The Night He Came Alive: A Halloween Short Story

by Raleigh Ruebins

  I wasn’t even a little bit scared.

  I trembled, though, as his eyes skated down my body and for the first time, he saw my cock, standing at attention, dripping from the tip. For a brief flash of a moment I became self-conscious, felt so exposed under his watchful gaze. He was still fully clothed, except for the gloves he’d shed; but here I was naked and pale, my body completely his for the taking.

  Was I enough?

  He placed a hand above my heart, as if he were trying to will it to calm down, stop its mad beating within my chest.

  “You are beautiful,” he said. He somehow knew, of course he knew, that I’d been lying there worried about his judgment.

  I started to thank him but my breath caught in my throat as he bent low toward me, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin of my neck, just below my ear. Shudders rippled through me as he sucked long, slow kisses along my neck, his fingers lightly dragging through every spot his lips had just been.

  He kissed lower. His tongue traced along my collarbone, and I gave into sensation, forgetting everything other than the heat of his tongue against my skin.

  When he moved lower to draw one of my nipples into his mouth a jolt surged through me—I was so sensitive there, maddeningly so, and yet he knew the exact light pressure I’d need to begin with. But when my hips started bucking upward involuntarily, he slid one hand down to my hipbone, pressing me firmly back down onto the couch, stilling me. He sucked hard against me, then, and I moaned as I felt my cock throb in response. His hand still steadied my hip, and something about him anchoring me in place made me feel freer than I’d ever been.

  He was in control. He’d let me know when I could move again.

  In one swift movement he moved lower, his mouth now at my hip, his tongue dragging against the smooth jut of my bone. His face was inches from my cock now, and I felt as if I could explode.

  His eyes flickered up toward mine in the low light.

  “Please,” I said, more a whimper than a statement.

  “Stand for me,” he said.

  My body felt like it had melted into the couch.

  “I don’t know if I can—”

  “You can, Alexander.”

  When he said it, I knew that it was true. I slowly sat up on the couch, my cock aching with the movement, so heavy between my legs. With hesitation I stood up in front of the couch, sucking in a deep breath, as he moved backward, still on his knees in front of me.

  My cock was now right at the level of his mouth. He had to have known it would be. It was a perfect fit, and the precum dripping from the head of my cock now dripped from me, hanging in the air an inch from his mouth.

  His eyes were on mine, his hands on his own lap as he sat before me.

  “I’m going to taste you,” he said, simply. “You will not come yet, though.”

  He looked down at my cock in front of him.

  “I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll be able to last—”

  “You will, for me,” he said, one of his hands now skating up my inner thigh. My cock bobbed as he moved further toward it, drawing ever closer.

  His fingers found their way to my balls first. He clutched them gently, the warmth blooming through me, both a relief and a new terrifying thrill all at once. He hadn’t even touched my cock yet and I was fucking terrified that I would lose it, lose all control, come helplessly all along his face in an alarming lack of restraint.

  But he said I couldn’t.

  In another moment, his hand moved from its position and his mouth soon took its place. However warm and agonizing his hand had been, his mouth was ten times more; I groaned as I felt him taking me inside him, and my hand found its way to the back of his head.

  His tongue slid upward. He was on the underside of my cock now, his pressure so light it was frustrating, until finally, he tongued against my slit. He hummed as he tasted me, swirling wet against the head, before moving in one swift motion to take my entire cock into his mouth. I felt everything, from the initial flick of his tongue to the firm change in pressure as he slid my cock into his throat.

  I was in trouble. I could come in an instant. I squeezed my eyes shut and took my hands off of him—I couldn’t bear it, the overwhelming combination of sensations, the way he looked, the way he felt. I felt weak at my knees, standing in front of him, and finally, mercifully, he slid back, releasing my cock, hovering in the air in front of it.

  It took what felt like minutes for me to come back from the brink, and he waited, watching as I willed myself not to come right then. I could have, and I would have; just the memory of that one brief moment, the knowledge that he could take all of me.

  Slowly, I returned to the present. As I felt the urge to release receding, I dared open my eyes.

  He was exactly where he’d been, patiently waiting.

  When he saw me coming back down to earth he reached up, gripping his hands tight against my ass, and he plunged onto me again, this time harder, taking me deep again.

  This time he didn’t let up. He squeezed against me so hard from behind as he worked in slow, sure motions with his mouth. His fingers crept behind me, inching closer to my hole, reaching it, teasing me there.

  Before I realized it I was fucking his mouth, my hands buried in his hair, pulling him toward me as I thrust into him. My knees were buckling again, failing me. I wasn’t thinking anymore, didn’t even remember the promise I’d made to him. It was crashing toward me. It was inevitable.

  The only thing that stopped me from coming down his throat was him. He pulled off me again, standing up, snapping me from reverie. I uttered a pained moan, doubling over with the loss of contact, falling gently to my knees as his support disappeared.

  “Push through it,” he said above me, one hand falling to the top of my head. “Be patient, Alexander.”

  I let out a half-whimper, half-sob.

  When I collected myself I looked up at him again. He was eyeing me with kindness, complete compassion; if I hadn’t been the one on my knees I’d have called his look one of worship.

