Fill: Warmth
For Capkink Prompt: Tony is a vampire and likes to feed on Steve during sex.
Aside from the obvious changes (not being able to go outside during the day, the super speed, the immortality, the always present hunger), the thing that Tony first notices when he wakes up on the first day of his second life is the smell. More importantly: the smell of people (food his brain now supplies) is almost overwhelming. It’s not just one blanket scent of humanity, its incredible; every single human on the planet smells different to him. If Tony wasn’t trying so hard not to rip the throat out of the squirrelly doctor leaning over him, he’d be trying to catalogue all the new stimuli.
His immediate reaction is to pull back his lips and hiss at the people gathered around his bedside. He doesn’t understand how this happened. One day you rescue some handsome, if slightly pale, man from certain death in the middle of the night and the next thing you know he’s lunging and biting your neck, followed by his mouth latching on and sucking, and then suddenly you’re bleeding out.
Of all the ways Tony Stark thought he would die, getting feed on by a vampire wasn’t even in his top ten. His number one choice had been going out in a blaze of glory by catching some sort of missile and then flying it into the sun. Tony was a firm believer in “go big or go home.”
It’s sensory overload. He can smell all of them: the doctors, the Avengers, the SHIELD agents, even the soft floral and sharp gun metal scents that he knows belong to Pepper and Rhodey. It’s almost funny how quickly everyone steps back from him. The doctor (dinner) is holding his hands up in the universal gesture for “don’t eat me, I’m sure I taste like rubbery chicken” and tripping on his own feet as he tries to get out of arm’s length of Tony. This is really hilarious, when you think about it. He’s a vampire now. He can reach out, grab the doc, sink his fangs into his fat neck and drain him dry before Clint could draw an arrow or Coulson his gun.
A hysterical giggle bubbles up in Tony’s throat and he’s not sure if he wants to laugh, cry or eat someone. Actually, yes, now that he thinks about it, he really wants to eat, to hunt, to feed. His vision tunnels and all he can see are pulse points and all he can hear is the steady beating of so many hearts. Blood rushing through veins, the heady smell of life permeates the room. He’s moving before he even thinks about it.
He’s fast, faster than Thor, or Bruce or Tasha. Yet before he even clears the bed, two strong arms are gripping him, moving him back, and trying to hold him down. He snarls, snaps his fangs at the other person. He barely misses and that only serves to make him angrier. Then his guard’s sent hits him and it overpowers the blood lust coursing thru him.
The other man somehow manages to smell like ice and fire and duty and honor all at the same time, which doesn’t even account for the massive amount of heat pouring off him or the fact that all Tony can think of now is mine and finally, finally Tony manages to put a name to the scent.
Steve.
--
It takes months for Tony to have enough self control to be around humans again, even powered ones. For those first few weeks after his turning, the hunger and the smells are his constant companions. The hunger is a gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach and the smell of humans nearly serves to drive him out of his mind. Self control was not something Tony had been concerned with in his human life, and it’s a bitter irony that his continued second life depends on him learning it.
He has to survive on donated blood from the SHIELD blood bank. It’s an indignity. Tony is given mugs of blood three times a day in carefully measured doses. He feels like the T-Rex from Jurassic Park. He doesn’t want to be feed, he wants to hunt.
His bad mood is compounded by the fact that ever since he woke up and smelled Steve, SHIELD hasn’t allowed Tony to see him. He’s seen everyone else. They always come in pairs, and they are always armed: Coulson and Clint, Fury and Natasha, Thor and Bruce, Pepper and Rhodey. He’s glad for the company and the conversation, but not glad for the lack of the one person that he truly wants to see.
It hurts Pepper, he knows that, but her smell is familiar and family and comfort, not mate and mine and forever, like Steve’s is. She steps close to him, closer than anyone else has come so far. He sees Rhodey’s hand drop to his gun. Even with the hunger and her scent in his throat, Tony can focus through all that to just Pepper. She’s important to him and important things are worth protecting.
He looks into her eyes and sees tears there.
Lifting his hand, he brushes them away. She smiles softly, leans in and presses a soft kiss to his mouth. “It’s ok” she says “It’s always been him.” She turns on her heel and walks away and Tony feels himself die all over again. For all the things he’s done to Pepper over the years, and certainly there had been a lot, this seemed the worst.
