When Buck hears that Eddie’s feeling under the weather, he doesn’t think anything of it. Sure, it’s summer, not exactly flu season, but things happen. It’s a bit odd how Eddie tends to catch a damn cold like clockwork every couple of months, but everyone’s got their quirks.
Usually, Eddie’s just gone for a day or two, and come back looking—actually more refreshed than he did when he left. He calls it a twenty-four-hour bug, assures Buck he’s fine, just had soup and vitamins, and that’s that.
But this time, Eddie’s still out on day three.
It’s not really a big deal, or so Buck tells himself all day long at the station, but he’s antsy. He washes the dishes. Twice. He sweeps, vacuums, washes the truck until it shines, tops off the tank, and generally makes people ask if he’s been replaced by a pod person.
He just misses Eddie, that’s all. A guy can miss his best friend.
And if he’s kind of jittery by the time shift ends, so what? It’s just. He’s anxious. Eddie’s a man of routine, and Buck knows that viruses aren’t exactly considerate about your work schedule but…
He tells himself he’s being paranoid even as he walks up the drive to Eddie’s front door.
“Eddie?” he lets himself in with his key. There are no lights on, which is odd. Christopher’s at camp, so it makes sense for his room to be dark, but everywhere else, too? “It’s Buck, just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
A low groan greets him from the bedroom.
Buck’s heart picks up, although he’s not sure why. Something inside of him, some long-forgotten instinct, is screaming at him to turn around, to get out, to run as far away as possible.
He ignores that. It’s Eddie, what could he possibly have to fear from him?
“Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Eddie’s curled up on the bed, pale as the goddamn bed sheets, dark circles under his eyes. In a pan by the bed is the evidence that whatever meal Eddie last had, it ain’t staying down. Several empty bags that look vaguely familiar, but in a way Buck can’t quite trace, lie on the bedside table.
It takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to focus, bleary as they are, and then, like the picture’s just snapped into focus, he curls backwards, away from Buck. “No, no, stay back.”
“Hey, whoa, it’s fine. Are you contagious?” Buck can muscle through a summer cold or flu, it’s fine, he’s got all his shots.
Eddie shakes his head and something in his eyes… shifts. They look darker than usual. “You have to stay back, I’m not—Buck please.”
“Okay, okay.” Buck puts his hands up and steps back. “What can I do? You look awful.”
Eddie shakes his head. “Fuckin’ bad batch. I don’t know what happened.”
Buck looks at the empty plastic bags on the bed, and realizes that they look like… blood bags. And the liquid in the pan by the bed is a dark, dark red.
His heart picks up speed again.
Eddie groans, as if in response to Buck’s heart rate. “Buck, you shouldn’t be here, you have to go.”
“Why? Dude, you look like shit, I’m not leaving you.” Buck crouches down until he’s on his knees and dares to shuffle closer. “Let me help you.”
Eddie’s eyes open again—and now Buck can see they’re all black. Not just his pupils. All of them. There’s no whites, no irises.
Something hot and shivery curls in the pit of his stomach.
“You really don’t want that,” Eddie rasps. “Look—just call my abuela, she can—”
“This late at night? No way, I can do it, whatever it is.”
Eddie closes his eyes like he’s in pain. Fuck, he looks like a damn corpse. “You smell so good,” he says, and his voice takes on a rich, dark, almost hypnotizing tone that makes Buck freeze.
Literally. Like he can’t move.
Eddie’s teeth gleam in the moonlight. They’re sharp. Too sharp. Too white.
Buck’s heart feels like it’s going to break right through his chest. His voice is barely a whisper. “Eddie. What’s going on?”
Eddie gives a weak chuckle. It sounds like it hurts him. “C’mon, Buck, I know we tease you but you’re one of the smartest guys I know. You haven’t figured it out yet?”
His eyes open once more. Black voids. His fangs drag across his bottom lip when he speaks, his voice the personification of a predator. “Your blood smells so good.”
That voice in the back of Buck’s mind is still screaming at him to run, to make a dash for it, but Buck shoves it down. This is not a predator. This is not a monster. This is Eddie. This is his best friend.
“The blood was bad, wasn’t it?” Buck slowly, carefully so he doesn’t spook Eddie, pushes up onto the bed. “It’s okay, I mean, I’m off the blood thinners so it’s fine. I’m all cleared.”
Eddie’s entire body trembles like it’s taking everything in him not to pounce on Buck right that second. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Look, are you going to kill me? Injure me so I can’t work?”
Eddie shakes his head. His fingers weakly twitch in Buck’s direction like he already wants to reach for him.
“Then c’mon. I can’t let you die.” Buck swallows. “That’s what’ll happen if you don’t get blood, right? You’re dying right now.”
Eddie closes his eyes again. He looks less like a creature of the night and more like a poster child for misery. After a long moment, he nods.
