Art of the Steal

"Of course I'll stay. You're worried. Maybe we should get some garlic, put it above the door?" I tease out a laugh but it comes out barely a breath. Those old-bloods are nothing to scoff off. I've heard of these types who can change form, shift into mist or smoke, seep under doorways and through keyholes. "But seriously...how would he fucking know? Is it just a bad faith assumption that a vampire art dealer would be on the black market? Tonight was nothing more than a private gathering, maybe a soft personal gallery, right? I assume Owen doesn't know anything, wouldn't sell you out it seems even if he did--he still has the hots for you you know," I smile for him at that.

"I don't know if I believe in cosmic coincidences, but the community of art-enthusiast vampires in Boston has to be small enough to allow for some...coincidental overlap. Hopefully it's just a nudge from the universe to be fucking cautious--I know you are anyway. But maybe lay low for a bit, you know. Do you...do you have anything local planned for the next little while? You don't have to tell me just, maybe reconsider it."

I help him with the wash as he shrugs off my apologies, which I allow with calm gratitude. Good to know I wasn't in the wrong to ask, nice to know there's an open call to learn more in the future. I accept that like a gift.

His softness doesn't surprise me, meeting me there at my stammering confession that I wouldn't just be open to more, but that I'd like it. He dances around similar words, his unease with the vulnerability of it all a little more eloquent than mine and also a little more shy. With the tenderness of his embrace and the hiding of his face I think we're on the same page. That's all I want, to be met at this awkward place where we both accept the risk of trying for each other. That's all I've ever needed from anyone.

I kiss his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulder, then make him look at me. I know deep in my gut that if I'm really actually all in with this, if I do trust him for real--if I trust him as much as he's trusted me, then I'm going to need to be a helluva lot more honest with him than I have been. I felt this way in the hotel room, but he was drunk then and we were about to fuck and it was different. I take my deep, shaky breath and nod with him.

The cautious way Jeff invites him to learn more about his past, about all the things they had agreed not to ask, has Simon pulling him close, into a better hold, hands on his shoulder blades. "If I ever cross a line, you don't have to answer. Don't feel beholden to. Same with me. You can ask what you like, and I'll answer basically everything but what would give away my crew. But I know you won't begrudge me those secrets."

He's too edge for a blood kiss, though he wants to share his own blood, to taste Jeffrey's. Simon settles for a lingering kiss to his temple, if only to feel the slow undead pulse beneath his lips. Letting Jeff go, he moves to the alarm panel, setting various alarms and security measures. His mind goes back to what was said about Graham, shaking his head as he settles the painting back against the wall.

"The coincidence is too high. I didn't know he was a vampire, which is my fault. I tend to assume everyone I take from is human unless proven otherwise, and from a distance Graham appears so. If I was sloppy about that detail, we could easily have been found out. Especially if he did enough homework to know that Owen and I have a connection."

Stupid. He would have the entire next night to berate himself alone as he tries to fix this mess. "Shit, I need to sweep for bugs." Simon moves through the living room, hallway, half-bathroom, feeling under every frame, every lamp. It was a low chance that Graham had though that far ahead, but as he begins to check the kitchen, he decides to let Jeff into at least one aspect of his 'work'.

"Bugs are easy to plant. Pay off the guy who checks the heating system before winter, to accompany them and place it in the most inconspicuous spot. Having ears inside is invaluable. It reveals when the place is most occupied, when are the dead periods. When people arrive and leave. If there are pets, and what kind, and if they need to be considered. Wait until they are at the vet, so that they are not in the way. I cannot tell you how many hours of audio from bugs I've listened to. Because, as you can imagine, it is quite boring, I tend to do it while painting, only pausing to take notes."

Nothing. At least nothing he could find. Taking a seat at the very tiny kitchen table, he runs his hands through his hair, still looking around the kitchen for anything amiss.

I meet him for a loose hug, a gentle kiss; the embraces of fatigued domesticity, a sweet familiarity that lends comfort even to these tired efforts. It feels natural, even though Simon has been especially tense this last hour.

It's a relief when he finally speaks. I frown with him, nodding unsurprised as he reveals the truth behind his tension.

