Slant was snuggled up to Morecombe in the coffin when someone banged on the window.
"Let me in!" he cried.
Morecombe clicked his fingers and the window opened. Honeyplace climbed in, hat streaming with rain, his cloak dangling wet between his legs.
"Oh fuck!" he said. "I didn't know you had him over."
He shielded his gaze; Honeyplace crawled beyond range of sight until he encountered the door. He stood up and opened it.
"That's the closet," said Morecombe.
"Yes, it is," agreed Honeyplace, blushing in the lamp-light. He walked over to the bedroom door, and fumbled for the key in the lock.
"I don't see why you can't join us," suggested Morecombe.
"What?" murmured Slant, waking up.
"Oh, hush," said Morecombe, withdrawing his arm from his neck. "Go to sleep. It's almost morning."
"I'm sorry I disturbed you, sir," said Honeyplace. "Why don't you knock him over the head like I did last century?"
"What?" said Slant, shivering upright. "What's Honeyplace doing here, sir?"
"Nothing, poppet," said Morecombe, kissing his hair.
Slant went berserk. "It's Honeyplace! He's crawled in through the window – or the door –"
"Actually," said Morecombe, trying to smooth it over, "I invited him over, for more."
Slant climbed out of the coffin and locked the window. He stood with his back to the scene. "I've got to get back to work," he said longingly. "Sir."
"Very well," said Morecombe. "Come here, Honeyplace."
"Sir, please," said Honeyplace. "We've done this far too many times, Mr Morecombe.
"I don't blame Slant –"
Morecombe grinned, revealing old, wobbly canines. "Come now, it's not as though I can bite."
"I don't think the other guild leaders would approve," said Honeyplace, shooting a look at Slant, who was over by the closet by now.
"What have I done?" said Slant.
Honeyplace hissed, "Do you know what you've been doing?"
"Yes," whispered Slant. "I've been here before."
"With vampire mind control? I don't think you're drunk enough to resist."
"This is new," said Morecombe. He pulled back the sheet and began to toss himself off.
Slant reached for his trousers. He pulled them off the hanger, and threw them down at the floor.
"Honeyplace," said Morecombe. "Pick those up, and bring them here. On your knees."
Honeyplace tried to resist by hanging onto the door knob.
Slant blinked and wobbled on the spot. "I need another drink," he said to Honeyplace.
"With work today? What am I saying, you're always working." Honeyplace's hands jerked and he fell forward, prone on the floor.
Slant wobbled again and jerked into movement. He bowed down and picked up the trousers from Honeyplace's grasp. "Your trousers, my lord," he said, walking towards Morecombe.
"Why, thank you, Mr Slant." He grinned. "Put them on me."
"Sir?" Slant blinked again. "Do you wish me to breathe when I blow on you, or –"
"Blow me," said Morecombe. "Try to keep up with modern slang."
"Yes, sir." Slant got down on one knee, leaving the trousers tucked into the sheet above. "I can't reach, sir."
"Damn it." Morecombe rubbed his temples. "Yes, that's better."
Slant sat besides the coffin lid, and grabbed Morecombe's wrinkly cock. He pumped it twice, and let his lips slide over Morecombe's foreskin.
"Ah, yes, ah, ah," said Morecombe. "Better, Slant, much better. Honeyplace!"
"Sir," said Honeyplace. "I don't consent to this."
Morecombe glared at him. "Have a drink," he sneered. "Here." He threw him a key. "Go further along the corridor and get a bottle. Bring it here. Ah, yes, ah!"
"Slant!" cried Honeyplace from the wine cellar. "Where's a full bottle when you need one?"
Slant swallowed as Morecombe came. His lips parted.
"Not yet," said Morecombe, grabbing him by the head and ramming him back down. "Yesssss."
Slant balanced himself with his hands either side of Morecombe's hips. He sank lower on Morecombe's cock, swallowing again.
"Ah, more," whispered Morecombe. "Poor old fool, you don't know what you're doing, do you?"
