Work Text:
It’s happening again. Diluc is steadily losing his mind once more, and what makes it worse is that he knows it wouldn’t be the last time. He craves even the faintest drop of blood, real blood, hungers for it so primally. His supplements are no longer sufficient enough to quench his thirst.
Diluc created a special type of wine, an artificial way to trick his body into lasting longer without blood. It took years to perfect, dare he say even decades. Hiding under his title of wine tycoon, he made something almost perfect. Almost, with only one flaw - it doesn’t last long.
Drained and weak now he has to suffer for that uncorrectable flaw. He forced all his workers to go home, kicked them out like strays, because he knew they wouldn’t be safe with him. Every once in a while he’d have one of these episodes and they knew to expect it, however they foolishly believed that the thirst went away on its own, and he is willing to keep them oblivious. He can’t let them see the monster in him.
He tries to keep busy in his office, signing useless paperwork while slowly losing his mind. The aggravating taps of the raging storm outside knock on his windows, and he wishes it didn't sound like bullets piercing his eardrums. He knows he isn’t angry at the weather, but at the beast in him that craves something he refuses to give into. And it in turn makes him angry at the world.
The only way his thirst would quench is if he feeds properly. Every previous time the wine stopped working he went out on a hunt for a boar or another animal big enough to drink from. He usually chose to hunt in the Whispering Woods or near Brightcrown Canyon, both secluded enough that he was sure he wouldn’t slip into a frenzy and wander into the city.
Now, however, he refuses. He can’t keep doing this, succumbing to this ugly, primal urge that always comes back no matter how good he gets at pretending to be human. It scares him to feel so out of control. He hates living in the way of the dead, he wishes he never received the Kiss of Life. Even if that would mean he would have missed out on over 200 years of living, the hunger was torturous enough to make him disparage even his immortality, which he otherwise cherishes.
But now he is left to beg at the knees of any god listening to ease his pain, to alleviate his thirst - to make him human. Or at least, make him feel human.
A thunder strikes somewhere in the near distance, distracting him from his wallowful thoughts and anger. His attention lifts from his paperwork to the misted windows, his eyes catching those of the moon.
Then a knock echoes. He thinks it’s the weather at first, but it rumbles too heavy and sounds too wooden; he knows it can’t be from anywhere but the front door. His mind screams to ignore it, but his monster, so starved and sensitive, can already smell it - a human. A fool, to be knocking on a stranger’s door at such a late hour, that isn’t always safe. Diluc knows it’s likely someone trying to hide from the storm, but they'll find a different storm waiting for them inside.
He hasn’t heard another knock and as much as he wants to believe they’re gone, he can still smell them. Fresh and ripe and ready for Diluc to- Oh, no. His thoughts are already out of his control. He’s beginning to slowly slip away and as if the universe is trying to punish him, he hears the door of the manor creak open.
“Hello?” Echo the halls as a sweet voice calls out to him. He holds his breath, trying to stay hidden so the intruder doesn’t hear him, but feels that offensively mouthwatering aroma rest on his tongue. “Would it be a problem to take shelter in here? Only for a little while, I promise!” The voice bounces off the walls in the main hall and Diluc hears it getting closer, “Just until the storm calms.” A few steps echo and then the door creaks, but Diluc stays facing away from it in his chair. He shifts just slightly, his nose itching to take in that delicious smell as deeply as he can, and catches a glimpse of the intruder.
A short figure stands at the doorway of Diluc’s office and recognition immediately settles over, “Oh, Master Diluc! I’m so sorry to have barged in like that! I didn’t think anyone was home.” Venti.
"Leave." Diluc pleads through gritted teeth.
"I’m sorry, but the storm is very heavy right now, you can't just send me away in this weather!”
"Leave!" Diluc begged, voice strained, "Please, just go. I can't control it much longer." He feels his conscious cling on, refusing to let himself slip into that carnal frenzy he knows is steadily approaching.
"Control what..?" Despite his clear hesitation, Venti steps forward, careful as if walking towards an angered beast. Maybe Diluc is just that, with the revolting thoughts filling his mind, fruit of his desperation. The closer his steps sound, the more panic-stricken Diluc becomes. “Master Diluc, you look like you're in pain...”
Diluc is in pain. He ignores the concern that Venti’s voice trembled with, weak with the urge to devour him.
"Do not come any closer!" Venti recoils back, but seems determined enough to be a nuisance and persists forward until he’s standing dangerously close to Diluc.
“Are you alright?” He feels a hand touch his shoulder and jumps as if burnt.
Slowly and gently the hand is moving down his arm, as if trying to soothe him, unaware of the danger he's putting himself in. Diluc's nails are about to start bleeding from how hard they've bitten into the leather of his desk chair. His control is slowly beginning to crack and nothing scares Diluc more than not knowing what he is capable of once it’s all gone.
