by Eli Easton
Then Bram blinked, and it was just Daniel again, handsome and definitely male. But he held his back exceptionally straight and his head high, and his movements became more delicate and graceful. Still smiling, he danced closer. His steps were small and graceful. He stopped when he was within arm’s reach and smiled down at Bram, swaying his hips in time to the music. He smelled strongly of citrus and roses.
When Daniel said something in French, his voice was higher pitched and less raspy than usual.
“I’m sorry,” Bram whispered. His voice sounded like broken concrete. “I can’t understand.”
Daniel gave a bell-like laugh and tilted his head inquisitively. “Tu es très beau,” he said very slowly. “Très charmant.”
“Uh… merci.”
With another trilling laugh, Daniel reached forward and just barely brushed his fingertips against Bram’s cheek. Bram wouldn’t have been surprised if the touch left scorch marks in its wake. But the heat also sank into his skin, spreading through his nerves at almost the speed of light, pooling in his belly like a sea of molten lava. He had never in his life been so desperately hard, so hungry to touch someone else. He whimpered and sat on his hands.
Without turning his back on Bram, Daniel danced slowly away. He stood near the large pillar, moving his hips sinuously and murmuring in French.
Bram’s chest began to burn too.
He looked down, half expecting to see glowing circles through his T-shirt like a poor man’s Iron Man. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. But even as he considered peeling off the sweat-sodden fabric, another thunderclap crashed, and as the sound faded into the beat of the recorded drums, something like an invisible veil draped over Bram’s body. He couldn’t move. But something was moving inside him, settling on his bones and inhabiting his skull. It was cool—a comfort in the sweltering heat—and heavy, and it smelled of freshly turned earth.
When Bram rose to his feet, it wasn’t of his own accord.
He should have been terrified to lose control of himself like this, but the presence inside him was comfortable and friendly, confident in his movements in a way Bram had never been. It was almost a relief to give up his body to someone else—like letting another driver take the wheel after many hours on the road.
Bram danced smoothly across the floor, each step bringing him closer to Daniel and making him throb more urgently with need.
Daniel’s eyes grew wide with surprise.
“You look good,” said Ghede Nibo with Bram’s voice. He spoke in Creole, but Bram understood.
“What are you doing here?” replied Ezili Freda in French.
Nibo laughed and pumped his hips obscenely. “What do you think?”
Freda looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be offended, which made Nibo hump the air a few more times. Then he danced past her—hips swiveling—and into the ghede room. He cackled when he saw the bed, but he went straight to his altar, uncapped the bottle of pepper-spiked rum, and took a very healthy swig. Bram was distantly aware that the stuff went down his throat like the flame of a blowtorch, but he didn’t really feel the pain. With Freda watching from the doorway, still shaking the rattle, Nibo drank several swallows more.
“What do you think, my peach?” he said to Freda. “Are you ready for a real man now?”
Freda snorted elegantly. “Who says you’re a real man? You’re just a gravedigger. You stink of the dead.”
“Oh, I’m a man all right, baby. I’ll show you.” Nibo ripped off his T-shirt and threw the shreds to the side. They landed on someone else’s altar, which made him laugh. He kicked off his shoes. And in one smooth movement, he pulled down his shorts and briefs, then stepped out of them. His cock—Bram’s cock—was fully rampant, and it bobbed as he rocked his pelvis. “You see?” he crowed. And then, perhaps to prove his point, he poured several ounces of the rum over his groin.
Deep in the recesses of his own brain, Bram swore. That fucking stung. But it also inflamed his lust—Nibo’s lust; he couldn’t tell the difference—to new and dizzying heights. Nibo lunged forward and grabbed Freda by the waist. She dropped the gourd rattle and screeched, but Bram couldn’t tell whether from true outrage or in play, especially since she undulated her body against Nibo’s in a manner that nearly drove Bram wild.
With a vicious yank, Nibo tore Freda’s gown open. Buttons pinged as they hit the floor. He tugged the fabric from her and tossed it to the ground, leaving her as bare as he was.
