Chapter 2: Once Bitten, Twice Shy
This story was in hiatus and I promised someone I would update this as soon as I was done with Latch… so, here it is!
Steve punched the bag with unnecessary force. When if flew off the hinge, he sighed and replaced it with the sixth one that day. It had been six days since the incident (calling it for what it was surfaced images that were too hard to handle); he was starting to sense a pattern.
Beating the fibrous crap out of bags filled with sand took his mind off things, if he could work up a sweat and destroy those lustful feelings, then maybe (just maybe) he could look Tony in the eye again.
He knew what they had agreed on; he just couldn't understand why it took him so long to get through it. It was just a kiss damn it!
Oops, there went the sixth one.
It was more than that wasn't it? More than a kiss, more than a touch. It wasn't the moment that replayed in his head that haunted his every waking and non-waking hour. It was his need for more. He thirsted for it like a bat does blood. That's why looking at the billionaire became increasingly difficult these days. All he wanted to do was devour him whole-
Steve normally hated cold showers, but right now his body could benefit from one.
ooOOoo
He was able to act normal around the others, hide his shame and lust behind a smile or a pleasant compliment. But beneath the surface he was boiling. He wondered to himself if this was normal, if feeling like every second brought him closer to detonating was a regular emotion for a person lacking gratification.
He wished he could ask somebody, someone who wouldn't connect the dots.
"You've had lots of sex, right?" Smooth line Steve, smooth line. This was probably a bad idea. (And probably the wrong person to ask.)
Tony spit his coffee all over the many monitors around his desk. That was not the topic of conversation Tony thought they were going to have when Steve said he wanted to talk.
"I've had my fair share of partners, yes. Why do you ask?" Tony replied, wiping the coffee off his monitors with a random rag.
"With them, did you ever feel… bothered by the fact you couldn't have them? As in, every time you were around them, they made your skin boil?" Steve asked avoiding Tony's eyes by looking at his hands.
"I think you're confusing desire with anger. I understand that your moral code dictates otherwise, but most of my partners were one-night-stands, meaning that I-
"I know what it means. The name pretty much says it all. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt I'll take my leave now."
"No, Steve, wait." Tony stopped him. "Obviously something is bothering you, and apparently this topic wouldn't sit well with Fury, so, speak your mind. Who is it?"
"Why does there have to be someone in the picture for me to ask about it?" Steve asked worriedly. Had Tony already seen through his façade? And if he had, did he know Steve was talking about him?
"Because the feelings you're brining up are extremely specific. Only someone who's under that stress would be able to explain, in such detail, what they were feeling." So, Tony had seen through his poppycock. At least partially, or maybe fully and he was letting Steve down gently.
"Truly, it's no one, I was just watching some TV and it showed up." Steve said unconvincingly, for some strange reason Tony decided to let him off the hook.
The genius still raised an eyebrow as he returned to his contraption—he was either building something, or fixing something; with Tony, he could never tell.
"Well, if it's hypothetical love yo- they're feeling, I suppose it's possible for someone to feel that way, if categorizing their feelings is hard, or they've never had a chance to experience those sensations." Tony suggested. "The human brain becomes extremely difficult to understand when it's in love, that's why I don't bother with it."
As Tony talked Steve caught an eyeful of the man beneath the suit. His lithe muscles flexed beneath the pressure of twisting the bolt, a light sheen of sweat covered every exposed part of his flesh, and his mouth looked just like it always did, except now Steve knew what the mouth was capable of… and he wanted to know the extent of its talents.
"…But in the end, if you're trying to compare real feelings to those you see on the television, it's a failed mission from the start. TV never truly encompasses the depth of reality, no matter how hard it tries." Steve realized that he had somehow blocked out most of Tony's speech, and by the time he had tuned back in, he had missed most of the explanation he was looking for.
"Uh, yeah… great." Steve nodded, pretending to understand.
"You didn't get any of that did you." Tony said, putting his tools down and turning around in his stool to face the disgruntled blonde. "Look, whatever this feeling is, I suggest you ignore it. Feelings bring nothing but trouble, and next time, consult novels for advice. Not a jaded billionaire."
"I'm sorry I keep bothering you." Steve said solemnly.
