"Because you look ridiculous, Stiles," Lydia answers, annoyed. "Just once, I would like to be able to take a photo of everyone at this party and have us all look good. This pack is, literally, supernaturally attractive, but I don't have a single photo of us all that showcases that, because you two always insist on wearing the most absurd costumes you can find."

"Aww, Lyds, you think I'm hot?" Stiles grins, deliberately ignoring everything else she said.

"Not dressed like that, you're not," she returns, flat and annoyed.

"Aw, babe, don't listen to her," Theo says, wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist. "I think you look hot. The pink really suits you."

"You don't get a vote. You're an enabler, and besides, he could wear a paper bag and you would think he looks hot in it," Lydia says, and Theo tilts his head to the side, considering.

"We should test that theory. Do they make human-sized paper bags?"

"Ugh," Lydia says. "Absolutely ridiculous, the pair of you. Though at least Theo looks good. How you managed to make that absurd outfit look attractive, I'll never know, but whatever."

"He really pulls it off, doesn't he?" Stiles grins, leaning in to press a quick kiss against Theo's cheek. The angle is awkward, what with the visors both of them are wearing, but he manages it. There's a lip-shaped stain of shimmery gloss left behind on Theo's cheek when Stiles pulls away, but it adds to the overall costume, he decides.

"Aw, thanks, babe," Theo says, sending a smile at Stiles that's a perfect replica of Ryan Gosling's empty-headed smile.

"You're welcome, babe," Stiles grins back, and then he turns his attention back to Lydia, wriggling in place uncomfortably and tugging at his bodysuit. The multi-fluro-coloured lycra bathing suit is digging into him in some very unfortunate places, even with the hot pink bikeshorts he's wearing underneath. "I think I'm with you about this not being my best costume. How do women wear shit like this? The wedgie is killing me."

"It serves you right," Lydia says, haughty, and Theo laughs at her utter lack of sympathy. Rude.

"Well, you'd better come inside and curse everyone else with your horrible outfits," Lydia continues with a sigh, holding the door open.

"Hey, it could have been worse," Stiles tells her, as he and Theo step inside. He holds up his yellow rollerblades. "Be thankful that I decided to just carry these, instead of wearing them. I nearly did, but then I pictured me several drinks into the future and decided against it."

"If you had tried to set foot onto my freshly polished hardwood floors in rollerblades, then I would have murdered you on my doorstep and turned you into one of my Halloween yard decorations," Lydia says, and turns, sweeping up the hallway, trusting them to follow.

By the door, Stiles turns to Theo.

"Shall we go join this party, Ken?" he asks, and Theo grins and reaches out to wrap an arm around Stiles' waist.

"Lets go party, Barbie," he says, then leans in to kiss Stiles, who is too busy groaning at the terrible line to manage to kiss him back.

...

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine.

***

The tale of how Theo left didn’t start the last night they spent together – with that last bite to the neck, that farewell fuck, that confession that ended with Theo using his thrall to send Stiles away.

It started long before the first bite to his neck, before the first feed, the confrontation that catapulted their arrangement into more than just between a wealthy bachelor and his kept whore.

It started when his secret was exposed, and Stiles didn’t go running in the opposite direction. But it wasn’t Stiles that set the time bomb – no. Theo started plotting his exit the moment his secret tore open a portal to hell – and Stiles offered his hand to walk into it hand in hand with Theo.

***

Stiles was surprised he was allowed into the building at all. After what happened three nights before, he was sure Theo would never want to see his face again. He waited two nights for Theo’s men to come to him and slit his throat in his sleep. But no one came to seek him out and threaten him for his silence. Instead, the closest encounter he’d had with Theo since, was the transfer of a huge sum into Stiles’ bank account. Of course. It was evident he didn’t think it was worth the time or effort to harass Stiles into shutting up or killing him when he could pay him. It was what he did best, after all. He spoke to Stiles in the language they knew most – money.

But unlike Theo, who deemed words unnecessary, Stiles thought words would be helpful, actually. Like, how are fucking vampires real ? How many are they? If vampires are real, what other creatures are real and hiding in plain sight?

Why did Theo defend him from another vampire’s attack when it was easier to let it happen and find a new oblivious fuck toy than upsetting his own kind and dealing with a stubborn whore like Stiles, who would sure ask him all these questions?

Does he have a secret coffin lair somewhere in the building?

The elevator pinged, and Stiles nervously rubbed the bruises around his wrists from the attack three nights before. He exhaled a shallow breath, becoming all too aware of quite a few things at the same time. He hadn’t fully realized before that he’d requested a private audience with Theo – another vampire that could easily put more bruises on his body. None of the likes he usually indulged with Theo in bed.

