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He can smell them when Bucky comes back to the apartment late at night. Different men, their colognes wafting off him as he lets himself in and walks past the living room where Steve’s always waiting. It may not be every night, but it’s at least two, or sometimes even three, times a week.
Tonight is no different. Bucky keeps his head down as he walks past. He goes straight into his room and closes the door behind him with a finality that means Bucky won’t be emerging till morning. The sound of the shower starts up not two minutes later.
Steve sits alone in the living room, the scent of cologne hanging in the air like an interloper in the apartment. He can’t help thinking Why not me.
*
He shouldn’t be here, and yet, he can’t make himself leave the dark doorway he’s standing in. Just as he hadn’t been able to stop himself from tailing Bucky when he’d gone out, dressed in what Steve privately thought of as Bucky’s sex clothes—snug navy blue sweater, tight, black jeans, black leather jacket. All he’d known was that he had to see for himself where Bucky met his men, and what he did with them. He doesn’t fool himself that he’s acting purely out of concern for Bucky, although there is some of that too.
Everyone thinks he’s good and righteous. What would they think of him now, lurking outside a nightclub, stalking his best friend. He honestly doesn’t give a fuck.
Bucky finally exits the club about half an hour after he went in, arm around the waist of a tall, blond man. The sight of that fair hair, and the seductive smile on Bucky’s face burns Steve. The two men walk around the corner into a dark alleyway, and like a magnet, Steve’s pulled after them.
He crosses the deserted street and hugs the wall of the alley as he approaches on silent feet, sticking as close to the shadows as he can. He’s about ten feet in when he hears it, barely audible over the thumping bass of the music from the nightclub—a soft gasp, followed by a shuddering moan. Acid roils in his gut as he creeps closer and crouches behind a dumpster. In the grainy black-and-white of his enhanced night vision, he sees—
The blond man pinned against the wall by one gloved hand while Bucky has his face pressed to the man’s neck. The man’s head lolls to the side, his eyelids fluttering, arms dangling limply at his sides. He doesn’t seem to be aware of anything around him, lost in some kind of ecstatic trance. If Bucky wasn’t holding him up, he’d probably have slid down into a boneless sprawl. Bucky’s jaw is moving, almost like he’s…
Swallowing.
He can’t help but remember walking back from the old Paramount Theatre in Brooklyn after watching Bela Lugosi’s Dracula. It was round about the time Bucky was hitting his growth spurt, his voice wavering between high and boyish, and deep and manly. It was also round about the time Steve started having very confusing dreams about him. Bucky had walked by his side, teasing him about the asthma attack he’d almost gotten, even as he’d purposely kept his pace slow so that Steve wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up.
Is Bucky a—
Bucky lifts his head and looks right at the dumpster Steve’s crouched behind, his lips appearing almost black in the half-light. Steve’s heartbeat ratchets up as he freezes in place. Something very dark trickles down one corner of Bucky’s mouth, almost reaching his chin before he wipes it off with the back of his hand.
“I know you’re there, Steve.”
Steve turns and runs.
*
It’s almost dawn before the apartment door opens and Bucky comes in. There’s no scent of cologne this time, probably faded in the long hours before Bucky had finally came home. For the first time, he doesn’t head straight to his room. Instead, he walks into the living room and takes a seat in the armchair opposite Steve. The distance between them may be only a few feet, but it feels like a yawning chasm.
When Bucky finally meets his eyes, Steve flinches at the simmering anger he sees there. But under it, Steve can see fear, and shame.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I should never have followed you.” The apology is met with a cold silence. Steve shifts in his chair, fully aware that he’s lucky Bucky didn’t just up and disappear on him. “If it’s blood that you need, I can give it to you.”
Bucky’s face goes completely blank before his gaze drops to Steve’s neck. Something heated and dark twists around Steve’s spine as the moment stretches between them, fraught and fragile.
A harsh sound escapes Bucky, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You find out I drink blood and that’s all you have to say?”
Steve’s spine unlocks and he lets himself slump back in the chair. “Asgardian gods are real. Why not vampires?”
“You’re not even gonna ask me how—how I became like this?”
“I’m guessing Zola,” Steve bites out. He leans forward in his seat. “I’ve known you all my life, Buck. You definitely weren’t chowing down on people when we were kids.”
