(Before I forget, thanks to MissyER for the image of Jonny in strappy boots and a trenchcoat. I didn't realize I'd been thinking of your art til I started reading back over this story to post it. Umm...sorry about this...I hope you don't mind?
)
"Incubus"
He had wandered the earth for so long he had forgotten the count of his years. Always he was hungry - he was a hunter. He hunted bars, and clubs, and lonely alleyways down deserted streets. He houses, and bedrooms. He hunted motels, he hunted lonely wild places. He walked the world, always hungry, always hunting. He knew only the peace of exhaustion, of satiety.
Once upon a time, he could fly. Perhaps some of his brothers and sisters still could. Perhaps they not only could fly, but travel between the worlds as he once had. It had been a millennia since he had tasted the ether binding heaven and earth. He had become earthbound in all senses. He was not only walking the world, but a part of it. Inextricably linked to these streets, to these people. But never quite becoming one of them. And never quite remembering what he truly was.
He had a name once too. He had forgotten it. These days he called himself Damen, for it reminded him of the name he once bore. This night was a bright clear night in September. He could smell the seasons changing. He liked the cold clear air. He could almost smell his prey, from far away even. Tonight he walked from a motel to a nightclub. He walked faster than any ordinary mortal, yet attracted no notice. He wore a leather trench coat, and leather pants, and black leather boots that sported silver buckles from ankle to knee. He wore the face of youth. Youth perched between the fresh spring and the early summer of life. His apparent age was no easier to distinguish than his real one. He could have passed for anything between the edge of seventeen to his late twenties, depending on the light, and also his mood. Tonight his hunger had put a ragged edge on his appearance. He was beautiful, but looked worn thin somehow. He lit a cigarette as he walked, and left more smoke that sight behind him as he walked. His long dark hair caught in the breeze. His eyes were a flat, pale blue now, but they too would change, especially once the hunt began in earnest. It was as if the surface of him were fixed, but only just. And it seemed a thin covering; a human shape insufficient to contain the flux within in. The pure desire it held rippled under the surface of his skin, swirled within his eyes, and burned the blood in his veins.
Shortly he reached his destination. He threw his cigarette on the sidewalk and left it to burn itself out. Outside under a plainish door, augmented by rather garish neon, people queued up to get in the club. It was already full. And what was it? Shy of midnight still. Early yet for the creatures of the night, human, and not.
He bypassed the line. No one noticed him, though a few did catch the scent of him. Or perhaps just the sense of them. They looked his way and saw only shadows. He slipped through the crowd. They did not see him, but they sensed, or he gave them a bit of a push - not with his hands, or even his mind. They just parted for him, in subtle sidesteps and turns. No one would notice him, not until he wanted them to. And he wouldn't want them to until the hunt began. There was only one in the crowd that noticed him. And Damen noticed him. Pale, translucent skin. Hollow eyes of gray. A fine thin form. And a hunger all it's own. They caught each other's eyes, and nodded once, in acknowledgement. Then they lost the sight of each other in the crowd, as they both returned to their own hunts. Each in their own way. They had no business or qualm with each other. And, they certainly had no desire for each other. The bloodsucker, the vampire was hunting for death. He would be searching for the lost souls. He would be searching for the strong, the young, and the hopeless. Those who had no respect for life and the gift of it. Like attracts like, Damen thought in passing.
He, Damen, was different. He hunted for those who reverberated with life. Those whose mortal forms could barely contain it. He hunted for those who were like himself. He did not take life, but bestowed it. The myths that had grown up around him, and his brothers and sisters, were of evil creatures whose only mission was to give life to unholy children. To populate the world with demons. A long time ago - when he remembered what he was, and what his purpose was - back then the myths had bothered him. Now that he had forgotten, he only bore the same sort of guilt that humans do for an insatiable, pleasurable hunger. A hunger he couldn't deny. An all too human sense of regret for what he was, what he could no longer understand.
But his children were not demons. They were ideas. They were planted in his 'victims' along with his seeds. This is what he was. He was the spark of the Universe. He was the quickening - and it was totally ignorant of itself and it's power. And as all such things are, he had once been feared and demonized. In these modern days, though, he was less a demon, less noticeable amidst the general tumult of these times. All eternals feared for their existence, on some gut level knowing humanity was just a step from enlightenment. Or oblivion. In either case, they would shortly cease to matter.
But for this moment - right now - he just was. He was Damen. A beautiful wild looking creature seeming and feeling even more human than the circus of flesh surrounding him. He was swallowed up in the crowd. He drank them up. He began to hunt. For a long time he prowled through the room. Now not parting the crowd before him, but as one of them, getting bumped. Getting jostled. Getting too hot. In short, feeling tired and miserable. The alcohol he had and the cigarette had worked their way inside him in a way they usually didn't. He felt not relaxed, but numb, and not energetic, but enervated, frayed from inside out. At last he pushed his way to the edge of things, wondering what the hell he was doing here. He leaned against the wall, in the most out of the way area he could find. He rested for a bit. His hunger had begun eating at itself and now he was just plain tired, not knowing quite what he'd been looking for anymore.
"You look like you've seen better days," a kid said to him. He was instantly alert. He saw himself through the kid's eyes for a moment. A wan, tired looking guy in his mid-twenties. Looking drawn out. Dark circles under his eyes. Sweaty damp hair stuck to his forehead. His jacket askew.
"Go fuck yourself," he said, irritated.
"I won't have to. You might, thought," the smart ass kid said. He was gloating at age with the eyes of youth. Big blue eyes. Skittish rabbit eyes belying the inner self. Damen assessed the situation. The boy was smaller than him, and Damen was by no means large. Twentyish? Maybe? Skinny, but not unhealthily so. He had black hair, artificially black, an inch or two long and spiked up randomly all over his head. He had a silver ring through one eyebrow. His face was appealingly contoured. He was almost rosy looking. Yes, he had something of his childhood still in him. He wore black boots. Black leather pants slung so low that you could see his pubic hair rising darkly above the waistband. He wore a forearm full of ugly, thin bracelets. He wore a black see through tank top. His nipples were pierced. A thin silver chain hung between them. He was hairless, except for that sticking up promisingly beneath the leather pants. His hands were stuck fast in tight pockets. It had the effect of all at once making him look like a small, mischievous boy, and a slutty little man ready to ease those pants down and get fucked. They were already down enough to show the narrow bones of his hips.
He'd probably let me fuck him in the bathroom, if that what I wanted, Damen thought. He smiled.
"Do you really think I'll have to fuck myself?" Damen purred at him. He licked his lips. The kid eyed him up. The flux was reviving him even as he said the words. He was wanted. The boy was ready. Not for whatever dreams or nightmares he'd been grooming himself for. He had pierced and painted himself. He had covered himself in the color of death. Or so the child must think. But if it were that simple, to take that energy, to become one with you, to let it suck you dry as it surely would, then if paint and jewelry were enough, well, the vampire would already have taken this lovely little morsel and given it it's wish, sucking it dry and leaving it in the abyss of death that neither it, nor the incubus would ever know. But things weren't that simple. This boy - this man in a boy's body - radiated life. Life streamed out of him. Damen could almost sustain himself just from the life-force the kid was casting recklessly off.
"My heart beats out it's last and I die. I am clean; wrung dry of the stains of my ancestors," Damen said, before the boy could answer his first question. The boy's blue eyes open wide in surprise and shock. Damen smiled. He'd heard the words as if he'd though them himself. He saw himself again as the boy saw him. Now he was younger looking. Clean porcelain skin. Lips pink and full with hot blood. His eyes had changed to a darker blue, a color that seemed to swirl almost like a midnight, moonlit sky as you watched. Looking through the boy's vision, he sees himself for the first time in many long ages. He remembers in a flash, but only for a moment.
"A little maudlin, little one. Are you talking about yourself, or me?" he said, in a voice so low no one should have been able to hear it above the din. But the boy did. He reached out, to touch what seemed at this moment to be an apparition to him. He processed Damen through his own mythology. He made his own identification, and the word struck Damen quite funny. He didn't laugh at the child though. He only smiled sweetly. Somewhere across the room, the other hunter heard and laughed out loud. A laugh that made Damen shiver, though he doubted anyone else could hear it. Damen leaned over to speak to the boy, to whisper in his ear.
"You are yet clean, child, and I will never be. So your rhyme speaks of neither of us. That is the answer to your riddle," he said. The boy wrapped his arms around him, still thinking he bore death. The boy was longing to taste of death, or so he thought. Damen knew he really hungered for life. Young lips were pressing gently against the flesh of his neck. Hot breath stroked the vein that carried Damen's blood whirling around his body. All at once, he was all hunger, and very nearly forgetful of himself, or the crowd. It wasn't his way to be quick about things, but in right now he might have been tempted to take the boy, in the bathroom, or in the alley outside, quick and hard. A brief meeting of body, mind, and soul.
