Work Text:
I was but an innocent child.
- And thought you I would not return? Thought you I would not? Your passion is bound to me.
You cannot love.
- I cannot. Yet I cannot be sated without you.
Nosferatu (2024)
“Come to me.”
A raspy and laboured breath came from the shadows and he was there, tall in the darkness yet his eyes glinting like an animal’s.
The mere sight of him had her exhale a hot breath. Tried to quell that insatiable hunger for him rushing through her veins. She knew he could sense it; he had said so himself, growled right into her heated ears as he pushed inside her, “You ache for me”. And she had been unable to deny his claim.
“Orlok.” His name, reserved just for her as it always had been. For all these years she had been with Thomas to quell the nightmares and delusions Orlok gave her, yet she couldn’t deny herself the sweet horror of being taken by her night’s demon. “Please…”
Torturously slowly he glided over towards Ellen before the window, the moonlight illuminating her most eerily. His pale milky eyes were like a fire on her body barely hidden by the thin nightgown, soaking in the sight of her, a wedded woman, begging for another man to bed her. Begging him.
At his approach, she reflexively tilted her chin up to meet him, lips falling open in silent prayer as she looked up through half-lidded eyes. “Orlok,” she said again, a quiet whisper in the little air between them. This night was one of few where Thomas was actually away and they could take all the time they wanted rather than having Orlok force Thomas practically comatose next to them. It was a most cursed and sinful thing they did, and yet she could never deny herself this. Not when Orlok filled her better than any man ever could. Perhaps because he was no man, indeed. More of an animal, and she could not stop herself from taking him.
A cold shiver ran up her spine as she again licked her lips and fingered the straps of her nightgown. This torturous space between them, full of wicked promises of things to come, it was always there at the start, as if Orlok could not believe he had her. She could hardly believe it herself. He was like the best and worst of opioids—she couldn’t say no and kept coming back for more.
“Take it off for me.” His voice was raspy and low as if struggling for breath. As if he actually needed any. “Show me.”
Another shuddery exhale of air as she nudged the straps off her shoulders and the silk fell in a heap to the floor. His sharp inhale was a welcome sound—an affirmation of his adoration of her. His devoted worship of every part of her.
With barely perceptible movement Orlok shed his coat and underclothes. His skin was putrid as ever, rotten to the very core and smelling like death itself, and yet she approached him all the same.
“Orlok.” A prayer. A plea.
Warm hands burning like Hell’s inferno, like the sun, reached up and cupped his rotten cheeks. She leaned ever closer, getting to her very toes to not quite brush their lips together. “Kiss me.”
The clash of their lips was instantaneous and violent. Teeth clanged together and tongues darted out to meet each other. It was an animalistic joining of their bodies, arms wrapping around each other and pulling the other close. The strength in Orlok’s arms was undeniable. Centuries of undead life strengthening him supernaturally so and allowing him to move her as if she was but a feather.
It was with that strength that he pushed her to the bed and crawled over her with concerning familiarity. No wedded woman should have this type of relations with anybody but her husband, and yet Orlok knew her as well as he knew the world was a cruel place. She was his, no matter the ring she wore. Nothing else could ever matter.
Her legs wrapped around him and pulled their hips together where he was hard against her. She whimpered and rutted up like an animal in heat, eliciting little whimpers from him that alluded to a long-ago lost part of humanity within this demon she bedded nightly. A carnal desire that was nothing but human. “Orlok,” she gasped again, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. Nails scratched his skin. “I want you."
He growled and nuzzled his death’s face right in her neck, listening for the rush of her blood and the rapid drum of her heart. Teeth grazed past heated skin and his tongue lapped up the beads of sweat from her night terrors. She did taste so much sweeter when she was fearful of him; this potent mix of fear and desire that only strengthened his adoration of her.
Neither of them would call this love, yet neither of them could stop this, either. It was a most unfortunate yet carnally desired tangle of bodies and lusts that they found themselves in again and again.
Nails clawed into skin and drew blood as she exhaled another lustful moan. The slick of her arousal allowed them to rut wildly against each other with reckless abandon. The tip of him caught at her entrance and had her gasp out a shaky breath. Her insides jolted every time he jutted against her, the head of him forcing her ever so slightly open before it again slipped away. She tightened her hold on him and arched her back into him. She was so wet. “C-Come on,” she gasped wetly, trying to match his animalistic jerk of hips to create a semblance of a rhythm that would grant her relief.
But Orlok let out a dangerous growl and forced her right back to the mattress. “Patience,'“ he rasped against her heated skin, but the growl rumbling his throat betrayed his own impatience. Forceful hands knocked her legs off him and further apart before he firmly forced them up against his shoulders. Then, in one swift move, he took his aching cock in hand and thrust right into her slick heat.
A cry escaped her and she unsteadily clawed at the sheets beneath her. Her whole body tensed like a spring wound too tight and her legs ached from the awful angle, but God, he was finally inside her. “Orlok…!” Another treacherous prayer and plea. A prayer to a being that was so far removed from God altogether that he was hardly a demon, too. He was otherworldly as could be.
Orlok grunted and set into a hard and unforgiving rhythm, hot breaths rasped out over her face and the bed creaking from the forceful movement of his thrusts. His rotten hand dug into the pillow beneath her, his stench unforgiving with the way he was wholly around and inside her.
