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On a cold November evening, Guillermo dies.
Besides his rattling lungs, everything goes off without a hitch. Rose petals and weeping wax candles litter the ground of Nandor’s crypt. The flowers are such a deep, concentrated red that they remind Nandor of the congealed blood on Guillermo’s neck. Two neat dots that won’t even stain his shirt. It will scar beautifully.
Not that Guillermo is conscious enough to thank Nandor. Right now, he is miserable and sick and deliriously happy. He sprints to Death’s door, while Nandor remembers crawling away from it during his own turning. But, Guillermo’s been through this before. There must be a difference between a spoiled dress rehearsal and a flawless opening night.
Nandor remains close by during Guillermo's transformation, as is expected of any kind sire. Nandor was never particularly interested in being a kind sire, but he feels a certain responsibility this time. This is all brand new to Nandor. After all, he’s never bound someone to his soul before.
It’s not a love potion. It’s not not a love potion. That is the genius of it.
“Oh, yes,” Lilith says, “I have something for your exact predicament.”
“You do?” Nandor asks. He picks up a jar of what must be lotion. It smells so familiar, but he can’t place it. Maybe Guillermo uses it.
They’re at Satchel Serafina right now, just the two of them. Not to worry—Nandor came in disguise. He wore his very discreet jersey. Only two people stopped him to compliment it on his way over here.
“I am a witch. I could conjure anything your dark heart desires. For the right price.” Her elevator eyes examine him up and down before they get stuck on his basement level crotch. Right. The semen.
“That’s not necessary,” Nandor says, though is tempted. But he needs to return home before Guillermo notices he’s gone and begins to search for him all over town like a spurned wife. “What you described before is ideal. I’ll take it.”
Lilith shrugs, and she wraps up his purchase without any of her usual protest, which makes Nandor raise his eyebrow. But there’s no time to dwell on it, as his bag is ready. “So, I have you down for one vial of Intertwined Ichor.”
And before Nandor can accept, Lilith’s voice ramps up unnaturally to a breakneck speed, like those late-night commercial compilations Colin Robinson watches for fun. “Of course, Satchel Serafina is not to be held liable in the event of a potion gone wrong. We assume no responsibility and do not offer refunds once you walk out this door. If you or an affected party is in need of magical assistance—”
“That’s enough,” Nandor interrupts. “Get to the part of how to use it. He’s getting turned tomorrow. I have no time to waste.”
Lilith rolls her eyes openly. She coughs, then recites from memory in a much grander cadence, “If you wish to entrap and ensnare, then press this to his lips with care. Take your fill of his life spilled, and when blood runs dry and eyes burn red, he will be thine, ‘til the very end.”
Nandor blinks.
“Ugh, you vampires truly have no respect for the process. Just have him drink this before you turn him. He’ll be bound to you forever. Now go. Unless you changed your mind about that earlier business proposal…?”
It’s an insurance policy, if anything. Just in case Guillermo’s new wings might convince him of something so foolish as to leave the Staten Island mansion again. For the fourth or fifth time. Nandor’s lost count. It probably isn’t right, but neither is ditching the man you promised your life to. Repeatedly. Publicly. Guillermo is lucky that Nandor is so selfless and forgiving to move past all this.
“What is it?” Guillermo asks. He’s propped up against a few pillows by the flickering fireplace. They haven’t started yet, but the stage is set. He’s nervous, running the fur rug through his fingers. “Derek didn’t—”
At the mention of his name, Nandor makes a garbled noise, an undignified cross between a whine and a snarl.
Guillermo’s expression is trying to be a frown but failing terribly. Now that some time has passed, Nandor has noticed how Guillermo’s residual guilt now blends with some sick satisfaction at Nandor’s open jealousy.
“But seriously, he didn’t make me drink anything before we… You know,” Guillermo says.
“And how well did that turn out?” Nandor huffs. “It is a potion from Lilith. To avoid any future complications that may come from your turning.” Which is completely truthful.
In lieu of a response, his eyes search Nandor’s face for one agonizing instant. It makes Nandor question everything. Before Nandor can stop him, Guillermo drinks it willingly.
Nandor watches the contents of that small vial travel down his bobbing throat.
Guillermo licks his lips, chasing the flavor. “It’s sweet. I wasn’t expecting that.”
