Oak has been down to the catacombs before, on one of his first days in the castle. He had made an effort to explore as much as he could, as early as possible, almost as a force of habit. The castle was gigantic, perhaps the largest building oak had ever been in, and something in the back of his mind was worried about getting absolutely and irrevocably lost that he never saw the outside again. It was unlikely, but always a possibility. Later, Strahd had also set aside time to personally give Oak a tour, revisiting the halls Oak had seen once, maybe, and as an act of goodwill, also showed Oak some of the shortcuts and hidden passageways in the castle. And how not to set off some of the traps. "My family was always concerned about intruders," he spoke, "and as such, we do have certain... security measures in place throughout the castle. Everyone living here has had time enough to know the castle and her features like the back of their hand." He peered down at Oak as they continued to walk the long halls of the castle. "That should also be one of your priorities, now that you have a place here." At that, Oak's chest did something peculiar. It started as an ache, before bleeding into a feeling of warmth that spread through the rest of his body. A place... here? Already? He glanced up at the taller man, who readily met his eyes, and gave a small smile. Huh. He meant it. Oak looked away, letting his eyes continue to take in the majesty of the halls and their lavish decorations. Golden frames, albeit a little spotty at edges, adorned the walls, seemingly guarded by large suits of armor, weapons held at the ready. And Oak did become familiar with the castle, fortunate enough to be allowed to treat it like a base as he spied on the others from outside the realm. He couldn't believe that he had found a place to stay so easily, and that Count von Zarovich was so kind to allow him, a fuck-up with a hot streak of burning bridges, to take up residence in such a wonderful castle. He couldn't mess this one up. Not this time. ~~ But then Oak met a group of outsiders that he clicked with. He tried not to let it happen. They were the enemies, after all, barging into the safety of the Mists in order to threaten Count von Zarovich and those he protected in the small country of Barovia. And these ones were no different, spouting rumors that Count von Zarovich was a cruel and unjust ruler, that he was complacent in the resource insecurities that plagued Barovia, that they did not choose to be here. All of which Oak did not understand. Wasn't Barovia a haven for them as well? Away from the threats of the outside, there was a certain safety here, was there not? No matter. Oak as he did what he was known for--he lied to them, saying that he agreed wholeheartedly. And then they grew to trust him. Somewhere deep inside Oak, he started to return that trust. And that same trust began to erode some of Oak's beliefs in the rules of the land. Namely that the outsiders came here with the explicit purpose to overthrow the von Zarovich reign. During a late night conversation, one of the outsiders confided in Oak how much she missed the outside world. That she was forced to travel through the Mists, her friend held as collateral. She told Oak that the only way to escape was through Strahd, who never granted outsiders the grace of leaving. That the outsiders were fodder for Strahd's hunger, and that he wouldn't allow them to escape before he was satisfied. And that conversation stuck with Oak. Well, most of it. Oak understood what it meant to lose a companion that was dear to you--he felt the absence of his horse every day. But the rest faded from Oak's mind soon enough, as he had seen Count von Zarovich's kindness first hand. He had a suspicion that if the outsiders just asked him for help escaping, he would do everything in his power to assist. After all, the Count had been more than welcoming to Oak! Surely he would extend the same courtesy to the rest of the outsiders, if only they asked. But little did Oak know that the outsider's words would find some purchase deep in his heart. They wouldn't grow fast enough, sadly, to ensure the freedom of those unfairly pulled into the Mists. This group of outsiders would meet their end at Strahd's hand, thanks in part to the faithful aim of Oak'lahoma Beetledust. ~~ In time, Count von Zarovich would become less lenient towards the halfling. The amount of blood that Strahd required Oak to spill in his name seemed to grow by the day, feeding into the doubt that had been planted in Oak's heart. Years later, Oak would take pity on another outsider, and kill them before Strahd could reach them. A major transgression when not a direct order from the Count. Oak's purpose was to make the outsiders easier to toy with, to get them to turn on each other, or to lead them into lose-lose situations where whatever they would be willing to sacrifice to assure their victory conditions would ultimately prove too great a price. But as Oak stood over the outsider's body, their throat slit by his own blade, Oak neglected to pay much mind to the area around him. It was innately safe, he thought. He had become intimately familiar with the rules that bound the vampires who walked the realm, especially as he led outsiders to "safety" away from vampiric advances. He was always careful with the words he chose now, at least for the most part. He didn't necessarily trust the