Page 34 of The Good Vampire’s Guide to Blood & Boyfriends

“WHY DO MY FANGS KEEP COMING OUT?”

It is normal to experience thirst while aroused. You should always make sure you have had blood before intercourse if you do not intend to feed during. Regardless, fangs are sharp, so be aware of them.

“CAN A VAMPIRE HURT A HUMAN DURING SEX?”

It is equally as possible as a human hurting a human during sex. Positive sexual experiences are all about boundaries, communication, and consent.

“WHAT ABOUT CONSENT?”

Consent is no different for vampires than humans. It must be given before and throughout the act of intimacy, for both sex and feeding.

It is recommended that vampires have sex only with humans who know they are vampires, to avoid any consent issues regarding species and age differences.

Vampire saliva contains a trace amount of mild aphrodisiac, but it is not strong enough to impact consent.

“DO I STILL HAVE TO WEAR A CONDOM?”

Vampires cannot contract or spread sexually transmitted diseases, and they cannot impregnate or be impregnated. However, it is recommended to use a condom for clean-up and comfort.

“HOW CAN I DRINK BLOOD SAFELY DURING A SEXUAL ENCOUNTER?”

Never have sex with or drink from a human while hungry, to avoid overfeeding. Have your human partner eat or drink something sugary to maintain energy.

Make sure all parties involved know what to expect and are fully consenting.

Drink from the neck or wrists for safe access to blood flow.

Your partner will experience a sharp pain from the initial piercing before a soothing, pleasurable venom calms them. Stop immediately if your partner expresses discomfort after the initial piercing.

Pay attention to your partner’s pulse and only drink a little at a time. It is better to drink too little than too much.

Remember, you can always reach out to your clan leader for additional advice or resources.

The pins-and-needles tingle on Brennan’s skin told him the wards were working as Cole invited him into his and Mari’s little duplex on the opposite side of campus from Brennan and Tony’s place.

Cole kicked off his Converse at the entrance and headed for the milk crates full of records in the corner of the living area.

Brennan paused to take in the space, now that he was seeing it without a flood of drunken college kids or the vague threat of Mari’s presence.

It was cozy and hipstery, like Cole. It smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, like he’d been baking recently. He probably had.

“I’m gonna be honest, it’s kind of intimidating to choose a perfect first record for you,” Cole said, kneeling next to the crates and shuffling through.

Brennan stepped toward him but couldn’t help getting distracted by the photos covering the wall.

He hadn’t looked too carefully at them in the dim light the other night, but they were hard to ignore.

They were overwhelmingly of the same three people: Cole, younger but just as smiley; Mari, with longer curly hair and crooked glasses; and someone else, a taller boy who looked like an older, darker-haired, chain-smoking alter ego to Cole, armed in every photo with a cigarette and a permanent frown.

The trio seemed to be friends from a young age—selfies and photos going back to Cole with braces and Cole with buckteeth, Mari pudgy and with wider smiles, the other boy growing his hair out into a ponytail over time. He must have been—

“Noah,” Cole called from where he was on the floor, shuffling through records. “My brother.”

“Yeah,” Brennan said. “He looks like you.”

“Well, he’s older, so he always used to say that I looked like him .” He had a distant look on his face as he took in the wall of photos, and then quickly pulled their attention back to the boxes of records with a sharp, “So! What do you want to listen to?”

Brennan shuffled toward Cole and crouched down to peer into the box of records. “What’s your favorite?” Brennan asked.

“Let’s see…” Cole flipped through records, humming. “Mari likes old-school punk, Tony likes Billy Joel and the Beatles and that kind of thing. I have lots of indie, and folk, and lots of old-school stuff and—”

Brennan laughed. “But what’s your favorite?”

Cole’s hands stilled on the records but his eyes stayed trained on them. “People don’t usually ask that,” Cole said. “Do you have a genre you like?”

“Oh, come on, is it embarrassing?” Brennan asked. “Or can you not decide?”

“Both. Give me a genre. To narrow it down.”

Some of his most pleasant memories with his mom were them listening to music, working on homework together when Brennan was in elementary school and his mom was getting her PhD.

