Gay Vampire Story

I never go to finish this story. I think you should read it nonetheless :)

The train stopped and before Thomas stepped onto the platform he could hear the banjo in the subway station. A young girl sat on an upside down bucket playing a bluegrass song that tugged at heartstrings deep inside. It had been almost six years since Thomas left home to pursuit a career on the stage in New York City, and he hadn’t been home to visit in almost as many years. He masked the guilt by sending them just about everything he had left of his paycheck at the end of each month. He dropped a twenty into her case.

Thomas’s father was a Kentucky farmer, like his father was a farmer before him, and his father before that. He had done well for years and struggled for years, and eventually lost everything. There wasn’t much to go back to, Thomas thought sadly as he made his way up the stairs to the street.

The other principles in his cast gave him a hard time about riding the subway and living all the way uptown, but Thomas just couldn’t get used to their glamorous New York City lives. He needed hardship, like he needed oxygen. If things were too easy he just couldn’t wrap his head around them being right. He liked to ride the subway. Just like he found issue with every dreamy man he was set up with. Thomas sighed and walked into the stage door of the theater.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said sitting down in the make up chair next to his best friend.

“What’s the drama today?” Brendan asked.

“Everything is going right,” Thomas said. His big blue eyes looking up at Brendan like there was something terribly wrong.

“And?” Brendan asked.

“I’m still not happy.”
 “For fucks sake, kid. This is New York. No one is happy.”
 Thomas ran his fingers through his blonde hair to push it out of his eyes. He stared at himself in the mirror. His face was changing. The roundness around his jaw was squaring off. He was starting to look more like his father all the time.

“You’re young, and gorgeous,” Brendan said grabbing him by the chin and raising it a little. “Buck up and stop pouting.”
 “You’re right,” Thomas said, and tried to smile. There was still something bugging him though.

Back in his dressing room he picked up his guitar and started to play the bluegrass that ran through his veins like the Appalachians run through Kentucky. He might not go home, but if he closed his eyes and picked those strings he sure felt like he was there. The music became richer and a smile stretched across his face. He opened his eyes to see the room filled. If there was a place to play a quiet tune alone, backstage on Broadway was not it. Someone had brought in a ukulele. His friend Shannon was banging on a box drum, and Brendan was harmonizing on his own guitar, plus a virtual chorus of friends were humming and singing along in the doorway and out into the hall. By show time Thomas had forgotten to be sad anymore.

* * *

Preston’s eyes were clear and alert, set underneath dark eyebrows and green like the romaine lettuce on the cutting board next to him. Brooding, penetrating eyes that his staff feared meeting directly. He stood at the kitchen window looking out into the restaurant gauging the mood of the customers this evening.

His downtown foray into modern American cuisine had paid off. The Times had declared his restaurant, Black Garlic, “refreshingly inventive.” He was a success, though you couldn’t tell by the scowl on his face.

The piercing green eyes reached across the room past the Wall Street bankers in their dark suits to a table of three colorful, happy people. Artists, he thought and his left eyebrow shot up quizzically, of what variety, he wondered. They are each attractive, he contemplated, beautiful hair on every head. Broadway, he decided. Actors who could afford to dine with him without a sponsor.

He began to remove his apron. Long, thin fingers quickly untied the strings, pulled it over his head, and wrapped it into a ball that he left at his station. He then reached to his throat and deftly undid the top button of his chef’s coat folding it back. Each movement was swift and precise.

“Watch the line,” he said to his sous chef.

“Yes, chef,” he replied, stepping into Preston’s place.

He moved across the room like a boss. Everything about his expression, posture and stride exuded a commanding presence. Executive chef, his steps seemed to say, don’t bother me unless you must.

The restaurant design was modern gothic. A juxtaposition between a warm, open beam ceiling lined with intricate Venetian tiles, and a cold, clean cement floor. Masculine mahogany tables and chairs were contrasted by fine, vintage china and ornate silverware. The lighting was simple in its fixtures and dramatic in its quantity. Slender strings from the high ceiling reached down towards the tables holding a single light at each end. They dangled above the heads of customers, looming romantically. It was as if a medieval castle moved in to downtown Manhattan.

“Hello,” Preston said smiling down at the artists.

“Hi,” the three diners chimed as if practiced.