When the elevator opened, Theo was already waiting for him, swirling a glass of wine in one hand and wearing nothing but his black pants.

Stiles’ first thought upon laying eyes on Theo wasn’t ‘monster’ like one would expect – no, far from it. His first thought, even after what he’d witnessed three nights ago, was ‘gorgeous’.

Theo was gorgeous, even as he pinned Stiles with a gaze that was one second away from lethal. He looked like an angel of death coming to collect Stiles. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he stepped into the threshold.

He was not further than two steps in when Theo’s voice reverberated around the relatively quiet space.

“Garlic doesn’t hurt me,” Theo started, taking idle steps forward as he spoke. “Crosses? I’ve none to bear at this point of my existence. They don’t do anything but annoy me, and that was even before I turned into the creature of hell I am now. And holy water? That may irritate me, true, but it would cause more harm to you than me. You see, I have snapped someone’s neck for less.”

Stiles was rooted to the ground by sudden fear. He knew there was something about Theo that wasn’t quite human – but he never imagined being correct about it in the most literal sense. Stiles had always thought his eyes were too unnatural. But now, Theo was showing him exactly how haunting they were. Stiles only stood there helplessly as Theo neared and neared, walking barefoot to his victim as he casually sipped wine.

“If you want to do real damage,” Theo said, inflicting a conspiratorial tone. “A stake through my undead heart won’t cut it. Or exposure to the sun, as you already know. Hiding in plain sight made it more a child’s play to us when we developed tolerance against the unforgiving heat of the sunlight.” He chuckled, a predator taunting his prey. “No. If you want to kill me, you would have to sever my head from my body, chop me limb from limb, then burn all of me to ashes.”

When Theo was in front of Stiles, he grinned through protruded fangs and reveled in the sharp hitch of Stiles’ breath. “Then again, that’s only if you could outrun me.”

Despite the threat of his knees buckling and folding, Stiles exhaled a shaky breath, “Who said anything about running?”

It was evident that Theo wasn’t expecting any rebuttal. His grin slowly receded, and Stiles took that as an opportunity to barge on.

“If anyone’s running, it’s you,” Stiles struggled against all instincts to keep quiet. Because he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let Theo decide that it was through between them without putting up a fight. “We agreed to pay me for companionship, for sex, right? So what was that payment you made?”

Theo’s smile was gone now, replaced by a sneer. “I thought that was obvious.”

Stiles shook his head, “You really think I’d go around telling people that you’re a vampire and expect anyone to believe me?” he pointed out. “So you’re a vampire. You could still fuck me, then pay me, can’t you? It’s not like I wasn’t scared before. At least, now it makes sense.”

“You think this changes nothing, do you?” Theo’s voice rasped against his throat – a telltale sign that his anger was brewing inside.

“Because nothing has to,”

All in one second, Theo’s eyes blazed, and Stiles gasped in shock as Theo’s free hand suddenly wrapped its way around his thin, breakable neck, closing against his airway. “Do you think this is a game?” Theo snarled. “Do you find it pleasing to be at the mercy of a killer?”

Stiles was gripped by fear for his life and sick excitement, too. He held onto the strong arm lifting his feet from the ground, feeling how powerful it was under his hand. Wheezing, he managed to open his mouth to say, “Exhilarating… actually,” Theo’s grasp tightened, digging his fingers into fragile skin, but Stiles blundered on. “I’ve been at the mercy of a killer all this time, and yet –“ Stiles choked in a breath. “And yet, I’ve never been more alive… than when you bend me over and own me.”

Stiles’ words had the desired effect because Theo’s grip loosened instantaneously until he eventually tossed Stiles to the floor, turning his back with a snarl. Theo paced and smashed his empty glass to the floor as Stiles coughed and wheezed, rubbing at his neck where he was sure Theo’s handprint was forming.

He’d always been too easy to bruise. It was part of his charm, according to Theo.

Theo spun around a moment later, glaring down at Stiles’ sprawled form on his plush white carpet.

He pointed an accusing finger at him, “You – are mad. A deviant. You doomed yourself – and me.”

“And you want to fuck me,” Stiles gritted out. “So, do it. You were a vampire before I knew you were. What difference does it make now?”

In a blink, Stiles found himself pinned to the floor by the weight of a furious Theo, stealing his breath again but for an entirely different reason. His heart was a thundering mess, pressed against Theo’s cold, bare skin. And Theo’s fangs were right there – right above Stiles’ skin. He could draw blood anytime.