Honeyplace walked through the doorway, swaying slightly. "Here I am, sir, and I DO NOT consent to this. I didn't consent two centuries ago and nor did Dragon King of Arms. Nor did Slant by the look of things."
Honeyplace coughed. "Any more of this and I might contact the Watch, Mr Morecombe."
Morecombe's eyelids flickered. "Shut up, old boy."
Slant bobbed again, but not for air. He sank again, beatifically, swallowing hard. Morecombe squirmed.
"I think, Slant, that's quite enough." Slant heaved himself off, and lay, beautifully trained, on the coffin lid, upon the sheet and the trousers.
Honeyplace barely spared him a look as he flew directly towards the window; but escape was cut off! Morecombe smiled, and tidied his cock. "I think I could have just a little more," he said.
Slant still lay supine with his expression blank. His mouth gaped open.
Honeyplace saw Morecombe within his mind look at him. Then it went black. Then it went soft and white. Morecombe stood up, looking a thousand years younger. He smiled, as only vampires could.
"Why, Honeyplace," he said, mellow as wine, "would you be so good as to provide a husbandly comfort to one such as I, on a lovely morn such as this one?"
"N-n-n–" Honeyplace fought to keep his consent, and sagged. "Yes, Mr Morecombe. I'll be happy to husband you this morning and this afternoon, as well, if I may."
"Certainly, sir. Take your clothes off, and I will service you as soon as I deal with this slave – sorry, the servant boy Slant." Morecombe kicked the zombie off the lid and onto the floor.
Slant remained motionless. Honeyplace checked him mindfully, and he was drifting in a dark place, mind unconscious. Then he was lifted high in his head until he found himself dangling from Morecombe's grasp, high, high above him.
Honeyplace fell to the floor.
"No," said Morecombe. "Wrong, Mr Honeyplace. Why, sir, you're supposed to bow upon my coffin and give my cock a little kiss. It misses your syrupy kisses from a century ago. What wine was it, this time, man?"
"I, uh, yes, the blue bottle with the greening label. Unreadable, sir."
"Bah! Too sour! Go away and drink something sweeter! Any more vinegar and my poor enormous cock will become a pickle."
Honeyplace limped back down the corridor. He knocked on Morecombe's love-nest door.
The door creaked open.
To a scene that would incriminate Morecombe for more than three human lifelong sentences in prison. Slant was unclothed and balanced rearwards on Morecombe's tongue.
Honeyplace drew back. He knew the law. Sodomy was only allowed cock-in-arse within the walls of Ankh-Morpork. Beyond the walls, cock-near-cock had to suffice in the suburbs that considered themselves above that sort of thing.
I know what you're thinking, whispered Morecombe, but rimming is legal within the old palace laws if you're caught red-handed with a lawman.
Slant blinked, once. He still looked faraway to Honeyplace, and non-consenting to Morecombe's strange form of BDSM.
"Safeword," Honeyplace flung at him.
"Never!" said Morecombe. "I hate that word, whatever you mean by it!"
"I said it too much," said Honeyplace, sorrowfully suddenly. "I never explained it enough."
"You abused it," said Morecombe. "In other couples it's a phrase of love and trust."
"I don't think you know the word, sir.
"I want to leave."
"What's happening?" asked Slant, as Morecombe's mind control fell for a split second.
Slant glanced down. "Sir! This is bordering on illegal."
"Ah, thank you, Honeyplace. Even you it seems prefers to have him half-witted."
Honeyplace swallowed. He could nothing else, having Morecombe's cock rammed up his throat. Slant shifted near Morecombe's own throat.
"What would you like now, Mr Morecombe?" he said delightfully. "Can I piss in your mouth?"
"No!" shouted Morecombe and hit him psychically. Slant shuddered, yet kept his balance.
"It's formaldehyde, you stupid slave." Morecombe sat up in the coffin, displacing Honeyplace, who rolled onto the lid.
