Chapter Text
Work is hard.
The statement isn’t far-fetched at all. In fact, all sorts of people would agree.
It’s more than just clock in, clock out. There’s grit in between. Hours upon hours spent in an office or unit, doing task after task, wasting away your time in pursuit of keeping yourself afloat. Paycheck to paycheck, you keep coming back. A never ending cycle you can get lost in.
Because that’s the way the world works. You work. You wake up, you get around, and you work.
It’s simple. A routine that many find themselves in. A routine that many need to have. For money or mental health, work is important! Very important.
That’s what Impulse tells himself, at least.
Even if work leaves him trudging to his apartment door at half past nine, digging for his keys in his jean pocket with bruised knuckles and aching fingers.
It doesn’t take him long for him to drag them out, metal clinking together as he gazes down at the bundle of keys attached to a flimsy ring. His eyes narrow as he searches for the one for his door, sifting through far too many shapes and colors.
He’s not even sure what half of them open at this point. Probably some doors at work, maybe some special tool boxes… and most definitely his buddy Skizz’s apartment. He could recognize that one anywhere.
But eventually he finds what he’s looking for, singling the gold key out from the mess of metal on either side. His eye twitches at all the clanking. He huffs.
The key plunges into the lock with a startling amount of force, turning around inside until the familiar click emits from the door. And with that, Impulse grabs the knob, swinging it open.
His body seems to sag when he enters his apartment, closing the door behind himself much more gingerly. His free hand comes up to flick the lightswitch, eyes squinting as brightness fills the room. It makes his head sting.
He sets the key ring onto a hook nearby, making sure it’s secure before treading further into the apartment.
It doesn’t take long for him to get to his couch, staring at it numbly for a second before collapsing onto it. He sighs, deep and heavy, back seeming to melt into the cushions as exhaustion gnaws at his bones.
A day spent in the car garage tended to do that, he’d long since discovered. It made you tired. It also made every limb and muscle ache.
Impulse groans as he tries to move his legs around, and the more he squirms, the more he realizes finding a comfortable position is hard. Difficult in the way that it seems he has to work his body in a certain way like a puzzle.
Impulse likes his job. He’s lucky to have it, after all. If not for a close friend’s connections, he never would’ve gotten it, he’s sure.
It pays well. Maybe not well enough to buy his own house… at least not yet. But it’s definitely enough to keep himself afloat where he’s at. And honestly? That’s all Impulse could ask for.
He finds comfort in the stability of it all. The routine, especially. He likes waking up and having something to do. He likes feeling like he’s actually a valued member of society. He likes being… useful. Needed, even.
Sure, there’s a lot of responsibility that comes with someone trusting you to fix their car’s parts, but Impulse happily takes it on. It makes him feel good, knowing he’s helping someone. That he’s doing a job well done.
Even if he’s left with a sore body at the end of the day.
He huffs when his attempts at relaxing are met with screaming bones and burning muscles. It’s not unusual to have a hard time getting comfortable, with all the aches and such… doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.
Impulse finds himself begrudgingly getting off the couch, running a hand through his tossed brown hair as he strides towards a cabinet in the kitchen. He pulls the little door open, eyes scanning over the myriad of different bottles on the shelf.
When his gaze falls on his trustworthy pain medication, his hand lunges forward to grab it. But he’s left confused and disappointed when it’s much lighter than he’d expected.
He gives it a little shake. He sighs. Nothing.
Not that he’s surprised. He usually pops a couple every night after work, like it’s a routine in of itself. What does surprise him, however, is that he forgot to get a refill. He’s always so good about that…
Now tainted with not just pain, but also a bit of shame, Impulse closes the cabinet and tosses the empty pill bottle into the trash. He should’ve remembered.
He hisses when he takes a step and his calf stings.
Yeah. He really should’ve remembered.
He knows it’s not too late to grab some. He’s sure the CVS nearby is still open. It’s not a long drive, maybe five minutes with low traffic…
But he’s not in the mood. It’s silly, he knows that for sure. But he just doesn’t feel like walking into some bright store and talking to some cashier who he knows will probably drawl on and on about their own shift.
He leans down to rub his leg, to try and soothe the ache there. It doesn’t help much. It never helps much.
When Impulse is back upright, he finds himself gazing out his window. Stories up, he can see all the little shops and restaurants that line the street. He’s seen it all before. All their street lamps and neon lights.
His eyes fall on a sign above a small place, bright green and yellow letters beaming up at him, even from so far away. He finds himself squinting, leaning a little closer, one hand resting against the wall to support his weary legs.
The local bar. Southland Spirits. Just down the road.
Impulse bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know why it seems to call to him, why he suddenly finds himself thirsty at just the thought of walking through those doors. He swallows thickly.
He doesn’t really do bars, not the way Skizz and Tango do. Sure, he’s a social drinker, likes to let loose around his buddies… but alone? Around all those strangers?
It’s a little scary. Even at his grown age, well into adulthood, he still finds himself anxious around stuff like that. He can’t help but feel that familiar shame bubble in his gut. It’s silly. He’s silly.
The drumming ache in his legs makes it hard to think too hard about it, though. And his arms aren’t making it any easier, everywhere from his shoulders to his fingers swimming in some sort of dull pain.
His forehead gently rests against the cool glass as he gazes outside, eyes narrowing as the temptation begins to eat at him.
It would ruin his routine, his brain tries to reason. He’s never gone out drinking like that after work, not on a weekday, at least. And let alone by himself! Does he really want to jeopardize his whole schedule he’s built just for a glass or two?
Oh, but his body is so sore… and he doesn’t have anything good at home. He doesn’t want cheap beer when he could have the finer things instead. Plus, a really nice lady did tip him the other day… he could blow some of that on drinks so it doesn’t come out of his own paycheck…
He glances down at the ground, attention landing on his shoes. He’s still wearing them… he’s still got his jacket on, too…
Impulse’s free hand reaches behind himself to pat his back jean pocket. His wallet is there. His fingers trace the denim as he ponders.
Everything is practically beckoning him to just up and go.
He swallows again, and his throat is so dry. He scowls at the feeling, slowly backing away from the window as his hand comes up to rub his neck. As if that will do anything to ease the icky sensation.
His head cranes to the side to glance back at the hooks near his door. At the keys hanging off of them, glimmering in the light of the small kitchen. Calling to him…
Impulse lets out a sigh. Why not?
Sure, he’s a stickler for routine, but what could one night out hurt? It’s not like it would completely throw him off or anything.
So he trudges forward, snatching the key ring from where it's hung and swinging the door open, slipping out before sinking the key into the lock before burying it back into his pocket.
And then he’s off, achy legs carrying him away from home.
—
It’s a nice night.
Not too chilly yet, but the breeze is pleasant. Impulse’s face scrunches up as it gently tosses his hair around, tugging his jacket tighter around himself to keep it from blowing this way and that.
It’s not a long walk to the bar, but with the way his legs sting with each step, it feels like ages before he finally arrives.
He glances up at the bright neon sign, eyes squinting as he admires the fun calligraphy and artistry. It was his place of choice for a reason, after all. Not just because it was close.
Impulse reaches out and takes hold of the handle, pulling the door open and ignoring the way it makes his shoulder ache. He simply exhales the feeling out through his nose, letting the wind help to push him inside.