The potion takes hold of Guillermo immediately, even before Nandor’s turned him. Lilith must have given him a potent batch, or he misremembered her instructions.
They started this evening kneeled, facing each other, but when Guillermo began to feel faint, he ordered Nandor to get on the ground. Bossy, even to the end. Nandor complied, only because it was easier than making it a whole thing.
They are lying together on the fur rug now. Guillermo lies on his back, while Nandor settles over him like a favorite blanket since Guillermo wouldn’t stop bitching about how cold he was (a side effect of the dying). They have never been this close together—excluding all their fights to the death where hands only move with cruel intention. Nandor never imagined this could happen without a stake against his neck or his sword against Guillermo’s stomach.
Nandor feeds at his own pace, perhaps even drawing this moment out. He thinks Guillermo is about to reprimand him, but then Nandor feels a small hand against the back of his head.
The hand is gentle, grounding. Guillermo does not push Nandor down so much as keep him steady. Then, once Nandor doesn’t stop him, Guillermo begins to run his fingers softly through his hair. It is very distracting and not what they agreed on. It is so nice that Nandor feels he might gain the ability to purr. Nandor would really prefer they don’t speak of it, but of course, Guillermo has to go and ruin it.
“You’re so good at this,” Guillermo murmurs, and Nandor nearly chokes on his mouthful.
Guillermo doesn’t notice, as he is stuck right now in that hazy, in-between space of life and death. His fingers dig in more deeply, massaging perfectly against Nandor’s scalp. “It doesn’t even hurt. I didn’t know it could feel like this. It’s so different this time…”
When Guillermo’s fingers find a snag in his hair to tug on, Nandor’s cock throbs pitifully against Guillermo’s hip. Can he feel that? He’s thankful for his teeth in Guillermo’s neck; it muffles his whimper. But Guillermo must at least feel the vibration of sound because he tilts his neck invitingly.
Nandor desperately wishes that Guillermo would stop talking and stop pulling his hair in a way that makes his spine tingle. He coaxes the blood to rush out faster, no longer that faint dribble but a constant beading. He doesn’t particularly want Guillermo to die, but he can’t help it if Guillermo’s death might give him a moment to either relax or rub one out.
Unbeknownst to Nandor’s crisis, Guillermo mumbles again, “So good." Does he even realize what he’s saying? He must not. Guillermo’s loopy now, and it shows in the way his hands slow in Nandor’s hair. He doesn’t have the strength to do much but pet him anymore. His other hand comes up to cling onto the sleeve of Nandor’s arm.
The torture does not stop there.
Later, when Guillermo feeds from the open gash on Nandor’s forearm, he has the gall to swipe his tongue along the sensitive skin. He drinks with the gusto of a stranded man, complete with a muffled moan of pleasure. Combined with the fading heat of Guillermo’s mouth and their bodies pressed together like flowers in a diary, it’s Nandor’s turn to feel dizzy. The blood loss at least means he won’t get hard right now.
Nandor gets ticklish and tries to pull away, but Guillermo grows stronger with each drop. His hand shoots up to squeeze Nandor’s wrist and keep him right where he wants him. Guillermo’s grip is absolute, as immobile as a manacle. His eyes flash red as they peer up at Nandor.
Nandor does not think of wrenching free again.
What was in that shitty potion?! In the following days, it gets worse. Impossibly worse.
In order to not sink into madness, Nandor catalogs all of Guillermo’s transgressions thus far. They are ranked from least to most egregious:
- Guillermo unsubtly moves an armchair next to Nandor’s favorite spot in the library.
- Guillermo times all of his meals to Nandor’s schedule.
- Guillermo makes Nandor adhere to his sleeping schedule.
- Guillermo’s things keep finding themselves in Nandor’s crypt. A sweater folded on his sofa. A trench coat hung up in the armoire. A clean pair of underwear and socks in one drawer. The belongings are also multiplying.
- When Nandor hunts, he is instructed to bring home enough for Guillermo too.
- Guillermo is a picky eater.
- Guillermo does not invite Nandor to go to the mall. He invites Nadja and the dolly instead.
- Now Guillermo dresses like a harlot. He unbuttons all the way to the third hole on his shirts, and his trousers look painted on. Nandor might have seen an ankle the other day.