Brides of the Count, especially after some of the close calls he had at their hands. But Oak didn't anticipate Strahd walking into the small, forgotten house on the outskirts of Krezek. After all, not many people could follow Oak without him explicitly intending to be followed these days. Something about an agreement he made in a moment of weakness. He didn't fully understand it either. But a scry spell also works on those who you're leading to their death. Strahd was fascinated by the idea of this outsider, one of the more gentle and careful of the bunch, suddenly splitting off from the party during their down time. He had been waiting for his moment to strike. Her hair reminded him of that of his beloved, even if her personality betrayed her. He planned to meet her in Krezek, and fulfill a... different... appetite of his. His current set of brides had grown rather stale in his eyes, but he had confidence that even one dance with this outsider would allow for him to find pleasure in his normality again. And it was in the small house on the outskirts of Krezek that he saw Oak'lahoma, knife still dripping with blood, standing over the freshly-made corpse of his soon-to-be partner. What a surprise. He didn't think the halfling had it in him, that the halfling had grown hungry as well. But as he watched Oak take a shaky breath in, wiping his eyes with his other hand, he realized that was not the case. This was a moment of pity, of weakness. This was Oak taking away what was rightfully his. Strahd's lip twitched. He would have what he was due. The halfling jumped when Strahd had placed a hand on his shoulder, which did little to lighten Strahd's mood. The halfling was still shaking, and refused to look at Strahd, who had started rubbing Oak'lahoma's shoulder in something supposed to mimic a reassuring manner. The two of them stayed like this for a moment, watching the blood pool around the outsider's body, dyeing her hair an even deeper shade of red. Strahd noted that her eyes had been closed. "Did she struggle, Oak'lahoma?" Strahd asked, his voice kept level. The halfling shook his head, eyes still fixed on the lifeless body before him. "Good," Strahd continued, squeezing Oak's shoulder. "That means she trusted you." He felt Oak flinch under his hand at his remark. How peculiar. He was surprised that Oak felt pity towards the outsiders, especially after all he himself had done to assure that would not be the case. But Oak was never exactly the same as he was before he traveled with the group that had uncovered the Sunsword. No matter. Perhaps he would still fill his appetite tonight. "Good work, Oak'lahoma. I truly did not believe you had it in you." Strahd held out his hand to Oak, to which Oak silently placed the blade. "Rahadin will take care of the rest. Accompany me to the castle, will you." Oak nodded once more, sparing one last look at the outsider's body before following Strahd outside. Once they were outside of the walls of Krezek, Strahd raised a hand to his mouth, letting out a hollow-sounding whistle that echoed through the town’s empty streets. Beucephalus appeared in an instant, whinnying a greeting to the both of them, before kneeling down to allow Oak an easier climb. Oak ran his fingers through the nightmare’s mane as thanks, watching the flames dance between his fingers. Once he was in position, the nightmare rose back to its full height, and Strahd easily mounted the horse behind Oak. The halfling refused to raise his gaze from the floor as he continued to run his hands through Beucephalus’ mane. He was also doing his best, even subconsciously, to take up less of Strahd's space despite the two of them sitting atop the same horse. Strahd slipped his hand under Oak’s arm, pulling Oak closer to him. Oak froze in place, much to Strahd's amusement. He kept his hand pressed flat against Oak, just beneath his chest, ensuring that the halfling wasn't going to slip away. And then Strahd pressed his lips to the side of Oak's head, planting a chaste kiss against the halfling’s silver hair. "I meant it. You did well." At that reassurance, Oak relaxed ever so slightly. He let himself get comfortable in his place in front of Strahd, and Strahd waited until the halfling was finished moving before he placed his other hand to Beucephalus’ flank, letting the nightmare know that it was time to head off. Strahd held Oak pressed against his body the entire way back to Castle Ravenloft under the thin pretext that he was keeping the two of them steady atop the horse. Beaucephalus made short work of the journey, much like he always did. The direct path was always easiest, and the nightmare flitted between the ethereal plane and the material plane whenever objects threatened to obstruct its path. But Beaucephalus did always have a tendency to ride the Svalch road as he approached the castle. The large iron gates swung open to greet them as they approached, and the group traveled easily over the old bridge spanning the chasm before arriving at the gates of the castle. As the nightmare stopped, Oak began to move, starting to swing his legs over to the same side in order to slip off of the horse. But Strahd didn't let go. The halfling turned to meet his eyes, to which Strahd smiled at him. "Stay on Beucephalus for a moment more," he suggested, and Oak obliged. In a moment, the nightmare was off again, lazily slipping through the ethereal plane in order to cut