Chapter Text
Raven couldn’t stand humanity. Humans were cowards, hiding behind false faces as they danced around in a predetermined play.
Animals, though, animals were pure. They ran not on societies stage, following stereotypical scripts that they didn't want in the first place.
Animals were different.
When wolves ran together as one, it was joyous and a show of strength. When birds or frogs sang over the woodland, it was a glorious melody.
When animals were one, it was instinct. It was nature.
Not like the ungoth human masses.
Raven held animals in the highest regards. So when he heard the terrified cries of some poor creature on his way home from the graveyard, he froze.
A heavy blanket of clouds clung over the sky that night. Only the sickly yellow of the street lamps gave any light to the empty town.
The mountain chill settled down into his bones as Raven strained his ears.
Usually, he would assume the cries were of a prey animal, desperately trying to escape its fate, and he would leave nature alone to her cruel design.
But these cries, they weren't from a prey animal.
They were from a cat.
They were from a predator.
Raven's brow furrowed as he slowly followed the ever-growing cries towards an alley between Tom's Rhinoplasty and an abandoned office building.
He pressed himself up against the clinic front. His breath fogged up the glass and obscured the prices for nose jobs hanging up in the window.
He shuffled closer and heard a voice.
“Please stop struggling! It'll be over soon, I promise!” Someone whimpered softly. The voice sounded just as scared as the cat.
So this was a human's doing! Of course, some pathetic human would do this! Probably some kid on a dare, trying to crawl their way up the social ladder.
Raven narrowed his eyes and scooted to the edge of the building. His shoe brushed against something wet and sticky.
When he looked down. The bloody remains of a squirrel stared up at him. Its eyes were so wide in terror that only the smallest pinprick of black iris looked back. Its fur had been torn out in places and blood oozed from its nostrils and covered its broken teeth.
The most gruesome disfigurement of the broken corpse, however, wasn't the twisted limbs or missing fur, but the squirrel's stomach. The belly fur was slick, wet, and pointed upwards. All of it ringed by deep punctures.
The squirrel must have been in agony when it perished.
“Shh, shhhh, now. Please, I don't gotta choice.”
Raven jerked his head up as the voice once again pleaded with the cat. He reached to his back pocket.
South Park had a lot of weirdos. It would be better to go into this armed. Firkle had given him and the rest of the Goths a knife last Christmas. Raven only kept it because of how Goth it made him feel.
This would be the first time Raven would have to use it in defense.
Steeling his nerves, Stan peeked around the corner into the alleyway.
The cat struggled against the hooded figure that loomed over it. The figure held down the striped tabby by its head with one hand and, with another, pressed the tabby's middle against the concert.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” The figure mumbled.
The figure looked about teenager sized. Were they planning on shaving the poor cat? Cut off its whiskers? Duct tape its tail to its back?
The soft flesh of his palms pressed against the crudely carved bird in the handle of the his knife. He could do this. For the cat. For nature herself.
The clouds above parted. A beam of silvery moonlight basked the scene in its cold embrace.
The light glinted off the saliva and blood on the monster's fangs. Red-tinged drool ran down its chin, dripping onto the tabby's grey coat.
All Raven's mind could comprehend at that moment were those fangs. Nothing that big and sharp could belong to a human, but there was nothing else it could be. Dogs and bears and other large predators didn't have hands, nor did they speak.
Trapped in place by the horrific awe of the monster, Raven watched as it lowered itself down. Then, with its jaws opened wide, the monster clamped down on the cat's neck.
As a disgusting slurping sound filled the night, a movement behind a box in the alley tore Raven’s eyes from the grotesque scene.
A kitten peeked its head out, eyes wide as dinner plates, then another, and one more. Three little tabby babies. One of them mewled, taking a tentative step closer to the scene, only to scamper back when the cat let out a yowl.
Raven’s heart caught in his throat. The monster wasn’t just eating a cat; it was eating a mother.
Every muscle in his body screamed at him to flee. He should just up and go. This was not his fight is what his flight or fight response told him. But when the mother cat’s yowls and screams went silent, Raven knew he was going to make it his.
Gripping the knife in white knuckles, he crept forward towards the monster. Steps away from it, he raised the knife up. He took two, quick steps and swung the blade down in into the flesh of its shoulder.
