by R Phoenix
“Oh, that I don’t know. It probably isn’t that easy, but I do know that my friend was in some real trouble, and this guy fixed everything. Like it never happened,” Micheal continued.
It had to be the weirdest pick-up line ever, and he couldn’t help but give the man a cautious side-eye. He’d just assumed the guy was trying to charm him somehow, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Why are you telling me this?" he asked instead, frowning. What if this Micheal knew something? Had seen something…
“Because I know you need his help, Kol’tso,” Micheal said.
“I’ll be fine. And my name is Darren,” he reminded the persistent asshole after a pause.
“Your human name, perhaps,” Micheal said, his voice dropping back down to that lower register.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” he snapped, lurching back and away from the man. He couldn’t possibly know. No one knew. It wasn’t like he’d ever told anyone anything.
“I know you’re in trouble, little incubus. Leandro can help you if you’re smart enough to wrangle him,” Micheal said, his gaze suddenly intense even though his voice was still low, like a hum.
“You’re insane. Get the fuck away from me,” he responded, pushing himself away from the bar. He should’ve just gone with the couple in the bathroom when he’d had the chance. He shouldn’t have fucking engaged. This was all—
He fumbled in his pocket for his last ten dollar bill and threw it on the bar, not even waiting for his change.
He half expected for the guy to grab at him, to keep him from leaving somehow, but he didn’t say or do anything other than watch as he hurriedly left the bar and headed out into the cool night air.
3
It was still night when he woke up to the sound of chatter. He’d fallen asleep at the bus station, without much of a plan or a goal other than wanting to get out of town.
“It was on the radio,” a woman sitting on the bench nearby said.
He didn’t need to guess at what had been on the radio. The guy he’d fucking killed was somehow everywhere, despite being dead. The mystery of the emaciated body seemed to thrill everyone, and no one would just let it the fuck go.
He had hoped he could sneak onto a Greyhound without a ticket and get the fuck out of town, but the buses had already stopped running.
“That doesn’t make me feel very good about being here at this hour,” her friend said. “Who knows what kind of maniac did it…”
“Well,” the first woman drawled. “I hear he was eh… you know.”
He closed his eyes, trying to pretend he wasn’t hearing the conversation that nevertheless continued to drone on and on.
“What?” the second one asked.
“I hear,” the first one continued, this time her tone dropped to something more conspiring. “I hear people saw him leaving with another man, and that he was into… that sort of thing,” she half-whispered.
“Oh. Oh!” Her friend said, sounding suitably and positively horrified.
“Well, still, we don’t know if that’s why he got killed, you know. It could be a lady next. Or a child. You know, if you’re already deviant—”
He’d heard quite enough. He didn’t look at the pair of women, who abruptly went silent when they realized he wasn’t asleep any longer. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to stay there any longer. The whole idea of sneaking onto a bus was a pipe dream anyway. The only way he was going to get on a bus was if he turned invisible, or if he killed someone who already had a ticket.
He shuddered and left the bus station quickly before that last option became entirely too reasonable. The hollow feeling of hunger was back. Or rather, it hadn’t left. It had just grown progressively bigger. He would have to do something about it soon, but he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t particularly want to kill anyone else, but the longer he waited, the less it seemed like he could keep a handle on this fucking thing.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
He turned a corner, not entirely certain of where he was heading. He hadn’t exactly had a plan, not before, and definitely not now. He looked up, only to find himself staring up at a giant spinning shamrock over a building lit up entirely by golden and green lights.
It was gaudy as hell, but he stalled when he saw the stylized name over the door.
The Lucky Blight.
He felt a chill right down to his bones, and he cast a quick look around, half expecting the lunatic from the bar to show up again. It was a ridiculous notion, considering the man hadn’t even known where he’d been going, let alone anyone manipulating him in going here. And there was no such thing as a psychic… right?
Just like there was no such thing as… whatever he was — an incubus, which seemed ludicrous but at the same time was the only explanation for what kept happening to him.
He hesitated another moment. This was stupid. There was no telling what he was walking into, and it could’ve been a trap. Hell, it probably was a trap. But did he have a choice?
His mind went back to the women who’d been talking, to the knowledge that he was the one they were talking about. No one would ever suspect him, though… They’d only be able to say what he’d looked like then. Not now.
It didn’t wipe away the feeling of unease. If some random guy at the bar recognized what he was, others could too. What if it happened again? The pang of hunger reminded him of just how possible that was, and despair washed over him. What if he couldn’t control it? What if it only grew stronger?
He needed to get out of town or make all of this just go away. He was fucking desperate — which was why he headed toward the front door instead of high-tailing it away from the numerous queasy feelings roiling around in his gut.
The man at the door barely acknowledged him as he walked inside. It was a whole other world, the lights dim and yet bright at the same time. His ears were assaulted by the sounds of slot machines ringing and dinging, and there were others coming from gaming tables. The cigarette smoke hung heavily on the air. Elation and despair clouded it just as heavily, like a cloying blanket of energy. It was almost a tangible presence, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. It was a smorgasbord of emotions and sensations that almost made him walk right back out the door.
