That was the last that comes close to this, and this eclipses...Stephan. There, that was his name. Stephan, oh how I miss him. Just the thought of him makes my stomach flip, my mouth water and my prick rise in a heavy teary salute to his hitherto matchless incomparability. And yet, if I had not left him behind, I would not be here sensing this new fragrance with an avid lust that makes every pore in my skin open and call aloud to the night.
It is the rarities like Stephan that make my life studded with jewel-like moments. It is still pitch black, but when I close my eyes again I recall his sweet face, his head rolling back, his perfect white teeth dragging at his bottom lip as my fingers ripple over his tightening scrotum. What lucky man was causing such rapture? Was it truly me? Was I capable of making someone so very happy? Presumably; for the vision of his white shoulders, that divine clavicle, the slim neck, are all still with me. His skin that night gleamed with our conjoined sweat and saliva, I can see the drops of water dripping from my hair onto his stomach as he writhed beneath me, that pale rounded face twisted in a snarl of ecstasy as I slid and slipped and slithered into his recesses.
I pulled forward and tasted his dampened skin with the tip of my tongue; my salt was indistinguishable from his; that startled me, drove me on. I wanted to see what other compounds could be created from our merging. I was not disappointed; our semen, poured freely from him and torn from my cock with such violence that I thought I was ripping us both apart, caused such a meld that could I have distilled joy it would not have tasted so.
His force, so highly charged even in his sweet repose, was incandescent that night. He was lit from within. It shone from every orifice, burned with a golden cobweb tracery through every artery. I was staggered that it did not scorch him, inconceivable that he was not even aware of it. I drank it from him, laved his body with my tongue like a cat, while he lay sated and still after expending his seed like the molten life it was.
I lay at his feet and put my mouth over the top of one perfect slim foot in adulation. He stirred, half-drowsy, half-spent, but not aware of me in any true meaning of the word. He was so happy.
"Another anatomy lesson Magnus? I forget the names." I raised my head from his foot, very slightly. "Try harder then, if you wish to pass those finals." I run a tongue along the line of the blood vessel, "Arctural Artery" I whisper. "Not practical at all, but close to the surface...and this one: Tibialis Anterior," I say, moving one hand up to caress and kiss the back of his calf "and this..." I say, moving between the long lean legs and burying my mouth in the inside of the thigh, and then releasing, "is the deep femoral artery, much the most erotic place, and fast...oh so very fast." my head lowered again and I let my mouth open and rest deep in the lit-up crevice between his thighs, smiling as he spread his legs wide to give me greater access. He trusted me.
I listened then, unable to do anything else, to the life rushing through the artery like the drumming of a billion starling's wings. The temptation to drink was intoxicating and worth every ounce of restraint. Finally, when I could stand it no longer, my will power sapping, I moved up my lover's body, my tongue tracing his cardiovascular system and murmuring the names of every vein and artery in turn, like a catechism, like a credo, like a prayer.
No. I did not kill him. I am a collector of rare and beautiful things, how could I have killed him? I kill for food, not for pleasure. I am no animal. He had a fleeting ephemeral life, but I was always welcome in it until he realized that I could not age, and the day came when there was more fear than invitation in his eyes and his life force had changed from gold to brown. So it is, always, and I move on to begin the long wait again.
Tonight, so long after Stephan I had almost forgotten his name, I lie here in this modern world and my mouth is watering for this new scent, sapphire and attar of roses, violence and a nascent strength. I have seen him, met him, kissed him and he is flattered and aroused by me, but I have been waiting until his body calls to me in the night, the way it unmistakably is right this second. I move out of the dark and onto the balcony; the very threads of his desire are visible to my eyes as they float from him to me on the warm wind.
