Black Velvet (36) (Patreon)

WICKED BOY is next for this tier. I haven’t finished the chapter, yet, so I figured I’d edit and post a larger update for Black Velvet in the meantime.

(PS. Someone asked me why I have been posting shorter chapters recently, the answer is simply so I can post more frequently, but this chapter is larger — 2000 words.)

—

Charlie-Anne doesn't answer my calls before the party — and I have a stinging feeling that canceling our plans for the fall festival wasn't quite as okay as she'd said.

Outgoing Message (Charlie-Anne):

Hey, is everything okay?

"Why the fuck," Nic deadpans, shaking my car as he plops into the passenger seat, "is there a hula hoop in the backseat?" He eyes the red hoop with mild disdain, raising his brow.

"Says the weirdo in the cape," I shoot back, watching him struggle to shut the door around the black fabric that drapes from his neck. "Are you wearing makeup?"

"It's powder. I'm a vampire." He looks all too proud of himself, green eyes glinting from the overhead street lamp,  "Everyone loves vampires."

I scoff, reaching to turn my lights on,

"...Did you use mom's cover-up? You smell like a tulip," I wrinkle my nose, turning my keys in the ignition,  "I don't think vampires wear makeup and smell like flowers, really distracts from the whole threatening aspect of their persona —"

"Yeah, but — girls like tulips," Nic is pouting now, but it doesn't stop him from fumbling for my auxiliary cord — all too excited to blast his awful music like he does every time before he drags me to a party. "Right?  I mean, they wear flowery perfumes because they like them, so if I figure if I wear them — well, I like tulips."

Incoming Message (Charlie-Anne):

John Petrov invited me to the party.

Incoming Message (Charlie Anne):

I said yes, so I'll maybe see you there.

"I don't think it works that way — and I don't think every girl likes the smell of flowers.  As long as you like it, though," I nod my head, feeling a bit put out by Charlie-Anne's less than cheerful texts as I pull from the drive, "Where's Tobias?  You think he'll fit in the back seat with the hula hoop?"

Nic sneers at that, stretching his arms behind his head,  "He's about to come out, chill," He pulls his seat backward, trying to make room for the multiple six-packs of beers in his lap, "you're right though — might not fit in here with your ridiculous recreational item."

"If not, I'll just leave both of you here," I hum to myself, ignoring Nic's guffaw.  "Oh no."

—

As it turns out, Tobias fits perfectly fine in the backseat — with the space given to him by my very propped up seat. He slinks in easily, his hand on the outside of my hood.

"You dick!  You're not wearing a costume," Nic groans back at him, and my eyes slide to our neighbor's through the rearview mirror.  Tobias doesn't respond for a moment, reaching out to yank the door shut. His eyes hold mine,

"Yeah, I am."  He stretches out his legs behind me, lucky that I'm not the tallest of guys my age, "What time is this thing?"

"Like an hour ago," Nic shrugs, "but I'm always fashionably late. What are you supposed to be?"  He looks annoyed, probably upset that Tobias will probably pull sexually-charged attention from all over the place without the aid of vampiric makeup.

"A serial killer," Tobias shrugs, dark eyes uninterested. I can feel his knee pressed into my seat, can smell that same cologne.  "According to Oliver, it works for me."

My fingers move along the steering wheel nervously, quietly over the moon at the idea that it feels like we're sharing some sort of private joke.

"Serial killer?"  Nic squawks, plastering his back against the side of the door to get a good look at him, "You aren't dressed like a serial killer," he mumbles, crossing his arms, "you don't even look like a murderer."

"Yeah?" Tobias shifts in his seat,  "isn't that the point; or is there a serial killer chic that I'm unaware of?

I can't help but let go of a small, startled laugh at his strange sense of humor, but Nic is none too amused.

"Oliver, it's not funny, and Tobias — what the heck,"  he whines, glaring at him, "girls don't even like serial killers."

Tobias lets go of a dry chuckle, "I'd hope not."

I slowly turn down the street over; the sidewalks jam-packed with toddlers and pre-teens for the fall festival — costumed and holding bags full of candy.

"Why can't we just go to that?" I mutter, pointing over to the town square. "Minimal sun for the vampire, many fresh young people for the serial killer."

Candied apples, they have candied apples.  They have hayrides —

"Uh?" Nic sends a bewildered look, sinking back into his seat with his smartphone out, "Hayrides and pumpkin carving contests or girls in nurse costumes, guys in gladiator costumes, and free alcohol? What do you think I'm going to choose?"

Tobias rolls his eyes from the backseat — I can only assume he's along for the free alcohol.

"Right,"  I sigh, resigned, deciding to pay more attention to the road than the man in my mirror, "forgot that you're only into the holidays because you're a major perv."

"We can go another day," I fully expect Nic's flick to my forehead. "Onwards, trusty driver!"

Ass.

