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Bucky Barnes is a fairly young vampire. He was turned during the Second World War when the Jerry bastards were slaughtering everyone in Azzano. Got lost somewhere in the chaos and rubble. His whole unit thought he had died. And, in some ways, he had.
After spending some time in Europe, not staying in one place for too long, he finally came home to Brooklyn. Figures there aren’t too many others like himself there so he could blend in. He isn’t too sure if it’ll be much different from Europe - a lot of solitude and figuring things out for himself.
The thing is, Bucky’s never met anyone else who is a vampire. Figured out what he was from reading, and then watching moving pictures. He doesn’t think there’ll be anyone like him in his old stomping ground. That Eddie Murphy picture was a crock o’ shit, right? Even so, Bucky doesn’t let people know what he is. It’s too dangerous. He’s had practice at hiding important parts of himself away. Even before the war.
It feels so strange coming home, but he makes it work. It’s a wonder what you can pay to have made and installed in your home, even when it’s spatially challenged. Bucky doesn’t need much space. He’s been keeping a low profile. Working night gigs as a bouncer at a local nightclub. He gets to watch people. Watch humans as they revel in the fleetingness of their existence. As they drink and drug and fuck their way through life. He doesn’t judge them. He probably used to be the same. His memory is sometimes hazy. At any rate, he likes watching. Sometimes he interacts with them, mainly when he needs to feed or fuck. He’s careful, though. Doesn’t shit where he eats, so to speak.
One evening, a man comes in while Bucky isn’t on the door. Bucky spots him later moving through the crowd. Can’t take his gaze off of the guy. The harsh lights of the venue make everyone else look sweaty and befuddled. But not this guy, no. It’s as if he soaks up the light. As if it dances across his gorgeous dark skin. As if he’s glowing.
Yes. There’s something different about him.
Sure, he’s hands down the most beautiful man Bucky’s ever laid his eyes on, but there’s something else. His presence makes Bucky shiver to his core. He makes Bucky feel unnerved, something Bucky was sure couldn’t happen to him anymore. And the beautiful man isn’t just affecting Bucky, all of the clubgoers seem entranced by him, too. Some stop their dancing to stare at him; some try to get close to him.
They all seem enamored or hypnotized.
The man wears a small smirk as he all but glides through the cramped space. The beat from the music is intrusive, loud, somewhat disorienting, yet this man moves like he cannot even hear it.
Then his eyes find Bucky’s. In that moment, Bucky feels like it is the first time he has truly been seen in a century. He holds Bucky’s gaze. There’s something incendiary behind his dark brown eyes. Bucky can’t look away.
Suddenly, a woman steps in front of him and obstructs Bucky’s view of the beautiful stranger, as if she is offering herself to this man. Then another person shoves her out of the way, wanting to be close to the man, too. A fight breaks out between the two people vying for the stranger’s attentions, and Bucky moves toward them. He and a colleague break the fight up, and the stranger is just standing there smiling. As if he is amused. By the time Bucky gets the woman away from the dancefloor, the stranger is gone.
The club closes relatively early. By three AM, most of the stragglers are out on the streets looking for the next party, or a ride home. Bucky waits until they are gone. He bids his colleagues goodnight and walks off. This is usually the time he would take to find some hapless, horny guy to take back to his place where he’d either fuck him or feed on him, or both.
Bucky doesn’t feel like it tonight. He can’t get his mind off of the stranger. It’s like he can feel him inside of his mind; inside of his chest. Bucky tries to shake off the unsettling feeling. For the first time in a long time, Bucky looks over his shoulder as he makes the short journey to his apartment.
And then he sees him, the beautiful stranger, walking a few strides behind him. Bucky stops. Feels like his cold, dead heart is in his throat. He turns and waits. The stranger approaches him. They are standing close now. And wow. Yeah, he’s actually breathtaking up close. All high cheekbones and long lashes. Bucky goes to speak, but can’t find the words. The stranger does, instead.
“I know what you are,” he says, his deep, rich inflection washing over Bucky and stunning him momentarily.
Bucky has heard that line before. Before he was changed. In the schoolyard when the older boys threw taunts at him. In the dark anonymity of the secluded parks he found comfort and connection in. Under the stars of a foreign sky as nearby gunfire rang out.
“I know what you are.”
“How?” he manages, his mind returning to the here and now; annoyed that his own voice comes out shaky and uncertain. “Who are you?”
The man seems amused. He smiles a little and Bucky’s sure he just might die another death. He leans in close and whispers, “I’m Sam and I know because I’m the same. I’m like you.”
…
Bucky’s home is not set up to receive guests. It is plain, almost painfully so. Just enough comfort to sustain him and protect him from the harshness of the fiery sun. One small bed he does not slumber in, an artifice concealing his tomb below. One small kitchenette he does not use. No photos of his family and past life adorn his walls. Nothing to really mark that he, James Buchanan Barnes, actually lives there. That he has ever actually lived.
