REVERIE

Roman does not need to sleep.

No vampire does, in actual fact. They are creatures of the night, built to inhabit the hours of darkness between sunset and sunrise. One might think this encourages nocturnality, that once the daylight comes the undead retreat to their coffins for several hours of uninterrupted slumber. That assumption is, and always has been, entirely incorrect.

Besides the fact that the very notion of sleeping in a coffin is laughable - a myth that Roman has detested since the moment he learned of it - the existence of such a line of thought only proves once again how small the human mind remains. It’s obvious in the constant determination to hold vampires to the same standard they do humans, a different species even as they are, the refusal to broaden the scope of what is possible. After all, what living creature could ever survive without sleep?

Well, vampires aren't living. If anything, they are the farthest thing from it. Any vampire is reminded of this when they come face to face with a human, and are forced to look into the eyes of something so similar and yet also so fundamentally different. Though, the fact that humans seem unable to exercise a similar amount of self-awareness is not surprising to Roman. He’s not even disappointed by it since he knows - vampires are, and always will be, a walking paradox.

Because, despite the fact that all of this is true, it is also not so. Because vampires don’t need to sleep and yet, as Roman surges through the door to his bedchamber, there is nothing he wants more than to collapse onto his exaggeratedly lavish bed and let himself sink into dreamland. 

His night has been… less than favourable. 

Of course, he’d expected it. From the moment he'd received that damned invitation from that damned lug, he’d expected it. Any kind of meeting between him and the Hawthorne vampire was sure to be a disaster right from its conception. And yet, somehow, it had all turned out even worse than he’d anticipated. 

For one, Slade didn't seem to want to take ‘no’ for an answer this time. For years, he's pestered Roman about one thing or another, and yet Roman has always been able to fend him off eventually. He’s had his fair share of practice dealing with cocky bastards who have egos far too large to be justified, and is well-versed in the art of telling them exactly where they can shove their useless proposals and propositions. Slade had been no different for so long that it was actually a surprise to Roman when his unusual tactics of an icy stare and a few cold words did nothing. The blonde vampire had stood his ground with a patience and maturity unexpected for his usual hot-headed nature. And it had frustrated Roman to no end when every thinly-veiled threat he tossed Slade's way was met with the brick wall of the blonde's determination. 

As a result, Roman had left the meeting without his usual sense of satisfaction. He hadn’t caved, of course, but rather than shutting Slade down entirely, their deal had reached an impasse. Neither vampire had backed down and it had left Roman so restless he'd eventually gotten up and stormed from Slade’s office in a way he's nowhere near proud of. 

He tells himself it was a choice between that and killing Slade outright though. And as much as he’d relish the latter, such a thing would not be good for the relationship between the Hawthorne group and Clan Aurelius. 

Even now, as he lays sprawled out across his silk sheets, he can still picture Slade’s infuriating face. Smouldering copper eyes, always burning so bright with desire for all this world has to offer. The way his lips curve upwards in a self-satisfied smirk, so smug it makes Roman’s blood boil. And worst of all, the expression he has whenever he meets Roman’s gaze. As if he knows something Roman doesn’t, as if he somehow stands on a pedestal above everyone else, privy to knowledge no one else holds. It’s maddening in a way nothing else is for Roman, and even now he finds himself gritting his teeth into a hard line. 

“Fucking bastard, “ he hisses to no one. And then he rolls over and buries his face so deep into one of his plush pillows that nothing but the sound of his own thoughts is left in his ears.

He’s not sure when he falls asleep after that. But he knows he must do at some point, because it doesn’t take long for a dream to come trickling into his subconscious. 

He’s back in Slade’s office. That damned office. Everything looks and feels just as it did before, with lights dimmed to a reddish hue, the faint thud of music reverberating through the walls and the smoky scent of bourbon clinging to the air. The drinks Slade had poured remain untouched on his desk. The flickering of city lights peeks through the tall window in the back wall of the office. The very faint sounds of chatter float through the gap beneath the door. 

The room is as undisturbed as it was when Roman had arrived that evening. In fact, the only difference between this dream and his recollection of the meeting is himself and Slade. But it’s enough of a difference to have his entire body seizing in shock. 

Slade stands in front of him, far closer than he has ever been in real life. His gaze holds Roman’s with ease, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. But it’s the curve of his lips that truly shakes Roman to his core; the perfect arch of his cupid's bow as he smirks lazily, in a way that’s far more telling than words could ever be. 

