“This one for sure.”

Felicia, my agent, is a driven woman with killer fashion and warm brown skin. I rely on her people skills and industry expertise to get my work in galleries and occasionally museums, and we’re going on 15 years of professional partnership. No one knows my work better than she does, myself included.

“You think? It’s kind of experimental.” I consider the painting she pointed out. The stylized brush strokes portray a nude, blood-splattered male figure.

“By experimental, do you mean personal?” Damn, she’s good.

“I suppose. I painted it in a twenty-four-hour marathon after a very bad day.” Very bad day is shorthand for “triggered,” naturally. She doesn’t need me to spell that out. 

“If you don’t want to include it, that’s okay, of course. But I think it will resonate with people.”

“I trust your judgment,” I tell her. “If you think it’d do well in the exhibit, let’s include it.”

“Excellent,” she says, writing something down in her notepad. “I’ll arrange for the handlers to pick everything up the week before the show.”

“Thank you, Felicia. I appreciate your help.” I move to put the canvases we’d taken out back in their corner, which is slightly overflowing. I look forward to selling some paintings and making more room. Clutter stresses me out.

“My pleasure, darling.” She puts away her notebook in her oversized purse. “How’s things? I’ve heard some gossip about you lately.”

I freeze up momentarily, almost dropping the canvas I’m carrying.

“Even the humans are talking about my personal life?”

“The art press picked up on it. You had a hot date recently?”

“I did,” I say carefully. “It’s early days.”

“Even so, it’s out of character for you. I don’t mean that in a negative way. Just that I’m a bit surprised.” Felicia reaches for her phone and pulls up the article, handing her phone over to show me. The headline reads, “Reclusive Vampire Painter Julian Blair in Love?”

“Love seems a pretty hasty conclusion to make from a single date,” I scoff.

“Undoubtedly,” she agrees. “I just hope you’re having fun.”

“I’m actually seeing him tonight,” I tell her. “He’s nice, but we’re taking it slow.”

She squeezes my shoulder, a rare physical intimacy, but not one I mind.

“I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there,” she says. “I know how hard that is for you. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I give her.

“You know,” she says casually, grabbing her purse from the counter. “You could bring him along to New York. Might be nice to have a plus one.”

“Felicia…”

“Sorry, I’m being pushy. I’ll get out of your hair. Have a nice date tonight.” We exchange goodbyes, and she waves at me as she takes off. I look at the painting she liked, the one with the blood-splattered nude, and wonder if that’s how she sees me.

*

I pick Micah up for our date at 7:00, and he looks incredible when he opens the door. He wears a navy short-sleeve button-up shirt, the first few buttons undone to show off his chest hair.  

“That’s quite the look on your face,” he says with a smirk as he closes the door behind him and locks it.

“You look good,” I say plainly. No need to pretend otherwise.

“I thought I’d tease you a little,” he says without shame. “I see it’s working.”

“How devious,” I tease back, surprising myself. When was the last time I flirted? He laughs at that, running his fingers over my hand as he heads down the stairs.

It doesn’t take long to get to the restaurant Micah picked—like most vampires, I’m indifferent at best to the food of the living, so I haven’t eaten out in years. 

“So what kind of food do vampires like to eat?” Micah asks as we’re seated. “Dangerously rare steak?”

“I prefer foods that are similar to what I had in life, which makes me quite boring,” I admit. “Tastes are muted for us, so when I do eat, I mostly look for comfort.”

“Where was that life? What country?”

“Scotland,” I tell him. “I was born in Edinburgh in the late seventeenth century. But I’ve lived in America for hundreds of years, so I’ve lost my accent.”

“So when you say you like foods similar to what you ate when you were alive, you mean bland, unseasoned foods?” He puts on a fake-innocent look, and I snicker.

“I suppose. Fine cuisine is a bit outside of my comfort zone.” I pick up the menu, looking with some trepidation at the unfamiliar dish names.

“Well, I’d hardly call this fine dining, but the food here is my version of comfort food. I can pick something for you, if you’d like?”

“I’d appreciate that,” I agree. The restaurant serves Cuban food, which Micah tells me he grew up with, living in Miami.

When the server comes by, Micah orders arroz con pollo for me and a sandwich for himself. He turns down the offer of cocktails.

“You’re not much of a drinker, are you,” I observe as the server walks away with our menus.

“I haven’t really developed a taste for it yet,” he says, removing the little paper strip holding his napkin and utensils in a roll. I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that he’s only 21, making me feel like a dirty old man for wanting him. “Plus, who knows what happens tonight? I don’t want alcohol to be a factor. Not trying to be presumptuous, just mindful.”

