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Thomas can barely remember the first day he and the count met. He distantly recalls the fear he felt then, his sweaty palms, the stench of death.
And yet, he can’t relate to how he felt then, not now when so many years have passed since.
The count, his lord, has always been so generous with him. When Thomas suggested so long ago to take Ellen’s place, to be taken by the darkness in her stead, the count obliged.
And now, with the curtains drawn closed in their bedroom, he finds no desire to leave. He’s taken care of here. He’s loved, desired, worshipped like a trophy.
In a way, he is a trophy. In his current state, womb ripe with life, belly and ankles swollen, he can hardly move.
It’s a simple life now, being doted on by his beloved. He is fed and bathed and fucked in an endless cycle. He can’t imagine living any other way.
He’s in his second trimester, the pregnancy weighing heavily on his body and soul as he lays in bed. The babe has begun to kick with much more force than his body is equipped to handle.
Reaching under the covers, he cradles his bump in his hands, trying to soothe his child back to sleep to no avail.
With the everlasting darkness surrounding the castle, it’s impossible to tell if it’s morning or night, but Thomas is exhausted regardless. His beloved always begs him to rest no matter the time.
Whimpering softly, he takes one of the pillows beneath his head and cradles it to the swell of his belly, rolling onto his side. He yearns for any relief from the bruising pain of his babe’s kicking.
As if summoned from the dead once again, Orlok is sitting on the edge of their bed, resting his cool hand on Thomas’ forehead. His shoulders sag, instantly relaxing at the touch.
“He is awake.” The count rasps, unusually quiet now that Thomas has begun suffering from migraines during the pregnancy.
“Yes.” Thomas nods, reaching out for Orlok’s arm.
He needn’t say another word for the count to understand his desires. Since the first subtle swell of his belly, their bond has grown stronger in every regard.
Orlok slides under the covers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Thomas’ temple, the brush of his mustache on his skin making the younger man chuckle.
Carefully, Thomas rolls onto his back again, wincing at the weight of their child in his womb. Before he can do it himself, the count is rubbing his belly with cool, soothing palms.
“Yes, just like that…” He moans softly.
Continuing his ministrations, Orlok settles himself between Thomas’ legs. He gathers the fabric of his beloved’s nightgown and raises it up, removing it from Thomas’ body.
Between his legs, Thomas is already bare. His supple, wet cunt is red and swollen from the pregnancy. Forgoing his underwear has eased the discomfort in his groin, though it still aches.
Orlok leans down without hesitation. Though they are intimate this way often, the count never seems to tire of it.
He presses a chaste, hungry kiss to the hood of Thomas’ cock, coaxing the nub to harden against his flattened tongue. His cool saliva drips down Thomas’ cunt, joining his growing wetness.
The count takes the bud into his mouth, careful of his fangs as he suckles around it, licking at the head as he does so. His hands unconsciously come to rest on the younger man’s thighs, rubbing them fondly.
Unable to deny himself any longer, Thomas cries out, his legs shaking under his beloved’s hands as he comes undone. It’s pure ecstasy, his hips bucking to meet the mouth on his groin.
Orlok laps at his cock, mercifully pulling away when he knows Thomas will grow overstimulated. He kisses along his thighs instead, determined to pleasure the father of his child.
“My beloved, you don’t need to…” Thomas trails off, his eyes falling shut as Orlok’s lips meet his belly.
Pleased, the count kisses along the soft hair below Thomas’ navel, tickling his sensitive skin with his mustache as he kisses and kisses like each one is a prayer, devoted and passionate.
“Count…” The man begs, his brows knit together in arousal.
Orlok purrs, carefully readjusting himself between his beloved’s legs as he presses their sexes together. It’s slick and obscene, their cool and warm bodies meeting in a pleasant grind.
Beneath him, Thomas bites his lip, his eyes falling half-lidded as he feels the thick tip pressing inside of him. It’s familiar, his body relaxed and willing.
More kisses trail up his chest, kissing his old wounds, healed over and scarred now, where Orlok once fed from him. They haven’t had a feeding together since they realised he was pregnant.
Part of Thomas misses it, being drained, the mixture of pleasure and pain as Orlok would take him as he drank. Each of their feeding nights leading to hours of sex afterwards. He’s sure that’s when he was fertilised.
But now, with Thomas’ chest swollen and sore, heavy with milk, he finds himself wanting to be fed from again. He cups his beloved’s cheek in his palm, stroking his face tenderly.
“Drink from me.” He whispers, watching as the count’s expression becomes concerned. “Drink from me like a babe.”
Realisation dawns on Orlok, his mouth quickly filling with saliva before he gives a curt nod. He kisses the swell of his breast, cupping the other with his hand.
Inside of Thomas, his shaft twitches, his hips beginning a steady, even grind inside of him as Orlok laves his tongue over Thomas’ breast.
When he finally latches, lips sealed around his nipple, Thomas whines. The count gives a weak, experimental suckle and hums as fresh milk fills his mouth.
Moaning at the taste, Orlok’s hips buck, fucking into his beloved faster as he swallows. His eyes close as he drinks, shamelessly gulping down mouthful after mouthful like a starved child.
Beneath him, Thomas moans wantonly, his cunt squelching with every increasingly hard thrust. He cups the nape of the count’s neck, holding him to his breast, encouraging him to continue.
Orlok makes a deep, primal sound as he reaches down to grab Thomas’ hips, forcing him to meet his ravenous thrusts. His eyes are pure white, rolled into the back of his head as he feeds from his beloved.
Thomas gasps, his legs spread open invitingly as Orlok pounds into him like the beast he is, deep and fast. Even now with Thomas round and pregnant, he seems determined to impregnate him again.
Gulping and moaning with each ragged breath, the count’s latch on his breast faults, allowing warm milk to spill from his mouth, wetting his mustache and the bedsheets.
Thomas arches his back, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan as his hot insides pulse and tighten around his beloved’s shaft. His entire body shakes, near convulsing from the force of his orgasm.
The count finds his untouched breast, latching onto it and continuing to feed as he fucks into Thomas’ cunt. He gulps loudly as the slapping sounds between them grow sloppy, slick with the wetness from his orgasm.
Orlok rumbles in ecstasy as his hips stutter, emptying himself into Thomas’ depths until they’re both satisfied.
Thomas whimpers as he strokes the nape of his beloved’s neck comfortingly, breastfeeding the count as he catches his breath.
“We made… a mess.” He pants, grinning lazily as he feels the wet bedsheets clinging to his legs.
The count sighs softly as he unlatches himself from Thomas, pulling out of him before he soothes the baby with his gentle hands.
“He is resting.” Orlok mutters, smiling softly at the knowledge that they can all sleep in peace for a moment.
Thomas sighs in relief, humming as the bedsheets beneath him turn from damp to dry. Orlok curls up at his side, kissing his shoulder tenderly.
“How many do you want, my lord?” He turns to the count, relaxed and satisfied.
“As many as you will carry.” He rasps, rubbing the swell of his belly lovingly, as if cradling their baby still safe in Thomas’ womb.