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huenie · 1 month ago

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Hi, could you do one about Remmick from Sinners? Context: The reader has an ethereal beauty and is a wonderful dancer. Remmick saw him dancing one night and became obsessed with the male reader. So, he pretended to be attacked and stopped by the reader's house. The reader allowed him into his house. As time went on, the reader discovered he was a vampire, but ended up falling in love anyway. Then, Remmick and the reader began having a very pornographic and bloody night. (At the end, the reader could be transformed by Remmick, please, and Remmick could have a Greek kiss fetish, please 🙏🏻).

Tainted Bliss

Remmick x Male Reader

Summary: His unfiltered desire for you led Remmick down a path from which he wouldn't return until you were his, bound to him for eternity.

A/N: Hadn't a single clue what Greek Kissing was, but when I looked it up it seemed more like a kink or honestly just sexual foreplay? I'm not sure how to put it. Anyway I did my best with the ethereal beauty and dancing part, hoping it turned out how you wanted. It also ended up being oddly soft, like that wasn't my intention at all when it came to the smut.

TW: Fingering - Anal - Gay sex - Biting - Brief Greek Kiss - Blood - Praise - Vampirism - Females DNI - Minors DNI

Words: 12.8k

From the deepest shadows, Remmick watched, captivated. There was an otherworldly quality to you, a beauty so profound it transcended the mortal, touching upon the ethereal. Your very presence was a breathtaking vision, a surreal masterpiece that stirred even his unliving heart, making it thrum against his ribs with a sensation he hadn't known for centuries. Every delicate curve of your form, the gentle allure in your eyes, the way your long lashes caught the moonlight and shimmered like spun silver—each detail was a stroke of divine artistry. Your lips, so soft, held the promise of an enchanting smile, and your nose, with its perfectly unique curve, rivaled the idealized sculptures of ancient Greece. Your hair, a cascade framing your face, seemed to weave itself into the moonlight, creating an aura of unparalleled grace. The silver glow caressed every perfect contour, and Remmick, a creature of shadow and night, found himself utterly consumed by it. He loved the sight of you, loved such breathtaking beauty, loved it with an intensity that demanded possession.

Each night, he returned to his hidden vantage point, drawn by an irresistible force. His initial hunt, the search for a family to claim, had been utterly forgotten. His purpose had shifted, narrowed, focusing solely on you. The shadows became his sanctuary, a veil behind which he could indulge his obsession. He was mesmerized by the fluid grace of your movements, by the effortless way you danced across the worn wooden floor. It seemed to transform beneath your feet, becoming a stage built just for you, a testament to your innate rhythm and joy. The pure, unburdened elation radiating from your face as you danced, free of any earthly worry, was a beacon in his desolate existence.

He watched as you swayed, a silent melody echoing in his mind, mirroring your every turn. Your hands, expressive and lithe, gestured with a captivating elegance. The fabric of your clothes shifted with your movements, a whisper of material against skin, highlighting the lean strength of your frame. A stray strand of hair would sometimes fall across your forehead, and the unconscious, graceful way you’d brush it back only tightened the invisible bonds that were forming around Remmick's cold heart. He noted the slight tilt of your head when you seemed lost in the music, the soft hum that sometimes escaped your lips, carried on the night air like a private blessing.

With each passing night, the possessiveness grew, a slow, insatiable hunger taking root within him. The desire to simply observe transmuted into a fierce, unwavering resolve. You were not merely a beautiful sight to be admired from afar; you were an epiphany, the missing piece of his endless, empty eternity. The thought of anyone else laying eyes on such beauty, of anyone else experiencing the warmth of your smile or the lightness of your spirit, became an unbearable torment. You were meant for him, and him alone.

The moon, a silent conspirator, continued to cast its silver net over you, illuminating every perfect detail, every ephemeral quality that drew Remmick deeper into his fixation. He no longer sought a family; he had found his eternity in you. This ethereal man, this breathtaking vision, would be his. He would claim you, not with force, but with an inexorable pull, drawing you into his world, into his endless night. He would safeguard that beauty, that joy, that unparalleled essence, keeping it for himself, forever. The shadows that had once concealed his existence now became the borders of his burgeoning domain, with you at its radiant, captive center.

The nights bled into each other, each one deepening Remmick's desperate need. It was no longer enough to simply watch, to admire from afar. A gnawing hunger had taken root in his ancient being, a primal craving that transcended mere obsession. He needed you. He needed to feel the warmth of your skin, the delicate curve of your body pressed against his own, a stark contrast to his perpetual cold. He craved the taste of you, a sensation his unliving palate had never known but now imagined with an intensity that bordered on agony. This was a need that no whispered prayer could answer, a desire no god, merciful or vengeful, would ever sanction. It was a dark, consuming fire that demanded satisfaction.

He needed you beneath him, pliant and yielding, to trace every exquisite line of your form with his hands, to commit to memory the unique landscape of your flesh. He yearned to know the subtle rise and fall of your breath, the soft sighs that would escape your lips. He envisioned the silk of your hair fanned out against his skin, the delicate pulse in your throat beneath his touch. Most of all, he needed to know your taste—to savor the very essence of you, to claim it as his own in the most intimate, undeniable way.

Remmick, a creature of calculated moves and ancient cunning, knew exactly what had to be done. The physical barrier of your home’s threshold, an age-old protection against his kind, was the first obstacle. He couldn't simply take you; he had to be invited in, to bridge that sacred boundary. And to do that, he had to earn your trust. It was a delicate dance, one he was prepared to lead with infinite patience and cunning. He would weave himself into the fabric of your life, a subtle thread at first, then an indispensable part of your existence. He would offer solace, companionship, understanding—whatever you unconsciously yearned for.

He would make you believe you needed him too. He would peel back the layers of your polite resistance, find the hidden desires buried deep within your soul, the unspoken longings you might not even admit to yourself. He saw the spark of something wild and untamed in your eyes when you danced, a yearning for freedom and passion that mirrored his own dark intensity. He knew, with an ancient certainty, that deep down, you craved the same all-consuming connection, the same surrender to a powerful, undeniable force. And he, Remmick, was that force. He would orchestrate events, subtly manipulate circumstances, until the moment was perfect. Until you, willingly and irrevocably, gave in to his every being, gave into the potent, inescapable pull between you. You would be his, not by force, but by your own awakening desire, your own profound need for him, an eternity of ethereal beauty locked in his shadow.

He found his way in through your politeness, a vulnerability he had long since mastered exploiting. The sun was a dying ember on the horizon, its final, fiery kiss a calculated risk Remmick willingly embraced. He needed to be invited, and for that, he needed to appear vulnerable, a stark contrast to the predator he truly was. He knew you would let him in, that your inherent kindness would override any caution. He knew you would care for him unlike the others, those fleeting shadows of his past who had either fled in terror or fallen to his true nature. And so, with a grim determination, he prepared for his performance.

He tore at his old linen shirt, the coarse fabric giving way with a satisfying rip. His movements were swift, precise, as he covered himself in the fresh, still-warm blood of a goat he'd slaughtered moments before. The coppery scent was strong, sickeningly sweet, a macabre perfume that would sell his charade. He worked quickly, smearing the dark liquid across his face, his bare arms, letting it seep into the torn cloth. Then, he stumbled towards your home, the last fiery rays of the sun beginning their final descent. They licked at his pale, ancient skin, a searing caress that burned with a ferocity he hadn't felt in centuries. The pain was sharp, agonizing, but he welcomed it, knowing it would lend authenticity to his suffering.

A guttural cry, more animal than human, tore from his throat as he collapsed onto your doorstep. "Help me!" he rasped, his voice raw with feigned desperation. "Please, someone... anyone!" He twisted his body, making sure the tattered shirt and the fresh blood were undeniably visible. He let out a pained groan, clenching his fists and digging his nails into his palms, the self-inflicted pain adding to the realism. He knew the sun was still singing him, felt the sizzle of his skin, but he held his position, his eyes fixed on your door. He waited, a silent predator masquerading as prey, his heart pounding a rhythm of anticipation against his ribs. He knew you would open it, knew you would step into the trap he had so meticulously set.

