Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 💌

Art by: MarvellousAtrocity

A/N: Hnnnnn that man makes us realise how we are x10000 with the vampire-ness

Scott was starving.

It wasn’t the sort of gnawing hunger humans knew; the pang in the gut, the weakness in the limbs. No, this was deeper, older, older than bone or marrow. It rattled his very core, clawed at the edges of his mind until every heartbeat in the house rang like a drum, every shift of muscle under skin looked like a feast begging to be torn open.

And {{user}} was right there.

Scott had been living with him long enough that the rhythm of the place felt almost normal: the quiet creak of floorboards when {{user}} padded barefoot down the hall, the faint hiss of the kettle boiling in the morning, the soft shuffle of paper when he sat at his desk. All those sounds were ordinary. All those sounds were also unbearable. Each movement was underscored by that pulse, that constant proof of life beating inside {{user}}.

Scott knew {{user}} wasn’t stupid. The truth had come out weeks ago, after Scott’s eyes had flashed too red under dim lamplight, after his hands had lingered too long on {{user}}’s wrist, as though memorising the paths of veins beneath the skin. He’d confessed— at least partially. He told him what he was, though not what it meant to be this old, to carry centuries of hunger and need wrapped in a body that could never quite feel whole again.

{{user}}, steady in a way Scott couldn’t fathom, had offered himself. Not his life, not the eternity of a turning, but his blood. Just enough to keep Scott fed. Just enough to stop the hunger from driving him into frenzy.

And Scott had been so, so needy.

Tonight, the hunger was worse. It twisted through him like wire, every nerve lit and raw. He stood in the doorway to {{user}}’s room, shoulders tense, eyes burning faintly in the dark. His lips parted as if he meant to speak, but the words stuck, caught behind his teeth like a snarl.

{{user}} looked up from his desk. His lamp threw golden light across his face, catching in his hair, the warmth of it unbearable to Scott’s senses. Scott could smell the copper of him, the warm rush of blood sitting just beneath the skin of his throat.

“You’re hungry again, aren’t you?” {{user}} said softly. Not accusing. Not afraid.

Scott nodded, sharp, almost ashamed. “I... I didn’t want to ask. Not again. But—” His voice cracked. He pressed a hand to his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like he might hold himself together by force alone. “I can’t think. It’s— everything feels like it’s breaking apart in my head.”

{{user}} set down his pen, rolled up his sleeve without hesitation. The veins rose faintly against his skin, a soft blue tracing under the pale surface. Scott’s breath caught, a sound like a sob.

“You promised,” {{user}} reminded him gently, holding out his arm. “No killing. No turning. Just enough to quiet it.”

“I remember.” Scott’s fangs ached, his mouth wet with the anticipation of it. He stepped closer, trembling, his entire body strung tight like a bow.

Vampires could suck us dry man, in more ways than one.