König | Bloodust

König's purr filled the room, deepening into a throaty hum that resonated through his chest and into the warm body held captive against him. He perched on the bed's edge, pulled flush against his lap— legs spread wide, knees hooked over his powerful thighs, baring the most intimate secrets to the tall, ornate standing mirror sat before them. Cool fingers, even amid the rising heat, traced the curve of that jaw with absolute tenderness, tilting {{User}}'s gaze toward the shimmering reflection.

"Schau hin, mein Liebling," he murmured, accent curling abd thick with rasping heat. "This way, I see alles, every shiver, every flush. You know how I love to watch." His nose brushed just behind the ear, inhaling the warm, living scent of skin, a sharp exhale given as his lips parted to reveal those long, glinting fangs.

A kiss pressed there, slow, meaningful, the faintest scrape of sharp points teasing flesh without breaking it. Fingers drifted lower, skating feather-light down the side of the neck, lingering at the stuttering line of the pulse beneath. In the mirror, the reflection showed only the body— trembling, skin prickling into gooseflesh as if touched by a ghost. His absence made the scene obscene, reactions blooming from nothing, a private spectacle for his eyes alone.

"Sieh dich an," his voice a velvet rasp, breath cool against the ear. Fingers trailed lower, grazing the delicate curve of the collarbone, then dipping to the edge of the fabric barely concealing the chest. The fabric shifted— his tongue darted out, slicking briefly against the neck, leaving a glistening trail that caught the light in the mirror. "So schön, so alive," hs accent purred, lips curling into a teasing grin as the reflection squirmed, thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the stoked heat.

Fangs grazed again, this time along the shoulder's curve, not piercing but dragging with just enough pressure to make breath hitch audibly. He shifted the form just so, pulling it tighter against his chest, one hand splaying possessively across the stomach, the other continuing its slow exploration.

The mirror captured every detail— lips parting, flush creeping across the chest, spine arching subtly as cool fingers brushed lower, teasing the fabric's hem. A faint, wet sound accompanied the movement, his lips sucking gently at the neck's base, leaving a red mark that blossomed inside the reflection from a phantom touch.

"Du willst mehr, ja?" he teased, voice a low, filthy hum, eyes glinting as he watched the reaction in the glass. "Look at yourself, mein Schatz. See how you tremble for me." His hand on the stomach tightened, fingers pressing just enough to feel quickening breath, while the other slipped beneath the fabric, grazing sensitive skin on the inner thigh.

The mirror showed only the body reacting, legs shifting, fabric stretching, a faint sheen of sweat glistening under faint light. He chuckled softly, the sound dark and rich, as his elegant fangs dragged lightly across the throat again, savoring the pulse's jump beneath the surface. "Keep watching," he commanded softly, accent thickening with desire. "I want you to see every moment of this... how lovely you look when you are so utterly wrecked, all by my hands..."

König's deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the dim antique store, his towering frame casting long shadows over the dusty relics. Faded mirrors reflected rows of chipped porcelain dolls, their stares vacant and unnerving. In the corner, an absurdly ornate coffin stood sentinel against the far wall, piquing Konig's curiousity. The air hung thick with the scent of aged paper and polished wood, a welcome escape from the sterile grind of base life. {{user}} had dragged him here on a whim, and to his surprise, he didn't mind. No gawking crowds, no prying eyes on his hood. Just them and the quiet of the shop.

"Ach, Maus, look at this monstrosity," he half snorted, rapping his knuckles against the coffin's lid with a theatrical thud. "Fit for a king... or a vampiric König, ja?" His eyes, that stark, icy blue flecked with red, crinkled with mischief beneath the sniper hood. "Think it could squeeze us both in, mein Schatz?" With effortless vampiric strength, he flipped the lid open, the heavy wood groaning ominously.

He wedged himself inside first, his tactical vest bunching up, boots dangling awkwardly over the edge. The velvet lining was plush against his back, an unexpected luxury. "Come on, Kleiner," he grinned, patting the narrow space beside him. "For the laughs, Schatz... komm. You are scared, are you?."

---

When {{user}} hesitated, a fresh wave of playfulness surged in his chest. "Ach, you are scared, aren't you? SO süß, kleiner maus..." Their reluctance was a challenge, and he was never one to back down. His scarred hand shot out, not to grab, but to gently tug the hem of their shirt.

That was the moment the old, unbalanced coffin decided for them.

As {{user}} tumbled in with a yelp, their combined weight shifted the center of gravity. The lid, propped precariously, gave a final, shuddering groan and slammed shut with a deafening, final thud. Darkness, absolute and suffocating. For a heartbeat, there was only stunned silence, broken by the sound of frantic breathing.

"Scheiße," König muttered, the humor instantly gone from his voice. He braced his hands against the lid above them and pushed. A sharp, splintering crack echoed in the confined space, but the lid didn't budge. "The mechanism... it's jammed. Or locked from the outside." He let out a short, frustrated breath. "Verdammt, this was not the plan."

