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Remus has been donating at the Kensington Feeder Centre for six years and four months.
He comes every other Thursday at half past ten, always with a book in one pocket and a bar of chocolate in the other, usually half-melted by the time he’s unwrapped it after a session. He comes so often that he knows where they keep the good gauze—the extra thick ones tucked behind the second drawer, next to the backup thermometers and the spare lanyards.
It’s familiar here. Safe. Clean. The waiting room always smells faintly of eucalyptus and hand sanitiser. The same instrumental piano playlist hums through the walls. The security guard waves at him like an old friend. The nurses call him sweetheart and love and smile at him.
It’s not thrilling, but it matters.
Remus believes in the system. He always has. Controlled vampire feeding, donor-matched intake, monitored healing periods— It’s how the world should work. It’s how vampires stop being hunted in the shadows, or demonised, and start being treated like citizens, not monsters. That’s why all feeder centres enforce suppressants—small tablets designed to neutralise venom before feeding. Otherwise, one bite would leave donors too blissed out to say no, too aroused to consent. And this? This is a medical service, not a damn brothel.
So, if letting a vampire drink from him every few weeks helps push the movement forward, he’s glad to do it.
It’s always clinical.
Always.
So, Remus knows exactly what to expect when stepping into the clinic that week.
He’s led down the hall by one of the nurses—Genevieve today, with her cherry blossom scrubs and gentle chatter about the weather—and taken to Room Four. It’s his favourite. The one with the softest couch, the quietest air conditioning, and a little lamp in the corner that casts everything in a golden glow.
He unbuttons his collar, rolls up his sleeve. Places his book and chocolate bar on the side table. Settles into the cushions like a ritual. Everything is familiar and expected until the door creaks open and in walks him.
The vampire.
Remus looks up automatically, then stills.
The boy in the doorway is tiny. Slender to the point of fragility, like he could be folded in half and tucked away in someone’s coat pocket. His skin is pale—not the smooth, perfected pallor of the older vampires, but something more sunken in. Hollow. Like the colour has been scraped out of him.
His hair curls in elegant, soft waves around his face, too pretty for how clearly unwell he looks. There’s something almost delicate about him, like he doesn’t belong here. Like he should be draped across silk sheets, not standing in a clinic doorway trembling.
But his eyes—his eyes ruin the illusion.
They’re wide. Shattered-looking. Pupils too blown, lashes clumped like he’s been rubbing at them. They scream needy. His lips are parted just slightly, a little too red, like he’s bitten them raw. He hasn’t fed, Remus can tell. The hunger comes off him in waves.
He just looks so young.
And so, so desperate.
A fang catches the light as his tongue flicks out, almost involuntary. He hasn’t looked at Remus’ face once, just his throat. The skin above the collar. The vein pulsing slow and steady under his skin. He locks onto Remus’ neck with a ravenous stare.
“Remus, this is Regulus,” Genevieve says gently, stepping further into the space. She places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, guiding him forward. “He’s very newly turned. He’s… still adjusting.”
She slips a blister pack from her pocket and nudges a small pink pill toward him.
“Take your suppressant, Regulus,” she says gently. “You know the rules. No venom.”
Regulus fumbles the pill with shaking hands, swallowing it dry with a wince. He doesn’t look away from Remus’ neck the entire time.
“He hasn’t fed recently?” Remus asks, voice neutral, not unkind.
Genevieve hesitates. “No. We’ve… had some trouble finding a match. Regulation issues.” She glances down. “He tends to take more than he’s allowed. He doesn’t mean to though, really.”
Genevieve continues, quiet now. “We paired you because you’re experienced. You know the boundaries. And you know when to press the button if things get… difficult.”
Remus nods once. “Understood.”
She gives a small smile, squeezing Regulus’ shoulder before stepping back toward the door. “Don’t hesitate to press the button under any circumstance,” she says, directed to both of them.
The door clicks softly shut and the room goes still.
Regulus doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just keeps staring—open-mouthed, chest rising and falling in long, ragged breaths that sound far too loud in the warm quiet of the room. Remus wonders if this youngling even realises he doesn’t need to breathe anymore, or if he’s just doing it on instinct.
Remus doesn’t shift. He stays perfectly still, spine pressed against the cushions, hands resting loosely in his lap. He can feel the boy’s gaze on his neck like a brand and suddenly the air around them feels heavy.
The call button sits right next to him on the table. One tap for immediate help. Two for dire help. He doesn’t look at it. He tilts his head instead, exposing the side of his throat just slightly, and speaks in a low gentle tone.
“It’s alright,” he says, voice pitched somewhere between invitation and caution. “You can come closer.”
Regulus moves instantly.
But not like a human.
One second he’s standing across the room, ten feet of distance between them, and the next he’s crashing into Remus’ lap, all flailing limbs and super speed. His knees knock against the couch cushion, his palm smacks against Remus’ chest to catch himself, and he lands flat against him in a straddle; thighs bracketing Remus’ hips.
“Oof,” Remus says, blinking.
Regulus makes a mortified noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and freezes—wide-eyed, curls falling into his face.
“I—I’m sorry,” he stammers, voice thin. “I didn’t mean to—I’m still—” he sniffles once, and winces, like he’s embarrassed to even exist. “I’m still trying to figure it out,” he mumbles.
But he doesn’t move, he doesn’t get off and he doesn’t offer another apology. Because now his nose is right there, just inches from Remus’ throat. From the warm, exposed skin. From the steady, tempting pulse.
Remus watches as he takes a deep breath and visibly shudders at his scent.
The poor thing is clearly trying to be good. Remus can feel it. Every muscle in the boy’s body is coiled tight, vibrating with restraint he clearly doesn’t understand how to manage yet. One wrong movement and he’ll sink his fangs in too deep or forget to stop or sob outright into Remus’ neck.
He takes another breath and tilts his head, nuzzling just slightly closer, until the tip of his nose brushes the hollow of Remus’ throat.
A sound escapes him then. A high, barely-there whine. It punches right through Remus’ ribs.
This is not how sessions are supposed to go.
They’re meant to sit side by side. Legs straight, posture neutral, contact minimal. Maybe a hand on the arm if the vampire needs support, maybe a whispered check-in every few minutes. That’s the system, dictated by stringent protocols.
Remus has never let a vampire straddle him before.
But this boy—this tiny, trembling thing with blood-red lips and wide, desperate eyes—isn’t moving.
And Remus doesn’t push him off.
He grips his thighs instead, gentle, just above the knees, and pulls him in closer until their chests brush and Regulus is right there; panting against his neck like he’s going to cry if he doesn’t feed soon.
“It’s alright,” Remus murmurs again, softer now. “You can take what you need.”
Regulus shudders like the words strike something raw inside him. His fingers fist in Remus’ shirt and he blinks before finally looking up, meeting Remus’ eyes for the first time.
His expression is wrecked. Frightened yet grateful and clearly aching.
“I—” he starts, but his voice breaks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Remus says.
Those words seem to be the last thing holding Regulus back.
He doesn’t reply. He just exhales shakily and leans in, breath hot and uneven where it ghosts across Remus’ neck. His lips brush the skin—not quite a kiss, not yet a bite—and for a moment, all he does is breathe. A deep, overwhelmed inhale; like he’s trying to commit this scent to memory.
Finally, sharp fangs puncture his skin.
Regulus drinks like he’s never fed before.
There’s nothing practiced about it—none of the tidy restraint Remus has come to expect from older vampires. This isn’t technique. It’s carnal desire. All of it: the ragged gasp between pulls, the way Regulus’ hips shift unconsciously in Remus’ lap, how his fists tighten around the fabric of Remus’ shirt like he’s afraid of floating away if he lets go.
Remus can feel every tremor of his body.
And worse, he can feel his own.
The pressure starts low in his stomach, barely there, but it builds fast. He’s trying not to think about the way Regulus moans softly against his throat, the slick warmth of his mouth, the tremble of his thighs where they press against Remus’ hips. But then Regulus sinks deeper into the bite, a noise escaping his throat like he's grateful, and Remus’ control slips.
Heat floods his core. His breathing stutters. And then...
He’s hard.
Suppressants are supposed to stop this. They’re supposed to neutralise venom entirely. Remus’ brain starts to spiral. He watched Regulus take the pill. He trusts the nurses in the clinic with his life, literally. There is no feasible way he should be feeling aroused right now.
His brain starts skipping over excuses anyway: Maybe the dosage didn’t take. Or maybe Regulus is too newly turned, too unregulated. Maybe the venom is seeping through anyway. Remus knows these are all impossible options.
The pill always works.
Fuck.
His hands twitch where they grip Regulus’ thighs and he refuses to move them. He knows he should. He without a doubt should stop the session by pressing the button. Probably twice. He should say something. Anything, really.
But Regulus is still feeding, still shaking in his arms, still clinging to him desperately, body strung tight with need.
He’s just a baby.
That’s what Remus tells himself again and again, like it’ll cool the burn low in his stomach. Like it’ll justify the fact that he’s sitting here, hard and breathless, with a trembling vampire moaning against his neck, grinding into his lap.
Because Regulus is moaning. Soft and desperate, barely audible but unmistakable. His mouth works greedily at the bite, lips wet and slick, and his hips…
God, his hips.
They’re shifting unconsciously in Remus’ lap, little movements like he’s chasing something even he doesn’t understand. And Remus is fucking letting him. Sitting there with his hands gripping the boy’s thighs, too firm to be innocent and too constant to be accidental.
He absolutely can’t let this continue.
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “That’s enough.”
Regulus whines.
“No,” he pants, lips dragging against Remus’ throat, chasing after a drop of blood that runs down Remus’ neck. “Please… just a bit more. You taste so good. I—I need more.”
His voice breaks on the word need. Like it’s an objective statement, not a word derived from pure greed. Remus stiffens beneath him and his fingers twitch again.
This isn’t clinical anymore. This isn’t even close.
Still, he doesn’t press the button, he doesn’t lift his hand and he definitely doesn’t say no.
Especially when Regulus is whimpering now, face still buried against his neck, body shuddering like he’s trying desperately to be good and failing at every turn. Like he’s sorry for wanting this so badly.
Remus can’t make himself pull away.
But he has to, really.
Regulus has taken too much already.
So he guides him off carefully, steady hands at Regulus’ waist and the back of his arm.
Regulus blinks, entirely disoriented. His lips chase after the skin, but he doesn’t resist this time. Remus shifts him gently to the side, settling him into the corner of the couch. He curls there without thinking, knees drawn up, fists folding around themselves like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands now that they’re not holding onto broad shoulders.
His mouth is stained red, his lashes flutter and his eyes widen almost comically as he bolts upright, staring at Remus’ abused neck.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, horror creeping into his expression. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to take that much.”
Remus presses a fresh gauze pad to the other side of his neck.
“It’s alright,” he says quietly, even though it’s not. Even though, without a shred of doubt, he should have buttoned five minutes ago.
Regulus isn’t listening.
“I didn’t mean to—” he cuts off, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing blood. “I just—fuck. I’m just so hungry all the time. I can’t stop. It’s like I try, I do try, but then I taste it and I just—”
His voice breaks. He really does sound just like a youngling. Newly turned. Nothing but a desperate baby vamp.
He draws his knees up tighter to his chest, burying his face between them for a second before lifting it again with glassy, frantic eyes.
“You should tell them,” he whispers. “Tell them I took too much. That I didn’t stop when I was supposed to.”
Remus swallows hard, hand still clamped over the gauze.
He’s still fucking hard.
He shifts slightly, angling his hips away as subtly as he can, hoping Regulus doesn’t notice.
But the boy isn’t even looking at him anymore—he’s looking at his hands, shaking now in his lap, brows furrowed like he’s trying to calculate how much damage he’s done.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says again, smaller this time.
“You didn’t,” Remus lies.
They sit in silence for a moment, both of them breathing hard for entirely different reasons.
