Chapter Text
Tomorrow when the farm boys find
this freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.
But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.
- The Two-Headed Calf, by Laura Gilpin, 2017
Tony Stark should have listened more to his father.
Or maybe not.
“Stark men are made of iron,” had been Howard’s favorite catch phrase, but it just felt so redundant. Everyone is made of iron, that’s literally one of the main elements in the human blood. Which was doubly ironic for Tony now, because:
- He doesn’t have blood of his own.
- He feeds on it.
Becoming a vampire had been his ultimate Fuck You message to his father. Not that he had had any say in it, mind you; he didn’t know what was happening until Obadiah Stane—his father’s best friend, because why not—had his fangs pierced deep into his throat.
Neither of them was a bother to Tony anymore. It had been two hundred and twenty years since the death of his father, and a couple of hours since Tony had finally gotten his revenge over Obadiah.
The rotten blood still felt heavy and sick against his tongue.
Anyway, back to the point at hand.
He should have listened more to that poor bastard. Especially when he would tell Tony not to go out in a storm. Tony used to scoff and say “whatever, it’s just rain,” but that was before coming to the United States to hunt down Obadiah.
England’s storms had nothing on the one he found himself in. Even he, Lord Anthony Edward Stark, two hundred sixty year old vampire, was no match for it. At least not in his bat form. He was immortal, yes, but he could still be knocked out by a strong smack on his head.
What could he do? Bats are fragile.
Tony had been flying from the heart of the graveyard he found Obadiah in when the first clap of thunder sounded off, muffling his own bat-like yelp. He wasn’t frightened of thunder and lightning per se, but that one caught him off guard.
So did the strong wind that started a second later.
His bat heart was beating fast against his overly sensitive ears as he flew his way to civilization. Tony could do it, he just had to get to New York, find an invisible corner, and transform back to human. Easy.
He could hear the city nearby, the vibrations reverberating much closer now than they had been a few minutes ago. Tony breathed; he was finally getting back to his own two feet.
Jinxes must have some truth to them, though, because just as he started to relax, a crack of lightning went off right next to him, sending him stumbling on a free fall until he hit a solid structure with a metallic pang.
Everything went dark.
“… stirring back to life,” a voice said somewhere near. The muscles in Tony’s face twitched in annoyance.
“That’s good, ‘cause now we can set it free,” another voice, a little more impatient than the first, said.
“‘Course not, Stevie, it’s still injured.”
The second person tsked.
“You care too much about them, babe.”
Tony grunted, rolling around to get away from all the noise and try to get back to sleep. His head was thrumming painfully, a feeling that wasn’t new , but also wasn’t in remotely recent memory. Thankfully, because ow .
“Shut up,” Tony grumbled, and froze. What came out of his mouth wasn’t his normal voice, no. He had let out a high-pitched sound, almost silent for humans.
Fuck, he was still in his bat form.
“No, no, no, little friend,” something solid and cold turned him back around. A pencil, he noted, as he stared offendedly at it. The human spoke again, “you don’t get to run off now, I still gotta patch you up.”
Tony turned his attention from the offending, ugly yellow pencil to the man speaking. He was attractive, blue eyes glistening with softness and joy, partially covered by long locks of black hair that messily fell over them.
The man had a kind smile on his face, one Tony knew humans normally wore while talking with animals, which, even though it made him angry, did make sense from the man’s point of view. He scratched his stubble while analyzing Tony, and to be honest, being pinned down by those clear eyes wasn’t as bad as Tony first thought.
He took a deep breath and his tiny mouth instantly filled with water and want. The human’s smell was sweet, fresh, and Tony held himself back to not jump from the table he was lying down to sink his little bat fangs over that bright neck.
Tony looked anywhere but the neck. He was in a bedroom, he noticed. Not a big one, nor fashionable, but it was livable. The bed was big enough for two people to lie down comfortably and the walls were painted a deep, dark blue, which made the room look dark, even on a sunny day.
He was tucked around cloths, soft ones. It was a deep contrast from the silk he had back at his mansion. But it would do, soft was also good, anyways. Next to him laid a couple of art materials, paint, brushes and such.
“Just let it go, Buck, maybe it will survive better on its own,” the other man—Stevie, the first man had called him—said, sounding tired. He stepped onto Tony’s line of sight, looking at Tony as if he was trying to hide his disgust, but failing miserably. “God, this bat is stinky.”
Tony gasped out an absurd ‘no’, knowing full well the humans only heard a brisk high sound, and not his shock.