He opens his door and he is not surprised to see me, arrogant pup and for that I sweep past him into his apartment, pausing only to run a finger over his breastbone, drawing the finger into my mouth to tease myself with the pure taste of him, the first taste always so very perfect. He offers drinks and I toy with the glass, pretending to be the urbane suitor he thinks I am, happy to play his game as it pleases him. I know what will please him more and as he passes me with an empty glass I clutch him to me, his back to my front and kiss his brown neck strongly, my hands lifting his loose shirt, marveling in the taut pectorals and defined torso, brushing my palms over his traitorous nipples, betraying his arousal. So young and perfect, I do not deserve such treasure. He moans in my grip and tries to twist around but I hold him firmly, not harshly. Just enough to let him know that it's a better place to be. The shirt parts under my hands and he's on my lap on the chair, his head rolled back onto my shoulder, my fingers unburdening his leather trousers of their turgid pressure.
We sigh a collective sigh as his cock falls forward into my hands; my eyes are closed. I do not need extraneous senses to appreciate the beauty of his nakedness for he is as clear to me in the dark as in the brightest sun, which is something I regret I will never see. The velvet steel in my hand is slender, long, and curves into my palms like it has found its nest there. There is no sound except for our breathing, deep, sonorous and perfectly in time with each other. I glide my hands over his proud flesh and he arches his hips from my lap to increase the pressure, crying out at last as my other hand kneads the tender sacs in time with my work, my lips at his neck.
"Magnus..." his voice is huskier with more need than I've ever heard it and it inflames me. "I want you." What a child he is. As if I didn't know that. As if I hadn't known that ten blocks from here. But this is our bonding and he must know by the end of it how solemn it is. With a willpower that surprises me he pulls away from me and stands before my chair in a pose that is as ancient as man, which makes him look like a divine boy for sale in the Forum. My eyes dazzle at the sight of him. It's not just his sculpted David-like form that draws me, hell, draws every man he meets, not just his broad shoulders, trim ridged hips and nest of gold curls holding that prize which spoils the eyes for other parts of him. But it's the force around him, the one that truly draws others, although they do not see it, gold and fiery blue, like a second skin trailing from him like ectoplasm.
Then he's undressing me and I can hold back no longer, anticipation is a wonderful tool, but I was once human and even I have my limits. I put my hands around him, pull him close, dig my fingers into white soft buttocks and our cocks touch as my mouth closes over his. He is shorter than I and he bends in my arms like a fainting girl as he feels the power of us overwhelm him, his cock slicking against mine as I bend my knees and thrust against him to prolong the divine sensation.
He whimpers into my mouth in a soft rhythm and, tempted as I am to take him now, all pliancy and submission, I continue, sliding his helpless body back and forth, addicted to his own wanton pleasure. My prick purrs against its new-found mate, cajoling it, seducing it and then we are four, all lost in our own bliss, each separate but so dependent on the other. His rhythm changes and he tenses in my arms. I watch his closed eyes contract, he groans into my mouth and I smile inwardly to feel a hot warmth spilling over my eager cock. He becomes boneless in my arms and I claim him like a shadow and take him into his bedroom.
As he revives I allow myself the first real taste of the essence of him, kissing it from his armpits, the hollow beneath his Adam's Apple, the depressions beneath those slender hipbones, all the places where the nectar collects. He starts to react to me again as my tongue dips into his sweet navel and by now I am intoxicated by him in a way he will never understand, addicted to the taste of him in a manner that can never be sated, but by the one way which I will nev
er do. Never. He calls me, his arms held out, and I slide gratefully up to his tender face and drink from the hollows of his cheeks, his eyelids and his sweet, broody lips. He spoons against me and raises his left leg and I nearly faint with desire for him. We must be invited always and my breath becomes frantic as I slide a slender hand between his buttocks to the gates of heaven.
He is smiling at me, his face turned slightly on the pillow so I can kiss him and at that moment my love for him is so fierce I am tempted to tell him of it, but know it is not the time. My fingertips reach their destination and one finger slips inside, he is not virgin; I know that, could taste that from him when first we met but he is still so very taut and responsive, his leg falling over my body in abandon as I investigate him, searching out his pleasure gland. His eyes are wide and expectant; his mouth open with those honeyed kisses within it, but they are wasted on the open air. I swirl my fingertip over the eager little nub and he whimpers to fuel my intense joy, once more, twice more and I can refuse him no longer, his constant demands of "fuck me," are more than I can stand.
