Archive of Our Own

Feeding Journal — Entry #117

Date: November 3rd, 2024
Subject: Cassie from Clubbing
Smell: 6/10
Taste: 4/10
Fullness: 7/10
Notes: Smell was better than taste, which is always a let-down. Slight perfume interference. She didn’t scream. Or cry. Told her I had a piercing fetish, and she nodded like a sheep. I’m well fed but not very satisfied. At least she was easy to persuade.
Overall satisfaction: 5.7/10

It had been ten years since he had been turned into a vampire. A full decade of deadpan expressions, a diet that made vegetable broth seem decadent, and every sunblock working with the strength of white wall paint (he also looked like a white wall). He remembered bits of the turning—pain, very intense; and sharp teeth, obviously—but mostly the hunger that occurred seconds after being turned. A steady, growing thirst that seeped into his bones like rot.

Despite the expectation from the humans, it had been glorious at first. The rush, the power, the feeling of standing above someone and knowing their pulse beat for you (well, not actually, but you pretend it does). Blood had tasted metallic and bittersweet. Like vengeance for years of abuse. Like liquid magic. But ten years in, Regulus found himself logging feeding scores like a weary sommelier with a head cold. Most people tasted like rubbish and too much perfume. He could call himself lucky when he found a good-smelling lad, whose blood tasted like wine that had been maturing for years.

He didn’t even keep real wine anymore. He just poured expensive blood bags from the black market into bottles and pretended. He enjoyed sitting in his second-hand pricey leather armchair and drinking a glass of red liquid, as if he were some rich aristocrat, and not a permanently broke university student. It’s less tragic than it sounds. Slightly. At least the vintage doesn't matter when you're dead.

It had been ten months since he had last bitten a human. Since he had fed from a man or woman or person. Since he had sunk his teeth into skin properly. No needle straws, no synthetic bagged nonsense from the clinic with the fake smiles and the pamphlets about ethical consumption. Just an offering neck, beating pulse, fresh blood.

It had been in Brighton, in a club that smelt like sweat and ketamine and the disgusting smoke from cigarettes. The lady (was it Chloe?) had been eager, already nose-bleeding from some ill-advised piercing. Regulus hadn’t even needed to glamour her. Easy prey. But the blood had tasted flat, like too-bitter fancy cocktails and disappointment. She had climaxed in the bathroom stall. He did not.

Since moving to this new flat with his best friend, everything had been sterile. Cold. Bland. People here didn’t trust vampires. They flinched in the lift. Locked their windows. Walked faster. Changed the pavement. Frankly, it was boring. And dry. Only a few clinics took the trouble to make offers for vampires. The next was seventeen kilometres away, just for overpriced and garbage-tasting blood that was already decaying. He was starving to death. Again.

It had been ten weeks since he had gotten a new neighbour. His name was James Potter—third floor, left flat, frequent noise complaints, two plants on the windowsill, of which one was already dead. He was cheerful, tall, tan in a way Regulus envies purely out of principle, and completely unaware that Regulus was considering committing at least two crimes against him.

He was almost certain James didn’t recognize him (because he blended into the wall due to the colour of his skin), but he introduced himself in the hallway with a grin and a handshake that lasted a second too long. His voice was warm and dark. The smell of his blood had gone straight through his nose and had awakened his instincts, his desires, and cravings. Regulus blinked, nodded, and immediately turned around without introducing himself. It was safer for the both of them that way.

Not that it worked. James was persistent. Always “Hey, mate” in the corridor, or “Need anything from the grocery store?” on a Saturday. It was offensive, really, how friendly he was. Regulus was scary and terrifying and frightening (and every other synonym you could think of), and not the friendly-smalltalk-with-neighbours type of guy. People were frightened of him. He had considered hissing at him and to bare his teeth, just to see what happened. But James would probably offer him a cup of tea and ask if he needed to talk about his feelings.

It had been ten days since he had met him in the hallway, bleeding. James had limped in from football, a gash on his knee, shin streaked red down to his sock. Regulus had opened his front door just as James and his friends passed. He had sweat on his brow, mouth opened mid-laugh, wiping dripping blood with a handkerchief like it was nothing. The smell had hit Regulus in the face like a brick.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He could barely shut the door before his fangs came down. He stood there for what felt like hours. His heart didn’t beat (well, it never did), mouth watered, non-filed fingernails claws scraped at the door frame. He hadn’t felt like that in years. Not for blood. Not for anyone.

Since then, it was all he thought about. Every time he heard James’ voice in the stairwell. Every time he smelled the ghost of sweat and summer and iron through the walls. He woke up every morning hungrier than the day before. His dreams were about biting down on his neck, hard and relentless, and hearing James moan instead of scream. Which was… concerning. And hot. But mostly concerning.

He thirsted after James Potter’s blood. And he was going to do something about it.

✦ ✦ ✦

On Friday morning, Regulus stood in front of his open fridge and contemplated committing several food-based crimes. Considering the humans here called everything he did for food a crime, even legally buying it at a hospital, it wasn’t that bad.

The blood bags stared back at him, lifeless and pathetic. One of them had expired two weeks ago, the plastic cloudy and dull, like a juice box from Hell (where he would much rather like to be right now). He grabbed it anyway, sniffed it, then dropped it back in with a disgusted noise that might have been a gag or a growl. Hard to tell, even for him. Maybe Lily wanted to drink that wastewater.

He was starving. Not dramatic, aesthetic starving, but actual, homicidal, gnawing hunger that lived under his ribs and scraped at his spine. He had tried to ignore it for the past few weeks, months even. He tried meditating, cold showers, and a frankly alarming amount of mint tea, which Lily bought him—but nothing killed the craving. Nothing except real, living, stupidly hot human blood would do.

Which, of course, he couldn’t have. Because this shithole of a city harboured a vampire-unfriendly folk. Because not a single person in a radius of fifty kilometres was kind enough to donate some blood directly from the source; no one gave his neck, nor wrist, not even a single drop from the fingertip. Because this building was full of people who thought they could piss him off if they only bought enough garlic (yes, they did), and who crossed themselves if he wore a black coat again (oh no, the colour of death).

One man in the laundry room had actually sprayed him with holy water once. It had just made his hair frizz.

They didn’t say anything, not outright. But they looked at him like he was an expired lactose product—one they were too stingy to throw out, but far too suspicious to consume.

He hissed at one of them last Tuesday, just to spice things up. Presented his fangs to a woman with a Live Laugh Love tote bag and told her he liked the smell of her Golden Retriever. She hadn’t walked her dog on this side of the building since. A small victory.

Still, fear didn’t feed him. Not properly. Not the way blood did. Fresh, bittersweet, and filling blood.

He glared back at the blood bags, slammed the fridge shut, and muttered something annoyed under his breath. Then he grabbed his keys, his bag for uni, and his will to live—what little he had left of it—and headed for the door.

It wasn’t until he was already standing outside, door half-open, keys still clutched in one hand, when he realized.

James’ voice hollowed through the hallway as he sang in his kitchen.

Not well, not particularly in tune, but with enough enthusiasm to make up for it. Something cheerful and vaguely sexual, though Regulus couldn’t quite place it. Probably something about summer beach and one-night-stands. The usual. Regulus stared at the far wall, jaw tight, eyes narrowed, brain empty.

His ears were far better than those of humans. He could hear pots clinking, the rustle of a plastic bag, and the opening and shutting of a cupboard. And underneath all of that, there was James. The sound of him. The smell of him.

Fuck.

The scent curled around him like smoke. Warm skin, sweat, something faintly coppery and sharp. The wave of metallic scent hit him like a truck.

Regulus could smell his blood. Not much, not a large wound or anything, but the additional smell of aftershave made it clear enough that James had shaved recently. Maybe he had cut himself, only slightly. Not that it mattered. He would have smelled his blood anyway, as long as it flowed through his veins.

Regulus didn’t move. He couldn’t, actually. His fingers tightened around his keys as he imagined the curve of James’ neck, the way the throb of life might pound under his tongue. He pictured leaning against the doorway of that annoyingly yellow kitchen he had seen through the entrance last month; fangs out, licking his lips while James laughed, clueless.

