Jasper’s breath caught. He didn’t know if he was ready for that. Or for what inevitably came after it, but Crimson was already moving down from his throat, over his pec. His tongue teased his nipple until it was almost as hard as his dick, and Jasper let his head loll back, eyes rolling closed. Relief ached through him, almost like pain, but as pleasure instead. He wanted to give himself to him, wanted to let the demon touch him and kiss him and suck on him and, yes, maybe even fuck him until they were both satisfied, but there was still this feeling of shouldn’t deep in his stomach. Of too much and too fast.
Pushing himself up on his elbow, he looked down at the werespider as he trailed kisses over his abs, tongue tracing his navel, fingers slipping between his legs and up his length, massaging him through the fabric, urging him to let go. God, he looked amazing. He felt amazing. Jasper heard himself make a small sound, the like of which he’d never heard himself make—a whimper of lust and, yes, maybe of submission.
Then, as if he could feel Jasper’s hesitation, Crimson stopped and looked up at him, eyebrow raised, almost as if to ask permission.
“I, umm…” He was sweaty and shivering, his mind foggy. “I’ve never really… If maybe we could just…”
“You know it’s okay if you don’t wanna do it all at once, don’t you?” asked Crimson. “You can tell me no. I won’t be mad.”
“It’s just a little fast,” said Jasper. “It’s not that I don’t wanna. I do.” This fact surprised him, all by itself. He looked away, focusing instead on the rumpled blankets. He nervously smoothed a crease, waiting for the blood to come back to his brain. “I’ve kind of been through a lot today, and you’re, y’know, really important to me, and I don’t wanna mess it all up, or, like, go too fast, or—”
Crimson turned his face gently but firmly back in his direction and silenced the explanation with a quick kiss. “Jazz, it’s okay. Okay?”
In the barely there light, Jasper saw Crimson looking at him, his eyes so warm and tender that Jasper felt something swell in his chest. He smiled, feeling almost shy. “Okay.” His hands found their way back to Crimson’s hair. It really was fantastic hair. “I really like kissing you, though.”
Crimson brought their lips together again, soft and slow, like the first. “I’ve wanted to do it for a while.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jasper.
They kissed again, and again, the heat returning. Crimson’s hands roamed, though they stayed for the most part above the belt, caressing his chest and stomach, running down his arms and shoulders, sending delicious shivers all through his body. Jasper couldn’t stop touching him, all the places he’d wanted to before: his hair, his neck, the curve of his collarbone, the hard muscle of his arms. Their hips moved together, the friction driving him so crazy he almost reconsidered his earlier sentiment. But there would be time for all of that later. They were safe and together and they had time.
When the heat between them had tempered a little, Crimson coaxed him down on his stomach to rest. Jasper didn’t want to at first, but the werespider rubbed his neck, his shoulders, his back, massaging out the kinks and knots, taking care not to press where he’d been bruised.
He spoke of his cousin Nightwind and the adventures the two of them had shared together—in the blistering hot deserts of Egypt, out on the high seas, in the East and in the West, and everywhere and when in between.
Jasper lay with a winter jacket bundled under his chin, the fever cooling in his flesh as he listened to the soft melodic sound of the demon’s voice and let the talented stroke of his fingers carry him away.
Eventually, he slept.
He dreamed of the Summerlands. Of a lilac twilight sky, of an orange tent filled by smoke, of Crimson dancing by a bonfire, and when he held his hand out to Jasper, this time he took it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
—
Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Jasper woke to a gentle shaking, Crimson’s hand on his chest. He didn’t know how long they had slept, but he could tell it wasn’t nearly long enough. He pried his eyes open, though they were very reluctant to do so. Dim yellow light filled the church, almost hazy with slow dust; through the bars of the balcony he saw the stained-glass mural of the Virgin Mary lit by daylight, and though it was still very quiet, Jasper could tell they were no longer alone.