“The difference,” Theo grumbled from deep in his throat, “is that now that you know a monster is in bed with you, nothing is stopping that monster from showing who’s really fucking you.”

One day, Stiles thought. You would be the death of me.

“Show me.”

I'll not have it any other way.

***

Theo was cruel. Not in the way that a monster was cruel. He was cruel in the way a human was cruel.

Humans became cruel as a response to fear. But what did Theo fear when he was the killer in their pair? Nonetheless, he had fears, though unspoken. And because of those fears, he reeled Stiles in – keep your friends close, your enemies closer – because the higher he raised Stiles, the more fatal it would be when he dropped him.

***

As much as Stiles insisted that nothing changed, it would soon be apparent that he was wrong. For a while, they blissfully existed in make-believe before the inevitable next crack in the glass. To Stiles, it didn’t seem like another nail to their coffin. But to Theo, it was another signal for him to escape.

It happened after Theo came home from a business trip – only it wasn’t the usual trips where he secured million-dollar accounts and came home richer than he was when he left.

Stiles was asleep when his phone rang. He kept it on all the time in case Theo contacted him – which he rarely ever did. If Theo wanted him, he would ask Josh to send Stiles a message. He only ever sent Stiles one direct message: You could have spared us the agony and run. He sent it after the first night they fucked as the vampire and his whore. Stiles had replied: Against my better judgment, I couldn’t. There was no more since.

But his decision to keep the notifications on had proven wise, tonight of all nights, because when he opened the message, it was, indeed, from Theo. The second direct message he ever sent Stiles. He shot up quickly from his bed and hastened to read.

It said: I need you.

He never needed Stiles before – he ‘wanted’ him. Josh’s texts would read: Mr. Raeken wants you to come over, Mr. Raeken wants me to collect you in an hour, Mr. Raeken wants you to wear the blue cardigan he bought you last week, Mr. Raeken wants to know if you’re allergic to any shellfish... Want, want, want. Because he was a paid bed-warmer. Need was… intimate. It was something more. But straight from Theo, he needed him.

So Stiles scrambled to put on clothes, pressing number 7 on his speed dial: Josh, Theo’s valet. It barely rang before the call connected.

“What happened?” Stiles asked in a rush, grabbing his jacket and keys and sprinting out of his apartment.

“We’ll be there in five minutes,” was Josh’s terse reply before disconnecting.

Exactly five minutes later, Theo’s Chevrolet Suburban pulled up in the parking lot of Stiles’ building. He wasn’t used to seeing that car since Theo rarely used it to pick up Stiles. He didn’t recognize it at first, so he palmed the Swiss knife that Theo gave him and made him keep it in his pocket at all times for self-defense. But it was Corey in the driver’s seat – Theo’s driver. Josh opened the door and ushered Stiles in, looking bedraggled. No sooner than Stiles could sit down, the car speeded into the night back to the penthouse.

“What happened?” Stiles addressed the question to both Josh and Corey, as soon as he could get a breath out.

Josh opened his mouth, but Stiles’ phone started ringing before he could say anything. He looked down, widening his eyes when he saw that it was Theo. Theo never rang. He immediately picked it up and answered, “Theo? Are you all right?”

There was a few seconds of inarticulate heavy breathing from Theo’s end which only spiked Stiles’ worry, before he rasped out with clear difficulty, “Are you with –” a groan falling from his mouth interrupted his question. Jesus, what was going on? “Are you in the car now?”

Stiles hurried to assure him, “Yes, yes, I’m with Josh and Corey. What’s happening?”

“Donovan is behind you –” Theo coughed, cutting off his statement again. Stiles’ fingers nervously combed through his hair. Theo never got sick – one of the perks of being a bloodsucking immortal. Something was seriously wrong. After his coughing fit, he managed to finish with a strain, “– should you require him.”

Stiles glanced behind him, and sure enough, Theo’s white Cadillac – the usual one he rode and drove around – was tailing them closely. Donovan was Theo’s chief security – a vampire like himself.

“Are you in danger?” Stiles tried again, feeling his panic rise evermore.

“No,” Theo answered promptly. “But I need you.”

He couldn’t understand why his eyes started stinging from hearing it straight from Theo’s mouth. Probably from all the mixed emotions he was feeling: fear, confusion, the mother of all worries… he just wanted to get to Theo as soon as possible.

“I’m coming.” He promised.

He wiped the side of his eyes when the call ended. When he looked up, Josh was looking at him calculatingly.

Sniffing, Stiles pleaded. “Tell me he’s all right.”

