_Anthology - Monsters

by _Anthology

  Pulling Kalt to himself, Thorn fell back, their bodies touching, his kiss voracious, hands moving everywhere, touching, scratching, kneading. It didn't matter, just as long as he could feel. And with Kalt he could feel so very bloody much it almost hurt.

  Kalt followed without question, games and competition forgotten. With the mice it had been selfish, it hadn't even been about sex, it had been a stage of the game. This was so different it would have scared him if he'd been capable of thinking past the heat.

  He couldn't get enough of those hands, body arching into each touch, greedily -- shamelessly -- begging for more. Wrapping his legs around Kalt's waist, Thorn licked at his youngling's fangs in the kiss. Pricking his own tongue on them so that blood flowed between them, he growled into the kiss as his hips slid against Kalt's, chest to chest. Thorn was sure Kalt hadn't believed in any god for longer than they'd known each other, but Kalt cried out to that deity at the lick of his fangs. Tasting blood just sparked the hunger to an inferno, but the fuel was the man above him.

  Thorn knew not to stop and think, only to feel, thinking would only halt the pleasure he was feeling. And it'd been so long since he'd felt this, felt Kalt's lips on his own, body against his own, and his need greater than even he understood, he cried out into the kiss.

  Breaking the kiss, panting, he looked up into Kalt's eyes. "Give to me." Not take me, or fuck me, no he'd asked to be given to, only with Kalt. One of Kalt's hands grasped Thorn's shoulder, fingers digging in, the other scratched hard down Thorn's chest and abdomen, fingers squeezing between their bodies to grasp his arousal, stroking firmly. Shifting his hips, body still slick with sweat and wine, Kalt positioned himself against the tight muscle, just nudging it at first, testing resistance. Gazing down at Thorn, he lowered his head, licking a stray droplet of blood from his lips.

  When Kalt licked at his lips, Thorn let his hands push into Kalt's hair and pull him down to kiss him once more, growling against his lips. He pushed himself back against Kalt, silently begging for more, wanting to feel that burn upon penetration. Wanting to feel Kalt inside him, in more ways than one

  The body sinking into his set off the same slow savoring experience as indulging in the most expensive wines. Sweet and rich, different levels of sensation exploding through his blood the deeper Kalt went.

  Thorn gave a sort of satisfied gasp as he felt Kalt slipping deeper into him and he instinctively spread his legs wider to make it easier for Kalt, lust drugged eyes watching, hands on Kalt's shoulders, nails scoring skin. Thorn would have smiled into the kiss, the pleasure and the intensity of the kiss itself giving away too much. Yet, some part of his mind was lucid, watching it all from a distance, and reveling in the fact that here was Kalt, right where he belonged, or so his mind whispered.

  He felt Kalt's chuckle more than heard it. Thorn never once stopped the kiss, but the question was in his eyes. He could have mentally asked, but chose not to. He wanted to hear it from Kalt's lips. His own hips pushed back, arching to get Kalt in deeper and at a slightly different angle that rubbed against a certain spot.

  Even past the lust, past the physical sensation, there was a flare of a deeper kind of pleasure as their eyes met. Kalt knew as well as he did that nothing got past Thorn, not even now. The knowledge just seemed to amuse Kalt further as he broke the kiss just to breathe half-smiles against Thorn's lips.

  "You, just...you."

  Forearms braced against the bed, fingers stroking anywhere they came into contact with pale skin, Kalt followed Thorn's lead, unconsciously allowing him to control the way he moved, the way he thrust. Thorn smiled up at Kalt, seeing flares of color here and there, partly from the feeding and partly from the man before him. Thorn was used to an overall monochrome world, ever since he'd become a vampire. It was a part of who he was, his own existence. Not all vampires were the same; each had differences in how the change took them.

  But being with Kalt had given him colors, things he'd remembered from his past. Reaching down with his hands he slid them to Kalt's hips and like the dance they did, led him into the steps, up, down, twist slightly here, slightly there. Never once dropping his eyes from Kalt's.

  Closing the distance again, pale eyes still open, Kalt took Thorn's lips in a kiss, fangs grazing, but not cutting. Thorn's hands guided him, Kalt's arms sliding beneath him, pulling him closer, trapping his arousal between their bodies as he moved.