“Come here,” Buck says softly.
He crawls up Buck’s body, sniffing at him, and lets out a low grown when he reaches Buck’s neck. Buck loses his balance and falls, scrambles, adjusts so that he’s on the pillows and not half off the damn mattress. Eddie doesn’t even seem to notice, busy draping himself over Buck and making desperate little whimpers against Buck’s throat.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, like he’s asking for redemption, and then Buck gasps as fangs sink into his neck and pain bursts behind his eyes.
For a second that’s all it is, pain, and the distinct knowledge that his very life force is being drawn out of him. He can’t breathe, feels like he’s choking, no, drowning, both at once, and he almost screams, if he could even manage to find his voice—and then it all washes away and he feels—hhnnngghh.
Eddie drinks greedily, one hand in Buck’s hair to keep him in place, the other braced on Buck’s chest, his thigh jammed right up against—aha nope no not thinking about that nope nope nope.
Is this—is it supposed to feel good? That shivery curl of heat from before is back, spreading through his limbs, wrapping around his spine. His eyelids are getting heavy and he’s starting to feel woozy but it’s hard to care when euphoria is lapping at his limbs. He’s effectively trapped, being fed on like an unfortunate deer, but all he feels is pleasure.
Blackness starts creeping into the edges of his vision. He doesn’t care. He’s vaguely aware of getting hard in his pants and he squirms a little, wants friction, finds Eddie’s thigh but he doesn’t have the energy, he’s too… mmmm God he feels good he’s just gonna… sink into it…
Everything goes fuzzy and black.
He wakes up to the smell of bacon.
Holy shit, he’s starving. He hasn’t been this hungry in—he can’t even remember when.
Buck tries to sit up and oh, no, nope that’s not happening.
He lies back down.
Why is he in Eddie’s bed?
Last night comes flooding back to him with a wash of horror and pleasure that makes him shake. Tentatively, he reaches up and touches his sore throat.
The skin is tender, and if he concentrates, he can feel two small, sealed-up cuts.
The bedroom door opens and Eddie walks in, looking—well, human, for one thing, but also ten times better. His skin is tan, his eyes are their normal warm brown color, there’s a pleasant flush to his cheeks, and his teeth and breathing are normal. In short, he doesn’t look like he’s languishing on death’s doorstep anymore.
“You’re awake.” Eddie’s voice is soft, his usual voice.
He’s carrying a tray that he sets down on the bed, and Buck’s stomach gurgles. The tray’s got toast, eggs, bacon, orange juice, and coffee.
“Did you make all this?”
Eddie shakes his head. “I ordered takeout.”
“Y’know, I suddenly understand why you can’t cook.” No need to get good at making food when you don’t need to eat it.
Eddie looks away, his eyes downcast, his shoulders hunched. “You should eat.”
Buck digs in. God, he’s never tasted anything so good in his life. “So what the hell was that?”
“You let me drink blood from you and you still don’t know?” Eddie’s tone is dry, but Buck can detect the shame lacing the edges of it.
Buck polishes off the bacon and moves onto the eggs. “No, I know. You’re a vampire. I meant how the hell did you let yourself get so sick?”
Eddie grimaces. “I, uh. I only need to… feed about once a month. Once every two months if I push myself. But that means I’m already really kind of weak and starving. So one bad batch of blood was enough to fuck with me.” He swallows, still won’t meet Buck’s gaze. “I really would’ve died last night, if you hadn’t found me. So thank you.”
“Hey.” Buck reaches for him. Eddie flinches away. “You’re my best friend. Of course.”
“You passed out, Buck.” Eddie’s shoulders curl forward even more. “I drank too much from you. You were out all night. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m fine, though. You said you wouldn’t injure me or kill me and you didn’t.” He finishes the eggs and begins his vicious attack upon the toast.
Eddie says nothing.
Buck finishes eating, downs the orange juice, and then settles back to enjoy the coffee. His stomach feels less like it’s trying to eat itself, now. “Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”
Eddie shakes his head.
“Okay. How come you can go out in sunlight? Won’t that burn you to a crisp?”
Eddie gives him a weird look. “No. Haven’t you ever read Dracula?”
“No. Is it accurate?”
“…I wouldn’t call it a work of science but it’s better than Interview with a Vampire.”
“Okay, so what is true? Enlighten me.”
Eddie sighs. His fingers flex. “I need blood to live. I can eat human food but it doesn’t sustain me. Garlic gives me really bad stomach cramps but sometimes I eat food with garlic anyway because it tastes good. Sunlight doesn’t kill me, it just weakens me. I have super speed and strength at night, but not in the daytime. I can’t exactly control rats and wolves or anything but I’m really good with animals. I can hypnotize people if I want to. Most normal things can’t kill me but fire hurts me, running water can drown me, and I have mild OCD.”
“…I don’t follow on that last one.”
