Title: Old Habits
Pairings: OMCs/Hannibal, Drake/Hannibal
Warnings: Some sexual content, some violence
Disclaimer: Nothing relating to the Blade franchise belongs to me, this is a work that has no monetary value attached to it.
Author's Notes: Written because I was bugging Athena to write a Drake/Hannibal fic, looked at some of the movie quotes, and got inspired.
The truth was, Hannibal didn't date a lot of older men. He dated a few older men, who just happened to be filthy rich. It wasn't hard to meet them, not for someone who looked like Hannibal did, and especially not since he knew most of them from his vampire days. He had been young, wild, and willing to fuck almost anything if he had Danica's approval, and Danica did like to seal some of her and her brother's business deals in some creative ways.
When he became human, he didn't lose that part of him, the part attracted to danger, which craved destruction. He just managed to use it toward other goals, goals that his keepers (because they hadn't taken their eyes off of him, not for months, maybe not even yet) told him were for the greater good.
But then he ended up in one of those clubs he had frequented so often as a fledging vampire, where sexual preference was something to be laughed about and never observed, where anything could happen and was allowed to happen in the middle of the dance floor. There were some familiar faces, thankfully no vampires he recognized, and one of them had offered to buy him a drink, then simply to buy him.
Vampire hunting was funded somehow, but it didn't pay Hannibal particularly well. It paid shit when compared to the money he always managed to sweet talk Danica out of, to buy the newest stereo or a pair of circulation-stopping leather pants. So, with the vision of a lucrative night in his mind, he fibbed to the others about having a possible lead and went with the guy.
There were chains, and blood, and bruises, but Hannibal hadn't felt so alive since he died that second time, heart stopping for an instant before restarting at a faster, harder, human pace. He fell in love with the man, just a little, and playfully wrote down his phone number in spilled blood on an exposed bit of skin before grabbing the fold of bills and walking, partially naked and entirely sated, from the penthouse.
It was only a matter of time before he was propositioned by some vampires, and even he was surprised at how long his luck held out. In the end, it was someone he didn't know, hadn't even ever seen, but had the air of an elder about him that set Hannibal's sense of self preservation off like nothing before ever had. And that, right there, was what made him accept the offer.
The vampire didn't take him back to his place, instead they went into one of the private rooms the club sported, the vampire's hazel eyes watching Hannibal's every move, cataloging and calculating.
"So, um, come here often?" he asked, even though he knew the answer, knew because this guy, whoever he was, would have drawn attention from everyone. Not even Hannibal's people had heard anything about him, yet.
"No," the vampire's voice was deep, moving something inside of Hannibal that hadn't existed since a five year stint as one of the undead, that should have been long gone. "But you do."
He blinked. "Yeah...this place is pretty dull, but it still beats out all the rest. Half the places on the block don't even sanitize their strippers after the night—it's a crying shame." Hannibal shook his head, using the moment to look around the room, wondering if it was too late for a quick stake-and-run.
"And you're Mr. States-the-Obvious."
They were both in the center, now, Hannibal's chest rising and falling too fast, his blood rushing in his ears loud enough for him to hear it...which meant the vampire had been hearing it for awhile, could smell the fear on him. That wasn't a good thing, definitely not a safe thing.
"We going to do this, or what?" He raised an eyebrow, pulled his shirt up enough to expose hard abs and tanned skin, tantalizing.
That was all it took, not that vampires were known for their self-restraint. Hannibal was pushed back onto the bed by strong hands, his shirt ripped off him, teeth latching onto his lips in a fierce kiss. It was too much, too fast, despite all the experience that Hannibal had, and it was the best thing ever.
The vampire stalled once the rest of their clothing was off, minutes after kissing and necking, and some very successful frottage that left a bruise on Hannibal's neck that surprisingly wasn't a bite. He stared at the sigil etched into Hannibal's skin and then looked up, those ancient eyes piercing him. "I...used to belong to someone. I don't, anymore. I guess you could say she didn't pay close enough attention and someone up and petnapped me."
He grinned, but it was the type he knew rested on a razor's edge between uncertain and manic. It wasn't the sort of expression he could have around humans, it unnerved them. But this was a vampire, an old vampire, and that meant Hannibal didn't have to hold any part of himself back.
After a few moments, the vampire leaned over, nipped around the area, traced the edges of his groin with sharp fingernails. "That was foolish."
"Well, I wasn't exactly against it."
He looked up, eyes unreadable but not. The nails were at his erection, now, scratching just light enough to hurt good and Hannibal was gasping, little panting breaths, stuck in the purgatory between too much pain and too little. "I meant, of them. I wouldn't have let you go...or if you had been taken," the whole hand was pumping, now, and there was a tongue flicking back and forth over his head, a fang grazing the sensitive underside for just a second, "I would have gone and stolen you back." The vampire smirked in between actions that were driving Hannibal wild, making him thrust and squirm, beg. "And killed everyone who had taken you from me."
He came. Hard. And he was lost. That wasn't the sort of thing, he knew, that humans, or at least healthy humans, got off on. There was darkness still inside of him, lurking about. It wasn't the first time he wondered if the "cure" hadn't just suppressed his vampiric nature, left him more human than a Daywalker, but only physically.
The vampire was almost smiling down at him, pushing up so they were face to face again, but leaving his hands where they were, dipping back behind Hannibal's balls to play lightly over his hole. "You weren't meant to be freed. You're like a domesticated animal left in the wild...you can survive, but you have to give up too much of yourself to do it." A finger was inside of him, dry and burning, only adding to his aftershocks of orgasm. "You miss the collar, the cage. You weren't made to be in control of yourself."
"What's your name?" It was more timid than anything that had come out of his mouth in years, shocking Hannibal more than the second finger added into him, straining in the arid heat of his body.
"You know my name. I'm a part of you, just like I'm a part of all of them." He wasn't making sense, but Hannibal wasn't sure he cared. The vampire had found lube, somewhere, and was slicking himself, positioning himself with a practiced shift of his hips.
It was fast, brutal, tearing and just a little bit bloody. Enough to make the vampire's eyes flash, mouth descending on the other side of Hannibal's neck from the hickey, teeth slipping in like his neck was home. There was another orgasm, somewhere, and the vampire was roaring as he came, sinking deeper into Hannibal's body as Hannibal's mind floated away, pleasure and bloodlust stealing consciousness from him.
He woke up alone, stiff and sore from injury and the dried collections of various bodily fluids painting his body and the mattress below him. Hannibal could remember everything, even when he started to fade out, and that sent a shiver through him. Because even though it was a vampire (and that wasn't right, because it was the vampire, he'd said as much and Hannibal had gotten it, instinctively, even if he hadn't wanted to get it), it was the best sex he'd ever had. The kind he'd masturbate to for the rest of his life, or unlife, whichever one he ended up having.
There was a bonus, despite everything, something that would make stumbling back to base in wrinkled, stinking clothes, with a bite on the side of his neck, worth it. Hannibal could say he had bribed an informant, seduced a vampire, gotten information that was vital. Dracula was back, after all, just as powerful and alluring as any story ever said he was. And now they'd be ready.