He imagined biting him. Hard. Deep. Fast. His blood flowing his mouth. The taste spreading over his tongue. He swallowed, and he was almost certain he could taste his blood.

He stood there for what felt like an entire century.

And then the door across from his creaked open.

Regulus blinked, reality rushing back into his skull like a slap. James stepped into the hallway, a trash bag slung over one shoulder like he was in a domestic cologne advert. He was dressed in a worn-out t-shirt that clung to his chest, and cotton shorts that did absolutely nothing to help Regulus’ increasingly unstable mental condition. His thighs were strong and muscular. He thought of taking a bite there.

“Morning,” James said brightly. “You alright over there, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or, I dunno,” he giggled, “a mirror?”

Regulus simply stared. Did he make fun of his paleness?

There were so many options here. He could say hello. He could smile, or nod, or summon some shred of human civility. Instead, he just… stood.

He wasn’t able to concentrate. James’ blood flooded his senses, taking over his brain. He couldn’t think clearly. His senses were all attuned to him. Regulus stared at his neck, right where he would sink his teeth inside. He imagined the pulse under his tongue.

James tilted his head. “Just a joke.”

Regulus opened his mouth. Nothing came out. That man was literally the only human being in this goddamm city who joked with a vampire. He was also the only one who smelled like sent from heaven—or hell, who knows—and whom he wanted to carve his fangs into his beautiful, tanned skin.

James laughed awkwardly. “Seriously, are you okay? You’re kind of standing like I’m about to attack you.”

“Uh, no,” Regulus managed, finally, his voice cracking like a teenager who had just hit puberty. “I mean, yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Totally fine. I was just thinking. Or so.”

“Ah,” James said, as if that explained something. “Thinking is dangerous at this hour. I nearly poured cereal in my coffee mug this morning.”

Regulus blinked again. His head felt foggy. “What time is it?”

James pulled a face. “Dunno. Eight-thirty? Too early. You heading to uni?”

Regulus looked down at his own bag, as though surprised to see it there. “Yes. No. Maybe.” The smell of his incredible blood clouded his senses.

James chuckled. “Alright, Schrödinger’s student. I’ll let you get on with it. Try not to stare into the void too long, yeah?”

With that, he flashed another grin, turned on his feet, and disappeared into the stairwell. Regulus stood there for a while, listening to his footsteps leaving the building. He waited until the smell of his blood had completely vanished. It wasn’t until then that he realized he had clung his nails into his palm.

Regulus exhaled sharply and licked over his greeting fangs. Then he turned on his heel and walked straight back into his flat. He dropped his bag on the floor, shut the door with his foot, and collapsed onto the sofa in the living room like he had just returned from fighting in a zombie apocalypse. He was hungry and shrouded in mist.

The thought of gritting his teeth into his neck and drinking his blood made Regulus dizzy and wet between his legs. He would just lie here all day, on the sofa, thinking and daydreaming about James and his wonderful and divine blood, probably a hand buried in his underwear.

University was overrated anyway.

✦ ✦ ✦

On Saturday afternoon, Regulus stood in front of Lily’s bookshelf and contemplated throwing every single title out the window. Not because she had bad taste—although she did, objectively—but because every spine mocked him with relentless cheer.

She had colour-coded everything. Yellow for romance (why not red?), green for fantasy, blue for history, red for horror (ah, that’s why). There was even a little stack of “seasonal reads” tied together with a twine like some kind of witchcraft she had seen on Pinterest. It was nauseating.

He traced a finger over the row of children’s books. She didn’t even have kids. Or younger siblings. Half of them had teeth marks in the corners, which was both fitting and disturbing. And then his gaze landed on a specific title.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar Vampire.

He stared at it. He blinked. He took it off the shelf with two fingers, like it might explode, and flipped it open to a random page. The first sentence his eyes fell on read:

On Monday, he ate sucked through one apple vein. But he was still hungry.

Regulus closed the book, slowly, as though it might bite him back. “Lily,” he said flatly.

From the dressing table, there was a rustle of movement and the sharp click of a mascara. “What?”

“What is this?” Regulus asked and lifted the book higher, still staring at it. “And more importantly, why is it?”

She giggled. “I rewrote it for you,” she called back casually.

He snorted and turned around to her. “You rewrote The Very Hungry Caterpillar to feature a vampire?”

“Technically, I made it better,” Lily said, without even glancing at him. She leaned into the mirror on her desk, focused entirely on dragging mascara across her lashes. “Have you read Tuesday’s page yet? It’s an avocado blood toast sort of situation. Very trendy among our kind.”

Regulus turned back to the book. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” she said lightly. “What do you want?”

“I need to break into our neighbour’s flat,” Regulus said, just as casually. “I need his blood.”

Lily didn’t even flinch. She blinked once, leaned back from the mirror, and clicked the mascara tube shut. “Cool. Are you bringing him back for a threesome?”

Regulus stared at her reflection. She finally looked at him. “Why is that your first response?”

“Because I’m bored,” she said, shrugging. “Also, because you haven’t gotten laid in… Say, how long has it been?”

“Don’t,” Regulus warned.

“Eight months? Nine?” she thought about it. “Wait, no, there was that goth in Brighton—”

He raised his index finger. “Stop speaking.” He didn’t even sleep with Chelsea, or whatever her name was. She had ground on his lap (as if there was something to grind), and purely came from his teeth in her neck.

She tilted her head. “Or was it the one who cried afterwards because you wouldn’t let him call you daddy?”

How did she dare to remind him of that? Regulus threw the book at her. Lily caught it one-handed without looking away from her eyeliner she drew under her lid.

“Nice aim,” she said, flipping the book open. “Oh, Thursday’s page is a pint of O-negative with a silly pink straw. Adorable.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m serious, Lily.”

“I know.” She finally set down her eyeliner, turned, and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “So, who is this neighbour? You’ve never cared about anyone here before. In fact, you actively hate everyone within a two-kilometre radius.”

“I still do,” Regulus said. “Two hundred kilometres, actually.”

She clapped her hands. “So what’s special about this one? Is he hot?” Regulus looked away, jaw tight. “Oh my devil, he is,” Lily said immediately. “You’re blushing. Holy shit, you’re blushing. What does he look like? No, wait—what does he smell like? Because clearly this is about blood.”

Regulus glared at her, but it lacked any real heat. “You don’t understand,” he muttered.

“Enlighten me,” she said, smug as a cat.

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “It’s been ten months since I had bitten anyone properly.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you’ve been insufferable.”

“Shut up,” he said. “And then, ten days ago, I ran into him in the hallway—”

“Oh. My. Devil,” she interrupted him. “Is it James from across?”

He nodded. “Yes. Him.”

“Oh, you’re so right. He’s fucking hot,” she said.

“I didn’t even say that,” he replied. He shook his head. “Anyway, he’d scratched his knee playing football, and—”

“Oh, so this is an injury fetish thing.” Her eyes were wide, and her mouth formed into a diabolical grin.

He sighed. “Lily.”

She chuckled. “Just clarifying.”

Regulus clenched his fists. “It smelt so good I nearly bit through his door.”

“Sexy.”

“Stop making jokes,” he said.

“I’m not making jokes,” she defended herself. “I’m just enjoying watching you spiral.”

He walked a step backwards until her bed hit the hollows of his knees, and collapsed onto it. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I hear him talk, every time he walks through the hallway, I can smell it. It’s like he’s under my skin, in my throat.” He sighed dramatically. “I need to taste it.”

Lily tilted her head, studying him like an interesting Van Gogh painting. “And your plan for fulfilling this totally healthy craving is breaking into his flat?”

That sounded logical. “Yes.”

She furrowed her brow. “And then what?”

He grinned. “I’m going to bite him while he’s asleep.”

“Reggie,” she said, laughing, “that’s not a plan. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“I’m a vampire,” he said, as if it would explain everything. “He won’t even notice.”

“Oh, he’s definitely going to notice if you climb through his window like some weird Victorian burglar.”

Regulus waved a hand dismissively. “He leaves it open every night. I’ve checked.”

She gave him a surprised look. “You did what?”