“We have a compulsive need to count shit and organize it. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know.”
Buck swallows. “Running water.”
Eddie finally looks up at him. “Yeah.”
“So you were really…” He can’t finish the sentence.
Eddie nods. “Yeah. I almost drowned.”
Buck reaches out for him and this time, Eddie lets him, lets Buck curl his fingers around Eddie’s wrist. “You gotta stop scaring me.”
Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “It’s not like I plan these near-death experiences.”
Buck tries to laugh. It doesn’t quite work. “You said you have to feed once a month, but you can stretch it into once every two months. Is that—how much you have to feed?”
Eddie gives him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
Buck realizes he can’t feel Eddie’s pulse. He never could, but he always chalked that up to just not paying attention, or not touching the right spot. But he’s got his thumb right where it should be and—nothing. For some reason that makes him sad.
“I mean I know you, Eddie. How often should you be feeding?”
Eddie rubs the back of his neck. “Either I should have twice as much as I do once a month, or I should feed twice a month. It’s… blood’s hard to come by, and I only need a little to keep going.”
“But you’re—Eddie, that’s not healthy.”
“I just drank your blood until you passed out and you’re worried about my health?” Eddie snarls. “Buck, I—”
Buck tightens his grip on Eddie’s wrist so he can’t pull away. “Yeah, I’m worried, you dumbass. Okay, vampires exist, pretty crazy, but so is a tsunami. I’ll get over it. What I can’t get over is my best friend not taking care of himself. What will you do if last night happens again and nobody’s there? What happens if Christopher loses another parent?”
It’s a low blow, but it’s a necessary one. Buck squeezes Eddie’s wrist. “You can’t take care of others if you’re not taking care of yourself.”
Eddie glares at him, because that’s what Eddie does when he’s feeling vulnerable, he hisses and spits like a wet cat. “So, what, you know a ready blood supply I can just tap into?”
Buck is definitely running on instinct alone when he blurts out, “Yeah. Me.”
Eddie can’t accept Buck’s help. He can’t. It would be wrong, it would be a violation.
Back when he was with Shannon, he was perfectly healthy. Every month, he’d just spend a few days eating her out. Shannon had no complaints, obviously. It was rough when he was overseas but there was a military doctor who knew the drill and helped him out, and then… he moved to L.A.
And he started starving.
Christopher’s different. He’s a dhampir, so he’s lucky. None of the vampire weaknesses really. Eddie gives him blood every so often, usually after a long day at the doctor’s or when Chris is struggling. The blood gives him a boost, extra strength, balances things out. Eddie’s just grateful his kid won’t starve, won’t have to survive off the lives of others.
Of course, there’s the question of whether being half-vampire and half-human contributed to his CP, but that’s a question Eddie’s long stopped asking himself. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Christopher exists, he’s here, and he’s not broken or less-than.
But Eddie is—well. Buck’s right. Eddie’s drinking just enough blood to stop himself from collapsing but it’s not going to keep him healthy or at full strength. He needs more.
He shouldn’t accept Buck’s help. He can’t take advantage of Buck’s kindness.
But the stubborn look on Buck’s face suggests he’s not going to take no for an answer.
“…Buck,” Eddie tries, but he’s steamrolled.
“You were with me almost every day for my PT,” Buck points out. “If it wasn’t Chim or Bobby it was you, and you had a kid to take care of but you were there for me all the time anyway. When I was pitying myself after my collapse, you got me out of bed. You trusted me with your son and you still do.”
His eyes are so goddamn gentle. There are entire oceans in Buck’s eyes and Eddie so longs to drown.
“You’re my best friend, please.” Buck’s hand is still on Eddie’s wrist. He’s so warm, Buck has no idea how much Eddie wants to crawl right into the heart of his warmth. “Please let me help you.”
Eddie takes a deep breath. He doesn’t need to breathe, but he’s found it helps steady him. Besides, he has to pretend to around other people, so it’s become habit. “Okay.”
Buck smiles at him, sunny and trusting, and Eddie has never hated being a vampire more than he does right now.
Buck kind of expects Eddie not to come to him, to try and avoid it, hoping Buck will forget about it.
Lucky for him, Buck has created a schedule. He’s very organized that way.
Precisely two weeks after that first feeding, Buck arrives at the Diaz house on Eddie’s day off while Christopher is on a play date.
He holds up a bag of takeout. “For afterwards, so I don’t pass out.”
Eddie glares at him sullenly as Buck marches inside the house. “I don’t remember telling you to come over.”
“It’s all in the Google calendar, I added you.”
“…I don’t know what that is.”
Buck sets the takeout down on the counter. “So, are we doing this here, or the bed, or…?”
Eddie passes a hand over his face. “Buck, are you sure? This isn’t really… I don’t want to… just. How are you so comfortable with this?”
