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An owl was perched atop the camper van, giving a few muted hoots that echoed across the dirt lot. Crickets chirped away unseen in the few patches of scraggly grass. The moon shone brightly overhead with only a few wisps of cloud occasionally obscuring its face. Off in the desert, a few coyotes were yipping and howling. All of these things were normal for a late summer night near the base.
The only thing out of the ordinary was a lone figure lingering by the doors to the equipment room. The man was darting his gaze about, clearly nervous before making his way in. When met with no one else, he sighed softly in relief. Though it was unlikely, there was always the possibility one of the others was still up. He knew at times Pyro or Scout would be up wandering the base for reasons he did not ever bother asking about.
Sniper was typically asleep at this hour. Even on nights when he trekked out to hunt rabbits or to forage, he would have set up camp by now. For the last three days though, he had not slept a wink. The exhaustion was getting to him but every time he went to rest, he found himself plagued by a new sensitivity to sound he had never known before. Everything was loud, from the breeze outside to the scrabbling of bird claws on his roof. That had been far from the first symptom, however, and he raised his arm to squint at a burn mark still present along his outer wrist.
Earlier that day, he had gone to open the door of his van after another fruitless attempt at sleep but had needed to recoil with a sharp hiss when the sun hit his hand. He ran his fingers along the burn, brow deeply furrowed. “Makes no bloody sense.” He grumbled, trying to rationalize it any way he could. It had all started with that bite. Some weird, much too-large bat had blundered its way through the teleporter and had tried feverishly to bite his hand off. He’d gotten all the shots for rabies, along with a couple of other things from a very attentive and concerned Medic so it should have been fine.
Thinking of Medic even briefly caused a strange twist in his stomach, and he gripped the front of his shirt. The reason he was even sneaking into the base had been due to how hungry he had felt for the past few hours. It practically felt like his insides were trying to consume themselves and the sensation had only intensified with the brief memories of being pressed up against the very door he was standing in front of. Teeth against his collarbone. The thrum of another heartbeat right up against his own when their chests met. Blood rushing just below the skin. His mouth watered.
“Fuckin’ hell.” He panted before shaking his head almost violently to try and clear it. Whatever this was, it was only getting worse the longer he wasted time trying to sort it out. Alright, get it over with. Grab somethin’ from the kitchen and get back out. A part of him was still feebly hoping it was some sort of illness he could sleep off. Steeling himself, he walked out into the hall and towards the kitchen. His ears could pick up nearly everything around him.
Somewhere up above he could catch the faint clink of ice in a glass as Spy probably was indulging in a late nightcap. Soldier’s snores provided a low background droning on the other side of the base. He could even catch a few muffled words from Scout, apparently talking in his sleep, as he passed one part of the hall. “Better not be permanent.” Sniper groused. If it was, he was pretty sure he’d actually lose it.
As he entered the kitchen, he rubbed his temple. A headache was starting to build up, most likely from trying to filter through all the sounds of the base. The lights seemed so much brighter now too. He had never been gladder for the sunglasses. Trying to steel himself, he rolled his shoulders and approached the fridge, sniffing the air. The way he did was almost the way a dog or cat might, craning his neck forward as he opened the door.
His nose wrinkled. There were a few sandwiches, a head of cabbage, a couple of boxes of takeout, and a cantaloupe. Nothing you want mate. Not really. He rubbed his forehead, unsure of how to deal with his confused thoughts. He was starving, wasn’t he? The gnawing from his abdomen practically screamed in the affirmative, but the thought of eating anything in the fridge caused a strange intense wave of nausea and he slammed the fridge shut, breathing heavily.
What did he want? He ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth, mouth feeling painfully dry. When it met his left canine though, he winced. The tooth lightly pierced the muscle and a speck of blood welled up. “What in the-“ He was quick to pull his lip up and gingerly inspect the tooth with his thumb, feeling the shape of it. Those top two canines had always been a little pointier than the rest of his teeth, but never this much. There was a muffled swear as he noted both were longer, and even brushing against the tips was enough to break the skin.
