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Eddie’s got his eye on the smiling stranger who just blew into town.
It was just after sunset that he rode down their main street and caught his attention. Eddie only knows because he’d been heading into Angel’s at the same time. The saloon doors had been within arm’s reach already, but he’d found himself stopping and staring all the same. They get visitors often enough, sure, especially here on the main stretch, but—
They’re not usually so big, though. The stranger’s threadbare shirt must’ve once been red, though it’s faded to a near-sand pink with age, and it did nothing at all to conceal the sheer bulk of him. If the sun was still lingering on the horizon, Eddie’s sure he’d have blot it out.
Even his horse had been huge, the massive mare coming to an obedient stop at the hitching post between Angel’s and the general store next door. She allowed her person to hitch her up without so much as a huff of protest; Eddie had watched, cataloguing everything about this stranger in his town, and hadn’t had an extra second to look away before the smile had turned on him.
“Well, hi, there,” the stranger had greeted him, grin widening all the further, like he were the one welcoming Eddie here.
He used his knuckles to tip the edge of his dusty hat up, brim long since drooping. Like his shirt— like all of him— the thing looked dirty and beat to hell, but he’d still been smiling all the while. And when Eddie saw his whole face revealed by the new angle, illuminated by the hot light spilling out the windows of Angel’s from the oil lamps inside—
“Howdy,” he’d said, and the stranger’s eyes had crinkled with the force of his smile, like it’d been Eddie he came here to see, somehow.
He’d tipped his chin up, then, towards the sign above their heads, the faded-white scrawl chipped but still legible as Angel’s. “This place any good?”
And Eddie, unable to take his eyes off of him, had told him, “Yeah, the best. Come on in.”
The stranger had just lit up as if Eddie had offered him everything and more. He’d trailed after him into the saloon, dogged him to the bar, then set himself up right next to him when Eddie took a stool. When Chimney had asked if he wanted a drink, he had hesitated before glancing sidelong at the stranger and holding up two fingers instead.
“Drinking with Eddie tonight?” Chim had asked the stranger, casting a skeptical sidelong glance at Eddie. “Must be a friend of his?”
“As much as I can be when I only just learned his name’s Eddie through you,” the stranger had replied with a laugh that warmed Eddie all the way through, and—
Well, Eddie hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of him ever since.
Through Chimney’s interrogation— during which he learns his name is Buck, he’s from nowhere in particular, and he’s looking for any work they’ve got, herding or ranching or anything they’ve got, he insists— Buck doesn’t seem to want to take his eyes off of Eddie, either. Even after Chimney has had to move on when other customers demand his attention, and Buck could just as easily take the out to wander off and talk to just about anyone in here, he still just spins on his stool to face Eddie, nursing his glass between his huge hands, and keeps on talking. Words fall out of him and into Eddie, telling him all about the sister he writes home to, the herding job he just finished a couple weeks back, the birds he’s seen along the road, just— everything that seems to pop into his head.
Eddie’s happy to listen, happy to watch, every word a performance with this guy. His hands fly through the air as he talks, and he explains things thoroughly, uniquely, until Eddie feels like he’s seeing it all right there with him, even as he’s looking right at Buck.
“So, you live around here?” Buck says, as if Eddie could’ve come from anywhere else, drawing him out of the trance he’d half-slipped into.
“Mm.” He takes a sip of his beer, the least watered-down in town, bringing himself further back into his body. With a tilt of his head behind himself, vaguely indicating up the road, he tells him, “Got a ranch up that way.”
Buck whistles. “Impressive. Can’t just be you up there, though, right?”
Eddie gives him a shrug, eyes skimming over the expanse of Buck’s shoulders. That shirt’s gonna give any day now, Eddie’s sure of it, but it didn’t look like Buck had much in the way of saddlebags on his mare. Could be his only shirt. Maybe his seams’ll even bust tonight.
“Me and my son,” Eddie answers. “Just us.”
Another whistle from Buck, lower this time as he turns his attention down towards the glass between his hands. Eddie takes advantage of the opportunity to study him: the mess of dirty blonde curls revealed after he’d set his hat on the bartop, the sunset-pink heart of a birthmark over his eye, the way he can’t seem to stop shifting and shuffling and smiling. For being a for-hire cowboy who seems like he’s been riding for days, he’s surprisingly not all that sun-beat or tanned; Eddie wonders if he’s sick, or just exhausted, and his heart prickles.
“Must get lonely,” Buck comments. “Good you’ve got your boy, though. Still. Lot of work, I’d guess, right?”
“No more than I can handle,” Eddie answers, same as he always does. Without the ranch, him and Christopher haven’t got much of anything; the idea of not handling the work really isn’t an option. “Can’t be lonelier than riding place to place all by your lonesome like you are.”
It’s the first time all night Eddie sees Buck’s smile slip. It’s right back up in a second as he laughs off the lapse, but Eddie wishes he hadn’t said it all the same.
“No, yeah, you— you’re right,” Buck agrees. “It gets— It can get really lonely, Eddie. Living like this, I mean.”
There’s a weight in his voice that Eddie isn’t expecting, an exhaustion beyond his years. It makes something inside of Eddie want to bundle him up and keep him safe, this stranger who only rode into town a couple hours before.
Eddie sits up a little straighter glancing at the clock, realizing he really has been listening to Buck talk about everything and nothing for over two hours now. He hadn’t even noticed, hypnotized by him, but— sure enough, the big old clock leaning in the corner’s telling him it’s just past eleven o’clock, and the night outside has started edging into that total pitch-blackness midnight hauls around with it.
“Hey, well— Look,” Eddie says, already preemptively justifying his decisions by telling himself he’s fuzzy-headed with drink even if it’s not the truth. “You’re looking for work ranching, right? And I’ve got a ranch.” He swigs the last of the beer between his hands, if only so his eyes aren’t glued to Buck as he makes the offer. Empty glass thunking back down, Eddie’s attention fixed on it as if it’s the most fascinating cup he’s ever seen, he says, “And I’m guessing you don’t have a bed for tonight. Could stay with me, get put to work in the morning.”
Buck’s quiet for a moment before he asks, “You sure, Eddie?”
