Chapter 3: Lucifer and His fallen angels


Thank you for reading! That's all I have to say…


Tony made it to the Tower early in the morning. He took the secret entrance to his room, just in the off-chance that someone might be roaming around and try to engage in a conversation.

He couldn't deal with human interaction and all the miniscule nuances that that entailed, as he currently stood—shaking in his own skin.

Tony went into the bathroom to wash his face and clear his mind. The cold splash did calm his nerves a bit, keeping the worst of the tremors at bay. As his hands roamed around his neck, he noted that his skin felt hotter than normal. Tony looked back up and squinted at his reflection. There was a fresh mark on his neck, traveling deeper into his shirt. Tony removed the article of clothing and gasped as the image registered in the discombobulated confines of his mind.

A large bruise covered most of his shoulder, delving into his upper back, surprisingly, he couldn't find any trace of a bite-mark.

"Son of a bitch." Tony breathed as he outlined the large marking. It was tender to the touch, so he refrained from pushing down. Tony shook his head quickly, breaking his trance-like state, and began the hasty search for some left-over foundation.

He felt so embarrassed having to do this. It wouldn't be such a big deal if this mark didn't feel so personal, if having the redness of it—shining like a beacon—didn't make his cheeks colour, and have the memory, of how that mark came to be, replay countless times in his head.

Tony gripped the bathroom sink, his legs wobbling a bit as a sudden shudder overtook his person, leaving his head feeling light and dizzied. The area around his neck burned brightly for a few seconds until it settled to a low throb underneath his skin, the feeling sunk down into his muscles until he could feel it in his bones and then deeper still into his veins. His breaths came in shaky as if his lungs were afraid to breathe.

He hurried with the make-up, trying not to let his over-active mind jump to conclusions or make leaps in logic that would do him absolutely no good and only endanger his already fragile mental state.

Tony opened his mouth and pushed his teeth closer to the mirror, just in case.


The sun was bright, even on this overcast day. Steve could feel the resistance to its rays as more of a reflex than anything conscious. His body was unused to the strong tug of something so innate, that he warred for a second between his mind's rational-decision-making-processes and his body's new-found intuition. He decided, in the end, to go with instinct as a guide. He didn't know what was currently wrong with him, and he wasn't about tamper with the unknown.

With nothing better to do, he scoured the house for any secrets Dracula and his entourage may have left behind. Nothing of import was found, nothing that he could make sense of anyways. In the garage, he found large trash containers that held emptied blood-bags, it made his stomach turn in revulsion and his throat ache in hunger. These were very odd emotions and feelings that his mind had to sift through, so he took a deep breath to steady his hyperactive nerves. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea, since he found himself pushing his nose deeper into the bin. Steve shook his head and took an uncertain step back to separate himself and this newfound desire.

He backed himself into a car, the colour black, of course, but most importantly the windows were tinted so dark that they gave the impression of sucking the colour out of anything surrounding their vicinity—even the small beams of light, that snuck their way in from the crevices of the large metallic garage door, were unable to escape the void. Steve thought that the vehicle would be adequate for him to form his escape in relative safety.

He tried the door. Locked.

What had he been expecting?

The blonde almost gave up and smashed one of the windows, he stopped short when he remembered he needed the damned things. With a frustrated sigh, he stepped back into the house and looked around for a set of keys, or a hanger, anything that would grant him access to the car.

Relief flooded his veins as he found a set of keys innocently placed on a peg by the front door. He tried the open button and was more than thankful when the tell-tale clicks of an opening lock greeted his ears. He put the key in the ignition and opened the garage with the remote already inside the car.

Steve buckled his seat-belt, not because he was fearing for his life, but because old habits die hard.

His hands shook a bit as he punched in the address to the Avengers tower in the built-in GPS. Tony was probably already there, and he most definitely hated his guts. This had been the first time, since he'd left that, Steve had allowed himself to think of his name. Something about it had a searing pain cascade around his throat and a hot fire start in his belly. An uncomfortable sensation started around the gums of his mouth, and he made an effort to stop torturing himself with the thoughts of the billionaire.

With another deep breath, he took off—completely disregarding the speed-limit signs as he pushed the boundaries of the vehicle and his psyche. Because asking him not to think about Tony is like asking a blind man to try and see.