"I wasn't sure," I admit, "but I figured it had something to do with the work. Are you...worried? I get the feeling he's an old-blooded son of a bitch, Simon...some real old-school Nosferatu type fucker. Graham was maybe using Owen's friendship to get in here, he didn't even realized you paint for Chrissakes. Simon--"

I kiss his hands, lift his palm to my cheek like I so enjoy, taking his praise. "Thank you," I match the quiet tone of his affection. "I hope I didn't lay it on too thick. Maybe I was too polite..."

I kiss that palm as he draws away, clearly restless, still disturbed though if it's just Graham that's eating him...

I help him gather up the mess, silently at first. Bloody glasses, bloody plates, crumbs, a few morsels of vegetable and bread for the compost. All in all not too bad a night catering wise, skewed slightly too far on the side of man-eater but understandable that such a group wouldn't be inclined to attend a mixed group hungry. Well, most wouldn't. Graham's hand was very cold, and he refused every offer. I turn off the music, turn up the dimmed lights just slightly while we work.

Simon takes his time but eventually speaks again. I empathize, knowing there's plenty in my past I'm not proud of, but I can't help but smile a little anyway. "Oh come on, you were young," I try to help him shrug it off, "I know you had a rough past. You fought. So what? You think I don't have skeletons in my own closet?" But he does sound genuinely upset.

I sigh, soft, setting glasses down on the kitchen counter. "Listen. I'm sorry if I overstepped to ask your friend something like that about your past. I know we have boundaries, and I think I've been pretty good at laying off the work stuff unless you're in the mood to offer. I get it, and you know I get it. So it's my bad if asking about the past in such a broad way like that was off limits--we are...very new to each other, Simon. And if you're still curating a self for me well...I'm not offended. I can wait to see the rough sketches until you're certain that I can understand the body of work. I get it."

I laugh softly. "And I don't want to fucking fight you, Simon--you'd kick my goddamned ass to hell and back," I laugh a little more. "I don't need your rage but I can handle it if you want to show it to me. Gonna go out on a limb and say I really don't think you do: you're right, I've given you plenty of opportunity to show me before and you've taken the high road every time. Doesn't mean I don't think the idea of watching you kick someone else to hell and back, to see you really let loose doesn't sound hot as fuck..."

I see a shadow of it though, something there, not too far below the surface. I tilt my head and look at him, face him, stopping the fussing over dishes and garbage just to look at him. My heart sinks just a little to hear him speak that way about Gem, but I get that too. He's not the first one to want it, to yearn for something complete.

To answer his question I nod. "Yeah," I tell him, "if people aren't horrified or disgusted, they're usually envious. It's...I mean, it is a beautiful thing. It is. Being understood, being seen, being felt to the core of who you are and accepted over and over, wanted always, needed?" I look down, shake my head. "But it's unsustainable. Every person is an individual, and individuals change when they love each other, they grow together. At least, they're supposed to." I look back at him. "Jamie and I have always been...stuck. When we're Gemini we just are and there is nothing else. It's not a way to live. I wouldn't recommend losing yourself to anyone that way, no matter how much you do love them. Maybe I'm not the best person to offer insight on attachment and yearning, but..." I dare to offer a smile as I tease myself, but as I do I feel the weight of his questions more fully. I sigh softly. Curse softly.

"He needed to be invited in. I've heard of certain kinds of us that require an invitation, like the old lore, but never met one. Half thought it was a myth. Shit, and I didn't even get to rescind the invitation under my breath."

Setting the tray he'd been collecting glasses down, he swings one painting away from the wall, revealing a touchscreen. Easily entering several passcodes, Simon begins to set his various alarms before pausing, looking back to Jeffrey. "Will you stay the night? I'd like you to. Not only because that way I'd know where you are, just in case."

Leaving the painting ajar, he gives Jeff a genuine smile, "Whenever I saw you talking with others, they all were very into the conversation. I know socializing doesn't come naturally to you, but you should give yourself more credit. You did great."

With everything mostly cleared, he starts on the washing. Though he had a dishwasher, came with the house, he'd never thought of using it. Old habits.

The familiarity of this moment, as if they'd done this a hundred times before and not two, did help to soothe his stress over Graham. Jeff's sweet words, so accepting and accommodating, also help. Simon even grins as he uses an art metaphor, one he understands very clearly, "You don't have to apologize. I would have shared this side of me eventually, I wasn't hiding it, per se. You can probably get more out of Viv if you ask her again. She never bullshits. I guess she doesn't have time for that in her line of work."