It has to be the venom, he tells himself. That’s the only explanation. That’s why his cock won’t soften. Why every broken little sound Regulus makes has him on the edge of losing control.
Venom isn’t consent, it causes involuntary bodily reactions, he knows that. They drilled it into him in every training module. He doesn’t let himself think about the suppressant. About how it’s meant to block all venom—newborn or not. About how it’s supposed to make this clinical and safe. He chooses not to question why it didn’t this time.
Remus presses a little harder against the gauze. The blood has already soaked through the first pad, sticky and warm between his fingers. His pulse still pounds beneath it.
Across from him, Regulus rocks slightly, like the movement might wring the shame from his body. Like maybe if he curls in tight enough, he’ll disappear.
“I won’t tell,” Remus says eventually, voice low.
Regulus blinks at him.
“What?”
“I won’t report it.” Remus doesn’t meet his eyes. “It happens. You’re just a baby vamp. You lost control. You just need some… training.”
“But it’s not okay,” Regulus says, voice cracking.
“No.” Remus swallows. “But it’s understandable.”
He doesn’t say: And I let you. He doesn’t say: I could’ve stopped you, but I didn’t. He doesn’t say: I’m hard in my pants because of you.
Because if he says it out loud, he’ll have to face what it means. That he truly didn’t stop it. That he liked it. Loved it, actually. That something about the way Regulus whimpered into his neck made something dark and needy unfurl inside him.
No, Remus will pointedly ignore all of that.
-----
Remus only ever visits the clinic every fortnight.
That’s always been his routine. That’s how long it takes for his body to recover—blood volume, iron levels, energy. It’s calculated and clinical, as it should be.
He has never come weekly.
But then he gets a text from one of the nurses he likes—Kira, the one who always sneaks him some extra sweets and leaves two biscuits with his tea instead of one. It comes through just after lunch, short and slightly frantic:
Hi Remus! We’ve got a desperate newborn vamp struggling with intake regulation. Would you be willing to come in early this week?
That’s all it says. No name. No details.
But he knows.
Okay, so it’s not definitely Regulus. Like, it’s not confirmed. But, well. Who else would it be?
So now here he is, one week early, back in Room Four. Same couch. Same lamp. Same soft golden light warming the wall. He’s already unbuttoned his collar. His sleeves are halfway rolled up. The chocolate bar is sitting on the table next to him.
Before he has time to calm himself, the door clicks open and in walks Regulus.
He looks better than last time.
Still small, still pale, but healthier. Clean curls tucked behind his ears. No dark circles. No shaking hands. Just a deep pink blush settled on his ghostly cheeks.
He doesn’t look at Remus’ neck. He doesn’t stumble or dart forward like a starving thing. He just nods at the nurse’s cue, crosses the room, and settles onto the couch beside him—side by side. Just like protocol dictates.
Like a good boy.
“Hey, Remus,” Kira says cheerfully, following him in. “You know the drill.”
Remus pauses for a moment, frowning. “He um. Did he take the venom suppressant yet?”
Kira nods immediately. “Yes I watched him take it about 10 minutes ago. It lasts for twelve hours. We actually upped his dose last week. But you know how it is with newborns—venom levels are hard to regulate. But you will still be 100% safe and protected from any venom, it’s only him that may feel... needy.”
Remus swallows, a strained smile tugging at his mouth. That wasn’t the answer he needed. He was hoping for an excuse. Craving one, really. Something to justify what he felt last time. Something to make it not his fault.
Kira turns to Regulus, pointing a finger toward him. “Remember the boundaries, Regulus. It’s good you took your pill, now be nice and gentle. Not too much blood, okay?”
Regulus doesn’t speak, but he gives a quick, tense nod.
“I’ll just be in the foyer if you need me,” Kira adds, looking between them. “Just tap the button.” The door clicks shut behind her, and the room is instantly quieter. Warmer and thicker in an odd way.
Regulus stares at his hands for a second. Then glances sideways. “Is this…okay?” His voice is small and dainty, like he’s unsure of himself.
Remus swallows. “Yeah. It’s fine, darling.”
Unlike last time there is no clinging, no desperate little hips rolling down on his lap. Just the faint brush of curls against Remus’ jaw as Regulus leans in closer. A small hand rests on his arm for balance and then fangs pierce his skin.
It’s cleaner this time. More precise.
Remus exhales through his nose, relief catching in his throat.
This is better. This is safe. This is—
His cock twitches.
No.
That’s not—no...
Last time he was hard because Regulus was grinding on him, panting into his skin, writhing in his lap like he didn’t know any better. That was understandable. That was environmental. Simply a physiological reaction to pressure.
But this?
Regulus is barely touching him. He’s following all the rules. He’s being good!
And still, Remus is going hard in his slacks like the simple act of being bitten has flipped some shameful, helpless switch inside him. His breath stutters as he desperately clenches his fists against the couch.
Regulus lets out the softest sound against his neck, a barely there whimper. Remus has to bite back a groan as his cock twitches dramatically in his pants. He closes his eyes, willing his erection away.
Fuck. This isn’t clinical anymore.
Which is wrong, because Regulus is doing everything right. That’s the worst part. He’s not straddling him. He’s not whining or grinding or begging like last time. He’s not clinging to Remus like he might fall apart. He’s just sitting beside him, drinking. Fulfilling a basic survival need.
The suction deepens just a little. Regulus’ fingers curl tighter around his sleeve, knuckles whitening as he leans in closer, pressing up against Remus’ side.
Remus exhales shakily, hands pressed firmly to his lap, hiding the tent of his trousers. “That’s good, darling. Just like that.”
He doesn’t expect the sound Regulus makes. A soft, wet hum against his neck. Regulus’ mouth works a little harder, his fangs slide deeper as a knee slides onto Remus’ lap.
Remus jolts, hips twitching, thighs trembling. He can feel the blood dripping down his neck. He can feel every lap of Regulus’ tongue against his skin as he desperately chases after any loose drops.
“Fuck,” Remus groans. A low needy sound like he’s forgotten all rational thought. Almost like he doesn’t even realise he’s saying it.
“More,” Regulus pants suddenly, voice muffled against Remus’ skin. “Please—just a little more—I can be good—”
His mouth drags lower, teeth scraping, lips slippery with blood.
Remus fists the couch cushion, head tipping back as light-headedness swells behind his eyes. He doesn’t know what’s causing it. It could be the blood loss. It could be the desperate, aching pressure straining against the front of his trousers. Or maybe it’s the slow-burning moral crisis unravelling inside his skull—because this shouldn’t feel good.
“Regulus,” he breathes, too soft to be the warning he means it as.
Regulus doesn't stop.
He presses closer, nose buried in Remus’ throat now, one dainty knee half slung on Remus’ lap as he kneels on the couch It’s too much. His whole body is taut, vibrating with visceral hunger. His hand clutches Remus’ bicep like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.
“Can’t help it,” he whispers, delirious. “You taste—fuck—you taste so good, I can’t—”
His fangs sink in again—deeper this time, messier—and the desperate pull that follows makes Remus’ cock throb so violently he nearly gasps.
He’s going to cum.
Right here, in his trousers, from a fucking bite.
No hands. No grinding. No thrusting. Just the sharp, aching pleasure of fangs in his neck from a pretty little vampire.
He’s broken. Fucked up beyond belief. Exactly the kind of person he’s spent years criticising—those who fetishise vampires, who romanticise the hunger.
“Okay,” he says, voice strained. “That’s enough.”
Regulus whines.
But he pulls back, just slightly, fangs retracting from Remus’ neck with a disappointed sniffle. His mouth is slick, lips red and wet and parted in a dazed sort of awe. There’s a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. Remus’ blood. His chin is flushed, cheeks glowing with the aftershock of feeding, eyes still wide and blown.
“I didn’t mean to be greedy,” he whispers, blinking slowly. “I was trying to be good.”
“You were...” Remus says, forcing stillness into his voice, “good.”
Regulus frowns like he doesn’t believe him. His tongue flicks out, swiping over his blood-slick lips—eager, maybe even instinctual, chasing the last remnants of warmth. His skin is flushed now, pale cheeks dusted with an almost shy pink, like the feeding embarrassed him as much as it satisfied.
He rises slowly, careful and twitchy, like something skittish that might bolt if touched. At the door, he hesitates before glancing back. First at the table, then at Remus.
His gaze lands on the chocolate bar—the one Remus always places neatly on the table next to him to snack on after being drained. Regulus picks it up, holds it for a second too long. Then walks back and places it gently in Remus’ lap, not meeting his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
And then he’s gone.
-----
Remus didn’t tell him.
After the last feeding, he kept his face neutral, his voice steady. He said all the right things. Let Regulus walk out of Room Four with a blood-smeared mouth and flushed cheeks, still trembling with desperation. He didn’t say anything negative. He definitely didn't mention how his trousers were tenting and his cock was begging to be touched.
Then he went straight to the front desk to explain the situation, mostly.
He blamed the suppressant. He said it might not be working. He suggested Regulus’ dosage needed reviewing. That Regulus was still too needy. It wasn’t exactly a lie.
What he didn’t say was: I don’t actually think the suppressant failed.
He didn’t say: I’m getting hard during sessions.
He didn’t say: I’m letting him drink more than he’s supposed to because it feels too good to stop him.
He definitely didn’t say: If I let this continue, I’m going to do something I can’t take back.
So, he asked to be unpaired. And the clinic agreed without question. Because of course they did! It’s a professional organisation, bound by ethics and protocols. Which only makes Remus feel worse. Because if they can treat this like a clinical arrangement, why can’t he? Why the hell is his body reacting like this when it never has before?
And then, for the first time in six years, four months and three weeks, Remus skipped a session. Not just one, but two whole weeks. He didn’t show up, didn’t reply to Kira’s check-in text. He didn’t even open the clinic’s scheduling emails.
He told himself he needed the recovery time.
But really, he just needed space.
Now it’s Thursday again. Remus has showered, shaved, and replied to the clinic’s messages. He arrives like it’s any other week, happy to support the cause. This time, he’s only here to donate. There’s no scheduled feeding, no one-on-one pairing with a vampire. No risk of strange and wrong feelings. Just him supporting the vampire rights movement.
His smile falls when he rounds the corner to the front desk and stops dead in his tracks.
Regulus is there.
He’s braced against the counter, small, sunken and wild-eyed. His curls are unkempt, sticking out in chunks. His shoulders are hunched, as though he’s been standing there too long. Pleading too long.
“Please,” Regulus is whispering, voice fraying at the edges. “There has to be someone. A donor. I don’t care who.”
Across the desk, Kira sighs, kind but tired. “Regulus, you’ve had three blood bags this week already. A single bag should last you an entire week.”
“They don’t work,” he whines. “They’re cold. I can’t—I can’t with the bags. I need it warm and from the source, please.”
“We can’t assign you to anyone who hasn’t explicitly volunteered,” she replies gently. “You know that. You haven’t passed a full regulation test, and your last pairing—”
“I know I was unpaired,” Regulus snaps, interrupting her. Then his voice breaks. “I know. I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t mean to be—I was really trying so hard to be good.”
“I believe you,” Kira says softly. “But we still have to be careful.”
Regulus drags a hand up his neck, scratching at the pale skin. His whole body trembles. “Please,” he whispers again, quieter this time. “There has to be someone.”
Kira’s voice is gentler now. “We can give you another bag—”
“I can’t,” Regulus says, his hands curling into fists. “I need to feed from someone. Please. I’ll behave, I swear. I just—” His voice cracks. “I’m so fucking hungry, you don't understand.”
Remus sighs, stepping closer as he clears his throat.
Both heads snap up—Kira’s first, then Regulus’, eyes wide.
“I can volunteer,” he says. His voice is even, but there’s something brittle under the surface. “If you... still need someone, that is. I don’t mind.”
