Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  “What? Why?” Paul’s initial expression of wary alarm morphed suddenly into a giddy laugh as he attempted to brush away Damian’s concerns. “Oh! Oh, that. Nah, chill out, dude. It’s cool. I’m legal—really. I’m older than I look.”

  Damian sighed. Maybe he was and maybe he was just telling Damian what he thought he wanted to hear. Not that it actually mattered. In the strictest sense of the word, nothing Damian had planned for tonight fell into anyone’s definition of legal in the first place. “That’s not an answer.”

  Paul shrugged. His tongue swiped nervously at his lips. “Nineteen, okay? I mean, like, I will be. You know, like…in another couple of months? It’s okay, though, really. I…I want this.”

  Damian nodded. He was still not completely convinced. Old enough to know his own mind, yet young enough to lack experience? Yes, it was possible. Still, Damian could sense so much trepidation mixed in with the boy’s eagerness that he had to wonder if this wasn’t, perhaps, the very first time young Paul had ever been picked up by a stranger…or even, perhaps, the first time he’d ever been approached by another man? If that were true, if he were that young, that untried, that innocent… Then no, he was not at all what Damian was looking for.

  He’d come here tonight seeking prey that would be relaxed, laid back, already at ease. At the moment, Paul was none of those things. He was worked up and nervous and appeared about ready to jump out of his skin with excitement. That would not do at all.

  An excess of nerves could easily lead to an excess of adrenaline in the bloodstream. Which would lead to two very fussy children. Conrad certainly wouldn’t thank him for bringing home food that would only further agitate the already overactive twins. Perhaps, all things considered, it would be better to cut this one loose and resume his search.

  While Damian pondered his decision, Paul fidgeted. His tongue edged his lips again as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his nervousness increasing with every beat of his heart. A quick breath. An even quicker glance around. Then he leaned in fast to plant a swift, unexpectedly hopeful kiss on Damian’s mouth. “C’mon, man,” he whispered in pleading tones. “Don’t freak out on me now, ‘kay? Please.”

  When he kissed him again, Damian responded automatically. Before either of them had a chance to consider their actions, he kissed Paul back, parting his lips to allow the boy’s tongue to slide inside. A small doubt nagged at the back of Damian’s mind. Ordinarily, this was the point where he’d have allowed a bit of venom to mix with his saliva, drugging the boy and ensuring his compliance. That’s not what he wanted tonight. Beneath the bitter flavors of beer and weed, Damian could taste an enticing sweetness, the irresistible essence of aroused male. He wanted more of it, pure and undiluted. He wanted Paul completely cognizant of the choices he was making.

  A shudder worked its way up Paul’s spine. He straightened, as if to pull away, but Damian would have none of it. He quickly speared a hand through the boy’s hair, keeping him right where he was. He’d started this kiss, he could damn well finish it.

  Paul moaned faintly. He lifted a shaky hand and lightly framed Damian’s face. Then he shuffled a half-step closer and deepened the kiss. Meanwhile, Damian had tightened his grasp on the boy’s head. He let his other hand find Paul’s hip, urging him closer still. Paul moaned again, sliding his free hand around Damian’s waist as he did, pulling their bodies flush.

  Paul’s fingers skimmed lightly over the muscles of Damian’s back, testing, exploring, learning every inch. His touch, tentative at first, grew increasingly bold. His hand dipped lower. When Damian made no move to stop him, it dipped lower still.

  Having hit upon such an excellent method of calming the boy’s nerves, stopping him was the last thing Damian intended. As the boy continued to grope him, taking his ass in a surprisingly confident grip, Damian couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since he’d been handled like this—with so little restraint, such unabashed fervor, such obvious appreciation. He’d missed it. And he had no problem at all with being used as the object of Paul’s fevered explorations. In fact, he’d have been happy to endure it for a good deal longer, if the sound of approaching footsteps hadn’t reached his ears.

  Reluctantly, he pulled away. He was just about to take hold of Paul’s hand when his gaze fell on the boy’s bare feet. “Wait. Where are your shoes?”