Hearing that he thinks Simon would win a fight between them has him laughing, "Maybe one night we can test your theory together, with rules and whatnot. I would still bet on you and your inability to die. If this guy comes back, maybe you'll get your wish, and I can attempt to kick his ass, no matter how old he is."

Then he swallows, bracing himself for the response to his admission. He'd told a white lie, he wasn't tired, but too nervous being so vulnerable with anyone. But Jeff doesn't shun him, doesn't berate him for his deep desire to be seen, known, by someone else to the point that to others it would seem as if they could read each other's minds. To get to that with anyone would take ages, and things are so new that Simon isn't sure if this is the right relationship for such a connection. Not when Gemini already exists.

God what I'd give to see him like that...

But it's not completely outside my mental image of him. He's a killer, I know this first hand but I also know that he kills for other reasons too. He's admitted to a meticulous kind of violence already, and it's not too far of a stretch to imagine that he could enjoy a good fight. I wonder immediately what his style is; is he as careful a fighter as he is a lover? So attentive to his opponent? Does he fight like he kills, swiftly, and precisely? Or does he let it all out when he fights? Is he messy and brash and vicious like I've never seen him, not even over prey?

I want to find out.

We say our goodbyes and I promise to call. I flirt last minute that if she ever wants to look at my brain, she can--I tell her that I've always enjoyed playing doctor, hoping to get a last little laugh of outrage at least.

With some relief, the party shows its first signs of thinning. Will his closer friends stay later? Or will there be new faces who straggle until dawn, like I did long after Rose left the scene the night she introduced me to him?

I turn to him now, finally just the two of us in the kitchen. Of course I noticed that he has been avoiding my eye while Viv and I spoke. I feel his discomfort like a current in the air. He took her hug and was polite to her as an old friend ought to be, but it's clear that something has struck a nerve.

Now that Viv has gone he stares at me, serious and still, and even with the tray of food between us a little chill goes through me. Goosebumps tickle the back of my neck and kick my heart rate up a notch, forcing a breathless laugh that's just as much curious delight as anything else. He looks at me like a predator looks at another.

And then he kisses my cheek.

"What was that look for?" I ask him quietly, smiling for him. I take the tray from him and set it down so that there's nothing between us. "Come on now, are you really surprised that I like a fight? I'm not surprised about you at all..."

Except words are not coming to him now. This private moment, unobserved by others, is welcome, but he exhales in a shudder at the half-flirt about his own tongue. "Later," is the only word Simon manages before he picks up the tray, burying deep any old urges, returning to the living room with goodies in hand.

Those left were a mix of those he was very well acquainted with and those he still did not trust in any capacity. Still, none were deterred by the offering of tongue, except for Owen. The shorter man kisses his blonde hair as he makes his exit, Simon having bent to offer the tray to another in polite offer. He takes Graham with him, beckoning in a way Simon hadn't seen all evening, but doesn't question.

The few left mingle, talk, for a while longer, but not a full hour. Soon they are all claiming they will be back, though Simon knows the menu is beyond some of them. This was meant to be a meeting of those with sterner stomachs than humans, and if they could not handle this, then the undead world was perhaps not for them. A strange category for himself, who had never died.

He locks the door as he and Jeff are the only ones in his home with such an exhale it borders on a sigh. Looking to his lover, he fakes a smile before remembering he doesn't have to do that any longer. His expression sombers, checking the window for any stragglers, only speaking when he's sure the area is clear.

"I stole from Graham. Not long ago, but before you were in Boston. I'm sure... I have no evidence. That will be important to gather first.. to ensure..."

Lost in thoughts, Simon pauses, taking Jeff's hand in his own. "I am proud of you, eldr. Tonight could not have been easy for you, and I appreciate every minute. I hope you've found a few like minds among the crowd."

Work to be done, as his arms gather garbage and refuse down the hallway, to the kitchen, depositing it into the bag he's sure he'd designated as trash. So many people who didn't listen. As he continues to clean, he speaks, "I am not proud of the man I was. Had been. Full of bravado, sure that I would win every fight simply because I was stronger than any human. When I was humbled it only emboldened me... you could kill me. And I wouldn't resurrect like you can, apparently."

