Explicit Smut - Blog Posts

Title: [Untitled fantasy smut project]

Genre: Fantasy, Smut

Chapter: 3

First Chapter - Previous chapter - Next chapter Coming soon :)

Chapter Rating: NSFW 18+

Series Summary: Lawrence Viscara, an aristocrat vampire from a famous noble family, is afflicted with a hex that causes him to go into heat. To help him recover and keep him from embarrassing the Viscara name he sent away from prying eyes to live with Syrath, a high class Incubus escort, who is hired to tend to his needs.

Chapter Content Warnings: Explicit smut, Male masturbation, M/M smut scene, Oral

A/N: had so much fun writing the previous chapter that I just couldn't help myself and kept writing.

— Chapter 3 —

Lawrence couldn’t be sure if it was the hex or if it was the sheets that carried Syrath’s scent that caused the urge he felt when he awoke. He lifted the sheets to his face and took a deep breath, soaking in the scent, coffee and grapefruits. He slowly sat up stretching, before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When he was awake enough to see, his breath hitched. Syrath was in the room, shirtless. 

“Wh-” Lawrence stuttered, pulling the sheet up to cover his nudity, “What are you doing in here?! Are you some kind of pervert?”

“Well firstly, yes.” Syrath shrugged, amused, “But this is my bedroom, where I keep my clothes, so that wasn’t my intention… this time.”

“A… I…”

“And secondly it’s bold of you to call me a pervert when you were just smelling another man’s sheets. Is that a fetish of yours?” he teased.

“GET OUT!” Lawrence exclaimed, pointing to the door. 

“Okay, okay” Syrath laughed, grabbing a shirt off the door and shutting it behind him.

Lawrence let out a breath of relief that he didn’t know he was holding. The sight of Syrath, despite himself, sent a fresh flush through Lawrence. He lifted the sheet to look at himself, fully erect. Syrath probably saw the bulge through the sheets. For the second day in a row, he felt humiliated. There was a knock at the door, Lawrence jumped, pulling the sheets up again.

“Your bags arrived a bit earlier, I’ve left them at the foot of the bed for you”

Lawrence didn’t respond.

“Get dressed and I’ll prepare us some breakfast. The door to your left is for the bathroom”

Lawrence waited until he heard Syrath footsteps get further from the door before he jumped out of the bed. He had himself a quick shower and managed to calm himself down with some self-pleasure. He then returned and opened his bags, rummaging through for outfits and makeup. If Syrath thought he was the only one who could be sexy, he had another thing coming. 

—

Syrath took off his apron. He could tell why Lawrence took so long in the shower, he could instinctually sense the pleasure in the air. He did realise that this was exactly what Syrath was hired for, didn’t he? Syrath set the dining table, plated up their breakfast, a fresh croissant sliced in half and filled with melted cheese and freshly chopped tomatoes. Syrath knew he wasn’t going to compare to the Viscara households chefs, but the ingredients carried most of this dish. The bedroom door finally clicked open.

Lawrence emerged wearing a backless tuxedo vest with nothing underneath, showing off his pale porcelain skin. His shorts, again falling to his mid thigh, now revealed legs encased in fishnets instead of being bare. His eyeliner was the same thin charcoal ring, but his lips were a gaudier shade of matte purple. He walked to the dining table and sat across from Syrath, who was admittedly a little stunned at the obvious provocation of Lawrence’s choice of clothes. 

“What? Speechless?” Lawrence quipped.

“Not at all,” Syrath replied, taking his seat, “I was simply enjoying the view.”

Lawrence blushed a little, but he didn’t mind being complimented. He picked up his croissant, took a bite. Then another. Then another. 

“How is it?” Syrath said, smiling.

“I’ve had better” Lawrence responded between chews of his last bite.

“I’m sure you have, as they say ‘Viscara blood demands the best’, but I’m sure the next course won’t disappoint.”

“Next course?”

Syrath tilted his head, exposing his neck, brushed aside a few stray hairs from his nape. “How do you want to do this?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Lawrence huffed. He snatched Syrath's wrist and brought it to his lips, the distinct smell of coffee and grapefruits washed over him. His fangs pierced Syrath’s skin with little resistance, and he slowly sucked. 

Syrath’s blood was a bit strange to Lawrence. Not at all what he expected. He thought incubus blood would be more pungent, but instead, it had a bittersweetness, with a little more thickness than a human’s. It had a decadent moreish quality to it, like chocolate truffles or macaroons. 

Lawrence glanced up, his gaze catching Syrath smirking and placing a hand on his cheek in amusement. Lawrence furrowed his brow and stopped. 