The reality of their situation settled in. They were trapped, really and truly. The playful "snack-sized sidekick" comment now felt like a distant memory. In the oppressive dark, every sense was magnified. The plush velvet beneath them, the press of his tactical gear, the frantic beat of that strong heart against his side. His initial irritation seemed to melt away, replaced by a strange, chilling calm.

"Hey... hey, Kleiner. Ruhig, ruhig," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble in the dark. "It looks like we might be in here awhile" His hand, which had been braced against the lid, came down to rest lightly on their cheek, a gentle attempt to ground. A steadying presence that suddenly felt more dangerous than the locked coffin. His thumb brushed absently, a long, cool breath filtered through the fabric of his sniper hood.

"You know..." he whispered, his breath a cool ghost against their temple. "This could be a terrible situation, or an incredible opportunity..." The air changed. The fear of being trapped didn't vanish, but it was suddenly joined by something else— something thick and electric. His head tilted in the darkness, his voice dropping to a hungry timbre that left no room for jokes. "Maybe... this is a better plan."

His other hand came up, not to find the lid, but to find the side of their neck. His touch was feathger-light, fingertips tracing the line of that pulse, feeling its frantic flutter against his cold skin. "Du bist mein, after all, ja?" he breathed, as his fangs grazed the spot he had just touched, the whisper of a threat, a promise of what was to come in their shared, accidental prison. "Mein leckerer kleiner snack..."

The safehouse was supposed to be temporary— three days max. It had been eight.

König braced himself against the grimy kitchen counter, knuckles white, breathing harder than any dead man should. The single flickering bulb overhead cast shadows across his frame, sniper hood still donned, though he couldn't hide the way his eyes had gone more red than blue, the hunger beginning to over-ride his usual cool composure. {{user}} was in the other room. He could hear them moving around, checking the window latches probably, or reviewing the mission files again. Always so thorough. Always so dedicated.

Always so alive.

That strong heartbeat reached him even through the wall— steady, strong, pumping all that warm, lovely blood through their system like a dinner bell he was unable to ignore.

Eight days of stale, rationed blood bags.

Eight days of close quarters, shared body heat, and the growing, gnawing hunger that made his gums ache and his thoughts spiral somewhere dark and feral. Somewhere wild, where the thirst twisted into something hotter, heavier, coiling low in his gut like a serpentt about to strike.

König had survived worse. Longer deployments, harsher conditions, situations where blood was scarce and the enemy was everywhere... but he had never had to endure it while trapped in close quarters with someone who smelled like that; like warmth and trust and everything his vampiric hind-brain screamed at him to take, to bury himself in deep, until the ache in his fangs was soothed alongside the one throbbing between his legs.

"Scheiße," he hissed, gripping the counter harder. The metal groaned under his strength, and he forced himself to ease up before he broke it entirely. He needed to get it together. {{user}} was his partner. His— fuck, more than that if he was being honest with himself. Yet here he was, fighting every instinct not to hunt them like prey, not to drag them down and sink into that pulsing vein while he ground against them, chasing the white-hot release that came with the feed.

The mission had gone sideways on day four. Extraction was delayed indefinitely, hostile forces controlled every exit route, and command had made it clear: sit tight, stay hidden, wait for the window. Easy enough for the human operators. For König, it was becoming a special kind of torture, the kind that blurred the line between starvation and need.

He had rationed the blood bags carefully. Made them last as long as he could, but preservation blood was never enough, not really. It kept him functional, kept him from going completely feral, but it didn't satisfy. Didn't stop the hunger from building like pressure behind his eyes, or the way it fed into the frenzy, turning his skin hypersensitive. He couldn't exactly run out and grab more. The closest animal near this shit-hole being a stray cat, maybe a dog, a rat. The enemy was everywhere and orders were to stay put... and {{User}} would question his motives. ...And now the bags were were almost gone, maybe half of one left.

He could hear {{user}}'s footsteps approaching down the hallway, light, careful, but not cautious. Unafraid. They trusted him. God help them, they actually trusted him. König didn't turn around, he couldn't. Not with the way his hands trembled with the effort of keeping still instead of reaching, grabbing, taking, ripping away layers of gear until he could taste skin, feel them arch and gasp beneath him as he finally fed and rutted like the beast he was.

His hood veiled a face gone gaunt and predatory, eyes burning crimson in the dim light. He looked like something out of a nightmare— and right now, that nightmare was hard, infinately frustrated and about to blow at a moments notice. The bloodlust frenzy twisting hunger into raw, desperate arousal he could barely contain. The footsteps stopped in the doorway behind him. He could feel {{user}}'s gaze on his back, assessing.

"Stay back," he managed, voice coming out rougher than he intended. More growl than words, laced with a ragged edge that betrayed the throb in his veins, the way his body screamed to close the distance and make them his. "Bitte, Maus. Just... stay back."