Work Text:
Running out of medicine,
You’re worse than you’ve ever been.
The fine hairs on the back of Legundo’s neck prickle as he walks in his front door, and he freezes there, peering as best he can into the darkness, his body warning him of a predator.
His whole body is sore and tired, as if he’s got a cold coming on, his fingers and toes a little numb and cold from blood loss. His neck, too, is still sore, though he’s long stopped bleeding. Being so close to him again, feeling Owen’s breath on his skin, after days without him had been terrifying and thrilling in equal measure. Feeling the blood in his body being pulled out had been strange, too, an odd tug that came from inside of him.
Afterwards, Owen had barely stayed long enough to make sure he wouldn’t collapse in the middle of the woods, and Legundo was already missing his touch and scent, both of which he had gotten embarrassingly used to before… everything.
Every day, the distance between them feels less temporary, and it becomes more and more difficult to convince himself that he can still fix this thing between them, fix this thing between the humans and the vampires, fix Owen.
“I can’t get the taste of you off my tongue.”
Owen’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper, and it sends shivers down Legundo’s back as he sweeps his gaze around the room. Owen’s shown himself to possess a wide variety of powers by now—he can leap inhuman distances, slice through flesh and metal like they’re paper with his claws, turn into a bat, make himself invisible—and Legundo is acutely aware that he has no idea of the extent of the man’s vampiric abilities.
“Doctor.” The voice comes from behind him this time, right in his ear, hot breath on his skin, and when Legundo’s body prickles again, it’s not with fear (all right, not just fear), but red-hot desire.
“Owen,” he answers, his throat feeling suddenly dry, and then there’s hands on his back, pushing him forward. He tumbles down onto his wooden cot, grunting when Owen presses up against his back, his mouth pressing against the fresh puncture wounds, his wet tongue gliding over the sensitive wounds. Legundo bites down a yelp, not wanting to alert the other villagers to the presence of his night time visitor.
Owen’s arms wrap around his body, hands pushing under his apron, into his trousers.
“Say you want me,” he says, nearly a plea. Legundo buries his face into the threadbare wool blanket of his cot to muffle his moan as Owen wraps a hand around his already-stiffening prick.
“Owen,” he gasps, breathless.
“Say you can’t forget me,” Owen says into Legundo’s back. Legundo hears his teeth snap together as Owen digs them into the neck tie of Legundo’s apron and pulls. He’s undoing Legundo’s pants, pushing them impatiently down, still stroking him and Legundo groans, writhing under him.
“Wait,” he chokes out, and Owen freezes, going tense against Legundo’s back, like he’s expecting rejection. “Let me—let me turn around. I want to see your face.”
For a moment, Owen remains in place, stony against his back, like he can’t believe Legundo might still want to look at him. Then he stands up, shrinking away as Legundo quickly turns, pulling off his apron and kicking off his pants as he lays himself out on the cot. He doesn’t have long to feel stupid, exposed and hard and alone, before Owen is on top of him, kissing him.
His tongue tastes heavily of metal as it pushes into Legundo’s mouth, but it’s hard to care with one of Owen’s hands back around him. They work together to get Owen’s vest off, then his shirt, Legundo’s hands traveling over the scars, both those from his illness, and the two jagged lines which sit under Owen’s pectorals.
Owen’s hands dig into Legundo’s shirt, next, claws tearing through the fabric as he tries and fails repeatedly to undo the buttons. Finally, Legundo laughs.
“Let me—” he breathes, but Owen’s already ripping through the fabric, letting out a low, frustrated growl.
“Stupid shirt with it’s stupid buttons—I want—” and then he’s bending his head down, pressing kisses over Legundo’s chest, swirling his tongue around a nipple, groaning as he rubs his face into Legundo’s chest hair like a contented cat.
“You didn’t have to ruin a perfectly good shirt just so you could rub your face on my chest,” Legundo sighs. Clearly from the glare Owen gives him, he disagrees. Legundo works off the remains off his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders, and then he cups Owen by the back of his head and guides him up into another kiss.
Owen licks into his mouth at the same time he’s shifting on top of Legundo, lining up their bodies.
This won’t fix things between them, and tomorrow they’ll go back to being on the brink of war, but for now, Owen is his once more, sinking down onto his cock, moaning into his mouth as the heat of his cunt surrounds his hardness, slick and tight and so eager, like Owen has missed him, too.
Legundo wouldn’t dare hope.
He holds onto Owen’s hips, but it’s Owen who sets the pace, riding Legundo as they kiss, his supernaturally body never tiring, even as he drops down harder and harder before rising up again. Despite the power, he has to muffle his moans against Legundo’s mouth, each sound almost like he’s in pain despite the ecstatic clenching, the way his claws are dragging through Legundo’s blanket—he’ll need to patch it tomorrow morning—teeth grazing over Legundo’s lips between kisses without ever puncturing skin.
Despite everything, he’s still so careful with his favourite human, the venom of a predator leaving him in this private moment they’ve stolen together.
“Legs—” Owen chokes out. Wet heat splatters Legundo’s cheeks, and for a fearful moment, he thinks it’s blood, that Owen’s torn him open without him noticing, then salt hits his tongue and he opens his eyes, pulling back far enough to see the tears sliding down Owen’s scarred cheeks, his red eyes glowing in the darkness, big and wet and still just as beautiful as when Legundo saw him for the first time.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Legundo breathes out. His next words disappear as Owen kisses him again, hard, desperate His claws dig into the sheets above Legundo’s head, bringing their bodies together fast enough that the slap of skin on skin fills the small home Legundo’s built for himself. Every breath and thought is stolen by the places they meet, and then Owen is crying out on top of him, shaking as he pulses around Legundo’s cock, so tight that Legundo loses what little control he had left, filling Owen’s body, gasping into his mouth, his ears ringing from the force of his orgasm.
As the ringing clears, he realizes Owen’s lips are moving, that he’s whispering “Please. Please, please, please.”
“Owen,” Legundo says softly. He threads his fingers through Owen’s hair. “My darling, what’s wrong?”
“Please, Legs,” Owen says, like the prayer of a man on a battlefield. “Let me turn you. Please. I can’t—”
“Owen—”
They’re interrupted by a knock on Legundo’s door.
In the blink of an eye, Owen is on the other side of the room, breathing heavily, tears staining his cheeks.
“Coming!” Legundo calls as he quickly pulls on his trousers and grabs a spare shirt, pulling it on rapidly before going to his door and pulling it open.
He’s surprised to find a disheveled Drift standing at his door, tightly clutching an axe.
“Ms. Drift,” he says, trying to sound normal, forcing himself not to glance at Owen in the corner. “Is something the matter?”
“I heard—” she falters, her expression changing as she takes in his appearance. “I thought, um, you might be in trouble.”
“Oh,” Legundo says. “No. Thank you kindly for your concern, but I just had a—a nightmare. I have those on occasion.”
The young woman lowers her axe, her grip relaxing along with her expression. “Ah,” she says, sounding relieved. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Thank you again for checking.”
“Of course,” Drift answers. “We have to look out for each other, doctor. Well… good night, then. Sorry to wake you.”
“Not at all,” Legundo assures her. “Good night.”
He waits until she’s turned her back to close the door. When he looks for Owen, he finds he’s alone.