Page 13 of The Stars and the Stage
Diego couldn’t say no, not in the fiction they’ve been forging, and, they suspected, not in their real life either. Maddox had been kneeling at their feet for so long. Perhaps it was time to offer him a hand up. But—fuck, they didn’t know if theycouldbite him. They could try, but how many times could they flinch away before he noticed—before everyone noticed? Maybe they could still give him something, though.
Valentine hesitated, but Diego offered him Maddox’s cut wrist, like the limb was attached to a pet and not a person. “Venom only.”
With the affection that had so quickly grown between Maddox and Valentine, Diego was not expecting the way Maddox deflated at the handoff, his gaze dropping to his lap. They instantly wanted his attention back, to see his eyes alight with joy and longing. With hope.
Valentine handled him gently, injecting venom into the vein above Maddox’s weeping cut as he caressed Maddox’s arm, and dramatically presented Diego the limb in return. They took it. They ran their thumb against the curves of Maddox’s palm and tightened their grip on the dense muscles of his forearm. Just this touch, as platonic and practical as it was, made them yearn for more with a hollow aching, like they had a space within just waiting to be set on fire. Maybe they could not bring themself to bite him, but they could offer another gift, however small and insignificant.
The room had gone quiet, all eyes on the two of them.
With the pad of Maddox’s bandage, Diego wiped away the oozing red. Then, they drew their tongue along Maddox’s torn flesh. They could still taste the fresh seep of Maddox’s blood, but it was light enough not to distract them—no more than the scent of him or the feel of his arm already did. His cut didn’t close instantly into a new layer of seamless skin the way it would have had it been fresh, but with each tender drag of their tongue, Diego felt a little more of him knit back together. When the wound had closed enough to cease bleeding, they pressed their lips purposefully to the raised, reddened line.
It was no more than they’d done for any of the humans they’d drunk from that event, but with Maddox it left their head light and their heart in tangles. They let him go, not casting him aside for once but simply setting his arm onto the table between them. They traced the back of his hand as they pulled away.
He made a sound for them, soft and perfectly contented—or maybe he’d been making that sound all along. He’d gone loose in his chair, his whole body inclined toward them and his expression so satisfied that it made Diego’s chest leap.
They took the cup Maddox had bled into and lifted it in a toast. “To commitment,” They called, and the room echoed. They glanced toward Maddox with a smirk. “May your blood ever flow freely.”
He bowed his head and clicked his wine glass to theirs.
Everyone sipped. The fullness of Maddox’s blood hit Diego, sharp and deep and oaky like a dry Merlot, yet smooth as silk as it slid down their throat. They savored it, swallowing slowly, and wondered why they hadn’t given in sooner. It wouldn’t have fit the flow of the story, they reminded themself. Though looking out at the crowd, so many grins and sly glances their way, perhaps that was wrong.
“Thank you,” Maddox whispered, smiling too. “That’s not even Prince Maddox. Just Maddy.”
“I know.” It was growing easier and easier to tell the difference, to make out all the little complexities of him, even if Diego still felt like they didn’t truly know this new him—the real him—beyond the strength of his dedication and the breath of his humor. “You are both delicious, by the way.” Diego scowled. “But please don’t bleed yourself for me again until I ask.”
“Willyou ask?”
They took another sip, and already the glass seemed too far empty. “Yes. And I think,” they added, fangs bared, “that I’ll be asking more of you very soon.”
6
The rest of the night passed in such a blur that Diego didn’t have time to fret over the after-hours challenge they were concocting for Maddox. Most of the guests had already departed by the time he emerged from the customer dressing space, his fantastical outfit traded for white-washed jeans with ripped knees and a leather riding jacket that had probably cost more than the motorcycle was now worth. He’d forgotten one strand of faux-gems in his dark hair, but somehow it only improved on the look. He was certainly beautiful enough to pull it off.
He lifted a hand to Diego, and for a moment it seemed like he was going to say something—ruin things, probably. But then he just gave a little bow and turned down the hall toward the side door.
Diego called after him. “Did you come here on Juliet?”
Maddox looked quizzical, but he answered a simple, “Yes.”
“Bring her around.”
“As you wish.” The self-satisfied way he smiled while he said it made Diego want to shove him. Or kiss him.
“Inconceivable,” they grumbled.
Maddox’s voice shifted to a perfect rendition of Inigo Montoya. “I do not think that word means what you think it means.”
Kiss or shove, they still couldn’t decide. God, had his lips always looked this soft? Diego snorted. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
They walked away from him, hiding their grin.
Diego left a strand of their own gems in their hair. It wasn’t on purpose, they told themself. It didn’tmeananything. But they carefully tucked it in as they wrapped a bandana tightly over their long bob—yellow plaid to match the bright lines of their oversized flannel, which was baggy enough that they were able to trade their binder for a sports bra without an obvious difference.
When they emerged from the club, Maddox sat on Juliet, the bike running beneath him and the flap of his helmet up. He made as though to dismount.
Diego waved at him. “Scoot back.”
His brow lifted, but he did as he was told. Diego slid onto the motorcycle. They’d ridden on and off enough since high school that the muscle memory returned in an instant, one hand testing the brake while the other gave the ignition a few revs. Maddox laughed and pressed his body against theirs. Their breath caught at the warmth of his chest, his large hands cupping their waist, long fingers firm but gentle as he fondled the curve where Diego’s thigh met their pelvis. It sent shivers deep between their legs.
