Art of the Steal

Simon Darrow. Born Vampire. Art Thief. Sideblog of NoDominion

[geminiundead]

It feels good to hold him, to be safe for and with someone who has already shown me so much grace and understanding.

This man walks two worlds, that's clear enough: as this sensitive young man with family history and a heartbreak that never fully healed; and the boss who wastes his entire crew when they misbehave, dismissing them from the labour of living in order to keep himself safe. I respect both of them, and marvel at the duality.

"You're a survivor," I tell him quietly. It's not meant to reflect on anything to do with his family, only the strength he's needed to live this life of his. He cries like a mortal, which he is, his breath getting caught up in his need to sob. It's horrible and beautiful, with his powerful blood and salt heavy in the air, dampening my sweater. He gives himself over to it, needing it. I understand that well enough, and feel privileged to be allowed to comfort him now.

I understand just a little bit, the pain I cause when I leave instead of letting people offer this to me. I remember crying tearless in Rose's lap, the bittersweet pain and love in that even if it didn't last long. This feels very similar, even if I'm not the one crying this time. We share it.

He cries for as long as he needs to. I don't mind a moment of it, just kneeling here with him, holding his shuddering, warm body close. It gives me time. I can't imagine the pressure he must live under, the expectations to be utterly ruthless yet composed, calm but fierce, talented, charming, tasteful, a business man, a vampire with a real life. Is that what it means to be independent, to be all things at once all the time? I don't know if I could...

Is there room for me in that life? He seems to think so. With caution I reach to the edges of my comfort zone and imagine what it would be like to be part of his life. Not just until dawn, not thinking maybe I'll see him tomorrow if he still wants me around and I can keep my shit together long enough; but next week, the week after, in a month...a year? I let out my own slow, shaky breath, fingers momentarily gripping his pyjamas while his own shuddering begins to slow. I smooth my hand over his back, a soft and gentle rhythmic stroke to help him slow and calm his obligate breath.

I can imagine it; at least a week, maybe a month. I said I'd work on myself, he said he'd wait. That's all very well and good to say, a lovely idea yes, but to actually do it? I can imagine at the very least wanting to be here, wanting to try, even if I have no idea what that looks like. Will I be healthy in a month? Will I be warm? I want to be warm with Simon, not just for sex, but for the sweet and simple pleasure of being alive with someone.

Simon warned of danger. Maybe I need to be more responsible, more cautious: after all, Jamie is relying on me to keep myself safe so that I can resurrect him when the time is right. Could Rose figure out how to do it if anything happened to me? Didn't I tell her that all it would take is a bloodbath and a needle and thread? I should talk to her, make sure she understands. Just in case. Hell, it could happen any time, not even anything to do with Simon.

As I hold Simon, I think about Jamie's body so far away, deep in my coffin, alone in the dark. I wish I could ask my brother's advice, I wish I could lay with him in the calm at dawn and whisper like we used to whisper secrets back when we had secrets to share, imagining his gleaming eye as he tells me that he wants me to be happy, that I should try to build a life. I'd want the same for him.

Simon begins to rouse from his spell and it's my turn to press my forehead to his, back with him, back in the present. It feels natural, good, this little gesture. The smell of his blood is distracting and delicious of course, but I can brush it away both the thought and the blood from his cheek without feeling a need to lick. I want to lick, it seems intimate and sweet and natural to lick, but after last night's passion I don't want to tempt anything. I want him to know that, zombie or not, I do have a measure of control. Like when Rose cried at our reunion, it just doesn't feel right.

I click my tongue as he wipes his tears with his own sleeves. "You're going to stain your nice jammies, here," I grin despite the heavy emotion, daring even to laugh a little and pull the sleeve of my black sweater over the heel of my palm and wipe gently. "Cry as much as you need to, Simon, I won't let it deplete you," I smile for him, feeling tired, feeling heavy, but feeling connected. It's a good feeling.

"Are you okay?" I ask him softly. "Is there...can I get anything for you? Blood? Tissue?"

[acquisitionethics]

The little touches to his back helps to ground him further. That this wasn't an inconvenience for Jeffrey, that he hadn't just wasted his time. Their foreheads touch again and this time Simon smiles genuinely. The aftermath of so much emotions is cathartic. No wonder others cried so frequently. He doubted he would be part of that group now, but at least he knew that life didn't end because of one sob session.

Being taken care of was the most unnatural series of events since he'd met Jeffrey. It's odd to be wiped down, to be told that he would ensure that he didn't starve or shrivel up. Not that born vampires could go too long without blood. But he'd had the fresh glass and the jerky would be slower to digest, but just as replenishing.

"I'm fine, or as good as I can be. You've ruined your sweater. I have more pajamas, and a washing machine. And... wait."

Though Simon does not want to let Jeff go, he reluctantly disentangles from him, running upstairs for the duffel bag, quickly descending the stairs and setting the bag beside him on the floor "I've been collecting clothes for you, in your size. I figured you wouldn't grow, or, well, that you wouldn't put on weight. Most turned beings don't."

He grimaces, pushing back his hair, "Planning too far ahead again?" Simon kneels on the floor, cleaning up the jerky, zipping the bag, silent for a moment before he continues. "Have others pushed you away before? You said you expected me to, but why would I? I find you fascinating, Jeff. I want to know everything about you. If others weren't as interested, then it's their loss. If I made things difficult, or hard, I... I don't apologize but I do feel bad for it. Telling you all that wasn't easy, but I didn't feel it was hard because it was you I told."

[geminiundead]

"Fucking hell," I breathe, he's close in an instant, his hands on me, his bright eyes piercing. His intensity is startling, demanding, and would be a blade's edge close to unhinged if it wasn't for the subject--not just his brother but what became of his life after the tragedy, the fragile nature of his species, his lonely childhood, everything.

"You're a miracle yourself, Simon," I remind him in a rush.

I don't blame him for a second, and not for a beat of my undead heart am I afraid of this vampire, or his emotion.

He tried to bite this back, trying to talk about Rose, about school, now about me. His loneliness is mine, reaching, begging for understanding, for someone to know what it's been like just to be alone. With his forehead on mine I feel a weird lurch of familiarity, of a kind of connection I'm familiar with, but one I haven't felt--really felt for another person--in almost a century. I want to call it a fraternal feeling, but I don't know if that's really it, or only a very small part of seeing my own loneliness reflected back in another person. In this together, an unlikely pair or not, there's an overwhelming feeling I don't immediately recognize that threatens to choke me on behalf of us both.

He told me that I should be afraid, that I should run away if I want to keep safe, that his work is dangerous. I think of Rose in her bed, and Jamie in his. I think of all the past mistakes, of chasing pain and falling back into easy self-destruction. I can't remember the last time I felt as safe with another man as I feel now. It's like a gutpunch, realizing that I really do trust him.

