Deacon calls Stu at his home one evening, a few months after Stu reappeared into his life, newly-undead and with a set of intriguing scars.
“Hey, Stu. Did you get my text last week?”
“Sorry, lost my mobile phone in the woods. It was a rough night. Transforming, you know.”
“Oh. Well, sorry to hear that. Would you like to come hang out? With me?”
“Sure,” Stu says, amiable as ever. “Wanna see a movie?”
“Ugh, is the Wellington Vampire Society doing another screening? They always do the same ones. I don’t know why they like Blade so much. What other movies do you know?”
“...You haven't seen many movies, have you?”
“Well, there was that one you showed us of the sunrise. I watch that one a lot." Deacon pauses. "Especially when we thought you were dead, I watched that one a lot.”
“I bet you’d like Tarantino, there’s always a lot of blood in his films.”
“What about dancing? Are there any movies about erotic dancing?”
“Oh sure, let’s see. Most of them are pretty bad. I did like Magic Mike, though.”
“What is Magic Mike? Is that about witches?”
“No, but there’s a lot of male strippers. It’s quite a sad film, actually.”
“Well, I don’t want sad erotic dancing,” Deacon says, curling his lip.
“They’re showing Silence of the Lambs in town this weekend,” Stu suggests. “It’s pretty gory. There’s cannibalism. Humans eating other humans.”
“Hmmm,” says Deacon. “That does sound pretty good.”
“Well,” says Stu, and hesitates. “If you did want to go see a movie, I could take you. You ever been to a movie theater?”
“Stu is taking me to the movies,” Deacon announces. “I need help getting dressed.”
“Oooh, the movies!” Viago claps, multiple gaudy rings clinking against one another. “What are we going to see? I hear there’s a documentary now that exposes Abraham Lincoln for all his dirty vampire-hunting secrets.”
“It is not ‘we,’” says Deacon. “It’s just me and Stu, hanging out, and having a good time.”
“Why can’t we go? It’s rude of you to exclude us, we’re all friends,” says Vladislav.
“Because it is a date,” snaps Deacon. “Now help me find something sexy to wear.”
It takes far longer than usual to decide on a nightlife outfit for Deacon, Viago fussing even more than usual, and Vladislav taking an hour to search his room for an article of clothing he hadn’t worn in a hundred years before remembering he burnt it after an unfortunate encounter with the Beast. They decide, eventually, on bearskin chaps, a ram’s skull codpiece, a jacket with a fur-lined hood, and an artfully torn black blouse borrowed from Vladislav, who insists it belonged to a pirate he once drained. Katherine lends him a strange necklace on a long chain, something she calls a “lover’s medallion for passion and luck,” and something Deacon thinks to be mostly bullshit, but tucks it under Vladislav’s pirate blouse anyway.
“Okay, goodbye… have fun… be nice to Stu!” Viago peeks his head around the door as Deacon leaves.
“What do you mean, ‘be nice to Stu’?” Deacon calls back to the house. “Bullshit! I’m a nice fucking guy and Stu is great! Piss off!”
Irritated, Deacon flies in bat-form to the edge of town, picking up Stu’s wolfish scent a half-kilometer out. He finds him easily a few blocks from the theater. There are humans milling around, so Deacon lands in a tree with adequate leaf coverage, transforms, and falls out of the tree onto his ass. Stu pretends not to notice as Deacon brushes grass off his backside and picks twigs out of his jacket hood.
“I brought you a gift,” says Deacon, and hands Stu a knitted hat with ear flaps, white pom-poms dangling on thick yarn.
Stu puts it on immediately. “How’s it look?”
Deacon, glad for the ram’s skull atop his groin, says only, “I think it accentuates your scars pretty nicely.”
They walk to the theater, and Deacon launches into a story: “Did I tell you about the time I turned Nick’s penis into a snake? It was hilarious.”
Upon reaching the theater, they discover Silence of the Lambs is sold out. All that’s available is a shitty tearjerker flick with only marginally attractive C-list actors; Stu is fine with this. Deacon, however, expresses his disappointment loudly and often, heckling the oblivious actors onscreen, boots up on the chairs beside and in front of him.
“I’m starving,” Deacon says, at full volume. The film is only halfway through. Stu glances around, furtively counting the number of human theater patrons.
When he turns back to Deacon, he sees his feet planted on the floor and arms outstretched toward a sobbing, ponytailed girl seated the row in front of them.
“Deacon,” Stu whispers, eyes flitting back and forth between Deacon and the unwitting patron. “Deacon, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to eat her, what does it look like?” he hisses.
