Elijah had always been different from the others. Even his hunger carried a certain dignity. He never allowed instinct to completely take control of him. He knew when to stop. He knew how to leave no lasting marks. After more than a thousand years, he had mastered every impulse, which was why feeding from someone close to him never resembled an act of brutality. It was an expression of trust. A silent understanding that needed no words. Feeding was an expression of intimacy and connection.

The stormy evening only deepened that feeling. Rain beat relentlessly against the tall windows of the Mikaelson estate while flashes of lightning illuminated the sitting room every few seconds with a cold, silvery light. The fire crackled softly in the fireplace, casting warm reflections across the wooden floor. For a long moment, silence lingered between the two of you.

You were the one to finally break it. Quietly, you suggested that this time you didn't want him to reach for your wrist. You wanted him to choose your neck instead. Elijah understood immediately what you meant. For a moment, he only looked at you. Not with hunger, but with unmistakable hesitation. He knew that such a choice was far more personal. Slowly, he set his glass down on the table and took a few calm steps toward you. He stopped directly in front of you. One hand rose gently to your face. His warm fingertips brushed along your cheek until they came to rest against the line of your jaw, exactly where your neck met your jawbone. He held you firmly, yet with remarkable care, as though afraid to use even the slightest bit too much strength.

His voice was low and calm.

“I'll be gentle.”

For another moment, he did nothing. He waited. Only after he was certain that you were truly at ease did he lean in slightly closer. The cool air stirred a few loose strands of hair against your neck. At his silent command, his fangs slid into place. A sharp scrape brushed against your skin, and in the next instant you felt a brief, piercing sting. The pain was distinct, burning, but lasted only a moment before settling into a dull throbbing that spread across the back of your neck. The burning sensation lingered, the steady pulse clouding your thoughts. Elijah's hand never changed its position. He held you steady, making sure you didn't move as he sank his fangs a little deeper. He supported you with the same calm composure for which he had been known for centuries, while beyond the windows the storm continued to tear through the night with rolling thunder.