The bard’s hand lands on his face and Diluc's breath hitches, hoping and praying to any god listening that he doesn’t lose control right then. That pale wrist is so close to his face, he can hear the quickened pulse, feel the blood flowing through the brittle veins. It would be so easy to just run his tongue along it and taste that same flavour that lingers on his nose. He thinks about running, but he is afraid that if he moves even an inch he might snap himself out of his fragile human state.
“It’s not a fever, in fact it might be the opposite!” The bard jests with a faint smile, but Diluc finds no humour in it. He does feel ill, but not in any human way. The hand on his cheek turns his head until they face each other and Diluc waits to see the bard's eyes start to fill with horror. He knew his own eyes were probably already glowing a bloody red and his fangs were impossible to hide by that point, but Venti doesn't react.
"Are you-" Venti stops himself, already having answered his own question. He gulps, taking another hard look at Diluc's fangs, the pad of his thumb running along the point of his tooth, "Are you hungry?"
"Starving." Diluc's breath is shaking, "So please, don't make this difficult for me - and leave."
Venti shakes his head. It was then that Diluc realises every move the bard makes shifts his scent in the air, tickling his nose in the most torturous of ways. He doesn't have much strength left in him. The bard takes his own shirt buttons between careful fingers and starts unbuttoning, revealing pale flesh that smells so, so maddeningly delicious.
He has to leave, or at least one of them does. He tries to stand up from his chair, but the bard catches his shoulders and keeps him in place. Diluc is going to go insane. The hand he has covering his nose and mouth is his last resort, the only way he could think of to keep himself sane.
"Are you testing my patience, bard?! Do you want to get yourself killed?" His voice is muffled behind his hand, but the worry and anger still seeps through.
"No. I'm offering myself to you." What..? Something in Venti's eyes is so calm it scares Diluc, terrifies him.
"That- that is incredibly dangerous, I will not hear of it. Please, just… leave already."
“Diluc..” Venti isn't scared, he speaks in a voice so gentle as if he were speaking to a little forest bird. Diluc, however, is horrified. He feels his patience slipping away, he feels that primal instinct begin to resurface.
The bard settles over him, shirt halfway off his body, shoulders exposed and inches of skin displayed for Diluc to see, to smell… to taste. He can feel the moment he is no longer in charge, the moment his mind doesn't pose any authority over his body anymore. His hands grab the bard, feeling his own terrifying strength seep through the simple motion. And even so, Diluc feels powerless.
He noses the skin of his shoulder, inhaling as much of that intoxicating aroma as he can. Something in him still resists against his nature, but it doesn't hold out for long. His fangs, body already desperate, elongate with a dull ache and his mouth waters. His vision blurs as his eyes fill with tears before he finally lets go of his humanity and lets his fangs sink into skin.
He blacks out for the next few seconds, or minutes, or god forbid hours, he isn't sure. When he comes to again, there is a hand running soothing circles into his hair, his teeth are still attached to flesh, but now he is aware enough to not let himself drink. His fangs detach with a wet sound and the bard hums, pleased, which is an indication that he is thankfully still alive. His once pale shoulders and pristinely white shirt are now showered in blood. Diluc is a renowned messy eater and he is sure his mouth is very much still stained red, even after his poor attempts to wipe it clean with the back of his hand.
"Let me get it." Venti's thumb is at the corner of Diluc's mouth, wiping at the spilled blood that they both know won't come off so easily. He can still taste it, that thick, rich taste that makes his mouth water for more.
Diluc catches the bard's wrist, stopping the motion with the furrow back in his brow. "Haven't you done enough."
"But you were hungry…" Venti pouts, his eyes sparkling in a way that makes Diluc want to apologise for yelling. He quickly snaps out of that, refusing to let himself give into the bard’s charms.
"This was so dangerous, I can't believe you were careless enough to try this."
"How long has it been since you last went to sleep with a full belly? It doesn't matter that it was dangerous, at least you're taken care of."
"I- I could've hurt you." Diluc whispers, his forehead thumping against the bard's bloody mess of a shoulder in a silent apology. Venti winces in pain quietly, and it doesn’t slip Diluc's notice. "I did hurt you."
"My fault."
"I'm still the one who did it." Diluc's arms are tight around the bard, guilt stricken. The skin is so warm under his cold fingers and under his cheek where it rests on his shoulder. He takes a swipe with his tongue over the drying blood, refusing to let it go to waste. It’s instinctual, if he were in his right mind he would never allow himself to do that, but he craved more. It’s largely the reason he is afraid to drink from humans - not knowing when to stop.
“You’re still hungry?” Venti’s hand is under his chin, bringing his face up to look at him in a way surprisingly gentle. Diluc couldn’t help the honest, shameful nod he gives in return. Two hands now guide his face back onto the shoulder he had already ruined once, an invitation for him to take more.
And Diluc gives in.