Fic: Death is Only a Theoretical Concept (2/2)
Title: Death is Only a Theoretical Concept
Status: Complete
Genre: Paranormal/urban fantasy, m/m romance
Rating: M
Content: Swearing, references to sex acts
Length: 15, 428 words (total)
Summary: Steve thinks that seducing a vampire to win a car stereo system is going to be easy. Discovering that the vampire in question has a penis is a complication - but that's the least complicated thing about seducing Abe Browning...
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AN: Sorry for spamming, my f-list. Life would be good if LJ could expand their character limit just a little...
The advantage to living in a small municipality was that Abe didn’t expect S. Nakamura to be listed two dozen times in the phone book. There was, in fact, only one listing for Port Carmila (a D. and A. Nakamura) and the address was easy to find - Abe didn’t have to bother with a map search to know that 23 Wakeland Drive was very close to Port Carmila’s cemetery. It couldn’t have been easier to chase Steve up, but now he had both the number and the address, he dithered. The receptionist at the hospital told him that Steve had been released early that morning - which was a relief to know that he must be okay, but another reason to do nothing. After spending all night - the night of his birthday, and just the thought made Abe cringe - in hospital, he was probably asleep right now, and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. He could ring tomorrow, or the day after. Possibly never. Was there any logical reason to chase him up? The bet was over, Abe felt reasonably certain that Steve wasn’t going to go around kissing vampires in a hurry, and ... well, he was straight, so what was the point? He could be wrong (how was Abe to know for sure?) but even if he was ... Steve was still unlikely to want a vampire boyfriend.
It didn’t matter, in the end, if he was right or wrong. He’d had a night and most of the day to think about it ... and after watching him dance, even just for a moment, how could Abe be just Steve’s friend ... without envying something he couldn’t have? It was so much simpler to stay away. Easier. Steve could go off and do whatever it was he’d done before last night, and so could Abe for that matter. He’d find someone else interesting and amusing, given enough time - and it wasn’t like Abe had a shortfall of that. Everything would work itself out.
So why did he keep looking out the window towards his car? He could write a letter of apology, or make a quick phone call some other time, when Steve would be awake. Just a quick call to make sure he was okay, and then be done with it. Why the hell did he feel like he should go see Steve in person, apologise in person, when every skerrick of logic screamed that it was a bad idea?
Just once, just to see that he’s really okay, and apologise properly. Then never again...
It was a ten minute drive from Abe’s flat to Steve’s house, one that he could only stretch out to twelve minutes by driving at 80 KPH, situated directly across the road from the cemetery. Three cars filled the driveway (two small sedans, one ute covered with peeling bumper stickers) and Abe drove past the house twice before getting up the courage to pull over. Meeting new people was a much less daunting task here than it had been at home, and if Steve didn’t have a problem with saying hello to a vampire, it was unlikely his family did. The thought of having to apologise in front of a crowd, though, had Abe regretting his last drink - so he sat in his car for a few minutes more, staring over at the front windows of the house.
The repeated twitching of the lace curtains suggested that someone, at least, knew he was there, and when Abe could see a face staring out one of the windows, it was probably past time to get out of the car.
He knew he’d been sitting there too long when the door opened before he had a chance to knock, a middle-aged blond woman staring at him with raised eyebrows and a too-amused smile. Maybe testing Great-Aunty Lizzie’s theory about the survivability of a nuclear blast zone wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Or he could find a bunch of feral zombies. They wouldn’t be able to eat him, but they’d tear him apart in fury after they realised he was just dead flesh...
Just what had Steve told his family, anyway? Nothing? Everything? Enough that if Abe gave his name, they’d know he wasn’t a random stranger off the street? “Hi,” he said, unable to help the feeling that he’d also spent far too long just staring at the woman in the doorway. Why was talking to strange people so damn hard? “Um... My name’s Abraham - Abe - Browning. I ... um...”
“I’m glad you’re a good sight more communicative in an emergency,” she told him, shaking her head - and then darted out and grabbed him in a rib-cracking hug. “Thank you! Please, please come in. We don’t have any blood on hand, but if you would like water, or anything else ... don’t hesitate to ask...”
“I just...”
“Steve’s in his bedroom. He says that he can’t sleep during the day, but I bet you anything he’s out of it right now. Do you have long? I don’t think he’d mind if we disturbed him...” It was only then she let go, pulling Abe into the hallway and shutting the front door behind him. “Oh, I’m so sorry - you must think me so rude! I’m Debra Nakamura.” She darted in for another hug - Abe stood there, not having the faintest idea what to say or do, not at all used to being hugged by strange breathers - and then stared as she darted away again. “Oh, goodness, I hope I’m not startling you ... but oh, thank you so much. Greg said that you were there and rang for help so quickly made all the difference ... and you know it’s going to happen someday, but nobody wants to be related to a zombie when there’s no guarantee they’ll make it through sane...”
Zombie? Abe swallowed and stared at her. “It’s nothing,” he said, feeling rather more like he wanted to throw himself off the edge of a cliff. “I just wanted to make sure that he’s okay, that’s all...”
“Tired, but otherwise just fine - thanks to you! This way, we’ll see if he’s awake...”
What had Steve told her...? Abe didn’t even have time to offer a polite demurral, because Debra had already tugged at his wrist and headed down the hallway (well, this was where Steve got his ability to comfortably rest his hands on strangers from) to an ajar bedroom door. The house - or hallway, at least - was really quite nice, with landscape prints hanging on the off-white walls, but as plain and ordinary as any other house in Port Carmila; Abe felt a little disappointed to realise there was nothing Japanese at all about it - and then Debra pushed open the door. “Steve?” Her voice was just low enough not to waken someone deeply asleep. “Are you awake?”
Silence lingered long enough for Abe to think that he wasn’t, and then he heard a low, groggy-sounding mumble. “Just resting my eyes.”
Debra broke into a grin, clearly not believing this for a second, and Abe couldn’t help a returning smile. “Do you want a visitor?”
“Tell Jake I’ll ring him tomorrow.”
“What if it’s your vampire friend?”
“Abe?”
“Go in,” she said, giving him a light shove to the lower back; he took an unwilling step forwards to balance, and by then he was halfway through the door. Steve had a small, rather poky sort of room, dulled by half-drawn venetian blinds - but they provided light enough for a vampire to see the coils of rope on the floor, harnesses hanging from wardrobe doorknobs, a collection of assorted clasps, clips and buckles on the bedside table along with glass of water and a paper bag. The walls and wardrobe door were plain, but the back of the bedroom door was covered with layer upon layer of yellowing, curling posters - people surfing, riding horses, rock climbing, and bungee-jumping. Abe nearly tripped over a pair of hiking boots and the pair of dress shoes Steve had worn last night as he took another cautious step forwards. Steve lay curled up on top of the bed in a pair of tracksuit pants and T-shirt, head raised, a somewhat-damp paperback shoved up against his chest. Somehow, the idea of Steve drooling on a book while pretending not to be asleep seemed adorable, even if he looked nothing close to adorable at the moment. Much better than last night, but tired and drawn, gel-stiffened hair flattened into an array of odd spikes, and Abe took a step backwards. He’d been right, after all, and it would be better for everyone if he left Steve to get back to sleep...