He doesn’t really even understand it himself. Tony had always been a little in love with Captain America since childhood. He was raised on the legend, and meeting the man had reaffirmed the tales his father told him. He’d expected the hero worship. Who wouldn’t swoon a little when meeting Captain freaking America? What he hadn’t expected with the soul-deep urge to mark the other man and claim him. What Tony Stark wanted, he normally got, and the turning only intensified that longing.
Tony is allowed out at night with an escort around the SHILED facilities or to his own quarters at Stark Tower. He tried to run, once. He’d gotten to the perimeter fence when he’d been shot in the back of both knees. It’d hurt, and slowed him down. It also taught him that maybe he had seriously underestimated Coulson.
He’s allowed in his workshop, where he tends to spend a great majority of his time now. He doesn’t technically need to sleep anymore, so he can spend days designing and building. Since his heart is no longer beating, he doesn’t even need the arc reactor anymore.
---
He’s fine with change, he really is. All he wants is to control the change. He’s locked himself into his workshop with no one save JARVIS for company (at least he doesn’t feel the need to feed on the AI). He sips his mug-o-blood (its Sitwell today, tastes bland). He hears the locks to his workshop click, feels the rush of air as the door opens. The scent of the person coming in hits him and everything around him fades away in the face of the man standing in the doorway. Tony is across the room and grabbing onto the other male in less than a heartbeat.
Strong, warm hands come up to grasp at Tony’s hands.
Tony is aware he’s babbling. “It’s you, you’re here and it’s really, really you. They wouldn’t let me see you, so I tried to run, and then Coulson shot me, and I still didn’t get to see you, but you’re here now and that’s good.” Steve huffs a small laugh and studies Tony’s face.
“Yes, Tony, it’s good.” Steve’s hands trace over Tony’s features, like he’s trying to memorize something so very precious. Tony hums low in his throat and rubs his face against Steve’s hands. “I’m so, so sorry. Fury kept me away, sent me to Russia to look into reports of someone called the Winter Solider, and all I wanted was to be here with you. I’m tired of chasing ghosts.” Tony makes a mental note to attempt to take a chunk out of the SHIELD director the next time he sees him.
“It’s ok, now, because I’m back, I’m here, and we’re together.” Steve leans down and kisses Tony, his lips sliding over and teeth nipping; small, sharp bursts of pleasure that make Tony go slightly weak in the knees. Tony kisses him back like a dying man, which is funny, because he is technically dead. He decides to not focus on the dead part and to focus instead on the warm, hot, hard Steve part.
“Is this…ok? Are you going to be ok?” Steve asks. What he really means is “are you going to be able to not kill me during sex?” Tony may not have a lot of self control, but his singular ability to focus on the task before him overrides everything else. This is Steve, this is important, and no matter what else happens, Steve is his, and Tony would never harm him. Tony nods and Steve smiles and its perfect.
They are backing up towards the small bedroom adjacent to the lab, clothes shedding along the way. Tony’s black tank top lands on Dummy, and Steve’s button down loses all the buttons and is tossed onto the work table. Shoes are kicked off and Tony pushes Steve up against the wall and presses their hips together. Steve gasps and makes a needy whine that Tony decides is one of the best sounds he’s ever heard someone make. He rolls his hips and Steve bucks against him.
“Tony, Tony, Tony” Steve says, and Tony grins as he licks a path down Steve’s chest. His skin tastes like sweat, soap, and sandalwood. His fangs catch on a nipple and Steve fists a hand in Tony’s hair. He thinks Steve is going to push him away, but instead he brings Tony’s face back to his chest and allows him to lap at the small amount of blood. The metallic substance explodes on Tony’s tongue, and its everything and nothing that he imagined it would be. It’s so much better. He licks the small wound, and it seals up.
He’s got Steve’s blood on his lips and he tries to hide his face, but Steve tilts his head to the side, leans down and licks the remaining stain off his mouth. If Tony hadn’t already been in love with him, that would have sent him over the edge. As it is, it takes every ounce of willpower not to fuck Steve through the wall right then. They finally make it to the bed and their pants end up on the floor. The first slide of bare skin on skin causes Tony to throw back his head and moan, while Steve lets lose a stream of curses, in Russian, no less. “Natasha taught me” is all Steve says, and grins.