The soft murmur of your footsteps approached, hesitant but resolute. Remmick heard the click of the latch, the slight creak of the door as it opened, a sliver of light spilling out onto his feigned agony. He forced a shudder, a pained gasp, making his body seem to convulse slightly. "Please," he choked out again, his voice barely a whisper, yet laced with an urgent, desperate plea.

Then, you were there, a silhouette against the warm glow of your home. Your eyes, wide with concern, immediately fell upon his blood-soaked form, the raw, sun-scorched skin, the desperate vulnerability he so expertly projected. He felt the soft brush of your hand against his arm, a tentative touch that sent a jolt, not of pain, but of exhilarating triumph through him. "Oh, my gods!" you gasped, your voice a blend of shock and genuine distress. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Some…..men," Remmick mumbled, letting his head loll to the side as if losing consciousness. "Got caught...trying to make it back..." He let out another pained groan, allowing his body to sag even further. He knew the concern in your eyes was real, a purity he had almost forgotten existed. It was exactly what he needed.

He felt your gentle hands on him, helping him shift, trying to find a comfortable position. You were asking more questions, your voice laced with worry, but he only managed to offer more fragmented, pained sounds in response. He knew you wouldn't leave him out there. He knew the warmth of your compassion was too strong to resist.

"We need to get you inside," you murmured, and the words were music to his ears, the sweet chime of victory. You carefully maneuvered him, your strength surprising, as you began to pull him across the threshold. The moment his body crossed the boundary, the lingering sting of the sun's touch vanished, replaced by the cool, comforting air of your home. He let his weight rest heavily against you, savoring the feeling of your body supporting his. The subtle scent of your skin, the warmth radiating from you, enveloped him, a heady mixture that made his still heart thrum with a dark, satisfied rhythm.

You guided him to a soft armchair, gently easing him down. He kept his eyes mostly closed, feigning weakness, but not so much that he couldn't take in the details of your living space: warm, lived-in, filled with an inviting comfort that spoke of genuine care. As you knelt beside him, your touch tender as you began to assess his 'wounds,' Remmick allowed himself a small, internal smile. The bait had been taken. You were inside, and so was he. The game had just begun.

From that night forward, Remmick understood he had you ensnared, a knowledge that only deepened his resolve. The memory of your hands on his skin, so gentle and sincere, was a persistent echo. He recalled the profound compassion in your eyes, a stark contrast to the truth of his being, a truth you remained utterly oblivious to. The subtle scent of your skin became a constant, almost tangible presence, a phantom comfort that fueled his growing obsession.

He began to return each night, his visits cloaked in the guise of gratitude. He claimed his thanks could only be expressed through music, a talent he feigned discovering within himself purely for your benefit. He would play for you, soft melodies that filled the quiet evenings, watching as your face softened, your guard lowering with each note. He pretended not to know of your dancing, acting surprised and delighted when you moved with such effortless grace. This charade, however, was a mockery; he knew intimately the way your body flowed, every sway and turn ingrained in his memory from countless nights spent in the shadows, observing.

He memorized the slight curve of your lips when you smiled at him, a genuine warmth that made his calculated deceptions feel almost real. He had taken to calling you "little bird," a tender endearment that seemed to delight you, eliciting that captivating smile. He recalled the first time your hands met his, the perfect fit as you danced together, a seamless connection that sent a dark thrill through him. Your laughter, bright and unburdened, was another detail he meticulously cataloged, a sound he now craved above all others.

You were perfection in his eyes, everything he had ever desired and more. You transcended the simple concept of family, becoming an all-consuming entity that permeated his every thought, every waking moment, and every lingering shadow of his unlife. You were the culmination of centuries of unfulfilled longing, a singular focus that had replaced the vast emptiness of his existence. Remmick reveled in this consumption, this profound absorption, finding a twisted pleasure in the absolute control he believed he wielded. He had you, completely and utterly, and the thought was a sweet, intoxicating poison.

Then came the night. Remmick stood at your door, a silent sentinel as he had so many times before, a soft, expectant smile on his lips. But this time, something was different. Your eyes, usually so soft and welcoming, held a knowing look, a flicker of something he hadn't seen before – not fear, not anger, but a profound, almost sorrowful understanding.

"You can't come in," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with an authority that stopped him cold. The air between you crackled with an unspoken truth. The familiar warmth that usually radiated from your home felt like a physical barrier, a shimmering wall he couldn't breach.

Remmick's carefully constructed composure shattered. His eyes, wide with disbelief and a dawning dread, searched yours frantically. "Wh-what's wrong, love?" he stammered, his carefully cultivated accent slipping, a hint of his true, ancient brogue creeping into his voice. "What in God's name are ye talkin' about?" He instinctively reached out, his hand extending towards you, towards the warmth, the life, the very essence he craved.

But as his fingers neared your form, an invisible force repelled him. It wasn't a physical push, but an undeniable, unyielding barrier that prevented his touch. His hand hovered in the air, trembling, unable to bridge the infinitesimal distance between you. A cold dread seeped into his being, colder than any crypt. He tried again, pushing against the unseen wall, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Let me in, darlin'! What's this madness?" His voice was laced with a raw desperation, a panic he hadn't truly felt since his turning. He tried to take a step forward, but his feet felt rooted to the spot, held fast by an unseen power.

You watched him, your expression a mixture of sadness and quiet resolve. The knowing in your eyes deepened, mirroring the despair that was now blossoming in Remmick's chest. The unspoken truth hung heavy between you, a truth that had been whispered on the wind, perhaps, or revealed in a forgotten dream. The magic of his carefully crafted deception was dissolving, leaving him exposed, vulnerable, and utterly bewildered by this sudden, impenetrable barrier. The world, which he had so confidently bent to his will, was now defying him, and the source of that defiance stood before him, the very person he had intended to claim forever.

Your voice, though soft, cut through Remmick's growing panic. "I was so naive," you began, your gaze unwavering, holding his in its steady grip. "So incredibly foolish." A slow, knowing shake of your head accompanied your words. "I dismissed the strange hours, the unnatural pallor of your skin, even the way you healed from that 'injury' on my doorstep, faster than any human could. I wanted to believe the story you spun, the vulnerable man seeking help."

You took a deep, fortifying breath, the very air around you seeming to solidify with the weight of your realization. "But the nightmares started. Not of you, not exactly, but of something cold and ancient, shadows clinging to the edges of my waking thoughts. And then... the stories. The old tales my grandmother used to tell me, whispers of creatures that couldn't cross a threshold uninvited, of eyes that held centuries of secrets." Your voice dropped, heavy with a heartbreaking certainty. "It all clicked into place, Remmick. You're... you're a vampire, aren't you?"

The word hung in the air, a stark, undeniable truth that pierced through his carefully constructed lies. Remmick flinched, not from your accusation, but from the raw, open honesty in your voice.

You stepped closer to the invisible barrier, your eyes pleading now, a new vulnerability in their depths. "Why, Remmick? Why go through all this trouble? The music, the 'little bird,' the dancing... the feigned injury." A tear tracked a path down your cheek, catching the faint moonlight. "Tell me, if you're truly what I think you are, why haven't you... why am I still human? Is it because..." Your voice hitched, thick with emotion. "...is it because you love me, the way I've come to love you? Is that why you're playing this game? Because if not, if this is all just a monstrous ploy, then I don't understand."

Remmick's chest ached with a sensation he hadn't known was possible for his kind—a profound, gut-wrenching pain. Your words, your tears, were more potent than any sun he'd ever faced. He yearned to bridge the gap, to touch you, to wipe away your tears, to pull you into his arms and silence your doubts with the truth of his dark affection.