through the castle. It was always a strange feeling to do so--Oak, not adept with magic at all, had never left the material plane before he rode Beucephalus for the first time. If he thought about it for too long, his head started to hurt, so he just accepted the fact at face value. He kept his eyes on the back of Beucephalus’ neck, trusting the nightmare to know where he was going. There was a general feeling of descending though--that was something Oak could always feel in the pit of his stomach. When they stopped a second time, fading back into the mortal realm, Oak recognized Beucephalus’ crypt, buried in the depths of the catacombs. Strahd slid off of the horse first, before offering a hand out to Oak. Oak took it, more out of a show of faith than an actual need for assistance. With both feet planted firmly on the ground, Oak took in his surroundings. Strahd was opening the door to Beucephalus’ crypt, and the nightmare shook out its mane as it waited patiently for him to do so. Other than that, the catacombs looked unchanged since the last time Oak had found himself down here. His eyes began to drift towards the von Zarovich tombs, only able to see the stairs leading down from the catacomb's expanse. For a moment, memories threatened to overwhelm him. This was the last place he was with /his/ outsiders, his.... friends. Oak blinked, fighting against the wave of emotions that threatened to swallow him whole. Now was not the time. He had already shown weakness today, and he didn't need Count von Zarovich to believe him weak through his core. Strahd began to lead Beucephalus into the crypt, watching the halfling out of the corner of his eye. He knew that Oak'lahoma did everything possible to avoid the catacombs. It was understandable, in part. Strahd also made a point to avoid this level of the castle if he could help it. Between the brides he had entombed here and the gravesite of his brother, there seemed more painful memories here than pleasant ones. Strahd stepped across the threshold into the tomb, letting the heel of his boot click loudly against the floor. This snapped Oak from his daydreaming, and the halfling jolted forward to follow the Count and his loyal steed into the darkness. The sconces on the walls sparked to life with the same intensity as the nightmare's own mane as they recognized the presence of the Count. Strahd found his way to the chest at the nearest wall of the square room, and from its depths he pulled an ornate brush. He held it out to the halfling, who took it without question. Beucephalus whinnied at the sight of it, before turning a circle and working himself down to the floor for easier access. The halfling huffed out a small laugh, and made his way over to the nightmare, beginning to brush out his fine, dark coat. Strahd fished out a few extra supplies from the chest, refilling and tidying up some of the other things in the small crypt, making sure that Beucephalus’ resting place was up to the nightmare's standards. He could always have one of his underlings take care of these tasks, but Beucephalus was /his/. Although Oak'lahoma would be a good second choice. The nightmare had taken a liking to him, and Oak knew better than most of the others how to understand how to take care of Beucephalus’ wants and needs. He watched the halfling continue to brush out the nightmare, moving with the creature as it shifted its body so that Oak could reach the more difficult spots more thoroughly. He could even hear Oak'lahoma talking to Beucephalus, mostly silly nothings. It seemed that the halfling talked just to fill silences sometimes. But that just made it all the more apparent when he was uncomfortable--he tended towards extremes, either never allowing even a moment of silence, or plainly refusing to speak a single word. Strahd made himself busy until the nightmare was brushed through. No one else was as familiar with the beast as Oak'lahoma, not even Rahadin. Beucephalus was fickle like that, occasionally. As Oak pulled back to admire his handiwork, Strahd made himself known at his side. The brush changed hands again, and Strahd held it behind his back as he watched Beucephalus nuzzle his head into Oak'lahoma's chest, pushing the halfling backwards a step through sheer force. Oak laughed, and worked on scratching behind Beaucephalus' ears, which only riled him up more. "I forget, sometimes, how much Beaucephalus enjoys your company," Strahd started, as Beaucephalus angled his head upwards, giving Oak better access to the area under his chin. Oak smiled, the action not quite reaching his eyes, which stayed fully locked on the nightmare. "Would ya believe me if I told ya Beau ain't even the worst I've worked with?" Oak let his hands run through Beucephalus’ mane, where the flames roiled up between his fingers. "Once I had a bicorn try to run me through just for lookin’ at it. An' the kicker is, I wasn't even lookin’ at in the first place.” He tilted his head as Beucephalus did, mimicking the nightmare’s actions. “Jus’ happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." Strahd let him talk, crossing the room to put away the brush. He shut the chest with a gentle thud, before returning once again to Oak’s side. He placed his hand gently between Oak's shoulders, and he felt the halfling jolt again under his hand, before making a distinct effort to continue to pet Beucephalus. "Well, I am sure Beucephalus appreciates your