“How are you enjoying everything tonight?” His face displayed a pleasant, unworried demeanor. Gone with his apron was the darkness in his eyes.

“We love it,” the gorgeous brunette leaned in, her cleavage resting on the table. Women always fell all over Preston.

“All of you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling at the young man farthest from him. He responded raising his eyebrows and his glass of Chardonnay. “What is your name?” Preston asked.

He blushed across his sharp cheekbones, his friend giggled and the brunette put her glass down and rolled her eyes.

“I’m Thomas.”

“Hello, Thomas.” Preston said.

“What about you, Chef?” the brunette gave it one more shot.

“My name is Preston, Blue Eyes,” he said giving her a wink and a winning smile.

“Preston, I’m Shannon, but you can call me whatever you want, whenever you want.”

“It’s all honestly been phenomenal,” their tablemate added shaking his head at Shannon, “worth coming all the way downtown for, really. I’m Brendan, by the way.”

Preston crossed his arms across his chest and leveled his eyes on Thomas, “Can I interest you in something sweet tonight?”

“We were just saying how full we were,” Shannon said.

“I might be persuaded,” Thomas smiled.

“Great. I’ll take care of it then,” Preston said. “Thank you all for coming. I am truly pleased it was to your liking.”

With that the chef gave a little nod that was almost a bow and retreated back across the restaurant into the kitchen.

The actors were left to review the chef’s performance.

“I like him,” Thomas said watching Preston walk away.

“I guess,” Brendan smirked, “if you’re into the obnoxiously gorgeous, charming, successful thing.”

“I am,” Thomas said.

“We know,” Brendan threw a piece of bread crust at him laughing, “pick your mouth up off the table.”

“I like that he called me ‘blue eyes’,” Shannon said. “There is something old fashioned about him. And did you notice he didn’t stop at any other table?”

“Honey,” Brendan said, “he doesn’t play for your team.”
 “Oh, let me have my fantasy,” Shannon pouted, “you don’t get all the pretty ones.”

“We generally do,” Thomas said seriously, “but I’m not sure about this one.”

“He asked you your name, and ignored me completely. Clearly, he doesn’t like wolves,” Brendan said bitterly, “just pups.”

“Well,” Shannon said to Thomas, “he might have recognized you.”
 “Please!” Brendan scoffed, “chefs don’t go to the theater. And Thomas is not that well known.”

“How do you know chefs don’t go to the theater?” Thomas narrowed his eyes at Brendan.

“They don’t have time. They work more than we do. They’re creatures of the night,” he said lowering his voice and giving Thomas back the squinty eyes.

“Amazing lovers,” Shannon said looking up at the ceiling and resting her running her fingers along her throat and down to her clavicle. “Passionate.”

“Lucky you,” Brendan raised his Bordeaux glass to Thomas’s and chimed it. The sound was rich and full, like the room.

“You both are lucky bitches,” Shannon echoed and finished her wine. “Meanwhile, I can’t eat dessert. I can’t fuck the chef. I can’t play in your stupid boys club. So, I’m not paying. Savor that.”

She rose, curtsied, and left.

“Brava,” Brendan slow clapped.

“That was dramatic,” Thomas said dryly.

“Let her go, maybe when the chef comes back he’ll look at me for a second.”

“He’s not coming back,” Thomas said eyeing the server with their dessert.

“Now he’s breaking my heart,” Brendan pouted.

“Gentleman, here we have a chocolate ganache tartlet with fresh raspberry compote,” the very cute server said meticulously. “Enjoy.”

“Oh, we will,” Brendan winked.

On the plate sat a small pastry in the shape of a heart. It had a chocolate crust and thick chocolate filling. Underneath it was a splattering of thick raspberry syrup. It looked like blood had been spilled.

“Jesus,” Brendan said leaning over the table to see the dessert from the top. “This is dramatic.”

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

“It appears to be a bloody heart,” Brendan replied distastefully.

“It looks like the plate was at the scene of a crime,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “Do you think he intends it to be ironic?”

“I don’t see how he couldn’t.”

“I still think he’s straight,” Thomas mused.

“Maybe closeted,” Brendan laughed and picked up his fork, “this looks like some pent up shit right here. Oh my god, it’s delicious,” he said with his hand over his mouth.

“Eat your heart out,” Thomas laughed and Brendan cackled back at him.