“Purely for research,” Regulus explained quickly.

Lily had now raised both eyebrows. “Stalking is still stalking, even when you put it on a spreadsheet.”

“I didn’t make a spreadsheet.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“At least something.” She looked a bit disappointed.

He stood up. “I made a list.”

Lily laughed so hard she had to hold herself on the edge of the desk. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re incredible, really.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Regulus asked, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently.

“Of course I’m going to help you,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “But mostly because I want to see this go horribly wrong.”

He pulled a face. “Your faith in me is unbelievable.”

“Alright, alright. So, first question,” Lily said and leaned forward to rest her forearms on her knees. “What’s the actual goal here? Just a quick bite and dash, or are you trying to seduce him while he sleeps? Because there’s a difference in wardrobe.”

Regulus gave her a withering look. “I just want him for his blood.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And maybe to pin him down a little.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And maybe to see if he moans when I thrust my teeth—”

“Okay, so seduction it is,” Lily interrupted. “Step one: Preparation. You need to know the exact window situation. Locks? Curtains? Weird squeaky hinges? The last thing you want is to face-plant into his radiator while he’s still awake.”

“I’ve already looked,” Regulus admitted. “It’s an old latch. Easy to slip.”

“Great, we’re already onto step two: Alibi. If you get caught, you need an excuse. Preferably one that doesn’t end with you in handcuffs, unless you’re into that.”

“Obviously not,” he said.

“Obviously yes,” Lily said knowingly. “But fine, excuse options. You could say you were chasing a bat all the way into his room.”

Regulus stared. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s plausible. You’re pale and broody enough.”

“And the most bullshitty vampire-cliché ever,” he noted. “Next.”

“Fire drill gone wrong?”

“Next.”

“Drunken sleepwalking?”

“Next.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t drink.”

Lily sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Step three: Timing.”

“We haven’t even planned out step two,” he interrupted.

“The excuse will come spontaneously,” she said. She waved her hands. Step three: You’re going to have to pick the exact moment when he’s deepest asleep. Do you know his schedule?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause.

“You absolutely creep,” Lily said finally, grinning.

“It’s not creepy. It’s preparation,” he said. “Step one, remember?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have actual notes, don’t you?”

“No,” Regulus lied, looking away.

Lily cackled. “This is better than television.”

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

“And you’re lovesick.”

He put on an indignant expression. “I am not—”

“You are,” Lily interrupted. “And the worst part? You’re doing all of this just to take a sip. Which, frankly, is weak. At least sleep with him if you’re going to risk jail time.”

Regulus threw his hands in the air. “Why do you always make everything about sex?”

She groaned. “Because you make everything about denial. It’s exhausting.”

He slumped onto the bed, sulking.

“Alright, step four,” Lily said and counted on her fingers. “Clean getaway. Once you’re done, you can’t leave any trace. No mess, no marks, no hickeys unless you want him to wake up in the morning wondering why his neck looks like modern art.”

Regulus’ mouth twitched. “You think I’d leave hickeys? Amateur.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right, you’re a pro. Forgive me.”

He rolled his eyes as well, but his lips curved faintly upward.

“Look,” Lily said and softened slightly, “I’m teasing, but seriously. Are you sure about this? It’s one thing to bite some stranger in a pub or behind an abandoned factory. It’s another thing to break into your neighbour’s flat. You have to live next to this guy for the next… well, until you have a mental breakdown about those people.”

Regulus hesitated, staring down at his hands. “I can’t get the smell out of my head,” he said finally. “It’s like music. Like fire. I don’t even know if it’s about hunger anymore. I am very hungry, though.” He sighed. “The smell of his blood is making me feral. I just need it.”

Lily studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Then let’s do it properly.”

She grabbed a notebook from the bedside table, flipped it open, and scribbled How to Bite Your Neighbour as a header in big, loopy letters.

How to Bite Your Neighbour

Step One: Scope out the window one more time tonight. (Dress like an undercover cop!)
Step Two: Figure out how to land inside without breaking your spine.
Step Three: Climb up the facade and get inside through his window.
Step Four: Bring a snack in case you get caught and need a distraction. (Tip: Don’t get caught.)
Step Five: Eat.

Regulus blinked. “A snack?”

“Throw a packet of gummy bears at him. Works every time.” She shrugged her shoulders.

Regulus groaned, but despite himself, a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered.

“And you’re obsessed,” Lily shot back. “Now, let’s figure out what shoes you’re wearing for this burglary. Style matters.”

✦ ✦ ✦

On Sunday night, Regulus stood on the pavement across from their building, looking up at the third-floor window that mocked him with its openness. Since summer, he had always left it open while sleeping. It was an invitation. James invited him.

He felt ridiculous.

It was bad enough that Lily had actually said the words “dress in all black, darling, embrace the drama” without even a hint of irony. But he had listened. Because apparently, he was stupid. And now, here he was—head to toe in black jeans, black boots, black buttoned-up shirt—looking like either a stagehand for a second-rate rock band or the villain in a teen soap opera. Motto:

Every day is a funeral.™

He exhaled slowly, dragging his eyes away from the window. The night was warm and humid, thick with the scents of fried food from the takeaway on the corner, cannabis cigarette smoke drifting from somewhere above, and summer sweat wafting from passing humans. But none of it mattered. None of it even existed compared to what was waiting for him inside that flat.

James Potter’s blood.

Regulus’ throat tightened painfully at the thought, the phantom taste already teasing the back of his tongue.

He glanced left and right, checking for witnesses, even though the street was empty. Then he stepped into the narrow alley that ran along the side of the building, where the fire escape staircase waited like an invitation. No need to climb up the wall.

Lily had called this “the smoothest plan ever conceived”. But then again, Lily thought “stealing library books as a dare” was an intellectual pursuit.

Regulus grabbed the railing of the metal stairs and climbed, grimacing at how it rattled under his boots. Each groan of rusted iron sounded loud enough to wake the whole block. He moved quickly, but silently, slipping up past the second floor and stopping just outside of James’ open window. He crept his way along from the stairs over the wall. It took him a few seconds, then he was on the windowsill. It seemed like humans didn’t give a fuck about their one safety.

And then, there he was.

The view hit him first: James sprawled on his bed, half-covered by a thin beige blanket, bare chest gleaming faintly with sweat in the summer heat. His hair was a mess of dark curls spread over the pillow. He had one arm thrown carelessly above his head, the other draped over his stomach.

The position was lazy, inviting, utterly careless in the kind of way that made Regulus’ chest ache, and made the gum around his fangs ache worse. He crouched on the ledge, one hand gripping the window frame.

The scent slammed into him next. It was instantaneous and merciless, like opening a door and being swallowed by fire.

James’ blood smelled rich, bright, and maddeningly alive. There was a heat to it, a kind of wild sweetness threaded with something darker underneath, like burnt sugar on the edge of caramelising. It wasn’t just hunger that coiled in Regulus’ stomach—it was desire, sharp and dangerous, curling through him with every breath.

It overpowered everything else: the faint detergent from James’ sheets, the lingering musk of sweat and clean skin, even the distant petrol fumes from the street. James’ blood was the centre of it all, filling the room until there was nothing else to breathe.

Regulus swallowed hard, clenching his jaw against the need to simply leap and sink his teeth in without hesitation. He needed to control himself; he didn’t want to accidentally kill him.

Instead, he shifted through the window, slow and precise, making sure not to catch his boots on the frame. He landed silently, crouched for a moment to steady himself, and then rose to his full height.

His heart wasn’t beating—of course it wasn’t, he was still dead—but it felt like it should have been, pounding in his chest, racing with the thrill of finally being here.

James didn’t stir.

Regulus let himself look properly, drinking in the sight like it was part of the meal. You eat with your eyes first. The rise and fall of James’ chest, steady and deep with sleep. The faint stubble on his jaw caught the soft glow of the streetlight through the window. The way his fingers twitched faintly and curled slightly as if holding onto some dream.

He’s practically baiting me, Regulus thought, jaw tight. Inviting me.

He crossed the floor slowly, silently, boots making no sound against the carpet. When he reached the bed, he paused, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. He almost fell into the bed with a relieved sigh.

