I pull up to Micah’s apartment building a couple minutes before 7:00, noting the questionable state of the building. It looks like it was built in the 1950s and hasn’t been updated since. Parking is a bit challenging as we’re close to downtown, but I find a spot a block away. The chill Boston air doesn’t faze me, but the humans walking by are bundled up with puffy coats, hats, and scarves.
Micah’s apartment is on the second floor of the unsecured building, so I walk up the stairs out front and knock on his door. He opens it quickly, like he’d been waiting by the door for me to arrive.
“Hey,” he says with a smile. “Come on in, I just need to put my shoes on.” I take a moment to look at him as I step inside, observing his maroon suit that looks like it’s probably secondhand. It doesn’t fit him perfectly, but he looks good in it anyway. It’s hard to imagine an outfit that wouldn’t look good on him, with his slender waist and shapely calves.
The apartment is untidy but not slovenly. The clutter is mostly in the form of stacks of books on every free surface, along with a large pile of dishes in the drying rack. The place can’t be more than 500 square feet.
“I know it’s not much,” he says as he ties his worn black ankle boots.
“It’s yours,” I say. “That’s what matters.” That seems to please him—he flashes me a smile as he opens the door.
“You look amazing, by the way,” he comments, his voice light. I’m wearing my best suit, black and tailored. I suppose I must look alright, but I don’t think much about my appearance. It’s largely irrelevant, given I don’t date. Except for tonight.
“You look good, too,” I tell him as I follow him out the door. As he locks up, I wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into.
We walk to the car in silence, his breath coming out as mist in the frigid air. He looks… nervous. I’ve never seen him look that way before. We get into the car, and he immediately locates the seat heaters and turns his on.
“So, do you go to these balls often?” he asks me as we take off.
“They’re mandatory,” I tell him. “Not going would be a snub to the lord.”
“Lord Vasilia?” Clearly, he pays attention to vampire affairs.
“That’s right. They’re in charge of all the vampires in the city and the surrounding area.”
“Is there anything I should know before we get there?”
I think for a moment, reflecting on what might be common knowledge and what he would need to learn from me to succeed tonight. “When we pay our respects to Vasilia and their consort, you’ll need to bow to each of them.”
“Who’s their consort?”
“Her name is Lenore. They’ve been together since before I was born.”
“Wow,” Micah says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “And you’re how old?”
“Over four hundred.”
“Wow,” he says again, peering at me intently now. “I feel like a baby now.”
“You’re not a baby,” I correct quickly. “You’re a human. Nothing wrong with that.”
He hums in response, and we don’t talk much until we reach the underground parking garage by the nightclub where the ball is held.
“There’s one other thing I should tell you before we get there,” I say as I pull into a spot and turn the car off. “No one’s going to expect me to show up with a date. There could be… staring. Gossip.”
“Why wouldn’t you show up with a date?”
“Question for another time,” I tell him. “Let’s get inside.”
The nightclub looks like a warehouse from the outside, but as we enter, the décor sets a different mood entirely. Creeping plants hang from every surface in the entryway, and the walls are painted in a pale peach color. Micah’s eyes light up in awe as he takes the space in. A valet takes our coats, and we head into the main room, which is enormous and decorated lavishly, with a string ensemble tuning their instruments on the stage to the left. Micah looks amazed by the scale and grandeur, so I take him gently by the elbow and direct his attention to the far end of the room, where Vasilia waits.
“Let’s go pay our respects,” I tell him. He nods, and we make our way over. Vasilia notices me almost immediately. They take one look at me with Micah and raise one eyebrow, then say something to Lenore, who turns to stare at us as well.
Vasilia looks resplendent in an exquisitely tailored red suit with no shirt underneath the blazer. Lenore, an impressively tall trans woman, wears an indigo gown fit for the red carpet. Once we get close, I fall into a bow, and Micah mimics me.
“Julian,” Vasilia says with a piercing gaze as I straighten back up. “You brought a date.”
“My lord, this is Micah.” I refuse to wither under their gaze, as imposing as it may be.
“Micah. Welcome to my ball. How did you meet Julian?”
