You entered the throne room cautiously, ensuring to remain respectful at all times. You had not been working here long and wanted to continue to provide a good impression for your employers. Unsure what they summoned you for, you intended to leave them with only positive feelings. Candles flickered in holders all along the marble walls, casting long-limbed shadows upon their surface. Three of the Volturi – Caius, Marcus, and Aro – sat upon magnificent gilded thrones set on a slightly raised platform in the centre of the room. As you stepped tentatively through the threshold, Aro rose from his seat and walked forwards to greet you. He extended his hand, proffering it to you with the intent to take yours and use his gift to read through your memories. He had done this only once before – in the interview before you had been accepted to work in reception – but had not seemed to feel the need to do so again since then. You supposed that you mostly flew under the radar, your existence largely unnoticed by somebody so high-ranking. Looking at him with an open expression, you were reminded of the unnatural splendour of his features. He was… quite lovely.

As he took your hand in his own, you swallowed hard. Immediately, your mind began to unfurl its contents, baring itself to the man before you. It was a strange sensation, having him flick through your memories like a photobook. You could swear you almost felt it penetrating into the delicate ridges of your brain, icy fingers prying into the deepest recesses to overturn anything of interest.

Suddenly self-conscious of what he may find, you tried not to think of him at all. Of course, it was far too late for that. You didn’t want to bring any of those memories to the forefront though, just in case it made them more prominent… You certainly didn’t want to remind yourself how captivating you found his bright scarlet eyes that faded into deep burgundy at the edges, how beautiful you considered his long black hair which shimmered with a hidden red hue when it caught the light… Foolishly, you recalled that daydream you’d had once while trying to focus at your desk - where you’d run your fingers through it, combing out those dark waves as he leaned against you contentedly. Shaking your head slightly, begging your thoughts to silence themselves, your other… less innocent… daydreams began to push their way eagerly to the surface.

You weren’t sure whether this was his doing, rifling through to see what else was hiding within, or whether your foolish brain was simply upturning all manner of incriminating visions in the name of utter humiliation. Your face was burning by the time that one, the recurring one you tried to tuck the most deeply away, resurfaced. The one where he was sitting atop his throne and you, kneeling obediently before him, were ready to serve in any way he required. You closed your eyes, mortified, trying to calm the fluttering feeling now threatening to choke you from the inside.

He laughed, a strange sort of giggle, and studied your features with renewed interest. His eyes were wide, excited. He had not yet let go of your hand. Silently, his thumb began brushing against your palm in little circles, a startling gesture that made your heart leap instantly to your throat. Marcus coughed, a dry sound evidently intended to bring Aro back to his senses.

Instead, he reached out for your face and caressed your cheek gently. Daring not to move, not even to breathe, you met his eyes with a mixture of poorly disguised delight and sheer embarrassment. You opened your mouth in an attempt to perhaps explain what he might have – you lied to yourself that it was possible he hadn’t – seen but he moved a cold finger to your lips in a silencing gesture. Turning, he walked slowly back towards his throne. Not turning to look behind, he spoke.

“Come. I am nothing if not generous.”

Knees shaking almost imperceptibly, you approached, trying not to think too hard on the meaning behind his words. By generous, you presumed that meant he would forgive your emotional transgressions and they would not be spoken of again. Quietly relieved, you lifted your gaze to his, looking at him carefully as one might observe a volatile deity. Trying to steady your breathing, you watched as he sat and motioned you nearer. Unsure why he didn’t simply dismiss you where you stood, you continued forwards on unsteady feet.

Beckoning you closer still, he tangled his fingers imperiously in your hair the moment you were within reach and pushed as if to guide you to the ground. As he grasped your head, you felt the cool chill of his fingers permeate to your scalp with the same sensation you felt against your knees as they met the marble floor. A shiver wound its way up your spine, unprompted, and you shuddered slightly.

Smiling, cold as the rest of him, he cocked his head with an expression that suggested he found the movement endearing. “My dear… Is the anticipation truly so great?”

Heart thudding in your ears, you knew all three of them could hear the blood rushing in your throat, roaring through your veins as you kept silent. The anticipation...? For what? Surely he couldn’t mean for you to...?