The monster let out a screech that sounded a little too human. Raven shook it off, before kicking the monster in the spine. It tumbled forward onto the cat's corpse.
With his adrenaline giving him a boost of speed, Raven moved to scoop up the three kittens and shove them in the box they hid behind.
“I’m sorry; I can’t save her!” He whispered to them. One last glance over his shoulder at the monster as it groped its back in an attempt to reach the blade, then Raven turned and ran away as fast as his feet could carry him.
“Woooow, so, like, you saw a monster vore a cat,” Pete’s mouth gaped, “and you fought it? That’s pretty Goth, dude.” He stroked one of the kitten’s fur.
After a vet checkup, Raven had moved the kittens from his room to the garage. Luckily, the kittens were friendly and not too skittish, and his mom promised she’d make sure they were taken to good homes when they got a little older.
“Yeah, it is, but,” Raven shook his head, rubbing another kitten’s stomach as it batted at his fingers, “no one believes what I saw wasn't a dog!”
Three days had passed since that night. The next morning he’d dragged his parents to the scene. He expected to find pools of thick blood and the corpses of the squirrel and mother cat, but when they arrived, almost no evidence remained of the night prior. There was blood, but not enough to match the gore he'd seen in the moonlight. The squirrel and cat corpses were nowhere to be seen.
Raven’s father fixed him with his usual look of disappointment as his mother stroked his head reassuringly.
“It was probably just a big dog that killed the mama cat, sweetie,” His mother had told him softly. “We’ll keep the kittens for now and call animal control to keep an eye out for the dog before it hurts anyone else, ok?”
“I bet it’s a beast that only those with eyes unclouded can see.” Henrietta nodded. “To everyone else, it would look like a dog, but not to someone as Goth as us.”
Michael wiggled a string above the final tabby kitten. “Even if it was a dog, that was, like, super brave of you. You risked rabies, man.”
Raven grunted, scooping his kitten up to set it on his stomach. He wanted to say that he knew it wasn’t a dog but held his tongue. What was the point? It’s not like he would see the monster again, anyway. He was grounded until Kingdom come for sneaking out to the graveyard.
Michael tossed the string to Firkle. They watched as the kitten scrambled over itself to try and catch its prey, only to skid out the open garage door into the wet snow.
The day was a surprisingly warm one for the mountain town, so Raven’s mother told him to leave the garage door open to let the sunlight in.
It was almost too bright for someone as accustom to night as the Goths, but Raven needed to work his way back on his mom’s good list, so they suffered with the glaring light.
Raven let out a sigh. He knew he should consider himself lucky. Whatever that thing was, it could have killed him. The only thing he had lost that night was his hat. It fell off his head in his mad dash for home.
And, of course, the knife he plunged into the monster's back.
"I guess,” Raven muttered, then, louder, he asked, “Hey, Firkle, where’d you get that knife you gave me for Christmas, by the way? I feel really ungoth without it anymore.”
“You look unGoth,” Firkle chided with a shake of his head.
Raven rolled his eyes. With his favorite hat gone, he had to wear his old red and blue one that barely fit. That, coupled with the fact he’d been too tired to put on the foundation that kept his naturally rosy complexion pale as death, of course, he didn’t look particularly Goth!
Pete shoved Firkle’s shoulder. Seeing its opportunity, the kitten jumped and grabbed hold of Firkle’s hand and the string, playfully chomping down on his knuckles.
“Lay off,” Pete scolded the youngest member of their friend group. Firkle just rolled his eyes then began to pry the kitten off him.
“I’ll send you the link later,” Firkle promised. He opened his mouth to say something else when Henrietta covered his lips.
“Hey, that kid's been standing looking at us for a while now.” She raised her sharp, black painted nail to point across the street. Raven, Pete, and Firkle turned over their shoulders. Michael stood on his knees to look over everyone else.
On the other side of the road, a kid stood, swaying his weight left and right. Raven narrowed his eyes. The kid looked familiar. He was probably in the same grade as him.
Seeing five sets of eyes on him, the kid jumped. He waved a little then looked up and down the street before jogging across.
“He’s wearing all black,” Pete commented. “Think he’s Goth?”
Henrietta scrunched up her nose. “No, wait, I know that kid. He was a friend of my brother. He’s a fucking dork.”