Daniel’s body was nearly hairless, just a neat little thatch of dark curls at the base of his cock, which was long and slender, and fully hard. His cock and balls were a few shades darker than the rest of him, except for the moisture-slicked tip, which was bright pink. Bram wanted to fall to his knees and lick the shaft, taste whether Daniel was sweet or salty, feel the heat of those high, round balls cradled in his palm.
But that wasn’t what Nibo wanted, and Nibo was in charge. He held Freda tight against him and mouthed at her neck and collarbone while squeezing her tight, round ass. Freda and Nibo panted words at each other in French and Creole—endearments, threats, blasphemies, and promises. And God, the way Daniel was pressed against Bram, groin to groin and chest to chest, both of them slick with sweat and rum, smelling of alcohol and fruit and flowers…. Bram almost lost himself completely. He very nearly came.
Freda squirmed out of Nibo’s grip, Daniel’s blue eyes wide and mouth in a perfect O. She tried to dart away, but Nibo caught her neatly by the arm, tugged her close, and then dragged her across the floor to the bed. He threw her onto the bright bedspread and landed heavily on top of her, rutting hard into the hollow of her hip. She scratched his back and tugged his hair, but she also allowed her legs to fall wide open and she arched upward, perhaps attempting to get better friction against Daniel’s cock.
Nibo scooted down slightly so he could suckle on Freda’s nipples. Bram loved the pebbly feel of Daniel’s flesh against his tongue. He wished he could stroke Daniel’s cock, but Nibo wasn’t interested in that part of the body beneath him. Oh, but Nibo liked the shallow navel, which he licked as if it were a tiny cup. He liked the sharp tips of the hip bones and the little groove where the torso met the leg. And he liked the puckered rosette between the sweet globes of Daniel’s ass.
Freda squirmed and swore and attempted to get Nibo to penetrate her more deeply with his tongue, and then with his spit-moistened finger. “What kind of a man is that?” she said, panting. “That’s all you can put inside me?”
“I have much more for you,” Nibo retorted, rearing up on his knees and pulling Freda’s dusty feet onto his shoulders. He took his cock—Bram’s cock—in hand, gave it a few hard strokes, and pressed the slick crown tightly against Daniel’s ass, but not quite inside.
Daniel’s body went very still. If Bram could have held his breath, he would have. He knew he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds inside that tight heat.
But what Bram saw on Daniel’s face shattered him: large tears pooled in Daniel’s blue eyes, dripped down his face, moistened the yellow fabric beneath his head.
“No!” Bram shouted. With a tremendous burst of will, he recommandeered his own body and tore himself away so violently that he tumbled onto the dirt floor. He scrambled backward with his hands and feet until he bumped against the wall, where he huddled into himself tightly. I won’t rape him! he insisted.
Nibo’s voice came out of Bram’s throat. “But it is not rape. Did you not see? She was begging for me to fuck her.” He waved at the bed, where Daniel had sat up and was wiping the tears from his eyes.
Maybe she was. But that’s Daniel’s body, and he didn’t ask for any of this.
“He wants you too.”
I don’t know that. And I certainly don’t know that he wants me to fuck him without lube and without a rubber. As far as Bram knew, he was free of STDs. But he hadn’t been tested in a while, and Daniel certainly deserved some say in the matter.
Nibo made an exasperated sound. “Ah, you are a
foolish man.” He sighed. “But I think you are a good man. A man who keeps promises, yes?”
Yes.
“Then I will tell you who is trying to kill you.” He waited several moments, probably to draw out the suspense, and then chuckled. “You are impatient, mon chou. He was your man, once. Now he is dead. It is he who you must fear.” And with a visceral tug that made Bram gasp and shudder, Ghede Nibo was gone.
Chapter Six
UNDER OTHER circumstances, Bram would have admired Daniel’s cozy living room. It had built-in bookcases and bright artwork, polished wood floors, a thick Persian carpet, and a tidy fireplace with a carved mantel. The furniture was nice too—a little shabby, maybe, but in a well-used, well-loved kind of way. And very comfortable. Bram slumped in a leather armchair, shirtless but with his shorts and shoes back on. Daniel sat on the couch opposite him, wearing jeans and a black sleeveless tee. Bram couldn’t meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said very quietly.
