Fic: Tomb With a View (AAR)
Title: Tomb With A View
Rating: PG-13, for mentions of sex and vampirism.
Warnings: Er, sex and vampirism. ^_^ Also, crack-which-doesn't-know-it's-crack and SCHMOOP. Possible OOC-ness, too.
Pairing: Nick/Tyson
Summary: Tyson and Nick had been playing some downtown bar in New York way back when... Tyson had gone off with some other guy after their set and had come back dazed, confused and vampiric. Or, vampirism isn't sexy, except when it really, really is. Things just get a little skewed along the way.
AN: for popcultaddict, who requested a vampire!fic way back when, and who made me the gorgeous banner without even having read the fic. ^_^ huge hugs and thanks to xrysomou and anyana13x5 who put up with me whining through writing this; anyana beta'd it, and all mistakes left in are my own where I went back and changed things. (Ending may be subject to change, for the record.) Also, bonus!MCR mention.
**
It was pretty much just another part of being in the band: there were screaming fans and long hours, you couldn’t sit down in the first toilet on the bus, and Tyson was a vampire.
Mike never really got a direct answer about exactly how it happened; Tyson and Nick had been playing some downtown bar in New York way back when, keeping their hands in, Tyson had gone off after their set with some other guy and had come back dazed, confused and vampiric. And if Mike suspected that Nick was on the whole angrier about Tyson having gone off with a stranger - “At seventeen! He was seventeen, for fuck’s sake! Paedophilic, vampiric dick should have known better!” - he kept his mouth very firmly shut.
For the most part, it didn’t bother them. Tyson still slept and ate like a normal person - he just had to supplement his diet with a litre or so of blood every day or he started eyeing up their necks with more-than-usual interest. Not that it was particularly easy to convince Tyson to drink the blood; his reluctance to do so was legendary, in its own quiet, private little way. He would wait until the last possible moment before heading to the fridge to pull out one of the little bags stuffed into the bottom draw - bags which were mystically restocked every now and then, and no one asked how. It was far from unusual for Tyson to be white with blood deficiency before he’d give in to the urge.
“So, does it have to be human blood?” Mike asked one day, curious enough to ignore Nick’s warning look.
Tyson took a sip of his blood and shrugged. “Human blood tastes better, but anything with a red blood cell count’ll do.” Even years of knowing about Tyson’s toothy little problem, it was still a little weird to see his friend’s fangs - fangs! - elongated like that as he drank.
“So what’s that you’re drinking?” It was a testament to how accustomed Mike was to all this that he didn’t so much as blink when he pointed to Tyson’s vibrant red, sticky drink.
“Huh?” Tyson looked down at it. “Oh! Dunno, one second.” Another experimental sip, swirling it over his tongue. “Cow, I think.”
“Huh. OK then.” Mike nodded and went back to watching House.
And that, for the most part, was that.
Until one wintry tour date, travelling through - New Hampshire? Manhattan? - when Tyson looked up from the fridge with a wide-eyed, slightly wild look in his eyes and said, “Guys?” No response. They were in the middle of a particularly intense game of Guitar Hero and whatever Tyson’s problem was could wait. “Guys!” Tyson snapped, and Nick glanced up.
“What?”
“We’re all out of blood.”
Which, on any other tour bus - except My Chemical Romance’s, because Gerard Way was that pale for a reason - would have been part of a joke. On their bus, all movement stopped.
“You can’t-”
“No, I can’t wait, Jesus.” Tyson dragged a hand through his hair. “If I could, do you honestly not think I would?”
“Well.” Nick heaved a sigh. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I guess saying ‘I vant to suck your blooood’ wouldn’t go down so well, right?” Tyson asked rather miserably.
“Would it help?” Nick asked, apparently considering it.
“Nicky, it’s blood, of course it’d help.” Tyson all but snapped it. “But what if I couldn’t stop, hmm?”
“Do you think you wouldn’t be able to?” Nick frowned. “You seem pretty controlled when you’re drinking the stuff.”
“It’s like-” Tyson groped for an analogy. “It’s like getting champagne after living on water for years. You don’t mind living on water, tastes fucking good when you need it, but it doesn’t mean you want to stop drinking the champagne.”
“Ty...” Mike spoke up, frowning himself. “Have you ever had human blood?”
“Nope. Well.” His eyes flicked to Nick. “Not except this one time.”
“When was that?” Nick’s voice was a little stiff.