It’s an atmospheric place, that’s for sure. Kind of old fashioned looking, despite the electric lights outside. Wooden signs hang from the ceiling near the bar area, all sorts of drinks and special cocktails carved and finished with golden paint.
Music fills the room, a man strumming guitar and singing on a small stage in the corner, a warm glow cast upon him from above. A crowd gathers around him, and Impulse can hear drunken voices singing along. He can also hear how the singer happily indulges them.
The smell of greasy food wafts through the air, and Impulse tenses when he faintly hears (and more importantly, feels) his stomach rumble. He chuckles airily to himself. He’s sure a snack wouldn’t hurt, either.
He pulls up to the bar itself, hoisting himself onto a stool and steadying himself. Before he can even look up, a shadow looms over him, blocking out the gentle lights.
When Impulse finally cranes his head up, he smiles at the familiar face he sees. “Jimmy?”
“Hey!” the tall blond replies, mimicking the delighted look Impulse is sporting. “Yep, uh… it’s me!”
“Martyn seriously let you man the bar again?” Impulse asks, his voice thick with amusement. “I thought you were banned from working it ever since the whole Tango incident—”
Jimmy hurriedly shushes the other, a clear blush beginning to creep onto his cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t bring that up! That… that was one time!”
“Yeah… one time you forgot to serve literally everybody else but him,” Impulse hums, finding himself settling into his seat much more comfortably than before. Jimmy huffs dramatically.
“Listen! Listen… he’s a cool guy! I couldn’t help myself!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in defense. “But somebody has to make the drinks, and Martyn…”
Jimmy points to the stage, where a head of blond hair is nodding along to the audience he’s amassed, strumming his guitar in earnest. “He’s busy. Clearly.”
Impulse glances over, shrugging. “Yeah… suppose you’re right.” He looks back up at Jimmy, his smile growing less taunting and more warm. “Well, it’s, uh… just me tonight. No Tango…”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he finds himself adding softly, just to tease. Jimmy huffs again before shaking his head, placing a hand on his hip.
“Whatever…” the blond says, only letting the jab wound him for a moment before his usual enthusiasm returns. “Okay! What can I get you, then?”
Impulse looks at the menu above him, eyeing all the different options. Too many options. He’s surprised his mind doesn’t start reeling in overwhelm.
“Uh…” he starts, eyes scanning the board as quickly as he can. He stops when he stumbles upon something familiar. “A whiskey ginger, please.”
“Ooh, good choice,” Jimmy commends, smiling wide as he gives the polished wood between them a pat. “I’ll get that for you right away! Anything I can get ‘ya to eat? Mumbo just got done with a batch of fries, I think… or mozzarella sticks… one of those things—”
“Mozz sticks sound nice,” Impulse shrugs, and the thought alone makes his mouth water. “Just a side of those.”
Jimmy nods and begins to turn around, but Impulse adds in a quick, “Tell Mumbo I said hi!”
The other throws him a thumbs up, making his way towards the small kitchen, barking an “Impulse says hi!” into the back. Impulse can faintly hear that familiar accent call back, and he can’t help but smile.
He squirms a little in his seat once he’s left alone, clasping his hands together atop the bar surface. His eyes dart around the room, landing on all sorts of things as he tries to think of what to do.
What do you usually do when you’re sitting alone at a bar?
Impulse can’t help but feel that anxiousness begin to creep back in, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach as his gaze flits about.
What if he looks weird? What if everybody here thinks he’s weird? What if he is weird—
His thoughts are briefly brought to a halt by a small basket of mozzarella sticks being set in front of him. He thinks he thanked whoever did it. He’s not really sure, not with how distant his mind is starting to feel.
Suddenly, the bar feels… bigger. Scarier, ever. He should feel comfortable here… after all, it’s where him and his buddies always go. It’s not his first time stopping in by any means. It’s just… so different when he’s alone.
He almost feels itchy, skin crawling at the nervous feeling that bubbles inside of him. God, he needs that drink right about now.
His fingers grab a mozzarella stick, absentmindedly bringing it to his lips and taking a bite. He hisses at just how hot it is, mouth stinging in pain as he drops it back into the basket. He can feel eyes boring into him, making his entire body rack with an uncomfortable feeling. He probably looks so stupid—
“Too hot?”
Impulse’s head whips to the side when he hears a voice, blinking at the unfamiliar figure he finds. He raises a brow anxiously. “Huh?”
“The mozz sticks,” the stranger, a man, points out. He motions to the basket full of them. “They’re steaming!”
“Oh…” Impulse murmurs, gaze flicking between the food and the person. He swallows thickly, managing a little shrug. “Uh… yeah, haha. Guess so.”
Beats of silence pass as the two gaze at one another, and Impulse quickly notices just how big the other’s eyes are. Irises wide, pupils even wider. The faint light from above casts its glow down on him, glimmering in the darkness, like muddied stars in the expanse of the night sky.
He’s a little surprised when the man hops up onto the stool next to him without a word, resting his arm on the counter, holding his head up with his palm. Strands of dark hair are splayed all around, odd white bits peeking out from here and there. Impulse can’t help but stare…
“What?” the stranger suddenly asks, huffing out a laugh. “Ya think I’m hot, too?”
Impulse’s eyes widen as his body freezes up, eyes locked uncomfortably on the man before him. His tone is wobbly and nervous when he finally finds his words, tongue feeling a little numb in his mouth, his face… warm. “E-Excuse me?”
The other stares blankly at him for a moment before a look dawns on his face, cursing under his breath as he shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry! Uh… that was weird. Very sorry, I just, um… say things sometimes. I think.”
For a moment, Impulse is just… stunned.
That was weird. Very weird.
But strangely enough, it almost makes him feel a bit… better. About how weird he himself feels, alone at a bar full of people, mingling amongst one another.
So rather than being offended for much longer, he simply gives a shake of his own head, chuckling awkwardly. “No, no, uh… no, you’re fine! Just… wasn’t expecting that… at all.”
“Phew! Thank god… thought you’d think I was a creep or somethin’,” the man laughs, shoulders hunched up as he presses his fingers into his cheek and temple. “I’m not, by the way. I’m not a creep—”
Suddenly, a glass clinks against the polished wood of the counter, Impulse’s eyes darting to follow the sound. He glances up to see Jimmy has returned, and with his whiskey ginger, too. “Sorry that took so long! Ran out of ginger ale and had to check the storage for it.”
Impulse shakes his head. “No, no, you’re fine, Jim—”
“Who’s this?” Jimmy interrupts him, attention turning to the man at the brunette’s side. Impulse feels a cocktail of emotions begin to swirl inside of him as he scrambles for an answer. Because yeah, who the hell was this guy…
But before he can say anything at all, the stranger is already opening his mouth. “The name’s Bdubs!”
He extends a hand, one that Jimmy takes with a laugh. The two share a firm shake before parting, Jimmy leaning forward ever so slightly. “Oh! Uh, hey! Nice to meet ‘ya! Can I grab you something to drink—?”
“Bloody Mary,” the man, Bdubs, shoots back instantly. “More parts tomato, though. Nothin’ too strong for me tonight.”
“Ah… well, okay!” Jimmy is quick to comply, smiling wide before he’s off to make another drink.
Leaving Impulse… alone. With a stranger. With… Bdubs.
He reaches out to grab his drink, feeling the cold glass beneath his fingertips. The chill alone eases the aching in his hand, even if it’s just barely. He slowly begins to raise it, holding it close to his face, but not close enough to taste it.
