The similarities between their houses ended there. More than merely smelling of Wesley, his home had a life of its own that far outshone Vincent’s old, sterile family dwelling. Here the laundry lay folded sloppily on the blue recliner and every inch of shelf space held clusters of adorable, animated figurines or fantasy statuary. A few spaceship models had been mixed in, as well as a crucifix, though the nearby dangling rosary made Vincent suspect it had nothing to do with outdated vampire superstitions. Both seemed a bit dusty. The main couch faced away from the foyer, and photos of scenic ruins and elegant cathedrals had been pinned to the back of it around a weathered map. A sock stood like a hat on the banister’s end post.
As Vincent crossed the foyer, one of the wooden floor panels creaked under his foot. He scooted away from it, wrapping his arms around himself. It stopped complaining the moment he left.
He slipped through the living room, absentmindedly counting the brightly colored array of controllers that littered the coffee table and sat beneath the giant, primary television monitor. One of them had been stickered with Pride rainbows. Vincent felt himself relax, just a little. He’d seen the rainbow flags in Wesley’s room already, but the extra confirmation was always nice. There was at least one part of who Vincent was that Wes wouldn’t be judging.
The carpet gave way to tile as the room turned hastily into a small dining area beside the walled-off kitchen. Papers and a few more potted plants had been stacked on the side of the wooden table, a giant doily spread under them like half a tablecloth.Fuck everything, drink teahad been embroidered sloppily along the edge.
Vincent loved it.
As he turned toward the kitchen, his attention caught on the sliding glass doors to the backyard. They reflected his hazy image where darkness swept down the hill beyond Wes’s fence, before it finally turned into residential neighborhoods once more, but Vincent knew the landscape there by heart, from the rows of tombstones to the three stony mausoleums at the far edge to the little broken church where local teens came to vape and make out.
Such a different home from this one.
“You can sit if you want,” Wes interrupted his thoughts. He leaned against the counter, trying to hold a bowl in the crook of one arm while pinning a ramen package with the other and opening one of its spice packets with his teeth.
“Here,” Vincent said, stepping in to take the bowl.
Wes lifted a brow.
Vincent gave the bowl a sheepish look and set it on the counter beside the rest of Wesley’s meal, which seemed to consist of the combined remains of three different bags of chips, the last brownie in a plastic grocery-store container, and something that might have been a salad beneath all the ranch dressing and croutons. His stomach rumbled.
“Is that how much you want to bite me?” Wesley joked.
The question went right to some primal part of Vincent, catching him deep in the back of his throat and tempting his fangs to slip out unbidden. He tried to ignore the ache that came with it. Maybe he had been right. Maybe this was too much.
Wesley seemed not to notice. “Oh, shit, vampires eat people food too, right?”
Peoplefood, not human food. Vincent’s jaw hurt from clenching. “We’re people, so yes?” It shouldn’t have been a question, but the whole world made him feel like it was, as though he was suddenlyless thanjust for having needs that others didn’t. He cleared his throat. “Yeah we eat food.”
That seemed to give Wesley a kind of uncomfortable, deliberating pause. Finally he smiled, only half as bright as before, but his words came a little softer, a little weightier. “Sorry, yeah. If you’re hungry, I can get you something.”
Vincent’s anger melted back into a lump in his throat. “No, no I couldn’t. That would be…” Rude? But he couldn’t possibly get much ruder than creeping into someone’s house to steal their blood. Multiple times. And then telling them you’d done so. Multiple times. And coming back when they offered seconds.
Get in, feed, get out, he reminded himself.
But already his body was leaning toward the front door, like the awkwardness of the whole situation might siphon him out of it entirely.
An emotion almost like panic crossed Wesley’s face, but it was gone so fast it seemed a mirage. His shoulders bobbed, collarbones shifting beneath his t-shirt. “Yeah you probably don’t want these noodles anyway, they’re spicy as hell. I usually save half the red packet and put it in something else.” His gaze bored into Vincent like he was drilling into Vincent’s soul. “Unless you’re up for a challenge?”
Vincent felt as though he was being set up, as though maybe this wasalljust a set up. But the way Wesley’s lips twitched, his eyes narrowing and his neck bared as he turned his head to one side, standing here in this place that looked and smelled so gloriously of him, returned all the warmth and want that had urged Vincent back to this house in the first place. He was caving, he knew, the same way he’d caved to his cravings for Wesley’s blood. The same way he was pretty sure if Wesley offered up another taste of himself, he’d cave to anything the man asked of him from here on out.
“I propose a wager.” Wes tipped forward, just a little, his brows lifting deviously. “I bet that I can eat more spicy-as-hell ramen than you.”
Vincent choked on a laugh. A spicy noodle-eating contest was not anywhere on his list of things he wanted to do with Wesley Smith Garcia. But the way Wes’s eyebrows tugged together, his lips, a little fuller and rounder than Vincent’s, puckering enough that Vincent swore his heart made a literal sound in his chest as it waved to his dick, he absolutely couldn’t say no. He couldn’t say yes yet either. “What are we betting? I don’t—I didn’t bring any cash.”
“Cash is for cheapskates anyway. Let’s say…” Wes shrugged. “Let’s say that whoever wins gets to decide what we do after dinner?”
Vincent blinked, trying to dislodge the vision of all the things he could ask Wesley to do—I want you to let me grip your hair as I suck on your neck, I want you to fight me just a little so your body presses into mine, I want you to run your hands over your skin and tug at your clothing and see how long I can hold myself back from biting you—all things that had dwelt in his dreams the last few days, but which he would never, ever speak aloud as long as he lived. But he couldn’t help the way his voice turned softer, almost broken. “Are there rules?”
“No rules.” Wesley’s throat bobbed, and he stared in a way that made Vincent feel like there was a fire hidden beneath the look. Then it vanished, the excitable neighborly Wesley returning so fast that Vincent swore the heat he’d seen had just been his imagination playing dirty tricks on him. Dirty, enticing tricks. “It’s not legally binding or anything,” Wes continued. “But if I win, I get to make you feel like you’re a cowardly ass for at least a week if you don’t agree to whatever I ask.”
Whatever he asked. Vincent had to blink that back too. It came with another series of fantasies that Vincent could easily imagine this larger-than-life, up-for-anything Wesley uttering:put your mouth here, say it like that, harder—
Vincent coughed, forcing his gaze away from Wes and onto the dressing-flooded salad, then nope, somehow that was also too much imagery, and he shifted his attention all the way to his own haunting reflection in the darkened window. God, did he really look like that? So ragged and panicked. He had to get a hold of himself. Breathe. Think. Feed, and… well, not get out, not right away. The idea was as enticing as it was terrifying.
“Nothing dangerous for vampires, alright?” he asked.
“Dude, I just invited you into my house to drink my blood. If anyone is in danger here, it’s me.”