It’s exactly as much of an out as Eddie needs. Really, he’s got to ask himself— is he sure? Buck’s a stranger, honestly. Even if they’ve hit it off— even if their chemistry feels like it’s making the air between them too thin, drawing them closer together just so they can breathe— Buck’s only been here a couple hours, hasn’t he? Even if Eddie feels like he knows all about him, all the important things— even if Christopher is safely spending the week further up in the hills with Hen, Karen, and Denny on their ranch— even if Eddie is thinking he can’t just let Buck move on from this town, he can’t—
Is it smart? Is it allowed? Is he sure?
Eddie slides the empty glass further away from his hands and looks back up. This time, he meets Buck’s eyes right-on. They sparkle blue in the light burning off the oil lamp just over the bartop.
As if he can’t help it, as soon as their eyes meet, Buck’s smiling again.
That’s Eddie’s mind made up.
“I’m sure,” Eddie tells him, pushing his stool back, taking his own hat back up and setting it on his head. “You handle goats alright?”
“I’ll do just about anything,” Buck answers.
Eddie busies himself with adjusting his belt, his hat, so Buck won’t see the way his face rushes with hot blood.
“Mm.” Eddie kicks his stool back into place, head down, brim obscuring him still. The shadow of Buck standing sweeps over him, swallowing Eddie’s shadow right on up, and his breath catches. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Buck answers without a hint of hesitation. “I owe you big, Eddie. This is— This is really nice of you. Not many people would do this.”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, and leaves it at that. With a tip of his head in the direction of the bartop, he asks, “Gonna finish your drink?”
Buck glances back at his glass, his first and only of the night, still mostly-full like he hasn’t touched a drop. He laughs, a wry sort of sound, hand coming up to scrape over the back of his neck in a nervous brush.
“I don’t really, ah— I don’t drink beer,” Buck tells him.
Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “Could’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want to seem rude,” Buck offers up, and Eddie’s eyebrow tilts back down. “Sorry, though, I should’ve offered it to you. That was rude anyway, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Eddie just takes the glass in hand and turns, eyes skimming over the saloon at large. He spots Ravi in the corner, boots kicked up on a second wooden chair while he nurses a beer and reads a book propped in his lap, and he chooses him to plunk Buck’s beer down beside. “Hey, from me. Enjoy.”
Ravi glances towards the glass, then peers up at him. His eyes skim past him to Buck over his shoulder, and he grins, wide and knowing in a way that makes Eddie’s heart pound.
“Are you sure I’m the one you want to buy a drink for?” Ravi asks.
“Shut it,” Eddie warns. “Just enjoy it.” After a beat, he adds, “I’m bringing Buck back to the ranch. He’s going to offer me a hand for a while.”
“I’m sure he is.” Ravi tilts, leaning to get a better look. “And this is Buck?”
“Yeah, hey— Hi, sorry,” Buck says with a stumble forward, offering him his hand. Ravi holds his place in his book with a finger and sets his mug aside so he can shake in return. “Yeah, Eddie said he could put me to work.”
“I’m sure he did,” Ravi replies. It seems like he’s finding intense glee in the way Eddie’s staring bullets through him. “Well, you two be safe. If Eddie doesn’t come into town tomorrow, we’ll know you did him in, then, wouldn’t we?”
Buck laughs, that nervous and strange laugh again. Eddie wonders if it should unsettle him, not endear him, but he thinks he’s always had a screw or two loose.
“Goodnight, Ravi,” Eddie says, pointed. Buck still gives a jaunty wave after him all the same, coupled with a cheerful, “Night!”, earning a sloppy salute from Ravi before he’s lifting his eyebrows at Eddie and returning his attention to his book.
Outside, in the summer-hot and breezeless darkness, Buck sets about unhitching his mare. Eddie leans against the outside wall of Angel’s beside him, one boot flat against the wood, watching his sure hands on the rope.
“You far from here?” Buck asks.
“Not far enough to ride,” Eddie replies, and Buck nods, looping the rope about one broad palm, down his wrist.
Clicking his tongue, Buck leads his mare into an effortless walk. Eddie pushes off after him, thumbs hooked in his belt so he won’t do anything foolish with his hands, and strides just a step ahead of him, leading Buck near the same way Buck’s leading his mare. All Eddie’s missing is a rope, really.
“Nice town,” Buck comments into the darkness wrapped around the two of them, cutting through the scrape of boots and horseshoes on the packed earth of the road. “I’m glad I found you. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten this lucky.”
Eddie’s throat feels dry as the dust on their boots. “Well, don’t curse it yet. Maybe I’m the killer.”
Buck laughs at this, full and rich and pouring out to fill up the night.
“I can’t see you as a killer,” Buck comments.
The back of Eddie’s mind itches, wanting him to remember every bullet shot, every life taken, every battle lost, but he crams it all back, focuses from the past to the present.
“Well,” Eddie replies, “I’d be down a brand-new ranch hand, then, wouldn’t I? Doesn’t sound too smart of me.”
“And you strike me as a real smart guy,” Buck says, not missing a beat. Before Eddie can return a remark, Buck’s barreling right on into, “Wow, is this yours?”
There’s no lights, nothing but dim moonlight off the crescent that keeps peeking through the scruffy clouds overhead. Even adjusted to the dark like this, Eddie’s eyes can only just pick out the familiar shapes of his ranch up ahead of them, and it’s his property.
“Yeah, this one’s mine,” Eddie tells him. “You’ve got good eyes.”
“Better to see you with,” Buck replies with a flash of white teeth smiling in the darkness. He turns away a heartbeat later, focused forwards, starting to redirect his mare away from the path up to the ranch farmhouse proper with a click of his tongue. “C’mon, Firebird.”
“Where’re you going?” Eddie asks, coming to a stop right there inside his gate.
Buck pauses, too, heeling his mare beside him as he tips his head, confused. “The barn. To sleep?”
He says it like it’s half-statement, half-question, like the barn’s certain but sleeping’s in doubt. Eddie feels like he missed a step somewhere, protesting, “You aren’t sleeping in the barn, Buck. Come inside with me.”
