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New Hampshire is a stupid state.
Andrew barely even knew it existed until about a month ago when Matt invited the whole team up to his family’s luxurious cabin in the White Mountains for New Years Eve. Sure, he could’ve pointed to it on a map, but he didn’t know anything about it. And he would have been fine keeping it that way, but Nicky and Aaron wanted to go. And Kevin thought it would be good for team-building. And Neil’s eyes got all wide, oh, I’ve never actually celebrated New Year’s Eve, and what was Andrew supposed to do after that?
Well, Andrew knows all sorts of things about New Hampshire now. It is too cold, for one. And snowy. You don’t legally have to wear a seatbelt, a fact Nicky spouted when they crossed the border from Massachusetts. (Andrew made him buckle up again thirty seconds later.) The state motto, Live Free or Die, is emblazoned on the license plates. Despite such declarations of liberty, you can only buy liquor at state-run stores — that’s how Andrew and Neil end up back in the car minutes after arriving at the cabin, sent on a booze run to the nearest store in a town over twenty minutes away.
The snow starts while they’re in the liquor store. Neil expresses concern about the drive back, but Andrew waves him off. Neil has been anxious and cranky all day, likely overwhelmed from the car trip and the unfamiliar territory. (That’s not Andrew’s fault. He didn’t force him along.)
Another New Hampshire fact? The roads are absolute shit.
It’s the most anticlimactic crash of all time. The car simply slides off the road, slow but impossible to stop, right into a snowbank in the middle of nowhere. Neither of them are even bruised, but the car is stuck.
“Maybe the Maserati isn’t the best car for this environment,” Neil offers.
“Do not blame the car,” Andrew says.
“Should I blame the driver?”
“You should shut the fuck up.”
When Kevin first wanted to sign Neil last year, Andrew thought he was being an idiot. He wasn’t that good, for one. He’d only been playing Exy for a year. But Kevin liked his spirit or something, so they went out to Arizona. Neil had been mouthy and difficult. To Andrew, that’s whatever. But Neil had also been cagey, and Andrew didn’t want that energy around his family.
Not that Andrew’s opinion matters. Kevin gets what he wants.
It didn’t take long before Andrew realized that Neil wasn’t trying to hide something — he was just trying to hide. And, well, once Neil wasn’t a threat, he became an entirely different kind of problem.
When their phones don’t catch signal, Neil crawls into the backseat to take stock of their supplies. There’s not much besides the alcohol; they brought everything inside when they got to the cabin this afternoon. A plow truck comes through before Neil can go full Survivorman. The driver pulls over behind the car, then hops down from his giant truck.
“You folks alright?” The man calls when Andrew and Neil get out of the car.
“We’re fine,” Neil says. Andrew rolls his eyes. “Just stuck.”
“Yeah, well,” the man says once he’s close enough to inspect the car. He’s a big guy — tall and wide — with a big gray beard and ruddy cheeks. He’s dressed in a red flannel with dusty-looking overall snow pants, a New England Patriots knit beanie, and heavy-duty snow boots. “That’ll happen with shit cars like this.”
Andrew blinks. “It’s a sports car.”
The man laughs. It’s downright jolly. They’ve found Santa Claus up here at the North Pole.
“A nor’easter doesn’t care how fuckin’ fancy your ride is. Gotta put some snow tires on that thing, at least.” The man gestures to their South Carolina plates. “Though I guess you don’t need those where you’re from.”
Neil has his hands on his hips, inspecting the front wheels lodged in the snow. “Do you know how to get it out?”
The man shovels their wheels out, and when Andrew still can’t successfully back out onto the road, he throws down a significant amount of rock salt around the tires. Andrew will never forgive the team or the northeast if this whole thing fucks with the paint job. He’s going to have to go through a car wash as soon as they get far enough south to escape freezing temperatures.
It works. Neil heaves a sigh of relief when the Maserati gives a long roar, then finally hauls itself back onto the road. The man — Mr. Jacob Pinard, he’d introduced himself as — lets out a whoop, coming to bend down near Neil’s window. Neil cranks it open.