But the boy was biting him now. Nipping at his neck, perhaps in anticipation of some sweet, immortal embrace. Damen did not have time to explain to him horror, numbness, cold, pain, terror. Death he couldn't explain. The nipping at his neck was usurping his thinking, rational mind with desire. But it was also making him mindful of a terror slipping though the crowd. Cold and icy. It had heard its name. It would want this one. It would want this foolish child rich with life. And Damen would be powerless to stop the thing.
"We have to go," he said to the boy. He pushed the boy away a bit but left his arm around his waist, urging him along to the back door. The boy did not resist. They hurried out. Hurry was not the word. Damen sped him along at a dash that was a blur even to the other immortal's eyes. Damen heard it laughing as the door clicked shut behind them. He knew it laughed at him. It was amused with his attempt at speed and deception. It was a master of both. But it's mirth was enough to distract it from giving chase.
You win. There's not much life in that one anyway. Enjoy feasting on it's skin and bones. The icy words bit Damen with a cold chill to his spine.
Creature, it added derisively.
Demon, it snorted out.
"Oh, go fuck yourself," Damen muttered. It didn't hear or it didn't care. Then there was a belated, mirthless laugh. Then the presence of the thing was gone. He was alone with the boy, and several blocks away. Maybe more than that. Yes, he reflected, he'd even overshot the motel he'd been staying in with his urgent flight.
Fly? Had he flown? He couldn't be sure. Whatever it had been, it was only the product of panic. The boy did look dizzy, and ill, and frightened. He leaned against a building. A store long since closed, but the rows and rows of TVs in the window mutely flashed images at them in a wordless cacophony. He wrapped his arms around the kid and pulled him close.
"Shhh," he whispered as the boy panted and shook in his arms. He reached up to stroke the boys hair in a comforting gesture, but he got only and handful of hard, sticky spikes. He gave up on that and touched the boy's face, tracing the fine line of his jaw, his cheekbone.
"Shhh," he said again. His breath and his lips traveled across the boy's cheek, to the fullness of his cupid-like mouth. He kissed him. A light kiss, electric. It drove away the thoughts of the vampire or their flight. It was a kiss that hungered for itself. They sought to fulfill it. They pressed together, body to body. The boy tilted his head back to receive the kiss. He opened his mouth and sucked on Damen's lip. Tasting. Tempting.
The vampire's words came back to him. 'There's not much life in that one anyway.' It was funny how the dead are always mistaken. They mistake themselves for the living. They smell death and they think it's life. They smell life and they can't comprehend it. They will take it if they can. Chew it up and destroy it. But they will never understand it. They will never truly taste it. But this boy was life, life - overwhelming life.
Damen pushed him away. The boy looked a bit hurt, wounded. He advanced for another kiss.
"Later," Damen said with a smile. He kissed the boy's forehead, and took him gently by the shoulder, turning him around so they were back to front. The boy, again, offered no resistance. Instead as Damen wrapped his arms around his waist, he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. Offering his life, his blood. Damen sighed. There was no time to explain now; not for danger, but for his own want to drink of that life in his own way. He would take the time, before he left the child, to explain it. But not now. For now he was grateful that the boy had his eyes closed. He would not see Damen's success or failure.
Damen concentrated on the flow within him. He did not ask or beg it. He didn't force it. That wasn't how it worked. He only longed to remember. And his did. Not in words. In a spontaneous laugh of joy, and an unfurling. The coat was in his way.
"Be still. Don't look," he said. The boy nodded. Damen stepped back and stripped the coat off, somewhat awkwardly, over his head. His shirt was even harder to get off, as it was stretched out beyond what the silky fabric would normally allow. He stretched unfamiliar muscles, and he heard it rip. For a moment he thought it was some frail, fresh part of his tenuous new self. But it was only the shirt. He reached up and helped it along. He was changing. His nails had grown sharp in the space of a moment. They rent his shirt like a knives and grazed his own flesh. The shirt dropped in scraps to the ground. He hoped that at least some of his form would hold for a while. Hurriedly he took the boy around the waist.
"Don't be frightened," he said.
"I'm not," the boy said.
At least that makes one of us, he thought. He stretched his new wings out to their fullest extent. They spread on either side of him, and he hesitantly looked to the side, not knowing what he'd see. Bat wings? Wings like an angel? He'd seen an angel once. It's wings were like a birds, white, but somehow iridescent as well. All colors. Blindingly beautiful.
He looked at himself. His wings were black. But somehow not black. They were more like the darkness. A night made solid. They were like the outline of wings. There were no feathers; no, they seemed to be formed of a substance not like skin, or webbing, or feather or flesh, but like a spider's web, spun to gossamer. It was difficult for him to even put a point on just what they were, or how they'd ever actually fly. He wanted to reach out, but he didn't, for fear they were just an illusion. They would melt, like a dewdropped spiderweb disappears into the grass in the light of the day. The though crossed his mind that perhaps they were an illusion, a mental crutch to help him become something other than earthbound. He dismissed the thought. It didn't matter. He held the boy tighter, he took a long breath. He shut his eyes and stretched his wings. And then he flew.
He circled the rooftops. The city lights made a starscape below him. He was barely aware of the boy. He was taken with this new sensation. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything that touched him very deeply beyond hunger or the pleasures of the flesh. But he didn't fly far. He felt guided. He landed on a roof top unfamiliar to him. They set down with a thump, as if one had missed the last step on a flight of stairs. It was a bit jolting. He released the boy and struggled to get his footing. He felt dizzy.
"How'd you know where I lived?" the boy turned and said. Damen looked up, not caring or thinking at all about the question. He was waiting for a horrified response to his new form, or at least, maybe, some element of shock. But there was nothing in the boy's expression. He turned his head to one side. Then the other. Then down at his hands. Nothing. He was himself.
"Shit," he said. He had felt freedom for a moment, and now it was gone. He had no idea how to get it back.
"What's wrong?" the kid said.
"How the fuck do we get down form here?" Damen asked forlornly. The kid laughed.
"Well, you can jump. Or fly," the boy suggested. "Or, we could take the stairwell, and then catch the elevator. You look kind of worn out."
Damen glared at him.
"Or we could just stay up here," the kid said. He tucked his hands in his pockets again and pushed the pants down a bit further, revealing perhaps another quarter inch or so of pale, delicious flesh. He looked at Damen with wild, coy, childlike eyes. Damen shook his head no.
"Take me to your apartment," he said. The boy nodded. He turned and led the way. Damen licked his lips, and followed his quarry, for the moment, forgetting his brief freedom from his earthly form. For a moment, and perhaps many moments more, relishing his earthbound body. Skin and bones and flesh and blood. His prison, sometimes, felt like a blessing. A divine gift. He left his wings and his freedom behind on the rooftop and didn't look back.
The kid's apartment was nice, or it would have been, had it's inhabitant not turned it into a squalid mess of chotchkes, assorted detritus, mismatched furniture, and just plain garbage.
"Do you like it?" the boy said. Apparently he thought it was a decorating coup.
"It's lovely," Damen said. He picked up a candleholder in the shape of a skull half-clothed in rotting, worm eaten flesh. He had the uncomfortable feeling it was staring back at him. He set it back down with the eye sockets facing the wall.
"Sit down," the boy said. Damen did. He tried not to look around the room too much, lest he spend the rest of the evening rearranging the boy's hideous little plastic trophies. The vicinity of the couch, at least, was mostly undecorated, and the couch itself seemed a bit newer and cleaner than everything else. It was black. Everything in the apartment was blood red, black, or bone white. He sighed. The boy sat down next to him. Did he realize he was like some bright pink posy growing it the fertile ground of an the upturned grave he'd fashioned for himself to live in? Damen almost laughed. But he didn't. The boy had not just sat on the couch, but had arranged himself on it. He sat at the end opposite Damen, leaning back against the arm of the couch. He sat with on leg bent on the couch, and one leg bent and his foot on the floor. His legs were as wide apart as his leather pants permitted. He had a look of dreamy lust on his face. He waited to be taken, but he wasn't idle in his wait.
His hands, so fond of his pockets, now unbuttoned his pants. They pushed now not into his pockets but dipped down, spreading his pants apart and forcing his zipper open as they went. He had no underwear on. His cock lay long and hard on his abdomen, resting on the soft brownish thatch of his pubic hair. Damen wore lust on his face, but in his mind he had a fleeting glimpse of the real face of this would be creature of the night - a boyish man, with curly brown hair framing his face. The face of an angel. Damen knew, after all, he reflected with some amusement, he'd seen one. But the boy before him, at the moment, looked far from angelic. A ring glinted in his brow. His eyes were ringed in black liner. His mouth opened and he licked his lips, betraying, no, showing, meaningfully, not one bright bit of silver, but three. Damen smiled, a half-lust, half-amusement smile. In all his long years, he'd never once thought of altering himself. He was, well, as God or the Devil, or whomever had made him.
"Don't they hurt?" he asked.