“Abe!” He sat up, waving him over. “My mum didn’t scare you, did she?”
“A little,” he confessed, finding a clear place to stand near the end of the bed.
“Sorry about that.” Steve’s easy grin, too, looked so much like his mother’s, even if he looked nothing like her physically. “She scares everyone, though. Chichi reckons that if we parked her out the front, her smile would even freak out the zombies.”
He couldn’t help a laugh at the thought of Debra Nakamura grinning at a starving feral trying to chew on her arm, and Steve laughed with him.
“I was going to ring you,” he said, slumping back against the pillows. “It’s a bit hard to thank you properly from the back of an ambulance.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Abe bit down on his lower lip. “I just came here to apologise, really...”
Steve frowned for a moment, and then patted the bed. “You want to come and sit down?”
Why would he even want Abe to get anywhere close to him? “I’m happy standing...”
Steve let out a long, slow sigh; it was a relief to hear him breathe so easily, without that terrifying whistle. “The doctor told me that I had - or have, rather - anaphylaxis. Like a nut allergy, except that we don’t think I’m allergic to nuts.” He grinned again. “Which is good, because I’d be a little bit shattered if I couldn’t have cashews again.”
Abe couldn’t help a sigh of his own. Vampirism was better than the alternative, but it had been years since he’d been able to enjoy cashew nuts. Great-Aunty Lizzie had expounded at length on just how hard it was to be a vampire and watch a human partner enjoy the delight of eating, and it was a decent argument for avoiding human contact. But how could one do that at all, when he needed a job, needed to buy blood, needed to spend time around people? Watching them eat was just something he needed to learn to deal with - in a way, it wasn’t too dissimilar to an allergy as far as avoidance went. The consequences weren’t good if he ate ... so he didn’t.
“Do they know what triggered it?” he asked, quite sure that he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Not for sure. I’ve got to see my GP on Monday and get a referral to an immunologist, and then they’ll find out, I hope.” His eyes met Abe’s. “Since I wasn’t allergic to anything before, since I wasn’t eating or drinking and didn’t get stung by anything, they’re liking vampire venom as a cause, since it’s apparently a common allergen.” He grinned. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll hold off on kissing you for a while, just in case. You can actually sit down, though, as long as you promise to behave and not spit on me. I’d prefer not to make it a record by ending up in hospital twice in twenty-four hours, though - I’m a bit too tired for that, and Greg would fucking kill me.”
Abe didn’t move, trying to figure out why Steve didn’t look the least bit reluctant. “I nearly killed you...”
“Nearly zombiefied me,” Steve corrected, sliding just a little down the bed so that he could rest the back of his neck against the top pillow. “I’m a carrier. Like you said ... death is just a theoretical concept.”
Was becoming a zombie any different from dying, given that there was only a twenty-odd percent chance one survived death with any kind of mental faculty intact? Steve might have still been Steve (just more likely to lose a limb here and there) but more likely he would have been a walking, mindless corpse trying to chew on anything with a heartbeat, probably dismembered and destroyed a short time after death - if he was lucky enough to have someone attending his death. In many ways it was worse - at least death came with a funeral, and the knowledge that a loved one was rotting into the earth, and not roaming the country harming people. If his family found it hard knowing that their son had turned into a vampire, knowing a son had become a zombie, and escaped into the bush, had to be heartbreaking...
“That ... doesn’t make it any better.”
“None of this makes it your fault, either.”
“Aren’t you ... scared?”
“Terrified,” Steve whispered. “They’re only guessing at this point. They don’t know if anything could have caused that ... and sometimes they don’t ever find out what does cause it. I’ve never been so scared in all my life and I don’t want to go through that again, ever. But speaking to you from across the room? Is stupid. It’s not your fault - you even told me that some people were allergic to vampire venom, remember? If that was even the trigger anyway.”
“I meant hives...”
“I had those, too, so you weren’t wrong.” Steve sighed. “C’mon, Abe. Sit down. You saved my life, so you don’t get to stand awkwardly at the back of my room. I want to thank you.” His smile verged on the edge of rueful. “I liked kissing you, you know. I don’t think you’d know ... but it’s hard at uni. Most of the girls I meet back away as soon as I admit that I’m a carrier, they think up some crazy excuse to end it there even if they were all over me a second ago. They just ... freak. It’s worse than having HIV and I’m not even sick. But I’m legally obligated to tell anyone I have sex with that I’m a tested carrier, even though there’s a pretty low chance of anyone catching with a condom. Nobody wants to date me then - hell, some people don’t even want to go near me. It was nice to be able to spend time with someone interesting who doesn’t care about that ... even if you are a guy. Just about everyone around here ... well, they talk too much about fish!”
Abe didn’t think Steve had meant to guilt-trip him, but it worked. Sure, there were plenty of people entranced by the vampire mythos, but just as many people wanted nothing to do with the undead, even if it was perfectly safe to be around him. People looked for reasons not to employ him, to shun him from the breathing world without it looking obvious. Port Carmila was one of a few settlements where equal opportunity - in both numbers and practice - was a given, where nobody batted an eyelid at the undead. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a breathing, living human, and yet shunned for being something he would only become on death.
He sat down on the bed, and Steve reached across and grabbed his hand. Steve might be shunned by people with only a very small reason to fear him; Steve had a significant reason to fear being around him, but here he was, refusing to treat Abe the way he had been treated in return. Abe just stared at him ... and smiled, trying to hide a sigh. Maybe it was something else, and there was nothing to fear after all. Maybe it was exactly what they expected ... and then they would figure it out. Abe had fallen hard in lust over a cute face, a tight arse and a sexy dance, but Steve the person ... might just be worth getting to know. Perhaps even if there was no chance of ever kissing him again...
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “what exactly did you tell your mum?”
“Everything.”
He blinked. “You told her that you kissed a strange male vampire at a gay club?”
“And that freaked the parentals out so much less than the time I told them I wanted to try base jumping. Or the time I got my nipple pierced.”
Abe could only stare for the umpteenth time, not at all sure which one freaked him out the most.
“The last girl I seriously dated was a wanna-be trapeze artist,” Steve added, breezily. “They’re probably just relieved that I’m seeing someone normal.”
