𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

he laughed at that – loudly. “a fucking murder sommelier?” wren tilted his head, grinning wildly at him. “oh, baby boy. yeah, just like that.” declan said he’d go if wren really wanted him there, and wren could hardly pretend that he didn’t. “i want you to pick them out, and i want you to watch the way they wriggle like the vermin they are.” wren had never been particularly careful with the way he spoke about humans. he’d made his disdain for them perfectly clear. “we can give them to your flowers.” the humor faded when declan offered more of his throat. wren’s chest rose and fell with breaths he didn’t need, his eyes fixed on the pulse beneath his skin. “you can help,” he said quietly, his voice slipping into that treacherous tone – the one that meant the beast inside his chest was screaming to be let out. the possessiveness wrapped around his ribs whenever it came to declan was unbearable most days, but it was even worse now. and declan was begging. declan’s heartbeat fluttered in wren’s ears, and his mouth flooded with venom. he couldn’t manage another word – his fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of declan’s neck, and a wicked grin pulled across his face. wren knew he must’ve looked like a mess; pupils narrowed into cat-like slits, venom spilling past his lips, but he couldn’t help the way the animal inside him came alive whenever declan was concerned. inked fingers pressed beneath declan’s chin, holding him in place as wren nuzzled against the soft skin of his throat. perfect. soft. his. his fangs grazed over his neck, and this close, the sound of his heartbeat was almost unbearable. wren pressed his fangs into him slowly, and a whimper escaped him at the first taste of blood. it was sweet. unlike anything he’d ever tasted before. declan was the first fae he’d ever fed from, and for half a second, wren wondered if they all tasted like this. the thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came. it didn’t matter. what mattered was that it was declan’s. a vampire’s bite could be euphoric, or it could be agony. the worst pain imaginable, enough to leave someone begging for death. but not this. never for declan. wren’s venom was meant to be predatory, filling someone with the sweetest sensations, making them crave the bite long after it was over. he wondered what it would do to a fae. blood coated his tongue, and every part of him wanted to be greedy. he wanted more. he wanted everything declan would give him, but he didn’t want him weak or sick afterward. so, reluctantly – very fucking reluctantly – wren forced himself to pull away, soothing the bite with slow, kittenish licks until the blood stopped flowing. his inked hands turned declan’s head, and wren kissed him, pressing his tongue into his mouth so he could taste himself there. “you taste that, baby boy?” he mumbled against his lips. “best fucking thing i’ve ever had.”

declan laughed before he could help it, breathless and bright, caught somewhere between delight and disbelief that this had somehow become being this. how had killing someone turned into something casual and intimate, binding them together, even when they weren't together? that should not have warmed something in him, but it did, and it showed in very part of him that he tried to keep still. wren knew exactly what kind of gift would make declan's magic stir beneath his skin. not flowers cut and put in a vase, but bodies turned back to the ground. rot becoming root, cruelty turned into something gentle, a waste of space sweetening the soil until something green and beautiful grew from the place he'd been put down.

"that's a very romantic thing to say to me." he murmured, words coming out thinner than he meant them to, because wren's mouth was already at his throat and he couldn't form a thought anymore, much less anything clever, before his head started to unravel and his laughter turned into these breathy little hiccups that he couldn't stop. "wren, please." he wasn't even sure what he was begging for anymore as his hands grasped desperately for anything he could dig his fingers into.

he had been waiting for this since the day he met wren, fascinated by the thing that lived inside of him, so ready to give himself over to wren even then that he wasn't sure that it was safe.

wren had told declan that the bite didn't have to hurt. he hadn't really been convinced, because, well, teeth were teeth and they were sharp. so some small sensible part braced himself for the pain that never came anyways. pain that never really came, just a dull ache as wren's teeth pressed into his skin and then declan's body went still.

not fear, barely even shock. more like the moment before a seed split open underground, impossible pressure of something alive realizing it had been given permission to grow. warmth bloomed from the place wren's fangs sank into him, gold spilling under his skin in thin veins that looked like roots spreading over his neck, down his throat, across his collarbone, stopping beneath his ribs. "wren," he gasped.

it should have been a warning, but it wasn't. his hands tightened in wren's shoulders, fingers curling hard into fabric and skin, desperate for something solid while his magic poured open eagerly, like the bite had poured dawn straight into his blood. the realization that his glamour was spilling further, making the plants declan had littered around wren's townhouse curl towards them, made something helpless and ashamed twist low in declan's stomach, because he liked it. he liked it so much he could barely breathe around it. he liked being taken from.