“...Bdubs?” he asks, raising a brow.
The other nods in the low light. “Yep! Bdubs.”
“Bdubs…?” Impulse continues, tone questioning, wanting more. To know more.
The man simply shrugs, smiling wide, baring his teeth in a grin. “Just Bdubs!”
Impulse doesn’t know what he was expecting. Not that, he’s sure. But who is he to judge?
“...okay,” he instead says slowly, swishing his small glass around before bringing it to his lips, taking his first sip.
The sweet tang of the ginger ale is such a nice contrast to the smokey hint of whiskey, and Impulse can’t help the soft hum that escapes his throat in delight.
“And… you are?” Bdubs asks, leaning forward a bit, tapping his cheek.
Impulse swallows before he lowers his glass, managing an awkward smile. “Impulse.”
“Impulse…?” Bdubs adds, with the same curious edge that he himself had used. The brunette chuckles breathily.
“Esvee,” he replies, taking another sip.
“Ooh… fancy!” the man muses, and Impulse can’t help but laugh, shrugging his shoulders. “Thanks.”
He holds the glass to his lips, less drinking and more just… existing, he supposes. All the while, his gaze stays trained on the stranger… well, less a stranger now and more just… someone strange.
Bdubs looks back at him, and their eyes lock, and now that he’s closer, Impulse can see just how… empty they look. So big and beautiful, dark pools growing the longer they admire one another, but nothing feels too alive about them. They feel like they’re staring straight into his soul, and yet there’s nothing behind them. Just… a void.
“Whatcha’ lookin’ at?” Bdubs finally asks, his voice accusative, but in a way that’s… oddly amused. Impulse’s eyes dart away as he shrugs again.
“You’ve just… got big eyes,” he manages to speak, and it’s not an excuse, because it’s true. But Bdubs’s laugh gives Impulse the impression that he never needed an excuse to begin with, anyway.
His laugh disperses into a chuckle, free hand tapping a foreign beat against his thigh as his lips close in a tight smile. “Yeah, people say that. Definin’ feature, I guess.”
The two’s gazes lock on Jimmy when he shows up again, chipper as ever, setting a fancy glass down in front of Bdubs. “Your Bloody Mary, sir.”
“Thank you,” Bdubs responds with just as much courtesy, sitting upright so he can take the drink into his hand.
They can feel Jimmy’s presence even when their eyes meet again, and an eerie silence falls over them. Impulse doesn’t know what to do. And by the look on Bdubs’s face, a distant expression, it seems like he doesn’t know, either.
Before Impulse has to suffer in the uncomfortable quiet any longer, though, Jimmy’s voice pipes up. “I’ll, uh… leave you two to… do your thing.”
He spares them an awkward smile before he’s darting away, tapping on the edge of the window into Mumbo’s kitchen, spouting something unintelligible to him. Leaving the two to simply… sit there. Alone.
And the way he said it, Impulse just can’t get past… he said it like—
“Pfft… this guy thinks we’re a couple, don’t he?” Bdubs finishes the thought for him, shaking his head with a chuckle as he brings the crimson drink to his lips. “What a weirdo…”
Impulse watches intently as the other takes a long drag of his Bloody Mary, the red vaguely staining his lips when he finally pulls the glass away.
“Yeah…” Impulse finds himself chuckling along, airy and awkward. “He’s just… like that, sometimes. Weird guy, sure…but he’s a sweetheart! Everybody loves him.”
“...wouldn’t have gotten that impression the way Martyn talks 'bout him,” Bdubs quips, raising a brow at Impulse as he takes another swig. The brunette laughs softly, shaking his head.
“Oh, that’s just Martyn and Jimmy for ‘ya…” Impulse exclaims, but his amused tone quickly melts into something more curious. “Wait, you know Martyn?”
Bdubs hums into his cup, sparing as much of a nod as he can with vodka and tomato juice pouring down his throat, holding up a finger to silently ask for a moment. He gasps softly when he’s finally done with his sip, finding his chance to talk again, something Impulse has a feeling he must really like to do.
“I’ve been a regular ‘round here for a long time now,” Bdubs starts. “Met Martyn back when he just bought this place. Cool guy, very witty! Funny, too. And talented.”
He motions to the stage, to where Martyn is still going at it, singing and beckoning the crowd to join him.
“Obviously.”
Impulse can’t help but smile, nodding along. “Yeah, that’s true… the man is incredible…”
His expression morphs a little as he ponders more, though, raising a brow at the other. “How come I’ve never seen you around? Me and my buddies come here, like, every other weekend… thought I would’ve noticed you by now.”
“...Oh! Oh, I keep to myself, usually,” Bdubs responds, interrupting himself to take a quick sip. “Tend to sit over there most the time…” He points to a table nudged in a corner, where the light barely reaches, before his finger guides Impulse’s gaze to the buzzing stage area. “Sometimes I hang out up there, though… when I’m feelin’ dangerous.”
Impulse can’t help but chuckle, taking a swig of his own drink. “Ooh, how daring.”
Bdubs laughs along once he sets his drink back down. He reaches over towards Impulse, and the brunette finds his heart hiccuping for a moment before the tanned hand comes down and grabs a mozzarella stick.
The man takes a bite of it, eyeing the string of cheese before it snaps. He smiles up at Impulse as he chews, chest puffing out a little with a giggle.
“Hope ‘ya don’t mind,” he says, mouth half full.
Impulse, surprisingly, can’t find it in himself to care. He flashes Bdubs a warm smile. “Course not.”
He uses his free hand to grab one of his own, taking a bite and feeling relief wash over him when his tongue isn’t set alight with a burn. And strangely enough, he doesn’t feel any shame when he begins to chew, no gnawing fear that people nearby are annoyed by him.
Him and Bdubs fall into a quiet routine of mozz stick and sip, and the silence isn’t all that odd once it settles over them. It’s… weird. How comfortable Impulse feels with a guy he’s just met.
For a moment, he thinks he’s being stupid… that it’s silly to be so enamored by a stranger. But he can’t help himself. Bdubs seems nice. Sweet, even.
Impulse is in the middle of another drink before Bdubs suddenly speaks up, his voice starkly quieter than how he’d been talking before.
“But y’know… I’ve seen you around,” he says, and Impulse has to blink to make sure he’s not imagining the way his eyelids begin to fall and make his eyes look even darker.
“...really?” Impulse asks, swishing his drink around, a tad nervous. Bdubs hums low, like a rumble in the back of his throat.
“Mhm… really,” he replies, voice softer, lower…
Impulse can feel his heart beginning to thud in his chest. Not in any way that’s scared or uncomfortable, just… anxious. The kind of anxious you feel when someone you’ve got an eye for passes you by and spares you a glance. Something almost… childish, in its innocence.
But any thought of innocence is quickly brushed off by the hand that finds itself on Impulse’s knee.
His throat tightens. He’d spit out his whiskey ginger if he could.
Before Impulse can speak, Bdubs is already drawling on. “Sure, you and yer buddies are a handsome gang of guys… but you? Good god… one of a kind, ‘s all I can say.”
Impulse tries to find his words. But every attempt just ends up with them growing muddled and messy as his attention falls back on Bdubs’s hand. Bdubs is touching him. Why is he touching him?
He’s jolted by a squeeze to his knee, and his jittery response seems to put a stall to Bdubs’s advance.
