Until Dawn

MLM Erotica: TOM & ERIK have been spending a lot of time together. After some domestic quarrelling, they decide that the best relationship they can have involves watching a lot of horror films.

As winter drew in, Tom found Erik round his flat more often. There had been an initial phase of politeness about it: Erik asking if he could stay over, Tom treating him like a guest, cooking for him, bringing him his drinks. Then there was a phase of weirdness: Erik got a bit too comfortable, Tom got fidgety about having someone in his space, they bickered. Tom thought it might have been the beginning of the end when, tidying his bedroom, he found a bunch of Erik's dirty laundry stashed next to the bed.

When he had confronted Erik about this, Erik had apologised profusely, and even offered to cook dinner for them. Tom refused, but Erik ordered a takeaway and they had sat in grumpy silence while Erik ate it. Tom picked at what was bothering him, taking it out on his chicken chow mein.

"I'm sorry," Erik offered again.

"No, it's okay."

"I just… I don't know. I forgot."

'Forgetting' had been the initial excuse, but it pissed Tom off. Perhaps because he was not a forgetful person himself, and was in fact very organised. Perhaps because it was so vague, he could not be sure what Erik was actually apologising for, and it was a blanket apology, which covered all bases.

The dinner had, of course, been Erik's peace offering, and Tom was hungry. He had accepted it on the grounds that some serious make-up sex would be happening after. However, as he picked around the bamboo shoots (which he hated), he found himself wondering.

"What are we?"

Erik stuttered and blinked at him, a bit of chicken dropping back into his noodles.

"What do you mean?"

"Like… what are we? Are we dating? Or are we friends who fuck?"

"Is that what this is about?"

Tom shook his head, then realised it was a lie.

"Yes."

"Well. I don't know. I kind of thought we were heading in the way of dating."

This was, of course, evidenced by the toothbrush that had materialised in the bathroom, and, most importantly, the laundry dumping. Tom squirmed, wrapping noodles around his chopsticks. They suddenly looked like worms in his pot and he put them down. Then he smiled.

He had just 'What We Do In The Shadows'ed himself.

Erik seemed to take the smile as a positive sign.

"I mean, if you want to date?"

It was stupid. Tom was upset because Erik had left a shirt, two pairs of underwear and four socks on his floor. Now he was sulking into a Chinese because they had not decided whether they were in a relationship or not, and now he was thinking of the best vampire mockumentary ever created.

"We could date."

"Could?"

"Yeah. I mean… Would anything change? Really?"

Erik seemed to think about this.

"I've never had a boyfriend before," he said, finally. "Have you?"

"Nope," admitted Tom. "I haven't dated anyone properly since I transitioned. I had a girlfriend a few years ago, but it wasn't serious." Their relationship had fizzled out and ended mutually. She had wanted to move in, but Tom had not been interested. He did not see much point in moving out of his parents' house at the time. He did not fancy admitting this to Erik though, lest it brought up the topic of Erik moving in, which seemed to be becoming a running theme.

"I don't really know what gay couples do," he mumbled to Erik. "I haven't dated many men."

"I can't imagine it's that different to straight couples," Erik pointed out. "Like… I don't know, I dated a girl at university, and we just had sex and watched horror films. It was kind of dope."

Tom grinned. He picked up his food again. It did not look like worms.

"What kind of horror films?"

"A lot of classics. She was studying literature, so we watched all the film versions of the Gothic books she was studying. Let The Right One In, Dracula, Carmilla. I would read them too, and then we would discuss the merits of the film adaptations."

He blushed, suddenly.

"What?" pressed Tom.

"We used to er… fuck, and she would want me to pretend to be a vampire."

Tom laughed.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! Well." Erik looked flushed. "I don't know. It was hot. When she got her period, she would get really freaky, smearing it on my face and shit to give me 'bloodlust', it was awesome."

Tom stared at him. He was not sure if he was repulsed or turned on. He hadn't had a period for over five years. His memories of painful cramps and gender dysphoria did not illicit horny thoughts.

"Wasn't that a bit gross?"

"What? Period blood?"

"Yeah!"

Erik gave Tom a quizzical look.

"Any grosser than drinking regular blood?"

"Well…"

"I wasn't about to go around scalpelling her. That would be super fucked up."

