Work Text:
"Mumbo, don't—"
"I'm sorry, Grian." Mumbo pins his wrists and breathes in deep, intoxicated by the scent of Grian's blood. "I'm so sorry."
But not sorry enough to stop.
Grian whimpers at the first sharp flash of Mumbo's fang against his neck. His blood flows quick and scarlet, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone.
Mumbo seals his lips around Grian's skin and drinks. Guilt pours into him, but so does ecstasy; his body is already humming with desire, with power. As much as he hates it, Mumbo needs more.
At least Grian has gone too weak to keep protesting.
