Chapter 27 #2
He arched his back, but didn’t entirely break himself free from my hold.
His eyes bleak, he thumped half-heartedly at my rib cage with loose fists.
“I was dreaming about Trace.” He shook his head.
“I like him. I really do. Except I want to be with you. I know you treat me like a boyfriend and say you love me, but I know it’s not real, because it’s a stupid fantasy, isn’t it?
I’m pathetic. A washed-up, ill-educated loser who was an easy target, first for him, and then as a source of blood on tap.
” Okay, that one hurts, James. “We don’t even fuck because I’m a messed up, useless virgin, but I have a sodding sex dream about our on-off house guest who fucks you because I can’t.
He’d be a much better boyfriend than me.
But I want you. Why didn’t I dream about you? ”
All the fight went out of him as he suddenly sagged against me.
“I’m not even really certain I fancy Trace.
” A hitch in his breathing. “No, I do, that’s a lie.
I do. I don’t want to fancy him because I’m such a useless wanker who can’t even fuck the man he’s sure about.
” A ragged sniff. “Trace is really nice and I get on so well with him. He’s kind, and he’s hot, sort of—no, definitely.
Oh God, maybe I just like his personality?
Perhaps I do want to fuck him and I’m repressing it.
Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me, Eddie? I just want to be normal.”
Oh, sweetheart. There was so much to unpick that my brain felt like it was boiling in my skull. I would have to deal with most of what he’d said later. My knees felt weak with relief that Cormack hadn’t been involved. The rest we could sort through given time, I hoped.
I drew him with me to the sofa and dragged him down to sit on my lap, enveloping us both in the blanket I now kept there for exactly this purpose.
“I’m going to hold you for a bit, then I’ll make you a cup of tea.
You’ve obviously been bottling up a ton of shit, probably unconsciously seeing as you’ve totally overreacted to a wet dream, and given yourself a right shock by the looks of it, but we don’t have to deal with it this minute. Cuddle, then tea, all right?”
“Yeah, okay.” Reluctant, but I’d take it.
He curled himself into a ball on my lap, tucking himself under the blanket.
I could hear his heart hammering, but as I ran my hand in slow circles over his back, his breathing evened out and his pulse rate returned to normal.
He slept then, probably exhausted by his outburst. He was out cold for about an hour.
I was content to simply hold him. My mind, however, didn’t stop whirring.
How had I believed he was doing so much better than he evidently had been?
I felt wretched. My poor boy. Guilt drenched me; how had I been so wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself about not getting fucked for a few days that I’d missed the signs that James was falling apart?
Had there been signs? Surely there must have been.
When he stirred, he was confused at first to realise we weren’t in bed. Then, his pulse kicked off when he evidently remembered how we’d ended up in the living room. I kissed his sweaty head and waited for him to wake up properly.
“So,” I ventured, when I could sense he was calm enough to listen, “this business about you not considering us boyfriends, huh?” His pulse shot up again.
“Why would you think you can’t call yourself my boyfriend?
You already know I love you.” Another pulse spike.
I recommenced rubbing more circles on his back, interspersing the movements with a light pressure over the knobbles of his spine.
Eventually, he said, under his breath and into my chest, “I can’t be your boyfriend. We don’t have sex.”
I huffed a silent laugh. “I was born in the 1800s, darling. Marriage came before fucking. Well,” I amended, “not all the time obviously, but it was theoretically supposed to. And we do have sex, fuck, make love, whatever you want to call it. We just don’t do anything that involves anal.
Which is perfectly fine with me, as you know, because I remind you I’m fine with it every time we remove our clothes.
We can absolutely call ourselves boyfriends if you’d like.
If you want to call it something more than that too, I’d be thrilled.
” I already told you I’m in love with you, darling.
It felt like an eternity before he raised his head to look me in the face. “Really?” The naked hope in his eyes made me swallow hard. We’d been through a version of this before and I’d truly believed he knew I was sincere. What had caused him to doubt me, or Trace, or himself, this badly?
I didn’t know if we could change anything to help him believe me, but I already knew I’d agree to pretty much anything he asked of me.
Since James had toppled through the doorway of Sorley’s flat looking like the victim of abuse he unfortunately had been, I’d known I was a goner.
I’d even gone as far as to be deliberately callous in the way I referred to him — in front of him too, to my shame — in the hope I’d convince myself I didn’t give two shits about him.
That plan had failed spectacularly. The moment my sire had arrived and I’d felt compelled to publicly claim James as mine, I’d known I was smitten.
I was grateful on an hourly basis that he was at the very least physically attracted to me.
Hearing him state we were like boyfriends had touched a part of me I’d long since thought dead.
Academically, we were boyfriends. Same as me and Trace.
And Trace and James, because if you were using sex as a definition of a relationship, then stop fucking gatekeeping, because what about asexual folks?
The affection was there, clear and true from Trace’s side, and I was positive James felt the same, even if he wasn’t ready to call what we had love.
He knew, I was sure he did, which made his wobble rather scary.
I was out of my depth. But there was only me here right now, so I had to be enough.
Ignoring his less-than-fragrant morning breath, a ridiculous description in a vampire household when we rose in the afternoon, I kissed him sweetly.
“I would be honoured to be your official boyfriend, or anything else you’d like to label our relationship. I’m kicking myself I never made this explicitly clear before now. But, before we continue this conversation, I promised you a cup of tea. Wait there. I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t wait, of course. When I returned, he smelled of soap and toothpaste and a little bit of anticipation. I handed him the mug and clinked my own against it. “Cheers.”
“You’re drinking tea?” He looked disbelieving.
I shrugged. “Why not? You love the stuff so much, it has to be good for something. Besides, it feels as though we should mark today. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend for…
wow, over a century.” I need to speak to Trace.
We’ve not discussed this either. Baxter would kick my arse into next week if she knew how stupid I’ve been.
I gave James the brightest smile I could muster, although it wasn’t a great effort, but I wasn’t used to talking about my past. “I suppose I should tell you about Bertie.”