Tom had to admit, the thought of slicing little bits of Erik's skin and making him bleed while he fucked him did something in his brain that was both arousing, and terrifying. He shook the thought away.

"Well, obviously not."

"And anyway, society's inherent misogyny is the only reason most people are grossed out by period blood. You like horror films, right? It's a lot less fucked up and gory to fuck a girl on her period than it is to watch The Shining."

Tom mulled this over in his mind. The irony that his cisgender boyfriend was schooling him on misogyny was not lost on him. Erik had made an inarguable point, but he was keen they did not end the conversation about what they were. There was still a toothbrush in his bathroom that he had weird feelings about.

"So your idea of a relationship is watching a load of vampire films and having freaky sex?" Tom offered, instead.

"For sure!"

"I like the sound of that," agreed Tom. Then, another thought struck him, "What about being exclusive? Like… monogamous?"

Erik made a face.

"I mean, I'm not getting loads of opportunities. Are you?"

"Nope."

"Well then. Let's deal with that if it comes up?"

Tom nodded, leaning back on the sofa. He got the impression that Erik was not the kind of person who was seriously into monogamy, moving in and getting married. It might have been his staunch Satanism (Tom had found the Satanic Bible in Erik's backpack), or the way he could comfortably have a conversation about his ex to Tom, or maybe the way he had said 'no intention of doing that' when gay marriage got legalised in the US. But, he had also noticed that Erik no longer appeared on his Grindr, which meant he had probably deleted it. Considering he had definitely had it when they met, this did suggest to Tom that whatever he was doing, Erik was happy with it.

They finished their food. Tom put his pot of bamboo shoots down and Erik, seeing this, asked if he could finish them. Then, he made a big show of putting the containers in the bin, which was endearing.

"Listen," said Tom, as Erik sat next to him on the sofa. "I really like having sex with you. And this… I really like this too."

"Yeah? Good."

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Erik chuckled.

"Yes, okay. I'll be your boyfriend."

Tom raised his arm and patted the space there. Erik got into the position and they sat like that for a while. Tom realised how quiet the room was, and to save himself from saying something stupid and forcing Erik into another uncomfortable situation, he picked up the TV remote.

"Okay. Choose a film."

"What? Me?"

"Yes! You choose a film. A vampire film. One with loads of sex in it."

Erik laughed. Tom could feel Erik's body shuddering against his. It felt really good.

"The Lost Boys."

"Really?"

"Yeah! It's super homoerotic. They're all muscled and wearing crop tops."

"It was the eighties."

"Exactly. The eighties were very homoerotic. Before. You know."

Tom did know, so turned on his TV and switched to a streaming site in an attempt to find it.

"Subtitles?" he asked. He wondered if Erik would have watched the Swedish dub, or the original english. Keifer Sutherland's bleached mullet flickered on the screen.

"Happy with none," said Erik. "Unless you need them."

"I meant cause of… language. I don't know if it is easier." said Tom.

"Americans are easier to understand than British," Erik pointed out. "And I'm getting better, since I moved here."

"Fair enough," said Tom, feeling ignorant. "You don't ask me what words are anymore, you've definitely got better."

"It's the accent. You all mumble, worse than Swedes. But I read it fine," Erik shrugged. "How do you think I read Dracula?"

"Er… in Swedish?"

"The book is originally in English. You can't read a shitty translation."

"I didn't realise," mumbled Tom, feeling a bit stupid. He had not read Dracula at all, let alone in his second language. He pressed play on the film.

Erik fussed around with blankets and pillows while the opening credits played. He ensured that Tom was fulled swaddled, while his own bony little feet poked out of their nest.

The film was a lot more homoerotic than Tom remembered, particularly the oiled up saxophonist. It was funny though, and they found themselves laughing at the iconic one-liners. Erik mouthed along, like he had seen the film a dozen times.

Tom was engaged enough that his mind did not wander to anxieties about the future, or telling Chris that they were now 'dating', or whether that toothbrush would manifest into other symbols of domestication: a spare set of keys, Erik doing housework, a shared bank account.

"One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach," Erik said out loud with the film, "All the damn vampires!"

The end credits rolled. Neither of them wanted to move from the warm cocoon that Erik had created, so they watched it right until the end. Tom fiddled with the remote.