Josh visibly considered lying, but he eventually confessed, “He’s in a bad shape,”

Stiles exhaled the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“I had to pay a ridiculous amount to the blood bank to give me all the fresh supply of blood they had,” Josh informed him. “He’s been starved.”

Stiles’ head snapped up in shock. “He was gone for two weeks,” he couldn’t believe his ears. “Who would do this to him?”

“One guess who,”

“Josh,” Corey spoke from the driver’s seat, warning in his tone. “Don’t.”

Josh scoffed, “He ought to know. He’s the reason.”

Corey shook his head in disapproval but otherwise didn’t say anything further. He looked away when his eyes met Stiles in the rearview.

“I’m the reason for what?” Stiles prompted impatiently.

Josh looked at him, resentment palpable in his eyes. “He made an impressive number of enemies when he attacked his own to save you – his human whore.”

His breath caught in his throat. Stiles couldn’t even find it in himself to be furious by the insult. All his mind could think about was how he knew that vampire was going to come back to bite their asses.

I need you.

He needed to get to Theo as soon as possible. Stiles needed him too.

His heart leapt to his throat, ready to burst by the time the elevator to the penthouse opened. The sight immediately horrified Stiles – it was like a scene straight from a nightmare. His stomach churned at the stench, and bile threatened to rise out of his mouth.

Stepping inside, he followed the trail of thick blood on the ruined carpet leading up to the corpses of about a dozen rats scattered in different places as if mindlessly thrown. Not farther away, he spotted Theo leaning against his discolored leather tufted sofa. His mouth and face were smeared with blood; his shirt and pants thrown to the devil knows where, and his head hanging forward while his eyes fought to keep open. His skin was deathly pale – paler than Stiles ever saw it.

He crossed the room in under five seconds, kneeling in front of Theo and taking his face delicately in one hand, unmindful of the dead rats in their midst. He reached inside the backpack full of blood bags that Josh tossed to him as soon as they parked. He wasn’t allowed into the penthouse, and none of them were – not unless Theo specifically instructed them to come. So it was up to Stiles to deliver the blood to Theo.

He guided the first bag to Theo’s mouth, who immediately sniffed and grabbed it from Stiles’ hand. For the first time, Stiles saw him feed – saw how those fangs pierced through plastic and how Theo’s lips sucked all of the blood’s content in no time. Stiles raptly watched how Theo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and how his eyes closed in ecstasy. When he was done, he crumpled the plastic, threw it aside, and seized another bag of blood to do the hypnotic cycle all over again.

When he was through the second bag, he breathed in deeply and finally opened his eyes.

God was Theo messy; everything was messy. But Stiles had never seen Theo as beautiful as he did now – in his rawest form.

His hand dropped the empty plastic bag, slumping back against the sofa. “Sorry you had to see that,” Theo’s coarse voice said.

Stiles shook his head, sagging forward with a loud exhale as his adrenaline started melting away. Suddenly, the stinging in his eyes was back. “Theo…”

“Don’t say it,” Theo asserted. Stiles raised his head, looking at him through misty eyes. Through a bloody mouth, Theo swore. “There was no way I was going to let him hurt you. I knew this was going to happen eventually.”

Stiles sniffed, “And if it happened again?”

“It won’t,” Theo assured him. Groaning, he leaned forward towards Stiles to meet him eye to eye, taking his chin in his blood-stained hand. “Viggo’s family should be opening the gift I sent to them now,” one corner of his mouth pulled up in a malicious smile. “His head sprinkled with his body’s ashes inside a velvet black box wrapped in velvet red ribbon.”

Stiles gasped in horror, backing away, “You killed him?”

“I sent a statement,” Theo corrected. “Not to challenge me again. Or touch what was mine.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing – didn’t Theo make it worse? And for what? Stiles was not even his lover – he was his whore. Josh was right to be livid at him.

Stiles was silent for a while, lost in the sea of so many thoughts. He snapped back to the present when he felt Theo’s hand reaching for the backpack again. Stiles hurried to help him. “Are you still hungry?”

Theo grimaced as he looked at the mess he made, especially when his sight landed on the rats. “I had to make do – after all, blood was blood. It soothed the pain no matter where it came from. Luckily, I was too out of it to remember how ghastly the experience was.” He licked his lips, shuddering. “I haven’t had rats since the early days after my turn.”

Stiles avoided looking at the drained rat corpses to control the bile still threatening to rise from his stomach. “Do you think you have enough to get you back in shape?”