"And stop apologizing. I'm your friend for a reason; you can come to me with basically anything. Now shoo, I'm in the middle of something." Tony said, returning to his work.
ooOOoo
That night Steve couldn't, for the life of him, find the strength to fall asleep. He was moody—his pillow probably didn't deserve the abuse it was getting.
He found it simpler to get out of bed, get dressed, and walk into New York at midnight. He decided to leave his shield behind, a decision he would later come to regret.
New York at midnight was quite different than New York in the daylight. The streets were still crowded, and the people still walked quickly and rudely, but they were more subdued, as if the night changed the volume of their chatter.
He stepped into a random bar, he didn't drink but he thought it appropriate with his mood.
The bartender took one look at him and shoved a glass towards his general direction. "This one's on the house." He said.
How miserable could Steve be that even a stranger could sense it by looking at his face?
"Thanks." Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he took one long gulp of the… whiskey. At least he thought it was whiskey. Most of the food had changed since he surfaced from the ice, but one thing still managed to remain the same: the alcohol.
Maybe it was his great appreciation for his surroundings or that (as an Avenger) his senses were always tuned into Trouble FM, but whatever it was had him turning to witness a slight altercation in the back of the bar. Two men in black held a third male by the arms—it was quite obvious that he was terrified.
They talked for a little bit, the man's face filling with dread and the colour draining from his cheeks the longer the men spoke. Steve wound his way to a nearby table without being noticed, taking a sudden interest in what was going on.
"…The shipment was supposed to be delivered a week ago, did you think we'd forget about something like that?" The one on the left asked smoothly, his voice was as dark as his suit, and deeper than the bass in the current song.
"Drac won't be happy; he was so looking forward the new addition to his bank." The one to his right continued, his voice was higher-pitched and rougher.
"Look, there was a delay in the shipment. A misunderstanding of sorts-
"Your job is to clear up 'misunderstandings'—no one likes a late delivery." Lefty interrupted.
"I just need one more day, please, I beg you. Just give me one day and it'll be in your bank before you know it." The man begged quietly.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, the Drac doesn't really negotiate well once certain terms have been discussed… but we can bring you to him, see what he says about your little proposition." Righty suggested cheerily.
"No, please! I'll do anything, just please don't bring me to him. You know what he'll do-
"Shut up." Lefty said, simultaneously shoving a large needle into the man's neck.
"Oh, buddy; it seems you've had a little too much to drink. Let's get you home." The men in suits lifted the drugged man and walked him outside through the back door. Steve followed as silently as he could.
"Think we could get a little sip before we get him to the Drac?" The one who had been sitting on the right asked.
"Dimitri, you know how he is about spoilt goods, besides, you'd be half-drunk after one swallow." The one on the left chastised.
"You know I love that freshly drugged taste, and admit it, it makes me much more enjoyable to be around… especially in bed." The one known as Dimitri retorted. This gave Steve a pause, was that a come-on? (Clint had taught him about those after a catastrophic display of his ignorance, once, when a waitress had been hitting on him at a restaurant.)
"Later, right now we're on duty." Lefty reminded.
"It's always later with you, when do we ever get to have some fun on my time Mendeleev?" Dimitri complained.
They reached a large white truck, Dimitri opened the doors, shoved the boxes out of the way, and practically threw the unknown man into the back.
"Would you smell that, so much… it practically makes my mouth tingle." Dimitri breathed out.
"It's not yours; you'll get your midnight snack later." Mendeleev reminded, he seemed to be the responsible one.
"Yes, I know, but I still don't understand why he needs to have so much of it. It's not like humans are going extinct any time soon."
"He's a powerful man he requires much more…" But Steve couldn't catch the end of the sentence because they'd climbed into the truck and closed the doors. Steve made a last-minute decision to jump onto the back as soon as they started the engine. When they drove off and he felt secure enough in his footing, he opened the doors and climbed into the back with the man.
Steve looked at his watch as soon as he was settled, 1:24 AM. He should've called the Avengers before he left; now it was only him and his training.
ooOOoo
Steve could listen to their conversation through a small vent (though it was muffled by the large metal wall and engine).
"Why was this delivery so important to Drac anyways? I feel it unnecessarily strenuous to drive all the way to New York, then Portland and back, all for some truck." Dimitri complained, he seemed to do that quite often.
"You're just lazy, all you ever want to do is lounge around and sip Bloody Marys." Mendeleev said.