"No," the boy said smartly, "In fact they feel quite good." He stuck his tongue out again, swirling it over his lips, wetting them, then pulling it back in his mouth with a click, click, click across his teeth, like some primitive insect mating call. He was clearly quite pleased with himself. He laughed at his own wittiness. Damen smiled a bit. His hunger had been dislodged a bit. It seemed to be swirling around his body, rather than lodging in the marrow of his bones and muscles. He could tolerate it for the moment. He could set it aside. He could enjoy the show.
He sat back on his end of the couch, mirroring the kid's attitude and posture. But he didn't undo his pants, not just yet. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He tossed his head and his hair feel forward. He saw himself in the others vision. Cool, sexy, hot - but not exactly inviting, or desperate. He had made himself into a prize that would have to be won. A game that would have to be played. If he'd had a cigarette, he'd have smoked it, and added to the illusion. A smokescreen over the tumbling chaos within him. The truth was really that he had all he could do to hold back, not to take the boy right then and there. Fuck him hard and fast. Or be fucked. One more kiss, one more touch, and it would be he at the boy's mercy and not the other way around. So he sat back, settling himself into his own illusion of calm detachment.
But the boy wasn't disappointed. He seemed more than willing to play. Did he still think he was in the company of death?
"I'm not what you think I am," Damen said. Risking breaking the illusion. He was a monster, all right, but even monsters draw lines.
"What do you think I think you are?" the boy asked. His fingers ran over his body as he spoke. First running along the line of the silver chain under his shirt. Then running over his abdomen, tantalizingly short of his hard, thick cock. His cock jerked up in response to a touch that didn't come.
"I'm not a vampire," Damen said. The boy just laughed at him. The boy seemed so confident and amused. As if whatever he knew, or thought he knew, gave him all the power he needed or wanted to master the darkness he so longed to inhabit.
"Well, what is it you think that I am?" Damen said with a sight. The boy leaned forward. He went from sexy to mirthful, mocking child all in a moment. He widened his eyes in mock horror.
"I know what you are. You're an angel of Hell," he said, trying to pronounce his decree with great seriousness. He sat back, again pleased with himself. His face settled back into pleasure. His touch now was no tease. One hand idly fumbled with a nipple, really failing to grasp much more than the ring through the slipperiness of the thin shirt. The other found it's mark, encircling his cock in a hard ring of fingers that sent a ripple of pleasure across the boys features. The pleasure wiped away the mirth. The boy's eyes again became murky with desire. His fingers uncurled and merely brushed the head of his cock. It jerked up, wanting more.
"Is that really what you think?" Damen asked. It was not a displeasing notion. To be an angel of any sort sounding to him like a great honor.
"Yes," the boy said solemnly. Quietly. He looked a bit scared now. He whispered, as if asking for confirmation, "You're a demon, aren't you?"
Irritation briefly passed over Damen's face. He sighed it away with a breath that longed to give itself to this child.
"No," he said gently.
"What are you then?" the boy asked, perhaps not wanting a reply. Damen just shook his head 'no'. No, he couldn't or wouldn't explain. The boy accepted it. He closed his eyes and put his attention to exploring himself.
"Take your clothes off," Damen said. The boy opened his eyes and sat up. There was no hesitation. He wanted to be told what to do to pleasure this unearthly creature. He stripped his shirt off overhead. He got up off the couch to kick off his boots and wriggle himself out of his leather pants. He replaced himself in the same pose he'd been in before.
Damen pointed at him. "Those too," he said. The boy looked down at himself. One fingertip pointed at a nipple. Damen nodded, and the boy took them out, carefully twisting the hoops apart, and setting them, still joined by the chain, on the floor. He reached for his face, a question in his eyes.
"Yes, that one too," Damen said. The boy took the ring out of his eyebrow. He opened his mouth, as if breathlessly awaiting a kiss. Or another command.
"Did you not say that they feel, hmmm, 'quite good'?" Damen asked, smiling a bit. The boy nodded.
"Then leave them," Damen permitted him. The boy licked his lips wet again before he clicked his tongue back into his mouth. His own private little mating call. The boy was in heat. Yes, that was certain. He lay there, naked, touching himself. Not just his cock, but all over his body. Light little caresses. Damen wondered if he spent a lot of time here, playing with himself. The boy wasn't just masturbating, he was taunting himself. He touched himself as if the territory was new. As if his hands and body were separated. He closed his eyes and drew his fingertips over himself, punctuating his light caresses with more purposeful ones. Squeezing his now naked nipples to the point of pain. Stroking his cock 'til moisture glistened the tip. He wet his lips now and again, as if the heat of his own body was like a fever, cracking and drying his hungry mouth.
He spread his legs wider, bracing one foot up on the back of the couch. Now his hands slid down the insides of his smooth thighs. Down into the crease of his thighs, stroking the tightened skin of his scrotum, the expanse of skin behind it, lightly, eliciting murmurs of pleasure from him. Low moans uttered from the depth of him. He spread his legs wider. Such a tiny body, Damen reflected, spreading apart, so hungry for itself in might split itself apart. The boy tilted his hips up, and then his fingertips were brushing over his asshole, pushing at it, seeking to enter himself. But not quite in the right position to do more than tease himself at this either. He groaned with his self-imposed torture, his cock jumping up on his belly, leaving a tiny bit of wetness there glistening jewel-like, inviting.
The boy gasped as strong hands too his wrists and pushed them up over his head. Damen let go, but the boy let his arms hang back where Damen had put them, over the arm of the couch, crooked, limp. Powerless, from a desire to submit. Had be been a vampire, he would have many tempting spots from which to claim his meal. The boy's neck, smooth, stretched back as the boy's head tilted back, his heart visibly beating the blood through his jugular vein. The femoral arteries in the boy's smooth legs spread wide and inviting. His wrists, upfacing, limp, waiting, fingers slightly curled in repose. The boy's taut, lean abdomen. Or even his cock, jerking and oozing against him. The boy waited, a willing sacrifice to some god or demon he didn't even understand.
Damen knelt before him, at the altar of humanity. His licked first, the glistening moisture on the boy's belly. The kid sighed, anticipating more. His cock jerked against Damen's cheek. Damen turned his head, and took it in his mouth, swallowing the length of it all at once with the skills learned from the innumerable fucks over long millennia with nothing to do but please and be pleased. The boy's body jerked violently. He was so lost in his own pleasure, that had it been anything but a incubus, the boy would have released right then and there. But he was denied his release. He was not denied pleased. For now he was the mirror of Damen himself. Neither of them would get any release until the moment was right. Until the spark passed from one to the other.
The boy shivered and shook as Damen continued to pleasure him. He submitted. He had no choice. He wanted to come but he couldn't. He was caught, here, in the hot cavern of the mouth of the monster. Damen was pleased, even within the whirling chaos of his own rising tide. Sometimes it was over, fast. Too fast. This moment had promise. The promise of a somewhat more complete release. The promise of fulfillment, at least for a while. The shivering, shaking form of the boy beneath him was enough. Even if he hadn't felt anything, the boy's pleasure would be enough. He wouldn't even have needed his own. He wanted to know this one completely, before he took him.
He looked up from his succor. "What's your name?" he whispered. The boy hesitated. The incubus sensed that he wanted to lie. The boy had some name he liked to use, a name that reminded him of knives and blood and death. The name jabbed at him, so carefully chosen and rehearsed to suit his persona. But when his mouth opened, his real name popped out.
"Gabriel," he said in a hoarse whisper.
"Gabriel," Damen said once. An angel's name. Satisfied, he went back to sucking on the boy's - Gabriel's - erect member. He lay there, gasping in pleasure, his body surrendered, and growing weaker by the moment. But not the weakness of impending death. No, just pleasure building up on itself. Pressing him down on the couch. Absorbed in the moment.
After he'd had as much as he could stand, Gabriel reached down to push Damen away.
"No more," he said. Damen released him and looked up. Gabriel stared at him with his wide blue eyes, biting his lip a bit, panting eagerly.
"No more?" Damen said. A bit pained at the words he was confirming. More than a bit pained. He had been refused before. Some humans had a strength of will he did not understand. And their own reasons for refusal, which he also didn't understand. But he respected it. He never took anyone by force.
A smile flicked up at the corner of Gabriel's mouth. He repeated himself. Forcefully. Distinctly. Clarifying his meaning. "No. More," he said. Damen smiled a little and nodded. He sat up, and back on his heels. He waited. He was willing to be led as well as to lead.
"Take off your clothes," Gabriel said. Damen kicked his legs out from under him. He leaned over, finding the zip hidden under the buckles of his boots. He unzipped one, then the other, his long hair falling forward, veiling his face. He kicked the boots off, then slipped out of his leathers like a snake shedding its skin. Gabriel beckoned him to come closer. He did, and Gabriel reached up, pulling Damen down atop him. They kissed, fucking each other's mouths, tongue jousting and probing, sucking and pulling at each other. Damen ran his hands down the smoothness of Gabriel's arms, finding hands and fingers. He took Gabriel's hands and stretched his arms up over the arm of the couch, entwining their fingers together, holding both of them that way, each voluntarily restrained by the other. They were mouths and cocks. Mouths locking in kisses that sometimes wandered away from lips, biting and nipping at ears and neck, brushing cheek and jawbones, before resuming the kissing. Cocks hard, hot, and moist with the heat of their own bodies pressing together. Writhing against each other, a desperate, unfocused sort of fucking. Pleasure in just being against each other in this diffused, indirect way.