During the drive, Steve noticed the way that things seemed to come into sharp focus and blur simultaneously. As he arrived into the city, a slight thrum overtook his ears, one that he could feel under his skin.

There was a jogger, not far from where he cruised, and Steve would have sworn his mouth started to water as he took notice of the man's heart-beat (which would have surprised him, had he been paying enough attention to notice the increased acuity of his hearing). That's what it was, wasn't it, what he was hearing were the heart beats of the citizens of New York.

He needed to get out of the traffic, and quickly, before he did anything drastic.

ooOOoo

Even before he stepped out of the car and into the garage, Steve's nostrils were assaulted by a scent that was distinguishable from all the others. It took precedence in his mind and body and only became more potent as he ascended the Tower.

By the time he reached the main floor, he was dizzied from the panting, and hungry from the smell. Stepping into the living room felt like walking into a recently cleared buffet. There was a sound too, and just like the smell, it was distinguishable from the others—arrhythmical and, almost like an orchestra, was accompanied by another whirring and mechanical sound.

Steve's footsteps led him straight to the lab, for some reason he felt the need to stay hidden as he watched Tony work up a sweat as he fixed whatever machine he was tinkering with today. Steve's more rational mind was quick to note that the way he was staring at Tony gave the feeling of being quite predatory, he didn't like the sensation, didn't like sudden association of Tony to food, but his legs were rooted to the spot – mesmerized by the genius's movements.

This would be the death of him.

He was halfway there as it was.

ooOOoo

On that same night, when nothing in the kitchen seemed to satiate Steve's hunger and thirst, he ventured once more to the lab. He'd been doing that for at least five hours, if not more. The off-again-on-again attitude reflected the war waging on between his rational, left-side, logical brain and the much older, darker and malignant thing that had taken sudden hold of his primal faculties ever since Dracula bit him.

Right now, there was an unrelenting itch in his throat, and Steve felt like a thirsty man drowning in an ocean, when he ventured too close to Tony.

So, instead of acting like a shadow, he knocked on the lab door and presented his largest smile when Tony looked up at him. As if by instinct, or maybe muscle memory, Tony's hand ventured to his neck. Almost simultaneously, Steve's gums ached and he could feel his second pair of incisors push hard against his lips, trying to force their way through—like petulant children. His smile died a little, to mask his sudden eagerness.

"May I come in?" Steve asked when it didn't seem as if Tony would allow him to enter. Tony glanced around the room, probably for something sharp and wooden, but gave up on the task.

Tony looked up again tentatively and nodded, unsure.

Steve should have prepared himself better before he confronted the object of his affection. All the starving men analogies could not save him here. He was hungry, he was thirsty, and it was only getting worse.

"How are you doing Steve?" Tony asked, with forced civility. Maybe before the venom, Steve would have disregarded the slight shake in Tony's hands to a random tick the genius sometimes developed when he was overflowing with energy. But post-venom Steve thought that maybe Tony was nervous around him. It should have disgusted him, making Tony feel this way, but it only made his fangs descend faster and sharper than before. If he wasn't careful, Steve would cross a very dark and dangerous line without thinking twice.

"I'm doing well—I just wanted to apologize…for this morning." Steve said quietly, he had automatically adopted a lower and more soothing tone of voice. His entire body posture adjusted so he wasn't as threatening to Tony. Surprisingly, all of this seemed to calm the billionaire down – if his heartbeat was any indication. "I shouldn't have… I really don't know what came over me. I think it has to do with the bite, I probably should have asked you first, but that would have been weird. It won't happen again." Steve promised, trapping Tony's eyes in his own.

"Will that be to the biting, or to the not asking?" Tony retorted, never once breaking eye contact with Steve. He felt like a deer in the headlights.

"Both. We'll probably figure how to cure this before it gets out of hand again." Steve said, leaning on the counter so his body wasn't so level with Tony. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the man more than he already had.

"Yeah? And how do you suppose we go about it, it's not like we have books on 'how to cure vampirism' lying around." Tony snapped, surprising them both. He took a deep breath and picked up his discarded tools–breaking the mesmerizing eye-contact.

"I'm sorry… let's give it a little time then. I'm not sure I'm one-hundred percent changed yet, I think it may have something to do with the serum." Steve mused. His attention was diverted to Tony's neck when the genius scratched an area around it.