Kira blinks. “Remus…”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I asked to be unpaired. I’m aware.”
Regulus doesn’t speak. He just stares at him, utterly stunned, as if he’s not quite sure he’s hearing it right.
“I changed my mind,” Remus says, glancing down, then back up again. “That was a mistake.”
Kira hesitates, glancing between the two of them, then she nods slowly. “Room Four?”
“Room Four,” Remus confirms.
Regulus doesn’t move, he just stares up at Remus with glassy confused eyes.
Remus offers a faint, lopsided smile. “Come on, darling,” he says gently. “Let’s get you fed.”
Regulus walks just behind him, quiet and quick, like he's afraid he’ll be sent away if he makes a single wrong move.
Remus refuses to look back.
He can’t.
Because he knows exactly what he’ll see—those wide, blown-out eyes, that sweet trembling mouth still pink from blood bags that clearly aren’t enough. A dainty frame barely kept upright by sheer desperation. He can practically feel the need rolling off him in waves.
Fuck, Remus thinks. He’s just a tiny desperate baby vamp.
Freshly turned. Starving. Trembling. So fucking pretty it physically hurts to look at him for too long.
And needy. God, he’s so needy. Always is. Even when he tries to hide it, it’s there, baked into the way he stands too close and talks too soft and shivers when he gets his first taste.
Remus clenches his fists at his sides. This is a mistake. A massive, stupid mistake.
But when Kira opens the door to Room Four again and gestures for them to enter, Regulus gives him a single, cautious glance, like he’s not sure he’s really allowed to go in. Remus’ chest fucking aches. Because how can he not? How can he not offer himself up when Regulus looks like that? When he’s so clearly needs somebody.
He’s just a tiny needy thing, trying to be good but too desperate to succeed.
Eventually, after Remus fills in the familiar paperwork, the nurse turns to Regulus with a gentle smile and pulls a venom suppressant pack from her pocket.
“Here you go, love,” she says, tapping one of the pills through the foil. “You know the drill by now. Can you take your venom suppressant for me?”
Regulus nods mutely. He takes the tablet with shaking fingers and pops it into his mouth, swallowing without water. His jaw flexes once, like he’s fighting the bitterness of the taste.
Kira waits until he’s done, then glances at both of them. “I’ll leave you to it. Button’s there if you need anything.”
The door clicks shut behind them.
There’s no warning this time, just a blur of vampiric super speed, a rush of cold air, and then Remus’ back hits the wall with a solid thud.
“Shit,” Remus huffs, blinking in suprise.
Regulus has him pinned.
One arm braced hard across Remus’ chest, the other gripping his collar like a lifeline. He’s trembling all over, wide eyes wild with hunger and panic. His curls stick to his forehead, and his breath comes fast—too fast—like he’s trying to remember how lungs work.
“I’m sorry,” Regulus gasps, voice cracked. “I—I didn’t mean to—I just—fuck, I can’t stop it.”
Remus opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
Because Regulus is so small, barely reaching his shoulder, but he's holding him there like gravity itself depends on it. Like Remus’ body is the only thing stopping him from sucking him dry.
“I’ve tried,” Regulus whimpers. “I’ve tried so hard to be good. I swear I’ve tried. But I’m just so fucking hungry, and I saw you and I—” His voice breaks. “I couldn’t not. I need—”
He has to stretch onto his tippy toes to press his nose to Remus’ throat. He makes a soft, keening sound, like it’s physically painful to hold back.
Remus just stands there. Hands still. Chest rising. Blood pumping slow and hot right under the skin. This is where any patient should button. This is where any patient should slowly peel themselves away and calmy explain to the vampire that they have overstepped boundaries.
Remus is not any patient. Not with him.
“Okay, darling,” he breathes. “Take what you need.”
Regulus doesn’t wait. He devours.
His fangs pierce deep into the warm, pulsing skin at the base of Remus’ throat, and the sound he makes—high, broken, half whimper, half moan—is nothing short of obscene.
Remus grips the edge of the wall behind him, scratching for anything as a distraction. His knees buckle slightly at the first deep pull, head tipping back. “Fuck…”
Regulus is everywhere. Pressed tight to him from chest to thigh, shaking with hunger, drinking in desperate gulps. He’s still up on his tippy toes, neck stretched, arm braced hard against Remus’ sternum to keep himself upright—but the rest of him is moving.
Fuck.
His slim hips start to grind, slow and helpless, dragging down against the solid muscle of Remus’ thigh. He’s perched on it now, fully riding it. Tiny, desperate rocks, his clothed cock dragging against the press of Remus’ leg again and again and again.
Remus groans low in his throat, because he can feel him.
He can feel the shape of him—aching and hard through the thin fabric of Regulus’ trousers. It jolts against his thigh with every clumsy rut and every whimpering grind; like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
Regulus isn’t just feeding anymore. He’s fully fucking riding his thigh.
And Remus is so hard he might pass out from desire before blood loss.
“Jesus,” he whispers, breath caught in his throat. “Regulus, darling—”
Regulus just moans against his skin and shifts his hips harder, faster. His thighs tremble on either side of Remus’ leg as he rocks down with purpose now, still not fully aware, but closer. Needing friction like it’s blood. His cock catches in just the right spot and he lets out a broken gasp.
“I—mmph—I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean to—” he pants, mouth dragging messily against the bite, his voice slurred from feeding and the haze of it all. “I’m trying to be good, I swear I am—”
“Regulus,” Remus chokes. “You’re—fuck—you’re grinding.”
Regulus makes a soft, high-pitched noise, somewhere between panic and pleasure, and pauses mid-rock. Then stills. Slowly, he leans back, lips parted, eyes glassy.
He blinks.
“Oh my god,” Regulus whispers, horror dawning on his face. “Was I—was I actually?” He falters, then squeezes his eyes shut, mortified. “I didn’t mean to! I—I can’t stop it—my body just does it, all the tim... It’s like—like I need—”
“You need it?” Remus murmurs, trailing off with intrigue.
Regulus doesn’t hear him, he’s too busy spilling out frantic apologies. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—fuck—I didn’t even notice until just now. I’m not trying to be bad, I’m really not—I just—it feels so good, and you’re so warm, and—and—”
His hips twitch again.
Just once.
A trembling, instinctive roll forward, grinding right into the meat of Remus’ thigh like he actually can’t help himself.
Remus groans through gritted teeth and digs his nails further into the wall. Because Regulus is trembling in his arms, bleeding desperation, rutting against his thigh with a leaking, hard cock and fangs still buried in his neck.
And all Remus can think is: he’s trying so hard to be good. I can’t punish him by making him stop.
“You’re doing your best,” Remus says, voice low, hand twitching at Regulus’ waist, keeping him close. “You’re trying.”
“I think something’s wrong with me,” Regulus whispers. It comes out like a confession, small and self-loathing. “It’s not supposed to feel like this. Feeding isn’t supposed to make me—make me feel horny. But it always does.”
Remus doesn’t answer right away. Because he feels it too. He’s felt it since that very first bite. Something off, something hot, something wrong that coiled low in his stomach and never really went away.
The suppressant should’ve dulled it, taken any desire away completely! That’s the whole point. Regulus took it—Remus watched him take it, for fucks sake. So why does it still feel like his veins are on fire? Why does every feeding make his cock ache like he’s starving too? It’s not just the venom. It can’t be.
Which possibly, is worse. That means whatever this is—it’s him.
So, he lies. To both himself and Regulus.
“Maybe you just need more training,” he says softly, half to soothe and half to attempt a justification. “You’re new. You’re still figuring it out.”
Remus exhales, breath shaky as he shifts against the wall. Then, slowly, he curls an arm around Regulus’ waist and tugs him closer, just enough to slot him better against his thigh, to feel the trembling press of that needy little rut more clearly.
“You just need to stay fed,” Remus murmurs, hand sliding up to cup the back of Regulus’ head, fingers winding in his curls. “That’s all. Keep your strength up. Stay full, so you’re not so needy, right?”
He tilts his head back and bares his throat again. His hand grips the back of Regulus’ head tighter and he pulls him forward, toward his neck.
“Take some more, babe,” he breathes, voice gravelly “Gotta keep you stuffed full.”
Regulus doesn’t hesitate this time. He latches onto Remus’ throat with a moan so wrecked, so starved, it’s almost a sob. And then he feeds. It’s not frantic. It’s not gentle either. It’s deep. Every draw of blood is long, greedy and possessive. Like he’s trying to drag the warmth straight from Remus’ soul.
And all the while, his hips don’t stop moving.
He grinds against Remus’ thigh like he’s forgotten what stillness is—like his desperate cock has a mind of its own. There’s no rhythm. No control. Just raw, messy need. His hips snap forward in stuttering, frantic jerks, rutting desperately chasing an orgasm.
Remus can feel everything—the desperate friction of Regulus’ hard cock leaking through his thin trousers, dragging against the solid muscle of Remus’ thigh again and again. He’s trembling, panting, his breath hot against Remus’ skin. His hands claw at Remus’ shirt, trying to anchor himself, but there’s no holding back now.
“Fuck, baby,” Remus mutters, almost dizzy. “You’re—Christ—you’re really grinding now.”
Regulus moans again, higher this time, muffled into his throat. His thighs are shaking, body jerking with each shallow thrust.
“I can’t—” he whimpers, voice ruined. “I can’t stop it. It’s—it’s too much—I need it—I need it, please—”
And Remus, god help him, doesn’t stop him.
Instead, his hands drop to Regulus’ hips, fingers curling tight around the delicate curve of bone beneath his waistband. He guides him, slow at first, coaxing him into longer, deeper grinds. He presses his thigh up firmly and rocks him down harder, helping Regulus chase the feeling, push into it and lose himself to it.
“That’s it,” Remus breathes, voice rough with desire. “Just like that. Fuck yourself on my thigh, baby. Take what you need.”
Regulus gasps, his whole body jolting at the words. His hips stutter, then rut down harder—sloppy and feverish, cock dragging thick and wet through his trousers. He’s nearly gone now. Mindless. Whining. Shaking apart in Remus’ hands.
“Remus—Remus—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Come on,” Remus whispers, gripping tighter, guiding every last desperate thrust. “Cum for me, sweetheart. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Bite me when you do.”
Regulus lets out a choked sob, his fangs pierce the skin of Remus’ neck once more and he shatters.
He cums with a full-body tremble, still humping helplessly against Remus’ thigh, blood oozing down his lips, cock spilling in his trousers, fangs still buried deep in Remus’ neck. His whole body seizes and slumps forward, panting hard against blood-slick skin, his hips still twitching like they don’t know how to stop.
Remus holds him through it, letting him take everything.
Because Regulus needed it. Said so himself. He's just helping him, truly.
He strokes a slow hand down the curve of his spine. Soothing and gentle. More instinct than intention. He’s still hard, still aching in his trousers, but that doesn’t matter right now.
Regulus is quiet for a long time, chest rising and falling with uneven little gasps. Then, finally, in the softest voice Remus has ever heard from him, he asks, “Are you going to unpair again?”
The question punches through him. Remus exhales through his nose and briefly closes his eyes before shaking his head.
“No,” he says, after a long beat. “I’m not.”
Regulus tilts his head up slowly, eyes wide, lips stained red with blood.
Then, like it’s nothing—like it won’t completely upend his routine, his logic, his life—Remus says, “I’ll speak to the staff. We’ll set it up. I'll do weekly donations. Just for you.”
But it isn’t nothing.
It’s the exact opposite of everything he’s ever told himself he believed in. Feeding should be clinical. Detached and safe. That’s how he’s always justified it, how he’s explained it to himself in the quiet moments afterward when his hands were shaking and his pulse was still pounding from the bite. It’s not intimacy, it’s not pleasure—it’s public service, simple! A controlled act of compassion.
Not whatever this is.