Gabriel wriggled his arms out of their bondage. His abdomen tensed under Damen, as he struggled to move. To rearrange himself. Damen half thought of pinning his down right there, of finishing them both just like this. Perhaps leaving room for more, later. But he braced himself on the arm of the couch and sat up again, breaking their contact and setting Gabriel free to do what he would. Gabriel got up and slid off the couch, on the floor before where Damen sat. Damen turned to him, to the mouth open and waiting to be filled up. He eased to the edge of the couch, his legs outside Gabriel's shoulders. He scooted forward, taking his cock in his own hand, guiding it to Gabriel's mouth, rubbing the head of it over the glinting bits of metal protruding from the other's tongue, then pulling out, brushing only Gabriel's lips. Then he reached out, cupping Gabriel's spiky hair in one hand and pulling him down onto him.
The boy took the lead. He teased and tormented his tormenter with a skill that seemed beyond his years. Maybe he wasn't quite so clean or innocent as he appeared. He wasn't the monster that he longed to be. He wasn't even the monster he was sucking on. No, he was more like some sore of fallen angel. Playing the bad little boy just out of spite.
Gabriel took his cock in his hand, presumably to keep it from slapping up on Damen's abdomen when he let go of it with his mouth, as he did now. He looked up, a crooked grin on his face. Blue eyes glinted mischievously.
"You are quite slow to catch on, aren't you?" he said. The word slow dripped like ambrosia. Damen's breath caught in his throat. He was confused. Everything was all quite apparent now. He blushed with very real embarrassment, a feeling of stupidity, yes and slowness seeping up through his body, coloring his face and even his chest with a bright splotch of red. He felt frozen in place. He wasn't exactly afraid. He didn't think he had anything to fear, except that he was the punchline of someone's joke, and that he was, of course, no longer in control of the situation. He was even more powerless in the face of the light than he was of the dark. Even this light clothed and hiding itself, painted black.
Gabriel just looked amused. He went back to the work at hand and in mouth with renewed vigor. Damen struggled to get away from him. All he succeeded in doing was weakly pushing at the other's shoulders. He leaned forward, scrabbling at the other's back with his all too human, and harmless, fingernails.
"Stop it," he said. He begged.
"Stop?" Gabriel said, withdrawing not in acquiescence but to speak. "Do you want more?"
Damen shook his head no. He gasped for breath and at last got enough to choke out a few words. "You're killing me," was all he said. He looked at the other, pleading.
"Doesn't it feel good?" Gabriel said. Damen shook his head no. And then yes. Gabriel laughed. Not his human laugh, but an angel's laugh, which was like a thousand voices all at once in celestial harmony. He raised himself to whisper in Damen's ear.
"Submit yourself to me, little demon. I'll make you feel so good you'll think you've died and gone to," here he paused to stifle a very human giggle, "Heaven." He said the last bit as seriously as he could manage. His tongue flicked out and licked the incubus' ear, before clicking - click, click, click, exaggeratedly slowly - back into Gabriel's mouth.
He waited for a response. When he didn't get on immediately, only a dazed look from Damen, he sat back on the floor. His legs splayed wide, his cock hard, an amused look on his face.
"Well?" he prompted. Damen struggled to get his wits together. Is this what his lovers felt like? His victims?
"You flatter yourself," the angel remarked. He watched the incubus struggle to get itself together. It was stuck. It would submit, or suffer. An infinity of unending pleasure. And Gabriel would sit right there and watch it. He had an eternity on his hands, stuck on this dull rock of nothing, surrounded by apes walking upright. Finally his prey came to it's senses. It slid stiffly off the couch as it could barely move. It was trying to turn itself over, to offer itself in some human, fleshy form of submission. It was weak. It gave up and nodded instead. It did not know but it was Gabriel's will clamping down on it. Speeding up the flow inside it to the point of pain and paralysis. But, always, pleasure. That was, after all, the nature of the beast.
"Good," Gabriel said. He let up on the creature - or perhaps his will merely broke for a moment with his wanting. He did want to possess the demon, to claim it, as best he could, trapped in a form mostly human, and only partly angelic. He could have had one of the undead, but they were nothing. Physical ghosts. They were distasteful. This? This creature was beauty. It was art incarnate. It was love, lust, and the very spark of the Universe. And it was completely ignorant of itself. A beautiful, ignorant, and annoyingly arrogant little child. One who had a right to be arrogant. Someday, maybe, when it grew up. But for now, Gabriel wanted to experience it. Fuck it. Possess it. Like all the humans it had given itself to. Why did it resist now? It nodded, but Gabriel didn't sense acquiescence from it. The rejection hit him oddly. It gave him some aching pain in his human body that he wasn't altogether familiar with. Certainly he'd never felt it as an angel.
"Give yourself to me," he pled. The incubus breathed a little easier now. It could move, and it set itself a bit more upright. It reached up to brush it's hair off it's face. It wanted. Gabriel could sense it. No matter how composed it was trying to appear, it wanted him. It wanted the human he'd thought Gabriel was, and he wanted Gabriel the angel. But it now, for the first time in it's life, understood at last the humans who had said no to it.
Gabriel probed it's mind, gently, before he spoke again. "If you give yourself to me, I will give myself to you," he offered. He spoke the creature's name. Damen listened to him. He heard the words, but the name was only and echo of some music with no melody. A cacophony of voices in some strange harmony. Somehow it soothed him. The angel sang the strange harmony again. And again. His will to refuse disintegrated. The strange mix of pleasure and pain bore down insistently on him again. But now it seemed to give him strength, instead of paralyze him. He rose and grabbed the angel by the arms, flipping it over onto it's belly, and pinning it down with his own body.
"You are a liar, Gabriel," he said. His voice took on a mocking tone. "Give yourself to me, and I will give myself to you."
"Go fuck yourself," Gabriel spat out at him.
"I don't think so. Not tonight," he said. He forced his legs down between the other's. He held the struggling, writhing Gabriel down one handed, with a strength he'd forgotten he had. He licked his fingers and pressed them in-between the angelic boy's buttocks, dipping down until he found the other's opening and forcing his way in, with two fingers, then three. Gabriel's struggle eased as pleasure coursed through him. Now he was letting Damen fuck him, riding back on his fingers.
"Have you ever been fucked before, Gabriel?" he said.
"Yes," Gabriel gasped.
"Not like this. I'll make you feel like you've gone back to Heaven," Damen said. He withdrew his hand and took Gabriel by the hips instead. He pulled the angel back onto him, entering him with one smooth, long stroke. The boy struggled to move, but Damen held him tight, pulling him all the way back onto his cock. Gabriel moaned with pleasure as he was stretched open.
"Say no to me now," he said. He licked the groove of Gabriel's spine, biting at him, kissing at him. But he held both of them still. "Say no to me now," he whispered, daring the angel to refuse him.
"Fuck me," Gabriel moaned. Damen nodded, his long hair brushing the other's back. He pushed Gabriel forward and he fell onto his hands and knees. Damen gripped his hips and fucked him, a slow steady rhythm. He was no demon, nor was Gabriel any angel. They just were, hopelessly locked together.
This is how it is. You forget yourself. It's bad. And it's good, Damen thought. The angel nodded.
"Harder," he begged, "Fuck me harder." Damen did as he was asked, fucking him hard, their bodies slapping together, almost painfully. But neither felt any release, only the swirl of mirrored, intensified desire. Damen pulled away, desperate for release. He pushed Gabriel down, urging him to lay on his back. The boy lay back, waiting, wanting. The incubus straddled him, bracing his hands on the boy's chest. He reached back and took Gabriel's cock in his hand, guiding it into him. He bit his lip as he impaled himself on the boy's cock, sliding down onto it, stretching himself wide. The sharp bite of pain was quickly replaced by pleasure. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Gabriel, pinching and twisting at the other's nipples, leaning forward to bite at the other's neck. This was it.
"Oh, Gabriel, fuck me. Show me heaven," he pleaded. The little angel beneath him thrust upward, coming into his lover. Damen felt himself filled up, his insides warm and wet. Gabriel's delicate little hand took hold of him firmly, stroking him, and he came, spattering them both with his release. He collapsed down onto his lover, their bodies a tangle of wetness, sticky sweat, and shaky limbs. They kissed a while and Gabriel asked him,
"Well, did you see Heaven?"
Damen shook his head no. "I didn't see anything but you," he said.
"That's good. And it's bad. It means we'll have to try again later. Do you think you'll be up to it?" Gabriel said. For the first time in it's life, the incubus wasn't certain that it would be. It felt sated. Infused with life. Buzzing from the inside out.