“When that guy. Y’know.”
“Right.” Nick stood, stalking over to Tyson. “Go on then.” He got right up in Tyson’s personal space, tilting his head to one side and baring his neck.
“Fuck off, I’m not biting you.” Tyson shoved him away irritably. “And certainly not there, Jesus. I don’t know if you’ll stop bleeding when I finish, do I? What if I rip your fucking throat out? It’s not like I’ve practised this, fuck.”
Nick frowned, looking a little put out. “Where else then?”
“I don’t know.” Tyson sat down in the table with an almost audible huff. “If I was going to do it - which I’m not - I’d say your wrist, or something.”
“Go for it, then.”
“Nick, I’m not going to-”
“What happens if you don’t?” Nick demanded.
Tyson met his eyes reluctantly. “Aw, Christ, you know what happens.”
That was news to Mike and Chris. “What?”
“Genius here didn’t realise he was - well. A vampire. Not till he ended up in a frenzy and bit himself for the blood.” Nick sighed, sliding himself in opposite Tyson. “Which wouldn’t work right now, so you’ll just end up biting one of us anyway.”
Tyson let his head fall into his arms. “You’ll just have to - I don’t know, tie me up until we find something.”
“This isn’t the time for your kinky fantasies, dude.” Chris sighed. “Why don’t we just ring Shabba, see what he says?”
They all stopped and stared at him. “I. Yeah. Good idea.” Tyson nodded, a little shamefaced. He headed into the back lounge and left the rest of them staring at each other.
“We can’t stop today.” Nick pointed out quietly. “How in hell are we going to get him blood if we don’t stop?”
Chris shrugged. “Dude, I’m sure Shabba’ll let us stop so Tyson doesn’t dismember the rest of us. Would look really bad, y’know?”
Nick managed a weak grin. “Yeah, I guess.”
“If Tyson really goes screwy without blood, there’s no way Shabba’s gonna gloss over that one.” Mike pointed out reassuringly. “Calm, OK?”
Nick took several deep breaths and sat there, looking horribly tense, until Tyson reappeared in the front lounge. “Everything OK?” he asked immediately.
“Yeah.” Tyson was paler than normal, and he looked wan and unhealthy - a normal side-effect from the lack of blood, they knew, it would fade soon enough. “He says we’re about an hour outside of Trenton, he knows where to find some there.”
“Can you last an hour?” Nick asked carefully, and Tyson grinned. It lacked its usual strength, but none of the standard insanity.
“Guess I’ll have to.”
**
The next half-hour seemed to pass obscenely slowly, every stop of the bus jerking them again into over-awareness. Someone was always by the window trying to see how much further they had to go, someone was always watching Tyson - he was getting paler by the moment, sweat clammy on his forehead, and he waved Nick off when he came near him, a miserable expression on his face.
“C’n resist anything except temptation.” He said with a painful grin.
Everything might have been alright if they hadn’t got stuck in traffic.
Tyson had retired to his bunk, and lay there deathly still, ironically enough, but not before Mike had seen the way his eyeteeth had elongated to the point they looked dangerous, a red ring around his irises, his hands shaking like an alcoholic’s. Stuck in thick rush hour traffic, he was never going to last. Never.
But none of them knew what would happen when he snapped.
“So, basically, we’re stuck on a bus with a blood-deprived vampire.” Chris said, in a low voice. “Which makes us...”
“Lunch.” Mike said gloomily.
“He wouldn’t eat us, Jesus. You know he wouldn’t.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “I’mna go talk to him, see if he’s OK.”
“If you want to become a meal...”
“I’d be a very angry one.” Nick’s grin failed to convince anyone, including himself. He glanced out of the bus window at the traffic jam. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon, and we don’t know how he reacts to living without blood.” He pointed out very quietly. “I just want to make sure he’s OK.”
He disappeared into the bunk area, leaving Chris and Mike staring at each other. “Only Tyson.” Mike sighed. They could hear Nick talking softly, and Tyson’s replies, but not well enough to make out words.
Chris gave him a tiny, dry smile. “That pesky vampirism,” he agreed.
**
Nick drew back the curtain to Tyson’s bunk, and moved back quickly when Tyson waved him hastily away, a desperate longing in his eyes. “Hey.” He said quietly. “How you doing?”
“Well, I want to bite you.” Tyson managed. “How’s that for a progress report?”