And yet she was moaning like a common whore in ways Thomas had never drawn from her. Sweat stuck her hair to her back and forehead and she reached up to anchor herself around Orlok’s shoulders. Her insides ached and pulsated, heat bursting forth from within her as if trying to make up for the icy cool cock taking her. “O-Orlok…” Another moan fell from her lips as she craned her head back and exposed her neck to Orlok’s hungry eyes.
He growled and leaned right down to gnaw at her sensitive and sweat-ridden skin. A man of few words, their sex was only ever sating an appetite they had of nothing but each other. A push and pull between demon and enchantress not quite meant for each other yet only finding each other.
The graze of sharp teeth, capable of ripping out her throat if he so desired, jolted Ellen’s insides and had her eyes flutter. Another plea longed to be spoken, but she could only get a single syllable out before she sobbed as Orlok promptly dug his teeth right into her neck. There was little finesse in the animalistic teeth he possessed; he wasn’t meant to be taking blood like this, to be careful with arteries and sensitive skin. Yet he trudged that dangerous path for the sake of tasting that blood sweeter than any other he’d ever had. Ellen tightening around his cock only affirmed this was good for the both of them. With reckless abandon he soaked up the blood welling to the surface, moustache coarse against her skin and bound to chafe the way it always did.
Another shuddering whisper of his name. Her legs trembled like a leaf in the wind, and the lack of blood in them was becoming problematic. “O-Orlok,” she gasped wetly, forcing herself more alert despite the strange lethargicness overcoming her. “M-My legs… Pray…”
A low growl. “Do not pray,” he rasped, and the sound of it went right into her veins and boiled her insides.
The noise of their sex was sinful and horrid. A rhythmic squelch of cock thrusting into her wetness and slap of skin meeting skin. His stamina was as supernatural as his entire being, seemingly inexhaustible with the way their hips smacked together and the bed creaked enough Ellen feared it may soon fall apart.
“I— Orlok, p-please—” It was all too much. Her mind was spinning and her vision was blurry. Her whole being was pinpointed down to the tremble of her failing legs and the ache of her groin abused by this demon.
At last, he acquiesced. He jerked her legs to drop to his sides instead, but he did not soften his thrusts. If anything, it was getting faster. Building.
Nails scratched his rotten skin and she arched her back into this assault on her senses. A little voice in the back of her mind told her this was foolish and brutal, that no lady should be treated like this. But then Orlok thrust right up and she saw stars.
His growls turned grunts, rhythmic with his thrusts as death’s hands feverishly clutched her hips. Hard enough that his ridiculous nails drew blood. “Do not pray,” he said again, low and breathy. His milky-white eyes stared right into hers, unforgiving with his taking of her. “Me,” he growled, nostrils flaring and teeth bared with carnal pleasure. “Think only of me.”
The sight of his exposed teeth, sharp and animalistic as they were, ought to terrify her. Yet the only thing more terrifying was the very real notion he was not pulling away as his orgasm approached. “Orlok—!” She squirmed under his menacing hold, but he was stronger than she ever could be and kept her firmly in place.
“Mine!” He growled and wrapped a hand tightly around her neck. His eyes blazed. “You are mine.”
The hand tightened around her windpipe, and she sharply inhaled air that barely made it to her lungs. She clawed at his wrist, her eyes rolling back. Her toes tingled. “P-Plea…se…”
Hips smacked together.
“Say it!”
A high-pitched whine.
“Y-Yours!” Finally, she fell right off the steep precipice of pleasure that had been building and building. Heat burst within her, a stark contrast from the ice cool of his cock ramming inside her. She whined and fell back to the bed, gasping out desperate breaths past his fingers digging into her neck. Pleasure turned oversensitive, but Orlok firmly resumed his rough thrusts and kept her dangling at that torturous line.
Until he let out a sound that could only be described as monstrous and his hips stilled with his cock buried right to the hilt inside her. Groaning softly, he rolled his hips through the force of his orgasm, making sure to coat her insides with his heated seed.
Terror cooled her insides at him coming inside her, but air was so scarce it was becoming hard to breathe. Her hands fell to the bed and her head lolled back into the pillow.
“Breathe,” he rasped on a whisper, and he let go of her neck.
Immediately she coughed and gasped for air, taking deep and heavy breaths to try and steady herself.
Orlok did not move, still buried inside her and keeping her firmly in place. He leaned down and mouthed at the skin between her breasts before harshly gnawing down.
A sob escaped her at the most painful yet erotic sensation heating her chest. Trembling hands found his head and, as if soothing both herself and him, caressed over him. Keeping him there as he drank from her. As he always did after their sex. Some kind of ritual now with how often they saw each other. It was strangely sweet to have him there, even as she could feel him drawing her blood, her life force, from her very body.
She could never deny him.
After a minute of blissful silence, Orlok at last sat up. Blood stained his cursed lips and moustache crimson and dripped down to her bare chest in some perverse showing of how he owned her. How she was his. He inhaled a wheezy breath and licked his lips clean before pulling away.
The feel of him sliding out of her made her moan once more, yet she was grateful for his being gone. She was sore enough she had no desire for a repeat like this anytime soon. But she also knew better. Every night was an insatiable need for Orlok, her own night demon, to take her and show her she was his.
The count leaned over her once more and pulled her from her thoughts. There was little affection or love in his eyes, but there was something akin to fondness. He leaned down and gingerly pressed their lips together, sweeter than they ever had it.
Then he pulled away. Retreated into the darkness of her moonlit room. Disappeared.
As he always did.