“At a blood lounge, my lord,” he says, eyes cast downward, which Vasilia probably doesn’t mind, given their reputation for demanding deference.
“Very good,” they say. “Lenore, what do you think of him?”
“Young. Attractive,” she responds thoughtfully. “Polite. I’ve heard of him. He’s made quite a splash at the Jackal’s Head.”
Micah blushes, undoubtedly not used to being assessed like this. I want to touch him, to comfort him, but I keep my hands to myself. Vasilia nods, looking satisfied.
“Thank you for joining us, gentlemen,” they say, and it’s a clear dismissal. I gesture toward the bar, and Micah looks up at me gratefully.
“You did well,” I tell him as we cross the enormous room. But a whispering to my left alerts me to the fact that Vasilia and Lenore aren’t the only ones assessing us tonight.
“He’s got a date,” I can hear someone say in hushed tones—my vampire hearing broadcasts their whispers as if they said it at full volume. “Haven’t seen him with a date since—”
“What would you like to drink?” I quickly say to Micah. I wasn’t planning on ordering for him, but anything to drown out the sound of their gossip.
“Cider would be great, thank you.”
I order for the two of us, and as the bartender prepares our drinks, I catch Micah peering at me with a strange look. It might be worry.
“I’m guessing when you live for as long as you do, everyone knows too much about each other.”
“Correct,” I tell him. “Every vampire here knows my business and casts their judgment.”
“Why do you stay here, then?”
The bartender hands us our drinks, and we make our way to an open table in the small seating section by the bar. The rest of the room is filled with people mingling; some musicians are setting up by the opposite wall.
“I have considered leaving. But that means ingratiating myself with a new vampire lord, and with my… history, that could be difficult.” That was way more than I meant to share. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I haven’t even touched my alcohol, and it takes a hell of a lot to get a vampire drunk.
“Will you tell me about your history someday?” Micah asks, voice gentle.
“No promises,” I say quickly, and his face shutters. My gut clenches. “Not because I don’t like you. It’s old baggage.”
“You like me?” He jumps on that comment, brightening. His expressions come so freely, his face honest. I admire and envy it.
“I did agree to go on a date with you,” I remind him.
“True,” he agrees. “So, what about your life in the present? What do you do for a living? For fun?”
“I’m a painter,” I tell him. “That occupies most of my time. I suppose it’s both a job and a passion. When I’m not painting, I also play the piano.”
“Wow,” he says, looking genuinely amazed. “I had no idea you were an artist! That’s so cool. I like to draw, but it’s not anything special.”
“I’d love to see your work sometime,” I tell him, the words coming out before my brain registers what I’ve said. My goal was to stay aloof, but his charming presence has me off guard.
“I’ll bring my sketchbook next time we meet up,” he says with a smile. “I want to see your work, too! Do you have a website?”
“I do. I’ll text you the address later.” I take a sip of my drink and look up at him. He looks content, the awkwardness of earlier forgotten. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m a barista,” he says. “I work at a fancy café. I can do some mean latte art.”
“Are you in school?”
“Nah,” he says with a shrug. “I struggled a lot in high school. And I’m, well, honestly I’m estranged from my family, so I can’t really afford it anyway.”
The words almost leave my lips, but I hold them back. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you in their life.
“I’m sorry,” I say instead. “You don’t deserve that.”
“Thanks,” he says. “It’s just how it is. Very traditional Sephardic family, didn’t love me saying I was a boy. Apparently, it’s not God’s plan for me.”
“With all respect to your religion, fuck that.”
“Yeah, well, I think God made me exactly the way he intended. I’m not super religious, but I believe that.”
“Our experiences are different, but I understand to an extent. I came of age in a time and place where being queer was illegal. I certainly received no support from my family when they began to suspect my proclivities.” He nodded, looking thoughtful.
“So, are you gay? Bi? Pan? Just queer?”
“Gay,” I tell him.
“Me too,” he says. “Used to think I was a straight girl with a gay fetish. Then I realized there was another option.”
“You’re very forthcoming about your past.”
“Does that bother you?” he asks, stopping mid-drink to look at me.