Yanking his hand down, he tried to convince himself he was imagining things. All the factors were adding up to something impossible. Stuff that only happened in overly dramatic cliché black and white horror pictures. There had to be some more reasonable explanation. He just couldn’t think of it. God, he was starving. Every moment that passed only made it harder to focus on anything else.
“Michael?” The sound of his name startled him out of the fog he was slipping into, and he whipped around to catch sight of Medic poking his head in through the doorway. Christ, not now.
“Doc! Ah, you, you’re up late.” He stammered, realizing alarmingly quickly that this was not good. The intense tug from the brief memory before was only amplified when presented with the man himself. A desire that threatened to overtake his senses at any moment and he wasn’t sure what would happen if it did. His nails dug into his palms. The pain seemed to pull his focus back, if only for a moment but he was struggling to even out his breathing.
“Ja, much like yourself hm?” Medic replied, stepping into the kitchen fully. “I am sorting my files, however, I thought I might grab a bit of coffee to make it easier. I will be up a while yet.” While speaking, it was clear he was scanning Sniper up and down. His gaze lingered on his clenched hands. “And you Schatz?” He asked, voice lowering, a bit of concern creeping into the tone.
“S’nothing, just-“ He swallowed hard. While Medic had been speaking, his gaze had drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed before sliding to one side. The skin was just pale enough that he could catch sight of a vein there and his breath hitched. “Been feeling a bit under the weather is all love.” He realized too late that was precisely the opposite of what he should have said to dissuade him. Curiosity flickered into Medic’s eyes.
“Oh? You are looking rather pale. Perhaps that bat was carrying something I did not account for-” He tutted before he seemed to snap into a more investigative mode. He took Sniper’s wrist, feeling for the pulse point, noting the sharp inhale from the marksman as he did. “Hm, weakened pulse, cold hands.” He darted his gaze up. “Dilated pupils as well. Any other symptoms?”
“It’s uh,” Sniper’s shoulders shook with the effort of keeping himself still. Just focus on the questions. The questions you daft idiot. “Been hard to sleep, swear I can hear everything in the bloody base.” Medic tilted his head to the side, expression softening. “Also just feel like my damn stomach’s tryin’ to eat itself, but I can’t even smell all that in there without wantin’ to chunder.” He gestured at the fridge, finally managing to tear his gaze away from Medic’s neck.
While he had been speaking, Medic had been staring at his mouth intently. “Would you mind opening your mouth for me Spatz?” The nickname oddly seemed to calm him down and he took a deep shaky breath in before nodding. As he did, Medic gingerly placed a hand along his chin, and leaned in, peering at the now prominent pointy teeth. “Faszinierend.” He near whispered.
The feeling of Medic’s fingers pressed along his jaw was sending shivers down Sniper’s spine. Each inhale felt like he was giving in to an unknown drug as he realized far too late that his new sense of smell was picking up the other’s blood and not just his aftershave or his sweat. A metallic scent but with something sweet just under the surface. The ache in his stomach clawed at him. His eyes glazed over as one of Medic’s thumbs dragged over a fang, his breathing becoming more labored. It was so hard to remember why he was restraining himself. Something about keeping control?
“And here I thought vampirism was merely a superstition! Although I suppose I have seen stranger already. At least it is not another haunting” Medic said. He hummed thinking about possible implications before seeming to finally notice that Sniper was leaning into him. The fang pressed hard against his thumb. The gunman’s mouth was watering to the point a bit of drool escaped the corner. “Ah.” Realization flashed in his eyes, and the doctor seemed to consider something. “You did say you were starving.” He gently tapped the fang and Sniper placed a hand on his shoulder, curling his fingers hard into the vest.
