chapter twenty-six
Sunlight spreads across the large bed like a blanket of warmth, making Louis's sensitive skin itch with irritability. He slowly awakes from a deep state of slumber and turns his head slightly, pressing his temple against the soft sheets. To his left, Harry sleeps peacefully with his limbs spread delicately, like a perfectly-positioned doll. His porcelain skin starts to turn pink from the harsh light.
Carefully, Louis lifts up the heavy blanket and drapes it across Harry's body. Much to Louis's relief, he doesn't wake up. With a sleepy smile on his face, Louis stands up and walks towards the nearby window. Outside, the blue sky is completely cloudless and empty. He shuts the curtains firmly to seal out the torturous sunshine.
"Lou," Harry croaks, lashes fluttering. He stares at him from across the room, curled up in the comforter like a butterfly in a cocoon.
"Morning, baby," Louis hums, stepping closer to his bedside. The floorboards creak beneath his weight. Despite living in this house for nearly three weeks now, he isn't accustomed to the squeaky noises and screeching door hinges.
Harry smiles up at him, eyes dark and green like moss. "I start my new job today," he thinks aloud.
"You do," Louis says proudly.
He remembers when Harry came home one week prior after filling out countless applications in Whitehall. He had an interview at the local bar and was hired on the spot. He already had experience bartending at Fool's Gold, so he couldn't wait to start working again. He was becoming increasingly bored with doing absolutely nothing with his life.
"Are you excited?" Louis asks after a brief moment of silence.
"Mostly nervous," Harry admits, biting his lip.
"You'll be great," Louis reassures, rubbing his cold palm up and down the length of Harry's arm. "You'll be the best bartender in the state of Montana."
Harry rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet breath of laughter. "Sure, whatever."
Louis's lips press into a thin line. His expression suddenly turns colder. "Are you feeling alright? You look pale."
"I'm a vampire—"
"No, I mean. Paler than usual."
Harry sits up in bed, straightening his posture. His joints crack. "I'm just hungry. It's been awhile since we last..."
"Killed someone?"
Harry nods silently. "I'm just... tired. Exhausted, actually."
Louis understands. He doesn't mention the dark circles beneath his eyes. His lips are no longer a bright shade of rose, but rather a light pastel pink like over-chewed bubblegum. His movements are syrupy slow.
"Perhaps we should go hunting," he suggests, voice soft and hesitant. "You need all the energy you can get. It's your first day at a new job, love."
"You know I don't like that word— hunting."
"I don't know how else to say it."
Harry goes quiet for a few seconds. He looks down at his hands. His bones are prominent and interlaced with bulging veins. He knows he's starving—he can feel it in his gut—but the past few weeks have been so blissful and beautiful. He doesn't want to ruin his newfound happiness. Killing someone always leaves him feeling guilty and monstrous.
"Maybe later," Harry mumbles. He picks at a hangnail on his thumb to avoid Louis's burning gaze of concern. "I'm not really in the mood to kill someone."
"Baby—"
"Later," he repeats, bopping Louis's nose for emphasis.
Louis's eyes crinkle in response. "Okay, later. How about tomorrow?"
Harry nods slowly before climbing out of bed, pushing the blankets aside. He rubs his knuckles against his eyes and tries to clear his blurry vision. He's wearing nothing but a pair of pink boxers that fall mid-thigh. His legs look long and milky and endless. He stretches his arms over his head, flexing his muscles. Louis gulps.
"How are you so effortlessly beautiful?" he says aloud, staring at Harry lovingly.
Harry blushes and ducks his head. "Shut up."
"Let me compliment you," Louis purrs, eyes darkening. He steps closer and grips Harry's pudgy hips, squeezing his adorable love handles. "Y'know, I'm not sure how I feel about this new job of yours. I don't want creepy old men flirting with you for free drinks."
Harry scoffs. "Creepy old men like yourself?"
Louis pouts childishly. "I'm not creepy."
"But you're practically ancient," Harry teases, shaking his head fondly. He gives Louis a quick once-over, admiring him from head to toe. He licks his lips. "226 years old, and you still insist upon wearing Spiderman pajama pants."
Louis laughs and crosses his arms over his bare chest. "Stop making fun of me. You need a shower. You stink."
" 's your fault for making me sweat so much. I smell like sex," Harry says, wrinkling his nose with false disgust.
Louis flushes. Dirty images enter his head. He tries not to think about Harry moaning and arching his back with Louis's head between his thighs. Tries not to think about him screaming his name and calling him Daddy.
"Will you make me a cuppa whilst I'm in the shower?" Harry asks, pausing in the bathroom doorway. "My throat's kinda sore."
Louis bites his lip. "Yeah, sure."
Harry smiles before shutting the door. Louis stands there for a few more seconds, flustered and red-faced. After he recollects himself, he retreats to the kitchen and fills up a silver kettle with water. He rests it on the hob and lets it simmer.
