"And society has a new group to hate," I mutter, then shake myself out of my maudlin state.
Sinking into the past yet again? That just wouldn't do at all.
"It's bad enough being gay and not knowing where a random homophobe will pop up. Being a vampire, as well? I'm sure I saw a headline in the Daily Mail the other day, blaming the undead for rising house prices."
Against my will, I snort with laughter, and Adam grins, no doubt thinking he's got me. The seduction has begun. Oh, we fucked like crazy in that hotel room, and I'm almost hard again at the thought, but the kind of seduction that makes Adam dangerous is his ability to fuck with someone's mind. I've been inside his body; now he's determined to get inside my head, if I know him at all.
"Kitchen," he says, as if reciting the names of each room will help him remember the layout of the place. "No food?" He opens and closes a few cupboard doors, and I surprise myself by doing nothing to stop him. "You choose not to eat?"
"Don't need to." I lean against the doorframe, fold my arms, and shrug. It's almost amusing, watching him satisfy his curiosity about how I live, how I pass my days while the human race bustles by outside.
"No, we don't need to, but don't you ever miss food for its own sake?" He pushes a drawer closed, grimacing at the paltry number of knives and forks I own. "Sensual pleasure and all that."
"I have other ways of amusing myself."
"I'll just bet you do." He sidles past, taking a split second to place a hand over my crotch and give me a gentle squeeze. A warning, in the sense of I'm not done with you, yet.
"For goodness' sake, Adam; not everything's about flirting."
"Isn't it? Hmm. Is this supposed to be a bedroom? I assume that room at the front of the flat is the living room?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
He tuts, and, not having entered the room, turns on the spot and stares at me with that are you stupid look on his face. "There's no bed in it, Nathan."
"So? I don't sleep. We don't sleep."
"I know we don't, Nathan." He looks me up and down again.
Good God; he hasn't changed at all. Still insatiable.
A shiver of desire ripples my spine. I try to deny that I want to fuck him again, but what else did I think was going to happen here? I'd show off my house, then Adam would be off somewhere else before the sun rose, maybe to a local safe house or dead man's hotel before returning to his former life?
"Stop. Flirting."
"Bit hard to stop flirting with the guy who had his cock up my arse for hours not so long ago." His gaze lingers on the place I want his hands to be.
"In fact, I'd say it was very hard."
"Stop it." I shift my weight from foot to foot and clear my throat unnecessarily, just to create some noise. A distraction. To give myself time to think of a way to handle this.
Adam smirks and turns back to viewing the bedroom-without-a-bed. "Bookcases and an easy chair?"
"I like to read."
"That cupboard in the corner; I assume that's where you keep all your clothes?"
"It's called a built-in wardrobe."
"I know that; I'm not stupid. I'm so not stupid that I could tell you without opening the damn thing that you have all your shirts laundered and ironed, hanging according to colour; same with trousers all immaculately pressed, creases down the front so sharp, you could shave your balls with them."
"Ha bloody ha. Have you quite finished?"
"I could prove it to you, if you like---"
"No, no, that's quite all right." My interruption stops him in his tracks. The thought of Adam feeling so at ease in my home as to wander round, inspecting different rooms and even raking through my wardrobe sets my (very sharp) teeth on edge.
I feel the frown wrinkling my brow as I follow Adam into the room he correctly surmised earlier is the living room, where he flips on the overhead light, just as he did in every other room he visited.
I can't kick him out. Not when we've both travelled all this way. It wouldn't be right. My image of myself as a welcoming host would come crashing down around my ears, and yes, yes, yes, I admit it: I want to get laid. It'd be so much easier to fuck Adam into submission than go out to some gay bar or vampire-friendly club, small talk, pretence, your place or mine, all that bullshit.
Whereas Adam's a sure thing, much as it pains me to acknowledge that. Doing so means I'm no gentleman.
"More books in here, huh?" Bookcases line the walls, and a few paperbacks sit, with markers in, on the coffee table. "You should get an e- reader. Save space."
"What else would I have in here?"
"Ooh, I dunno. It's a basement flat, right? You could build yourself a sex dungeon. Spanking bench, St. Andrew's cross, a storage cupboard for all your floggers, whips, canes, that sort of thing."
"I don't have any floggers, whips, or---"
"Yes." Adam sighs heavily, an obvious affectation. "More's the pity."
My throat closes up at the thought of him splayed across a spanking bench, begging me to---
"You all right?"
"What?" I shake those thoughts out of my traitorous head, or try to, and bring myself back to the present. "Yeah. Sure."
"Hmm." Adam's lips twitch. He knows what I was thinking, the bastard. "You looked a bit distracted for a moment."
"Really," I deadpan, praying for something to happen to interrupt this damned uncomfortable conversation. Flirtation. Sparring match. Whatever the hell it is.
"Yeah, as if my mentioning a sex dungeon made you think of me---"
I have never been so grateful for my mobile ringing in my entire existence as I am right now.
Given the nature of the conversation