Bucky shakes his head. “‘Chowing down’.”
“Was it Zola?”
Bucky scrubs a hand down his face and the anger seems to drain out of him. “Yeah,” he says, on a long exhale.
A million questions crowd Steve’s mind, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut—he’s already invaded Bucky’s privacy unforgivably. The only important thing is that Bucky knows it doesn’t matter one bit that Bucky’s… whatever he is. Steve’s sure Bucky isn’t killing innocent people, and that’s enough for him.
“I mean it, Buck, about the blood. It’s safer for you, you don’t have to go out and find guys to… to feed from. And the serum gave us—” He cuts himself off at the bitter twist of Bucky’s lips. Right. No serum for Bucky. “My body can replace whatever you take. You know that.”
Bucky chews on his lips as he studies Steve like he’s trying to puzzle him apart. Steve lets him see his resolve, his complete commitment to being whatever Bucky needs.
“Can I think about it?” he says finally. “I won’t need to feed again for a few more days.”
Steve barely manages to hide his disappointment, hating that someone else’s blood is inside Bucky, sustaining him. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”
Bucky’s expression is troubled when he nods. He’s got his hands on the armrests and is about to stand up when Steve blurts out, “Why men?”
“They’re bigger,” Bucky says as he settles back in the chair, “can afford to lose more blood.” He skewers Steve with a look. “Did you think I was fucking them?”
Bucky can probably read the answer off his face because his voice is cold and flat when he says, “Does that bother you?”
“I’m bisexual, Buck. I’m not one to judge.” Which is a compromise, and a truth—the only thing that bothers him is that it’s not him.
The dangerous edge to Bucky dissipates and he stares at Steve for a full ten seconds in complete silence. “I guess we’re learning a lot about each other today.” He gets up from the chair and walks to his room. As he’s passing Steve, he says, “For the record, I like men, too.” And then he’s past and closing his bedroom door behind him.
It’s a very long time before Steve gets up from his chair.
*
“So… what exactly does you being a vampire entail?”
Steve leans back against the kitchen counter and watches Bucky where he’s standing behind the island assembling their dinner. He looks soft and comfortable in a blue T-shirt and black sweatpants, with his hair scraped back into a ragged ponytail to keep it out of the way. Tiny tendrils of hair have escaped and are driving Steve crazy with the need to tuck them out of the way. It’s been over a day and Bucky still hasn’t said anything about Steve’s offer. Patience had never been accounted one of his virtues.
“I drink blood, obviously.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I got that part. But what else? Clearly the sunlight thing isn’t a problem. Neither is the garlic.” Steve gives the garlic Bucky’s dicing a pointed look. “I’m pretty sure the recipe said one clove of garlic, Buck, not ten.”
“Can’t ever have too much garlic.”
“Yes. You can.”
Bucky gives Steve a flat look. The machinegun-fast sound of the knife on the chopping board takes on a slightly menacing tone. Steve would be worried for Bucky’s fingers if they weren’t made of metal.
“You cook, then.”
Discretion being the better part of valour, Steve decides to change the subject. “So. The vampire thing?”
Bucky’s gaze drops back to the knife. “I really don’t know all that much, Steve. They pumped me full of stuff, and when I woke up, I was different.” He shrugs. “No one ever explained it to me.”
“There was one night,” Steve says carefully, “I woke up to find you watching me.” There had been a look in Bucky’s eyes—hungry, almost alien in its predatoriness—that had sent a shiver of fear and desire down his spine.
“I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Food didn’t seem to be enough. And you smelled…” Bucky’s lips twisted. “You smelled so good.”
“I would’ve let you—if you’d told me, I’d have let you.”
A pained laugh escapes Bucky. “I didn’t even know what I needed. It wasn’t till…” He swallows. “One night, when I was scouting ahead, I came across a Kraut. I grabbed him from behind, slit his throat and—” He closes his eyes. “I was so hungry.”
Steve already knows which night Bucky’s talking about. It’d been about three weeks after Azzano and a few nights after Steve had woken up to find Bucky watching him. They’d been on a night mission to destroy a Hydra base. Bucky had left the camp looking ragged and exhausted, but had come back with dark shadows in his eyes even as life had blazed from him. He’d looked like a carved statue come to life, so beautiful that Steve had to tear his gaze away before he did something stupid.