- Whenever Guillermo exits a room, he calls Nandor’s name expectantly to follow after him like his precious little lapdog. Nandor does, just so he can set the record straight. He is Guillermo’s sire, not his servant. The fact that during this argument he holds Guillermo’s coat up for him to put his arms through is irrelevant.
- In Nandor’s crypt, Guillermo comments offhand, “You know, I think two coffins can fit in here… What do you think?” Nandor, carefully, doesn’t.
- Guillermo secretly has that rare dream power only a few vampires have—but won’t admit it to Nandor. There is no other explanation as to why he can’t stop dreaming of the two of them together.
- Finally, horrifyingly, one day while Nandor examines his weapons collection, Guillermo settles in behind him, pressing his body against Nandor’s back. On his tiptoes, he peers over Nandor’s shoulder. He says, cheeky and presumptuous as ever, “Need help polishing that sword?” Nandor chops off his own pinky in surprise. It grows back, but that’s not the point!!!
- Guillermo laughs his head off when Nandor evaporates into a fine, bloody mist and escapes through the air vent.
Here is what Nandor had envisioned for the whole bind-Guillermo’s-soul-to-mine debacle.
“Wow!” Guillermo might say. “I never want to leave again! I am so happy here! Thank you, Master!”
And then after a respectable amount of time—perhaps fifteen or twenty years—Nandor would put a hand on Guillermo’s shoulder one night after their stroll in the park. He would not have to say a word. Guillermo would instinctively know, and they would… Do things.
Now, Nandor is pondering how Guillermo might sound in bed (“Your penis is huge and definitely does not need a growth spell. Can I bounce on it?”) when the real Guillermo walks in on him and ruins the fantasy. No, not a fantasy. A thought experiment.
Immediately, Guillermo squints at Nandor, sizing him up. “Why are you hard?”
“Why is anyone hard, Guillermo?” Nandor says. He grabs a pillow off the sofa to preserve Guillermo’s frigid propriety. And as if he hasn’t seen Nandor hard before! “Ugh, why are you disturbing my thought experiment?”
“‘Thought experiment,’” Guillermo snorts. “If that’s what you want to call it. Anyway, I came to get you. We have to get this room ready. They’re moving in my coffin tomorrow.”
Nandor stands, and the pillow nosedives to the ground. Guillermo’s looking but not at the pillow. “What is the meaning of this?! I never agreed to let you move in.”
“You didn’t disagree either,” Guillermo points out. He leans his hip against the doorway, crossing his arms. “I told you this room’s big enough for two coffins. You had all week to tell me no.”
“I will not be sharing!” Nandor whines. “It’s not fair! I was never consulted.”
“You were,” Guillermo insists. “Don’t you remember our conversation on Sunday? By the kitchen?”
Nandor doesn’t, but it might have been the day Guillermo wore a new silk shirt with a tight vest that made Nandor’s mouth water.
“Besides, Laszlo and Nadja share a room. They don’t complain.” Guillermo walks in like he owns the place. He pushes past Nandor and reaches the crowded corner of the room where Nandor puts all of Guillermo’s belongings that do not belong here.
“That hardly counts! They’re married!” Nandor says, and he’s hot on Guillermo’s heels, following barely a step or two behind him.
Guillermo bends over to grab his collector’s-edition copies of Anne Rice novels. His barely contained ass juts out, only a few inches away from pressing up against Nandor’s overeager penis. Nandor feels genuinely helpless, magnetized and aching to touch, just once.
Oh, Guillermo has also been talking the entire time apparently, “—to want their own bedrooms.” He finally stands to full height again, and he looks expectantly at Nandor. Tilts his head when Nandor misses his cue to reply.
“Yes,” Nandor says, taking that 50-50 chance of it being the right response.
“Yes?” Guillermo replies, arching an eyebrow. “So you agree?” He was holding the stack of books on one hip, but now he holds them close to his chest with two hands. The action pushes his tits up, and with how he’s been unbuttoning lately…
“I do,” Nandor says, probably, hopefully, staring at the correct set of orbs on Guillermo’s body.
“Great,” Guillermo replies. “I’m glad you came to the idea by yourself. Now, help me move your coffin over to make room. If we finish early enough, you can take me to the mall after. Would you like that?”
