A glass next to a decanter of amber liquor waits on the bar in front of Ryan. Watching the boy, Zan descends from the balcony. Ryan's eyes are lowered, his face rouging at whatever outrageousness Duncan is husking at him. Zan could focus his senses and listen in, but all he can hear is Selda's voice. If she is to be believed, behind that innocently flaming face lurks damnation. 

 

Now that he doesn't have to say it to her face, he can admit she has a point. Gentle souls often turn the fiercest when they rise again. It's an old superstition of their kind. Zan had even heard rumors of Old Masters who, in ancient times, had exclusively chosen the weakest humans to become the strongest monsters.

 

The thought is somewhat arousing. Almost without trying Zan can picture Ryan covered in blood, peeking up from beneath his shaggy saffron with those bashful, eager eyes.

 

A surge of want stops Zan cold. The Seeking is cresting again. He needs to take the boy, and his blood, soon. All else must wait. Ryan might live forever, or be cut short even by human standards, but that decision will come after the boy's purpose has been served.

 

Duncan, who has changed into a casual-for-him silk blouse and black miniskirt, notices Zan's approach. He reaches behind the bar and pulls out Zan's long-nosed mask.

 

"Here, maestro," he rasps.

 

"Thank you, Duncan," Zan replies, but his eyes are still on Ryan.  

 

Relieved, the boy beams up at him. 

 

"Here, master," Ryan says, offering the glass. "I told Duncan exactly what you said."

 

"It's for you," Zan says, Selda's words quieting as he watches the boy.

 

"Me?" Blond brows rise above the gold mask in surprise.

 

"I will drink it from your blood," Zan says.

 

Ryan doesn't say anything to that, eyes on his master as he takes a drink. Despite himself, Zan laughs at the face Ryan makes.

 

"I have to drink this whole thing, master?" The boy is still grimacing.

 

"Yes, pet." Zan pats his cheek. "Be a good boy for me."

 

Taking and releasing a deep breath, as if steeling himself for battle, Ryan raises it to his lips and downs about half of it in one swallow. He chokes and sputters, but manages to keep it down.

 

"What is this?" 

 

"Mostly whiskey."

 

"Eww," Ryan says. He quickly adds, "I mean—thank you, master."

 

"You're welcome, pet," Zan drawls. "Now the rest."

 

The front doors open, unusually loud in the empty club, but it's just Geoffrey and Robert coming inside. 

 

"The last have finally cleared out, boss," Geoffrey says. 

 

Zan nods, but turns to Robert. "How was your first night on the door, Robert?"

 

"Just fine, sir," Robert replies. "Easiest guard duty I've ever had."

 

"Pleased to hear it," Zan says. "You do remember to head to the White Room once you've changed, yes?"

 

Robert nods. "Yes, sir."

 

"No hurry," Zan says, flicking his eyes back to his boy. "I'll be a moment."

 

The doormen know a dismissal when they hear one and shuffle off. 

 

"There!" Ryan plops the drained glass back on the table. 

 

"Good pet," Zan says, taking the boy's hand. "Now come with me."

 

Following his master's lead, Ryan gets up from the stool and promptly stumbles right into Zan's arms.

 

"Oops!" Ryan laughs. "I'm a little dizzy."

 

Zan shakes his head. "Already, pet?"

 

"Hmm." Ryan leans in to rest his forehead on top of Zan's shoulders. "I'm a lightweight, I guess. Sorry, master."

 

"No reason to apologize, but don't fall asleep yet." He tips his head to gust his cold breath against the scar of his teeth on the boy's neck. "I need another taste before we inspect the troops."

 

Ryan shivers. "Please, master. Will you bite me again?"

 

"Oh, yes, pet. Yes, I will," Zan says. Easily, he scoops Ryan up into his arms, one of the boy's arms curling around his neck. "Grab my mask."

 

"Got it, master." Clumsy fingers close around the long nose as the boy lays it against his chest. Then he reaches out again for the bottle of whiskey. "We should take this, too," he says.