Continuing would only be dangerous and selfish. A shade of grey leaning more toward black. Morally wrong. Now’s his chance to retract his words, to fall back on the promise he’s made before it’s too late.
Wide glassy eyes stare up at him, “You—you’d really do that?”
His voice is cracked and tentative, like he’s scared the offer will be taken back if he sounds too eager. His fingers twitch where they’re still bunched in Remus’ shirt. His lip wobbles like he’s trying not to cry.
“For me?”
Remus exhales slowly. Fuck, how can he say no? He lifts a hand to tuck a curl gently behind Regulus’ ear.
“Yes, darling,” he says. “For you.”
------
Remus learns many things over the course of a month.
After four weekly sessions he learns that Regulus likes to grind. A lot. On his lap, on his thigh, into the couch cushion if Remus is just sitting close enough. Anywhere he can while feeding. And every week, right before sinking his fangs in, Regulus swallows the clinic-issued suppressant—the same bitter little pill that’s supposed to stop all this from happening. It always ends the same way: Regulus panting through an orgasm, whimpering against Remus’ throat, and Remus painfully hard in his trousers, too far gone to pretend he’s not affected.
And Remus lets it happen. Every single fucking time.
He tells himself it’s fine. That it’s harmless. That Regulus is young, overwhelmed and still learning control. That helping him through it is a kindness. Generous, even.
But deep down, Remus knows better.
Yes, newborns are hungry. Yes, they tremble and cling and sometimes whine when the blood first hits their tongue. That’s expected.
But Regulus is something else entirely.
Regulus doesn’t just feed, he aches. His body reacts with a kind of helpless urgency that has nothing to do with survival and everything to do with carnal desire. Something no regulation training or blood bag could ever satisfy.
He’s not just touch-starved—he’s insatiable. Like his body never learned, and will never learn, moderation. Like some wire got crossed when he turned and now every ounce of hunger gets tangled with sexual need.
In those four weeks, Remus also learns other things about him. He learns Regulus was turned only three months ago, barely out of uni, after a car crash that should’ve killed him.
He learns he’s twenty-two. That he used to have a cat named Rue who slept curled in the crook of his knees. That he hates the taste of synthetic blood. That he never had anyone visit him in the hospital during his turning—not family, not friends. No one.
And most of all, Remus learns that Regulus is touch-starved in the way only newborn vamps can be. The kind of needy that isn’t just about feeding. He clings with his whole body—when he feeds, when he ruts, even when he’s just sitting beside Remus on the couch.
He’s just a fucking baby. A desperate, trembling baby vamp with wide eyes and too many needs and no one to meet them but Remus.
And Remus, God help him, keeps meeting them. He keeps offering his throat. His lap. His hands. His time. Because how can he not, when Regulus looks at him like that? Like he’s the first and only thing that’s ever made him feel full.
Which brings us to week five.
Remus is back in Room Four—same golden light, same soft couch, same twitch in his trousers before anything even begins.
His neck, however, is wrecked.
The gauze from last week hadn’t stopped bleeding until well into the evening. The bruising is deep now, angry purple and tender to the touch, like a permanent reminder of what he's letting happen here. Kira clicks her pen against the clipboard as she skims over his file. “We might need to give your neck a rest,” she says. “We don’t want tissue damage.”
Remus nods. “Fair enough.”
She glances up, pen stilling. “Are you comfortable trialling an alternative placement?”
Regulus perks up from the corner of the room. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet today—knees curled to his chest on the far end of the couch, fingers twisting in the hem of his jumper like he’s trying not to fidget.
“Alternative?” Remus asks.
Kira hums. “We’ve had other donors use wrists, inner thighs, sometimes shoulder or chest. Anywhere with high blood flow and easy access. But obviously,” she adds with a smile, “you should only agree if you feel completely comfortable.”
Regulus doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching now. Closely.
Remus swallows. He glances down at his neck through the wall mirror, the faded bruises, the soreness, the guilt. Then he glances back at Regulus—small and tense, like he’ll bolt if the answer is no.
“…Thighs are fine,” Remus says. His voice comes out steadier than it should.
Kira beams. “Perfect. I’ll make a note. I’ll leave you to set up as usual.”
The door clicks shut behind her. Remus exhales through his nose and shifts on the couch, legs spreading slightly. Then, without a word, he reaches down and rolls up the leg of his shorts.
It takes a few tugs to get the hem high enough. The fabric bunches around his most upper thigh, revealing a stretch of thick, pale skin beneath. Strong and fleshy. Sturdy in a way that speaks of years of movement, maybe even sport once upon a time. They’re unexpectedly smooth too. Not entirely hairless, but close—oddly bare from the knee upward like his body gave up on growing hair there, or it all got worn away by years of denim jeans. The contrast is strangely intimate. The faint dusting of dark hair on his calves just… stops, giving way to broad planes of exposed skin. Soft-looking and warm. Marked with gingerish freckles, even.
Regulus stares like he’s never seen a leg before. Like he hasn’t been humping that same fucking thigh for weeks now. His mouth parts slightly as his eyes darken. He drops to his knees without being asked.
“You okay?” Remus asks.
Regulus swallows hard. “Yeah,” he whispers, gaze still locked on the stretch of offered thigh like it’s something sacred. “It’s just... big.”
Remus huffs out a laugh. “Thanks?”
“I didn’t mean—” Regulus flusters. “Not like that, I just—fuck.”
“It’s alright,” Remus says softly, resting his arm across the back of the couch. “Come closer.”
Regulus crawls forward, slow and reverent. When his hands finally land on the outer edges of that thick, bare thigh, trembling fingers curling just shy of the inner seam. He lets out the softest, most pathetic sound Remus has ever heard—then, with a broken, grateful moan, sinks his fangs into the tender flesh.
Remus hisses, his hand clenching the couch cushion. Regulus took the pill, Remus watched him. He’s watched him every time. The flash of foil, the small, bitter swallow, the quick blink after—it’s always the same. But fuck it. What is he even thinking? Venom or not, he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants him. Desperatly.
Regulus drinks like he’s starving, like every drop is a blessing. His grip on Remus’ leg tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh, lips messy and wet with red blood.
But then his hips start to shift.
Just a little at first. An unconscious grind, like he’s forgotten where he is. The problem is—there’s nothing beneath him. No lap or thigh like every other time. Nothing for his greedy cock to rut against, nothing to satisfy what’s become their routine.
Remus notices instantly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, voice all mock-pity. “You’re already trying to rut?”
Regulus lets out a humiliating whine against his skin. His hips twitch forward again, useless, grinding into air between Remus’ legs.
“I can’t help it,” he pants, dazed, blood dripping down Remus’ leg. His tiny pink tongue chases down Remus’ thigh as blood drops escape. “There’s nothing—fuck, there’s nothing to—”
“You’re that desperate?” Remus murmurs, tilting his head. “Not even five seconds in and already looking to hump something, sweetie?”
Regulus doesn’t answer, just nods, frantic and flushed, mouthing helplessly at the bite like he’s trying to apologise and beg at the same time.
Remus sighs. He shifts his leg, planting his boot firmly against the floor and angling his thigh just right.
“There,” he says, nodding his head toward his boot. “Go on, baby. Use it.”
Regulus does.
He throws himself over Remus’ boot, straddling it like it’s salvation, grinding down hard, cock pressed fully against Remus’ shin. His whole body shudders at the contact, breath hitching with relief as he moans loudly. Remus almost has half a mind to shush him.
“Good boy,” Remus says, voice rough and gravel like. “Fuck yourself against my boot as you bite my thigh. I’ve got you.”
Remus watches, wrecked and breathless, as Regulus grinds against the polished leather of his boot like he’s trying to fuck the shine off it. His cock drags thick and wet through his trousers, every rutting movement frantic and sharp. Like it hurts to hold back. Each soft gasp, punctuated by broken moans, sinks its teeth into Remus’ spine and drags a tremble out of him.
And still, Regulus feeds.
His mouth is sealed to the thick of Remus’ thigh, fangs deep, lips red and slick, chin glistening with blood. It’s everywhere. His mouth, his tongue, the sharp curve of his jaw. He drinks like it’s worship. Like he’s starving. Like he doesn’t care if Remus bleeds out beneath him so long as the taste doesn’t stop.
Remus is dizzy.
Because it’s too much, he’s too much. The way he ruts and feeds at once, greedy and mindless, like it’s instinct. Like he’s never known how to be anything but desperate, starving, and horny.
And his hands. Fuck, Regulus' hands.
They roam like they’re searching for something—anything—he can’t name. Up Remus’ thigh, slow and trembling. Over his stomach, under the hem of his shirt. One curls into his waistband. The other…
Remus feels it before he sees it.
A warm palm cups him over his shorts, right over the hard, aching shape of his cock. He jolts and sucks in a breath that catches in his throat.
Regulus doesn’t even notice.
His fingers twitch, tracing the shape of Remus’ cock through the cotton. His thumb flicks over the head, just once, a soft, thoughtless circle through the thin fabric.
Remus groans, throwing his head back against the couch.
Regulus just keeps feeding, licking and sucking like he’s not also stroking Remus off through his clothes. Like he doesn’t realise Remus is one second away from losing what little composure he has left.
And then, finally, he pulls off.
Regulus gasps for air, blood-smeared and dazed, his mouth wet, red, and obscene. His tongue swipes at the corner of his lips, licking himself clean like he needs every last drop. Then he sees it. His own hand, still curled around Remus’ clothed cock, slowly rubbing him off.
His mouth parts in horror. “Oh.”
He freezes. His eyes fly up, wide and glassy and full of panic. He moves to pull away, but Remus catches him. One large, steady hand wraps around his wrist and guides it gently back down, holding it there.
“Easy,” Remus rasps. “You didn’t even realise.”
Regulus stares. Lips parted. Blood-sticky fingers trembling against the cotton.
“I—I didn’t know,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean—fuck—I didn’t know I was—”
"You were," Remus says, his voice dangerously low. "You were so fucking desperate you didn’t even notice you were touching my cock."
Regulus whines, a humiliated sound, but his body betrays him. His hips twitch again, helpless, dragging his cock against the boot like he can’t stop now, not after hearing that.
"You…" Regulus pants. "You liked it?"
"I’ve been hard since the first time you bit me," Remus admits. "Every fucking session. Every time you cried into my throat. Every time you humped my thigh like you didn’t know what else to do. I’ve tried so fucking hard to be good."
He laughs, low and bitter, almost starved himself. "You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me."
Regulus' eyes go wider.
"I want to ruin you," Remus growls, guiding Regulus' hand back to his cock. He uses it to stroke himself, slowly, deliberately. "There are so many things I want. I want you to sit on my cock while you feed. I want your hand slick with blood and cum, and I want you to lick it clean afterwards."
Regulus lets out a sound that’s almost a sob, his hand moving on its own now, stroking over the thick shape of Remus through his trousers like he can’t help it. Remus slides a hand into his hair, fingers curling tight at the nape. He guides him back down, pressing his cheek against the flushed, blood-warmed skin of his thigh.
"You’re mine now," he murmurs, voice guttural and possessive. "Aren’t you, baby? Mine to feed, mine to fuck."
Regulus nods, trembling and moaning, grinding harder into the boot. His fangs pierce Remus’ thigh with a desperate suck.
"Yes," he gasps. "Yes—fuck—I'm yours. Please fuck me."
And then he drinks like he’s starving all over again.
More than that—like he’s addicted. His mouth latches onto Remus’ thigh with something between a sob and a snarl, fangs sinking in deep. The sound he makes when the blood hits his tongue is pure bliss, a broken moan that vibrates straight through Remus’ leg.
And still, he grinds.
He humps Remus’ boot like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Frantic and filthy, cock dragging over and over. Each thrust turns needier, the rhythm stuttering into pure desperation.
His hand, sweet, blood-slick, and shaking, moves on its own now. Palming Remus’ cock like it belongs there, like it’s his right. He rubs him through the cotton with clumsy devotion, thumb circling over the clothed head as if he’s learning the shape by heart. Mapping it out for later.