Buck brightens at that, practically jogging to rejoin Eddie’s side. “Really? Well, where can I stable Firebird, then?”
Eddie catches his lantern at the front door by its hook, lighting it up with a single match-strike into the center. Buck flickers in the new flame as Eddie leads him around to his meager stables, letting him strip Firebird down, helping him tend to her and bed her with his own mares.
Sure enough, Buck only takes a single deflated-looking saddlebag over his shoulder, hitched there as he looks to Eddie once they’re done, expectant.
“I haven’t got much,” Eddie warns him, guiding him to the front door in the round glow of his lantern light, leading him over the threshold, stepping past a coil of rope he’d forgotten about abandoning there earlier. “Sorry about that. I’ve got a couple cushions we can make into your bed, or you can sleep in my son’s room. He’s with family this week.”
Buck seems like he just about fills up the room, standing there in the center as if uncertain what to do with himself. He seems even filthier against the home Eddie tries to keep as neat as possible— as neat as he can with a ranch, anyway— and Eddie claps his hands together, drawing Buck’s attention back to him, lit orange with the lantern Eddie just set on the table inside.
“It’s way more than I have,” Buck reminds him. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me in, Eddie. I’m— I’m just really grateful I found you.”
Eddie’s chest fills with thick heat; when he swallows, all it does is push more of the heat into his belly, too, until he’s all stuffed-up with the way Buck is making him feel.
“The feeling’s mutual,” he tells him. Tilting his head towards his little kitchen, he tells him, “I’m gonna get myself a drink. How about you wash up? You can sleep in something of mine, if you’d like.”
If it’ll even fit, Eddie considers, eyes raking over Buck’s broad-built form once more.
Buck nods, shuffling after Eddie. “Sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my hands on soap.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie tells him. He jerks his chin towards the short hallway. “First door on the left. You’re gonna have to really work the well pump, it gets stuck when it’s hot. Or cold, really. There’s always something to fix.”
“I can help with that,” Buck tells him, perking up again.
“Jack of all trades, aren’t you?” Eddie comments, watching Buck practically melt into the praise, butter into hot bread. Testing the waters, Eddie adds, “Lucky me I found someone so useful.”
Buck practically seems to squirm in place at this, telling him, “Well, I don’t know about that, I just want to help.”
“Call me crazy, but help is useful to me,” Eddie replies.
For a long moment, they just look at each other. Eddie thinks he can feel the room warming up, and maybe blue should be a cold color, but Buck’s eyes are making him feel all hot instead.
Then, Buck’s grinning again, saying, “I better wash up before I make a mess of your nice house.”
He’s ducking through the doorway in an instant, needing to actually crouch just a bit to get under the frame. In his absence, Eddie grips his kitchen table, taking deep, long breaths, just trying to get a grip on himself— and when that fails, he goes to the shelf over the sink and reaches up to tug down a half-full bottle of whiskey. If Buck doesn’t drink beer, maybe he’ll enjoy this instead.
Eddie drains one shot for courage, then pours two modest glasses, setting them on the kitchen table. After a moment of staring at them, he picks them up and moves them out to the parlor instead, right on his little center table, on either side of the lantern, one each next to the mismatched set of armchairs he’s got sitting there.
He’s still fidgeting with the glasses when he hears Buck call his name down the hall, and he’s scrambling, outside the closed door to their washroom in a second, asking, “Yeah, Buck?”
The door creaks open, just a smidge, and Buck ducks his head through. Eddie catches a glimpse of bare shoulder, freckled and shining-wet in the low candlelight Buck must have lit in there, and his pulse thunders in his ears.
“Just wondering if I could still borrow clothes?” Buck asks. “I don’t mind putting the old ones back on, though, if you—”
“No, no, just— Give me a second,” Eddie tells him, already backing up to jog down the hall. He’s only got a few options, and most of them just aren’t going to fit Buck; he’s got to settle for a nightshirt he’s had for years, hoping it’s worn soft enough not to bust across his shoulders the second it’s on, and a loose pair of soft pants.
Once he’s pushing them into Buck’s hands, earning a relieved smile this time, he doesn’t feel like he’s settled at all. The way Buck looks at him makes him feel like he’s chosen just right— a feeling that’s only furthered when Buck comes out in Eddie’s clothes minutes later, rejoins him in the parlor, tells him, “I can’t thank you enough, Eddie.”
Eddie glances up at him from his armchair, as if only just noticing him, as if he’s not staring so hard at him that he thinks he could start a fire with just that friction.
“I mean, you literally gave me the clothes off your back,” Buck continues, dropping down into the armchair next to Eddie. There’s a sense of rightness filling him at the sight, like this is all meant to be.
“Not literally,” Eddie comments. “I’m still dressed.”
Buck turns towards him, like he’s only just noticed this detail. His eyes flicker in a fascinatingly dark way in the lantern-light.
“You shouldn’t be,” Buck replies, smile still tugging at the corners of his lips as his voice drops, matching the warm near-dark. “Almost time for bed, isn’t it?”
Eddie lifts his glass, swirling the contents. “Got us a little something stronger to share.” Tipping it in the direction of Buck’s matching glass, he asks, “You drink whiskey, don’t you?”
Buck actually hesitates, not reaching for the glass.
“You don’t drink whiskey,” Eddie comments.
“It’s not that I—” Buck starts, then stops. “I just— I don’t really— drink much.”
After a blink, Eddie tells him, “Well, that’s alright. You don’t have to drink. I’m sorry if I—”
“No, no, no, that’s not it,” Buck rushes to tell him, hands cutting through the air in the abortive. “I just— I just can’t drink this, it’s not, like— a thing you have to be sorry about.”
The way he says that catches in Eddie’s mind, snagged on some hook, and he asks, “Well— If you can’t drink this. What can you drink?”
Buck meets his eyes over the lantern.
They’ve looked at each other a lot tonight— and a lot of those looks have been loaded with something so heavy Eddie felt himself bowing under the weight— but none of them have felt quite like this. None of them have been Buck, in that flickering flame, staring at Eddie like he’s looking into him, like he’s reading along his insides and relishing every word he finds and still seeking out more. Like he’s hungry.
