Work Text:
It takes Tony six months of determined, bloody-minded stubbornness—pun very much intended—to convince Stephen to bite him.
Stephen insists on doing it during the day, so that he’s weaker, and immediately after he’s eaten, having had twice as much blood as normal, and with Wong just a shout away. Tony managed not to mock all the precautions only because Stephen’s fear of hurting him is absolutely transparent, and Stephen is rarely so easy to read.
But eventually, arguments won, safeguards in place, Stephen sits next to Tony on the couch and leans in and carefully, delicately, sinks his fangs into Tony’s throat.
The pleasure is immediate. Tony moans deeply as it swells inside of him, not starting at his throat but blooming throughout, as if every cell is radiating it. He brings a hand up to hold Stephen close. He’s barely sipping at Tony, but every soft, light suck makes Tony’s whole body throb. At length, Stephen pulls away. Tony lets him go, pleased to see how blown Stephen’s eyes are, how flushed he is. Some of that color in his cheeks is Tony’s now.
“It’s different,” Stephen says, almost reverent.
Tony blinks. “Did you think it wouldn’t be?” Stephen looks chagrined, and Tony forces himself to swallow a laugh. “Babe. Biting into a steak is not the same as giving someone a hickey. Same theory applies.”
“You shouldn’t know more about this than me,” Stephen grumbles.
This time the laugh escapes, but Stephen is mollified with another nibble.
And then somewhat more than a nibble.