A snippet from another work in progress from a fic prompt. Vampire Jamie/Vampire Malcolm/You was the prompt. The snippet is smutty, but not explicit. Yet :p
(Work in progress below text cut)
**
“How about a wee sip before bed?” Jamie's voice followed his arm as it snaked up and around your waist. “Just a taste. A bite.” He was being honest about it only being a bite – you'd fed Malcolm properly this morning and didn't have the strength to fully feed two vampires in one day. Both were old enough to not require daily feedings thankfully.
You leaned back into his touch and felt his tongue touch your neck when a blast of air heralded the inhumanly fast arrival of Malcolm. “If he's getting' a fucking taste, then I want one too.”
They could have started fighting at that point, but it was late and you knew what a “small taste” meant to these two vampires: Sex. The taste of your blood while you were aroused would send the vampire who was drinking into a state of painful arousal themselves, a state that would then lead on to some of the most intense sex you'd ever experienced.
An old memory of a night came to mind; Malcolm had tasted you, turned away and shared a savage kiss with Jamie – sharing your blood with him – and then the two of them had fallen onto the bed next to you and coupled violently. Moaning and screaming and gasping, the two vampires shook the bed almost to breaking point and you hadn't been able to stop the low moan that escaped you when they howled through their orgasms. It had been feral, inhuman, and so erotic to see that you were painfully wet and throbbing when both turned to see you.
A few minutes later you'd been lying in Malcolm's arms while Jamie used his tongue and fingers to bring you to a shuddering climax.
Tonight though, Malcolm seemed to have a slightly different idea.
“Love”, he said, leaning in as if to kiss you. “Lie down.”
Drabble: Fangs versus claws (Vampire!Malcolm and Werewolf!Jamie)
((Sidenote - thank you for the many many birthday messages! I love you all and would bring you all home for hugs and tea))
Anyway, I wrote a thing. It's a little bit of Vampire!Malcolm getting a bit irate at Werewolf!Jamie and Jamie just not giving a fuck.....
Malcolm didn’t care. When he was angry, he shouted. The sky is blue, the sun is yellow and Malcolm F Tucker will drown out fucking road drills when he’s annoyed.
(Will probably flesh it out later to include smuttage somewhere..)
**
“JAMIE FEARDORCHA MACDONALD GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE IN HERE!” Malcolm was pissed, which the voice alone should have given away, but using Jamie's full given name was a clarion call to the rest of Number 10 to clear the decks. Now.
Malcolm, a vampire of maybe 8 years, regretted a few things - being fucking turned by that baldy scrote Nicholson being top of the list, not leaving Glasgow sooner, taking LSD that time in a disgusting bedsit and waking up in Parliament Square sans knickers – but coming in a close forth was getting involved in the affairs of a flea-ridden black-furred werewolf who just happened to answer to the name currently being bellowed at full volume. Technically, he didn't need to shout. Werewolf hearing was the equal of vampiric and Jamie probably could have heard him three streets away if he could be bothered.
Malcolm didn't care. When he was angry, he shouted. The sky is blue, the sun is yellow and Malcolm F Tucker will drown out fucking road drills when he's annoyed.
**
Jamie sauntered into the general area of Malcolm's office a few minutes later and stopped to carry on his continuing campaign of trying to chat Sam up like the walls weren't shaking with the vocal fury of his boss. He judged he had a few minutes before the auld bloodsucker went completely Wrath of Khan, plenty of time to smile winningly at the wee lass and ask her out fer dinner. Again.
One day he'd succeed. She'd no' told him tae fuck off and did smile with glittering eyes at him when he went past her desk. Also, how many women could stand working fer Malc? He wondered if she'd like a run over the Highlands sometime-
“JAMIE!” the office door banged against the wall as Malcolm flung it out of his way. “I don't fucking pay ye tae ogle the staff, fact I don't know why I pay ye at all!” Jamie's reflexes managed to duck the grab Malcolm made for his neck but missed the one he aimed at his arm. “INSIDE. NOW” Malcolm actually started to drag him toward his office and Jamie grinned back at Sam and gave her a small wave. “Be out in a moment pet, then we'll go fer a drink yeah?” he said in a calm and happy voice like his skin wasn't being wrenched away from his body by an irate vampire. “The auld fuck'll pay”
Jamie was flung into the office and Malcolm slammed the door shut behind them. “Buy ye own fucking drinks ye freeloader” Malcolm snarled and turned Jamie to face him. “Mind tellin' me what the hell ye've been up tae? I TOLD ye never tae hunt in London”
(Vampire Malcolm in women's underwear? You got it)
It was hardly the strangest thing he'd ever had to do in his career. Back in 1986 he'd had to shave his hair off and don a rancid bleached denim jacket to get a snippet of information regarding one MP's racist tones. Or dressing in flamboyant colours and getting a convincing wig to disguise himself enough to sit in a noted gay bar and take notes on a conversation between a certain female PM and a 'friend'.