  Paul glanced down at the ground, brow furrowing in an attempt at concentration. “I, uh…I don’t know,” he stammered, even as his eyes betrayed him. His gaze cut involuntarily back toward the field. “I can’t remember.”

  Damian nodded back the way they’d come. “I’m sure you do. Now, hurry up. Go and get them.”

  “No! I mean, that’s not—” Paul shook his head. “Look, it’s okay. I don’t need them right now. Really. I just want to be with you.”

  Damian rolled his eyes. What did the boy think? Did he imagine Damian would disappear the minute his back was turned? That he’d changed his mind and was planning on going off in search of someone else? That option was no longer on the table. “It’s fine, Paul. I’m not going anywhere. Just be quick about it. I’m happy to wait.”

  “Please.” Paul reached for Damian’s hand, interlocking fingers with him. “Forget about my shoes, okay? Let’s just do this. Now. All right?”

  Or, on the other hand, maybe the boy was just impatient. “Very well.” Damian sighed. “But I won’t take the blame when you hurt yourself.”

  Paul shook his head. “I wouldn’t— I mean, I won’t blame you. Whatever happens. I promise.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Damian slipped his hand free of Paul’s grasp and pointed in the direction of his van. “I’m parked over there.” As he led the way across the cracked, glass- and rock-strewn macadam, he winced with every muffled curse that fell from Paul’s lips. Such a stubborn young man. But that, it appeared, was Damian’s lot in life. Stubborn young men, stubborn older men, stubborn men in general, he was clearly fated to deal with every variation of the breed.

  By the time Damian unlocked the van’s front passenger door, Paul’s nervousness had returned. “Wait, are we… Are we going somewhere?” He shot Damian a worried glance and then gestured at the back of the van. “I thought… I mean, can’t we just…you know. In there?”

  “Ordinarily we could,” Damian said as he held the door open and motioned for Paul to climb inside. “But I’m looking for something more leisurely tonight. I’m taking you back to my place. That is…unless you’ve changed your mind already?”

  “N-no. It’s just…”

  “Just what?” Damian took a step closer and smiled encouragingly at the boy. He did not like to compel people unless it was absolutely necessary. But a gentle nudge, every now and again, never hurt anyone. “Having second thoughts about going off with a stranger? Listen to me, Paul. Everything will be all right. Understand? It will all be much more enjoyable this way. Now get into the van.”

  It would be all right—that part was true enough. It just wouldn’t be anything at all like Paul was expecting. Damian hoped the boy would not be too disappointed when he realized that was the case.

  “Okay.” Paul nodded his head several times. “Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s go.” Then he took a deep breath and climbed into the van, just as Damian had asked. They were pulling out of the parking lot before he spoke again. He turned to Damian, a small frown once more furrowing his brow. “I still don’t… That is… Aren’t you even going to tell me your name?”

  Damian took his time answering. His first instinct was to make something up, as a precaution in the unlikely event Paul was tempted later to try and find him. His second thought was to explain to the boy that names were not all that important in situations such as these. And, after all, if Paul was going to allow himself to be picked up so easily, he should probably get used to the idea of not learning the names of his partners. Oddly, he did neither of these things.

  “Damian.” He took his eyes from the road long enough to meet Paul’s gaz
e. “My name is Damian.”

  “Oh. Cool.” Paul nodded thoughtfully. “I like that, you know? It-it’s different. It’s like… It’s like that book—right?”

  Damian sighed. “Just like that.” It was a question he’d been asked more than a few times in the past ten years, ever since that crazy German writer, Hermann Hesse, had come back into vogue. As usual, he saw no reason to point out the difference in the spelling.

  “So, Damian, where’re you from?”

  Again, Damian thought about lying, but what was the point? “Originally? I’m from Spain. Sevilla—a very beautiful city.”

  “Oh.” Paul blinked several times in surprise. “So that’s why… I mean, I guess that’s why I’ve never seen you around before. But, hey, wait a minute. You don’t have an accent or anything—how come?”

  “Because it’s been a long time and I’ve lived in enough other places, since then, to have mostly lost it by now.”

  “Yeah? How long? What other places?”