“Well, I considered the fact that your life is at stake and suddenly, wow, it was a super easy choice to make.” Buck takes off his shirt as he heads for the bedroom, ignoring the noise Eddie makes behind him. “I hope it’s okay, I don’t want to get blood on my clothes.”
“I’m not going to get blood on your clothes, it’s a waste of good food,” Eddie grumbles, but he follows.
Buck flops onto the bed and stretches out. “So, how do you want me?”
Eddie makes an odd strangled noise. “Just. Um. Make yourself comfortable.”
Buck does so. Eddie has very fluffy pillows. “Have you never fed on an actual human before? Is it always blood bags? You seem really nervous about this.”
Eddie gives Buck a look, and it takes Buck a moment to realize it’s Eddie’s no shoes on the coffee table look.
He takes his shoes off and then gets comfortable on the bed again.
Eddie sighs and crawls onto the bed which… makes Buck’s stomach go a bit tight. “I fed off Shannon, while we were together. The first time, I mean. Before she left. That made it easy. It’s easier when…” Eddie clears his throat. “When done right, feeding’s a really intimate thing. There’s a reason there’s that whole association with vampires and sex. It’s just easier, when you trust the person, and they trust you, and if you throw sex in there it… helps them feel good and it distracts them and everybody walks away happy. But other than Shannon—no one.”
So feeding on a human is like sex for Eddie. Buck can read between the lines. Eddie’s a private person, a cautious person, and he’s letting Buck in more than Buck realized.
Buck reaches for Eddie, and to his surprise when he grabs him, Eddie lets Buck pull him in. “It’s okay, Eddie. I’m gonna be okay, and you’re gonna be okay.”
Buck guides Eddie’s face down, and hears Eddie give a sigh of relief as he presses his face to Buck’s neck. He just nuzzles for a second, like he’s getting properly acquainted with Buck’s skin, his tongue lapping at Buck’s pulse. It’s so different from last time, when Eddie was starving and desperate and just latched on like a leech.
This time, when the fangs sink into his neck, it’s only a slight, momentary sting—and then a warm golden feeling spreads through Buck. It’s the same one as before, but more so.
Eddie wedges his thigh in between Buck’s legs, getting better leverage, and Buck has to bite back a whine. That shivery heat is back, making his cock swell, and now he’s more clear-headed and can recognize it for what it is—desire mixed with knowing how much power Eddie has over him.
Eddie could rip his throat out and kill him instantly. But he won’t. Christ, the guy’s trying to avoid drinking from Buck at all. Buck knows, deep in his bones, stronger than any instinct, that he’s safe in Eddie’s care.
Buck swallows down the heat spiraling through him, ignores the way his cock is starting to ache. It’s not the first time he’s been aware of how much Eddie can turn him on—no, that dubious honor belongs to the very first time he saw Eddie changing in the station—and this is not the time or place. If there ever even is one. He’s kind of gotten used to the ‘unrequited’ part of pining.
This isn’t about him and whatever weird kink he’s developing. This is about Eddie.
The thing is, Eddie’s—Eddie’s so vulnerable like this. Buck could probably kill the guy if he wanted to, and that makes his heart squeeze tight like it’s in a vice. Eddie works so hard to be competent and in control, to show that he can handle his job and being a single father, and it’s made him self-contained. Buck’s never seen him like this, in a situation where he’s put himself so completely in someone else’s hands.
Buck strokes his fingers through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie presses impossibly closer, like he would sink right into Buck’s skin if he could.
It feels natural, feels good, to keep doing it, to whisper, “Hey, you’re doing great,” and when the lines on Eddie’s face slacken a little and he stops sucking like he’s sprinting the 500 meter dash and starts taking his time, Buck knows he’s doing the right thing.
He continues to murmur praise, even though sometimes he gets a bit dizzy and his words slur a little, stroking Eddie’s hair, holding him properly, and Eddie responds like he’s taking a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a coffin for a century. He ends up practically draped on top of Buck, loose-limbed and sated and peacefully drowsy, and when he finishes feeding this time he lazily laps at the spot and promptly falls right the fuck asleep.
Blood tastes different to vampires.
Ask a human to taste blood and they’ll say it’s nasty, full of iron. It tastes like salt, like tears you can choke on. It tastes like rusted dreams.
But ask a vampire… it tastes golden.
It tastes like that first burst of Gatorade after running a marathon, like cool water after a hot day in the sun, like that fruity cosmopolitan that gives you a sneaky strong buzz.
There’s more to it, of course. There’s the person. How they feel, who they are, that influences the taste of the blood. Eddie doesn’t understand that, but he supposes it has something to do with the supernatural. After all, vampires don’t make sense at all in the first place.