“I understand,” I say, mulling over my thoughts. “Does it bother you being so much younger than me?”

“Bother me? Not at all. It’s not like you look or act like an old man. You just have more life experience than I do.”

“I feel I should be upfront with you,” I say seriously. He looks in my eyes, his face open and receptive. “The reason I’m so cagey about my past as a vampire is because I have PTSD. One of the dangers of living as long as I have is you accumulate centuries of baggage.”

“I kinda wondered,” he admits with a small, gentle smile. “Thank you for telling me. I really appreciate it. And it doesn’t affect my attraction to you.” I feel the tension in my shoulders release a bit in spite of myself. “I don’t have full-blown PTSD, but I’ve accumulated some trauma in my life, too. Being kicked out by your parents does that.”

A flash of anger at the thought of his parents abandoning him like that rushes through me, and he notices, putting his hand on mine.

“I’m honestly better off without them. They had no room in their hearts for a kid who was different.” 

“How old were you?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.

“Sixteen,” he says, confirming my fears.

“Were you able to finish high school?” I run my fingers against his palm.

“No,” he says, but he doesn’t look bothered. “I took the GED and got my diploma equivalency the next year. I’ve been working as a barista ever since.”

“How do you like it?” I give his fingers on my hand a light stroke with my thumb, enjoying the feel of his skin.

“It’s good work,” he says, lacing our fingers together. I’m shocked at how easy it is to let him hold my hand, to indulge in such a romantic gesture. “The cafe I work at pays a decent wage, plus tips, so I make okay money. Enough to afford my own place.”

At that point, the server arrives with our food, and I reluctantly let go of his hand. Micah looks at the food with wide eyes and wastes no time in taking a bite of his sandwich.

“God, that’s good,” he moans, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” I tease.

“Immensely,” he agrees. “Try yours. I’m curious what you think.”

I cut off a bit of chicken and take a bite alongside some vibrantly yellow rice. The taste is faint, as it is for all food, but the bright spices leave an impression on my palate.

“I like it,” I tell him honestly. “It might not be what I’m used to, but that’s not such a bad thing.”

“Am I broadening your horizons, oh ancient vampire?” he asks with a huge grin.

“First off, watch who you’re calling ancient,” I say, and he cackles. “Second, yes you are. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he says, and then I feel his foot rub against my leg under the table, as if to emphasize his offer.

We eat our meal in companionable conversation, talking about food and then art. By the time the server brings us the bill—Micah insists on splitting it, though I offer to pay—I’m enjoying the feeling of ease that comes from good company.

When we reach my car, I stop and turn to look at him. His curls are windswept from the autumn weather, and he looks happy, happier than I’d ever seen him in the short time we’d known each other.

“I’d like to drink from you tonight. Would you like that?”

“God, yes,” he says emphatically. His hands reach for the lapels of my winter jacket, smoothing them against my chest. “Your place or mine?”

“Let’s do mine,” I say. Something about the idea of having Micah in my space is both terrifying and thrilling. This is so far out of my comfort zone, but the more I let myself stray outside my usual routine, the more exciting it’s becoming. I want to see Micah in my loft, bleeding on the industrial concrete floor. The thought paired with his hands against my chest makes my dick twitch.

“Sounds good. You look hungry.” He gives me a knowing smile, which doesn’t do anything to calm my appetites.

We talk less on the ride back to my place than we did in the restaurant, the tension between us taut. I accidentally let him see my desire when we stood in front of my car, and he fully understood what it meant. I can tell he’s practically squirming with anticipation.

When I let him into my apartment, he immediately takes off his coat, which I hang on the coat rack. His fingers make short work of the buttons on his shirt next, and within seconds I’m greeted by the glorious sight of his torso as he shrugs the shirt off.

“I’d tease you for being eager, but I think that would be hypocritical of me,” I admit. I’m fully staring at this point, taking in his dark chest hair, the scars that show he lives his life on his own terms, and the trail of hair leading down to his belt.

“Don’t want you to be hypocritical,” he says as he moves toward me. The scent of his body overwhelms me, sending me into a state of unfettered vampiric lust. I pull off my own shirt, not bothering to unbutton it all the way, and grab his hips so I can smell his neck. I press my face against his warm, golden skin and inhale deeply.

“You smell so fucking good,” I say against his skin. “Nothing artificial.” He laughs at that.

“I’m sensitive to chemical scents. Didn’t know that would score me points with vampires.” His hands soon find my shoulders, and I press closer.