Without consent from his brain or Tony, Steve's hand touched the spot; his mouth filling with saliva (and something else, probably venom) at the thought of sinking his teeth deep into the soft flesh, even just thinking about the taste took his mind to another plane of existence.

"How's your neck, it seems to have healed nicely." Steve murmured, his fingers and ears picking up the spike in Tony's heartbeat when he had first touched him and now again when he spoke. It made his body anticipate another drink.

"It's make-up Steve," Tony said, demonstrating his point by wiping some of it away. "You left a bruise the size of Africa on my neck." Tony exhaled, as he tried his hardest not to react to Steve's proximity. It was proving quite a difficult thing to do, his heart was already beating way faster and harder than he'd thought possible.

"I'm sorry." Steve said, wanting nothing more than to kiss the bruise away.

"At least this time you sound sincere." Tony mumbled. "And can you stop touching me?!" Tony snapped again, saying this a bit louder—almost on the verge of hysterics.

"Okay, I'm done. Continue with your tinkering. I'll see you tomorrow." Steve said, his voice clipped. He'd been snapped back to their overwhelming reality, and right at this moment, he felt like doing nothing else but to drown out the sudden rushing in his ears that told him Tony's vascular system was alive and well. He hated how the sound of something so anatomical gave his teeth a reason to descend.

ooOOoo

Tomorrow apparently meant 12:01 A.M.

Steve had no recollection of walking into Tony's room—hell, he had no idea what he was doing in Tony's room, much less how he got there.

All he knew was that the sleeping body wrapped up in the white comforter, exposing its neck with that askew angle, called to Steve to no end.

Steve managed to stay undetected by navigating through the shadows, a skill he was quickly developing. He may not be able to teleport using them, but he was virtually invisible traveling through these means.

That being said, he refrained from touching Tony, he wouldn't even allow himself the pleasure to lean in and inhale. He was content being close enough to touch… for now at least.

Steve knew that Dracula's gift would pose some troubles in the future; his train of thought already took a darker turn when he allowed it the chance, and even when he didn't.

Had he had his way, he would turn Tony over and kiss his way from the base of his neck to the inside of his thighs, tracing his tongue as he went for the first bite. He'd make it as comfortable as possible, making it virtually impossible for Tony to escape, or at least want to. He'd bite little teases up to the spot where he would stake his claim. Eventually his hunger would be satiated, and he would work on feeding Tony's.

It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed Tony's reaction earlier that day.

Steve felt himself venturing closer to that unspoken feeling. He should leave, now.


Tony opened his eyes slowly; there was a black mass close to his bed, but the second he looked up properly it was gone.

The entire rest of the day, there was a nagging feeling of incompleteness in the back of his head. He felt as if he were forgetting to do something, even though there was nothing to do.

So, instead of twiddling his thumbs like an idiot, he conducted research. Unfortunately, the little he found was either fictional, or did not apply to their situation. And yet, when he had completed this task, the nagging feeling only increased as the day grew brighter.

He didn't see Steve for the morning, so that was a plus at least.

Yesterday… he felt trapped in his own skin. The way that Steve approached him felt different, pacific even, but there was an underlying danger to him. Like if he said the wrong word, or stepped on the wrong spot, Steve would hurt him. But Steve wouldn't hurt a fly, not unless there was just cause.

So, what had changed? Why didn't he feel safe around his comrade anymore? To state the obvious would be redundant.

ooOOoo

Tony didn't eat for the entire day; the nagging feeling wouldn't let him concentrate on anything else but it. He did consume many fluids, though—mostly water and some juices. It seemed second nature somehow, as if he were preparing for a marathon or something. He found it strange, but the nagging feeling died down a little once he started following its unseen command.

A dreaded feeling overtook his psyche as his brain started to connect the dots. His stomach twisted and he felt sick enough to faint.

If his theory was correct, he didn't want to know.

The realization came to him when he chanced a glance into the living room through his windows, and his eyes automatically navigated to where Steve sat, it was as if a link had been acknowledged the moment Steve met his eyes and smiled.

Tony looked away and blacked out the windows so he could have some semblance of privacy. His heartbeat spiked and the nagging became a pounding against the innermost part of his skull. He felt his neck and wrists get hot, as if his blood were pooling around these areas…

Holy shit.

Tony shook his head quickly to clear the thought, but as soon as he had realized this, the pounding receded to a barely-there whisper. It couldn't be true, could it?