Preston watched Thomas through the kitchen window as he ate the desert. He watched Thomas’s mouth as a drop of raspberry sauce dripped down the side and his tongue reached for it. The scowl and the apron had both returned to Preston’s thin, jagged frame.

“Well, I can’t possibly eat or drink anything else,” Brendan said. “Are you going to give him your number or are we going to grow old waiting for him to come back?”

“Please, I am not going to be that guy,” Thomas said defensively. “The one who just runs over and gives him my number.”

“Since when?!”

“Since now. Did you see him?”

“You’re right, better to play it cool… and never see him again.”

“Something tells me I will see him again.”

“Foreshadowing yourself?” Brendan smiled.

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

Thomas turned towards the kitchen before he left, but he didn’t catch another glimpse of Preston that night.

The chef was in the walk-in cooler organizing the inventory. He was meticulous about freshness, one of the many things that made him so successful at his job. He had a reputation among his staff for being able to smell a single piece of turned product upon entering his walk-in, an impressive feat, considering it was kept at a shivery 36 degrees. Preston spent more time in there than anyone, same with the meat locker. He insisted they butchered their own meat, and did most of it himself.

* * *

Thomas had never been a lonely person. Especially not now. A young, beautiful, Broadway star, he barely had any time to himself. Lately though, even when he wasn’t alone, he found himself looking for a reason to go downtown.

He couldn’t get Preston’s green eyes out of his head. Or the sea bass that he’d eaten. He told himself it was the sea bass that had him longing to return to that new, trendy restaurant, and not the head chef. Lying to yourself is futile though, and he knew lying to his friend Brendan would be just as fruitless.

“Let’s go downtown tonight,” Thomas whispered to Brendan while they stood waiting in the wings.

Brendan raised an eyebrow, Thomas just nodded and shrugged.

“Fine,” Brendan mouthed and rolled his eyes.

The two men exited the stage door into the cold night. A few fans waiting for their autographs were met with smiles and a quick flick of the sharpee. They turned towards 7th Avenue to catch a cab. Their tight jeans and leather jackets punctuated their perfect bodies, and were starkly contrasted by the rest of the tourists on the street.

“Black Garlic,” Thomas said to the driver, “downtown right across from Chelsea Market.”

“We’re going right back into his restaurant?” Brendan mused. “I thought you weren’t that guy.”

“Well, I heard of a fabulous club next door, but who goes to a club before midnight? I figure we go to the bar at Black Garlic and have a martini there first.”

“I never refuse a martini. I don’t remember seeing a bar, though.”

“There has to be a bar,” Thomas said thoughtfully.

“Maybe we’ll have to ask the chef about it,” Brendan winked.

“I love the name,” Thomas mused, “Black Garlic.”

“Oh, I read a piece in the Times about it. Black garlic is sought after in haute cuisine. Very trendy.”

“It sounds so gothic,” Thomas said watching the city lights go by.

“Hello,” Thomas smiled at the hostess. “Where is the bar?”

“Right through there,” she pointed behind her, away from the restaurant, “just behind that curtain.”

“Thank you so much,” Thomas turned and smiled at Brendan.
 “Now this is gothic,” Brendan said ducking under a thick black curtain held back with a golden rope, tassel and all. “And when I say gothic, I mean gaudy.”

“It’s like a lair,” Thomas said turning around to see every angle.

A large crystal chandelier was situated centrally in the small rectangular space. It was lit dimly, and seemed to be the only light in the room. The darkness was enveloping. It felt romantic in a very last century way.

“They make a damn good martini, I will give them that,” Brendan said holding up his glass to the bartender. “Cheers,” he winked.

“Good, now can you relax?” 
 “I’ll let you know after I finish this,” Brendan took a generous sip. “I feel like a spider might crawl across my neck at any time.”
 “It’s just dark in here, it’s not dirty,” Thomas said.

“How would you know?” Brendan wondered, resisting the urge to drag his finger over the closest shelf.

The room was not large. The bar only seated about six people. It was plush, with a palette of deep reds, purples and black. The kind of place you could lose yourself in, had you not wanted to be found.

“I think it’s enchanting,” Thomas said.

Two martinis in and their moods had shifted. Brendan had warmed to the place, more so to the hunky bartender, and Thomas had turned sour having yet to see the chef, nor any plan of how to see him. They decided to walk to the club. The bartender knew it and said it was the best party in town on any given night and that they should head over before it got too busy. Brendan gave him his number and told him to come find him when he got off, to get off. Thomas gagged and looked towards the kitchen window. No Preston.

