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His gums were itching and his stomach turning and his blood was like fire in his veins and Steve’s heart was pounding over the sound of his shitty music that he wouldn’t stop singing along to and dancing and -
“I’m so hungry!” It burst out of him before he could stop it and immediately he shoved a knuckle between his teeth. Fangs. Teeth. Steve dropped the plate in his hands and it shattered across the tiled kitchen floor.
“Eddie?” He was going to lose it, the blood that they had stolen from the hospital - at the end of its use date - wasn’t enough. He could feel it in his soul - or whatever he had left of it - that he was going to hurt someone. Steve was picking his way closer. “What kind of hungry?” Stupid, wide eyed, trusting Steve.
“The kind that I… the kind I really don’t like.”
“We have some bags.”
“They’re slimy and disgusting.”
“I could warm one up. Y’know, like those freeze pops?”
Eddie wrinkled his nose and chewed the ends of his hair. He shook his head, leg bouncing on the barstool.
Go away, go away, stop right there.
Steve reached out and tugged on his wrist, pulling his hand away from his mouth. Fangs snicked out and a horrible hiss left him before he could stop it and his free hand grabbed at Steve’s waist to drag him closer.
Take. Yours.
“Whoa-ho-ho.” Steve arched as his lower back was pressed into the countertop. “Hey-ah-okay.” Steve patted his chest nervously.
“If you… if you need fresh I- uh. I don’t mind?” Eddie stared because he couldn’t mean that. “If you think you won’t like- kill me in the process or crush me like a capri-sun.” A voice in the back of his mind, cruel and goading that wasn’t him , pushed him forward. He snaked one hand into Harrington’s hair and forced him to bare his neck, dark eyes trained on the fragile skin that kept him from his prize.
“Are you sure?” It was hard to talk around the fangs in his mouth but Steve made a whimpery ‘yes’ sound and that was all it took.
It was sloppy, wasteful , blood dripping down Steve’s neck and smearing across Eddie’s chin. It was warm but cooling too fast where it ran thin and he opened his mouth wider to lave at the wounds he had created. Nothing but that mattered, not the way Steve’ s hand fisted in his hair or tugged at him, not the twist of hips under his own, not the slow sigh and shudder as that hand slipped to his shoulder. He pulled away and licked down to the open collar of Steve’s shirt, cleaning him thoroughly before collapsing against him.
“That’s… better.” He whispered. “Thanks.”
There was no answer.
The chest under his forehead rose shallowly, heart slow, too slow. “Steve?” Eddie jerked up. “Steve!” Pale. Too pale and too limp and… not okay.
“Oh god, please. ”
What have I done?