"Yes, I'll be ready," it said. The angel knew it was lying. But it only smiled and kissed the little demon. Later. Later he would teach it not to lie to him. He would make it very sorry it had lied. Or perhaps very glad.
"Incubus"
He had wandered the earth for so long he had forgotten the count of his years. Always he was hungry - he was a hunter. He hunted bars, and clubs, and lonely alleyways down deserted streets. He houses, and bedrooms. He hunted motels, he hunted lonely wild places. He walked the world, always hungry, always hunting. He knew only the peace of exhaustion, of satiety.
Once upon a time, he could fly. Perhaps some of his brothers and sisters still could. Perhaps they not only could fly, but travel between the worlds as he once had. It had been a millennia since he had tasted the ether binding heaven and earth. He had become earthbound in all senses. He was not only walking the world, but a part of it. Inextricably linked to these streets, to these people. But never quite becoming one of them. And never quite remembering what he truly was.
He had a name once too. He had forgotten it. These days he called himself Damen, for it reminded him of the name he once bore. This night was a bright clear night in September. He could smell the seasons changing. He liked the cold clear air. He could almost smell his prey, from far away even. Tonight he walked from a motel to a nightclub. He walked faster than any ordinary mortal, yet attracted no notice. He wore a leather trench coat, and leather pants, and black leather boots that sported silver buckles from ankle to knee. He wore the face of youth. Youth perched between the fresh spring and the early summer of life. His apparent age was no easier to distinguish than his real one. He could have passed for anything between the edge of seventeen to his late twenties, depending on the light, and also his mood. Tonight his hunger had put a ragged edge on his appearance. He was beautiful, but looked worn thin somehow. He lit a cigarette as he walked, and left more smoke that sight behind him as he walked. His long dark hair caught in the breeze. His eyes were a flat, pale blue now, but they too would change, especially once the hunt began in earnest. It was as if the surface of him were fixed, but only just. And it seemed a thin covering; a human shape insufficient to contain the flux within in. The pure desire it held rippled under the surface of his skin, swirled within his eyes, and burned the blood in his veins.
Shortly he reached his destination. He threw his cigarette on the sidewalk and left it to burn itself out. Outside under a plainish door, augmented by rather garish neon, people queued up to get in the club. It was already full. And what was it? Shy of midnight still. Early yet for the creatures of the night, human, and not.
He bypassed the line. No one noticed him, though a few did catch the scent of him. Or perhaps just the sense of them. They looked his way and saw only shadows. He slipped through the crowd. They did not see him, but they sensed, or he gave them a bit of a push - not with his hands, or even his mind. They just parted for him, in subtle sidesteps and turns. No one would notice him, not until he wanted them to. And he wouldn't want them to until the hunt began. There was only one in the crowd that noticed him. And Damen noticed him. Pale, translucent skin. Hollow eyes of gray. A fine thin form. And a hunger all it's own. They caught each other's eyes, and nodded once, in acknowledgement. Then they lost the sight of each other in the crowd, as they both returned to their own hunts. Each in their own way. They had no business or qualm with each other. And, they certainly had no desire for each other. The bloodsucker, the vampire was hunting for death. He would be searching for the lost souls. He would be searching for the strong, the young, and the hopeless. Those who had no respect for life and the gift of it. Like attracts like, Damen thought in passing.
He, Damen, was different. He hunted for those who reverberated with life. Those whose mortal forms could barely contain it. He hunted for those who were like himself. He did not take life, but bestowed it. The myths that had grown up around him, and his brothers and sisters, were of evil creatures whose only mission was to give life to unholy children. To populate the world with demons. A long time ago - when he remembered what he was, and what his purpose was - back then the myths had bothered him. Now that he had forgotten, he only bore the same sort of guilt that humans do for an insatiable, pleasurable hunger. A hunger he couldn't deny. An all too human sense of regret for what he was, what he could no longer understand.
But his children were not demons. They were ideas. They were planted in his 'victims' along with his seeds. This is what he was. He was the spark of the Universe. He was the quickening - and it was totally ignorant of itself and it's power. And as all such things are, he had once been feared and demonized. In these modern days, though, he was less a demon, less noticeable amidst the general tumult of these times. All eternals feared for their existence, on some gut level knowing humanity was just a step from enlightenment. Or oblivion. In either case, they would shortly cease to matter.
But for this moment - right now - he just was. He was Damen. A beautiful wild looking creature seeming and feeling even more human than the circus of flesh surrounding him. He was swallowed up in the crowd. He drank them up. He began to hunt. For a long time he prowled through the room. Now not parting the crowd before him, but as one of them, getting bumped. Getting jostled. Getting too hot. In short, feeling tired and miserable. The alcohol he had and the cigarette had worked their way inside him in a way they usually didn't. He felt not relaxed, but numb, and not energetic, but enervated, frayed from inside out. At last he pushed his way to the edge of things, wondering what the hell he was doing here. He leaned against the wall, in the most out of the way area he could find. He rested for a bit. His hunger had begun eating at itself and now he was just plain tired, not knowing quite what he'd been looking for anymore.
"You look like you've seen better days," a kid said to him. He was instantly alert. He saw himself through the kid's eyes for a moment. A wan, tired looking guy in his mid-twenties. Looking drawn out. Dark circles under his eyes. Sweaty damp hair stuck to his forehead. His jacket askew.
"Go fuck yourself," he said, irritated.
"I won't have to. You might, thought," the smart ass kid said. He was gloating at age with the eyes of youth. Big blue eyes. Skittish rabbit eyes belying the inner self. Damen assessed the situation. The boy was smaller than him, and Damen was by no means large. Twentyish? Maybe? Skinny, but not unhealthily so. He had black hair, artificially black, an inch or two long and spiked up randomly all over his head. He had a silver ring through one eyebrow. His face was appealingly contoured. He was almost rosy looking. Yes, he had something of his childhood still in him. He wore black boots. Black leather pants slung so low that you could see his pubic hair rising darkly above the waistband. He wore a forearm full of ugly, thin bracelets. He wore a black see through tank top. His nipples were pierced. A thin silver chain hung between them. He was hairless, except for that sticking up promisingly beneath the leather pants. His hands were stuck fast in tight pockets. It had the effect of all at once making him look like a small, mischievous boy, and a slutty little man ready to ease those pants down and get fucked. They were already down enough to show the narrow bones of his hips.
He'd probably let me fuck him in the bathroom, if that what I wanted, Damen thought. He smiled.
"Do you really think I'll have to fuck myself?" Damen purred at him. He licked his lips. The kid eyed him up. The flux was reviving him even as he said the words. He was wanted. The boy was ready. Not for whatever dreams or nightmares he'd been grooming himself for. He had pierced and painted himself. He had covered himself in the color of death. Or so the child must think. But if it were that simple, to take that energy, to become one with you, to let it suck you dry as it surely would, then if paint and jewelry were enough, well, the vampire would already have taken this lovely little morsel and given it it's wish, sucking it dry and leaving it in the abyss of death that neither it, nor the incubus would ever know. But things weren't that simple. This boy - this man in a boy's body - radiated life. Life streamed out of him. Damen could almost sustain himself just from the life-force the kid was casting recklessly off.
"My heart beats out it's last and I die. I am clean; wrung dry of the stains of my ancestors," Damen said, before the boy could answer his first question. The boy's blue eyes open wide in surprise and shock. Damen smiled. He'd heard the words as if he'd though them himself. He saw himself again as the boy saw him. Now he was younger looking. Clean porcelain skin. Lips pink and full with hot blood. His eyes had changed to a darker blue, a color that seemed to swirl almost like a midnight, moonlit sky as you watched. Looking through the boy's vision, he sees himself for the first time in many long ages. He remembers in a flash, but only for a moment.
"A little maudlin, little one. Are you talking about yourself, or me?" he said, in a voice so low no one should have been able to hear it above the din. But the boy did. He reached out, to touch what seemed at this moment to be an apparition to him. He processed Damen through his own mythology. He made his own identification, and the word struck Damen quite funny. He didn't laugh at the child though. He only smiled sweetly. Somewhere across the room, the other hunter heard and laughed out loud. A laugh that made Damen shiver, though he doubted anyone else could hear it. Damen leaned over to speak to the boy, to whisper in his ear.
"You are yet clean, child, and I will never be. So your rhyme speaks of neither of us. That is the answer to your riddle," he said. The boy wrapped his arms around him, still thinking he bore death. The boy was longing to taste of death, or so he thought. Damen knew he really hungered for life. Young lips were pressing gently against the flesh of his neck. Hot breath stroked the vein that carried Damen's blood whirling around his body. All at once, he was all hunger, and very nearly forgetful of himself, or the crowd. It wasn't his way to be quick about things, but in right now he might have been tempted to take the boy, in the bathroom, or in the alley outside, quick and hard. A brief meeting of body, mind, and soul.
But the boy was biting him now. Nipping at his neck, perhaps in anticipation of some sweet, immortal embrace. Damen did not have time to explain to him horror, numbness, cold, pain, terror. Death he couldn't explain. The nipping at his neck was usurping his thinking, rational mind with desire. But it was also making him mindful of a terror slipping though the crowd. Cold and icy. It had heard its name. It would want this one. It would want this foolish child rich with life. And Damen would be powerless to stop the thing.