“Where are you two heading?” When Neil tells him the town name, Jacob winces. “There’s no way they’ll have cleared the roads that far out — you’re not getting back until the snow stops, especially in this thing.”
“We’ll be fine,” Neil says.
“You really won’t.”
Andrew sighs, rubbing his temples. “Are there any hotels back in town?”
“Son, it is New Year’s Eve in Granite State ski country. There’s no way those places aren’t booked up.”
“There was a Walmart,” Neil says to Andrew. “We could park there and wait.”
“You’ll be playing cat and mouse with the plow trucks all night,” Jacob says. “Say, why don’t you wait out the storm at our place, and then I’ll let you know when the roads are good enough for your piece of shit to travel. My wife will be happy for the guests — she was supposed to go to a party with her girlfriends, but they canceled it with the storm and all.”
Andrew would rather bury himself in the snowbank and get hypothermia, but unfortunately, he’d prefer Neil didn’t freeze to death alongside him. They follow Jacob’s truck, the snow coming down fast enough that they still leave tire tracks on the freshly plowed road. Jacob clears a place for Andrew’s car in the driveway, then leads the way inside.
“Christie!” Jacob calls when he opens the front door. “I found you a party!”
Christie Pinard is big, too — tall and wide — and she waddles into the hallway with a raised eyebrow as Jacob explains their situation. She sizes Andrew and Neil up with a skeptical eye, looking them up and down. They must pass whatever test, because she nods to herself.
“You boys like hot chocolate?” she asks. “I usually put bourbon in it.”
Maybe Christie’s not so bad.
Jacob heads back out to work, and Neil keeps up a stilted conversation with Christie about the weather. She’s thrilled to find out they play Exy — her daughter played on her middle school team — and Neil is still tense, but he never turns down a chance to talk about Exy.
Andrew’s phone has service at the house, so he texts Nicky the situation. Nicky replies with an assortment of sad emoticons, mostly bemoaning the fact that they definitely won’t have enough booze to get them to the new year.
And glad you’re safe, of course, Nicky adds. Keep me updated!!!
Neil gets progressively antsier and his responses shorter as they chat, his social battery running out quickly. Christie doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re the quiet sort, aren’t you?” Christie says.
Andrew shrugs in response.
“It’s refreshing, honestly,” Christie muses. “Most people never shut the eff up, right?”
Christie lifts her mug in cheers. Andrew knocks his mug to hers.
“I was going to watch Die Hard tonight,” Christie offers. “You in?”
Neil sits next to Andrew on the small sofa in the living room. Their thighs end up pressed together, which is not unusual — this happens in every team meeting, in the booths at Sweetie’s, in the dining hall when it’s crowded — but as always, it makes Andrew feel like he is on fire. This information is especially important right now because Neil’s knee keeps breaking out into nervous bouncing. Andrew puts his hand on Neil’s knee when it fails to stop, and he leaves it there when Neil heaves a sigh and sinks deeper into the sofa, trying to relax.
John McClane is a real asshole, and as always, Andrew finds himself rooting for Hans Gruber. He’s queer-coded as hell, and decidedly not a pig.
“Bathroom?” Neil asks as John McClane swears over the phone at the emergency dispatch center workers.
“Down the hall, first door on your left,” Christie says, waving toward the doorway. “Man, didn’t anyone ever tell this asshole that you catch more flies with honey? His wife was right to leave him.”
Ten minutes pass, and Neil doesn’t return.
“Want me to pause it?” Christie asks when Andrew stands up to investigate.
“I’ve seen it before,” Andrew says.
Andrew raps his knuckles against the bathroom door, and it’s a moment before Neil opens it. His face is pale, his hair sticking a bit to his sweaty forehead. His eyes are unfocused and his breath is coming in sharp, uneven puffs. Andrew has seen Neil like this once or twice before — he reaches up to put a hand on the back of Neil’s neck, pulling until he steps closer.
“What is wrong,” Andrew demands.
Neil closes his eyes, shaking his head.
“Neil,” Andrew says flatly. “Breathe.”
Neil is a problem, because Andrew cannot stand to see him like this.
