Vale: A Short Erotic Vampire Romance Story Page 2

  * * * * *

  There was a diner serving breakfast on the corner and Sebastian ordered a coffee and pretended to sip it, so that he could sit alone at a booth and think. From the glances of the other customers, he suspected they thought he was recovering from a hangover. The lack of a tie and his seedy, wrinkled appearance made it look that way.

  He rested his chin on his fist and watched the world walk past the window. In many ways, it felt like he had been on a binge. He couldn’t drink, although it would have simplified things if he could. Instead, he had been over-indulging in the one thing he could do; sex, with whomever and whatever he could.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had been home to the little apartment on Ashbury Street. If he’d had a cat or a plant, they would have perished by now. There was no need to go home when beds were easy to find somewhere else—beds that weren’t empty.

  It had never occurred to Sebastian that anyone would find him attractive, not until he settled in San Francisco and started visiting bars simply as a way to pass the time. When he received three discreet propositions on the same night, he had fallen into the sink hole he had just walked out of. Women with good reputations would never been seen in such bars, and he couldn’t be bothered dealing with the protracted courtship and marriage that would be required to find one. Instead, he fucked anyone who asked. Sometimes, three or four different partners in a night. He could catch none of the social diseases, and the women he had sex with wouldn’t conceive from his cum.

  It had become almost like being drunk, Sebastian suspected. He couldn’t properly remember the last few weeks. Longer than that, really. It wasn’t that he had forgotten. He didn’t want to remember. Any of them. The people he had screwed were a long, blurred line of faces and bodies.

  He had sat up this morning, for the first time alert and aware, looked at the middle-aged couple he had spent the long night hours with, and wondered why he was there.

  Time for truth, Bastian, he told himself.

  There was a Bell Telephone Company pay phone at the back of the diner. Sebastian dug out all his spare change, settled himself in front of the phone and dialed zero. “I’d like to place a long distance call,” he told the operator with the sweet voice that answered, “but I don’t know the number. Can you look it up for me?”

  * * * * *

  Nial could hear his phone ringing from down the road and put on a spurt of speed – not enough to call attention to himself, but faster than he normally allowed himself. It could be anyone, he told himself. It was about one in the afternoon and as more and more residents of Inverness installed telephones, calls became more frequent and letters fewer. He was on three different boards and four committees. The card club where he kept his hand in with some light fleecing every now and again thought he was an upstanding member – most of his so-called social life originated with club members…and their wives. Why he should suddenly think that Sebastian might call after five years was beyond ken.

  He knew he was going to miss the call before he got the key into the lock. The telephone fell silent as he stepped inside.

  Nial sighed and tossed his coat over the wing chair. There was no one around to tell him to hang it up.

  Then the phone rang again, and he jumped, startled, for he was standing right next to it. He picked it up, fumbling, which told him much about his state. Don’t get your hopes up.

  “Donaldson residence,” he said cautiously.

  The line crackled and buzzed. “This is the United States calling.” The woman had a strong Yankee accent. “I have a person to person call from Sebastian Worthington to Nathanial Aquila.” She garbled the pronunciation of his last name.

  Sebastian, you’re letting down your guard again, Nial mentally chided him. Aquila was not the name he was using now, and he doubted Sebastian was using his real name either. But at the same time, he was smiling. “That is me,” he said. “I’ll accept the call.”

  “Go ahead,” the operator said, and there was a click as she connected the call.

  “Nial?” It was Sebastian’s voice.

  Nial rested his head against the wall. Relief and happiness were making him feel light headed. He couldn’t control his heart. It had slipped free. “Bastian,” he breathed.

  Sebastian made a sound. It might have been a choking sound. The line was distorting sound. “I…” He hesitated. “I miss you.”

  Nial gripped the receiver and it creaked under his fingers, forcing him to loosen his hold on it. “Come home, Bastian,” he said, as gently as he could.

  “No.”