"We have to go," he said to the boy. He pushed the boy away a bit but left his arm around his waist, urging him along to the back door. The boy did not resist. They hurried out. Hurry was not the word. Damen sped him along at a dash that was a blur even to the other immortal's eyes. Damen heard it laughing as the door clicked shut behind them. He knew it laughed at him. It was amused with his attempt at speed and deception. It was a master of both. But it's mirth was enough to distract it from giving chase.
You win. There's not much life in that one anyway. Enjoy feasting on it's skin and bones. The icy words bit Damen with a cold chill to his spine.
Creature, it added derisively.
Demon, it snorted out.
"Oh, go fuck yourself," Damen muttered. It didn't hear or it didn't care. Then there was a belated, mirthless laugh. Then the presence of the thing was gone. He was alone with the boy, and several blocks away. Maybe more than that. Yes, he reflected, he'd even overshot the motel he'd been staying in with his urgent flight.
Fly? Had he flown? He couldn't be sure. Whatever it had been, it was only the product of panic. The boy did look dizzy, and ill, and frightened. He leaned against a building. A store long since closed, but the rows and rows of TVs in the window mutely flashed images at them in a wordless cacophony. He wrapped his arms around the kid and pulled him close.
"Shhh," he whispered as the boy panted and shook in his arms. He reached up to stroke the boys hair in a comforting gesture, but he got only and handful of hard, sticky spikes. He gave up on that and touched the boy's face, tracing the fine line of his jaw, his cheekbone.
"Shhh," he said again. His breath and his lips traveled across the boy's cheek, to the fullness of his cupid-like mouth. He kissed him. A light kiss, electric. It drove away the thoughts of the vampire or their flight. It was a kiss that hungered for itself. They sought to fulfill it. They pressed together, body to body. The boy tilted his head back to receive the kiss. He opened his mouth and sucked on Damen's lip. Tasting. Tempting.
The vampire's words came back to him. 'There's not much life in that one anyway.' It was funny how the dead are always mistaken. They mistake themselves for the living. They smell death and they think it's life. They smell life and they can't comprehend it. They will take it if they can. Chew it up and destroy it. But they will never understand it. They will never truly taste it. But this boy was life, life - overwhelming life.
Damen pushed him away. The boy looked a bit hurt, wounded. He advanced for another kiss.
"Later," Damen said with a smile. He kissed the boy's forehead, and took him gently by the shoulder, turning him around so they were back to front. The boy, again, offered no resistance. Instead as Damen wrapped his arms around his waist, he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. Offering his life, his blood. Damen sighed. There was no time to explain now; not for danger, but for his own want to drink of that life in his own way. He would take the time, before he left the child, to explain it. But not now. For now he was grateful that the boy had his eyes closed. He would not see Damen's success or failure.
Damen concentrated on the flow within him. He did not ask or beg it. He didn't force it. That wasn't how it worked. He only longed to remember. And his did. Not in words. In a spontaneous laugh of joy, and an unfurling. The coat was in his way.
"Be still. Don't look," he said. The boy nodded. Damen stepped back and stripped the coat off, somewhat awkwardly, over his head. His shirt was even harder to get off, as it was stretched out beyond what the silky fabric would normally allow. He stretched unfamiliar muscles, and he heard it rip. For a moment he thought it was some frail, fresh part of his tenuous new self. But it was only the shirt. He reached up and helped it along. He was changing. His nails had grown sharp in the space of a moment. They rent his shirt like a knives and grazed his own flesh. The shirt dropped in scraps to the ground. He hoped that at least some of his form would hold for a while. Hurriedly he took the boy around the waist.
"Don't be frightened," he said.
"I'm not," the boy said.
At least that makes one of us, he thought. He stretched his new wings out to their fullest extent. They spread on either side of him, and he hesitantly looked to the side, not knowing what he'd see. Bat wings? Wings like an angel? He'd seen an angel once. It's wings were like a birds, white, but somehow iridescent as well. All colors. Blindingly beautiful.
He looked at himself. His wings were black. But somehow not black. They were more like the darkness. A night made solid. They were like the outline of wings. There were no feathers; no, they seemed to be formed of a substance not like skin, or webbing, or feather or flesh, but like a spider's web, spun to gossamer. It was difficult for him to even put a point on just what they were, or how they'd ever actually fly. He wanted to reach out, but he didn't, for fear they were just an illusion. They would melt, like a dewdropped spiderweb disappears into the grass in the light of the day. The though crossed his mind that perhaps they were an illusion, a mental crutch to help him become something other than earthbound. He dismissed the thought. It didn't matter. He held the boy tighter, he took a long breath. He shut his eyes and stretched his wings. And then he flew.
He circled the rooftops. The city lights made a starscape below him. He was barely aware of the boy. He was taken with this new sensation. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything that touched him very deeply beyond hunger or the pleasures of the flesh. But he didn't fly far. He felt guided. He landed on a roof top unfamiliar to him. They set down with a thump, as if one had missed the last step on a flight of stairs. It was a bit jolting. He released the boy and struggled to get his footing. He felt dizzy.
"How'd you know where I lived?" the boy turned and said. Damen looked up, not caring or thinking at all about the question. He was waiting for a horrified response to his new form, or at least, maybe, some element of shock. But there was nothing in the boy's expression. He turned his head to one side. Then the other. Then down at his hands. Nothing. He was himself.
"Shit," he said. He had felt freedom for a moment, and now it was gone. He had no idea how to get it back.
"What's wrong?" the kid said.
"How the fuck do we get down form here?" Damen asked forlornly. The kid laughed.
"Well, you can jump. Or fly," the boy suggested. "Or, we could take the stairwell, and then catch the elevator. You look kind of worn out."
Damen glared at him.
"Or we could just stay up here," the kid said. He tucked his hands in his pockets again and pushed the pants down a bit further, revealing perhaps another quarter inch or so of pale, delicious flesh. He looked at Damen with wild, coy, childlike eyes. Damen shook his head no.
"Take me to your apartment," he said. The boy nodded. He turned and led the way. Damen licked his lips, and followed his quarry, for the moment, forgetting his brief freedom from his earthly form. For a moment, and perhaps many moments more, relishing his earthbound body. Skin and bones and flesh and blood. His prison, sometimes, felt like a blessing. A divine gift. He left his wings and his freedom behind on the rooftop and didn't look back.
The kid's apartment was nice, or it would have been, had it's inhabitant not turned it into a squalid mess of chotchkes, assorted detritus, mismatched furniture, and just plain garbage.
"Do you like it?" the boy said. Apparently he thought it was a decorating coup.
"It's lovely," Damen said. He picked up a candleholder in the shape of a skull half-clothed in rotting, worm eaten flesh. He had the uncomfortable feeling it was staring back at him. He set it back down with the eye sockets facing the wall.
"Sit down," the boy said. Damen did. He tried not to look around the room too much, lest he spend the rest of the evening rearranging the boy's hideous little plastic trophies. The vicinity of the couch, at least, was mostly undecorated, and the couch itself seemed a bit newer and cleaner than everything else. It was black. Everything in the apartment was blood red, black, or bone white. He sighed. The boy sat down next to him. Did he realize he was like some bright pink posy growing it the fertile ground of an the upturned grave he'd fashioned for himself to live in? Damen almost laughed. But he didn't. The boy had not just sat on the couch, but had arranged himself on it. He sat at the end opposite Damen, leaning back against the arm of the couch. He sat with on leg bent on the couch, and one leg bent and his foot on the floor. His legs were as wide apart as his leather pants permitted. He had a look of dreamy lust on his face. He waited to be taken, but he wasn't idle in his wait.
His hands, so fond of his pockets, now unbuttoned his pants. They pushed now not into his pockets but dipped down, spreading his pants apart and forcing his zipper open as they went. He had no underwear on. His cock lay long and hard on his abdomen, resting on the soft brownish thatch of his pubic hair. Damen wore lust on his face, but in his mind he had a fleeting glimpse of the real face of this would be creature of the night - a boyish man, with curly brown hair framing his face. The face of an angel. Damen knew, after all, he reflected with some amusement, he'd seen one. But the boy before him, at the moment, looked far from angelic. A ring glinted in his brow. His eyes were ringed in black liner. His mouth opened and he licked his lips, betraying, no, showing, meaningfully, not one bright bit of silver, but three. Damen smiled, a half-lust, half-amusement smile. In all his long years, he'd never once thought of altering himself. He was, well, as God or the Devil, or whomever had made him.
"Don't they hurt?" he asked.
"No," the boy said smartly, "In fact they feel quite good." He stuck his tongue out again, swirling it over his lips, wetting them, then pulling it back in his mouth with a click, click, click across his teeth, like some primitive insect mating call. He was clearly quite pleased with himself. He laughed at his own wittiness. Damen smiled a bit. His hunger had been dislodged a bit. It seemed to be swirling around his body, rather than lodging in the marrow of his bones and muscles. He could tolerate it for the moment. He could set it aside. He could enjoy the show.
