[Fanfic] What’s Your Order?

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Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms: Dracula (2013), Penny Dreadful (2014)

Rating: M

Pairing: Dracula/Alexander Grayson x Dorian Gray

Genres: fanfiction, crossover, humor, probably a little OOC, modern AU

Characters : Dracula/Alexander Grayson, Dorian Gray

Warnings: reference to violence and murders …

Preview:

Dorian was wrong. Alexander wasn’t jealous at all, perhaps annoyed, irritated, enraged—who wouldn’t be when arriving home after a hard day’s work to find their bedroom trashed by their partner’s having a fun row (sometimes maybe two or three) with a virtual stranger, again—but absolutely not jealous, not after, like, eight times of this month alone, not mention the whole year, and the years before.

Alexander Grayson arrived home at the ripe hour of 10 p.m., worn out and very much frustrated. His mood was not particularly high, that was for sure, as he had had another scorching debate with his board of directors about the new regulations to be introduced in his corporation (whose idea was it to have invented this damnest thing called ‘‘board of directors’?), and having to restrain himself from tearing their stubborn conservative heads from their senile necks had consumed the majority of his vitality, so much so that he ironically abhorred the notion of going on a late-night hunt in spite of the hunger clawing inside his throat. He hoped there were still a few blood bags in the refrigerator—cold, tasteless meal was better than no meal at all.

His low mood reached a new low when he spotted a pair of Converse snickers discarded in a devil-may-care fashion at the entrance to the living room. Nothing annoyed the former Romanian monarch than untidiness and cheap knockoffs except the combination of both. The continuous giggles from his, no, their bedroom his super hearing picked up further grated his strained nerves.

Alexander all but kicked open the door (unsurprisingly unlocked) to their shared place, causing a loud enough noise to shock the king-sized bed’s occupants out of their heated session, well, one of them at least, as the other was too used to his ruthless treatment of the furniture in the house, sometimes even played along and had his fair share of damage. On the luxurious bed were two male bodies arranged in a position that left very little imagination for what sort of activity they were engaging. His winter-blue eyes glided over their uncovered skin, both possessing an intoxicating pale complexion so contrastive with the deep scarlet of the bed sheet, and their piercing gaze seemed to claim all he wanted at this moment was to rip their birthday suits off them like peeling grapes and string the remains on a pole. One of them squirmed visibly to his murderous intent blatant in the air while the other, again, was too accustomed to it to produce even the smallest reaction.

“Welcome home. You’re back just in time,” greeted the fearless one with a smile more suited for a civil, fully-clothed summer occasion amongst the elite peers than a debauched setting that he himself had architected. He laid a hand on his ‘bedmate’ who was feeling more and more unnerved by the second. “Josh, I’d like to introduce you to my landlord and the master of this fancy house, Mr. Alexander Grayson.”

“You don’t own this mansion?” the young man called Josh asked with great disbelief at the truth just revealed to him.

“I am, shamefully, a no-good freeloader.” A careless shrug and a more careless smile which might appear childlike and innocent to those who hadn’t learnt of his less-than-pure nature. “Mr. Grayson here is gracious enough to allow me to stay for an indefinite time length, provide for me also, otherwise I would be crawling on the street right now, begging for change from passers-by.”

Said the guy who had possessed the electronic key to unlock the security system and strut into this pseudo palace like he owned every inch of it. A dazzled Josh had drunken this impression like a fish and harbored not a doubt.

With the look of someone who had been kicked in the face with a spiky boot, Josh gathered his discarded jeans and T in haste, and just when he was about to bring his ass out of this awkward situation, he was grasped by the arm. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave. There’s still more fun to be had. The night is young after all.”

If it were a mere few minutes ago Josh would be enchanted by this beautiful young man’s flair for literary, heck, by anything that came out of those kissable lips naturally—who could resist that alluring British accented voice—but as he could feel on his goose-bumped skin the tension in the atmosphere skyrocketing, he only felt the urge to vaporize from this lavish suite. He had only wanted some no-strings-attached fun with a gorgeous creature all right; there was no need to get sticky in a bad jealous case.

Damn, wasn’t his grip too strong for a sissy-looking dude?

“But Dorian,” Josh said, “I think I’d better go now. Got some business to attend to. See ya later.”

… Provided Dorian survived his ‘landlord’ first.

