AN: This is another Steve and Abe story, and is set after Death is Only a Theoretical Concept and Do You Mind? I'd recommend reading both of those first, just to get to know the characters, and why they're in the situation they're in...

Much gratitude to everyone who has taken the time to review or comment on the other stories featuring these characters, as well as my friend Dibbs for reassurance and research help. It's so appreciated!

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"So..." Abe leaned forwards in the passenger's seat, shifting in that way he did whenever he was getting up the courage to ask something that he considered terrifying. Steve found it amusing (and not that he'd ever admit it, endearing) since, to date, Abe had said absolutely nothing that Steve would consider worthy of terror. "I was ... thinking. Would you ... I mean, you don't have to, and I wouldn't be offended if you ... if you said no..." He swallowed, and for some reason, Abe looked even more dead than usual when he was nervous. Perhaps it was just because Abe didn't have the accompanying physical reactions of fear, or maybe even just the greenish light from the dashboard, but Steve never felt more aware of Abe's lack of regular breathing and heartbeat than when he started stammering. "But ... I thought... I know that you're..."

In the scheme of things, they hadn't known each other for a long time - not quite the summer - so where had Steve picked up this ability to know exactly what Abe was going to mangle?

"So, Steve. Even though I have this hang-up on you being straight, and even though I can turn you into a swollen balloon of a non-breathing man with just a touch of my tongue, and even though I'm going to butcher the English language through nervousness, I totally want you and can't get enough of you, so would you think about staying over tonight?" He did, at least, keep one eye on the road, although watching Abe's sequence of expressions was rather more interesting than oncoming traffic. (Perhaps embroidery for sound system was a better idea after all, at least in terms of safety for other drivers...)

Abe segued from sheer terror to uncertainty to delight all in the space of about ten seconds, and Steve couldn't help a grin. He was just so awkward, and in anyone else, he thought it would have driven him crazy. Abe was so sincere, though – and Steve had never met anyone else who was so obviously attracted to him. Why, Steve didn't have a clue. Abe was the kind of nice guy that dated ... well, presumably other boring nice guys. Everything Steve enjoyed seemed to terrify him – but maybe that was it, at least for Steve. Abe didn't hide the fact he was an insecure nervous wreck half the time; Steve couldn't think of anyone he'd met who was so damn honest. When Abe said the thought of cantering terrified him, Steve believed him; when Abe spent a little too long staring at Steve's arse and hoping that Steve didn't notice – Steve believed that, too.

"That..." Abe trailed off, just as Steve realised he hadn't answered the question.

"Yes, you idiot." He grinned again. "Why do you get so nervous? I've never said no yet."

"I don't know why you keep on saying yes!" Abe leant forwards, both hands gripping his kneecaps, face only partially illuminated by the green glow. He still had some physical reactions to nervousness or fear, as if it were force of habit to become restless - and nothing to do with changing hormone levels. In twenty years, would he become something of a statue, able to feel any strong emotion without demonstrating it? Force of habit made him human; Steve wasn't altogether sure he wanted to know Abe when he lost the ability to be a road-map of emotion. "You're ... the craziest person I ever met. For all I know ... I don't know. You said you didn't mind, but you've never said..." He paused, drawing a deep breath – more to give him time to think, Steve suspected. "Why do you even say yes in the first place, I mean? You..."

Why was this something Abe couldn't lie to rest? Steve rolled his eyes and checked the highway. It said something about commitment that Abe insisted on driving up with him, weekly, for the appointment with Steve's immunologist (since most of that time was spent sitting there, just in case he decided to have some kind of a reaction, it was an exercise in wasting time and talking about anything to fill it) – although it could have been guilt, too. It couldn't be easy to be crushing hard on someone and know that trace amounts of saliva could, theoretically, turn said love interest into a zombie. Except you're forgetting one thing, Abe – the fact that you'd never just sit there and let me die. I just don't think you could do it.