“Speak.”

“Y-yes.” You managed, hoping that this was enough to placate him. The hand that wasn’t buried in your hair fell to rest, without commentary, into his lap. Instead of settling on his thigh, it was resting entirely between his legs as though poised for certain usage. Perhaps it was unintentional, but your thoughts were already falling over themselves imagining its next actions and you could feel heat creeping up the sides of your neck, flickering across your cheeks like restless flame. You tried once more to steady your breathing, pulse pounding in your ears.

His smile widened – an expression that, while oddly childlike, was nothing short of feral. Caius made to get up, but was immediately halted by a cold voice.

“Sit.”

An angry grimace crossed his narrow features but he remained seated. It seemed that Marcus knew better than to ask. Smile unbroken, Aro spoke to you calmly.

“Shall we begin, my dear?”

“Y-yes” you stammered out again, feeling foolish. The term of endearment wrong-footed you, alongside the passion of his expression and the implications of what was imminent.

“Hm,” his smile dropped, eyes narrowing slightly – dangerously. “I had hoped you may be slightly more vocal in your appreciation. After all, isn’t this the exact scenario that you dally with frequently inside your creative little mind?”

Burning with embarrassment at having your fantasy exposed to the whole room coupled with the enticingly casual way he belittled you, you took a deep breath. “I apologise…” you hesitated, unsure if this was too much “…Sir.” It took all your strength to keep your eyes fixed on his and not drop your gaze to the floor. “I am honoured that you would choose me for… for this.” That would have to be enough. You could barely stand it any longer.

He was silent. Time seemed to stretch forwards, both of you suspended in its grasp while seconds seemed to crawl by like hours. Just as you had begun praying in your head for the ground to open and swallow you whole, his expression changed. The smile returned to his face, creeping across his features but not quite reaching his eyes.

Apparently not in the habit of being patient, he jerked you forwards until your head was all but resting in his lap. You thought about trying to reach your fingers up and across to the seam of his neatly pressed trousers to… assist, but he had already flicked the button open and begun tugging at the zipper. The small metallic sound seemed to echo noisily in the vast empty room, and you were painfully aware of the two others seated either side of you.

“I hope that you do not require too much guidance. After all, you’ve had quite the amount of practice – within the confines of your head, at least.” He smirked. “I suppose we shall see whether that translates to any skill in reality.” Once again, his effortless deprecation knocked the breath from your lungs. You couldn’t say it was wholly undesirable, either… With each scornful comment something writhed in your gut, hot and ravenous.

With a small nod, acknowledging his words and hoping to prove them right, you bent your head to observe him laid bare. Blood rushed to your face immediately as you laid eyes on his exposed length which he held firmly in one hand, stroking with a slow but eager rhythm. You weren’t sure if it was large, but it was certainly intimidating. It was pale, the same pallor as the rest of his body, no telltale blush adorning its weeping head. Wondering whether it would be as immovable as the rest of his body, as cold, he struck all inquisitive thoughts from your mind as he forcibly brought your head downwards. Your lips almost pressed against his waiting tip which already bubbled with a small drop of viscous fluid. This in itself was interesting too, you thought. You didn’t expect to see something so… human. However, you didn’t have the time nor the inclination to think on it for too prolonged a period. You had dreamed of this for far too long already.

Bringing your tongue to poke forwards, you slowly licked the droplet, dipping the tip of your tongue inside the slit to gather more. “Anngh-” he exhaled, toes curling, seemingly stunned at your sudden turnabout. You brought your head downwards, without hesitation, taking him into your mouth. Not fully, at first – and it was cold – but you began to move at a steady pace. Twirling your tongue along the underside of the shaft, something you remembered reading about in some magazine, you sighed through your nose at the pleasant tingles of submission spreading out in ripples across your brain.