“It does with this vampire.” I lave my tongue where his neck meets his shoulder. “Are you ready? Never mind, stupid question.” He laughs again, but the sound is cut off with a gasp as my fangs descend and pierce his skin. I release my venom right away and then drink deep, the glorious taste of his blood filling my mouth and blocking out all other thoughts or sensations. In this heightened state, I can hear his steady pulse, endorphins blissing him out as the venom flows through him. My mouth is sucking at his neck with the sloppy enthusiasm of a teen giving their first hickey. Little moans escape him, soft and breathy. I drink deeper, deeper, hot metallic heaven filling my mouth and warming my body. It isn’t until I hear his pulse begin to slow that I pull back.

“Holy fuck,” Micah says, eyes unfocused and looking unsteady. I quickly bite into my wrist and feed him my blood, which he laps up appreciatively. His tongue against the wound feels electric, but it soon closes up, and his heart rate begins to speed back up to normal as the vampire blood does its work.

“Sorry. I took a bit more than last time,” I admit with a wince.

“Please don’t apologize,” he says hastily, then kisses my wrist. “It felt incredible. Just made the venom that much more potent. Besides, it’s not like I’m in any danger when your blood heals me up.”

“I just don’t want to scare you,” I tell him as I run my fingers through his curls. They’re softer than they look, feeling like silk under my fingertips.

“Trust me, scared was the last thing I was feeling. More like on the verge of coming.”

My eyebrows go up involuntarily at his admission, and he pulls me close again by the shoulders.

“Do I get a kiss for every nice date we go on?”

“I think that’s only fair,” I find myself agreeing. I still have blood on my face, but he doesn’t give me a second to wipe it off before he’s licking my mouth, tasting his own life essence on my lips. I groan, unable to hold in the sound, and surrender to his attentions. 

Kissing Micah tastes like blood, like Cuban spices, like heaven. I feel my cock growing heavy as he swirls his tongue around mine, but I use the last of my restraint to make sure I don’t hump his leg this time. Instead, I focus my attention on showing him just how much I appreciate his touch, just how good he makes me feel. His arms wrap around my neck, pulling us closer.

“You’re hard,” he comments as he pulls back, just enough so he can speak and catch his breath.

“Can… can I show you some of my work?” I manage to get out, taking a step back.

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” I say after a sigh. “It’s… arousing. Drinking from you. I can’t seem to help myself.”

“Is it like that with everyone you drink from?” he asks, touching his neck.

“No,” I tell him. He deserves honesty. “I normally feed from a man named Tom. It’s much more transactional with him.”

“Why’s it different with me?” His voice sounds soft, almost nervous. I take a long moment to think before replying.

“Because you’re enchanting. You’re attractive and I like being in your company. You set out to seduce me, right? It worked.”

“Seduce is a bit of a dramatic word,” he says, “but you’re basically right. I wanted to make you want me.” 

“For the purpose of sex?” I ask, leading him by the hand to the living room, where we sit down on the couch.

“I mean, yeah?” He says it like a question. “I really like sex. I especially like sex with vampires.”

“So am I… a conquest?” I try to say it gently, but his face twists up in displeasure at the word.

“That is definitely not how I look at sex,” he says firmly. “I made a move on you because you’re attractive and mysterious. But now that I know you a little, I know you’re smart and creative, and you feel deeply. I like that about you. And I would actually love to see your work.”

A feeling of immense gratitude sweeps through me, both at his kind words and at his understanding that I need to move away from the subject of sex. My libido is calming down, so I stand and pull out the first canvas in the stack against my wall. It’s the blood-splattered nude Felicia liked so much. I place it in the easel so he can see it.

“Wow,” Micah says as he takes it in. “I feel so much emotion from this piece.”

“I painted it after being triggered,” I confess, seeing as I’d already spilled the beans about my PTSD.

“Does the nude represent you?” he asks, staring at the canvas thoughtfully.

“Not specifically. I feel like an observer in this piece. I suppose it represents the collective horror of the vampire world.”

“Is that really how you see vampires?” His eyes still examine the painting, seeing something in it that perhaps says more about me than I realized.

“I’m old enough to remember how the world was when we were underground,” I remind him, sitting back down on the couch. “Feeding from the shadows. We drank to kill, because leaving a mortal alive meant leaving a witness.” I wince at my own words, certain I’m ruining the relaxed mood we were sharing, but he doesn’t look scared or angry. He just looks sad.

“I’m sorry you had to live that way,” he practically whispers, taking my hand cautiously. I let him, and soon I’m gripping him tightly, holding onto him to ground myself. I hadn’t meant to bring this up. The memories that accompany my words… my life before Vasilia came to power. With him.

