James

Tommaso was sleeping by James' side on the bed. The sheets had slid to their feet, leaving nothing to the imagination. James brushed the chest of his lover with the back of his hand, from his neck to his belly button. Tommaso sighed without opening his eyes and turned his head into James' shoulder, breathing his skin.

"Good morning," James said, lifting up Tommaso's head to push a curl of his hair behind his ear before kissing him.

"What is it?" Tommaso asked, stroking James' arm.

"What do you mean?"

"Your kiss was tentative, my darling. Something is bothering you."

James' instinct was to deflect this very perceptive assumption with a sarcastic comment, but he was to tell the truth to Tommaso. It was better to start the conversation genuinely.

He took a deep breath and looked away. The warm light of dawn was reaching the bedroom through the small window. "There is something I want to tell you. Something you need to know."

Tommaso waited, his eyes now wary.

"Let's get dressed and I'll tell you everything, alright?" James said with a smile he hoped was reassuring.

When they sat in front of each other on the comfortable armchairs, Tommaso's gaze was now haunted. "Is there someone else? Are you leaving me?" He couldn't help blurting out.

"No. That's not it," James said, taking his hand. "That's not it at all. It's not about you. I need to tell you something about me." He hesitated. "I've wanted to tell you since the day we met, but... it's complicated. I couldn't..."

"What is it, darling? You're scaring me. Please, tell me."

He looked away again. "I am not what I seem." James searched his words. "I am old. Far older than I look. I..."

Tommaso squeezed his hand. "What do you mean? How old?"

James' eyes met his lover's. "I was born in 1480."

Tommaso laughed. When his face looked serious again, he dropped James' hand. 

"I know it's hard to believe, but... I'll show you." 

James cut his own arm with his fingernail. The superficial wound closed up in a few seconds. Tommaso froze. "What are you?" He whispered.

"I died in 1505. Since then, my appearance never changed. Few things could kill me. And I survive drinking blood."

Tommaso stood up and walked back, away from James, until he hit the wall. "You're a demon."

"No... I don't think so. I mean... For me, I can't say. But the woman who turned me, she was not evil. Not at all. She was not a demon. She could not be."

"But you... kill people?"

"No. I don't drink human blood." Anymore. James couldn't find the strength to say it. It was already too much, to see the fear and the horror in Tommaso's eyes, to see the body he had held a few minutes before now out of touch. The dread spilled in his guts. He was disgusting. What was he thinking? He didn't deserve love. Of course, Tommaso would reject him. He was a monster.

And then the young man closed the space between them. Carefully, Tommaso reached for his cheek and brushed away the tears James had not realized he shed. "Look at me," said Tommaso.

"Please. I love you. I would never hurt you. You have to believe me."

Tommaso was now so close he could feel his breath on his skin. "Look at me, and tell me again you are not evil."

James did, hesitantly, finding it hard to repress the hate he felt about himself.

"I believe you," said Tommaso.

Fresh tears ran down James' face and he kissed Tommaso. First, lightly, for a second, waiting for his reaction. And when Tommaso didn't resist, he kissed him again, desperately, his hands wandering in his hair, grabbing his shoulders, and bringing him as close as he could.

James lifted Tommaso in his arms and brought him back to bed, the young man's eyes locked on his, seeing him, the real him, for the first time, and not looking away.