Discord Misadventures - Biker Vampire Dutch Road Race
This fanfic was written in 20 minutes for Skyler following an amusing moment on his twitch stream.
Sweat beaded and ran down onto the signature thick moustache of one Dutch Van Der Linde. Ordinarily he'd want run his thick fingers through the coarse hair then smooth it back over, but he hardly had the time. He was going 130 down the interstate on his bright orange Kawasaki Ninja H2 amid at least 30 other desperados all vying for first place in a highly illegal desert race - a far shot from the wild west of his birth. That was one edge he had over his competitors at least, he was a vampire: unaging, unwavering, and definitely unstraight.
They'd been tearing down the tarmac for the better part of an hour, white-knuckle gripping their bikes as they sped past mile-markers by the dozen, and that wasn't even the most dangerous part. This was an all-out, drive-to-the-death race where all weapons and tactics were allowed, and right now Dutch had a gruff, manly son of a bitch bearing down on him. Between swings from his lead-pipe, Dutch could see the grimace of the Sigma that were his (current) sworn enemy. His fellow gang members were busy firing off sawn-off shotguns at their own quarry and couldn't render the dusty old veteran any aid. Fortunately, he didn't want it.
The thrill of breakneck speed, the unbridled ultra-violence of his foe, the federal illegality of the race, it all got his undead blood pumping in a way he wasn't sure he'd feel again. And now, he has the most ravishing of Sigmas leering at him. His steering was starting to feel awkward when he realized his raging boner was acting like a rudder, the tent in his faux-leather pants was catching wind and creating drag. He wanted so badly to embrace this hunk but the race had to come first, even though he made it his policy to never cum first.
That was all it took. That momentary distraction and he was doomed. A civilian car was headed right for him and his adversary. It was all he could do to lean towards the Sigma before the car collided with them at the combined speed of 210km per hour.
And just like that, they were both sent head over heels, clear of both of their bikes. The adrenaline and breakneck speeds meant that the feeling of their broken legs wouldn't catch up to them before it was too late, but wait.. there was still time. Dutch lunged for the Sigma and locked his hands with his, fingers deftly interlacing with supernatural speed and accuracy of an elder vampire. Before the ground caught them both, he had to taste this gorgeous, rugged man's lips.
What happened next was a blur of flesh, lips, dust, tongue, moustache, more dust, not enough spit, some teeth, an errant mosquito which was erroneously absorbed into the sweaty, lusty mess of flaps and unfulfilled wishes of sloppy blowjobs and musky nut-sniffing. Dutch was used to his perception of time changing with the transition from mortal to immortal, but this was entirely something else. He never felt such emotion in his human nor vampire life. He wanted this Sigma so intimately, so carnally that he couldn't contain himself.
Then the pavement found them, and they both became salmon-pink paste.