Nick smiled at him. “Yeah, OK. Stupid question.” He perched on the bunk opposite Tyson; a red-eyed, pale-faced Tyson whose lengthened teeth made him lisp over the ‘s’s.
“How’s the traffic jam? Dying down yet?”
“Not so as you’d notice.” Nick said apologetically. “Rush hour traffic, you know.”
“Yeah.” Tyson took a deep breath. “This isn’t good.” He said, glancing up at Nick. “Why did we think we could do this? Why did we think we could get away with me being a vampire?”
“Gerard’s doing OK with it.”
“Gerard’s learnt control.” Tyson pointed out, taking another long breath. “If he has a crisis, they all know how to deal with it. First person I was around afterwards was you, I couldn’t bite you.”
“Wait, this is my fault?” Worried, not defensive.
“No, don’t be stupid,” Tyson shook his head, “I’m just saying. I was with you. I couldn’t bite you, it would have hurt you. I couldn’t do that. So I never learnt how to stop myself when I had to.” He laughed, a breathy failure of a laugh. “I don’t even know how to bite someone.”
Nick paused. “Would it help to bite me?” Tyson didn’t even bother to answer. “Yeah, stupid question. Look, I really don’t mind. You’ll know what to do - I mean, it’s probably instinctive, and Mike and Chris can pull you off if things get too bad.” He paused. “And hey, if you couldn’t do it because it would hurt me, I’m willing to bet that it’d mean you could stop.”
“Are you?” Tyson asked. ”I’m not.” He shook his head and rolled over onto his side when Nick opened his mouth to continue the argument. “I’m not biting you, Nicky.”
**
Half an hour later, having moved maybe five metres nearer to Trenton, Nick went back to check on Tyson again, and found him sucking desperately at his own wrist, eyes a dull crimson with need, the bite steadfastly refusing to bleed.
“Dude, come on.” Nick chided him, reaching in and tugging gently on Tyson’s wrist. “You can’t-”
“I hate this.” Tyson rasped, slipping feverishly over the words, tongue catching on his teeth. His breath was coming in great heaving gasps, and he reached for Nick with a blind need that went beyond even their friendship; of all the bad things in this situation, that one stung the most. “I hate it.”
“I know.” Nick pulled Tyson’s hand gently away from his mouth, ignoring his own mild hurt and the way Tyson barely seemed to recognise him. “Come on, you’re not going to be able to wait.” He settled into the bunk, pulling Tyson against him even as his friend fought him weakly. “Come on.” He repeated softly. “You won’t hurt me.”
He held his wrist soft-side-up to Tyson, who pushed it away agitatedly. “I might.” He shook his head, trying to get the words out properly. “I might, I m-might - Nicky....”
Nick hadn’t needed words with Tyson for years. “Like I’d let you.” He said gently. He let Tyson lean against him, arm wrapped around his shoulders and wrist by his mouth. “C’mon, give it a go. You said before you couldn’t hurt me, you’ll be able to stop.”
“You willing to bet your life on that?” Tyson asked, turning his head away from Nick’s wrist, parroting Nick’s words from earlier.
“I’m not willing to risk yours.” Nick said quietly. “Try it.”
Tentatively - too worn down to give any further resistance, Nick would bet, and felt almost a little guilty for it - Tyson turned back, taking another deep breath before pressing his mouth to the soft skin just below Nick’s hand. Nick suppressed a shiver as Tyson’s tongue smoothed across the area of skin he was about to bite into. When he finally did bite, it was barely more than a scratch, a sudden shock of pain which dimmed as Tyson sucked at it, tongue swirling around the cut - not even a proper bite, just a cut. Tyson’s eyes were shut, his chest heaving, and he gave an apparently unconscious moan before he pulled away.
“Better.” He smiled, his voice stronger. The red in his eyes had receded to a ring around his irises again, blood-flush high in his cheeks. “I’m OK.”
Nick had to take a moment to recover himself. He’d been prepared for it to hurt; he hadn’t been prepared for it to feel good. For a moment, he just stared at his wrist; the
incision Tyson had made was maybe four inches long, already scabbed (some kind of vampire thing?) and led down over the delicate skin of his inner wrist.
Glancing down, he raised an eyebrow at Tyson, forcing disapproval into his expression when it felt as though his spine had melted.
