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There are rays of red moonlight filtering through a cabin's poorly boarded windows. They paint the room in luminescent blood spatter, crawling along the ground with time, like a fading blood trail. A man, or something adjacent, lies still on his bed, curled in blankets— always cold —and staring, fixated on those moving lights. Their color is cemented as a vignette over his mind, a constant reminder of what he is; what he'd done.
He doesn't remember much of the night before. It comes back to him in splattered visions that cling to the corners of his mind, like gore puddling in the folds of his brain. It feels like he's teetering on the edge of a cliff, half of him fighting to dive into the red torrents below, while the other half digs its hands into the dirt to scrabble away in pathetic, human fear.
No. No, he mustn't think like that. He can't lose it. He needs to grab onto his humanity and hold it tight. He needs to snag his nails– claws into it and—
A deep, alive red coated his hands, his arms. It seeped into his skin— replaced empty veins with warmth he'd so desperately missed. His prey writhed under his claws, whining and moaning in that tantalizing way humans do when they're terrified. Lifeblood flowed into his mouth, an unholy blessing upon his damned tongue. He remembers it now. He salivates. The blood on its agonized face shone brighter than its eyes.
His prey bubbled out a gasp, grasping at his arms in worthless plea. A wonderful trill started at the base of his neck and traveled down his spine at the sound. He feels it now, just as potent. His prey was getting weaker. Just a little more… more… his prey— REN! Ren was underneath him, helpless and dying, all because of— that wasn't prey, that was a living human being that was Ren!
Pyro heaves, disgust boiling the blood that sits heavy in their stomach. They can feel it bubbling up, so hot it burns on the way up. They're going to throw up. This is bad. This is so bad.
Blood rises at the back of their throat, and the vampire slams a hand against their lips before something spills out. It's third-hand, technically, but it tastes heavenly. It sits on their tongue for a few moments before they remember themself and swallow (it's easy, far too easy), lest it spill out onto the floor. It soothes their stomach when it re-enters, and the realization of that is nearly enough to make them actually puke.
Thank the stars Apo is out. It'd be hard to explain vomiting blood without pretending to have a debilitating disease.
Someone's nearing his house. Their heartbeat thumps in his ears, teasing. He hates how that's what he notices instead of their footsteps, hates how it takes a considerable effort to switch focus.
They're almost at the door now. He has to get a hold of himself. A glass of water sits at his bedside, a gift from Apo. He needs the taste of Ren off his tongue. He needs to keep the soothing coat over his throat. The water taunts him with his options: pain or shame? He deserves both, really.
The glass is empty right as Apo steps through the door, a worried look fixed on her face. Moonlight filters in behind her, framing her neck perfe—
“Ren's gone.” She says. Her words carve into their stomach. “We're forming a search party.”
“Where's Ren?” The alchemist's shout grated against Pyro's enhanced hearing, making him wince. “What did you do to him?”
“Relax,” Scott purred, grinning at Avid and setting a hand on his shoulder, one that Avid promptly shrugged off. “He’s at his cabin. Said he was, and I quote, ‘a might tired, don'cha know.’”
Avid opened his mouth to retort, but Drift slid in next to him, putting her hand where Scott's used to be. “I saw him moving around in the window.” She soothed, glancing at Scott and Pyro in a silent apology. “Everything’s okay, Avid.”
“How rude of you to accuse me of murder again, Avid. I haven't done—”
Pyro tuned the banter out, still a bit blood drunk, and swept his gaze over the watching townsfolk. Everyone seemed to be gathered, waiting. Wow. They must have been really worried about them. About Ren.
Where was Owen?
“So late?” Pyro questions, swallowing the taste of bile lurking behind their fangs. “‘S not safe with all those monsters hanging around.”
“We'll be safer as a big group,” Apo responds, sparing them a glance as she rummages through their chests. Pyro can only stare as she pulls out her armor and weapons. Is this a search party or a hunt? “Ren might not have time.” She paused to stare at Pyro, raising a brow. “You coming?”
Pyro scrambles up, ignoring the stinging dryness of their throat and the growing pit in their stomach. Ignoring how that pit is ravenous.
The livestock are gearing up for a fight; that much was obvious. Although they originally dismissed Avid's ramblings as madness, they'd turned to his fear mongering as soon as something went awry; something so typical and disgustingly human. Fear usually pleases Scott. He likes the salty smell of it. Reveled in the way his hindbrain lit with satisfaction.