 

"As you like, pet."

 

With Zan's preternatural speed they manage to make it up the stairs and back to the Gold Room in no time at all.

 

"Whoa!" Ryan squeezes his eyes shut. "I might be sick."

 

"You'll get you used to the speed, in time," Zan says. "I'll teach you. Here, now."

 

Gently dropping the boy to the mattress, he tosses the mask and liquor bottle beside them on the bed. Normally he would take the time to put his mask in the wardrobe, but with the Seeking rising he can't be bothered. He bends down over the boy, captures Ryan's chin with his fingers, and tilts the boy's lips up to his own. It's slow and almost soothing as Zan's chill tongue sweeps across Ryan's warm mouth. 

 

"You taste like my favorite drink, pet," Zan practically purrs. "In more ways than one."

 

Smiling against Zan's mouth, Ryan asks, "Are you gonna bite me now, master?"

 

"All in good time, pet."

 

Zan cups the boy through the black lace of the briefs, starts rubbing gently. Ryan hums, eyes fluttering closed.

 

"Eyes on me." Zan tweaks his nose.

 

Ryan forces his eyes open. "Yes, master."

 

A quick tug and Ryan's golden corset goes sailing across the room. The boy's mouth falls open, and they clash together again. Ryan doesn't protest Zan's sudden zeal, even when the colder tongue thrusts too deeply, even when the boy almost gags. 

 

Ryan brings one hand up to cup the front of Zan's black trousers, squeezes the bulge already forming there. 

 

Zan breaks away to hiss, "Keep your hands to yourself, boy."

 

Ryan whimpers at the roughness of his master's lust-darkened voice, and grips the sheets instead. 

 

"S-sorry, master," he gasps. "I just…you…I want—"

 

"I know what you want." Zan silences the boy with another bruising kiss. He pulls back to whisper, "I'll decide when you get to touch me." He snatches up the whiskey, pulls the stopper, staring the boy in the eyes.

 

"All fours."

 

Ryan hastens to obey, pushing his ass in the air. Zan rips the back of the lace panties to expose Ryan's hole. The boy's rapidly interested cock is trapped in the front, straining erection providing the leverage needed to keep the panties where Zan wants them. Holding the bottle above the swell of Ryan's ass, Zan dribbles some liquid between the cheeks. 

 

"It stings a little, master." Ryan whimpers, but doesn't move away. 

 

"I know," Zan says.

 

He leans in, striping his cold tongue up the crack. Under the bite of the alcohol Zan can taste the rich copper of Ryan's blood combined with his own cold, dead come, still left over from their first time. He wants more, so he stiffens his tongue and attacks Ryan's hole. The contrast is almost painful when Zan's tongue breaks inside, the chill of his body and the heat of Ryan's. Zan keeps tongue-fucking the boy until their mingled fluids start to drip from the opening. He adds another splash of alcohol to wash it down before he stoppers the bottle, and tosses it aside.

 

Freeing his cock, he smacks it against the boy's hole. "Think you can take me on just spit, blood, and whiskey, pet?" 

 

"Y-yes," Ryan gasps.

 

"Yes…?"

 

"Yes, master," Ryan says. "I can take it."

 

Before Ryan can react, Zan flips him over. The boy blinks up at him in surprise as Zan spreads his legs wide with both hands.

 

"Brace yourself, pet." Zan smirks down at him, and plunges all the way in with one stroke.

 

"Oh, God!" Ryan gasps.

 

Zan pulls back before Ryan can get used to it, and sinks back in. It's not easy to go deep in this position, and that's exactly what Zan wants. 

 

"Does it hurt, pet?" Zan asks, fucking in again.

 

"Y-yes, master," Ryan pants, but he's still hard in his black lace.

 

Zan can't help being a little smug. "You like it when it hurts, don't you?"

 

The boys nods, eyes squeezing shut in shame.

