Myths

by Rob Knight editor

  It didn't follow any logical laws of time and space as Nelson knew them, but as he headed quickly up the stairs to his room, a familiar shape was leaning against the wall nearby, arms folded over its chest, brow furrowed and looking all the more formidable for the way the horns curved up from his forehead, twisting to little points. "Do you think I don't understand?" Lou asked. "Do you think I haven't been there before? We are not meant to be alone, good doctor. I have watched you from the shadows now for so long and I can see it in you."

  Nelson glanced back down the stairs, casually calculating how much force it would take to push his new friend possibly (though improbably) to his death.

  "I wouldn't," Lou advised. "You have the godlike brains, but I have the supernatural strength. I would never hurt you, but you might pull a muscle if you're not careful."

  With a sigh, Nelson said, "Fine. Just stop trying to sound like you understand me." He brushed past the creature to unlock the door to his small room and he trudged inside, tired to the core and aching in the parts of his soul apathy hadn't yet eaten away.

  ***

  "Are you still torturing yourself?" John asked teasingly as he held Nelson in his arms, his body warm and his heartbeat a comforting sound within his chest, where Nelson rested his head serenely. "Mm, no," Nelson replied with a lazy stretch. His eyes opened to slits, allowing just enough light in to tell him it was morning. Sunday mornings were the best time to be alive, when there was no work to do until tomorrow, the schools were closed, and the love of his life slept in late. "I don't want to get up."

  John kissed his hair, lovingly stroking his shoulder. "You've got to," he insisted gently. "You can't sleep all the time, lazy bones." Nelson grunted a complaint, hiding his face against his lover's chest. "Only if you come with me." Something was wrong. Panic tugged at the corners of his mind, screaming at him as though from a great distance. He tried to push it away. This was warmth. This was comfort. This was the one place he never wanted to leave. "Come with me," he whispered.

  The sorrow in John's voice cut like a knife. "You know I can't. I have to sleep."

  Nelson sat up, rubbing his eyes as he murmured, "How come you get to stay in bed when I have to get up?" Then his vision cleared and he went cold inside. Those beautiful brown eyes stared at him vacantly, tinged with yellow, and John's skin was so pale it had a bluish cast. The veins crawled over his skin like small red spiders, and as he spoke, he revealed a set of gleaming fangs. "Because asleep is all I'll ever be."

  Nelson blinked in surprise. John was gone and in his hands he held a shaft of wood broken off from a broom handle. The pale linen sheets were dusted with ashes. They clung to his pajamas, to his skin. He bolted out of bed and -

  Woke up screaming. The bedside clock read 6:23 in garish red numbers and outside the window the sky was starting to lighten. The samples would be done by eight. "I can function on three hours of sleep," Nelson mumbled to himself, as he dragged his aching body out of bed and padded toward the shower.

  The day passed as so many of his days did. He took in data, wrote reports on what it might mean. A vaccine someday, perhaps a cure to one of the countless diseases plaguing humanity. He was in the business of saving lives, but mostly he was in the business of handling test-tubes and reading off numbers while celebrities won awards for posing with dying people in heart-jerking photo-ops. Not that the good doctor had grown cynical in his old age.

  It was nine o'clock when he finally left the lab -- an early night for him. He trudged through the fog toward his Citroen, lighting a cigarette as he went. If he didn't total his car on the way home, he thought, he might actually eat something before passing out.

  "You know those things will kill you," came a voice from the shadows. "I wish," he muttered as he unlocked the car door. As he started to get in, a taloned hand closed over his and a very intimate, very alive body sidled up behind him. Warm breath tickled his neck as Lou whispered, "Let me drive. You'll scare them to death at the morgue if you wake up on an autopsy table."

  Nelson toyed with the idea of elbowing Lou in the stomach and running for it, but instead retorted, "At least I'd get some sleep." He let Lou drive, not only for the novelty of it, but also because when he napped in a moving car, he didn't dream.

  * * *

  "Rise and shine, handsome." Nelson squinted irritably at the daylight that poured into his room. Someone had opened the curtains. "Kill me," he grunted. "Take my money, take my stereo, just end the torment." He reached for a pillow to pull over his eyes, but it was yanked away and tossed into the corner.