Eddie swallows, licks his dry lips. Buck’s eyes flicker there, to his mouth, then back up to his eyes, and the moment is so charged Eddie thinks the air might just crackle and burst into a thunderstorm.
Then, Buck says, his voice softer than it has been all night, “Eddie…” He sighs, then rubs at the back of his neck again, eyes dropping away. Eddie’s desperate to pull them back over. “I— Can I— I want to tell you something, but— I don’t know, we just met, and I don’t want to, like, scare you off already, or—”
“Hey,” Eddie stops him, “Buck.” His eyes flick back up, meet Eddie’s. “You can’t scare me off. I’m not going anywhere.” It seems like Buck’s about to protest before Eddie tries, “I like you.”
It’s the truth, and it seems to strike Buck hard. There’s a moment where Eddie wonders if he should regret it, the way his words appear to slam directly into Buck’s chest— but then, then, Buck’s smile is blooming, warming, and he’s Buck again, the one Eddie’s been so happy getting to know, the one he’s been letting know him in return— as impulsive and unfamiliar and thrilling an experience it is for Eddie to be himself with someone for once, joyfully and unabashedly.
“Really?” Buck asks, near to a disbelieving whisper. Eddie can’t even reassure him before he’s rushing into, “I like you, too, Eddie. I like you a lot, I just— I didn’t expect to feel this way.”
“Some of the best things in life are surprises,” Eddie comments, thinking of Christopher and the ranch and seeing Buck riding up the road.
When he refocuses, Buck’s beaming at him, and he tells him, “I think I can trust you. And— I mean, you probably were going to be confused tomorrow anyway.”
Eddie’s brow furrows at this, though he can still feel his amused smile remaining through his confusion. “About what?”
“Why I can’t help out on the ranch,” Buck replies. Eddie’s confusion only deepens; he tries not to let suspicion leak in beside it. “Or, I mean— I can, just. Not tomorrow. During the day.”
Eddie blinks. He doesn’t think he needs to ask him to go on; this still doesn’t make any sense yet.
“During the night? Yeah, no problem, I’ll do anything you want,” Buck continues, and Eddie’s glad he wasn’t taking a sip in that moment, because he’d be choking on it just about now. “But— Yeah, I can’t go out during the day. Or, uhh— Or drink whiskey. Or beer. Or— anything.”
Still, Eddie waits, expectant. When Buck doesn’t continue, he motions with his glass, playing at casual, as if he isn’t desperate to hear whatever mysterious, bizarre secret Buck has chosen to trust him with.
“Okay.” Buck blows out a breath, hands coming out in front of him, fingers spreading as if he’s balancing himself. Another hard breath before he repeats, “Okay. And if you take it badly, I’ll just— leave, okay? So, don’t— Don’t be scared, Eddie. I promise, you’re safe.”
“Okay,” Eddie agrees, watching, ready to move and grab for the lantern if he has to, prepared to swing it into Buck’s head if he’s about to— jump at him, shoot him, rob him, whatever it is he thinks Eddie might feel unsafe over.
Instead of leaping at him, though, or pulling out a weapon, or telling Eddie he’s about to kill him and steal his ranch for himself, Buck confesses, “I’m a vampire.”
Eddie stares at him.
Then, he starts laughing.
“I’m serious!” Buck insists. “I’m a vampire!”
“Buck, come on,” Eddie replies, still laughing, taking a sip of his glass. His heart still pounds with foiled anticipation, charmed joy filling him. “You were really starting to freak me out, there.”
“Eddie,” Buck says, voice gaining gravity again. “I’m a vampire. I’m serious.”
“You’re definitely acting very serious.”
“Eddie.”
“Buck. Vampires aren’t real,” Eddie points out. “Why didn’t you try telling me something like—” He snaps his fingers. “Like, that you’re some famous outlaw? You’ve got the face for posters. I might’ve even believed it.”
Buck ducks his head a little, but still protests, “That’s not the p— Eddie. I’m not lying. I’m a vampire.” Gesturing hard towards the door to Eddie’s farmhouse, he insists, “You had to invite me in!”
He seems like he’s starting to get a little frustrated, and that’s the last thing Eddie wants, and so he just leans back, observing him for a moment. For all this is absurd, he’s staring at Eddie with heat, intensity, like he needs him to know how genuine he’s being.
Tilting his head, Eddie allows, “Alright. You’re a vampire.” He takes a sip, lets it burn down into his belly, then challenges, “Prove it.”
In this kind of light, low and close, the birthmark on Buck’s temple bleeds over his eye, seems to stand out stark against his skin. Eddie focuses on it for a moment as Buck’s brow crinkles, furrowing like he can’t understand what Eddie’s saying.
“Prove it?” he echoes.
“Yeah, prove it.” Eddie readjusts himself, as if he’s settling in to be Buck’s audience for this grand performance. With a sweep of his free hand, the shadow of his arm cutting across the lantern-lit room, he tells him, “Prove you’re a vampire, and I’ll believe you.”
For another long moment, Buck just stares at him. It’s nice, getting a chance to stare back without feeling too caught-out.
Then, Buck demands, “What, am I supposed to— to drink blood in front of you?”
Eddie shrugs. “I could do that. What’s that prove?”
“You—” Buck starts, before he laughs, breathless, a grin blossoming right back onto his face. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe.” Eddie takes another sip. “That’s way easier to prove than being a vampire, though.”
Buck laughs again, a sound Eddie could spend his whole life chasing after.
“I really didn’t think you’d ask me to prove it,” Buck says, all smiles. “How can I…” His gaze slides off for a second before he sits upright, excited, putting Eddie in mind of Chris’s farm-dog Honey. “Wait, I know!”
He shuffles closer, getting up onto his knees on the armchair like he’s a little boy telling a secret. Leaning over the table between them, illuminated further by the lantern from below, Buck bares his teeth at Eddie, one finger hooking in the corner of his upper lip to tug it away and show more of his left canine.
Eddie leans in, too, a fish drawn on a line, needing to see more.
And as he watches, Buck’s sharp canines elongate, sharpen, until they’re more pointed than Eddie’s— and then further, longer, curved like small knives in his mouth, and Eddie’s insides start to scream.