Honeyplace recollected why he'd re-entered the room. Yes, Morecombe had forced him to participate for the first time this century. He stood up as Morecombe psychically abused Slant's mind.
Vampires don't like – Honeyplace caught.
Morecombe scowled. "Mr Honeyplace, it's not like you to do this by the book."
"I'm not a member of the Watch!" cried Honeyplace, and placed a mental shield up. Morecombe bashed into it, but it did not break.
Mr Morecombe grumbled. "Dumb slaves, and damn servants. I can't even have a second orgasm without someone protesting, it seems these days. It was a lot better with Drac von Gloken alive.(1)"
"Safeword," said Slant suddenly. He wobbled on the coffin lid and fell off.
The lid flipped over, and Honeyplace half-fell onto Slant.
Morecombe stood up, and hovered menacingly.
The room darkened round the edges in Honeyplace's mind. Morecombe stood toweringly in a ball of bright, white light.
In the bedroom, Morecombe flew closer to Honeyplace and quickly grasped him by the throat. He drew him to face-level.
"Do not meddle in my head, and keep out of my affairs," he suggested.
Honeyplace spat at him.
Slant, meanwhile, sat with his legs straight out on the floor. He didn't look particularly bothered by anything.
"Safeword," he repeated.
Morecombe wiped saliva off his face. "Give me Slant back," he said.
"I won't," gravelled Honeyplace.
Morecombe tightened his grasp. Honeyplace groaned.
Yes, thought Morecombe. Beg me for his sanity.
The curtains hadn't fallen back into place. Honeyplace groaned again. The first rays of dawn had begun to light the room.
Morecombe swung around so that Honeyplace's body shielded him from the early sunrise. Smoke wisped from Honeyplace's back.
"That looks like owie," said Slant, pulling the sheet over his head in physical self-defence.
Honeyplace kicked Morecombe in the balls. Morecombe released him, puzzlement dotting over his expression.
Honeyplace flew to the window instinctively and pulled the curtains from the rail to cover himself. He smoked in the corner with Morecombe's magical fingers jammed in his biological heal.
Honeyplace dropped his mental shield and attacked Morecombe's mind directly, but he was overcome with feelings of peace and calm. Slant's enslavement rose again and closed over.
Nevertheless, Morecombe didn't want them dead. He felt like he still needed an enormous power kick throughout sex…
…which was the easiest way to sate him, concluded Honeyplace. He was still clearing his mind from the attack and had instinctively raised his shield again. At least his skin had stopped smoking.
Morecombe apparently had performed one last mental check, and removed his grasp both magically and mindfully.
Honeyplace healed slowly, still sheltered under the thick drapes.
He detected Slant psychically again, still bombarded by Morecombe's sexual desires. More, he caught a trace of. Honeyplace, give me some privacy, at once!
"Yes, sir, at once, sir," he mumbled.
Slant squeaked somewhere over there. He kept squeaking, like a dog's squeaky toy.
Honeyplace pulled the curtains from his head, resting in the shadowy corner. He could see Slant's head bobbing up and down as Morecombe tickled him on the floor like a puppy.
Yes, he'd forgotten about Morecombe's occasional werewolf kink.
(1) Dragon King of Arms' name in the Vampire Diary.
Slant dusted his suit down in Morecombe's hallway. It was almost eight.
Morecombe bent him over and slapped him on the rear and on the back. Slant coughed up a rubber squeaker into his palm.
"What's this, sir?" he asked politely.
"He's got to survive Vetinari by ten!" groaned Honeyplace. "Just give him back his mind!"
"Worried?" asked Morecombe, brushing down Slant's hair with magic. "There's my squeaker! Good boy!"
Slant purred under his attention.
"I'm a good boy," he said to Honeyplace, who unlocked the door carefully. Outside were Slant's people, whom neither vampire liked. The bogeyman smelled terrible as did the gnoll.
"He hardly says a word to the coach driver," said Morecombe, a handkerchief pressed to his face.
"I'm not staying," insisted Honeyplace. "Come on, Slant, I'll help you into the carriage."