He was not supposed to be any of Andrew’s business. He was supposed to be Kevin’s new toy, just another annoying teammate for Andrew to tolerate. But for some reason, Neil has become a steady fixture in Andrew’s orbit for no clear reason that Andrew can discern.
Andrew has never had anyone that just hangs around him. He has family. He has commitments. He doesn’t have… whatever this is with Neil. The smoking on the roof, the usually trivial swapping of truths and promises, the legs pressed together on the couch. Andrew doesn’t know what Neil wants. Or if he wants anything at all. And the longer Neil goes without asking for something, the more Andrew becomes certain that he’d give him just about anything.
It doesn’t help that Neil’s got those sharp blue eyes and a sharper tongue. It doesn’t help that he’s got runner’s legs and endless stamina. It doesn’t help that he “doesn’t swing.”
Andrew’s in a rather unfortunate and pathetic situation, really.
Neil’s pretty pathetic, too. He pulls in raggedy breath after breath, his hands clutched in tight fists at his sides. Andrew hasn’t figured out yet what triggers this for Neil. What he knows about Neil is shocking facts and unreal stories that are impossible to put together in context, but he’s getting there. Andrew considers taking his turn in their truths game to find out what sent Neil here today, but he’d hate to waste it — there’s a good chance Neil will tell him on his own if Andrew can calm him down.
Neil shifts when he hears Christie in the hallway. Andrew turns to look at her, but she stays back, so he doesn’t have to do anything but stare.
“All good?”
Andrew looks to Neil, who opens his eyes. He nods, calmer now, and steps all the way out into the hallway.
“Fine,” Neil says, because he is an idiot.
“It doesn’t look like the snow’s stopping any time soon,” Christie says. “My daughter’s away at school in Boston. She’s on break, but she went back down to the city early to party with her girlfriend.” She pauses for emphasis, and when Andrew glances her way, her eyes are settled on Andrew’s hand on Neil’s neck. Oh, but Andrew wishes. “You’re welcome to stay in her room, if you’re tired.”
Neil’s shoulders slump a bit. Andrew drops his hand.
“That would be great,” Neil says. “Thanks.”
Christie lends them some of Jacob’s clothes. They’re both going to swim in them.
Christie tells them that she’ll be down the hall if they need anything, then leaves them in the purple-painted bedroom. Neil watches Andrew as Andrew stares at the full-sized bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Neil says quietly, and that’s that.
They take turns in the bathroom. Andrew flops onto the bed when Neil steps out. It’s a good bed — better than the stiff mattresses in their dorm rooms. He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until his phone buzzes nearly an hour later with a text from Nicky, “Happy New Year!!!”
Neil isn’t back. The house is quiet and dark now. The bathroom door is open, the room itself empty. Neil’s coat and boots aren’t by the door. Andrew curses, bundling up and using his phone as a flashlight as he steps out onto the porch.
The car is just a tall white lump, buried in at least a foot of snow. There’s faint tracks off the porch that are fast disappearing as it continues to fall, and Andrew follows them, getting his too-big sweatpants drenched in the process. He catches up with Neil at the treeline, where he’s crouched in the snow — just barely visible in the faint light from the Christmas lights on the house. His head snaps in Andrew’s direction before he reaches him.
“Stay back,” Neil calls. Andrew stops.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” Andrew asks.
“Just go back inside,” Neil says. “I’ll be fine.”
“No,” Andrew says. Neil drops his head, hands tugging at his hair.
Andrew moves closer, but Neil holds a hand out.
“Stay back,” he says again, voice pained.
“I won’t leave you out here,” Andrew says. “Get your shit together so we can both go inside.”
Neil shrinks further in on himself. He’s been still for so long that snow is starting to accumulate in his hair and on his shoulders. Andrew decides that some boundaries must be crossed in the name of not dying of hypothermia. He crosses the rest of the distance between himself and Neil, crouching in front of him. He takes a fistful of Neil’s hair and uses it to yank Neil’s face up.
Andrew blinks in surprise. Neil’s eyes are wide, but what’s shocking is his mouth: Two large, sharp canines poke out over his bottom lip.
Neil brings a hand up to cover them, shaking his head.