How many times, though, did Steve have to reassure him that it wasn't half as big a problem as Abe made it out to be?

He smiled, more to himself. Perhaps taking that step - not that it hadn't been amusing to watch Abe spend the last few weeks hedging around the issue - was what Abe needed to believe that.

"Why?" He shrugged, considering. "Well, as far as relationship issues go ... allergies are nothing. Now my second-last girlfriend was a neat freak, threw a tantrum every time I took my shoes off, practically. She was hot and didn't care about the zombie thing – but yeah, that one worked out like you think it would. As in, it didn't." Abe bit down on his lower lip, frowning hard enough to scrunch up his eyes, and that was another expression that Steve couldn't stand seeing. And, hey, we're already kind of talking about this anyway... "For fuck's sake, Abe, do you know that every time I happen to reference women, usually women I've slept with or women I think are hot, you start biting your lip? Every fucking time. It's irritating, man."

For some reason, Abe looked genuinely startled – as if he had no idea that he was the most transparent vampire ever to grace the earth. Steve found himself working to bite back a groan - or a laugh. "I don't..."

"Yeah, you do." Steve raised both eyebrows at him. "This going to be a problem?"

"No..."

"You're an awful liar, Abe. Seriously. Give it up. Find some other morally corrupt occupation." Steve sighed and stared back out at the highway. "What's the problem? I've dated, fucked and had an awful lot of fun with women. I think a lot of women are absolutely gorgeous. D'you want me to lie and act like they're not? Because I'm not doing that." He turned his head just to see Abe look down at his hand-clasped knees. Yes. Shit. What was the problem, with Abe and with people in general? Everyone, except maybe for Joanna, seemed to think this was some kind of a big deal, something weighted with significance – a life-changing event, maybe. Yes, Steve could argue that the anaphylaxis had some impact on his life, what with spending his summer in Port Carmila, but that was the end of it, surely? "What is the issue here? Jake keeps teasing me about coming out and reckons all the women I've ever dated was overcompensating. Mum and Chichi are just glad I'm seeing someone sane, but sheesh. Greg keeps asking me if I ever thought about guys before. My boss keeps hanging pro-gay marriage posters on the noticeboard and started decorating the back room with rainbow streamers. Rainbow fucking streamers, Abe!"

He heard a small chortle. Yes, it was funny now, but Steve hadn't been that amused when he'd ducked into the backroom of the bookstore and discovered his boss' handiwork. There was supportive, and then ... well, his private suspicion was that his boss was keeping something in the closet, but Steve suspected he was no better at backyard psychology than Jake was. "My co-workers are too busy being fascinated with my being a vampire to care about anything else."

"Oh, don't get me started on the whole 'you're dating a vampire but we support cross-species relationships' angle. My boss put up posters about that, too. Everyone's so supportive I'm fucking choking, but everyone acts like it's some kind of ... realisation, or coming out, or a revelation." Steve shook his head, wondering if Abe could even understand – since it seemed to matter to him, like being gay was some integral part of his personality. "Abe ... I'm just me, okay? I ... I don't say this, much. It's kind of awkward. But I think you're adorable, and spending time with you is mostly awesome, and I like kissing you. I like kissing women, too. And I think that if any number of hot male actors asked me to sleep with them, I'd do it in a heartbeat, and not just because I'm curious and weird like that. Although I totally am." He let out a deep sigh. "I just never thought about it before, beyond actors, and I wish I had. Seriously, that doubles the net. Who knows what cute, fun people I've been missing out on just because you're too busy doing what society says you should, like a sheep?"

Abe raised his head a little, nodding. "So you're..."

"Whatever," Steve interjected, not sure that Abe got his point. He'd had time enough to waste two seconds thinking about it, and another two seconds realising that there was nothing to think about. Probably not gay and probably not straight, and why did everyone have to care about assigning a label? "Just ... whatever."

