Admiration [R18]

Something was wrong.

The first sensation Arven registered was pain, not sharp but deep and dull, an ache that filled every part of his body. It wrapped around his ribs, coiled down his arms, throbbed behind his eyes. The second was weight, a heavy pressure holding him in place. Bandages. Thick ones.

He tried to move, but his limbs felt sluggish, detached. His left arm refused to answer entirely. Even breathing sent little shocks of discomfort through his chest.

He opened his eyes slowly.

The light was weak. The ceiling above was unfamiliar, smooth stone veined with faint cracks. The air smelled of old blood and bitter herbs. Somewhere nearby, something was burning faintly, a soft floral smoke masking the stench of injury.

Where…?

Memory hit him like a fist.

The fight. The sand. The taste of blood. His own screams ringing in his ears.

I killed him.

The thought sat cold and heavy in his chest.

His heart began to race, a shallow panic clawing its way up. But movement pulled at fresh pain, forcing him still.

A quiet voice cut through the haze.

"Finally awake."

He turned his head with effort.

Veyra sat beside the bed, her red hair loose around her shoulders, one leg crossed over the other. Her eyes gleamed in the light, sharp and amused as they studied him.

Arven's breath caught.

Before he could speak, a faint shimmer pulsed at the edge of his vision.

The familiar blue text flickered into place.

New Target selected automatically.

Trigger: Admiration gained.

His brow furrowed faintly.

Admiration?

He could barely remember the last part of the fight. If not for the blood and hunger.

Veyra leaned forward slightly, chin resting on her palm.

"Quite the show you gave out there," she said, voice low and smooth. "Haven't seen a fight like that in a long while."

Arven forced a swallow, throat dry as ash.

"What... happened?" His voice was a rasp, raw and cracked.

Veyra's grin widened. "You mean, besides biting a man's face off? You won, Ghoul."

Veyra tilted her head. "Usually fights here end quickly. A clean cut, a knockout. Few people tear their opponent apart with their teeth." Her tone was casual, as if discussing the weather.

She gave a small shrug. "Of course, I prefer to take my time when I fight. But still... that was fun to watch."

Arven closed his eyes briefly. The images flashed back unbidden. His teeth in Jucir's face. The spray of blood. His own fists pounding flesh to ruin.

His stomach turned.

He shifted slightly beneath the covers, testing his limbs. Pain answered immediately. His right arm could move a little. The left felt like dead weight.

"How… am I here?" The words came rough again.

Veyra chuckled. "Private recovery room. Not cheap. You only get one if someone pays for it. And I did." She leaned back in her chair, smirking. "Couldn't let my favorite show bleed out in some hallway."

Arven stared at her. The effort to respond felt like climbing a mountain.

Veyra's grin sharpened. "You're welcome, by the way."

He exhaled slowly, exhaustion seeping deeper.

"I can't… move," he muttered.

Veyra's eyes gleamed. "Doctor says you regenerate faster than most. That arm of yours should be back soon enough."

The words drew another thought to the surface. Vampire blood. The hunger. The feeling of human flesh between his teeth.

A shiver traced down his spine.

He swallowed hard.

Veyra watched him with a predator's patience, noting every flicker of expression. After a pause, she leaned in again.

"Oh, and you've earned yourself a nickname."

He looked at her warily.

"They're calling you Ghoul now," she said, smile curling. "After the way you bit the hell out of that guy. Fitting, don't you think?"

Arven said nothing. The memory was still too fresh, too raw.

Veyra studied him for another beat, then let out a soft breath.

"You look tense." Her voice dropped lower, almost playful. "Need a little help?"

Before he could answer, she raised one hand and mimed a slow, deliberate stroke through the air, eyes locked on his.

"I heard it clears the head."

Arven blinked. Just stared. His brain lagged behind the words.

She was serious.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Does she even feel shame?

Apparently not.

That lazy motion of her hand burned into his thoughts, far more effective than it had any right to be. Despite the pain, despite everything he'd been through, his body stirred in response. Of course it did.

A simple man, he thought bitterly. Broken ribs, half-dead, and still reacting like a teenager.

He let out a slow breath, closed his eyes, and rasped, "Fine."

Veyra's grin curled with satisfaction.

"Thought so."

She rose in one smooth motion, moving the chair aside. Her body glided like it belonged in a fight or a fuck, maybe both.

She sat at the edge of the bed, thigh brushing against his hip, warm and unhurried.

"Relax," she said.

He tried. Every part of him still ached, but the heat of her body so close made it harder to stay numb.

Veyra leaned in, her fingers confident, no hesitation. She worked his bandages open, found him beneath, and wrapped her hand around his length with an almost reverent grip.

Warm. Steady. Deliberate.

Even through the exhaustion, he responded. His cock twitched, hardening against her palm. The ache in his body dimmed beneath the slow rise of pleasure.

Veyra watched him the whole time, her expression amused.

"You heal fast, fight like a hungry ghoul, and still get this hard? Damn," she whispered near his ear. "I really like that."

Arven exhaled sharply, jaw clenched.

She stroked him with perfect rhythm, slow and slick. Each pass of her hand made his breath come faster. The pain dulled, edged out by the building tension deep in his gut.

He could barely move. Only a weak twitch of his fingers.

Veyra leaned closer, her hair brushing his chest. Her pace quickened.

"Let go," she murmured. "Come on. You need this."

His body clenched, breath catching in his throat.

Then it hit him.

A sharp groan tore loose as he came, hot and hard, spilling across her hand. His whole body trembled.

She kept stroking gently until he sagged into the bed, completely spent.

Veyra lifted her hand, fingers glistening. Without breaking eye contact, she brought them to her mouth and licked them clean, slow and smug.

"Told you I'd help."

Arven said nothing. He lay still, breath slowing, mind drifting somewhere between relief and something he couldn't quite name.

The System shimmered faintly in the corner of his vision.

But for now, there was only silence. Only Veyra's soft, satisfied breath beside him.