Page 37 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
This was just a very specific craving Wesley happened to have. It wasn’t about Vincent himself, nor was it an offer for anything more than a bite with a lightly predatory flare. Even if it was a bit sexual for Wesley, it certainly wasn’t about findingVincentsexy. It couldn’t be.
Wesley moaned when Vincent’s teeth sunk through his skin, and he pressed himself against Vincent like an instinct, the bulge of his dick so hard where it rubbed Vincent’s hip that Vincent’s own erection ached. They were still just friends. Friends who happened to be a human with a bite kink and a vampire so in tune to that human’s scent that it engulfed him like its own kind of intoxication. But all that knowledge seemed launched into the void suddenly.
Vincent grabbed firmer onto Wesley’s hair, stroking the man’s wrists and pressing down on him with his body as he fed in gentle, extended nipping and sucking like a series of tiny, aggressive teeth kisses that trailed along Wesley’s pulse. Wes’s fingers curled around Vincent’s and fluttered there, like he didn’t know whether to hold on. It was such a singular sweet gesture in the midst of their almost violent thrill that it made Vincent ache in two different places at once.
He didn’t just want this. He wanted this and more.
As he finished feeding, Vincent gently pulled Wesley up. He wrapped an arm around Wes’s back and he dragged his tongue up the side of his neck to heal the little bite wounds over, savoring the last hints of blood and the scent of Wes’s skin. Wes relaxed against the back of the bench, but he seemed tight and alive beneath the outward languidness. It had to be the same tension that was still bundled up in Vincent. It had to be.
The man leaned toward him.
Vincent acted on impulse and the lingering effects of too many shots: he tried to kiss Wesley Smith Garcia. Except, as it turned out, impulse and alcohol had equal potential to create and destroy. Instead of meeting Wes’s lips with his own, he found the man’s nose with the tip of a fang.
Wes jerked back, cursing. “Ah fuck, was that you? Ah—” And he sneezed.
Vincent bolted to his feet. “Sorry, god, I’m sorry! Are you bleeding, should I—”
“Shit, no, you’re good,” Wesley said, standing, but as he did so, he sneezed again, bonking his head into Vincent’s chin.
Vincent lurched. The back of his knees hit the edge of the speedboat. On any other night, in any state of sobriety, he could see himself catching his balance, laughing as he praised his vampiric agility. But this night must have included one too many drinks or one too many shocks or hopes or other debilitating emotions, because this night he toppled uselessly backwards, and the chilly lake slammed into him.
Water rushed over his head and leached into his coat. The heavy fabric felt like a sea monster wrapping around him, pulling him down. A mix of panic and mortification shot like ice through his veins, but he fought against it, forcing himself to stay calm. Accidentally stumbling headfirst into the freezing lake was no more horrific than failing to kiss Wesley. Particularly if Wesley had realized Vincent was trying to kiss him and avoided it on purpose.
Oh god, maybe he was better off drowning here.
Wes was still on the boat, though. Vincent had to face him, one way or another. He pushed through the bitter cold of the October night water, kicking his legs and pumping his arms toward the haze of dim light between the undersides of the boats. He broke the surface with a gasp, treading water to keep afloat. “Wes?”
“Fuck.” It sounded just a little like Wesley had been crying. He’d torn free one of the boat’s bench cushions and was halfway through tugging out a life jacket, but he dropped it and slammed himself against the railing, gripping the side with both hands. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah, just cold and wet. And also in the water. Kind of sucks.” Vincent’s teeth chattered. His fangs felt like they’d retracted so far back into his skull that they would never come out again, and if he ever needed to get rid of any other erections fast, now he knew the cure.
“Ah shit, that’s going to make what I’m about to do incredibly stupid, isn’t it?” Wesley stared at the water for a moment before shrugging. “Bottoms up or something.” He stepped onto the boat’s rail and vaulted over the side. Tucking in his arms and legs, Wes splashed like a cannonball into the lake close enough to dowse Vincent with a wave of the icy water.
Vincent sputtered as he reemerged. “What the fuck, dude!”
“I don’t know, it felt like the right response?” Wes wiped his face, squinting in Vincent’s direction as he swam. A choppy laugh spilled out of him. He hollered, throwing both his arms out and plunging backward like the world’s worst breaststroke. As he came back up, he shook his head like a dog, flinging droplets away from his head. “You weren’t joking, this is freezing!”
Vincent swiped him with a splash. “You could have given me your jacket but now it’s wet, you ass!” Through his shivers, he found his smile creeping back into place. This man—this ridiculous, wonderful, nonsensical man who thought the best reaction to his awkward, bumbling vampire friend falling in the water was to jump in himself—this man was perfect. Wesley Smith Garcia was perfect, and looking at him made Vincent’s heart stop, and turned even the freezing cold water brighter and warmer.
Wes wiped back his hair, tucking the short, drenched waves behind his ears, and grinned almost sheepishly. “Shit, you’re right. Next time you fall into a lake, I’ll take off my clothes before I join you.”
It didn’t sound like flirting; it sounded like every other weirdly suggestive joke Wes had blindly stumbled into, his expression still casual and friendly. Vincent opened his mouth, and closed it again, kicking his legs a little harder. He regressed to splashing Wes a second time.
Wes lifted his hands. “I get it! I get it!” He laughed. “It’s really fucking cold, dude, do you want to…?” He motioned vaguely toward the little public beach that butted the boardwalk between their gated marina and the next.
“Please,” Vincent all but whined.
They were both doing more shaking than laughing by the time they pulled themselves back onto dry land, and Wes had begun muttering about his great multitude of life regrets. He pulled his phone out and Vincent cursed, digging around in his pockets for his own. Dead, as he’d suspected, but he wasn’t sure if it had been that way before the water or not. Wesley’s still worked just fine.
“Completely waterproof.” He waved it at Vincent, showing off the loading app for a taxi service as he did. “I broke like five different phones over freshman year of college and now Kendall buys me a heavy-duty case for every birthday.” His hands shook as he typed, and he bounced on his heels. His lips looked a bit blue.
Vincent grabbed his arm. “There’s heaters outside that little pub across the street.”
Wes only grunted, letting Vincent lead him to a nearly-empty patio, the last pair of customers paying their bill. Their waitress gave him and Wes a skeptical look but Vincent smiled awkwardly and made a show of shrugging. The woman just sighed.
“Car will be here in seven minutes,” Wes muttered. He crossed his arms, exhaling a shaky breath.
Vincent pressed his shoulder against Wes’s. He felt noticeably colder—the difference between human and vampiric homeostasis probably. The city was so quiet now that it left Vincent’s gaze always wandering back to Wesley and he had to keep pulling it away to stop himself from overly focusing on the bunch of the man’s gorgeous lips and the bob of his throat, the way the specks of rainwater still caught in his dark eyelashes shone and the perfect line of his sturdy jaw. He forced his attention elsewhere, finally fixing it on the building to their left. A glass box of fliers had been mounted against its near wall, the largest one at its center advertising a new Vitalis-Barron Pharmaceuticals research opportunity.Payment in gift-card or cash, it claimed in bold lettering above the two wordsvampires wanted!