Remus can barely breathe.
The pressure coils fast and tight, winding through his core like a live wire. He fists a hand in Regulus’ curls, desperate to anchor himself. Fuck. Is he really about to cum from this? Just from being palmed? Not even touched properly? Like a fucking teenager?
Yeah. He is.
"Look at you," he rasps. "Fucking yourself against my boot while you suck me dry. Stroking my cock like a little fucking whore. A whore for blood and cock."
Regulus moans around the bite, wet and ruined, mouth full and hungry. His hand moves faster. Sloppier.
Remus’ hips jerk, muscles locking. "You like that?" he growls. "Like touching me while you stuff your little tummy with my blood?"
A frantic nod presses against his thigh.
"Good boy," he breathes, voice gone rough. "You want me to cum for you, baby? Want to feel it throb under your hand while your mouth’s still full of me?"
Regulus sobs into his skin, sucking harder now, hand working him with desperate palming motions over the fabric. His whole body rocks with it—grinding into the boot, devouring him, trembling like he’s about to fall apart.
"Gonna cum," Remus chokes out. "Gonna fucking cum, and you’re not gonna stop. You’ll drink through it like the filthy little thing you are. My desperate baby vamp."
Regulus obeys.
The moment Remus’ orgasm hits, Regulus lets out a moan so loud it’s nearly a wail. Remus spills into his shorts with a strangled groan, hips jerking under Regulus’ hand, cock throbbing helplessly against the damp fabric.
Regulus cums with him.
His hips stutter violently against the boot, a full-body tremor tearing through him as he cries out, spilling messily in his trousers, still latched to Remus’ thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
And he doesn’t stop.
Even as he trembles, even as aftershocks roll through him, he keeps licking. Keeps suckling. Like a baby with a teet. He keeps mouthing at the bite like he needs every last drop that drips from the wound.
Eventually, he pulls back—dazed, ruined, lips swollen and slick. He blinks up at Remus, pupils blown wide, then locks onto the wet patch staining his shorts.
"Please," Regulus whispers, voice breaking with need. "Pull your pants down. Let me clean you up. I need to taste it."
His greedy fingers reach for Remus’ waistband, not bothering to ask. Just moving, driven by need, by hunger, by lecherous want. Remus sways slightly on the couch, dizzy from orgasm and blood loss, every nerve ending alight. He catches Regulus’ wrist before he can go further—not harsh, just firm enough to stop him.
He huffs a ragged, breathless laugh.
"Of course you want more," he murmurs, voice wrecked with both heat and fondness. "Always need something in that pretty little mouth, don’t you?"
Regulus whines, fucked-out and fluttering
Remus cups his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, smearing red across the curve of it. "You’ve got such a mouth on you, baby. Always licking, sucking, gnawing. Every time I see you, it’s all fangs and that needy little tongue. You really can’t help yourself, can you?"
Regulus leans into the touch, needy and undone. "Please. Let me clean your cock. I’ll make sure you’re spotless. I’ll suck it all up—your cum, the mess in your underwear—everything."
"Fuck, you’re filthy," Remus murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. "You want to lap it up like you’re still feeding on my blood, don’t you?"
Regulus nods fast, breath catching. "Yes. Please."
Remus grins, eyes gleaming with something feral. "Next time, maybe I’ll cum in your mouth. Let you choke on it a little. Stuff your throat full while it’s already full of my blood. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?"
A high, broken sound escapes Regulus. A half moan, half whimper, strung-out and hungry
But then—
Knock, knock.
Both of them flinch.
"Shit," Remus mutters. He’s on his feet a second later, adjusting his trousers with a wince, grabbing the nearest blanket and tossing it to Regulus who just blinks up at him, still trembling on the floor, too blissed-out to be of any use.
"Listen to me." Remus grips his wrist. Regulus stares up at him, still rutting faintly where he sits.
"You’re not coming back here." Remus' voice is commanding, but there’s something tender beneath it, something that sounds far too much like a lover.
Regulus blinks slowly, still dazed.
"I’ll give you my address," Remus says. "Next week, you come to me. My place. My bed. Understood?"
Knock knock.
Again, louder this time.
Regulus swallows hard. "I’ll come," he whispers, nodding. "I’ll come—fuck, I’ll come wherever you want."
Remus leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He can taste his own blood—warm and metalic, strangley intimate.
"Good boy."
-----
After their last session, they met outside the clinic—no nurses, no clipboard, just the two of them and the electric, unbearable tension of what they’d just done. They’d agreed to keep the time the same. Thursday morning. Half past ten. Like always. Same day. Same hour. Normal, right?
Only now, it’s Remus’ house instead. No Kira. No sterile walls. No clinic-issued suppressant.
Just them.
And so, Remus waits.
The chocolate bar still sits on the table—some stupid ritual he can’t seem to let go of. There’s water, gauze, and fresh towels prepared, just in case. He tells himself that letting Regulus into his home is nothing. Just convenient and private.
But even he knows better.
Letting him in means surrender. It means giving into that hunger, the one he’s buried deep and pretended not to feel.
A knock at the door pulls him from thought.
He opens it to find Regulus on the edge of control, pupils blown wide, devouring the last trace of grey colour from his eyes. His curls are messy and wind-tossed like he ran the whole way. As if he couldn’t wait another second to fall apart at Remus’ door.
The door hasn’t even clicked shut before Remus is slammed back into the wall of living room. Not with violence—just sheer, trembling, overwhelmed vampiric speed and strength. Regulus is pressed up against him in an instant, fists clenched in his shirt, curls wild, eyes already blown wide.
“You made me wait a week,” Regulus proclaims like it’s a crime. Like he’s seconds away from falling apart. His voice cracks, breath shaky against Remus’ throat. “A whole fucking week. Without you. Without blood.”
Remus blinks, still trying to find his footing. “Regulus, we’ve always waited a week. It’s our routine—”
“That was before,” Regulus snaps, slamming him harder into the wall. “Before I knew how fucking good it feels. Before I knew you were just as fucked for it as I am.”
He’s so much shorter, it should be laughable. At 6'4, Remus towers over him, solid and broad. But it’s Regulus with his hand at Remus’ throat, vampire strength pinning him like he weighs nothing at all.
He throws Remus again. This time, straight into the nearby armchair.
Remus lands with a grunt, barely upright before Regulus is straddling his lap, grinding down in desperate figure eights against his crotch. His cock is hard in seconds.
“You think I touched myself while you were gone?” Regulus pants. “I fucking tried.”
He leans in, lips brushing Remus’ jaw. “But every time I did, all I could think about was you,” he whines. “Your thigh. Your hands. Your voice, even. Fuck.”
He bites at Remus’ neck—not enough to break skin, just a cruel tease—and moans, “Couldn’t even make myself cum. I couldn’t. Not without you. Because I knew you’d do it better. You’d make it better. You’d tell me what a needy little thing I am and let me hump your fucking boot like a pervert.”
Regulus doesn’t stop grinding or begging until he's moving again with inhumane speed.
With a growl of frustration and too much strength, he grabs Remus by the front of his shirt and hauls him up out of the armchair. Again, like it’s nothing. Remus barely has time to plant his feet before he’s dragged across the room and shoved down onto the couch, landing hard, legs spread. Regulus climbs into his lap again without pause, straddling him.
Remus swallows thickly. But Regulus doesn’t stop there.
“Say it,” he begs, voice breaking. “Say you missed me. Right now. Say you wanted it. Say you want me to bite you, right now, because I need it, Remus. Please. I need your blood in my mouth, I’m so hungry. I need to grind against you while I feed—or have your cock in me. Something. Please, I prepped myself and everything.”
Remus opens his mouth—maybe to agree, maybe to protest, maybe to say Jesus fucking Christ—but he doesn’t get the chance. Regulus’ fangs are already at his throat, his breath hitching, warm and desperate against his skin.
“Please—please, I need you,” he whimpers again, voice splintering. “Gonna drink until you’re shaking. Until you beg me to stop. I don’t care—don’t care if it’s too much—I need your blood so fucking bad, Remus. I need you to make me cum. I can’t—I can’t even think—”
Then, sharp baby fangs pierce skin.
The moment Regulus sinks his fangs in, Remus shatters.
It’s not just a gasp. It’s a full-body jolt, a moan torn straight from his throat—entirely debauched. His spine arches hard, hands flying to grip the couch cushions behind him like he might fall through the earth.
The venom hits his bloodstream like liquid fire.
It doesn’t build, it detonates. A wave of molten heat floods his veins all at once, shooting straight to his cock. It jerks violently in his trousers, already leaking, already so painfully hard it makes his vision blur. His hips buck without thinking, chasing friction, desperate for any kind of relief.
“F-fuck—fuck, Regulus,” he gasps, head thrown back, rutting up helplessly against the boy’s lap.
The pressure is unbearable. Hot. Tight. Coiling low and fast. His stomach clenches. His breath stutters. He’s so close he could scream—just from one bite without the suppressant.
Sure, he’d heard stories about vampire venom. About the hunger, the arousal and the carnal need it induces.
But this.... this is maddening.
“I’m gonna—shit—I’m actually gonna cum,” he chokes out, voice overwhelmed and twitchy.
Regulus whines against his throat, a devastated sound. His mouth stays sealed to the puncture, lips slick and crimson. He pulls back just far enough to speak; a long, glistening string of blood sliding from his mouth, trailing down his chin and pooling warm in the hollow of Remus’ collarbone.
His eyes are blown wide, glassy and feverish, ringed with hunger. He looks absolutely fucked—mouth trembling with need, curls a wild halo around his flushed, bloody face.
“No—no, please don’t,” Regulus whimpers, almost breathless. “You can’t cum yet, I haven’t even touched you. I haven’t ridden you—please, I need to—” His hips twitch down without control, grinding against Remus’ lap, frantic. “I need to be on you when it happens, please.”
Remus groans, one hand clutching Regulus’ hip like a vice, the other tangled in the curls at the base of his skull.
“Sweetheart,” he pants. “I’m gonna cum right now and I’ll be hard again in less than a minute. Bite me again, please. Gotta feed you, right? You said you were hungry. I'm just taking care of you.”
Regulus gasps—howls, really—and bites down again, deeper this time.
Remus cums almost instantly with a sharp, choked moan. His spine bows as his cock jerks and he spills in his pants, soaking through the fabric in a hot, sticky mess. His whole body trembles through it, muscles locking tight, veins pulsing with molten heat. The pleasure is so sharp it borders on pain.
And even then, he’s still fucking hard.
The venom pulsing in his blood stream simply won’t let his cock soften.
Regulus finally pulls back from his throat, pupils swallowed by black. He stares down at Remus like he’s still starving, hands pressed flat to his chest like he needs to steady himself, but his hips twitch forward anyway—grinding his own cock against Remus’ lap in an involuntary rut, like instinct is the only thing left driving him.
Then his gaze drops to their laps.
He sees it. The thick, wet cum stain spreading across the front of Remus’ slacks, seeping through the fabric. His mouth parts, a breath catching in his throat. His tongue flicks out, automatic, eyes hazy and locked on the mess like it’s the only thing in the room.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hips jolting again. “I need—I need to taste it.”
Then he’s moving. Scrambling, really.
He slides off Remus’ lap and drops to his knees between his legs, too fast, too desperate, nearly uncoordinated. His hands shake as they fumble with Remus’ trousers, slipping on the button, tugging uselessly at the waistband like he can’t think through the hunger.
“Please,” he pants, breath hot against Remus’ thigh. “I’ll be good, I swear, just let me clean it—I need to clean it up. Your blood’s already on my tongue, let me taste the rest of you—your cum, please, Remus, please.”
Remus can only stare, dazed and open-mouthed, chest still rising and falling like he’s barely holding onto breath.