Bram snapped his head up. “You’re sorry?”
“I had no idea Ghede Nibo would ride you today. It’s rare for a lwa to mount someone who’s not an initiate.”
“I…. Jesus, Daniel. That’s not your fault.”
“It must have scared you.”
“Not really.” Bram frowned. “I can’t really explain it. It’s almost like I’d been expecting him for a while.”
Daniel gave him a small smile. “Because he’s chosen you. I told you before, you’re lucky. He’s a very powerful lwa to have on your side.”
“He tried to rape you!” Bram shouted.
But Daniel shook his head. “No. He tried to have sex with Ezili Freda. And believe me, she was very willing. She doesn’t often want much to do with the ghede, but today she found Ghede Nibo very attractive.”
“But she was in your body.”
After a long moment of silence, Daniel said, “I find you very attractive.”
“You were crying.”
Daniel stood, walked the few feet that separated them, and knelt in front of Bram. He settled a warm hand on Bram’s bare knee. “Ezili Freda was crying. She always does. I told you she’s greedy, right? She cries because she realizes she’s not going to get everything she wants.” He gave a small grin. “It’s like having a very spoiled child.”
Bram looked into clear blue eyes and saw no anger or recrimination. “So you… you didn’t mind?”
“It’s not exactly how I would have planned our first encounter, Bram. But I was enjoying it at least as much as she was. I would have told you that if I could have.”
“I would have hurt you.”
“No.” Daniel patted Bram’s knee. “Did you feel pain when you poured that rum on yourself?”
“I felt… something. But it wasn’t really pain. Or, I don’t know. It was a good kind of pain.” Bram frowned. He wasn’t normally into that kind of thing.
“It would have been the same for me. Although I’d probably have been sore for a couple days afterward, I suppose.” He paused, then winked. “I think it would have been worth it.”
Relief made Bram feel boneless, and he slumped back in the chair. He ran a slightly shaky hand over his brow.
“How about you?” Daniel asked. “Did you want it?”
“I wanted you.” He’d never wanted anything quite so badly, as a matter of fact.
Daniel’s face broke into a huge and sunny smile. “Good.” He leaned closer, squirming his way between Bram’s legs. “Do you still?”
Bram’s answer was immediate and honest. “God yes!” But then he shook his head. “But I think I should get my problem fixed first. Otherwise it’s just… too weird.”
“All right,” said Daniel with a soft laugh. “I can understand that. Let’s make sure that next time it’s just the two of us, okay?”
“Yeah. A foursome is a bit much for me. Especially when one of them is female. I’ve never had sex with a girl.”
“Never?” Daniel raised his eyebrows.
“Nope. I was still in the closet in high school, but I was such a total nerd that nobody even noticed. I tried making out with girls a couple times in college—scientific curiosity, I guess—but they did zilch for me.” In a fit of honesty, he added, “I haven’t really been with that many guys, actually.”
Daniel stroked Bram’s face. “You’re so handsome. Why aren’t men all over you?”
Bram leaned his head slightly into Daniel’s touch. “I was a late bloomer, I guess. I fooled around a little, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little socially awkward. And most of the time, getting laid seemed like more trouble than it was worth.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “And when I was in grad school, I met Jim. We lived in the same apartment complex near campus. He was in law school.”
“Is that… is he the man Ghede Nibo spoke about?”
“Yes.”
Bram pushed Daniel gently away so he could stand. He walked to one of the windows and gazed outside. The sky had darkened even more while they were in the ounfò, and rain had begun to fall. They’d both gotten wet during the short dash to Daniel’s house, and as Bram stood dripping on the back porch, Daniel had brought towels so they could dry off. That meant that Daniel’s curls were now a wild and appealing mess, while Bram’s hair was probably standing up in weird spikes. And outside, the rain sheeted down. Bram hoped the storm didn’t ruin Daniel’s garden.