Tyson didn’t need words with Nick anymore than Nick needed them with him, and he glanced up sleepily. “Thought, before I bit, if I bit too hard I might damage the muscles and you wouldn’t be able to play. Didn’t want that.” He rested his head against Nick’s side, the intense bloodlust apparently down to a manageable level, if not completely subsided. “Thanks, Nicky.” He managed, before dropping off to sleep, sated.
**
The crisis blew over; Nick’s ‘little donation’, as it was christened, had tided Tyson over to the point where he could manage until they got into Trenton and a new supply of blood-bags. Tyson was his normal irrepressible self, inappropriate on and off stage with his bandmates, reluctantly back on his normal litre a day like he’d never tasted Nick’s blood.
Nick was much worse off. Over the next few days, every time the scab pulled, whenever he watched Tyson drinking blood, every time he watched Tyson pretend to bite Chris’ neck or pounced on Mike declaring that he was ‘Dracoooola!” in an unconvincing Transylvanian accent, he found himself wondering what it would be like if Tyson bit him again.
It wasn’t a new thought, not really. There had been a kind of sick fascination there even from the start, even when the desire to be bitten had been snarled up, complicated, with the desire to reclaim Tyson - everyone knew that the reason Nick disliked Tyson’s vampire-hood was because of the way it meant Tyson had headed off with another guy. Now, that desire was all the more concrete and tangible, linked even more strongly to the simple desire for Tyson, no matter what form he came in. But Tyson had never shown any interest in Nick that way - never. No more than the normal over-tactile interest Tyson showed in all his band-mates, at any rate. And they had enough things to work around, touring, the band, the need to drink a litre of blood every day, little things. Nick wasn’t going to add to their worries any more than he had to.
Especially not when Tyson was almost avoiding him, alternating between hardly touching him at all and touching him far too much, meeting his eyes less regularly and staring at him when he thought he could get away with it with a thoughtful, assessing look in his eyes that even Nick, with all his years of deciphering Tyson, couldn’t quite understand. No way was he adding anything more uncomfortable into the mix. Nothing more uncomfortable than Tyson having drunk his blood, of course. They still got on fine, of course they did, but there was an edge to their interactions that hadn’t been there before.
That aside, the most major change in the aftermath was the way Tyson’s distaste for his vampiric side had grown exponentially, to the point where he was all but testing his endurance of time without blood. Used to Tyson’s occasional freaks, the rest of them let him get on with it, trusting that he wasn’t suicidal enough to forgo it altogether, a trust which he didn’t seem about to betray. That didn’t mean they were about to let it go on indefinitely, however, and it was Chris who finally brought it up.
“Dude, seriously.” He said when Tyson flopped down on the sofa next to him, too pale and clammy. “Just drink the blood and get it over with!”
“I can’t believe you’re ordering me to drink blood.” Tyson frowned. His voice was a little hoarse, but the hunger was evidently bearable at the moment, since it didn’t seem to bother him at all to be near them.
“Yeah, well. There’s a first for everything.” Chris sighed. “Look, just get it over with. Delaying it isn’t going to help anything.”
“I just don’t want you guys to see me being weird!” Tyson batted his eyelashes at Chris who just shook his head.
Mike, passing, patted him on the head. “That ship has sailed, my friend.” He said kindly, and Tyson pouted.
“Oh, give it up.” Chris shook his head. “You’re a vampire who unironically covers himself in glitter. You haven’t got a hope.”
Tyson heaved a sigh. “Unloved and betrayed by my bandmates. I feel so used.”
Nick nudged at him with his foot without so much as opening his eyes. “That’s us. We only like you for your voice.”
“It’s OK.” Tyson said bravely. “I only like you lot for your blood.”
“Take Nick!” Mike said quickly. “He tastes better than us. And he volunteered.”
“Only if you insist...” Tyson grinned, heaving himself upright and letting himself fall on top of Nick, who could only wheeze in protest as all the breath was knocked out of him. “Hmm, Nicky? You don’t mind, right?”
Nick didn’t mind. Nick really didn’t mind, and that was kind of the problem. He jerked away from Tyson when he licked a stripe up Nick’s neck, batting at him ineffectually before succeeding in shoving him off. “Unless you want me to start calling you Edward Cullen...” he threatened.
Tyson, sprawled on the floor in a way which no one else could pull off with any degree of attractiveness, clutched a hand to his heart. “The unkindest cut of all!”
Nick shifted uncomfortably. “Goof.”
Tyson grinned up at him, sweet. “But you love me anyway, right Nick? Right? Right?”