Tony wraps his hand around Steve’s cock and slides it up and down a few times. He runs his thumb over the tip and dips into the pre-come that is collecting in the slit. Steve cures again and bucks up into Tony’s fist. “Please, Tony, please.” Begging is a good thing, Tony thinks.
He dips his head and licks a slow path up and down Steve’s cock. He’s mindful of his fangs, of all places; he doesn’t want to bite Steve there. He can hear the rush of blood through the femoral artery. Tony’s pupils dilate. He turns his head, traces the path of the vein with his mouth. He glances up at Steve, waiting for permission. He nods and Tony bites down. Warm blood rushes into his mouth and his moan is matched by Steve’s above him. He takes a few mouthfuls then seals the wound with a lick. Steve is quickly becoming incoherent with want. Tony manages to make out “fuck” and “now”. He’s impressed with Cap’s vocabulary choices.
Steve pushes him down into the mattress, and digs out the lube from the nightstand. He quickly slicks up his fingers and one, and then two is pressed inside Tony. He curls them and Tony growls. Steve removes his fingers, slicks his cock and with one thrust, hilts himself inside of Tony. They are face to face and quickly establish a rhythm. Steve is panting, Tony is moaning and nothing has ever felt as good as this.
“Tony” Steve says and as he looks at him, Steve very slowly and very deliberately tilts his head to the side, baring the long, lean line of his neck. It’s the ultimate show of trust. Tony grasps one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other along the side of his neck. He darts forward, piercing the skin. It’s too much; Steve’s blood in his mouth, and his cock inside of him. Tony comes and he feels Steve follow him over with a shout. He takes a few more pulls of blood, then seals this wound too. He’s worried for a moment that maybe he’d taken too much, but then Steve pulls him close and mouths Tony’s neck and says “So good.”
Tony grins and wraps himself around Steve.
“Mine” he says.
“Mine” Steve agrees.
Aside from the obvious changes (not being able to go outside during the day, the super speed, the immortality, the always present hunger), the thing that Tony first notices when he wakes up on the first day of his second life is the smell. More importantly: the smell of people (food his brain now supplies) is almost overwhelming. It’s not just one blanket scent of humanity, its incredible; every single human on the planet smells different to him. If Tony wasn’t trying so hard not to rip the throat out of the squirrelly doctor leaning over him, he’d be trying to catalogue all the new stimuli.
His immediate reaction is to pull back his lips and hiss at the people gathered around his bedside. He doesn’t understand how this happened. One day you rescue some handsome, if slightly pale, man from certain death in the middle of the night and the next thing you know he’s lunging and biting your neck, followed by his mouth latching on and sucking, and then suddenly you’re bleeding out.
Of all the ways Tony Stark thought he would die, getting feed on by a vampire wasn’t even in his top ten. His number one choice had been going out in a blaze of glory by catching some sort of missile and then flying it into the sun. Tony was a firm believer in “go big or go home.”
It’s sensory overload. He can smell all of them: the doctors, the Avengers, the SHIELD agents, even the soft floral and sharp gun metal scents that he knows belong to Pepper and Rhodey. It’s almost funny how quickly everyone steps back from him. The doctor (dinner) is holding his hands up in the universal gesture for “don’t eat me, I’m sure I taste like rubbery chicken” and tripping on his own feet as he tries to get out of arm’s length of Tony. This is really hilarious, when you think about it. He’s a vampire now. He can reach out, grab the doc, sink his fangs into his fat neck and drain him dry before Clint could draw an arrow or Coulson his gun.
A hysterical giggle bubbles up in Tony’s throat and he’s not sure if he wants to laugh, cry or eat someone. Actually, yes, now that he thinks about it, he really wants to eat, to hunt, to feed. His vision tunnels and all he can see are pulse points and all he can hear is the steady beating of so many hearts. Blood rushing through veins, the heady smell of life permeates the room. He’s moving before he even thinks about it.