He is careful to clean up after he feeds. Careful to wipe the minds of those he takes sustenance from; those he fucks. He feels no guilt; no connection to them. They are a way to pass the time. Eternity bores him. He has never been in the presence of one like himself, well, at least as far as he can recall. It is different, now, standing in his bare apartment with another being like him. However, just to look at this Sam, they are not the same, and Bucky senses this.
Sam is different.
Sam is special.
Bucky wonders where he came from. Wonders what he is doing there. Wonders what he wants.
“I won’t answer you if you don’t give voice to your questions out loud,” Sam says as he leans against the wall near the covered window and watches Bucky in the dim light.
Speak, he says, and this time his lips do not move. He speaks directly into Bucky’s fractured psyche. It is unnerving yet enticing all at once.
“How did you do that?” asks Bucky, eyeing him curiously.
This? asks Sam telepathically, before speaking aloud.
“It’s one of the many gifts befitting our kind,” Sam explains.
“Gifts?” Bucky repeats, more to himself. “Not an illness?”
Sam laughs a little then, and steps closer to Bucky. Close enough that Bucky can see the flecks of amber dancing in his alluring eyes.
“We are not afflicted, James.”
“Bucky.”
“You are not afflicted. We are who we are, and that is not by choice. I think you understood that even before you were changed.”
Sam’s words seep into Bucky’s skin. A memory comes to him, a feeling, a vision. Freckled skin, bruised knees, warm sunlight. Coarse fingers brushing lightly against each other. Boyish features drawn to likeness. Bashfulness that’s clumsy. Secret kisses; secrets hidden.
“You must find this liberating,” Sam says, cutting through the memories Bucky has held close. “To be who you are without constraint. Bucky, without limitations of his past life.”
“It’s lonely,” Bucky utters without thinking; too honest in Sam’s presence.
“I know,” says Sam, somehow closer than before; his hand coming to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “I know.”
“What – what’re you doin’ here?” Bucky asks, unable to draw his gaze away from Sam’s eyes. “What do you want from me?”
Sam lifts his hand to caress the side of Bucky’s face; Bucky’s eyes almost close at the touch.
“Eternity is a long time,” says Sam. “I found you so that we might pass some of it together.”
He speaks nothing else as they both lean in and press their lips together. Bucky has never felt anything like the kiss he shares with Sam. They break apart and Sam stares dead into his eyes once more.
“Do you want this with me?” Sam asks as he drags his thumb over Bucky’s bottom lip. “To taste and tease and fuck?”
“Yes,” Bucky whispers. “I want this with you.”
Sam smiles and says, “Good.”
He walks to the small bed and begins to disrobe. Bucky watches him and does the same. He watches as Sam sits on the edge of the bed, naked and spreadeagled, his cock hanging heavy between his legs.
“Come here,” says Sam as he gestures with his index finger and then points between his thighs.
Bucky kicks off his boots, strips the last of his clothing off, and goes to Sam.
“Kneel,” Sam commands, and Bucky does so willingly, watching as Sam’s cock grows hard. “Taste me.”
Bucky’s mouth is salivating as he shifts closer, eyes darting to Sam’s as he asks for silent permission. Sam runs his hand through Bucky’s hair and nods. Bucky’s hand is shaking as he reaches for Sam’s beautiful dick, gripping it at the base. He opens his mouth and slips out his tongue when Sam suddenly cups his chin and lifts his head.
“No, my pretty boy,” says Sam with a fire behind his eyes. “I want you to really taste me.”
Sam then brings his hand to a spot on his inner thigh. Bucky can see where his large vein is pulsing away. Bucky is lightheaded by now. He has never drunk from another like him as far as he can remember. And here is Sam, this beautiful, ethereal being offering his lifeblood for Bucky to drink from. Bucky doesn’t waste another moment as he leans down and presses a kiss to Sam’s inner thigh. He bares his teeth and fangs, and bites into Sam’s flesh.
Sam lets out a pleasured moan that is etched into Bucky’s memory right then and there. His mouth is flooded with the most delectable syrup. As ancient as the nectar of a magnolia tree. Sweet as an overripe cherry. Sam’s blood fills Bucky’s mouth and he drinks him up. Gluttonous with it, as he strokes Sam’s cock at the same time. Bucky has not been inebriated in almost one hundred years, but he is intoxicated by Sam. He is filled by Sam as he gives way to abandon in the name of Sam.
After a moment, Sam grips Bucky’s hair tightly and pulls him back. Sam’s blood runs down his lips and falls to his chest.
Sam smiles down at him and says, “Enough. Put those fangs away and let me fuck your pretty mouth.”
“Yes,” Bucky agrees as he goes to wipe the blood away.
“Leave it,” says Sam with a pleased smirk. “You look good like that.”
