Shane still didn’t know who he was.
It left a giddy, anxious bubble in Andres’s chest, something so conflicted that he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He knew this was the right choice. The way his little swan had relaxed, breathless and eager—Andres doubted that would last once he realized the dark and sexy vampire who owned his blood was the same person who’d stumbled into him, sobbing, at the Fishnettery.
And he both loved and hated that. As much as he thrived on the dramatics and the mystery of the mask, a part of him was beginning to despise the fact that it had turned out this way. There was no world where they’d flirted at the Fishnettery instead, just as there wasn’t one where Shane lay, bare and lovely, on Andres’s bed, a little gilded collar around his neck and bite marks branding every prominent vein. It was no use dreaming about things he would never have.
Anyway, Shane had given him enough to fantasize about as it was. The thought of his Cygnus pressed to the doorframe—melting beneath his bite, making that sound—
Andres tried to force the memory aside as he pulled into the little garage beneath his townhouse and entered through the remodeled kitchen—granite counters and second-hand stainless steel appliances, a few of which he’d stolen from a particularly awful neighbor and had no regrets about—past the otherwise modern living room with an ancient sewing machine stashed in the corner, the shelf at its side filled with leather scraps and lace that he was hoping to incorporate into a pair of pants.
His princess merped at him from her hammock on the landing, and he gave her a quick pet.
His phone chimed.
Hell Creature Extraordinaire
Hey dork bitch, send me cat pics.
His cousin had incredible timing. He sighed.
Cat Mom
Give me one good reason, demon child.
Not that she was technically a child any longer, but no matter how far they drifted, she would always be that hilarious, chaotic kid he’d spent his teenage years bandaging up.
Hell Creature Extraordinaire
I’m nice to you?
Cat Mom
You literally just proved the contrary.
Hell Creature Extraordinaire
I affirm your gender.
Cat Mom
That’s the bare minimum for anyone.
Hell Creature Extraordinaire
I’ll send you spider gifs until you cave.
Andres grimaced at the thought. Over the course of their lives, he and his cousin had learned the hard way that his abhorrence of spiders was rivaled only by her own love for them. He knew her too well to cave to such a hollow threat though, and he’d worked under Maul’s constant fear tactics long enough that hers hardly fazed him.
Cat Mom
Intimidation won’t save you. You have to actually *earn* pictures of the princess.
Hell Creature Extraordinaire
Well FINE how about this:
It’s 7:30pm on a Tuesday and I’m drunk and unemployed and my boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Send me the fucking cat pics you miserable asshole.
Andres paused, rereading the text with a sinking stomach. They never really talked about important life details anymore—he knew she’d lost her job recently, but he couldn’t actually remember if she’d mentioned where or how. Their conversations, including that one, were all dramatics and memes and goofy insults, and that had felt deep, because the two of them had been deep, once, but standing alone in his home, imagining the baby cousin he’d cherished as a teenager—picked on and loved on in obsessive intervals—grown into a sad, lonely adult broke his heart.
They could hang out again, he reminded himself. He could sweep her into his arms and tell her he’d always love her even when no one else did. They’d managed it on and off since he’d turned nearly a decade before, and she still hadn’t realized what he was yet. But she’d been so outspoken against vampires lately that he worried…
In the end, Andres replied with the single word fine, then a stream of his most recent pictures of Camilla, her little pink toe beans surrounded by fluffs of white fur.
Hell Creature Extraordinaire
She deserves better.
Cat Mom
You’re right: there is no one good enough for her, and we both know it.
He closed the thread and, after a final kiss to Camilla’s head, he forced his thoughts elsewhere.
It wasn’t hard, not with Shane still lurking at the back of his mind.
The rest of his body followed that rabbit trail, and this time he didn’t bother fighting it. The thought of Shane settled so low and steady, a pounding need Andres had little reason to ignore. This was his day off, and he had no further obligations now that he’d seen Shane. Touched Shane. Sunk his fangs into his little swan’s neck and felt him shiver.
He left his coat draped over his desk and his leggings on the floor, settling into bed with the kind of sigh that only a massive mattress and a hoard of pillows could bring. He felt like a goddamned queen against the luxury, a beautiful creature of the night, genderless but feminine and perfectly himself. The bed could have easily fit Shane beside him, spread out and clothed in a similar red silk to his sheets, but embroidered and sheer, chains at his wrist and a—
Fucking hell, he was not supposed to be thinking about that.