“Jesus,” he mutters, not resisting as Regulus finally drags the zipper of his pants down with a trembling hand, tugging his jeans past his hips in rough, impatient movements—leaving him in just his boxers, soaked and clinging to the shape of him.
And then...fuck.
Regulus leans in and licks. Right through the fabric. Right over the sticky, soaked cotton of his briefs. His tongue drags slow and flat across the mess that’s bled through, smearing it, tasting it. The sound he makes is obscene—a choked, desperate moan that vibrates straight through Remus’ cock.
And he doesn’t stop.
He mouths at the shape of him, sucking at the damp fabric until it clings tighter, wet heat wrapped around Remus with nothing between them but spit and cotton and the fading taste of blood. His cheeks hollow as he sucks, messy and single-minded, like he wants to pull every drop of cum through the fabric with his mouth alone.
Regulus whimpers, tongue lapping in salacious, needy strokes, jaw working with frantic hunger.
Remus can only groan, eyes rolling back. “God, you’re filthy. You’re licking me through my fucking boxers—”
“I'm cleaning them,” Regulus interrupts, voice muffled against the soaked cotton stretched over Remus’ cock. “Need more. Now.”
He tugs at Remus’ briefs, yanking them down just enough to free the head of his cock—still flushed, still leaking, still obscenely hard.
Regulus’ breath catches.
Remus has always known he’s big. It’s never meant much. It's always been an idle comment from lovers or something bragged about by his partners to their friends. It never meant anything, unlike this. He watches Regulus freeze, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, lips parted and blood-slick, staring in reverence at the sheer girth and length of his cock.
Remus wants to burn the image into his memory and never let it go, suddenly grateful for the thickness and length that has Regulus in awe.
Regulus' whole body twitches, like just looking is edging him.
Then he moves. He wraps his lips around the tip, too sweet and eager for how obscene it is. His mouth stretches wide, tongue swirling through the sticky mess of cum still clinging to his cock head, slow and indulgent. He moans like it’s better than blood, like he’s starved for it, like he needs it just as badly. Remus jerks beneath him, hips bucking into the heat of his mouth with a shattered, broken gasp.
“Fuck—fuck, Regulus.”
But Regulus doesn’t stop. He takes more. Sinks deeper, cheeks hollowing around him. Spit, cum, and blood mix hot and heavy on his tongue. One hand fists into Remus’ thigh to steady himself and then he bites.
Not teasing. Not gentle.
His fangs pierce deep into the soft flesh of Remus’ inner thigh without warning. First comes a sharp, hungry suck, then a shuddered exhale. Slowly, he pulls off, mouth dragging back to Remus’ cock—now smeared with red, glistening at the base where blood mixes with slick and spit.
Remus groans, the sound punched out of him from the sight and sensation.
The venom hits like lightning, fresh and molten, ripping through his veins with savage heat. His whole body jerks as his cock kicks violently in Regulus’ mouth.
“Jesus Christ, Regulus,” he pants, voice breaking apart in awe. “You’re gonna fucking drain me, aren’t you, sweetheart? Gonna suck me dry and drink me down like the little slut you are.”
Regulus moans around him, hips grinding into the floor in a desperate rhythm. His mouth is a mess—full, sloppy, stretched wide. Blood clings to the corners of his lips, cum smeared across his chin, spit dripping down his throat. It's like he's starved and can’t decide whether to keep sucking at Remus’ thigh or take his cock deeper into his throat. He switches back and forth, frantically bouncing between both. Like an addict suffering through withdrawl, reduced to nothing but a brainless little thing with an oral fixation.
“Look at you,” Remus growls, threading his fingers tighter in his curls, pushing his cock further into Regulus' mouth. “Fucking yourself against the floor with my cock in your mouth. You like it, don’t you? You like choking on my cock. You like the taste of me keeping your greedy mouth full, isn't that right?”
Regulus whines, head bobbing faster now, gagging just a little as he pushes deeper. Spit and blood smear down his chin, slicking his throat, painting his pale skin in wet, glistening streaks.
Remus can feel the vampire venom pulsing in his bloodstream, setting his body alight. It makes every drag of Regulus’ tongue feel supercharged and every desperate moan shoot straight to his cock like a live wire.
Yet, he can’t stop talking.
“Fuck, you’re perfect like this,” he growls, guiding Regulus up and down on his cock. “My little baby vamp getting his fill. Will you be a good boy and suck me through another orgasm? Bet you’d even beg for it. You wouldn’t even care if I made a mess. You’d just lick it up, isn't that right sweetie?”
Regulus pulls off just long enough to gasp for air. His face is a ruined masterpiece—blood, spit and cum smeared across his mouth, his cheeks flushed and slick, lips swollen and trembling. He pants like he’s been edged for hours, eyes glazed with hunger.
“Please,” he sobs. “Let me make you cum again. I need it—I need your cum and your blood in my mouth. I want to taste it together.”
Remus groans, head falling back with a thud against the couch. His thighs twitch under Regulus’ hands, already slick with blood and sweat.
“You want that?” he rasps, voice half-broken. “Want to be my filthy little blood and cum slut, is that it? Want to choke on my cum while you drain me dry?”
Regulus nods frantically, already trying to take him back down, lips stretching around his cock in a wide, eager ‘O.’ His fingers dig bruises into Remus’ thighs as he makes a wreck of himself, drooling, moaning, rutting against the carpet like he’ll die if he stops.
“You’re such a mess,” Remus chokes out. “Fuck, baby, look at you. Sucking me off with blood still on your tongue. It’s all you think about, isn’t it? My cock, red with blood. Sucking it.”
He can feel it building again—his orgasm winding tight in his gut, heat coiling low like a fuse ready to blow. Regulus must feel it too, because he whines around him, high-pitched and needy, hips grinding harder against the floor, cock leaking untouched, dribbling against the fabric of his pants.
“Want me to fill that pretty mouth with something more than blood?” Remus growls.
Suddenly, the venom pulses again within him. It tears through him like a fucking curse, and whatever restraint he had left disintegrates. His hips jerk forward, bucking into Regulus’ mouth. No warning, no rhythm—just venonm induced arousal, just pathetic lecherous need.
“Fuck—fuck—can’t—” Remus pants, shaking all over. “You’ve drugged me, you fucking drugged me, baby. Jesus, can’t stop—can’t even fucking think properly anymore.”
He’s feral now, completely lost to the feeling pulsing in his veins. One hand fists in Regulus’ curls as the other clutches the couch for balance as he ruts into that soaking, blood-wet mouth. Regulus takes everything he is given. His throat works greedily around every thrust, tears spilling down his cheeks, cock grinding against the carpet in messy, mindless thrusts. He looks up through wet lashes, innocently, like he’s begging for Remus to spill into his slutty mouth.
Remus can’t breathe. Can’t think. He just fucks deeper, faster, his voice gone to gravel and gasps.
“Gonna cum,” he growls. “Gonna fucking cum down your throat, sweetheart. While you bleed me out like a little desperate freak.”
Regulus moans like he’s proud of it.
Remus snarls, thrusting once, twice, then holds Regulus down tight on his cock. “Take every fucking drop like a good boy. Don’t waste it.”
He spills into his throat with a broken cry, cock twitching violently as he empties himself in thick, hot bursts. Regulus doesn’t even flinch—just moans around him, eyes fluttering shut like it’s exactly what he’s been waiting for. He swallows around every pulse, suckling through it, milking him for more, greedy and relentless until Remus is trembling and gasping, thighs twitching under his hands.
Then Regulus tilts his head slightly—just enough to bare his fangs again and sink them deep into the soft flesh of Remus’ abused thigh, right as another wave of venom-induced arousal hits. Remus cries out, cock spurting with more streams of cum as his back arches, heels digging into the floor. Regulus’ mouth chases toward his cock, pulling him into his already blood-full mouth.
“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, voice cracking as his cock continues to jerk violently in Regulus’ mouth.
Regulus hums, eyes fluttering for a moment, like he’s savouring the taste. He pulls back from Remus’ cock for just a second, enough to mouth at the bloody bite on his thigh once more, tongue licking into the wound with obscene intimacy.
Then he swishes.
He swishes cum and blood around in his mouth like a fucking wine tasting before groaning low and wet in his throat and swallowing it all down in one indulgent gulp.
“Fuck, just look at you,” Remus pants, staring down at him. “Did you like that? My cum and my blood in your mouth at the same time?”
Regulus looks up at him with dazed, glassy eyes and lets his tongue loll out slightly—red-stained, glistening, filthy.
“Tastes better mixed,” he whispers.
Remus shakes his head, blissed out and breathless, before slumping back against the couch. Regulus doesn’t move. He stays where he is, mouth still latched around Remus’ softening cock, suckling lazily like he can’t bear to let go. His hips are still grinding—slow now, clearly aching in his pants—and he lets out a tiny, desperate whine when Remus twitches from overstimulation and gently tries to push him back.
“Sweetheart,” Remus breathes. “You made me cum twice in ten minutes. You’ve gotta give me a second to catch my breath.”
Regulus finally pulls off with a slick pop, lips swollen and red, chin gleaming with spit and blood. He’s still fully dressed—shirt twisted, trousers tented, completely untouched and visibly throbbing.
“But I didn’t…” he starts, then trails off with a soft whimper, biting his lip. His fangs glint in the low light, still sharp and incandescent. “I didn’t get to… and you’re getting soft and—and it’s not fair,” he huffs, bottom lip jutting, eyes narrowing in frustrated betrayal. “I need it. You promised I could ride you!”
Remus chuckles softly, dragging a hand through his hair. He does not remember promising, exactly. But okay.
“Baby,” he murmurs, “don’t be grumpy. Just give me—shit—give me a second to breathe.”
Regulus doesn’t reply. He just glares at him. Slowly, he leans down and sinks his fangs again into the tender spot on Remus’ inner thigh.
This time, it’s not a feeding bite.
It’s an injection.
Venom soaks into his skin.
First, it’s a chill, sharp and electric, running up the back of Remus’ neck like a shiver. Then heat blooms under his skin, a flush spreading across his chest, his forehead beading with sweat.
He gasps, mouth falling open. He can viscerally feel the moment the venom enters his blood stream.
“Oh, fuck.” He chokes, body jerking as his cock twitches violently against his stomach, filling fast, becoming heavy; like his blood’s rushing straight to it. His balls ache with it, suddenly full and overloaded with more cum
“Shit, Regulus. What the fuck did you do?” He’s panting now, dizzy and flushed, trying to speak but already bucking up into the air, chasing friction that doesn't come.
“You injected me with venom. Fuck. ” Remus answers for himself, hips lifting again.
Regulus just licks his lips and watches the way Remus’ cock throbs with newfound desperate need.
“I made you hard again.”
Remus whines.
Wails.
The sound rips out of him like it hurts—like it’s being dragged from somewhere deep and helpless, his body no longer his own. He’s flushed, sweating, cock twitching against his stomach, and he can feel it happening again—the venom twisting in his blood, making him frantic, feral and needy.
“I said I wanted to be fucked now,” Regulus whines, glaring as he rocks forward on his knees. “Not after ten minutes. Not after you catch your breathe. Now.”
Regulus stands up, lips curled into a tight frown as he continues to huff. “You came twice, and I still haven’t cum once.”
Suddenly, he starts stripping. Regulus tugs his shirt off over his head, rips at his trousers and underwear until they’re down past his pale thighs, and kicks them off with a growl. He’s flushed and furious and glistening with sweat, his cock hard and red, visibly aching where it bounces against his stomach.
Remus just stares.
He can’t help it. It’s the first time he’s actually seen him naked, and it knocks the breath from his lungs. Regulus is all pale skin. A narrow waist, dainty chest and lean thighs. His stomach is soft in the way that makes Remus want to bend him over and lick every inch of it. His cock, although small, is gorgeous—an angry red and leaking pitifully.
