( everything that isn't the vein under his tongue feels — vague. steve is vaguely complaining. vaguely resisting. the clock somewhere mounted on the wall is vaguely clicking a one, two tune as eddie rubs his tongue, back and forth, against the protrusion of blood under his lips. god. steve harrington is decidedly not a bat, and it feels — impossibly good. he's so full of blood and vitality, he smells so good as all the blood rushes around in his body, panicked and frenzied. eddie hums, or groans, sucking the skin of his neck lightly, rubbing teeth that feel like a little too sharp against his sensitive flesh.
is he supposed to fight this urge? probably, if he were decent — or actually the hero he once tried to become. but steve stretched his neck, unveiled the path of his skin like he wanted it, and eddie. well. he doesn't run, at least. he keens right into the urge, two thick fangs descending from his gums, serpentine as they rub up against his skin. it's almost apologetic, for the upcoming pain. soothing an ache that isn't there, yet. )
Stay put, Harrington. ( it's sounds like he's talking with a mouthful of marbles. ) Just a bite.
( just a bite. though — eddie has never bitten something that he didn't kill in the process. he's also never bitten anything as big as steve, holding as much blood inside him. not that he's thinking about anything like that. no, he just thinks about his teeth, pressing into his neck until they pierce, until steve blood coats his mouth and he takes a long, hard pull from the spigot.
it's good. steve tastes sweet in a way he's unused to, like eddie just realized he's been subsiding off rotting bats with moldy, black blood for the last however long, and just tasted a cream-filled cupcake. he groans, tugging, swallowing two mouthfuls which is ordinarily his fill — but there's so much and he tastes so good, eddie can't help but swallow more, dragging more of steve inside of him. strange flashes of memories. there's nancy spread on her fluffy, white sheets. robin in a sailor hat. dustin —
yeah. dustin. the vision of the kid makes eddie pull off with a sudden jerk, watching the blood bubbling up from steve's neck with a strange look of horror and arousal. not wanting to waste a drop, he licks the wound, sealing it off with his weird, vampire spit. he swallows the last dregs down, until he can pull away, cheeks suddenly flush, hands cupping steve's waist to make sure he doesn't fall. or — jesus, die. )
So — okay, yeah, dude, I mean — somethings are a little different now! Shit, Steve. ( shit is right. it's a weird slap in the face — a dawning reality that he's the complete and exact opposite of a hero now. he's evil. he's what the papers say he is — demonic, cultist, murderer. he can't stay here, a threat to the only people who ever tried to help him. he's — ) Sorry, sorry, Jesus Christ. What the fuck. Sorry.
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is he supposed to fight this urge? probably, if he were decent — or actually the hero he once tried to become. but steve stretched his neck, unveiled the path of his skin like he wanted it, and eddie. well. he doesn't run, at least. he keens right into the urge, two thick fangs descending from his gums, serpentine as they rub up against his skin. it's almost apologetic, for the upcoming pain. soothing an ache that isn't there, yet. )
Stay put, Harrington. ( it's sounds like he's talking with a mouthful of marbles. ) Just a bite.
( just a bite. though — eddie has never bitten something that he didn't kill in the process. he's also never bitten anything as big as steve, holding as much blood inside him. not that he's thinking about anything like that. no, he just thinks about his teeth, pressing into his neck until they pierce, until steve blood coats his mouth and he takes a long, hard pull from the spigot.
it's good. steve tastes sweet in a way he's unused to, like eddie just realized he's been subsiding off rotting bats with moldy, black blood for the last however long, and just tasted a cream-filled cupcake. he groans, tugging, swallowing two mouthfuls which is ordinarily his fill — but there's so much and he tastes so good, eddie can't help but swallow more, dragging more of steve inside of him. strange flashes of memories. there's nancy spread on her fluffy, white sheets. robin in a sailor hat. dustin —
yeah. dustin. the vision of the kid makes eddie pull off with a sudden jerk, watching the blood bubbling up from steve's neck with a strange look of horror and arousal. not wanting to waste a drop, he licks the wound, sealing it off with his weird, vampire spit. he swallows the last dregs down, until he can pull away, cheeks suddenly flush, hands cupping steve's waist to make sure he doesn't fall. or — jesus, die. )
So — okay, yeah, dude, I mean — somethings are a little different now! Shit, Steve. ( shit is right. it's a weird slap in the face — a dawning reality that he's the complete and exact opposite of a hero now. he's evil. he's what the papers say he is — demonic, cultist, murderer. he can't stay here, a threat to the only people who ever tried to help him. he's — ) Sorry, sorry, Jesus Christ. What the fuck. Sorry.