  "I made you breakfast," the voice replied cheerily.

  Nelson sat up, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. "Lou..." he complained, then paused as he caught a whiff from the kitchenette. "Is that an omelet?" Breakfast was an awkward ordeal. Leaning on the dining island, Nelson picked at one of the best omelets he'd ever tasted while Lou nibbled on a croissant and watched Nelson carefully, like a parent might watch to make sure a misbehaving child was eating all his vegetables rather than sneaking them to the family dog.

  In daylight, without his glamour, Lou looked like something Nelson had never seen and, coming from a man who had formerly hunted demons for fun and profit, that was saying something. The wildling had nutbrown skin, with darker streaks where one might expect to see the shadow of veins beneath the skin. Both his finger and toenails were viciously curved, yet he handled the talons as lightly and nimbly as one could please. His hair was long and black, forever tangled as if stirred by a strong wind. The cat-eye slits of his pupils waxed and waned as he moved between sunlight and shadow, and his sharp, pointy teeth made alarmingly quick work of breakfast pastries. That he was wearing nothing more than a pair of Nelson's cutoff sweats just made the picture that much odder.

  Nelson stabbed at a bit of mushroom, mumbling self-consciously, "This is really good."

  Lou smiled benevolently. "I'm glad you like it. Drink your juice." With a sigh, Nelson drank his juice. And his milk and his coffee. He ate every last bite of his breakfast and cleared the dining island of dishes, but not without a sarcastic, "Can I be excused now, mom?"

  Lou sniffed indignantly. "Admit it, you feel better." He padded over to the couch, his toe-talons clicking on the hardwood floor. "Come sit with me," he invited as he stretched out, holding out his arms to the doctor. Nelson approached warily, but settled onto the couch all the same, letting Lou draw him into an embrace that would probably have been more comfortable if it hadn't been given to a cynical eternal youth by an amorous wildling who bore more than a passing resemblance to Satan. "I won't even ask how you got in," Nelson grumbled.

  Lou cuddled Nelson to him carefully and he was remarkably gentle, considering how much of him was composed of pointy bits. "You invited me in," he murmured. Nelson tried not to enjoy the heat of the wildling's skin, but he radiated a sense of vitality, of life, that would put any human to shame. It was tempting, and the doctor was a lonely man. His head found the wildling's shoulder, and he relaxed despite himself. "When was this?"

  "You were really tired."

  "Ah."

  "Nelson?" When the wildling spoke his name, Nelson lifted his head, looking into the creature's eyes. Lou had never said the name before and, though it was just a label given to the child in whose body Nelson had Become, it was his, and Lou spoke it with the weight of one not merely acknowledging a label, but calling one by one's name. It came with a sense of power that cut through all sorts of bullshit and tugged right at the core of a man. After a moment, Nelson remembered to breathe and exhaled a shaky sigh as he whispered, "Yeah?"

  Lou smiled softly, tracing a talon lightly over Nelson's cheek. "It's Saturday." Nelson smiled a little, despite himself. "Yeah. So?" Lou shrugged, casting a glance toward the sunlight pouring in through the window. "We're young, more or less, and single, for now. It's a good day for a walk in the park, or maybe a romantic dinner. I'll even look however you want me to."

  Nelson shook his head. "I want you to look how you are."
>
  Lou arched a brow dubiously. "I'm pretty sure they won't let us into any decent restaurants." Nelson shrugged and said mildly, "I kind of feel like staying in. Besides, I'll throw something together. I used to be quite the gourmet. You know, back when I pretended that things that can't die were actually alive."

  Lou caught Nelson by his chin and kissed him, his hot, hungry mouth pressing against Nelson's, tongue parting his lips insistently. Lou's talons played lightly across Nelson's skin, ticklish despite their ever present promise of pain and ravaged flesh. Taken utterly by surprise, Nelson first fought to catch his breath, then casually failed to notice he was kissing the wildling right back. It wasn't until after some rough grappling that left him straddling the wildling's hips that he pulled away, panting heavily and dizzy from the heat the creature radiated.

  "What are you doing?" he asked raggedly, poignantly aware that, beneath the flimsy layer of borrowed sweats, he could make out the contours of what felt like a decidedly male nature spirit. "Kissing you alive," Lou chuckled, low-toned. "It worked for Prince Charming."