“By the time I was finished,” Bucky says, “I’d drained him dry. If you hadn’t been waiting for me at the camp, if I didn’t think you’d do something stupid if I disappeared, I would’ve just... walked away.”
“I’m sorry—”
Bucky pins him with a glare. “Not your fault, Steve.” He points at Steve with the knife in his hand. “Zola. Hydra. It’s on them.”
Steve shuts his mouth because this is an old argument that never really goes anywhere.
“Anyway,” Bucky says. “After that, I made sure to feed more often, in small amounts. I never—” He takes a deep breath. “I never wanted to lose control like that ever again.” He continues chopping at the same relentless pace. If the garlic has been reduced almost to a paste, Steve chooses not to point it out.
“I can take their memories, you know. Funny, isn’t it,” Bucky says, with a caustic edge to his voice. He stops chopping and loosens his grip on the knife. Takes a few breaths. Relaxes his shoulders. “Not a lot,” he says, in a more even tone. “Maybe about ten minutes or so. Enough that they think it’s because they had a little too much to drink.”
Before Steve can grapple with the implications of that, Bucky’s already speaking.
“My spit can heal small wounds.” Bucky forces a rueful smile. “If you’ve got a small cut that needs healing, I’m your guy.”
Taking Bucky’s cue, Steve keeps the conversation light. “So,” he says, remembering the way light had glinted off long, curving canines in that alleyway. “You have fangs?”
“When I need them.”
“They just grow when you need them?”
Bucky nods.
“That’s… kinda neat.” Also kind of hot, if he’s being perfectly honest.
There’s a sudden silence, followed by a snort, followed by a very sarcastic “Really?”
Steve doesn’t bother defending himself. He likes what he likes. “Can I see them?”
“They only grow when I want to feed.” Bucky looks at the soggy pile of garlic on the board, sighs, scrapes it into the waste bowl, and gets another bulb of garlic.
“About the feeding,” Steve says as Bucky peels more garlic. “Have you thought about it?”
Bucky gives him a look as if to say I know what you’re up to. Then, cheeks going a little pink, he mutters, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Steve straightens up from the counter. “Is that a yes?”
“What if it is?”
“Then I’d say ‘How do you want me?’.”
There’s no sound in the kitchen save for their carefully measured breaths. Then, Bucky’s eyes widen with dawning realisation. He puts down the knife, washes his hands, and dries them carefully on a tea towel while Steve’s heart starts to thunder in his chest.
“I can take it from the wrist,” Bucky says as he steps out from behind the island. “Neck works better.” Bucky’s gaze drifts down Steve’s body, and his voice drops to a low rasp. “Thigh, too.”
Steve is suddenly very, very hard. From the knowing smile spreading slowly across Bucky’s face, Bucky knows it too. Fucking sweatpants, Steve thinks. He’d close his eyes, but the way Bucky’s looking at him, reminding him of that night long ago, is not something he wants to miss.
Bucky approaches slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Steve skirts the edge of the counter and backs up until he feels the wall behind him. His heart is racing, but it’s not from fear.
A knowing smile curves Bucky’s lips as he comes to a stop a hand’s-breadth away from Steve. “I can make it feel good,” he whispers, “or I can let you feel the bite.”
“The bite,” Steve says, through a throat gone tight. “I want to feel it.”
“Where do you want it?”
“Neck.” Thigh another day, hopefully soon.
“I’m gonna have to come in close for that.”
Steve tilts his head to the side in answer. Bucky licks his lips and breathes in deeply like he’s scenting Steve. He takes another step closer, close enough that their chests are nearly brushing. Steve’s hands fist at his sides as he fights the urge to pull Bucky the rest of the way in.
Bucky searches Steve’s eyes, maybe looking for some sign of doubt or hesitation. He won’t find any. When Bucky smiles, soft and almost disbelieving, a tight little knot of tension inside Steve loosens.
With slow, careful movements, Bucky curls his flesh hand around Steve’s neck and traces a calloused thumb up and down Steve’s carotid artery. He leans forward and replaces the slow stroke of his thumb with the gentle press of soft lips. Steve feels hot, damp breath against his skin, the points of needle-sharp teeth. Then Bucky’s biting down and sealing his lips against Steve’s neck. Bucky starts to suck—long, hard, rhythmic pulls that send twin tendrils of heat coiling down to Steve’s cock. He gives up the fight and clamps his hands around Bucky’s hips to pull him close.
