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Armand's body is light in his arms. Coiled and weightless; a softly breathing, sleeping form. Louis' limbs are wrapped around the sweaty, exhausted form in a bridal carry.
Away from the club and the taxi, into the silence of their apartment. Louis can still feel the wetness on his lap, the stickiness inside his underwear. It should feel filthier, but he finds that it's not too bad.
He's still drunk, swaying on his feet, but he gets Armand's unconscious body into bed. Louis undresses himself first—frees himself of the shirt and suit, his pants, pulls the soiled underwear from his soft cock. Cold, dry air caresses his pink-tinged skin, the tint of bloody sweat.
He's not thinking much, not really, his head feels wonderfully light when he manages to ignore the pounding headache. In pitch blackness of the room he slips into bed next to Armand, pulls the cover over them both, and begins undressing him.
Clumsily pulls off his socks, unbuttons the shirt. Moves him to the side, Armand's back to his chest—Louis' fingers ghost along his ass on instinct, feeling the ripped fabric there. He smiles lazily, hand slipping to his stomach, and pulls his trousers off. Discards the torn underwear after, all without Armand stirring.
His exhausted, intoxicated boy. How sweet he smells, how peaceful he looks… Both completely naked, Louis pulls his body closer, nipples flush with Armand's shoulder blades.
Louis lies there for some time, breathing as his vision lightly spins. A buzz covers his entire body, hot pinpricks all over his skin. His muscles twitch and he barely notices when his fingers start fidgeting, yearning to move, and then begin moving. He's so restless, wanting still. Long digits find their place on the bone of Armand's thigh.
His nails twitch into it as visions of the hours prior flash on the inside of his eyelids. How delightful Armand's velvety insides felt around his full length… Armand's—Arun's desperate tears soaking into his collar, his cute, little mouth allowing his tongue to slip inside, the twitches and grinding of his hips… God, his companion, his… his boy, Arun, a shifted version of his ancient lover, pure, so pure…
A boiling sensation stirs in Louis' abdomen. They've had their fill of roleplaying, kink and depravity were nothing novel for the pair, but this—fuck, his sweet Arun looking to him as his father, begging to be filled with his dad's cum, it made him burn. It wasn't all that hard to make himself believe it too, see him as younger, more innocent, his boy. It would feel sick, acidic on his tongue, if he weren't starting to get hard again. If he wasn't drunk and tired, half-asleep himself.
Louis sighs softly against the back of Armand's neck. His hand moves on its own, really, he doesn't see the point in stopping its journey. It explores along Armand's spine, slides between the cleft of his ass; his fingetip ghosts over the tight asshole and lower, trembling before it finds the drenched hole.
No thoughts, only the buzzing—Armand wouldn't stop him if he was awake, he knows, Armand lets him do anything, anything, anything goes, it's all okay—and he lazily submerges one finger into his companion's cunt. There is zero resistance, of course, as it slides into the slickness of his own discharge and blood-red cum. Now disturbed, a thin stream slowly slides down Armand's thigh. Filled with it, filled with him, still dripping with his release.
"So dirty, sweetheart," he murmurs against the back of Armand's ear. Talking mostly to himself, knowing his companion can't hear. "Filthy, to let me drug you and stuff you full of my cum in public… Shit, you were so needy, baby…"
He exhales shakily, eyelids squeezed shut, thinking back to the transformation—to his sweet Arun.
"My baby," he mouths against his nape, blunt teeth scraping at the skin. His soul yearns to vibrate out of his body, muscles twitching. Arun's innocent eyes, his tears, his tongue… "You love being my son, don't you? Sweet little Arun, jumping on his dad's cock like a slut…"
His long fingers push deeper—he didn't even notice when he put a second one in, but it's there now, pumping into Armand's soiled cunt. So loose, unmoving, cold. Louis is shaking with need—feels wild, again, the depravity making him crazed.
"You think it's wrong, Armand?" A twinge of guilt in his voice, right before it melts into desperation again. "That I'd still want to fuck you if you really were my son?" Louis' hips twitch and jump in place; his full, now painfully hard cock drags across Armand's limp backside. "That I want to see you full with my children?"
Nothing but soft, steady breathing from Armand's nose. He continues for a moment but stills soon after. It's disturbing how limp his lover feels, how dead—disturbing how hot and bothered that makes him feel, hot waves of sweat rolling over Louis' whole being. Innocent in his dreaming, easy enough to pretend in the darkness—a son, smaller than his muscular, adult body, the same boy from the club, from his lap.