Theo scanned the inside of the backpack, making a noise of approval, “Josh did an excellent job – all of these are fresh bags. That would help. The fresher it is, the quicker it gets me there.”

A horrible idea formed in Stiles’ head at the statement. A horrible idea because no one would agree with him – not even Theo. But his mind was dead set – he was going to try everything to achieve it. He touched Theo’s hand and forced him to look at him. When he had Theo’s attention, he said, “So why don’t you feed from a human – directly?”

Theo leaned back in surprise, his voice gaining a hard edge when he asked, “What did you say?”

“Feed from a human,” he repeated, earning a growl from Theo. “Why settle with blood bags when you could drink straight from someone’s veins? You said you used to feed from your sister when she was alive, and she was all right the entire time, wasn’t she?”

Theo was angry now. He likely knew where this conversation was going. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” his teeth gnashed. “Besides, she was my sister. She wanted to help me adjust to the life I was thrust into against my will. Who do you think would be sane enough to consent to become a vampire’s personal blood tap and chew toy?”

“I would,” Stiles replied without hesitation.

Theo’s growl deepened, his chest vibrating with the sound. “That is because you are not sane. If you were, you would have been long gone.”

“No, listen,” Stiles moved to straddle Theo’s hips when he attempted to leave. Theo hissed and bared his fangs but otherwise stayed on the bloody floor, flashing his eyes in warning not to say anything stupid further. But Stiles was not to be deterred. “I would do it – for a price,” he added the last thought hastily.

It didn’t calm Theo. “If you wanted a raise, you could have just said.”

“No,” he released a frustrated sigh. “When I was watching you feed earlier, I was… fascinated.”

“'Fascinated’,” Theo echoed in loathing.

“Yes,” Stiles insisted, licking his lips. “I wanted to know how it felt.”

“To be sucked dry?” Theo snarled.

But Stiles was persistent, “To be bitten.” To be your source of strength. To give you my share of life.

Lightning quick, Theo grabbed the back of Stiles’ head with his bloody hands and pressed their foreheads together – vehemence gushing through his still starving bloodstreams. With their lips merely a hairsbreadth apart, Theo whispered viciously. “You – are fucked in this lovely head of yours.”

“Yes,” Stiles whispered back, nodding eagerly. “I am.” Then he grabbed Theo’s face with both hands and crushed their lips in a searing kiss.

It should be revolting, the way he could taste the rust from Theo’s lips on his own tongue. It should be repulsing, the way Theo stood and carried him like he weighed nothing to press him onto the stained couch, the dead rats littering the floor around them. It should be sickening how the stench of death perfumed their writhing bodies, seeking a desire that walked hand in hand with their doom.

Stiles opened his legs when Theo nudged them apart, bared his neck for Theo’s kisses, and offered his wrist when Theo licked against the skin.

Theo looked at him again, his blue eyes lust-blown and hungry, and Stiles nodded. Enthusiastically. Desperately. He carded the fingers of his free hand through Theo’s matted hair and pulled Theo’s head down. Kissing the shell of Theo’s ear, he whispered, “Please, Theo.”

And as Theo’s fangs penetrated the skin of his wrist, he ground his hips forward, too. Stiles threw his head back with a moan, closing his eyes to the pain and pleasure. As he felt his blood rushing to give Theo what he needed, he thought, now you’re mine as I am yours.

***

It quickly became the new arrangement: Stiles let Theo sink his teeth into his skin and fuck the senses out of him, and Theo paid him a much bigger sum than the last. It was only a matter of time before his friends found out. It didn’t go well – predictably.

Lydia was the first to notice – as she was wont to do. She cornered him and demanded answers to all of the right questions. She’d clearly done a thorough research, which didn’t surprise Stiles the least. If anything, it astonished Stiles that it took her nine whole months to get suspicious.

“I was suspicious seven months ago Stiles,” Lydia spat furiously. “What I am today, is appalled.” She paced, holding her head with both her hands. “Consorting with the likes of that guy – he’s not even human, for Christ’s sake. Why couldn’t you just go with a mafia guy?” She paused in her pacing and marched to him, grabbing his arm and shaking her head in repugnance at the telltale puncture wounds. Her eyes flashed, “And what if he goes too far?”

“He won’t,” Stiles assured her.

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” Stiles agreed, pulling his arm back and covering it with the sleeve of his hoodie. He sighed. “But I trust him.”

Lydia scoffed, shaking her head at Stiles. Her eyes had a knowing glint when she asked, “How long ago since you sold your body and not your heart?”

Stiles was taken aback for a moment. He'd never thought about it. But instead of denying it, he replied, “Fuck knows."