He sat back on his end of the couch, mirroring the kid's attitude and posture. But he didn't undo his pants, not just yet. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He tossed his head and his hair feel forward. He saw himself in the others vision. Cool, sexy, hot - but not exactly inviting, or desperate. He had made himself into a prize that would have to be won. A game that would have to be played. If he'd had a cigarette, he'd have smoked it, and added to the illusion. A smokescreen over the tumbling chaos within him. The truth was really that he had all he could do to hold back, not to take the boy right then and there. Fuck him hard and fast. Or be fucked. One more kiss, one more touch, and it would be he at the boy's mercy and not the other way around. So he sat back, settling himself into his own illusion of calm detachment.
But the boy wasn't disappointed. He seemed more than willing to play. Did he still think he was in the company of death?
"I'm not what you think I am," Damen said. Risking breaking the illusion. He was a monster, all right, but even monsters draw lines.
"What do you think I think you are?" the boy asked. His fingers ran over his body as he spoke. First running along the line of the silver chain under his shirt. Then running over his abdomen, tantalizingly short of his hard, thick cock. His cock jerked up in response to a touch that didn't come.
"I'm not a vampire," Damen said. The boy just laughed at him. The boy seemed so confident and amused. As if whatever he knew, or thought he knew, gave him all the power he needed or wanted to master the darkness he so longed to inhabit.
"Well, what is it you think that I am?" Damen said with a sight. The boy leaned forward. He went from sexy to mirthful, mocking child all in a moment. He widened his eyes in mock horror.
"I know what you are. You're an angel of Hell," he said, trying to pronounce his decree with great seriousness. He sat back, again pleased with himself. His face settled back into pleasure. His touch now was no tease. One hand idly fumbled with a nipple, really failing to grasp much more than the ring through the slipperiness of the thin shirt. The other found it's mark, encircling his cock in a hard ring of fingers that sent a ripple of pleasure across the boys features. The pleasure wiped away the mirth. The boy's eyes again became murky with desire. His fingers uncurled and merely brushed the head of his cock. It jerked up, wanting more.
"Is that really what you think?" Damen asked. It was not a displeasing notion. To be an angel of any sort sounding to him like a great honor.
"Yes," the boy said solemnly. Quietly. He looked a bit scared now. He whispered, as if asking for confirmation, "You're a demon, aren't you?"
Irritation briefly passed over Damen's face. He sighed it away with a breath that longed to give itself to this child.
"No," he said gently.
"What are you then?" the boy asked, perhaps not wanting a reply. Damen just shook his head 'no'. No, he couldn't or wouldn't explain. The boy accepted it. He closed his eyes and put his attention to exploring himself.
"Take your clothes off," Damen said. The boy opened his eyes and sat up. There was no hesitation. He wanted to be told what to do to pleasure this unearthly creature. He stripped his shirt off overhead. He got up off the couch to kick off his boots and wriggle himself out of his leather pants. He replaced himself in the same pose he'd been in before.
Damen pointed at him. "Those too," he said. The boy looked down at himself. One fingertip pointed at a nipple. Damen nodded, and the boy took them out, carefully twisting the hoops apart, and setting them, still joined by the chain, on the floor. He reached for his face, a question in his eyes.
"Yes, that one too," Damen said. The boy took the ring out of his eyebrow. He opened his mouth, as if breathlessly awaiting a kiss. Or another command.
"Did you not say that they feel, hmmm, 'quite good'?" Damen asked, smiling a bit. The boy nodded.
"Then leave them," Damen permitted him. The boy licked his lips wet again before he clicked his tongue back into his mouth. His own private little mating call. The boy was in heat. Yes, that was certain. He lay there, naked, touching himself. Not just his cock, but all over his body. Light little caresses. Damen wondered if he spent a lot of time here, playing with himself. The boy wasn't just masturbating, he was taunting himself. He touched himself as if the territory was new. As if his hands and body were separated. He closed his eyes and drew his fingertips over himself, punctuating his light caresses with more purposeful ones. Squeezing his now naked nipples to the point of pain. Stroking his cock 'til moisture glistened the tip. He wet his lips now and again, as if the heat of his own body was like a fever, cracking and drying his hungry mouth.
He spread his legs wider, bracing one foot up on the back of the couch. Now his hands slid down the insides of his smooth thighs. Down into the crease of his thighs, stroking the tightened skin of his scrotum, the expanse of skin behind it, lightly, eliciting murmurs of pleasure from him. Low moans uttered from the depth of him. He spread his legs wider. Such a tiny body, Damen reflected, spreading apart, so hungry for itself in might split itself apart. The boy tilted his hips up, and then his fingertips were brushing over his asshole, pushing at it, seeking to enter himself. But not quite in the right position to do more than tease himself at this either. He groaned with his self-imposed torture, his cock jumping up on his belly, leaving a tiny bit of wetness there glistening jewel-like, inviting.
The boy gasped as strong hands too his wrists and pushed them up over his head. Damen let go, but the boy let his arms hang back where Damen had put them, over the arm of the couch, crooked, limp. Powerless, from a desire to submit. Had be been a vampire, he would have many tempting spots from which to claim his meal. The boy's neck, smooth, stretched back as the boy's head tilted back, his heart visibly beating the blood through his jugular vein. The femoral arteries in the boy's smooth legs spread wide and inviting. His wrists, upfacing, limp, waiting, fingers slightly curled in repose. The boy's taut, lean abdomen. Or even his cock, jerking and oozing against him. The boy waited, a willing sacrifice to some god or demon he didn't even understand.
Damen knelt before him, at the altar of humanity. His licked first, the glistening moisture on the boy's belly. The kid sighed, anticipating more. His cock jerked against Damen's cheek. Damen turned his head, and took it in his mouth, swallowing the length of it all at once with the skills learned from the innumerable fucks over long millennia with nothing to do but please and be pleased. The boy's body jerked violently. He was so lost in his own pleasure, that had it been anything but a incubus, the boy would have released right then and there. But he was denied his release. He was not denied pleased. For now he was the mirror of Damen himself. Neither of them would get any release until the moment was right. Until the spark passed from one to the other.
The boy shivered and shook as Damen continued to pleasure him. He submitted. He had no choice. He wanted to come but he couldn't. He was caught, here, in the hot cavern of the mouth of the monster. Damen was pleased, even within the whirling chaos of his own rising tide. Sometimes it was over, fast. Too fast. This moment had promise. The promise of a somewhat more complete release. The promise of fulfillment, at least for a while. The shivering, shaking form of the boy beneath him was enough. Even if he hadn't felt anything, the boy's pleasure would be enough. He wouldn't even have needed his own. He wanted to know this one completely, before he took him.
He looked up from his succor. "What's your name?" he whispered. The boy hesitated. The incubus sensed that he wanted to lie. The boy had some name he liked to use, a name that reminded him of knives and blood and death. The name jabbed at him, so carefully chosen and rehearsed to suit his persona. But when his mouth opened, his real name popped out.
"Gabriel," he said in a hoarse whisper.
"Gabriel," Damen said once. An angel's name. Satisfied, he went back to sucking on the boy's - Gabriel's - erect member. He lay there, gasping in pleasure, his body surrendered, and growing weaker by the moment. But not the weakness of impending death. No, just pleasure building up on itself. Pressing him down on the couch. Absorbed in the moment.
After he'd had as much as he could stand, Gabriel reached down to push Damen away.
"No more," he said. Damen released him and looked up. Gabriel stared at him with his wide blue eyes, biting his lip a bit, panting eagerly.
"No more?" Damen said. A bit pained at the words he was confirming. More than a bit pained. He had been refused before. Some humans had a strength of will he did not understand. And their own reasons for refusal, which he also didn't understand. But he respected it. He never took anyone by force.
A smile flicked up at the corner of Gabriel's mouth. He repeated himself. Forcefully. Distinctly. Clarifying his meaning. "No. More," he said. Damen smiled a little and nodded. He sat up, and back on his heels. He waited. He was willing to be led as well as to lead.
"Take off your clothes," Gabriel said. Damen kicked his legs out from under him. He leaned over, finding the zip hidden under the buckles of his boots. He unzipped one, then the other, his long hair falling forward, veiling his face. He kicked the boots off, then slipped out of his leathers like a snake shedding its skin. Gabriel beckoned him to come closer. He did, and Gabriel reached up, pulling Damen down atop him. They kissed, fucking each other's mouths, tongue jousting and probing, sucking and pulling at each other. Damen ran his hands down the smoothness of Gabriel's arms, finding hands and fingers. He took Gabriel's hands and stretched his arms up over the arm of the couch, entwining their fingers together, holding both of them that way, each voluntarily restrained by the other. They were mouths and cocks. Mouths locking in kisses that sometimes wandered away from lips, biting and nipping at ears and neck, brushing cheek and jawbones, before resuming the kissing. Cocks hard, hot, and moist with the heat of their own bodies pressing together. Writhing against each other, a desperate, unfocused sort of fucking. Pleasure in just being against each other in this diffused, indirect way.