“What’s up?” Jasper asked in a whisper. Crimson didn’t look worried, so Jasper wasn’t exactly worried either.
Well, for the most part.
“The priest is in,” Crimson explained. “We should go.”
“Okay.” Jasper grabbed the flannel he’d taken from the donation bin from where it had been discarded the night before and pulled it back on, casting Crimson a quick, shy smile before hiding his eyes behind his curls.
They got up and set the blankets on the back pew. Jasper was sure they were quiet as church mice as they crept down the stairs and towards the side door, but when he glanced back at the altar where the priest was sweeping the floor, he was paused, watching them. He saw Jasper seeing him, and nodded, not angry, and Jasper timidly raised a hand in reply before following Crimson out onto the street.
Crimson offered him his hand, and Jasper took it. For the first time he noticed how smooth it was, no fingerprints, the lifelines on his palm barely a shadow. He squeezed it tightly, his smile a little surer of itself, and then, together, they worked their way back towards Alcander’s.
The door was open when they got to it, Alcander waiting within the light of the stairs. Jasper was so happy to see him looking unharmed that he did not consider the vampire’s aversion to physical contact and wrapped him in a tight hug. He remembered quickly and went to step away, an apology already on his lips, when Al hugged him briefly back.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, Al.” They’d said as much on the phone the night before, but it felt important to say it again.
“Thanks to you and Crimson.”
Jasper thought it was also because of him that Al and Max were in danger at all but didn’t say so.
“I wish you hadn’t been so reckless.”
Here Jasper began to protest, but Al cut him off, insisting they come downstairs so he could examine and redress his wounds.
“The official story is that it was an act of terrorism,” explained Alcander as he laid a neat, precise row of stitches up a particularly nasty cut on Jasper’s forearm.
Jasper had to look away for this. He could handle being cut or stabbed or even shot, but when it came to repairing the damage, the sight of a needle digging under his skin freaked him out.
“You two were all over the news last night.” Alcander snipped the end of the thread and wrapped the cut in fresh gauze. “They have been running the clip from right before the helicopter went down nonstop. Somebody—the Hunters I expect, maybe the spellcasters—managed to pull the footage from the street cams before the media could get ahold of it. I got the footage from the jewelry store.” He turned Jasper’s wrist, examining his hands. They hadn’t landed in the glass when he fell, thank God, and the damage there was minimal. Using a cotton swab, Alcander cleaned the small cuts and scratches.
“So they think we’re terrorists?” translated Jasper.
“Hmm… No, not exactly. Crimson, please do not touch that.” Alcander interrupted himself, and Jasper followed his gaze to the other side of the lab, where Crimson was half an inch away from picking up a beaker of brightly colored fluid. Crimson muttered something under his breath but left it alone.
Alcander’s eyes followed him until he was a safe distance away; then he shook his head and returned to his nitpicking. “Where was I? Oh. To all appearances, Folami was the one who brought down the helicopter. The video makes it look as if he threw something… or perhaps gave some manner of signal to another source. Prior to that, the two of you are seen to be fighting with him. After that, there are no recorded accounts of the incident, only eyewitness testimony.”
“Guessin’ alotta very forgetful people in
that neighborhood,” said Crimson. “Can’t remember a thing.”
Alcander shrugged. “The stories vary a bit, but most of them are somewhat the same. Suspiciously the same, in my opinion. The Magicians Guild is really losing their touch.”
“Memory alterations?” guessed Jasper. “That must have taken a lot of magic.”
“Yes,” agreed Alcander. “So must have changing every stoplight in the city. The police were hours sorting out the traffic situation. And, of course, that led to other, smaller incidents. Honestly, so much was going on all at once the media does not really know which story to latch onto.”
“Do you think they’ll come after us? Not the human police…” Jasper knew he should be concerned about that, but he wasn’t. He was trained to hide in plain sight, and he could get away from mortal officers easily enough. “The spellcasters or the Hunters or, uh… other demons?”