It was the most honest reply he could make.

***

After Lydia found out, the entire gang followed. Needless to say, it was a madhouse.

“Why couldn’t you just ask for help, Stiles?” Scott shook his head, upset. People were shaking their heads at Stiles a lot these days. “If you needed money, we would have helped you.”

“I didn’t want to burden you. We all have our own situations,” Stiles tried to explain. “I wanted to earn the money by myself.”

“By becoming a prostitute?” Jackson jeered. “How fucking noble, Stilinski.”

Stiles fisted his hands, “How I earn my money is none of your business. If you think I’m so dirty now to be your friend, then fuck right off.”

Jackson went straight for the door, “As you wish.” Scott followed seconds later.

Scott and Jackson didn’t talk to him for days. Scott eventually caved first but he spent the next few days begging Stiles to leave Theo – leave the country if need be. Allison – whose family moved around the supernatural circle, Stiles soon discovered – offered to help ‘eliminate’ Theo.

“It would be difficult,” Allison said determinedly, holding Stiles’ shoulder with a gloved hand. “Our family hasn’t encountered vampires in decades when I searched the archive. But it’s definitely doable.”

Stiles smiled timidly and took Allison’s hand into his. He met her eyes and said sincerely, “I appreciate it, Allison, offering me help and telling me about your secret. But…” Stiles bit his lip, squeezing Allison’s gloved hand. “I’d sooner cut my own wrist before I let anything happen to him.”

Allison’s brows furrowed in surprise. It wasn’t the response she expected to hear. “If it’s about the money, Stiles, I’m sure there are other ways to earn it,” she insisted. “I’m not sure you understand that it’s quite literally your neck in the line every time you come near this monster.”

“Theo's not a monster,”

“He’s got fangs that he uses to drink blood from you, take advantage of your weakness. What’s not monstrous about him?”

“You’ve got weapons and an archive that details how to ‘eliminate’ a vampire who was turned without a choice – who has tried and succeeded to live normally for the past fifty years without hurting anyone,” Stiles retaliated. “What’s not monstrous about you?”

Allison dropped Stiles’ hand, clenching her jaw. “If he drains your blood, don’t tell us we didn’t warn you.”

Stiles nodded, “If he drains my blood, it’ll be because I asked him.”

Allison left in frustration while Lydia blamed the vampire thrall.

“It’s his eyes,” Lydia said as soon as Stiles opened the door to his apartment, a couple of days after the Allison encounter. “He’s controlling you with his eyes.” She invited herself in and looked around. Her eyes narrowed, pointing at the coffee table, “Is that a Mies van der Rohe?”

Stiles shrugged and looked at her blankly. He had no idea what she just said. Theo bought him the coffee table.

Crossing her arms, she clicked her tongue. “Vampires' eyes have powers – it’s called thrall. He’s using them to keep you coming back.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, leaning against the archway. “I close my eyes when he fucks me, and there’s no broken spell, is there?”

Lydia's mouth thinned to a line.

“I’m not looking at his eyes now,” Stiles added. “But I still terribly miss him, don’t I?”

She rolled her eyes, “That’s not how it works. You don’t just close your eyes during sex or not see him for two days for the control to slip up. You have to stay away – for real.”

Stiles smiled at her regretfully, “I guess if I were really in thrall, I’m too weak to resist it. I don’t know the first thing about staying away from him.”

Only Kira didn’t blame Theo or the money he gave Stiles. Stiles was not sure if it was better.

“You’re not in danger, I don’t think,” Kira said, stroking his hair as they lay on Stiles’ couch. Stiles had just told her about Allison and Lydia’s visits. “You’re the danger.”

“What do you mean?”

Kira placed her free hand over Stiles’ chest. “Your heart – it’s an unbelievable thing. Any weaker heart would go running in the opposite direction as soon as it discovered what you discovered. Predators drive their prey away half-scared to death – that’s how nature works.”

Stiles tilted his head to look at Kira. Playfully, he asked, “Are you calling me prey?”

Kira smiled, “If you were the prey, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

Stiles’ smile retreated. Even then, he realized she was right.

***

Only a week after his conversation with Kira, Stiles put the final nail in their coffin.

Stiles tilted his head backward with an echoing moan, laying it against Theo’s shoulder to allow him more access to his neck. His arms reached out behind to encircle Theo’s head, long fingers grabbing at Theo’s wet hair as he continued charting little islands of bruises into his pale skin while his hips continued their brutally slow and hard pace.