Later, Guillermo makes Nandor carry all his bags and give his opinion on all of his slutty, slutty business casual outfits.
“Goodnight, Master,” Guillermo calls from the opposite side of their crypt.
“Goodnight, Guillermo,” Nandor replies.
“Sleep well, Master,” Guillermo calls from a short distance a few nights later.
“Don’t let the parasitic bugs bite you, Guillermo,” Nandor replies.
“Are you awake?” Guillermo’s voice sounds so close, now that his coffin rests barely two feet away. “Nandor?”
“Mmn,” Nandor groans. He opens his coffin lid just enough to peek out. What he sees makes him open it fully.
Guillermo sits up in his coffin, propped up against his pillow. In the faint light of the fireplace, Nandor can see the white cotton lining of his bed. He wears a matching pajama set, fine black and red stripes tonight.
“I can’t sleep,” Guillermo points out the obvious.
“Probably because you are playing your crushed candy game before bed again,” Nandor yawns. He could hear the twinkling sound effects even through the fur. “I will fix.” He sticks out his arm without thinking.
Guillermo sees his outstretched hand and grabs it. Nandor had been expecting Guillermo’s phone, not his hand, but it was too late to adjust.
Then, Guillermo says softly, “Oh. This is nice.” He lets go for a moment so that he can lie back down. Before Nandor can snatch his hand back, Guillermo reaches for him again over that short distance between their coffins.
“What were you dreaming about before I woke you?” Guillermo asks. His thumb massages the meat of Nandor’s palm.
“It was not very interesting at all,” Nandor admits. “You would not care.”
Because he is under the sway of very powerful magic, Guillermo replies, “Tell me. Was it the one where you run a stable?”
“No, but a very good guess. That was yesterday. Tonight, I…” and as Nandor tells his story, Guillermo’s grip weakens incrementally, until finally, Nandor has to gently, carefully ease Guillermo’s arm back inside his coffin and shut the lid.
“My mom wants to finally get to know you,” Guillermo says during their nightly stroll. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Nandor asks.
“Time. Y’know. For you and my mother to get to know each other better.” Based on context clues, Nandor thinks that Guillermo does not mean for Nandor to know his mother carnally. But when Nandor fails to reply, Guillermo’s eyebrows furrow in the way they do before an argument.
Nandor’s having a nice evening. They got to see the finished nest of a family of birds they keep tabs on. He doesn’t want it ruined by petty bullshit, so he says, “Okay. When shall I meet her?”
Guillermo glances at his watch. “In fifteen minutes. She’s on her way.”
If Nandor had a heart, it would fall out his ass. “Are you serious?! Tonight?!”
Guillermo only shrugs. “Better to get it over with now that you agreed, right?”
“What if I’d said no?”
“You usually do what I say,” Guillermo replies, and the way he looks at Nandor makes him hot all over, but he’s too frazzled to examine the feeling.
Fifteen minutes?! What will he wear?!
Guillermo already laid out Nandor’s clothes. In fact, the dining room is set as well.
“How long have you been planning this?” Nandor has to ask.
Master manipulator that he is, Guillermo replies, “There’s only nine minutes left before she arrives. Take your shirt off. C’mon, let’s go.” He snaps his fingers, and the sound vibrates through Nandor’s body. “Good, now your pants.”
Nandor can’t even remember to be angry by the time Guillermo’s done brushing his hair. All the fight has left his body, leaving him calm and light. His brain feels fuzzy, like Guillermo wrapped him up in a warm towel from the dryer.
Silvia de la Cruz is the sort of woman that Nandor would have burned a city for during his heyday. Not just any city, maybe a metropolis. He can see now where Guillermo gets it. She is also very kind and has gentle eyes. Knowing her is like seeing pieces of Guillermo through a kaleidoscope.
They are getting along very well until Silvia turns to Guillermo and says something in Spanish that Nandor cannot understand. Guillermo’s recently fed, so while he doesn’t flush as brightly as before, Nandor can see the beginnings of redness along his cheeks.
Silvia must notice too because then she elbows Guillermo goodnaturedly. “Nandor, you must promise me to take good care of my son,” she says, which is nonsense.