—

The house is enormous — huge; Nic is absolutely enthralled. He lets loose an excited gasp, turning to me with his mouth wide open,

"This is going to be so great; I totally don't regret coming home for the holidays now."  His phone is still out, and he's wielding it like some new-age technology in his vampire attire. I guess he does look a little handsome, for a weirdo. "Look at them!"  There's a litany of half-naked girls near the entrance, different animal ears placed upon their head.

"Oh, no."

This, of course, has my brother in some awkward hormonal struggle with his seatbelt.  He jumps from the car before I can stop him, my hand out with a frightened sound.

"I'll see you inside, okay?"  He calls,  "Keep your phone off silent and no drinks!"

Oh god.

"Nic — this is way more people than you said,"  anxiety surges through me, swallowing a lump that has settled in my throat. "Nic?  Why don't you park the car —"

The passenger door shuts with a reverberating clang.

Fuck.

My fingers tap on the dashboard in the silence, nails a steady rhythm.  I close my eyes.

"Do you think it's okay if I park here?"

Yes, that would be the first thing I say to my neighbor after our car ride this morning — of course. I'm incredibly smooth when I'm freaking out.

"Is it okay if I park here?"  Tobias mimics quietly, voice low — and shoves his knee into the back of my seat.  He leans forward — arm wrapped around the head of it. It's up against my neck and feels oddly intimate when he covers a curl around one of his fingers and tugs.  "Calm down; it's alright."

"Well, do I park here — or like,"  I crouch closer to the steering wheel, further from him, and eye him in the rearview mirror. I sigh, shoving the car into reverse,  "maybe I should park closer to the side, so no one breaks into it. Half these people are from out of town."

Instead of being able to reverse, there's a hoard of people talking and laughing amongst themselves behind me,

"Oh my God —"  I feel my hands tighten on the steering wheel.  Let's stand right behind the reversing car.  I'm frazzled, pushing the gear back into park, but second-guess myself when I think there's an opening for us to slide through.

Of course, when I try to back up, again,  another car gets the same idea at the exact same time, and I slam on my brakes.

"What is wrong with these people?" I'm mumbling, irritated, finally pulling from the space after it passes. Tobias is smirking, actually fucking grinning, like this, is the most humorous thing he's sat through in his lifetime.

"Don't laugh,"  I round the corner, tapping the breaks again for some weird, drunk mummy man, "why are you laughing?  Oh my God, I'm never DDing for you guys again."

The mummy man has plastered himself to the side of my car, right where I've parked, making a sound that resembles a ghost reenacting its death.  I'm trying to shoo him, fingers pressing the lock button over and over again.

"I think he's locked out."  Tobias chimes in, with all the sarcasm he can muster.  I ignore his sassiness, cracking my window,

"Uh, excuse me, sir?"  The man boos louder, beer in hand,  "Could you please get away from my car? Where are your friends? Go find your friends!"

Mummy's laughing, probably finds my panic rightfully and absolutely hilarious.  I can see Tobias' hand over his mouth, dark eyes closed with hidden humor.  The car shakes a bit with the drunk's weight, and I sigh, unbuckling myself to get a better angle out of my window,

"I don't know if you heard me, you weirdo drunk man," I suck in a breath, "but please get off my car!"  I shoot Tobias a look, who is now outright chuckling.

"Tobias. Stop laughing,"  I groan,  "what if he breaks something? Or himself!  What if he breaks himself on my car?"

"Is it bothering you that much?"  Tobias laughs, unlocking his door.  I nod with fervor,

"Just look at him!  It's depressing. Why wouldn't that bother me?"

"Okay, okay." Tobias reels back his humor, pulling himself from the car and into his full height.  Frat boy mummy man doesn't look like he's having nearly as much fun now.

I watch Tobias murmur something to him, hand slung around the side of my car.  It's a simple thing to do, shouldn't look so threatening, but the drunken man has his hands up in apology — nodding along to whatever he's being told.

"Better?"  Tobias props open my door, head bent to see if I had gathered myself. I have the sneaking and sinking suspicion that he might've used the rumors to his advantage — but then, after a second look at him, imposing with height and hidden muscle,

I reconsider my guilt. Tobias doesn't need rumors to look menacing. Something about me — something about me likes that he’s taken power in it. My stomach flips.

"Yes,"  I breathe,  "I don't think I'm mentally prepared for this."

I'm not, really, social events suck, drunk people suck,  and whatever my heart is doing is bizarre.

"You'll be fine,"  Tobias hesitates, and then casually reaches his hand forward, "you can walk with me, if you want."

I swallow, eyes flickering from his hand and back to him, his beauty marks and strong jaw. I watch as it flexes, as doubt moves in a flash across him.

Warmth gathers in my stomach at the openness, at the incredible feeling that,

I think Nic is wrong. I know he's wrong.

I don't know how I gather the courage to do it, no idea, but my brain fizzles out, and I nod.

"Okay," I say, and take his hand, calloused against the soft skin of my own, pleasant and safe, his rings cool to the touch. My fingertips brush his wrist, the slight swell of his pulse. His lips part the smallest bit, and my stomach surges with a strange affection,

a realization that this is more than a crush.

--

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