She finished saying that just as the kid entered the garage. Now that he was closer, Raven could tell, yes, he did know him.
His real name was Leopold, but no one ever called him that. Instead, everyone called him ‘'Butters’, though Raven couldn't remember why.
He was the Stotch’s son, and he and Raven used to hang out nearly six years ago, back in third grade, when the both of them were desperately trying to be just “unique” enough to be memorable but not so much as to incur the wrath of their peers’ taunts.
That of itself was not enough to damn him in Raven’s eyes. It made him a conformist poser, sure, but so was pretty much everyone else.
No, what made bile raise up in Raven's throat at the very sight of Butters was the fact he was a Vamp Kid.
He had escaped them once when Mike first formed his douchey little “coven,” but then he just had to go back to them, for some reason.
Raven swallowed down his disdain as Butters waved cheerfully at them.
As he stood, Butters blocked out the sun, leaving a halo around him. Some of the sun’s rays glinted off his pale blond roots. Was that a fashion choice on Butters' part or was Butters just too lazy to redye it?
Not that it mattered, since, like all the other Vamp Kids, Butters reminded Raven of someone the Hot Topic vomited up on, right down to the peeling temporary tattoo saying 'bite me' on the top side of his hand and fake, plastic fangs.
Raven cringed, sitting up. The kitten rolled into his lap. It peaked up, looking around before its eyes landed on Butters. Suddenly, it hissed. The fur along the kitten’s spine rose.
Its siblings turned from what they were doing. The one Pete was playing with turned on its heels and dashed into the old dog bed to hide. The other spat at Butters before following suit, scurrying behind one of the stacks of boxes.
Raven’s kitten looked at its siblings, then back at Butters. Seeming to decide the new 'threat' was too great to take on alone, the kitten then clambered out of Raven’s lap to go hide as well.
“Oh, look,” Michael scoffed, “even the cats know to fear your brand of douchey mediocrity.”
The Goths chuckled amongst themselves, but the smile on Butters’ face never wavered. The only indication Raven saw that he was at all offended was a flash of hurt in his good eye. His other eye had a dead, cloudy film over the iris and pupil and a scar carving through it.
It was about the only feature Raven could at all call ‘Goth’ about him.
“Yeah, cats are pretty scared of the creature of the night,” Butters joked.
Rolling his eyes, Raven snapped, “What do you want?”
“Oh, uh,” Butters looked to the side, his cheeks pink, “I have something of yours, Stan.”
“Raven,” He corrected coldly. No one called him ‘Stan’ anymore. That conformist loser died the day a pretty girl broke his heart and crushed the pieces with her mary janes.
“Oops! Sorry, Raven. I have something of yours.”
“What could you have of mine?”
“Your hat.”
Raven reached up, his fingers brushing the faded red and blue wool.
“My hat?” He repeated.
“Yeah, the knit grey one with the black trim and puffball? It had your name sewed on the inside,” Butters informed him. “Did your mom do that for you? If so, that’s really sweet of her! My mom doesn’t label my clothes anymore.”
He laughed as Raven’s cheeks burned. His tone didn't sound particularly mocking. Instead, it sounded like a statement of fact, but Raven couldn't imagine anyone saying that without a taunt behind it. This Vamp Kid was just trying to goad him.
Raven fixed Butters with a glare.
Raven did loved his mother, but he would never outright admit that. If you were Goth, then you didn’t get along with your family. That’s just how it went. Henrietta got into fight after fight with her parents. Michael always complained about his step-family being a bother, while Firkle and Pete would bemoan their own parents and siblings.
“Fuck off,” Raven growled. “If you have my hat, then give it back.”
“Well, I don’t have it on me,” Butters admitted. “It’s at my house.”
“Why didn’t you bring it?” Michael asked.
“Well, I wanted to make sure it was his first,” Butters knocked his knuckles together in front of him. “It’s a really nice hat. I’d hate to give it to the wrong person.”
“Well, then, go get it,” Raven ordered. “I’m grounded and can’t leave the house.”
Butters’ expression shifted from a positive, if embarrassed, one to something dark. His eyes narrowed and lips turned downward. A shiver ran along Raven’s spine.
“Oh, that's something else my mom doesn't do anymore.” Butters’ voice was emotionless. “I’ll bring it later. See you, Raven.” With that, he turned and walked away.