  Moaning, Thorn rubbed himself shamelessly against Kalt, his arousal leaving moisture on both their skins, while his fingers gripped tighter. He wanted more, wanted those thrusts to push his boundaries, wanted to see light behind his eyes.

  "Harder...." Thorn wondered whether Kalt knew he was being led in a dance, a puppet with every string controlled by the man beneath him, but he didn't care. Here and now neither had to pretend the competition mattered. Here and now it wasn't a competition, and if he'd been thinking, that would have almost frightened him.

  Kalt levered himself up to kneel on the bed, one arm still banded around Thorn's waist, keeping him close, the other braced against the pillows. The thrusts picked up pace, hard and relentless, pale eyes fixed on Thorn's darker gaze, tendrils of sweat damp blonde hair obscuring the stare.

  Thorn let go with one hand, moving up to push those strands of hair out of Kalt's face, the act intimate, more so than the sex they were having. Crying out softly as Kalt brought him closer, he pulled Kalt down, grasping blonde hair to keep him close and kissed him, fangs cutting skin. His, Kalt's, he wasn't sure and didn't care. Thorn wrapped his legs around his lover's waist, keeping the man nestled closely against him. The vibrations of the thrusts shook the whole bed frame and he was starting to see light behind his eyes. "Oh yes... just... a bit more... my... youngling..."

  It was there before him, just waiting to be grasped, and Kalt had given it to him.

  Kalt gasped at that one word, the quiet sounds muffled against the kiss, turning to soft predatory growls at the taste of blood.

  This was his wine. Not just the blood, but this man.

  Thorn's head was just a haze of hunger and pleasure, neither winning out. Licking and nipping at Kalt's lips, Thorn arched up against him, hips moving so hard and erratically that the bed shook beneath them. Thorn cried out into the kiss, holding Kalt tightly to him as he came, his body shuddering powerfully at the explosion. Unseeing eyes were open, but blind to all around him. All but the light Kalt had given him, and then suddenly everything around him had color, blinding colors, so bright as to be almost painful.

  Kalt cried out Thorn's name as he came. Cried out against the kiss, screamed it in his head, in his blood. For that one moment, nothing existed outside the two of them. The hunger, the heat, it was incidental to this thing that destroyed him and soothed him all at once.

  Thorn broke from the kiss, a smile on his face, drinking in the colors, drinking in Kalt buried deep within him. He quickly placed both hands on Kalt's cheeks, the kiss he bestowed so unlike the others they'd shared here tonight, this one gave hidden promises of deeper things willingly given and shared. All Kalt had to do was reach out and grasp them.

  Thorn broke the kiss feeling as if maybe he'd given away a bit much there, but life was full of risks, he knew that better than anyone. Experience taught him that. Lying there under Kalt, still holding him close, he let his fingers softly soothe the skin underneath them.

  Turning his head slightly he looked at the bodies lying there near them, and the bit of blood soaking the bedding, and moved closer to them. "Thank you."

  Letting his head fall forward, forehead against Thorn's shoulder, Kalt just nodded slightly. And the additional 'what for' that Thorn might have expected never came.

  Silent for a moment, Kalt turned his head, lips brushing the side of Thorn's neck. The question escaped so softly, so stealthily, neither noticed for a second that Kalt had asked it aloud.

  "Why do you still call me that?" Snapping his head back and looking at Kalt, Thorn watched him for a second, thinking about that question.
"I call you that because you are, you are my youngling. Nothing will ever change that except death." He decided to give him a bit more honesty, see how well Kalt would take it. "And because I would have it no other way. I can be a possessive sire and I find myself highly possessive over you."

  Pale eyes watched Thorn for a long moment, devoid of any reaction to the words. Leaning up, Kalt brushed a kiss to Thorn's jaw, fangs barely scraping against skin. Then just nodded slightly, silently satisfied with that answer.

  That nod, it filled him with a rush of pleasure, different from the pleasure he'd just had with this man. Thorn felt the conqueror and felt himself just as conquered, in ways he didn't even fully know yet. It wasn't just a physical thing; it was something almost spiritual, tangible behind his eyes. "But just as I am possessive of you, I find I am also possessed by you."