"Ah, little bird," he rasped, his voice raw with a desperate plea, his Irish brogue thick with genuine anguish. "Please, darlin'. Just let me in. Let me explain everything to ye, from the very start. I swear on all that's unholy, I'll tell ye the truth. Just... let me in." His hand reached out again, trembling, hovering an inch from the invisible wall, his eyes fixed on yours, pleading for the invitation that would allow him to cross the threshold and lay bare the centuries of longing that had finally found their anchor in you.

You took another shaky breath, your gaze unwavering from his. Slowly, deliberately, you stepped aside, opening the doorway wider. As you moved, Remmick's keen eyes caught a glint in your hand—a sharp piece of wood, clutched tight. A stake, he realized, his ancient instincts flaring, but quickly subdued. This wasn't the terrified scream and wild swings he was used to; this was controlled, desperate courage.

"Come in, Remmick," you said, your voice low and laced with a tremor, but firm. "But you better not try anything stupid. Not one single thing."

Remmick moved, a predator stepping into a cage, though the cage was of his own making. He walked past the threshold, every fiber of his being tingling with the sensation of truly being inside, invited. His hands instinctively rose, palms open, a gesture of surrender. "I swear on me life, little bird, I wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, tinged with his thick Irish brogue. "Not a blessed thing."

He stepped fully into the room, then turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours, desperate to convey the truth of his centuries-long yearning. He lowered his hands slowly, carefully, not wanting to spook you. The stake in your grip remained steady.

"Ah, my little bird," he began, his voice softening, a profound ache echoing in every word. "Do ye know what drew me to ye? Not just the beauty, though God above, yer like a piece of the heavens fallen to earth. It was the way ye moved, dancin' there in the moonlight, free as a spirit. I've watched ye, ye know, for weeks. Every night. Yer laugh... it's like music I've never heard before, pure and bright. And yer eyes, darlin', they hold such kindness, such light, even when they're lookin' at a monster like me."

He took a slow, deliberate step closer, stopping just out of your reach, his gaze never leaving yours. "Ye've no idea what it's like, livin' as I do, year after year, with nothin' but the cold. And then there ye were, this vibrant, bleedin' miracle. Every curve of yer body, the softness in yer eyes, the way yer lashes turned silver in the moonlight... I memorized it all. I want nothing more, sweetheart, than to feel ye against me. To know every blessed inch of yer skin under my hands. To taste ye, little bird, to taste the life and warmth of ye, and to make ye mine."

His eyes, dark and ancient, burned with an intensity that promised both eternal devotion and an insatiable hunger. "Not as a meal, never as a meal, not my perfect, precious boy. But as my own. My eternity. My comfort in the endless night." He finished, his voice a low, desperate plea, his vulnerability as stark as the moonlight that now streamed through your window, illuminating the unspoken truths between you.

The air in the room hummed with the raw intensity of Remmick's confession. The stake in your hand felt both heavy and insignificant. His words, delivered with such a fervent, ancient passion, painted a picture that was both terrifying and undeniably magnetic. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden, profound silence.

You stared at him, taking in the sincerity in his dark eyes, the desperate plea in his stance. This was no longer the charming stranger, or the injured victim. This was something vast, something otherworldly, laying bare a terrifying devotion. The thought of being his, his "eternity," his "precious boy," sent a shiver down your spine that was not entirely of fear. There was a strange, undeniable pull, a recognition of something primal in his hunger that resonated with a nascent longing you hadn't known how to name.

"My precious boy," you whispered, the words tasting foreign on your tongue, a mirror of his own. You couldn't tear your gaze from his. "You... you want to make me yours? What does that even mean, Remmick? What would that make me?" The questions tumbled out, urgent and unbidden, born from a swirling mix of terror, fascination, and a startling, dangerous curiosity. The stake in your hand trembled almost imperceptibly. "And what about the sunlight? The blood? Everything that comes with... with being what you are?"

You paused, your mind racing, trying to reconcile the monstrous truth with the gentle hand that had nursed his feigned injury, the lyrical music that had filled your evenings, the captivating smile he'd offered. "You say you've watched me. That you love me. But how can you love something human when you... you are so far removed from humanity?" Your voice cracked with the weight of the impossible choice laid before you. This was not a choice between right and wrong, but between life as you knew it and an eternity intertwined with a creature of shadow and endless night.

Remmick was in front of you in an instant, a blur of motion that defied human speed. His hand shot out, not violently, but with an ancient certainty, closing around your wrist, just enough pressure to make your fingers uncurl. The stake clattered to the wooden floor, a stark sound in the heavy silence. Before you could react, his other hand rose, cupping your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. The touch sent a jolt through you, a blend of alarm and a strange, undeniable current.

He leaned in close, so close you could feel the cool breath ghosting over your lips. His eyes, moments before a warm, if unnervingly deep, brown, now glowed a brilliant, pulsating red. The color was mesmerizing, terrifying, a raw manifestation of the primal being lurking beneath the veneer of the gentle musician. The shift was stark, undeniably monstrous, yet his touch remained tender, almost reverent.

"Ah, my little love," he whispered, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. The Irish lilt was thicker now, more pronounced, carrying the weight of centuries. "Humanity? What has that got to do with any of this? With the way I crave ye? With the way I love ye?"

His gaze, burning red, bored into yours, demanding comprehension, demanding surrender. "I could show ye, darlin'. Show ye exactly what it means, what it feels like, to be truly desired. To be consumed. Humanity has naught to do with the things I could do to ye, the pleasures I could give ye, the depths we could reach together." He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips, lingering there with an intensity that promised both ecstasy and oblivion. "And if ye gave in, my precious boy, if ye let go, just like I know ye want to deep down in yer soul... I'd give ye everything. Everything that the living can only dream of. An eternity of us. Of me and you, forever."

The air thickened, charged with his dark promise. His words, delivered with such fervent conviction, painted a vivid, dangerous future. The red glow from his eyes bathed your face in an unnatural light, pulling you deeper into his orbit.

You reached a shaky hand up, your fingers trembling as they made contact with his cool skin. Your thumb brushed over the corner of his lip, wiping away a bead of drool that had formed there, a startlingly human detail on his inhuman face. He leaned into your touch, his eyes, still burning red, fluttering half-lidded, a deep, primal contentment washing over his features as he stared at you. The intensity of his gaze was a physical weight, pinning you in place even as your mind reeled.

You leaned closer, your breath ghosting across his lips, the air thick with unspoken desires. "Then show me," you whispered, your voice a fragile thread, yet laced with a dangerous challenge. "Show me how much you crave me. Make me want it, Remmick. Make me want to be with you... for eternity." As the last word left your lips, you pushed his face gently away, breaking the spell of his proximity, the intensity too much to bear for another second.

A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in Remmick's chest, a sound of profound satisfaction. He watched, eyes glittering with triumph, as you fully pulled away from him, taking a deliberate step back. Your hands, still trembling slightly, found the hem of your simple linen shirt. Slowly, deliberately, teasingly, you began to pull it upward. The fabric rose, revealing the smooth expanse of your stomach, the subtle definition of your abdominal muscles, toned but not overly muscled, hinting at a graceful strength. The shirt continued its ascent, sliding over your chest, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbones, the gentle slope of your shoulders.

Then, with a soft rustle, the linen was pulled free, tossed carelessly aside. You stood before him, bathed in the faint moonlight that spilled through the window, an ethereal vision stripped bare. Your skin, pale and luminous, seemed to drink in the silver light, giving you an almost translucent quality. Your form was slender, lithe, every line and curve flowing with an innate elegance. There was a fragile beauty to your frame, a delicate strength that Remmick had only dreamed of possessing. Your hips curved softly, leading to long, elegant legs that seemed to stretch endlessly into the moonlight. Every sinew, every bone, every inch of you was a masterpiece, sculpted by some divine hand.

Remmick's red eyes devoured every detail, his ancient heart pounding with a renewed, ferocious rhythm. This was beyond beauty; this was perfection incarnate, laid bare before him. You were truly his "little bird," fragile and exquisite, yet with a strength that defied your delicate form. His lips parted slightly, a low growl of pure, possessive pleasure escaping him. He wanted nothing more than to feel that skin against his, to claim every inch of you as his own, forever.