He waits next to the stove in silence, listening to the hissing water pipes from the nearby bathroom. Distantly, he can hear Harry humming to himself in the shower, and Louis can't help but smile fondly.
Harry has him wrapped around his finger.
-
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with? I could keep you company," Louis hums, leaning up against the bedroom doorway. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, making his biceps flex. His caramel hair is swept across his forehead beautifully.
Harry smirks and pulls his uniform t-shirt over his head. He tugs on the hem to straighten out the wrinkles. The shirt has the bar's logo on the front and a name tag pinned at the top.
"I don't think my boss would appreciate it," Harry chuckles dryly. He runs his fingers through his long curls, brushing a few ringlets out of his eyes.
"But I need to protect you," Louis pouts. He steps in closer and wraps his arms around Harry's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. He tenses as Louis turns his face and presses his cold lips against his neck, kissing over his scar. His fangs scratch over his skin. He subtly rubs his crotch against his arse.
Harry huffs. "I don't need you to protect me, Louis. I'm a grown man."
Louis releases his grip and frowns. Harry turns around so they're face-to-face. He doesn't look too happy.
"I'll be fine, okay? Don't worry about me," Harry assures, squeezing his hands.
"But you're my little fledgling, babe. You're my responsibility."
Harry sighs at length. "This is my first job since Fool's Gold. Please don't ruin this for me by being overprotective."
Louis scoffs at the accusation. "Me? Overprotective? As if!"
Harry tilts his head hesitantly. "Promise you'll leave me alone? My shift is only five hours long. I'll be home by midnight."
"I promise," Louis swears, trying his best to sound genuine.
Harry smiles and wraps his arms around Louis's waist, hugging him. Despite being cold-blooded, he feels surprisingly warm and soft and gentle. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of his neck, smelling his expensive Ralph Lauren cologne.
Louis pulls back a few inches, creating a gap of space between them. Before Harry can complain, he brings their lips together and snogs him breathlessly. His lips taste like strawberry lip gloss. He kisses him urgently at first, with teeth and tongue, but it soon softens into something more familiar. Something calmer.
When they finally separate, Harry's lips are wet with spit. His cheeks are flushed pink, completely flustered, and his eyes are glossed over.
"What was that for?" Harry asks. "Not that I'm complaining."
"It was a goodbye kiss."
Harry frowns. "I'll be gone for five hours, Louis. I'm not going off to war."
"But this is our first time being apart since we moved here," Louis complains, voice cracking with vulnerability. "I'm just... worried."
"Don't be," Harry murmurs, touching their foreheads together. He places his hand over the back of his neck and smooths over his nape.
"I just don't want any guys to flirt with you or touch you," Louis grumbles immaturely. His jaw sets tightly with jealousy. "You're mine."
"I'm just a bartender, Lou. Not a stripper. Relax."
"But you're so sexy. You're irresistible," Louis purrs, squeezing his waist. He's wearing a pair of dark denim jeans that cling to his thighs and bum. His t-shirt is a little small on him, although it could be a marketing strategy. Fit bartenders in skin-tight clothes influence customers to order more drinks.
"When I come home later, we'll celebrate my new job. I promise," Harry giggles, blushing.
Louis hums attentively. "What'd you have in mind?"
Harry smirks and inches closer. He leans in, breath as cold as ice, and nips at his earlobe with his fangs. It pinches, but not enough to actually puncture the skin. Louis shivers beneath his touch.
"Anything you want, Daddy."
Louis's eyes darken with arousal. "Fuck, baby. You can't tease me right now."
"Why not?" Harry asks, batting his lashes innocently.
"Because you're about to leave. It's not fair."
Harry smiles mischievously. "You're right. My cab should be here any second now."
Louis slumps his shoulders. "You can take my new Porsche, y'know. I don't mind."
"No, Lou. I'm gonna save up my paychecks and buy my own car. That's why I got this job in the first place."
"But—"
"My cab's here," Harry interrupts, glancing out the window.
A yellow taxi is parked along the side of the road. Outside, the green grass looks vibrant in the bright sunlight. A tall mountain stands in the distance with white patches of snow near its peak. Their road is nothing but an uneven dirt path of gravel.
He quickly kisses Louis's cheek, feeling his stubble scratch against his lips. "I'll see you later, Daddy. Wait for me."
Louis just stares as his boyfriend walks out the front door. And suddenly, his world feels empty.
-
Compared to Fool's Gold, Bighorn Bar and Grill is an absolute pigsty. The interior bricked walls are lined with old Montana license plates and rusty antiques. The floor, made entirely of concrete, is coated in a thin layer of dirt and dust. The alcohol bar is long with a glass counter top, distorted with cracks and smudges. Unstable stools line up along the bar, complete with red leather cushions.
Windows fill the wall facing the main road with boarders of dull, blue curtains. People, mostly men, crowd around the bar with half-filled glasses. Loud chatter overwhelms the busy atmosphere.