The cold air and the stark streetlights made for a grimy scene in the meatpacking district if you’d had just the right amount of gin. Thomas was just hazy enough to start questioning everything. Had Preston even been than cute? Was he actually straight? Were his eyes even that green? The more space he put between himself and the restaurant the more ridiculous it all seemed. By the time they rounded the corner to the club Thomas had vowed to forget about chef Preston.

There was a line and Brendan was just tipsy enough to walk past it, directly to the bouncer.

“Hey,” Brendan said in a deep, serious voice that made Thomas smirk.

“You on a list?” the bouncer asked without looking at them.

“Look at this face,” Brendan said taking it up an octave. “Do you expect me to freeze my ass out here with these peasants?”

The bouncer looked at Brendan and smiled. “Go on in, honeys.”
 “Thanks, buttercup,” Brendan called on his way inside.

Thomas loved going anywhere with Brendan. He was just so ridiculously handsome. People couldn’t help but fall for his sass. That’s why it was so odd that Preston had singled me out, Thomas thought. He shook his head trying to get the memory out of it.

“Shots!” Brendan said at the bar.

“Are you drunk?” Thomas asked.

 “We have to work tomorrow!”
 “Please don’t spoil my fun. You’re the one who dragged me down here.”

“One shot,” Thomas relented.

“Famous last words,” Brendan called out as he waved money in the air trying to attract the bartender’s attention.

The club really was heating up to be the best party in town. High ceilings and walls with the lingering smell of meat, from all the years it was a meatpacking warehouse, were draped in billowy, white satin. The DJ was up on the second level looking over the dance floor like a demigod pounding his gospel into the souls below. There were green laser lights flashing, a giant disco ball spinning, and strobes that made it almost impossible to get a good look at anyone. Everyone got to be a little vague.

“One more?” Brendan begged.

“That was two too many,” Thomas yelled back.

“Fine! Let’s dance!”

The music was extra loud, even for a club. The bass pulsated through the room and all the bodies in it. Thomas and Brendan were extraordinary dancers and had their choice of dance partners, many who could keep right up. Thomas was lost in the music and the hottie in front of him making him work.

He had finally let go when a face across the room caught his eye and brought him spinning back. He blinked and wiped the sweat from his brow. He spun around and tried to focus, the lights playing tricks. He spun again and this time he caught him in focus. Preston, with his mysterious smile and deep, dark eyes, that were staring right back, fixed on him.

Thomas walked off the dance floor towards Preston. All of a sudden the music didn’t seem so loud, the lights didn’t seem so bright and his brain didn’t feel so fuzzy. Time had slowed. The club had been muted. He got closer and Preston rose.

“Hello,” Preston said smiling.

“Hi,” Thomas said.

“I was hoping to see you,” Preston said.

“You were?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?”
 “I don’t know,” Thomas asked dumbly, feeling dazed again, but not because of the alcohol.

They stood there smiling at each other. Thomas seeming confused and Preston the slightest bit eager. He was thinner without his chefs coat, lithesome.

“Would you like to go somewhere quiet?” Preston asked.

Thomas nodded and he grabbed him by the hand.

Brendan had noticed Thomas’s absence and thought he’d gone to the bathroom. As he looked towards the back of the club for him he saw Preston leading Thomas upstairs. That dirty slut, he thought laughing loudly to himself. He let out a “whoop” and danced with increasing vigor.

Thomas felt as if he was in a dream. Preston’s hand felt cool and soft, otherworldly almost, as if he wasn’t real. He knew he wasn’t imagining it, but there was something ethereal about the moment. He never wanted it to end. Preston’s eyes looked into him like no one ever had. It left him almost speechless when he smiled.

They walked away from the music down a dark hallway and ascended another staircase climbing two more stories up. Preston pushed a door open and held it while Thomas stepped over an iron threshold that led to a fire escape. The sound disappeared into a vacuum behind them. They were on a ledge on the side of a building in the wee hours of the night. The wind was blowing in his face, even before Thomas realized how cold he was, Preston had slipped his beautiful jacket off and wrapped the soft brown leather around his shoulders. 
 “Thank you,” Thomas said. His breath forming puffs in front of his mouth. “You aren’t cold?”