“Darling,” Dorian drawled, and it took his next words for Josh to realize he wasn’t referring to him, “dear Josh is dying to leave and obviously I’m failing to persuade him. Would you come and grace us with your skills? We could use a fraction of your multi-talents.”

What the heck? Josh cursed in his head. Is this Dorian dude out of his fucking mind? Normally Josh wouldn’t turn down a tempting opportunity to get some booty with not only one but two good-looking guys (he did find the other man, Mr. Grayson or whatever, attractive despite everything) but no, not this time. The thought of fucking, or being fucked for that matter, by a guy who looked like he wanted to skin you alive and string the remains on a pole and might very well attempt it wasn’t very hot, thank you very much.

How someone with an unimpressive build like him could at the same time be so intimidating, wondered the captain of his college’s football team.

“But of course,” said Alexander, stalking towards the bed with a menacing air shrouding his suited form.

Out of the corner of Josh’s eyes but within Alexander’s, Dorian was smiling his little weasel smile. Surely he enjoyed the next turn of event, and he didn’t bother to hide that he was very much turned on just by watching his darling bloodsucker sink his elongated fangs into Josh’s vein with more force than necessary. Someone must have had a rough day, no doubt.

Alexander drank deep and completely free of mercy, as befitting his status as an ancient vampire, and those who were unfortunate enough to find themselves at the receiving end of his pointed incisors, alas, never truly comprehended the cause of their deaths. Poor, poor Joshua. He hadn’t a chance to scream, let alone struggle.

Without neither its life nor Alexander’s arm for support, the corpse dropped at the feet of the bed in a brief, dull thump, its head lolling to the side as it was barely connected to the neck by a few torn shreds of flesh.

Talk about anger issues.

Nevertheless, Dorian wasn’t the least disturbed by the obscene degree of bloodshed (or the lack of it, since the vampire hadn’t had a single drop wasted) in this confined suite, if his joyful humming of a nameless tune and the everlasting smile plastered on his face were anything to go by.

Alexander scanned the hopeless state of their bed—crumpled bed sheet and what the hell were those whitish stains—and spent longer to examined Dorian. Although what he saw was nothing strange to him, he couldn’t help a growl at the conspicuous red butterflies dotted his milky clavicles, flapping their tiny wings further and further below.

“Was he any good?”

“Tasted like the frat boy trash that he was,” Alexander remarked. “It was a miracle he didn’t do drugs. Where did you pick this?”

Dorian reclined on the bed, pillowing his head with his right arm. “Places frat boys frequent, which are plentiful in this metropolis. It took me hours to single out one that was neither snorting cocaine nor hooking with someone. Clean frat boys are so rare a species these days.”

With his free arm Dorian reached out to Alexander, fiddling with the golden cufflink on his shirt and soon abandoning it for his lean fingers instead. “Come on, I deserve a compliment for my effort, don’t I?”

“Judging by the look, I’d say you were overcompensated. Thank you for the meal. It was indeed better than blood bags.”

He gave Dorian a quick peck on the lips, shading the light pink with a smudge of red.

Dorian licked his lips and grinned like a cat. “Where’s my reward?” he purred, tugging Alexander’s arm with some considerable strength, the kind of which had impeded Josh’s fleeing out of his designated fate—a quintessential bonus from decades of diligently mixing blood with a vampire. It took no Einstein to get what kind of ‘reward’ he was determined to claim.

Alexander replied with a smirk that stated his refusal to be pulled down into maybe a kiss and what hotly ensued. When it boiled down to this tug-of-war play, there was no guessing who would be the ultimate winner between an immortal whose strength grew with time and one who did not. He indulged Dorian from time to time though, knowing how his mate adored a taste of domination over a mighty creature, however ephemeral it might be.

As it was proven that Dorian was unable to drag Alexander to his level, he borrowed the vampire’s strength to lift himself off the bed. His arms draped around his lover’s toned shoulders and leaned on him for support as if he suddenly became boneless and couldn’t stand on his own. Although he was a good few inches taller than Alexander, in his drooped posture, he appeared to be somewhat inferior to the straight-backed vampire in height. He moistened the skin on Alexander’s neck with his tongue as he breathed, “Don’t be so jealous over a little plaything.”

Alexander’s first thought was directed to denial, but then he was quick to remind himself how ridiculous and undignified it would be having to argue this triviality. Plus, it would only serve to prove Dorian was correct.