“Deacon, we should find someone to eat on the way home, where there’s less people around, all right? Maybe you can hypnotize somebody to follow us,” Stu suggests, but Deacon’s skin is turning mottled gray and sallow, tongue forking and licking around his teeth, eyes going black and full with concentration; he leans toward the weeping, delicious figure in front of him.
“Well, all right, then,” Stu says, and decides he should probably kiss Deacon.
And he does. The strangest bit of it is Deacon’s features morphing back into something more humanlike under Stu’s grasp, tongue still flicking but growing wider, and tasting more and more of copper. Deacon’s cheek is against his like the touch of a cold hand on his neck, and he suppresses a small shiver, wondering if he should be worried about his tongue sticking to Deacon's like on a freezing pole.
When Deacon pulls back, Stu intends to apologize. But Deacon is smiling out of the corner of his mouth, eyes drooping into focus on Stu’s lower lip, hunger unabated but entirely redirected.
“Want to go?” Stu asks, and Deacon obliges, guiding him from the dark of the theater into the streetlit night with a hand on his shoulder.
They find a secluded street behind the theater, occupied only by a lad in a threadbare hoodie smoking a cigarette and kicking gravel around idly. The street is lit by a single lamp on the side of a stone wall, and Stu pushes Deacon against the wall underneath it, putting his warm hands between the tears of Vladislav’s ridiculous shirt. Deacon pulls Stu in by the pom-poms and kisses his thin lips roughly, emitting a low hiss from the side of his mouth. Stu responds with a wolfish snarl and bumps Deacon’s chin up with his nose, taking to his neck with glee. Deacon, in turn, makes the most vulgar sound Stu’s ever heard. He sucks in one spot, then migrates to another; as he moves, he feels the chill of Deacon’s heavy breath pass by him, and slips his knee between Deacon’s legs.
The stone beneath their feet is slick from fresh rain, and Stu’s running shoes slip a little. He leans into Deacon to catch his balance, and Deacon takes this as a cue to press his torso into Stu’s further, moving a hand to grab Stu’s tall hip, and another to the nape of his neck, tugging Stu’s short hair. He pushes into Stu with another open-mouthed kiss, fangs clacking against Stu’s flat teeth, sinking into his lip just a bit too hard.
Kissing Deacon is messy and suffocating, and Stu loves it.
The codpiece has begun to get in the way, so Deacon tears himself from Stu to fuck with the clasp around his waist, cursing and spitting as he does. He gets it loose and tosses it down the street near the lad with the cigarette, who jumps and skitters away like a startled cat.
They watch the lad flee, and Deacon scoffs: “Ah! Should’ve killed that guy.”
“Want to go get him?”
Deacon looks back at Stu, and needs no consideration. “No.”
They walk all the way back to the vampires’ flat after a satisfying night wherein Deacon concludes that Stu is not a virgin. They hold hands, and they talk about stupid shit, and they only check every so often for the slow blinking out of street lamps.
“When I was leaving the guys whined about me not including them, or whatever.”
“Yeah. I had to convince Anton to let me go out by myself - he was a bit weird about the whole thing, ‘cause, you know, you’re a vampire and I’m a werewolf. But I think he’s really coming to respect me, you know? I really think I could be moving up in the pack,” Stu says, a hint of pride in his tone.
“That’s really cool,” says Deacon. “But, you’re much smarter than most werewolves.”
“Thank you,” Stu says, ever-polite. "They're all right."
“So…” Deacon says, “I really liked it… when you impaled that asshole.”
“No - well, yes, but - at the Unholy Masquerade. Remember?”
“Yeah. That was my first time ever killing someone.”
“No way! Bullshit.”
“Believe me, I’ve seen a lot of people be impaled on sticks - at least eleven of them. And you looked so natural. That is when I realized how cool you were. Well, I already knew how cool you were, but I never knew you could kill a guy. It was pretty sexy.”
By the time they return to the flat, dawn has nearly broken.
“Deacon!” Viago hovers anxiously by the curtain, rubbing his white fur slippers against one another and wringing his hands. “What are you doing out so late? It’s nearly morning!”
Katherine is lurking behind Viago’s floating form, smiling sweetly. “Hello, boys. Did the medallion work?”
“No. There was plenty of sexual energy present anyway, thank you,” Deacon says, fishes the medallion out of his shirt, and hands it to Katherine without any sense of decorum. Stu shrugs, nods.
“Well… how was the movie?” asks Viago.
Deacon just looks at Stu, and Stu just snickers.
“It was all right, but I think we’ll do dinner theater next.”