The point is… when he feeds off of Buck…
Buck is so…
Here’s the thing. When he last fed off Shannon, it had been after he’d come home from deployment. He’d been recovering from his injury, full of phantoms and trauma, and they’d been fighting. Feeding from her—he could taste her anger, her unhappiness, in her blood. It had made feeding from her a miserable experience, an exercise in masochism.
Feeding off Buck is so good he’s fucking addicted.
He can’t go back to bagged blood after this, back to stale blood with no personality. Not after tasting Buck’s sweet, spicy, golden blood.
He tastes happiness when he feeds from Buck. Happiness and contentedness and—well.
If Buck thinks Eddie’s not aware of Buck’s arousal, then Buck’s a whole lot stupider than Eddie’s previously given him credit for.
It turns some people on, feeding from them. Eddie wasn’t being one hundred percent honest when he told Buck about the vampire-sex relationship. It’s not necessarily that sex makes it easier, that a sexual partner brings needed intimacy. It’s that a lot of people feel good when you feed from them. Eddie’s pretty sure it’s a survival thing—easier to get your prey to comply if they’re orgasming from what you’re doing to them.
He hasn’t said anything, and he won’t. It’s impolite. Buck’s probably embarrassed. After all, he volunteered to help Eddie and, like clockwork, every two weeks he’s at Eddie’s place, stripping—oh God stripping his shirt right off like it’s nothing—and letting Eddie feed from him until Eddie passes out.
And he doesn’t just lie there, either. He strokes Eddie’s hair and murmurs praises, holds Eddie, and Eddie can’t—he can’t turn around and embarrass Buck by bringing up something biological that Buck can’t control. Not when Buck’s being so kind to him. He’s always known Buck is the type of person to go above and beyond for his friends but this is… it means more than Eddie, who’s always struggled with words in the first place, can find a way to articulate.
Which is why he feels like shit, wanting more.
He drinks from Buck and he can taste happiness, and lust, and something deeper than that, something dark and rich like dark chocolate, and he thinks—he thinks he knows, but it can’t—it’s just Buck being Buck, so full of affection and caring, it doesn’t actually mean what Eddie hopes it means.
Just because he’s tasting love doesn’t mean that it’s for him.
And even if it is for him, that doesn’t mean it’ll stay. Shannon loved him once, or she thought she did. He thought he loved her, and sometimes he still thinks he really did. He doesn’t know. But whether her love was strong or weak, real or imagined, it faded. Shannon walked away. Twice.
Buck won’t stay. Even if Eddie’s tasting what he thinks he’s tasting, even if he’s right—he can’t reach for more. He can’t ask for more than what he’s being given. He’s wanted Buck for so long, God, Buck has no idea what nearly happened when he walked in and Eddie was starving that first night. He’d been practically glowing, and Eddie had been so close to leaping on him, dragging him down, kissing him and biting him, feeding from him, fucking him, wanting so so so fucking badly and out of his mind with starvation, unable to think, to process, just knowing that Buck was there shining golden in front of him, warm and alive and painfully close.
He can’t ask for that. He can’t ask for more. When he asks for more, the person leaves.
He’ll make do with what he’s being given.
Buck can see the surprise on Eddie’s face when he opens the door. Not that Buck showing up at Eddie’s place is all that surprising. He’s over there more than he’s at his own apartment, nowadays.
Sometimes he catches Eddie looking at Buck, a bit of black bleeding into his eyes, his teeth looking just a little whiter—but Eddie never asks, and Buck hasn’t been sure how to offer.
“You used some of your strength, last night,” Buck explains quietly, slipping inside.
They had a night call, around one in the morning. Some people had been trapped under rubble from the collapsed wall after the fire weakened it, and while everyone else was busy with the flames, Eddie and Buck had been dispatched to see if they could get the rubble cleared.
Eddie nods. He looks paler than usual, and he’s starting to get those dark smudges under his eyes.
“You need a feed.”
“I don’t need—”
Buck grabs Eddie’s shoulder. “Just because you can go without, doesn’t mean you should. Why are you muscling through this when I can help you?”
Eddie looks away, his hands curling into fists by his side, like he’s holding himself back from reaching out, touching, taking.
Buck steps in, tilts his neck up, puts it right by Eddie’s mouth. He can almost feel the whine Eddie holds back. “I want to help you.”
“This isn’t on the schedule. I’ll be fine until next week.”
Buck slides his hand up to the back of Eddie’s head, guides it in, presses it to his throat. Eddie can’t hold in the whine this time, his mouth dragging along the soft skin.
Buck shudders. “Y’know you don’t have to bite my neck, if you want, it can be somewhere else. Whatever works for you.”
“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats, but his hand comes up to wrap around Buck’s neck and in between words, his lips are pressing to Buck’s neck. It’s not kisses, or at least, that’s what Buck keeps telling himself.
“I know.” Somehow his fingers are in Eddie’s hair. “You could be better than fine, though.”