Louis pulls his fingers out and gently pushes at his shoulder until Armand's body flips, lying on his back now. His vision spins again, static in his cotton-filled head. He props himself up, swings his legs around the still form, straddles his hips. Louis' fingers, wet with cum dug out of Armand's pussy, swipe across his lover's mouth.
He smears the thick liquid over the plump lips, makes them moist. Pushes a finger inside and moans when it connects with a warmer tongue. His knuckle drags across the blunt teeth—he leans closer, his breath against Armand's eyelashes. With his other hand, he pries the jaw open. Looks within, looks at droplets of cum sliding further down his unconscious, loose throat.
His cock twitches against Armand's abdomen. Louis leans in, fingers digging into the jaw, and slides his tongue inside. Fuck, how delightful; he moans into the wet cavity, breathes into it. His tongue swipes the cum from the vampire's lips and snakes in further, prods at his teeth. Deeper and deeper, sucking at the limp tongue inside, gliding against his palate.
He's drooling all over his face and Armand still doesn't stir. Pulls away slightly—delighted.
"So open for daddy," he mumbles, letting saliva roll down his tongue and into Arun's open mouth. He lets his thighs relax, sits with full weight on his hips. When he leans in again, his tongue is swiping all across the boyish face—wetting his cheekbones, his eyelids, his nose, snaking into his ear, fuck, inside his ear, trying to fuck deeper into it, wishing he could taste his brain.
Arun's body twitches against him, lets out a louder gasp in his dreaming.
Louis leans back and observes the wet, relaxed face. Something more sour flashes in front of his eyes—Armand, his blank eyes, Armand in Paris, in the theatre, ghosts of their bitter past on his tongue—and he feels like throwing up, suddenly. Boiling again, in his chest this time, a grinding of his bones. Disgust and anger.
He grabs his cock and exhales through gritted teeth. Not Armand, he doesn't need to see Armand right now. Just Arun, just his little boy.
He doesn't even realize when the head of his weeping cock starts bumping against the still-slick pussy, hitting into the hardening clit. So innocent, his boy, so helpless. So beautifully limp, peaceful…
Louis' other hand wraps around the lithe throat and squeezes gently. The irritation churning in his lungs doesn't go away, it mixes with endearment, love soiled with pangs of hatred. Pure need.
His sleeping, little prince. The filthy, depraved snake, a vermin that's bitten off and swallowed chunks of his life. Devotion and the urge to deface, all mixing into impatience, the restlessness. Louis is so hot above the body, feels sweat dripping onto the chest below him.
He can't be doing this. His son needs this to happen. He shouldn't be, it's sick, so wrong, he has to, Arun deserves this, Armand deserves to be stuffed with cock in his sleep. Needs more of him. Louis will hate himself for doing this. Louis will love doing it. Arun is too small to have a voice of his own, so Louis can do anything. A caretaker, a father, he knows best, he knows… Louis will die if he doesn't bury himself inside.
So he does. His hard, throbbing cock jabs at the loose entrance of Arun's stretched cunt. Slips inside right away—fuck, it's so easy, it takes no time at all for Louis' hips to be flush with his.
Louis is heaving above him, his fingers twitching around the boy's throat. He squeezes gently, then harder. Arun's breath stops. Louis waits until he feels the flesh pull at his cock—Arun's body spasms lightly, once. Louis thinks he's going to pass out just from the sight.
With the cover thrown off them, the long slide of his dick out of the wetness is so, so loud, reverberates off the walls. He feels like choking suddenly, sentimental, and angry again the next moment. When he pushes back in, it's aggressive and too fast.
His balls loudly slam against the boy's ass. His limp thighs are spread wide, pubic hair sticking to his cunt's folds, his ribcage stilling when Louis chokes him again.
"Take it, slut," he grits out and squeezes harder. Pulls out. Smashes back in. "Take daddy's cock, sweetie." Slower for a moment, gentle and loving, then nails digging into Arun's scalp. "Fuck, you're so limp, free for dad to use, yeah? I bet your real dad fucked you at night all the time. Probably couldn't stop himself, shit—Neither can I."
He slams back into the unconscious body and groans loudly, thinking of doing this every night. Feels sick with it, sick with need.
Louis starts hammering his hips faster and faster, and it takes him a minute to notice that the boy's eyes are open and wide.
"Louis?" a weak voice asks; he's blinking, a bit confused, but not scared.