  “Let’s get these off,” he said, gesturing briefly at his own clothes.

  I nodded, knowing the task was mine.

  I stood up, still shaky on my feet, but stood sure in front of him. He leaned his head backward, exposing his neck, inviting me to unbutton his shirt.

  I started slow. With each single button I unhooked, I pressed a small kiss to the skin that was exposed. I felt the heat radiating from him, and when I’d unbuttoned his shirt and the vest on top of it, I slid my hands gently inside. My fingers dragged over the curves of his muscle, and he let me sink against him, pressing the length of my naked body to his. My face was tucked against his chest, the metal of his pendant necklace cool against my cheek. My hands gripped his sides and my cock pressed along his still-clothed thigh, needy and untouched.

  He let me have this indulgence for a moment before standing back. The job needed to be finished.

  I worked his jacket off, gently draping it over my office chair. His vest and shirt came off next, and soon he was unclothed from the waist up, more beautiful than I could comprehend.

  I palmed the heavy outline of his cock through his pants. He breathed deep, humming into the air, and when I finally began to unbutton and unzip, he seemed nearly as impatient as I was.

  I paused for a moment, realizing what was bound to happen very soon.

  He turned slowly and sat back onto the couch, the front of his pants just barely open. I sank to my knees again and worked off his shoes and socks before rising up, hitching my fingers into the waistband of his pants.

  He helped me slide them off, his boxer briefs coming along with them, and when I paused to look up at him again, it was an almost painfully beautiful sight.

  He was so hard for me. His face would never betray it, but he couldn’t keep the secret; he was enjoying this as much as I was, and the realization stunned me.

  “What would you like, Alex?” he asked, his voice low. I realized that for the
first time, he was asking me how to proceed, instead of telling me what to do.

  I swallowed hard. I knew what I wanted, I’d wanted it for practically forever. But the moment my mind thought of it, my cheeks flushed, and I faltered.

  “Um…” I said, biting my bottom lip. I thought about how hours ago—though now it felt like years ago—I had come to the thought of him fucking me.

  I wanted that now.

  I was afraid to say it.

  “I know about everything, you know,” he said, his gaze falling on me, his hand coming to rest on my hair, smoothing it gently.

  “Huh?” I said, feebly.

  “I know you, Alexander,” he said. “You don’t have to keep secrets from me. There aren’t any.” He nodded briefly toward a chest of drawers that was on the opposite side of the room. I felt my cheeks heat again.

  “There’s no reason to be bashful,” he said. He bent forward, placing a hand on the underside of my chin, tipping my head up to meet his. He kissed me deeply, taking his time, until I felt like I was melting once again.

  “Go get it,” he said, and I knew exactly what he was referring to. I crossed over and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out the small bottle of lube I had there.

  It felt ridiculous in my hands, felt so crude having it there in front of him. But if what he said was true, he already knew about it. He’d already seen me use it, so many times, as I thought of him. I took a deep breath as I went back over to him, spreading a good amount of the slick substance onto my palms. I straddled him and placed my hands on him, starting to stroke his cock.

  He let out a deep moan as I touched him. He was restrained as always, but I could tell that he was enjoying the sensation, as I worked my hands along his length. His gold pendant gleamed in the dying candlelight as his chest moved with his breath, and the steady rhythm with which I stroked him soon turned to a hypnotic pattern.

  I lost track of time and before I knew it he had taken the small bottle for himself, and his own slicked hand searched back until it found my hole. He circled it with one finger.

  I almost yelped at the contact, remembering that I was constantly inches away from an orgasm.

  “There. That’s better,” he said. His finger swirled around me.

  Soon one of his fingers pressed inside, and I couldn’t hold in a moan. I was still stroking him but it became harder and harder as his finger moved inside me, and then a second one joined the first.

  I started to rock against them, to push back onto them hungrily.

  “You need even more,” he said, pressing a small kiss to the side of my neck. “I want to be everything you need, Alex.”

  “Fuck,” I whispered. “Can—can I?” I said, my words breaking in my throat as he stroked inside me.

  His fingers slipped out slowly.

  “Please,” he said.

  I took my hands from his cock, lifting myself slightly so that I was just above him. I looked down into his eyes, and through the overwhelming clamor of sensations I was experiencing, the one I felt the most was love.

  “Please,” he repeated, “I need it too, Alex.”

  I let out a long breath, leaning forward so that our foreheads touched, as I slowly lowered myself down. I felt the press of his cock against my hole, so much thicker than his fingers had been, but exactly what I needed.

  I sank onto him.

  I had to go so slow, to accommodate him, but with every inch I lowered I wanted more. His hands wrapped around my hips, guiding me, and soon I felt my ass press down against his thighs.

  He was all the way inside me. A rush came over me as I looked in his eyes, and I let out a shuddering moan.

  “I needed this so badly,” I whispered, afraid that I may be about to cry.

  “It’s yours,” he said. “I’m all yours.”

  I started to lift off his cock again, feeling the slick slide as he stretched me. When I got to the top I sank down again, this time more quickly and easily.