An aspect of Jeff's kind that either he hadn't fully digested or hadn't known. Regardless, it felt important, piecing together the details he did know, that the reason his twin wasn't around was that he was dead to the world, surely, though for what reason Simon couldn't fathom. Holding a stack of napkins and plates, he looks up, at first anger at being deceived running cold through him before he realizes, knows, that secrecy is just the way they all operate.

But for tonight this is plenty. I am in over my head, more demure than I would ever proudly claim to be, but surviving.

After our tour, back in the kitchen, I smile to see Viv in a tiff with someone else. Something exciting?

I laugh gently when the vampire turns the topic of conflict to me. "Doctor, were you expecting me to get into a fight tonight?" I glance at Simon. "Am I so obvious? Simon's not seen that side of me."

Then she asks for something less obvious and I draw a blank. I can't think of a single thing that would be interesting--to bring up my mirrored organs is to bring up Jamie, besides that it's something Simon already knows about me and I want this to mean something to him too.

"I don't know what you'd be curious about, Doctor," I crack a shy grin, "well. Medically...I can survive brain death. I've lived through more than my fair share of beheadings and bullets. Mostly for fun...sometimes not so much."

Vivienne lips purse to hide a smile, "Not so obvious. But new faces are always unpredictable." They, the core group that had formed over years, had more contentious nights before. At least Jeffrey wasn't riling up others in such ways.

Tilting her head at the revelation, she looks at his skull in wonder. As if she could peer beneath the red hair and see the brain and all of its inner workings. Alas, that would be left for another of his kind, if they ended up in medical care. "I would not classify either occurrence as 'fun', but I do understand the love of pain. Not for me, but for others."

The question has her looking to Simon for any hint of what he may not want revealed, but he focuses on his cutting, not even looking back to them. When it's clear to her that Jeffrey is only looking for something startling, not something to cause a wedge between them, Viv leans into his taller form, "Simon was quite the brawler himself, in his younger years. The parties were not the only thing that mellowed. I once had to wedge his shoulder back in place after he dislocated it throwing too hard of a punch that missed."

Eyebrows raised at that, as if to emphasize the force required for such a feat, she hugs Jeffrey loosely, "Simon talks about you often. Get my number from him and you can also have a friendly ear to talk about him to. If I don't answer, I'm on shift. You understand."

Vivienne then hugs Simon warmly, promises of coming back soon, before she's out the front door, needing no escort.

Simon winces a little at the new piece of information in the air between them. Unsure if what to say, he instead offers the tray of tongue to Jeff. Behind him, he sees a few others heading for the door, waving as they make their exits. Viv had broken the seal, and now others who found conversation to be boring were off to find other ways of entertaining themselves.

I didn't mean to assume that any couple attending together would be romantically inclined, but odd that Graham said nothing when I fished and Owen was very clear on his interests--decidedly not skinny.

I slip my hand against Simon's waist when he shows me half a seared meat cube--as if I might not know what seared means--and smile as I bite the morsel from its toothpick while watching his eyes. I know he probably didn't mean to offer it to me, just to show, but I flirt when given the opportunity to do so.

The char is an interesting flavour, one that tastes more like violence and death than just plain raw meat. I like that taste, even if the rough texture of that cooked edge is unpleasant.

"I can picture little Simon with his knife and fork. Cute," I smile and kiss him again, gently, and look around the party. A couple familiar faces smile at the host and his new beau and I blush pleasantly to the joy they share with us both. I've met most of them, not all. I know I shouldn't focus too much on Owen lest Graham get suspicious of my suspicion. I did enjoy talking to Dr. Viv before I escaped.

Another easy kiss, though he scoffs at being called 'cute'. "One night I'll show you the baby pictures that might show otherwise." They're watched, and though Simon is very accustomed to attention as host of these events, he is touched that their looks are now because he is with Jeff. The ones he knows well are simply glad that he is happy, others just curious at the affection.

"Too many, but I'll try not to overwhelm you." He'd had a mission with his tray of treats. Jeffrey and the mystery man had distracted him, but it is back to his task, offering the meat to those he know would appreciate it. Simon takes his time with each new smaller group within the party, to talk, to catch up, to introduce Jeffrey.