“Look at you,” the blonde vampire drawls, tilting his head just a fraction to the side. “So defensive. And I haven't even done anything.”

Roman tries to move. Tries to back away from his rival with a biting remark and a disgusted curl of his lip. Only, his back hits the edge of Slade’s desk before he can go even a step and he realises with that start that he’s completely and utterly cornered. Something deep within his chest curdles, the fanged, feral creature within him writhing in hatred at the feeling of being caged. But there’s something else, another part of him which up until now he hasn't even known existed, that twists with an altogether different kind of tension. 

“Save it,” he tries to spit back at Slade. “As if you could ever garner such a reaction from me.” But his voice lacks its usual edge and the jab falls flat. Slade’s smirk only broadens. 

“Be careful, Roman,” he starts, and Roman can’t help the shiver at the way Slade seems to taste every letter of his name as he says it. “I might just take that as a challenge.” 

And then suddenly he’s closer, so much closer, and Roman can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and smell the muskiness of his cologne. And he’s hit with a feeling he’s never once experienced before in all his many centuries of being alive - the feeling of being preyed upon. 

“You’re always so fucking smug,” Slade mumbles. His eyes finally drop, leaving Roman some room to breathe, as he observes the way the older vampire is pressed up against the desk. Cowering, like a frightened rabbit, in the fire of Slade’s full attention. “Always so damn condescending. Sitting up there on your high horse as if you expect the rest of us to grovel at your feet.” 

One of Slade’s hands comes up and Roman nearly flinches when he feels one of his knuckles brushing over his neck. Over the very spot where a pulse might be, if his heart wasn’t as cold and dead as any other vampire’s. 

“And yet…” Slade's voice is honey-smooth as he continues, calculated in a way Slade is usually not. “And yet, the moment I have you trapped, you cave. You wilt like a flower in the face of the summer sun.” He huffs a laugh and it’s so close that his breath dances across the skin of Roman’s neck. Goosebumps rise in its wake. “That’s a bad habit to have, pretty boy. Because it'd take just one person with the right intentions to come along and prove that you’re all bark and no bite.” 

Roman’s jaw clenches, his fingers balling into fists at his sides even as he continues to draw back from Slade. Then he raises a hand, full of every intention to shove the blond vampire away and take back his stolen control of the situation. “Oh? And you believe you’re that person?” he snarls out, glaring at Slade with as icy a gaze as he can muster. “You, who’s not even fifty years old. You, who inherited everything you have from a father you killed with your own two hands.” And finally, some real malice creeps into his voice. “You, who will forever be known as the vampire who failed to attack the mutts when he had the chance.”

In the real world, Roman is sure Slade would have recoiled. Stepped back, hackles raised and eyes narrowed, ready to defend himself. He’s too hot tempered to do otherwise, too tightly wound to allow any kind of insult, petty as it is, to go un-countered. 

This is not the real world though. And Slade’s smile only widens at Roman’s retort. His fangs, now full display, flash in the low light - razor sharp and deadly, no different from Roman’s own. And then he presses even closer, until what little space between them is crushed entirely out of existence and Roman can see nothing but him. 

“Deflection isn't a good look for you,” is all he murmurs. And that’s when Roman feels it - the hand being dragged down his front, slow and calculated, fingers purposefully catching on every wrinkle of cloth and button in their path. His body tenses as his mind flickers, buffers, struggles for a moment to process what's happening. And then every thought in his head crumbles to dust entirely as Slade leans in to nip at his ear with one sharp fang. “You’re just dying to be put in your place, aren’t you? And yes, I think I’m the perfect choice to do it.” 

When he pulls back, there’s a smear of scarlet across his lower lip. Roman can’t help but stare at it as he grins, equal parts fascinated and repulsed that Slade could have drawn blood from him. He almost wants to lean in and suck the crimson right off the younger vampire’s lip. But then he glances back up to Slade’s eyes and realises that in doing something so blatant, he’d be bowing right to Slade's desires. And even as he stands there, with Slade's hand on the verge of sliding past his belt, and his ear bleeding from the wound left by Slade’s fangs, he swears he’ll be damned if he does something so desperate. 

Or, at the very least, if he does something so desperate without putting up a fight. 

So instead he fixes his gaze to Slade’s and throws one more jeering sneer his way, green eyes narrowing with enough disdain to fell even the strongest vampires. “You can try.”