But it would make sense, the increased awareness to a certain presence, the copious amount of fluids he'd been ingesting all day, and the sudden urge to be nearer Steve. This was beyond deranged, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

He (more accurately his body) was preparing himself for Steve. Like a well-cooked meal.

Tony felt disgusted all over again. How could it be?

He remembered an old lore in vampire myths he'd been reading up; once a vampire bites without killing, the victim becomes indebted and is in eternal servitude to said vampire until further notice. A drudge is what they called it. Tony was a drudge.

But Steve wasn't even a full vampire! Well then, he wasn't a full slave, I mean, drudge. Tony pondered the idea of leaving his lab to go for a joy-flight, but the mention of it alone sent another pounding headache to his skull. It seemed that feeding Steve was his responsibility now. And if he felt this uncomfortable, just imagine what Steve was going through. He wasn't gonna do anything about it though. Enough was on his plate already, he'd be damned if he had to deal with a half-vampire too!

At this recognition, Tony collapsed on his table from psychically-induced exhaustion. He wouldn't be able to keep this up, not like this.

His newly-acquired sixth sense picked up a presence approaching that make his head perk up and his blood pump quicker.

"Jarvis, tell Steve I'm not in the mood to talk, don't sugar-coat it either." Tony mumbled to his robotic manservant.

This would take some time and hard-liquor to process.


Steve didn't think it was possible for him to sleep all day and remain awake the entire night, but that was apparently his new schedule. Trying to stay up when the sun reigned over the land made his brain ache. So instead of fighting it, he simply followed along with what his body wanted. And what his body wanted was sleep, but before that, he wanted Tony, but right now sleep was the easier alternative.

When he did wake up, it was with a renowned hunger and an even stronger thirst.

Steve didn't even have to look up from his place in the living room to know Tony was staring at him. It was as if a connection had been made; the moment they locked eyes he smiled and waved to his partner-in-crime. Almost instantaneously, Tony blacked out the lab, leaving Steve infinitesimally confused.

He walked upwards a couple of minutes later, he could tell Tony was getting agitated by his increased proximity, but he needed to find out what was troubling him. He couldn't place it, but his pre-venom crush to Tony combined with this post-venom need to protect Tony, mixed to create a volatile force of protective attraction that paralyzed him, at times, with how powerful it was.

Before he could get a word in edge-wise, Jarvis spoke.

"I apologize Sir Rogers, but Mr. Stark does not wish to communicate right at the moment, he says he wishes to be left alone." Jarvis, ever the cordial manservant, informed Steve.

"At least tell him that I hope he's okay, I noticed…" He would have said more, would have kept going if he didn't feel like relenting this information would do more harm than good. It would do him no favours to tell Tony that he could hear the beating of his heart as if he were a stethoscope, it would probably only scare Tony if he spoke truthfully, "never mind, goodnight Tony, goodnight Jarvis." Steve said, but before he left the platform, a voice stopped him, a voice that made his heart beat a little faster and blood rush to his gums.

"Noticed what." Tony deadpanned, speaking through the com.

"We're both civilized adults here, can't you let me in?" Steve asked nicely, somehow communicating directly to Tony, even though he was looking at a darker reflection of himself.

"What are you, Dracula? Do you need an invitation to be let in?" Tony asked the barest hint of amusement, and the largest dose of sarcasm, present in his voice. But he opened the door just the same, it had something to do with Steve's tone, Tony couldn't explain it. But he was finding it very difficult to refuse the blonde anything.

"Hello to you too Tony, how are you feeling?" Steve asked, standing by the door, so the urge to feed wouldn't cloud his brain.

"You need to stop asking me that question; I'm fine, thank you. Now what is it that you want, I'm very busy." And by very busy, he meant completely engrossed in finding out how to avoid being a drudge.

"I can see that." Steve took a small pause, thinking over his words before he spoke. He could see small tremors running up and down the length of Tony's spine, tremors that he would have never been able to pick up before. So many things had been heightened since the bite, his spatial awareness especially. He took a mockery of a deep breath, noticing that he didn't really need to breathe so much as just have some air to speak. "That connection I spoke of, is it just me or did you feel something click just now?" Steve asked slowly.