“Breathe,” Micah says firmly, turning to hold my shoulders and look me in the eyes. “Breathe, Julian. You’re here with me now.” And then it catches up with me; I realize I’m lightheaded, the world far away. I’m having an episode, I think vaguely, while my body rebels against me. I see him in my head, feel his hands on me. Him. The one everyone sees when they look at me. The one I can’t escape.

My sire.

But Micah’s voice, that smooth tenor, cuts through the haze.

“Julian. Breathe. In and out.”

Breathe. Right. That thing my body can still do, even though I died and drink the blood of the living. So I breathe. Julian takes the lead, inhaling and exhaling out long breaths, and I follow his example. He guides me, showing me a path through the mess of my brain, and we stay that way for what feels like ages as I fight to regain control.

“I get why you don’t like talking about your past now,” he says gently, stroking my hair. I lean into his touch, and soon he’s in my arms, holding me close.

“I’m sorry,” I eventually get out as I feel myself begin to come down from the adrenaline spike, leaving me with a heavy feeling of exhaustion and the urge to cry. “That was… extremely unsexy.”

“Julian.” My name sounds important on his lips, like it means something to him. “I’m not any less attracted to you because of this.”

“How can that be true? I’m so fucking broken,” I say, my voice cracking as I fight back the impulse to sob in his arms.

“We all are, man,” Micah insists. “You should have seen me on my bad days before I got top surgery. And I still get them, just not as often now. Do you think that’s ‘unsexy?’”

“Nothing about you could be anything less than sexy,” I say, my face pressed in his hair. He huffs a quick laugh, rubbing at the small of my back.

“I’m glad you think so.” He presses a soft kiss to the side of my face.

“I’m extremely embarrassed that you saw that,” I admit, relishing the feeling of his body against mine. “But thank you for helping me through.”

“I’m here for you,” he says, snuggling up close to me. “I know it’s early days, but don’t be afraid to lean on me. I’m a good listener.” I sink into the embrace, his body heat and tantalizing scent soothing my battered heart.

“Hey, Micah.” I run my fingers through his hair, summoning my courage. “Would you like to come to New York with me on the 15th for my next art opening?”

He sits straight up, looking at me with wide eyes.

“I would love that,” he enthuses, grabbing my hands and squeezing. “That sounds amazing. I’ve never been to New York.”

“Well, in that case, we’ll have to make a trip to MoMA. You’ll love it.”

“I can’t wait,” he says, beaming. The heaviness of my episode begins to dissipate, replaced by his contagious enthusiasm. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“It’s really selfish of me,” I tell him. “Openings are excruciating for me. Might be easier with someone I like at my side.

“I love when you say you like me,” he says almost shyly. And in that moment, I can’t think of anything to do other than kiss him.

So I do.

Micah squeaks in surprise as I move in fast to press my lips against his, but he doesn’t take long to adjust. His hands wrap around my waist and his lips part, letting me taste his mouth. Our tongues intertwine, my fingers tangling in his curls. He crawls onto my lap without breaking the kiss, and I let him, leaning into his embrace. I don’t think I’ve ever kissed anyone like this before, sharing each other’s space and getting lost in the moment. The feel of his tender touch consumes me. When he pulls back to breathe, he wastes no time returning to my mouth, almost like he’s magnetically drawn to me. And I certainly feel drawn to him, luxuriating in this moment of closeness.

“That was unexpected,” he says when we eventually pull apart. He’s sitting in my lap, and my hands rest on his hips.

“You looked so cute,” I admit. He beams at me, taking my hand.

“Hey… The night’s still young. Wanna watch a movie or something?” 

“I’d love that,” I agree.

We spend the evening watching a black-and-white horror movie (apparently an interest of Micah’s). He snuggles up against my side, and I drape my arm around his shoulders. Part of me finds it easy to be so intimate with him, but it’s also so foreign to my touch-starved self. However, the anxiety lingering at the back of my mind fades as the evening goes on. Something about his presence soothes me, and I take in his warmth as we sit together on the couch for the next few hours. After the movie, we fall into a warm conversation about his cinematic interests. It’s past midnight when he yawns and checks his phone for the time.

“I should get going,” he says, then plants a kiss on my cheek before he gets up.

“Thank you for the lovely evening,” I say as I get up as well, going to grab his coat from the coat rack.

“I had a really nice time,” he tells me as I help him into his jacket. “See you soon?”

“I hope so,” I say, resisting a sudden impulse to hug him. We say our goodnights, and he delivers another quick kiss to my cheek before he walks out the door. I watch him go, wondering how I got so lucky.

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