Eternities

Something was wrong. Michael couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but something about the situation just felt so terribly, inexplicably off. His knees ached a little from where he knelt on the stone floor, but that was easy enough to shove from his mind while he continued to bob his head. The prick sliding past his lips was a powerful thing, a veritable pillar of masculinity that pulsed and throbbed with a dangerous ferocity. Girthy as it was, he had trouble taking even half of it, though he did his best to take as much as he could with every quick suck-stroke. It was a hooded beast of a thing, something he wasn't entirely familiar with; the extra bit of skin confused him at first, until he realized just how it worked.

He quickly found himself sucking that skin right over the swollen head of the other man's cock, only to push it right back over the ridge. His eyes opened but found only darkness; it took him a moment to remember that he was blindfolded. Geoffrey had suggested it and he'd reluctantly agreed, but it was starting to grow on him. There was a rare sort of tactile thrill in exploring another's most intimate parts in utter darkness, with only lips and tongue to feel the way. It was certainly making him painfully hard, though he regretted letting the other man bind his wrists behind his back for this sexual experiment.

But how did it come to this? Kneeling only God knows where and sucking the dick of some guy he'd just met? He struggled to remember, rational thoughts fighting against the constant - and obscenely insistent - flow of lust. But once that dam was finally cracked, there was no fixing it. It broke and the memories from earlier that night tumbled forth in a terrible torrent.

***

He'd seen Geoffrey around the bar more than a few times. The man never had a drink with him and had that look of a perpetual loner about him. His hair was long and dark, his skin was pale, and his clothing was always in shades of black or red. Stereotypical, in other words, if he were just another neo-gothic kid looking for a place to hang out and look emo. Early twenties, maybe; not too far from Michael's age, or so he'd figured at the time.

"I'm going to talk to him," Michael said.

The bartender shrugged indifferently. "Good luck. Hear he's a pretty tough nut to crack, if you catch my drift."

Michael's mouth curved into a tilted smile. "All the better. I like it when they're hard."

A roll of the eyes and a groan escaped the gentleman behind the bar. "I hope he likes bad double entendres, otherwise you're screwed."

"Nah," Michael said as he rose from the stool, "I wouldn't be screwed and that would be the problem."

"Tall talk from a guy who's paranoid about taking strange men home."

"There's always a first time, right?"

"And a last time. Just be careful, Mike."

"Always." Michael tipped the bartender a salute and stepped away from the bar with his drink in hand. Crossing the bar was hardly a trial; it was a little hole in the wall joint, the kind of place with maybe a handful of regulars and a dozen bar-hoppers at the busiest of times. This was not one of those times.

He set his drink on the edge of the booth's table and flashed the gloom-and-doom young man his best smile. "Hey, stranger. Buy you a drink?"

"I don't drink." He didn't look up; studying his own hands seemed to be more interesting.

Michael squinted down at the other man's long-fingered hands and felt a queer chill trip down his spine, though he didn't quite know why. He swallowed hard and moved the glass to the unoccupied side of the booth.

"Mind if I sit here?"

One corner of the stranger's mouth twitched. "Be my guest."

Michael slid into his chosen seat and rolled his tumbler between his palms. "So."

"Mm?"

"If you don't drink, why do you come to this bar every night?"

"Not every night."

One of Michael's eyebrows lifted. "Every time I'm here, I see you."

The other man wet his lips, the tip of his tongue seeming almost too dark against the much paler skin. He continued studying his palms and fingers. "Well, yeah."

"Well, yeah, what?" Michael found himself leaning forward, straining to see what was so interesting. "You still didn't answer my question."

"I- uh." He hesitated, then worried at his lower lip with his teeth. "Look, can we take this outside? Too many eyes and ears here."

It was Michael's turn to hesitate. "Ah. I guess? Just let me finish this, a'right?"

"Sure, sure. Outside, alley to your left. I'll wait."

Then the stranger was gone, leaving Michael to down the rest of his drink in a nerve-steeling gulp and to share a befuddled look with the shrugging bartender.

***

Night was in full force outside, with the glow of the city outshining the distant stars above. All that was left was night's unadorned cloak, with no sign of the moon to be caught winking behind a cloud or staring out at the world balefully. It was chilly but not cold and Michael trotted outside with his hands stuffed in his pockets to help hold the slight chill at bay.

He glanced down the side alley with a furrowed brow and a troubled expression in place. "Hey? You down here?"

"Yeah. Yeah, just- come down a little. Just out of the light."

The little hairs on the back of Michael's neck stood on end, sending a fresh shudder down his back and bathing his skin in goosebumps. He stalled at the mouth of the alley and shot a glance up to the street light. Anxiously, he wet lips that felt too dry with a tongue that felt too thick.

"Sure, man. Sure."

He moved forward slowly, all of his senses dialed high and heightened further by a jolt of adrenaline. It wasn't enough to spot the shape lurking along the wall of the bar. Only pale fingers at his sleeve stopped him from venturing further into the dark belly of the alley. Another set of fingers muffled Michael's gasp of surprise when the stranger's voice emerged at his left ear.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you, see? Just- don't freak. Please don't freak."