Mike shut him up with gentle kick, a nudge to his back, and Tyson grinned up at him. “Ty, shut up.”
“S’not what you said last-”
“No, really, shut up.” But Mike grinned back. All was normal with everyone else; it looked like it was just Nick who couldn’t get with the programme.
And maybe, from the way he was looking at him now, Tyson was a little out of sync with things too.
But why would that be?
**
It took them another hour and a half to get Tyson to drink the blood he needed; longer than it should have done, certainly, but anyone who didn’t know about Tyson’s gory little secret - anyone who didn’t know Tyson - wouldn’t have known anything was wrong from the amount of energy he exuded. It was nothing like the last time he’d gone without blood and had been lethargic and desperate by turns; quite the opposite. It was almost as though he was trying to make up for it, trying to prove to himself that he could survive without it even though there was an obvious flaw in that. There was a tension in the way he was acting out, a forcedness to his smile that they could all see, though a stranger might have missed it.
Finally Chris, his normal blunt self, poured the blood into a glass and set it down in front of Tyson with a decisive thud. “Drink it, for fuck’s sake.” He said firmly. “Or I will pinch your nose and pour it down your throat. God it?”
Tyson, eyes glazed faintly red and skin pale, gazed up at him and smiled. “Gaylor, you’ve been holding out on me.”
“Ty, just drink the damn stuff, OK?” Nick snapped from his couch before Chris could reply. The memory of a similarly run-down Tyson was all too clear, further gone but familiar all the same, sucking at Nick’s wrist. The insistent, unexpected pull of pleasure, Tyson’s mouth shockingly gentle at the soft skin of Nick’s arm... the fading scar throbbed in sense-memory, and Nick blinked, breaking out of the memory. A somewhat subdued Tyson was dutifully drinking the blood, health visibly returning to his skin as he drank. Chris was watching the pair of them with a wary interest, something knowing in his eyes, and he shook his head when he caught Nick’s stare.
“Y’all are crazy.” He said simply and turned away.
**
After that, Tyson’s behaviour took another sudden U-Turn and Nick could barely turn round without finding Tyson there waiting for him, hugging him, a hand at his shoulder, up-close in Nick’s personal space and generally making a welcome nuisance of himself. Nick honestly couldn’t bring himself to care. It felt like something had shifted in their friendship, something which hadn’t shifted in twelve years for all that it had been edging that way; it was as though Nick had blinked, looked away, and when he looked back everything had moved slightly to the left, brightened in his absence. It was a subtle change, but noticeable.
But as for what that change was, Nick was completely at a loss.
“Dude, seriously.” he said one morning. “You’ve gotta stop this.”
Tyson glanced up at him. “Huh?”
Nick returned his look for a long moment. One of Tyson’s legs was draped over one of Nick’s and he was sprawled backwards on the sofa, one arm flung above his head, a book held in his other hand. Anyone who didn’t know Tyson might have thought this was just a comfortable position for him; Nick knew better. Tyson was posing, and although Tyson posed at the drop of a hat, he very rarely did it around any of them.
“Draping yourself all over me.” He extemporised quickly.
Tyson considered this, and thoughtfully adjusted his pose into something more dramatic, a bad moment from a too-old vampire film. “I’m practising for Halloween.” He said. “I think I’m going to go as Dracula, what do you think?”
“I think Halloween is nearly a year away and even if it wasn’t, irony wouldn’t be anymore impressed with your sense of humour than I am.” Nick raised an eyebrow at him.
Tyson, insouciant as ever, just grinned at him. “What’re you talking about, Nick? You love me.”
“I love you more when you remember what personal space is.” Nick said sweetly.
“Rubbish.” Tyson said robustly and went back to his book.
Five minutes later, as Tyson’s foot inched up his thigh, apparently unconsciously, Nick shoved him off. “Seriously, Ty, give it a rest. I don’t care if you think it’s funny, or something, stop.”
Tyson blinked large, innocent blue eyes at him. “What do I think’s funny?”
“Playing around with - this.” He waved his hand in a suitably vague motion, and Tyson frowned, too artful to be real.
“I’m not playing around with anything, Nicky. I’m just being friendly.”
Nick considered this for a long moment. “Could you be friendly in a way which doesn’t involve quite so much touching?” He tried. Tyson just ignored that, and yeah, Nick supposed it had been kind of a stupid request. Regardless of the way Tyson seemed to be making a concerted effort to drive Nick mad through touch, he wouldn’t be Tyson if he wasn’t insanely tactile. “Look, Ty,” he said painfully, “I. I get that this is kind of funny for you? But it’s not something I’m comfortable joking about.”