“No, I’m not,” Preston smiled and there was something behind his emerald eyes that was playful. They sparkled like he had a secret he was hoping to share.

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

“What is what?” Preston cocked his head like a puppy.

He was so intriguing. He made Thomas nervous. There was something else though, something off about him that Thomas couldn’t put his finger on. It was hard to tell because he couldn’t remember being looked at the way that Preston was now. This man was fixed on his eyes like he could see into the depths of his soul.

“Tell me about yourself, Thomas,” Preston said.

“I’m just a small town boy,” Thomas smiled, “trying to making it big in the city.”

“Where are you from?”


“Kentucky?” Preston smiled real big.

“Is that funny?”
 “A little, yeah. Louisville?”

“South of there, Elizabethtown.”

“That is a small town. Close to where Abraham Lincoln was born, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Thomas said. “Not many people know that. Are you a fan of Lincoln?”

“Not particularly, I just enjoy history.” Preston said. “What brought you to New York City?”

“Oh, there isn’t much taste for Broadway singers in Kentucky,” Peter said looking down, “I miss it sometimes.”

“You’ve lost your accent completely.” 
 “I’ve always been desperate to sound just like Paul Newman. How am I doing?”
 “Not bad,” Preston laughed. “Not bad at all. I certainly didn’t think you were from Kentucky.”

Preston’s eyes were intoxicating. They didn’t seem to notice another thing in the world besides Thomas, even thought to Thomas it felt like they were standing on the edge of it.

“What about you, Preston, where are you from?” Thomas asked.

“Oh, I’m from New York City, I suppose. An immigrant by way of somewhere, like the rest of us.”

“You grew up in the city?” Thomas asked looking out into the city lights shining across the night.

“One could say that. Can I ask you something?” Preston stepped a little closer to Thomas.

“Something else?” Thomas flirted, “anything.”

“Are you single?”

“That I am,” Thomas said.

“How could someone so beautiful be single?” Preston asked.

Thomas laughed. “I ask myself that all the time.”

“I’m serious,” Preston went on. “I saw you at my restaurant. I saw you on the dance floor. The way you sip your wine. The way you move your body. You might be the most captivating person I have ever encountered.”

Thomas started to notice that it was the way Preston spoke, which made him seem old fashioned. He said each word slowly, with intention. He didn’t use slang, and hardly used conjunctions. Thomas never wanted him to stop talking. Never wanted to go back inside.

Then he figured out what was so strange.

“Your breath,” Thomas said, “why can’t I see it?”

Preston puckered his lips and blew air from his mouth but there was no condensation formed by the cold. Thomas exhaled and sure enough a big white smoke cloud came out.

“You’re not cold, but you’re not hot,” Thomas said looking him up and down. “What are you?”

The question loomed between them. Thomas heard the music of the club beating behind him and felt the pulse pumping through him. He felt an animalistic desire to taste Preston’s lips. He wanted to kiss him but none of his instincts made sense with this guy. He was an enigma.

“Do you trust me?” Preston asked.

“I don’t even know you,” Thomas said smiling.

“But do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Thomas said biting his lip, “sure.”

“Put that jacket on,” Preston said and waited while Thomas obeyed. “Now zip it up.”

Thomas felt the warm suede close over him. The anticipation of the moment was making him sweat even though it was freezing out. Preston could smell the oils of the leather warming against Thomas’s skin and had to shut his eyes against the desire it stirred within him. He took a deep breath and let it out. When he opened his eyes Thomas was staring at him, puzzled.

“You are a real treasure, Thomas,” Preston said, “you do know that.”

“I don’t believe I know anything anymore, Preston.”

“Perfect,” Preston said and wrapped his arms around Thomas. “Hold on,” he said and jumped.

They flew off the roof like they were rocket powered. Thomas felt the speed pulling at his long hair and heard it like pressure in his ears. They landed on the roof, several stories up, a split second later. Preston let go of Thomas slowly, gauging his response. He had a reserved kind of smile, like he was nervous and excited.

“Well,” Preston said, his eyes twinkling.

“Is that all you got?” Thomas asked, adrenaline pumping through him like lightning. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Oh, no,” Preston smiled wide, “we’re just getting started.”