“...sorry,” he murmurs, hand beginning to withdraw. “Definitely should’ve asked, that was wrong… I’m so sorry—”
It’s Bdubs’s turn to jolt when Impulse suddenly grabs his hand, tugging it back towards him. He’s still for a moment, frozen in time, before he slowly guides the hand back down to his knee.
Why did he do that? Why did he do that?!
“You’re fine,” Impulse spits out instead. He swallows hard, body beginning to feel a little numb. Maybe it’s from the buzz of the drink. Maybe it’s from the buzz of Bdubs.
Either way, it makes the ache that had been racking his body for hours begin to fade.
“You sure?” Bdubs asks, voice dripping with genuine concern. “I-I was serious when I said I shoulda’ asked, that was stupid of me—”
“You’re fine,” Impulse repeats with a level of sterness that leaves Bdubs staring at him dumbfounded. He clears his throat. “...sorry. But I mean it. It’s… it’s fine.”
The other man is silent for a moment before he nods slowly, giving the brunette’s knee a gentle squeeze. Almost affectionately. “Okay… okay, good.”
They’re both left in that thick silence again, only soon broken by Impulse downing the rest of his glass before setting it back down onto the counter with a clink.
Bdubs stares at him, a smile creeping onto his face before he does the same, throat bobbing as he swallows down the rest of his Bloody Mary.
With both their glasses empty, it’s only a matter of time before Jimmy is back, taking one into each hand.
“Alright! Is that all for…” His eyes trail down to Bdubs’s arms, then to his hand, then to Impulse’s knee, where they’re connected. He’s quiet for a moment before he clears his throat, coughing a few times. “Is that all for tonight, guys?”
Impulse blinks the haze in his mind away as he glances back up at Jimmy, nodding and reaching back to grab his wallet. “Uh, yeah, I’m finished—”
“No, no, let me!” Bdubs suddenly chimes in, using his free hand to wave Impulse’s attempt off. “I’ve got this!”
Impulse cranes his head to look at the other, confusion painting his face. “Y-You don’t have to do that, Bdubs, seriously—”
“No, no, I insist!” the man interrupts him, taking out his own wallet and pulling out a couple tens, like he didn’t even count. He pats the bills affectionately before pulling his hand back. “That should be enough… keep the change!”
Jimmy gasps and smiles widely at the green on the counter, awkwardly placing the two glasses between his arm and chest as he swipes up the cash. “Wow… thank you! Thank you, thank you!”
He uses the hand holding the money to wave to Impulse. “Have a good night, Impulse!” He gives Bdubs a sharp nod. “And you, too!”
Bdubs waves Jimmy off as he walks away, chuckling at the burst of enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Impulse simply… stares. First at the empty space in front of them, then at the hand on his knee, then at Bdubs’s face.
“...why?” Impulse finally finds his words, face scrunching up a little in confusion.
Bdubs’s head whips back around to look at him, giving an animated shrug, lips tugged in a tight smile.
Impulse is resigned to silence for a moment, his mind beginning to race with all sorts of thoughts, all sorts of questions and concerns.
And, for better or for worse, his heart begins to race just as fast. Thumping against his ribs, the warmth in his chest radiating up to his cheeks where a blush begins to blossom.
When his mind slowly begins to clear, the worries becoming null and void, all Impulse can do is let out an airy scoff. More a chuckle than anything annoyed. “What… was that just an act of charity? Or are you expectin’ something in return?”
Bdubs’s smile curls into a full on grin, lips parting to reveal a set of pearly white teeth. His canines glimmer in the low light.
“Just some sugar.”
—
“An alley?” Impulse asks, tugging his jacket tighter around himself as a gust of wind blows by. A shiver trills down his spine. “Sounds kinda shady, man…”
“Oh, c’mon now… you can trust me!” Bdubs shoots back, glancing back at Impulse over his shoulder, waving the other along. “Besides… dontcha’ wanna be somewhere more private?”
Impulse shrugs. He supposes so. He’s not exactly sure what Bdubs has in mind… maybe a kiss or two, maybe making out… hell, maybe just an exchange of numbers.
The way those all sound perfectly fine to Impulse should be… evaluated.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees without much reluctance. He wants to stick his achy, cold hands into his pockets, but the wind just won’t let up. “Yeah… an alley sounds less windy. I like less windy.”
Bdubs laughs at him, or at the comment, Impulse isn’t sure. He doesn’t exactly mind which it is, either.
There’s a lot of things he should be minding right now, though. Like how he’s following a man he just met into a dark alley. Surely that’s a red flag.
But Impulse has never been good at spotting those.
So, despite their near stranger status, he lets Bdubs lead him into an alley hidden between two small shops he can’t for the life of him remember the names of. He even lets him grab his arm when he’s not being fast enough, dragging him along, nails digging into his sleeve.
He also lets Bdubs push him against the wall, cold, hard stone plunging into his back and uncomfortably nestling between his every curve and crevice. Or rather, he simply freezes and accepts when Bdubs pushes him against the wall. Two things he probably shouldn’t do.
Some air gets knocked out of him at the bold action, and it takes Impulse a moment to find his bearings. He stares down at the shorter man, eyes wide and startled. Like a deer in headlights.
He can’t move. He doesn’t want to move, not when one of Bdubs’s hands plants itself on the wall beside him and the other grabs clumsily at his hip.
The two simply stare at each other for a moment then, Impulse’s brown eyes being met with that dark void from earlier, that constant state of emptiness… that need to be filled.
God, Impulse hopes he can fill it.
It’s strange, wanting to suck up to a man you’ve just met. One conversation later and bam, you’re at his beck and call. Hanging desperately off of his every word, his every move, his every breath. Waiting.
Speaking of breath, Impulse’s is coming out in rapid spurts, a fog ghosting over his face in the chilly late night air. It’s almost hard to see the other beyond the mist he’s puffing out.
But no hot air leaves Bdubs’s mouth. Even with his lips parted and his chest heaving, that familiar cloud is nowhere to be seen. Which is, admittedly… quite strange.
Not that Impulse minds too much, of course. Especially not with the whiskey slowly settling into his system. Maybe Bdubs just has really good breath control! Maybe it’s just a trick of the light! Who cares?
Impulse has the most handsome guy he’s seen in a long time pinning him to a wall. The last thing he’s going to fuss over is something like that.
But he does find himself growing a little antsy the longer they stay like that. The longer Bdubs just… stares at him, unmoving.
Impulse isn’t too sure if there’s anything going on inside his head. He hopes it’s nothing bad if there is. He hopes Bdubs isn’t picking him apart piece by piece, finding things to fuss over, finding things to hate—
His racing thoughts come to a brief halt when Bdubs’s hand on his hip tightens, the one on the wall slowly creeping towards him. Impulse’s throat tightens when he feels it rest against the side of his neck, palm so oddly cold against his skin.
Bdubs’s fingers tap against it, almost methodically. Eyes that were once fixed on his face now trail down to his throat, and Impulse can feel his gaze boring into him.
He feels scared to swallow, too nervous to even move as Bdubs seemingly… inspects him, thumb rubbing along his Adam’s apple to his pulse point. Impulse is sure it’s beating like a drum beneath his touch. He’s sure Bdubs can feel it, too.
It feels like forever until Bdubs’s eyes finally meet his own again. And when they do, there’s barely any white left in them, all just an ever growing pool of deep brown as he looks up at the brunette.
