A crash sounded just behind you, followed by the sound of the hunter screaming. You sprinted around the corner, not daring to think about what he was doing to the hunter. Whether he was choosing to rip his limbs off one by one or slowly carve at them masterfully, only barely leaving them hanging on and then watching with sickening glee as his next meal tried to escape. With how you had been behaving lately, you reasoned that the hunter would be dealt the latter fate like all of the other former people who tried to rescue you from his grasp.
A choked sob left your bloodied lips as you turned another corner and stumbled across a hall. One that lead to a dead end. There wasn't anything decorating it except for the large, lopsided painting in the center of the wall. The painting looked kld and faded, yet somehow depicted you. You, smiling brightly, with long elongated fangs brushing against the bare shoulder of him, back turned away from the spectator. It didn't make sense. None of this did.
Slow clapping came from behind you and you whirled around, a chill running down your spine at the monster you saw. Him. Dottore, clothes bloodied and ripped but with a lazy smile on his face.
"My dear little pet, did you really think you could try to escape me?" He mused softly, extending a hand.
You turned back to look at the painting, yelling when his hand painfully grabbed you by the face and forced you to look at him.
Dottore's red eyes bore into your own and his smile was wide now, fangs glinting within the bit of light streaming in through the hallway.
"Please-"
"You'll have to speak a little bit louder than that, my dear specimen." He cooed, bringing his hand up to your neck and letting his cold, index finger trace circles on the bite marks he left there hours earlier.
You shivered at his touch, feeling your face flush a bit. "Please, Dottore, let me go. A-At least outside for a bit."
Il Dottore has gone weeks without feeding. He gets overzealous.
(Implied long-term relationship between human and vampire. This plays fast and loose with vampire lore. Happy Halloween!)
POSTED ON AO3 HERE; MINORS DNI. RATED EXPLICIT.
Your smell was far too enticing for your own good. If he didn’t know any better, he would suspect that you were down here on purpose, touching everything when he wasn’t present. Purposefully driving his hunger to the brink.
But he did this to himself over the last few weeks; now he had to live with the consequences.
His eyes roamed your form. You just had to wear your hair away from your neck and expose your jugular and collarbone so freely. Showcasing your scars for all who dared come this far into his laboratory.
You were his to mark, his to bite, his to spill his seed into. If no one was around to notice, why were you so openly flaunting your skin?
Dottore gripped the nearest surface and the papers beneath his hand crumpled, his notes bearing the brunt of his frustrations. He should have gone with Pantalone when the man offered to take him to the hunting lodge in the depths of the forest. It wouldn’t have hurt to get out of the lab.
Away from you.
He could be stalking and feeding on some insolent debtor or chasing a wayward hunter out of his element.
But no.
He was here, overworked, jaw aching and stomach in knots from hunger and thirst, his undead body requiring sustenance of another. Why couldn’t he be truly without any kind of need, like his Segments? Mechanical, capable of working without interruption?
His master, long dead, thought turning him had been a sick joke. That from then on, he was the monster everyone claimed him to be.
Dottore had laughed as he stabbed the ancient being after years of careful planning. Fate would never save him but logic and methodical preparation would. It always would.
You had no proper sense left after being exposed to his venom for so long; it was part of being a thrall. You always came back for the numbing ecstasy that raced through you and turned you into putty after every feeding. He particularly enjoyed it when his bites made you drowsy. You were so pliable, so succulent beneath him in a half-dreaming state. What would have been perhaps all of a few minutes became hours that grew into days when you were just as needy as he was.
You were squeezing your thighs together as you worked arranging equipment and paperwork nearby, judging from the way you shifted your weight. Bad enough your scent was present when he was this hungry. Worse still for the musk of your need to accompany it.
He should relieve you of that burden. Not because he cared nor out of any sense of duty, no. Utter nonsense.
You were a nuisance. And he needed to focus.
He sighed and unclenched his hands, the papers crinkling.
“Are you alright, sir?”
Always such care in your voice. Even before he marked you. Genuine in your attentions. Silly woman. You belonged to the world of sunlight and warmth and change and you gave all of that up to be here, to keep him company.
Fool.
“Come here,” he commanded.
No hesitation. You would have paused, once. Light used to dance in your eyes, too. When had that changed?
He observed the world. He knew everything.
Everything except you, apparently. That wouldn’t do.
There was a time you would have run from him. When he would have chased you through the dark corridors just to feel your warm flesh engulf him as your adrenaline-laced blood filled his mouth.
You used to verbally bite, your words as stinging as polished silver or blessed water. You were so expressive, so tenacious…
All of that.
Gone.
He couldn’t identify the pang that ran through him. Guilt was an unfamiliar sensation and he certainly never regretted offering this to you; regret implied a level of affection, attachment. He cared not for change itself but only the methods through which it occurred.
Now you only ever tasted of dopamine.
Dottore’s curiosity was squashed by his endless thirst, jaw aching to sink his teeth into something. Thoughts were fleeting, like hunting Aranara. The only thing he could focus on was the heat of your body as you curled yourself into his lap, grinded your hips into his and exposed your neck without further prompting.
A meal that knew how to present itself.
He reached between you, your folds wet and eager when he pushed aside your underclothes beneath your skirt. Of course you were ready. Your body, just like your mind, was no longer entirely your own.
His nostrils flared and he closed his garnet eyes as he opened wide. He slipped in two fingers into your wet heat in time with his piercing bite, your walls gripping his digits instantly, mindlessly.
The copper tang rang across his tongue and down his throat and he sucked and lapped at the open wounds. Smooth as water and sweet as honey to one such as himself. Your moans were an absolute symphony once he replaced his fingers with his cock and slid himself home in one swift motion. Hands, usually pressed against his chest or wrapped around him, tugged at his loose necktie as your hips rolled.
He tasted your climax before he felt it, your body rigid as it prepared for release. You came with a spasm and a gasp of his name, eyes fluttering open just as you nuzzled against his collarbone. He groaned, the continued rush of your orgasm sweetening your blood as you rolled your hips again and rode out wave after wave.
He bit down harder. More. He needed more .
Something tugged on his shirt but he was already as close as he could be to you. You needy little thing…
Dottore brought his fangs to your open wounds and bit again, tearing the holes a little wider this time. You would heal. You always did.
More warm liquid pooled in his mouth as he sucked at your flesh. He fell over the edge with a shuddering thrust, filling you to the brim as he continued to drink, riding his own high.
Your fist pounded on him but he barely felt it. The sensation was nothing more than a tap, an annoying interruption. If he were human, it would have knocked the wind out of him. You writhed and punched and even attempted to scratch, your motions more frantic and desperate and weaker the longer they went on.
“Zan…dik…”
He flinched at the sound as if you screamed it. Dottore could hear your joints popping softly, the mice scurrying through the walls; he could smell the oil dripping from the Ruin Grader three rooms over.
Ah, just a little more. Not quite there yet.
“Zan…please…”
Usually you weren’t this whiny. How pathetic. You must have grown an immunity to his venom after all. Another theory for another time.
He pulled away, your blood dripping down his chin and staining his shirt as he gazed down at your form. You didn’t move, didn’t even give a moan of acknowledgement. For a moment, he swore you were asleep.
It wasn’t until Dottore gripped the back of your dress and pulled that he felt the strange but familiar unwieldiness to your form.
“Well, well,” he mused. “It would seem you forced my hand, didn’t you?”
He pulled himself free of you, fixed his attire to the best of his abilities, and arranged you in his arms.
You were destined for better things. For sunlight and for love.
