hello!! to my tsh people, i humbly bring you some winterbunny scraps. but!!! vampyre!henry / blood bag bunny scraps. (my favourite). this fic is draining the life outta me, but i wanted to share a snippet. (motivate me, pls. i beg)
anyways, here you go! ⭐️
“He’s a problem.” Bunny spoke calmly.
Henry was already growing antsy, irritated that Bunny would dare deny him what he wanted for a second more. They were at Henry’s, having come back from an uninspiring lecture of Julian’s. Henry, although he was loath to admit it, couldn’t focus on more than two words Julian strung together at a time. Not with Bunny in the room, always in the corner of his eye. The scent of his blood mingling with the horrid floral scent of Julian’s office, distractingly sweet beneath the surface of his skin, rushing hotly under the puncture wounds just below his collar that hadn’t healed yet.
Henry had tracked each pull of his collar that Bunny performed, that awful smirk plastered on his face, with twitching eyes. He sat, clutching his far too expensive pen in a bruising grip, his knee bouncing aggressively, counting down the seconds until they were alone. Until now. And Bunny had the fucking audacity to utter another man’s name.
“Richard is not a problem.” Henry growled. He crowded Bunny, herding him into the kitchen, until he was pressed flush against the counter. Henry made his approach slow, tantalizing. Hungry for the flicker of fear in Bunny’s eyes, cursing when he didn’t get it. Stalking closer, he gripped Bunny’s chin, finger’s indenting those lovely flushed cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet.
“Focus on me.”
Bunny just rolled his eyes, exacerbated by Henry’s baser behaviour. He gripped Henry’s wrist almost lovingly, his thumb sweeping back and forth across Henry’s cold skin. “If you don’t think Richard’s a problem,” Bunny’s grip turned hard, ripping Henry’s hand from his face. “Then you aren’t paying attention.”
Henry hissed. “Speak plainly.”
Bunny grinned, awful and knowing. The grin he reserved for when he outsmarted him, which was surprisingly often these days. Henry had grown more and more distracted with each pull from Bunny’s veins he had consumed. It was making him weak and he hated it.
“If you aren’t careful, he’s going to find out about your little secret.” Bunny lifted a hand to Henry’s mouth, pulling his bottom lip down to reveal a single fang. They had extended mid-lecture, and had been aching ever since for something warm to sink into.
“He won’t find out.” Henry knew he should be more concerned about this. This was everything he had fought to keep hidden. His entire educational career relied on this knowledge staying privy. But he was too far gone. He needed to feed, desperately. Maybe then the fear would sink in. He gripped the counter, either side of Bunny’s hips and dipped his head low to nose at Bunny’s throat.
Bunny responded with an unimpressed hum and Henry shivered as he felt the vibrations beneath his lips. Bunny gripped the back of Henry’s neck, hard. His thumb digging into Henry’s pulse point where his pulse lay limp and dead.
Henry hated how much he needed this. He hated how unwilling Bunny was to give it. He hated how he would do just about anything for that burst of flavour that could only be described as something purely Edmund, how it was enough to blow his pupils wide, enough to pull that base groan from his throat, to make his hands grab and pull. Enough to make him weak. Henry Winter is not weak. Has never been weak.
But that lethargic pump of blood behind Bunny’s pale blotchy skin is enough to make his knees buckle. The ruddy blush that blooms across Bunny’s cheeks and chest and ears, whenever Henry gets this close, close enough to taste, forces Henry to bite his tongue. The sickly blue veins that run thickly down Bunny’s footballer’s forearms, as Bunny's hands roam across Henry’s stomach is enough to make him beg for it.
“Please, Bunny.” Henry begs. He will hate himself later for it, but even he is not infallible.
Bunny’s chuckle gives Henry brief visions of snapping the boy’s neck, before the rising rush of blood creeping up his neck makes him think better of it. Henry crept his hands up into Bunny’s golden curls, gripping and tugging the way he knew Bunny liked. He let out a breath of relief when he felt Bunny’s head go limp in hands, knowing he was ever closer to giving in.
“What will you give me in return, old boy?” Bunny’s voice was breathless, a little needy and if Henry still had a pulse he would surely feel it pick up in speed.
“Anything,” he said, too quickly. “Name it and it’s yours.”
Henry drew back to see Bunny’s sweet smile, his eyes closed, head lolling in Henry’s loving, bruising grasp.
“Okay.”
Feeling his emotions stutter, Henry pressed their foreheads together. Bunny’s eyes opening to meet Henry’s.
“Yes?” Henry asked, needing to be sure.
“Yes.” Bunny breathed the word, like salvation, his breath fanning over Henry’s lips. Henry couldn’t take it any longer, he surged forward to kiss him. A reward. Although Henry wasn’t sure if was rewarding himself or Bunny. The curve of Bunny’s lips beneath his own, curling up into a smile made Henry’s hollow heart soar. He valiantly fought the urge to bite Bunny’s lip and feed from whatever trickles his plush lips would offer. But they had agreed, nowhere the other’s could see.
Groaning at having to part with Bunny’s mouth, Henry lowered his mouth to the unpunctured side of Bunny’s neck. Tracing his nose over the pulse point, dragging his tongue over it to feel the rapid pumping. With his fingers still buried in Bunny’s cornfield curls he tilted the boy’s neck, giving him more access. Bunny’s hands roved up his stomach, up to his chest until he was clutching at the material at Henry’s chest.
“Fucking, come on, Henry.”
He didn’t have to be told twice. He sunk his teeth in, deep. Relishing in the ripping sound of Bunny’s flesh parting and the sweet shocked yelp that Bunny lets out.