  Something tightened in his chest. Something painful. Nial searched frantically for words. For something to hold Sebastian there.

  “But…” Sebastian began, “I have been thinking. Not a lot of it, not lately, but I know what I do want.”

  If he wanted the moon, Nial would try to arrange it. He held his breath.

  “I want you to come out to America.”

  Nial nodded. “I can be in New York on Tuesday.”

  * * * * *

  New York, NY. 1954

  Sebastian found him before Nial saw him. The first glimpse he got was Sebastian’s arms spread wide and he was enveloped in a massive hug. He almost staggered back in surprise and as Sebastian released him, he straightened his coat.

  Sebastian grinned. “‘Everyone does that here,” he said and waved his arm along the quay. Nial glanced around and it did seem there were a lot of people in each other’s arms. Parents and children, family and friends. It didn’t seem to matter which gender.

  “I think I’ve been in England too long,” Nial murmured.

  “Where are your trunks?” Sebastian demanded. “I’ve got a cab waiting. I’m staying at the Astoria. Hurry up. Let me give you the nickel tour of New York.”

  New York, from the inside of a taxi, seemed big, bustling and noisy. Far noisier than London. But Sebastian didn’t give him the “nickel tour” he had mentioned. Instead as they settled in the back of the cab, Sebastian leaned over the seat and said to the driver “Waldorf Astoria, thanks.”

  The driver had pulled into the traffic without comment.

  Sebastian was looking at Nial, his good cheer suddenly gone. “You’re really here.”

  “I said I would be.”

  Sebastian’s gaze flickered toward the driver, then back to Nial, then he settled back against the seat, silent.

  Suddenly, Nial was as anxious to reach the hotel as Sebastian.

  * * * * *

  Sebastian tipped the porter and closed the door on him, while Nial looked around the elegant room.

  “Aren’t they going to wonder where I’m sleeping?” Nial asked.

  “New Yorkers know how to mind their own business,” Sebastian said and pushed his hands into his pockets. The new suit style made the most of his shoulders and narrow hips.

  Nial shut down that train of thought.

  “Although, it’s a good question,” Sebastian said.

  “What is?”

  ‘Where are you sleeping tonight?”

  Nial rested his hand on the steamer trunk. “I don’t understand,” he said flatly, and truthfully. There were new qualities about Sebastian. Hard ones. He was more direct and action-oriented that Nial remembered. Perhaps America had rubbed off all his English reticence. But now he was being obscure.

  Sebastian stayed where he was, a few feet inside the door. “We have to talk, Nial.”

  “I’ve only just got here,” Nial pointed out. “What have I done in the…” and he glanced at his watch, “forty minutes I’ve been on United States soil?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “I told you on the phone. I’ve been thinking, lately. Since I first phoned you, I’ve been doing nothing but think. This time, Nial, we’re going to do things my way.”

  “Whatever you want,” Nial said.

  “No, hear me out,” Sebastian replied. “We’ve always discussed what to do next, where to go and it seems to me that we either compromise, or we e
nd up doing it your way. Inverness was your idea. That chalet in the south of France was your idea, before the war. Russia was your idea, before the revolution—”

  “And aren’t you glad we went there? It made you more valuable to the Home Office.”

  Sebastian looked at him. “I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to remind me of that.”

  Nial shrugged. “I’m not guarding my tongue, Bastian. I’m not thinking.” He moved toward him. “You want me to stop manipulating you, to stop arranging life around you. That’s what I’m doing. No thinking things through. No schemes. No plans. Day by day, moment by moment.” He stopped in front of him. “Which is why I must—”

  He took the kiss he had wanted since Sebastian had surprised him on the quay. It was one of the sweetest kisses he’d ever had and kissing Sebastian had always been a special delight. His body tightened and his cock stiffened.

  Sebastian pulled his mouth away, but didn’t step away. Their bodies were still in contact and Nial could feel his cock between them.

  He looked Nial in the eye. “That’s not fair. I can never think properly when you do that.”