Tyson really did look confused at that, even a little hurt, and Nick had known him more than long enough to know the difference between Tyson putting something on and being serious. “I’m making you uncomfortable?”
“You know, it’s.” Nick shrugged, breaking eye contact. There had to be some way to say this without embarrassing either of them too badly. “I’ve got it under control.” He said finally, quietly. “But things are going to get really uncomfortable if you keep pushing things, you know? You gotta know that forcing the issue is going to make me,” he searched for a synonym and couldn’t find one, “uncomfortable.” He repeated helplessly.
Tyson sat up, pulling himself into a cross-legged position, a faint frown on his face. “Nicky, I didn’t - I mean, I guess I-” He shook his head. “I guess I misread it.” He said finally, standing and heading over to the fridge, the lines of his back tense as he pulled the door open and retrieved one of the bags of blood.
“Misread what?” Nick said, confused in his own right.
“I got that this was a big thing for you,” Tyson said, ripping open the bag with a vicious yank, and Nick caught a glimpse of his friend’s fangs; sense-memory tugged at his wrist and he wrapped his other hand round it to stop himself from being distracted. “So I didn’t push things, you know? I tried not to drink around you, which was fucking hard with you being around all the time and all, and then after I had to bite you, fuck. You looked at me like I was-”
“No, wait.” Nick said stupidly. “I- you thought I had a problem with you being a vampire?”
Tyson met his eyes dead on, glass of blood in one hand. “You don’t?” he challenged. “Fuck, Nick, I came back after that guy bit me and you wouldn’t hardly look at me. And you go all quiet when it comes up, and that’s fine, right? Who wouldn’t freak the fuck out when their friend turns into a monster?”
“No, Ty-”
“I just thought that maybe you were getting used to it, after that whole thing in New Jersey.” Tyson continued, oblivious. “And I thought we could try - I mean, ’cos everyone knows that’s where we were headed before that asshole bit me and fucked everything up-”
“OK, seriously, stop.” Nick interrupted. “You actually wanted me, all this time, and never said a word? You could never find a spare moment to say, ‘hey, Nick, how about we make out now’?”
Tyson allowed himself to be distracted for a second. “‘Make out’?” he grinned. “I probably never said that because I didn’t want to sound like a ninth-grader.”
“Shut up.” Nick told him firmly. “You never told me that?!”
“In my defence, most of our spare moments were kind of - unspare.” Tyson pointed out. “And I wasn’t going to put you in that position, not when I kind of - when what I am evidently freaked the hell out of you.”
“Right, because I haven’t wanted you to ‘put me in that position’ since we were kids.” Nick muttered. Tyson didn’t even have the grace to pretend he didn’t hear him.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t a freaking vampire when we were-”
“I don’t give a shit if you’re a vampire!” Nick snapped. “I gave a shit that you went off with some stranger twice your age and let him do what-the-fuck-ever to you!”
Tyson gaped. It wasn’t an attractive look on him. “But you - and then - what!?”
“You went off with that guy and he bit you and turned you into a vampire and then came back and you needed me because you sure as shit weren’t thinking straight, and then you were all about fucking anything that moved, and it wasn’t like you ever acted like you wanted me!”
“Because I thought this whole vampire thing disgusted you!”
“Well, it doesn’t! It really, really doesn’t, OK?”
“So, what, if it doesn’t disgust you... Nick, did you- I mean, you...?” Tyson made some indiscriminate hand gesture evidently intended to imply vampirism and arousal in some kind of unholy union, and Nick nodded jerkily. “And you want me?” Another nod. “And I can promise you that I want you. So, why are we not having sex right now?”
“Because you’re drinking cow’s blood right now, Tyson.” Nick said sweetly. “I’m not kissing you after that shit.”
For a moment, there was a haunted look in Tyson’s eyes and Nick wondered whether he’d overplayed his hand, whether it was too soon for the joke. And then Tyson grinned, one fang catching on his bottom lip. It was possibly one of the most beautiful things Nick had ever seen.
“OK then. That’s - kind of awesome.” Carefully, he drained the rest of his glass, then downed a glass of water before launching himself at Nick, all limbs and enthusiasm.
Nick was inclined to agree.
**
Done! Thoughts? ^_^