The idea - that an undead male vampire who was the possible trigger of serious anaphylaxis-causing allergies was normal - had Abe leaning forwards, bursting into laughter; Steve snickered along with him. “Normal! If I’m normal...” He sat up and shook his head, glancing around at a room that was some kind of unofficial homage to - or at least a storage space of - extreme sports equipment. “This ... abseiling, and rock-climbing. I’ve never done anything like that. I’ve always been too ... scared. I hate, hate heights. I’m scared I’d fall off a horse. As for base jumping? No fucking way. Do you want that kind of normal?” He reached over and picked up one of the metal clips from the bedside table, something that looked like an oval-shaped dog clip, fiddling with a round clasp that seemed to hold the whole thing shut. “I don’t even know what this is, or what it does...”
“It’s a carabiner. You use it to connect a harness to your ropes, amongst other things. I haven’t actually been base jumping yet, although I still want to. And just for the record ... I used to be fuck scared of heights.” He paused, head held on a very slight angle. “You’re off work tomorrow, right? There’s this place a couple of clicks south-east of Darrensford where there’s a nice, easy short cliff-face, great for first-time abseiling. Want to go?”
What was it about Steve that left him unable to do anything but stare? And why was that not such a bad thing?
“You ... you want to go abseiling? Tomorrow? You nearly died last night...!”
Steve shrugged. “Okay, so tomorrow you come around and we play Trivial Pursuit. What about next Saturday?”
He didn’t have anything planned for Saturday; Abe seldom did - besides sitting at the bar at Feeders and watching someone else pick a guy up. There was no reason in the world not to, come to think of it. It wasn’t even like there was any risk of fatal injury - hell, he’d probably hurt himself worse in the run down the street last night than he would carefully, secured with ropes and harness, scale a cliff-face. The only thing holding him back was fear - fear of heights, fear of injury, fear of getting close to Steve ... fear of hurting Steve. It was all irrational, he knew that (well, not that last one) - but that knowledge never left him feeling the slightest bit more confident about anything.
He must have paused for far too long.
“You amaze me,” Steve said, and the oddest thing about it was that the words were completely devoid of sarcasm. “I’m gasping like a fish on the footpath and you know what to do, you know what to tell the person that answers an emergency call, you even know enough to look at my symptoms and make a few accurate guesses on what’s going on, and start ordering the bouncers around. You know that part about saving my life again? That’s huge, and you didn’t bat an eyelid throughout any of it. Something small like backwards-walking down a cliff face? How can you not believe that you can’t do anything?”
“I ... um.” He would have blushed, if he could. “I just watch a lot of ... ah ... real life ... medical TV. Like What’s Good For You. RPA.” Steve sat up, and Abe got to watch the transition from a bright, startled smirk to shoulder-shaking laughter with his next words. “I don’t know what it is, that stuff just became ... interesting, after I died...”
It took a very long time for Steve to stop laughing, but even Abe couldn’t help a tenuous grin.
“They sometimes show the ‘what you should do in said emergency’ bits,” he muttered, and then fixed Steve with a stare. “Aren’t you glad I have this addiction to bad TV?”
“Sorry,” Steve gasped, biting down on his lower lip as if he could stop laughing through sheer force of will. “It’s just ... Mike Johnson, my neighbour? He’s a zombie, and he and his missus are fascinated by shows featuring children - don’t get me wrong, not in any sick way, but just in an ‘Oh, they’re so young and alive, isn’t that beautiful?’ sort of way.” He smirked again. “They’re awesome babysitters, once the kids get used to Mike doing weird-arse tricks with his dismembered arm. But now I’m wondering if I’m going to be stuck watching ACA or something after I’m dead...” He swallowed, and then hit Abe with a stare of his own. “But believe me, yes, I am grateful!”
Just how was he so cool with everything? He should have been scared, or nervous - but every time Abe turned around Steve seemed to be reacting in ways that were opposite to what any sane person should expect. (The only thing he’d gotten at all correct, he reflected, was the exhaustion, and Steve still didn’t seem interested in kicking Abe out of his room.) He should have been the vampire: Steve would have done something with it, something wild and crazy. Base jumping. Climbing to the caldera of an active volcano. Parachuting from space. Abe just went to work, sat at home, watched TV and sometimes, tried to find a boyfriend - meanwhile Steve had no guarantee he would ever get those extended years in which to live without fearing death, had a body he could and did injure, and went about dating trapeze artists and climbing cliff faces.
It would be nice, Abe reflected ... to be a little ... braver. Bolder. Maybe saying yes would be a step towards that? It also means spending time with someone I can’t ever have. Can I do that? Or do I want to be another Great-Aunty Lizzie - sitting back at home and doing nothing?
“All right,” he said, and then shook his head. “Trivial Pursuit? That’s ... I mean, it’s not very ... um...” He swallowed. “I mean ... I thought ... video games, or something...”
Steve broke into yet another smirking grin. “I hide my hentai collection and my Hello Kitty sex-bot in my wardrobe if you think Trivial Pursuit isn’t Japanese enough.”
Abe looked down at the floor and regretted the fact that he could no longer wish himself dead.
“Our game board is from the seventies or something like that, which means no-one knows the answers about sports stars, films ... well, anything but geography, really. It’ll skullfuck you. If you provide the blood, I’ll provide the popcorn, and we can spend the afternoon learning what it feels like to know fuck all about anything, and dropping crazy, outrageous hints to try and get someone to answer a question...”
Oddly enough, that sounded ... like a great deal of fun. “All right ... for both of them, I mean. Can I bring Cluedo?”
“Abe Browning, in the gay club, with his fangs?”
“Exactly.”
Steve’s near-constant grin was warm and broad and ... like nothing else Abe had seen directed at him for long time. “I won’t let you fall down a cliff-face, Abe. Promise.”
“I can’t promise the same.”
He raised one eyebrow, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “It seems to me like you already did.”
He gripped Steve’s hand in return, and prayed to something that it would all work out ... somehow.
***
“So what happened?” Greg leaned over the fence, watching as Steve secured his gear, plus a picnic cooler, in the tray. It was a gorgeous mild summer’s day, perfect for driving out to the middle of nowhere and scaling a cliff face; driving out with Abe, at the very least, gave him something to listen to other than talkback radio, and if he looked forward to it a little too much ... well. It wasn’t something he had to worry about for a long time yet, and if that were the biggest issue on his horizon, Steve would be genuinely grateful. Quite likely it was no more of an issue than whatever he tried to make it out be. “Was it ugly?”