Impulse’s breath trembles as he tries to hold himself together. As he tries to study the shorter man, half basked in nearby neon lights, half obscured in the shadow cast by the alleyway.
His eyes don’t shine… they’re just… empty.
But Impulse is finally able to pinpoint something else swimming in that deep void. Something other than the nothingness from before.
Hunger.
He can’t help but shiver again. And this time, he knows, is not from the chill.
It’s pretty terrifying, honestly. Being stared at like you’re a meal. Like you’re something to be picked apart with gnashing teeth, either torn to bits or tenderly savored piece by piece.
It’s also… exciting. The idea of Bdubs wanting him so carnally that it leaves him empty, craving something he’s never even had before.
Impulse’s heart is running a marathon in his chest, leaping and racing around between his ribs, bouncing off the bones like a ball. It’s silly, probably, how enthusiastic he’s become about all this. About kissing a random guy he met no more than an hour or two ago.
Now, Impulse isn’t one to just fall for anyone. At least, he hopes he isn’t… Skizz would never let him live that down. He has standards, you know.
But all those standards have clearly been flung right out the window, and all that’s left is his heart, raw and beating. All for this strange, strange man. And oddly enough, Impulse wouldn’t have it any other way.
He’s ready. His heart is open and quivering and terrified. But he’s ready.
So yeah, no wonder he grows impatient when Bdubs is gawking at him. And can you really blame him when he finds his lips moving on their own?
“Uh… so are you… are you gonna kiss me, or—”
Suddenly, the hand on his neck shoots up, clamping over his mouth. In mere seconds, Impulse’s head is pushed against the wall hard, a very painful endeavor.
Between the agonizing ache and his frazzled brain, Impulse can barely register Bdubs’s other hand shooting upwards and grabbing his arm, shoving his entire body back until it’s hitting the stone just as hard as his skull had.
It takes his eyes a moment to adjust, blinking slowly as his gaze locks on the other, ears ringing. He can just barely make out his expression, brows furrowed and eyes wide, almost animalistic.
“I’m sorry!” Bdubs finally exclaims, voice gritty and desperate, and Impulse’s attention is starkly brought to a pair of far too sharp canines. “I— I have to do this!”
Before Impulse can ask what or why or anything at all, Bdubs is leaping forward, putting his full weight on him and holding him in place. His tan fingers clutch at him, digging into his skin, and it isn’t long until Impulse feels something else digging into him, too…
It’s painful, painful enough for even someone like Impulse to jolt and let out a silent cry. Was he being stabbed? Was he getting injected with something? Was he going to die?!
In Impulse’s panicked haze, his brain desperately locks onto the sting spreading through his neck. He tries his absolute darndest to figure out what’s going on, what he used, what Bdubs is doing to him—
His mind freezes.
It’s sharp. Not like a needle or a knife.
Like teeth.
Impulse finally breaks free from his paralysis, yelping loudly and thrashing around, scrambling to grab onto Bdubs. To dig his nails into his exposed skin, to tug the arm holding him down away, to hurt him—
And, as for the hand on his mouth, Impulse does the only thing he can think of. He bites it back. Hard.
A cry is abruptly ripped from Bdubs as he draws it back, the rest of himself soon following suit as his head tilts down to adjust the damage. He waves his hand around, clearly in some desperate attempt to alleviate the pain, a string of incoherent curses tumbling from his lips.
“Whah— what the heck, dude?!” Bdubs barks as he stumbles backwards a bit, his other hand tearing free from Impulse’s grasp to wipe his mouth.
And Impulse can only watch in horror as blood smears the other’s skin. His blood. Blood from his neck.
Suddenly, a new sort of discomfort rises inside of the brunette, nausea and disgust bubbling in his gut. He doesn’t even realize he’s shoved Bdubs away until the shorter man is hitting the wall opposite of him, the sound echoing in the alley.
“What the heck? What the heck?! You don’t get to ‘what the heck’ me! What in the world was that?!” Impulse yells back, exasperated as one of his own trembling hands reaches up to clutch at his neck, at the wound there.
When he feels something warm and wet and sticky against his fingers, Impulse has to swallow down bile. “Ew, did you bite me?!”
“...maybe?” Bdubs chokes out, shoulders shrugging as he rubs at his injured hand. “But— you were supposed to stay still! ‘Ya weren’t supposed to freakin’ bite me!”
For a moment, all Impulse can do is just… stare. In shock? In fear? In disgust? He can’t pinpoint it at all. Probably all three in equal parts. Probably a whole myriad of other horrible things, too.
Because who in the absolute hell bites a stranger in a dark alley?
“Why?!” Impulse asks, because honestly, it’s all he can think to ask. It’s the only coherent thought in the sea of confusion that is filling his head.
When Bdubs doesn’t spare him an answer, Impulse only pries further. “What— what’re you, a vampire or somethin’? Huh?!”
It’s irritating, the whole thing. The pain in his neck, the blood getting everywhere, the complete and utter silence Bdubs gives him in response.
It’s not the same silence as the first time, though. It’s a knowing sort of silence. Like Bdubs knows the answer and he knows Impulse won’t like it.
Impulse finds himself scoffing. Mostly in disbelief. Some abhorrence is sprinkled in there, too. “...oh my god, don’t tell me you’re actually serious.”
All Bdubs does is shrug. And honestly, given what Impulse is discovering, that seems like a very Bdubs thing to do.
“...no, you can’t be,” Impulse starts, and he can only stare down at Bdubs, dumbfounded. He didn’t drink that much, did he? Surely not… it was only one glass! No, this isn’t some drunk hallucination. This is real. Very real.
But vampires aren’t. They can’t be. Impulse is sure of it, so much so he will gladly put it into words.
“Vampires aren’t real, B—”
“They are!” Bdubs quickly counters with an amount of sternness that Impulse is frankly quite surprised by. He points his non-bitten hand at the taller man, like he’s the one who has anything to be upset about. “They are because I’m a vampire!”
Impulse wants to refute it, to come up with some sort of rebuttal, to say something. Because he’s too smart to just… believe that! But he just can’t. He doesn’t know why he can’t. He doesn’t know why the words fall dead on his tongue.
The hand that’s not cupping his neck comes up to feel his forehead, and his skin is a lot colder than he ever realized. Is it from the chill of the evening air? Is it from the fear that’s racking his entire body? Is it from the blood loss? Impulse isn’t sure at all.
Oh, this would be so much easier if he was just drunk. If this was all some crazy dream he’d wake up from, alone in his apartment, slumped against his couch. Probably covered in vomit and sweat, sure, but at least not his own blood.
It would also be easier, Impulse thinks, to just accept this. To pretend vampires are real for Bdubs’s sake and his own. To believe him…
Dear god, why is he believing him?
“...okay, okay… so you… you bit me because you’re… a vampire…” Impulse mumbles, less for clarity’s sake and more just to hear it come out of his own mouth. Good lord, it sounds insane.
The insistent nodding from Bdubs does nothing to make the situation seem any better. “Yes! I was gonna feed on you, and then you… you… you messed it up!”
The accusatory tone from Bdubs quickly draws out Impulse’s dormant defensiveness. “I don’t understand why you’re upset! You were gonna… you were gonna drink my blood!”
Impulse’s hand moves down to rub the bridge of his nose, an exasperated breath escaping him. “You… you didn’t even ask or anything, man! How did you expect me not to freak out?!”