This Stevie guy was smaller than the first one, his eyes just as blue, although a little deeper. Underneath the mask of disgust, Tony could tell he had a beautiful face, and his smell, unfortunately, was just as intoxicating as Buck’s.
Maybe he was just very thirsty. Yeah, that explained it. He was hungry and everything smelled particularly great. It wasn’t that these men were going to be tasteful.
Buck huffed a laugh.
“Babe, you made him mad. Apologize.”
“It’s just a bat, Bucky, it doesn’t even understand me.”
This was stupid, these men were crazy.
“I’m so sorry little bat, Steve didn’t mean that—”
“I so did,” Steve cut in, pinching his nostrils dramatically.
“—I’ll be taking care of you until you can fly again, okay?” another one of those condescending smiles.
That’s it. Tony was leaving. This was madness. This man was talking with a bat. Nope. Tony would have none of this. He just needed to take flight and hide on a corner, like his original plan and turn back into himself so he could finally go back to his mansion.
But as he tried to get up, something heavy made him fall back on his sides. What the fuck?
“No, little friend, stay put, you’re injured,” Bucky said again, manhandling him into his previous position. Tony saw a metal plaque on his left wing as he looked down.
“What the fuck?” he repeated the sentiment out loud. He shook his wing, trying to get the plaque out of his body with no success. The long-haired human laughed again.
“Don’t struggle, little one, it will only hurt more,” he shook his head, probably at how cute Tony looked while trying to desperately get free.
Cute. This was a nightmare. He was a vampire, he healed quickly. Tony was probably right as rain and ready to fly.
But not that saying that aloud would be of any use, they wouldn’t understand him.
“You’ll only have to wear that for a week, then you’re free.”
A week? A week? If he could, Tony would hyperventilate.
A week stuck in this room as a bat with a human that found him cute and another who said he stank, with no way of getting free.
Great.
And only because he wandered out in the storm.
Maybe he should have listened to his father more.
Day two taught Tony a few things:
- Bucky’s real name was James, but he preferred being called Bucky.
- He was a veterinarian.
- He took in stray animals from the streets, which sometimes bothered his lover.
- Steve was a stay-at-home artist.
- Which meant he was stuck in this apartment for a week with Tony while Bucky went to work.
- Steve didn’t hate bats, even though that was Tony’s first impression.
- Bucky seemed to love them. He even knew about different species of bats.
“He’s a blood sucker type, Steve,” correct, “No, it doesn’t mean he will bite you in your sleep,” incorrect, “I’ll just get him some blood from the vet,” oh god, animal blood. Tony’s stomach churned, even if his mouth watered.
On the one hand, animal’s blood was nothing compared to human blood, it made him feel weak and sick. But on the other hand, he was thirsty. He couldn’t remember when he fed the last time, aside from Obadiah’s bad blood priorly.
So he reluctantly accepted the blood Bucky gave him that night.
Tony whined and spat the remaining blood from his mouth. Disgusting. Rabbit blood? He sticks his tongue out. Could he survive a week on this low-quality blood? As soon as he was free, he would find the nearest human and drink, drink until they were almost drained.
Bucky smiled and rubbed Tony’s head with his index finger. Pleasure flooded through him, giving him goosebumps all over his black fur. He purred–could bats purr?–and closed his eyes contently, enjoying the feeling more than he would ever admit.
“Aww, you are welcome, friend.” Tony purred a last time before Bucky’s finger moved away. He followed the soft fingerprints longingly with his eyes. He hadn’t realized how long he had gone without someone else’s touch. Was it five, ten years? When did Rhodey last visit them?
When he came back to himself, he noticed Bucky had frozen in place, and was staring back at him, mouth gaping open.
“Hey, Steve, I think the bat likes being petted.”
Oh, fuck.
Tony tried to ruffle away from Bucky’s fingers coming back to pet him. He wasn’t someone’s resident animal; he was a respected old vampire with an intelligence and wisdom people admired and he would not be treated as such an inferior bein—
His eyes closed blissfully as he leaned back into the finger caressing him once more. So compliant, it was easy just to get lost in the gentleness of the touch.
“ Oh my god, Steve, come look at this,” Bucky could barely hold back his joyfulness and, when Tony opened one eye, he saw the man staring at him with shiny eyes.
Tony was going to regret this so much later on. He knew it.
“Admit you find this cute, Stevie. It’s practically melting under my touch.”
Rude, Tony thought with a frown. He was the one letting Bucky pet him, not the other way around. He moved his tiny head to the side so now Bucky could scratch behind his ears and oh wasn’t that the best feeling ever.