He should probably run. This is a monster in his house. This is— He is— What—
“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes. He sets his glass down a little too hard with a bang-rattle on the table. “You— How did you do that?”
“I told you,” Buck told him, mumbling around his own finger and the sharp teeth taking up so much space in his mouth now. “I’m a vampire, Eddie.”
When he releases his lip and lets his mouth close, the smaller, lower fangs fit inside his closed mouth, but the upper fangs come over his lips, long and sharp and looking like they’re going to cut slits right through his chin. Eddie can only stare, transfixed, before his eyes flick back up to Buck’s, finding him expectant and waiting and— and nervous.
“Why do you look so nervous?” Eddie asks, aware his voice is a little higher than it should be. “I’m the one who let a monster into my house.”
He means it to be a joke, but Buck actually slumps a little, broad shoulders drooping. Inside Eddie’s shirt. That can’t happen.
“I understand if you’re—”
“That’s not what I mean,” Eddie interrupts him, before Buck can spiral off into anything else. “I just— Buck. Your teeth.”
A small smile tugs at Buck’s fanged mouth again. “Told you so.”
“Well, how’s that proof you’re a vampire?” Eddie asks, grasping at straws, trying to bring the game back and make Buck happy again, monster or no. “You could be any kind of creature. Maybe you’re a demon here to, uhh— to steal my virtue.”
Buck blinks at him in the lantern-light. Eddie wonders— if he is a vampire— if he is dead— if blood won’t move through his body— maybe he would’ve been blushing this whole time, instead of pale and staring and intense like he keeps getting.
“Maybe,” Buck tells him. He seems to consider this, then shuffles to balance, reaching for Eddie. “Give me your hand.”
“What?”
“Your hand,” Buck repeats, and wiggles his fingers at him.
Though he’s hesitant for a moment, Eddie still puts his hand in Buck’s. Over the lantern, he guides Eddie’s hand up to his throat, presses his palm flat against his throat, and—
—And Eddie doesn’t feel anything.
No pound, no pulse, no blood. Nothing. Total stillness on skin that’s too cold to be living, his hands freezing where he holds Eddie against him, like he’s trapped between ice-velvet.
When Eddie’s eyes flit up to Buck’s again, he finds he’s already looking back.
“You’re dead,” Eddie says, unnecessary.
“Yeah,” Buck agrees anyway.
“You’re a vampire,” Eddie says, also unnecessary, especially with how Buck’s fangs are there and his pulse is not.
All the same, his hand slides down over Buck’s chest, strong and soft and swelling beneath his hand. No heartbeat there, either.
“Yeah,” Buck echoes.
Eddie considers this, mind racing through a thousand thoughts, a million conclusions, before he lands at, “You can’t see the sun?”
“Nah,” Buck says. “I haven’t seen the sun in… Geez, sometimes I can’t even remember. It’s been hundreds of years.”
“Are you old?” Eddie asks.
“Kinda.”
“That must be exhausting,” Eddie comments, and suddenly understands the tired weight he keeps glimpsing inside of Buck. “And you’ve got to be invited in places?”
“Yeah, I do,” Buck replies, slow, as if Eddie is the one being ridiculous. “I also drink blood. And I’m dead.”
Eddie waves this off; every cut of too-raw meat he’s had had him drinking blood, and everybody dies eventually. They don’t all come back, but Buck’s sitting right here all the same, and Eddie’s just tipsy and charmed enough that he’s more delighted by that than he is upset by the existence of a creature like him.
“Oh,” Eddie says, frowning a little. “So, you really can’t even get drunk with me.”
Buck hesitates.
“Can you?” he asks.
“I mean, kind of?” Buck says. “I can get drunk, just— On drunk blood.”
Eddie perks up, feeling excitement curve through his stomach. “So, you just need a drink of my blood, and you can be tipsy, too?”
“I can’t drink your blood, Eddie,” Buck protests.
“Why not?” Eddie asks, fighting the whine out of his voice. “I’m right here! What, is something wrong with my blood?”
“Wh— No!” Buck rubs his hands over his face, releasing Eddie; he feels bereft in curling his fingers away from his throat, pulling away from him. “There’s nothing wrong with your blood, Eddie, I just— I— I like you. I don’t want to go just— sinking my teeth into you and freaking you out!”
It seems more like Buck is the one freaking out, for some godforsaken reason, and so Eddie gives him a second to collect himself before he points out, “But I’m asking, aren’t I?”
Buck’s eyes flash in the light. Eddie’s skin quilts itself in goosebumps, all over.
“You don’t know what you’re agreeing to,” Buck argues. “Eddie, you— You’re handling this way too well—”
“What’s to handle?” Eddie asks. “I already knew I didn’t know everything that’s out there, and— Buck, I like you. I’m not kicking you out because you’re different. I—” He pauses, the words sticking in his mouth before he forces them out. “I’m different, too.”
This feels like it actually registers with Buck. His lips part, showing more of his fangs, before he asks, soft, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Buck shifts once more. Closer, again. “Different how?”
Tilting one shoulder in a too-casual shrug for how much his insides are churning, Eddie repeats, “Different. Different enough that I had a couple thoughts about bringing you home tonight. Granted, none of them had you drinking my blood, but I just really hadn’t gotten that far yet.”
He doesn’t know where the confidence to speak that comes from— or, he does, actually. It’s the surety Buck gives him in himself, the knowledge that he’s only been himself with Buck since they met— the self that he’s crammed down for so long— and Buck only seems to like him more for it. He connects with Eddie as he is, not as he’s ever pretended to be, and that’s got words just falling out of him, wanting Buck to stay with him.
A shaky exhale shimmers out of Buck. Eddie wonders if he has to breathe or if he chooses to; he doesn’t get a chance to ask before Buck’s starting to stand from his armchair.
“You okay?” Eddie asks, suddenly afraid he’s overstepped, pushed too far.
Buck nods, though he reaches down for Eddie’s shirt, gripping him by the pastel-green fabric and hauling him up by his lapels. Eddie’s stunned at how strong he is, how easily he’s moved, like he’s little more than a rag-doll; he’s on his feet in a second, and Buck is there, his face a centimeter from Eddie’s, and how could Eddie have ever thought he was human? He’s clearly so much more.