“Well, I wasn’t anticipatin’ you to just agree,” Bdubs starts, giving his bitten hand a final few waves before deciding it’s eased enough, letting it fall to his side with a dramatic sigh. “So I had to get a little… aggressive.”
Impulse doesn’t even try to stifle his groan, hand slowly sliding down his face as the words reach him. He still couldn’t believe what he’d just gotten himself into. A guy just bit him, and he bit him back, and he’s a vampire, what the hell—
“So… now what?”
Impulse blinks at the shorter man. “Excuse me…?”
“Now what?” Bdubs repeats himself, slumping against the opposite wall. He blinks back at Impulse like it’s something simple, like he couldn’t have just nearly killed him.
Which makes it even weirder how Impulse almost… pities him. From his gaze to his stance to the genuine confusion in his words, Impulse can’t help but feel a little bad even though he shouldn’t. This man just bit him, put two gnarly puncture wounds in his neck! And they hurt!
And yet here they are. Bdubs trying to melt into the wall as Impulse looks down at him with a reluctant sort of sympathy.
Because sure, maybe Bdubs could never even begin to understand how terrified and confused he is, and he’s the one who should be scrambling for explanations or excuses… but he has no more idea than Impulse on what to do.
“I… I don’t know…” the brunette confesses. Because it’s true. He just… doesn’t know.
He just had an encounter with a vampire. A very awkward encounter. Should he call the police? Should he call a priest? God, what is he meant to do?
Almost as if he can sense Impulse’s conundrum, Bdubs begins to splutter, “Please don’t tell anyone! I-I don’t know if they still do the whole burnin’ at the stake or, uh, stake through the heart stuff, but I really don’t wanna find out, man! Please!”
Impulse resigns himself to staring silently for a moment as he thinks, because yeah, what would happen to Bdubs if he told anybody? He didn’t know… he didn’t exactly want to find out, either.
“Okay! Okay… I won’t… I won’t tell anyone,” Impulse finally speaks, hands raising almost defensively in front of himself. “I just… do you seriously not have, like… an alternative or something?”
Bdubs bites the inside of his cheek (though not nearly as hard as he had bitten Impulse, clearly), shrugging. “Uhhh… no, not really. My one supply kinda dipped on me and animal blood tastes gross—”
The vampire makes a gagging noise, as if to further his point, sighing and crossing his arms. Impulse purses his lips, his brow furrowing. Almost concerned.
“...are you gonna, like… die if you don’t get your fill?” he asks, voice a little quieter, more serious.
Bdubs shrugs again, but despite his attempt at nonchalance, Impulse can see the stress eating at him, too. “Probably? Listen, man, ‘m gettin’ awfully dizzy these days… I think it’s catchin’ up to me.”
Impulse purses his lips. All he manages is a soft “oh” in response. Because what else do you say to that?
This guy’s blood could be on his conscience if he just leaves him, couldn’t it?
If he’s telling the truth, that is, Impulse’s rationality pipes up. A little late, he thinks, but better late than never. Because for all he knows, Bdubs could be lying about all this, using being a vampire as some desperate cover up for… whatever weird stuff he’s into.
But the more he looks at the shorter man, even in the lackluster lighting, the more sickly he looks. The more his slumping seems weaker rather than petty. The more his hands begin to shake and shiver. The more his eyes begin to droop.
Impulse hates that he lets himself play into it. But he can’t help himself. Bdubs just looks so… so pathetic.
“You said you had a supply?” he finds himself asking, entertaining whatever narrative Bdubs is spinning, he’s… somewhat sure. He doesn’t truly know anymore. “Uh… what does that mean?”
“Oh,” Bdubs exclaims, blinking a good few times, trying to get his own thoughts straight. “Well, ‘ya see, my ex knew about the whole, y’know… vampire thing. So he let me feed on him every once in a while. And that held me over, it did, really! But now he’s up and left and god, I don’t know what to do anymore—”
Bdubs’s voice cracks and oh, Impulse can’t help the way his brows knit together in sympathy.
Impulse finds himself nodding silently to himself, trying to piece together everything in his head. He finally takes his first deep breath in… well… a hot minute, leaning back against the wall behind himself.
What was he even supposed to do? Why was Bdubs coming to him with all of this? Why hadn’t Impulse just run away the second he had called his bluff?
So many questions. So little answers. And Impulse had a feeling he definitely wasn’t about to get any closure any time soon.
Especially not if he leaves Bdubs all on his lonesome…
“Okay, look…” Impulse starts, and his tongue suddenly feels numb in his mouth, as if his body is trying to get him to shut up. “You seem very… down on your luck. And I’m sorry! But I… I don’t know if I can just let you do that, man—”
“I’ll be gentle!” Bdubs chimes in, and he splays his hands against the wall behind him, pushing himself forward. “I’ll be so gentle, you’ll barely feel a thing!”
“Really?” Impulse counters, raising a brow. “Because your initial attempt didn’t feel very gentle—”
“Well, I will be this time, I swear it! C’mon, just… please…” Bdubs all but begs, taking a couple more steps closer in the already very cramped alley.
He reaches out, taking Impulse’s hand, stained with crimson, into his own. Impulse doesn’t know why he let him. He doesn’t know why he didn’t pull away, either.
Instead, he lets Bdubs clutch it tight, Impulse’s blood now smeared on both of them. The vampire gives it a squeeze, as if to offer some sort of reassurance. Impulse can’t help but find it oddly sweet.
The pity finds itself slowly creeping back in. And as Impulse stares down at the man before him, into those big, dark, pleading eyes… it only grows.
Bdubs looks so hungry. He’s clinging onto his hand like a lifeline, looking up at the brunette with enough desperation to tug aggressively at his heartstrings.
Those empty voids pierce into Impulse’s soul, just… waiting. Not very patiently, given the way his fingers twitch around Impulse’s hand and his chest heaves with every labored breath, subconsciously trying to pull him closer. But considering the circumstances, Impulse is sure that’s about as patient as he can be. He’d probably be a little skittish, too, if he was in Bdubs’s shoes.
A lump begins to form in Impulse’s throat the more he thinks about it. What must be going through Bdubs’s head? Impulse is right in front of him, still bleeding from the puncture wounds, dark red staining the collar of his shirt. He can probably smell it, that delicious blood he’s after. His mouth is probably watering.
The thought makes Impulse shiver in a way he can’t exactly pinpoint.
What would happen if he said yes? What would happen if he said no? What would happen if he said anything?
The uncertainty of it all makes Impulse’s heart race wildly in his chest. It’s strange, unknown, terrifying…
It’s exhilarating.
All the conflicting emotions inside of him slowly come down from a whirlwind to a low simmer, and the more the thought lingers, the more… fun it seems.
Sure, it’s nothing short of horrifying, the idea of letting a stranger suck his blood. But Impulse would be lying if he said the thudding in his chest was from fear alone. In reality, he knows it’s much more than that. It shouldn’t be, but it is.
The words come out before he can even think of stopping himself. “Fine.”
Bdubs’s eyes widen, a gasp escaping him as he inches closer, a toothy smile finally returning to his face. “Really?!”
“Yes—” Impulse spits out, his body feeling a little heavier as he begins to abandon rational thought, letting his heart speak instead. “You can… have your feed, or whatever. Just— just keep your promise, okay?”
“Please…?” The last part slips out, much softer and less assertive than the words before. It’s a little pathetic, Impulse is sure. He can’t bring himself to care too much.