“Not at all,” I reassure him. “I just hope you don’t mind that I can’t return the courtesy.”
He smiles a bit oddly at that, but before he can respond, the string ensemble begins playing.
“I gotta admit, I don’t know how to waltz,” he says with a laugh.
“We don’t have to dance if you’d rather not.”
“No, we should try it. Can you teach me? You lead, I’ll follow.” I think about it for a moment, but Micah looks genuinely interested, so I stand and reach for his hand.
Eyes follow us as I lead him toward the dance floor. I’m certain I’ll be a poor teacher as I haven’t danced the waltz or any other dance in God knows how long, but I push down my anxiety and show Micah how to hold me by the shoulder as I put my hand on the small of his back.
“You’re essentially stepping in a square to the rhythm of the music,” I tell him. “When I step forward, you step backward.”
“This isn’t as sexy as the dancing I’m used to,” he teases as I demonstrate the steps. “Though your hand does feel nice.”
“The waltz is an incredibly sexy dance if it’s your only opportunity to touch a romantic partner before you’re married,” I say.
“Did you do a lot of waltzing when you were human?” In a moment of clumsiness, our toes collide, but he quickly corrects himself.
“The waltz didn’t exist yet back then, and I did as little dancing as I could get away with,” I admit. “I had no desire to dance with women, and I couldn’t exactly dance with men.”
“What about as a vampire?” he asks innocently, but I give him a look. “Alright, sorry, no more prying. How close can we get when waltzing without trampling each other’s toes?”
“Let’s find out,” I say, thankful for the subject change, and I bring Micah in closer, pulling him by the waist. His body heat is potent, radiating on my skin, his scent filling my senses. We manage to dance for a few minutes without any collisions, and by the end of the song, I realize I’ve been staring into his eyes. They’re a deep brown, with long, black lashes, and I can’t help but think they’re beautiful.
*
We dance for longer than I expected, enjoying each other’s company. A few incidents of toe-stepping do nothing to detract from the surprising pleasure of having this man in my arms and sharing the evening with him. Eventually, the novelty of my uncharacteristic behavior wears off, and the other vampires stop staring at me quite as intently. I’ve lost track of time when Micah excuses himself to use the bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Vasilia wave their hand in my direction.
“M’lord,” I say as I approach them, inclining my head.
“I must say, you have utterly surprised me tonight,” Vasilia says lightly.
“I’ve surprised myself,” I admit.
“Is he your lover?” Lenore asks, direct as always.
“No,” I say. “I’ve tasted his blood, but nothing beyond that.”
“What’s holding you back?” Vasilia asks in the same light tone, but their eyes are sharp. For a moment, I don’t respond.
“I think you know the answer to that,” I finally say.
“The past traps you in misery.” Vasilia says it with all the gravity of a passing remark, but it hits like they’d slapped me. “He’s a nice young man. I’d hate to see you squander an opportunity because of your history.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” is all I can muster.
“Very good,” they intone, nodding to dismiss me.
I go straight to the bar and order a scotch. When the bartender hands it to me, I’m about to down it in one go, but Micah is back from the bathroom, so I hesitate.
“Drinking without me?” he asks as he approaches.
“I just had an interesting conversation with Vasilia,” I say hesitantly. “They certainly know how to get under my skin.”
“Don’t drink that. Let’s dance again. Don’t let it get to your head.” He holds out his hand, and of course I take it.
*
“Tell me more about yourself,” I say in the car as I drive Micah home.
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you have many friends?”
“A few,” he says. “I’m not super close to a lot of people. I’ve only lived here for a year, so most of my friends are back home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Miami.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I miss my friends, and the food,” he muses, watching me as I drive. “But I left for a reason.”
I nod, understanding the melancholy in his voice. If there’s anything I know, it’s having baggage.
“What do you do for fun?”
“Art, mostly. I fill sketchbooks like no one’s business. If you want to come in, I can show you some.” I know he wants more than to show me his art, but after how kind he’s been tonight, I want to say yes. I’ll just have to have strict boundaries.
“That would be nice,” I agree.
