by Willa Okati
The strangest of sensations came over him then. He felt his mind slipping away as pleasure he’d never dreamed of overtook him, felt his own cock pumping out pulses of liquid, filling up Red-gold from the inside… and then, the darkness overtook him again, and he knew no more.
* * *
Malaki dreamed of making love, and awoke to discover that his world had returned to him.
He blinked. He was on the cold floor of what looked like a cave, a dirty shirt tossed over him like a blanket. His arms were wrapped around the a nude body, attached to him devotedly as a limpet to the shell. Wiry frame, red-gold colored hair, and the scent of wood smoke.
Silvan.
The relief that flooded him was a great tidal wave, making him dizzy. “Silvan,” he whispered for the pleasure of it, shaking the smaller man a little. “Silvan?”
Sleepy eyes blinked open at him. “Malaki?”
All he could do was grin. “I remembered.”
Malaki struggled to sit up, but Silvan pinned him fast. “Do you?” the demon demanded. “Tell me who I am. Who you are. What do you want, Malaki? Tell me.”
“You. I want you.” Malaki bent his head to Silvan and pressed their lips together for a kiss, deep and searching and apologizing for everything. “My head’s been… I don’t know.”
Silvan’s expression had softened, though he was clearly still fighting for his anger. “You damned near lost your head,” he accused. “You know how close to dead you’ve been? Really dead, I mean?”
Malaki did, and it was enough to make him shudder. How many days had he been mad, hovering on the border between unlife and final death? How long had Silvan cared for him as if he were an infant, the Master in his own stead?
“Close enough --” Silvan began.
“-- as almost makes no difference,” Malaki finished. “You brought me back. Fed me your own blood.” He nipped at the healing knife marks on Silvan’s neck. “As if I couldn’t tell the difference between rat and demon. You gave me part of your own flesh and blood, just to keep me alive.”
“It was all I could do, lover.” Silvan’s eyes were wide open, honest, and wary of his answer but blurting it out all the same. “Besides the foul rats, taking care of you was all I had to give.”
There was only a little pain as Malaki pulled Silvan to him. “I know,” he murmured against the soft lips. “Because you love me.”
He pulled the gold-haired demon atop him, running lustful, greedy hands over a slim chest. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”
Silvan grinned at him. He took both hands, one in each of his own, and ground down. The touch of flesh on flesh set them both afire. “Yours,” he agreed “And you’re mine.”
“Mine,” Malaki gasped, gripping onto the tough, delicate fingers. “Yours, mine, yours…”
“Good. Don’t you forget it again. No matter what. Understand?”
Malaki managed one frantic nod. Then, Silvan was on him, thrusting and rocking, hands moving here and there, then inside his body with three glistening fingers -- and slip, slick, he was inside Silvan, so tight and cool that his brain exploded all over again but it was so good to let his mind fragment into orgasm this time, and all he knew was flesh and heat and stickiness and sweat and lights exploding around them in glorious bursts that blinded him yet again…
When twilight came, or at least they thought it was the edge of night, Malaki was well enough to stand and walk. That meant it was time to go. Face whatever might be waiting for them outside. Malaki wasn’t sure what it would be. Silvan, even less so.
A part of them would have liked to remain on the cave floor forever, riding and driving and coming in great sticky gouts between their pressed bellies… but they knew they couldn’t.
But it’d happen again, when next they rested. The promise had passed between them, eye to eye, more than once. If they were running away together, they were with each other every step of the way.
Picking his way to what Malaki believed was an exit, he reached down and took the demon’s hand in his own.
Silvan glanced up. “Are you all right?”
“I am.” Malaki ran his fingers over Silvan’s face, petting away imaginary blood and salving his hidden wounds. “Very all right.”
Doubt flickered. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Malaki opened and closed his perfect eyes, then smiled. “Because, Silvan. I can see. I see you clearly now.”
And together, they stepped out, into their future.
Don’t Look Now
… And then there was the occasional night Ransom didn’t tell anyone about. The boys at work didn’t need to hear everything, now, did they? He was the new lad on the building sites, had only been at his new job for a few weeks at the time, and he could tell when something was having a go at messing with his head.