"Shall I choose the next one?"

"Yes please," said Erik, happily nuzzling Tom' armpit. Tom flicked between the multiple versions of Dracula: Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee, even William Marshall.

He settled on the original Bela Lugosi. He had no real intention of watching it anyway.

"If one of us were a vampire, who would it be?" he asked Erik, turning the volume down enough that they could talk, but not so quiet that the dramatic orchestral music and 30s black-and-white theatrical acting could not be properly heard and appreciated.

"You," said Erik, without hesitation. "Vampires are tops."

"You think?"

"For sure. They're all, 'let me seduce you and fuck you and drink your blood', it's a top thing for sure."

"You don't think the person being drunk from has any power?"

"No. Vampires are supernatural. They're way too powerful." Erik's voice was matter-of-fact, with the air of someone who had had this debate before. Perhaps he had, with his ex-girlfriend.

"So you don't think a human could seduce a vampire?"

"With what?"

"Oh… I don't know. Say, perhaps, if you were a vampire and I was your… is it mate? Do vampires have mates?"

"They have victims," said Erik, but his tone had changed. He sounded more curious.

"But I'm not a victim here. After all, I want to convince you to-" and he let his hand trail from Erik's shoulder to Erik's chest, "- suck me?"

Erik hitched his breath, but said nothing. Tom leaned forwards to murmur in his ear.

"Are you thirsty?"

"Yes," growled Erik. He rolled around in the blankets so that he was now facing Tom, looking at him, his chin on Tom' chest.

"Perhaps I should let you feed," Tom purred, running his fingers through Erik's hair.

"You should," Erik grinned, showing all of his teeth. While they were disappointingly mostly blunt, his canines were sharp and Tom moaned as he imagined them piercing his neck, while he choked and restrained Erik.

"Perhaps I won't."

"No!" gasped Erik, "Please." He seemed to have gotten the idea of his role quickly: the submissive vampire pet, who relied on Tom entirely.

"Have you earned it?"

"Yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," Erik moaned, writhing against Tom. The 'sir' thing had been a rapid development in their relationship, something that had slipped out of Erik's mouth so readily, Tom had never thought to question it.

"I think 'master' is more appropriate, isn't it?"

Before Erik could reply, however, Tom seized his hair and pulled it up. He wished he had a crucifix in his house, something they could use as a control, to fixate Erik on while he ordered him about. He felt like a vampire hunter with a particularly beautiful pray that he could not quite bring himself to kill.

"Master," Erik was whining, but Tom dragged him onto the floor. The crucifix thing was really firm in his mind, but the only thing he could think to use was the fucking chopsticks from the Chinese takeaway.

Hoping that this would not be a goofy turn off, he pushed Erik onto the floor and told him to wait. Then, he went into the kitchen and fished the chopsticks out of the bin. He hurriedly cleaned them off under the tap. Realising he had now committed to this bit, with an elastic band from the carrier bag the takeaways had come in, fastened the sticks together to make a cross.

He returned to the lounge where Erik was kneeling on the floor. He grinned when Tom returned, but Tom slapped him with his empty hand. Slapping had been another thing that came quickly in their relationship. It was never hard, and always with Tom's open hand, but the sound itself was enough to hammer home a point: Tom was in control, here.

Erik moaned, writhing on the floor, clearly wanting to be smacked again.

"Blood sucking filth," snarled Tom. He grabbed Erik's hair again and pulled him up, the makeshift cross hidden behind his back. "Let's see how you like this."

He expected Erik to laugh, if he was honest. He suspected if anyone had presented him with a pair of chewed on chopsticks during foreplay, he would have called a safeword from hysterics. He was surprised, but very pleased, however, when Erik howled like he had been burned. He scrabbled away, trying to cover his eyes.

"Look at it," hissed Tom, wrestling with Erik. "Look at it, if you want your prize."

Under usual circumstances, it would not have been a challenge for Erik, but he proceeded to put up a fight, to the point where Tom had him pinned onto the carpet, kneeling on his shoulders, one hand attempting to pry open his eyelids. Erik was screaming, kicking his legs, unable to move his head away. Tom brandished the cross in front of him, which in his mind was now a gilded, Catholic crucifix, complete with dying Jesus.