"For fuckssake Simon, I'm not going anywhere. Just cry," I whisper to him, and wrap my arms around him, holding him tight.

[acquisitionethics]

That Jeffrey hasn't absconded at this all being too much, means more to Simon than he would be able to put into words. Hadn't he said similarly about unveiling his own tale, that Simon embracing his past, not shunning him, had been too much. The only course of action he felt he could have taken was to run off. But he's staying now.

At the two word permission to let it out, Simon begins to sob. The tears come without warning, tinged with blood and salt and pain. Simon holds onto Jeffrey loosely, unable to really clutch any tighter given his whole body shaking, heaving, breaths coming in shallow and fast.

He hasn't cried like this in years. In decades. A memory of his father screaming at him asking what he had to cry for, and Simon not understanding that grief sometimes makes some lash out in unexpected ways. His parents had never been cruel until the aftermath, but even then, they were trying to manage their own heartache. They simply couldn't be his parents at the same time.

How long has it been since he started crying, as the sobs start to slow? Minutes? Months? He could believe either, and Jeffrey holds him tight the whole time. Focusing on his slower heartbeat, he tries to match his breaths to that steady pulse. It takes time, far longer than he personally likes, but he does taper off the cries, the tears.

Pink stains them both as he tries to wipe at his face with his pajama sleeve. Simon pulls away just enough to meet Jeff's eyes, attempting a smile, even if it doesn't reach his eyes. "Thank you. I... thank you. Fuck, I'm covered in blood two nights in a row. We shouldn't make a habit of this or I might become depleted." A weak attempt at humor to show that he's alright now, or will be.

[k-wame]

[geminiundead]

I sit with my weight on my palms behind me, facing him. He's looking everywhere but me, stealing his glances and looking more like a shy boy than he has yet. I wonder with a grin I can't fully suppress what his crew would think if they saw their leader sitting criss-cross in his jammies on the carpet, eating a daytime snack before dawn.

"Mmm. I think I get it. You're a leader, but you have to be tough when shit gets serious. It's not just the job in danger...it's all of your lives. Do you usually work with humans?"

He describes his childhood, starting off with a less glamorous picture of a family life that sounds incredibly lonely.

"Do you have a GED?" I ask him point-blank, maybe surprising coming from me. "I mean, there's nothing really stopping you from getting a formal education now, is there? I think your painting is pretty damned good. You could take night classes, online learning exists too...it's not like you can't afford the tuition."

Then...

"Oh...Simon, I'm sorry," I sit forward off my palms. We're close enough that my hand on his bent knee isn't an awkward stretch. The touch is easily given, reflexive, and after sharing what he has about his own brother, I feel like it's the very least I can offer.

"Don't compare," I offer quietly when he mentions Gemini, frowning just slightly. "I literally can't imagine...it must have been devastating." I squeeze just slightly, let my hand slip from him and watch his face carefully. "So that's when you lived rough. No wonder. Holy hell..."

I look away, not because I can't look at him but because I can tell it's difficult for him to be looked at. I understand that well enough. "Rose told us a little bit about your kind. She said it's...hard, you know, from the very beginning for your kind to survive. I think it scares the hell out of her..." I press my lips together, unsure if he wants me to try to comfort him with some nice thing about living his life to the fullest, but I'm sure he's heard every cliche in the book.

"I'm sure you've heard it all," I level instead, "about living well for yourself, that he'd be happy that you're happy. I dunno, for what my opinion might be worth, I think that's true." I dare a queasy smile. "I'm not sure if saying that kind of thing is really meant to make someone feel better though, or if it's just a nice thing to say. That's fucking tragic, Simon--I wouldn't wish that kind of loss on my worst enemy. Are you...in contact with your parents now?"

His confession that I'm the first to hear this whole story strikes me as sad. It speaks to me of a loneliness deeper than I might have guessed, of someone who hasn't yet met his person, someone who hasn't ever felt like anyone could be that for him. With a pang of guilt I wonder if he really does think that that person could be me, or if this is just a man who has been alone for a very long time, and ready or not, he's prepared now to share some kind of truth about himself with someone. Anyone.

"You can trust me," I say it quietly. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I give a little nod.

[acquisitionethics]

If they were just friends now, nothing more, Simon hadn't been sure if he was allowed to touch. Not in a way to foster desire, but for comfort. So as Jeffrey decides to breech the gulf between them, touch his own knee, Simon's fist ends up near his mouth, holding back a sob. There are no tears, he knows not to cry, not for his dead brother, but he cannot help the involuntary sound he makes half a cry half a moan.

It's short lived, no tears to blink away, and his hand is back in his lap, concern for Rose setting aside all of his own issues, "She's right to be scared. You can do everything right and then... I think it's part of why our kind haven't taken over. We literally can't."

Simon's own hand covers Jeff's, holding it, squeezing it, a physical lifeline in the middle of the ocean of his mind. "I haven't heard as much as you think. I didn't... it's not the way to introduce yourself to people. So I... Rose knows. She doesn't know what I have to do for my work, but she knows about him. Her moms offered me shelter and I rebuked them and went my own way. I think I landed alright. My parents think I'm an art dealer, like everyone else."

A bitter pill, and his appetite is completely gone, dropping his piece of jerky on the floor, uncaring. It could be cleaned up later. "I, uh, yes, humans generally. They don't know what I am. Until they have to. And no formal degree, but I have taken classes. Lots of them. All over. Why do you think I picked Boston? Because it has the highest concentration of higher educational institutes in the country. I..."

He keeps swallowing nothing, to keep himself from falling off the cliff, from openly sobbing, even if that is what he would do if he was alone. Though Simon would not have unloaded all of this emotional baggage to just himself.

When he moves, it is with a speed that a human could not track, though he is not malicious. Only gripping Jeffrey's cheeks with both hands, eyes staring intently into those brown depths that he could get lost in for eternity, "You are a miracle, Jeff. Not just a medical one, with the sound of your heartbeat just off kilter because it's on the quote-un-quote wrong side. But you keep coming here even when I've given you every opportunity to leave. You keep staying. Mostly. And you are honest and open and caring. And attractive. But we won't dwell on that for now. If I never see you past tonight, I will be grateful that I had this chat with you. Is it wrong that I expect you to leave? Every time you come here you surprise me." Simon cannot stop himself from leaning in, but not for a kiss, just a touch of their foreheads, his own breath ragged and uneven.

[geminiundead]

The meat surprises me. The way Simon refers to it immediately shows a different side to this man, and I understand what he's doing.

I follow. I take his rambling comment in stride--I know I do. I sit with him. I eat.

It's delicious. My jagged molars tear it easily, chew it easily. I look at the fibres, nibble. Glance up at him as he speaks, spilling his sins. I treat him to an eyebrow raise, a pause in chewing as he talks about making it so that his idiot crew couldn't ever fuck him over again, and swallow.

