#each bag gets labeled with its donor after steve insists he can taste the difference ala coke v pepsi

[formosusiniquis]

bela lugosi's dead

written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt: suck | wc: 480 | T | cw: none | tags: vampire!Steve

Like every good freak worth the nickname, Eddie made a habit of reading Dracula every Halloween. 

The first read led to closeted daydreaming about getting abducted by a handsome vampire. Letting himself poke at desires he hadn’t been ready to commit to. With age his fantasies and aesthetics matured, until he was the bloodsucking creature of the night stealing pretty boys away to give in to their secret temptations. So, if he's honest, he’s having a hard time dealing with life and the lemons it’s juggling off to the side of him.

“It isn't fair.”

“Hmm,” Steve, with his red puffer vest and his coordinating Nikes, sat across from him at some point in full view of Eddie’s misery over his annotated copy of Dracula.

“There's an aesthetic you're failing to appreciate and it isn't fair that you-”

“Are we going to do this every time?” He asks around the straw in his mouth, poked into a blood bag labeled ‘Robin:)’ like he’s sipping from a juice box.

“Until you stop dressing like a JCPenney catalog model, or vampires become lame, yeah we probably are, Harrington.”

“Fine,” he sighs, having the decency to pull the blood bag away from his face, “I'm sorry that you had to have five blood transfusions and basically have new, non-vampire blood. No one has ever suffered the way you, Eddie Munson, have.”

“You're being sarcastic, but I have suffered so apology accepted, Stevie.”

“Now you.” Steve prompts, gesturing with the bag in his hands.

“Now me what?”

Steve sits up, a languid move that makes Eddie’s prey brain sit up at attention and his horny boy brain poke its head up too. “Say I'm sorry, Steve, that you had to save the world for the fourth time so a bunch of freaky bat venom metastasized-”

“You absolutely stole that word from Henderson,” breathless, the jab doesn’t carry the weight it could.

“-in your bloodstream and combined with the remains of the experimental Soviet drugs and now," He crawls closer, "you can't eat garlic anymore.”

“That's the hang up for you? Not the blood drinking?”

“I'm Italian, I can’t eat anything anymore. Sure I can supplement the blood with raw meat, but what’s the point if everything is poorly seasoned.” Blood bag all but forgotten in the arm chair, he has Eddie pinned in place looming overtop of him, talking shit about what he’ll never be able to eat again.

The white collar of Steve’s t-shirt is visible beneath the color-block vest, even that isn’t enough to stop his brain from screaming predator on repeat. Supernaturally strong, it doesn’t take more than a hand on the shoulder to push Eddie down horizontal on the couch. He has to feel Eddie’s heart beat, the way it pounds in his chest as Steve noses up the collarbone to his neck. “Really does suck for me, huh baby?”