…
It is as if everything Bucky has ever felt passes between them. Every sense of pain and hurt. Every feeling of joy and ecstasy. Everything that has frightened him; everything that has endeared him. He feels it all in that moment. All intense as if it flows through his veins and sticks to his bones. Deep, concentrated, extreme. Like love and hate. A swift, sharp blow; a tender, soothing caress. Fuck. He just might love Sam. He just might be all encompassed by him. He needs him. He wants him. He fucking has him.
He settles deep inside of Sam, relishing in the feeling of being connected with the other man. Of having Sam’s beautiful body pressed underneath him and his strong thigh wrapped around him. Being enveloped by Sam’s tight heat. The feeling of Sam’s nails digging into his flesh and drawing blood.
“Fuck me,” Sam whispers, eyes boring into his. “Fuck me like this is your first time. Like this is your last time.”
And it just might be, Bucky muses in a moment of clarity. And he does. He draws back, lets his hips snap forward, and fucks Sam.
Sam’s mouth is all moans as he takes delight in the feeling of being filled by Bucky, but his mind is clear. He sings praises that go straight to Bucky’s head.
You are powerful.
You are beautiful.
I’ve searched this earth for someone like you.
And Bucky feels emboldened as he thrusts his impossibly hard cock into Sam’s succulent hole.
You’re perfect, he tells Sam, hoping he can hear. You feel perfect. So good. Feel so good. You’re so fucking pretty. Where have you been all this time? I want you. I need you.
They share another kiss, claiming each other. Sam flips them over and straddles Bucky’s hips; Bucky remains firmly seated inside of his lover.
“You’re mine,” Sam breathes as he rolls his hips and slides up and down Bucky’s cock. “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” Bucky replies as he turns his head and offers his neck.
Sam leans down and kisses him there before he bites Bucky.
I’m yours, Bucky whispers as he finds his release and comes inside of Sam.
…
The sun has long made its dance across the sky and gone to slumber by the time Bucky awakens. He is pleased to find Sam lying with him in his tomb. Sam’s pretty head resting against Bucky’s chest as he is curled against him. Images from the previous night come back to Bucky and he smiles. He runs his fingers up and down Sam’s back and breathes in his scent. Sweet and creamy with undertones of amber, leather, wood and a hint of something else. Something old and otherworldly. Something indescribable. Bucky really doesn’t have the words to describe Sam – the way Sam makes him feel.
“You can ask,” says Sam as he wraps Bucky more tightly in his embrace.
“Are there others like us?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
“Everywhere,” says Sam. “You just need to know where to look.”
“Where did you come from?”
“More recently, or in the past?”
“Both,” says Bucky as he places a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.
“Louisiana, most recently,” says Sam. “But before that, all over the world.”
“But where were you born before you were changed?”
Sam leans up on his elbow then and stares down at Bucky.
“I will tell you this because we are bonded and I trust you,” Sam explains. “But you must never tell another soul.”
“I won’t.”
“I was never changed. I was born this way.”
“Your parents were like us?”
“My mother was a priestess in Kerma,” Sam explains. “I was sired by a wraith like us. I was hidden away in most of my youth. I’m old. Ancient, even. My home is a memory of dust. But your home is still here.”
Bucky stares at Sam in wonder. He is a god. Bucky isn’t worthy.
“Those like us must be careful,” says Sam quite seriously, drawing the other man from his thoughts. “We mustn’t let those whom we don’t trust know where we originate from. It can lead to perils coming our way. It’s why I came to you. You returned to this place after many years away. It is dangerous to be so close to one’s home when you’re a creature of the night.”
“Wait, you came to me?”
“Yes.”
“Because being in Brooklyn is dangerous for me?”
“Yes.”
“Sam, do we – do you know me? I feel like we know each other. Like we’ve always known each other. You feel it, too?”
Sam gives Bucky a small smile and says, “Yes. Of course I do. I was the one who found you in that muddy, blood-soaked killing field in Azzano.”
“It was you?” Bucky asks as he sits up and pushes the lid to his tomb open.
Sam sits as well as they stare at one another.
“You’re the one who kissed my lips and held my hand when I was dying?”
“Yes.”
“The one who changed me.”
“Yes, it was me,” Sam says, taking Bucky’s hand in his.
“You changed me, but you didn’t stay,” Bucky says, more questioning than accusing. “Why?”
“Your war had been fought,” Sam whispers. “Mine was just beginning. I couldn’t stay with you then, but I can now. If you would want that.”
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” says Bucky. “Even though I’ve just met you, I feel like I’ve always known you.”
“My blood is flowing through you,” Sam says gently. “We have always been connected because of it.”
“These feeling for you, are they real?”
“They’re as real as you and I,” Sam confesses. “And I’ve felt them for you from a distance for a lifetime.”
Bucky runs his thumb over Sam’s hand before bringing it to his lips to kiss.
“Why’d you stay away so long?”
“To protect you,” Sam admits.
“Why?”
“For the same reason I stopped for you that night in Azzano,” says Sam as he reaches up to caress Bucky’s face. “Whatever your soul is made of, it is undoubtedly the same as mine.”