Then the tray is empty and he's leading Jeff back to the kitchen. He could refill it, but he spots Vivienne in a heated conversation with a smaller woman, one he doesn't know well, before she is storming off. Viv shrugs when he sees Simon, managing a smile for Jeffrey.

"Some of those very old cannot reconcile how the past was for some of us. You seem to be fairing well, Jeffrey. You haven't been in any fights yet, that I have seen. Simon keeps a much quieter party now than before. Brawls only happen outside."

"Yes, because I cannot risk any blood splattering on the art!" It's said with a laugh, but also a touch of seriousness that his home should always be just so.

"Well aware, Simon. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Jeffrey, though it is a shame I won't be able to stay much longer to ask you all about yourself. But I have a husband and children I would very much like to see for a few hours before the sun."

"You're not leaving already, truly." Simon crosses his arms, leaning back on the counter.

I decline the meat as well, not loving the idea of cooked meat especially while I don't exactly need the meat to begin with. They exchange niceties, eyeing each other, friendly mask meeting friendly mask, seemingly flawless.

Still, it is odd that he doesn't know Owen particularly well, yet came for the art, and doesn't even know that Simon himself is a talented painter. Besides that, tall though he might be he's not Owen's type at all: a detail the wizard seemed particularly fixated on. Graham excuses himself from his host rather quickly.

I smile for Simon. "I wanted to figure out what kind of vampire he is," but I hesitate to say more not knowing if Graham is still listening. "Not exactly Owen's type, I don't think they're together. Funny...Graham is an art enthusiast and wasn't aware that you paint. I wonder what Owen told him to get him to tag along. I was happy to show him some of your pieces here but I think he wanted to see more."

I smile, and kiss him while nudge his toe in return, giving him the subtlest look I can manage. Do we have to worry about this one?

"No, they seem to be friends, which is fine. It's not a requirement that new invitees are romantically attached. It's only coincidence that you are to me."

Simon grins, accepts Jeff's kiss and touch to his own foot. But he swallows at how his look turns serious. To it, Simon only nods once, though his face remains jovial.

Then the moment ends and he's still smiling as he looks around properly. "It's been good to catch up. Seen some people I hadn't seen in years. Have you met everyone? Don't let me hold you back, go talk to as many as you can. We'll soon have the house of ourselves and I don't want any regrets that you didn't talk to someone."

"And I'm told I move fast," I half laugh for Graham that he only met Owen a week ago, but that doesn't exactly bode well.

"Yes, Simon paints," I give a little frown, something that could be teasing, "Owen didn't mention that? I thought he might have since you seem to be here for the art." I gesture nearby. "That one's his, and the trippy unicorn tapestry? A good number of these are his, actually."

Now that Simon's work is pointed out to him, he can sense an artist's pattern across quite a few paintings. The unicorn piece is garish to his taste, but done well. "I am impressed. Your boyfriend is talented." Graham does hope he sounds as sincere with the compliment as he actually means.

They shift positions in the room, sure that Jeffrey intends on showing him a specific piece. When he only continues the conversation his eyes narrow, though he cannot pinpoint any one thing that meant they needed to be here now. "Living in Massachusetts only a year or so. It has been hard to find those of our ilk. Simon is doing a service with these evenings allowing those outside of his circle."

"What'd I do? I heard my name." Simon had been doing his best to keep an eye on Jeffrey once he was left alone with Owen. Once he saw that he was alone with Graham he had done everything to ride the line between being polite and wanting to check on Jeff. Standing close to his lover, he holds a platter of seared calf muscle cubes, offering it to them both.

"I know cooked meat isn't for everyone, but I find the char adds to the flavor." To show that the meat is good, Simon picks up one toothpick, humming in satisfaction as he chews, though he waits until his mouth is empty before speaking again. "I hope you're enjoying your night, Graham. When I first started these get togethers they used to be far more rowdy, very loud music. They've mellowed out as I've gotten older."

Graham eyes the host, his demeanor welcoming, more so than he had been at the door. He declines the meat, indicating it wouldn't sit well with him. "It is going well. And we might be of like minds, this vibe as the youth say is much better. Thank you for allowing such a night."

With that, he bows to them both, rejoining Owen, the only one he knows here. He doesn't want to know too much about Simon, not when he has his mind already set.