It’s also stupid, Impulse knows. What if it went wrong? What if Bdubs bit too hard, hit something he shouldn’t, caused damage neither of them could fix? What if he killed him?
Maybe that was part of the thrill. The idea of placing his life into those calloused, blood stained hands. The idea of offering himself up to Bdubs and praying he’d take him tenderly, just as he’d promised. The idea of being wanted… being needed. It was so tempting…
God, Impulse is an idiot.
But his thoughts are brought to a screeching halt when he feels arms wrap around his waist, Bdubs’s body nestled against his again. This time, he doesn’t shove Impulse against the wall, doesn’t pin him down and sink his teeth in right away, like he just can’t help himself.
No, instead Bdubs hugs him. His breath comes out in shaky spurts as he nods insistently, resting his forehead against Impulse’s shoulder. “Thank you…”
Before Impulse can even think about responding, Bdubs’s head cranes upward, and he leans up on his toes to get some height. He can feel the other’s face slotting itself under his chin, mouth against his neck, cool breath ghosting along the skin.
Impulse shivers, a delicious sort of anticipation running down his spine.
He feels lips graze his pulse point, the odd sensation of a tongue running down his throat until that familiar sting hits him again. Teeth plunge into him, close enough to the original spot, he thinks, but off the mark enough to where he feels the pain all over again. Which is… less than appreciated.
He’s unable to stifle the gasp that’s ripped from his mouth, hands instinctively shooting up to grip onto Bdubs’s shoulders. His fingers dig into his sleeves, but no nails press harder to inflict any damage. They just… hold on tight. Wanting to be anchored.
His poor heart is thundering in his chest, vibrating against his ribs. He feels dizzy. He feels… helpless.
Is this how deers feel when they see headlights on the road? Is this how bunnies feel when they go limp in the jaws of a wolf? Is this how they feel when the danger is so close they can feel it, but they just… can’t do anything?
Impulse is frozen. The only movement he can spare is a random twitch every once in a while, muscles tightening and loosening in frequent spasms. He feels like a storm of fear is brewing beneath his skin, circling around inside of him and just begging to be freed. Clawing at his flesh from the inside, just as painful as the teeth digging into his neck.
But the pain… it begins to… fade, almost.
Not at all completely. However, what once was a sharp sting is now a thrumming ache, spreading from his throat to his collarbone to his jaw. Less pinned in one place, instead a pool of pain that is swimming in his veins.
It kind of feels… warm? Not Bdubs’s mouth, but… whatever it’s doing. Despite his cool breath and cool touch, Impulse feels oddly hot. He doesn’t question it. He doesn’t think Bdubs would have an answer for it, anyways.
Instead, he tries to keep his trap clamped shut. But it’s hard to do that when Bdubs is sucking his blood and having your blood sucked feels so weird especially when you’re the one who’s blood is getting sucked.
He can’t help the little noises that slip out, shaky breaths and soft groans, the occasional gasp when something feels different than before. He clings onto Bdubs with trembling hands, head craned up awkwardly to give him all the space he needs. Impulse wonders if the vampire can feel it, the sounds bubbling and rumbling in his throat.
When he lets out a particular pained noise, almost akin to a whimper, one of Bdubs’s hands begins rubbing his lower back. It takes Impulse a moment, but he slowly recognizes some sort of pattern being traced, gentle and soothing. He can’t tell what it is by any means, but the sentiment in itself is… surprisingly sweet.
He tries to focus in on the touch more, half to figure out the shape, half to distract himself from the odd sensation in his neck. But it gets harder and harder the longer Bdubs is feeding on him. His vision begins to blur and his brain begins to fog, that familiar feeling of blood loss swimming in his skull.
Impulse can feel his legs start to go numb, his fingers growing rigid and cold as some sort of paralyzed panic begins to settle inside of him. His eyes feel warm and heavy, and with every passing second, more and more strength is needed to keep them from falling shut for good.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified. Was Bdubs taking too much? Was he actually trying to suck him dry? Was he going to die like this, in an alleyway, bleeding out from his neck?
But despite those scary thoughts, he was also oddly… calm. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to put up much of a fight at all. Who knows.
It takes him a moment, but once the numbness begins to spread too far for him to ignore anymore, Impulse croaks out a soft plea. “Bdubs—”
When the words reach his own ears, Impulse realizes how wrecked he sounds. How he can barely get the words out, how they nearly slur together in his attempt to speak. He sounds like he’s about to pass out—
Suddenly, with one last particularly hard suck, Bdubs pulls back, letting out his own series of gasps.
His lips ghost over the bite mark, just hovering there for a moment as he catches his breath in turn. Impulse can feel those cool puffs of air against his skin, a sharp contrast to the warm liquid that is beginning to coat his neck. God, he’s probably a mess.
But before Impulse can fuss about the way his jacket and shirt are probably drenched in blood, he feels something make contact with the puncture wounds. Something… soft.
It takes Impulse an embarrassingly long time to realize what’s happening. For it to dawn on him that Bdubs is kissing him.
Or rather, his neck. But Impulse’s heart still flutters in his chest.
“Thank you—” Bdubs chokes out, voice raspy as he plants a couple more kisses to the spot. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”
He suddenly pulls back, shaking his head to move his dark hair out of his face. He looks up at Impulse, arms loosening to slowly pull away, to put some much needed space between them. But his hands remain, holding the taller man’s hips in a vice grip.
When Impulse looks back down at Bdubs and blinks the fuzziness from his own eyes, he can’t even grasp what he’s seeing, only the way his heart leaps at it.
The lower half of Bdubs’s face is smeared with blood, dribbling down his chin and beginning to stain his own tank top beneath his button up. His eyes are huge, voids of black staring up at Impulse, more intent than ever. And finally, for the first time, he thinks, Impulse sees them sparkle.
The two stand in silence after that, chests heaving and grasps loosening. In his haze, Impulse almost wishes Bdubs would keep holding him in that death grip. He knows he shouldn’t, but god, it feels safe.
But both of them are slowly but surely coming down from… that, and Impulse is acutely aware of how his limbs are heavy and his head is swimming. He wants to lay down. He needs to lay down.
He can’t help the way his body begins to slump in on itself, his vision and hearing muddled from the very obvious blood loss. He mumbles wordlessly, incoherent sounds falling from his pale lips as he tries to ground himself.
“Shoot—” Impulse can faintly hear through the ringing in his ears, and Bdubs’s panic does nothing to ease his own. “Oh crap, um… let me… uhhh…”
The sounds of clothes shuffling echoes in the alley just as it does in Impulse’s head, and it takes him a moment to register the sudden pressure being applied to his neck and the fabric that is now draped over him.
He blinks down at Bdubs, and it’s then Impulse notes the lack of button up, the other’s tan shoulders hunched up as he scrambles to keep said shirt held up against the wound.
“Just— keep that there! I guess—” Bdubs exclaims, the frantic edge to his voice not going unnoticed by any means. “Now, yer not gonna bleed out, trust me! I know where to bite so that don’t happen, but just… keep it covered till it stops bleeding, ‘kay?”
Impulse doesn’t realize his own hand is moving until it’s up against his neck, pressing the cloth there with a gentle but firm pressure. Bdubs gives him a sharp nod before he withdraws his own hand, patting Impulse’s upper arm.
“Good job,” the vampire says with a smile, fangs glinting in the neon light. “You’re an angel, Impulse. An absolute freakin’ angel.”