This was it. This was the moment he had spent ten nights obsessing over. Ten months of craving his blood. Ten years living for this man, without even being aware of his existence.

He planted a knee on the mattress, then the other, careful not to jostle the bed. James shifted faintly but didn’t wake. Regulus straddled over both his thighs, hovering above him with barely any weight, balanced and light as a feather. He made sure not to touch him. He didn’t want to wake him.

He leaned down and inhaled again. This time, he had to close his eyes against the force of it. The smell of his blood was overwhelming. Almost too much.

James’ neck was right there. Exposed. Waiting.

Regulus’ mouth hovered above the warm skin, lips parting slightly. He could hear the blood as it rushed steadily and strongly, calling to him louder than any voice ever could. It took all his self-control not to simply pounce on him.

He dipped closer, letting his nose skim along James’ throat, then up toward his jaw. He drew in another breath, deep and slow, and his whole body shuddered.

The smell hit him first. It was stronger now, pulsing in time with the artery under James’ skin. Theoretically, Regulus didn’t have to take a bite; he could taste it already, metallic and rich and far too tempting after ten months of watered-down bagged blood. His mouth flooded with it before his fangs even grazed skin.

Practically, he wouldn’t dare to leave without savouring his blood. He would rather die a second time, instead of wasting the opportunity this beautiful neck offered him.

The scent was even more intoxicating here, concentrated and irresistible. His tongue flicked out, almost without permission, as if his body ruled over him, sliding carefully over the edge of James’ pulse.

The body beneath him twitched faintly, a small shift of muscle under skin, and Regulus froze. James settled again. His breathing stayed slow. He was still asleep. Regulus exhaled, shakily, and let the hunger win.

His fangs smoothly slid down without any noise, sharp and wanting. He positioned himself perfectly, lips parting, mouth closing over James’ neck, and then—he let his fangs slide into his neck. Slowly and smoothly. Just enough to pierce, not enough to tear.

Warmth spilled instantly over his tongue. The taste hit him like lightning. Sweet. Sensual. Complex. A bit fruity, perhaps. So far beyond what he had imagined in ten days of obsession that it almost hurt.

Regulus groaned quietly, drinking just enough to ease the ache in his throat, careful to keep it steady, to keep James asleep. But then, just seconds after he tasted his heavenly blood—

James moaned.

Regulus froze immediately.

It wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakable. Low and rough, full of something far too conscious to be part of a dream. His mouth stayed where it was, teeth still just barely pressing into skin, and every other muscle locked.

The sound came again, softer this time, accompanied by the shift of James’ body arching slightly under him. Slowly, he let his fangs glide out of his flesh, pulling back just enough to speak. Regulus’ eyes snapped open.

“You’re awake,” he said hoarsely, mouth and teeth hovering just millimetres above his neck, where two small stab wounds adorned his skin.

James’ lashes fluttered open lazily. His eyes were hazy with sleep, but when they focused on Regulus, there was no surprise. Only heat.

“Do it again,” James said, voice rough and urgent.

Regulus stared. “What?”

“Do it again.”

“I—” Regulus started, panic flooding in, scrambling for any kind of excuse he had not brainstormed with Lily. He would get arrested after all. “This wasn’t— Look, this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to—”

James sat up, quick and smooth, and grabbed Regulus harshly by the collar of his shirt. The pitch-black cotton bunched in James’ fist as he yanked him forward, until Regulus was practically nose to nose with him.

“Don’t stop,” James said, eyes dark and steady on his. His voice sounded low and pleading. He trembled over the next word. “Please.”

Regulus froze for half a second when James’ fingers curled in the collar of his shirt and dragged him back down. He didn’t look groggy or confused anymore. His eyes had gone dark, steady, like he’d been waiting for this far longer than Regulus had. His voice still lingered in the dark.

“Do it again,” James repeated when Regulus didn’t move, his voice was low and rough, as if he was daring him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. James was supposed to stay unconscious, blissfully unaware of Regulus crawling in through his bloody window like some deranged house cat. He wasn’t supposed to wake up and, even worse (or better?), enjoy it.

“Are you begging the stranger who just broke into your flat to drink your blood?” Regulus said at last, voice flat but edged in disbelief.

James’ mouth quirked, infuriatingly pleased with himself. “If it gets you to do it again, yeah. Not picky.”

Regulus blinked. “That’s not even—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, a hiss curling between his teeth. He wasn’t sure if it was irritation, hunger, or some maddening mix of both. Probably the latter. “You’re ridiculous.”

James tilted his head just slightly, as if he was presenting his neck deliberately. Regulus licked his lips at the sight. “You’re still here.”

Regulus hated how true that was. He should have bolted the second James opened his mouth. He should have been halfway down the street by now, cursing himself for being stupid enough to risk this in the first place.

For one more moment, Regulus stared at him, debating whether to flee, apologize, or just vanish into a puff of shame. None of those options were particularly appealing, and James’ grip on his shirt wasn’t exactly gentle either. So Regulus did the only thing his instincts demanded: he bared his fangs and leaned back in.

The bite was shallow, careful at first, but James still gasped, back arching off the mattress. His torso touched Regulus’. He tasted the first rush of blood on his tongue; hot, metallic, and heady in a way no stored supply could ever compete with. He felt his entire body react, every sense sharpened. He felt his own body react; the heat crawling up his skin and the wetness pooling between his legs. It was perfect.

James was perfect.

He groaned again, a sound half-pleasure, half-challenge, and Regulus found himself smiling against his skin.

“Bloody hell,” James murmured, breathless. “You’re really doing this.”

“Regret it yet?” Regulus muttered, licking along the shallow wound to lap up the warm droplets that pooled there.

“Not even close,” James replied.

“If you die, that’s on you,” Regulus whispered against his skin.

James sharply exhaled. “Duly noted.”

That was enough to make Regulus’ restraint unravel completely. He shifted his weight, straddling James’ right thigh, settling himself there with just enough pressure to make James twitch beneath him. The movement was slow at first, deliberate, as though testing how far James would let him go. The answer became clear when James’ hands gripped his hips tightly and pulled him closer.

Regulus bit again, and this time James let out a proper moan, head tipping back to expose more of his neck. Regulus licked over the bite, teasing rather than drinking deep, letting the coppery tang coat his tongue and fuel the fire already curling low in his stomach.

Every drag of his mouth over James’ skin was matched by a slow grind of his hips, the fabric of his jeans catching deliciously on James’ bare thigh. James was warm beneath him, heat radiating through muscle, and the tension in his body told Regulus just how much he was enjoying this.

It felt like the warmth of James’ blood flowed straight through his middle. His insides heated, and his pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing. He pressed himself deeper onto James’ thigh, savouring the friction of him. He ground on his leg, craving the touch he desperately needed.

His blood was aphrodisiac.

James’ breathing quickened, shallow and ragged. His hands roamed over Regulus’ waist, gripping him as if anchoring himself there. He lifted his leg up and gave him more pressure. Regulus moaned and thrust his fangs in deeper.

“Shit,” James whispered after Regulus pulled out and sucked lightly at the wound, his voice cracking just enough to make Regulus smirk. “That feels…”

“Amazing?” Regulus murmured against his throat.

His breath hitched. “Fuck yes.”

Regulus drew back just enough to look at him, lips wet and faintly stained red. James’ pupils were blown wide, eyes dark and fixed on him with naked want. His mouth hung slightly open, breathing harsh and unsteady. The sight made something primal surge in Regulus’ chest.

He leaned back in, slower this time, letting his teeth graze the already tender skin before sinking them in again, just enough to make James gasp, not enough to hurt. The blood that welled up was hot and sweet, filling Regulus’ mouth with a rush of spiciness that nearly made his head spin. He licked it clean in slow strokes of his tongue, teasing more than feeding, making James whimper and tighten his grip on him.

“Don’t stop,” James said again, voice rougher now.

“Oh, I don’t plan to,” Regulus muttered, letting his mouth trail lower for a moment, biting lightly along the edge of his collarbone before returning to the wound at his neck, giving another slow lick that made James shudder.