I don't know what I expected from him, but he describes his involvement like some kind of mob boss, some mastermind of criminal activity. He must have a reputation, if he goes to such drastic measures to prevent failure. He doesn't seem to relish in doing it, no bravado about it at all, no flash of lust in his eyes. It seems more like a chore to have to act so strongly toward discipline, a disappointment. It reminds me, unexpectedly, of Alexander. Though Alexander loves his cruelty. I don't know yet if there exists that streak in this vampire.

"Well that's certainly a start," I answer his first question, meeting his blue eyes in a glance. I look at the meat again as if inspecting it, bitten thumbnail pushing up fibres for my front teeth to peel, playing just a little with it. Hardly any life in it, maybe none at all, but it does taste good. It's a strange thing to be sitting cross legged on the floor like a child to eat it.

"That sounds..." I swallow, "like a lot of responsibility. For you, I mean. I have no doubt you're good at it," I look a around, lick the little oil off my thumb, "seems like you're good at it. I don't get the sense you find much sport in doing the things you have to do to keep being good at it," I shrug.

I take another piece, small. "I've heard it called lamb in other circles," I tell him, place the little sliver of flesh on my tongue, bring it in and chew while I talk, "though that has a bit of a religious connotation, doesn't it? Funny that any of us bother with the euphemisms. I've never had it dried though."

"Mm. I appreciate the warning, but tell me: do you like the danger? Do you like the hustle? Being the boss?"

[acquisitionethics]

At least he can share something tangible with Jeff, besides these aspects to himself that he keeps so deeply hidden away. The meat seems to be a hit, on both of their sides, as he chews to keep himself grounded, steady, present here with Jeffrey and not thinking about the amount of lives he's screwed over, and not just for food.

Simon appreciates a slight diversion to talk about the jerky, "I've only ever heard it called long pig, but only as a joke. The guy who makes this also has flavors imbued with smoke or essences. Not for me. So many of our kinds are plagued with religious trauma. Are we damned? Maybe for our choices, but not for what we are."

He finishes the piece he'd been holding, letting his hands fall in his lap. While Simon wants to compliment, to praise, to flatter Jeffrey the same way he had done for him earlier, he saves it for now. "I did enjoy it. It's power, and to a kid who hasn't had much, it's appealing. Now... don't confuse my disappointment for reluctance. I have no interest in getting out of this life. But currently I don't enjoy that I have to be ruthless in order to keep a tidy ship. If everyone behaves, then the danger is thrilling. The hustle exciting. I'm not a boss in the way you're thinking, but those I have under me? I try to give them everything."

There is finally a hint of a smile when he thinks of how he's helped just as many as he's killed. Even those he had to dispose of, Simon ensures that their families are taken care of, for a time. Until they can get back of their feet.

"My parents were near-recluses, living off of investments. Because the day is so dangerous, we can't go to school. The internet wasn't around yet, so I did workbooks and study guides and what I could. I got into painting. Practice only made me decent. They had waited a while before committing to a child, but I was turning out good, I think, so in my late-teens they tried again. Conceived, born... I know you'll understand this Jeffrey, but if I could give my life now so that my baby brother could have a chance at life, I would. They withdrew even further after, and I started acting out. Stealing little things. Trinkets at the mall."

A memory has his lips smirking, but he shakes out his hair, the drying strands falling where they may. "It's no I am eternally linked to my twin but... I got caught and I ran off. I had a few others who were more advanced than I was and went to them. Lived in dumpsters and abandoned buildings for a few months before shacking up with the first guy who was interested in my looks. Learned how to use them then. I'm not... it wasn't a long time, but long enough to show me it wasn't a life for me."

He hopes he doesn't sound too judgmental for the lifestyle Jeffrey has decided to live. As all of this information about himself spills out, Simon takes another piece of jerky, looking at it instead of anywhere else. "You're the first person I've told all of this to. Many know pieces. The fragments I choose to share. I... I trust you. Whether I should only you know."

[geminiundead]

I really have fucked up.

I don't know why I though it would be as easy as saying I know I'm shit, I'm sorry, let's move on and get back on the couch. His rundown of all the things I can see pretty clearly on his surface is no more than a verbal shrug, and after my gutspill last night I feel like even more of an idiot. It never occurred to me that he might have something to be self-conscious about too.

Hadn't Rose alluded to his insecurity over his education? The night we met, didn't he call me out for using too big a word for some who had supposedly claimed to be uneducated? Should I have known then that he was insecure about his own education? If I was thinking about anyone else but myself maybe I would have picked up on it.

"Listen, Simon," I start quietly, frowning at the countertop, "I'm the one who wanted to simmer down. I have to accept that it'll take a while to warm back up again, if I didn't just completely ice us. I do feel bad."

I lick my lip, the last taste of blood.

"I give myself whiplash sometimes," I admit, "I'm not good at people. But I do my best to be honest about that. I'm never gonna humour you, Simon. I'm not going to agree to something that feels wrong but I think I need to...I need to work on not backing out out when things are just...hard. Everything's fucking hard," I shrug for real.

I don't know where to go from here. I look at him, his blond hair, wet and pushed back, his bright blue eyes and strong jaw and his curved, pink lips which at rest look just a little bit mean. I like that, especially knowing that he really isn't. At least not to me.

"You are pretty," I agree, trying for a dry tone, remembering his dissatisfaction last night when I called him hot. I should have simply told him he was delicious instead. That's what I really meant anyway.

"...but you don't like it, do you? Being...conventionally attractive? You use it, but you don't like it," I try to keep his eye, if he'll hold my gaze. "So show me your ugly--I've showed you plenty of mine. Up until now you've been generous, charming, handsome, talented, well connected...sexy. I could go on. Your affluent lifestyle and good taste are clearly on display--taste that speaks to some kind of education. It looks effortless to me. Maybe you're just a good curator."

I lean on the counter, face him. "For what it's worth--what I'm really interested in, what I like is that you're different. From me, from what I know. I like that you have this fancy place and your collection of art and your good clothes...I like your indoor-cat lifestyle, your schmoozing parties I don't understand, your studio. I like it. I'm curious about it--about your art, your work, what you are, how you grew up. I like that your eyes are sharp and that your mouth looks a little bit mean when you're not controlling it," I grin at that. "I like knowing that you're not mean at all. I like that you're a vampire but you're alive, that you were never human, that you're a killer who doesn't hunt. I want to know more about your contrasts."

"Maybe this break pump is a good thing for both of us. Maybe we both got a little carried away yesterday. It's one thing if we could have just fucked and turned this into some sexy little fling, that would have been easy. As it is...we both agreed to do a little work for each other and that's a helluva lot harder. Maybe instead of trying to be lovers while that work happens...ugh, I can't believe I'm about to pull this cliche out of my ass but...fuck, I mean, we could try to be friends first...?"