As he tried to refocus on more realistic thoughts of Shane, though, his phone chimed. He would have left it alone—whatever it was could wait fifteen minutes—but he made the mistake of glancing at the screen as he prepared to toss it across the bed. His blood went hot and cold, his heart leaped into his throat.
Unknown Number
Hey Andres! This is Shane Cowley from the bar.
If this is weird, you can just ignore me, but I thought maybe we could get friendly drinks sometime? And not spill yours everywhere.
Oh, was all his brain seemed capable of for a moment, then a sputtering of joy and another bubble of fear. Because he wanted this: wanted to go sit with Shane at the bar and laugh and joke and tease in all the ways he couldn’t behind a mask and a sultry voice. But the more Shane witnessed him as Andres—Andres, whom he clearly didn’t want anything more than friendship with—the more likely it was that he’d put two and two together.
Andres
I’m kind of busy with work at the moment, but if you don’t mind friendly texting instead, I believe that has a pretty low risk of spilled drinks?
That sounded casual, right? It was direct, but considerate, returned Shane’s implied request that this be platonic, and included a joke. Andres folded his legs in and stared at the screen. Surely his pulse was not meant to feel like this, loud and rough like his blood was trying to burst out of his body. Shane was already in his life, for better or worse. Whether he replied to the fool he’d met at the bar didn’t actually matter.
It didn’t.
But when the text came in, Andres’s stomach still fluttered.
Shane
I think you underestimate my abilities. I have spilled plenty a drink during a precarious texting conversation ;)
Andres
Oh have you now? And how would you rate our spill, compared to those.
Shane
Nine out of ten, easy. It was comedic, but no one’s outfit or technology was ruined, and it made me a friend.
Fuck, he was adorable.
Andres
And the star you took off?
Shane
Do you think I’d just hand out the secret to a perfect drink spill? Not a chance.
You’ll just have to test other variations on me someday ;)
That was a second winking face. A second winking face, right after an explicit description of their relationship as friends. Andres pressed the phone to his forehead with a groan. He had to stop overthinking this. This version of himself could never accept anything more real from Shane than texts as long as he wanted to keep what they’d started in the alley. It was better to just enjoy whatever they did have.
Shane
So, what’s this work that’s getting in the way of your normal drink-sloshing activities?
Andres
I’m in project management and acquisitions. Our supply chain is fickle right now and an upshoot has been closing in on our customers. My boss is so stressed, I think one of these days he’s going to tear my throat out. I feel worse for his less-important employees though; at least I have job security.
And you’re a journalist, right?
Shane
Damn, that sounds rough.
A journalist of a kind, anyway. I’m trying to move out of the content mill and into something that gives me space to write what I care about. There’s so much I want to say, so much that deserves to be said and revealed and acknowledged, you know?
Andres
I’m sure you will impart some very great exposés upon the world someday :)
Have you considered attaching ratings to the secrets you expose? I think there’s an untapped market for that.
(I am the untapped market. The untapped market is me.)
Shane
Watergate would normally get a 6 out of 10, but the fact that his administration was already wiretapping each other and themselves gives it an extra star.
But then, I’m biased in that I don’t really like political journalism on its own. I care more about uncovering the effect that the government is having on its people than any individual scumbags.
Andres
Oh thank god, I guess I can keep my own wiretaps in place then.
You know, the ones that tell me when there’s a renowned stuff-rater filming at a bar where I can accidentally run into him ;)
Shane
If that was a setup, then I applaud your commitment to the bit.
Andres
Getting my mascara to run like that is a talent, I assure you.
Shane
I take back my original rating of that look. It was a 15 out of 10. Truly spectacular. I think you might set a new trend tbh.
Andres curled onto his side with a smile, stuffing a pillow under his chin, and kept typing.
It took a force of nature to pull him out of bed—one in the form of a princess with the vocals of an entire opera house and the desire for a can of wet food immediately—but he carried his phone with him, replying to Shane between scavenging for snacks and sewing research and rewatches of Shane Rates Stuff episodes, all of which he live-messaged to Shane.
They hadn’t stopped texting for more than ten consecutive minutes by the time Andres flopped back onto his bed, his gaze bleary but his heart far too filled with anticipation to sleep. When Shane’s texts finally stopped coming, the clock read 4:46am. It felt like too soon, even if the dry, gritty sensation of staring at his phone through his disposable daily contacts warned that it was probably high time Andres let himself rest too.
He dragged them out and dropped them into the trash, closing his eyes as he finally slipped a hand between his legs. He was half asleep as he finished, his mind filled with thoughts of Shane’s skin and the tiny sound he’d made when Andres had pierced his flesh.