“Swelled up this big.” He gestured with his fingers; Greg winced. “In a way ... it was kind of funny. All the usual things - pollen, food allergens, insects, whatever - did absolutely nothing. Which is good, because I’d really hate to stop eating processed food because everything might contain nuts. Vampire venom? Yep. Turns out I’m also allergic to zombie saliva. There’s some kind of protein or something the undead develop...” Steve shrugged, tugging the last rope tight, and then braced his arms over the back of the tray. It hadn’t come as a surprise - more like unwelcome confirmation of something everyone suspected - but it was a relief to know that his anaphylaxis had a cause, which meant he could try and avoid things like kissing vampires, or being bitten by zombies. (Exactly how he was supposed to avoid either of these things and still live in Port Carmila was another question, though. Feral zombies didn’t do the courteous thing and try to avoid nibbling on the allergic. Both his immunologist and his GP liked the idea of desensitisation, and so did Steve, but he hoped they could work something out that didn’t involve his driving up to the city every week...) “Apparently it’s not uncommon, but then again ... most breathers still don’t kiss vampires, either. So it’s not like they have a huge amount of data on the subject.”
Greg raised his eyebrows. “So, about that...”
Steve shrugged. His parents hadn’t thought to start asking, but they were more relieved that he was alive - and they both liked Abe. It was kind of hard to dislike a vampire who brought cupcakes as well as blood to a game-day and apologised - repeatedly - for putting their son’s life at risk. Besides, he hadn’t lied: Abe was pretty normal compared to some of his past girlfriends. They probably hoped that Abe exerted some kind of sensible influence - and besides which, how could Steve date someone he was allergic to, even if he did swing that way? (He wondered. The kiss, the dancing ... had felt pretty damn electric, and he wished he’d had the chance to experience it without being distracted by itching hives. Did labels really matter, when he’d liked it, and Abe was a cool guy who found Steve attractive? There was also no reason why they couldn’t go dancing, at least, as long as Abe kept his lips to himself...)
He doubted there was anyone in his family who would even care what gender he was interested in romantically, as long as said romantic interest didn’t encourage him to go base jumping. “We’re friends, and I couldn’t carry out the dare anyway...”
Greg looked doubtful, but he didn’t have the chance to say anything - not when Jake’s dual-cab pulled up down the street and Phil slammed the doors hard enough to rattle the windows in all the surrounding houses. “Steve!”
He shook his head and waved back. No one besides Joanna (who mentioned it in passing before demanding to know every last detail about Abe) had said anything about Steve’s failing to attempt his dare; Steve just resigned himself to his radio, and wondered if he could talk his boss into more hours. At the very least, he knew he had given it a shot worthy of Jake’s gossiping to half the town about the kiss, and that was good enough. As birthdays went ... well, it was certainly memorable, he’d made a new friend, and ended up with a watch he was probably going to smash sooner or later - it could have been much worse. I’m still breathing, and that’s definitely a good birthday gift...
“You going somewhere, Akira-san?” Jake had his battered, hook-and-sinker-studded hat on, a tangle of fishing line coiled around one wrist, and a dangerous, evil grin.
As always, Steve pretended he didn’t hear that abomination of a nickname fall from Jake’s lips. “Darrensford. Abseiling.”
Jake rolled his eyes, in much the same way Steve wanted to every time Jake mentioned fishing. “Well, we got something for you. I mean ... we feel so guilty about this. We put your life at risk ... that was an awful, horrible thing for us to do.” Steve said nothing, quite sure that everyone here knew that there was no way he would have known Jake’s innocent dare could kill him ... and quite sure he didn’t want to know why Jake was laying it on quite so thick. (Besides, he’d put Joanna’s life at risk with the zombies, although everyone had been hanging around with guns at the ready just in case she needed a hand.) “We’re just so lucky that you didn’t die...”
Greg’s eyebrows had reached his hairline, but he said nothing.
“Because of that, and because you did your best to carry out the dare ... we’re going to give you the chance to attempt another one. This time, we’re going to make sure that it’s safe, that there is absolutely no risk to you at all ... because we’re just cut up with guilt over this, man.” Jake drew in a deep breath; beside him, Phil just nodded. “So. The community sewing group’s running classes again this summer down at the library. We’re going to dare you to sign up for the embroidery class.”
Embroidery? What the flying fuck...? Steve stared at him, quite sure that the last thing he wanted to do this summer was embroidery ... and that Jake wasn’t finished.
“This way we can all be sure that you’re safe,” Jake continued. “All you have to do is complete the embroidery class - it goes for six weeks. By that time, you’ll get old Mrs MacGillycuddy to help you embroider a version of The Lord’s Prayer. Then you enter your marvellous embroidered creation in the handcraft division at the ag show. Along with all the wonderful old scone-baking ladies of the CWA.” He grinned, far too broadly. “After the ag show, and the whole municipality has admired your oh-so-devout creation ... you win. See? Perfectly easy, and perfectly safe - all you have to do is avoid pricking your finger with a needle around the vampires. There’s no way you could fail to pull off this one!”
Learning embroidery was one thing. Learning to embroider The Lord’s Prayer - which would probably make his atheist parents get quite concerned about his mental state - was another thing. Displaying that embroidered religious monstrosity before everyone at the local agricultural show...?
Being the guy who screwed a guy for a stereo system? There was no real problem there, he’d realised. (After all, at least he would have been getting laid for it, and demonstrating his seduction skills at the same time. Besides which ... Steve was starting to wonder if screwing another guy was even different enough to matter. It wasn’t like anyone talked about Joanna and her zombie girlfriend anymore...) Being the guy who learned to embroider religious passages and entered said embroidery into the agricultural fair, though? No one would ever let him forget it. Every year it would come up, just as every year they talked about Aggie Skipton’s hideous hand-sculpted clay pigs from 1976. They were town legend, those pigs, and Steve could see whatever woeful attempt at embroidery he made going the same way. That was if he survived a couple of hours a week with the gossiping old ladies who flocked to the community sewing group - he could see it now, the incessant questions about his allergies, his sexuality, his career path, life as a university student in the city, and whether or not he thought their great-grandchildren were cute in hand-knitted beanies. Complete with wallet-sized photos, probably.
The thought made his legs shake. Great-grandchildren. Fucking hell ... I can’t do that!
They grinned at him, both of them looking so innocent Steve felt like contemplating murder - or perhaps suicide. Did he really need to attempt this one? After all ... with Abe to talk to, maybe he didn’t need a stereo system after all. The 8 AM Saturday morning call-in show might cover allergies, or new innovations in immunotherapy. Who knew what kind of awesome talkback radio he might be missing out on?
“Jake,” Steve said, “you know what? I think ... that I’d rather kiss a vampire.” He paused, trying to ignore the sound of flesh thudding against wood. “Um, Greg? You can stop banging your head against the fence right about now...”