I do what Simon advised the night we met and ask about the things Owen has hinted at, but I'm not sure I do a good job. I look at his plain business card again and ask what sort of wizardry he does, if it's a job as well as a title. I ask him pointedly if he considers himself human even though he got through the door tonight and more besides; and if his type, which he referenced again, comes with teeth.

At a comfortable break, Owen promises to introduce me to the one Simon is worried about, the one who isn't helping his case any by lurking by himself. He's looking at a seemingly simple, sunny piece of work when we approach.

Graham's touch is cool in more way than one. Unfed and unfriendly, this vampire has an intensity I feel like I could match very well in a less polite setting. It's the polite dance that always trips me up.

On the walk over, Owen is able to share that he considers himself mortal, not human. A typical lifespan, no more, but he never feels like he should join the other side. It is also not his type, generally. Give him a gym bro, of any species, and he's happy.

When it comes to his magic, he is far more guarded, though polite given the setting. His own secrets, but Owen mentions to Jeffrey that he will do a reading for him and Simon, just to ensure all is kosher.

But when Graham and Jeffrey begin to converse, he feels there is something else between them that he has not discerned, but should have. Now that they are in the living room, and Owen is feeling peckish, he touches Jeffrey's shoulder to warn before he steps away to sample the hors d'oeuvres that were on the largest table.

Left alone with Jeffrey, Graham straightens, as if the added height could intimidate slightly. "Yes, Graham. I only met Owen last week, though he was adamant that I would enjoy this evening." The painting was only nice, apparently. There is so much more to the painting that he could instruct this young one on, but he manages to hold his tongue. "Simon paints? I was unaware. Will you point out one of his paintings to me?"

But I can play.

"Is this the objectify Simon segment of the party?" I give half a laugh, ready to mock offence right alongside my boyfriend, but also wanting to win over this seemingly shallow ex without totally betraying myself.

"...cuz I respect the hell out of the man but I got cards to play in that game--he is plenty "muscly". Fucking look at him! Don't you just want to bite him all over?" I show clenched teeth in a grin aimed for Simon's jaw. "Christ, he's as hot as he is talented and I have no illusions over being way out of my fucking league here." I laugh at myself as I press a smiling kiss to the top of his shoulder.

Simon diverts the subject smoothly enough, but that turn of voice is all I need to know that this is the object of his anxiety. Graham. I wonder if the wizard picked up on it too.

I follow the gaze, pretending only to oogle the tall one they talk about, and then almost as soon as he brings up the subject, Simon is swept away. I squeeze his fingers lightly for his kiss to my cheek. Simon doesn't know this vampire guest of his ex. Curious.

And just as soon as Simon is gone, I'm getting Owen's number. I laugh at him, but keep the tone playful. "Well that was fucking smooth, Wizard. He's barely down the hall and I get your number?" But then I make some little gesture to assure him I'm only teasing. Sort of. The tone stays friendly, like I'm just giving it to him straight, so to speak. "I'm not worried. I trust him. For what it's worth I'm no artist but I like the art talk. And I think he likes me too."

Wink at that, and then look at the glass of blood he mentions. I don't know if this Wizard is someone who considers himself human, or if I should or shouldn't, but I do despite Simon's previously stated house rule: no humans.

"Kind of macabre, isn't it?" I sip from it, though it's not out of the question that Owen's type has teeth. I laugh short, catching his fucking twilight joke. "Well I've been twenty-four for..." I frown, "...ninety three years now?"

Jeffrey's own teasing earns him an earnest laugh, "It never hurts to have more connections in the city. You might be cute, you've got very nicely shaped lips, but again, type matters."

He almost hadn't expected an age and undead reveal from him, but can only hum at the idea that Jeffrey was so old. "Gonna do anything big for your century milestone? It'll be here sooner than you think, and then you might be very sad that you've made no plans." Though depending on the vampire, they measured the big milestones from their human birthdate.

At Jeffrey's motion, Owen focuses on Graham. He'd never quite understand what it was like being the tallest in the room, but if Jeffrey felt intimidated by him, he shouldn't. At least by what he knew of Graham, which wasn't much to be fair.