“If you drink my blood,” Eddie whispers, feeling his lips brush Buck’s— and his lower lip glance against a cold fang, and he shivers through asking, “Will it turn me into a vampire, too?” Buck shakes his head, eyes never leaving Eddie’s. “How does that work?”
“I need to give you some of me, too,” Buck whispers back.
“So,” Eddie replies, tilting his head, exposing his throat just a little more to Buck. “If you drank from me now, that’s all?”
Buck’s bright eyes are darkening. “I wouldn’t turn you unless you asked.”
Eddie nods, and his nose just barely brushes Buck’s. He tips his head further, further. “And are you going to give me what I’ve already asked for?”
A shaky exhale, and Buck’s eyelashes are fluttering as his hands flatten over Eddie’s chest, just for a moment. Then, he’s reaching up, moving faster than Eddie can see, cradling his head between his broad, cold palms.
“Are you sure?” he asks, still so quiet between them.
There’s a part of him that still seems bewildered, and Eddie can’t have that. Not when this is— inexplicably, impossibly— feeling so good to him.
“Please,” Eddie answers. “I want you to.”
It’s like the words are some sort of magical key that unlocks Buck, because in a flash, he’s forward, his lips brushing over the pulse racing in Eddie’s throat, the throbbing counterpoint to Buck’s stone-still veins. His cold tongue sweeps over the spot before his lips return in an icy press, a close-mouthed kiss, fangs pressing against his skin without breaking it.
Eddie feels him pull back, then, and his mouth opens against him a heartbeat before the sharp points of his teeth are sinking home.
Buck’s arm slides down, catching Eddie against him as he full-body jerks. A rush sweeps through him, like his veins have been filled with the warmest, sweetest, most intoxicating fire; he slumps into Buck, letting him keep him upright, his other hand cradling the back of Eddie’s head. He’s stroking his hair as he drinks, gentle and soft and kind, and Eddie moans, hands coming up to grasp weakly at the fabric of his own nightshirt over Buck’s chest.
The pain is short-lived, chased by a pleasure so exquisite Eddie is immediately lost in it. His world centers down to the kiss of Buck’s lips on his throat, his teeth within, drawing his blood out of his own body and into Buck’s. It’s the best kiss he’s ever gotten, he thinks; he would let Buck drain him dry if he so much as batted his eyelashes at him, he thinks.
Buck moans against him a second later, a vibration Eddie feels through his entire skeleton, and suddenly they’re clutching each other tighter, Buck’s bite deepening—
—and then retracting, disappearing, and Eddie does whine this time, uncaring of how pathetic his, “No, come back,” comes out.
“I can’t,” Buck pants— pants, like he’s breathless. “I can’t, Eddie, you— You taste too good, I won’t be able to stop—”
“I don’t want you to stop.” Eddie grabs at him, grapples him closer, one hand secure at the back of Buck’s head in an attempt to drag him back to his throat, and Buck groans as he buries his face there between his neck and shoulder. He’s probably smearing blood everywhere, but he’s not biting like Eddie wants him doing— “Buck—”
“It’ll hurt you,” Buck mumbles into his blood-slick skin. Lifting his head, Eddie feels him lick over the wound he’d left, the cold, broad sweep of his tongue taking away the residual ache.
Heart racing, Eddie reaches up, fingertips probing at the place the bite had been. He finds blood on his skin, but no holes. No wounds. No marks.
“Where’d they go?” Eddie asks.
Buck hesitates. “I— I healed them for you.”
Frowning, Eddie pulls back just enough to look Buck in the eye and ask, “What if I wanted to keep them?”
Buck’s mouth is red, flushed with his blood inside-and-out, and his cheeks have color. That’s Eddie’s color, that’s Eddie’s blush on his cheeks and Eddie’s blood in his veins and Eddie’s life inside of him, and—
Honestly, Eddie isn’t sure which of them moves first.
All he knows is that, a second later, they’re grabbing at each other, practically yanking one another into a proper kiss. Their teeth clack together, and one of Buck’s fangs nips the swell of Eddie’s lower lip. Buck dives in, licks at the mark, takes up the droplets of his blood before his tongue is gliding along Eddie’s, plunging deep.
Eddie reaches up, fingers shaking as he tears the line of buttons down his own chest, shoving his shirt off and back. Buck gets the message quick; he’s pulling back just enough to tug Eddie’s nightshirt off over his head, sprayed with a bit of his blood, before he’s shoving in again, hands dropping to Eddie’s belt, yanking at the buckle. He pushes him backwards with a nudge, drops to his knees, yanks Eddie’s pants and belt and underwear all down at once, leaving him stripped bare-ass naked in his armchair.
“God, Eddie,” Buck breathes between his thighs, forcing his knees further apart with the breadth of his shoulders, inhaling deeply. He still has Eddie on his lips when he turns his head to kiss the inside of one thigh, leaving a lipstick-kiss of blood on his skin. “Thank you, thank you—”
“Hell are you thanking me for?” Eddie forces himself upright just enough to reach Buck’s head, fingers threading into his curls, hanging on tight and encouraging him closer. “I should be thanking you, you’re perfect—”
Buck groans, the noise sounding as if torn from deep inside of him, and presses a biting kiss to Eddie’s thigh this time, just shy of breaking the skin.
“You like that, don’t you?” Eddie asks him. Buck muffles a whine against his thigh. “Good boy.”
“Eddie.”
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Eddie says, and Buck goes silent. His eyes flick up, looking towards Eddie through his eyelashes, and Eddie’s stomach swoops, cunt tightening around nothing, leaking slickness onto the cushion beneath him. “Okay, then. Good boy.”
Buck squirms in place, shuffling to press his closed thighs closer together. His eyes flick from Eddie’s face down to his cunt, then back again; his hands flex on his thighs, fingers uncurling then bunching up into fists, and Eddie abruptly understands.
“You can touch,” he tells him.