Acronyms:
ACA: A Current Affair
ACPIZ: Australian Council for the Promotion of Interests of Zombies
CWA: Country Women’s Association
RPA: Royal Prince Alfred (name of the hospital where the TV show is set)
Status: Complete
Genre: Paranormal/urban fantasy, m/m romance
Rating: M
Content: Swearing, references to sex acts
Length: 15, 428 words (total)
Summary: Steve thinks that seducing a vampire to win a car stereo system is going to be easy. Discovering that the vampire in question has a penis is a complication - but that's the least complicated thing about seducing Abe Browning...
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AN: Sorry for spamming, my f-list. Life would be good if LJ could expand their character limit just a little...
The advantage to living in a small municipality was that Abe didn’t expect S. Nakamura to be listed two dozen times in the phone book. There was, in fact, only one listing for Port Carmila (a D. and A. Nakamura) and the address was easy to find - Abe didn’t have to bother with a map search to know that 23 Wakeland Drive was very close to Port Carmila’s cemetery. It couldn’t have been easier to chase Steve up, but now he had both the number and the address, he dithered. The receptionist at the hospital told him that Steve had been released early that morning - which was a relief to know that he must be okay, but another reason to do nothing. After spending all night - the night of his birthday, and just the thought made Abe cringe - in hospital, he was probably asleep right now, and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. He could ring tomorrow, or the day after. Possibly never. Was there any logical reason to chase him up? The bet was over, Abe felt reasonably certain that Steve wasn’t going to go around kissing vampires in a hurry, and ... well, he was straight, so what was the point? He could be wrong (how was Abe to know for sure?) but even if he was ... Steve was still unlikely to want a vampire boyfriend.
It didn’t matter, in the end, if he was right or wrong. He’d had a night and most of the day to think about it ... and after watching him dance, even just for a moment, how could Abe be just Steve’s friend ... without envying something he couldn’t have? It was so much simpler to stay away. Easier. Steve could go off and do whatever it was he’d done before last night, and so could Abe for that matter. He’d find someone else interesting and amusing, given enough time - and it wasn’t like Abe had a shortfall of that. Everything would work itself out.
So why did he keep looking out the window towards his car? He could write a letter of apology, or make a quick phone call some other time, when Steve would be awake. Just a quick call to make sure he was okay, and then be done with it. Why the hell did he feel like he should go see Steve in person, apologise in person, when every skerrick of logic screamed that it was a bad idea?
Just once, just to see that he’s really okay, and apologise properly. Then never again...
It was a ten minute drive from Abe’s flat to Steve’s house, one that he could only stretch out to twelve minutes by driving at 80 KPH, situated directly across the road from the cemetery. Three cars filled the driveway (two small sedans, one ute covered with peeling bumper stickers) and Abe drove past the house twice before getting up the courage to pull over. Meeting new people was a much less daunting task here than it had been at home, and if Steve didn’t have a problem with saying hello to a vampire, it was unlikely his family did. The thought of having to apologise in front of a crowd, though, had Abe regretting his last drink - so he sat in his car for a few minutes more, staring over at the front windows of the house.
The repeated twitching of the lace curtains suggested that someone, at least, knew he was there, and when Abe could see a face staring out one of the windows, it was probably past time to get out of the car.
He knew he’d been sitting there too long when the door opened before he had a chance to knock, a middle-aged blond woman staring at him with raised eyebrows and a too-amused smile. Maybe testing Great-Aunty Lizzie’s theory about the survivability of a nuclear blast zone wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Or he could find a bunch of feral zombies. They wouldn’t be able to eat him, but they’d tear him apart in fury after they realised he was just dead flesh...
Just what had Steve told his family, anyway? Nothing? Everything? Enough that if Abe gave his name, they’d know he wasn’t a random stranger off the street? “Hi,” he said, unable to help the feeling that he’d also spent far too long just staring at the woman in the doorway. Why was talking to strange people so damn hard? “Um... My name’s Abraham - Abe - Browning. I ... um...”
“I’m glad you’re a good sight more communicative in an emergency,” she told him, shaking her head - and then darted out and grabbed him in a rib-cracking hug. “Thank you! Please, please come in. We don’t have any blood on hand, but if you would like water, or anything else ... don’t hesitate to ask...”
“I just...”
“Steve’s in his bedroom. He says that he can’t sleep during the day, but I bet you anything he’s out of it right now. Do you have long? I don’t think he’d mind if we disturbed him...” It was only then she let go, pulling Abe into the hallway and shutting the front door behind him. “Oh, I’m so sorry - you must think me so rude! I’m Debra Nakamura.” She darted in for another hug - Abe stood there, not having the faintest idea what to say or do, not at all used to being hugged by strange breathers - and then stared as she darted away again. “Oh, goodness, I hope I’m not startling you ... but oh, thank you so much. Greg said that you were there and rang for help so quickly made all the difference ... and you know it’s going to happen someday, but nobody wants to be related to a zombie when there’s no guarantee they’ll make it through sane...”
Zombie? Abe swallowed and stared at her. “It’s nothing,” he said, feeling rather more like he wanted to throw himself off the edge of a cliff. “I just wanted to make sure that he’s okay, that’s all...”
“Tired, but otherwise just fine - thanks to you! This way, we’ll see if he’s awake...”
What had Steve told her...? Abe didn’t even have time to offer a polite demurral, because Debra had already tugged at his wrist and headed down the hallway (well, this was where Steve got his ability to comfortably rest his hands on strangers from) to an ajar bedroom door. The house - or hallway, at least - was really quite nice, with landscape prints hanging on the off-white walls, but as plain and ordinary as any other house in Port Carmila; Abe felt a little disappointed to realise there was nothing Japanese at all about it - and then Debra pushed open the door. “Steve?” Her voice was just low enough not to waken someone deeply asleep. “Are you awake?”
Silence lingered long enough for Abe to think that he wasn’t, and then he heard a low, groggy-sounding mumble. “Just resting my eyes.”
Debra broke into a grin, clearly not believing this for a second, and Abe couldn’t help a returning smile. “Do you want a visitor?”
“Tell Jake I’ll ring him tomorrow.”
“What if it’s your vampire friend?”
“Abe?”
“Go in,” she said, giving him a light shove to the lower back; he took an unwilling step forwards to balance, and by then he was halfway through the door. Steve had a small, rather poky sort of room, dulled by half-drawn venetian blinds - but they provided light enough for a vampire to see the coils of rope on the floor, harnesses hanging from wardrobe doorknobs, a collection of assorted clasps, clips and buckles on the bedside table along with glass of water and a paper bag. The walls and wardrobe door were plain, but the back of the bedroom door was covered with layer upon layer of yellowing, curling posters - people surfing, riding horses, rock climbing, and bungee-jumping. Abe nearly tripped over a pair of hiking boots and the pair of dress shoes Steve had worn last night as he took another cautious step forwards. Steve lay curled up on top of the bed in a pair of tracksuit pants and T-shirt, head raised, a somewhat-damp paperback shoved up against his chest. Somehow, the idea of Steve drooling on a book while pretending not to be asleep seemed adorable, even if he looked nothing close to adorable at the moment. Much better than last night, but tired and drawn, gel-stiffened hair flattened into an array of odd spikes, and Abe took a step backwards. He’d been right, after all, and it would be better for everyone if he left Steve to get back to sleep...