“The other werespiders won’t be happy if word reaches them,” answered Crimson, though he was not the one Jasper had been asking. “But if the spellcasters are keeping word from the humans, and the Hunters are keeping word from everyone else, I dunno how it would. Least not in a way that they could be bothered to drag their lazy asses all the way across the ocean to try to find me.” He had run out of small curiosities to stare at in the lab, and since he wasn’t allowed to touch any of them (at least not without having Alcander scream at him), he looped around and hopped up on the table behind Jasper, leaning against his back. “The casters’ll definitely talk to Morgaine first, and as far as she knows, you were stolen from me. It’s a little iffy, on account of the way the laws work—there’s different rules, depending which group you’re with. And Folami was a demon and a magic user, so that muddles it up worse, but basically Folami’s the one who fucked up. You fuck with someone else’s familiar, they’re allowed to fuck you up. That’s basic. By the book. Traditional, even.”
Jasper bristled a little. Among Hunters “familiar” was a dirty, filthy word. It was almost worse than being called a “demon,” and he certainly hoped Crimson didn’t think of him that way. At its best, it could be translated to mean “pet,” but usually it meant “slave” or sometimes something worse. He had to work to keep his voice even as he pointed out, “I’m not really your familiar though.”
Crimson waved it away. “Details. People see what they wanna see, and wanna see what they expect to see. I don’t think it’ll matter big-picture wise.”
“You probably should not have transformed into a spider,” said Alcander sternly.
“Hey, he started it. With his stupid, weird twisty hands. Magicking around cars ’n shit.”
“A man they had on early this morning said he had his motorcycle stolen by a gothic Arab,” continued Alcander. Crimson looked at him, and the vampire shrugged. “His words, not mine. There was a homeless woman too, ranting and raving about tigers and spiders and flying men. Luckily, she went on to claim that an angel had descended from heaven on big fluffy white wings to end the whole affair. She also sees Jesus about once a week and has a close, personal relationship with a talking rock. Dementia probably. I do not think anyone took her seriously.”
“So that just leaves the Hunters,” said Crimson.
“The video quality on the street cameras was not pristine. I doubt anyone could identify you if they were not already looking for you. The camera in the helicopter fared better… but it was taken from overhead, and the chief focus was on Folami. It is not like in the movies. There is pixelization, a great deal of shadow, plus the blood and dirt and grime. If someone already knew your face, if someone knew they should be looking, yes, you could be identified, but if you are concerned that you will not be able to go to your favorite coffee shop any longer, I would say you should not be. As to the Hunters, if they saw you as a spider, if they were the ones who pulled the footage and it was not the spellcasters, yes, I suppose they could be a problem. You may want to consider lying low just in case.”
Jasper managed not to sigh aloud. Crimson didn’t. He couldn’t blame him. He wanted to go home. He liked Alcander’s for the most part, but he could only handle being cooped up for so long and knew Crimson felt even more strongly. Besides, he thought they would like to be alone for some time. Things between them had changed, and Jasper was excited (and, truthfully, a little anxious) to learn how. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide it from Al and Max, just that he wanted to keep it as their own for a while. But it was hard to argue. Even with the warding charm and all the traps in the old house, Alcander’s was still safer.
Alcander finished with his hands, and Jasper slid off the table. “Thanks, Al.”
“You are most welcome,” replied Alcander. “I would recommend you eat something before you rest. This time of day, Max is probably already making lunch. I am sure he will not mind. Then you need to rest for a good, long while. The echoes of a traumatic experience can often linger, as I am sure you well know. Give yourself time to heal, physically and mentally.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” said Jasper. The truth was that the last twenty-four hours felt more like a hazy dream than reality. He was still digesting it. “But I’ll try to get some sleep.” He looked towards Crimson, who hopped down from the table. It must have been nice to spring back from a confrontation so quickly. Jasper had not suffered much in the way of physical harm, but even if he had woken up with no memories, he would have been able to tell he had been in a fight almost as soon as he opened his eyes. Folami had broken a quarter of the bones in Crimson’s body and singed off a good portion of his skin, but here he stood, bouncing on his heels and smiling at Jasper like he’d already forgotten that he’d had a helicopter dropped on him the night before.