They do it right there in the hallway, Buck pressed against the wall, Eddie a warm weight pinning him in place, and if his hips hitch a little against Eddie’s thigh now and again, Eddie seems to be too far gone to notice. It’s silent except for Buck’s own rhythmic, gasping breaths and the occasional growl deep in the back of Eddie’s throat, and if Buck didn’t know any better, he’d say they were having sex, just going by those noises alone. They’re absolutely filthy and somehow made even more so by how quiet they are, how soft and intimate they seem.
It’s hard for Buck to remember why he shouldn’t drag his clothed cock along Eddie’s thigh, why he shouldn’t hold on tight and grind their hips together.
Eddie doesn’t feed for as long as usual, but when he pulls back, he looks healthy again, skin flushed and eyes bright.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. He politely doesn’t mention the tent in Buck’s pants.
After that, Eddie starts feeding less on a schedule and more when he feels like it. They’ll be sprawled out on the couch, Buck will feel Eddie’s eyes on him, get that tingling mixture of arousal and fear in the pit of his stomach, the latter just making the former that much more potent, and then next thing Eddie will be biting him and Buck will be struggling not to rut his way to an orgasm like he’s a freshman in a closet at a college party again.
Eddie doesn’t just use Buck’s neck anymore. He feeds from Buck’s wrist, something that’s somehow even more intimate from the neck, and Buck is fascinated by the way his blood stains Eddie’s lips, dizzy with euphoria and aching between his legs. He does the back of the neck once, his arm secure around Buck’s waist as Eddie presses him against the kitchen counter, and Buck’s legs give out by the time Eddie’s done, too full of that floating, buzzing feeling to stand anymore.
It’s fine, or so he tells himself, even as he gets off guiltily in the shower every night, imagining it’s Eddie. He can’t even process how badly he wants him, and now every time Eddie even so much as looks at him with a hint of hunger it’s like a Pavlovian response, Buck’s dick perking up with eternal hope.
And then a call goes bad.
Buck makes it out fine, but Eddie’s pretty cut up. We’re not indestructible, Eddie told him once, when Buck asked about Eddie’s bullet scars. We heal faster, we can take more hits, but we’re still fallible.
The doctors want Eddie to stay overnight, they say he’s not doing great, but they can’t help him. Buck’s the only one who can.
He waits until no one’s around and then sneaks into Eddie’s hospital room.
Eddie’s barely conscious, so Buck has to improvise, cutting his inner wrist open and then pressing it to Eddie’s mouth. Even barely awake, Eddie reaches for it, moans quietly with need.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Buck strokes through Eddie’s hair, guides Eddie’s mouth to the cut. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
Eddie latches on and sucks hard, and he’s desperate so it’s not gentle, it definitely stings, but Buck doesn’t care. His fingers tremble in Eddie’s hair, and his breath rattles in his lungs. He loves him, he loves him, he’d bleed himself dry for him, over and over again, as many times as it takes.
When Eddie finishes, Buck wraps his wrist up in some toilet paper he stole from the bathroom. He’ll bandage it properly when he gets home. Something about Eddie’s saliva when he licks at Buck’s bite wounds closes them back up, but it takes a little bit.
Footsteps. Voices. Fuck, the doctor, and Eddie’s mouth is still smeared with Buck’s blood.
He can’t wipe it off on the sheets or his shirt, someone will see it. Eddie’s a little more awake now that he’s fed, blinking up at Buck sleepily, but—
Buck, in possibly the stupidest moment of his life, leans in and kisses Eddie right as the doctor and a nurse walk back in.
Eddie makes a noise against his mouth, and then, thank fuck, plays along and kisses back.
It’s weird, tasting his own blood on Eddie’s tongue. He won’t lie and say it’s got a fantastic flavor, but there’s something… depraved and dirty about it that makes Buck shiver.
The doctor clears her throat and Buck pulls back, the blood now wiped away.
Eddie stares up at him, completely dazed.
“Visiting hours are over,” the doctor notes.
Eddie visibly startles, looks over at the doctor, eyes widening. Buck’s heart skips a beat.
Did Eddie not know the kiss was a distraction?
“Right, sorry, just—had to say goodnight.” Buck smiles, passes his hand through Eddie’s hair one last time, and then stands up. “Thanks for taking such good care of him, doc.”
He makes it to the lobby before his legs give out and he crashes into a chair.
Eddie can’t get it out of his head.
Buck kissed him. Buck kissed him. He was weak and sure, he could’ve probably healed fine on his own, but it would’ve taken a lot longer and he would’ve stayed feeling shitty until he fed again and Buck fed him. He cut his wrist open and fed Eddie, like it was nothing.
His blood tasted like honey wine. Like dark chocolate. Pulsing through Eddie, deep an inescapable, love, love, love.
And Buck kissed him.