“Abe!” He sat up, waving him over. “My mum didn’t scare you, did she?”
“A little,” he confessed, finding a clear place to stand near the end of the bed.
“Sorry about that.” Steve’s easy grin, too, looked so much like his mother’s, even if he looked nothing like her physically. “She scares everyone, though. Chichi reckons that if we parked her out the front, her smile would even freak out the zombies.”
He couldn’t help a laugh at the thought of Debra Nakamura grinning at a starving feral trying to chew on her arm, and Steve laughed with him.
“I was going to ring you,” he said, slumping back against the pillows. “It’s a bit hard to thank you properly from the back of an ambulance.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Abe bit down on his lower lip. “I just came here to apologise, really...”
Steve frowned for a moment, and then patted the bed. “You want to come and sit down?”
Why would he even want Abe to get anywhere close to him? “I’m happy standing...”
Steve let out a long, slow sigh; it was a relief to hear him breathe so easily, without that terrifying whistle. “The doctor told me that I had - or have, rather - anaphylaxis. Like a nut allergy, except that we don’t think I’m allergic to nuts.” He grinned again. “Which is good, because I’d be a little bit shattered if I couldn’t have cashews again.”
Abe couldn’t help a sigh of his own. Vampirism was better than the alternative, but it had been years since he’d been able to enjoy cashew nuts. Great-Aunty Lizzie had expounded at length on just how hard it was to be a vampire and watch a human partner enjoy the delight of eating, and it was a decent argument for avoiding human contact. But how could one do that at all, when he needed a job, needed to buy blood, needed to spend time around people? Watching them eat was just something he needed to learn to deal with - in a way, it wasn’t too dissimilar to an allergy as far as avoidance went. The consequences weren’t good if he ate ... so he didn’t.
“Do they know what triggered it?” he asked, quite sure that he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Not for sure. I’ve got to see my GP on Monday and get a referral to an immunologist, and then they’ll find out, I hope.” His eyes met Abe’s. “Since I wasn’t allergic to anything before, since I wasn’t eating or drinking and didn’t get stung by anything, they’re liking vampire venom as a cause, since it’s apparently a common allergen.” He grinned. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll hold off on kissing you for a while, just in case. You can actually sit down, though, as long as you promise to behave and not spit on me. I’d prefer not to make it a record by ending up in hospital twice in twenty-four hours, though - I’m a bit too tired for that, and Greg would fucking kill me.”
Abe didn’t move, trying to figure out why Steve didn’t look the least bit reluctant. “I nearly killed you...”
“Nearly zombiefied me,” Steve corrected, sliding just a little down the bed so that he could rest the back of his neck against the top pillow. “I’m a carrier. Like you said ... death is just a theoretical concept.”
Was becoming a zombie any different from dying, given that there was only a twenty-odd percent chance one survived death with any kind of mental faculty intact? Steve might have still been Steve (just more likely to lose a limb here and there) but more likely he would have been a walking, mindless corpse trying to chew on anything with a heartbeat, probably dismembered and destroyed a short time after death - if he was lucky enough to have someone attending his death. In many ways it was worse - at least death came with a funeral, and the knowledge that a loved one was rotting into the earth, and not roaming the country harming people. If his family found it hard knowing that their son had turned into a vampire, knowing a son had become a zombie, and escaped into the bush, had to be heartbreaking...
“That ... doesn’t make it any better.”
“None of this makes it your fault, either.”
“Aren’t you ... scared?”
“Terrified,” Steve whispered. “They’re only guessing at this point. They don’t know if anything could have caused that ... and sometimes they don’t ever find out what does cause it. I’ve never been so scared in all my life and I don’t want to go through that again, ever. But speaking to you from across the room? Is stupid. It’s not your fault - you even told me that some people were allergic to vampire venom, remember? If that was even the trigger anyway.”
“I meant hives...”
“I had those, too, so you weren’t wrong.” Steve sighed. “C’mon, Abe. Sit down. You saved my life, so you don’t get to stand awkwardly at the back of my room. I want to thank you.” His smile verged on the edge of rueful. “I liked kissing you, you know. I don’t think you’d know ... but it’s hard at uni. Most of the girls I meet back away as soon as I admit that I’m a carrier, they think up some crazy excuse to end it there even if they were all over me a second ago. They just ... freak. It’s worse than having HIV and I’m not even sick. But I’m legally obligated to tell anyone I have sex with that I’m a tested carrier, even though there’s a pretty low chance of anyone catching with a condom. Nobody wants to date me then - hell, some people don’t even want to go near me. It was nice to be able to spend time with someone interesting who doesn’t care about that ... even if you are a guy. Just about everyone around here ... well, they talk too much about fish!”
Abe didn’t think Steve had meant to guilt-trip him, but it worked. Sure, there were plenty of people entranced by the vampire mythos, but just as many people wanted nothing to do with the undead, even if it was perfectly safe to be around him. People looked for reasons not to employ him, to shun him from the breathing world without it looking obvious. Port Carmila was one of a few settlements where equal opportunity - in both numbers and practice - was a given, where nobody batted an eyelid at the undead. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a breathing, living human, and yet shunned for being something he would only become on death.
He sat down on the bed, and Steve reached across and grabbed his hand. Steve might be shunned by people with only a very small reason to fear him; Steve had a significant reason to fear being around him, but here he was, refusing to treat Abe the way he had been treated in return. Abe just stared at him ... and smiled, trying to hide a sigh. Maybe it was something else, and there was nothing to fear after all. Maybe it was exactly what they expected ... and then they would figure it out. Abe had fallen hard in lust over a cute face, a tight arse and a sexy dance, but Steve the person ... might just be worth getting to know. Perhaps even if there was no chance of ever kissing him again...
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “what exactly did you tell your mum?”
“Everything.”
He blinked. “You told her that you kissed a strange male vampire at a gay club?”
“And that freaked the parentals out so much less than the time I told them I wanted to try base jumping. Or the time I got my nipple pierced.”
Abe could only stare for the umpteenth time, not at all sure which one freaked him out the most.
“The last girl I seriously dated was a wanna-be trapeze artist,” Steve added, breezily. “They’re probably just relieved that I’m seeing someone normal.”