Steve looked at him, face more open and curious than it had been the entire twenty-four hours they had spent together. His eyes were almost as wrinkled as Bucky’s as he watched Tony purring and accepting the caress.
“Try it,” Bucky encouraged, to which both Steve and Tony frowned. But the blissful feeling running through him didn’t subside as he tried to imagine how Steve’s fingers would feel against him.
“No, thanks,” Steve said without hesitating, “what if it has some kind of disease?”
When would this human stop insulting him like that? Tony wanted to properly torture this human. A feeling he hadn’t felt for at least two centuries. God, these humans were going to kill him still.
“Would you feel more keen to pet him if he was washed?”
Oh, no.
“Oh, yes,” Steve nodded.
“Grab me the wipes,” Bucky said then, and Steve nodded, already exiting the bedroom to get it.
Tony gulped drily. How did his life become this? He eyed Steve dreadfully as he walked back in with a pack of wipes in hands. His expression didn’t let it show, but Tony was sure he was enjoying himself.
Ugh, humans.
Steve blasted an old jazz album through his cellphone. 1936; Tony remembered the year correctly because that was when it first debuted on radio. The music was loud on his sensitive ears, especially since he was trying to catch some sleep.
The alarm clock on the bedside table read 3:12pm, way too early to be awake. He groaned and snuggled deeper on his nest of cloths. If he could just get his ears under the cloths, the sound would be muffled, and he could fall asleep again…
“No, bat, you’ll kill yourself like that,” Steve said, resigned. He hesitated before cupping his hands around Tony’s furry body and disentangling the cloths from it. Tony whimpered tiredly as he was placed once again over the blankets. Steve spoke again, a little softer this time, “If Bucky finds out you suffocated in my care, he would make me sleep on the couch for a week.”
The mental image made Tony snicker, but that died soon as he realized Steve was still looking at him, with a thoughtful expression.
Tony squinted, not being one to enjoy being observed and dissected by strangers’ eyes. Steve took pity on him soon enough, though, speaking his mind.
“How did…” he sat back on his chair but rolled it until he was face to face with Tony. Slowly, he raised a hand close to Tony’s face, and let Tony smell his fingers before petting him delicately. It was a typical maneuver one did with cats, yet Tony realized it felt less invasive than getting petted at once, even if getting a close smell of Steve’s fingers made his mouth water.
His petting was more hesitantly than Bucky’s, but it was good even so. Tony purred under Steve’s fingers happily.
Steve, in turn, looked curious, smitten maybe.
“You are very cute,” Steve mumbled, and Tony had to hold himself back before he gaped. Did he hear him right? Did Steve say that? For real? “If you ever tell that to Bucky, I’ll throw you out the window.”
Tony couldn’t help but laugh.
That night, after feeding Tony again, which still felt like torture to Tony, Bucky caught him in his arms and took him to the living room. Steve, who was sitting on the couch, legs stretched over the coffee table, made a confused sound.
“What are you doing with that over here?”
“Firstly, we agreed his name is Mr. Tacos,” Tony did not agree with it, he had opposed vehemently the name. Bucky ignored his painful squeak and continued, “secondly, I think he would enjoy the change of scenery, don’t you think?”
“You planning on holding Mr. Tacos throughout the entire movie night?” Steve rose an eyebrow. The way he said the name ‘Mr. Tacos’ made it sound like he also found the name ridiculous.
Tony might appreciate Steve more than he thought he did.
“Yup!” Bucky said excitedly, “He just ate, so maybe he’ll enjoy some cuddling.”
His heart fluttered at the prospect. If he weren’t in his bat form, he would have already told them off and sat on the corner of the sofa or had laughed at them or anything in that. He probably wouldn’t even be there, actually.
That thought made him stop. Tony wouldn’t be there. He wouldn’t have let himself be around more than an hour near these humans, even if he did get to feed on them in the end. He would have left and moved on.
When was it that he lost his touch with people around him?
Rhodey visits him once in a decade, and Pepper still haunts his mansion for some reason, but they have been constants in his life for years. No new interactions, even if with humans.
He shook his head, focusing back on Bucky’s chest rumbling with a laugh at something on the television. It wouldn’t do him any good to think about any of that. Even if he consciously snuggled closer to Bucky’s warmth.
No one would care.
-
Steve turned off the TV and Tony blinked, confused. He had been dozing off so much he didn’t even see when the movie ended. Bucky shuffled carefully Tony’s protective nest and got up, getting them back into the main room.