The tension between hunger and restraint coiled tight, every nerve focused on the steady pulse beneath his tongue and the pleading pulse between his legs. He alternated between sucking at the spot and licking it with slow strokes, never staying long enough to risk real danger, but enough to keep James trembling beneath him.

Regulus realized he had moved. He rocked forward without even meaning to, seeking more and more friction against James’ thigh where he was straddling him. Was it subtle at first, it was now more unconscious than on purpose, but James noticed anyway. His hands shifted, sliding down from his waist to grip his hips, steadying him.

The friction of Regulus’ slow grinding against James’ thigh grew more insistent, the pace instinctive now. James shifted beneath him, giving him more leverage, and Regulus’ breath hitched despite himself. The combination of taste and sensation was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t expected. He didn’t just want to feed; he wanted to ruin James, right here, right now.

Something in his stomach tightened. The taste on his tongue made him high, the friction against his cunt made him feral. He moaned loudly against his jaw, hips rocking in fast motions against his thigh, the sensation shooting hot and sharp through his body.

James’ head tipped back again, exposing his throat even more, and Regulus couldn’t resist. He bit one last time, shallow but precise, drawing out just enough blood to taste without leaving James dizzy. His tongue licked it away, drawing another moan from James that made him shiver, smoothing the sting even as his hips ground down harder, chasing that edge with sharp, deliberate rolls.

His body trembled, tension building too fast to contain, and then it snapped, a sudden rush of heat sweeping through him like wildfire. James grabbed him hard, gripping his nails into his hips and pushing him down hard against his thigh.

Regulus came hard and fast, with his teeth pressed lightly into James’ skin, muffling the sound against the steady thrum of blood beneath.

He stilled gradually, chest heaving, teeth still scraping lightly against James’ neck and only pulling back when the taste of copper began to fade, licking once more at the wound before finally sitting upright, his body still shaking from pleasure.

James’ hands were still gripping his waist tightly, thumbs pressing bruises into his sides. When Regulus finally looked down at him, James’ gaze met his, glassy and hungry, and his lips parted as if he couldn’t decide whether to speak or kiss him.

Regulus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirked, and tilted his head in intentional provocation. James’ eyes were dark when he pushed his hips forward, thrusting into nothing.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Regulus drawled.

“Not if you’re enjoying it too,” James fired back instantly, though the breathless hitch halfway through ruined his delivery.

Regulus could’ve argued. He didn’t.

James looked wrecked. His hair was mussed even worse than usual, his eyes hazy and lustful, his mouth slightly opened. He looked at him, hungry and wanting, which shouldn’t be as attractive as it was.

Regulus grinned diabolically. “Does that make you horny?” he wondered, as if he didn’t just come on James’ thigh himself. “Having sharp teeth in your neck and blood sucked from a vampire?”

James groaned and tugged at his hips. He licked his lips. “Fuck, yes.”

The corner of Regulus’ mouth twitched. “If you want me to bite your neck and suck you dry,” he said slowly, “you’ll have to get on your knees and beg for it.”

For a moment, James just blinked at him, dazed. Then his lips curved into the slowest, most infuriating grin Regulus had ever seen. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Regulus smirked. “Both,” he said. And then: “Get on your knees. Now.”

James blinked once, slowly, like a man trying to recover from being hit by a very sexy carriage. He licked his dry lips and watched him through dazed eyes, as he then, slowly, dropped down onto his knees.

Regulus watched him as he sank to the floor, and tilted his head slightly, pretending to look unimpressed even as satisfaction curled hot in his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed, his thighs partly opened, as James knelt between them. He looked at him from below and licked his lips again, his hands resting on Regulus’ ankles like he was asking permission for more.

He didn’t have the permission. Not yet.

Regulus stared at him, silently. He took in the sight of the human beneath him, and was satisfied with his obedience. James’ breath went shaky and choppy. His Adam's apple twitched in his throat, and Regulus wanted to lick it. He stroked his larynx with his thumb and then rested his hand loosely around his neck, not quite pressing.

“Good boy,” Regulus murmured, tone light, almost bored. He was not bored at all. “Now let’s see if you’re also good for something else.”

James’ eyes flicked up to him, dark and wide, and then—bold thing that he was—he leaned in and mouthed at Regulus’ inner thigh through his pants. Soft at first. Testing. Regulus’ fingers slid from his throat into his hair and tugged once, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to remind him who was in charge. He let him press his mouth against his legs for a while, then pulled his hair harshly.

“I didn’t ask for kisses, human,” he said silkily. “I asked you to beg.”

James flushed. Visibly. His voice caught in his throat, and for a moment, he looked like he was trying to come up with something clever. But it seemed that Regulus had already fucked him dumb; they didn’t even start yet.

“I—fuck—Regulus,” he said finally, rushing the words. “Please bite me again.”

Regulus arched his brow. “This is what you call begging?”

James gulped and dug his fingers into Regulus’ skin. “Please,” he pleaded again. “I want you to… I want you to use me. Please.”

Regulus snorted, amused. “Bit rehearsed. Are you always this bad at dirty talk?”

James groaned, like he might physically die of embarrassment. “Maybe let me focus on one kink at a time.”

Regulus hissed and gripped James’ hair firmer. How did he dare to have an attitude in his position? “I said: Beg. Let me decide if you’re worth my time. If you’re worth being my toy. Or else, I’m going to leave and let you rot here, hard and needy like a slut.”

James’ breath went shallow. He shifted around on his knees, trying to make himself more comfortable in his position. If he wasn’t mistaken, James actually pressed his legs together, as if he was looking for friction.

Not yet. Later. Maybe.

“I want you to use me like a slut,” James started. He looked at Regulus with pleading eyes. The words left his mouth faster than his brain could recognize the embarrassment. “I want to be your toy. I want you to use me as you please; my mouth, my fingers, all of me. Please let me satisfy you. Let me show you how good I am.”

It was for sure not the best pleading Regulus had ever heard. He had women lying at his feet and writing him letters, begging to be fucked like whores. Had men exposing themselves in public, wanting to be owned by him. They begged for his fingers, for his strap-on cock, for a life-changing fuck. Wanted to be shagged senseless and desired to be screwed.

They did everything he’d asked for. They wanted to do everything to please him.

None of them begged to satisfy him.

James wasn’t good at begging, but it sure did something to him.

“Show me,” Regulus said in a low voice, losing the grip in his hair and stroking his strands, “how much you want this.”

James didn’t need to be told twice. He shifted forward. His hands wandered from his ankles up his legs, squeezed his knees and pushed them apart, just slightly. Regulus’ trousers were still on, barely. That wouldn’t last long. James’ hands were already reaching for the waistband, eyes darting up as if waiting for approval. He just watched him, expectantly.

James peeled his trousers down slowly, reverently, then leaned in to press a kiss to his knee, then inner thigh again. The item of clothing landed somewhere behind him, but neither of them cared. James’ lips were hot, trembling slightly, he could feel it now. And when his human teeth scraped over his skin, Regulus hissed through his own teeth. His hips twitched.

“Harder,” he ordered. A bite was so much better than a caressing kiss.

James obeyed instantly, teeth sinking into the soft flesh high on Regulus’ thigh, just centimetres away from his middle, where his underwear was soaked from his previous orgasm. He could feel the mortal teeth teasing his skin. It wasn’t vampiric, not nearly enough to draw real blood, until Regulus said, “Make me bleed.”

There was hesitation, barely a flicker of it, but then James obeyed. Sharp pain hit Regulus like a wave when he bit deeper, tongue dragging along the skin to soothe the sting before the blood came. When it did, it was shallow, just a drop or two of wet warmth—but Regulus could smell the little of his own blood, and James licked it like it was nectar, mouth greedy and hungry.

Regulus’ breath caught.

The sight alone did things to him. James on his knees, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and desperate, and the smell of his blood. It was the filthiest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

A moan escaped him when James bit again, the other thigh this time. He threaded his fingers deeper into James’ hair, held him there a moment longer, just to feel him tremble.

James let out a needy whine. “Your blood tastes bittersweet,” he muttered, licking his lips. “Fucking delicious. No wonder you’re obsessed with this.”