Remmick's red eyes burned with a hunger that was both ancient and utterly singular. He took a slow step forward, then another, drawn by an irresistible force. His earlier caution had evaporated, replaced by the sheer, overwhelming desire to touch. Your pale skin, illuminated by the moonlight, seemed to pulse with an invitation only he could truly feel.

"Ah, my love," he breathed, his voice a low, rough murmur. He reached out, his long fingers trembling ever so slightly as they ghosted over your hipbone, then the delicate curve of your waist. His touch was feather-light, almost hesitant, yet it sent a shiver through you, a cascade of goosebumps rising on your skin. He traced the line of your ribs, his touch lingering over the soft hollow of your stomach. "Ye've no idea how long I've waited to feel this."

He moved closer still, until the warmth of your body was a tangible presence against his perpetually cool form. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the unique scent of your skin, a fragrance that was already more potent to him than any blood. His head dipped, his gaze dropping to your chest, then traveling slowly upward, over your collarbones, along the elegant line of your throat.

"Every night, watchin' ye from the shadows," he whispered, his voice thick with unbridled longing. "Every movement, every breath... it was a torment and a delight. And now... now ye're here, my precious boy, laid bare for me." His voice grew husky, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Ye asked me to show ye. To make ye want it."

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, his red eyes blazing with an intoxicating promise. He closed the last fraction of an inch between you, his body pressing gently against yours. You felt the hard planes of his chest, the unsettling coldness of his skin, yet beneath it, a strange heat seemed to emanate from his very presence. His hand tightened imperceptibly on your waist, drawing you infinitesimally closer. The air crackled between you, thick with unspoken desires and the potent, dangerous magic of his true nature.

Remmick's red eyes remained locked on yours, a silent, blazing question. Then, with a fluid grace that belied his ancient power, he sank to his knees before you, his gaze never breaking contact. His hands, cool and strong, found your thighs, gripping them gently, possessively. He leaned forward, resting his head against your ribs, his breath, cool and faintly metallic, stirring the hair on your chest. From this vantage point, he looked up at you through the fringe of his dark lashes, his eyes still glowing with that mesmerizing, terrifying crimson.

Your hands, almost without conscious thought, rose to his hair. Your fingers tangled in his dark curls, surprisingly soft and thick, as you instinctively brushed a few stray strands behind his ear. His head pressed more firmly against you, a silent plea for reassurance, for acceptance.

Then, his lips, cool and exquisitely soft, found your bare skin, just beneath your ribs. He kissed you, a tender, lingering touch that sent shivers through your entire being. His fingers, still gripping your thighs, subtly bunched into the fabric of your trousers, a silent testament to the intensity of his restraint. He moved his head slightly, his lips tracing a path upward, pausing at your sternum, his voice a low, guttural whisper that seemed to emanate from the very core of him.

"Look at me, little bird," he rasped, his eyes burning into yours with an almost painful intensity. "Truly look at me. And tell me, darlin', do ye truly want this? Because once I start, once I let go, there'll be no goin' back. No stoppin' what we're meant to be. This ain't a game, sweetheart. Are ye sure ye want to know what this eternity, what we, truly mean?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with consequence, a final, solemn warning before the plunge into the unknown.

The air thickened, charged with the weight of Remmick's question. His red eyes, unwavering, held yours captive. You could feel the cool brush of his breath against your skin, the subtle shift of his fingers bunching the fabric of your trousers. This was the precipice, the point of no return, and a profound certainty, startling in its intensity, settled over you. All the fear, the doubt, the ingrained human caution, seemed to recede, leaving behind an undeniable yearning.

Your hand, still tangled in his dark curls, tightened, pulling gently. You leaned down further, until your lips were just a whisper away from his, your breath mingling with his ancient scent. "Yes," you breathed, the word a soft exhalation of surrender and desire. "Show me, Remmick. I want to know. All of it. I want you."

The crimson in Remmick's eyes deepened, intensifying until they seemed to burn with a raw, triumphant joy. A low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a sigh of profound relief, escaped his lips. His grip on your thighs tightened, and without breaking eye contact, he moved. His head tilted, and his mouth, cool and impossibly soft, finally found yours.

The kiss was an exploration, a claim, a promise. It began gently, a tentative brush that sent shivers through your entire body, electrifying every nerve ending. Then, it deepened, becoming more insistent, more consuming. His lips molded to yours, moving with an ancient expertise that left you breathless. You tasted something wild, something profoundly alive and terribly dangerous, yet utterly intoxicating. His hand left your thigh, sliding up your bare back, pulling you closer, pressing your body fully against his. You felt the shocking cold of his skin against yours, a chill that paradoxically ignited a furious heat within you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer still, wanting to drown in the sensation, to lose yourself in this raw, undeniable connection. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice husky, laced with triumph, his Irish brogue thick with unleashed desire. "My little bird, my precious boy. You are truly mine now."

He lowered you then, gently, carefully, until your backs met the cool, smooth wood of the floor. The moonlight, now streaming fully through the window, bathed your joined forms in a ghostly glow, highlighting the stark contrast of his dark hair against your pale skin, his ancient strength against your delicate frame. He leaned over you, his eyes still burning red, devouring every inch of you with a possessive adoration.

Remmick leaned over you, his red eyes blazing, devouring every inch of your moonlit form. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His lips, still cool but now infused with a thrilling warmth, descended.

"Ah, my beautiful boy," he murmured against your skin, his voice a husky whisper, thick with his ancient brogue. His mouth found your sternum first, a lingering kiss that sent a jolt through you, spreading warmth despite the cool contact. He moved slowly, deliberately, his lips tracing a path down your chest, each kiss a delicate exploration. He praised you with every touch, every breath.

"Yer skin, sweetheart," he breathed, his lips ghosting over your ribs. "Like spun moonlight, it is. So soft." He moved lower, his hands gripping your hips gently, possessively. His tongue flicked out, a quick, almost imperceptible taste against your abdomen, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. He heard it, a sound of pure pleasure, and a dark smile touched his lips. "And the taste of ye... sweeter than any nectar, my love."

His kisses continued their journey, exploring the subtle definition of your abdominal muscles, the delicate curve of your hipbones. He nipped playfully, gently, at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, a thrill of exquisite sensation shooting through you. You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the intoxicating swirl of sensation.

"Every curve, every line," he praised, his voice a low, reverent hum against your skin as his lips found the sensitive hollow behind your knee, then moved up your inner thigh. "Perfect. Utterly perfect. Ye were made for me, my little bird. Made to be adored, to be cherished, to be... consumed." His kisses became more fervent, more demanding, yet never losing their exquisite tenderness. He was everywhere at once, a whirlwind of cool skin and burning desire, mapping every inch of your exposed form with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He was claiming you, marking you, making you his in a way that transcended the physical, binding your eternity to his.

Your hands, almost independently, slid down Remmick's back, finding the hem of his linen shirt. With a decisive tug, you pulled it upward, revealing the pale, sculpted expanse of his back. The fabric gathered at his shoulders, and in a swift, fluid motion, you pulled it over his head, tossing it to land beside your own discarded shirt on the floor. A cool breath hitched in Remmick's throat as the last of his covering was removed, and that breath, against your skin, sent a delicious shiver tracing a path down your spine.

His arms, now unhindered, hooked around your waist, strong and possessive. With an effortless grace that belied his kneeling position, he pulled you up from the floor, bringing your body flush against his. The shock of his cold skin against your heated flesh was a jolt, yet it was undeniably exhilarating. He began to walk you backward, slowly, deliberately, his every step mirroring the hypnotic rhythm of his kisses.

His lips moved from your chest, trailing upwards along your throat, finding the sensitive skin of your jawline. Each kiss was a promise, a claim, interspersed with the tantalizing, almost painful graze of his teeth. Not a bite, not yet, but a whisper of the power he held, the delicious danger that now defined your connection. You gasped softly, your head tilting back, giving him more access, your fingers tangling in his short, dark hair as a silent plea for more.

