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Driver hates what he is, hates the feel of skin breaking under his teeth. He hates the satiated feeling that floods through him while blood pours down his throat. He hates how, somewhere deep down, he craves it.
He never stays in one spot long enough for anyone to learn to hate him just as much as he hates himself. He had made a mistake with Irene and Benicio, he had gotten too comfortable in the warmth after being cold for so long. He had forgotten that wherever he is, violence is quick to follow.
He thinks he's forgetting this now, years later and halfway across the country. He's still working stunts, old habits tend to die hard. He had tried to move on, find another profession to fill his time but he always seemed to find his way back to stunts. Part of him accepts stunt work as a punishment, getting thrown around all the time hurts just enough to remind him that he deserves it.
Only things had been different on this job. There was a new face in the crowd of stuntmen that kept catching his attention. A man who smiled with all his teeth and seemed to radiate with the force of a thousand suns. Driver bets he feels warm— he can imagine himself curled around the man, stomach full of fresh blood, being met with a wide smile. It's a foolish thought, how could anyone ever look kindly upon him when he survived off of other's life force. Driver is a parasite, at best, and he should force his eyes away from the other stuntman. He can't find it within himself to look away.
It's important to note that underneath all of his self loathing, self punishing habits, Driver is a very selfish man. He, after ruining everything he had allowed himself to hold in Los Angeles— standing in that dingy elevator after the doors closed, with Irene's horrified eyes imprinted in his mind forever— had licked the blood off the flat side of his hammer, desperate and depraved. He was starving, in every way.
It's easy to find himself in the same places as the man, Colt Seavers, during the duration of their time on set. Colt is the stunt double for Tom Ryder— some hot shot big name actor who makes Colt's gorgeous smiles turn strained, Driver hates Tom with a burning passion. It, at the very least, means that he's always easy to find because of it. People on set nearly plaster the walls with Colt's schedule, with how loudly they talk about when they need him and where.
It's nice at first, he bumps into Colt and they end up having a conversation about a million different things— he finds that the man has difficulty staying on topic. He doesn't mind it, if anything it makes it easier to bask in his glow. Driver watches him, smiles easily, gives input when prompted. All while trying to commit ever small detail to memory, he wants Colt's smile lines etched in creases of his brain. He wants to keep every piece of the man in the cavernous hole in his chest. He feels whole around Colt, more human than he thinks he ever was before he was turned.
It's quickly not enough. Colt is warm. Driver finds himself spinning circles around the man like he's the sun. He considers for some time how selfish he's going to allow himself to get. He would follow Colt home if he could, slip in behind him and settle down in a dark corner just to get to watch the man sleep. He doesn't deserve it, he watches Colt say goodbye to everyone and make his way home every day. He feels the longing in his chest. He cements his feet to the ground with sheer willpower. It feels like if he so much as breaths he'll break his stillness and be on Colt's trail like a starved stray dog.
He settles for it, he's not greedy enough to make the same mistakes he had before. It's fine, he'll finish this job and never see Colt again. He won't hear the man's warm laughter or feel his hand— nearly burning with the heat he radiated meeting Driver's freezing skin— settle on his shoulder before a stunt. He'll move on, it'll be fine.
There's an aching in his stomach when Colt invites him out for drinks. There are a few more scenes to shoot before they wrap and he never gets to see him again. Driver, selfishly, agrees and drinks in Colt's smile like a man dying of thirst.
Colt throws an arm over his shoulders, casually as if it doesn't make Driver's lungs stutter, as they walk to the car. He can smell Colt's blood, he wants badly to turn his face and settle it in the crook of the man's neck. "What're you doing after we finish shooting, Casey?" Driver doesn't know why he gave his name so easily.
This is a lie, he knows perfectly well why he told Colt his name. There was something intimate about it, a whispered secret between just the two of them. He liked it when Colt called him by his name, no one had done it in a long time.
He shrugs, he never really planned anything anymore. He had spent most of his time since LA running from place to place, looking over his shoulder far too often to have the chance to look forward to his future.