“Go back inside,” Neil says again, voice muffled.
Andrew shakes his head. “What’s with the teeth?”
Neil scoffs, turning his head out toward the forest line. Andrew pulls Neil’s hand away from his mouth, grabbing his chin so that he can better examine the fangs. They’re huge — definitely not something Neil has been successfully hiding. They gleam even in the near-dark.
“Are you going to eat me?” Andrew asks calmly. Neil swats Andrew’s hand away, leaning back.
“I’m trying really fucking hard not to,” Neil says.
Andrew tilts his head to the side. “Is this a new thing?”
“Yes,” Neil says. Then, “No. Can you back off a bit? I can’t think.”
Andrew lets go of Neil’s wrist, taking a few steps back.
“Explain,” he demands. Neil winces — an expression that looks incredibly strange with fangs.
“I never let it get like this,” he says. “But we were in the car for so long, and then there wasn’t a good time to slip away today, and then we got stuck…” Neil squeezes his eyes shut. “There’s not even any animals out here. Everything’s hiding from the storm.”
“Are you dying?” Andrew asks.
“I’m more likely to lose control than to die. That’s why you need to get away.”
Andrew waves that off. “What is it that you need? Blood?”
Neil buries his head in his arms again.
“It’s my turn,” Andrew says.
Neil sighs. Andrew’s teeth begin to chatter.
“Yes. Blood.”
“How much?” Andrew asks. “Like, enough that it would kill me?”
“I’m not drinking your blood.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Andrew says.
Neil lifts his head to glare at him.
“Have you ever drank from a human before?” Andrew asks.
Neil shifts uncomfortably. “Not for a really long time.”
“And do you have to kill them? Or can you just take a bite?”
“I have never killed anyone,” Neil snaps.
“Okay,” Andrew says, crouching in front of Neil again. “I’m cashing in on my favor.”
A month earlier, Neil asked Andrew to shut down the goal during the game that would decide whether or not they’d make it into the playoffs. “What will you give me in return?” Andrew had asked him. And Neil, foolish and unreal, replied: “Anything.”
Neil shakes his head slowly. Andrew gets closer, pressing his fingers to the pulse point at Neil’s neck. It thrums as quickly as it usually does — Andrew wonders just how many vampire myths are pure fiction. (This is an interesting thing to wonder, because ten minutes ago, Andrew assumed vampires themselves were pure fiction.)
Neil holds his breath.
“You owe me,” Andrew says. Neil opens his mouth to argue, but Andrew digs his fingers into Neil’s throat. “You will do what it takes to stay alive tonight.”
Neil closes his eyes, shoulders slumping. Andrew tugs at the collar of Neil’s jacket.
“Inside,” Andrew says. He stands up, waits for Neil to do the same, then shoves him toward the house.
They shed their soaked coats and boots, but the too-long pajama pants Andrew borrowed are a lost cause. He’s debating whether it would be worse to lose the extra layer or catch a cold when Neil tosses his pair toward Andrew.
“It’s my fault yours got wet,” Neil says. His words come out funny with his fangs still out. “I’ll be fine with just my boxers. I usually sleep in shorts anyway.”
Once they’re dry — and Neil’s stupid pretty legs are largely exposed — Andrew sits down on the edge of the bed.
“How does this work?” he asks. “Do you just chomp down, or is there a process?”
Neil frowns. “I really don’t want to do this.”
“Do you have any other options?” Andrew asks. “You could always go down the hall and drain Christie.”
“Stop,” Neil whispers, eyes flitting to the ground. Andrew stands and steps in front of Neil, poking at his cheek until he looks at him.
“You’ve got a whole moral complex about this, don’t you?” Andrew says.
Neil glares at him. “Of course I do.”
“Well, I don’t,” Andrew says. “What’s going to happen after you bite me? Are there any long-term effects? Do I have to drink blood too, or turn into a zombie, or get sentenced to hell?”
“No,” Neil says. “Maybe hell. I don’t know anything about that.”
Andrew shrugs. “I’m already going there, so who cares.”
Neil scoffs.
