The blood flowed down their wrist in rivulets, tempting him with its iron scent, and yet he did not give in.
Sat upon their lap, Theodore was in the perfect position to drink it up. To taste the ambrosia that flowed within the human body was the only thing keeping him from true death. The only thing that prevented the stagnating corpse he resided in from finally rotting away. He stayed still, watching it drip, drip, drip down their arm.
It fell upon the floor and formed small puddles, barely avoiding staining the fabric of Master's dress shirt. What a waste, the purest tragedy in a single sound, the thud of blood against ceramic tiling. White stained red, the same shade of crimson as his irises.
They were stroking his hair, tangling their long fingers in the chestnut waves and tugging softly at random intervals to get his attention. Every pull brought a faint sort of hope that it was finally time for his order, but they stayed silent, waiting for him to snap or prove himself.
Their warmth was suffocating, their heartbeat torturous.
If he were a weaker man, he would have snapped, turning around to rip their throat out with his fangs, jugular split open so the scarlet sweetness could finally hit his tongue. He wouldn't be gentle, wouldn't be kind, he'd take and take and gorge himself on his only desire, getting what he needed —
but he was better than that. Better trained. Not like the rest of those filthy parasites.
Master said that Theodore was the most pliant vampire they'd ever met, and he knew it was a compliment. After all, vampires were cruel and callous, selfish to the point of homicide. He was nothing like them. He was perfect, beloved, and he had the collar to prove it.
Before his turning, he had plenty of poise, and he likes to think he kept most of it. Even if he would be drooling if he still had saliva. His desperation was clear, and yet they kept stroking him rather than feeding him.
He hadn't eaten in days, weeks, even. Skin sagging and bones prominent, he was close to fading away. The mere sight of veins when they first entered his cage was almost enough to make him go feral. Almost.
But he knew how this went, the same way it always went. He'd be taken to the lounge, dolled up just the way they liked, and tested. If he proved himself, he'd get a real meal, and maybe even some of their blood. If he didn't… Theo didn't want to think about that.
A melodic voice broke him out of his musings, husky and deep and praising.
"You're doing so well, little shadow, just a little more." They'd been telling him that for the past half an hour, but that was okay. They had to be telling the truth at some point.
Upon hearing the translation of Theo's last name a few months ago, they were utterly delighted, and refused to call him anything but 'little shadow'. A Nott turning into a creature of the night, how fitting.
The wrist was brought up to his mouth, dangerously close, and he did nothing but wait.
"Fine. Go on, you can have a sample, but only because you're my favourite. No teeth, no sucking, only tongue."
Theodore leapt at the opportunity, leaning down to press his tongue against the lowest of the droplets on of their arm and moving upwards. The gods themselves couldn't have crafted a better taste, and his vision blurred as he lapped it up, eyes damn near watering.
They chuckled, the other arm around Theo's waist to make sure he didn't fall to the floor in his excitement.
"Easy, now, or you'll topple us both off the sofa." Master said, gently pulling him until his back was flush with their chest.
A brief sense of shame took root — he was meant to be well-mannered, and here he was tumbling over himself with absolutely no restraint — but it was replaced by bliss when another drop hit his tongue. There was nothing but the hazy euphoria as he tongued the open wound, unable to know anything but the sensation of consumption.
Master allowed him a whole two minutes to lick at their wound before taking their wrist away. He whined, but didn't chase it, despite how twitchy the sudden loss of his treat made him. They cast a healing spell, sealing up the cut and meaning that Theo couldn't get more even if he tried.
(Unless he punctured it, used his fangs like he was meant to. His instincts were singing to him, promising more and more blood if he just let himself break from his training.
It wasn't working, but the melody was tempting enough for his fangs to stay extended.)
A gentle tap to his side. Theodore stood, removing himself off their knee and waiting once more. They left and Theo followed, the silver tag on his collar jingling as he did so.
When they got back to his cage, Master didn't come in with him, only giving him one last pat to the head before locking the door behind them. It wasn't surprising, but it was a little disappointing. Stuck in the little glass box, nothing but his toys and his books and his bed, it was oddly reminiscent of his childhood alone in the Manor.
Needless to say, he hated it.
But there wasn't much he could do about it. So, instead of complaining, Theodore went over to his nest. Upon the careful chaos of pillows and blankets lay four blood bags, and he almost melted in relief.
Master's blood was divine, but that little of it couldn't actually sustain him. That's why it was a treat, a special present for when he did exceptionally well or when Master was feeling nice.
It was stale, like all blood bags were, but at least he was being fed. They weren't those awful plastic things, either, instead being a sort of sleek fabric that was much less likely to burst when he squeezed it.
He could feel his strength returning tenfold at his meal, sighing in relief as his cheeks reddened and his hunger was satiated. Only two bags were drunk, the other two tucked away in his favourite corner for later. Never again would he make the mistake of getting greedy and drinking too quick, leaving nothing for the stretches of time between feedings.
Another benefit of the blood bags. They could wait to be devoured, unlike the animals Master used to feed him. Theodore hated those things. They completely ruined his perfectly pristine cage. Their blood was disgusting, too. So clearly inferior to human blood.
The bags had more blood in them, too. It made him feel warm; well, as warm as a glorified cadaver could feel. It was clearly a privilege gained from his good behaviour.
Master used to have another vampire, much more disobedient than Theodore. He could tell because their cages were opposite one another, and the bad vampire was taken out of it far less than Theodore. Master never showed the bad vampire off to his friends, never took them to the fancy parties to impress the guests.
The bad vampire got less blood, too.
The thought made him smile, smug, as he nestled into the blankets. Master obviously liked Theodore better. The warm glow of his superiority kept him entertained for hours.