Fuck that hyperawareness bullshit.
He didn’t know where to go or what to do. It wasn’t like he was there to gamble, but he didn’t know how to catch the attention of this… Leandro. He didn’t know who he was, or even what the man looked like, either, which made it that much more difficult.
For a moment he just stood on the casino floor, feeling forlorn, until someone bumped into him from behind and inadvertently shoved him forward.
It was the proverbial push he needed, as he used the momentum to just keep on walking, into the crowd — and it was a crowd, an insanely busy one. There seemed to be an energy to them though. The more time he spent wandering and looking around, the calmer he began to feel, the easier it was to think again.
Or rather, not to think.
After about half an hour inside, the hyperawareness was fading fast, and he was starting to feel a little giddy. Leaning against a craps table, he watched as the person holding the dice threw them with practiced elegance across the table. The green and gold die bounced and settled on the lucky number seven every time. It seemed like magic, the way that time and time again they would come up on seven.
With every throw, the people around the table were getting more excited, placing more bets, making more money. Part of him wished he hadn’t spent his last ten dollars on a soft drink. If he’d gotten his change, he might’ve been able to make enough money to get a bus ticket out of there at least.
The die flew again.
In the blink of an eye, the mood shifted from excited furor to a disappointed slump as the pretty die bounced around and came up with a three instead of a four, putting an end to the winning streak of the person throwing them.
“Aww… damn…” the man said. He was tall and
graceful, and even when losing, his lips remained quirked into a thin, calculating smile. He threw his hands up theatrically. “See? Even I can’t always win…” he declared with a note of self-pity to the words. It seemed off, fake, somehow, but what the fuck did he know?
There were some scattered chuckles in the group of people who had flocked around the winning table.
The beautiful man turned away from the table, retrieving a drink from the edge of it as he did. Even his movements were graceful and fluid. His skin seemed fucking radiant in the shitty light of the casino, and he looked… perfect. A little too perfect.
“That Leandro, huh…” he heard someone to the left of him say.
His heart stopped beating for a moment. He glanced at the person who had said it, who was similarly watching the beautiful man walk away to what seemed like an exit door. He fumbled, pulling up the sleeves of the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was all he had along with equally ill-fitting sweatpants. It wasn’t the best outfit to try and get his way in, but he had to give it a try, if apparently fate willed it so.
He hurried forward, pushing past a few people, just in time to reach the man before the door could close behind him.
“Buy me a drink, Leandro," he said, his voice sounding a little odd and pitchy, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. He was too busy staring at the man who pushed the door back open, slowly.
He was more beautiful up close. His skin was flawless, and his eyes were dazzling, not to mention his bone structure… It was a little effeminate, perhaps, a little too soft and round in places, but his cheekbones could put someone’s eye out.
“Buy me a drink,” he repeated, now that he’d managed to successfully get the man’s attention.
4
For all that he usually frequented the otherkin side of the casino, Leandro occasionally put in an appearance for the normies — especially with the high rollers. He wanted to keep them happy, wanted to keep them spending money, and to do that… Well, he had to make them feel special.
Or something.
Really, he just enjoyed feeling their gazes upon him and the way they regarded him with such envy. Whether it was for his money or his looks, he could never be certain, but then, he never cared, either. He only knew they wanted what he had — or they wanted him — and he was satisfied to leave it that way.
It was easy enough to charm the dice into spinning his way, the sparkling golden numbers falling just so in a way that proved favorable to him over and over. He couldn’t always win, of course, not unless he wanted his patrons to think there was a chance he was manipulating the numbers somehow.
He was, but no one needed to know that. No one but him.
To them, he was their god, fortunate and capable of besting even the luckiest and most skilled.
Leandro felt the weight of their gazes as he turned around and glided toward the door leading to the other section of the casino — the private section for otherkin, the better section — and took a sip from his glass. The liquor was smooth, expensive, partially chosen for taste and partially chosen as a way to indulge his patrons while he shared a bottle of his finest with them.
The glamour concealing what lay beyond the door hid those patrons from view, leading others to believe he was disappearing for the night into an office, perhaps, to complete some other administrative task. They would never suspect the truth — and even if they did, they would only feel envy that they weren’t welcome beyond that door with the most elite of the patrons.
The door was just about to close behind him, the glamour poised to sink back into place to reveal a hallway instead of the chime of more machines and a deadlier sort of currency in play, when he heard a voice behind him.
He turned, arching his brows, and his gaze fell upon a lovely young man dressed in oversized clothing. It did nothing for his figure, nor for the contours of his face. It made him look utterly out of place at the Lucky Blight, but that was part of the allure.
That, and the demand that fell from pretty rosy lips.
Leandro chuckled, more at the audacity than anything else, and amusement flickered across his expression. “And why would I buy you a drink?”
“Because you’d be losing out if you didn’t, and you don’t lose…” the young man said, a cocky sort of smirk on his lips that… didn’t quite reach those incredible green eyes. They couldn’t be real.