  He kissed Kalt again, both giving and taking at once. And then rolled them so that he was above Kalt kneeling on the bed himself, and leaned over to kiss every bit of skin over Kalt's face, before sliding his lips down to Kalt's throat, fangs at the vein pulsing with life. He held himself there for all of two seconds before sliding them into the skin, marking Kalt as his own. The mice were forgotten completely, except for the blood that was drying on Thorn's back giving the wings etched into his skin a surreal look.

  A fallen angel's broken and bloody wings.

  Love Like Magic

  By James Souter Karen sat alone in the company's cafeteria, her sandwich and fruit salad sitting on the table in front of her. She ate slowly, not because she enjoyed sitting there, but because as soon as she finished she had nothing else to do but go back to work.

  She listened to the conversations around her, some between people she didn't know, only recognized their faces from lunch. One table over were some of her co-workers, talking about projects and people she did know. She didn't join them, but kept her head down and her opinions to herself -- and waited, listening for any chance that one of them might speak to her. A comment was made about her supervisor and she knew exactly what she could say in response: tell them about the annoying way he would stand in the doorway to her cubicle and ask about her progress when he'd only just given her instructions a half hour before.

  But she didn't speak up. She never said anything; they never asked. And despite her best efforts, she could only ever make her lunch last twenty minutes. So off she'd go back to work, because it was better than sitting alone in the cafeteria with not even the excuse of something to eat.

  She would have brought books to read, but the sorts of books she enjoyed, she didn't want anyone at work to know about. She'd tried to bring other books -- popular fiction and romances and even westerns. But none of them held her interest and in the end it was easier just to return to her desk.

  There was a woman -- Martha or Margo or Maria -- who sat across the cafeteria and did her knitting during her lunch hour. Karen had tried that, and crocheting, and half a dozen other crafty things. But she could never make anything look right and the one time she'd tried knitting during lunch, she'd dropped her ball of yarn and it had rolled past four tables.

  Now she simply ate as slowly as she could, listened to the others talk, then returned to her desk and worked. After work wasn't any better. The ride down the elevator and the walk into the parking garage were always filled with co-workers who knew each other. Karen was surrounded by conversations, Fred asking Deanna how her kids were, or Bob and Geoffrey talking about their golf game over the weekend. Fridays were the worst because that was when people made plans to meet at Callander's or The Batting Cage for drinks. She'd been invited along once -- her first week of work. She'd sat in a corner of the bar and said nothing to anyone, holding onto a glass of wine that she'd hated the taste of.

  She'd taken to working late on Fridays just to avoid it. But tonight -- tonight was going to be different. Karen finished up her work as quickly as she could and headed for the elevators at precisely 5:05 p.m. The conversations flowing around her didn't distract her; she was thinking too hard about what she had planned.

  She'd been planning this for weeks, trying to get up her nerve. She'd gone so far as taking the first step a dozen times before chickening out. But tonight she was determined.

  She was going to do it.

  ***

  Seven weeks later

  "Hey, Karen -- do you want to join us?" Startled, Karen looked over at Clara standing next to her in the elevator. Karen had to review quickly what Clara and Denise had been talking about, as she hadn't been paying attention. Right -- she'd heard them mention the new restaurant that had opened up nearby and checking out their Happy Hour. "Oh. Um, thanks. But I've got to get home."

  "Okay," Clara said with a shrug. She started to turn back to Denise, then stopped. "You know, Karen, you've changed a lot the last few weeks. You've really loosened up, gotten more friendly. You smile a lot more, too. If I didn't know any better I'd say you had a boyfriend." She grinned and Denise giggled.

  Karen felt her face turning beet red. "Um, no," she mumbled, then thankfully the elevator doors opened. She hurried out, getting away before Clara could say anything else. She fumbled with her keys, praying that Clara and Denise weren't parked near her. She got her car door open and saw that, thankfully, Clara and Denise were walking the other way.

  Her heart kept pounding the entire drive home. Had she changed? Of course -- she knew she had. She'd started speaking up in staff meetings, even sometimes said 'hello' to people in the hallways. She hadn't meant to change, it was just... Clara was right. She was happier and that made it easier to just... talk at work.

  She knew exactly why she was happier. But it wasn't a boyfriend.