The dam breaks, and Buck dives in, one broad hand catching Eddie under the knee, guiding his strong leg over one of Buck’s broad shoulders. The fingers of his other hand disappear into his mouth for a moment. When they come out, they’re blood-red with his saliva.
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes.
Buck brings his wet thumb to Eddie’s clit, circling for a moment before dropping his head, bowing over his lap. As Eddie stares, feeling as if he’s stumbling through the most perfect— insane— perfectly insane dream, Buck’s head of curls lowers so he can suck at Eddie’s clit, pushing the hood back with his thumb, making him jerk up into him and cry out.
“Buck,” he gasps out, “Christ alive—”
Buck’s fingers slip down, two pushing into his hungry, slick cunt, and Eddie’s mind goes white before it is rushing. He wants to do— do everything with Buck, to Buck, wants this night to last forever, wants to— to hogtie him, wants to bite him back, wants to use his strap on him, wants to take him apart and praise him until he cries and make him his in every way he could possibly make him his.
This night will end, though, and Buck’s already whimpering and twitching between his thighs like he’s going to cum just from eating him out, and Eddie reminds himself—
Buck can live forever. He’s got all the time in the world with him, if he can ask for it.
And, for the first time in his life, Eddie wants to ask.
He could even beg— though, he thinks he’d rather Buck do that bit.
Buck mouths at his cunt sloppily, lips nearly as wet as Eddie’s. His tongue drags over his clit before he ducks further, tongue slipping in alongside his fingers, nose buried against his clit, and Eddie yanks him closer, nails scraping over his scalp, fisting tight into his hair. Under his touch, Buck can’t seem to stop moving, wriggling as close to him as he can.
His hand snakes up, gripping Eddie’s bare waist so tight he’s sure to leave marks, and Eddie breathes, “God, Buck, yes,” which is apparently a keyword that makes Buck start shaking like he’s got an earthquake inside him. “Yes, yes, yes, Buck, that’s it, yes, that’s perfect, you’re perfect—”
A vibrating moan echoes from Buck’s mouth through Eddie’s entire body, centered where they’re joined at his cunt. There’s no way Eddie only met him a few hours ago, because he is meant to be with him, he can feel it, they always should’ve been together, he likes him, he wants him, he needs him, he has to keep him, he’s got to stay—
“Eddie,” Buck mumbles into Eddie’s cunt, incoherent. “Eddie, Eddie—”
“Don’t stop,” Eddie encourages him. “Don’t, don’t stop, perfect, keep going, yes, Buck, yes—”
Buck’s hand on his hip glides down to his thigh over his shoulder, grips so tight Eddie groans out loud again with a flare that flashes from his throat all the way down to his cunt. He hefts his leg up further, hitches him at the exact position he wants so he can push his fingers deeper and tilt his head and start making out with his cunt properly, in the sort of way that has Eddie crying out, head knocking back, fists gripping onto Buck’s hair so tight he’s worried he’ll yank some out, and that— that would be a tragedy—
Between his thighs, nestled in his cunt, Buck seems like he’s falling apart, an unending stream of vibrating nonsense words and low sounds pouring out of him as he eats Eddie out like it’s his job, fingers his clit with one slick hand, and—
And Eddie’s brain feels like it’s leaking, desperate and strained thoughts coming through in fragments he can’t control. He likes Buck so much— so much, enough to let himself be himself, enough to trust Buck with him, enough that he realizes he is actually enjoying every second of this, happy and free and smiling.
Eddie doesn’t know the last time he felt comfortable smiling and laughing during sex, but he laughs now, delighted to have Buck between his thighs, loving this— him, them, the pleasure Buck is giving him— and he can feel Buck rumble a laugh into him in return.
“Oh, God,” Eddie moans at the sensation of Buck’s laugh working through his entire nervous system. “Buck— Buck, that’s it, you got it, perfect, keep going, you’re perfect, you’re s o good—”
Buck is practically falling apart between his thighs, as if he’s the one being taken to pieces and not Eddie. Eating out Eddie’s cunt has become intensely making out with Eddie’s cunt, sloppy and desperate, fingertips working at his clit with such ferocity that Eddie’s seeing stars, hand relaxing against Buck’s skull before gripping his hair again and yanking him closer.
There’s the faintest edge of Buck’s fanged teeth, dragging sharp and sweet along his clit then down the seam of his lips, and Eddie loses it.
“Buck— Buck,” he groans, too loud and too desperate and too much, and yet Buck attempts to swallow him whole still. “God— Oh, God, Buck, I can’t— I can’t—”
“You can,” Buck mumbles— or, Eddie thinks he mumbles— into his cunt. “Please—”
Eddie shoves him against his cunt, dragging him in as tight as he can, and Buck moans into him, letting Eddie fuck his face, eating him out with as much attention as he can manage, and, fuck, where has Buck been all of Eddie’s life, with a mouth and a body and a heart like this?
Eddie feels a gathering in his belly that tugs down towards his cunt. He cries out, tugging Buck nearer as his orgasm gets closer, closer, closer, until Buck is sucking his orgasm out of him. His entire body is tingling, everything gathering in his cunt and then exploding outwards, and he sighs, collapsing into Buck as he rides through his orgasm, cumming on Buck’s tongue, on Buck’s fingers, on Buck.
“Buck—” he manages, and Buck whines into his cunt like he’s about to disintegrate. “Buck, Buck— Buck, please—”
Buck doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop, a slight bite to his efforts as he devours Eddie whole, Eddie cumming slick and hot on his cold tongue and dissolving entirely over him. He grips Buck tight, one hand fisted in his curls while the other holds his shoulder in a hard grip, skin icy under his overheated hold, and he groans, a moan that’s torn out of him as he repeats Buck’s name, over and over and over until the word of his name dissolves into incoherent sounds in his mouth.
It’s like he’s full-body consumed by his orgasm. On Buck’s tongue, under his ministrations, because of how Buck is taking care of him, Eddie cums like he is collapsing, feeling himself fall apart inside his mouth and just dissolve into him, wanting more of him— all of him— everything, and he clings to him, keeping Buck hard and secure against his cunt as he rides through this.