He’s fast, faster than Thor, or Bruce or Tasha. Yet before he even clears the bed, two strong arms are gripping him, moving him back, and trying to hold him down. He snarls, snaps his fangs at the other person. He barely misses and that only serves to make him angrier. Then his guard’s sent hits him and it overpowers the blood lust coursing thru him.
The other man somehow manages to smell like ice and fire and duty and honor all at the same time, which doesn’t even account for the massive amount of heat pouring off him or the fact that all Tony can think of now is mine and finally, finally Tony manages to put a name to the scent.
Steve.
--
It takes months for Tony to have enough self control to be around humans again, even powered ones. For those first few weeks after his turning, the hunger and the smells are his constant companions. The hunger is a gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach and the smell of humans nearly serves to drive him out of his mind. Self control was not something Tony had been concerned with in his human life, and it’s a bitter irony that his continued second life depends on him learning it.
He has to survive on donated blood from the SHIELD blood bank. It’s an indignity. Tony is given mugs of blood three times a day in carefully measured doses. He feels like the T-Rex from Jurassic Park. He doesn’t want to be feed, he wants to hunt.
His bad mood is compounded by the fact that ever since he woke up and smelled Steve, SHIELD hasn’t allowed Tony to see him. He’s seen everyone else. They always come in pairs, and they are always armed: Coulson and Clint, Fury and Natasha, Thor and Bruce, Pepper and Rhodey. He’s glad for the company and the conversation, but not glad for the lack of the one person that he truly wants to see.
It hurts Pepper, he knows that, but her smell is familiar and family and comfort, not mate and mine and forever, like Steve’s is. She steps close to him, closer than anyone else has come so far. He sees Rhodey’s hand drop to his gun. Even with the hunger and her scent in his throat, Tony can focus through all that to just Pepper. She’s important to him and important things are worth protecting.
He looks into her eyes and sees tears there.
Lifting his hand, he brushes them away. She smiles softly, leans in and presses a soft kiss to his mouth. “It’s ok” she says “It’s always been him.” She turns on her heel and walks away and Tony feels himself die all over again. For all the things he’s done to Pepper over the years, and certainly there had been a lot, this seemed the worst.
He doesn’t really even understand it himself. Tony had always been a little in love with Captain America since childhood. He was raised on the legend, and meeting the man had reaffirmed the tales his father told him. He’d expected the hero worship. Who wouldn’t swoon a little when meeting Captain freaking America? What he hadn’t expected with the soul-deep urge to mark the other man and claim him. What Tony Stark wanted, he normally got, and the turning only intensified that longing.
Tony is allowed out at night with an escort around the SHILED facilities or to his own quarters at Stark Tower. He tried to run, once. He’d gotten to the perimeter fence when he’d been shot in the back of both knees. It’d hurt, and slowed him down. It also taught him that maybe he had seriously underestimated Coulson.
He’s allowed in his workshop, where he tends to spend a great majority of his time now. He doesn’t technically need to sleep anymore, so he can spend days designing and building. Since his heart is no longer beating, he doesn’t even need the arc reactor anymore.
---
He’s fine with change, he really is. All he wants is to control the change. He’s locked himself into his workshop with no one save JARVIS for company (at least he doesn’t feel the need to feed on the AI). He sips his mug-o-blood (its Sitwell today, tastes bland). He hears the locks to his workshop click, feels the rush of air as the door opens. The scent of the person coming in hits him and everything around him fades away in the face of the man standing in the doorway. Tony is across the room and grabbing onto the other male in less than a heartbeat.
Strong, warm hands come up to grasp at Tony’s hands.
Tony is aware he’s babbling. “It’s you, you’re here and it’s really, really you. They wouldn’t let me see you, so I tried to run, and then Coulson shot me, and I still didn’t get to see you, but you’re here now and that’s good.” Steve huffs a small laugh and studies Tony’s face.
“Yes, Tony, it’s good.” Steve’s hands trace over Tony’s features, like he’s trying to memorize something so very precious. Tony hums low in his throat and rubs his face against Steve’s hands. “I’m so, so sorry. Fury kept me away, sent me to Russia to look into reports of someone called the Winter Solider, and all I wanted was to be here with you. I’m tired of chasing ghosts.” Tony makes a mental note to attempt to take a chunk out of the SHIELD director the next time he sees him.
