osctober day thirty-one
prompt: spooky pairing: oscar/george/max/charles/carlos/lando word count: ~1550 note: set after the day 15 fic, featuring literally every character i've written about this month. i think. i'm going out with a bang or not at all. also thank you @georgiasbrainstuff for talking this over, your ideas are wonderful <33
“Lando, move over.”
“But it’s my turn with Carlos!” Lando whines, clinging to Carlos’s arm with both his own, bed empty around them both. Carlos blinks, eyes huge, and doesn’t say anything. Oscar’s nearly concerned, but he knows how it feels. Part of him misses it.
Anyway, he’s been watching. Lando hasn’t gone too far with Carlos, not yet.
George sighs. “You’ve drunk from him two days in a row, mate, give him a break. Anyway, Alex deserves a turn.”
“You’re just saying that because he’s older than you!”
George frowns heavily. “This is my coven,” he says pompously. “Just because Alex is older than me doesn’t mean he outranks me.”
“George,” Oscar interrupts, before Lando can say something to make George properly explode. He is looking a little red around the eyes. “Maybe you and Alex could see if Charles is free?”
“Charles is busy,” George snaps, and oh. Great. “Max is hogging him, yes, but he does have a claim he’s allowed to fulfill—unlike Lando.”
It’s Oscar’s turn to sigh. “I think we need more humans, mate,” he says, and finds himself pinned against a wall, George’s red, red, blue eyes burning into his own.
“And who turned the last human we acquired?” he demands. Oscar squirms, eyes darting to Lando without his permission. Fucking George and his vampire-coven-leader powers. “Who would do that, Oscar?”
The words are dragged from Oscar’s throat, heat coiling in his stomach. Fucking George and his vampire-coven-leader powers that are hot. “Me, I did.”
“And did you have my permission?”
Again, that pull. “No.” George grins, cruel, fangs flashing at Oscar’s throat. “George,” Oscar gasps out, feeling them drag, sharp, leaving a trail of open skin.
“Maybe I don’t need a new human, Oscar,” he purrs. “Maybe I should go back to my first human.”
Oscar tips his head back completely, letting George lick at the little blood his throat is giving out. “Need to fill me up first, I’m dry,” he says, as soon he can get his head to stop spinning.
George lets go suddenly, hands trailing down the sides of Oscar’s throat. “Hmm. Maybe Charles is free,” he says, licking his lips and taking a step back. His eyes stray to the bed. “Lando, off. I’m not having you drain Carlos.”
“But George,” Lando whines. George looks him over hard for a few seconds, and Lando shrinks a little but doesn’t concede, clinging tighter to Carlos.
“Oscar.” George snaps his fingers, not even looking at Oscar, and nods towards Lando.
Oscar doesn’t need to be told again, not like Max would, and he doesn’t joke about it like Alex does. He speeds straight over to Lando and tugs him away from Carlos and onto his back.
“Oscar,” Lando says, sounding put-out and maybe a little breathless, pupils blowing up huge when Oscar kneels on top of him. “Oscar, c’mon, you’re on my side.”
George clears his throat. “Oscar?”
“Yes, sire,” Oscar says, obedient, even though it’s the stupidest fucking title in the world. Sure, it’s traditional, it’s the literal technical term for what George is to Oscar, but it’s also George being a cunt.
Oscar rather likes it when George is a cunt.
“Maybe I should let you drink from Lando, since you like that so much,” George muses.
Lando freezes under Oscar, mouth open in shock, and Oscar can’t help but look at his neck, where the last marks of Oscar feeding from him have disappeared.
“No, maybe another time. Oscar, you are not to drink from Lando.” He strides over to the bed, taking his time, and picks Carlos up. “Lando, you’re done. Oscar, if you’re that desperate, you can fight Max for Charles. Carlos is mine now.”
Lando nods, somehow shocked into silence, and Oscar turns his head to grin at George. “What about Alex?”
He thinks that if George wasn’t so dry, he’d blush. “Alex is none of your business,” he snaps, sweeping out before Oscar can point out that he very much is.
“Would he actually let you drink me?” Lando breathes, still splayed out under Oscar. Oscar loves him like this, wide-eyed and a little scared, even though he’s older than Oscar as a human and even though Oscar also loves it when he gets bossy.
“Yeah, maybe.” Dry fire rushes through him at the thought. Suddenly it’s all he can think of. George said, George said he could—“Fuck, I need—”
“How long’s it been?” Lando asks idly, sitting up as Oscar stumbles off the bed and to the door.