“Am I?” he asked with a slight arch of his fine eyebrows and a tiny curve of his lips. Then, not waiting for any response, he said, “I’m going for a shower.” Short and crisp—Dom mode on.

Of course Dorian wouldn’t be Dorian, Dracula’s companion, if he was deterred by the commanding tone. “May I join you? I could use a bath also,” he whispered, nibbling the line of Alexander’s ear with his perfect human teeth.

Tickling. And arousing as hell. Trust Dorian to never fail in tempting his other lust beside the one for blood.

Since that was what Alexander had in mind as well—his keen vampire sense couldn’t stand the frat-boy odor permeating Dorian’s skin in the process, he let Dorian maneuver him into their deluxe bathroom.

“Be sure to rid off the trash later.”

“Yes, darling.”

This was one out of various occasions when having a possessed, flesh-devouring portrait in their basement could come in handy.

“And the cheap Converse knockoff, too, while you’re at it.”

Dorian was wrong. Alexander wasn’t jealous at all, perhaps annoyed, irritated, enraged—who wouldn’t be when arriving home after a hard day’s work to find their bedroom trashed by their partner’s having a fun row (sometimes maybe two or three) with a virtual stranger, again—but absolutely not jealous, not after, like, eight times of this month alone, not mention the whole year, and the years before. It was true Alexander’s fury had been peerless the first time such incident happened—so long ago that he hardly recalled that victim’s appearance. Was it a man or a woman? Blonde or brunette? Fair-skinned or tanned? Muscular or lean? Anyway, no matter how that one looked, they had been certainly attractive enough to catch Dorian’s eyes and Dorian, being simply Dorian, would never be unsuccessful in getting what or who he wanted once they had managed to intrigue him. The thrill in the new things, he claimed. To Alexander, it was a quirk in his character he didn’t quite appreciate. Needless to say how he had felt upon returning home to see a stranger taking his place on the bed. His mask of civility had quickly succumbed to his bestial wrath, and the beast manifest to tear that unfortunate somebody’s head clean off their neck in one swift strike. Truly a sight to behold later: with red splattering the wall behind the bed and soaking the mattress and almost every object destroyed. The room had to be repainted and refurnitured afterwards. The blamed culprit of all this hellish scene remained cheekily unfazed, much to Alexander’s chagrin, and there was no way to swipe that smirk off his face even when Alexander had him against the wall in one of their roughest copulations in their long years together (if a record had been kept, that was).

Well, theirs was far from the healthiest relationship; so were the majority of relationships involving immortal partners. Living forever kind of had that nasty effect your mentality, except when you were already messed up to begin with.

There wasn’t a single monogamous bone in Dorian’s youthful skeleton, and soon after their room was done with renovating (more like rebuilding), another incident happened and its result was devastatingly indifferent from the first. Then the third, the fourth and the fifth made up a chain of heads torn, walls smashed and general rebuilding. Dorian’s attitude remained the same as he rode through Alexander’s jealous tantrums as if nothing serious occurred and all of these violent bursts were just exotic spices to fight off the monotony of their immortal, sometimes too bored, existence.

“Darling,” Dorian called, stretching his long, graceful limbs on where his body was draping over, the plush sofa, “I know you grew up and have lived most of your life in extravagance, but do you think it’s terribly wasteful to spill their precious juice in that manner?”

Alexander propped up on his elbow, his body language showing that Dorian had gotten his attention. His mood had improved a great deal and his jealous flame put out after hours of ‘blowing up steam’ in practically every surface in the mansion. As proof of their unholy recreation, their sleeping chamber was a hopeless mess and there was a stiff cadaver, head and body detached, at the foot of the bed.

“I did take great consideration in picking only the prime-aged, healthy and cocaine-free ones after all. Well, if you catch my drift…”

Oh. Realization dawned on Alexander’s chiseled features as well as a minuscule portion of mortification. In his jealous frenzy, he hadn’t really retained much rational thought, but to think about it now… yes, it was indeed a waste to let it drench the walls and carpet while all of its vitality could have been spent on energizing his vampiric mechanism instead.

However, in Alexander’s defense that he wasn’t a brute blinded by jealousy, being a vampire did exaggerate his emotions in a way that more often than not resulted in dismal outcomes.

“So… that’s why you brought them home?”

“If it was merely for fun, I would be fine anywhere, say, the not-very-sanitary restroom at the back. Save the trouble. However, I wouldn’t say I take no pleasure in watching you put out their lives.”