  We fit together perfectly, and as I gently began to rock up and down on him, I brought my lips to his mouth in a deep kiss.

  I felt as though he was enveloping me. Like I was becoming a part of him, or that he’d always been a part of me.

  “I’m not going to last,” I said, breaking my lips from his briefly and meeting his gaze.

  “You may surprise yourself,” he said, bringing a hand up to stroke through my hair and onto my cheek.

  His words sent a shudder through me and I kept up the pace, feeling him fill me completely, as his hands danced over my body. His touch urged me on, and he watched me as I fucked myself on him slow, squeezing around him.

  I wasn’t even going that fast, but it was already overwhelming. Every time I sank down onto him, he hit me in just the right spot, and brought me ever closer to the edge.

  “Jesus, you feel so good inside me,” I said, breathing hot against his neck.

  “I’ve wanted this forever,” he said, dipping his mouth to the skin at the crook of my shoulder, nipping me there, sucking slow kisses against my skin.

  He let out a low groan as his pace increased, and he began bucking up into me—gripping my hips as he crashed into me.

  I was taking more of him—deeper than I even knew I could manage—and I found myself moaning in a way I’d never done before.

  “That’s good,” he was saying against me, “Just like that. I can feel you, Alex.”

  “You’re—you’re—oh holy shit,” I said, my words not making any sense as I felt his hand twist around my cock.

  I was barely able to hold it before, but now that he was stroking me inside and out, I knew there was no use.

  I was going to fucking explode.

  “Oh God, I’m—I can’t hold on, I can’t—” I stuttered.

  “Hold on for me, baby. You can do it. You can take it.”

  “I don’t know if I—”

  “I have to hear you say it, before you come for me,” he said, his words hitching in his throat.

  “God—but how—how could I—”

  “Please say it, Alexander, you must—”

  I felt electricity coursing through me, and I knew my orgasm was imminent. Seconds away. Potentially already beginning.

  I was going to fucking come.

  “I—” I started, breathless.

  “Tell me,” he said, a command, not a request.

  “I love you,” I said, the words springing from me like an eruption. “I love you. It’s only ever been you.”

  He called out as his face twisted, and as he gripped hard against me and thrust hard into me, I knew he was coming. I rocked deep against him as I finally let myself go, coming harder than I ever had, painting white all along his chest between us. He held me so tight it felt like our bodies were one, like we were both crashing through the same waves, holding one another as the water moved around us.

  I felt like I was home. Like I’d finally found where I belonged. That he saw me, he knew me, and he would never leave my side.

  “I love you, Alexander,” he whispered, breathing heavy, his face pressed tight against my shoulder. “I don’t know that I’ve ever felt anything else.”

  He held me there for minutes, his hands raking down my back and the sides of my body, sweat glistening along every inch of our bodies.

  As I came back to reality, I reached behind me, fumbling for my robe, and used it to swab at his chest, cleaning him. I discarded it to the floor and lifted myself off his cock. He turned to lie down on the couch, and I turned with him; he pressed against the back of it and held me in his arms.

  I had never felt more right than in the crook of his shoulder.

  I felt our even breaths moving in time with one another.

  “Don’t leave me,” I whispered, feeling like I was in a dream.

  “I couldn’t,” he said, with a kiss against my forehead. “I never will.”

  Something like sleep felt as if it were claiming me, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Every time my eyes felt heavy, an
d my blinking felt more like rest, I’d open my eyes and see him there, the curve of his arm as it wrapped around my body.

  The candle was burning low and casting a reddish glow around the room.

  “Alexander,” he said, but I think I was already dreaming. The candlelight danced as it reached its slow end, swirling away into the wax as I drifted away in his arms.

  Warmth.

  I am so warm as I awaken, and the velvety slip of dry air against my skin feels like an embrace.

  Birdsong and the rustle of wind through leaves wake me fully, and I let out a long pleasured moan as I stretch.

  It’s idyllic. Too idyllic. But when has that ever stopped me?

  When I open my eyes the room is flooded with light—beautiful, morning light, highlighting the tiny dust-motes that float in the air.

  I am alone.

  It should be devastating. I should feel like something has been ripped from me, like it is forever gone, like it never could have been mine in the first place.

  But I don’t feel like that.

  Instead I feel his thrum in every cell of my body. Still feel his lips against my skin. And I know he was inside me, even if I also know he was never here.

  I glance up at the clock in the corner of the room and see that it is 8:30 a.m. It feels perfectly normal, no dilation or contraction of time, no warp and bend of reality. The second-hand ticks in a beating rhythm, a metronome, a peaceful guide to the start of my day.

  My robe is in a rumpled heap below the couch, and next to it the empty bottle of wine. Nothing else is amiss; things are exactly how I’d left them, whenever I’d left them.

  I walk over to the window and lean out, feeling the sun on my skin and sucking in a deep breath of the dewy air. My garden is lush and satisfied, drinking up the rains from before, and the scent of the roses just outside my window carry up and fill the air.

  I tuck my head back inside, and glance around the small room.

  It looks so innocent, here in the light. There is the clock, my breath, and the noise from the window, and there isn’t another sound in the whole house.