care," The count said, peering over at his steed. Beaucephalus snorted, before slowly moving to stand up to his full height. Oak drew back, ensuring that the nightmare didn't have to worry about losing him underfoot. He felt Strahd's hand move once more to his shoulder. “But it is time for us to bid him farewell.” Oak nodded, quickly digging into the inside of his overcoat in order to retrieve a small, pocket-worn portion of a pastry. He held it out in an open palm towards Beucephalus, and the nightmare eagerly devoured it in a bite. It nuzzled its head against Oak’s one final time, before leaving the halfling to his other company. Oak followed Strahd out of the crypt, before watching Strahd close it behind him--a formality, mostly. Beucephalus could shift into other planes easily, bypassing obstacles as he needed. But Oak was not going to ask why. Perhaps it was another layer of protection? Outsiders loved exploring the catacombs, and usually did not hesitate in attempting to open as many as possible when they reached this level of the castle. Usually to their own misfortune, Oak recalled, remembering the one with the drop-away floor that concealed a particularly brutal spike pit. "I haven't been down here in some time," Strahd broke the silence, his voice echoing slightly through the catacombs as he turned from the door of Beaucephalus' crypt. Oak followed along as Strahd began to walk one of the rows between the rest of the crypts. He tried to stay focused on where they were going, rather than reading each and every placard that adorned the engraved tombs. "And I have reason to suspect that the same might be said for you, Oak'lahoma." Strahd peered down at the halfling out of the corner of his eye. Oak half-smiled back, a little sheepishly, before turning his head to look out over the other crypts. "Besides Beau, there ain't really much down here for me," Oak started. "An’ even then, I ain't strong enough to open up his door on my own." Strahd hummed an affirmative tone. "I forget sometimes. You’re very capable--often surprisingly so." Oak choked on his spit, stopping dead in his tracks. He looked up at Strahd, who had stopped a few paces ahead of him. He smiled down at Oak, fondly. Count von Zarovich hadn't really been paying him any mind for... well, for at least a good year now. Or, at least, not giving him any /positive/ attention. It was mostly a quick word here and there about Oak's shortcomings. The halfling felt his face flush, as Strahd continued to hold his gaze, and Oak forced out a quick laugh in order to break away. "Aww, 'm glad you think so," he spoke, sheepishly running a hand through his own hair. “I usually just get someone else to do anythin’ outside of my skill set--oh, like castin’ spells.” As Oak continued to yammer on, he felt himself begin to relax a bit more. Maybe Count von Zarovich wasn’t actually upset with him after all. Maybe he had misread the whole situation. "Come this way, Oak'lahoma." The count began to move again, and Oak leapt forward to keep at his side, the sound of his ranch hand boots clattering across the catacombs. The two of them passed a few more of the crypts as Strahd continued to speak. "Not many wander down here either, and I cannot blame them. This place," Strahd gestured to a few of the tombs, "doesn't hold the fondest of memories for many of us." Oak struggled to place exactly where they were going, but he kept pace either way. Strahd was walking slowly enough that Oak could keep time with a normal stride. "But in turn, it means that places like these," he stopped to open one of the doors that looked as if it had a peculiar stain in place of a plaque. Something about it was so, /so/ familiar... but it just slipped out of Oak's grasp. Strahd gestured the halfling inside, "are the perfect places for private... conversations." The count looked down at him, and Oak hesitated for a split second--before breaking forward into the darkness. Strahd followed, closing the door behind him. Oak's eyes struggled to adjust--darkness like this was far beyond anything he could see in, and such his heart couldn't help but to pick up its pace. But soon, light began to permeate the room as the walls shifted with illusion magic to reflect trees with leaves glowing gently in autumnal hues. Each cast a dim light as they shifted in a non-existent wind, and together they illuminated the rest of the room. But Oak didn’t care about the rest of the room. His heart ached as he took a step forward, and then another. It was like the sun was filtering through the leaves, and Oak couldn't help but to reach a hand out in front of himself, watching the light dapple his palm. He missed this--the sun, the different colors of the leaves, hell, even the different kinds of trees that he normally paid little mind to. It had been ages since he had seen anything close to what could be described as sunlight. He jumped as Strahd stepped up beside him, breaking him out of his stupor. "There are few left in Barovia who have seen the sun. A scene like this would be lost on others." Strahd spoke, admiring the scene. "But you, Oak'lahoma... I know you miss it like I do. The warmth. The smell. You know, this body of mine wouldn't even allow me to enjoy it, but yet still I dream of it..." Oak peered up at the taller man, who continued to look out upon the illusion of the grove. He couldn't quite place the expression on Strahd's face--he felt as if it