Usually, Buck comes over to his place to hang out, but Buck’s avoided him since that night, so Eddie has to head over to Buck’s place instead.
Buck looks… ashamed, is probably the best word for it, as he opens his front door. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Eddie steps inside.
It’s painfully silent between them.
“Sorry to bother you,” Eddie ventures. “I need to…”
“Yeah, no, of course, figured you’d need more than just the feed in the hospital.”
Eddie wants to ask, questions burning in his chest, but what if he’s wrong? He doesn’t want to be wrong. He couldn’t handle it.
Buck leads him farther inside the house, not up to the bedroom as Eddie would’ve thought but to the couch. Eddie’s stomach twists and sinks. So Buck doesn’t want this to be as intimate. Right. Eddie can take a hint.
“How’s your wrist?” he asks.
Buck holds up his unbandaged hand. “Right as rain. Healed up like all the others.”
That’s a relief. Eddie nods tightly as Buck crawls onto the couch. He’s pretty sure he could smell the shame on Buck even if he wasn’t a vampire, even if his senses were as dull as an ordinary human’s.
Why would Buck feel ashamed?
“You know we don’t have to do this,” Eddie points out. “I can… it’s fine—”
“No, hey, none of that, c’mere.” Buck holds out his hand.
Eddie’s weak, he’s so fucking weak, but he takes it, curls his cold fingers around Buck’s warm ones, and allows Buck to draw him in.
“I’m glad you came to me,” Buck assures him, like he’s proud of Eddie.
The desire to kiss Buck washes over him like a wave and he has to tamp it down. Buck has no clue how good he looks, how good he smells, warm and soft and alive. Eddie’s fangs pop out of their own accord. God, Buck’s temptation itself, and he has no idea.
He can hear Buck’s blood rushing underneath the skin, and his fangs are out all the way, his eyes, he’s sure, pure black.
Buck’s hand slides into his hair like reassurance as Eddie sinks his teeth in.
Pure lust explodes on his tongue, spicy and potent, a goddamn vodka shot followed by a chili pepper chaser, intoxicating and setting him on fire.
And underneath that, honey wine. Dark chocolate, rich and thick.
It doesn’t take long for Buck to get hard, it never does, but this time, Eddie’s not so sure he wants to ignore it. Buck kissed him, and maybe it was just for a distraction, maybe—but Buck fed him and all Eddie could taste when he drank was love, and he’s so tired and he wants so badly—
He pushes his thigh upwards, just enough that it presses against Buck’s clothed erection, and Buck whimpers. The spicy taste of lust in his blood spikes and Eddie drinks harder, unable to stop himself, chasing that sensation.
Buck’s hand trembles where it’s anchored in Eddie’s hair. “Sorry.”
There’s the shame, a bitter taste around the edges of his blood. Buck’s ashamed of wanting Eddie.
For some reason that’s what does it. Eddie slides his fangs back and sits up. Two thin trickles of blood run down Buck’s throat, his eyes are heavy lidded and his lips slick and red from biting them, and it might be the hottest image Eddie’s ever seen in his life.
He’s no good with his words. He’s not even sure what he would say. Instead, he slides his hand down, cups Buck through his jeans, squeezes.
Buck’s pupils blow wide, his mouth going slack. His eyelashes are fluttering and Eddie has the stupidest, strongest urge to kiss them.
For a second they lie here, Buck breathing hard, Eddie not breathing at all, and then Buck tilts his hips up slowly into Eddie’s touch, cranes his head back, exposes his neck more. He has to know what it all means, what it does to Eddie, and he can’t hold in his feral growl as he dives back down, latches onto Buck’s throat again, squeezes Buck’s cock once more.
“Please,” Buck’s voice is a bone-deep ache.
God, he tastes so good. It’s nothing but lust, and Eddie’s going to get fucking drunk if he’s not careful.
He doesn’t want to be careful.
An over-the-pants handjob isn’t quite what Eddie had in mind and it’s also a little too high school for his tastes, so he blindly fumbles, gives up, and just fucking yanks Buck’s jeans down with an audible rip. Buck shivers and groans, the lust taste spiking, and Eddie files that thought away for later—Buck likes it when Eddie uses his strength.
Buck’s warm, he’s so fucking warm, hot and pulsing in Eddie’s palm as Eddie takes Buck’s cock out, strokes it, relishes the slick velvety skin. He could feed from Buck all fucking day when he tastes like this, and it’s only the knowledge that Buck’s poor throat is being regularly abused that gets him to draw back and lick at the spot to seal up the bite marks.
“Fuck, fuck, no, why’d you stop?” Buck whines, squirms, tightens his hold in Eddie’s hair.
“Your throat’s going to get permanent damage if I keep it up.” Eddie doesn’t recognize his own voice.