To begin with, “He actually takes care of me,” which is a hit because Silvia tosses her head back to laugh as Guillermo begrudgingly laughs too. Then, like forcing the words through a sieve, Nandor says, “But I will… try.”
His words must activate the remnants of the potion because Guillermo smiles at him with such open affection that Nandor wants to fly back to the moon and crash-land all over again.
Things reach a tipping point three days later.
After a memorable evening spent by Guillermo’s side—though, really, that described every evening—watching the finest of rom-coms, they retire to bed. At least, Nandor does.
Nandor’s nearly asleep when Guillermo taps his long nails against his coffin. “Yes?” Nandor asks when he opens the lid.
Guillermo says nothing, just staring down at him, which makes Nandor honestly consider he’s sleepwalking. Can a vampire sleepwalk? Stranger things have happened.
“Guillermo?” Nandor says, sitting up to regard him better. “What’re you—?”
One leg. Then the other. Guillermo is standing in Nandor’s coffin. Now he is straddling Nandor’s lap. He’s nearly warm, residual heat from his shower. A bead of water drips from his hair onto the column of his throat. It slinks by those twin bite scars. Nandor would love nothing more than to lick that same path. Another drop falls on Nandor’s forehead. Guillermo looms over him, pressing his full, glorious weight on top of Nandor, who can’t form words anymore.
“I’ve been patient,” Guillermo says, matter-of-factly. He plays with the string loosely tying Nandor’s pajama shirt. “I really have been.”
About what? Nandor tries to say, but instead, he makes a noise between a whine and a whimper.
“I’ve given you so many chances.” Guillermo’s sharp nail rakes a line down the valley of Nandor’s chest. It’s the perfect amount of pressure. “Sooo many.” His nail reaches the tip of Nandor’s chin, and he tilts it up so that Nandor has no choice but to look in his eyes.
“But I had a feeling we’d get here. To the point where I’d need to just spell it out for you.” Guillermo leans down, inching closer. Closer. Their noses could touch by the time he stops. It’s not close enough. “I want you.”
Nandor finds enough of a sliver of his voice to croak, “In what way?”
Guillermo lets out a laugh, half-exasperated and fond. Guillermo’s thumb rubs against Nandor’s lower lip. He hardly applies any pressure before Nandor’s mouth tips open. His tongue darts out to taste Guillermo’s skin. Clean, faintly medicinal from his soap.
“In the way you clearly want me too,” is all Guilermo says before he closes the gap between them. His wet thumb instantly finds Nandor’s nipple, and Nandor can’t help but arch up against him. They kiss like the promise of immortality resides in the other’s mouth.
“Wait!” Nandor says. He’s kiss-drunk, and all the blood has left his brain in the direction of bushier pastures, but he remembers something very important, about fifteen minutes into their making out. “We can’t be doing this!”
Guillermo’s hand in Nandor’s hair is cruel as his fist tightens impatiently. That only makes Nandor even dizzier with want. “And why not?” Guillermo asks. “What's stopping you?”
“Guillermo, I am ashamed to admit this… It all began— W-wait. Can you get your hand off my penis for a minute so I can tell you?”
Nandor tells Guillermo his darkest, most depraved secret. He knows that the outcome will be catastrophic. He fully expects Guillermo will move his coffin to a spare room upstairs (since, after all, the potion won’t let him fly too far). The thought of it is terrible and makes Nandor’s insides feel very icky. Must this be how Catholics feel, marinating in all that guilt?
Guillermo is pissed off. (Nandor knew it! Here it comes!) He sighs like Nandor’s pissed all over his favorite rug. Bad analogy actually, if Nandor remembers Guillermo’s proclivities correctly. Finally, after an agonizing time spent watching Guillemo knead his eyebrows together with pinched fingers, he says, “Are you fucking kidding? That’s why you stopped?”
Nandor says, “Of course! You deserved to know.”
“I deserved to know now? When I was about to fuck you?”
“We never discussed the exact arrangement of the fucking…” Nandor starts to say before Guillermo’s eyes narrow. “Right. Sorry. Yes. You needed to know. It’s only fair.”
“Nandor,” Guillermo spits his name out like a curse. “I know. I’ve known the whole fucking time.”