Abe gave a small, tentative smile. "So ... what are your thoughts on cross-species relationships?"

"Whatever." Steve shrugged. "Abe, I'm not going to not be me because everyone seems to think a guy dating a guy needs to be and think a certain way, okay? I like looking at women and I've dated them. Dated breathers, too, and not the undead. The fact that you're undead weirds me out far more than the fact you're a guy, if you want to know. Get the fuck over it." That was probably not the most tactful thing Steve could have said, ever, but he found himself unable to care. It was the truth, and if Abe didn't like that, Abe would have to learn to deal with it – or give up and go home. These were all huge non-issues to Steve's way of thinking – things like special glassware, small breathing mammals, and Abe's habit of sitting glued to the idiot box were harder things to work around, and Abe seemed cool about the things that counted – or at least, trying to figure them out. Abe was, in fact, a cool, intelligent guy, so why did stupid little things – Steve's ex-girlfriends and some inexplicable terror over asking Steve almost anything – fluster him? He could handle an emergency situation, but asking Steve if they wanted to spend that night figuring out sex was hard?

It was going to be awkward, sure. First-time sex always was, and that was without Abe being undead and Steve preferring not to be kissed. (Or, in fact, come into contact with Abe's saliva at all.) But first-time anything was awkward – which didn't necessarily make it less fun.

Steve couldn't help a grin, just imagining Abe all awkward and flustered. He'd be shy about undressing, all shaky-fingered and clumsy, trying not to look Steve in the eye as though Steve were some kind of flighty horse – and absolutely adorable with it. Hell, just lying back and watching him stammer his way through apologies and explanations would be fun, at least until Steve provoked that wide-eyed expression of surprise Abe gave every time Steve laughed and took over. His relief, joy and gratitude were so vivid for a guy who insisted he couldn't feel as much as a breather – so natural, and real. Just imagining it made Steve want to kiss him right now – he always looked so surprised when Steve did that – despite the fact he was supposed to be driving and the local coppers lay in wait Friday evenings for anyone heading out on the highway for a weekend of clubbing in the city. Getting pulled over for kissing while driving probably wasn't the best thing to do whilst still on his Ps, even though twenty kilometres out of Port Carmila, the road was quiet.

"You're crazy," Abe reiterated. "I don't understand why you don't care." He shook his head. "I mean ... these things are so important, and you're so ... cool about it." He paused, raising one hand; Steve bit back a grin as he reached over and rested that hand on Steve's knee. "You really don't mind. Really?"

The only thing he minded, Steve reflected, was that Abe had way too much trouble accepting something that seemed so simple.

"Really."

Abe gave that delighted grin he had – in reverse, he seemed alive when he grinned, as if pumping blood made no difference in the world. "I looked up some things."

"You know, as long as you don't use your mouth for anything, there shouldn't be a problem. It's only your venom I'm allergic to, not the rest of you. Not that it's an excuse for not using a condom, just so we're clear on that." He tried, damn it, not to laugh, but Abe's horrified expression didn't even need the addition of blushing cheeks to display acute embarrassment. "Ah, shit, Abe! If you could see your face..." Steve bit down on his lower lip, struggling to sit up straight and not collapse over the steering wheel in a fit of laughter. Yeah, Steve, pay attention to the road... "But ... don't you talk with someone about what you're going to do or not do? And by the way, that hand just there is kind of distracting, so maybe it'd be a good idea if you saved that kind of thing for the sleepover? I don't want to die by crashing us both into a tree."

"Not so ... bluntly," Abe muttered, whipping his hand away. "You should have let me drive. I don't get tired."

"We're taking turns with the driving, remember?"

"But I'm not mortal and I've got better night vision."