Once he disappeared from view, the Goths let out a collective breath.
“What the fuck is that kid?” Pete muttered, standing up. As he wandered towards the back to fetch the kittens, Michael shrugged.
“A freak, probably. He was friends with Henrietta’s brother, after all,” He said, rolling to his feet to help Pete.
Henrietta snorted. “God, yes, I think those two had a sleepover once years ago, and they stayed up all night playing ‘Hello Kitty Island Adventure’. So annoying.”
Firkle and Henrietta started making condescending remarks about the Hello Kitty fan base. Pete and Michael searched the boxes and containers in the back of the garage for the kittens. And Raven looked down at his hands.
He was shaking, and he didn’t know why.
The night was his domain. Everyone else in the house had gone to bed a hours ago.
In the silence, Raven could finally start to prepare for the black void of sleep.
As the time ticked closer to midnight, Raven crept to the bathroom from his room, where he had barred himself away for the last few hours.
Originally, he did abandoned his family after dinner because that seemed to be how it was done amongst the Goths: Eat dinner with your family, if you had to, then venture away to your own self-imposed isolation.
Nowadays, he did it to avoid any snide remarks and forlorn sighs his dad might toss at him. There were only so many eye rolls and ‘how long will this phase last’ s one person can take, after all.
Raven scrubbed his face. He had just finished his left side when he winced. He hadn’t worn any make-up today. Disgruntled, he tossed the washcloth into the clothes basket by the sink before quickly brushing his teeth.
He'd felt off every since Butters showed up to chat that afternoon. Something about how Butters’ peppy voice lost all emotion left a heavy lump sitting in Raven's stomach.
Not that he would ever admit that to any of his friends. Butters was just a stupid Vamp Kid after all. His friends would tell him Butters wasn't someone Raven should waste his thoughts on. They were right, of course.
On the walk back to his room, he purposely stuck close to the wall away from his parent's room. If he didn’t get close, he didn’t risk hearing them talking behind his back again.
A knocking came from downstairs as the moment his hand touched his doorknob. Raven raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps backward to look down the steps.
It was nearly midnight. Who in their right mind would come knocking at midnight? Unless it was an emergency. Maybe someone died. Maybe someone was missing. Maybe the school had burnt down with every preppy dickwad inside.
Raven glanced at his parents' room, then shrugged.
“I’ll get it,” He said to the empty hall. Padding his way down the stairs, Raven then walked to the door. He opened it mid-knock.
Butters raised his gaze in surprise. “Oh! Heya, Raven,” He greeted warmly.
Raven didn’t hold back his wince of disgust. He’d expected Butters to return his hat at school the next day or during the evening, not in the middle of the night. Butters probably wanted to give him back his hat this late so he could avoid the other Goth's mockery towards him, Raven thought.
What a coward.
“You have my hat?” He asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Butters bobbed his head. “Yeah, yeah, here, everything you lost.” With his grin plastered a little too firmly on his face, he held out Raven’s hat, folded in half.
Raven reached out and took it back. Something felt off about its weight.
There was something inside of it.
With an eyebrow raised, he unfolded the hat and reached inside.
His fingers brushed against cool plastic and a familiar carving.
His heart froze in his chest. Shaking, Raven removed the knife from the hat. He had to turn it over, praying he hadn’t felt what he thought he’d felt, only to have a choppy carving of a bird, its wings raised out, staring back at him.
“I’d forgotten how strong you are, Raven.” Butters chuckled. “Took me fifteen minutes to get that out — I bleached it, so don't worry.” He nodded at his action before continuing. “Then I had to clean everything up in the alley with a hose from the office and got all soaked. It was really chilly out, too. If I could still catch them, I would have caught a cold when I walked all the way to the woods to bury that cat." He shook his head. "It was just an awful night.”
Forcing his body to move, Raven raised his gaze to Butters’ face.
One of his eyes glowed a pale red while the other, the one with the scar through it, disappeared in the shadows of his face. The monster pulled his lips back, exposing sharp fangs.
Raven reeled back, dropping his hat, but keeping the closed knife in his hand. He reached out to slam the door when a hand grasped his wrist. He found his fingers pried off the door and then his body pushed inside. The monster shut the door behind them with a kick of his foot.
Without any other options, Raven opened his mouth to scream, only to have the monster’s other hand clamped over his mouth.