Nandor sits up, which forces Guillermo to sit up. “What?! That can’t be. That’s… impossible.”
“Come on. Of course I knew. Think about it.”
“How?! Say words, Guillermo! Explain yourself!” Nandor orders.
“I know you’re not the one getting upset with me right now…” Guillermo warns before he says, “I’ve taken potions before! I know what they’re supposed to feel like. That one did nothing for me.”
Nandor searches Guillermo’s face for some crack in the foundation. It sounds logical, but it also sounds too good to be true... Poor Guillermo must not even realize it. He rests a sorry hand on Guillermo’s shoulder.
“My sweet, sweet Guillermo… You are just too brain-scramblied to even know you’ve been poisoned. You are so kind to protect me.” He pats the tense muscle unaware he is tempting a bomb to explode.
“Oh, my, fucking, God,” Guillermo seethes. Each word is its own breath. The last word in particular makes smoke escape the side of his clenched teeth. The pain of the burn settles through Guillermo like a contained earthquake. He doesn’t even blink at Nandor’s answered hiss.
Instead, Guillermo wrenches himself away from Nandor and stomps over to his nightstand. His back is to Nandor as he makes his phone call. While the dial tone plays, he glares at Nandor from over his shoulder.
“Guillermooo,” Nandor whines pitifully. He drapes his torso over the edge of his coffin mournfully. “Guillermo, I’m sorryyy. Please, you must—you can forgive me. Won’t you? I won’t do it again, I promiseee.”
Guillermo says nothing, just holds up one very impolite middle finger. “Lilith? Hiii, I’m so sorry to call you so late. I’m not usually so inconsiderate or careless.” Nandor gets the feeling those words might be for him and not her. “But I wanted to call you about Nandor’s recent purchase.”
He presses a button, and Lilith is on speaker. “Oh, that? Smoke and mirrors, my dear. Pretty classic witch hijinks. It was a boring day at the shop, if I’m honest. And he was just so pathetic, moaning and weeping about your impending departure, as if you’d ever fly from the nest… Oh, I’m not on speaker, am I? He can’t hear me?”
“No,” Guillermo says, and his evil little smile both cuts Nandor down and makes his stomach flip.
“Right, so I thought, ‘well, let me give that wretched man a break.’ The semen’s quality declines when he’s sad, you see, and I thought this might improve things. As for the ‘potion,’ it was just sugar water. A placebo effect. For him, really. Just so he’d stop questioning your devotion to him. After all, don’t you love—”
“Okay!” Guillermo cuts in, right when it gets good. “Oh, man, well, it was great talking to you! I gotta go, see you for midnight brunch this weekenddd.” He hangs up immediately, and Nandor catches a sliver of shock on his face before he fixes it into a resolute frown.
“Guillermo, you—”
The middle finger is back. It’s the last thing Nandor sees before Guillermo shuts his coffin for the night.
The next evening, Guillermo’s coffin is against the opposite wall. It is empty when Nandor opens it. Nandor also feels empty inside, like Guillermo scooped all the good parts out of him when he left.
Nandor follows the biggest, burliest man he can find. He lets the first bits of blood—the most delicious—pour into a large Thermos. He carries it with him, just in case he runs into Guillermo. At a certain point, he no longer counts on running into Guillermo. Now, he actively searches for him.
Nandor finds him at home in the library. He pretends not to see him at first, marching off to the kitchen. He grabs Guillermo’s favorite chalice and runs hot water over it, warming the vessel to the perfect temperature. He pours the bodybuilder’s blood inside and wipes the excess off the rim with a napkin.
Guillermo says nothing when Nandor approaches, only committing that much harder to reading his book. The spine says Grab the Scissors: Cutting Ties with Your Entangled Ex. It’s a bit on the nose, but Guillermo’s really leaned into the theatrics of vampirism.
“I brought you something. Your favorite,” Nandor announces. He sets down a clean napkin on the small table, then deposits the warmed glass. “Drink it. It’s warm.”
Guillermo’s eyes dart up in acknowledgment, but he does not respond. He simply raises the book higher. He taps his fingers along the cover distractingly, like he’s broadcasting the title to Nandor.
Still, when Nandor returns an hour later, Guillermo is gone, but the chalice is empty.
