Page 50 of Thirsty
In other words, I think you should take this guy home andtalk to him. I get not being into the shrinking virgin thing, so don’t be one. Invent a new virgin trope: the virgin...archaeologist? Workshop this.
My point is, if you can be bold enough to imagine inviting a creature of the night into your bed, you should be bold enough to imagine talking to him about it. Imagine taking it slow; being open to things that may be new and unfamiliar; supporting each other; listening to each other; figuring out what you like and what works for the both of you, together.
That’s the best I can offer for now. Circling back, though, we should definitely start working on that compendium of monsterfucking. I couldn’t agree more that necessary lore on slamming the supernatural is sorely lacking.
Sincerely,
Crone
Chapter 14
Lorenzo arose at the crack of sunset, which was new for him; left to his own devices, he often didn’t get out of bed before midnight. But these trips he was arranging for Charlie tended to be in the early part of the evening, so he’d been adjusting his schedule.
Waking more abruptly than he was used to had a tendency to remind him more of his dreams. They weren’t really dreams, of course. Vampires could enter others’ dreams, but they had no dreams of their own. Their sleep was more like death—a minor death triggered any time the sun was overhead, to be precise—so Lorenzo’s mind couldn’t invent colorful new worlds in his sleep the way Charlie’s could.
But his dead neurons weren’t all the way dead, and they kept on firing during the day just enough to transmit memories, albeit slowly. Necrotic brain tissue working at a fraction of its normal capacity produced hazy flashes of memory that could be savored at a tenth their usual speed, even if sound or color or faces were usually lacking or absent.
So when he slept, Lorenzo could relive the night of Sebastian’s party. Specifically, the reason he’d nearly gotten thrown out of Sebastian’s party in such frankly spectacular fashion.
His dead flesh didn’t dream, it simply remembered, with sluggish devotion, the feeling of pulling Charlie close to him and playacting at what he hadn’t even let himself think about. His synapses sparked stubbornly along, dampened under the sunlight, and brought him brief watercolor handfuls of memories.
The heat of Charlie’s skin washing against the inside of his mouth like the worst kind of torture.
The press of Charlie’s body calling to him, clawing against him.
The little noises he’d made.
He could savor those details while he was dead and his brain blissfully slablike. They felt enough like dreams, and Lorenzo clung to them as he woke up, as he brushed his teeth, even as he picked up Charlie for their latest excursion, this one courtesy of the druids. Dylan had invited them to witness some formal druidic rituals, and of course Charlie had jumped at the invitation.
“Hi,” Charlie said, hopping familiarly into the passenger seat. His bag had its own resting spot by now, just against the gear shift on Charlie’s side.
Lorenzo swallowed. “Hi.”
Charlie was staring at him, smiling in that open way that always left Lorenzo briefly but fully disarmed. He needed to figure out a better way to diffuse these silences that were cropping up between them—moments that made him want to reach out and touch.
Then he remembered what he’d told Charlie. “Did you bring it?”
“Oh! Yes,” Charlie said, rummaging around in his bag. “I gave it a ton of thought. Anoffering to nature. So you said it should be something like food, fruit—something fresh?”
He offered Lorenzo a cup of pomegranate seeds. Lorenzo shrugged and took it from him, cracking open the plastic sealing just as Charlie started to ask, “Do you think they’ll...like it?”
The seeds were tart and delicious. This had been a good idea. Charlie’s face was darkening as he realized the depth of Lorenzo’s deception. “There’s no such thing as an offering required to witness the druids’ ceremony, is there?”
Lorenzo smirked at him. Charlie ground his teeth, but the challenging spark in his eye still seemed like an invitation.
Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. Death-dreaming of the almost-bite was one thing, but toying with Charlie over something truly inconsequential could only lead to disaster. Lorenzo looked away, trying to gather himself.
Charlie glanced at the half-empty cup in Lorenzo’s hands. “That good, huh?”
“Can’t bring outside food in,” Lorenzo answered, polishing off the rest of the seeds.
“In?” Charlie asked. “In where?”
When they pulled up to the ticket booth, Charlie seemed confused; it was almost impossible to see among the thick foliage on either side. The ticket-taker appeared at Lorenzo’s window before he could voice a question. “Which screen?”
“Actually, we’re here to see Jude,” Lorenzo told him.
“Oh, sure,” the teen said. “Just take that path there, it’ll bring you straight to the diner.”