“Shh, please be quiet,” The monster ordered.
Tears pricked Raven’s eyes. This was it. This was how he died. He wasn’t sure which made him feel worse: dying at the fangs of a monster or dying at the hands of a Vamp Kid.
The latter, he decided, squeezing his eyes shut.
“If you’re gonna kill me, make it quick. I’ve suffered enough in this bull shit life,” He mumbled against the monster’s palm.
The monster took his hand away, pale eyebrows knit together. “I just wanna talk to you. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He looked around Raven up the stairs. “Are your parents awake?”
Raven shook his head. He would play along with the monster’s whims until he could escape. He still had the knife; it wouldn’t be impossible to stab the monster again if he caught him off guard.
“Can we talk in your room then?” The monster asked, slowly lowering his hand from Raven's mouth, but not releasing his wrist.
“I guess,” Raven stole a step backward, “C-com’on.” Raven tried to pull his wrist free, but the monster's grip was too strong.
The monster slid his hand down until their fingers were lace, with the knife cradled between them, then squeezed his hand uncomfortably hard. Raven almost groaned.
Holding hands with a Vamp Kid might kill him of pure embarrassment. Now he really had to stab this monster. It would be the only way to redeem himself.
As they started up the steps, the monster came right up behind him and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t try nothin’. You don’t want your parents or sister dragged into this, right?”
Raven faltered in his step. So, the monster knew his plan.
Great.
Maybe he could convince the monster he wasn’t a threat to him. If Raven promised never to tell, the monster would have to leave him alone, right?
Finally, they made it to Raven ’s room. He shut the door and locked it before the monster released his hand. The monster then looked around his room a moment before pulling his desk chair out and taking a seat. With his hands in his lap, he nodded for Raven to sit as well.
As Raven slipped onto his bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to Butters. Did this monster kill him and take his form? Was the monster an alien that crawled into his brain through his ears?
A pang hit his stomach. Their friendship may have ended years ago, but he had still enjoyed Butters’ company back then. Butters was a sweet person, if a little too naivé. Seeing this monster take him away made Raven regret anytime he’d been mean to him.
“Well, I guess you probably have some questions, huh?” The monster laughed nervously, pulling at his studded leather wristband.
Raven nodded. “What happened to the real Butters?” He glared.
“What? I am the real Butters!” The monster frowned.
“Bullshit. The real Butters isn’t a monster who eats cats.” Raven gripped his hands into fists.
“He is now,” The monster whispered, looking at his feet. “Listen, Raven, about the cat, you gotta understand something really important.” He took a breath. “I’m a vampire — “ when Raven opened his mouth to counter, he quickly added, “ — and not a fake one like Mike and the rest of them.”
The monster reached up and tapped his fangs. “These aren’t fake.” He gave one a tug. “See? Real as the nose on your face.” He offered his teeth out for Raven to touch, but Raven declined with a shake of his head.
Under normal circumstances, Raven would have called BS on that as well, but then he remembered the cat and how Butters eyes flashed.
“H-how?” He cursed himself for letting his fear show.
The monster laced his fingers together. “I...don’t really know, exactly. Some sixth graders chased me down the sewers two years ago. I stayed down there until I got the courage to head up. I bumped into this really nice lady as I was heading home, and she said she’d take me there in her car. Turns out she wasn't a nice lady, but a not very nice vampire lady and, then, um,” he squeezed his hands together, “I don’t want to talk about what happened next. It wasn’t...I don’t...I...”
His body began to shake. He refused to look up from his feet. His breathing came out in quick and shallow bursts. Something like a sob escaped his throat.
Raven chewed his lip then tentatively reached across the gap between them and set a hand on his knee. The monster’s head snapped up with a faraway look in his eyes. He blinked hard a few times as he forced himself back into the present.
“Sor...sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s ok,” Raven reassured, gentler than he intended to. So maybe this monster was Butters, but he was still a monster, nonetheless.
Raven took a breath. “So, you’re a vampire now. That’s why you...you know, like, ate the cat?”
Butters nodded. “Yeah. I used to have a human source of blood, but he and I had a falling out after we got into a fight about this pretty girl.” He sighed. “He said I couldn’t even sit with him at lunch anymore, so I had to go join the Vamp Kids, since I thought one of them might be like me.”