might be mirroring his own, but Strahd always had a certain refinement, a certain /restraint/ to him, which made it difficult. Yet Oak felt that for the first time, perhaps ever, Strahd was being truly genuine while talking to him. He hesitated for a moment, before moving closer to Strahd, letting the side of his body brush up against Strahd's side in solidarity. The older man looked surprised, before once again moving his hand to Oak's shoulder. This time, the halfling didn't move away. Instead, he let his head lean into Strahd's side, the two of them watching the illusion dance as the sun might slip between real leaves for just a little while longer. And then Strahd moved his hand higher, running his fingers through the side of Oak's hair. Instinctively, Oak leaned into the touch, before his brain fully registered what was happening. He stilled, feeling a flush run across his face. His green eyes flitted upward, meeting Strahd's once more. Oak's face grew more flushed, as he slowly, /carefully/, tried to untangle himself from the touch. "You don't have to pretend," Strahd said, stilling his hand, "It’s just the two of us here, after all." He turned to face Oak, bringing his other hand to cradle Oak's face. He stopped just short--Oak could feel the lack of body heat from the count's hand, and he felt his heartbeat kick up once more. And he willingly met Strahd's hand, where it tilted Oak's head further up. Strahd's thumb rubbed against the halfling's cheek, and Oak swore he could feel Strahd's hand begin to take on the warmth necessary to match the heat of the flush quickly overtaking his face. Oak let out a nervous breath, before moving his hand up to meet Strahd's own. A half-smile found its way onto Strahd's face, before Strahd let his eyes flit over to the center of the room, where Oak finally took notice of something he had looked over--a large, rough-cut slab of marble nearly three feet tall. Oak had no idea how he hadn't seen it earlier. The slab was massive, easily big enough for a full-grown human to comfortably rest upon. The air in Oak's lungs grew colder, and Oak's eyes moved from Strahd, to the slab, and then back to Strahd. The light from the leaves of the trees cast a gentle amber glow over the taller man, who continued to stay his hand, seemingly waiting for Oak to make a move himself. And so when Oak pressed his face into Strahd's hand with intent, Strahd bared his fangs in a full smile. "Now that's more like it," he said, leaning down to close the distance between the halfling and himself. Strahd's hand slid to the back of Oak's neck, and in moving forward, he pushed Oak off-balance, dipping him as if the two were in a dance. Oak let out a gasp, his hands shooting forward, burying themselves in the front of Strahd's shirt to keep himself from meeting the ground. Strahd laughed, threading his other hand behind the small of Oak's back. "Don't you trust me not to let you fall?" Oak swallowed, before consciously loosening his hold on the fabric, instead slowly placing his hands gently on the taller man's chest. "I-I do," Oak muttered, before seemingly finding his voice. Meeting Strahd's eyes once again, he repeated himself: "I trust you." Strahd grinned, before letting his hand move down Oak's back, instead finding purchase behind his thighs. In a moment, he lifted the halfling up off the ground. Oak's hands twitched against Strahd's chest, and he fought against the instinct to hold the fabric tight, but they stayed flat as Strahd carried him over to the slab. As he placed the halfling upon the marble, Strahd kept the distance between the two of them to a minimum, forcing Oak to stagger backwards. Oak propped himself up with one of his hands behind him, as he tried to figure out what the other one against Strahd's chest should be doing. He let it move further down Strahd's body, allowing the taller man to draw closer still. In turn, Strahd's hand tightened under Oak's thigh, before he dragged the halfling closer to him. Oak's supporting arm buckled beneath himself, and he stifled a yelp[??] as he fell to his elbow. Oak's chest was heaving--he could barely think. Strahd was inches away from him, looking at him, almost through him, with half-lidded eyes. And Oak froze up. But Strahd's hand was beneath Oak's chin, holding the halfling in place as he pressed his mouth against Oak's. Oak let out a surprised noise, the sound muffled as Strahd kissed him deeply. And in a moment, Oak kissed back. It was a desperate thing--Oak felt a frantic energy bubble up inside of him. It took Strahd by surprise. He almost thought that Oak would stay semi-catatonic, and he would have to take... other actions. But this was better. /Far/ better. Strahd smiled into the kiss, before pushing back against Oak a little more forcefully. In doing so, one of his canines sliced into Oak's bottom lip, and the halfling gasped, pushing Strahd away. Breathing heavily, Oak brought his hand up to his mouth, and watched it come away covered in his own blood. This wasn't good. Vampires, blood, and staying alive didn't mix well in Oak's brain. His eyes stayed fixed on the bright liquid as his rational mind desperately fought against everything else going on in his head. And then Oak closed his eyes. Impulsively, he met Strahd's lips again, and Strahd kissed back passionately. Soon, Strahd's tongue was in Oak's mouth, tracing the halfling's teeth, far duller than his