And before that, when Brennan was in preschool and his mom was getting her master’s, he would ask her to make up worksheets for him to do alongside her.

Even then he was a nerd—desperate to do homework like his mom always was.

“My mom used to play a lot of seventies music growing up, so I like that,” he said. “And, like, punk? I had an emo phase in middle school.”

“I’d bet money you’re still in your emo phase,” Cole said.

“I would not take that bet.”

“Were you an MCR stan?”

“Not a stan —”

“No, no. Question. Have you listened to My Chemical Romance in the last year?”

“No comment.”

“In the last six months?”

“You’re so judgy.”

“That’s a yes! You were a stan! Did you ever have the haircut, like—” He held one hand over one side of his face, covering his eye and forehead, mimicking dramatic bangs.

Brennan didn’t answer.

“You so did! I love it. Can vampires grow their hair out? I think you could rock it.”

“Are you roasting me to avoid choosing an album?”

“Nah,” Cole said. “I know what to choose.” He nodded at the open space of carpeting between the couch and TV. “Go sit down. On the floor. It’s part of the experience.”

Brennan bit back a grin and sat with his back against the foot of the couch, while Cole selected an album and slotted it into a record player with experienced ease. Then he approached Brennan, dropping to the floor next to him with loose limbs.

The first notes played and Brennan’s face split in a grin. He’d expected something more hipster, but this was upbeat and familiar.

“ABBA?”

Cole nodded and scooted out to sprawl on the floor, legs kicked out, tucking his arms under his head. “ Arrival. 1976.”

Brennan slid over, following suit to lie down on his back. “Part of the proper experience?”

“If you really want to do it right, you also have to close your eyes.”

Brennan did, and listened. There was the music, sure, but there was also Cole’s breathing, Cole’s heartbeat. The song picked up and Brennan felt Cole tapping his fingers against the floor to the beat.

After a minute, Brennan asked, “So, why this one?”

“My mom loved it, too,” Cole said. “She used to complain about my brother playing his records too loud all the time, but this was the one album she let him play through the whole house. And the three of us would dance and jump around.” Cole shifted next to him until their shoulders were touching. “Plus, it’s, like, iconic.”

“Obviously.” Brennan grinned.

The first song faded and the next one began with a blare and he imagined little Cole, his brother, and his mom bopping around a kitchen filled with light. Brennan shot up into sitting.

“Not to insult this experience,” Brennan said, “but I feel like we can’t not dance to this one. It’s in the name. ”

Cole’s eyes opened and he sat up on his elbows, smiling. And the way Cole looked at him—Brennan didn’t want him to stop. “You’re absolutely right,” Cole said.

They were both up in an instant. Brennan wasn’t a dancer—at the other night’s party, he’d gladly jumped on the table to recite poetry and did his fair share of mingling, but when it came to the dance floor, he kept his distance.

But Brennan was realizing that the rules he thought he had were different when Cole was involved.

They only bobbed awkwardly for a few seconds before they got into it, jumping around.

Brennan took Cole’s hands and twirled him.

Cole laughed and Brennan did it again to see if it garnered the same response.

When Cole stopped spinning, he landed with a hand on Brennan’s chest, flushed and delighted.

Brennan sang along under his breath, not caring if he was out of tune.

Cole stayed close, an arm’s length away, moving his hips in a way that was very distracting.

“You hear the difference, right?” Cole asked. “On vinyl, it’s fuller. Like, listen to that hi-hat—it doesn’t sound like that on Spotify!”

“Yeah, I hear it,” Brennan said, and he did, a different warmth layered. But he wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t because of the present company, and the enthusiasm he spoke with.

The next song was softer, slower, and Cole’s wide grin mirrored it.

Brennan dared to nudge closer, the hand not twined with Cole’s going to his waist, not pulling him forward but easing, asking, and Cole pressed forward in answer.

Brennan was keenly aware of Cole’s sharp intake of breath, the speed of his heartbeat.

The hand on Brennan’s chest slid up to his shoulder.