The idea - that an undead male vampire who was the possible trigger of serious anaphylaxis-causing allergies was normal - had Abe leaning forwards, bursting into laughter; Steve snickered along with him. “Normal! If I’m normal...” He sat up and shook his head, glancing around at a room that was some kind of unofficial homage to - or at least a storage space of - extreme sports equipment. “This ... abseiling, and rock-climbing. I’ve never done anything like that. I’ve always been too ... scared. I hate, hate heights. I’m scared I’d fall off a horse. As for base jumping? No fucking way. Do you want that kind of normal?” He reached over and picked up one of the metal clips from the bedside table, something that looked like an oval-shaped dog clip, fiddling with a round clasp that seemed to hold the whole thing shut. “I don’t even know what this is, or what it does...”
“It’s a carabiner. You use it to connect a harness to your ropes, amongst other things. I haven’t actually been base jumping yet, although I still want to. And just for the record ... I used to be fuck scared of heights.” He paused, head held on a very slight angle. “You’re off work tomorrow, right? There’s this place a couple of clicks south-east of Darrensford where there’s a nice, easy short cliff-face, great for first-time abseiling. Want to go?”
What was it about Steve that left him unable to do anything but stare? And why was that not such a bad thing?
“You ... you want to go abseiling? Tomorrow? You nearly died last night...!”
Steve shrugged. “Okay, so tomorrow you come around and we play Trivial Pursuit. What about next Saturday?”
He didn’t have anything planned for Saturday; Abe seldom did - besides sitting at the bar at Feeders and watching someone else pick a guy up. There was no reason in the world not to, come to think of it. It wasn’t even like there was any risk of fatal injury - hell, he’d probably hurt himself worse in the run down the street last night than he would carefully, secured with ropes and harness, scale a cliff-face. The only thing holding him back was fear - fear of heights, fear of injury, fear of getting close to Steve ... fear of hurting Steve. It was all irrational, he knew that (well, not that last one) - but that knowledge never left him feeling the slightest bit more confident about anything.
He must have paused for far too long.
“You amaze me,” Steve said, and the oddest thing about it was that the words were completely devoid of sarcasm. “I’m gasping like a fish on the footpath and you know what to do, you know what to tell the person that answers an emergency call, you even know enough to look at my symptoms and make a few accurate guesses on what’s going on, and start ordering the bouncers around. You know that part about saving my life again? That’s huge, and you didn’t bat an eyelid throughout any of it. Something small like backwards-walking down a cliff face? How can you not believe that you can’t do anything?”
“I ... um.” He would have blushed, if he could. “I just watch a lot of ... ah ... real life ... medical TV. Like What’s Good For You. RPA.” Steve sat up, and Abe got to watch the transition from a bright, startled smirk to shoulder-shaking laughter with his next words. “I don’t know what it is, that stuff just became ... interesting, after I died...”
It took a very long time for Steve to stop laughing, but even Abe couldn’t help a tenuous grin.
“They sometimes show the ‘what you should do in said emergency’ bits,” he muttered, and then fixed Steve with a stare. “Aren’t you glad I have this addiction to bad TV?”
“Sorry,” Steve gasped, biting down on his lower lip as if he could stop laughing through sheer force of will. “It’s just ... Mike Johnson, my neighbour? He’s a zombie, and he and his missus are fascinated by shows featuring children - don’t get me wrong, not in any sick way, but just in an ‘Oh, they’re so young and alive, isn’t that beautiful?’ sort of way.” He smirked again. “They’re awesome babysitters, once the kids get used to Mike doing weird-arse tricks with his dismembered arm. But now I’m wondering if I’m going to be stuck watching ACA or something after I’m dead...” He swallowed, and then hit Abe with a stare of his own. “But believe me, yes, I am grateful!”
Just how was he so cool with everything? He should have been scared, or nervous - but every time Abe turned around Steve seemed to be reacting in ways that were opposite to what any sane person should expect. (The only thing he’d gotten at all correct, he reflected, was the exhaustion, and Steve still didn’t seem interested in kicking Abe out of his room.) He should have been the vampire: Steve would have done something with it, something wild and crazy. Base jumping. Climbing to the caldera of an active volcano. Parachuting from space. Abe just went to work, sat at home, watched TV and sometimes, tried to find a boyfriend - meanwhile Steve had no guarantee he would ever get those extended years in which to live without fearing death, had a body he could and did injure, and went about dating trapeze artists and climbing cliff faces.
It would be nice, Abe reflected ... to be a little ... braver. Bolder. Maybe saying yes would be a step towards that? It also means spending time with someone I can’t ever have. Can I do that? Or do I want to be another Great-Aunty Lizzie - sitting back at home and doing nothing?
“All right,” he said, and then shook his head. “Trivial Pursuit? That’s ... I mean, it’s not very ... um...” He swallowed. “I mean ... I thought ... video games, or something...”
Steve broke into yet another smirking grin. “I hide my hentai collection and my Hello Kitty sex-bot in my wardrobe if you think Trivial Pursuit isn’t Japanese enough.”
Abe looked down at the floor and regretted the fact that he could no longer wish himself dead.
“Our game board is from the seventies or something like that, which means no-one knows the answers about sports stars, films ... well, anything but geography, really. It’ll skullfuck you. If you provide the blood, I’ll provide the popcorn, and we can spend the afternoon learning what it feels like to know fuck all about anything, and dropping crazy, outrageous hints to try and get someone to answer a question...”
Oddly enough, that sounded ... like a great deal of fun. “All right ... for both of them, I mean. Can I bring Cluedo?”
“Abe Browning, in the gay club, with his fangs?”
“Exactly.”
Steve’s near-constant grin was warm and broad and ... like nothing else Abe had seen directed at him for long time. “I won’t let you fall down a cliff-face, Abe. Promise.”
“I can’t promise the same.”
He raised one eyebrow, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “It seems to me like you already did.”
He gripped Steve’s hand in return, and prayed to something that it would all work out ... somehow.
***
“So what happened?” Greg leaned over the fence, watching as Steve secured his gear, plus a picnic cooler, in the tray. It was a gorgeous mild summer’s day, perfect for driving out to the middle of nowhere and scaling a cliff face; driving out with Abe, at the very least, gave him something to listen to other than talkback radio, and if he looked forward to it a little too much ... well. It wasn’t something he had to worry about for a long time yet, and if that were the biggest issue on his horizon, Steve would be genuinely grateful. Quite likely it was no more of an issue than whatever he tried to make it out be. “Was it ugly?”