“Losing out?” Leandro asked, his lips still curved into an indulgent smile. “And what, pray tell, would I be losing out on?” With the hand not holding his drink, he reached out, intending to touch the man’s chin to tilt his head up — or he would have, if the twerp hadn’t had the audacity to step back.
“That," he said with a small smile that suited him much better than that faux-smirk.
Leandro deliberately looked him up and down, a little annoyed that the man had dared move away from him. It wasn’t as though he bestowed his affection casually, least of all with a wretch who looked as though he belonged on a park bench instead of in his casino. “I can’t see what I might be missing out on,” he drawled, gesturing to the man from head to toe and deliberately drawing attention to that oversized attire.
“My momma always taught me a gift is better when it’s wrapped up and unidentifiable…” that very same wretch retorted without missing a beat. He even had the audacity to pull out the sweat shirt by the hem, making it seem even bigger than it already was on him. “Half the fun is the unwrapping, and discovering what’s underneath, no?” He looked positively innocent then.
Leandro’s eyes narrowed. “You’re rather bold,” he replied, taking another sip from his glass as he deliberated for a moment. “You assume I want to open said gift.”
Of course he did. He was curious, which he felt was rather obvious. It wasn’t often that he stumbled across anyone who intrigued him. He was more used to people simpering than he was to them displaying spirit, after all.
“Not really that bold. I’m just playing the odds,” the young man said, dropping the sweat shirt and hooking his fingers together behind his back instead. “And it’s like I said, you seem like a man who always wins.”
“Of course I do,” Leandro replied smugly, taking a step closer to the young man and into his personal space. This time the other man didn’t step back, instead tilting his face up in a rather fetching way. “But that would mean you lose,” he pointed out. “So it doesn’t seem to benefit you to cheer me on while I do win.”
The wretch took a small step back then, sweeping his gaze from Leandro’s eyes, all the way down to his feet, and then back up — slow and deliberate, checking him out like he was… chattel.
Like Leandro might’ve inspected someone he was considering fucking.
“You shouldn’t sell yourself short like that,” the human continued, his words as sweet as honeyed wine. “I don’t see how I’d be losing if you were to claim this prize.” Then he stepped back up, leaving Leandro wondering if he was still in the bold young man’s personal space or if said bold young man was now technically in his.
“Sell myself short?” Leandro asked with a scoff. As though that was something he’d ever do! He knew his worth, more so than anyone else around him — more than the creature who dared speak to him like this. “Please,” he dismissed. “What is it you want, boy?” He smirked. “Besides a drink, of course. You want to be my prize for the evening?” He almost reached out again, but he wouldn’t be able to tolerate another rejection from some homeless-looking waif. “You’re beautiful enough, but unless you want to show just how clever that tongue is…”
Those incredible green eyes shifted to the glass he was still holding. “If you give me that drink, I might just let you find out how clever my tongue can be.”
“You’d rather have mine than get your own?” Leandro wondered aloud. “I thought you wanted me to buy you a drink, precious.”
“Maybe I’m just thirsty.” Which sounded far more like a double entendre than someone that really did look quite so precious should be
familiar with.
“What will you give me for it?” Leandro challenged, taking another deliberate sip from his glass and humming in pleasure at the taste of the fine liquor.
Finally he seemed to have stumped the pretty thing. There was a calculating look on his face, but he seemed to come up with nothing witty to say in return. Vindicated, he was about to open his mouth to say something scathing to the effect of winning and losing, when he felt the young man’s hand on his chest.
His gaze snapped down, just in time to see those fingers grasp his shirt, but before he could protest, there were soft lips pressing against his own. The kiss was careful at first, chaste even, but then he felt the brush of tongue against them, deliberate and willful as it chased the taste of liquor along his lips and tongue expertly.
Expertly enough that Leandro couldn’t help but want to kiss back. It was a good kiss too, hot, slow, and delicious, and the way the younger man reacted when he did kiss back — a little push, followed by a lot of yield and then—
The kiss came to a slow stop, and when their lips parted, those heated green eyes met his own.
“A very clever tongue, Leandro…” he said in a dark, hushed whisper.
For a moment, Leandro had to fight to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t that the wretch with the talented mouth had gotten to him, but there had been a moment in which he’d lost himself in the kiss. His thoughts shifted into just what he could do with the young man, into just how easily he could throw himself into that touch…
He was something new, something different, and Leandro wanted it. He wanted to push the man against the wall, to kiss him hard and fast, to demand even more than he was already offering.
“What game are we playing?" Leandro asked after a pause. What game was he supposedly winning? He offered the glass out to his would-be conquest to allow him to take the expensive liquor off his hands.
Instead of taking the glass from his hand, the young man leaned in to take a sip, allowing Leandro himself to tip the glass just far enough. When he had his sip and his lips came away, leaving a drop on the rim of the glass, that very, very clever tongue damn near caressed the rim of the cup with his tongue.