So this wasn't even up there in the top 5.
Malcolm had made damn sure though that Jamie was far enough away that the werewolf wouldn't sniff him out this night; he'd never live - undead pun there - it down. A vampire fledgling in stockings, suspenders and a rather fetching black corset number would keep the fucking mutt laughing for weeks.
Still, in private, Malcolm could admit that the clothes weren't uncomfortable, at least. The sheer silken fabric of the stockings against his legs, the cool black satin of his underwear, and the expensive silk lining on the corset felt sinfully decadent and he couldn't resist standing in front of his wardrobe mirror and posing a little bit. Fangs out and eyes glowing, he looked like the kinkiest vision of Satan you could think of.
Malcolm sat and fastened a pair of frankly lethal black stilleto heels onto his feet and stood back up, wobbling for a second before adapting to the change in his centre of gravity. Hmm, not bad, although he did take a walk around the house to get the hang of it.
This was going to be it though, he vowed, the last ever Rocky Horror party he ever goes to.
(something I found on the hard drive - I'll write some more on it when the muse gets back from vacation. Needs more smut)
The Sire-Childe relationship between a maker and his, or her, progeny can be one of the most rewarding experience in the eras that immortality carries. A companion at your side to be a constant in this ever-changing world can assist in avoiding the end that so many elders choose, that of the ritual suicide. Sex, power, status, all are affected by your choice of fledgling so do consider carefully if you wish this person joined to you for the next few hundred years.
Vampire Society and Etiquette. Lord Julius Nicholson, Master Vampire. (Circulated in vampire society only. Not available via general press)
In the 500 or so years that Julius had walked the earth, he'd created a number of vampiric offspring. Expected behaviour when one attains Master status, it ensured continuity of the most powerful blood among the clans and for the most part he felt he'd chosen rightly.
Beautiful Alexandria, clever Victoria, the otherworldly looks of Robert, the grace and charm of Peter – treasured offspring who still walked the earth hundreds of years later. Even the creation of Nick he didn't regret. Nick, the handsome, tortured artist who had barely been with them for 20 years before he ended his existence, a decision that still caused Julius pain.
Losing a childe was never easy.
There didn't seem to be any danger of his newest fledgling following that path. 5 years in the undead realm and Malcolm was as fiery as ever. Malcolm Tucker, created as an accident after being drained too far by Julius in a frenzied feeding fit. Malcolm the undefeated who would not bow to any man, let alone his own Master, and caused said Master no end of trouble. Malcolm who wouldn't obey any damn rule.
Malcolm, who made Julius feel alive.
***
Julius had sent out a call to his offspring, a telepathic compulsion into their heads to come and see their Master. Vampires did not celebrate birthdays or anniversaries as a habit (although some of the younger ones were starting to throw 'death day' parties) but when one reaches a certain age or status among the undead it was acceptable to have a small celebration. Last week Julius had received the news that, as the most senior vampire in the south, he was to be elevated to rank of Head of the Council of Vampires.
No small reward that. He would effectively be ruler of every vampire in England, whether or not he'd actually sired them. The position had previously been held by Abraham, a much older vampire from the 1200's, but he'd stepped down only last month and walked into the flames. Another Elder lost.
Julius' estate staff had worked through the night to prepare the immense country house for visitors. Rooms with fresh linen, additional accommodation for any partners or fledglings of Julius' own childer, food for the humans and a selection of willing and clean human donors for the vampires. A civilised and quiet celebration and a reunion for all of Julius' clan.
As the sun fell and his offspring began to arrive; Julius looked around for the youngest of his fledglings. Malcolm had never met any of his brothers or sisters in the blood, never shown any interest in them in fact, but Julius held a hope that the presence of so many older vampires may have a stabilising effect on his wayward youngest.
Not much hope if he was honest. The last time Malcolm had come to the estate it had resulted in several broken chairs, holes in the walls, broken doors, smashed cupboards and – Julius shifted slightly in his chair – the most energetic and savage sexual experience he'd ever had.
Malcolm, when angry, was a sexual dynamo - providing you did not mind a few bruises, lacerations and the destruction of any furniture in the vicinity. It would always begin with Malcolm attempting (for the nth time) to rip Julius' jugular out of his neck for some insult or another and then segue into a bodily fight where anger swiftly turned to passion. Clothes would be ripped, Malcolm's neck bitten, hands going into trousers and eventually Julius would assert his authority and have Malcolm kneeling on the floor. Perfect position for either oral gratification (swearing was not the only good thing Malcolm could do with that mouth of his) or for kicking him back and pinning him down on the carpet for some good old-fashioned buggery.