"Fuck you," Steve said, rolling his eyes. This was another conversation they'd had just a little too often in Steve's opinion. If Steve was a bad driver, maybe he could understand it – but he wasn't, and if Abe believed that he should drive just because he was undead and didn't suffer from breather frailties, and therefore better at long-haul drives, he had another think coming. If it was supposed to be gentlemanly behaviour, some kind of a misguided turn of thought to take care of the breather - well, then Abe was going to have to learn that the last thing Steve wanted was someone opening doors and pulling out chairs. Again, Steve couldn't help thinking that guilt played a part (okay, so maybe he ascribed more to backyard psychology than he should admit) in his attitude – but Steve wasn't fragile and was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. "We're taking turns, like we agreed, and today's my turn. Suffer. Besides, it's not like you're going to die if I decide to ram my ute into a tree."

"But you would..."

"So? I could die base-jumping, too, or doing anything else for that matter, and that doesn't stop me from planning to do it one day. If I was so fucking scared of dying, I wouldn't be here right now. I don't need you to look after me." Steve stared back out at the road ... and wondered. Would Abe actually do that? He liked the thought that he could trust Abe with his life if necessary, but did that mean Abe would go too far out of his way to take care of him – to the point where it interfered with what Steve wanted to do? He wanted a friend, wanted someone to ramble on about whatever crossed his mind, wanted someone who did not care about zombies and ghouls and always carrying a handgun, but he didn't need another parent, either. It had taken a couple of years of negotiation for Steve to accept that while he lived at home, even part-time, that meant putting his safety before the thrill – and for his parents to accept that dangerous things could be done safely and their concerns shouldn't stop Steve from living if he upheld his end of the bargain. That was why he liked the trapeze artist girlfriend, or the girl he'd met mountain-bike riding in the Snowy Mountains (at least before she'd backed away on learning Steve was a carrier) – they didn't care too much about Steve's safety when they were right there doing the extreme with him. Steve had always had it in his head that after this year, he'd get a job in the city, move out full-time – and then do whatever it was he wanted, preferably in the company of another thrill-seeker. Once living in his own place, he owed nobody a compromise.

Except for the fact he'd ended up with a boyfriend who – whether explicitly said or not – demanded that same kind of negotiation, a boyfriend who would care if Steve did something to risk his life. A boyfriend who felt riddled with guilt just because he himself was exactly that risk...

"Would you let me?" he demanded, abruptly enough that Abe blinked in surprise. "Say I decide to go base jumping – tomorrow. Would you let me? Would you spend the next twelve hours trying to talk me out of it? Would we fight? Would you throw your hands up in the air, do nothing, and tell me that I'm a stupid arsehole every time we talk?"

Abe said nothing for half a kilometre, staring out the window. The headlights picked out shapes along the side of the road, trees and fences for one shining moment before vanishing into a formless shadow of black, dense in contrast to the sky. Only wisps of cloud obscured the stars and a sickle moon: it was a perfect night for a torch-light bushwalk, or walking along the beach. There was nothing quite like stepping out onto the wide, limitless space of a beach at night, the beam of a torch illuminating a tiny pin-dot fraction of the land around you. It was so easy to get lost in that featureless expanse – so thrilling, because anything could sneak up behind you, and amidst the crashing of the waves, how would you ever hear them? "I'd take your car keys," he said, still not looking at Steve. "And tell you that you're being a selfish bastard. What right do you have to risk your life like that?"

"What right do you have to tell me what to do – to stop me from doing what I want?"

"What right?" Abe's voice sounded hoarse, incredulous – and Steve couldn't help the idea that he was hearing anger. There was a choking quality to his words that sounded an awful lot like a man trying to swallow back the urge to thump someone. "Fuck you, Steve! Is this how you treat the people that care about you? As if their thoughts and feelings mean nothing?"

For some reason, the words shook him more than they should have – even though Steve had been expecting them.

"I ... no. Yes. I don't know."

"Whatever?" Abe suggested, with no small amount of acid.