"You know me so well Alexandru, but is it really so bad to wish the high life, the Drac gets to do it." Dimitri said sulkily.
"The Drac has entrusted us with very high positions, we've been looking forward to these jobs for a long time, and we can't be expected to slack off." Mendeleev reminded again, not able to mask the longsuffering tone to his voice. It seemed to Steve that they'd had this conversation, or at least variations of it, in the past.
"You're so duty-bound it's offensive, but it makes you you, so for as long as I live… I'm gonna have to deal with that." Dimitri sighed, but Steve could hear the small smile in his voice.
He didn't know why he was even paying attention to their conversation. Something about it seemed so familiar… yet he couldn't quite figure out why.
Another thing seemed to click, their names. Dimitri, Alexandru Mendeleev. They were central European names; their accents were quite faint but if Steve strained he could pin them as Romanian (but that would be too on-the-nose).
They ran through a pothole and they all jumped, it jostled the unconscious passenger enough to wake him up a bit. The first thing he did was lock eyes with Steve. Steve signalled him to be quiet, he pointed to the small vent and then to them.
Steve wobbled closer to the man so they could speak and figure out just who these people were.
"I need you to stay calm and tell me your name?" Steve asked quietly.
"Anthony, Anthony Ramirez. But most of my friends call me Tony." The man replied.
Of course they do. "Ramirez will do just fine. We are on our way to Portland, if you want to leave this situation safely you're going to have to tell me who these two people are, why they keep referring to their boss as the 'Drac,' and what was so important about that shipment." Steve continued interrogating. The man seemed to be willing enough to supply all the information he knew.
"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you man. This stuff is otherworldly." Ramirez replied.
"Trust me son, I deal with the otherworldly." Steve encouraged.
"What are you, like some cop?" Ramirez asked.
"Just answer the questions."
"Those two, they're… they're vampires. The taller one with the deep voice is Alexandru Mendeleev, the shorter one with the attention span of a squirrel is Dimitri Darius-Mendeleev. They're kinda married so. Anyways, the Drac, well, he's like the Count Dracula, well not like the Bram Stoker's Dracula but like the real Count Dracula. And don't let those Twilight movies fool you into anythin', these vampires are hard-core." Ramirez seemed like he would never stop talking. Steve was extremely relieved when he did.
"What do they want with you?"
"I was late on an order of blood, I'm the director of a blood bank right next to the hospital and they had contracted me for some good pay. But there was an altercation with the latest order, a building had fallen out of nowhere and crushed my entire supply. This delayed me back a week, now the Drac is pissed." Ramirez said. Steve tried to focus on the present and not dwell too much on falling buildings and trapped holes.
"I see, we'll get you out of this, but you'll have to follow my lead. And after that, you'll resign from this dirty business." Steve ordered.
"Yes, but hey man, who are you?" Ramirez asked curiously.
"Cap- Steve Rogers."
ooOOoo
The five hours that passed seemed like an eternity. Steve went over the plan with Ramirez three more times before he was finally comfortable with their abilities to infiltrate Dracula's base unnoticed and for Steve, unseen.
Luckily, Mendeleev was the one to open the door. Steve had a feeling that Dimitri enjoyed savouring the smell of blood a little too much, whereas Mendeleev went straight to business. Mendeleev took Ramirez straight to the miniature castle while Dimitri parked. When Steve could make double-dog sure that he was all alone, he jumped out of the truck and tried to find his way around the large space.
So far, he hadn't encountered any enemies, it seemed that the place was isolated except for him and the others he knew for sure were in the general vicinity. The interior was blocked out from the outside sun, the cobbled walls were lined with candles every couple of feet. His footsteps echoed through the large corridor so he tried his best to walk slowly and stealthily.
He could hear murmured talking and as he got closer, he was able to make out a new voice, this one was darker and older than the rest; it seemed to speak to the soul rather than the body. It left Steve feeling vulnerable and open.
He should've known that parading his scent to the most powerful vampire in the world wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Steve was unsurprised when he entered the room and the Drac looked expectantly at him.
"What a treasure… a gift from the past."
Tony felt confused after Steve left the room. It was quite unlike his friend to ask such private questions. Usually Steve shied away from any topics involving human intimacy… but today he'd been different.
Tony thought it was just another discovery in the many that Steve still had to make in this new world. Still, Tony felt bad that he hadn't been able to sufficiently answer his questions. So, instead of repairing some random object he'd probably never tinker with again, he decided to compile a large manual on the human psyche, emotional stability, and many theories of what 'love' may be.