Regulus let out a short laugh. People didn’t like the taste of blood. He was sure that he’d think differently if he had to drink a whole cup of blood. A single drop of blood barely tasted like anything, and surely not bittersweet. Not to a human, at least. But James was too far in his lust-filled state to care.

“Obsessed is a strong word,” he said, although it was true.

As James licked his broken skin, Regulus smelled the surrounding air. He caught the scent of their blood and sweat and arousal; although he wasn’t sure if it was James’ or his own or the mix of both.

He should buy a candle with this scent.

Then James moved lower. His kisses turned hungrier, messier. Tongue and teeth and mouth worshipping him with heat and devotion. He licked over the bite marks he’d made, nipping at the skin like he wanted to mark every centimetre of him.

Regulus’ head tipped back as pleasure began to thrum through him like a pulse. But although he enjoyed James’ work, he started to grow impatient.

“James,” he grumbled. His hips bucked forward. “Will you please me now, or do I have to use you like a useless toy?”

James hummed against his skin and looked at him through his eyelashes. Regulus stared back. His expression told James enough, and he didn’t waste any more time to finally get rid of Regulus’ underwear.

He spread Regulus’ legs wide. He moaned at the sight of his drooling cunt. Regulus’ hands gripped his hair and held him closer, pushing his face further between his legs. James didn’t resist and dug his nails into the flesh of his thighs. He kissed his inner thigh, just a breath away from where Regulus wished his mouth, and licked his lips.

And then James’ mouth dipped lower.

Regulus moaned and threw his head back. He pushed his legs further apart, tightened the grip in James’ hair, and pressed him hard against his heat.

James didn’t start slow. He started to give one hundred percent immediately. He dragged his tongue from his leaking hole, all the way up to his clit. One. Twice. Again. Swallowed with every lap, tasted all of him, as if he wanted to drink all his fluids.

“Fuck,” Regulus moaned. He closed his eyes. James hummed in approval and glanced up at him.

James licked again, firmer this time, all the way up, and making Regulus’ legs tremble. The pleasure hit him hard and bright, curling hot inside him,

His tongue moved up to his clit, and this time stayed there, licking in slow circles, then flicked, teasing, and coaxing more sounds from Regulus’ lips.

James’ tongue flicked over his clit in rapid motions, finding a rhythm Regulus enjoyed. His breath was hot against him, his mouth hot and warm. He softly sucked him, and when Regulus gasped, it made James moan against him, the sound vibrating through Regulus. His hands tightened their hold on Regulus’ thighs, keeping them steady, but never too tight.

Regulus was falling apart. The sensation of heat rising up his spine caused his eyesight to become blurry. He was shaken by every flick of James’ tongue.

He groaned. “You’re doing so well for a midnight snack,” he moaned, voice trembling.

James moaned like that praise alone could undo him.

He devoured him. He let his tongue slide into his entrance, like the vampire was the human’s meal, and not the other way around. Regulus moaned as he pushed James’ head father into his pussy with one hand while clutching the sheets with the other. James groaned and buried his head between Regulus’ legs himself. His tongue flipped back up, and his mouth covered his small dick.

Regulus almost screamed at the sensation.

“Just a human I use for my pleasure,” Regulus added, biting his lip at the way James groaned against him. “That’s all right with you, pretty thing? Just a blood bag for me to play with?”

James made a broken, hungry sound, like he was agreeing with him. He shifted his hips subtly, like he needed friction just from servicing him. Just from being used for his pleasure.

But he didn’t falter. His tongue worked with purpose now, circling, stroking, licking into him like he was starving for it. Each flick sent heat curling deep in Regulus’ core, his hands tightening in James’ hair. He was shaking already, trying to hold still, but James didn’t make it easy. He moaned into him—moaned—as if he got off on the taste, on the closeness, on Regulus’ gasps and quiet, breathless curses.

James let out a smug noise that was far too cocky for someone with dried blood on his neck, then redoubled his efforts.

Regulus’ thighs trembled. He bit down on his own hand to keep from making too much noise, but it was no use. The build-up was sharp and sweet, pressure coiling hot in his stomach.

“You’re doing so well,” Regulus hummed, and James moaned at this praise. “Such a good slut for me.”

He closed his eyes, letting it take over, the waves of pleasure cresting high and tight. He could smell the blood on James’ mouth, taste it again every time he exhaled. The feeling of his tongue, his fingers, the degradation wrapped in worship—it overwhelmed him.

James sucked and licked and flicked. The sensation was almost too much for Regulus’ dick. Almost. When James let his tongue slip into his hole again, he moaned and fucked himself on his tongue.

“Fingers,” Regulus breathed.

Pulling his hand from beneath his thigh, he gave his entrance the ring and middle finger. Without Regulus’ opposition, he thrust them in while continuing to flick his tongue over his clit.

James groaned around his dick as he felt the wetness around his fingers, thrusting in and out again, and Regulus jolted. Curling his fingers up, he located the area that caused the most moans from Regulus.

“That’s right,” he groaned. The heat inside Regulus flared dangerously close to breaking. “Nothing but a blood bag.”

James’ tongue licked faster, more focused, chasing every twitch and tremble, but never changing the rhythm. He fingered him without mercy. Regulus writhed under him, caught between wanting to grind closer and flinch away from the intensity.

“Fuck me harder,” Regulus commanded, and James obliged.

He mercilessly fingered him. Under him, Regulus writhed, torn between flinching from the intensity and yearning to press closer. Curling up and pressing against the G-spot, he pushed his fingers in. His clit was sucked into his mouth. Regulus hissed, his thighs trembling as the fire ripped through him, his hands grabbing at James' hair and the covers.

The rhythm between tongue and fingers was sinful.

Regulus tipped forward slightly, one hand braced on James’ shoulder, the other still in his hair. James was relentless now—pleasing him, wrecking him, humming every time Regulus twitched or gasped or jerked.

The wave of pleasure hit him hard, fast, drowning him in waves. Every muscle clenched, heart pounding. With a gasp, he came; body shuddering, fingers knotted in James’ hair, blood still warm and drying on his skin.

James slowed his movements down, but didn’t stop until Regulus tugged him gently back, breathless, flushed, utterly spent.

James looked up with wide, dark eyes and glistening lips, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. And honestly? He had earned that exhaustion.

Regulus looked down at him, lips quivering faintly. He was pretty content with that sweet human. “Not bad for a filthy little mortal,” he said, and James kissed his leg, smiling at his approval.

Regulus hauled James up by the front of his shirt and kissed him hard, lips wet and tasting faintly of iron. The tang of blood was still smeared at the corner of James’ mouth, and Regulus licked into him, tasting himself there. James shivered and pressed hard against his thigh, rutting helplessly for friction.

“Pathetic,” Regulus murmured against his lips. “Begging without even opening your mouth. Grinding on me like a dog. All because I bit you?”

“Yes,” James gasped. His voice sounded rough. “Please, Regulus. Want more.”

“Do you?” Regulus tilted his head, amused. “Want me to sink my teeth in again? You’re hard just thinking about it, aren’t you?” His face was adorned with a devilish expression. “Pathetic little blood slut.”

James’ whimper was answer enough. His body twitched closer, begging with every tremor.

Regulus leaned back slightly, eyes sparkling. “You want more than teeth, don’t you? You want to feel my pussy around your cock? Want me to fuck you until you can’t breathe?” He grinned wider as James’ face flushed, eyes wide and desperate. “Say it.”

“Want it—fuck—please, want to feel you,” James stammered, half incoherent.

“Say it.”

James squirmed, his crotch rutting against his leg. He breathed hard. “I want to feel your pussy around my cock,” he admitted. “I want to be fucked.”

Suddenly, Regulus let him go, pushing him back, so that James almost fell over. He stood up and then stretched himself out on the mattress like he owned the queen-size bed. James sat up quickly enough to watch Regulus, as he spread his legs deliberately, showing himself off with shameless precision. His smirk widened at the wrecked look on James’ face.

“C’mere,” he said, and James obliged. On shaky legs, he brought himself on top of the bed. The mattress gave way under his weight as he kneeled on it between Regulus’ parted legs. His eyes were fixated on his cunt, all soaked and shiny from arousal, spit and his two orgasms.