They went into the other room, leaving Alcander to his work.
Jasper wanted coffee, but Max was using the coffee machine to heat water for tea, and caffeine would only keep him up anyway, so he drank a mug of herbal tea and read the newspaper over Crimson’s shoulder while Max cooked. Under the table, the werespider’s fingers crept onto his knee. Jasper laid his fingers over his, smiled slightly, and kept reading.
An hour later, freshly showered and dressed, he crawled into bed with Crimson and kissed him the way he’d wanted to kiss him since he woke up.
#
The stay at Alcander’s was not so bad this time around. The vampire was busy, as always, and though Jasper had not said a word to Max about his and the werespider’s relationship, the human gave them their space.
Crimson was the same yet different. It was in the little things mostly, the way he laid his arm around his shoulder instead of over the back of the couch, the little excuses he found to let their fingers brush, how he held him when he slept. He promised to take things slow between them, and he kept his word, pushing him only to the edge of his comfort, then receding.
At the end of a week, when the worst of the media frenzy began to die down, they ventured out to the old movie theater to watch the black and whites that ran late into the night, and to share drinks and (in Jasper’s case) dinner at the restaurant just around the corner.
The fight with Folami had damaged Crimson’s jacket beyond repair, but he did not seem overly distressed by this fact. “It might be a good idea to change my look for a little while anyhow. Keep off the radar. You too.”
“What do you think?” asked the werespider in a small clothing store four blocks from Alcander’s. “Glasses? No glasses?”
“You look like you’re gearing for a promotion at Google,” said Jasper with a grin to let him know he was only teasing. The werespider had the sort of face that could change greatly depending on the way he chose to wear his hair. Half of it was tied loosely back, the rest free.
Jasper stepped beside him, looking at the pair of them in the dressing room’s full-length mirror. The werespider’s overcoat was dark, navy blue, left open to show the deep plum dress shirt below. Crimson turned back the cuffs and pinned them with silver links that matched the chain of his pocket watch, which was snapped to
the belt loop of his slacks. The small studs he’d driven through his earlobes completed the ensemble, though the holes would go away just as soon as the piercings were removed.
“The glasses make you look smarter,” Jasper allowed after a moment. “You might have to drop your dumb-guy routine.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” replied Crimson. He took the glasses off and put them on Jasper instead. “What’s a Google?”
“It’s an internet thing. You use it to search for information.” Jasper knew next to nothing about computers, but even he knew that. “Should I cut my hair or something?”
“I’ll cut it for you if you want. The glasses look cute with the curls though.” Only he didn’t really say “curls.” It sounded closer to “coils” with his accent. Jasper didn’t have the heart to tell him no one (not even in New York) had said it that way in something like fifty years.
“I’m not trying to look cute,” said Jasper instead, but looked in the mirror again despite himself.
The frames were made of thick black plastic, the sort popularized by television and movies, and they did seem to suit his face. Crimson draped a light scarf around the back of his neck, wrapping it once around his throat, and then put his arms around his waist as he laid his chin on the half-blood’s shoulder. “You don’t have to try, Jazz. You’d look cute in a garbage bag.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Jasper, relaxing his weight onto the inside of the demon’s shoulder. He was wearing the body-regulated sweater Crimson had bought for him in the Summerlands, his shirt, robin’s egg blue, untucked underneath. He grabbed a knit beanie from the pile of odds and ends that Crimson had dragged into the dressing room in spite of the six-item limit sign, and put it on. The curls still found a way to peek out along his brow and at the nape of his neck, but with the scarf, hat, and glasses, he hardly recognized himself. “How’s that?”
Strangers in the Night Page 36