You maintained these movements for a little while, eyes closed in contented pleasure, assured that he was enjoying himself by the delicious sounds you occasionally heard emanating from above. However, you knew that the man before you was never the type to be truly satisfied unless you were giving him everything. Unless you were sacrificing something. Soon, you felt pressure once again at the base of your skull, willing you to take him deeper. You hesitated in slight panic, unsure if you could manage without gagging. The pressure increased until you were sure you would be nursing a headache all night if you did not relent. Trying to relax, you allowed him to impale you. You felt the chill of his length slide all the way to the back of your obedient mouth and groaned at the sensation.

Aro was surprisingly loud, throwing his head back and whining with pleasure as you tried your best to accommodate the new and unyielding intrusion at the back of your throat. His constant writhing made it all the more difficult to maintain a satisfactory rhythm, which you could tell from the way he tugged at your hair impatiently. There was absolutely no chance that he had not experienced such services multiple times before – immortal as he was – but he seemed to revel in his own obscene theatrical performance. Thoughts of the other two flitted across your mind again and you cringed, supposing that they too had experienced this before. You dared not look to either of them, knowing you would burn up if you found them to be bearing witness to this act. Knowing that they were hearing it in excruciating detail was bad enough.

The sound you made as you gagged on one particularly hard thrust seemed to echo endlessly off the cavernous walls, and you willed yourself not to do it again. A tear ran from the corner of one of your eyes and you tried to blink it away before he saw. A cool thumb brushed it from your cheek and you opened your eyes to look up, just for a moment. He brought the digit to his mouth, placing the tip of it to his lips as he kissed it softly. For a moment you saw his tongue curl against it, suggestively, and you flushed violently. “Mmmn” you whimpered pathetically at the sight, still bobbing your head dutifully. He smiled, knowingly, as your knees trembled and you pressed your thighs together in desperation.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see a muscle in Caius’ cheek twitching. You could tell he was gritting his teeth as hard as possible without causing himself actual damage. Marcus’ knuckles gripped at the arms of his chair tightly but his face remained unreadable. Both were staring straight forwards, deliberately averting their gaze from the debauchery unfolding between them.

As Aro approached his peak, his rigid length speared into your throat relentlessly. You knew that there would be bruises that would be difficult to explain tomorrow – though you supposed, wincing, that most of your employers would be well aware. Gurgling in panic as you tried unsuccessfully to breathe while he maintained his ruthless pace, you tried your best to focus on the task at hand instead. Your teeth grazed him and you flinched, then realised such things couldn’t cause him pain. At this realisation, you began to move with more urgency and reckless abandon, moving your head as best you could as he held you, pulling you this way and that as he sought his end.

“You will – mmn – swallow. Every. Last. Drop.” Each word he uttered was punctuated with a punishing thrust, almost forcing you backwards off him with their power. You had to fight to stay atop him, to keep him in your mouth as he rocked unremittingly against your face. You made a strangled noise of assent but were powerless to do much else.

The angle he held you at prevented you from using your hands to assist, and as he finished with a keening wail there was nothing you could do to stop it shooting down your throat in long thick ropes. Trying to swallow as much as you could, you still choked slightly on the excess, causing it to dribble thickly down your chin. Once again his hand was at your face, a single finger swiped across to capture the fluid and brought it to your lips, pressing it back inside your mouth. Understanding, you obediently licked him clean, lingering for perhaps a little too long as your tongue made contact with his skin. Somehow, even after what had just transpired, this felt unbearably lewd and you began to feel quite lightheaded. You were convinced that all your blood had rushed elsewhere, leaving you delirious with need.

“Good, that’s good… You wouldn’t want to waste any of my gift to you, now would you?”

“No, Sir.” You used the title tentatively again, hoping that it was acceptable. You spoke again in a smaller voice, the bitter taste of him still lingering on your tongue. “Thank you… for your gift. A-and your… generosity.” You burned in the intersection of embarrassment and deep desperate yearning.

Looking up with a pleading expression, you begged wordlessly that this was not the end of your interaction. You knew better than to utter anything that could be misconstrued… or played with. You hoped beyond hope that the earlier mention of his generosity extended to assisting you with your own release. Pressing your thighs together in desperation as you throbbed with desire, you met his gaze keenly with hunger smouldering in your eyes.