  Karen drove home, thinking about her. Her long, black hair and her gorgeous, wide blue eyes. Thought about the way her hands were so soft and the feel of her spread out beneath Karen. Karen got home and rushed up to her apartment, throwing her purse onto the chair beside the door and pausing only to lock the front door behind her. Her heart was pounding again -- but this time from anticipation. She headed into the kitchen and grabbed an apple, eating it as quickly as she could. She knew she ought to stop and have dinner -- but she didn't want to waste any time. She'd make up for it with a huge breakfast in the morning.

  Or lunch, if she got up late. Karen smiled. There were starting to be rather a lot of late mornings. It was a good thing she lived so near work; so far she hadn't been late. But she'd completely lost her regular morning ritual of newspaper, hand-ground coffee and scrambled eggs and a half-hour of taped television programs before work.

  She didn't mind at all. Apple half-eaten, she headed into the bedroom, ignoring the pile of mail she'd left on the desk yesterday. Or was it the day before? She couldn't remember when she'd checked her mailbox. It didn't matter. Mail could wait until tomorrow. Or Sunday. She'd give herself the afternoon off and take care of it.

  Right now she had something more important to do. Karen went into her bedroom. The bed was still a mess; clothes scattered all over the floor. Right, laundry, she reminded herself. She'd meant to do it last night. Well -- it, too, could wait 'til Sunday. It was the weekend, after all, and she didn't have to get dressed at all if she didn't want to.

  Feeling wild with her daring, Karen smiled at the thought. Nervously, she began kicking the clothes into the corner to make it appear as though the bedroom wasn't a disaster.

  Not that Iris would comment on it. Karen went to stand by the dresser. She should wait. She should go make dinner, or clean the bedroom. Check her voicemail, read the mail... It wasn't even 5:30 yet, she should at least wait until eight o'clock. Or nine. A more proper time for a date.

  But she didn't want to wait. Karen held her hand out, over the symbols she simply left drawn there now, and chanted the incantation. The first time she'd done this, she'd mumbled it, half afraid it would work and half afraid it wouldn't. When Iris had appeared, Karen had been too shocked to say a word.

  Luckily, she hadn't had to. Iris knew what she'd bee
n summoned for.

  It was the first time anyone had touched Karen, since her short affair with her college roommate. Short, because a month after they'd started sleeping together, Chloe had met another girl and moved in with her. But Iris was nothing like Chloe had been.

  Iris was a demon, after all. And she was here to serve Karen.

  The chant ended and Karen heard the soft implosion of air that signaled Iris' arrival. Karen turned around and smiled. Iris was standing there in the middle of Karen's bedroom. Iris smiled back at her, but said nothing. Karen looked at her for a moment, feeling brazen and bold. Iris always appeared naked, except for a silver bracelet on her wrist. Karen thought one day she'd ask her to appear in a sexy outfit -- or even normal clothes, and they could go out for dinner like a real date with a real girl.

  But for now this was what she wanted: a beautiful woman who wanted her.

  "Come here," Karen told her, and Iris walked over. Karen waited until Iris was right in front of her, then kissed her, hard.

  She felt Iris' hands on her waist, making no move yet to touch skin. Iris simply opened her mouth and let Karen kiss her, as hard and demanding as she liked.

  Karen felt Iris' tongue in her mouth and she brushed her own against it. She thought about other places she wanted that tongue to go, and shivered. She stepped back and held her arms out. "Take my clothes off," she commanded. Iris moved to obey, her expression never changing. She looked at Karen as though she worshipped her, as though her lust for Karen was the only thing she thought about all day -- just as Karen thought only about her.

  Iris' fingers touched skin as she removed Karen's clothes, slipping here and there -- teasing. Karen could have told her not to, but the touches made her want more. She wanted to throw herself down on the bed and tell Iris to touch her everywhere.

  She waited until Iris had pulled the last of her clothes off and Iris stayed kneeling on the floor before her. Karen looked down and considered. Command her? Or did she want gentle, easy sex tonight? Karen put her fingers under Iris' chin and tilted her head up; Iris looked up willingly. Karen found herself caught in those blue eyes and it was so hard to remember that this woman was a demon. Her eyes looked like any woman's and Karen felt like she was falling in whenever she gazed too long.