“It’s just blood, Neil,” Andrew says. “Drink mine, and then if you need to, you can figure out how to repent later.”
Neil swallows. The hardness in his eyes gives way to fear, and this is why Andrew is not freaking out right now. Neil is a lot of things, but he does not want to hurt Andrew. He listens, he hears, and he’s yet to cross a line that Andrew’s drawn. He’s had plenty of chances to prey on Andrew and their other teammates, but he won’t. Andrew doesn’t trust anyone. But if he did, Neil could be a good candidate.
“How does it work?” Andrew prompts again.
Neil takes a shaky breath. “Your wrist will be the easiest. I can’t prevent the initial bite from hurting, but it’ll fade soon enough, and it’ll seal once I’m done.”
“Is it venom? Am I going to get drunk off of it?”
“I think it’s more calming than intoxicating,” Neil says. “It’ll wear off within the hour. The blood loss has the longer-term effect. You’ll be tired.”
“Then I’ll go to sleep,” Andrew says. “We have a bed right here and everything.”
Neil closes his eyes, then nods. “Okay.”
Andrew gets back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Neil hovers at the edge of the mattress. Andrew grabs his shirt sleeve and tugs until he’s kneeling next to him. Andrew rolls up the sleeve of his sweater, hesitates, then tugs off his armband. Neil’s eyes widen when he sees the scars on his forearm.
“A story for another time, perhaps,” Andrew says softly. “I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours.”
Neil’s hand drifts up to rub at a spot below his collarbone — an action familiar to Andrew. When he realizes what he’s doing, he drops it back to his lap.
Andrew holds out his wrist toward Neil.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Neil cradles Andrew’s arm gently in his hands, brushing his thumb over the vein.
“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he says. “Punch me away if you have to.”
“Will it come to that?”
“Probably not,” Neil says. “But you have permission to do it anyway.”
Andrew snorts. “Good to know. Now drink.”
Neil bites down.
It does hurt, but Andrew’s had worse. The pain is swept away moments later, replaced by an oozing warmth that radiates from his arm to the rest of his body. He sinks deeper into the pillows, head tipping to the side as he takes in the sight of Neil’s lips on his wrist.
Neil’s eyes blink open, looking up at him from below thick, dark lashes, and Andrew hums something in the tune of all good here. He buries his other hand in Neil’s hair so that he doesn’t pull back before he’s gotten his fill.
Andrew wants to watch — it’s fascinating. And honestly kind of hot. But he can’t quite keep his eyes open, and he can’t find it in him to stress about this. Besides, it’s just Neil here. He twists Neil’s curls around his fingers, memorizing the texture he’s so often wondered about. It’s softer than he expected, closer to his scalp. Neil takes shit care of his hair, so Andrew thought it would be dry. Maybe it’s a vampire perk.
“Andrew,” comes Neil’s voice, and Andrew realizes his wrist is now resting on his stomach. He blinks his eyes open.
“I’m sorry,” Neil says. He looks very sad. It does not suit him.
“Shhhhh,” Andrew says, drawing circles with his fingers against the back of Neil’s head. “Shhh. It’s alright.”
“How do you feel?” Neil asks.
“Just tired,” Andrew says. “Did you get enough?”
“Yes,” Neil says. “I’ll let you sleep now.”
Neil starts to pull away, and Andrew tightens his grip on Neil’s hair.
“Stay,” Andrew murmurs. He’s not sure if it’s the venom, or the blood loss, or the stomach-curdling intimacy of letting someone drink your blood, but Andrew feels like he might die if he’s left alone right now, even if Neil is just going to the floor. “If you want,” Andrew amends.
“Okay,” Neil whispers.
Andrew releases Neil’s hair so that he can work the covers out from Andrew and throw them over him. He settles on the bed next to Andrew, on top of the covers, because Neil sometimes finds the lines before Andrew even figures out where to draw them. Andrew turns onto his side, reaching out to find the thrumming pulse at Neil’s wrist.
“This okay?” Andrew asks.
“Whatever you need.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
Andrew is very, very tired, and very, very warm. The steady rhythm of Neil’s heart lulls him to sleep.
