Work Text:
Steve's heart pounds, shakes his ribs as it screams at him to run. The adrenaline of this dangerous game they're playing – of having nowhere to hide – grasps him and tries to rattle an ounce of fucking sense into him.
Eddie's leaning in, eyes bright. Deep, blackened brown surrounded by luminescent red sclera.
His fangs are out, framing his bottom lip, making Steve's heart ache harder, his instincts terrified like a caged animal, and his not-so-latent homosexual tendencies begging him to kiss him.
"Who's charming now?" Eddie asks, black fingertips cupping his jaw.
Steve wants to antagonize him, goad him into another one of their little arguments so whoever wins can claim their stupid little prize, but he can't move.
Eddie told him about it, when he first came back. A vampiric thrall, like hypnotism.
He can only watch his face, breath the air that Eddie isn't exhaling into, and distantly catalogue the way his cock starts to get fuller.
"Those big puppy dog eyes of yours," Eddie says, their noses almost touching. "Look so good when you're scared."
If he could move, he'd be running, just from the chill that drips ice through him, the something is horribly wrong please run that isn't present when he usually needs it, but lights up his nerves now.
Eddie's not a threat, even if Steve thinks that if they kiss then whatever they have to face after will hurt. It would've hurt back when Eddie was still human, too.
He's in love with a dead guy, and he wants to give him his throat.
"Yes, give it to me," Eddie whispers, the sound ghosting over Steve's lips.
Steve obeys without thinking, able to move purely just to carry out the order, tilting his head only to bare his neck.
"Good, you're so pretty like this," Eddie says, closing in a few inches to press soft lips and hard teeth to his skin.
He doesn't feel anything sharp, but he knows it's there, and all he wants is Eddie to sink into him, to open him up, drink him down. If he does that, he thinks he'll have fulfilled his purpose for tonight.
Tomorrow night, Eddie could take him, stake his claim on him again.
Steve wants to be the only one, wants Eddie to be surviving off of his blood, nothing else. Wants to be so good for him that he doesn't dream of finding something better.
"You did so well," Eddie says, pulling back.
Steve can't make any noises, but there's a whine building in his chest, abject disappointment curling rancid around his heart.
Eddie's eyes track over his neck, he looks so hungry, and he wishes he could talk to encourage him to get in there – take from him until he's sated and just as in love as Steve is.
But instead, Eddie blinks, looks away, and just like that -
Steve's standing in the basement, hard cock throbbing, panting for air as he tries to grapple with the sharp come down from supernaturally charmed devotion to... how he and Eddie are friends.
Sort of.
He'd just been in love with him, but now it's... not wrong, not gone, but a fresh bruise now. The enthrallment was the punch and now he has to deal with what it left behind.