Buck’s fingers find Eddie’s zipper, drag Eddie’s cock out. Eddie flinches involuntarily. He’s cold, he’s marble, it’s not exactly the usual—but Buck doesn’t seem to mind, his hands finding Eddie’s hips to press them against each other, lining their cocks up, and Eddie groans. It feels so good, Buck’s just—Buck’s everything.
“I want you to feed on me.” Buck sounds like he’s confessing a sin. “Please, Eddie.”
Well, he can’t feed off Buck’s throat, he won’t risk hurting him. Wrist will be kind of weird, given their positioning. But then he remembers Buck kissing him in the hospital, the taste of Buck’s blood and Buck’s tongue both in his mouth…
Eddie drags their hips together the way he’s been so tempted to every time he feeds on Buck, and he kisses him, hard, his fangs sinking into Buck’s lip.
“Fuck,” Buck moans, his leg getting up around Eddie’s hip. “You feel—God you have no fucking idea—feels so good, Eddie, feels so—you’re—fuck, fuck, fuck—”
Buck’s words slur, his hips shoving up recklessly into Eddie’s, dragging their cocks together in a messy slide again and again, and Eddie shudders from head to toe. He thinks Eddie feels good? Buck’s got no idea the ecstasy Eddie’s bathing in right now, how fireworks are going off in Buck’s blood, making Eddie punch drunk and tasting like the best goddamn thing he’s ever had in his life. He’s so turned on he can’t even stand it, growling and grinding against Buck like an animal, lost in the ocean of Buck’s pleasure.
There’s a new taste to the blood now, liquid sunshine, and it takes Eddie a moment to realize it’s Buck’s happiness.
“Please tell me I’m not wrong,” Eddie pants. He licks at the blood that leaks out of the corner of Buck’s lips, kisses Buck frantically in between words. “Buck, please—I can taste it on you, in your blood I can taste how you—tell me I’m right—”
He’s practically vibrating and it’s not just from need, it’s from fear, he’s so scared this is just sex, he’s so tired and he wants, he loves, he needs—
“You can taste it?” Buck sounds even more wildly turned on and speeds up his thrusts. “Fuck, Eddie, why the fuck didn’t you say—”
He kisses Eddie, licks deliberately at Eddie’s fangs, even though they prick his tongue and more blood fills their mouths. “You’re right.”
Buck pulls back, and Eddie knows that he must look like the definition of a monster, eyes black pools, fangs out, blood all over, but Buck looks at him with such softness and warmth that if Eddie’s heart could beat he’s sure it would be leaping up into his throat. He repeats it over again, like he thinks Eddie might not have heard him before: “You’re right.”
Eddie makes a broken noise, something he can’t define or name, and surges forward to slam their mouths back together.
Buck moans, a full-bodied sound that vibrates through them both, and wraps his arms around Eddie, keeping them locked together. Eddie licks the blood from Buck’s mouth, feeds on it, and Buck arches, grinds, drags their cocks together over and over. There’s no finesse to it, just the two of them kissing deep and messy, blood smearing across both their mouths, as they rut and groan together like two animals and Buck orgasms with a shudder.
Oh fuck. Buck’s orgasm explodes in his blood, and Eddie can’t fucking stop himself, pure instinct, feeding harder, chasing that ambrosia, his hand moving down to grab his cock and stroke it viciously, so fucking sated he wants to make Buck come like this every day, feed off him like this every day, until he paints Buck’s stomach and chest, marking him up in a new way.
Buck’s mouth and chin are a mess of red, his body a mess of white. His eyelids are heavy, there’s a massive bruise now on his neck and while his pants are off his shirt’s still on, merely shoved up to his armpits.
He looks absolutely ravaged. Eddie almost wants to take a picture.
When they were just doing this every other week, Eddie would generally fall asleep after a feeding, full and satisfied, but once feedings became irregular and more frequent, he didn’t need to drink as much each time so he wasn’t as full afterwards.
Now, though, he’s properly exhausted, and he collapses on top of Buck, listening to Buck’s racing heart and the endearing way Buck gasps and pants to get his breath back.
“You know, then,” Buck whispers. He curls into Eddie, holds onto him tightly like Eddie might turn into mist. “How much I…” His voice trails off.
Eddie strokes Buck’s throat, tastes Buck’s blood on the back of his tongue. “I didn’t want to ask. In case… I was wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.” Buck’s voice is firm now. He kisses the corner of Eddie’s mouth, the corner of Eddie’s bloodstained, fanged, cold as death mouth. He kisses the mouth of his predator, with all the sweetness in the world.
Eddie loves him impossibly.
“I feel like I owe you dinner, after all this,” he notes.
Buck laughs. “Technically you owe me a few dozen dinners.”
“I guess we’re stuck with each other, then.”
Buck smiles. He’s glowing. “It’s a date.”
Eh, recovery times are overrated. Eddie presses Buck back into the cushions and licks into his mouth all over again.