Fics like red is the colour of blood

“You—you saved me,” he says, leaning forward to touch the jut of Buck’s elbow. Buck’s eyes flick to him, fast and predatory, from the corner of his vision. “How did you know where I was?” Buck scoffs. “Because I could smell it on you, Eddie,” he explains. “Three weeks ago you walked into the station smelling like iron and moss. Like wet stone. Humans don’t smell that way on their own.” Humans. Buck says it like he doesn’t count himself among them. What would he call himself, then? Eddie finds himself too nervous to ask. “So you… you followed me?” Buck doesn’t respond, but his gaze remains fixed and pointed, his mouth pressed into a firm line. Finally, after what feels like forever, he says, “you don’t understand what you are.” Eddie swallows. It’s an eerily similar sentiment to the one Alex had made, just before he had sunk his teeth into Eddie’s warm and waiting flesh. In all my years on this earth, I never imagined I’d find a jewel as rare as you.

Fics like red is the colour of blood

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