That wasn't fair, and Steve drew in a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to punch that unbreathing nose. "I just wanted to know what you'd think," he said after another kilometre. "I've had this sort of talk with my parents, that sort of thing. While I live in their house some of the time, while they're still in some part responsible for me, I don't go off and do anything too harebrained." Come to think of it, he'd probably broken that agreement, but he tried not to be too stupid. Someone could even argue that just spending time with Abe constituted that kind of dangerous – except that his parents positively adored Abe. If Abe asked him to think about sex, Steve supposed Abe had plotted out a thousand ways to make sure it was as safe as – well, embroidery. "If we're together ... I guess that's not an unfair compromise to make. But that doesn't mean you get to go around telling me I shouldn't do things I can do perfectly well just because you're undead and do them better, Abe! That's not being considerate, that's just being a suffocating, dominating arsehole." For a second, he glanced away from the road. Abe stared out the window, eyes fixed on shadows. "And if you took my keys, I'd fucking smash you. Probably with a bullet to the skull or something."

Abe jerked his head. "It's safer. Things like me driving ... is safer."

Steve said nothing for a moment, scanning the road for a likely spot ahead – before finding a gap between trees on the verge and pulling over, parking the ute well off the road before turning in the driver's seat. "Safer, is it?" he asked, reaching up and cupping Abe's chin in his right hand, guiding his head closer. "Safer? Is that kind of shit supposed to make up for the fact I do things with some risk? Or the fact I could get hit by a car or bitten by a zombie at any moment in time? Does it make up for the fact I'm alive? Or is it just," Steve leaned across, holding his fingers in place just a few millimetres away from Abe's lips as if he was going to touch them, "the fact that you worry about what you can do to me? Because ... you've got the wrong end of that fucking stick. You'd better be worried about what crazy shit I'm going to get you to do. Being around you isn't going to make me more likely to die, not when there's all kinds of shit out there waiting to do me in. So stop treating me like I'm fragile unless I need it. Which is when I'll ask you. Got it?"

Abe's swallowed, trying to move his head from Steve's fingers; Steve held still for a moment and then lifted his hand away.

"You have no idea," Abe said after a moment, "just how ... sexy you are when you're acting bull-headed." He paused, drawing in a deep breath – and then leaned over of his own accord, trailing his fingers over the right side of Steve's neck and jaw. "You've got no idea how badly I want to kiss you." He swallowed. "I really would prefer it if you didn't do something like base jumping. Or climbing a skyscraper without a harness. And at least tell me if you're going to do something mildly crazy ... please?"

"If I'm feeling tired and don't want to drive, I'll fucking ask you." Steve just stared at him, close enough to kiss. "Damn. Do you really mean the skyscraper one? That's a cool idea..."

"Yes." Abe folded his arms and tried to look stern; Steve had to work hard not to burst out laughing.

"What if I climb a skyscraper with a harness?"

"Then make sure I'm not around," Abe muttered. "Steve..."

"You're the most transparent person on the planet, you know that?" Steve shook his head. "You're cute and funny – when you're not being irritating like you are now – and I am in to you, despite the fact you are irritating on occasion..."

"Me? Do you know what it's like watching TV with you? Irritating doesn't cover it!"

There was only one thing to do before they ended up debating – unnecessarily – who won in the irritation stakes; Steve tipped his head forwards and pressed his lips to Abe's neck, running his tongue in small circles over his skin. Vampires were weird: Abe didn't sweat very much, if at all, so his skin tasted more of soap and laundry powder than anything else, fresh and somewhat like lavender; Steve had to admit he liked the fact that Abe always smelt like he was fifteen seconds out of the washing machine. (Not that he'd ever tell anyone that, but given that most of his friends smelt fishy around the edges, it was a good change...) His skin was cooler to the touch, although not so as Steve noticed half the time, and even that was a thrill, good in the way of a cold water bottle pressed against hot skin. There were things Steve missed – obvious cues like breathing and heart-rate were unreliable or unavailable – but the differences were insignificant – or at least, couldn't compete with the fact that Steve couldn't touch Abe's lips with his own.