So he had nightmares. So what? Living on Dante’s World, it’d be stranger if a man didn’t.
Usually his wild rides on the night mare and strange dreams were the fault of good stout ale or a fine, rich rum. He got the same headaches from mead or wine, so he indulged in all that he could afford just as he pleased. Long as he proved sober enough for the work he did, the boss didn’t care. The fine ladies on the streets might wrinkle up their perfect little noses at the smell of booze on him as he headed in to work, but a man with enough demon blood in him to make him a danger to himself -- well, he had to do what he had to do to get by, right?
He’d become more discerning with time. Had to. One simple reason. Along with the hangovers, he got the occasional foreseeing dream. A bit like what they said true demons could summon up, although he reckoned with himself it would be a bit harder to tell between a true vision and a boozy nightmare.
This, what was going on right at the moment, well, he wasn’t at all sure what to make of it. Dream or reality? “Damned peculiar” was the best he could do.
Ransom was fairly sure he lay in his own bed. Looked like it. He bounced a little. Felt like it. He sniffed. Smelled like it. Ugh, might want to wash these sheets or change ’em before they disintegrate.
Then again, his bunkmate of the moment didn’t seem to mind.
Therein lay the rub. He didn’t recall bouncing the mattresses with anyone of late, though he supposed it was possible -- he must’ve hit the best out of five taverns that previous night. And those were the ones he could remember.
He drummed his fingers on his worn-out mattress. Right, then. He had a stranger in the bed with him. Could do, could deal. Part demon, remember, with no need to worry about catching or passing on any nasty human diseases.
No, the trouble, as far as Ransom was concerned, was that he couldn’t see his visitor. He lay on his right side, facing the window, with his back to the stranger. All he could hear was breathing, light and even. Good sign, that. Whoever he’d brought home might be sleeping still.
But, could be they were awake, in which case a blind-panic whip-round to see who the hell was there just wouldn’t do.
Decisions, decisions.
The bed felt a bit heavy; gravity pulled him back toward whoever-it-was. Hmm. He must have been a bit frisky and picked up a nice serving wench with good heavy thighs and heavenly big breasts fit to drown in. There was a nice thought, wasn’t there? He’d half a mind to turn about and give that sort of dainty a good-morning kiss.
“Wouldn’t mind if you did,” a lazy voice drawled behind him, as if it had read his mind.
And oh, shit. Ransom froze, on account of that voice -- well, the timbre of it happened to be male. Very male. Very much so. Amused as hell, to boot.
After an all-too-long moment Ransom’s heart started to beat again, and he could breathe. So, a man in his bed. Still not a problem. He liked to think of himself as open-minded, and it wasn’t like he’d never done anything with a fellow before. After all, he’d sampled a bit of everything else that life tossed his way.
“Hangover?” the voice asked. It sounded rough as a lion’s mane, but was also molasses-soft and had a nice,
slow drawling pace. Warm, languid fingers came up to run through Ransom’s hair, massaging gently at his temples.
Oh, that feels good. Maybe a bit too good. Ransom closed his eyes and breathed in and out, in and out. Whatever else this fellow had brought to bed with them, part of it happened to be a magic touch. The soreness of a head after too much fermented mash melted under those long, nimble fingers.
Unfortunately -- or perhaps not so very -- Ransom’s smaller head decided to wake up and say good morning. If the man had touched him at all like that the night before, no wonder they ended up in bed together.
Ransom cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. There he was with a hard-on that could likely pound nails, and still no idea of who or -- deep gulp -- what he might be lying in bed with. And while he was open-minded, sure, he was also old-fashioned enough that he generally preferred to get and remember a name before he got the goods, so to speak.
“Don’t remember a thing, do you?” The voice sounded ever so entertained by Ransom’s plight. “And here I thought I’d made the earth move for you. A man ought to recall something like what we did.”
As Ransom turned a little, a head popped into view over his shoulder, blessedly human-looking, staying just long enough for Ransom to get an impression of maple-colored hair and wicked eyes. It disappeared while an arm snaked across his middle, pulling him back, and well, bedamned if his new friend didn’t have an erection to match his own.