Colt crowds him a bit as a group of people pass. It takes everything Driver has to not turn and sink his fangs into his neck. "I'm going back to San Francisco, that's home for me," he says, still hovering after the people had long passed them. Driver hums noncommittally, continuing on their path to the car. "My brother, he teaches middle school out there, he's looking forward to seeing me again so I'll be leaving not long after we wrap."
Driver tenses, casting a glance at Colt. He knows he said he'd be fine with their inevitable goodbye but it makes something in his chest feel tight to hear Colt talk about it. They weren't even all that close, he didn't know if Colt would be willing to keep in contact— he didn't know if that was something he was allowed to want. "There's great stunt work there, you know?" Colt jostles him slightly, expecting a response.
"That's good," he mumbles, exhaling what he hopes doesn't come across as a sigh. He's casual about this. He wants Colt to believe he's casual about this, at the very least. "Good to be able to work close to home," he says like he knows.
"You could come with me." Driver's heart soars, he'd be concerned about how hard it thumps in his chest if he weren't halfway dead already. "I mean, only if you want to. And if you haven't made any other commitments." Colt exhales anxiously. "Maybe that's too much to ask? I just– we've had a great time and we work really well together."
"No," Driver says dumbly, mouth faster than his brain. Colt has barely begun to frown before he clarifies. "I mean no, it's not too much to ask. We're good together."
Colt's face sparks, grin breaking out as his cheeks turn red. It's such a magnificent thing to witness that Driver doesn't know what to do with himself. He wants to surge forward and capture Colt in a hug. That might be pushing it, so instead he stays put and returns Colt's smile with a small one of his own.
They're in the car, with Colt behind the wheel for once, before either of them speaks again. "You know," Colt starts, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He's considerate like that, he knows how much Driver hates when people aren't focused on the road. "I've been thinking about you." Driver's breath catches in his throat as he turns to look at Colt.
He's a sight to behold, staring ahead with his hands loose on the wheel. His hair is a bit of a mess, he'd been thrown down a few flights of stairs today. Driver wants to reach out and mess it up more, he wants to know what the strands feel like under his touch. They're probably soft, he bets Colt is soft all over. "What about me?" He barely remembers to ask, too consumed with the view.
"You're strange– not that I don't like that about you. I love how strange you are, but it's not quite adding up." Driver should probably pay more attention, but he's too caught on how Colt's lips look forming the words. He wants to lean forward to get a closer look.
He clenches his fists, forcing his eyes away. "What's not?" Nobody had ever tried to figure Driver out before, he hadn't gotten sloppy enough to let anyone. He figures that might not be the case with Colt, who knows his name and could probably make Driver do anything if he asked nice enough.
"You. I took some time, to try and do the math myself. It took a while because I'm not that great with math and I'm even worse with piecing people together like a puzzle, but I think I've got it. It's a bit ridiculous though, so if I'm wrong you've gotta promise not to laugh at me."
Driver feels trapped, pinned like a bug. Colt puts the car in park, turning to face him and it feels like being put under a microscope with the eyes of god barring down on him. "Okay," it's practically an exhale with how quietly he says it.
"Okay but really, because this is a bit out there and Ryland, my brother, is always telling me that I think a little too far out of the box." Driver nods, Colt inhales. "You've got wicked canines and you're a step beyond freezing all the time." Driver tenses. "God, I feel like Bella Swan. I swear I'm not going to cheesily ask you how long you've been– wait I don't know how old you are, never mind that's beside the point and I'm rambling because I'm anxious because either I'm going to ask you a really stupid question or I'm going to ask a smart question and have to revisit my disbelief of mythological creatures. Not that you're a creature! I'm just– okay. I'm going to ask you this."
And Driver, who has never told anyone about his… affliction before, had assumed this would have gone differently. He always imagined someone finding out with a shaky voice and scared eyes, backing away from him slowly with their hands up and palms out to him like he'd jump them at any second. He imagined he'd be received with far more fear than this. The stress of his nature being found out melts away because Colt's so perfectly himself that Driver find it easy to get swept up in. "Are you a vampire?" Colt cringes as the words leave his mouth, as if bracing for Driver to start laughing in his face.