This fear, however, is too inconvenient for pleasure of any kind. Though it technically came from him, he couldn't control it, and that irritates him to no end, for what is the point of striking fear if there's no productive outcome? (he still isn't used to being deprived of his true power. Just thinking about it has his unbeating heart calling for vengeance)
Revulsion hits him so strong that it takes everything not to gag. Scott clamps his mouth shut, feeling his fangs with his tongue to assure himself garlic hadn't materialized into his mouth. Nope. This is a Pyro thing, then.
He has to admit, he's been ignoring most of the instincts that come with siring a childe— not that it's hard, they're subtle, after all. Other than the thrill of giving his fledgling whiplash and indulging in the amount of control he can exert over them, he doesn't care much for vampiric bonds. He used to, sure, but he'd shed the tendencies of man to create connection long ago. He hadn't heard from any vampires he had sired in centuries, even before he'd been put to sleep.
Scott casts his attention to Pyro's shared home as the taste in his mouth fades to a stubborn bile at the back of his tongue. Apo's skirt disappears behind the door. He watches until the military woman exits with a less-than-stellar-looking Pyro following. The vampire turns away, disinterested. He isn't going to help the childe with their moral dilemmas.
More townsfolk join the fray, and Scott shifts to keep everyone in sight. It's that fellow vampire, Owen, and his housemate. He doesn't know quite what to make of Owen. He seems a bit too melodramatic for Scott's tastes, and he tried to lay claim to land that wasn't his. He had helped with their cover last night, though, so Scott supposed he could stay.
The blood moon reaches its peak by the time the townsfolk and the three vampires leave to bring back a dead man. Its light seeps through his skin, strengthening his dead muscles with old age magic and providing him a comfortable awareness that settles over his mind. He takes a moment to acknowledge his fledgling's misery rooted at the back of his head. This will prove to be an interesting night.
Pyro has to force themself to slow down; the magic of the blood moon quickens their steps an obvious amount, and they've become almost too lost in their head to remember that it's not normal. Of course, it's not normal. None of this is normal. Why would they even begin to think it was?
Right now, they're on a journey to find Ren. They know this. They also know Ren isn't what they're going to find. Instead, they're going to find a bloodless corpse. One that's probably already been taken by wildlife. One that's cursed tongue died with prayers on its tip.
Pyro shivers and curls inward, sparing a glance upwards to the rest of the group in front of him.
There are varying levels of urgency bouncing around the humans. Most are calling out for Ren, straying away for a few steps before a noise spooks them back. The young nobleman, Martyn, he thinks, is cursing as he stabs a hostile zombie through its caved-in chest. Pyro's hand unconsciously drifts towards his own unbeating heart, imagining the fire of impalement burning through to the other side. He flinches at the thought and moves his hand back to his arm, digging his nails into flesh.
Avid is at the front of the pack, waving a stake and yelling like he always seems to be. His roommate is close behind his heels. She looks like she's balancing looking for the lost and keeping Avid found. If he had the energy, he might laugh. He knows his sire would.
Their eyes drag themselves over to Scott, striding in the middle of the group as he half-heartedly calls out for a man he knows is dead. It isn't visible, but Pyro knows Scott is grinning. He exudes a confidence so potent, they can't understand how no one's noticed it yet. The vampire knows from recent experience that the torches everyone's dragging along don't do much, and Scott hasn't tripped once.
Pyro can't say the same. They're too lost in themself, or perhaps they just weren't bestowed with the same grace. They dig their nails in deeper. They weren't even good enough to be a proper vampire. Typical.
His stomach warns him with a pang, which seems strange, because he just—
He hasn't seen Scott struggle like this. He should ask later.
The townsfolk's shouts blend into the forest buzz. Crickets chirp, leaves rustle, zombies groan, and humans call and wait for a corpse to answer. The noise reverberates in their enhanced eardrums, growing until the back of their neck is numb with it. Pyro squeezes their biceps, and blackened nails poke through the thin fabric of their coat, staining it with drops of red. What a waste. If they keep this up, they'll lose the blood Sire worked to provide for them. He would be furious, and they would be hungry.
They're hungry now.
