
The heat begins to crest beneath his touch and the thoughts of Michael below him panting, trickles of crimson from each miniature wound coalescing into the headiest aroma. Then he would lean in and ever so softly, take the boy's life into his.
But that is not quite right. He's seen the flash of something when the boy would not give his name. Even if he gave in immediately afterwards. But no, he can see it. Michael gripping David's arm in turn, tearing into it with his blunt teeth. The darkened wine of his blood flowing into the boy's waiting mouth. He'd have Michael latch onto him, pulling from him even he takes.
There it is, his eyes wide open as he comes on the thought of their mingling blood. His tongue only just brushing at dried blood. A boy made from his very self, for himself.
He breathes out as an echoing shiver of pleasure passes. Moving aside the handkerchief he thinks, maybe it was not so bad Michael had yet to be devoured. He will see if the boy wants to go on a ride, drawing out more of that spark. More entertainment than a single night of blood and sweat may exist yet. When the time is right, Michael will be a feast for him alone for all time.