  “Then don’t think.” Nial pulled his jacket off and dropped it at his feet, then tackled his tie.

  Sebastian blew out his breath. “Stop Nial. Just stop for a moment. This is important.”

  Nial let the tie flutter from his hand and halted. He looked at Sebastian expectantly.

  “I want us to do what I want. I want to live the life I want,” Sebastian said. His voice was hoarse.

  Nial reached for his belt and pulled it undone. “Very well.”

  “You agree? Just like that?”

  “I said I wasn’t thinking. You’d better think for both of us, now.” Nial discarded the belt and started undoing the buttons on Sebastian’s fly.

  “No matter what I want, you agree?” Sebastian asked and groaned as Nial thrust his hand inside and curled his fingers around his throbbing cock.

  “Whatever you want.” Nial paused, and looked at his face. “Why? What do you want?”

  Sebastian pulled him closer. “You,” he muttered and kissed him.

  * * * * *

  Loveland, Colorado. 1967

  “Nial!” Sebastian shouted, stamping his boots at the front door.

  Nial looked up from the book he was reading. “In the office,” he shouted back.

  Sebastian strode into the room, shedding the heavy parka with the Rocky Mountains National Park logo on the chest. He’d already kicked off his boots. “I thought you were supposed to be grading papers?”

  “I finished an hour ago. There isn’t a single student with the sense of a fly, not in the entire class.”

  Sebastian grinned, winding up his scarf and tossing it onto the parka. “You’re the one who thought teaching would be an interesting idea. I personally would hate to have you as my Latin professor.” He cocked his head at Nial. “Why aren’t you sitting at the desk?”

  Nial smiled. “I can’t sit on the couch to mark papers?”

  Sebastian laughed. “You look like a hippy. Look at you. Jeans and bare feet, cross-legged on the sofa, and your hair hanging down around your shoulders.”

  Nial glanced down at himself. “If you think this is hippy, you should see some of the students I teach. I think most of them are high on pot in my class, and the boys have longer hair than the girls.”

  “You’re starting to look like them,” Sebastian said. “Are you going to start protesting, next? There’s a sit-in on the campus, I heard.”

  Nial rolled his eyes. “I’m a respectable professor.”

  Sebastian considered him. “I don’t know about that. You’ve always been a peacenik. I thought the hippies would be just your thing.”

  “I’m not a peacenik,” Nial replied. “There are wars I think are right and appropriate. But any war is wrong for us to get involved in. You know why. And I don’t want to argue with you today, so let’s leave it there.”

  “I suppose your glasses do add the professor air,” Sebastian said, agreeably changing the subject. He pulled them away from Nial’s face and put them on the desk. “They make your eyes stand out,” he added.

  “So you’re removing them?”

  “Don’t want to crush them,” Sebastian muttered and kissed him.

  Nial heard the crinkle of papers as Sebastian knelt on the sofa. He took his time with the kiss and Nial let himself enjoy it.

  Then Sebastian straightened. “Damn,” he said softly. “I forgot. The truck needs more anti-freeze. I think there’s a leak somewhere. Once the spring thaw is in, I’m going to have to get underneath it and track it down.”

  “Listen to you,” Nial teased. “A real outdoorsman. Fixing mechanics and climbing mountains.”

  Sebastian sat back with a sigh. “Long way from Ireland,” he murmured.

  “A park ranger in Colorado? Yes, it’s a long way. Time does that, though.”

  Silence gathered around them. Then Sebastian drew in a slow breath. “Life is good,” he said softly and glanced at Nial.

  Nial nodded. “Yes. Life is good,” he agreed, and reflected that he would never have predicted that he would say so when he had heard what Sebastian was proposing, thirteen years ago, in New York. A park ranger had seemed the most unlikely choice, as if Sebastian had deliberately chosen the extreme opposite of what he had experienced until now. But America suited Sebastian. He was more energetic and happier, going about the business of humans.

