Judas was on his knees before he knew that he had moved, slipping out of the chair to the floor as if by gravity. Everything in his head was screaming, blinding him with sound, laughter, a roar of feedback. The younger vampire clamped his eyes shut to ward off the sound - to no avail. He tried to get up, knowing that one of these two were going to take advantage of his submission. His legs refused to move, his weight unshifting.
When Mitchelletto approached him, Judas became all too aware of how aroused this was making him, the bulge in his pants too near his mouth. Judas kept his mouth clamped shut, biting into the soft tissue of his tongue to prevent himself from snarling in rage or make a lunge to bite the damn cock off. Best to just let things happen if they were to happen. Hate oozed out of him at the older vampire and Judas' green eyes refused to acknowledge the disgusting creature who made him.
But then something turned in him, churning his insides. Images overcame him, fast, like some sick montage of his life. Needles pressing into collapsing veins, bloody noses that didn't stop, painful fucks in dirty places and dark alleys. There were the young women who cried, the men that beat him close to death, the dead eyes looking up at him. He relived his own prostitution in vivid colors, his own overdose and every scrap of pain that came with choking on his own bile. He saw Mitch there, fucking him too hard, feeding from him as he began to die.
There was the Frenchman connecting with his jaw, the crashing of the window as his head hit. There was the demon pressing himself into him, first down his throat, controlling him, then in his ass, fucking the leeches deeper into his brain. With tenacity, Judas relived his own rape, the feeling of losing all control of himself to someone else. The pain of entry. The hatred that built in his chest. The humans he had slaughtered in retribution. He didn't know that he was shouting, panicked blood leaking from his face.