He wrapped his arms around him again and this time Thomas wiggled his arms loose and grabbed Preston’s face, he had meant to kiss him but before he knew it Preston was on the other side of the roof. Thomas was left standing there alone. He was hard, and he wanted Preston right there on the rooftop. The exhilaration of what just happened was making his blood pump through his veins like a winning racehorse. He could hardly breathe and the passion was turning dark as he stood there deserted.

“You can’t do that,” Preston said, taking a step towards him.

“Why are you so far away?” Thomas asked, his jaw tightening.

“I need you to trust me.”
 “Are you fucking with me?”

“I like you,” Preston said, “I’m unnaturally attracted to you in a romantic way.”

“Why is it unnatural?”

“Because I’m not like you.”

“Yeah, I get that. What are you like a superhero?”

“Something like that.”
 “So vague!” Thomas screamed.

Preston walked slowly back across the roof. Now that Thomas was upset it seemed safer for him to be close to him.

“It’s very complicated,” Preston said. “Can I just show you the good parts before I reveal all the bad.”

“What could be so bad?” Thomas asked.

The comic books he loved as a kid flashed through his mind, drawings of the love interest in the arms of a giant squid, strapped to a nuclear weapon, or dangling from the Brooklyn Bridge. But those are comic books, he thought, I can handle whatever danger he is talking about.

“Show me,” Thomas said, “I want to see everything.”

“Ok,” I’m going to get behind you this time. So you can see.”

“That’s all I’ve been asking for,” Thomas smiled slyly.

“Easy, tiger,” Preston said and wrapped his arms around him.

They flew off of the roof and onto a higher one, this time barely pausing to jump again to the next higher one. They flew by the people at the rooftop bar of the Gansevoort and Thomas yelled for them to look, but either they couldn’t hear or they were too drunk to notice. He screamed again, a howl this time, and he could hear Preston in his ear telling him not to excite him too much back there.

His eyes watered and his mouth was dry but he couldn’t keep it closed he was smiling too big and laughing. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The buildings whizzed by below them, his personal rocket pack holding him so tight he never felt nervous. It was invigoration like he never knew possible. More than singing on a Broadway stage, more than ecstasy or cocaine, more than the best sex. We’re flying, Thomas thought, and just like that everything he knew about reality changed.

From the top of the Brooklyn Bridge, they watched as the sun broke over the horizon. It took the purple out of the sky and colored the face of Manhattan gold. Each building in the uneven toothy surface protruding from the tiny island was draped in a halo of the suns long slumber. The water rippled a sea of diamonds below them.

“It’s magnificent,” Thomas said.

“It is,” Preston sighed, “the very best sunrise view.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Thomas said, “but…”

“Do we have to?” Preston asked. “Can’t we just stay here, like this, forever?”

Thomas yawned and laid his head on Preston’s shoulder. Preston hadn’t yawned once. He didn’t even seem tired. Thomas thought about how Preston didn’t breathe out hot air, and wasn’t freezing all night like he had been. How he had disappeared when he tried to kiss him. The odd historical facts he knew, and that he never really said where he was from. Thomas’s head popped up.

“How old are you?” he asked.

Preston sighed, “you’re going to figure me out now, aren’t you? You’re not just pretty, you’re smart too.”

“Are you a…”
 “A what?” Preston smiled and right before Thomas’s eyes his four canine teeth grew into fangs.

“A vampire,” Thomas whispered.

Preston jumped down to the wide cord on the bridge. He wanted space between himself and Thomas. He didn’t want to hurt him, and while he desired him sexually, and not hungrily, he had never had to distinguish between the feelings before, and wasn’t sure how difficult it might be.

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me kiss you,” Thomas said. “Will I ever be able to?”

Preston jumped back up to Thomas with the biggest smile on his face.

“You still want to kiss me?” Preston asked.

“That’s all I’ve wanted since you first laid your sexy green eyes on me.”

“I see,” Preston put his palms together and rested them against his mouth in a contemplative sort of way. “You do understand I’m a vampire though, yes?”
 “You want to suck my blood?” Thomas asked.

“No,” Preston said, “that’s the odd part. I like you too much. I wouldn’t want to kill you.”

“Then kiss me,” Thomas said and leaned in closer. “If you don’t want to hurt me, you won’t.”
 “You underestimate my apptite,” Preston said.

“And you underestimate mine,” Thomas responded and pressed his lips against Preston’s.