Instead of gracing Colt with a kind lie, because he is so so selfish, he says, "yes." He wants Colt to know him, he finds. He wants this endearing slice of sunshine of a man to bare witness to the ugliness he holds inside of him. It feels like a weight lifted, a burden halved.
Colt nods, entirely unafraid, before reaching across to Driver. He flinches back, scared of both himself and Colt in this moment. It's too open, they're both too vulnerable. "It's okay. It's just me, Casey." When he reaches out again, Driver lets him hold his face. It's gentle enough to kill him, he thinks. He's falling to pieces and the only thing keeping him together is Colt's hand. "Does anyone else know?"
"No," he says, mouth dry. Colt stares into his eyes and Driver feels sick to his stomach. He doesn't deserve this. He hasn't done anything to earn the softness that Colt allows him.
"I bet it's been pretty lonely." Its understatement, sometimes Driver will lay in whatever shitty bed he finds himself in at the end of the day and shiver for hours on end, a bone deep loneliness consuming him.
He nods instead of voicing this, not wanting to seem any more pathetic than he probably already did. Something about Colt's pity makes his stomach feel tight. "I've got you now, Casey. You don't have to be alone anymore." His eyes bore into Driver's soul and he feels so seen it makes him scared.
Driver's fangs ache with want, he's not even that hungry but god it feels like he's starving. He stares at Colt with poorly concealed need as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He thinks Colt reads him clearly because the man watches him bite at his lip for a moment before he gives him a knowing smile.
There's something quiet in the back of his mind telling him that if he does this he's never going to recover from it no matter how long or hard he repents. A much louder force screams at him to finally taste the warmth he had been coveting. He's a weak man.
He's even weaker when Colt gently says, "it's okay, Casey," before guiding Driver's head to his neck. It's overwhelming, he can feel tears spring to his eyes. "You're okay. I trust you." Colt pets his hair with such reverence that Driver thinks he's going to be sick. He doesn't know how cruel and violent Driver can be, that's the only explanation for it. He's got some misguided idea of his character that's got him treating him so kindly.
Driver is selfish, he can't find it in himself to correct Colt. Not when the man is barring his neck and being so gentle with him. Driver bites down, mumbling a quick sorry against Colt's skin when he winces.
Colt taste like laying outside on a spring day and feeling the sun's warmth reach your bones. He taste like everything Driver had ever been missing, and he loses himself in it, sucking frantically at the puncture point. He settles after a second, realizing Colt's not going anywhere and he can take as much as he'd like without rushing.
"There you go, good job." Colt sighs and Driver can feel his pulse even out. "Thank you for trusting yourself with me," he speaks softly but Driver can feel his words vibrate through his throat. "You're so good."
Driver pulls back, bloody and raw. Colt's eyes gleam under the streetlights as he watches Driver lick his lips. He reaches up, swiping a streak of blood from Driver's chin and bringing his bloody finger up the the man's mouth. He nods his permission and Driver opens his mouth, taking the finger in and lapping up the blood.
Driver doesn't take too much, he wants to be good, so he opens his mouth once the finger is clean, letting Colt take it back no matter how much he wants to keep in there for just a while longer. "That wasn't so hard, yeah?" Colt asks, cupping Driver's face.
He goes to nod but he can't with his head trapped in Colt's grasp. "Yeah," he rasps out in agreement, tongue heavy. It feels like his brain is dancing, his eyes are fogged. Thoroughly blood drunk.
Colt smiles and Driver nearly falls forward at the sight of it. He wants to keep this moment forever, he wants to devour Colt whole. He gets to do neither of those things. "You know, you've probably got the order of operations out of line," Colt says jokingly and Driver cocks his head to the side in confusion. "I'm pretty sure you're meant to buy me a drink before you did that."
Drivers eyes sharpen and he goes to apologize but Colt just laughs. "How about you make up for it now." He had nearly forgotten that they were parked right outside the bar, his vision shoots up to the building and he feels himself nod.
"Of course," he pulls away, trying his hardest not to mourn the warmth. It's not long before Colt's arm finds its way across his shoulders and the warmth returns anyhow. Maybe Driver could get used to being selfish.