"You never buy anything anyway, so who cares?"
"I bloody do, " I insist, before adding quietly, "sometimes."
Mark grins. "Looking for anything in particular? Any one?"
I can never work out if he's flirting, or if this is just his barman shtick, designed to put patrons at ease, make sure they keep coming back. Not that I'm much of a customer anyway; he said I never buy anything, and he's nearly right. I'm usually too jittery to stay much longer than an hour or so, unless there's someone I know here, or a barman like him to chat to. He knows I'm a vampire. The only times I've drunk something he's offered, it's come in a glass or a bottle, not an artery.
"Maybe I can get you something on the house."
I raise my head sharply; he'd offered me drinks gratis before, but there was a note of teasing in his words this time. He's not even looking at me, but he nods at something over my left shoulder, and I turn to look.
Sean hovers near the wall across the room, the angle and contours of a decorative column casting the upper half of his face into shadow. I still recognise him though, the shape of his jaw, his stance. One hand in his jeans pocket, the other curled around a glass. He raises it in salute before draining it and setting it down on a nearby table.
I turn back to Mark, but he's moved on to someone else farther along the bar, either to flirt or serve. Possibly both. He catches my eye for a split second, winks, and I'm forgotten.
"Hey."
Sometimes, I long for the days of, "Good evening," or "Mind if I join you?" but people call me old-fashioned for that. Alyssa makes fun. Or even "takes the piss" as she calls it---I still can't get used to the vulgarity of women swearing these days. Indeed, even men do it far too much for my liking, and it's a habit I'm prone to picking up myself, despite attempts to resist.
Sean takes the seat next to mine and leans on the bar, his other hand resting on his knee, occasionally finger-tapping it as if he's nervous.
"Fancy seeing you here," he continues.
"Just felt like getting out of the house." I shrug but know my fake casualness doesn't fool anyone.
Last night, I'd headed straight home after drinking from that nameless vampire, slightly ashamed but at least with a satisfied thirst. My own company got to me; I could only take so much of sitting in an armchair reading Les Miserables before going mad. So here I am, in a corpse-friendly bar being chatted up, I believe is the phrase, by a...oh, how I despise this nickname...a previous fuck-buddy.
"You thirsty tonight?" He's not talking about beer.
"Not really." I stare down at the scuffed wooden bar, wondering why I bothered coming here in the first place. A furtive wank and shame- filled afterglow would have the same effect as being with Sean, only with less preamble.
"Fancy going outside?"
Okay, forget the preamble then. This, I can deal with. I lift my head and must look some kind of surprised, because Sean laughs.
"Well, if you're not thirsty..." He shrugs, looking away for a moment, his eyes losing focus.
"What else are you here for?"
Yeah, but with you, though? I want to ask, immediately regretting my inner cruelty. He could be anyone; it's not his fault I hate my life and almost everyone in it. He could be anyone indeed.
"Boredom." I shrug, wondering if that inner cruelty has bled into my voice. Wondering if I care. "Needing to get out of the house."
Sean bites his lip, narrows his eyes. I know exactly what he's thinking of. He's just uncertain of whether or not to voice it. How to phrase the proposition.
And I hop off the barstool, deciding to atone for my, albeit hidden, malice by saying it for him. I keep my eyes on him so he knows the fact that I head for the door isn't a deliberate snub. "Aren't you coming?"
No, he's not.
Sean's on his knees in an alleyway somewhere near the bar we've just left. I don't know how we got here, but it's surely only taken a couple of minutes to find a semi-secluded place for him to suck me off.
I don't need to wear this long coat or the scarf; I don't feel the cold after all. But the folds of the coat mean if anyone does stumble this way, at least Sean won't immediately be identified.
Someone walking in on us wouldn't have time to put a name to his face before turning away in shock and embarrassment, muttering an inarticulate apology for having disturbed us. It's happened before. One gets used to it. The simple solution would be take him back to my place, but that's an intimacy too far.
I won't let him into my flat, but I will let him suck my cock. He's so good at it, after all.
Enthusiastic. And the guy's got no fucking gag reflex. My balls practically hit off his chin as he swallows another couple of inches. I'd think he was trying to eat me alive if I weren't already dead.
"Oh fuck." It takes a few seconds for me to realise it was me who spoke. And my fingers tangle in his hair, holding him in place. Not that he'd dare move away or stop before I finish, but it's automatic. A couple more flicks of his tongue is all it takes to make me shoot my wad down the back of his throat. A word of exclamation or relief catches at the back of mine. It doesn't make it.
As soon as I lift my hand away from the back of his--- Sean's. Fuck. I can do him the courtesy of using his name---head, he hauls himself to his feet. By the time he makes a show of wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of