Remus moves before he knows what he’s doing, ripping his own shirt off in the process.
He grabs him, pulling him in by the waist until Regulus tumbles into his lap with a startled sound, bare thighs spreading over Remus’ lap in a straddle position. Their mouths crash together with no warning, just wet heat and tongues and the sharp click of fangs and teeth. All driven by a mixture of desperation, hunger and vampiric venom. And of course, the sight of that bare body now pressed against him.
Regulus gasps into the kiss and clings to him instinctively, hands clawing into his shoulders. He rolls his hips down without meaning to, and both of them moan when their cocks drag together.
Remus’ hand drops between their bodies, fingers curling around Regulus’ little cock. It's flushed, slick and twitching, so hard it looks painful. Regulus lets out a pathetic gasp into his mouth as he bucks forward frenziedly.
“Fuck, you’re leaking,” Remus breathes, breaking the kiss to stare down, thumbing over the head and smearing pre-cum over the soft skin of Regulus’ belly. “So fucking messy already.”
Regulus whines. A real, high-pitched baby vamp sound that warbles in his throat like he’s about to cry.
Suddenly, Remus lets go of his cock, hands moving instead to grasp both of Regulus’ arse cheeks in large, greedy handfuls. He kneads them, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading him open just enough to make Regulus gasp and rut forward helplessly.
It’s not long before Regulus makes a noise—a frustrated, broken sound like the world is ending. “Noo,” he moans, throwing his head back in a huff. "No, you were touching my cock. Want your hands there instead. Why did you stop?”
Remus doesn’t answer.
Instead, in one smooth, frenzied movement, he stands and hauls Regulus up with him, arms tight under his arse. Regulus yelps, scrambling to wrap his legs around his waist and his arms around his shoulders. He clings like a koala, face burying instantly in Remus’ bloodied neck, whimpering.
His mouth latches onto Remus’ neck as they walk. Not to bite or feed, just to mark. His lips drag against the still warm skin as he sucks a sharp bruise into the crook of Remus’ throat, then another lower down, greedy and possessive.
Remus whimpers. “Fuck—fuck. Do it again,” he pants, the venom still rushing through him like a drug. His skin is burning. His cock now leaking, smushed against Regulus’ stomach. “Need more—need you to inject me again, Reg. It felt so good.”
Regulus stills for a moment. “You want another dose?” His voice is soft, eyes wide and innocent.
“Please,” Remus begs, stumbling through the bedroom door with ragged steps. “It feels so fucking good. Just—just a little more, I need more.”
Regulus groans against his throat, fangs dragging lightly over sensitive skin, and says with a soft laugh, “You’d let me bite you anywhere, wouldn’t you?”
Remus moans in response as he drops them both to the bed in a heap.
Regulus’ back hits the mattress with a soft thump, curls fanning across the pillow, thighs spread where Remus had him cradled. But Remus doesn’t follow him all the way down. Instead, he stays standing—chest heaving, cock flushed and twitching—positioned right at the edge of the bed.
Regulus blinks up at him, lips still kiss-bitten and shining with spit. His legs dangle slightly off the mattress, heels dragging against the sheets, just barely long enough to stay hooked.
Suddenly, Remus grabs him. His big hands curl tight around his thighs, dragging him forward in one smooth, relentless pull. Regulus gasps as he’s hauled down the bed—his arse sliding against the sheets, knees parting on instinct until their bodies meet with a smack of skin. Remus’ cock presses hot and wet against his hole, flush against the seam of him, and they both moan at the contact.
Regulus’ legs shoot up automatically, wrapping tight around Remus’ waist as his ankles lock behind his back. He clings like a vice, back arching off the bed, trying desperatly to keep Remus right there.
“Anywhere,” Remus gasps. “Anywhere you want. Just—just fucking bite me again, please.”
One blink and Remus is no longer standing. He’s flat on the bed, spine against the headboard, legs sprawled, the room a blur of motion he didn’t even register.
Regulus is in his lap, straddling him, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Say it again,” he pants, clawing at Remus’ skin. “You want more?”
Remus nods frantically, hips twitching under the weight of Regulus’ thighs. “Please—fuck, I need it. Please bite me again—put more in. I'll fuck you so good after..”
Regulus doesn’t make him beg twice. He sinks his fangs into the curve of Remus’ neck, the side he hasn’t bitten yet. Not to feed—just to inject more venom. Just to give him exactly what he's asking so pretty for.
Remus cries out the second it hits. His whole body jolts. Heat surges like lightning through his veins, flooding every nerve ending, pooling low in his gut. His cock twitches violently against Regulus’ arse and he lets out the most broken, whimpering moan.
“Oh my god—fuck—fuck—it’s so much—it’s so good,” he gasps, squirming beneath him, head thrown back against the headboard, hands flying to grip Regulus’ waist like it’s the only thing tethering him.
Regulus stares down at him, stunned. “Fuck,” he says, grey eyes blown wide, “this is so hot. You’re so hot like this.”
Remus whines again, completely gone now. “Hurts, Reg. I’m so hard it hurts—please—I need—I don’t even know what I need, Regulus. It’s too much.”
Regulus shudders on top of him, hips rolling unconsciously, rubbing over Remus’ aching cock. “You’re fucking whining,” he breathes. “You’re actually whining for it, Remus. Shit. I like you like this. Stuffed with venom.”
Regulus leans in closer, breath ragged. “Mine,” he clips, pressing a kiss over the bite mark. “You asked me to do this—you begged me to. So I get to do whatever I want to you now, yeah?”
Remus moans in response, high-pitched and helpless.
And that’s all the permission Regulus needs.
He dips his head, nuzzles along Remus’ flushed, bitten-up neck—and without warning, takes a quick, greedy mouthful. Just because he can. Because Remus is his now. Because he tastes good and feels better and is entirely his.
Remus sobs.
Not from pain, from pleasure. From pathetic need. From the unbearable bliss of this baby vampire playing with him like a toy.
“Fuck—Reg—I—Jesus. I love when you bite me, please do it again—I’ll cum, I swear—just from that—please.”
Regulus groans, rutting down into his lap.
“No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I wanna ride you.”
Remus groans again, hips bucking helplessly beneath him. “Fuck, yes please, Regulus. Please let me—let me put it in, I need it so bad. I’ll be good, just let me. Please.”
“Yeah?” Regulus mewls, fingers trembling as he lifts himself slightly. “You want it that bad? You gonna beg to fuck me every week now, is that it?”
“I’ll do anything,” Remus gasps, entirely truthful. His hands grip at Regulus’ slim hips, desperate to hold onto something. “Please. Please, darling, I—I’ll be so good—just let me inside you. Please.”
Regulus lines them up with shaking hands, breath stuttering when the head of Remus’ cock slides against his slick hole. They both moan as it makes contact—then he sinks down, his greedy hole enveloping Remus almost immediately.
Regulus barely has time to settle, he’s only able to bounce up and down on Remus’ cock once before Remus’ hands grip his hips tighter, with something close to reverence, and stills him.
Remus groans, throat-straining, like the pleasure is too much too fast. He presses his forehead to the crook of Regulus’ neck, panting ragged and damp into his skin.
“Holy fuck,” Remus breathes. “You’re still so wet back there.”
Regulus only whimpers, a tiny broken sound like he’s embarrassed to be caught out. “Told you,” he says, barely a whisper. “Prepped before I came here. I used so much lube. So much.”
“You’re dripping,” Remus growls, completely gone. “It’s leaking down my cock—fuck—baby, you’re so fucking slick. Feels so good.”
He plants his heels into the mattress with a grunt, his thighs tensing beneath Regulus as he bucks up hard and sudden, driving himself deeper with a force that knocks the air right out of Regulus’ lungs.
Regulus yelps, head snapping back, curls sticking out in random tuffs.
“Remus!”
Remus grabs his hips in a bruising grip and keeps going—slamming up into him, again and again, until Regulus is bouncing helplessly on his cock, rabbit-quick and wild. The room fills with the obscene slap of skin against skin and the wet, messy glide of lube and precum slicked between them.
“You hear that?” Remus pants, voice hoarse and gravel-like. “That’s how fucking wet you are, baby. You’re so fucking good for me, letting me fuck you like this.”
“Oh my god,” Regulus whimpers, voice breaking. “Remus. I can feel you. In my stomach. I can actually feel your cock in my fucking stomach.”
Remus chokes on a groan, head snapping down to look—and fuck.
He can actually see it.
Right there, pressing up beneath the skin just under Regulus’ navel, is a firm bulge rising every time he thrusts in. His cock is deep and thick and stretching Regulus open so perfectly that his greedy little body is physically showing the shape of him through his stomach.
Remus lets out a low, guttural moan and grabs Regulus’ hips with bruising force, slamming up into him harder—deeper—chasing that bulge, obsessed with it now.
“You know why I can see it?” Remus growls as his hips snap up again. “Why I can see how deep I am, baby?”
Regulus moans, shaking his head mindlessly as his hand trembles over the bulge, feeling it move.
“It’s because you’re a little fucking slut,” Remus snarls, slamming up again and again. “Already stuffed full of my cum from earlier. From when you swallowed up all my cum with your greedy mouth. And you’re also all full of my blood, too. No wonder I can see my cock in your little tummy.”
He thrusts hard watching the bulge bounce and press higher with every motion.
“You’re stuffed,” Remus breathes, nearly undone. “You’re so full, sweetheart. There’s no room left for anything but my cock.”
Regulus sobs, lips trembling, blood-streaked mouth falling open. “Yes—fuck—yes, please. Don’t stop, wanna be kept full, please Remus.”
Remus groans, dropping his head to the crook of Regulus’ neck, panting against blood-warmed skin. “Gonna fuck you until the venom wears off,” he promises. “And then I’m gonna fuck you again.”
Regulus doesn’t seem to be able to hold himself up anymore.
His thighs are trembling where they’re spread around Remus’ lap, knees barely managing to hold, muscles spasming each time Remus drives up into him. His hips are pliant now—slack, loose, just letting himself be fucked. Not bouncing, not even bracing. Just letting Remus use him like a little cock sleeve, wrung out, open and all willing.
He falls forward with a wrecked cry, collapsing against Remus’ chest.
“Please,” he snivels. “Please, Remus. Don’t stop—don’t stop.”
Remus snarls, curling an arm tight around his waist, holding him there like he’s property. “I’m not fucking stopping,” he pants. “Not until you’re crying as you cum around me and sink your fucking teeth into me again.”
Regulus keens, lips brushing blindly at Remus’ collarbone.
It’s not coordinated or seductive.
It’s pure instinct.
He mouths at Remus like a baby—like it’s just a reflex now, a soft, open-mouthed drag of his lips along warm skin as Remus bucks up into him again and again and again. The bulge in his belly shifts with every thrust. He’s trembling around it, clenching and fluttering like he doesn’t know what else to do but take it.
“Look at you,” Remus whispers, panting into his curls. “My sweet little baby vamp. All limp and fucked out and sucking on my skin like you don’t even know you’re doing it.”
Regulus lets out a sobbing, needy sound and whines, “Need to—need to taste you—just a little, just one more bite."
Before Remus can even answer or provide explicit permission, Regulus opens his mouth and bites.
His fangs pierce the same spot at the side of Remus’ neck, messy and imprecise, sinking in shallow and greedy like he’s still fucking starving. Like he needs this more than anything. His mouth latches on with a wet, helpless sound and suckles.
It all feels too good. The feeding, the warmth, the fluttering around his cock as Regulus clamps down and moans against his skin—really, it's all just too fucking much.
“Fucking—fuck, Regulus—”
And then, he’s cumming.
Remus’ cock throbs deep inside Regulus, pulsing as he spills his load—thick, hot, filling him so full it immediately leaks back out around the base of his cock. And Regulus—sweet, desperate Regulus—shudders in his arms and cums with him, cock untouched, body going taut as he sobs, spilling against their stomachs.
