Archive of Our Own ^beta

Being a vampire wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sure Peter didn't need as much sleep, and he was stronger than ever before, but the sun burnt and he couldn't eat garlic bread anymore. He couldn't eat much of anything anymore, it left him feeling sick. A feeling he was no longer familiar with. Blood was all he could consume.

Human blood was the best, it tasted better than anything else. But Peter would not take it unwillingly. That was where Butch came in. Butch had witnessed Peter, fresh after being killed and turned, stumble out of an alleyway and pounce on the nearest blood source and attack. Now they met up on a regular basis

Every two weeks, like clockwork, Butch would appear at Peter's apartment. If Peter's heart still beat it would flutter in his chest, chasing out after Butch like a cheesy romantic cartoon. As it did not beat, Peter put no thought to his feelings. It was better that way. They each got what they needed from their fortnightly meetings.

Peter got human blood, a break from the pigs blood he got from the butchers, and a willing donor for his hunger. Butch, well, he got to be bitten. There was something enjoyable in having lips on his neck, and teeth digging into his skin. Something that brought him to his knees, or it would if Peter wasn't there to keep him stable.

That was all it was, an exchange. Peter got to feed on something that actually tasted good and didn't just keep him alive. Or undead as it were. Butch got to let go, for one night he got to relax and let go and focus purely on himself.

There was no use bringing things like feelings into it. Peter knew that. He wasn't a genius for nothing. His feelings, whatever they may or may not be, could stay firmly away. They did not need to go around and ruin Butch's simple pleasure, and Peter's free meal. They could stay firmly in his unbeating heart, and not bother anyone.

Their not bothering anyone and mere existence may or may not have anything to do with Peter currently pacing his small apartment. It's fair to say that if Peter heart did not harbour feelings it could not react to in it's typical heightened heartbeat and flushed cheeks, that Peter would not be pacing around his living room, wearing a hole in the tatty carpet, but that did not have to mean anything!

The knock on his door almost echoed through him, and he darted to the door. One moment he was solid, and stood at the far end of his living room, for a second he was nothing but mist, and then he was in front of the door pulling it open. Well, he didn't pull it open, he'd rather not reattach his door for the twentieth time. He opened it in a normal way and smiled at Butch, flashing one fang in a lopsided grin. Butch focused on the fang, and followed Peter inside as he walked backwards.

"Hi," Peter said, leaning back against the wall. Butch looked up and grinned.

"Hey man," Butch said, glancing back to his fang. Peter laughed slightly, and beckoned him closer. There was something nice in having so much control over someone that looked so much more powerful than he did.

"How are you?" he asked, resting his cold hand on Butch's upper arm. He'd cut the sleeves off his orange shirt, and as such it was much easier for Peter to gently tease. At Peter's touch, Butch shivered slightly.

"Yeah, good. I'm good," he said, glancing between Peters dark eyes, the hand on his arm, and the fang he was so casually showing off.

"Good," Peter said, gently running his fingers over Butch's defined muscles. Butch shivered again. He was putty under Peter's touch, and Peter had never been very good at not playing with his food. "You're hydrated?" Peter asked. "You taste better hydrated."

"I've drunk plenty of water," Butch said, nodding slightly. Peter hummed and pushed himself up straight. He could hear Butch's small intake of breath, as he ghosted closer to his neck.

"Good boy," Peter said, just to watch Butch shuddered again, and to hear his tight intake of breath. He lent closer, his lips almost brushing Butch's neck. "Where do you want to do this?" Butch gulped slightly.

"Here's good," Butch managed to say. Peter hummed, straightened himself up, and spun them around, one hand on Butch's upper arm and the other on his hip. Butch's eyes went wide as Peter held him in place against the wall.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do this somewhere more intimate?" he asked lowly, whispering into his ear. He could hear Butch gulp.

"Peter," he begged, and Peter grinned. Lightly he brushed his lips over Butch's neck, almost feathering kisses down to where his shoulder met his neck.

"Aw poor human, you can't make it anywhere else can you? You just want me to bite you so bad," Peter said. Teasing Butch was easy, and it was part of the routine. It didn't matter that Peter enjoyed it too, it was all for Butch. It was what he got out of their exchange. Peter got food, a willing body to donate fresh blood right from the source, a food source that actually tasted good too. Butch got pleasure, enjoyment, fun out of it.