Regulus let his ring and middle finger slide between his legs, right to his middle, where he slipped his fingers between his labia, spreading it apart and revealing his wet hole. He tilted his chin up, gaze dark and commanding.

“Look,” he ordered. “This is what you’re begging for. My cunt. My heat. My hole. Do you think you deserve it?”

James’ eyes widened, pupils swallowing brown until they were almost black. He reached for him instantly, but Regulus’ hand shot up to grip him by the throat, stopping him in place.

“Look at you,” Regulus said, as if he wasn’t a sight himself. “Already wrecked, and I haven’t even let you in.”

James whined like a little boy who was about to cry, then buried his face against Regulus’ leg as if he could hide his embarrassment. Regulus laughed softly, sharp and cruel. His hand slid down James’ chest, teasing, then gripped his cock through his pants and gave a firm squeeze. James gasped, hips jerking forward.

“Pathetic,” Regulus said again, with something like affection under the cruelty. “It makes you hard, doesn’t it? My teeth in your skin. My mouth on you. You’re hard just from bleeding and begging and making me cum.”

James groaned, shaking his head as if to deny it, but his cock twitched in Regulus’ hand, betraying him completely. Regulus laughed, low and cruel.

He smirked. “You’re going to fuck me good, James Potter. You’re going to make me feel so good that I decide you deserve my bite again. Fail, and I feast on you. I’ll swallow every single drop of you.” He let his pointing finger slide over his covered lengths. “Every drop of your blood, I mean.”

James made a noise halfway between a groan and a prayer, moving toward him on shaking hands. Regulus caught him by the throat before he got too close, nails pressing just enough to sting.

“Undress,” he commanded. James didn’t waste a second. He sat up and immediately started to fumble around with his hand, shoving his pants down. For a moment, Regulus thought James would fall over, but he held himself upright.

There he kneeled, naked with his hard cock and with pre-cum glistening tip, staring at him with his flushed face. Oh, Regulus could get used to this view.

Regulus gripped him by his jaw and pulled him on top. He supported himself with a hand each beside Regulus’ head. He couldn’t resist and pressed his lips onto him, and Regulus let him.

He kissed him eagerly, hungry and wanting. He slid his tongue into his mouth and let Regulus suck on it, let him bite his lips and lick his blood, making both of them moan. Regulus’ fingers tightened in his hair, tugging and silently demanding more. James pressed closer, his weight settling over him, and the space between them vanished entirely. Regulus enjoyed the urgency of James’ touch and the feeling of his shivering body as lust consumed him. He could feel how much he wanted him.

Regulus let go as he felt a hard cock pressed against his own. As he looked down, James’ dick was already coated in wetness, smearing Regulus’ fluid over him.

Regulus made a derogatory sound. “Is that what you want?” he asked, and James nodded eagerly, licking his lips and steadying himself. “Do you want to feel my throbbing pussy around your cock?”

James’ lips parted, his voice shaky. “Yes, yes, please. I’ll make you feel good, Regulus. Please. Let me— So good. Promise.”

“Do it,” he hissed. “Fuck me. Show me how much you love pleasing me. How much you love being used like a slut.”

James couldn’t hold it in any longer. He thrust forward, burying himself in one long, shuddering push. Regulus gasped, nails digging into James’ shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Heat flared inside him, sharp, consuming, and he groaned, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

“Better,” he breathed, voice already wrecked. “That’s better. Fuck me like you mean it, or I’ll throw you out the window.”

James let out a desperate laugh, half-broken, before he snapped his hips again. Regulus arched, biting hard into his shoulder at the same moment. Hot blood welled up, salty-sweet and alive on his tongue. Regulus licked the bite, then bit again, shallow and teasing, enough to keep him on edge. His nails raked James’ back, marking red lines down his skin. James cried out, clutching his hands into the sheets, moving inside him with ragged desperation.

He pushed in and out, eager and messy and uncontrollably. He didn’t have a rhythm. He let himself be consumed by Regulus’ heat, as if he couldn’t decide between worshipping him or chasing his own pleasure, as he let out obscene sounds, moaning like he meant it.

“You taste like sin,” he whispered, sinking his teeth in again. “Bleed for me.”

James groaned, hips jerking, body pliant and hungry beneath Regulus’ grip. He whimpered something incoherent, thrusts growing faster.

Regulus bit again, harder this time, then soothed the mark with his tongue, drinking shallowly before pulling back to watch blood bead and trail down James’ flushed skin. He smeared it with his fingers, then shoved two of them into James’ mouth.

“Suck,” he ordered.

James obeyed immediately, moaning around Regulus’ fingers, sucking them clean like it was salvation.

Regulus smirked. “I’m going to suck you dry,” he murmured, a dark promise in his voice. “And you’re going to beg me for it, aren’t you, you little blood slut?”

James groaned, the filthiest sound yet, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. “Yes, God, yes! Suck me dry. Please,” he gasped, every word forced out of him with a heavy breath.

He thrust hard forward, hips shuddering at the sensation of Regulus’ pulsating cunt. Regulus slapped his ass sharply, making him jolt and gasp, then dug his nails into the muscle. “That’s it,” he breathed out. “Fuck me properly. Make me feel every bit of it.”

James moaned into his ear, and the single sound alone told more than words ever could. He wanted to be worthy for Regulus. He wanted to be his needy slut in every way. His body moved with a will of its own. He was lost in the sensation. He was lost in Regulus.

“You’re such a good slut,” Regulus murmured, slapping his ass again, delighting in the way James gasped at the sting but only thrust harder, such a slut for his approval. “My blood slut. That’s all you are.”

Every thrust had him gasping now, torn between the sharp sting of blood in his mouth and the ache of pleasure tightening low in his belly. James was panting against his throat, murmuring please, please, please between each moan, utterly undone, every part of him bent towards Regulus’ pleasure.

And Regulus let him, for now. He was going to ruin him soon enough.

He let James fuck with uncontrolled thrusts like a virgin, simply because he liked the feeling of his hard cock inside him. He filled him out properly and made him feel so good with every thrust against his G-spot. Every pound made Regulus moan, as he loved the feeling of being completely stretched and fucked.

But it wasn’t a proper fuck, after all. James wasn’t concentrating. His mind was already far away, and he moaned into his ear like the useless slut he was.

After a while, Regulus shifted, shoving James away from him, who complained with a whine as his cock left this wonderful heat. He sat up and grabbed James’ throat, then pushed him hard onto his back. He climbed on top of him, and with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he sank down on his dick in one swift motion, until James’ breath stuttered out in a ragged gasp.

“Better,” Regulus said, voice lazy, wicked. “I like looking down at you.”

His hand squeezed James’ throat again, pressing just enough to make his eyes flutter. His pulse beat fast under his palm, frantic and tempting. He could hear James’ heart tremor and felt it in his own, resting heart. Regulus leaned forward, lips brushing his ear. “I could crush you right here and now. And you’d thank me for it.”

James made a strangled noise, trying to thrust up into him, but Regulus pressed down harder, holding him still with his weight and the grip on his neck.

“No,” Regulus said sharply. “You don’t get to move. You stay still, and let me use you exactly how I want.”

He began to ride him then, slow at first, controlling every shift of his body, every clench, every grind. He rolled his hips, moved up and down, fucking himself against his most sensitive spot with each thrust. “You let me use you so well,” he taunted, voice shaking with the steady rhythm he kept. “You’re such a slut for my pussy.”

James’ hands dug bruises into his thighs, trying to keep up, but Regulus only laughed softly. “All you care about is me, isn’t it? How good I make you feel. How much I make you bleed.”

James’ head tipped back against the pillows, sweat running down his temple, lips parting as he begged, “God, yes. I’m going to come.”

Regulus smirked, leaned down, and raised his hand—then slapped his face hard enough to leave a red imprint of his hand, enough to sting, enough to shock him. James’ eyes flew wide.

“If you come before me,” Regulus whispered darkly, lips brushing his jaw, “I’ll kill you. I’ll drain every drop out of your body and suck you dry until there’s nothing left but flesh and bones.”