“Let me guess, they’re all a bunch of fakers?” Raven cocked an eyebrow. He already knew the answer.
“None of them are real. None of them were any help to me.” Butters nodded. He twiddled his fingers a moment then continued, “Since I lost my friend and blood source, I had to go to animals’ blood to live.”
“Can’t you just break into a blood bank or something? Why hurt the animals?” Raven asked.
“It’s not like in the movies, Raven.” Butters crossed and uncrossed his ankles. “I don’t have super strength or speed. I’m just a little faster and stronger than everyone else.”
“That’s it?” Raven couldn’t help but ask. “You drink blood and all you get from it is you can walk faster the normal people?”
Butters scooted back until his spine pressed straight against the chair back. “I can do other things too, like, I’m really good at persuading people to do what I want. And healing really fast, too. I can do that glowy thing with my eyes, and make my teeth longer or shorter, and, uh, what else, I think I’m technically immortal now? Maybe? I don't get sick normally, at least, but, well, you see? I can do a whole lot as a vampire, but only when I drink blood — people blood.”
“Then why don’t you? There are plenty of people who walk the streets at night you could drink from.” Raven took his knife and set it on the bedside table.
All the fear he had for Butters was beginning to wane. How much of that was Butters’ natural innocent and unthreatening aura, and how much was his distaste for Vamp Kids clouding his thinking, he wasn’t sure.
“Golly, I can’t! It’s one thing if the town thinks a real-life monster is going around killing strays, it’s another if they think a pervert is attacking people!” Butters shook his head. “Besides, I don’t think I’m strong enough to hold an adult down, and biting a kid without permission would make me feel bad.”
Raven hummed in thought. “So, if you had a person to eat from, you’d stop hurting the animals, right?”
“Yeah. That’s right. That’s why I was so sad when my friend cut me off from drinking his blood.” He deflated a bit, tapping his knuckles together. “I went as long as I could without drinking blood, and I tried only drinking blood from dead meat, but that stuff doesn’t do it. I got so sick from it, I couldn't take it anymore and had to go get blood from something alive.
“I didn't mean to kill any of the animals, but I was so used to drinking from something big, like a human, that it just kind of happened. I couldn't judge how much was too much and...I didn't want to do it. Honest.”
The sorrowful look on Butters' face and sincere guilt in his voice told Raven everything he needed to know.
He took a breath, then stood from the bed. He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside before sitting on his knees with his back towards Butters.
“If it’ll save the animals, you can drink mine, I guess,” Raven stated. “Just don’t kill me or turn me into a vampire either, got it?”
Butters stared at him with his mouth agape. He reached out, fingers about to touch Raven’s skin only to flinched back.
“Are you sure about this? Really, really sure?” Without waiting for an answer, he began to lean closer to Raven’s but didn’t touch him. He could feel his breath across his shoulder as he inhaled his scent.
“It’s whatever. It’s just blood. I can make more.” Raven picked at his nails, pretending to be uninterested. In truth, he was pretty scared about the prospect. He hoped his racing heart wouldn't get Butters over-excited.
He saw Butters kill that poor cat. The last thing he wanted was to end up like her.
For the animals, for the animals, Raven chanted to himself.
A wide, toothy grin spread across Butters face, showing off his fangs once again. In one quick motion, he pulled Raven into a hug.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re a lifesaver — a real swell pal!”
“This doesn’t make us friends, and you can’t tell a soul about this ever,” Raven snapped.
Butters crossed his finger over his heart in an x shape. Raven rolled his eyes.
“Just take what you need for the night then go home. We can talk more about this, uh, ‘arrangement’ tomorrow.”
“Well, Okie-dokie then!”
Butters coiled his arms around Raven, holding him just a bit too tightly as if he feared Raven would run away before he had his fill and opened his jaws wide.
Raven looked away.
If he saw those long fangs dig into his flesh, he would chicken out. Instead, he let his body relax as a sharp pinching feeling resonated from his shoulder.
He squirmed in Butters’ grasp. This hurt. It wasn’t agonizing, but there was no way Raven could find it pleasant. What’s worse, he felt every lash of Butters’ tongue across his skin. So being a feeding bag for a vampire would leave him aching and covered in spit.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
There was no way he could back out of it now, though. For the animals’ sake, he had to do this.
Maybe he would get used to it