“Something funny?” He said annoyed.

“No,” Syrath replied nonchalantly, “I simply enjoy watching when someone sucks me off.”

“You indecent, vulgar, creature!” Lawrence snapped, standing from his chair. His cheeks flushed red.

“That is,” Syrath began, lifting his arm to his face, “why you hired me.” He gently kissed the purple lip mark on his wrist.

“I-” Lawrence stuttered, “I don’t care what Tati said, you aren’t fit to serve the Viscara.”

“You seem to be mistaken. I am no servant to your blood.” Syrath said, his voice lowering, “I am no one’s servant.”

Lawrence winced at the sudden cold in the air.

“As Lady Viscara mentioned, you are under my roof, and I am under no obligation to continue to shelter you.” Syrath stood, walked to the coat rack at Lawrence’s back, “So if I were you, I’d reconsider my position for the remainder of my time here.” He said locking eyes with Lawrence while putting on his jacket, grabbing his keys.

“Where are you going?” Lawrence questioned.

“You’re not my only client.” Syrath answered.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Syrath raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you need other clients? We’re paying you more than enough to not have to work while I’m here.” Lawrence pressed, stroking his arm both from the chill still heavy in the air and a mild sense of guilt.

“If it was just about the money, I wouldn’t be nearly as good as I am.” Syrath said with a smirk, the warmth in the air returning. “And the Viscara would never have considered me if I wasn’t the best.” Syrath turned to leave but paused at the door. He turned back and walked over to Lawrence, pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead, “I’ll return before dark.” He said, before turning and leaving. 

Lawrence stood there for a moment in shock at the emotional whiplash. His mind spun. The tenderness of Syrath’s lips, contrasting the cold in the air from earlier, left a burning brand on his skin. He raised his fingertips to his lips, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to control himself if Syrath had kissed there instead. He slumped back into the chair. He was used to being around beautiful people, it was basically all that vampire society consisted of, but something about Syrath was different to him. It was why he chose him in the first place. He saw a… rawness. A hunger in his sunset eyes that made Lawrence want to be the one to quench it. And just then, even though he was being scolded, he felt goosebumps on his skin, but he wasn’t afraid. He was excited. Something about Syrath made him want to forgo all of the etiquette that was taught to him since young, yet his pride as a Viscara would not allow it.

—

Syrath found Lawrence reading on the couch when he returned. He had changed his clothes to something more suited for lounging, a sleeveless turtleneck and some loose fitting shorts. He was reading a poetry book, it was a first edition, gifted to Syrath by one of his more affluent clients. Most of what decorated his media cabinet were similar gifts. He was especially fond of the statuette of a torso that he had been the model for. He doesn’t see that client anymore, but she was able to capture Syrath’s lithe figure down to the tiniest detail. She was very good with her hands at both sculpting, and… other things. Syrath hung his coat, placed his keys back in their spot. As he approached Lawrence put the book to the side and stood.

“Syrath, I-” Lawrence stuttered, “I’m sorry… For earlier.”

Syrath raised an eyebrow at the sudden apology, more shocked than he was at Lawrence’s outfit that morning. 

“It’s just that... Blood. It’s precious. I was raised to always be respectful when feeding, and…”

“No, I’m sorry also.” Syrath interrupted, “I know nothing of vampire culture. I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”

Lawrence paused. Well that was half a day worrying wasted, he thought.

“I had a look around while you were out, unpacked a few of my things.” Lawrence said, “I mean, as long as you don’t mind, this is your roof and -”

Syrath chuckled, kissed Lawrence on his cheek, “Make yourself at home.” He headed to the bedroom, “I’m going to shower. If you’re feeling comfortable, wait for me on the bed, if not, don’t.”

Lawrence felt his stomach tighten. Shortly after he heard the shower running he entered the bedroom, stripped, then waited on the bed. He was trying to figure out the sexiest position to present himself when he felt it. 

The heat. 

The hex. 

It welled up in him like magma. He doubled over from the sudden stimulation, his hand already reaching down to stroke. He didn’t want Syrath to see him like this, to see him when he lost control of himself, but with every stroke the heat grew. Every toss, every turn against the silk sheets made his skin tingle. He bit down, hard, on the pillow case, his hand moving faster out of desperation. He was so engrossed that he didn’t notice the sound of the door click open and shut. Didn’t notice the sound of the towel drop to the floor, or the dip in the bed as Syrath crawled over to him. He didn’t notice until he felt warm breath against his ear.

“You should have called for me” Syrath said, reaching his hand around, taking hold of Lawrence’s. He pulled Lawrence over, on top of his lap. “”Show me,” Syrath ordered, running his finger over Lawrence’s lips, pressing a kiss to his nape, “I want you to show me how you pleasure yourself.”