His fangs sink deeper at the same moment. Like his body needs the blood to survive the orgasm, and at that, both of them wail. Remus’ body locks, his hips jerking through it, and Regulus clutches at him like he might fall apart if he lets go, his mouth still sealed to the bite, drinking through the aftershocks.
They stay like that for a long moment until Regulus finally pulls off his neck—slow and sticky, lips red and swollen, chin and chest soaked in blood. His eyes flutter open, glassy and dazed, lips parted around a heavy breath as he sways in Remus’ lap, still impaled on his thick, long cock.
He doesn’t move to lift off.
He just… sinks.
He relaxes deeper onto Remus, impaling himself with a whimper, his greedy, overstimulated hole fluttering around the cock buried so deep it might as well be part of him now. His thighs twitch with sensitivity, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he adjusts, just slightly, seeking a position that’s more comfortable. Coincidentally, it’s also the one that leaves him feeling the most full and the most obscenely stuffed.
Cockwarming.
Regulus’ forehead drops to Remus’ shoulder with a satisfied, sleepy little whine. “Mmh,” he hums, dizzy and sweet. “You're still hard,” he mumbles, clenching around Remus just enough to make them both jolt. “I like that.”
Remus groans. His hands are still on Regulus’ hips, fingers digging into pale, blood-streaked skin.
“I can feel you twitching,” Regulus adds softly, voice slurred with wrecked indulgence. “Still inside me. So fucking deep, I’m so full…”
And then he shifts, just a little, and looks down between them.
There’s a mess.
Blood smeared down Remus’ thighs. Cum leaking from Regulus’ hole. Slick dripping down their skin in glistening trails, smeared across Remus’ lap and staining the bed sheets beneath them.
Regulus frowns.
He shifts forward, chest still pressed to Remus’, and drags his tongue slowly up the line of Remus’ neck—lapping at the still-seeping bite and the sticky patch of blood that’s run down to his collarbone.
“Mmh,” he sighs, licking again. “Still so fucking warm.”
Remus watches as Regulus shifts in his lap, still cockwarming, still trembling slightly, but now with purpose. His eyes are heavy-lidded, dazed and glowing, but his hands are eager, moving like they can’t keep up with his need.
He reaches down between his spread thighs, fingers sliding into the obscene mess leaking from where Remus is still buried inside him. Blood. Cum. Sweat. Lube. It’s all there, slick and warm, and Regulus scoops it all up greedily—like he’s starving for it.
And then he shoves his fingers into his mouth.
Not delicately.
Desperately.
He moans low in his throat as he licks them clean, tongue flicking between each knuckle, sucking down every drop like it’s divine. His eyes flutter shut and his body rocks forward just slightly, like the taste alone might make him cum again.
“Fuck,” Remus whispers, effectively reduced to one word from the vision in front of him.
But Regulus isn’t done.
He goes back again—deeper this time—fingers curling under his thighs to gather more of the slick mess dripping down the backs of his legs. It leaks out around Remus’ cock in warm rivulets, pooling on his skin. Regulus swipes through it shamelessly and groans when his fingers come back soaked.
He doesn't hesitate.
He brings them to his lips and sucks with hungry, wet sounds, eyes dark with lust. Like he’s addicted to it. Like tasting their combined mess is his new favourite meal.
Regulus is still licking his fingers, eyes half-lidded and bliss-drunk, when Remus’ hips twitch under him.
Just once.
A soft, involuntary buck that shifts his cock a little deeper. Not much—just enough to remind them both where they still are, and how Regulus is still plugged, full of him.
Regulus freezes mid-lick, his fingers still in his mouth, a tiny gasp catching in his throat.
Remus groans. “Fuck—sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he starts, voice hoarse. But Regulus only clenches around him in response and lets out the softest moan, mouth still full of his own fingers, lashes fluttering.
“No,” Regulus whimpers, pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a wet little pop. He drapes himself across Remus’ chest like a ragdoll, arms slipping around his shoulders, face nuzzling into the curve of Remus’ neck. “Don’t stop. Please. I want it. Again.”
Remus huffs out a broken, soft laugh. “I thought you were just cockwarming, sweetie.”
“I am,” Regulus says softly, words slurring into Remus’ skin. “But you’re twitching inside me and it feels so good. Just wanna be rocked a little. Just wanna be milked.”
That’s all Remus needs to hear.
He plants his feet and starts to move again. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that push up into Regulus’ soaked, overstimulated hole. He groans at the tight, fluttery drag of it—how wet he still is, how soft and swollen and greedy he feels wrapped around him.
Regulus melts.
He doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t move at all, really—just lies there, boneless and wrecked, mouth still pressed to the side of Remus’ throat. He starts lapping at it lazily, tongue dragging over the bite mark like he’s soothing it. Not biting. Not feeding. Just licking.
Suckling, actually.
Tiny, mindless kitten licks. Like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Like Remus’ blood is comfort now, not hunger.
“Good boy,” Remus breathes, wrapping an arm tight around his back, keeping him close. “You like that? Like being all full and fucked and lapping at me like a baby?”
Regulus lets out the softest sound, almost a whimper, and nods against his neck, lips brushing over blood-warmed skin.
“Feels so good,” he mumbles, slurred and sleepy. “Feels so good when you move like that. So deep. I don’t even have to do anything. You’re just… milking me.”
Remus groans, hips rolling again. “You don’t have to do anything, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah? Just lie there and let me fuck you. Let me make you cum like this. All warm and slow.”
And Regulus does.
He clings to Remus like a doll, licking softly at his neck, cock still untouched but leaking between their bellies as little moans spill from his mouth every time Remus rocks up into him just right. It's like he's so sensitive, that with every pull he twitches—but he never asks to stop. Just whimpers softly and keeps suckling.
“Gonna cum again, baby?” Remus whispers. “Just from this? From being rocked full while you lap up my blood?”
Regulus nods, frantic, mouth still working over the bite. His hips twitch, thighs trembling, and then he gasps, high and soft, like it sneaks up on him as he cums.
It’s messy.
Warm and wet between their bellies, spilling untouched from his cock like his body just gave up even trying to hold anything else in. His whole body jerks, thighs quivering around Remus’ waist, but he doesn’t lift his head or stop licking. He just keeps mouthing at the bite—suckling like it’s his only anchor—while his body shakes through the aftershocks.
Remus moans, hips still rocking, slower now, grinding deep through the way Regulus clenches around him. “That’s it, baby,” he breathes, threading a hand into his curls. “Just like that. Let it happen. Fuck, you’re so good—so full and pretty and perfect.”
Regulus whimpers into his throat, face flushed and sticky, lips wet with blood. “Still… still leaking,” he mumbles. “You’re still twitching inside me. Feels so good.”
“I know,” Remus whispers, tilting his head so Regulus can reach more of the wound. “Just keep licking, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything else. I’ve got you.”
Regulus hums against his neck, the barest brush of sound as he licks again.
Remus breathes deep, letting the weight of it all settle, one hand cradling the back of Regulus’ head, the other splayed across his slick hip. The sight is truly something: his little baby vamp fucked-out, boneless, and dripping. Even his thighs twitch where they rest around Remus’ waist, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even shift. He just stays where he is—impaled and shuddering—his soft little body wrapped around Remus for comfort.
Remus knows he should stop. He should just let them rest. But the vampire venom is still pulsing through his body, all the way to his cock…
Regulus squirms just slightly. A little shift, no more than a sigh of movement as his hole clenches around Remus’ cock.
Remus doesn’t mean to move, really, but he does.
Just a single thrust. A slow, instinctual rock of his hips that drives his cock just a little deeper into that still-clenching hole.
Regulus jolts with a gasp. “A-ah—!”
His whole body twitches in Remus’ lap, a helpless whimper dragging from his throat as his thighs squeeze tighter around Remus’ waist. His forehead presses harder into Remus’ neck, lips still sticky and blood-wet where they mouth gently at the bite.
And Remus can’t stop.
He fucks up into him again. Then again.
Rhythmic now.
Small, wet thrusts that punch soft little “ah—ah—ah” noises from Regulus’ mouth with each bounce. He clings like a ragdoll, barely moving, just letting himself be fucked—stuffed full all over again without protest.
Remus growls low against his temple, losing rhythm, losing sanity, chasing the feel of that tight, twitching hole swallowing him down again and again.
Regulus whines, one hand reaching back to feel where Remus’ cock is sliding in and out of his slick, overstretched hole. “No, Remus, it’s leaking out,” he complains, voice all whiny. “I can feel you fucking your cum out of me—please, no. Need to be stuffed again. Want it dripping because you overfilled me, not ‘cause it’s gone.”
That’s all it takes. Remus cuts him off with a thrust so deep it knocks a little breathless squeak from his chest—and then he cums.
Hard.
Hot pulses of cum spill deep inside Regulus, thick, fast and heavy—and it’s too much. There’s no space left. It has nowhere to go.
Regulus chokes on a whimper when it overflows, entirely obscene as it leaks straight out of his hole and slides down Remus’ cock, dripping onto his lap and the bedsheets beneath them.
“Oh my god,” Regulus sobs, trembling. “It’s leaking out—it’s leaking, Remus. I can’t even hold it in.”
“I know,” Remus pants, still pressing up into him with aftershocks. “Fuck, baby, you’re so full. Stuffed to the brim.”
Regulus clings tighter, burying his face in Remus’ neck again, his mouth still licking lazy, sticky circles over the bite as his ruined little body melts into him, all cock-drunk and blissed-out.
They stay like that for a long time. Still joined, Regulus still dripping, Remus still warm.
Regulus doesn’t move. He doesn’t even twitch. He just stays curled around Remus like a second skin, licking softly at his throat, little whimpery sighs spilling from his mouth every time Remus shifts beneath him.
He’s still impaled.
Still leaking.
Warm rivulets of cum seep out around the base of Remus’ cock, slicking his thighs, pooling under them. Every now and then, Regulus twitches, hole clenching softly like he’s trying to hold it in. But there’s no use. He’s too full. It just keeps leaking out of him.
His fingers continue to move lazily behind him. Every now and then, he dips two fingers down between his thighs, swipes through the sticky mess, then brings them to his mouth and sucks.
Wet, absent little slurps.
Remus just watches, hazy and reverent, as Regulus repeats the motion again and again. He’s not even looking. Just mouthing at his own fingers like a baby, glassy-eyed and soothed by the taste of their combined ruin.
Eventually, Remus exhales. One long, deep breath that feels like it finally settles the world back into place.
His hand slides up into Regulus’ hair, fingers stroking the blood-matted curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re not allowed to feed from anyone else,” he murmurs.
Regulus lets out a small, sated noise against his throat, blinking up at him. “Wouldn’t want to.”
“I mean it,” Remus adds, dragging a hand slowly down Regulus’ bare spine. “You’re mine now. Mine to feed. Mine to fuck. Mine to keep stuffed full of cum and cock.”
Regulus doesn’t argue. He just hums, nodding softly, breath still shaky but sweet. “Yours,” he whispers. “I like the idea of being yours.”
“Good,” Remus says, voice rumbling in his chest. “Because I’m never letting you go.”
Regulus just melts against him in response—all loose limbs and lazy tongue, still licking faintly at the corner of his mouth like he can’t stand to let a single drop go to waste. His hole twitches around Remus’ cock, still plugged full, still leaking onto his thighs, as his fingers drag back lazily to scoop up another streak of cum and blood from between his legs, popping them back into his mouth with a wet, mindless suck.
Remus groans, because fuck, he really meant it.
This pretty little baby vamp is his now.
To feed.
To fuck.
To keep stuffed and spoiled and ruined. To be ruined by.
And if Regulus wants to spend the rest of his life cockwarming in Remus’ lap, licking himself clean with cum dripping down his thighs and blood on his lips?
Well, that sounds like forever well spent.