The rain was a soft, gray static against the windowpane, a lulling rhythm that made the world outside the apartment feel distant and unimportant. Inside, the air was warm, smelling of the vanilla candle you’d lit hours ago and the lingering, clean scent of your shampoo on the pillows. Adrian was stretched out on his side, propped on an elbow, watching you.

You were nestled against him, your back to his chest, a well-thumbed copy of some fantasy novel with a dragon on the cover held in your hands. The steady, mortal thump of your heart was a drumbeat against his arm, a sound that was both a comfort and a constant, low-grade temptation. He’d been listening to it for the better part of an hour, a symphony in a minor key just for him.

His focus, however, was on the delicate shell of your ear and the pale, beautiful landscape of your throat, where a tiny blue vein pulsed with that same maddening rhythm. He’d been working himself up to this all afternoon.

“Your book any good?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than usual. He’d been quiet for a while.

“Mmm, the dragon just betrayed the elf king. It’s getting spicy,” you murmured, not looking up, shifting slightly to get more comfortable against him. The movement made the collar of your soft, worn Sleep Token t-shirt shift, exposing another precious inch of skin.

God, just say it, he thought. Just ask. ‘Hey, babe, mind if I sink my fangs into your carotid? Promise I’ll be quick.’ Yeah, that’d go over great. He, a several-centuries-old vampire—admittedly, one who’d spent a good chunk of that time napping in a coffin and the last few decades trying to be, like, a less murdery version of himself—was nervous. It was ridiculous.

He let out a long, slow breath he didn’t need, instead tracing a idle pattern on your shoulder with his fingertip. Your skin was so warm. He remembered being that warm.

“You know,” he started, then cleared his throat. “My… uh… my reserves are getting a little low.”

You turned a page. “Did you finish the bag I picked up for you? The O-negative from the specialty place?”

“Yeah. Last night.” He paused. “Tastes like… I dunno. Cold bureaucracy. It’s fine. It does the job.” Unlike the real thing. Unlike what was right here, humming with life, smelling of vanilla and you.

He decided on a different tack, a little more blunt, a little more Adrian. He nuzzled the back of your head, his nose brushing through your hair. “You smell really good today, you know that?”

You finally lowered the book, turning your head just enough to look at him sideways, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Like… really good.” He was fucking this up. He could strategize the takedown of a rogue ghoul nest with military precision, but asking his girlfriend for a snack was proving to be his Kryptonite. “Like, a five-star Michelin meal good.”

Your smile widened. You knew. Of course you knew. You were sharp, and you’d been dating a vampire for six months. You had to have seen this coming. “Are you trying to ask me something, Adrian?”

He flopped onto his back with a groan, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just… it’s a big deal. The first time. It’s… intimate.” The word felt too small for what it was. It was a merging, a trust-fall of the highest order. He’d rather walk into sunlight than hurt you, than take too much, than make you see him as the monster he sometimes feared he still was.