This is an expert from Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls’ Night by Jennifer Armintrout.

The way he moved, Ziggy was almost a hundred percent sure Bill was going to slug him. He even let go of his arm and stepped back defensively, because the last thing he needed was a broken nose and to have to fight a drunk human. Not to mention the fact it would make him seem more monstrous in Bill’s eyes.
But he didn’t hit him. He grabbed him, a hand on each shoulder, and pulled him up hard against him. Bill’s mouth touched his, just a little touch, and it felt like electricity running through his entire body. And then he had no willpower. He should have. He wasn’t the one who was drunk and had some weird prejudice against vampires. If this went too far, Bill would regret it, and that would make Ziggy regret it, but he just couldn’t make himself care.

Bill’s hands slid under Ziggy’s shirt, the warmth of human skin a shock to his chilled flesh. “You’re freezing,” Bill said, his voice half-muffled by the proximity of his lips to Ziggy’s, and Ziggy couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m dead,” he whispered back, and then wished he hadn’t said that. Bill didn’t like that he was a vampire, that much was clear. No need to remind him, when he was so close and it felt so good to be pressed against him.
I’m just not going to think anymore, Ziggy decided, smothered under another of Bill’s kisses. He ached to be touched, not in a way that only seemed gentle, but in a way that was gentle, with no threat of pain to follow. Or, if it was rough, roughness for its own sake, not because he was a plaything to be dominated or tortured for someone else’s amusement.

He wanted to be treated like a person. It had been a while since he had been.

Bill’s hands slid under his T-shirt again, lifting the fabric up. ZIggy broke the connection of their mouths and put his hand out to stop him. “What if Carrie or Max comes in here?”

“What if?” Bill retorted drunkenly, and when his mouth descended again, sliding from lips to jaw to neck, Ziggy really couldn’t argue with his logic. Hell, if the Pope walked in right now, Ziggy wouldn’t care. He leaned back, feeling the bite of the counter in the small of his back, and pulled his T-shirt off. Bill mercifully skipped past the physical inspection, that moment that always left Ziggy to mentally narrate all the flaws the other guy was finding with him like the fact he didn’t have washboard abs– hell, any visible abs– and he’d never grown more than a few chest hairs. Whether Bill was too drunk to care or he really just didn’t care, either way, Ziggy was glad when, once he’d whipped his own shirt over his head, Bill reached for him again, pushing him a little awkwardly to lean against the refrigerator door. The cold, smooth surface hitting his back coincided with the hot skin of Bill’s chest meeting his, and Ziggy shuddered at the contrast.

Bill dipped his head to kiss Ziggy’s left collarbone, hands locked firmly on his hips through the flannel sleep pants.