There's a song around him: unsynchronized at first, but it evolves into a steady thumping as he focuses, cutting through the buzz in his head and pumping his heart— it beats with want. He's keenly aware of the scent of life around him, aware of all the bodies with warmth and beating hearts they're so selfishly keeping for themselves. His throat goes dry at the implication. Ruby red eyes pull to the back of someone's neck, framed perfectly by short dark hair at the nape. This discomfort is minor; he knows this from experience, but it would be so easy to learn forward and—
Pyro returns to himself like he's slammed into his own body, legs buckling under the weight of what he'd almost done. He pants, staring at the crowd as it moves without him, blissfully unaware. He can't believe he almost— and he wasn't even that hungry. The vampire brings a trembling hand up to his mouth and is thrown by the smell of blood under his nails. That alone makes his stomach seize with want.
A thick, sickening disgust settles on his tongue. What he almost did… What he did do… It's unforgivable. This… this creature he's become is revolting. Though maybe this wasn't something he became. Maybe his parents were right. Maybe it was always there, a part of his very being, only noticed when stripped of the rest of his humanity. He may not have murdered that boy, but perhaps it was an omen. A prophecy of what he was: a monster. Vampirism just brought it out. Scott brought it out. He hates this, hates Scott. Almost thinks it, before the thought is snatched away so violently, it leaves him forgetting what had barely formed.
Pyro subconsciously moves toward Scott, the need to right something they don't understand driving them forward. There's this thick current that runs through their veins, unnoticeable unless they try to swim against it. Everything settles into a capitulating calm when they drift along and nothing snags them back. A cliff towers behind them. They can't remember the fall.
The townsfolk have stopped to revalue. They've spent hours combing the forest with their hope slowly dwindling— if they had any at all —and, as humans do, are tiring under the light of the red moon. It rests still at the climax, imposing, and looms there for far longer than it seems it should. These cursed nights always drag on, clinging to the sky like they deserve more time. In the end, the sun always rises. That doesn't change how your vision is dyed red for hours after.
A hand rests tentatively on his shoulder, and Pyro jumps nearly a metre, leaving behind a just as startled Apo. Worry is etched deep into her features; her hovering hand clenches as they right themself. Pyro takes a moment to look around them, upon realizing they'd checked out. Nearly half of the humans are engaged in a heated conversation, while others keep mobs at bay or rest near a hastily-built fire. They smell salt in the air, along with other unpleasant odors. Scott is—
Apo shifts and Pyro refocuses on her. She was talking, they realize, and manages to tune into the tone of her voice. The buzzing in his head shifts around her words.
"—re you sure you're okay?" She steps closer, and Pyro allows it, appreciating having something their attention can grab onto.
Are they okay? They're not sure. Ever since they left the town, their thoughts have been too loud for their brain, and their body has been reacting to things before they could realize why. It's disorienting, and they hate whatever this is. They almost say as much when they meet Apo's sincere gaze. She'd understand, surely, and if not, a listening ear is all they really need.
A clawed hand wraps around their throat, cutting off an air supply they don't need.
"I'm fine," He murmurs, glancing away and bringing a hand up to rub his sore skin. "It's all a bit nerve-racking, isn't it?"
Apo nods sympathetically, pulling at her shawl. "It is."
The townsfolk's argument drifts back into his attention as their short conversation wanes. Martyn and Avid battle in his ears, and it takes quite an effort to push them out. Apo's talking again. She's moved close to him, hands hovering awkwardly, like she's not quite sure what she's doing. "And you're sure that's it?"
Pyro swallows, fixing his attention on her dark eyes. There's something there he doesn't quite understand, like she's seeing something far beyond his experience— something only few have witnessed.
"I don't know," He confesses, struggling against the talons that are threatening his airways. The words catch on his tongue briefly; it hurts to get them out. "I—"
They're pulled into a hug, arms wrapping around them quickly, before her mind is changed. Her warmth seeps into their cold skin, and they sink into the embrace, resting their head on her shoulder. Her arms tighten in response, and she murmurs something to them that they can't make out over the thumping in their ears.
Her heartbeat reverberates through his entire body, thrumming under his skin and overpowering his senses.
His stomach turns, sharp and aching with want.
There's a three-second battle within him while his mouth opens to make way for lengthening fangs.
It ends with the vampire pushing himself away from Apo, succumbing to human fear. The hunger writhes within him, protesting by clawing up his insides and leaving his mind suffocating under the raging river that envelopes his being. He gasps for air, but it brings no comfort. Everything is loud loudloud, rushing in his ears and buzzing at the base of his head down to his fingertips. His teeth ache. Everything is wrong.
