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He knew it would come. Matt had been in no way ready for this, and, despite his assurances, wouldn't be able to distinguish it from sexual activity. And Stefan had in no way planned to tap Matt's veins. Even in the end, when Matt had proved so stubborn that Stefan's vampire anger had been provoked to teach him a lesson, he hadn't expected Matt to last beyond the first stirrings of pleasure.
But Matt was . . . stubborn. And a born giver, and all he'd been thinking about when Stefan had pierced him was giving. And about Stefan.
And I'm . . . not myself, Stefan, thought, licking his lips and probing for copper sweetness around his canine teeth. It's been so long, and I was so careful with the girls . . .
Through the mindlink that sharing blood always enhanced, he had been swept back through Matt's visions of the old days, Matt's perception of him. And that . . . had been a mistake. The deep, illogical fondness Matt had for him, the—the caring, had been something that Stefan had needed more than he realized it. He'd been shaken by how much . . .
Can't say it? Too wrapped up in human prejudice? Or is it just the lingering cedarsalty edge of testosterone you've drunk? His mind was a chorus of mockery.
It made him angry in turn, and angrier to realize that he'd drunk more of that testosteronelaced blood than he'd ever meant to, even when basking in the sunlight of Matt's feelings for him.
I can say it, he told the voices coldly. He loved me once. I had a friend. And now . . . I've made my friend hate me. When he wakes up, he's going to despise me, and himself, and it isn't going to matter a bit that he's got all his clothes on, and not even a mortal stain except on his neck. He's going to loathe me . . . and himself . . .
That hurt, a lot. Stefan fumbled for his sunglasses, even though the evening light was no threat to his now hypersensitive eyes. The room was almost dark, but he could hear Matt's breathing perfectly, changing from the slow regularity of sleep to the lighter, quicker, sounds of a sleeper about to waken. He could turn on the light, leave Matt alone to recover, to—react to this. Maybe that would be kinder.
And certainly a lot more convenient. You really are a coward, aren't you? his mind scoffed. Sometimes his subconscious sounded a lot like Damon.
He already had his strategy in line. Sit, don't stand, but at least a couple of bodylengths away. Out of punching distance, not because Matt could hurt him, but because the automatic lunge that Matt was going to make as soon as he woke would hurt Matt. He might even pass out, from rising too quickly—and from lack of blood, Stefan's mind added guiltily.
He hated to admit it, but he'd taken that much. And even if he'd thought Matt would be interested in the slightest in the only panacea—to take some of Stefan's blood in return, as Bonnie so calmly had—well, Matt had been unconscious by the time it had occurred to Stefan had to offer it.
Some friend you are.
Shut up. He'd probably have been sick all over both of us.
His str
ategy included his expression. Cool, clinical, in keeping with the doctorimages that Matt's own mind had generated. Authoritative. He was planning to use mindcontrol anyway, to keep Matt on the bed long enough to listen, he might as well implant as deeply as he could the ideas that he was the authority here.
He had his litany down, too. He didn't want to imagine the rage, and bright sickness in Matt's eyes that he'd have to be facing, but he knew what he was going to say, and how he was going to say it.
I told you so was both cruel and necessary.
But then:
"You don't want to talk about it?" Matt wouldn't want to talk about it. "You don't have to. But somewhere, underneath, you're wondering what it all means." And if Matt tried to argue, "If you're not wondering now, then you will be. I was in your mind deep enough to be sure of that."
That would shut him up, all right.
"What it means, then. What it means is that you can never tell what's going to happen with humans and vampires, especially if they have any kind of emotional connection.
Like our connection with Elena."
And that, he considered, was truly a master stroke. Because it was true. The only problem was whether he could get it out without choking over Elena’s name.
"What it doesn't mean may be more important to you." It would be, since Matt would be finished with him by then.
"It doesn't mean you're gay." That was true enough. So far, as far as he could tell, Matt's sexual response had been confined solely to females. He hadn't found any of the conflict in Matt's mind that the tortured, lonely homosexual teenager always had. The need to conform to the norms of a human society that changed its norms every time a vampire looked, and over every national border a vampire crossed.
"It doesn't mean that anything like this will ever happen again." He was pretty sure of that. Matt's own reaction would ensure it, and unless he fell into the grasp of a truly twisted vampire, Matt's only issue would be how to forget.
"You've probably heard the cliché that most boys go through some kind of a homoerotic phase during adolescence. You're older than they usually are, which is just more proof that this isn't normal for you." And all that was true, too.
"And, finally, if it was anybody's fault, it was mine. I knew what might happen, even though I thought your hatred of me"— would Matt be hating him by then—"might prevent it.
And I still went ahead."
Because I didn't think you would, a lonely little voice inside Stefan went on. Because I didn't know I needed it so badly.