  Nelson glowered. "I'm no princess." Lou greeted the glare with a soft, blissful sigh. Carefully, his talons snagged Nelson's glasses and he set them aside, then did the same with his own. Neither of them needed glasses, strictly speaking, but it seemed like a disguise standard and there was something to be said for the classics. "Are you sure you don't want to go out?" Lou asked lightly.

  Nelson rocked ever so slightly on Lou's hips. Even his last string of meaningless one-night stands had taken place over a decade ago. His shorts were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. "Positive." Lou stroked a talon lightly down the back of Nelson's shirt and, as the fabric tore and fell away, Nelson arched his back, shivering at the pressure just shy of pain that raked down his spine. A startled groan passed his lips as a strong but gentle hand cupped the growing bulge in front of him. Lou clucked his slightly elongated tongue and murmured, "Someone wants to come out and play."

  Nelson tried to laugh, but the sound came out a nervous whimper as lust and reason duked it out in his embarrassingly pliable body. "You should know," he warned, trying to ignore the desperation in his voice, "that every lover I've ever had has met with a horrible fate."

  Lou nodded slowly as he carefully removed the remnants of Nelson's shirt and, with a sharp flick of his wrist, popped the button off the front of his khakis. "Turned, staked, dusted, murdered, suicide, unfortunate train incident, old age, torn apart by wild dogs... I know. I told you, I've been watching."

  "And you're not afraid?" Lou traced a claw over Nelson's cheek, his features softening. "Sometimes, what may seem like a curse is just fate's way of letting you know you should try a different dating pool. They were human. They're frail and they age and they die. You and I, we're-"

  "Wildlings," Nelson replied, sighing softly. "We're not of this world." Lou shook his head and murmured, "Of it? We are this world. And we're forever." He toyed with the zipper of Nelson's khakis, giving him a suggestive look that implied lecture time was over. "I'll be afraid when there's something to fear. Like how any minute now, you might tell me to leave and never return."

  "If I did, would you go?" Nelson couldn't help but squirm a little as the zipper inched ever-so-slightly downward.

  Lou shook his head and replied amiably, "Oh, hell no, but I'm not looking forward to another decade or two of stalking."

  Nelson rocked against the wildling's lap, grinding against the hardness he felt there as he pretended to lament, "I guess I have no choice." Lou's slit-pupil eyes dilated, then narrowed, and his voice thickened almost to a purr. "Oh, you have choices. You can kick me out and go on moping 'til the end of time, or we can go to the bedroom, and I'll show you the thing I can do with my tongue."

  *** The late afternoon sun was dim in the unlit room. A path of shredded clothing led from the couch to the bed. Nelson stared at the stained ceiling, aching pleasantly in every muscle in his body, including a few he'd completely forgotten he had. "The tongue thing," he mused, in a tone reserved for only the greatest of wonders.

  Lou stretched out beside Nelson, naked and unashamed as he daintily picked his pointy teeth with one of his claws. "The thing with the tongue," he confirmed.

  Nelson's toes twitched just thinking about it. "That was... the thing," he agreed. "With the tongue. That thing you can do."

  Lou leaned over and draped an arm across Nelson, drawing him closer. He nuzzled at the doctor's throat, kissing lightly. "Can I do the dick thing now?"

  Nelson snorted, giving Lou a nudge with his shoulder. "Could you be more crude?" With a swiftness and strength that startled Nelson, the wildling slipped an arm around him and flipped him over, pressing his cheek against the pillow as he stripped away the blankets to expose the doctor's naked ass to the air. "I want to fuck you raw," Lou growled.

  "I'll take that as a yes," Nelson squeaked. His pulse quickened. He had played dominance games with John back when they had both been young and human. Back before John had become a monster for real.

  "I'm not him," Lou whispered against his ear, as a claw raked lightly along Nelson's hip. "For starters, he didn't have talons that can do this." The sensation of pinpricks along his skin caused Nelson to shudder with delight.

  "Do you read minds?" he whimpered as he felt the distinct, slick hardness of the wildling's shaft pressing against him and the intense heat of the creature's body against his back. Lou's arm slipped around Nelson, fingers splaying against his chest to hold him firmly in place. "I don't have to be a telepath to read you like a book." He leaned forward, placing a light kiss against the back of Nelson's neck. Then, not being much of a conversationalist it seemed, the wildling thrust into Nelson's body.