He guided you, step by measured step, past the quiet living room, the moonlight casting long, dancing shadows around you. The air around you thrummed with a raw energy, a silent symphony of desire and ancient hunger. Then, you felt it – the soft give of the mattress, your knees hitting the edge of the bed. A silent command, an undeniable invitation to surrender completely.

Your knees met the edge of the bed, a soft, yielding surrender. Remmick didn't hesitate. He followed you down, his body a cool, commanding presence against yours as he pressed you back onto the mattress. The moonlight, now a silent, voyeuristic witness, bathed the room in a soft, silver glow, casting long shadows that danced with your intertwined forms.

His mouth found yours again, hungrier this time, more urgent. It was a kiss that devoured, that consumed, demanding a response you willingly gave. Your fingers dug into his dark hair, pulling him closer, deepening the connection until there was no space, no air, between your lips. He groaned into the kiss, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your mouth, and you felt a wild, untamed thrill ripple through you.

Then, he bit you. Not a savage, tearing bite, but a deliberate, possessive nip on your bottom lip. It was hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood, a warm, coppery tang blossoming in your mouth. Remmick groaned again, a deeper, more profound sound this time, as the minute drop of your blood touched his lips, mingling with his own cool taste. It was everything he craved, everything he had waited centuries for. His body stiffened, a tremor running through him, a raw, almost agonizing pleasure. He pulled back just slightly, his red eyes burning down at you, reflecting the moonlight and the intensity of his desire. His thumb, still on your cheek, brushed gently over your now swollen, bleeding lip, smearing the crimson just a fraction.

"Ah, my precious boy," he rasped, his voice thick with a triumphant hunger, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "This... this is what I craved." He lowered his head again, not to kiss, but to lick the tiny bead of blood from your lip, a slow, deliberate caress that sent a shockwave through your senses. He savored the taste, his eyes closing for a moment in what seemed like pure bliss, before opening them again, fixated on you. His gaze was possessive, utterly consumed, and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you were entirely, irrevocably his.

The taste of your blood, a mere hint of crimson on his lips, seemed to ignite something profound within Remmick. His red eyes, still blazing, held a newfound depth, a mix of triumph and an almost reverent awe. He pulled back slightly, his body still pressed against yours, his gaze devouring your face as if seeing you for the first time, truly, irrevocably his.

"Mine," he breathed, the word a low, possessive growl that vibrated through your chest. He moved then, not with haste, but with a deliberate, sensual slowness. His hands, no longer just gripping, began a fervent exploration of your body. One hand slid from your waist, down your hip, then along the length of your leg, tracing the delicate line of your calf before returning to your thigh, his fingers gently kneading your skin through the fabric of your trousers. The other hand traveled up, cupping the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up for another kiss.

This kiss was different. It was a claiming, a deep, consuming plunge into the depths of desire. He moved over you, his weight a comforting pressure, his body a cool, hard counterpoint to your increasing heat. His lips moved with a slow, grinding intensity, drawing every breath from your lungs, every thought from your mind, until only sensation remained. He tasted of wildness, of ancient longing, and of the barest hint of your own blood, a combination that made your head spin.

You responded with an instinctual fervor, your hands moving restlessly over his bare back, feeling the taut muscles beneath your palms, the cool, smooth skin that promised both danger and an exquisite pleasure. You arched into his touch, your body craving more, urging him deeper into this intoxicating dance. Remmick groaned against your mouth, a sound of profound satisfaction, as if he had waited centuries for this exact moment, this perfect communion.

He broke the kiss once more, his breath ragged against your ear as he pressed his forehead against yours. His red eyes, though still glowing with fierce intensity, softened just a fraction as they met yours. "Forever, my little bird," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, sealing the silent pact between you under the watchful eye of the moon.

Remmick's hands, still strong and possessive, moved from your hips, finding the hem of your trousers. With a low, guttural growl of anticipation, he bunched the fabric, pulling them down past your hips, over your thighs, and down your legs. They slid to the floor with a soft whisper of cloth, joining your discarded shirt.

He pulled back just enough to let his red eyes linger over your now completely bare body, bathed in the ethereal moonlight. A slow, predatory smirk stretched across his lips as he watched a fine prickle of goosebumps rise on your skin, a testament to the cool air and the intoxicating thrill of his gaze. A thick line of drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, a stark, visceral sign of his unleashed hunger, and dribbled down his chin.

"Well now, little bird," he purred, his voice a low, rough murmur, laced with a teasing lilt. His gaze held yours, a challenge and an invitation. "It seems ye weren't wearin' a blessed thing under those trousers, were ye? No undergarments to speak of at all." His smirk widened, and he leaned closer, his eyes raking over your form. "Surely that means ye wanted this, my precious boy, wanted it far more than even I did, eh?"

As he spoke, his finger, cold and deliberate, descended. It pressed teasingly, lightly, against the very tip of your cock, a single, feather-light touch that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated sensation through you. The contrast of his cool skin against your heated flesh, the casual intimacy of his touch, and the blatant accusation of your desire, stole the air from your lungs.

A gasp tore from your throat, sharp and involuntary, as Remmick's finger made contact. The cool pressure, so light yet utterly potent, sent a jolt of pure, electric sensation coursing through you. It was a direct hit, a silent acknowledgment of the very desire he'd so brazenly called out. Your breath hitched, your hips instinctively arching, a subtle, desperate plea for more. The goosebumps that had just pricked your skin now seemed to intensify, every nerve ending alive and buzzing under his mesmerizing gaze.

"You... you know I do," you managed, your voice a husky whisper, barely audible above the sudden, frantic beat of your own heart. Your eyes, wide and heavy-lidded, were fixed on his, unable to break the intoxicating connection. The shame, the embarrassment, the last vestiges of human modesty, were dissolving under the heat of his gaze and the thrilling precision of his touch. He was right. You had wanted this. Wanted it with a fierce, undeniable craving that now felt like a revelation.

Your hands, which had been resting on his shoulders, slid down, finding purchase on his bare back. You pressed your palms flat against his cool skin, urging him closer, desperate for more of his weight, his presence, his intoxicating touch. The raw, primal hunger reflected in his red eyes was a mirror of your own burgeoning desire, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Only him. Only this.

A triumphant gleam lit Remmick's red eyes. The soft admission, the raw honesty in your voice, was all the invitation he needed. He moved, effortlessly crawling over you, his weight a tantalizing pressure, his hands bracing on either side of your head. He held himself above you, his gaze sweeping over your body one last time, a silent promise of what was to come.

He leaned down, his cool breath ghosting across your ear as he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent shivers down your spine. "God, my little bird, I want to taste ye so badly. That wee drop on yer lip, it was naught but a tease. It didn't satiate me. Not near enough." His words were a confession, a desperate plea, and a dark declaration all at once.

You turned your head, your lips brushing against the cool skin of his jawline, a silent acknowledgment of the primal hunger that now mirrored your own. You whispered back, your voice barely audible, thick with burgeoning desire, "Then take what's yours, Remmick. Take it."

A low groan vibrated from deep within Remmick's chest, a sound of profound relief and unbridled anticipation. Your words, your surrender, ignited a fire within him that had burned for centuries, finally finding its release. His red eyes, still glowing fiercely, locked onto yours, a silent pact of ownership and submission passing between you.

Remmick didn't hold back any longer. The raw, ancient hunger that had simmered beneath his carefully constructed veneer now erupted, consuming him entirely. He lowered his head, his lips, no longer cool but burning with an internal fire, finding your skin. He sucked, he kissed, he devoured every inch he could reach, moving with a frenzied, desperate energy that left you breathless. Each touch was a claim, each lingering kiss leaving behind a blossoming purple mark, a testament to his fervent possession. Hickeys bloomed across your chest, your ribs, your hips, painting your pale skin with the vibrant hues of his desire.