Slowly, Brennan turned them and swayed to the music.

“I’ve never actually slow-danced with someone before,” Brennan admitted. If he’d still had a heartbeat, he was sure it’d be racing faster than Cole’s.

“Oh thank god, me, either,” Cole said. “All the books made high school seem so much more romantic than it was, didn’t they?”

“And a lot more exciting,” Brennan agreed.

“Your inciting incident came a little later in life, huh?”

Brennan’s mind offered a trail of breadcrumbs toward bad thoughts like, This isn’t late in my life if I’m going to live forever, but Cole’s smile was soft, his voice light, and he tapped his fingers where they splayed between Brennan’s neck and shoulders.

It was grounding as much as it was endearing.

They swayed, slow and steady, and again Brennan wanted to kiss Cole.

Through everything, Cole had been the one thing he chose for himself, the highlight of his days.

He liked to think that even if he wasn’t a vampire, he would have ended up here, with Cole.

They could have had squad Bachelorette Nights and flirting at the library without these added complications.

Because it wasn’t about vampirism, was it?

It was late nights talking in the library, poetry anthologies and romance novels exchanged back and forth with sticky-note messages.

It was Cole taking care of Brennan and Brennan taking care of Cole. Couldn’t that be enough?

He wanted him and Cole to be inevitable. But it still wasn’t certain. He wanted to kiss Cole, and he knew on some level that Cole would reciprocate—the searing memory of their kiss in the pool was an aching reminder—but he had things he wanted to say.

I like you, but I’m a vampire. And I want to make sure you really understand that.

Brennan had, embarrassingly, gone so far as to rehearse in the mirror.

“I like you,” Brennan said, and Cole’s eyes softened.

Cole ducked his chin down. Then he looked back up and his mouth curved into a smile that was half the size of the ones he gave freely but twice as bright, eyes crinkling, and Brennan thought, Yes. That. I want to do this, every day.

“That’s good,” Cole said, “I was worried for a second.”

Brennan’s gaze fell to Cole’s lips, which were especially pink and kissable right then, or maybe Brennan had never given them enough consideration. He ended up saying, almost absently, “Yeah, no worries there.”

“Good,” Cole said, and then kissed him, the hand on his shoulder going to the back of his neck to pull him in—Brennan went gladly.

Brennan tugged him in by the waist without the questioning hesitation or the frantic need from last time.

They kissed with the slow certainty that they had time, the quiet knowledge that they liked each other and were going to do something about it.

The rest of the world stilled, and all he knew was Cole’s pulse racing, his smell—vanilla, underneath coconut shampoo and sweat—his taste, and Brennan pressed in until there was no space between them, until the back of Cole’s knees hit the couch and he wobbled, Brennan stabilizing him.

He’d wanted to say something else to Cole. He’d had it rehearsed, but with Cole sucking on his lip like that, he couldn’t quite remember. What was it? He’d wanted to say—

“I’m still—” Brennan warned between kisses, “—a vampire.”

Cole pulled back, licked his lips, eyes roaming Brennan’s face. “Nobody’s perfect.”

With that, Cole flipped them around so Brennan’s back was to the couch, pushed Brennan down to sit, and climbed on top of him.

It was, admittedly, the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

Then Cole was kissing Brennan within an inch of his undead-not-life, and Brennan wondered why the hell he’d been talking himself out of this for so long.

Except, a weight in Brennan’s mouth let him know his fangs were dropping again, and Brennan ripped away, flight reflexes kicking in.

But he stopped himself, freezing with a few inches between them, breathing heavy against each other.

Cole looked at Brennan’s mouth. His fangs.

What if he hurt Cole again? What if he lost control? What if—

Cole gave Brennan’s hair a gentle tug and caught his eye.

“Okay?” Cole asked. He didn’t seem worried about anything other than Brennan wanting to stop. Cole trusted him. Maybe that was enough.

Brennan let himself pull Cole back in, let Cole deepen the kiss, and let himself get lost in it. They pressed together until the couch stopped working for them, at which point he let Cole pull them to his bedroom, and Brennan let himself stop thinking altogether.