“Since I turned you, I don’t know,” he says, nearly ready to pin Lando and drink from him right there, George or no George. “Days. Too long.”
“Starving, huh?”
Lando’s left behind, no response, when Oscar speeds off towards Charles’s room. He doesn’t bother to knock.
Charles’s blood is calling to him, exposed in the air where Max has probably been toying with him for hours. Oscar gets as close as the bed before Max rears up.
“The fuck are you doing here?” he demands, glaring up, lips and fangs stained red but eyes perfect crystal blue.
Greedy bastard, Oscar thinks, starving, and tries to dive into Charles. Max gets in between, hands rough and strong, whole body working against Oscar’s, and pins him right next to Charles.
Oscar’s weak like this, bloodless. Strong enough for Lando, far too weak to fight Max. He’s trapped.
There are worse places to be, Max’s thighs caging his ribs in, hands around Oscar’s throat and biceps bulging. Oscar could live here if he wasn’t so hungry.
“Max?” Charles slurs, and Max’s attention wavers.
“Just a minute, sweetheart,” he soothes, as if Charles is a pet rather than the only human Oscar’s known to survive more than three months in this place. Charles is terrifying.
“Max,” Oscar chokes out. “Let me go.”
“He’s mine,” Max snarls, eyes flashing. “You’re not supposed to feed anyway. Breaking the rules, Oscar?”
“George said I could.” Oscar squirms under Max, trying to fight one more time, and then he switches to begging. “Please, Max, I need it, I’m so hungry.”
Max laughs. “Yeah, you are. And George has Carlos, is that it? Didn’t want to share, even when you’ve been so good?”
“Max,” Oscar begs again, knowing Max likes it. “Please, just a taste.”
Max slams their lips together, hard enough that his fangs dig a hole in Oscar’s empty lips. Oscar tastes blood, Charles’s blood, and goes crazy.
There isn’t a drop left in Max’s mouth when Oscar lets go. Max looks dazed enough that Oscar can roll them over, newfound strength and the element of surprise enough to get Max on his back.
He laughs at Max’s surprise, pinning him down in exactly the right way to have Max limp and pliant. “That’s better,” he says, kissing Max again, quickly, before he pulls Charles closer.
He’s barely started in, lost in the way Charles tastes, the way he tangles his hands in Oscar’s hair and demands more, when Lando bursts in.
“Max, stop him,” Oscar orders, going straight back to his feed.
“Fuck no, you can do it yourself,” Max snaps, as if Oscar isn’t literally on top of him.
Oscar snaps an arm out to stop Lando from getting his teeth in. “Max,” he growls, fangs in Max’s face, a drop of Charles’s blood hitting Max’s lip.
“Fuck, okay, no need to shout,” Max says, grinning, twisting under Oscar to pull Lando onto the bed, far, far away from Charles. “What did Lando do, anyway?”
“George thinks I was hogging Carlos,” Lando says sulkily. “But I guess Oscar gets to have Charles all to himself, huh?”
“The fuck he does. Oscar knows Charles is mine, he’s just…borrowing him.”
Charles pinches Oscar, hard, and Oscar lets his head be yanked back. “Already?” he whines, disappointed, and Charles smiles sleepily up at him.
“Sorry, cheri, Max took a lot out of me. Later, yes?” He cranes his head up and Oscar kisses him happily, letting Charles lap at the traces of blood still inside his mouth. Charles is a freak, but he’s theirs, and also, as Oscar’s pointed out before, terrifying.
“Yeah,” he agrees when Charles lets him go, reaching out for the pile of sweets on the table next to them. “Chocolate or baklava?”
“Baklava,” Max says, perfectly in tune with Charles.
“Show-off,” Oscar mutters, unable to stop himself smiling, high on blood and surrounded by his coven. He just needs George and Carlos now. Maybe Alex, he’s not sure what Alex is. He should find out.
Charles’s mouth is sweet when Oscar kisses him next, somewhere in between getting pounced on by Lando and attacked by Max.
“You know, George,” Charles says, and the whole room stops to listen to him. He grins at the attention, propped up in a cloudful of pillows and being waited on hand and foot. “My brother Arthur has been asking about us. You’re looking for another human, no?”
“Well, someone turned my last human,” George starts, and Oscar sighs.
“You’ve already starved him for that,” Max grumbles. “What are you going to do, hold it against him for the rest of our lives?”
Oscar laughs. Lando laughs. Charles laughs. Max laughs. George, stubbornly, scowls.
Oscar loves these men.
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