"Peter please," he begged again.

"You know how this goes Butch, I need permission to feed from you," he said, ghosting his lips over Butch's neck again. "I need permission to sink my fangs into your neck, I need permission to bite you." Technically speaking, Peter did need permission. The vampiric tales had gotten it a little wrong on the whole permission basis. He didn't need permission to enter a home, he needed permission to consume from a living donor. The permission had already been granted, Peter just liked playing with his food.

"You can bite me Peter," Butch managed to get out. Peter pulled back slightly. Butch wasn't looking at him, he had his head tilted back, rested against the wall, and his eyes closed. Peter straightened up, and gently grabbed Butch's chin, forcing him to look down at him.

"Say it properly Butch," he said, once Butch had blinked his eyes opened and met his red eyes. Butch gulped and Peter dropped his chin.

"You can feed from me Peter," he said, eyes wide as he maintained eye contact. That was what Peter had wanted to hear, he tilted his head back down and kissed Butch's neck.

Below him, Butch shuddered slightly, and pushed up into his touch. Against his neck, Peter smirked. He moved his hand from Butch's bicep, down to his waist, and gripped him tight.

"Please," Butch begged. Peter sunk his fangs into Butch's neck, and bit him hard. Butch gasped, and then moaned. Against him, Peter hummed.

For a moment Peter stayed there, biting into Butch, making sure his teeth left a mark. He knew how much Butch liked the marks he left over from his feeding. The he pulled back, pulled his teeth from Butch's skin, and started to drink. One of Butch's hand moved up and rested in his hair, not quite tugging on it.

Peter knew that when he pulled away, he'd leave a hickey. And he knew that Butch liked his hickies, on the rare occasion that Butch slept over after a night like this, Peter would sometimes spot him staring at himself in the mirror with his fingers ghosting over the marks Peter had left the night before.

Butch moaned again, and tilted his head back. Peter hummed slightly and sucked on his neck a little harder. He pulled back slightly, and licked over the wound. Butch's hand dropped, and rested like his other, splayed against the wall.

"You good there darling?" Peter asked, against Butch's ear. He could hear how Butch's breath caught, and how his heart sped up slightly.

"I'm good," Butch said, his voice a little shaky. "Need a moment." Peter hummed and tilted so he could rest his head against Butch's shoulder. For a moment Peter could pretend this wasn't simply and exchange, could pretend there was more to Butch gripping his hair and admiring the hickies he'd leave than simple pleasure. Butch's hand found it's way back into Peter's hair, and Peter gently squeezed his hip.

"You can bite me again," Butch mumbled. Peter pulled back, and tilted his head and bit into his neck opposite of the first bite. Butch moaned again as Peter sunk his fangs into him.

"Peter," Butch whimpered. Against him, Peter smirked and bit a little harder. He repeated the process once more, leaving Butch with three sets of punctures in his neck. That didn't mean he left him with three sets of bite marks though, he was just careful not to pierce skin.

"You should stay the night," Peter said as he watched Butch in his kitchen. He'd gotten some sugary food for him that morning, under his obnoxiously big umbrella slash parasol.

"Probably, I don't think I'd be safe to ride around on my bike in this state," he said. Peter glanced to his motorcycle helmet sat on the counter.

"No, and I'd rather not fish you from car wreck just to turn you into a vampire," Peter said.

"You'd turn me?" Butch asked, smiling slightly, at him. Peter shrugged, not meeting his eye.

"You're more than a blood bag to me Butch," he said softly.

"I know," Butch said, trying desperately to met his eye. "I know Peter, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

The thing was, Peter was a coward. Once he'd died and become a vampire he'd left the bravery that had come with Spider-Man behind, just as he'd left the suit and name. Maybe one day he'd return to it, but for now he was happy to be a coward. That was why instead of pursue the potentially promising conversation, he turned his back and headed for the bedroom to set it up for Butch.

One day, he'd face that conversation. One day he'd return to being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. One day he'd face Tony Stark, and the Avengers and tell them the truth. One day, but that day wasn't today. Today Peter stayed a coward.