Daniel padded over to stand quite close. “Is Jim buried in Saint Mary’s Cemetery?” he asked.
Bram didn’t turn around. “Yeah. Wouldn’t have been my choice, really, but his family has a plot there. Jim and I never talked about what we wanted if one of us died. I wasn’t prepared. His parents insisted on burying him there, and I just kind of caved.” He shook his head. “I was numb.”
“That’s understandable.” After a brief pause, Daniel added, “Saint Mary’s is where Darius was spending his evenings trying to find a lwa.”
“Great.”
“Do you want to tell me about Jim? You don’t have to.”
Although Bram had thought about Jim daily over the past eight months—brooded over him, sometimes—he’d spent very little time speaking of him. Not only because the topic made him uncomfortable, but because he doubted anyone would care.
Bram turned around and gave Daniel’s shoulder a quick squeeze before returning to his chair. “He died in a car wreck,” he began.
IT HAD been a cold, clear Friday evening with the moonlight shining on freshly fallen snow. Bram cuddled up on the couch in a sweatshirt and flannel lounge pants, a fleecy blanket over his shoulders and a pile of journal articles on his lap. On nights like this, he wished they had a fireplace for the crackling logs and the smell of wood smoke.
Jim was puttering around in the kitchen, maybe washing the dishes or preparing a midevening snack. He meandered into the living room and leaned in the doorway. He wore jeans and a red sweater that brought out the warm brown of his eyes.
“You want anything?” he asked.
Bram gave him what he hoped was a winning smile. “Hot chocolate?”
“We’re out.” Jim ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Do you want to go out, Bram?”
“Tonight, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s cold out.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “We can wear parkas and gloves and hats and scarves. We can go somewhere warm.”
“It’s warm here.”
With an impatient puff of air, Jim peeled himself from the wall. He walked back and forth a few times before collapsing next to Bram with a thud. “I’m bored.”
Bram put down the article he’d been reading. “Do you want to watch a movie? We can see what’s in our Netflix queue.”
“I know what’s in our queue. Nothing interesting.” Moving quickly, he grabbed the papers from Bram’s lap and tossed them to the floor.
“Hey!”
“Jesus, Bram. You’re making paint, not curing cancer. Can’t you forget about the damn j
ob just for one night? We could go to a bar. I can call Mick and Bobby and see if they want to meet us somewhere. We can go dancing.”
It was true that there was nothing especially pressing about Bram’s work. But he bristled at Jim’s tone. It wasn’t the first time Jim had been dismissive about the importance of Bram’s job.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Bram said sullenly.
With a noisy grunt, Jim got to his feet. “And that’s the goddamn problem, isn’t it? You don’t want to go anywhere. We’re not going anywhere.”
They’d been having variations of this argument a lot lately, and each time, Bram grew more uneasy. He tried to keep his voice steady when he replied. “I thought things were pretty good for us. We have a nice house and good jobs and—”
“Jobs! Jesus, Bram! There’s more to life than your chemicals and my fucking depositions.” He kicked at the fallen papers, scattering them slightly. “You don’t get along with my family. And okay, yeah, I can see that. They haven’t treated you that well. But you haven’t really made much effort to win them over, have you? You never want to hang out with our friends. It’s like you want to turn us into hermits, all locked up in our cave.”
“I don’t think of our home as a cave.” He thought of it as… security. A place where nobody rejected him. And he felt like he and Jim made a comfortable little family of their own. They did go out sometimes with Mick and Bobby or some other friends, but they were really Jim’s friends—lawyers, most of them—and Bram simply felt more content without them. Until lately, he’d thought Jim felt the same.
Jim slumped a little. “Look. I know you had a shitty childhood—”
“We don’t have to talk about that.”
“But maybe we should. I know your parents were huge assholes and they never treated you like you deserved. But the whole world’s not like them, baby. There are plenty of good people. And there are so many things to see…. I’m restless, Bram. I’m cooped up.”