Louis slowly retreats unil the head of his cock pops out. Sees coldness in his companion's eyes—not a child in the slightest.
He smashes back in. Armand's back arches off the mattress and he tries to suppress some high-pitched sound.
"Hadn't had enough?" The next words that come out of Armand's wet lips are cold, though he's still slurring—must still be high. His amber eyes are trying so hard to be calculating.
He's not asking him to stop.
The coldness fills Louis with rage.
"Shut up, whore," he growls and pulls out, smashes back in, violent and fast. His fingers wrap into the man's hair and pull roughly, the line of his throat exposed. He whines and Louis knows what he needs. "You're my little whore, Arun, remember?"
"Hnng," Armand groans, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, a grimace spreading over his face. He wants to say something and his arms start moving, but Louis is faster.
"Your daddy is here, baby, just like you wanted. Don't you remember begging me for it?" His hips slow, cock halfway in the cunt, and Louis pushes down, pinning him down to the mattress. "Arun, my sweet little hole, don't you feel it? Don't you feel daddy's dick stretching your tiny pussy? You needed it filled, baby."
Louis leans down, starts kissing all over Arun's face, licking into his skin. Armand's eyes widen, a flash of fear now, which quickly melts into deeper confusion. He's starting to feel lost.
"I didn't…" he whispers and writhes below him.
"You're mine, darling, don't talk, shhh." His cock is twitching inside, painfully hard, and he pushes it deeper, until its head is kissing the cervix. The body under him thrashes weakly. "You're just a slut, remember, just a little whore for me. My baby boy, always mine."
Louis is licking at his face, tasting tears, but the body is not making a sound. Keeps shaking, but it's slowing down, the fight going out of him.
"Shhh, son, it's just me. I made you, made your tiny body to fit around my cock, so it belongs to me. I taught you this, did you forget? You're mine, Arun. My little cocksleeve, yeah?"
Lodged deep inside, lapping at his son's bloody tears. Arun keeps shaking his head for a while, thrashing against the adult pinning him down, but Louis breaks him down.
Weakens him. Drills into Armand's mind—you are not Armand. You are my boy, Arun. He doesn't want Armand, doesn't need him right now. He needs Arun back, needs Arun to come up to the surface gasping for air.
"I don't even have a choice, boy, you begged me for this, didn't you? Daddy has to keep his promise, Arun, I have to keep you full."
Whining, growling, threatening, spitting lies into Arun's head, stuffing his tongue down his ear. And finally, down his trembling, hot throat.
Arun is not fighting anymore. Relaxes against the weight and pressure. Louis feels him retreat, feels the innocence surface.
And then Arun is kissing him back, his baby's tongue pushing into his mouth with undeniable hunger. Shaking hands start grabbing at the dark silhouette above him, squeezing his pecks, nails dragging weakly across the stomach.
"Papa," he whines quietly when Louis finally lets him breathe. "'M sorry, dad, sorry, please…"
"What?" Louis slides out of him, sudden and cruel, leaving him empty. "Begging and apologizing again, is that all you can do?"
Arun's vision is blurry from tears, more tears, a choking sound out of his throat. His hand latches onto Louis cheek and he sneers, pulling away. Arun's heart drops in his chest—within a second, he hates himself, feels disgusting.
"No, no, p-please, daddy, I can—" He sobs, pushes his hips up into nothing. "I won't resist again, I'm sorry, I k-know I…I made you do this, I know, i-it's…"
Louis hovers above him, watching with wild fascination as the boy blindly reaches out and grabs at his huge cock with a shaking hand. Clumsily pushes his palm against the head, contorts his body so he can massage at his dad's balls. Christ, he's never seen a hotter thing in his life.
"I made you fuck me, I n-needed you, y-you're—you're just helping, daddy, I'm so sorry…"
"Yes, that's right, baby," he softens then, leans to lick more of the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "You forced daddy to do this. You made me fuck your sleeping, limp body and then you acted like I'm wrong for helping you."
Arun keeps desperately tugging at his leaking cock, its head bouncing against the boy's abdomen.
"I was stupid, I didn't—" His crying is slowly stopping, replaced by anxiety, a dread in the innocent, amber eyes. "I'm yours, dad, you don't have to ask."
"That's right, boy." Louis is buzzing, wanting to jump out of his skin with how sick this is, how fucking good it feels. He licks into his son's mouth and Arun moans around his tongue. "Give it a try again. Try to fight me."