“It’s ok, now, because I’m back, I’m here, and we’re together.” Steve leans down and kisses Tony, his lips sliding over and teeth nipping; small, sharp bursts of pleasure that make Tony go slightly weak in the knees. Tony kisses him back like a dying man, which is funny, because he is technically dead. He decides to not focus on the dead part and to focus instead on the warm, hot, hard Steve part.
“Is this…ok? Are you going to be ok?” Steve asks. What he really means is “are you going to be able to not kill me during sex?” Tony may not have a lot of self control, but his singular ability to focus on the task before him overrides everything else. This is Steve, this is important, and no matter what else happens, Steve is his, and Tony would never harm him. Tony nods and Steve smiles and its perfect.
They are backing up towards the small bedroom adjacent to the lab, clothes shedding along the way. Tony’s black tank top lands on Dummy, and Steve’s button down loses all the buttons and is tossed onto the work table. Shoes are kicked off and Tony pushes Steve up against the wall and presses their hips together. Steve gasps and makes a needy whine that Tony decides is one of the best sounds he’s ever heard someone make. He rolls his hips and Steve bucks against him.
“Tony, Tony, Tony” Steve says, and Tony grins as he licks a path down Steve’s chest. His skin tastes like sweat, soap, and sandalwood. His fangs catch on a nipple and Steve fists a hand in Tony’s hair. He thinks Steve is going to push him away, but instead he brings Tony’s face back to his chest and allows him to lap at the small amount of blood. The metallic substance explodes on Tony’s tongue, and its everything and nothing that he imagined it would be. It’s so much better. He licks the small wound, and it seals up.
He’s got Steve’s blood on his lips and he tries to hide his face, but Steve tilts his head to the side, leans down and licks the remaining stain off his mouth. If Tony hadn’t already been in love with him, that would have sent him over the edge. As it is, it takes every ounce of willpower not to fuck Steve through the wall right then. They finally make it to the bed and their pants end up on the floor. The first slide of bare skin on skin causes Tony to throw back his head and moan, while Steve lets lose a stream of curses, in Russian, no less. “Natasha taught me” is all Steve says, and grins.
Tony wraps his hand around Steve’s cock and slides it up and down a few times. He runs his thumb over the tip and dips into the pre-come that is collecting in the slit. Steve cures again and bucks up into Tony’s fist. “Please, Tony, please.” Begging is a good thing, Tony thinks.
He dips his head and licks a slow path up and down Steve’s cock. He’s mindful of his fangs, of all places; he doesn’t want to bite Steve there. He can hear the rush of blood through the femoral artery. Tony’s pupils dilate. He turns his head, traces the path of the vein with his mouth. He glances up at Steve, waiting for permission. He nods and Tony bites down. Warm blood rushes into his mouth and his moan is matched by Steve’s above him. He takes a few mouthfuls then seals the wound with a lick. Steve is quickly becoming incoherent with want. Tony manages to make out “fuck” and “now”. He’s impressed with Cap’s vocabulary choices.
Steve pushes him down into the mattress, and digs out the lube from the nightstand. He quickly slicks up his fingers and one, and then two is pressed inside Tony. He curls them and Tony growls. Steve removes his fingers, slicks his cock and with one thrust, hilts himself inside of Tony. They are face to face and quickly establish a rhythm. Steve is panting, Tony is moaning and nothing has ever felt as good as this.
“Tony” Steve says and as he looks at him, Steve very slowly and very deliberately tilts his head to the side, baring the long, lean line of his neck. It’s the ultimate show of trust. Tony grasps one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other along the side of his neck. He darts forward, piercing the skin. It’s too much; Steve’s blood in his mouth, and his cock inside of him. Tony comes and he feels Steve follow him over with a shout. He takes a few more pulls of blood, then seals this wound too. He’s worried for a moment that maybe he’d taken too much, but then Steve pulls him close and mouths Tony’s neck and says “So good.”
Tony grins and wraps himself around Steve.
“Mine” he says.
“Mine” Steve agrees.