Caught
(I like Tik Tok, and this story is about the_ridlr's George and hardtokillzombie's Marcus Mason)
Patrons who came to "The Veil" were often lost, confused, and seeking guidance from the many pains they suffered in life. Some of those patrons were monsters, either vicious or not, or human, innocent or not. It didn't matter who showed up. What mattered was that they obeyed the few rules of "The Syndicate", the hotel that George created, and ran: No fighting. If you do, take it outside. If you make a mess, if you break something for example, you clean it up, or pay for it. No excessive cursing. Sexual activity is to remain outside. Simple enough. Being the owner of The Syndicate, George had many responsibilities. Cleaning, customer care, and maintaining everything from damage control to protection. Damage control? Sometimes the patrons got a little too rough, either sexually or physically. Cleanup was key in those situations, and George's staff was happy to oblige. The staff, how few there were, were paid handsomely, and shown immense respect by both the ancient vampire, and the patrons, no matter how large or small. On this night, however, George had been maintaining the bar downstairs, serving customers and such, on a near empty stomach. Due to his age, George had immense control over his blood consumption, and lost control on very few occasions. But, when he did, many died in the world of man. Several thousand years old already, George's slightly shorter, yet thin frame disguised him as a weak, but highly respectful man seemingly somewhere in his thirties, betraying him often when he showed his extremely powerful mind and body, either through his brute strength, or magical abilities. He did create the Veil on his own magical supply. Oftentimes, George would catch females of varying species staring at him from afar, observing his seemingly young features. George himself was bald, sported a thin mustache that curled at the ends, bright blue eyes, and thin black eyebrows often positioned in a confused expression. A thin goatee sat on his chin, and a pair of thin framed glasses sat against his nose. His clothing of choice often was a man's dress shirt with a collar, varying ties of pattern, and a vest that had the look of snakeskin. Few of the patrons actually knew what George was, and if they did, they had a reason to fear his power. Some, though, made fun of him when it seemed as if he wasn't looking. Earlier in the evening, for instance, a young Harpy had heard the rumor of George being a "bloodsucker", and decided to tease the gentleman. She ghosted a hand across her feathery neck, seductively smirking at him as he glanced at her. "Look at my poor neck, all bare and tender and exposed. All that blood just pumping away." she teased as he moved to grab her beer bottle. George had given her a disapproving glance, moving away swiftly as he called for another staff member to "deal" with her. "Oh, please. Jiles! Make her stop." the bartender joked. If any of the other patrons had been paying direct attention to the vampire, they would've seen the flash of his tongue licking his lips as he vanished behind the counter. A long time ago, most likely a year, George had lost control. His intention was to feed on one person, and not kill them, but the result of his mission was seven dead humans: each drained entirely of their blood and energy. He'd hated himself for months after, but no one had known about his mistake. Right now, however, with patrons making fun of his bloodsucking ability and such, and the true lack of energy he had, another mistake just might occur once again. Every night George returns to his room, ponders if he should go out and take a little, and return home, but never does it. The thoughts of hurting another human being is too frightening for him. But, the effects of having next to nothing in his system could be viewed by his patrons: he was tired constantly, his stomach often rumbled on the job, he fell asleep twice on his shift, dark circles could be seen under his eyes, he looked even paler than usual, and he possessed about a seventh of his power, leaving him to call upon security if a fight broke out. 'Tonight.' he thought as he gathered the last of the trash from the lounge area and placed it into a pocket dimension the Veil used for destroying garbage. Moving to the kitchen so he could wash up the counters and such, he found the door closed, but the light on. 'Interesting.' he thought, knowing well that he'd dismissed all his staff over an hour ago. Slowly pushing the door open, he found himself looking at the backside of a black clad figure. Almost instantly, George recognised the crazy brown hair and silver chain around the figure's neck, along with the thickened arm and leg muscles, torn sleeves of the figure's black shirt, black jeans, black shoes, and black fingerless gloves on the figure's hands. Marcus, one of George's most trusted staff members stood before him, viciously tearing into what looked to be a dead man's arm. Marcus was a Barghest, or Yorkshire Black Dog, an oftentimes large beast that resembles a large, black dog with sharp fangs and red eyes that hunts sinners at night, killing by draining its victims blood and feasting upon their body. It wasn't an unusual practice for Barghests to hang around in the Veil, but to watch one of them feast so animalistically on something that was once human, was terrifying. "That is the scariest thing I have ever seen in my entire life." George said somewhat loudly, slapping a hand over his mouth as soon as he realized he'd verbalized it. Instantly, Marcus dropped the arm, whipped around, grabbed George's wrists, and slammed him into the wall. With the force of the impact, George's glasses flew off, clattering unceremoniously to the floor, but not breaking. Marcus was a good foot or so taller than him, which trumped him in size and strength at the moment, if they were to fight it out. "Oh, it's scary for you? Would you like me to change it?" Marcus growled. "There's no need for that. I'll just clean once you've finished eating." George replied quickly. "I certainly can't have a snack as polite as you cleaning up after a predator like me. I'll find something else to eat." Marcus replied, licking his lips. "You will?" George asked, confused. "Yeah, you." the beastling replied, lunging his head forward and snapping his fangs down on George's throat. George hissed slightly with the pain, his body suddenly flushed with a sensation of pleasure. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from moaning, feeling his fangs slide out inside his mouth. Marcus took his time in draining the ancient's own magical blood, his grip on George's wrists tightening ever so often as he tasted something he liked. After a few minutes, Marcus released George's wrists, moving them to rest on his own muscular shoulders. George looked as if he could barely stand, eyes droopy and body relaxed. Moving his hands to George's waist, the beastling hauled the ancient into his arms in a child-like fashion, before gently depositing him on the counter behind him. Now at equal height, Marcus placed himself between George's thighs, gently rubbing circles into the vampire's neck. Lazily, George's blue eyes moved to stare at him, a weak smile on his face. "Your fangs are showing." Marcus smirked confidently. "I know." George replied, a faint blush coming to his cheeks. Marcus leaned down and planted a firm kiss on the side of his jaw, hauling the vampire onto his shoulder. "Where are we going?" George asked, only slightly alarmed. "I'm going to catch something for you to eat. Then, your ass is mine." Marcus replied.
~END