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KINKTOBER SPECIAL - Masterlist
— Booked out, Service still on the house | Bloodplay/Blood Drinking & Frotting
Fandom — Deadlock (VALVE) Pairing — Driftdoor Summery — The Drifter ends up in the Baroness, injured and famished, and Doorman suddenly has an idea. Content Warnings — blood drinking, frotting, violence Word Count — 1005
When he had first came to this world he had thought that the beings in it were such simple minded things. They surprised him, they amused him, but none had ever made him feel so warm in his torso like the Drifter did. Being a being that was able to sense and hear thoughts of those below him, the Doorman had still just barely been able to dodge the vampire’s lunge, the luggage cart he had been pushing spilling out onto the floor of the Baroness. He had organised them so well, making sure he wouldn’t need to sort through the luggage as he delivered it to rooms while the guests were away.
Spotting the open window at the end of the hall, the Doorman held a hand behind himself, feeling the weight of his keys fall into his hand from the pocket dimension he ruled.
“Check in is at the front desk, Drifter.”
Check-in had been closed for a few hours now. At max capacity and unable to take any more guests, the Drifter still would have been turned away, given his state of dress and the funds the Doorman was sure he didn’t have. As he went to pull out his gun, the Drifter stumbled from where he had been standing after his pounce, bracing one of his hands against the wall closest to him, the decorative table toppling as the vampire attempted to put his weight onto it with his other.
This… wasn’t normal. He knew of the Drifter’s hunt, of the stories that had wafted within the city’s jungle of concrete and brick as well as his own witnessed events, but as the Drifter lunged again, the Doorman noted that while he was faster than a human, there was something so incredibly slow about him. All it took was an inhale, a reflex that he didn’t need to perform normally, to smell the sharp iron smell of iron in the air, tripping the Drifter and watching as he flopped face down. The Doorman was quick, nudging the vampire to his back before stepping on his neck, applying enough pressure to keep him subdued under his foot as he examined his torso.
“Seems like you were almost caught tonight.” And it seemed like they had kept him moving for a while now. The injuries had been clotted but had reopened, some of the carpet fibres sticking out where they stuck to the flesh that had been carved open. It would be lethal to humans, for Drifter, it would slow him down first then maybe kill him.
The Drifter must be famished, snapping like a wolf that had watched the rest of the pack eat and yet was spared not even a scrap, his hands digging into the Doorman’s leg, ripping through the mortal flesh he had conjured for himself. Doorman ensured that he let some of his power seep through as the Drifter struggled.
If anything, Doorman was more annoyed he would have to repair his pants, though an idea striked, staring down at the Drifter... what if...
His buttons popped easily, Doorman shrugging his shirt off his shoulders to pool on the ground behind him, leaving his upper half completely bare, flesh and blood and skin that were flawless in design. “You’re lucky I find you oh so entertaining.” He could crush him, he could turn the vampire into fine mist if he wanted to, but he needed something to observe in New York besides humans, and he wanted a bit more... hands on with how he fed.
The Drifter sprung as soon as Doorman’s foot released the man from his hold. The Doorman didn’t even register the pain that came with the digging of claws into his arms, nor did he scream when fangs pierced the vessel’s neck, all he felt was the sweet symphony and warmth that spread through his body at the agony. He closed his eyes as the Drifter took his fill, resting his hands on the hips of the dark-haired horror as he brought their hips together, eyebrows knitting as he felt the bulge of the Drifter press against his own.
The Drifter’s thoughts were nothing beyond snarling, but as the vampire, lost in his blood-lusted haze gyrated his hips against the Doorman, the redhead smiled, running his fingers in the oily mess. If this is what other gods felt when they had followers, then Doorman understood their gluttony to their people, the attention that one brought to him was enough to make him feel high.
The Drifter eventually detached from the Doorman’s neck, though he didn’t pull away, instead he pulled the Doorman’s mortal vessel closer, grunting and panting as he thrusted against his food, blood smearing on the wall behind the Doorman’s body. “Fuckin’…” The first word the Drifter had said since he had snuck in via the window, one of his hands leaving the Doorman’s waist to lean against the wall, nails tearing at the wallpaper. “More.”
He had always wondered what would happen should a vampire taste the blood of a god, tilting his neck to allow the vampire room to take more.
Doorman felt so hot and yet his body shivered as Drifter bit him again, slurping and chugging on his blood that felt endless.
Was this euphoria?
Was it euphoria at the warmth that he felt spill into his underwear, the grunts that came with the Drifter’s final thrusts, claws digging into his arm until he felt them hit bone before he finally detached, eyes dazed and yet focused completely on him as the Drifter licked his teeth. “Thanks.”
The Doorman watched the blur leave through the open window, leaning against the wall as to steady his shaking body, though as he looked down at his pants, he noted the white smear on his front. In a blink and the hallway was how it was before, the Doorman’s body stitching itself back together, the shirt on the ground disappearing before reappearing on his body.
He needed to deliver the bags.