  Damian shook his head. This was the problem with attempting to tell the truth. Eventually, there came a point where one had to either prevaricate or simply stop talking. “Years. And too many to recall.”

  “Oh,” Paul replied, after it became clear that was Damian’s final word on the subject. “Well, that’s really cool, you know? I mean, I’ve just been here my whole life, other than on vacation and stuff.”

  Damian nodded, but said nothing more. After a moment, Paul leaned forward to fiddle with the dials on the van’s radio—changing stations, adjusting the volume—finally settling back in his seat with a quick sigh. Within moments, his leg had begun to bounce up and down. His fingers beat a rapid tattoo on the window frame. His heart began to race again.

  Damian bit back a sigh. He reached over and placed a hand on the boy’s leg, stilling its motion. “Stop,” he ordered quietly as he allowed his hand to stroke soothingly up and down the length of Paul’s thigh. “Just relax. There’s no need to be nervous.”

  Paul gulped for breath. His heart rate continued to climb. “Easy for you to say.”

  Damian smiled, squeezing lightly. “Breathe, Paul. Just keep breathing.”

  “Okay.” Paul nodded and swallowed hard. “I’ll try.” His chest heaved as he forced air into his lungs. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the headrest. Then he slid down further in his seat and widened his legs in blatant invitation.

  Damian couldn’t help but smile in appreciation of the pretty picture the boy presented.

  “Don’t stop,” Paul begged. “Please don’t stop.”

  “Don’t worry,” Damian promised. “I have no intention of stopping.” Not just yet, anyway.

  True to his word, Damian continued to soothe the boy for the remainder of the trip, taking his hand away only when they reached the nondescript, brick ranch house he shared with Conrad and the twins.

  “So…is this it? This is where you live?” Paul asked as he climbed from the van. He cocked his head to the side and studied the house as though he were either trying to memorize it for future reference, or attempting to reconcile it with his vision of Damian. Neither of which Damian wanted him to do.

  “It is.” Damian hurried around the front of the van and pushed Paul up against the side of the vehicle. “But, that’s really not important now, is it?” He kissed him again, this time with the deliberate intent of drugging him—giving him just enough to quiet him down and get him into the house.

  Paul reached for Damian, tearing at his clothes. His fingers were surprisingly nimble as they unfastened Damian’s jeans.

  The boy’s enthusiasm for him sent an unexpected wave of desire surging through Damian. “Wait. Let’s get inside first,” he suggested, trying his best to ignore his own lustful thoughts, as he maneuvered the boy up the steps and through the front door.

  The house was dark as they made their way through the foyer and into the living room, heading straight for the couch—still kissing. Paul wrenched his mouth away from Damian’s only once, just long enough to gasp, “Lights?”

  “Not necessary.” Damian pushed the boy back onto the cushions and followed him down.

  “Oh, God.” Paul clutched suddenly at Damian, trembling a little, staring wide-eyed at him as if the import of what they were about to do had suddenly dawned on him. “Oh, God, Damian. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I want… I want…”

  “Easy, Pablito,” Damian crooned, softly biting at Paul’s neck in an attempt to calm the boy’s nerves. “There’s no need to rush. We’ve plenty of time for everything.” He licked at the corner of Paul’s mouth, wanting just one more kiss from him, but even as their lips touched, a flicker of motion caught his eye and made a liar of him. He sighed in resignation. It appeared they had run out of time after all.

  Unaware of the frustration they were causing their “uncle”, the twins crept quietly closer with exaggerated stealth—obviously play-acting at being some kind of predators stalking their prey. From the looks of them, and based on the mop head Marc had pinned to the collar of his shirt, he’d guess they were pretending to be lions tonight, the little nuisances.

  “Sorry, quequito,” Damian murmured as he brushed a final, brief kiss against Paul’s mouth. He bent his head and swiftly bit the boy’s neck, this time making sure to inject enough venom to knock Paul out completely. “Perhaps later.”

  As the boy went limp, Damian sat back on his heels. He could not help but smile as the twins pounced, both of them scrambling up onto the couch and taking one of Paul’s wrists into their chubby hands.

  “No more growling,” he cautioned. “And, remember, we do not toy with our food. I want you to show me your best behavior tonight.”

