Cecil slowly came to as the sun sank down below the horizon, aching and hungry and bent out of shape. He was crammed between a brick wall and metal surface, incredibly uncomfortable, and with a hazy memory of how he got there.

All he could recall as he wracked his brain were vague flashes of red eyes, pain and pleasure. He was... at the convenience store, last he remembered... but everything else was a dreamlike blur.

It took him a while to finagle his way out from behind the dumpster, groaning as he pulled himself up overtop of it. He fortunately hadn't been injured, but as he got his bearings, he realized just how hungry he was.

No, not... hungry, necessarily. Or at least, not for food. It was something else - an incessant itch all over his mind and body. An itch for something, though he didn't know what. An itch trying to convince him that satiating it was more important than anything else... he shook his head and tried to brush it off. He hoped he wouldn't have to see a doctor about it...

At least he was in a part of town he recognized. His car should still be parked at the convenience store. Oddly, nothing had been stolen - he still had his keys, wallet and phone (though the phone was dead); who would dump him in an alley like this without bothering to take anything?

His thoughts were a jumbled mess as he made his way through the streets. His whole body felt... weird. Off. His neck ached. The corners of his vision were tinted red. The irritating hunger gnawing at him just would not go away. He kept sneaking glances at passersby on the other side of the road, aching to do... something. He had no idea what.

He gritted his teeth and stared at the ground. Something was seriously wrong with him. He just had to get his teeth into-

...what was he thinking? He just had to get to his car... go home... call a doctor. He couldn't afford a doctor, but he had a feeling this would not go away on its own.

He almost smacked into his car, startled. His claws gripped the door handle tightly. Claws? When did... he didn't have claws. Did he?

He tried to take a deep breath and realized he hadn't been breathing the entire way home. He-

"Uh... Cecil?"

He frantically turned around, back up against his car, panicked, staring wide-eyed at whoever had caught him. Er... not caught. He wasn't doing anything wrong. Right? Just... going back to his car.

"Dude, you look terrible," the person said. It took Cecil a second to realize the one staring at him was his co-worker - what was his name? Something... starting with G, maybe?

"Sam said you weren't there when she clocked in this morning - we though you just, like, ditched. Are you good?"

Cecil opened his mouth to respond, but he could barely think. The guy's voice felt distant, drowned out by the pounding sensation in his head, what was previously an itch that now felt like a desperate need. 

"...y-yeah I- I'm- I'm fine," he stammered out, forcing himself to breathe. He had to have this person. All his. He couldn't help himself. He tried backing away further, though the car was in the way. If whatever-his-name-was got any closer, Cecil doubted he'd be able to control himself.

"You, uh... you don't look fine." The co-worker took a step closer. Fuck.

Cecil's claws pressed against the metal car door. The smell was intoxicating. Irresistible. His vision was blanketed in red.

"Y-you have to go," he tried warning him. "I think I- uh- i-it's... contagious. I'm sick."

"What? Are you, like... are you on drugs or something right now, man? You look pretty fucked up."

Another step closer. Cecil tried to move away, but his body refused to go any further. His fangs needed to be in the man's neck, and it took every ounce of his willpower to stand still, fanged mouth open and salivating, for just long enough to give his prey a moment to escape.

Fortunately, the man was too oblivious to take the opportunity to run. He approached Cecil with concern and confusion, trying to get a closer look. "...are those... dude, do you have fangs?"

Before either of them could think, Cecil had the prey in his grasp. Pinning him to the car, desperately sinking his fangs into the helpless mortal's neck, a familiar spike of pleasure flooding the both of them.

All he could see was red; all he could feel was an immense, overwhelming pleasure. One that connected him and his prey, overtaking them both as blood flowed through the bite.

Cecil didn't want to stop. Nothing felt this good; no food, sex, sleep, or drug could compare. Knowing instinctively that the prey felt the same unparalleled bliss only intensified his enjoyment.

In the back of his mind, he registered the man going completely limp, and felt the slightest hesitation. He had to continue... he wanted more blood. So much more. He never wanted it to end. 

But... this guy needed his blood... right? He wanted to take it all. He wanted so badly to take it all and keep taking from every last person he could find. But...

He mustered up just enough willpower to pull away, and once he did, the awareness of what just happened hit him like a sledgehammer.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, he just drank someone's blood.