He was once again perched on the table next to Steve’s artworks, on the place he was starting to get tired of, when he heard a muffled sigh coming from the bed. Tony’s head snapped towards the sound, eyes widening, caught off guard as he watched Bucky latching his tongue on Steve’s neck while his hands snaked past the covers and onto Steve’s hips.
Steve arched and bit his lips, eyes closed blissfully as Bucky took no mercy and sucked a few marks on the perfect neck. Tony turned all the way towards them for a clearer vision, and held back a gasp when their scents hit his nose.
By now Tony knew their mouth-watering smells weren’t from the lack of blood in Tony’s stomach. Bucky and Steve had intoxicating perfumes, scents that drove Tony crazy. And now that they were having sex, it spiked so much, Tony was getting restless.
He felt himself getting hard—shit, not in bat form—yet couldn’t look away from the two of them. Tony ignored his arousal completely to focus on them, on the way Bucky’s hand expertly moved up and down Steve’s hardened cock under the covers; on the moans and groans Steve sang every time Bucky bit him too hard; on their glistening skin, waiting to be licked and tasted by Tony’s mouth, even if they didn’t know it.
Tony’s tongue felt heavy against his mouth. If he wasn’t taped to that heavy metal plaque, he... he would... It was torturous to look at them, even if he couldn’t stop.
At some point, Bucky fumbled on top of Steve, moving his hips smoothly back and forward in time with his strokes. Their moans now sounded like one, as they both reached for their release. Tony wanted to moan, to join them and take them apart the way he knew he could.
They came, one after the other, with grunts against each other’s mouths. They panted and collapsed on the mattress, getting their breaths even after the high, and Tony felt dizzy with want. The rabbit’s blood didn’t seem to be doing much good to him if he was feeling this rampant.
“I love you,” Steve mumbled in Bucky’s ear, cuddling closer to his lover. Bucky chuckled, still breathless.
“I love you, too.”
It was on day five that Tony learned he could hop around, even with the horrible plaque keeping him down and locked him in his bat form.
Steve and Bucky left that early afternoon, Bucky to work and Steve to do some grocery shopping. They each gave him a quick pet on his forehead before leaving, letting Tony with the ghost feeling of their touches.
Tony felt his skin feverish from the events of the other night, hollow fragments and echoes of the moans and groans from the humans still haunted him away from sleep. He had to clear his mind, find anything else to do aside from lying down on his stupid soft nest with his too vivid memories.
That was how he found out he could hop. Walking was a little difficult for him, since bats weren’t made for that, not without both arms. But he balanced himself and decided to give it a try, anyways.
Lucky for him, the desk was large and full of useless trash, so he could spend weeks exploring and still not know everything there was to see. These humans were too messy, Tony shook his head disapprovingly.
He could see a couple of photographs perched up against the wall, pictures of the couple, but most of the photos were of a group of friends. A red-haired woman who never seemed to smile, a black man who (conversely, Tony noticed) always had a smirk on his face, a long-haired blond guy, who always had a smaller, curly-haired man in his arms, and a goofy man.
In every picture Tony observed, the group seemed close. Friends, yes, but more than that too. They were a family. The squeeze of Tony’s heart now felt too much like jealousy for his taste.
Tony moved on to the other side, where Steve’s art supplies laid scattered around. Steve was working on a new piece, it seemed. The paint was still fresh, and you could still see the pencil marks under the first layer.
The art was breathtaking. An explosion, right in the middle of the canvas. Everything was grey and white, aside from the tones of reds from the fire and the greens from the soldiers’ uniforms.
It was a battlefield. A specific one, as well. Second World War, Germany against the resistance in France. Tony recognized the buildings; he’d seen them a lot. But that wasn’t what made this art piece so intriguing and eye catching, no.
The art felt alive with emotions. Tony felt a chill ran through him as he looked at the expressions on peoples’ face, the explosion mercilessly and precise, taking and killing and taking—
“I didn’t know bats had a sense of beauty,” Steve’s voice made Tony snap out of his trance.
“It’s beautiful,” Tony admitted hoarsely, even though he knew he couldn’t be understood.
“I keep having dreams about this time... different battles, different people,” Steve said, sitting on his chair, never taking his eyes from the painting, “it was infuriating and sad at first, but I find it intriguing now,” a shrug, “maybe there’s something that connects me to that time… I don’t know…” Steve blinked and shook his head, “I’m talking to a bat,” he mumbled under his breath before straightening and getting to work.
Tony watched Steve paint, then. Watched him hum under his breath when he got something right, watched his cute tongue sticking out from concentration, and his hands skillfully brushing down on the canvas, giving life to the painting on front of them.