The response is immediate - Slade disappears. And then Roman’s head drops back as a silent whine leaves him because there are hands. Hands running down his front, over his stomach, and then further down to dance across the front of his pants. He forces his eyes open and looks down, only to find Slade kneeling on the ground before him, still with the damned smirk on his face, still staring right back at him with not even a single ounce of trepidation. 

Usually when Roman has people in this position, it means he's in control. He enjoys looking down on people, though it is not for the reasons most people would assume. It affirms his position, his status, as the infamous leader of Clan Aurelius. 

This is different though. Because somehow, even as he stays kneeling on the ground at Roman’s feet, Slade has Roman entirely under his thumb. 

“Aw, look at you,’ Slade purrs, as he runs one large palm up and down the front of Roman’s thigh. “Vampire’s don't need to breathe, you know. And yet, you’re already panting like a dog.”

Roman snaps his mouth closed immediately, silencing the ragged breaths he didn't even realise he was letting out. He’s hoping for a frown from the vampire on the ground but all Slade has to offer is a knowing smirk. Roman’s teeth clench with the knowledge that somehow, he’s become predictable. 

“You think you’re so resilient,” Slade continues on, leaning in closer until he’s just about resting his cheek against Roman’s inner thigh. Then he cocks his head a little and offers up a smile - not a smirk, but a real, dangerous smile - his eyes glittering. “I know just how to deal with you though.” 

Roman knows where he’s going with this. He watches as the hand Slade has on his thigh slides up until it's right over his crotch. Right over where he's suddenly achingly hard. 

One of Slade’s eyebrows twitches, just the slightest bit. And then, without even a word of warning, he leans forward and drags his tongue up the bulge in Roman’s pants in a lick that has Roman’s eyes rolling right to the back of his head. Because how is it possible to feel so damn much from a single lick?

Slade must feel the shudder that rushes up Roman’s spine, because he’s already grinning when he pulls away. That sharp, smug grin is what makes Roman’s blood boil. Despite his still shaky breathing, he fixes Slade with a look of utter disdain, fully prepared to toss something horrifically degrading his way. 

What actually comes out of his mouth is, “Is that the best you can do?”

Slade isn't one to back down from a challenge. Some might even say it’s impossible for him to do such a thing, with the hold his ego has over every decision he makes. And for some twisted reason Roman finds himself relieved that this dream version of his rival also lives up to that expectation. 

The leather of his belt almost rips beneath Slade's grip as he tugs at it with a determination that makes Roman shiver. A low growl escapes him as he finally gets the thing undone, and then he takes both sides of Roman’s pants and rips the buttons open. Roman doesn't bother chastising him, too engrossed in watching as Slade sets his sights on the final barrier between him and his prize. The front of Roman’s briefs is already stained dark with pre-cum, his cock having been leaking against the fabric since the moment Slade first brushed across it. Even now, he feels an ache rush through his gut as he gets to watch the way Slade’s gaze maps the curve of it, his eyes glinting hungrily. 

Slade looks up at Roman then, and Roman himself has to hold back a whine at the sheer predatory intention that seems to ooze from Slade’s very being. 

“Are you gonna be good for me, Ro?” he asks in a voice that's barely more than a purr.

Roman’s jaw clenches tight, his eyes narrowing. The obvious answer is ‘no’. Not a fucking chance. He should rather die than submit like that to someone who's such an obvious threat to him and his clan. 

But there’s something about the look in Slade's eyes that has the words catching in his throat. And something about the way Slade's hand slides back up his thigh, hovering dangerously close to his tented briefs, that makes his resolve melt. So he just licks his lips and nods once.

Slade’s grin widens out to a leer. “Good boy,” he growls, low and knowing. And then, without waiting a second longer, he yanks Roman’s briefs down and licks a long stripe right up the underside of his cock. 

Roman can’t help it - he whines. The heat of Slade's mouth is already overwhelming, and it doesn’t help that the blonde vampire continues to hold eye contact with him even as he kitten-licks Roman’s head. The corner of his mouth is still upturned, he’s still smirking. And it's knowing in a way that tells Roman that, despite the fact that Slade is the one on his knees, he still has this entire situation in the palm of his hand. 

Somehow, Roman doesn’t even mind. 

