Page 48 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
“I’m fine,” Vincent lied. Nothing good could come from worrying him.
“You’re sure? You look like you’re shivering a little.” Wes reached out, and as his fingers slid against Vincent’s arm, they induced a new kind of tremble, strong and warm and enough to soften the sun-shakes, if only for an instant. The old tremors crept back in as soon as it was gone.
“I just left my hood down a little too long. It’s not bad, it’ll pass.” One of those things was true, at least.
“I’m sorry.” His lips tugged down, but then his expression brightened. “You should feed! I know it’s early but it might help your body cope with the sun-poisoning. Or, so I’ve heard.” He looked almost embarrassed at the end, shrugging as he tucked his thumbs into his pockets.
It was cute. And far sweeter than Vincent deserved after all the irritation and jealousy he’d been letting stew lately.
He thought of the bag of blood Wes had found for him, his honest attempts to learn so far, the way he had been offering up everything he had without question. Even if he was still oblivious to Vincent’s struggles at times, at least he was trying. Here, face to face with his earnestness and his eagerness to help, Vincent could feel his affection for the man outweighing everything else.
But a little fear still clung to it. A little fear that all those things would eventually be too much for Wesley. That the amount he had to try just to be friends with someone like Vincent wouldn’t be worth his effort forever.
“I guess I could do with a snack. Just a little one, I promise.” It sounded more like a plea than he meant it to and he added a crooked smile at the end. “If you want, I’ll chase you around a bit later. You can hide first and try to fight me off with pillows or something.”
Wesley’s face reddened a little beneath the warm tan of his skin. “I never said I was into that,” he grumbled, but he groaned after, pressing his hands to his cheeks. The dozen wrapped beads around his wrist slid ever so slightly down his arm and Vincent’s gaze kept moving, following the gracious curve of his muscle to the delectable crook of his elbow. “Fuck, yeah, okay, that sounds like a blast, and not just for kinky vampire shit. I haven’t had a proper pillow fight since middle school.”
“I’m all for helping you reclaim your childhood.” If it stirred up Wesley’s scent and made him laugh and struggle playfully beneath Vincent, all the better. “Now, I think you’d better bare your neck, if you know what’s good for you...”
5
Vincent swore that the more accustomed he became to Wesley’s blood, the better it tasted. That seemed like the inverse of logic. Too much rich cake made the sweetness overbearing. Too many meals of a favorite food in a row made it less appetizing. Too much champagne made for a headache.
But this—their legs tangled beneath them as they sat in the center of the couch, Vincent’s fingers in Wesley’s hair and Wes’s throat vibrating with soft, breathless sounds as Vincent drank Wesley in, drank him up deep and a little ravenous—this experience felt more wonderful every time. It was as if the fading of the initial butterflies left space for Vincent to take in even more of Wesley. And Vincent did.
It made it all the harder when he forced himself to lick the wound closed early, leaving the softest hint of a kiss afterward. As he let Wesley go, he could already feel the blood at work, settling his body into something almost useful again. And Wesley had known this. He’d figured it out and offered it up without reservation. Though at the moment it seemed to be benefiting the man, too.
Wes gave a long, happy hum. He flopped sideways across the length of the couch, not bothering to hide his erection as he settled his legs over Vincent’s. Just bros for kinky biting, that was all they were. All Wesley seemed to want, anyway. But one of Wes’s pant legs pulled up around his socks, and for a moment Vincent was pretty sure he understood the whole deal with women not showing their ankles in the old days. He swallowed.
Wesley looked up at him, a brow lifted. “Are my feet yummy?”
“They smell.” Which was true, technically, they just didn’t smell particularly bad. Kendall must have trained him well. When Wes tried to protest, Vincent caught his legs and pulled the man’s feet into his lap. “Knees though…” He mimicked biting Wesley’s kneecap with just his regular teeth.
Wes laughed and tried to jerk his legs away.
Vincent grabbed at the nearest one, holding it fast to his chest. “Want to wager on whether or not you’re ticklish?”
“Fuck, never, that’s cruel!” Wesley flailed.
Vincent wiggled his fingers into the soft spot of the man’s kneecap until his whole leg jerked and he shrieked, falling off the couch in a series of curses and cackles. His laughter subsided, but he continued to lay there, smirking up in a way that did funny things inside Vincent’s chest. When his gaze darted to Vincent’s still trembling hands, the expression fell. It was like turning out a light, except the light was as much inside Vincent as it was on Wesley’s face.
“Any better yet?”
“It’s getting there.” Vincent preoccupied his fingers by tying up the stray threads where Matthew Babcock’s grip had torn a seam loose on the front of his jacket. If he could just pull himself together a little more, then Wes could stop worrying.
“Hey, Vinny?”
The string Vincent was trying to wind into a knot unfurled beneath his ungainly fingers, yanking the entire seam loose. It split from his shoulder down to his armpit, the pieces of fabric falling apart to reveal a slice of his worn gray shirt beneath. “Shit.”
His throat knotted. This was the new jacket. The one he’d gotten with the money from Babcock. Babcock, who was now making it very clear that a job or even a safe place to charge his phone weren’t in his future here unless he wanted to try his luck with a legal system that preferred not to recognize vampires as people under the constitution.
No matter how happy he was to be biting Wesley, the rest of Vincent’s life was fucked.
“Dude, it’s fine.” Wesley sounded nervous. He hovered over Vincent, holding out his hands like an offer of peace. “It can be replaced.”
Vincent had to get a handle on his emotions. He could not scare Wesley like this, not after all Wes had done for him; the blood and the moans and the laughter. Itwasjust a jacket. Vincent could fix the sleeve with some patchwork or switch back to his old one.
But he couldn’t fix the problem that had caused it and he couldn’t go back to the way he’d been living. He couldn’t keep living like this either, getting pieces of Wesley’s bright, happy world and Wesley’s bright, happy affection as his own life continued spiraling. Couldn’t keep dreading the point when Wesley realized that Vincent wasn’t any different from his old thrift store jacket, threads always just about to break, fabric forever in need of extra care. Couldn’t keep stewing in discomfort while waiting to see if Wes’s generosity and attention would wane.