own. How... quaint. Something in him did miss this--pursuing outsiders; satiating his hunger with those who didn't share his taste for blood. Oak whined as Strahd pulled at the cut in his lip, and Strahd kissed him one more time before pulling away, leaving a string of bloody spit trailing down Oak's chin. Oak had tried to keep their lips pressed together, and when he felt the lack of contact, his eyes flickered open. If his face wasn't horribly flushed already, his embarrassment would have ensured it. Strahd wiped the saliva from Oak's mouth, and Oak kept his face pressed into Strahd's hand, eyes carefully watching Strahd's expression once more in desperation. He looked at Oak with a hunger in his eyes, something Oak had never seen directed at himself. Oak exhaled sharply, maneuvering away from Strahd's grasp. He quickly wriggled out of his overcoat[?], tossing it away from himself before pulling down one of his sleeves to reveal his forearm. He offered his wrist to Strahd, pointedly keeping his gaze away from the rope-burn scar that encircled his wrist, which was now in full view. It was a gamble that Strahd wouldn't stop to mention it, or ask, or anything of the sort, and Oak felt his breath freeze in his chest as Strahd slowly turned towards his wrist. His hand wrapped around the offered limb, and he twisted it towards himself in order to gain better access. Fear flowed through Oak's veins as Strahd opened his mouth, baring his fangs against Oak's wrist, just beneath his scars. Every instinct of Oak's was screaming at him to pull the soft flesh of his arm away from Strahd's mouth. But Oak swallowed them down. And Strahd's fangs sunk into his forearm. Oak hissed as blood began seeping out from the puncture wounds in his arm and into Strahd's mouth, who greedily began to feast on the warm liquid pouring into his mouth. Strahd knew to be careful. The halfling wasn't to die here--he still had a role to play… for now at least, so Strahd only indulged himself with a few mouthfuls before pulling back from the halfling's arm with a contented sigh. He wiped his mouth, before looking at the mess he made. Blood had streamed down the halfling's arm towards his elbow, and it had begun to stain the off-white fabric of his shirt gathered in the crook of his elbow. So Strahd began to trace the streaks of blood with his tongue, a futile attempt at cleaning up the halfling's arm. At each contact, Oak shivered, flinching away involuntarily. He had gotten lightheaded during Strahd's feeding, and the sensation of Strahd's tongue, as well as the occasional gentle scrape of a tooth against his arm, was making his head spin. But Strahd finished his task quickly. He kissed the bite mark he had left on Oak's inner arm, before pulling the halfling closer. Mashing their mouths together, he stifled the noise that had made it half-passed Oak's lips. All Oak could taste was his own blood, the semi-familiar tang of it soured in his mouth. He tried to break the kiss, but Strahd held him close, not letting him escape. Oak made another muffled sound before giving in and kissing back, scrunching his eyes closed. Oak pulled at Strahd's lips with his teeth, and he felt Strahd's smile press further into his mouth. And then hands were on him, traveling upwards, making quick work of the buttons that held his shirt together. He gasped and opened his eyes as Strahd's palms returned to his chest, skimming over his skin. But Oak jammed them shut again as he felt Strahd's fingers trace over the edges of the lichtenberg scar on his side. Distracted, he bit Strahd's lip a little harder than he intended. But before Oak could react, Strahd grabbed Oak by the throat, pulling away from the kiss. Oak eyes flew open again as he choked on his own blood and spit. His hand shot up to grab Strahd's arm, and Oak looked up at the taller man, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Play /nice/, Oak'lahoma. I would hate for this to go too far before you were ready for it," The taller man spoke, looking down at the halfling struggling to catch his breath beneath his grasp. He traced Oak's jugular with his thumb, his razor sharp nail leaving a thin line of blood in its wake, before letting the halfling go. Oak fell back to his elbows, before nearly doubling over coughing. Strahd let Oak recover, watching Oak's chest heave as he tried to clear his airways. He licked the blood smeared on his thumb as he tilted his head. "S-sorry," Oak coughed out, still breathing hard. He slowly turned back over to face Strahd, who raised up an eyebrow. "I didn't mean anything by it, I-I just..." Oak trailed off, and let his gaze drop. Strahd hummed, intrigued. He almost expected that the silver-haired halfling wouldn't be willing, or able, to keep going. After all, he was familiar with the cowardice that rested in Oak’s core. He had seen it first-hand, multiple times. Strahd just didn't expect the halfling's loyalty towards him to win out over his need for survival. He barked out a laugh, to which Oak's eyes widened, snapping back towards him. But still the halfling didn't move away. Strahd reached down towards Oak, running his hand gently through his silver hair. Oak leaned into the touch, keeping his eyes locked with Strahd's as the vampire began to weave his fingers into the start of Oak's braid. And then Strahd pulled the halfling's head back with enough force that Oak was knocked back down onto his elbows. Oak cried out