Julius never let Malcolm go on top, he was fledgling and in no way equal to a Master – something the rest of Julius' offspring accepted.
Malcolm never had and never will. Vampires are not prone to having premonition among their talents but Julius felt uneasily like tonight he was going to lose to the silver-haired Glaswegian.
*
The Vampire Director of Communications strode up the driveway of Julius' ancestral estate and snarled, spitting out profanities and loudly promising grievous bodily harm against the fuckwit who had dragged him halfway across England for a poncy tea party. Malcolm fucking loathed all this vampire 'tradition' nonsense; they were predators, designed to feed off humans, not have cucumber fucking sandwiches with them.
His mind shifted to work, he still had a shit-ton of jobs to do to keep a few more stories out of the press and to leak some that he found acceptable in return. He'd asked Sam to 'just keep things ticking over' while he went to Julius' tonight but he did worry about the wee thing. Julius had included his invite to Malcolm's PA as well as to the man himself but Satan would be doing the fucking luge before he dragged her into this shit.
A greeting, a fucking fight and a swift exit back to work. That's all, Malcolm told himself, just go in, lamp the fuckers and go back to Sam.
*
The ancient wood floors creaked as Julius' guests arrived and were divested of their coats by David, Julius' faithful and non-vampiric butler. Judging by the noise, several of them had brought along fledglings or donor partners of their own – although Julius had secured a number of willing donors for the night it was nice to have backups.
I wonder if Malcolm will bring Sam along.. he thought briefly. The scene of the last fight he'd had with Malcolm flashed up in memory; chairs destroyed, windows smashed and a 17th century desk reduced to dust just because Julius had tried to talk to Malcolm about his young PA. No, whatever the hell his fledgling was up to with the young lady would go undiscovered for now. Julius wanted a quiet evening, not the destruction of half his property.
David interrupted his reverie by opening the great wooden doors into the drawing room and motioning the visitors in. All as beautiful as he remembered, beloved offspring, ageless, familiar. They each came up in turn according to age (eldest first, as it proper) and made obeisance to the one who had made them.
“Sire”
“Ahh good evening Victoria, I trust the journey from Kiev was pleasant?”
“Of course, and congratulations Sire”
“Good evening Sire”
“Alexandria. How are the wilds of Canada suiting you after Alaska?”
“Far greater. Would you care for a visit sometime?”
“It would be my pleasure”
“Sire”
“Oh Peter, I am so glad you could make it”
“Would not have missed this for the neck of an untouched virgin, Sire”
“Sire”
“Robert, you look radiant”
“Amazing country Japan. So many new flavours. Will you be visiting in your new role?”
“We'll see, but it is lovely to see you all after so long” He was just finishing greeting Robert when a loud crash echoed from the hall and his youngest blew into the room in a flash of anger-fuelled grey menace.
“Where is that fucking BALD CUNT?”
“Ahh good evening Malcolm”
He'd barely got the greeting out before the Director of Communications had his slender fingers round Julius' throat and his mad grey eyes an inch from his face. “Don't ye FUCKING 'Good evening' me you fucking poofter. I had work to do, actual fucking WORK and I didn't need tae be dragged out here to play cunting happy families with a bunch of rich tossers I don't give a fuck about” Julius could see his other fledglings moving in to try and restrain Malcolm but he waved them away. Malcolm noticed the action and snarled over his shoulder: “you inbred fucks try to take me on and I'll give the entire fucking bunch of you a holy water enema before encasing ye in concrete and lobbing you in the Thames.”
Julius firmly removed the fingers digging into his skin and ran a thumb across the palm of Malcolm's hand. “So violent, even before you were turned. Have the years not calmed you beloved?” he raised the hand up to Malcolm's neck and stroked there, noting with satisfaction his fledgling's eyes dilate and breathing hitch.
Not that this would stall Malcolm at all. “If ye call me fucking 'beloved' again I'm going tae ram a wooden spike into your prostate” he swatted Julius' hand away and stepped back.
“Do try to behave Malcolm, I do not often make these summons and certainly not to all of you” Julius' eyes started to glow amber as he stared down at his youngest. “I'm Head of the Council now, supreme over the vampires of the British Isles and by God I will be having some respect from an uneducated pleb from the slums of Glasgow”
Malcolm just sneered “Bite me ye short-fanged cunt” and Julius leapt, slamming Malcolm against the wall and sinking his fangs into his neck in a split second. Malcolm tasted of wild ancient highlands and stone walls, eternal and capable of holding out all attackers, a taste so delicious that the first time Julius tasted it he'd nearly killed Malcolm by draining him dry. He was not going to make that mistake again and stepped back after only a few hard swallows.