  The second round promised to be even better than the first, with the awkward fumbling and testing of comfort zones out of the way. The slaking of immediate lust meant there was time now to let things build slowly and the wildling seemed intent on showing Nelson just how much time they had. The doctor clutched at the sheets, bracing himself against the slow, deep thrusts that filled him with the intense heat of the wildling's flesh. As he writhed against the hold Lou had on him, the talons tugged at his skin, and beads of crimson splashed on the sheets beneath him.

  Maybe Lou was right; maybe it didn't take a telepath to read him, to see that his lust had never forgotten those power games, had never let go of the release that could be found in abandoning control. With a low growl in his throat, the wildling pinned Nelson down and fucked him thoroughly, hips driving like a piston, their slow rhythm gradually increasing. Nelson moaned with a pleasure that sounded sweetly like distress, his body shuddering every time a deep thrust raked over the small, sensitive spot inside him.

  As their lust reached a fevered pitch, the headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall, and Lou's rough grunts and snarls were drowned out by Nelson's moans and screams. No doubt Nelson's neighbors would know full well what the shy, nerdy scientist in unit eight had been up to and he would be avoiding sly glances in the hallway for weeks to come. It was hot, sweaty, vulgar bordering on violent, and when it reached its peak, Lou held him down and came deep inside him. There was nothing mutual about it, but as Nelson collapsed amidst the blankets, his features were serene with bliss.

  For a while, they lay there panting, barely touching save for where their limbs had been carelessly flung across each other. Then, slowly, Lou curled around Nelson, taking Nelson in his arms. With a gentleness that was a stark contrast to the fucking he'd just given Nelson, he licked away the blood from the scratches his talons had inflicted. The pressure of his tongue caused Nelson to shiver and murmur incoherently. "Shh," Lou whispered, nuzzling and grooming him. "It's alright. You can rest now."

  Nelson opened his eyes to bare slits, but then let them drift closed again. The release of control, the unraveling of so much heartache and anxiety, had left him pleasantly drained. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt himself wrapped in warmth and drifting into a peaceful haze. He fought th
e instinct all the way. Where there was comfort, pain waited. "Will you be here?" he asked thickly, as he started to fade against his will.

  Lou stretched out comfortably, gathering a blanket to drape over them both. "Just try to get rid of me," he replied.

  Nelson's lips moved and the wildling had to tilt an ear closer to hear him whisper, "T-tongue thing?" Lou laughed softly and pulled Nelson close, promising, "Later." The eternal youth fell asleep with a small smile playing upon his lips. As the afternoon faded into evening, then into night, he dreamt only of green meadows, dazzling sunlight and showing up to work in his underwear.

  Ravens

  by Dallas Coleman

  It was the ravens that gave her away. Not at the time, you understand. At the time, she was just another in a long line of women. Sent by the support group. Sent by the shelter. Sent by the frigging nuns in the hospital who clucked and averted their eyes like I was contagious, hands twisted and hidden in their habits.

  Like bruises and tears and broken bones were fucking contagious. Like their black and white penguin suits protected them from the razors and arrows that kept finding me in the form of Hal or Davey or random asshole number three.

  Whores. She came in wearing red, the t-shirt tight on her belly - I remember because I didn't know women could be muscled like that, could be strong. I know now. I know a lot now that I didn't then. But her shirt was red and she sat, blond hair in a fierce braid, pulling her face taught. "I'm Dr. Feyr."

  "Jess. What do you want?" It's hard to be aggressive when the orderlies have you strapped to the bed, wrists bound, leg in traction, but I tried. "I came to talk with you." Her pale blue eyes - not pretty enough to be aquamarine or sapphire or anything, more Windex-colored - looked over a chart. "You were attacked and then attempted suicide, it says. Did you know your attacker?"

  "What do you care?" Of course I knew him. I'd had him not an hour before I told him I was knocked up and he took whatever steps he needed to make sure that wasn't so. Worked for him, too, girlfriend raped and beat up, crazed. Poor boy. Bet he'd filled his bed in a day.