  “But I’m a lion,” Marc protested, baring his teeth and roaring loudly. “Grrrr! Lions always toy with their food.”

  “Grrr.” Julie giggled as she copied her brother. “I’m a lion too!”

  “¡Ya basta!” Damian eyed them sternly. “Stop it now. Playtime is over. It’s time to eat. Unless you’re not hungry? In which case, you are both free to go to your room and leave the adults in peace. But if you get hungry later, you’ll just have to settle for what we have in the refrigerator.”

  “No.” Marc protested. “Lions hungry. Wanna eat now.”

  “Hungry lions,” Julie said still giggling. “Very hungry lions.”

  “Starving lions! Grrrr.”

  “Well, this is all most unfortunate,” Damian answered. “And I’m quite sorry to hear of it because, as it happens, I’m only feeding good little boys and girls here tonight. So, what’s it going to be, mis niños? Are the lions willing to be put back in their cages until mealtime is over? Or must I lock up the food, instead, to keep it safe?”

  The twins looked at each other. It was Julie who broke first. “No more lions,” she sighed, pouting just a little.

  “Only while we eat,” Marc said. “After that I want to play lions again. You too, Uncle Damian.”

  Damian smiled. “Bueno. Very good. I’m sure I’ll enjoy that. Now, remember your manners, sí? And be gentle with your food. This is a very nice boy I’ve brought home for you tonight, I don’t want you hurting him.”

  “Speaking of manners,” Conrad drawled from the doorway, “You might wish to adjust your clothing before you say anything more on the subject. I don’t believe the state of undress you’re currently exhibiting is considered quite comme il faut these days.”

  “Neither is your use of that phrase,” Damian answered, even as he got up off the couch. “If you must know.” He re-buttoned his jeans and quickly pulled his shirt back into some semblance of order, then went to stand beside Conrad in the doorway. “I’m afraid your language is really very sadly out of date. You should probably work on that.” Or maybe Damian was wrong in thinking Conrad’s use of the phrase stemmed from a bygone era. Perhaps it was something Conrad had picked up from that Frenchman he’d taken up with in Damian’s absence—Armand something-or-other. Damian couldn’t ask since it woul
d only betray the fact he’d kept tabs on what Conrad had been doing during the years they’d been apart. Why, as far as Conrad knew, Damian wasn’t even aware of Armand’s existence.

  Conrad’s jaw clenched. He growled softly—leaving Damian with no doubts at all as to where the twins had picked up that bad habit. “Tell me again, my dear, since when have we made it our practice to feed upon children?”

  “Are you referring to Paul?” Damian glanced back at the couch, studying the boy’s insensate form with a faint sense of doubt. “I’d hardly call him a child. He told me he was nineteen.”

  “And you believed him?”

  Damian shrugged. “Why not? I can’t imagine why he’d lie about it.”

  “Can’t you?” Conrad’s gaze was coolly assessing. “Given how determined he seemed to be about getting into your pants just now, I can think of a very good reason, myself.”

  Damian stared at Conrad in surprise. That couldn’t be jealousy he was hearing in Conrad’s voice, could it? Surely not. “What is it that’s bothering you? It’s not as though you’ve never molested any of the guests you’ve brought home, is it? Or refused to allow them to molest you, if that’s what you preferred. We do what we must in order to get them here, isn’t that what we agreed upon? It’s not as though I’ve brought the boy home solely for my own amusement.”

  Conrad’s eyes narrowed. He glared sharply at Damian for a moment then stalked across the room. Conrad knelt beside the couch, hands groping as he felt around at Paul’s hips. An odd tightness constricted Damian’s chest. He found it surprisingly hard to draw a deep breath. When Conrad pulled a wallet out of the boy’s back pocket, Damian felt only slightly relieved.

  Conrad opened the billfold and looked inside. His expression was one of grim satisfaction as he carried it back across the room and handed it to Damian. “We do what we must—yes. But we must still exercise caution when choosing our prey.”

  Damian glanced at Paul’s license then shrugged, acknowledging Conrad’s point. The boy had lied about his age. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he wasn’t all that surprised.