“Now we've all been introduced, I believe dinner is ready if you all would care to follow me?” Julius wiped the last traces of Malcolm's blood off his lips and walked out of the room. It would have taken the eyes of an eagle to see both men sporting considerable erections for a while there.
Malcolm wiped his neck off, the holes already closing, and ground his teeth. Fine, that's the way ye want to play it? He settled his suit back into shape and followed the rest of them down the hall. Then, Sire, I will have ye on the fucking floor beggin' for me before this night is out. I am no fucker's pet dog.
More Vampire Julius/Vampire Malcolm Sire/Childe drabble:
The Sire-Childe relationship between a maker and his, or her, progeny can be one of the most rewarding experience in the eras that immortality carries. A companion at your side to be a constant in this ever-changing world can assist in avoiding the end that so many elders choose, that of the ritual suicide. Sex, power, status, all are affected by your choice of fledgling so do consider carefully if you wish this person joined to you for the next few hundred years.
Vampire Society and Etiquette. Lord Julius Nicholson, Master Vampire. (Circulated in vampire society only. Not available via general press)
In the 500 or so years that Julius had walked the earth, he'd created a number of vampiric offspring. Expected behaviour when one attains Master status, it ensured continuity of the most powerful blood among the clans and for the most part he felt he'd chosen rightly.
Beautiful Alexandria, clever Victoria, the otherworldly looks of Robert, the grace and charm of Peter – treasured offspring who still walked the earth hundreds of years later. Even the creation of Nick he didn't regret. Nick, the handsome, tortured artist who had barely been with them for 20 years before he ended his existence, a decision that still caused Julius pain.
Losing a childe was never easy.
There didn't seem to be any danger of his newest fledgling following that path. 5 years in the undead realm and Malcolm was as fiery as ever. Malcolm Tucker, created as an accident after being drained too far by Julius in a frenzied feeding fit. Malcolm the undefeated who would not bow to any man, let alone his own Master, and caused said Master no end of trouble. Malcolm who wouldn't obey any damn rule.
Malcolm, who made Julius feel alive.
***
Julius had sent out a call to his offspring, a telepathic compulsion into their heads to come and see their Master. Vampires did not celebrate birthdays or anniversaries as a habit (although some of the younger ones were starting to throw 'death day' parties) but when one reaches a certain age or status among the undead it was acceptable to have a small celebration. Last week Julius had received the news that, as the most senior vampire in the south, he was to be elevated to rank of Head of the Council of Vampires.
No small reward that. He would effectively be ruler of every vampire in England, whether or not he'd actually sired them. The position had previously been held by Abraham, a much older vampire from the 1200's, but he'd stepped down only last month and walked into the flames. Another Elder lost.
Julius' estate staff had worked through the night to prepare the immense country house for visitors. Rooms with fresh linen, additional accommodation for any partners or fledglings of Julius' own childer, food for the humans and a selection of willing and clean human donors for the vampires. A civilised and quiet celebration and a reunion for all of Julius' clan.
As the sun fell and his offspring began to arrive; Julius looked around for the youngest of his fledglings. Malcolm had never met any of his brothers or sisters in the blood, never shown any interest in them in fact, but Julius held a hope that the presence of so many older vampires may have a stabilising effect on his wayward youngest.
Not much hope if he was honest. The last time Malcolm had come to the estate it had resulted in several broken chairs, holes in the walls, broken doors, smashed cupboards and – Julius shifted slightly in his chair – the most energetic and savage sexual experience he'd ever had.
Malcolm, when angry, was a sexual dynamo - providing you did not mind a few bruises, lacerations and the destruction of any furniture in the vicinity. It would always begin with Malcolm attempting (for the nth time) to rip Julius' jugular out of his neck for some insult or another and then segue into a bodily fight where anger swiftly turned to passion. Clothes would be ripped, Malcolm's neck bitten, hands going into trousers and eventually Julius would assert his authority and have Malcolm kneeling on the floor. Perfect position for either oral gratification (swearing was not the only good thing Malcolm could do with that mouth of his) or for kicking him back and pinning him down on the carpet for some good old-fashioned buggery.
Julius never let Malcolm go on top, he was fledgling and in no way equal to a Master – something the rest of Julius' offspring accepted.
Malcolm never had and never will. Vampires are not prone to having premonition among their talents but Julius felt uneasily like tonight he was going to lose to the silver-haired Glasweigan.