When their bodies collide, someone groans, maybe him, maybe both of them, then Bucky’s pressing his hips against Steve’s, grinding them in time with the sucking.
“I thought,” Steve gasps, “I asked you not to make it feel good.”
Bucky pulls away with a suddenness that leaves Steve blinking. His eyes are dark when he looks at Steve. “I wasn’t doing anything, Steve.” A wicked smile curves his lips, wet and red. “You liked that did you? I always knew you liked getting punched.”
He tilts his head to the side and gives Steve a cocky smile, light glinting red off canines wet with blood. “If I make it feel good, you’ll know.” Bucky leans in close, hot breath brushing against the sensitive inner surfaces of Steve’s ear as he whispers, “Do you want to know?”
“Yes,” Steve says, on a shuddering breath. He has one brief glance of Bucky’s smile before Bucky bends down to lick at his neck. He barely even feels the sting of the bite before pleasure crashes into him, intense and overwhelming. He’s drowning in it, his awareness of his surroundings, of Bucky, shredding under its force.
Maybe if he hadn’t experienced the bite without it, he wouldn’t have realised what he was missing out on. But now that he has, he wants it back—the feel of Bucky’s hands on him, the heat of Bucky’s body pressing into him.
“Stop,” he gasps, just before he’s pulled under and loses all sense of self.
When he manages to open his eyes, Bucky’s watching him, brow furrowed.
“The other way.” Steve clasps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck. “Do it the other way.”
“Are you sure?”
Steve tilts his chin up and bares his neck to Bucky again. He can feel a warm wet trickle of blood making its way down his neck. A thrill pulses through him when he sees the way Bucky’s gaze tracks its path along his neck. “Yes.”
“Steve,” Bucky whispers, and looks at him with something like awe in his face. Then he leans in and sinks his teeth back into Steve’s neck. Steve cups a hand around Bucky’s jaw, wanting to feel the way it works as Bucky sucks and swallows.
He slides his other hand down the long line of Bucky’s back, all the way down to his ass, hoping Bucky will get the hint. An approving growl rumbles out of Bucky before he starts grinding against Steve. It’s slow and relentless at first, then faster, more erratic.
Heat coils down from his neck and up from his cock, pressure building in his balls. His entire body tightens up. Then, Bucky tenses and bites down harder. The mix of pleasure and pain ignites every nerve in Steve’s body and he cries out, mind going blank, lost to everything but his release and the feel of Bucky at his neck.
When he drifts back to the present, it’s to the wet heat of Bucky’s tongue licking over the bite wounds.
“God, Steve,” Bucky breathes against his neck. “Do you know how good you taste?”
Steve’s breath catches when Bucky looks up at him, eyes still a little dazed, hair mussed, and cheeks flushed. How many men have seen Bucky like this? His hands tighten on Bucky’s hips as a dark tide of possessiveness sweeps over him.
“Is this,” he says, voice coming out almost a growl, “what you do with those guys you find?”
Bucky smiles at him, red and dangerous. Steve wants to lick up those last few traces of his blood, share it in a twisted communion.
“Nah.” Steve watches in helpless fascination as Bucky sucks his lower lip into his mouth, savouring the taste of blood on it. “I touch them only enough to get their blood. They get nothing,” Bucky says. “No memory of me, of the bite. I take everything when I go. Why?” Bucky studies him with predatory eyes. “You jealous?”
Bucky must be able to see the truth in Steve’s eyes because he smirks. “Yeah, you are.” He cups a hand over Steve’s neck and presses his thumb into the pulse point. “You got nothing to worry about. There’ll be nobody else but you from now on.”
Steve grips Bucky’s hip and spins them around to slam Bucky back against the wall, drawing a surprised curse from him. “Damn straight there’ll be nobody else.” He kisses Bucky, tastes his blood on Bucky’s tongue. Then, because he has to be an adult about it, he leans back and says: “But if you have to—”
Bucky rolls his eyes before nodding in agreement. “Only if I have to,” he says, as he pulls Steve back into a kiss.