I crack a smile for him. "Make no mistake, I want you. I want my fingers in your hair like we were last night, I want your mouth on my neck or your tongue in my mouth and your warm skin against mine. But maybe we...put all of that on hold until..." I scratch back of my own hair, still damp. "...I can enjoy more than just hunger for you....and also not panic when you try to make plans more than two hours in advance."

[acquisitionethics]

This explanation goes on for far longer, and Jeffrey is far more detailed than he had been before. Though Simon doesn't quite equate all of it with reality, he does have to admit that he had tried to jump in head first last night. A fault of his, though he didn't feel he should need to apologize for being overexcited. Take blame, perhaps, and with how the brakes were now fully engaged, take responsibility for his eagerness.

Before he tries to reply, Simon opens a cabinet, a zip-top bag full of dried meat in his hands. "Human jerky, from calf meat. No flavoring, just been dehydrated for ages." His head gestures for Jeff to follow him, sitting crossed legged in the living room, setting the bag between them. The space is still open, better suited for many people to gather, but also a place comfortable enough for the two of them.

He chews a piece before he speaks, savoring the richness of the meat. "You ramble when you're nervous. I like the cat analogy, I'm the indoor cat to your outdoor cat. Fitting."

A sigh as he holds and looks at another piece of jerky, anything to not meet Jeff's eyes. "I can be mean. And callous and cutthroat. I can come down hard on my associates if they fuck up, so they know not to. The party night? You asked, I didn't answer yet. A crew of mine was supposed to run a simple in and out job. Nothing too complicated, and I had disabled the alarms remotely. But only for that one building. One of them tripped a different building's alarm, fuck if I know how, and then had the audacity to call me crying about it. Even if I'm not physically present, it's still my job, so I had to clean that mess up before people started arriving. And then I couldn't let any of them know why I might be in a mood, so I buried it."

It felt better to chew as he contemplated whether to share, or whether to keep some things to himself. Jeffrey posed no threat to him in terms of the law. His damp hair made him look older as Simon dared a glance, "I buried them all too. Murdered the entire crew, and didn't even think about taking blood or meat."

Finishing another piece he shakes his head, "I don't dislike my pretty privilege. I just hate being reduced to it so readily by others. It's not all I am and yet I cannot share most of what I am with anyone. Is this what you want? Is this my ugly? I don't even know."

His heart is racing faster than when they had been kissing as he meets Jeffrey's eyes. This is more vulnerable than sex for him, and he wants Jeff to know how hard it is for him to be this honest. "I should not have used that word for us, not so soon. Perhaps when, you are right, I let you take up the air time so I didn't have to. When any relationship, friend or otherwise, is meant to be built on mutual trust. I can't... if someone is invited into this part of me, that means putting them at risk. You walk away now, I won't hold it against you. You should, to keep yourself safe. All of this? It's built on lies. One night this house of cards will fall, and when it does, it should only be on my head. No one else's."

[velvetnightgallery]

Isle of the Dead (c. 1905) by Karl Wilhelm Diefenbach

Isle of the Dead (1883) by Arnold Böcklin

[geminiundead]

I'm welcomed in at least, easy, none of the sudden cold or friction I feared, no recoil to the touch or the kiss, though he doesn't give back the same way he did last night, and the warm hand at my waist doesn't pull the way I want it to. In the kitchen he hesitates in a way I've not yet seen from him, doubting, and no wonder.

I hate it. I hate that I've made him guess what's right, when last night the not knowing was fun and exciting--flirting to confirm position, hedging to kiss or not to kiss, sharing secrets, pushing boundaries...

"I've been wanting to hunt for you," I tell him. "Would you...would you ever want to come with me one of these nights? I have to do it pretty often, at least for now."

I watch him sip and I follow suit, coolish blood not quite coagulated, still warm enough from natural heat to have a little life in it still. It is good. I down the mug, choosing to enjoy the tiny rush of little warmth rather than let it cool even more on the pretense of good manners.

I lick my lips, watching him and his pretty little blush. "I'm an idiot for leaving so abruptly last night. You were good. You let me reveal myself and you told me that you saw me. I guess I expected you to push me away and when that didn't happen...I guess I had to do it myself. It was stupid, Simon. I owe you an apology for that. I regret not spending the rest of the night with you...hearing your stories? I feel like I told you so much and I hardly know anything about you. That's not at all what I want."

[acquisitionethics]

Jeffrey makes it sound like he has wanted to hunt for him for months, not merely days. Not even a week. It does make him curious, even if he hates getting blood under his nails. "One night, yes, I'll come hunting with you. Don't expect much help from me. Not that it seems you need it."

The gulps Jeff takes are deep, and his blood is finished in no time. Simon swirls his glass, taking his time, but at least moving to put the rest of the jug in his fridge. He could, physically, finish it all tonight, but his appetite feels poor given how reserved he must appear.

Then an explanation comes. It doesn't entirely make sense to him, but Simon has no reason to doubt that this is his truth. A subjective one, but truth nonetheless. He sips, still unsure if this is a reversal of last night's decision.

"You did what you had to. Don't apologize for it. But this is giving me whiplash." Downing the glass he sighs, not wanting to break into his stash so soon, though the urge is there.

"What's there to tell. That others haven't surmised. I came from money, that's clear in the decor, the art chosen. I can pretend to be educated, but only up until a point. Something was hard for me, once upon a time, but I cleaned up my act and learned how to be an upstanding citizen. I give to charity and mop up my messes and..."

Jeff doesn't deserve this. Doesn't need his own issues piled on top of the mountain of shit he's already dealing with. "I'm a pretty boy who knows to use my looks to get what I want. But not with you. I want you when you're ready. Don't reverse course just because you feel bad, Jeffrey."

[geminiundead]

He answers within a minute while I pretend it wasn't one of the longest minutes of my life, and try to curb the jolt of excitement that he responds at all.

I come up to the address, trying to keep my pace slow and casual, trying to will my stupid heart not to thump too forcefully, willing it not to get faster and louder the closer I get. I can't tell by the texts if I'm merely being tolerated after last night, but I have a feeling from Rose's help earlier this evening that I am probably overreacting now.

Is the new little luggage padlock looped through the zippers on my backpack an overreaction too? It's a discreet little thing, terribly ineffective, and only a very temporary solution. Just enough of a signal to anyone who might take a harmless, curious peek, that I'd really rather the bag stays closed. Even a living human could yank this thing off or simply cut open the canvas bag. Generally though, I understand there's a difference between a secret snoop, and a full tear-through of ones's private things. I can't imagine a world where Simon would do the latter without good reason. Even my paranoia can accept that.

I shift the bag to one shoulder.

Just out of the shower? I feel suddenly self conscious about the chlorine smell of my own damp hair, but better than the reek of a kill, and much safer to travel with especially considering my cargo of blood.