Neil is standing by the window when Andrew wakes up. His arms are folded tight across his chest, his forehead pressed to the glass. The sun turns his hair to copper. He looks over when he hears Andrew stir.
“Hey,” Neil says. “How do you feel?”
“No cravings for blood or human flesh,” Andrew rasps. “No weight of eternal damnation.”
“Hilarious.”
“Did you sleep?”
Neil shrugs. “Some.”
“Did you drink enough?”
“I got what I needed to take the edge off.”
Andrew rolls his eyes. They get dressed in their nearly-dry clothes from yesterday. The Pinards are already in the kitchen, drinking coffee at the table.
“The roads are all clear and salted by now,” Jacob tells them. “You should be good to drive your death trap. Just go slow.”
Neil turns down offers of breakfast with mumbled thanks, but Christie shoves a bizarre ziploc bag full of Cheerios into Andrew’s hands before they get out the door.
Neil is quiet in the car, head tilted toward the window. He’s quiet, too, when the Foxes descend on him in worry upon their return.
“We’re fine, guys,” Neil tells them, shrinking away from their touch. “Could use a nap.”
Nicky shows them where he dropped their bags — it’s small, clearly a kids room, with two twin beds sharing a nightstand between them.
“I had a joke prepared for why we put you two in here,” Nicky says. “Do you want to hear it?”
“No,” Neil says.
“It was height-related.”
“I figured.”
Nicky dances out of the room, cackling, when Andrew’s hand drifts toward his knives. Andrew closes the door after him.
“Edge still off?” Andrew asks.
“I’m creeping toward it.”
“Can you take care of it?”
“Yes.”
Neil doesn’t move. Andrew gestures for him to get on with it.
“I’d prefer you weren’t around for the specifics.”
“I’m already extremely aware of what your deal is,” Andrew says, holding his wrist in the air. Neil stares at it, throat working, guilt creeping into his expression. Andrew huffs, then grabs a fresh pair of clothes and his bathroom bag, leaving Neil alone in the room.
When he returns, Neil has changed and is sitting at the end of one of the beds.
“Done?” Andrew asks.
Neil nods.
“What is it that you normally drink?” Andrew asks.
“Water,” Neil says. Andrew gives him a flat look.
Neil sighs, then bends over to dig in his duffel. He tosses something in Andrew’s direction, and Andrew lets it land on the bed next to him. It’s an empty blood bag. Andrew stares at it for a moment, then back at Neil. He gestures at the mattress.
“That’s not very sanitary.”
Neil snorts. “I’ll sleep in that bed.”
Andrew crosses the room, standing right in front of Neil and grabbing his chin again. There’s still no fangs that he can see.
“Where do they go?” Andrew asks. He taps his thumb to the corner of Neil’s mouth, as if it’s not obvious what he’s talking about.
“I don’t know,” Neil says. “Up, I guess.”
As Neil speaks, Andrew runs his thumb against the bottom of Neil’s top row of teeth. There’s a small gap between his two front teeth, and maybe his canines are slightly sharp. But otherwise, they’re completely normal.
“Can you make them come back out?” Andrew asks.
“Yes,” Neil says. “But I won’t when your fingers are right there.”
Andrew snorts, but he doesn’t move his hand away from Neil’s face.
“How long have you been like this?” Andrew asks.
Neil’s face clouds. “Always.”
“Hmmm,” Andrew says. “I fear everything I thought I knew about vampires is wrong.”
Neil’s nose wrinkles.
“I hate that word,” he says. “It’s more like a condition I was born with. It’s genetic — my father had it too. He was… more in line with the stereotypes. He wanted me to be that way too. That’s why my mom and I ran from him.”
Andrew has heard bits and pieces of this story — has caught glimpses of evidence of a life on the run.
“So now you rob hospitals instead,” Andrew says.
Neil huffs. “It’s easy to buy blood, if you know the right people and places.”
Andrew drops his hand from Neil’s face. Neil’s eyes track the movement before flicking back up to Andrew’s eyes. His face is open and trusting and shockingly familiar to Andrew. He watches the way Neil sucks his lips into his mouth, running his tongue over them before releasing them — an action he’s watched Neil do countless times when his mind is racing.