His legs widen and I slip beneath and below him, bringing his leg up over my arm so I can caress his reborn cock while I obey his command. I kiss him in a marriage of my own invention as I push into his slick warm passage. Then I am blinded utterly; lost and impaled in a sunlit place. Although I should be prepared for the humanity of the life-force encompassing me, it surprises me every time. His aureate fire tears through my being, starting from my cock, and warms me through every age old sinew and fiber. He feels me pause and kisses me, mistaking my reasons for pausing, reassures me that he is not hurt, but he does not know how much his life is torturing me. I wait until I feel it suffusing the very last inch of me then I hold a hand before my face, it is glowing with a golden shimmer.
It is done. In grateful recompense I begin slowly to thrust into him, feeling his humanity leech into me further and further as I fall deeper into him with every stroke, his cock in my hand, his mouth on mine. He is electrifyingly arousing, he whimpers in counterpoint as he slams his ass around my cock with every thrust of mine, he kneads me with his muscles, I can see his buttocks clench as I am held in a slow metronome of a fuck that I have never experienced before. On and on until we are bathed in each other, hair soaked, mouths dry and cocks weeping under their torture. He laughs and the spell breaks, my tormentor; I hold his hips fast and plunge into him and he bends forward and offers his ass up for my plunder, he calls my name, arches back to my skin and sobs as his seed spurts across the bed.
The consummation which pours from me into him has me weeping tears of pure gold but is almost anticlimactic as we are already connected to each other in ways he cannot imagine, and we will remain so until he casts me out. I will never tire of him, even when he turns to me in some unknown year with that tinge of fear in his face and his force colored with rust. He joins the ranks of the favored, the living. Ptolemy, Tecpatl, Valens, Colum, Henri, Stephan and now Hayden. For they were once mine and I will not forget.
I never tire of my brightest souls.
Levels of Hunger
By BA Tortuga The sun had been down for a good while when Adriano went looking, feet making barely a sound on the wood plank floor. The sound of the ocean came to him through the French doors, soothing him, calming him just enough to give him patience when he found Lars exactly where he thought he would. In the tiny library, reading some dusty tome.
Sighing, he bent, fingers trailing down Lars' cheek to tilt the sharp-jawed face up for a kiss, breaking the connection between man and words.
Those eyes, as blue as the Mediterranean at noon, blinked at him, dark eyelashes tipped with the slightest hint of gold. "Adriano."
"Good evening, love. I have waited too long for you to surface this evening, hmm?" He had to smile, the momentary confusion on Lars' face too amusing.
"Ancient Hebrew. Quite fascinating really, when compared to middle English." The dull gold of his hair echoed the pages with their age. Stunning, his Lars. Truly stunning. Adriano watched his hand, square thumb and long fingers, as it closed around Lars' throat, admiring the contrast before bending for another kiss. He opened Lars' mouth with his, tongue running along the lower lip, soft and wet.
"I prefer other entertainments. Indulge me?"
"In all things." Slowly that focus turned on him, heavy and intense, heady.
"Excellent." He held out a hand, backing off to allow Lars to rise and follow him. Not in the library. Never there. They moved through the house, Lars' hand sitting firmly in his. Trusting. Understanding his need. They walked up the winding stairs, the air seeming heavier as they moved, the need thick between them. At the top of the landing he turned left, not right toward their bedroom. What he longed for could not be found in their bed. Not tonight. Still Lars followed, until they stopped in the darkened room at the end of the hall, and Adriano turned for another light touch of lips.
"Strip, lovely."
The spare, compact body was bared to him, ivory washed in the barest of gold, his gilt one, kissed by the nearforgotten touch of sun.
He kept his own clothes on, the thin linen pants only a tiny shield between them, but enough to keep him on his course. He had to touch, though, to feel that sweet, smooth skin beneath his fingers. "So beautiful." Lars shifted beneath his touch, drinking it in, soaking him in. So utterly responsive. Adriano guided Lars to the center of the room, walking about him and admiring the tall, lean form as he decided what he wanted, what he craved. The only light came from the open door, but Lars glowed, making him hard, making fine tremors move his hands.