His nips were no longer gentle caresses; they were hard, insistent tugs that broke the surface of your skin, drawing bright, scarlet beads of blood. A sharp gasp tore from your throat with each piercing nip, quickly followed by a profound shiver of something akin to ecstasy as Remmick’s tongue was there instantly, lapping up every single drop. He drank as much as he could, his tongue swirling, coaxing more from the tiny wounds he created, a low, satisfied groan rumbling deep in his chest with each taste. It was pure, raw sustenance for him, a direct conduit to your very essence.

He never touched your neck, never venturing further than your upper chest, a silent, powerful boundary he instinctively honored, perhaps a final shred of his twisted restraint, or a macabre promise of a future, deeper claim. Instead, he reveled in the freedom of your exposed skin, his mouth a hungry, insatiable force. As he kissed and licked, your blood became smeared across your body, a crimson sheen that caught the moonlight. It was on his mouth, glistening wetly, mixing with his drool and dribbling down his chin, a thick, dark line that traced the sharp angles of his jaw before disappearing into the hollow of his throat. He was a creature of pure, visceral hunger, and you, his willing sacrifice, were the perfect, intoxicating feast.

Your world had narrowed to the sensations Remmick was creating. Each nip, each suck, each lick sent a jolt of pleasure and a sharp sting of pain that blurred into an exquisite, almost unbearable intensity. Your body arched, an involuntary response to the primal claiming. You could feel the warm trickle of your own blood on your skin, a shocking, intimate sensation that mixed with the cool dampness of his mouth and tongue. It was a dizzying, disorienting experience, stripping away thought, leaving only raw, heightened feeling.

Emotionally, you were adrift in a storm of conflicting sensations. Fear, a primal, ancient fear of the predator, warred with a burgeoning excitement, a terrifying thrill that bordered on euphoria. Shame whispered at the edges of your awareness, quickly drowned out by the overwhelming tide of desire that Remmick was so masterfully unleashing. You felt utterly exposed, completely vulnerable, yet paradoxically, utterly safe within the confines of his dark adoration. This wasn't just physical; it was a profound, soul-deep surrender to a force you had unconsciously yearned for. Every muscle in your body was taut, your breath ragged, coming in short, sharp gasps as you gave yourself over to the intoxicating madness of his hunger.

A long, shaky breath escaped your lips as Remmick's mouth finally lifted from your inner thigh. A low, satisfied growl rumbled deep in his chest as he licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste of you. He then sat up on his knees, looming above you, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. His red eyes, still glowing with fierce intensity, stared down at you, and an inhuman smile stretched across his face, revealing the sharp, elongated points of his teeth.

"Oh, my beautiful, precious boy," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy purr, thick with triumph. "Look at ye. So hard for me, are ye? My bites, my feedin'… it only makes ye crave me more, doesn't it?" His eyes dropped, tracing the rigid length of your cock, a dark, satisfied glint in their depths.

He took a slow, deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment, as if to savor the very air around you, thick with your scent and the promise of what was to come. Then, his eyes snapped open, blazing with renewed hunger as he whispered, "Get on yer stomach, little bird."

Your whole body trembled, a dizzying mix of lingering pain from his nips and an overwhelming surge of pleasure. Every muscle ached, yet you found yourself obeying without question. With a soft groan, you turned, pressing your chest against the cool cotton sheets. The crisp white fabric immediately began to darken with the faint smears of your blood from where Remmick had feasted, a scarlet map of his recent claim. You let out another soft groan as your aching cock pressed against the sheets, a dull throb resonating through you.

You heard the faint rustle of fabric, the sound of Remmick removing the rest of his clothes, a quiet testament to his complete surrender to this moment. Then, the bed dipped, a distinct shift of weight, as he crawled above you, his cool body a tantalizing shadow hovering over your own.

The bed dipped further as Remmick crawled above you, his presence a heavy, thrilling weight. He leaned down, and you felt the cool brush of his lips begin a slow, sensual descent down the length of your spine. Each kiss was a delicate spark, igniting a trail of fire in its wake. His hands found your sides, caressing the soft flesh, his fingers kneading gently into your skin, sending shivers through your core.

"Gods above, my beautiful creature," he rasped, his voice a low, raw rumble against your back. "Even after all this... all these tastes... I still want ye. Still crave ye with a hunger that burns hotter than any sun." Your body shuddered under his touch, an involuntary arc of your back pressing you more firmly into his kisses, an unspoken plea for him to continue.

His lips continued their journey downward, a path of exquisite torment and rising desire. You let out a soft gasp as his mouth finally pressed warm, wet kisses against your ass, his hands cupping the full, soft flesh, molding it to his touch. A deep, guttural moan tore from your throat, Remmick's name a desperate plea on your lips, as he sunk his teeth into the soft skin, a sharp, piercing pain that quickly morphed into something else entirely. You gasped again, a more intense sound this time, as his tongue flicked across the fresh bite, tasting the metallic tang of your blood, a subtle shiver running through him at the renewed flavor.

A low, pleased smirk stretched across Remmick's lips, pressing against your skin as he continued to savor the taste. His tongue, no longer just licking the bite mark, lolled out, thick and deliberate, dragging slowly across your rim, a single, tantalizing stroke that sent a white-hot jolt through your entire body. He spread you gently, expertly, with one hand, opening you further to his ministrations. The sensation was agonizingly exquisite, a raw, exposed vulnerability that heightened every nerve ending. He followed the drag of his tongue with a series of soft, lingering kisses, butterfly light, that promised more, demanded more, while holding back the ultimate satisfaction.

Your breath hitched, a desperate plea caught in your throat. Your hips instinctively bucked, a silent, animalistic response to the profound pleasure and tantalizing restraint. With a trembling hand, you reached behind you, your fingers finding purchase in the dark, thick curls of Remmick's hair. You wrapped your hand around it, pulling gently, urging him on, a desperate, unspoken command.

"God," you whispered, your voice hoarse, barely audible, as your body shuddered under his touch. "It feels so good, Remmick. So good."

Remmick’s body stiffened perceptibly at your desperate plea, at the feel of your hand in his hair, urging him deeper. A low, ragged breath escaped him, and the subtle smirk on his face deepened into a feral grin, revealing more of his sharp, predatory teeth. He loved your honesty, the raw, unadulterated desire that now flowed so freely from you.

"Aye, my sweet boy," he rasped, his voice thick with unbridled triumph, resonating against your skin. "It's meant to feel good. Meant to drive ye mad for me."

He pressed his lips fully against your ass, tasting you, devouring you with a primal intensity. His tongue traced dizzying, intricate patterns that sent fresh waves of exquisite sensation through your trembling body. His hands, still cupping your ass, lifted you slightly, subtly shifting your position, a silent command for deeper access.

A long string of moans tore from your throat as Remmick’s tongue, emboldened by your complete surrender, pushed past your entrance, a shocking, intimate invasion that made you gasp and writhe. His nails, now less gentle, subtly dug into your skin, a grounding pain amidst the overwhelming pleasure. He pulled back just enough for a moment, his hot breath fanning over the still-bleeding bite on your ass. The moment of exquisite absence was brief, as his tongue was immediately replaced by the aching pressure of his finger, pushing slowly, deliberately into you.

Remmick moved to lean over you, his body a heavy, thrilling weight. Your hand, which had been tangled in his hair, now instinctively gripped the bicep of his free arm, the one he used to hold himself up, your knuckles white with the intensity of the moment. You pressed into him, a silent plea for him to continue, to consume you entirely.

Remmick's finger pressed deeper, a slow, deliberate invasion that made your breath catch in your throat. He watched your face, his red eyes blazing with an almost scientific fascination, observing every flicker of sensation that crossed your features. His thumb brushed against your sensitive flesh, a small, teasing movement that made your hips buck instinctively.