I imagine Simon as he's texting, clothed in nothing but steam. I imagine the smell of his water-heated skin, how soft and warm it would feel under fingers, lips, the muscles of his shoulders and back loose from the comfort of the spray, strong arms to--

I knock on the door. When he answers, I can't hold back the grin for his matching set, buttoned up and proper, and reach out right away to finger the edge of his pyjama lapel.

"Nice jammies, Simon," I tease. Close in the entryway, it would be easy for this hand at his chest to flatten, to slide up across his shoulder and find the back of his head, fingers in his damp hair, and bring him forward to a kiss.

I want it with every fibre of my being. He must feel me hesitate, but then this hand does flatten and it does slide up, and he does feel deliciously warm from his shower. Afraid I've already botched it for my second-guess, I'm quick to kiss him, stepping to him and into the house, not yet quite invited, and close the door behind me.

"I'm an idiot," I tell him by way of apology, set my bag on the floor and hand him the jug and kiss him again.

[acquisitionethics]

The immediate touch is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Simon feels he deserves the comment on his fashion choices, just stepping back enough to let Jeffrey inside properly, as he would any guest. Then he does what not just any guest would do. These lips are warm, blood filled, and easy to kiss back, his own hand wrapping around Jeff's waist, though keeping their bodies at whatever distance he decides to set.

He's blinking at the jug before another kiss interrupts his train of thought. He dares to chase for one more kiss before the need for oxygen has him releasing him, though he keeps his hand on his waist.

"What? Why? This is for me?" The jug is heavy, certainly full of blood and from what his less sharp senses can detect, fresh as well. It's difficult to drain a living human, especially out in the open, and Simon's smile is soft, "Thank you."

Not used to others considering his own needs, he can feel himself warming, sure that Jeffrey can sense it as well. Wasn't he supposed to keep his own feelings contained, let this move at a pace he isn't setting? Yes, so Simon reluctantly lets him go, carrying the jug to the kitchen. It's still warm, not needing heating, pouring them two glasses, keeping his hands busy so he can quiet his own desire.

"Looks like you've had a productive evening. Are you... will you stay for a bit now?" Simon is sure that he sounds ridiculous, a hesitance in his voice that is so unnatural for him. Even with the kisses, the tease, he doesn't want to assume more than he should. He tries the blood, letting it attempt to calm him, though it does little. "It's good. Thanks again."

[geminiundead]

I tuck my phone away.

I'm properly clean, racing the sun. He said he had a party tonight until dawn, but he probably wouldn't stay that late. I hope my drop-in will come off sweet, a nice apology, proof of some kind of commitment...that I've been thinking about him just like I promised.

Fresh blood before bed. Nice, right? It's clean, a real fucking chore to get this from someone willing to follow me anywhere. By the taste of him, he'd had a couple cigarettes at most. I hope Simon doesn't mind, I have a gallon milk jug full of the stuff. It might be restorative if he's had something a little less pure tonight. He's a fucking lightweight.

I carry it down the street like there's nothing wrong at all. Nobody looks twice, nobody stops me. I think about what we spoke of last night, about his jogging in shorts in the Boston winter, about how I truly believed he could go out with his pretty lacquer of blood-sweat and all the humans would think it pretty too, just because he is so conventionally handsome. Tonight, even in my dark clothes and my big backpack, nobody asks about what's in the jug. It's also that point of the night where very late is becoming very early, and my passers by on the sidewalks are blessedly few.

I'm clean at least, washed with soap and water in a public washroom with sickly green light, and properly rinsed of residue after having jumped quickly over the fence and into a motel's outdoor pool--naked of course, just like how I feed. Even still, the smell of blood and offal is strong in my nose, a phantom memory or clinging traces, I'm not sure. I ate well tonight while the flesh was still hot from the body, and these last few nights of consistent feeding have been good for me. The last of the gangrene is almost gone, almost, and after that pesky business is clear--hopefully by tomorrow--I'll be done with simply healing and start on building up proper health. Eating meat means for slower metabolic progress, but the foundation it lays for a future where I can do pretty well on mostly blood is worth the effort now. Soon, in a few weeks, I might actually feel warm to the touch.

As it is, my hickies are healed and the bruise he left in his goodbye is gone, but I still feel his mouth everywhere it landed. I don't know what I hope for tonight, if a curt acceptance of my favour-not-favour will be enough. I'll have to take what I can get after how I behaved last night, after my little panic. He might not even answer the text he asked me to send first. For all I know, he met someone tonight who is more available. He might not even come home at all today. I wouldn't really mind on principle.

Well.

No, I've never been a jealous person.

But it might sting this time, this time when I'm sure I do really want to try, when I think I have a decent chance of meaning something to someone.

I only spent all last night over-explaining myself to him so that he could decide I was too much, or too weird, or too gross, or too damaged and make the good decision to tell me to fuck right off. But then instead he sat me down and showed me how he sees me, and it was nice, and it was exactly everything I ever could have dreamed of and the very last thing I expected.

I know I have no right to feel jealous when I can't even stay to finish a conversation.

In his neighbourhood already, I text.

[Text: Simon] You home?

[Text: Simon] It's not a proposition.

[Text: Simon] It's not a favour either.

@acquisitionethics

[acquisitionethics]

Simon is awake before sunset, on the phone with humans he knows have no qualms about getting their hands dirty. Though he has no real list of Jeffrey's talents, he can claim that he'll be good to have for backup. Most jobs needed someone to be lookout or at least be an extra pair of hands. It was where he had started, and where most began their career. If they lasted that long.

This list is only three so far, far shorter than the people looking for chefs, but it was a start. He needs as much time to get ready for tonight. The suit is tailored, and given the guest list he goes with no tie.

As he dresses, Simon's mind inevitably wanders to thoughts of Jeff. How their conversation had felt so easy, how moving the statue came with no argument, how he wanted him. In the end he hadn't been rejected, not outright, simply put on pause.

And he had sworn to wait. It felt like the right thing to do, a kindness to give Jeff the reins. For now. But it wouldn't do to be distracted by him tonight. Adjusting his cufflinks, Simon puts all of Jeffrey into a box in his mind, focusing on the task at hand.

Which was schmoozing and kissing cheeks and laughing at unfunny jokes. He did it with ease. The art wasn't bad, and he set up a purchase for himself of a small painting, but mostly this was networking. There would always be people from out of town who were new to him and could be charmed by his smile and good nature.

One woman in particular, in her 60s or 70s, clung to him towards the end of the art show and into the after party. Simon indulged her, letting her believe he was interested, and by the time he was ready to leave, he knew he had secured a client for life.

Even if she would only last a few more decades. By the time Simon is back home there are only a few hours until dawn. Responsibility, to Jeffery makes him want to continue the list, but the shower calls to him instead. Wash off the old lady's perfume.