Apo's back at their side, hands at their shoulders. She's putting more noise into their brain, and they bite down a growl. Her heartbeat is still there, steady as ever, pulling them in. Pyro wills themself to focus on it, if only to have a branch to grab onto so they're not swept away.
They can't look her in the eyes. Their gaze is fixed on the grooves of her neck. Sweat glistens over slightly raised skin, teasing. The thought of it has the buzzing dying down. This is good. They can focus and talk like this.
While their mouth is watering—
"Apo, I need to talk to you."
A fog rolls in. The conditions of the river are unclear, like it doesn't know what to think.
"Yeah, of course, what—"
"Not here, please."
She glances over his head to see several townspeople staring. "Yeah, yeah, of course."
They walk far enough that Pyro can barely see the light of the fire. It flickers behind oak trees, bleeding into the moonlight. Apo is silent, waiting for him to speak. She's not pressuring, but he feels it all the same. Her heartbeat is still steady in his ears. He hates himself for focusing on it, but he wouldn't be able to do this without it.
"Apo, I—" He sucks in a breath. Waves pull at his chest, getting stronger with each step he takes against the current. He has to fight through this, despite the words on his tongue tasting like bile. If he tells her, then maybe she'll be able to help him out of the—
Pyro digs his nails into his palms, leaning against Apo's presence for support against the current beating against his brain.
"I'm—
"WATCH OUT!"
And then his Sire is there, and his legs are swept out from under him.
When a vampire is embraced, it takes centuries for them to fully release their man and accept their monster. One's hindbrain will always push a vampire towards that, but it's often easy to ignore, only increasing in insistence when survival depends on it or during feeding— especially one's first. Alas, instincts could only take a vampire so far. The spirit of man was too much of a weed to be so easily stomped out, and Scott had seen many fledglings struggle with that internal battle. Scott isn't stupid. He’d embraced too many childer and has been dead for far too many years to be so naive to think Pyro would be any different, even with those seemingly intensified instincts.
"Spider almost got you, there," He laughs. The elder vampire slips in between Pyro and their roommate, discreetly separating them as he flicked his sword to rid it of crushed exoskeleton. "Lucky I got here in time."
The two's reaction is laughable, and Scott allows himself the pleasure to do so between his words. It helps keep his anger at bay.
Apo looks up at him, pursing her lips. "Thanks," She says, breathless from jumping out of the way of Scott's swinging sword. He hadn't meant to let the spider get that far, but he wanted to see how close he could get without the two noticing.
"It's no problem," He purrs, sheathing his sword and glancing at the childe behind him. Pyro's eyes are glassy, something that had Scott's hindbrain lighting up. "I'm sorry for interrupting, truly. It just would be a shame for two more to go missing."
"It's no problem," Pyro echos, so quick it seemed like their tongue was moving on its own. "We were about to head back anyway. Thank you…Scott."
Apo shoots him a questioning look— Scott can smell the worry on her —but she gives thanks as well. She moves closer to Pyro, which is irritating, but equally as amusing. Scott runs his tongue over his fangs.
"Let's go, then," Pyro mumbles, moving away from the both of them to head back to camp. Scott frowns at the order, but lets it roll off his back. Time and place, after all.
Pyro's not quite sure how Scott does it: convince Apo to leave first, and for Scott to escort them back alone. There must be some skill unlocked by centuries of unlife. Maybe they'll learn it eventually, but that doesn't seem likely with the way Scott's looming over them, anger rolling off of him in waves.
The vampire hasn't moved, but Pyro still feels as if they've been thrown around and stomped on. Their heart almost beats with fear.
"Do you understand what you are, Pyro?"
He flinches, barely managing a nod. "Yes, Sire."
"Are you sure? Because you seem to be struggling with the concept."
"I'm a vampire," He says, gagging on the words despite how easy they leave him.
Scott leans down, arm stretching to take Pyro's chin between his fingers. He doesn't make contact, but they can feel the cold skin that leeches all warmth from the air, warmth Pyro didn't realize they were feeling.
"Do you know what that is?"
"I—"
Their head snaps to the side. Pain blooms on their cheek, but they're more focused on the ruckus that explodes in their brain. Their Sire's presence is sending everything into hyper drive, and it takes all their energy not to immediately kneel down and beg for forgiveness.
"It is a gift."
That energy is waning.
Scott storms off, growling out words Pyro can't make out. Their legs wobble under them. They dart their tongue out to wet their lips— maybe they can fix this.
"Childe."