The boy freezes, looking even more terrified. Opens his mouth to protest—he doesn't want to, he wants dad back, he's agreeing to it all, he's desperate…
"Do it, slut." A slap is delivered across the wet cheek. Louis' blown-out pupils swallow all the green from his eyes. "Beg me not to rape your needy hole and I'll show you what I'd do."
Still frozen. Arun shaking. Louis' blood is boiling; he fucks his tongue inside his throat again, laps up his saliva.
"It's like a little play, baby," his voice is soft again when he pulls back. Caresses his cheek, smiles sweetly. Rubs his cock along Arun's abdomen, then lower, ruts into his clit. "It's a lesson. I need to show you what will happen if you refuse again. So refuse."
"U-Uh. Um, d-dad—" He writhes in place, discomfort making his body tremble. His eyes frantically jump all over Louis' face, unsure if this is a trap, unsure what he needs to do, thinking, deciding. Gives in—gives it a try. "S-Stop, daddy, y-you're scaring me."
Louis' sharp fangs descend down his gums and a wild fire roars in him. He grabs Arun's jaw, pushes his face to the side, pushes it further into the pillow.
"Scaring you? How can a little fuckdoll be scared, huh? You're just my toy, baby." Rubs his cockhead against the twitching entrance. Arun is whining, breathing so fast, heart hammering against his chest. "My hole to abuse. You love it, love when I rape you, kid."
"Papa, please don't, p-please, I-I'm just—I'm too small, daddy." His spine is arching, hips twitching up into Louis. Louis dips into his mind and feels it—he is scared. He's terrified. But he also needs him, needs him so bad. "I'm your s-son, you can't—"
"I can't?" Louis slams his cock inside Arun in one rough motion. "That's what sons are for, you should know this. You're big enough, Arun, big enough to take your dad's cock."
Arun is sobbing again, with relief this time. Louis' sharp nails push into his cheek, into his neck, until blood starts pooling beneath them. "N-No, no, no, dad, please don't—" He's arching into him, Louis can feel it. Fuck, it's so sick, so good. "I don't want this, daddy, let me sleep, please…"
Louis slams into him with a loud, relieved groan.
"Then sleep, kid. Sleep on your dad's cock, you'll wake up on it too." He pushes until their hips are flush, Arun spread under him, legs limp, his stomach muscles spasming. "I know you want it. Little boy wants his poor daddy to put a kid inside him, yeah? Fuck loads of cum inside his tight womb?"
Arun is shaking his head and moaning, moaning so loud. Corners of his lips twitching up. So happy to be useful, to be used again, but still confused—happy and terrified, always.
"Aw, baby, but you don't know what you want, right?" He nods and Louis lowers himself, sucks Arun's nipple into his mouth. His fingers still pushing at the boy's face. "Daddy is telling you, though, see? You need your daddy, need his dick."
He's hammering into Arun's pussy without a care in the world now. It's rough, violent, reckless—loud squelching, moaning and whines filling the quiet, dark room. Arun's shaking hands are grabbing at Louis' head, pulling at his hair.
"Shit, a-ah-ah, baby, my baby boy, you take it so well—So good at being raped, yeah? Taking it like a champ, like a real slut, ah… I made you for this, Arun, you're perfect. You'll let papa rape you every night, yeah? You'll climb into my lap anywhere and beg me to stuff you full—Christ, you're disgusting, boy, you should be happy I'm not letting every man on the street fuck your wet hungry cunt. You'd take anyone with a cock, y-you'd even take a dog's dick, wouldn't you? F-Fuck, maybe we'll get one, get a doggy for you, let him stuff you full of puppies when I'm busy… Fuck, sweetie, squeeze harder, yes, yes, sweet boy—"
It goes on for a few minutes—forever for Arun—Louis' drunken movements stuttering at last. He's throwing his head back, staring wide-eyed at Arun's expression. He doesn't know how to read it. Terrified, loving, pleased, sad, excited, all of it at once?
Seeing it in his eyes is what makes him come.
For the second time this night, Louis thrusts sharply and buries himself as deep as he can. Arun shakes as Louis' limbs curl around him, under his back, and bring him up, closer.
"There you go, baby, take it, all yours, all yours."
Louis squeezes him so hard that he can barely breathe, pulling him so close to his chest. He's humping into Arun as he holds him above the mattress, sharp nails tearing at his back and thighs.
Once he's spent, all his cum flooding the boy's insides, he collapses. Crushes the lungs below him, cuts off the quiet sobs of happiness or fear. Closes his eyes and purrs, pats Arun's head.