It's when he steps out that he sees the messages. Simon tries to reply with such speed that he drops the phone, cursing himself as he picks it up and types.

[text: Jeffrey] Just got out of the shower

[text: Jeffrey] Not a proposition

[text: Jeffrey] The British spelling matches your semi-American accent. A true Canadian.

[text: Jeffrey] Give me a minute to get dressed

While a part of him wants to show off, dress up, he opts for pajamas, with ribbed piping. The fancy kind that he doesn't actually wear to bed, but could pass in front of company as simply being casual. Is that what he wanted? To appear casual, as if he wasn't told 'not yet' just the night before? Simon isn't sure what he wants. But if Jeffrey wanted to come over, he would be more than happy to let him him.

[paintings-from-the-past]

Rhodes (1824) by J.M.W. Turner

[geminiundead]

Simon's face goes neutral, his tone flat. I've either hurt or embarrassed him, but that's something we'll both have to live with. I just can't accept this pace if he's already thinking I'm someone he needs to plan for. Maybe I'm a hypocrite, maybe I'm just dumb: he already made that first list of contacts for me, I just didn't hear about how much effort he put.

He tells me fairly evenly but without room for argument that the conversation is over, and that he doesn't want to see me tomorrow. I do genuinely want to know about his past, and I've been looking forward to killing for him, but if my hunting is like his scheduling, then I don't want to make him any more uncomfortable than I feel now.

I take up my bag on one shoulder, his portrait carefully and loosely rolled in one hand. With the other I give his arm a gentle squeeze.

"I don't know if I'm overreacting," I admit to him at the door. He leans and I stand close to him. "I don't know...tonight moved fast. I'm not used to...nice. And this was really fucking nice, Simon, it was. Is," I give him my weak smile.

"I want to hear that story," I tell him. "I want to hear your stories. Now that I'm pretty sure you're not going to nope out of my particular brand of crazy I...well. I told you I want to try and I meant it."

[acquisitionethics]

With this angle, Simon has to look up to Jeff to meet his gaze. The purple marks on his neck are already starting to heal, and he wonders what youthful impulses had seized them both for a few moments. He doesn't shy away from the touch to his arm, holding back the urge to touch as well.

He sounds tired when he speaks, though he is being honest, "I am going to wait for you. If that is what you need right now, that's what I'll give. I'll be here. Missing you, yes, but patient. And one night when it's the last, I'll remember it for as long as I live."

Too fast again. Something overrides the part where he's supposed to care. Simon grips Jeffrey's collar, pulling him close and kissing him hard. It's a quick kiss, but bruising, and he lets go just as suddenly.

"I'm not going to apologize for my desire. Take your time. Just text before stopping by, at least for a bit. Sometimes clients can be on edge if they think someone else is expected. Or my partners in crime don't particularly enjoy being seen by others. You understand."

Simon opens the door with such reluctance that his shoulders are sloped. "Go, before I try to keep you here until morning."

[geminiundead]

Simon's fussiness almost has me in a panic. From almost anonymous bougie friend of an ex, now to lover after half an evening of offloading too much information and a quick--though outstanding--makeout session is a lot to stomach. I was the one who said this felt like something more than casual attraction, but the fact that he's already thinking about slotting me in or around his premade plans is more than I can handle.

Lover? If I could blush I would.

I almost flinch back from his last touch. It is sweet and he is good, but it's clear I've already fucked up. I need to get this under control before it spirals. I bite back the reflex but it's hard to keep the edge completely out of my voice. I take his kiss, lovely as it is and sigh.

"I'm fine, Simon," I tell him, "it's very nice of you to worry but please don't. And I can wait for your list too, I'm not going to be hanging on my phone waiting..." I stop myself and breathe intentionally, the smell of his earlier bloodsweat still lingering in the air between us, though much softer now than when it was fresh. "I do appreciate it. I really do. But I will be ok, I have everything I need with me. Maybe I'll use your fridge from time to time. That's already plenty generous."

Even as I say it I know with an annoying stab of reality that I don't actually have nail clippers. Teeth work just fine.

I press his hand to hold it still. No more fumbling with the phone and it's labyrinth lockscreen, or fussing with my hair which is just fine as it is and indeed better than it was. I think Rose deserves more credit than as good as she could, but I pick my battles.

Through the panic I catch a hint of a life I wouldn't have guessed. "Are you saying you were homeless before? With other people?" I frown, dare to meet his eye. I'd be willing to bet it wasn't a life he chose but a life he accepted to get through something hard. A rebellion maybe, at the most. Is that unkind to think? I Sigh.

"Please don't start organizing your life around me. Not...not yet anyway. I'm an outdoor cat," I shrug at the lame analogy. "I want to be a part of something, and I'm not planning on disappearing but...let's both give each other a little grace, ok? Just..." I breathe again, "take a breath. I...I should go." I stand, knowing this is the right thing to do but hating every syllable of saying what must be predictable words. Wouldn't it be nice to just dive in? To let this nice and interesting guy just...give me attention? To give some back?

"I can't....I can't go from total codependency, to alone, to...sharing calendars with someone I met a few days ago. I like you Simon, I like you a lot. I've been thinking about you since the night we met," I offer him a smile, and pick up the drawing, precious and wonderful, looking at it carefully before I look at him again. The smile hasn't budged.

"I'll be thinking about you until I see you again. Which will hopefully be soon. I can swing by tomorrow after your party, before the sun comes up, with some fresh, clean blood. No rush on the list. Okay?"

[acquisitionethics]

The sudden defensiveness from Jeff catches him off guard. Had he tried to be too helpful? Not in his eyes. Not towards someone that he was considering a step up from a friend. A list of contacts would hopefully keep him in the city, but even if he had to travel, Simon would trust who he was with. Selfish, yes, but he doubted he gave off the impression that he was anything but.

At the touch to his hand he puts the phone down, remaining still. The more Jeffrey tried to explain, the more he felt this wasn't about himself. This was Jeff's own issues, a century, give or take, of being intertwined with his other half. Any bond that began in the womb and became one person surely could not ever truly be severed.

When Jeff stands, Simon remains seated. His face is neutral, shifting into a mode where he would give nothing away. Not intended to hide from Jeffrey, simply not wanting to set him off. Considering he wasn't sure exactly what he had done to start this current train of thought in Jeff, best to stay even-toned.

"Okay. Some other night I'll tell you all about how I know exactly what it's like to spend the day paranoid that I was going to be discovered and burned."

He'd been told to breathe, though what for Simon couldn't say, so he takes a breath for his sake. "This can all be at your pace. There's no rush. You don't owe me blood. No favors now."

There is more he wants to add, but he restrains himself. There are a few more hours until dawn, ones he had wanted to spend in conversation. Perhaps he had been foolish, jumping the gun when there was no indication he should have. All of Jeff's hedging by saying pretty words about himself only made him feel as if he was being managed.