“Swelled up this big.” He gestured with his fingers; Greg winced. “In a way ... it was kind of funny. All the usual things - pollen, food allergens, insects, whatever - did absolutely nothing. Which is good, because I’d really hate to stop eating processed food because everything might contain nuts. Vampire venom? Yep. Turns out I’m also allergic to zombie saliva. There’s some kind of protein or something the undead develop...” Steve shrugged, tugging the last rope tight, and then braced his arms over the back of the tray. It hadn’t come as a surprise - more like unwelcome confirmation of something everyone suspected - but it was a relief to know that his anaphylaxis had a cause, which meant he could try and avoid things like kissing vampires, or being bitten by zombies. (Exactly how he was supposed to avoid either of these things and still live in Port Carmila was another question, though. Feral zombies didn’t do the courteous thing and try to avoid nibbling on the allergic. Both his immunologist and his GP liked the idea of desensitisation, and so did Steve, but he hoped they could work something out that didn’t involve his driving up to the city every week...) “Apparently it’s not uncommon, but then again ... most breathers still don’t kiss vampires, either. So it’s not like they have a huge amount of data on the subject.”
Greg raised his eyebrows. “So, about that...”
Steve shrugged. His parents hadn’t thought to start asking, but they were more relieved that he was alive - and they both liked Abe. It was kind of hard to dislike a vampire who brought cupcakes as well as blood to a game-day and apologised - repeatedly - for putting their son’s life at risk. Besides, he hadn’t lied: Abe was pretty normal compared to some of his past girlfriends. They probably hoped that Abe exerted some kind of sensible influence - and besides which, how could Steve date someone he was allergic to, even if he did swing that way? (He wondered. The kiss, the dancing ... had felt pretty damn electric, and he wished he’d had the chance to experience it without being distracted by itching hives. Did labels really matter, when he’d liked it, and Abe was a cool guy who found Steve attractive? There was also no reason why they couldn’t go dancing, at least, as long as Abe kept his lips to himself...)
He doubted there was anyone in his family who would even care what gender he was interested in romantically, as long as said romantic interest didn’t encourage him to go base jumping. “We’re friends, and I couldn’t carry out the dare anyway...”
Greg looked doubtful, but he didn’t have the chance to say anything - not when Jake’s dual-cab pulled up down the street and Phil slammed the doors hard enough to rattle the windows in all the surrounding houses. “Steve!”
He shook his head and waved back. No one besides Joanna (who mentioned it in passing before demanding to know every last detail about Abe) had said anything about Steve’s failing to attempt his dare; Steve just resigned himself to his radio, and wondered if he could talk his boss into more hours. At the very least, he knew he had given it a shot worthy of Jake’s gossiping to half the town about the kiss, and that was good enough. As birthdays went ... well, it was certainly memorable, he’d made a new friend, and ended up with a watch he was probably going to smash sooner or later - it could have been much worse. I’m still breathing, and that’s definitely a good birthday gift...
“You going somewhere, Akira-san?” Jake had his battered, hook-and-sinker-studded hat on, a tangle of fishing line coiled around one wrist, and a dangerous, evil grin.
As always, Steve pretended he didn’t hear that abomination of a nickname fall from Jake’s lips. “Darrensford. Abseiling.”
Jake rolled his eyes, in much the same way Steve wanted to every time Jake mentioned fishing. “Well, we got something for you. I mean ... we feel so guilty about this. We put your life at risk ... that was an awful, horrible thing for us to do.” Steve said nothing, quite sure that everyone here knew that there was no way he would have known Jake’s innocent dare could kill him ... and quite sure he didn’t want to know why Jake was laying it on quite so thick. (Besides, he’d put Joanna’s life at risk with the zombies, although everyone had been hanging around with guns at the ready just in case she needed a hand.) “We’re just so lucky that you didn’t die...”
Greg’s eyebrows had reached his hairline, but he said nothing.
“Because of that, and because you did your best to carry out the dare ... we’re going to give you the chance to attempt another one. This time, we’re going to make sure that it’s safe, that there is absolutely no risk to you at all ... because we’re just cut up with guilt over this, man.” Jake drew in a deep breath; beside him, Phil just nodded. “So. The community sewing group’s running classes again this summer down at the library. We’re going to dare you to sign up for the embroidery class.”
Embroidery? What the flying fuck...? Steve stared at him, quite sure that the last thing he wanted to do this summer was embroidery ... and that Jake wasn’t finished.
“This way we can all be sure that you’re safe,” Jake continued. “All you have to do is complete the embroidery class - it goes for six weeks. By that time, you’ll get old Mrs MacGillycuddy to help you embroider a version of The Lord’s Prayer. Then you enter your marvellous embroidered creation in the handcraft division at the ag show. Along with all the wonderful old scone-baking ladies of the CWA.” He grinned, far too broadly. “After the ag show, and the whole municipality has admired your oh-so-devout creation ... you win. See? Perfectly easy, and perfectly safe - all you have to do is avoid pricking your finger with a needle around the vampires. There’s no way you could fail to pull off this one!”
Learning embroidery was one thing. Learning to embroider The Lord’s Prayer - which would probably make his atheist parents get quite concerned about his mental state - was another thing. Displaying that embroidered religious monstrosity before everyone at the local agricultural show...?
Being the guy who screwed a guy for a stereo system? There was no real problem there, he’d realised. (After all, at least he would have been getting laid for it, and demonstrating his seduction skills at the same time. Besides which ... Steve was starting to wonder if screwing another guy was even different enough to matter. It wasn’t like anyone talked about Joanna and her zombie girlfriend anymore...) Being the guy who learned to embroider religious passages and entered said embroidery into the agricultural fair, though? No one would ever let him forget it. Every year it would come up, just as every year they talked about Aggie Skipton’s hideous hand-sculpted clay pigs from 1976. They were town legend, those pigs, and Steve could see whatever woeful attempt at embroidery he made going the same way. That was if he survived a couple of hours a week with the gossiping old ladies who flocked to the community sewing group - he could see it now, the incessant questions about his allergies, his sexuality, his career path, life as a university student in the city, and whether or not he thought their great-grandchildren were cute in hand-knitted beanies. Complete with wallet-sized photos, probably.
The thought made his legs shake. Great-grandchildren. Fucking hell ... I can’t do that!
They grinned at him, both of them looking so innocent Steve felt like contemplating murder - or perhaps suicide. Did he really need to attempt this one? After all ... with Abe to talk to, maybe he didn’t need a stereo system after all. The 8 AM Saturday morning call-in show might cover allergies, or new innovations in immunotherapy. Who knew what kind of awesome talkback radio he might be missing out on?
“Jake,” Steve said, “you know what? I think ... that I’d rather kiss a vampire.” He paused, trying to ignore the sound of flesh thudding against wood. “Um, Greg? You can stop banging your head against the fence right about now...”
Acronyms:
ACA: A Current Affair
ACPIZ: Australian Council for the Promotion of Interests of Zombies
CWA: Country Women’s Association
RPA: Royal Prince Alfred (name of the hospital where the TV show is set)