  He could forget, here, what he really was. Nial wouldn’t take that away from him, because sooner or later, Sebastian would have to face the truth. It would slap him in the face in some way. But for now, life was very good indeed. Nial sent a short prayer up to the stars that it would last a while longer yet.

  “I think I interrupted you,” he told Sebastian.

  “You did?”

  “Or should I put my glasses back on?”

  Sebastian pushed the student papers off onto the floor and hiked up his hips to get at the ones he was sitting on. “You did interrupt me,” he said. “That’s going to require penance.” He pushed at Nial’s shoulders, forcing him to lie on the sofa and bent over him. “Brace yourself.”

  Nial happily relaxed.

  * * * * *

  Another two years slid by with the blink of an eye. Semesters came and went and so did the faces. Thanks to the hippy movement and the changes that were reshaping society, Nial and Sebastian found it easier to openly declare their relationship, and while the older generations tended to shy away from them, they found tolerance among faculty and students. Nial thought it was interesting that Sebastian’s fellow park rangers judged him purely on his work; Sebastian was fitter, stronger and more skilled than any of them, and that earned him acceptance.

  They heard almost daily about protests over Vietnam and the draft, even in tucked-away Colorado. Nial was closer to the impact it had; almost weekly he would have a student show up in his office, pleading for a more lenient grade because they had to keep up their averages. If they were forced to drop out, their number would go into the draft pool. For some of the students, their chosen field of study wasn’t considered critical, and they were given marching orders anyway.

  Nial began to watch Sebastian more carefully, waiting for him to talk about the war, but Sebastian gave no sign that the war interested him. Because they were living under false identities, neither of their names would be picked for the draft, but Sebastian was loyal to a fault and he felt strongly about his newly adopted country.

  That was why trouble came from the opposite direction, the direction Nial hadn’t been watching.

  They attended the funeral service for one of Sebastian’s ranger friends. Mike Donleavy had been drafted two years before, and took a bullet in the head somewhere along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. He had been buried with full honors at Arlington, but a second remembrance service was held in Loveland, where family and friends could attend.

  The service had been heart-wrenching. Mike’s
family and the widow he had recently married sat in stunned silence, their faces bewildered and white.

  Sebastian had been unusually quiet and subdued through the whole long afternoon. When they reached home just on sunset, Nial found out why.

  “Mike was my age,” Sebastian said, throwing himself into the bean bag. “I mean, he was the age I was when I…when you made me.”

  Nial had met Mike a few times before he had left for Vietnam, and suddenly, he understood. Mike had been young and blond and had everything to look forward to.

  “You can’t compare yourself to him,” Nial said. “It’s a bad habit to get into. You are not human, Sebastian. You gave up the privileges of a human life. Their rules don’t apply to you anymore.”

  Sebastian was staring inwards. It was as if he wasn’t listening.

  “Bastian?” Nial prompted. He crouched down next to him, to look at him properly.

  “There’s a tri-campus rally on Sunday, in Boulder,” Sebastian said slowly.

  Nial stood up quickly, surprised. “You’re not thinking of going, are you?”

  Sebastian looked up at him. “Why not?”

  There were so many reasons why he shouldn’t go, that Nial was at a loss to know where to begin. “Basic security,” he said at last. “With that many protestors, the police will beef up their numbers. Haven’t you been reading the news? People get hurt at those things.”

  “Not me,” Sebastian said flatly.

  “Why on earth would you want to be there? If it’s some form of memorial for your friend, then there’s other ways you can remember him.”

  Sebastian looked up at him sharply. “Sometimes, Nial, I really do think you live in a little bubble all by yourself. It’s not just about the war. It’s being told what to do. They send young kids to Vietnam against their wishes. They’re given no choice about whether this is a war they believe in and a country they want to fight for. They’re shoved out helicopters with assault rifles and two days of training, and the Viet Cong mow them down with submachine guns supplied by the Russians.”