Nandor keeps apologizing in small and big ways for the foreseeable future.
He buys Guillermo a card with a sad little donkey wearing a sign around its neck, SORRY FOR BEING AN ASS. Inside, he writes:
Guillermo,
I’m sorry I tried to bind our souls together for eternity without asking. And for not mentioning it until we were going to have sex. And for assuming I would be the big top. And for not believing that you actually want to be here with me of your own volition. And for hitting on your mother. I did this last one while you were in the kitchen. I don’t know if she told you. I am trying to cover all my bases here.
Yours,
Nandor the Relentlessly Apologetic
He fluffs Guillermo’s pillow until loose feathers fly out. Then, he buys a new pillow.
He creates a new glitter portrait where Nandor prostrates himself by Guillermo’s feet. There’s a slight arch to his back in this one and a dazed look in his eye. He maybe should not have made this one while horny.
What finally breaks the wall of ice between them?
Nandor is nearly hopeless. He enacts a new strategy today. He makes sure to wake up near sunset, well before when Guillermo usually begins his evening. He pilfers through their shared closet, fishing out clothes that he thinks Guillermo looks particularly handsome in. He shines his shoes. He even watches a Youtube on how to style curly hair.
When the candles are lit, Nandor knocks gently against Guillermo’s coffin. No response, though he knows Guillermo’s in there.
“Guillermo,” Nandor calls out. “Wake up. I have a surprise for you.”
Inside, Guillermo sighs and stirs. Eventually, the coffin lid opens slowly. There are new bags underneath his eyes that Nandor does not remember.
“Come on,” Nandor says, and he extends his hand. Miraculously, Guillermo takes it and allows Nandor to lead him down the step ladder. He doesn’t let go of Guillermo’s hand as he leads him over to where his clothes are laid out.
Guillermo turns to look at him. “What is all this?”
“I am taking care of you. This is the oath I made.”
Guillermo scowls before Nandor continues, “I’m not talking about your mother.” Don’t mention his hot mother!!! Nandor’s brain screams. “I’m referring to my promise. As a sire.”
Guillermo rolls his eyes and moves to take his hand back before Nandor squeezes it. He goes still. “What are you even talking about?” Guillermo asks softly. He starts to wake up more fully, taking in the warm candlelight and fresh bouquet of roses on the mantle.
“I have been doing much thinking, Guillermo,” Nandor says, and he graciously ignores Guillermo’s answering sigh. “I have never enjoyed being a sire. I did not give a shit about it to be honest. I just gave it away at times.”
He’s losing Guillermo by going down this path, so he regroups. “But with you, I suppose I knew I would have to be taking it seriously. And so… I thought… If I had the potion, then there was no way I could mess up. Or drive you to leave me.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you,” Guillermo says.
“You don’t know that,” Nandor replies, then yowls when Guillermo squeezes with enough force to dislocate a human’s finger. “Hey!”
“Nandor, enough, I wasn’t going to leave my home. I wasn’t going to leave you. It never crossed my mind. I guess that’s why I let you believe that you had that kind of power over me. So you wouldn’t question why I was so invested in a life with you.”
Guillermo bites his lip, then shyly admits, “And maybe, a part of me really liked the thought of it.”
“Which part?” Nandor asks, and he is surprised when Guillermo laces their fingers together.
“The part where you’d do anything to make me be by your side for all eternity,” Guillermo breathes, and there are stars in his eyes. “It was so romantic. And conniving. But mostly very romantic.”
“‘Eternity’?” Nandor echoes, grimacing at the earnestness of it. “I don’t know if I said eternity…”
“Shhh,” Guillermo says, pressing a finger to Nandor’s lips. “Don’t start with that again. Just kiss me.”
Nandor leans down to kiss Guillermo, but just as suddenly, Guillermo floats up to match the height difference. He is the relentless one now, kissing Nandor like he’s waited eons to do so. He feeds on the low, needy sounds he wrenches from Nandor’s mouth. Hungrier for it than any blood.
Guillermo pants right against Nandor’s ear, “You can dress me up like my familiar later. Let’s go break in my coffin.”
The coffin lid breaks off, which is another thing Nandor will have to be sorry for later, but it'll all be okay. Nandor has discovered today that true forgiveness is unexpectedly sweet.