"I won't freak. Promise." He tried to sound convincing, but he couldn't tell; it was hard to hear himself over the pounding of blood in his ears.

The other man released him, then gently tugged him into the pool of shadow he'd claimed for himself. Michael leaned up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and waited expectantly for some manner of explanation. When nothing was immediately forthcoming, he blew out a sharp breath and started to push away.

"If you have something to say, say it now. Otherwise, I'm going back inside and getting another drink."

"Stop." The command was sharp and he could almost see the stranger flinch at the force of it. The other man tried again with a gentler, "Please. Stop. Just- give me a moment, okay?"

"I've given you too many. If you're going to assault me or whatever..."

"What? No! No, that's not- look, like I said, too many eyes and ears in the bar. Okay?"

"Fine." Michael sagged against the wall again. "Let's start over, a'right?"

The other man nodded and Michael extended his hand. "I'm Michael."

"Geoffrey." The offered hand was taken in one of Geoffrey's own, smooth and cool and dry. Unsettling, somehow, but the contact was brief and the discomfort passed quickly.

"Okay. Nice to meet you, Geoffrey. Now, what the heck are you doing in a bar when you don't drink?"

One of Geoffrey's boots scuffed in the dirt. He wet his lips again and, finally, dared to look up at the slightly taller man. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"To see you." His head tilted just a little, enough for the distant lamplight to hit his eyes just right. Luminescence skittered across irises that were absolutely intoxicating in color, though Michael struggled to find a name for it. Glacial blues and greens created a visual slur of luminous color, perpetually shifting and sliding in a dizzying aurora. He found himself leaning in, just a little, to get a better look.

"To see... me?" His incredulity was tempered with confused curiosity.

Cool fingers found his jaw and drew him in closer. "Yeah." The word passed from Geoffrey's lips to his own with but a hair's breadth of distance between. Then even that distance was closed and he found himself being pulled into an embrace that was at once timorous and torrid. Fingers roamed in search of a place to grip and hold, exploring distractedly while their lips were so raptly engaged.

It was like being in high school all over again, all fumbling hands and hungry mouths; for all he knew, it was Geoffrey's first time and that thought sent a shock down his spine. The other man had all the clumsy grace of a youth who didn't know what to do with himself, laced with a nervous energy that kept him curiously distant. Michael pulled him in closer, pressing his own shoulders flat to the wall behind them. Geoffrey pressed in and twisted his fingers needfully into Michael's sandy hair; so close, it was impossible for the blond to deny the effect the kiss had on him - or the stranger, for that matter.

The intensity of the moment spiked into feverish need, heightened only by the building discomfort in his jeans. Tongues and lips met teeth; biting and sucking and greedy probing all took on a desperate edge that was as terrifying as it was titillating. It was only when Michael reached down in a fit of daring to fuss with Geoffrey's belt that the fever broke.

"Not here." Geoffrey was panting and wild-eyed, anxiety having swiftly replaced lust.

"Where?" Michael hastily adjusted himself after casting a furtive look to either side.

"Follow me." He reached for Michael's hand and twined his fingers with the blond's. A gentle tug was all it took to set them both off into a trot further into the alley.

***

It didn't take long. Geoffrey shoved open a door and gently pulled Michael through before shutting the door behind them. "Stairs," he whispered and the other man nodded. They picked their way down, passed through a few more doors and finally came to a stop before what seemed to be the last.

"I'm going to put this on you, see?" Geoffrey held up a dark strip of cloth. "You'll like it. Promise."

"Why?"

"Just- please. Trust me. It's just..."

Michael flinched on the inside, his imagination running rampant. The way the man was stuttering, he could only imagine just what he was trying to protect him from. He'd seen some bad circumcisions in his day; goodness knew what the other man was suffering from that he felt a need to hide it. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

"I'll have to get your hands, too," Geoffrey added. "Because I don't want you, you know..."

"Yeah, yeah." Any lingering reluctance quickly crumbled when he got another look at Geoffrey's weirdling eyes.

Once the blindfold was in place and his hands were bound, he heard the door open - then shut behind him once he was ushered in. The sounds of clothing being shed were reassuring, though only marginally so; being urged to take a few steps and then to kneel were not terribly helpful there, either. Then his lips met the drooling tip of an uncut cock and he couldn't help himself. Earlier concerns filtered way in the face of renewed lust; it was easy to forget his fears when he thought about his eyes and how earnest they were.

Too easy.

***

So he sucked, slurping loudly and gathering some sense of the room's size by the echoes. His precum was peculiar in its potency, the taste unnaturally strong - but not unpleasantly so. A strong sense of unease kept creeping in at the edges until, at long last, it broke. Michael pulled his head back fully, releasing the cock with an audible wet popping sound.

"You okay?" He tipped his head up blindly, concern knotting his brow.

"Yeah." Geoffrey's voice came from his left.

