Work Text:
It's late at night, later than most would be awake at. He doesn't mind, of course, it's not like he needs sleep.
His ears capture a sound, something reverberating on the metal walls of his makeshift office beneath 110th street. He smells blood first, then soon enough he sees Spider-Man, one arm pressed against his side, stumbling in his direction.
"Doctor Nakao..." the man speaks up, comically polite for someone in his situation.
He stalls for a minute before walking towards the man, stopping him from falling to the ground.
"What are you doing here?" Blade asks harshly, shock stopping him from measuring his words. Miguel caught him by surprise, in the middle of the night, and hungry. Not overtly, not extremely – but hungry, nonetheless.
"You were the closest doctor." He answers, struggling to sit on a stretcher with the doctor's help.
Blade silently moves his arm out of the way, eyes narrow as he stares at the bullet wound on Miguel's abdomen, his suit ripped near the area, the seams of the UMF itching to come together again.
"Bullets? That's quite antiquated." Wesley murmurs as he walks off to the side, quickly grabbing all that he would need, trying to keep his hands steady. His main focus is anesthesia, then the rest comes along. Wipes, then something to close the wound, then something to extract the bullet. He hadn't seen an exiting wound.
When he comes back, Miguel looks at him with a dazed expression, still conscious, but not quite present. He snaps his fingers close to his face before putting on gloves, making the younger man focus again. By the time he numbs the area, Miguel's groans of pain turned into whimpers.
"You need something better, it didn't shocking work-"
"That would be enough for a human. We both work a little differently. You'll have to handle the pain."
He doesn't give time for Miguel to respond before he starts probing. The man hisses, fingers digging into his shoulder. He looks up at Miguel, the scent of blood now intoxicating as he bleeds into his tools. He finally finds the bullet, pulling it out and discarding it on the metal dish with a satisfying clink.
His hands are shaky as he sets up the closing bandage, adjusting it until Miguel's raw flesh presses together, something more sophisticated than using needle and thread.
He sits back, breathing a little more heavily than he'd like to admit, looking at the man on his stretcher. Miguel's hair sticks to his forehead, his whole body trembles slightly, the aftershocks of the impromptu surgery still fresh on his system.
And he lets his eyes travel down, to the muscle of Miguel's chest, to the blood on his abdomen. His stomach growls, his teeth ache.
Then he looks at the blood on his gloves. Thick, crimson, glowing under the light of his largest monitor, glistening in a way that's almost hypnotic.
"When was the last time you fed, Doctor?"
Miguel speaks up, making him snap back. It wasn't the first time Miguel met a cannibal – his first was Vulture. But unlike the man before him, Vulture did it for fun, for pleasure, to boost his overinflated ego even more. Blade was different. It's not like he wants to feed off of flesh, but he has to. It's part of his nature.
Miguel knows all too well about fighting his nature.
"A day ago. Or two. I can't remember."
He stares at his hands again, and feels the warmth on his fingers. He hears Miguel's voice one more time before he's licking his own fingers clean, one by one, eyes closed. Then he leans forward tongue tracing the path of Miguel's blood. He's conscious enough to not get too close to the wound, circling it before heading upwards. He feels a tug on his hair, then Miguel kisses him fiercely.
Nakao is careful enough to avoid hurting Miguel, his teeth clunking with the man's fangs as they kiss. It's not refined or romantic or all that magical, but the release feels good. He pulls back right as the urge to bite down tugs on his nerves, panting as both men stare into each other's eyes.
"Go print your meat or whatever, it's not like I'll get up and go away."
Blade nods then scrambles to his printer, watching intently as layer after layer of artificial muscle builds up. He grabs the finished piece, barely chewing as his mind slowly sets into place. He can hear Miguel chuckle in the background, fingers grabbing his desk in a vice grip. He recalls what just happened, shock settling down on his face.
"Miguel, I'm so sorry, I don't know what got to me-"
He's interrupted by a snicker, Miguel looking at him with a smirk.
"It's not the weirdest thing that happened to me, Doctor, don't worry about it."