Alexander couldn’t help a laugh. “All is a sport to you, isn’t it?”

“Something to keep me out of boredom when you’re away. Since you work hard to provide for the freeloader that I am, I suppose the least I can do is make sure you are not malnourished, to return the favor, so to speak.”

“Positively housewifey.”

Dorian didn’t deny.

Since then Dorian had transformed his nocturnal pastime into a real manhunting. Alexander was surprised to find out Dorian was every bit a sufficient hunter, even more than himself if he had to admit, even though his looks and manners suggested otherwise. Or perhaps they were played to his advantage. Humans, no matter aged or young, green or experienced, couldn’t help being on guard when around Alexander, who exuded dominance and conquest through his every pore—such came as his default mode, but Dorian, with his easy smiles, shining eyes and sensual voice, could charm his way into their hearts within a matter of minutes. And before they realized how enormous their mistake was to put trust into this seemingly harmless youth, they were already caught in his toxic sway.

Being the former monarch who had reigned over a part of Eastern Europe, Alexander had his pride and a reputation amongst his bloodsucking peers to uphold and thus, he never abandoned his hunting habit to be fed like a domestic beast. To savor the taste of his prey’s despair was a predator’s ecstasy and vampires were nothing if not the predators at the top of the food chain. Dorian of course had no dispute over it, as he, though sincere in his words, was never diligent in his work. He went out if he was in the mood for some brief fun the mortal world could offer; if he wasn’t, he simply stayed in and locked himself in a marathon of whatever series available on their paid cable networks. But that was not to say Alexander never received a pleasant surprise from his ageless lover. From time to time he would come home to find dinner already served: slender or robust, light-skinned or dark, they came from different walks of life to this mansion to meet their ends at the fangs of an ancient vampire. The sight of their occupying his bed touched his nerve each damnable time—blame it on his amplified emotions, yet he would never say he didn’t enjoy the tastes their veins offered in abundance. He wasn’t aware he had a specific ‘type’ until Dorian casually pointed it out that the tall, slender brunette lasted him much longer than others.

No one said keen observation wasn’t Dorian’s strength.

Alexander wondered if Dorian noticed that it came to tall, slender brunette, none of these humans gave an exquisite and prolonged ecstasy like one unique individual…

“So, darling, what’s your order for tomorrow night?” Dorian asked one random evening while casually flipping through the channels.

From his side of the sofa, Alexander lifted his eyes from the pages he had been reading for a couple hours. His eyes studied Dorian’s form thinly covered by the silky bed robe, paying a little more attention to the delicate blue vein than the rest.

“Order for?”

“Dinner, darling, and by that I don’t mean the Antoine’s where we dined the fortnight—superb meal by the way.”

Alexander was genuinely surprised. “Why brings this up all of sudden? Normally you would pick according to your preference and I wasn’t complaining.”

Dorian had finally found something to last him for the rest of the night and stopped flipping through channels. “Season three was out already,” he murmured. “I was thinking about something different for tomorrow. Special even.”

“What’s the occasion?” Alexander asked as he simultaneously worked his memory. Nothing particularly stood out.

Dorian didn’t look too upset. “Ah, remember the night you were seen feeding on a lovely barmaid and you gorged out the voyeur’s heart afterwards?

That night,” Alexander laughed.

“Well, lately I’ve been somewhat reminiscent of London and the 19th century. One question struck me: How would it be now if I hadn’t followed you to that dark alleyway, merely heading back home as my dearly departed butler—God bless his soul—often preached?”

“It would have happened at another night, another location,” replied the vampire, “because you were never good at doing as told.”

A light chuckle. “So, what’s your order? Any type, any build, any color… I’ll try my very best.”

“Oh, I’m afraid that may leave you out of home the whole night.”

“You’re underestimating the allure of the Crescent City, darling. The mortal population has never been short of variety.”

Alexander’s gaze landed on that spot on Dorian’s neck again and he felt aroused just imagining what was running underneath. He tamed his lusts with little effort; saving for tomorrow night was what was in his mind.

“Tall, slender…” he answered after a while. “… dark of hair and light of skin… with a pair of amber-colored eyes. If you catch my drift…”

Always trust Dorian to read between the lines.

End

Set in the distant future of Why Won’t You Die?, together with Like It Rough

 

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