Panic began clawing its way up from the pit of Michael's stomach. "What...?"

A cool, long-fingered hand passed over his mouth and clamped down, stifling the rest of the question. Geoffrey leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then, he spoke.

"I couldn't tell you, see? If I did, you would've totally brushed me off."

Michael's muffled protestations were stilled by the press of Geoffrey's naked body against him. The gentle weight of a hand at his crotch had a placating effect, though it did little to slow his breathing. Long fingers rubbed at the throbbing flesh trapped in denim and he moaned, a victim of his biology's blind obedience.

"I didn't want to be the only one," Geoffrey continued. "But, I didn't know anyone else that would do it. So, I watched. I waited. And then I saw you. I couldn't- I couldn't just ask you, though, see? It doesn't work like that. You had to trust me first and you did."

A smile was pressed to Michael's cheek and long fingers moved to start unbuttoning and unzipping his pants.

"Now you have to finish it. But, I'll help you. Hauh-"

"Who?"

"Hauh. I- ah. I found him. Or he found me, I'm not too sure. But he was the first real vampire. The first immortal. The others, the bloodsucking ones, they're all pretenders. The real life force is here," Geoffrey's fingers slid down through the opening of Michael's pants to cradle his balls, "not in the veins. Everyone wants his blood, though; they don't know any better."

Geoffrey's lips moved from Michael's cheek to the corner of his mouth. All of the nervousness was gone, bled out to leave a core of confidence exposed. He urged the bound man's head to move forward again, guiding him once more to the font of eternity. Michael couldn't help it; his lips parted and took of the inhuman flesh. But, he was not alone.

His lips met another's - Geoffrey's, they had to be - while agile fingers began to work at his painfully urgent arousal. It was then that he realized what was so odd about his companion's hands - there were no creases in his palm, no calluses, no texture; just an alien smoothness that whispered over his well-veined shaft.

Their tongues met around the throbbing shaft they shared; their lips brushed and their kisses took on peculiar angles to accommodate the pulsing flesh between. Michael was lost amid the rush of sensations, between the expert working of Geoffrey's hand and the divine intoxication of whatever eldritch hormones their makeshift god was producing. Time lost all meaning; all that mattered was worshiping at Hauh's feet, kneeling and pleading with wordless articulation for his ultimate blessing.

He wasn't ready for it when it did come. It was hot and thick, salt-sticky and strong; he nearly choked on the sheer amount of it, only for Geoffrey to pull him back. Another jet of seed spattered across his face, followed by yet more; he dimly recalled pleading for Geoff to let him finish, to let him take it all. He tried to lunge forward, only to be yanked back into place. The taste wasn't enough, would never be enough, but the other man forcibly kept him back until the torrent turned into a trickle.

Then Geoffrey turned on him, lips and tongue dragging over his features to clean him off voraciously while he continued to jerk Michael off. Tenderness was long since lost in the face of mutual desperation; Michael could feel the other man's swollen cock grinding hard against him and he pressed back as best he could to encourage him, urge him toward his own release.

It was only when their mouths met anew in a clash of lashing tongues and writhing lips that he found relief. He came and came hard, moaning helplessly into his lover's mouth while he vented every last drop of his pent up need. Warm wetness spattered against him and he groaned; the smell of the other man was strange and strong and familiar, intense in ways that his dull senses weren't accustomed to. He sagged bonelessly against Geoff, suddenly aware of how cold the room was and how deeply exhaustion had sunken into his bones.

"I thought vampires aren't supposed to feel cold or have heartbeats," Michael said after a long moment.

"That's all residual stuff. It stops after a while, see? We don't really die; we just get... numb, I guess. Food stops being interesting after a week. Then you just get used to sucking someone off every once in a while and it's not so bad."

Geoffrey tugged on him and he leaned over; they curled up together, with the other man taking the role of big spoon. His fingers worked at the binding and blindfold, freeing Michael and letting him work blood back into his hands.

"Did you feed off of strangers before?" Michael turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Geoff.

The other man shrugged noncommittally.

Michael let it drop and moved on, asking cautiously, "Can we feed off of each other now?"

"I think so." Geoffrey paused, then buried his face in the back of Michael's neck. "I hope so."

"Was that your first time?"

"What, handling a cock...?" Michael could practically feel the raised eyebrow.

"No, I mean- with two people at the same time like that."

The awkward silence was answer enough.

"It was mine. I don't know if I'd do it again, you know? Unless it were you and him again."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like to do that again."

Michael finally chanced a look off to the side, attempting to get some sense of the being they'd paid their tribute to mere moments ago. He was gone, with only a small spray of semen on the ground to mark where he'd once stood. Their god had left and they were alone; perhaps that was the plan all along. The thought was pushed from his mind and he rolled over, reaching out to pull Geoffrey closer to him. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head and smoothed his hair with a quick drag of fingers.

"We don't have to," he murmured. "It can just be you and me."

"Forever?" The hope in his voice very nearly broke Michael's heart.

"For all the eternities."