You let this happen. Maybe you shouldn’t.
Gift for incredible @meo-eiru and her goodest boy Ciaran! It's also her art on the top!
The days that followed his sudden appearance were tense. You avoided his kneeling form at all costs, sometimes even shielding your eyes from the general direction he was at. It was… weird to say the least.
How do you deal with a vampire? How do you deal with one that spends most of his time sitting in the corner of your living room and looks at you with big red eyes of his? Is there even a manual for dealing with this kind of vampire? You weren’t sure.
Vampires usually charm people into giving them blood. They do it without knowing or suffer through it because they are just prey. Just food they don’t care about. Others say that it feels good, and later you are a starving man for more of that vampire-induced aphrodisiac. You never heard of vamps who… don’t do that.
Well, you never heard of real vampires PERIOD. And unfortunately, he was very real and trying to turn into a statue next to your monstera plant.
Ciaran, as he introduced himself to you, appeared a couple of days ago and it was a mess. From start to finish, the whole ordeal was a mess and a half. He was covered in blood, crying on your doorstep. You thought he was hurt, you thought he needed help. The panic in your bones was like a lightning. The forest around your house wasn’t dangerous, but hunting season was in full swing. Somebody could get hurt, somebody DID get hurt – at least you THOUGHT they did.
Your heart hurt so much when you saw him, barely catching his breath as you helped him go inside. Barely walking on his own, putting his whole weight on your body. His cries and choking made you brush his dark hair back and look at his face to make sure he is at least superficially okay.
The blood was dripping from his face, but not a scratch on it. Eyes wide and red, and looking at you like you’re the wild animal here, and not him. Like you were the wolf to his little red riding hood, like a cat to a mouse.
That was a month ago. A whole month after you screamed your lungs out, let him hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and hit yourself on a cupboard in the entrance so hard, that you stumbled to the floor next to him like a plane crash. First week was a nightmare. He cried; he was scared to leave the broom closet. You literally had to check out vampirism forums for tips how to lure out a fucking vampire out.
Second week was better. He finally let you bring him some water to wash the blood off of his face. You had to sit silently in the open closet doors, as he cautiously watched you. He looked small, abused, trembling and unsure. Only after the third week when you offered him some of your blood, he started coming out of his hidings.
Your eyes looked to the side, at the Ciaran sitting in the corner of the living room. Ah, yes, the situation at hand. A guy sitting like a decorative mannequin.
You coughed and moved uncomfortably on your couch, eyes stopping for a second on his ruby ones, and then dropping back to the book on your lap.
“No, I let you stay here, it’s okay, you can sit there.”
You raised your eyes again and he was gone. Another thing nothing could prepare you for was how silent he could move. Or how jumpy you could be.
“But you’re so uncomfortable around me—“
Or how this was the third time you slammed a book in his face. The punch could be almost personal, if you didn’t feel like you hit a fucking wall. Imagine slamming a notebook into a brick wall full-force and being surprised your fingers got smashed. Thanks to hurting hand, closed eyes and pain reverberating in your bones like a sound wave, you couldn’t see how he was looking at you.
He gasped and knelt to hold your hand, as he rubbed it to his face and started saying sorry. Even when in a hurried voice he promised he wouldn’t do it again, he felt less like apologizing for causing your reaction, and more like causing different ones. He still felt awful, he felt hurt when you were hurt, like he betrayed you and made you suffer. But he was curious. Awfully curious.
His voice strained, as he held your fingers close to his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
“I promise, I won’t do it again, I promise—“
“Ciaran, it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt anymore.“
Eyes were getting wetter and wetter. He felt so bad he did this to you just to see your surprise. Was he finally being too much? Will you notice how high-strung and inhuman he was, and throw him away?
He, himself, could never call this predatory. Curiosity. Enthrallment. The first time you hurt yourself on accident, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His crying, begging for forgiveness. He was ready to be beaten to death, yet… Even after that, after seeing him dirty, hungry and in a haze, you let him stay. You let him drink your blood and you didn’t know how much it meant to him.
His voice apologised on repeat, brain working like a frenzied machine. Need to say sorry stronger and stronger, yet his dead heart beating faster and faster. He didn’t listen to your words, but to your scent – so close to him. Your hands were so warm, and his fingers were cramping for purchase. Without you noticing, he let his free hand roam up your leg. To find a stone to anchor his claws on your clothes. To push himself closer, like an animal, like a dog. His fingers grazing your soft flesh underneath the cloth. He was disgusted with himself.
As he roughly grabbed your hip and snatched you closer to the edge of the couch, you didn’t even have any time to react to that – as his chants of sorry’s for hurting you didn’t stop. You knew it was dangerous, but not in a way any prey should feel towards a predator. Your breath caught in your throat, your muscles tensed under his touch as he slowly, slowly grabbed and nudged closer more and more.
The sigh you breathed out slumped your shoulders. Air ran out of your body, your head tilting to the side with a smile. You put your hand on his hair, as it slowly came to rest on your stomach.
You let this happen. Maybe you shouldn’t.
“I know you didn’t want to hurt me.” You exhaled, like you were talking to a big cat, or a crying doggie. “You didn’t, right?” You felt his head shake.
But you wanted to let this play out.
Your heart squeezed at his little wet ‘sorry’.
If only you could see how his eyes were zeroed on your slender fingers.
How his ears picked up your heartbeat. How his lips were trembling, still crying, but excited at the filling of your body beneath his fingers. No wonder his family hated him. He was disgusting, using your good heart to satisfy himself. To sniff your scent, to almost graze his fangs on your pulse point. To hesitate millimetres from the vein full of your sweet blood you gave him last time.
“Time to let go, I have to go pee.” When he didn’t move, you patted his shoulders. He moved, albeit slowly. “Atta boy!”
Your giggle was so enchanting. His eyes followed after you as you stood up and directed yourself towards the bathroom. His hiccups making it hard for you to not roll your eyes. Even as you disappeared behind the wall, his eyes traced the walls like he could see you through them.
He, himself, could never call this predatory, but if someone was watching, they definitely would.
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