as he hit the marble, tears threatening to return at the corners of his eyes. But before he could react, Strahd's mouth was on his again, his hands resuming their previous task of roaming Oak's chest. Oak whined, but didn't move to pull away. He ran his tongue against Strahd's when it forced its way into his mouth, and in turn Strahd began to toy with Oak's tits, small as they were. He ran over one with his palm, before thumbing over his nipple. Oak fidgeted under his hands as he did so, unable to go far in Strahd's grasp. Soon, Strahd brought his nails into play, alternating between the heavy, groping pressure of his hands, and the light sensation of his sharpened nails tracing circles threateningly closer and closer to Oak's more sensitive areas. Oak had all but stopped kissing Strahd back--it was difficult to concentrate. As his breath became more and more erratic, he would only actively respond when Strahd all but shoved his tongue down his throat. And so Strahd pulled away, the trail of pink-tinged saliva connecting them breaking in an instant, dripping down onto Oak's chest. His breath hitched at the sensation, and Strahd smirked, taking the opportunity to begin moving one of his hands lower, squeezing the softer skin at Oak's side in order to see the halfling flinch under his grasp. But he didn't stop there, moving further to palm at the area between Oak's legs through his pants. And Oak involuntarily bucked into Strahd's hand instantly, gasping. Strahd steadied his hand against him, enjoying watching the halfling attempt to generate any sort of friction between the two of them. Oak tilted his head backwards, his eyes still screwed shut beneath his furrowed eyebrows. A smirk found its way onto Strahd's face, and he slowly pulled his hands away from the needy halfling. Oak whined, slowly opening his eyes as the lack of touch became more and more noticeable. Strahd stood over him, eyes glinting in the dark. He didn't move, so Oak moved towards him instead, propping himself up to a sitting position on the marble slab. But he moved too fast--the effects of the blood loss coming back to him in an instant. Oak swayed in place. He wasn't sure why he was so dizzy... breathing hard, he brought his hands up to his face, only to come in contact with one of Strahd's hands instead. It cradled his face gently, and Oak looked back up at Strahd's silhouette through half-lidded eyes. The vampire drew in closer, finally, letting his hand brush through Oak’s hair until it gently cradled the nape of his neck. With his other hand at the small of Oak's back, Strahd lowered him back down. Oak fought at first, but then his head spun hard, the trees around him blurring, until it was just easier to let Strahd move him where he pleased. He felt hands separate his legs further, and in a daze, Oak reached down and began to fumble with his belt. The buckle was giving him trouble, his fingers lacking their usual deftness, but he needed Strahd’s hands on him more than anything. "Let me," he heard Strahd say, simultaneously too close and too far away, and then felt hands atop his own. They guided him through familiar movements, and before Oak could really register what was happening, his pants were being slid down. Oak began to move the waistband of his undergarments out of the way, but Strahd quickly took care of those as well. Soon, Oak lay bare on the marble, the cold of it flush against his skin. The shadowy figure that was Strahd loomed over him, and Oak heard the rustle of fabric. It was difficult to see what the taller man was doing, but the figure wasn't closing the distance between the two of them at all. Desperate, Oak slid his hand between his legs, threading his fingers between the folds there. He opened himself more before the vampire, really feeling for the first time just how wet he had become. Instinctively, he tilted his head to the side, baring his neck. Suddenly, he felt something rub against him, sliding up against his slit, before the tip of it was pushing up against the space between his fingers. In a moment, Strahd's body pressed against his own, the vampire lord's pride resting against Oak's stomach. Oak adjusted his hand, pulling it out from between their bodies. Instead, he placed it on top of Strahd's dick, pressing it down gently against himself. This elicited a sound from Strahd, and Oak began to rub his fingers down the top of the older man's shaft, pressing it further against his skin. A few strokes later as Oak's hand neared the head of Strahd's dick, Oak felt it twitch beneath his fingers. Curling his hand around its tip, wetness that wasn't his own smeared against his palm. Oak moved to work it onto the rest of the member when a hand around his wrist stopped him short. Another wrapping nearly halfway around his waist had him whimpering. Strahd drew closer to Oak, no longer just a shadow. He forced Oak's hand up to the smaller man's face. "Lick it clean, halfling." Oak obliged, his tongue slowly gathering the drops of pearly liquid from his palm, all the while keeping his half-focused gaze steady with Strahd's own. Strahd sneered down at Oak, canines glinting in the dim light. His grip tightened around Oak's wrist, the pressure almost grating Oak's bones together. Oak cried out, grabbing Strahd's arm to try and free his own, his fingers scrabbling against the fabric still comfortably worn by the vampire. He let Oak struggle against him, only