❛ 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃. ╾ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵
“Did I offend you?” The question lingers upon his blood-stained lips, smiling, playful, rather than wary. He can’t help himself; the dhampir’s spite seems most amusing. However, he wouldn’t want to truly anger him…
“You taste like fire, yes, burning down my throat like a fine liquor, albeit in perfect balance with the tender sweetness of humanity.” Honeyed words, hushed and soft like silk, in tandem with his gentler touch, fingers tracing small circles on Alucard’s cheeks with reverent fondness. And yet, he does hold him in place, still, keeping those fangs away from his own skin. “Such a delight you are, that I would choose your blood over that of angels, demons, and gods.”
Lofty claims, yet he’s devoured all sorts of wondrous creatures and abhorrent horrors over the long years of his wretched life. Furthermore, and regardless of his rusty silver-tongue, he would’ve to admit how hard it should be to name a creature as fascinating and lovely as the present company. Losing him would be a terrible pity… yet he hopes the son of the detested king will be strong enough to withstand him.
“Fair enough,” he whispers, at last, letting go and simply resting his head on Alucard’s shoulder, thus offering his neck without any conditions. “Take anything you wish from me.”
𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞 ? all things required to feed, to drink; but he was a man, and men had tastes for things beyond survival. while able to be, with great struggle, sustained by the blood and flesh of beasts, it was the human blood which healed him, gave him life, gave him his vigor. and like any other man, there were meals which pleased him and those that did not. while not seeking the pinnacle of flavor, he had his preferences: that sickly-sweet, gushing gore of the willing over the bitter, sharp taste of the reluctant victim. always better from a generously giving vein. but the crow was neither human nor did he cause his mouth to water. no, the consumption here was strange, and new.
❝ — it is blood. ❞ put simply, as neck cranes forward once more, fangs barely scraping against the barren flesh of the crow’s throat. even here, so surrounded by the sound of his weakened life-spring thrumming through him, and the odor of iron tempting him to bite, he waited. it would not be filling, not to his liking, that he knew. the scent of him was enough to promise that: but the desire was not in the taste, no, but something else. to consume. to conquer.
fangs press beneath his flesh, tearing it apart, diving in with a slow but heavy force, enough to pierce himself to the root in his pale skin. gushing forth, the blood fights to spring out against his teeth, and alucard welcomes it, a sickening gurgling coming from the dhampir as he lurches his mouth about the wound, suckling, releases of air from his gore-covered mouth bubbling the blood about the corners of his lips. like biting into a ruby-red apple, only to find that, beneath the crisp skin, writhed a rotten core. the taste is bitter, foul; polluted by some horror, no doubt. but alucard does not cease, wrenching his teeth from the puncture and swallowing hard, taking a greedy mouthful of the crow, and letting it slide down his throat, warm and eager.