Tucking himself neatly away, he rose and brought you to your feet with domineering hands. He held you only for a moment before he spun you to sit upon his throne. Wasting no time, though he had more than enough for the both of you, Aro tore your clothing asunder. Startled, you wondered how you would leave the building with such damaged attire – would he be able to lend you something to cover your modesty? This fleeting train of thought was interrupted by the pleasing feeling of the cool air against your exposed skin, the caress of the evening around your painful arousal, and the hungry look in his eyes as he took in the sight of you, flushed and quivering beneath him.

You trembled violently as he brought his lips to your inner thigh, pressing a cold kiss to the sensitive skin and making you jump. Unable to help yourself, a small groan of unbearable anticipation escaped your throat. The others seemed so far away now, and really, what did it matter anyway? As long as Aro remained between your legs, you would allow anything without question. One of them, Caius or Marcus, sighed disapprovingly at the familiar theatrics. He peppered your skin with tiny touches, delicate kisses, slowly but surely drawing nearer to your core. With one hand, he trailed his fingertips with feather-lightness along your inner thigh while the other hand held your leg aside, spreading you open for his appraisal. The tenderness of his touch only served to make you more desperate, knowing full well the strength that he was capable of exerting on your helpless form.

He spoke, low and dangerous, a thirst behind the words that sent a shiver through your gut. “You’ve been so good, haven’t you? Won’t you be good for me one last time?”

“Please…” you murmured, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, lips parted with desire. You didn’t catch the word that could have been your warning, fragmented thoughts too occupied with the ecstasy yet to come.

“But, of course.”

All of a sudden – without mercy – so fast you could neither have hoped to anticipate nor prevent it, razor sharp teeth sunk into your thigh. The intensity of it took your breath away and you howled at the ceiling in startled agony as he began to drink deeply. Frozen in shock, frantic thoughts on the nature of vampirism fleeted through your mind. Didn’t vampire bites have some kind of soothing quality? Anaesthesia? Isn’t that what they say in legend? Why did it hurt so much..? Trying not to writhe for fear of worsening the wound, you forced yourself to look back down at the man so casually perpetrating such pain. Eyes blown wide, you took in his bowed head dipped between your trembling thighs, eager tongue lapping at the crimson spray. Quickly – so terribly quickly – your vision began to acquire a bleak haze at the edges, capturing the gruesome scene in your memories like a vignette. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan escaped Aro’s throat and you twitched.

He lifted his head, just for a moment, to chuckle. Blood staining his teeth, he finally looked for all the world like the monster that he was. He reached for your shaking hand, clasping it tightly in his own to relive the experience through your eyes as you whimpered in pain and fear. He offered no comfort, no platitudes, as he gazed through it all again, wide eyes unfocused and a smile on his face. You reached down, trying to surreptitiously stem the flow of blood now trickling onto the leather beneath you but there was just too much of it. Crimson coated your hands – flecks of it on your wrists, under your nails – and you felt nausea crawl in the pit of your stomach.

You breathed heavily, deep ragged lungfuls, and he bent again to finish what he started. Latching back on to the open wound, he continued where he left off with predatory cruelty. At this point your vision had all but abandoned you and you reached your free hand, trembling, to his head. For what? You didn’t know. Perhaps to push him off, to see if you could begin to crawl for the door. Would the other two stop you? Would he? You weren’t sure that you could crawl. Already, you felt so weak… Your fingers fell ineffectually into his hair, inadvertently brushing through the dark waves as you began to slump backwards against the backrest. Somewhere, distantly, you were reminded of your placid little daydream.

“You could…” your voice was barely a whisper, a thought. He did not acknowledge you, but you had to persist. You had to try. “Turn… me…”

He paused. Blood was still flowing into his open mouth, the taste of you on his tongue as he was on yours. Though you couldn’t see, you could feel that he did not lift his head to face you. Hoping beyond hope that he might find it entertaining to preserve you, to turn you, your thoughts wove into a litany of begging and incoherent prayers. It was too difficult to open your mouth to voice them. Everything seemed so far away. As your eyes finally fell softly closed, you slid limply from the chair. You felt a cool hard chill against your flesh and, unable to discern whether you had hit the floor or fallen into his waiting arms, drifted into the darkness.