"Please, master!" Erik was shrieking, his forced open eye rolling around in his head. "Please, feed me!"

It was an impressive display. Tom threw the crucifix to the ground and got off of Erik, opening up his jeans and pulling down his underwear. He did not hesitate, resuming where he was and forcing himself over Erik's mouth.

Erik accepted it readily. For a moment, Tom thought he might forget he was not a vampire and bite down, but then he felt Erik's tongue licking up against his clit and the knot in the pit of his stomach tightened until, all too quickly, he was pulsing against Erik's face.

He let Erik suck until he was too sensitive, then pulled him away by his hair. Erik was moaning, as though in ecstasy, his eyes closed. Tom let him revel in it for a moment, deciding how best a vampire hunter would pleasure his quarry. Bela Lugosi was swanning around on the TV, but Tom let it play out for the atmosphere.

When Erik opened his eyes, the one Tom had been manhandling was bloodshot. Erik was grinning hard, all teeth.

"Thank you, master," he said, all hissing. "Thank you."

"It's not over yet," growled Tom. "I have until the sun comes up to make you feel pain."

Erik's eyes rolled back in his skull as Tom pulled on his hair. He loved Erik's long hair. It was a rope, it was a leash. He wanted to wrap it around his skinny neck and choke him. But Erik had had it trimmed recently, so Tom kept it clenched in his fist.

Bela Lugosi surveyed them as they kissed. Tom kept Erik stooped and down, forcing his chin up. He could taste his own pussy on Erik's mouth, and he licked a long strip up his cheek. Then, slurping a pool of spit on his tongue, spat on Erik's reddened eye.

Erik howled as though he had been stung with holy water. He could not recoil far though, too tightly gripped by Tom's hand.

"Master," he whined, but it was too Igor, too goblin-like and forced. Tom slapped him with his free hand, earning a breathy gasp.

"Wretched," Tom hissed. "Filth. Parasite." He punctuated each insult with another slap, but kept them light. They had done some A black eye was not exactly surruptious.

"Master, please," and his voice was softer now. He was slipping, down into that space, that delicious subspace, where Tom could reach inside him and control him like a puppet. He would do anything his master wanted.

"You've fed now," Tom hissed. The echos of his orgasm were fading, and drool was still sliding down Erik's chin. "Or do you crave more?"

"More," Erik choked. He was straining against the hand in his hair. Tom pulled him into a kiss. Then, he wrapped his lips over Erik's and inhaled hard.

The effect was instantaneous. Tom had first seen it down at a T4T sex club. It was ambitious, head-fuckery breath play. Choking, strangling and putting Erik in a headlock did not feel like the act of a hunter and his vampire pet. But he could suck the breath out of Erik, steal it, siphon it straight from his lips.

Erik flopped forwards, limp. He gulped air back into himself, and Tom watched in delight as every rib in his chest, every tendon in his neck, strained against his skin. The brief moment of suffocation had blindsided Erik, and he was visibly spinning.

"Master."

And there it was. The voice break. The pleading. The desperate, soft begging of a submissive who believed his only purpose was to serve and please his dominant.

Tom forced Erik onto his knees again. Erik was short, flexible and thin, and Tom pushed him up against the arm of the sofa. His eyes flicked to the screen, still playing. They were not in his shitty London flat, that had secret piles of laundry, extra toothbrushes, and two guys who didn't know what to call their relationship. They were in Dracula's castle. Tom was an exterminator of the vampire pests, strong and powerful, wielding his crucifix, his stake, a bible. Yet, he had been tempted. He had kept one of the scourge aside, for his own experimentation. For his own desires.

Erik's head was tilted back, his mouth open wide, ready and accepting. Tom lifted and placed a leg on the arm of the sofa, so that he could bring Erik up to his cunt once more. He could feel the delicious scrape of teeth, for just a moment. He felt Erik's lips clamp around his swollen clit, and the force of him sucking nearly caused his knee to buckle.

It was a rush of pleasure and delicious pain. It wouldn't make him cum again, not so soon, but it was so perfect for the scene.

"Drink it," he snarled, "Unworthy, godless leech."

He could feel himself growing in Erik's mouth. Bottom growth was temperamental at the best of times, and while his clit was generally a decent inch, he had seen Erik work it up to almost two.