 

"NO!" Zan screams, suddenly furious. Pushing down on his thighs, Zan bends the boy nearly in half so their faces are inches apart as he keeps thrusting. "You look at me!"

 

Eyes wide with fear, the boy stammers. "I-I'm sorry, master!"

 

"I already told you," Zan growls. "Don't look away again."

 

Putting his powers to good use, Zan can long dick him on every stroke but still go hard and fast. The boy's body jerks helplessly under the force, but he keeps his eyes locked on Zan's.

 

"You're mine," Zan leers into the boy's face. "Say it!"

 

Whole body rocking, Ryan obeys as best he can. "I'm yours, master!"

 

Zan pulls back to stare down at the boy. "You belong to me."

 

"Yes, master!"

 

Changing the angle, Zan's next strike makes the boy groan. He does it again, just to hear the sound a second time. "You are my pet, and you live to serve. Your body, your blood, your life are all mine to use, and you'll let me because you know that's all you're good for, isn't it?"

 

Tears are leaking out of the boy's eyes. "Yes, master, I'm sorry—"

 

"Shut up," Zan snaps, "and get fucked like a good little whore."

 

The craving is biting along Zan's veins, and he won't be able to resist for long. But he wants the blood flooded with shame and fear when he takes a bite.

 

"Tell me," Zan commands. "Tell me what you are."

 

"I'm your whore," Ryan sobs. "I'm just your whore, master."

 

Zan releases one leg to smack the boy across the face. "Louder!"

 

"I'm your whore!" The boy shouts it out loud, and Zan falls on his neck. 

 

Ryan screams as Zan tears into his vein, but through the haze of the craving Zan can smell the come flooding the boy's panties, can feel the hole spasming around his cock, and it's enough to join the boy in release. He pumps through his orgasm as the Seeking wanes, swallowing the boy's blood all the while. 

 

When the aftershocks wear off, he lifts his head from the boy's neck and bites his own wrist. Ryan is barely alive enough to suck down a mouthful, but Zan massages his throat until he swallows. As the bloody mess of Ryan's neck knits back together, Zan feels a fresh wave of strength flow through him. Their seal is still going strong. 

 

Ryan's eyes flutter open, finding Zan's face. It takes Zan a moment to figure out why. 

 

Smiling, Zan pats the boy's cheek. "Good boy, māo mì."

 

The boy gives a watery smile. 

 

Laughing, Zan grabs the whiskey bottle and rolls out of bed. "I think I'll pour us a glass before we head to the White Room. I'll have to find you something else to wear, as well."

 

"Master?" The boy's voice is bashful.

 

"Yes?" Zan sets to the liquor down and pulls two glasses from a box in the wardrobe.

 

"Can you show up in a picture?"

 

Sighing, Zan turns to look at him. Ryan is turned on his side, cheeks slowly flushing.

 

"Why do you ask, pet?"

 

Ryan almost drops his eyes, but at the last moment flickers them back up to Zan's face. "Can I take a picture of us together?"

 

"I haven't a camera in here," Zan says.

 

Throwing his legs over the bed, the nearly-naked boy says, "I have my phone, master. It doesn't need service to take a pic."

 

"Bring my mask so we'll match."

 

Beaming, Ryan snatches up the pantalone from where it still rests beside him on the bed and brings it to Zan. While Zan ties it back in place, the boy fishes his phone out of his jacket, still folded on the table. They stand together, Ryan holding out his arm. There's a small flash.

 

"Look, master," Ryan says, holding up the phone. It's in a case with prongs at the top, like devil horns. "The first night I was yours."

 

It's an attractive sight. Zan is still mostly dressed. Ryan in his golden mask and shredded lace looks every bit the human pet.

 

"Can I get one of just you, master?" Ryan holds up the phone again.

 

Shaking his head fondly, Zan says, "Of course, pet—"

 

Pain explodes through Zan's whole body as Ryan jams the phone into his chest. 

Act 0.4: if Love and Sleep be kind

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