Or is that being unfair when all Jeffrey was really saying was that he needed time. Standing with him, he heads to the front door, leaning against the wall beside it. He wants to tell him that he'll miss him, that he also is already looking forward to seeing him again, that he likes him more than he's liked anyone in years. Instead, Simon offers concern, unsure if that is even too much at the moment, "Be safe out there."

[souldreamie]

the dreamers

[geminiundead]

I smirk at his paranoia over that modern technology.

"Ah...oh, thumbprints...right. I usually just take the whole thumb when I'm trying to steal someone's identity..." I give him a /come on/ kind of look, but I take the page with his thumbprint on it and adore it all the more for the literal personal touch. I set it aside, but not too far away, for safe keeping.

When he talks about months to come, I swallow my guilt, or the anticipation of it and mentally punch itself in the gut. If I can't promise a couple of months to someone I might as well be the one in the coffin, not my brother. Simon holds me close, too sweet for a boy I only just met--a man, forty-five years old, I remind myself--but I endure it anyway. It feels real and solid and warm and good. I remind myself that if this was Rose I'd be languishing in the casual touch, even considering that guilt for her too. Simon is just so new, and so unexpectedly /lovely/.

I do share a grin with him at the mention of her. "She's going to flip," I agree, but I know I'd clown or fey for her any time I knew it would make her laugh. If it makes her happy to see her friend and...me, together, I'm happy to be a part of that joy.

"Mmm. It was nice. Just the last couple nights we've been hanging out. She cut my hair..." I don't tell him I've been sleeping over. I don't want to hide it from him but I don't want him to feel pressured into offering again. I'll just have to say no. It's one thing to trust Rose not to destroy Jamie when she already knows I carry him...keeping him close even in sleep. What's to stop a day-conscious man from snooping through a new interest's things while he sleeps? Simon has been nothing but accepting, even when I thought he wouldn't be, but even the most ruthless maneater would probably object to carrying around the severed head of...well, anyone. For months.

As long as I have Jamie with me, I can't plan a future where I can look forward to one day staying in Simon's warm, solid hold past dawn. I know I can't duck that forever, but I don't know how to fix it right now either.

I need to find a safe spot. For both of us.

"I don't know what connections I'm looking for but anything you got, I'm open to. For what it's worth it's less about the cash than the connection. I've never minded going rough," he also doesn't need to know that with one phone call I could move into a penthouse tomorrow. I don't want to reach out to Alexander, I don't want that burden, and I don't want him to think that I'm actually some spoiled brat playing tourist on the fringe. I never asked for Alexander's family blood, or his blood money. I never wanted any part of that.

"You don't have to worry about where I'm staying," I tell him, more gently than I probably would have before he kissed my neck like he did. "Besides, if it gets tough you did tell me the passcode to your studio. Do you remember that?" I can't help the tease.

[acquisitionethics]

Simon is no stranger to severing thumbs, and the image of Jeffery doing the same has him chuckling. When Jeff agrees with him, that Rose's reaction will be beyond what either of them can anticipate leaves him grinning. At the mention of his hair, Simon runs his hand through Jeffrey's fairly fresh cut, the evenness evident without touching, but he's grown to enjoy the softness. How quickly little touches become desired.

"She did as good as she could, I'm sure. It's better than before, at least. I think she's leaving Boston soon, good that you could spend some time with her." He means it, and from what he's put together from both of their words about the other, they were close once upon a time.

"These aren't upstanding citizens but there's always something to be done. I'll reach out tomorrow and either you stop by and I'll give you a list, or you send you a message with... wait."

Simon fishes out his phone from his back pocket, unlocking it through a series a very complex puzzles, far more than the average phone has installed, and looks at his calendar. "Tomorrow I'm at an art show early evening and then the party after is scheduled for the rest of the night. At least until near sunrise, but I shouldn't have to stay that long."

At the question, he leans in, needing one more kiss before logistics interfere, "I remember. You are welcome there whenever, even if it is bare bones."

He sits back, looking over Jeffrey, realization over the kind of life he leads outside hitting him, "Do you need anything? Can I provide anything here that will help? I never lived on the streets on my own, but I do know you need a lot of shit. Nail clippers! I would have killed for nail clippers at one point if it would have made a difference."

Quite obviously, they've both killed for far less and far more. A wince when he checks his phone again, "I haven't really scheduled my life with a lover in mind. I will get you that list tomorrow, just unsure of what time." Simon signs, his hand moving from Jeff's hair to his temple. "It's been... too long since I've organized my life with anyone else in mind. I'll need a decent amount of grace, if you're willing to give it."

[geminiundead]

I obey his command to sit tight, questioning only for a moment before I see what he reaches for.

The little sinking pit of dread it brings doesn't feel like the usual kind. I don't really know what it is, but it wells there and sits heavy, but not cold.

"Good crew," I comment quietly, trying not to be a hypocrite with my discomfort at being looked at for so long. "Keeping it real enough to deck you when you deserve it, and blood to kiss it better?" I nod along to that, that they sound like people I wouldn't mind knowing.

His concentration lends a handsome look of sternness that his beautiful features seem made for. I've seen the look in flashes of thoughtfulness, while we worked with the heavy statue, and the night we met when he was so sweetly drunk.

As it is, it's sobering to be scrutinized in a way that begs no further explanation, to be looked at plainly, all my over-explaining and anxiety put to rest as he all but tells me to shut up and let him see me for what I am in this very moment.

I get it.

It's sweet.

It's working.

"You said you were in a mood the other night..." I venture while he sketches. I don't really know where to look or put my hands. I hold them between my knees. "Did something happen?"

When he finally hands me the notebook, I'm startled to see my own features looking back at me. I'm not sure why it's startling, I know he's talented, I've seen his talent. The sketch didn't take long at all, but I know this face, a face I'd never associate with my own self but one I know very well: he's slim but not drawn, not hollow, not a dead and empty thing. The young man casts a glance to his viewer, questioning and wanting with the beginnings of a smirk just there. Simon captured that. I tuck my hair behind my ears while looking at the way he drew it falling. He's almost handsome, this young man, not a boy, not a skinny green thing with an aimless gaze, but a look that begs to be met. I think he looks like a version of myself I wouldn't mind looking at. I think he looks like Jamie.

My laugh is breathless. I'm flattered, humbled. I look at Simon, grateful that my eyes won't well with tears even though my chest feels clutched tight and my breath held hostage. I run my fingers over the untouched white of the paper, careful. "Can I keep this?" I ask for the page, my voice thick. I shake my head.

"This is...really lovely, Simon," I almost whisper it. "You're very talented. Thank you."

To the rest of what he says I can only nod, in agreement, and finally at a loss for words. I'm ready to try.