They snap to attention. Scott is in front of them, their jaw in between his clawed fingers. The tips push into their skin, terribly familiar in a way that makes their chest heave.
"Are you thankful for this gift?" He muses, pulling Pyro's head forward until they're close enough to feel Scott's breath. His eyes bore into their own. When they open their mouth to respond, his grip tightens. "Don't lie to me, now."
It burns like silver to get the words out, but that's better than the alternative. "I never— I was. I am. I don't know. I enjoy the gifts— truly, Sire, but— but I never asked for it." Pyro takes in a large breath, one that drags on much too long. His Sire is silent, watching him with irises that look like rubies in firelight. "I just— I cannot deal with this… this hunger forevermore."
Scott's lip pulls up to reveal mature fangs, disgust rolling off of him. Pyro's knees go limp, then; the hand on his face the only thing keeping him up. His neck stretches painfully. Invitingly.
"You are a disgrace." The vampire snarls. Talons breach his skin, and he registers the sound of his skull meeting a rock with a wet crack.
He's drowning. Water is filling his lungs and it's in his mouth and he can't breathe he can't breathe. He can't remember anything, but he can feel the claws holding him down and there's something sharp sinking into his neck and he's drowning.
Pyro comes back to consciousness with a jolt, face full of mud, and Scott's heel burning into his back. A few ribs are cracked, he thinks, and he can't see past the muck that burns his eyes. There's the taste of dirty iron on his tongue, and his head aches. It takes several moments to register why.
He takes a breath full of bloody mud. It bubbles on his lips. Scott presses down harder when his chest starts to rise, and his ribs shift even more, making Pyro cry out.
Sire's whisper is next to his ear, so loud it envelops everything and vibrates the earth under him. "You should be dead. Are you thankful now?"
don't lie don't liedon'tlie.
"I'm sorry." A sob leaves his throat raw and twisted when it exits, and his words feel wrong even though they're sincere (are they?). His body feels like a burning pyre. He'd rather die than have to live like this, for even now there is a hunger that grips his insides with a ferocity that rivals his Sire. Nothing is worth this… this curse, despite how it's wrapped as a gift. His brain roars when he thinks it, but that doesn't make it any less true.
Scott tuts, and Pyro's stomach claws bloody welts as it drops. "Please," They wheeze under the pressure of a heel.
The elder must have had some stroke of fleeting pity, because he lets up slightly, giving Pyro the chance to crawl away as their ribs knit themselves back together. The magic burns with each movement, and the vampire barely remembers to turn back around and face their Sire, not technically dismissed.
Scott fixes them with a disappointed stare before he disappears from Pyro's sight.
There's a hand in his hair. It's gentle for a moment before the vampire feels strands yanked from his scalp. His neck is bared with the action. He can feel his Sire's breath against his neck, can feel the deadly desire that wafts from him.
"This is eternity," his Sire hisses in his ear. He can feel the words twisting around his brain, suffocating it. A hand slides over the bare skin on his collarbone, two fingers fitting in the indented center. Claws catch flesh. Pyro whimpers. "How can I make you understand this?"
There's pressure, and then blood squirts from under Scott's nails. Pyro starts to gasp before he's silenced with a shake of his hair. Blood quickly fills his throat, choking out any response that wouldn't have made it far anyway.
The scent of blood and fear bounces around in Scott's hindbrain, driving him forward. It is taking everything in him not to rip open this vampire’s neck and feed. (Not yet, anyway. Lessons must be taught.)
“This is what you are now, Childe.” He murmurs, opening Pyro’s neck. They convulse slightly, choking on borrowed blood. It bubbles from their lips. “You are eternity. This… this gaping hunger within you is eternity.” Their mouth parts, gasping for something they don’t need. It’s pathetic, makes something in Scott writhe with disgust, makes something else curl in affection. It spills from their neck, oozing down Scott’s arm and dripping into the dirt. “You must embrace it, just as it embraced you.” Fury swirls within him as Pyro still tries to struggle, still shakes his head. Blood spurts from the movement, catching Scott on the lips. “As I embraced you.”
Scott rips downwards, splitting Pyro open from the base of their neck to their chest. The wound hurries to stitch itself together, now that Scott’s removed his fingers, but that doesn’t stop the blood from gushing out. How this fledgling still has more is beyond him. He can feel it congregating with the dirt; it’s slimy under his boots. What a shame. He hates to waste blood. Nevertheless, this is necessary. Pyro needs to accept what they are, lest they ruin all of Scott's plans.