The project took longer than he anticipated; he had to fact-check his sources and assemble the data into one intelligible draft.
By the time he was done it was well into the early morning. He thought it a bit imprudent to wake Steve from his slumber, but Tony was tired and thankful to hand off all he now knew so Steve could make sense of what he was feeling.
Instead of a sleeping-Steve, Tony found an empty room.
That was odd, unless they were on a mission, the Avengers usually slept all night in the Tower.
"Jarvis, is Steve home?" Tony asked when he looked around the usual areas Steve would probably be in at this time in the day.
"No sir, Mr. Rogers left two hours and thirty-seven minutes ago." Jarvis replied.
"Odd… did he say where he was going?" Tony asked, perplexed.
"No sir. Would you like me to track his last known location?" Jarvis inquired, intelligently.
"Yes please, send it to my suit and don't bother waking the others. I'll take care of this." Tony didn't know why the small sense of dread in the bottom of his stomach started growing, but the more time passed, the harder it was to keep the feeling that something was terribly wrong out of his mind.
"Yes sir."
"I have dreamed of the day where I would get to savour the flesh and blood of a Super Soldier. For decades, I mourned at your supposed death, how relieved was I to find you live and well and in the flesh. Mendeleev, let Anthony go. He has done us well. Today, we will feast like gods." Dracula ordered, his tired arms rising as if to solidify his orders.
"I'm sorry Steve." Ramirez apologized quickly as he was ushered out. "Don't worry about it; just remember what I told you." Steve reassured. Ramirez had probably been pressured into divulging the fact that Steve was in the truck. He shouldn't have expected much from him, under similar circumstances Steve would have probably done the same.
"Now, what brings you to an old man's home? I hope it's not to destroy me." Dracula said, his lids fell slowly as if he were tired. As Steve looked around to see if he could find any logical means for escape, he fixed his eyes on the large tubes coming out of Dracula's arms and neck in the dimness of the room.
"You're dying." Steve stated matter-of-factly.
"Pardon?"
"The reason for all the blood, you're dying." Steve repeated connecting the dots in his head. Dimitri scoffed. It was the first time Steve could see him properly, apart from the red eyes and his pale skin; he was a spitting image of Tony. Steve would even mistake him for a younger brother or even a son. It took him so far off guard that he was completely unprepared when Mendeleev grabbed him from behind.
"I'm not dying my young boy… I'm already dead." When had Dracula gotten so close? "I can smell the tincture that makes your blood so powerful, it's intoxicating even from here, just a taste won't be enough. I'll need gallons. It is not your lucky day today Captain…" The Count purred into his ear. Steve sensed him bare his fangs, heard the skin sliding back to allow room for the incisors, and felt the first sharp edges of them penetrate his skin.
There was a strong burning sensation at first; then his senses were flooded with a morphine-like calm. He was paralyzed.
This could have been the end, or merely the beginning of a large, drawn-out death, had a large blast through the roof not interrupted their little feast. The blast flattened them to the ground and the Drac involuntarily pushed his fangs deeper into Steve's throat, sending more of his venom through his veins. The Drac looked up at the perpetrator, a man in a metallic red suit. He shielded himself from the sun by delving back into the shadows.
At the same time Steve started to convulse, he clawed at his throat as the venom coursed faster into his veins. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't.
"Dimitri! Alexandru! Let's go, we are no longer welcome here." Dracula ordered, disappearing into the darkness, Dimitri and Alexandru followed his lead and soon it was only Steve having a fit on the floor and Tony rushing in to save his friend.
Tony landed and fell directly to his knees; he lifted his faceplate and took a closer look at Steve. "You've been bit." He gasped. "What were you thinking? Going in all by yourself?!" Chastising Steve as his heart hammered wildly at the prospect of losing the blonde.
Everything was a blur for Steve, he vaguely remembered Tony speaking and lifting him up, he didn't know if they travelled back to the Tower or upstairs, all he knew was that when he woke back up his vision had immediately adjusted to the darkness and his body felt strange.
"Ah!" Steve gasped as he took his first breath. His throat was so dry! He needed some water, something to drink, and quickly.