Gabriel wriggled his arms out of their bondage. His abdomen tensed under Damen, as he struggled to move. To rearrange himself. Damen half thought of pinning his down right there, of finishing them both just like this. Perhaps leaving room for more, later. But he braced himself on the arm of the couch and sat up again, breaking their contact and setting Gabriel free to do what he would. Gabriel got up and slid off the couch, on the floor before where Damen sat. Damen turned to him, to the mouth open and waiting to be filled up. He eased to the edge of the couch, his legs outside Gabriel's shoulders. He scooted forward, taking his cock in his own hand, guiding it to Gabriel's mouth, rubbing the head of it over the glinting bits of metal protruding from the other's tongue, then pulling out, brushing only Gabriel's lips. Then he reached out, cupping Gabriel's spiky hair in one hand and pulling him down onto him.
The boy took the lead. He teased and tormented his tormenter with a skill that seemed beyond his years. Maybe he wasn't quite so clean or innocent as he appeared. He wasn't the monster that he longed to be. He wasn't even the monster he was sucking on. No, he was more like some sore of fallen angel. Playing the bad little boy just out of spite.
Gabriel took his cock in his hand, presumably to keep it from slapping up on Damen's abdomen when he let go of it with his mouth, as he did now. He looked up, a crooked grin on his face. Blue eyes glinted mischievously.
"You are quite slow to catch on, aren't you?" he said. The word slow dripped like ambrosia. Damen's breath caught in his throat. He was confused. Everything was all quite apparent now. He blushed with very real embarrassment, a feeling of stupidity, yes and slowness seeping up through his body, coloring his face and even his chest with a bright splotch of red. He felt frozen in place. He wasn't exactly afraid. He didn't think he had anything to fear, except that he was the punchline of someone's joke, and that he was, of course, no longer in control of the situation. He was even more powerless in the face of the light than he was of the dark. Even this light clothed and hiding itself, painted black.
Gabriel just looked amused. He went back to the work at hand and in mouth with renewed vigor. Damen struggled to get away from him. All he succeeded in doing was weakly pushing at the other's shoulders. He leaned forward, scrabbling at the other's back with his all too human, and harmless, fingernails.
"Stop it," he said. He begged.
"Stop?" Gabriel said, withdrawing not in acquiescence but to speak. "Do you want more?"
Damen shook his head no. He gasped for breath and at last got enough to choke out a few words. "You're killing me," was all he said. He looked at the other, pleading.
"Doesn't it feel good?" Gabriel said. Damen shook his head no. And then yes. Gabriel laughed. Not his human laugh, but an angel's laugh, which was like a thousand voices all at once in celestial harmony. He raised himself to whisper in Damen's ear.
"Submit yourself to me, little demon. I'll make you feel so good you'll think you've died and gone to," here he paused to stifle a very human giggle, "Heaven." He said the last bit as seriously as he could manage. His tongue flicked out and licked the incubus' ear, before clicking - click, click, click, exaggeratedly slowly - back into Gabriel's mouth.
He waited for a response. When he didn't get on immediately, only a dazed look from Damen, he sat back on the floor. His legs splayed wide, his cock hard, an amused look on his face.
"Well?" he prompted. Damen struggled to get his wits together. Is this what his lovers felt like? His victims?
"You flatter yourself," the angel remarked. He watched the incubus struggle to get itself together. It was stuck. It would submit, or suffer. An infinity of unending pleasure. And Gabriel would sit right there and watch it. He had an eternity on his hands, stuck on this dull rock of nothing, surrounded by apes walking upright. Finally his prey came to it's senses. It slid stiffly off the couch as it could barely move. It was trying to turn itself over, to offer itself in some human, fleshy form of submission. It was weak. It gave up and nodded instead. It did not know but it was Gabriel's will clamping down on it. Speeding up the flow inside it to the point of pain and paralysis. But, always, pleasure. That was, after all, the nature of the beast.
"Good," Gabriel said. He let up on the creature - or perhaps his will merely broke for a moment with his wanting. He did want to possess the demon, to claim it, as best he could, trapped in a form mostly human, and only partly angelic. He could have had one of the undead, but they were nothing. Physical ghosts. They were distasteful. This? This creature was beauty. It was art incarnate. It was love, lust, and the very spark of the Universe. And it was completely ignorant of itself. A beautiful, ignorant, and annoyingly arrogant little child. One who had a right to be arrogant. Someday, maybe, when it grew up. But for now, Gabriel wanted to experience it. Fuck it. Possess it. Like all the humans it had given itself to. Why did it resist now? It nodded, but Gabriel didn't sense acquiescence from it. The rejection hit him oddly. It gave him some aching pain in his human body that he wasn't altogether familiar with. Certainly he'd never felt it as an angel.
"Give yourself to me," he pled. The incubus breathed a little easier now. It could move, and it set itself a bit more upright. It reached up to brush it's hair off it's face. It wanted. Gabriel could sense it. No matter how composed it was trying to appear, it wanted him. It wanted the human he'd thought Gabriel was, and he wanted Gabriel the angel. But it now, for the first time in it's life, understood at last the humans who had said no to it.
Gabriel probed it's mind, gently, before he spoke again. "If you give yourself to me, I will give myself to you," he offered. He spoke the creature's name. Damen listened to him. He heard the words, but the name was only and echo of some music with no melody. A cacophony of voices in some strange harmony. Somehow it soothed him. The angel sang the strange harmony again. And again. His will to refuse disintegrated. The strange mix of pleasure and pain bore down insistently on him again. But now it seemed to give him strength, instead of paralyze him. He rose and grabbed the angel by the arms, flipping it over onto it's belly, and pinning it down with his own body.
"You are a liar, Gabriel," he said. His voice took on a mocking tone. "Give yourself to me, and I will give myself to you."
"Go fuck yourself," Gabriel spat out at him.
"I don't think so. Not tonight," he said. He forced his legs down between the other's. He held the struggling, writhing Gabriel down one handed, with a strength he'd forgotten he had. He licked his fingers and pressed them in-between the angelic boy's buttocks, dipping down until he found the other's opening and forcing his way in, with two fingers, then three. Gabriel's struggle eased as pleasure coursed through him. Now he was letting Damen fuck him, riding back on his fingers.
"Have you ever been fucked before, Gabriel?" he said.
"Yes," Gabriel gasped.
"Not like this. I'll make you feel like you've gone back to Heaven," Damen said. He withdrew his hand and took Gabriel by the hips instead. He pulled the angel back onto him, entering him with one smooth, long stroke. The boy struggled to move, but Damen held him tight, pulling him all the way back onto his cock. Gabriel moaned with pleasure as he was stretched open.
"Say no to me now," he said. He licked the groove of Gabriel's spine, biting at him, kissing at him. But he held both of them still. "Say no to me now," he whispered, daring the angel to refuse him.
"Fuck me," Gabriel moaned. Damen nodded, his long hair brushing the other's back. He pushed Gabriel forward and he fell onto his hands and knees. Damen gripped his hips and fucked him, a slow steady rhythm. He was no demon, nor was Gabriel any angel. They just were, hopelessly locked together.
This is how it is. You forget yourself. It's bad. And it's good, Damen thought. The angel nodded.
"Harder," he begged, "Fuck me harder." Damen did as he was asked, fucking him hard, their bodies slapping together, almost painfully. But neither felt any release, only the swirl of mirrored, intensified desire. Damen pulled away, desperate for release. He pushed Gabriel down, urging him to lay on his back. The boy lay back, waiting, wanting. The incubus straddled him, bracing his hands on the boy's chest. He reached back and took Gabriel's cock in his hand, guiding it into him. He bit his lip as he impaled himself on the boy's cock, sliding down onto it, stretching himself wide. The sharp bite of pain was quickly replaced by pleasure. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Gabriel, pinching and twisting at the other's nipples, leaning forward to bite at the other's neck. This was it.
"Oh, Gabriel, fuck me. Show me heaven," he pleaded. The little angel beneath him thrust upward, coming into his lover. Damen felt himself filled up, his insides warm and wet. Gabriel's delicate little hand took hold of him firmly, stroking him, and he came, spattering them both with his release. He collapsed down onto his lover, their bodies a tangle of wetness, sticky sweat, and shaky limbs. They kissed a while and Gabriel asked him,
"Well, did you see Heaven?"
Damen shook his head no. "I didn't see anything but you," he said.
"That's good. And it's bad. It means we'll have to try again later. Do you think you'll be up to it?" Gabriel said. For the first time in it's life, the incubus wasn't certain that it would be. It felt sated. Infused with life. Buzzing from the inside out.
"Yes, I'll be ready," it said. The angel knew it was lying. But it only smiled and kissed the little demon. Later. Later he would teach it not to lie to him. He would make it very sorry it had lied. Or perhaps very glad.