"There now, my sweet boy," he murmured, his voice a low, rough purr against your ear. "Feel that? Just the beginning, darlin'." He eased another finger inside, stretching you, preparing you with a deliberate, unhurried pace that was both agonizing and exquisitely thrilling. You gasped, a mix of discomfort and burgeoning pleasure, your muscles clenching around him. He paused, letting you adjust, letting the sensation bloom.

He leaned in closer, pressing kisses against the curve of your shoulder, then up your neck, always avoiding the jugular. His breath, cool and faintly metallic, whispered against your skin. "Ye asked me to show ye. To make ye want it. And I intend to do just that." His voice was a promise, a threat, and an undeniable seduction all rolled into one. He moved his fingers, slowly at first, then with more confidence, mapping your interior, learning your reactions, driving you to the edge of what you could bear. You whimpered, a soft, desperate sound, your nails digging into his bicep, your body a taut bow string stretched to its limit.

Remmick's fingers continued their relentless exploration, a slow, insistent pressure that built with every deliberate movement. He found a spot, a particular angle, and pressed, eliciting a sharp gasp that tore from your throat. Your hips bucked instinctively, a desperate, uncontrolled arch of your body.

"There it is, my brave boy," he rasped, his voice thick with dark satisfaction as he pressed harder, finding that exquisite point again and again. His thumb brushed over the opening, teasing, tormenting, yet never fully entering. He was mapping your every response, learning the landscape of your pleasure with an ancient, predatory precision.

You whimpered, a soft, broken sound that was swallowed by the overwhelming sensations. Your fingers dug into his bicep, your nails raking lightly against his cool skin, leaving faint red marks. Your head thrashed against the pillow, lost in the maelstrom of pleasure and desperate need. The pain of the nips on your ass and chest was a dull throb beneath the searing heat that was building between your legs.

Remmick chuckled, a low, pleased sound that vibrated through his chest. He pulled his fingers out, leaving behind a sudden, aching emptiness that made you cry out softly. Then, with a fluid motion, he shifted his weight, pressing his body fully against your back, aligning himself with your prone form. You felt the cool length of his cock press against your ass, hard and insistent, a stark contrast to the burning desire that now consumed you.

You felt the cool, hard length of Remmick's cock press against your ass, a silent, powerful promise. He held you there for a moment, letting the anticipation build, letting your body tremble under his overwhelming presence. His breath hitched, hot and ragged against the back of your neck.

Then, with a low, triumphant groan, he pushed. Slowly, deliberately, the tip of his cock pressed against your aching entrance, a firm, insistent pressure. You gasped, your fingers digging into his bicep, your back arching even further as he began to slide inside. It was a stretch, a profound fullness that was almost painful, yet undeniably exhilarating. He moved inch by excruciating inch, filling you completely, his body a perfect, cold counterpoint to the burning heat he ignited within you.

You cried out, a mix of shock and desperate pleasure, as he finally bottomed out, burying himself deep inside you. Remmick let out a guttural groan, a sound of ancient satisfaction, his hips pressing fully against yours. He held you tight, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest as he began to move, a slow, powerful thrust.

Remmick began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that drove you deeper into the intoxicating haze. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his cool breath ghosting against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the burning pleasure he ignited within you. His hips snapped forward, meeting yours with a forceful intimacy that elicited a gasp from your lips. One hand, strong and possessive, found purchase on your throat, not choking, but pressing just enough to make you acutely aware of his power, his dominance. The other stayed firm around your waist, holding you captive against him.

"Gods, my beautiful boy," he rasped, his voice a low, guttural murmur against your skin. "Ye take me so well. So perfectly." His thrusts became a little faster, a little deeper, each one driving the pleasure to unbearable heights. "Imagine this, darlin'. This very moment... stretched out for eternity. You and me, forever. This passion, this fire... never endin'."

You gasped, a broken sound caught between desperate moans, your hips instinctively rocking back, meeting every one of his powerful thrusts. The rhythm consumed you, demanding your full surrender. "Nothing... nothing more," you mumbled, your words caught and fractured by the intensity, your voice raw with emotion. "I want... nothing more... Remmick..."

Remmick slowed his thrusts, the rhythm becoming a teasing drag, each withdrawal an agonizing stretch. You whimpered, desperate for the fullness that was suddenly, exquisitely withheld. Then, with a soft groan that vibrated against your ear, he completely pulled out, the sudden emptiness a stark, aching contrast to the intense pressure that had just filled you.

Before you could fully process the loss, he shifted. He swiftly, yet gently, laid you back against the bed, positioning you flat on your back. You felt the cool cotton sheets beneath you, a brief moment of disorientation, before Remmick moved between your legs, pulling your knees up and opening you wider.

His eyes, still blazing crimson, met yours for a fleeting moment of intense connection, then he leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, consuming kiss. And as his mouth devoured yours, he thrust back in, a hard, deep penetration that stole the breath from your lungs. Your cock twitched from the sudden, overwhelming rush of pleasure, a powerful response to the exquisite sensation of being filled again, completely and utterly.

This time, his pace was harsher, quicker, each thrust a powerful, unrelenting drive that pinned you to the mattress. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, the sharp pressure of his nails a grounding sensation amidst the spiraling pleasure. He was taking you with a fierce, primal intensity, no longer holding back, completely consumed by the moment, by you.

Remmick's harsh, quick pace intensified, and with each powerful thrust, his cock brushed against your prostate, a deep, exquisite pressure that sent a shockwave of sensation through your entire being. Your body arched violently off the bed, a desperate, unconscious movement to meet his force, to press deeper into the pleasure he was so expertly wielding. You were completely consumed, lost in the rhythmic thrusts that drove you closer and closer to the edge.

The kiss, which had been a consuming fire, suddenly felt suffocating. You needed air, needed to vocalize the overwhelming sensations. With a desperate moan, you pulled your head away from his, breaking the kiss. Your chest heaved, gasping for breath, your eyes wide and unfocused as you stared up at him.

"Remmick!" you choked out, your voice ragged, barely a whisper between desperate gasps. "I'm... I'm close! So close!"

A low, guttural grunt vibrated from deep within Remmick's chest. Your words, your raw admission, pushed him over his own edge of control. His thrusts, already powerful, became sloppy, uncoordinated, driven by a pure, animalistic need for release. He surged against you, his body a trembling mass of concentrated hunger, pushing you deeper into the intoxicating oblivion he had so masterfully created.

The grunt Remmick let out, and the immediate, almost uncontrolled sloppiness of his thrusts, signaled his own proximity to the edge. His body, once so precisely controlled, now shuddered with an ancient, desperate urgency. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth gently grazing your shoulder, a silent testament to the overwhelming sensations consuming him.

You were no longer simply close; you were there. The pressure built, tight and excruciatingly sweet, coiling in your core. Each thrust from Remmick, though less refined, was a powerful surge that amplified the unbearable pleasure. Your fingers dug into his biceps, your grip desperate, holding on as if he were the only tether to reality. A string of guttural moans tore from your throat, rising in pitch as your body became a taut, trembling bowstring pulled to its absolute limit.

Then, with a final, shuddering groan from Remmick, and a sharp, guttural cry from you, the dam broke. A wave of intense, shattering pleasure crashed over you, pulling you under its tide. Your body convulsed, bucking against his, every muscle clenching in a release that was both violent and utterly sublime. You felt his own body stiffen above you, a deep, shuddering growl vibrating through him as he met your climax with his own. The raw, animalistic pleasure that coursed through him was palpable, a dark, potent energy that mingled with your own profound release.

For a long moment, you lay there, gasping for breath, your body trembling, entwined with his. The room, once alight with moonlight and desire, now felt still, heavy with the aftermath of pure, unbridled consumption. Remmick’s weight was a comforting pressure, his breath ragged against your neck. The glowing red in his eyes slowly receded, replaced by a deep, satisfied warmth, though still retaining an undeniable, ancient intensity.

