A/N: Okay, first of all, I want to say that I don't own either Dorian Gray or Dracula; they belong to Oscar Wilde and Bram Stoker respectively. Secondly, this fic is a little different, obviously. The pairing was originally the brainchild of my friend and fellow author, Gothic Comedian, to whom this fic is dedicated. We began role-playing it last week and that's how this story was born. Now, I know in the movie Dorian can't bleed, so I took a liberty, but bear with me. I know this is a very...unusual pairing but even so, I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it.

Addictions

Pale bodies entwined together on sheets of a deep crimson, ensuring the blood stains were unnoticeable. Long tapered fingers curled around dark hair, occasionally pulling it hard so that fangs could sink into the soft, warm flesh of a throat, getting a taste of the blood racing just below the surface.

Dorian closed his eyes, letting out a warm moan as he felt the Count nurse at the wound in his throat. His chest, neck and thighs were covered in deep bite marks, and his hips were discolored with angry bruises that were already healing rapidly. They would soon be replaced with fresh ones, for Vlad was never gentle with him. He would slam into Dorian, fingers gripping the sides of the dandy's body hard. The only occasions when Vlad was gentle was when he would tease him, whispering soft endearments in his ear and riding him so tortuously slow that Dorian felt he would go mad.

The immortal was addicted to this, and he knew it. Part of him hated himself for becoming so dependant on another human being, but he knew there was nothing to be done. All he wanted was to be overpowered, to have those fangs sink into his flesh, to be taken over and over again in a torrent of animalistic lust.

But Dorian knew, for all the strength of his addiction, that the Count was just as addicted as he was. Whenever he drank from Dorian, the dandy could feel the growl that escaped Vlad's lips. There were even instances where Dorian would wake up in the night and feel the Count suckling at a wound in his chest contentedly, as seemingly content as a baby at its mother's breast. Dorian smiled at these things, for it told him that he and his lover were on equal ground, as Dorian was, if nothing else, a man who would never be controlled by his desires. However, this did not mean that he would not indulge in them as often as possible.

Dorian looked at the Count, lust evident in those dark brown eyes. "Again," he said, pressing his slender hips against his lover. A soft growl escaped from Vlad's lips by way of answer before he once again sunk his fangs into the sweet, white flesh of the immortal's body.

If there is any similarity between the two of us, Dorian would muse to himself. It's that we're both slaves to our addictions.