Binding
Wounds may heal, but scars never fade. They stay there on the surface as a constant reminder of the pain and discomfort. Most people hate their scars, but Lance doesn't.
Lance loves his scars, loves that he has a reminder that he can see and touch anytime he wants to. All he has to do is touch his fingers to the symmetrical one on his neck, and he can almost feel teeth, no, fangs piercing his flesh. Sense memory is a beautiful thing indeed and Lance adores the fact that all he has to do is touch one of these things and his whole body's humming, he's hard and craving. Craving someone to drink from him, needing it as if it were the most expensive drug in the world.
But his scars aren't just a reminder; they're an invitation. Too faint for most people to notice, but a vampire can spot bite-marks a mile off.
He's heard everyone talking about the neckline of his shirts, how he may as well not be wearing one at all. And yeah, he's dressing that way because it looks good, but most importantly it's a way to tease. To show off the part of his body he most wants to. Lance isn't an idiot: he can spot a vampire anywhere and there are always plenty of them to be found in LA. It makes preening for the camera and schmoozing on the red carpet much more fun. A tilt of the head, exposing his neck as his tongue swipes slowly over his upper lip. It's more than just an invitation.
It's a dare.
A few years ago, Lance wasn't even aware there was such a thing as a demon bar and if he had been he certainly wouldn't have envisioned himself frequenting one, sitting drinking his bourbon and coke as a bunch of vampires check out his neck. But he's learned now that one can never say never; after all he couldn't have ever envisioned himself being addicted to vampire bites, either.
He laughs aloud at that, because it sounds so fucking insane he can't believe it.
As he looks up, Lance catches the eye of the only other human in the room, save the bartender. Tall guy, way tall, taller than Justin, even. Lance nods to him and the guy nods in return, slight smile curling up the corners of his mouth.
Lance watches as the guy lifts his drink to his mouth. The muscles in his throat contracting and swallowing as he puts the drink down turning towards Lance again. It's then that Lance notices the large scar above his eye.
"Is there something you wanted?"
Lance notices a trace of accent. Iowa, probably. He had a friend in high school who was born there and he's positive he's right .
"I'm sorry, I wasn't meaning to stare." He extends his hand and the stranger takes it. "I'm Lance."
"Riley. Riley Finn." He says as he looks down, avoiding Lance's eyes. "And I know who you are, Lance. I have sisters." He looks up again and smiles.
Lance grins. Riley is rather adorable. Pretty, with a killer smile. He looks like so many of the guys Lance went to school with, healthy, athletic, but there's also something underneath it that Lance can't put his finger on. Something... darker. Something hinted at by the scarring on his pretty face.
"Well, Riley Finn. Why don't you come a bit closer," Lance pats the seat next to him: "And if I'm not being too rude, can I ask how you got that scar? I have a feeling that's an interesting story."
Riley swallows and moves next to Lance, avoiding his eyes. "I have a lot of scars," he murmurs.
Lance tips his head down so Riley's forced to look at him. Pulls the collar of his shirt down a little. "We all do."
Riley exhales slowly and there's so much unguarded emotion on his open, honest face. Lance feels like he might go blind looking into eyes that emanate pain, understanding and recognition all wrapped in steel-blue.
"I..." Riley touches his fingertips to Lance's scar and Lance feels like he's on fire. Electricity coursing through his body and he can feel his blood reacting to the touch, pulsing through him, making him so hard he can barely think.
Riley takes his fingers away and pulls up the sleeve of his sweater. His arm is covered in bite-scars from elbow to wrist and Lance wants to touch them. Wants to be somewhere private so he can learn each beautiful reminder with his tongue.
"I just... When it started, I just wanted to feel something. Anything. Then I..."
"You couldn't stop."
"I didn't want to."
He pauses. "Lance, I... My car's outside."
Lance runs his thumb over Riley's lower lip. "Good."
Lance feels like he's drowning and it's so fucking intoxicating that he couldn't care less.
Every time Riley's mouth brushes over his neck, it's like Lance can feel fangs slicing into his flesh all over again, like he can feel that white-hot pain. So close to pleasure that his body doesn't recognise the difference. If he thought that it felt good when he did this to himself, that was nothing compared to how it feels having someone else touching him there. Connecting with him.
He's thrilled they managed to make it back to Riley's room without touching, because everything feels so desperate right now, so urgent. If they had touched, the two of them would've ended up in the backseat of Riley's car, rubbing against each other like fucking teenagers. It'd be over way too quickly and Lance wants more than that.
Lance pulls Riley towards the bed. He leans in, mouth on his ear, "Take off your shirt."
Riley quickly pulls off his sweater and Lance doesn't waste any time. Pushes him back on the bed and straddles his hips as he traces Riley's collarbone with his index finger.
"So perfect, Riley. So many beautiful scars."
He pins Riley's wrists over his head, and licks the scar at his jugular, traces the outline with his tongue.
Riley's skin is marked in so many places, but his skin's so fucking smooth, slick with perspiration. He tastes so. Fucking. Good. Lance understands now just what Angel meant when he told him how addicted he was to Lance's skin, because he wants to spend days just touching Riley, licking and sucking and marking him.