James groaned like the words alone got him closer, hips twitching despite the threat. His eyes were glassy, desperate, undone.

“Pathetic,” Regulus spat, still riding him mercilessly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty little blood slut. Used. Emptied.”

James’ gripped his hips, his fingers digging into Regulus’ ass, trying to guide his movements, but he didn’t let him. He thrust upwards and gained another smack across his face, and Regulus loved how he whined at the pain.

And during all of it, Regulus bit and licked and sucked. As he rode him, he watched as the moonlight lit his body, which Regulus had completely coated in bite marks.

And he bit and bit and bit, sucking blood out of him, covering him completely. Marking him up. Making him his.

His.

His blood dried on him everywhere, making Regulus draw even more attention to the fact, how fucking good James smelled.

He breathed in, letting himself be coaxed by this hypnotizing scent. He never wanted to taste anything else ever again. Nothing would be better than James’ blood. If he ever died again, James Potter would be the last thing he ate. And after that, he’d kill him and take James with him into the afterlife, only to drink his blood forever and ever and ever.

Regulus could feel how close his human was, and he started to move slower, torturing him. James begged and pleaded, and Regulus was so close himself. But, oh, how he loved the sounds he made, as he felt his dick filling him up so good, and being so submissive for him.

And James really tried his best not to come, as pathetic as he was. He rewarded him by tightening his cunt and squeezing around his cock, and laughed low as James pressed his eyes together and tightened his grip. Redeeming his efforts, he even let him slide his hand between their bodies. His thumb circled his clit with maddening precision he didn’t expect from him in his needy state, so close to orgasm. He precisely got Regulus closer, as if he chose worshipping after all.

Regulus gasped, head tipping back, nails biting crescents into James’ chest. He tried to hold it off, tried to keep his dominance sharp and steady, but the pressure built, hot and unbearable. His thighs shook, every nerve pulled taut, every pulse of blood in his mouth and body singing with hunger and heat, and he knew he couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Come for me, slut,” Regulus hissed, voice breaking as he tightened his pussy around his dick, body clenching in hard, relentless waves. His own climax ripped through him like a wave, sharp and unforgiving, flooding everything in sight.

James cried out underneath him, shuddering violently, the sudden tightness dragging him over the edge instantly. He came with a ragged shout, hips jerking despite Regulus’ grip.

For a moment, the room was nothing but harsh breath and the sound of their bodies colliding, as Regulus rode his third orgasm out.

Regulus collapsed forward onto James’ chest, panting, lips still smeared with blood. He licked his smeared lips and quietly moaned with pleasure, which sounded almost like a purr, and closed his eyes. He could hear James’ heart pounding furiously under his ear, rapid and human and alive.

James’ hand settled weakly at his back, still trembling. His breath was uneven, broken in gasps. Regulus smirked faintly against his skin, too tired to move, too satisfied to care. “Pathetic little blood slut,” he whispered. “You’re not that useless after all.”

For a long while, neither of them moved. The room smelled like sweat, iron (especially the unmistakable scent of James’ blood), and sex, the heavy air clinging to Regulus’ skin like a second shirt. James lay beneath him, trembling faintly, every muscle gone loose and pliant. His face was flushed in a beautiful shade of pink, hair damp and messier than usual (if that was even possible).

Regulus lifted his head slowly, studying proudly the ruin he’d made of him. James’ chest rose and fell in uneven heaves, his lips were swollen; his throat, shoulders and chest a map of bites and bruises. He looked thoroughly wrecked. Gloriously so.

Fucking delicious.

“Pathetic,” Regulus murmured, though the word came out softer this time, more like an indulgence than an insult. He leaned down and dragged his tongue over one of the deeper wounds on James’ neck, tasting the metallic and sweet tang again. It sent a low shiver down his own spine.

James hummed faintly at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut. “That tickles,” he mumbles, as if it wasn’t supposed to hurt him.

“That’s because you’re still bleeding, idiot,” Regulus muttered, licking another mark, slow and deliberate, until the sting faded and only warmth remained. He stayed there for a moment, his mouth pressed lightly to the wound, before speaking again. “Don’t wriggle. I’m cleaning you up.”

James only hummed again, half-asleep already.

The absurdity of it struck Regulus—he’d nearly drunk him half-dry, fucked him senseless, choked him, slapped him, called him a blood bag—and now James lay under him humming like a cat getting its ears scratched. Humans were truly deranged creatures.

Regulus let his hand slide to the side of the throat where his carotid artery was, just to check if he was still alive, or if he had actually accidentally killed him. His pulse was steady, which meant he was, in fact, still alive.

He kissed him then, quick and sharp, tasting the faint smear of blood on James’ lips. James returned it lazily, opening his mouth to him without hesitation. When Regulus pulled back, he smirked.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve officially tasted yourself. What a thrill that must be.”

James chuckled weakly. “Not bad, actually. Better than whiskey.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He let his pointer finger slide over James’ jaw. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Because what else was he supposed to say after he fed a human with his own blood, and he fucking enjoyed it?

Regulus shifted off him at last, stretching like a cat before unceremoniously flopping down on the other side of the bed. He didn’t ask for permission. Why would he? James’ bed was comfortable, his sheets smelled like laundry detergent and sweat. And frankly, Regulus had earned it after a good fuck. He made himself comfortable, head on the pillow, legs tangled in the blanket as if he owned the place.

James turned his head to look at him, eyes hazy but curious. “So…” His voice was scratchy, hoarse from moaning. “You know what I’ve always wondered?”

Regulus turned his head very, very slowly to glare at him. He stopped himself from making a sharp comment about how he wasn’t able to read his mind.

James tangled his legs with Regulus’. “Do you sparkle in the sun?”

It took a while until Regulus’ brain realized he has been actually asked this foolish question. He let out an unbelieving snort. “Have you ever,” he said, voice flat, “once in your life, seen me sparkling?” He said the word as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said—what James had just said.

James shook his head, grinning like the idiot he was. “Can’t say I have. I’ve never even seen you outside the building, come to think of it. You just sort of… appear in the hallway like some creepy ghost.”

“That’s because I avoid the sun like any sensible creature,” Regulus said sharply. “I do not, however, burst into glitter like a Poundland Christmas ornament. We are not in Twilight.”

James laughed, weak and breathless, the sound shaking his whole chest. “Shame. I once knew this guy back in high school who kind of looked like Edward.” He stared at the ceiling, intensely thinking about something. “His name was Cedric or something. You would’ve hated him.”

Regulus snorted again, despite being amused. A bit. He let his head rest against James’ shoulder, and didn’t complain when he hooked an arm around him. He was clingy, but Regulus wasn’t averse to a cuddle, he figured.

James hummed again, softer now, his eyes already drifting shut. His voice dropped low, drowsy, words slurring slightly. “So, you’re staying for breakfast, right?”

Regulus chuckled under his breath. He shifted closer, pressing a light kiss against his jaw, and let his hand rest casually against James’ chest where his heart still thundered.

“You are breakfast.”

James made a muffled noise that might have been laughter or might have been the onset of unconsciousness. Either way, Regulus guessed that he was asleep within moments, his face soft and unguarded in the dim light.

Regulus lay awake longer. He stared at the ceiling, listening to James’ steady breathing, the faint rustle of sheets, the quiet pulse still echoing through his own body. He thought of the taste of him—the sheer, indescribable perfection of it. No literal blood bag, no quick bite in an alley, no desperate night-time feed would ever come close.

“You’re mine,” he said into the darkness, listening to James’ heart beat. He was the perfect blood source, the perfect fuck, the perfect living creature. “My human.”

Which meant, of course, he would have to do this again. Soon.

And in the silence of the night, a sleepy whisper reached his ears, “All yours.”

Feeding Journal — Entry #118

Date: September 21st, 2025
Subject: James from across My human
Smell: 10/10
Taste: 10/10
Fullness: N/A — I will always be hungry for him
Notes: Best meal I have ever had. No contest. Cannot be compared to anything else.
Overall satisfaction: Cannot be calculated. Blood must be tasted again.