Andrew kisses him.
It’s pure impulse, and as their mouths connect, alarm bells scream in Andrew’s head.
Neil doesn’t push him away. After a moment, he reaches up to curl fingers into the sleeve of Andrew’s sweatshirt. Andrew shakes him off, stepping back.
Neil’s eyes are wide. “Why did you do that?” he asks. His tone is more bewildered than accusatory.
“I should have asked first.”
Neil blinks a few times. “Is this because of last night?”
“What, do you think you thralled me?”
“That’s not a thing,” Neil snaps. “I just don’t understand what changed.”
“Nothing changed,” Andrew says. “But I should have asked.”
Neil’s mouth opens and closes a few times. His lips are so full and pink, it’s ridiculous.
“So it has nothing to do with yesterday?”
“No, Neil,” Andrew says, crossing his arms. “I don’t have a blood kink.”
Neil frowns. “You’ve wanted to do that?”
Andrew does not have the patience for this. He turns for the door. Neil doesn’t stop him.
He assumes Neil sleeps, since he sure as hell didn’t last night. Andrew chain smokes at a window until enough people complain, and then he puts his coat on and continues smoking on the deck. New Hampshire continues to be cold as fuck, even with the sun reflecting blindingly off of the endless white snow.
When Andrew’s throat is too raw to light another cigarette, he switches to whiskey. He’s already burnt up his airpipe, why not his esophagus too? He’s inside for his first refill when Neil appears in the kitchen doorway. Andrew walks past him to go back outside. Neil follows.
Andrew sets his glass on the table next to the porch swing he’s claimed, then stares out at the bare, dead-looking trees. Neil sits on a wicker chair nearby.
“You like me.” Neil states it like a fact, so Andrew feels no need to answer. “Even now that you know what I am.”
“What you are,” Andrew mocks. “You said it yourself, it’s a condition. You’re not a monster.”
Neil pulls his knees up onto the bench, hugging them to his chest. “Most people would disagree.”
Andrew waves him off. “Irrelevant.”
Neil’s cheek twitches, like it just might release a smile. The amusement fades as quickly as it sprung.
“I would never have done it if I had another choice,” Neil says. “I’ll never drink from you again.”
Andrew narrows his eyes at him. “I’d let you.”
“Andrew—”
“It is just blood,” Andrew says. “I’m sure mine tastes better than a cold bag. If you ask, and I say yes, then you can have it.”
“How could it be that simple?”
“Why would it not be?”
Neil opens his mouth, then closes it again. Andrew sips at his whiskey.
“I would have said yes,” Neil says eventually. “If you asked me.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow. His eyes fall involuntarily to Neil’s mouth. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
“I might’ve asked more questions first,” Neil admits. “You surprised me.”
Andrew shrugs. It feels like the least surprising of things, but perhaps Andrew is not the best judge of that.
“You could ask me again,” Neil offers.
“Could I?” Andrew says, voice flat even as his pulse jumps.
“Yeah,” Neil says. He stands, coming to stand in front of Andrew. Andrew pauses the swing long enough so that Neil can sit down next to him — close enough that their thighs touch. “You should.”
Andrew takes Neil’s jaw in his hands, brushing his thumbs against very normal-feeling cheeks. He’d like to see those fangs again.
“Yes or no?” Andrew murmurs.
Neil’s breath catches, his eyes falling closed. “Yes.”
At first, it’s the same as before — Neil’s mouth is soft and unresisting, but uncharacteristically still. Andrew bites at his lower lip, growling into Neil’s mouth, and Neil lights up against him. It’s clumsy. It’s hungry. It’s so, so good.
Neil shivers. He’s not even wearing a jacket.
Andrew pulls back, resting his forehead against Neil’s. “Time to go inside.”
“They’re setting up karaoke,” Neil murmurs. “It’s going to be terrible. Wanna watch with me?”
Andrew closes his eyes, breathing in deep. “Fine.”
“Wow.” Neil pulls back a bit, shaking his head. Another hint of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “You must really like me.”
It’s another statement that does not require response.