“Always did like wake-up sex,” the man rumbled. “Best kind. Slow, sweet, lazy.”
Cool fingers trailed down Ransom’s spine and he arched automatically into the touch. They slipped between the globes of his ass, making him gasp as he realized first that he was already good and slicked up, and second, that the man he lay with had no shame whatsoever. That hand of his was everywhere, sliding up and down his crack, tickling the sensitive skin behind his balls, nuzzling into his pucker and stretching him open. Evil little hand, it knew what it was doing and it seemed bent on playing Ransom like a sprightly fiddle.
“Anything starting to come back to you now?”
Well, yeah, something did happen to be coming, and it had better be him; soon, at that. Ransom gave up on the why and the whence forth as pretty damned unimportant when the man slipped the hand resting on his ribs down to cup his sac, then grip his cock.
“Say my name,” the stranger urged as he stroked Ransom, slow but speeding up. “Fox. Call me Fox.”
“Fox,” Ransom choked out. “For the love of the gods, Fox --”
“Ah-ah, doubt they’d appreciate that.” The hand jerked hard on his balls, just enough for a fantastic shot of pleasure/pain. “You remember me now, don’t you?”
And yeah, how could he have forgotten? Laughing over a few or a dozen shots of Old Victory, the good stuff. Fox’s treat. He’d had cash in good supply, and he’d said Ransom was paying him back by making him laugh. It’d been too long, he claimed, since he’d enjoyed himself that much.
Things got a bit fuzzy after that, but Ransom did remember coming back to his place, collapsing onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, and then… oh, yeah, then there had been the sex, with the coming, and coming again. Loudly. His neighbors had banged on the floors, the ceiling, and both adjoining walls.
“Oh, yeah,” Fox growled playfully. “You know me.” He pulled Ransom tighter still. The tip of his erection slid between slick cheeks, teasing. “Wanna go again?”
Shameless, he was. Of course Ransom wanted to go again. What brainless idiot wouldn’t? He wriggled a little, back against that very nice pressure, and relished the little indrawn breath that Fox gave. So, he wasn’t a total master of control, then. Good to know.
“Fox,” he breathed. “Come on, man. Do it. Go ahead and --”
Hold on, wait just a second, here.
Fox…
The name sounded familiar, beyond the immediate connections. He frowned even as the pressure against his pucker increased, Fox lining up the head of his cock with his hole and heading straight for glory. Ransom felt a niggle of doubt, a whole lot of fear, and a burst of courage as he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be that same Fox who’s a vampire that’s been hanging about lately, would you?”
Fox snorted. “You really want to talk right now?”
No, of course Ransom didn’t, but neither was he going to let the matter go. All his mates on the job and at the taverns had been all a-buzz about this vampire Fox, who liked to play with humans and was rumored to have a taste for demons. Not a safe fellow by any account. Double reason for Ransom to have been a little more careful about who he was keeping company with. Gods, he must have been drunk out of his mind the night before not to have noticed the fangs! Fangs which were, even now, nibbling down his shoulder, not breaking the skin, but reminding him that they could.
“You don’t wanna think about bad things right now.” With a deep pop, Fox slid inside, just about an inch. Ransom arched and mewled like a wild creature. “Just think about me, baby.” He worked Ransom with a slow, slow slide, deeper still. “Knock, knock,” he murmured wickedly. “Let me in.”
“Wait,” Ransom gasped. “Wait -- ah, hell!”
Fox pushed hard and was suddenly seated to the root, the rough hair around his cock and his tight balls both resting against Ransom’s ass. He could hardly think, let alone sort out the mess he’d gotten himself into, but Ransom had to know. “Am I awake? Are you a dream -- a night vision? Or are you real?”
“Don’t I feel real?” Fox drew back, then thrust, hitting Ransom’s sweet spot hard enough that he saw holiday fireworks crackling behind his eyes. “This is real as it gets.”