Erik was grunting and suckling. He snorted even, like an animal, as though he were in a frenzy.

Tom yanked himself back. A thick trail of saliva briefly connected his dick with Erik's tongue, and it swung in a loop, suspended for a moment, before dribbling onto Erik's chin.

He had to fuck him. He had to have him on his front, screaming and twitching. He didn't have the patience to prep him, to work him up to it. He would use their smallest strap just to get to it. He wanted to feel the layers of Erik give way to him, like he was tearing through his flesh. Like he was staking him.

The flat was small. He pulled Erik along the floor, towards the bed. He put his foot on his back, keeping him pinned to the carpet. Erik whined and rubbed his face against it, crying to his master.

Tom bent down and pulled out the box of toys. He wanted Erik to see, so that, if he needed, he could use one of their safe words.

Instead, Erik twisted his head to look at the silicone dick that Tom was dangling in front of his face. For a brief moment, his eyes lit up. Then his character was back.

Erik screamed, lashing his entire body underneath Tom's foot. Tom was putting so little weight on him, but Erik was skinny and easily overpowered. He played into his role well, screeching and whimpering.

"Spare me, master," he panted, squirming under Tom's weight. "Please."

Tom removed his foot, pulling the strap up to his hips. When Erik tried to get off the floor, Tom kicked hs leg out from underneath him, to stop him. He crouched behind him, pulling a lube bottle from the bedside.

"You're an abomination," Tom cut over Erik's wailing and struggling. "Bloodsucker. Foul devil."

Erik was simultaneously pushing his arse up at Tom, and scrabbling to get away. Tom rubbed the lube onto the dick, with the practiced callousness of a hunter sharpening his stake. Erik was only wearing his pants, black boxers with a tight elastic strap. Tom yanked them down, lining up his cock. He rubbed the tip over Erik's hole.

"Master, please," but it was not clear what he actually wanted.

Tom reached around and forced his fingers into Erik's mouth, curling and twisting them into his cheek and pulling back. Erik's back arched.

"What do you want?"

Erik moaned and bit down, trying to throw himself backwards against Tom.

"Listen, you bloodsucking scum. I will stake you, and fuck you, until you're cold and still on the floor."

Erik cried out a strangled "Yes! I want that."

Tom pushed the tip in. Sweat was pooling in the dip of his spine, and Tom ran his other hand through it as he worked the dick deeper. It was small in size, and while Erik was unprepared, Tom knew he could, and would take it. He just had to go slow.

Erik was shaking, no longer thrusting back. He was babbling quietly, his shoulders tight. It was hard to tell the difference between his vampire act and what might have been pain. Tom leant down, twisting Erik's face around by the fingers in his mouth. He made him look back. His blinked helplessly up at him, his eye still red from the Clockwork Orange treatment.

Then Erik slammed himself backwards, and fully enveloped Tom's dick. He howled, as though wounded, and Tom felt a blaze of panic that he had actually hurt himself. But he was drooling and moaning, and Tom leant back up to gently, experimentally, thrust into him. This earned another yelp, and more garbled filth.

"My master, you're my master, you own me," type garbling, and as it was safeword free, Tom got thrusting.

Erik did not last long. From the TV, there was a crescendo in the music, a swell of orchestral strings. Bela Lugosi was swirling his cape across the floor. Tom had grown to learn that the juddering spasms and frantic pulling away was a sign that Erik was cumming. He let him ride it out, until the twitching stopped, until the only sound from him was his harsh, laboured breathing.

He let him lay on the carpet for a moment, carefully extracting the strap. Running a hand up Erik's back, Tom reached underneath himself and rubbed his clit. In his mind, he was going to shoot a fat rope of cum across his boyfriend's back. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the image of black blood trailing over a grey neck, Lugosi's brow, furrowed and fierce. His hips bucked forward. Erik was whining, curled up on the floor, one hand flapping for attention. Alas, Tom lacked the anatomy to paint him with cum.

Erik gargled "I'm okay, yeah," when Tom bent to kiss his hand.

Tom went to clean up. In the bathroom, he eyed the two toothbrushes in their pot on the sink. Perhaps being boyfriends did just mean freaky sex and horror films. That wasn't so bad.