How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager

You should always harbor a small amount of fear for both sex and aliens.

“Vinny the vampire, I want you for everything that you are. For your selflessness, for your impossible kindness, for your awkward, shy exterior and the still just a bit adorably awkward but also impish, hilarious, and brilliant person beneath that, and yes, for your fangs, too. And I promise, if you take me back, I’ll be someone you can trust; I will always take care of you, I will never take you for granted, and I will be as kind and good to you as you act to everyone else.”

“So you’re literally giving him a piece of your body, he’s at least emotionally invested in sustaining your kink, and he’s agreed to continue this on a regular basis. Pretty sure that’s dating.”

I’m kind of pathetic, as vampires go. I don’t make for a dramatic, mysterious predator. I’m like the grimy sewer variety of a vampire that you shoo off your lawn with a broom.

“I think there’s a dad in you that needs to be freed.”
“No, no that’s for werewolves and grandmothers, and you do it with a knife, like in Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Fine.” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a growl, but that’s how it came out, soft and drawn. “Hit me with your spiciest noodles.”

Vincent poked his spoon towards Wes like a sword. “You’ve been cheating on me! I knew it. I bet he has bigger fangs, huh? More intoxicating venom?”

“It’s just dinner. And not spicy this time. Also no garlic in yours, I made sure.” Wesley laughed, and it sounded a bit like his soul escaping his body. “I’m not claiming it’s even good either, my usual cooking skills are about the level of putting peanut butter on crackers, so doctored mac and cheese from the box is already a step up.” He didn’t know how else to say dear god, please, please like this or I might die any better, so he shut up and watched Vincent make his way over.

Papers and a few more potted plants had been stacked on the side of the wooden table, a giant doily spread under them like half a tablecloth. Fuck everything, drink tea had been embroidered sloppily along the edge.

Was it a good thing to have your breathlessly handsome, less-than-consensual snack turn around and offer his neck to you while also telling you he’d thought you were a weird, lonely vampire even before you became a weird, lonely vampire?

So that left home invasion: the vampiric equivalent of that old game show with the doors. What’s behind door number one? An empty bed, or an elderly lady wearing three bottles of perfume, or an angry naked fireman with an ax? Vincent hadn’t realized it was possible to have horny nightmares, but after the fireman encounter he didn’t sleep through the day for a month.

Vincent glanced at his phone, then back at the man. “Are you okay?” “I’m writing a fluff piece that’s sole reason for existence is to let an older generation complain that their kids are depraved and foolish and ruining the best things about society, so not really.”

“Relationships are a fucking minefield and if there were right answers then someone would have written them in a book and gotten really rich by now.”
“Pretty sure there’s lots of rich people with books on dating.”
“Yeah but they’re all straight and white and mostly wrong, so they don’t count.”

Any vampire with a firmly placed moral backbone would tell him that sneaking into a stranger’s home to drink their blood while they slept was rude, illegal, and, above all, a terrible portrayal of the vampiric community.

It was just that the idea of being bitten triggered a rush of adrenaline. Like the thought of skydiving. Except that in one of those situations you died, and in the other one a beautiful monster licked your skin and told you how delicious you tasted.

“I’m not against getting a job, okay, I just want to like what I do.”
“You, Wesley, want to be in love with what you do. You want it to give you fluttery heart feelings and raise your dick at night.”