He drags Pyro closer, the fledgling fixing him with wild eyes. Blood spills from their mouth as their body worked to mend the wound. It's good work, if he says so himself, which he does. Scott would call it beautiful if he weren’t so pissed. He pokes at the wound again, lengthening the healing process to really cement the point to Pyro. “Do you understand?”
It takes several minutes before they’d healed enough to respond, words coming out gurgled and breathless. “Yes. Yes. Please. Sorry.I’msorryi’msorrypleasesorryyespleasei’m—”
Scott watches Pyro through narrowed eyes, letting the moment settle in their bones. There’s blood everywhere. If they were thirsty before, they’d be starving now. After a minute or two more of begging, Scott scoffs and tosses them aside, licking the blood off his lips. He usually likes the groveling, but this is incessant and insincere. It irritates him.
He watches Pyro scrabble around in the bloody mud with a scowl, attempting to get up but slipping each time. Eventually, Pyro makes his way over, rising on shaking legs. The sentiment disgusts him. This vampire is beneath him. It should stay that way.
Scott turns away.
“Please,” He whispers, gripping Scott's pant legs as he slides to the ground. Mud splashes when his knees hit the earth. It’s all over his hands. He can taste it on his tongue, thick and coarse; he believes for a split second it’s the blood he’s so desperate for. The illusion is broken immediately. His Sire growls, and Pyro full-body flinches. bad. bad. You're dirtying him. filthy. bad.
His throat burns. Everything burns. Though it's healed, he can still feel the gaping hole his Sire left in his neck, the reminder of what he was. The pain echoed through his body, becoming familiar just as the hunger would. Eternity. He understands this now, understands the gift. Thinking about it has his body thrumming with rightness; it slots itself into the buzz at the back of his brain, overwhelming but comforting all the same. Want wells up within him, almost primal, but nothing like the hunger. It's the need to right his mistakes, to atone for his sins.
He needs this, needs to hear those words. They’re a light in the void— no, no, there’s no light here. More like a post in a storm, something he can blindly cling onto so the torrent waters— thick and not-quite blue —quickly rising don't pull him under. Desperation manifests inside him, emerging from deep in his very being to latch onto his useless heart and pump through his barren veins. It thrums inside him, numbing everything that isn’t attached to SireSireSireSire.
His Sire shifts away, moving Pyro’s face closer to the mud in consequence. Though slight, the action has every atom in his body burning with shame; it has him seizing. He whimpers. Earth floods his nostrils. Distantly, Pyro recognizes he deserves this filth. It’s so inside him. So rooted beneath his skin that there was no other outcome than this. He was born with dirt under his fingernails, and in rebirth was covered with it despite the water that washed over him during the embrace.
He understands. How does he make his Sire realize this?
Pyro blindly reaches up, meeting their Sire's clean hand with mud coating their fingers. Though it feels disrespectful, their body allows them to continue with no argument as they guided the elder's hand to where it had previously lain on their skin. The skin hadn't scarred, of course, but Pyro still knows exactly where to place the sharpened nails against their throat. It takes strength to reopen the toughened skin, and they have to suppress a gag, but they manage to split flesh with their Sire's fingertips. Pain flares, familiar, and Pyro leans into it despite themself.
Moments passed before any reaction came from their Sire. Pyro yearned.
Their Sire's purr is the best noise they'd ever be graced with, even as his hands were coated with their blood. Scott eventually removes his fingers from the wound, making a show of it as he drags them across Pyro’s lips. They part, tasting the blood that has become so familiar.
The blood moon sank lower into the sky after what felt like an eternity.
Eternity.
"I'm sorry," Pyro says again, the word is practically a reflex. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for ever rejecting this gift. Please. I'm sorry. It thrums beneath his skin, replacing the blood he'd lost.
His Sire's hands leave his side, and warm air rushes back in the absence.
Hands find themselves in his hair.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Scott teases when Pyro flinches, laughing fondly. He tugs lightly at some strands, causing phantom pain to shoot into Pyro's scalp. He leans into it anyway.
"I know," he hums, focusing on the feeling rather than the thoughts that he'd locked away, screaming in the corners of his mind. It was better this way, he thought, and his hindbrain agreed, thrumming with the acceptance.
“You were perfect,” Scott murmurs against their forehead, tucking a strand of Pyro's hair behind their ear with a pointed nail.
Pyro shudders, his words slotting into their brain as fact. “Thank you, Sire.”