The world slowly coalesced back into focus, no longer a blur of sensation but a room bathed in moonlight. Your body, spent and trembling, lay intertwined with Remmick’s. His heavy, satisfied breaths stirred the hair on your neck, and the cool weight of his body against yours was a profound comfort after the storm. The distinct smell of blood, faint but present, mingled with your own musk and his ancient scent, creating a unique, intoxicating perfume of shared intimacy.

Remmick shifted, pulling back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His red eyes had softened, the fierce crimson now a deep, smoldering ruby, filled with a possessive tenderness that made your own heart ache. A slow, contented smile, devoid of any prior predatory malice, spread across his lips. He lowered his head, pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss to your temple, then your bruised lips, tasting the lingering coppery tang.

"My little bird," he murmured, his voice husky with post-climax satisfaction. "Did I show ye? Did I make ye want it?" His thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, his touch now entirely soft, utterly cherishing. The hickeys he’d left bloomed across your skin, visible in the moonlight, a map of his undeniable claim. The tiny nips throbbed faintly, a pleasant ache.

You could only nod, breathless, your voice still caught in your throat. Every part of you felt utterly sated, yet a new, profound emptiness, a yearning for more of this connection, was already blossoming. The fear was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of belonging. You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, marveling at the strength that had just claimed you so completely. This was real. This impossible, terrifying, beautiful thing was utterly real.

The soft glow of the moon continued to spill into the room, illuminating the quiet aftermath. Your fingers, still trembling slightly, reached up to Remmick's face, cupping his cheek. Your thumb brushed gently over the dried blood near the corner of his mouth, a stark reminder of his hunger, of what he truly was. Yet, in that moment, it held no fear, only a strange tenderness.

Your voice was barely a whisper, yet it resonated with a profound certainty that surprised even yourself. "Remmick," you breathed, your gaze locked with his, "bite me. Please." A single tear, unbidden, tracked a path down your temple, not of sorrow, but of overwhelming emotion. "I love you. I want... I want to spend eternity with you."

The words hung in the air, potent and irreversible. As they left your lips, something shifted in Remmick's eyes. The smoldering ruby that had glowed with recent satisfaction slowly, gradually, began to recede, replaced by the familiar, warm shade of brown you had known from the first moment he appeared on your doorstep. He stared down at you, his expression unreadable, a silent testament to his shock. It was as if, even after everything, even after your surrender, he hadn't truly expected you to comply, to willingly offer yourself to the transformation. The ancient predator, who had orchestrated every move, was now faced with an unexpected, profound offering.

Remmick's brown eyes, now full of a complex mix of surprise, profound adoration, and a touch of sorrow, held yours. He slowly nodded, a silent acceptance of your ultimate offering. His hands rose, cupping your face with a tenderness that belied the ancient power they held. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a silent promise, then moved down your jawline, showering your skin with feather-light touches. Finally, his lips found the delicate curve of your throat, just beneath your ear. He pressed a tender kiss to the skin, letting his lips linger there, a moment of profound hesitation before the inevitable.

"Take a deep breath, my little bird," he whispered, his voice a low, rough murmur against your skin. "And close yer eyes, darlin'."

You obeyed, inhaling deeply, filling your lungs with the scent of him, the lingering musk of shared intimacy, and the coppery tang of your own drying blood. As your eyelids fluttered shut, you felt the cool brush of his breath intensify against your throat. Then came the pain.

It was sharp, searing, unlike anything you had ever known. A tearing sensation, impossibly deep, as his fangs pierced your flesh. You cried out, a raw, animalistic sound that ripped from your throat, choked off almost immediately by the overwhelming sensation. Your hands shot up, finding purchase on Remmick's shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, an instinctive claw for purchase against the agonizing assault.

You could taste your own blood, warm and metallic, filling your mouth. It poured down your chest, a hot, sticky river against your skin, trickling down your neck. You began to choke on it, a desperate, gurgling sound escaping your lips as your body convulsed uncontrollably. Your vision blurred, the edges of your awareness fraying, consumed by the agonizing fire blooming in your throat, drawing you closer to a terrifying, eternal darkness.

Remmick pulled back, his mouth slick with your blood, his fangs retracting from your skin. The sudden release of pressure left a gaping, burning wound on your neck. Your hand instinctively flew to it, pressing against the raw flesh, though it did little to stem the flow. Your eyes, wide with primal panic, fought to stay open, struggling against the encroaching darkness. You drew in ragged, gargled breaths, each one a desperate, failing attempt to cling to the life that was rapidly draining away.

Remmick stared down at you, his face a mask of complex emotions—triumph, sorrow, and an ancient, resigned acceptance. He watched, utterly still, as the light slowly, irrevocably, left your eyes. The desperate struggle faded from your gaze, replaced by a vacant stillness. Your body gave one final, shuddering convulsion, then went limp, utterly, completely still beneath him. The last, faint pulse flickered in your wrist, then vanished.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your cold forehead, a tender, possessive kiss. "I'll see ye soon, my love," he whispered, his voice a low, rough murmur, thick with promise. "Very soon."

Remmick remained above you for a long time, watching, waiting. The air in the room grew heavy, silent save for the drip of your blood onto the sheets, a rhythmic, macabre counterpoint to the profound stillness of your body. He gently adjusted your head, smoothing a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers brushed your cheek, cool and possessive, tracing the ethereal contours he had memorized over countless nights.

He knew the process. He had seen it before, countless times, though never with such a potent mix of anticipation and agonizing patience. The venom, his essence, now coursed through your veins, battling against the vestiges of your human life, preparing to reshape you, to remake you in his image. It was a slow, agonizing rebirth, and he could do nothing but wait.

The first faint tremor rippled through your limbs, a subtle twitch beneath his touch. Then another, stronger. A shallow, almost imperceptible breath hitched in your chest. Remmick watched, a dark, triumphant light returning to his eyes. The stillness was breaking. The transformation had begun in earnest. He would wait. He had waited centuries for you, and he would wait now, for your awakening into his eternal night.

A profound stillness settled over you, a weightlessness that was utterly new. When your eyes finally fluttered open, there was no pain, no lingering ache from the bites that had consumed you. The agonizing fire was gone, replaced by a cool, clean emptiness, a sense of being unbound from gravity, no longer truly of this world. Your body felt strangely light, utterly refreshed, and as your senses sharpened, you realized you were no longer lying in a pool of your own blood. You were wrapped in clean, soft sheets, your body meticulously cared for, as if Remmick, despite his monstrous ways, had tended to you with an unsettling gentleness.

Your eyes, now impossibly keen, adjusted to the moonlit room, every shadow, every dust motes dancing in the silver beams, rendered in perfect clarity. And then you saw him. Remmick. He sat in the old wooden rocking chair in the corner of your room, one of your own books from the shelf resting open in his hands, though his gaze was fixed on some distant point, lost in thought. He didn't have to speak. In that instant, a profound, undeniable connection snapped into place. You understood everything he was feeling, knew every thought running through his ancient mind—the immense satisfaction, the deep possessiveness, the quiet triumph, and even a lingering shadow of the sorrow he'd felt for the human life he'd taken. Two minds had become one, a silent, intricate hive.

He looked up then, as if sensing your awakened awareness. His eyes, now that familiar, rich brown, held an unnerving depth, an understanding that transcended words. A slow, inhuman smile spread across his lips, revealing just a hint of his sharpened teeth, yet it was a smile of pure contentment. His gaze locked onto yours, acknowledging everything that had passed between you, the pain, the blood, the fear, and the ultimate surrender. He had seen the worst parts of you, witnessed your body's agonizing transformation, and still, he looked at you with this profound acceptance.

"I hope this new life is more kind than yer last, my precious boy," he whispered, his voice a low, melodic murmur, filled with an ancient tenderness.

The words resonated deep within you, touching a place you hadn't known existed. Without a moment's hesitation, the answer sprang from your lips, echoing his sentiment, sealing your fate with an unwavering devotion. "I hope so too, Remmick. I want nothing more."

You were completely and utterly his. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you truly understood what that meant. This was your new life, bound to him, a creature of shadow and endless night, forever.

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