That Abe was a vampire and a guy wasn't relevant, not when kissing Abe had all sorts of unusual rules and complications, and not when Abe didn't even try to return the kiss. Steve let his tongue trail down Abe's throat, feeling him shiver and startle as Steve yanked up his shirt (Abe had this strange aversion to T-shirts for some reason, like it was indecent to wear a garment without a collar), pondering how to comfortably straddle him in the cab of his ute. Leaning over like this, trying to make sure he didn't accidentally bump the gear box with one arm braced against the dashboard for balance, was verging on painful. Car sex was fun, but it wasn't usually more fun than it was uncomfortable, at least in Steve's ute. The back seat of Abe's sedan was a far better choice if they were going to go there...

"Steve! You ... we can't do this ... here!"

"Why not?" he panted, trying to roll his shoulder into a more comfortable position, the arm he was trying to get underneath Abe's shirt just kind of wedged between them. "The coppers aren't going to care."

"Not here," Abe repeated, sounding rather more embarrassed than turned on. "Steve!"

Steve slid back into the driver's seat, shaking his head – and grinning. He was so shy, and Steve suspected he had absolutely no idea how adorable he was when he was embarrassed but not-actually-blushing. "I'll get you into car sex eventually, Abe. We'll start at some nice secluded place in the bush where nobody can see us, and work our way up to major highways."

Abe spluttered for a moment, speechless; Steve started the engine and pulled back out onto the road.

"You're crazy," Abe whispered. "Absolutely crazy. I'm not having sex in a car. Ever."

"You know that's a challenge, right?"

"Why am I dating you again?"

"Because I'm hot and irresistible and you can't help yourself. Okay, so car sex is out ... for the moment. What about beach sex? It's a perfect night for it, not too cold, almost no moon. Someone could walk straight past you and you'd never know. We'd just stop by your house and pick up some blankets and towels and whatever, drive out to Marcus Point, go for a walk on the beach, find a nice cosy spot amongst the bluffs ... and there you go. It's even low tide in an hour, so there's no chance of getting drenched."

"Whatever happened to sex ... in a bed? Or on the floor if you're feeling kinky?"

Steve nearly burst out laughing again, forcing himself to pay attention as he left the highway and entered the turn off to Port Carmila. Every so often as the road crested hills he could see glimpses of the flat blackness that was the ocean, only to vanish into the shadows of night and farmland as the road turned again. Abe hadn't actually said no, had he? "The floor is what you consider kinky? Shit." Steve had never done the traditional office-desk sex, or back-or-storage-room sex, but outside figured far more than was probably normal for most people. Part of it was that he liked camping, and part of it was that most of the people he'd dated were as outdoorsy as he was, so taking proceedings outside was only natural. The bed was just for when neither of them felt like going anywhere, but yet again, he suspected that dating Abe was going to be very different from his previous girlfriends – and for reasons that didn't include Abe's penis. Well, this is going to be fun shaking him up...

"If tonight's dark enough that someone can't see us, we can't see what we're doing," Abe pointed out, very clearly not answering him. "Just in case you start swelling up for some reason, seeing what we're doing might be a good thing. Not to mention zombies..."

"Okay, point." Steve sighed, mock-dramatically. "I don't suppose you'd agree to beach sex with an LED lamp?"

"What do you think?"

"Hey, you know I have to try."

Abe laughed – warm and genuine, something he needed to do far more often. "Are we okay, Steve?"

This time Steve laughed. "What, you think that was a spat?" He reached over with his left arm, right handling the steering wheel, resting his hand on Abe's shoulder, grinning as he saw the first lights of Port Carmila appear between the trees. Abe's bed and craziness waited for them, and even if Abe did frustrate him at times, Steve really was okay with it. "We're cool. Okay, I'm guessing that camping sex is also out, for the moment. What about backyard sex...?"