Lawrence started slow, stroking the length from base to tip, trying to show some semblance of control over himself, even though the heat felt as if it were about to boil over. The feeling of Syrath’s hand along with his was taking him to his breaking point. He began to speed up, couldn’t tell if he was doing it or if Syrath was. Syrath gently laid kisses on his neck, his lips making their way to his shoulder. He let out a moan, a drop of water from Syrath’s wet hair hitting his collar, rolled down his chest. 

Syrath took control of Lawrences heat, squeezing it tight to stop him from finishing.

“How did you know?” Lawrence said through gritted teeth.

“Because I am as you said, an indecent, vulgar, creature.” Syrath answered, lightly nipping the point of Lawrence’s ear. Lawrence raised his other hand to his mouth, trying to muffle his yelp, but the sound escaped him.

Syrath used his other hand, rubbing Lawrence’s tip against his palm while still holding tight. 

“S… Syrath… Fais… Fais-moi jouir” Lawrence begged between moans.

Syrath loosened his grip, allowed Lawrence to release the pleasure into his palm. Syrath drew it in, the pleasure, the hex. He wouldn’t have it interfere. He and he alone would be the one to take Lawrence to his breaking point. Syrath brought his hand up to his mouth. Licked it clean. The distinct salty flavour familiar to him, yet still unique to every partner he’s been with. Syrath spun Lawrence around, laid him on his back.

“You tasted me earlier, how about I return the favour?” Syrath said as he dipped his head down.

It wasn’t the first time Lawrence had someone’s lips around his shaft, but it was the first time it felt like this. Was it the hex’s doing? Or was it that Syrath instinctually knew his weak points? Whatever the case, Lawrence knew that he wouldn’t last long. His fingers gripped Syrath's hair as he continued to suck. He looked down and met Syrath’s sunset coloured eyes, saw the dark hunger in them that he’d noticed since the very first photos he saw. 

“Putain!” Lawrence exclaimed, his head snapped back in pleasure as he reached his breaking point. Syrath swallowed it all, taking it one gulp at a time. 

Syrath pulled his head back, letting Lawrence go with the satisfying pop sound of him releasing suction. He made his way up Lawrence's body, his lips dropping light marks against Lawrence’s abdomen, over Lawrence’s chest, his neck, until he was nibbling at his earlobe, all the while still stroking, stoking the flames so they wouldn't burn out. 

Syrath pulled back slightly, just enough to see Lawrence. He was slick with sweat, his gaze hazy with pleasure. 

Lawrence wrapped his arms around Syrath, his nails slightly digging into his back. He pulled himself up, pressed his lips against Syrath’s, forcing a kiss. Syrath allowed himself to be rolled over onto his back. Lawrence let himself go, pressing kisses all over Syrath, down his jaw, his neck, leaving a trail of purple marks in his lip’s wake. Lawrence stopped when he reached Syrath’s collar, could feel the steady pulse just under his skin. He couldn’t help himself. His fangs dug in and he indulged in the sweet taste of Syrath’s blood without restraint.

Syrath stroked Lawrence’s damp hair while he drank, cradling the small of his back. His voice, silk with a hint of satisfaction, cooed gently in Lawrence’s ear.

After a moment Lawrence’s fangs slowly retreated, his lips parting with the flesh around Syrath’s clavicle. 

“You okay?” Syrath inquired, wiping away a tear that pricked at Lawrence’s eye, smudging the black eyeliner around it.  

Lawrence responded with a small nod, laying his head on Syrath’s chest.

“Merci.” Lawrence said after a moment. He reached his hand down, noticing Syrath’s hardness pressing against him, planning to return the favour. Syrath gently grabbed his wrist before he could start.

“Not tonight.” Syrath said, “I’ll take you in your entirety after you get over this hex.”

Lawrence didn’t protest. It was what he wanted too.

Syrath looked at his fingers, stained purple, knowing his face and neck would be the same, “But really, you couldn’t have afforded a lipstick that doesn’t smear?”

Lawrence blushed, “I-” he turned his face away, “I like that it leaves a mark.”

Syrath grinned, his subtle annoyance at the marks on him becoming an appreciation. 

— End of Chapter 3 —

Next Chapter - Coming soon

French:

Fais-moi jouir - Make me come

Putain - fuck

A/N: Really hoped you enjoyed this chapter, again any feedback is more than welcome. Hope you look forwards to what comes next

No teaser yet, will edit this post to add it when I'm deeper into chapter 4 :)