"And if I did? What would the big difference be?" Tony asked, getting defensive. He was sweating bullets, and the air was apparently too thick to handle, because his breathing changed as well.

"Tony, please calm down—your heart beat is- I-I mean it's just that." Steve said, stuttering to an embarrassing stop—all that talk about keeping what he knew to himself, flying out the window the closer he got to the brunette.

Tony froze at that, his eyes snapping up to meet the uncertain blues of the new-halfling. "What else can you hear Steve? Are you a telepath as well? Have you been recording my thoughts to use against me later? What are you gonna do, manipulate me into doing your bidding? You're the one with the fangs, and I'm just sitting here, powerless." Completely under your mercy.

Steve watched as Tony collapsed in on himself, his entire body slumped over as he dropped whatever was in his hands. Steve walked slowly to the frightened billionaire and placed his palm soothingly on his back; Tony flinched slightly at the unexpected contact, but leaned in regardless.

"You're hungry, I can tell, so why aren't you attacking me." Tony murmured, keeping his head down and - inadvertently - his neck bared.

"I can manage; it's not that hard if I can eat something else prior to being around you." Steve replied, with only a little bit of twisting the truth. Eating may provide temporary relief, yes, but when it came to being in Tony's presence, all other preparatory measures had been in vain.

Tony shot him a pointed stare then looked back down to his gloved hands. It was a split-second decision, the type that normally got him in trouble. He removed his glove and took a deep breath.

"Pull up a chair." Tony ordered, feeling some form of gratification when Steve obliged. "Scoot closer."

"What are you doing Tony?" Steve asked when Tony brought himself closer to Steve, so much so that there was barely any personal space.

"Here, take, feed, and leave." Tony supplied, fearing that if he spoke more than one word at a time, he would lose his nerve.

It took Steve no more than a second to latch unto Tony's wrist. He should have probably asked if Tony was okay with it, but in that moment, the first consent was all he needed.

He bit, and the blood that followed flowed gloriously down his throat—granted it didn't flow as quickly as it did through the neck, but it did the job. He took his time, savouring each sip as it passed his tongue and gushed into his mouth. He wasn't sure if he was making noises or not—he probably was, since such a delicious subtance should be revered.

Tony, on the other hand, was trying desperately to sequester his sounds of approval, it must be something in the venom that created a numbing aphrodisiac, or maybe it was the knowledge that he and Steve were doing something ancient, a ritual passed down for generations before theirs. Whatever the case may be, Tony could feel himself getting more excited as the seconds ticked by. He adjusted multiple times in his seat, desperately trying to calm down his anatomy.

"Okay, that's enough." Tony said shakily as he felt himself grow. When it came to that, he didn't want to fall victim to humiliation or embarrassment.

Steve looked disappointed for a second, then schooled his features into a more pleasant smile. "Thank you, Tony, I'll let you resume your task." Steve said, licking his lips to avoid drooling.

"Much obliged." Tony strained to say, as he turned to the blank screen. Once Steve left, Tony rubbed his right wrist vigorously. The bite-mark had disappeared quickly, but in its wake, it left a rash. It spread rapidly through his veins and into his upper arm. Tony covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply.

He would be lying if he said he didn't feel better, but he wouldn't be exaggerating if he said he felt as if he had betrayed his personal philosophy.


Steve took a cold bath; He supposed a bright-side to this whole fiasco seemed to be his neutral body heat. He felt neither cold nor hot, this allowed him to submerge in any temperature water without feeling the consequences, and right now, a cold bath is what he needed the most.

He leaned his head back on the cool tile and closed his eyes. For a couple of minutes there was silence, but not soon after a third, unknown voice whispered to Steve in an ancient tongue. He was captivated by its wispy sound, how it traced the innermost parts of his brain and sent him sweet, undecipherable nothings.

Feed…

The word shocked Steve out of his reverie; opening his eyes, he realized he was fully submerged in the water and broke through the surface taking a deep breath. The clock on the wall told him he had been under for maybe two hours, the longest he has gone without taking a breath as of yet.

Steve shook his head slowly and entered his bedroom diving under his bed without drying his skin or even putting his clothes on.

Soon he would black-out again, and stare down into Tony's still body.


Give me some feedback as to how I'm doing here, I feel like I'm going at it blind. Thanks for reading and reviewing, I swear it picks up soon.

[EDIT: JUL-25-2017]