Outside of him, he could swear he hears Buck’s voice, too, can hear him repeating Eddie’s name right back at him, into him, and he smiles. In his floaty, dreamlike haze, he just feels happy, hearing his name on Buck’s bloody lips against his cunt, because he likes it. He likes Buck, he likes himself, he likes— he likes being himself with Buck, and it’s such a freeing realization that he laughs, a bit dazed— and then laughs again for realizing how wonderful that makes him feel, when he doesn’t think he ever would’ve been so happy to laugh during an orgasm with another person before.
When he starts coming back down, returning to his own body, he realizes Buck is still between his thighs— though he has migrated from Eddie’s cunt to the crease of his thigh, mouthing desperately there while his hips work at nothing, the heel of his hand pressed down tight to his own clit, writhing like he’s about ready to fall apart, too.
“Buck,” Eddie mumbles, earning his eyes flashing upwards to him without hesitation, a bright blue rim around pupils blown huge and black, just from eating Eddie out. He’s too much. “Get up here.”
He doesn’t waste any time, scrambling up into Eddie’s lap, diving into a kiss with him that tastes like blood and ice and Eddie’s own cunt. Eddie cradles his face in one hand, the other snaking down to Buck’s hip, encouraging him to move against him.
“There you go,” he encourages him when Buck tries an experimental roll. “C’mon, you got it, Buck, that’s it—”
He’s cut off when Buck grinds down against his thigh and moans, broken off as he mouths sloppy kisses against Eddie’s cheek, smearing blood all over his skin, into his mustache, the mess of him everywhere. Grinding into him again, finding a rhythm, Buck pants against his face, open-mouthed and wild, and Eddie just tilts his face towards his own, kisses him himself, even when Buck can barely coordinate himself to kiss back.
Buck is still wearing Eddie’s soft pants when he humps his thigh, his cunt getting so wet Eddie can feel the friction of slick fabric against his bare skin in hardly a minute.
“That’s perfect,” Eddie encourages him, lips moving against Buck’s. He whines against him, hands flat over Eddie’s chest before they’re scrabbling down, seeking out his hips, searching for something to hold onto. “That’s it, Buck. Good job, you got it, c’mon, sweetheart, cum for me—”
Buck’s entire body strings taut all at once, an electric current seizing him, and his grip on Eddie tightens. Eddie keeps kissing him, even as Buck shudders through his orgasm, shaking apart in Eddie’s arms until all he can do is tug him against him and hold him, a tight embrace to help him ride through it.
Still shivering, Buck winds his arms around Eddie in return, hugging him close. He buries his face in Eddie’s throat again, but he doesn’t bite this time; he just breathes, jagged and unsteady, and clings.
Eddie rubs his broad back, bare skin cold. Up and down, slow and steady.
“Okay?” he asks, voice barely more than a rumble. Buck nods roughly against him. “Okay.”
They stay there for a long while. Eddie adjusts to the heavy weight of Buck sinking into him, boneless and slumping and relaxed. He likes it, even, and closes his eyes into it, and thinks he could sleep just like this, sitting upright in his chair with Buck as his blanket.
He doesn’t know if it’s a vampire-thing or a Buck-thing, but Buck doesn’t move even a little bit once he’s settled. All he does is hang on tight to Eddie, still in his lap, still hugging him, still buried in him. Eddie rubs his back for a while before he gets tired, his hand dragging down and settling at his waist as he yawns.
Peeking at Buck, he finds he can’t tell if he’s asleep or awake. His chest isn’t moving— but then, he’s not alive.
It’s easier to see him, though, and Eddie glances towards the window nearest them to find the sky starting to lighten, the barest hints of morning seeping through the darkness to start making the blackness just a little bit bluer.
“Hey,” he rumbles, voice thick and low. He clears his throat, just a little, enough to warn him, “Sun’s coming up.”
Buck groans, though the sound is more of a whine than anything else.
“It’s not like I’m making you work,” Eddie reminds him, earning a huff of a laugh into his throat. “You should probably just get somewhere safe, right?”
There’s a sigh in his throat before Buck finally moves, dislodging himself to sit up in Eddie’s lap. He’s still flush with exertion and Eddie’s blood coursing through him, though he’s got an unhappy crease to his brow and a frown bending his mouth as he asks, “Is it okay if I hide in your barn?”
“Buck,” Eddie stops him, hands coming up to frame his face, cradled in his palms. “I thought I told you, you’re not sleeping in my barn.”
Buck’s confused furrow deepens. “Where do you want me until I have to leave, then?”
Eddie’s grip tightens on him, dragging his face closer to his own. His heart’s pounding; he wonders if Buck can hear it, if he wants it. Honestly, if he asked, Eddie would surrender it in a second, would watch him take a bite out of it with his last moments and be glad for it, and isn’t that something?
“Who the hell says you’re leaving?” Eddie asks him, close enough now that their lips brush. He can still taste his own blood on him, just barely. “I’m not done with you.”
Buck’s smiling again when he kisses him, his fangs retreated, his hands threading into Eddie’s hair before they rove downwards, like he can’t decide where he wants to start touching him first and so decided on everywhere.
“You sure?” Buck mumbles into their kiss. They part, and he reminds Eddie, “I’m not going to be much use during the day.”
Eddie finds himself smiling right back up at him, as if infused with Buck’s inner joy as well as his own. “Well, I could use a nighttime ranch hand.” He kisses him again. “And a pet vampire.”
“Hey—”
“And a partner,” Eddie continues. Buck’s eyes dart up from where they’d been lingering on his mouth, meeting Eddie’s again. “Awful lot of work here. Gets lonely. Like I said.”
A new smile works its way onto Buck’s face, one Eddie hasn’t seen yet. He knows he’d like to see it a lot more often, though.
“You know,” Buck tells him, “I think I was meant to live forever.” He kisses his cheek, drags to the corner of his mouth. “I had to live long enough to get to you.”
“Oh, you’re so—” Eddie starts, but can’t finish, because Buck is kissing him again, the barest hint of a fanged bite to it. He doesn’t mind so much— likes it, even; he lets his hands slide up Buck’s back, holding him close against him, and indulges in one last, long, lingering kiss before the sun comes up.