This time, Steve chose not to turn on his music, and the sound of the brush against the canvas lulled Tony to sleep.
“Be still, you flying mammal,” Steve muttered to Tony, his breath hitting his tiny face like a gush of wind as Steve adjusted Tony on his shoulders, “Hold tight and don’t even think of letting go.”
Tony did as he was told and sat still on Steve’s shoulders. They weren’t big, but Tony fit perfectly if he leaned on his neck.
Which. Was a problem.
He hadn’t been fed yet, Bucky had still two hours of work before getting home, and Tony was hungry. Being this close to Steve’s neck was dangerous. For Tony, not for Steve.
Tony couldn’t pin down the exact moment he chose he would never bite his caretakers, even though they basically kidnapped him without knowing, but he wouldn’t. At first, if it wasn’t for the heavy weight of the bandages and the metal, he probably would have.
Of course, he wasn’t against bite play, but if they didn’t consent a hundred percent, Tony would never.
But it made him dizzy, being this close to a source of warm human blood without being able to take a sip, which meant he had to hold on tighter to Steve, which also meant he had to get closer to the neck.
Plain torture, that was it.
And Steve didn’t even mean it.
The human just wanted to give Tony a new place to sit. Tony had been struggling over his cloth nest for most afternoon, and it must have looked too despairing, because Steve chuckled and helped him out of it.
Things followed like it normally did, Steve painting, Tony dozing off and on to the jazz beat, that became substantially lower after Bucky told Steve about how sensitive bat ears were (bless Bucky, Jesus) and Steve commenting on random stuff as it went.
“Oh my god, this is the sweetest shit I’ve ever seen!” Bucky cooed as he entered the bedroom, “Don’t move! Let me take a picture first.”
Steve rolled his eyes but complied, straightening his back so Tony could be seen in the photo. Normally he would object, but since he was in his bat form and not recognizable, he went with it.
“I’m definitely gonna print and frame this,” Bucky almost squealed in joy. It was so cute.
-
By the time Tony woke up on the seventh day, it was night. The room smelled like rabbit blood, which, much to Tony’s dislike, meant it was his feeding hour again. Hurray.
Yet before moving on after feeding Tony, Bucky examined Tony’s injured wing.
“Hm,” he frowned, “that’s odd.”
“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, approaching Tony curiously.
“It’s just—” Bucky curled his lips dowards, thinking deeply, “Mr. Tacos has healed.”
“Oh,” Steve said, and for a moment, Tony could swear he saw a flash of disappointment in his face, “That’s, uh, good, right? At least he didn’t get an infection or anything like that.”
“Well, yeah, it’s good.” Bucky, on the other hand, didn’t hide his emotions from his face. The sadness was almost palpable. “There’s one thing bothering me, though.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s no scar on the place he was injured.”
Oops.
“Maybe bats heal fast?” Steve asked, frowning as well.
“Hm, I don’t think so,” Bucky ran a hand over his chin and slumped his shoulders, “maybe I got his diagnosis wrong…”
“Stop that, you’re the best vet there is,” Steve swatted his lover gently on the arm, yet Bucky only shrugged before proceeding to take Tony’s bandages.
“Here you go, little friend,” Bucky brushed his fingers over Tony’s head, a movement Tony now longed for. Bucky cleared his throat and smiled sadly, “you don’t have to stay here anymore, you’re free.”
Free. Tony was free at last. He could finally transform back to his own body, finally feed on something that isn’t rabbit blood, go back to England, to his mansion, to his old life.
So why did it feel so wrong?
They wished him a goodnight, opened the window of their room and turned off the lights, each tucking in on their own side of the bed. Tony held his breath, watching them slowly fall asleep, meeting Steve’s eyes, saddened eyes, before they closed for good.
They gave him a choice. They wanted him to choose.
Well, maybe not choose, maybe they wanted him to go, be free, like bats normally were, like he is. He wasn’t a pet, no one owned him, he was a vampire, old and wise.
Lonely.
Would they mind if he stayed? Would Steve go back to looking at him like he was disgusting, and not a friend? Would Bucky stop to feed him, even if it was low quality blood, now that he wasn’t their concern anymore?
Tony looked at the open window and onto the night. ‘New York never sleeps’ — that’s what people say, right? The lights from other apartments and streets shone back at Tony, tempting him to fly over them, to feel the fresh air on his face.
To finally walk in two legs once more.
He glanced at their sleeping bodies, lying down soundly, chests rising and falling in a peaceful manner.
With a wide stretch of his arms, Tony flew through the window.