"Not weird at all! That's what nights like this are for. For those who have to hide huge parts of ourselves everyday to just mingle, gain new friends. I hope we'll be friends after tonight." His smile is genuine, leading them to where Graham is standing, not speaking to anyone, staring intently at a painting.

The painting was known to him, or at least enough that Graham had been able to recognize the artist, even with a missing signature. The strokes were too tell tale to be mistaken, and it wasn't very expensive, around $1000 he estimated. Still, an odd choice he thought, that it didn't seem to match the rest of the moody paintings. As if it were switched out last minute.

Owen, his new friend with magic, brings another man over, blood in hand. Graham decided not to partake in the offerings, most likely needing a hunt after all of this social interaction. He forces a smile as Owen speaks, "You think if you stare at it long enough, it'll change? This is Jeffrey, Simon's new boyfriend. Simon the host, remember, this is his house."

Graham's eyes the man over. Young, by smell, as he has the stink of humanity still on him. Reluctantly, he offers his hand for a shake before recalling it quickly, clasping both hands behind his back. "I do recall who has been so gracious to host such an evening. If I don't get a chance to speak with him, you must pass on my thanks. This is a Richard H. Bassett, local man, dead, but he was prolific in his lifetime; there are many works of his around."

Stop it with that ugly shit Jeffrey, Jesus Christ.

I put on a more genuine smile, swallowing any overwhelm and self-consciousness with a mouthful of blood, and find the man of the house.

Simon mingles seemingly effortlessly, his affectation suddenly very much that eye rolling bitch I met just a few weeks ago. Ha! Oh I remember this man...this unattainably gorgeous, sarcastic, talented, and successful man who isn't nearly as mean as he looks. I kiss his cheek in front of all these people who smile, happy for him because of me and feel like a complete and utter imposter. I hand him a glass of blood.

He looks at me through the mask of a good smiling host and I look at him through the mask of a real person. I see in a flash though, something urgent and real, a micro expression of the real Simon--like the annoyance he hides when a sweater is tossed onto a chair rather than laid across the back, or the way I can tell that he recognizes when my laugh is nervous. Is it something I've done? It's my first reaction to think so but I also think Simon would break away from the group to tell me if I had blood on my shirt or if I had said something truly gauche.

I make a tiny gesture, it means nothing at all, no secret code we've ever divined, just a subtle touch, not something I'd typically do, but I do it now as if a brush of fingers could be a question. I keep the smile, but I look at him with my own eyes through the mask. This, after a hundred years of living with another I barely have to speak to even when we are two people.

But then the moment disperses completely as another begs attention. Owen. Short, cute. Describes an ex of Simon's as twinky and might as well be describing himself. Simon did mention there would be an ex here tonight. Is this him, the prescient wizard? Perhaps even our glances gave too much away though maybe Simon only meant to warn me that this is indeed the ex he spoke of. Maybe he's worried that I lied about not being the jealous type.

I laugh at Owen, at his question but not unkindly. I want to reach for some bland nonsense banter to appease this guest but if this really is an ex and a friend to Simon, if there really is history there I know I need to be more real than that.

Simon hadn't expected to be served at his own party, but he takes the blood, sipping with a nod. Probably a good idea to do quality control, ensure that he isn't serving inferior food and drink. Really, he should be in the kitchen. Though they had prepared so much before guests began to arrive, there is always something to be done.

For now, he waits for this conversation to run its course. It's good to hear Jeff's laugh above the chatter, sure his smile betrays his true feelings, not able to hide them.

When Jeff answers with only honesty, Simon rests his hand on his shoulder. A reassurance that what he says is true, he doesn't want Jeff to lose himself.

Owen is left blinking at the couple, suddenly feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment. Clearing his throat, he shrugs, "Good, that you're good for each other. But I only meant body type. Simon's not quite as muscly as I tend to go for."

"Hey, I don't remember you complaining about my body." He acts more affronted than he is, sure that Owen only wants to see if he can rile up his current lover. "Besides, physicality is only one part of the equation. We both know that. You seeing the tall guy you came in with?" Simon asks as casually as he can manage, but the upturn in his voice at the end of the question is enough to sound off.

"Graham? No, met him pretty recently, said he was into art, and who better to bring him to than you, Simon." It's said with a smile, though Owen is sure they can both hear the slight snark in his voice.