"I read a story today about a man who so loved a woman that he turned his back on God, on man, on the world at her will, her word." Lars' voice ached with a quiet need, the proof of his desire evident. "And what happened to this man?" Candles, he decided, would be their light, and Adriano went to light them, listening for Lars' answer.
"God was furious and smote him, offered him anguish and punished him with eternal hunger, yet he cared nothing for it, for she was with him."
"Eternal hunger I can understand. It seems I have it for you." The candlelight illuminated the heavy wall hangings of silk and velvet, the cushions upon the slate floor, and made Lars' hair into spun gold. He came back to his lover, reaching high above Lars' head, standing on his toes to do it, so much shorter was he, to grasp the cuffs he needed and pull them down. "Tonight I think we'll feed it."
Lars' fingers slid around his waist, moving lightly, drawing promises in one language after another. "You make me ache."
"And you make me burn." He took each hand, kissing the palms before fastening a cuff around each of Lars' wrists, pulling the straps taut to take them tight overhead, stretching that long body for him to worship. There was a scar, old and fine, traveling down the flat belly, ending in the mass of gold curls about the full, curved cock. A single well-traveled highway in the map of his body. Lars' eyes seemed bright in the candlelight, his expression distant, angelic, not yet marred by their need.
He could not wait to see that landscape change under his hands. Adriano leaned to lick the tight muscles of one arm, to nuzzle one fine-skinned armpit. "Are you ready, love?"
The skin beneath his lips goose pimpled, shivered, and Lars gasped. "Yes. Yes, Beloved." "Good." There would be little talk between them now until they were done and his need was slaked. His tools waited for him in a carved mahogany box on a low Italian marble table in one corner and Adriano chose carefully. They were experienced at this game, but he still took precautions. Lars was too precious to him. A sharp, bright sliver of a scalpel would do perfectly. Adriano cleaned it, polishing it slowly, breathing deep to calm himself, to bank the burn in his belly before going back to Lars, letting his love see what he had chosen.
As his breathing slowed, Lars' sped, a gentle flush climbing up the golden skin, as if his lover's life blood knew it would be called forth. He simply watched for a moment, letting the anticipation build, watching Lars' muscles begin to jump. How pe
rfect they were, his own need matched by his lover's, mirrored by it. He would start just below the throat, at the right collarbone, a tiny cut that brought a thin, beaded line of bright red to the surface. The blood beaded, gathering into fat, pregnant drops that spilled, claret splashing on gold.
Oh, he wanted it, desperately, but the pleasure would be far greater for the waiting. Better to watch the pattern it made as it slid down Lar's chest, tiny rivulets that separated and stained. Adriano considered his next spot just as carefully, holding the scalpel to Lars' skin and watching his lover's face.
Those eyes stared at him, clinging like a drowning man to a life preserver. He could see the veins in Lars' throat throbbing, beating. They tempted him just as much as the darkening, drying blood, but Adriano waited on them as well. There were other places. Like the spot where Lars' waist curved just slightly into the hip, where the hipbone jutted out. Another cut there, precise, thin, and long, gave him a deep, rich trail down one leg. Next the curve of Lars' elbow, the heat of the dark blood slicking his fingers, painting the brightness of the blade.
Unable to resist any longer, Adriano brought his fingers to his mouth, the earthy scent and sharp tang of the blood wringing a moan out of him. He leaned against Lars for a moment, admiring the sight of that long body painted with his work, feeling the blood from the last cut drip down on his cheek.
Lars gave a low sound, almost a growl, tongue sliding out to slip over the full, parted lips. "Mmm." The low sounds mingled, his own falling over Lars'. The next cut he placed right next to the thin scar on Lars' belly, just to one side, watching, fascinated, as the skin split open so easily under his knife. The long cock throbbed, pulsed, the roots of the dull gold curls slowly going crimson, dark, wet.
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