“Yeah, but that don’t mean much.” Ransom’s fingers clawed into the mattress. “Just tell me.”
“Shush, now.” Fox was delving deep inside Ransom, knocking his hot gland six ways to seventh-day and leaving him breathless. “Quiet for me now, baby.” He tugged on Ransom’s straining erection, jacking it ruthlessly. “On second thought…” A warm mouth suckled at the back of his neck, and then sharp teeth nipped at his skin. “Let me hear you scream.”
He got that wish right enough. Ransom hollered and writhed around the rod splitting him apart, coming hard enough that it splashed up his chest and onto his worn sheets. They’ll definitely need washing now, he thought fuzzily before the spasms of Fox’s orgasm and a hot wash deep inside sent him back into the sweet orgasmic void.
He came around to the feel of soft strokes on his chest. “This is awfully good, isn’t it?” Fox murmured behind his ear. “You could have all of this you want. I’d be happy to take you on.”
Dazed, Ransom shook his head. What’d he…? Nah. Nothing came for free. “The price tag?”
“Isn’t one, baby.” Fox nuzzled at him. “Just come with me when I go. That’s all. Have me day, night, whenever you want it; all you’ll have to do is crook your finger and I’ll come running.”
Couldn’t be real. Things like that didn’t happen to Ransom. Trouble is, it felt awfully real. So real that it was leaking out of him.
Fingers tipped with rough calluses tweaked at his nipples. “I’ll give you some time think about it. I don’t have to have an answer tonight, though I do have to go before the break of day. But I’ll be back.”
“Will you, then?” Ransom challenged. Dreams usually didn’t return, not the same ones, anyway. Every night had a new vision for him to see. He shifted a little, feeling Fox roll with him, firmly lodged in his ass, still half-hard, and felt a lump start to rise in his throat. Dream or not, sex didn’t get much better than it had with Fox.
So it was pathetic, but Ransom couldn’t just let Fox go, no more than he could get over the feeling that he was standing at a crossroads and that he’d damned well better know which direction he was pointed in before he set off. Dallying with a vampire was hazardous to a man’s health, right? Even if -- especially if -- that man happened to be half-demon. It’d just been so long, that was all. Now out of the blue, he’d gotten some fantastic sex and som
ething a bit like affection from the unlikeliest of sources. Strange it was, and strange as it was, Ransom reckoned he could get addicted to Fox in an awfully big hurry.
He just wanted to be… sure of what he was doing.
“Will you?” he repeated. “Come back, I mean?” And damn me for a fool, that I should even ask. No, not ask. Beg like a loose barmaid eager for another coin.
“Course I will. Every chance I get.” Fox kissed Ransom softly at the nape of his neck, then nestled his head in behind Ransom’s. “Go on back to sleep, now. We’ve got a little time before the sun comes up.”
Now there was a good idea. Sleep… sounded even better… than lying awake and thinking… and how could he help it, enveloped in Fox’s strong arms, fringes of long hair tickling soft on the skin of his shoulder… and…
Ransom was gone.
* * *
Outside, the neighborhood watchman began banging a gong. Time for all the working class to be up and about their business!
Ransom’s eyes shot open for the second time. He rocketed straight up, gasping for air, only to discover --
He was alone.
Hell! Had it been dream? Surely it would have been. The other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were too tossed and tangled up from his own habit of thrashing in his sleep to tell if another had lain there.
Ransom did find a pool of his own drying spunk near his hip, and more on his belly. With his face a little crimson, he slid a finger between his ass cheeks, only to find nothing but dry skin and an untouched anus.
Gods have mercy. A wet dream. A fucking wet dream.
Ransom collapsed back into his worn sheets, breathing as if he’d just run a race. Gods! Just an ordinary sex dream that’d gotten him over-excited. Not a nightmare or a foretelling vision, no, this was too low for that, too personal. Just a dream, and no bad thing. If something like that had happened for real, who knew what he’d do? Fucking around with a vampire like Fox, who was rumored to kill as he pleased with one finger raised at the law? Who liked demon blood as well as that which ran through mortal veins, and wouldn’t hesitate to hunt either?