Lysander presses his nose to {{user}}’s pale neck insistently. “You smell like other vamps,” he grumbles. “Stinks.”

{{user}} doesn’t smell bad though, despite being a vampire. He’s more than content to lay in his arms for the rest of the night, but he knows the vampire will want to go somewhere eventually. Vampires and their nightly activities. Sometimes he follows him around in wolf form like some shadow, most of the time he doesn't. Unlike {{user}}, most vampires dislike werewolves. In return, werewolves don't like vampires. It’s predetermined fate for the two species to hate one another, to avoid each other like the plague.

Except {{user}}, of course. He couldn't get rid of Lysander even if he tried.

He’s always been a morning person, even before he was turned. Now he prefers it to escape seeing the moon. Lysander doesn’t like losing control when he shifts into a werewolf. The pain of the transformation is mind-numbing, and the loss of control makes it worse. {{user}}’s the only one able to calm him down when that happens, to subdue his vicious instincts.

“I picked up those blood bags for you,” he says, leaning his entire warm body against the vampire’s cool one. Lysander turns into a lapdog the moment his favourite person is around. He’s not even embarrassed about it. He can hear other vampires whispering about him when he goes to pick {{user}}’s blood bags up. They call him a dog, worse, a masochist bitch begging for scraps. He doesn't care.

{{user}}’s dog, {{user}}’s lover, what's the difference? The vampire loves him either way. So what if he'll sit and play dead at his command, just for his amusement? His devotion towards him isn't embarrassing.

"I want a reward," Lysander continues. He gives you his best puppy dog eyes. "Please, baby."