The warm spray of water against his overheated skin and the cold touch of Theo’s hand, mouth, and naked body against naked body made Stiles delirious. He felt Theo’s blunt teeth scraping against his skin, his lips sucking hard, and then his tongue soothing the assaulted area. Theo’s hands ran all over his slick body, squeezing, massaging, and imprinting into his skin, his soul – deeper than his bare cock inside Stiles’ body. Stiles was so gone for this man.

It was too much – he was going into overdrive by all the sensations Theo was making him feel. But it all crested when Stiles felt Theo’s fangs grazing against his pulse as his cock pressed into his prostate. And instead of pulling away, Stiles pressed himself closer to Theo and urged him, “Do it,”

Theo’s hand tightened around Stiles’ waist, his other leaning against the tiled wall to anchor their dancing bodies, his chest grumbling against Stiles’ back. He swore he could feel a heartbeat where there was supposedly none.

“You naïve little human,” Theo spat against Stiles’ neck, angling his hips expertly to pull a scandalous moan from Stiles’ mouth. “You don’t understand what it is you’re permitting me to do.”

“I think I know,” Stiles whimpered when the tips of Theo’s fangs pressed dangerously close to breaking the skin. He tightened his fingers on Theo’s hair, moving his hips in rhythm to his lover. “I want you to feed where you’ve never fed before – where you’d never feed from others,” he gasped after another well-aimed thrust. “I want that to be mine.”

Theo’s hand sneaked to yank at Stiles' hair while the other grabbed his chin in a painful grip, exposing his neck more. Their movements ceased for a moment, their eyes meeting even at the awkward angle – one blazing with fury and one reckless with passion.

“Do you not fathom how foolish you are?” Theo sneered into his ear. “How horrendous your devil-may-care attitude towards this whole affair is? All of your friends have warned you.”

“And they are right,” Stiles panted. “And so are you.”

He nosed against the shell of Stiles’ ear, tightening his grip on Stiles to still him when he attempted to get their bodies moving again. Theo growled. “So – what are you still doing here?”

“Fuck knows, Theo,” Stiles answered helplessly the same way he answered Lydia before. And repeating Kira’s statement days ago, he finished with, “My heart – it’s an unbelievable thing.”

His nose flaring, Theo stared into his eyes, reading Stiles’ desperation there. Finally, he violently pushed their bodies forward, forcing Stiles to let go of Theo’s hair to place his hands against the wall for purchase. Without another word, bared his fangs and descended onto his neck – impaling them right at the spot where Stiles’ heart beat the most.

***

A month later, he used his thrall to erase himself from Stiles’ memories. The irony wasn’t lost on Stiles – Lydia always accused his thrall for keeping Stiles coming back. Now he used it to leave Stiles.

Because Theo was cruel. Not in the way that a monster was cruel. He was cruel in the way a human was cruel. There was no need to draw blood when you aim at the heart.

***

But this isn't all about the tale of how Theo left. This is also the tale of how he comes back.

***

“Quite a bedazzling outfit, you got.”

Stiles jerks in surprise as a figure slips onto the seat beside him. The man signals for the bartender with a nod before turning to him.

Stiles frowns, looking over his shoulder in search. He finds a bustling bar with tables full of people in extravagant and over-the-top costumes, but none near enough for a chat. It's a holiday and it's the first new establishment in their little town in six years or so; people are supposed to be too busy enjoying the novelty to pay lonesome strangers by the bar any attention. He turns back to his stranger – a startlingly attractive stranger with a magnetic blue stare, Stiles realizes – and points to himself.

“Are you talking to me?”

The stranger smiles and says simply, “Yes.”

Stiles blinks. “Are you making fun?”

The handsome stranger’s thick eyebrows form a slight frown, in confusion, but otherwise, keeps his pleasant smile. “Why would I make fun?”

Stiles scoffs. His brain instructs him to say ‘thanks’ and let it go like any normal person would do, but his mouth has a mind of its own. And he’s also got half of his half-pint in his system. “You do see I’m only wearing a cheap cape, right? With a Led Zeppelin shirt underneath.” The stranger merely shrugs so Stiles gestures at an item on the counter beside his half a pint of beer, “And plastic fangs. Bought from the dollar store two blocks away. I can point at least fifty other people in this bar wearing a better costume than me. So, I would hardly call it ‘bedazzling’ .” And before he can stop himself from adding, he snorts and shakes his head. “Who even says ‘bedazzling’ anymore?”

The smile on the handsome stranger’s face only widens, “I concede,” he says. “Perhaps, it was not the outfit that bedazzled me into approaching, after all. Allow me to rephrase: quite a bedazzling sight you are – cheap cape, plastic fangs, Led Zeppelin shirt, and all.”