[acquisitionethics]

The attempts at conversation while Simon sketches tells him that Jeff either hasn't ever been someone's subject, or was simply uncomfortable with this attention. It does have a different air to it, intimate in a way that mere lust didn't contain. But he doesn't shift, stays mostly still, allowing the drawing to be complete without needing to direct him again.

He takes a while to analyze, so Simon assumes. All he can see are the flaws. The hair is wrong past his brows, the turn of his face isn't angled properly, but it wasn't as if Simon had ever gone to art school. Still, he knew enough that he could do a much better job another night.

And yet, Jeffrey's reaction shifted, and the laugh was not mocking but in awe. "Of course, it's yours. In a few months you'll probably be sick of me asking you to sit still." Perhaps that was looking too far ahead, but hadn't they both decided on attempting to last more than the week.

He takes the notebook back only for a moment, pressing his blackened thumb into the empty space, tearing away the page with practiced ease. "Don't think that you'll copy by fingerprint and unlock my phone. I don't trust biometrics."

Only because Simon knows how to break them. He shifts over, sitting beside Jeffrey again, resting an arm around his shoulders. They sit in silence for a bit, both them seeming to need time to think, to settle. It doesn't feel uncomfortable, but easy.

When Simon speaks he hadn't noticed that his fingers had been tracing circles around Jeff's shoulder, stopping the little affection, unsure if it was wanted, "You said you're a good cook, so I gave you options to cook. But if you want an introduction into my underground connections, you can have them. Obviously I couldn't offer those when I'm just Simon the Art Dealer. Do you have a safe space for tonight?"

He doesn't mention staying the day. It had been offered before when he wasn't thinking properly, and he knew that it was probably too early to offer it again now. A groan when he comes to a realization, "Rose will be insufferable for years once she knows. To both of us, I think. Last I heard from her, you two were meeting up. Did that go well?"

[geminiundead]

The thumb on my cheek is sweet enough to make my teeth ache. He reassures me, careful, gentle, but I'm not sure that's a service I want from him. Feeling vulnerable, he calls me out for trying to scare him off and a little part of me irks to that too, even if just a minute ago everything was smooth as honey.

He kisses me gently and I sit up on the couch, run my fingers back through my hair.

"Jamie and I regress because we stop feeding on humans when we feed on each other," I feel compelled to explain it only so that he understands what he's getting into. "The only reason we ever started was because we'd been eating animals for so long in our little village...we needed something, anything even a little bit human to get by. We didn't realize it would eventually drive us mad. Others...individuals, have better sense than to drown in their own blood. Our..." I sigh, "uncle? I guess. He's the only one we really know. He keeps it in check, but he fights the hunger to some...impossible fucking degree...it's messy." I glance back at Simon, sorry for my irk, for drawing back. I don't want to talk about this, about Jamie or Alexander. I'd rather be kissing him and forgetting everything else. But that's usually my problem, isn't it?

I reach back, brush his hair from his forehead, little tiny traces of charcoal still in his pores. Only soap will get the last of it. I smile despite myself, a weak apology for drawing back.

"I'm sorry you've been knocked out, it's a bit of a trip, isn't it?" I ask him, half distracted by the guilt of feeling anything for him at all. "It really does feel just like that," I agree. "Except you walk around and try to eat everyone you see while your body is trying to heal. Tell me who punched out your lights and I'll kill him--if you haven't already." I crack my smile, sigh.

"Rose asked me if I was prepared to hurt you like we hurt her," I blurt. "She's a real one, that girl. I uhm..." I shake my head, frown, "...when she asked it I thought I'd give anything to take back that pain we caused her. But...if I'm being real, and I want to be real with you Simon, I'd give almost anything to take it back," I make myself look at his eyes, sorry. Can I possibly spare myself the shame of saying out loud that I'm always going to choose my brother?

"I want my own life," I confess. "If we...if we fling, if we fuck, if we...get romantic? I am here for this. I want...something. Whatever is it. I'm not trying to freak you out, I mean I know we only met three fucking nights ago and we only just kissed...well, you also fucking vampire-hoovered my neck and I've sort of tasted your blood but..." I dare smile, wanting to make some crack about the handcuffs too, but it doesn't feel right.

"This doesn't feel casual. At first I thought I was delusional but I feel something. You feel something, right? It's taking all my willpower not to walk out of here right now and just spare you the drama. But I've learned recently that people really fucking hate it when you remove that choice for them. I just can't promise you I'm not going to let you down."

[acquisitionethics]

When Jeffrey sits back, Simon doesn't chase. The conversation has turned far too serious to distract with further kisses, even as those plump lips beckon him. As Jeff explains, clarifies, it feels like a scientific lesson into their biology, but only of them. That the twins themselves are so set apart from others of their kind that they warrant separate study.

Simon rarely lets himself get hungry. He sees no point when food is plentiful and easy to acquire. But that was now, not long ago when they were trying to blend in, to be part of a community. The little touch to his own forehead shows him that Jeff wasn't going to dip out, at least for tonight.

His concern to something that happened decades ago is unexpected, and he blinks before dismissing the protectiveness, "I deserved to be punched, honestly. I fucked up a score with the crew I was running with. Ages ago, and they fed me enough of their human blood so I didn't hunger after."

It was too easy to tell Jeffrey moments of his life he'd never shared with anyone. The things he'd done to survive before creating this little haven for himself. But then Jeff was sharing himself without a filter as well. It only felt right to try and match.

He can almost hear Rose's voice as Jeff repeats what she's told him. There's a sourness to the choice, but he tries not to hold it over him, "I told Rose I'd pick her over you. If we're laying everything out on the table."

The talk of furthering whatever they had begun building here has him glancing away. Luckily there were so many pieces to look at in his place, and the art is grounding. How long since he'd indulged in a true relationship and not just a quick fuck? Long enough Simon had assumed it wasn't in the cards for him. Jeffrey speaks of feelings and desire and romance and it all seems like a conversation happening to someone else.

"Don't move." He stands, using the higher angle to fix a few strands of Jeff's hair before he moves to the entryway to retrieve his notebook and charcoal. To create what he sees he'd rather use pencil for finer detail, but that would require another trip and he doesn't want to leave him alone for long.

Returning to the couch, sitting further away from him, Simon begins sketching Jeffrey. Not a mirror perfect portrait, but the man as he sees him, in this way, yearning, desperate, eager, and yet how Simon desires him all the more for it. Despite the warnings and the threat of pain, he wants to try.

The sketch isn't his best, but says all that he's sure his words cannot. Handing Jeff the notebook, he takes a few breaths before speaking, "I feel more than simple attraction, yes. All relationships have the threat of hurt looming over them. And yet people still start them. I'm forewarned in a way Rose says she wasn't. Don't forget, we do this, and you're giving me the chance to hurt you as well. But I still want you. Wherever this leads, count me in."