His thoughts go blissfully quiet as Slade finally - finally - takes his length fully into his mouth and begins to suck. His head bobs, synchronising with the pounding base of the music in a way that has Roman’s skin bristling. And then, when his hand comes up to stroke languidly at what he can’t fit into his mouth, it's all Roman can do to grip the edge of the desk behind him until his knuckles go white and let his head hang back as another moan rolls off his tongue. 

Slade chuckles around Roman’s cock and it sends shockwaves up the older vampire’s spine. His hips buck uncontrollably, enough that his tip slams into the back of Slades throat and he gags. For a moment Roman freezes, his body tense as he anticipates what exactly Slade will do - because there’s no chance he's letting something like that go. He's half expecting Slade to pull away entirely, especially when Slade deliberately meets Roman’s eyes in a gaze broiling with irritation. 

He doesn’t pull back though. Instead, he anchors an arm across Roman’s hips, pressing him securely back into the desk. And then, in one quick movement, he takes the entirety of Roman’s cock down his throat and swallows. 

Roman can't contain the desperate cry that leaves him. The sensation of Slade's mouth is more than he’s ever experienced before, sending a blazing heat up through his gut and driving him right to the edge of orgasm. His entire body is trembling, every muscle uncomfortably tense, and he's sure that if he grips the desk any tighter the wood will splitter beneath his fingers. He can’t relax though, not as Slade repeats his little trick again and again and it’s all he can do to hold himself back from cumming. He has a feeling that Slade will stop everything he’s doing the second he senses Roman beginning to let go. And despite all his bravado, Roman desperately does not want that. Not in the slightest. 

Thankfully, the strain on Slade's jaw seems to grow too much and he pulls back, returning to swirling his tongue around Roman’s head as his hand rubs along  the rest of him. Roman lets out a heavy sigh, finally feeling some of the tension drain out of his muscles.. Though it’s not enough, the tether within him still wearing thinner and thinner with each pass of Slade’s tongue. 

Roman won’t beg. He won’t. But he will hint. As one of his hands fists in Slade’s hair, he locks eyes with his rival, trying his very best to pour every ounce of desperation into his gaze. Please, he thinks, praying inwardly that Slade is feeling merciful. Please, please, please…

Slade’s eyes glint and the corner of his mouth twitches. For a moment, Roman thinks he's gotten lucky. But then Slade withdraws entirely, his lips leaving Roman’s cock with an obscene pop . He sits back on his heels, his expression practically gleeful as he stares smugly up at Roman. And then he says it. 

“No.”

Roman’s eyes snap open.

He’s back in his bed, in his home. Morning seems to have well and truly come, if the striking golden glow that lines the edges of his blackout curtains is anything to go by, and his sheets and blankets have been kicked down to the foot of his bed. 

Roman stares up at his dark ceiling, face blank for a moment and his mind settles back into his - very awake and very tense - body. Then a growl of disgust leaves him, his lip curling in a disdainful sneer. 

“Fucking bastard,” he spits to himself all over again, even as his hand slides down his abdomen to where his cock is hard and aching in his pants. A low hiss escapes between his teeth as he wraps his fingers around it, his hips jumping with the stimulation. “Fucking disgusting. I should kill him for this.” 

He won't though. As he begins to stroke himself, he thinks back to the image of his dream, of Slade on his knees with his lips around his cock. His rythm matches that that Slade had set and after just a few pumps he can already feel himself unravelling. His toes curl and his thighs shake, and then with a moan of Slade’s name that he swears he’d kill anyone else for hearing, he paints the bare muscles of his abdomen white with his own cum. 

For a moment he stays like that, eyes screwed shut as pleasure thrums through every cell in his body. And then, as it finally begins to drain away, he’s able to relax back into his bedsheets. 

“Fuck.” 

Roman’s not entirely sure who the curse is aimed at. He’d like to believe it’s Slade, since even now he can still feel his hatred for the blonde vampire writhing under his skin. But he also knows it could very well be meant for himself too. Because Roman knows - he knows - that hate is not all he feels for his rival.. 

A low growl of frustration rumbles in his throat as he turns to the side and throws his legs over the side of the bed. He needs a fucking shower and some time to get his thoughts in order. Even as he tries to banish the idea, there’s already a small semblance of a plan forming in his mind. A plan that involves sneaking over into Slade's territory, into that damn club he runs, and up into the office that always smells so distinctly of bourbon, all so he can give his rival the shock of his life. 

Because if there’s one thing Roman knows for sure, it’s that the next time he sees Slade, he’s either going to kill the guy or fuck him. There is no inbetween.