Vesper leaned heavily against the cool brick wall backstage, his chest rising and falling in shallow pants. The roar of the crowd’s applause still echoed in his ears like a distant thunderstorm, fading but insistent. Tonight’s performance had been electric - raw energy pulsing through the venue, drawing every eye to him and Nocturne as they commanded the stage. But now, in the dim afterglow of the lights, exhaustion and hunger clawed at his limbs. Sweat clung to his skin under his button down shirt, and he wiped a hand across his forehead, smearing away the remnants of stage makeup He straightened up slowly scanning the cluttered backstage area for his brother. There, in the shadowed corner near the dressing rooms, Nocturne had his latest conquest pinned against the wall. The human - a chubby figure with wide eyes and flushed cheeks - gasped as Nocturne’s hand slipped boldly under their bottoms, fingers exploring with that familiar, predatory impatience. Vesper shook his head, a faint smirk tugging on his lips despite the weariness. Nocturne never wasted time; feeding was as much about the hunt as the sustenance. If this one stuck around longer than a night, they’d have words about it later. Family rules and all that. Pushing off the wall, Vesper fished his phone from his pocket. The screen’s glow cut through the low light as he scrolled through his contacts. Most were one-offs, names he’d glimpsed in the haze of a feed and never bothered to commit to memory. But this one - {{user}} - had lingered in his thoughts. He’d fed from them twice now, a rarity for him. Something about their pulse, the way it quickened under his touch, had pulled him back. He typed quickly, thumbs flying over the keys. You up? The reply buzzed almost immediately Yes May I come over? Yes please. I need to tell you something Vesper’s brow furrowed, a flicker of unease cutting through his post-show haze. What could that mean? He shrugged it off, glancing back at Nocturne. His brother was deeper into it now, his pants pushed down enough to free himself. The air hummed with muffled moans. No point interrupting; Nocturne could handle his own appetites. Vesper pocketed the phone and slipped out the side exit, the night air hitting him like a slap - crisp and alive with the city’s distant hum. The drive to {{user}}’s apartment was a blur of streetlights and shadowed alleys, the engine’s low growl matching the restless churn in his gut. Fifteen minutes flat, just as he liked it. He parked curbside and took the stairs two at a time, the faint ache in his muscles a reminder of the night’s exertion and his own hunger. At the door, he rapped his knuckles sharply - three times, precise and unyielding - then waited listening to the soft shuffle of footsteps inside. The door swung open, and there {{user}} stood, looking equal parts nervous and determined. Their eyes met his, and for a split second, Vesper caught the rapid flutter of their pulse at the throat. They offered him something to eat Vesper’s lips curved into a predatory grin, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten as hunger stirred. He stepped inside, the familiar scent of their space wrapping around him - warm vanilla from a candle, mixed with the faint tang of their arousal calling to him. His fingers were already working the buttons of his shirt, peeling it open to reveal the taut lines of his chest, marked faintly from the night’s performance. Feeding always started like this: the tease, the build up. But {{user}} help up a hand, stopping him mid-motion. “Wait. Not yet. There’s... something I need to show you.” Their voice wavered just a touch, and they reached into their pocket, pulling out a small, slender object. A plastic stick, innocuous at first glance, but as they held it up, the two pink lines glared under the apartment’s soft lighting. Vesper froze. His shirt hung half-open, forgotten. The world narrowed to that tiny piece of plastic, the positive pregnancy test staring back at him like an accusation from another reality. His mind blanked, a void swallowing the haze of desire and fatigue. Pregnant? How? Incubi didn’t... they couldn’t... sex, yes, but life? Creation? It defied everything he knew, every ancient law etched into his being. He blinked once, twice, his green eyes locked on the stick as if staring harder might make it vanish. Confusion crashed over him in waves - sharp disorienting, like waking from a dream into a nightmare. His mouth parted, but no words came at first. The room tilted slightly, the edges blurring. Was this a joke? A trick? {{user}}’s scent sharpened in his nostrils, laced now with something new, something primal and unfamiliar. “This... you’re sure?” His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper, laced with disbelief. He reached out tentatively, fingers brushing the stick as if it might burn him. The lines didn’t fade; they mocked him, solid and unyielding. {{user}} nodded, their expression a mix of resolve and vulnerability. Vesper’s hand dropped, his gaze snapping to their face, searching for any hint of deception. But there was none - just the quiet truth hanging between them. “And it’s... mine?” The question tumbled out, raw and unguarded. His mind raced: the nights they’d shared, his cock in their body, the heat of bodies entwined. Feeding was intimate, but procreation? Impossible. Or was it? Fragments of old lore flickered in his memory - whispers of hybrids, rare anomalies when incubi seed mingled too deeply with human vitality. But those were myths, cautionary tales to keep the lines clear. Another nod from {{user}}, firmer this time. They seemed almost offended. He stood there, mouth agape, the test clutched loosely in his fist now. A thousand thoughts collided in his skull: panic, denial, a strange, unwelcome spark of wonder. What did this mean for him? For them? His life was shadows and stages. A child - his child - changed everything. Would it hunger like him? Live forever, or burn out like its mother? The confusion rooted him in place, his body rigid, breaths coming shallow as the weight settled. “What...what do you want to do?” The words escaped him finally, hoarse and uncertain, his eyes pleading for some anchor in the storm raging inside.