relaxing his grip when Oak gave up the fight, hand feebly falling away from Strahd's arm as tears welled in the corners of his eyes. Slowly, but with purpose, Strahd pulled Oak's arm higher, exposing the bite mark left from earlier. Just below it, his other hand sliced into Oak's skin with one razor-sharp nail. The halfling cursed, tears trailing down his face. Another look from Strahd cut short any noises still in Oak's throat as he adjusted Oak's arm once more, letting the blood trickle down onto where he was resting on Oak's stomach. With his free hand, he began to stroke himself, coating his length in the warm liquid. Oak squirmed beneath Strahd--the minimal contact between them suddenly not enough . He raised his hips up off the marble, trying to get Strahd’s hand to brush up against him as well. Blood began to drip from between strahd’s knuckles, falling onto Oak’s stomach in erratic patterns as the halfling continued to vie for touch of any sort. Once Strahd felt that his member was sufficiently slick with Oak’s own blood, he hastily yanked the halfling’s arm towards his mouth once again, pulling Oak’s shoulders away from the safety of the marble beneath them easily as if Oak was but a stuffed doll. Oak’s vision spun again at the sudden movement, and he shivered as Strahd’s wet tongue once again cleaned warm blood from his arm. He let his head loll back as Strahd finished cleaning his arm, the sight of the illuminated trees blurring into each other until it was as if he were looking through a kaleidoscope of orange hues. Thankfully, Strahd lowered him back down more carefully. Oak did his best to assist in his descent until he was once again lying flush against the marble, which now shared the warmth of his own body. His arm was soon freed from the iron-like grip of the vampire, which prompted Oak to glance up from his prone position. And as he did, he felt Strahd’s member, warm and slick with his own blood, grind up against him. His breath caught in his throat as it slid between his folds. Strahd paused for a moment, letting the tip of it rest against the aroused peak of Oak’s clit. His hips then steadily pushed forward letting Oak’s clit trace a path down his member until their hips were fully pressed up against each other’s. Oak had covered his mouth out of desperation as he watched Strahd move forward--the sounds he could hear himself making were absolutely obscene. [this is frotting i think? Idk] Strahd’s member rested flat on Oak’s stomach for a moment, the tip maybe an inch past his navel. And then Oak felt Strahd begin to pull away, once again dragging his entire length down the most sensitive bits of Oak’s body. It left a streak of his own blood as it dragged against his skin, a reminder of just how deep it was going to reach inside of him. Strahd let his dick slip away from Oak’s body and into his own hand, where he rubbed up and down the length twice before letting the tip press up against Oak’s clit once again. Oak whined again at the contact, his hand doing a horrible job at smothering the noises he was making. But Strahd didn’t move to slide up against him again. Instead, he traced down Oak’s opening this time, before slowly pressing its head against Oak’s entrance. “/Fuck!/” Oak gasped out, body jolting under Strahd’s touch. One of Strahd’s hands made its way to Oak’s waist again, and Oak felt it shift against him as it rubbed up against his side. Strahd’s thumb brushed against his nipple, making Oak shiver. He leaned into the contact, and not a moment later, Strahd had him in a bruising grasp. “That’s the plan, /halfling/.” Strahd snarled, before pushing himself into the halfling. Oak bit down on his own hand to muffle the noise that tried to tear itself from his throat. He writhed in Strahd’s grasp, which only encouraged the dreadlord to hold him tighter. Strahd steadily buried himself to the hilt, and soon Oak’s hips were being held flush against his own. Oak’s head lay back against the marble slab as he tried to squirm away, to give himself even an inch of respite. But Strahd pinned Oak to the slab further, Oak whining out around his own flesh held tight between his teeth. “If you keep wriggling around, /I/ will start moving.” Strahd’s fangs glistened in the dim light as he pulled closer, the only thing Oak was able to make out. He couldn’t tell if it was the room getting dimmer, or if his vision was starting to go. Even that train of thought was difficult to follow with everything going on. With effort, Oak’s breathing leveled out. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat × Altered Mental States × Dubious Consent × Power Imbalance × Trans Male Character × Halflings (Dungeons & Dragons) × Blood Drinking × Blood As Lube × Choking × Blood Loss × Minor Character Death × Size Difference × Strahd von Zarovich Being Strahd von Zarovich × sex so questionable that you end up locked in a crypt × (prev) dont worry about it × horse boy 4 horse boy × Trapped in the Dreadrealm of Barovia, Oak'lahoma Beetledust's one goal is to stay alive. Which means that his actual goal is staying on the good side of one Strahd von Zarovich. But with past transgressions stacking up against him, and a still-bleeding heart for other Outsiders, Oak instead finds himself mercy-killing an outsider that Strahd had set his sights on. Strahd is determined to quench his appetite one way or another, so the trouble-making halfling will just have to do.