Riley's whimpering now, tilting his hips upward and Lance meets him halfway, his hips moving in circles, rubbing against him slow and nasty. He moves back slightly, popping open the buttons on Riley's jeans before he reaches inside. Traces the outline of Riley's cock with his index finger before pulling jeans and boxers down. Riley's cock is big like the rest of him and Lance rubs the slick head with his thumb before gripping it in a loose fist.
"Do you ever touch them when you jerk off, Riley? Rub at those lovely marks as you fuck your own hand?"
"Yes." Riley hisses as he thrusts his hips up, tries to get some friction from Lance's hand and it's so fucking hot watching someone so strong just giving it all up with no hesitation.
"Of course you do." Lance whispers, "You and me? We're the same. We both know what it feels like and nobody else could *ever* understand how good it feels, could they, Riley?"
"No. Only you." Riley rubs Lance's lower lip with his thumb and Lance licks at it, flicking his tongue over the tip before sucking it into his mouth.
Riley chuckles. "Slut."
"You don't know the half of it." Lance smirks as he moves down Riley's body, tracing down his torso with his tongue. He laps at that huge expanse of salty skin. So much of it, masses and masses and it's all his to taste.
Riley spreads his legs a little wider and that's when Lance sees it, one perfectly symmetrical outline on his inner thigh. Raised, white. So close to his cock and Lance can visualise how it must've felt, how fucking much it must've hurt. But when he runs his tongue over it, Riley looks anything but hurt. The expression on the man's face shows nothing but pure pleasure and Lance can feel that sweet roll of lust in his belly, can feel himself growing even harder.
Lance scrapes his teeth over the mark and then sucks on it, lips touching the edges of the scar perfectly as he fists Riley's cock again. Slow, long strokes and Lance can hear Riley's moans are getting louder.
He rubs the spot he's been sucking at with his thumb, not altogether gently. Lance wants to make sure Riley doesn't lose the sensation from the scar, wants to keep that current running through him. Lance sucks the head of Riley's cock into his mouth before bearing down, lips sliding down the length of it and his tongue working the underside. He can feel Riley's hands tangle in his hair and pull him back and forward, fucking his mouth and Riley doesn't last long before he's coming, gasping for air.
Long, long moments before Lance stops swallowing. He rubs at his mouth and his lips feel swollen, hot. Used.
And Christ he loves it, loves being used. Nothing compares to the sensation of someone taking him, using his body and getting such satisfaction from it. And it doesn't matter to him whether it's his mouth being fucked, or his blood being drained, just so long as it's Lance giving himself up, being someone's toy to play with because it feels so fucking good to be needed.
On his own terms though, always on his own terms.
Lance rubs at his cock with the heel of his hand; he's still wearing his boxers and he can feel the material damp against his cock. He starts to remove them before he's flipped onto his back and Riley's pulling them off, slightly tearing the cotton.
Lance laughs. "Impatient, hmmm? Didn't your mama ever teach you it's not polite to ruin a man's underwear?"
Riley has large hands and it feels like they're everywhere as he kisses Lance, sucking his tongue, licking every inch of his mouth. "My mama taught me to be patient and wait my turn. Which I have done, but now? It really is my turn, Lance."
Riley licks his fingers and trails them up and down Lance's cock, slowly. Riley's fingers are like the rest of him, patient. Riley touches Lance like there's no rush, just loads of time to do whatever he wants. Lance isn't so patient, the want's too great, and he's thrusting his hips upward, urgently, trying to gain some kind of friction. Desperate to get Riley to touch him harder, faster.
"C'mon Riley. Fucking do it. Touch me."
Lance knows he sounds desperate and he doesn't care. He's passed the line where self-control's still within his grasp and Riley nods like he understands, makes a loose fist around Lance's cock and leans in. Lance can feel Riley's breath on him, on his neck,
"Want you to do my hand, Lance· wanna see you do it."
"Yeah..." Lance starts to move his hips fluidly, making sure his cock slides in and out of Riley's fist, feeling the incredible friction. Lance knows he's not going to last long, He can still feel Riley's mouth on his neck, can feel the tug of lips against his scar, can feel the line connecting that bite and his cock, like it's some invisible thread. Pulling him. It's pure fucking lust and heat and Lance's hips are moving faster now, more desperate. He's panting, one hand grasping Riley's shoulder for leverage as he rubs absently at his chest with the other. Lance thumbs one nipple, then the next and moans, wantonly ,at the sensation as he thrusts back and forth.
He can feel his orgasm building, knows it won't be much longer and he can see from the look on Riley's face, the darkening of his eyes and the way he's chewing on his bottom lip, that he knows it too.
Lance is breathing heavily, sweat beading on his upper lip and he swipes his tongue across it. Hips still pistoning back and forth and Riley lowers his head, lowers his mouth and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Lance's stomach. Intense sensation taking over Lance's whole body . He thrusts his hips up one more time and he's coming, he can feel it through every inch of his body, every nerve ending sensitised.
Lance feels so sorry for those people who hate their scars. His may have been created by dead people, but he couldn't feel more alive.