"Steve! Oh thank god, you're awake." Tony's voice sounded muted and sharp at the same time. It was a bit soothing as he tried to swallow the small pool of saliva to calm his burning throat.
"Wa-wate… water." Steve struggled to get the words out. His entire body refused to obey him as his limbs, heavy and uncoordinated, lay useless at his sides.
"Yes, give me a sec, take this." Tony supported his head as he took a sip. It did nothing to lessen the burning sensation, but at least he was able to get rid of the dryness.
"How long have I been out?" Steve asked as he sat up on a stranger's bed.
"A couple of minutes. I haven't called the others yet. I really don't know what to do, or what to tell them… Steve, you were bit. Do you feel- do you feel any different?" Tony asked carefully. "I tried scanning you with Jarvis, but he couldn't make much sense of the mess inside your body."
"My throat is burning hotter than a furnace and your voice sounds weird, my limbs are like dead weights, but other than that I feel okay." Steve replied.
"We might need a doctor after all…" Tony trailed off running a disgruntled hand through his hair. He had taken his suit off, so Steve was able to see that he was still in the same clothing he had been in the last time he saw him.
Steve took another breath (not noticing the lengthy period since his first breath) and regretted the involuntary reflex. With this breath, his hyper-heightened senses could identify every scent in the room, but they all paled in comparison to the centre of his attention.
It was as if he were a starving man and his favourite cuisine lay in front of him, close enough to touch, multiplied by a thousand.
Steve's breathing quickened, before long he was panting; one of his hands reached for his throat and squeezed, trying (and desperately failing) to abate the pain and sensation of the constant pinpricks of discomfort stabbing every corner of his oesophagus. He noticed that his jaw also started to ache—reminding him of what it was like when he was six and teething.
"Steve, I feel like a broken record by saying this, but are you okay?" Tony asked once more. He got closer to Steve and touched his face to feel his temperature.
In a flash, Steve grabbed Tony's arm and pulled him close, he buried his nose deep into the corner of Tony's neck—where it met his elbow. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he felt the strong thrum in his own veins, a rushing sound overtook his ears as he heard the quick beating of Tony's heart. He licked the nape of Tony's neck savouring the taste of his skin.
"Alright there, Captain Retriever, you can stop now." Tony said, a nervous laugh escaping him.
"You smell like my favourite food." Steve grunted, inhaling deeper.
"Okay, we need to get you back to the Tower and cure whatever disease the Drac injected into your system- ah!"
Steve had turned them over in the bed, hovering menacingly over Tony; with every lap of his neck his teeth got closer and closer to grazing his skin. Eventually he started gnawing on the flesh, desperately wanting to break the skin.
"Steve… what are you doing, stop." Tony tried to fight whatever it was Steve had transformed into, but he found that with each new sensation his limbs grew lethargic and his reluctance became passive. By the time Steve bit into him he was already hard, he squeezed Steve closer to his body, digging his fingers into his back and whined, a needy little sound in the back of his throat, that (at any other time) would have been embarrassing as hell.
Steve's entire mouth filled with Tony's life essence. The first taste reminded him of fireworks, except that instead of the sky, they were going off in his mouth. With every taste, the sensation increased and the burning in his throat slowly disappeared, by the time it was bearable he simply kept sucking for the pleasure of tasting something so divine. His consciousness returned to him slowly. At first, he felt the tight squeeze of his back muscles, then the warm body beneath him, lastly, the rushing sound disappeared and a soft mewling sound assaulted his ears. The sound (paired with the taste) sent him to nirvana.
Steve became a bit too eager and bit a little harder. He heard a gasp and then felt a strong push.
"Jesus fucking Christ! Rogers, what the hell are you doing?!" Tony exclaimed, holding his neck and cowering near the edge of the bed.
Steve was speechless, he felt like Tony had just taken away his favourite treat. He had to snap out of that mentality and soon. He had to say something, but his breath was too rough and his brain was too muddled for coherent thought, much less speech.
Tony shook his head quickly and left the room, moments later you could hear the Iron Man suit taking flight.
When Steve had the rest of his wits about him he slapped himself. How could he have let himself get so carried away?
What was he supposed to do now?
Yay for kinky vampire stuff and absolutely no logic behind anything! Thanks for reading, please review to tell me what you think. I can't do this all by myself you know.
[EDIT: JUL-20-2017 Polish, polish, polish, but it'll never be good enough]