“Y’should, get going” He half choked out, pulling his head back with difficulty. “Don’t know how long I can keep my head straight.” He added. It already was half sunk down into thoughts of drinking deep, strong hands pulling him in tight as he just finally gave in already. A low groan escaped him and he dropped his head forward onto Medic’s shoulder.
Rather than heeding his words, Medic pulled him in closer, running a hand up and down his back. Sniper shuddered hard, gently nosing the crook of his neck. “Oh please, you don’t think I would turn down an opportunity to see how this all works.” He chuckled. “Besides, I do hate to see you suffer so liebling.” He added, casually tilting his head as Sniper inhaled.
“Don’t, want to end up hurtin’ ya.” The words were breathed out heavily against Medic’s throat, even as he felt himself instinctually bare his teeth, a fang ghosting over the skin. Medic shivered pleasantly before tsking.
“It’s alright. The lab is right upstairs, and anything worse, well I shall be right back hm?” He pressed his fingers into Sniper’s lower back over a spot he knew full well was sensitive and was rewarded with a gasp. The fang grazed the skin, barely nicking it but it was enough to cause a spot of blood to well to the surface. It hit his tongue. His pupils dilated fully at the taste, sweet, tempting, perfect, and the dam burst. He bit down.
Fangs sank fully and abruptly into Medic’s throat who gave a noisy gasp but made no motion to pull away. Tearing into the skin, his teeth sank in until the flesh met his gumline. Blood flowed into Sniper’s mouth unimpeded, and he moaned as he took the first swallow. Nothing could have been better. He couldn’t believe he’d been holding himself back. Thick, rich like honey or molasses but with a vibrant glow underneath like sunshine. It was so much like Medic himself, strong, comforting, addicting. Warmth flooded into him as he drank deeply. The emptiness in his torso gave way to heat and contentment as Medic chuckled in his ear.
Rather than being unaffected himself, the doctor was breathing heavily as well, muttering something in German as he let his hands wander. Another pull at his throat and he gripped Sniper’s hips, pulling him in closer while shuddering. “Keep going-“ He muttered, shoulders tensing. Although sharp, and intense, the frantic gulps were slowing. A steady decline from starving to sated.
After another moment, Sniper pulled his fangs out and Medic gave a short swear at the pain before the marksman latched his lips back onto the injury, lapping his tongue into the tears he had left behind. Medic ran his hands down his spine, then around to his ribs, down to his rear, seeming taken with feeling every part of him while they were pressed together like this. He was rocking himself feebly against Medic’s leg without even thinking about it, face flushed.
Eventually, the blood flow slowed, and Sniper let his head loll to the side, taking in unsteady breaths. Everything felt fuzzy, distant, except for Medic’s hands holding him in place. The Doctor nuzzled Sniper’s temple with a breathy laugh. “I think that was barely 700 milliliters, Schatz.”
“Oh, that’s, ‘ats good innit?” Sniper responded, words a little slurred. Blood was trickling slowly down Medic’s neck and staining the collar of his shirt, but he hardly seemed concerned
“Manageable, certainly, well depending on how often you would need this while I figure out how to cure it.” Medic said brightly before he leaned down and scooped Sniper up into his arms with a small huff. Sniper flailed a bit but soon settled. He was, more familiar with this position than he would have ever let anyone in on. He felt exhausted, his lack of sleep catching up with him hard now that the void had been sated and he yawned.
“Guess I gotta leave it up to ya then.” He muttered. Medic hummed approvingly and pressed a small kiss to his temple before turning and carrying him out of the kitchen. There were a few splatters of blood on the floor now, but he could think of an excuse for that later. For now, he would let him rest.
After a few days, almost all of the strange symptoms had cleared up while Medic studied him and isolated the virus itself. The doctor had almost seemed disappointed it was merely temporary, but the consolation prize of having a new avenue of experimentation satisfied him. Sniper was merely glad to be free of the constant noise barrage, even if the days hadn’t been half bad in other ways. Maybe he wouldn’t mind getting that weaker version Medic talked about making some time.