“I –“ Stiles stammers, taken aback by how smoothly he fell for that.

The bartender wordlessly slides a cocktail glass in front of the stranger and leaves without waiting for any acknowledgment. The stranger takes the glass and lightly swirls it, all without looking away from Stiles.

Stiles clears his throat, feeling his face warm up. And certainly not from his beer. “What drink is that?” he asks, both to say anything and out of genuine curiosity. He watches as the content swirls around with the motions of the stranger’s wrist. “It’s so thickly… red,” he wrinkles his nose. “It’s like blood.”

The stranger chuckles, “Of course, it is blood, as you should know,” he replies. “What else do vampires drink?”

Stiles gazes up to the stranger’s bright blue eyes and handsome smirk and feels his entire body developing jitters; his veins pulsing and heart racing under his skin. It’s not an entirely unknown feeling, but it’s been a while since he experienced it. There’ve been plenty of opportunities, but none quite like this. Stiles has never seen a more ‘bedazzling’ smile and enthralling eyes.

Jesus. He’s never even thought of the word before, let alone use it to describe someone.

“I see,” Stiles starts, playing along, eyes scanning the man’s crisp white button-down, black dress pants, and leather shoes. “So, you’re a vampire too, I suppose? Only, too snobbish to actually wear a costume, unlike the rest of us?”

The stranger’s blue eyes sparkle in amusement, “But we must admit, capes are a little bit medieval, wouldn’t you say?” He brings the cocktail glass to his nose, sniffing it. “Vampires in the modern world dress like young billionaires rather than brooding viscounts.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow, commenting, “And they drink blood from cocktail glasses.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” the stranger remarks, meeting Stiles’ eyes through the rim of his glass. “A human neck is still the sweetest tap to feed from, but that privilege is reserved only for those with the most exquisite blood.”

Stiles holds the man’s gaze as he finally tips his cocktail glass into his lips, and empties it deliberately. The glass clinks when it’s brought down to the counter, its previous content leaving a dark red trail around its inner surface and staining the stranger’s lips. When he grins, his teeth are tainted too. It should be a disgusting sight if anything, but Stiles is too busy being mesmerized to keep that in mind.

Stiles swallows through his dried throat, “That makes a very convincing blood,” he says distractedly.

The man grins, unmindful of his stained mouth. “And I?” he leans closer. “Do I not make a convincing vampire?”

His eyes flicker helplessly down to the man’s lips. The red stain is even more captivating this close – he can’t look away. The bar is still as full and loud as when he arrived, but somehow, everything has muted down to background noise. Unconsciously, his tongue darts to wet his equally dried lips. “How does it taste?” he asks, breathless.

“Adequate,” the stranger answers promptly – like he doesn’t have to think about it. Then Stiles watches, almost in slow motion, as the man reaches out to touch him, taking his cue from the hitch in Stiles’ voice before laying his strong, expert fingers on Stiles’ skin. He uses them to lift Stiles’ chin and coax his gaze back up straight into his.

Stiles breathes through his mouth, enthralled by the invisible force of the stranger’s blue eyes. Instinctively, Stiles leans his body forward as if heeding a tug. His body seems to comprehend all the stranger’s little prompts even when Stiles doesn’t. And powerlessly, he tips his head to the side when the stranger guides it, baring his neck.

“But you,” the man speaks lowly, making his words more personal. Something in Stiles knows this isn’t any normal interaction between strangers in a bar. By the second, he realizes nothing about this is by accident. It couldn’t be. Not from the look of yearning from the stranger’s eyes and certainly not from Stiles’ surrender of power. His mind doesn’t remember this man, but his body does. The way it shivers as the man’s fingertips trace the point where his neck and shoulder meet. The way Stiles’ breath stutters when his thumb presses against that particular area on his neck where his blood pulses the most, against the scar of puncture wounds marking his pale skin. The way the stranger whispers to him, “You… are exquisite.”

It’s like Stiles could hear his own heartbeat; thumping loudly across the room. The phantom stinging on his neck that oftentimes visit him in his sleep – that one he couldn’t decide whether a dream or a nightmare.

“I couldn’t stay away,” the stranger tells him apologetically. “I spent the past year in torture. I was foolish to think there was getting rid of you.”

Without meaning to or knowing where it comes from, he breathes out the man’s name.

“Theo.”

Sharp fangs dropping, the stranger smiles.

***

Theo Raeken exists.

I love Theo Raeken.

Theo Raeken loves me.

***

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee

As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent’st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.