I find parking by his building and follow him up the stairs, and when he lets me in, he puts a hand on the small of my back, guiding me inside. He leads me to his bookshelf, where at least a few dozen sketchbooks are piled haphazardly.
“There’s some good stuff in this one,” he says, pulling out a sketchbook with spiral binding and a yellow cover, and he hands it to me. When I open it, I’m immediately impressed. The contents are mostly figure drawings, male forms in a variety of body shapes and poses. They possess an impressive realism despite being simple sketches.
“These are wonderful,” I say sincerely. I come to stop at a drawing that stands out to me—I think it’s a self-portrait. The face is indistinct, but I recognize the curve of his neck, his slim shoulders. “Is this you?”
“Yes,” he says, clearly pleased. “You really like them?”
“Your grasp of the human form is impressive,” I assure him. “Did you take classes?”
“A lot,” he confirmed. “Back in Miami. I’d love to find somewhere I could take them here, but they’re all so expensive.”
“I’ll put some feelers out for you if you’d like,” I volunteer. “I have some acquaintances who occasionally take on students.”
“That would be incredible, thank you so much,” he says, and I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He notices my smile and returns it in full force. For a moment, we just look at each other like that, his brown eyes drawing me in.
“You remember what you said last time we saw each other?” he asks, taking the sketchbook from me and putting it back on the shelf.
“Which part?” I ask, knowing full well which comment he means: the one that I’ve been ruminating over ever since I said it.
“That if the date goes well, you’d give me a goodbye kiss.”
“You think the date went well?”
“I enjoyed myself,” he says, moving closer to me. “Did you?”
“Yes,” I admit, and my eyes drop to his mouth, his lips parted.
“It’s okay to want this,” he practically whispers as he moves closer, and I feel my carefully constructed boundaries shattering. We’re inches apart, his body heat making my vampire senses go wild. Every instinct I possess wants to claim him, drink from him, fuck him.
“I do want you,” I confess. He deserves to know. “But I’m not ready to have sex.”
“That’s okay,” he says, reaching out to touch my hand, and I let him. “Wherever you’re at, that’s fine with me.” He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my fingertips, transfixing me.
For a moment, I wonder why I’m resisting. I never hesitate when I fuck Tom. But as Micah sucks gently at my middle finger, I know exactly why. It’s because if I sleep with Micah, it’s more than transactional. It would be the start of something. Something I’m careening toward, out of control, whether I fuck him or not.
I pull my fingers gently from his mouth and run them through his curly hair.
“A goodbye kiss,” I agree, and the words have barely left my lips before he’s lifting his head to press his mouth against mine. His touch is gentle but insistent, and soon he’s fully in my arms. My hands bracket his hips, and he hangs onto my neck, pushing his body flush against mine. I can feel my fangs begin to descend, and when he opens his mouth to let me inside, I take full advantage. He runs his tongue against mine and then over the sharp tips of my fangs, making the vampire inside me roar to life.
And that’s a sign that I’m about to lose control, so I take an agonizing step back, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as I go.
“That was one hell of a kiss,” he says with a satisfied grin.
“It was. Thank you.” My fangs catch against my lip as I speak, and I will them to retract.
“Can I see you again sometime?”
“You really don’t mind taking it slow for my sake?”
He smiles a sad smile, shaking his head.
“You don’t rush a good thing,” he tells me, looking me in the eyes. “I could go back to the club and have any vampire there if I wanted, but it would mean nothing. With you, it feels like it means something. And I don’t mind being patient for that.”
“You’re looking for a relationship?”
“I wasn’t when I first saw you,” he admits. “But… you’re a bit addicting. I like spending time with you. I liked dancing with you, and I really liked kissing you. And I didn’t mind when you drank my blood and practically humped my leg, either.”
“Oh god,” I say, mortified. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“No apology necessary. You should do it again sometime. When you’re ready.”
“No promises about the leg humping, but I’ll be ready for more blood in a few days,” I say, bolder than I feel. “If you want to make a date of it.”
“Buy me dinner first?” The flirtatious look on his face is enough to draw me back in to devour his mouth again, but I exercise my last remaining self control.
“Deal,” I agree.
Akiva Lee 