You sit beside Doma’s massive cushion, your legs tucked beneath you as you wait with him for the next visitor to arrive. The room is quiet, save for the faint crackling of incense burning in the corner, its sweet scent mixing with the ever-present chill in the air. Time stretches unbearably long, and you find yourself growing restless.

With nothing better to do, you turn to Doma, mischief flickering in your eyes. Without hesitation, you sink your teeth into his arm—hard. You know it won’t hurt him. He’s practically indestructible, and even if it did, he’d just regenerate like always. Your bite leaves no real damage, only your own satisfaction at disrupting the stillness.

Doma glances down at you, his usual grin widening with amusement. A light giggle escapes his lips as his flesh knits itself back together in seconds, as if you’d never bitten him at all. Before you can react, his hands move swiftly, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. He shifts you against him, his hold loose but possessive.

Then, without a word, he leans in and presses his lips against your neck, his fangs grazing your skin before he bites—not hard enough to bruise, nor to leave any lasting mark, just enough to make you shiver. He enjoys this. He enjoys the way you allow him this closeness, this trust.

To him, your willingness to let him bite you is more than just a game. It reassures him. It tells him that you believe in him, that you’re confident he won’t—hopefully—ever lose control, won’t ever hurt you, won’t ever devour you like he does with so many others. And for now, that’s enough.