Harry stands at the entrance, completely still. He can't help but feel out of place. He's a English boy in his early twenties in the middle of rural Montana. Not to mention the fact that he's a blood-thirsty vampire.
Amidst the crowd of drunken customers, Harry smells blood. The entire bar has a heavenly aroma. His instincts tell him to attack someone, anyone, and sink in his fangs. He suppresses his vampire urges and pushes them to the back of his brain.
"Harry!" says a loud, raspy voice.
He looks up to see his new boss, Mr. Elliot. He's a tall man with a prominent barrel-belly, born and raised in the heart of Texas. He moved to Montana when he was only nineteen years old to start his own business. Now, at the age of sixty-five, he's the richest man in Whitehall. Which isn't that much of an accomplishment, considering the town has a small population of 1,077.
Mr. Elliot has a grey beard and sideburns. A cowboy hat rests on the top of his head. He wears an oversized pair of blue jeans, secured to his waist with a large leather belt. His skin is pale and filled with wrinkles.
"Hello, sir," Harry says with a bright smile. He reaches out and shakes his hand firmly. His palm feels as dry and rough as sandpaper.
His boss grins. "No need to be so formal. You can call me Peter," he insists, releasing his grip. "Let me show you to your new work station, okay?"
Harry nods eagerly. His boss guides him behind the counter, next to towering shelves of alcohol. Customers sit on the wobbly stools and drink from shot glasses and beer mugs. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke swirls through the air.
"You have experience mixing cocktails, right?" Peter asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Right," Harry confirms, nodding shortly. "There was a bar at the club I used to work at."
"Great," Peter says with a smile.
He clasps his hand on another worker's shoulder. It's a girl, probably in her late-twenties. Her hair is dark and coarse, coiled in pretty curls. Her skin is as dark and soft as milk chocolate. She has pretty doe eyes, bright and innocent. Her uniform t-shirt is tight around her bust, showing off her perky breasts and curvy hips. The hem falls just above her navel.
"This is Tina. She's been working here for almost seven years, and she'll be your trainer for today," says Peter, voice flat and low. "You can watch her for an hour or so, and then I'll let you get to work."
Harry's eyes widen. "Are you sure I can learn everything in an hour?" he hesitates.
Peter gives a comforting grin. "It's mixing drinks, not rocket science. You'll be fine."
Before Harry can protest, his boss leaves without another word to attend to other business. He's left alone with Tina. The young woman laughs lightly.
"Don't take it personally. Peter's a very busy man," she explains, wiping down the counter with an old rag.
Harry just stands there awkwardly, hands tucked in his pockets.
"Hey, gorgeous," says one of the awaiting customers, interrupting their conversation. He's staring at Tina directly.
He's a middle-aged man sitting at one of the bar stools, clutching an empty beer mug. He has dark hair and ashen eyes. He's clearly intoxicated, voice slow and slurred.
"How 'bout a refill, yeah?" he grumbles.
Tina forces out a false smile and takes the man's glass. She lifts it to the beer tap and fills it to the brim. The golden surface is coated in a thick layer of carbonated foam. She slides the mug to him across the smooth counter without spilling a single drop.
"Thanks, sugar," the customer babbles, winking.
Tina just frowns and turns back around to face Harry. The man at the bar returns his attention to his group of friends. They're chatting obnoxiously loud, complaining about their wives and tiring jobs. Harry suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.
"Does that happen a lot?" Harry asks curiously, lowering his voice so the men can't hear.
Tina raises a thin eyebrow. "What?"
"The whole... flirting thing."
She shrugs. "Sometimes, yeah. But that was nothing. Sometimes customers can get very... invasive."
"Invasive?"
"Yeah, y'know. Ass grabs. Staring at my tits. Following me home."
Harry gulps worriedly. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah, but whatever. The job pays well, and I get tipped a lot," she says dismissively. She squints her eyes at Harry for a few seconds. He can tell she's staring at his mascara and lip gloss. "Oh, and just some advice: skip the makeup. Some of these guys are homophobic bastards with their minds stuck in the last century."
She drops the subject abruptly and grabs a silver cocktail shaker from one of the top shelves. She twists off the lid and smiles eagerly, revealing perfectly-straight teeth. Her plump lips are coated with red stain.
"Want me to show you how to make a lime margarita? It's one of my favorites," she offers kindly, grabbing a bottle of top-notch tequila from behind the bar.
Harry smiles timidly. "Um, yeah. Sure."
He ignores the nervousness in his gut and tries to focus on Tina's instructions. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't avoid his paranoid instincts. These men could be dangerous. If they harass Tina on a daily basis, he can't even begin to imagine what they might do to him. He's a delicate green-eyed boy with long hair and feminine tattoos. He's a homophobe's worst nightmare.
On second thought, maybe his possessive boyfriend was right. Perhaps he does need Louis's protection.