"Wasn't daddy good for you?" he mumbles between the heavy breaths of his orgasm's aftershocks, soft, gentle.
"Thank you." He hears, quiet and weak. His pussy is still clenching down around his cock. "Perfect papa. Good, good, good, kind…"
Warmth spreads in Louis' chest. He rises, just a little, pulls Arun closer. Lets Arun lick at his mouth, desperate, kitten licks, before he leans over his neck.
The boy's body spasms when sharp fangs sink into his flesh. His eyes roll back in his head and he's screaming weakly as Louis drinks.
Crazed and frantic, he sips at Arun's blood, clutching him close. He's losing himself—losing the last of control of his body. Distantly, he feels his hips moving again.
Arun is nodding now, hiccupping, his thighs wrapping around Louis' back. Ankles pressing into him, pressing him closer.
His cock is soft, so, so wet, pushed inside Arun, swimming in his own cum and his boy's juices. He's thrusting and drinking—the blood makes him float, makes him dizzy, and Arun is moaning.
"Do I have your baby now, dad?" he hears next to his ear, a broken and desperate voice.
He drinks and drinks until he's rock hard again, drunk on the blood, even more delirious. Coming should've made him snap out of this, he should let go—should get Armand back out of his psyche, comfort him, talk it through.
He doesn't want Armand now, not yet. Instead, he resumes fucking into Arun, harder than previously.
"I hope so, baby," he groans once he detaches, the neck beneath his lips smeared in blood. "Your womb is so full, filled with daddy, it has to—You have to be pregnant now."
"H-h-hope so-so too," he's hiccupping out with every thrust. "S-Stay, p-papa—"
The liquids are frothing where their organs meet, cum spilling down Arun's thighs, so much of it, squeezing out next to Louis' cock. His son's body spasming around him in ecstasy—he thinks Arun is coming. Perhaps he'd come before too, maybe he never stopped. He spasms all the same.
Louis wants more of it. Thrusting into him without a break, lowers his hand, his thumb latching onto the hard clit. He massages into it until Arun is screaming.
"Good boy." He licks his neck and slams his hand over the boy's screaming, open mouth. A tongue presses to his salty palm. "Just makin' sure you're full with me. U-uh, uh, baby, you're…" The other hand pushes at Arun's stomach. "You'll carry our son, baby, and you'll feed him from your tits. And when he's big enough, you'll let him fuck you too, won't you?"
And then he's coming again.
Fucks his cum deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Arun goes limp, breathes heavily, holding onto Louis' arm as he shakes and spasms.
Louis, seeing stars, collapses on top of him.
"Love you, papa, I love you, I love you," the kid is muttering. He's licking at Lous' neck, kissing it over and over. "I love you, love your cum, thank you, thank you—A-Ah!"
He goes quiet and whimpers then. It takes Louis a moment to realize why—his body has gone slack as well, his abdomen pushing into Arun's stomach.
Louis' full bladder, neglected the entire night, gives.
His soft, spent cock twitches as he starts pissing inside his boy.
He pisses into the hot, loose cunt until cum and red fluids are spilling down their tangled thighs. Arun groans, his tummy filling with scorching liquid.
"F-Fuck, good hole, good slut, good…" Louis is whispering, delirious. "Stuff you full, kiddo, you love it, love being heavy with my piss…"
Louis keeps pumping more and more piss inside him, never pulling out, thrusting a little—it's so hot he almost thinks he'll get hard again. He imagines it, imagines doing this often. Imagines pushing Arun against the wall of a bar, or on the plane, and pissing inside that warm, perfect cunt, his own personal dump, anytime… He gasps and moans into the boy's neck. He makes plans.
For now, the stream turns into a trickle and stops at last. They're both shaking, soaked, the acidic smell of blood permeating the entire room.
"I love you too, baby," Louis whispers and kisses him deeply. "You did so well, Arun, so perfect. Let papa rape you so well, loved it so much. So perfect for me."
The sweet praises are sung for an hour longer. Humming, hugging, clinging close—Louis kisses him, caresses his exhausted body, and showers him with love. Arun did so well—and he's so, so happy.
When Arun falls unconscious, Louis knows he will fuck him again. He'll piss into his womb again and he will never pull out. He'll let the wet cunt become tight, he'll thrust his weeping cock into the pliant body, and he'll fuck his sweet, sleeping baby until the next night.
He'll fuck Armand out of this body until Arun is the only one left to cling to him.