Impulse’s heart swells at the words, at the praise. He clears his throat, trying desperately to let his mind clear. “Th-Thanks…?”
Bdubs gives him a hum in response, head nodding again as he begins to step back further, bringing one hand up to wipe at his face. Impulse watches him, blinking slowly as the situation begins to make more sense to his fuzzy brain.
“...your shirt,” the brunette manages, mouth dry and throat tight. “This… this is your shirt—”
“Yeah, well, had to use somethin’ to stop the bleedin’,” Bdubs replies, face scrunching up as he assesses the mess covering himself. He wipes what’s left of wet blood onto his white tank top, leaving it a canvas of red smears and handprints. “Besides… I’ll be fine! Don’t mind the cold too much. ‘Cause I’m… y’know… a vampire.”
He flashes Impulse a toothy grin. Impulse can’t help the nervous chuckle that escapes him in response. “Yep… you definitely are.”
The shorter man laughs at the admission, and Impulse can’t help but find his sudden liveliness strangely cute. Not that that energy was completely devoid before (lord knows Bdubs was still buzzing with it in the bar), but now… he’s got a sparkle in his eyes. A sparkle Impulse hadn’t seen before.
A sparkle, a silly part of him hopes, that he’ll see again one day.
After another passing beat of silence, Bdubs clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, uh… was my gentleness up to yer standards?”
Impulse lets out another soft chuckle. “...I’d give it a six outta ten.”
“A six?!” Bdubs huffs, looking up at Impulse like he’s the crazy one. “No, no, that was some of my best work! That was not a six! That… that was a freakin’ eight at the absolute least!”
Impulse shrugs at him, a wobbly smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well… never exactly had my blood sucked before. So I, uh… don’t really have much to compare it to, y’know?”
Bdubs is quiet for a moment before he shrugs, glancing up at the other. “We could change that.”
Impulse’s world slows for a moment as the words hit him. “...what?”
Unlike his strange first comment at the bar, Bdubs doesn’t take it back. Instead, he gives another awkward shrug. “I mean… a six is pretty average enough, right? ‘N I could probably do better if ‘ya gave me the chance… if you, uh… get what I mean.”
Granted, it takes Impulse a moment to truly grasp what he’s insinuating, but when he does, he can feel warmth begin to creep up his neck again and into his cheeks. “Are you saying you… want to suck my blood? Again?”
“Not right now!” Bdubs exclaims, one of his hands coming up to hover defensively in front of himself, the other reaching behind to rummage through his back pocket. “I just… think we could maybe… y’know…”
The vampire pulls out his phone, raising a brow inquisitively at the other. He gives it a little shake. “Keep in touch?”
Impulse’s eyes fix on the phone, a million thoughts filling his mind.
Bdubs… wants to keep in touch? He wants to see him again? He wants to do this again?
At first, Impulse’s initial perception is… less enthusiastic. Bdubs probably just sees him as a blood bag, somebody to call on when he needs a fix. Just a food source, nothing more. He doesn’t want Impulse in any way meaningful, he just… wants him as a transaction. To serve his purpose and then leave, like it’s as simple as that. And maybe it is.
He wants to use him, Impulse thinks. There’s no way to sugar coat it.
But oh, if Impulse twists it around a little, he can see it a bit more favorably.
Bdubs needs energy. Bdubs needs blood. Bdubs needs him.
Bdubs needs him! He needs Impulse. He needs Impulse to survive.
Is it sick to find that thought so delicious?
Because Impulse does. The idea of being wanted. The idea of being needed. The idea that his very existence is the reason that Bdubs can keep going, and the only reason, at that.
Impulse loves feeling needed. He needs to feel needed. Like he’s good for something.
And Bdubs…
He looks down at the shorter, admiring the way his hair falls and his face twitches. The way his lips are parted ever so slightly, a glimpse of white and red peeking out between them. The way he’s looking up at Impulse so expectantly.
Bdubs could give him that.
So despite his better judgement, Impulse’s free hand reaches out, grabbing the other’s phone and clumsily typing his number into a new contact. He checks to make sure it’s correct (because he’d never be able to live down messing this up) before giving the device back to Bdubs. The vampire takes it with a wide grin.
“Perfect!” he laughs, slipping his phone into his pocket and patting it a good few times. “I’ll give ‘ya a call when I can, yeah? Maybe set up somethin’, uh… less like this?”
“Something less ‘sucking my blood in a dark alley’-y?” Impulse quips, breathing out a chuckle. “Uh, yes please.”
Bdubs barks out a laugh, swatting at Impulse playfully before he begins to inch deeper into said alley. “Great! Yep, I’ll call ‘ya soon, then. Very soon.”
Impulse raises a brow as the other begins to back away, his head giving a slight tilt (despite the strain in his neck). “...where are you going?”
The vampire hums, shrugging. “Home. It’s late, y’know? You should do the same. And quick… before somebody sees all that.”
He smirks and points to the bloody wound that’s poorly covered with the now bloody button up, as if he wasn’t the one who put it there.
Impulse is quiet for a moment before he chuckles, airy and awkward. “Oh… yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna… I’m gonna go do that now.”
He begins inching towards the other end of the alleyway, the one much closer to the street, to the neon lights and street lamps. A myriad of colors paint his face as he glances back at Bdubs. He flashes him a weak smile, slowly lifting a hand and giving it a little wave.
Does he say goodbye? How can he just say goodbye after all this? Why isn’t he begging for more answers? Why is he just… letting this happen? Why is he going to let it happen again?
But Bdubs puts Impulse’s racing thoughts to rest when he bares his teeth to the brunette in a grin, his body covered in shadow save for those pearly whites. “Buh-bye, Impulse!”
He can just barely see his hand waving back in the dark, and before Impulse can bring himself to bid his own proper farewell, it’s pulling back into the shadows, disappearing into the alley. And with that, Bdubs is gone. Fading into the darkness like some… monster.
And maybe that’s what he is. A monster.
But Impulse can’t bring himself to care.
Instead, he takes a brief moment to gather his bearings before he’s slipping out of the alleyway entrance, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while walking down the sidewalk.
Which is hard to do, given how he’s half drenched in blood and holding a shirt that’s not his to his neck. And given how he’s stumbling about from the lightheadedness. And given how his heart is banging like a drum in his chest, vibrations thrumming through his limbs, from his hands to his feet.
A short way into his walk, Impulse finds himself slowly lowering the shirt from his neck. To assess the damage, he tries to tell himself, and to see if the bleeding had stopped.
But his fingers linger on the puncture wounds, where teeth had once been, Bdubs’s teeth… for far too long. He gently traces over the marks, touch tender as he almost seems to relive the sensations. The biting, the sucking…
Impulse sighs, a painful longing pouring from his heart. The kissing.
Bdubs had kissed it better. After it was all said and done, even once he was fully fed and Impulse was no longer of use… he kissed it better. The wound he left… he kissed it better.
That was the only thought that filled Impulse’s head as he made his way back home. Not the terrifying first bite, not the horrifying realization of the other’s true nature, not the taboo relationship that was sure to develop…
No, all Impulse could think of was how Bdubs had kissed him. How he had held him in his arms. How he had called him an angel.
He might as well have been drunk, the way he clumsily stumbled into his apartment, smiling giddily and slumping against the door as he shut it behind himself.
Impulse was needed by someone. And god, he couldn’t wait to be needed again.